Expectancy and ecstasy

Karita Mattila
Photo: Marcia Rosengard

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Who: The St. Louis Symphony conducted by David Robertson with soprano soloist Karita Mattila
What: Music of Brahms, Wagner, and Schoenberg
When: Friday and Saturday, March 28 and 29, 2014
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis

The OnMusic Dictionary (at dictionary.onmusic.org) defines attacca as "a musical directive for the performer to begin the next movement (or section) of a composition immediately and without pause." Lately the symphony has been experimenting with playing compositions by different composers attacca as a way of highlighting similarities between the pieces. This weekend's bit of attacca might be the boldest yet, following the prelude to Wagner's "Tristan und Isolde" (first performed in 1859) with Arnold Schoenberg's neurasthenic 1909 "monodrama" "Erwartung" ("Expectation").

[Find out more about the music with the symphony program notes and my Symphony Preview article.]

Although separated by six decades, the two works have more in common than you might think. Musically, the expanded harmonic language of "Tristan" marked the start of a sea change in composition style that eventually led to the serialism of Schoenberg, with its complete demolition of conventional notions of consonance and dissonance. Dramatically, both "Tristan" and "Erwartung" mix images of love and death. Or, as Freud would have put it, Eros and Thanatos.

Wagner in Paris, 1861

In Wagner's opera, the musical and psychological tension set up by the unsettling "Tristan chord" in the first measures of the "Prelude" aren't resolved until nearly four hours later when Isolde, in the rapturous "liebestod," wills herself to join her lover Tristan in death. In "Erwartung" the mixture of the erotic and the violent that forms the subtext of "Tristan" comes to the forefront in "a stream of consciousness libretto (it starts on page 59 of that link) written by poet and medical student Marie Pappenheim and inspired by Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams."

Scored for soprano and post-Wagnerian orchestra, "Erwartung" unfolds as a somewhat hallucinatory monolog in which the narrator (The Woman) wanders into a nocturnal forest expecting to meet her lover and instead finds his corpse. "The line between truth and fantasy grows increasingly blurred," writes Paul Schiavo in his program notes. "Who killed her lover? Did she do it herself? The only reference point is the dramatic impulse, but the protagonist is unreliable, in thrall to her own circuitous dream logic." Schoenberg himself, in his essay "New Music: My Music," said the aim of the piece "is to represent in slow motion everything that occurs during a single second of maximum spiritual excitement, stretching it out to half an hour."

This is demanding music, both for the audience and the soloist. Schoenberg's didactic, theme-free score is no easier on the ears now than it was over a century ago and the challenges it presents to the singer are substantial. She has to hold her own against a huge orchestra and convincingly portray a wide range of disordered emotions without tipping over into absurdity. It requires a performer with a powerful voice and exceptional acting skills.

Karita Mattila clearly has both. She gave us a jaw droppingly intense performance Friday night. A striking, statuesque figure in a slinky black gown and gray shawl, Ms. Mattila commanded attention from the moment she walked on stage during the final pages of the "Tristan" prelude and held it all the way through the deranged twists and turns of "Erwartung."

Schoenberg's Der Rote Blick (Red Gaze)
1910
en.wikipedia.org

The focus on the drama was enhanced by the canny use of lighting, as the house was dimmed more than usual and the orchestra illuminated by lights that changed color to match the mood of the text. The opening section describing the forest was all in green, for example, with a change to the silvery when the narrator's attention shifted to the moon. The lights went red when the narrator raged against a rival and then gold when the sun rose; very effective.

The orchestra's performance was no less impressive. The occasional massive musical explosion not withstanding, "Erwartung" has long solo and small ensemble passages that leave individual musicians very exposed. Peter Henderson on celesta and Allegra Lilly on harp acquitted themselves particularly well, I thought.

The concerts opened with a lush and passionate Brahms "Symphony No. 3" in which the rubato dial was cranked up to 11. I'm usually very impressed with Mr. Robertson's ability to highlight the musical architecture of a symphony while still retaining the dramatic tension of the music from beginning to end. This time things got rather sluggish as Mr. Roberson tended to linger lovingly over too many phrases and there were occasional intonation problems, especially in the third movement. It sounded somewhat under rehearsed in spots, which made me wonder whether or not it got short changed by the Schoenberg.

Next at Powell: Christian Tetzlaff is the soloist and Mr. Robertson is on the podium for Shostakovich's "Violin Concerto No. 1" and Sibelius's "Symphony No. 2." Performances are Saturday at 8 PM and Sunday at 3 PM, April 5 and 6. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Love and Death

The "Tristan" chord
commons.wikimedia.rg

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In his "Concord Hymn" Ralph Waldo Emerson describes the first shot of the American Revolutionary War as "the shot heard round the world." The same phrase has been applied to the shot that killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand in 1914. This weekend the St. Louis symphony will be playing the musical equivalent of "the shot heard round the world." Let's call it "the chord heard round the world." Its effect was less violent, but no less revolutionary in its own way.

