As I walked into the building which houses the Hermann Josef Abs Saal, it was immediately obvious that the concert-goers were there to be seen rather than to listen. But then, with the cheapest tickets going for 120 euros, one could not expect to see the young, passionate and/or talented crowd there. Still, there were a few youngsters in jeans scattered among the bankers in Hermès ties and socialites in diamonds, and the cloak-room was full of cellos – the chosen for the master-classes?
First impact in the concert hall (a very uninteresting conference-like room), a huge poster of Rostropovitch, smiling at everyone as if to say what? all this for me? well yes, I deserve it! His hovering presence definitely set the stage (no pun intended) for the concert. The repertoire, except for a surprising Schnittke, was carefully designed not to bore the glitterati. Speeches by the organizers and Elena Rostropovitch, who recounted anecdotes about life with Daddy. Applause for Trenkler, the soul of the festival, and for Marta Casals Istomin, its ego. Free drinks for everyone and bread and cheese at intermission, a nice gesture, but it was still rather expensive cheese.
So, and the music? A syrupy start with a Tchaikovsky Nocturne played by a disheveled Mischa Maisky accompanied by the Kremerata. The man looks worse every time I see him, the mop wilder and grayer and the clothes tackier. He can be a good cellist though,as he would prove later on in the evening. Then came the surprising and lovely Schnittke, a minuet for string trio, with Kremer, Geringas and a pretty young violist standing in for a sick Bashmet. But it was wisely over before people could start shifting in their seats.
Shostakovitch’s powerful second piano trio was performed fittingly by the extraordinarily inspired trio of Argerich, Kremer and Maisky. They have recorded the piece after all, and have clearly been playing together long enough to blend beautifully. The control is perfect, up to the precise coordination of the vibratos, martelés and pizzicatos, not only between the two string players, but between piano and strings. The dynamic nuances are breathtaking. I found myself sitting at the very edge of my chair, as if the musicians were pulling me towards them. I only wish Maisky were not shaking his mop so!
After the intermission, back to safer ground.
The Kremerata Baltica played Souvenir de Florence, in the arrangement for string orchestra. I of course prefer the sextet, but it was soooo lovely, especially that the orchestra combines excellence with good looks. The men were young and not all that handsome, but the women, oh my, a bunch of Anna Kournikovas and Maria Sharapovas playing strings instead of tennis, and just as efficiently.
The conclusion came in the form of a Piazzolla double concerto for cello and accordeon, for some reason christened a “bajan”, in lieu of a bandoneon. Beautiful music too, but, as someone once said of Vivaldi, Piazzolla seems to have composed 400 times the same piece… Expertly played by Geringas and this Draugsvoll fellow, and the gorgeous Kremerata.
Then came the only encore of the evening, my own Piazzolla milonga “Oblivión”, minus the piano, but very lovely too.
After the concert, one could catch a glimpse of the tables for a dinner organized in an adjoining room for the insiders. Had Onkel Heinz been there, would we have hustled our way in? True to my name, I just headed meekly for the S-Bahn, on an empty stomach.
The train took me home to a simple but very comfortable hotel, and there is more to come tomorrow.Ah, but how much nicer this would have been with my Uncle Henry to share the fun!
Tomorrow morning, I am off to the Stadt, Lynn Harrell at 11:30, the Rostropovitch exhibition, a luthiers exhibition, a Gutman master-class and a Schwabe and Geringas concert to round off the day. Not bad, huh?
The Kronberg Gazette – Day 2 Friday, October 05, 2007
Please bear with me – this was a very long day! It didn’t start out very well. The soft-boiled egg I was really looking forward to at breakfast was way over-cooked and I spread egg crumbs all over the table. But breakfast was otherwise pleasant, excellent cereal and bread and cheese. That was very fortunate, as it turned out to be my only proper meal of the day.
