Renee Fleming, soprano; Gerald Martin Moore, piano. February 28, 2019.

New Jersey State Theater, New Brunswick.  Orchestra (Seat S116, $27.50).

Program

Vocal recitals usually are not my “thing.”  However, when I saw the TodayTix APP offering $20 tickets, I couldn’t resist.  It is Renee Fleming, and it is at the State Theater, a little over 20 minutes away from my house.

It was a worthwhile experience, even though my appreciation and knowledge of the vocal art remain quite limited.

First, it was a well-designed program.  It led off with five of Brahms’ songs.  Fleming talked a bit about them, what stood out were “Meine Liebe ist grun,” with text written by Robert and Clara Schumann’s son Felix, who died in his early twenties from tuberculosis; and “Wiegenlied,” the famous lullaby that is sung in every country.  The first song (Vergebliches Standhen) calls for a male and female voice, and Fleming sang both.  She also did that with the last piece in the regular program.  All the songs talk about love, realized or unrequited, and Fleming brought out the emotions well.

This was followed by selections from a suite written by Puts, based on letters Georgia O’keeffe wrote to Alfred Stieglitz, who would eventually become her husband.  The three selections from the composition painted a picture of the New Mexico landscape.  I remain puzzled why the song “Canyon” talks instead about the sky and the flat prairie land.  Fleming said the composition is being expanded to include Stieglitz as well.  A search of the web seems to indicate this is an opera, go figure.

Fleming has been involved with music for many films.  Three were selected for the first half.  Of course both “Tis the Last Rose of Summer” and “You’ll Never Know” are well-known in their own right.

At the conclusion of the first half of the program.  I was seated reasonably close to the stage, but failed to get any reasonable shots.

After the intermission Fleming started with a group of arias from “standard” operas, although the only one (of the four) that I was familiar with was Turandot.  I didn’t know Leoncavallo wrote La Boheme, about the same time Puccini did his.  Even though the premiere was well received, the opera is nowadays rarely performed.  The Musette aria reminded me of Carmen’s Habanera.

The program concluded with four broadway songs.  As with the last number in the first half, Fleming used a microphone for that, explaining Broadway singers needed the mike for the flexibility, and to survive the brutal schedule of eight shows a week.  For the last number she sang all the parts, including that of mother, grandmother, and the chorus.

She did three encores: “Summer Time” by Gershwin, “I could have danced all day” from “My Fair Lady” where she invited the audience to sing along, and “O mia babbino caro” from “Gianni Schicchi.”

Another blurry shot.  A different dress for the second half.

The pianist evidently has been a long-time collaborator with Fleming.  He certainly didn't get as much billing as the last vocal recital I saw.  The pianist in that case?  Daniil Trifonov.

In general, it was a delightful evening, and the audience was thrilled.  I have heard Fleming multiple times before, notably in Thais, Rusalka, and Otello, yet today she sounded edgier (or harsher) than usual; I wonder if it was the acoustics of the hall.  She did get some words wrong, but it was a long program.  What was inexplicable was the slight intonation program that crept in every now and then.  My ears have been ringing a little bit lately, I wonder if that’s why I think people are out of tune …

We bought two tickets, but Anne decided not to go.  The hall was reasonably well occupied, but I do wonder how many tickets were heavily discounted – my seat was quite good, in fact excellent if one takes into account how little I paid for it.

Sydney Symphony Orchestra – David Robertson, conductor; Diana Doherty, oboe. February 9, 2019.

Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House.  Mid-Circle (Seat L36, A$65.)

Program

Also Sprach Zarathustra – Symphonic Poem, Op. 30 (1896) by Strauss (1864-1949).

Spirit of the Wild – Oboe Concerto (2016) by Westlake (b. 1958).

The Warriors – Music to an imaginary ballet (1917) by Grainger (1882-1961).

The season opening concert for SSO was Friday February 8.  On their webpage both the February 8 and 9 concerts are grouped under the “2019 Season Opening Gala.”  As a tourist the best I can put on would be polo shirt, khaki pants, and black walking shoes.  So I decided to tempt fate with the second day of this Opening Gala.

The Program probably would appeal to an Australian concert-goer, as two of the three pieces were composed by Australian composers, one of them featured the SSO’s Principal Oboist; and who didn’t love the opening theme of 2001: Space Odyssey?

I had just heard on January 26 the Strauss piece performed by the NJ Symphony.  In my blog entry I mused how a description of the tone poem’s program would help my appreciation of the music.  My answer: just the listing the parts that comprise the music (see my previous blog for this list) helped a lot.  While I couldn’t make out where the music was some of the time, I could clearly tell “joy and passion,” “science” (a fugue), and “night wanderer.”  The last was obvious as we got close to the end of the 33-minute piece.

My experience with the NJSO performance was such that it gave me cause for concern.  The SSO certainly sounded more disciplined and confident than what I heard from the NJSO.  It really behooves them to help the audience understand what they are playing.

Nigel Westlake’s father was principal clarinetist of the SSO, and he started his musical career as a clarinetist before adding composition to his repertory.  Today’s piece was inspired by his visit to Bathurst Harbour of Tasmania, which he describes as “… a pristine waterway … within the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area.  Almost completely devoid of modern human intrusion, the area … is accessible only by boat, plane, or foot.  It is a magical patchwork of button-grass moorlands, heathlands and estuaries, bordered by jagged works, wild rivers and rugged coastlines.”  The four movements have the following markings: (I) quarter=96 – cadenza (II) quarter=96 (III) Tranquillo – Liberamente - quarter=96 (IV) Agitato.  Diana Doherty, SSO’s current principal clarinetist, met up with Westlake to demonstrate some of the techniques that could be incorporated into the piece.  This piece was first performed in 2017.

