Več Makropulos at the Royal Opera House in London, a triumph for Ausrine Stundyte and a convincing re-interpretation by Katie Mitchell

Več Makropulos is really a play with musical accompaniment. One wonders whether the singers would think the same! It was also the debut in the opera house of the telephone, which features in act one of any production. But here it played a central role in the establishment of a feminist interpretation of the work, an interpretation that eventually proved both successful and relevant.

Janacek’s opera was completed in 1925 and staged in 1926. The difficulty of updating the text means that most productions of the work stay in the 1920s of it’s original conception. Here in 2025 in this production the setting is contemporary, which means that when Elina Makropulos finally reveals her age, she has to add an unscripted hundred to the written 337 years. The only problematic detail that arises from the time shift revolves around the patrimony and matrimony of the central characters. In 2025 we have DNA testing to establish lineage, whereas in 1925 such things were unknown. The problem, however, has no impact on the story, since DNA testing takes time, and time, even for a 437-year-old woman, is here in short supply since the action of Vec Makropulos surely takes place over one or two days.

The long running legal case about the inheritance of an estate between the Prus and Gregor families might have been settled before a century had elapsed, let alone two, if the family lineage had been established. The lack of any will kept the dispute alive, so to speak. But until the arrival on the scene of Emilia Marti, who seems to be well informed about the history of the families, no-one involved had any idea that Baron Prus in 1827 had fathered an illegitimate child following a relationship with an opera singer called Ellian MacGregor. Emilia Marti - Ellian MacGregor 200 years on - knows the location of a will in a drawer ostensibly containing letters written by Prus to his lover. The will leaves the estate to the illegitimate son, but there is a problem with the name. As an illegitimate child, the birth registry was unable to record a true father’s name. The singer MacGregor, wary of scandal that might be attached to her fame, used Makropulos as the surname -her own original family name - but entered the name of her long dead father, Ferdinand alongside. Over years, the Mac dropped away and the family name became Gregor, but there existed no definite linkage between the illegitimate son and the name Gregor, and crucially no tangible link to prove that Baron Prus was the father. DNA testing could establish a link, but not in 48 hours.

There is also another document associated with the will. It is a single sheet and written in Greek. It is a recipe for the elixir of life that Ferdinand Makropulos prepared for the emperor Rudolf in the sixteenth century. Emilia Marti - the same woman who as a sixteen-year-old Elina Makropulos was the guinea pig for the elixir, is now reaching the end of it’s effect and, after 437 years, she needs another dose. It is her mission to track down the document that she gave to her lover 200 years before, believing that she would never need it again. Originally, she had fallen ill and the emperor refused the potion, called her father a fraud, had him imprisoned and executed. She recovered, escaped to Hungary and lived on in relative obscurity. “No-one knew I would live for a hundred years…” Then she became a singer and had several careers, several lifetimes.

437 years is a long time. Elina Makropulos has had many identities, gone through many relationships and has had several children. She is now tired of what men might do to her and for some time has preferred the company of women. But she is not one for a quiet life. She has been a famous singer throughout and has lived life in the fast lane. She drinks heavily, takes class A drugs intravenously and is into every sexual expression possible with her female partners. At the start of this production using a split stage, while Vitek and Gregor and Prus discuss the court case in a hotel cafe, Emilia Marti is on her mobile in her room setting up a date with Krista via text messages. Krista comes to the hotel and she and Emilia make love. Krista’s lines in act one describing her infatuation with Marti are here delivered by phone from Marti’s bathroom. It is utterly credible. Though the elevation of the written minor role of Krista into a significant character who drives events was a major risk, the credibility of the result is testament to the genius vision of the director, Katie Mitchell.

When Marti joins the others in the cafe to discuss law, Krista stays behind in the hotel room, riffles through Martin’s bags in search of valuables and communicates her findings via texts to her boyfriend Janek, Baron Prus’s son, who researches and values possible loot.

Thus we have a perfect storm. Everyone on stage is now in competition with everyone else in order to establish advantage, both personal and financial. These are all people who are not nice to one another. The fact that Krista shoots Janek, rather than him committing suicide after a tiff with his father, might stretch credibility, but Krista now regards him as a liability that might threaten her own chances, which are now identified as staying with Emilia Marti to take advantage of her wealth and celebrity. It all makes such sense, given these characters’ propensity for lethal competition.

There are several aspects of the libretto that give rise to a feminist interpretation. Emilia Marti reveals the multiple scars, physical scars, that men have inflicted over the years. She feigns sleep when Gregor tries to rape her. She regards having sex with Prus to get her hands on the elixir recipe as a purely business transaction. It’s all there, despite having been written by the potentially misogynistic Leo’s Janacek. So all this production does is emphasize a thread of the characterization, rather than invent it.

There are several points here where time stands still or at least runs slow. The action on stage mirrors this, and these moments happen when Marti, feeling the weight of years, starts to run low on energy. Jakub Hrůša’s phenomenal understanding of the score allows him to bring this off musically by adjusting tempi, without interrupting the musical flow or sounding clumsy even in an ear that knows the score.

In the denouement, Marti has the elixir formula from Prus, has told Gregor his history, has declared her original name, Elina Makropulos, and has finally run out of energy. It is Krista, the opportunist, who receives the elixir when Marti declares she is no longer interested in a life that has delivered only suffering for so long. Krista can profit and she does, totally, and in this production in character.

Performances do matter, however dominant the plot and Ausrine Stundyte as Emilia Marti plays a more than pivotal role. Not only is she on stage almost all the time, but she is also more often than not singing. In this production, when Emilia Marti is not centre stage, she is still on stage and still acting. As conceived in this production, the role thus becomes demanding throughout the one and a half hours of the three acts, played here without any interval. Sean Pannikar as Gregor is almost impossibly wild and flighty, and John Reuter as Prus is quietly confident, assertive, powerful but almost always wrong. A special mention should be made of Alan Oke who sung Count Hauk-Sendorf, the old man with dementia who remembers wild Spanish adventures with a woman called Eugenia Montez. Who else? Heather Engebretson and Daniel Matousek who play Krista and Janek had to act quite a lot. Their parts did not require them to sing a lot, but in this production their relationship is central to the plot and they are both on stage for a good deal longer than their vocal parts might suggest.

An experiment in reshaping a masterpiece it was. And the experiment was successful.

