Kritikers Notizbuch: Das Wiener Kammerorchester unter Jan Willem de Vriend Erfreuen

J.C.Bach, The Symphonies A.Hoalstead, The Hanover Band CPO

W.A.Mozart, Piano Cto. No.15 K.450 V.Ashkenazy, Philharmonia Decca

F.Schubert, Symphony No.5 D.Barenboim, StaKap Berlin Teldec/Warner

Klassische Morgengabe

Das Wiener Kammerorchester überzeugt unter Jan Willem de Vriend auch zu früher Stunde im Mozart Saal

Halb-Elf Uhr morgens ist der natürliche Feind des Orchestermusikers; mehr noch, als der des Musikkritikers. Aber das Wiener Kammerorchester spielte im Konzerthaus das Zwillingskonzert zu dem so großartigen Konzert vom 23. September (siehe Rezension in der Presse): Die gleichen Komponisten, die gleichen Gattungen, andere Werke. Johann Christian Bach: Sinfonie g-Moll, op .6/6. Mozart: B-Dur Klavierkonzert K 450. Schubert: Sinfonie No. 5. Konnte dieses hohe Niveau unter dem neuen Chef Jan Willem de Vriend auch ante meridiem wiederholt werden? Kurz: Ja! Spannung von der allerersten Note und im Mozart Saal noch direkter erfahrbar als im Großen. Da knarzt das Blech gleich nochmal so sehr, das Fagott brummt herrlich und zwei engagierte Kontrabässe füllen den Raum locker mit peppigen, antreibenden Noten. Kaum Spannungsabfall im Andante mit aufheulenden Geigen und packend „furioso“ im Allegro molto finale.

Ohne Sperenzchen spielte Jasminka Stancul, mit sympathisch-nervöser Energie, das Mozart Konzert (mit bemerkenswerten Beiträgen von der Flöte und den Oboen) und wurde von freundlich-familiären Publikum wärmstens beklatscht. Ob es die zum Ritual sklerotisierte Zugabe gebraucht hätte, sei dahingestellt.

Dann Schuberts Fünfte. Über Vernachlässigung kann sich die Sinfonie nicht beschweren; alleine im Konzerthaus ist sie seit 1913 öfters aufgeführt worden, als ihr vermeintliches Vorbild, Mozarts „große“ g-Moll Sinfonie die erst am Vorabend vom Bremer Kammerorchester gegeben wurde. Auch diese zeitliche Nähe macht die Beziehung allerdings – außer im letzten Satz – kaum deutlicher, denn wer die Fünfte als „Schubert“ kennen und lieben gelernt hat und nicht als epigonalen Mozart-Light, der hört ein originelles, durchweg entzückendes, zu Recht populäres Werk: Die mit Abstand lebendigste seiner frühen Sinfonien. Aber auch eine schwierige, denn sie soll einerseits sonnig-lyrisch klingen, andererseits heiter-lebendig. Etwas kantig im Holz und mit kurzen Phrasen und wenig warmem Streicherklang ging es hier zuweilen hektisch voran, mit wenig Sonne, aber lieber lebendig und bewölkt als geschmeidig und langweilig. Wenn das Kritik sein soll, zeigt dass nur, wie hoch die Erwartungen nach eineinhalb superben Konzerten unter de Vriend schon sind, nach eineinhalb Jahrzehnten Enttäuschung. Nein, in dieser Verfassung kann man zum Kammerorchester schon nach der Frühmesse gehen und musikalisch Hocherfreuliches erwarten.


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"His face was boyish, despite his wrinkles": STC's cheeky "Babbitt"

Mara Devi and Matthew Broderick (center) in Babbitt, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane Photography

This month's production from Shakespeare Theatre Company is a stage adaption of Babbitt, Sinclair Lewis's critique of middle-aged Midwestern conservativism from 1922. Joe DiPietro converted the novel for an ensemble cast starring Matthew Broderick at La Jolla Playhouse in San Diego, imported to Washington with a few new cast members, seen Friday night at Sidney Harman Hall downtown.

