HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DMITRI!

It's been a pretty awful day overall, but the last few hours have been repaired, rejuvenated in the rejoicing in the celebration of one the composers whose work has influenced, changed, and bettered my existence into something far more than merely that.

Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich lived a good bit longer than Mozart, but it was by no means a long life. Living to only 68 (as I approach those years myself, it seems frightfully young) and enduring Soviet era horrors, defamation, hardship, censorship and having his creativity stifled, what emerged as his catalog is nothing but triumph - even when we see it and hear it at its most intimate and harrowing moments, of which there is no shortage of.

Upon Stalin's death one can hear something of a shift in his style, as Clemency Burton-Hill wrote: 

. . . you can almost feel in his music, the gigantic breath of relief as he could start to publish not just the 'desk drawer' works he’d kept under wraps for years, including the Fourth Symphony, but also works in which he could openly give musical expression to the brutalities he and his contemporaries had endured under Stalin’s purges.

Shostakovich himself wrote:

Without party guidance I would have displayed more brilliance, used more sarcasm, I could have revealed my ideas openly instead of having to resort to camouflage.

Even so, what he was able to do with that camouflage revealed genius on a level we rarely see. The brain of this man . . . the heart of this man . . . the courage of this man was remarkable. Even more so when one learns he suffered from an almost crippling shyness, was a bundle of nerves, cautious to a fault and it's no bloody wonder considering all he endured. Watching family and his closest friends rounded up, sent off to the gulag or executed. Shostakovich himself barely escaped this fate and only because the officer assigned to interrogate him was arrested and Dmitri somehow slipped through.

Shostakovich had all kinds of ticks - obsessed with neatness and order, cleanliness,his daughter wrote of his synchronizing every clock, writing letters to himself to test the reliability of the postal service, and such.

Given his brief time on the planet, Shostakovich was able to crank out an astonishing amount of music . . . BIG music. 15 symphonies, six concerti, ballets, operas, a musical, endless chamber and solo music, film scores, theatre music, song cycles - his output is dizzying, and brilliant. He was known to sit at his table and write out a complete score without stopping, which seems . . . well, frankly impossible. For normal humans, it is. But, if you're a genius and gifted with a photographic memory . . . if you've worked every detail out in your head, maybe not. Shostakovich described his compositional method as "think long,, write fast."

I always found it fascinating that Shostakovich was such a football fan, and was shocked when I first learned his ballet, The Golden Age was . . . a ballet about football. That tidbit of information was, to this then young musician, about as cool as cool gets.

As a young pianist and already obsessive collector, I grew up with an oddball collection of favorite composers at my side whose music has been part of the soundtrack of my life - at the top of that list are two names: Bach. And Shostakovich.

Tonight I've enjoyed, laughed, cried, and gotten the shivers from a few personal favorites : Nadja Salerno Sonnenberg and Dmitri's boy Maxim, in the First Violin Concerto; a slew of Preludes and Fugues, Symphony No. 4 (Alain Altinoglu and the Frankfurt Radio Symphony) 10 and 11 (Mstislav Rostropovich and the National Symphony).

The night has just ended with a live (recorded earlier today) Birthday Concert from Moscow with the Tatarstan Symphony Orchestra led by Alexander Sladkovsky performing the Second Cello Concerto with Cellist, Alexander Knyazev (and who played an encore from the 3rd Bach Cello Suite, which seemed fitting), and Symphony No. 8. The Tartarstan is not one of the world's great orchestras, but nobody seems to have told them, and so they play as if they are. There were a few moments that could have been better, but overall the playing was inspired, solid, and offered a beautifully hushed ending more famous ensembles might want to look at and listen to.

I couldn't help but smile REALLY BIG when after an extended ovation, Maestro Sladkovsky turned his back to the house, raised his baton, and launched his musicians into the most appropriate of encores: Waltz No. 2 from the The Suite for Variety Orchestra No. 1, Perfect.

