Tag: Symphony No. 9

Johannes Brahms described the mighty musical edifices of Anton Bruckner as “symphonic boa constrictors.” But at last night’s concert of The Philadelphia Orchestra, it was the audience that put on the squeeze.

Music and artistic director Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducted a fascinating experiment, presenting a joint concert, without break, of Bruckner’s valedictory Symphony No. 9 and his almighty “Te Deum” (literally a dedication to God).

He was not the first to do so. The symphony was presented that way at its first performance, in 1903, six years after the composer’s death. Bruckner, sensing the end was near, sanctioned the “Te Deum” as a makeshift finale for his symphony, the fourth movement of which he ultimately left unfinished – though most conductors, in their mature wisdom, grasp the poetic justness of simply letting the third movement trail away like incense on a reflective note. (Bruckner’s Roman Catholic faith was central to his life and work.)

But it was Yannick’s own inspired idea to also affix one of Bruckner’s motets for a cappella chorus, “Christus factus est,” as a kind of preamble to the whole. The motet quotes material from the “Te Deum” and, thanks to a fortuitous key relationship, happens to dissolve seamlessly into the opening of the symphony. Then, on the other side, just as the mystic atmosphere of the symphony’s third movement is about to dissipate, the cathedral doors are blown wide open by the heaven-storming eruption that launches the sublime “Te Deum.”

This conception of the three works as a kind of Holy Trinity transformed the evening into an epic parallel of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, a work Bruckner clearly admired. And what a journey it was!

Yannick’s evident mastery was all the more remarkable in that yesterday afternoon, he had just conducted his first ever “La bohème” – under the scrutiny of an international radio audience, no less – at New York’s Metropolitan Opera. The opera ended around 4 p.m. Yannick is well-known for his phenomenal energy. At 48, he goes and goes and goes until he can’t do it anymore, and then once in a blue moon he takes time off to recuperate from exhaustion – which is why he is one of the few conductors who can oversee both the Met and a major symphony orchestra – and yesterday was quite the demonstration of his superhuman stamina.

The orchestra played like gods, and Yannick guided them like a diminutive Zeus, with a strength and an authority belying his 5-foot-five frame. The conductor later wore a wry, self-deprecating expression, acknowledging the physical contrast with choral director Joe Miller, who towered over him as the two took their bows during the rapturous ovations at the end of the concert.

But before they could get there, there was some unexpected turbulence.

Yannick and the orchestra were about half-way through the evening and totally in the zone – in the middle of what was shaping up to be the musical equivalent of a no-hitter – when, only about a minute into the symphony’s lofty third movement, at a particularly ethereal moment, someone in the row behind me and off to one side cried out. (I was sitting in row B in the orchestra tier.) Whether he was displeased with something he heard onstage or had a beef with somebody else in the audience or was unable to contain himself during a moment of personal disturbance is unclear, but it was disruptive enough that Yannick stopped the orchestra and began the movement over.

A little uncomfortable, to be sure, but everyone was determined to carry on as if nothing had happened. Then, wouldn’t you know it, when the musicians arrived at the very same passage, from the other side of the hall, someone’s cell phone ringer went off. Loudly.

At that point, Yannick let his baton arm drop to his side, his body went limp, and he turned resignedly to face that portion of the audience from which the disruption had originated. With evident exasperation, he remarked, “Can we just spend one hour of our lives without our DAMN PHONES????” To this, he added another sentence or two, while a large segment of the audience applauded. I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment, but the applause only further served to break the spell cast by Bruckner.

Nevertheless, Yannick raised his wand and the orchestra attempted to weave its magic a third time. Of course, by then the sustained atmosphere had been spoiled. I’m not sure if the musicians had difficulty regaining their involvement or if it was the natural aftermath of the disturbance that altered the mood in the hall, but it took a few minutes for everyone to slip back into Bruckner’s spiritual world.

Thankfully, they did. It was a gorgeous performance. More fiery than usual, perhaps, in the ferocious scherzo (the symphony’s second movement), but if you’ve got it, flaunt it. This was young man’s Bruckner.

I held my breath as the orchestra neared the transcendent final bars – the symphony ends quietly – feeling myself grow tense against the possibility of an overeager listener stomping the mood with a premature bravo, but after a mere pause, the Philadelphia Symphonic Choir again rose to its feet, on the tiered balcony behind the stage, where it had been sitting unobtrusively throughout the duration of the symphony, to join orchestra and organist in the explosive opening of the sublime “Te Deum.”

It couldn’t have been easy for the soloists – soprano Elza van den Heever, mezzo-soprano Michelle DeYoung, tenor Sean Panikkar, and bass-baritone Ryan Speedo Green – who had also been sitting quietly. An awfully long time had passed since backstage warm-ups. Some of the singers drew water from metal thermoses, no doubt to ensure their voices wouldn’t catch in their throats. They sang beautifully, the individual and combined voices alternately blending and ringing out like silver clarions. The evening ended on a hair-raising tutti, with soloists, chorus, orchestra, and organ blazing. Goosebumps were palpable all across the auditorium. The audience reception was long, thunderous, and much deserved. The orchestra had overcome a double disruption in the symphony’s third movement to attain a lasting triumph.

It is too bad that this rare Brucknerian experiment couldn’t be sustained quite as planned, as it really was something magnificent to experience. But looking back this morning, I find a touch of irony in Yannick’s wholly understandable expression of consternation at the disruption of a cell phone, as 15 minutes before the concert was scheduled to begin, I spotted him entering the lobby (as opposed to the stage door around the back of the building), smiling in a powder blue track suit and trailed by an assistant – or perhaps his husband – who was filming him, yes, on his phone.

Hey, I’ve got no beef with that. Just noting that the damn phones are with us everywhere. But no doubt put to better use documenting Yannick, mid-marathon, on his way from the pit of the Metropolitan Opera to the podium of the Philadelphia Orchestra, than in the middle of Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony.

Not all the drama was onstage, then, but all’s well that ends well. Flaws and all, this was one of the great Bruckner concerts of my life. Bravo, Philadelphia!