Symphony Preview: The folk school

This weekend (October 14 - 16, 2016) guest conductor Hannu Lintu leads the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in a program of works by composers with their roots firmly in the traditions of their native lands: Poland's Witold Lutoslawski (1913 - 1994), Czechoslovakia's Antonín Dvorák (1841 - 1904), and Russia's Igor Stravinsky (1882 - 1971).

Witold Lutoslawski
Photo: W. Pniewski and
L. Kowalski

Lutoslawski, whose music opens the program, embraced his Polish heritage in many of his early works, especially those written in the aftermath of World War II. But the time he wrote this weekend's opener, Chain 3, in 1986, the composer had, as Paul Schiavo writes in his program notes, "evolved into a modernist whose music is international in style". The piece is the last of a trio of Chain pieces that Lutoslawski wrote in the 1980s, each of which was written for very different musical forces. Chain 3 is scored for a large orchestra-just under 100 players this weekend. Like its two companion works, it consists of small musical ideas which overlap and combine, like the links of a chain, to create a larger aural whole.

As it builds towards its conclusion, Chain 3 creates an impressive "wall of sound" that would have done Phil Spector proud and incorporates elements of aleatoric or "chance" music in that (quoting Mr. Schiavo again) "certain passages to be played ad libitum, with only loose coordination among the players." That sounds like it might be a recipe for sonic chaos and to some extent it is, but it's controlled chaos and pretty compelling.

Up next is a masterpiece that leaves nothing to chance and offers great opportunities for a soloist willing to take on its technical and emotional challenges: Dvorák's Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104.

The cello doesn't appear in the symphonic spotlight that often. It's not that there aren't concerti out there (although far fewer than for violin or piano); it's just that most of them are relatively obscure. The Dvorák A minor concerto is probably the most popular-right up there with the Elgar-and justifiably so. Written during the composer's final year in America, it's nevertheless a work that is suffused with the dark romanticism of the Bohemian countryside that the composer loved so dearly.

The Dvorák family in New York, 1893

This is mature and deeply felt music of genuinely symphonic proportions. It's also technically challenging without being superficially flashy. There are no cadenzas, for example, and the demands on the soloist's technique arise naturally out of the concerto's dramatic narrative.

To play this concerto well, then, you need not only nimble hands but also a warm heart. This is music of deep sorrow and overflowing joy. The soloist had better be open to all of it.

The cellist this weekend is Germany's Alban Gerhardt, a man praised as "one of the finest cellists around" by The Guardian and dubbed "Ein Kantabilitätszauberer und Meister virtuoser Rasanz" ("a magician of cantabile playing and a master of virtuosic panache" by Der Tagesspiel. "His gift for shedding fresh light on familiar scores," says his SLSO program bio, "along with his appetite for investigating new repertoire from centuries past and present, truly set him apart from his peers." All of which suggests that he has the right combination of skills to not only make the most of the concerto, but to offer some fresh insights into it as well.

The concerts this weekend close with a work in which folk influences are visual as well as auditory: the 1947 version of Stravinsky's Petrushka ballet, originally presented by Serge Diaghilev's Ballets Russes in Paris in 1911 with the legendary Pierre Monteux in the orchestra pit. Stravinsky was struck by the idea for the ballet while he was in the midst of working on the score for what would prove to be his most (in)famous Diaghilev collaboration, Le Sacre du Printemps.

Here's the composer describing his inspiration (as quoted in program notes for the Minnesota Orchestra): "I had in my mind a distinct picture of a puppet, suddenly endowed with life, exasperating the patience of the orchestra with diabolical cascades of arpeggi. The orchestra in turn retaliates with menacing trumpet-blasts. The outcome is a terrific noise which reaches its climax and ends in the sorrowful and querulous collapse of the poor puppet." Even without the dancers and scenery, this is tremendously descriptive music. If you're unfamiliar with it, I think you'll find it easy to play the story out in your mind's eye. Depending on your imagination, it might even be more vivid than the real thing.

Nijinsky as Petrushka

When Diaghilev discovered that Stravinsky had stopped work on Sacre for Petrushka he was indignant, but as soon as the composer began to play the score on his piano, the impresario was smitten. With the great Vaslav Nijinsky in the title role, the ballet was well received and went on to be one of the most popular items in the company's repertory and in Stravinsky's catalog.

Originally conceived as a work for piano and orchestra, Petrushka retains a prominent role for that instrument-a role emphasized even more in the 1947 revision you'll hear this weekend. At the keyboard will be Peter Henderson who, while not officially a member of the orchestra, nevertheless frequently appears as an ensemble keyboard player with them and has occasionally even been in the solo spot-something I wish would happen more often. I recall with fondness his remarkable performance of Frederic Rzewski's daunting The People United Will Never Be Defeated! at the Pulitzer Foundation back in 2012.

I also recall conductor Hannu Lintu's previous appearances with the SLSO fondly. He's a commanding and visually compelling figure on the podium. His big gestures are striking, but he can also coax delicate sounds with a minimum of physical display. He has, in short, a nearly ideal mixture of romantic intensity and intellectual control-which should work well for a program this varied.

The Essentials: Hannu Lintu conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, with cello soloist Alban Gerhardt, on Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. October 14 - 16. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio.

St. Louis classical calendar for the week of September 19, 2016

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The Cathedral Concerts Chamber Music Series presents members of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in a program of music by Bach, Prokofiev, and Shostakovich on Monday, September 19, at 7:30 p.m. The concert takes place at St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church in South St. Louis City. For more information: www.cathedralconcerts.org.

The Cathedral Concerts Chamber Music Series presents members of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in a program of music by Bach, Prokofiev, and Shostakovich on Tuesday, September 20, at 7:30 p.m. The concert takes place at Sts. Joachim & Ann Catholic Church in St. Charles. For more information: www.cathedralconcerts.org.

David Robertson conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with soloists Andrew Cuneo, bassoon and Karin Bliznik and Jeffrey Strong, trumpets, on Friday at 8 p.m., September 23. "The amazing talent of STL Symphony musicians is on display with Mozart's Bassoon Concerto and Vivaldi's Concerto for Trumpets and Strings. Enjoy an evening of hometown virtuosity and familiar favorites that concludes with Pachelbel's Canon in D and Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik." The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

David Robertson conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with soloists Yefim Bronfman, piano, and Beth Guterman Chu and Jonathan Chu, violas, Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m., September 24 and 25. "Kicking off our season featuring all five Beethoven piano concertos, Music Director David Robertson and renowned pianist Yefim Bronfman join together for Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 3 and Haydn's dream-like and adventurous Symphony No. 102." The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Review: Leonard Slatkin brings home the passion of Berlioz's "Romeo et Juliette" Friday and Saturday, March 11 and 12, 2016

Leonard Slatkin
Photo: Alexander Ivanov / leonardslatkin.com

Even if I hadn't seen the video blog in which St. Louis Symphony Conductor Laureate Leonard Slatkin named Berlioz's 1838 Roméo et Juliette, Symphonie dramatique (op. 17) as one of his favorite works to conduct, I would have guessed as much from the fierce joy and commitment of the interpretation he gave this monumental work with the SLSO Orchestra and Chorus Friday night (March 11, 2016). If you'll pardon the expression, he and his forces completely killed it.