Torino - Andrés Orozco Estrada conducts RAI Torino in Rossini, Mozart and Berlioz with Michael Barenboim as soloist

There were some famous musical names associated with Orchestra Sinphonica della RAI, Torino in last night’s programme. Previous conductors of the orchestra had surnames Pretre and Sinopoli and the night’s soloist was a Barenboim. The current principal conductor of Orchestra Sinphonica della RAI, Torino is Andrés Orozco Estrada and it was he who directed them in this concert in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium.

The concert began with one of the most well-known and rousing of Rossini’s overtures. Everyone knows the theme of the William Tell Overture’s final section, but Rossini was always episodic in his compositional style and the quiet sections that preceded allowed the orchestra to show off some of its solo playing. Starting a concert with the sound of a solo cello is hardly likely to be a showstopper, but that is clearly what Rossini wanted for his master work, perhaps indicating that all heroes have first to be born and many of them humbly.

Michael Barenboim was then soloist in Mozart K218 Violin Concerto. This, especially after the tutti at the end of the William Tell Overture was quiet, playful, witty and precise. I can never imagine that Mozart, even as a nineteen-year-old was taking his audience seriously when he wrote these notes. I always feel that the phrase “This is what they can cope with” must have been running through the composer’s mind. Basically, I don’t trust Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. It has been a lifelong relationship, and there have been undoubted pleasures along the way.

Michael Barenboim and the orchestra’s playing, however, left nothing to be desired. It was sophisticated, accurate, witty and cute in places, secure and reflective in others. The composer’s ability to balance the solo part in the context of the orchestral accompaniment is a real achievement, for this orchestral part is no mere accompaniment, it presents a real dialogue with the soloist. Michael Barenboim gave the audience an encore of a movement of solo Bach in acknowledgment of warm applause.

The second half featured one work, Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. I confess the Berlioz is another composer whose music remains utterly baffling to me. It remains spectacularly baffling, however. Andrés Orozco Estrada had the third movement begin with woodwind played from high in the royal box, thus rendering the sound “far off”. The tubular bells that feature in the final movement gave a special sonority that I don’t recall from other performances of the work. But for someone who made his name for his orchestration to have called for two harps, just to keep them silent for most of the time, is beyond imagination. Perhaps he wrote the parts and then forgot about them. The orchestral playing was superb throughout, however, especially the muted horns, the brass, percussion and woodwind. Passages in the central movement were surely written by Mahler, sixty years before their time.

The orchestra offered a little piece of Italy to this audience in Spain as an encore. The Intermezzo from Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana is a superb way to follow the over-the-top Berlioz.

Denia International Piano Festival Programme 2 oct Duo Bringuier-Monakh

 

Edmon Levon conducts the Valencia Youth Orchestra in Coleridge-Taylor, González Gomá, Rossini and Tchaikovsky, with Ignacio Soler

 

In human affairs, enthusiasm is often associated with youth, whereas competence that approaches perfection is usually only possible in maturity. Occasionally - just occasionally - the two qualities are combined in a single and therefore memorable event. Here, it was the music making of the Valencia Youth Orchestra. It married enthusiasm and perfection in a musical evening that all involved, musicians and audience alike, will never forget.

The Valencia Youth Orchestra can recruit players up to their mid-twenties, so here we are talking about musicians who are on the verge of their careers. In this concert, they were directed by their current guest conductor, Edmon Levon, who also introduced each piece to the audience.

The performers began with a piece by Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, an English composer, less well known in Spain than in the United Kingdom, where he is undergoing a revival that is reviving his music from an anonymity achieved by a hundred years of neglect. Despite playing for a US president and having packed out the Royal Albert Hall for years on end with his Hiawatha, his music must now be re-discovered. A movement from his African Suite had more than enough to spark interest in his always melodic music.

Enrique González Gomá, whose Ofrenda a Colombina followed, is a little-known composer even in his native Spain. He was a Valencian by birth, from Tavernes, born in 1899 and living until 1977. After the bravura and frenzy of an African dance, González Gomá’s piece offered a significant contrast. Quiet and reflective, even impressionistic, this music explores textures to evoke feelings. The effect was both magical and surprising.

In comparison to what proceeded it, Rossini’s Bassoon Concerto is quite a well-known work, though in over 50 years of concert going, I was hearing for the first time in performance. Ignacio Soler as soloist was both faultless in execution and as enthusiastic about the music as the orchestra he fronted. Rossini’s treatment of the form was distinctly operatic, with the bassoon often sounding like a singer delivering an opera aria in Rossini’s distinctly bravura, if sometimes rather predictable style. The quality of invention in his music, however, is undeniable, even if at times one feels as though one may have heard it before somewhere else!

The enthusiasm of the audience reaction prompted Ignacio Soler to present an encore, for which he was joined by two of the bassoons from the orchestra to play the Tango by Martinez. In this piece, a perhaps cliché tune is passed skilfully between the three players. The sonority of the bassoon trio is utterly surprising, and the ensemble suggests improvisation, even in its absence.

In the second half, the Valencia Youth Orchestra played one of the symphonies that define music. Tchaikovsky Pathetique, Symphony No. 6, is not just a staple of the orchestral repertoire, it is one of its mainstays. This is a work that not only never disappoints, but it also actually grows with repeated hearings.

It is music that, I believe, is ruined by applause between movements. The transition, especially from movements three to four, is crucial to the work’s emotional argument and all tension associated with being “right up there” one moment and “right down there” in the next is dissipated by audience intervention. Edmon Levon, I suspect, agrees with this, and when the audience applauded after the first movement, he half turned to acknowledge but in a single gesture managed to communicate that the end of the work would be more appropriate.

Tchaikovsky 6 is a mammoth work that demands real musical maturity alongside perfection of ensemble. There were one or two rhythmic stutters in the fast third movement, but nothing to detract from the experience. Personally, I found the horns of the opening of the fourth too loud, but I am splitting hairs.

The audience reaction to this great music was nothing less than ecstatic. Thus, we were treated to an encore. What to play after a work like Tchaikovsky 6 is a problem. Edmon Levon contrasted Tchaikovsky’s emotional paroxysms with Ravel’s detachment. We heard the final section of the Mother Goose suite, and its largely modal harmonies were quite surprising after the symphony’s outbursts. We had a real Valencia bash to finish, a piece that the orchestra played largely undirected, with Edmon Levon taking a seat in the stalls. At the end, the whole orchestra stood, still playing. The audience followed suit, applauding.

Carlos Santo plays Tchaikovsky in a remarkable free concert in ADDA, Alicante: En homenaje a D. Rafael Beltran

This was a free concert “En homenaje a D. Rafael Beltran. Fundador de la Sociedad de Conciertos de Alicante” who died last month at the age of 93. Carlos Santo, aged 25, paid personal homage to his memory by playing an encore of the theme from Bach’s Goldberg Variations which, he said, was a special piece for Rafal Bertran.

