In Brief: That's Delicious Edition

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

• The food folks are in town, for the NASFT's Fancy Food Show at the Washington Convention Center, and that means one of my oldest friends, the brother of our Hollywood correspondent, is in town, too. [Fancy Food Show]


• This week your online listening list includes Daniel Catán's opera Il Postino from the Théâtre du Châtelet, a rare performance of Nicola Porpora's 1728 opera Semiramide riconosciuta from the Festival de Beaune, a recital by Rafał Blechacz from Schwetzingen, Bernard Haitink and the London Symphony Orchestra with pianist Maria Joaõ Pires, the world premiere of Julien Joubert's L’Atelier du Nouveau Monde, a program of Mozart's sacred music from Le Cercle de l'Harmonie under Jérémie Rhorer, Gabriela Montero playing Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue at the Festival de Saint-Denis, a concert of Baroque music with ll Giardino Armonico at the Cité de la Musique, and the Nash Ensemble in London. [France Musique]


• The Proms open on this Friday, but if you cannot make the trip to London, you can listen online. [BBC Proms]


• The Verbier Festival also opens on Friday, and for those unable to get to Switzerland, there will be online videos, too. [Verbier Festival]


• From the Festival de Saint-Denis, online video of Bach's St. Matthew Passion, with Werner Güra, Lucy Crowe, Christine Rice, and others as soloists. [Medici.tv]


• In case you are not already overwhelmed by the possibilities, there are online videos from the Aix-en-Provence Festival, beginning with the Jerusalem Quartet playing Shostakovich. [ARTE Liveweb]


• Speaking of places we wish we were this summer, Lunettes Rouges has a series of posts from Les Rencontres d'Arles. [Amateur d'Art]


• I tweeted about this earlier in the week, but I am still just stunned that someone has stolen the Codex Calixtinus from the cathedral library of Santiago de Compostela. [Olive Press]

Vilde Frang Goes Solo

Grieg / Bartók / R. Strauss, Sonatas, V. Frang, M. Lifits (released on March 29, 2011) EMI 9 47639 2 | 78'49"

After participating in an EMI disc devoted to the obscure chamber music corners of Chopin's output (and a disc of Sibelius and Prokofiev concertos, not reviewed), Norwegian violinist Vilde Frang is back with this recital of violin sonatas. As noted of Frang before (live), her lean and clean tone bears little resemblance to the brash energy of her mentor, Anne-Sophie Mutter. Grieg's first violin sonata (op. 1, from 1865) is likely the piece most familiar to the average listener. Later in life, Grieg described his three violin sonatas as a sort of autobiographical trilogy, characterizing the "three periods of my evolution," and Frang gives the first sonata the sense of musical questing and youthful impetuosity that the composer ascribed to it, with moments of lonely reverie, too. Pianist Michail Lifits, born in Uzbekistan, helps steady Frang's somewhat erratic pace in the hectic last movement and overall provides a colorful but solid frame at the piano.

Yehudi Menuhin commissioned Bartók's sonata for solo violin (Sz. 117, BB 124) in the 1940s, and the legendary violinist later negotiated some changes removing passages in quarter tones and other difficulties, alterations that were approved by the composer. In the work Bartok was inspired by Bach's unaccompanied violin pieces in the compositional processes evoked in the Fuga and Ciacona movements, and Menuhin's plan from the start was to program the work with Bach, as was done at the premiere. The chromaticism and folk inspiration of the last two movements are pure Bartók, though, and Frang is forceful and confident but not brutal to the point of ugliness, even in the weirder plucked and sliding effects. Frang gives beauty and individuality to the contrapuntal voices of the double-stop passages, making the Bartók the best part of this disc. Richard Strauss wrote his violin sonata in E-flat, op. 18, in the late 1880s as he was courting his wife, Pauline. As might be expected the piece is appropriately tender and lyrical, especially the middle movement ("Improvisation"), a song without words played with refined charm by Frang. The outer fast movements show Strauss's early debt to Schumann and Brahms in their fairly traditional sonata-allegro forms. As noted by scholars Heiner Wajemann and R. Larry Todd, even though Strauss did not speak highly of Brahms, a critical opinion that only became heightened later in life, Strauss's early chamber music pieces reveal his influence.