After breakfast, I set out on foot to discover Kronberg on my way to Lynn Harrell’s recital. The way winding down into town was just beautiful, taking me past a huge park and nice, prosperous bourgeois houses. It seems that Kronberg is the dormitory for the Frankfurt upper crust. I then reached a quaint, picture-book Altstadt, with enough elegant stores to satisfy my own and all the bankers’ wives most pressing needs. A red carpet showed the way to the different concert and master-class venues, a warm, welcoming touch. I had enough time to wander and look around a little before
Concert 2 Lynn Harrell and Pavel Gililov at the Johanniskirche.
Queuing next to me to get in were Bernard Greenhouse, Trenkler and the ubiquitious Marta Casals Istomin. I had time to observe her a little longer and realized why she annoys me so: she looks so terribly prim and proper and although she is probably still quite young, by today’s life-begins-at-60 standards, she dresses like my grandmother did at 80 and has a proprietary look on her face concerning all things cellistic. Why am I so spiteful and nasty toward this lady that I don’t even know? Sheer prejudice. I can’t quite warm up to a person who married her great-grandfather to enhance her own biography and who keeps referring to her deceased husband as “the Maestro”.
The beautiful little Evangelical church, with painted ceilings, wooden beams and a magnificent gilt Baroque (I think) organ, was packed, but thanks to Onkel Heinz’s clout with the organizers, I had an excellent seat. I was really excited at the prospect of this concert, considering that the program could hardly have been more appealing: the 2nd Bach suite (which I am studying at the moment), the Arpeggione and Debussy Sonatas, a Rachmaninov Lied and two Prokofiev pieces, the waltz from Cinderella and the march from the Love of Three Oranges, transcribed for cello and piano by Rostropovich.
Lynn Harrell, alas, completely let me down. His Bach, except for the Prelude (and even that had a strangely muffled sound) was simply atrocious, harsh, out of tune and a stylistic aberration. The Allemande was rushed, the Courante was pushed to a wild galop, the Sarabande was terribly uneven, the Minuets were a mess and the difficult Gigue exposed an extremely shaky technique. The Arpeggione was a little better but also suffered from poor intonation and lack of taste. Debussy was surprisingly a little more forgiving and allowed for some beautiful moments, also present in the Schubert, I forgot to mention, some singing pianissimos (or pianissimi, if you prefer) which allowed you to catch your breath. Then, instead of the Rachmaninov, Harrell decided to play the Pace Mio Dio aria from Forza, and that was really moving. He dedicated it to Galina Vishnevskaya, in memory of Slava (a name I have to use, although it feels strange considering I never met him, but it is not fashionable here to refer to him as Rostropovich). The Prokofiev Bearbeitungs were very nice and lively.I think he played an encore but I can’t remember what it was and that shows how disappointed I was. But then, I felt under the obligation to deliver Onkel Heinz’s message and I went backstage, or rather, behind the altar, and uttered a few very hypocritical platitudes along with the regards from Onkel. He was pleased and also sent his best. In spite of everything, I will attend his master-class tomorrow, some excellent teachers don’t play too well themselves and besides, it will probably be in English, definitely a redeeming feature. A final word about the excellent pianist, Pavel Gililov, who did all he could to salvage the wreck and played with extreme intelligence and sensitivity and brio.
After this recital, I moved on to the Statdhalle where a fascinating and tempting instrument, bow and musical knick-knack market is open for the duration of the festival, and could turn out to be a financial disaster for me (along with a fabulous shoe store with simply gorgeous 499 euro boots). Also, an interesting exhibition on Rostropovich (no one is listening to me now), his whole life in photographs, including a fabulous one from USSR times in which his bodyguard has fallen asleep on his shoulder and he is holding the guard’s Kalashnikov, looking absolutely miserable. Next door, a tribute on DVD certainly worth watching, and I hope I can get it for Onkel Heinz, although there is again way too much of Mme. Casals in it.
