Oberon's Grove

Oberlin College Choir and Orchestra @ Carnegie Hall

~ Author: Brad S Ross

Saturday January 19th, 2019 - The Oberlin Conservatory of Music, visiting from Ohio, began 2019 on the proverbial high-note Saturday night at Carnegie Hall’s Isaac Stern Auditorium.  The talents of students and educators alike were well-showcased in a concert bifurcated between the Oberlin College Choir and the Oberlin Orchestra.  Following brief opening remarks by Oberlin College President Twillie Ambar, things were swiftly under way in what would turn out to be a tremendously satisfying program.

For the first half of the concert, the Ronald O. Perelman Stage belonged to the Oberlin College Choir under the baton of Gregory Ristow (photo, above).  They began with Triptych, a mostly tonal choral composition written in 2005 by the British-American composer Tarik O’Regan.  Though originally cast for chorus and orchestra (and what a sight to behold that would’ve been!), it was presented here in a more manageable arrangement for percussion and chorus by the percussionist and composer Dave Alcorn.  It featured an eclectic text culled from such myriad sources as William Blake, John Milton, William Wordsworth, Muhammad Rajab al-Bayoumi, and the Book of Psalms, among others.

The first movement, “Threnody,” opened on a gripping a cappella statement set to an epigram by William Penn, “When death takes off the mask, we will know one another.”  A driving percussion line soon entered and pushed the work forward as languid, otherworldly phrases meandered in call and answer throughout the chorus.  The effect was almost primal.

Following a short percussion interlude, the second movement “As We Remember Them” opened on a haunting soprano solo set to the words of the rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn, “In the rising of the sun and at its going down, we remember them.”  This was performed with remarkable precision by Risa Beddie, whose voice would be featured occasionally throughout the remainder of the piece.  This elegy seemed in many ways the heart and soul of O’Regan’s Triptych, however, as the combined, yet subdued forces of Beddie, chorus, and percussion achieved a hypnotic beauty.

Another short interlude followed and the work was propelled energetically forward into the third and final movement, “From Heaven Distilled a Clemency.” O’Regan’s choral writing here was its most exuberant as the choir toned the words of the great Persian poet Rumi, “So why then should I be afraid?  I shall die once again to rise an angel blest.”  Beddie's haunting soprano then returned for one last quiet utterance before the work rose to its climactic finale.  Every force was well-utilized in Triptych and it made for excellent way to put the evening into motion.

Next up was Igor Stravinsky’s ballet Les noces (“The Wedding”) for four pianists, percussion, vocal soloists, and chorus from 1923.  Like O’Regan’s Triptych, Les noces was also originally conceived for a much larger ensemble, but Stravinsky himself made the decision to scale back its herculean forces to a mere four solo vocalists, chorus, percussion, and four pianos.  Indeed, even with this “reduced” compliment, the sight of so many musicians, instruments, and four Steinway pianos gave the stage impressively cluttered look.  Its libretto, penned by the composer himself from traditional Russian wedding songs, describes the marriage rite of a young bride and groom.

Les noces begins frighteningly on a solo soprano line accompanied by piano, cymbals, and xylophone effecting somber bell tones.  Other unholy voices soon joined the proceedings as the mother and bridesmaids console the young bride-to-be.  While the libretto features a deceptively melodramatic narrative, musically Stravinsky seemed to be describing a wedding straight from the gates of hell.  There was no hint of saccharine or sentiment to be found amongst the composer’s numerous parallel lines, violent dynamic shifts, and strikingly dissonant harmonies—so much the better.

Les noces followed the marriage of its protagonists right up to the wedding night and showcased exhilarating performances by the soprano Katherine Lerner Lee, mezzo-soprano Perri Di Christina, tenor Nicholas Music, baritone Kyle Miller, and bass Evan Tiapula as various members of the ceremony.  Its final eerie bell tone—open octaves throughout the instrumental accompaniments—reverberated for what seemed an eternity before Ristow finally lowered his baton.  This was an electrifying way to conclude the first half of the program.

