In March 2009, I was a Guest Lecturer at the Central Conservatory of Music (CCOM) in Beijing, China. My audience was a class of young conductors. My lecture, titled “Stokowski: the Limits of Interpretation,” considered the many changes that Stokowski had made in the scores of the music he conducted and how these changes might be defended and justified. Moments before my talk was to begin, I had a distinguished surprise visitor, 92-year old Huang Feili (photo above left: Feili on right), the man who had founded the conducting department of this institution back in 1956. His presence not only did me great honour, but gave me great joy. I was delighted to see an old friend whom I had first met in Toronto in 1987.

Western Music in China

China has made extraordinary progress in the last 20 years, particularly in the growth of its economy, the well-being of its vast population – 1.3 billion at last count in the census of 2010 – and in the transformation of its infrastructure. The explosion of Western classical music in China in that same time period has been no less remarkable; as recently as 1976, the Chinese communist authorities had denounced Western music as decadent and bourgeois, and a corrupting influence. Chairman Mao Zedong’s wife Jiang Qing had made it her business to suppress any music except that which served the political purposes of the country’s communist regime.

The general history of Western music in China has been well told in a recent book called “Rhapsody in Red,” but my specific interest over the years has been the struggle faced by Chinese conductors to find opportunities for training and growth, and ultimately to become masters in their own house. At the very centre of that struggle was my old friend Huang Feili.

Shanghai’s International Settlement & Maestro Mario Paci

(Photo: above) Nanking Road, Shanghai International Settlement, China 1930s.

When Mario Paci arrived in Shanghai and played a concerto with local musicians, the residents of the International Settlement realized that this was the man they needed to take the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra (SMO) to a higher level. Paci accepted the challenge, reorganizing and reinvigorating the SMO from 1919 until 1942, when war with Japan ruined everything.

The quality of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra should not be underestimated. There is no doubt that for more than 30 years, it was the finest symphony orchestra in the Far East. Among its members was Walter Joachim, principal cello of the SMO for eleven years. After settling in Canada in 1952, he became principal cello of the Montreal Symphony. Concertmaster of the SMO was Arrigo Foa. Recruited by Paci from his native Italy, Foa made Shanghai his home for 21 years. I met Foa in Hong Kong in the 1960s when I played double bass for the Hong Kong Philharmonic, which he conducted.

Huang Feili’s Musical Journey:  Defining the Mission

Growing up in Shanghai in the 1930s, Huang became familiar with Paci only after the Maestro had already vastly improved the SMO. While still in Primary School, he heard the orchestra for the first time playing an outdoor concert in Hongkou Park. Later, in Middle School, he attended his first SMO indoor concert at the Lyceum Theatre. Now a violin student, and old enough to appreciate the role of the conductor, he recalls the experience: “That was the first time I came into contact with a symphony orchestra and with Paci (photo: above). I watched my violin teacher sitting to the left of the concertmaster and I watched Paci’s conducting. For the first time I heard the wonderful sound of an orchestra come out of the hands of a conductor. I was greatly impressed.”

Later, with the help of his violin teacher, Huang regularly attended Paci’s rehearsals. Huang never had formal training in conducting. As he puts it, “My conducting was ’stolen’, mostly from Paci!” Interestingly, given my reason for being in Beijing in 2009, Huang also recalls another important influence on his conducting education in the 1930s: Stokowski’s 1937 film with Deanna Durbin “One Hundred Men and a Girl.” Musical life in Shanghai in those days was surprisingly rich and varied. Huang recalls recitals and concerto performances by artists of the stature of Heifetz, Szigeti, Elman, Moiseiwitsch and Chaliapin.

After the war, Huang moved to the United States to study music at Yale University. Among his teachers was the distinguished composer Paul Hindemith. By this time, Huang played the violin well enough to join the New Haven Symphony and work with soloists such as Serkin and Primrose. There were also opportunities to watch Koussevitsky, Monteux, Stokowski, Mitropoulos and others at work in nearby Boston and New York.

(Photo: above) Central Conservatory of Music Concert Hall, Beijing, China.

By 1956, Huang had had such an impact on the Central Conservatory of Music, the musical life of Beijing and nearby Tianjin that he was asked to start a Department of Conducting. His dream was to create, as he put it, “a Chinese School of Conducting.” What he had in mind was an approach to conducting that was uniquely Chinese, a “school of conducting” analogous to the schools which existed in other art forms in China such as the Peking Opera and its various “schools” which each feature unique singing and acting.

With time and experience, Huang came to realize that his dream was “impractical, impossible and even unnecessary.” Even the “immutable” schools of the Peking Opera have changed and living in a global village as we are today, Huang finally understood that change is probably inevitable and healthy.

The Department of Conducting at the CCOM had only a handful of students in its early years, most of them training to become choral conductors; while there were very few orchestras in China in the 1950s, there were a large number of amateur choirs.

Founding Father of the Beijing Symphony

Huang Feili (photo: right) not only became a respected teacher at the CCOM. but also one of the most prominent conductors in China. In the mid-1970s, he was invited to head up the ensemble that later became one of the finest professional orchestras in China, the Beijing Symphony. When Huang took over, the orchestra was a student group created to accompany the Beijing Song and Dance Ensemble. Xianglin Li, head of the Department of Culture of the Beijing Municipal Government, asked Huang to lead it and improve it. Shocked by what he heard at the first concert he attended, Huang described the experience with an expression Chinese orchestral musicians used at the time to refer to wrong notes: “There was artillery fire all over the sky.” Huang accepted Li’s invitation to lead and improve the ensemble, but laid down several conditions: it must become a concert orchestra rather than an accompanying ensemble; it must be large enough to play the standard orchestral literature; and the administration must be run like a professional orchestra.

By 1985, under Huang’s leadership, the orchestra had improved to the point of becoming fully professional and was renamed the Beijing Symphony. Huang Feili then went back to his full-time job at the Central Conservatory but continued to make regular appearances as a guest conductor with the Beijing Symphony until his final concert on February 26, 2009.

Cultural Revolution: Western Orchestras Serve Communist Cause

Without a doubt, Huang Feili had made an enormous contribution to the creation of one of China’s finest orchestras. The other great conducting pioneer, by the way, was Huang Feili’s contemporary and friend Li Delun, the man who led the Central Philharmonic (later known as the Chinese National Symphony Orchestra) through the turbulent years of the Cultural Revolution and thereafter, until his death in 2001.

After years of turmoil in China through civil war, war with Japan, and the communist victory in 1949, it appeared that the New China would be more just and more stable. This was not to be. Under Mao’s leadership, millions starved to death in the 1950s and the turmoil continued. Then in 1966, came the Cultural Revolution, which the leadership of China today recognizes to have been a misguided attempt to restore the ideals of the communist revolution. For artists and intellectuals like Huang Feili, it was a terrible time. The Central Conservatory simply ceased to function; there was no music teaching and there were no concerts. Huang and his colleagues were sent to various military divisions to learn from the army.

The Cultural Revolution was really ten lost years in which meaningful artistic and intellectual activity was prohibited unless it conformed to prototypes or models determined by party officials, and frequently by Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing. Artists and intellectuals were subjected to both verbal and physical abuse. Huang’s library of books and music was almost totally destroyed by the Red Guards.

Finally, this period of madness gave way to the era of Openness and Reform. Work at the CCM resumed and China even began to make overtures to the West. Nixon and Kissinger arrived in 1972, and Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra soon after. In spite of all the public euphoria which greeted these developments, behind the scenes life was far more complicated and difficult for Chinese musicians. Li Delun tried to bend with the constantly changing political winds, but it was a soul-destroying process: “It was all a power struggle, all politics – Jiang Qing just used music…We were all used by her, to give her something to do. I worked hard, but in my heart it was difficult.” (”Rhapsody in Red,” p. 287)

China Welcomes Back the Best of the West

When Ozawa and the Boston Symphony visited China in 1979, it was a momentous occasion. Ozawa, born in China, had a special affection for the country and its people. He had already conducted Li Delun’s Central Philharmonic a few years earlier and he and Li Delun had become very close. Ozawa demanded to see Li, but the officials lied and claimed he was busy in the south. By this time Li had been stripped of all his positions and was out of favour with the government.

Huang Feili also got to know Ozawa during his many visits to China. Ozawa gave a master class for conductors at the CCOM and soon became a conducting icon for young Chinese conductors. Huang Feili has great admiration for Ozawa, but felt that his students venerated the Maestro for the wrong reasons. They loved his flamboyant style on the podium and soon began to emulate it. Huang spent a good deal of time trying to get his students to understand that what made Ozawa great was not just the podium choreography – that was the superficial part; the more important part was his grasp of the music.

Huang Feili’s Love of Western Music Continues to Bear Fruit

In 1987, Huang made a return visit to Yale University, his alma mater, and to Toronto, where I met him for the first time. The connection was made through Huang’s son, An-lun, now a professional musician and an exciting young composer living in Toronto. I had the honour of conducting the first performance of Huang An-lun’s Symphonic Overture No. 2 in 1989.

