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The depths of Atlàntida

Thirty rows back in the orchestra section, and just right of center, I sat next to two women who were attending their first Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) performance at Symphony Hall. I was excited on their behalf and recalled my first feelings of being overcome with the powerful sound when the first notes were struck in unison by the orchestra. It’s not a difficult feeling for me to conjure, since the first note always makes me grin with giddy anticipation. Tonight’s performance, led by Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, featured Manuel de Falla’s Suite from Atlàntida and Brahms’ Symphony No. 2. I was here exactly twenty-four hours prior, about twenty rows forward, but this time my expectations were completely different. This time, I knew to listen for the Lady of the Court in El Somni D’Isabel (Isabella’s Dream) that I had loved the night before, and I wanted to hear Alexandra Coku sing the role of Isabella more closely. Well Nathalie Stutzmann’s rendition of the Lady of the Court was stunning once again. In the first line, which bookends the short section, she sings, “Dins l’Alhambra una nit, Isabel somniava” (In the Alhambra one night, Isabella had a dream). That line, in its beautiful simplicity, is cherubic. For her part, Ms Coku’s dramatic ability and vocal talent were on display as her Isabella was quite engaging.

For the Brahms, I was able to sit back and actively listen to the piece as one instrumentation, with all its sonorous riches, and naturally the BSO lived up to their reputation. While I’m not sure I was able to really understand anything about Brahms any deeper, tonight to enjoy both the Brahms and the Falla was completely satisfying.

Falla and Frühbeck

I cannot characterize it, exactly, but there’s something about Hispanic music that is captivating. From Central and South American folk songs to Spanish dances and everything beyond, there are so many vibrant and passionate musical forms. Suffice it to say, I was pretty excited to hear the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) led by guest conductor Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos perform Manuel de Falla’s Suite from Atlàntida, even though it was completed posthumously by his student. I have had the pleasure of hearing the fruits of Frühbeck’s work with the BSO, in which they performed music from Albéniz.

Falla’s Suite from Atlàntida is based on a Catalan poem that depicts the epic of Atlantis. Along with the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, who are always a welcome addition to the Symphony Hall stage, the four soloists were contralto Nathalie Stutzmann, soprano Alexandra Coku, baritone Philip Cutlip, and thirteen year old male soprano Ryan Williams. Both Ms Coku and Mr Cutlip made their BSO debuts in this performance. I’ve written before about the wonderment of the human voice on stage at Symphony Hall, and I think many of the most memorable performances at the BSO have featured singers. This was certainly no exception, though I was quite close to the stage tonight, in the second row (H) but far audience-right. The differences in young Mr Williams’ performance and that of Ms Coku or Ms Stutzmann was striking. There is a unique quality in the child’s voice that is distinctly different from the adult’s, despite singing in similar ranges. The adult voices seem to have more color in them, so to speak, which perhaps might be manifested in a richer subharmonic stack. Nevertheless, the uniqueness of the voices was surprisingly evident.

Within this excellent piece, I was captivated by El Somni D’Isabel (Isabella’s Dream). However, it not the beautifully sung role of Isabella but the a cappella singing of the character “A Lady of the Court” by Ms Stutzmann that mesmerized me, however briefly. The quality of an unaccompanied voice reverberating alone inside the otherwise empty Hall had a dream-like quality to it, a fitting introduction to the piece.

I’m fortunate enough to be attending tomorrow night’s performance from about 30 rows back in orchestra, which should provide a wholly different experience from the intimacy of tonight’s performance. Especially hearing the vocalists from there should be a treat.

Of course, it will also affect the experience of Brahms’ Symphony No. 2, the other piece on the program for these concerts. While I just finished saying that the most memorable performances of the BSO are vocal, I also have stated before that symphonies are where the BSO truly shine. I’ve seen Brahms’ Symphony Nos. 1 and 4 performed at the BSO previously, and this gets me one step closer to completing the BSO Brahms Cycle. Hopefully Symphony No. 3 will be programmed as early as next season, but for now, I was excited about hearing Symphony No. 2 live.

Tonight, I was in a vacant row for some reason, and the row behind me was also unoccupied. It dawned on me that there might never be a chance again to perform a small, harmless experiment that technically breaks a rule at Symphony Hall …. At the intermission, I turned on my iPod kilo (also known as the iPad), and I ensured that it was fully muted, turned the brightness down to the lowest setting, and downloaded the full score of the Brahms in PDF form from International Music Score Library Project (IMSLP)’s Petrucci Library. Because I was so close to the stage, the ambient lights from the stage washed out any potentially annoying backlighting from the device, and no one was around me, so there wasn’t anyone to bother. Even page “turns” on the iPod kilo are silent, naturally, so it should not have been a distraction to anyone. I kept the score up during the performance and was able to follow along with it bar by bar. I often listen to recorded music with a score, watching the melody get handed off like a baton in a relay, and seeing how different parts interact. At first I mostly followed the violin parts, until I got a feel for how the pages were arranged on this particular score (they all seem slightly different), and soon I was able to move freely between interesting sections from each instrument. I often followed the loudest part, which is usually the melody, but it was also great fun to follow the violas and other sections that often play — you know — second fiddle to their higher pitched cousins.

