BBC Proms 2009 - Proms 51 and 53 - Vanska/BBC SO and Norrington/OAE

Prom 51. BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus. Osmo Vanska. Helena Juntunen, Monica Groop, Scott Hendricks. Joshua Bell. Royal Albert Hall, London. August 23, 2009.

Given how few Haydn symphonies there are at the Proms during a Haydn year, one certainly wants all three to each have been successful. With it especially being a ‘period’ approach taken to Haydn here, but with the BBC SO still using modern instruments, things got off here to a stodgy beginning with unclear or wayward phrasing during the introduction to first movement of Haydn’s ‘Clock’ – Symphony No. 101 in D Major.

Once onto the Presto of the first movement, pace was near sufficiently vigorous, but accenting flaccid, toward defining opening lines, while paradoxically even showing inflexibility with the same. Vanska proved good at shaping the second theme and allowing some real rubato, nuance with interaction early during the Development section. Again returned dry, strict, even at times ham-fisted accenting – that can also be flaccid – for the retransition. Such became rule of the day overall for much of the rest of the way.

The Andante Vanska turned into something galante - with apparently more important line here the tic-toc beneath the tune instead of at least equally the charming tune itself. That the melodic line should strictly conform to such regularity underneath, for one, just almost makes tune obbligato to such strict accompaniment, or hints toward option to do so. It was almost comically not less the case with near closing robust variation on triplets. Restart to simple main theme in minor mode sub-mediant (E-flat Major) replying to false close to the Andante seemed to miss the irony of this moment entirely. A wink and nudge, i.e. brief intimation of clock being rewound, might have worked.

Vanska gave the Minuet proper accenting and its lines halfway decent breathing room to be elegant; something to it however was still slightly too unvarying, that it still missed achieving the height of elegance or near it as should be. Off the beat accents in stretto at end of the Minuet turned out strict; they did not quite register properly; irony of melody that includes changing harmony in it over unchanging chord in the Trio was also missed.

Lack of contrast between variations in development of its material and animation applied from without instead of within made things somewhat ungainly of the finale. Loss of internal accents alternated with punching out others hard did not assist matters toward at all overcoming occasionally sloppy ensemble and flaccid grasp of rhythm.

Austerity and simplicity with what is seen as universal or ecumenical application of penitential text adopted by Roman Catholic rite seems to have been the modus operandi with, sung in Polish, the Stabat Mater of Karol Szymanowski. There is no denying that such qualities are welcome, however some of the color, even the exotic or archaic at times in use of modal scales and bitonality therein got somewhat understated, even at times eviscerated away here. One could for instance ask for more than so literal a reading of the opening wind solos to the introductory movement to this setting. Helena Juntunen, in her opening soprano solo, somewhat thickly scooped her part, finding before long only just adequate placement, control of pitch, as all part of placing her voice a little too far back. Broken octaves in the cellos over moderate paced eighth notes were played dry - not having good reverb to be any under-girding current beneath things. Subtle rhythmic impetus here became lost.

Pulsation on alternations between winds, and lower strings was denied here by again excessive literalism, such as would only slightly better fit the second movement of Symphony of Psalms. Women of the BBC chorus achieved Slavic color and warmth for one interlude in the second movement, but baritone Scott Hendricks found his tessitura slightly precarious and got covered up by orchestra and chorus on closing phrases.

A beat crept into Monica Groop’s voice, as got mixed in with slowly building counterpoint between solo lines in the winds to start the third movement – all played with fine simplicity but dry tone and downbeats clearly marked. Dry rhetoric from the strings, with anticipation of much pomp, eventually turned muddy. Marked dolce about the sound was mostly lost - Lento dolcissimo – more dolce unmarked achieved from chorus of women a cappella that opened the fourth movement. By contrast, the Mussorgskian pointing in cellos and basses that opened the fifth movement was apt, and some good acrid descant from the winds got through too therein. Scott Hendricks, in validly trying to be incisive and forceful with his lines, still found himself under considerable strain. Grandiose climax, though muddy, even cheesy in effect, was achieved from all forces involved, nevertheless. Both Juntunen and Groop, though occasionally unsteady, contributed good line and expression to the finale. Vanska found some measure of tranquility here, even if often self-conscious in anticipating the downbeat too much.

Pastoral idyll, by lean or quite strict means of achieving it, informed the opening of the Brahms Violin Concerto; one still sought a little more definition or profile to the orchestral exposition. ‘Minore’ entrance of Joshua Bell proved, in double and triple stops, little better, in terms of intonation; once achieving right thereafter soaring line, matters improved. What became most worrisome, even in the context of affecting ‘period’ Brahms, were flaccid, too retiring accents from Osmo Vanska and his forces, to be able to support the tough obbligato of Bell’s part. This became true especially during the Development section of the first movement, but also even during passages of the Exposition. After trouble with double stops beforehand, one oddly found a few added on during an otherwise (than having written extra double stops for himself) very well written cadenza Bell wrote himself and played here. In eschewing vibrato on lyrical pages, Bell tended to lose body to his tone on the Strad he was using, and thus the ability to sustain good legato beyond what one might call anemic.

One could find Vanska circumspect at attempting to preserve chamber like textures orchestrally - but effortfully so. What sense of rhythm that also infuses this music’s sonorities got denied, retaining for numerous passages a textural density that Vanska attempted very much to eschew. It was all, including both sagging oboe line and plodding through middle section of the second movement (with shaky intonation from Bell both here and in finale as well), such to have come off awkwardly. Rigid coordination, manipulation of jaunty rhythms in the finale appeared both due to linsufficient technique and to appear distinctive, the vanity of having to so inflexibly stick to one’s guns –in way practically construed as ‘fundamentalist.’ The whole point, in being able to say or communicate much – in terms of sufficient follow-through – got lost.

Those just more than intermittently occurring moments that Bell and Vanska coincided well lyrically came as antidote to drudgery getting through listening to this Brahms - at what resembled more draggy tempos than they actually were - especially for the first two movements. All in all, there was hardly much memorable to preserve from this for future reference.


Prom 53. Orchestra of the Age of Englightenment, Roger Norrington. Joyce di Donato. Royal Albert Hall, London. August 25, 2009.

Roger Norrington began his composer-anniversary-salute prom with the Abdelazer Suite by Henry Purcell, with slender grace - deft reply back and forth and lift between phrases in more animated steps and stately poise for opening French overture to it. A fine cross between both qualities for the iconically famous Rondeau, with incisively pointed French rhythms, was equally effective. It is this Rondeau that closes the suite and inspired Britten for Young Person’s Guide - Norrington closing it with arm flourish as if to say, as related by BBC emcee, ‘well, there you are.’

Joyce di Donato started off well with one trouser-role aria out of three she picked to sing here - one that clearly fits a mezzo. She started the first line of “Ombra mai fu”, effective this time if not for this device in one or two later pieces, with straight tone, gradually adding vibrato into it over a long sustained note. This was followed here by spinning forth the noble line of this aria with fine poise and refinement.

Alcina’s “Ah! mio cor” however started the same way, past good intro and recitative. Notes around the staff though got often approached with somewhat aspirated light, straight tone, for expressive effect. However, the acting was very fine, in catching for this sorceress during first section, a very palpable mix of incomprehension of entirely new-found as to be entirely novel feelings for a man and outrage that such could have arisen. Brief agitato, more confident B section revealed well the sorceress shoring up the steely resolve for things to return to just how they were before she ever met Ruggero – those happy days before there being a man in her life now long gone. Heavily aspirated, back phrased segue back to A section led to better but less than entirely poised vocalism.

Di Donato then became hooty, even slipping out of tune at top of the staff a few times – in expressing Alcina’s resignation. Her despairing descent to give into what new feelings have developed – moment of profound tragedy for anyone of feminist or even just postmodern day socially correct tendencies - was poignant. Roger Norrington slipped from giving di Donato and Handel the fully balanced, framed ritornello at the beginning of the aria it needs here, with excessive reliance on lift to start each (sub)-phrase.

Most effectively – with more filled out OAE strings than for Purcell - Norrington led Handel’s Water Music Suite #2 with fine pointing of rhythms and stylistic aplomb – especially true on Minuet and siciliana to follow it and also trio to Hornpipe. Lumpy first chord opening the Allegro and understatement of regal splendor cut a little short the real character of Overture and Hornpipe. Long gone however, rightly so, are the days of Rule Britannia Handel. Concertato of winds for trio to the minuet conveyed the right dignity and confidence to the writing, as did the feminine grace of OAE strings replying to winds for the siciliana. The Bourree brought things to a quite healthily vigorous close, but as might have some thinking of production earlier this year of Partenope at the Queen Elisabeth (conducted by Rousset there - under review in these pages).

Feminine statement of opening to Scena da Berenice form Norrington and his forces could be found slightly insipid - as imposed rethinking replacing a real understanding of what is at stake here. Di Donato however, though almost ironically tossing off noble Metastasian line of “Berenice, che fai?” - not Cosi Fan Tutte yet – got off to a fine start here. Di Donato excellently pointed contrast within same line of confused emotion on ‘Dove son” and dread in deep contralto of “tutto funeste” right before pushing at the break to verge on hooty again. Let's keep in mind however that di Donato depicted here a woman at end of her tether; she also found gentle vulnerability for last two lines of recitative before equally refined first part of double aria got under way with indeed seemingly Mozartean grace.

