Out of Struggle, Transcendent Beauty

On Thursday evening, the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center began its Composer Showcase series with the first of a trio — one for each of the next three months — of concerts exploring the career of Sergei Rachmaninoff. This composer lived the life that most contemporary scribblers covet most. Famous and often wealthy, earning the respect of concert audiences worldwide, beloved by millions of fans, Rachmaninoff was the very model of the successful classical artist. Add to this his imposing physique, incredible talent — several pianist friends maintain that he was the greatest practitioner of their art since Edison invented the phonograph — and vaguely mysterious look, and he was a rock star for the first third of the 20th century.Except that Rachmaninoff hated his life, never wishing to appear before the public but forced to perform extensively to maintain both his reputation and his coffers. Because he suffered severely from depression, every day was a nightmare for this gentle giant. Out of this struggle emerged some of the most beautiful music in memory.At the Rose Studio, the society’s players offered two early works, written in the period when his masterful Symphony No. 1 was being trashed by the critics, throwing him into an even deeper tailspin. Often these evenings feature combinations of junior and senior members, but this night there was a clear dividing line between aspirants and veterans.Cellist Julie Albers and pianist Orion Weiss began with the Sonata in G minor. I have had the opportunity to hear Ms. Albers in several different venues, and she is truly worthy of that overused appellation “rising star.” She has a very strong tone, powerful and resonant, and an athletic technique that served her in good stead for the Allegro scherzando with its emblematic theme evocative of Schubert’s “Erlkoenig.” Her main theme of the Andante was also quite emotional, but there was a sense that she was being just a bit too careful in this high-profile recital. Rachmaninoff needs abandon to flourish. Mr. Weiss provided measured accompaniment, striking just the right tone for this unique composer, somewhere between the aristocratic and the rebellious. Seated together in the audience were two celebrated pianists, Wu Han and Menahem Pressler, but hey, no pressure!There are two Trios elegiaque by Rachmaninoff, one short and one long. The D minor, performed this night by Ida Kavafian, violin, Gary Hoffman, cello, and Gilles Vonsattel, piano, is the 45-minute affair and contains some incredibly rich weavings and unusual reprises. This current rendition was notable for a high level of intensity, the interplay in the first moderato between high cello and low violin quite magical. All three artists gave superb efforts, but I was struck especially by the warmth and expressivity of Ms. Kavafian. Of course, I have been enjoying her work since Tashi in the mid-1970s, but it has been a while since I had experienced such meaningful and affecting sounds from any fiddler. Hearing this trio made me hungry for its mate. No worries: It will be on the program for the third installment of this welcome series.* * *There was concern among some of us expectant listeners at Carnegie Hall on Friday evening that Charles Dutoit’s decision to program three orchestral showstoppers for his Philadelphia Orchestra on the same bill of fare might lead to a satiety of emotion and an ultimate distaste for effects. Maestro headed off this potential problem by leading solid performances that were impressive for their musicianship even as they may have sometimes fallen short of maximum emotional impact.The suite from Béla Bartók’s ballet, “The Miraculous Mandarin,” led off the proceedings. This was a virtually note-perfect effort, every hair in place. Playing was elegant and graceful; colors were neatly separated. In other words, just what you don’t want for this atavistic, visceral piece that should raise the hairs on the back of the neck. The Philadelphia forces did everything asked of them, but there was a notable lack of digging down, the strings in particular never fully attacking their heavily accented passages with the proper Balkan energy. Mr. Dutoit’s approach reminded one of the four-hand piano playing of the music of Mozart that Bartók and his wife Ditta Pasztory recorded. It was mildly percussive, classically balanced, and a little odd.Much more successful was a diaphanous reading of the Three Nocturnes of Claude Debussy. Although Mr. Dutoit’s “Clouds” moved a little quickly for my taste, as if a storm front was fast approaching, their sound was gorgeously pillowed. “Holidays,” on the other hand, was taken slower than normal, but this deliberate tempo seemed to work as the conductor masterfully layered on the rhythmic levels in the score, anticipating the moment when the drum section enters. Very quiet and wispy, this was less a description of a celebration than a suggestion of one. Mr. Dutoit, a Swiss of French heritage, was offering a primer in impressionism.The women of the Philadelphia Singers Chorale made the trip up the thruway for a properly ethereal vocalise in “Sirens.” Again, Mr. Dutoit emphasized the pianissimo to lovely effect. There would be plenty of loudness after intermission. If ever there were a piece that lets it all hang out, it is the opening Mars section of Gustav Holst’s “The Planets.” Written in a barbarically relentless 5/4 time signature, this movement was considered unplayable when the work premiered in 1918 and can still induce fits of tension and frustration in a modern orchestral rehearsal studio. The ensemble should be praised for extolling at such a high decibel level without any perceptible loss of intonation — of course, this occurred right after a tuning session — but it may not be in Mr. Dutoit’s armamentarium to produce the proper drama for this apocalyptic portent. The clenched fist simply was not there.The more beautiful celestial bodies were offered at superb levels of play. Venus included very fine solo horn work and exercising of that fabulous Philadelphian string sound, or at least what passes for it in the 21st century. Jupiter was noble, marmoreal, the rousing version of the hymn “I vow to thee my country” stirring feelings of deep patriotism (and I’m not even British). Perhaps the best performance of the evening was that of Uranus, where Mr. Dutoit caught just the right sense of the imbalance of the necromancer.But I worried when the women singers did not come out onto the Carnegie stage. At first, I figured that they would emerge after Jupiter, when a sort of natural break occurs in the music. But Mr. Dutoit launched into the final Neptune with his chorus missing in action.He had, of course, one more trick up his sleeve. Just as the disembodied voices suggesting the nether regions of space were to begin their celestial chant, the door to the wings opened and the women sang without being seen. The orchestra sounded softer and softer, the voices also fashioning a consistent diminuendo. Lending an eloquent description of loneliness and yet oneness in the universe, the orchestra eventually stopped playing and the door slowly shut on the chorus. All that remained was primeval silence. Very nice.

Out of Struggle, Transcendent Beauty

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