ORF: Bayreuth Festspiele - Musically disastrous Lohengrin opens festival. Andris Nelsons (debut). Hans Neuenfels (new production). 25.07.10

Lohengrin is said to be the darkest story among Wagner’s operas, music dramas; it is most of all in rejection of the light to descend upon Brabant from Montsalvat or ambassador thereof. In light of so much that is politically, socially correct and must even at times strenuously so to avoid anything Teutonic in quality, certainly that might purport superiority along those lines, Lohengrin may only barely be possible anymore. Oh, certainly a higher criticism stance is welcome, but what purpose is there in hearing Lohengrin, experiencing it in the hall, if one can really no longer hear it? Andris Nelsons’ tempos were somewhat breezy; standard cuts taken toward end of Act Three, all came in at slightly over three hours and twenty minutes. Such pacing usually indicates an approach to Wagner steeped in earlier Romanticism or Weber – Nelsons’ tempo choices that just about alone made this impression.

First impression arriving out of Bayreuth however was the highly eccentric staging of Hans Neuenfels – much of it looking as though cut out of comic strips. You had the cornucopia of swan appearances (flying overhead all skin and bones above the rafters, on platter as major entrée for wedding feast, etc.) and men of Brabant costumed as rats - all as taking place in an animal research laboratory. From sound of it alone, it could have just as easily taken place alongside a steel mill in the Ruhr,inside aircraft hangar or along the autobahn in-between. Hearing this could make one speculate whether or not Neuenfels could have heard how this Lohengrin would sound before making any decision on how to stage it.

Best news about this Lohengrin was – from lower end of the vocal spectrum – casting of the Herald (Samuel Youn) and King (Georg Zeppenfeld). Youn, decked out in pouffed up wig and tux, sang with solid, fervor, delivering his lines with fine certainty, focus, to extent of making one wonder why he could not have been here the Telramund instead. One could note the Herald’s address to men of Brabant in immediate advent of Elsa’s first entrance, how Youn started it incisively and naturally developed superb fullness for its closing lines. Together with very driven tempo for middle of Act 2, Youn had Andris Nelsons most of all to contend with, but he very capably stood his ground nevertheless. Exaggerated timpani crescendos to segue in his first address and shouting contest Nelsons made orchestrally to segue in his second address to the knights characterized all occurring here.

Georg Zeppenfeld only slightly eclipsed Youn as best member of this cast. His was clearly the most vocally secure and three-dimensional portrayal in this the entire way through. His response of sounding somber, reticent at first to Telramund’s first round of accusations early on, how it melted into legato spun out tone of warmth and compassion, as if to insinuate at Telramund possibly being wrong or in error, was most affecting. Same variety in demeanor marked his first address to Elsa, and sadness equally felt in his becoming aware of something having gone horribly wrong during Act Three. Zeppenfeld’s briefly reassuring address to Lohengrin opened one of several shafts of light to pervade so much amorphousness during the finale to Act Two. Nothing to faze Zeppenfeld, Nelsons even half unwittingly attempted to undercut him for his public address to emcee face-off between Lohengrin and Telramund, Mediocre preparation, soggy attack and glib coasting through specific harmonic progressions in the brass indicated as much.

Hans Joachim Ketelsen made a highly uneven Telramund. Ketelsen sang much of this as though both out of vocal stamina or energy - as though marking the part. First entrance, with Ketelsen, while tonally lean, presenting Telramund as attempting well to put best face forward, was good. With things vocally tensing up more for Ketelsen, this became a Telramund of almost as much an Alberich (or even Mime?) as anything else. Nelsons’s hefty accompaniment just further emphasized how threadbare Ketelsen sounded. Ketelsen, past very shaky scene with Ortrud, recovered poise for entering during finale to Act Two, but even then it did not take long for things to slide down again to being on verge of withering away. Nelsons occasionally, obviously had to pick up pace underneath Ketelsen to pull him through.

Evelyn Herlitzus, unsteady as Ortrud, provided some clue that this performance indeed came from Bayreuth, with her very keen attention to text. Her inability to provide any consistent vocal evenness to anything gave the sorceress hardly more significance than that of a character part. Anything more than an octave above middle C tended to wobble, even squall. On good measure of adrenaline, she managed her brief invocation to the pagan gods in Act Two quite well – none of it at all pretty to hear. Nelsons unusually made room for her to deliver Ortrud’s gloating chutzpah, triumphalism with ringing high A-sharp at opera's conclusion.