[Poscript:  This is the original photo collage I used for this birthday tribute.  To my utter horror . . . the upper right hand photo is something I did not catch. It IS Dmitri's head, but superimposed onto the body of Harry Potter (a series of films I've never watched, but whose hero apparently looked very similar to Shostakovich). Here is the photo collage I was going to replace it with - but now just adding because - how cool is it that pop culture is trying to steal Dmitri Shostakovich for its own purposes?]

The Goldberg Obsession: Lars and Jean

 

I have had a lifelong obsession with Bach's Goldberg Variations. I first learned them through Wanda Landowska's recording quickly followed by Glenn Gould's first recording, sped through and shorn of the repeats.  It became my favorite way to hear them through much of my youth, much, as I expect, Gould felt they should be played and heard during his.  Many years have passed and countless (literally) recordings and performances came and went on both harpsichord and piano.  Having studied both instruments and played much Bach (and Telemann and Handel and Boyce and . . . ) on both, I really can't say I have a preference for one over the other, since both inhabit entirely different sound worlds and thus, to my way of thinking at least, are neither comparative nor competitive.  (Typical of me not being able to make up my mind: I want it all!) 

I've reached a point, however, having listened to so many recordings that I DO have a favorite "version" for each.  Almost a hands-down, if you will.  For the harpsichord, no one has spoken to me like the Frenchman Jean Rondeau.  Rondeau approaches the entirety of the work as if unlocking a mystery that is not really a mystery at all, taking us on an amazing journey of discovery that goes beyond mere virtuosity digging deeply, soulfully into the beautiful grit of Bach.  I'm simply blown away by his performance.

Rondeau inserts what sometimes feel like great or exaggerated luftpause between the variations, and at first my anxiety caused me to opine:  "oh, just get on with the next one already!"  I was, at first, embarrassed to admit this, because what Rondeau does in exposing the breadth and depth of every variation and repeat is worthy of considered reflection, even if only for a moment, before moving us along to the next discovery, which he opens up like an oyster revealing its pearl, much to my amazement.  Then, tying it all together Rondeau soulfully returns us to what I feel Bach would have us see; the sky almost imperceptibly lightening in that moment before the sun rises on another day. 

For the piano, it's not surprising that I've chosen Lars Vogt who, much like Rondeau, has divided opinions of those who love this work as much as I.  It's amazing to me how just how divided, with people seemingly having entirely different sets of ears describing it one on hand as "over ornamented and too personal" to "bland and impersonal."  I can, like them, only respond to how I HEAR it and how it makes me FEEL.  I know of no other recording that quite captures all of the moods Bach invested into this piece, and, like Rondeau, Vogt takes all of the repeats and plays with them alternating between the often wistful nature first heard in the aria, on to the playfulness in so many of the variations.  The only pianist I think I can compare his performance to is the Hungarian, András Schiff, which is about as high praise as it gets in my book.  

Vogt has always had a unique style that speaks to me on a deeply personal level, and has since first hearing him some 30 years ago.  There is a "clean" precision to his playing that makes the virtuosity sound . . . for lack of better term "easy and natural." It has often been said that his fingers "dance" on the keyboard, a quality I think one can hear in all he plays, and it absolutely shines in the Bach. Using almost no pedal at all, that clarity allows us to hear ALL of the inner voices that can sometimes get muddy or even a bit lost in other hands.  Not so here.  GIven that rare lightness and strength, Vogt is able to use the piano in ways that are more difficult for the harpsichord to make clear, and, of course, there is the matter of dynamics. In that regard, Vogt is not afraid to make the piano whisper some of its phrases, making one lean into the sound as if it might just float away.  It does. Not many do that.  Not many can.  It isn't quite the journey that Rondeau and others makes of it from darkness to light, and it doesn't need to be. Vogt's return to the aria, after the beautiful Quadlibet, is not so much a journey's end as it is a return home.    

I still want my other recordings, but if I had to pick only two:  it's Lars and Jean, all the way.