The Day That Silence Flared Up

“July 12^th, 1970, is a day of infamy in the history of classical music.”

If you have never heard of that day, or don’t associate anything in particular with it: neither did I. Incidentally, the tragedy of that date is closely connected with never hearing anything of it, because it was the day Norwegian composer Geirr Tveitt’s house burnt down and with it his (largely unpublished) body of music; wiping out some nine tenths of his output.

G.Tveitt, Piano Concerto No.4, 'Hardanger Variations' for two pianos & orchestra, H.Gimse, G.Süssmann / B.Engeset / Royal Scottish NO Naxos 8.555761

The introductory line is plagiarized from Robert R. Reilly’s chapter on the composer, and about Geirr Tveitt (born Nils Tveit) I learned through his book, “Surprised by Beauty”. Of the many composers covered in “Surprised” that I didn’t know then, Geirr Tveitt somehow, inexplicably, remained ‘undiscovered’ for me—until now*, almost eight years later. He was the prepenultimate unknown quantity that Reilly covers in “Surprised”, now only Stephen Gerber and Alexander Tcherepnin still await my own discovery. (Though I’ll also need to get more closely acquainted with Harald Sæverud and László Lajtha.)

What a blot of ignorance that has been at last been lifted from my classical music conscience. What magnificence there can be in Tveitt! I cherish the puppy-like naïveté of this discovery so greatly in part because there are so few left for me. There once was a time when I came across such unadulterated beauty and sophistication from a ‘new’ composer or ‘new’ work. But those were times that still held undiscovered Bach works in store for me, or later composers like Zelenka or Janáček or Poulenc or Duparc. For now I prefer not to wait to get as much Tveitt under my belt as I can; to not make myself a make-pretend Geirr Tveitt demi-expert over the course of a week of CD purchasing, Grove-reading, and intrepid googling. (I’ll save that for a some time next year.) I’ll write about the epiphany, instead.

One of the dearest coincidences finally put a copy of his Fourth Piano Concerto “Aurora Borealis” (1947) and the de-facto Two-Piano Concerto “Variations on a Folksong from Hardanger” (1939) in my hands. It starts with the latter—and when I think back to the repertoire played at the Piano Duo part of the ARD Competition, I can’t help to cringe about all that Mendelssohn and Mozart in the finale… when Poulenc and this Tveitt concerto would have been available. The “Variations” double concert is part of the large body of work that Tveitt devoted to folksongs from Hardanger, of which he collected about a thousand only to use them, variously worked over, in his compositions. They speak to the listener as Tveitt wraps their charming simplicity and liveliness into virtuosic orchestration with French impressionistic touches that could well call ‘home’ a place somewhere between Ravel and Sibelius.

I know I compare almost every somewhat tuneful 20^th century piano concerto to Ravel’s—but it’s just such a good reference point with all three movements showing something that none of the concertos of Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Rachmaninoff, Reger, Busoni et al. contain. And the links are not surprising in this case: Tveitt’s Second Piano Concerto (lost) was dedicated to the composer and Paris had been his most important station abroad as a student and composer-performer. The outbreak of song and tranquility in the middle of the Variations is something for the soul to soar on; like the most serene moment in Messiaen, but simpler. The Fourth Piano Concerto is just a little more austere, busier, and louder in a few places between its long sometimes chirpy whispers that describe the appearance, height, and diminishing of the northern lights. The piano part is embedded in the whole, rather than leading with dazzling soloist caprices. Both concertos are about half an hour long, which I would normally consider about the perfect length for a concerto… just under these circumstances, it seems like not long enough by a nine tenths of a measure.

* Two tiny Tveitt exposures and mentions from 2005 and 2007 (“Much of it sounds like Debussy or digestible Messiaen… but more immediate and more immediately enjoyable.”) apart, that is.

Principally Awful, Generally Fantastic: Lohengrin at the 2011 Munich Opera Festival

When Richard Jones’ Lohengrin premiered at the Bavarian State Opera two years ago (review here), I was torn between admiration and doubt, unsure whether the result was ‘good bad opera’ or ‘bad good opera’. I settled on “wonderful bad production”; the ambivalence stemming from excellent acting, singing, certain scenes working marvelously, small director’s touches being inspired… but a disagreement with the general overarching idea and what seemed like ironic distance.