After intermission came a high-point in what had already proved to be an exhilarating evening.  The conductor Raphael Jiménez (photo, above) and the Oberlin Orchestra next took the stage for the New York premiere of Elizabeth Ogonek’s All These Lighted Things—a set, as the work’s subtitle notes, of “three little dances for orchestra.”  It was originally commissioned and premiered by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in 2017 while Ogonek served as the ensemble’s composer-in-residence.  Ogonek, who teaches composition at Oberlin, has quickly earned a reputation as one of the finest young composers in the United States.  Based on All These Lighted Things, I would be hard-pressed to disagree.

The first movement began with quiet textures emanating from the percussion and high strings.  A broad sonic spectrum swiftly unfolded from Ogonek’s musical prism, with such varied colors as muted brass, dissonant woodwind runs, and violent strikes in the strings, among many other extended techniques I couldn’t quite decipher from a single hearing.  The etherial sound of a rainstick opened and continued to be featured throughout the second movement, soon joined by a full high-voice descending glissandi and a stirring violin solo by concertmaster Jerry Zheyang Xiong.

Animated pizzicato runs in the bass and celli signaled the start of the third movement.  Aided with light percussion, swift woodwind runs allude to a growing musical menace.  A sumptuous flute line emerged with building woodwind accomplices.  Finally, a great, full-ensemble crescendo swelled to a tremendous crash and a few fleeting quiet percussion voices sang the piece to its silent conclusion.

Like many contemporary pieces, All These Lighted Things seemed to be more about shifting sonic textures than any strict adherence to musical form.  This will no doubt exhaust some listeners who long for structure, but they should at least take comfort that none of Ogonek’s sonorities ever outstay their welcome, as modern compositions so often do.  I, for one, found it a lively and vibrant piece—one that will surely warrant many further hearings.

The evening concluded with a performance of Claude Debussy’s La Mer.  Its performance was solid, if not quite on par with what New York audiences have been spoiled to expect of late (the New York Philharmonic programmed it twice last year alone, both times to tremendous effect).  Apart from the occasionally muddy entrance and one conspicuously fracked trumpet note, the Oberlin Orchestra played with delicate grace, offering a decidedly above-average rendition of Debussy’s great orchestral tome.  For his part, Jiménez’s interpretation was lingering and dynamic, never rushing its dramatic moments.  This worked well in its first and second movements where Debussy’s colors should be allowed to frolic and breathe freely.  By the third movement, however, this approach seemed a touch overwrought and unfortunately robbed some essential energy from the grand brass chords that announce the work’s finale.

But I quibble.  A critic knows he’s heard something truly good when there are only minor details he would change.  All in all, this was a successful finale to an indisputably successful concert program—one that will surely signal a prosperous new year for the Oberlin Conservatory’s faculty and students.  If the sustained standing ovation that night was any indication, New York audiences will welcome them back as often as they’ll come.

~ Brad S Ross

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.

The Shostakovich alternates animation and lyricism, in good measure; and along the way, 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 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

At The Old Met ~ Part I

Above: The Old Met (1883-1966)

Author: Oberon

As a teen-aged opera-lover living in a tiny town six hours from New York City (by bus or train), I often felt very far-removed from my beloved art form. During those early years of my operatic obsession, I maintained a connection with The Met via the Texaco-Metropolitan Opera radio network, never missing a broadcast. For me, those broadcasts were far more meaningful than going to church.

In the Autumn of 1963, my parents very kindly planned a trip to New York City which would include my first visit to the Met. I ordered the tickets by mail and was so excited when they arrived; I was going to go alone (!) to DON GIOVANNI, and my parents would come with me on the second night, to see FAUST.

By a twist of fate, our trip to New York followed by only a few days the assassination of John F Kennedy. We'd been following the whole story on TV, and my brother and I were watching "live" when Jack Ruby stepped out of a crowd and shot Lee Harvey Oswald. A pall was thus cast over what should have been my happy first visit to The Met. But once in the dilapidated but - to me - awe-inspiring hall, everything else faded to insignificance. 

Knowing they'd be moving uptown to Lincoln Center, The Met was putting no money into maintaining the venerable House on 39th and Broadway. Paint was peeling, seat cushions torn, small bits of gilt-work and even lighting fixtures had been torn off the walls as souvenirs. Everything looked dusty and drab.