Remember the son Huang Feili had never seen when he agonized over whether to return to China in 1951? That was An-lun, a gifted young man who grew up in China in troubled times and who, like his father, suffered the misery of the Cultural Revolution. Huang An-lun today is one of China’s foremost composers.

(Photo: above) The Golden Sail Youth Orchestra performing Beethoven's 9th"; Huang Feili, conductor

Huang Feili is now 94 years old and living in Beijing. He was appointed conductor for life of the Golden Sail Youth Orchestra, but relinquished his conducting role with this orchestra four years ago. Every Saturday, however, he continues to conduct a rehearsal of the 80-voice Beijing Yuying Beimang Alumni choir, an ensemble that combines alumni from two schools founded by the American Congregational Church: Yuying (boys) and Beimang (girls) high schools.

Maestro Huang Feili did not create a “uniquely Chinese” school of conducting as he had originally dreamed of doing; he chose instead to train several generations of Chinese conductors well enough to lead their own orchestras around the world – an impressive achievement by any standard, but particularly given the social and political challenges faced by China in his lifetime.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” For friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

Photo of Maestro Huang Felli with Paul E. Robinson by Marita

This entry is an excerpt from the first (”The Art of the Conductor: China”) in an upcoming series of books by Paul E. Robinson tracking the musical journeys of noteworthy conductors of Western classical music in various countries around the world.

George Szell: A Life in Music
by Michael Charry
Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2011
412 pages

One of the conducting icons of my youth was George Szell. I had the good fortune to live within a few hundred miles of his home base in Cleveland and regularly heard Szell with his great orchestra in Cleveland, Toronto and at an annual Spring festival in London, Ontario. Many of Szell’s finest recordings come from this period. I idolized the man for his ability to galvanize an orchestra – whether through musicianship, by force of personality or fear, I wasn’t sure which at the time – and to present a substantial core repertoire with consummate authority. When Szell died suddenly in 1970, I felt the world had lost a truly great conductor, and more than 40 years later, I still feel the same way.

About the Author

Author Michael Charry passed the rigorous audition with Szell to become an Apprentice Conductor with the Cleveland Orchestra – James Levine was another notable apprentice conductor under Szell – and then joined the conducting staff of the orchestra. He saw Szell professionally on almost a daily basis for nine years. Charry went on to have an important career and he was a fine conductor. I remember with great respect and admiration a performance of Charles Ives’ incredibly difficult Fourth Symphony he conducted with the Cleveland Orchestra. Charry was eminently qualified to write a book about Szell, and it was obviously a labour of love.

Honest Portrait of a Conducting Legend

On the biographical side, Charry has gone well beyond his personal experience. For example, he has examined the letters between Richard Strauss and Franz Schalk, written when Strauss was about to become music director at the Vienna State Opera. Szell was already a Strauss protégée and insisted on taking Strauss with him from Berlin to Vienna as his assistant. Schalk was director of the house and was very reluctant to take Szell, in spite of Strauss’ persistence. Finally, he let slip that it was a matter of religion. Schalk understood that Szell was Jewish and in 1918, as it had been in Mahler’s time, it was unacceptable to be Jewish and hold an important position at the Vienna State Opera. As it happened, neither Schalk nor Strauss was aware that Szell (like Mahler) and his family had already converted to Roman Catholicism.

Another interesting story involves Szell’s guest conducting in St. Louis in 1930-31 – his first engagements in the United States – as a candidate for the music directorship, which ultimately went to Vladimir Golschmann. During this period, Szell formed a lasting friendship with Irma von Starkloff, the woman who later wrote “The Joy of Cooking.” In fact, Szell claimed that some of the recipes in the book came from him.

Charry obviously has great admiration for Szell, but he doesn’t soft-pedal the man’s less endearing qualities. Szell was a child prodigy pianist and composer and grew up a spoiled brat. He had extraordinary musical skills, but considered himself an authority on any subject, and didn’t hesitate to lecture anyone on anything. He was a man who liked to take charge. This is an essential quality for a conductor and in an age when conductors hired and fired orchestra members at will, Szell was known for being as ruthless and as nasty as any of them. Charry makes him out to be a benevolent dictator, more benevolent as he got older, but there is no doubt that he was more feared than loved by his musicians. Charry gives us all the details on the firing of key players such as oboist Marc Lifschey, and on Szell’s dubious machinations in hiring players such as Josef Gingold away from other orchestras.

Szell routinely intimidated musicians. He also had run-ins with managers and critics. When Rudolf Bing was general manager of the Met, he and Szell had a row in 1954 that lasted a lifetime. Szell had devoted most of his early career to conducting opera and during the war years he was a fixture at the Met, but when he couldn’t get his way concerning a production of Tannhäuser he walked out. A few years earlier, he had walked out of the Glyndebourne Festival when Bing was in charge there. Twice burned, Bing had had enough and vowed he would never hire Szell again.

One of the Finest in the World

Szell will be remembered primarily for the years he spent building the Cleveland Orchestra from a provincial band into one of the finest orchestras in the world. Szell had other offers – most notably from the Chicago Symphony (twice) and from the Concertgebouw Orchestra – but he stayed in Cleveland. He was appreciated there and he had made a commitment. During the winter season, Szell conducted most of the orchestra’s main series concerts – staff conductors like Louis Lane did the Pops and children’s concerts – and each June, Szell and his wife went to Europe for four months. While there, Szell conducted at all the major summer festivals and played a good deal of golf and bridge. The couple’s European base was Zurich and from there they would drive their Cadillac (stored in Paris) to all the major cities.

The Lighter Side of Szell

In spite of his reputation as a martinet, Szell was in many ways an “old world” gentleman; he dressed in a suit and tie nearly every day and wrote hundreds of business and “thank you” letters. Many of these letters – the majority warm and literate – are quoted by Charry. A few are caustic. Others are funny. The maestro did have a sense of humour and often played practical jokes, especially as a youth.

Szell was very friendly with violinist Henri Temianka from the days when they worked together at the Scottish National Orchestra in the 1930s. Charry quotes a letter (p. 36) sent by Szell to Temianka from Australia, which first appeared in Temianka’s book Facing the Music:

Dear Friend,

Just now I bought a new bottle of Shaeffer’s fountain pen ink (the kind that you tip before opening so as to let some ink flow into a small compartment – which makes it easier to fill the pen). There’s a label on the bottle with the following admonition: SCREW TIGHTLY BEFORE TIPPING. What would you think of making it obligatory to hang this sign around the necks of all hotel chambermaids?

Yours very cordially,

Szell

It was this same George Szell who nearly threw a fit when Severance Hall personnel started wearing miniskirts in 1968. He tore several strips off general manager Beverly Barksdale over this matter: “If I see a single one on my return there will be a scandal… I, for one, am nauseated by what I have to see.” When Barksdale assured him that there would be new rules enforced regarding appropriate attire Szell was somewhat mollified: “Thank you for the good news that I shall not be exposed any further to nausea by the exposition of elephant trotters up to the genitals.” (p. 273)

This Reader Left Wanting More…

Charry’s book includes lists of Szell’s repertoire in Cleveland and elsewhere, with some surprises. In his later years, Szell was a champion of William Walton’s music, but I always wondered why he never played Walton’s greatest work, the Symphony No. 1. Charry’s research indicates that while Szell never conducted the work in Cleveland, he did programme it when he was in Scotland and Australia before the war. As the maestro was also a Richard Strauss protégée and became one of his authoritative interpreters, I was puzzled why he never conducted works like “Ein Heldenleben” and “Also Sprach Zarathustra.” Apparently he did conduct “Ein Heldenleben” once in Cleveland and afterwards, according to Louis Lane as quoted by Charry, said “Never again!” But why? Neither Lane nor Charry tells us what Szell didn’t like about “Ein Heldenleben” or, for that matter, why he never conducted a work as important and as popular as Berlioz’ “Symphonie Fantastique?”

I learned a great deal about Szell and his career from this book, but there are some matters that seem to be either overlooked or avoided. Szell’s wife Helene, for example, is mentioned frequently, but never really comes to life. We don’t learn much about who she was, what she did with her life, what she thought and what the relationship was like with her husband. Nor do we hear about Szell’s own family. His parents Kalman and Malvin Szél appear as encouraging figures for the child prodigy in the early pages of the book. We learn later that they left Vienna in the 1930s to find refuge in southern France (p. 57), but that is the last we hear of them.

And what were George Szell’s views on politics? He lived through World War II, during which his native country (Szell was born in Budapest and grew up in Vienna) was invaded and then afterwards occupied by Stalinist forces. Szell must have had strong views on these matters, but disappointingly, we don’t learn what they were in Charry’s book. In the 1960’s, protests raged against the Vietnam War while Szell was music director of the Cleveland Orchestra, and on May 4, 1970 thirteen students were shot and four of them killed by Ohio National Guard troops at nearby Kent State University. Charry tells us that shortly afterward the incident. Szell addressed the Severance Hall audience before a concert: “Would you please join us in standing silently for a few moments, in simple human recognition of the tragic events of this week.”