Support from Norrington here provided fine profile and adequate stirring up of the tempestuous cabaletta to this, not to overwhelm his singer through such despondent emotions – Berenice calling on the gods to increase her pains to point of death so she can join her just departed beloved Demetrius. Some flutter, made things still slightly little iffy here, but Di Donato confidently achieved fine passionate line, wide across range from low A on ‘dolor” to top of staff.

Securely formal, noble cortege got under way for brooding opening to Mendelssohn’s ‘Scottish’ Symphony. The gentle sway to line following opening statement animated things slightly more from without than from within. Same held true for similarly limned reprise thereof at close to prelude to the first movement. The wistfully sighed first subject of the Exposition was fully in character as was stirring up of the two agitated ritornelli that followed. Full second closing theme in sinuous line received all weight, lift it needed, to lovely effect – with tighter agitation stirred up and slightly fuller expression to close the Exposition, eventually followed by burnished color for modulating to major key submediant (C-sharp minor) to open the incisively stirring Development.

Norrington then seamlessly with deft touch introspectively carried along lean cello line and other activity calmly into the recap. Fine shudder informed very atmospherically ascending, descending string tremolo central to the coda before its weighty close. By way of contrast confident rustling of scherzo naturally burst forth (without gaggle of valveless horns becoming ‘period’ ear-sore). Tonguing flutes for second subject provided elfin touch; introspection was clearly felt for fleeting moment of brooding, before issuing forth intermezzo its joyously rowdy climax toward deftly rounding all things off.

Brooding intro and firmly weighted ritornelli framed lightly limned and beautifully supported bel canto line for the slow movement, that for such fine sense of proportions informing this music, hardly seemed too long as it can sometimes. With such also came fine voice leading to spin through reprise of ritornelli - for storm clouds that quickly roll through an altogether brief Development section to precede cellos taking up main subject with fine masculine ardor and refinement.

Final reprise of stormy ritornello occurred as organically inevitable; duet of clarinets warmly, resonantly almost got final say before strings swooped in with fine jig. Tremolo spun off main subject with free release and secure ensemble - to unhesitatingly open the finale. Firm, incisive rustle from lower strings, perhaps outré for a few ears taken to this extent, right before second subject was completely in character and so over the brim joyous to disarm all other than the sternest critics. Second subject had almost practically the elfin touch that informed the same with scherzo earlier. Norrington risked a few fractious moments in the Development but fully got away with it this time - with Recapitulation incisively coming in without insipid anticipation of downbeat.

Tremolo accompanying second theme amidst such festive air colorfully reminded of how heavy air and accompanying sharp breeze depicted cuts into lives of those who live on such an often bleak, brooding terrain. Duet of clarinets, then bassoon darkly gave second subject its final say. Cellos, horns shamelessly with great richness lustily ushered in chutzpah that ensues almost to point of irony – perfect! Even with the irony infusing this, this was meant unbuttoned with absolutely no remorse. As for this taken back critic, especially recent phase Norrington is perhaps worthy of re-evaluation.

BBC Proms 2009: Unsuk Chin world premiere - BBC SSO, Ilan Volkov - Alban Gerhardt

Prom 38. BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra. Ilan Volkov. Alban Gerhardt. Royal Albert Hall, London. August 13, 2009.

The one sentence review here of the Unsuk Chin Cello Concerto is that I bet she, the composer, can sure fix or stir up a mean kim chi. Far more deserves to get said however. The world premiere cello concerto, though on its surface loosely or rhapsodically constructed, is to be reckoned on all levels a fine tour de force.

The first movement, sutitled Aniri (presumably handed down Korean folk short stories) motivically and structurally lays out framework for the following three movements and is The music immediately announces itself as centering on pitch of G-sharp, with hint of cadential motif (hint of ‘Fate’ from Wagner’s Ring, but without similar purpose at all) just almost two minutes in, but ready to expand out considerably beyond.

The opening movement can again be heard as a chain of aniri, quite disparate events; one can enjoy what happens here as all these events mirror, reflect upon one another as indeed perhaps a sequence of variations. After series of sixths and sevenths interlocking with half tones develops through especially the solo part – mixed in with gentle glissandi and firm stretto - somewhat of a theme or tentative version thereof of modal, Eastern intervals develops. It is then repeated, better yet transformed to a simpler model thereof more clearly on the downbeat – directly mimicked by violins on harmonics behind it all.

Ferocious motorically driven toccata breaks out for twelve seconds between the two, hinting at previous motifs used. The quality of this event and of similar occurring is of perhaps being cast under spell by a powerful shaman - something along those lines – better explained from off the peninsula than by me. Simpler toccata in dance like triplets, answered antiphonally by the orchestra follows a second lyrical idea off a fresh G-sharp - crosscut with widely varied flourish. Double-dotted rhythmic development of French overture motif builds, broken by toccata and other interrupting device such as by string of single note tremolo on G-sharp in the flutes, and explosive dissonant jump in orchestral octaves. Getting past midway extended reprise of the concerto’s opening, things develop along similar lines with psychological plus other recall of earlier theme and motif – transformed, manipulated to varied elliptical, perplexing effect.

Toccata of driving rhythm and of simpler variety dominates the three minute scherzo. The trio of Ligeti-esque Bachian motif – manipulation of G Major chord prominent therein - plays itself out, before resuming toccata to end with flourish upward in cello. Harmonics from the soloist then reach for the ethereal or infinite. In almost G Minor, an elegiac slow movement follows, with slow alternation of sustained notes, shifting orchestrally shaped texture and color, before extended rhapsodizing from soloist gets expansively under way. Such then develops into more agitated dotted rhythm with interlocking motif in sixths and sevenths - as encountered in the first movement. Reprise of opening thematic material occurs in harmonics and double-stops again along ‘French overture' lines - following forceful snarl from brass and chromatically descending rumination or sigh in lower registers.

Isolated broken dissonant chords from the orchestra open the finale, followed by light continued elegiac rhapsodizing by the soloist. All spins off into an elaborate solo cadenza with widely varied spiccati, flautandi, glissando, harmonics, rapid runs, combinations thereof. In-between, a most interesting moment in the concerto breaks out of chords antiphonally ricocheting off each other between soloist and orchestra, which then develops into French overture style commentary on such broken shards of harmonic progression. It is interrupted momentarily by wild double stop harmonics glissandi both up and down – fearsome stuff – and then later by double-stop toccata as quickly as it possibly can be played.

A middle section of large gesture, then fragmented, then develops along ascending single line elegy over thin textured accompanying orchestral comments. A sequence of high four(?)-pitch fortissimo clusters in winds then savagely breaks the peace. It practically – at least as it seems at five in the morning down with a sinusitis when I first heard this part – with no warning – makes one in effect unwitting aural witness to a shamanistic exorcism of sorts - amateur in reality at it I hope Chin is at most. Cello solo evaporates at very close on extended very high A-sharp, with ominous low timpani beats as part of insinuation that the music has just merely suspended itself in midair more perhaps than having really ended.

Unsuk Chin made uniquely her own her language for writing this concerto - even with what all extremely valuable she learned so very well largely from Gyorgy Ligeti. Confrontation, agon, between soloist and orchestra, except for numerous various moments thereof, was not necessarily as fulfilling as promised in interview, but could some of this been due to Volkov and BBC Scottish having been caught a bit gun shy of the material in front of them? Here was then also an Ilan Volkov entranced with the shifting colors and nuance in this music - so many beautiful percussion effects - and percussion, winds, brass with which Volkov made the music roar with considerable menace several times too. There is remindful hint here - in terms of confrontation - of the Lutoslawski Cello Concerto – with it starting too on its insistent repeated pitch on D. It is in the soloist in which signifies a standing up to what system gets confronted in real life. Metaphorically, such a political motif does not seem to feature near as much to Ms. Chin. Chin also spoke in interview of not wanting the orchestra to overwhelm the soloist; this way, she did not let us down. A very loosely constructed sense of structure eventually replaces itself upon greater familiarity with this piece with sense of how this music's internal workings are, get so intricately worked out.

A more impassioned advocate of this music could not have been found than Alban Gerhardt - as purely an aside his enthusiasm enhanced by opportunities at home in Berlin to taste of Unsuk Chin’s kitchen. With considerable leonine grace, very supple shaping of nuance, commanding just about all tremendous virtuoso effect in such a way that shows off most of all Chin’s compositional inventiveness and just almost all of the notes as well (which she said that she did not demand but that he got just almost entirely anyway), again there could not have been a better advocate of this music. Gerhardt and Volkov, after their very successful Prokofiev – now out on Hyperion (with the Bergen PO under Andrew Litton) - last year and this has turned at the Proms into partnership perhaps that should enthusiastically encourage numerous more opportunities. Let us hope too for speedy compact disc release of this new concerto from same forces as heard here.

The most successful performance of Rite of Spring at the Proms in four or five years followed this, but after Ivan Fischer, Knussen, Maazel, and perhaps Mehta (with Vienna?) as well (2005), this is so much damning with faint praise. And yet the forces of BBC Scottish found themselves, especially violins, just slightly stretched by the material in front of them. Volkov’s command of them was very confident. Except for slight moment of doubt at one or two transitions, command of already near complete good interpretation of Rite that will further tighten over time here was solid. A slightly diaphanous absorption in nature and world of birdsong guides some of his interpretation , with fearless pointing out and playing of high wind descant that usually gets covered up – starting in a concisely yet flexibly stamped out Augurs of Young Girls - in place of just so much bombast. If mildly phlegmatic with a few accents and imposed intervention or two, command of Stravinsky’s rhythms emerged forthright.