Where I was sitting, high up and on the side, the singularly uncomfortable seats allowed very little legroom. On the back of each seat, a small metal box was attached that contained cheap opera glasses; by depositing a quarter, you could use these during a performance. Many of these boxes had by now been torn off and smuggled out as mementos; those that remained were dented and disfigured by people prying them open to avoid the twenty-five cent fee. Hardly any of them still contained the small binoculars.

From my perch, I was particularly taken by my view of the proscenium, which was by now coated with dust and grime but somehow still beautiful. Amidst the decorative carved wreathes and furbelows were the plaques bearing the names of six great operatic composers: Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven, Wagner, Gounod, and Verdi. Puccini and Strauss had not yet made their mark in the opera world when those names were chosen.

The house lights dimmed, and my first Met performance commenced:

The DON GIOVANNI production was by designed by Eugene Berman (the Banquet Scene, above); I was duly impressed on seeing them in the House. The Berman sets traveled to Lincoln Center with the Company, and were utilized there until a Franco Zeffirelli production replaced them in 1990.

The very first voice I heard in the great Old House was that of basso Ezio Flagello (above), singing Leporello in DON GIOVANNI. Flagello had a wonderful voice; he sang more than 500 performances with The Met, including opening night of the New House, between 1957 and 1984.

Ezio Flagello - Madamina il catalogo è questo ~ DON GIOVANNI

Donna Anna and Donna Elvira were sung by two of the premiere Mozart sopranos of the day: Teresa Stich-Randall and Lisa Della Casa.

Teresa Stich-Randall was the only singer I mentioned in my very brief diary entry the morning after the performance. Years later, when I was living in Connecticut and Ms. Stich-Randall had returned there to care for her aging mother, we had a brief correspondence; but a planned meeting never materialized due to a big blizzard.

Teresa Stich-Randall - Non mi dir ~ DON GIOVANNI

Lisa Della Casa was one of the most beautiful women ever to grace the operatic stages of the world. I saw her a second time as Donna Elvira at the New Met, during the first season there: she sounded wonderful and looked lovelier than ever.

Lisa della Casa - Don Giovanni ~ Ah Fuggi il Traditor!

Giorgio Tozzi was Don Giovanni; his was one of the first operatic voices I had become familiar with as he sang arias from NABUCCO and SIMON BOCCANEGRA on the first opera LP I ever owned. He was one of my favorite singers; I had heard him on so many broadcasts prior to this first "live" encounter. A few years later, he was my first Hans Sachs.

Here's Giorgio Tozzi as Mozart's nicer protagonist:

Giorgio Tozzi - Non più andrai ~ NOZZE DI FIGARO

George Shirley sang Don Ottavio, his first appearance in the role. Mr. Shirley's pliant lyric tenor made him a favorite with Met audiences; he chalked up some 275 performances with the Company in New York City and on tour between 1961 and 1972. His career has been ongoing: in 2018, he sang the Emperor Altoum in TURANDOT in a concert performance with the Detroit Symphony.

A souvenir of George Shirley in another Mozart role:

George Shirley - Un 'aura amorosa ~ COSI FAN TUTTE

The very fine baritone Calvin Marsh (Masetto) and basso John Macurdy (The Commendatore) also sang on my first Met evening. Mr. Macurdy went on to give a thousand performances (!) with the Metropolitan Opera Company, and was my first-ever Narbal (TROYENS) and King Marke (TRISTAN UND ISOLDE). 

And I was quite taken by the Brazilian soprano Neyde Thomaz, who sang prettily as Zerlina. Although four Zerlinas were the sum total of her Met career, she was a beloved singer in her native land. As of this writing, she is still with us, and has 9,000+ fans on Facebook. 

I must admit that, at this point in my opera-loving career, conductors did not make a great impression on me. In truth, I did not know the operas well enough to form an opinion of how well they were conducted; that would change slowly over the ensuing years.

