It is also a good thing that many of the claims about the “correct” way to perform early music that were once accepted as gospel have long been abandoned, but some ideas refuse to die. We are still being lectured that Bach’s vocal music should always be performed with one on a part, regardless of the where, why, or when of the performance. Others tell us that we should not only play eighteenth-century works without vibrato, but the music of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as well. Kenyon’s article credits Roger Norrington for this idea and praises him for taking “his distinctive quest for period style from Haydn and Mozart as far forward as Mahler and Elgar, eliminating the vibrato that modern string players use,” despite the fact that almost all of the recorded and documentary evidence tells us exactly the opposite.

The historical performance movement also still suffers from a short historical memory. Kozinn’s article, for example, seems to imply that Juilliard’s initiative represents the first time a major music conservatory has made a substantial commitment to the field. Perhaps in New York, but Boston beat them to the punch by several decades. The New England Conservatory was offering courses and an early music degree as early as the 1970s, there was considerable activity at Longy and, if I may be allowed to toot my own horn here (a period one without valves, of course), the curriculum that I created when I established the department of historical performance at Boston University in the 1980s included a course for pianists to study harpsichord and another for modern instrumentalists and singers to perform and study Baroque music.

We can go back even further to find top musicians advocating the historical performance approach. The music publisher Vincent Novello, for example, believed that eighteenth-century compositions should be published “exactly as they were intended to be performed by the Composer.” He wrote that in 1825.

Then there is the myth of the “authentic” performance. Robinson falls into this trap when he claims in his Globe review that the use of period instruments enabled the audience to “hear the Fifth [Symphony] the way Beethoven and his first audience would have heard it.” With all due respect to a fine scholar and writer, it is virtually impossible to hear a piece of music the way the composer and audience heard it. There are just too many factors that can never be duplicated: the purpose of the concert and the different classes of people who attended it, the number and quality of the musicians and their instruments, and the acoustics of the performing space, just to name a few. And let us also include the very ears of the people in the audience. Hearing a concert after a day of being bombarded by TV, radio, car noises, the sounds of electric guitars and a screeching Green Line is quite different from the experience of someone who lived during a low-decibel era when there were few if any machines and only the noise of horse-drawn carriages.

Grader was describing several of these factors when she wrote, “half the very large audience could hardly hear the soloist [since] fortepiani were not built to produce a sound large enough to fill a space the size of Symphony Hall.” So did Joe Whipple when he commented, “Mr. Eggarr and the orchestra did manage to achieve inaudibility in the front row of the curve from right to center of the second balcony.” Herein lies the core of problem. If Beethoven had walked into Symphony Hall for the first rehearsal of this concert, chances are good that he would have taken one look at the huge expanse of the 2000+ seat hall and shouted: we need a bigger piano and more players in the orchestra! It is also doubtful that he would have put his seal of approval on a performance plagued by “an unfortunate number of ragged entrances,” a movement skittering “along at such a pace that the orchestra was dangerously near to falling out of step” or one in which there were some “lamentable squawks from the natural horns,” as several reviewers described. Knowing of Beethoven’s volcanic temper and uncompromising personality, the H&H management might have been tempted to call for the riot police if they didn’t meet the composers expectations.

So let’s stop proclaiming that this performance is an authentic reproduction, and that one is not. Rather, we should congratulate the early music movement for introducing us to some wonderful repertoire, recognize the refreshing insights into performance practice it has provided, and sit back and enjoy it. And the next time you salute an emperor, it might be a good idea to make sure he is wearing some clothes.

Mark Kroll will be lecturing and performing in Bratislava, Slovakia this May for its International Conference on Franz Liszt. He will be speaking about the transcriptions of Beethoven symphonies by Liszt and Hummel, and playing two of them on an 18th-century fortepiano—but in an 18^th-century concert hall.

It was evident from the opening notes of the “Sinfony” that the orchestra was in fine technical form; the strings in particular, with guest concertmaster Christina Day Martinson serving in the traditional role of “Leader,” have never sounded better. Nevertheless, I was a little disappointed to discover that the orchestra was still playing in the dry, clipped, non-vibrato style that passes for historical performance in many circles these days, despite the fact that the historical and musical evidence for it is slim at best, and certainly not applicable uniformly to all styles and genres. The human voice was held up during the Baroque era as the ideal model for instrumentalists, who were constantly being told to listen to singers and play like they sang. Happily, Christophers began to urge his own players to do just that, and by the second part of the oratorio the orchestra was actually creating a sustained legato and sometimes matching the singing lines of the chorus and soloists.

The solo singers were all first-class. Soprano Sophie Bevan’s extraordinary breath control enabled her to lighten her voice and perform coloratura passages with crystal clarity. Alto Catherine Wyn-Rogers started out with a limited expressive range and some shaky intonation (the fact that the organ and harpsichord seemed to be tuned in two different temperaments didn’t help matters), but any reservations were swept aside by her brilliant and riveting performance of the aria “He was despised.” Singing from memory — a rare treat in an oratorio performance — Wyn-Rogers was able to communicate the meaning and feeling of every word in this deeply moving aria. The men, tenor Allan Clayton and baritone Sumner Thompson, also have fine voices, and one looks forward to hearing them again after they have a bit more experience and seasoning. Surprisingly for a performance billed as “historically informed,” the soloists were quite understated in their use of ornamentation, but what they did use was tasteful and lovely.

The H&H chorus was nothing less than one virtuoso instrument. Their diction was impeccable, their sound was glorious, and they had no problem matching Christophers’ fast tempi note for note. He also conducted with a fine sense of dramatic pacing, reminding the audience that Handel brought to Messiah decades of experience as an opera composer. Christophers also knows the words of this great work, feels them deeply—and wants his listeners to do the same. Most specialists in the field acknowledge that rhetoric and rhetorical gestures are important aspects of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century performance practice, but few actually make it part of their performances. Christophers did last night. A noteworthy example was the chorus “Lift up your heads,” in which the singers asked “Who is this King of Glory?” as an actual question, and answered it emphatically with “The Lord of Hosts.”

In 1831, Ignaz Moscheles, the great Romantic piano virtuoso and a pioneer in historical performance practice, made the following entry in his diary after reading about a performance of Handel’s Messiah: “I swallowed my dinner hastily, so as not to miss a note of this masterpiece.” Those who ate their dinner quickly last Friday would have also made the right choice. This Messiah was not to be missed.

Mark Kroll is professor emeritus at Boston University, where he founded the Department of Historical Performance and served as its chairman. He celebrates the 40th anniversary of his professional debut as a harpsichordist in 2011.

That said, there were a few ensemble and intonation problems in the overture and opening scene, as well as some scary moments at various points in the opera when the singers and the orchestra occupied different time zones. Nevertheless, maestro Rose was able to recover quickly and bring everything back on track, offering us an interpretation that was solid and professional, although somewhat lacking in dramatic energy. The orchestra in an opera, especially one written by that great symphonist Beethoven who could tell a story without words, should participate in the action, not merely accompany it.

Scott Bearden as Don Pizarro and Andrew Funk as Rocco with unnamed female prisoner (Clive Grainger photo)

Despite the fine singing and playing, however, the evening was not a complete success. The problem was the production itself. Stage director and scenic designer Thaddeus Strassberger certainly gave us some beautiful things to see, but much of the staging and scenery seemed to have little if any connection to the actual story, a powerful tale of corruption, injustice, torture, heroism and ultimate redemption that takes place in a fetid prison.

