Gustavo Dudamel and Venezuela Youth Orchestra play Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony in Alicante

After almost a year involving two postponements that included military action against the state and then an earthquake, the Venezuela Youth Orchestra finally took the stage at ADDA, Alicante under the internationally famous directorship of Gustavo Dudamel. The experience was worth the wait.

The orchestra’s programme featured a single work, Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony, his seventh symphony. I have written elsewhere on the possible meaning contained in the piece, so I will not repeat myself here.

What was undoubtedly true about this particular performance of the work, and a qualification that would be heard quite rarely, was the extraordinary number of musicians on stage. This certainly gave the music extra power when it was needed. Precisely how many musicians were on stage is not important, but regular concert goer will be interested in the observation that the number of double basses reached double figures.

The Youth Orchestra of Venezuela is made up of players ranging from 14 to 19 years of age. I heard Jakub Hrůša say recently that he is not a follower of the “required age” theory about musical performance, stating that musician of whatever age will perform the most profound and the lightest scores as pieces of music. Differences in interpretation are not born of maturity: they are a product of what the music signifies – or indeed does not signify - to a performer at the time of the performance. We would not, for instance, demand that only 19-year-olds should perform Shostakovich’s First Symphony, to be heard in Alicante later this week, because that was the age of the composer when it was first performed.

But that said, what was truly impressive about this performance was the apparent musical maturity displayed by these players. Gustavo Dudamel’s reading of the score was conventional overall, but the speed at which he chose to open the work was surprising. Previously, I have been used to the tempo of the first movement’s opening from the recordings I have and the quick survey of these reveals that the composer’s tempo marking of allegretto usually allows space for the opening theme to make its sophisticated point. Gustavo Dudamel chose to open the work with what sounded like an allegro first movement, prompting me to think that the performers wanted to end the evening as quickly as possible, as a result of their hectic tour schedule. But, having made the point, the tempo did settle to an allegretto for the remainder of the movement. I was equally surprised by the senority of the woodwind chords early in the symphony. Initially, I felt that these had missed their point of balance, with perhaps a particular part underplayed.

But why am I concentrating on minor shortcomings of performance when the overall experience was so memorable? Ask a critic. Overall the musicianship of these young players was beyond criticism, and Gustavo Dudamel and the orchestra provided an experience that I am sure no-one in the audience will ever forget.

In the conflict climax of the first movement, the orchestra’s weight really did come into its own. Before that, the colour of the composer’s orchestration was displayed to the full, muted brass, pizzicato strings and spiky woodwind all sounded out clearly, never retiring, never dominating, all combining their textures to communicate a musical experience like no other.

It would be wrong to single out individual performances from such an array of talent, but I am going to do so. The horn section in general and its principal were outstanding, as was the diminutive pianist in this very important part within the orchestral texture. When the first movement explodes into conflict, the orchestral sound was quite outstanding. Throughout, the string textures were precise, but the way in which they added the story underneath the tumult was quite outstanding.

And at the movement’s end, the drum beat of dictatorship, of the false promises of populism is still there, reminding all of us that we can still be fooled. At the work’s end the three-note threat is also still in evidence, reminding us that dictators should always be feared, whatever their politics.

Personally, I find the symphony’s emotional core comes in the third movement. The sonorities here are different. Last night the Venezuela Youth Orchestra under Gustavo Dudamel played these to perfection. Up until now, despite having heard the symphony literally hundreds of times, I found it astounding to realize that the musical material of the symphony’s final three movements is largely derived from the opening themes. It somehow all made perfect sense.

There was an encore involving a quartet at the front of the stage. A miniature guitar, a harp, maracas and bass were joined by a solo violin to let rip with what was obviously a popular form in Venezuela. The orchestra accompanied, conducted by facial expressions and dance. And so we heard a performance of Alma Llanera by Gutierrez, which I am reliably informed by Wikipedia is derived from a dance called a jaropo and the piece is widely regarded as the unofficial Venezuelan national anthem. The musicians involved gave it their all, as did everyone else on the platform. It was a night to remember.  

It was a fitting and hopeful end to a concert that had been introduced as a memorial to the victims of Venezuela’s earthquake, and indeed the victims of Spain’s recent train crash. And let’s not forget the victims of war, no matter where or when.