Ominous stillness, including that with a cappella muted trumpets and with divisi violin section termoli too (soon before Glorification), which neither could have solely found on their own, through Introduction to Part 2, was riveting. Arabesque of birdsong from flutes during Jeu de rapt was also flexibly incisive. A certain weighted stamp of feet through Rondes de printemps made Volkov something to suggest a cross between Ansermet and from earlier this summer, Thierry Fischer, the latter closer competition with Volkov than most of the conductors invited for this summer’s Stravinsky at the Proms. Gradually building preparation through Rituals of Rival Tribes led into a very menacing Procession of the Sage, answered by incisively tonguing acrid trumpets.

Invocation and Ritual Actions during Part 2 were excellent - with loud menacing growl on low E-Flat for the former and beautifully calibrated divisi tremolo from violins and acridly incisive trumpets in the latter – between fine, directly straightforward accounts of Glorification and finale. The finale, Danse sacrale, rose to more than sufficient conflagration toward end and clearly incisive rhythms for difficult minor stretto explosions to follow.

Ravel’s La Valse, with riskily non-atmospheric but strongly calibrated rocking of opening gesture to it, opened the program. Volkov gave a most suggestive reading, openly revealing seeds of the waltz’s destruction in pointing very succinctly woodwind underpinnings to even the opening of extended sequence of waltzes. BBC Scottish violins only slightly lack both sensuousness of tone for this assignment and technique to fully surmount the closing pages to this. With sensitively gilded harp arpeggio and fine nuance, Volkov found sinuous line and contrast between richly varied waltz episodes. Swooping heaves, gasps for breath uttered by strings under one otherwise pleasantly light episode was plenty sinister; emphasis on a very shamelessly undercutting equally ‘imp of the perverse’ contrabassoon/double bass obbligato to grandiose stretto among episodes was completely apt and right. Harp mirroring clarinet (near halfway through La Valse) in an exquisitely played episode was very lovely, as contrast to all this.

Savage vitality for coda to La Valse was unfettered by untoward show of virtuosity for its own sake. With a leading orchestra in front, such as Volkov now deserves, there would be nothing lacking here. Volkov still delineated so much extremely well, in working out key passages therein at once on two different levels, to disquieting effect.

Prom 40. BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, Ilan Volkov. Rebecca Evans, Caitlin Hulcup, Anthony Dean Griffey, James Rutherford. Royal Albert Hall, London. August 15, 2009.

Orpheus is the most inward looking among Stravinsky’s ballets and thus one of his less popular. With no self-conscious slowness on his part, Ilan Volkov added to correcting the deficit in effective performances of Stravinsky ballets at the Proms this year. The theme of individual against the system (or the masses) certainly is made sublime in this music – or perhaps as hero in attempt to placate, ameliorate confronted system into something more flexible than is its wont. Amidst the pan-diatonic and thus somewhat removed, abstract writing for strings, Volkov injected some opulence into the intoning, intimations in harp and also woodwinds that into an atmosphere of neo-classical plasticity infused some not untoward romantic warmth. Some wildness of what is primitive in the midst of all this became immediately, simply evident as directly put forth in the winds in Air de danse, played with fine aplomb. Equally fine example was the incisively played fast section of ‘Pas des Furies.’ Suffusion of light first pervaded the air with bright luminosity in contrasting D Major fanfare for violins in first Air de danse, then subtly in Symphony-in-C-like trumpet duet goaded driving progression in the strings for Eurydice's rescue (as though having been dropped off along Wilshire or on Sunset Blvd).

Well played suggestive concertmaster solo intertwined so well here into much woodwind dominated writing therein. Duet for oboes that forms Orpheus’s lament (Air de danse) over loss of Eurydice hearkened here well of Ann Trulove’s so similar “Has love no voice?” Volkov has got to pick Rake's Progress - written hardly a year apart from Orpheus - up soon if he has not already - and in better production of it than gets revived at Royal Opera for this coming season.

One senses in this music, as pointed out in terms of sense of loss conveyed, even during more animated passages and with no hint of bathos here, a composer groping to find his way or some new way out of an impasse (of mostly interwar neo-classicism). The preceding catastrophe to writing this for him could no longer make continuing the trend possible for long. An exclusiveness, sterility that to the level it took itself in the America where this composer lived at the time had to grip this composer too as to where he could possibly take things from here.

And yet Orpheus somehow in a small transitional niche it helps occupy, is sublime in its own unique way. It is then perhaps not one to yield up what secrets it may have in store for its listeners all too readily in its somewhat deceptive simplicity of feeling and design. The plasticity of form and expression here help indicate - beautifully understood here – something of the timelessness, the utter adaptability of myth to even the culture of our generation, our time.

A soft-spoken Ilan Volkov – as I have heard him speak of this just now - made more of the Beethoven Ninth Symphony, even as somewhat musically detached approach he took to it here than any amount of narration – very misguided device and so used in Fidelio the other night – one reason I then took no interest in reviewing it. Whereas Daniel Barenboim is, on music though seldom good at speaking about it, Volkov’s equal by now in dialectical thinking, here one got more uninterrupted effective musical thought than in Fidelio the following week. Volkov spoke of, in my own words here, the fury unleashed by Ode an Freude not being able to be contained sufficiently to indicate anywhere near sure guarantee of cause for optimism for what lay any great length of time ahead. In somewhat wily manner, Volkov moved through the standard luftpausen that so often too monumentalize closing phrases to Ode an Freude and gave heady sense of something indeed breaking out in a way, but in doing so open-ended - of our not being sure where things lead. The sturm und drang of the first movement is no distant memory at summation of this and should not be.

After two half-hour Stravinsky ballets, but without hint of stiff concession to ‘period,’ this was quite a breezy account of the Beethoven Ninth, lasting barely over an hour. However detached and thus somewhat exposed a few moments in not making quite all connection in voice leading that a more truly convincing Romantic account of it will accomplish – mostly impossible now - the freshness of Volkov’s way and of his thinking outside of the box spoke for itself eloquently here. Thinking out of all musical processes occurring within was clearly evident, if not quite thoroughly how to see it all carried out quite enitrely right; convince me however you’ve found a perfect Beethoven Ninth from the past forty years and I will give you sixty-four thousand dollars. It does not exist.

A questioning, yearning sense to Volkov’s interpretation - stopping short of including mysticism typical of Furtwangler - spoke here beautifully for itself. It so infused especially a somewhat driven first movement and equally so a truly flowing, freely expressive, not qunyielding slow movement. One thing for Volkov to correct is the clipped way with the opening dotted octaves of the Scherzo, but that mysterious to me, he developed into sprightly, accurate shaping of what followed the opening motif. He did so conspicuously better than I heard Belohlavek or Jansons do in 2007 - year of two Proms Beethoven Ninths instead of one. Volkov made perfectly succinct the marking of pulsation underneath folk-inspired idea in the winds. A quite speedy way – variations therein not quite interlocking tumbling over each other (quite so speedily) as in Unsuk Chin - with the Ode to Joy, as especially at the end of it, was an ideal way to go with how Volkov had preceded playing the Ninth.

Best among the soloists were James Rutherford and Rebecca Evans, Evans especially in taking on what is assignment for more dramatic voice with the security and confident, sunny expression of being just merely a lyric still able to take it on – to perhaps reminding one of Lucia Popp twenty years back. Weakest was one among two most familiar names in a somewhat bleated, Schreier-esque account of his part - Anthony Dean Griffey, no less. With fine choral contributions, one was not quite gripped with what one would call a great Ninth, but still beautifully fitting conclusion to what had come right before - this in midst of music-making on Beethoven symphonies that during the past generation has ranged from bombastic to mindlessly doctrinaire. Volkov’s so openly frank, guileless approach became one, including at the Proms, most welcome.

Bavarian St Opera Aida: a la Gatti step - Egyptians, Verdi in flats

Barbara Frittoli was originally to have sung in this production of Verdi’s Aida, but whether it was the heaviness of the title role for a lyric, the lack of any clear beat to happen from the podium, or confusion surrounding the staging (by Christof Nel) in question that led her to backing out may still remain an open question. On paper then, that is still including Frittoli, this appeared to be a somewhat promising outing with Verdi’s Aida, on terms of its three principal singers. Lyric bass Giacomo Prestia has had some success before with Ramfis at other houses too.

Kristin Lewis, soprano from Little Rock, Arkansas, with certainly some attractive qualities, took Frittoli's place. There is a warm, thick molasses to the sound here that is quite attractive and should continue to help her find work in more lyric repertoire than the title role of Aida. I certainly hope she has not added Tosca or Amelia in Ballo to her repertoire as of yet. Lewis is said to have a degree of acting ability that apparently, according to one other writer who has written in, said that the rest of this cast lacked. Lewis’s first entrance, in trio with Amneris and Radames, a good ways already before becoming necessary for a lyric, involved quite a degree of pushing the voice - evident too during “Su del Nilo" several minutes later how flat she could become above the staff.

