Classic Ross Amico

Category: Daily Dispatch

Salonen’s Bad Hair Day: Earthbound, Incoherent, Uninspiring Sibelius

It was a dreary day last Thursday, but a great pleasure to finally meet up with sportswriter Brad Wilson for the first time at Philadelphia’s Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts. Brad’s beat is my old stomping grounds of the Lehigh Valley and across the river in Warren and Hunterdon Counties.

I wish I could say I derived as much pleasure from Esa-Pekka Salonen’s performance of Sibelius’ Symphony No. 5 with the Philadelphia Orchestra.

Sadly, as someone who loves this symphony very much and who has heard it performed many times, I thought Salonen really missed the ball on this one (I promise, my only sports analogy in this write-up). At no point did I feel moved or inspired, nor did I get any sense of the conductor’s understanding of the tectonic movement or spatial relationships in the piece. I didn’t think it possible not to be cheered by the opening “sunrise” of French horns and flutes, nor do I think I have ever heard the plangent woodwinds in the third movement (if we regard it as a four-movement symphony), like forlorn waterfowl, without them tugging at my heartstrings.

There should be a sense of mounting suspense, dread even, as the ground begins to shift into the inexorable accelerando between the first two movements (which are connected). Ideally, it should carry all the thrill and terror of the sublime, but here I did not sense that it was undertaken with any great care. Rather, like most of the performance, it was simply tossed off, blithely and unconvincingly.

Even in the magnificent last movement, it was like stuff just happened. In more satisfying performances (which is to say, probably just about every other performance I’ve ever heard), everything comes together in its rough-hewn way and conductors succeed in making it sound as if every component belongs, relates, and makes some kind of coherent sense. Despite his vast experience with this composer, Salonen did not – at least for me. Maybe it was just I who was having an off-night, but I did not like it, and nothing is as depressing as having a piece of music you love and know very well not take flight.

I hasten to add, I realize the performance may not have impressed everyone the same way. At the end of the six monolithic chords that bring the symphony to a close, people around me burst into wild applause and the guy in front of me actually whooped, even as it took everything in my power to conjure a golf-clap. I didn’t want it to come across as if I don’t love the composer or don’t appreciate the orchestra’s efforts. But Salonen. Oy vey. I don’t know what people want from their Sibelius, but I expect more.

I searched for some online reviews, to make sure I wasn’t taking crazy pills, and I came across this one in which every one of the reviewer’s impressions run counter to my own. The stuff he dismisses about the concert, I enjoyed, and the stuff I disliked, he lauded to Pohjola and back. Believe me, I would have settled for “majestic stateliness.”

https://bachtrack.com/review-esa-pekka-salonen-philadelphia-orchestra-sibelius-stucky-may-2024

If there was a Philadelphia Inquirer review, I could not find it and wouldn’t be able to read it anyway, unless forwarded to me, because it would be paywalled (and in any case probably mostly worthless).

It’s unusual for Philadelphia to program the same piece two years in a row, but they did so with the Sibelius 5th. Frankly, I thought Dalia Stasevska’s performance last year was head and shoulders over what I heard Thursday night – nimble, thrilling, and intelligently judged. Even Don Liuzzi was more electrifying on the timpani. This is not a reflection on his playing on Thursday, but a musician has to work within the overall design of a conductor’s interpretation, such that it is. Salonen’s brass had some good moments with the big tune (Sibelius’ “swan theme”) in the last movement, but nothing seemed to fit together or flow organically – unusual for a conductor of his experience with this most organic of composers – or, at the very least, generate some tension and release.

Salonen is often characterized as “a modernist.” I don’t care about that. The mature Sibelius is not exactly the most sentimental composer. I would be perfectly satisfied if he had allowed the architecture of the music to simply speak for itself. But it was as if he had no idea of its magnificent layout. Rather, it was like he was flipping through a magazine (Architectural Digest?) in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. The performance, to me, just felt uninvolved, and by extension uninvolving. Maybe he’s just conducted it too many times.