If you've never seen this remarkable mashup of symphony, oratorio, and opera performed live—and there's a good chance you haven't, given what a big undertaking it is—I hope you had a chance to experience this. With over 100 musicians on the stage and over 80 (by my count) in the chorus, this is a work which, while massive in scope, has moments of real delicacy and intimacy. Maestro Slatkin's interpretation was beautifully shaped and dramatically compelling, and the musicians played and sang with real perfection.

Tenor Sean Panikkar's description of Queen Mab in the second movement's "Grande fête chez Capulet" (essentially, "big party the Capulet's place") was delightfully droll. Mezzo Kelley O'Connor expertly captured the ecstasy of young love in the first movement's "Strophes," assisted by Allegra Lilly's flowing harp. And bass Renaud Delaigue was the passionate voice of morality in the imposing choral finale. Both the full chorus and the smaller chamber chorus that is featured in the first two movements sang with the power and clarity I have come to expect from them.

Maestro Slatkin's interpretation got off to a dramatic start, adopting a strikingly brisk tempo for the opening "Combats" section, which portrays the war between the Montagues and the Capulets with rapid-fire thrusts and parries from the strings and brasses. It proved to be emblematic of an overall approach that brought out all the drama in Berlioz's music.

The orchestra responded with some of the finest playing of the season, from the unearthly violin harmonics in the famous "Queen Mab" scherzo that makes up the fourth movement to the powerful brass declarations that announce the intervention of the Prince in the first. There were many impressive solo passages as well, such as Jelena Dirk's haunting oboe melody in the "Tristesse" ("sadness") section of the second movement and Principal Clarinet Scott Andrews's dramatic depiction of Juliet's awakening in the sixth movement.

The SLSO's Roméo et Juliette is history now, but the season continues this Friday through Sunday (March 18-20) as Jun Märkl conducts a program the features Schumann's Symphony No. 2 ("Rhenish") and Beethoven's Violin Concerto with Concertmaster David Halen as soloist. There's also a Pulitzer Series concert Wednesday at the Pulitzer Arts Center. For information these and other upcoming SLSO events, check out the web site.

Symphony Peview: Of late bloomers and letter writing, November 21 and 22, 2015

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If you consider his entire output, Johannes Brahms was an early bloomer. He reportedly wrote his first piano sonata at the age of 11, was touring as a pianist by 19, and was only 20 when Schumann sang of his virtues in the October 28, 1853, issue of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik ("a young man over whose cradle Graces and Heroes have stood watch"). Heady stuff.

Brahms, the boy wonder, 1853

And yet as a symphonist Brahms got off to a late start. His "Symphony No. 1 in C minor," op. 68, which takes up half of this weekend's St. Louis Symphony Concerts (with David Robertson at the podium), wasn't performed until 1876 (when Brahms was 43) and wasn't published in final form until the following year. "Part of the problem," wrote Larry Rothe in program notes for the San Francisco Symphony, "was that Brahms was such a harsh critic of his own work. He honed his material until he was satisfied, and he held himself to tough standards. We are told that his desire to be worthy is what kept him from introducing a symphony before he was already into middle age. He was intimidated by Beethoven. 'You have no idea what it's like to hear the footsteps of a giant like that behind you,' he said, those footsteps resonating through his psyche, making him question if he could ever do anything on a par with the author of nine symphonies that seemed to define the limits of what music could express."

Listening to the magisterial opening of the Brahms First now, it seems astonishing that it could have sprung from the brain of a man consumed with self-doubt. It's such a strong statement and the rest of the movement is so filled with drama and so commanding, you'd think it would have drowned out the sound of Beethoven's footsteps.

The other movements are equally impressive. A lyrical Andante is next—featuring a graceful trio for oboe, violin, and horn—followed by a terpsichorean third movement marked un poco allegretto e grazioso. And then Brahms caps it all with a finale that radically changes the idea of what the fourth movement in a Romantic symphony should do.

"This movement," writes Tom Service in The Guardian, "is his solution to what he saw as the 19th century's symphonic problem—the tendency for the pieces to be weighted towards their opening allegros, to have worked out all their major structural tensions by the end of the first movement. Brahms's fourth movement is different: everything is at stake here. It's the longest part of the symphony, and from the outset, its drama is set out on a bigger stage than the previous three movements... On one hand, this music crowns the work's dramatic trajectory, but it also celebrates Brahms's own vanquishing of his symphonic demons. And if we've only the ears to hear it, we'll hear how completely he created something subtly, multi-dimensionally new."

Brett Dean
boosey.com

Speaking of new things, the only other work on this weekend's program is "The Lost Art of Letter Writing," a work for violin and orchestra from 2007 that's getting its SLSO premiere with these concerts. The composer is Brett Dean, whose "Testament (Music for 12 Violas)" and "Viola Concerto" had their local premieres with the orchestra last January.

At the time I thought Mr. Dean's concerto was rather lacking in substance, stretching a paucity of brief musical ideas out well past their modest breaking point. Whether that will be true of this latest work remains to be seen. Reviews of the piece have been positive, though, which bodes well. "The Lost Art of Letter Writing is a most sincere and substantial work," wrote Shirley Apthorp in The Financial Times in 2007. "[I]t is art which needs neither pretension nor gimmicks." In a review for The Guardian of the premiere recording of the piece by Sydney Symphony, Andrew Clements was even more enthusiastic. "Like the best works with literary subtexts," he wrote, "The Lost Art of Letter Writing can also be appreciated on its own purely abstract musical terms, and as a wonderfully idiomatic concerto inhabiting a post-Bergian musical world, it's as important an achievement as Dean's earlier Viola Concerto and one of the most significant recent additions to the violin-concerto repertoire."

Like many of Mr. Dean's compositions, "The Lost Art of Letter Writing" is what was once called "program music" in that it is inspired by and specifically refers to non-musical ideas. Specifically, the decline in letter writing and, indeed, in handwriting in general brought on by the ubiquity of computers. "A recent article in an Australian newspaper," writes Mr. Dean in his notes for his work at the Boosey and Hawkes web site, "points out that the proportion of personal letters amongst the total number of sent articles handled by the national postal authority, Australia Post, has declined from 50% in 1960 to 13% nowadays. Sure, we stay in touch arguably more than ever, via telephone, email and messaging, but that too has undoubtedly changed the nature of communicating."

"Each movement," he continues, "is prefaced by an excerpt from a 19th Century letter of one kind or another, ranging from private love-letter to public manifesto. Each title refers to the place and year the letter was written. The violin plays the alternate roles of both an author and a recipient of letters, but perhaps more importantly, the solo part conjures something of the mood of each of the different letters."

SLSO program annotator Paul Schiavo has some interesting things to say about "The Lost Art of Letter Writing" as does blogger Eddie Silva in a blog entry that includes an interview with SLSO violist Woehr. If you're planning to attend this weekend, they're both worth your time.

In the solo role for these concerts will be English violinist Jack Liebeck. Mr. Liebeck is professor of violin at the Royal Academy of Music and is the Artistic Director of Oxford May Music Festival (a festival of "Music, Science, and the Arts"), who comes to us with a string of good notices, several of which are quoted at his web site. Reviewing his performance of the Dvorak "Violin Concerto" last month with the Halle Orchestra, for example, Bachtrack praised his "deep understanding" of the music. "With a sound that is considerably versatile and of a beautiful sonority in the lower register, he called forth a rich soundscape which met the challenges of the concerto." In a similar vein Ken Walton, writing in The Scotsman last December, enthused about Mr. Liebeck's "nimble technique and purity of tone."

