Rouvali, Radulović, Rite

The New York Philharmonic performed the following program on January 14th, 2023.

While I admit to struggling with some of Anna Thorvaldsdottir’s earlier work, I was amazed by Catamorphosis, commissioned for New York Philharmonic’s Project 19. At turns complex then airy, fully orchestrated then atmospheric, it never stays in one mood for too long and beautifully performed. Though a listener without program notes may not directly hear the connections to ideas of climate change and environmental resiliency, the tension between motives (glissing up and down a third, springy violin arpeggios) and polarity of orchestration become their own themes. The entire performance was crisp and audible, down to the slightest percussive rustle.

Nemanja Radulović made a meal out of Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No. 2, leaning into the jocular quirks of Prokofiev’s language, such as the stilted 5/4 waltz-like theme that begins the piece before diving into more conventional Romantic sounds. Radulović was unafraid to explore the grittier timbres of his instrument and ended the movement in a striking tableaux; crouched and staring at conductor Santtu-Matias Rouvali, who intently returned his gaze. 

The violinist soared over second movement’s repetitive accompaniment, gleefully emphasizing moments where the music-box harmony or rhythm starts to break down towards grotesquerie. Cello, clarinet, flute, and horn blended beautifully to create a synth-like melodic patch near the movement’s end; I’m left wondering if something besides sheer force was responsible for the strength of Radulović’s pizzicato as he took up the plucky accompaniment.

To describe the final movement is insufficient, but it is impossible to read into our soloist’s character. After breaking a string and running to take the Principal Second Violin’s instrument, he didn’t return to playing with turning to nod and mouth a quick “thank you.” If devouring the Prokofiev wasn’t enough, Radulović returned with a playful dessert of an encore: Paganini’s Caprice No. 24, in an arrangement full of physical humor running through the gamut of string performance technique.

If Prokofiev and Thorvaldsdottir were so filling, what room is left for Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du printemps? (Ok, I hear you—no more food metaphors.) It’s a powerhouse, a showstopper (fittingly), pressing, luscious, and forceful. With the cupping of Rouvali’s open palm, Judith LeClair launched into the precarious bassoon solo. Further solos—particularly Ryan Roberts on English horn—and section playing prove the Philharmonic’s woodwinds have few peers.

But in the piece’s loudest sections, the brass simply blew everything away. Of course their effort adds body to the sound, it’s heartbreaking to watch fifty-odd players sawing away without hearing the labor’s fruits. Rouvali’s vision of The Rite, was tight and connected; every idea inevitably flowed into the next. Pulling away from the raw brutality some conductors favor, he lent instead a glossy sheen often reserved for French repertoire like Ravel or Debussy.

After two back-to-back programs with the orchestra, trends in Rouvali’s conducting technique emerge. The left hand often favors a flat palm, fingers extended, or curls around an imaginary violin neck rocking with sympathetic vibrato. His shoulders raise precariously for music of high-impact volume. He cues entrances with a curiously pistol-like shape. His cutoffs—a quick circle with that flattened palm, or an open-fingered gesture emanating from the ictus—are just showy enough. I continue to enjoy his succinct styling from behind and encourage another extended visit with glee.