Oberon's Grove

Trio Karénine @ The Frick

Above: Trio Karénine; photo by Lyodoh Kaneko

~  Author: Oberon

Sunday January 20, 2019 - Trio Karénine making their New York debut with a late-afternoon concert at The Frick. Works by Shostakovitch, Ravel, and Schubert were on offer in the museum's lovely, golden Music Room.

The Frick has a special place in my heart, for it was there, in the Garden Court one afternoon in 1974, that my first lover and I made a commitment to one another. It did not turn out well in the long run, but I always think of it when I am there.

The artists of the Karénine are Fanny Robilliard, violin, Louis Rodde, cello, and Paloma Kouider, piano. The trio are aptly named for Tolstoy's immortal Anna Karenina, since Karenina is one of literature's most passionate women, and the Karénine are among the most passionate musicians I have ever encountered. 

Founded in Paris in 2009, Trio Karénine took the top prize at the ARD international Competition in 2013. They have since played with great success at Wigmore Hall in London, the Salle Pleyel and Auditorium du Louvre in Paris, Musée des Beaux-Arts in Montréal, and in Venice, Hamburg, and Munich. They have toured to China and Japan, and they can now add New York City to the places they have regaled with their marvelous music-making.

Young and attractive, the trio settled in to the rather small performing space of the circular Music Room of the Frick; they set their concert off to a simply gorgeous start with the opening of the Shostakovich Piano Trio #1 in C-minor, Op 8. Within seconds, Mr. Rodde seized my imagination with the poignant cello theme that is taken up by Ms. Robilliard's violin. At the keyboard. Ms. Kouider plays gently on high. Soon the three voices are blending to perfection, and the music - in this unique hall - seems to embrace us.

As the Shostakovich alternates animation and lyricism, the players are not afraid of bringing some grittiness to the mix. There is a da capo of sorts - again the cellist is just sublime - and the music becomes ecstatic as the players sail on to a grand finish.

Maurice Ravel's Piano Trio in A-minor provided ample opportunity for us to savour the playing of the three musicians as individuals and as colleagues. Again, the richness of their sound and the ardour with which they play made for a thrilling experience. In the opening Modéré, the main theme originates with the piano; the violin and cello play in unison, a melody that is has a sensuous tinge to it. The music rises in intensity; the violin commences a wide-ranging second theme, excellently played by Ms. Robilliard. The end of the movement is expressively sustained.

Thee second movement, titled Pantoum, is the trio's scherzo. Wit and melodiousness vie for our attention. Ms. Kouider then leads off the Passacaglia with a deep piano passage. From the richness of Mr. Rodde's cello and the melancholy phrases of Ms. Robilliard's violin, a sense of longing arises. Then the two string instruments blend in a duo theme, which is very affecting in its simplicity. A cellphone intrusion during this movement was an annoying distraction, but the players remained firm of purpose and carried us thru by the power of their conviction.

In the dazzling Animé finale, the unison string motifs from the opening movement recur to fine effect. Thru the almost feverish intensity of their playing, the three musicians stir up a powerful emotional resonance that becomes exultant.

Following the interval, which was pleasingly brief, the familiarity of Schubert's Trio No. 2, Op. 100 in E-flat major, invited us as if to a cordial banquet. This music is everything, and the Trio Karénine's interpretation was like the opening of a magical chest from which one treasure after another of melody and harmony could be drawn forth. Mr. Robbe in particular seemed deeply immersed in the music, sometimes gazing upward, like an enraptured pilgrim receiving a benediction.

Long before I became interested in chamber music - recall that opera was my almost-exclusive love for many, many years - I heard the haunting theme of this trio's Andante in the poetic, unsettling vampire film The Hunger. Since then, I have met so many people who have shared my reaction to this music: it reaches the soul, however often I hear it. And it did so again today. 