For example, Act I was set in the large room of what appears to be a beautiful palace, with marble floors, gold decorations, elegant furniture and large paintings of church leaders on the walls. The only way the audience would know that they were watching a scene in a prison, and a horrible one at that, was a set of bars hanging from the ceiling that was lowered at strategic moments in the action. More troublesome, however, was the action itself, which seemed to have little relation to what the protagonists were thinking, feeling, or even just saying. This became apparent in the very first scene in which the jailer Rocco’s daughter Marzelline is trying to deflect the amorous advances of the doorkeeper Jaquino, who won’t take no for an answer. At one point in their duet Marzelline sings, in obvious frustration: “I’ll try not to give him any encouragement, and maybe he will just go away.” What, then, would prompt her to remove her outer garments in front of Jaquino and reveal her pretty negligee or nightgown?

Similar discrepancies and disconnects plagued much of this production, but perhaps the most serious miscalculation occurred at what many consider to be the most famous moment in the opera: the Prisoners’ Chorus, in which Fidelio has convinced Rocco to release the prisoners so that they might enjoy a few moments of sunlight, fresh air and freedom. This scene, with its poignant expression of Enlightenment ideals, was so popular and evoked such a powerful reaction that audiences repeatedly demanded it to be encored throughout the 19th century. Inexplicably,  Strassberger staged this crucial moment inside the elegant room, and one had to wonder why the tortured and starved inmates would emerge from their cells and sing “oh fresh air, oh beautiful sunlight” in a dark room that didn’t even have a window to let in the air and sunshine.

More the pity, because this performance of Beethoven’s great opera had almost all the other elements to make it a great production: wonderful singing and playing. It would, in fact, have been perfect as a concert version of the opera.

Mark Kroll will be performing a clavichord recital on November 5 sponsored by the Boston Clavichord Society, and a harpsichord recital on November 11 at the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester. He will also be presenting a paper on Moscheles and Handel at the annual meeting of the American Musicological Society in Indianapolis on November 7, and is currently writing a biography of Moscheles for Boydell and Brewer Press.

In music, Franz Liszt has long been a favorite whipping boy, his music and career often consigned to the cellar of empty virtuosity. But the critics have been as wrong about Liszt as they were about Moe, Larry and Curly (or Shemp). He was certainly a brilliant virtuoso, but he could also be a visionary innovator who explored or invented new forms and genres, and even dipped his toe into the pool (or swamp for some people) of atonality during the last years of his life. I was therefore pleased that the Newton Symphony Orchestra devoted almost an entire program on Oct. 3 at the former Rashi Auditorium in Newton to Liszt in celebration of the 200th anniversary of his birth, and I was not disappointed. The orchestra, which is composed of dedicated amateurs reinforced by some strategically placed professionals, rose to the occasion. Under the firm but gentle control of Music Director James M Orent, his musicians played this demanding repertoire with skill, commitment and obvious enjoyment, and gave the small but enthusiastic audience a concert to remember.

The program did not open with Liszt, however, but rather with Beethoven’s Leonore Overture No. 3, op. 72b. Now what was a work by Beethoven doing on a Liszt birthday concert? It was, in fact, an excellent choice. Liszt adored Beethoven throughout his life, and it is no accident that almost every portrait of Liszt in his studio features a bust of Beethoven looking over his shoulder. The Newton Symphony’s performance of the Leonore Overture started out a little tentatively, with some shaky intonation and ensemble, but it quickly settled into a groove of solid playing that they maintained throughout the entire evening.

The remainder of the program was vintage Liszt: the Piano Concertos No. 1 in E-flat Major, S. 124 and No. 2 in A Major, S. 125, the Hungarian Battle March, S. 119, and the symphonic poem Les Préludes, S. 97. Liszt wrote twelve symphonic poems between 1853 and 1861, and his works in the genre would go on to influence those by Tchaikovsky, Strauss and Sibelius. Les Preludes is the best known of the group (readers who are old enough might remember that it was the theme music for the old TV serial Flash Gordon), and the orchestra performed it beautifully. The brass was especially powerful, but thanks to Orent, they never overbalanced the rest of the orchestra.

The program also included two other Liszt warhorses: the piano concertos. Although these were first performed in the 1850s, Liszt was sketching them as early as 1830, when he was tearing up the concert halls of Europe with the brilliance of his piano playing, his seemingly inexhaustible charisma, and a great profile that made audiences swoon. The concertos, however, are not mere displays of empty virtuosity; they are also good examples of Liszt’s ability to maintain a sense of organic unity within large forms and structures. This is especially true for the second concerto, as it is for Liszt’s masterpiece, the Piano Sonata in B minor. That said, you still need a big pianist with a big technique to play these difficult works, and we heard one at this concert: Oleksandr Poliykov. Technical difficulties seem to disappear under his hands, and he dispatched these great showpieces with aplomb and a big, warm and beautiful sound. This is a young pianist to watch, and admire.

There had to be at least one “Hungarian” piece for Liszt’s birthday, and the program featured an unfamiliar work in the genre, the Hungarian Battle March. Liszt’s fellow Hungarians were always proud of their native son, and applauded his vivid musical evocations of their culture. The Newton audience can be equally proud of their orchestra, and gave it a well-deserved standing ovation.

Mark Kroll recently performed at the Hummel Festival in Bordeaux, France and presented a paper at the International British Music Conference in Southampton, England. He is currently preparing the edition of Francesco Geminiani’s Sonatas for Violin, op. 4 for the complete edition of the composer’s works.

The first concert, at 4 pm in Ochre Court, featured music by Russian composers. I’ll use their full names here, as they were listed in the program book: Anton Grigoryevich Rubinstein, Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky, Mily Alexeyevich Balakirev, Alexander Porfiryevich Borodin, César Cui, and Nikolay Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov. The concert opened with a performance of Rubinstein’s Cello Sonata no. 2 in G Major, op. 39 by the Czech cellist Jirí Bárta and Spanish pianist Daniel del Pino. Rubinstein was one of the great virtuosos of the 19th century, a powerhouse of a pianist and an indomitable force in the music world. I wish he could also be counted among the great pianist-composers of the era, such as his contemporaries Hummel, Liszt and Grieg, or his Russian successor Rachmaninoff. He cannot. The Rubinstein cello sonata is, to be frank, a second-class composition, but this did not stop Bárta and del Pino from giving it a first-class performance. Bárta’s sound is rich and big, and his intonation excellent (no mean feat, considering the heat and humidity that sat on the performers and their instruments like a wet sponge). Del Pino’s piano playing is equally virtuosic, and we had a chance to hear further proof of it after intermission, when he gave a vivid performance of a little-known Scherzo by Mussorgsky.

The remainder of the concert also featured unfamiliar repertoire. Indeed, one of the great virtues of the Newport Music Festival is its penchant for adventurous programming, and this concert was no exception. Here we heard little-known songs by the Russian group known as The Mighty Five (i.e., Mussorgsky, Balakirev, Borodin, Cui, and Rimsky-Korsakov), and they were a revelation. So was the singing of the Russian-born baritone Anton Belov, supported in every detail by the excellent pianist Michael Endres. Belov boasts of a large and lyrical baritone; this, and his expressive interpretations of the poetry and winning personality made this performance a delight. Particularly memorable was his realization of Balakirev’s evocation of authentic cantorial incantations in the song The Jewish Melody. If this performance is any indication, Belov’s star is one to watch.

