Author: Zach Carstensen

A few years ago the Seattle Symphony Orchestra began to vary the nature of its conventional concert format with residencies of noted musicians, sometimes a conductor, sometimes a soloist. Instead of one program performed several times in a week, there are several programs spread over a couple of weeks. They have been, in the main, a success.

This week the noted American conductor, Dennis Russell Davies, who has made his career mostly in Europe, is spending some time in Seattle. He is not the first musician, not to mention choreographers and designers, who have found European soil, particularly Germany and France, conducive to their creativity. Although Davies has spent time in New York and California and St Paul, the bulk of his career has been in Germany and Austria, leading orchestras in Stuttgart, Vienna, Bonn, Basel and Saarbrucken. He is currently music director and chief conductor of the Bruckner Orchestra Linz and Linz Opera in Austria and the Basel Symphony Orchestra in Switzerland.

His repertory is broad, with plenty of the canon in his repertory. But he is also known for his commitment to music of the past century and the present one. His program Thursday is a good example. He began with Schumann’s Fourth Symphony — a place where most conductors conclude their programs — and continued with a piano concerto by Alan Hovhaness and the suite from Bartok’s ballet score “The Miraculous Mandarin.”

The Schumann was least successful reading of the evening, the Hovhaness the most idiosyncratic and the Bartok, the most forceful.

It is easy to think of Schumann’s symphonies as old friends — dependable and welcome but not always so dynamic. That is the case when performances slip into the routine or simply lack imagination. Davies’  account of the score was stolid, dull and unyielding. There was almost no dynamic variation and the most wondrous of melodies fell lifeless onto the stage. It was rhythmically inert, something I would not has expected from Davies who has given other scores remarkable life. Alas.

Scored for piano and strings, the Hovhaness concerto, “Lousadzak” (“The Coming of Light”), came early in the composer’s long career It was premiered in 1945 in Boston, with Hovhaness as the soloist. Maki Namekawa, who often collaborates with Davies, was the soloist. The Hovhaness  idiom, unlike no other 20th-century composer, was readily grasped by Namekawa, which is to her credit. She invested her considerable technique and interpretative facility to the effort. Even with that, the piece fell rather flat. It is repetitive and never seemed to go anywhere in particular, at least to my ears.

“The Miraculous Mandarin” has a fascinating history. Because of its lurid subject matter, the one-act ballet was banned in the early days. Eventually it found its way onto the main stages of Europe with many different productions, a record for the time. It was done at New York City Ballet in 1951. Only a couple of years ago Donald Byrd, artistic director of Spectrum Dance Theatre in Seattle, produced the ballet with his own choreography at the Moore Theatre. Needless to say, there was no Seattle Symphony in the pit. The alternative was a chamber ensemble of unusual scoring.

Say what one will about the libretto, it is dramatic and powerful. So is Bartok’s music. Davies gave the piece its full due on Thursday. The music-making was decisive, full of color and had unquestioned authority. One can only dream of hearing such a musical presence accompanying the dance.

Tickets for the remaining performances of the “Miraculous Mandarin” and “Lousadzak” can be purchased at www.seattlesymphony.org. Be sure to read Zach Carstensen’s take on Thursday’s performance here.

Like Bluebeard’s Castle – which was performed earlier in the year by the Seattle Opera – Bartok’s Miraculous Mandarin is a musical setting of love with ghastly consequences.  The Miraculous Mandarin was paired with Alan Hovhaness’s Lousadzak, a concerto for piano and strings.  The pieces were the focal point of Dennis Russell Davies first concert with the Seattle Symphony during his two week stay with the orchestra.

The tale of the Miraculous Mandarin revolves around a woman.  In this case, a woman who is being held captive and used as a decoy for a group of thieves.  The thieves set up their operation in a badly appointed room located in the slums of a city.  The thieves force the woman to sit seductively in the window of the room and draw in suitors who the thieves will rob.  At first these criminal efforts aren’t successful.  Patrons come, but they are forced away because they are poor.

It is only when a strangely dressed man with East Asian origins eyes the woman that the thieves finally find someone worth seeing their ploy through to the end.  Except, the Mandarin proves to be a hard target.  First the woman rejects his icy advance then  the thieves attack, stabbing him, but he doesn’t die.  Instead, he stays fixated on the woman.  Relenting, the woman embraces the Mandarin, who eventually dies.