At the close of their long and demanding program, the Trio Karénine drew sustained applause from the audience; as an encore, Robert Schumann's "love letter" to his beloved Clara was luminously played. 

My hope now is that the Karénine will soon be back in our City; their passion and artistry will always be welcome. 

~ Oberon

An Afternoon in Allemonde

Above: Mélisande and Pelléas at the fountain; by Edmund Blair Leighton (1852-1922)

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday January 19th, 2019 matinee - Despite serious reservations about one member of the cast, I went to this afternoon's performance of Claude Debussy's Pelléas et Mélisande at The Met, determined to stay to the end. I have always loved the Met's gently updated and incredibly atmospheric production (even though the lighting has gone awry over the years), so I decided on a seat with a view rather than a score desk today. My sister-in-law loaned me a pair of high-power binoculars, and I brought a book with me as a defense against the Met's interminable intermissions.

Pelléas et Mélisande is a unique opera, and it needs poetic singers and a truly sensitive conductor if it is to properly cast its spell. My first live encounter with the opera came in 1970 at New York City Opera when Patricia Brooks was an unforgettable Mélisande. The performance had a light baritone (who soon became a tenor) as her Pelléas - André Jobin - and one of the greatest Golauds ever: Louis Quilico. In 1983, at the Met, Jeannette Pilou was an exquisite Mélisande, opposite baritone Dale Duesing; here the Golaud was the magnificent Jose van Dam.

The Met's current production opened in 1995, with performances that celebrated Frederica von Stade's 25th anniversary at the Met; my first mezzo-soprano Mélisande, von Stade gave a sublimely nuanced portrayal. I last saw the opera in 2010, a beautifully-cast revival conducted by Sir Simon Rattle. I very much regret having missed the 1978 Met performances with Teresa Stratas as Mélisande and Gabriel Bacquier as Golaud; and I really should have gone to see Susanne Mentzer's Mélisande. 

I often use score desks at the Met, and when doing so, am very careful about turning the pages of my score silently so as not to disturb the people next to me. Today, I was one of the people with a view, and the women next to me using score desks were less considerate; it was very distracting, and when opportunity came, I changed seats. They also brought cookies, and chatted loudly during the intermission. No reverie for Debussy.

Overall, it was an engrossing performance. Since I have been going to more symphonic and chamber music concerts in recent years, Debussy's orchestration - which I have always admired - fascinated me today as I am now far more attuned to what the orchestra is doing; the music takes on a deeper meaning, bringing immersive pleasure.

Yannick Nézet-Séguin was on the podium and, as the musicians played magnificently, all was well. But the mystery and the shadowy softness of the score did not always come thru, and at times the conductor allowed the voices to be covered. To date, Maestro Nézet-Séguin's most memorable conducting at the Met has been his Parsifal; Pelléas this afternoon came close, without quite reaching an exalted level. (There was a sound of one person booing as the conductor returned to the pit after each intermission: a minority reaction, to be sure. I wonder what the complaint was, whether it had anything to do with the Maestro's interpretation or was simply an expression of anger that the intermission had been so long.) 

A weak Yniold made the character's two scenes seem really long today; the 'dream' scene, at any rate, seems expendable dramatically, despite the music. In the small roles of the Shepherd and the Physician, Jeremy Galyon and Paul Corona were fine.

Marie-Nicole Lemieux gave a perfect portrayal of Geneviève, her singing clear and warm with a nice glow to the timbre. She looked lovely and was dignified without being overly prim and proper; she also played the character as somewhat younger than we often see or hear. All to the good. Brava!

An announcement was made pre-curtain that both Paul Appleby (Pelléas) and Kyle Ketelsen (Golaud) were suffering from colds but would sing anyway. With ticket prices hovering near a $500 top this afternoon, it seems to me that the audience deserved to hear singers who are in good health. 