Annette Dasch was the shaky, always too vulnerable sounding Elsa. Musical sensitivity apart, it is hard to construe a more faceless, often vacuous Elsa than this. Dasch has basically a lyric instrument that wisely she restrains herself from pushing too far – suitable for Mozart, Desdemona perhaps (i.e. in recent Otello in Dallas), but without likely providing even close to any last word as to how Elsa or similar part should go. Tone would turn white, through the break and approaching the top - and whenever pushed at all, hooty, then strident and out of tune. She somehow however managed to put such issues aside for most of the bridal chamber scene. Most confounding was sense that this Elsa may not have been more than skin deep infatuated with either dream or presence of the swan knight. The breezy tempos Nelsons gave 'Einsam in truben Tagen" and 'Euch luften" did not lessen risk of this Elsa coming across very generic. Her ‘Mein Ritter’ for instance near end of Act Two sounded more despondent than worried, worried what is most commonly expected – creating doubt as to there being any reason to carry on at all with proceedings.


There was then Jonas Kaufmann’s overrated interpretation of the title role (costumed as your working class man off the street). It is seldom I have heard maestro and leading soloist in opera sound so much on path of mutually assured destruction of work right before them as have Kaufmann and Nelsons now. No doubt, Kaufmann has ample voice for assignment here and on a good half a dozen occasions proved the well forged metal to deliver the goods on most often high A’s, coming off the fight with Telramund and to close ‘In fernem Land.’

Where went however the lyricism? Where was anything as such to last longer than for half a phrase? Early on during Act Three, he sufficiently relaxed his voice to provide some light; most of the rest of the way, this should have had most anybody pleading to have somebody caliber of Petr Hofmann (once of almost comparable sex symbol rock star status in the operatic world) back as Lohengrin. On occasion Hofmann would provide good shape, lyricism if not always an ingratiating sound.

The coagulated tone - a most peculiar placed back mezzo voce - from Kaufmann for first entrance and, much later, ‘Mein lieber Schwan’ was nothing to be coveted. Nelsons and Kaufmann were practically equals in the department of forced, projected, and pushed up sound, devoid of sufficient basis underneath. In fact, Kaufmann’s way of addressing Elsa at times, for instance during final scene of Act Two and during the bridal chamber scene took on uncharacteristic quality of a mean upper lip – ‘mean old Lohengrin’ or ‘mean old nameless dude’, as though Kaufmann could have dubbed in for Franco Citti (from early Pasolini flicks) as the swan knight.

Expression of romantic ardor for Elsa sounded more often affected than it did genuine. Legato or heroism of any depth got just about thoroughly compromised for ‘In fernem Land’; Kaufmann’s brassy hectoring of the knight’s closing lines right upon point of taking off was icing on the cake. There were intonation problems - warning of further trouble down the road, should Kaufmann not soon switch back to singing more lyrically, more legato soon. No amount of bench pressing can compensate for this lack. Nelsons, very hard, jerked descending triplets in lower strings, brass off the Act One fight with Telramund – maestro in battlestar galactica mode - toward goading Kaufmann to mightily squeeze out all he could muster to declare victory.

Of what definition is any darkness in Lohengrin if all light therein is so obscured? The projected opening of Act Two revealed how Nelsons could so casually shirk off attention to Wagner’s dynamic markings. His ear for harmonic chromaticism toward evoking things mysterious, such that shows the way into Ring to follow was weak. Hush over the chorus as dark clouds begin looming over the horizon, put there by the two baddies, near close of Act Two, was hardly at all any, starting out at forte, moving too quickly to fortissimo – not what Wagner marked. The very interesting harmonic change among diminished sevenths eventually from C Minor to E-Flat Minor, for what import or overtones this must have, went completely for naught, as did two important brighter harmonic transitions during for instance 'In fernem Land.'

Organ entrance near end of Act Two sounded devoid of resonance, with chorus entering too loud, allowing in place of any true crescendo hard jerked accents to provide artificial level of excitement in its place. By this point, a general feeling of malaise, even of slight nausea had to have crept over anybody musically sensitive in the least, even at grandiose place such as this. Things got pushed so, that in place of stirring, they culminated in something verging on clotted instead. Orchestra and chorus were occasionally little together at all; there were also several shouting matches of strings over brass – sufficient indictment several very simple harmonic progressions completely out of tune from the brass.

