Photo by Craig Chesek/Carnegie Hall

In 1936 Shostakovich’s opera “Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District“ had been condemned as “immoral,” and in 1948 he was denounced again at the First Congress of USSR Composers. The charge was “formalism.” The Soviet authorities held the view that all music should serve the ideals of communism, which meant that it should draw on “folk” or “popular” music, it should avoid anything critical of the government, and it should be music that is easily understood by the masses. Obviously, music that is excessively dissonant or complex was unacceptable.

The seriousness of these issues cannot be underestimated. Many artists of the period, and some of Shostakovich’s closest friends, were not only denounced but often rendered unemployable, beaten, sent to labour camps or even murdered.

“Anti-Formalist Rayok,” a slight piece but vitally important to understanding the composer and his times, was given its first public performance in Washington in 1989, fourteen years after Shostakovich had passed away. The conductor was Mstislav Rostropovich, one of Shostakovich’s longtime friends and a fervent champion of his music.

Staging, Visuals and Surtitles Engage, Amuse and Inform

In Houston, Hans Graf gave Rayok a first-class performance, featuring the excellent and entertaining bass Mikhail Svetlov, (photo: below right) who literally “changed hats” to portray all three government officials lampooned in the piece. Stalin himself was one of these and we can only imagine what the composer’s fate would have been, had the piece been performed publically in his lifetime. Svetlov sang and acted with power and comic skill.

Shostakovich wrote the piece with piano accompaniment only, but in Houston we heard a version for chamber orchestra by Milman. In this version, the bass soloist is joined by a chorus whose role is basically to reinforce the party line espoused by the lead characters. Having decided that professional singers would produce an overly polished sound, Maestro Graf chose instead to use members of the Houston Symphony for the chorus, dressing them in red shirts for the occasion. They rendered their conformist interjections with great enthusiasm!

The performance of “Anti-Formalist Rayok” was greatly enhanced by the use of historical projections on a screen behind the performers. The younger members of the audience – and there were many in Jones Hall for this concert – probably benefitted as much, if not more than the rest of us, from these contextual visuals.

Symphony No. 11: “The cup of evil has run over”

After intermission came the Symphony No. 11, in a performance that was clearly well-rehearsed and extremely powerful. Shostakovich wrote this symphony four years after Stalin’s death, having outlived the ruthless dictator responsible for the deaths of millions of Soviet citizens. As of its composition in 1957, very little had changed in Soviet life and speaking out against the government was still very unhealthy.

On the face of it, Symphony No. 11 would have been exactly what the authorities demanded from their composers. The program attached to it concerns the failed Russian revolution of 1905 in which workers and peasants staged a massive protest in front of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, demanding that the Tsar relieve their oppression and suffering. The Tsar answered by ordering his troops to massacre the defenseless protesters.

As one digs a little deeper, however, it becomes apparent that there was more on the composer’s mind than the bloody events that led to the downfall of the Tsar and the coming of communism. Shostakovich quotes prison songs in the symphony and those who knew Shostakovich personally claim that he was secretly sympathizing with the Hungarian victims of Soviet guns in 1956. Although I haven’t seen any conclusive evidence for this interpretation, in his “Memoirs“ Shostakovich’s words about this symphony ring true. He recalls that he and his family often discussed the 1905 revolution and what it meant for the Russian people.

It is surely a short-sighted view of Shostakovich to think of him only as an artist in constant fights with the Stalinist regime. He was Russian too and cared deeply about his country and his fellow citizens. In paying tribute in 1957 to those who died in the 1905 revolution, Shostakovich was also saying something profound about Russian leaders of that time. In his own words: “I wrote it in 1957 and it deals with contemporary themes even though it’s called 1905. It’s about the people, who have stopped believing because the cup of evil has run over.”

Unearthly, Searing, Heartbreakingly Beautiful Music

The opening movement of Symphony No. 11 depicts the unearthly quiet in the Palace Square before the massacre. Graf and the Houston Symphony captured perfectly that unbearable calm before the storm. Then came the massacre in the second movement and the orchestra unleashed searing torrents of sound. Never have I heard the bass drum part executed with such devastating effect. In the third movement, the violas have music of heartbreaking beauty and the Houston Symphony players outdid themselves. The final bars were memorable too for the pealing of enormous “bells” at the back of the orchestra.

