The Philharmonic’s New Yorky Fourth

The New York Philharmonic gives an annual Fourth of July concert, and this year the orchestra gave it three times. I attended on July 3. As usual, the concert was conducted by a Brit, Bramwell Tovey. He is one suave and talented Brit, too. I have always called him “your genial host,” for he talks charmingly to the audience: twitting latecomers, riffing on Kim Kardashian, etc. He has the verbal facility you expect from our cousins. I was shocked to hear him say “For you and I . . .”

The concert began with Three Dance Episodes from Bernstein’s On the Town. I have often wondered why someone who could write so brilliantly in this idiom would ever have bothered with classical music. Tovey and the Philharmonic were really good in the dance episodes, really swingin’. They were not merely fun, they were excellent. I had the feeling they had actually rehearsed.

Now, the Philharmonic is supposed to be good in New Yorky music. But I have to ask: Why should Chinese-born young people who join the Philharmonic be better in this music than Chinese-born young people who join other orchestras? Traditions linger, somehow.

Tracy Dahl, a coloratura soprano from Canada, took the stage to sing “Glitter and Be Gay,” the glittery and gay aria from Bernstein’s Candide. She gave it the old college try. Her heart was in the right place, and so were the notes, mainly. Her E flat had no vibrato, but it was bang on pitch.

Even suaver than Tovey is Gershwin’s Promenade, or “Walking the Dog,” the next piece on the program. The orchestra played it nicely, and this was especially true of Pascual Martínez Forteza, the principal clarinet. “Walking the Dog” gives the clarinet a delicious part.

Tracy Dahl returned for four songs by Gershwin, in which she was superb—both tasteful and heartfelt, both formal and informal, if you know what I mean. Every inflection was right. The arrangements were done by Tovey himself, who also played the piano. In “They Can’t Take That Away from Me,” the singer sings, “The way you sip your tea . . .” Here, Tovey tinkled a bit of “Tea for Two.” As he did so, he gave the audience sort of a proud look. His arrangement for the verse of “Fascinating Rhythm” sounded like Carmina Burana, so help me. Weird but effective.

As a pianist, Tovey may not threaten André Previn’s reputation; he was sometimes stiff and jabbing. But he was creditable. Besides, Previn doesn’t always play like Previn either.

The second half of the program featured ensembles from West Point, as well as the Philharmonic. We heard big-band music and marches. We also heard some patriotic and pro-military statements spoken by the West Pointers. I wasn’t sure this would fly in Manhattan, but it seemed to. The evening ended with John Philip Sousa’s masterpiece, The Stars and Stripes Forever. Let me quote Bernstein, in a humble and discerning mode: “I would give five years of my life to have written that piece.”

It was a long night, but a wonderful one, and this was thanks largely to the manifold talents of Tovey—and also to those of Sousa, Gershwin, Bernstein, et al.

I once heard Emanuel Ax, the pianist, give a great performance. Google has recalled the specifics: It was in August 2005 at the Mostly Mozart Festival. Ax played Mozart’s Concerto No. 22 in E flat, K. 482. I have now heard Ax give another great performance. It was of the same concerto.

This second performance was on a Wednesday night in the same hall: Avery Fisher. The conductor and orchestra were different, however. They were Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic. Ax’s phrasing was exemplary. He breathed along with the composer. He was both smooth and articulate. He was sensitive without being mousy. What rubato he used was intelligent. He fudged a trill or two, particularly at their resolution, but this was of little importance.

Crucially, he was not afraid to play simply. “‘Tis the gift to be simple.” And you may remember a Rubinstein quip: “Mozart is too easy for children and too hard for adults.”

For the second movement, Andante, Ax chose a perfect tempo. Tempos in these “slow” movements of Mozart’s are hard to get right. He sang this movement with an inevitable and natural feeling. The Rondo was jaunty and stylish. It was humorous in spots without being hammy. The cadenza that Ax has composed for this movement is fitting and clever; I thought I heard horn calls.

Above all, Ax played the Rondo, and all of the concerto, with pleasure. It is a privilege to play Mozart. I believe Ax knows this. As the audience applauded, the man behind me said to his wife—loudly and twice—“Good ol’ Manny Ax.” He was more than “good ol’ Manny Ax” on this occasion: He was a great Mozartean.

Gilbert and the orchestra did their roles ably. There was a botched entrance in the horns near the opening, which was unfortunate. Some of the exposition had a clock-punching feeling. But, on the whole, the orchestra was alert, correct and compact. The beginning of the Andante was positively beautiful.

The main work on this program was one of the main works of Mozart’s life, and of music at large: the “Great” Mass in C minor. The orchestra was again alert, correct and compact (and so were the New York Choral Artists). Gilbert was never less than competent. He was completely assured and thoroughly prepared. In my judgment, however, this performance was barren of spirituality. It was also, I’m afraid, a bore.

