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SYMPHONY REVIEW
November 16, 2005
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By Jeff Dunn
Reporting that Wednesday's San Francisco Symphony concert had contrasts is an understatement on the order of remarking that there were a few deaths at the Battle of Stalingrad. On one side of the intermission was Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto, a model of Classic/Romantic form and discretion, gorgeously performed by newcomer Janine Jansen. On the other, the ear-splitting, impetuous, seam-bursting, and astounding Fourth Symphony of Shostakovich, brilliantly executed by the orchestra under the direction of Vladimir Ashkenazy. Not only was there the contrast between the two works; there were also the contrasts within the Shostakovich itself, where adjacent measures were often more antipodal than adjacent movements.
Jansen made her U.S. debut in Cincinnati less than a week earlier, playing the Tchaikovsky concerto “like a house afire,” according to one critic. The 29-year-old hails from a small town near Utrecht but now lives in Vienna. Her chamber recording of Vivaldi's Four Seasons sold more than 25,000 CDs in the Netherlands alone. Some may have bought it for her ravishing photograph, but her musicianship is equally inviting. By a magic combination of technique, interpretation, and body language, she turned the old Mendelssohn warhorse into a newborn colt. Besides spot-on intonation and lightning-fast fingering, Jansen conveyed a warm collegiality with the orchestra by turning toward them with a baton-passing nod at appropriate moments. For her efforts, she was awarded handclaps, not just bow-waves from the orchestra, not to mention an enthusiastic standing ovation from patrons.
After the cozy Mendelssohn had left the hall, and a bit of intermission, the Shostakovich entered like an army of famished Visigoths at the dinner hour. The 27-minute first movement barged its way in with the first of many strident rhythmic motifs, followed by “collisions and parodies,” as described in Michael Steinberg's exquisite program notes. The movement sounds like 30 blustery symphonies rolled into one, with as many themes and moods, none relaxed. Yet it is ingeniously based on just three themes, only the first of which, unfortunately, is readily grasped at first hearing. The symphony's many solos, especially for bassoon, make it a concerto for orchestra as well as a challenge for every first chair.
Highlights of the work include eyebrow-singeing chords and a breakneck string fugato in the first movement; a second movement like a liveried dancing bear in a Viennese palace, trying to waltz from time to time but mostly smashing glassware and terrifying guests; and three haunting codas. The first of these concludes the second movement and was quoted near the end of the composer's life in the 15th symphony, with clicking castanets and other percussion winding down like a dying toy. The other two exist one after the other over a five-minute stretch in the finale, the first consisting of big brassy major chords with despairing dissonances added, followed later by the second, a barely audible C chord over which flit drums, celeste, and trumpet.
Over all looms the huge ghost of Gustav Mahler, a Tristan-like draught from which Shostakovich drank deeply during the years of the symphony's composition (1934-1936) through the offices of his friend, Ivan Sollertinsky. Like Mahler, Shostakovich embraced worlds in his music. But in this work he could not perorate without the immediate, cheek-by-jowl contrast of sarcasm, cynicism, and negation. Nothing is certain. As Richard Taruskin writes about the Fourth in Defining Russian Musicality, . . . uncertainty may be one reason why the symphony haunts me the way it does. Maybe incertitude — irreducible multivalence — is essential to the experience of the symphony as a work of art.In addition to the superb playing by orchestra members, Ashkenazy's pacing must also be lauded. The innumerable contrasts never seemed arbitrary under his direction. Interest never flagged. Extremes were treated extremely, not watered down, emphasizing the brazen audacity of the conception. One only wished for longer pauses before starting the symphony and after the first movement: the first, to allow the audience to settle down; the second, to give listeners time to absorb the enormity of what they'd just heard. On a less appreciative note, one final contrast must be reported: the “Inside Music” talk preceding the program vs. the highly competent performance of the musicians during the performance proper. The fact that John Palmer chose to lecture a half hour on how Mendelssohn was not Vivaldi and not even mention Shostakovich's name had audience members shaking their heads in bewilderment. The Shostakovich has only appeared once before in subscription, in 1989. The Mendelssohn, as well known to local audiences as Van Ness Blvd., has played just about every year — even twice a year. These talks should be focused on increasing acquaintance with the unfamiliar. Not doing so calls for an apology. (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.)
The San Francisco Symphony's
next performances, of Handel's Messiah, take place November
23-27, featuring the San Francisco Symphony Chorus and English
early-music conductor Harry Christophers.
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Janine Jansen