Since then my opinion has changed considerably – even before I saw the revival for this years’ Munich Opera Festival. The memories of the production have gotten better with time, not only but also because every Lohengrin I have seen since—on DVD and stage—has been such a disappointment that Richard Jones’ ambitious, intelligent interpretation scores many extra credits on sheer creativity and imaginativeness. Where everything else (Nikolaus Lehnhoff’s Baden-Baden and Peter Konwitschny’s Hamburg productions explicitly exempted) is just one tired variation or another on a swan-enhanced costume drama, Jones delves into the inner questions of Lohengrin, Elsa, and Wagner and unearths compelling dramatic aspects beyond the knight-in-shining-armor-meets-damsel-in-distress surface.


Lohengrin, the work that enchanted the sixteen-year-old King Ludwig II (who shed his first Wagner-tears listening to it in 1861), is a German revolutionary-nationalistic drama (something Konwitschny highlighted) – in the time’s spirit of unification, not the sense of hyper-nationalism that modern Germans hear emanating from the text. Lohengrin is also about the misunderstood genius-artist… and as such about Wagner (Lehnhoff’s focus). And it is a piece about loneliness and bourgeois, almost banal domestic ambitions, disappointment in women generally and Wagner’s own marriage specifically… all woven into the by now familiar story of the incompatibility of the supernatural and reality (Senta/Dutchman, Elisabeth/Venus). It is that aspect that Jones brings out forcefully, as he centers his Lohengrin around Elsa (who suffers from a pre-marital version of Empty Nest Syndrome), family struggle, and the changes of the Brabantian society who are—like Elsa—first liberated, then abandoned by Lohengrin.

Jones’ building of a house as a metaphor for the whole opera (or even the mass suicide of the Brabantians after the final chord) now convinces me as daring, inventive, poignant… even in the absence of the elements that I was most enchanted by at the premiere (unparalleled singing, acting, and the director’s superb craftsmanship). It turns out Jones’ is not a wonderful bad production, but simply a wonderful production, a perceptive one that makes sense of the music… a point ironically reinforced by the fact that it wasn’t well performed, this time.


It was the singing that nearly sank this performance. Not Martin Gantner’s – the well voiced and beautifully measured Herald of nuance. Nor Kristinn Sigmundsson’s old fashioned classy bass-belting, executed with routine, resonance, and reassurance (but not without betraying his age here and there). And certainly not Evgeny Nikitin’s… whose (initially) youthful, clear, and “R”-heavy Telramund came with splendid diction and fine pronunciation. He carried his character nicely all the way to a threadbare and distraught third act, losing sheen and security only when pushing his voice at peaks or when dramatically appropriate. It wasn’t a particularly musical performance, but a touchingly realistic one and his monologues felt as natural as if they had been spoken.

No, the problem laid with the principals, Elsa and Lohengrin. Emily Magee, in the unfortunate position to succeed Anja Harteros (who had out-sung and out-played Jonas Kaufman at the premiere) was hopelessly out of her depth as Elsa. Her hardened, permanently squeezed timbre, reedy, compressed, and dark, showed no ability to soar. The notes were not always on pitch, the navigation of the text smacked of last-minute understudy. Her acting was mostly earnest and later even impassioned, but it could not make one forget the vocal struggle.

In a way she was lucky to have veteran Peter Seiffert on her side, because his performance—at times comically painful to watch and hear—only made her look better. Seiffert started with a distressing swan-farewell, not enhanced by his natural, soft wobble. A brief improvement in act I was followed by anguished yelps at full force in act II and finally plain crudeness throughout act III where anything below mezzo-forte was sad and above it shrill. To follow dramatically in the footsteps of Jonas Kaufman only made matters worse; the portly sexagenarian in a role (and costumes) designed for youthful heroism and svelte athleticism added at best an element of the ridiculous, more often one of an overage, sleazy Lohengrin-cum-Guido, replete with wrinkled tan, died hair, and gaudy necklace underneath the liberally unbuttoned, untucked bulging shirt.


