Symphony Preview: L'heure espagnol

This article originally appeared at 88.1 KDHX, where Chuck Lavazzi is the senior performing arts critic.

Violinist Karen Gomyo

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Music lovers have a lot to be thankful for this weekend (November 24 -- 26), as Jun Märkl conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in a program of classical favorites. It's a real feast for the ears to match the one your stomach will probably still be digesting.

The concerts will open with Ravel's colorful tone poem Alborada del gracioso, written as a solo piano work in 1905 then orchestrated in 1919. The work's title is, as Ravel admitted, essentially untranslatable. The composer explained it this way in a letter to Ferdinand Sinzig of Steinway and Sons in New York on September 14, 1907 (cited in the 2011 biography Ravel by Roger Nichols):

I understand your bafflement over how to translate the title 'Alborada del gracioso'; precisely why I decided not to translate it. The fact is that the gracioso of Spanish comedy is a rather special character and one which, as far as I know, is not found in any other theatrical tradition. We do have an equivalent, though, in the French theater: Beaumarchais' Figaro. But he's more philosophical, less well--meaning than his Spanish ancestor. The simplest thing, I think, is to follow the title with the rough translation 'Morning Song of the Clown' [Aubade du buffon]. That will be enough to explain the piece's humoristic style.

reflecting the composer's love of Spain. The brilliant orchestration includes a large percussion battery with, of course, castanets.

Up next is the Poéme for violin and orchestra, composed in 1896 by Ernest Chausson, a composer whose music does not, in my view, get quite as much attention as it deserves. His Symphony in B flat (1890) is a particular favorite of mine, but live performances seem to be rare.

Inspired by Turgenev's 1881 novella The Song of Love Triumphant, the Poéme originally had the same title as the book, but Chausson changed it before the piece was published, apparently to avoid associating it too closely with the novel. I think it was a wise decision; this music has a haunting beauty that doesn't need any extra-musical connections.

The Poéme has been massively popular with violinists ever since it was first performed by the great composer/violinist Eugène Ysaÿe, who commissioned the piece and may have helped with some of the details of the violin part. "When Ysaÿe introduced the Poéme in Paris," writes Michael Steinberg in The Concerto: A Listener's Guide, "the applause rang on and on. Chausson's friend the novelist Camille Mauclair recalled that the bewildered composer kept repeating 'I can't get over it.'" Sadly, it wouldn't last; only two years after the work's 1897 premiere, Chausson lost control of a bicycle and smashed into the wall of his country villa. He was only 44.

Conductor Jun Märkl
Photo by Christiana Hohne

The violin remains in the spotlight with the last work in the first half, the flashy 1883 Carmen Fantasy by the virtuoso violinist and composer Pablo de Sarasate, based on Georges Bizet's massively popular 1875 opera Carmen. Like Chausson, Bizet died young; he shuffled off this mortal coil at the age of 36 from a heart attack a few months after the opera opened to tepid reviews and public apathy. So he went to his grave not knowing that he had composed what would become one of the most popular operas ever written. Operabase statistics for the 2015/2016 season, in fact, show it as number 3 worldwide, surpassed only by Verdi's La Traviata and Mozart's The Magic Flute.

This mini-concerto weaves virtuoso fireworks out of a number of tunes from the opera, starting with the Aragonaise that serves as the entr'acte between Bizet's Acts III and IV and ending with the Danse bohème from the top of Act II, as Carmen and her friends Frasquita and Mercédès dance for some army officers in Pastia's Inn. Along the way you'll also hear the famous Habanera as well as the Seguidilla, both from Act I. It's pure melodic fun that offers the violinist a chance to strut his or her stuff, especially in the breakneck finale.  This weekend's soloist is Karen Gomyo.

After intermission, the Spanish theme continues with a performance of Manuel de Falla's 1925 revision of a ballet that premiered in 1916, El amor brujo (usually translated as "Love, the Magician"). Originally commissioned by flamenco dancer Pastora Imperio, the ballet is infused with Andalusian folk elements and, of course, the spirit of flamenco.

