SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Stravinsky: Mlada Khudoley, soprano, Olga Savova, mezzo-soprano, Alexander Timchenko, tenor, Gennady Bezzubenkov, bass, Alexander Mogilevsky, Youlia Zaichkina, Maxim Mogilevsky, Svetlana Smolina, piano, Chorus of the Mariinsky Theater, Andrei Petrenko, principal chorus master, New York Philharmonic, Valery Gergiev, conductor, Avery Fisher Hall, New York City, 22.4.2010 (GG)

Stravinsky: Svadebka (Les Noces), Symphonies of Wind Instruments (1945/47), The Firebird (1910)

Eyjafjallajokull cast a literal pall last week over concert life in New York City, including the opening of the Russian Stravinsky Festival, with Valery Gergiev leading the New York Philharmonic and guest soloists in almost three week of concerts. The conductor himself did not arrive in New York City until the day prior to the first event, and that program had to be altered because only a few of the musicians needed specifically for Les Noces had made it to America. This initial program ran as intended the second night, 22 April, although the effects of the volcano were still audible. Mankind triumphed over nature at Avery Fisher hall, however, as the obstacles spewed forth became launching points for a thrilling evening.

The programming, one of Stravinsky’s most popular scores along with two off his strangest and most opaque, turned out to be an inspired combination. Les Noces is the most Russian work the composer produced, and that accounts for part of its strangeness. Perhaps because Russians generally look like us, we in the West persist in thinking of that land as a Western country and culture, when it’s really an Eastern culture packaged in Western trappings. And Les Noces is clothed in the fashions of the West; Stravinsky takes both the idea of a traditional, and very drunken, peasant wedding, including folk song material, and fits it into a form and style that is Modern, the aural equivalent of Malevitch’s Constructivist art. The stripped down, brittle instrumentation and the angular, fragmented writing works in mysterious ways with the passionate, highly inflected vocals that run the emotional gamut from drunken joy to anxious lamentation. There’s a tendency to emphasize the formal coolness of the structure through precision, but with Gergiev conducting the music was fiery and direct, unapologetically Russian. Precision was, in fact, a problem at times. Rehearsal time would have to have been drastically curtailed, and during the first scene there was some lack of coordination between the visiting pianists and the Philharmonic percussionists, the chorus tended to rush ahead and Gergiev seemed to be adjusting the balances on the fly. Simultaneously, the musicians were clearly infected with the excitement of the occasion and the sharp, active hearing that comes naturally to the best players when things are slightly underprepared. The attentiveness of all, and Gergiev’s skill and confidence as a musician, brought everything together and by the early part of the second scene the only thing one heard was terrific music making. The main soloists, Khudoley and Bezzubenkov, were avid and expressive, clearly deeply familiar with the piece and the idiom, and the latter was especially dazzling for singing well and conveying drunkenness at the same time. There was an enjoyable collegial atmosphere onstage during the warm, grateful applause, the sensation of being both surprised and satisfied that they had all made it through in one piece.

Gergiev began the Symphonies of Wind Instruments with a slightly slow tempo. While the preceding work has a clear theme and direction, this piece is Stravinsky’s most abstract work, with an architecture and expression that are hermetic. The central feature is a piping, short melodic phrase and it’s extremely nasal orchestration, the music then proceeds through a series of short episodes, perhaps with the sections and instruments conversing with each other, perhaps not. The Symphonies completely fulfills Stravinsky’s adage that music is only capable of expressing itself; it’s sound and structure. The best performances eschew a search for intellectual and emotional meaning and focus on colors, balances and rhythms. Gergiev set rhythm mostly by the wayside in that he offered no particular comment on that element, focusing on the instrumental sonorities, which in his hands had exceptional clarity and careful tunings. In a fascinating bit of Russian emphasis, he brought the bassoon line adapted from Le Sacre du Printemps to the fore. The closing pages were tender, and the Gergiev’s focus on the dissonance in the concluding major chord was both warm and bracing.

Gergiev’s way with The Firebird hewed closely to the interpretation heard on his recording with the Kirov Orchestra, with the added nervous energy and concentration of the circumstances and concert setting making for a sense of spontaneity rarely heard in an orchestral performance. It was stupendous. Given the circumstances, he modulated tempo less than might be expected, but his absolutely rock-steady pulse anchored the music to such a strong foundation that the playing could achieve wildness without calamity. He himself managed a balance of intensity and control that I have rarely seen; he both urged power and passion from the orchestra and offered notes in the moment, at one point even indicating to the lower strings exactly how he wanted them to be bowing.

As much as other conductors modulate dynamics, in this piece Gergiev modulated color with tremendous effect. The three great early ballets of Stravinsky are kaleidoscopic beyond any other music, and the vibrancy of Gergiev’s coloring was as great as any icon. He divided the violins and placed the cellos to the left of center, with basses in a single row at their back, and the result was a rich, velvety sound, old world in color but modern in it’s seeming weightlessness. He emphasized length of phrase throughout the performance, and every moment fit into the overall dramatic shape. Even without knowing the plot, one could hear a story unfolding. The emphasis on phrasing produced a meltingly tender ‘Round-Dance of the Princess,’ and the dramatic shaping meant that the gradual approach of the climax generated an accumulation of tension. Gergiev began to push hard at these sections, and the ‘Dance of Kashchei’s Retinue’ nearly fell apart. But like a car driving at speed down a twisting mountain road, tires at the edge of the precipice at every turn, the conductor steered the orchestra just this side of safety. It was deeply thrilling to hear the music played this way, the mass of musicians working with skill and trust to keep the performance going. The intensity in the music was such that the great rush up and down and up again at the end of the ‘Infernal Dance’ produced a massive growl from the orchestra that was beyond any idea of notes or orchestration; it was a sound and a force. At this collapse in the music, the Firebird’s lullaby was a stately, welcome exhalation, the clarinet line made incredibly sensual, and the tempo of the apotheosis was daringly, successfully slow, Gergiev wrenching every last measure of richness from the music and expression from the orchestra.

George Grella