Broderick dives into the plain, empty-headed everyman role of George F. Babbitt, real estate broker, with understated relish. His characterization, two parts "Aw, shucks" to one part "apple pie," reads as if his iconic character Ferris Bueller had grown up into a small-town Republican. "He seemed prosperous, extremely married and unromantic," as Lewis put it in the novel. Broderick's biggest laughs came from his hilarious, very slow attempts to sit on the floor in a younger woman's apartment, as well as dancing with her. The political ideas, representing both liberal and conservative sides as Babbitt rebels from his staid existence, echo today's divides with surprisingly few textual changes (the novel's forays into racist language are happily omitted).

The adaptation is essentially a one-man show, with seven "story-tellers," as they are called, both narrating the story, with text lifted more or less directly from the book, and also becoming characters in dialogue with Broderick. Ann Herada reprises the role of Myra Babbitt, the long-suffering wife, with pathetic patience, while Mara Davi plays the younger woman, Tanis, who enchants Babbitt. Lewis's slightly twee commentary does not exactly convert easily to the stage, undermining the play's dramatic potential. The main appeal of the production remains the chance to see Broderick in his STC debut.

Christopher Ashley's production, made for La Jolla Playhouse, revolves around a somewhat pedestrian concept: it is set in a sterilely lit library, complete with shelf stacks, book carts, desks and chairs (scenic design by Walt Spangler). The action remains in Lewis's 1920s, although some character changes do not quite fit that setting. The justification for the library setting comes from a tiny alteration to the story: Babbitt's wife goes to stay with her sister when they have fallen out and is comforted by reading books in the local library. To make up with her, after her life-threatening illness that forces Babbitt to see reason, he atones by handing her a new library card.

Babbitt runs through November 3 at Sidney Harman Hall. shakespearetheatre.org

Critic’s Notebook: A Flying Dutchman from the Budapest Opera

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer F.Fricsay, RIAS SOB DG/Eloquence

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer F.Konwitschny, StaKap Berlin Berlin Classics

R.Wagner, Der fliegende Holländer D.Barenboim, StaKap Berlin Teldec/Warner

A Pleasing-Enough Dutchman

The point was to come to Budapest and witness the Hungarian Premiere of Nixon in China, but en passant it only seemed fitting to stop by the opera house proper (Nixon took place in a different venue) for a Flying Dutchman. It was celebrating its 140th birthday and, owing to it having been shut down for several years for comprehensive renovation work until its re-opening in 2022, I had never actually been. High time to change that, after all, it’s one of the finest examples of the neo-Renaissance style, a jewel among opera houses, perfectly sized (unless you want to make money with it), and now glowing again in its new-old splendour that had (allegedly) elicited the congratulatory grumble from Emperor Franz Joseph I at its opening that he “prescribed it to be smaller than the opera house in Vienna” but should also have “decreed that it not be more beautiful”. And indeed, it’s a truly grand opera house, all gilded, marbled, satined, and candelabraed. And yet just small enough to be intimate. (Far away enough to be ignored by the Western press, you’d think it’s the ideal stage for trying out new rôles for ambitious singers.)

So the Flying Dutchman it was. Earlier that day, a matinee of Carmen had already been produced… and apparently exhausted the Budapestian’s hunger for opera that day: The attendance was somewhere between “low” and “pitiful”, but certainly below 50% capacity of the roughly 1000 comfortable seats (fitted with subtitle screens) that the new post-renovation arrangement provides. What the hardy Wagnerians got was a fine Dutchman with some good singing in a production by János Szikora that means to offend no one or maybe just doesn’t mean much at all. The costumes (Kriszta Berzsenyi) are toned down, except for the slightly more elaborate getups of Senta and the Dutchman (a red dress and coat, respectively, with matching concentric yellow and orange circles painted on them) and a brief appearance of the Dutch sailor’s chorus as clunky papier-mâché zombies. Incidentally, that was the production’s only veritable failure. When the Norwegians call on, invite, and tease the Dutchman’s crew, their delayed, eventual response is supposed to be positively overwhelming. Various directors have come up with variously successful means of creating that effect. Amplification of the voices, as done here, is often among them. But then it should really be overwhelming. Here, it was an electronically distorted whimper that never got particularly loud and certainly never intimidating. A damp squib. The cowering visible chorus on stage was shivering for no reason.

