DR Kultur: DSO Berlin, Jiri Belohlavek. French, Slavic program. Isabelle Faust, violin. 09.03.11 Philharmonie, Berlin.

Jiri Belohlavek, music director of BBC Symphony Orchestra, chose interesting combination of French and Slavic repertoire for this (presumably return) guest engagement with DSO Berlin. Violinist Isabelle Faust was soloist for rhapsodies by Ravel and Bartok. Belohlavek opened with Ma Mere l’Oye (Mother Goose) Suite by Maurice Ravel, the one altogether non-Slavic work on this program. With the warmth, nuance, color with which Belohlavek infused this, especially from DSO winds, a gentle hint for suggestion of patina from the piano music, opera Vixen from Janacek came to mind – fortunately without distorting Ravel’s rhythms, sound world. The clarity of the playing was such, not to fear comparison with for instance a chillier Pierre Boulez. This proved Belohlavek’s most successful contribution to this program.

Such as for ‘Petit Poucet, some of the slower lyricism in Ravel’s suite tempted from Belohlavek a slight tendency to drag – toward very deftly drawing out much color with just lightly gilding it. Pointing of the chinoserie in ‘Laidronette’ along with piquant, light bird call revealed a like-minded, intimate feel for nature this music – as an aside like that of Janacek - openly invites. Trio led by deep toned bass clarinet brought out the equally deep meditative quality of Ravel’s opening out to the Far East. The self-contained complacency of solo clarinet depicting ‘la belle’ in ‘Belle et la bete’ was ideal, as was by contrast doleful, contra-basson tempting to court her – DSO strings leaning a bit hard for her anxious replies. The dreamy conclusion to this, in helping prepare mood for the opening of ‘Jardin feerique’ was perfect. “Le Jardin feerique’ opened with fine solemnity, at only mildly slack comodo pace – with concertmaster Burkhard Hartog sweetly limning solemnity below with sweet consequents. Belohlavek stepped back to let all with greatest ease sink into fully achieved cadence out of which to build fine calibrated opening out of much splendor to bring this suite to a fine close.

It took until orchestral accompanied second half of Ravel’s Tzigane for violinist Isabelle Faust to show resilience toward achieving good confidence in approaching this piece in place of something more brazen, willful - and then through Bartok to follow, all went well. For first half of Tzigane however, with already apparently sufficient technique to conquer this piece, supporting discretion to back it up went missing. There is purposefully the modernism, stylization to how Tzigane is constructed, that it does not need near so much help as Faust attempted providing, with all the back-phrasing, extra shoving on phrase endings, extra-heavy bow strokes, hint of Bing Crosby or of jazz riff at several junctures, etc. The utter wildness of Ravel’s highly realistic opening – not quite genuinely Magyar as Bartok, but definitely a cut above on genuinely folkloric terms over Vienniese café manner of Liszt or Brahms, got lost.

With DSO Berlin harpist overshadowing Faust on segue in – even with intermittent continuation of pushing not achieved from within, all came much better into focus, for Belohlavek’s grasp of color, genuinely Slavic feel for what more genuinely constitutes ‘gypsy’ Concertato light speed up for refrain in clarinets and horns was spot-on – and in particular other contributions from a still very fine wind section in DSO Berlin. Isabelle Faust in being obsequious, then provided fine collaboration for most of the second half of this, and again remained assured during the Bartok Rhapsody No. 2 to follow.

Orchestral adaptation of the Bartok Second Rhapsdy with its deftly added coloration and shift in emphasis, removes a little of the edge of the wildness of especially the stomping rhythms that constantly propel its ‘Friss’ (second) half. Belohlavek’s feel for it, together with Faust was idiomatic for this setting, the only thing to complain about perhaps being a little further softening of this music’s edge and rhythms. The soulful character of this music, especially for its first half, was never in doubt, and in color, and bowing from orchestra and soloist alike, through constant metamorphosis of step informing the ‘Friss’ and its coloristic implications (piano accompaniment is less skillful in achieving - making it different piece this way) – for instance in passage during ‘Friss’ where soloist combines figuration with harps (prickly by contrast in the piano accompanied version), very deftly handled by all three players. Faust and Hartog combined efforts with, as encore, two Bartok duos (out of the forty-four) fully, confidently in mastery of by turns soulful and earthy savagery of the writing. All was limber from both Faust and Hartog – that simplicity Faust denied the first half of Tzigane was no longer in doubt.

Belohlavek, after interval, selected a relaxed, slightly broadening pace for the first movement to Dvorak’s sunny D Major Symphony (No. 6). Throughout, this was a Sixth conscientious to stress its lyrical aspects, only almost making something comparable to Brahms’s first orchestral serenade thereof – or more to the F Major Symphony preceding it than to perhaps the Sixth itself. For good clarity of line and texture, something can be said for such an approach, but here taking it with just barely adequate light and resonance to infuse both. Some stretches of especially the two outer movements of this symphony perhaps only made it one or two cuts above the pedantry of taking it more commonly the brass-driven bombastic way – such as presented at one of two local conservatories here in Houston fairly recently.

Some brightness for crest of opening theme, ritronelli thereof remained, but Brahms Second derived waltz step to first movement’s second theme needed more lift to clearly raise it above what might comet across flat-line. Reflective cast, coming off this and in attempting to find the right mystery with which to open the Development were good, making it perceptible that Belohlavek might be thinking back to example of Karel Ancerl, but as though curiously mixed in with something approaching a purist bent to it all.

Trumpets and horns brightly exuding fervor near end of the first movement, then after much lingering over both bringing it to a quiet conclusion, they framed opening of the second movement well. Pace for the ongoing Adagio, without being fast, flowed well onward – again after a quite broadly paced first movement. Complementing the overall open-air feel, the light perspective through which dialogue between violins and winds emerged here was refreshing. There are no slow movements in the Dvorak symphonies more beautiful than in both this and the D Minor Seventh Symphony that in fact may mysteriously complement each other in several ways. Exchange of sighs between violins and winds abetted filling all out, while keeping texture warm and light.

Mild sectioning off of oboe duet simple cadential lines came across slightly stodgy as did slightly strict reining in of the brief agitated minor key episode. Easing up from this, making supple re-transition back though was very fine, while introspectively picking up good wistful air to infuse this place. DSO Berlin cellos openly then sang forth this movement’s opening theme - little to encumber the magic of once more encountering this music, its innate pastoral intimacy. Repetitive figure through following Furaint got supplied little lift from internal voicing within, making utter joyousness of this mildly reserved – forthright, but somewhat pedantically so. Extra compensating during yielding line from the violins, while expressive, seemed just that. Extra lift, filling out of main Furiant idea provided good oomph to close out outer sections of this – until slightly pushing much final coda to this scherzo. Piccolo emerged a bit high ad dry during Trio for it waiting past dry, slightly flaccid opening to it to develop fine expressivity.

Streamlined feel for the finale’s opening lines, toward keeping textures supple – DSO winds answering with same idea more characterfully, as also with fine spark they provided this finale’s dance like second theme. For fugato, extension of it both, stiffness from DSO string section prevailed, along with some strain at getting accenting right. Wistful episode of arabesque and yielding quality of re-transition off forthrightly, stiffly realized restatement of opening theme in D Minor provided relief. Achievement of festive ritronelli, recapitulating them, became more assured. Coda to the finale sounded quasi-academic in excessive pointing of accents, then also stodgy in so much leaning on final restatement of opening theme, abetting the impression that Belohlavek may not have fully convinced himself that perhaps this music can speak a little better for itself.

All carping aside, this was a sufficiently characterized, decently played Dvorak Sixth, if hardly at all near a definitive one. Some thinning of the ranks, especially among DSO Berlin strings, injuriously so, has indeed become apparent – issue over which Ingo Metzmacher brought to an end his position with this ensemble. The diffuse acoustics of the Philharmoie do not obscure well what does not quite curry favor within how things get performed there. For how things got played here, Jiri Belohlavek should still be welcome back for at least occasional guest appearances again.

BBC Proms 2010 - Proms 6 and 8. BBC SO, Jiri Belohlavek, Paul Lewis (Beethoven cycle opener). BBC Nat'l Wales, Thierry Fischer. Alexander Toradze.

Prom 6. Beethoven Piano Concerto cycle. Paul Lewis. BBC Symphony Orchestra. Jiri Belohlavek. Royal Albert Hall, London. July 21, 2010.

The BBC Proms continued festive with opener to complete Beethoven piano concerto cycle – one better in having Paul Lewis as soloist. Two of the concerti comprised this series opener - the First and the Fourth. As Lewis explains, the First is obviously the more outward looking of these two, the Fourth the more inward, but enough to trade off between them as opportunity for Lewis to work in much subtlety, if not quite to fully academically achieved level of his mentor, Alfred Brendel - with that from Brendel sometimes some spontaneity abandoned.