And that was what the piece sounded like.  I had seen rugged Tasmanian coastlines, and had to say what I heard didn’t evoke memories of the boat rides I took next to them.  To have music describe certain thoughts or landscapes always was somewhat arbitrary, as opposed to most people see a cigar when a cigar is drawn, for instance.

Diana Doherty and Nigel Westlake being acknowledged by the audience.  Robertson standing among the violins.  There were no woodwind instruments in the orchestra.

Percy Grainger was also an Australian composer; and his “imaginary ballet” suite is still awaiting its program.  There are eight distinct parts to this music, and Grainger lists the ghosts of male and female warrior types that are being described: Greeks, Zulus, Vikings, Amazons, Greenland women, Red Indians, Fijians, Polynesians.  In his writeup he used quite a few adjectives to describe these warrior which are not acceptable nowadays.

The section changes are relatively easy to catch, even though I could have mis-identified how the music connects with the actual group being described.

A much larger orchestra was used to perform the Grainger composition.

The SSO is a fine orchestra, controlled and precise under the direction of Robertson, who is serving as the music director for the final season.

I bought two extra tickets for Ellie and Kuau, and Anne would remain behind to babysit.  Ellie decided not to go at the last minute, so we had an empty seat.

As to the concert being labeled a gala?  Many did show up in suits and dresses, but being the summer, many were dressed casually also, and I certainly didn’t feel out of place.

Opera Australia – Puccini’s La Boheme. February 8, 2019.

Joan Sutherland Theatre at Sydney Opera House.  Circle (Seat E8, A$167.)

Story.  See previous blog.

Conductor – Nicolas Milton.  Mimi – Joyce El-Khoury, Rodolfo – Ivan Magri, Marcello – Samuel Dundas, Musetta – Julie Lea Goodwin.

For this year’s trip to Australia, we started at Brisbane, and flew down to Sydney on Friday February 8 in the morning.  A few days before we left the USA, I bought three tickets to this opera, asking Tim and Whitney to come along.

I found out afterwards that I had seen this with Tim and Alyson in 2013, but had little recollection of it.  Tim also forgot all about it.  Comparing the cast members for the two performances, the only common one was Samuel Dundas singing the role of Marcello.

My blog entry on the 2013 performance was quite minimal, but it was generally quite positive.  The only complaint was about how all the singers belted out their lines.

For tonight’s performance the volume wasn’t that much of a concern.  The constant term that came to mind, however, was “chaotic.”  The story is simple, and I am reasonably familiar with the story, so I shouldn’t feel as confused as I oftentimes was.  The sets were simple, but in Act II it seemed too many things were happening (this is the Act where a couple of topless ladies appeared in Café Momus.)  If I remember correctly, the Met production had more people on stage, but I could follow the story better.

So I won’t forget (if there is) the next time I see this again, here is a brief description of the sets. For Act 1 the background were six (or so) panels where the painter was done; in the center panel was the door to the room; a step-ladder, a chest, and a plank constituted a table; and there was a fireplace where the poet’s work was burnt to warm the place.  Act II started as a city square where adults and children milled about, then two-tiered props were rotated out as Café Momus.  For Act III the background were panels of chain-linked fences, and in center stage was a desk and chairs for the customs agents; it snowed towards the end of the Act.  Act IV took place in the artists’ living room again, the desk now had a mattress on it for Mimi’s last moments.

The singing was all good, although no one stood out particularly.  The few solo instrument lines were also done well.  Somehow the story about Marcello and Musetta was more of a background event; either I couldn’t concentrate, or producers have a way to bring across different messages.

Curtain Call.  Standing in front is conductor Nicholas Milton.

It is a tribute to all involved that the story was still heart-wrenching, simple and somewhat incredible as it was.  Even what I often considered as a joke “they call me Mimi, but my name is Lucia” sounded extremely sad.  And I didn’t realize it was the dying Mimi who was repeating what Rudolfo was saying when they first met.

La Boheme is ranked one of the most popular operas, for good reason.  Opera Australia will be doing 23 performances this season.

There was lightning and torrential rain this evening.  I saw lightning, but managed to dodge most of the rain by taking advantage of the lower promenade leading to the box office.  Many people 

New York Philharmonic – Jaap van Zweden, conductor; Emanuel Ax, piano. January 31, 2019.

David Geffen Hall at Lincoln Center.  Orchestra (Seat Z112, $85.50 ).

Program

Symphony No. 1 in E-flat major, K. 16 (1764) by Mozart (1756-91).

Piano Concerto in D major, Hob. XVIII:11 (ca. 1780-84) by Haydn (1732-1809).

Capriccio for Piano and Orchestra (1928-29, rev. 1949) by Stravinsky (1882-1971).

Symphony No. 41 in C major, K. 551, Jupiter (1788) by Mozart.

Sometimes it is good to attend a concert where it is possible to enjoy without having to think too much.  Tonight’s concert certainly qualifies, at least for three of the four pieces on the program.  Of course, many Ph. D. degrees have been granted, and many books have been written, on these pieces.  The discussion topics can range from exactly when the pieces were written, to what instruments were intended to be used, to how the pieces illustrate the genius of the composers.  All good, but I, for one, could use a break, and this was two hours of sitting back and enjoying the music.  Interestingly, there are no records of when the “old” pieces were premiered.