Everywhere else, the production did not stand in the way of the music or the singing, which some more conservative audiences (for whatever that’s worth) might consider a good quality. The set by Éva Szendrényi is highly economical; two, three props (large ropes, a large frame, a loom) and otherwise it’s an empty stage, framed by frames with fabric stretched across them, doubling as a projection screen and revolving doors for getting all the seamen on and off the stage.

The singing had a few positive surprises in store. András Palerdi’s was a very pleasantly understated Daland, subtle, with good pronunciation. A bit on the soft side but never trying to overcompensate. Like his Steersman, István Horváth, who seems a fine all-purpose character tenor, à la Kevin Conners, he could be easily found on any international stage in that rôle. Anna Kissjudit’s Mary with a huge, natural, controlled voice that easily rang throughout the round was quite

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Critic’s Notebook: Schoenberg’s Birthday Gift at the Musikverein

A.Schoenberg, Gurre-Lieder E.P.Salonen, Philharmonia Signum

The Big 150: Arnold Goes Romantic

Schoenberg’s Birthday, on September 13th, was celebrated in style at the Musikverein with a performance – two performances, to be precise – of his Gurre-Lieder. If, somehow, you have not heard this grand romantic cantata, imagine a mature Mahler to have written a sequel to Das klagende Lied. The only problems with it are that it’s expensive to mount, what with a massive orchestra of some 150 musicians, four (!) choruses, and six soloists… and that Schoenberg’s name is attached to it, which keeps people away, no matter what’s actually being played. Someone has got to have a birthday, for a presenter or venue to bother with Gurre-Lieder.

Venue and orchestra have form. When the work was premiered 101 years ago, that took place in the Musikverein. (The Konzerthaus was still being built.) And the Vienna Symphony Orchestra, performing their first, but somehow not their official inaugural, concert with Petr Popelka as their reigning chief conductor, was the performing body (under a different name). Fitting then, but not necessarily suitable. The Musikverein is too small for the Gurre-Lieder. While it is still possible – and only just– to squeeze all the participating musicians on stage and balcony, it is not possible to keep the acoustic from collapsing unto itself. It’s understandable that the Musikverein wished to celebrate Schoenberg with the one romantic “event composition” his oeuvre has to offer, but it’s a musically selfish move; the work demands to be performed across the street, in the essentially purpose-built Great Hall of the Konzerthaus.

Perhaps the grumbling over the location would have been less pronounced, had the performance been more successful. Yes, the cast was great. Only Michael Weinius (already stepping in for a colleague and announced as under the weather) was not entirely convincing in this fiendishly difficult part – but early on he still did very well, starting out relaxed rather than belting (perhaps because the announcement freed him of proving a point?) and sounding rather pleasant. The rest, was what you might wish for, in such a hyper-late-romantic banger… assuming you heard them over the creaking and screeching orchestra: The highly pregnant Vera-Lotte Boecker was a radiant, soaring, rich Tove (Waldemar’s love); Sasha Cooke a controlled, sonorous Wood dove, fresh and with beauty of timbre that easily flattering any of the pigeons in my neighborhood. In the second half, Gerhard Siegel (as Klaus the Jester), a character-tenor that screams “Mime” the second he opens his mouth, was able to get above the orchestra surprisingly often, ditto Florian Boesch, whose Peasant had the easiest time being heard, given the reduced orchestral passages that he sings along to. And Angela Denoke, as the (amped) speaker, did a whole lot more than just speaking in this part: She gave voice to the lyrical element of her Sprechgesang.

