There is a now-classic line from a movie: “Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen.” For several seasons now, the music world has been trying to make Farrenc happen. I am speaking of Louise Farrenc, the nineteenth-century French composer. She has been nearly ubiquitous on our concert programs. I have nothing against Madame Farrenc, a fine composer. She ought to be heard. But so ought countless others, who are never heard.
Walter Piston wrote eight symphonies. A few of them are among my favorites of the twentieth century, certainly in the American repertoire. Do you know how many times I have heard a Piston symphony, live, in decades as a music critic? In decades of steady concertgoing? Zero.
But Louise Farrenc has nothing to do with that. I was pleased to hear her Overture No. 2 in E flat, which opened the concert of the New York Philharmonic on Friday morning. Leading the orchestra was Santtu-Matias Rouvali, the young Finn. Is there a conductor today who is not a young Finn? As I have cracked over the years, they have more conductors in Finland than they do saunas. In any case, Rouvali is a very good conductor, with an exceptionally fluid baton technique (and classic conductor’s hair).
About his conducting, and the Philharmonic’s playing, of the Farrenc overture, I will say one thing: it was tight, in a good way. Compact, precise, un-loose.
Next on the program was the “Paganini” Rhapsody of Rachmaninoff. The pianist was Bruce Liu, who was born in 1997 and grew up in Montreal. He won the Chopin Competition in 2021. A sensation, he is.
He played sensationally, to a large degree. The first thing one noticed was an acute sense of rhythm. He placed his opening A’s just right. This is not to be taken for granted. Not all pianists can manage it. He was stylish, subtle, nuanced. He imparted a hint of jazz. He displayed a Mendelssohnian lightness that is unusual in this piece. Some notes were fantastically alive, springing out of the instrument.
What was wrong with this performance? Some variations were simply too slow—worse than slow, dragging. And the final pages, which are electric, lacked electricity. Also, Mr. Liu toyed with the rhythm in the closing phrase—when, in my judgment, a straight approach is more effective.
(For the record, I think the same about the Beethoven Violin Concerto.)
When Liu played this closing phrase, a man in the audience yelled out, “Yeah”—signaling his approval of the entire performance.
No composer ever loved woodwinds more than Tchaikovsky did—but Rachmaninoff is not far behind. There is some wonderful woodwind writing in the “Paganini” Rhapsody, and the Philharmonic’s players did well in it.
Bruce Liu sat down for an encore—a Chopin étude, the one in A flat, Op. 25, No. 1, nicknamed “Aeolian Harp.” It is the most beautiful piece of piano music ever written. (I exaggerate, but only a tad.) Near the beginning, I thought Liu had a memory slip, shocking. But it occurred to me as he went on that he was truncating the piece—which I would not have thought necessary, given its brevity anyway. Regardless, the young man played the étude nicely.
They will never stop coming, these excellent young performers—these pianists, violinists, et al. Never. There will never be a shortage of them. My worry: will there be listeners for them?
After intermission, Maestro Rouvali led the Philharmonic in a Dvořák symphony: No. 7, in D minor. Rouvali is an amazingly calm conductor. There seems to be a calmness at his core. Or a deep assuredness, if you like. Rozhdestvensky had this quality. Riccardo Muti does. Rouvali never seems scattered or anxious or rushed. He is composed, unflappable.
The first movement of the Dvořák was both serene and triumphant. The exit from the final chord was perfect: clean and exact and musical. This may seem a very small thing: an exit. (Entrances are more noticeable than exits.) But it matters.
In the second movement, the slow movement, the clarinet must sing—which Anthony McGill did. Over the years, the New York Philharmonic has been faulted for a lack of warmth. This is not a bum rap. But the orchestra summoned some warmth here. The French horns were manful, but, Lord, is their instrument hard.
The third movement, the dancy Scherzo, is what everyone waits for in this symphony. I think of a line from a jazz standard: “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.” The Scherzo, under Rouvali, swung.
He turned the page of his score loudly—with a snap—to begin the fourth movement. This elicited chuckles from the audience. And he led this final movement knowledgeably, musically, satisfyingly. On this day at the New York Phil., you really heard the Dvořák Seventh. I think the Bohemian master (meaning the composer) would have smiled.