On November 5th and 6th 2021, Stéphane Denève and the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra (SLSO)
presented a concert that opened with a powerful work of personal
lamentation and ended with a gripping and ultimately horrifying
depiction of life under an autocratic regime run by a personality
cult centered on a morally bankrupt and violent ideologue. In
between we had a violin concerto that evoked images of pines,
snow, and brisk northern winds.
[Find out more about the music
with my symphony preview.]
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| Denève conduct Emotive Transformations |
It was dark, disturbing, and engrossing. And I loved it. A live
HD video recording of that concert, with some illuminating
commentary from Maestro Denève, is now available from the orchestra’s web
site through August 31st 2022.
The lamentation comes from the opening work, “Emotive
Transformations,” written in 2018 by Michigan-born James Lee III. Inspired by the death of the
composer’s father the work, as Stéphane Denève said in his
pre-concert talk back then, can he heard as referring to the five stages of grief
described by Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in
her 1969 book “On Death and Dying”: denial, anger, bargaining,
depression, and acceptance.
“Emotive Transformations” opens with an agitated theme that
suggests the first two stages of denial and anger. A second, more
soothing motif in the strings and winds hints at “comforting
words” according to Denève, but to my ears it also could include
the “bargaining” stage. Denève described a third ascending theme
in the strings as a reference to resurrection, and I’m inclined to
agree, although you could just as easily say it’s about
acceptance.
Either way, that last theme is almost overwhelmed by the opening
sense of anger and agitation. Indeed, it eventually takes over the
“comfort” theme entirely, turning it into a kind of wail of
anguish (depression, possibly?) which slowly descends through the
string section and is extinguished. The initial theme returns
again, but now it has taken on the character of the acceptance
music, rising triumphantly to a final major chord.
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| Nikolaj Szeps-Znaider |
It all sounds a bit like Strauss’s “Death and Transfiguration,”
but the resemblance is at best superficial. Lee’s musical world is
more compact and less sentimental than that of Strauss. His
musical vocabulary is unquestionably contemporary, but still
listener-friendly—a hallmark of the new music that Denève has
introduced to local audiences. And it is beautifully played by
Denève and the band, with a shout-out due to Principal Clarinet
Scott Andrews for the tranquil start of the
resurrection/acceptance theme.
Up next is the Violin Concerto in D minor, op. 47 by Jean
Sibelius. Originally presented in 1904 and then, after a thorough
drubbing by critics, premiered in a substantially revised form in
1905, the work is deeply informed by the composer’s love of his
native Finland’s forests and striking but somewhat forbidding
landscape. I have always found it to be a dramatic and often
emotionally intense piece—qualities that are communicated very
effectively in Saturday’s deeply committed and finely shaded
performance by Denève and soloist Nikolaj Szeps-Znaider.
Close friends outside of the concert hall, Szeps-Znaider and
Denève have often performed the Sibelius concerto together, a fact
which lends an air of intimacy to the performance and often
produces the illusion that you are hearing the music of, in the
words of novelist Jasper Fforde, “two
minds with but a single thought.”
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| Denève conducts the Shostakovich Fifth |
Szeps-Znaider’s virtuosity is clearly on display in the
challenging first movement cadenza and the galloping final
movement, but his technique is always deployed in the service of
Sibelius’s dark, passionate soundscape. It is, as well, always
completely in synch with Denève’s nuanced approach to the
work. The many video closeups make it possible to see
Szeps-Znaider at work in a way that wouldn’t be possible in a live
concert.
The dark soundscapes of Sibelius are almost tropical compared to
the harsh, cold winds that blow through the final work of the
evening, Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 5 in D minor. Written over
the course of three months in 1937 it was, at the time, seen as an
attempt by the composer to get himself off of Stalin’s blacklist,
since being on it was likely to end not just his career but his
life. He even went so far as to accompany the first performance
with an article in the Moscow newspaper Vechernyaya Moskva titled
"A Soviet Artist’s Reply to Just Criticism"—lest there be any
doubt that he had Learned His Lesson.
It worked. Official response was enthusiastic, and Shostakovich
was officially rehabilitated. Even in the West the work was, well
through the 1960s, seen as an example of unabashed pandering to
mandatory patriotism. As more details began to emerge about what
composer’s private thoughts might have been about the fifth
symphony, critics and conductors began to realize that something
much darker lurked beneath the brilliant orchestration, memorable
tunes, and apparent bombast of the Allegro non troppo
finale.
That something was a portrait of the grim reality of life in a
one-party state run by a mass murderer and his ethically
challenged enablers. "Many in the premiere audience were seen to
weep openly," wrote Richard Freed in his liner notes for the SLSO’s 1986 recording
of the work. "They wept, Shostakovich himself felt, because
'they understood; they understood what was happening around them
and they understood what the Fifth was about.'"
These days, performances of the symphony are more likely to
emphasize that dark side. Denève’s certainly does. Conducting
without a score, he delivers a Fifth that beings with a cry of
pain in the strings, followed by snarling march from the brass and
percussion sowing death and destruction. The first movement ends
with nobody left to tell the tale except the harp and celesta
(Allegra Lilly and Peter Henderson, respectively, in a beautifully
tragic duet) quietly commenting on the smoking ruin of the
battlefield.
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| Finale of the Shostakovich Fifth |
And so it goes for the next three movements. The Allegretto is a
lumbering waltz of storm troopers, briefly interrupted by graceful
ballerina (Concertmaster David Halen, in a touching solo assisted
by Lilly and flutist Jennifer Nitchman). She tries to return in a
pleading English horn solo by Jelena Dirks but is ultimately
banished from the scene. The Largo that made Russians weep is pure
desolation, ending in tranquil string chords that fade to a
silence which is violently broken, after only a brief pause, by
the aggressive final movement.
Here, in a fusillade of blazing brass and pounding percussion,
the Soviet bureaucrats heard triumph, affirmation, and apotheosis.
And perhaps, in that first performance, conductor Evgeny Mravisnky
made sure it came across that way. But, as Mr. Denève
demonstrates, it only takes a few adjustments to reveal the
coercion behind that triumph. The slow, relentless hammer blows of
the percussion in the coda sound less like affirmation and more
like a “tragic, forced smile,” as Denève says in his video
introduction. The effect is both thrilling and horrifying.
Depending on the quality of your home theatre system, the sound
on the video might or might not deliver quite the same emotional
impact of the original performance, which left me in a state of
stunned silence. It is, in any case, a brilliant reading which
still leaves me with the uneasy feeling that I have heard
America’s future and its name is Dmitri Shostakovich.
This video is part of a series of recordings of recent live
concerts. Ticket information and a complete list of videos in the
series is available at the SLSO web site.