Several vocally incited instances of lyricism, plus that for fine principal clarinet midway through Act Three and calm opening to the bridal chamber scene were more the exception than the rule. Even the strings betrayed toughness toward achieving hopefully fine sonorities during the prelude to Act One – and overt aggression for prelude to Act Three. The stirring quality of repeat note triplets underneath Elsa’s early reassurances to Ortrud (decently sung – as affectionate toward Ortrud as she ever was toward Lohengrin) were, as somewhat hammered out, denied what stirring quality this writing naturally has. Equally unmagical was similar underpinning of ‘Athmest’ - Kaufmann very affected here - during the bridal chamber scene.

What of the cowl to partly cover the pit at Bayreuth? At least, Georg Solti in 1982 did not have the ego to ultimately assess it as somethig to be so challenged as Nelsons, should Nelsons be willing to be or get invited back. Certainly, the stage design had as much a chilly steel glint about it as could be projected. It certainly had as much a look about it to match the quality of sound provided as other way around. Rhetorical conjecture that this is, it still had me wondering.

There has been hardly anything historically informed or up-to-date either about this most of all musically wrong-headed take on Wagner's Lohengrin. Except for several rare instances, it all sounded devoid of anything to intimate at Bellinian lyricism altogether. Even Morton Feldman’s Coptic Light is capable of sounding closer to indicate light from Montsalvat than this did. In how cold this Lohengrin sounded, there may have been some expressive point to make, but there are far more subtle ways of going about it by which the music can be much fuller participant in the undertaking. There was certainly nothing here to overcome recent charge by progressives of Bayreuth turning stuffy, stilted – with the photo-ops for Angela Merckel and first man – and of two towering great-granddaughters carrying their own brand of dilettantism.

Musically should Wagner not be able to work any better than this, there is one bit of advice the wise bard offered – that in mind of preserving historical posterity nobody will ever heed. How anyone is to remember from this how Lohengrin should sound seems daunting. I recall here in Houston last fall having left a Lohengrin, of which I was so unsure at its conclusion what I had just attended for stretch of four hours. This from Bayreuth proved still less satisfying.

One can only hope Bayreuth will find somebody less green at it than Nelsons next time. There are always the historical archives to draw upon, the recordings of past festivals to which to listen, but there should also be some hope for some musical legacy to persist at Bayreuth, vague as it may sound, but that leaves Wagner sounding still slightly better than anonymous. If anything, this Nelsons Lohengrin sounded more ‘storm-trooper’ than taking Lohengrin along more traditional lines.

MET: A special helping of broken chinoiserie - Hui He in slipshod re-run of Verdi's Aida 03.04.10 An aside on PBS re-airing of fall Turandot.

It is with the second heaviest Verdi role with which Hui He of Xi’an, China, graduate of Shanghai Conservatory made her Met and Met broadcast debut. She got heard as Tosca in a concert (semi-staged) performance, broadcast with the New York Philharmonic, approximately a year ago, Lorin Maazel conducting.

The part of Aida is versatile in its demands - elusive this way. Hui He made this much clear. It was just partly a case of nerves that obstructed her being able to start well lyrically, for which she placed back too far - to be careful. It thus made for cloudy tone production from her entrance on stage through end of trio with Amneris and Radames. She gained slightly more confidence for the large ensemble and opening of ‘Ritorna, vincitor’ to follow; her tone better opened out and more of a character began to emerge. Persistent pitch problems then began to compromise line; she lacked quite the control to scale voice down where, such as to start “L’inana parola’, the line is marked pianissimo.

There is attractive color here, for instance a smoky colored lower register, but pitch problems at the break and above killed her first go at ‘Numi, pieta’, that fortunately she repeated much better to end Act Two, Scene One. Gentle imploring of Amneris for news of Radames conveyed fine intimacy as same music taken more slowly during ‘Ritorna vincitor’ had in her previous scene. She then however opted for thickening her sound a little much, making intonation suffer once more, this time for her well felt despondent entreaties for mercy to a threatening rival ('Ah! pieta ti prenda').

‘O patria mia’, starting off the Nile Scene, revealed the effect of some wear and tear of singing Aida on essentially a lyric instrument. The right lyrical impetus was present, and feeling for emotions of the character, but for sake of maintaining control through some of the long cantilena in this aria, tone began to turn whitish under pressure and the high C just about misfired completely. Hui He then managed to quickly regain poise for by and large a quite successful Nile duet with Amonasro, with especially some fully spun out lines to close it, that she then made quite affecting. Through ‘Pur ti riveggo’ with Radames, she also revealed well toughness of the slave girl, alongside the vulnerability. Intonation again became for a few phrases very hit-and-miss for Hui He as the second big duet to include her required so much scaling down of the voice. Most revealing of having succumbed to effect of having had run across some questionable training was the reach-from-behind approach to ‘O, terra, addio’ which broke apart the line and again killed intonation, whereas she had started the Tomb Scene well.

