Portland Museum of Art: Georgia O’Keefe and the Camera
MFA: El Greco to Velazquez: Art During the Resign of Philip III
PRO ARTE CHAMBER ORCHESTRA: Koulendros, Saint-Saëns, Mendelssohn
BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Bartok, Piano Concerto No. 3; Schubert, Symphony in C, "The Great"
ALVIN AILEY AMERICAN DANCE THEATER
CHAMELEON ARTS ENSEMBLE OF BOSTON. Music of Brahms, Thomson, Mansurian, Liebermann, and Prokofiev
JOHN GIBBONS. Bach: The Goldberg Variations. Museum of Fine Arts.
CHAMELEON ARTS ENSEMBLE OF BOSTON. Music of Bermel, Ornstein, and Mozart
CELEBRITY SERIES OF BOSTON. Piano Music of Beethoven and Schumann. Emmanuel Ax, piano
BOSTON PHILHARMONIC. Music of Ginastera, Korda, and Musorgsky
BOSTON MUSEUM TRIO. The Baroque Oboe: Music of Buxtehude, Handel, Telemann, and Bach
BOSTON CHAMBER MUSIC SOCIETY. Romantic Triad: Music of Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms (Concert 1 of 4)
EDWARD HOPPER. Museum of Fine Arts
BOSTON MODERN ORCHESTRA PROJECT: Ziporyn: Hard Drive; De Ritis: Devolution; Mackey: Dreamhouse
BOSTON EARLY MUSIC FESTIVAL: Pergolesi "Marian Vespers"
BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Brahms Symphony No. 3, Piano Concerto No. 1
BOSTON CHAMBER MUSIC SOCIETY: Korngold, etc.
CHRISTOPHE ROUSSET: Harpsichord
BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Beethoven: Fidelio
BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Debussy, Sibelius, New Work by Saariaho
CHAMELEON ARTS ENSEMBLE: "continuous as the stars that shine"

Archives (1998-2006)

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Georgia O’Keefe and the Camera: The Art of Identity. Portland Museum of Art.

Until September 7. 2008

June 22, 2008

This is an ambitious and generally successful exhibit. The concept is so obvious it’s puzzling that it hasn’t been done before: include photographs of the celebrated American painter Georgia O’Keefe by famous photographers. Intersperse those photographs with some of O’Keefe’s paintings that relate, directly or indirectly, to the photographs. Include some furniture she sat in at her house in New Mexico. It all works. You could spend hours there, just examining at these photographs.

Begin with some of the ones taken of her by Alfred Stieglitz, her lover and husband until his death at 82 in 1946. He took over 300 of them and they comprise some of his best work. The most notable one that Stieglitz shot in the exhibit is “Georgia O’Keefe in Chemise.” She is so disheveled and seductive doesn’t it make you wonder what’s going on in her mind? Unfortunately the museum chose not to include any of Stieglitz’s nudes of her. Too bad. These are intimate and bold pictures, even today. They are the first photographs to recognize art in sexual body parts. They may have inspired O’Keefe to paint her sly symbolic abstracts and sensuous flowers. To see the nudes you’ll have to purchase a book like Alfred Stieglitz: Photography at the Musee D'Orsay (or have attended that exhibit—in Paris). There’s been a bit of debate about their exclusion and it continues to puzzle educated viewers, particularly when even the staid exhibition video shows two of the nudes. Alas, the Portland Museum of Art has missed an opportunity to take a stand against New England prudery.

The Ansel Adams shots of O’Keefe are rare and continue to be evocative, particularly the expressive “Georgia ‘O’Keefe and Orville Cox,” in which she smirks mischievously at the shy westerner beside her. There’s a great one of her from behind, hands on hips: “Georgia ‘O’Keefe in the Southwest.” A particularly problematic one is “Georgia ‘O’Keefe painting in her car.” It is underexposed (actually exposed for the outdoor highlights). Compare it to the one in the exhibit catalog, which is correctly exposed for the shadows.

Photographer Todd Webb scores points with the contemplative and tonally balanced “Georgia ‘O’Keefe in Twilight Canyon,” as well as an eccentric one of her carrying a ruminant’s skull. The curator creatively included two shots of O’Keefe by Arnold Newman, separated by more than twenty years: “Georgia O'Keefe and Alfred Stieglitz” (1944) and “Georgia O'Keefe, Ghost Ranch, New Mexico” (1968). The curator sagely points out O’Keefe’s subservience to Stieglitz in the former and her iconic status in the latter.

Other photographers are well represented: Eliot Porter, Philippe Halsman, Yousuf Karsh, and of course Andy Warhol. Two of them, Webb and Porter, photographed just parts of her New Mexican home, doorways and ladders without O’Keefe. Such are the trappings of fame, when your environment becomes as important as your visage. When you’re in Portland, try to make it to this exhibit. Or make a special trip there for the experience. It’s major.

For more information: Portland Museum of Art

Peter Bates

El Greco to Velazquez: Art During the Resign of Philip III

Until July 27.

June 15, 2008

There is much to enjoy at the MFA’s current exhibit, El Greco to Velazquez: Art During the Resign of Philip III. The first is that the famous El Greco painting St. James (used to promote the show) is unfinished. I’ve always maintained that there are details that viewers miss in reproductions—you must see the original. St. James’ left hand lacks detail, as does the staff he’s holding. Painted in the artist’s last year, the incomplete hand is disturbing, like the ending of Bach’s last work, The Art of the Fugue (which hauntingly trails off into posterity). Few art patrons realize how closely some of El Greco’s paintings resemble later paintings in style, even those of the 19th Century. View of Toledo may throb with manneristic color contrast and saturation, but it is also almost expressionistic. Of course El Greco took liberties with the actual layout of Toledo at the time, but who cares? Vision of St. John shows the eponymous saint holding up his arms, much like the doomed partisan in Goya’s The Third of May 1808. Note the contrast between El Greco’s paintings of royalty contrasted with his paintings of members of Spain’s burgeoning middle class. Jaun Bautista Maino, possibly the royal censor, is painted with astonishing psychological insight, his eyes looking suspiciously leftwards.

Paintings of saints abound in this exhibit, and vary in quality from the stock to the well-crafted. Velázquez’s picture Mary in The Immaculate Conception shows her with the somber and plain face of a peasant girl, looking downward rather than heavenward. El Greco’s St. Francis Venerating the Crucifix is one of my personal favorites, partly because he props the crucifix on a skull. While this strange juxtaposition is understandable from a Renaissance obsession-with-death perspective, it is still a striking image. Other religious images are somewhat less creative, although the two takes on Christ at Calvary (by Corducho and Cajés) are notable. One with a halo looks transfixed, the other appears down to earth, more like a prisoner.

The MFA’s last component of the exhibit is a selection of subjects less heroic than kings and saints: the bodegón. These still lives and views of working people providing a fitting end to the exhibit. One Velázquez’s picture ends the exhibit, Old Woman Cooking Eggs. It features great detail in the two figures’ faces, shadows falling on them from above like those of contemporaneous Dutch master paintings. Taken for what it is—a sampling of the masters and their less adventurous contemporaries—this is a fine exhibit.

I was surprised by the lack of any artistic documentation of the most infamous institution of the era: the Spanish Inquisition. There is certainly much to choose from. Apart from Goya, the auto de fe frequently was taken to the canvas by painters: one of the better known examples is Auto de Fe in the Plaza Mayor, Madrid by Francesco Rizzi. He provided a chilling glimpse into the darkness of the era. Perhaps a copy of that painting affixed to a caption would have provided jolts to any viewers who nourished sentimental views of the Spanish Renaissance.

Peter Bates

PRO ARTE CHAMBER ORCHESTRA: Koulendros, Saint-Saëns, Mendelssohn

Conducted by Kevin Rhodes. Sara Davis Buechner, piano.