After dodging lightning bolts and monsoon downpours in search of a restaurant, we made our way to the Breakers for the evening concert at 9 pm. Drying off in Mr. Vanderbilt’s architectural splendor, a space that would have made a Medici feel right at home, we were treated to another superb concert by two more bona-fide virtuosos: the Russian cellist Sergey Antonov and the Canadian pianist Kevin Fitz-Gerald. The high point for this reviewer was Samuel Barber’s Sonata for Cello and Piano, op. 6, a work written in 1932 and premiered in 1933 with the cellist Orlando Cole at a concert of the League of Composers in New York City. Barber deserves to be counted among the great American composers, such as Ives, Copland, Piston, Bernstein and Carter. But except for the iconic Adagio for Strings, much of Barber’s music, with its personal mixture of lyricism and conservative modernism, remains neglected or rarely performed. It was therefore gratifying to see that the hundredth anniversary of Barber’s birth was being celebrated at Newport, and that one of his early compositions, the cello sonata, was performed with skill and commitment by two excellent young musicians.

I should add that this year’s festival began on an extremely sad note. Mark P. Malkovich, III, the guiding force behind the Newport Music Festival for 35 years, died in a car accident on May 30. Fortunately, the Festival, in form and spirit, is now in the hands of his son, Mark Malkovich, IV, who will surely maintain its standards and continue to raise them higher. The Festival continues through July 25 — and we look forward to next year.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World.

Everyone loves a Requiem. That might seem a strange, maybe even tasteless thing to say about a Mass for the Dead. But the text, with its descriptions of the Day of Judgment, trumpets blaring and the earth a-sundering, its pleas for forgiveness and salvation, and the ultimate expressions of heavenly redemption, has proven irresistible to composers. A prime example is Berlioz, who called for a cast of thousands in his Requiem, including no fewer than four brass orchestras stationed at each compass point in the church to frighten his Paris listeners right back into confessional. Verdi also could not resist the dramatic possibilities of the requiem—he was an opera composer, after all—and wrote a Requiem for the ages.

The world of opera is not far from this sacred work. Verdi in fact, actually used some music from one of his operas (the duet “Qui me rendra ce mort? Ô funèbres abîmes!” from Act IV of Don Carlos) for the “Lacrymosa” that concludes the Sequence of the Requiem. Aida, which Verdi had composed just three years before the Requiem, is an even more palpable presence, and it was probably no accident that he chose the four soloists who had all sung the European premiere of Aida in 1872—Teresa Stolz, Maria Waldmann, Giuseppe Coppini (who had to be replaced because of illness), and Ormando Maini—for the premiere of the Requiem in Milan on May 22, 1874.

I would like to think that Verdi would have been equally pleased by the wonderful performance of this “opera in ecclesiastical robes,” as the 19th-century conductor Hans von Bülow once described the Requiem, which was presented by the Masterwork Chorale at Sanders Theater this past Sunday, March 14. Conductor Steven Karidoyanes clearly knows this piece, and loves it, and he led the considerable forces at his disposal with an impressive technique and a fine sense of dramatic pacing. The chorus sang magnificently for him, with a full and rich sound, solid intonation, power when needed (such as in the opening of the Sanctus) and excellent ensemble, despite the fact that they were spread out over the entire width of the stage. The vocal soloists- Eleni Calenos (soprano), Joanna Porackova (mezzo-soprano), Jason McStoots (tenor), and Tom O’Toole (bass/baritone) were also fine, but kudos must go to the ladies: Calenos, who boasts of a gorgeous soprano voice and great control that made Verdi’s melodies soar into the heavens, would be welcome on any operatic stage; and Porackova, who used her impressive instrument to full dramatic effect.

The other “soloist” in this or any work by Verdi is the orchestra, and they deserve special praise. The string section, although small in numbers, produced a sound that would have been the envy of an orchestra twice its size, and played with superb ensemble and intonation. The wind sections performed on the same level, including some virtuoso solos by flutist Sue-Ellen Hershman-Tcherepnin, clarinetist Diane Heffner and bassoon principal Janet Underhill. And don’t forget the percussion. Verdi never did, and no work of his can ever be successful without some excellent timpani and bass drum playing. John Grimes and Patrick Litterst delivered the goods—with a bang.

Mark Kroll, a well-known Boston harpsichordist and fortepianist, tours extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. He has an extensive discography and list of publications, and has a website here.

The duo opened with Mozart’s Sonata for Violin and Piano in F major, K. 376. Mozart’s violin sonatas, which come out of the 18th-century tradition of “keyboard sonatas with violin accompaniment,” were conceived as small-scale works, and they may be just a bit too small for Perlman’s big style of playing. This style worked to perfection, however, with Franck’s Sonata for Violin and Piano in A major, M. 8, a great romantic warhorse that closed the first half of the program. Franck had composed this work in 1886 as a wedding present for another legendary violinist, the Belgian violinist Eugène Ysaÿe, who actually played it on his wedding day. (There are no reports on what Ysaÿe’s bride-to-be was doing at the time, or what she thought about this part of the marriage ceremony.) Perlman played the sonata with all the intensity of an excited groom, and a romantic-era one at that. There were some delicious 19th-century slides in the second movement, and the superb communication and ensemble between the violinist and his pianist de Silva enabled both to indulge in a rhythmic freedom and expressive playing that made this performance of the Franck as good as it gets.

The second half of the program (the printed one, that is) was devoted to Debussy’s Sonata for Violin and Piano (1917), the third in a planned series of Six Sonates pour divers instruments. Debussy had already published the first for cello and piano, and the second (flute, viola and harp), but his fourth would have been the most exciting for this writer, since it was to be scored for oboe, horn and harpsichord! Alas, Debussy never wrote this work or any other; he died of cancer in 1918, making the violin sonata his final composition. Perlman gave a virtuoso performance of the Sonata, but like in the Mozart, he was sometimes too rough for this elegant French confection. For example, some passages in the first movement were taken at such a fast tempo that much detail got lost and the intonation suffered.

Quibbles aside, this was a masterful performance given by two masters of their instruments, both perfectly attuned to each other. It also set the stage for the “second” concert of this concert—a generous helping of seven encores that included some of the favorite bon-bons of the violin repertoire, such as Fritz Kreisler’s “Chanson Louis XIII in the Style of Couperin,” Joseph Joachim’s arrangement of Brahms’ “Hungarian Dance No. 2” and the theme from John Williams’ “Schindler’s List.” Perlman enjoyed announcing these encores from the stage and obviously enjoyed playing them as well.  His listeners certainly enjoyed hearing them, and left Symphony Hall satisfied and smiling.

Mark Kroll, a well-known Boston harpsichordist and fortepianist, tours extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. He has an extensive discography and list of publications, and has a website here.

Pro Musicis followed the North Star to Boston last Saturday evening, January 23, to launch its annual concert series here with one of the winners of its International Award—the pianist Maya Hartman, at Pickman Concert Hall, Longy School of Music. It was an auspicious beginning. Ms. Hartmann’s credentials as a virtuoso pianist were fully evident, but she displayed them with quiet assurance and command. No extraneous movement or flying body parts here; Hartman doesn’t need them. She keeps her hands close to the keys, remains calm and poised at the instrument, and lets her fingers and the music do all the walking and talking.