The evening opened with a quite superb Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture. The timing, phrasing, dynamics and togetherness of this ADDA orchestra is now outstanding. Tchaikovsky’s score is a masterpiece. He does not follow a straight dramatic path through the story, preferring to highlight certain emotional responses. There is no doubt whatsoever about the physical nature of the lovers’ relationship when one hears that beautiful flowing theme from the whole orchestra. There is also no doubt about the conflict that rages between their two families.

Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto can often be played like it’s a motion that has to be gone through. Not so in the hands of Carlos Santo. A local lad whose career was aided by concerts awarded in Alicante by the society founded by Rafael Bertran, Carlos Santo gave perhaps the most lyrical performance of this work that I have ever heard. It’s just two months ago that we heard Shunta Morimoto play it in Elche. We were quite removed from the stage on that evening, whereas last night we were in row three and central, meaning that we were perhaps just ten metres from the keyboard.

His every phrase was thought out. There was never an occasion when this pianist played one of the big chordal sections as a piece of gymnastics. Not that Shunta did either, but here we were close enough to feel involved with the process. In the “cadenza” close to the end of the first movement, there are alternate phases, slow legato juxtaposed with those with more energy. Certainly in the slow phrases, one can surely hear Scriabin’s style, or perhaps it should be said that Scriabin essentially adopted some elements of Tchaikovsky.

The selection from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet that followed we have heard several times. But no matter how many times I hear this music, I always hear something new. The viola solo was quite wonderful, as was the playing of that chord towards the end of the tomb scene, where the entire world seems to collapse. It makes musical sense to play the Death of Tybalt at the end, but for anyone who understands anything about the drama, the tomb scene cannot be followed by this music. The musical effect is of course superb. And, at risk of repeating myself, this is a great orchestra.

ADDA under Josep Vicent in Saint-Saens and Strauss, with Daniel Oyarzabal, Amanda Forsyth and Pinchas Zuckerman

Stars shine brightly and that shining can cover immense distances. Their light travels in straight lines, unless there is, as Einstein described, another immense mass nearby – perhaps another star, and then it curves. The star of Saint-Saens’s Symphony No. 3 is the organ. It is even known as the Organ Symphony, despite the fact that the organ is silent for most of the work’s duration, and the fact that the organ part is largely written to enhance the power of the orchestral tutti. It does come to the fore briefly in the slow movement, but, if it is then a star, it burns out quite quickly. Precisely why the composer also included a piano in the orchestration still baffles me, because the piano’s contribution could so easily have been achieved differently, for instance, by pizzicato in the strings.

And it’s not that this star had to shine from afar. The ADDA auditorium does not have an organ, and, occasionally, when an organ was obligato for a given piece, an electric variety was shipped in. But these were Baroque pieces with organ continuo, with none of the blazing fortés that the Saint--Saens demanded.

It is about a kilometre from the ADDA auditorium to Alicante Cathedral and it was that church’s organ which was played by Daniel Oyarzabal and relayed live in projection on the back wall of the stage. The technical feat in accomplishing this was huge. And it was a resounding success, although I did detect a slight delay in the organ part, not because of the playing, obviously, but because of the inherent latency of the electronics. The speed of light is immense, but a delay of just the smallest fraction of a second alongside tutti at near presto tempo is discernible.

Not that this shortcoming affected the quality of the performance, which was truly wonderful. Personally, I prefer the first movement punchier, but this more romantic reading made perfect and lyrical sense. It was an immense achievement for all concerned, not least for the ADDA orchestra, who had a quite superb evening.

Speaking of brilliance being a little curved when another massive source is nearby, the evening began with a beautifully played Don Quixote of Richard Strauss. Amanda Forsyth’s cello played the delusional but lovable Quixote and her husband, Pinchas Zuckerman, chipped in on the witty viola as Sancho Panza. Not only were the orchestral textures exquisite, but the storytelling came to the fore in this performance via Josep Vicent’s reading. The orchestral detail achieved by this combination of conductor and orchestra was at times breathtaking, most of all in the slower, quieter passages where the composer juxtaposed widely varied sonorities. There is perhaps not enough of a role for the viola to regard it as a soloist’s spot, but Amanda Forsyth’s cello shone out when alone and played along with the orchestral part when not otherwise engaged.

What was utterly clear in this concert was that the players who comprise the ADDA orchestra love both the music and its challenges, and they adore playing together. The sense of camaraderie and cooperation is palpable, and this shines through anything they touch to enhance the audience’s musical experience. This is surely now one of the great orchestras, a true star.

Josep Vicent directs ADDA Simfonica in Rimsky-Korsakov and Bizet, Scheherazade meets Carmen

 

When you go to concerts regularly, there are works that tend to appear frequently. After the first few times in the concert hall, there is always a temptation to say “not again” and avoid the evening. On the other hand, the irregular concertgoer is often attracted by these familiar works, and without fail including them in a programme will put bums on seats. Both opinions are wrong. Not only is the unfamiliar more likely to provide memorable experience, but the familiar is also experienced anew every time it is performed. If the work is played well and generously interpreted, there is always something original to be found.

This preamble thus introduces a review of ADDA Simfonica’s concert of last Saturday which featured Rimsky-Korsakov Scheherazade and Bizet’s Carmen Suites.

Scheherazade is a symphony in all but title. Alternatively, it might even be heard as an approach to a violin concerto, a kind of Ein Heldenleben before its time. Its four movements roughly follow a symphonic mould, but there the analogy disappears. The music is in fact, much more like Wagner than Brahms, with not only a programme, but also musical germs which are heard like leitmotifs. Josep Vicent was clear in his notes that the composer himself did not consider these thematic motifs as anything other than ideas stemming from the natural development of the material. But in fat they are a tad too literal to be anything Wagner-style leitmotifs,

Josep Vicent’s interpretation with our beloved orchestra stressed both the realism and the dynamics of the piece. Though an expert orchestrator, Rimsky-Korsakov’s style does at times appear to be rather “on” or “off”, there being apparently very little between pianissimo and full tutti. And in those tutti, the orchestral sound is thick, deliberately so, and undeniably rich, with the tuba always filling out every possible space beneath.

And what a performance this was - captivating, exciting, certainly dynamic, but always subtle. Anna Nilsen’s violin playing from the leader’s chair was exquisite, as was every contribution from the harp. It was a program that certainly re-opened my ears anew to a work that I have heard many times.