May 18, 2008

Last Sunday’s performance of the Pro Arte Chamber Orchestra produced not one but three surprises. The first was the “aperitif” before the concert, two short pieces by orchestral members Steven Laven (cello) and Jodi Hagen (violin). They did admirable work with Zoltan Kodaly’s delightful Duo for Violin and Cello, a cantible piece with nostalgic melodies punctuated now and then with pizzicato. The second work was Snake River Stomp, a charming light piece Laven wrote on commission for the Jackson Hole, Wyoming graduating class. Aaron Copland would be proud.

The second surprise was the “encore performance of a world premiere,” Mnemes ke Choroi by Christos Koulendros. This piece, with its free structure, folk recollections, and multiple themes, is in fantasia form. Koulendros was not afraid to infuse the work with a bit of dissonance, particularly during the tutti intervals. While the piece skirts the edge of the unconventional, its themes are pleasantly expressed, exuberant even. I found the prominent use of the tympani refreshing, especially since it is traditionally used a background coloration instrument.

The third surprise was Saint-Saëns’ Piano Concerto No. 2, an Atomic Fireball of a piece. From the zinger opening to the frenetic Vivace conclusion, this was clearly pianist Sara Davis Buechner’s shining moment. She leapt and swayed and bobbed through this concerto as if riding a bucking bronco. Although not a particularly profound piece, with not a whit of romantic melancholia, Piano Concerto No. 2 is an entertaining romp tailor-made for the virtuoso. The standing ovation for Buechner was well-earned.

The concluding piece, Felix Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 3 (“Scottish”) was a workman-like rendition of the famous romantic work. Guest conductor Kevin Rhodes made the hymn-like opening of the adagio suggest denseness and darkness, conveying a distinctly northern mood. (Mendelssohn always maintained that he hated bagpipes and Scottish folk music, yet is that a Highland reel at the heart of the Scherzo?) The Adagio may be the emotional core of the symphony. Rhodes effectively conveyed the wondrous melodic sweep to contrast with the march-like theme. Seamlessly, it lead into the energetic “guerriero” final movement, which featured a pianissimo that developed into a rousing theme. Mendelssohn wanted to suggest a men’s chorus, and that came across beautifully.

Peter Bates

BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Bartok, Piano Concerto No. 3; Schubert, Symphony in C, "The Great"

Conducted by Bernard Haitink. András Schiff, piano.

March 29, 2008

Last Saturday’s performance of two late works by major composers was thoughtfully done. Both Franz Schubert and Bela Bartók have later works attributed to them, but not ones of such stature. Bartók’s Viola Concerto was even more unfinished than the Piano Concerto No. 3, whose final 17 bars are by Tibor Serly. And Schubert wrote well into his last year: the Great C Major Symphony is his last completed symphony, unperformed during his lifetime but most likely finished three years earlier.

Conductor Bernard Haitink did a solid workman-like job conducting the Bartók piece. From its justly famous opening figure (repeated throughout the movement, in 19th century style) to its lively interludes expressed in contrapuntal fashion, the piece swayed and soared. Much is made of the name of the second movement, “Adagio religioso,” as if Bartók had abandoned the atheism of his earlier years and would soon undergo a deathbed conversion. But those who dwell on its moments of calm ignore its inherent drama. They should listen closely to the impish strains poking through the texture half of the way through. Increasing agitation in the horns and woodwinds indicates that not all is well, as the delusive calm is punctured, then reasserted. Pianist András Schiff expresses an ominous mood as the piano commands the final bars of the movement. In the Allegro Vivace Schiff really shines, as the momentum increases to a frenetic pace, only to lessen for brief intervals. Gentle breezes of nostalgia can be felt as Bartók reminisces about his native Hungary. As the piano ripples through the finale, we hear Serly’s influence on those final 17 bars, and Haitink’s trumpets fill the air with firm decisive strength.

What can be said about Franz Schubert’s Symphony in C, “The Great?” Considered Schubert’s finest symphony, it has a grandeur reminiscent of Beethoven, but with greater emphasis on melody. Most notable is Schubert’s increased reliance on his brass section, particularly the trombones. Haitink had no inhibitions about giving the trombones free reign and aggressive dynamics, particularly in the final movement. Schubert’s deft introduction of ancillary themes, used as connective tissue, is evident in the latter part of this symphony. Melodic seeds are planted and minutes later, they sprout into imposing structures, like deciduous trees. Schubert is in complete control, and the impetus of development is well-sustained. As if riding an Arabic stallion, Haitink controlled of the dynamics and timbre of the piece. His subtle workings infused new life into a piece that many consider a warhorse.

Peter Bates

ALVIN AILEY AMERICAN DANCE THEATER. Performing Night Creature, Reflections in D, Saddle Up!, and Revelations. Presented by the Celebrity Series.

February 10, 2008

Here are the pieces performed by the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater:

Night Creature (1974). Choreography by Alvin Ailey, music by Duke Ellington (“Night Creature”), lighting by Chenault Spence, performed by the company.
In Night Creature the dancers swung their bodies to a lush samba. There were hip swiveling swaggers, and waltzes, and unpredictable eruptions of free movement. The locations went from dance clubs to dance class in this showy burst of virtuosity, which played to audience acclaim. One woman danced a sumptuous solo, in marked contrast to what would follow as the last piece of the afternoon. Dancers entered behind her, reflecting her in glorious unison, facing outward, giving all they had. In the words of the Duke, himself: “Night creatures, unlike stars, do not come OUT at night – they come ON . . . .”

Reflections in D (1962). Choreography by Alvin Ailey, restaged by Judith Jamison, music by Duke Ellington (“Reflections in D”), lighting by Nicola Cernovitch, performed by Amos J. Machanic Jr.
Reflections in D was originally choreographed by Alvin Ailey as his own show piece. This three-minute number was meant as a transition, allowing the dancers to change costumes between dances. But on Sunday night Amos J. Machanic Jr. plunged inside this music and writhed and leaped onstage like a pursued wildcat. This brief but riveting performance to the music of Duke Ellington showed how Machanic has tapped the well of greatness, making the difficult look easy. I found myself watching his curving arms as much as his feet.

Saddle Up! (2007): Choreography by Frederick Earl Mosley, Music Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer, Mark O’Connor, Lighting by Al Crawford.
This new, charming, and unabashedly hokey piece is a series of short sketches that display almost every Wild West cliché you’ve ever seen in all your decades of movie viewing. Zach Law Ingram, the “sheriff,” begins alone onstage, wielding a toy hobbyhorse: the wild frontier made accessible to the children in the audience. In succeeding scenes, he “fought” a saloon hooligan over the attentions of Alicia J. Graf, who meekly watched this unusual male pas de deux. She then danced a lamentation for Mr. Ingram, wielding the Stetson he'd left behind. She exited the stage with his hat perched on her head. In the finale, she and the other dancers got into a rousing Hoedown as they congregated in chorus line formation at the front of the stage. The music consisted of intriguing selections from Yo-Yo Ma's "Appalachian Journey" CD. There was lots flouncing about, skirt rustling, and horsy dust-pawing that are legal tender in the cowpoke realm. Several times, notably in duets, Mosley infused the composition with much polish. All the Ailey dancers jangled their spurs and slapped their thighs, as their clowning and dancing became polished to a high gloss. It’s a light family piece and, unlike the real west, nobody got hurt.

Revelations (1960): Choreography by Alvin Ailey, music, traditional, décor and costumes by Ves Harper, costumes for "Rocka My Soul" redesigned by Barbara Forbes, lighting by Nicola Cernovitch, performed by the company.
The last piece was Revelations. Are you surprised? Ailey’s 1960 masterpiece (made even more famous by Max Waldman’s photograph of Judith Jamison) has become, perhaps justly, the calling card of the troupe. It’s right up there with Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake as a defining dance moment. When that blue material started billowing in imitation of flowing water, the audience billowed right along with it. As always, the company gave the requested encore. This was such an obvious crowd pleaser to the gospel aficionados and church goers in the audience. They almost jumped up on the stage with the dancers, wagging their bodies and flooding the troupe in a storm of applause. Alas the evening ended without a single glance at Linda Celeste Sims, that sensuous dancer in the advertising photos. (We've reproduced her photo here.)