Most worrisome, for singer I estimate to be in her late twenties, was the pushing down on not only low notes to reach them, but also doing so on pitches around the break. The perils of doing so, for sake of the longevity of a career just starting out especially, should be blatantly obvious by now. She certainly won some sympathy for the part, but also had to stick at times to coasting through things, glib expression should any going nearby get rough. “O patria mia” certainly suited Lewis better than did “Ritorna vincitor,” but high C and high A at the end, though in tune, were unsupported. From what clip of this Aida I have seen, there are certainly some fine dramatic and musical instincts here that Lewis presents - all threatened however by taking on an assignment that is too big for her voice and too demanding of more secure technique.

Ekaterina Gubanova made overall a lyric Amneris, fairly even across her range, and with the expected Slavic coloring along with the rest. She still effectively managed to convey some of the imperious manner with which Amneris should carry herself, and if not rising to the most vocally resplendent tragic heights of inspiration during the Judgment scene, certainly did not eschew musical and dramatic involvement. Through several of the most dramatic moments in the part, she relied heavily upon Gatti to provide the clipping of note values she might have needed to keep lines she was singing sustainable, including her threatening lines to Aida during first scene of Act Two. While on that, her “Vieni, vieni, amor mio”’s starting Act Two became curiously stuck, tremulous around the break – a needed fix for which Gatti did not show much ability to come to her rescue.

Salvatore Licitra displayed the lyricism for Radames, along with some of the nobility, plus about all the guilelessness, romantic ardor, naivete, stupidity true of Radames as well. “Celeste Aida” had good sustained line, but through which Licitra coasted his way, toward being able to make some still strained B-Flats; at the temple of Phtah, he managed to go sharp several times in his duet with Prestia. Good characterization persisted through the Nile scene, but Licitra could not hide bench-pressing he started engaging in even for the slower, more lyrical part of Nile duet with Aida. Lewis, having to go about its cabaletta in ‘hail Mary’ fashion, provided suitable distraction unfortunately for what trouble Licitra had here as well. The fatigue for what is really not a very long evening fully set in for Licitra by the Tomb Scene – in which past his sensitive opening phrases to it, he emitted some raw sounds. It has been said that this guy can hardly act his way out of a paper bag. One does not evaluate a Radames so much on that as being able to sing the part - one that sits quite often uncomfortably in the middle of the voice. One need only look back to Carlo Bergonzi, however, to know how well it can be done.

Christian Van Horn, apart from several doubtful low notes, provided a very sturdy, stalwart King, with pleasing dark timbre to voice that hopefully will not (too soon) encounter being forced onto assignments too heavy.. Angela Brewer, with voice placed too forward, was found to slough off phrase endings and unsteady as the Priestess. Kenneth Roberson (Messenger) was fine, except for being rushed off his lines by Gatti.

Audibly painful high F’s, far placed back wobbly unsteady tone characterized most of all the Amonasro during the Triumphal Scene, that for which no amount of incisiveness from Gatti was able to compensate during “Quest’assissi” - starting point for enslaved foreign monarch. Marco Vratogna then had us encounter overt touch of sprechstimme for the entirety of one phrase during “Ma tu, re.” The slightly long held acuti that start off lines in the violent part of his Nile duet with Aida indicated possible membership in the Fiorenza Cedolins school for singing acuti a whole tone lower than pitch - possibly learned from last year’s Don Carlo at La Scala – should real pitch not be attainable. Both singers involved here, as assisted the best they could by Gatti, coasted through the Nile scene duet with only just as much as they were able to give it.

Giacomo Prestia started Ramfis well, with writing lyrical enough to handle, but on “Noi t’invochiam” during the temple scene, a repeated pitch on low B-flat for several measures changed four or five times over span of three measures. It must be, given how slithery this Ramfis was – including on calling out Radames’s name during the Judgment scene - that here perhaps in this staging as having been raised in the backwoods of Tennessee as priest (or minister) who has spent a little too much time at his contribution to the snake-handling division of his vocation for attaining top of the ladder. The worried tone that this Ramfis developed for his third calling out for Radames to respond to his indictment seemed to indicate that should there be present defense counsel among priests, he must have fallen asleep on the job. We can leave it to Calixto Bieito or Peter Konwitschny as to how to find more clever way to change the plot to Act Four.

As for Gatti, this Aida was not quite the disaster which Don Carlo at La Scala had been. That can be taken as pretty much a given. Aida is forty-five minutes shorter or so than the four-act Don Carlo - with duet between Carlo and Phillip that Gatti restored for it during the prison scene. That is the good news. However, this was more not so much an interpretation of Aida as a marginalization of Verdi’s score and of its most distinctive tendencies found therein. Tempo relationships were frequently questionable, as for anything to make dramatically or musically cumulative sense. Gatti's ability to draw some tinta out of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester was admirable, except for streamlining some of it away and thus leaving so much relatively undefined.

The Triumphal scene benefited by not being overstated, certainly; Gatti shaped the difficult ‘Ma, tu Re’, to have included such an unsteady Amonasro, circumspectly. Accenting however in the framing choruses for the big scene was found to often go awry and at times in what made accents sound as though they would do so at just about always the most awkward times too - with such a casual step through it all as well. Contours to Gatti’s work for the second half of Aida sounded more secure than first half. Partly due however to not having sufficient voices, the Nile Scene went by as aone of the most anticlimactic renditions of it I have yet heard. As for the dances in Aida, rhythmic shape was slightly lacking for Priestesses at the temple, pacing casual for the Moorish slaves in Amneris’s boudoir. Following where there was no acoustical spacing for whatever reason between trumpet led sections of the triumphal march came uneven leadership overall of the ballet, with vulgar jerking about of first F Minor episode therein.

Choral work overall veered between acceptable to mediocre, sounding ‘glee club’ to start the Triumphal Scene. One issue at stake was the uneven, flaccid beat the chorus would get quite frequently from the podium, and also their awkward placement on the stage - with violated sounding priestesses during temple scene for being placed too forward.

On program I do not find led very well, concerning issues that affect our country and politics - (ABC) This Week with Stephy - I learned a new word that could indeed become quite useful at times, if used sparingly. The topic at hand was ‘breakdown in discipline’ (quoth Ed Gillespie) during Hillary Clinton’s visit to the Congo last week – to what is - pause for breath here, i.e. how evil - ‘a male-dominated world’ over there. Well, yes, with frequent rape, genital mutilizations, other forms of gender violence, it sure must be bad, as Donna Brazile mentioned. All this was during an episode she as pure aside admittedly quoted Ronald Reagan - trumpeting a very accomplished Hillary Clinton’s prerogative to show a little emotion.

First of all, what verb should be conjugated here? I do not know, but the new word found above, can it be found in an Ebonics dictionary? I just wonder how legitimate I may be to attempt using this word myself. Somehow it morphs together two verbs with which we are all familiar – ‘to utilize’ and ‘to mutilate.’

Why am I so off topic here? Is it some knee-jerk reaction I have to watching priests on stage for little I have seen of this each throwing one among many strapping youth head first over their shoulders – I certainly should hope not resulting in any type(s) of mutilization. I wonder too about the white slaves in this production – as Aida Americana - that from the appearance of things, does seem to have at least a few clever ideas. As these get sorted out and any unsalvageable be found among new breed of indentured, do they then have to be submitted before the ‘death panels’ that Sarah Palin has told us exist now, supervised from Washington DC?

How about instead utilizing the new word to apply to an insecure podium for partly undue accommodation that results in mutilating or in effect mutlilizating Verdi’s rhythms? It happened frequently here, and (supposedly) for benefit of more than just Miss Lewis. Gubanova needed help in the cabaletta to the Judgment scene duet with Radames (as did Dolora Zajick, Gatti’s Eboli last year in Don Carlo – also when she sang Amneris here last time in Houston with Carlo Rizzi). ‘Ritorna vincitor’ got all kinds of help as well – most notably “Numi, pieta” close to waltz time - in three-four.

Gatti himself hardly ever needed any excuse as to what a specific singer on stage might need at any given time. I just naively happened to think I was tuning in to Bavarian State Opera of Munich instead of second cast from New York City Opera or at Houston Grand Opera, but after all if the inherent right is to show a little emotion – whether in diplomacy on world or on world operatic stage, then ‘so be it.’ At least, to answer someone else who has written in, it has to have been more comfy to do so in flats instead of heels. That at least Ms. Brazile would know.

BBC Proms 2009 - Prom 34 - the Karabits debut - Bournemouth SO)

Kirill Karabits chose for his Proms debut what on the surface looked like a splashy Russian program - to close with Khachaturian ballet excerpts - with still new orchestra for him – the Bournemouth SO. Performances of Stravinsky ballets at the Proms this year have veered from being mostly dull (Belohlavek, Nelsons, Brabbins, Knussen) to inept (Nezet-Seguin). Noseda came along with a Scenes de Ballet in form of shot in the arm; I would not have described Scenes de Ballet - certainly neither the complete Baiser de la fee – au naturel on such terms before. Edward Gardner gave us a fine Les Noces - one perhaps still cut or two above how civilized it should be.

One has the gratuitous luxury of ability to rewind, replay passages on BBC Radio Player. The first eight minutes of this Fairy’s Kiss I went back for ten times, as though masterminding a heavy film editing job perhaps - having to yell ‘stop tape’ every whip snitch – but for all the right reasons, as opposed to wrong ones. Karabits did not come up with what he did conventionally but little.