Slight glibness apart, including through ‘L’inno nostro di morte’ in this final scene, a real character as Aida started to emerge, in such quasi-heroic attempt at it, but with so much faulty technique to just simply got excessively in the way. Not encumbered by such heavy demands, here is a lovely instrument, but, one would hope, not one to be quickly ruined soon by plethora of Tosca’s, Aidas, Amelia’s, etc. It would be good to report here that, from veterans of Met and other big house Aida’s, there might be some example for Hui He to follow Saturday. However, all to encounter here were only faint to mediocre reminders of what Aida, singing it, is about.

Salvatore Licitra was the Radames, appearing all eager, naïve, ambitious, guileless, stupid as any Radames should for ‘Se guerrier io fossi.’ All this was fine and well, just as long as Lictira did not have to reach much for the break or anything above it. What hint of anything like heroism that Radames should convey, such as from for instance a Bergonzi, fell seriously by the wayside. Licitra did manage to plan here and conserve energy better than he did last year in Munich with Gatti, singing Radames again, but still several high notes emerged as raw, even here. Clipping of ‘Nel fiero anelito’, inelegant lunging for long sustained F’s in Celesta Aida’ and poutish behavior for cabaletta to the Nile scene duet ultimately contributed to one anti-heroic Radames indeed.

In fact, one would have hoped that the priests, others in charge, once betrayal of the Egyptian forces has occurred, might have paused to consider how perhaps little of a factor Radames might have been in securing victory for which he has just been lauded. Once having done so, it might have been easy to release Radames as unworthy to the cause from the get-go to the Ethiopians to join his Aida in smelling i freschi valli of new jungle home down south. We could have then had a happy ending and no Act Four.

Dolora Zajick, for what seems the umpteen hundredth time - wear and tear on her voice to show for it - was the Amneris. She joined Licitra in giving, even solidifying well the following impression of lets say ninety minutes before curtain, loud stretch and yawn, ‘time to get derriere down to Lincoln Center, put on the Egyptian, and give it all once more what they came for..’ In other words, for the most part, other than to phone Amneris in, the cause was lost. ‘Hmm - how shall we nuance ‘Ah, vieni’ today? Let’s perhaps place each succeeding one even still a little further back from previous one this time.’ How imaginative! What extra gilding Zajick gave them did however succeed in derailing intonation. Zajick comfortably coasted through the ‘Trema, vil schiava’s’ of Act Two, Scene One, then after nice pause for extra half a second from Armiliato, indulged us of her chest voice on ‘Del tuo destino’, that starts and remains comfortably lower.

Marco Armiliato gave Zajick a fairly breezy tempo for cabaletta in the Judgment scene, instead of abetting her clipping it, such as happened earlier here in Houston. The forza for it still got compromised quite a bit. For arioso to precede trial of Radames, Zajick varied between good garden variety verismo and giving the princess’s special voicing of desperation for hope a few shimmers of real insight. There is still indeed an Amneris here, even quite the voice for it, though with chest register more separate from the rest than before, and one looking as though en route to shadow of her former glorious self.

Carlo Colombara made the lyrically achieved Ramfis, achieving proper gravitas and menace for some pages - temple scene with Radames for instance - and compromised, reach-from-above intonation for the rest of it. The profile for what once has been a very fine voice for the part is still there, but some edges now begin to show. Invocations of Radames’s name eventually went completely sharp. Stefan Kocan played the somewhat nasal, Slavic toned King of Egypt quite firmly, but also with minor intonation problems.

Carlo Guelfi energetically fletcherized a bit to put forth a fully rounded Amonasro across the footlights. Other than for several key lines, for instance at the end of the Nile duet with Aida, top notes were unsteady and sense of legato patchy at best. Clearly what continues mostly a character-baritone profile of the embattled and enslaved Ethiopian king emerged here. My expectations for Guelfi were lowest of all, but in context of this cast, he hardly did poorly at all. All three lowest male voices in this cast sounded best in negotiating exchange of recitative toward end of the Triumphal Scene, following Guelfi’s unwritten doubling of Hui He on all instead of part of her long second phrase to repeat what Amonasro just had in full to himself for ‘Ma, tu Re.’ He sounded, non legato, two dynamic levels louder than she did.