Fabizio Meloni and Antonello D'Onofrio offer a clarinet and piano duo in Denia

 

The programme had to be revised following the fatal rail crash this week. We did not get the Khachaturian, but we did get two encores, one of Oblivion of Piazzolla and the other, I think, was the first part only of Seress’s Last Gloomy Sunday, but I could be wrong.

Sebastiani’s Paraphrase on Bellini’s Norma was a first for me. In over fifty years of concert going and the same time collecting recordings, this was the first example of the composer’s work that I have ever heard. Ferdinando Sebastiani was and Italian clarinettist to whom the Neapolitan style of playing is attributed. I could only fid one recording of the piece on the internet, which shows it is something of a rarity.

Fabrizio Meloni chose to open the concert with the clarinet beginning offstage. The familiar strains of Casta Diva emerged slowly from the wings.  The work’s second section is an allegro and this provided a showcase for Sebastiani’s clarinet writing.

The Haydn Sonata that followed was both witty and elegant. After many years of listening, I generally can’t find anything more to say about Franz Josef Haydn’s music, but its playing often does not bring out these essential elements. Antonello D’Onofrio’s playing did.

The next work was a complete rarity. It was an arrangement of a sonata by Poulenc for clarinet and piano, the more well-known Clarinet Sonata coming later. The work was billed as a World Premiere, which it undoubtedly was. The success of the piece was obvious.

Antonello D’Onofrio then played Rachmaninov’s 4 pieces Opus 3. The second of these pieces is the composition that made Rachmaninov’s name, the famous Prelude in C sharp minor. Here, embedded in the four pieces it was originally published alongside, it took its place elegantly and expressively, but without the overstatement that usually comes with it.

In another arrangement by Antonello D’Onofrio, we then heard Schnittke’s Suite The Clown and the Children. Now Alfred Schnittke’s output was massive. It also covered, as was his intention, many forms of music, from the most popular to the most esoteric. His First Symphony in the 1970s was heard some years ago on London’s South Bank under the baton of Vladimir Jurowsky, a concert I heard and will never forget. The elements are all there. Russian folk music, popular forms, jazz, pop, propaganda and dissonance. Schnittke wanted always to illustrate how we modern people are bombarded with content and that it is up to us to make sense of it. This suite was a case in point, marrying folk themes with pop and jazz with just a touch of the contemporary. Schnittke’s music, like the man and his age, remains an enigma.

The performers cut the Khachaturian that was on the programme and went straight to The Clarinet Sonata by Poulenc. We tend to forget that Francis Polenc was more like Alfred Schnittke in his age than we tend to admit. Fabrizio Meloni brought out all the stresses and strains of the piece as well as its lyricism.

The duo played Piazzolla’s Oblivion as an encore, with Fabrizio Meloni starting the clarinet pointed at the piano strings to engender extra resonance. Piazzolla’s theme emerged from there effortlessly. The last piece was offered in recognition of the loss of life in the recent train crash and the music was fitting.

The Düsseldorf Symphony under Adam Fischer play Mahler 3 - perfection

 

Normally, I don’t read reviews of a concert before drafting my own. This time is different. The Düsseldorf Symphony are currently on tour in Spain and last night they played in ADDA, Alicante, having previously played the same program in Madrid, Barcelona and Valencia. The single work in each of the tour concerts is the Symphony No. 3 of Gustav Mahler. Frankly, I came home so moved by the experience that I broke with my tradition and searched for reviews of the previous concerts on the Internet.

It seems from the reviews that Adam Fischer’s interpretation of Mahler is not universally appreciated. The criticism seems to seem to concentrate on his handling of the first movement of this symphony. There was a reference in one review to problems with the orchestral tuning. I find that hard to believe. It seems that to be a reviewer of classical music – whatever that might be! – it is necessary to talk primarily about another version of the same piece, rather than describe the specific performance.

As an audience member last night, it was obvious from the start that Adam Fischer has his own approach to this symphony. In the hands of less inspired conductors, the first movement becomes a rather conventional allegro when the marches appear. The slower material thus tends to take on the nature of an introduction to the eventual allegro. Mahler’s own title for the movement is Pan Awakes: Summer Marches In, signifying the Pan of mythology has something to do with the scenario. I am saying nothing unconventional if U state that this particular Pan is associated with the wild, shepherds and flocks, rustic music, and impromptus. This is the key, I think, to Mahler’s title and, indeed, Adam Fisher’s reading of the first movement.