And speaking of the familiar, Bizet’s Carmen Suites that followed were surprisingly subtle in terms of orchestration compared to the first half. When, I wonder, was the last time a concert review described Bizet’s orchestration as light? It is. After all, a relative judgment.

Music works in strange ways. As a child, Bizet’s music for Carmen became familiar via a television advertisement for a brand of petrol and to this day whenever I hear the massage I silently sing-along with these wrong words, thus preserving a brand name for gasoline that still exists. So for me, the familiarity got the better of the experience with this music. But the performance was nothing less than excellent. The tunes flowed, the drama was tense, and the music was always centre stage.

There was an encore. Josep Vicent and the ADDA orchestra had recently played Brahms. Ironically, given this evening’s programme, the conductor announced that no matter how many times his music is played, there is always some space for more Brahms. The audience was then treated to a passage from a symphonic slow movement. The experience was a theme for the evening.

Shunta Morimoto at the Denia International Piano Festival in Bach, Chopin and Liszt

 

I don’t normally write detailed reviews of chamber music concerts. It’s not because they often aren’t memorable, it’s just that I tend to go to so many of them, it’s often hard to keep up with the writing! This lack of motivation to put pen paper is especially marked when the repertoire on offer is very much standard, comprising often performed works that frankly I have heard many times. It’s not that familiarity breeds contempt. It’s just that what does one say about another fairly standard performance of a standard work, albeit that both the work and the performance are superb? Nearly all the performances I have heard over the years are wholly competent, with one or two exceptions, but it becomes hard to say anything new about them. So what is it about a concert that featured J. S. Bach’s French Suite No. 6 BWV 817, Chopin’s Opus 28 Preludes and Liszt’s Dante Sonata that has provoked me to write? Answer: the performer and the performance. Both were outstanding.

Shunta Morimoto is a young Japanese pianist. He was 19 when he won the Concurso de Piano Gonzalo Soriano in Alicante in April 2024. The competition is organized by Ars Alta Cultural in conjunction with Conservatorio Profesional de Música, Guitarrista José Tomás and this year there were over 100 entrants, with half of them competing in level D, the section for adults, whose age rage was from 18 to 32. Shunta Morimoto, therefore, was at the younger end of the range, and he was the youngest of the finalists. I have been listening to music intently for about 60 years. But I knew from the moment Shunta Morimoto depressed a key in that room in April that he would win the competition and, furthermore, that I was about to witness something wholly special. Put simply, Shunta Morimoto is a genius.

Part of the prize for winning the Gonzalo Soriano competition was to appear in the Ars Alta Cultural concert series in Denia at the end of 2024 and that concert, part of the Denia International Piano Festival, was last night. Shunta Morimoto offered the program mentioned above and, for perhaps the first time in thousands of concerts and recitals that I have attended, I can report that not one of the 110 or so people in the audience made a single sound, apart from applause, of course, throughout the one and a half hours of music. There was no interval, but amongst the audience, silence ruled, so utterly wrapt was everyone in what they heard.

It is hard to describe in words what is so compelling about this young man’s playing. The moment you hear the music, it is obvious, but written words have to be read, not heard. Many pianists use bravura, strength and volume to impress. Many play as fast as possible. Shunta Morimoto can offer bravura, the spectacular and the speedy. But above all what he can do is communicate via the music and it is this speaking, apparently directly to an audience without the need of words that is utterly captivating, even arresting.

Every phrase of every piece he played last night was shaped, thought through to make musical sense. At times, he played so softly the music was barely audible, but every note was there, every gesture was clear, every phrase fit perfectly with the musical argument he presented. Even the silences he interspersed for effect were listened to intently by a thoroughly captivated audience.

Chopin’s Opus 28 Preludes, perhaps, was never intended to be played as a single work. But in the right hands, even a composer’s lack of vision can be straightened. I am reminded of a performance about 30 years ago when Murray McLachlan played all the Etudes of Chopin end to end, Opus 25 followed by Opus 10. He was clear that it would not the other way round. I have never forgotten that performance on a baby grand Kawai in a Brunei Hotel. Last night, Shunta Morimoto knew that the Opus 28 Preludes could be played as a single work, and he was right. He succeeded completely.

The Liszt that followed, of course, was breathtaking. In any hands, this Dante Sonata is a real monster, requiring all the skills that a pianist can possibly muster to bring it off. Not only did Shunta Morimoto succeed, but he appeared to bring a new dimension to the work by shaping the quieter sections so finely and so eloquently. Earlier in the day, I had listened to two other performances, by Paul Lewis and Alfred Brendel, so the work was already in my head. Shunta Morimoto’s rendition made me feel like I was hearing it for the first time, so surprising did I find his nuances of interpretation. It was totally recognisable, but totally new at the same time. What a performance!

After a wholly spontaneous standing ovation, he offered the Chopin Barcarole as a substantial encore. Shunta Morimoto, for sure, is a unique talent. He surely has a stellar career ahead of him, and richly deserved. Special.

Mahler Seven by the Tonhalle Zurich under Paavo Jarvi in ADDA Alicante

A concert program that devotes 77 minutes to a single work is not commonly encountered. Yes, there are the symphonies of Mahler and Bruckner and Shostakovich, but what else would commonly occupy such a length of time? It was with some excitement that this big event was anticipated.

The bill was, without question, up to the challenge. Zurich’s Tonhalle Orchestra is certainly one of the world’s leading orchestras, and Paavo Järvi’s name could not be bigger in the world of conducting. This particular Mahler Symphony, number seven, is one that I last heard in live performance in a concert over fifty years ago on London’s South Bank. So even the torrential rain in Alicante that surrounded this evening could not damp the enthusiastic anticipation.

Well, did the evening live up to the expectation? Of course it did. The performance was faultless, even brilliant at times, even if it could be argued the Paavo Järvi’s tempo in the faster sections of the first movement could have been a little faster. The overall impression, however, was that the contrasted were stark but never grotesque. This is truly sophisticated music that almost constantly surprises the listener, and it must be expertly played to make sense. The Tonhalle Orchestra took every challenge in its substantial stride and in this variation-like movement, one could not even hear the joins.

Mahler 7 is a groundbreaking symphony in many ways, not least in its structure. A first movement that is alternatively fast and then reflective lasts for 22 minutes. Its loose variation form revisits the same material, but Mahler’s imagination keeps the sound fresh throughout, never in the slightest repetitive. The central section of the movement, that momentary vision of marital bliss, does eventually disintegrate to chaos.

