On Friday I took in my first Toronto Symphony Orchestra concert of the season, a unique and impressive tribute to Glenn Gould.
The first work on the programme was a commissioned work given its world premiere, a work written in honour of Glenn by Kelly-Marie Murphy, one of the leading Canadian composers of the last two decades. This was followed by the original chamber scoring of Wagner's Siegfried-Idyll, a work which Gould recorded in the final year of his life as he moved towards conducting as his new form of musical expression.
After the intermission, the Brahms Piano Concerto # 1 in D Minor, Op. 15, the work over which Gould and Leonard Bernstein so famously disagreed back in the day. This was played by Canadian piano star Jan Lisiecki, and the entire programme was conducted by Peter Oundjian.
A little unusually, the concert also had a host: renowned Canadian actor Colm Feore. Undoubtedly Feore was invited for this event because of one of his most famous and notable screen appearances, in Thirty-Two Short Films About Glenn Gould.
Murphy's work had what I consider a deliberately quirky title: Curiosity, Genius, and the Search for Petula Clark. It was inspired by a radio documentary in which Gould described a long drive to northern Ontario, and the intermittent appearance of relay radio stations on which he heard Clark's current hit, Who Am I? Murphy's work began with a slower, questing section of uncertain harmonies which reflected that aspect of Gould's diverse mind, and then leaped into a much more energetic main portion, loaded with jazzy syncopations and cross-rhythms (the time signatures on this score must have been a sight!). I personally enjoyed it very much, since I always like highly rhythmic music which reflects quirky imagination. This work captured that very definite quality from both the composer and her subject.
The Wagner was treated to a gentle, reflective performance -- much as I imagine it would have been played at its famous premiere, with the musicians standing in the hall of Wagner's home. In such a large space as Roy Thomson Hall, such a small ensemble inevitably sounds a bit more distant but all the music still came through clearly. It's not often that the orchestra will perform such a small-scale work as part of a mainstage programme, but it was a real delight to the ear.
After the intermission, Feore introduced the concerto by giving us the famous Leonard Bernstein speech from New York played on the sound system. The performance which had then followed back in 1962 had taken the entire first movement at a far slower tempo than normally heard.
In actual fact, there is no clear indication of tempo. The score simply states maestoso (majestically) which is not really a tempo. What this does indicate, of course, is the character of the music. Too fast and it will become playful. Too slow and it will become funereal. Among recorded performances, where playing times can be checked, there's actually a fairly wide range of timings for this movement.
Oundjian and Lisiecki opted for a tempo which was on the slower side of the average, paying due heed to the maestoso direction, but not ponderous. What was perhaps more unusual was that this original tempo remained the centrepoint around which the entire movement revolved. Many performers have a tendency to get faster as they go.
This interpretation of maestoso definitely worked in one most critical respect. Brahms builds in tempo variations by subdividing his basic 6/4 beat into multiple shorter beats, and in particular triplet groups of notes in short values. In a faster performance, many of these high-speed triplet passages become blurry. The absolute clarity of every note from start to finish in the first movement was a key feature of this performance.
So too was the use of the widest possible range of dynamics. Right from the outset, Oundjian actually observed the dynamic indication of forte or mezzo forte, with only the timpani rolls occasionally building up to fortissimo, "growing thunderously nearer" as Sir Donald Tovey so famously put it. When Lisiecki entered with that almost mournful theme in parallel sixths this, too, was played gently.
And so it went. Quiet passages were truly quiet -- something that can't often be said in this concerto. On the other end, the music never became truly thunderous until the enormous climax at the end of the development, leading into the recapitulation and the almost shocking appearance of the opening theme on the piano in E major -- Lisiecki's first truly big moment. The final coda whipped up the highest level of excitement, power, punch, and volume without ever abandoning the basic tempo. This was one of the very few times I have felt moved to join in applause after the first movement of a concerto, and my tribute was as much to the conductor as to the soloist.
