Monotonous Forest

Not your father's Philharmonic

Last night at Symphony Space the New York Philharmonic inaugurated CONTACT!, the orchestra's contemporary music series, and the exuberant result bodes well for the future.  Composer-in-residence Magnus Lindberg made his Philharmonic conducting debut in four world premieres for a capacity audience—and not only from the new music universe, either.  (Although make no mistake: if a bomb had dropped on the building, a significant portion of New York's compositional talent would have been wiped out.)

Introducing her Game of Attrition with a reference to Darwin, Arlene Sierra described instruments competing with each other for prominence.  Small cells (e.g., pairs of sixteenth notes) scurry about in restless, constant motion, like some oddly ticking clock.  Chinese-born Lei Liang offered Verge, a tribute to his newborn son, for 18 strings divided into four quartets plus two double basses.  His gimmick, well-realized, was to use only notes derived from "A-L-B-E-R-T," his son's name. The result is filled with rapid tremolos and melodies that sound like Mongolian folk tunes.

Marc-André Dalbavie acknowledged his spectral roots but described his gradual transition to more "horizontal" music, and in Melodia drew on a 9th century melody, which gradually materializes from a microtonal cloud.  In between the ensemble makes voluptuous flourishes—repeated appearances of a sort of arpeggiated chord—showing Dalbavie's masterful use of color.  I can only echo a friend's comment afterward, who thought it a treat to hear the Philharmonic play this score with such utter mastery. 

For the finale, MACUNAÍMA, Arthur Kampela used six percussionists walking up from the back of the theater wielding spring drums: small cylinders, each with a slender spring sprouting from the bottom, which create a gentle whirring sound when shaken.  When they reached reached the stage, the other musicians gradually joined in, but with surprises: bassoonist Judith LeClair brushed a metal washboard, Liang Wang (oboe) appeared to have a ratchet, and Nancy Allen's upper harp strings were basted with masking tape to give her an array of clicking sounds.  At one point some musicians wander offstage, creating what sounds like a dance band and the faint sounds of conversational chatter.

Lindberg made an affable host, eliciting concise, illuminating comments from the composers and excellent work from the Philharmonic, many of whom were smiling ear to ear.  Afterward, more than a few people lingered to hear Lindberg interview the composers onstage, while in the back of the hall, others indulged in cocktails in his honor, made with Finnish vodka, of course.

The concert will be repeated on Saturday, Dec. 19, at 7:00 PM at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Concerts on April 16 and 17 will feature premieres by Nico Muhly, Sean Shepherd and Matthias Pintscher (the latter with Thomas Hampson), all conducted by Alan Gilbert. 

[Above, left to right: Kampela, Sierra, Liang, Dalbavie and Lindberg.  Photo: Chris Lee for the New York Philharmonic]

Microtones from 47 years ago

An alternately grave and theatrical performance of Lejaren Hiller's String Quartet No. 5 (In Quarter-Tones) was the high point of last night's probing S.E.M. Ensemble concert at the Paula Cooper Gallery.  From 1962, the serial piece is structured as a set of variations, with movements of enormous contrast: slow, languid microtonal pools rub shoulders with violent, scratchy explosions.  The result seems to anticipate works by some of today's spectral composers, as well as the quartets of Helmut Lachenmann.  The musicians were Conrad Harris and Pauline Kim (violins), Max Mandel (viola) and Gregory Hesselink (cello), all superb, and if there were any justice they would rush this into the recording studio.  (On CD, there appears to be just a single version available, by the late great Concord String Quartet.)

A small ensemble had great fun with Christian Wolff's Flutist (and) Percussionists (2003) and For John/Material (2007), and TimeTable Percussion was mesmerizing in Petr Kotik's In Four Parts: 3, 6 & 11 (for John Cage) from 2009.  In between, Mr. Kotik and Bradley Brookshire offered a dryly refreshing take on Bach's Sonata in B-Minor for flute and harpsichord (c. 1720), an unusual oasis in the evening.

[Photo: John Cage (left) and Lejaren Hiller in the 1950s, from the University of Illinois.  Further thanks to Analog Arts Ensemble]

Ageless

Happy Birthday to Elliott Carter, still writing music at 101.  He's not the oldest composer in history; a friend reminded me that the one to beat is Leo Ornstein, who died in 2002 at either 108 or 109 depending on his birth year (listed as either 1892 or 1893).  But Ornstein wrote his last work, his Eighth Piano Sonata, when he was "only" 97.  Carter, on the other hand, wrote 16 works during 2007-2008, when he was a sprightly 98 and 99.  At the Aldeburgh Festival last summer, baritone Leigh Melrose joined Oliver Knussen and the Birmingham Contemporary Music Group for the world premiere of On Conversing with Paradise (2008), with texts by Ezra Pound.

[Photo: Elliott Carter and Pierre-Laurent Aimard at Aldeburgh in June 2009, photographed by Malcolm Watson, with thanks to John Amis and Michael Church]

Blast furnace

From the thundering opening chords of Richard Strauss's Elektra, it is clear that what follows is not exactly a comedy.  At yesterday's final dress rehearsal at the Met, conductor Fabio Luisi brought out every bit of the score's violence, while imbuing quieter scenes with a bit of craziness; one would not want to be in a room alone with the title character.  Susan Bullock, making her Met debut (the production opens on Thursday), makes a very fine Elektra, even if the ghost of Hildegard Behrens (who just died last August) is difficult to lay to rest.  Bullock's voice is not the apex of power, but she finds creepiness in virtually every scene.  My only quibble is with the maniacal dancing that didn't quite convince, despite some unnerving ax-wielding in the finale.

What powers Deborah Voigt?  I'll take a case of whatever that might be, which enables her to create such a searing Chrysothemis.  Perhaps most surprising is Felicity Palmer as Klytämnestra, but then, Palmer seems to excel in an enormous portfolio, from Mrs. Sedley in Peter Grimes, to the Countess in The Queen of Spades by Tchaikovsky.  In the latter, I will never forget her frantically clawing through Plácido Domingo's bedroom floor.

The set, by Jürgen Rose, seems to evoke Egypt: an high-ceilinged stone room with a floor pitched to the left, leading to a toppled statue of a horse.  An imposing double-door, dead center, and intricate cutouts in the wall allow action to be glimpsed in the hallways beyond.

But ultimately it is Luisi and the fiery Met Orchestra who make this riveting bit of theater come alive: an hour and 45 minutes seem to speed by, until the tension reaches its zenith in the demented conclusion.  The magnificent score makes sure you are properly warned: you really don't want to hang out with these people.

[Photo: Fabio Luisi, courtesy Barbara Luisi]

Time out for nostalgia

Nods to the Past, in Song and on the Ivories.  The Juilliard Journal, December 2009