I am glad that I had this rare opportunity to follow a score along with the live BSO performance, but it’s not something I need to do too often. The visual co-presentation probably helped me connect better to the music than when I watch the members of the orchestra play, since my memory is now coupled to the analytic, written music. As it happens, it’s pretty difficult to follow the music and listen to it all as a whole, and I definitely prefer to sit back and enjoy the music, while reading along was often an exercise in freneticism.

As far as the music itself, it’s Brahms and BSO. What more could I ask for? From the program notes, it seems that there is somewhat of a conflict of perception with Brahms’ Symphony No. 2. While written with a major key throughout and sounding more upbeat and pleasant than his other symphonies, it seems that Brahms’ felt that this was one of his darker, more melancholy works. The impression I got from the notes and from other reading on Brahms is that he was not one to be known so plainly, and so within a piece that others perceive as pleasant a darkness and perhaps a loneliness that only a certain disposition can detect. Admittedly it’s an abstract concept for which to listen, but one thing I like about Brahms is that it’s endlessly fascinating.

I might have mentioned somewhere else that Brahms reminds me of Charles Mingus. Both were large in both girth and personality, wore large beards, and were brilliant composers. Both Mingus and Brahms were characterized as often matter-of-fact and seemed intensely private. I’d love to explore this notion more.

I’m already looking ahead to tomorrow night’s performance. I recognize that I’m spoiled by the riches of this place, and I fully intend on taking advantage of it.

Paging Dr Atomic

Tonight’s Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) concert featured a full program of interesting selections, including Johannes Brahms’ Tragic Overture, John Adams’ Doctor Atomic Symphony, Sergei Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2, and Béla Bartók’s Suite from the Miraculous Mandarin. Guest conducting tonight from the St Louis Symphony was David Robertson.

Of course the unfortunate story of tonight’s concert was not that of the musicians on stage but the absolutely awful audience. Truly, on behalf of the audience, I apologize to the BSO for our collective behavior tonight. Now, the somewhat expected cacophony of coughing and seat cushions are excusable at the beginning of what will surely be a long cold season. It could be a good time to suggest that coughing should be suppressed, if at all possible, until the loud parts, but even then we should not feel open to pretending like there aren’t 2,000 other people who are trying to listen and enjoy the music. Also not particularly at fault are the Falling Chairs, which I’ve written about before as a metric to gauge attendance on any given night. Tonight’s Falling Chairs were plentiful, though I didn’t need them to know that the two nearly completely empty rows around me were indicative of a more sparse attendance that usual. However it was none of these usual things that were particularly prevalent tonight that bothered me.

Rather, it started with the incessant whispering behind me in the middle orchestra section. Several other, loud distractions were also audible, including what sounded like a dropped box of wood from a balcony and the distinct sound of a glass bottle hitting the floor and rolling for a few seconds. The worst offenses of the evening were the no fewer than two cell phone rings that went off at various points. This is the beginning of my third season of attending concerts at Symphony Hall, and in that time, this might be the first time I can recall a single cell phone going off, let alone two. Overall, the noises were distracting and mostly avoidable, and it’s by far the worst experience at Symphony Hall I’ve ever had in this regard.

Musically I’m ashamed to admit that it was difficult to concentrate or relax fully. Coming in, I was most familiar with the Brahms, since I love his music. I would not say that I am so well versed in the progression of the relatively short Tragic Overture, but I would need to hear the BSO performance again in order to make a judgment. There was an element of seriousness that I was not feeling, though it’s unclear if this was a byproduct of my overall experience or whether or not a starker contrast in dynamics, for instance, might have helped.

Perhaps most anticipated was the Doctor Atomic Symphony. My college degree is in physics, so it’s not a terrible surprise that anything called “Doctor Atomic” might pique my curiosity. In this piece, Adams has adapted his opera into a symphonic form. It lends itself well to this setting, arranged in three parts: The Laboratory, Panic, and Trinity. Since I’m not familiar with the opera, I was most intrigued by the idea of Trinity being the third movement. The line demarcating peace and fright was unclear, and I’m not sure that my one experience alone was able to resolve this. I enjoyed Adams’ use of solo horns to create a sense of urgency. The frenetic tempo throughout The Laboratory and Panic were well suited for the task of engaging a nervous energy. Generally speaking, pieces like this are tough for me to appreciate, I think in part because I don’t ever understand the back story. But here, it was easy to envision a story for this piece, while knowing something however abstract about its background. Perhaps my only regret for this piece is that its title inevitably reminds me of some kind of 40s-era Marvin the Martian cartoon, where Doctor Atomic tries to take over the planet and the Duck Dodgers of the 21-1/2 century try to save the day.

