February, 2004
ot often do you find a classical concert venue packed to the rafters -- on a Tuesday night. Even more remarkably, at only 23, violinist Hilary Hahn displayed a prodigious musicality and technique that all but bowled over her fans and skeptics alike in the audience (including my next-seat neighbor, a retired assistant concertmaster of the L.A. Phil). And she did all that with the ease and naturalness of an evening stroll in the park -- amidst the moonlit gardens of Mozart and J.S. Bach. The program started and ended with Mozart sonatas (K.301 and K.526). Hahn's playing was ingratiatingly free of mannerism and showing a surprising depth of emotion in the K.526 andante. Natalie Zhu's piano playing, while generally excellent, was somewhat on the heavy side and did not match Hahn's scrupulous refinement and elegance. The violin sonata by Ernest Block featured some ravishing pianissimi effects and dynamic playing from Ms. Hahn. However, it was in the Partita No. 2 of J.S. Bach (the final Chaconne, to be exact) that Hahn stood out from the pack of former child prodigies to become a full-fledged master of the violin. Unfazed by this colossal work of theme-and-60 variations, Hahn luxuriated in the architectural grandeur of the music and scaled one peak after another. Added to the mighty Bachian landscape were the spectacular effects of multiple stoppings and digital dexterity that made one sigh in disbelief. But above all, I was entranced by the sheer purity and buoyancy of her playing. The two encores -- Siciliani (J.S. Bach) and Russian folk song (arr. Stravinsky) -- were gently tossed off like a welcome summer breeze.
ove, the old song goes, is a many-splendored thing. In the Pasadena Symphony’s “Symphonic Theater” presentation on Valentines Day, one witnessed the many splendors of love, as well as its trials and tribulations, enacted vividly onstage by the ever-enterprising John de Lancie, who gave us a delightful “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme” last year. This time around, Strauss’s country bumpkin is replaced by Shakespeare’s Veronese lovers, and social satire with romantic irony. The musical selections that accompany scenes from “Romeo and Juliet” span several centuries and styles, celebrating different aspects of love – its innocent purity (Bellini), its feverish passion (Berlioz, Gounod) and its power to withstand unbelievable odds and adversaries (Tchaikovsky, Bernstein). Tara Platt and John Hansen were two actors portraying Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers, with their operatic alter-egos sung by soprano Valerie MacCarthy and Dominique Moralez (somewhat stiffly at first, until ‘Je veux vivre’), and balletic doppelgangers Paul Christiano and Kristin Mitchell. All the song and dance interludes, as interesting as they were, could not detract from the vivid, achingly poignant readings by Platt and Hansen, which were the finest feature of the evening. This juxtaposition of opera and stage play also had the unintentional effect of calling attention to the state of acting in opera today, which, forty years after Maria Callas had raised the bar, has sadly fallen back to the old stand-and-delivery school of acting. John de Lancie’s imaginative staging also called for a somber Greek Chorus, draped in Ela Erwin’s handsome costumes and commenting on the proceedings. The dramatic lighting effects by Rand Ryan and Nikki Greenberg’s fluid choreography all contributed to the production’s success. On its own, the Pasadena Symphony played Faure’s hauntingly beautiful suite “Pelleas et Melisande”, with memorable contributions from flutist Louise Ditullio and harpist Jo Ann Turovsky. Ravel’s Suite No. 2 on the pastoral legend of “Daphnis et Chloe” was surprisingly dour and charmless until the Bacchanalian finale. If I had learned anything from this “Symphonic Theater” show, it was the supreme musicality of Shakespeare’s poetry. It should be reminded that, in the Elizabethan times, the staging of Shakespeare’s plays invariably featured some kind of incidental music, in the form of sonnets and improvised lute bands. The music provided temporary relief from the dramatic actions and did not survive outside of the plays – nor could it have been, given its improvisatory nature. Despite the best of efforts from Mr. De Lancie and the Pasadena Symphony, it was the poetry that triumphed over music, although in this case the musical contributions did not go unappreciated.