The essentials: David Robertson conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, with violinst Jack Liebeck, on Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m., November 21 and 22. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Preview: A visit to Russia House with Graf, Hadelich, and the SLSO February 27-March 1, 2015

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If you missed last week's big double dip of Russian romanticism or if (to quote a famous Big Band-era lyric) you just "can't get enough of that wonderful stuff," the St. Louis Symphony has another helping helping of it for you this weekend as Hans Graf leads the orchestra and violinist Augustin Hadelich in a program of Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky, and Lyadov.

"Lyadov?" I hear you cry, "who the heck is that?"

Anatoyl Lyadov
en.wikipedia.org

A reasonable question. "Anatoly Lyadov," writes Daniel Durchholz in his SLSO program notes, "is considerably less well-known than Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky or Igor Stravinsky, and to some degree that may be his own fault. Though a composer of considerable skill and a professor (albeit an eccentric and pedantic one) at the St. Petersburg Conservatory whose students included Sergey Prokofiev and Nikolay Myaskovsky, Lyadov produced no works of sustantial [sic] length and grandeur, as had a number of his contemporaries."

Lyadov's laziness (and resulting unreliability) essentially conspired with his self-criticism to prevent him from producing a large body of work, although he did write a number of piano miniatures (his 1893 "Musical Snuffbox" still shows up as an encore piece on a regular basis). Even so, he became associated with (if not an actual member of) the "Mighty Handful" (a.k.a. the "Russian Five") of composers who were so important in the formation of the Russian nationalist school. The actual five were Mily Balakirev (composer of the fiendishly difficult "Islamey" for piano), César Cui, Modest Mussorgsky, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Alexander Borodin.

Appropriately for a Russian nationalist, Lyadov is represented this weekend by three orchestral miniatures based on Russian folklore: "Baba-Yaga" (Op. 56), "The Enchanted Lake" (Op. 62), and "Kikimora" (Op. 63). They're short (4-7 minutes each), colorful, and great fun. Which makes them a great way to open the concert (and provide multiple opportunities for latecomers to be seated).

Up next is Tchaikovsky's "Violin Concerto in D Major." Although wildly popular these days, the concerto was originally dismissed as "unplayable" by St. Petersburg Conservatory violin professor Leopold Auer (to whom it was originally dedicated and who was supposed to play it at its premiere). Tchaikovsky's colleague Adolf Brodsky would replace Auer as both the first performer and the dedicatee.

Eduard Hanslick in 1865
en.wikipedia.org

Worse yet, it was roundly condemned by critics at its 1881 Vienna premiere. Eduard Hanslick, the notoriously conservative critic who Wagner had mercilessly parodied a decade earlier in "Die Meistersinger," was especially scornful. After admitting that the work was "musical and is not without genius," he went on to unload a tub of bile that would not be out of place on AM talk radio. It's worth quoting at length, if only to illustrate just how clueless critics can sometimes be (the translation comes from Minneapolis Symphony program notes by Donald Ferguson).

"[S]oon savagery gains the upper hand," he ranted, "and lords it to the end of the first movement. The violin is no longer played; it is yanked about, it is torn asunder, it is beaten black and blue. I do not know whether it is possible for anyone to conquer these hair-raising difficulties, but I do know that Mr. Brodsky martyrized his hearers as well as himself. The Adagio with its tender national melody, almost conciliates, almost wins us; but it breaks off abruptly to make way for a finale that puts us in the midst of a Russian kermess [a German country festival]. We see wild and vulgar faces, we hear curses, we smell bad brandy. Friedrich Vischer once asserted in reference to a lascivious painting, that there are pictures that 'stink in the eye.' Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto brings us for the first time to the horrid idea that there may be music that stinks in the ear."

But aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?

Today it can be hard to understand what Hanslick was gassing on about (although his description of the finale suggests that anti-Russian bigotry could be involved). Apparently written as a kind of therapy after Tchaikovsky's disastrous attempt at marriage failed and he was plunged into the despair heard so tellingly in his "Symphony No. 4," the concerto is an unfailingly sunny piece that never fails to please. Yes, it's technically demanding, but generations of violinists have mastered it and made it a central part of the repertoire.

Costume sketch for The Firebird by Leon Bakst
en.wikipedia.org

The concerts will conclude with a suite that Stravinsky put together in 1945 from the music for his 1910 ballet "The Firebird". The first in what turned out to be a series of successful collaborations between the composer and impresario Serge Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, "Firebird" contains hints of the upheaval Stravinsky would generate with "Rite of Spring" and "Les Noces" but also pays homage to the work of Rimski-Korsakov, especially the Orientalism of (say) "Le Coq d’Or".

Interestingly, Stravinsky owed the opportunity to write "Firebird" to the laziness of—yes—Anatoly Lyadov. Diaghilev originally commissioned Lyadov to write the score but (according to Verna Arvey in "Choreographic Music") when, after months of waiting, Diaghilev went to see Lyadov to view his progress, the composer said, "it won't be long now. It's well on its way. I have just bought the ruled paper."

Soon Lyadov was out and Stravinsky was in. The premiere of "Firebird" put Stravinsky on the map, musically speaking, and it remains one of his most popular works. Stravinsky prepared three concert suites from the ballet: one in 1910, a second in 1919, and the third in 1945. In both the second and third suites the composer reduced the size of the orchestration. The last and leanest suite is the one you'll hear this weekend.

Both the conductor and violin soloist this week have appeared with the SLSO in the past. On the podium will be Hans Graf, former conductor of the Houston Symphony and an artist-in-residence at the Shepherd School of Music at my alma mater, Rice University. At his last SLSO appearance, Graf gave us masterful readings of Rachmaninoff's first and second piano concertos along with a wonderfully transparent interpretation of Shostakovich's dark and acerbic "Symphony No. 1." That bodes well for this weekend.

The young Italian-born violinist Augustin Hadelich, last heard here two years ago in a performance of Paganini's "Violin Concerto No. 1" that combined virtuoso flash with real emotional sensitivity. He'll certainly need both of those skill sets for the Tchaikovsky.

The essentials: Hans Graf conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with violin soloist Augustin Hadelich on Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m., February 27-March 1. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Review: Swooning romanticism with Watts and Valcuha at Powel Hall, February 20 and 21, 2015

Juraj Valcuha
rte.ie

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Who: The St. Louis Symphony conducted by Juraj Valčuha
What: Music of Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky
When: Friday and Saturday, February 20 and 21, 2015
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis

[Find out more about the music with the symphony's program notes and my preview article.]

The young (late 30s) Slovenian conductor Juraj Valčuha came to town for his SLSO debut this weekend with a stack of impressive reviews from locations as diverse as London, Los Angeles, and Washington D.C. in repertoire ranging from Mozart to Brahms to Szymanowski. Critics have praised his big sound, his precision, and what the Los Angeles Times critic called "his eloquent and flowing baton gestures."

All of that was certainly on display Friday morning in a program of two big Russian romantic blockbusters: Rachmaninoff's "Piano Concerto No. 2" in C Minor, Op. 18 (first performed in 1901) and Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6" in B minor, Op. 74 (a.k.a. the "Pathetique"), which had its first performance only eight years earlier. Also on display was a kind of lush, almost swooning lyricism and a tendency to linger over and emphasize details of phrasing.