The prom opened with Egmont Overture, some luftpausen - lyrical receding from which compelled some interest - toward start of it coming off indecisive. Jiri Belohlavek resorted to a little clipping to attempt firming up shape to first tutti in the Exposition - following noble arch in line for his cellos to introduce the main theme. Underlying accents with the main overriding line in tutti above got calibrated less fully than optimum. As matters wore on however, things gradually began to adopt more definitive shape with goal of achieving for the noble Egmont Overture a bright, heady conclusion.

One however had to wait past the First Concerto to find Belohlavek near his best. He had nobody better to emulate than Paul Lewis in this collaborative effort. Paul Lewis, much in alla breve manner of early Brendel, lavishly played up the brilliance of the solo writing and gregarious opera buffa element to this concerto’s outer movements. Occasion even to be outlandish, including big glissando into decisive start to the Recapitulation – as to have burst out of the shadows lurking about right before – was always right on target.

Belohlavek attempted making the BBC Symphony phrase about exactly as Paul Lewis was streaming all forth himself – albeit without their parts being functionally alike to his at all. With so much internally worked in device and rubato, the effort for orchestra to keep up with or capture much of the same became futile – glad nevertheless that soloist and maestro should indeed be very like-minded. There was much delightful here – the winsome smile with which Lewis characterized his opening solo, the on purpose garish brilliance with runs, rapid sequences and other feats of display. Belohlavek rendered phlegmatic a few introspective moments in the orchestral exposition, but Lewis searchingly, poetically the more deeply probing Development. Cadenza optimally came off with great wit, brilliance, and panache.

Bellinian line and reverie, never encumbered by any layering on - such as may have run Lewis aground on handful of movements during traversal of all the thirty-two sonatas two years back - characterized the Largo here in full. Sensuous duet with principal clarinet offered very pleasing equilibrium, tranquility, both soloists interchangeably enhancing the other's expressive efforts to the uttermost.

The rondo finale here continued the overall high spirits, with after Schnabel’s example, light, playful rushing down on bouncing accents at opening thereof, to make all jocular and light. Paul Lewis was also lightly brash, angular with middle section, retreating lines from both him and winds ideally balancing with poise much shaping they contributed here. Zip through ascending, smoothly terraced upward runs toward ending the rondo, playing off reprise of its main theme, was infectious. Lewis sang out last phrase to fine bel canto length, with only furious, rousing affirmation left to go.

Belohlavek then hit his stride with more vigorous than norm account of the Prometheus Overture, as to hint at much fire to draw up from underneath in the Fourth Concerto to follow. Belohlavek’s getting mix of both Italianate leggierezza and sturm und drang just in sync set all ablaze, as to make all galante or Biedermeier accents retreat. In doing so, he cut neither himself nor this music, its inherent charm short. All sufficed certainly well here to give the dilettantes in first audience ever for this a good jolt, Lord knows, what we always need these days, from anywhere, to do the same afresh.

The Fourth Piano Concerto turned out altogether a fine warm, glowing success. An unerring simplicity in setting all up quickly became rule of the day. The necessary poise was there for the opening unaccompanied soloist entry, without any affectation in the least. Lewis, after gently allargando inflected ritornello from Belohlavek, infused much opening elaboration with excellent singing quality to draw in full upon the roots from which this kind of writing lies - light air of fantasy infusing the arpeggios to spin off from that. While maintaining complete classical poise, Lewis expanded out for transition into the flatted mediant with open freedom, space liberally allowed for such. Lewis clearly provided this place specific shape regarding this music’s classical proportions, and at same time, indicate how they on a grand scale verge on bursting apart. He then scaled down virtuosic right-hand figuration to mid-ground behind prominent line in the woodwinds toward closing the Exposition. As though observing the solo part from alternating prism angles, Lewis ideally proportioned opposing tendencies under-girding much here.

A hushed sense of wonder, of foreboding opened the Development. Agitato ascending arpeggios Lewis played as only slightly more prominent toward crest of each sequence of these than overriding line orchestrally. After passionate spinning forth of ensuing mini-cadenza, Lewis then made retransition gleefully light into stretto to open the Recapitulation. Spinning forth of descending elaborate writing off the second theme was brilliant, but as to avoid calling attention to itself. Lewis prudently framed opening of the cadenza with its alternating octaves, and then made Lisztian fancy of what then spins off from them to gently limned reprise of the second theme. Capricious agitated writing in the right hand very proportionately contrasted with sternly enunciating first subject, with stylized quasi-operatic turbulence to follow - all as though to clear the air through spinning forth single line through level upon high to limn orchestral re-entry.

Prudently enunciated intermezzo followed, with beautifully timed, proportioned rhetoric from both Lewis and Belohlavek. What virtues had transpired thus far infused the sonata-rondo finale with airy lift and winsomeness, while still in context of music turned more inward than that for the First Concerto. Fine, excellent calibration of agitato passages in mostly the Development Lewis made open in their impulsivity, contrasting them with unaffected soaring line up high over long pedal point in the lower strings. Reprise of the main theme, especially one variant on it with light melodically broken octaves, became exceptionally playful and witty. Belohlavek contrasted hushed rustle to opening of the finale with fine heft with matters arising toward direct confrontation between soloist and orchestra. Cadenza went by forthrightly - fine virtuosic spinning off the octaves and deftly upward bouncing trills to lead into Elysian legato singing of the main theme from woodwinds in reply. Spark infusing huge secondary dominant clash helped inexorably bring all to a fine conclusion, making overall conception of the rondo complete. Among three very fine performances of the Fourth lately, the Elysian Freire/Metzmacher and more impassioned Barenboim, this one captured the Fourth with fullest sense of perspective. It all proved very satisfying – anticipating a second all Beethoven evening from Bremen-based chamber orchestra that in affecting much accomplished very little.

Prom 8. BBC National Orchestra of Wales. Thierry Fischer. Alexander Toradze. Royal Albert Hall, London. July 22, 2010.

In order to hone in better on central work on this program – Britten programmed as its direct accessory, good to start by discussing the Prokofiev First Piano Concerto placed in-between. Thierry Fischer is frequently welcome guest at the Proms for his very formally astute, rhythmically incisive, and dramatically insightful to even searing interpretations.

Alexander Toradze, who recorded all five Prokofiev concerti with Gergiev and the Mariinsky, asked rightly so for more orchestra behind what commonly is very forceful playing from him on Prokofiev. Fischer accommodated Toradze best he could, therein helping develop quite a meeting of the minds, as can be expected in imaginatively approaching Prokofiev’s music from contrasting angles. Whatever few notes were missed, a few chords stumbled over, much imagination and vitality invested here into a slightly off-center interpretation of early Prokofiev, neurotic and plentifully insightful, paid off. BBC Nat’l of Wales sounded slightly thin for the very start of this; Toradze's pro-actively helping make his playing of the often clangorous introduction integrate with the rest, from a customarily heavier approach one is accustomed to from Toradze, was most beneficial. Toradze played scherzo passages with spiky incisive wit – precariously arched negotiation made of ascending passages toward arousing much excitability.

Without being as self-conscious as Gergiev, Fischer gave this music a restive sense of nervous anxiety already near this music’s surface - to run as strong undercurrent to much at hand, in joining Toradze toward intimating what is ahead in the G Minor Concerto. Peppered by upward glissandi from Toradze, all lurking shadows for first somber intermezzo were intact. Fischer’s feel for romanticism may not be so naturally full-throated as from a Slavic podium for extended slow passage midway through; Toradze presented himself fully poised to bring it all out - with Fischer his very close ally in fully reassuring all it would. Stringent push forward into final scherzo reprise toward segue into grandiose reprise of the opening of the concerto was riveting. This Prokofiev proved informed energetic antidote to sobriety of the two works book-ending this program, major work in key semitone lower than this concerto - opening Britten in key a semitone above.

Kurt Masur’s Orch Nat’l de France Shostakovich Seventh became outstanding climax to recent Shostakovich centenary year at the Proms. Before discovering Mravinsky’s recording of the Seventh ten years ago, I hardly at all well reckoned this work's very real importance. Mravinsky gets to layers beneath others a little beyond how I had ever heard anybody do the Seventh before – really since. The not particularly Slavic Thierry Fischer gave the Seventh an unusually probing look. Such was halfway expected, but extent to which he took matters was truly outstanding. With lean textures, even slightly detached quality Fischer opts for, one had to wonder how he might fare with such epic Shostakovich. My gut had me think back to, in wake of devastating Eleventh Metzmacher did last year, to retrying an old Andre Cluytens recording of again the Eleventh, beautifully transferred (Testament) from muddy sonics before (EMI).

A drier quality of the playing, rhythmic, expressive simplicity and substantial emotional reticence Fischer and Cluytens now share, quite inimitably so. They now both have made music of something justifiably reckoned of encompassing historical relevance. When one hears ‘cosmopolitan’ referring to Shostakovich, one often first thinks Haitink or Simon Rattle, who each can rise to the occasion, less the agit-prop, shibboleth of a Rostropovich, Bernstein, or of even Toscanini – latter whose Seventh the composer despised (should Solomon Volkov be trusted).

