Orchestral Theater

As a conductor, before a concert performance—to speak or not to speak? One assumes the celebrity shadow of Bernstein’s lectures and Young People’s Concerts hang over anyone that attempts any version of this act. Pre-performance lectures of course exist, though often from a specialist or programmer and rarely the conductor director themself; sometimes at a premium price or for exclusive attendees.

A conductor inclined to speak must also ask when: at the beginning, as an introduction; before a specific piece; at opening and post-intermission? Do they cover as much as possible in one go, or mention a little bit before each and every work?

Such caution is warranted, as little can be said of average concert fare that the music cannot say itself (or written in a thorough program note, should an audience member care to read it). Scant introduction is required for warhorses like a Beethoven symphony or Dvorak’s Slavonic Dances. It could be worth rehashing the steamy Schumann-Brahms-Schumann triangle before one of Johannes’s dances or symphonies, if only for the jest or titillation of rousing a sleepy crowd. Contemporary music is one category that receives the most discussion: often these works are fresh, just a few years old or written for the very occasion, unfamiliar to ears and unavailable to explore before the show.

Herbert Blomstedt, a shocking 95, was unabashed to share his insight of Lidholm’s Poesis at the New York Philharmonic’s recent subscription series and, in this case, it served the piece well. Poesis is not a new work—composed in 1963, revised in 2011 with expanded piano cadenza, and with at least one recording available to stream, it was certainly available to peruse—but likely a first to most of the New York audience.

There are “no melodies, no harmonies, no repetitions,” Blomstedt warned, stating that it was almost something more to be watched than listened to. While this description hedged the orchestra’s [very fine] musical efforts, it also opened up an avenue of understanding. “Music can be many things,” and that afternoon its as theater.

Basic rhythms or pitches become ideas tossed around from single players to another, or expanded to sections. Quick string runs grouped in tight pitch intervals, which sounded difficult yet standard for violins, became both virtuosic and visually exciting when played on marimba. While the conductor is frequently the most visually active and emotive of everyone on stage, Blomstedt rarely beat time, relying instead on suggestive cues and glances.

Another example of visual virtuosity was given by Eric Huebner on piano. No stranger to contemporary techniques, and a familiar face to attendees of the Philharmonic’s Sound ON program [we eagerly hear that it’s returning next season!], Huebner coaxed an astonishing array of sounds from the piano, placed center and in front of the conductor, by scratching, scraping, plucking, and beating (with a soft, bright red mallet) the exposed strings.

Blomstedt explained that Poesis’s commissioning orchestra, the [now-Royal] Stockholm Philharmonic, had a bassist that hated contemporary music. Lidholm, perhaps in an effort to maintain good graces, included a double bass feature, which was splendidly performed by principal Tim Cobb. The instrument’s normal vibrato is gradually exaggerated, then enlarged to a glissando that encompasses more and more and of the string in a strong up-and-down motion. Concert As—the orchestra’s tuning pitch—were tossed from one section to another until the final swell left a dramatic ring precisely where the first half began.

Calling any of the work’s ideas euphonious might stretch common definition, but the cacophony was composed with clear intention, and the performance firmly organized Blomstedt’s baton.

After intermission, the theatrics became both more physical and abstract. Berlioz’s lengthy program for Symphonie Fantastique, which we will not summarize, roughly depicts an artist’s passion, chase, and disillusionment with a woman. Many have suggested a direct correlation to Berlioz’s infatuation—nearing obsession—with Irish actress Harriet Smithson, whom he witnessed perform Ophelia in Hamlet prior to composing this piece.

The piece’s offstage components require a bit of choreographing—principal oboist Liang Wang carefully navigated Ryan Roberts’s legs, stand, and musicality as he walked across stage to a side door to deliver a haunting melody turned double reed duet. Two timpanists are required, and at one point two additional players join to dance around each other in a percussive climax. More percussionists left to strike offstage bells and chimes.

Overall, the program was unique and the performance was strong. One might question Blomstedt’s pacing of the Berlioz, but simply watching the master nonagenarian’s work was a joy in itself (it may not be surprising that such a veteran never once touched the pocket-sized Symphonie score). In the second half, I climbed up to experience the sights and sound from a First Tier side box for the first time; but the improved sightline came the occasional yet direct blare of trombone to the ears. Is it more important for an orchestra to be seen or heard? Our Philharmonic certainly did both.