So yes, the VSO, under Popelka (who has impressed me on the occasions I have heard him previously), did well but also did not have their finest hour. If the constantly excessive noise levels, right from the beginning, can still be blamed on Schoenberg, the slew of wobbly entries, off-kilter harmonics, shrill woodwinds, the nervous energy… all that was less than ideal. Most of it was lost in the general sense of euphoria, such a grand work can elicit live, but not entirely. And come the entry of the choruses, the music became something more akin to white noise. Musically pointless, but perhaps emotionally still of value. The Gurre-Lieder being a work that overpromises and underdelivers, needs more of a performance to truly thrill – and most of all a different venue^*.

^*Apparently, that is where the performance had been planned to take place, until the VSO changed its mind (not to say reneged on a done deal) and went for the pre-inaugural concert at the Gurre-Lieder’s birthplace.

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STC recasts "Comedy of Errors" as even goofier musical

Alex Brightman and David Fynn as the Dromios in The Comedy of Errors, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane Photography

The Comedy of Errors is the slenderest of Shakespeare plays, and it is generally a good idea to give its convoluted plot and mostly physical jokes a boost. Simon Godwin, artistic director of Shakespeare Theatre Company, has turned to popular music again for his new production of this early play, an approach tried before, at least since the 18th century. Scottish composer Michael Bruce has supplied music, complete with some antic full-cast dance numbers, this in a script that originally, unlike last season's As You Like It, actually has no songs in it. A note to those who like to dash out of shows early -- this staging is like Mamma Mia, which came back to the Kennedy Center this summer, with one more groovy dance bit tacked on to the end of the play that you won't want to miss.

The action takes place in Ephesus, where an aged man from Siracusa in Sicily has run afoul of the local police. He explains to the Duke that he lost two of his four children -- two twin sons, both named Antipholus, and two twin orphan boys he adopted as their servants, both named Dromio -- years ago in a shipwreck and seeks them in Ephesus. The son and his servant from Siracusa have just arrived separately to search for their lost siblings, but little do they know that the other Antipholus and Dromio are living in Ephesus. In a long and rather improbable series of mishaps, they happen to cross paths with their doppelgangers and, since neither servant can tell the master from his twin and vice-versa, hilarity ensues.

Godwin's decision to cast Alex Brightman and David Fynn as the two Dromios made it hard even for the audience to distinguish them from one another. Both men played Dewey Finn (the role created by Jack Black in the film version of School of Rock) in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical adaptation of the movie, one on Broadway and the other in London's West End. Both men brought some of that character's nerdy zaniness to their roles, often adding off-the-cuff spoken or sung lines. The two Antipholi, Ralph Adriel Johnson and Christian Thompson, did not resemble one another in the same uncanny way, but the play does not suffer for this lack of realism.

The other high point was the lead actresses, Shayvawn Webster as the sharp-tongued Adriana, wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, and Cloteal L. Horne as her sister Luciana, who brought a modern edge to the disappointment of the women in the behavior of the men around them. Amanda Naughton made an over-the-top Abbess in the closing scenes, and Eric Hissom had his best moments as the absurd Doctor Pinch (he was also Duke Solinus). The supporting cast had some roles changed slightly, like the goldsmith Angela (Pearl Rhein) instead of Angelo, and the Courtesan of Kimberly Dodson now named Thaisa. Most of these actors doubled as a walking pit band, led by music director Paige Rammelkamp and associate music director Jacob Brandt.

Sets and costumes (designed by Ceci Calf and Alejo Vietti, respectively) evoke the updated setting of a Mediterranean city in the 1990s, "before the invention of the cell phone," as the program synopsis notes -- something like a mix of Miami Vice and Clueless. The manic pace of the show is amplified by its physicality: several dance numbers (choreography by Nancy Renee Braun) and one hilarious sword fight (fight choreography by Robb Hunter) keep things fairly breathless.

