Turbulent and Tense

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James Conlon is a good friend to Alexander von Zemlinsky, and Zemlinsky is a good friend to him. Mr. Conlon is the American conductor who is now music director of the Los Angeles Opera (and some other things); Zemlinsky is the Viennese composer who straddled two centuries, living from 1871 to 1942. Mr. Conlon has recorded a good deal of his music, including “A Florentine Tragedy,” a short opera. And Mr. Conlon presented this work — in concert form — with the New York Philharmonic on Friday afternoon. The opera springs from a play by Oscar Wilde. And the story, in brief, goes like a physical struggle occurs. Wife roots for lover to kill husband. But husband actually kills lover — awakening ardor of wife for husband. This is supposed to tell us something key about human nature. Don’t look too close.

Zemlinsky’s score is turbulent, tense, kaleidoscopic — “psychological.” And very, very Straussian. “A Florentine Tragedy” is a cousin of “Salome” and “Elektra.” I might say, too, that the score is Korngoldian — very much so. But that would be to put the cart before the horse: Zemlinsky was a teacher of Korngold, as he was of Schoenberg.

And Mr. Conlon led a performance that brought out all of the qualities packed in the score. He conducted both knowledgeably and passionately. And he had a good trio of singers — this being a three-singer opera.

It is a tour de force for baritone, and James Johnson filled the role of Simone, the husband, exceedingly well. He sang both stoutly and resplendently. And he sang with ample dramatic conviction. He embodied contained hostility — a hostility that would, of course, break out. His murderous sarcasm was exactly right. And his vocal technique was so solid, you could forget about it (a luxury).

Obviously, this veteran has abundant vocal and operatic wiles.

Bardi, the lover — Prince of Florence! — was sung by Anthony Dean Griffey. And, as usual, the tenor from North Carolina was fresh-voiced, free. A current runs through his sound — and that is an enviable trait to have. Some of his high notes were shaky, but there were no crashes.

And Tatiana Pavlovskaya, a mezzo, was Bianca, the wife. She was sultry, pouty, and very, very Russian. Her low notes were formidable — almost alarming. One high note was nowhere near pitch, but that was no calamity: It’s part of the spectacle of singing.

I might remark, too, that Ms. Pavlovskaya sported a Cleopatra haircut. You could have put her right into the Liz ‘n’ Dick flick.

The New York Philharmonic played alertly and skillfully, although often it was too loud — overwhelming the singers. Now, I know this is part of the game: Strauss’s orchestras cover his singers, and so does Zemlinsky’s, in “A Florentine Tragedy.” Even so, allowances can be made. Moderation can be practiced.

Finally, note that Mr. Conlon gave a speech before the opera began — a fairly long speech. Not a bad speech, but a speech nonetheless. They all do this now, unceasingly: talk. It is expected by administrators — some of them — and encouraged by critics. I hope that this trend will one day end. But I fear it never will.

Speaking of trends, Jonathan Biss had earlier played a Beethoven piano concerto in a solid-black Mao suit. This is practically the official uniform of musicians these days. I think of it as prole chic. And if this trend, too, could end — that would be lovely. Mr. Biss, a 27-year-old American, played Beethoven’s Concerto No. 2 in B flat. And Mr. Conlon and the Philharmonic started it abysmally. Their entrance was terrible, and the lower strings were soon muddy. In any case, they were overwhelmed by the violins. And the tempo was very, very fast — rushed, even. This was disturbing because unmusical.

But Mr. Biss played splendidly. Even at this zany tempo, he was crystalline, limpid, playful. Affectionate. The music was unusually athletic, even Argerichian — but without harshness and extreme unpredictability.

To begin the middle movement, the orchestra sounded robust, warm, and beautiful. And Mr. Biss played this wonderful Adagio ravishingly. Every now and then, he tried to do too much with the line — the musical line. More straightforwardness, even plainness, would have been beneficial. But he committed no harm. The Adagio sounded rather like a Mozart concert or operatic aria. And toward the end, Mr. Biss showed great sensitivity — sensitivity of both tone (or touch) and thought.

Unfortunately, at the very end, someone in the orchestra was painfully flat. I’m afraid I could not quite identify the culprit.

As for the adored Rondo, it was fast and athletic — just like the first movement. In fact, they were bookends. And that was something of a shame: For, if the first movement had not been so hellbent, the Rondo would have had more of an impact. Would have been more of a thrill. But Mr. Biss played the Rondo superbly — with ease and delightfulness. Did he do anything at all wrong in this movement? Well, a few of the notes failed to sound – but that is a trifling.

Sometimes it’s helpful to state the obvious, and this is obvious: Mr. Biss plays well because he thinks well. The one follows the other. And, regarding Mr. Conlon and Zemlinsky: Do treat yourself to the conductor’s “Florentine Tragedy” on EMI Classics. While you’re at it, acquire Zemlinsky’s choral works — same conductor, same label — too.


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