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SEEN AND HEARD  INTERNATIONAL  CONCERT  REVIEW
 

Wagner, Zimmermann, Sibelius and Saariaho:  Karita Mattila (soprano), Anssi Karttunen (cello), Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra, David Robertson, Carnegie Hall, New York City, 4.4.2009 (BH)  

Wagner: "Good Friday Music" from Parsifal (1882)
Bernd Alois Zimmermann: Canto di speranza, for Cello and Orchestra (1952-1953; rev. 1957)
Sibelius: Luonnotar, Op. 70 (1910-1913)
Saariaho: Mirage, for Soprano, Cello, and Orchestra (2007, New York première)
Sibelius: Symphony No. 5 in E-flat Major, Op. 82 (1915-1919) 


In some circles, Sibelius's unique star is still on the rise, while in others, he has been nothing less than a supernova.  The latter view was on display here, particularly in his rarely heard tone poem, Luonnotar, with the great Karita Mattila forging it into a surprise hit of this superb Carnegie Hall evening with David Robertson and the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra.  The anonymously attributed text relates a creation myth, in which a bird lays eggs upon the maiden Luonnotar, but she drops them into the water and they break, forming the earth, stars and sky.  The orchestra pulses in waves, as the singer flies high overhead, and if there were any in the audience who doubted that Ms. Mattila is one of the finest singing actresses today, this luminous, wrenching performance surely put them to rest.  In a dramatic black dress with straps crisscrossing her athletic back and shoulders, she looked much younger than a singer who will turn fifty next year.  During the climax, when the eggs fall into pieces, Mattila jerked her head as if jolted from a trance.  It was a riveting ten minutes.

A chamber-sized ensemble returned to the stage for Bernd Alois Zimmermann's Canto di speranza (Song of Hope) with the great Anssi Karttunen in the cello part (and sporting a handsome crimson shirt).  Begun when the composer was 34 years old, the work uses serial techniques, often characterized as faceless, to highly expressive ends, with the cello in sweeping contrast to the pointillist shards in the orchestra.  At times the soloist and ensemble seemed oblivious to each other, yet more often this illusion was dispelled.  Karttunen seemed completely immersed in the restless cello line, and Robertson should be soundly applauded for bringing this rarity to the stage.

In another burst of savvy, Robertson employed his two soloists together in Kaija Saariaho's Mirage.  While my listening companion didn't much care for Maria Sabina's text (which struck her as a now-almost-quaint feminist tract), there is no doubt that it fired the composer's imagination into some glowing music.  With Mattila again in outstanding form, empathetically glancing down at Karttunen, both floated above Saariaho's microtonal glissandos and shimmering string plateaus.  Frankly, Robertson was so adept at pushing the soloists forward that most of the time I wasn't even aware of him — in this case, high praise — and the orchestra sounded glorious.

Robertson and the ensemble began with a richly drawn "Good Friday Music" from Wagner's Parsifal, given a huge dynamic range, and enough heft to make me wonder how the
Saint Louis ensemble would fare in the entire opera.  At intermission, one friend marveled at Robertson's focus, evident so early in the evening.  And then came the end, with a revelatory performance of Sibelius's Fifth Symphony that in the wrong hands can remain an icy enigma, despite its popularity.  Aside from Robertson's sweeping view of the score, some crucial details made the differences.  Rather than making distinct breaks between movements, Robertson had them follow attacca, flowing into each other in a way more like the continuous motion of his Symphony No. 7.  The famous final six chords, in particular, sometimes vex conductors who play them too fast, or not fast enough.  But here, in a final burst of intelligent musicmaking, they seemed to be of another world entirely, stark and unexpected, in a way that seemed to anticipate composers decades into the future.

Bruce Hodges


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