Chailly conducts Berliner Philharmoniker in a concert of the Unbeschreibliche

Riccardo Chailly

"Das Unbeschreibliche," sang Austrian tenor Nikolai Schukoff, "hier ist es getan." [The indescribable, here is accomplished]. These famous words are from the "chorus mysticus" that closes the second part of Goethe's Faust. But Franz Liszt was also a master of the Unbeschreibliche, and his Faust Symphony, in which these words appear, was an early essay in personality psychology.

Guest conductor Riccardo Chailly led the Berliner Philharmoniker in a concert transmitted live in the Digital Concert Hall that centered on the Faust Symphony, but opened with Wagner's Faust Overture.

Both of these works aspire to share the personality and attitude of characters from the play but not to unfold imaginary scenes. They are psychological. Where they differ was in approach.

Wagner cast his "solitary Faust" in very clear sonata form with themes derived from a murky introduction. Chailly leaned into the strong cadences that marked the close of each section and heightened the collision that happened when the second theme group emerged suddenly from its punctuated cadence, without transition, in the recapitulation. He cast a look of surprise to set the mood of the woodwind fanfare that centered the development, and took time as this wonderful music later disintegrated. The orchestra played brilliantly articulate figures throughout the overture with lively physicality and crunchy dotted rhythms.

Commentators have long argued details of the form in the first movement of Liszt's Faust Symphony. But what is most important is that its music represents both restless and heroic intentions.

There were significant meditations given in bassoon soliloquies. The camera angles of the production clarified these moments, and helped us focus on hearing the Allegro impetuoso as a parallelism that makes it a third paragraph of the introduction. These reflective moments marked most important closings in the movement.

When the Allegro agitato returned in C# minor, a half-step higher than in the exposition, it represents a higher-level confusion in the central character it represents. Chailly got an almost panicked sound from the orchestra, and when the music froze on an A-flat, the return of the augmented chords from the introduction felt as if we had moved back in time. It didn't matter where the development actually started. It was music for a character who had become unstuck from time.

The gentle but surprisingly agile gestures that opened the second movement were played like intimate chamber music in the wind section. Most impressive were connections made in the central panel of this movement to the corresponding themes as played in the first movement. The structure could not have been made more transparent.

Liszt did not give Mephistopheles a unique personality. Instead the devil is expressed as a distortion and parody of music associated with Faust. This music only works if it is played with more humor than sarcasm. Again the music suddenly froze on an A-flat. In Liszt's view of Mephistopheles, even the devil could not mess with Gretchen, and her theme was presented in D-flat major with a wonderful horn solo accompanied by harp.

And it was this key, D-flat major, in which the tenor Nikolai Schukoff addressed us. He was able to float the high lyric lines of this passage with a warm sound and very convincing musicality.

This was a program of careful listening. It was filled with detail, ideas, and great energy.

Sarah Willis to Interview Helseth and Neunecker

Tine Thing Helseth is a young trumpet soloist with an identifiable sound. A celebratory lyrical tone is quickly established during the Ibert impromptu on her most recent EMI disc, and her selection of repertoire builds like a novel that culminates in the Hindemith sonata. She is also articulate. She should be the perfect interview for Sarah Willis, and will take part in a live horn hang out on November 22nd at 2pm Berlin time (which is 8am here on the East Coast).

On November 25th at 2pm Berlin Time, Willis interviews hornplayer Marie Luise Neunecker. Neunecker is well known as the person to whom Ligeti dedicated the Hamburg Concerto. My favorite disc of her playing is the "Russian Horn Concertos" CD on Koch.

I am looking forward to these interviews and will tune into both of them. If you have not yet visited a horn hangout, please join the growing audience. The topics are frequently of interest to those of us who are outside the horn community, and you will be hard pressed to find a friendlier group of folks.

Doves, Ghosts, Defiance and Longing; Gurre-lieder Succeeds in Berlin

"Weit flog ich," sang mezzo-soprano Karen Cargill as the wood dove. "Klage sucht' ich, fand gar viel! (Far did I fly, and seeking grief have found much!)" This refrain from the close of Part I of Arnold Schoenberg's massive Gurre-lieder remained in the ear, in an impressive performance by the Berliner Philharmoniker that was transmitted over the Digital Concert Hall.

