Ilya Finkelshteyn, cello
Natalia Katyukova, piano
Brahms – Cello sonata no. 1 in E minor
Mozart – Symphony no. 1 in E-flat major, K. 16 Schubert – Symphony no. 4 in C minor (“Tragic”) Brahms – Violin Concerto in D major
I was not too thrilled, after the lukewarm opening night, to be returning to Avery Fisher Hall for another installment of the Mostly Mozart Festival. Same orchestra, same conductor, but yes, different repertoire and different soloists. I chose to listen to Joshua Bell play Brahms. There were many other programs and evenings to choose from, and I’m particularly sorry to have missed one of my favorite Baroque ensembles (along with the Kuijken brothers’sizzling Petite Bande), the Freiburger Barockorchester. True, it was not to be led by violinist Gottfried von der Goltz, to me their heart and soul. But still, I would have loved to hear their crisp, sensitive, intelligent and temperate authenticism.
Again, I drive to Lincoln Center, despite the very short distance between my present home and the hall, as my mother was with us and, despite the superb manner in which she carries her many years, walking is not her forte. More about the Lincoln Center parking experience in my closing remarks.
After the long, meandering excursion (yes, we might as well have walked from home) through the subterranean entrails of Lincoln Center, we reached our seats for the pre-concert recital. I wanted to hear it, as it was featuring Brahms’s E minor cello sonata, a crown jewel of the cello repertoire and one which I will tackle soon, thanks to my ambitious (for me) and confident teacher, Wanda Glowacka. The work is sheer poetry and intimacy, as the key indicates outright.
But does it? I am, of course, far from being alone in recognizing the different moods and emotions that each musical key exudes. Yet, I believe that purists might argue that lending anthropomorphic characteristics to tonality is complete nonsense. I beg to differ, as I personally, albeit instinctively, without pretending to have made any kind of systematic investigation on the subject, can feel and hear the difference between, for example, a bright and triumphant key such as D major, and a reserved and contemplative one such as E minor; the straightforward and no-nonsense C major, and the tortured and unpredictable B flat minor; the buoyant and bucolic G major and the serious and composed F major… I could go on and on, but back to Brahms and E minor.
This staple of the cello repertoire was to be performed by two musicians I did not know, which only added to the interest of the experience. Of course, I have heard the work in the very beautiful and very different renditions of many excellent cellists, Yo Yo Ma, Jacqueline du Pré, Maria Kliegel, Truls Mork, etc. Another long digression could be made about the mystery of musical interpretation. Why is it that the exact same notes in the exact same key and the exact same rhythm can sound so completely different as played by one musician or another? Silly, silly, simple, simple? Not so, I believe. Try to dissect an interpretation in an exclusively “technical” analysis. Oh, I’m sure you can, but does it explain everything? I really don’t think so. As in every human action, there is something I can only call the “soul”, although I’m not at all religious and very wary of anything remotely mystical, which inexplicably seeps through and gives the action its unique characteristics.
So here were two people who were going to make me listen again and search for new insights into such a familiar piece. Actually, theirs was a strangely cautious interpretation, totally devoid of personal touches. Both the cellist, Mr. Finkelshteyn and the pianist, Ms. Katyukova, were very correct in their demeanor and playing, with only a rare and inevitable false note from the strings, but so completely straightforward as to make one wonder whether they have ever thought beyond the written page. The cellist’s sound was also very small, although not unpleasant, and the pianist was almost not there at all, except when some uncontrolled fortissimos covered up the delicate matrix of the cello. So, in this work in E minor, it seemed to me that the accent was far more on the “minor” than on the “E”. This completely ruined one of the most exciting, to me, features in both Brahms sonatas, which are the exhilarating unisons between both instruments, which make one’s spirits soar. But alas, there was nothing exciting or soaring about this extremely correct but way too tame rendition.
After a lot of seat swapping (I resist the temptation of calling it a game of musical chairs, for obvious reasons) as people scurried to find their proper location for the actual concert and a pit stop at the bar for a coffee and a sandwich, we were all back to hear the concert proper. As I said, I was anticipating, if not boredom, at least a certain dose of restlessness.