Following the intermission, pianist Nicolas Hodges performed Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2. This is a frenetic piece that looked like it would challenge any soloist, but Mr Hodges performed it admirably. I appreciate Prokofiev’s ballets and much of his other music, but between the Tragic Overture and Doctor Atomic, it was difficult for me to wrap my head around this piece.

Finally on the concert program was Bartók’s Suite from Miraculous Mandarin, a ballet. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, and my general impression of Bartók is not particularly favorable but also not particularly memorable. My friend DA enjoyed this piece and the Brahms the most, and while I’m glad I heard the Bartók, I won’t likely reach for a recording any time soon.

This concert in particular got me thinking about the difficulty of programming a concert. By this I am referring to the process of selecting music that will be played together at any given concert. In many ways, it’s similar to creating track lists for a standard length 74 to 80 minute CD, especially considering that a concert is around 120 minutes with the intermission. Sometimes the themes are obvious, such as All-Mozart or Romantic Symphonies. But often times the themes are more subtle. I think that there might have been a reason to include four intensely dramatic pieces together, but like the symphonic musical form, I’d often appreciate a break of sorts that introduces lighter material thematically. Regardless, one of my favorite aspects of the BSO is its ability to introduce me to new music and challenge my pre-conceived notions. I’m grateful that tonight’s concert succeeded in both regards.

Guaranteed Romantic

The current subscription performance concert going on at the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) features our new assistant conductor Marcelo Lehninger at the helm for his first of hopefully many engagements. To get my effusive praise of Mr Lehninger out of the way, I think that he’s an excellent addition to the BSO and brings a lot of energy to the podium. He led the BSO in a concert featuring Samuel Barber’s Overture to The School for a Scandal, Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto, and Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5. Being a great admirer of the Romantic period, I was giddy with the possibility of hearing the Beethoven and Tchaikovsky performed live by the BSO. This excitement only escalated after attending the Wednesday night rehearsal the previous evening. Tonight, I was accompanied by my trusted symphony friend CB as we sat in excellent center second balcony seats.

What I was not at all familiar with was Barber’s Overture to The School for a Scandal. This piece fit in naturally with the remainder of the program. Barber spends time developing themes and reintroduces them, and in this work, he creates a groundswell of emotion that continually builds and can easily be attributable to some kind of movie action chase scene. I think there are probably superheroes involved. The main melody is quite beautiful and provides moments of tranquility between the action. It finishes in a spectacular way as well, as it rings out, repeats a chord, and instead of either sustaining that chord or even raising in pitch, it descends down in somewhat of a surprise. This gives me the impression that, while grandiose, it’s not necessarily a happy ending to whatever narrative was told here. I’ll be interested to read more about the piece when I can, but I highly recommend it. It’s always satisfying when the piece I know least about turns out to be the one I appreciate greatly.

For the Beethoven, violinist Pinchas Zukerman joined the BSO, and to have a giant of music on stage was, once again, a treat. The cadenza is worth noting once again, as it was every bit as spectacular as I had experienced just the night before, and I really would like to learn more about who penned it and under what circumstances. It’s quite a unique feature of classical music that the cadenza can strongly flavor the concerto, leave the unique signature of a modern performer, and still respect the original composition. If not so daunting, it makes me want to learn carefully the cadenza variations of some of my favorite violin concertos to be able to distinguish differences in interpretation and writing in these sections.

The Beethoven is quite long, with the first movement alone approaching 25 minutes in some performances. But one thing I noticed tonight about Beethoven is that he takes a musical fragment or idea and then explores it fully, breaking it apart and piecing it back together again, handing off the melody to different instruments and reworking the entire music around it. It means that multiple performances of the piece are continually rewarding, in that one discovers turns of the central themes that are explored in new ways. It’s another example of Beethoven’s genius to have been able to understand this immediately.

Finally, Tchaikovsky is another of my favorite composers, and perhaps my favorite symphonist, so Symphony No. 5 was a treat. Not to diminish his abilities, but he was among other things an excellent song writer. The piece is approximately 50 minutes long, but I find it endlessly engaging. There’s a suspense that builds gradually, and Tchaikovsky is a master at utilizing different instruments as different voices in his symphonic narrative. From the first, détaché notes of the clarinet, the melody exists somewhat but not quite alone. Soon they are accompanied by the bassoons, taking their time and ending on a muted, unceremonious end. A moment of silence passes until the instruments reappear, to finally give way to the slightly brighter strings. Great restraint is built up slowly and beautifully here and punctuated by brief moments of gaiety.

