Ionarts at Large: Semyon Bychkov (& Manny Ax) in Chopin and Rachmaninov

Semyon Bychkov was in Munich not long ago – presenting first ‘his’ West German Radio Symphony Orchestra (WDRSO) in spectacular Shostakovich and very fine Beethoven. Shortly thereafter, in April, he conducted the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra in two concerts – as scheduled with Emanuel Ax in Chopin (Concerto No.2 in e-minor) and Rachmaninov (Second Symphony) and again when he replaced Daniele Gatti later that month (Tchaikovsky’s Sixth and Beethoven’s Second Symphonies).

Chopin, Piano Concerto No.2 et al., Ax / Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment / Mackerras (released June, 30th, 1998 Sony) Chopin, Piano Concerto No.1 et al., Ax / Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment / Mackerras (released March, 16th, 1999 Sony)

When he led the Bavarian ‘Cousin’ orchestra of the WDRSO through the Chopin on April 17^th and 18^th, he ensured perfect ensemble work to accompany the soloist. Ax gets older, his hair whiter and less domineering of his head, but he plays ever nimbly and the Second Chopin concerto is, in any case, a thankful vehicle for Ax’s sunny, never too indulgent, art. It could be considered one of his calling cards – not the least since his notable 1998 Sony recording(s) on an Érard piano. The result was more than a pleasant run-through and less than an inspiring performance. (Admittedly it would be difficult for me to imagine how that concerto would have to be played in order to actually be inspiring.)

Meanwhile the ears were more than satisfied with the sinuous Larghetto that arose softly after the Maestoso, which was a calm affair pleasantly supplanted by the Allegro vivace which could have been a tad more spirited. Chopin was well served, the audience entertained, and Ax cajoled into offering more splendidly regal Chopin as an encore.

For a composer who wrote symphonies, Rachmaninov is not known for them in the way that other great (or equally famous) composer are. Where symphonies are among the main draws even for Brahms and Schumann, who wrote many more, arguably better, works in other genres, the three symphonies of Rachmaninov are more an afterthought to his compositions that include piano in any form.

I approximated these symphonies from skeptical distance myself, first appreciating Mikhail Pletnev’s recording of the Second as an eye- and ear-opener. And specifically with the Second Symphony I suspect that the key to a successful performance thereof might be to somehow tear the musical material out of its all-too easily assumed role as symphonic tapestry for a concerto without solo instrument. The music needs to be emancipated from its role as sweeping, romantic, sumptuous support for a soloist who never shows up.

Strong ideas, small musical cells, prominent themes, or a clear, linear development are all hallmarks of a successful, lastingly popular symphony. Rachmaninov’s opus 27 doesn’t quite fit that bill and the result sounds like a Sibelius Symphony between its highpoints, marred by Tchaikovskean triviality and irrelevance. César Cui wasn’t all that imperceptive in his criticism of Rachmaninov’s Symphony (the First, not the Second) when he attested it “broken rhythms, obscurity and vagueness of form, meaningless repetition of the same short tricks, […] quasi-melodic outlines, the complete absence of simplicity and naturalness, [and] the complete absence of themes.” The Second Symphony was received more favorably and it contains moments of grace to be enjoyed. But it needs all the help from the conductor and orchestra that it can get, and even then isn’t a masterpiece.

Unlike the Piano Concertos, the symphonies sound bound – perhaps constrained – by tradition. They are worlds away from Scriabin – closer to Schumann than the contemporary Nielsen, much less Schoenberg or Stravinsky. Rachmaninov is more in the symphonic league of a Myaskovsky. That’s no insult – Myaskovsky’s symphonies are worth seeking out – but it means that interpreters have to work hard with the music to transcend pleasantry and arrive at – or near – something memorable.

Bychkov and the largely faultless, occasionally enthused orchestra came very close. They achieved the possibility of a great symphonic evening where one listens attentively and with great hope, despite the misgivings of prejudice. This atmosphere isn’t the set-up for disappointment in case they did not arrive entirely, but rather the springboard to greatness that, unjumped, still leaves you at “very good”. And “very good” this performance was, indeed.