That worked remarkably well for the Tchaikovsky. From the hushed statement of the first theme in the first movement—beautifully played by Principal Bassoon Andrew Cuneo and the low strings—to the massive, nearly hysterical final orchestral outburst that precedes those final dying chords in the cellos and basses in the last, this was a "Pathetique" that wrung every ounce of melodrama out of the score.

Mr. Valčuha made smart use of dramatic contrasts in dynamics throughout. Here's just one example: the little dying clarinet solo that ends the first movement exposition—sensitively played by Associate Principal Diana Haskell—was allowed to fade out almost to inaudibility, which gave the massive orchestral outburst that starts the development section that much more impact. It's a stormy movement anyway, but under Mr. Valčuha's baton it was more of a hurricane.

The wistful little 5/4 waltz of the second movement with its anxious contrasting second theme has never sounded more haunting. The aggressive march of the third movement radiated power, which made the opening despair of the last movement (Adagio lamentoso)—played after only the briefest pause—all the more heartbreaking.

To sum it up, this was a "Pathetique" that could stand with the best of them, and played with perfection by the orchestra.

That same intense, hyper-romantic approach served the Rachmaninoff less well. Tempi were on the slow side and the composer's long melodic lines were sometimes stretched to the breaking point. The big, lyrical second subjects in the first and last movements were as opulent as I have ever heard them but the outer movements sometimes lacked the rhythmic drive and sense of forward motion that I'm accustomed to hearing. This is a concerto that normally clocks in at around 35 minutes. Mr. Valčuha's version came in at closer to 45 by my reckoning, and not just because of the long pause after the first movement while we waited for latecomers to be seated.

André Watts
cmartists.com / Steve J. Sherman

That said, it was still a captivating performance. Mr. Valčuha is, as other critics have noted, a very commanding and theatrical presence on the podium. That LA Times review describes him as conveying the impression that he was spontaneously creating the music out of thin air—a very apt description of the way he seems to be physically molding the sound. And while I don't think his approach to the Rachmaninoff was ideal, especially for any listeners who might have been encountering the piece for the first time, it was certainly a personal and rather fascinating take on music that can often seem over-familiar.

I am, of course, assuming that tempo choices and the overall approach were largely Valčuha's idea. I should point out, in all fairness, that when this weekend's soloist, the legendary André Watts, last appeared with the SLSO in 2010, his Grieg concerto was a bit on the slow side as well, so perhaps this was a collaborative decision.

Mr. Watts' performance was, in any case, impressive—technically solid and poetically expressive. He has often performed and recorded the Russian romantic repertoire, Rachmaninoff included, and has apparently been touring extensively with the second concerto recently—often to rave reviews. The concerto is often given flashy performances that emphasize the virtuoso nature of the work, but Mr. Watts and Mr. Valčuha made, my misgivings not withstanding, an awfully good case for taking a more leisurely and autumnal view of this music.

Next at the SLSO: Hans Graf conducts the orchestra with violin soloist Augustin Hadelich on Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m., February 27-29. The program includes Tchaikovsky's "Violin Concerto" and the suite from Stravinsky's "Firebird" ballet. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Preview: Two Russian romantic blockbusters at Powell Hall February 20 and 21, 2015

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Works by two giants of the Russian romantic school are on the Powell Hall Stage this week as the St. Louis Symphony under guest conductor Juraj Valcuha takes on Rachmaninoff's "Piano Concerto No. 2" in C Minor, Op. 18 (first performed in 1901) with famed pianist André Watts as soloist and Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6" in B minor, Op. 74 (a.k.a. the "Pathetique"), which had its first performance only eight years earlier.

Rachmaninoff in the early 1900s
en.wikipedia.org

Although he as over three decades older than Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky was nonetheless a huge supporter of the younger composer. When the latter was only 16, Tchaikovsky was already predicting "a great future" for him, according to Rachmaninoff biographer Max Harrison. In an 1892 interview with the Petersburg Gazette Tchaikovsky went even farther, naming Rachmaninoff (along with Glazunov and Arensky) as one of the younger generation of composers whom he expected to take up the torch of Russian romanticism after he retired. "That made me so glad," wrote Rachmaninoff to a friend when he read the interview. "My hearty thanks to the old man for not having forgotten about me!"

Tchaikovsky's faith certainly appeared to be validated by Rachmaninoff's early successes. "By the time he was 20," writes Paul Schiavo in his SLSO program notes, "Rachmaninoff had completed a piano concerto; an opera, Aleko, which was triumphantly produced at the Bolshoi Theater; several tone poems and chamber pieces; and a number of keyboard works, including the famous Prelude in C-sharp minor. The stage seemed set for a lifetime of rich musical accomplishment."

All that came to a crashing halt when the composer's "Symphony No. 1" had its St. Petersburg premiere in 1897. The performance was a debacle (conductor Alexander Glazunov, a notorious alcoholic, was said to be conducting under the influence) and critics hated it. César Cui, for example, famously wrote that if "there were a conservatory in Hell, if one of its talented students were instructed to write a program symphony on the ‘Seven Plagues of Egypt,’ and if he were to compose a symphony like Mr. Rachmaninoff’s, then he would have fulfilled his task brilliantly and would bring delight to the inhabitants of Hell.”

The psychological impact on the young Rachmaninoff's was devastating. "All my self-confidence broke down," he recalled, "and the artistic satisfaction that I had looked forward to was never realized." He spiraled down into a depression so severe that friends urged him to seek help from one Dr. Nikolai Dahl, who was then making a name for himself in Moscow with hypnotherapy.

Dahl hypnotized Rachmaninoff daily for three months. "Dahl had inquired what kind of composition was desired of me," recalled the composer, "and he was informed 'a concerto for pianoforte,' for I had promised this to people in London and had given up in despair the idea of writing it. In consequence, I heard repeated, day after day, the same hypnotic formula as I lay half somnolent in an armchair in Dr. Dahl's consulting room. 'You will start to compose a concerto—You will work with the greatest of ease—The composition will be of excellent quality.' Always it was the same, without interruption."

The result was everything Rachmaninoff could have hoped for. He took up composing with a new vigor. Ideas for the concerto "began to well up within me," he reported. The second the third movements were completed by the autumn on 1900 and by the spring on 1901 the entire work was ready for a November Moscow premiere under Alexander Siloti, with the composer at the piano. It was a hit with both critics and audiences and has remained so ever since.

The Second may not be the best of Rachmaninoff's four piano concerti—both the revised First and (my favorite) the Third are more economical and generate more momentum—but its flashy (and technically demanding) solo passages, soaring melodies, and showy finale have made it a real crowd pleaser. From its famous seven-chord introduction to the big tune of the finale (popularized by Frank Sinatra in 1945 as “Full Moon and Empty Arms”), this is a concerto that is impossible to dislike.

Tchaikovsky, aged 52.
Photographed by Alfred Fedetsky
in Kharkov, 14/26 March 1893
wiki.tchaikovsky-research.net

If the Rachmaninoff concerto is brimming with the optimism and confidence of youth, Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6" is marked by the regret and despair of age. Which, given the composer's circumstances and mood at the time, is a bit surprising.

When Tchaikovsky began working on the symphony at his country house in Frolovskoe in the spring of 1893, all the signs were positive. "Although his health and spirits had been more than usually good," wrote R.L.F McCombs in program notes for the Philadelphia Orchestra, "he made sure they would remain so by taking long walks, even in bad weather. He was fifty-three, popular, respected, and in fairly easy circumstances."

