Mahler: Symphony nr. 7

I'm crawling back into the blogging routine after an unusually long break. It just happened. I 'fell out of music' and my spare energy and attention were to a significant extent redirected to everything connected to ... cycling. So I have listened, but really very little. The concert season took off with a flourish but without me. Yesterday was the first time back in the Henry Le Boeuf hall at Bozar. But it was a joyous occasion and it has given me the impetus to pick up the thread of my listening diary again.

Yesterday night's program consisted of a single work, Mahler's Seventh. If I'm looking back over my blogging notes of the last two years it is certainly the Mahler symphony I spent most time with. On the podium was DeFilharmonie (the former Royal Flanders Philharmonic) led by their chief conductor Edo De Waart. I've always had a soft spot for this orchestra with which I have been associated, many years ago, as a program notes writer. But I haven't consistently followed them over the years, However, with Edo De Waart they have engaged a superbly experienced chef and I was curious to hear how the orchestra responded.

The Bozar main hall wasn't even half filled for this concert. Is it just because we were in Brussels where DeFilharmonie has only a skimpy following? Or is it a sign of the times that you can't even get a hall filled for such a complex and magnificent work as the Seventh? No idea, but somebody (the Bozar, the orchestra, tax payers) must have lost an awful lot of money on this evening.

Anyway, the orchestra didn't take it personally and they played their butts off in a wonderful reading. I was sitting in my favourite seat in the 'fauteilles de loge' on top of the ensemble. Again I was mesmerized by the myriads of details you can be part of from that privileged viewpoint: the concentration and quiet professionalism of the musicians, how they hold their instruments when they're not playing, the way the first horn blows her flatterzunge, the blush that appears on the mandoline player's cheeks when her solo is approaching, ... It's a feast to the eyes and ears. Of course, I also had a first rate view on De Waart shepherding his orchestra through this hypercomplex score. His gestures are energetic but unostentatious. A professional orchestra builder. You can see that.

In another post I suggested that interpretations of this work roughly fall into two categories: the romantic (Sinopoli, Abbado, Chailly) and the classical (Solti, Scherchen, Gielen). Both can be very satisfactory. A litmus test is maybe how the rondo finale fits in. Paradoxically, romanticists usually have more difficulties in giving it a place whilst classicists seem to have no qualms with this rambunctious symphonic extravaganza. De Waart quite clearly embraced the classicist approach, with finely judged but rather brisk tempos and an analytic perspective guided by clear lines, textures and volumes. The performance was kaleidoscopic yet coherent, objective and humane, virile and tender. Quintessentially Mahlerian, I would say. The orchestra played gloriously. The countless solos and mini-ensemble pieces were a delight as were the stormy tuttis. It all flowed seamlessly and vibrantly into an amazing, panoramic tapestry of music.

Soon De Waart and DeFilharmonie will perform another major neo-romantic masterpiece: Elgar's Dream of Gerontius. I must not forget to book tickets for that.

Mozart: Grabmusik KV 42 - Requiem KV 626

On Thursday I was kindly invited by DD to the Bozar to attend a performance of the Mozart Requiem KV 626 by Anima Eterna Brugge and the Collegium Vocale Ghent, led by Jos van Immerseel.
The choir was was a mere 16 head strong and the orchestra’s 40-ish members were standing (but not the celli, of course). It took me some time to get used to the sight. But ostensibly the musicians weren’t bothered at all by this unusual practice. The Bozar hall was rather well filled and there hung a pleasing ambiente of attentiveness and awe over the audience.

Before the break the Grabmusik KV 42 was played, an Italianate, oratorio style composition that Mozart wrote at the tender age of 11. I don’t think I ever heard such a low Köchel numbered composition before, but it was against my expectations still rather interesting. I was particularly struck by the fresh voices of the American soprano Andrea-Lauren Brown and the German bass-baritone Thomas Bauer.

The Requiem was the obvious attraction of the evening. It’s a piece I used to listen to a lot in the early days of my musical explorations. The buzz surrounding the Amadeus movie and an excellent French-German TV series on Mozart I remember seeing certainly contributed to my attraction. In those days I also had a somewhat morbid fascination for that typically Viennese brand of death cult and necromancy. The mysterious circumstances in which the Requiem emerged fitted nicely with this. Apart from that it’s a masterpiece, of course, that hasn’t lost anything of its doom-laden freshness.

Despite the modest forces on stage, Van Immerseel presented us with a sternly monumental reading. Tempos were brisk, and the different movements crashed into one another as ice floes on an arctic sea. It was effectively Caspar David Friedrich’s glum painting of ‘Das Eismeer’ that constantly floated before my mind’s eye. It was all angular movement and tectonics, hardly any colour. No place for Biedermeier emotions here. But that doesn’t mean the music was devoid of life. It did breathe, in a clenched teeth sort of way. During the Dies Irae (‘quantus tremor est futurus’) I had to think how this piece was written at a time of momentous social change (the French Revolution) that in Europe would herald at least two centuries of almost uninterrupted carnage. Again Andrea-Lauren Brown provided some respite from the pervading rigour. This soprano comes with a lovely, lyrical but firm voice and a most endearing and poised stage presence. Also the other soloists proved their mettle. The Collegium Vocale, despite their modest forces, produced an piercingly powerful sound. As the piece progressed I was under the impression that van Immerseel was relaxing just a tad, allowing for a flourish and a splash of colour here and there. Or was he just spotlighting the stylistic differences of Süssmayer’s contribution? After the concert I briefly spoke with the maestro but he denied he wanted to put the different sources in relief. It couldn’t be done as there is no autograph to tell us where Mozart stopped and his colleague took over. The performance was met with a rapturous, grateful applause.

Haydn: String Quartet op. 64/5 - Janacek: String Quartet nr. 2 - Ravel: String Quartet

Yesterday it was Takacs Quartet's turn to perform at the Brussels Conservatoire. A splendid programme: Haydn's Lark Quartet, Janacek's Intimate Letters, and Ravel's masterpiece. The hall was full but the audience was dead silent. Yet again, and significantly more so than with the Haas Quartet, I was unable to stay with the music. I found the Takacs' playing less than compelling. There was a unfocused quality, a diffusion of energy that made the music sound muffled and uninvolving. The Haydn quartet was performed very leisurely, giving the impression of a laid-back rehearsal session. Pleasant, but hardly captivating. Janacek's quartet was a disappointment. I love the music, but this reading struck me as disjointed and contrived. Already the sul ponticello effects at the very outset of the piece annoyed me, as if what I heard was something fake, not the real thing. I lost interest somewhere halfway down the road. I drew most satisfaction from the Ravel, which received a solid and, yes, perhaps even good performance. All in all a not very memorable evening. I didn't wait for the encore.

Tchaikovsky: String Quartet nr. 1 - Shostakovich: String Quartet nr. 7 - Schubert: String Quartet nr. 14

On Thursday the Pavel Haas Quartet was passing through Brussels. I've been mightily impressed by their recordings of the Janacek and Prokofiev quartets. Together with the Belcea Quartet they count amongst my favourite ensembles. Although I really can't point out an obvious shortcoming from the Quartet's side, this concert didn't quite capture my imagination. Maybe I was preoccupied, maybe it was the uncharacteristically unfocused and restless audience, maybe even it was the Conservatoire hall's acoustics which are generally generous towards chamber ensembles but now seemed to rob the Haas from the filigree textures and wonderful plasticity I've come to expect from them. They didn't sound as softly grained as the Jerusalem, and not as marvelously layered as the Belcea. On the whole the Haas' tone struck me as full-bodied and virile, but also a trifle prosaic. Maybe it was also the dynamics amongst the quartet members, which didn't seem to communicate overly generously amongst themselves. Or maybe it was just the repertoire. The highlight was Shostakovich's Seventh Quartet (op. 108; 1960), which is sadly also his shortest. It is dedicated to his wife Nina, in memoriam. In its combination of terseness, wistfulness and violence it's characteristic for Shostakovich's later work. The Haas' X-ray like reading went to the bone, unlike the Jerusalem's more cultured and cosmetic approach to the Tenth Quartet a few weeks ago. Tchaikovsky's String Quartet nr. 1, op. 11 was the first piece on the menu. Although it's a lovely piece in its own right, it's not really the kind of music I'm now tuned into. But the first movement impressed me by its lyrical ebullience and it's hard not to fall, at least for a moment, under the spell of the warmhearted Andante cantabile. In the Scherzo my thoughts started to drift however, and they didn't regroup until the lacklustre applause at the end of the piece. After the break we heard Schubert's most loved quartet, his Death and the Maiden (D810; 1824). I must say it is a work that for some reason I have never been able to fully embrace. And that didn't change on Thursday night, whatever the merits of the Haas Quartet's performance. As an encore we were treated to the slow second movement of Dvorak's American Quartet.