But I did recognize the names of my first two Met conductors from their broadcast performances: Joseph Rosenstock was on the podium for DON GIOVANNI, and the following night Fausto Cleva conducted FAUST:

Like Neyde Thomaz in DON GIOVANNI, Nicoletta Panni (above) - my first Marguerite - had a four-performance Met career: two Mimis and two Marguerites. I loved her! In my diary, I singled her out for her lovely voice and her moving acting in the opera's final scene. And I can still see her, clad all in white, kneeling to the applauding audience before the iconic gold curtain. It was at that moment that I realized that my dream had come true, and that I was now witnessing live the bows that been described so many times by Milton Cross on the Saturday broadcasts. A sample of Ms. Panni's singing here.

And I also very much liked the singing of Richard Verreau (above), making his debut on short notice as Faust, replacing Barry Morell. Morell was at that point the tenor I knew best, from his Met broadcasts and his performances at Cincinnati Summer Opera. Mr. Verreau's singing was so stylish, his tone so appealing; I assumed he would continue to perform at The Met after such a fine debut. But after two MANONs and an evening of opera arias and duets at Lewisohn Stadium, he, like Mlles. Thomaz and Panni, did not sing with The Met again.

Here is Mr. Verreau, as the other Faust:

Richard Verreau - La Damnation de Faust ~ Nature immense

Jerome Hines was the evening's Méphistophélès, and my diary mentions his acting but not his singing. If memory serves, Hines was going thru a bad patch vocally at this particular point in his career. He re-bounded and went on singing into his 80s.

Here's Mr. Hines in a bit of the Verdi REQUIEM...an antidote to the devilry in FAUST:

Jerome Hines - Mors stupebit ~ Verdi REQUIEM

As Valentin, Croatian baritone Vladimir Ruzdak impressed me: his voice was dark-timbered and powerful. His career at The Met comprised sixteen performances over a two-year stretch. He continued to perform often in Europe, and later directed opera and even did some composing. Mr. Ruzdak recorded several arias in his native tongue, among which I especially like this:

Vladimir Ruzdak - Nemico della patria ~ Andrea Chenier (in Croatian)

Marcia Baldwin was my Siebel; I liked her aria a lot. Many years later, when I was working at Tower Records, Marcia came in with her longtime companion. My boss, Bryan, and I chatted them up. Great people! Thereafter, they would always come by whenever they were in town.

It was nice to see onstage - as Marthe and Wagner - Gladys Kriese and Louis Sgarro, two singers who I'd heard many times on the Met broadcasts. FAUST has a long ballet, which bored me to tears.

Writing about these two performances, it's interesting that so many briefly flashing "Met comets" appeared on these back-to-back evenings. Even Ms. Stich-Randall, who had a huge career in Europe and made some important recordings, only sang 24 times at The Met, and in only two roles: Fiordiligi and Donna Anna. But while singers like Mlles. Panni and Thomaz and Msssr. Verreau and Ruzdak may be largely forgotten today, to me their voices really meant something.

[This was originally going to be one long article about all my experiences at the Old Met, but I can see now that it needs to be done in two or three installments. Still to come, all in 1965: COSI FAN TUTTE, TURANDOT, IL TROVATORE, MADAMA BUTTERFLY, ELISIR D'AMORE, and another FAUST.]

Note: Part II is now to be found here.

~ Oberon

Lydia Johnson Dance ~ Retrospective - Part III

Above: dancers Anthony Bocconi and Laura Di Orio in rehearsal

Continuing this series of photo retrospectives of Lydia Johnson Dance: in the Summer of 2013, the Company danced twice at the Great Friends Dance Festival in Newport, performing IN CONVERSATION and NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES.

Autumn 2013 marked the start of preparations for the Lydia Johnson Dance 2014 New York season which would bring together a repeat of NIGHT AND DREAMS, danced to Schubert lieder, and the premiere of BARRETTS MILL ROAD - A REMEMBRANCE, set to Mozart; IN CONVERSATION and NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES were also on the bill. 

During this rehearsal period, ballet mistress Deborah Wingert (above) continued her invaluable work with the dancers. The Company's center of operations was mainly in a large, rather dilapidated but oddly atmospheric studio in the basement of the Gelsey Kirkland Dance Center.