Peter Bates

CHAMELEON ARTS ENSEMBLE OF BOSTON. Music of Brahms, Thomson, Mansurian, Liebermann, and Prokofiev.

Personnel: Deborah Boldin, flute; Gloria Chien, piano; Anna Reinersman, harp; Sabrina Learman, soprano; William Manley, percussion; Joanna Kurkowicz, violin; Rafael Popper-Keizer, cello; Scott Woolweaver, viola.

February 2, 2008

Once again the Chameleons have produced a chamber concert worthy of their name. As is their tradition, there was a mixture of traditional and new pieces. This time there were unique and unusual interpretations of those traditional pieces. The beginning composition was Brahms’ Cello Sonata No. 1 in E minor. Well played by cellist Rafael Popper-Keizer and pianist Gloria Chien, this beloved nineteenth century work begins in low rumbling contemplation, then quickly shifts to impassioned declaration. The charming second theme reveals a touch of sunlight, shifts back into overcast mood, then yields to a forceful recapitulation of the first theme. Popper-Keizer chooses to hold back the reins of intensity in this movement: while other cellists like Pablo Casals tend to speed through this hallowed hall, he prefers to explore its interior first. The second movement, with its staccato opening theme, is dance-like, even scherzo-like. But it is only in the third movement that the galloping truly begins. There is fine interplay between the two musicians, tossing repeats back and forth like bonbons. The accelerandos are forceful and confident, at once beguiling and aggressive, leading to an orgasmic finale.

Despite its title, the rarely performed Virgil Thomson piece, Five Phrases from Song of Solomon, is not a sacred piece. Its odd instrumentation, drums and a soprano, may have made some audience members scratch their heads. However, after the first “phrase,” listeners in my row smiled at the charming, oddly secular love songs, marvelously sung by Sabrina Learman. Thomson’s use of the drums is minimal in all but the fifth piece. In today’s multi-cultural environment, Thomson's basic tom-tom rhythm would probably be supplanted by more complex ones, perhaps with African or Brazilian instruments. However, the temple blocks in the fifth piece do produce stirring and intriguing effects. Berets off to drummer William Manley!

Manley was also featured with violist Scott Woolweaver in the Boston premiere of Tigran Mansurian’s mysterious Duo for Viola & Percussion. Have you ever heard of a “puzzle canon?” It is an eighteen century canon in which the performer must quickly discover which rule applies to the canon. Mansurian’s duo is not a canon, but it is certainly a puzzling piece. The foreboding viola opening is accompanied by Manley on vibraphone. The themes are introduced in a random, almost aleatory fashion. Viola glissandos interact with intermittent percussive notes. Sometimes it seems like a viola solo with percussion intrusion. Unlike Bartok’s celebrated Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion, the interplays are rarely clear cut. At one point, there is one, a dialog between the viola and marimba, and it is almost whimsical. Perhaps this duo is an extended essay on twenty-first century angst. I am glad the Chameleons played it, to introduce us to this enigmatic composer. I enjoyed the use of the crotale, a bizarre bell that Manley played with a bow and sounds like a glass harmonica. But I’ll be hornswoggled if I can unlock the redoubtable door of this piece, or even find its key.

Lowell Liebermann’s Sonata for Flute and Harp (actually more of a fantasia) begins with a languid flute accompanied by sturdy ostinatos on Anna Reinersman’s harp. There are all sorts of treats in this delightful piece, such as beguiling scalar interludes, an allegro with smooth collaboration, and an underlying jazzy feel to some themes. There is a madcap middle section featuring complex harp interaction. This is not your typical “light and airy” flute piece played outdoors at a daycare center benefit. It can play rough and raw at times. Toward the end, flutist Deborah Bolden plays a haunting melody with a middle eastern flavor and the effect is stunning. The finale ends the piece as it began, slow, languid, and satisfying.

“It’s difficult playing Prokofiev at ten o’clock at night!” said violinist Joanna Kurkowicz after her stellar rendition of the Sonata No. 1 in F Minor. Yes, probably as difficult as diving into a cold mountain stream. But if you are a good swimmer, you quickly adapt. Portentous piano figures and quivering violin notes open this piece, and the audience instantly senses that they’re in for a twentieth century experience different from the jocund pyrotechnics of Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 2. Composed before and after World War II, Sonata No. 1 features doleful crossbowing, rapid glissandos and spectacular demisemiquavers. Kurkowicz and Chien both excel at exposing the harsh edges of a piece, and in this one there is perfect synchronicity between the two. It’s as if they are one player before us with two sets of arms. In the second movement (Allegro brusco), the descending triplets, shards of melody, are repeated furiously, almost angrily. The Andante is a keening, but not entirely tragic, movement. The musicians’ grasp of Prokofiev’s faint hope glimmerings is poignant without a trace of sentimentality. The final movement is virtuosic, arch, even playful. The way Chien accompanies Kurkowicz’s tasty pizzacatos is amazing, as is the way both lead the piece to its melancholic coda.

Peter Bates

JOHN GIBBONS. Bach: The Goldberg Variations. Museum of Fine Arts

December 2, 2007

Such entrancing chord progressions! And did you catch the canon at the unison in variation 3? And how do you think that quodlibet in the final variation came off? As well as the Baroque dances, the fughetta, and the French overture, those well-articulated genre pieces after each canon?

Have you ever heard comments like these after a performance of Bach’s Goldberg Variations? Perhaps, if it were played at a musicologists convention you happened to have attended. But harpsichordist John Gibbons, to his great credit, referred briefly to this tendency to over-technicalize Bach, particularly his instrumental works. Why not, he said, just sit back and enjoy the music? The technical stuff is just what happens underneath. We should just sit back and bask in their glory, for the variations were, as Bach said, “composed for connoisseurs, for the refreshment of their spirits.”

We could, of course, still notice the complex counterpoint in the structure of the simplest melodies. Just when we think we’ve followed where Bach is going to take us, he leads us down another path, one with curious curlicues, bends, hills. Gibbons, to the audience's delight, added notable stylistic elements to his performance. Every once in a while he treated the audiences to a well-turned phrase or slight rhythmic irregularity. Throughout his interpretation, there were jaunty canons, almost march-like in their insistence. He made listeners realize that Bach’s ornamentation is entrancing but not excessive, as are the composer’s dashes of imitation. Gibbons’ scalar runs were dramatic, however, almost like Glenn Gould’s (even though Gould used a piano). I am one of those who believe this work should be performed on a harpsichord, as it was composed. It takes a truly extraordinary pianist like Gould to make it sound right, so much does the pianistic reverberation affect the piece’s tone.

The surprises in this piece are precisely that and you can’t plan for them. Sometimes the accents are subtle, sometimes they’re emphatic like a shout. The beguiling clusters of 32nd notes are as tasty as truffles (both kinds). But it is in Variation 25 that Gibbons truly shone amidst the many chromaticisms. This is the 9-minute one, longer than any other piece of the set and famously dubbed a "black pearl" by Wanda Landowska. Nice work, John Gibbons. Here's hoping you perform The Art of the Fugue next year.

Peter Bates

CHAMELEON ARTS ENSEMBLE OF BOSTON. Music of Bermel, Ornstein, and Mozart.

Personnel: Deborah Boldin, flute; Katherine Chi, piano; Nancy Dimock, oboe; Joanna Kurkowicz, violin; Gary Gorczyca, clarinet; Whitacre Hill, horn; Margaret Phillips, bassoon; Katherine Winterstein, violin; Rafael Popper-Keizer, cello; Scott Woolweaver, viola.

