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The First Music New York
Avery Fisher Hall
02/16/2001 -
Pyotr Tchaikovsky: Romeo and Juliet Overture-Fantasy
Sergei Rachmaninoff: Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
Igor Stravinsky: The Song of the Nightingale; Firebird Suite (1919)
Vladimir Feltsman (piano)
New York Philharmonic
Roberto Abbado (conductor) The frozen music of the Paleolithic caves of Lascaux attests to the fact that man has always been enchanted by the songs of the birds. Prehistoric man dressed his shaman in avian costume with a bird perched on his magical staff. Ancient Chinese mountain-men are depicted as feathered and in India the highest form of address for a yoga master is that of supreme gander. Birds have always represented the spiritual essence, the freedom to move between earth and heaven and between a conscious and a dream or trance-like state. In the prehistoric hunting stations of Russia there are carvings in mammoth ivory of flying geese and ducks. The combination of spiritualism and proto-music has attracted many composers of classical scores, from the ancient melodies of the shakuhachi to the ultramodern pieces of Olivier Messiaen. Igor Stravinsky learned bird imagery from his mentor Rimsky-Korsakoff, fashioning much of the Firebird ballet from the raw material contained within Le Coq d’Or. Soon thereafter, he returned to this concept when rhapsodizing over things Oriental, casting as his main operatic character not exactly a bird but rather The Song of the Nightingale. It is this embodiment of music as flesh which permeates this charming fairy tale and haunts both the memory and the soul of the Emperor (and the listener). Coupling the suites from the opera and the ballet lent an exotic flavor to the concert last evening by the New York Philharmonic and a conductor who was until recently rumored to be taking over the podium of its esteemed neighbor down the highway.
The orchestra has been sounding much better lately and I do believe that this is due to the easing of tensions accompanying the transfer of power. The jury will be out for a quite a long while on the heir apparent (Mr. Maazel is not scheduled to guest conduct even once next season) but, for now, there is an air of compromise and tranquility on the Plaza. My experience of Roberto Abbado as an aspirant with the Philadelphia Orchestra was not a positive one; he exhibited little of the leader in his audition at Carnegie Hall and appeared uncomfortable with twentieth century idiom. Nothing in last evening’s performance convinced me to alter my opinion.
I really do try and like Tchaikovsky; I really do. I have dutifully attended performances of both the 5th and 6th this season and am genuinely delighted to note that Kurt Masur, in his valedictory year next season, has chosen to program the Symphony # 4. But this particular work is a sickly piece of treacle with which I first became familiar through a younger student orchestra. It took me many years to realize that it actually is supposed to sound this way. So many composers have treated the story in a more genuine manner (Berlioz, Gounod, Prokofieff, Bellini, even Bernstein) that even the drama sounds forced in comparison (and, oh, that banal famous theme!). It would be legitimate to comment on the thinness of the Philharmonic sound here except that some of its vapidity is actually faithfulness to the score.
The Rachmaninoff, however, is another matter. I am thrilled to report that, through some magical coincidence unfettered by any thoughts of an anniversary year, both Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall are featuring the works of this amazing composer next season. I am sure that at least some of my summer will be spent reviewing all of the symphonies and concerti in glorious anticipation. As much as I detest the Tchaikovsky I revere the Paganini Rhapsody. It is an inventive amalgam of beauty, power and profundity unparalleled in the history of the variation form. A simple comparison of the Romeo “love theme” and variation 18 of the Rachmaninoff reveals the elemental difference between sentimentality and sentiment. Those of us who have heard Vladimir Feltsman live know not to expect a great deal of accuracy from him. With that as a caveat, he can be very poetic, as he was last night. The orchestral accompaniment though was disjointed and often out of tune, the composer’s aesthetic device of staccato solo piano and richly legato strings lost in the undernourished sonority. Just recently, the Phil sounded so good for Previn, but last evening they seemed to revert to their old pedestrian ways.
The Nightingale was just plain dull, sounding much more like the mechanical bird than the live one which he supplants. In fact, the response from the crowd was so lackluster that Signor Abbado, hesitatingly coming out for a quick bow and wanting to acknowledge the wind soloists who carried the piece, had to applaud them himself in order for any of us to follow suit. The Firebird fared better, but was still plagued with orchestral imbalance, the brass much too loud throughout. Abbado again showed me his lack of understanding of twentieth century aesthetics, blissfully ignoring crucial crescendi and pauses put into the score by the composer for specific coloristic purposes (listen to the Stravinsky conducted performances for a primer on aural tone painting). Much of the Suite is modeled on the second movement of his mentor’s Scheherazade, a masterful orchestration centering on the instruments of the wind quintet. The Khorovod section was well played by the five Philharmonic individuals, lushly augmented by the gorgeously rich vibrato of associate principal cellist Hai-Ye Ni (my new discovery), but not matched properly in tone by the forces as a whole. The following dance, which should be tremendously exciting, did not hold together very well, despite Abbado’s leaping about the stage like Nijinsky himself. The finale was little more than pea soup, and when this conductor totally missed the powerful ending crescendo, running the gamut from ff to fff, he put an explanation point on a decidedly substandard performance. The object lesson is clear; any new conductor, Maazel included, must be ever vigilant to husband and release the enormous potential of this orchestra and must listen closely to what they are doing. I doubt that if Maestro Abbado had been in the audience last evening he would have been satisfied with his finished creation. At least I hope that this is the case.
Frederick L. Kirshnit
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