ast Saturday night’s all-Austrian program was a joyful one that featured Austrian-born conductor Franz Welser-Möst and pianist Radu Lupu. The music, apart from Berg’s harrowing Op. 6, Three Pieces for Orchestra, was genial and exceedingly pleasurable on the palate. That is not to say that it was a sugarpuff program. Anyone who can play this music with elegance and poetry deserve kudos. Certainly, among today’s pianists, few are more elegant and poetic than the Romanian Radu Lupu, who in this concert gave a serenely aristocratic account of Mozart’s A-Major concerto, even in the pastoral andante when audience noises threatened to derail its tranquility. The L.A. Phil players provided superbly filigreed accompaniment in the andante, with its gentle siciliani rhythm, and virtuosic excitement in the outer movements.
Schubert's unfinished 8th Symphony
received a highly polished, free-flowing reading from maestro
Welser-Möst, who coaxed lush sounds from the L.A. Phil strings and
winds. The concert followed the 19th-Century practice and concluded
with a waltz, “Artists Life”Waltz by John Strauss, Jr. It’s
not only a feel-good piece to send the audience home smiling, but
also music-making of the highest order. Simplicity can have rich
rewards.
ake no mistake, the American Youth Symphony is no kiddie orchestra. Gustav Mahler’s titanic First Symphony requires an orchestra of enormous power – whether in execution or in expression – and received it from the AYS. Conductor Alexander Treger succeeded in bringing out the youthful exuberance in the many climaxes. Granted, the playing was not always sufficiently polished (the strings lacked softness and sheen in the waltzes and long slides), but the raw excitement and passion were definitely a plus. Following the tradition of celebrity guest artists on their annual gala concerts (last year was pianist Yefim Bronfmann), the AYS played the opening ceremonial fanfare, “Sound the Bells”, under John Williams – with all the brassy brashness of a Hollywood movie score. Musically, it was pretty forgettable. Equally bold and brashy was Lera Auerbach’s Violin Concerto No. 1, commissioned by the AYS for this occasion. The complex, exotic harmonies recall the mystical Orientalism of Puccini’s “Turandot”, particularly in the second movement, with its ghostly eerieness and spartan harmonic landscape. Much of the work’s emotional power is conveyed through the solo violin, superbly played by Philippe Quint, and features a soulful cadenza in the final movement (a brilliant touch) that emerges triumphant from the savage onslaught of the opening movement. It is a worthwhile work that deserves wider recognitioin. Young and restless? Maybe. But what an exciting concert!
ichard Strauss’ Die Frau ohne Schatten is one of those works that, like Weber’s “Der Freischultz”, exist primarily in their creators’ imagination and nearly impossible to stage. To compound the problem, the Los Angeles Opera production, originally conceived by John Cox, suffers from Patrick Young’s unimaginative direction that fails to shed light on the work’s symbolist plot – the Empress’s all-important dream in Act II was awkwardly and unconvincingly staged. It’s a shame, given the fine materials he had to work with. David Hockney’s storybook-like set design is deemed tacky in many quarters, but for me it complements nicely the opera’s fairytale plot. There are no flying falcons or great floods, only moving sets and scrims awash in Alan Burrett’s fanciful lighting and elaborately intricate costumes by Ian Falconer. The real actions must still exist within the music and the minds of the audience
The international cast featured the finest singing from the Germans – Wolfgang Brendel’s deeply moving Barak and Doris Soffel’s spine-chilling evil Nurse. Danish soprano Inga Nielsen was a steely Empress with a soft heart. American tenor Robert Dean Smith’s Emperor was royally loud and undistinguished. Linda Watson’s squalid-sounding Dyer’s Wife and James Cresswell’s boomy-voiced Spirit Messenger rounded off the cast. The Los Angeles Opera Chorus provided excellent offstage support as the disembodied voices of the Unborn Children. Strauss and Hofmannsthal both considered “Die Frau” their greatest work. One may beg to differ on the poetic premise of personal fulfillment through childbearing. With Strauss’ music, however, there can be no argument. Kent Nagano conducted this extravagantly lavish score clearly con amore, bringing out a thousand delicate hues from the large orchestra. The unison strings melody that ends Act I was truly memorable for its warmth and incandescent glow.