The Comedy of Errors has been extended through October 20, at the Klein Theatre. shakespearetheatre.org

Cast in The Comedy of Errors, Shakespeare Theatre Company. Photo: Teresa Castracane Photography

Notes from the 2024 Salzburg Festival ( 5 ) Don Giovanni • Currentzis • Castellucci

Opera • Don Giovanni • Currentzis • Utopia Orchestra

Also reviewed for Die Presse: „Don Giovanni“ bei den Salzburger Festspielen: Jubel für weiße Bilderkunst

ALL PICTURES (DETAILS) COURTESY SALZBURG FESTIVAL, © Monika Rittershaus. CLICK FOR THE WHOLE PICTURE.

50 Shades of White: Currentzis’ and Castellucci’s Don Giovanni Triumpans/span>

Robert Castellucci’s Don Giovanniwas first performed at the 2021 Salzburg Festival. For the premiere of the revival, the production has changed only in some small details. It still begins with a professional crew of movers clearing out a church. By the time they get to taking down the renaissance crucifix from the wall, the overture bursts on the scene, courtesy Teodor Currentzis and his Utopia Orchestra, which is in essence his MusicAeterna Orchestra, but the West-European edition, to avoid unnecessary controversy about a Russian orchestra performing in Europe. (More about that, in a bit.)

Whether the pre-overture action means to suggest that art is replacing religion is up for speculation. But they must clean house. Perhaps to get rid of clichés and old-fashioned ideas about Don Giovanni. Or simply to make room for this production. Lots and lots of white room. So white, in fact, and in so many different warm and cool shades, sometimes draped with vast sheets of cloth, and brilliantly lit, one might have mistaken it for a Dieter Dorn production, except with a slew of animals making witty cameos: A goat, a poodle, and a rat!

The Dieter Dorn comparison might not even be so off the mark, because despite the overwhelming, wafting pictures that Castellucci painted unto the stage – set, costumes and lighting all being one homogenous one – his production is essentially a fairly conventional chamber play, which relies on the actor-singers to bring it to life. And that they did!

Homogenous Ensemble

The Singers were a very homogenous, very satisfying ensemble. No reasonable person would have attended this Don Giovanni for any one particularly singer – and yet, the vocal offering was excellent. Nadezhda Pavlova’s Donna Anna, for example, who got the loudest ovations: Strong-voiced and soaring above all, when necessary. Or the much appreciated Federica Lombardi’s Elvira, touching, half-motherly, half-seductive, with a nicely low timbre. Anna El-Khashem’s minx of a Zerlina was a little muted, but the way her voice betrayed experience-beyond-her-years worked nicely with her character, who is rather more worldly than her oaf of a husband-to-be, Masetto (Ruben Drole: smokey, sturdy, blunted – all befitting his character). This becomes deliciously obvious, when she rather enjoys being tied up with a bondage rope by Don Giovanni, whereas her encouraging “Batti, batti, o bel Masetto” is rather lost on the poor chap, who doesn’t, much to Zerlina’s resigned disappointment, get her drift.

The fact that Don Giovanni are just about doppelgängers reminds of Peter Sellars’ 80s production, where he cast the rôles with the Perry twins. Kyle Ketelsen’s Leporello, dark-hued and gruff, and Davide Luciano’s all-in Don G., steady and with a warm timbre, and never, never prone to barking, hit all the marks – and especially Luciano embodied the personified id. Superstars in the Pit None of this would have been as satisfactorily possible, had it not been for the support from the Orchestra. The Utopia Orchestra offered precision, force, and lots of bite – but also oodles of transparency – to a degree that you simply don’t get from an orchestra where, not a minute into their scheduled lunchbreak, the first trombone already raises their hand. From full-out attack to the height of tender reticence, even the smallest phrase was fully thought-out and shaped. Any sense of harmlessness is out of the question, in such a performance and if anyone could possibly niggle, it would be about this approach being a bit too much of a good thing. Except, not really. The fortepiano had inspired, free-wheeling passages, with ‘planned-improvisatory’ contributions that even included a bit of late Beethoven, to underline the seriousness of Act 2. The consequence was great enthusiasm for the music and near instant, unanimous standing ovations for Teodor Currentzis and his musicians.