Her choice of program was excellent as well. It began with the Boston premiere of Noam Sivan’s Improvisations on Two Bach Chorales, a quirky set of riffs on Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” and “Sheep May Safely Graze,” with a few other familiar Bach tunes thrown in for good measure. This was followed by a fascinating juxtaposition of etudes by Sergei Rachmaninoff (the Etudes-tableaux Op. 39, nos. 1, 3 and 5) and György Ligeti’s Etudes, Book I (number 4, “Fanfares” and number 5, “Arc-en-ciel”). These two sets are arguably the best piano etudes written in the 20th century, and certainly some of the most difficult. Ms. Hartman dispatched them with aplomb. The first half closed with a somewhat colorless reading of Haydn’s Fantasie in C Major, H. XVII: 4, but after intermission we were treated to one of Elliott Carter’s finest compositions from his late period (or would that be middle, or early middle? It is hard to tell with this 101 year-old composer, who is still writing great music). “90+ for Goffredo Petrassi” was composed in 1994 to celebrate the birthday of another youngster, the nonagenarian Petrassi, and as Dr. Richard E. Rodda quotes Carter in his excellent program notes, it was “built around ninety short, accented notes played in a slow regular beat…against which the context changes character continually.” Hartman played more than ninety notes, many more, and again with ease.

The program closed with Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor, op. 35, after which Ms. Hartman graciously singled out the Executive Director of Pro Musicis, John Haag, for his 20 years of devoted service to this noble organization. According to the notes, Pro Musicis has “presented its artists in more than 1,800 concerts in Europe, Asia and North America.” We can all look forward to the next concert, in Boston on February 13, which features another Pro Musicis winner, Lydia Artymiw.

Mark Kroll, a well-known Boston harpsichordist and fortepianist, tours extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. He has an extensive discography and list of publications, and has a website here.

Amanda Forsythe and Ewa Podles

There was bel canto in abbondanza at Opera Boston’s production of Rossini’s Tancredi at the Cutler Majestic Theater on Friday night, October 23. Every member of the cast boasted a gorgeous voice, and knew how to use it. Amanda Forsythe as Amenaide set the bar high from the outset with a lovely soprano and an impressive control of the highest pianissimos. Ewa Podles was overwhelming as Tancredi; her contralto voice is still rich, strong and agile, and the power of her low notes would make some tenors and baritones jealous. Yeghishe Manucharyan (Argirio) used his beautiful tenor to great dramatic effect, bass Dong Won Kim’s commanding vocal and physical presence was ideal for his portrayal of Orbazzano, and mezzo-sopranos Glorivy Arroyo and Victoria Avetisyan sang the supporting parts of Roggiero and Isaura with authority and sonority. The chorus, which occupies an important role in this opera, was superb. Their sound was rich (and in tune!), and the ensemble was just about perfect, except for one moment in the second act when their enthusiasm got the best of them and they began to enter a different time zone than that of the orchestra. Conductor Gil Rose had no problem in quickly putting things back in order, and he led the entire opera with skill, a thorough understanding of the score, and a sensitive hand. His orchestra responded with beautiful playing.

But Opera is not only about great singing; it should also be great drama. Unfortunately, what we saw did not match the level of what we heard. Carol Bailey’s sets and costumes, which placed the opera in the mid-1930s, were effective and neither detracted nor added much to the action. Kristine McIntyre’s staging, however, was too static. Most of the time a singer would basically stand in place and face the audience when he or she had an aria to sing, or what is cynically called in the business the “park and bark” approach. There was certainly no barking in this production, but a bit too much parking. This resulted in a limited range of action or reaction, and prevented the characters from establishing deep emotional connections between each other, or with the audience. The tempos also tended to be on the slow side, and the dynamic range was often not wide enough. What was missing was that wonderful sense of energy, excitement and constant motion that is a Rossini opera.

A group of noblemen used to get together in 16^th-century Florence, probably over a good bottle of Tuscan wine, and complain about the current state of music. They decided to do something about it by inventing an entirely new genre: “opera.” They didn’t call it that at first; they dubbed it “a drama set to music,” and that is still what opera has to be.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

Dong Won Kim (both photos by Clive Grainger)

There were no riots at the Musica Viva concert “All-American Grooves” on September 25 at the Tsai Performance Center, but there was plenty of approval — and for good reason. The performances were first-rate. Music Director Richard Pittman led his superb ensemble — Ann Bobo (Flute), William Kirkley (Clarinet), Robert Schulz (Percussion), Geoffrey Burleson (Piano), Bayla Keyes (Violin), Jan Müller-Szeraws (Cello) and Pamela Dellal (Mezzo- soprano) — with skill and understanding, and his players responded in kind, with virtuosity, commitment and musical mastery.

The program opened with Michael Gandolfi’s Grooved Surfaces, a wonderful piece written by this gifted composer in 1996. As the program notes described, and as Gandolfi amplified in his engaging pre-performance comments, this work “…is the result of my study of a type of a particular type of Ghanaian music known as ‘Adowa.’  I utilized a typical Adowa drum-ensemble rhythm in which two instruments (here, the pizzicato ‘cello and left-hand piano) mimic the role of the shakes (the drum-ensemble instrument that provides a steady rhythmical underpinning).” The first movement, Frame Shifting, was mesmerizing in its use of shape shifting repetition. Movement II, Pitching Rotation, which “is based on a pentatonic scale that slowly rotates through all transpositions, several times, until it returns to its original key and voicing,” fully exploited the minimalist textures, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. The energetic Flipsides that concluded the work was played brilliantly by the ensemble, pianist Geoffrey Burleson dispatching the complicated piano part with aplomb.

The Seven Ages by the renowned composer John Harbison followed. Written in 2009 and receiving its first Boston performance at this concert, the work is based on six poems by Louise Glück that are at the same time magnificent, terrifying, depressing and bittersweet. I share Harbison’s opinion that the poet’s “words are clear, strongly placed, deeply felt, vivid—all the things needed to suggest rhythm, melody, and a kind of  ‘symphonic’ structure.” There were many nice touches. One of the best songs, the fifth, “Summer Night,” used a jaunty rhythm and vivid instrumental colors that might have mirrored the poet’s conflicting emotions:  “So many urgent journeys conceived on summer nights…The tickets never bought, the letters never stamped…life, in a sense, never completely lived…Why should my poems not imitate my life?” Pamela Dellal sang all with a rich mezzo-soprano, excellent diction and a complete understanding of the words, creating a performance that was indeed vivid and deeply felt.  The only caveat is that her placement on stage, essentially inside the ensemble and not in front, sometimes caused her to be overbalanced by the instruments.

The second half opened with a world premier, Richard Cornell’s Images (2009). Cornell tells us that in the first movement – The warring of sparrows –he was “…mimicking a large class of young sparrows that have taken over the neighborhood near my studio…their collective chattering, fluttering, and occasional screaming.” How do you evoke an image of dueling sparrows?  The opening duet between piano and drums was particularly effective. Movement II – Star laden sky—is, according to Cornell, an example of his “research into chromaticism.” Unfortunately, it came off just like that: an unattractive research exercise, without engaging the listener. On the other hand, maybe this just means that war will always be more interesting than peaceful reflection.

