The angular, contemporary confines of the First Church of Boston, in the heart of Back Bay, were filled with the eager susurrations of Mother Russia early Mothers’ Day evening, 9 May 2010, as a large audience gathered for a concert presented by the Chamber Music Foundation. The full house was in for an impassioned musical journey featuring works by Ludwig van Beethoven and Jakov Jakoulov.

Mike Rocha photo

Beethoven’s Piano Trio in G, Op. 1 No. 2, the middle work of his Opus 1 triptych, actually got things off to a relatively light and airy start. Groundbreaking in their day, the Opus 1 trios, published when Beethoven was in his mid 20s, feature greater emotional depth and more balanced interplay between instrumentalists than earlier works for the genre. The middle trio is the most congenial of the set, with an unfettered compositional approach and a sound reminiscent of colorful dinner party repartee. Ellina Blinder, piano, Lili Muchnik, violin, and Sergey Antonov, cello, maintained a balanced, clear dialogue as the music ranged from delicately Mozartian to friskily Haydnesque. While Blinder deftly handled the required ebb and flow, and Muchnik’s playing was secure and musical, it was the cellist who stood out. Antonov (who bears more than a passing resemblance to Harry Potter actor Rupert Grint) created a warm, enveloping tone highly evocative of the human voice. All told, a clean and expressive performance featuring wall-to-wall high-caliber play.

Now for the drama. The remainder of the concert was devoted to works by the prolific contemporary composer Jakov Jakoulov, former Muscovite and current Bostonian. Three Hildegard’s Songs, a collaboration of sorts with the 12th-century Christian mystic and pre-Renaissance Renaissance woman Hildegard von Bingen, utilizes her original text and single-line melodies augmented with Jakoulov’s rhythms and harmonies. The resulting composition for voice and piano is a powerful work that convincingly reflects the content of von Bingen’s paeans to the Virgin Mary as well as the yin-yang of divine ecstasy against a backdrop of Medieval hardship. This philosophical dynamic was lucidly expounded upon by the composer in his introductory remarks, after which he took to the piano bench, providing an accompaniment that was simple, direct, growly, forceful, and highly percussive. Mezzo-soprano Miranda Loud’s earthy, passionate interpretation more than lived up to her surname in the final ecstatic verse with a well-rounded tone that reverberated pleasingly in the live acoustic. The overall effect was one of drama and mystery, with perhaps a whiff of the Middle Eastern, presumably owing to the modal tonality.

The final two pieces were more personal and took listeners to an even darker realm. Sonata for Viola and Piano No. 1, written for and dedicated to Jakoulov’s friend, the Boston Symphony violist Michael Zaretsky, featured Zaretsky himself in this particular performance. This acerbic, probing work is constructed of a musical architecture as harsh and angular as that of First Church itself, and conjures images of bleak, desolate landscapes populated by prickly, decidedly threatening creatures: the soundtrack of nightmares. Mr. Zaretsky gave a virtuosic, intentionally scratchy, tone-bending rendition; pianist Yelena Prizant played quite capably within the limited expressive confines of the percussive accompaniment.

And, finally, we were treated to a world premiere: Jakov Jakoulov’s La Musica Leggera, La Musica Eroica, written for cello, piano, and string orchestra. This highly personal work, just completed this year, was written in memory of Jakoulov’s close friend, Russian-Israeli poet Michael Gendelev, who died in 2009 at the far-too-young age of 58. As reflected in the title, the piece is in two sections: Light Music, the title of a Gendelev poem, and Heroic Music, written specifically for cellist Sergey Antonov. At this point we were light-years away from the dulcet tones and pastel shades of the Beethoven. Though Light Music is ostensibly a children’s lullaby, this sort of music seems more conducive to night terrors than blissful, dream-filled slumber. After reading Gendelev’s poem in its original Russian, Jakoulov took to the podium and guided the ensemble through an intense, heartfelt performance. A lilting triple meter evoked the sound of a lethargic calliope: poignant music infused with a youthful melancholia. The Eroica was dark and powerful. Once again the piano part, competently performed by Yelena Prizant, was highly percussive, with a dynamic range seemingly from forte to fortissississimo (ffff). Cellist Sergey Antonov’s thoughtful, attentive playing was white-hot and emotionally charged. Quite the dramatic evening; certainly far from your typical Mothers’ Day fare.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

During this season of conductor James Levine’s Spine of Discontent, we’ve been treated to a formidable succession of guest conductors. The much-respected and eminently capable octogenarian Bernard Haitink, BSO conductor emeritus, rounded out this impressive group as he took the podium for the first of three performances of the orchestra’s final program of the ’09-’10 season Thursday evening, April 29 at Symphony Hall.