At a salon presentation in November 2013, friends of the Company got their first look (above) at Lydia's most personal ballet to date; Richard Curtis, friend and patron of Lydia Johnson Dance, had suggested to Lydia the music that became BARRETTS MILL ROAD - A REMEMBRANCE: Mozart's Fantasia in C Minor and the Adagio from the C-Minor piano sonata. Ever-evocative, Mozart's music became a reverie on Lydia's memories of her mother, who passed away during the time the work was being created. 

The roster of the Company had continued to evolve. By this time, Jessica Sand Blonde and Lisa Iannacito McBride had moved away, and 2014 was to be Kerry Shea's last season with Lydia Johnson Dance. But 2014 also brought a new dancer into the fold: Chazz Fenner-McBride.

Above: Chazz Fenner-McBride and Laura Di Orio, photo by Dmitry Beryozkin

Lydia e-mailed me to say: "I've found a new guy, Chazz Fenner-McBride; do you know him?" Well, yes, actually: Chazz had already made an indelible impression on me in Robin Becker's INTO SUNLIGHT.

Chazz and Min Kim (rehearsal photo, above) formed a partnership that became a keystone of much of the dance that Lydia would create in the ensuing seasons.

At a Spring 2014 salon event, LJD board president Steven Cramer interviewed Deborah Wingert

Rehearsal images:

Laura Di Orio, Katie Martin-Lohiya

Carlos Lopez, Kerry Shea

Laura Di Orio, Anthony Bocconi

Eric Williams

Eric and Kerry

Lisa Borres, Min Kim

Laura Di Orio

Eric and Kerry

Scenes from the 2014 New York season:

Katie Martin-Lohiya in BARRETTS MILL ROAD - A REMEMBRANCE; photo by Nir Arieli

Laura Di Orio: IN CONVERSATION; photo by Nir Arieli

Eric Williams, Kerry Shea: IN CONVERSATION; photo by Nir Arieli

Kerry Shea, Carlos Lopez: NIGHT AND DREAMS; photo by Nir Arieli

Chazz Fenner-McBride, Katie Martin-Lohiya, Blake Hennessy-York, and Sarah Pon in NIGHT AND DREAMS; photo by Dmitry Beryozkin

NIGHT OF THE FLYING HORSES: Kerry Shea and Eric Williams; photo by Nir Arieli

The Company takes breaks, but the music and dance continues in our heads from season to season.

Two new ballets, and the presence of some new dancers, marked the rehearsal period for the 2015 season. The new works were WHAT COUNTS, a jazzy piece to music by The Bad Plus, and GIVING WAY, Lydia's second work to music by Osvaldo Golijov.

Rehearsals were mainly held at the Gelsey Kirkland studios; I dropped in frequently, sometimes bringing a photographer, and there was a vibrant buzz of creative activity.

These studio images by Dmitry Beryozkin:

Reed Luplau sometimes taught Company class...

...in which Chazz Fenner-McBride and Oliver Swan-Jackson honed their technique.   

Joining - only for one season, sadly - were Katie Keith and Grant Dettling.

Preparing WHAT COUNTS: Blake Hennessy-York and Sarah Pon

Brynt Beitman - a friend of mine from TAKE Dance - was also new to LJD; above, he's with Laura Di Orio, Blake Hennessy-York, and Sarah Pon.

My own photos will never win any awards, but they are nice mementos for me of the individual dancers:

Brynt Beitman, Laura Di Orio

Katie Lohiya, Oliver Swan-Jackson

Chazz Fenner-McBride, Min Kim

Grant Dettling, Sarah Pon

Blake Hennessy-York

Laura Di Orio

The performances in June 2015, were photographed by Nir Arieli:

A stylized trio of women - Sarah Pon, Laura Di Orio, and Katie Lohiya - brought irony and sparkle to WHAT COUNTS...

...in which Blake Hennessy-York and Sarah Pon shone as the antagonistic (but later celebratory) lovers.

GIVING WAY was another LJD success; above, Brynt Beitman and Blake Hennessy-York in an athletic duet

Chazz Fenner-McBride and Min Kim in GIVING WAY

UNTITLED BACH was revived (Sarah Pon and ensemble, above)...