Not much to say about la Gutman’s master-class, because she spoke German with a Russian accent, it took place in a small, overcrowded, unbearably hot room and I left before the end. But it was nice that she illustrated what she wanted (it was the Dvorák) on her cello, thus giving a preview of tomorrow morning’s recital.
And, if you have not yet fallen asleep, here are my fascinating comments on
Concert 3 Part 1 – Gabriel Schwabe and Pavel Gililov
Some of you might remember this young man from the 2007 Feuermann Competition. He is, to begin with, a delight to look at. Felipe says he’s conceited, but who wouldn’t be? Not only very good-looking, in a Roman statue kind of way, but an absolutely fabulous cellist, and I think he just turned 18. What a difference from this morning! Here is a boy who plays with the sharpest intonation I have ever heard, almost dead perfect, impeccable technique and great sensitivity, and all this with a very elegant and understated posture. One might argue that his dynamics are a bit limited, he moves in the mf, f and ff range and should maybe be pushed into the p’s and pp’s, but I am absolutely confident that he will correct this very fast to become one of the ranking cellists of his generation. He also has a great sense of humor, as he demonstrated when he played a Humoresque (oops, again no pun intended) composed by Rostropovich, probably to plague his colleagues, as it is atrociously difficult but very funny. Before that, Schwabe had played the virtuosistic Martinu Variations on a theme by Rossini, and the second Mendelssohn sonata, which some consider a “lesser” piece, but which I would nevertheless probably include in my desert island kit. He did justice to both, also with the very competent support of Pavel Gililov who this time did not have to contend with an unfortunately slipshod partner (someone mentioned that Lynn Harrell is wearing hearing aids, which would explain at least his poor intonation – how terrible if it is true!).
Part 2 – David Geringas and Jascha Nemtsov
Well, I thought, they naturally put Geringas after Schwabe, but how was the elder going to live up to the standard set by the younger? It seemed really tricky. I thought Geringas would pale after this brilliant demonstration. How completely wrong I was! And that was not my only surprise. The first piece on the program was by Peteris Vasks, a Latvian composer born in 1946 – Gramata cellam, for solo cello. I expected to be bored stiff and it was simply breathtaking. A fierce first movement, and a suddenly sweet second movement which became eerie when a strange castrato voice suddenly appeared glued to the melodic line played by the cello. I couldn’t figure out where it came from and was later told that it was Geringas himself singing. Unglaublich! Then the pianist came in to join him in three pieces from Grieg’s Peer Gynt, but I don’t know who transcribed them, I’ll have to look it up in my Grove as the program notes are not really very informative. Anyway, although the music is lovely and was exquisitely played, it was a bit of an anti-climax and sounded very bland in comparison to the previous piece. It should have been played first. The last offering was another Peer Gynt, this time by Schnittke, for cello, piano and tape, as magnificently powerful as the first piece, simply mesmerizing. A fortississimo introduction on the piano is followed by marvelous contrasts on the cello, on a background of monotonous recorded wordless singing voices. The playing was superb, both by Geringas and by yet another spectacular pianist, who, I read in the biographical notes, is a Russian Jew who teaches at the University of Potsdam and specializes in Jewish musical studies. Someone whose acquaintance we should try to make. Finally, two fitting encores. Another of “my” pieces, Sibelius’s Valse Triste and the Sarabande of the 5th Suite.
Please have no fear. Tomorrow I only have one recital, Natalia Gutman’s, in the morning. I will dedicate my afternoon to shopping, so the only one who should worry is my husband Oboe d’Amore.
The Kronberg Gazette – Day 3 Saturday, October 06, 2007
Hello again from Kronberg… sorry, I forgot this is not a radio show. I’m getting carried away, I probably enjoy writing these reports much more than you do reading them. Are you ready for day 3?
