Ravel, Ligeti, Bartók:
Pierre-Laurent Aimard, piano, Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Pierre Boulez,
conductor, Carnegie Hall, New York City, 10.12.2006 (BH)
Ravel:
Valses nobles et sentimentales (1911)
Ligeti:
Piano Concerto (1985-86; 1987-88)
Bartók:
The Miraculous Mandarin, Op. 19 (1917-19, orch. 1924; rev. 1926-31)
Holiday
treats don’t get much more dazzling than afternoons like
this one. This afternoon was doubly welcome following
a Mahler Seventh Symphony two nights earlier, which
brought out the best in Boulez as architect, but showed
an ensemble a little rough around the edges, as if travel
had taken its (temporary) toll. It wasn’t a bad
concert at all, just not at the level that we expect from
this group. But by Sunday afternoon, all was back
to normal.
Anyone
who has heard Pierre Boulez in his Ravel recordings knows
that he has a special empathy for the master colorist,
treating him with precision yet with warmth and yes, feeling.
In this supremely graceful Valses nobles et sentimentales,
the pacing, the contrasts, and the wondrous contributions
from every member of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra made
the work’s elegance leap off the stage.
Somehow
the sound effects in the Ligeti Piano Concerto have yet
to become stale. The context allows a slide whistle
and ocarina to become rather plaintive, as if they wished
to be recognized as “serious” members of the orchestra.
The first movement owes a great debt to jazz, with its
constantly pulsing rhythms darting back and forth at different
speeds, leaving the listener with the impression of viewing
a busy, honking street corner flooded with traffic from
all directions. The second movement begins with
the piccolo and bassoon in a bizarre embrace, then joined
by the aforementioned non-traditional instruments, and
ultimately adding a harmonica. By the time the frantic
final movement arrives, one’s perception of sound and
motion has been subtly altered, and the sudden arrival
of a wood block at the ending seems like a door slamming
shut.
Pierre-Laurent
Aimard is probably the current master of this concerto
– he’s on the Boulez recording with the Ensemble Intercontemporain
– and one of the indicators is his willingness to slightly
submerge his formidable voice at the piano, which is sometimes
treated as just another member of the ensemble.
With its intimate proportions using roughly fifteen musicians,
the concerto is a curious mix of the composer’s obsessions
with African polyrhythms and his sly sense of humor.
Aimard’s virtuosity in navigating some formidable technical
demands was balanced by his deadpan outlook, and his Chicago
collaborators were clearly inspired to deliver their quirky
best.
In
marked contrast to the first half, the stage floor must
have been groaning with the extra musicians crowding in
for Bartók’s scorching ballet, The Miraculous Mandarin.
The grisly, strange story is illuminated by some of the
composer’s tensest, most high-octane dissonances, and
Boulez and this sensational group gave it the most violent
reading I expect to hear in a very long time. Similar
to his work with Stravinsky’s Le sacre du printemps
last year, Boulez lets the hysteria speak for itself.
His focus is squarely on the score, without trying to
smooth out any rough edges, and this meant some brass
with an almost blinding glare, huge circus-like glissandi,
and strings launching feverish attacks, like showers of
spears. Boulez elicited some of the most distinguished
orchestral playing I’ve heard all year, and I felt as
if I were holding on to the end of a live wire with every
last volt ripping through my brain for half an hour.
The funny thing is how pleasurable that sensation can
be.
Bruce Hodges
