San Francisco Classical Voice

The Golijov is an outstanding and dramatic work for two string orchestras (it was originally written for two string quartets). Performed capably by the strings and well-directed by Bychkov, the sound, tempo, and expression were above reproach. Outstanding, yes. But dramatic? Not enough. The drama was portrayed in the music, but my thoughts were so taken by the music that I was disappointed by the incomplete drama that could have been better choreographed in the bodies of the musicians. Golijov noted that the first movement was a boxing match in spirit. There are short sharp phrases, fisticuffs, that zigzag back and forth between the two orchestras, with the basses refereeing in between. Sometimes the section leaders strike the notes alone, other times the musicians behind them join in the fray. I couldn’t help but imagine a bar brawl, so powerful was the musical imagery. But while the music was fighting, only some of the players were.

Bychkov followed the composers’ instructions to have the musicians stand facing each another. But to fully realize the potential of this piece, he should have directed them to lean toward the opposite orchestra (the “opponent”) as they hit their sharp phrases. Those who did so instinctively, with one foot forward, greatly aided the overall psychological effect. Those who did not — despite the excellence of their playing — gave the impression of uninvolved bystanders. It was an element of inappropriate ballast in a movement that should hit the audience like a punch in the face from Piazzolla’s ghost.

The second movement, an elegy fervid with half-references to tunes familiar to Argentines, could not have had the same strength of impact on Americans who were waiting to hear a tango somewhere. Symphony organizations, like it or not, are in the business of “guiding” listeners’ thoughts via program notes, preconcert lectures, and conductor announcements from the podium. Should a disclaimer have been issued? (“Sorry folks, there will be no obvious tango in this piece, just the spirit of the tango.”) That might have made a few disappointed people warmer in their applause, assuming they knew the piece was over.

The Saint-Saëns Piano Concerto No. 2 was a joy to hear. Like so many of his works, it is composed with consummate grace. The pieces fit together seamlessly, no matter how disparate. And the first movement is plenty disparate: a Bachlike introduction, a High Romantic first theme (actually written by Fauré, Saint-Saëns’ student at the time), a second theme right out of Chopin’s playbook, and loads of virtuosic filler material in the Liszt manner. Thibaudet was masterful in all the demands expected of him — but not quite so the orchestra. The dramatic introduction has a series of sharply articulated orchestral chords separated by silences. It is crucial that the ensemble be together on every one of these exclamations. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

A second area of concern was the way Bychkov kept the orchestra in quiet, slavish accompaniment. That made me long for the subtlety of dynamics that Blomstedt could have brought to the rendition. But to no avail, especially in the part that matters the most: the gorgeous wind chorale accompanying scattered piano trills in the development section of the second movement. To me, this ranks in beauty with the chorale in the Game of Pairs movement in Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra. But Bychkov treated it only as gray window dressing.

Fortunately, Bychkov redeemed himself in spades with a piece more to his blood, the Shostakovich 10th. His flair for sharp articulation reaped great rewards in the many spiky passages. His choice of tempo, not too fast or slow, was perfect in the first movement. And he had just the right sense of architecture for its large span. The whirlwind second movement was breathtakingly captured to perfection — kudos both to Bychkov and the Symphony players.

But pesky thoughts crept in to cast aspersions on the rest of the piece, although not on the performance of it. What began as elements of unity morphed into annoying habits of Mahlerian obsession: Every major theme consists of an upward three notes with an emphasis on the first note. Mahler’s music is riddled with the same mannerism, with the emphasis on the second note. Once I detected the similarity, I couldn’t get it out of my head.

Then there was the notorious D-S-C-H motto, the composer’s initials — D, E-flat, B, and B-flat — in German notation. This proclamation of the ego blights the Shostakovich highway in the last two movements like increasingly noxious billboards. The last one comes across like one of those video-screen versions that are more dangerous to drivers than cell phones.

Those thoughts were contaminated with the unproven assertion that the whirlwind second movement was a portrait of Stalin — suggesting that the linking three-note motive shows Stalin at his most ominous in the first movement and most murderous in the second. Add to that the bursting out of D-S-C-H egograms in the remaining movements, which could be construed as a dancing on the grave of tyrant, whom Shostakovich had had to extoll not long before as "The Great Gardener." These extraneous details distracted me from the suspicion that the last two movements were not the best musical solution to the problems posed by the first two.

But then again, in music, the thoughts can be counted on as well as the sounds to ennoble the experience, come what may.

(Jeff Dunn is a freelance critic with a B.A. in music and a Ph.D. in geologic education. A composer of piano and vocal music, he is a member of NACUSA and president of Composers Inc.)

©2006 Jeff Dunn, all rights reserved