The Hall’s half-moon clerestory windows were glowing Maxfield Parrish blue, and the afternoon’s gale force winds gradually subsiding as things got underway. A full house of appreciative patrons was treated to a hearty musical goulash consisting of generous dollops of Beethoven and Bartók. Ludwig van Beethoven’s “Leonore” Overture No. 2, actually the first of four he wrote for his only opera Fidelio (yes, it’s a bit confusing), got things off to a dramatic start. The longest of Beethoven’s overtures, such a massive, rhythmically emphatic piece would certainly be a hard act for an opera to follow; fortunately, it was never actually used for its original purpose. As a stand-alone piece it works quite admirably, and Maestro Haitink’s crisp, energetic conducting guided the orchestra in an elegant rendition. One senses that Beethoven struggled mightily to keep this pseudo-symphony from bursting its overture-ian britches; amusingly, he resorted to using a pair of trumpet fanfares to rein in the nearly out-of-control development in the orchestra.

After whetting our appetites, more Beethoven was on the menu. Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, Opus 58, written during a white-hot creative period when he was in his mid 30s, featured the inestimable Emanuel Ax at the keyboard. Amazingly, this piece was given its public premiere as part of a four-hour program featuring, among other things, Symphonies 5 and 6 as well as selections from the Mass in C. There was also more than a touch of poignancy, in that it was to be the last concert featuring Beethoven as soloist, due to his rapidly deteriorating hearing. Mr. Ax certainly knows his way around a keyboard and was more than up to the task of filling Beethoven’s shoes. This concerto features an extremely talkative piano, and Ax made its voice sparkle and breathe like a living thing. He played with a firm legato that resulted in ringing tones and a melodic line that stood out in sharp relief as his fingers spidered nimbly up and down the keyboard. Guessing, however, that Beethoven’s rendition might have been characterized by a tad less in the way of control and reserve; if only we had a recording of the original event! Soloist, conductor, and orchestra combined forces to yield a polished re-creation that precipitated a protracted standing-o.

Fast-forward a century and a third: Hungarian composer Béla Bartók, exiled and miserable in New York, is given a commission by BSO conductor Serge Koussevitzky for an orchestral work. Thus is born his Concerto for Orchestra, one of his most accessible and, not coincidentally, most popular compositions. Written near the end of his life, this piece’s softened edges reflect a somewhat mellowed, though still quite angular, Bartók. As an orchestral concerto, all animals in the musical zoo get a chance to squeak, squawk, quack, purr, and roar. This is actually quite the exotic menagerie: not exactly Peter and the Wolf; more along the lines of Béla and the Platypus. The exposed instrumental parts and exquisitely schizophrenic nature of the melodies are a challenge for both players and conductor alike. Bernard Haitink’s precise conducting style proved highly effective at navigating the orchestra through the sinuous twists and unpredictable turns of the music, and the instrumentalists were more than up to their individual challenges. Woodwinds sang sweetly; the brass was coherent and confident. After a heavy shower of fourths in the opening Andante, the “Giuoco delle coppie” (Game of the couples) is Bartók at his analytical best, featuring an intriguing progression of isolated wind pairs in succession, each with its own particular interval. Shadowy equations and variables swirled about the stage; the underlying mathematics were palpable, and surprisingly palatable. There’s sarcasm too, as the penultimate movement, a soothing Intermezzo, is jarringly interrupted by a parody of a theme from Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 7. Never a dull moment; all handled with aplomb and panache by Haitink & Co. After the enthusiastic standing ovation, one was left wondering if the winds outside Symphony Hall could be interpreted as the winds of change …

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

The Borromeo String Quartet, faculty quartet-in-residence at the New England Conservatory, shared the Jordan Hall stage Sunday evening, March 7, with three student award-winners and one guest artist. In addition to showcasing the 2010 Guest Artist Award recipients, this concert was the Borromeos’ third of an eight-part series featuring the complete string quartet cycle of local contemporary composer Gunther Schuller. A countable number of listeners were in the audience; perhaps attendance was compromised in part by the concurrent Academy Awards ceremony. I’d say the concertgoers definitely made the right choice!

Brahms Sextet in G Major with Guest Artist Award winners (photo by Mike Rocha)

Mozart’s Oboe Quartet in F Major, K. 370 (1781) got the festivities off to a light and effervescent start. The pastel tones of this sweet bon-bon, light as cotton candy and evocative of a soft Spring day, were performed in playfully elegant fashion, with graceful, dance-like phrases and gestures. Oboist Amanda Hardy spun sinuous, silky tendrils of sound, featuring clearly articulated ornamentation and smooth, ultra-expressive dynamic comings and goings. String players Kristopher Tong, violin, Mai Motobuchi, viola, and Yeesun Kim, cello played delicately and expressively, providing a perfectly balanced accompaniment. The overall effect was one of gentle precision. Refreshingly, there was nary a cough or splutter between movements; the audience was rapt (and apparently healthy).