This is the minimum Szell could have done and under the circumstances it comes perilously close to being non-committal. What did Szell think of the Vietnam War and the protests against it? Szell wrote hundreds of letters and Charry had access to all of them. I would be astonished to learn that Szell had never written about these matters at a time when the whole country was being torn apart by these issues.

Missing: Details on the Art of Conducting

I am also disappointed that while the book is full of interesting detail about Szell’s career, it lacks what Charry was so uniquely qualified to give us. Many biographers could have researched the facts about the concerts Szell conducted and how he spent his summers; however, only a trained conductor like Charry could have told us about Szell’s preparation of scores, how he marked his scores, especially for basic repertoire such as the Beethoven, Brahms and Schumann symphonies, how he rehearsed the orchestra, how the recordings were made and what made his performances special.

In the final analysis, much of Szell’s work survives him, by way of studio sessions and live recordings. We can say that we were moved or thrilled by Szell’s performance of the Eroica or Don Juan, but Charry could have shared with us how the maestro got the results he did. Surely, in some measure, it had to do with the way he marked a score indicating bowing, articulation and dynamic details not written down by the composer. Charry could have given us some examples and exposed Szell’s “secrets” to young conductors for study purposes.

I recently listened to a BBC live recording of the Beethoven Eighth conducted by Szell in 1968. I was struck by the power of the timpani in certain sections. Szell made a studio recording of the Eighth with the Cleveland Orchestra in 1961 and in that performance the timpani is far more restrained. The 1968 performance was certainly not a matter of Szell – or the timpanist – getting carried away in the heat of performance; it was the way Szell wanted it done that week and he had undoubtedly marked the score that way and made sure it was played that way in rehearsal. Charry worked closely with Szell through the 1960s. Did Szell change the way he approached the Beethoven symphonies between 1961 and 1968? Specifically, did he change the way he conducted the Eighth Symphony? If so, how and why?

Szell professed great respect for composers and yet he often “revised” their scores. Charry includes in the book an essay by Szell on the occasion of Schumann’s 150th anniversary. Szell strongly defends Schumann’s skills as an orchestrator while at the same time claiming that any conductor worth his salt must give Schumann some help with balances, but nowhere does Szell say what “help” he applied to Schumann, nor does Charry broach the subject.

Similarly, Charry says nothing about changes Szell made in the Schubert symphonies. In the Ninth, Szell clearly adds horns to the winds in several places and in the first movement of the “Unfinished,” Szell famously “corrected” some wrong notes in his 1960 recording, but to most listeners, the “corrections” themselves sound more like wrong notes. I would like to have heard from Charry whether or not Szell continued to employ these “corrections” in later performances.

Please Sir, I want some more!

One could go on. Perhaps it was Charry’s publisher who restricted him to 412 pages, thereby inhibiting his story-telling. If so, since Charry is uniquely qualified to discuss such matters and time is running out, perhaps he will soon fill in the blanks by writing articles on the ‘nuts and bolts’ of Szell’s conducting. Many of those who played under Szell or who worked with him – Marc Lifschey died in 2000, Robert Shaw in 1999, for example – are no longer with us. Charry has certainly given us an important biography of the maestro, but there is much more to be written about George Szell and Charry is the man to write it.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” For friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

Ginastera: Variaciones concertantes Op. 23
Franck: Symphonic Variations for Piano and Orchestra M. 46
Liszt: Piano Concerto No. 2 in A major S.125
Hindemith: Symphonic Metamorphosis on Themes by Carl Maria von Weber
Anton Nel: piano
Austin Symphony Orchestra (ASO): Peter Bay, conductor

Michael and Susan Dell Hall
Long Center for the Performing Arts
Austin. Texas
Saturday, November 19, 2011

It is an indication of how far the Austin Symphony has come with Peter Bay in his fourteen seasons as music director and conductor, that the ASO could carry off a programme as demanding as this one; both the Ginastera and Hindemith works are veritable concertos for orchestra in the sense that they feature so many players in solo roles. Add another extraordinary artist in the person of pianist Anton Nel (photo: right) to play showy pieces by Franck and Liszt and you have an entire evening of virtuosity.

The Ginastera “Variaciones concertantes” is a chamber orchestra piece that manages to get some real excitement going in the final dance movement. Elsewhere, the composer shows a preference for soulful and melancholic variations, but that doesn’t mean they are easy to play – far from it. From the opening cello solo, played superbly by Douglas Harvey, there was never any question about the quality of this performance. Each of the featured soloists handled his or her challenge with authority. Special recognition must be given David Neubert who played the difficult double bass solo with remarkable accuracy and beauty of tone.

Hindemith’s set of variations on obscure pieces by Weber has been a crowd-pleaser since its premiere in 1944. The composer has a reputation for being turgid and academic at times in his music, but the “Symphonic Metamorphosis” is rich in orchestral colour and abounds with good humour. The fugue manages to be both an astonishing feat of contrapuntal mastery and great fun.

Speaking of mastery, Peter Bay was in complete control of this piece. Judging by the performance, all the difficult sections were thoroughly rehearsed. Balances and tempi were close to ideal. An excellent performance.

Anton Nel heads the Division of Keyboard Studies at the Butler School of Music at the University of Texas. He is also a busy performer with a vast repertoire, ostensibly able to play anything written for his instrument. On this occasion, he concentrated on two warhorses from the Nineteenth Century romantic repertoire and played them as if they posed no technical challenges whatever.

We all, however, have likes and dislikes and I must confess that the Franck and the Liszt are not among my favourite pieces. I find their themes trite and their variations uninteresting. Although I have heard them played with more intensity and individuality by others, I can hardly fault Anton Nel for his approach. He played beautifully and the audience loved his performance. He rewarded them with an encore – a noble reading of the Liszt transcription of Schumann’s song, “Widmung.”

For Something More…

Anton Nel is in charge of the Division of Keyboard Studies at the University of Texas; he is not, however, the only stellar performer on staff. Two nights earlier I heard Colette Valentine, one of Nel’s UT colleagues, play brilliantly with the Miró Quartet in music by Schubert (Trout Quintet) and Dvorák.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” For friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

Photos: Peter Bay by Marita; Anton Nel by Patrick Wu.

When the Knowlton Festival folded two years ago, the Orchestre symphonique de Montreal (OSM) and its chief conductor, Kent Nagano, needed to find an alternative venue for some of their summer music-making. An inspired choice was the Orford Festival. While last season’s appearances were uneven, this summer everything came together and the results were impressive.

Last summer at Orford, the OSM gave two full concerts under Nagano, who also worked with the Orford Academy Orchestra (OAO) on a third concert. The venue for all three performances was the Saint-Patrice Church in Magog. This year, the OSM gave only one full orchestra concert, which was presented at the University of Sherbrooke. Some OSM members were also involved in chamber music performances. The OAO concert under Nagano was presented at the Saint-Jean-Bosco Church in Magog. The three concerts I attended were packed, even with a top price of $85 in Sherbrooke.

Tan Dun Gives Schafer’s “Soundscape” New Dimension

The highlight for me was the Sherbrooke concert. The OSM has not appeared in this city for many years and it was gratifying to see such an enthusiastic response. Nagano’s theme for the evening’s programme was a “Journey to the Heart of Nature;” hence the selection of (photo: right) Tan Dun’s “Water Music,” Debussy’s “La Mer” and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 “Pastoral.” Tan Dun’s “Water Concerto” is a complex and strange piece for any audience, but the folks in Sherbrooke clearly found it entertaining, as did I. Although the Salle Maurice-O’Bready at the University of Sherbrooke has extremely dry acoustics, and lacks the warmth, blend and presence one expects from a first-class concert hall, it did provide a clarity of sound that served the Tan Dun piece quite well.

I was reminded of Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer’s term “Soundscape” while listening to Tan Dun’s “Water Concerto.” Schafer was a pioneer in encouraging audiences to appreciate all the fascinating sounds in our world. In his piece, Tan Dun explores virtually all the ways one can use water to make music. There are three solo percussionists in the piece and each one works with what looks like a very large and transparent plastic salad bowl full of water. With their hands, they tap out all sorts of rhythms. They also use water glasses instead of hands to beat out sounds in the water. Finally, the lead percussionist – the astonishing Wang Beibei (photo: below right)– placed some wooden salad bowls of various sizes upside down in the large plastic bowl and using drumsticks, created still more fascinating sounds.

One might well ask how delicate water sounds could possibly compete with the accompaniment of a symphony orchestra. The answer is that each of the bowls of water has a microphone attached, and that Tan Dun’s orchestral scoring is complementary rather than combative.