Tchaikovsky actually began work on the Sixth in 1891, after he returned from a trip to America, but he abandoned work on it the following year (Soviet musicologist Semyon Bogatyrev would complete it in 1950). "You know I destroyed a symphony I had been composing and only partly orchestrated in the autumn," he wrote to his nephew Vladimir Davydov in February of 1893. "During my journey I had the idea for another symphony, this time with a programme, but such a programme that will remain an enigma to everyone—let them guess; the symphony shall be entitled: A Programme Symphony (No. 6). The programme itself will be suffused with subjectivity, and not infrequently during my travels, while composing it in my head, I wept a great deal. Upon my return I sat down to write the sketches, and the work went so furiously and quickly that in less than four days the first movement was completely ready, and the remaining movements already clearly outlined in my head. The third movement is already half-done. The form of this symphony will have much that is new, and amongst other things, the finale will not be a noisy allegro, but on the contrary, a long drawn-out adagio. You can't imagine how blissful I feel in the conviction that my time is not yet passed, and to work is still possible. Of course I might be mistaken, but I don't think so."

The first performance—in St. Petersburg, with the composer conducting—did not, alas, realize those hopes. Tchaikovsky was, unfortunately, much less capable as a conductor than as a composer. "He was too diffident to demand the best results from his players," wrote McCombs, "and would rather have a half-way performance than a fuss. In public he suffered from nervousness and had a peculiar delusion that in conducting, his head was liable to fall off if he did not support it with his left hand which, of course, permitted him only the use of his right." As a result, the first performance was "received with politeness rather than enthusiasm."

That would change with subsequent performances, but Tchaikovsky never lived to see it happen; nine days after the premiere, the composer was dead. The official cause: cholera, brought on by drinking a glass of contaminated drinking water. Whether that was true or not quickly became a matter of some contention and even today theories abound that the composer committed suicide or was murdered. What is certain, though, is that the "Pathetique" has become enduringly popular.

As well it should. This exceptionally well-crafted symphony’s compelling mix of triumph and tragedy is, as the song goes, “simply irresistible”. Only a world-class grouch, for example, could refuse to applaud after the exuberant third movement and only a heart of granite could fail to be moved by the despairing finale. Those final, dying chords in the low strings are just heartbreaking. A well-conducted "Pathetique" leaves the audience feeling that they need to take a moment to exhale.

The Essentials: Juraj Valcuha conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with piano soloist André Watts on Friday at 10:30 a.m. (a Coffee Concert with free Krispy Kreme doughnuts) and Saturday at 8 p.m., February 20 and 21. The Saturday concert will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Review: A spring awakening with Stéphane Denève and the St. Louis Symphony, February 7 and 8, 2015

Stéphane Denève in the auditorium
of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, Paris
Photo: Tom Finnie

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Who: The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra conducted by Stéphane Denève
What: Music of Debussy, James MacMillan, and Dvořák
When: February 7 and 8, 2015
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis

A bit of spring blew through St. Louis a couple of months early this weekend, and I’m not just talking about the temperatures outside.  Inside Powell Hall it was unseasonably vernal, as well, as Principal Flute Mark Sparks and the St. Louis Symphony under guest  conductor Stéphane Denève gave voice to Debussy’s sultry “Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune” (“Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun”).

[Find out more about the music with the symphony program notes and my symphony preview].

Inspired by an 1876 poem by the symbolist Stéphane Mallarmé (whom Debussy greatly admired), the “Prélude” exudes what Boston Symphony music librarian Marshall Burlingame describes as a “languorous sensuality” as “the faun’s conscious observation of two nymphs in the sunlight drifts into erotic fantasy.”  Even in Mallarmé’s elliptical poetry, it’s steamy stuff.

Mark Sparks
stlsymphony.org

Mr. Denève’s loving and subtly shaded interpretation, combined with Mr. Sparks’ graceful playing of the solo part (the flute takes on the role of the faun’s panpipes), produced exactly the lubricious atmosphere the composer had in mind.  Working without a baton, Mr. Denève artfully shaped  phrases with his hands in the manner of the late Leopold Stokowski while still making individual cues pointed and unambiguous.  He is, as I have noted in the past, a commanding figure on the podium and an interesting visual study.

Immediately following the first dose of Debussy, we got a second: the brief “Syrinx” for solo flute from 1913.  It wasn’t on the printed program, having been added during rehearsals as a result of discussions between Mr. Sparks and Mr. Denève, but there was nothing rushed or under-rehearsed about Mr. Sparks’ seemingly effortless performance.

Next up was the local premiere of Scottish composer James MacMillan’s Piano Concerto No. 3, “The Mysteries of Light.”  Based on the five “Luminous Mysteries” added to the existing fifteen rosary mysteries by Pope John Paul II in 2002, the work is not so much a classic concerto as it is a symphony with a prominent piano part.  Yes, the pianist has some impressively flashy passages, especially in the finale (“The Institution of the Eucharist”) with its “perpetual motion” coda, but overall the piano is more of an orchestral partner.

As I wrote in my preview article, Mr. MacMillan disdains composers who are (in his words) “deeply suspicious of any significant move towards tonality, any hint of pulse that is actually discernible, and any music which communicates successfully with a non-specialist audience.”  If, in other words, you are weary of music that sounds more like an orchestra tuning up than a deliberate composition, or that seems to have been written more for a grant-funding committee than for a paying audience, Mr. MacMillan is undoubtedly your man.

The 3rd concerto is not what I’d call a subtle work. The first movement (“The Baptism of Jesus  Christ”), for example, features rapid “watery” passages at the upper end of the keyboard while the second movement’s “Wedding at Cana” includes a raucous  tune in the style of a reel.  Jesus’ ascension in the fourth movement is depicted by a massive orchestral crescendo that begins at the very bottom of every instrument’s register and quickly  climbs to the top, and the radiance of Jesus’ face is illustrated by an elaborately beautiful chorale for the strings.

And so it goes.  There’s an almost cinematic vividness to this music—and I mean that in the most flattering way possible.  Unlike some of the newer works the SLSO has unveiled, this is a piece that can be grasped at first hearing while still inviting repeated listening.  We can only hope  that a recording will be forthcoming at some point.

Jean-Yves Thibaudet
jeanyvesthibaudet.com

The soloist for the concerto was Jean-Yves Thibaudet.  He premiered the concerto with the Minnesota Orchestra in 2011, so I think I can safely describe his performance as definitive.  It was certainly assured and intense, backed up by virtuoso playing by the orchestra.  He and Mr. Denève clearly love this music, and their very informative and entertaining spoken introduction, including a brief bit of four-handed piano from the pair, was a nice supplement to the printed program notes.

The concert concluded with the the "Symphony No. 8" in G major, Op. 88, written in 1890 by Antonin Dvořák.  The symphony comes from an especially happy time in the composer’s life.  Thanks, in part, to the enthusiastic support of Brahms, Dvořák was much in demand as both a composer and conductor and was prosperous enough to purchase a home in the Czech countryside that inspired so much of his work.

Composed at his newly acquired home, this cheerful symphony overflows with celebrations of rustic life.  There are twittering birds, cheerful village bands, wandering violinists, and even, at one point, a section that has always made me think of a sudden thunderstorm.  This is the joy of living, wrapped up in the Czech master’s characteristically infectious melodies and dance-inspired rhythms.