The spooky scenario reads like something that would have been more appropriate around Hallowe'en. Here's a summary from John Henken's program notes for a 2015 performance by the Los Angeles Philharmonic:

The tale in its final version concerns Candelas, a young widowed gypsy haunted by the ghost of her jealous husband. To free her from his unwanted attention, Candelas and Carmelo, her new lover, must exchange a kiss of perfect love. In a series of dances the ghost first frightens the couple (Dance of Terror), Candelas tries to exorcise it (Ritual Fire Dance), and then her friend Lucia seduces it. While the ghost is distracted by Lucia, Candelas and Carmelo kiss, and then mock the ghost in the final dance (Dance of the Game of Love).

Most concertgoers will be familiar with the "Ritual Fire Dance," but there's much to relish in this colorful and highly evocative score. There's even a part for a mezzo-soprano (sung this weekend by soprano Catalina Cuervo), acknowledging the influence of the Andalusian tradition of cante jundo, a dark and dramatic style of singing associated with the flamenco tradition.

The concerts close with one of the most popular orchestral works ever written and certainly the best-known thing Maurice Ravel ever produced: Bolero. Composed originally on commission for the dancer Ida Rubinstein, Bolero was first performed by her at the Paris Opéra on 22 November 1928, with choreography by Bronislava Nijinska and designs by Alexandre Benois.

"Inside a tavern in Spain," runs the scenario printed in that first program, "people dance beneath the brass lamp hung from the ceiling. [In response] to the cheers to join in, the female dancer has leapt onto the long table and her steps become more and more animated." In program notes for the New York Philharmonic, the late New York Times music critic Louis Biancolli goes into greater detail. "The men gathered in the public room of the inn eye the dancer fixedly. As her movements grow more animated, their excitement mounts. They beat out an obbligato with their hands and pound their heels. At the peak of the crescendo, where the key abruptly shifts from C major to E major, the sharpening tension snaps. Knives are drawn and there is a wild tavern brawl."

Sounds like a hell of a party. There will be no weapons at Powell Hall this weekend, fortunately, so you will be able to enjoy Ravel's Greatest Hit in safety.

The essentials: Jun Märkl conducts The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with soloists Karen Gomyo, violin, and Catalina Cuervo, soprano, Friday and Saturday at 8 pm and Sunday at 3 pm, November 24 -- 26. The performances take place at Powell Hall in Grand Center.

Dona nobis pacem

Jun Märkl; photo by Christiane Höhne

Who: The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus conducted by Jun Märkl with soloists Daniel Lee (cello), Dominique Labelle (soprano), Kai Rüütel (mezzo-soprano), Christoph Genz (tenor), and Stephen Powell (baritone)
What: Music of Schoenberg, Haydn, and Mozart/Süssmayr
Where: Powell Symphony Hall
When: November 9-11, 2012

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The St. Louis Symphony Chorus and their director Amy Kaiser covered themselves with glory Friday night with powerful performances of Schoenberg's Friede auf Erden (Peace on Earth, a fiercely difficult piece for a cappella chorus from 1907) and the Mozart/Süssmayr Requiem under the baton of Jun Märkl. In between, Daniel Lee demonstrated once again what top-notch cello playing sounds like in Haydn's D major concerto.

As I have noted in the past, much as I love hearing the standard repertory at the symphony, encountering a work for the first time has a special kind of excitement. Schoenberg’s Friede auf Erden is not a new piece—it was written in 1907 and first performed in 1911—but this is the first time the Symphony Chorus has tackled it. And (to stretch this metaphor past the breaking point), they scored a touchdown.

One look at the score of Friede auf Erden shows why this is likely the kind of work that gives choir directors the willies. Polyrhythms are frequent, and Schoenberg’s harmony, while still close to the late 19th century mainstream, definitely looks forward to his upcoming abandonment of key-centered composition. One gets the sense the Schoenberg never really understood what Davie Vernier (in a review for Classics Today) describes as “the practicalities of producing pitch-accurate sounds with human rather than mechanical instruments” and, in fact, the first scheduled performance in 1907 was cancelled because the singers just couldn’t hack it.

There were no such problems Friday night. Under Jun Märkl, the chorus delivered a performance that was as powerful as it was precise. The emotional impact of the text—a Christmas poem with a potent anti-war message by the Swiss poet and historical novelist Conrad Meyer that seemed appropriate for Armistice Day weekend—was stunning, assisted by a projected English translation. Anyone who wasn’t nearly moved to tears by those closing measures was made of sterner stuff than yours truly. You couldn’t have asked for a better opener.