Elliott Carter’s Triple Duo (1982/83) concluded the program. What more can be said about this iconic composer, a man who has written more than 40 works during the past decade alone (between ages of 90 and 100), and who has given us numerous masterpieces for almost a century. One of these, the Sonata for Flute, Oboe, Cello and Harpsichord, is a work for which I am personally grateful. Composed 57 years ago, it has become a staple of the harpsichordist’s repertory (including mine), and a perennial audience favorite. So is the Triple Duo, a “…free fantasy [that] involves various contrasts, conflicts and reconciliations between the three duos.”

Only time will tell which of the works on this program will be considered an old chestnut in 50 years. Viva Musica Viva for giving us the opportunity to hear them first.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

The performance of Carmen by the Boston Opera Collaborative at the Bulger Performing Arts Center on July 25 gave us plenty of reasons to understand why. Granted, the resources of this new and intrepid opera company are limited, but apparently not the talents of its members, who offered a fine performance of good old #4. Conductor Michael Sakir led the small and very young but very skilled orchestra with calm control and nice sense of pacing. The sets were minimal—essentially consisting of scaffolding, stairs and some hung sheets—but they were used to full effect, especially considering that there was no curtain to begin or end acts. For example, the first appearance of the chorus of female factory workers in Act I, as they sang under the scaffolding and behind the sheets, was very effective.

The costumes were also simple. In fact, they seemed to be essentially street clothes, with Carmen adding a red sash around her hips and the army officers sporting generic uniforms, but they also worked perfectly for this story at least. The stage direction under Nathan Troup was impressive: soloists, dancers and chorus moved fluently and purposefully on stage, the action always aligned with the story. The lighting, minimal as it was, still managed to convey a sense of mood and place.All of this would be irrelevant, of course, if the singers did not come through. They did, for the most part, but more importantly, many of these youthful voices showed real promise for the future. Brooke Larimer gave us a dark, husky Carmen. Daniel Erbe’s Don José had a tendency to slip into a caricature of Dudley-Do-Right, and the singer had some problems at the top of his register, but he proved a perfect match for Larimer’s rapacious Carmen. Escamillo was beautifully sung by Sepp Hammer, and Margaret Felice, with her drop-dead beautiful voice, was ideal as Micaëla. The cast was rounded out by other fine young voices: Taylor Horner (Zuniga), Bülent Güneralp (Moralès), Rachele Schmiege (Frasquita), Kristina Riegle Mercédès), Joel Buford (Dancaïre), and Brendan Buckley (Remendado). The chorus was terrific: they sang beautifully and acted well too.

There were problems, of course. This is “grand opera” after all.  One major flaw in this production was the diction, or lack of it, that often made it difficult to understand what the people on stage were singing or saying. Someone also needs to help the singers with their French pronunciation. To cite just one example of many, the words “j’ai besoin de” kept being pronounced as “j’ai besoin day.” Ouch. There were also a few ensemble problems, especially when the orchestra was in one time zone and the singers in another. But none of these took away from the great accomplishment of the Boston Opera Collaborative in offering us another opportunity to enjoy and admire Bizet’s masterpiece.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent bookis Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

Hamelin began with Haydn’s Variations for Piano in F minor, Hob. XVII/6, a composition written during the period when Haydn was traveling to London, where he finally received the adulation and recognition he so richly deserved. These variations, with not one but two themes and a sophisticated treatment of harmony and form, reveal an established composer in his 60s moving in a new direction, one that would ultimately produce The Creation; it would also influence the variation technique of Haydn’s recalcitrant student Beethoven. Hamelin followed the Variations with a large-scale performance of Mozart’s great Sonata in A minor, K. 310, and the program included a lovely rendition of Fauré’s Nocturne in D-flat major, op. 63, no. 6. The highlights of the evening, however, were two virtuoso showpieces: Liszt’s Venezia e Napoli from the second book of his?Années de pèlerinage (“Years of Pilgrimage”), and Charles-Valentin Alkan’s Symphony for Solo Piano, Op. 39. These are not only wonderful pieces of music, but they also have fascinating stories to tell.

The Années de pèlerinage were indeed pilgrimages, but hardly of the religious kind. Rather, they were written after Liszt had moved to Switzerland from Paris in order to escape a romantic scandal of Romantic-era proportions. In 1832 the 22-year-old Liszt had become involved with Countess Marie d’Agoult, a wealthy married woman six years his senior with two daughters. They met secretly throughout 1833 and 1834 in Liszt’s tiny apartment in Paris they called “the rat hole,” but after the death of Marie’s six-year-old daughter in 1835 they became full-time lovers. Their relationship would last 12 years and produce three children, including Cosima, the future wife of Richard Wagner.

Despite the circumstances of their escape from Paris, Liszt and Marie seem to have enjoyed Switzerland. He taught, performed and composed, including an Album d’un voyageur that evokes the sights and sounds of the Swiss countryside; this would later be reworked as the “Swiss” volume of the Années de pèlerinage. The couple later traveled to Italy (Cosima was born in Bellagio), this “pilgrimage” inspiring Liszt to compose the “Italian” volume of his Années de pèlerinage. Hamelin’s  “Gondoliera” took us on a gentle Gondola ride along the shimmering waters of a Venetian canal, and the wild dance rhythms of the “Tarantella” literally brought the audience to its feet.

Liszt’s contemporary Charles-Valentin Alkan (1813-1888) was as much of a virtuoso as the great Hungarian pianist, and perhaps even greater, but he could not have been more different as a person, a pianist or a composer. A religious and observant Jew, Alkan was a child prodigy who won the premier prix at the Paris Conservatoire for piano in 1824, harmony in 1827, and organ in 1834. His career started out with great promise and optimism — the noted critic Fétis described him as “cheerful, outgoing and confident” in 1833 — but Alkan soon began to exhibit the personality quirks that would dominate the remainder of his life: he was shy, eccentric, a hypochondriac and a misanthrope. Alkan ultimately withdrew from the concert stage, held no teaching positions, and even disappeared completely from view for long stretches. Nevertheless, he wrote some of the most original, virtuosic and sometimes bizarre piano music in the literature. The Symphonie for Solo Piano from the Concerto, op. 39 is a prime example. Its technical demands are indeed substantial—no problem for Hamelin—but there is also a richness of musical expression to be discovered in this and many Alkan works. Hamelin found this as well.

I look forward to my next visit to Rockport, for fine music-making and some more good taffy.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

Beethoven’s well-known “ghost” Piano Trio in D major, op. 70, no. 1 closed the first half. The nickname “ghost” refers to the supposedly spooky character of the second movement, but this is a misnomer for several reasons. One is historical. Like “Moonlight” and “Pathetique,” Beethoven never used the term “ghost” for this or any work.  Another is musical: the reason this movement has sounded so disembodied and gaseous is that it began to be played much too slowly shortly after Beethoven’s death, and a tradition (and subtitle) were born. Happily, this was not the case with the performance of Mss. Lee, Smith and violinist Ida Levin. Their tempo, which underscored the harmonic rhythm of the movement without losing any of its expressivity, was ideal, and the entire work came across as refreshing and exciting.