The 25 minute Divertimento - as opposed to 42-45 minute ballet - presents us with excerpts from Fairy’s Kiss with which we are most familiar. Listeners are more at ease without awkward sounding transitions between and other framing that most times has just seemed to get in the way - perhaps based on pretense only known to Stravinsky himself. The music is based on songs and piano pieces by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, with one or two allusions to Sleeping Beauty also thrown in. This music is about the farthest Stravinsky gets from writing Rite of Spring - and about the most palatable Stravinsky for people who hate Rite. (Stravinsky’s Concerto for Piano and Winds, even with its Bachian writing, written within two years of Baiser, alludes back to Rite in its finale).

First of all, we should consider momentarily the music of Tchaikovsky; there is good reason why his music works its way into how conductors read this ballet. Tchaikovsky certainly has his subtleties, but is widely loved for being the proponent of the big tune in his symphonies, and to get the message across, this usually involves a good deal of doubling in the score. Some of this aspect does indeed meander into piano pieces and songs as well, but often less oppressively so. Stravinsky loved Tchaikovsky’s music on its own terms; in what he said he gave little reason for having to apologize for it – for what Pierre Boulez, for instance, has dismissed as ‘threadbare.'

Nothing about the Karabits approach to Fairy’s Kiss sounded dry, gaunt, eviscerated at all, except for Bournemouth being slightly less than one of the top orchestras in either the UK or the world; they gave here of their very best. You have with new 32 year old Ukranian on their podium an ear acutely sensitive to both color and rhythm in equal proportion, and to dynamics. Without being cloying, saccharine, any of that, he revealed manner of coaxing plentiful nuance out of things that often with who is on the podium self-conscious to be conducting Stravinsky will abstractly deny.

There is also the bar line and those places too where Stravinsky’s scoring, at least as it appears on the surface (while also appearing that way to be easy), is slightly heavy. Karabits, instead of taking such at face value, coaxed the right accents out of chords to, while shot through with extra color, allow the music to move almost seamlessly through such passages. This was as a bar line and transition free Fairy’s Kiss as we may legtimately ever hear. What happened here in ‘transitions’ was practically as significant as what happened elsewhere, even little half-measure long transition like material that can so easily trip up the unsuspecting, with which Karabits brought out great wit from therein. Sprightly passages of the Pas de Deux made case in point.

I could leave off here, except to further describe a few sections of the ballet as Karabits conducted them, but my curiosity is aroused to a degree - better instead to pry around some for what the impetus behind what happened here might have been. Stravinsky was when he wrote Baiser still in his first decade of being a neo-classical composer, not neo-romantic (so much). Whichever way, this is music that obviously draws upon the past, but how far? Karabits made something mildly extra sublime of the fact that here is music based upon for the composer an ‘old style’ - with what ramifications of supposedly being arcane that that might all imply.

The way we can picture Stravinsky being choreographed, with as an aside also in mind’s eye dance scenes or contrivances of such in Fellini films, something quite abstract made of all of this and thus more sophisticated this way. It may indeed however be more sophisticated to approach Stravinsky this way - the usual way – including this piece – but Karabits suggested something still yet more sophisticated – that hides it being so. Karabits did not quite altogether chuck or neglect element of Paris salon and even possibly Americanism of such in how he approached this music.

Readers of musicology covering Stravinsky know of Richard Taruskin – denounced by strong detractors as an ideologue, perhaps especially concerning Stravinsky. I am one neither to embrace Taruskin nor throw out entirely what he has written. In his opinion, if I read an excerpt of his stuff yesterday evening correctly, Stravinsky is as far from his Russian roots in the way he went about Baiser as he ever became, and as far from Rite as he possibly could have put things as well. Stravinsky probably would not have dismissed Tchaikovsky as so ‘Balkan’ as does Taruskin. If so, Kirill Karabits is apparently not well read in Taruskin, but no matter.

Most guilelessly, Karabits basically chucked any such notion about Baiser. Remember that Stravinsky once studied with Rimsky-Korsakov. Stravinsky, being neo-classical and perhaps a little arcane about what sources he picked out (with exception of one for very near ballet’s finale), also perhaps had knack for drawing upon neo-classicism in such a way to indicate how such itself may partially draw upon what had preceded it by just a generation before as well. I quote, concerning opera Rusalka by Alexander Dargomizhky, that Stravinsky loved. Dargomizhky influenced Tchaikovsky as much as he did anybody else. Stravinsky spoke of him (in Poetics of Music - quoted by Taruskin twice) – in terms of “a happy ability to mingle the Russian popular melos and the prevailing Italianism with the most carefree and charming ease.” This quote has not come to mind before – familiar to me for some time now - while listening to “Fairy’s Kiss.”

Should the new maestro with Bournemouth be reading this, let him take it as worthwhile suggestion to pick up Dargomizhky's Rusalka - preferred by me to the Dvorak. The current young somewhat firebrand music director of the London Philharmonic has done lately a little dabbling about in rarely performed short operatic subjects by Rimsky and Rachmaninov. On evidence of this Fairy's Kiss, Karabits may indeed be preferable - or Vedernikov (of the Bolshoi), Noseda, or perhaps Ilan Volkov.

So guileless, charming - appearing to work with great ease - was Karabit’s work here for what became a most auspicious Proms debut. What turns out truly most sophisticated sometimes is what works best as possible at hiding it, such as we all experience in Mozart, whom to Artur Schnabel there were both the too young and too old to be able to play it well. The old world charm of what we heard here was indeed in the melos - with incisive spring to rhythms - that Karabits found here. Even compared with Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky loved working in Italianita and commedia dell’arte, dating back to Petrushka – doing so with unforced ease.

The suggestion of gentle thaw in the string tremolo beneath clarinet in dreamy reprise of the opening of the ballet had mild element, in color so brought out something of Rimsky’s Snow Maiden perhaps therein, while still just being Tchaikovsky – but as colored by Stravinsky. After this, I waited for Karabits to fall on some crutch, such as prominent bar line or enforcing a hefty downbeat somewhere to reassure himself at such point, but in vain – including refusal to halt at all for start to first episode of Danses suisses (scene 2) instead of injecting subtle subito piu mosso instead there. It all happened with such supple economy and wit, to make one think Karabit’s wrists are made out of leather - free of all but most subtle downbeats.

The seemingly invented titles over passages in the score suggest as much, but I have had yet to hear such seamless, gently inflected line make it all the way from start of next to final scene ‘None but the Lonely Heart’ to briefly then the very end of the piece, without things getting more than minimally overwrought to clotted. The music just so wafted off at the end, leaving one perhaps to pinch one’s self to check how cognitively wide awake one might be or not.

Had Ferenc Fricsay heard any of this, it might have persuaded him he should have conducted the complete ballet. I’ve never been able to make the case before, as I have always thought that either the complete score has issues - or something elusive we have been missing all along. Those days should now be over for Fairy’s Kiss.

Show of grandeur came with Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto - ideal pairing with the Stravinsky. There are still several kinks to work out interpretatively between Julian Rachlin and Karabits – with perhaps a few risks the latter took with transitions involving tempo in the finale. Most all else was spot-on; on two recent discs of the concerto, on Sony and DGG, one could only count several more transitions that worked on those than the less than handful that might have fallen short here. The grand gesture presented itself here in strong, but never underlined or exaggerated profile, as this was a more probing look, confiding in perspective, than one to merely make virtuoso display. Rachlin freely mixed aristocratic manner to his phrasing with catching the work’s earthy allusions to peasant tunes and dances.

Karabits opened the first movement, with not auspiciously slow but allargando arch to opening statement - somehow important to argument to follow - then with perfectly guaged subito piu mosso to anticipate fine solo entrance. Rachlin spun out the long line with great introspection and ardor, combining aristocratic passion with dark tone rich in color and with classical appreciation for the form of the first movement. Karabits was invited by Rachlin in as fully deserving co-protagonist in supporting, enhancing him for a very haunting, poetic account - eschewing all cliché, mannerism, dull conventionality - of the slow movement. With playing that had already given us some of the quality of Oistrakh with hint of Szerying, if still less distinctive than either, Rachlin followed up with the sarabande from Bach’s D Minor partita with similar ardor, profile, passion, discretion. Compared with even some of who are considered leading violinists of our day, his is very much a class act.

Following a rousing finish to the Tchaikovsky was Khatchaturian, and at last we were in for type of prom I had first suspected this was. Karabits had the tastes for close of this prom, at least not to milk the Spartacus Adagio for between all and twice its worth; that was refreshing. This music too deserves its share of dignity or even compassion. It was time however for those who might have been expecting it – with an all Russian program – for the brash side of youth to let itself out – and with the three dances chosen, especially the last of three numbers chosen from Spartacus and Hopak from Gayaneh, Karabits with robust joie de vivre did not disappoint a soul at the Royal Albert.

Checking out Bournemouth’s website, I found not surprisingly the emphasis on the Russian repertoire and sensed a need for the repertoire to expand. Time spent on Haydn symphonies can be very helpful to him and then that he can soon or over time turn around to be of great help to the orchestras he conducts to play them very well. A positive attitude toward doing the best and often more progressive of twentieth century and new music can also be encouraged. We are discussing possibly a major conducting talent here - someone who once took time in Berlin to research a thought lost St John Passion by CPE Bach and to transcribe it. It took me only eight minutes of Stravinsky - how some of it required repeating it, to figure that out.