I suspect that New Yorkers were duly impressed by the quality of the Houston Symphony and the authoritative leadership of Maestro Graf. And Moscow? Critics may say he’s “bringing coals to Newcastle,” but more thoughtful observers will see his all-Shostakovich program as a tribute to Russia and great Russian music. Those who know may also remind Russian listeners that it was the Houston Symphony that gave the North American premiere of this very symphony, and that Hans Graf himself studied conducting in Russia (St. Petersburg) early in his career.

For Something More…

Music lovers outside Houston may not realize that under Hans Graf, the Houston Symphony has been making recordings on a regular basis; these deserve to be better known. Among the most recent are a CD recording of Mahler’s “Das Lied von der Erde”(Naxos 8.572498), and a DVD devoted to Holst’s “The Planets“ with visual images from space assembled by Duncan Copp.

The historic 1958 recording of the Symphony No. 11 by Stokowski and the Houston Symphony was recently re-mastered and re-released on CD by EMI.

The Memoirs I quoted from in my review are perhaps better known as “Testimony,” the book compiled from the composer’s diaries by Soviet musicologist, Solomon Volkov. Although the authenticity of the book has been questioned over the years, it remains a valuable source of information about Shostakovich and his innermost thoughts and beliefs.

Paul 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.”

For Dallas listeners who got to know Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony through one of the many Karajan recordings made between 1957 and 1988, Jaap van Zweden’s tempo for the Scherzo must have come as a shock. Where Karajan takes a very measured tempo – some would say slow and ponderous – van Zweden takes off like a rocket. Who is right? Well, for the record, the score is marked “Allegro moderato;” van Zweden clearly has the score on his side.

It is interesting to note that in 1957, when Karajan made his first recording with the Berlin Philharmonic, there were several other versions available – one of them featuring Eduard van Beinum with the Concertgebouw Orchestra, in which van Beinum took a tempo for the Scherzo very similar to that of van Zweden in this concert. Coincidentally, van Zweden was concertmaster of the (Royal) Concertgebouw Orchestra for 18 years.

Choices: Which Version of Bruckner’s Eighth?

Jaap van Zweden is a conductor who begins work on a score with the assumption that the composer knew what he/she wanted and that the conductor’s job is to convey it. In some instances – Bruckner (photo:right) being a case in point – determining what the composer wanted is not so easy.  Bruckner revised his symphonies after their first performances, and often revised them again – not once, but many times. What is worse, some musicologists have argued that many of these revisions were prompted not by the composer himself, but rather by other musicians who thought they knew better. Some suggest that Bruckner was an insecure man, apt to take bad advice. Such a hazy history leaves the conductor with many decisions to make about which version of a given Bruckner symphony represents what the composer intended. There are no fewer than 34 different versions of the nine Bruckner symphonies.

Bruckner completed his Symphony No. 8 in 1887, but set about to revise it when his friend, the conductor  Josef Schalk, expressed serious reservations about the work. The revised version was completed in 1890. Most performances today use the Leopold Nowak edition (1955) of this revised version. As far as I could tell, this was also the version used by van Zweden.

Unusual Scoring Presents Special Challenges

The Eighth is one of three symphonies in which Bruckner uses “Wagner tubas.” These are small tenor tubas (photo: right) played by four of the eight French horn players, who alternate between French horn and Wagner tuba in various sections of the score. The symphony is also unusual, especially for Bruckner, in that it uses harps. Actually, it is scored for only one harp, but in order to make the part audible, most conductors add a second harp or even a third, as van Zweden did for this performance. The harp(s) only play during the Trio (middle section) of the Scherzo and in the Adagio, but even with three players, there is a famous passage in the symphony in which they have little chance of being heard.

In the Adagio, at bar 239, the biggest climax of the movement, Bruckner writes arpeggios for the harps while the rest of the orchestra is playing sustained chords at maximum volume (fff). Why Bruckner wrote such an absurdity we’ll never know. In this same bar there is another anomaly: cymbal and triangle make their only appearance in the entire symphony. After sitting for about 40 minutes, these musicians rise to play one note on their instruments, then sit back down again for another 40 minutes. For the record, the Dallas Symphony cymbal and triangle players executed their one note with consummate professionalism.

