As a devoted fan of Helen Mirren's Academy-Award winning performance in the 2006 film The Queen, I was immediately attracted to the idea of attending the National Theatre's cinema telecast of the new play, The Audience -- which features the same woman (Mirren) playing the same woman (Queen Elizabeth II) in a script by the same author (Peter Morgan).
Logically, then, I suppose I was expecting it to be "more of the same". See how wrong you can be? In fact, I have now read that Mirren was very worried about that possibility until she read the script.
The film was a cross between biopic and docudrama, focusing on one intensely emotional week in the monarch's reign. As such, it had to encompass a great deal of storm and stress, while depicting the effort it costs such a celebrated person to damp down her emotional reactions in the public eye.
This new play comes across as a kind of comical counterpoise to the film, spreading its reach across the whole of Her Majesty's life, even reaching back to her years as a young girl.
The main subject matter of the play is the weekly audience which the sovereign shares with her Prime Minister every Wednesday, whenever both are in London. One of the carefully planned aspects of Morgan's script is the diverse range of ways in which he depicts the event evolving with time, and with the evolution of the Queen in her role. Since the convention of the weekly audience is that nothing said there is ever revealed to any outside person, Morgan has been free to try to imagine the tone of the weekly meetings.
Unlike the rather stiff audiences shown with Tony Blair in The Queen, many of these meetings are downright hilarious. The humour comes as a combination of clever plays on words, reversals of expectation, one-ups, and the wonderful facial expressions which Mirren brings to her role.
In between the audiences, there are numerous short scenes where the Queen's younger self (played by Bebe Cave and Nell Williams) takes the stage, including several where the younger Elizabeth and her older self talk to each other. This is just one of the fascinating ways that Morgan's script plays fast and loose with time. The scenes tumble over each other in anything but chronological order, so that Mirren's portrayal is laced with quick changes of costumes and wigs. In two cases these take place very quickly -- right on the stage, in dim lighting, while the scene is progressing elsewhere.
Although the play is predominantly funny, there are some truly touching moments in a few places, and the company deserve full credit for clearly conveying the difference in tone and bringing the audience right along with them into a different kind of emotional place.
Mirren's performance is a sheer tour de force of theatrical skill and sensitivity, since she effectively portrays a different person in virtually every scene. Not only that, but she has to age backwards and forwards at different times -- her growth is certainly not depicted in a neat linear manner. This is one of the great strengths of the script: the way in which it treats the constant growth and change that attends a thoughtful individual's personality throughout her life.
All the Prime Ministers are marvellous (eight of the twelve PMs Elizabeth has worked with are shown). It seems invidious to single any out, but I simply must mention two: Haydn Gwynne's Margaret Thatcher shows almost as good a mastery of voice and gesture as Mirren's Queen, and has the additional handicap of dealing with the one badly overwritten scene in the play -- a scene designed to make Margaret Thatcher come across as something of a self-centred, obnoxious, verbal bully. The other was Richard McCabe in the very important role of Harold Wilson, appearing in two different scenes -- at the very beginning of his Prime Ministership, as a hilarious working-class bumpkin, and again at the very end as a victim of Alzheimer's Disease, an ailment which forcibly ends his political career.
That final scene, by the way, comes as the unspoken answer to the question from David Cameron in the previous scene of which Prime Minister was the Queen's favourite. Given the initial negative reaction to Wilson's first appearance from Mirren, this final moment takes on a most poignant air, supplemented by her verbal observation about Baroness Thatcher's funeral. Here indeed is the emotional heart of both the script and Mirren's performance.
Like all the shows I've seen in the NT Live series, the sets and costumes are both factually accurate and formidably detailed. A short sequence in the intermission feature showed us the care that went into matching fabric swatches with the colours that Her Majesty is most often seen wearing in public.
Lighting was always effective without drawing overmuch attention to itself, and the sound included several aptly quiet and formal-sounding pieces to bridge some of the scene changes.
Director Stephen Daldry made most effective use of the available space in front of the sets on the Gielgud Theatre's stage, with contrasts of movement and stillness (when to stand and when to sit) as carefully judged as all royal protocol needs to be.
