Spaces and Places

Introducing from the podium, Jonathon Heyward described the theme Mostly Mozart Festival’s fourth series program as “Spaces and Places.” Jessie Montgomery’s musical depiction of New York City’s Lower East Side in “Records from a Vanishing City” (unfortunately mistitled in Lincoln Center’s promotional material and the New York Times review) aptly connected. Over thirteen-minutes, the tone poem drew from the city’s nervous verve, superstar jazz history, and traditional folk tunes that Montgomery experienced as a child and, years later, in the form of an inherited record collection.

Records begins with a short statement, rhythmically simple but harmonically complex, so full of added fourths, seconds, and ninths to be harmonically ambiguous but end in the territory of F minor. Violins and woodwinds sneak in over the top, adding a jittery texture of rising fourths and falling scales that doesn’t quite affirm the harmony, instead adding to the discord. It’s a flurried, presaging color—hinting perhaps at the goings on of early morning: the last rounds of trash collection, rise of early commuters, maybe even the pitter patter of rats and stray cats before the neighborhood’s “everydayness [of] block parties, festivals, and shindigs” begins.

You can imagine the solo instrument pronouncements as local denizens, each going about regular business in their own way, before the string and timpani grooves kick in to announce festivities. I especially enjoyed the solos over synth-like textures of tricky-licked bassoon, Gershwinian clarinet flourishes, and a Miles Davis homage from cup-muted trumpet.

More interpretation was required from Barber’s Violin Concerto, expertly performed by Simone Lamsma but conspicuously vacant of direct relation “Spaces and Places” theme. We know more about it’s timeline (begun in Switzerland, interrupted by World War II) and the disdain of its original intended performer (uncharacteristic for the instrument or form) than any extramusical connotations. No matter, because the first bars offer a sweeping aural landscape before introducing a springing “Scottish Snap” rhythm with its jig implications. Lamsma’s playing swung back and forth between cinematic song and detached, dancing style.

While soloist was impressive in the second movement, one might say Lamsma was outshined by the opening oboe solo. It’s one of those tunes that every oboist dreams of playing, and Ryan Roberts’s superb musicality brought a strength of emotion without melodrama. Despite technical brilliance, especially in the daunting tour-de-force of the third movement (the violinist plays four minutes worth of extremely demanding music, pausing only two short orchestral breaks) the most impressive thing about Lamsma’s performance was that she could always be heard. At times I wanted the horns and bassoons to come in hotter on climaxes, or have a little more bounce to dashing upper woodwind lines, but conductor and orchestrate maintained appropriate reserve to maintain the soloists primacy.

That reserve funneled through intermission, where Heyward delivered a cohesive if dull version of Schumann’s Third Symphony (“Rhenish”). Throughout, I wanted more, more, more! “Take a risk, Jonathon!” is my humble urge (surely unsolicited). I admit to finding most orchestral Schumann a bit dull—perhaps my musical proclivities bias the interpretation—but rarely did the orchestra reach a true piano or forte. On the softer side, the problem could be Schumann’s orchestration, with a tendency to double things. And for the loud, I believe other moments beside the finale could worth a big, unison fortissimo.

Before raising his baton Heyward, explained the music was landscape, river, love, cathedral, and joy. Most impressive was the fourth movement, representing Düsseldorf’s proud cathedral, in a stately procession that could almost be (throw in more harmony for added crunch) straight out of Lohengrin. I can understand these ideas from Schumann music’s, but they didn’t always meet their truest form. The fifth movement’s joy was never unreservedly exuberant, and to my ears the third movement was more of a trot. We can’t expect a Mahler Five Adagietto from Schumann—nor would such an interpretation be appropriate. One could Schumann’s marking “nicht schnell” [not fast] makes the mistake of defining something by what it is not, rather than what it is, except he also defines the eighth note at 116 beats per minute. I dare to suggest the composer is not always right.

A non-comprehensive survey of recordings shows most renditions of the third movement lasting around five and a half minutes. Paul Paray, with Detroit, shaves of the half and, for the gooiest of all, check out Celibidache and the Munich Philharmonic, oozing in at nearly seven and a half (!!!) minutes. Michael Tilson-Thomas, leading the San Francisco Symphony, takes rubato here and there, allowing the movement breathe at cadences, and, despite a saccharine ending, his take is aspirational.

Of course Heyward was secure and firm, with a clear idea of the Schumann start to finish. The orchestration was prepared, just with a vision too narrow for my taste. There’s something special about the connection between conductor and orchestra that develops over time. Louis Langrée’s twenty-one year tenure has certainly honed the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra’s instincts, molding to his tendencies, building confidence and trust in each other. But this year is Langrée’s last, and the orchestra becomes Heyward’s to shape next summer. They will surely grow, learning to take risks together; hopefully Hayward loosens the reins for more give-and-take. I look forward to their blossoming partnership.