November 10, 2007

Few performances of the Chameleon Ensemble take place without at least one work I've never heard before. And that is one of this plucky group's chief strengths: introducing new works to concert goers. One work few have heard is Derek Bermel’s Boston premier of Wanderings. This challenging work features a host of musical effects and whimsy that an audience isn’t likely to forget, at least for a fortnight. The first section, “Gift of Life,” opens with a near-eastern melody on the flute that soon assumes a Klezmer flavor. No wonder, it is set in Jerusalem’s Old City. The melodies surge quickly. Soon the piece is festooned with dissonance doused in a highly volatile mixture of dynamic and tempo shifts. More than one bar ended in fortissimo. The second part, “Two Songs from Nandom.” is based on bizarre popular tales from Ghana. The playful opening with its bouncy melody belies a strange humor, expressed in jazzy triplets and dissonant counterpoint. There is humorous rapid-fire imitation and an ending that, well, blats. It’s a rule breaking, impetuous, piece of fun.

Mozart’s lovely Clarinet Quintet in A Major began with a leisurely allegro and featured a virtuoso run that was passed throughout the strings, based on material from the second section of the exposition. Many dizzying scalar runs and divine trills. Clarinetist Gary Gorczyca truly shined here. The justly famous second movement has a certain sadness, but one of longing rather than loss. The long-breathed clarinet theme over muted strings is particularly entrancing. At one point, Joanna Kurkowicz’s violin reflected the clarinet melody like water ripples. It may not have been an emotional bath, but it could have been a slow stream over smooth rocks. In III the opening treated us to sweet acciaccaturas occurring every few notes. And in IV we are presented with those beguiling variations. How many are there? Even musicians disagree. One Chameleon musician said “four,” a Wikipedia musicologist says “five.” I have a theory that when a composer divulges a piece has variations, he is challenging the audience to pick them out, sort of a game. But it was hard to do with this well-performed Mozart work. It kept distracting listeners from all that prosaic counting, and this is how the composer and musicians conspire to win. Alfred Einstein notes that this work is "chamber-music work of the finest kind," chiefly because the roles are distributed more equally than they would be in a concertante quintet for wind and strings.

Arch-modernist Leo Ornstein plunged into obscurity in his thirties, then resurfaced in his wintry years. His Piano Quintet (1927) may remind some of Bartok, but it’s far more unorthodox than Bartok’s own from 1904. Although a tonal work, it contains many adventurous shards of dissonance and complex rhythms. Like Bartok’s work from the twenties, it features sequences of folk melodies twisted awry and clusters of percussive chords. It is music that skirts the edge of losing control. In the first movement alone, there weres seven or eight high intensity sequences that shook the walls of the august Goethe Institute. Then suddenly -- a surge of lyricism, seemingly from nowhere! With its nod to tonality, this piano quintet straddles the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, much like the latter works of Max Reger. In II there were hot bolts of melody, aided by a marching rhythm that pianist Katherine Chi expressed so well. Sudden accelerandos contrasted with a lurking crepuscular tone. In the final movement, fast and furious bursts of passion alternated with oases of relative calm. Yet so intense was the final half, that it seemed like a bunch of false finales. Then, as mysteriously as a Shostakovich quartet, the music died out. It was a piece that didn’t let minds wander. Nobody slept, not even for a second.

Peter Bates

CELEBRITY SERIES OF BOSTON. Piano Music of Beethoven and Schumann. Emmanuel Ax, piano.

You wouldn’t want to miss a solo piano recital featuring a master pianist, but you might, given the world’s distractions and impediments. But when that pianist is the redoubtable Emmanuel Ax, attendance should be mandatory. Last Sunday’s concert proved once again that he can handle music of the Romantic era with ease and creativity.

Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 2 is not a difficult work to perform, but it can be challenging to give it a romantic character that (slightly) transcends its classical roots. In this endeavor, Ax succeeds. The way he handles the many repeats is impressive. His dynamics shifts are delightful—they may not be abrupt, but they are assertive enough to make a statement. He played the adagio passionately, and with a touch of angst. The scherzo featured well-modulated imitation with a bit of of rubato. Like cayenne pepper, Ax believes rubato should be sprinkled – not doused—over this dish. Others – like Vladimir Ashkenazy—interpret Beethoven differently.

The recital’s second work, Robert Schumann’s Humoreske in Bb major, Opus 20. (1839), was a marked contrast to the early Beethoven. Its rapid mood shifts and tone reversals are consistent with much of Schumann’s chamber music, like the 5 Stücke im Volkston (Five Peasant Pieces). Less than fifteen years separate this work from Beethoven’s last piano works, yet these years comprise a gulf. This Humoreske could qualify as an early foray into the musical impressionism later developed by Liszt and culminating with Debussy and Ravel. Contrary to its title, the Humoreske is not funny or even witty (although witty things happen in it). It just features moods, “humors.” It opened melancholically, nostalgically even. There was an abrupt shift to a brazen, carnival-like atmosphere. As he did with both Beethoven pieces, Ax skillfully varied the ritornellos. Soon the mood shifts turned bizarre, as in a poem by Byron (Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage in particular). It’s hard for a listener to latch onto one of these moods throughout, they are just too short-lived. But Ax played the piece with such finesse that lack of formal unity is barely noticed.

Schumann’s Papillons opened with a waltz-like melody, deftly situating the music in the ball that scholars believe the music portrays. The composer performed this one himself before he developed problems with his hands, so it was probably meant as a showcase of his talent. The piece features twelve vivid vignettes of dance and personality. Mr. Ax preferred to emphasize a fine set of tone colors, rather than treat the piece as an airy trifle. He didn’t fail to portray Schumann’s jabs at false majesty toward the end. It is a piece that calls for quick shifts in speed (like the “butterfly” arpeggios at the beginning), and skill with accents and pianissimo, which Ax dutifully supplied.

The final work on the program, Beethoven’s Sonata No. 21 (“Walstein”), is one of his best-loved works. From the opening allegro, which rumbles ominously, to the rippling arpeggios, Ax infused this work with his personality. He presented the opening to the adagio with restraint and then played the heroic theme with grand strokes. His shift into forte was well-negotiated and the brief foray into longing joined sweet agony with harsh frustration. Rightfully, the theme grew more insistent with repetition. We watched his hands, as they stroked the keys one moment and struck them the next. Finally, the rondo, with its complex variations and beguiling finale, convinced everyone they couldn’t have been in better hands .

As an encore, Ax played Chopin’s serene and charming Waltz in A-minor. The crowd went wild.

Peter Bates

BOSTON PHILHARMONIC. Music of Ginastera, Korde, and Musorgsky. Conducted by Benjamin Zander.

Kudos to the Boston Philharmonic for performing not just one, but two unfamiliar pieces. The gamble paid off. The crowd warmed immediately to Alberto Ginastera’s Variaciones concertantes. But they burned white hot to Shirish Korde’s Svara-Yantra.

First, the Ginastera piece. The audience immediately took to the glowing tones of Raphael Popper-Keizer’s cello and Martha Moor’s harp. These two musicians began the piece with an affecting adagio. This is a typical Ginastera device: relax the crowd with a dollop of placidity, then wham! Shake them up with a presto. The next interlude turned sprightly and frenetic with sparkling horn sforzandos. “Jocund” is the description for the flute movement, but I thought it was more impish, mischievous even. Other instruments shaped and warped the variations with a leaping spirit, like jazz solos often do. The viola swam in a pool of angst, “dramatic” in Ginastera’s inadequate words. There were stunning variations for brass and a brief but intense violin solo. A “pastoral” horn did indeed sound like a shepherd’s plaint. A double bass interlude, not heard that often in classical repertoire, echoed the opening but sounded more mournful than the cello’s variations. The finale erupted, accompanied by effervescent dotted notes in the brass.