More heroic sounding than anybody else in the cast was the Messenger of Diego Torres, perhaps the one unqualified success here. Could he have been a double for Licitra? What could have things been like, had he been able to fill in? The Priestess (Elisabeth DeShong) however was a case, all the way around, of blatant disregard. Nobody, from the podium to backstage showed any evidence of care for how the music is marked, in terms of dynamics, balances, placement, or anything else. DeShong blasted her way through this at an unyielding fortissimo – not making enviable at all where the new Chinese soprano may have stood within grand scheme of things.

After cancellation of Paolo Cargnani just slightly within one week of this run, came on Marco Armiliato to conduct this instead. Heavily misplaced accents in segue off the Judgment Scene duet for one revealed that, for Armiliato, there was nothing other than perhaps cosmetic that needed fixing since Gatti, the far more glorified (and more willful) routiniere who conducted this last fall.

The affectation, mannerisms with Armliato up there in Gatti’s place was at times exactly the same, as I have heard in a Munich Aida and more painfully the La Scala Don Carlo. The Met chorus most often sounded thin and unfocused. Strings were a bit ragged, even for prelude to Act One and mezzo-forte for what should be the magical opening of the Nile scene. Many phrase endings were loud and crude, often to a truly unwarranted extent, i.e. toward end of ‘Ma, tu Re’ during the Triumphal Scene for stretto right before closing phrase. This was shouted to extent that brief line of chord progression therein could have been mistaken for writing out of Utrenja or Moses und Aaron instead.

Obsequious yielding to his singers on stage, when in violation of Verdi’s rhythms, came across highly insipid. Dance episodes during the first two acts were clunky - the dance of the priestesses flat-footed and loud. Amneris’s slaves, even as looking forward to a few special privileges in lieu of the day being prep for her nuptials with Radames, sounded tired and disengaged – with loud, clunky harp to accompany them. What the Met orchestra and chorus has been able to offer before in terms of refinement under Levine and others seemed to have exited for left field entirely. The grandeur of such an occasion, to see Aida at the Met, with chorus sounding at times so thin, went almost entirely missing. Ira Siff’s comparative evaluation of this cast - for it to have been just as good for us in our own day as Toscanini’s of the 1908-09 season (Destinn, Louise Homer, Caruso) had been for that time, Verdi’s Aida notwithstanding - hit a new low.

Desecration from earlier this Met season of again a true masterpiece - what has so often now been left bowdlerized, with still the Toscanini butchered Alfano ending to it, was on display on PBS this evening. When bare-chested Pu-Tin-Pao came on stage, in the stage directions, for the Liu, I thought he could have been headed for either the somewhat raw sounding Turandot (Maria Guleghina) or Calaf (Marcello Giordani) instead, for what had happened to the shape of so many of Puccini’s phrases, pitch, etc. Andris Nelsons (Met debut), with deft touch for some of Puccini’s sonorities, made something close to muzak of the rest. - in place of ability for the modernism of Puccini’s score to make it to the fore. After shaky ensemble for passacaglia to flaccidly end Act One, one then picked up real garden variety Tommy Dorsey waltz of just about the entire Riddle Scene to end Act Two.

In Berlioz’s day, should this Turandot have occurred in Beijing then, someone would have had to step in to save even Nelsons, lest he not have been able to leave Tian’anmen with ears and nose intact after likely encounter with Pu-Tin Pao himself Otherwise, what would we be able to make today of what Berlioz wrote on the subject of penalties for desecrators? The Liu (Marina Poplavaskaya) practically or artistically emerged the victor of the day, even with her own moments of questionable intonation. Pu-Tin-Pao still perhaps had score to settle with her - for her execrable Elisabetta in Don Carlo weeks earlier in London.

The Zeffirelli, with the three ministers doing ‘this is what we do to look Chinese for the tourists’ act, looked as silly as any production of his has ever looked, all the excessive dancing around and posing with fans hardly less. Nelsons took the same bad cut to the ministers’ scene opening Act Two as usually taken. No gravitas was able to be found for anything, least of all either the tone of Samuel Ramey or Charles Anthony as senior figures on stage, or as to what Puccini’s final opera could have meant. It would have hardly mattered if the highly relevant Berio finale of today could have been performed. With both the staging and Nelson’s mix of chartreuse into Puccini’s sonorities, even for Puccini composed like he did – the cause would have most likely been lost anyway. What Turandot might offer in terms of grandeur got compromised by road-show quality work (including in number on stage) from the Met chorus.

BBC Proms 2009 16 and 20: Nelsons/CBSO and Nezet-Seguin/SCO

Prom 16. City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Andris Nelsons. Stephen Hough. Royal Albert Hall - July 28, 2009.