One of the most effective episodes in the piece has the percussionists beating out galloping horse sounds in their water bowls while wind players in the orchestra contribute the sounds of neighing horses. Corny? Maybe in the telling, but certainly not in the playing. To my ears it was artful and good-humoured.

It should be emphasized that in too many contemporary concertos, the orchestra is given little to do, much of it elementary if not inconsequential. Not so here. Many of the techniques and rhythms could only be executed by a first-rate body of players. Nagano and the OSM played brilliantly.

Sea a Little Dry, but Sounds in Countryside Lush and Fresh

Debussy’s “La Mer” was also well played but suffered from the dryness of the hall. The timpani riff at the end of the piece, although pounded out with authority, sounded like someone beating on a table top with a pair of hammers.

The OSM under Nagano recently made a recording of Beethoven’s “Pastoral” Symphony, scheduled for release this fall, and the orchestra’s performance on this night certainly reflected the most detailed preparation, giving a sense that Nagano had personally inscribed dynamic markings in every bar of each player’s part. There were sounds I felt I was hearing for the first time simply because Nagano and his players had taken such care over balances. This performance was not only well-rehearsed; it was beautiful and joyful.

As will everything that the OSM played this season at Orford, the “Pastoral” will be repeated August 16-18 at the Edinburgh Festival. With that international exposure in mind, I must mention that the horn playing in the Beethoven and in several other works was unacceptably shaky. While Beethoven calls for just a pair of horns in the “Pastoral,” in many performances a third, even a fourth player is often added to spell off the others. Nagano might consider that option for Edinburgh.

Theme of Social Landscapes, Real and Imagined

The Orford Academy Orchestra (OAO) concert began with Karl Amadeus Hartmann’s lugubrious Symphony No. 4. I can’t imagine what led Nagano to choose such a dreadful piece for a summer concert in Magog. It was written in 1946 in response to the terrible war years in Germany. Clearly, noble sentiments do not always translate into great music. This 33-minute piece for string orchestra certainly challenged the young players – perhaps that was the point of the exercise – but the Symphony No. 4 seems to me academic and tedious.

The OAO is much improved this season, and the Saint-Jean Bosco Church is a much better venue for a symphony concert than last year’s Saint-Patrice. Under Nagano’s direction, the OAO gave an accurate and exciting rendition of Stravinsky’s “Petrouchka.”

Guest artist on the OAO programme was the superb pianist Benedetto Lupo, whom I had heard several times in Austin, Texas. On this occasion he played Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 27 with verve and just the right amount of flexibility in dynamics and tempo. Nagano’s accompaniment, however, was lighter and more period-oriented than the Mozart style offered by his soloist.

Schubert Octet a Priceless “Prelude”

On the same evening and in the same venue – August 4, Saint-Jean Bosco Church (photo: right) – members of the OSM played Schubert’s Octet. The Schubert was played at 6 pm and the OAO concert at 8 pm. I assumed – wrongly, as it turned out – that the Schubert was a prelude to the orchestra concert. But, in fact, even though it was only an hour long and devoted to only one piece, it was sold as a separate concert with tickets costing $22. This bit of programming comes perilously close to price-gouging.

On the other hand, the Schubert Octet was played so well it could very accurately be described as priceless. With Andrew Wan in the leader’s chair, phrasing was consistently shapely and the players responded to each other with the utmost concern for timbre and balance. Equally impressive was the choice of tempi. With illustrious performances by the Vienna Octet and the Berlin Octet still ringing in my musical memory, I have long been convinced that this music needs time to breathe and that moderate tempi pay enormous dividends. The OSM players obviously feel the same way and gave us sublime Schubert.

So this was a great week for Nagano, the OSM and Orford, not to mention the music-lovers of Magog and Sherbrooke. The venues have been sorted out, the qualitative bar has been raised and just a little more tinkering needs to be done in programming and marketing. I am looking forward to 2012!

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” NEW for friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

Every summer Marita and I drive from Austin, Texas back to our native Canada, varying our route each year according to events of particular interest on the road and the availability of friends we enjoy visiting.

This year we decided to make a stop in Charlottesville, Virginia, a favourite place we hadn’t visited in too many years. This charming, lively, petite (pop: 40,000) mountain town is home to the University of Virginia where we fondly recalled once having inspected the tiny room inhabited by Edgar Allen Poe during his short tenure as a student here. The literary stature of Poe notwithstanding, Charlottesville is most famous for Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson, one of the founding fathers and the third president of the United States.

Castleton Farms Home to Castleton Festival

As we plotted our route from Charlottesville to the Eastern Townships of Quebec, we decided it would be unconscionable to pass within a few miles of Lorin Maazel’s new Castleton Festival without seeing what all the excitement was about; with Maazel in mind, we set out along the back roads of western Virginia.

The town of Castleton turned out to be little more than a general store. Mostly, we were greeted by lush green rolling hills and farmland, with just enough signage to remind locals where they are and to give visitors the feeling that one wrong turn could get them hopelessly lost.

There were few signs directing one to the Castleton Festival. Upon arrival at what we took to be the festival headquarters, our first impression was that everyone had either gone for a walk in the woods or was attending to farm chores. We walked through the small lobby into a tiny jewel of a theatre. We could hardly believe that “La Bohème” had been performed here the day before. The pit could scarcely hold more than a dozen players and the house appeared to have no more than 100 seats.

Back outside, looking off the deck, we could see well-tended gardens and a pond in the distance. Further along the deck we could see a fair number of people in the cafeteria attached to the theatre. It was lunchtime and dozens of young people were either enjoying a meal or working away on laptops – some doing both at once. All in all, it was a beautiful estate, a glorious place for work and leisure.

We continued our explorations, looking now for someone in administration. Across the road from the theatre building was a small barn. Lots of out-of-state license plates in the driveway indicated visitors, but this was clearly a working farm. There were pigs in pens, some cattle, and a zebra – or was it a “zonkey?” Someone with a sense of humour had put up a sign describing an even more unusual animal on the premises – a zonkey – an exotic blend of donkey and zebra. There was even a picture to aid in recognition.

Next door, as we stepped out of the car, one of two young women walking towards us stopped to introduce herself as “one of the Maazel children” and kindly offered to find someone to help us. She disappeared through a hedge and emerged a few minutes later with a strikingly attractive woman, who introduced herself as Dietlinde Maazel. I knew that Dietlinde was the maestro’s wife of 23 years and that she was one of the masterminds of the festival. Lorin Maazel is the president and artistic director and she is vice-president and associate artistic director.

Ms. Maazel (photo: right) exuded tremendous pride in and enthusiasm for the Castleton Festival, and in spite of being interrupted in the middle of what must have been another hectic day, she offered to give us a tour of the facilities. The first thing she set us straight about was the role of the little theatre we had just seen. It was indeed the starting point for all the musical activities at Castleton Farms and many concerts had been held there over the years, and some of the festival’s chamber operas were still presented there.

The main festival performance space, which from the exterior looks like a massive modern barn, was just a half mile up the road. A barn as an opera venue? What an ingenious concept! We entered through the reception area, which had been set up for a gala dinner preceding the opening of “La Bohème” the night before, and then stepped into the auditorium, where a rehearsal for Ravel’s “L’enfant et les Sortilèges” was in progress.

This facility, we learned, had been completed just in time for this year’s Castleton Festival. The centre of attention was the very large performance space with ample backstage area for storing and moving sets, and a pit that seated about 100 musicians. While, for the time being, the 400 seats in the venue are little more than benches and the walls are bare, some upgrading will doubtless take place in years to come.

There was only piano accompaniment at this rehearsal, with the resident festival director, William Kerley, blocking moves for some of the soloists and chorus. Soprano Cecelia Hall, who sings the lead role of the child, sounded wonderful. All the voices projected easily from the stage.

Ms. Hall is typical of participants at the Castleton Festival. She, like most of the other 100 or so singers and the 89 members of the festival orchestra, is a young artist well into a professional career. In most cases, participants have completed their college or conservatory studies and have some professional experience. What they need to really advance their careers is more training from the best in the business, and this is the exceptional opportunity that the Castleton Festival provides: two months working almost daily with Maestro Lorin Maazel and his associates.

The Castleton Festival is a summer music school primarily for opera singers and orchestral players but also for stage directors and administrators. The intensive workload is undertaken in a very nurturing environment designed to enrich young lives. Married participants are encouraged to bring spouses and children, and all performers are housed either in buildings on the 600 acre Maazel farm property or at neighbouring farms. Ms. Maazel acknowledged that the responsibility of keeping track of the 200 plus young artists at Castleton Farms over the summer, particularly given the propensity of some for fast driving on winding country roads, was quite a challenge.

Castleton Festival participants, including singers and orchestra members, are often recruited personally by Maazel as he travels the world guest conducting. The current orchestra, for example, includes players from Qatar, Turkey, China and London.