...with Chazz Fenner-McBride and Blake Hennessy-York taking on the duet for two men

And the Mozart score - and some new faces in the cast - made BARRETTS MILL ROAD: A REMEMBRANCE doubly welcome in its second season. Above: Sarah Pon and Grant Dettling

~ Oberon

Pianist Javier Perianes|ORPHEUS @ Carnegie Hall

Above: pianist Javier Perianes

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday January 12th, 2019 - This highly enjoyable evening with ORPHEUS brought an impressive new work, some delicious Dvořák, and fresh reminders (if reminders are needed) that there's nothing quite like Mozart as an antidote to the feelings of gloom and impending doom that infect our lives in these uneasy times. 

An ORPHEUS commission, James Matheson's Still Life, opened the concert. Hearing new music live in a concert setting invariably produces one of two reactions from me: "Will this never end??" or, "I want to hear this again!" For Still Life, it was definitely the latter.

After an electrifying start, the music gives way to percolating winds; then dense strings take over and pursue a sort of back-and-forth with the winds. Over a deep-bass pacing, colourful textures and rising motifs glow. Animated string rhythms support themes for violins, viola, and horn; things subside to a slow cello pulse. 

Searing, piercing clarinets and bubbling horns are heard; a single sustained note leads to urgent, cinematic music. A deep, relentless treading is felt as things turn rather gloomy; but there's also a sense of striving and a developing richness. The deep pace, now feeling more optimistic, is overlaid by sheer gorgeousness. The sudden exclamation point of a jagged, almost violent, chord makes for an unexpected ending.

Mr. Matheson was summoned from his seat to take a bow, but the movable stairs at either side of the stage were not in place, so he settled for a handshake with the concertmaster and a bow from the Parquet level. The applause was very cordial; I feel that Still Life could find a place in the repertoire of many orchestras. Tonight it proved its value as a stimulating program-opener. 

Pianist Javier Perianes then joined the chamber orchestra for Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-flat Major, K. 595. The very long orchestral introduction to this work was so handsomely played by the musicians of ORPHEUS, and then Mr. Perianes made his entrance and quickly established himself as a master of the art of drawing an audience in to the music. As he sent the festoons of delicate fiorature gently into the hall, the the magic of Mozart became palpable. When a misterioso passage arose, his playing left me breathless. Later, cascades of notes flickered off the keyboard like shimmering gems. In the cadenza, sometimes drawing the sound down to a whisper, he held the house under a spell.

 

The concerto's Larghetto begins with a calm, almost reverential piano solo. The horns lead the ensemble in; the musicians give the pianist perfectly meshed support. Throughout this heavenly slow movement, Mr. Perianes's control of the piano/pianissimo spectrum was beguiling. A marvelously sustained bassoon note, and superbly nuanced, hushed trills from the piano made Carnegie Hall feel like the center of the universe.

 

The pianist did not linger, though: he plunged immediately into the closing Allegro. His lively, charming playing, and his flawless feel for nuance, were captivating. As he played the cadenza, the sense that my reverie would soon be over made each note the more savorable.

 

As an encore, Mr. Perianes chose music in perfect contrast to his elegant Mozart: Manuel de Falla's Ritual Fire Dance. Played with passion and flair, this piece showed off the pianist's unbridled virtuosity, and drew cheers from the crowd.

 

Following the interval, the New York premiere of Dennis Russell Davies's arrangement of Dvořák's Bagatelles, Op. 47 found the players of ORPHEUS on luminous form. Originally played on a harmonium, these five miniatures simply glow in the Davies settings. Zesty folkish themes abound. Of particular note were the lovely winds at the start of the Canon: Andante con Moto, and the gypsy dance that springs up in the concluding Poco allegro; here, a contrasting minor-key interlude provided a bit of a twist, only to resume the dance and accelerate to the finish.  

 

A Mozart symphony - No. 33 in B-flat Major, K. 319 - was a perfect ending to the concert. I stopped taking notes and let the music take me where it would. I found myself gazing for a long time around the Hall, feeling grateful that it's still here and still so wonderfully alive.