But before we begin, I would like to make a few hors-Gazette comments in answer to some questions Onkel Heinz e-mailed to me.
a) How does one get egg crumbs all over the breakfast table? Easy, you can try for yourself. Take an egg, supposedly soft-boiled, place it in a soft-boiled egg holder (you know, those Lilliputian bowls that come either in the shape of a tiny stemmed wine glass or of a doll-size crème caramel mold). Set it on the table, sit down. Grab your knife and proceed to carefully remove a cap from the egg (which you have preferably placed with the smaller suppository-like end up). After putting some salt and pepper (optional) on both the cap and the decapitated egg, take the little plastic spoon that is always provided to avoid the aggravating stains that eggs leave on silver, and first dish out the solid egg-white from the cap. Eat. So far, so good, no surprises, that is the usual way you start eating a soft-boiled egg. Now, plunge the plastic spoon into the decapitated supposedly soft-boiled egg. Lo and behold! The egg is hard-boiled and instead of penetrating easily as it should, the little plastic spoon, encountering the hard surface, bends and springs back, sending egg crumbs in every direction. So there are hard-boiled egg white and egg yolk crumbs all over the table, the floor around you and, worst of all, your lap. The most tragic part of it all is that the egg yolk doesn’t really crumble, it turns into a paste, and there go the only extra pair of trousers you brought after a stupid bet with your husband that you could travel really light. QED.
b) As to the exotic versions of your name, Onkel Heinz, would O’Zio qualify as Irish? I don’t think so. It sounds more like a name for a nouvelle Irish-Italian cuisine restaurant. Ah, but then O’Henry is the real McCoy, but it has been used before (also as a restaurant name, btw). So I would stick to the truly original El Tio Quique.
Now, back to the Gazette.
This morning, I carefully avoided the hard soft-boiled eggs, and even the scrambled eggs, and had a very reasonable breakfast. I knew I was going to have a proper lunch for a change, so I didn’t have to raid the buffet. So, with clean pants and a light heart, I set out for the first morning activity, a 9:30 master-class with Gary Hoffman.
I was a little late, as I couldn’t resist stopping to take a few pictures of the beautiful autumn-hued park. When I got there, the only available seat was the floor, which I took gladly, as it was a front row floor seat. A true gentleman who had come in after me shoved passed everyone and grabbed the only existing chair. I hope he roasts in cello hell, listening to Lynn Harrell’s Bach…
The only time I had heard Gary Hoffman play was when he won the Rostropovich Cello Competition in Paris some 20 years ago. I must confess that, once again, I chose to attend this master-class mainly because it was bound to be in English. I’m really glad I did.
The first “pupil” was a girl called Christine Rau who had chosen to play the Dvorák, the cellists’ national anthem, as Hoffman put it. Her playing was stunning and the pianist who accompanied her, contrary to the one who had accompanied the same piece in Gutman’s class the day before, really managed to make the Bechstein sound like a whole orchestra. So the girl played sensationally, with the same concentration and presence she would probably have had if she were playing with the Berlin Philharmonic and Sir Simon. Just beautiful. I wondered what Hoffman was going to say. Well, he said:”What is there to say?” which made me feel smugly clairvoyant. But then he surprised us all by finding many, many brilliant things to say, not so much about Ms. Rau’s Dvorák, which would have been redundant, but about a few issues regarding sound production in a big hall, as he noticed a few gestures on her part which, he thought, would maybe hinder her emission. Don’t mistake tension for intensity, he said. In trying too hard to channel your emotions into your playing, you wind up tensing up and obtain the exact opposite effect. (He didn’t say that in so many words, but that is what he meant.) He showed her how the involuntary gestures she made could cut the sound. He also showed how playing piano and pianissimo is exactly the same thing as playing forte, just softer. The bow should have the same contact on the string. But enough technicalities. As he was making his point, I was thinking how American musicians must be drilled in giving these sublime master-classes. They have a theatrical quality, so different from the inaudible mumbling of Gutman’s class, just a normal lesson in front of an eavesdropping audience.