Debussy: String Quartet - Shostakovich: String Quartet nr. 10 - Mozart: String Quartet KV 421

I still have to report on a live concert I attended last week at the Brussels conservatory. Thanks to CB for the kind invitation (once again!). The Jerusalem Quartet was visiting with a very interesting programme: Mozart's Quartet nr. 15, Shostakovich's Tenth Quartet and the Debussy Quartet. I had never heard this Israeli ensemble before. I was soon convinced that we were listening to a top class quartet which to my mind excelled with an exceedingly cultured and softly grained sound. In a way their playing, eschewing expressive idiosyncracies, felt very old style.

The Mozart quartet (1783) was an eye-opener (or rather an ear-opener). It's the second of the Haydn quartets and, as is the case with the KV 310 and KV 457 (1784) piano sonatas I listened to recently, the only work in the minor key in that particular collection. Clearly a work with heft and the Jerusalems played it poised and earnestly. They were not able, however, to impart a similar sense of inevitability to the Shostakovich quartet. The op. 110 is a late work, composed in 1964 and one of those wonderfully wry and luminous works of the ageing master. It's perhaps the most beautiful quartet of the whole set. I also like it a lot in Barshai's rendering for chamber ensemble. The Jerusalem Quartet's reading sounded a trifle self-conscious and manicured to my ears. As in many Shostakovich late works, there is this very characteristic mixture of childlike simplicity and violence. Despite the obvious care lavished on the performance, neither was brought off very convincingly. I also thought the long breaks between movements marred the flow of the music.

After the break there was the Debussy Quartet (1893) as 'plat de résistance'. A marvelous work that shows the young Debussy at his most accomplished. Despite the freedom of form, the piece sounds composed through and through. In its multifaceted sense of balance the quartet has jewel-like qualities. It strikes me as an undercover symphony in the garb of a chamber work. Indeed, I'm not surprised that the work has been re-orchestrated for larger ensemble (although it's not clear who the author of the adaptation is; this version certainly is not widely known). One thing that is hard to overlook, particularly in the slow movement, is the kinship with the music of Vaughan Williams. The latter studied with Ravel for a short while (in 1908) and in that short period he must have thoroughly have absorbed the French idiom. Anyway, Debussy's chamber music does not cease to amaze me and I'm putting it well ahead of his piano and orchestral works. The Jerusalem Quartet's performance was a cause for joy: lithe, fluid and strong. Their tone is full and has the patina of well worn beautiful objects. Debussy would have liked it, I'm sure. I've been listening in parallel to recordings with the Tokyo String Quartet and the Belcea Quartet, both of which are of very high quality. The Belcea performance strikes me as a tad more characterful and seems to thoroughly deserve its Gramophone award (in 2001).

The concert was concluded with a brief encore from one of the Haydn op. 20 quartets which reconfirmed the ensemble's mastery in the classical repertoire. Their performance captured the inimitable blend of simplicity and sublime sophistication that is so typical for Haydn to perfection. I'm certainly going to look out for other opportunities to listen to this quartet.

Dutilleux: Métaboles - Sibelius: Violin Concerto - Prokofiev: Symphony nr. 5

A second live concert in merely three days. And again on invitation by a generous friend. How lucky can you be?! This time we had the Concertgebouw Orchestra on the Bozar stage, led by Valery Gergiev. I was under the impression that we were only going to hear the Sibelius and Prokofiev and so I was surprised when just before the concert the full orchestra was seated with scarcely any room for a soloist. Once Gergiev, with his characteristically fluttering downbeat had put proceedings in motion, I had to guess for a minute or two what composer we were listening to. However, Dutilleux' orchestral palette is so distinctive that it didn't take long to find out that we were hearing his Métaboles. I love this work and Gergiev and the orchestra did it proud with a very precise, lively and atmospheric performance. Bravo! Next was the Sibelius concerto with Leonidas Kavakos as a soloist. I may have one or two recordings of his in my collection but that's pretty much it. So I didn't have a clear picture of what kind of violonist Kavakos is. I was surprised by his rather light, silvery and almost feminine tone. His playing has an appealing purity and unaffectedness and his stage presence radiates a calm that is readily taken up by the orchestra. So we had an almost intimate Sibelius produced by an orchestra-soloist combo that really seemed to listen to one another. No pyrotechnics, no overcooked pathos, but plain music-making at a very high level. One doesn't ask for more. I was pretty elated by this performance. Kavakos offered an interesting, 20th century encore that I couldn't place but I'd love to be able to identify.

After the break we were treated to Prokofiev's magnificent Fifth. Sadly Gergiev's reading did not convince me. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise as I disliked his Prokofiev recordings with the London SO so much that I gave them away. I found these readings to sound disjointed, an impression that was reinforced by the highly artificial, collage-like recording. Also tonight the symphony didn't gel. Of course, my immutable reference in this particular work is the truly heartwrenching 1979 recording with Bernstein and the Israel PO. I relistened to it a while ago. As far as I can say, the problem with Gergiev's approach is the choice of tempi, and their interrelationships. In the first movement, exposition and development section were taken at roughly the same tempo with the coda coming in with a slight accelerando. Bernstein takes the exposition (very) slow, but speeds up the development section to tremendous effect. In the coda the tempo slackens again which gives appropriate emotional pause. In addition to the tempo I had the impression that the orchestra was not going full throttle. For me, this introductory Andante has to be cataclysmic and with Bernstein and the Israelis it absolutely is. The performance tonight was rather too straight-laced, the percussion session holding back a lot of their firepower.  

Gergiev's second movement, Allegro marcato, was very well done. Very sprightly, with razor sharp strings. The Adagio then was the real disappointment. Instead of an extatic love song we had a prosaic, rather brisk romp. The finale, then, was ok but by then it was too late to save the performance. All in all sadly not convincing. But, hey, you can't win them all. I was grateful for a very engaging first half of the evening. Thanks to CB for the treat. 

Rameau: Suite en ré - Mozart: Sonata for Piano, KV 310 - Brahms: Händel Variations, 3 Intermezzi op. 117

Yesterday I was generously invited by HVC to a solo recital by the Russian pianist Grigory Sokolov. I've known Sokolov for a while and collected the few available recordings on the Naive label. I witnessed him live two years ago, with, amongst others Chopin's Etudes op. 25. He is likely not a household name, maybe not even for seasoned music lovers. This is due to his very limited discography and his seeming allergy to the traps of stardom. Interviews with him are few and far between. With his rather bulky posture he doesn't correspond to the aesthetic norms imposed by the contemporary music industry. And as far as I know he focuses to a large extent on the solo repertoire and plays only few concertos, eschewing the glamour of playing with a symphony orchestra. But for those in the know Sokolov is one of the most gifted pianists around. He is often mentioned as the natural heir to Sviatoslav Richter.