If one only followed the “Currentzis Question” through social media, one might get the idea that he’s controversial. And yes, there are enough bigots out there – well, one, specifically – who make a point out of trolling Russian artists (not that Currentzis is Russian – but he works there) that don’t kowtow to their demands for explicit renunciation of all things Putin… and all consequences for their careers (and the livelihood of the musicians that rely on them) be damned… and some cowards who will immediately try to distance themselves from presumed controversy or Twitter-pressure.

In Salzburg, the audience couldn’t possibly care less about this one-man witch-hunt against Currentzis (who has, in any case, shown his true colors by immediately programming Ukrainian works in the aftermath of the Russian invasion, and the Britten War Requiem). What they want is great music-making. And that they get in spades from the weirdo-conductor and his supremely willing band of musical Nibelungs.

Dramma giocoso

For all the grandness of the production’s sets, populated with 150 choreographed women of all ages, shapes, and types – a none-too-subtle but perfectly effective manifestation of Don’s “catalogue” – Castellucci does not leave the “giocoso” part of Don Giovanni unattended to. (Unlike Glaus Guth, whose perfect Giovanni was all bleak and dark.) Of course, playing up the comedic element of the story rarely works well; least of all when the Don is played as a sort of oversexed Falstaff. This is something that Castellucci fastidiously avoids. The laughs come from other corners. Like Masetto’s hiding place, from which a (live!) rat scurries across stage, as he is discovered. His shriek might have been real, too. Chuckles also ripple through the Festspielhaus, when Donna Elvira’s two little kids are chasing Daddy Giovanni, who is distinctly put off by these two unintended consequences clinging to his legs.

But the comedic coup de théâtre is the treatment of that big fat zero of the opera, Don Ottavio, that ineffectual bloviator, who sings much and does absolutely nothing, except stand on the sidelines making helpful comments like an acquaintance telling you that you’re putting the Ikea closet together all wrong. Every time Castellucci and his Theresa Wilson, his costume-assistant, send Ottavio – who starts out looking like a posh hobby dictator in his silky mess uniform – out on stage, they stuff him into a yet-still-more ridiculous costume: A Pierrot with a coiffed (real) poodle. The King of Jerusalem. As a nun. And the more earnestly Ottavio sings, the more pathetic – and hilarious – it becomes. Julian Prégardien does this with total commitment, great lyrical stretches, and just a brief, intermittent stretch where the intonation softened. Once scene, with him and Donna Anna, features two artist’s mannequins who, as graphically as is within their abstract ability, act out what really happened between her and Giovanni, earlier that night, before the overture. A wink, a nod, and a reminder, as if it was needed, that a point of view, one’s reality, and the truth are not necessarily the same thing. A move, reminiscent of what Kasper Holten’s does in during the overture of his film version of the opera, Juan.

There is probably no production that will be liked by everyone. And a small group in the audience, evidently less impressed by things falling and crashing onto the stage at irregular intervals (still basketballs and a grand piano; the car and the carriage now only dangle and don’t fall, in this updated production), hollered “Boos” at the production team. But those were immediately drowned by contra “Bravos” from an audience that wouldn’t have its good time spoiled.