Judging from the growing number of empty seats after each intermission, I imagine many people unfamiliar with Strauss’ music attended the show, expecting to be entertained by a fairy tale but instead befuddled by a heavily symbolist morality play. For others, this “Die Frau” offered an evening of magic and musical riches.
laying across the plaza from Baz Luhrmann's "La Boheme", the Los Angeles Opera’s Madama Butterfly also boasts 3 casts in 14 performances – an unheard of run for an opera company – amply testifying to Puccini’s enduring popular and commercial appeal. Billed as the North American premiere, Robert Wilson’s austere, minimalist staging of Puccini’s lushly romantic tale was first seen in Paris ten years ago, and has been extensively reworked by Wilson for Los Angeles. The main feature in Wilson’s production is the lighting – subtle hues of violet, blue, and orange projected onto a backdrop that change slowly, almost imperceptibly, over the course of a scene. The principals are illuminated with bright overhead spotlights to set them apart from the others, and from the backdrop. The stage is almost barren, except for a broken fence post and a raised wooden platform. The effect was more akin to a concert performance with lighting effects than a staged drama.
The overall artsy, artificial feeling extends also to the way singers move, which is highly stylized and robot-like for the supporting players, and more natural free movement for the principals, albeit with frequent ‘freeze-frames’ and symbolic gestures (Cio-Cio-San flutters her fingers as she falls dying). The simple, elegant black-and-white costumes by Frida Parmeggiani seem to sparkle and shift colors under different lighting conditions. As musical drama, “Madama Butterfly” can hardly be called artificial or austere, and this is where Wilson’s conception fails to engage. In a few isolated moments when the ‘concept’ works, it is enchanting – lighting changes slowly during Cio-Cio-San’s entrance in Act I like a fine mist of fragrance in the air, an orange sun symbolizing the dead ancestors, and the dramatic swaths of red and orange during Bonze’s renunciation scene. But throughout most of the opera, the lush imageries of rice-paneled rooms and cherry trees are entirely left to the audience’s imagination. Even more problematic: during some crucial scene changes, the lighting remained unchanged, as in the Act II cherry duet. Evidently, we are seeing Wilson’s “Butterfly”, not Puccini’s. Minimalist psychology may belong to the realms of “Wozzeck” or “Elektra”, but not “Butterfly”. Fortunately, far more engaging is the cast, featuring a beautiful pair of Italianate voices with tenor John Matz’s ardent, ringing B.F. Pinkerton and soprano Angela Maria Blasi’s golden-voiced Cio-Cio-San. British baritone Alan Opie sounded a bit worn and woolly as Sharpless. Susanna Poretsky was an emotionally charged Suzuki, and Greg Fedderly’s Goro is more musical than most. Little ‘Trouble’ was played by James Prival, whose gig during the symphonic ‘sunrise’ interlude boded him well as a ballet dancer. Michael Gallup’s menacing Bonze, Gregorio Gonzalez’s headstrong Prince Yamadori, and Renee Sousa’s statuesque Kate Pinkerton rounded out this superb cast.
Kent Nagano has mellowed quite a bit since I last heard him conduct “Butterfly” in Berkeley nearly ten years ago. A few idiosyncrasies remained; the tempo of the cherry duet still dragged. But overall, the orchestral playing was beautifully layered and nuanced, most memorably in the Act I love duet. The Los Angeles Opera Chorus was topnotch. Should you go catch this “Butterfly”? Yes, I would buy a cheap upper-level seat and just close my eyes and enjoy the music. After all, there is more drama in the music than in Robert Wilson’s ascetic and ultimately irrelevant re-interpretation of Puccini.
Truman C. Wang is editor of Classical Voice, whose articles have appeared in the San Gabriel Valley Tribune, the Pasadena Star-News and other Southern California publications.
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