In the case of Mr. Ketelsen, he hardly needed an announcement: he sounded glorious, with only a trace of tiring as the long opera neared its end. Mr. Ketelsen's sound is commanding, house-filling, and vivid in expression. Tall and slender, he looks dapper (and slightly menacing) in his costumes and moves with authority. Regret, that most poignant of emotions, comes too late (doesn't it always?), and Mr. Keletsen's singing in the final scene had a heart-rending quality. Golaud is a bit of a thug, and this element too sometimes surfaced in the Ketelsen portrayal; his murder of Pelléas was vicious indeed. 

Mr. Appleby, who reportedly had vocal problems at the prima, sang well all afternoon with only the slightest hints that he was unwell. The voice is handsome, lyrical but masculine of timbre, and expressive of the poetry that fills the libretto. The conductor occasionally allowed the tenor's voice to be covered. In the scene between the lovers leading up to the murder, Mr. Appleby's high notes suddenly took on such epic ring that I wondered if amplification was in play. More likely the tenor, nearing the end of his role and having made it successfully thru thus far, simply decided to let loose; the dramatic situation certainly called for it.

Looking through some of my diaries from my first years of living in New York City, I find that I heard Isabel Leonard on at least three occasions while she was at Juilliard; she seems not to have captured my imagination then (I left halfway thru her solo recital) and to this day I do not understand why she has such a huge career. Her tone is surely attractive, despite a tendency to thin out and spread a bit higher up. She sang all of the music of Mélisande perfectly well, and evocatively at that, but the sound of her voice does not leave a distinctive imprint. Ms. Leonard's Mélisande is impeccably gowned and coiffed, and her make-up is Vogue-ready; she even looks gorgeous on her deathbed.

Above: Isabel Leonard as Mélisande and Ferruccio Furlanetto as Arkel, a Karen Almond/MET Opera photo

Along with the excellence of Mlle. Lemieux's Geneviève and Mr. Ketelsen's Golaud, it was the great basso Ferruccio Furlanetto's performance as the old King Arkel that made this afternoon so engrossing. Every word, note, and gesture in Mr. Furlanetto's portrayal had the marvelous resonance that a great and dedicated singing-actor can bring to a role. Some people found the basso's singing too "tearful", but Arkel has every reason to weep as he watches the fabric of his family rent by jealous passions. How moving was Mr. Furlanetto as he sang of the destiny of Mélisande's daughter; it is moments like these that will endure in my operatic memory until the end.

As this afternoon's performance unfolded, I decided that I would try to meet Ferruccio Furlanetto after the opera ended. He has, over the years, given me so many wonderful performances to remember, starting with his Zaccaria in Nabucco at Hartford in 1982.

After a short wait, Mr. Furlanetto emerged from the stage door; we shook hands, and he signed my program. He's had such a great career, and his calendar for 2019 appears to be full. I hope he'll be back at the Met soon. 

~ Oberon

Sabine Devieilhe @ Weill Hall

 

Above: soprano Sabine Devieilhe

 

~ Author: Oberon

 

Thursday January 17th, 2019 - Sabine Devieilhe, soprano, with pianist Mathieu Pordoy in a program of French songs at Weill Hall. This was as perfect an evening of music as one could hope to hear. Performed without intermission, the finely-devised program kept the full house under a spell as both the soprano and her splendid pianist seemed to find the heart and soul of each work on offer. It goes without saying that Mlle. Devielhe's way with words in her native tongue was a special gift to her listeners.

 

Gowned in black, with a bejeweled belt, Mlle. Devieilhe seemed to captivate the crowd before she had sung a note. In her opening selection, Claude Debussy's "Nuit d'étoiles" (his first-ever song), the clarity and sheen of the soprano's singing immediately assured us that we were in for a memorable evening.

 

Two songs by Francis Poulenc, settings of poems by Louis Aragon - "C" and "Fêtes galantes" - were well-contrasted in mood, and beautifully sung and played. Poulenc's "Hôtel" perfectly captured the languid grace of a woman who simply wants to have a cigarette.