The next player was another matter. It was back to basics, a school level rendition of Brahms’s E minor sonata. I felt sorry for the young boy, who looked 15 or so, as Hoffman’s attitude changed completely. There I suspect he really had nothing to say, because it was obvious that nothing could be done to make the kid understand and that he definitely does not have the makings of a true cellist. He completely exposed the poor child, stripping him to his skeleton. After a few attempts at showing him some very basic things like how to open up your sound by opening up your chest (and he actually went and pulled back the kid’s shoulders and pushed up his chin) and telling him the importance of being ready to play before you actually start and of listening to yourself, he just gave up and called it a day. I loved it, because I felt that all the comments could have been directed at me, and I took good note of them. Well, believe it or not, I could not resist going up to Hoffman to congratulate him. He seemed genuinely pleased when I told him that the last master-class of that caliber I had attended was Leon Fleisher’s, whom he admires as much as we do. But of course, that was a slight exaggeration. Fleisher’s level is unattainable.
I went from the master-class directly to the Johanniskirche for
Concert 4 – Natalia Gutman and Viacheslav Propugin (no joke)
Again, I had a perfect seat, not as close as the last one, but smack on the middle aisle, so I had an unhampered view I was extremely grateful for. La Gutman is definitely one of the world’s greatest cellists, and she lived up to expectation. Curiously, she seemed to be doing exactly the opposite of what Gary Hoffman had been recommending to his students just a few minutes earlier. She plays practically all the time hunched over her instrument, with her head down, her chin almost touching the cello, her eyes glued on the fingerboard and the bow. And yet, what a tone! Her bow arm seems to have a life of its own, like an undulating serpent, just fascinating to look at.
She started out with a Miaskowsky sonata, nothing new under the sun. Not even her magnificent playing could make the music more than what it is, nicely crafted but totally uninteresting. But then, were we rewarded for our patience! Two contemporary masterpieces followed, the Britten sonata and Schnittke’s first, which she rightfully owns.
They are both brilliant, original, and truly beautiful works, which prove that contemporary music does not have to be wildly atonal, esoteric and downright ugly to be innovative – John Cage and Elliot Carter go home! And I’m sure I’ve never heard them played to such perfection, with such intense beauty, clarity and glow. Two encores, the second Schumann Fantasiestück and a piece I have never heard, dunno. And a well-deserved standing ovation. A final word about the pianist – excellent. They seem to have found a mine of outstanding Russian pianists, but what else is new?
On the way out, I found myself right behind Marta Istomin and was thus able to deliver Onkel Heinz’s message. She said she was very sorry indeed not to see you and she sends her love. She was so nice I felt very guilty for my comments. But not to the point of taking them back…
And aren’t you glad that after a very nice lunch at the magnificent Schloss Hotel, I myself called it a day and decided to take a little break from cello activities and to head to the hotel for a good afternoon and night’s rest. If not you would still have a few more pages to go…
A final word from our sponsors:
Banfi Boots = 499 euros
A Kai-Thomas Roth cello = 18.000 euros
The joy of attending the Kronberg Cello Festival = priceless
For the rest, there is Oboe’s Visa card….
The Kronberg Gazette – Day 4
Well, to be very original, let me say that all good things eventually come to an end. Fortunately, so do the bad ones, but in this instance, very little bad has happened – an occasional questionable interpretation, a false note here and there, a rude man who usurped a seat, one unpleasantly hard-boiled egg , but that is about it. Even the weather was perfect, sunny, dry, and the temperature ideal. And so the cello marathon comes to a close, and this will be the last installment of the Kronberg Gazette. I’m rather sorry, it has been great fun to write this daily report.
Also, before I go into the heart of the matter, a word of reassurance to my dear Oboe. The boots didn’t fit. The zipper only went halfway.Aren’t you lucky that you married a woman with fat calves? And who has enough sense to settle for a rather inexpensive cello? So, please restore my credit cards, I’ll need them to go to the supermarket. And to KDW. And to Manufactum. And to the new Ladurée shop in Galeries Lafayette. And to Dussmann to buy the CDs of all the new pieces I heard… and you thought Kronberg was the dangerous place!