Dvořák  is one of my favorite composers and I thought I had heard every possible approach to this consistently good-humored symphony. Mr. Denève still managed to surprise me, though, with an idiosyncratic approach that lingered over orchestral details, sometimes sacrificing the composer’s rhythmic vitality to do so.  And yet, it never felt overdone or excessively episodic.  This was a performance that drew me in, almost in spite of myself.

The orchestra responded with some truly superb playing.  The cellos, under Principal Daniel Lee, brilliantly fulfilled their important melodic role, especially in the first and last movements, and the winds and horns made the most of the loving attention Dvořák lavishes on them all the way through.  Concertmaster David Halen also had a nice moment as that strolling violinist in the second movement.

Finally, a note about silence.  Most of us know that silence is an element of music. John Cage even went to far as to write and entire piece (“4’ 33””) consisting of nothing by four minutes and 33 seconds of silence, along with whatever ambient sound happens to be present at the time.  Dvořák uses silence effectively in the eighth symphony, and Mr. Denève used it effectively throughout the concert.  Before he began the Debussy, for example, he held himself completely still until the last audience wheeze had died out and the opening flute solo could emerge from almost complete quiet.  His understanding of the importance of silence and stillness is, I think, one of the things that makes Mr. Denève’s interpretations stand out from the crowd.

Next at Powell Hall: Kevin McBeth conducts the St. Louis Symphony IN UNISON chorus in “Lift Every Voice: A Black History Month Celebration” on Friday, February 13, at 7:30 PM.  The orchestra is supplemented by a rock band for “Faithfully: A Tribute to the Music of Journey” on Saturday, February 14, at 7:30 p.m.  The regular season resumes when Slovakian conductor Juraj Valcuha leads the orchestra and piano soloist André Watts in Rachmaninoff’s “Piano Concerto No. 2” and Tchcaikovsky’s “Symphony No. 6” (“Pathétique”) on Friday at 10:30 a.m. and Saturday at 8 p.m. February 20 and 21.  For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Preview: Ecstasy without agony Saturday and Sunday, February 7 and 8, 2015

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The theme running through this weekend's St. Louis Symphony concerts, as Daniel Durchholz writes in his program notes, is "ecstatic expression". Specifically, "the sensual delights of Debussy, the religious rapture found in the deep devotion of [Scottish composer James] MacMillan, and Dvořák’s reveling in the country comforts of his homeland." I think he's on to something there.

Debussy in 1908
en.wikipedia.org

I haven't heard the MacMillan piano concerto that concludes the first half of the concert, but there's not much doubt that ecstasy figures prominently in both the works that open and close the concert. First performed in 1894, Debussy's "Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune" ("Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun") is a languorous evocation of the landscape of Classical mythology while Dvořák’s "Symphony No. 8" from 1890 takes its cue from the thoroughly unmythical Bohemian countryside. Both show how much their respective composers were inspired by the natural world.

Granted, in Debussy's case the immediate inspiration wasn't so much nature as it was an elliptically erotic 1876 poem by Stephane Mallarmé, whom Debussy greatly admired. "The poem's languorous sensuality is subtly shaded," wrote Boston Symphony music librarian Marshall Burlingame for the SLSO's 1982 recording of the piece, "as the faun's conscious observation of two nymphs in the sunlight drifts into erotic fantasy." Mallarmé apparently agreed. "I have just come out of the concert deeply moved," he wrote to the composer. "The marvel! Your illustration of the Afternoon of a Faun, which presents a dissonance with my text only by going much further, really, into nostalgia and into light, with finesse, with sensuality, with richness. I press your hand admiringly, Debussy."

In Debussy's music, the faun is personified by the flute, which is featured prominently throughout its roughly ten-minute length. In fact, the opening flute solo is probably one of the best-known moments in the classical repertoire. It's haunting and dreamy, and it expertly conjures up the voluptuous, summery world of the poem. "The piece is avant-garde, revolutionary," observes SLSO Principal Flute Mark Sparks in the program. "The idea is personal for Debussy. He owns the idea of what happens harmonically: ambiguity, consciously taking the traditional Germanic sense, Wagner especially, and throwing it out the window."

Anton and Anna Dvořák in London, 1886
en.wikipedia.org

I don't know what Dvořák thought of Debussy. He probably would have found the younger composer's whole approach odd. But, like Debussy, he was often inspired by nature. Written at a time of great happiness in the composer’s life, the "Symphony No. 8" in G major, Op. 88, overflows with good humor. Dvořák composed it at his newly acquired country home and filled it with celebrations of rustic life. There are twittering birds, cheerful village bands, wandering violinists, and even, at one point, a section that has always made me think of a sudden thunderstorm. This is the joy of living, wrapped up in the Czech master’s characteristically infectious melodies and dance-inspired rhythms.

Like the Debussy, the Dvořák abounds with lovely solo passages for the winds, as does so much of his music. The last time the SLSO performed this symphony—October of 2010, under Gilbert Varga—I was very taken with the orchestra’s flute, piccolo, and single and double reed sections. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to a repeat of that this time.

Interestingly, the Dvořák Eighth has something in common with the Beethoven Eighth that we heard  a couple of weeks ago. Like the Beethoven, it’s an unpretentious and genial piece that stands in marked contrast to the more dramatic and more often performed symphonies on either side of it. Beethoven’s Eighth tends to get less attention than his propulsive Seventh or his grand Ninth. Dvořák’s Eighth has the same problem compared to the darkly dramatic Seventh and the wildly popular Ninth, “From the New World.” And yet both symphonies have much to recommend them. It’s good to have the opportunity to hear them almost back-to-back.

I’d like to close by giving you my impressions of the new work on the program this week, the “Piano Concerto No. 3” (subtitled “Mysteries of Light”), written in 2007-2008 by James MacMillan, the contemporary Scottish composer best known for "Veni, Veni, Emmanuel," his 1992, percussion concerto closely identified with Evelyn Glennie. Unfortunately the piano concerto, which had its premiere in April of 2011 with the Minnesota Orchestra, doesn’t appear to be available on recordings yet. Fortunately, the composer has given us a fairly detailed program at the web site of his publisher, Boosey and Hawkes.

James MacMillan
boosey.com

"My 3rd Piano Concerto," he writes, "attempts to revive the ancient practice of writing music based on the structure of the Rosary. The most famous example of this is the collection of the Rosary (or Mystery) Sonatas for violin by Heinrich Biber, written in the late 17th century. These consist of 15 movements based on the Joyful, Sorrowful and Glorious Mysteries. In 2002 another set of meditations were introduced by John Paul II, the Luminous Mysteries, and these are the basis of the five sections of this concerto... However, the music here is in no way geared towards liturgy, or devotional in any accepted, traditional sense. Rather, each image or event becomes the springboard for a subjective reflection, and proceeds in quasi-dramatic fashion, not too distant in concept from the musical tone poem. The fusion of symphonic poem with concerto forms has long been a favourite pursuit of mine in earlier works. The music is in one single, continuous span, comprising five distinct portions."

If the examples of MacMillann’s work that I have been able to find are any indication, you can expect music that, while obviously contemporary, is nevertheless very accessible and free of the kind of dry, academic abstraction that seems typical of so many compositions over the last few decades. “For polemical as well as practical purposes,” writes Joe Staines in “The Rough Guide to Classical Music” (Penguin, 2010), “MacMillan has often stood against ‘the old guard of the avant-garde’ who ‘are deeply suspicious of any significant move towards tonality, any hint of pulse that is actually discernible, and any music which communicates successfully with a non-specialist audience.”

