Honegger / Ibert, L'Aiglon, A.-C. Gillet, M. Barrard, Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal, K. Nagano (Decca, 2016)
In the Stravinsky, those raucous woodwinds filled the score with wild colors, pushing their sound to the edge of what could still be called beautiful, right from the opening bassoon solo, where a tenuto clinging to the top notes of the melody filled the moment with sweet nostalgia. Nagano took his time with parts of the score, like the famous "Augurs of Spring," that too many other conductors drive past in an obsession with speed that does not necessarily take into account the movement of dancers. In many places, Nagano's shepherding of balances brought out parts of this dense score that had gone unnoticed in previous performances. The soft parts never bored, seemingly guided by an awareness of the story and what the dancers were depicting, allowing plenty of time for the old sage to be lowered to the ground to kiss the earth, for example. When the score was at its most manic, though, as in the manic Dance of the Earth and the Sacrificial Dance that conclude both parts of the ballet, Nagano and his musicians created a thrilling frenzy.
Lawrence A. Johnson, Montreal Symphony makes a triumphant return to Chicago (Chicago Classical Review, March 19)
Anthony Tommasini, Montreal Symphony Orchestra Performs With Panache (New York Times, March 17)
Anne Midgette, Brilliant pianist leads orchestra’s return (Washington Post, March 15)
David Rohde, Montreal Symphony Orchestra with Washington Performing Arts at the Kennedy Center (D.C. Metro Theater Arts, March 15)
The only part of the concert that disappointed was a lackluster performance of Debussy's Jeux, a piece where one definitely missed the velvet touch of Charles Dutoit at the helm. The often overlooked twin of Rite of Spring, which was premiered by the Ballets Russes in the same year, it is a revolutionary piece that can be difficult to bring off the page, because it is so subtle in its subversion of traditional harmony. This was a performance that seemed neither rarefied nor singular, during which not much seemed to happen and so many distinctive colors passed by unnoticed. By the end, no matter what happens, the corpse of tonality lies dead on the floor, felled by countless artistically placed cuts.