Bach/Rondeau: The Goldbergs Live

 

I am enormous fan of Jean Rondeau and have been mesmerized for days listening to, and deciding whether or not I'm in love with his recent live recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations recorded in connection with the Netherlands Bach Society in the intimate Concertgebouw Brugge.  

So, do I like it?  Absolutely.  I'm in love with it, in fact. The recording has caused a stir, some of it by Rondeau's wildman, unkempt hair and casual rockstar aloof air, but that would be among the stupidest of reasons to be turned off by what turns out to be some of the most fascinating interpretations in modern times of Bach's beloved masterpiece for the keyboard. 

Rondeau approaches the entirety of the work as if unlocking a mystery that is not really a mystery and taking us on an amazing journey of discovery that goes beyond mere virtuosity and digs into the beautiful grit of Bach.  I'm blown away by his performance.  

There are sometimes what seem like great or exaggerated luftpausen between the variations, and at first my anxiety caused me to opine:  "oh, just get on with the next one already!"  I'm embarrassed to admit this, now most of all because what Rondeau does in exposing the breath and depth of Bach's work in EVERY SINGLE VARIATION is worthy of considered reflection, even if only for a moment, before moving on to the next discovery, which he opens up like an oyster revealing its pearl to our (or at least my) amazement.  Then, tying it all together Rondeau soulfully returns us to what I feel Bach would have us see; the sky almost imperceptibly lightening in that moment before the sun rises on another day.

It's a chunk of time - over 1.5 hours - but at its end, I felt my love for Bach - which is never waning anyway - to be even more invigorated and refreshed, as if having spent the night with this music in something as valuable and beautiful as dreams.  I also came away for a deeper respect for Monsieur Rondeau's gifts, his commitment to the composer, and the depth of his passion in Bach's landmark work.  Merci, Jean! 

Bach's Matthäus-Passion: Simon Rattle, Peter Sellars and Berlin Philharmonic: An Overwhelming Experience for the Soul

For the first time since I was 17 I did not spend the day of September 16th listening to, and obsessing over, Maria Callas.

 
I went, in fact, in about as far a direction as one could possibly go, spending nearly 5 hours with Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic's boxed set of their now legendary live 2010 performance of Bach's Matthäus-Passion. While opera takes up the biggest chunk of my life, my favorite composer has always been this man who never wrote a single opera, and this work, in particular, for me stands high among the crowning achievements of western civilization.

Recorded live at the Philharmonie, Sir Simon and the musicians he assembled each give definitive performances - perhaps the greatest performances of their lives. It should come as no surprise, the most searing, perfect performance comes from Mark Padmore's Evangelist. I've heard him in the role before, but none of those performances gave an inkling, nor could they have prepared me for the intensity of his personalization, simultaneously exhibiting a fierce, determined strength with the naturalness of a storyteller, and a weary, Everyman broken by life's enormity and cruelty. These qualities increased tenfold as, in addition to his duties of the difficult role, Padmore acted out the role of Jesus, beautifully sung by Christian Gerhaher from a platform high above the stage.

While I've always preferred a deeper, more contralto sound - i.e., Janet Baker, Christa Ludwig or Kathleen Ferrier, Magdalena Kozena sings - and just as importantly here - acts out her role with a heartbreaking ferocity, and complete understanding of this music. Without the aid of stage make-up or other standard theatrical tricks, she looks increasingly more haggard, worn and broken as the Passion moves on. At the same time she radiates a glow of this woman who adored Jesus.  We feel her exultation, sorrow and grief. Her interactions with Padmore's incarnation of Christ, the chorus, and others are revelatory, and when, briefly, Bach allows the music to shine in a hopeful manner, she becomes as dancer. It is a remarkable performance.

Camilla Tilling (very pregnant here) allows her voice to soar and shine through Bach's score differently than the pretty, sad "flute and soprano" music we're accostumed to in so many performance. She infuses her music with both confusion at the situations at hand, as well as with a strengthened resolve to carry on. Tenor, Topi Lehtipuu sings the tenor recits and arias with a gleaming sound that is close to perfection. In fact, I'll go out on the proverbial limb and state his to be the best, most beautiful performance I've ever heard of this music.