Nothing could have prepared the crowd for Korde’s Svara-Yantra, Concerto for Violin and Tabla. You don’t get many pieces like this in a given year. Those who heard Yehudi Menuhin and Ravi Shankar’s “East Meets West” recordings of the late sixties may have had some point of reference, but most probably didn’t. The concerto began with an alap, a non-rhythmic movement with an irregular pulse. From the beginning violinist Joanna Kurkowicz infused it with a keening and probing mood. The second movement plunged the audience into the world of eastern rhythms. Kurkowicz, a musician inherently infused with the soul of modernism, accomodated the piece’s harsh angles and--yes, there were some--smooth curves. She deftly led the audience through the winding tempos and corralled the dynamic shadings, effortlessly leaping to other keys and ever higher levels of intensity. Samir Chatterjee played tabla with a deftness that recalled tabla player Zakir Hussain. His style seemed to incorporate a catalog of tabla effects, including bols, which are non-verbal mutterings that approximate the tabla “talking.” Kurkowicz and Korde knew they were introducing a new type of music to the Boston audience, a hybrid of western orchestral effects and eastern rhythms, so they filled it with cascades of invention. It deserved every second of its standing ovation.

After the intermission, the transition to the beloved standard, Modest Musorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, felt strange at first. Zander fixed that, infusing the opening with haunting as well as wry moods. I liked the way the orchestra performed the oft-neglected "Bydlo," the lumbering ox cart that many thought symbolized Russia itself, entrenched in serfdom. The "Catacombae" section featured striking chords and a spirit of rumbling dread, but of course it was "The Hut on Hen’s Legs," the famous “Baba Yaga” sequence, that really amused the audience. Zander played the piece as it was intended, broadly, entertainingly, and with a dollop of Slavic sentiment.

Peter Bates

BOSTON MUSEUM TRIO. The Baroque Oboe: Music of Buxtehude, Handel, Telemann, and Bach

Violin: Danie Stepner; harpsichord: John Gibbons; viola da gamba: Laura Jeppesen; oboe: Gonzalo Xavier Ruiz

Last Sunday’s concert of the Boston Museum Trio included an extra treat: a baroque oboe. Oboist Gonzalo Xavier Ruiz not only played this instrument, but also gave a short speech about its introduction during the baroque period. (He didn’t mention that this descendant of the shawm was invented by French musician Martin Hotteterre and was originally called a hautbois.)

The music began with Buxtehude’s Sonata a due, which featured a tasty interplay between Daniel Stepner’s violin and Laura Jeppesen’s viola da gamba. This airy tune gave way to well-executed variations, a short dolorous Largo, then highly accented dance rhythms. At the end, Jeppenen and Stepner engaged in a lively reprise of the opening theme, notable for its florid figuration.

Handel’s Sonata in D Major for violin and continuo has an oddly leisurely opening (Affetuoso), which was not unheard of at the time. It then erupted into an Allegro of startling invention, with dialogs between the violin and John Gibbon’s harpsichord (also operating as part of the continuo). In the final Allegro, Stepner’s interpretation of the highly accented dance rhythm was spot on, as was the ensemble’s wondrous baroque flourish in the finale.

The oboe made its first appearance in Teleman’s Trio in G minor for oboe, violin and continuo. The opening interplay between violin and oboe had a haunting feel but gave way to a sort of winsome nostalgia. The allegro continued the dialog with mounting intensity. Like a carnival ride, it turned into a cycle of thrilling repeats. In the Largo, Ruiz demonstrated his fine breath control and enunciation. The controlled eloquence of this piece, along with its deft navigation from Andante to Vivace, emphasized mood rather than virtuosity. However, I would have preferred more bounce in the Vivace. Here it was more of a subdued Allegro.

It was all Bach after the intermission. His Sonata in C Major for Oboe and Continuo has also appeared as the Flute Sonata in E-Major. It has a moody opening with a lilting melody. Throughout, the piece demonstrates expressive modulation and fine variation in oboe dynamics. The final Allegro has impressive ornamentation, as well as complex and unexpected progressions.

The Sonata in E Minor for violin and continuo opens with an astounding Toccata in the form of a virtuosic folk song. (Think of it as a “pre-cadenza.”) Nice choice of a performance piece. Stepner then plays a rhapsodic Adagio. The Allemande has a loping theme, while the Gigue has a mounting, upward striving momentum. The finale features some well-articulated appoggiaturas.

The Trio Sonata in F Major, like the Telemann Trio in G Minor, opens with a spotlighted dialog between violin and oboe. The primary mood of the Siciliano is pastoral, almost forlorn. It generates a basic warmth and, appropriately, not much fire. The final Allegro of the evening spins with great liveliness and invention. It is highly spirited, with accurate interpretations of those Bachian dotted dotes.

One criticism. The program notators supplied the BWV numbers for the Bach pieces. But why not the HWV numbers for Handel? Or the BuxWV for Buxtehude? The TWV for Telemann? Many listeners might like to purchase these works but, because of the baroque era’s imprecise naming practices, have scarce means of identifying them. Please notators! Give us a hand.

Peter Bates

BOSTON CHAMBER MUSIC SOCIETY. Romantic Triad: Music of Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms (Concert 1 of 4). Month of August.

Violin: Jennifer Frautschi; piano: Pedja Muzijevic; cello: Wilhelmina Smith

See these concerts while you can this August at the Longy School of Music. They are intriguing and often inspired interpretations of these famous romantic masters. In this first concert, oddly enough, the most difficult piece is also the most deceptively simple one: Five Pieces in Folk Style, Op. 102, for cello and piano. Schumann suffered from syphilis and what some think was bipolar disorder. By the time he wrote this eccentric piece, with its sharply accented rhythms and bars that repeat a bit too much (like the first piece), he was already showing signs of madness. Not only do the musicians have to know this, but they should convey this messy secret to the audience through their playing. To her credit, cellist Wilhelmina Smith tries to wrestle these proto-Bartokian pieces to the ground and make musical sense of them. Her playing is competent and even excels in some (like the fourth) the way it does with the Mendelssohn Piano Trio later in the concert. But she just misses conveying the edge of madness that Schumann was tightroping across in these pieces.

Jennifer Frautschi and Pedja Muzijevic take the Brahms' Violin Sonata In A Major, Op. 100 to heights of amazement while preserving the patrician elegance of the Allegretto grazioso at the finish. The Andante tranquillo-Vivace is a tricky maneuver for any duo, with its ironic spiky vivaces interspersed with plaintive strains of mid-century sentimentality. They fielded it well. If the society ever releases a recording with this duo, buy it.

The final work, Mendelssohn's Piano Trio in D minor, was a well executed crowd-pleaser, from its muscular, stormy piano opening and forceful chords, to the hints of melancholy in the Andante. In the Scherzo the trio respects the rare outbursts of Mendelssohnian odd rhythm (without drawing attention to them) and produces much drama in the finale, infused with brisk contrasts in dynamics.

Peter Bates

EDWARD HOPPER. Museum of Fine Arts. Until August 19.

Need an antidote to the relentless cheeriness of Norman Rockwell? Try Edward Hopper, the dark side of the Americana coin. Where Rockwell’s people conveyed the abstract values of American innocence, sportsmanship, the rosy side of religion and patriotism, Hopper painted American isolation, an existentialism that doubled as a prototypical “boulevard of broken dreams.”