Over the past five or six years. Jaap van Zweden has been recording Bruckner symphonies with the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic. Most of the nine have already been released, with the Eighth appearing later this year. It will surely be well worth hearing. Van Zweden is a wonderful Bruckner conductor: he loves the music; in long movements, he is able to maintain concentration from beginning to end.; and he has a keen sense of how to balance an orchestra so that the massive brass chords don’t drown everything else out.

DSO’s Outstanding Soloists Flourish under van Zweden

Under van Zweden’s leadership, the Dallas Symphony Orchestra has moved from a very good orchestra to an excellent one – at home in a wide repertoire, built around a rich and stylish body of string players, and featuring outstanding soloists in every section. A few weeks ago they excelled in an historically-informed Bach performance and on this night they played Bruckner as if to the manner born, even though the DSO had last played the Eighth over twelve years ago (April, 2000). I was particularly struck by the sound of the Wagner tubas. Leading this tuba group was DSO associate principal horn David Heyde (photo:above right). He was brilliant. His cohorts played with absolute authority and – particularly in the Adagio – with a heartrending eloquence. I am told that the instruments used were purchased in Europe by DSO principal horn Gregory Hustis; if so, he did a wonderful job finding them. Kudos, as well, to the entire horn section for their fine playing in this concert and to Hustis for performing his many horn solos with distinction.

A special salute is in order for the four gentlemen in the trumpet section. They were using rotary valve instruments, the type of trumpet we associate with German orchestras, which are particularly well-suited to the music of Bruckner because they are less brilliant and less penetrating than piston valve trumpets. Hearing them in Bruckner in the Meyerson, I really appreciated how effectively they blend with strings and horns without losing their distinctive sonority, especially in the lower register. That said, when van Zweden wanted power in the climaxes, they delivered that too.

Finally, I need to applaud the members of the cello section for their beauty of tone and phrasing, especially in the slow movement.

Cogent and Compelling Bruckner No Easy Task

For the sake of transparency, I must declare a lifelong admiration for Bruckner’s symphonies. I have difficulty understanding why his music still meets with such widespread lack of appreciation in North America. Perhaps too many routine performances of his works have dulled their effect. Unfortunately, there are not many conductors who can make long (60 min. plus) symphonies cogent and compelling, and fewer still who can master the style and expression of a Bruckner symphony. Van Zweden can do both and one can hope that Dallas will hear a good deal more Bruckner over the next few seasons – it’s been at least 16 years since the Fifth was played by the DSO!

Van Zweden begins with the printed score, but in the case of Bruckner, he finds far more there than do  most of his fellows. Like all great conductors, if he becomes convinced that it will help the various episodes or phrases flow more naturally into each other, he frequently alters the tempo within a movement, even where there is no such indication in the score. The alternative is to mechanically beat time, and van Zweden is too good a musician to be mechanical.

This sense of when to press on and when to hold back is one of the unwritten secrets of fine music-making.  Music needs to breathe and to have shape. Van Zweden’s conducting of the Bruckner Eighth was filled with subtle changes in tempo and dynamics that brought out the depths of feeling in the music and gave each long movement a convincing unity. To my ears there was only one miscalculation. In the coda of the Adagio, the first violins play a deeply expressive melody on their G string with soft accompaniment from the other strings, horns and Wagner tubas. This passage is unbelievably touching and has the special quality of inwardness (innigkeit). I felt that van Zweden broke the mood by overdoing the crescendo in the horns.

Meyerson Built to Customize Sound

Earlier, I alluded to the role of the acoustics in the Meyerson. I really can’t say enough about what it means to have such a glorious hall, one that enables music to be heard at its best. The Dallas Symphony musicians perform on the best instruments money can buy but the sound they produce needs a space designed to enhance that sound. In the Meyerson Symphony Center they have that space and it is one of the finest concert halls in the world.

