Last night, the Cleveland Orchestra began its concert at Carnegie Hall with a piece by George Walker. He was an American composer who was born in 1922 and died in 2018. I knew him toward the end of his life. In 2017, I wrote about him in two parts: here and here.
If there was one thing George liked, it was being programmed. (That is, he liked the programming of his works, as what composer wouldn’t?) If there was one thing he did not like, it was not being programmed. “Why are they doing Knoxville when they could be doing Lilacs?” (Knoxville: Summer of 1915 is a work for soprano and orchestra by Samuel Barber; Lilacs is a work for soprano and orchestra by George Walker.)
These days, George is being programmed regularly. He is popping up all over the place. I would love to talk with him about it.
The Clevelanders, under their music director, Franz Welser-Möst, began with Walker’s Sinfonia No. 4, “Strands,” composed in 2012 (when George was a mere ninety). Carnegie Hall’s program notes called the sinfonia a “masterpiece.” Often, when people say “masterpiece,” they mean “good piece.” The Sinfonia No. 4 is certainly that. It is interesting, lively, and well-constructed. It does not want the listener to be bored. The Clevelanders and Welser-Möst gave the piece a beautiful reading. What a beautiful machine this orchestra is. The principal cello, Mark Kosower, contributed a beautiful solo.
I keep using the word “beautiful.” It can’t be helped.
The orchestra then played an unfamiliar work by a familiar composer: Szymanowski. This was his Violin Concerto No. 2 (from 1933). I want to say it has been a good season for Szymanowski at Carnegie Hall. In March, Daniil Trifonov, the Russian pianist, played his Sonata No. 3, a brainy, incredibly virtuosic thing.
Serving as soloist in the violin concerto was Nikolaj Szeps-Znaider, from Denmark. We used to know him as “Nikolaj Znaider.” But he was born Szeps-Znaider, and he restored his full name, to honor both sides of his family. In addition to being a violinist, Szeps-Znaider is a conductor. They all get “stick fever,” as the critic Bernard Holland says.
Over the years, I have heard Szeps-Znaider give mediocre performances. And I have heard him give great ones. This is how it goes in music, as in sports and other endeavors. In 2010, Znaider (as he was then) played the Elgar Concerto with Sir Colin Davis in Avery Fisher Hall (as it was then). Soloist and conductor were fifty years apart—one in his thirties, the other in his eighties. This was unforgettably great.
Also, if you want the Brahms violin sonatas, you could do worse—much worse—than the recordings by this violinist and the pianist Yefim Bronfman.
The Szymanowski concerto started out sweet, soulful, and folkloric. Szeps-Znaider was natural, very natural. He did not seem to be playing “classically”; he was simply making music. Welser-Möst was natural too. When he is at his best, he is notably fluid, erasing bar lines from music. There was nothing forced about this Szymanowski. There was no sense of calculation. Instead, there was an unfolding.
Toward the end of the work, things grew a little tedious, at least to my ears. I thought of the word “longueurs.” Was this the fault of the work or the performance? I lean toward both.
Despite ample applause, Szeps-Znaider did not play an encore. I admired this: there need not be an encore after every concerto. Also, I will provide a sartorial note: in an age of black pajamas—those Mao suits that musicians favor—Szeps-Znaider and Welser-Möst were classically dressed, which was a pleasant change, or throwback.
After intermission, there was but one work, and not just any work but a mighty and long one: the Symphony No. 9 in C major—the “Great”—by Schubert. Some years ago, I did a public interview of Welser-Möst at the Salzburg Festival. He said he had had one favorite composer, all life long: Schubert. If I remember correctly, it started when he was four years old. A grandmother of his was a lover of Schubert.
A fine choice.
You want your Schubert Schubertian—beautiful, simple, and glowing. But there is also brawn in the Symphony No. 9, and you must not skimp on that either. And yet your brawn must be Schubertian: beautiful, simple, glowing. Welser-Möst and the Clevelanders achieved this. The music breathed properly. Tempos were not too slow but neither were they hurried. In the Trio of the Scherzo, Welser-Möst imparted some unusual rhythms. Was this a matter of “local knowledge,” as we say in golf? Does the Austrian Welser-Möst know some native dances?
The Clevelanders, frankly, played like angels. One of the chief angels was the principal oboe, Frank Rosenwein. In the earlier works—the Walker and the Szymanowski—another oboist, Tamer Edlebi, stood out. There are people in this world who are not crazy about the oboe. (Your critic is possibly—possibly—one of them.) Players such as these will make you think again.
Every now and then, there was a smudge in the orchestra, during the Schubert. This was almost a relief: we were listening to a live performance, not a doctored studio job.
When it comes to the final movement of the “Great,” I like more heart—more drive, more glory, more uplift—than was evident last night. The music was a little relaxed for me. Still, this was a satisfying performance, overall. Schumann spoke of the “heavenly length” of this symphony. Sometimes that length can indeed be heavenly; other times, when leadership is limp, the length can be burdensome. The hour of the symphony last night was no burden at all, and heaven was in sight.