At the piano for the concerto will be the man who first performed it, Jean-Yves Thibaudet. A highly regarded performer with an international reputation, Mr. Thibaudet has a wide-ranging repertoire that includes 19th, 20th, and 21st century masters and even jazz. His playing can be heard in the cinema as well, on the soundtracks of films like "The Portrait of a Lady," "Bride of the Wind," "Pride and Prejudice," "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close," and "Atonement." His last appearance with the SLSO was back in 2001.

On the podium will be Stéphane Denève, a young (age 43) French conductor who impressed me mightily when he made his SLSO debut back in September of 2003 with a program of Britten, Tchaikovsky, and Haydn and again in 2011 when the program featured Ravel's "Daphnis et Chloe". On the podium he’s an impressive figure: tall and commanding without appearing overbearing and with a bit of the late Leopold Stokowski’s flair. He seemed to be in close communication with the musicians at all times when I saw him here, and they appeared to enjoy working with him. And they're obviously not alone. Mr. Denève is Chief Conductor of Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra, Principal Guest Conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra, and will become Chief Conductor of the Brussels Philharmonic and Director of its Centre for Future Orchestral Repertoire from September 2015. Previous conducting gigs include orchestras as diverse as the Orchestre de Paris, the Suisse Romande Orchestra, the National Symphony in Washington, along with numerous opera orchestras.

The Essentials: Stéphane Denève conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with piano soloist Jean-Yves Thibaudet on Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m., February 7 and 8. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Symphony Preview: Tchaikovsky's big bang theory at Powell Hall, October 10-12

The "1812 Overture" in Melbourne in 2005
en.wikipedia.org

"The overture will be very loud and noisy, but I wrote it with no warm feeling of love, and so it will have no artistic merits at all." That was Tchaikovsky complaining to his patron Nadezhda von Meck about the piece that closes St. Louis Symphony's all-Tchaikovsky concerts this weekend, "The Year 1812, festival overture in E-flat major," Op. 49.

Many critics have agreed about the lack of artistic merit, but audiences continue to love it. Composed on commission for a concert commemorating completion of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, it's one of Tchaikovsky's most popular works—especially in outdoor "pops" concerts where the large orchestra can be supplemented with the brass band, bells, and cannons called for in the score. There won't be any artillery inside Powell Hall this weekend, but the orchestra has the next best thing: the "Mahler box," a massive (around 8' tall) unfinished wooden box struck with an equally massive wooden hammer.

It's called the "Mahler box" because it was constructed to deliver the "hammer blows" called for in the finale of Mahler's "Symphony No. 6." Mahler said the sound should be "brief and mighty, but dull in resonance and with a non-metallic character (like the fall of an axe)." Having heard the box in action when Semyon Bychkov conducted the Mahler 6th back in January of 2011, I can attest to the visceral impact of the sound. When the percussionist whacks that box with the hammer, you feel it right through your chest.

The rest of the program is a mix of the composer's "greatest hits" and some of his rarer gems. In the former category is the "Romeo and Juliet Fantasy-Overture," first performed in 1870 and then revised in 1877 and 1880. It manages the neat trick of compressing the essential emotional themes of Shakespeare's five-act tragedy into around 20 minutes of music. The "love theme" is, as Daniel Durchholz writes in his program notes "one of Tchaikovsky's best and most memorable melodies." With lyrics by Buddy Bernier and Bob Emmerich, it even became a hit song: "Our Love," recorded by the Larry Clinton band in 1939.

Tchaikovsky in 1906
en.wikipedia.org

Almost as popular is the opening piece this weekend, the "Polonaise" from the 1877 opera "Eugene Onegin." In the opera, the music accompanies a lavish ballroom sequence in Act 3 in which Onegin, seeing the woman he rejected some years earlier, suddenly realizes he has been a chump and resolves to win her, even though she has married another (yes, it's another opera about Men Behaving Badly). Listening to it as an orchestral excerpt, though, you can forget the melodramatic plot and simply enjoy the lively and engaging melodies.

The other big work on the program—one of those "rarer gems" referred to above—is another of Tchaikovsky's Shakespeare-inspired tone poems: "The Tempest, Symphonic Fantasia After Shakespeare," Op. 18. The critic Vladimir Stasov, to whom the Tchaikovsky dedicated the work, suggested the idea to the composer in 1873. Stasov also provided the following brief summary of the story line, which was printed in the score:

The Sea. Ariel, spirit of the air, obedient to the will of the magician Prospero, evokes a tempest. Wreck of the ship which carries Ferdinand. The Enchanted Isle. First timid stirring of love between Miranda and Ferdinand. Ariel. Caliban. The love-lorn couple abandon themselves to the triumphant sway of passion. Prospero lays aside his magical power and quits the isle. The Sea.

That's a lot to cram into 18 minutes of music, which may explain why (as Mr. Durchholz observes) the work "is not so tightly focused dramatically" as the later "Romeo and Juliet." Still, it's attractive stuff, especially the sea music, which (as composer and music writer Phillip Ramey observes in his notes for the 1985 Chicago Symphony recording) is "so vivid as to be nearly cinematic, depicting both a calm and stormy ocean."

Sandwiched between the "Eugene Onegin" polonaise and "Romeo and Juliet" are two lovely little pieces for soloist and orchestra.

The "Sérénade mélancolique," op. 26, for violin and orchestra opens and closes on (as you might guess from the title) a wistfully sad note, but there's something rather like joy in the more dramatic middle section, so the soloist gets to display a nice emotional range. Joo Kim, from the SLSO's First Violin section, will be in the spotlight for this.

The "Pezzo capriccioso," op. 62 for cello and orchestra is probably the least familiar work on the program. Dating from 1887, it is (the title not withstanding) a mostly rather dramatic piece, although the lively and virtuosic middle section certainly has its "capricious" elements. "I think the piece has turned out rather poorly," lamented the composer in a letter to cellist Anatoly Brandukov (who gave the work its first public performance in 1889). I beg to differ, and suggest that it will offer a fine opportunity for soloist James Czyzewski (who has been with the SLSO for a decade now) to show off.

The essentials: Cristian Macelaru conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and soloists Joo Kim, violin, and James Czyzewski, cello, in a program of the music of Tchaikovsky, featuring the "Romeo and Juliet—Fantasy Overture" and the "1812 Overture," Friday at 10:30 p.m. and 8 p.m., Saturday at 8 p.m., and Sunday at 3 p.m., October 10-12. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information, visit the symphony web site.

Chicago Capsule: Voices of spring

Photo: Todd Rosenberg

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Who: The Chicago Symphony Orchestra conducted by Riccardo Muti
What: Music of Schubert and Mahler
When: June 19 - 21, 2014
Where: Orchestra Hall, Chicago

June 19 through 21, Riccardo Muti and the Chicago Symphony are offered a pair of symphonies which, while originating in vastly different musical and cultural worlds, still have their roots in a love of nature and the sense of renewal that comes with spring.

The connection is most obvious in Mahler's 1881 "Symphony No. 1," with its hushed, expectant opening, its birdcalls, and what CSO program annotator Phillip Huscher calls "the gentle hum of the universe, tuned to A-natural and scattered over seven octaves." Schubert's 1816 "Symphony No. 5," though, has always had a sunny, "spring is here" feel for me as well. The association seems even more obvious when they're heard back to back.