In the slower sections of the first movement, Mahler effectively wrote chamber music, full of contrasting textures, sonorities and orchestral effects, often in surprising and striking combinations. Adam Fisher, by varying the rhythm here and there, and by inserting often quite long pauses, emphasizes the rusticity and the impromptu nature of music. And by this means the audience can hear essential elements, all the detail and really appreciate the texture. These elements combine together to evoke the feeling of an early morning or evening stroll across Alpine Meadows, where birds sing in the distance, where animals somewhere wander across the field of vision, but remaining distant, even out of sight. The emotions that such sounds evoke are close at hand, but nothing else is, apart from, of course, the emotional reactions they create. Then, when the marches takeover, outlines become clearer, more tangible.

Personally, I find Adam Fisher’s treatment of the first movement, utterly convincing. I heard sonorities I had not heard before. I became conscious of transitions that other conductors had clearly airbrushed out of their interpretations, and I was able to marvel at the unusual juxtaposition of instruments that we don’t expect to play together.

Mahler’s subtitles for the other five movements are derivations of this monumental first movement’s title. He is successively alluded to the world of flowers, animals, man, angels, and love. And throughout, Adam Fischer’s attention to the detail of the score seemed to emphasize these meanings. The minuet second movement was suitably delicate, the third scherzo-like in its abruptness and energy. In the fourth, mankind is revealed contemplative and reflective, whilst in the fifth the angels sing out in perfect harmony.

In the finale, we find Adam Fischer at his best. The long theme was played with little stress and emphasis, enabling it to expand into the space available with all its beauty. Too often, in my opinion, interpretations concentrate on making the material over-profound and overtly beautiful. The emphasis thereby required causes us to stop a marvel rather than go with the flow. And this flow is so mesmerically beautiful that, whenever I hear the symphony played, I feel as though I ought to stand up towards the end and acknowledge the breadth of the musical vision and its emotional power.

It was this, the emotional power that was enduring throughout the performance. I, for one, notwithstanding the criticism of other, will treasure the experience of Mahler 3 under Adam Fischer. It was, simply, one of the most emotional experiences I have had in sixty years of concert going.

I realise that I have not mentioned Catriona Morison, who sand the contralto part in the fourth movement superbly. I state again that this performance was not only memorable. It will live in my memory as long as I have such a facility!

 

Patrick Messina gives the first performance in Spain of Tan Dun's Clarinet Concerto with ADDA Orchestra under Josep Vicent in Alicante

Last night in ADDA Alicante, we were treated to a program that sandwiched the familiar with an unfamiliar filling. The unfamiliar filling was the Spanish premiere of a Clarinet Concerto by Tan Dun, whilst the familiar on the outside comprised two concert favourites of Antonin Dvorak.

We got off to a rousing start with an energetic performance of Dvorak’s Carnival Overture. This is music that starts and ends with in-your-face celebration that conjures up a festive gathering by a populace eager to participate. The more reflective passages are surely sideshows and personal stories. Written as part of a sequence to illustrate Nature, Life, and Love, the Carnival Overture is celebratory throughout and certainly wakes up an audience.

The other familiar element came after the interval and was a performance of the concert hall favourite, Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 From The New World. I have written before on the doubt that any of the now familiar themes were inspired by the composer’s stay in the United States, so I will not repeat the arguments here. In fact, I will concentrate on the performance.

Over the years, Josep Vicent, artistic director and conductor of the ADDA Orchestra, has built a performing and interpretive tradition, which is greatly appreciated by the loyal audience. What is more is that the orchestra members themselves seem to enjoy the concerts as much as their audience. The communication on stage between the conductor’s podium, and the orchestra and, indeed, between the orchestra members themselves is palpable. The relationships are clearly excellent, and this affects the way the orchestra performs.

The consequence of this is that no matter what the program, you always know that the musicians on stage will not only perform well, but will be happy with what they with what they are doing. The feeling does contrast quite strongly with the experience of listening to some visiting orchestras, where the concert seems to be just another day at the office. With Josep Vicent and the ADDA Orchestra, every audience member in the auditorium can be confident that a performance is going to be energetic, thoughtful, artistic and played with commitment.