Bartok’s music is violent; pushed along by unrelenting rhythm.  The suite begins with the music wildly undulating in the strings, reminiscent of horror movies past and present, before the rest of the orchestra joins adding pointed edge that seldom subsides over the course of the suite.

black swan movie full

Miraculous Mandarin; Neemi Jarvi and the Philharmonia Orchestra; Chandos

Similarly, Lousadzak is also driven by rhythm but in a way that predicts future developments like minimalism and chance.  Like the chant melodies it is modeled after, the music is repetitive but religiously ecstatic.  Lousadzak is attractive, interesting rhythmically, but without an underlying idea to make it a great piece of music.  Lousadzak was helped by the adroit fingers of Maki Namekawa who was warmly received by Thursday’s audience.  She rewarded us with an arrangement by Fasil Say of Paganini’s 24th Caprice.

Lousadzak; Dennis Russell Davies and the American Composer’s Orchestra; Nimbus

Dennis Russell Davies has built a reputation on bold programing.  Filling the second half of a concert with Bartok’s Mandarin suite and Lousadzak is bold indeed.  Neither is particularly revolutionary by today’s standards or even the music that was composed a few decades later in the musical time line.  They do, however, require the patience and attention of the audience, in the case of Lousadzak the ability to focus on repeated ideas that change ever so slightly, and for Bartok a high tolerance for thrashing, uncomfortable musical ideas.  Together Lousadzak and the Miraculous Mandarin pair nicely.

Both evolved from the composers’ interest in indigenous music.  But they contrast as well.  Lousadzak is reflective; inward looking.  The Miraculous Mandarin is extroverted and brash.  These pieces aren’t for everyone.  In fact, I would guess most people attending Thursday’s SSO concert preferred the first half of the night which featured a heavy handed and uninspired performance of Robert Schumann’s 4th Symphony.  Davies wasn’t as comfortable with Schumann’s Romantic idiom as he was with Hovhaness and Bartok.  That’s fine by me.  You don’t go to hear Davies conduct Schumann.  I’d rather hear Davies lead the orchestra in pieces like the Miraculous Mandarin and Lousadzak, pieces considerably different than the Romantic warhorses classical audiences have grown used to.

Tickets for the remaining performances of the Miraculous Mandarin and Lousadzak can be purchased at www.seattlesymphony.org.  Be sure to read RM Campbell’s review of Thursday’s concert here.

To celebrate the 10th anniversary of the opening of Benaroya Hall this season, the Seattle Symphony Orchestra came up with all sorts of ideas. One of the best, which did not involve the orchestra itself, was the presentation of a cycle of the complete Beethoven string quartets.

The some 16 quartets would not be played by a single ensemble but by six: Half (Pacifica, Ying and American) would be from the United States, and the rest from Canada (Borealis), the Czech Republic (Talich) and France (Ebene). The first concert was in October and the last Wednesday night. This sort of international festival of superb quartets would not have been possible in another day. There are now so many in North America and Europe we must be in some sort of golden age.

Nordstrom Recital Hall — the smaller of two halls in the Benaroya complex — was the venue. Although there have been all sorts of concerts by chamber music groups and chamber orchestras in the hall, the string quartet has not been particularly well-represented, in part perhaps because it has such a long history at Meany Hall on the University of Washington campus. This series proved decisively how well Nordstrom does acoustically. Certainly it is an unforgiving hall, but when musicians appreciate its acoustical properties –as some have not in the past — the results are remarkable.

A case in point was the American String Quartet. Who could not admire its cool tonal beauty as well as its passionate embrace of the music at hand — early, middle and late Beethoven? Nothing was strident or overweening, even in the most fortissimo and emphatic passages. Instead there was lucidity, transparency, balance. One heard everything.

The quartet was founded in 1974 when its original members were students at the Juilliard School in New York. That long breath of experience informs every aspect of the American’s conception and execution. This is maturity at its best: when carefully considered and thought-out but still fresh. From the opening passages of the Op. 18, No. 5, it was easy to discern those attributes. Nothing is too small to be discussed, resolved and put into action. This attention to detail has not led to staleness and lack of spontaneity but a curious kind of freedom.