Steven Stucky’s “Radical Light,” which opened the program, was also just kind of there. Salonen commissioned the work, back during his days as music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, to be included on a program between Sibelius’ 4th and 7th Symphonies. On Thursday, it just came off as a time-killer. Sure, it paid tribute to Sibelius by aping some of his mannerisms and textures, but I couldn’t help but think how much more satisfying it would have been had the concert just opened with the 7th Symphony or “Tapiola.”

The highlight of the evening was Salonen’s own “kínēma” (all lower case) for clarinet and orchestra, which even at 30 minutes I found engaging and wonderfully played. Ricardo Morales, the orchestra’s charismatic principal clarinet, was the soloist. I confess I was pleasantly surprised, as I own a few recordings of Salonen’s own music, and while I find it agreeable enough to just go with it if I’m in the right mood, this piece was by far the most immediately ingratiating of anything of his I have ever heard.

I want to make it clear that I don’t dislike Salonen, and I wish him all the best in conducting “Daphnis and Chloe” in Philadelphia this week. Even Pierre Boulez knew how to pull off a good performance of Ravel.

Likewise, none of this is intended as a reflection on Brad, who was kind enough to secure our tickets. He and I have enjoyed a kind of radio and Facebook messaging friendship for a good number of years now. His musical knowledge is vast and his tastes are diverse (ranging from Bach to Elliot Carter), and his observations and recommendations are always valued. From his comments that night, I gather he liked the Sibelius. I don’t have the gift of diplomacy, so I was hesitant to start in, knowing that whatever I had to say would likely blossom into a rant.

And what do I know? Salonen is Finnish (like the composer) and he has decades of experience interpreting this music. Me? I’m just a grouch. Maybe I should have eaten something closer to the start of the concert. But I love Sibelius and I love this symphony, and I have a pretty good idea of when somebody gets it right. Even Simon Rattle, with his bewildering obsession with whispered pianissimos, got it when he conducted it in Philly in 1999. Salonen was like Väinämöinen, the star-crossed wizard of the Kalevala, on one of his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.

And dammit, the program notes were weak too!

This amused me: Dave Hurwitz’s recollection of three terrible concerts. Hurwitz can be an acquired taste, but once you acquire it, he’s like an amusing, outspoken friend. I agree with him that live music concerts, even at their worst, can be wonderful. Also that there can be a certain satisfaction to be found in tearing the bad ones apart.

I would have had this posted days ago, but I was interrupted by a phone call, like the poet Coleridge, distracted by a knock at the door in the middle of setting down the lines for “Kubla Khan,” which had come to him in a dream; and then when he returned, he found he couldn’t pick up the thread. However, unlike Coleridge, this humble review is unlikely to be included in anthologies of English literature in 200 years, even as society inevitably continues to deteriorate.

May 15, 2024
“The Mikado,” Racism, and a Radio Legend

As a disturbing addendum to yesterday’s post about “The Mikado,” written in honor of Sir Arthur Sullivan’s birthday: the same friend with whom I enjoyed a volley of favorite Gilbert & Sullivan YouTube videos last week wrote overnight to remind me that, in the case of Ko-Ko the Lord High Executioner’s famous “list” song – in which he catalogues those “society offenders who never would be missed” – absent from modern productions is the line, “There’s the n***** serenader and others of his race… I’ve got them on the list!”

I remember, even after the lyric had been altered, as it had been by the time of the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company recording through which I first encountered the work when I was in high school, to “the banjo serenader and others of his race,” that I found it curiously jangling. What race could possibly be meant? Sure, “The Mikado” was written in 1885, when everyone would have been familiar with minstrel shows and the songs of Stephen Foster, with all their banjo strumming, but even a hundred years later, as a teenager, I knew precisely.

Of course, we can deflect it onto the character of Ko-Ko – not everything a character says necessarily reflects the attitudes or beliefs of its author (in this case, W.S. Gilbert) – but considering everything else on the list is calculated to provoke a titter, its out-of-left-field inclusion strikes a sour note indeed.