And then … what’s this? … some sort of solar flare, or was it perhaps a volcanic eruption? Gunther Schuller’s powerful String Quartet No. 3 (1986) was a jarring and riveting musical antithesis of the Mozart, an emphatic yang to Wolfgang’s yin. Airy pastels were replaced by dense burgundies and steely grays; we had definitely entered film noir territory. Herr Schuller instructs players to perform the first movement, Maestoso, “with great intensity,” and the Borromeos certainly took him at his word! Passion and gravitas were dripping all over the stage; tensions built and erupted. This music was dark, sinister, low-pH, and high-energy, and the Borromeo members played with a simmering fury.  In contrast to the dramatic solar flare of the Maestoso, the Canzona’s auditory solar eclipse came across like the inner voice of a tormented soul. Extremely exacting playing by the quartet members; fastidious attention to detail; exquisite sensitivity and grace; serious countenances all around. The final Allegro imparted a sense of dark urgency, where the negative space between sounds carried at least as much weight as the notes themselves. Challenging for performers and audience members alike, this captivating, tightly wound, palatably harsh piece grabbed listeners by the heart, ears, and brain and never let go. Intriguingly, could have sworn I caught a whiff or two of Mozart and Beethoven in the midst of the twelve-tone structure. Perhaps it was just my imagination. Actually, it should be noted that the Borromeos are in the midst of recording all of Schuller’s string quartets — definitely something to look forward to. An added treat: the composer himself was in attendance, and made his way to the foot of the stage to share in the warm accolades.

Following the emotional intensity of the Schuller, our psyches were assuaged by the warm aural tapestry of Johannes Brahms, specifically his Sextet in G Major, Op. 36 (1865). Featuring three Borromeo members juxtaposed with their Guest Artist Award winner/special guest counterparts (Nicholas Kitchen and winner Audrey Wright, violins; Mai Motobuchi and guest Dimitri Murrath, violas; Yeesun Kim and winner Holgen Gjoni, cellos), this performance brought to mind the Marlboro Music Festival, featuring as it does a potent blend of established music professionals and talented up-and-comers. From the shimmering tones and soothing triple meter of first movement to the busy, urgent phrases of the final Poco Allegro, this expansive work was performed with ambrosial perfection. The round, full-bodied tones of guest cellist Holgen Gjoni were especially notable. Unfortunately, it seemed, to this pair of ears at least, as if the playing of violinist Audrey Wright was obscured somewhat by the indefatigable Nicholas Kitchen, and guest violist Dimitri Murrath was relegated to playing an inordinate amount of pizzicato (which he did quite admirably). No matter: the overall result was music of the highest caliber. Though each instrumentalist appeared to be intently focused on their particular part, with little discernible interaction, they sounded as if they played and breathed as one.

In the inordinately rich and vibrant musical scene of Boston, the Borromeo String Quartet is a true stand-out. Is it possible to play with more passion? Is it possible to play with a higher degree of technical prowess? With a greater sense of sharing? And all without music scores! (OK, they actually use laptops with foot controls.)  And then there’s octogenarian composer Gunther Schuller, one of the shining lights of contemporary music. And the myriad talented music students pouring into our city from around the world. An embarrassment of riches. Next time, consider forgoing the Oscars.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

It takes a great deal of talent and an impressive dollop of chutzpah to stride across an empty stage with just a small violin and proceed to fill a large hall with music. At least a solo pianist has an imposing and multifaceted beast of an instrument for an onstage companion, and cellists a wide-ranging, almost human-sized musical counterpart. German violinist Christian Tetzlaff used his deceptively diminutive instrument and prodigious musical skills to envelop the confines of NEC’s Jordan Hall in a complex web of sound on Sunday, January 31, 2010.

In addition to the technical and psychological demands the solo violin places on performers, its relatively narrow musical palette poses even more of a challenge to composers. The genius of Johann Sebastian Bach was more than up to this challenge. His works for the instrument seem almost to defy logic: how can a single melodic line, with the occasional double-stop, sound so rich, so contrapuntal? The first half of Herr Tetzlaff’s program was devoted entirely to the music of Bach, specifically Partita No. 2 in d minor, BWV 1004 and Sonata No. 3 in C Major, BWV 1005. These two works are part of a set of six in which the odd-numbered pieces are sonatas; the evens, partitas. The Teutonic creator-recreator duo of Bach-Tetzlaff proved to be a powerful one: from the first bar, the music was mesmerizing. Tetzlaff’s introspective style drew the listener in; his smooth bowing, clear articulation, and delicate pianissimos helping to breathe life and complexity into the deceptively simple single line. His serious demeanor was belied by his dancelike dips and gyrations as the music flowed out of him. The final movement of the Partita, the Chaconne, has got to be one of the most profound examples of Western music ever created. A testament to its profundity are the numerous transcriptions that have stemmed from this single melodic line, including full orchestrations. Prior to plunging in to the depths of this movement, Herr Tetzlaff quite deliberately paused and gathered himself. He then took us on an emotional rollercoaster featuring all manner of double-stopping and sophisticated bowing. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a bow malfunction in the form of an errant horsehair, which led to some intermittent squeakiness. It certainly did not detract from the powerful overall effect of the piece, however. The sonata was somewhat jauntier in character, ending with an Allegro assai that sounded like a good old-fashioned hoedown, fingers and bow flying.Yee-haw, that boy can sure play the fiddle! This first-half performance precipitated some vociferous hooting and hollering from the large and appreciative audience that had braved the midwinter cold.