HVC thinks Sokolov is seeking out the extremes in his interpretations. I agree that there is something larger than life in his performances but it doesn't strike me as forced or recherché. He just happens to project the music on a grand scale, and he has the physical power and stamina to support this with a way of playing that in its granitic and sometimes volcanic qualities is fully commensurate with this panoramic vision. The grandeur is saved from bombast by Sokolov's remarkably poised tone. Yesterday again I've been marvelling at it. It's as if it is composed of a perfectly balanced mix of the four elements: earth, fire, water and air. It has depth and translucence, speed and liquidity all at the same time. Add to that his exceptional technical prowess which gives his playing an air of inevitability and you have to my mind a quite intoxicating mix.

His Brussels recital started with a long suite by Rameau, obviously intended for the harpsichord. Sokolov has a number of these pieces in his repertoire, including work by Couperin, Froberger and Byrd. I'm not at all sure that this is the kind of music that puts Sokolov's art in the best possible light. It seems to be much bound up with the instrument it was conceived for. So, particularly in the slow movements you get the impression of listening to quite simple, almost folkish pieces with elaborate right hand figurations pasted on top. The fast movements, however, had something of that irresistible energy, terraced dynamics and fluidity of line that Sokolov is able to infuse his music with. Then Mozart's serious Piano Sonata nr. 8, KV 310 (1778). Allegedly written in conjuction with his mother's death, it is one of only two Mozart sonatas in a minor key. The quasi monothematic first movement was played with tremendous panache. In its propulsive energy I was reminded of Gulda and maybe even Lipatti. The slow movement came across very well, with a marvelously introspective central section. A short Presto in rondo form brought the first part of the concert to an end.

After the break the programme was fully devoted to Brahms. First Sokolov played the Variations and Fugue on Theme by Händel, op. 24 (1861). It's not a piece I'm particularly fond of and Sokolov didn't change that. Many will disagree but to me the level of musical invention in this piece does not seem to be at a consistently high level. There are marvelous episodes, of course, not in the least the crowning fugue but perhaps the scope of the work exceeded Brahms capabilities who was after all not even 30 years old. Maybe I'm just talking nonsense here. Anyway, Sokolov sovereignly knows his way with piece, sculpting it as if it was out of marble, lending it an air of brazen monumentality. It's impressive how he is able to capture that archtypical Brahms sound, which is really undescribable. The final fugue, which transported us back to Bachian rather than Handelian roots, was an amazing feat which Sokolov offered with an almost orchestral splendor. And all of that dashed off with a surprising equanimity of the person behind the keyboard. The recital closed with the three Intermezzi, op. 117. A weird choice, as far as I'm concerned, to follow up the expansiveness of the Variations with these autumnal, brooding pieces (the famous 'lullabies' to Brahms' sorrows). At this stage I felt my mind wandering, saturated by all the felicities of the evening. The audience responded rapturously, seducing Sokolov (without relinquishing his totally uncommunicative mien) to play two encores: another Brahms piece (not sure what it was) and something I seemed to recognise as a short excerpt from Händel's Water Music.

This was a remarkable recital.

Nils Frahm: Live Concert, Felt - Ansatz der Machine: Heat

Last Saturday (Feb 18th) there was an opportunity to hear Nils Frahm live, just next door at the Leuven STUK arts center. The evening was kicked off by Belgian band Ansatz der Machine who presented their recently released CD Heat. An intriguing setup with 8 band members on instruments as diverse as mandoline, guitar, steel guitar, French horn, sax, violin, percussion and synths. A discrete female vocalist complements the opulent electro-acoustic background. Heat struck me as a coherent, accomplished and sophisticated effort, a darkly suggestive (and occasionally very loud) score to an imaginary David Lynch-movie. Definitly worth rehearing.

Nils Frahm, then. What to expect live from this intriguing pianist, composer, improviser? I didn't dare to imagine how fragile fabrications such as his Wintermusik and Felt would fare under glaring stage lights. I'd seen a few live performances of his on Arte TV, none of which really captured the magic of his studio recordings. However, the Leuven concert was a captivating experience enlivened by Frahm's boyish enthusiasm and his unforced communication with the audience. Frahms worked with two keyboards (computer-enhanced buffet pianos), set perpendicularly to one another, his back to the audience. In addition, a synthesiser on top of one of the pianos. The set was different from anything I'd heard from him before. Sure he started with Said and Done (from The Bells), which he has been doing for ever ('a running gag' as he calls it) as it helps him to master his stage fright (again in his own words). But improvisiatonally he transformed it into something barely recognisable from the recorded version. I'm sorry I didn't tape the concert as I have difficulties remembering what he exactly played. But it was an enchanting mix that brought one dimension of his art very clearly into relief and that is its fundamentally hymnic character. Frahm's music is deeply celebratory, a youthful and poetic homage to the wonder of being alive. It puts him in the league of fellow pianists like Jarrett, Tsabropoulos and Mehldau. It seems to me that there is a minimalist streak in his music that is coming ever more clearly to the fore, stressing rhythmic complexities brought about by phase shifts, and slow but very effective modulations. Harmonically his music is rather 'safe' and sometimes I wish he would stray off into more adventurous territory. But there is no denying that Frahms has an uncanny ability to stay at the right side of the delicate line between  poignant art and mawkish kitch. One of the songs was played on synthesizer only. In another he asked the technical guys to progressively dim the light until he was playing in pitch darkness and then to gradually re-illuminate again, as if we were living through an artificial sunrise. Another surprise was the penultimate song in which he suddenly was joined by an alter ego at the keyboard, sharing an intricately embroidered 4-hand toccata amongts the two of them. For the final song he requested a suggestion from the audience but as a coherent and audible response was not forthcoming he proceeded with an extemporisation on the beautiful Ambre from Wintermusik. After the concert he dashed to the back end of the hall (where altogether we had been sitting for almost three hours on our bums!) to personally sell his CDs. 

