Manuel de Falla's La Vida Breve in Alicante with Sandra Fernandez and Miguel Ortega

La Vida Breve by Manuel de Falla is a problematic work. Its problem stems mainly from the fact that it is an opera that lasts just over an hour. Productions of it generally have to be combined with another short work. Now there is no shortage of one act operas, but there is a shortage of companies willing to juxtapose two works of inevitably different styles on one programme. Opera North in Leeds did it in 2015, staging it alongside Gianni Schicchi of Puccini in a tragic-to-ridiculous pairing. It worked, but not every opera company is as keen to take risks as Opera North. Bluebeard’s Castle is an obvious pairing, but the emotional territory is perhaps too similar to that of La Vida Breve. Just how many women does an audience want to kill off in one evening? And so it is via concert performances that audiences are most likely to experience Manuel de Falla’s early opera, and so it was in ADDA, Alicante last night, under the direction of Manuel Ortega.

Opera in the concert hall bring the music to front stage. Yes, the singers are there, and they have to perform, but usually there is little action. It has to be admitted that even in a full staging of La Vida Breve it might be hard to find much action. A femme fatale is in love with a man above her social class. She laments the fact that lonely birds die, that lone flowers wither. A chorus extols the virtue of working for a living, stressing the identity that shared tasks can promote. But they do repeat the fact that it is better to be born the hammer rather than the anvil, a none-too-subtle reference to the difference in social class between the two lovers, Salud and Paco. Salud’s lover, Paco, does dessert her. He marries someone else, a woman from a social class similar to his own. No doubt there were family ties to cement and faces to be saved. Salud finds the prospect of solitude lethal. There is not a great deal in the libretto, and what there is repeats the standpoint of the principal characters quite a lot.

So with the music and singing centre stage, what are we to make of the performance? Well, it was excellent. Certainly committed. Certainly both lyrical and exciting. Sandra Fernandez as Salud was inevitably and almost permanently centre stage. Both her voice and her expression were finally tuned to the role. She came across as a faithful, committed and sincere lover, who almost worshiped Paco. His rejection, therefore, went to the heart of her beliefs, the essence of a very identity. Francesco Pio Galasso as Paco sang the role with both passion and virtuosity, but the role is problematic. Throughout Paco looked and sounded sincere, but he went off and married someone else. What was Paco intending to do? Keep face with society while keeping Salud as his piece on the side? Like Steva in Janacek’s Jenufa, Paco is a role that does not engender sympathy.

Angel Odena and Marta Infante as Salud’s family members gave stunningly expressive performances. There was real character in both their roles, despite the fact that their texts are neither extensive nor varied.

And so to the music. For Manuel de Falla, La Vida Breve was an early work, and one can hear how much the young composer was still searching for a voice. The flamenco style cadences that characterized his music are here, but there is also the language of symbolism, a little Bartok of Bluebeard or Wooden Prince, perhaps, some of Schreker as well. There is some Debussy. They were passages when I felt this could be Pelleas and Melisande. There is a little Wagner and some Strauss in the orchestration via the splitting of the strings. But perhaps the most revolutionary episode comes when the music becomes flamenco, and the characteristic gravelly singing erupts, accompanied by a guitar. It would be an intervention, but Manuel de Falla is already skilled enough as a composer to weave the transitions to and from these interludes into the overall scoring and concept. Pedro Jimenez “Perette” and Basilio García gave perfect performances of this music.

La Vida Breve thus comes across as a convincing work, spectacular in its orchestration and at times in its musical ideas, but one dimensional as a drama. This is not a criticism. It has some very good company on the opera stage in this category. It is a work that deserves to be heard more often.

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.

 

The Hallé Ochestra, Kachung Wong and Liza Ferschtman in Brahms and Shostakovich in Alicante

 

The Hallé Orchestra has a very long history and tradition. Part of its tradition is to develop long and lasting relationships with its principal conductors. If history provides the pattern, then Kachung Wong from Singapore can look forward to many years based in Manchester. And on the evidence of this performance in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium, the relationship will endure. Kachung Wong’s conducting was more than precise and more than detailed. He chose to conduct the second half from memory, which, given the complexity of the scoring, was a feat in itself.

