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.

Stefanie Irany, Josep Vicent and ADDA orchestra in Strauss, Berlioz and Tchaikovsky

Programa

Richard Strauss, Muerte y Transfiguración Op.24 23:00

Hector Berlioz, La muerte de Cleopatra 22:00

 I. C’en est donc fait! 03:00

 II. Ah! Qu’ils sont loin 07:00

 III. Méditation: Grand Pharaons 05:00

 IV. Non!...non, de vos demeures funèbres 03:00

V. Dieux du Nil 04:00

Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Sinfonía núm. 6 Op.74 46:00

I.                    Adagio -Allegro non troppo 18:00

II.                 II. Allegro con grazia 08:00

III.              III. Allegro molto vivace 09:00

IV.              IV. Finale: Adagio lamentoso 11:00

A new season brings an array of new faces. The composers and the works have figured before on programmes throughout the world. But one of the joys of music is that in performance it has the capacity to be different and fresher with each new hearing.

Personally, I cannot remember having heard The Death of Cleopatra in concert. I only recently became aware of the work via a broadcast recording. Now Berlioz is one of those composers who nearly always fails to impress me. The works come with a reputation for experiment, even overstatement, but too often I have found performances very much “of their time”. The fault, I now think, lay with the listener, who was always rather dismissive of this composer’s unique achievement. I realised my folly last night, sitting in the audience, as Stefanie Iranyi gave a spine-chilling performance of the work in front of Alicante’s ADDA Orchestra.

This music, so full of drama and expression, was also highly surprising. It turned unexpectedly, produced unfamiliar harmonies that seemed to communicate perfectly a sense of antiquity both beyond reach and understanding. It might have been because the ADDA audience was invited to participate in the story via projected text on the back of the stage. Line by line, the words appeared as they were sung, so we were able to share the drama and emotion of the piece more directly than if we had to read and follow the sound. Also, Stefanie Iranyi gave a thoroughly operatic performance which almost brought the ancient queen back to life.

Before the Berlioz, we had been treated to a performance of Richard Strauss’s Death and Transfiguration, a young man’s take on an imagined end of life. We were told in the programme that Strauss himself on his deathbed told onlookers that he had got it right all those years ago. Apocryphal or not, the young man’s take was ultimately positive, since the apotheosis of the piece is to find peace. Whether that peace was eternal or blissful, or just piecemeal, we will see. I am always impressed at the range and depth of sound that Richard Strauss could get from and orchestra.

And so to Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony, The Pathetique. I suppose there was a macabre thread running through the programme – death, death and death - but in Tchaikovsky’s case, the jury is still out as to whether the work is some form of suicide note.

It is a work that simply grows and grows. The more exposure to this symphony one has, at least in the concert hall, the better it gets. This is a work of profound intellect, great emotion and wondrous technique, both with the orchestra and with the structure of the piece. Personally, I could not care if Tchaikovsky did not follow the precise rigours of sonata form. By the 1890s he had clearly transcended such things. He had already become the kind of individual voice that would populate the twentieth century. It is just a pity that he never made it that far and more of a pity that the society that surrounded him had attitudes that were backward looking. And has anyone ever written an emotional leap like the one that happens between the last bars of the third movement and the opening of the fourth?

And what about the end of the work, with that repeated motif in the double basses? Did not Shostakovich use the same idea – even almost he same music! – at the end of the infamous fourth? It would be stupid to suggest that some music might be ahead of its time.

The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra with Narek Hakhnazarayan under Vasily Petrenko in Dvorak and Tchaikovsky at ADDA, Alicante

Mixing the familiar with the less familiar is a common programming tool. The popular work brings them in, and you broaden the audience’s taste - or even surprise them! - with the less well-known. That seemed to be the theme underpinning the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra’s approach to their concert in Alicante under Vasily Petrenko. Honorary Scouser, Vasily Petrenko, presented a Czech concerto and a Russian symphony by household names, Dvorak and Tchaikovsky, but whereas the cello concerto of the former is performed perhaps daily, the Manfred Symphony of Tchaikovsky rarely makes it onto the concert platform. It would seem to be a matter of resources and costs, because the work lasts for almost an hour, needs a large orchestra, including two harps and an organ, and also the composer conveniently provided lower cost alternatives in his last symphonies, which are easier to stage. In over fifty years of concert-going, this was my first Manfred.

Soloist in the Dvorak was Narek Hakhnazarayan. Now this work is so well-known, it is hard to find surprise in its delivery. What one can do is marvel at the remarkable control, married to perfect expression and phrasing demonstrated by a Narek Hakhnazarayan. Our soloist used to be a BBC New Generation Artist and he clearly has good relations with other British institutions, such as the RPO. Only in his early thirties, he is already in receipt of a national honour from his home country, Armenia. He must have played the Dvorak Concerto many times, but his approach displayed a freshness and vitality that completely won over this Alicante audience.