Perhaps “others of his race” is now to be taken figuratively, as in any kind of person who might play the banjo? I think it requires some seriously gymnastic denial to contort from the original line and arrive at that conclusion.

What I find especially poignant about my friend’s note is that he alludes to his friendship with Henry Varlack, long-time radio personality at the late, lamented WFLN, for 50 years Philadelphia’s full-time classical music station.

My friend recalls, “Oddly enough…when I visited Henry Varlack… after he’d retired from even the tour business… and was approaching the end… he always sang it: ‘You know… it’s the n***** serenader and the others of his race… and the prohibitionist. I’ve got them on the list. I’ve got them on the list.’

“I was always extremely saddened by him singing these verses… but… in retrospect… I realize that he might’ve known that I was the only person in the room who understood the historical context of the lyrics, as none of the other employees had ever listened to Henry as a classical D.J.

“It still disturbs me though… that these lyrics were running through his head in the weeks before died.

“Henry lived through the height of racism.”

Of course, Varlack did not grow up in the age of W.S. Gilbert or the minstrel show, but even in the ‘50s and ’60s, there’s no doubt he saw, and likely experienced, a lot of nastiness.

It makes me sad to think of Henry, who was always a hero of mine, a disembodied friend in the middle of the night, whose distinctive voice introduced so much of the music most meaningful to me, ever having been the object of hatred or discrimination.

The funny thing is, I listened to him for years before I ever even learned that he was black. A true case of race being skin deep. In what way would it ever be acceptable to demean this man, or anyone like him?

By the way, Henry was also a baseball scout. I know I’ve written about him once or twice before. Here’s a post from 2019.

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=1142137445953544&set=a.279006378933326

Varlack died in 2006 at the age of 65. His remains were interred at St. Clement’s Church in Philadelphia. Rest his beautiful soul.

The “little list” lyric was not changed until 1948. Henry would have been 7 years-old. This is an example of why it’s so important for history not to be erased.

Here’s a 1926 recording with the original lyric:

It is possible, I suppose – and I hope it is the case – that W.S. Gilbert, with his education and razor wit, could have been railing against the figure of the Negro minstrel – a white man in blackface, twanging on the banjo – an image so prevalent in those days.

Gilbert, I so want to believe in you.

But why, then, use the word again later in the opera? In “A More Humane Mikado,” the original lyrics describe a lady given to modifying her appearance excessively (as the Mikado perceives) receiving the punishment of being “blacked like a n***** with permanent walnut juice.”

I would hope that that is a line that never would be missed. You would never hear it sung that way today. Even so, it’s important that it is remembered. These may have been cases of casual racism in the society in which they were bandied, but from our vantage in the 21st century, these things still matter.

PHOTO: Sir Henry Lytton as Ko-Ko

May 14, 2024
“The Mikado” Cultural Appropriation or Satire?

Everyone is so nervous about having charges of cultural appropriation leveled against them these days that I imagine “The Mikado” must be a sensitive subject beyond the insular sphere of Savoyards. You know, like Italians at their Heritage Day celebrations who remain willfully oblivious to Cristofero Colombo controversies. At least, to my knowledge, “The Mikado” hasn’t led to the kind of self-abasement producers routinely inflict on themselves whenever they want to stage “Madama Butterfly.” Anyone with half a brain understands “The Mikado” is not about the Japanese anyway, but rather a veil of rice paper behind which English society and institutions are savagely lampooned. According to Gilbert, “‘The Mikado’ was never a story about Japan but about the failings of the British government.” Yes, there are stereotypes, but they are of a sort that are so far over the top, with characters named Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum, as to neutralize any idea of serious offense intended.