 

A wild and wonderful Dance of the Furies from Gluck's ORFEO ED EURIDICE was the exhilarating encore. At its end, the players of ORPHEUS stepped forward and formed a line stretching across the Carnegie stage while the audience rose and hailed them enthusiastically.

 

~ Oberon

An All-Brahms Evening

~ Author: Oberon

Friday January 11th, 2019 - My pianist/friend Melody Fader organized this evening of music by Johannes Brahms down at Greenwich House in the West Village; Melody was joined for the Op. 91, Two Songs for contralto, viola, and piano by mezzo-soprano Re'ut Ben-Ze'ev and violist Stephanie Griffin, and for the Piano Quintet, op. 34, by the excellent Momenta Quartet, of which Ms. Griffin is a member.

The intimate salon/hall at Greenwich House is perfect for chamber music, but it may now be too small for Melody and Company: the house was literally packed, to the point where the folding doors to a small connecting room were opened so more music lovers could be accommodated. People stood, or sat on the floor; but despite the crowding, it was one of the quietest and most focused audiences I've been part of in many moons.

Brahms's two "viola songs" are not often programmed; in fact, this was only my third opportunity in all my decades of concert-going to hear them performed live. Standing as we are at the dawn of the Age of Women, how pleasing to see the three striking young ladies who took the stage tonight: Melody in a red gown, Ms. Ben-Ze'ev with her long blonde hair (Botticelli would have loved her!), and Ms. Griffin in shades of blue, holding her viola, poised to make music. 

The two songs, each abounding in melody, are Gestillte Sehnsucht ("Appeased Desire") and Geistliches Wiegenlied ("Sacred Cradle-Song"); the texts are by Friedrich Rückert and Emanuel Geibel respectively. Ms. Ben-Ze'ev's violet-tinged timbre, her gentle softening of the tone at just the right moments, and her fine diction meshed well with Ms. Griffin's mellow viola and Ms. Fader's elegant playing.

In the second song, the Virgin Mary's lullaby, Ms. Ben-Ze'ev brought a touching shift of intensity at "...Grimmige Kälte..."; as the cold night breeze stirs the palm trees of Bethlehem, the Mother implores the angels to calm the wind, that her Child might not be wakened.

The stage was then reset for the Piano Quintet, Opus 34. The members of the Momenta Quartet took their places: Emilie-Anne Gendron and Alex Shiozaki (violins), Ms. Griffin (viola), and Michael Haas (cello). At the keyboard, Ms. Fader had an incomparable page-turner in the person of choreographer Miro Magloire. 

The opening tutti of the Brahms Piano Quintet seems to say to the crowd, "You are in for some great music!" - and the players delivered in no uncertain terms. The music simply erupts, with energy, beauty, and richness flowing from an endless font of melody. Our quintet of musicians ideally blended passion with finesse, and Ms. Gendron's affecting violin themes were played from the heart.

A feeling of hesitancy marks the opening of the Andante; dense harmonies are layered in ways to captivate the listener. Mr. Haas's cello playing (here, and throughout the piece) is a model of tonal appeal and rhythmic assurance. Ms. Gendron and Mr. Shiozaki duetted to lovely effect, and later the first violin and the cello entwine their voices.

A pulsing cello figuration sets the Scherzo: Allegro on its way. A grand, martial theme steps forth, with the musicians increasing intensity before a passage of lyricism swell up. So lovely! Then, a da capo, with the sound seeming to increase in amplitude and density but still utterly clear. Flowing onward with a sense of urgency, the movement comes to a sudden stop.

The Finale begins slowly, and sounds forlorn. Ms. Gendron's high violin sings of a secret passion. Suddenly, the music starts to dance, and we feel optimistic; but Maestro Brahms allows a pensive feeling to encroach on the merriment. Then - in a sneaky way - high spirits return. After a marvelous, vertiginous descent, the players rush onward to the end.

So, this evening of beautiful, expressively rendered music was a treat in every regard. Though being in such a crowd might have induced a panic attack (I had one not long ago, in a similar situation), the music of Brahms provided blessèd assurance.

~ Oberon