The Proms debut of young Andris Nelsons with the CBSO was much anticipated, given the charisma and seemingly dependable musicality of their new chief. His concert opened with what was most musically insightful of the evening – Orion Over Farne by John Casken (1984; rev. 1986). It combines in its imagery elements of narrative - Greek myth of Orion – to combine abstractly with view of the Farne islands off Northumberland coast, including depiction of constellation one can see at night certain times of year.

The music begins in jaggedly majestic fashion, along lines one might expect of French overture. Lines of melisma extend out, sometimes underpinning augmentation of such figuration into broadened lyricism in the violins, sometimes getting extended over to solo woodwinds. Repeated note tremolo, trills, and often five-note scale-wise patterns (also getting extended into stretches of octave or so) going up tritone instead of perfect fifth – also produce (extended) harmonic underpinnings and mark overtones in frequently dense writing. Snatches of gigue, possibly representing street music will sometimes but just fleetingly frame an extended event, passage, or long arch of lyrical outpouring. Such anchoring, framing device one finds in the music of Lutoslawski. Microtonal writing, especially in the strings shows up - suggesting where such could lead - but suggestion of there being aleatoric elements in play, even controlled ones just rests subtly at that. Such element is more essential to impetus and construction in Lutoslawski.

The piece, following no discernible narrative, is in four movements – relatively fast, slow, scherzo, and slow finale. Especially in the scherzo, ostinati develop in high winds, even a few strings, light percussion that seemed - amidst such (spirit of) yearning and striving that infuses so much of the entire piece - to represent what glitter, brilliant light might decorate the sky on a clear night off the Northumberland coast. Much toccata activity throughout different branches of the orchestra interactively livens up a despondent, even at times gloomy atmosphere to rub off on one while listening to this. This holds true until a short ways into the finale. Impression of wide open spaces, typical of Northumberland apparently, comes off here - often put as abstract.

Individual use of percussion writing, writing for woodwinds and brass too especially was clearly evident, along with recapitulatory element of reprise of the ‘french overture’ opening to the work during the scherzo. Such reprise provides a clear moment of underlining what formal elements of this music are perceptible. Nelsons’ control of his forces seemed exemplary - with his grasp of the meditative quality of particularly the slow finale – long string lines offset by mercurial descant and effects. Barcarolle motion through lower registers over span of nearly two octaves open spaced E Major chord combined with scale-wise extension of B Major above suggested deep overtones and gave moment or two in the fourth movement a much coveted feel of stability. More open engagement of colors here along with tighter formal sense might be welcome; effort put forth here still was good. Chant-like lines in six, broken up into melodic dyads in the second movement suggested Messiaen. Harmonic and melodic implications playing off each other antiphonally, first just among woodwinds, again suggested as much.

The opening of the 1910 score of Stravinsky’s Firebird, complete, sounded forth mysteriously, but one had to wonder about a certain want of tonal depth in CBSO double basses. Such began a certainly competent, well organized, polished rendition of the complete score, but seemingly unwilling to take one any further into it than that. Nelsons frequently has a fine ear for color, but often little to indicate how he might understand where some of it should lead. As to freely paraphrase a BBC emcee - such held true while Nelsons would beatifically look out over his orchestra with expressions of ‘voiced delight’ at what he'd hear come back.

Tempos were not conspicuously slow, but the internal life of it all was undercut by priority being given to color over rhythm. Where however was the vitality, the sense of charting new horizons, the danger, the risk-taking, the spark, the fire? Where at times were the sharp corners, the wit? Firebird does not owe 1980’s American film scores any debt. One gets the color, already there more than sufficiently in the scoring of this, even the identity or earmark of what ensemble is playing this from Stravinsky’s rhythms. Nelsons tended to prefer window-dressing, romanticized underlining, dovetailing its many corners instead. Better for Nelsons seemed to be what Stravinsky presumably had picked up from Rimsky-Korsakov, but in glib, clean, modern fashion. So much pointing of color here thus did not lead anywhere specific. Good color, a moderately well engaged orchestra, combustion for something to happen was clearly there, but little to set it off.

The tempo relationship between Adagio and Allegretto during ‘Suppplications’, for example, got minimized. With return of the Adagio, Nelsons tried to provide shape by inserting more breaks into the line, but such, subtle as they may have been, failed to emerge from within. With ominous sounding Katschei related motif on bassoon, Nelsons then went about sanitizing interesting wind concertati occurring above, as for them not to detract attention by their real peculiarity. So much writing since has developed out of such peculiarity, but no matter. Pacing of the Firebird Dance earlier was good, but with so much tweaking and nuance of it as to interrupt its own inherent animation.