J.S. Bach: Partita nr. 1 - Schubert: Piano Sonata nr. 21 - Chopin: Etudes op. 25

This week we were in a quiet place, spending time outdoors and discussing the future with friends and colleagues. There was hardly an opportunity to listen to music, but then I didn't feel like we missed something. All the more so as I had been stocking up on rich musical impressions at two live concerts just before we left. On Thursday (Feb 16th) I was graciously invited to attend a solo piano recital at Bozar featuring Lang Lang. I didn't know what to expect as I hadn't heard anything by this controversial musician. A genuine, larger-than-life artist or a billow of marketing-driven hot air? I had no idea. His eagerness to play the superstar role, however, raised my suspicions (reminding me of that other enfant terrible I've never been able to really take seriously, Nigel Kennedy). So there we were in a chock-full Henry Le Boeuf Hall with more than 2000 people in eager and noisy attendance (with a contingent of 150 seated at the podium facing the main hall). The good and great were amply represented. At the cloakroom I ran into Viviane Reding, Vice-President of the European Commission, and Commissioner for Justice, Fundamental Rights and Citizenship, but in my haste sadly forgot to wisper her a word of caution as the spirit of the European project potentially derails under the iron grip of a blind oligarchy. Lang Lang had a Bozar spokesperson especially request a silent demeanour (no coughing, no cell phones) by the audience during the performance. It proved to be fruitless because as the concert unfolded the audience became more and more difficult to restrain. There was plenty of coughing from the start and after the break, the Chopin Etudes were interrupted three times by clamorous applause. And in the final Etude there was indeed a cell phone that (as I experienced it) artlessly and interminably brought the concert to a premature end. But despite those intrusions it was a memorable concert. And then I'm thinking particularly of that great, last Schubert sonata (D. 960) which Lang Lang presented as the story of a life compressed in just 40 minutes. Despite the almost unbearable tension in the hall brought about by an audience that was anxiously trying to gutturally restrain itself, Lang Lang made no concessions and played this valedictory sonata in the most intimate manner, taking his time to sculpt every note and colour every chord in the most exquisite manner. It was quite obvious that here is a pianist with prodigious technical powers, whose musical imagination is the only limit to what his artistry is able to produce. His Bach Partita surprised me by its old-fashionedness, eschewing the percussive clarity that is nowadays 'de rigeur', occasionally meshing the voices, stressing the legato character and indulging in a rich, creamy rubato. I'm personally not offended by a romantic, lyrical interpretation of Bach's keyboard works and happily took it in stride, intrigued as I was by the remarkable technical facility displayed by the pianist. What also surprised me was Lang Lang's sober mien behind the keyboard with very little of the histrionics that for some reason I was led to expect. By the time he broached the Chopin Etudes - which he has been playing since he was 13 - there was no doubt Lang Lang was up to the task. However, for me Chopin's opus 25 needs to be played in one sweep in order to reveal the almost symphonic architecture underpinning this monumental piece. That, rather than the endless possbilities for virtuoso display is what makes this such a compelling experience. With all the audience interruptions Lang Lang's performance, whatever its merits, became for me rather pointless. As said, the unquestionable highlight of the evening was in my opinion a truly great Schubert sonata. Perhaps too meandering and disjointed for some tastes, but I still marvel at Lang Lang's amazing colouristic abilities, conjuring washes of colour with a sleight of hand. Again, there is no doubt that this is an artist of extraordinary abilities. The risk is, I feel, that these capabilities do not find a sufficiently disciplined and deeply rooted vessel to contain them. Lang Lang's art is rich, very rich and at a certain point this opulence may teeter into the manierist, the facile or simply the bombastic. As a kind of litmus test I'd love to hear him in Debussy where the ascetic and the luxuriant seamlessly mesh. Will he be able to keep the 'juste milieu'? After the concert the affable star was signing autographs in the Bozar shop. I asked him and he said eventually he will be happy to record some Debussy. May take a while, though. Meanwhile we'll follow with interest. Thanks again to KDK and WVDH for the treat.

Debussy: Le Martyre de Saint Sebastien

What a pleasure to return to this marvelous piece! In order to prepare for the live performance at Bozar with the Brussels Philharmonic led by their chief Michel Tabachnik, I relistened to the version with the LSO under Tilson Thomas. A sophisticated recording, a beautifully matched trio of soloists, a characterfully dramatic narrator and the most finely groomed playing of the LSO: all this betrays the extravagant care lavished on this recording which is poised to stay a reference in the catalogue. If it were only available! At this point it seems there are only two 'full' concert versions listed: a recording with the SWR Orchestra Baden Baden with Cambreling at the helm, and the classic (mono) Inghelbreght (1955) on Testament. The Cambreling has the drawback that the narrated fragments have been translated into German which really detracts from the atmosphere. The same was true, incidentally, about Bernstein's 1962 recording with the NYPO where the narration was in English (adapted by Bernstein himself, by the way). In that sense it is all the more welcome that the February 2012 issue of BBC Classical Magazine offers a free CD with a full concert performance, with Thierry Fischer leading the BBC Welsh forces. More on that anon.

Together with the late sonatas, this has been THE Debussy discovery for me. Wonderfully moving music this is. It shimmers in tremolos and glissandos of velvety iridescence. The coolness of its palette works extraordinarily understated compared to the extatic slant of the narration. Not only in its luminescent textures does it hark back to Wagner's Parsifal. It's a similar cocktail of sin, violence, ruin, resignation, compassion and redemption. To my feeling the Martyre, whilst at first sight a rather sprawling affair, musters a deeper dramatic and emotional architecture that culminates in the Sebastian's death and tranfiguration in the fourth chamber. It's a great work that belongs in the select company of Sibelius' Kullervo (1892), Elgar's Gerontius (1900), Mahler's Eight (1907), Schoenberg's Gurrelieder (1911) and Rachmaninov's Bells (1913).

In addition to MTT's reading, which is a triumph on all accounts, I also listened to a reading of the Martyre's four symphonic fragments. I had heard versions by Salonen and Monteux before and neither really convinced me. But Gunter Wand's take on these pieces is a total success. The disc is part of the de luxe collection of Great Recordings that was recently re-issued by BMG. His reading is taut and dark, stressing clarity of line without downplaying the coloristic genius of Debussy. You wouldn't immediately expect it from a conductor who has based his career on choice selection of German classics. It's a live recording that dates from 1982, when Wand had just taken over the helm of the North German Radio Orchestra. The sonics, transparent and fullbodied, are excellent. Interestingly, the coupling is Pictures at an Exhibition, in Ravel's orchestration. It's not one of my favourite pieces, but I couldn't resist listening to the Catacombs and lo! how well these somber brass perorations connected to the general mood of the Martyre. Another serendipitous flash of connection between these two composers.Anyway I have listened numerous times to these fragments. Couldn't get enough of them.

The live performance then. I am happy to say that it was a phenomenal achievement. Orchestra, chorus and soloists were in great form in their third performance (after Paris, where they offered it with a mise-en-scene, and Ghent). Tabachnik, whom I'd never seen conduct before, hit it just right in his choice of mood and pacing. The attention to detail, coaxing the most delicate sfumato from the orchestra, was exhilarating. The soloists were very well cast. The alto Eve-Maud Hubeaux and soprano Pauline Sabatier, who sang the wonderful Twins duet, had interestingly matching timbres. Karen Vourc'h acquitted herself admirably from the touching, lighter solo passages. Key in this piece is the narrator, who has the keep the flow going and instill a suitable measure of pathos. Mireille Capelle did this very well, although I had some difficulties initially in adjusting to her electronically amplified voice. I never tire from the resplendent spectacle offered by a full strength orchestra from the stalls adjoining the podium. What a grand, monumental spectacle! The swarming string section, the three harps, the six horns, the celesta, the chorus, ... It was altogether a moving experience and I hope to be able to tape the performance from the radio broadcast in the coming weeks or months.

Finally, there is the CD recording that comes with this month's BBC Music Magazine. Thierry Fischer has earned a strong reputation with turn-of-the-century French repertoire and his reading of the Martyre is commendable but not great. It doesn't scale the same heights as the versions led by MTT and Tabachnik for that matter. The pulse is somewhat slack and I am not impressed by Irene Jacob (from La Double Vie de Véronique and Trois Couleurs fame) who is too matter-of-fact as the narrator. The final act - Paradise - is taken at a fairly slow tempo, which makes it more of a mournful extension of the piece's torso than a redemptive finale. I'm more in favour of Tabachnik's jubilation which he showed off with an almost Poulencian swagger. That being said, I think Fischer's reading has a lot going for it too and it may be the only one with a French, female narrator and good sound available for the time being.

Debussy: Etudes, Images - Bartok: 3 Studies, Improvisations - Haydn: Piano Sonata nr. 20

More great and hitherto unknown music is coming my way. Yesterday we went to another concert at the Conservatoire in Brussels featuring Jean-Efflam Bavouzet on piano. Bavouzet has recently made a name for himself with a series of Haydn and Debussy recordings on the Chandos label. Particularly the Debussy recordings have met with critical acclaim. The programme for this concert was most judiciously put together. First a 'Sturm und Drang' Haydn sonata (nr .20, from 1771), followed by Debussy's brief Hommage à Haydn on a BADDG (= HAYDN) motif. Then Book II of the Images for piano. After the break a switch to two works from Bartok's violent middle period: the Improvisations on Hungarian Folk Songs, and the Three Studies. Back to Debussy with a selection from the late Etudes. Altogether a very challenging programme, certainly for the performer but also for the listener.