It is instructive to have Mozart’s first and last symphonies performed in the same program, so one could appreciate the prodigy Mozart was (he was 8 when he wrote his first symphony), how he matured as a composer, and, perhaps, speculate what could have been if he hadn’t died at such a young age.

Mozart’s first symphony consists of three movements: Molto Allegro, Andante, and Presto.  Easy to listen to, and easy to perform (I assume.)  The Program Note says this work was not far removed from coeval (why use a simple word like “contemporary”) three-movements symphony by Carl Friedrich Abel and Johann Christian Bach, except they were 41 and 29 years old.  I was young when I started graduate school, and felt quite smart until this 16-year old was in the same class that I was (he got his Ph. D. the same year I did.)  Abel and Bach had to feel even “worse.”

Mozart’s last symphony was written a few years before he died, so it is somewhat of a mystery why he hadn’t written more, given how prolific he could be.  He finished his last three symphonies in the span of nine weeks, after all.  With all the repeats (which were taken today), the piece lasted about 35 minutes.  I still remember getting a bit bored the time there were three Mozart symphonies in the program.  Today was a bit better, although I would be okay to have things move along a bit faster.  In any case, the “highlight” was the last moment, well known for the fugue where Mozart strung together all five melodies.  Naturally we can count on our word-smithing annotator to say “Mozart renders the listener slack-jawed through a breathtaking fugal display of quintuple invertible counterpoint, …, looking backward … Bach and Handel, and forward … Beethoven.”

 A larger orchestra was used to performed Mozart's 41st Symphony (bottom) compared to the first (top photo.)  The Jupiter is about three times as long as the first symphony Mozart composed.

Haydn lived to the ripe old age of 77, and probably was equally prolific a composer, even though his work is not accorded the same superlatives as Mozart’s.  While he wrote over 100 symphonies, the number of keyboard concertos is only 13 (per Wikipedia.)  Again, once could just sit back and enjoy the performance, and there is no better pianist to do it than Ax, whose playing I always enjoy.  The three movements are Vivace, Un poco adagio, and Rondo all’Ungherese (Allegro assai).  The Hungarian nature of the Rondo was delightful.

Haydn's Piano Concerto was a delight to hear.

Stravinsky wrote the Capriccio after he fled Russia for Western Europe.  He started with the third movement and added the other movements later.  The Wikipedia entry says he wrote it for himself so he could make a living performing it.  It was about 18 minutes long, and performed without pause; the movement transitions were quite clear, though.  The movements are Presto, Andante rapsodico, and Allegro capriccioso ma temp giusto. In addition to the solo piano, there is a “concertino” group (again per Wikipedia) of strings.  We could see the violin and the double bass, the piano blocked our view of the viola and the cello.  In fact some of the wind section sounded like they belonged in this small ensemble also.

A more complex orchestra, with many percussions, was used to perform the Stravinsky Capriccio.

Being the first time for me, I could only say it was a nice give-and-take among the different players, with the piano naturally playing a prominent role.  Ax brought his music with him, either he wasn’t sure he had it memorized, or more in keeping with a chamber performance.

The orchestra performed an encore.

The weather has been bitterly cold the last night, and it was in the teens when we parked our car.  We had dinner at East Szechuan Garden again.

Metropolitan Opera – Tchaikovsky’s Iolanta & Bartok’s Bluebeard’s Castle. January 28, 2019.

Metropolitan Opera at Lincoln Center.  Orchestra (Seat Y35, $25).

Iolanta

Story. King Rene’s daughter Iolanta is born blind.  She is betrothed at birth to marry Duke Robert, and her father protects her by having her live alone with servants and never informing her that she is blind.  By chance Robert and his friend Count Vaudemont wander in, Robert is love with Matilda, but Vaudemont is taken by Iolanta’s beauty.  When her father brings in a Moorish doctor, the doctor’s cure only works if Iolanta truly desires to see again.  Even though unwittingly Vaudemont lets Iolanta know that she is blind, she still doesn’t know what sight means.  The king then threatens to kill Vaudemont if the doctor fails, knowing this would trigger Iolanta’s desire that the cure be a success.  It works.  King Rene then releases Robert’s responsibility to marry his daughter, and the opera concludes with Iolanta marrying Vaudemont.

Conductor – Henrik Nanasi.  Iolanta – Sonya Yoncheva, King Rene – Vitalij Kowaljow, Duke Robert – Alexey Markov, Count Vaudemont – Matthew Polenzani.

Bluebeard’s Castle

Story.  Judith loves Bludbeard and has come to his castle to live with him.  She knows little about Bluebeard, and his secrets mesmerizes her.  In the castle there are seven locked doors, which is opened at her insistence one at a time despite Bluebeard’s response of “love me, and ask no questions.”  The doors reveal rooms that are: a torture chamber, an armory, a treasury, a garden, Bluebeard’s empire, a sea of tears, and – finally – space beyond life where Bluebeard’s previous wives dwell.  Judith joins them.

Conductor – Henrik Nanasi.  Judith – Angela Denoke, Duke Bluebeard – Gerald Finley.

This combination of operas was offered by the Met last season, it was a must-see event as Anna Netrebko was singing the role of Iolanta.  Our schedule was such that we couldn’t make it.  While we didn’t include this in our subscription due to possible calendar issues, I was planning to see it if schedule allows.  Being able to do so at Rush Ticket pricing is a great bonus.  The auditorium was reasonably full, but I still managed to move in a couple of seats (to Y31) for Iolanta, and one row up (X27 or thereabouts) for Bluebeard.  Iolanta lasts about 90 minutes, Bluebeard 60; together they form a nice program.