The great baritone, Thomas Quasthoff captured shortly before his unexpected retirement, gets some of Bach's greatest arias, including my favorite aria from any composer, Mache dich, mein Herze, rein. Here, as Joseph of Arimethea, the sincerity of his desire to bury his beloved Lord by himself is overwhelming in every sense. Indeed, here, as in his earlier appearances in the Passion, his noble, gentle spirit, and natural sense of drama - acting through the music, is infused with a pilgrim's sincerity throughout, which had to be at the forefront of Bach's mind as he set these beautiful texts.

Interestingly, while he is known for his immaculate precision and control, Rattle, throughout the performance, allows his musicians - noticeably, the arias with small ensembles, or continuo (as well as "duets" between singer and instrumentalist) to take on a life of their own. Without their conductor's influence, they adjust their tempi, dynamics, shaping and conduct these numbers themselves, as Rattle takes a back seat, silently looking on.

The Rundfunkchor Berlin and the boychoir are nothing short of perfection in the blazing, challenges of the choral ensembles, and make the chorales - traditionally performed as breaks in the lengthy narrative - as integral part of the storytelling as any other. Rattle does not allow them to perform them "merely" as congregational hymns, instead inserting great pauses, adjusting tempos according to text, and otherwise revolutionizing the manner in which we hear these familiar tunes. As with every other aspect of this performance, this only adds to the experience in a way that personalizes the great passion story and cuts straight to the observer's soul.

Peter Sellars calls his staging, "a ritualization . . . a prayer," and it is clear from the entire ensemble, every participant is on board to share his point of view. In a bold move, Sellars asked the solo instrumentalists to, as he had with the chorus and soloists, to memorize their music, removing music stands, and allowing - almost forcing - an intimacy of exchanges between the participants that is unique and which enriches the experience.

The final moments here are almost impossible to endure. During the great recitative for the soloists and both choruses, all bid Jesus "good night," and offer thanks for his life, and for the sacrifice of it. The emotion here leads directly into the famous final chorus, as all move towards and surround the tomb and body of Jesus.  It is a mass of humanity circling, confused and broken, yet filled with a hope that is not merely born of desperation, but rather defiant against those who would deny their Lord. Their hushed, tender calls of Ruhet sanfte, sanfte ruht (rest thou gently, gently rest) fades into the hall, as they stand around the tomb, motionless.  Silent.  Silent, too, is the audience, and for just shy of sixty seconds (an eternity in the theatre) there is not a single cough, rasp, throat cleared or premature applause. It isn't until the stage lights go down that the audience begins its ovation - which goes on for some nine or ten minutes, everyone (including this home viewer) releasing what had been building up for hours.

I don't know if I can recall being moved by a recorded performance as deeply. I don't think I ever have. Those who know me can well imagine the sniffling, weeping mess I was by the final chord. Believer or non-believer, this is the greatest story ever told, and rarely has it beenj told so beautifully.

A Chilling Bluebeard's Castle from the PSO

The Portland Symphony celebrated All Saints Day/Dia de los Muertos with two works seemingly at odds, the Bach Concerto for Two Violins in d minor, and Bartok's short, powerful opera, Bluebeard's Castle.

With a paired down chamber ensemble playing period style, the Bach glittered sparkled and reminded one of this composer's enormous genius never feeling academic but instead almost dance like. Maestro Moody gave the outer movements a brisk, almost breathlessly athletic pace, while in its gooey center movement he revealed Bach's genius at writing long, exquisite melodies, as the two violins wrapped around each other's lines in an embrace that makes it one of Bach's most beloved works.

Keeping it within the family, the soloists were PSO violinists Amy Sims and Sasha Callahan, each playing with beautiful baroque style and stunning virtuosity. They were rewarded with a glowing ovation from their hometown audience . . . all of us feeling the love.