As we watched the Ravel rehearsal with her, Ms. Maazel seemed to have all the time in the world to answer our questions and to point out the features of her festival, casually remarking at some point in our conversation that the Castleton Festival Orchestra and some of the singers had to be in Toronto, Canada the following evening for a major performance at the BlackCreek Festival, and that the ensemble of about 110 would be leaving that very night. Enviable calm under pressure!

We know that Lorin Maazel is a force of nature among conductors. At the age of 81 he is conducting as much as he ever did, and even finding time to compose and to create a new festival. In his wife Dietlinde, he has obviously found the ideal partner; a magic-making multi-tasker who also thrives on a busy schedule.

After Ms. Maazel’s gracious introduction, we came away anxious to hear a performance by the Castleton Festival participants. We didn’t have long to wait; we had only to drive to Toronto by the following night. A second incentive was the BlackCreek Festival itself, which had opened the week before with a highly-praised event featuring Placido Domingo. Garth Drabinsky’s enterprising new summer offering, the coming together of two major but very young festivals with very different visions – the Castleton, with a focus on mentoring young classical music talent and the BlackCreek, with a focus on big-name extravaganzas and music of many genres – is a new and exciting concept for Toronto.

Sky Traffic, Sound Technology and Top Dollar

I must admit that when I heard about plans for the BlackCreek Festival, I was skeptical. Who would want to pay high prices – $52-$135 for most concerts and a top price of $280 for Domingo – to sit outside on a tennis court listening to amplified classical music?

The Rexall Centre at York University was built to accommodate professional tennis tournaments and physically, it serves that purpose well; situated right under the flight path for landings at Pearson International Airport, however, the location surely cannot be considered ideal for tennis. If less than ideal for tennis, it should be disastrous for classical music performances. At the concert we attended, a plane whirred overhead every 3-4 minutes during one 20-minute period; fortunately, there were more quiet times than noisy during this concert. Clearly, the management of the BlackCreek Festival operates at the mercy of God and the air traffic controllers.

To be fair, however, summer concerts in the great outdoors cannot really be judged by indoor standards. The Ravinia Festival in Chicago has been thriving for decades in spite of the trains that pass by with annoying frequency. As a matter of fact, festival directors there recently made a virtue out of imperfect conditions by commissioning a series of new train-related compositions for the festival.

So…while one might wish the planes to be seen and not heard, does the Rexall Centre have some offsetting advantages?

Opening night at BlackCreek was apparently utter chaos due to the traffic congestion, whereas at the concert I attended, there was no trouble at all; that is, if you don’t mind paying $20 to park, then boarding a school bus to the venue itself. And did I mention that if it rains, ticket-buyers are just out of luck – no rain checks are given and no umbrellas are allowed in the facility.

What about that bane of music-lovers’ existence these days – miked singers and musicians? Amplifier technology has taken over Broadway to the point where genuine singing ability is almost irrelevant and ear-splitting volume is the norm. With 11,000 seats in the Rexall Centre, no shell to assist in the production of high-quality natural sound, and the aforementioned sky traffic, Drabinsky and Co. really had no choice; it was truly amplified sound or nothing.

I am happy to report that the BlackCreek Festival has achieved the impossible: amplified orchestral sound that gives us a reasonable facsimile of the real thing. To be sure, the harp and celesta in excerpts from Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet” were too loud, but otherwise there was warmth, nuance and depth in the string sound and timbral accuracy in the winds and brass. The volume was robust but never excessive.

Even more impressive, perfect for a concert in a venue such as this, was the imaginative use of video. On the big screen overhanging the stage we saw useful facial and profile shots of Maazel and of the vocal soloists positioned with the chorus behind the orchestra and all but invisible to the audience. Most importantly, we had close-ups of Dame Helen Mirren and Jeremy Irons (photo: right) as they played a dozen different characters from Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Without the video, the audience would have missed completely Irons’ vast range of facial expressions and the subtle interplay with Mirren.

Nor was this “basic video” to spice up the proceedings. Clearly, the video team had taken a great deal of time and trouble to match their shots to the words and the music. This was excellent work that would greatly enhance concert hall performances of similar repertoire.

Orchestra of Maazel’s Making

The Castleton Festival Orchestra had been virtually hand-picked by Maestro Maazel and had been working with him for several weeks. If it did not rise to the level of the New York Philharmonic, his most recent orchestra, it was nonetheless a fine body of players.

Maazel has long been known as a superior technician. His stick technique is clear and decisive and his knowledge of a vast repertoire is legendary. As Maazel ages, he seems less concerned with dazzling effects and more with beauty and expression. Watching him on the podium I am reminded of Fritz Reiner – not that I am old enough to have ever seen Reiner “live” – whose technique and demeanor, on DVDs and by reputation, was similar. Reiner never “acted out” the music and his face was virtually immobile. His expression was severe, to say the least, as Maazel’s, for the most part, is today. Such demeanor often elicits greater discipline and closer attention – even fear – on the part of the musicians, especially the young and impressionable.

Maazel like Reiner and all the best conductors, works out the thousands of details of phrasing, articulation and colour in rehearsal. When it comes to the performance what is needed most on the podium is accuracy, reliability and inspiration. Professional players can be depended upon to remember the details and execute them as agreed in rehearsal.

Under less than ideal concert conditions at the Rexall Centre, Maazel and the Castleton Festival Orchestra made music on a gratifyingly high level. The Prokofiev excerpts were powerful and exciting. Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo and Juliet” Fantasy Overture was even better. Maazel had added some dynamics of his own to Tchaikovsky’s score, but they always made musical sense. Rhythms were crisp and the love music was as passionate as one could hope for. Maazel’s articulation of the final chords was unusual but compelling. The timpani crescendo at the end was brilliant.

There are no cheap effects in Mendelssohn’s “Incidental Music for A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and any conductor who attempts to add them is looking for trouble. Maazel obviously loves this music and played it as Mendelssohn surely intended it to be played. His tempi for the Overture and the Scherzo were far slower than those chosen by many conductors who should know better, and to my ears, perfect. With slower tempi, there is time for accurate execution of the rhythms and accents, as well as time for expressive phrasing. Maazel brought out the beauty of the music without wallowing in romanticism.

Special mention should be made of Ottawa-born Joyce El-Khoury, (photo: right) one of Maazel’s favourite sopranos, who recently scored a major success as Mimi in his new production of “La Bohème” at Castleton. El-Khoury’s brief solos in the Mendelssohn had a youthful tone that was a joy to hear.

Mirren and Irons recounted the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” plot line for us and spoke some of its most memorable lines as they played the various characters. This play is magical in its exploration of young love and the interplay of human and supernatural forces. Irons amazed the audience with his command of accents and voices, and Mirren lived up to her reputation as one of the most skilled and versatile actresses of our time.

It was a glorious concert, with the music, poetry, actors and musicians all combining magnificently to overcome the risks of performing in an open air venue.

But did the people come? I would guess that there were fewer than 2,000 people in attendance on this night in a facility that holds 11,000, a much smaller audience than had shown up for Domingo on opening night.

I suspect that while we had the crème de la crème in Maazel, Mirren, Irons et. al., only the pop stars and classical superstars like Domingo will be able to fill a place as big as the Rexall, and at such inflated prices.

Something has got to give; either Drabinsky gives up trying to present classical music in such a venue or he drastically reduces the prices for such events.

Maazel in for More than a Midsummer’s Night at BlackCreek

As suggested earlier in this piece, the two festivals covered here are a study in contrasts but they also intersect in interesting ways.

Castleton is one artist’s vision of how to develop young talent. Maazel economizes by using his own property and a lot of his own money but the scope of the vision requires more resources in the long run. Maazel is thinking long-term. I note that on the Staff List for the BlackCreek Festival, Maazel is listed as “Artistic Advisor, Classical Programming.”

This is where Castleton and BlackCreek come together. Maazel wants the exposure that BlackCreek can give his young performers but he also needs the income. Fees from appearances such as this, beyond Castleton, surely help to subsidize the basic programme back home. On the basis of his reputation and contacts, Maazel has been able to set up similar arrangements in California (Berkeley), Maryland (Bethesda), Virginia (Manassas), and China (Beijing).

After all, it makes no economic sense to be mounting full-scale opera productions and concerts in Castleton with a large orchestra in a facility seating 400; only by repeating them elsewhere can the costs be recouped.

Castleton and BlackCreek are both exciting, new ventures, albeit it with very different goals. Time will tell whether their visionary founders have understood their markets and accurately crunched their numbers.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” NEW for friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

Roberto Sierra (photo: above) was born in Puerto Rico and studied with György Ligeti in Germany. Since 1992 he has been a member of the faculty of music at Cornell University, and is widely recognized as one of the leading composers of his generation.

Sierra’s “Missa Latina ‘Pro Pace’ (For Peace)” was commissioned by Washington’s National Symphony and the Choral Arts Society, and Leonard Slatkin conducted the premiere with those combined ensembles in 2006. Since that time the work has been performed in major cities around the United States, each time with great success.

