Music Chronicle

Hudson Review, The, Spring 2004 by Dhuga, U S

The Ninth Symphony was, as ever, bracing in Maazel's hands. Though the opening maestoso-despite the adjective's qualification by poco-was slightly exaggerated, the percussions were beautifully executed, spanning a difficult range of volume from a whisper to an outright boom. The third movement, adagio molto e canlabile, was just that: delicate, lyrical throughout. Maazel continued to handle deftly his musicians, bringing out in alternation the warmth and the severity of the strings in the fourth movement, presto. The Recuativo, " O Freunde, nicht diese Tone," was somewhat uneven. Michael Schade's delivery was sober and balanced as ever; but Ferruccio Furlanetto, characteristically formidable in his projection, overwhelmed at times the tender voice of soprano Christine Brewer. The performance was marred, to my mind, by an appalling overhead display of the text in English, which would efface-visually and, for one who gazes too long upon the translations, semantically-the beautiful German which is of course essential to the music of the Ninth. Translations in the program are just fine by me: one can close the program if one so pleases, either knowing German or privileging, in a Nietzschean manner, sound as much as strict semantic meaning. But the supertitles were vulgar in the truest, etymological sense of the word, reducing to an un-lyrical, un-metrical, oversimplified and prosaic English what is, after all, poetry in the German. The absurdity of the textual display was sadly incongruous with the splendid display of the Westminster Symphonic Choir, abundantly arrayed as they were behind the powerful orchestra and solo vocalists. As memorable as the performance was, I'm afraid my memory of it will always be inextricably tied to the annoying-if, in hindsight, rather comical-intrusion of illuminated overhead text, in a ghastly outsize Arial font, upon the visual experience of the Ninth.

On 16 November I passed up New York's concert halls for a benefit at the elegant Soho home of Judy and Stephen Gluckstern, where Andre Watts admirably volunteered his time and talent for Classical Action: Performing Arts Against AIDS, a charitable organization sponsored by the Michael Palm Foundation. (This remarkable series of benefit concerts continued in March 2004 with another evening, featuring violinist Joshua Bell accompanied by pianist Simon Mulligan.) It was a rare opportunity to see Watts-a charming and charismatic bon viveur-in such an intimate setting, performing on a beautiful 1883 Steinway veneered in Brazilian Rosewood. Watts rendered Schubert's Sonata in A minor (D 784) with a Glenn Gould-like tendency to hum throughout certain lyrical passages-an interesting, if rather annoying, similarity given the fact that Watts earned his fame when he replaced a characteristically indisposed Gould in 1963 with Bernstein on the rostrum. Though Watts is a pianist who apparently values expressiveness over technical perfection, his delivery of Etude No. 9 in F minor, Op. 10, was nonetheless true to score, avoiding the thunderous ascents into forte which are so often irresistible when one plays Chopin. (One of my own several musical vices is to play, in a single practice session, the finale of Chopin's Prelude No. 4, Op. 28, once observing faithfully the pianissimo Finale, and a second time taking it at a self-delighting if unruly fortissimo: I wonder perversely whether I might be capable of breaking my Steinway's resilient strings.) Chopin's Etude No. 1 in A flat major, Op. 25, was captivatingly rendered with lilting touch and pedalling, yet with a clear enunciation throughout of the melody in the treble clef. Watts ended the program with a mesmerizing performance of Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G minor, Op. 23, lifting the largo seamlessly into the moderato, and finally launching forcefully into the dizzying presto con fuoco, a movement that demands an athleticism which Watts was clearly capable of delivering. Not for Watts the famous adage of the great pianist and teacher Nadia Boulanger, "il faut chanter avec les doigts": Watts's lyrical strength came down upon the keys straight from his shoulders. He was perhaps too carried away with the fevered pitch of the movement, taking it at too quick a clip. Though I prefer a more sober pace throughout the presto, Charles Rosen's sage advice must be kept in mind: "It is not illegal to play a piece of music at the wrong tempo: we risk neither a jail sentence nor even a fine."