All in all, a thoroughly entertaining and enjoyable show -- and several more repeat dates have just been announced (the first screenings have played to sold-out houses in a number of places, and with good reason). If you go to the NT Live website, you'll find all the details -- including the names of the performers whom I have not specifically mentioned.
Saturday 29 June 2013
Saturday 22 June 2013
Splendid Mixed Bill of Dance from the National Ballet
In recent years, the National Ballet of Canada has made quite a name for itself by commissioning or performing modern dance works with very unusual attributes -- a live onstage choir in one case, the dancers impersonating insects in another. And who can forget the tap-dancing Mad Hatter in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland? Let's face it, NONE of these works were "typical" of what most people picture when they hear the word "ballet".
This week, another unique new concept arrived on the stage of the Four Seasons Centre in Toronto: a ballet danced by three men and one woman wearing cowboy boots.
Yup, you dang well better believe you heard me right, pardner!
Actually, though, the cowboy boots were only one aspect of only one work in a particularly interesting and stimulating quadruple bill of short ballets. This was one of the most fascinating and involving mixed programmes I can recall seeing from the National in many years.
The first work, Jorma Elo's Pur ti miro, was a commission three years ago. I missed it at the time, and was very glad to have a chance to see it. The music is Beethoven and Monteverdi, the dress is classic ballet (tutus and tights), and the choreography is -- well, I guess "quirky" would be a good word -- but make no mistake, it's both exciting and enjoyable. In the first section (finale of Beethoven's Violin Concerto) the movement is mainly classical ballet with only a few odd moments that suggest the devilish horns peeking out from behind the classic mask. The second, a duet set to Monteverdi's opera duo Pur ti miro, is much more experimental, and the finale lets it rip all the way -- while still, interestingly, keeping connected to the classic tradition. The final movement uses Beethoven's rare, grand concert overture Die Weihe des Hauses which I have written about in my companion blog on rare classical music, offthebeatenstaff.blogspot.com.
The second ballet was titled simply No. 24, and was set to the 24th and final Caprice for solo violin by Paganini. This piece is a series of fiendishly complex variations on a well-known tune. Guillaume Cote (a principal dancer with the National Ballet) choreographed the work for a male and female dancer in 2010, and this was its first mainstage appearance. I found it a bit uneven. Some of the variations were partnered by choreography which reflected the character of the music, but in others it seemed as if Cote had been unable to find movements suitable to the sound. Indeed, the one violinist produces such a torrent of complex notes near the end that it seems almost as if the couple on stage ought to be joined by many more dancers! Speaking of which, having the violinist on stage is an understandable choice -- but in this case, not effective. The player's gymnastic exertions often pull the focus away from the dancers.
The third work was James Kudelka's The Man in Black, set to six songs covered late in life by Johnny Cash. Need I say that this is where the cowboy boots came in? The songs were a diverse lot, ranging from the Beatles to Gordon Lightfoot to Bruce Springsteen. What was interesting was to hear the deeper resonance that the older Johnny Cash's recorded voice drew out of these songs, finding layers of meaning in them that the original artists were likely too young to be able to elucidate. Kudelka's choreography used some typical steps of country and western dancing as a starting point, but then evolved organically into much more complex tableaus and movements that always served to deepen the emotional impact of the music. It's rare to find in modern dance a work where the music and the dance twine so closely to heighten each other throughout the piece.
Of course, dancing in cowboy boots is quite an experience for feet used to dance slippers and pointe shoes. Rebekah Rimsay, who danced the sole woman among three men on the opening night, said in an interview that she was getting new blisters on her feet, in different places from her pointe shoe blisters! Actually, it was interesting to observe that there really seemed no particular reason why there should have been three men and one women. The dancing was very ungendered, and seemed to me that it could equally well have been three women and one man, or any other combination you care to name. That, I think, is another special aspect of Kudelka's unique achievement in this piece.
The final work was also the most classical, but with a difference. George Balanchine was famous for his evocation of the classical tradition within a strict abstract context. His most famous works, such as Theme and Variations, do not tell a story of any kind. They may suggest a general context, but the choreography is devoted entirely to representing the music through movement. What a difference from the classical story ballets!