The second half showcased music by György Kurtág, Eugène Ysaÿe, and Niccolò Paganini: a veritable smorgasbord of diacritics! Four pieces by contemporary Hungarian composer Kurtág (“Perpetuum mobile,” “Hommage à J.S.B.,” “Doloroso,” “Zank—Kromatisch”) were a late and worthwhile addition to the program and got things off to a tangy start. Extremely brief, playfully acerbic, whimsically disconsolate, these musical vignettes (or, in this case, violinettes) defy description. Hiccup and you missed them. The Hommage sounded rather like Bach on controlled substances; the Zank was itchy-scratchy-buzzy. Ysaÿe’s Sonata was certainly more traditional with its late Romantic passion, though it was a bit fragmented melodically and seemed to consist of a great deal of virtuosic flourishes that didn’t quite hold together. Certainly no fault of the performer, however.  Four of Niccolò Paganini’s caprices (Nos. 16, 6, 15, 1), from his set of 24, Opus 1 were almost frightening in their technical ferocity, and this listener’s ear could scarcely keep up with the cascade of rapid-fire notes. Interestingly, prior to the penultimate piece, Tetzlaff was moved to stop and explain to the audience that there was such a cold draft onstage he was finding it difficult to perform! The show must go on, however, and he soldiered admirably ahead, with his virtuosic bowing making the final caprice sound like the flutter of hummingbird wings. He was rewarded for his efforts with a warm and effusive standing ovation, and, cold hands be damned, he in turn rewarded us with two contrasting encores: Bach’s sweetly pellucid Gavotte en Rondeau from Partita No. 3 in E Major, BWV 1006, and one more Kurtág piece: In memoriam Tomas Blum, a haunting and plaintive miniature.

In less capable hands, 90 minutes of solo violin music runs the risk of becoming austere and somewhat monochromatic. The immensely talented Christian Tetzlaff, with the help of some immensely talented composers, amply demonstrated the startlingly broad emotional and technical range of this restricted musical medium. As I sat in awe listening and watching his pyrotechnics, an image came to mind: Tetzlaff and his near-exact contemporary, fellow violinist Joshua Bell, performing together. Bell and Tetzlaff:Dueling Violins ~ could it happen?

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: here.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Apparently requiring no light, ivory-tickling warm-up piece, Dr. Bass immediately plunged into J.S. Bach’s Partita No. 2 in c minor, BWV 826. This meaty work is one of a suite of six, the third and final set of dance movements Bach composed, following the English and French Suites. The partitas are mature, complex compositions featuring JSB at his contrapuntal best. Bass’s performance was nuanced and elegant, with sophisticated, soft-edged interpretations that appropriately reflected the depth of the music. Purists may have taken umbrage with his somewhat liberal use of the damper pedal, as well as his broad tonal range that took full advantage of the myriad colors of the modern instrument, but I’m guessing Johann would have approved. Bass’s tempi were generally somewhat relaxed, and he did have a predilection for a very legato sound. This lack of portato occasionally resulted in a slight muddying of brisk passages, though this was somewhat offset by his extremely clear and exacting voicing.

Our ears were required to quickly shift gears as Dr. B. next presented us with a large dollop of Chopin, specifically Ballades 2 and 4, op. 38 and 52, and four of the 60 Mazurkas, op. 24. The ballades were solidly performed, highlighting Bass’s very secure technique. The playful mazurkas could have been a bit lighter and crisper; they tended towards the opaque. A few more dashes of rubato might also have spiced things up. Odd to say when speaking about works by Chopin, but this performance seemed almost too elegant. Or perhaps just a tad too studied.

As we moved into more contemporary territory, Bass seemed more in his element. His propensity for a legato sound and his “emotionally intellectual” approach were both more effective and more apropos in his realization of Claude Debussy’s Estampes (Prints) as was his well-delineated voicing and precise phrasing.