Brilliant musicianship was the order of the evening in the next work as well. Haydn’s D major Cello Concerto was written for Esterhazy court cellist Anton Kraft in the 1780s. Based on the difficulty of the solo part, which exploits the instrument’s full range and calls for nearly every technical trick in the book, I’ve got to conclude that Herr Kraft was quite the virtuoso.

Happily, “quite the virtuoso” is a phrase that applies just as well to symphony principal cellist Daniel Lee. If you were fortunate enough to hear his Dvořák Cello Concerto this past April, you know just how good Mr. Lee is. Back then I noted that his playing combined nimble hands with a warm heart. Both were on display once again in the Haydn. His bravura performance of contemporary German cellist Reiner Ginzel’s first movement cadenza (as was customary at the time, Haydn didn’t provide one) resulted in spontaneous applause at the movement’s end, the second movement Adagio radiated ethereal beauty, and the concluding Rondo delivered all the good humor for which Haydn was noted. Mr. Märkl and the orchestra backed Mr. Lee up nicely, and there was good communication between conductor and soloist.

The big draw for these concerts, of course, is the Mozart Requiem. Begun during the final months of the composer’s life, it’s a mostly stirring and affecting setting of the standard Latin mass for the dead that’s understandably popular with performers and audiences alike. I say “mostly” because Mozart died before he could complete it and the parts commonly attributed to his student Franz Xaver Süssmayr (who may or may not have had help from others) are clearly the work of a second-rater. The “Benedictus”, in particular, could do with some editing.*

Still, four-fifths (or thereabouts) of a Mozart masterpiece is still very fine stuff. The anguished shrieks of the violins in the “Requiem aeternam”, the dramatic “Dies irae”, the heartfelt quartet of the “Recordare”, and the famous baritone and trombone duet of the “Tuba mirum” are only a few of the many memorable things in this lovely score.

And what a masterful performance by Mr. Märkl and the chorus! I’ve only seen him conduct the symphony twice in the past. They were both heavily Romantic programs, so it was a pleasure to see him approach Mozart with the same combination of passion and attention to individual performers and sections that he had lavished on Ravel, Dvořák, and Saint-Saëns in those earlier programs. The members of the chorus, of course, were their usual flawless selves.

The vocal soloists for the Requiem had a nice mix of concert, oratorio, and opera appearances in their resumes, so you won’t be surprised to learn that they fully did justice to the music’s drama without ever committing the musical equivalent of overacting. I was especially taken with soprano Dominique Labelle’s work in the “Recordare” and with the way baritone Stephen Powell blended so well Vanessa Fralick’s flawless trombone in the “Tuba mirum”, but all four singers were really impeccable.

Next on the symphony calendar is an all-Tchaikovsky program with conductor Andrey Boreyko and violinist Vadim Gluzman. Performances are Friday at 10:30 AM (a Krispy Kreme Coffee Concert with free doughnuts), Saturday at 8 PM and Sunday at 3 PM, November 16– 18. There’s also a youth orchestra concert on the 16th at 7 PM. For more information: stlsymphony.org

*Nearly everything about the Requiem has been a source of dispute since Mozart’s death, including the wisdom of using Süssmayr’s completion. At least two other completions were done in the early 19th century and several musicologists have produced their own over the last four or five decades. You can read all about it on Wikipedia or take a look at Christoph Wolff’s 1994 book Mozart’s Requiem.

The waltz of folly

Who: The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra conducted by Jun Märkl with pianist Horacio Gutiérrez
What: Music of Beethoven, Richard Strauss, and Ravel
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis
When: November 11 through 13, 2011


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The Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra marked Veteran's Day with a heroic performance by pianist Horacio Gutiérrez and conductor Jun Märkl of Beethoven's Concerto No. 5 ("Emperor")—a work written under the cloud of war and occupation. Conflict and triumph of a different sort were featured in a deeply moving reading of Strauss’s Death and Transfiguration, and the circle was closed with Ravel's essay on Armageddon in 3/4 time, La Valse. Quite an evening.