I am sure Netrebko did well, but Yoncheva does not need to apologize for her performance.  Not far into the program she sang her first aria, a melodious yet not easy hummable tune, wondering if there is anything wrong, and why she feels sad.  Yes, Iolanta’s story is not that different from other “girl meets prince” story, but it certainly gripped me by the time Yoncheva was done with the first aria.

One can gauge the popularity of Iolanta by the number of times this has been staged at the Met.  I saw the ninth performance, ever.  The opera didn’t sound particularly difficult for a Tchaikovsky, the set (more on that later) was not that elaborate, and I, for one, won’t mind seeing it again.  The other cast members all did well.  One voice that didn’t meet my high expectations – because they were high – was Polenzani’s.  He certainly could hold the audience’s attention with his soft wistful high-register notes, but there was not enough heft when heft was called for.  Given how good he usually is, I was expecting someone to come out and say he couldn’t continue because of a cold (not that this is practical with a one-act opera.)  From reading the Operawire review, he was not able to perform in the January 24 concert.

The set is basically a cubic structure that served for most of the time Iolanta’s bedroom (afterall, there was a bed in the middle of it.)  By rotating the bed people can come in and exit quietly (but observable from my seat on the side.)  For the different acts, the rest of the stage would be for instance a forest or the courtyard of the house.  There are tree trunks that are raised so the roots would be off the stage; perhaps to show that the room is underground?

The cast of Iolanta with Yoncheva and Polenzani in their wedding attire.  The conductor didn't join the cast after this first opera of two.

Although the story isn’t really that important, I do wish for a less formulaic ending.  Everyone is happy, no one got hurt, and Iolanta and Vaudemont live happily ever after.

Bluebeard’s Castle contrasts with Iolanta in many ways.  First is the story: while Iolanta is a fairy tale, Bluebeard’s Castle is a psychological treatise (or thriller) that some interpret as depicting how people are not knowable, or there are things about others – even those you care about - that you really don’t want to know.  It is superfluous to say Bartok’s music is very different from that of Tchaikovsky’s, although I can generally get Bartok’s in that its appeal is direct.  Of course there is some level of surrealism in Bluebeard, especially in the last scene where things appeared suspended: these former wives of Bluebeard’s would slowly walk and disappear, and it wasn’t known if they were alive or dead.

Even though the opera is short (not quite an hour), all the singing is carried by Judith and Bluebeard.  Both singers did well.  Interestingly on occasion amplification was used on Bluebeard’s voice.

The sets used were more elaborate than Iolanta, go figure.  In between scenes you have this projection of a long corridor in the middle of the curtain, and a room where Judith and/or Bluebeard appear as they sing the “interludes” (“Love me, don’t ask questions.”)  The story started with a forest projected onto the screen, accompanied by a narration that suddenly stopped (the Playbill says the voice would fade away; wonder if there was a glitch.)  As far as I could tell, this was the first instance of nudity I saw in any Met opera, prior ones were all with body suits.

Denoke and Finley at the conclusion of Bluebeard's Castle.  Standing behind them are Bluebeard's former wives.  I had to leave early to catch the train, so didn't wait for the conductor.

The one clear commonality in set designs between the two operas was the use of these tree trunks with exposed roots.  For Bluebeard it makes more sense as the final scene as the surreal scene could well have unfolded below ground, among the roots of these trees.

The Playbill’s notes and commentary were generally helpful.  I do wonder if the writer of the synopses had to go as far to say about Iolanta “Will it be forever?” and about Bluebeard “The circle of her journey closes.  Or, perhaps it closed a long time ago, when she first met Bluebeard?”  Those were certainly not part of the plot.

This Operawire review heaps praise on Bluebeard, but is negative on Yoncheva.  My experience is not the same; and I certainly don’t see all these connections about how both operas have abusive male figures.  The New York Times review expresses similar sentiments, but allows that Yoncheva was good when she sang Iolanta in Paris a few years ago.

I took the train up and had pizza around 72^nd Street before the opera.

New Jersey Symphony – Xian Zhang, conductor; Daniil Trifonov, piano. January 26, 2019.

State Theater, New Brunswick.  Front Orchestra (Seat J101, $28.)

Program

Also sprach Zarathustra, Op. 30 (1896) by Strauss (1864-1949).

Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 54 (1841-1845) by Schumann (1810-1856).

Le Poeme de l’extase (The Poem of Ecstasy), Op. 54 (1905-08) by Scriabin (1872-1915).

Speaking of bad luck, or series of unfortunate events if one doesn’t believe in luck, we had tickets to all three of these “Winter Festival” concerts, but managed only to make this one.  Tickets to the first one (1/13) had to be given away since we had to fly to California for a friends’ memorial service, and last week the threat of a snow storm (1/19) was enough for NJ Governor to declare a state of emergency – and we ended up having a warm evening with no snow.  NJSO, being a good NJ organization, naturally cancelled the concert.  I am glad we could make this third one.  Not because of the significant financial loss (tickets were bought on sale), but that the program is quite exciting, on paper anyway.

Let’s first dispense of the obvious. Trifonov’s performance of Schumann alone was worth the price of admission; in my case many times over.  The Schumann concerto is one of these brilliant warhorses that exhilarate from beginning to end.  Even though it is divided into three movements, it felt like a continuous piece, enjoyable on different levels.  As the Program Notes puts it, Schumann thought of this concerto as “something between symphony, concerto, and grand sonata,” and ended up with something greater than any one of those three.  One can sing along with the melodies (quietly), enjoy the give and take between the soloist and the orchestra, admire the virtuoso performance put on by the soloist, or – if so inclined – analyze how the work is structured.  The three movements are (i) Allegro affecttuoso, (ii) Intermezzo: Andantino grazioso, and (iii) Allegro vivace.