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Photo descriptions:


Above
Picture No.1: Don Giovanni 2024: Extras of the Salzburg Festival (Pre-Overture)

Picture No.2: Don Giovanni 2024: Anna El-Khashem (Zerlina), Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni)

Picture No.3: Don Giovanni 2024: Julian Prégardien (Don Ottavio), Nadezhda Pavlova (Donna Anna)




Below
Picture No.4: Don Giovanni 2024: Ensemble

Picture No.5: Don Giovanni 2024: Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni), Federica Lombardi (Donna Elvira), Ensemble

Picture No.6: Don Giovanni 2024: Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni)

Picture No.7: Don Giovanni 2024: Davide Luciano (Don Giovanni)

Picture No.8: Don Giovanni 2024: Nadezhda Pavlova (Donna Anna), Ensemble

Notes from the 2024 Salzburg Festival ( 4 ) Ouverture Spirituelle • Lobgesang • Vienna Philharmonic

Lobgesang • Mendelssohn • Vienna Philharmonic • Blomstedt

Also reviewed for Die Presse: In Salzburg feiert Herbert Blomstedt Geburtstag

ALL PICTURES (DETAILS) COURTESY SALZBURG FESTIVAL, © Marco Borrelli. CLICK FOR THE WHOLE PICTURE.

A Hymn of Praise to Old Age

On July 11th, Herbert Blomstedt turned 97 – ninety-seven (!) – years old. And when you turn 97, you get to celebrate your birthday twice, no problem! First with a Bruckner Ninth and the Bamberg Orchestra (see also “ The Subtle Miracle Herbert Blomstedt And Bamberg's Cathedral Tour Of Bruckner”) and a good fortnight later with Mendelssohn’s Second Symphony – the “Hymn of Praise” – and the Vienna Philharmonic at the Salzburg Festival.

Of course, age takes its toll, at this advanced hour of one’s life – and the stiffly moving but self-propelled Blomsted looks a bit like a marionette. His physical conducting is reduced in expressiveness and breadth of motion. But the key to an inspired performance is not forcing one’s will onto 190 musicians (counting the 111 singers of the Vienna Singverein), but to make them want to dance attendance on his every musical wish. And this, Blomstedt manages with ease, thanks to his charisma, earnestness, reputation, quiet enthusiasm, and devout charm, and that’s why his concerts are still such musically miraculous moments.

The Compleat Mendelssohn

Brahms’ Schicksalslied (Song of Destiny), op.54, with the disciplined, restrained choir, was a masterclass in matters gentility, sensitively performed by the Philharmonic for Blomstedt. This was the overture to Mendelssohn’s Second Symphony, long considered something of a problem child among Mendelssohn’s symphonies, with three short instrumental movements that are then – supposedly – squashed by the vast Cantata that follows. It’s an unfortunate, perhaps finally waning reputation, given that the work contains everything that makes Mendelssohn. The earnest, imposing music of the oratorios. Some of the fairy-dust music he is best known for. And even some of the tragedy and dissonance we can find in the F minor String Quartet.

The quick pace of the opening was invigorating for not trying to artificially impose more weight on the movement in search of some elusive balance but simply content in praising God – a concrete matter for Blomstedt and not just some abstract concept. The calm pianissimos that Blomstedt got from the orchestra (“Nun danket alle Gott”) were particularly touching.

The quick pace of the opening was invigorating for not trying to artificially impose more weight on the movement in search of some elusive balance but simply content in praising God – a concrete matter for Blomstedt and not just some abstract concept. The calm pianissimos that Blomstedt got from the orchestra (“Nun danket alle Gott”) were particularly touching.

F. Mendelssohn-B The Symphonies C.v.Dohnányi, Vienna Philharmonic Decca, 2010

Save Thyself!

Not everything went as smoothly. Towards the end, the performance lacked the crucial impulse, that would have imbued this “Hymn of Praise” with the needed pulse. Nor were the ‘almost-dissonant’, which can add a welcome bitter-sweet fragrance, particularly tended to. When the chorus nearly threw a fugato passage (“Die Nacht ist vergangen”), there was no help to be gotten from Blomstedt. The Singverein managed to rescue itself splendidly.

The soloists were right in line with the high quality and character of the performance – namely the level-headed, narrative, perfectly singing of tenor Tilman Lichidi (despite a weaker, flat moment later in the duet) and the effective, nicely enunciating Christina Landshamer, with a tastefully increasing but never overly dramatic vibrato on the held notes – and contributed to this wholly untroubled, Lord-praising eleven-AM performance. Grateful ovations when Blomstedt was led off and back on the stage, by concertmaster Rainer Honeck.