As was the case with the Schubert 1st and 6th symphonies earlier in the week, Muti took a relaxed and elegant approach to the 5th, emphasizing the music's Mozartian grace. The little G-minor digression in the second movement has never sounded so wistfully sad—dark clouds are never far away from the sun in much of Schubert's music—and the performance as a whole was simply irresistible.

The Mahler that followed intermission was simply one of the most riveting and dramatically coherent performances of this wonderfully excessive symphony that I have ever heard. In his tempo choices (surprisingly slow for the first and last movements) and his ability to maintain a coherent musical and dramatic line, Muti reminded me a great deal of legendary Mahlerians like Bernstein and Walter.

The Mahler 1st has had a difficult history—audience and critics found it baffling from the beginning—and the episodic nature of the writing poses significant challenges to conductors. Muti held it all together nicely, though, with a beautifully and intelligently shaped performance. You never got the sense (as one sometimes does with this symphony) that the entire business was about to come to a screeching halt.

And he did that while still highlighting the chamber music–like moments and striking solo passages that alternate with Mahler's heaven-storming outbursts. Principal bass Alexander Hanna gave us an appropriately Hitchcockian funeral march in the third movement, for example, and the little dance band parodies in the woodwinds were delightfully cheeky. I heard details in the harp and strings that I had never heard quite so clearly before.

The big orchestral bits, meanwhile, were as overwhelming as you could wish. The CSO has a hefty violin section and that, combined with Muti's sure hand and the hall's acoustics, insured that the strings were never swamped by the brasses—which were both powerful and accurate. The percussion section performed with admirable precision as well.

This was, in short, a virtuoso effort by one of America's finest orchestras.  For more information on the Chicago Symphony: cso.org.

[This is the second of two capsule reviews from Chicago, where I attended the Music Critics Association of North America annual conference.]

National identity

Joshua Bell
Photo: Eric Kabik

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In case you thought music only got political in the 1960s, allow me to disabuse you of that notion. The great composers whose music fills concert halls these days were often very politically active and weren't shy about expressing their politics in their music.

Three of the four composers whose music David Robertson and the St. Louis Symphony will perform this weekend were ardent musical Nationalists, which means they used their compositions to advocate for the cultures of their native countries. Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884) and Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904) were Czech patriots promoting the artistic and (in the case of Smetana) political independence of their homeland from the Austro-Hungarian Empire while Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) was passionate about the legends and landscape of Finland. The fourth composer, Einojuhani Rautavaara (1928- ), isn't generally regarded as a Nationalist per se, but he does draw inspiration from the Finnish countryside and folk tales.

Smetana

Smetana's music often has specific references to Czech legend and lore, so it's only right that he's represented here by two of the six tone poems that make up his epic cycle Má vlast (My Fatherland): Vyšehrad and the massively popular Vltava (more popularly known by its German name, The Moldau).

Vyšehrad, which opens the program, begins with a long introduction depicting the song of the bard Lumir, playing inside the great hall of the castle of Vyšehrad. A more dramatic central section suggests the strife that would characterize Czech history, after which the calmer voice of the bard returns. A few troubled final bars, though, suggest that the calm won't last. When you listen to Vyšehrad, notice how important the harp is as the voice of the bard. In the program book, principal harpist Allegra Lilly notes that the "big, rolled chords which are interspersed with arpeggiated passages" in the introduction help to "create a magical sound, a mystical element appropriate to the piece."

Vltava (which closes the program) is straightforward scene painting, vividly illustrating the course of the river Vltava from placid mountain stream to raging torrent at the St. John rapids (which manifest themselves as big crashing chords towards the end). The bard's theme from Vyšehrad pops up again near the end as well, to provide some artistic unity. When I was young, The Moldau (as it was usually known) was very popular with teachers of "music appreciation" courses (do they still have those?) because it was short (around 12 minutes) and the structure was simple. It's very appealing stuff.

Dvořák

Dvořák's nationalism tends to show itself more in reverence for the Czech countryside, which is very much on display in In Nature's Realm, op. 91. "Dvořák's pure woodwind colors," writes René Spencer Saller in her program notes, "and richly layered strings perfectly evoke the cries of birds, the murmuring of woodland streams, the sighing of wind in the trees." It's musical painting of a high order; some of Dvořák's most profound and touching work was inspired by his love of nature.

Originally the piece was the first of a cycle of three symphonic poems with the omnibus title Nature, Life, and Love. "His intention," writes Denby Richards, the late editor of Musical Opinion magazine, "was to explore every possible facet of nature and life and the effect they have had on the soul of man." These days the three works are usually performed separately under the titles In Nature's Realm, Carnival, and Othello.  Which is rather a pity, as there are thematic relationships among them that make more sense when they're performed as Dvořák originally intended.

Sibelius

Sibelius is represented by his Violin Concerto in D minor, op. 47. The violin was Jean Sibelius's first musical love. He began playing as a child and showed great promise as a performer, despite an elbow fracture that impeded his bowing technique. Even after it became clear that his real talent was for composition, he continued to play in chamber ensembles and even teach the instrument. It's no surprise, then, that his Violin Concerto—originally presented in 1903 and then again in a substantially revised form in 1905—is both thoroughly idiomatic and incredibly demanding. The long solo passages in the first movement and virtuoso fireworks in the finale will test the mettle of the best performers.

Fortunately, the symphony has one of the best violinists around as soloist this weekend: Joshua Bell. Born in Bloomington Indiana, Mr. Bell, who turns 46 on December 9th, began taking violin lessons at age four. By 14 he was already appearing with the Philadelphia Orchestra. He made his Carnegie Hall appearance at the age of 17 with our own St. Louis Symphony. Today he is very much in demand as a soloist with notable orchestras worldwide. As of 2011, he also became the music director of the Academy of St. Martin-in-the Fields—the first person to hold that post since the orchestra was founded in 1958 by Sir Neville Marriner. He recorded the Sibelius concerto for Sony in 2000, so he should be very comfortable with the piece.

Einojuhani Rautavaara

Like many music lovers, I expect, I discovered the last composer on this weekend's program, Einojuhani Rautavaara, via a recording of his most well known work Cantus Arcticus (1972). Subtitled "Concerto for Birds and Orchestra," this three-movement work uses recordings of birds from near the Arctic Circle to weave a remarkable musical tapestry.

It seems only fitting, then, that the Rautavaara piece we'll hear this weekend—Lintukoto (Isle of Bliss) from 2001— is inspired by a Finnish poem about the mythical isle of Lintukoto, a paradisaical place where birds migrate for the winter and where all the inhabitants are dwarves because the sky is so close to the ground. There's a kind of hallucinatory wildness to the music which should make for an interesting contrast from the Dvořák that precedes it and the Smetana the follows it. Still, all three pieces are fine examples of nature rendered as music, which makes for a nice through line in the second half of the concert.

David Robertson and The St. Louis Symphony, with violinist Joshua Bell, perform Smetana's Vyšehrad, Sibelius's Violin Concerto, Dvořák's In Nature's Realm, Rautavaara's Lintukoto (Isle of Bliss), and Smetana's Vltava at Powell Hall in Grand Center on Friday and Saturday at 8 PM and Sunday at 3 PM. The Saturday concert will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio, 90.7 FM and HD 1, as well as via the station web site. For more information: stlsymphony.org.