The Opus 18, No. 5, for instance, seemed to be particularly free from the opening Allegro to closing Allegro. These fast movements had spirit and energy and focus, although none more than the Opus 59, No 2. Although the three quartets of the Opus 59 follow the six of the Opus 18 by only a few years, they push all sorts of boundaries., so much so audiences and musicians at the time resisted them. The American gave full life to these new impulses of Beethoven — their boldness, their daring and sheer scale.

Written in 1826, the Opus 131 comes near the end of Beethoven’s life. The 32 piano sonatas, indeed, all of music for the piano, including the concertos and chamber music. as well as symphonic music were at an end, but he carried on with string quartets. The Opus 131, about 40 minutes length, is played without a pause. The American kept its concentration, as well as sustained the immense variety and often dramatic temperament in the work. Everything — the small, telling phrases, the great paragraphs — were strikingly coherent.

These concerts have been well-attended, but this house was sold-out for the American, with added seats put on the stage.

Next year Seattle Opera is premiering Daron Hagen’s new opera Amelia.  The following is an essay on Hagen’s work to complete the opera, the struggles, and the solutions.  It is an interesting look at the creative process.  The essay is reprinted with permission from the composer’s own blog www.daronhagen.com.

At the end of Act Two, scene two of the opera I am working on with my librettist Gardner McFall right now called Amelia, pregnant Amelia, surrounded by hospital staff and her husband, awakens from a coma, in the early stages of labor. Everyone’s been discussing her as if she weren’t there; she cries, ‘Who said anything about dying?’ and, after a brief exchange with her husband and doctor where she insists on natural childbirth, she is wheeled to a birthing room. The next scene begins a few hours later, with Amelia laboring to one side, and a conversation between her Aunt and her doctor on the other.

I have executed this tricky sequence of events several ways, now. The first time, before in real life my wife had our baby and together we went through the process of natural labor, and before the opera was workshopped, I determined to track Amelia’s joy and apprehension from the moment she regained conscious. She did so suddenly, with no preparation but an upward roulade in the orchestra and entry on a high G on the word ‘Who’ — big stuff for a mezzo. It was terrible. What I perceived as a dramatic shift from one psychological state to another came off as unprepared, the roulade was melodramatic because it telegraphed for three precious awful seconds that something ‘big’ was about to happen, and the high G sounded ridiculous blurting, as it did, suddenly from the mouth of someone prone on a hospital bed. Worst of all, the music I thought was joyous, a little giddy, and apprehensive all at once sounded like the quirky underscoring in a cartoon. It rankled.

Although Gardner’s words were perfect, the musical tone was wildly off; it seemed ham-fisted, like a man’s complete misapprehension of the dynamics of the situation. It ended with quiet burbling in the orchestra as she was wheeled out on a gurney. Here the tone seemed right. The production design was at that point such that the curtain would not close but rather the set would reassemble itself; Amelia would never leave the stage, but she would move behind a scrim and the next scene, between her Aunt and the doctor, would begin, about twenty seconds later. There would be a brief exchange, and the balance of the scene would be performed in pantomime, with the drama moving forward in the orchestra, utilizing themes from the opera associated with the characters in the scene as they came and went — very filmic and, I think effective. In this scenario, the scenelet where Amelia awoke became the transition in the course of the larger drama. This was another error in judgment on my part: demoting it to transitional status served to undercut the drama of the moment, to trivialize it, even.

unstoppable hd

Six months later, the second draft, after the workshop, an intense work session with Gardner and with Stephen Wadsworth, our stage director and story man, and after having helped my wife through her Birth Story, was more realistic, and more responsible, I think. Since the scene falls at the critical 11:30 spot in the book, it was important to begin tying up, once and for all, the various motives that had been unspooling for the previous ninety minutes. A neat solution presented itself: I backed up from the moment of Amelia’s recovery of consciousness and imbedded a motive in the timpani (an S-O-S rhythmic tattoo also associated with her disappeared pilot father and the famous aviatrix in her dreams) that became a musical manifestation of her contractions. This grew until it served to wake her up, and remained, rising and falling in volume, throughout the scenelet between Amelia, the doctor, and her husband. All the joy was muted, the apprehension ratcheted up by stripping out most of the orchestral flourishes. Appropriately enough, since it was already parlando in the extreme, I needed to change very few notes of the text setting.