Even so, Theme and Variations (although it is very beautiful) is not one that I would rank among Balanchine's highest achievements. Much of the work is danced by a single couple and a small corps de ballet of 12 women. Only in the finale (the one really grand variation of the Tchaikovsky score) do 12 men come to join the cast. And I think the fault is really Tchaikovsky's. The variation movement of his third Suite for Orchestra is among his lesser-known creations, and I would say with reason. It's beautiful, cleanly written, but from the opening theme it has a kind of two-dimensional quality which lacks interest. Even the grand final polonaise deteriorates into a simple phrase repeated over and over. Balanchine did far better and more interesting work when he set a ballet on Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings, which is unquestionably out of the composer's top drawer.
Throughout the evening, the dancers were on top form. Each cast made out the strongest possible case for the works they danced, and each cast earned the warm applause they received. In the first and last works, the National Ballet Orchestra played with warmth, precision, and fire. Two different violin soloists (in Beethoven and Paganini) and two singers (in Monteverdi) made effective contributions to the evening.
Taken as a whole, this mixed bill was an uncommonly stimulating evening of dance. No question, though, that The Man in Black drew the deepest and most heartfelt reaction from the audience. It's the sort of piece that you feel you could get much more out of by watching it again -- and again....
This week, another unique new concept arrived on the stage of the Four Seasons Centre in Toronto: a ballet danced by three men and one woman wearing cowboy boots.
Yup, you dang well better believe you heard me right, pardner!
Actually, though, the cowboy boots were only one aspect of only one work in a particularly interesting and stimulating quadruple bill of short ballets. This was one of the most fascinating and involving mixed programmes I can recall seeing from the National in many years.
The first work, Jorma Elo's Pur ti miro, was a commission three years ago. I missed it at the time, and was very glad to have a chance to see it. The music is Beethoven and Monteverdi, the dress is classic ballet (tutus and tights), and the choreography is -- well, I guess "quirky" would be a good word -- but make no mistake, it's both exciting and enjoyable. In the first section (finale of Beethoven's Violin Concerto) the movement is mainly classical ballet with only a few odd moments that suggest the devilish horns peeking out from behind the classic mask. The second, a duet set to Monteverdi's opera duo Pur ti miro, is much more experimental, and the finale lets it rip all the way -- while still, interestingly, keeping connected to the classic tradition. The final movement uses Beethoven's rare, grand concert overture Die Weihe des Hauses which I have written about in my companion blog on rare classical music, offthebeatenstaff.blogspot.com.
The second ballet was titled simply No. 24, and was set to the 24th and final Caprice for solo violin by Paganini. This piece is a series of fiendishly complex variations on a well-known tune. Guillaume Cote (a principal dancer with the National Ballet) choreographed the work for a male and female dancer in 2010, and this was its first mainstage appearance. I found it a bit uneven. Some of the variations were partnered by choreography which reflected the character of the music, but in others it seemed as if Cote had been unable to find movements suitable to the sound. Indeed, the one violinist produces such a torrent of complex notes near the end that it seems almost as if the couple on stage ought to be joined by many more dancers! Speaking of which, having the violinist on stage is an understandable choice -- but in this case, not effective. The player's gymnastic exertions often pull the focus away from the dancers.
The third work was James Kudelka's The Man in Black, set to six songs covered late in life by Johnny Cash. Need I say that this is where the cowboy boots came in? The songs were a diverse lot, ranging from the Beatles to Gordon Lightfoot to Bruce Springsteen. What was interesting was to hear the deeper resonance that the older Johnny Cash's recorded voice drew out of these songs, finding layers of meaning in them that the original artists were likely too young to be able to elucidate. Kudelka's choreography used some typical steps of country and western dancing as a starting point, but then evolved organically into much more complex tableaus and movements that always served to deepen the emotional impact of the music. It's rare to find in modern dance a work where the music and the dance twine so closely to heighten each other throughout the piece.