Following intermission came the Bartok. I've loved this difficult (in many ways) opera since my teens, have enjoyed several live performances and most available recordings, but here, in a stripped down concert staging, it worked in a way few staged performances are capable of. Having Bartok's massive orchestra onstage allowed it to become an even greater part of the drama than from a recessed pit.

Once Moody took the podium, the house and stage lights went out, plunging the hall into darkness. Though no lighting designer or stage director was credited, one sensed immediately both lights and "action" would be part of the show. In the dark, a sounding narrator welcomed us with the Prologue of the Bard (spoken in English) as the haunting opening strains began. Dim light allowed us to see Bluebeard, Alan Held and his new bride Judith, Michelle DeYoung, enter his castle. The pair played superbly off of each other, DeYoung's Judith an enchanted young bride, reassuring her dark-souled husband of her love, while Held's Bluebeard tested her loyalty, offering her opportunities to return to her former life. Both singers were in superb voice, deftly projecting over Bartok’s dense, lush scoring even when Moody had the orchestra pulling out all the stops, including those of the mighty Kotzschmar Organ

The meat of the opera is comprised of seven closed door, each hiding a secret of Bluebeard is unwilling to reveal, until Judith demands them be opened. Bartok's tonal palette and gift of orchestration gives each of the rooms a unique sound spectrum, beginning with the first, a torture chamber. This production also had a recorded, piped in, most unsettling groan/sigh that chills both Judith and the audience. The theatrical highlight for many, including me, is the opening of the Fifth Door which reveals the vastness of Bluebeard's kingdom the organ and orchestra letting loose at fortissimo as Judith belts out a high C. The effect was heightened as from near darkness, the lights flashed on bathing the entire house in a sea of white as Ms. DeYoung, arms raised in awe, capped everything with as great a high C as I've heard, producing gasps from many in the audience. Brilliant.

At the final door, we meet Bartok's three, still very much alive former wives, representing morning, afternoon and twilight, Judith - who is midnight - must now join, leaving Bluebeard,. as he has been most of his life, alone in the dark.

I'm happy to see and hear Bartok's gem being programmed more than in years past (the nearby Boston Symphony also performed it last week), particularly when so ravishingly played as it was here. It was a highlight of Maestro's tenure so far with this organization, and a night that will not soon be forgotten, or bettered.

Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould

I just returned from a showing at the Portland Museum of Art of Michele Hozer and Peter Raymont's film: "GENIUS WITHIN: THE INNER LIFE OF GLENN GOULD."

Though I've been obsessed with Mr. Gould since childhood (he was one of my earliest inspirations for attempting a career in music), the film opens up areas I had not previously known about him. Through numerous interviews with his first girlfriend, his best friend, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Lukas and Cornelia Foss (and both their children), clips of Leonard Bernstein (including his now rather hilarious pre-performance speech before they performed the Brahms D minor Concerto - about their enormous differences on the work), the film is rich in both talk and music.

The biggest revelation to me was the affair between Gould and Mrs. Foss which lasted several years, and for which she left her husband, moving herself and the children to Montreal, and the slow disintegration of that relationship as Gould's eccentricities became more and more pronounced. It was touching and poignant in a way that almost seemed invasive.

I'd almost forgotten how devastatingly handsome was Gould in his youth, like a 50's movie star, really. There is, naturally, a good deal centered around his early years and the beginning of his performing career, with some wonderful clips of his tour of the Soviet Union.

There are also some generous clips of Gould's own movies, including one particularly hilarious short with Gould appearing on the beach, coat, gloves, the works, sitting in a director's chair, then having some gorgeous black woman in a bikini doing an exotic combination that recalled the Watusi and the Girl from Imponema, the last shot of which finds Gould pants legs rolled up and sort of half "directing" her and dancing a bit in the ocean himself. (The audience went into hysterics - and it was truly funny stuff!)