The presumed highlight was to be Waltraud Meier as Ortrud (superb in said Lenhoff production). Her continuously maturing voice is well suited to the role and her dramatic abilities well known. I, for one, owe her my most moving and indeed formative Wagner moments… I admire her. This performance, alas, did not add to the extant impressions. Her Ortrud started pale, alternatively drowned out in the first act by chorus and orchestra until she pulled a few extra stops (accompanied by a few extra steps to the stage’s edge) and broke through the wall of sound with very consciously placed vocal exclamation marks.

But even in the Ortrud-focused second act, Waltraud Meier looked like she feels she can wing it without bothering to adapt to any particular production (certainly not a Festival production where she didn’t create the character)… playing her (superb) standard Ortrud whether it fits the context or not… in this case in a pantsuit instead of a costume, but otherwise unchanged: Like a petulant child that refuses to play along because it knows it has too much talent to fail. Ortrud’s taking of the suicide-bound gun from Telramund, for example, was tender determination (loving almost!) at the premiere. Now it was an act of aggression with Meier angrily tearing the weapon away… and it considerably lessened the effect, bringing the Telramund-Ortrud relationship back to the usual cliché of Ortrud being solely hard and unfeeling, incapable of warmth even if only for the sake of manipulation. (This was but one of many subtle gestures that didn’t survive the transition to the new cast.)

Michaela Schuster’s curiously seductive Ortrud at the premiere was a dramatic, if not vocal highlight and one expects Waltraud Meier capable of improving any role… not inhibit the dramaturgy. Instead Meier’s Ortrud was limited to very effective affectedness, employed on isolated notes and in prominent moments. Her presence was still great; the voice frayed but employed with economy, most worth hearing in the more intimate, conversational moments when the sweet liquid poison flowed copiously, without any vibrato-impediment. Trying to get by by reputation and experience alone (see Mr. Seiffert), can still elicit standing ovations in memory-loyal places like Munich, but doesn’t make for satisfying art.

The chorus sang loud and enthusiastically but not together in act three. The excellent orchestra, too, had very occasional off moments, too (not even a full day after playing Messiaen’s Saint François d'Assise more than understandable), but Nagano’s direction, devoid of (unnecessary) sentimentality was to the point, dramatic, and expressive and could have been improved only by less fortissimo and more piano.

R.Wagner, Lohengrin, K.Nagano / Vienna SO K.F.Vogt, S.Kringelborn et al. Nikolaus Lehnhoff OpusArte DVD

R.Wagner, Lohengrin, K.Nagano / Bavarian State Opera J.Kaufmann, A.Harteros et al. Richard Jones Decca

R.Wagner, Lohengrin, S.Weigle / GTdLiceau J.Treleaven, E.Magee et al. Peter Konwitschny EuroArts DVD

All pictures (from the 2009 production) courtesy of the Bavarian State Opera, © Wilfried Hösl

Castleton: Shakespeare and Bohemia

See my review of two performances from the Castleton Festival at Washingtonian.com:

Helen Mirren, Jeremy Irons Make Appearances at Castleton Festival (Washingtonian, June 30):

Other Reviews: Robert Battey, Music Inspired by Shakespeare (Washington Post, July 1) Martin Morrow, A Midsummer Night’s Dream at BlackCreek: crowd-pleaser minus the crowd (Toronto Globe and Mail, July 1) Tim Smith, A captivating night with Shakespeare, Mirren, Irons, Maazel (Baltimore Sun, July 1) ---, Lorin Maazel's Castleton Festival opens with an effective 'La Boheme' (Baltimore Sun, June 28) Anne Midgette, Castleton Festival opens with ‘La Boheme’ (Washington Post, June 26)

Top pick in my summer classical music round-up went to the Castleton Festival, the month of opera and concerts organized by conductor Lorin Maazel at his summer house in Rappahannock County. The event continues to grow in scope, as Maazel expands the facilities on his property and bring more performers into the program, which is an apprenticeship for young musicians. This year, the Castleton Festival Orchestra was composed of young members of the Qatar Philharmonic Orchestra, the Bilken University Orchestra (from Ankara, Turkey), London’s Royal College of Music Orchestra, and American conservatory programs. In a remarkable gesture of confidence in their abilities, Maazel took them on a mini-tour this year, to give gala concerts at the Blackcreek Summer Music Festival in Toronto and at the Music Center at Strathmore in North Bethesda, heard last Thursday night.