But I must say it was nice to hear the Mass performed with some richness, beauty and blood. In recent years, I have heard nothing but “period” performances, particularly at the Salzburg Festival. They are thin gruel, with some straw sticking out. They also feature mindlessly fast tempos. At the Philharmonic, it was a relief to hear “Laudamus te” at a sane, musical pace.

The evening’s soprano was Jennifer Zetlan, who was starry when she was a student at Juilliard. In the Mass, she began a little uncertainly and had no low notes. But she soon gained her stride and was wonderful. The other singers were adequate, with the tenor, Paul Appleby, sounding like a Polenzani in the making. The bass in Mozart’s Mass has even less work to do than the mezzo-soprano in Beethoven’s Ninth.

A famous mezzo once told me she had a piece of advice for other mezzos engaged for the Ninth: “Wear a pretty dress.”

The musical language of the Balkans

Since the ’90s, horrendous images of war have dominated our perception of the Balkan Peninsula. To lay these images to rest, two European foundations engaged the universal healing power of music in “The Balkans—Crossroads of Civilizations,” an extravaganza of suites, sonatas and songs curated to underscore the cultural similarities throughout the Balkan nations. Her Royal Highness the princess of Bulgaria, as well as U.N. ambassadors and consuls general from Albania, Romania, Serbia, Slovenia, Macedonia, Greece, Cyprus and Turkey attended the event at Carnegie Hall on May 21.

Though spoken languages abound on the peninsula, the Balkan nations share a common musical language, characterized by Oriental sonorities, irregular rhythms like 7/8 or 5/16 and the rich harmonies brought to America by Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares. At the same time, similarities are also found in the coexistence of various musical trends, so that Balkan classical music halls comfortably offer atonal violin suites side by side with folk tunes.

In that spirit, “Crossroads of Civilizations” proffered a broad swath of styles, from the 12-tone Petite Suite No. 2 for Violin and Piano by Greek composer Nikos Skalkottas to an Albanian love song achingly drawn by cellist Rubin Kodheli, himself a composer of film music (Precious). The most emblematic work of the region—and the best received—were two excerpts from Petko Staynov’s Thracian Dances.

In 1933, Staynov co-founded the Union of Bulgarian Composers, whose aim was to encourage composers to recreate traditional music in artistic forms. With its halting 7/8 rhythm and buoyant melodies, Thracian Dances epitomizes the classical reiteration of folk material.

Expanding on that idea, Turkish composer Fazil Say, a Balkan Satie, composed Sonata, Op. 7, whose unearthly harmonies launch us into space only to be grounded by the thumping of a prepared piano suggesting the timbre of traditional instruments.

Pianists pires and zacharias play concertos in pairs

Two orchestras came to town, each bringing a pianist. The first orchestra to appear was from just down the road, Philadelphia. They played in Carnegie Hall with their chief conductor, Charles Dutoit. And their pianist was Maria João Pires, from Portugal.

She is very well-known from recordings, but not so well-known from personal appearances, at least here in New York. She has a big reputation for Chopin, and, in fact, played Chopin’s Concerto No. 2 in F minor.

In the first movement, she was competent—but also stiff, workmanlike. The music lacked its fluid nature. The closing rondo was much the same—competent, acceptable, but without flair. A wet noodle.

So, how did Pires acquire her big reputation? She gave the answer in the middle movement, Larghetto, which was a thing of beauty: graceful, sensitive and altogether musical. Chopin himself would have smiled.

Three nights later, an orchestra from Bavaria, the Bamberg Symphony, played in Avery Fisher Hall. They were led by their longtime chief, Jonathan Nott, an Englishman. And their pianist was Christian Zacharias, a German. He is a pianist who is capable of perfection, no less. Other nights, he is commendable all the same.

This was one of those nights. Zacharias played Beethoven’s Concerto No. 4 in G major. Its opening chord is hard to get right: You have to play all the notes together, with the top note, B, having prominence. Zacharias got it exactly right.

In the first movement at large, he had a few slips, but nothing major. His playing tended to be dry. Sometimes a bigger, fatter sound was desirable. But Zacharias obviously understood the logic of the music, and he was no-nonsense without being cold.

He is a conductor too, and, at the keyboard, he could not quite resist the urge to conduct the orchestra. He was champing at the bit to do so. Did this bother the actual conductor, on the podium? Ask Nott.

The second movement, that sublime creation, was matter-of-fact—very much so. Zacharias could have been a little freer. And the rondo could have been sprightlier and more graceful. But, again, you will want to hear Zacharias on any night, no matter what.

Incidentally, his concert clothes are those austere black pajamas, the modern uniform. It seems to suit the clinical side of his personality.