Fischer began the symphony in somewhat ironic style – majestic start to ‘calm before storm’ episode – in giving it a regimented feel and even lightly interjected brash lift to succeeding line – that all with crisp gesture and much insinuation underneath fully started getting various points across. Fischer traced lines through contrasting orchestral voices with acute sensitivity – with much ominous hint of what is to come infusing so very much, as in almost comparably individual way to Ancerl or Mravinsky on disc. Richly voiced interaction between winds and lower strings well anticipated the gently limned second theme plus much else.

With Fischer, one had not the voice of the people so to speak, but that of the individual, that of a small voice through it all - without cheapening anything, humanizing Shostakovich in the process. Uneasy peace prevailed well until the ‘war march’ with out of all development of lyrical and melodic strands also would come on another level the darkest and most sinister motifs to emerge here as well. As has been said before, it is two sides of one coin that get depicted here. The Seventh is not quite two types of music that all as though through happenstance got stitched together to make some program out of it; it certainly was not here.

After benighted good cheer from piccolo and tense, thinly played high cadence by Lesley Hatfield, ensued the non-Development ‘war march.’ Fischer was unabashed in giving first full brass variation of it good swagger, and at what uncertain goal he hears everything here - with it no longer specifically the Wehrmacht any rationalization. Shostakovich, in writing the march, more likely had much noise, celebratory balloons surrounding Stalin’s five year plans in mind - source for the march being both German and Russian (including motif from Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk). A certain cool, glibly detached steady push forward on Fischer’s part here accurately depicting such behemoth - suggested mechanization, bureaucratization of society, of all human impulses thereby - moved forward to crush all. Without inculcating any untoward accelerando, Fischer had all inexorably strut forward through passing terror to very impassioned grief, especially in trumpets and high strings. Following somber long bassoon solo was most eloquent - amidst much sullen, numbed, shocked grief; it was starting with the loud opening of the Recapitulation at which Fischer logically found the heart of this sprawling movement. Expected reprise of opening material followed - with mildly less thrust, thus plentiful space for single pitch warnings in lower horns over low tremolo in timpani to sustain full sense of foreboding to its conclusion.

Fischer wisely chose to take the scherzo moderately swift - it too easily achieved some bonhomie, bourgeoisie sentiment in keeping with this music’s supposedly populist appeal otherwise. Even in single line in the violins approaching pizzicato reprise of the opening to segue in the middle section Fischer found element of harmonic impetus behind it, not just that of the Scherzo, but of continuing train of thought throughout the entire symphony. Fischer made for middle section insistent rocking motion forward with shrilly played piccolo clarinet high above agitated and very stark. He gave middle section of the Adagio - with its close-interval trumpets over driving percussion – similarly vigorous, virile stringency, despondency. The shudder, choked back tears associated with flutter tonguing in the flutes toward end of the Scherzo was subdued, as instead to sparsely depict numbed frozen expression of grief. If less moving than example set before, there was still the somber, distraught bass clarinet to eloquently fill all out.

Fischer’s keeping line very well sustained through the Adagio - with stark, Stravinskian austerity with which he infused its opening heavily doubled chorale for winds - was most convincing. He settled for gentle lift to accompany long spun, developed several pitch falling figure Tchaikovsky Third String Quartet quotation. Cellos provided Tchaikovsky quote second theme fine tonal warmth to fill out what first flute stand had rhapsodized five minutes earlier. At moderately slow pace, this Adagio coming in close to nineteen minutes, Fischer let nothing meander off for anything merely incidental or to risk untoward over-emphasis. Better the simplicity this music conveys so well on its own. If not quite Shostakovich’s most inspired Adagio, it still has plenty to say, doing so most freely with much prudence regarding its construction - as encountered here.

The finale rustled with lightly setting off, urgently insistent press forward through the ‘battle music’, but toward no clear goal of victory in sight. Rapid swirling about, approaching fugato, turned furious – albeit wisely at level of controlled inexorably organic press forward. Fischer made very underlined and insistent his transition into the preponderant Moderato epilogue to both the finale and entire symphony – as for it to carry very significant weight as to counteract what false has often been construed of this finale. Fischer was so very specific, purposeful with it all to even have set in relief measure or two of caccia style triplets in the horns to catch all off guard. All remained lean, very tense through the end, as opposed to all loud and chutzpah, with fortissimo trumpets hanging on to dragging, but firm dotted rhythms on pitches of E and D-sharp to refer back to, crying out over all the rest, Fischer’s very dogged start to the Moderato. At pacing of the finale a little quicker than usual with pounding timpani to drive everything home at the end, all became much enhanced here, never short-changed.

Here was then indeed a resolution on purpose insufficient at resolving earlier accumulated tensions, thus as close to definitive an account of the finale I have yet heard. Fischer honed such with an ear for relationships at semitone, whole tone, tritone between harmonies - also as spun out in (quasi-) a cappella lyrical passages. As again voice here for the small voice or simple individual to carry weight, through such very thorough preparation Fischer provided here, there is unsuspected by dull-witted coterie of apparatchiks an ever strong element of formalism – more probing at it than possible earlier with the more popular Fifth.

For greater eloquence, Fischer might invite some of his principals to sing out their lines a little more fully. Ancerl’s opening out of space for fierce high trill in flutes above much racket had more fire (with such ample space Ancerl provides). than from tighter embouchures at work here. Such quip here is churlish, in context of everything here – a real ferreting out of all text that lies beneath other text; look of exhaustion, including very minor incidence off final chord, was fully earned. All most necessary to communicate here remained steadfast, paramount.

The program though opened with the Sinfonia da Requiem by Benjamin Britten. Thierry Fischer refused to comfortably settle with standard idiom for conducting Britten's music – complacent level at which can make Sinfonia da Requiem sound utterly formulaic – as happens so often. The fleshing out of the internal harmonic structure of the music and motion carrying through it, whether fast or slow, was highly compelling here, and impetus for Fischer to take slightly more extreme than the norm in what tempos he chose. Nothing stood out as being particularly at either extreme. It was most of all Fischer's tenacity to maintain his tempos in interest of a rock steady pulsation to persist through the outer slow movements. Such simply provided bedrock, against which all voicing, even open singing of the lines throughout spoke with febrile line to the uttermost - for what novel writing lies beneath and within to also fully register.

Jaunty ease with ‘Dies Irae’ death-dance of sorts got traded in for something more incisive, telling as such. Breaking apart of much activity at the end sounded as though having organically processed out of abundantly clear tendencies to all have emerged right before. Precision of ensemble, with everything very doggedly worked out, was indeed remarkable at the fast clip Fischer took, all for most musical of purposes. Especially in the Requiem movement, noting subtle dark coloring with which the winds underpinned ascending strings, things hinted at very similar harmonic relationships spelled out and developed in the Shostakovich to come. Such a purpose driven, historical and time relevant account of this piece - as to have fit entirely well the expressive to symbolic purpose of programming arranged here – seems rare indeed.

Such fragile impression of life communicated in febrile limning of very steadily paced chorale by which Fischer led the slow finale, highly affecting this way – several remaining voices at the end distinctive while fading away as well. Played with such conviction, all sense of foreboding emerged complete.

BBC Proms 2010: Proms 1 and 3. BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus. Jiri Belohlavek. Prom 3: Royal Opera. Antonio Pappano.

Prom 3. Verdi: Simon Boccanegra (semi-staged from Moshinsky production). Royal Opera House Orchestra and Chorus. Antonio Pappano. Marina Poplavskaya, Placido Domingo, Josef Calleja, Ferruccio Furlanetto, Jonathan Summers, Lukas Jakobski. Royal Albert Hall.
July 18, 2010.

It has become a given that, even a year ahead of time, Placido Domingo’s taking on the part of Simon Boccanegra is a major accomplishment, wherever it may occur. So far, that has meant New York, Berlin, Milan, and now London. All Domingo should have to do is for him to affix himself to a pose for the cameras of tragic poise or grandeur, to circulate hither and yond, and then automatically, we have a great interpretation of the Doge. Unfortunately, most of the interpretation of the Doge happens vocally, not so much otherwise. Here, at the Royal Albert Hall, the right voice for the Doge just simply was not there. In fact, the closest from this cast to having it was the Paolo Albiani, at age 61, of Jonathan Summers.

Domingo felt impetus slightly less here than at the Met five months previous to draw as vigorously upon what lingering resources of darker tone he may possess; even so, we are still hearing much more a low tenor instead of baritone. Most deferential on the podium of anybody, Antonio Pappano was a close ally of Domingo in even misguidedly playing best advocate possible for Domingo – for Domingo being able to hold out vocally to the end. Unfortunately, he helped make himself weak advocate for both the part and entire work at hand. This being middle period to i.e. with the Council Chamber Scene, fully mature Verdi, it is Pappano’s business with a score like this, to lead. In nowhere close to consistent fashion did he but very seldom do so.