Craig Hella Johnson (photo: right) and Conspirare brought the “Missa Latina” to Texas last month with performances in Victoria and in Austin, where I heard it.

Some years ago composer Osvaldo Golijov had a major triumph with his “Pasión según San Marco” (2000), which combined elements of the Christian liturgy with folkloric elements from the music of Latin America. Sierra attempts a similar cross-fertilization but in a more conservative, less theatrical way. Both works are valuable additions to the modern repertoire of Christian liturgical music.

Sierra clearly sets himself in the great tradition of symphonic masses; that is to say, compositions by the great composers which reach beyond the confines of church services. J.S. Bach was one of the originators of this tradition with his “B minor Mass” and then came Haydn, Beethoven, and Bruckner.

In the twentieth century Leonard Bernstein took a radical, popularizing approach to the challenge of writing a mass and produced a work that is still controversial. Although Sierra didn’t use Bernstein as a model he introduced “pop” elements from his own Caribbean culture. He also emulated Bernstein in wanting to convey a social message through his music. Sierra, who has often said that he is troubled by the “constant state of war” in our modern world, added a plea for peace to his Latin mass.

The “Missa Latina” begins with an ‘Introitus,’ the opening words of which are “Da pacem, Domine” (Give peace, O Lord). This ‘Introitus,’ which is slow-moving, quiet and dominated by the soprano soloist, also has a languid peacefulness that reminded me of several of Canteloube’s “Songs of the Auvergne,” but then the ‘Kyrie’ bursts forth and we are in the midst of an angry world very much in need of peace. The ‘Gloria’ follows, providing relief with dance rhythms and major key brightness abounding. The ‘Credo’ is again dark and disturbing. It is here that we are reminded of the coming of Jesus and his crucifixion.

The ‘Sanctus’ contains the most joyous music in the “Missa Latina” and listeners may well have trouble resisting the urge to get up and dance. The work ends with an ‘Agnus Dei’ and another plea for peace. The soprano solo is dominant in this movement with soaring, quasi-improvisatory melodic patterns. Sierra ends the work on a positive note, repeating the rhythmically infectious Alleluia from the ‘Offertorium.’

In spite of its use of popular Latin dance rhythms, the “Missa Latina” is a deeply serious and complex work. The harmonies are often abrasively chromatic and the contrapuntal choral writing occasionally academic.

One of the weaknesses of the piece may be that it is so relentlessly thick in texture. The “Missa Latina” might have benefitted greatly from the addition of several purely orchestral episodes, and a more frequent use of solos in the orchestra; for the most part, the upper strings in the orchestra couldn’t be heard at all through the obscuring weight of the wind and brass – even in quiet passages. This imbalance is not the fault of the conductor; it is simply poor orchestration. As with so many things in art and life, less is often more.

The same principle applies to the vocal solos. Soprano Heidi Grant Murphy (photo: right), who was featured in the premiere performance and in many subsequent ones, sang magnificently on this occasion, with a lovely range of colors and total command of phrasing. Sierra, however, went too far in his demands on the soprano voice. Murphy began to show signs of strain near the end of her performance, by which time some audience members were clearly beginning to tire of the seemingly endless soprano solos in this piece.

Happily, Ms. Murphy had no trouble projecting over the choral and orchestral forces. Baritone Daniel Teadt, on the other hand, was too often simply overwhelmed.

The Conspirare Symphonic Choir and the Conspirare Company of Voices were joined by the Texas State University Chorale and the Victoria Bach Festival Orchestra and Chorus, under the direction of conductor Craig Hella Johnson. As is the case with most productions organized by Johnson and Conspirare, the musical standard was extraordinarily high.

Judging by the enthusiastic response at the Austin performance, the audience loved the “Missa Latina.” True, they were applauding the performers, most of whom are known and respected locally, but surely they were also expressing their appreciation for a work which challenged them and enriched their lives. As does Beethoven’s “Missa Solemnis,” a work many listeners still find “difficult” to understand, Sierra’s “Missa Latina” packs an emotional and dramatic punch that is almost irresistible.

For Those Wanting More…

The “Missa Latina” was recorded in 2008 by the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra and Chorus conducted by Andreas Delfs with Heidi Grant Murphy, soprano, and Nathaniel Webster, baritone (Naxos 8.559624). Much of Roberto Sierra’s vast compositional output has been recorded. For a complete list and more information about the composer visit his website at www.robertosierra.com.

For the record, this was not the Texas premiere of Sierra’s “Missa Latina; that honour goes to the Houston Symphony and Chorus, led by Leonard Slatkin (May, 2009) with – yes, Heidi Grant Murphy as the soprano soloist!

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” NEW for friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

The Beethoven Ninth Symphony is one of the most overplayed pieces in orchestral literature, but it sells tickets by the bushel and managers seldom go wrong, even when programming it season after season. To call it “overplayed” is not to say that it isn’t a great work or that it doesn’t bring out the best in conductors and orchestras; indeed it is and indeed it does. These facts took me back to Dallas recently to hear Jaap van Zweden and the Dallas Symphony (DSO) engage with the Ninth in the Meyerson Symphony Center.

Van Zweden recorded all the Beethoven symphonies in his native Holland, and recently he recorded the Fifth and the Seventh with the Dallas Symphony. To a certain extent, then, I knew what to expect: intensity, excitement, speed. The quick tempi are by no means arbitrary; Beethoven’s metronome markings require them. That said, conductors of the stature of Otto Klemperer were highly regarded in their time for tempi that were extremely slow – they simply ignored the metronome markings and no-one seemed to care.

That was yesterday. Today we live in a more enlightened time, a time in which period instrument specialists have come to the fore and respect for the written score is more the fashion.

Former Violinist van Zweden a Master of Nuance

From the perspective of the early 21^st Century, it might seem obvious that the composer’s metronome markings should be followed. There was a reason, however, why some of the great conductors of the past – not to mention piano soloists and string quartets – looked askance at some of these markings; some of them were surely mistakes. Perhaps Beethoven didn’t understand how to use the newly-invented metronome, or perhaps he was simply too deaf to judge how fast his music could be played. In any case, there is still plenty of room for disagreement over correct tempi for the Beethoven symphonies. Ultimately, the success or failure of a performance depends not so much on choice of tempi but on what the conductors and players can do within those tempi.

In van Zweden’s case what is most remarkable is that he somehow finds time for the most nuanced phrasing even at the fastest tempo. This was particularly evident on this occasion in the slow movement variations. The slower tempi taken by many conductors here to underscore the gravity of the music, often render the movement interminable and shapeless. Van Zweden adopts the composer’s metronome markings and this makes the complex figurations the strings must play very difficult. How is it possible to give meaning to this multitude of notes at such tempi? The answer is meticulous rehearsal, with infinite care taken over dynamics and choice of bow stroke. As an ex-string virtuoso, van Zweden has a special talent for achieving the results he’s after.

Two Superb Concertmasters for the Price of One!

In this performance, Maestro van Zweden was supported by not one but two master concertmasters at the first desk. Newly-appointed DSO concertmaster Alexander Kerr (photo: right) was on hand and sitting beside him was David Taylor, a longtime assistant concertmaster of the Chicago Symphony. Taylor had been engaged many months ago as a guest concertmaster at the beginning of the search for a successor to Emanuel Borok. Partway through the process, a decision was made to appoint Kerr. That meant that Taylor never got a chance to show what he could do; nevertheless, he honoured his original agreement and came along anyway. It should come as no surprise that the DSO string sound on this night was special.

Incidentally, Alexander Kerr succeeded van Zweden as concertmaster of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. You can see him in action with the RCO playing the solos in Strauss’ “Ein Heldenleben” with Mariss Jansons conducting, on a DVD issued in 2004 (RCO 04103)

The entire Dallas Symphony played the Beethoven Ninth with commitment and precision. A special mention is due new timpanist, ex-Detroit Symphony principal Brian Jones. He raised the roof in the big moments – his solos in the scherzo, and the dynamic rolls and sharp accents at the recapitulation in the first movement – and blended his sound beautifully with the ensemble when required.

Choral Dynamics and Phrasing Exceptional

The Dallas Symphony Chorus reached an international standard under the late David R. Davidson, and on this occasion was more than adequate under its assistant conductor Melody Gamblin-Bullock. Her name was not included in the original printed programme but by the second night performance – the one I attended – she had made it into the insert. This was an inexcusable oversight. In any case, as of this summer Joshua Habermann, a University of Texas graduate with a great breadth of choral conducting experience, will be in charge of the chorus.

What struck me about the choral contribution in this performance were the vast number of major and minor alterations in dynamics and phrasing. These are not found in the printed score but most of them made perfect sense. These were obviously Jaap van Zweden’s ideas and many of them were clearly based on similar passages in the orchestra. It is often said that Beethoven treated voices like instruments. Van Zweden took this characterization literally and made the vocal parts much more expressive and interesting than usual.