The hands-down highlight of the evening for this listener was the final piece, Samuel Barber’s Sonata, op. 26. This virtuosic work, composed in 1949, utilizes 12-tone serialism tempered by Barber’s signature lyricism. Angular yet melodic, with more than a passing whiff of Ginastera, this multifaceted sonata was given an exciting rendition in the capable hands of Bass. The heavily syncopated final Fuga was especially electrifying, and Bass tossed it off with aplomb. Throughout the technical fireworks, his talent for accentuating the melody line never wavered. Performer, audience, and Steinway were given a thorough workout, leaving the performer beaming, audience reveling, and Steinway quivering. This musical exclamation point was followed by a full-stop encore: Chopin’s “Cello” etude, op. 25, no. 7.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Robert Kapilow is a man on a mission. With a missionary’s zeal, this musician of Promethean talents seeks to take classical music appreciation to the next level by engaging his audiences in active listening. A large gathering at New England Conservatory’s Jordan Hall was on hand Saturday evening, November 7, as Mr. Kapilow joined forces with the Borromeo and Ariel String Quartets in an installment of his What Makes It Great? series, now in its thirteenth season.

Rob Kapilow in action. Photo by Mike Rocha

There was but a single piece on the program, Felix Mendelssohn’s Octet in E-flat Major, Opus 20. As Kapilow put it, this was “Exhibit A” of evidence for the claim that Mendelssohn was the actually the greatest of all classical musical prodigies, eclipsing even the exalted Mozart. Though he didn’t actually begin composing until the relatively advanced age of ten, Mendelssohn’s early works demonstrate an unparalleled complexity and maturity. By the age of twelve he’d already completed some thirty three-part fugues, and we’re all familiar with the sparkling set of string symphonies produced in his very early teens. The Octet, created as a birthday present for his violin teacher and written when Felix was all of sixteen, is considered by many to be one of his greatest masterpieces. On February 3 Mendelssohn turned 200, though he doesn’t look a day over thirty-eight. In this anniversary year, a program dedicated to giving a deeper appreciation of this composer’s creations was more than appropriate.

After veritably bounding onto the stage, Mr. Kapilow plunged immediately into an extremely dynamic, well-choreographed, whirlwind analysis of this pinnacle of Mendelssohn’s oeuvre. The general presentation format involved Mr. Kapilow’s using the piano to demonstrate relevant snippets of the music, followed by a brief rendition of the theme by the double-quartet members. His explanations were precise and rapid-fire, peppered with musical definitions as necessary. The torrid pace put both audience and musicians through their paces; it definitely kept one on one’s toes (and ears). This listener found it more than a bit challenging to internalize the myriad enlightening interpretations. Overhead conversationette: “He makes me feel so smart! Now I can really appreciate all the compositional techniques.” “He makes me feel so dumb! It’s so fast, I can’t remember very much.” So there you go. Though utterly absorbing, it did seem as if concepts were flying by at warp speed, or as Kapilow put it, “magic moments that pass at the speed of light.” Actually, what we could have used was some form of slow-motion instant replay. Better yet, a supplemental DVD.

That said, I found his high-octane, highly entertaining, eminently quotable, erudite-yet-accessible analysis to be invaluable. A sampling of pertinent takeaways: Mendelssohn’s extensive training in fugal and contrapuntal composition was reflected in his predilection for inverting themes and weaving them seamlessly together; gained an appreciation for the way in which he exploited the dramatic effect of going from major to minor or forte to piano; Mendelssohn had a propensity for adding textures, truncating or embellishing themes, making minute modifications on each repeat, and passing a given theme through each of the individual parts. An extremely salient point made numerous times by Kapilow is that “the difference between good and great is both enormous and minuscule.” He illustrated this to great effect by playing a selected passage twice: first, what might be considered the run-of-the-mill, uninspired version; second, Mendelssohn’s actual score. What an ear-popping difference!

Following our hour-long “class,” we were treated to an uninterrupted performance of the Octet. I heard the different themes! I heard the inversions! I heard the dissonance of the paired scales in the second movement! And on and on. Seems as if quite a bit of Kapilow’s analysis actually sunk in. Greatly enhanced the listening experience; was much more attuned to the individual parts and various compositional techniques. Also helped having an absolutely top-flight ensemble: the Borromeo and Ariel String Quartet members are all musicians of the highest caliber, and they performed exceptionally well together.  Every one of the instrumentalists played with a virtuosity and youthful exuberance apropos of both piece and composer; Ariel’s cellist Amit Even-Tov was particularly animated. Was afraid her instrument might burst into flames at any moment. Actually, between the hyperenthusiastic Kapilow and the impassioned double-quartet members, we have an untapped energy source: could light the entire city for a week!

Mendelssohn’s Octet is a truly phenomenal composition. From the soaring themes of the opening Allegro to the abrupt mood change of the somber Andante to the gossamer, shimmering textures of the quintessentially Mendelssohnian Scherzo to the astonishingly technical eight-part fugal counterpoint of the final Presto, this piece is a compositional tour-de-force. Thanks to Rob Kapilow’s engaging and enlightening analysis in combination with the brilliant Borromeo-Ariel realization, I now have a significantly deeper understanding of and appreciation for this stunning work. Mr. Kapilow’s enthusiasm is most definitely contagious; one can only hope to be infected by the R1K1 virus! I’ll leave you with the overarching theme of the evening, attributed to Igor Stravinsky, and quoted more than once by Rob Kapilow: “Creativity begins with observation.”