The film deals openly (and fairly in depth) about Gould's departure from the concert stage at only 31 years of age, and his drug addictions, hypocondria, and difficulties in his relationships, never in a gossipy manner, but with a rather matter-of-fact honesty that does not in the least diminish one's respect for Gould's genius.

At just under two hours, this is one of the most satisfying documentary portraits of a 20th century classical musician I believe I've ever seen - and yet, upon the closing credits, I found I wanted even more. The audience reacted loudly throughout (several people even clapping along with Petula Clark during her rendition of "Downtown."

If this is showing anywhere near you, I urge you to see this. It's a beautiful peaen to one of the most iconic performers of the last century, done with extraordinary care, and not just a little love for its subject. Highly
recommended.

Bach's Glorious Phoebus & Pan!

I often mention my regret that my favorite composer, Bach, never gave us a “real” opera, and yet one of my all time favorite works of his is BWV 201, the Cantata “Der Streit Zwischen Phoebus & Pan” (“The Contest Between Phoebus and Pan”). It’s about as close to opera as Bach would get and gives a wonderful peak into what Bach, had his life gone in a different direction, might have given us more of. Here is may have gone and I just today received a recording that hitherto had been priced out of my league (paired with another cantata to create a 2 CD set costing well over 50 dollars). Well “Phoebus & Pan” has made it onto a single disc now and what a glorious, stunning, perfect performance this is.
Recorded in the mid 90’s it features the young Mathias Goerne as Phoebus and some of the most stunning Bachian baritone singing I have ever encountered. In the aria (No. 5) “Mit Verlangen drück ich deine zarten Wangen” Goerne sounds almost tenorial, with a completely distinctive timbre that has a nice German Lieder singer darkness to it – and yet that light and air breathe right through it like gauze. It is singing of such ineffable beauty, the lines shaped with skill and grace and perfectly matched with the excellent orchestra led by Helmuth Rilling. Had I known Goerne sounded like this in this recording ten years ago, I would’ve gladly broken down and purchased the set at its original price if only to have this aria. I’m only happy I've now lived long enough for this recording to enter my life.
Not to be too outdone, Dietrich Henschel’s turn at Pan is a pure delight and a couple of numbers after Phoebus’s glorious aria Pan gets an entirely different (almost Papageno-esque) comic aria.
Tmolus is a tenor unknown to me, Lothar (“of the Hill People?”) Odinius. He’s marvelous and his sweet, plangent tenor is well matched in his big aria with Bach’s melancholy, Oboe d’amore-tinged music.
Midas is the sweet-as-honey, bright voiced American tenor James Taylor (not THAT James Taylor!) also presenting a rather young presence in this recording. That sweetness well suits Bach’s melancholy Oboe d’amore-tinged music.
Sweetness is a key element at play throughout this recording and can even be used to describe the just slightly shrill soprano of Sibylla Rubens, as Momus, while alto, Ingeborg Danz’s brief, beautiful turn as Mercury is reason itself enough for bursting into joy.
Maestro Rilling leads with the proverbial iron fist/velvet glove combo allowing the natural velocity of Bach’s music to push forward while keeping a firm grip on everything: tempi, balance, dynamics and color. The chorus (with little to do outside of the bookending movements), is wonderful, more full bodied than most baroque choruses, yet full of style and verve.
The tiny photo of Goerne on the back cover shows the then 20-something year old baritone looking as though he could easily have still been a high school student.
With the never-ending explosion and rediscovery of so much baroque music and today’s penchant for creative pairings of odd-flavored works, it would be wonderful to see some enterprising company stage this beautiful, less than an hour long work.
I don’t know who may last have staged this beautiful work, but the Met gave it as part of one of their wilder double bills – Bach’s Phoebus - paired with Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Le Coq d’or” - (how’s THAT for a wild night at the opera!) and an exciting "new" conductor (though not so new to most of its attendees), one Sir Thomas Beecham!
This recording I’m raving about is on the hänssler edition/bachakademie label and around $14.00. It’s worth every penny!
p.