The Boston Museum of Fine Arts is featuring Hopper in an exhibit through August 19. It is in every way as inclusive as last year’s Ansel Adams exhibit. Hopper’s paintings are grouped by themes, like “Early Work,” “The City,” and “Hopper’s Women.” Other sections contain paintings of locations that Hooper stayed at, like Cape Code and Maine. These place-oriented paintings, although interesting in a broad context, are not as successful as those he did in the city (New York, mostly) and the forlorn paintings he did of women. The famous "Chop Suey," with its oddly stained window and the two lunching women, is an astounding painting to encounter head on. You see things in it that you miss in book reproduction, like the tiny lamp on the windowsill and the coat stuck to the hook. I never noticed the Philly cigar ad on top of the diner in “Nighthawks.” Or the lone typewriter in the lower left of “Office at Night,” a painting noted for its simmering eroticism. The text accompanying the paintings is also well written, never shying from frank discussion about some of the themes like the pastiness of the nude’s skin in “Morning in a City.” This hint of realism imbues her with more vulnerability than a pneumatic Vargas nude from the same era. I never noticed the absence of automat machines in “Automat,” until the text pointed it out to me.

Instead of a signature painting like "Nighthawks," the curator wisely placed "Second Story Sunlight" (1960) as the last painting in the exhibit, a true poetic touch. While it really wasn’t Hopper’s last great painting (that was “Chair Car” [1965]), it perfectly encapsulates Hopper’s world view: an empty room, flooded by sunlight. What everything in his life had come down to: the basics. This is an exhibit worth attending.

Peter Bates

BOSTON MODERN ORCHESTRA PROJECT: Ziporyn: Hard Drive; De Ritis: Devolution; Mackey: Dreamhouse. Sponsored by the Bank of America Celebrity Series.

Conducted by Gil Rose

May 19, 2007

For eleven years Conductor Gil Rose of the Boston Modern Orchestra Project (BMOP) has been bringing contemporary music to Boston listeners, and he always pushes the envelope. Sometimes he plays famous twentieth century groundbreakers like George Antheil (Ballet Mécanique). Other times the works are by living composers. This evening he played works by Boston-area composers and the results were intriguing and even exhilarating.

With a striking assortment of percussive instruments (snare drums and modified temple blocks), Evan Ziporyn’s Hard Drive begins. The percussion serves, for a while, as counterpoint to the orchestral flow. Together they build toward a series of twitchy crescendos, rhythmic with explosive intensity. There are frequent shifts in tempo throughout. If you believe this is a programmatic piece, then these interludes represent the hard drive spinning up and down as it accesses data. It is similar to his earlier piece, War Chant, also performed by BMOP, in that it is propulsive, puzzling, compelling, and often unpredictable. In one segment, the horns assert themselves in a muscular way and manage to sound, for an instant, like electric guitars. The piece ends with a wry decelerando as it spins down a final time, with a bit of humor.

Perhaps the most impish and accessible piece of the evening was Anthony De Ritis’ Devolution: A Piece for DJ and Orchestra. Featuring writer, musician, and conceptual artist DJ Spooky (Paul D. Miller) manning the mixers like a caffeinated four-armed pianist, this work seized the audience by the ribs and tickled them silly until the ending. Accompanied by Rose’s spunky conducting, DJ Spooky flooded the piece with electronic whooses, female choral vocalise, chirps, and rock samplings. The music itself was playful, stitching together segments of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 and Ravel’s Bolero (sometimes side-by-side, as if colliding Ives-like). There’s an extended rock interlude, with Hendrix-like guitar riffs, then a surprisingly placid section in which DJ Spooky gets a breather. In a final whimsical touch, the piece doesn’t build dramatically toward a conclusion, it simply stops at the end of a bar. The audience loved it, and for good reason.

A more challenging piece ensued after intermission. Steven Mackey’s Dreamhouse is an orchestral oratorio built around a poem written by Mackey and Rinde Eckert. It features a chorus of five (Synergy Vocals) and the Catch Electric Guitar Quartet. It’s a meditation on the building of a house from what appears to be multiple points of view: the buyer, his estranged wife, the architect (or perhaps designer), and the builder. Sometimes the music mirrors the text, as in the beginning when the chorus sings exultantly about how nice houses look from above, accompanied by an upbeat plunky guitar intro. Other times the music belies the text, like the ending in which the words assure (“Where you can live/Where you’ll be safe”) while the music strikes fear and ensuing panic. It’s an ambitious work and contains a lot of musical ideas; in fact, it contains too many. The dissonance is sometimes overstated and the concluding segment is several minutes too long. Having made its statement, it repeats it. And repeats it. However, Dreamhouse should be commended for its unique take on image versus reality, Eckert’s fine falsetto vocal interludes, and for its well-wrought tributes to composer Luciano Berio (with whom Synergy Vocals has worked). This was an evening well spent.

Peter Bates

BOSTON EARLY MUSIC FESTIVAL: Pergolesi "Marian Vespers" Boston, MA

Conducted by Paul O'Dette and Stephen Stubbs

May 18, 2007

The young eighteenth century Italian composer, Pergolesi, wrote an amazing body of work in a very short period of time - six years, ending with his premature death at age 26. In that small window, he composed music inspired by Palestrina which anticipated both Joseph Haydn and Ludwig von Beethoven, and even inspiring Igor Stravinsky in the twentieth century. Pergolesi composed liturgical work for a small church space. Much of his work is informed by his own virtuosic ability as a violinist. The young and sophisticated composer was well acquainted with the opera world of his time, as well. Pergolesi's work did not shrink from two opposing worlds - that of the refined Rococo period or of the world of turbulent human passion. The combination of these forces continues to make Pergolesi's music vital, with his unique musical signature.

Having some prior familiarity with Pergolesi's masterpiece, "Stabat Mater", I attended this concert with a high degree of anticipation and enthusiasm. The Boston Early Music Festival assembled four sopranos in a chorus of ten with a small orchestra that included horns. Intentionally reshaping the orchestra size allowed the music to be new in a different way - as it had also been the "new music" when it was composed and performed in the 1730s. As Italian music of the Counter-Reformation, it remains highly physical and vigorous. As a group, the "Marian Vespers" were only assembled in recent times.

The Vespers began with joyous choral work, including lustrous high soprano that was balanced nicely by the orchestra and other voices. The chorus swelled with complexity and some counterpoint. The Gloria movement contained fine horn work, joined by bell-like singing. The four sopranose, indeed, sang with complementary shades, joined by well modulated counter tenor and mezzo. The orchestral sound grew darker, more profound, showering down in wave upon wave of gorgeous sound. In the Confitetor, Pamela Dellal's mezzo was rich with emotional inflection, allowing a sense of spiritual compassion to drape the musical canvas. Her singing was highly dramatic, lending itself to the transporting experience of the Vespers. This was also true of Ms. Dellal's modulation in the Salve Regina movement. The high soprano voices, too, were excellent in their range and in their haunted lyricism. Teresa Wakim sang with claret tones during the Eia Ergo Advocata. Another high point of the concert came during the Laudate when Amanda Forsythe sang exuberantly, joined by elegant lute playing and strong male choral work. The entire Vespers held together well with terrific singing throughout and restrained orchestral playing. this was a highly noteworthy concert which makes this reviewer want to attend a lot more of the future Boston Early Music Festival concerts. I would give this concert my highest rating.

Carolyn Gregory

BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Brahms Symphony No. 3, Piano Concerto No. 1

Conducted by Bernard Haitink. Emmanuel Ax, piano.

April 28, 2007

It opens with a fiery statement, powerful notes shaking the listener by the lapels. Yet Brahms’ Third Symphony, his most noteworthy work during his lifetime, doesn’t just grace the listener with easy melodic passages. It features delvings into different keys, unexpected soft lyricism, and unresolved tensions. Last Saturday night conductor Bernard Haitink performed all the repeats, even though modern conductors have eschewed some of them as “unnecessary,” preferring to move directly into the development. The Andante (II) begins in a semi-pastoral mood, like the Andante molto mosso of Beethoven’s Sixth. The music rises in intensity and for a split second plays a muscular five-note figure. We only hear it once before the music calms down into the minor mode, but it provides a hint of the turbulence to follow. The next movement, III, is sweetly lyrical and sounds a bit like Tchaikovsky, but without the overstatement. Brahms gives us the melody first in cellos, second in woodwinds, then as a bewitching horn solo, finally as strings, a tender interlude that spans three octaves. Such coloration! But it is the fourth movement that Brahms comes closest to snatching Beethoven’s mantle. Themes from the second movement return and Haitink seems as if he’s riding Pegasus through the heavens--massive, yet propelled by winged grace. It’s a stormy ride through that sky too. There are airy passages that compete with the solid bolts of thunder, these frenetic triplets. Like the other movements, this one trails off placidly, and for a few seconds there is dead silence in Symphony Hall.

Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1 may not be his most coherent or lyrical work, but in the hands of Emmanuel Ax, it too grabs fate by the throat. The long introduction gave Haitink an opportunity to blaze through our lives for a moment. He helped convey the impression of music struggling to emerge. Ax, playing from memory of course, completely avoided grandstanding and let the music sing. His hands never pounded the keys but barely touched them, like a backhand caress on a beloved’s cheek. Brahms gives two solos (the longer is actually a cadenza), and neither is an exercise in pretty interludes. Both are integrated firmly in the lyrical complex comprised by this concerto. Again, in II, Brahms presents us a solemn yet compelling intro before the piano tenuously enters. As if in an opera scene by Wagner, Brahms takes his time, holding back the development in favor of exposition. This spacious second movement is thought to be a tribute to Clara Schumann. It is in III, however, that Ax and Haitink truly excelled. They gave us startling chord progressions and riveting displays of virtuosity. The crowd went wild and there was a standing ovation that lasted about ten minutes.

Peter Bates

BOSTON CHAMBER MUSIC SOCIETY

Jennifer Frautschi - violin, Mark Holloway- viola, Randall Hodgkinson -piano, Ida Levin - violin, Irina Muresanu - violin, Harumi Rhodes - violin, Marcus Thompson -viola

April 27, 2007

The final concert of the 2006- 2007 Boston Chamber Music Society season included works by two lesser known composers, George Tsontakis and Erich Korngold along with Felix Mendelssohn's well known masterwork, "Octet in E-flat Major, opus 20". Despite some last minute personnel changes due to illness, the concert was varied and exciting throughout. Contemporary American composer, George Tsontakis' "Piano Quartet number two" opened the program. Known as one of the leaders of "new romanticism", Tsontakis has written a large body of chamber music that includes four string quartets and an orchestral cycle inspired by T.S. Eliot's "Four Quartets".

The Piano Quartet number two, completed in 1999, was written to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the Cape and Islands Music Festival, specifically honoring its founding director, Samuel Sanders, who died right before the piece was completed. The composition began with a wandering piano, joined by sonorous, plaintive cello, continuing with a melancholic sweep and dialogue established between the violin and viola. The playing grew more turbulent with striking piano playing by Randall Hodgkinson. A short, fire-filled scherzo developed but never entirely unfolded. The notation then simplified, becoming almost cheerful, until once more, strong , broken piano phrases come. The second movement had a classical sensibility with restrained passion. Once more, there is a search for meaning followed by agitation with a return to somberness. The piece was a well performed, intense twenty minute performance.

Erich Korngold's "Suite for Strings and Piano Left Hand" was next on the program. Originally written for Austrian pianist, Paul Wittgenstein, who lost his right arm during World War I, the suite contains five movements, beginning with a Prelude and Fugue that set the piano in the epicenter. The piano is joined by two violins and a lugubrious cello. In the second movement's Waltz, the singing, elegant violins are joined by the piano, creating a texture that is simultaneously elegant and distintegrating. The third Groteske movement is percussive, offering a slightly mad dance, followed by more luxuriance. The "Lied" movement included beautiful playing by both violinists. The final "Rondo:Finale" movement was exuberant and well performed. Following the intermission, the ensemble played Felix Mendelssohn's "Octet in E-flat major, opus 20", a work in four movements. Written by Mendelssohn at age 16, the Octet is a marvel of fusion between two quartets that produces something resembling a small symphony, engaging four violins, two violas, and two cellos! The first movement's "Allegro moderato con fuoco" began full heartedly. Effulgent romanticism characterized the tone. Violinist, Ida Levin, particularly showed keen virtuosity. The Andante movement included excellent ensemble work that was spiritually profound, followed by a mercurial Scherzo/Allegro, played with grace and good pacing. The Octet ended in a Presto movement that seemed effortless and magical in the expert hands of the eight Boston Chamber Music Society musicians. This Mendelssohn performance was a fine, recording caliber performance, and a culmination to a highly enjoyable evening of music.

Carolyn Gregory

CHRISTOPHE ROUSSET: Harpsichord

Pieces by Louis Couperin, Francois Couperin, J.S. Bach, C.P.E. Bach.)

April 15, 2007

This was not just a concert, it was a tour through 17th and 18th century harpsichord styles. In featuring internationally known harpsichordist Christophe Rousset, the Boston Museum of Fine Arts presented a mini-history of the instrument’s heyday.

Beginning with the sadly-neglected Louis Couperin (uncle to Francois le Grand), Rousset performed the beguiling Suite in F Major. Its Prelude is a perambulating affair, made mysterious by Couperin’s habit of supplying unmeasured notes. This unique notation, consisting of whole notes only, arranges them in groups and connects them by graceful curves. Rousset skillfully adapted his way around this quandary throughout. In one piece, he played in a highly individuated style with a touch of rubato and other idiosyncratic accents. It worked! His fluid interpretations of the more lively pieces was impressive, as was the final pensive section, Tombeau de Mr de Blancrocher.

Rousset soared through a rendition of Francois Couperin’s Ordure no. 25 (Fourth Book of the Harpsichord Pieces). From the highly ornamented introduction to the daring heights of La Muse victorieuse, Rousset demonstrated his skill with accents and thrilling passages, dangling musical figures like jewels from a bracelet. Someday I would like to hear him play Domenico Scarlatti.

I got a hint of what that would be like with his interpretation of J.S. Bach’s French Suite No. 3. He played the Allemande in a stately fashion, with gentle swaying style, yet imparted much energy to the rhythmically complex Courante. The delicate and airy Sarabande, with a fine balance between bass and treble lines, was handled with amazing ease. The florid Gigue was most stunning, and left me out of breath (but not Rousset!).

In playing C.P.E. Bach's third Wurttenberg sonata, Rousset revealed a Haydnesque heroic style, with its deft and playful tempo shifts. While the piece has slight (or no) variation between repeats, this prince of harpsichordists managed to impart enough stylistic differentiation to keep it interesting. Three delightful encores left the crowd hungry for more. I can imagine him playing ten more into the evening at a duke’s manor, with no one letting him leave until dawn creeps in.

Peter Bates

BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Beethoven: Fidelio

James Levine, conductor; Christine Brewer, (Leonore); Lisa Milne, soprano (Marzelline); Johan Botha, tenor (Florestan); Matthew Polenzani, tenor (Jaquino); Albert Dohmen, bass-baritone, (Pizarro); James Morris, bass-baritone (Don Fernando); Robert Lloyd , bass (Rocco)

March 25, 2007

It has been called "the greatest first opera ever written." Beethoven's Fidelio was his only opera, partly because it became too difficult for the deaf composer to navigate the tricky negotiations involved in producing more operas. The BSO has put together an impressive concert performance of this work, particularly regarding the famous overture. Levine gave it a zippier rendition than I've heard in a while.