When Beethoven was writing his concerto in 1809, Vienna was not so much the fabled “City of Dreams” as a metropolis of nightmares. The French laid siege to it with shelling so fierce that at one point the composer took refuge in his brother’s house and covered his head with pillows to escape the din. “[L]ife around me”, he wrote, “is wild and disturbing, nothing but drums, cannons, soldiers, misery of every sort.” The royal family—including Beethoven’s friend and patron Archduke Rudolf—fled, along with many of the notable families with whom the composer had become close.

Left alone and, once the French occupation began, in difficult financial circumstances due to rapid inflation, Beethoven had little else to do but compose. The Fifth Concerto is probably the most famous work to emerge from this difficult period, although the Op. 81a piano sonata (“Les Adieux”) is probably a close second. Both were dedicated to Rudolph.

Much has been written about the Concerto No. 5, so I won’t presume to waste your time with my own analysis, especially when there are concise and informative articles on Wikipedia and at the Classy Classical blog . The magisterial first movement, the wistful second, and, after that famous descending figure in the bassoon, the jolly concluding rondo all show Beethoven at his best. They offer a wealth of opportunities to shine for soloist and conductor.

And shine is what Mr. Gutiérrez and Mr. Märkl did. Like Eric Le Sage, who was so impressive last week in the Schumann concerto, Mr. Gutiérrez eschewed flash and theatricality at the keyboard, opting instead for a straightforward, no-nonsense approach. An entrance, a nod to the conductor, and he was off. Physically, he’s a great bear of a performer, but at the keyboard he did delicate and lyrical as well as forceful and heroic. That famous fortissimo-to-diminuendo barrage of octaves in the first movement was a good case in point. He and Mr. Märkl went, in short, where Beethoven took them, and compelled us to come along.

Richard Strauss’s Death and Transfiguration (Tod und Verklärung), which opened the second half of the concert, deals with war of a different sort—the struggle of an artist’s soul to shuffle off a dying mortal coil and find the ideals he strove for in (to quote from the composer’s detailed narrative) “everlasting Time and Space”. Although Strauss, on his deathbed, remarked that “dying is exactly like I composed it 60 years ago”, there’s no getting around the fact that this is a young man’s view of the transition from here to eternity. It’s filled with great, cinematic torrents of sound, passages of nostalgic longing, and, finally, one of the most sublime finales to be found anywhere.

The dramatic stakes, then, are high, and a good performance should be both exhilarating and touching. Conducting without a score—and therefore free adopt a far more freewheeling style on the podium than he did in the Beethoven—Mr. Märkl delivered all that and more. The dramatic moments were powerful. The passages when the protagonist “recollects his childhood, and then his youthful days of passionate striving” brought a lump to my throat, anyway. And the final apotheosis was translucent.

The evening concluded with Ravel’s La Valse, a work that began in 1911 as “a piece in the style of the earlier Strauss, not Richard” entitled simply Wein (Vienna). And, in fact, a bit of it shows up in the Valses nobles et sentimentales from that same year. Before it could be completed, however, World War I (in which the composer served as an ambulance driver) intervened, and by the time La Valse was submitted to (and foolishly rejected by) Diaghilev for the Ballets Russes in 1919, it had become something far more profound. Ravel described it as “an impression of a fantastic whirl of destiny leading to death”. I can’t hear it without envisioning a huge, ornate machine spinning faster and faster until it hurls itself to pieces—as the complex structure of 19th-century Europe did in the so-called “war to end all wars”.

Once again, Mr. Märkl conducted without a score, this time giving full vent to the Viennese waltz that inspired the piece, complete with the Luftpausen (those minute hesitations between the first and second beat) that are characteristic of the genre. As in last week’s Daphnis et Chloé, La Valse is filled with brilliant orchestral writing that offers nearly everyone a chance to show off, including infrequently heard instruments such as the bass clarinet and contrabassoon. The symphony musicians rose to the challenge, as they nearly always do, and the results were exemplary—as, indeed, they were all night.

Next at Powell Hall: David Robertson is back on the podium with Bruckner’s titanic Symphony No. 7, along with Purcell’s Chacony in G minor and Luciano Berio’s Chorale (on Sequenza VIII) on Friday and Saturday, November 18 and 19, 2011. Erin Schreiber is the violin soloist in the Berio. For more information you may call 314-534-1700, visit stlsymphony.org, like the Saint Louis Symphony Facebook page, or follow @slso on Twitter.