The finale is Mahler perhaps at his most optimistic. The movement seems to dance several waltzes along the way, but overall the feeling is that everyone is having a good time, even though the dance may seem to have a strange shape here and there.

The central scherzo is a very strange experience. Mahler more often than not uses the scherzo to be loud, abrasive, even cynical. But in the seventh, it seems more like a bad dream half-remembered. In between two movements, entitled Night Music, it sounds as if the composer was trying to get to sleep, then nodded off for a short time and dreamt, and then woke up before dawn to lie awake again. The night music movements are perhaps stranger than the scherzo, given their placement after a grand opening and before a triumph for conclusion. Overall, Mahler’s seventh seems like an inverted arch, with a keystone sticking up annoyingly in the middle to stop listeners from sliding down or up.

On a thoroughly successful evening, when the concert received rapturous applause from its audience, I find the need again to praise the ADDA audience for being such wonderful listeners. It’s as if this audience actually absorbs the music.

 

Paquito D'Rivera and Aaron Copland under Jost Vicent in Adda, Alicante

Apparently, this was a program of two halves. Meaningless phrases are always the best openings… On the face of it, the first half of this concert was dedicated to not only the performance skills of a notable Latin-jazz musician, but also featured his composing skills. Paquito D’Rivera was born in 1948 and made his first public performance as a musician between five and six years old. As he explained to the audience before the concert, that meant he was celebrating seventy years on stage.

He also told us that a friend told him a joke about an elephant, and that led to the composition of the piece that opened the concert, The Elephant and the Clown. This orchestral work lasts about eight minutes and features an array of percussion and lines that might be described as jazz riffs played by different sections of the orchestra, especially the strings. This is upbeat, optimistic music, which presents a sophisticated, improvised style to larger forces.

“The Journey”, Rice and Beans Concerto followed. This was utterly original in that it featured a quintet of soloists, playing percussion, piano, cello, harmonica and clarinet, the latter played by the composer himself. This combo of soloists played in concerto fashion alongside the orchestra in the piece that mixed Cuban rhythms with jazz, with classical forms, with African influences, and even the sounds of Chinese music, since one of the piece’s movements was inspired by a visit to a Chinese barrio in Havana. Antonio Serrano played harmonica and Pepe Rivero piano. Yuvisney Aguilar clearly had wonderful time on percussion, while Guillame Latil made light of an incredibly demanding and significant cello part, originally played in the work’s premiere by Yo-Yo Ma.

Overall, the three sections Beans, Rice, and The Journey made a spectacular impression on the audience, with again apparent jazz riffs regularly racing through the scoring. But this was not “light” music. There are really challenging sounds in this score, and many quotational references, both thematically and texturally to the concert hall repertoire of the twentieth century.

An encore was inevitable. Another short orchestral piece by Paquito D’Rivera filled the bill perfectly. Personally, I have never heard his music before this concert and this experience will surely have me thoroughly explore his works.

The other half of the contrast, in theory, came in the shape of the Symphony No. 3 of Aaron Copland. Could this be further from the riffs and improvisatory style of the first half? Surely this is one of the twentieth century’s major works…

And it was here that the stroke of Josep Vicent’s artistic direction emerged, because repeatedly in this score Aaron Copeland uses jazz like patterns in the strings. They are not as fast, not as advertently virtuosic as those that Paquito D’Rivera had written, but they were there. And, well, Paquito D’Rivera might be a Cuban, but he has spent much of his artistic life in the USA, effectively importing an émigré style and presenting it to an American audience. But we must remind ourselves that Aaron Copland’s family were themselves emigres from Russia. So this quintessentially American music might just have its roots elsewhere!

Copland’s Third Symphony is itself an optimistic affirmation of individuality. Just like jazz. And by the time the theme of The Fanfare for the Common Man appeared in the last movement, having been regularly suggested throughout the previous three, the effect is totally symphonic. The music seems to grow, with an idea that is bigger than its own sound.

But it is never secure in its affirmation. Modal harmonies see to that, always suggesting a major key, but always refusing to forget the possibility of the minor. There is always somewhere else in mind. Both Aaron Copland and Paquito D’Rivera remind us that we are all in the mix together, influenced by many cultures and sharing the same world.

Shostakovich’s Waltz from the Jazz Suites came as an encore. Its surreal use of a minor key for the dance’s main theme always surprises. Paquito D’Rivera also felt a certain surprise when the second encore offered Happy Birthday to him to celebrate his seventy years on stage.

ADDA Alicante under Josep Vicent begin a new season with Bruckner's Seventh Symphony

 

Anton Bruckner was born in 1824, meaning this year is his bicentenary. In recognition of this, the new season of Alicante concerts opened with a performance of his Seventh Symphony by the ADDA orchestra under the artistic director, Josep Vicent.

This is a mammoth work that lasts over an hour. The first two movements alone exceeded forty minutes. As a result, as with this evening, it is often played alone, with no other work either before or after it to offer musical contrast. With such immersion, an audience ought to feel bathed in the musical style to such an extent that the experience is all enveloping.

But nothing involving Anton Buckner is ever that that simple. He was a paradoxically simple man, yet simultaneously outrageously complex. Deeply religious, but with an often-expressed passion – unrealised - for young girls, he seemed to offer up to the world a riddle that could never be solved. A professor in Vienna and a teacher of many years, he never attained sufficient confidence in his own abilities to finish definitively most of his works. Near constant revision, often prompted by the lukewarm praise of others, left multiple versions of many of his works. This can give much scope for conductors to pick and choose, to incorporate this revision or ignore another. Definitive Bruckner is an oxymoron.

And with the work of Anton Bruckner, no one is going to notice very much, given that by design the music often swerves, changes direction or delights in apparent non sequiturs quite often. Bulow described the composer as “half genius, half simpleton” and he had the reputation, even in society events, of turning up dressed like a peasant. He was an enigma, was overtly sensuous with the sound of his music, but deeply religious, and lived, generally speaking, the life of an ascetic. His express motivation was to write music to celebrate the glory of God, in both scale and depth.

The ADDA programme notes quoted Wilhelm Furtwangler saying that Bruckner composed Gothic music that had mistakenly been transplanted into the nineteenth century. Stylistically, the music is far from Gothic, but perhaps its architecture is not. Personally, I would go as far as describing the symphonies as cathedrals, where the parts only come together when the whole is considered from afar. There are no grab quotes from these symphonies, except perhaps in the scherzi, and even these are heavy on process rather than melody.