The now familiar path along the Victoria Park, which has already completely changed color since I got here ( how fast the leaves turn ochre and fall, and how fleeting this beautiful season is ) led me today first to the instruments and accessories. It was my last opportunity to buy stuff, and so I did. Not the 78.000 euro 1750 Italian cello (a lesser and relatively unknown luthier, of course), not the 25.000 euro 1850 bow, not even the 18.000 euro 2007 cello with a one piece back. I only got a 65 euro cello stand and a few Kronberg souvenirs. That is the result of all the cowardly threats I received, and thank you, Onkel, for your support.
Then on to the Johanniskirche for
Concert 5 – Miklos Perényi
There is excitement in the air as the audience awaits for the legendary Hungarian cellist. This is the first time I hear him live. Luckily, although I’m in one of the last rows, I also have a decent view. He is a rather modest looking, scholarly middled-aged man with a sad face, the antithesis to Maisky.
The first piece on the programme is the first Suite. His rendition is exactly what you would expect – classical, no frills, no fantasy, but irreproachable. Absolutely no attempt at being “modern” or “authentic”. Long legato bowings, strict, square tempi, discreet dynamics. I would call it a “reverent” interpretation, very sober and perfect for a church. And the tone is very beautiful. This is a great cellist, no doubt.
The second Britten suite comes next, and is played in the same manner (and I don’t mean in the same style, please don’t misunderstand me) , with the same perfection, and all the necessary vigor and virtuosity.
Then comes a sonata for solo cello by a Hungarian composer I had never heard of, Sándor Veress. Pleasant enough, but Bach and Britten are a hard act to follow and the man is no Kodály or Bartók. Looking at the program notes now, I see that he died in 1992 and they say that although he is the greatest Hungarian composer after Kodály and Bartók, he is virtually unknown. Which seems to prove my point. So one day you discover a fascinating contemporary composer like the Latvian Peteris Vasks whose work Geringas played the day before yesterday, and the next day you are rather bored by another contemporary composer, not bad, but not quite so interesting. I guess they are respectively the Mozarts and Salieris of our time.
Perényi received the ovation he deserves, and I applauded as hard and long as everyone, but as I write now I realize that the performance, as great as it was, didn’t excite me as much as I thought. A little fatigue maybe, too many different experiences, too much new music, too many different cellists in such a short time. And there was still more to come!
The Kronberg Gazette – Day 4 (continued)
As hard as I tried, I just no strength left last evening, after the 4 and ½ hour-long closing concert, to write about it, and to make my concluding comments, which I am sure you are all very anxious to read…
So I write now on this very comfortable train from Frankfurt to Berlin Hauptbanhof, with (sorry, Onkel Heinz) Jean-Guihen Queyras playing the Bach suites straight into my ears, so that I can ease my way out of Kronberg without suffering from too many withdrawal symptoms.
This morning, before leaving the nice Concorde Viktoria Hotel,I decided to give the egg another try. Leider, it was as solidly hard-boiled as the first. But, being well prepared, I made no mess, and delicately peeled the decapitated egg and ate it as one should eat a hard-boiled egg. If you need instructions, Onkel, let me know. Does the hotel deserve one less star in its rating for this? I don’t think so, because at least the Internet works perfectly, with no snags. So it’s a question of preference, good Internet vs. bad eggs.
