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Mystical Music Quartet New York
Wu Tsai Theater, David Geffen Hall, Lincoln Center
02/13/2025 - & February 15, 18*, 2025
Kaija Saariaho: Lumière et pesanteur
Alban Berg: Violin Concerto “To the memory of an angel”
Olivier Messiaen; Les Offrandes oubliées
Claude Debussy: La Mer
Veronika Eberle (Violin)
New York Philharmonic Orchestra, Karina Canellakis (Conductor)
K. Canellakis/V. Eberle (© Mathias Bothor/Stefan Grau)
“My faith is the grand drama of my life. I’m a believer, so I sing words of God to those who have no faith. I give bird songs to those who dwell in cities and have never heard them, make rhythms for those who know only military marches or jazz, and paint colors for those who see none.”
Olivier Messiaen
“The best music always comes from Ecstasies of Logic.”
Alban Berg
Death, Prayer, Love, The Sea. That could have been the title of a Cavafy poem. Instead it encapsulated the four works of the New York Philharmonic this weekend. For this was a concert of the mysterious and the sublime. Or how Mallarmé might have described the composers: “Sublime in having invented God and our soul.”
True, Olivier Messiaen didn’t “invent” God and the soul, but the other composers–Saariaho, Berg and Debussy–offered their impressions of a pantheistic Spirit–and conductor Karina Canellakis ready to give it musical spirit as well.
American-born Ms. Canellakis has a Russian-Greek heritage, so byzantine complexity gives her no fear. The Philharmonic was not technically perfect on Tuesday evening, but they gave the enthusiasm–appropriate for a word that means “god within us”. Not a single piece sung for itself, but Ms. Canellakis, with more than two decades on the podium, led them firmly.
In a way, while only two works were French, all four pieces had a Gallic character. Especially Kaija Saariaho’s Light and Gravity, coming from a testament by Simone Weil. In a way this six‑minute piece was a cheat, a single movement from her 15‑movement oratorio, La Passion de Simone, words by Simone Weil, music by the wondrous Finnish composer.
The cheating? By taking that one section, substituting a lone trumpet for the soprano (shades of The Unanswered Question), and, as in the original, repeating that phrase over and over with different colors, different variations.
I adore the music of Kaija Saariaho, yet here I felt it was missing something. The relation with other movements? The abbreviated orchestra? That static movement felt as if it was looking for Simone Weil’s words?
One had no question about Alban Berg’s Violin Concerto, dedicated “To the memory of an angel.” To say it is the most personal, the most difficult dodecaphonic, the most stirring concerto of the 20th Century is an understatement. And Veronika Eberle, making her New York debut, gave the first movement an understated passion. After the tone row, so understated that the violin seemed secondary to conductor Canellakis’ grip on the orchestra.
The final movement was finally fiery, difficult, making way for the famous Bach chorale. While she was excellent, the unusual solo encore (was it Ysaÿe?) showed that this was a Stradivarius, that her tone was peerless, and that she is a splendid soloist.
The second half began with a kind of religious mimicking of Ms. Saariaho’s ambiguity. Olivier Messiaen was always the Catholic believer (albeit with birdsong, Tristan, Oriental motifs et al). In Forgotten Offerings, the young composer gave a triptych on lamentation and the Eucharist. Ms. Canellakis led the Phil with all the stolid lines, the uneven lines, the pianissimo chords which, in 20 minutes, created an exaltation which transcended any mere church or religion.
Yet it was the second movement, “The Sin,” which had a rare Messiaen sudden outburst on brass, on harmonics in glissando, and whirling loud starts and finishes. Whatever this “race to the abyss” was exhibiting, one knows that Berlioz–and Dante–would have appreciated it.
The finale was La Mer, and the conductor rose to the test. At times, she retarded or quickened more than usual. But hey! That’s the way the waves go, so why not?
And that meant a familiar climax indeed, where the sins, deaths and adorations were washed away since (Mallarmé again) “Nothing–not even old gardens mirrored by eyes/Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea.”
Harry Rolnick
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