Of course, dancing in cowboy boots is quite an experience for feet used to dance slippers and pointe shoes. Rebekah Rimsay, who danced the sole woman among three men on the opening night, said in an interview that she was getting new blisters on her feet, in different places from her pointe shoe blisters! Actually, it was interesting to observe that there really seemed no particular reason why there should have been three men and one women. The dancing was very ungendered, and seemed to me that it could equally well have been three women and one man, or any other combination you care to name. That, I think, is another special aspect of Kudelka's unique achievement in this piece.
The final work was also the most classical, but with a difference. George Balanchine was famous for his evocation of the classical tradition within a strict abstract context. His most famous works, such as Theme and Variations, do not tell a story of any kind. They may suggest a general context, but the choreography is devoted entirely to representing the music through movement. What a difference from the classical story ballets!
Even so, Theme and Variations (although it is very beautiful) is not one that I would rank among Balanchine's highest achievements. Much of the work is danced by a single couple and a small corps de ballet of 12 women. Only in the finale (the one really grand variation of the Tchaikovsky score) do 12 men come to join the cast. And I think the fault is really Tchaikovsky's. The variation movement of his third Suite for Orchestra is among his lesser-known creations, and I would say with reason. It's beautiful, cleanly written, but from the opening theme it has a kind of two-dimensional quality which lacks interest. Even the grand final polonaise deteriorates into a simple phrase repeated over and over. Balanchine did far better and more interesting work when he set a ballet on Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings, which is unquestionably out of the composer's top drawer.
Throughout the evening, the dancers were on top form. Each cast made out the strongest possible case for the works they danced, and each cast earned the warm applause they received. In the first and last works, the National Ballet Orchestra played with warmth, precision, and fire. Two different violin soloists (in Beethoven and Paganini) and two singers (in Monteverdi) made effective contributions to the evening.
Taken as a whole, this mixed bill was an uncommonly stimulating evening of dance. No question, though, that The Man in Black drew the deepest and most heartfelt reaction from the audience. It's the sort of piece that you feel you could get much more out of by watching it again -- and again....
Monday 10 June 2013
NOT Your Grandma's "Carmen"
On Saturday, I went to the National Ballet's new full-length version of Carmen, choreographed by Davide Bombana. I'd have to classify it as a brave try that doesn't come together -- and that certainly is no fault of the performers.
As always, the dancers are reliably on top of whatever they are asked to do. The main roles of Carmen (Tina Pereira), Don Jose (Jonathan Renna), Garcia (Christopher Stalzer), Michaela (Tanya Howard), and Escamillo (McGee Maddox) were all powerfully presented -- no complaints at all on that level.
Bombana started out with a good strong objective -- his idea being to go right into the carnality, passion, and fate at the heart of the story. This is not in the least a pretty piece -- it's rough, tough, hard-edged, and intense. But does it bring out the characteristics suggested? I'd say it does not.
Part of the problem is that dance is not at its best as a teller of physical narrative. Hence classical ballet's well-known insistence on using mime to convey narrative events. Modern dance is, however, supreme at conveying inward, emotional, psychological action. And there's the key stumbling block.
There really is no psychological action in the story. Neither of the main characters really changes, although both flirt with the possibility of a serious change or growth. The collision of two strong wills is doomed from the outset, but there's no growth. This is especially true of Carmen, whose great need is to remain who she is -- and that (as presented by Bombana) is a person with no great degree of emotional activity going on inside her.
His choreography for Carmen herself reflects that difficulty. Through most of the first act, she continually falls back on her stylized walk (more of a strut) and a few signature movements that are repeated over and over and over. The sameness comes across clearly. What is less clear is the allure. The choreography gives no clear vision of the quality in Carmen that draws men to her.
The shorter second act comes across more clearly, but there are still difficulties. Right at the outset, Michaela steals the show with a heart-rending solo that conveys all the emotion and inward turmoil that Carmen so conspicuously lacks.
The bullfight scene, where Escamillo (the matador in Bizet's opera) appears as a minotaur and couples powerfully with Carmen, certainly has impact. But its impact is diminished by the silliness of the previous scene for four "toreadors" dressed in red flamenco dresses -- four male dancers prancing around in an over-the-top satire of drag queens. Certainly comical, and just as certainly destructive of the mood of danger and doom drawing nearer. In effect, this bit seems "stuck on", not even as integral to the piece as some of Shakespeare's notorious comic interruptions. Rather than making me laugh, it merely annoyed me.
