Shostakovich's 11th the Loudest Thing Ever? Maybe...

Robert Trevino (c) Lisa Hancock

On Feb 22 the Oregon Symphony welcomed first-time conductor Robert Trevino, who had the titanic task of bringing to life Shostakovich's Symphony No 11 in G minor, "The Year 1905," which was (ostensibly) written in memoriam to the heroes of that last great Russian revolution before the big one finally succeeded in 1917.

But first, after a brief piece Icarus in Orbit by George Walker, was a work at the polar opposite of the Shostakovich stylistically speaking, the Violin Concerto in A Minor by Gian Carlo Menotti, with concert master Sarah Kwak taking on solo duties.

There was no big intro to the Menotti, just a sudden but not sharp attack by Kwak. A persistent, hopscotching saltando gave way to a gentle, stirring serenade. Kwak's insight was fantastic--almost bordering on understated but never giving way to tiresomeness. Very much the opposite--there was tremendous variety in her phrasing, and inventive emotive intent was her hallmark.  The Adagio opened with a resounding timbre worthy of the famed Kreisler concerto. The extended orchestral tacets gave Kwak all the room she needed to explore, and I'm sure I was not the only one who felt like listening to her solo all evening.

Sarah Kwak

The Shostakovich, on the other hand...suffice it to say this was an entirely different animal. Lurking and mysterious at the outset, the presage to the bloodshed imparted a sense of brooding, of impending action.  This tautness was difficult to sustain for long periods and yet keep interesting--several minutes with nothing but pianissimo timpani and snare drum with an occasional melody instrument peeping through--and yet rather than dulling, the tension increased.

Then the action began! A frenetic, tutti battaglia--the timpanist was a master of understatement, and there was terrific work from the brass choir, especially the trumpets, unafraid of getting their hands dirty. There were throaty molto fortissimi that almost defied description, and Trevino did a marvelous job of instilling balance with a hundred people playing with all their might. The heart-pounding excitement from the percussion cannot be overstated.

In the third movement there was awesomely menacing stuff from low brass and winds. Balance issues became a factor later as the unmuted trumpets simply overpowered the strings--there's only so much noise you can wring out of the strings before the trumpets just have to quiet down a bit.  There were long savory staccatissimo passages from bass and cello--horsehair was flying all over the stage.  The English horn solo in the finale was exquisitely rubato, and Trevino kept mysteriously directing the one soloist  (who did not need it) while ignoring the 2 harps and  30 violins who were desperately trying (and failing) to keep their pizzicato entrances on the beat. Sometimes the conductor needs to be a metronome, and the strings were the ones who needed a metronome at that moment, not the masterful cor anglais soloist.

That being said, the entire experience was exquisite. The tuned bell plates at the end (or to use the much more satisfying term, plattenglocken ) were so horrifyingly loud (in a good way) that the harpists were desperately cramming in ear plugs. The finale was certainly one of the loudest unamplified musical experiences I've ever heard, and I reveled in the sheer, childish joy of just hearing so much unalloyed, unapologetic noise!  I'm sure I was laughing because it was so fun, but believe me, no one heard.

Portland audiences are known for being extremely appreciative, something which I believe is a mark of pride for our city, but I have seldom seen so many curtain calls or such enthusiastic applause, as Trevino came out again and again and again to acknowledge each section and certain soloists, and when the percussion stood to be recognized the huzzahs almost blew the roof off the Schnitz.  This was the most fun I've had in a long time, and you just can't experience this kind of thing without going to hear live music.

Fantastic images, personal interpretations mark Oregon Symphony's 'Rite of Spring'

Elina Vähälä

The Oregon Symphony set out to give the audience what it wanted (quite literally) on its Rite of Spring weekend, and appeared to succeed admirably. After engaging with the OSO listening public and various community partners, the result was the 'Sounds of Home' series, that "pairs exhiliarating repertoire with stunning visual displays to explore timely issues in the Portland community and beyond," according to OSO.  The series opening on January 13 was bold and challenging, both in terms of repertoire and visual elements.

