Bartók: A kékszakállú herceg vára (Duke Bluebeard’s Castle), Op. 11 (1911-18) & Brahms: Symphony No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 68 (1876), Soloists, Boston Symphony Orchestra, James Levine, Carnegie Hall, New York City, 11.11.2006 (BH)

 

 

Anne Sofie von Otter, Mezzo-Soprano

Albert Dohmen, Bass-Baritone

Örs Kisfaludy, Speaker

 

 

After his injury last spring James Levine has come roaring back, and this muscular pairing was prime evidence that he is pretty close to his old (i.e., recent) self.  He admirably chose to include the spoken introduction to Bartók’s great opera, and if his designated narrator, Örs Kisfaludy, was a trifle over-enthusiastic (imagine a barker for Cirque de Soleil) he no doubt managed to unsettle many in the audience as he wandered through the orchestra, smiling evilly and delivering the fairy tale prologue that opens Bluebeard’s Castle.

From the moment the orchestra entered, with its faint modal whisperings in the low strings, the electricity never let up.  Earlier this year, I heard Anne Sofie von Otter in this role with the New York Philharmonic, and my praise then is if anything, more effusive as she seems to sing it ever more confidently with sophisticated tone, and equally true, acts the part, infusing Judith with a haunting vulnerability.  Bartók’s character needs to be a bit frightened, especially later in the piece when her impetuous demands lead her out of control, down a path she now cannot stop.  Clad in blood-red velvet, von Otter sounded glorious in the Carnegie Hall acoustic, and if now and then the immense wall of sound all but flattened her, I wonder if Bartók secretly wanted this effect.  Psychologically, it emphasizes the helplessness of her situation.  One moment stood out even more than last March, however, in the towering sequence when the fifth door is flung open.  After Levine and the orchestra threw out a veritable blast-furnace of sound, there is a slight pause as Judith replies in the meekest, tiniest pianissimo, and here von Otter seemed like a mote, a gnat that might have landed on Bluebeard’s knee, ready to be swatted and blotted out at a moment’s notice. 

Albert Dohmen made a terrifying Bluebeard, with a gorgeously resonant instrument whose menace was only enhanced by his attire: a long black waistcoat, vaguely evoking the coat worn by Leatherface in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  If Matthias Goerne (Bluebeard here last March) was highly effective as a neurotic and introverted Bluebeard, Dohmen was the more likely to carve up Judith on a platter.  During the entire hour, despite his heroic singing I never saw him smile, and this implacability made his relationship with Judith even more disturbing.  Near the end, his catalogue of his previous wives made my skin crawl.

Levine and the Boston players are making beautiful music together these days, and their power in this score was deeply satisfying.  From precise dynamic shadings to stark contrasts, every phrase was in place with nothing taken for granted.  Levine wrested some truly grotesque sounds from the score, which is littered with dissonances that underline the mounting tension, here ratcheted up to an almost unbearable degree by the end, as if Bartók had taken one long breath, from imagining Bluebeard’s first utterance to Judith’s final descent.

Again, it’s good to go to concerts with people who aren’t that familiar with the works being played, and one in our party had not heard either of these.  She liked the Bartók, but the Brahms First Symphony, especially the melting second movement, brought tears to her eyes.  If I mention moments like this often, it is only because I feel strongly that an emotional response to great music is part of the point.  Levine’s analysis made it seem new all over again – if not as radical harmonically as Bluebeard, still advanced in a way that made one marvel that it was Brahms’ initial effort in the genre.  From the desolate opening timpani strokes, Levine seemed to grasp the spine of what is often surprisingly violent music.  Concertmaster Malcolm Lowe’s solo in the third movement was about as sweetly done as I’ve ever heard it, and other turns elsewhere in the orchestra were just as memorable.  This was emotional Brahms, strong without being heedless, sentimental without being cloying, and ultimately given great power by one of the world’s great ensembles that has lately seemed miraculously restored to its former glory.  A concert like this would almost be worth hearing on that last criterion alone.

 

 

Bruce Hodges