A possible problem with the cathedral analogy is perhaps that the composer had forgotten to include a door. It is possible to experience this music and feel permanently shut out. Yes, the edifice is impressive. Yes, it towers above us. But does it ever reveal its interior?

Having discussed the work, what about the performance? Well, it was faultless, committed, subtle, and even communicative. The Wagner tubas did not play a wrong note all evening, which is rarely the case with this notoriously mind-of-its-own instrument. Their sound, booming and enveloping, when added to a full orchestra created a special world, which the audience eagerly inhabited.

Josep Vicent drew every morsel of texture from the score and the resulting detail, even within the tutti, was simply vivid. In recognition of the work’s dedication to Ludwig II of Bavaria. The concert bore the subtitle “Legend of the mad king”. It wasn’t a legend, but it was a great start to a new season.

ADDA Simfonica with Irene Theorin under Josep Vicent in Strauss and Shostakovich

 

Concerts seasons often parade a procession of “great works” calculated to promote ticket sales. Anything less well known is often regarded as risky because audiences, though they tend not to know what they like, always like what they know. Performances of great works often become mundane acknowledgments of the work’s existence, without getting to grips with its substance. Audiences go home happy, ticket sales are satisfactory, and the works of thousands of composers never see the light of day.

So would the program of the Four Last songs of Richard Strauss followed by Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony fall into this perfunctory category? It might. But in Alicante’s ADDA concert hall last night, it definitely did not. Indeed, this is never the case when it comes to the playing and interpretation of ADDA Simfònica under Josep Vicent. Last night, the audience was surely in the presence of living greatness, not just past achievement. During last week, I met a friend whom I knew would also be going to hear the music and expressed the opinion that Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony was a life-changer. I understated the reality. And you might be wondering why a concert review opens like this… I hope to make that clear later. First, the facts.

The hall was packed to hear Iréne Theorin sing the Four Last Songs of Richard Strauss and the ADDA Simfònica under artistic director Josep Vicent play the symphony. To say that this audience loves its resident orchestra would also be an understatement. Every player is applauded onto the stage and off it, every time. This adoration is individual recognition, communally expressed, of both the work the orchestra does in presenting taxing programmes and also the quality of the experience they regularly deliver. ADDA Simfònica is now a great orchestra, and their artistic director is the leading light.

We began last night with Richard Strauss’s songs, with Iréne Theorin as soloist. The opening phrases might have suggested that she might have a little too much vibrato for this work, but like many initial fears this proved groundless. This is a work that needs control and expression, rather than power or decoration, and Iréne Theorin not only delivered, she excelled. There was a slight surprise when at the end of the fourth song, when the valedictory trills on the flute were played rather softer than is often the case. In the context of the work, this low-key wave of goodbye fitted perfectly. It is not surprising, given the soloist’s experience in performing the music of Richard Strauss that Iréne Theorin’s interpretation proved nothing less than exceptional. We did have an encore. It was one of Strauss’s orchestral songs, which ultimately gave Iréne Theorin an opportunity to demonstrate a little of her power.

And then what more can be written about this symphony? Let’s take for granted that it was played wonderfully, was interpreted to perfection and was received in absolute silence with every note absorbed by its audience.

For me personally, the opening movement has a clear programme. The complexity and sophistication of ordinary life in Leningrad is portrayed in the opening section in music that regularly changes key and rhythm. The simple message of the opposing theme portrays the idea of fascism. Keep it simple and keep saying the same thing. People will believe you. It starts small, indeed it does. But with each new adherent, the ideology grows into something that creates a powerful need to impose itself on everything. Ideologically this is the fascism of the 1930s. Musically, it is the ideology of pop, being populism, not popularity. That comes later. Just try getting away from pop music… And, I might add, I don’t mean Indian pop, or Tanzanian pop. I mean an international pop, nearly always in sung in English, where the visuals trump the aurals. Here I return to the idea at the start of the piece, because it is a marketing necessity that the product should always be presented that way. Make sure there are no surprises, and then you will not offend. And you will sell more worthless product.

At the end of the first movement, after the idea of fascism has led to huge conflict, the sophisticated life of those who don’t want everything to be the same returns, but it is exhausted. Though the movement ends lyrically, the fascist tendency is still there, perhaps in the form of a dictator, perhaps acknowledging that this desire to impose the conformity of a group is part of us all. At the end of the symphony, when the triumphal but unconvincing fanfares ring out, proclaiming what is clearly a rather hollow victory, the memory of conflict, complete with its conformity-imposing mechanical rhythm is still there. But is it now at least the rhythm of the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth?

The symphony’s central movements are full of reflection, lyricism, nostalgia, desolation and nightmare. It is an acknowledgment of the excellent design of the ADDA hall to record that even pianissimo pizzicati can be heard anywhere. We assume, of course, as ever, that there is near total silence from the audience. There always is.

My introduction of the work to the work came from Leonard Bernstein’s CBS recording with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Throughout, he uses significantly slower tempi than we heard last night. It’s a different take on what is, after all, a personal experience. On this recording, there is a moment during the first movement, when the sophistication of the people returns after the war, after the exhaustion is expressed and the desolation is recorded, when the sophistication represented by the strings returns with renewed but exhausted energy. On the recording, just before this entry, Bernstein issues a long side of relief which was picked up by the microphones. Personally, I cannot listen to this music without hearing that unscored sigh. I heard the reissue of the same recording a few weeks ago, and the engineers have removed the sigh.

At the start of the symphony last night, Josep Vicent decided to project images of the siege of Leningrad on the backdrop, closing the sequence with a statement that there were currently fifty conflicts in the world and that collectively we wanted to be ambassadors of peace. I said earlier that the Leningrad Symphony is a life-changer, and it still is, no matter how many times it is heard. Let’s put the people back into music, no matter how much we crave standardized products. Experience is unique. And this one was no exception. And it will live a lifetime.

A dream of a concert: Tomas Brauner and Senja Rummukainen join ADDA Simfonica in Smetana, Prokofiev and Martinu

“Such stuff as dreams are made on, we are all spirits and are melted into air” are words that ought to remind us of the ephemeral, temporal nature of human life, that such good things must come to an end. Music lasts for the duration of the concert, but the memory lives on, especially the memory of this concert.

This idea of the dream of life must apply especially to one such as Bohuslav Martinu who suffered illness for much of his childhood. Infirmity found him viewing the world outside from the confines of a plain room at the top of a church tower. Such were the early years of the composer Martinu. Perhaps this is why his music seems continually seems to dream, seems to reach out for what might seem to be beyond reach, apparent, but just beyond experience.