One feature of this magnificent hall (photo: right) is that the basic sound – which is already superb – can be altered to suit the music being played. Above the uppermost seating level – the Grand Tier – is a reverberation chamber. The doors of this chamber can be opened or closed to alter the reverberation time. In the case of the Bruckner performance, the doors were opened wide to increase the reverberation time to almost maximum. Knowing that Bruckner spent much of his life as an organist in a huge cathedral, and that the sound of his symphonies has often been compared to the sound of a cathedral organ, most musicians believe that a cathedral-like reverberation is exactly what the music requires.

A wonderful feature of the Meyerson is that while reverberation time can be increased, it can be done without loss of clarity. That is why this Bruckner Eighth was so special. There may be orchestras and conductors who can play the music as well as the Dallas Symphony and Jaap van Zweden, but few if any concert halls measure up to the acoustic enhancement of the experience provided by the Meyerson.

For Something More…

There are two exceptional Karajan DVDs of Bruckner’s Symphony No. 8 available – both with the Vienna Philharmonic. The first of them (DG 00440 073 4395), filmed in 1979, is noteworthy for the fact that it was a performance given in St. Florian’s Church in Linz, the very church where Bruckner had been organist. It is also the most beautiful and intense performance of the Adagio I have ever heard. As is well-known, performing symphonic music in a huge cathedral is extremely difficult due to the long reverberation time and making a recording of such a performance is even more challenging. As was his practice in Bruckner, Karajan used two sets of timpani for this performance and in the finale they practically obliterate everything else.

Karajan’s second DVD of the Symphony No. 8 (SonySVD-46403) was filmed at the Musikverein in Vienna, just a few months before he died. Although it is a much better recording than the first and features glorious playing, it is very slow and lacks the spontaneity of the St. Florian’s performance.

For more on the acoustics of the Meyerson Symphony Center, I refer you to Laurie Shulman’s “The Meyerson Symphony Center: the Building of a Dream,” published in 2000 by the University of North Texas Press.

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.”

Jaap van Zweden, recently named Conductor of the Year by “Musical America,” has been recognized by music-lovers in Dallas since 2008 – the start of his music directorship of the DSO –  as an extraordinary leader of musicians. He has impressed audiences and critics alike in the “Big D” with his readings of Tchaikovsky, Mahler, Bruckner and Shostakovich, remarkable for their intensity and high performance standard.

But the music of Bach (photo: right), especially the “St. Matthew Passion,” is something else again. The forces here are large but they are rarely powerful. No trumpets, trombones or percussion required for this piece. This music needs a lighter touch, deep insight into the sacred texts, and a performing style that is historically accurate. Tonight’s performance revealed to Dallas audiences this other side of Jaap van Zweden, and again he proved masterful on the highest level. For this listener, it was a performance for the ages, full of beauty and insight from beginning to end.

Once again, we must remember that much of van Zweden’s musical education took place during his eighteen years as concertmaster of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam. Sitting in that orchestra, van Zweden worked with some of the finest conductors of his generation – among them Nikolaus Harnoncourt, a man renowned for his painstaking work on performance practice in music from the Baroque and Classical periods. Van Zweden has frequently mentioned that he learned a great deal from Harnoncourt about how this music should be played, but this performance was not simply a matter of copying what Harnoncourt did.

Masterminding a Historically Accurate Performance

The understanding of historically correct performance practice has evolved over time and will continue to evolve as scholars and scholar-performers like Harnoncourt (photo: right), Gardiner, Koopman, Herreweghe and others dig deeper. Harnoncourt himself, for example, recorded the “St. Matthew Passion” no fewer than three times between 1970 and 2000 and each performance is different. In other words, to say that van Zweden learned from Harnoncourt is only to say that van Zweden learned from him a great deal about period performance practice as a starting point for his own study. What we heard in Dallas was not a “St. Matthew Passion” modeled on Harnoncourt but a living, breathing performance that only van Zweden and his singers and players could have given.

On this occasion, Van Zweden was limited by the fact that he had only a week of rehearsals, that he was working with musicians playing on modern instruments, and that these musicians were largely inexperienced with this style of performance. He asked the string players to use much less vibrato and a lighter and more nuanced bowing style than they were accustomed to using. In addition, he penned all manner of dynamic markings in their parts. He even changed the length of some of the notes in the score, often shortening long notes in accordance with period style, thus allowing for greater clarity. He frequently delineated cadences at the end of phrases with Luftpausen, literally a “lift” of the bow before the cadence.