My collaborators and I decided to throw in fragmentary comments for the men, snatches of phrases that Amelia would ‘step on’ musically; this highlighted her centrality and position of power, diminished theirs, and kept the focus on her and her contractions. I was able to grab little swatches of music from her dream aviatrix’s final plunge into the ocean and place them in the orchestra to complete the identification in her mind. The transition remained the same, and the next scene unfolded unchanged.

After a year, word came from Seattle that the production team needed three minutes to change the set and that my worst fear would be realized: a closed curtain — which could bring the whole story to a screeching halt at the very moment forward momentum was most needed — would be required. Although it felt like a lifetime was being asked for, what it meant practically was that ten seconds were needed for the curtain to come down, another two and a half minutes for the set change, and another ten seconds for the curtain to rise on the next scene before the exchange between Amelia’s Aunt and the doctor could begin. This required yet another rethinking of the reawakening scenelet and the ensuing scene. My concern from the start had been that, once Amelia awakens, there is drama only in the rapid, successive tying up of the various stories in the opera, the emergence of the healthy baby being the most important.

The final scene drove forward entirely to the instant when the baby is held aloft by the doctor, and placed on Amelia’s chest, at which point the orchestra, which had been telling the story through underscore, would drop out, and the voices carry the opera alone to its coda, dropping out sensibly as characters left the birthing room, until we heard only Amelia, her husband, and, haloing her in her mind, the voices of her aviatrix and her dead mother. An orchestral interlude of at least 150 seconds’ length would need to be wedged between the moment Amelia was wheeled out and the nearly five minutes of filmic underscoring that would serve as an apotheosis of the opera’s various musical ideas.

The third solution that resulted, executed nearly two years after composing the initial musical sketches of the scene, required backing up again, only this time from the moment Amelia was wheeled out of the room, and introducing into the scenelet solo strings here and there playing held clusters, up-bow, from quiet to very loud, that sound to me like what spasms of pain might feel like. These would then carry into the transition, where I would solidify Amelia’s relationship to another character in her dreams with whom she identifies, Icarus, by recapitulating an ensemble set piece from a few minutes earlier in the course of which the boy in the next room ‘who had fallen from a great height’ had just awoken to seizures and received sedation.

The trickiest measures were the introduction of a rising figure in the strings under Amelia’s cry, ‘I can do this!’ over the S-O-S tattoo in the timpani and the spasms in the solo strings. Then it was smooth flying (or not) as the orchestra revisits for forty seconds the boy’s seizure, his sedation, and a reminder of two motives associated with ‘near-death’ in the opera, the ‘sound’ of a heart monitor in the orchestra and a swooping motive in the low strings that was a musical manifestation of what the blips on a heart monitor ‘look’ like, first introduced as we met Icarus an hour earlier in the opera. The effect was that we were now tracking Amelia as she labored offstage.

A very important dramatic cadence took shape just after the heart monitor’s return and the begininng of the upward phrases: to me, this is Amelia’s crucial ‘I can’t do this’ moment. This moment, where the music grinds to a halt, counterbalances her earlier optimistic ‘I can do this’ moment, reveals her to have achieved (offstage, during events transpiring between scenes) the emotional state required for the final stage of labor. What follows are ‘rising lines’ from the original beginning of the last scene — themselves based on the S-O-S rhythm, and associated earlier in the opera with the aviatrix’s plane taking off — atop the heart monitor figure. Amelia is heard to have found musical closure: she has moved past her intense identification with the boy, with Icarus, and with the aviatrix, rejected their fates and embraced the ‘rising line’ of her own Birth Story.

This last solution served to make Amelia’s awakening scarier, more psychologically sound. The transition between scenes now served a purpose: to track Amelia’s progress as she labors during the hours between the last two scenes of the opera, increasing the drama of the colloquy and events that follow and, I think, enhancing the dramatic effect of the vocal nonette that unfolds like a montage of kisses when the baby emerges and our story ends.