Attractive among this cast were Josef Calleja (Gabriele Adorno) and Marina Poplavskaya (Amelia). Calleja sounded immediately the ardent Romantic hero, with clarion passion he gave his first off-stage lines – albeit with swallowed phrase endings, something he ceased allowing once on stage with Poplavskaya. Crest of his lines in his duet with Fiesco came across effortful, but he sustained legato well and also sounded sufficiently stern for sense of something ominous afoot. He also affected good stance of heroism for standing up to Doge in the council chamber – amidst confusing scenario to have developed there. Opening agitated lines for Gabriele in Act Two put Calleja under some strain again, but he then achieved finely sculpted line with attractive tone, plentiful musical sensitivity for the longer, more florid, quasi-Schubertian ‘Cielo, pietoso’ portion of ‘Sento, avvampar.’

Following indefinitely shaped, phlegmatic introduction to Act One, Poplavskaya sang ‘Come, quest’ora’ with dark, but warm mezzo-ish color, voice placed back. Her top though was freely achieved; she joined Calleja in presenting very convincingly two young people in love, and as Amelia individually presented a character to have been quite a variety of hardship and travail. Once Domingo was out on stage for recognition scene to get underway, some of Poplavskaya’s best efforts here got undercut by flaccid, retiring command from the pit. Bumped up pace for loud orchestral cadence to Amelia’s revulsion at the Doge’s mention of Paolo undercut the firm attack Poplavskaya gave Amelia’s strong exclamation right before. Oboe line to begin Amelia’s private narration to the Doge – ‘Orfanella il tetto umile’ – was too retiring by half; it took Poplavskaya’s all to give it any real shape at all. Accenting beneath never overcame being flaccid; her passionately conceived ‘Mi bacio’ refrain found her having to watch Pappano instead of vice versa – unbecoming irony that it was.

The transition to gentle, but robust cabaletta of the great duet - Domingo choppily reading off notes and text right before - got flaccidly, carefully paced - with silly forceful push forward where Verdi has marked gradual stringendo. Pappano made it sound instead like postlude or refrain to Italian popular song. Poplavskaya continued having to watch both Pappano and Domingo carefully through the great cabaletta, ‘Figlia la tal nome’, all taken breezy – not for so fast a tempo per se, as being taken so weightlessly. It sounded more redolent of what got composed in Act One of Verdi’s Luisa Miller instead of in its Third Act for Luisa and her father.

Except for excessive verismo pointing of Amelia’s narrative in the Council Chamber Scene – practically by end to makie Sprechstimme out of it – and a few moments of cloudy intonation, Poplavskaya achieved strongly even line between smoky colored midrange and low notes and easily produced top the rest of the way. Her Elisabetta at Royal Opera Don Carlo earlier this season hardly prepared one for how well she succeeded here.

Baritones in singing the opening Prologue for part of Simon, affect being the high baritone, even in head voice quasi-tenorial in some of their nuance, placement, etc. They are obviously still baritones. Domingo especially affected the same thing at the Met this past spring, but from perspective of still being a tenor, a low one now, sounded more tentative at it. Chilean tenor Ramon Vinay, whose timbre was somewhat baritonal from the get-go, still darker later – had voice to halfway successfully make something of Iago and Telramund – but a different voice than Domingo has ever possessed.

Sustained notes for Boccanegra took on here feeling of insecurity to mild tremolo. More remarkable here was the utter lack of contrast between widely varied levels of communication that Verdi and Boito have crafted so brilliantly into the part. Lines such as ‘Ecco i plebi’ and Fratricidi’ during the Council Chamber scene sounded preoccupato (worried) and tired, respectively, where there is forceful irony, sense of outrage called for. Instead of having chill run down one’s spine at ‘Paolo!’– coming after vaguely negotiated ‘Plebi! Patrizii! Popolo!’ - Domingo precariously reached from below for baritonal top C and down on a C one octave below. It was so curious that at end of Act One, with so little Domingo had left to do that Pappano had to mercilessly clip so much of a then waltzy ‘Tu al cospetto’ through ‘Sii maledetto’ – thoroughly making trivial final choral outcry in reaction to the curse. What, after all, was sacred here - Placido Domingo, his legacy, or Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra? Martin Bernheimer said of Domingo last spring in (British) Opera (April) that his sound remains stubbornly tenorial, inappropriately slender – Domingo courting tedium to continue coursomg his way through this The supposedly always evergreen Placido Domingo, now taking on Rigoletto, sounded even more slender here.

Domingo affected well his entrance lines for the Doge in the final two scenes of this with fine sense of gravitas; what he provided was not quite completely void of insight. Lines of conversation between Doge and Gabriele however had one easily confuse one for the other, to practically be embarrassing. At the Met, one had in later scenes Marcello Giordani with more squeal than squillo as Gabriele and Domingo in better voice.

Ferruccio Furlanetto started of colloquy with the sinister and vocally ample Paolo of Jonathan Summers well, then some semblance of legato for refrain to ‘Il lacerate spirito.’, but little else as Fiesco. Never have I before heard duet for tenor and bass-baritone in the final scene of this opera; more noticeable than in the Prologue, that is what occurred here. Furlanetto’s voice, pressed by engagement in so much pouting, contrived histrionics, was all patchwork for this assignment. What nobility, mystery Fiesco should convey got completely lost, and even Sprechstimme became so extensive in Act Three – before six minutes prior to opera ending, it made me think on behalf of the unsuspecting it might seem that Verdi had written Fiesco a mad scene. For someone who remembers seeing Cesare Siepi, rock-solid at sixty-one - with sense of gravitas extending out miles behind the Jones Hall stage, sing Fiesco here – opposite an inexperienced and unsteady Leo Nucci as the Doge – it is to deny any such memory of being relevant at all to have taken Furlanetto seriously at this.

The pouting I surmise Furlanetto has learned from the Hytner co-interpretation that Furlanetto next foists upon us at the Met. It must go, as what use it slightly may have been for him before is completely gone now. ‘No! la figlia del Grimaldi’ got emitted all choppy, without meaningful semblance of legato or weight, not to even try reckoning what appropriate weight for it might be like. This is the weakest Furlanetto has sounded yet – fine artist he has been before for Muti, Levine, and Barenboim, numerous others. Lukas Jakobski, the Pietro, had as much voice for Pietro as either Furlanetto or Domingo on their parts, and probably more, as did Jonathan Summers as Paolo, Act Two opening scene for which Pappano at last found some meaningful shape to anything he could sustain for more than a few measures. Several exclamations from Summers were so forceful, one wondered how Paolo got passed up as candidate for Doge. It took no hectoring or grand-standing for Summers to accomplish it. Nobody in either the Met cast or this one was more in character than him. One regretted hearing, seeing him taken away at the start of Act Three.

Antonio Pappano numerous times has proven himself adept at Verdi; while in hyper-obsequious mode, there hardly could be anyone worse at it. With all focus out of whack compared with where it should be, Royal Opera orchestral forces, with most of all the strings often sounding thin and ragged, also sounded out of focus. The light bump and grind Pappano gave some of the agitato for chorus during the Council Chamber scene was totally mal-apropos. There was constantly the faux-sensitive consideration, caution out of supposed deference to his singers that denied them so frequently any means of real support. Brief orchestral interludes, exclamations in which he decided to infuse some life ran risk of sounding off-kilter and often did.

Even the brief exchange involving Paolo right before the Council Chamber scene, lasting barely a minute, took on a weight, practically a preponderance in comparison with what came before and after, by just conducting it straightforwardly. All shape, overall perspective to make reach through much of the entirety of Verdi’s score to give it the nobility, variety of even often somber color got blended, eviscerated away to making much of its entirety register as tepid, shallow instead of how it should be.

For managing optimum effect of getting placement, phrasing, overall vocal production right, the other singers in the cast need what solidity, weight the Doge and Fiesco (Furlanetto lacking it even in the Council Chamber scene) and orchestral parts provide. It clearly, for those several who did get things mostly right, was often go-it-alone here. As for the majesty, somber weight, variety of tinta in regards to atmosphere of the sea constantly on the horizon, Prommers attending this also got left mostly high and dry as well. The overall blandness, lifelessness of the Moshinsky production could not have alone done so much damage. This, apart from several fine solo contributions, proved an evening at the Proms and for reputation of the Royal Opera, notably sub-par.

Prom 1. BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus. Jiri Belohlavek. Madi Byers, Twyla Robinson, Malin Christensson, Stephanie Blythe, Kelly O’Connor, Stefan Vinke, Hanno Muller-Brachmann, Tomasz Koleczny. St. Paul’s, Westminster, Crouch End and Sydney Choristers. Royal Albert Hall. July 16, 2010.

