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SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL CONCERT
Ligeti : Concert Românesc (Romanian Concerto)
(1951, rev. 1996)
Haydn : Symphony No. 7 in C major, Le Midi (The Noon), Hob. I:7 (1761)
Bartók : A kékszakállú herceg vára (Duke Bluebeard's Castle), Opera in One Act, Op. 11 (1911-18)
Is there any good reason for Ligeti's Concert Românesc
being so absent from the modern concert hall-especially when
Esa-Pekka Salonen and the New York Philharmonic gave such a
dashing, confident performance? Written when the composer was in
his mid-twenties, the references to Enescu and Bartók are
unmistakeable, and I can imagine many who would never fancy
themselves Ligeti fans being delighted by this early work that
only hints at the towering explorations to come. Plus, it has
humor: in the second movement, marked "Allegro vivace," heavily
accented dance rhythms are interrupted by a handful of
well-timed pauses that Salonen fully exploited for their comic
effect. The third movement uses a pair of horns, one offstage,
for an unusual echo effect. Concertmaster Glenn Dicterow had his
hands full with some lightning solos in the boisterous finale,
marked "Molto vivace," and here Salonen probably added an extra
"molto," with the ensemble in a thundering rhythmic gallop, with
the composer/prankster deploying a false ending.
The genteel Haydn Symphony No. 7 gave Dicterow even more work,
albeit not at 200 kph speeds, and some engaging duets with
principal cellist Carter Brey. Some other shaky ensemble moments
aside, the net result-especially the charming second
movement-reminded me of a pleasant summer day, the sun beaming
down without being oppressive.
But there was no question that Bartók's A kékszakállú herceg
vára (Duke Bluebeard's Castle) was the evening's
centerpiece. Stepping in for an indisposed Marthe Keller, actor
Richard Easton recited the opening text, in which the composer
urges the audience to enter Bartók's tale. This magnificently
orchestrated, magnificently disturbing score has many pleasures,
and Salonen and the large orchestra found the dazzling colors in
all of them, collaborating with two outstanding soloists and
some well-considered lighting effects. (No staging was used; the
singers stood on either side of the podium.) As the house lights
dimmed, the onstage walls turned blue or violet-that is, until
they changed to red, each time Judith opened the seven doors in
Bluebeard's castle, and realized that behind each are contents
tinged with blood.
I'd heard Michelle DeYoung as Judith before, and she is only
getting more confident in the part, with luxurious tone and
exacting intonation. Her high C during the opening of the fifth
door was thrilling, with a small special effect: the entire
house lights suddenly blazed on-yes, including those in the
audience. And in character, DeYoung offered a strange
vulnerability, coupled with some alarming naïveté mixed with
passion; when she decided to open those doors, she wouldn't be
stopped.
The evening's surprise-new to me and making his Philharmonic
debut-was the marvelous Hungarian bass Gábor Bretz, who not only
sang the title role with creepy verve, but is also slightly
taller than the statuesque Ms. DeYoung. Both attractive, they
could have flown in from Cannes. In the opening scene, there
were times when he turned his head to stare at her with an
unwavering gaze, cold in its malevolent understatement. But his
singing told the real story. Using his sumptuous, all-enveloping
tone, coupled with precise Hungarian enunciation, he made a
slightly sad Bluebeard, a man who won't-or can't-warn Judith of
the fate ahead of her.
Bruce Hodges