Also at breakfast, I ran into a lady, obviously American, which I had spotted the previous mornings, and whom I treated to a glass of water at last evening’s concert, as she thought 1 euro was too much to pay to quench your thirst. She was embarrassed but nevertheless accepted the glass and shuffled quickly away, with an almost inaudible word of thanks. Well, this morning when I saw her, I viciously said Hello, remember me? I was the one who gave you a glass of water at the concert last night… She gave me a yellow smile and hardly a word. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you! Well, tough luck for her, we bumped into each other again on the train from Kronberg to Frankfurt. She couldn’t go on ignoring me, so I found out that she’s a cello teacher from San Francisco, but I’m rather glad she’s not mine – seems to be a real sourpuss. Maybe related to the chair snatcher (see day 3).
As you see, I’m hesitating to launch into the final concert review. Not easy to comment on a 3-part, 4 and ½ hour concert with one orchestra, 2 conductors, 14 soloists and 10 composers! But I do have my word to say, and will not deprive you of my brilliant comments on
Concert 6 – part 1 Gary Hoffman, Giorgi Kharadze, Gidon Kremer , Marie Elizabeth Hecker and Andrei Pushkarev with the Kremerata Baltica.
As they played for the whole 4 and ½ hours, all ten composers, with the 14 soloists and under both conductors, I think the first word must go to the Kremerata (and I’ll be done with them). All the Kournikovas, Sharapovas and Dementievas were there, gorgeous as ever – I even ran into a couple of them in the ladies’ room and got a closer look, and they don’t lose a thing in close up! The men, as I said before, are not all up to par, but there are a few hunks among them too. The only problem are their clothes.The girls are left free to choose their outfits (and that might not be the wisest thing…) but the boys have a uniform which makes them all look like hotel bell-hops – black trousers and dolmans with different colored pipings, some had red, some green and some blue. But who cares, they play with enormous competence, freshness, and gusto, and are delight to watch, dolmans and all.
The first to play was Hoffmann, three meditations on Mass by Bernstein, very dramatic and very beautiful. If you thought of Bernstein, as I did, only as the man who wrote Maria and I feel pretty, what a revelation!Gary Hoffman was excellent, playing as he preaches, to reach out to the last row of the audience, even in the pianissimos (mi?), very effective and very thrilling.
Then came our favorite Georgian, the one we all rooted and cheered for at the Feuermann competition.
When I heard Schwabe a few days ago, I wondered why I had been so furiously pro Kharadze and began to doubt my judgement. But no, we were absolutely right. Here is the more mature and wiser cellist, with all the technique plus the added sensitivity. I’m sure Schwabe will reach the same heights though, as soon as he is toilet-trained. Kharadze played a piece by a fellow Georgian, one Vaja Azarashvili, born in 1936, excellent, although one could hear many strains of Shostakovich and Khatchaturian in the background.
Let me add before going on that these last concertswere going to be very exciting as far as discovering new contemporary composers is concerned. If I had to pinpoint the things I learned at this festival, one of them is surely never again to underestimate or turn my nose up at contemporary compositions. One is sure to miss many fabulous experiences. Which does not mean I’ll take anything – as I think I said before, John Cage and Eliott Carter go home!
The third and last part of the first part of the last part of the festival was a composition by another contemporary composer (so contemporary that he waseven there to take a bow) Giya Kancheli, also Georgian, as I found out by googling him. An excellent “Silent Prayer” (luckily not too silent, that would have been terribly boring, plus a pity to pay musicians to be silent on stage – cf. John Cage) composed for Kremer and Rostropovich, and played by the first dedicatee and a young German cellist, Marie Elizabeth Hecker, plus a percussionist who also manned a tape-recorder, all very interesting, although maybe a little too busy. I wouldn’t attempt to judge the interpretation, never having heard the piece before, so I’ll again just stress the general excellence of all the players.
On to Concert 7, or the second part of the last part of the festival. Monika Lescovar , a man sitting in for Tatjana Vassilieva (what a pity she was sick), Andrei Pushkarev, , Miklós Perényi, Young Chang-Cho, Arto Noras, with the Kremerata Baltica and David Geringas and Rolf Gothoni
One more contemporary piece, but this time by one of the Salieris, Latvian Romuald Kalsons (et pantalons…). Totally uninteresting, I’m sorry to say, so I won’t waste your time by making evasive and unnecessary comments. That the players are all excellent you know by now.