In context of this Boccanegra, any calling on Jiri Belohlavek for lack of heft in approaching the Mahler Eighth Symphony two nights before was mere whining.
This is the most impossible Mahler symphony, upon performance of which to write in authoritatively. There are many places where voices, things get covered up, that to insist upon such heft - for which Mahler writes in indeed some (for today’s standards of vocalism) awkward doubling of solo voices, is to lose so much in return. From Belohlavek, compared to, most sophisticated at it, a Gielen or Boulez, there was here some loss of resonance to some of the subtle shifting harmonic changes through the inner voices, while taking such a lean approach. At such a place as the hushed choral entry of ‘Infirma nostri corporis,’ Belohlavek sensitively provided mystery to infuse its sepulchrally compelled harmonies. Beyond that, it is probably whenever I have run across it, one of the most listenable recordings of the piece (as Mahler 8 does not really ever fit well a recording, but only good concert, acoustical space instead) being Kubelik, who in part, tradition from which he came could have set example for what here opened the 2010 Proms.

The muscular, lean, rhythmically forthright opening to ‘Veni, Creator Spiritus’ set the tone right for what was indeed here a very festive occasion, with 630 musicians on the Royal Albert Hall stage. Belohlavek wisely avoided making bathos out of ‘Imple superna gratia’, with its turn of phrase to ideally remind one of pop song derivations of Chopin’s Fantasie Impomptu so many times. How many times have I heard ‘I am always chasing rainbows’ at this spot – i.e. how much I often dread anticipating arrival of this passage . However, a lingering manner over more lyrical, slower pages of especially Part One here threatened to make several sections of Part One appear too episodic. The big ‘Accende, accende’ segue to double fugue entered strongly, abruptly, but also with compelling urge to drive it forward through lean, moderately swift march with ‘Hostem, repellas longuis’ - moment and perhaps similar as to how it got played here, is said to have impressed Stravinsky very much. One could though still feel here a little want or lack of vehemence underneath through this and imminent double fugue as well.

The highly animated, even also physical impact of hearing this music made one forget or put aside any feeling that Belohlavek’s tempo relationships may have felt episodic; effect of such complacency this way did eventually make itself felt during the recapitulation (the opening to which needed more support from underneath) and coda to the first part here, yet little to dampen spirits of what made quite a start to performing the Eighth complete. There was also just some accelerando toward the end in approaching final affirmation at the end, that in not sounding like having arisen organically from preceding material, sounded slightly on verge of not so much hysteria as of just having come somewhat loose from the rest.

The pointillism with which Belohlavek infused the craggy edges of extended introduction to Part 2 was such toward helping mark well depths to be plumbed below – and fine principal oboe to help connect febrile line through it - with of course a gradually ascending sense to all that would follow it. With fine stress he supported well his first two soloists, giving voice to contrasting ecstatic ardor and emotional asceticism here. Much Wunderhorn frolic caroled through scherzo to follow thereafter, with most if not quite all sense of pervasive gloom having lifted by this point – and without turning it insipid (such as threatens to happen with Abbado on his live recording several times). Pointing of lines in high winds and small contingent of strings, percussion – and with ‘Von der Jugend’ turn in phrase apparent - was all airy and piquant here – and in color as informed by all that has preceded such in this long movement. The Jeden Rosen’ chorus in women and children had good freshness to it – momentary ensemble lapse during which was fully compensated by supple and very well voiced engagement of deep color in making the harmonic changes that occur here. All wafted with fine calibrated ease through transition into long slower final portion of Part 2 through majestic reckoning of the Chorus Mysticus altogether to its climactic conclusion – sufficient weight provided all underneath.

Most noteworthy among soloists here were Stephanie Blythe and relatively new tenor Stefan Vinke – already seen at some houses in Germany to critical acclaim as Lohengrin and Siegmund – and here replacing Nikolas Schukoff on short notice. Blythe contrasted, with fine cavernous sonority at her disposal, sang with consoling even line and simple tonal warmth her ‘firmans virtute’ and lumens accende’ off more stern accents to help sustain line very well through one or two lingering tempos Belohlavek provided She made something morally repudiating (or in Sarah Palin lingo, refudiating) sounding of the Muler Samaritana, verging on making shrewish nun out of the part, but altogether with compelling authority. Blythe, most of anybody, provided firmly solid bedrock to solo trio, quartet, and full ensemble passages throughout. Stefan Vinke, though starting tense during Part 2 as Doctor Marianus, sang all his exposed writing in Part One with most lyrical ease and melos, and then as Marianus quickly got all placed right to get off a few heroic, ringing high notes and fully informed passionate ardor for calls of ‘Jungfrau.’ Whenever Belohlavek might let pace relax too much, especially during Part One, Vinke, like Blythe, was someone to whom one’s ear would forthwith feel compelled.

Hanno Muller-Brachmann in fine voice fervently pointed his text as the Pater Ecsaticus, but without such exaggeration of doing so to put personal stamp on his two minutes in the limelight, as Fischer-Dieskau did for Kubelik on disc, example after which many baritones partly take in singing this. Less compelling was Tomasz Koneczny, musicality of this young bass-baritone not in question, but lean sonority not quite entirely right for his solo of ‘Infirma, nostril corporis’ or for the Pater Profondis during Part 2. Among the women, Madi Byers had the brighter, more penetrating top than Twyla Robinson, with reach-from-behind approach to phrasing from the latter. Even with weight Byers (appearing on the Royal Albert stage as case of the frizzies) provided midrange and below, she had her own support issues, as did Robinson. More lyric mezzo Kelly O’Connor made some stretch of engaging register shifts with as Muler Aegyptica. It was easy for all three voices to get covered up by so much else going on – except for when Byers put forth brightly above staff or accompaniment remained light.

Belohlavek, with fine calibration of all his forces through very much of this Mahler Eighth brought clear, focused sense of being, just like Mahler, a man of the theater to this engagement. Such clearly carried the day with very well prepared choral forces and fine orchestral contribution to make this Mahler Eighth, if not a profoundly achieved opener certainly a very brightly limned, festive one - excellent sense of occasion pervasive all about.

Lyric Opera of Chicago: Kat'a Kabanova - Miller production, Karita Mattila in qualified success at repeat of 2004 Met triumph. November, 2009.

Memories come flooding back. Two of my best operatic experiences of this past decade, to open a new mil, have involved my favorite opera of Leos Janacek, Kat’a Kabanova. It was also great to have seen Elisabeth Soderstrom in the part here in Houston in the early 1980’s - paired with a fine, since little heard from Kabanicka (Jan Curtis) but it was as though as having occurred in a vacuum; both production and conducting (John DeMain) were so glib - DeMain’s only attempt at Janacek while here.

The next Janacek to see here was the very fine David Alden production of this Dallas had seen already (starring Elena Prokina and Judith Forst), starring here Catherine Maliftano and as Boris on short notice, Raymond Very. As expressionistic as it was, enhanced by the intense musical leadership of Asher Fisch and played in one act – though slightly undercut by hard look about Maliftano (though singing and acting the part very well) and by some tremolo from the Kabanicka - it stopped short of going too far this way. It also has proved one of David Alden’s very finest productions (as revived very recently by English National Opera) and also the most riveting evening of musical theater I had attended yet at Wortham Center downtown.

Equally fine and not to be under-rated is the Jonathan Miller production from the Met - loaned out to Lyric for this. Equal to Soderstrom in the part, maybe only other time thus far, was Karita Mattila in the title role. Capturing the innocence of Kat’a, her intense guilt feelings, remorse, psychological depth that must invest all this, intense desire for freedom, and soaring line to accompany all this made Mattila’s identification with Kat’a complete. Fortunately some of the same elements of her interpretation have persisted to this day, but sad to report here, not quite the same flexibility of voice to carry it all forward – with Lyric the easier place to sing than the Met.

The Met broadcast played Christmas Day and featured Judith Forst (Kabanicka), leading a very strong supporting cast (Silvasti, Merritt, Very as Kudrjash, Kozena, Ognovenko). The only thing that had me wondering was with Jiri Belohlavek’s relaxation of dramatic tension to perhaps beyond a good extent, even though moments of relaxation for nocturnal tryst should be palpable. Belohlavek appeared quintessentially attuned to Janacek (as fine rendition of Osud at the Proms proved recently) and for Act Two, that helped make up for some gap in tackling this score.

Belohlavek benefited from much focused interaction among cast of tremendous depth the Met put together – and also plentiful rehearsal time the Met still provided its guest conductors at that time. Very oddly, it was played on Christmas across the U.S. - a day after Houston had been dusted off with snow (first time to ever happen Christmas Eve) and hours before first news breaking of disaster in Indonesia that wretchedly took too many lives. It was a crisp, clear afternoon here; once Kat’a Kabanova finished, I had to suspend joining holiday festivities to go biking outdoors for a half hour to come up for air.

It was still evident from excellent investment in the text that the Miller production of Kat’a Kabanova was most likely one among best handful of productions the Met opened while under Joe Volpe (along with Miller’s Nozze di Figaro, the Wernicke Frau ohne schatten, Dorn Tristan und Isolde especially once revived for Met in HD, Flimm Fidelio starring Mattila – and under-rated Don Giovanni from 2004 - Marthe Keller).