Danill Trifonov and Xian Zhang acknowledging the audience's applause.

Even though there were empty seats here or there, tonight’s attendance was better than usual for a State Theater concert.  I actually moved two rows forward after the intermission. Trifonov responded to the audience applause by playing a “one-man band” rendition of Katschei’s Infernal Dance, which was amazing.

Trifonov has morphed from a clean-cut young man when we first saw him in 2012 to a more hippie-looking person today, but the focus and joy he brings to his music haven’t seen much change, to this observer.  To my surprise his bio indicates he studied at the Cleveland Institute of Music.

One of those days I will try to learn more about Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra.  Of the times I listened to it, I lose track after the famous Sunrise and just couldn’t quite track where this tone poem is saying.  Based on Nietsche’s work of the same name, the music is supposed to explore Zoroaster the prophet’s “descending from a mountain after many years of meditation in solitude in order to impart his wisdom to mankind,” with Strauss selecting several of Nietsche’s discourse that match his own musical thoughts.  In this case, without the benefit of a program guide, I just can’t figure out what this “navel-gazing” (apologies to those who are offended) music is about.

From Wikipedia, the music is structured as follows: 1.  Introduction, or Sunrise; 2. Of Those in the Background World; 3. Of the Great Longing; 4. Of Joys and Passions; 5. The Song of the Grave; 6.  Of Science and Learning; 7. The Convalescent; 8.  The Dance Song; 9. Song of the Night Wanderer.  One wonders if these reflect the thrust of Nietsche’s work.  In any case, Strauss prefaced his score with the words “Too long has music been dreaming; now let us awaken.  We wandered by night, now let us walk by day.”

The concertmaster Eric Wyrick had quite a few solo lines for the Strauss and Scriabin pieces.  Here he was acknowledged after the Strauss.

The Program Notes has a couple of interesting takes on the composer Scriabin, and tonight’s work The Poem of Ecstasy.  Scriabin is described as “far less well known than his contemporaries … he is even more misunderstood” and “… great impact with the few works for orchestra, of which The Poem of Ecstasy is the most import.” His Wikipedia entry contains the following quote by his biographer: “No one was more famous during their lifetime, and few were more quickly ignored after death.”  While I have heard his name mentioned every now and then, there is only one entry in this blog about his music.  Frankly I can’t name anything he wrote, so there …

After hearing this piece, my ignorance about this composer remains intact.  Unfortunately, what sticks in my mind is how Anne described the performance: there is a New York Philharmonic “loud,” which is much better than the New Jersey Symphony “loud.”  Indeed the music sounded chaotic when the orchestra played loudly.  Wyrick as concertmaster had quite a few solos to tackle (both in this piece and in Strauss's piece,) and I had a hard time hearing him, even though I was seated up front.  I have heard much better from him, so wonder if it’s the instrument or the acoustics.

I still recall this pre-concert talk about Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique, given before a Mostly Mozart concert, which has greatly increased my understanding and appreciation of the piece.  Berlioz wrote it in 1830, so the musical idioms had changed a lot, no doubt; I still wonder would some study of the piece help in my appreciation?

I root for NJSO, but I am worried.  They have had some big name musicians on their program, which is great; for instance, on the “Winter Festival” programs are Emanuel Ax, Dawn Upshaw, and Daniil Trifonov. However, the low attendance may mean difficulty rebooking them.  On top of that, there is also “bad luck,” like cancellation of concerts.  The Jekyll-and-Hyde nature seems to have improved to a more uniform standard of performance, but there is still a lot of work to do.

And with this blog I am nearly all caught up.  I did go to a Metropolitan Opera performance last night (Monday) though.

New York Philharmonic – Jaap van Zweden, conductor; Anthony McGill, clarinet. January 24, 2019.

David Geffen Hall at Lincoln Center.  First Tier Center (Seat CC1, $66.25.)

Program

Elegy, from August 4, 1964 (2008) by Stucky (1949-2016).

Concerto for Clarinet and String Orchestra, with Harp and Piano (1947-48) by Copland (1900-90).

Fire in my mouth (2018) by Wolfe (b. 1958).

Other artists

The Crossing

Young People’s Chorus of New York City

This was not on our original list of subscription concerts.  I didn’t find the program, by modern American composers, particularly exciting.  A couple of weeks ago I got an email offering discounted tickets at $59 each, so I bit.

Steven Stucky died a couple years ago from brain tumor.  He got his Ph. D. from Cornell about the same time I did, and remained there for 34 more years on the faculty.

Stucky was not quite 15 on August 4, 1964, and the fateful events he was trying to capture with the oratorio were Kennedy’s assassination a few months prior, and the discovery of the bodies of three murdered civil rights workers, with the backdrop of Vietnam war.  The work was commissioned by the Dallas Symphony during van Zweden’s tenure.  Elegy is an (authorized) stand-alone excerpt that lasts about 7 minutes.

The Playbill the piece as “That musical cell exhales grief – a descending combination of notes that permeates this doleful Elegy.”  What I heard wasn’t particularly sad, and what’s most prominent about the piece was the reuse of this theme (not even sure if it was the “descending combination”.)  As with much modern music, the effect was like the ripple in my mind caused by a thrown pebble, disappearing after a short while.