The other aspect of the show that annoyed me was the music. Bizet's score for Carmen is certainly beautiful, dramatic, full of famous tunes. Bombana's decision to use it was defensible on many levels. Interspersing it with music by other composers was also understandable. What was a good deal less than clear was the reason why the scoring suddenly shifted from live orchestra to recorded soundscape effects. There were a couple of occasions where this happened in the middle of a scene with no apparent motivation at all. The wildly different sounds we heard did not correspond to any noticeable modification in the dance we were watching.
Nor did the occasional projections at the back of the stage help much. These were rather like a moving Rorschach inkblot test, and while the shapes could convey some meaning at all times they mainly served as a distraction, drawing focus away from the performers.
Final note on the lighting: with the black stage floor and black box of curtains, and with many characters wearing dark or dark-ish costumes, the show definitely needed to be brightly illuminated to compensate. I know I dozed off during the dimly-lit first act and I heard several other people say the same had happened to them. The more brightly-lit scenes of the toreadors and Escamillo certainly solved the problem, as did Carmen's brighter red costume in her final scenes. Brighter lighting throughout the show would definitely have been helpful.
As always, the dancers are reliably on top of whatever they are asked to do. The main roles of Carmen (Tina Pereira), Don Jose (Jonathan Renna), Garcia (Christopher Stalzer), Michaela (Tanya Howard), and Escamillo (McGee Maddox) were all powerfully presented -- no complaints at all on that level.
Bombana started out with a good strong objective -- his idea being to go right into the carnality, passion, and fate at the heart of the story. This is not in the least a pretty piece -- it's rough, tough, hard-edged, and intense. But does it bring out the characteristics suggested? I'd say it does not.
Part of the problem is that dance is not at its best as a teller of physical narrative. Hence classical ballet's well-known insistence on using mime to convey narrative events. Modern dance is, however, supreme at conveying inward, emotional, psychological action. And there's the key stumbling block.
There really is no psychological action in the story. Neither of the main characters really changes, although both flirt with the possibility of a serious change or growth. The collision of two strong wills is doomed from the outset, but there's no growth. This is especially true of Carmen, whose great need is to remain who she is -- and that (as presented by Bombana) is a person with no great degree of emotional activity going on inside her.
His choreography for Carmen herself reflects that difficulty. Through most of the first act, she continually falls back on her stylized walk (more of a strut) and a few signature movements that are repeated over and over and over. The sameness comes across clearly. What is less clear is the allure. The choreography gives no clear vision of the quality in Carmen that draws men to her.
The shorter second act comes across more clearly, but there are still difficulties. Right at the outset, Michaela steals the show with a heart-rending solo that conveys all the emotion and inward turmoil that Carmen so conspicuously lacks.
The bullfight scene, where Escamillo (the matador in Bizet's opera) appears as a minotaur and couples powerfully with Carmen, certainly has impact. But its impact is diminished by the silliness of the previous scene for four "toreadors" dressed in red flamenco dresses -- four male dancers prancing around in an over-the-top satire of drag queens. Certainly comical, and just as certainly destructive of the mood of danger and doom drawing nearer. In effect, this bit seems "stuck on", not even as integral to the piece as some of Shakespeare's notorious comic interruptions. Rather than making me laugh, it merely annoyed me.
The other aspect of the show that annoyed me was the music. Bizet's score for Carmen is certainly beautiful, dramatic, full of famous tunes. Bombana's decision to use it was defensible on many levels. Interspersing it with music by other composers was also understandable. What was a good deal less than clear was the reason why the scoring suddenly shifted from live orchestra to recorded soundscape effects. There were a couple of occasions where this happened in the middle of a scene with no apparent motivation at all. The wildly different sounds we heard did not correspond to any noticeable modification in the dance we were watching.