The Largo of the first movement lumbers darkly, shot through with ripely lyrical moments. The a-minor Allegro molto second movement rides along in catchy manner, easily the most characterful of the four movements, less plangent and perfectly serving the indulgent moments of sweet drama and suspension. The third movement – Adagio – has rarely sounded so coherent (almost epic) and uncloying to these ears. But if all went well in the Adagio, there is still the legitimate fear that the concluding Allegro vivace might cheapen all that had been arduously gained before it. It is unapologetically romantic swoop’n’swoon replete with bombast and treacly strings.

Bychkov navigated through it quickly and safely enough that even the most treacherously sticky moments passed safely. With that careful stewardship he capped a performance that must be considered all the greater a success for the musicians to the degree that it isn’t considered one for the composer.

Ionarts at Large: Fabio Luisi in Mahler & Beethoven

Gustav Mahler’s First Symphony and Beethoven’s First Piano Concerto are separated by less time than separates us from the premiere of the Mahler Symphony (in it’s final form) in Berlin. A fact that has been true for 15 years. (Quiz: If the Beethoven concerto was premiered in 1800, when was Mahler’s work premiered?) And yet Mahler still seems so much more current, (sometimes even modern) than Beethoven – while Beethoven’s C-major piano concerto op.15 is instead graced with timelessness. You would think classical music – as everything else in life – to have changed more in the last hundred years than in any hundred years before that. Did it– but it ceased to be relevant at some point? Perhaps questions for a long night with Mahler and Single Malt.

Mahler, Sy.2, MDRSO / Luisi Mahler, Sy.6, MDRSO / Luisi Mahler, Das Lied von der Erde et al., MDRSo / Luisi Robert & Clara Schumann, Piano Concertos, Hohenrieder / New Philharmonic Westphalia / Wildner

Both composers – though not the libation – were present in the second week of April when Winderstein Concerts presented Fabio Luisi’s at the Munich Philharmonic Hall with his orchestra, the Staatskapelle Dresden. The Mahler performed there will soon join the many recent issues of Mahler symphonies (on DVD, presumably, as it was filmed), but whether that performance had what it takes to merit preservation for future generations could be doubted. While the Dresden orchestra is one of the handful of best orchestras in Germany, and while it knows its Mahler (reiterated by recently issued Giuseppe Sinopoli recordings from their vault on the Profil label), and while its string section never offers anything less than impressive ensemble work, and while Luisi seemed utterly engaged in every aspect of this performance, the result was distinctively lackluster.

The brass section had inexplicable lapses in the “Titan’s” finale (when they had been so impressive, still, in the first movement), the Frère Jacques round in the third movement (played by the entire double bass section – though sometimes taken solo) was of unfortunate accuracy and refinement, without any sense of terror, warped frenzy, or being slightly off kilter. The Hungaro/Jewish dance elements, rendered with delicate refinement, made me wish the Saxon State Orchestra Dresden might play a little less perfectly. The utmost gentility of the morning dew, though, was superbly crafted.

On the upside, the second movement had zest and vitality – at which the orchestra was clearly better than mystical evocation. In the finale they were, Chicagoean brass crudeness and wobbles aside, going at it again with verve. It was impossible not to hear the wind, but the felt impact they made was disproportionately small. Lagging, purposelessness slow parts, and some very unfortunate string sounds in ppp passages did not heighten the experience – whereas watching Luisi did. The cameras, which seemed to ignore him, should have focused on nothing else but the little conductor who, like Mahler might have himself, flung his arms about with passion, made little leaps… in short: was the embodiment of the music as aerobic exercise.

The Mahler performance was rapturously received all the same – but the actual excellence of this concert lied in the Beethoven concerto No.1 in C-major. Partly because it is such a great concerto: graceful like Mozart initially, but soon showing a little Beethovenian muscle – surely one of the (from a Western point of view) most civilized pieces of music composed. Refinement and beauty balanced with wit, sparkle, and thunder – and all in a very sympathetic performance by the Staatskapelle and Margarita Höhenrieder.