 

 

Above: pianist Mathieu Pordoy

 

The program now moved into less familiar territory: Maurice Delage's four-song cycle Quatre poèmes hindous (describing four cities in India) proved fascinating. Here, the indispensability of a great pianist for a program of song became amply evident: in the introduction and postlude to "Madras", Mr, Pordoy 's playing was intoxicatingly atmospheric. Mlle. Deveilihe's singing conjured up a magical palette of colours, and her vocalise and humming at the end of "Lahore" had a special charm. In "Bénarès", the birth of Buddha is described with a sense of ecstasy that threaded thru Mlle. Devieilhe's lovely tone. "Jaipur" ends with a hushed piano postlude, serenely played by M. Pordoy.

 

Four songs by Maurice Ravel followed. In "Ballade de la reine morte d'aimer", Mlle. Devielhe's shimmering sound rose to an exquisite high note, expressive of the heavenly rest of a queen who died of love. A mix of innocent delight and a hint of sweet seduction comes in "Chanson française", and in "Sur l'herbe", the soprano's sense of irony was a particular delight. Vocal beauty over a rippling piano motif creates a ravishing effect in "Manteau de fleurs" ("Coat of flowers"), which ends with a delicate expression from M. Pordoy's keyboard.

 

What a pleasure to hear the two Roussel songs which, like the Delage, seem to be so rarely performed. "Le jardin mouillé" ("The Wet Garden") was perhaps the most enchanting experience of the evening; M. Pordoy at the piano produced the sound of crystalline raindrops as Mlle. Deveilhe sang hauntingly of her solitary wistfulness, and of some unnamed regret. "Réponse d’une épouse sage" tells the story of a wife who receives two pearls as a sign of courtship from an admirer. She returns them, affirming her dedication to her husband but also acknowledging that, had she known of this other man's feelings sooner, life might have been different.

 

Debussy's "Romance", with its simple piano introduction, is a brief song about lost love. Yet again, Ms. Devieilhe found the perfect colours for the words...and her gorgeous, fading final note was sublime.

 

In another fairly rare song, Maurice Ravel's "Trois beaux oiseaux du paradis" ("Three beautiful birds of paradise"), the soprano sings the lovely bending melody of a woman whose beloved has gone off to war. In an evening where pianist and singer painted one luminous scene after another, this song seemed especially poignant.

 

Claude Debussy's ever-welcome Ariettes oubliées brought the program to an end. I have known and loved these songs for years, and the artistry of Mlle. Devieilhe and M. Pordoy gave me a marvelous re-connection to music that always seems fresh. Their performance was captivating, elegant. And in "Chevaux de bois", when the mood turns pensive and dusk falls over the beloved merry-go-round, a sweet nostalgia overtook me.

 

Offering an encore, Mlle. Devieilhe's simply brilliant performance of the "Air de Feu" from Maurice Ravel's L'Enfant et les sortilèges drew shouts of approval from the many opera-lovers in the audience. We would happily have listened to Mlle. Devieilhe bring forth Philene or Manon; and she might be the soprano to restore the two arias of Kitty from Menotti's Le Dernier Sauvage (created by Mady Mesplé) to currency. But instead of more opera, she and M. Pordoy bade us a delicious farewell with Poulenc's "Voyage à Paris".

 

 

Concert photo by Steve J Sherman, courtesy of Carnegie Hall

 

A magical evening of music is one that elevates the spirit, which this recital most surely did.

 

~ Oberon

Bronfman|van Zweden @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: Yefim Bronfman, a NY Philharmonic photo

~ Authors: Oberon and Ben Weaver

Wednesday January 16th, 2019 - Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 2 and Rachmaninoff's Symphony No. 2 made for an exciting pairing at The New York Philharmonic this evening. Yefim Bronfman was at the Steinway, with Jaap van Zweden on the podium.