Unstaged concert performances of operas can be disorienting, but the BSO placed the singers far back, in front of the chorus, rather than out front, like oratorio performers. While some might argue that having singers so tucked away detracts from audience involvement, in this case it works. It's the music that matters, not seeing how deftly a singer turns the pages of a score. Regarding concert performance of this opera, Fidelio actually has more in common with the oratorios of its time than the operas. Conductor William Furtwangler sensed this when he said, "Fidelio has more of the Mass than of the Opera to it; the sentiments it expresses come from the sphere of the sacred; [it] preaches a 'religion of humanity.' "

As Leonore, Christine Brewer taps into the strength she displayed while playing another single-minded lover, Isolde in Wagner's Tristan and Isolde (San Francisco Opera). Her voice never faltered, and she conveyed the dark tensions so necessary in the prison cell scene of II, i. Robert Lloyd's Rocco was impressive as the only truly conflicted character in the opera, and Johan Botha visibly moved the audience as he sung Florestan's great aria envisioning rescue by Lenore, "Und spür' ich nicht linde, sanftsäuselnde Luft." Albert Dohmen as the villainous Pizarro engendered the required revulsion, but got off too lightly in my opinion. (She should have at least winged him.) The other singers, Lisa Milne (Marzelline), Matthew Polenzani (Jaquino), and James Morris (Don Fernando), helped carry the momentum of this brisk performance right to the stunning finale. The BSO has provided this masterpiece with the most precious of all illusions--that of ending too soon.

Peter Bates

BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA: Debussy, Sibelius, New Work by Saariaho

Conducted by Jukka-Pekka Saraste

February 24, 2007

Kudos! The BSO has commissioned a new work by Finish Composer Kaija Saariaho. Not only is she one of the world’s best-known living composers, she is also one of the most innovative. Her early works revolve around the interaction between instruments and computerized soundscapes, and are often both dissonant and disconcerting. The luxuriant and mysterious sounds she creates are becoming more listener-friendly and seem to be moving away from her smaller chamber works toward larger works, such as the opera L’amour de loin. And now the world has Notes on Light, a cello concerto in all but name. It opens with whining glissandos on the cello, creating an icy nordic atmosphere, like wind flowing across the tundra. As in her earlier work Du Cristal, there is thrilling use of percussion, in this case an evocative interplay between the cello and the xylophone. Saariaho then ventures into the realm of the almost disturbing, as the cello traces the edge of conflict, even anguish. Later it retreats into a less dominant role and the orchestral dynamics fade in and out, often using a bewitching high register. The cello re-enters and ends the piece on a fading desolate note, as in a late Shostakovich string quartet. The first violin accompanies it during this final diminuendo, and the two become tightrope walkers taking their leave of the audience.

The performance of Sibelius’ Four Legends from the Kalevala was also a thrilling affair. Apart from the "Swan of Tuonela," most of this work is not firmly ensconced in the repertoire. Too bad. Conductor Jukka-Pekka Saraste instantly plunged the audience into Sibelius’ harmonically variegated world. This is dramatic programmatic music of a high caliber and Saraste performed with delicacy and efficiency. The ominous rumblings on bass and cellos, the sharp pauses, the atmosphere like a gathering storm—all came through clearly. The "Swan of Tuonela," with its lovely melody surrounding a grisly story, was played skillfully by Robert Sheena on the English horn. The col legno of the violin sequence near the finale was eerie, and the crashing finale was impressive.

Debussy’s callow work, Printemps, received a workmanlike performance. The composer’s impressionist themes shimmer throughout, making it seem like a hazy midsummer’s afternoon along the Seine. He would soon abandon the lighthearted dance tunes like the one in the second movement, Modéré. According to the program notes, Saraste used the Henri Busser orchestration, which eliminates the vocalise chorus of female singers. This is regrettable, for the version with chorus (released in a 2000 Arabesque recording) is Debussy’s original score and adds bursts of color to the piece.

The BSO has done a great service in offering this varied program of modern works, particularly the Saariaho piece.

Peter Bates

CHAMELEON ARTS ENSEMBLE: "continuous as the stars that shine"

Deborah Boldin, flute; Christopher Guzman, piano; Joanna Kurkowicz, violin; Kelli O'Connor, clarinet; Vivian Chang-Freiheit, piano; Janna Baty, mezzo-soprano; Anna Reinersman, harp; Rafael Popper-Keizer, cello; Scott Woolweaver, viola

February 3, 2007

From it dark opening chords to its dense uneasy close, Brahms’ Piano Quartet No. 3 gripped the listeners at the close of the Chameleon Ensemble’s February 2nd concert. The piano is the heart of the piece, leading the strings towards the conclusion with an extended chromatic scale rippling down the keyboard. It’s a long journey, this masterwork, with its first movement recapitulation leading us astray by departing from the exposition. The haunting conclusion of this first movement trails off like a ghost in a midnight churchyard. In the second movement Scherzo, pianist Christopher Guzman navigates Brahms’ tricky 6/8 rhythm with its off-kilter sforzandos. Rafael Popper-Keizer played the affective third movement cello solo with heart not sentimentality: a tricky balancing act with Brahms. The other players distinguished themselves as well, particularly in the conclusion, where the yearning Brahms expresses in the opening is finally fulfilled.

The Chameleons are apparently in agreement with BSO conductor James Levine that the music of Arnold Schoenberg should be heard more often in Boston. Their inclusion of the passionate and quirky song cycle Das Buch der Hangenden Garten was well appreciated by the audience. Mezzo Janna Baty navigated the twisted roots and dangling tendrils of this garden with passion and pluck. Abjuring Schoenberg’s claim that he didn’t compose for the meaning of Stefan George’s symbolist poetry but its sound, she carefully followed the rhythm and sense of the poetry. For example, in the lines “Cool me with water, I, the fever-ridden one/Who leans shaking outside your door,” she sings with anguish tugging the edges of her voice. In her you can feel the desperation of this fin de siecle poet.

The other vocal work on the program, Now and Then, is a deeply felt work reflecting composer Earl Kim's reaction to nuclear war. The piece states its quietly passionate protest in poignant and lyrical figures, touchingly accompanied by delicate musings on flute, harp, and strings. The texts tend to ruminate on death and stillness, with the exception of Beckett's "thither." On this one, Baty’s voice and Ann Reinersman’s harp present their staccato phrases like a sylvan elf hopping on leaves. Overall, these brief songs are sensuous, meditative, and deeply felt. Scott Woolweaver’s viola often doubles for the voice, but about an octave lower, Deborah Bolden’s flute brightens the texture and skillfully accompanies the viola in tandem passages. Now and Then has both simplicity and rhythmic subtlety that enhance the words with playfulness and profundity.

John Adams is best known for his operas Nixon in China and The Death of Klinghofer. But in Road Movies, his piece for violin and piano, he puts the listener in a car, watching the scenery flash by, the car engine setting the rhythm and slowing to a contemplative crawl before picking up again. The running ostinatos on both instruments remind me of Stravinsky, just before his neo-classical period. The piece also suggests modes of road travel through its protean beats. Pianist Christopher Guzman sets the persistent rhythmic pulse and really gets into the groove, while violinist Joanna Kurkowicz skillfully navigates the abrupt turns in melodies and sudden harmonies. The third movement is a particularly exciting study in the compulsive, propulsive power of motor rhythms. Read what John Adams says about Road Movies here.

In keeping with the Chameleons’ mission of presenting hidden treasures, they unearthed Alexander Zemlinski’s youthful work, the Trio in D Minor. He’d written it for a contest, sponsored by Brahms, in which he placed third. (Who placed first?) Of course there is an intense Brahmsian feel, particularly in the opening Allegro. Kelli O’Connor plays clarinet in this piece so deftly, I wonder how she’d do with Brahms’ own Clarinet Trio, written five years before this one. There are many tasty melodies in this work, and although they don’t have the dramatic buildup or aching lyricism of Brahms’ Trio, they infuse the work with lush late romanticism. The underlying tone contain a Slavonic character, as if Dvorak were in the next room as Zemlinsky composed. In the second movement, both rhythm and melody resemble the main theme of the B Minor Cello Concerto. No matter. It was fine piece (and intriguing find) with which to begin a memorable mid-winter concert.

Peter Bates