The opera is not without its issues, of course. It is a product of its time (first produced in 1885). So it could raise some eyebrows, or even a few hackles in the 21st century. But mature and educated people understand how to put things in context, without being driven to obscure or obliterate history. I mention all this not to offer an apologia for one of Gilbert & Sullivan’s most popular works, nor to defend the practice of Western actors in “yellow face,” but rather because, in the course of a coincidental exchange with a friend of mine last week, during which many G&S videos were swapped, I happened across this 1967 film version with members of the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, including acclaimed G&S interpreters John Reed, Donald Adams, Valerie Masterson, etc. D’Oyly Carte was the foremost producer of G&S operettas from the beginning of the Gilbert and Sullivan partnership, in the 1870s, into the 1980s. You can choose to ignore, if you like, but I intend to watch. Happy birthday, Sir Arthur Sullivan!

BONUSES!

Groucho Marx as Ko-Ko

Kukla, Fran and Ollie’s “Mikado”

Eric Idle updates the list

May 13, 2024
Fiery Beethoven Ignites Princeton Symphony

It’s easy to be complacent about early Beethoven, but last night the Princeton Symphony Orchestra offered a performance of the Piano Concerto No. 1 that was both engaging and, in its outer movements, an unanticipatedly fiery affair.

Although in style the concerto is very far away from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (preceding it by a good quarter century), there was no shortage of Joy in evidence as soloist Sara Davis Buechner launched into the last movement with a playful accelerando. It was one of many inspired, seemingly irrepressible touches, as the pianist played throughout, even when she wasn’t necessarily supposed to, spontaneously, during the louder tutti passages! In a performance that was full of surprises, she astounded even by offering her own cadenza. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and the audience responded to the fresh approach.

Kudos to timpanist Jeremy Levine, as always lending visceral support with his percussive contributions. He supplied plenty of lift and imbued the piece with moments of awesome temperament. All the love usually goes to Concertos 3, 4 and 5, but the orchestra and soloist made the strongest possible case for 1 being a neglected gem.

On the second half, music director Rossen Milanov led Schumann’s Symphony No. 4 with great authority, the musicians hanging on his every gesture, as he guided them with the kind of expressive freedom one would expect more from a solo piano recital. But here, the 50 or so musicians followed him as one. Very impressive indeed. In the most thrilling performances (I’m thinking of the classic Furtwängler recording or an underrated one by Adrian Boult), the propulsive fourth movement can build to such intensity that you feel as if you want to leap out of your seat. Last night’s performance, while not wanting for rhythmic drive, was most magnetic in the contrasting lyrical passages, which came across as enchantingly as the most transporting music by the composer’s close personal friend, Felix Mendelssohn.

The concert opened with “Become River,” a hypnotic quarter of an hour crafted by the environmentally-focused John Luther Adams. Adams, not to be confused with the other John “Nixon in China” Adams, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Music in 2014 for “Become Ocean,” the first of what has turned out to be a cycle of “Become” pieces. The title is taken from a poem by John Cage. But don’t expect the music to sound anything like Cage. The concept echoes more Smetana’s “Moldau,” tracing a river on its course, only without the Romantic nationalist underpinnings. This is the 21st century, so execution-wise, you’d be better off imagining what it would be like if Arvo Pärt had written the opening of “Das Rheingold.”

The strings played so high at the start, in support of percussionist Greg Giannascoli, who elicited equally stratospheric tones by running a bow across a set of crotales, or antique cymbals, that they likely set dogs howling in Bucks County. But like water itself, the music soon expanded to find its way into every corner of the orchestra to create a meditative space, disturbed only by inappropriate sotto voce whispers, a dropped cell phone, and chair kicking on the part of those in my vicinity.

Hell may be other people, but the Princeton Symphony Orchestra did everything it could to allow one to conceive of a better world.

The program will be repeated this afternoon at 4:00 at Richardson Auditorium in Alexander Hall on the campus of Princeton University. For tickets and information, visit princetonsymphony.org.

May 12, 2024
Happy Mother’s Day Mom Remembering You

Gone but not forgotten. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

May 12, 2024

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