The highlight of the concert was the Brahms’ Piano Quartet in G minor, op. 25, magnificently performed by Levin, Smith, Lee and violist Marcus Thompson (the new director of the BCMS). When Brahms moved to Vienna from Hamburg in 1862, at the urging of Clara Schumann and Joseph Joachim, he came armed with three of his greatest compositions: this quartet, the A-major Piano Quartet (op. 25 and 26) and the Handel Variations (op. 24). The Viennese welcomed the 29-year-old composer with open arms, particularly because they viewed him as a representative of the great chamber music tradition of their departed heroes Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert. Indeed, the Viennese seemed to be living in the past when Brahms arrived, as he noted with some amazement in a letter of 1863: “one has the sensation [in Vienna] that Schubert [who died in 1828] is still alive! One keeps meeting new people who speak of him as a close acquaintance.”

The first performance of the G-minor quartet in Vienna on November 16, 1862 created a sensation, especially the Gypsy finale.  Max Kalbeck, Brahms’ first biographer, said: “the most appeal and the strongest applause came from the Hungarian finale of the quartet; and the fact the during its performance the cellist knocked over and cracked the bridge of his instrument hurt nothing of its appeal.” Another biographer, Ivor Keys, wrote of the finale that “It was obviously designed to bring the house down, and it did.” The same thing happened at Sanders Theater in 2009.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

The first half consisted of selections from Brahms’ Liebeslieder Waltzes (1870), in the version for chorus and orchestra, and Mendelssohn’s Six Songs to be Sung in the Open Air, op. 59, sung a capella. The second half was devoted to Mendelssohn’s youthful operatic gem, Die Heimkehr aus der Fremde, op. 89, and it was the high point of the afternoon. The Chorale sang with a rich sound and in just the right style, and the orchestra was first-class under Karidoyanes’ direction. The 20-year-old Mendelssohn composed this work as a silver wedding anniversary present for his parents, and it was home music-making at the highest level. Mendelssohn constructed a small theater at the family house at Leipzigerstrasse No. 3 in Berlin, and invited a “few” friends – more than 100 of them, in fact – to hear the premiere on December 26, 1829. It was also a family affair: Mendelssohn’s brother Paul played cello in the orchestra, and his sisters Fanny and Rebecka sang two of the roles.

The solo singers for Sunday’s performance were professionals, of course, and they were uniformly excellent. Using the English version Son and Stranger put together by Mendelssohn’s London friend and colleague Henry Chorley, bass Bryan McNeil sang with impeccable diction and a fine sense of comic timing that made every word of this delightful story clear and funny. The rich mezzo-soprano of Beth MacLeod portrayed the matronly wife of Schultz and the mother of the returning son Hermann, who was sung by the tenor Kevin Hayden with a bright and young sound. Teresa Wakim’s soprano created the perfect virginal ingénue for Hermann’s future bride Lisbeth, and bass-baritone Sumner Thompson performed the slightly sleazy traveling salesman Kauz in a style that would have worked well in any sitcom. All turns out well at the end of this story, and so did this memorable performance by the Masterworks Chorale.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

The first half was devoted to Franz Schubert’s Sonata in A Major, D. 959, one of his last three piano sonatas. Schubert’s compositions have a tendency to be quite long. Some people do not have the patience for this, while others love “Schubert’s heavenly length.” Lang Lang’s performance of this great work was “heavenly,” beautiful from the first note to the last. The pianist has a seemingly inexhaustible palette of colors at his disposal, a wide range of dynamics, and a rhetorical sense of drama and timing that could almost be put into words. He also played with intelligence. Like most “flashy” virtuosos, Lang Lang has sometimes been accused of being a mere empty-headed technician. The Schubert proved them wrong. His grasp of the structural and formal elements of this sonata, and the characters of each movement would have made a Ph.D. in Music Theory happy.

Bartók’s 1926 Piano Sonata, Sz. 80, opened the second half of the concert. Like his Allegro barbaro of 1911, Bartók’s piano sonata is a percussive and extroverted work, and Lang Lang played it in the style it demanded.  He also read from the music for this piece. No problem. Liszt’s audiences didn’t seem to mind when he used music, as we shall see later, and neither did we.

The selections from the two books of Debussy’s Préludes that followed were played with a painterly hand. In La Cathédrale engloutie (The Sunken Cathedral) one could actually see the cathedral of the lost city rise from its watery grave and sink again. The Feux d’artifice (Fireworks) were as colorful and exciting as those exploding over the Charles River on July 4^th.

The concert closed with a work composed by a founding member of the “Golden Age Piano Club,” Chopin’s Polonaise in A-flat major, op. 53 “Héroique.” The technical demands of this old, wonderful warhorse are formidable. There are rapid scales in octaves, massive chords, and arpeggios cascading up and down the full range of the keyboard (which in Chopin’s time spanned only 82 notes, from low C to high A). Lang Lang dispatched these with ease, and aplomb.

In 1874, the music critic Edward Hanslick described a recital by Franz Liszt: “Not only does one listen with breathless attention to his playing; one also observes its reflection in his face… his head thrown back… head, eyes and sometimes even a helping hand, maintain constant communication with… the audience. Sometimes he plays from notes, at other times from memory… all this has the utmost fascination for his listeners.” Hanslick could just as easily have been writing about Lang Lang.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

The Piano Concerto No. 3 in D-minor, op. 30 by Sergei Rachmaninoff, that wonderful, finger-busting warhorse affectionately known as “Rach 3,” was completed on September 23, 1909 and premiered on November 28 of that year. The composer, one of the greatest pianists of all time, was the soloist with the New York Symphony and conductor Walter Damrosch. He played it again only a few weeks later, this time under the baton of none other than Gustav Mahler, in a performance that Rachmaninoff “treasured.” It was a good thing that Rachmaninoff was such a virtuoso: the technical demands of this concerto are legendary-and sometimes terrifying. Joseph Hoffman, the dedicatee of the work and no chopstick-playing pianist himself, never dared to perform it in public. Decades later, Gary Graffman admitted that he should have learned the piece as a student, when he was “still too young to know fear.” Other than Rachmaninoff, the greatest performer of “Rach 3″ was Vladimir Horowitz. In fact, after Horowitz played it for Rachmaninoff in the basement of the Steinway showroom in New York in 1928, with the composer realizing the orchestral part on a second piano, Rachmaninoff decided that he would never again perform his concerto in public. However, he did record it in 1939 with Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra, a recording I have listened to with unabated pleasure ever since I first started practicing my Czerny.

Fast forward to February 21, 2009. I wish I could add the performance by Gabriela Montero and the Boston Philharmonic to my list of favorites, but a number of crucial elements were not quite there, at least on this evening. Ms. Montero certainly has virtuoso credentials in abundance. Simply put, she is a great pianist. Do you want rapid passagework and cascades of notes? No problem. How about large leaps and massive chords? Just sit back, listen and enjoy, although I was surprised that the orchestra was often too loud and overbalanced the soloist, even though I was sitting about 20 feet from the piano. Montero negotiated “Rach 3″ with impressive ease and aplomb. What was missing for this Rachmaninoff fan, however, was some heart-on-your sleeve emotion (schmaltz, if you will), a flexible tempo and poetic gestures that sent lines soaring-all the things that make this work one of the last piano concertos in the grand 19^th-century tradition established by Hummel, Liszt, and Chopin and continued by Grieg, Brahms and Tchaikovsky.