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

BMInt Picture by Mike Rocha

With the BEETHOVEN proscenium glowing prominently above the stage, we were treated to music and music-making of the highest caliber. From the first note, Symphony No. 6 in F Major, Opus 68, the “Pastoral,” is a study in pure joy as Beethoven ebulliently expresses his profound love of nature. Sunny, straightforward, light and unfettered, this music can’t help but lift one’s spirits as the composer’s genius takes us on a bucolic jaunt through the countryside. Maestro Maazel guided the orchestra with deft precision, attentively controlling every jot and tittle as he moved freely about the podium, unencumbered by musical score. Though pushing 80, the maestro conducted with high energy. (Perhaps genetics is on his side as his father, the actor Lincoln Maazel, just passed away last month at age 106!)

Throughout the work, the startlingly clear musical representations of the natural world, from trilling brook to onomatopoeic birdcalls Messiaen would have appreciated, were elucidated brilliantly by the instrumentalists. The strings created a lush and coherent sound, the woodwinds sang sweetly, the music breathed and pulsed like a living thing. In a brief “scherzophrenic” episode, the vigorous dancing of country peasants is disrupted by a thunderstorm the likes of which would have quickened the heartbeat of many a jaded storm chaser. The clouds soon pass, however, leaving us with a peaceful sunset. The optimistic final movement melts in one’s mouth like a creamy Halloween treat.

Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Opus 72 immediately takes off for the heavens. The tone is emphatic; the driving rhythm makes one want to get up and dance. Actually, Maazel’s conducting was quite dancelike as he spread his arms wide and occasionally reached towards the floor to emphasize a beat. When is someone going to develop the concept of Conductor Aerobics? Sounds like a potential blockbuster for Wii.

The second movement features an abrupt mood change as the music takes on a decidedly somber tone. Here, Maazel’s tempo was inappropriately rushed, which resulted in a lack of the profundity and gravitas that are the trademarks of this section. Add to that a couple of uncharacteristic clams from the brass, and the result was the only part of the concert that fell short in the opinion of this listener. Perhaps not coincidentally, the traditional inter-movement coughs and splutters from the Symphony audience were unusually vociferous following this movement. Could this have been the outward manifestation of a bit of subconscious displeasure?

The last two movements were right back on track, as we galloped off on the back of a powerful steed. The final Allegro con brio, featuring a great deal of brio, was taken at truly breakneck (or, more aptly, “break-bow”) speed, a tempo which added to the excitement. Maazel contributed to the electrically charged mood by dancing up a storm. Great fun watching this former Wunderkind, who began conducting at the age of nine and had conducted all of the major American orchestras by age fifteen, still enthusiastically pursuing his craft more than six decades later. The finely tuned organism that is the BSO was more than up to the task of this exacting taskmaster. Not surprisingly, the performance precipitated an immediate, thunderous, and prolonged ovation as the sellout crowd leapt to its feet and roared its approval. Might have even put a smile on Ludwig’s face.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

]]> http://classical-scene.com/2009/10/31/all-treats-no-tricks-as-bso-beethoven-cycle-continues/feed/ 0 http://classical-scene.com/2009/10/05/chameleon-presents-colorful-inspired-juxtapositions-in-season-opener/ http://classical-scene.com/2009/10/05/chameleon-presents-colorful-inspired-juxtapositions-in-season-opener/#comments Mon, 05 Oct 2009 13:31:30 +0000 Michael Rocha http://classical-scene.com/?p=1570 The Chameleon Arts Ensemble continued their tradition of creative, thought-provoking, entertaining programming with "Music and All Silence Held," the season opener at the Goethe Institut in Boston's Back Bay on Saturday evening, October 3. Kristopher Tong, the Borromeo String Quartet violinist, pinch-hit for injured Joanna Kurkowicz concert in Mozart’s lighthearted Duo No. 1 in G Major, K. 423 for violin and viola. His  performance was playful, lyrical, energetic, and expressive. Violist Scott Woolweaver’s approach was somewhat straightforward and workmanlike, an excellent foil to Tong’s more exuberant interpretation, though I would have preferred a few more sweetly soft moments in the second movement. Cellist Rafael Popper-Keizer’s playing in Claude Debussy’s Sonata in d minor for cello and piano was more than up to the technically challenging spiccato, pizzicato, and flautando passages. Pianist Gloria Chien's powerful, rock-solid playing belied her diminutive stature. The overall effect of Toru Takemitsu’s And Then I Knew ’Twas Wind was moody, brooding, haunting, pensive, somewhat disjointed. Deborah Boldin’s ethereal and pellucid flute playing juxtaposed effectively with the scratchy sounds required of the viola. Harpist Anna Reinerman created a flowing cascade of shimmery, shapely notes, including some bent at all manner of odd auditory angles. The pièce de résistance was Olivier Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps, Clarinetist Gary Gorczyca spun sinuous, limpid melody lines that expressed subtle emotions, Chien was a pianistic dynamo, and cellist Popper-Keizer handled the challenge of numerous extended tones in the fifth movement with ease, adding subtle color to avoid the tedium of repetition. Violinist Gabriela Diaz, a second pinch-hitter for Joanna Kurkowicz, absolutely hit one out of the park! Her playing featured sterling technique and a kaleidoscopic range of tonal color. All in all, the most convincing, nuanced, colorful, compelling, coherent rendition of this piece I’ve yet heard. [Click title for full review.]]]>