The slow movement began very quietly and gently, and here the soloist's carefully-judged use of rubato reminded me of his playing of Chopin, a central composer of the piano repertoire and of Lisiecki's repertoire in particular. The music built up unerringly to the climactic passage, which recalled the majestic quality of the first movement. The ending died away at the quietest possible dynamic level.
Lisiecki instantly launched into the finale, again at a speed a little more moderate than sometimes heard. And again, the slight slowing was all gain. Although the piano passage work was again utterly clear, the advantage of the speed showed best in the orchestral fugato episode in the middle, with crisp and precise playing on each entry of the fugal version of the theme. Again the final coda was judged to near perfection, setting the seal on an unusually clear and well-thought-out performance of Brahms' early masterpiece.
The instant standing ovation and cheers for the soloist were no surprise. His encore, however, was a surprise -- and yet absolutely fitting in the context of a Glenn Gould tribute. Lisiecki played the Aria from the Goldberg Variations by Bach -- that famous work with which Gould both began and ended his recording career. It certainly wasn't a Gould-style performance. Lisiecki's tempo was a little more wayward, in a Chopinesque kind of way. I could imagine the Aria being played like this in the middle of the nineteenth century! But the gentle, quiet ending set the perfect seal on the entire programme, reminding us all of the great musician to whom this performance was dedicated.
Oundjian and Lisiecki opted for a tempo which was on the slower side of the average, paying due heed to the maestoso direction, but not ponderous. What was perhaps more unusual was that this original tempo remained the centrepoint around which the entire movement revolved. Many performers have a tendency to get faster as they go.
This interpretation of maestoso definitely worked in one most critical respect. Brahms builds in tempo variations by subdividing his basic 6/4 beat into multiple shorter beats, and in particular triplet groups of notes in short values. In a faster performance, many of these high-speed triplet passages become blurry. The absolute clarity of every note from start to finish in the first movement was a key feature of this performance.
So too was the use of the widest possible range of dynamics. Right from the outset, Oundjian actually observed the dynamic indication of forte or mezzo forte, with only the timpani rolls occasionally building up to fortissimo, "growing thunderously nearer" as Sir Donald Tovey so famously put it. When Lisiecki entered with that almost mournful theme in parallel sixths this, too, was played gently.
And so it went. Quiet passages were truly quiet -- something that can't often be said in this concerto. On the other end, the music never became truly thunderous until the enormous climax at the end of the development, leading into the recapitulation and the almost shocking appearance of the opening theme on the piano in E major -- Lisiecki's first truly big moment. The final coda whipped up the highest level of excitement, power, punch, and volume without ever abandoning the basic tempo. This was one of the very few times I have felt moved to join in applause after the first movement of a concerto, and my tribute was as much to the conductor as to the soloist.
The slow movement began very quietly and gently, and here the soloist's carefully-judged use of rubato reminded me of his playing of Chopin, a central composer of the piano repertoire and of Lisiecki's repertoire in particular. The music built up unerringly to the climactic passage, which recalled the majestic quality of the first movement. The ending died away at the quietest possible dynamic level.
Lisiecki instantly launched into the finale, again at a speed a little more moderate than sometimes heard. And again, the slight slowing was all gain. Although the piano passage work was again utterly clear, the advantage of the speed showed best in the orchestral fugato episode in the middle, with crisp and precise playing on each entry of the fugal version of the theme. Again the final coda was judged to near perfection, setting the seal on an unusually clear and well-thought-out performance of Brahms' early masterpiece.
The instant standing ovation and cheers for the soloist were no surprise. His encore, however, was a surprise -- and yet absolutely fitting in the context of a Glenn Gould tribute. Lisiecki played the Aria from the Goldberg Variations by Bach -- that famous work with which Gould both began and ended his recording career. It certainly wasn't a Gould-style performance. Lisiecki's tempo was a little more wayward, in a Chopinesque kind of way. I could imagine the Aria being played like this in the middle of the nineteenth century! But the gentle, quiet ending set the perfect seal on the entire programme, reminding us all of the great musician to whom this performance was dedicated.
No comments:
Post a Comment