Ich habe genug: Bach and Brahms with the BSO

This past weekend took me to Boston; having learned that Bryn Terfel and Rosemary Joshua would be performing in Brahms’ Requiem with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, it was to the first of their concerts I repaired on Thursday night. A poignant “Ich habe genug” was paired with Brahms’ sweeping choral masterpiece, and it was interesting to compare the emotional complexities and musical modes of expression in the two pieces, with their different relationships to the tradition of German sacred music. Another unexpected revelation was the performance of the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, who offered a compelling and nuanced exploration of Brahms’ vast harmonic and emotional landscapes.

Tchaikovsky, Trpčeski, and the NYPhil

Had it not been for the prospect of hearing Simon Trpčeski play Tchaikovsky's second piano concerto, I might have given the Philharmonic's last "summertime classics" concert a miss. As it was, I went, marveled at Trpčeski's performance, and enjoyed the noisy pleasures of the Festival Coronation March and the 1812 Overture. And the selections from Swan Lake turned out not to be the clichéd ones I was half-fearing, but a substantial excerpt selected by conductor Bramwell Tovey. On the whole, a quite successful evening.

The Festival Coronation March, occasional music for that grandest of occasions, the 1853 coronation of Czar Alexander III, is solemn and jubilant by turns, and unmistakably celebrating its own importance as well as that of the occasion. "Look!" say the brass, "are we not splendid?" "Just think of it," urge the strings: "is this not grand?" The New York Philharmonic--almost incongruously, it seemed to me--played it with an air of resolute conviction belonging to that time of sweeping skirts and vast empires. The second piano concerto made a welcome change to the abstract and virtuosic, and was given with no less gusto. (I sometimes forget Tchaikovsky's enthusiasm for noise.) After some opening remarks by Tovey on the piece's structure, they were launched and away, and it seemed that Trpčeski scarcely paused for breath during the first movement. After about five minutes, I found myself quite literally open-mouthed. Trpčeski's facility was astonishing; he not only dispatched credulity-defying runs, but created interesting variations in tone and dynamics while doing so. (At one point, with his hands positioned close together, his left seemed almost perpendicular to the Steinway's keys. Another point of interest to me was that Trpčeski often played from the first knuckle. Extraordinary.) The slow movement offered a welcome opportunity to savor more leisurely--and exquisitely beautiful--phrasing. Hearing how the orchestra and soloist brought together the themes of the concerto in the final movement was to me viscerally exciting.

La Dolce Vita

I'm supposed to be spending these languorous summer days planning lectures, and I am, mostly.  But New York, eternal temptress, lured me out this past week to the Philharmonic's "Summertime Classics" series.  As a side note, I was surprised both by the series' aggressively "accessible" marketing campaign, and by its apparent success: the average audience age seemed to have dropped by several decades from my usual NYPhil experiences, and also seemed more diverse in almost every conceivable way.  Apparently, the series is the brainchild of some NYPhil higher-ups and the conductor who presided over all the events, Bramwell Tovey.  I was wary of the label "conductor/host," but Tovey turned out to be not only a spirited conductor, but also overflowing with erudition which he seemed eager to share in a non-patronizing way.  The catalyst for the series?  Tovey's conducting of Webern's Symphony, Op. 21, back in 2001, which he decided to introduce with historical context and catchy anecdotes to intrigue and pacify the audience.  I fear this may be a Terrible Indictment of New York audiences... but I didn't find the format offensive, and if this does work as a successful gambit, I'd love to feel less alone in the under-50 crowd on those (admittedly somewhat rare) occasions when the symphony does steal an evening of my free time away from the Met.

Meandering aside: Tuesday evening's concert was entitled, inexplicably, "La Dolce Vita," and offered, in addition to the contributions of the evening's promoted diva, Nicole Cabell, the overture to La Cenerentola, Manon Lescaut's Intermezzo, and ballet music from Gounod's Faust and Massenet's Le Cid.  Well, seeing that line-up in the "special ticket offer" e-mail, I couldn't stay away!  The Massenet was a new discovery for me, and a pleasant one: so ostentatiously Spanish-flavored as to seem almost whimsical at times, but certainly seductive (a 2002 performance with the Berliner Philharmoniker under Mariss Jansons may be found here.)  The Gounod I found lulling as always; I was too conscious of the context of Puccini's passion not to be depressed by it.  Still, Maestro Tovey won my sympathy by his enthusiastic effusion about the dramatic punch packed by orchestral interludes in opera.  And there was Rossini, and I claim that not smiling irrepressibly in response to La Cenerentola must be a sign of some deep malaise. (Here is a recent version from the Met, with the bonus of an introduction by Thomas Hampson.)