Baroque flutist Courtney Westcott is a Seattle resident and longtime member of Seattle Baroque Orchestra.  Westcott will playing Baroque flute in the B Minor Orchestral Suite in this weekend’s Seattle Baroque Orchestra performances.  She talked with me about Seattle Baroque’s coming performance and the history of the Baroque flute.

This weekend’s Seattle Baroque Orchestra concerts with Courtney Westcott will be led by master Baroque violinist Stanley Ritchie. Concerts are Sat. Apr. 18 at 8 pm, and Sun. Apr. 19 at 3 pm, in Nordstrom Recital Hall at Benaroya Hall. Tickets and more info at www.seattlebaroque.org.

Marty Ronish talks with Courtney Westcott

Leon Fleisher, one of classical music’s most enduring pianists, is coming to Tacoma for a recital.  April 19 is the day.  Pantages Theater is the place.  Fleisher is out with a new CD of Mozart piano concertos – his first “two hand” recording in 40 years.  Fleisher lost the use of his right hand for many years because of focal dystonia.  He returned to playing two-hand repertoire only recently.  This will be a very special recital.  Readers of The Gathering Note can enter to win a pair of tickets to the recital (courtesy of the Tacoma Philharmonic) and his new CD of Mozart piano concertos (courtesy of Sony) by signing up to receive Twitter updates.  All you have to do is click here and follow the instructions for joining Twitter.  Or, over on the right side of this page, you can use the Twitter widget to join.  Updates will be delivered to your e-mail or cell phone.  Or neither.

Dennis Russell Davies kicks off a two week residency with the Seattle Symphony next week.  In addition to conducting the orchestra, Davies will also be performing a recital of music for two pianos with Maki Namekawa including Bernstein’s Symphonic Dances from West Side Story and Brahms’s Piano Quintet as arranged for two pianos.

On April 17, Simple Measures begins their Spring series of shows.  The Simple Measures gang is joined by acclaimed harpist Yolanda Kondonassis.  Simple Measures is chamber music at its most intimate.  This is one of next weekend’s most appealing events because of the chance to hear and see Kondonassis play up close and personal.  The Simple Measures crew also produced a video previewing the concert.  You can watch the clip below.

Music of Remembrance musicians will play Steve Reich’s Different Trains at the Good Shepherd Center in Wallingford on April 18.  The concert is free and this compelling and engaging piece for quartet and tape will be played by some of my favorite musicians: Walter Gray, cello; Elisa Barston, violin; Mikhail Shmidt, violin; and Susan Gulkis Assadi, viola.

Down in Tacoma, the Tacoma Symphony will bring to life an orchestral suite from Bizet’s opera Carmen and Richard Strauss’s wicked Dance of the Seven Veils from Salome.  The concert concludes with Carl Orff’s most popular composition Carmina Burana.

Finally, the Lake Union Civic Orchestra is bringing even more music for the harp to Seattle audiences by performing Ginastera’s Harp Concerto with Alexis Odell playing the harp.  This hard-working community orchestra is also playing Hindemith’s Symphonic Metamorphosis on Themes by Carl Maria von Weber.  Cleverly, Chagnard begins the concert with Weber’s overture to Der Freischutz.

“Swan Lake” is almost as welcome to ballet companies as “The Nutcracker,” enchanting audiences, good performances or bad, and giving multiple opportunities for dancers to expand their horizons.

Thus it is little surprise that Pacific Northwest Ballet’s production of one of the most celebrated ballets in the repertory is never far from the stage. Since the current’s production’s premiere in 2003, it has been revived twice, the most recent opening Thursday night at McCaw Hall. It has a run of 10 performances.

It has never looked more splendid.

The ballet has played a central role in the the history of the company in its some 37 years of existence. Four years after Kent Stowell and Francia Russell arrived in Seattle from Frankfurt to take over the struggling ensemble, it mounted “Swan Lake.” The year was 1981. The production was borrowed from Frankfurt Ballet, where Stowell and Russell had been in charge of the company. The remarkable thing about the affair was that it managed to be credible. So nervous was the company about this bold statement that it was grown-up now, it imported two ballet stars for opening night, both newly fired from American Ballet Theatre. They added glamor as well as all sort of difficulties to the enterprise.