Dvořák’s New World Symphony is so well known that I will not spend time describing the musical content. Let it be said, however, that the ADDA Orchestra made the piece sound fresh and inspired, though I am sure they have played it many times before. Bravi!

The unfamiliar filling of the concert sandwich was Tan Dun’s Clarinet Concerto, Three Lotus in the Zen Garden. The composer wrote the concerto for his friend, Patrick Messina, who was indeed the soloist last night.

The first piece by Tan Dun that I heard was his 1997 Symphony and to my ear he still inhabits a similar musical oeuvre. What Tan Dun tries to do is incorporate traditional Chinese forms and harmony with the language of western music. The Clarinet Concerto illustrated this in its use of percussion, pentatonic scales, rhythm and vocalization for the orchestra all within a form of a twenty-minute concerto for a soloist and orchestra.

But there was more to the concerto than this. Patrick Messina played almost continuously throughout the concerto and employed several modern techniques, like double stopping, breathing through the instrument and almost screeching harmonics.

The first part is evocative of the sounds of nature when one is sitting in a garden. But this is very much Zen garden, where the soft edges are hardened by stone. Patrick Messina virtuosity is clear, but in Tan Dun’s piece this was rarely the kind of virtuosity that a concerto normally displays. In other words, this was about control, phrasing, texture, and sonority rather than a torrent of notes. I felt, overall, that the concerto came close to a solo piece with orchestral accompaniment rather than a dialogue between soloist and orchestra. But perhaps I am showing my very Eurocentric heritage by writing that. But Tan Dun’s work is clearly from a different cultural heritage, and I feel it will take more hearings before the true nature of the music reveals itself. Patrick Messina’s more conventional virtuosity was on show in the klezmer like encore.

 

Programa de mano de 31 oct 2026 - Denia International Piano Festival - Fabrizio Meloni y Antonello D'Onofrio

 

 

Carmen in Valencia - Charles Castronovo and Vasilisa Berzhanskaya lead a cast in search of a production

 

The current production of Bizet’s Carmen in Valencia Les Arts seems to be in constant danger of falling between two chairs. “Stools”, you say, but “chairs” is apposite because chairs figure large in this particular staging.

The promotional photograph that ostensibly summarizes the production shows Carmen in a traditional flamenco dress confronting Escamillo, who is arraigned in his toreador outfit. These might be stereotypes, but they are conventional in a staging of Carmen. The still is from act three. Contrast that image with what the audience sees at the start, which is an unadorned black stage on which there is a square raised platform, covering most of the area, with the only evidence of props being a haphazard pile of chairs at the back. Symbolically, the raised platform is the square outside Carmen’s cigarette factory in Seville. The chairs are regularly moved to create different spaces.

Personally, I prefer directors to experiment when staging opera, as long as historical accuracy is preserved. It would be stupid to set Andrea Chenier in anything but the French revolution, for instance. But in the case of Carmen where the plot revolves around a coquettish woman who cannot make up her mind and an army corporal who lacks judgment and is easily lead is not specific to any particular epoch. Carmen, therefore, can be staged at any time, but place is important because of the Spanish flavour of the music.

But I am being over conventional. What if the Carmen is not coquettish, nor a flirt (whatever that is…) and plays the role as if she is in control the whole time? It seems that this was the kind of Carmen that we encountered in acts one and two in this production. She thus is a more modern woman, who still does not know what she wants. But would that modern woman dress up in traditional garb for a fiesta? Would that modern woman be so shocked by a prophecy arising from a card deal?

What worked in acts one and two was the drabness of the set. These working-class people are portrayed living their drab lives and therefore the excitement of a fight at work or an affair with an army corporal just might brighten things up. Perhaps because of the drabness of day-to-day existence everyone goes over the top when the chance to show off comes around at the fiesta. The presence of Escamillo, however, belies that working class setting, because he would have been a star, unless he was not very successful, in which case he would not have lasted very long and would not have developed a reputation.

In act two, the raised platform is transformed into a bar where we see the lowlife of an inner city. This is where Escamillo delivers his toreador song. The stage is still largely black, and the chairs are moved again to create places for the eager punters to sit. In act three, the chairs are centre stage again for a ballet sequence, which in this Carmen is a flamenco dance done by women. This is surely a reference to the original staging of the opera at the Opera Comique where a dance routine was de rigueur.