Nor did the occasional projections at the back of the stage help much. These were rather like a moving Rorschach inkblot test, and while the shapes could convey some meaning at all times they mainly served as a distraction, drawing focus away from the performers.
Final note on the lighting: with the black stage floor and black box of curtains, and with many characters wearing dark or dark-ish costumes, the show definitely needed to be brightly illuminated to compensate. I know I dozed off during the dimly-lit first act and I heard several other people say the same had happened to them. The more brightly-lit scenes of the toreadors and Escamillo certainly solved the problem, as did Carmen's brighter red costume in her final scenes. Brighter lighting throughout the show would definitely have been helpful.
Saturday 1 June 2013
Not-Quite-Fantastique Concert -- but still quite good
The season-end concert at the Kitchener-Waterloo SO on Friday night -- good but not great, but I still enjoyed the evening.
The opener was a 1977 work by Canadian composer Claude Vivier entitled Palau Dewata. This was a unique score when Vivier composed it, under the inspiration and influence of music and dance he encountered on an extended visit to Bali. The score consists simply of notes, but with no specific instrumentation prescribed. That frees the performers to select whatever instruments seem best to meet the need.
On Friday we heard the work in an "arrangement" or "realization" for very full orchestra by Scott Good. I'm not sure whether this can fairly be called Vivier's work. From descriptions in the program notes, and the comments of Music Director Edwin Outwater, I'm inclined to guess (and it's only a guess) that this is more in the line of Busoni's "arrangement" for piano of Bach's famous Chaconne in D Minor -- rather a detailed elaboration on the original than a faithful transcription.
In any case, the result was a fascinating kaleidoscope of rhythms, melodies, and interesting harmonic textures. I stress the rhythmic aspect only because so much modern music falls apart for lack of it, but this piece moved constantly and with purpose throughout its 12-minute span. How much of that is due to the credit of Vivier, and how much to Good, I can't really say.
The second work was the Piano Concerto # 2 in B-Flat Major, Opus 19 by Beethoven. To clarify right away: this was actually composed before the concerto we know as # 1, and it shows. The piano part contains more pointers towards the mature Beethoven, especially in the first movement, but the orchestral part remains for the most part firmly grounded in the classical style perfected by Haydn and Mozart -- and certainly a fine example of that style.
Oddly enough, the opening tutti of the first movement was the weakest moment of the whole concert, as the orchestra had some difficulty settling firmly and clearly on Outwater's choice of tempo (perhaps due to lack of rehearsal time?). After about 10 bars or so the ensemble finally gelled, and from then on the piece flowed much more smoothly throughout all three movements. Full credit for the extremely quiet sustained string chords during the piano cadenza in the slow movement -- the sense of rapt attention for the soloist's next utterance was palpable. Also memorable was the sheer lightness and air of fantasy (appropriately Mozartean) in the central episode of the finale -- orchestra and pianist alike danced through these pages which can easily sound too portentous (after all, this isn't the Emperor Concerto yet!).
Ah, the pianist! Alexander Seredenko is definitely a man to watch in the future. This young man's technique is formidable -- not many people can perform Beethoven publicly with such skill while sitting on the piano stool as comfortably as if it were an armchair in a good friend's home. But more than that, there's a definite potential here for the development of that rarest of phenomena, a first-rate pianist who is also a first-rate musician. Hard to believe I haven't heard him, or heard of him, before this but I have no doubt we'll be hearing from him again.
The final work was a true warhorse, the Symphonie fantastique by Berlioz. It's easy to let familiarity dull one's awareness of the complexities of this work, and the numerous traps for the unwary that lie hidden amongst its pages. Outwater certainly had the measure of the challenge, and in some passages he triumphed. Others, such as the concluding pages of the Witches' Sabbath got away from him to some extent, and here I think slightly less acceleration to the finish line might have served the music better. Another difficulty was the deep bells used, which in no way landed on the exact pitches notated in the score -- a rather painful shortcoming.