Like the Rachmaninoff, the Concerto for Orchestra by the Polish composer Wiltold Lutoslawski was also written in the 20^th century. It was composed in the 1950s and premiered on November 26, 1954, but this concerto belongs to an entirely different world. For one thing, Lutoslawski set out to exploit the virtuosity not of a soloist, but rather that of the 20^th-century orchestra. He had a number of models in mind, but foremost was Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra of 1943.

Lutoslawski’s Concerto is also a product of the current political history, and it is not a pretty story. After the Soviet government that controlled Poland banned his First Symphony in 1948, Lutoslawski looked for a place to hide, at least musically. He described his predicament many years later: “I wrote as I was able, since I could not yet write as I wished…. I decided to begin again-to work from scratch on my sound language… Eventually, I developed a style that combined functional music with elements of folk music… [T]he Concerto for Orchestra was the climax of this nationalistic, folk-based music-a work that not only spoke to a politically defeated people, but that continues to touch musicians of many lands today.”

Polish folk songs indeed influence this work, but there are political overtones as well. If you listen closely in the toccata section of the last movement, you can hear how Lutoslawski paid homage to another 1948 victim of a repressive Soviet regime-Dimitri Shostakovich-by interweaving the notes D, E-flat, C and B-natural. Translated into letters, these pitches spell out DSCH, Shostakovich’s musical signature.

The members of the Boston Philharmonic under Music Director and Conductor Benjamin Zander played their virtuosic concerto with a level of enthusiasm, commitment and skill that made the performance of this important work memorable.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

The program, presented by the Celebrity Series of Boston at Jordan Hall on December 5, consisted of two lush, late romantic quartets by Antonin Dvorák, No. 10 in E-flat major, op. 51 and No. 14 in A-flat major, op. 105; Maurice Ravel’s magnificent Quartet in F major; and Anton Webern’s microscopic Six Bagatelles, op. 9. Each work was played in exactly the style it required, and with a command of rubato and voicing that a solo performer might envy. Dvorák, who came from humble origins (his father was a butcher), was reportedly a man of simple tastes and sunny personality. Each of his compositions seems to have smile on its face, and that was the response of the large appreciative audience at Jordan Hall. The Quartet made the most of the Slavic melodies and dance rhythms, the haunting dumka movements, and the broad romantic gestures that earned the admiration of Brahms.

The Webern is a different world entirely (think Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream). He writes in an extraordinarily concentrated idiom, and the Bagatelles, a relatively long piece for this composer, lasts about three minutes. Yet it is as finely wrought as one of those tennis-ball-size medieval rosary beads in which are carved all the scenes from the bible.

The Ravel Quartet can be counted as one of the greatest in the repertory, but Ravel’s colleagues at the Paris Conservatoire did not think so at the time. Ravel’s teacher Gabriel Fauré, for example, described the last movement as “stunted, badly balanced, in fact a failure.” His contemporaries were equally negative, and since this is final exam time at the universities, here is another question: Who are André Caplet, Aymé Kunc and Raoul Laparra? The answer: These are the composers who won the Conservatoire‘s Prix-de-Rome in 1901, 1902 and 1903 respectively, years in which Ravel competed for the prize but never made it past the required fugue. Ravel also tried in 1900 and in 1905, the year he submitted his string quartet, but with a similar lack of success. This last rejection caused such an uproar that it became known as the “Ravel Affair” and led to a complete reorganization of the school. History has proven Fauré and the other all the “grey beards” at the Conservatoire wrong, of course, and the Emerson Quartet’s performance of this great work was one of the best I have ever heard. The pizzicato second movement was particularly brilliant, and we even got to hear the last movement twice, almost. Drucker’s strings slipped badly out of tune during this movement, the Quartet stopped, Drucker retuned, and the ensemble began again, this time at a faster tempo and with even more fire and spirit.

Thank you, Celebrity Series of Boston, for presenting the Emerson Quartet. Please bring them back again.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist  and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

The Tales of Hoffman is actually several stories in one. As the synopsis in the BLO’s program book describes, the writer Hoffman has become so obsessed with the opera singer Stella that he suffers a psychological breakdown and divides his beloved into three personalities: “Olympia, the doll-symbol of woman as ‘object’; Antonia, the young singer starved for success but deprived by illness; and Giulietta, the courtesan who uses her beauty to seduce the unwary.” When Hoffman finally realizes that it is the real Stella who is the “perfect” woman, it is too late. He is left alone to devote himself to his art.

This is quite a tale for the psychiatrist’s couch, but the real Hoffman who wrote these bizarre stories and became the leading male character of the opera lived a life that was perhaps more fantastic and complex than its libretto. E.T.A. Hoffman was born Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann in 1776, changed his third name to Amadeus in 1813 to honor Mozart, and died in 1822. At various times he was a lawyer, a painter, a composer of nine operas and most notably, a writer of mysterious and supernatural stories that had a powerful influence on Washington Irving, Edgar Alan Poe, and later mystery and science-fiction authors. Much of the raw material for Hoffman’s bizarre tales can be traced to his early life, when he grew up with a crazy mother in a crazy household. This, plus the tendency of his stories to reveal people’s hidden secrets, naturally attracted the interest of Sigmund Freud, who wrote “I have been reading off and on a few things by the ‘mad’ Hoffmann, mad, fantastic stuff, here and there a brilliant thought.”

The “mad, fantastic stuff” was obviously a great source of inspiration to Offenbach and to other composers as well. Delibes used Hoffman’s short story Der Sandmann for the libretto of his ballet Coppélia, and Tchaikovsky adapted Hoffman’s The Nutcraker and The Mouse King for the famous Nutcracker ballet. Offenbach’s The Tales of Hoffman is based on Der Sandmann and two other Hoffman short stories: Rath Krespel and Das verlorene.

It is a pity the composer did not live to see a performance of his masterpiece. He died on October 5, 1880, and The Tales of Hoffman received its premiere at the Opéra-Comique of Paris on February 10, 1881, in a version by Ernest Guiraud, who completed the opera and made a number of significant alterations. He replaced the numerous dialogues with recitatives, and even omitted Guilietta’s act, inserting the “Barcarolle” into Antonia’s act and Hoffmann’s aria “Amis! L’Amour tendre et rêvuer” into the Epilogue. When the work was first performed in Vienna in 1881, Giulietta’s act was restored but modified, the courtesan leaving the stage on a gondola accompanied by her lover Pittichinaccio.

The opera has undergone a number of transformations since that time. Stage director and choreographer Renaud Doucet, set and costume designer André Barbe, and conductor Keith Lockhart freely based their current production on the fine edition of Michael Kaye and Jean-Christophe Keck, with the goal of remaining as faithful as possible to Offenbach’s original intentions. One of the most important was the composer’s desire to have the four soprano roles performed by a single singer. This makes The Tales of Hoffman one of the most challenging operas for a soprano, since a skilled coloratura singer with very high notes is needed for Olympia, while Antonia calls for a more lyric voice and Giulietta requires a dramatic soprano or even a mezzo-soprano. Adèle Isaac accomplished this tour-de-force in the 1881 premiere, and she has been followed by a long list of great singers in subsequent performances, including Beverly Sills, Joan Sutherland, Edita Gruberova, Catherine Malfitano, and Ruth Ann Swenson.