Among the soloists there was a last-minute substitution. Soprano Sabina Cvilak fell ill and was replaced by Texas resident Jeanine Thames. Unfortunately, her contribution was simply not up to the overall standard of the performance. On the other hand, bass Luca Pisaroni was excellent, with a strong presence and fine evenness of tone and intonation throughout his wide-ranging solos.

Multi-talented Tao Shines in Shostakovich

The concert began with the Concerto No. 1 for Piano, Solo Trumpet and Strings Op. 35 by Shostakovich. The soloist was 15-year-old Chinese-American pianist Conrad Tao (photo: right) , an uncommonly gifted young man who plays both piano and violin and is also a composer. He lives in New York and studies at Juilliard. He charmed the audience with his technique and his ability to tease the playfulness out of the music. Van Zweden “discovered” this young artist at a concert they did together in Singapore and no doubt Tao will become a regular guest with the DSO.

The solo trumpet part in the Shostakovich was played with equal virtuosity by principal trumpet of the Dallas Symphony, Ryan Anthony. Anthony tossed off the many fanfares in the piece without appearing to break a sweat and brought a lovely singing quality to the bluesy solo in the slow movement.

For Those Wanting More…

Laurie Shulman writes the uncommonly thorough programme notes for the Dallas Symphony. She also gives many of the DSO’s pre-concert talks. In addition, she is the author of a massive and comprehensive book on the building of the Meyerson Symphony Center. This book is not only an historic document on the construction of one of the world’s great concert halls, but also a first-rate primer on acoustical design. Wearing her acoustical design hat. Laurie was recently invited to the opening of a radically-rebuilt concert hall in Omsk, Siberia. The man responsible for getting the acoustics right in Omsk was Nicholas Edwards, the man largely responsible for ensuring that the Myerson turned out so well. Edwards was also the acoustician for Symphony Hall in Birmingham, England. During her visit to Omsk, Laurie blogged every day for the DSO.

On the subject of concertmasters and former Detroit Symphony musicians, it has just been announced that Detroit Symphony concertmaster Emmanuelle Boisvert will be moving to the Dallas Symphony next season to take up the position of Associate Concertmaster. These latest defections from Detroit underscore how difficult it has been to keep that orchestra going in a tough economy. But Boisvert is a wonderful player and the Dallas Symphony is lucky to have her. This appointment also speaks volumes about the ability of Maestro van Zweden to attract top players to Dallas.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” NEW for friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

While opera fans are notoriously old-fashioned when it comes to stage directors bringing overarching new ideas to their favourite works, it is clear that if opera is going to have any future, it must be open to creative re-thinking.

Wieland Wagner successfully updated his grandfather’s “Ring” cycle at Bayreuth in the 1950s, and Karajan and Schneider-Siemssen used cutting edge projection technology to add a new dimension to the” Ring” cycle at Salzburg in the 1960s. In 1976, Patrice Chereau gave us something to think about with his radical new “Ring” at Bayreuth. In 2011, we have Robert LePage plumbing the depths of his prodigious imagination to produce an early 21^st century “Ring” at the Met.

Watching LePage’s “Die Walküre,” live in HD from the Met, I was often enraptured by the words and the music and moved to tears on several occasions. It was a magnificent production – no doubt about it – with some of the finest Wagnerian singing and conducting one could ever hope to hear. LePage, the stage director, deserves much credit for the power of the experience.

That said, LePage’s overall vision can only be described as “underwhelming” at best and, under the circumstances, obscenely expensive.

The Machine With a Mind of its Own!

Peter Gelb must have lost his mind the day he agreed to fund a new “Ring” cycle based on a 45-ton machine (photo:above) that required the Met to reinforce its own stage. “The Machine”, as it is called at the Met, is a giant seesaw with 24 aluminum planks. It can be manipulated to make all manner of architectural and/or symbolic configurations. Standing more or less vertical, it acts as a screen for projections.

In theory, this set piece was promising; in practice, it proved hard to handle. On the opening night of “Das Rheingold,” the ‘rainbow bridge’ conversion failed to materialize and the gods were left to make a mortal exit – stage right.

Such difficulties persisted. The “Met Live in HD” performance of ‘Die Walküre’ I attended started 35 minutes late while technicians scrambled to figure out why their computers were not able to communicate with the encoding sensors in the planks.

Inhibitor Rather than Facilitator of Directorial Creativity?

Worse than these technical difficulties, in my opinion, was the realization that “The Machine” gave us little of artistic merit to justify the enormous amounts of time and money spent on it, and led, it seemed, to some rather inappropriate directorial choices; for example, did we really need “The Machine” to show us Valkyries pretending to ride horses (photo:above) – some said it looked more like surfing – in Act III? Or the planks jacked up vertically to form a wall – as they were for Siegmund and Hunding’s battle – thereby reducing the vast Met stage to a long, narrow downstage playing area, giving this critical scene a cheap and claustrophobic look, when it should have been apocalyptic! Or Brünnhilde, in the final scene of the opera, lying, not on a rock but upside down at the top of a wall. What was that about?

In this scene, Wotan – with Loge’s invisible help – lit the “magic fire” that surrounds and protects Brünnhilde. Projections on “The Machine” showed what passed for “fire” in this production. But surely Wagner intended something awe-inspiring here – a fire massive and threatening enough to fend off all comers with the exception of the hero (Siegfried) who alone will be capable of braving the conflagration to wake Brünnhilde.

LePage’s fire was puny and wouldn’t have frightened a child.

During the scene in Hunding’s hut, while Siegmund is telling Sieglinde his life’s story, the audience viewed projections on “The Machine” of moving figures in black suggesting warriors and dogs in combat. It was all rather primitive and unnecessary; one easily got the sense of the story from the words and the music.

In short, “The Machine” is not nearly as versatile as its inventor imagined it would be. My overall impression is that LePage simply ran out of creative ways to use it.

Stars Upstage “The Machine” in Movie House

Fortunately, at least in the HD version, audiences could spend less time being disappointed in the set and more being fascinated by the characters in close-up. The Metropolitan Opera House is a huge barn of a place with most customers seated too far away to see facial expressions without opera glasses. The “Met Live in HD” changes this relationship and the technology pays enormous dividends.

Wagner’s “Ring” has its big moments, but more often it is a sort of recitative with characters telling stories in intricate verse. In this particular production, the words really meant something and were sung with deeply convincing expression. And we, the “Met Live in HD” audience, had the added benefit of ‘seeing’ the physical expression of that emotion.

Most expressive, perhaps, was Bryn Terfel (photo:right). Even with only one eye, he communicated volumes, and made every syllable count. His vocalizing was glorious, especially in the final scene, as he sings goodbye to his beloved Brünnhilde.

Deborah Voigt (photo:right) was an ideal Brünnhilde. She looked young enough to be Wotan’s daughter – a rare occurrence in “Ring” cycles – had plenty of voice for this demanding role and presumably with LePage’s encouragement, brought out the strength, the vulnerability and the playfulness of this character.

As Siegmund (photo:right), Jonas Kaufmann was uncommonly handsome and his singing got better as the performance unfolded. He tended to go sharp in his upper register in Act I but was pretty much dead-on in Act II. He doesn’t have the stentorian tones of a classic Heldentenor, but at his best he projects both strength and beauty of sound. As his sister Sieglinde, Eva-Maria Westbroek (photo:right) also sang with strength and beauty and produced a special richness in the lower register. When these two lovers kissed, we believed it was the real thing.

It is no longer news that Stephanie Blythe is one of the Met’s greatest assets. In the role of Fricka in this production, she matched Terfel in both inspired histrionics and subtlety of phrasing. Making her entrance on top of ‘The Machine” in what appeared to be a mechanized wheelchair – albeit without wheels – she never left it. Was this device meant to suggest she was disabled? Was it a throne? Or was it was just another way to justify “The Machine”.

Maestro James Levine on the Podium Despite Health Issues

The extraordinary performances in this “Ring” could only be fully realized with the support of a fine orchestra and an authoritative conductor. We had both in this performance. The Met Orchestra, a virtuoso ensemble, played with heart-rending expressiveness from beginning to end. The intermission feature with players from the brass section introducing their instruments – especially the Wagner tubas – demonstrating their sounds, and explaining what the ‘leitmotifs’ do, was excellent.

This performance also had the air of an historic occasion, thanks to James Levine’s presence on the podium. Levine (photo:right) has suffered mightily in the past few years as his health has deteriorated. His pain and physical incapacity have gotten so bad that he has had to give up the music directorship of the Boston Symphony and to cancel dozens of performances at the Met. There was a great deal of uncertainty as to whether he would be able to conduct this performance of “Die Walküre.” Happily, he not only showed up, but was in total control of the performance from the opening bars. At the end of the opera, he remained seated at the podium in the pit instead of joining the cast on stage for bows; but even the healthiest of conductors have been known to exhaust themselves conducting operas as long and as complex as “Die Walküre.”

