SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Debussy, Sibelius, Magnus Lindberg: Joshua Bell (violin), Chen Halevi (clarinet), Carter Brey (cello), Magnus Lindberg (piano), Markus Rhoten (timpani), Christopher S. Lamb (percussion), Daniel Druckman (percussion), Juhani Liimatainen (electronics), Alan Gilbert (conductor), New York Philharmonic, Avery Fisher Hall, 8.10.2010 (BH)

 

Debussy: Prélude à l’après midi d’un faune (Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun) (1892-94)
Sibelius: Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in D minor, Op. 47 (1902-04; rev. 1905)

Magnus Lindberg: Kraft (1983-85; New York Premiere)


There is something mildly disconcerting about sitting in Avery Fisher Hall, listening to the languors of Debussy’s Prélude à l’après midi d’un faune, while gazing at a nitrogen tank the size of a small bull parked on the floor, replacing a row of seats. But the second half of this landmark program by Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic required such an elaborate set-up, that many of the percussion implements had to be installed in advance. The tank was only the largest item in an array that included a large gong suspended overhead, and a rack of hanging oxygen bottles lurking at one side of the stage.

Perhaps the Debussy actually benefited from being performed amid such industrial detritus. In any case, the orchestra sounded splendid, as Gilbert gently, patiently allowed Debussy’s river of colors to spill into the hall, as if in slow motion. For at least one friend, this shimmering opening was the highlight of the entire evening.

But for some, Joshua Bell’s probing reading of the Sibelius Violin Concerto would probably carry the night’s top honors. Somehow this mysterious piece was a good match for Bell, who offered equal parts of dreaminess and sophistication. Gilbert was especially effective at generating true pianissimos in the orchestra, allowing Bell to reduce his volume level to correspondingly hushed levels; this might have been the quietest version of the piece I’ve ever heard—not a bad thing—and I can’t recall Bell sounding so mature. Applause after the first movement seemed not a distraction to be punished, but a welcome and inevitable reaction. The second movement boasted wind chorales perfectly voiced and never too prominent, and Bell found intensity here that I’d not heard from him. In the last Allegro, he seemed to be slightly taxed by the opening runs—perhaps taken slightly too fast—but soon regained composure and made the most of the virtuosic finale.

After intermission, concertgoers returned to their seats to find the nitrogen tank upended vertically, the gong overhead lowered almost to the floor, and a large red sign saying “Rapid Sewer Cleaning” stretched across the podium. Scattered onstage were a traffic stop sign, large coiled springs, scraps of metal and tubing, and probably more percussion instruments than I’ve ever seen in any Philharmonic concert—all for Magnus Lindberg’s youthful explosion called Kraft.

Gilbert and his crew came out wearing a spectrum of polo shirts—yellow, orange, red, purple, blue, green—and launched into a short demonstration of what he called “managed chaos.” After noting that this was the same orchestra that had just played the Debussy and Sibelius, he gave a preview of his vocalizing to come (little “tk-tk-tk” sounds) and announced he would also be blowing a whistle.

For the next half-hour or so, musicians left the stage to run up the aisles to reach some of the instruments scattered around the hall. Meanwhile, the ensemble created enticing sonorities: one climactic chord has 72 different notes. Around the hall’s perimeter, groups of brass made waves of sound engulfing the audience. Much of the work is amplified or uses electronics, and Jhuani Liimatainen was imported from Finland for the task. At one point, principal cellist Carter Brey was tapping the tank in front of us with drumsticks. And in one of many mesmerizing sequences, Gilbert turned to face the audience to direct a chorale of tuned gongs. Lindberg himself was playing keyboard and percussion, at one point blowing bubbles into a tank of water—all amplified to create a gentle gurgling. Kraft has the exhilaration of a young composer dreaming up every sound he can think of, and if it ultimately may have more weight as an experiment, in sheer entertainment value alone it carried the day—at least as staged here.

Most gratifying of all was the size of the audience at the end. Yes, there was a small trickle of exits: in the first few seconds a giant orchestral rasp caused some in the front row to flee, and perhaps ten more listeners (at least, that I could see) subsequently lost patience. But they were in the distinct minority. At the end, thousands were clearly intrigued enough to award Gilbert and the orchestra an enormous ovation, bringing him and the percussionists back onstage over and over again.

Bruce Hodges