One of the hallmarks of the evening seemed to be personal interpretations; Maestro Kalmar, whose natural charisma and vast knowledge alway make for engaging and edifying remarks, seemed even more intimate in his speaking and conducting.  The incredible personal touches from violinist Elina Vähälä and the visuals by multimedia experience designer Matthew Haber added to this in that all the images he used were from Oregon, and so personal to our state.  In keeping with that spirit I shall be incorporating a few personal touches in the form of memories and observations to this review.

The opening piece was Haydn's Symphony No. 70 in D Major, one reason for its choosing being that it is not one of the better-known chestnuts from this voluminous oeuvre.  Its opening was spritely and almost terpsichorean; clean, bright and balanced. A surprisingly bold attack on the menuet in the third movement was refreshing, and the Allegro con brio finale contained a crisply executed contrapuntal section. This fugue served as a reminder of the incredible transitional period that was the span of Haydn's life (1732-1809)--as a young man, his early compositions were written when old Master Bach and other great maestros of the high baroque were still composing, and he lived through the gallant and Viennese classical on through to the first whisperings of the Romantic, some of which can be heard in his last works.

The second work of the first half was a titanic violin concerto, Bartók's Violin Concerto No. 2. Vähälä opened with a full frontal assault--almost transgressive in her chordal attack. Kalmar expertly brought the orchestal dynamic down when they began to overshadow Vähälä's pianissimo trills. There followed a loud, almost vulgar tremolo from winds and strings and a saucy glissando from the soloist. Vähälä leaned heavily on a melodic minor motif which produced an incredible effect of maximum dissonance.  The soloist opened the theme and variations of the second movement began with a very sere exposition, a sort of poco mezzo saltando that was affecting and delicious. The strings had some great slapping, snapping pizzicato fun, and Vähälä delivered a haunting siren song seemingly out of nowhere with sorcerous ability, and closed the work with bacchanalian fervor.

The usual backdrop behind the stage at the Schnitz  was a stylized, mountainous series of screens covering the dingy old choir loft, the self-same loft where I have spent many an hour over the years as a bass waiting for the fourth movement of the Beethoven 9 to begin. 'The long sit,' I've always called it. Leading to the bad old joke about how the choir occupies its time while waiting--'it's the bottom of the 9th and the basses are loaded.'  But tonight the space was being used for something much different. 

As Stravinsky's seminal Rite of Spring began, scenes of flowers budding and seedlings sprouting accompanied the delightful woodwind cacophony.  Haber's images were kaleidoscopic--distracting from the music at first it seemed but maybe only to a reviewer trying to take notes? At any rate it soon seemed to mesh more smoothly. The images changed to cityscapes as the music grew bolder.  Ephemeral wisps of smoke devolved into human, plant and animal shapes before quickly dissolving.  The OSO played this difficult piece high and tight as one would expect from this group, displaying incredible subtlety and cocksure boldness in equal measures. Infectious, beautiful and arrestingly violent, the music then began accompanying disturbing images of fungal spores waving and bobbing like heads in a crowd. With weeping slime molds and spores blossoming in an uncomfortable reminiscence of mushroom clouds, the work finished showing the magic of decay.

Oregon Symphony Delivers Marine Sound Feast Centered around Debussy's La Mer

Fingal's Cave
Thomas Moran, 1884 oil on canvas

Saturday the 22nd at the Schnitz the Oregon Symphony played a concert that was largely marine in theme, with works by Mendelssohn, Debussy, and an American premier by Toshio Hosokawa. The lone exception was the Violin Concerto by Benjamin Britten, featuring soloist Simone Lamsma and directed by the excellent Jun Markl.