In the first half, we had heard the Hallé and Lisa Ferschtman in the Brahms Violin Concerto. This is a work that is played and heard so often that it rarely surprises. But on this occasion, two things stood out.

First, there was the playing of Liza Ferschtman alongside the lyricism and romanticism of the interpretation. The soloist’s stress on dynamic range and lyricism was superb. Overall, the interpretation had a lightness of touch coupled with a stress on the personal touches of Brahms. The storytelling in the work came to the fore.

Also, Lisa Furman’s chose not to play the Joachim credenza. The one we heard - by Auer? - was more lyrical and more directly related to the expressive music of the first movement. It also added to the stress on the expressive quality of the experience. Lisa Ferschtman offered an encore of a solo caprice, which again was beautifully interpreted.

The second half featured the Symphony No. 5 of Dmitri Shostakovich. To prepare for the event, I had listened to the fourth symphony of the day before. It was in response to the criticism from on high of the forced the composer to present the fifth as a Soviet artist’s response to just criticism.

And what was strange was that I kept hearing references to the fourth in the fifth. There is one section in the first movement that I heard as a direct quote. And then there’s the end of the first movement, where the celeste seems to remind everyone of the end of the fourth symphony.

And there is nothing easy or compromised about the fifth symphony’s slow movement. Despite is obvious appeal, the music is very complex, and, for the most part, bleak. Where the composer did offer solace to his masters, was in the finale, where triumphal chords, frankly, do not reflect what preceded them. Overall, the symphony is an enduring masterpiece.

An encore inevitably followed. This was Nimrod from Elgar’s Enigma, with somehow sounded different when played by an English orchestra.

Fumiaki Miura, Josep vicent and ADDA Simfonica in Ravel and Shostakovich

This was a concert of two halves, both superb, both contrasted, both within and between. Shostakovich in the first half and Ravel in the second provided the between contrast between. The works chosen, two by each composer, provided the contrast within.  To the second half first.

Ravel’s Daphne and Chloe Suite No2 is a concert hall favourite. It is a post-impressionist splash of colour, like Matisse cutouts dancing around their own space. But it’s also symphonic: it feels like the colours develop and transform, though strangely they do not seem to merge, except in the opening sunrise. Josep Vicent used two locations for the wordless chorus, one group, at the rear right of the stage as the audience saw it, and the second in a box, higher and further to the right, above the stalls. The effect was akin to surround sound. The orchestral playing in this work, and the one that followed was outstanding, with all the timbre and textures of the music glowing in their own right.

Ravel’s Bolero has been described as the music of madman. Ravel’s own assessment of the opinion was that it was correct. The work is so well known that I will say nothing about the music itself, except to point out one aspect which Josep Vicent chose to stress. The drum rhythms are usually insistent and ever-present in this piece. There are performances where the audience hears very little else. But this was not one of them. Josep Vicent had the drum’s contribution in dynamic balance with the rest of the instruments. At the start, the drum was barely audible above the pizzicato strings. As a result, the superb orchestral playing was able to communicate all the textures the composer chose to exploit, and these became the focus. That magical passage where a horn and celeste play together sparkled like Christmas lights. We even got an encore of the final sections, just in case we had missed it first time round.

In the first half, the ADDA audience heard two works by Shostakovich. The Jazz Suite No1 was played by an ensemble including saxophones, trumpets, trombone, violin, bass, various percussion, an upright piano, a banjo, and a slide guitar. As always with the music of Shostakovich, the listener is never quite sure whether to take anything seriously. He always seems to be looking over his shoulder to judge reaction, except, of course, when the subject with himself, when he wallows in DSCH, as in the Eighth Quartet or the Tenth Symphony. The personal signature motif, however, seemed to be lacking from both the Jazz Suite and what followed. The textures and witticisms of this music came across vividly, as did its inherent self-doubt mixed with tragic whimsy. It was, after all, Shostakovich.

The piece that ended the first half of the concert was something completely different from the rest of the evening. This was Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No2 with Fumiaki Miura as soloist. This particular concerto is not played often and dates from thirty years after the rest of the programme. Like much late Shostakovich, such as the Viola Sonata, quartets and symphonies, it seems almost distracted. This is music made of lines that don’t seem able to decide where to go, never mind join up. It’s an unsettling experience, full of questions that are not even finished, let alone answered. Unlike the other works in the program, however, this second violin concerto by Shostakovich does invite further listening. The almost chamber music feel of the orchestration, where particular sounds stand out unexpectedly, is surely part of what the composer was trying to achieve. And what would you make of the interjections from a tom-tom that seem to interrupt and threaten? The solo part often seems to be screaming, but quietly, almost trying to hide its nervous agitation.