Safranek in his biography of Martinu reminds us that the thematic germ of the first movement of his Fourth symphony, that theme which appears time and time again, is for the composer an expression of nature. Safranek also points out that this inspiration from the bucolic came to the composer in a dark apartment on 58th St. in New York City. The composer was in exile and had wandered for years. To wander is perhaps to wonder, to wonder what might have been, to dream.

Personally, I always find dreaming in the music of Martinu. I also always find surrealism, but not the nightmare vision of Dali or the riddles of Magritte. It’s more like Chagall mixed with Tanguy. Scenes appear at random, often unexpectedly juxtaposed for no particular reason, apparently randomly, or set against an infinite landscape that seems to disappear as soon as it is noticed. It is this dream-like world that seems to be a backdrop for Julietta and his other stage works and is created in abstraction throughout Martinu’s music. One of the strongest sensations of being taken to another world in music came for me personally during the sequence in act one of the opera when a driver falls asleep while in control of an express train. I even went to a second performance of the same production and the passage had the same effect, only more intensely.

The ADDA audience in Alicante was last night delivered such a dream. Martinu’s Fourth Symphony was played by ADDA’s resident orchestra under the baton of Tomas Brauner, the evening’s Czech guest. To say that Tomas Brauner understands Czech music would be an understatement, almost bordering on disrespect. Right from the tremolos at the start of the work, to the full tutti at the end, the ADDA audience was transported into a different world, a dream world as real as any reality, but rendered into an experience from which, frankly, it is hard to emerge. Not that one would want to wake from the bliss of such surely enduring memory. To say that this dream will live forever is no understatement, at least as far as this particular reviewer is concerned, until, of course, spirits melt into air. The complete and unashamedly joyous nature of this music surely seems to tell everyone to live the dream. It will cease soon enough, so enjoy it while you can, directly and without guilt.

Martinu brought many influences into his creative world. There is Czech folklore, popular culture, and jazz at least. Not to mention a touch of neo-classicism, whatever that might be. I hear Janacek as aural cubism, but not Martinu. His musical world is very much more joined up, more rational.  But the ecstatic is always within the composer’s reach, we feel, always within the composer’s thoughts. The music constantly grasps for a heaven on earth, but never quite grabs it. That seems to be the point. There is always that cadence that returns us to where we came from, but musically it rarely does. It always progresses, though it may sound like it returns to its starting place. Thus grounded, the next attempt to elevate is always there and always immediate.

Tomas Brauner’s reading of the score was quite simply perfect. The dynamics were stretched, the delivery was direct, despite the fact that the material was often ephemeral. This surely is Martinu’s style, his true voice, and Tomas Brauner communicated everything with remarkable energy, colour, imagination and flair.

And, for this particular fan of Czech music, how refreshing it was to have an all-Slav program. We started with Smetana’s Greatest Hit, The Moldau from Vltava. This is so well known it surely cannot surprise. But surprise it did: it surprises with every hearing because of the quality of the writing. Doubly surprising in this reading was the piece’s second section, when dance rhythms which I have previously hardly noticed were stressed and came to the fore. Here, they were pointed and sharp, where so often they are smoothed out, cut off from their roots.

Then we had a performance of Prokofiev’s Sinfonia Concertante, Op. 125. Finnish cellist, Senja Rummukainen was soloist in what in another life would have been called a cello concerto.

In the review of ADDA’s last concert in the Pasiones season, I said the performance by cellist Jean-Guihen Queyras was unlikely to be bettered in a lifetime. Well, last night, just a few days later, Senja Rummukainen played so utterly perfectly that I have to challenge the permanence of last week’s opinion. But how can one compare late Schumann with late Prokofiev? The musical worlds are so completely different, they might even communicate in a different language.

Senja Rummukainen's playing throughout was complete perfection. Not only did she accomplish the technical feats, but the wit, unpredictability, occasional brutishness and lyrical invention of Prokofiev also shone. So what might a reviewer write about the second movement of the piece, which drew warm and amazed applause from an audience that normally waits religiously until the end? The gesture was utterly spontaneous and born of a mixture of admiration and emotional response. She played the Theme and Variations of Sibelius as an encore, a piece of lyricism, understatement, and control, the perfect foil to the opposites of Prokofiev that we had just heard.

The whole evening was finished off with one of the Dvorak Slavonic Dances. This time it was an upbeat celebration played at breakneck speed. The audience was thus left to pursue its own dreams. Dream on. The reality was pure dream, but the experience will surely last.

The Desconstruction of Mahler: ADDA under Josep Vicent with Patrick Messina in Adams, Brahms and Berio

This was a very special concert. It will live in the memory for as long as breath continues. It was nothing less than a triumph of artistic direction on behalf of Josep Vicent. All three featured works were, in their own way, quite recent, given the often-backward-looking character of concert programmes.

The evening began with a short, modern masterpiece. The program notes suggested that in our era, true myth (an oxymoron if ever there was one) is found not in characters of ancient Greek epics, but in the celebrities that populate our minds during waking hours. John Adams’s opera, Nixon in China, characteristically set recent events to music on a stage. Part of the opera’s point is that those figures involved in making history also have lives to live. John Adams cast Chairman Mao and his wife as dancers and the music to accompany this is The Chairman Dances, a Foxtrot for Orchestra.

It begins with a minimalist-sounding incessant rhythm, but in a moment of true magic, transforms itself into an almost sentimental dance, as if the celebrities forget themselves for a short time, and suddenly become human. Order does reassert itself as responsibilities and public faces re-emerge. The orchestral sound of this piece is vivid and multi-layered, but it does remind us continually that the clock rules rhythm, and perhaps our lives. It certainly rules the dance.

Second on the ADDA programme was Brahms’s Clarinet Sonata Opus 120. But this version was orchestral, the arrangement provided by Luciano Berio in 1986. Berio did not change Brahms’s original concept, but filled it out, so it occupied bigger space, even suggesting the concerto form. He was faithful to Brahms’s intention and this intimate, highly personal and lyrical work is now capable of filling a concert hall, though gently and in its original character. Patrick Messina as soloist gave a perfect (there is no other word) performance, totally controlled, completely in sympathy with the music. It was a performance with a humility that brought out the intentional understatement of the work. As an encore, we were treated to a more classical use of the clarinet with string accompaniment, again an arrangement.

The second half was given to a single work, a performance of Luciano Berrio’s Sinfonia for orchestra and amplified voices. The voices in question were London Voices, who seemed wholly at home with the highly multidimensional and unusual format of the piece.