The opening work was Mendelssohn's The Hebrides (Fingal's Cave).The famous see-sawing, sighing opening theme immediately giving the evening a nautical footing, and the orchestra transitioned nicely to the stormy motive and back again, conveying a sense of disquiet, and a restless sea.

Simone Lamsma returned to the stage for OSO for the first time since her smashing performance of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto last year. She plays strongly, insistent yet not without delicacy. She clearly has something to say, and makes that plain from the start. Her technique is spectacular and wide-ranging: a fierce chordal spiccato, intensive sawing in the low range yielding to nimble, dance-like moments further up. The many tragical moments of the work were not yet drowned in sorrow--her instrument sang with a voice that could not be repressed, nor yet weighted down by sadness. Other sections demanded a fierce, saucy pizzicato, reveling in two-note dissonances.

In the Vivace there were terrifying glissandi, and she handed off the haunting harmonic passages seamlessly to the piccoli, a difficult transition with a memorable effect. The cadenza was completely mesmerizing, including a difficult trick of bowing some strings while simultaneously plucking others with the left hand. The fantastically difficult chromatic runs of the finale she handled with ease, yielding to a meditative exhalation. Truly a spectacular performance.

The second half opened with the American premier of Japanese composer Toshio Hosokawa's Circulating Ocean, a programmatic piece also meant to suggest the cycle of human life from nothingess, to existence, then a return to non-existence. De niente, winds began to sound from an aspirated alto flute and other winds as gentle tinkling from tiny Japanese wind bells broke through the breathy atmosphere. A very evocative feeling of crawling mist grew, with the brass gurgling up, muffled as if from a great depth. Surrounding all was a ceaseless susurration from the strings.

This was a fantastically imaginative work early on for percussion: tam tams and bowed celesta, Japanese temple bowls and the wind bells and an antique cymbal featured among the instruments.  There was next to nothing by way of true melody early on: snatches here and there from celesta but later there were bits of half-themes and short motives from flute, bassoon and strings. It was really more of a great sound-picture, a reflection on impermanence. This was a work of stunning imagination, and this surely will not be the last time it is heard in the U.S.

Debussy's great symphonic work La Mer closed out the evening. The intro and moments later in the third felt almost rusty--what should at times have been mellifluous instead came off as stilted. All the pieces were there, just not perfectly fit together.  The second movement, the Jeu de vagues, really pulled together well. Much more effortless; the stunning, giant crescendo and fortissimo arrival was incredibly evocative and breathtaking.   The movement continued frenetic and moody, with wonderful work from strings--violins appropriately sentimental at times, and with grandiose yet subdued work from the cellos.

The entire evening was really incredible stuff--there was some fantastic noise being made that night, in the best sense of the term. This concert repeats tonight and tomorrow night at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.

Dvorak's New World Symphony is fresh and new in the hands of the Oregon Symphony

Yefim Bronfman

Monday evening at the Schnitz saw the Oregon Symphony perform Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Dvorak's famous 'New World' Symphony, as well as a Beethoven concerto and a striking new work by Sebastian Currier.

Called Microsymph, an accurate title, Currier's work consisted of five short movements for a total of about 12 minutes. Short, expressive and engrossing, here is a sample of the impressions each movement left behind:

quickchange: Hectic, repercussive, tumltuous, like busy traffic that suddenly detoured into a mystic silent alleyway. minute waltz: Chuffing 'cuckoo, cuckoo,' discordant yet sweet horns. adagio: Elegiac, hypnotic--the ability--nay, necessity-- of drawing in the listeners' imagination in the shortest possible time was on display. nanoscherzo: Tootling, mechanical, tock-ticking. kaleidoscope: Brass squawking, imploring, cajoling, sighing unison chonking, secret whispering between sections. This piece was imaginative and bold, and the OSO handled it like champs.