Earlier in the week I had prepared for the concert somewhat as I had never heard the Etudes. HVC had recently drawn my attention to them. Prior to our conversation I didn't even know they existed. But once I realised that they sprung from the same miraculous 1915 summer in Pourville that yielded the Cello Sonata and the Sonata for Flute, Viola and Harp, I looked forward to getting to know them with keen anticipation. There are not that many recordings around and I settled on the celebrated 1989 performance by Mitsoku Uchida. I was immediately struck by the immense power that radiates from the music. The Etudes' surface is all glitter and charm, but as in all the late works there is a steeliness and stoicism at the core that is humbling. The spirit of Chopin hovers over this whole work, which is not surprising as Debussy had been trying to deal with his own creative impasse and depression (due to illness and war) by working on an edition of the former's work. In the Etudes his affection for the Polish master blends with his reverence for the French baroque tradition. I'm only at the beginning of getting to know this impressive body of work. It's all one can wish for in a piece of music: complex, layered, abstract, truly epic. From what I have heard it may well be Debussy's very best work. In my mind this man continues to grow and grow in stature. 

I have also been listening to the Images, but only briefly. Book I, with its more abstract qualities (Hommage à Rameau, Mouvement) seemed to be more interesting to me than Book II which leans more towards the impressionist Preludes.

The concert itself did maybe not totally fulfill the expectations. It did not produce the sense of occassion experienced, for example, with the Belcea Quartet recently. Bavouzet is no doubt a fine pianist and technically up to the formidable task he set himself. But what I missed was that clarity of line and sharpness of contour that I think is needed in these three composers. In my experience the whole programme coalesced somewhat into a blur. Whether it was early Haydn, middle-period Bartok or middle or late Debussy did not seem to matter too much. Overall there was this sameness of feeling, a certain lack of structure and relief, a homogeneity of texture that kept us, listeners, from getting to that point where you can see the music as it were from above, in three dimensions. We didn't get there this time. But it's always enjoyable to spend an evening in the Conservatoire. The acoustics are good, the seats comfy, the hall suprisingly well heated, the audience always attentive. This time the hall was only half full. Amazing, isn't it? 

Haydn: String Quartet op. 77 nr.1 - Beethoven: String Quartet op. 95 'Serioso' - Schubert: String Quintet D 956

We were really spoiled this week as on Thursday we had the Belcea Quartet performing at the Brussels Conservatorium. Personally I feel this is one of the finest chamber ensembles around. They didn't disappoint in this choice Viennese programme. The Conservatoire was packed but as is customary this was a very disciplined audience that seems to know why it is spending time in a concert hall. The rapt concentration and the relatively small hall created an ambience of wonderful intimacy. The Haydn quartet (which I hadn't heard before) came off very well. What struck me was the relaxed, almost friendly energy that radiates from the group. The music seemed to emerge almost effortlessly. It sounded like the image that is projected by a Zeiss lens: there was wonderfully luminous microdetail, clearly etched but soft contours and a holographic sense of musical lines meshing with one another. It's not spectacular but musically deeply satisfying. Corina Belcea leads as a genuine 'primus inter pares' (and a ravishing appearance she is too). Her violin soars but not to put her colleagues in the shadow but to stretch a broader canvas for them. This is quartet playing as it should be.

The Beethoven quartet came off slightly less successfully I thought. I have the more assertive (maybe even aggressive) rendition of the Artemis Quartet in my ears and for this 'angry' Beethoven piece this is perhaps more appropriate than the somewhat softer grained approach of the Belcea. Anyway, we were listening to what is still a very good performance.

After the break came the Schubert String Quintet in C, with Valentin Erben (ex-Alban Berg) taking the second cello part (as he did on the Belcea's 2009 recording of this piece). Again, I didn't know the Schubert so I had to listen with unprepared ears. Schubert is a composer I still have to discover. Certainly, I have an inkling of what Schubert stands for and it is not an idiom that I am immediately attracted to. There is a simplicity at the heart of Schubert's music, it seems to me, that attracts and leaves me cold at the same time. I love an architectural conception of music. Music that is 'durchkomponiert'. That's why I like Bartok. That's why I am intrigued but also suspicious of Debussy who made it look like his music was not 'composed' at all whilst lavishing the greatest care on the most minute detail of its architectural conception. Schubert throws a single chord at you and immediately one is taken off guard by a complex emotional vista. The Quintet is no exception. It's a very late piece, in fact the last chamber composition Schubert was able to finish two months before his untimely death. It has an otherworldly atmosphere similar to the late piano sonatas. As in those sonatas, Schubert takes the time to develop his musical material: the work takes over 50 minutes! The work didn't strike me as difficult, however. There's a lot of repetition so it's easy to follow (compared to the Beethoven Serioso where there is no repetition at all). The cumulative impact of this long piece, however, is quite extraordinary. One really has the experience of a journey to the edge. It is often said that the quintet's finale, with it's earthbound, schmaltzy character, doesn't seem to belong. It most certainly does belong and the merrymaking is all the more poignant given the seriousness of what went before. Yves Knockaert thought in his spoken introduction before the concert that Schubert grasped back to Haydn in this finale. But I don't hear Haydn; I hear Mahler there, and certainly Bruckner, and in the final bars we are getting a glimpse of the territory that Mahler reconnoitered in this valedictory symphony and that was further explored by the Second Viennese School. In that sense the Belcea's reading was certainly revelatory. I was so impressed by their maturity and humanity. This is true, timeless artistry.

Bartok: Contrasts, Suite from The Wooden Prince, Dance Suite, Piano Concerto nr. 2

I've been writing so many reports (and other stuff) over the last two weeks that my head spins. So I want to be brief in catching up with the blog. The past week I was lucky enough to attend two live concerts. First, on Tuesday, there was the Philharmonia Orchestra led by Esa-Pekka Salonen in a full Bartok programme. I was able to attend courtesy of HVC who passed on his ticket to me as he is spending time abroad. Remarkably, the Bozar was not at all packed for an evening that was dedicated to some of the best music written in the whole of the 20th century. The programme started with a performance of the Contrasts (1938), featuring the orchestra's Hungarian concertmaster, its first clarinet Mark Van De Wiel and Yefim Bronfman, the soloist for the concerto, at the piano. A fine performance but I would have loved to swap the rather sedate violin for Patricia Kopatchinskaia who would no doubt have pulled out all the stops. Then the long suite of the Wooden Prince (1921). It was the first time I saw Salonen on the rostrum and it is a delight to watch his precise and athletic beat (the orchestra I have heard live before, led by the late Sinopoli). Salonen comes across as quite modest and self-effacing too (but no conductor is like that, of course). The suite was most expertly played, stretching a shimmering arc from the Rheingold-like opening murmurings to the manic concluding dance. The Philharmonia mustered gorgeous, almost Scriabinesque colours. After the break followed the Dance Suite (1923), one of my favourite Bartok pieces. I have Solti's blistering account in my ears and Salonen did not quite bring the same level of energy to bear. But it was a genuine pleasure to hear this wonderful piece nevertheless. To cap it off the orchestra and Bronfman offered a monumental and spectacular rendition of the Second Piano Concerto (1931). At first sight it is maybe strange to end a programme with a concerto but in this case it was totally appropriate. In a live performance it is obvious how difficult it is for the orchestra and soloist to jointly pull this off. For the soloist this must be like climbing K2 or so, but Bronfman worked his way through it without as much as raising an eyebrow. He was even gracious enough to offer, in a mock gesture, a hanky to a member of the audience who sneezed in between movements.