The Chameleon Arts Ensemble began their 12th season on a high note; many of them, actually. The concert, “Music and All Silence Held,” took place at the Goethe Institut in Boston’s Back Bay on Saturday, October 3. This intriguing chamber group continued their tradition of creative, thought-provoking, and highly entertaining programming. The Chameleons are dedicated to the integration of the arts into everyday life. They Facebook. They blog. They tweet. They donate tickets to worthy organizations. They present one benefit concert each season. All part of a broad and vibrant outreach program. When it comes to concertizing, however, this unique group of top-drawer musicians prefers the intimate confines of the Goethe Institut. What they lose in concertgoers they gain in the utilization of the perfect space for chamber music. The high-ceilinged room was filled to capacity and featured an interesting visual juxtaposition: a decidedly modern art exhibition consisting of large, abstract panels surrounded by the ornate and exceedingly rococo ornamentation of the room.

The concert opened with Mozart’s lighthearted Duo No. 1 in G Major, K. 423 for violin and viola. Quick background factoid: This work was composed as a favor for Wolfgang’s friend Michael Haydn, younger brother of Franz Joseph. Herr Haydn had been commissioned by the mercurial Archbishop Colloredo to compose a set of six of these duos; unfortunately he fell ill before completing the final two. Wolfgang to the rescue! He quickly conjured up the requisite pieces, which ended up being his only duets for the fairly unusual instrumental combination.

Modern-day adversity: Joanna Kurkowicz, the Chameleon violinist scheduled to perform this work, was sidelined by a hand injury. (We’re assuming she wasn’t hit by a pitch.) Kristopher Tong to the rescue! The Borromeo String Quartet violinist pinch-hit admirably. Mr. Tong’s performance was playful, lyrical, energetic, and expressive, including very animated facial expressions (certainly an extra-base hit). Given his last-minute status, one could forgive the odd unintended squeak here and there. Admittedly, this pairing of instruments took a bit of getting used to, with its relatively high, limited pitch range and, for lack of a better term, ‘stringy’ sound. Not surprisingly, the hyper-talented Mozart was proficient on both violin and viola, with a slight preference for the latter. This predilection by the composer resulted in each instrument being given equal footing, as opposed to relegating the viola to ‘second fiddle’ status. The complex contrapuntal interaction tickled both mind and ear. Violist Scott Woolweaver’s approach was somewhat straightforward and workmanlike, an excellent foil to Tong’s more exuberant interpretation. Only minor shortcoming was a slight lack of overall dynamic range; would have preferred a few more sweetly soft moments in the second movement.

We next hurtled forward in our musical time machine to the early 20th century. Claude Debussy’s Sonata in d minor for cello and piano was the first of a set of six pieces he’d planned to write for various instrumental combinations. Unfortunately, he was only able to complete three before his untimely death from colon cancer at age 55. The deeply expressive, majestic, syncopated, richly sonorous passages of this impressionistic work juxtaposed nicely with the Mozart. Cellist Rafael Popper-Keizer’s playing was as colorful as his name, and he was more than up to the technically challenging spiccato, pizzicato, and flautando passages. Gloria Chien was a force to be reckoned with on piano: powerful, rock-solid playing that belied her diminutive stature.

Fast-forwarding to the final decade of the 20th century, we were presented with Toru Takemitsu’s And Then I Knew ’Twas Wind, title courtesy of Emily Dickinson, instrumentation (flute/viola/harp) à la Debussy. In fact, the self-taught Takemitsu focused his autodidactic musical studies on two composers, Claude Debussy and Olivier Messiaen, not coincidentally the authors of the surrounding pieces on the evening’s program. Props to the Chameleon’s artistic director and flutist Deborah Boldin for this enlightening programming juxtaposition! ’Twas Wind is an enigmatic creation; the composer intended the wind in this case to be “… of the natural world and of the soul ….” Meter and tempo fluctuated constantly; this wind did not flow as one might expect. The overall effect was moody, brooding, haunting, pensive, somewhat disjointed — a dark dreamscape that would make appropriate background music for a Twilight Zone episode, and the wind, perhaps, that might blow across the surface of a wintry, forlorn planet. Deborah Boldin’s ethereal and pellucid flute playing juxtaposed effectively with the scratchy sounds required of the viola. Harpist Anna Reinerman created a flowing cascade of shimmery, shapely notes, including some that were fascinatingly bent at all manner of odd auditory angles.