With fine contributions from CBSO woodwinds, animation and coloristic effect was supplied aplenty for ‘Games with the Golden Apples’, but again hardly from within. The unabashedly Rimsky-Mozartean Round Dance deftly achieved lovely shape, but Daybreak appeared on the scene phlegmatically and with so much aimless fuss. After excessive slowdown into trotting out Katschei onto the scene himself, dialogue between prince and wizard was very suitably incisive, indicating so much of what we had already missed too often; the wizard’s crankiness in (over-the-top?) brass to the princesses interceding on behalf of handsome prince emerged fully in character. With loose to flaccid rhythm though, instead good preparation for infernal dance to follow, Katschei’s retinue, minions all wimped out on us. Ensuing battle seemed finished before it started.

Predictably, the infernal dance, as though everyone caught a little off guard, tamely, efficietnly coasted through with deft touch added here and there. Principal bassoon limned his lines for the Berceuse very nicely, but syrupy garden variety rubato from CBSO strings verged on practically Straussian. How Nelsons had Katschei keel over toward the end, was it to prove that Katschei indeed had seen better days? General rejoicing then began apologetically – perhaps we had been a tad hard on him all this time – with transition into wedding song (marked in five as in Rimsky-Korsakov operas) weak – leading eventually to soggy release at end of the long held final B Major chord.

Stephen Hough, in playing the Tchaikovsky concerti, seems to miss something. The tonal palette, variety of touch, and even size of tone he produces all come across as narrow for this music. He at least has most of the notes under his fingers, and the grace to shape lyrical pages well. There are qualities however, awkward though the writing is that distinguish Tchaikovsky’s writing for piano from that of Rachmaninov. Those did not come across here.

Nelsons proved little help on the Second Concerto, with somewhat punched out chords and chopped up line for majestic first theme. Even while sunny, there is some sense of imperial grandeur with which this piece carries itself. Strings were especially flat-line on lyrical ‘L’istesso tempo’ sections; the violins’ line sagged at the opening of the second theme. Hough repeated the rhapsodic ‘L’istesso tempo’ subject during his cadenza in way resembling too much music of the salon. Rubato, along with imperial grandeur less than socially correct these days, got ignored as option for bringing meaningful or defining shape to what then becomes only work-a-day - the technically most demanding passages of the first movement.

The second movement, with fine solo contributions across the board, was played absolutely complete, but including some editing from Hough with which it is hard to find sympathy. Replacing the violin and cello solos on the main theme to open the Recapitulation - preceding short cadenza for Mr. Hough but following theirs - entirely with piano playing this same passage instead did not turn out to be much of any idea. In attempting to revise, improve upon Tchaikovsky, having piano trio soloists trade off melodic line for instance in pairs might have worked better – or having left well enough alone. Rondo finale commenced earthbound; Hough invested pleasing room and space with light touch to how it carried on. Punching of chords from podium into coda to the finale was vulgar. Nelsons, imposing lightness as he did, working around rapid passagework from Hough, managed to turn the rondo into jaunty ‘Liberace’ for a less than dignified close to it all.

Prom 20. Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Yannick Nezet-Seguin. Karen Cargill, Andrew Staples, Brindley Sherratt, Nichlolas Angelich, soloists. Royal Albert Hall - July 31, 2009.

Yannick Nezet-Seguin spoke of potential pitfalls but the need to take risks, doing Stravinsky’s Pulcinella for what became his Proms debut – with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Stravinsky was quoted as calling this ballet an epiphany through which the whole of his ‘late works’ or emerging neo-classical style became possible. Had he thought of the charming melodic ideas and patterns, rhythms, and general aura or mood instead as dreary, measured, and simply tired as it all sounded here – certainly more than he himself perceived Rake’s Progress toward the end of the thirty-plus years that started with Pulcinella - he may have reduced those years by three-fourths and then moved on to serialism. According to such reasoning, Heinz Holliger, thinking back five years to one brief chat backstage I had with him, might have even found it desirable to have Nezet-Seguin around eighty years ago.

‘What risks?’ almost immediately came to mind once streamlined cruise through overture to the ballet, with soggy attack, was under way. A sagging, inadequately tuned oboe began the serenata, sung with spread tone by tenor Andrew Staples. Accompaniment was clunky, muddy, with Staples unable to keep line alive through cadences. Opening of Scherzino was phlegmatic - not to allow noticeable contrast in articulation with retiring G Minor cadential phrases in solo strings. Accelerated sections remained fixed to the bar-line and following Andantino was limpid, but shapeless. Allegro right before the mezzo’s first aria became at refrains so generically overstated as to get easily mistaken for Copland. Karen Cargill, staidly accompanied, though fruity around the break, sang and phrased her aria attractively.