Copland’s clarinet concerto consists of two movements: Slowly and expressively, and Rather fast; the piece lasts about 16 minutes.  Simple enough.  It supposedly had so many jazz elements in the second movement that Koussevitzky – a usual champion of Copland’s music – would not perform it unless Copland removed that movement and recast the first as a piece for string orchestra.  Copland first agreed, then changed his mind as he thought this would undercut the integrity of the concerto.  (Interesting contrast with Stucky thinking a seven-minute extract could stand on its own.)  Unfortunately all this back-and-forth was more interesting than the piece itself, a problem possibly exacerbated by the relatively poor acoustics at our seats; the clarinet sounded weak.  The only part that was close to being interesting was the last few minutes.

The piece was written with Benny Goodman in mind, and for its New York Philharmonic premiere Goodman was the clarinetist and Copland was the conductor.

Anthony McGill at the end of the Clarinet Concerto.

Julia Wolfe’s piece Fire in my mouth was written in commemoration of the fire at a garment factory in New York on March 25, 1911 that killed 146 workers.  It was jointly commissioned by New York Philharmonic.  The singing is done by a women’s choir and a girls’ choir.  The Crossing is a professional chamber choir, this was first encounter with the ensemble.  We had heard the YPC of NYC a couple of times before, with Mostly Mozart.

Per the Playbill, the libretto draws on “oral history interviews, and on folk and protest songs.”  Characterized as an oratorio, the hour-length program consists of four parts (i) immigration; (ii) factory; (iii) protest; and (iv) fire.  The factory workers in question were mostly Italian and Jewish immigrants.  The term “Fire in my mouth” is a quote from an activist who was pointing out the atrocious conditions faced by these factory workers.  I couldn’t tell if this activist had any direct involvement with people who perished in this fire.

I didn’t expect – and didn’t get – any elaborate staging for the piece.  There was a rather large screen with images projected on them, probably vintage footage from that era.   The piece started with five ladies describing how they came to America, then joined by all the factory workers.  The girls choir members then marched down the center aisles during the third movement.  At the end the Crossings members were at the front of the stage, the YPC members in the back.  I assume there is a monitor hung on the war for the girls to see the direction (I couldn’t tell on account of where I was seated), although van Zweden would turn around and direct them every now and then.

After listening to the first three parts I came away with the impression that Wolfe writes music in only one way.  I have no idea what “post-minimalist” means (does it mean more, less, or simply different?), but would just characterize it as dull.  Things did come to life a bit in Part 4 where people were dying.  The women’s choir is listed as “amplified,” we brought along the wrong binoculars, so couldn’t find out if the singers were wearing Broadway-style wireless microphones; and wonder why amplification was necessary. 

The principals were called out by the audience's applause many times.  Here Wolfe was walking towards van Zweden.  In the left were (probably) the directors of the choral ensembles.

Given the social justice nature of the first and third pieces in the program, one wonders how the Copland piece belongs.  In the Wolfe piece I felt some facts were distorted so the main point would not get distracted.  The Immigration story started with the five women declaring they didn’t have passports; I am sure the immigration process was different then, and Ellis Island and Angel Island (or their predecessors) were where people (with or without passports) first processed.  The use of all-women voices would give the impression, intended or not, that only women suffered in the hands of their employers.  But when the victims’ names were projected onto the screen at the end, there were a few Jacobs and Abrahams in the list. One wonders what other distortions are in the program, and would it be so bad to have a few voices to represent male victims?

That I didn’t have high expectations in the program is evidenced by my no including it in my original CYO subscription.  I managed to get somewhat excited by the prospect of a new experience, but was ultimately disappointed.  Here is the New York Times review, mostly devoted to Wolfe’s work.

Today was warmer, and we just had takeout food inside our SUV.

Metropolitan Opera – Debussy’s Pelleas et Melisande. January 22, 2019.

Metropolitan Opera at Lincoln Center.  Balcony (Seat C104, $92.50).

Story.  Golaud, widowed grandson of King Arkel, meets Melisande near a fountain, brings her to the castle, and eventually marries her.  Pelleas, Golaud’s half-brother, is asked to look after Melisande.  They go to a well in the park, and Melisande accidentally drops her wedding ring in the well when the clock strikes noon.  She is urged by Pelleas to tell her husband Golaud the truth.  When asked by Golaud, she lies, and is asked to take Pelleas to the park to retrieve her ring.  Later, Pelleas is at Melisande’s window and tells her he is leaving.  Golaud appears and asks them to stop behaving like children; later Golaud tells Pelleas that Melisande is pregnant.  Eventually Golaud gets so suspicious that he quizzes his son Yniold if anything has happened between Pelleas and Melisande, and Yniold hasn’t seen anything.  Regardless, Golaud is suspicious and abuses Melisande on one occasion.  Pelleas and Melisande visit the well and profess love for one another, while they kiss Golaud appears and kills Pelleas.  Melisande gives birth prematurely and admits that she loved Pelleas before she dies.  King Arkel remarks that it is the newborn baby’s turn.

Yannick Nezet-Seguin – conductor.  Golaud – Kyle Ketelsen; Melisande – Isabel Leonard; Arket – Ferruccio Furlanetto; Pelleas – Paul Appleby; Yniold – A. Jesse Schopflocher.

Today is Sunday January 27, and I have three writeups to do before a (possible) concert tomorrow; thus this will be a rushed job.  And the bottom line for this opera?  Most of the little impression it left on me has faded by now, five days later.  I do remember when I walked away at the end of the performance, I asked “why?”  And that question is at many levels.

We can start with how a conductor reacted after being asked of P&M will ever be a success, the answer was “It was never intended to be …”  Debussy evidently thought popular success equaled artistic failure, going so far as to entertaining the formation of a Society of Musical Esoterism.  He intended for the opera to be performed in Paris’s small avant-garde theaters and private homes.  Ironically, P&M premiered in Opera Comique, and gave him international celebrity.  This success may have stopped Debussy from writing a second opera.

