Another review for Carnegie
This is probably one of the best written reviews I've ever read. This person is obviously highly educated in classical music and a connoisseur of the art. And you don't get a better compliment than this..." Perhaps the fact that there were no “big name” instrumental soloists on hand accounts for the number of empty seats, but it’s a pity because there was in fact a “big name” on the roster: the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, one of the finest in the world, and a group that justified its storied reputation every time that it opened its collective mouth."
Yay us.
ATLANTA SYMPHONY OFFERS THEOPHANIDIS NY PREMIERE
Carnegie Hall, New York, April 5, 2008
Saturday night’s concert by the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra at Carnegie Hall was not as fully attended as it should have been, given the fact that the program consisted of two unassailable repertory masterpieces (Sibelius’ Tapiola and Ravel’s complete ballet Daphnis and Chloe), as well as the New York premiere of a major choral work by one of the most widely acclaimed young American composers: Christopher Theophanidis’ The Here and Now. Perhaps the fact that there were no “big name” instrumental soloists on hand accounts for the number of empty seats, but it’s a pity because there was in fact a “big name” on the roster: the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, one of the finest in the world, and a group that justified its storied reputation every time that it opened its collective mouth.
This isn’t to say that the orchestra didn’t acquit itself well too. It did. There were a few minor ensemble issues in the quick central episode of Tapiola, and the cellos could have offered a more richly sung “sunrise” in the concluding third of Daphnis, but aside from a couple of bobbles from the first horn and trombone in their excruciatingly high solos in that work’s first part, the playing generally was of very high quality throughout in a program that tested every section--indeed, just about every player in every section. Conductor Robert Spano paced Tapiola very well, particularly the transition back to the second subject in the symphonic poem’s latter half, and he got the strings to grind out a very impressive storm episode towards the end. The performance was atmospheric, as it must be, but never static.
Daphnis and Chloe took a little time to warm up after its voluptuous opening. It’s interesting that Ravel’s two suites begin about a third of the way into the piece despite the amount of really good music that precedes them, perhaps for the very reason that these first few numbers lack the unity and flow of the more familiar concert excerpts. Spano didn’t quite overcome this hurdle, but quickly recovered on reaching the spooky opening of what we now know as Suite No. 1. The ensuing interlude for wordless chorus was marvelous, the scene in the pirate’s camp tremendously exciting, and Spano was smart enough not to drag out Chloe’s “Dance of Supplication” too much. On stage, with an attractive ballerina doing the supplicating, it’s fine to take more time, but in concert this may be the work’s weakest single section, and Spano concealed its repetitiveness very well. The performance culminated in an aptly spectacular closing Bacchanal, with the chorus varying its wordless intonation beyond the usual generic “ah.”
That leaves us with Theophanidis’ The Here and Now, a 2005 commission from Robert Spano on behalf of the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, that closed the evening’s first half. Theophanidis compiled texts from thirteenth century Persian poet Rumi, and whatever their origin the words are strikingly “New Age,” all about cosmic love, positive energy, and that sort of thing. The engagingly tuneful music certainly matches the texts, being vigorous, bright, and colorful. There are thirteen short-ish movements in all, three of which are very brief “narrations” for baritone solo that sound strikingly like cribs from Orff’s Carmina Burana (think “Veris leta facies”). The texts for these are humorous, the vocal writing somewhat ungrateful, and it has to be said that baritone Nathan Gunn’s talents were largely wasted on them.
Indeed, for all the exuberance and tuneful appeal, The Here and Now reveals some limitations in Theophanidis as a composer. His handling of the orchestra, for one, is a touch perfunctory. Among the evocative moments for brass and percussion (for example, a mysterious choral refrain backed by Chinese cymbal in the fourth movement), it’s an open question why Theophanidis felt the need to include woodwinds at all, so little use did he make of them. He also overdid some effects that can easily come to sound hackneyed: bell sounds in muted brass, big swats on the tam-tam, and suspended cymbal crescendos. We’ve heard all of this before. His text-setting, in addition to those baritone “narratives,” can be awkward and work against the natural stress of the words. This happens all the time in vocal music, but the chorus’ excellent diction made this issue stand out conspicuously here.
These and any other imperfections were largely overcome by the sheer enthusiasm of the performance, and in particular by the gusto of the choral contribution. There’s no question that this piece could become a popular item in the repertoire of choral societies that work with good orchestras, and a welcome break from the usual run of masses, requiems, and, of course, Carmina Burana. Of greater concern is Theofanidis’ restricted emotional vocabulary, perhaps exaggerated here by his choice of texts. Given the resources of the modern orchestra, “transcendental luminosity” is awfully easy to evoke, but in the final analysis not especially profound or affecting. What Theofanidis needs to show is greater expressive range and variety. Perhaps his new symphony, scheduled for an Atlanta premiere in March of 2009, will deliver the goods in this respect.