The program was a challenging one, too, bringing together music inspired by two of Shakespeare’s plays, Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Two Hollywood stars, Helen Mirren and Jeremy Irons, were the obvious draw for the nearly sold-out crowd, but they appeared only on the second half, entering the hall to a warm ovation. On the model of previous Shakespeare-themed concerts by the Folger Consort -- The Fairy Queen in 2007 and The Tempest in 2010 -- the actors read texts from the play, interlaced with music inspired by it. The excerpts were woven together with a fairly prosaic narration by poet J. D. McClatchy, and both Mirren and Irons slipped between it and speeches by Shakespeare’s characters. Mirren was a regal Titania, but it was Irons who had the most fun, as a spiteful Oberon, playful Puck, and deep-voiced Bottom, complete with hilarious gestures and expressions. [Continue reading]

For Your Consideration: 'The Tree of Life'

Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life has inspired critical raves -- not least, winning the Palme d'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival -- and audience ire. The latter was enough of a concern that, when I saw it this past weekend, I experienced a first in my movie-going life: an employee of the theater announced, before the movie began, that the film had almost no dialogue and was "artsy" and that people should leave now if they wanted an exchange or a refund, and not after the film when they could not receive one. A few people in the theater did leave in the first hour or so, and the man next to me, obviously there because his girlfriend had chosen the movie, kept obsessively checking the time on his cell phone. The rapturous reviews of the film from some critics, claiming that the film is "a form of prayer" (Roger Ebert) or that Malick has taken us back to "a time when movies mattered" (Richard Corliss), are irresponsible in the sense that they do not take into account that this film, in spite of its considerable beauty, will annoy and frustrate many viewers. Rave and gush if you like, but at least make clear that you should not drag your boyfriend to it on date night.

Malick, a brilliant, intellectual man who studied philosophy and was a Rhodes Scholar, is the sort of filmmaker who makes difficult films. He apparently conceived this movie in the late 1970s but only began shooting it in the last decade, reportedly editing the film to a length of 3.5 hours and doing pre-screenings before deciding that he was unable to finish it in time for the 2010 Cannes Festival (some of the cut footage may be in this version of the trailer). As he completed it, at a length of 2.5 hours that feels much longer, it fails because it is essentially two movies. One is possibly autobiographical in some sense, about a boy growing up, as Malick did, in a rather strict Episcopalian household in Waco, Texas; the other is about the history of the universe, the conversation of characters in the film with the Creator, asking age-old human questions like, "Why did my brother have to die when he was only 19 years old?" There were even rumors that the cosmic story was originally planned as a completely separate film called The Voyage of Time: if true, Malick should have kept them separate.

The Texas part of the story is compelling because of the square-jawed, buzz-cut, unflinching performance of Brad Pitt as the father of the family of three boys. A failed classical musician -- at one point we see him playing Bach at the organ, and he regularly plays LPs during the family's dinners -- he now works for a plant in town, as an engineer, and is constantly in search of the next patent and a ticket to the wealth he covets around him. The character's failings as a father, as he terrorizes his sons for the least fault in their posture at the table, their yard work, their weakness, their failure to call him Sir, is uncomfortably recognizable to anyone who has been a father. He is strict and harsh because he believes that he is helping his children become strong, but he does not realize until it is too late how his overbearing insistence has damaged both his wife (the ethereal Jessica Chastain, whose feet metaphorically -- and, at least once, literally -- do not touch the ground) and his children, Jack (played for most of the film with ambivalent anger by Hunter McCracken), R.L. (a seraphic Laramie Eppler, who could easily be Brad Pitt's own son, so strong is the resemblance), and Steve (Tye Sheridan). Fiona Shaw and Sean Penn have largely inconsequential turns as the grandmother and adult version of Jack, respectively.