BBC Proms 2009 - 28 and 29 - Noseda's Proms

Proms 28 and 29. BBC Philharmonic (Manchester), Gianandrea Noseda. Karen Geogeghan, Vivica Genaux. Royal Albert Hall, London. August 5 and 6, 2009.

If anyone has been determined to make a decisive showing at the 2009 Proms, it is Gianandrea Noseda. The working assumption about the first prom - in wake of Haitink’s fine Mahler Ninth - was that if Mahler Six got missed this time, it would not be serious.

From how things looked, there was also too much music programmed on the first of Noseda’s two concerts, as though to apologize for then rushing through the Mahler. For a summer during which the Stravinsky ballets have not been clicking too well – blandly played, rhythmically lifeless, soggy in ensemble, etc. – one does not look first of all to Scenes de ballet to wake things up. The only two ballets that Stravinsky had left to compose after this were Orpheus and Agon, the latter his first entirely fresh take on how to compose ballet in some time. In respectively the laconic irony and meditative plasticity of the last two neo-classical ballets, Scenes and Orpheus still occupy unique places in the Stravinsky canon. I have not yet at these Proms run across a wittier performance of any of these ballets than how Noseda conducted Scenes de Ballet.

Scenes de ballet, for lasting sixteen minutes, is rife with gesture from a gratuitous variety of sources, even enough perhaps to confuse some of them with each other. Among the wittiest come from, for instance Hollywood ‘wild West’ and vaudeville - but all made Stravinsky’s very own. Was the duet two-thirds through for cellos Palm Court (as BBC notes say) or cowboy ballad or some of both? The grand Russian ballet tradition gets its say just as charming relic that by 1944 it has become – no less than in Stravinsky’s rhythms for invocations of French overture from two centuries before. The classy played ‘on the trail’ central trumpet solo in this also had good swagger to it.

Mood and texture become austere toward the end; with Noseda keeping everything in sharp profile, any lapse in inspiration was hardly noticeable - all to prepare major supertonic chord to outlandishly offset floating of pan-diatonic sonorities in the brass. One could just think back to a sequence of several minutes taking one one from Petrushka-like toy waltz, followed by klezmar sounding hoedown among violas, through Tchaikovsky bluebird-mode flute to jazz riff from principal clarinet. With this music, upon too delayed re-acquaintance, any surprise is still possible.

With combination of deft touch, ear for the most acrid sonorities Stravinsky offers, precise rhythm and equally sharp wit, no better advocate for this piece could have been found than Noseda. Mozart Noseda made both directly and elegantly turned divertissement in advent of onslaught to follow the interval.

Based partly on stereotype of how Mahler 6 should go, but also on the notion one can still have about Noseda about his both being highly intuitive and man of the theater still strongly factor in, one had a little trouble doing away with a few doubts with the Mahler until a little ways in. I wondered about, at the outset, the overall dry sound quality, not only seeming to reduce mid-range from the sonorities as just doing so. Here was something close to following strict classical model, that of Toscanini - such as with George Szell’s drier Mahler in Cleveland years ago; Toscanini did not conduct Mahler.

Garish shaping to opening subjects was provocative - the pointing of especially greater than octave leaps in the melodic line. Very little of this could have been grand-standing on Noseda’s part; otherwise, the whole endeavor would have been quickly dismissible. Even thinking back to a notably severe Beethoven Eighth – slightly different work than Mahler 6 – at last year’s Proms, all occurring here was very clearly on purpose. Some thinness of BBC Philharmonic strings became an issue in both.

Noseda’s pace for the first movement tended toward propulsive - without insipidly turning it athletic or faux optimistic, such as Bernstein could. As for interpretative editorializing, Noseda’s work here betrayed very little. Most interesting was the varied handling of the ‘Alma’ second theme, with all being made of ‘Schwungvoll’ (as it is marked) the first time, a more levelheaded application of such for its repeat. Special emphases got applied for it to reappear cadentially (in the recapitulation) - of which Noseda made something slightly fuller than his usual inclination - still emotionally detached from the subject. If there was an effect, and before I looked in at all on Peter Maxwell Davies piece to come the following evening, it was of Alma being approached by varied camera angles - on different lenses perhaps – to notably surreal effect. Noseda allowed little heart-on-sleeve at all for trumpet led coda to the first movement, with (more frequently) triumphant statement of ‘Alma.’ The cowbells episode emerged relatively serene - in context of all the rest, with fine atmosphere, following trumpets fiercely restating the opening theme.

Scherzo came second – with timpani hit with precise, strong accents on ‘third beats’ - all near edge of the drum-head for more hollow results. This was indeed Mahler of a rough-hewn variety as opposed to tendency for emphasis to land on color or coloristic effects. All coyness got dropped from the childrens’ games - with their rhythmic irregularity most notably marked - quite heavily underlined as well. Rasp accompanying spectral waltz that returns things to pounding main theme caught one’s ear.

The Andante moderato offered only several fleeting moments of relief from bleak intensity to so much else. Emphasis, especially with oboe and English horn alternating theme in the minor mode, was still on anguish, with thus the chromatic and enharmonic colorings of Mahler’s writing pointed that way, including way they fragment processes - as well as make roads smooth. Noseda never weakened the spell he wrought by letting this music even momentarily sink into bathos. Sparse harmonies therein were spelled out, just as to emphasize without losing tone quality their dissonances - as though across as barren a landscape one encounters in the Adagio of the Tenth (heard as beautifully spelled out along wider grasp of Mahler’s tonal palette by Metzmacher very recently in Berlin) and in some of the Ninth.

The finale helped emphasize the greatest strengths of how Noseda approached the entire symphony - with it also surfacing what got slightly diminished in the process. First off, it was as grim, hurtling toward the abyss - unforced, inevitably sounding it as possible, strongly so. Noseda, just described here as working somewhat intuitively with Mahler, did not here command an ear taken up by the interwoven quality of Mahler’s harmonic language and all that might mean structurally or to full extent harmonically. By same token, dissonances occurring in very lowest registers - what they mark - got very clearly spelled out. Spacing in quieter, more eerie sections of the finale was calibrated to great finesse. Noseda would too hone in well on the most incisive pitches within brass chord progressions at nodal points, thus at several moments make an entire progression shoot out as though about to start a conflagration.

Noseda also left on purpose not sense of harmonic progressions being dropped (altogether), but as depleted to extent he needed of life to leave for emphasis the very stark linearity of Mahler’s writing. Emphasis on such linearity spelled out the struggle and anguish of what transpires here in a naked and harrowing way. Some of the Brucknerian qualities of Mahler’s conception here perhaps got shortchanged, but what has become at times a sanitized quality to the seemingly diffuse nature of Mahler’s harmonic writing, for Noseda’s purposes, confidently got understated, even removed as well. Rhythms were very tight for terse and hurtling forward Development. Violins at the opening of the finale made their sweeping line one of a little desperation and struggle out of sense of emotional fatigue to make the crest of the line. After beautifully limned chorale in lower winds and brass, the final A Minor chord sounded not only crushing, but as clearly inevitable as it ever has sounded.

This may not have been the most satisfying Mahler Sixth, but great risk-taking applied so directly to be refreshing more than compensating for any loss encountered here was very compelling. With emphasis so much on linear aspects of the writing, a certain corrosive quality to some of Mahler’s harmonic language clearly emerged, even linking moments in the Sixth with occurring bitonalities in the Fifth Symphony. The urban, cosmopolite hubbub thus implied and confusion of fin-du-siecle Vienna Mahler knew was abundantly clear here as well.

The need for rest, for peace this music cries out for also in the ‘Abscheid’ symphonies (including Das Lied) is thus, though more submerged here in the earlier Ruckert symphonies. We have just met again at the Proms a most despairing take on Mahler – after depressed, more diffuse Haitink LSO Ninth three weeks before –a Sixth with an edge to it as though demarcated by a sharp knife – not as one might insipidly for cheap effect get now sometimes, but such as one might even associate with, hardly at all a Mahlerian – Igor Markevitch. As Noseda grows with this piece, so will his coming across as mildly two-dimensional fade - for a greater simplicity with Mahler, internal grasp thereof for which he strives for and fully let on here.

Featured most of all the second night was the fully extensive rhapsodic love letter Peter Maxwell Davies wrote the city of Rome - place he had visited and had studied with Petrassi twenty to thirty years earlier than writing this – Roma, amor. It is not without critical eye and ear he has approached his subject here, and with Noseda acutely aware and with great sensitivity just as in the Mahler the night before what and how to point (it) out. Noseda and his forces handled the overt modernism, the italianita of even Davies’ conception, its nostalgic and ruminative airs this music takes on as though native tongue and with keen insight as to structure, how it is all stitched together.

In myriad kaleidoscope of color and effect - not at all as to window-dress the place – with elements as frequently clashing with each other as blend - typical in Maxwell Davies – Rome becomes here (as it already is) a seething multicultural pot. Saints in form of statues, guarding from upon high, make probing gaze on a world, as is Rome, sitting below among so many diverse influences, ancient and modern, sacred and profane, pagan and medieval, from close and from afar. They stand in check to at least supposedly guard upon high the eternal city from anything too pernicious.

There is however little of course statues can do to prevent so much heavy smog, noise, and traffic confusion. An episode of calliope breaks in on loud stretto response to long extended lines of Phrygian mode and whole tone scale (redolent of Arabic sounding melody from solo English horn in the first movement) in woodwinds that start the second movement. Moment of greatest solace in the entire piece closes the same movement with strings playing with fine simplicity a womens’ hymn from small, closed church hidden somewhere in the city.