Her playing was no-nonsense, clear, and secure – which could most generously be described as in the vain of Wilhelm Backhausen (or less generously as one of thwarted passion). It suited the exquisite orchestral performance with the strings particularly energetic and gripping in that way that only live performances can convey – and then only the most precise, and cohesive ones. The third, bravura, cadenza of the Allegro con brio was delivered with fleet fingers by the former Leon Fleisher student from Munich, though disjointed on one, two occasions.

The calm, even languid second movement had similar virtues, capped by a wonderfully casual, flippant entry into the third movement where the full power of the reduced Staatskappellen-forces (11-11-8-6-5 plus trombone, horn, clarinet, bassoon, flute, oboe, and timpani) was unleashed.

Stubbornly prolonged applause forced an encore out of Mme. Höhenrieder, which was dedicated to and by Harald Genzmer who, aged 98, passed away in December of 2007. A short piece – also in C-major – of angular beauty and business – virtuosic sounding in a way one might expect from Frederic Rzewski.

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Beer and Art, So Right

It’s always nice to spice up your art-viewing treks in NYC with something new, an artist I haven’t met before, something stranger than usual happening on the street, or a new spot to eat with a clean bathroom -- you know, the simple pleasures. This trip I ended my day in Park Slope, Brooklyn, at a very cool place called The Beer Table. It’s a tiny, dimly lit sanctuary with the most unique and extensive collection of brews I’ve ever come across. There is even a daily menu of at least 25 varieties. It’s a perfect respite to contemplate a day of gallery hopping.

The painter Thomas Nozkowski’s work seems to be everywhere lately. His recent switch to the Pace Wildenstein Gallery most likely has had an effect on his higher profile, and good for him -- I can’t get enough. His current show at Pace fills the gallery with more than 40 paintings on canvas stretched on board and paintings on paper. The washy layers of paint, chipping and scratching, the gorgeous crescendos of color, on a structure of real and ghostly grids; each work has its own inventive organic form to decipher. Amazing! Nozkowski is my current favorite painter.


I gushed over more paintings at, of all places, The Painting Center in SoHo. The seven-artist exhibit Painting Structures: Specificity and Synthesis has some well-known names like Rackstraw Downes and Sarah McEneaney, but I fell hard for Sharon Horvath’s dreamy nighttime stadia-scape Dunn’s Field (shown).

I liked Anthony Pontius’s surreal twist on history in his paintings at 31Grand. They in turn brought me back to Jake Berthot’s latest paintings, which I had seen at Betty Cunningham earlier in the day. Both artists' dark, lush, and moody landscapes kept reminding me of George Inness -- full circle.


Unrelated but working through the darkness never the less at Jack Shainman are the unsparing drawings of Bitterkomix creator Anton Kannemeyer. He skewers the post- apartheid South African government, in a way that polite society and the press dare not.

I’m writing this at 30,000 feet over Kansas (hi, Dorothy!) on my way to Los Angeles. Time permitting, I will have plenty of art to share along the way and maybe a celebrity sighting or two. As always check my Flickr site for more pictures and comments of my wanderings.

In Brief: May Day Edition

Here is your regular Sunday selection of links to good things in Blogville and Beyond.

• Via Nico Muhly, Ian Bostridge -- Ian Bostridge! -- has reviewed -- well, written about -- Alex Ross's The Rest Is Noise. [Times Literary Supplement]


• Ha punctuation, nerds unite! [The Onion]


• Oh, happy day! Via Oboeinsight, a certain magazine about classical music is putting all of its archives online. [Gramophone]


• Joshua Kosman is willing to trade the adult benefit of drinking scotch for the lost childhood ability to enjoy The Little Prince. [On a Pacific Aisle]


• Jessica Duchen for Mayor of London! [Jessica Duchen]


• Steve Smith is contemplating packing it all in, the whole blogging thing. Say it ain't so! [Night after Night]


• The ocean washes some grand pianos -- flotsam? jetsam? conceptual art? -- up on the shores of the Netherlands. [Monotonous Forest]

Brentano's Late Style

Brentano String Quartet -- (L to R) Mark Steinberg, Serena Canin, Misha Amory, Nina Lee (photo by Christian Steiner)

Ever since Prof. Willem Wander van Nieuwkerk’s Conservatorium van Amsterdam course on programming, the last of my academic career, I have yearned to experience programs with a point. Thursday’s compelling program by the Brentano String Quartet at the Clarice Smith Center, entitled Late Style, threads together “works that often sum up, transcend, or otherwise branch out and explore,” as first violinist Mark Steinberg wrote in the program notes. Alex Ross points out in his review of the Brentano program (End Notes, May 5) in The New Yorker that composers have “careers that can be plotted as steadily rising curves.” The Brentano demonstrated this trend with a program of late works by Mozart, Carter, Bach, and Bartók.

