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Dodecaphony Made Easy New York
Peter Jay Sharp Theatre, Juilliard School
10/08/2024 -
Arnold Schoenberg: Suite, Opus 29 [*]
Pierre Boulez: sur Incises
New York Philharmonic Orchestra Soloists, Juilliard Orchestra Students: Anthony McGill (Clarinet), Anoush Pogassian (E‑flat Clarinet), Anjou Aoto (Bass Clarinet), Frank Huang (Violin), Leslie Ashworth (Viola), Boubecar Dialo (Cello) Daniel Druckman, Amor Chu (Percussion), June Han, Annette Lee, Renée Murphy (Harps), Hongbo Cai [*], Eric Huebner, Sean Gan, Ryan Jung (piano), David Robertson (Conductor)
D.Robertson (© Chris Lee)
“The aim of music is not to express feelings but to express music. More and more I find that in order to create effectively one has to consider delirium and, yes, organize it. It is not enough to deface the Mona Lisa because that does not kill the Mona Lisa. All art of the past must be destroyed.”
Pierre Boulez
“I find above all that the expression, atonal music, is most unfortunate–it is on a par with calling flying the art of not falling, or swimming the art of not drowning..”
Arnold Schoenberg
The essence of conductor David Robertson is that he commands you to listen. Whether it be Beethoven’s Seventh a few weeks ago with the Juilliard Orchestra, or the treacherous duo of Schoenberg and Boulez last night, Mr. Robertson has that indefinable aura which says, “I’ve got a lot to say with my hands.” (He doesn’t use a baton.) “If your mind wanders even for a few seconds, you’re going to miss colors, relationships, forms, and everything that makes music an Experience.”
Last night, the challenges were threefold. First, conducting two hybrid ensembles make up of New York Phil players (including First Chairs Frank Huang and Anthony McGill), and star players from the Juilliard Orchestra, where Mr. Robertson is a faculty member.
The other two challenges were rarely played and even more rarely understood works by Schoenberg and Boulez.
The ensembles seemed (since I was only vaguely familiar with the work) faultless. Putting together violin, viola, cello, piano and three clarinets for the Schoenberg Suite was not a unusual. After all, from the time of Pierrot Lunaire, the composer used part of his genius in playing around with these strange combinations. And this group surveyed the endless counterpoint with (shall I use the word “joy” with Arnold Schoenberg?) yes, enthusiastic joy.
Boulez posed a more difficult problem for artists and audience. Specifically, how to you put three trios–each with one piano, one harp and one percussionist–melding and opposing their music for a full 40 minutes?
That comes later. For Mr. Robertson managed to take Schoenberg’s four Baroque‑styled movements–Overture, Dance, Theme/Variations and Gigue–into a half‑hour of atonal and probably dodecaphonic music.
For the first movement, one had to adjust the hearing, even in the aurally excellent Peter Jay Sharp Theater, for the linear tricks of this unusual ensemble. Once that 18th Century fast‑slow form was over, the Suite was not only comprehensible but a delight.
That grouchy old composer offered a jolly circus-like Dance Steps movement. The tone‑row was remote, but Mr. Robertson accented the syncopation, the instrumental conversation, the feeling of 12‑tone ebullience. The Theme and Variations started with Mr. McGill and continued with solos, duets and trios for all.
Finally came the Gigue. Not one of Corelli-like jigs, but a gig modeled on Mozart’s late almost unplayable piano jig. The ensemble went at with outrageous spirit. And why not? David Robertson gave a work which seems fearfully dense on the score, and made it–for those listening carefully–almost crystalline.
A. Schoenberg/P. Boulez
The Boulez sur Incises has five opening minutes of both tranquility and wildness. Add to that the solar aggregation of harps, pianos and vibraphones, glockenspiels and marimbas (the tubular bells came later).
One immediately thought of Bartók’s two piano/percussion music. Or even with the rhythms, Les Noces. And during these 40‑odd minutes, one could make out percussive fugues, pianistic ostinatos, aural concords and impressionistic discords.
The nine players were superb. Not a single measure was simple. Not a single five measures had a scintilla of a problem And oh, how I wish I could have avoided listening to form and just immersed myself in the sounds.
That was not to be, even with Maestro Robertson’s grace and control and obvious enjoyment of working with the brilliant players. Rather notwithstanding the genius of composer, conductor and performing artists, I was reminded of Walt Whitman’s poem, “When I heard the learned astronomer.” Where he left the auditorium and “in the mystical moist night‑air... looked up in perfect silence at the stars.”
Harry Rolnick
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