Feeling under the weather, but very much wanting to hear Mr. Bronfman's Beethoven, I arranged with Ben Weaver that I would just stay for the first half of the concert and that he would write about the Rachmaninoff 2nd.

Whisperers in front of us were a nuisance, but they eventually settled in as the long orchestral introduction to Beethoven's Haydnesque 2nd piano concerto unfolded. The pianist joins; Bronfman's playing had a lyrical flow, with entrancing subtleties etched in. The orchestra simply sounded great, and Maestro van Zweden held sway in a vivid performance. As the opening Allegro con brio proceeded, Mr. Bronfman's playing often summoned forth remarkable softness of touch, an extraordinary delicacy; in the cadenza, his dynamic palette was in full flourish.

The pianist made a spine-tinglingly quiet entrance in the Adagio; a series of trills brought special delight, and - remarkably - he honed the pianissimo down even further until it was a mere whisper, a thread of sound. Then, with another exquisitely sustained trill, the second movement ended with a hushed sense of wonder.

Immediately, Mr. Bronfman commenced the lively piano passage that opens the concluding Rondo. The orchestra, savoring the swift pace that Maestro van Zweden had set, gave the pianist an ideal backdrop for his brilliantly dextrous playing.

Prolonged applause, with the artists of the Philharmonic tapping their bows and stamping their feet, drew the great pianist back for an encore: rather than a virtuoso showpiece, Mr. Bronfman chose a tranquil Bach solo which he played with uncanny control, spinning the music out in some of the most eloquently atmospheric playing I've ever heard. A gorgeous quietude settled over the hall.

~ Oberon

(Now passing the pen to Ben Weaver...):

Sergei Rachmaninoff’s beloved Symphony No. 2 gave him much grief during composition. It was the disastrous performance of his 1st Symphony that caused a composer’s block and the help of a hypnotist got the traumatized composer composing again. After years of struggling to regain his footing, the 2nd Symphony was triumphantly received in its Moscow premiere, conducted by the composer himself. Though critics commented on the length of the work (running a little over an hour), they also praised its beautiful melodies and inventive orchestration. Rachmaninoff authorized an abridged version of the work, but the NY Philharmonic - fortunately - presents the symphony unabridged.

 

The Symphony opens with churning, sinister strings; cousins to the contemporaneously composed tone poem “The Isle of the Dead.” Violins try to break the mood in vain: darkness perseveres for some time. Maestro van Zweden seemed to want it that way: he wasn’t  letting the violins take over in those early minutes, placing the focus on the lower strings. van Zweden’s overall approach to the work was on the severe side. The technicolor Romance of the Symphony was desaturated. Though the tempos were well- judged, never feeling rushed, the heart was taken off the sleeve. The achingly beautiful Adagio with its searing violins that have made grown men weep was not allowed to linger. The majestic clarinet solo in the same movement (Anthony McGill, playing beautifully) was less majestic than one would want.

 

Surprisingly, even Alan Gilbert, van Zweden’s direct predecessor and a conductor who I often thought treated warhorses abominably, made a stunningly sincere live recording of the symphony with the Philharmonic a few years ago. I expected van Zweden to lead a similarly fearless performance and perhaps it’s the expectation that made it seem cold and disappointing instead. (The playing by the orchestra, however, was beyond reproach.) One may argue that there’s enough saccharine in the work already and it needs to be diluted. I’d argue, instead, that denying the nature of a thing is the cruelest thing.

 

~ Ben Weaver

GrahamDeconstructed: Noguchi/Graham

Above: from Paul Hindemith's score for Martha Graham's Hérodiade

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday January 15th, 2019 - Let me begin by saying: if you have never been to the Noguchi Museum in Queens, it is a fascinating destination. I suggest adding a Spring or Summertime visit your calendar.