All of this complexity was perfectly interpreted and conveyed by Fumiaki Miura, the soloist for this performance. It’s not performed as much as other concertos, so Fumiaki Miura understandably chose to have a score in sight. But his interpretation of this narcissistic, self-conscious, self-referential. perhaps self-mocking music was as close to perfect as I could imagine. And that drum? Is it fate knocking on the door, or the police? Or is it Shostakovich waking up the audience?

Despite all the brilliance of Daphnis and Chloe, the firework show of Bolero and the witticisms of the Jazz Suite, it is Fumiaki Miura’s playing of this enigmatically understated work that will last in the memory. And, just to add to the surrealism, he played the Vieuxtemps Variations on Yankee Doodle Dandy as an encore. Memorable.

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.

 

Josep Vicent conducts Beethoven and Montsalvatge in Alicante

 

Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is one of those works I can hear anytime I want. I play it to myself in my head - at least, I think I do. It's a work I and many others have heard so many times, I sometimes wonder what might be gained from hearing it again. On this occasion, I need not have worried.

This is always a concertgoer’s dilemma, at least, if you are a concertgoer like me, who always craves new and original experience. There are many concertgoers, perhaps even a majority, who want only to hear what they know, hence the rather repetitive and perhaps, at least to me, the rather stultified and predictable nature of a lot of programmes.

As a season-ticket holder, however, one does tend to go to whatever is billed, and on Sunday, 10 December 2023, Josep Vicent and the ADDA orchestra chose to play Beethoven Nine.

I tried to remember the last performance of the work I attended. It must have been that Promenade Concert over twenty years ago that I attended with an old college friend, when an original instrument group performed it. “It’s being sung on the original voices,” said my friend with more than a smile. We were a long way from the stage in London’s Albert Hall. The work, of course, filled the space. More often than not an overlooked but regularly visited friend is full of surprises when we do finally make contact.

And it was true with this performance of Beethoven Nine. There were even surprises in Josep Vicent’s reading. The opening bars, for instance, are so often played with the first violins cutting forte through the general tremolo. Here they were subdued, understated. In the last movement, when the famous theme establishes itself on wider strings after cellos and basses have introduced it, Vicent had the woodwind come almost to the fore with its argumentative counterpoint. Thirdly - and what a masterstroke! - the presence of the chorus on the stage meant the timpani had to move. Vicent brought it almost to the front of the stage alongside the violas and cellos. The timpani, of course, plays a thoroughly significant role in the work, and not only in the groundbreaking second movement, where it played melody for perhaps the first time. The four soloists, Erika Grimaldi, Teresa Iervolino, Airam Hernández and José Antonio, were all more than up to their tasks. Positioned just ahead of the chorus, they sang with remarkable clarity, volume and commitment.

But the real star of the show was the chorus, Orfeón Donostiarra. The chorus were not just committed to the task, they sang as if their lives depended on it. But they were always totally musical, never prone to stress volume rather than tone, always accurate, with every dynamic change respected. The amazing quality of their work was recognized by the audience’s loud cheers at the end, a gesture that was both noticed and appreciated by everyone present.

In the first half we had Montsalvatge’s Cant Espiritual de Joan Maragall, a twenty minute work for chorus and orchestra. Maragall’s words concentrate on the prospect of life after death, in contrast to Schiller’s which, as we know, are really interested in the here and now. Montsalvatge’s music, understated neoclassicism, mixed with modernism and popular song, came across as the perfect foil to the grandiloquence that was to follow. But in Beethoven’s case, the grandiloquence works every time. It’s grandiloquence with consequences and there’s not an empty second in the experience. In our current world, we need more, not less calls for brotherhood and sisterhood amongst all people.

 

Programa 13 de diciembre Festival de Piano de Denia - Tsisana Kikabidze tocará Beethoven, Liszt, Bartok y Rachmaninov