But there were also notable strengths. The orchestra held firmly together through all the numerous tempo shifts in the long first movement. The second movement ball scene lifted and flowed beautifully, the harps clearly heard in their important task of casting a kind of haze of romance over the picture. The offstage oboe at the beginning of the third movement was a little too present, and there might be a better location in the hall which would allow the sound to come more distantly, as intended. But the duet of the English horn and oboe was magnificently played nonetheless. The March to the Scaffold was crisp, clear, and brutal in its force, tubas blaring malignantly.
Take it all in all, this was a good concert -- and certainly enjoyable -- even if there were some aspects that could have been improved.
The opener was a 1977 work by Canadian composer Claude Vivier entitled Palau Dewata. This was a unique score when Vivier composed it, under the inspiration and influence of music and dance he encountered on an extended visit to Bali. The score consists simply of notes, but with no specific instrumentation prescribed. That frees the performers to select whatever instruments seem best to meet the need.
On Friday we heard the work in an "arrangement" or "realization" for very full orchestra by Scott Good. I'm not sure whether this can fairly be called Vivier's work. From descriptions in the program notes, and the comments of Music Director Edwin Outwater, I'm inclined to guess (and it's only a guess) that this is more in the line of Busoni's "arrangement" for piano of Bach's famous Chaconne in D Minor -- rather a detailed elaboration on the original than a faithful transcription.
In any case, the result was a fascinating kaleidoscope of rhythms, melodies, and interesting harmonic textures. I stress the rhythmic aspect only because so much modern music falls apart for lack of it, but this piece moved constantly and with purpose throughout its 12-minute span. How much of that is due to the credit of Vivier, and how much to Good, I can't really say.
The second work was the Piano Concerto # 2 in B-Flat Major, Opus 19 by Beethoven. To clarify right away: this was actually composed before the concerto we know as # 1, and it shows. The piano part contains more pointers towards the mature Beethoven, especially in the first movement, but the orchestral part remains for the most part firmly grounded in the classical style perfected by Haydn and Mozart -- and certainly a fine example of that style.
Oddly enough, the opening tutti of the first movement was the weakest moment of the whole concert, as the orchestra had some difficulty settling firmly and clearly on Outwater's choice of tempo (perhaps due to lack of rehearsal time?). After about 10 bars or so the ensemble finally gelled, and from then on the piece flowed much more smoothly throughout all three movements. Full credit for the extremely quiet sustained string chords during the piano cadenza in the slow movement -- the sense of rapt attention for the soloist's next utterance was palpable. Also memorable was the sheer lightness and air of fantasy (appropriately Mozartean) in the central episode of the finale -- orchestra and pianist alike danced through these pages which can easily sound too portentous (after all, this isn't the Emperor Concerto yet!).
Ah, the pianist! Alexander Seredenko is definitely a man to watch in the future. This young man's technique is formidable -- not many people can perform Beethoven publicly with such skill while sitting on the piano stool as comfortably as if it were an armchair in a good friend's home. But more than that, there's a definite potential here for the development of that rarest of phenomena, a first-rate pianist who is also a first-rate musician. Hard to believe I haven't heard him, or heard of him, before this but I have no doubt we'll be hearing from him again.
The final work was a true warhorse, the Symphonie fantastique by Berlioz. It's easy to let familiarity dull one's awareness of the complexities of this work, and the numerous traps for the unwary that lie hidden amongst its pages. Outwater certainly had the measure of the challenge, and in some passages he triumphed. Others, such as the concluding pages of the Witches' Sabbath got away from him to some extent, and here I think slightly less acceleration to the finish line might have served the music better. Another difficulty was the deep bells used, which in no way landed on the exact pitches notated in the score -- a rather painful shortcoming.
But there were also notable strengths. The orchestra held firmly together through all the numerous tempo shifts in the long first movement. The second movement ball scene lifted and flowed beautifully, the harps clearly heard in their important task of casting a kind of haze of romance over the picture. The offstage oboe at the beginning of the third movement was a little too present, and there might be a better location in the hall which would allow the sound to come more distantly, as intended. But the duet of the English horn and oboe was magnificently played nonetheless. The March to the Scaffold was crisp, clear, and brutal in its force, tubas blaring malignantly.
Take it all in all, this was a good concert -- and certainly enjoyable -- even if there were some aspects that could have been improved.
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