Prokofiev: Scythian Suite - Szymanovski: Symphony nr. 4 - Shostakovich: Symphony nr. 5

Yesterday I had the opportunity to sit in at the rehearsals and attend a very special concert. The I, Culture Orchestra is a youth orchestra that has been put together as a flagship cultural project for the Polish Presidency of the EU. It assembles young musicians from the 'Eastern Partnership' (Georgia, Armenia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan, Moldova and Belorussia) and from Poland. Many of them are having their first experiences at playing in an orchestra. The project is the brainchild of two conductors: Pawel Kotla and Neville Marriner. I happened to meet the Pawel's spouse many years ago at a remote airfield in the Gabonese jungle. Recently she re-established contact and yesterday we had an enjoyable lunch in the company of her husband. Afterwards I was allowed to sit in at the rehearsals and later on I attended the concert. I,Culture brought a long and adventurous programme: the rarely heard Scythian Suite (aka Ala and Lolly), Prokofiev's op. 20, followed by Szymanovski's equally unfamiliar Fourth Symphony, op. 60 (Sinfonia Concertante). Shostakovich's popular Symphony nr. 5 completed the programme. 

This was the orchestra's seventh concert, ever. The ensemble was established last August and spent the month in residence at Gdansk. Then there were a few more weeks through September and October in preparation of their European tour which started in Krakow. Then Stockholm last week. Transit to Berlin, where they played at the Philharmonie. Today Brussels and then onwards to London, Madrid and Warsaw. Unfortunately in Brussels they were offered the Conservatoire and not the Bozar as a venue. It's not a bad hall, but it has seen much better days and it is rather small for a 110-strong symphony orchestra. Pawel worked hard during the rehearsals to recalibrate the sound to the venue.

The rehearsals were promising. Pawel worked his way sequentially through the three pieces, selecting bits and pieces, spending most time on matters of ensemble and dynamics. In my opinion the first violins seemed the Achilles heel of the orchestra. I found them a little lacklustre during rehearsal and would have like them to dig a bit deeper in the strings. But otherwise the orchestra seemed to be doing fine. Brass and winds seemed to be in great form. I was very impressed by the first flute, a young lady that produced an impressively authoritative and silken tone.

Attending the rehearsals did not prepare me, however, for the concert itself. What I heard there was very much in another league. Of course, in one way or another you can tell that this ensemble has not had a lot of time to really gel. That being said, it is astonishing at what level these young musicians were playing. Clearly the whole ensemble, including the strings, gave themselves wholeheartedly to the task. There were a few blemishes with intonation problems in the first violins and one or two hickups with the first horn, but they were few and far between.

The Prokofiev Suite came off very well, suitably agressive and with a richly layered sound. I have always had the Abbado/LSO version in my ears and this performance certainly didn't pale in comparison. Here is a nice audio excerpt.

It was a long time since I have last heard the Szymanovski symphony. It is a very special work that combines a folksy, propulsive kind of energy and an angular neoclassicism with a rich impressionist vein. Debussy and Roussel come to mind more than once, particularly in the slow movement. The symphony-concerto was composed in 1932, roughly contemporaneous with Bartok's Pianoconcerto nr. 2. By that time Szymanovski was already wrestling with financial difficulties. Compounded with health problems they would lead to his untimely death just a few years later, in 1937. The music doesn't reveal anything about the challenging circumstances in which it was composed. It is vigorously animated and combines a collage-like structure with a genuinely symphonic undercurrent. Pawel Kotla quite successfully was able to align these different forces into a convincing whole. The rapport between orchestra and soloist Peter Jablonski seemed excellent to me (apparently that hadn't been the case in earlier performances). This is a work that I would like to relisten too soon.

As I didn't look too keenly forward to the Shostakovich, I assumed that the Szymanovski for me would be the 'pièce the resistance' of the evening. It's just that I'm out of the mood for symphonic Shostakovich for the time being. The early pages of the symphony confirmed this sentiment. Now that I'm so deeply into Debussy, the symphonic music of Shostakovich strikes me as simple, even primitive (I had the same impression when I returned to Shostakovich after an extended period of listening to Bach). But soon the performance started to grip me and I must say that by the end of the first movement I was captivated. The scherzo came off wonderfully, mixing a fairy-tale, Nutcracker kind of atmosphere with violent sarcasm. It was the first time I heard it this way. The Largo was taken slowly but very soberly, without bathos. The clean lines reminded me more of plainchant than Mahler. I think it was a considerable challenge for the orchestra but Kotla didn't compromise. In the finale then the spirit of 'thou shalt rejoice' was very convincingly summoned. All in all it was a very convincing performance that spoke to the heart without drawing undue attention to itself and without sacrificing the overall architecture. I think that is a pretty impressive feat for any orchestra. It's good that in times of financial austerity money continues to be available for these kinds of worthwhile projects. I wish Pawel all the very best with his project.

Beethoven: Sonata for Violin and Piano nr. 9 'Kreutzer' - Ravel: Sonata for Violin and Piano - Say: Sonata for Violin and Piano - Bartok: Romanian Folk Dances

I still have to report a live concert we attended Tuesday last week. Patricia Kopatchinskaja (violin) and Fazil Say (piano) came to Leuven with an interesting programme. I was particularly attracted by Prokofiev's epic First Violin Sonata but, to my considerable disappointment, the performance was cancelled at the last moment and the Beethoven Kreutzer Sonata came instead. But I guess that's part of the game when you want to hear and see these two 'enfants terribles' at work. Both Say and Kopatchinskaja have a reputation for waywardness. Their podium presence certainly confirms this. Kopatchinskaja plays barefeet. Say sways ecstatically behind his piano. Both bring visceral energy to their performance (the difference with the poised Ibragimova/Tiberghien duo I heard recently in Brussels is striking). But despite the fact that they must have performed this particular programme innumerable times (it already featured on their debut CD in 2008), the joint music making still sounded fresh and engaging. The Beethoven sonata did not disappoint. There was an electrifying sense of drama, particularly in the stormy outer movements, that for me threw a new light on this work. The middle Andante was slightly less successful. There it struck me that Kopatchinskaja's tonal palette seemed rather restricted, but that impression can also be due to the relatively poor acoustics of a large, new teaching auditorium. After the break came Say's own piece: an eclectic and derivative work that I forgot as soon as I had heard it. In Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances (an adaptation of the piano original by Zoltan Szekely) Kopatchinskaja could play out her eastern European pedigree to the brink. The music might as well have sounded on a dusty Moldovan village square a hundred years ago. The programme was brought to an end by a masculine and colourful rendition of the Ravel sonata. Some quirky encores (which certainly underscored the virtuoso capabilities of the duo) concluded an engaging musical evening. I must admit at being slightly skeptical when I went in, but I was won over by the ostensible honesty and musicality of what was offered. Kopatchinskaja's rough and visceral approach might smack of cheap sensationalism (and in this promo video it really goes over the top) but what I heard last week struck me as staying within the bounds of good taste and genuine musicality. 

Debussy: Violin Sonata - Lekeu: Violin Sonata - Ravel: Violin Sonata, Tzigane - Szymanovsky: Mythes

On Wednesday I had the pleasure to accompany an American guest to a concert. Violinist Alina Ibragimova gave a recital, accompanied by Cédric Tiberghien on the piano, at the Brussels Conservatory. I hadn't really heard about Ibragimova but I was attracted by an interesting programme and I was also intrigued by the fine discography that, despite her young age, she has behind her name (including the Hartmann Concerto Funèbre on Hyperion). Furthermore, it has been many years since I have attended a performance at the Conservatory hall. As I have always enjoyed this rather quaint and slightly down at heel venue for its intimate atmosphere and excellent acoustics I was eager revisit it.