I had never heard Mozart’s very first symphony, composed when he was 8 years old! I thought it would be little more than a cute childhood production, closer to Salieri than to the great Mozart. Complete mistake. I was immensly surprised by the beauty and inventiveness of the short symphonic work, which already contained many of the ingredients that distinguish Mozart’s later compositions. That a child of 8 could be musically so mature as to use the grave key of E flat major and its relative minor C is quite admirable. Oboe, my companion, is firmly convinced that Papa Leopold was not completely alien to the work. Who will ever know?
But that was not the only surprise. The orchestra has totally polished its act. I suppose that is due to the fact that they have been playing now for a couple of weeks and that they have gained an assurance that was not present during the opening night. All the musicians played better, from strings to winds, and they would show this throughout the evening, when they followed Langrée’s precise baton with much more ease and competence.
After the token Mozart, Schubert’s 4th Symphony, aka “Tragic”. A no-nonsense, but maybe not 100% satisfying version. It is not a work I’m very familiar with, so I won’t even try to go into details, especially considering the fact that I found myself nodding once or twice, not a very good sign.
Then came the pièce de résistance. We were back to Brahms, and what Brahms! No less than his D major violin concerto, one of the very great ones. One knows every note , having heard so many interpretations, live and recorded. Grandiose (D major, yes, but non troppo), majestic, lyrical and fiery, the paradigm of Romantic concertos.
Enter Joshua Bell. Looking considerably less than his 45 years of age, he could easily be mistaken for a Hollywood star, although his attire did not thrill me, very ill fitting black pants and shirt, too tight and too shiny. These comments are totally irrelevant, so why make them? Because I have to find a way to tone down what will otherwise seem like a crazy teenager’s overboard enthusiasm.
But there you are, I was completely awestruck. I did expect a great violinist, having heard him before live and on records. I particularly remember his playing a Bach partita, although I don’t remember where, and thinking he must have two extra invisible hands, so impeccably structured was his playing. This evening’s performance was simply dazzling, not only from the sheer virtuosity, but because of the use of his superlative technique as a vehicle for molding every phrase and stressing every note, and never as an end in itself. The violin can, I believe, be the most “diabolical” of instruments, in the sense that, when well played, there is no emotion it cannot transmit and there is no limit to the extent to which it’s sound can penetrate one’s mind and soul. More than the piano, more than the cello, more than the oboe or the clarinet, themselves all extraordinarily expressive instruments, the sounds the violin produces simply penetrate your being to its core. Of course, in the wrong hands, they can drive you insane. In Joshua Bell’s, they transport you directly to musical nirvana. At the very start of the concerto, I feared that I was about to face a violin-playing Lang-Lang. But that feeling was immediately dispelled. Bell’s awe-inspiring virtuosity was not, as Lang-Lang’s, simply meaningless and tasteless pyrotechnics. The genius of Brahms has never shone so bright. And the orchestra, no doubt carried by this most extraordinary performer, rose to the occasion. The cellos and the horns, so prominent in Brahms’s orchestrations, did a beautiful job. The entire orchestra followed the violinist’s guidance into perfect phrasing and sensitive dynamics. A performance to remember which completely deserved the long standing ovation.
I promised a word about the parking experience at Lincoln Center. Well, one must not be ungrateful, at least there is parking, although it is expensive and a little serpentine. Getting in is quite easy, but getting out is a nightmare. Instead of the usual machines that swallow your ticket and money quickly and efficiently, or the exits where you can stick the ticket and a credit card for rapid and painless release, they actually have an office with two nice but totally overwhelmed attendants who have to do everything manually to cater to an endless line of people who just want to get out and home. Add to that the fact that, due to a regrettable lack of information, many people who had prepaid their parking online thought they could just get into their cars and out the gate, and wound up creating a bottleneck of gigantic proportions. So think twice and walk, bus or take a cab, if you don’t want your evening almost ruined in the depths of Lincoln Center.