The winds sounded different too. Van Zweden expressed a preference for the more mellow sound of wooden flutes as compared to the metal flutes used in most orchestras today, and the DSO flutists obliged him by using wooden ‘head joints’, i.e., the part of the flute with the mouthpiece.

All these touches are the stuff of historically authentic performances. We should also mention the generally faster tempi and modest chorus and orchestra sizes favoured by van Zweden in accordance with what is now known about what would have been done in Bach’s time. Record buffs can make their own comparisons between any of the Harnoncourt or Gardiner recordings and the older ones by Mengelberg, Klemperer or Karajan. The words ‘grandiose’ and/or ‘lugubrious’ come to mind when describing these traditional performances

Outstanding Musicians and Soloists Rise to the Occasion

Strict adherence to scholarly practice does not in itself guarantee a great performance of anything, let alone a work as profound as the “St. Matthew Passion.” One still requires excellent singers and musicians and a conductor who can put such a complex piece together and make it compelling; thankfully, we had all these things and more on this night in Dallas.

Let’s start with the man telling the story in Bach’s Passion. The Evangelist, as he is called, needs to have the most flexible of tenor voices and a compelling presence. The Austrian tenor Johannes Chum (photo: right) was that man and I never expect to hear a finer performance. He never shouted, sobbed or waved his arms about. He simply sang the music and conveyed the meaning of the words. That was more than enough. His rendering of the passage in which Peter vehemently denies Jesus, not once but three times, was heartbreaking, especially on the words ‘Und ging heraus und weinete bitterlich’ (And he went out and wept bitterly). Baritone Morgan Smith sang the role of Christus (Jesus) with great dignity and again, let the music and the words speak for themselves.

The solo arias contain enormous expressive and technical challenges; soprano Camilla Tilling sang them beautifully, with near-perfect control. Even more impressive was alto Jennifer Johnston. Her rendering of the celebrated aria ‘Erbarme dich’ was poignant beyond description, and the orchestral accompaniment led by concertmaster Alexander Kerr was sublime. I can’t imagine how Jaap van Zweden got the strings to play their sustained notes so softly. The pizzicato in the double basses was exactly what was needed – loud enough to mark the rhythm but not so loud that it obtruded on the hushed sadness Bach so obviously wanted here. Kerr’s solo playing displayed a flawless technique and beautiful tone, always, as we might say, ‘within the frame.’ This great solo does not require the heavy richness of tone we associate with Brahms or Tchaikovsky. In fact, that kind of playing would destroy the purity of Bach’s conception, not to mention be stylistically misguided.

Bass Alastair Miles was a tower of strength. His great solo ‘Mache dich’ was sung with effortless command of the long lines and with a richness of tone that reminded me of Tom Krause in his prime. Tenor John McVeigh was another solid performer apart from a few brief moments of strain in his upper register.

Incidentally, another superb violinist, Emanuelle Boisvert, until recently concertmaster of the Detroit Symphony, led the second orchestra in this performance. She too contributed some fine solo playing in her accompaniment of the bass aria “Gebt mir meinen Jesum wieder.”

The Dallas Symphony Chorus, under its newly-appointed director Joshua Habermann (photo: right) has had very little experience with this repertoire in recent years, but rose to the occasion. This is not “Carmina Burana” or the Beethoven Ninth. The “St. Matthew Passion” requires very controlled and disciplined singing and the chorus must have worked hard to master it. The Children’s Chorus of Greater Dallas were similarly well-prepared and sang very well indeed. Too bad Bach didn’t call for children’s voices in Part Two.

Guest Continuo Trio a Perfect Choice

In between the arias and choruses in the “St. Matthew Passion” are pages of recitative in which the soloists are accompanied only by a continuo group, on this occasion comprised of William Skeen (viola da gamba), Phoebe Carrai (cello) and Hanneke van Proosdij (organ). These players were borrowed from the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra in San Francisco and they were superb. Their parts are pretty unobtrusive except when they are not perfect. These musicians were perfect and enhanced the performance immeasurably. William Skeen was also very impressive in two of the arias, particularly the bass aria ‘Komm, süsses Kreuz.’