The problem is not the unusual narrative structure, with very little dialogue, lots of gorgeous but tangential imagery, and disembodied voice-overs. Malick used a similar process in The New World, and that movie had all of the narrative force that long sections of The Tree of Life lack. (The same cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, worked on both films.) The problem is that in including the story of cosmic history, in rather pretty but abstract imagery with ghostly music, in which corpuscles pulsing through veins become almost indistinguishable from strands of Hubble-imaged galaxies, Malick has shortchanged the human story. The first half-hour of the film was unbearable, as one could not get a handle on the Texas story and the camera strayed, beautifully and with expensive digital effects, through the story of creation and evolution, somehow mixed together, including the dinosaurs and their extinction. The middle part of the film was absolutely gripping, leading to a deadly final half-hour as the grief of the family -- one of the sons dies, in a not really explained way -- reaches an end steeped in metaphysical bathos on the shores of paradise.

Other Reviews: Roger Ebert | A. O. Scott | Los Angeles Times | Slate | Salon | The New Yorker TIME | Washington Post | Village Voice | Wall Street Journal | Movie Review Intelligence

According to critic Alex Ross, writer-director Terrence Malick is an "avid classical listener," and it shows in The Tree of Life. One of the most striking parts of his earlier film The New World was the use of the Rhine music from Wagner's Das Rheingold, and music has great import in this movie, too. The swirling Moldau music from Smetana's Ma Vlast makes a scene of happy children cavorting in a moment of light-hearted freedom; Couperin's Les Barricades Mistérieuses, a character piece from the 6e Ordre, runs through the film like a Leitmotif, played by the father at the piano and echoed by the middle son on the guitar; most of all, settings of the Requiem Mass (Berlioz's Grande messe des morts and Zbigniew Preisner's Lacrimosa, the latter composed for filmmaker and Preisner's collaborator Krzysztof Kieślowski), Holy Minimalist pieces by John Tavener and Henryk Górecki, and portions of Mahler's first symphony signify grief and the questioning of the great beyond. (See this complete list of the music used in the movie.)

In a sense Malick has created a film in the form of a transcendental symphony, following the model of Beethoven and Mahler. (My new favorite French film critic, Didier Péron, noted the same similarity in his review of The Tree of Life -- Malick, Symphonie n°5, May 17 -- for Libération.) The sprawling length, the gravity of tone, and the cosmic reach of the film all seem to recall it, but can it work in film format? One senses that the movie would not have nearly the same solemn scope without its score, and that even with it, it cannot quite grasp what it is reaching for. As Raymond Knapp put it, writing about another example of this kind of work, Carl Nielsen's Inextinguishable, "there is no evidence (so far) that the cosmos actually appreciates any of the symphonies that have been offered up to it."

NOI New Lights

This review is an Ionarts exclusive.

What happens when young performers are asked what classical concerts will look like in fifty years? The University of Maryland School of Music’s National Orchestral Institute posed this exact question to its participants, all musicians between the ages of 18 and 28, and on last Thursday night, they presented some of their ideas. The technology-immersed musicians of my generation tend instinctively to think outside the box. The unfortunate fact is that this type of thinking often occurs despite our musical training: hyper-perfection and traditionalism continue to rule the conservatories.

It is easy to be consumed by the present -- frequently defined by dwindling audiences and funding crises -- but perhaps throwing caution to the wind and leaping far into the future is part of the solution. The NOI players focused on more recent composers, physical motion, and improvisation with a dash of mixed media and theatrical elements. While none of these ideas are particularly cutting-edge in theory, when put together, the concert that ensued was truly like nothing I had ever seen, and more along the lines of musical theater. It didn’t always come together, but the ideas and energy behind it were remarkable.

The program opened with the first movement of Charles Ives’s first string quartet (“From the Salvation Army”). The cellist sat alone in the middle of a dark stage, dramatically lit by a single spotlight -- it was pure theater! The piece began and the rest of the musicians entered the stage -- free of music, stands, or chairs. Their bodies moved with the music (while they played), choreographed in collaboration with the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. The wonderful thing was that the choreography illuminated the musicians’ interpretation of the music. And though the playing certainly wasn’t polished, one didn’t care because the phrases swelled together in an organic way that seemed to stem from the musicians’ motion. This piece and the Allegro from Leoš Janáček’s chamber work Mladi (Youth) were the most illuminating in terms of this connection between music and movement. It was chamber music in motion.