Pianist Yefim Bronfman joined for Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4. in G Major. This much more quiet, subdued work seemed to be right in Bronfman's wheelhouse. The orchestral opening was suitably grandiose yet not overblown, and Bronfman's brilliant runs of thirds were shining and crisp at the outset. The delicacy of his touch was almost surprising--nothing was ever overstated. The orchestra succeeded at the incredibly difficult task of allowing the gentility of the pianist's touch to yet shine through the orchestral texture. Kalmar's sense of balance was superb, and the orchestra followed. The numerous trills needed to be kept fresh and varied in the latter movements, and Bronfman again did not disappoint, going on further to display an entirely different timbre for each individual voice within contrapuntal sections to a truly marvelous effect. This concerto, so different from some of Beethoven's more iconic works, was fresh and lively in Bronfman's hands.

The second half consisted of Dvorak's iconic symphony, labeled 'From the New World.'  The genesis of what might be thought of as an 'American' sound for classical music, the OSO did not shy away from the bold statements to be found herein. The grandiose opening theme built in the brass until it was like towering thunderheads piling up over a far landscape. The strings sang a prairie lullaby with tenderness and rusticity, tossed gently between the strings and solo flute.  In the second movement the woodwind choir played the tender theme with such warmth and care that it enfolded the listener in a womb of calm and repose. The explosive exposition of the fourth movement featured controlled power from the brass--pushing the absolute limit without going over the edge. The delicate tremolando from the violins, the saltando theme when violas were the only strings playing, the powerful, sawing theme from the low strings--all were executed to perfection.

The transportative nature of the music at this concert lay not in the compositions alone, but in the interpretation--superb execution by elite players is required to complete the effect. Kalmar's reading was as expansive and wide-ranging as the music required to bring its meaning to fruition. This is what the OSO can deliver when they are at their best--and Monday night they were indeed.

Oregon Symphony's Russian program satisfies...ultimately.

Simone Lamsma

The Oregon Symphony played the final night of a Russian-heavy program at the Schnitz Monday evening, featuring Shostakovich's Symphony No. 1 in F minor  and Tchaikovsky's Concerto in D Major for Violin and Orchestra, featuring Dutch player Simone Lamsma as soloist.

The folks who were parking during the "parking overture" didn't miss much, unfortunately. Danish composer Carl Nielsen's Helios Overture was flat from the start, literally and emotionally. A sour start and continued pitch issues from the horns muddied what should have been a quivering, bracing opening, and the orchestra followed suit with an underwhelming delivery. Surprising, frankly, because this is the sort of thing at which the OSO usually excels.

Immediately following was the Shostakovich. This piece felt like it took a minute or two to get going, but because of its length it could afford an unfortunate if understandable 'warm-up' phase. With so many rapid-fire entrances and exits from so many sections, the orchestra had to be right on cue--constant attention to the conductor was key. They achieved this, and there were tasty treats from many sections and players, including second chair first violin...a solo executed with just the right blend of gusto and restraint.  The second movement featured brilliant switching between the principal themes as they were bandied about between the sections.

The opening of the Lento third movement featured an oboe solo floating gently like a bird soaring over a hushed sea of strings--lush and full bodied, the strings perfectly captured the mysterious spirit of the movement. The final movement closed in raging moments of brutal exclamations from the brass and percussion. Such rapidly and radically shifting moods throughout the piece required a steady and able hand, and resident conductor Paul Ghun Kim ably guided them through the treacherous course.

The second half consisted of the violin concerto, and Lamsma had the audience hooked right from the start. She opened with a fine, broad cantabile, featuring a rich lower range. Her technical brilliance was unmistakable from the start--she executed difficult chordal and scalar passages with exciting thoroughness and clarity. Her lengthy, spritely cadenza was intensely interesting, featuring daring harmonics and glissandi.

During the Finale: Allegro vivacissimo she played with a rapidfire saltando that seemed at times to throw down a friendly challenge to the orchestra: just try and keep up! My tongue is planted firmly in cheek when I say she was having far to much fun for a soloist in such a serious work.