The soprano in the Boston Lyric’s production, Georgia Jarman, has an enchanting voice, especially in the high registers, and was a fine comic actress as Olympia, but she was less successful in the more dramatic roles. Hoffman was sung by tenor Gerard Powers. He possesses a powerful instrument, but his intonation faltered in quieter passages, and some of his French pronunciation was questionable. The high points of the production were Michèle Losier as “La Muse/Nicklausse” and Gaétan Laperrière as “Lindorf/Coppélius/Le docteur Miracle/Dapartutto.” Losier boasts a stunning dramatic mezzo-soprano, and at times one wished that she would take off her mask and sing “Antonia.” Laperrière’s baritone was rich and commanding throughout. The secondary roles of “Offenbach/Cochenille/Frantz/Pittichinaccio” were superbly sung and acted by tenor Matthew DiBattista, and the chorus was a powerful presence on stage. Conductor Lockhart led the small orchestra with consummate skill, although there was a tendency for tempos to slow down and the orchestral dynamics to get louder in the final acts, sometimes to the point of overbalancing the singers.

An imaginative touch in the Boston Lyric Opera’s production was the inclusion of the composer himself in the proceedings. He first appears as a bronze statue, then steps down from his pedestal and participates in the action, sometimes even conducting or playing the cello. If Offenbach actually could have been there to see and hear this performance, I am sure he would have been pleased.

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist and fortepianist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, South America, the Balkans, and the Middle East. His most recent book is Johann Nepomuk Hummel: A Musician and His World. His website is www.markkroll.com

Granted, the quartet has gone through quite a few personnel changes since it was founded in 1969, and only one of its original members, the violist Kazuhide Isomura, is still with the ensemble. Second violinist Kikuei Ikeda joined in 1974, cellist Clive Greensmith arrived in 1990, and founding first violinist Koichiro Harada was replaced by a succession of players: Peter Oundjian (1981), Andrew Dawes (1995), Mikhail Kopelman (1996), and the current leader, Martin Beaver (2002). Judging by what we heard this night, the quartet has lost none of its trademark clarity and precision.

Their program opened with Haydn’s String Quartet in G major, op. 76, no. 1. Haydn started writing quartets as a young man in his 20s, and he didn’t stop until 1803, at the age of 71, when he composed part of the String Quartet in D minor, op. 103. Failing health prevented Haydn from completing this work, and when it was published in 1806 with only two movements, he asked them to print a reproduction of his visiting card at the end. The words on that card, which come from Haydn’s own song Der Greis (The Old Man), are particularly fitting: “Gone forever is my strength, old and weak am I.”

In opus 76, no. 1, however, we find Haydn in full command of his genius and abilities, and the Tokyo String Quartet rose to the occasion. The quartet was particularly impressive in the final movement, playing Haydn’s surprising pauses and melodic and harmonic shifts with refinement and a subtle sense of humor. There were, however, a few unintentional surprises.  One was an occasional lapse in intonation, something that happens to all of us who are human. Of greater concern, however, was the lack of a consistent legato and sustaining power in Mr. Beaver’s bow arm. This often caused him to be overbalanced by the other members of the quartet.

The second work on the program was to have been Bartok’s fifth string quartet, but instead we heard Beethoven’s String Quartet in G major, op. 18, no. 2. The decision to replace the Bartok was completely understandable: Mr. Isomura had undergone surgery in San Franciso only the week before to repair a partially detached retina, and it is difficult enough to play the “Bulgarian” rhythms of 4-2-3 and 3-2-2-3 in the Scherzo of the Bartok with two good eyes!

The quartet’s performance of the Beethoven was energetic and powerful, although a bit too straight-ahead for my tastes. One might have hoped for a bit more passion and freedom, and a better sense of the architectural elements and rhetorical gestures that make a Beethoven work so meaningful. Nevertheless, Mr. Isomura’s skills seemed undiminished by his surgery, and the cello playing of Mr. Greensmith was exquisite, in this work and throughout the concert.

The program concluded with a spirited performance of Mendelssohn’s String Quartet in D major, op. 44, no. 1, written in 1838. This was a happy and peaceful time in Mendelssohn’s life, especially because he had just married his wonderful wife Cécilia, and a decidedly classical feeling pervades many of his works from the period. No longer do we hear the soaring melodic lines and youthful romantic exuberance of the Octet for Strings in E-flat major, op. 20 or the overture to Midsummer Night’s Dream, op. 21. In the String Quartet, op. 44, no. 1 the opening melody spans only a tenth and is written in three symmetrical phrases of four-bar units. It is as if, to quote the noted Mendelssohn biographer Larry Todd, “Puck has matured…into a respectable complacent Bürger.”

Mark Kroll, a harpsichordist well known to Boston music audiences, has toured extensively as performer, lecturer, and leader of master classes in Europe, the Balkans, and the Middle East. He has an extensive discography and list of publications. His website is www.markkroll.com

A pianist might find the description “simplified” something of an overstatement. Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes represent some of the most technically challenging works in the repertory. It is always an event to hear just a few of them, and a tour-de-force for any pianist to play all in a single evening. Russell Sherman did just that in Jordan Hall last Thursday, and he brought with him his formidable arsenal of fingers and probing musicianship for the occasion. Sherman also brought along decades of experience playing these iconic works, and the reflective and somewhat restrained approach of this 78-year-old artist is, in a certain sense, reminiscent of how Liszt himself might have played it at the same age. Our popular image of Liszt the pianist is the dashing, romantic figure on stage who plays with wild abandon, throwing his hands into the air, tossing his long hair and making large and extravagant musical gestures with every other part of his body. This was indeed the Liszt described by François-Joseph Fétis in 1840: “…the only pianist who had no fixed position, sometimes sitting left, sometimes right, his body in a perpetual state of agitation.” Liszt was in fact the first performance artist, a musician who freely admitted in 1839 that “The concert is—myself.” Not everyone was pleased, however. Schumann, for example, made the nasty comment that “if Liszt played behind a screen, a great deal of poetry would be lost.”

Sherman’s elegant performances, however, were not those of Liszt the “bad-boy” of the nineteenth century, the pianist who once held a lighted cigar between the first and second fingers of his right hand while accompanying Joseph Joachim in the finale of Mendelssohn’s E-minor violin concerto, or the stage idol who usually played the first few chords of one of the most famous and dramatic etudes, Mazeppa, simultaneously upon sitting down at the keyboard.  His Liszt was the teacher who never charged for lessons, the visionary composer of the 1870s and 1880s who explored new tonal and atonal languages, the humanitarian who became one of the musical world’s most revered and respected senior citizens. Sherman displayed complete technical command over these etudes, of course, but he did so without the theatrical extravagances that made ladies swoon and Schumann frown. Admittedly, some listeners might have wished for a bit more flash and dash, but they were soon compensated with not only great piano playing but also great music.

One of Liszt’s students, the American Carl Lachmund, recalled hearing his teacher play the etude Feux-follets in 1885, but he could just as well have been describing Sherman: “The spirit and passion that this man still possesses at the age of 71 is marvelous; and how his hands flew from passage to passage!” Another student recorded in his diary that Liszt said the first goal in performance was to “Create memories!” Russell Sherman did that for us in Jordan Hall last Thursday.

Mark Kroll performs internationally as a harpsichordist and fortepianist.
His website is www.markkroll.com