The chord in question is called the "Tristan chord." It's heard at the very beginning of the work that opens the second half of this weekend's concerts, the Prelude to Wagner's 1857 opera "Tristan und Isolde." It sounds dissonant, even to modern ears and, in fact, many critics have pegged it as the first shot in the ongoing war on tonality in music (although just as many others dispute that idea). Certainly it seems to anticipate the expanded harmonic palette of post-Wagnerian composers like Richard Strauss and Mahler and, by extension, the active hostility to conventional notions of harmony and melody which are still more popular than they probably deserve to be in some compositional circles.

Ludwig and Malwine Schnorr von Carolsfeld in the title roles
of the original production of
Richard Wagner's Tristan und Isolde in 1865

But its significance goes beyond that. What's really revolutionary about it is that it never really resolves. The tension it creates isn't fully released, in fact, until nearly four hours later when Isolde, in the rapturous "liebestod," wills herself to join her lover Tristan in death.

The erotic subtext of the "liebestod" is undeniable to anyone who has ever heard it. What destroys Tristan and Isolde, after all, isn't some chaste affection but rather a consuming passion that drives them to betrayal. Which ultimately makes the "Tristan chord" a bit of foreplay before the longest musical orgasm on record.

Does that all sound a bit Freudian? It should. The relationship between the constructive and destructive instincts in the human psyche—sex and death, Eros and Thanatos—is a central concept of Freudian psychology. Which is what makes the piece the immediately follows the "Prelude" this weekend so appropriate.

With a stream of consciousness libretto inspired by Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams," Arnold Schoenberg's 1909 monodrama "Erwartung" ("Expectation") for soprano and orchestra unfolds as a somewhat hallucinatory monolog in which the narrator (The Woman) wanders into a nocturnal forest expecting to meet her lover and instead finds his corpse. "The line between truth and fantasy grows increasingly blurred," writes Paul Schiavo in his program notes. "Who killed her lover? Did she do it herself? The only reference point is the dramatic impulse, but the protagonist is unreliable, in thrall to her own circuitous dream logic." Schoenberg himself, in his essay "New Music: My Music," said the aim of the piece "is to represent in slow motion everything that occurs during a single second of maximum spiritual excitement, stretching it out to half an hour."

Which, in a way, brings us back to "Tristan" and its four-hour climax.

"Erwartung" is, in any case, a major challenge for the soprano soloist. Writing for The Guardian, Andrew Clements notes that the music is "immensely taxing, demanding a huge vocal range and sometimes a Wagnerian power and authority, while the huge orchestra supports and challenges her in a web of ever-shifting colours and thematic shapes presented with chamber-like transparency." It's not surprising, then, that this weekend's singer, Karita Mattila, has an impressive musical and theatrical resume, with substantial experience in the music of the 20th century and beyond. Her program bio describes her as "an influential artistic force in the development of new music, regularly collaborating with eminent contemporary composers in the debut performances of significant modern works."

This weekend's concerts open with music that is about as far away as one can get from the psychological depths of Wagner and Schoenberg. Brahms's "Symphony No. 3 in F major," Op. 90 was written in the summer of 1883 when the composer was, to quote Mr. Schiavo, "robustly healthy, if fat, and had a lust for life—as well as for young women." It bubbles over with the joy Brahms took in walking the forests and mountains around Weisbaden. He stayed there in an airy studio overlooking the Rhine, and you can almost hear that majestic river in the sweep of the opening of this music. It's wonderful stuff.

The essentials: David Robertson conducts The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and soprano Karita Mattila in Wagner's "Prelude to Tristan and Isolde," Brahms's "Symphony No. 3," and Schoenberg's "Erwartung" on Friday and Saturday at 8 PM March 28 and 29, at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand. For more information: stlsymphony.org. The Saturday performance will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio, 90.7 FM, HD 1, and via live Internet stream.

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.

Killer serial

George Gershwin's portrait of Arnold Schoenberg

Who: The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra conducted by David Robertson and Ward Stare
What: An American in Paris
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis
When: September 30, 2011

Friday’s St. Louis Symphony Concert was one of a series of local arts events kicking off the American Arts Experience—St. Louis, an annual seventeen-day festival “celebrating all mediums of American arts” according to the official web site. It’s somewhat ironic, then, that the most compelling piece of the evening was Arnold Schoenberg’s Five Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 16—a work written in Austria and premiered in London by a composer who would not become an American resident until late in life. It’s also impressive when you consider that the Schoenberg was a late addition to the program, replacing what was going to be a new double bass concerto written and performed by Edgar Meyer.