The play the opera is based on is a Symbolist drama.  I don’t really know what that means, other than it might mean one is to read into the words ideal beauty in an ideal world.  That may explain why the story doesn’t try to answer what many would consider obvious questions.  One of them relates to Melisande’s background, we know she is beautiful, but simply appears near the fountain as the story begins.  Another question would be when did P & M fall in love?  They kiss once (per the Met synopsis) and Pelleas is killed.  If the Program Note had not mentioned it, I wouldn’t catch the sheep being led to slaughter is meant to represent how destiny leads to P&M’s deaths.

The story in the opera develops in a series of 15 short vignettes spread over five acts.  A typical scene would last 10 to 15 minutes.  The basic setup are several walls.  As the stage rotates, the space would become the prop for a particular scene.  Works okay, although they could have spent a bit more money on the set.  There are many stretches of vocal silences, filled with beautiful Debussian orchestral music.  Indeed I thought many passages that reminded me of La Mer, especially at the beginning.  There is little, if any, choral singing in the opera.

Most of the voices came through quite well to our seats in the balcony.  The only singer I know about, Paul Appleby, was the sole exception.  His voice was so weak that I expected someone would announce that he couldn’t continue.  He finished the performance, and I don’t know if he was not well.  I have heard Appleby several times in the past, and don’t recall not liking his performance, so this was an exception.  The boy soprano did a great job.

Music Director Yannick Nezet-Seguin at curtain call, flanked by Appleby and Leonard.

The New York Times review has a lot of good things to say about the performance.  He contrasts what Nezet-Seguin wants in how the orchestra sounds with the “old sound.” (In simple words, more bass.)  He also mentioned how Appleby sounded weak with the low notes.

It was a cold night (if I recall), so we had dinner at East Szechuan Garden.  Traffic was light, as it tends to be during the winter months after Christmas.

New York Philharmonic – Jaap van Zweden, conductor; Yefim Bronfman, piano. January 18, 2019.

David Geffen Hall at Lincoln Center.  Orchestra 1 (Seat K109, $61.50).

Program

Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat major, Op. 19 (1788-1801) by Beethoven (1770-1827).

Symphony No. 2 in E minor, Op. 27 (1906-08) by Rachmaninoff (1873-1943).

I am sure I have heard both pieces live before, many times.  The surprise was I was familiar with only one of the three movements in the Beethoven, and one of the four in the Rachmaninoff.

The adjective “Mozartian” is often associated with early Beethoven works, and this concerto, composed when he was around 20, falls comfortable in that description.  Not that one would mistake it for Mozart, but the structure and the use of repeated notes clearly reminded one of Mozart’s compositions.  The brilliant sounds in Beethoven’s music perhaps reflected the availability of more modern instruments, and the contrasts and the techniques asked of the performer are characteristics of Beethoven. A pianist can analyze the similarities and the differences, I can make only qualitative assessments.

It was a delightful opening to this morning concert (started at 11 am.)  Bronfman in the past played mostly virtuoso pieces (say by Rachmaninoff), although I had heard him play this concerto before, with Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, as part of a Beethoven concerto cycle.  His approach seemed fresh and exciting, and worked well with van Zweden on the podium.  Our seats in the center of the hall afforded us a great view of his face, but not his hands.  One comment I have was both he, and the orchestra, for that matter, looked a bit too serious.  The three movements are Allegro con brio, Adagio, and Rondo: Molto allegro.

Bronfman after the Beethoven concerto.

The Rachmaninoff symphony is over an hour long.  One of the first reviewers remarked that “this may be slightly overlong for the general audience, but how fresh, how beautiful it is!” I must admit I did look at my watch a couple of times, but also that it didn’t feel long at all.  Van Zweden did seem to take the music at a rather quick pace, and I thought the orchestra sounded a bit muddled at times.  Nonetheless, the music was exciting, and sometimes quite loud.  As with Rachmaninoff’s piano concertos, the listener didn’t need to do a lot of “work,” they only needed to go along for the ride.

The four movements of the symphony are (i) Largo - Allegro moderato; (ii) Allegro molto - Meno mosso - Tempo I; (iii) Adagio; and (iv) Allegro vivace - Adagio - Tempo precedente.

van Zweden was applauded enthusiastically at the conclusion of the Rachmaninoff symphony.  He was quite good at acknowledging the players and sections.

To expand on the remark I made at the beginning of this writeup, I am familiar with the Rondo in Beethoven, and the Adagio in Rachmaninoff.  The Rondo is fun (that’s why I thought the musicians could smile a little,) and the Adagio contains one of the sadder and beautiful melodies.

There was a recent review article in the New York Times that talked about the new, louder sound of the Philharmonic, so I tried to make my own assessment.  Clearly the Beethoven didn’t suffer from that “problem” as a reduced size orchestra was used.  Some passages in the Rachmaninoff were quite loud, to being overwhelming.  I don’t see anything wrong with that; isn’t music supposed to overwhelm at times?  And I am not sure that’s a recent phenomenon.

We decided to drive up for this morning program.  Parking was at one of these ICON places, and the new APP is such that there was some confusion on when the car can be released. (Every time the APP is refreshed, the clock resets.)  It took me a while to convince the attendant that I wasn’t the cause of the problem.  In any case, we got home in good time, after grabbing some food in the Cheesequake service area.

Metropolitan Opera – Cilea’s Adriana Lecouvreur. January 8, 2019.

