Manfred Honeck leads the Boston Symphony Orchestra with Sarah Connolly and Camilla Tilling on 7.26.14; photo by Hilary Scott
We have lost several great conductors in 2014. In June, it was the eminent Spanish maestro Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos. Frühbeck was, among other things, a celebrated interpreter of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana (a piece now unfortunately most familiar through action movie trailers). The Boston Symphony Orchestra’s eclectic program at Tanglewood on Sunday afternoon, which he conceived and was to have conducted, made for an odd parting gift.
There isn’t necessarily anything unusual about a concert of musical bonbons (particularly for a one-off matinee), but something about these selections came off as extraordinarily bizarre. First we had Rachmaninoff’s second Piano Concerto; then, a trio of Verdi favorites: the overture to Nabucco and that same opera’s great choral hit “Va, pensiero,” finishing up with the entire triumphal scene from Aïda. It was as if we had eaten a meal that opened with a tiramisu, moved on to a strawberry milkshake, and topped it off with chocolate lava cake.
As for the performances themselves, they were a mix. The overture was sprightly, and “Va, pensiero” was tenderly and lovingly sung by the Tanglewood Festival Chorus. The cast for Aïda was a strong one, particularly the baritone Stephen Powell, singing with a firm, steady, and rich tone as Amonasro, and the bass Morris Robinson, who brought a gigantic and oaky, if slightly covered, sound to the role of Ramfis. Jacques Lacombe’s conducting certainly did not lack for bombast.
The “Rach 2,” though, was a disappointment. This piece has its share of detractors, but I happen to have a soft spot for it—which makes it frustrating to hear a “just-OK” performance like the one given by the Venezuelan-born pianist Gabriela Montero. She showed plenty of physical engagement, but her passion did not come across in her interpretation. Her playing was often rushed, and where it wasn’t rushed, it was methodical. Montero has an assertive, crisp touch, but when the concerto is this hurried, it lacks room to sing. Lacombe and the BSO did not sound much more interested.
The Adagio sostenuto, one of the most poignant, relentlessly (those detractors might say “cloyingly”) lovely movements of any piano concerto, was somewhat less than gossamer. Montero poked at the line and rushed again as she moved into the brief cadenza. The finale featured some full-throated playing from the strings, but Montero tripped over much of her passagework and meandered through the slower sections as though they were etudes.
For a night-and-day difference, rewind to Saturday night. Manfred Honeck, another stand-in (this time for Christoph von Dohnányi, who had to attend to an illness in his family), led the BSO in Mahler’s Second, the “Resurrection” Symphony. I had heard him the previous night in a very strong program of Beethoven, Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and he led an excellent Dvorak Ninth with the New York Philharmonic earlier this season. His Mahler on Saturday was transcendent.
The Second is a gigantic piece. At about ninety minutes, it is one of the longest symphonies in the standard repertoire—the last movement alone is well over half an hour. There are other long symphonies, but listening to the “Resurrection,” one seems to be in the presence of an enormous beast, at once horrifying and majestic.
The symphony opens slowly, creeping almost imperceptibly forward, but with such incredible weight that the sheer force of it inspires awe; it is glacial in that sense. Honeck displayed masterful control, wringing from the BSO a staggering variety of sonic qualities, from rough-edged and bleak to tender and plaintive. Even at its slowest moments, the music was never stagnant, brimming with a searing energy that was at the same time austere, weighed down by immense tragedy.
There is a pause written into the score after the first movement, and on this occasion latecomers were allowed to take their seats during the silence. Carnegie Hall does this as well, but the practice should stop wherever it exists. Those who miss all of the first movement will be missing a complete picture of the work (imagine showing up after Act I of King Lear), and their entrance disrupts the experience of everyone else, irking audience and performers alike. One of the nastiest glares I have ever seen came from the conductor Michael Tilson Thomas during a break after the opening movement of Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. Honeck handled the interruption as he should, standing still, head down, back to the audience, and declining to continue until he had absolute silence.
The second and third movements were a perfect pair, the Andante moderato wavering between tender and sinister before its reverie was interrupted by the exotic scherzo, a snickering, capricious intrusion made all the more acerbic by Honeck’s clear, idiomatic gestures.
Our mezzo-soprano was Sarah Connolly, and she was gorgeous in her rendition of the “Urlicht,” achieving high, sweeping arches in her phrasing and singing with a full, round, and dusky tone. The hush that Honeck coaxed out of the strings here was stunning—it is very difficult to play maintain a steady tone on a stringed instrument while playing at a pianissimo. Honeck is a string player himself (he formerly served as a violist with the Vienna Philharmonic), and you can hear it in his conducting. The playing of his strings is precisely crafted, their vibrato meticulously varied and their bowings chosen to move naturally with the music’s phrases.
The finale was hair-raising, charged with all the emotional power of the first movement, but made all the more overwhelming by the protraction of the experience. An off-stage band is called for at times, and in context it was almost comical to watch members of the brass section come and go, but the effect was not diminished—there is a moment at which the band in the wings has grown to a sizeable number, while the only instrument playing onstage is a solitary flute. We suddenly find ourselves transported away from the center of the action, observers at once powerless and enlightened.
The soprano Camilla Tilling had an almost earthy quality to her voice—something that is not common for her range but is fitting for this music, making her part sound somehow more human. The Tanglewood festival chorus was in superb voice, remaining just above a whisper for most of their contribution but finally filling the night with glorious sound as the piece closed in angelic bliss.
Music as rich as Mahler’s poses a problem also present with the two Richards, Wagner and Strauss—we must have clarity of interpretation, but the music must also be allowed to retain its body, its thick substance. Honeck achieved both, giving the listener the remarkable and rare experience of total sensory immersion achieved through music alone. For ninety rapturous minutes, time seemed to freeze.
Honeck has done well in Europe, previously holding chief posts at the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra and the Stuttgart State Opera. Currently, he is the Music Director of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Pittsburgh is a very fine ensemble (and they have done very well under his baton), but it is not exactly a limelight post, and Honeck has yet to receive the acclaim in this country that is his due. If he continues to turn in guest appearances as astonishing as Saturday’s, that is bound to change.