Seattle audiences grew up on “Swan Lake,” as it did many PNB dancers. When the Opera House was renovated
to make room for McCaw Hall, PNB chose to mount a new production for its opening gesture. The choreography is, like most versions of the ballet, cobbled together from several sources Most importantly, there are the original contributions of Marius Petipa and Lev Ivanov, without which “Swan Lake” is not “Swan Lake,” plus the substantial work of Stowell who enhanced and embellished where he saw fit, leaving the genius of Petipa and Ivanov generally alone. The result is a blend of many elements, an organic whole, at once lyrical, tragic and theatrical, even amusing, on occasion. Mime has been reduced to a minimum.

Ming Cho Lee did the decor. PNB has used him a lot, too much really. His set design for “Swan Lake” is serviceable at best, suggesting some grandeur and some magic, with a little stylization coupled with naturalism. Nothing is to be gained by questioning any of its several parts. Certainly, there is plenty of room for the dancing. Paul Tazewell’s costumes are another matter. They are filled with rich color and a myriad of details. In this regard Lee’s sets work well because they are such a neutral backdrop to Tazewell’s flights of fancy. The third component is Randall G. Chiarelli’s lighting design. It is apropos, bright as sunshine or dark and atmospheric.

Six ballerinas will dance the dual role of Odette/Odile and five men, Prince Siegfried. On Thursday, Kaori Nakamura and Lucien Postlewaite took the leading roles. Nakamura is an old hand at this amazing part, and her experience was in evidence. Given the edge and precision of her technique, I would have thought her Odile would have been the more persuasive of the two. It is the rare ballerina who is equally successful in both parts. Technically, she was, predictably, superb, giving a full expression to all the challenges set before her. However, it was her Odette that was more memorable, tender and long-limbed and poignant.

Postlewaite’s Prince was not the usual Prince in that his very youth is so apparent. At first, he seemed astonished to be the center of so much attention. One is accustomed to someone more readily assured. But what made Postlewaite’s convincing was that very freshness, the innocence, if you will. After all, the Prince is only 21. The personality then leads, in Act II, to sheer wonderment at Odette, intoxication at Odile in Act III, and utter despair in Act IV. It is all believable, and one does not often see that change of character. By nature Postlewaite is a lyrical dancer, and he put that natural predilection to good use.

There is no question the most dynamic dancer Thursday night was Jonathan Porretta as the Jester. This is a role he has done before and done brilliantly, consuming the stage with his ebullient technique. He has amazing resources and oozes personality. Olivier Wevers invested a small role, Baron von Rothbart, with as much energy and character as one will ever see. And Jordan Pacitti made Wolfgang a witty character, not too much silliness but enough and just over the top elegance to be funny.

Smaller roles abound. There is the pas de trois in the first act. With Maria Chapman, Lesley Rausch and Benjamin Griffiths, it sparkled. These are all dancers who have matured with the PNB, and we are seeing the results in every performance. Griffiths returned in the third act with Jodie Thomas for the Neapolitan Dance, one of several character dances. It had plenty of flavor and technical assurance. In the Act II, the pas de quatre was danced with genuine aplomb by Nicole Ciapponi, Leane Duge, Abby Relic and Liora Reshef. The pas de trois, with Maria Chapman, Kylee Kitchens and Sarah Ricard Orza, was also worth noting.

The corps de ballet in “Swan Lake” is all important, and my memory may fail me, but I cannot remember when it has looked better, more accomplished, more breathtaking. Russell has been in charge of these swans since the first “Swan Lake,” and a brava to her for her work and skill in making these 24 women seem so as one.

The PNB Orchestra, led by Stewart Kershaw, made his substantial contributions, including the solo trumpet, the solo violin, and all the strings collectively.

There are those who have missed story ballets these past couple of seasons. They will be rewarded next season with three: Jean-Christophe Maillot’s “Romeo et Juliet,” Ronald Hynd’s “Sleeping Beauty” and Balanchine’s “Coppelia,” in its local premiere. Those are in addition to “The Nutcracker” at Christmas. There is also an program devoted to the work of Ulysses Dove, as well as a Balanchine mixed bill (“Serenade,” “The Four Temperaments,” “Square Dance”) and works of Jiri Kylian, Val Caniparoli and Jerome Robbins joined by “Mopey.”