Who is the most famous composer in the world? Paul McCartney? No, I mean classical division. Philip Glass? The answer must be John Williams, chiefly of movie fame. Born in 1932, he is still working and, by the look of it, flourishing. Carnegie Hall hosted a concert last Thursday night billed as “An Evening with John Williams and Yo-Yo Ma.” I will get to Ma in a moment.
The first half of this concert was conducted by Stéphane Denève, the Frenchman who is the music director of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. With mike in hand, he played “your genial host.” His French English was bold and wonderful—complete with “zee” for “the.” The program opened with a quick one by Williams (all the pieces on this program were by Williams): Just Down West Street . . . on the left. It was written for the Tanglewood Music Center Orchestra, to mark its seventy-fifth anniversary in 2015.
Hang on, have I mentioned the orchestra onstage? Onstage at Carnegie Hall? It was the Philadelphia Orchestra.
After the opener, Yo-Yo Ma joined Denève and the Philadelphians to play the cello concerto written by Williams in 1994. The occasion was the christening of Ozawa Hall, at Tanglewood. This is a fine tradition: the commissioning of a new piece to open a hall.
Earlier this month, Maestro Seiji Ozawa passed away at eighty-eight. In remarks to the audience at Carnegie Hall, Maestro Denève referred to Ozawa as “my mentor.”
John Williams wrote his cello concerto with Yo-Yo Ma in mind. How did Ma play it, last week? Commendably—with his typical facility and flair. The best sounds he made were high up on his instrument.
The Williams Cello Concerto is a piece of classical music—proper classical music. Yet there are Williams-y touches, by which I mean, touches of the Williams we know from movie scores.
Ma and the orchestra played an encore: the Theme from Schindler’s List. We are used to hearing it higher up. I mean, on a violin (especially as played by Itzhak Perlman). But Ma gave it to us on the cello, with poignancy. This is a theme that may stick in your head for days after.
After intermission, Williams himself took the podium. Last summer, I had a talk with a member of the Vienna Philharmonic—an orchestra that has seen pretty much every conductor over the years (every conductor of note). He told me that, of all of them, John Williams has pretty much the clearest beat.
I might mention something else too: that Williams stands while conducting (when other nonagenarians may be expected to sit).
The second half began with the Olympic Fanfare and Theme. It’s one thing to hear this music out of your TV set. It’s another thing to hear it from the Philadelphia Orchestra in Carnegie Hall—a sonic treat.
Like Denève, Williams played your genial host. Mike in hand, he made some charming remarks. For instance: “Don’t be afraid of the word ‘scherzo’; it just means ‘joke.’” And, “Harrison Ford is seventy-eight—which to me is a teenager.”
He mentioned that, in the first Star Wars movie (if I heard him correctly), he wrote love music for Luke and Leia. Then he learned that these two were actually brother and sister. Oops. (I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought of Siegmund and Sieglinde, the amorous twins from Wagner’s Ring.)
After the Olympic music, we had six selections from the movies. The last of them was “Adventures on Earth,” from E.T. This music has never struck me as so Mahlerian (yet Williams-y, of course, at the same time).
The concert, a gala, had started at 7. It was supposed to last about an hour and forty minutes. Now it was about 9:15. All night long, I wanted to hear Williams’s encore, which I assumed would be “The Imperial March,” a.k.a. Darth Vader’s Theme, from Star Wars. There was an encore: it was some love music from the latest Raiders of the Lost Ark movie.
At least, that’s what I think Williams announced. I can’t remember, frankly.
In any event, there was still hope. And, indeed, Williams launched into another piece—something loud and arresting. It was the Star Wars Theme (the main one). Nothing wrong with that. Still, selfish and petulant me was put out.
I figured the concert was over. It was now 9:30, something like that. As the audience applauded the second encore, I made for the exits. But just before I opened the door, I heard a guy say, “I think he has another one in him.” I stayed, and lingered at the back of the hall. And, lo, Williams—with that clear, clear beat—began “The Imperial March.”
He has been with us all of our lives, John Williams has. What a joy it has been to have him and his music.