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SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL CONCERT REVIEW

 

Carter, Schumann, Tchaikovsky: Jonathan Biss (piano), James Levine (conductor), The MET Orchestra, Carnegie Hall, New York. 22.5.2008 (BH)

 

Elliott Carter: Variations for Orchestra (1953-55)

Schumann: Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 54 (1845)

Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 36 (1877-78)

 

You know times are changing when an Elliott Carter piece ends up being the audience favorite, and at least from the handful I polled, his Variations for Orchestra was the hit of this grab bag of a program by James Levine and the MET Orchestra.  Levine and the ensemble played this at Carnegie Hall as recently as 2005, but it's worth hearing often, if for no other reason than that it is more intriguing with each outing.  Carter's architecture has three components: a 74-note theme, and two "ritornelli"—one that increases in speed as the work progresses, and the other that slows down.  The tempi converge in the fifth variation before scurrying off to the end.  The work's swirling formations have a restless urgency, constantly in flux; in Carter's typically episodic way, it seems like channel hopping, a parade of tiny television shows flickering to life.  Of course, it didn't hurt that the orchestra's musicians provided enough electrical current to light up Tokyo.

 

Yet the same group that belted out the Carter pulled back ever-so-slightly for Schumann's Piano Concerto in A Minor, ever popular.  (I've now heard it three times this season.)  The pianist, Jonathan Biss, was even more introspective than usual, marketing the composer as more of a mystic, an idea that was briefly dispelled in the first movement when Levine's baton fell straight onto the piano strings.  Still conducting while mouthing a silent "I'm sorry," the conductor gingerly retrieved it a few seconds later.  The second Intermezzo was on the slow side, as was the final Allegro vivace, which had a few shaky moments in which Biss and the ensemble seemed adrift, although order returned in plenty of time for the joyous ending.

 

At the end of the Tchaikovsky Fourth Symphony, my friend leaned in and said, "It's not exactly subtle, is it!" and while I had sometimes had to agree with her, sometimes a little raw excitement counts for a lot.  After a heart-pounding introduction from the MET's brass section, offset by little flecks of clarinet, bassoon and oboe, the strings rushed in, in torrents.  The Andante felt like an ingénue making her debut, one foot hesitantly in front of the other, stepping out in front of the musicians' magic unanimity.  The pizzicato third movement might have been the most gracefully played of the entire evening.  From the first tiny rustlings to the huge arcs that the basses detonate, sending tremors through the ensemble, all seemed to be enjoying Tchaikovsky's astonishing delicacy.  What can sound chirpy in the wrong hands, here was delightfully ticklish.  The hurricane final movement may be gaudy, true, but it is also irresistible.  Thanks to a new swivel chair, Levine was able to turn to either side with uncharacteristic agility, and with the orchestra at near-brawl tempos and volume levels, there was no need to do anything but sit back, smile and watch the storm play out to its exultant finish.

 

Bruce Hodges


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