Composed in the year before Mozart died, the Quartet in B-flat Major, K. 589, featured the Brentano’s comfortable, virtuosic playing and fluent tempos that were neither fast nor slow, but always just right. Their ease as an ensemble was further reinforced in that the group uniformly interpreted the work’s figures, or shapes, instead of playing endless strings of notes. This allowed the sharp accents in the third movement (Menuetto) to puncture through the texture; though Steinberg generally had the edgy tendency to veer toward the high side of the pitch. Given his untimely death, it is questionable that this work, or any of Mozart, especially compared to the likes of Brahms’s op. 122, may be considered “late” according to Steinberg’s construction.

On the other hand, Elliott Carter’s 1997 Quintet for Piano and String Quartet, commissioned by the Library of Congress for his 90th birthday, allowed the audience to experience the outcome of a true “steadily rising curve.” Indeed, one assumes that Carter’s curve has continued to rise in the past decade -- the premiere of Interventions, for piano and orchestra, is scheduled for December of this year by Barenboim, Levine, and the Boston Symphony.

Other Reviews: Daniel Ginsberg, Brentano String Quartet (Washington Post, May 3) Allan Kozinn, Late Works, From Composers 34 to 89 (New York Times, March 1)

The versatile pianist Thomas Sauer joined the Brentano in the cacophony of the work described by Carter as “one movement of many changing characters and contrasts.” Never stuck in the notes, Sauer and the Brentano’s lack of technical struggle in this vicious work allowed the audience to fully engage without becoming stressed out by the musical challenges. Steinberg often conducted beat patterns with the end of his violin, which reinforced the strong internal tempo seen and felt by the ensemble.

Contrapunctus XIV, the last pages from Bach’s incomplete Art of Fugue featured a nice moderate dynamic, though it was overall too linear, polite, and ungrounded rhythmically, thus preventing the counterpoint from sparkling. One also wonders why the Brentano brought such a sad humor to the work; a more confident, masterful approach with proud subject entrances would have been stronger, thus leaving the sadness for the grave silence after measure 239, where the music ceases mid-phrase. It was also somewhat obscure not to include a fugue containing the basic Art of Fugue subject in its original form, which would have given the audience better bearings. The program ended with Bartók’s String Quartet No. 6, a wandering work that is at times introverted, extroverted and folksy at others, yet always embodying a conflicted loneliness.

For another chance to hear Elliott Carter's Quintet for Piano and String Quartet, there is the concert by the Pacifica Quartet at the Library of Congress later this month (May 29, 8 pm).

Tamerlano @ WNO

Plácido Domingo (Bajazet) in Tamerlano, Washington National Opera, 2008 (photo by Karin Cooper)

For a few years, reports have been coming from Europe of major opera houses pairing up with historically informed performance (HIP) ensembles to present Baroque operas: Le Concert Spirituel in Montpellier, Christophe Rousset in Drottningholm, Les Talens Lyriques in Toulouse, Les Arts Florissants in Lyon, Concerto Vocale in Paris. Such residencies combine the staging power of a full-time opera company, as well as major opera singers, with the musical specialization of a well-established early music group and its regular conductor. Washington National Opera experimented with Baroque opera in the previous two decades by staging a couple Handel operas (Semele in 1980, 1983, and 1994; Agrippina in 1991; Julius Caesar in 1999) but without great success. The new production of Handel's Tamerlano (see the rehearsal blog) may not exactly reproduce the European model, as has been repeatedly suggested to the company here at Ionarts, but it gets many things right.