And then, finally, a moment of reprieve, an opportunity to set your tonal and rhythmical clock back in motion, to tap your toe and sway your head to the music – a Vivaldi concerto! Perényi again gave an impeccable performance, but once more I had the feeling that there was something missing. One is getting very spoiled by all these irrepressibly appealing and ardent youngsters. After this came a moment of sheer delight, Franz Danzi’s variations on La ci darem – played buoyantly and perfidiously by a Korean Don Giovanni, Young Chang-Cho, who contagiously laughed his way through the piece. You could hear all the silent giggling which exploded on the last note along with the enthusiastic applause.
Back to modernity – but a Mozart this time, superb Finnish composer Aulis Sallinen (1935), played by equally superb Finnish cellist Arto Noras, “The Nocturnal Dances of Don Juanquixote” , wild tangos, waltzes, paso dobles, minuets, all meshed together, a tour de force.
Then we came to the last part of the last part, Concert 8 (for me, as there were actually 12 concerts, but I had to miss out on a few). Mischa Maisky, Frans Helmerson, Lynn Harrell, and Natalia Gutman, with toujours the Kremerata Baltica conducted by Geringas and Gothoni (whom, by the way, I didn’t know from Adam).
As you see, this last part was meant to be the star-studded one.And star-studded himself was our hero Mischa Maisky. I had seen him strutting about for the last few days clad in all sorts of extravagant garments, but tonight he outdid himself. Does he do it to distract the audience from his playing? It’s not all that bad, but the piece, Lensky’s Aria from Onegin transcribed for the cello, lacks interest so his garb gets full attention: most probably an Issey Miyake design, crumpled black silk pants and an also crumpled silver (to match his hair, of course) silk jacket with gigotsleeves, over a black silk turtle neck, a triple strand byzantine-like gold necklace around his neck and a diamond brooch. You don’t believe me? As Oboe would say, how could I invent a thing like that? After this fashion statement, the magnificent Viking-like figure of Swedish cellist Frans Helmerson was very welcome indeed. He played Dvorák’s Waldesruhe with a tone so beautiful it gave me goose bumps.
Lynn Harrell did well in another Dvorák piece, a Rondo in g minor, reassuring me that all is not lost.He can still play, and play well, as I remember him from some of his recordings. But his intonation, alas, is really not all there.
The last piece of the last part of the last part of the festival was the pièce de résistance, the icing on the cake, the cherry on the sundae – you name it. La Gutman played Saint-Saens no. 1, with the Kremerata under the direction of Geringas. Gary Hoffman had observed in his master class that it is sometimes difficult for a conductor to grasp exactly what a cellist (or any other soloist) intends to do, as he does not always have a command of the instrument and its possibilities. In this case, of course, there was a perfect homogeneity between Geringas and his fellow Rostropovich disciple Gutman. The Kremerata gave impeccable support to Gutman’s electrifying, precise, fiery, silky, devilish playing.
And then, before you knew it, it was all over. This tsunami of cello music had come and gone, leaving a trail of supreme emotion, extreme intellectual and sensorial satisfaction and awestruck revelation.
A few closing remarks. I already mentioned the radiant weather, the beautiful surroundings, as well as the exhilarating atmosphere of intense expectation and ultimate satisfaction. Even the occasional disappointment served to underline all of the above.
In my case, though, I was wondering what all this would have been like if Onkel Heinz had been there with me.I will not mention the other readers of this gazette who never intended to go in the first place. But Onkel Heinz was supposed to be there, and was sorely missed. Had circumstances not prevented you from joining me, Onkel, I would have been not merely one of the spectators, but one of the insiders. It would have been just like old times. So, you owe me one – and we have a date for next year (the Casals Competition!).