Tonight, at the Martha Graham Studio Theatre, the Graham Company's Artistic Director Janet Eilber welcomed us to this presentation in the ongoing GrahamDeconstructed series. Ms. Eilber spoke of the Company's EVE Project, which spans a two-year period and will culminate in 2020, marking the 100th anniversary of the 19th amendment, which guarantees all American women the right to vote. 

Both of the Graham works shown this evening - El Penitente (1940) and Hérodiade (1944) - will be performed during the Graham Company's 2019 season at The Joyce. Details here.

Danced to music by longtime Graham collaborator Louis Horst, El Penitente was premiered on August 11, 1940, at the Bennington College Theater in Bennington, Vermont. The original set was by Arch Lauterer; Isamu Noguchi later designed new stage decor.

In a sunbaked village in the American Southwest, sometime between then and now, a small troupe of itinerant players present a series of Bible-story vignettes, centering on themes of penance. In the first of these, Lloyd Knight gave a devastating performance in a dance of redemption from sin by self-flagellation. Ever the most alluring of dancers, Lloyd's performance lingered on the edge of the danger zone: his striking physique drenched in sweat from his self-inflicted torture.

His fellow rustic thespians then join: Ben Schultz as a Christ figure, robed all in black with a hooded mask and a Crown of Thorns, and Anne O'Donnell embodying in turn the Virgin, the Magdalen, and the Mother. In their stylized dance and story-telling, culminating in the Crucifixion, all three dancers were perfect; at the end, they discard their props and bits of costuming and perform a celebratory trio.

Images from El Penitente, photos by Melissa Sherwood:

Temptation: Lloyd Knight and Anne O'Donnell

Final trio: Ben Schultz, Anne O'Donnell, Lloyd Knight

Isamo Noguchi and Martha Graham formed an artistic alliance on a par with that of Mozart and Da Ponte, or Balanchine and Stravinsky. As the Noguchi set pieces for Graham's ballet Hérodiade were moved into place tonight, their utter simplicity spoke volumes: can a stage set resonate, all on its own? During the ballet's musical prelude, before the dancers entered, a feeling of anticipation and mystery filled the space, conjured up by the sight of these bone-white sculptures: a chair made from nothing, an armoire that is only a standing X, a mirror unlike any other. This is the magic of Noguchi, which Graham understood and utilized to make her danceworks radiate with timeless meaning. 

Hérodiade, set to marvelously moody music by Paul Hindemith. was commissioned by Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge for the Library of Congress. Originally titled Mirror Before Me, it was premiered on October 30th, 1944, at the Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge Auditorium, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

The music of Paul Hindemith is best-known in the dance world for his fascinating  Four Temperaments, choreographed by Balanchine. Martha Graham sidestepped allusions to the Biblical queen Herodias and her daughter Salome and their conspiracy to have the prophet John the Baptist executed (on which operas by  Strauss and Massenet operas dwelt). Instead, Graham - drawing on the poem Hérodiade by Stephane Mallarmé - has set aside a specific narrative and presents instead an intimate scene of 'A Woman', alone with her attendant, preparing for some unspecified public event. The atmosphere tingles with anticipation and dread, the movement is vividly stylized, with passages of urgency and of contemplation. Martha Graham described it as "...a glimpse into the mirror of one's being..." and described The Woman as 'doom-eager', going forth with resolve to meet whatever fate has in store for her.

Images from Hérodiade, photos by Melissa Sherwood:

Anne Souder, Xin Ying

Anne Souder, Xin Ying

I first saw Hérodiade in this very space, fully-costumed, in November 2013; Miki Orihara and Katherine Crockett were the dancers. This evening, in practice clothes, Xin Ying (The Woman) and Anne Souder (The Attendant) made the roles their own with intense poetry of movement and gestures that grew naturally out of the music. Both women dance with every fiber of their being; along with Ms. O'Donnell in El Penitente, they embody the power and beauty of the eternal feminine spirit thru their personal commitment. 

~ Oberon