What made this presentation of the Five Pieces so intriguing? Well, there’s the music itself to begin with. Its complete rejection of nearly every element of Western musical thought—of, in fact, the very notion of melody or harmony as they had existed for centuries—still makes for fascinating (if highly challenging) listening over a century after its composition. I still can’t hear that six-voice fugue in the final movement, for example, and I’ve had the music in my collection since the 1960s.

Then there’s the wonderfully precise performance under Mr. Robertson’s baton. Schoenberg uses the instruments of the orchestra in extreme and unconventional ways here, calling on the performers to employ a wide range of “special effects” techniques, including flutter-tonguing, piano harmonics, and col legno techniques in the strings. It demands a lot from the players, but this is a virtuoso band, and they came through splendidly.

What really made the Schoenberg work, though, was the inventive and enlightening way in which Mr. Robertson chose to present it. This wasn’t a musical performance so much as an illustrated lecture in which each of the brief movements was introduced with commentary setting it firmly in its historical and artistic context and accompanied by a more or less contemporary painting that mirrored the movement’s central idea. The third movement, “Farben” (“Colors”), for example, was accompanied by Robert Dalaunay’s muted color wheel “Premier Disque” while the violent “Peripetie” (Peripetia) was paired with Franz Marc’s unsettling “The Fate of Animals”.

Is that a Leonard Bernstein–style gimmick? An attempt to win over audiences to the work of a composer who, as Mr. Robertson wryly notes, can empty a concert hall more effectively than a shout of “fire”? Possibly. To me, though, it was a fascinating illustration of the way in which different artistic disciplines often influence and are influenced by each other. Schoenberg was a painter as well as a composer and musical theorist, after all, and even an uncompromising work like the Five Pieces, with its compressed thematic structure and often-complex counterpoint, seems to have a strongly visual element. Calling that out might not make the music any more popular (Friday’s performance was the Symphony’s first in over forty years), but it does, I think, make it more comprehensible. With Schoenberg’s post-tonality music, that’s a fair accomplishment.

Visuals also played a strong if more obvious part in the music that concluded the first half of the program, a suite from Aaron Copland’s score for the 1939 documentary The City, accompanied by corresponding scenes from the film. The film itself, essentially a sales pitch for planned suburbs as a solution to the dehumanizing effects of big city life, has been rather sadly eclipsed by reality, but Copland’s music powerfully underscores every scene, from sentimentally bucolic images of a large mythical (and rather ethnically limited) agrarian past to nightmarish images of steel mills and traffic jams. Resident Conductor Ward Stare—a man whose star is unquestionably in the ascendant—led the orchestra in a fine performance.

Mr. Stare was one of two conductors for the opening piece, Charles Ives’s acerbically witty Central Park in the Dark from 1906 (Mr. Robertson was the other). Ives intended the piece as “a picture in sounds of nature and of happenings that men would hear some thirty years or so ago (before the combustion engine and radio monopolized the earth and air) when sitting on a bench in Central Park on a hot summer night.” He paints that picture by contrasting slow-moving and harmonically unfettered string harmonies with increasingly aggressive and chaotic music from the rest of the orchestra that concludes with a realistic portrayal of a runaway horse and carriage careening into a fence—after which the strings continue on serenely on. Humanity comes and goes, but nature is there for the long term.

In this performance, the rest of the orchestra was placed not just offstage but out in the lobby (hence the second conductor). From the orchestra seats it must have been an impressive surround-sound experience. We didn’t get that up in the dress circle, but hearing the cacophonous mix of marches, ragtime tunes (including Emerson and Howard’s 1899 hit “Hello, Ma Baby”), and general noise played by an ensemble that was not only unseen but nearly impossible to locate was probably just as effective. It was a wonderfully ear-opening way to start the evening.

Mr. Robertson was back on the podium to conclude the concert with An American in Paris, which he conducted in his usual cheerfully visceral way. It was a lovely, sympathetic performance that reminded me, once again, of just how much solid craftsmanship lurks behind Gershwin’s irresistible tunes. It was also a reminder of how far the man came in such a short period of time. This is, after all, a guy who went from being a Tin Pan Alley “song plugger” to an accomplished composer and orchestrator in only thirteen years. In another seven years he would write one of the mainstays of twentieth century American opera, Porgy and Bess. What might he have done had he not died so young? It’s always good to hear his work on the concert stage, especially when it’s done so well.

Next at Powell Hall: the “Red Velvet Ball” fund-raising gala with Itzhak Perlman on October 1. The regular season resumes with an all-Mozart program October 7 through 9 with Nicholas McGegan. For more information you may call 314-534-1700, visit stlsymphony.org, like the Saint Louis Symphony Facebook page, or follow @slso on Twitter.