Metropolitan Opera at Lincoln Center.  Balcony (Seat C5, $133.)

Story.  The story evolves around three main characters: Adriana the actress, Maurizio, and the Princess of Bouillon.  Both women are in love with Maurizio.  Maurizio gives Adriana a bouquet of violets, which he happens to leave at the palace of the Prince (husband of the Princess.)  When the Princess shows up, Maurizio pretends the flowers are for her. Afraid of being caught with her lover, the Princess hides when the Prince sos up. Adriana also arrives, hoping to convince the Prince to promote Maurizio (who is actually the illegitimate son of the Polish emperor.)  Adriana ends up helping the Princess escape, without she and the Princess finding out about the identity of the other.  At the palace party the two finally recognized each other’s voices; the Princess made Adriana recite a play, and Adriana hits back by directly the play’s venom at her.  By then Adriana thinks Maurizio no longer loves her, but the Princess instead.  Adriana gives up on theater, but her colleagues convince her to return.  A package marked “From Maurizio” arrives, and in it is a wither bouquet of violets.  Adriana takes that as a final insult from Maurizio, smells it, and throws it in the fire.  Maurizio is summoned to Adriana to reassert his love for her.  She is sick from the flowers, and dies in his arms.

Conductor – Gianandrea Noseda.  Adriana Lecouvreur – Anna Netrebko; Maurizio – Piotr Beczala, Princess of Bouillon – Anita Rachveliashvili, Michonnet – Ambrogio Maestri, Abbe de Chazeuil – Carlo Bosi, Prince of Bouillon – Maurizio Muzaro.

The Program Note begins with the sentence “… is an opera some people love to hate.”  Given all the positive things about the opera, it is a pity that I have to agree with it, at least on many aspects.

Should I go first with the good or the bad?  I knew about the composer Cilea, but couldn’t remember what I knew him for on the day of this performance.  (I have three arias of his on my iPhone, two from Act 1 of this opera, and one from his L’Arlesiana.)  The synopsis is probably the longest I have ever seen, and I wondered as I read it at home if it had to be so complicated.  Indeed there were many other characters in the story who had significant roles, but they overall added to the confusion.  A case of not being able to cull one’s own writing?  As a bad writer myself I sympathize.

In its defense, the story in the opera (and the play) is based on real people, and real people’s lives are complicated.  A great writer should be able to distill these complexities into appropriate story lines.  With a bit of mixed metaphor, the Broadway show Les Miserables and the opera War and Peace are great examples of how this could be done.

Every season I look for operas I have not seen before, and can usually find a couple that fit my schedule.  That Netrebko is in the cast certainly helped with the decision in this case.  And she is the real deal in this case.  I don’t have the vocabulary to describe a beautiful human voice, so the reader has to assume they are all used here.  Her technique was simply amaIt seemed no matter where she was on stage, whether it was loud or soft, her voice could be clearly heard where we sat.  In Act III there were quite a few lines that were practically spoken, and she delivered them with much clarity and heft.  The unnecessary complexity of the story made it difficult to be invested emotionally in the opera, and it wasn’t until in the last act when she lamented over the wilted violets that I began to feel a degree of sadness.

I had seen Anita Rachveliashvili several times before, including Carmen and Prince Igor.  I was very impressed with her Carmen.  Her performance today by-and-large matched that of Netrebko.  The only missing component was a “soft high.”  In reading my blog that was my comment about her other performances also.  The audience certainly gave her first aria a very prolonged applause.

Beczala was featured in Opera News recently, and the interview gave a lot of insight to how he cultivated his career.  By all indication he is on track.  We saw him this past May in Zurich where he put in an excellent performance as Werther.  In the large Met auditorium he had to work harder, and he was good, but not quite up to the level of the two leading ladies.

This was the first time the McVicar production is used at the Met, although it debuted in Covent Garden in 2010.  Traditional with a twist: in Act IV we have a theater stage and the chairs and table in front constituted Adriana’s house; grand yet simple: the palace scene in Act III occupies a lot of real estate but there is not much of this ornateness one expects from the 1730 Paris (Rococco, says the Playbill.)  Perhaps it works well for the actors, and there are no pauses for scene changes, but to the audience it is just unremarkable.  I still don’t understand why the stage is usually poorly lit so often.

There is a rather extended ballet session in Act III.  That was the norm for operas written during that period, but to me the time is probably better used to clarify the story. The opera started with Act II of the play, so that’s another candidate for that interval.  I am sure the dancers are all accomplished professionals, but to me ballets seldom belong unless it propels the story along (such as in La Traviata.)

The music is generally very pleasant to listen to, but there are few catchable tunes.  The orchestra played well.  There were quite a few solo lines, especially for the violin, and they were all done with precision and aplomb.

I can lament about various aspects of the opera, but it is what it is, and Cilea is not around to modify it.  Put that way, I must say I enjoyed it, mostly for the superb singing, though.  While I still say the singing makes or breaks a performance, I do wish for more.

Curtain Call with Noseda in front.  The main characters are standing behind him.  This is the set for Act 4.  All the lights were turned on as Adriana dies in her home.

The New York Times critic saw this when it premiered the season on New Year’s eve.  The review was one wave of praise after another.  There was not one single thing he would take issue with.

All traffic reports said the Hudson crossings were clear, so we took Lincoln Tunnel, getting there at around 5:30 pm.  We noticed a lot of buses lined up on the left side and was wondering what was happening.  They eventually stopped using the center tunnel and came to the south tunnel.  We were witnessing the “rush hour changeover.”  We had Chinese takeout inside the car.