Markus Stenz made a highly coveted Lyric Opera debut to conduct Kat’a Kabanova and had a good cast on hand to achieve almost similar results as heard from the Met five years ago. The soulful tug in the Lyric orchestra cellos during the prelude and piquant accents in light percussion and winds (with sleigh ride motif) were very apt, but also a tendency, toward maintaining a familiar romantic aura to the sound, to shy away from making angular as indicated some of Janacek’s rougher edges. Broken horn ostinati cutting into the texture for accompanying provocative dialogue from supporting cast on stage got underestimated.

Karita Mattila, as Kat’a, started out very promisingly, with Kat’a as we first see her under such heavy reproach. Though perhaps a little mature in timbre and heavier than ideal, she still brought out some of the soaring line in her extended scene with Varvara, concerning the birds, how much Kat’a would enjoy being like them – oblique reference to Puccini’s Madama Butterfly that Janacek had seen and loved. In desperate pleas to her husband toward end of Act One, Mattila affectingly took on some hardness, rigidity one associates with the Kabanicka, but therein also laid a risk of undercutting later passages.

It was still very evident that this was repertoire that still would suit her voice better than the heavier Puccini roles. Sense of guilt at first meeting Boris here sounded truly overwhelming, but she then moments later allowed both voice and persona to free up for sense of Kat’a being able to at least halfway enjoy this moment of freedom. It was also evident however that the very top of the voice, any notes lying more than a half-tone above the staff are no longer so reliable as they once were. Certainly the final monologues of the part brought to mind, in despair expressed, those in final scene of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk – with Shostakovich having sought out Janacek’s musical example as well for similar social situation between the two heroines. Katerina, in the Shostakovich, is a part that would be ideal for Mattila to pick up very soon.

Katya’s plea to Boris to give alms to every beggar he meets made it a little too far into the throat to have the still resolve of someone so innocent as Kat’a is and determined to also end one’s life. One left this encounter with what had been a great interpretation of the title role with a little tougher or harder impression than desirable.

Judith Forst repeated her tough, malevolent Kabanicka from the Met five years ago, ideally so. It is not in the music or text to play the Kabanicka as victim of the social situation, as much as a continuing perpetrator of it, but one still sensed some hint of a woman trapped into the way she behaves or too willingly succumbing to her role as ever omniscient, omnipotent matriarch of the village. Even a hint of some warmth would come through vocally. Forst, while still playing the Kabanicka as the villain she is, also humanized the part, lifting it above caricature and thus making it more frightening than could a stock villain instead. Together with a little fruitiness to the timbre, she also found some of the Slavic wildness to Janacek’s writing. This joined her Pique-Dame Countess in Houston recently as one of the finest things I have ever heard her do. This was an altogether supreme and worthy achievement with this part, and one clearly lived in for some time with authority to show for it as well.

Brandon Jovanovich was very near as successful as Boris. He revealed fine baritonal depth to low notes, and free extension to an easily produced top. One found a Boris here, if not as acutely specific to its interpretative demands as Jorma Silvasti, more than close enough toward getting it just about entirely. There was a diffident shyness here, definitely which he allowed to be exposed in the final scene for Boris’s not being able or willing to stick around and up for what is right, regardless the cost. The sincere passion he feels for Kat’a and strong desire to break free, and also heavy sense of apprehension with going farther than he should with what is at stake were very apt.

Jason Collins was the sweet-toned, lyric Tikhon, but to a fault. As utterly determined, choleric the Kabanicka is, she might have decided by time action takes place that it may be her son’s fault things go so miserably. Even as pathetically impotent a character this is, he still makes his feelings, though ineffective toward any goal, heard –as Chris Merritt clearly did so at the Met. With a little more risk-taking for Tikhon, Collins may have it. Otherwise, this thankless part just blends into the wallpaper instead. Andrew Shore also started light as Dikoy – curious also being Alberich at Bayreuth under Thielemann (for one more summer), excerpt for hint of Bayreuth bark to indicate it here.. Low notes lacked depth. Judith Forst played their one scene together slightly more passively than usual, but fortunately Shore rose to the occasion for the dispute with Kudryash over the origins of electricity for what helped make an exciting start to Act Three.

Casting of the younger couple provided curious results. Liora Grodnikaite was the distinctively highly energetic Varvara - with tone having a cutting edge to it, Varvara’s interaction, especially with Kat’a, seemed more on edge, pushy, aggressive than is the norm. What playful innocence Varvara has, even if it looked it, vocally got pushed to the wayside. Maturation on Varvara’s part was felt, in her observing the consequence of what has transpired, but still within context of somewhat unvarying tone and attack.

Matching Forst in being ideal casting, but the very opposite in terms of character, was the Kudryash of Garrett Sorenson. This is for sure a future Boris, Laca, Albert Gregor. Everything about Kudryash got characterized here with easily produced top and slightly richer tone than may be always the norm. Sorenson managed to keep things light for this part, but also enlightened what progressive, ambitious characteristics and motives Kudryash has. Sorenson made on purpose a little heaviness in accent with the first folk song he gets in Act Two, but with all words and accents pointed just right. Kathleen Leemhuis made the eager, saucy Glasa - Amber Wagner as Feklusa and Paul La Rosa as Kulagin fine as well. The hearing of Boris and Kat’a toward very end of Act Two sounded too ‘echo chamber’ to be sufficiently backstage.

Markus Stenz, according to expectations, brought consistently good line, sweep, and ardor to this auspicious assignment. Until he got to the passages most specifically rehearsed for this – Act Three apparently – his Janacek suggested a glibly internationalized feel. Stenz’s objective take was clear, as was for the first two acts certainly lusty engagement with the music’s broader folk elements. Opening of Act Two had the slightly uneasy sway and swagger to it one seeks, then scene with Dikoy and Kabanicka good detachment as well. Support for his singers was consistently supple, including notably for Kat’a’s brief monologue about the birds midway through Act One.

The love scene in Act Two provided fine contrast between graphic depiction from Mattila, orchestra alike of her utter despondency or dread at attempting tryst with Boris and then acceptance with new shaft of light and lyricism to flood out the music, revealing that at last the stronger desire has won out - so mercilessly repressed until now. For sure, an oasis of temporary peace, real satisfaction follows. Denying at least in spirit what Janacek might indicate as to tempo relationships, Stenz became bent on lingering over so much. While the music describes so well stillness, a current carrying the action forward underneath and the utterly ephemeral character of the situation are still paramount. Such got missed here; Janacek could have almost been writing Jenufa again instead. The three fortissimo eruptions just past fading away voices of Varvara and Kudryash consequentially got mildly deflated.

Stenz then very effectively sustained line in Act Three through the ruminative laments of Kat’a in her despairing solitude, with light openly let in to anticipate and continue momentarily through Kat’a’s relief at opportunity to see Boris one last time. The violence and rapid interplay of all variety of contrasting elements during the storm were such, without for making special display, to prove Stenz fully on top of all issues involved in conducting this - what may have been subdued for getting insufficient rehearsal time for earlier scenes. The cumulative surge through the final two or three pages of this paralleled his very well stressed accenting with which he infused closing pages of Act One, bringing a very resourceful Lyric debut and this masterpiece to a fine close, with Kabanicka’s cool, cutting lines from Forst to cap it all off.

BBC Proms 2009 10 and 15: Markl/Orch Nat'l de Lyon, Belohlavek/BBC SO

Prom 10. Orchestre National de Lyon, Jun Markl. Mayumi Miyata (sho), Akiko Suwanai. Royal Albert Hall. July 24, 2009.


Music of combination to admixture of Japanese, French, Spanish, and other accessory influences dominated the visit by the Orch. Nat’l de Lyon and Jun Markl.

‘Ceremonial – An Autumn Ode’ (Takemitsu).opened with extended solo for sho, which makes in high sonorities melodic patterns and harmonies out of five steps of the A Major scale. Winds, perhaps placed offstage, played imitation-sho descant to the rest of the orchestra elaborating on pitch patterns of the sho and extending them out to wider overtones. Such made space for the violins to expand melodic line to comment rhapsodically on what has transpired. High pitched clarinet and off-pitch-ended French horn glassandi deftly interacted preceding brief coda - paraphrase of what had been introduction to the ode on solo sho.

Markl approached Debussy (-Caplet)’s “Pagodes” with supple grace and intimate emotional depth - with most flexible, colored, nuanced balancing of different choirs of the orchestra. Woodwinds hieratically and animatedly commented upon solemn pentatonic chorale in the brass beneath, with beautiful placement assured for all.

Markl framed opening the Prelude a la nuit of Ravel's Rapsodie espagnole well by eschewing exaggeration of its dynamics. Shimmer of tremoli from the violins offset dark lament from octave unison duet of clarinets; the music then seemed to float, leading into moment of great stillness anchoring expression of sultry passion inflaming an otherwise still Spanish night. Subtle insinuation woven through the regular rhythms of the Malaguena thus continued to be the order of the day – incisive muted trumpet offsetting bedrock of steady ostinato from lower winds and color enhancement, support from the horns. Markl deftly traced long very soft violins’ descent of octaves wafting over resumption of ostinato following brief reprise of the prelude. Suitably lachrymose English horn, then low register clarinet led in the Habanera, followed by consequents of dotted rhythms sharply etched from separated first stands and then capriciously by winds. Lightly textured, well animated tracing of the festive atmosphere for ‘Feria’ was effective. Markl let final reminder of Prelude a la nuit waft in telepathically, as he also so well pointed the rapid chordal muted glissandi in violins to embellish closing phrases to the middle section - then two minutes later bringing all to an exuberant conclusion.