But what really caught the audience’s attention was the soloist’s choice of encore. There was even a ripple of applause at his announcement, and then he started playing the finale of the Suite for Solo Cello by Gaspard Cassado. Much less well-known than his near contemporary, Pablo Casals, Cassado was a composer as well as a cellist. He mixed the identifiable Spanish with late Romanticism, and enough contemporary hard edge to make his music much more than mere lollipop. Casado’s music is still not heard very much, and almost not at all outside Spain. Narek Hakhnazarayan was inspired in his choice, as well as in his playing.

And then we moved on to Tchaikovsky’s Manfred. The program notes referred to Berlioz and a desire to produce a programme symphony. Also mentioned was the fact that it was originally Balakirev’s idea. But this is quintessential Tchaikovsky, mixed with the dark heroism and mysticism of Byron’s heroic poem.

The result is a symphony of conventional shape and form, with four movements, complete with scherzo and slow movement in the interior. And does this work feel different from Tchaikovsky’s other symphonies, given its programmatic brief? The answer is “yes”, absolutely yes. But all the compositional characteristics of the composer are there, certainly recognisable but perhaps developed in a different way from what we are used to.

The Manfred Symphony is a perfect example of how good a composer Tchaikovsky was. Not only is Manfred convincing as absolute music, even for those who have no knowledge of Byron, but the skill is such that elements of the story’s narrative become clear via the music. There is a personal style in evidence, there is no doubt about that, but there is also the intellectual subtlety of writing to depict something else, something from some other imagination, reinterpreted. Tchaikovsky’s Manfred is an exciting, exhilarating piece that should be experienced as often as his fourth, fifth and sixth symphonies.

A triumph of programming - ADDA Symfonica with Ivan Martin under Yaron Traub play unfamiliar Scriabin and Tchaikovsky

Much thought nowadays is devoted to the construction of concert programmes. A mass audience, almost by definition, is dictatorial. The old favourites are always safe, and the need for posteriors on bucket seats often demands repetition of the hackneyed, the overplayed lollipops of popular taste. But there is also another side to programming these days, an approach that explores the repertoire and, at least, for part of the concert, challenges an audience to listen without expectation, or pre-judgment. Usually this is done by including a contemporary piece alongside a cobwebbed standard. Sometimes, as in last night’s concert in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium, it is achieved by exploring the lesser known, less played works of well-known names. It is rare, however, for a whole concert to be devoted to such less well-known early works.

In an all-Russian program, the ADDA orchestra under Yaron Traub played two works, written just three decades apart in the nineteenth century, Scriabin’s Piano Concerto from the 1890s and Tchaikovsky Symphony No.1, Winter Daydreams, from the 1860s. The truly inspired element of the programming was the shared significance of both these works in the careers of their creators.

Both works are seen as early works, written before the development of the composer’s mature style. In the case of Scriabin, of course, we could discuss precisely what that might have been at some length. Both works have become labelled as breakthrough works, in both cases the creator’s first orchestral success - again in Scriabin’s case this might be debatable! But together, they offer an audience a terrific insight into how these creative minds developed by locating, essentially, where they started from.

Scriabin’s Piano Concerto was written to show off his own virtuosity. It does sound rather like Chopin, even conservative in outlook, given that this style was already half a century old by the 1890s. The composer scored the piano to play close to continuously throughout piece, and there are a couple of places where the orchestra drowns the soloist, but then he would do that later in Prometheus, wouldn’t he? And here there’s no real cadenza, no real opportunity for the soloist to take centre stage, which is strange, given the composer’s self-serving motivation. Orchestration, at this point in Scriabin’s career, was clearly not a strong point, but the integration of soloist and orchestra in the work was its forward-looking aspect. Ivan Martin’s performance was beyond perfect and it was his contrasting encore of baroque trilling.

Winter Daydreams, the Symphony No1, was Tchaikovsky’s breakthrough work. Unlike Scriabin, at the same age, Tchaikovsky showed in this early work much that would become his mature style. There is even a passage for horns in this work which sounds like it came straight out of Nutcracker. And again, unlike Scriabin, Tchaikovsky’s regular use of long lines of theme give this work almost the feel of a novel with a linear plot. All the strong contrasts and outbursts, which were later to characterize his writing, are here already formed, part of the composer’s language.

It is a great program that can surprise through assumed, but misunderstood familiarity.