Two Orchestras Double Heavenly Sound

There are two choruses and two orchestras in the St. Matthew Passion. Each orchestra has two flutes, two oboes and strings. The oboists are sometimes called upon to play other instruments, namely either an oboe d’amore or an oboe da caccia. In this performance the oboe d’amore parts were played by Erin Hannigan and Brent Ross, and the oboe da caccia parts were played on English horns by David Matthews and Willa Henigman. All four players were outstanding and one marveled anew at Bach’s musical imagination in the use of these instruments. Especially memorable was the soprano aria ‘Aus Liebe’ in which the sole orchestral accompaniment is a flute and a pair of oboes da caccia (English horns), and the extraordinary alto aria ‘Sehet, sehet’ with a pair of oboes da caccia and continuo. The singing and playing in both cases was heavenly.

Chorales Simple and Profoundly Moving

Lutheran chorales are used throughout the work to break up the storytelling and to involve the congregation. At least that was the intention in Bach’s time. As in so much of the music in the “St. Matthew Passion,” Bach indicated neither tempo nor dynamics. In traditional performances these chorales were often taken very slowly and encumbered with all manner of interpretive glosses as if to underline their seriousness. Early music specialists tend to play these in a more straightforward manner, treading lightly with swells and fades. Van Zweden is of the latter persuasion. Now and again he allows himself stress on a word or phrase but for the most part he plays the chorales simply and definitely without sentimentality.

English Surtitles Engage Listeners: Thankyou!

This evening’s performance was given in the original German, with surtitles in English – a wonderful idea which allowed each listener to follow the story and to be fully engaged. Bach’s audience would, of course, have understood every word, and to present a performance of the “St. Matthew Passion” in 2012 without meeting that same standard would be to totally misrepresent this great masterpiece. There are only two acceptable options today: either translate the work to the language of the audience, or present it in the original German, with surtitles.

As usual, Laurie Shulman’s program notes were thorough, scholarly and very helpful.  I don’t know many orchestras that go to the trouble of commissioning such exemplary notes week in and week out. For this performance of the St. Matthew Passion there were no fewer than nine pages of notes!

For further Listening and Reading…

Nikolaus Harnoncourt’s most recent recording of the St. Matthew Passion is available on Teldec 8573-81036-2. The set also contains a bonus CD-ROM devoted to Bach’s 1736 autograph manuscript. Listeners can put the CDs on their stereo player and follow the score using their computer. Some of Harnoncourt’s thoughts on the work are included in his book “The Musical Dialogue,” published by Amadeus Press in 1989.

There are several recordings available in English. One of the most interesting was done by Leonard Bernstein with the New York Philharmonic in 1963. It is an abridged version but it is dramatically compelling. The CD set also contains an illustrated discussion of the work by Bernstein (Sony SM2K 60727).

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.”

Jaap van Zweden: Photos by Marita

What does it take for a young singer to make it to the stage of the Metropolitan Opera? What does it take to triumph in leading roles with colleagues like Placido Domingo and James Levine? Having achieved all that, what does it take to stay there at the height of operatic superstardom?

In the 1990s, Denyce Graves (photo: right) was the Carmen and Delilah of choice at the Met and all indications were that she had an even bigger career ahead of her, but this was not to be. She suffered through several destructive relationships, one of which destroyed her marriage of 15 years; she had an emotional breakdown; she was experiencing health issues with her vocal cords, and finally, for a time, she lost her voice altogether. But with personal courage and the strength of her marriage in 2009 to Dr. Robert Montgomery, now Chief of Transplant Surgery at Johns Hopkins Medical Center, Denyce Graves has resumed her career. Her current calendar doesn’t include dates at the Met, but she is busy performing all around the world.

In Austin, on this night, Graves gave us some of the music which catapulted her to fame – arias from “Carmen” and “Samson et Dalila” – but also the much more sophisticated “Shéhérazade” by Maurice Ravel. While she charmed the audience with the Bizet and Saint-Saens, for me the highlight of the evening was the Ravel. With conductor Peter Bay teasing exquisite phrasing and sonorities out of the Austin Symphony, Graves gave a virtual master class in vocal artistry. Her singing here was sensual but subtle and beautifully nuanced – a far cry from the earthy style of the “Carmen” excerpts she was to sing later.