Berio’s concept seems to grow spontaneously out of the experience of a twentieth century city. Charles Ives had at the start of the century chose impressionistic experience to portray the complexity of modern life. In his Sinfonia, Luciano Berio offered similar experience, but one on speed by comparison with that of Ives. An apparent jumble of sights, sounds, intellectual stimuli, musical references, passing comments and literary memories appear and combine to create a vivid, surreal collage, which deliberately does not hang together. It doesn’t because modern life is itself multidimensional, confused, confusing, stimulating, threatening and tender all at the same time. If I have one minor criticism, it is that the spoken text of the voices was not sufficiently prominent. Whether this matters is a matter of opinion. When visual art, for instance, features a raft of text, surely its effect is lost when viewers have to both read it and translate it. It may be the same with the words that Berio featured in this work. The word Majaskowsky did, however, hang in clean air. The text, by the way, is as collage-like as the music. It’s not a narrative, and is influenced by, amongst others, James Joyce and Samuel Beckett. Absurdity rules. This was thoroughly memorable music, and it was stunningly performed by the singers and musicians alike. 

In this performance, Josep Vicent chose to play this work in its original four movements. Berio did add a fifth, but I think the logic might have been to create space for the encores, which in their way added to the collage-like experience. Berio quotes extensively from Mahler in his Sinfonia. As an encore, this led to a performance of the Adagietto from the fifth symphony. After the apparent anarchy of the Berio, the long lines made a peaceful and beautiful contrast. Then, when we all thought the pastiche could not get richer, London Voices, with the accompaniment of a brushed drum, gave a fugue in a cappella jazz style with an upbeat rhythm. Let’s not try to explain. Let’s just listen.

Something special - Pablo González, Francesco Piemontesi and the Dresden Philharmonic in Beethoven and Strauss

Something special was experienced by the ADDA audience last night. On the face of it, the concert was almost conventional, as concerts sometimes can appear on paper. There was to be a Beethoven piano concerto followed by a Richard Strauss tone poem, it all sounded possibly a little run-of-the-mill. But don’t be fooled by appearances. This was undoubtedly something special.

Let’s start with Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto as interpreted by Francesco Piemontesi. As the program notes underlined, this work was Beethoven’s big break with the past, at least, as far as his concerto writing was concerned. This work was not to follow the eighteenth-century model of elegance before challenge. This third piano concerto of Beethoven has a really symphonic feel. The dialogue between the soloist and orchestra, contrasts strongly, here argumentative, here supportive.

And Francesco Piemontesi’s playing, brought out all the subtleties, without once resorting to gimmick or bravura. What was obvious from the opening orchestral passage to the work’s end was a sense of cooperation between the soloist and orchestra, a sense of communication and sharing, despite, on occasions, the music demanding, strong contrast. Francesco Piemontesi gave a brilliant performance, topped by a significant encore.

The orchestra was the Dresden Philharmonic, under the baton of Pablo González. Unusually Pablo González opened the second half with a short verbal presentation about Richard Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben. The work is clearly something special in the eyes of Pablo González. He described it as at least one of the greatest of all musical creations. And he stressed that this was not the Richard Strauss Don Quixote, although he went on to describe the piece as surreal and satirical, both of which might apply to the way a modern mind appreciates Cervantes’s novel.

And the performance was indeed something special. This is a piece that orchestras often play as if it were a gymnastics exercise. But here the romanticism and lyricism were stressed, and the music flowed rather than exploded. Here we had pauses to emphasize transitions, changes in dynamics that brought out all the textures in this multi-layered work. And we really did hear all the complexity of the aural colours that this great work projects.

As an encore, Luis Alonso got married again. This quintessence of popular Spanish music brought the house down.

 

Gustavo Gimeno and the Orquestra de la Comunitat Valenciana in Sibelius and Mahler

Gustavo Gimeno conducted the Orquestra de la Comunitat Valenciana in the latest concert of ADDA’s Pasions season. The program juxtaposed two symphonies that were premiered about thirty years apart by composers who were both born in the 1860s. The contrast, however, was immense.

Composed almost at the end of Jean Sibelius’s creative life, the Seventh Symphony is much more revolutionary than it might appear at first sight. Its compressed form is perhaps more reminiscent of a tone poem than a symphony, but at twenty minutes duration, its single movement is longer than many eighteenth century symphonies that advertise multiple sections. And here there is a sense of development, even evolution as motifs come and go, resurface and transform in this seemingly organic form. The whole takes on the feeling of a valediction, with the trombones effectively waving goodbye, hardly animated, but certainly determined, to a creative life that was soon to be retired.

Sibelius’s Seventh Symphony is a very moving work, full of wonderful, slow textures, where sounds seem to melt at the edges as they brush past one another. The Orquestra de la Comunitat Valenciana under Gustavo Gimeno’s direction, played the work sympathetically, always keen to bring these textures to the fore.

Gustav Mahler’s First Symphony, by contrast, came at the start of his composing career. Its gestation was protracted, and the composer revised the score almost each time it was played during its first five years.

The result, however, is an often-played masterpiece. Only two of Mahler’s symphonies, the first and fourth, are of half concert length, and the fourth needs a soloist. This makes the first symphony the easiest of the composer’s output to programme, and so one feels that its presence might sometimes be perfunctory. An orchestra wants Mahler on its curriculum vitae, and the first offers the least resistance.

But there was no such pragmatism on show for Gustavo Gimeno and the Orquestra de la Comunitat Valenciana, who had clearly rehearsed the piece at length. Here we had a reading and performance that stressed detail and contrast. Mahler’s juxtaposition of light and heavy, light and shade, loud and soft, fast and slow were perfectly communicated and played. But this was no mannerist display of the possible for possibility’s sake. Here all the lines were well drawn, and the overall shapes made sense, musically at least, which is often not the case with this intentionally episodic work.

It was so detailed that the musical allusions came to the fore. The funeral march’s juxtaposition of popular song alongside Jewish celebration was clear and also stark, and it seemed to be delivered with the wry smile that no doubt the composer wore while writing it. Also evident was the similarity at one point to the Fifth Symphony’s Adagietto. Also notable in the scherzo, just before the contrasting slow trio, there stood out of figure in the cellos, just a series of repeated notes, that were lifted verbatim by Shostakovich into his fourth symphony. No perfunctory presence for this symphony for that great composer.

Mahler’s rousing finale was delivered by standing brass and horns, but it was the whole orchestra that shone. Gustavo Gimeno was careful to present each section of the band for acclaim at the end. They had all deserved the applause.