Preceding Akiko Suwanai’s fine virtuoso display for Carmen Fantasy then technically adept strong conservatory style playing of Ravel’s Tzigane, with too expected usual twists and turns was what truly highlighted Part 2 of this prom – the brief rhapsody ‘Green’ by Takemitsu. Birdsong and subtle percussion effects lightly embellished an elaborate tapestry of combined dialogue, antiphony of chorale mostly in the strings, descant arabesque hinting of Messiaen in the woodwinds - ostinati of sextuplets also from the winds remindful of Debussy’s ‘Jeux.’ Melisma of antiphonal brass and string choirs followed; all eventually came to a peaceful close with levitating calm ascent in strings subtly emanating from extensive spelling out of the chorale with which brass opened this.

Hosokawa’s Cloud and Light called upon strings and brass to produce microtonal adjustments to their spellings to imitate the sho in this very deeply meditative work. All of it culminated for a moment in a storm addressed as so remote or distant here as though something equally likely to have been in part to depict or indicate a disturbance of the mind, subconscious - and all as though a natural event. It all got foretold so well by somber underpinnings and menace from double basses, breaking in what is otherwise so often very still or really instead illusion thereof. Tritone harmonics tremoli up and down violin fingerboards just as ephemerally seemed to depict sheets of rain. Here was on one level a tone poem exploring the imitation of sonorities between playing of the sho and writing for the orchestral parts - plus orchestral commentary on what the sho plays as well. On a deeper level was somewhat a floating of the mind, as not to be touched, enslaved longer by any lingering of desire or resultant feeling of loss. Hosokawa had an adept seer on the podium in Markl and authoritative playing of the sho - plus diligent care of the sensitive instrument - from Mayumi Myata.

As though its complete impetus had been to work hard to free music from the moorings of Western diatonic processes came Debussy’s La Mer in an interpretation by Markl assuredly malcontent to stop at conventionally depicting atmosphere. Numerous solo lines throughout entered in so supple as though all writing could have been improvised on the spot - before any cognizant thought had arisen. Such was to great extent the illusion that Markl built into Debussy’s great elaboration of different states, moods, and processes of the sea during an extensive day at it. Markl’s uncanny sense of form was pervasive, in that for one he observed it in full, but not as allowing this music to further be subjugated by tradition-bound illusion as to or of how to proceed through it all. Practically all cliché with La Mer was eschewed, even banned, to most welcome effect.

Opening of the first movement was highly meditative – in mode of slow respiration in and out. Gentle arabesque solo on flute was more expressive for fully allowing in, accommodating insinuating woodwind lines right underneath than usual. Transition into intimation of folk melody and then middle section sea shanty all occurred as though having organically developed out of what had preceded it. Undulations in alternating whole tones and octaves in the strings above cadential phrases to the sea shanty for once sounded easy. Fully demarcated in character, they assisted instead fluid transition into a beautifully prepared processional coda – with hieratically placed (instead of overstated) timpani - to the first movement.

Arabesque of rapidly descending chords in the flutes sounded completely weightless at start of ‘Jeux des vagues.’ Winds underpinning broader melodic line in the strings just past its first two pages plaintively intimated most naturally the cries of gulls. Harp glissandi and descending sequence of trills in flutes was very supple. Markl succinctly observed separations between firsts, seconds, violas in the strings while never losing natural flow to the most windswept passage (Anime) of this movement. Lower strings, as easily as it could have been Sibelius, made graphic in rumbling tremolo a gust of cold air over the water – one more among so many times any premeditation of gesture in the playing on purpose got completely obscured.

Stretto entrances in ‘Dialogue’ for lower strings, did not get pushed, not calculatedly firm and incisive as much as happening by sheer force or necessity - as though emerging exhaled from leagues beneath the surface. It was not enough for these players to stop at getting the rhythms in play absolutely accurate as they did, but making revelatory in with so supple a hand so much that freely, tacitly lies beneath. Distant muted trumpet, for being able to emerge from such a sound world, eschewed having to force his repeated line to greater level of expressivity with all of that. Everything Markl did thereafter conjured supple poetry out of all the rest.

With no loss of character, agitation built up in the strings toward more just suggesting a raging storm to be depicted – storm as much distortion to a cogently meditative state of mind as it was real, as though to remind us of way in which Hosokawa conceived his own in Cloud and Light. Bird cries, thanks to not having to run across an even halfway excessively steep arch into the Storm, were clearly audible in places where they often get covered up or more likely become confused on how to enter right and at what volume, but not so here. Low string tremoli effortlessly rolled off pensive chorale in the brass. Oboe call after long pause from afar did indeed, with beautiful placement, help form a halo of receding light over open water. Animation from within Markl’s Lyon forces remained vigorous all the way out from there, and without having had to tense up anything for passing effect. A world that only merely can be suggested opened up so cumulatively at this Prom – ‘fusion prom’ out of the whole lot of them this year.

Heard earlier this year with better string department resources than Markl’s band in Lyon was a Daniele Gatti conducted La Mer, as shallow, superficial musically and rhetorically - sloppy rhythmically - as could have been possible. Clear from this outing who it is better qualified to have taken over Orchestre National de France, plus who as well could have secured a much better ‘Sacre du printemps’ from them too.

Prom 15. BBC Symphony Orchestra, Jiri Belohlavek. Jaroslava Pechocova, Vaclav Macha. Royal Albert Hall. July 27, 2009.

Less memorable was Prom 15, though with fine programming of all a Slavic tint to it. Jiri Belohlavek opened with a lumpy, workaday rendition of Smetana’s Bartered Bride Overture - joyous occasion of playing this only nearly having become airborne a few times - held back overall by tentative playing from tense, pushed BBC SO strings.

It is hard, if you know it, even if not having listened to it for a while, to get all of the classic RSO Berlin/Fricsay of Bartok’s Dance Suite out of one’s ear, if/when hearing someone else do it. Belohlavek hardly made that any exception here. He engaged rhythms in the first two movements phlegmatically, underlining them excessively - making several of them clot in places. His wind principals, in spite of all this, revealed good rhythmic sense, especially where English horn, then tuba and bassoon picked up on dance rhythms or variants thereof during the first dance. Belohlavek undercut both the simplicity and savagery of the second dance (Allegro molto). Lack of confidence in location of beat from in front of orchestra seemed an issue during the Allegro vivace; Belohlavek underlined phrasing and pummeled stretti of open intervals to attempt making compensation for this lapse. Once, only while into lighter textures toward the end of it, did matters improve.

The ‘Molto tranquillo’ (fourth movement) proceeded with weak pulsation, thus somewhat note-by-note, with inflection of contrast between repeats, variants of chant in the woodwinds understated. Grace notes in form of triplets sounded clipped, for Belohlavek looking at it all too foursquare, though perhaps not yet clipping anything. If one in fact did not have Fricsay in one’s ear, then this was probably all quite acceptable. Fricsay’s even hints at foreboding of an insurrection ready to break out, whereas Belohlavek missed any suggestion thereof. Brass and wind tuning and secure rhythmic organization were both in doubt during what lapsed quickly into being an episodic finale ultimately falling flat, excusing fine work from the BBC principal violist in reprise of the Allegro vivace.

The best playing of the evening came with the Concerto for Two Pianos by Bohuslav Martinu, a work still slightly overshadowed by the Concerto for Two String Orchestras, Piano, and Timpani. Both Belohlavek and especially his soloists - colleagues for a long time as Ivan Moravec protégés playing together here for the first time - characterized the overt and even at times comical brilliance of this composition well. Pechocova and Macha delineated the brilliant oodles of toccata figuration with spiky incisiveness, but also had and revealed the reach to rhapsodically cascade the ‘quasi fantasia’ swaths of arpeggi that open the central slow movement and resume therein with free grandeur, depth, and simplicity. Grandiose arpeggi during development section of the first movement overwhelmed a bit the simplicity of the chorale infused line that insightfully frames them. Pechocova and Macha found the simplicity though, complemented by especially BBC SO winds, to etch more simply scored chorale passages – having one’s mind wander over to Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto from two years later - with fine introspection.

All participants did not but briefly let the fact as Martinu also had not that this is music written during very dark times occlude the overall light, mirthful spirit of this piece. Syncopation and burlesque style writing for the soloists for especially the first several minutes of the brilliant finale recalled almost practically intentional reminder of Poulenc’s Double Concerto at the start of the first movement. Belohlavek enhanced all well, but sounded most engaged with bringing out as frame to everything the extended tonality aspects of Martinu’s writing. Winds and brass most effectively helped him achieve this.