Then in act three, we have the fiesta and everyone gets dolled up. Suddenly, we have massive colour provided by firework bursts of confetti over the assembled townsfolk. Carmen up until now has worn T-shirt and trousers, and then a jacket over tights and a basque, suddenly dons a flowery full-length dress and wears her hair, until now lank, coiffured. It appears that Ted Huffman, who directed, suddenly got cold feet, and became worried that a “traditional” Carmen audience would want colour and costume. Suddenly, also, Carmen, who has been aloof and assertive to the level of cynicism until now, is vulnerable. Don José carries out his deadly act via strangulation with his belt, rather than with a “traditional” knife.

Overall, this production tried to be something different but did not carry things through. Carmen, as a character, suffered and throughout we did not see the presence that we expect from the role. Hence my assertion that the production fell between two chairs, neither “contemporary” nor “traditional”.

The evening, however, was perfectly enjoyable, despite the confusion over the production. Charles Castronovo as Don José was utterly superb. Vasilisa Berzhanskaya has sung Carmen before, but perhaps not as low-key as this time. Ruth Iniesta as Micaela received special applause for her two interventions. Davide Luciano as Escamillo was impressive. These performances were sound, that of Charles Castronovo was outstanding, but the lack of credibility of the overall concept rendered the individual performances just that – individual.

 

Mathis Cathignol offers a surprise at the Denia International Piano Festival

Despite my attending literally thousands of concerts in the past, each new offering still has the potential to surprise, to go where music has never taken me. The experience does not often do so, despite the fact that it rarely disappoints. Also, approaching a concert that I am responsible for makes me nervous and makes me also less able to relax to absorb whatever is on offer. After organising well over five hundred concerts, it remains the case that each new one is a challenge and that challenge can militate against personal enjoyment. Without the support of skilled people, musicians and technicians alike, the presentation of a concert would be impossible, and I have to record the fact that in Denia last night we had the best of both professions.

A program, however, can create expectations, but in the case of the latest Denia International Piano Festival concert, Mathis Cathignol, a young pianist from France, offered Granados, Fauré and Chopin. One the face of things, this was not going to surprise, but by the end of the concert, Mathis Cathignol had played so elegantly and so poetically that the surprise lasted from the first note to the last.

Mathis Cathignol is a 26 year-old French pianist. Before the concert, he asked whether it was normal or acceptable to have music open on the stage. My reply, as ever, was that he had to decide. I have learned over the years to go with a musician’s flow and not try to impose anything. In the event, he played the Granados and the Fauré from scores, but the Chopin from memory. Eventually, all that matters is the musical communication and more than a hundred people in the audience were left in no doubt about the quality of that.

Mathis Cathignol started his concert with three pieces by Granados. A Frenchman playing Spanish music to an audience in Spain is taking a risk. But Mathis Cathignol’s playing left no one unconvinced of his ability to communicate via this language. The playing, and with it the expression was exquisite. The phrases, even the specifically Spanish in a Spanish idiom, were played beautifully. What’s more, the music made perfect sense. Too often in Granados and other Spanish composers, a pianist can emphasize the stereotype and thereby lose contact with the overall effect. Mathis Cathignol did not fall into this trap and indeed his shaping of Quejas, o la Maja y el Ruiseñor was exceptional. It is a piece that I personally have heard many times, but Mathis Cathignol’s interpretation completely renewed the experience.

I do go to a lot of concerts, and I cannot remember any recent program that included three substantial pieces by Fauré for piano solo. On the face of it, this programming was conventional, but on reflection, I admit that it was something special. For me, Fauré is a quintessentially impressionist composer, and the three nocturnes completely fit the bill. Mathis Cathignol was poetic and expressive, managing to convey subtlety of tone, harmony and shape that sounded truly faithful to the composers intention.

The Chopin that followed was more of a concert piece. But in the hands of Mathis Cathignol, it became more than a series of show off variations and became a rounded, playful examination of what variation form could deliver.

In the end, the young French pianist played Liszt’s Chapelle de Guillaume Tell from the first year of pilgrimage, Années de Pèlerinage I. As an encore, it was a substantial piece and its reception in the hall suggested that the audience wanted even more.

Mathis Cathignol is already an accomplished pianist, whose musical communication is sound. He plays with a lightness of touch which is astounding but can also deliver pace and volume apparently at the same time. He also has the element of surprise which promises greatness.