My guess is that those in the audience unfamiliar with the text of the three songs, which have enormously long and detailed texts by Tristan Klingsor, got very little out of “Shéhérazade” except the beauty of Graves’ voice.  The texts were provided with the programme; unfortunately, with the house lights down no one could possibly read them!

With today’s technology, the ideal way to present vocal music with important text is by means of surtitles. Surtitles are used in nearly every opera house in the world and should be routine in concert halls as well, not only as a courtesy, but also as a means to engage and build audiences.

Given Denyce Graves’ choice of repertoire, Maestro Peter Bay decided to make this concert an all-French programme, opening with the familiar “Roman Carnival Overture” by Berlioz, which in this instance, apart from a beautifully played English horn solo, lacked power and urgency. Part of the problem may have been my location. Seated in the rear of the mezzanine, I found the playing of the Austin Symphony had clarity but not much presence.

The evening concluded with Ravel’s “La Valse.” Again, the thousands of wondrous details in the score emerged with admirable clarity but the climaxes seemed half-hearted, at best. The fantastic tam-tam effect scarcely registered at all. This complex score is not easy to put together on limited rehearsal time; Bay may have been happy just to keep it together. Perhaps opening night nervousness was partly to blame. Hopefully, the build-up to climaxes in the second night’s performance had more substance and impact.

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.”

Peter Bay: Photo by Marita

EMI 50999 0 94180 2 8 (121m 56s)

This 2-CD set includes all three Piano Trios as well as Theodor Kirchner’s arrangement of the “6 Etudes in Canonic Form Op. 56” and the “Fantasiestücke” Op. 88. Listening to all these pieces, I was struck by how poorly Schumann treated the cello in this instrumental combination. It often simply doubles the left hand of the piano part or is otherwise covered by the other instruments. The cello really only comes into its own in the arrangement of the piano/organ piece “6 Etudes in Canonic Form.” Kirchner was Schumann’s friend and obviously had a better understanding of the use of the cello in a trio. Incidentally, besides being the less-famous sister of violinist Christian Tetzlaff, Tanja Tetzlaff is a fine musician in her own right.

The performances are extremely thoughtful and pay special attention to the softer dynamics. The intimacy of much of this music is superbly realized. The best music is to be found in the Piano Trio Op. 63 and this is a wonderful performance. Time seems to stand still in the slow movement, while the exuberance of the last movement (“Mit Feuer”) is fully realized.

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.”

Aaron Copland: Fanfare for America. A Film by Andreas Skipis

Copland is generally regarded as the man who all but created a distinctively American music in the 1920s. This 2001 German-made documentary combines lives performances – mostly by the Frankfurt Radio Symphony led by Hugh Wolff – with interviews and historic clips to tell his story. While it is reasonably well done with a particularly imaginative video of the “Fanfare for the Common Man,” the settings sometimes get in the way of the story. Why is Copland biographer Howard Pollack always photographed on a subway train?

As it happens, there is another Copland documentary available on DVD that uses a similar format but does the job much better; it’s called “Copland and the American Sound” and it’s part of the San Francisco Symphony’s “Keeping Score” series. Conductor and host Michael Tilson Thomas knew Copland personally and is able to quickly pinpoint important features in various pieces either by playing them on the piano or conducting. In the same amount of time (60 m), this particular documentary covers far more ground and takes us closer to the man and his music.

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.”

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.

Upon graduating from Yale in 1951, Huang had a big decision to make: should he go back to China or try to make a career in the West? By this time, the communists were in power and it was not yet clear what the New China would look like. Ma Sicong was then in charge of the Central Conservatory and offered him a job at the school: “New China has been established and things are good – come back.” The deciding factor for Huang was his family; he had been married before he left for Yale and hadn’t yet seen his first-born child.

Huang joined the Department of Composition at the Central Conservatory and among his other assignments, taught conducting. One of his early successes was a production of Tchaikovsky’s Eugen Onegin with students of the CCOM. Huang was the conductor on this historic occasion – the first performance of a Western opera in China, featuring Chinese singers and musicians.

(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.