Ibragimova is incredibly petite and delicate for her age - she looks 16 rather than 25 - but she coaxes an authoritative, unfussy tone from her instrument that strikes a nice balance between warmth and cleanliness. I was surprised by how nicely the sound seemed to fill the smallest nooks of the concert hall. But what is even more impressive is Ibragimova's musical intelligence. With the elusive Debussy and the fantastic Szymanovsky, this was technically and interpretatively an intimidating programme. But both musicians seemed to rise effortlessly to the challenge. The concert started with the Debussy sonata. This was a very lucky coincidence, as I had just discovered the incredible Cello Sonata. The Violin Sonata was the last work the Debussy completed, in 1917. A balanced and concise three-movement composition, it fits very well in the mould of its sister work. Again, Debussy's supreme command of the medium strikes from the very first, quizzical bars onwards. The work oscillates between melancholy and a clenched-teeth kind of defiance. Underneath one intimates a deep sense of loss. As with the Cello Sonata, there is freedom and density, discipline and complexity. It speaks of deep wisdom and masterly craft. How striking that a 25-year old musician is able to capture and project these multi-dimensional complexities.

The Lekeu sonata is a work I used to listen to fairly often in a very early phase of my musical explorations. But it hasn't reappeared on my playlist for decades. As a composer Verviers-born Lekeu was one of Belgium's greatest promises. He wrote his admirable sonata when he was in early twenties, just a few years before his untimely death at age 24 in 1894 (from typhoid fever). The sonata is grand work, about half an hour long. It's passionately lyrical and more 'narrative', more easy to follow than the compact, mysterious Debussy sonata. I need to make sure to add this to my collection.

The Szymanovsky Mythes, op. 30, I have heard in the past (in the version with Zimerman at the piano), but they were not very familiar. These three tone poems for piano and violin sound extraordinarily sophisticated and fiendishly difficult to play. It's another work I do not have in my collection and that I urgently need to re-investigate.

Finally, the Ravel is another great sonata, urbane and refined, and a fitting conclusion to a quite marvelous recital. The textures are more translucent and less dense compared to the Debussy but there is a certain contrariness due to the two voices in this work sometimes veering off in quite different directions. As an encore we were treated to an astonishing feat of white hot virtuosity with a scorching Tzigane. Ibragimova and her partner certainly showed their mettle. An additional fact that contributed to the listening pleasure was the fact that the audience in the Conservatory hall was extremely silent during the performance. Even between breaks one couldn't hear as much as a sigh. 

Since the recital I have listened a couple of times to the Debussy sonata in a performance by Dutch violinist Liza Ferschtman (part of a 2CD Brilliant collection of various works for violin and piano). Also Ferschtman seems to have an excellent grasp of this complex work. Very striking are the flute-like effects she produces in the slow, introspective middle section of the sonata's first movement.

Of the Ravel sonata I have only a version by Chantal Juillet (a Canadian violinist married to conductor Charles Dutoit) accompanied by Pascal Rogé. I must say that compared to the live performance I heard in Brussels it sounds rather bland and unimaginative (despite it having a won a Gramophone award at the time). Also the Tzigane comes nowhere near what Ibragimova/Tiberghien treated us on. So I need to make sure I get their Hyperion disc with the Ravel and Lekeu sonatas.

Scriabin: Promethée, Le Poème du Feu - Liszt: Prometheus - Rachmaninov: Rhapsody on a theme by Paganini - Mussorgsky: Night on the Bald Mountain

Yesterday we were invited to a concert at the Brussels Bozar with a nice VIP package: walking dinner at the residence of the British ambassador, nice seats on the first balcony, refreshments during the concert, and dessert buffet afterwards. Thank you, WE. The London Philharmonic was visiting with an enterprising programme revolving around the dyonisian and the luciferian as twin leitmotivs. I hadn't yet heard this orchestra play under their Principal Conductor Vladimir Jurowski. Nikolai Lugansky took the solo part in the Rachmaninov Rhapsody, whilst remarkably enough another soloist, Igor Levit, was seated at the keyboard in the Scriabin.

I hadn't looked in great detail at the programme so I was quite shocked when the orchestra started to play Mussorgsky's Night on the Bald Mountain in the original version. I almost didn't recognise it, so different it is from the Rimsky 'recomposition' we are used to. I wouldn't say the original is technically the better piece, but it is such a wild and wacky ride that it is a treat anyhow! I looked it up and it appears that there are only very few recorded versions of this in the catalogue (luckily there is Naxos).

I heard Lugansky live before and I must say that I am not terribly taken with his rather detached mien. The Rhapsody confirmed the kind of dispassionate virtuosity that he brings to bear on musical proceedings. He was evidently also in a hurry, egging on Jurowski who made the error to follow suit which led to Lugansky pressing on even more. The final variations were predictably breathless. All in all it didn't make much of an impression on me. It certainly didn't eclipse the timeless favourite I have on CD with Bella Davidovich at the keyboard and a fairly young Neeme Järvi at the helm of a appropriately luxuriant Concertgebouw Orchestra.

After the break we proceeded with Liszt's Prometheus. Again a novelty for me. It's one of Liszt's shorter symphonic poems that started life as an overture to a cantata based on Herder's Der Entfesselte Prometheus. It offers a characteristic potpourri of the martial, the diabolical and the exultantly maestoso. Again, I was left slightly unfulfilled by a serviceable but not a great performance. It seemed to me Jurowski was a little too cautious in a piece that should be played absolutely recklessly.

Scriabin's Poème du Feu provided an appropriately impressive finale (unfortunately without Lichtstimme). You could tell that Jurowski spent most of his rehearsal time on this hyperchromatic and harmonically supersaturated Fremdkörper. Composed in 1909/10, it signals the end of an era. Soon Bartok would branch off and start to use folk music to revitalise Western art music. Just a year before, Schoenberg had written his first composition without any key (the thirteenth song of his Buch der Hängenden Gärten). And in that same year, Strauss would return from the brink of atonality with his neoclassicist Rosenkavalier. Scriabin's music sounds like a iridescent cloud, hovering above the orchestra in an unpredictable swirl of contraction and expansion and slowly edging towards that concluding and liberating F-sharp major triad. The choir, who came all the way down from Latvia, had only a few minutes of vocalisation to contribute. It's a splendid extravaganza that defies all notions of cost-effectiveness.

All in all an interesting evening with very good rather than great music making. The LPO is a fine orchestra, but not in the class of top-flight bands as, say, the Budapest Festival Orchestra. It lacks the last ounce of refinement and poise but produces an attractive, slightly husky and gritty tone. Maybe the Henry Le Boeuf Hall at the Bozar is not optimal to showcase this particular orchestra's qualities.
I can't really make up my mind about what sort of conductor Jurowski is. After the concert he spoke at length at the ambassador's residence about the programme (omitting one interesting tidbit about the Poème du Feu, namely that Scriabin started to work on it whilst he was living in Brussels). Evidently he is someone who is also interested in a conceptual grasp on the music. He is certainly to be commended to insist on adventurous programming beyond the ambit of traditional subscription concerts.

Frank Nuyts - Middle East/Barber - Knoxville, Summer of 1915

I went to the Vlaamse Opera in Gent yesterday to attend a performance of a new work by Frank Nuyts. Nuyts is a percussionist and composer who teaches at the Hogeschool in Gent. He has a reputation for being an interesting, prolific and eclectic composer.  I had never heard any of his works before, however. This was the second performance of his 'chamber opera' Middle-East (the premiere was on Thursday), a collaboration with writer Philippe Blasband for the libretto and director Johan Dehollander for the staging. Rather than an opera I would call the work a 'scena'. It's a one hour work, without breaks. The vocal score is almost exclusively given to a single soprano who sings both Barak's and Arafat's parts which are often indistinguishable. And there is no real action or dramatic development at the heart of the piece. The work revolves around the failed Camp David talks in 2000 between Ehud Barak and Yasser Arafat. It's about the impossibility of these two protagonists to establish a genuine communication as they remain enclosed in their ideological and linguistic cocoons. All this leads me to consider Middle East as an extended meditation on a situation, or a predicament. It's a little more complicated as there is also an actor involved, who messes around on the scene and also sings a few lines. In addition text and some images are projected. So, all in all it's a complicated challenge for the listener.