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Photo descriptions:

Picture No.1: Wiener Philharmoniker · Blomstedt 2024: Herbert Blomstedt (Dirigent), Wiener Philharmoniker

Picture No.2: Wiener Philharmoniker · Blomstedt 2024: Elsa Benoit (Sopran II), Christina Landshamer (Sopran I), Herbert Blomstedt (Dirigent), Tilman Lichdi (Tenor), Wiener Philharmoniker, Wiener Singverein

Notes from the 2024 Salzburg Festival ( 3 ) Time with Schoenberg • The City Without Jews

The City Without Jews • PHACE • Olga Neuwirth

Also reviewed for Die Presse: Olga Neuwirths Musik hat zu „Die Stadt ohne Juden“ nichts zu sagen

ALL PICTURES (DETAILS) COURTESY SALZBURG FESTIVAL, © Marco Borrelli. CLICK FOR THE WHOLE PICTURE.

The Good Austrian

The City Without Jews, a 1924 Austrian Expressionist film by Hans Karl Breslauer based on the novel of the same title by Hugo Bettauer, was first shown 100 years ago. For many years it was deemed lost, but after an intact copy was unexpectedly found some years ago, the Austrian Film Institute has stitched the film back together and made digital copies of it. While it’s good to have this rare film available and while it feels good (for Austrians, particularly, one reckons) to know that there were “good people” out there, who stood up against antisemitism, the quality of the film and the print – and its copies – is variable and dodgy.

Fourteen Ways to Describe the Rain

Hugo Bettauer , The City without Jews

The Salzburg Festival screened the film as part of their “Time with Schoenberg” series – although there was little (none, in fact) Schoenberg involved in this project. The new soundtrack was composed by Olga Neuwirth and a little prelude came courtesy of Hanns Eisler. Very apropos for Salzburg, that work was the Fourteen Ways to Describe the Rain. Well, as far as Salzburg is concerned, there are the impotent fat drops, that lazily plop from above, announcing an impending storm. There are middle-sized ones, that offer half trepidation, half hope, with a thunderstorm already or still being stuck behind one of the surrounding mountains. And then there are mean little needles of drops, that shoots down your neck from behind – themselves a prelude to the specific drizzle the locals call “ Schnürlregen”, a straight, light put consistent pour that has a dispiriting, it-will-never-end quality about it.

A Dearth of Ideas

Led by Nacho de Paz, the PHACE Ensemble performed the Eissler excellently (especially violist Petra Ackermann gave her best to make music out of Eisler’s quickly tiresome note salad) and the film music properly, along to their click-track. But the music was not particularly rewarding. Neuwirth's apparent dearth of ideas for the music to this film was baffling. At least half of it was smeared with a monotonously ominous, reverberant droning sound – quite regardless to what the film shows: Love scene: Droning. Singing in the synagogue: Droning. The only notable deviations are the interlacing of Austrian clichés (jodling, zither-music, and voice fragments of Hans Moser, a famous Austrian actor who had one of his first starring rôles in this film and whose apt physical comedy is already on display) into the soundtrack – and one telephone, that actually rings. The film’s banal depiction of the reasons for the economic and financial crisis in Austria is close to being an antisemitic trope itself; the actual antisemitism that the film ridicules is so over-the-top, it’s a bit too easy to be against it. And the “good Jew” of the film, Johannes Riemann might be a sympathetic proto-Mr. Bean, but nine years later, he became Nazi Party member No. 2641955. Well, we can’t all be on the right side of history, I suppose.

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Photo descriptions:

Picture No.1: Zeit mit SCHÖNBERG – Die Stadt ohne Juden 2024: PHACE

Picture No.2: Zeit mit SCHÖNBERG – Die Stadt ohne Juden 2024: Nacho de Paz (Dirigent), PHACE