The Ottoman emperor Bayezid I once boasted that his horse would use the Throne of St. Peter as its manger, an anecdote related by Gibbon in The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Bayezid's fatal battle with the Tartar emperor Timur Lenk in 1402 has been recounted numerous times. Both Christopher Marlowe (Tamburlaine, 1588) and Jean Racine (Bajazet, 1672) made the story into plays, and not long after that operas were being staged that told versions of the final downfall of the proud sultan. Stories of Bayezid's humiliation while he was Timur Lenk's prisoner -- Timur used him as a footstool, kept him caged like an animal, made his wife dance naked for his court -- and resultant suicide from despair are probably apocryphal, but they make for great drama. It is a strange twist of fate that in Italy, directly threatened by Bayezid I and the Ottomans, opera should largely depict him as a sympathetic figure.

David Daniels (Tamerlano) and Sarah Coburn (Asteria) in Tamerlano, Washington National Opera, 2008 (photo by Karin Cooper)

Handel composed Tamerlano (HWV 18, premiered in London in 1724) in the same year as he worked on Giulio Cesare and Rodelinda. His librettist, Nicola Francesco Haym, adapted Piovene Agostino's libretto, also used by Vivaldi a few years later in Bajazet. This production uses the 1731 revision of Handel's score (that link is to the old Handel-Werke edition, 1876), with significant cuts that reduced the evening to a total of only three and a half hours, with two intermissions. Even so, the unfamiliar opera and the unfamiliar sounds (countertenor David Daniels, theorbos, harpsichord) combined with the length to drive many in Wednesday night's audience home early. Little matter that even the Metropolitan Opera has had countertenors appear on its stage, that David Daniels is one of the best known countertenors in the world at the moment, that Baroque opera is a craze everywhere, sectors of the Washington audience quickly lost interest. It says more about them than the strength of either the work or this remarkable production.

According to a preview article by Anne Midgette earlier this week, we have David Daniels to thank for it, because he suggested the opera to Domingo. Of the cast of six, Daniels was the only singer who truly felt at home in this music, comfortable with its extravagant demands for florid singing, with its embellishments. Although he is not one of my favorite countertenors, he was in excellent voice and nailed the loathsome arrogance of the title role. Only in his big aria in Act III did some threads show, at least until he had convinced conductor William Lacey to move the orchestra at the faster pace he wanted. Andronico, the more important castrato role created by Handel's bête noire Senesino, was entrusted to mezzo-soprano Patricia Bardon, who also sang with Domingo in his Madrid debut of the role. In her Washington debut, she displayed an athletic, robust voice with incisive color, with what sounded like an aborted cadenza in her first aria as the only misstep.

Other Reviews: Anne Midgette, Domingo, a Lion in Winter in 'Tamerlano' (Washington Post, May 2) Tim Smith, Domingo delivers 'Tamerlano' (Baltimore Sun, May 2) Allan Kozinn, Amid the Baroque and the Bluster, Love Blossoms (New York Times, May 2) Dominic McHugh, Handel: Tamerlano (Musical Criticism, May 1) Idle Thoughts (Out West Arts, May 1)

Domingo, costumed in bright robes reminiscent of his turn in The First Emperor (costumes by David Zinn), was a compelling Bajazet by his presence. He had a few memory slips in this new role, also noted by Hugh Canning at the Madrid debut, but the éminence grise of the opera world towered in stature over the rest of the cast. Domingo struck a regal figure as the defeated sovereign, making his suicide scene terrifying and tragic to behold. He is still in incredibly impressive voice, although his handling of the Baroque line can hardly be called idiomatic. Soprano Sarah Coburn was a vision as Asteria, causing many a gasp of admiration when she appeared in a wedding gown for the marriage scene. Vocally she had a rough start, but her nerves settled except for a bit of a neurotic buzz at the edge of her tone. Andrew Foster-Williams received big ovations as Leone, for his accurate and resonant singing, but also perhaps just because the audience was so relieved to hear the bass vocal register for a change. Claudia Huckle, a Domingo-Cafritz Young Artist, was a bitchy Irene, but her breath support and overall ease in the role were limited, causing some intonational ambiguity.