The BBC principal flautist – his opening salvos spot-on in rhythm, melodic shape, spirit - gave the lie to there being a very lively, engaging rendition of the Petrushka ballet about to ensue. Instead a tame rendering of the Petrushka Suite (version of the ballet that even Fricsay misguidedly recorded – not knowing how little time he had left) filled the second half of this prom. That there was something considerably different than Fricsay or the complete Ancerl in store - latter of which this gave off strong hints at first - became quickly evident. We now find ourselves missing a vital, really haunting four or five minutes worth of the complete survey of Stravinsky ballets the BBC Proms has promised us this summer.

Flute section ensemble in accompaniment to lower winds organ grinder tune was noticeably less than sufficiently accurate for this. Stretto right before the first showman’s episode became too thick - rhythms and shaping of dark intro to it and of flute melody therein vague and mildly nuanced out of shape respectively. The Russian dance, getting pulsation to its rhythms right during lighter moments was good overall, except for some rhythmic stiffness that crept in. Contrast in character, between that of individual puppets in the second tableau became rushed, clipped, undercut. Out with it went menacing, sufficiently bitter depiction of Petrushka’s plight and room he inhabits – albeit with trumpets mostly incisive on his imprecations thereof.

The third tableau (Moor’s room) started off appropriately droll, with mostly good accenting from especially fine lower woodwinds; the ballerina dance came off too kinetic instead of light. Belohlavek marked the beat too much for the waltz with his accompanying bassoon, messing up ensemble with his other two principals therein. Depiction of the Moor stumbling, dodging about just underneath was close to right – certainly better than one youthful American I caught the other day on youtube with Rotterdam getting the waltz heavier than a more slick than usual Moor underneath. Petrushka’s entrance lost the ferocity with which it started, once Belohlavek became again too self-conscious about what beat patterns he might have to choose from.

Sense of clashing activity and chaotic milling about amongst the Shrovetide fair crowd was calibrated, timed very well until Belohlavek began to streamline depiction of diminishing crowd and Nursemaids’ dance - too rushed to get the heavy gait, grace-note inflected accents in his violins right. He then undercut the heavy sonorities with which Stravinsky underpins both this passage and contrasting lighter step to follow. BBC clarinet principal led the peasant’s dance with the bear very effectively, before Belohlavek streamlined what followed and then rushed through a Coachman’s dance, further helping catapult what Stravinsky wrote or revised to a too early conclusion.

BBC Proms 2009: Proms 1 and 5 - Belohlavek/BBC SO Opening Night and Haitink/LSO Mahler 9

Prom 1 BBC Symphony Orchestra, Jiri Belohlavek. Alice Coote, Ailish Tynan, Stephen Hough, Katia amd Marielle Labeque - soloists. - Royal Albert Hall - July 17. 2009


Opening night.at the Proms this year proved a dullard overall. The BBC SO achieved good textures for 'Fireworks' but what rhythmic animation was in the playing did not occur from within. When the fireworks is in the music(-making), no visual enhancement is longer necessary. The Chabrier proved a charming, sweet, diaphanous treat, in a way sending up a little musical incense with which to consecrate so much that is to come, and capably sung by Ailish Tynan and women.

The piano concerti by Tchaikovsky and Poulenc that followed were performed in such a way to hardly be artistically or culturally distinguishable from one another. The grit where needed was almost altogether missing with the Tchaikovsky, and lush passages from both Stephen Hough and orchestra lacked complete definition. The Poulenc, in being French, almost stopped with there being the name Labeque. It as easily could have been Russian writing for piano as French - the slick, heavy, unyielding way the sister duo approached it Belohlavek was little better in engaging the wit and satirical touch, irony that infuses so much of this music beyond an intermittent flash about several times or so. There was little beyond approaching the bare minimum otherwise.

Elgar's In the South more proactively engaged the imagination and vitality of Belohlavek and his players. Some of the rousing quality of it was understated, but the rhapsodic quality of this music, its shifting colors and cross-rhythms came well to the fore. Belohlavek sufficiently, quite fully engaged shifts in light and atmosphere throughout. The sense of musicians enjoying what they were playing was back; Belohlavek's command of both line and gesture was strong. Alice Coote expertly gave the Brahms Alto Rhapsody an expected feeling of reserve and despondency, with clear, firm line, good diction. Coote made complete the sense of both rattled naiveté on the surface and burning passion tucked well underneath to further be calmed. Belohlavek, mens' chorus and orchestra supported Coote in supple manner, if just a bit shy of drawing out all the colors in this piece possible.

I am not confident that Brahms and Bruckner would have enjoyed such close comparison as the BBC emcee may have led us to believe. Bruckner's Psalm 150, in sounding a little more like Dvorak or Brahms in how the forces at hand performed came across as a little muddled, a little short on internal contrasts between its affirmative surface and dark underpinnings, and featured some unsteady engagement from both soloist (Ailish Tynan) and chorus of its more strenuous passages.

Prom 5 - London Symphony Orchestra, Bernard Haitink. Mahler: Symphony No. 9 in D Major - Royal Albert Hall - July 20, 2009.
Formal clarity (of which Haitink spoke in interview as being paramount here) with most flexibly expressive and secure playing than on this occasion was hallmark of the 1969 Mahler Ninth of his and Concertgebouw - still a hallmark in the ever expanding discography for this piece. Expectations naturally ran high for Haitink’s visit this year with the LSO, for the Mahler Ninth. For a considerably slower Andante comodo than previous - not exaggeratedly so - the LSO’s playing sounded on purpose drained of inner vitality and of color, with contrasts between episodes somewhat minimized between, starting out with dragging beat to “Lebewohl’ and so much brooding of the D minor subject (“Leidenschaftlich”).

Sneaking in was a somewhat borrowed tendency to texturally verticalize this music, as such one sometimes associates with Horenstein – not so much true with Haitink before. As different a Mahler conductor as Abbado reminded from Berlin ten years ago of the 1953 Horenstein/Vienna SO Ninth. Here it was more late-career Horenstein. Deryk Barker could not have been more pleased. Trumpet fanfares right before well-limned chinoserie and recapitulation of ‘Lebewohl’ seemed devoid of good underlying rock of pulsation guiding them. Moments of open space, so sublime here in both what followed and other episodes, seemed, partly too with Royal Albert’s acoustics, a little constricted. Haitink’s view of this music remains clear – his good ear for where it is headed, and now more interestingly so at times.

The huge climax twenty minutes in, after buildup of understated defiance - thinking of what people heard at Royal Festival in 1967 with Klemperer – quickly catapulted its way in - then to be followed several minutes later with steep ascent for anguished shift to minor mode submediant and brief reprise of ‘Leidenschaftlich.” Solo work from flute, French horn, and concertmaster was exemplary and beautifully calibrated into the framework of closing pages of the Recaptiulation.

The depressed mood of this Ninth continued into the second movement with soggy attacks on some accents and heavier, though also improved more roughly bucolic approach than innocently so in Amsterdam. Suggestion of defiance has crept in here, but as suggested more than stated as for instance with Klemperer. Contrast between sections was minimized, but Haitink made, halfway through, the third (‘lebewohl’) laendler sag a bit much, making return of first laendler in duet of bassoons answered by acridly spaced woodwinds enter too lively by comparison. Otherwise mastery of structure was intact and spirit of this music well observed. Rondo-Buleske, at sluggish tempo and intermittently compromised ensemble, was weakest of four movements in this. Moments of deftly handled naivete, so in place before in Amsterdam (1969) seemed wonky here. Heavy parody of the ‘academic’ in the rondo-fugue – hallmark of controversially paced Klemperer - plus the aggressive defiance with which that one ends – was minimized here.

Whereas critics have commented before on the 1969 Haitink having given individual characterization of each movement of this, the goal in mind here from the get-go was the Adagio - as bathed in transfigured light - which after a minute to get into it, built up to being fully open and sublime. It was then that there could have been no doubt why any effort to have attended this or special effort to listen in. Pace was just a little slower here than in 1969, with contrast into the Adagissimo final page slightly minimized; Haitink beautifully captured the contrast forty years ago. The Adagio came as somewhat of a release of even unwanted tension, that is to an extent of being alive – the having any desire to continue with, enjoy life – curious because a great love for life infuses so much of what Mahler wrote here.

Haitink opened out beautifully for those quiet passages of the Adagio that let flood the soundscape with the light of transfiguration. Equally so, the darker quieter moments, with solos low in the bassoon part, sounded as withdrawn as they should. Tutti through five minutes before the end sounded forth firm in resolve.

I take less kindly to the Bernstein epicurean approach - but lately the glib, streamlined manner of Gergiev’s LSO Live Mahler cycle has been off-putting. The LSO’s show of mutual affection for Haitink at close of this, with affirmation from throughout Royal Albert Hall was moving. More affecting still would have been less rush to applaud after the last sounds of the Adagio as heard here had faded away.