The music was in excellent hands but what appeared on stage was less satisfactory. For all the hype about LePage’s remarkable new equipment, invented to give us an imaginative re-telling of the “Ring,” we waited in vain for ‘The Machine” to burst forth with a genuine ‘coup de theâtre’ Even more significant, perhaps, was its failure to serve the arch of the drama.

By all means, let’s have a unit set that morphs from one scene to another, but as it morphs let it complement the storyline – let it, in the case of the “Ring,” enable us to visualize the worlds of both gods and men, and let it illuminate the arenas in which they intersect as each is affected by uncontrolled pride, greed and passion.

LePage’s machine may have been conceived as a ‘means to an end,’ but halfway through this “Ring” cycle, it has become a deeply flawed end in itself.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” NEW for friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

It’s not possible to be in two places at once, or is it? Thanks to “The Met Live in HD,” I virtually spent the afternoon in New York enjoying “Le Comte Ory,” and the evening at the Long Center in Austin, Texas, totally engrossed in Jonathan Dove’s “Flight” as presented by the Austin Lyric Opera.

“Le Comte Ory” and “Flight” are far from standard opera fare, yet both were first-class entertainment, and, in the case of “Flight,” philosophically interesting too. These two productions had something else in common; each of them involved the birth of a child – one off stage and the other on, but more about that later.

Rossini’s “Le Comte Ory” may not be as noteworthy as his “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” or “La Cenerentola,” but in a production as good as this one by The Met, with a cast almost too good to be true, it doesn’t really matter.

Director Bartlett Sher has a real flair for this kind of piece. “Le Comte Ory” is essentially a small scale chamber piece best seen in an opera house seating 500-1,000 people. It is really absurd to be producing it at The Met with its 3,800 seats.

Size and space notwithstanding, Sher worked magic. Rather than destroy the work by opening it out to the parameters of the mammoth Met stage, he preserved the essence of the opera by scaling down. To accomplish this, he came up with the ‘conceit’ of doing the opera as a play within a play. He devised a stage or raised playing area using only a small part of the vast Met stage.

What the audience saw was activity on and offstage, as it were, with a stage manager “managing” and his crew moving sets, props, and the curtain as required. How this all looked to The Met audience at the back of the third tier I have no idea, but for the audience in the movie theatre it was an ideal way to present the opera. Of course, the movie audience also had the advantage of being able to see facial expressions and the small bits of business that propelled the production.

Heading the cast were singers ideal for their roles: tenor Juan Diego Florez as the hopelessly randy Count Ory; mezzo-soprano Joyce Di Donato as his page; and soprano Diana Damrau as the Countess Adèle.

Florez was sensational tossing off his high Cs and Ds and Damrau inhabited the coloratura stratosphere as if she owned it. Di Donato, who didn’t get to demonstrate any high-pitched fireworks, did what she always does – made a gorgeous sound and executed the technical turf with the greatest of ease and accuracy.

The ensembles were impressive. With a brilliant conductor at the helm, in the person of Maurizio Benini, these complicated set pieces came off splendidly. The Act I finale had speed, accuracy and most remarkably, beauty of sound.

The most memorable scene in the opera was indubitably the ‘three-in-a-bed romp’ with Florez, Damrau and Di Donato, all of whom must have worked for days with director Sher to get the movements of hands, legs, lips, etc. to coordinate so perfectly with the music. There is definitely potential in this scene for a slapstick and tasteless rendering, but Sher didn’t go there; instead, he gave us a sophisticated and intricate staging, clearly based on Molière and the high art of Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century French comedy.

After a break for dinner – and an update on the Masters from Augusta – Marita and I dashed downtown to see a very different kind of opera.

Jonathan Dove’s “Flight” was premiered at Glyndebourne in 1998, and for a contemporary work, it has garnered an extraordinary number of productions around the world. It’s a “comic opera,” for the most part, but in no way does it relate to “musical comedy” or the lighter category of musical stage works. The music in “Flight” is highly complex – particularly in its rhythms – and there are no arias in the usual sense of the word.

As I have suggested, “Flight” also has a philosophical dimension. It is based on the real life tragedy of an Iranian refugee named Mehran Nasseri, who lived in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris for nearly eighteen years. Without proper papers, no country would take him. The story is best known in a 2004 film version by Steven Spielberg (“Terminal”), but a more reliable source is Nasseri’s own autobiography “The Terminal Man.”

Dove and his librettist (April de Angelis) have depicted Nasseri’s story not only in its essence, but also as a kind of parable for our times. That said, they focus on the comic potential and downplay some of the most disturbing elements. In real life, Nasseri was trapped by the rigidity of immigration departments in Belgium, France and the U.K. He may also have been mentally ill. He was finally released from his terminal “prison” for health reasons and is now apparently living in a homeless shelter.

In “Flight,” Nasseri is simply called ‘The Refugee’ and, somewhat oddly, his plight is treated as a secondary issue. More time is spent on the affair between the Stewardess and the Steward, marital problems between Bill and Tina about to leave on a vacation in the tropics, and a couple going to Minsk. There is also an Older Woman, alone in the terminal but dreaming about relationships past, present and future.

All these people, like ‘The Refugee,’ are trapped in a ‘terminal;’ that is to say, their lives as they have lived them so far. Generally, they are unhappy with who they are and with the people to whom they are married or with whom they have a relationship.

Most travelers – but not ‘The Refugee’ – can eventually leave the “terminal.” In “Flight,” as the characters depart the ‘physical’ terminal at the end of the opera, they also set out with a new sense of themselves and of each other.

One of the most imaginative touches on Jonathan Dove’s part was to score the airport Controller’s part for a coloratura, and correspondingly, on the director’s part, to position her on a very high platform (the control tower) onstage. She is the link between planes and people, sky and earth, and perhaps God and man. Nili Riemer was wonderful in this role, producing soaring lines of melody perfectly in tune with her character.

Equally inspired was the composer’s choice of a counter-tenor voice – an ideal range for a ‘misfit,’ an ‘alien’ – for the role of ‘The Refugee.’ Nicholas Zammit, fresh out of UCLA and a last minute substitute in this production, sang and played this part with beauty, accuracy and a real touch of innocence in his demeanor. Talk about auspicious debuts!

In giving ‘otherworldly’ voices to the Controller and ‘The Refugee,’ both of whom “live” in the terminal but have ‘personas’ that reach out to worlds scarcely imagined or understood, Dove and de Angelis clearly intended to suggest a relationship between these two characters.

This was an excellent cast assembled in Austin by General Director Kevin Patterson, conductor Richard Buckley and stage director Kristine McIntyre.

As usual, Buckley ran a tight ship from the ‘pit’ and deserves a lot of credit for achieving such amazing precision in a very difficult work on opening night.

And the babies I mentioned? The Minsk Woman gave birth on stage in “Flight,” and earlier in the day, just a half hour before her husband was due on stage at The Met, Mrs. Juan Diego Florez gave birth to a son, Leandro, at home in the Upper West Side of New York. May both newcomers live long and happy lives!

It was a compliment to the stature of this production that composer Jonathan Dove was in attendance. He appeared on stage with the cast to share in the well-deserved applause at the end. I suspect that he was pleased with what he saw and heard.

Incidentally, whoever harbors the notion that Austin doesn’t appreciate classical music should know that on the occasion of the opening night performance of “Flight” at the Long Center, the Mayor of Austin declared the date “Jonathan Dove Day” in the city!

For Those Wanting More…

While the Met production of “Le Comte Ory” generally pleased the critics, noted Rossini scholar Philip Gossett was not happy.

Gossett believes that the standard 1828 edition of the score used by the Met is unreliable and misrepresents what the composer intended. In his opinion, The Met should have used the new scholarly version based on recently discovered original performance materials; this version is being published by Bärenreiter and has already been used for a production by the Zurich Opera.

It should be noted that Mr. Gossett is the General Editor of this new edition.

In commenting on this dispute in a recent article in the New York Times (April 8, 2011), Anthony Tommasini points out that the newly discovered ‘original’ scoring is fuller and more complete than the 1828 edition: “The Act I finale, which Rossini lovers know as a madcap ensemble for seven solo singers and chorus, was originally scored for and performed by 13 solo singers and two combative choruses. And for the spirited final choral ensemble of the opera, which comes after a hauntingly romantic trio and has always seemed strangely abrupt, Mr. Gossett and his team have discovered 100 additional measures.”

So kudos to The Met for reviving this neglected Rossini confection and going all out on the casting, but thumbs down for its failure to take advantage of the latest scholarship.

Paul E. Robinson is the author of “Herbert von Karajan: the Maestro as Superstar,” and ”Sir Georg Solti: His Life and Music.” NEW for friends: The Art of the Conductor podcast, “Classical Airs.”

Photo (above): Maestro Richard Buckley with “Flight” cast members by Marita