Following an intermission in which the audience escaped the building body heat of the packed room, we were treated to the pièce de résistance: Olivier Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps (Quartet for the End of Time). Mon dieu! Or, given the venue, mein Gott! This complex, eight-movement piece of music is powerful and moving on a number of levels, not the least of which are the circumstances of its creation: the young Messiaen composed this piece in a prisoner-of-war camp after his capture by the Germans. The musical techniques employed by the composer are a microcosm of those he would use throughout his life: the incorporation of birdsong into melody lines; the heartfelt religious themes of a devout Catholic; tonal color truly appreciated only by fellow synesthetes: Olivier perceived each musical note as a specific hue. [Ed: "The phenomenon in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another " —- Amer. Herit. Dict.]  Monsieur Messiaen intended the title to refer to the end of orderly, measured time — a double entendre that could be interpreted in either musical or emotional terms, especially given the chaotic surroundings in which it was conceived. Why eight movements? Because on the seventh day God rested; a day which extended into an eighth of timeless eternity. One movement featured a moving juxtaposition of, in the composer’s words, “the abyss of Time with its sadness, its weariness” and birds which “are the opposite of Time; they are our desire for light, for stars, for rainbows, and for jubilant songs”; another, “Praise to the Eternity of Jesus;” a third, “A mingling of rainbows for the Angel who announces the end of Time.”

The instrumentalists handled this profound work with grace and aplomb: clarinetist Gary Gorczyca spun sinuous, limpid melody lines that expressed subtle emotions, including impressively controlled and emotionally charged swoops from pianississimo to fortissimo; Chien was a pianistic dynamo; cellist Popper-Keizer handled the challenge of numerous extended tones in the fifth movement with ease, adding subtle color to avoid the tedium of repetition. And the violinist? Gabriela Diaz, a second pinch-hitter for Joanna Kurkowicz, absolutely hit one out of the park! Her playing featured sterling technique and a kaleidoscopic range of tonal color. All in all, the most convincing, nuanced, colorful, compelling, coherent rendition of this piece I’ve yet heard. (True confession: Prior to this performance, I’d found this challenging music to be emotionally inaccessible.)

The Chameleon Arts Ensemble presents thoughtfully conceived, artfully realized programs of the highest caliber in an appropriately intimate and aesthetically pleasing setting. They strive to make the arts more accessible, donating both tickets and entire concerts to worthy causes. Their next performance is November 7.

Synchronicity: As I was just beginning to pen this review, what should I hear on WGBH? The Ensemble’s rendition of the final movement of the Messiaen. Inspirational!

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

The concert featured a pair of twos: Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 2, followed by his Symphony No. 2. Both are mature works, written after Brahms had established his reputation as one of the preeminent Romantic composers and during a period in which he was apparently hard at work on his characteristic avoirdupois. Speaking of preeminent, conductor Kurt Masur, well into his ninth decade, nimbly led the youthful and hyper-talented TMC Orchestra; Garrick Ohlsson was very Garrick Ohlsson. All aspects of the concerto were beautifully rendered, from the buttery tones of the solo horn to the rich sounds of the strings. Tasted like smooth, creamy chocolate. Mr. Ohlsson dug into the piano passages in an expressively authoritative manner; the preternaturally shiny Steinway growled and purred in equal measure. Though some of the piano flourishes featured a smattering of notes not in the original score, the overall effect was highly pleasing to both ear and mind. [Perhaps he would have been better served to ditch the dapper but no doubt stifling white tux jacket.] Conductor, orchestra, and soloist certainly earned the raucous standing ovation that immediately followed the final triumphant chord.

At first blush, Brahms’ second symphony is all sunshine and blue skies. There is the occasional cloud shadow, however, and it is this deeper complexity that is vintage Brahms. Given its naturalistic overtones, this piece was an extremely appropriate choice for the venue. At various points during the performance, found myself swooping over craggy mountains, peering into the large eyes of small, worried animals, and being tossed about on windswept seas. Quite the ride. Herr Masur’s conducting style was bouncy and efficient, featuring precise gestures and sweepingly concise movements. This was reflected in the unusually coherent sound of the orchestra. You know a group is good when it seems to live and breathe as a single complex organism. The yin and yang of experienced conductor and youthful but talented musicians is a potent combination. Stellar rendition garnered a second enthusiastic standing-O.

Lenny and Johannes no doubt would have reveled in this performance. [And, who knows, perhaps they did.] All together, now [sung to “Hooray for Hollywood”]: Hooray for TAN-gle-wooood! . . . .

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com. He graduated first in his class of 2,800 from UCLA, with an MS in Meteorology from MIT.