Simon Rattle, whose 2002 recording of this work is already a classic, led a detailed accounting of this elemental early work by Schoenberg that will become a jewel in concert archive associated with the digital concert hall.

Rattle was assisted by a solid collection of vocalists led by the American tenor Stephen Gould as Waldemar, who navigated the extremes within this part but also lingered over pleasing colors and shades. He worked well with soprano Soile Isokoski as Tove, and even though the two never sang at the same time there seemed to be a believable connection between them.

The complexities within this orchestral score are legendary. The presentation given by the cameras favored the vocalists, but often provided important angles that helped clarify unusual orchestral textures. The one place we could have used a better look was during that evocative high B written for piccolo in the "Sommerwindes wilde Jagd." Schoenberg wanted that sound to be pianissimo and it almost never can be. The sound in this performance was fabulous! It seemed like a specially constructed whistle of some sort, and it held interest throughout the passage and somehow blended with each of the other instruments that spoke during that scene.

This is a work that begins in the haze of late romanticism, but transitions within itself to end leaning into modernism. This performance made the shifting styles sensible. "Herr Gänsefuß, Frau Gänsekraut" was a significant moment in this transition. The great Thomas Quasthoff was engaging in this melodramatic role. He articulated its rhythms with clarity and found an engaging middle ground between singing and speaking. Several times he created thrilling moments in sustained voice.

If you missed the live transmission, make sure you see the sunrise music. The orchestra has been celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the construction of the concert hall, and here is an opportunity to see how well the hall holds and focuses massive forces. But beyond that, it was a celebration of the process by which a concert of music this rare and delicious can be shared, live, to a global audience.

Two Kisses and a Shake; a review of Eugene Onegin from Met Live in HD

Scene from Act III

Unexpectedly the music stopped. We were only nine measures from the final curtain of the performance. But the music stopped. Anna Netrebko, who was Tatiana, had started to leave the stage. But like the music, she also stopped. She returned, moving quickly toward Mariusz Kwiecien as Onegin. She planted an extended, passionate kiss with a sexual energy rarely expressed in operatic kisses.

Let’s just say it was a most memorable inverted augmented sixth.

Kwiecien sang a C major triad unaccompanied and the music resolved into E minor as the curtain fell. The chord was not the only thing that was inverted. The kiss itself was an inversion of a kiss that Onegin gave, just as unexpectedly, to Tatiana in Act I scene 3 (which is often called the “sermon” scene).

This new production by Deborah Warner and directed by Fiona Shaw gathered momentum as it progressed.

It was described as “among the roster of also-rans,” and also as “drab,” and “dingy” by Tommasini on opening night. The set did not seem that way in HD. But nonetheless, I had a hard time connecting with the first scene.

Secondary roles and seemingly insignificant moments take on a primary importance in scene, and the secondary vocal roles were bland at best. Elena Zaremba wobbled too much in pitch as Madame Larina, and Oksana Volkova made little impression as Olga. The “Chorus and Dance of the Peasants” was contrived and acrobatic and it distracted from the rustic attraction that this music can generate.

I was pleasantly surprised by Netrebko. She turned all of her energy inward, and her Tatiana seemed preoccupied by art and by the world of the imagination and not simply shy. The letter scene became an externalization of this quality and did not seem like a contradiction in personality.

The HD camera work was effective, but did delay in going to “wide-shot” at the Onegin’s exit in Act I scene III, and we missed the infamous “apple bite” that has become the subject of commentary from Margaret Juntwait on recent Sirius FM Met broadcasts. Apparently, the attitude with which he took a bite from an apple in making his exit

Piotr Beczala's Lenski also took some time to make its mark. His character never seemed believable as a poet, but his singing was always of interest. In his Act II scene 2 aria everything came together. (The forest set was evocative-- and we watched the fallen tree get assembled during the scene break). Like Tatiana, Lenski's energy was also inward, and the similarity in these two characters was articulated very directly.

Onegin and Lenski shook hands in this production before the duel began. It was a gesture that was given a close up on the HD cameras. The shake was a symbol of friendship gone wrong.

While it took longer to gather its forces than the 1997 Carsen production, this new production did have insights and was very worth hearing.