Other works included String Quartet No. 4 (an homage to Carlo Gesualdo) by Matthias Pintscher, which was preceded by the literal shadow of a choir singing Sospirava Il Mio Core by Gesualdo. In an effort to bring greater engagement and knowledge to the audience, one of the performers said a few words about the connections between the two works. The concert closed with the sonically gorgeous Souvenir by the New York Philharmonic’s composer-in-residence, Magnus Lindberg. This work, for 18-piece orchestra, was illuminated by colored light changes and a large, projected digital score.

Perhaps the most admirable part of the evening was an attempted improvisation with eleven players, in which they cycled in and out, so that only a few were playing at a time. In an age when improvisation has largely left the sensibilities of classical musicians, except for early music specialists and a few others, these young players did their best to bring it back. The problem is that unseasoned improvisers tend to stay within a comfortable range that, in this case, consisted of very little in the way of key or tone change.

Each piece was like a skit, choreographed with movement, lighting changes, spoken word, and singing. In a way, this concert was a return to a time when classical music was popular music; when concerts were more of a happening or to-do; when the lines between music, entertainment, and theater were more blurry; and when the rules of audience etiquette were less fine-tuned and more laissez-faire. Most importantly, it was classical music, and it was fun.

In Brief: Palio Independence Edition

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

• Scarlatti, Sonatas, A. Tharaud

  For your online listening this week, we recommend a recital by pianist Alexandre Tharaud from the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, including some Scarlatti sonatas; a performance of Weber's Oberon, from the Théâtre du Capitole de Toulouse with Klaus Florian Vogt (streaming for only a few more days); an eclectic program of contemporary music and Monteverdi from the vocal group Ensemble 2e2m; songs from mezzo-soprano Christianne Stotijn and pianist Emanuel Ax, plus the Berlin Philharmonic playing Stravinsky's Firebird; violinist Renaud Capuçon and the Orchestre National de France from the Festival de Saint-Denis; Magnus Lindberg's Kraft from the Festival Agora; a delightful program by baritone Christopher Maltman and the Nash Ensemble from the Musée d'Orsay; the Schola Heidelberg singing early Renaissance works and Xenakis; pianist Nicholas Angelich from the Wigmore Hall; and Leif Ove Andsnes with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra from Copenhagen. [France Musique]


• We have enjoyed (and envied) following Alex Ross's Italian sojourn, particularly the survey of musical sites of Venice, research for his next book, to be called Wagnerism. [The Rest Is Noise]


• Thanks to Brian for drawing our attention to the plans to make an Internet stream of the Bavarian State Opera's Calixto Bieito-directed production of Fidelio starring Jonas Kaufmann and Anja Kampe on July 8. You don't want to miss that. Or maybe you do, if you have a problem with bodily fluids. [Out West Arts]


• This sounds very promising indeed: an app for displaying IMSLP scores on your iPad. [Chant Cafe]


• In online video, try Rossini's Stabat Mater from the Festival de Saint-Denis, with soprano Patrizia Ciofi and mezzo-soprano Vivica Genaux, by the Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France conducted by Myung-Whun Chung. [ARTE Liveweb]


• The early odds on who will win the Nobel Prize for Literature: will it be Cormac McCarthy's year? [The Literary Saloon]


• Pope Benedict XVI sent his first Tweet this week. On his iPad. Worlds collide. [Whispers in the Loggia]


• Bravo to the contrada of Oca (the Goose), whose horse, named Mississippi, won the Palio per la Madonna di Provenzano yesterday in Siena. Giovanni Atzeni, known as Tittia, was the jockey, and after some spectacular falls on the first lap (video embedded below) he led for most of the race. Lupa had a horse in the race but continues to reign as Nonna, or Grandma, the contrada to have gone the longest time without winning the Palio. The horse from Bruco, which lost its rider in a spectacular fall at the primo casato, came in second -- the worst possible outcome in the Palio. [Il Palio]