Festive dance in duet of trumpets in thirds - to those living near enough Mexico here coming across mariachi - gets practically completely ripped apart by forceful intrusion of crowd and traffic noise. Ostinati of reverse dotted rhythm timpani – doing almost all possible to choke off intimations of street song from the violins - abstractedly depict image of dark, bellicose references to a savage past.

Davies carefully frames his first movement with spelling out of wide ranging glissandi-spiced octaves on C, crosscut with lyrical strands of Lydian mode starting on G-Flat – a tritone away. Such framing – suggesting the quasi-Byzantine - of his ideas for a minute or two at the outset of this abstractly provides on the surface an illusory, tenuous stability, but with underneath a somewhat true underpinning to all that transpires here of contaminazione (or fragmentation). Very high thin sustained overtones in violins that several times would thin out to nothing also sublimely reflected so much of this.

Amidst the battery on reverse dotted figuration from timpani and elsewhere, one can also hear ascending sequences in the violins in harmonic whole tones, resembling in context of acrid air and harmony a light shower breaking out over the city - such still inadequate to sufficiently expel the choking dust and smog. More pristine scoring for celesta, glockenspiel with high winds and strings, as relief from the generally lugubrious air, provides relief in a less foreshortened episode later on – possibly reflecting that which is bejeweled, crystalline among finer imagery. Noseda limned the antiphony of the calling out of saints atop church rooftops toward the end, with writing possibly, vaguely recalling that of Messiaen, with fine dignity and aplomb. By such got prepared a beautifully calibrated moment of stillness to follow and just the suggestion, as written, of Rome's church bells, from very small to large starting to toll over city at dusk. It is such over which the curtain fell on all of this. Noseda also subtly pointed out rumblings low toward end of the first movement that almost certainly could be reminiscing on start down Via Appia in what followed here.

Noseda then made Pines of Rome, warhorse it is, fitting sequel to what we had just heard, with the risk, with doing this, it would cheapen the effect of hearing something so engrossing, passionate as just had been the Maxwell Davies. Not to worry. Heavy gilding, lushing out of Respighi’s sonorities got put aside. Hollywood vision of Rome, how to sell it, got banished. Splash of water amidst Villa Borghese was not Technicolor, but instead the cool refreshment it offers instead. Noseda found equally mercurial the play of children, instead of being hard-driven - without having to underline a thing.

Chant on scene of the Catacombs pines was placed a couple of extra distances from entering ‘In a Monastery Garden,’ as to reflect, as almost it could be Stravinsky’s Mass, something equally Byzantine, mysterious, austere. A hint of the orientalism in Puccini’s writing informed the Geniculum pines, due to expression here being so entirely genuine. Clarinet – a hair-raising moment – entered at double pianissimo over great stillness to have fallen over everything – without hint of affectation to break the spell. Broad pacing through these two episodes became neither flabby nor self-conscious as can easily be the case under a less sure hand. Such was also the case for Noseda’s start down Via Appia. Throwing all cliché aside, BBC Philharmonic ranks gradually ascended to the cumulative power of a truly ringing close to Pines of Rome.

Noseda equally felt at home with Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony - cheerful opener for his second prom, with neither turn to minor mode nor anything else in its first movement hard-driven. He instead maintained incisive spring to rhythm, and flexibility to infuse phrase endings to second subject con soavita - hint of portamento. Even the third movement was not too pretty, as Noseda might find a cliché; right under the surface was an earthiness, ruddy color. Had Mendelssohn found such on his own, he had soaked in the color of a sun-drenched land in latitude beneath the Alps perhaps better than we had imagined – but call this contaminazone too if you like. Concertato of flutes gently, suavely gilded solemn Dorian mode procession inhabiting the second movement, to convey a most rapt sense of naivete. Most rapt and equally informed was the joyous turn and animation to the closing saltarello to bring the 'Italian' to a furious conclusion.

Solo turns on Mozart and Rossini belonged to Karen Geogehan - deep, soulfully dark in tone for Mozart, but with always fine profile to phrasing and secure virtuosity - and Vivicia Genaux respectively. Genaux sang Malcolm’s entrance aria from Donna del Lago and Angelina’s rondo from Cenerentola as equally secure and confident about each. Noseda accompanied with fine, elegant gallant turn of phrase and incisively spiced color and rhythm for each aria, respectively.

BBC Proms 2009 24 and 25: Beethoven/Berlioz between Malkki/BBC SO and T Fischer/BBC NOW

Prom 24. BBC Symphony Orchestra, Susanna Malkki. Jorg Schneider, Simon Preston, soloists (Berlioz). Royal Albert Hall. August 2, 2009.


Mere combinations of orchestral choirs, how they interact too with solo instruments – as affected by frequent changes in pacing – was partly impetus behind Ben Foskett’s From Trumpet that opened Susanna Malkki’s one Proms visit this summer. Triad intervals starting with a mid-register A, spanning a minor ninth, build to overlap between E-Flat major chord and dominant seventh of D Minor and fill out circular motion through which woodwinds proceed very slowly. Strings then break in with formations of sevenths and ninths, with more frequent but at first still light pointing of accents from the percussion. Muted brass alternate with winds in spinning out closer intervals and thus help to step up the pace with sharper, more frequent dissonances. Violins then play simple ostinato between G-sharp and F-sharp, to buttress overt brief toccata of loud percussion.

A high register trumpet trio fanfare five minutes in marks a signpost, over strings pulsating over whole tone of C and D, underpinned by pounding timpani. Oboe forms a lyrical descant leading into by now a dissonant C Major chord in high winds - as though starting an episode of ‘night music’; the chord then easily separates itself out; then all momentarily is at rest, with a wide open spaced chord one semitone off melodically traced in lower registers. Past a cumulatively dense climax, Foskett settles for remainder of this fourteen minute piece becoming an exercise in chant-based minimalism, suggesting his having run out of ideas early.

Spiritual or religious fervor, enthusiasm was apparently not the principal calling card for Malkki in taking on Hector Berlioz’s Te Deum. Here nevertheless was a performance of sufficient scale and grandeur to be memorable. The forthright clarity and bright vigor with which sopranos began their lines in “Te Deum” (first movement) augured much of what would follow here, but not to an extent to betray irreverence, even with things getting placed slightly far forward. Malkki, within fine grasp of line and overall conception, found suitable introspection for “Omnis terra” and also then for uninterrupted transition to “Tibi omnes” (second movement). The lines of “Sanctus” building each to a straightforwardly imposing “Pleni sunt coeli” let off in lovely underpinning by strings a hint of the poetic landscape for Faust that starts “Damnation” - choral lines further lit here by gently downward arpeggio cascades by quartet of flutes. Nuance for Berlioz’s dark shading of otherwise an overtly bright supertonic of C-sharp major (while in key of B Major) in the second verse of “Tibi omnes” was insightful as well - with further nuance provided by having string pizzicati antiphonally answer flutes hovering about.

Supple organ arioso and entrance by sopranos over simple woodwind textures helped lend pleasing simplicity to the notion of the prayer, “Dignare” - of true penance bringing some form of spiritual replenishment or refreshment. In approach to “Miserere’s” in the text, Malkki underlined the dark color of modulation to E Major as Neapolitan to E-Flat Minor, but as harmonic weight also suffused with light in completing full modulation to C-Sharp Minor. Without sounding as unified in purpose as a well-seasoned Colin Davis on disc, reassuring balm was found in the cadential response that then occurs in A Major for a movement of classical construction having begun in D. There is hardly any movement in French or any choral music more expressive than this one; hardly anything in its way of being sublime got missed here.

“Christe, rex gloriae started off bright, but lightly textured in its fervor - as to keenly save a more satisfactorily complete enthusiasm over subject matter and lines of text for last. The quasi-Mozartean cadential preparation for reprising of its opening was potent too.

Jorg Schneider, tenor for “Te ergo quaesumus”, so musically capitalized upon his resources that without resorting to falsetto, crooning or anything weak, made something most pliable, flexibly expressive of his assignment including therein what lies near, around the top of the staff. Any hint of trouble around the break could have gone completely unnoticed. He made the most in the right way of chromatic turns in the exposed, at times long-breathed melodic lines given him. As suffused with light as identifiable perhaps with Wagner’s swan knight was the overall approach to the soloist’s final stanza starting with “Speravimus” over hushed, subdued legato choral response. One should not read into the above promotion of Schneider to take on Lohengrin (as of yet). With voice and musicality as pleasing as his, one looks forward to his Mozart, lyric French, bel canto - and lieder as well - before long.

“Judex crederis”, with its imposing grandeur and working out of thoroughly in-depth involvement of enharmonic relationships, proved no challenge for Malkki. She, however, could have been cited for tendency to underline brass or trombones’s frequent doubling of leading choral line, and perhaps being mildly too direct with accenting it as well. The vigor and tremendous weight of such music, of such a conception as this finale is certainly nothing to be denied and it most certainly was not here. It is something though that with time will grow to eventually speak more eloquently with more subtle command of it in the future. In Malkki’s best interest, it should be said too however that the overall sound of the BBC Symphony Orchestra is slightly dry for Berlioz - as such some liability in getting across all that this music must convey. As understated as some qualities were about this performance of Te Deum, there was very little – with very fine contribution of Simon Preston at the organ and of extensive choral forces here – with which one could go away feeling unfulfilled by hearing this.