The production, directed by Chas Rader-Shieber, seemed to have been modeled on some of the minimalist stagings common for Baroque opera in Europe. The sets and costumes by David Zinn placed the story in an unspecified autocratic state, the interiors of a stark white marble Italian fascist palazzo policed by immobile Gestapo lookalikes. Tamerlano and his often unwilling ally Andronico were costumed in plain gray suits, against which only the exotic colors of Bajazet and his daughter Asteria provided any relief. Lighting by Christopher Akerlind provided a sense of the progress of time in each act, from morning brilliance to dusky evening. It was ugly, but few fascist regimes are known for their aesthetic tastes.

Plácido Domingo (Bajazet) in Tamerlano, Washington National Opera, 2008 (photo by Karin Cooper)

If anything, it allowed us to focus on Handel's score, which has some exquisite moments, especially in the second and third acts. The small orchestra, raised up on a platform so that we could hear the gentle timbres of harpsichord and two theorbos (their necks jutting up into the stage sight lines), played with stylistic sensitivity and unity, especially the oboes, bassoons, and flutes. Conductor William Lacey seems to be favored for this sort of work, although he had the same stuck-in-the-mud manner here as he did in Santa Fe, something like an agitated marionnette trapped in coagulating molasses. As Michael also noted last season at Santa Fe, his awkward gesture does not seem to communicate effectively with the players, leading to some ragged openings of phrases especially.

The direction of the singers was generally strong, playing the story for its drama instead of resorting to distanced irony. The only exception was the ending of the opera, which caused many in the audience to laugh as Tamerlano suddenly changed direction after Bajazet's suicide. One must blame Rader-Shieber for that stupid laughter, since by having Daniels simply sit by as Bajazet died made the transition more ridiculous than it should have been. Suddenly, he stood up and was emotionally overcome, which did not make sense. If he were listening to the death scene and moved by it as much as we in the audience, the lieto fine would ring much less false.

Handel's Tamerlano will be repeated on May 2, 4, 12, 20, and 22, in the Kennedy Center Opera House. Good luck finding a ticket.

Sokolov and Chopin

Chopin, Preludes (op. 28), Sonata No. 2 (op. 35), Etudes (op. 25) (re-released January 29, 2008) Naïve OP30456 Scores: Chopin's First Editions Online

After last week's review of Alexandre Tharaud's new recording of Chopin's preludes, this compilation of re-releases comes at the right time. A discounted 2-CD set brings together three live recordings by Grigory Sokolov from the 1990s, all of them referential. The Russian pianist, the unanimous Gold Medal winner at the 1966 Tchaikovsky Competition, is a quasi-enigma, known both for his intense, accomplished recitals and an elusive air of mystery. Sokolov is playing op. 28 again in a few recitals this spring and summer (alas, not here in the United States), and that is the work that is the most intriguing here. An almost stifling air of morbidity hangs over many of the movements (one of the dreariest Raindrop preludes I have heard), quite appropriate for this death-infused set. One of the striking things about Sokolov's playing is an unabashed rubato, perhaps old-fashioned but pleasing to hear. In a live situation he takes almost no pauses between movements, which is captured in spite of the CD tracking.

The funeral march sonata (B-flat minor, op. 35) is generally good, especially its gloomy yet steadily propelled third movement (and its muted, music-box middle section). The fourth movement's restless triplets are more spiky than whispering (the marking, for what it's worth, is sotto voce e legato), and the final B-flat minor chord has an A-flat in the middle somewhere (missed note or overtone?) that fades away before the rest of the chord. Sokolov is at his least technically assured in this recording of the op. 25 etudes. The playing is still nothing short of extraordinary, but there are some cracks in the foundation, after all. At $14.99 for two discs, serious Chopin lovers are almost obliged to buy it.

Happy May Day!

According to a Renaissance tradition in France, the muguet flower (lily-of-the-valley) grows on both sides of the Gates of Paradise, and its bell-like flowers ring as a soul enters Heaven. As it comes into bloom around this time of year, it is offered on May Day in France as a porte-bonheur, a sign of good luck for the coming year. Not to favor the pagan over the Christian, today is also the feast day of St. Joseph the Worker, but that tradition is barely a tradition.

To all our readers: Très bon 1er mai!