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The Cleveland Orchestra in New York (II): Pierre-Laurent Aimard (piano), Franz Welser-Möst (conductor), Carnegie Hall, New York City, 6.2.2009 (BH)

George Benjamin: Duet for piano and orchestra (2007-2008; New York premiere)
Shostakovich: Symphony No. 7 in C Major, Op. 60, "Leningrad" (1941)


In orchestration, George Benjamin considers textural issues very carefully, evidenced in his Duet for piano and orchestra written for Pierre-Laurent Aimard, and given its New York premiere in the second of three Carnegie Hall concerts by Franz Welser-Möst and the Cleveland Orchestra.  Benjamin deliberately omits violins in the medium-sized ensemble, a move he feels makes the piano stand out in its tonal register, casting it as "an alien figure in the orchestral landscape."  The piano begins alone—agitated and at the high end of the keyboard—before the orchestra lurches in.  Some striking effects include the harp and bass in a pizzicato duet with the piano intoning single notes, some haunting thumps, before a chill seems to settle in.  Groaning, the group accelerates into a rumble before the piece ends—and in my book, too soon.  Prior to this performance, the conductor, pianist and orchestra have played the piece in Lucerne and Cleveland, and the extra performances seemed to pay off in the utter confidence on display.

I was slightly nervous anticipating the Shostakovich "Leningrad" Symphony, only because the previous night's concert had many opportunities for unleashed sonics that seemed ignored.  It is still a mystery to me, why some concerts with this conductor are inspiring, while others that should be, turn out to be merely pleasant.  (The quality of the Cleveland Orchestra is such that it is usually able to prevent any more alarming results.)

So that said, the corps launched the opening briskly, with tension and some spectacular playing; the brilliant percussion section served as the axis on which the entire ensemble rotated, and any questions of Welser-Möst (or anyone else) holding back were quickly made moot.  Following some pizzicatos of epic grace, the first movement's march came through like a flash flood, with heightened excitement by the placement of a brass contingent in the balcony.  The spatial experiment wasn't totally successful: at times the group was slightly out of synch with the masses onstage, but on the other hand, it is hard not to have some kind of emotional reaction to trumpets and trombones blasting behind you.

Wasting no momentum, the second movement was more andante—at times almost like a gavotte—and now is the right time to credit the orchestra's principal oboe, Frank Rosenwein, for some startlingly good work throughout the entire piece.  Soft sections were carefully measured for maximum contrast to the brittle, restless energy elsewhere.  In the third movement the strings sounded particularly ardent, as if straining to make a hymn heard above other tumult.  Sweetly anguished passages almost sounded like Tchaikovsky.

Welser-Möst constructed an exquisite pianissimo bridge between the third and final movements, with a slight emotional boost from an unexpected ambulance siren heard outside the hall.  With the orchestra giving its all, bursting with details, the tension steadily mounted and one could only marvel at the shattering climactic moments.  The final pages began with the utmost in delicacy as Welser-Möst gently coaxed the theme up from the depths, before the blazing conclusion strode in—and this time the antiphonal effects worked, with Carnegie Hall turning into a metal-saturated lovefest.  It was the kind of performance that I wish the composer himself could have witnessed.

Bruce Hodges


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