Once again, the Festival wrapped up with a concert featuring conductor Boris Brott and the National Academy Orchestra. The members of this orchestra are musicians who have completed their formal programmes in schools of music and stand on the threshold of a musical career. This year's concert featured a string of orchestral fireworks of great popularity, all old favourites of mine, and a unique composition by one of the leading aboriginal composers in Canada.
Although it came second on the programme, I wanted to begin with this premiere performance of Barbara Croall's Maang N'gamwin (Loon Song). Croall herself appeared as singer and drummer in this piece, in which she combined her own song which came to her during a spirit fasting time with an orchestral accompaniment that highlighted the song's intensity and power. The resulting fusion of aboriginal and European cultural traditions and instruments, overlaid by the haunting cries of Croall's voice, was uniquely gripping and involving. And I wanted to hear it again.
Aside from Croall's uniquely powerful music, the rest of the concert consisted of some of the most famous and colourful orchestral works from the 19th and early 20th centuries. All of these pieces share a common characteristic. This is music which provides all kinds of virtuoso opportunities to musicians in many parts of the orchestra -- which sounds great in theory. In practice, these highlight moments are almost all completely exposed, to such an extent that if the player has even a momentary loss of confidence or glitch in the execution, anyone in the audience who knows the music will pick up on it right away. Kind of like a musical equivalent of walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls.
The concert began with the rousing Rakoczy March by Hector Berlioz -- actually, an arrangement of a genuine Hungarian march tune. When he wanted to incorporate this piece into his dramatic legend, La Damnation de Faust, Berlioz had to transfer the entire opening scene of the score from Germany to Hungary! It was good to hear this work again, for it is not nearly so popular now as it was when I was younger. The orchestra held together splendidly across some of the bar-crossing rhythms, and the brass playing just before the fortissimo return of the main theme was truly spectacular.
The Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Minor, Op. 23, by Tchaikovsky rounded out the first half, with a dynamic performance of the solo part by Alexander Tselyakov. This well-loved concerto was treated to an uncommonly tightly-knit performance of what can sometimes seem a discursive score, due in no small measure to the close visual communication between conductor and soloist. The climactic pages scattered throughout the first movement had both energy and momentum to match their power. The lovely flute solo opening the slow movement was one of the real delights of the concert. The finale maintained the dance-like character along with an earthy weight that highlighted the music's indebtedness to the Russian folk tradition.
The opening piece in the second half was actually conducted by this summer's apprentice conductor. I'm sorry I didn't get his name, because I was truly impressed by the ease of his podium manner and the understated fluency of his beat and gestures.
The piece was Bedrich Smetana's tone poem Vltava (more commonly known in German and English speaking countries as "The Moldau"). That's the German name of the river, which flows from the Czech Republic into Germany and merges into the Elbe on its way to the North Sea. In the opening depiction of the cold mountain springs which give birth to the river, the wind soloists seemed a bit ill-at-ease, and an occasional badly-timed gasp for air could be heard. Once the strings joined in, the music rolled irresistibly onwards with the rise and fall of the main theme. The quiet interlude in the middle, a moonlit scene, showed the winds in better form. The brasses played with commanding force in the St. John's Rapids, and the climactic depiction of the fortress of Vysehrad as the river flows past Prague brought the piece to a rousing conclusion.
The concert began with the rousing Rakoczy March by Hector Berlioz -- actually, an arrangement of a genuine Hungarian march tune. When he wanted to incorporate this piece into his dramatic legend, La Damnation de Faust, Berlioz had to transfer the entire opening scene of the score from Germany to Hungary! It was good to hear this work again, for it is not nearly so popular now as it was when I was younger. The orchestra held together splendidly across some of the bar-crossing rhythms, and the brass playing just before the fortissimo return of the main theme was truly spectacular.
The Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Minor, Op. 23, by Tchaikovsky rounded out the first half, with a dynamic performance of the solo part by Alexander Tselyakov. This well-loved concerto was treated to an uncommonly tightly-knit performance of what can sometimes seem a discursive score, due in no small measure to the close visual communication between conductor and soloist. The climactic pages scattered throughout the first movement had both energy and momentum to match their power. The lovely flute solo opening the slow movement was one of the real delights of the concert. The finale maintained the dance-like character along with an earthy weight that highlighted the music's indebtedness to the Russian folk tradition.
The opening piece in the second half was actually conducted by this summer's apprentice conductor. I'm sorry I didn't get his name, because I was truly impressed by the ease of his podium manner and the understated fluency of his beat and gestures.
The piece was Bedrich Smetana's tone poem Vltava (more commonly known in German and English speaking countries as "The Moldau"). That's the German name of the river, which flows from the Czech Republic into Germany and merges into the Elbe on its way to the North Sea. In the opening depiction of the cold mountain springs which give birth to the river, the wind soloists seemed a bit ill-at-ease, and an occasional badly-timed gasp for air could be heard. Once the strings joined in, the music rolled irresistibly onwards with the rise and fall of the main theme. The quiet interlude in the middle, a moonlit scene, showed the winds in better form. The brasses played with commanding force in the St. John's Rapids, and the climactic depiction of the fortress of Vysehrad as the river flows past Prague brought the piece to a rousing conclusion.
Rimsky-Korsakov's resplendent Capriccio espagnol came next. Even more than in Vltava, this work is well-provided with solo highlights for various instruments -- a trademark of the composer's orchestral style. The programme listed the five marked sections of the score, although in practice the work is played as a single continuous whole. Again, there were a few technical glitches in some of the solo parts, but the performance as a whole was essentially lively and vividly coloured, an essential requirement of this work. Minor note: although many performances omit it, the harp cadenza was given its repeat, piano, creating a delightful echo effect. The showy Fandango was built to a rousing conclusion, and I for one would have been more than happy to end the concert there.
Maestro Brott, however, had different ideas, and wrapped the programme up with the most fearsome collection of instrumental solos and highlights in the standard repertoire: Ravel's Bolero. The most critical features of getting Bolero "right" are the absolutely rock-steady tempo of the insistent snare drum rhythm and the gradual pacing of the single 16-minute long crescendo to reach its climax at the sudden violent swerve into E major in the 17th and last variation. In these respects, Brott's reading of the score was right on target.
The only glitch in the snare drum came in the 16th variation with the entry of the second snare drum, which required a moment for the two drums to get exactly synchronized. The biggest challenge, though, is the collection of solo melodic parts in every variation of the piece -- and once again, the wind solos were a mixed bag, some more successful than others.
But it was great fun to hear these favourite showpieces, so many of them, all in the same programme, and I'm sure many of the audience would agree with me in that statement.
Maestro Brott, however, had different ideas, and wrapped the programme up with the most fearsome collection of instrumental solos and highlights in the standard repertoire: Ravel's Bolero. The most critical features of getting Bolero "right" are the absolutely rock-steady tempo of the insistent snare drum rhythm and the gradual pacing of the single 16-minute long crescendo to reach its climax at the sudden violent swerve into E major in the 17th and last variation. In these respects, Brott's reading of the score was right on target.
The only glitch in the snare drum came in the 16th variation with the entry of the second snare drum, which required a moment for the two drums to get exactly synchronized. The biggest challenge, though, is the collection of solo melodic parts in every variation of the piece -- and once again, the wind solos were a mixed bag, some more successful than others.
But it was great fun to hear these favourite showpieces, so many of them, all in the same programme, and I'm sure many of the audience would agree with me in that statement.
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