The theme introduced in the Andante cantabile by the horns is longing and hopeful, an introduction to a movement that moves me every time I hear it. The gracefulness of the third movement waltz unsurprisingly harkens to a ballet. In the last movement, the strings take the lead in the grandiose theme of the final movement that eventually gets usurped by the horns before being returned. There’s a march-like quality in the percussion that culminates in a drum roll before the triumphant ending. The entire piece is marked by fluidity and seems to have a particularly identifiable character.

I appreciated the tight programming of this concert. I’m fine with this especially since I learned about the Barber, my asterisk piece for the evening. I greatly enjoyed hearing for the first time live a great violinist in Zukerman perform Beethoven, the BSO doing what they do best during the Tchaikovsky, and the new (to me) Barber which excites me to further explore his music.

A measure before ‘A’

The performance schedule for the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) bears repeating: scheduled concerts for a given program generally open on Thursday and continue through Friday matinee, Saturday evening, and the following Tuesday evening. The next program starts on the next Thursday. Rinse, repeat, for an entire season almost uninterrupted.

This means that the rehearsal schedule for the musicians is demanding as well, and it likely means that at least sectionals for the next piece occur while the ongoing piece is being performed. My understanding is that there is at least one sectional per concert and at least one large group rehearsal for each concert. This may not be correct at all, but whatever the schedule is, the success of the BSO performance after performance speaks highly to the professionalism of this group.

For a few of the concerts, they have open rehearsals for which tickets can be purchased. While these generally begin at 10:30 in the morning, this week’s open rehearsal took place on the Wednesday night before the program’s opening night. A friend EMM accompanied me to the rehearsal, and it was not only her first trip to Symphony Hall but her first orchestral performance. While it would have been nice for her first BSO experience to have had the polish, shine, and penguinness of the full concert, it was a truly unique look into a working symphony that she said that she enjoyed very much.

We debated for a moment where to sit during the rehearsal. There are so many good seats in Symphony Hall during a concert, and I have a few preferred ones. As I’ve said before, no electronically reproduced music quite captures the feeling of a live performance, especially in a place like Symphony Hall. Sitting near the center back of the concert hall is what an ideal set of speakers should aspire to sound like. Sitting near the front of the hall, one loses a lot of the soundstage and I think some of the nuances of the dynamic range, but this is very like what the perfect pair of headphones might sound like. The only section I have yet to sit in at Symphony Hall is the first balcony very near to the stage. Those might be interesting seats, but I probably would still prefer first balcony center for soundstage. We ended up deciding on the closest seats we could find to conductor Marcelo Lehninger, in the second row, slightly to the audience right. I believe we were in seats 13 and 14. This turned out to be fortunate, as we had perfect seats to hear Lehninger interact with the musicians.

The rehearsal at this level consisted of them running through most of the movements of each piece. I think there might have been a slow movement or two removed, though I cannot recall. A public rehearsal is somewhat strange, because the audience was treating it almost like a performance and clapping, but it was clear that this working rehearsal was for the musicians, and it was very difficult at times for the orchestra members to hear the conductor and vice versa while they were talking. Interestingly, the rehearsal was reminiscent of old orchestras I was a part of in high school and beyond. For instance, they still count measures from the lettered landmarks throughout the sheet music, and even professionals still make the mistake of counting backward several measures from F before realizing that all of the measures are numbered already. It’s funny that, in this small regard, not much has changed from those ensemble rehearsals to the biggest possible stage.

Lehninger treated the musicians very professionally, as one might expect, praising them and adding suggestions. His dialogues with the principals of each section was also interesting, and it was the first time I had heard concertmaster Malcolm Lowe and others as they interacted with him. As they went through a small section of Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 5, the first violin section came in slightly harsh on one of their entrances, which was corrected in two takes, a very subtle change that refined its presentation substantially.

Something I learned from the rehearsal, and equally from our proximity to the stage, is exactly how much our musicians interact with the conductor during a performance. It was interesting to watch the musicians as they took cues from Lehninger. Principal flutist Elizabeth Rowe looks up frequently at the conductor, while cellist Sato Knudsen doesn’t seem to look up much at all. It could be that he follows his section leader more or can see the conductor out of his periphery.

Violinist Pinchas Zukerman of course was on hand for the rehearsal of the Beethoven Violin Concerto, and it was a treat to see him perform up close. The first movement cadenza was especially amazing, intricately weaving the melodies into several rich chords: it was just before the brink of unrecognizable, which made recognition especially satisfying. At some point in the final movement, the rehearsal abruptly stopped for some reason, but they quickly regrouped and continued through.

This was also my first rehearsal in the three BSO seasons that I’ve attended. I hope to go to future rehearsals, since it offers glimpses of insight into the process of building a world class orchestra, with nearly an entire performance as well. While nothing is quite the same as the polish of a live concert, this is also its own experience.

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