Nothing could have prepared better for the Berlioz than what proved perhaps the most surprising performance of the evening, that of the Beethoven Fourth Symphony, for which the emcee who announced it, unsolicited, apologized. Pardon that it is indeed an equally important work as the two admittedly more imposing symphonies that bookend it; it certainly is too the most subtle and in a way most inward looking of any of them. If anyone did not need convincing I am right, it was Malkki. It ranks along with the Eroica as one of my two favorites among the nine.

A less than entirely full contingent of forces were used for this Beethoven Fourth, but little in the way of being dry or austere in doing so. An especially fine ear for all subtle harmonic change in the introduction, color therein, was clearly evident. It was comprehensively such, interpreted so well, it could have been written to prepare the way for “Tibi omnes” or “Dignare” from the work to follow here. With appropriate space allotted sinuous lines in mostly a re-transition of a Development section, the bracing vigor for the body of the first movement was also undeniable. Malkki also made vigorous play of light staccato offbeat half notes for closing theme to Exposition and Recapitulation without giving in to or leaving one the impression she was clipping these - certainly not to excess, as for instance might be expected of an Osmo Vanska or Paavo Jarvi. Malkki, with apparently a more thoroughly intellectual (and heartfelt) grasp of this music, is knowing enough to eschew the excesses of playing Beethoven ‘period’, whereas others do not. It was only the opening of the Scherzo here that might have pointed accents slightly too brusque, but the harmonic and sinuously drawn follow through with melodic lines therein - fully to its Trio section - was most assured.

The acute contrast between accompanying dotted rhythms, of quasi-militaristic austerity - in best Haydnesque sense, as infused too by sense of revolutionary, Napoleonic air to world about depicted here – and more sublime and flowing utterance of the Adagio was spelled out in beautifully well proportioned relief. Sensuous quality to principal clarinet’s tracing of the second theme was such for which one can not ask any apology, along with time to linger over completing certainly expanded retransition in this Adagio as well.

By way of contrast was the bracing perpetuum mobile finale, taken certainly very fast, not excessively so, but perhaps almost made to appear so by an unbroken inner vitality to it - unerring in Malkki's grasp thereof. Nothing got shortchanged, at least until poor principal bassoon was given second half of its opening theme to match the drive which the BBC strings were injecting into it all by that point. He was excellent, nevertheless, in for instance how he handled just as rapidly the entire theme a moment earlier.

This prom did not overshadow hearing the Boulez/Birtwistle prom Malkki and London Sinfonietta offered two summers ago. Even that this one could have started with a more fulfilling, even if shorter example of contemporary music than it did, one had to be grateful to have what proved here such unassuming, but very fulfilling grasp of the traditional repertoire. For Malkki, one world hardly exists without the other.



Prom 25. BBC Nat'l Orch of Wales, Thierry Fischer. Emmanuel Pahud, Francois Leloux, Paul Meyer, soloists (Jarrell). Royal Albert Hall - August 3, 2009.

Thierry Fischer’s Beethoven/Berlioz prom followed almost too hard on the heels of Susanna Malkki the night before, given such very high standards to which hers rose. Nevertheless, for Frances-Juges overture that opened Fischer’s, here was a highly spirited, if mildly detached account of it, with much varied and incisive color, notably dark from lower brass for especially their more sinister utterances. Accuracy with very tricky string writing might have though at a couple of places come into slight doubt. Fischer highlighted Berlioz’s uniqueness as a composer therein very well, with for instance brief trio of flutes over chromatically descending triads as dovetailing eruptions from the brass. The academia parodying second theme played as obbligato in the cellos to nothing during the Recapitulation was yet another example. Much fun and clamor was made with the cheeky while fully achieved second theme for rousing close to it all.

A now completed version of Sillages (or Traces) by Michel Jarrell followed the Berlioz, for what proved to be an often quite inscrutable piece. Scored for three high woodwinds and large orchestra, much of it plays as transcription into humanly achieved pitch from music written for IRCAM and associated hardware. This piece makes sublime the fragility of music, that too of holding onto a human voice - to extent that such may still be possible. There is a plethora of toccata writing, especially for solo oboe, among trio of flute, clarinet, and oboe, likely as such to equivocate its own self with oscillating sine waves or what have you. More clearly than before in the new second movement - with its offbeat dance steps near its outset are there moments that very well intimate human gesture Such intimation could occasionally be felt during the first movement - as played here picking up if still dryly on the deception that intent here would be to play much intricacy wrapping around everything as though merely mechanical, when this is likely not the real intent. Even without trying, that as from a machine and in inherent dialectics, there is a perceptible human voice that still makes itself be known or heard.

Tonal centers are (as though anomalously) set up, such as on a long held, repeated A at the beginning of the piece, for much stirred up linear and contrapuntal activity to envelop them. Lower rumblings from brass and percussion practically almost suggest a new language of overtones in a world of ever expanding vision and possibilities, to add to the one that already well enough exists. Combination of sonority, timbre, space not only recalls some of the best compositions of Boulez, but also of Messiaen. Moments of long held tone, sonorities with sparse activity circling about seem to expose where there are gaps or even holes perhaps. They perhaps too suggest areas through which sound can not quite effectively travel. Except for extra concertato of soloists within, orchestral parts in this piece tended to follow a statelier pace in echoing, inverting, mirroring, amplifying what the principal soloists presented.

One enigma perhaps is the difference in characterization between the three soloists, except for some flute playing held quite aloft and oboe as relentlessly virtuosic at times as to resemble in effect mechanistically giving output. The ephemerally very rapid and brief stretto of horns off single note tremolo in the violins on C-sharp near the end of the first movement was also noteworthy. A slurred retreating flurry of stretto then emerges over a harmonically extended pedal - remindful of the close of the Berg Chamber Concerto and thus almost giving the impression that the first movement of this was over four minutes before it really was. This is instead followed by one last very elaborate contrapuntal episode that then breaks off to nearly two minute episode of stillness. Elaborately intertwining polyphony for the three wind soloists then spins itself out, to conclusion of leaving solo clarinet high aloft.

Jarrell composed the second movement especially with in mind expanding the role and individual character of clarinet and flute soloists. In doing so, he only partly succeeded. Lines of broad lyricism could limn - including even during the first movement for oboe - what might traverse so much space - as for what we might imagine could be there. So much else only gets strongly implied to be so dense. Such lyricism above could also be noted for the extensive closing pages of this work, if seemingly disjunctive in spirit, organizationally so, from what lift has been provided such lyricism earlier.

Fischer and his forces certainly proved non-ostentatiously faithful to the composer’s intent, if from dry or detached perspective. It is open question how much more can happen here in terms of infusing such music with more color, character, and driving force. Here was as good a stab at it as could have anywhere been anticipated.

It perhaps might have been to err on the side of being cerebral for audience to return from the break to immediately take in the Beethoven Eroica Symphony, so inserted between on this program was the Berlioz Symphonie funebre et triomphale. This marked only the Berlioz symphony's second outing at the Proms, with called for its full complement of eighty winds, 18 percussion players, but no strings on a large Royal Albert Hall stage. Presenting this music with the simple dignity, nobility it deserves seemed to be the best strategy - which Fischer with more varied forces followed. Tenor trombone solo, taken from the no longer extant opera “Les Frances-Juges” had the right eloquent simplicity to it, as did preceding noble cortege with varied divisions of its stanzas into two parts.

An indeed immediately bracing account of the Beethoven “Eroica” after one further break then got under way. The specificity one gets in phrasing so often from Thierry Fischer sounded just only three-fourths there for good portions of the first movement. The heroic element here was something freely to be understated, and as such is a welcome approach, over and above the standard garden variety heavy rhetorical cliché one runs across often with this piece. Some accenting here did become crude at times, but overall the goal with conducting this music seemed mostly clear, if not as thoroughly worked out as certainly could have been the case. Fischer clearly avoided taking the marcia funebre second movement too slowly, but with near as certain shaping of the opening theme as happened for Ingo Metzmacher in Berlin as performed there last fall; there was minimal fuss with phrasing here to detract from the solemnity and gravitas of this music. Fugue and recapitulation however were straight-forward to an extent of threatening to give us somewhat a streamlined, glib approach to assignment even here.

Smooth articulation by valveless horns for trio of the Scherzo was a highlight, in the midst of relaxed trio and contented outdoors feel to what Fischer made the scherzo, even if cheating a few rhythms here and there at getting it. The finale, excusing that the Prometheus theme, first time to be heard, got rushed off its tether a bit at one point, was excellent here. The fugue, following a still quite high level of speed, circumspectly maintained its own internal vigor, instead of cheaply having anyone bully accents for it. Pacing, combined with thorough preparation to get accents right here, was very adept, but moreover, fearless. Such held very true for the G Minor dance variation, in attempting to get the bucolic merriment of this passage just right.

Though working out of a different playbook than Metzmacher, Fischer equally eschewed making too ‘eroica’ augmented ‘Prometheus’ in the brass, connecting it instead quietly with the preceding gentle but still connected lilt to all that transpires here and into nearly ending the Andante in G Minor. Such was limned with fine poignancy and exemplifying all that this music can and should be. The Presto coda, without it getting pushed too hard, maintained for not being hard-nosed ‘period’ its becoming a hearty peroration of bracing and compelling vigor to all that had transpired.

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.