Even with careful marking of every downbeat - stunting cumulative growth through ‘Allegro assai’ right afterwards - ensemble still turned muddy. Nezet-Seguin sounded still trying to organize what was in front of him while conducting it. Brindley Sherratt lacked control of pitch at the top of the staff in his first solo and continued wobbly from there on out. Trio of all three voices all sounded as though pressing request for ex-lax on hand. Some enthusiasm for having learned this music became evident during a pushed, scratchy Tarantella, but too little, too late. Soggy, bar-fixated pacing resumed through Gavotte with variations and minuet with French horn – self-parody to as ‘dying cow’ leading things for the latter. Stretto finale to the ballet turned into a racket, but as emerging from a joyless, badly academic, militaristically strict shouting match of trio that preceded it. Even Heinz Holliger would have hoped for better than this.

Following clunky downward trudge toward agitated three measures of intro, Nicholas Angelich and Nezet-Seguin gave a demonstration of how it might be possible to break the first theme of the Schumann piano concerto into perhaps as many as four or five sections at each serving of it. Nezet-Seguin appeared to be giving the impetus. Given this was a chamber orchestra taking such on so heavily, one could have wondered what things might have been like if had been full Philharmonia on stage instead. Angelich, when given rolling octaves – doing so in ‘Concert Fantasy’ mode - seemed interested in telling us that perhaps there is much in how Tchaikovsky (so awkwardly) wrote for the instrument in how Schumann did already in his one concerto. Stephen Hough can breathe a little easier now. Co-ordination of Nezet-Seguin’s strict accenting of the ritornello leading into the Development proved awkward; even clumsier was extended reprise during Development of the dotted rhythms from the Introduction, followed - so idiomatic - by more ‘Russian’ octave playing from Angelich. While left more on his own and given more lyrical material, Angelich lightened up and interacted well with sensitive principal clarinetist of the SCO. Expected bulges, surges, bumps, back-phrasings and what goes with the territory resumed in the Recapitulation, during which Nezet-Seguin made Schumann’s excitable reach into the supertonic working toward its second half– certainly excitable here – sound silly.

Matters did not much improve again until a fortunately nearly gracefully enough played intermezzo, yet with some phrase endings threatening to distend just as they had during the first movement. Transition to the rondo was effective, but runs by violins making it right into its first theme got slurped. Slavic values again quickly made themselves conspicuous. Angelich added back-phrased endings and teletype obbligato to between soft-shoe and Mexican waltz of a second subject, but found fluent touch through extensive arpeggi that followed, numerous times with lyrical extensions spinning off of them quite deftly. Nezet-Seguin, acknowledging Schumann’s lighter scoring, seemed finally for most of what remained to catch on.

Mendelssohn’s ‘Reformation’ Symphony closed the program. Nezet-Seguin got caught up a little in the four note arch that makes up much of the Introduction that somehow failed to build very well upon its own repetition into sequence that occurs. Each subphrase thus again had its own story, its own plot, but overall one quickly lost one’s own way, listening to this. After overdoing a repeated note idea in the brass, he enveloped the ‘Dresden amen’ in the strings just a little much. We are here not quite to Parsifal already. Measured phrasing prevailed in Allegro that immediately followed, making connecting line tenuous. Lighter touch on the second theme was good, but crude accenting morbidly broke following development section into much disconnected tissue.

Nezet-Seguin benefited by the lighter scoring in the Recapitlulation (until his free-wheeling handling of the Coda) and Scherzo - with accenting in the latter sliding into being clipped, ham-fisted. Pacing for the Andante intermezzo was slow, but with lovely sound and phrasing from SCO violins. Not until into the finale did serious trouble re-emerge - with accenting weighted very heavily and close to level of self-parody wrongly as well. Clipped ending notes on the strongly accented second subject almost thus became inaudible. Nezet-Seguin then gave impression of more security with what faced him, what ensued, that is until ragged string tone and ensemble over brass portentously sounding ‘A Mighty Fortress’ forth one last time.

There is no question, including in hearing Nezet-Seguin speak about music, the enthusiasm and grasp of even some musicality, but this is very evidently a career being pushed way too far, too fast for his own good - and that for the rest of us.