David Hurwitz
Yay us.
ATLANTA SYMPHONY OFFERS THEOPHANIDIS NY PREMIERE
Carnegie Hall, New York, April 5, 2008
Saturday night’s concert by the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra at Carnegie Hall was not as fully attended as it should have been, given the fact that the program consisted of two unassailable repertory masterpieces (Sibelius’ Tapiola and Ravel’s complete ballet Daphnis and Chloe), as well as the New York premiere of a major choral work by one of the most widely acclaimed young American composers: Christopher Theophanidis’ The Here and Now. Perhaps the fact that there were no “big name” instrumental soloists on hand accounts for the number of empty seats, but it’s a pity because there was in fact a “big name” on the roster: the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, one of the finest in the world, and a group that justified its storied reputation every time that it opened its collective mouth.
This isn’t to say that the orchestra didn’t acquit itself well too. It did. There were a few minor ensemble issues in the quick central episode of Tapiola, and the cellos could have offered a more richly sung “sunrise” in the concluding third of Daphnis, but aside from a couple of bobbles from the first horn and trombone in their excruciatingly high solos in that work’s first part, the playing generally was of very high quality throughout in a program that tested every section--indeed, just about every player in every section. Conductor Robert Spano paced Tapiola very well, particularly the transition back to the second subject in the symphonic poem’s latter half, and he got the strings to grind out a very impressive storm episode towards the end. The performance was atmospheric, as it must be, but never static.
Daphnis and Chloe took a little time to warm up after its voluptuous opening. It’s interesting that Ravel’s two suites begin about a third of the way into the piece despite the amount of really good music that precedes them, perhaps for the very reason that these first few numbers lack the unity and flow of the more familiar concert excerpts. Spano didn’t quite overcome this hurdle, but quickly recovered on reaching the spooky opening of what we now know as Suite No. 1. The ensuing interlude for wordless chorus was marvelous, the scene in the pirate’s camp tremendously exciting, and Spano was smart enough not to drag out Chloe’s “Dance of Supplication” too much. On stage, with an attractive ballerina doing the supplicating, it’s fine to take more time, but in concert this may be the work’s weakest single section, and Spano concealed its repetitiveness very well. The performance culminated in an aptly spectacular closing Bacchanal, with the chorus varying its wordless intonation beyond the usual generic “ah.”
That leaves us with Theophanidis’ The Here and Now, a 2005 commission from Robert Spano on behalf of the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, that closed the evening’s first half. Theophanidis compiled texts from thirteenth century Persian poet Rumi, and whatever their origin the words are strikingly “New Age,” all about cosmic love, positive energy, and that sort of thing. The engagingly tuneful music certainly matches the texts, being vigorous, bright, and colorful. There are thirteen short-ish movements in all, three of which are very brief “narrations” for baritone solo that sound strikingly like cribs from Orff’s Carmina Burana (think “Veris leta facies”). The texts for these are humorous, the vocal writing somewhat ungrateful, and it has to be said that baritone Nathan Gunn’s talents were largely wasted on them.
Indeed, for all the exuberance and tuneful appeal, The Here and Now reveals some limitations in Theophanidis as a composer. His handling of the orchestra, for one, is a touch perfunctory. Among the evocative moments for brass and percussion (for example, a mysterious choral refrain backed by Chinese cymbal in the fourth movement), it’s an open question why Theophanidis felt the need to include woodwinds at all, so little use did he make of them. He also overdid some effects that can easily come to sound hackneyed: bell sounds in muted brass, big swats on the tam-tam, and suspended cymbal crescendos. We’ve heard all of this before. His text-setting, in addition to those baritone “narratives,” can be awkward and work against the natural stress of the words. This happens all the time in vocal music, but the chorus’ excellent diction made this issue stand out conspicuously here.
These and any other imperfections were largely overcome by the sheer enthusiasm of the performance, and in particular by the gusto of the choral contribution. There’s no question that this piece could become a popular item in the repertoire of choral societies that work with good orchestras, and a welcome break from the usual run of masses, requiems, and, of course, Carmina Burana. Of greater concern is Theofanidis’ restricted emotional vocabulary, perhaps exaggerated here by his choice of texts. Given the resources of the modern orchestra, “transcendental luminosity” is awfully easy to evoke, but in the final analysis not especially profound or affecting. What Theofanidis needs to show is greater expressive range and variety. Perhaps his new symphony, scheduled for an Atlanta premiere in March of 2009, will deliver the goods in this respect.
David Hurwitz