Not even the scaffolding covering the façade of Carnegie Hall, cramping circulation on the sidewalk and obstructing the entrances to the grande dame of concert halls, could dampen my excitement as I got off the M57 crosstown bus, which is my own lifeline to good music, as it goes straight from my house to the door of Carnegie Hall, and prepared to attend my first Carnegie Hall concert in many, many years – and a season opening to boot!
I had two tickets, but my companion Oboe had business to tend to elsewhere, poor man, so I invited a friend who seemed as thrilled as I was, even before the performance began. We were seated on the first row of the Dress Circle, definitely a great perch. The hall and stage were in full view, and what a glorious view that is! The Stern auditorium of Carnegie Hall, as it is now called, was renovated in 1986 (the history is fascinating, as you can read following this link:
http://www.carnegiehall.org/uploadedFiles/Resources_and_Components/PDF/Content/CarnegieHall_Then_and_Now_2011.pdf )
and one is forced to comment on the contrast between the ugly Avery Fisher Hall and this magnificent auditorium. It is obviously not modern either, and was, as we all know, in fact built way before Lincoln Center. The renovation gave it an 18th century like glow, reminiscent of all the lovely theaters in Europe. In fact, I was reminded of the much smaller, but equally lovely, Teatro Argentina in Rome, where Rossini’s Barbiere premiered. So, if the seating arrangement is old-fashioned, it is nevertheless much better looking and more comfortable than the other hall, and the acoustics are simply superb.
That was manifest when, after the Mariinsky (ex-Kirov) Orchestra settled down and tuned, and Valery Gergiev lifted his hand (no baton), the first extraordinary notes from the brass section filled the hall with sounds angels in Heaven would be proud of. My breath was completely taken away, and before I could recover, the woodwinds, strings and percussion joined in to produce one of the most admirable ensemble sounds I have ever heard. Musicians of this caliber are rare indeed on the solo stage, let alone in an orchestra. Yes, yes, I know, the Berlin Philharmonic was not so long ago my weekly fare, but this was it. I have fallen in love with the Mariinsky-Gergiev sound. The short overture was way too short, but we had Sheherazade to look forward to, and what a showcase that is.
But just a minute! Let us not get carried away to the point of jumping over the middle section of the intermissionless performance. The stage was prepared for Yo Yo Ma, a small podium, and obviously no music stand – let us not insult the maestro who has probably played the Rococo Variations as often as I, for totally different reasons, the main one being that I have a ridiculously limited repertoire, have played the cello part of Mozart’s G major piano quartet in the past thirty years. And he probably knew it by heart when he was 10 years old. And I still don’t know my part by heart – but what am I rambling about?
Yo Yo Ma preceded Gergiev onto the stage, beaming at the audience, as usual. He makes it very clear that he is as delighted to be there as his listeners, and do not take that for granted. I have seen so many great musicians step out as stolidly as a prison guard, for no reason, as their performances are usually everything they should be, or maybe just to make sure they do not fall off their pedestals. Not so with Yo Yo Ma, one of the most congenial artists ever. And, of course, one of the very, very best. I was surprised when I saw him practically lie down on his chair, as if in a first-class plane seat, end-pin almost fully extended, legs spread out. Surely he was going to straighten up as soon as the music began. But he would not have the time to, the orchestra introduction to the Rococo is a short one, a mere 50 seconds or so. And, to my amazement, he didn’t budge, playing through in that same position, uncharacteristically still, although his facial expressions said everything his body language silenced. Now, I wondered, how can one possibly play the cello like that? I have no idea, but the result was absolutely perfect. I can only suspect back trouble, of which I have heard nothing, and hope that it is only temporary and not too painful. Yo Yo Ma was definitely there, and whether sitting straight, standing up or lying down, or crouching, for that matter, his playing leaves absolutely nothing to be desired. It is precise, it is beautiful, it is fiery, it is sensitive, it is imaginative (how many times have I heard this piece? Let me count the ways…) and, above all, it is totally meshed with the orchestra, which, in this case, made for wondrous music indeed, with the spectacular Mariinsky-Gergiev ensemble completely in their element, playing their national hero. Yo Yo Ma was there, playing stellarly, but never for a single moment playing the star. He nodded and smiled at his fellow musicians continuously, as if saying, we are in this together, and aren’t we having fun? He seemed to have the notes competely embedded in his brain, and the sound seemed to come out of him, not the cello, a mere vehicle. I don’t know whether it was the Montagnana, but I suppose so, as the tone was incredibly velvety and full-bodied, but it might have been the Strad. I should be able to tell visually, but there you are, I can’t. Montagnanas are bigger, bolder looking, Strads are more refined and delicate, but I could only tell which is which if I saw them side by side. Please forgive me. Yo Yo Ma’s beautiful manner shone again when he played the encore, Tchaikovsky’s Andante Cantabile (I think…), with the orchestra, instead of showing off alone. A truly luminous personality.
Then came Sheherazade. Every section of the orchestra positively scintillated. The piece is made to measure for an ensemble of that caliber. The violin solos were extraordinary, as were the cellos, the winds, the harps and the percussion. It would be hard to say which was the better musician. The conductor is, as my grandson would say, awesome. With no baton, he molded the music with his fingers, his hands expressing every mood he wanted to elicit. The quasi-monothematic music relies on the intricacies of the orchestration to tell the story and to keep up the interest ((I am not ashamed to say I love it!) – only a first-rate orchestra as this one can produce such a crystal-clear and gorgeous performance as the one we heard. And when it was over, it was not completely over, and the Mariinsky brought back Tchaikovsky in his prime – a thrilling, exhilarating, stirring rendition of the waltz from Eugen Oneguin, making one dream of hearing the whole opera in these expert hands.
This opening night was Carnegie Hall at its very, very best – a hard act to follow? We shall see what lies in store for this season so brilliantly begun.