I was primarily interested in the music. It seems Nuyts has made quite a journey from his post-serial beginnings. I was surprised how accessible and atmospheric ('stemmig') the music was. It's unabashedly tonal, not even particularly dissonant or dense. It doesn't try to show off with pyrotechnics either. So it struck me as eminently listenable and approachable. The French refer to a wine that is well made and pleases the amateur not with depth, terroir and complexity but with feminine grace and voluptuous fruitiness a 'vin flatteur'. In that sense we could consider Nuyts' score as 'flattering' too. Likely this has been the composer's intention as he discusses in the programme brochure. For him this work is not about conflict but about beauty. Indeed, Blasband's libretto summons the heady perfumes of a youth spent - by both protagonists - in mysterious Jerusalem, the eternal city. It is their experience of the beauty of the city and surrounding Palestine that explains a lot about the intransigency of their positions. Nuyts: "Hence, some sort of sweetness percolates through the music which hangs as a cloud above the negotiation table". Stylistically I couldn't detect obvious fingerprints of other composers, apart from an occasional nod to American minimalism and a hint of Copland. However, the one piece that came to my mind whilst listening to Middle East was Barber's Knoxville, Summer of 1915. The idiom and setting are different, to be sure, but Barber's mellifluous soliloquy for soprano is also steeped in this kind sweetness (without becoming saccharine, however). Today I listened to the excellent version sung by Dawn Upshaw and supported by Zinman's St. Luke's Orchestra (on a Nonesuch disc) and I still think there is a certain correspondence between the two works. Still, I think I would have liked a little more counterpoint and 'durchkomponiertes' fabric in Nuyts' score.

That being said, I thougth the performance itself by the Spectra Ensemble (piano, quartet, percussionist, flute, clarinet) was not very commendable. This may be due to a combination of factors. As it was only the second performance, they likely need to grow into the music. Furthermore, the ensemble was placed in the back, fairly removed from the audience. And the persistent hum of the projectors didn't help in clearly and forcefully presenting the music. Altogether, I thought the ensemble sounded too tentative and did not bring enough conviction to the score.

I am not at all sure about what to make of the work as a whole. For me it is very much a question of 'prima la musica, poi le parole'. When I listen to an opera - which I'm not doing very often - I'm listening to absolute music. Mostly I don't even bother with the libretto. Strangely, whilst in my professional life I'm always struggling with conceptual and social complexity, in music I seem to avoid it. When listening to music I'm interested in structural, architectural complexity, in the intricacies of 'tönend bewegte Formen'. It's similar to photography, where mostly I'm interested in the pictures as pictures, not in the often flaccid stories behind them. So, whilst this Arafat-Barak conundrum interests me from a professional point of view, I'm having difficulties in making the transition from the world of sounds to the world of ideas, and vice versa.

The work is scheduled for performance in Stuk Leuven later this year and I will certainly try to go there for a second audition.

Brahms - Symphony nr. 1/Schumann - Overture Braut von Messina, Violinconcerto

Last Wednesday I was unexpectedly invited by CB to a concert at the Bozar. The Sächsische Staatskapelle Dresden (a mouthful) was passing through Brussels on their European tour (after Vienna, Luxemburg, Paris en before Cardiff and Birmingham). A great opportunity to hear this venerable ensemble. There's a nice photo series about their Brussels leg of the journey on their website. Apparently Barosso was in the hall, as was Kancheli, backstage.

I had heard the Staatskapelle only once, not so long ago, in the pit of the Semperoper for a Boris Godunov. I was not really impressed on that occasion. Refined playing, certainly, but a little lacklustre. Yesterday was different. Christoph Eschenbach was conducting a very traditional programme with a Brahms First and two lesser known pieces by Schumann: the Overture to Schiller's Braut of Messina and the controversial Violinconcerto. Soloist was Gidon Kremer. It was the first time I heard Eschenbach conducting (don't think I have many recordings of him in my collection either; as I believe I've said before I tend to be suspicious of pianists turned conductors; furthermore Eschenbach has been recording fairly standard repertoire on offbeat labels such as Hänssler, Ondine and Telarc: not something I have been seeking out). Kremer I've heard before but can't recall exactly where.  It's not a musician I particularly admire.

The Schumann part of the programme did not particularly captivate me. The Overture is an unusually lively and frivolous piece for this composer. Certainly listenable and a good warm-up. However, the concerto I found to a fairly uninspired and wooden affair. Although Kremer seems an ardent champion of it (he recorded it twice) I thought the performance didn't catch fire. The Brahms symphony was a very different matter, however. A glorious reading, no doubt. Monumental, granitic, very (northern) German, very architectural, but also amazingly colourful and exuding an almost mediterranean glow. The orchestra responded marvelously to this music. The string section projected spellbinding refinement and power. I have only few memories of a string tone that is so richly layered and luxuriously sensuous (the Philadelphia once, the St Petersburg Philharmonic, the Berlin Philharmonic, the Concertgebouw Orchestra). It's in a way a very old-fashioned way of playing. The Budapest Festival Orchestra, whilst in the same league, produces a leaner and more cosmopolitan sound. I was impressed by Eschenbach too, who seemed to have the whole musical edifice in an iron grasp, maintaining a very natural flow. I already look forward to diving into Brahms again. A good opportunity also to dust of my turntable ...

Bartok - Concerto for Orchestra/Brahms - Symphony nr. 4

I was terribly lucky to end up at the Kultur- und Kongresszentrum Luzern just when the Lucerne Easter Festival was in full swing. The building itself is a monumental, pharaonic contraption by Jean Nouvel which I didn't like at all. But there is an awful lot of good music on offer. I was thrilled to see that just that afternoon Bernard Haitink was concluding a 3-day masterclass with a bunch of young conductors. So I bought a 30 Sfr ticket and sat in for the final 2-hour session. The orchestra was the resident Lucerne Festival Strings and guests, working through Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra and Brahms' Fourth Symphony.

It was a sensation to sit on the first row, just a couple of meters from Haitink and the conducting rostrum. It is difficult for me to judge to what extent these kinds of coaching sessions reflect the genuine work of a conductor. Or what stage of the work it represents. From what I experienced there it is a surprisingly mundane business. First and foremost it is about keeping the orchestra together. That's partly a technical business ("do I beat this in two or in four?") and partly a communicative challenge. The latter has less to do with words then with an authoritative and clear body language and stick technique. One of the aspiring conductors held his left hand continuously limp which led Haitink to remark that he created a distance between himself and the orchestra, as a result of which the musicians played too cautiously. Others failed even to give a clear downbeat. The kind of downbeat - energetic or soft - communicated to the orchestra how they should attack the music. All of this seemed to be fairly elementary stuff to me, which didn't even start to come near something we could call a genuine interpretation of the piece. I've heard before that orchestras bristle at conductors who lecture too much, but in this session the communicative bandwith between orchestra and conductor was truly minimal. None of the participants to the masterclass explained their intentions. They just started to beat and numbly tried to incorporate Haitink's suggestions. Only once Haitink himself extemporised a little about the biographical circumstances in which Bartok wrote the Concerto in order to frame the bittersweet character of its Intermezzo interrotto.

So I wonder now whether it is possible to really come to the kind of otherworldly interpretation that Ivan Fischer and his BFO have recorded of this piece. There every detail seems to have thought through, and polished, without forgetting about the macro-structure. Or was this just a process of establishing a connection between conductor and orchestra and putting in place a foundation of what might later flower into something truly creative?

Truth be told, the level of the participating young conductors significantly differed. Two of the four would, I think, never make it into a genuine conductor. The two others seemed to have much more experience and flair in dealing with the orchestra (one of them, the American Joe Tafton, is pictured above).

All in all it was a very enjoyable and unique experience which gave me plenty of food for thought.