On the four-concert program on the 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th of September (as if two or three weren’t enough) was Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No.5, Schubert’s Fourth Symphony, and Richard Strauss’ Also sprach Zarathustra. Bach, with the slightly silly inclusion of a harpsichord in the 2500 arena that is the Philharmonic hall of the Gasteig, is good to play for the orchestra, and they should do more of it by all means. It’s music that philharmonic audiences all over the classical world are increasingly deprived on, but shouldn’t. Eventually, as familiarity with the idiom is being re-introduced to the orchestra, it will be good to hear, too.
Schubert’s Fourth, “Tragic”, Symphony was next in this ‘travel-through-the-style-periods exercise’. It’s said that there is quite a bit of Schubert in Bruckner; on this occasion there was quite a bit of Bruckner in Schubert. The most tragic thing about the work is that Schubert never got to hear it (or any other of his symphonies) performed. A fine performance like this would have done nicely for Schubert, who presumably wasn’t spoiled… one with a leisurely Andante just like this, chugging along happily towards a perfectly harmless Menuetto, and a charming, side-effect free finale.
How did Strauss’ Alpine Symphony ever get a bad rap, as long as Also spoke Zarathustra is out there? It’s an impressive work, the latter, ruined forever by Stanley Kubrick, and completely overwhelming itself with the opening. The best prescription might be to lean back and bask in the sound, the glow of the strings supported by the organ (to add to the decadence), and enjoy the several moments where violas pick the spent musical material up to bring it closer to the idiom that would be heard later in the Rosenkavalier. There are luckier listeners who take more naturally to this deliberately contrasting and jarring work (brought to you by the alternating keys of B and C major), who hear more than just an incoherent jumble of notes more concerned with loudness than greatness in this “Symphonic Optimism in Fin de siècle form, dedicated to the 20th Century”.
The performance didn’t help, even on the third of four nights. The first trumpet and the cellist had off-days and only the concertmaster managed to get his solo-duties dispatched with narcissist ease and flawless ability.
In order to be seen by the singers, perched on two ledges at the back of the hall, Maazel got an extra high podium from which he conducted sitting at a desk. German bureaucracy unquestionably demanding that “any steps exceeding one in number and/or five inches in height” need a special safety marking, such safety-tape was duly glued ‘round the rostrum. Very pretty, too: It left the stage of the Philharmonic hall looking one porta-potty short of a construction site for the city’s new penguin house.
A good deal of subscription holders opted to stay home at the prospect of a bunch of Young Singers Project performers doing a concert-La bohème, but the quality of the singers was the last reason that would have justified keeping away from the performance. It was a fine sounding group of young men and ladies on display, none of them were overacting (as especially American voice students are wont to do),
Joyce El-Khoury may not be “the next Renée Fleming and more”, as advertised by Dietlinde Turban, the irresistibly charming Châteauville Foundation spokesperson and wife of Lorin Maazel, but she made for an impressive Mimì (the Ashley Alexandra Dupré of her time), and is the very picture of (bronzing cream improved) health. Jennifer Black isn’t as nimble as she would have to be to convince dramatically, but her Musetta was even more interesting and secure, with plenty character, a wet, silvery sound, easy high notes, and less of a sandy edge to her voice than El-Khoury. Brian Jadge impressed with a strong, well channeled voice, louder than meaty, cleaner than clear, uncommonly good, but common in timbre, and showing signs of strain by act three.
The superficial, light, and sentimental music (so the initial critical reaction to La bohème)—all the ingredients necessary for success and popularity—was in good hands with Maazel and the Philharmonic. Apart from supporting his singers enthusiastically, he got a particularly fine performance from the orchestra. Aided by the lack of a pit, which always allows one to hear more than usual, of the operatic score, they created a real goose-bump finale.
For Ravel’s piano concerto, the locally popular Alice Sara Ott, one of the barefoot-gimmick-artsits, was
  Fauré, Debussy, Schoenberg, Sibelius, Pelléas and Mélisande, S.Baudo / Czech PO Supraphon     |
