At this evening’s performance of two Schumann Symphonies, Christoph Von Dohnanyi, energetically leading the Cleveland Orchestra in Severance Hall, let his baton go. It flew far into the audience, its path a beautiful cork-and-painted wood arc.
He was prepared, however, quickly reaching down to grab a second baton that he had brought out just in case.
Nobody is immortal.
Johannes Brahms’ Concerto in A minor for violin, cello, and orchestra, Op. 102 – commonly known as the Double Concerto – is a demanding piece, as the composer himself acknowledged. In a letter to Clara Schumann, Brahms wrote: “I might have left the idea to someone else who understands fiddles better than I do…It is quite a different thing writing for instruments whose character and sound one can only incidentally imagine.”
The Double Concerto represented a leap for Brahms, who was navigating in uncharted waters. From the very first bars through the very last, the work challenges soloists, conductor, and orchestra to respond to a host of difficulties: two-against-three rhythms must be played accurately, a delicate balance of tempo and dynamics between the soloists and the orchestra has to be achieved, and various stylistic choices must be made. In order for the piece to be performed well, the orchestra must be precise and the lines of communication between the two soloists and between soloists and orchestra, through the conductor, must be uninterrupted. Violinist David Oistrakh, cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, conductor George Szell, and the Cleveland Orchestra make a solid effort in their 1969 recording of the concerto.
The soloists themselves are impeccable. Oistrakh’s phrasing is tasteful, his vibrato inviting, his stretching of lines (whether Brahms asks for it or not) attention-grabbing. Rostropovich is strong, a one-man ensemble, a beast of technique. The collaboration between the soloists is admirable; the fast passages in the first movement, for instance, demonstrate the facility with which each player continues the other’s musical ideas throughout the work. There can be no doubt that Oistrakh and Rostropovich confront the concerto in an exciting manner. Unfortunately, in their valiant and usually successful efforts to enliven a challenging work, the soloists at times compromise their fidelity to the score. In the second movement, for example, Brahms indicates that the soloists should play loud only in certain passages. By abusing this indication, Oistrakh and Rostropovich shrink the piece’s expressive range, and by maintaining a similar vibrato speed throughout the movement, they render the music emotionally one-sided. They easily convey its passion, but they don’t take full advantage of the dynamic roller coaster that Brahms’ score suggests. As a result, the third movement functions more as a continuation of the second’s intensity and less as a counterweight to the second’s intended warmth.
The Cleveland Orchestra is exact and note-perfect, as often seems to be the case. If Rostropovich sounds like a hundred instruments, the orchestra sounds like only one. Szell addresses the two-against-three challenges with aplomb, and he keeps the orchestra steady throughout the treacherous passages in which Brahms hides the downbeat. The wind soloists play lyrically, and the strings nearly disappear at a moment’s notice (perhaps too much so in the case of the second violins and violas). Only when Rostropovich and Oistrakh take their time while the orchestra remains metronomic do moments of disconnect occur.
One shouldn’t be too critical of the stylistic liberties that O and R take, since Brahms himself seems to have been open-minded about such matters. Although the recording does not always obey Brahms’ instructions – to the extent that the written notes and indications reveal them – the performance is vivid and exciting. Clara Schumann, in her response to Brahms, did trust that the Double Concerto would reveal the hidden secrets of the violin and cello. Oistrakh and Rostropovich bring these secrets to light.
Eighty-two years might like a long time to live. For centuries, most humans didn’t make it that far, and even today, octogenarians are relatively few and far between. Those who remain live knowing that their days are numbered and struggle to hold on to life for just a little longer. Fortunately, I’m not expected to die any time soon. Indeed, my counterparts are notoriously long lived- the Musikverein in Vienna is nearly one hundred and fifty, and the Sheldonian Theatre at Oxford has nearly three hundred and fifty years under its belt. Despite the fact that I am not even middle-aged, it seems suitable that I should reflect upon the drastic changes I have experienced throughout my short lifetime.
When I was an infant, the love child of a grieving philanthropist, the players were good, but nothing special. It didn’t really matter- Cleveland finally had a band of its own, almost one hundred years after Vienna. And so I grew up, tolerating Sokoloff, Rodzinski, and Leinsdorf, listening as the musicians, paid peanuts but as good as any other American orchestra, grew accustomed to playing inside me. It was a happy childhood- the orchestra wasn’t awful. However, after Leinsdorf left during my teenage years to continue what would be a magnificent career, the musicians and I were in for a surprise.
Nikolai Sokoloff
Like many teenagers, I had a persistent, nagging father figure who stubbornly guided me into shape. This figure was George Szell, and when he came to Cleveland, he knew that he had to make some changes. To begin with, he was hard on my players. The playing that had been sufficient for Sokoloff, Rodzinski, and Leinsdorf seemed second-rate to the Hungarian. From the very beginning of his tenure, he fired musicians who he felt did not fit and created an intimidating culture and pressure to be technically and musically perfect. He even fiddled with me, building the infamous “Szell Shell” inside me to improve my acoustics. Though I was wary and even afraid of “Dr. Cyclops” when he first arrived in Cleveland, I am glad he operated on my musical friends and me. Without him, the Cleveland Orchestra and I might have gone the way of an orchestra like the Baltimore Symphony- quite talented, but nobody’s first choice. Instead, he spent the twenty-odd years he had with the musicians turning them into the most precise ensemble in the world and me into one of the best-sounding halls. Though it was painful, I am grateful that he whipped us into shape.
George Szell
After Szell, the musicians stayed as good as ever, but the conductors weren’t as special as he was. Granted, they were able, but it was as if Szell had turned the orchestra and me from a Volvo into a Ferrari, and the new conductors were just good drivers. This Ferrari’s parts became more and more valuable as time passed: while during my infancy the hardworking players were paid enough to survive, today they are the performing arts’ aristocrats, earning more than my childhood friends could have dreamed about. I can’t say that I don’t mind being one of the orchestra world’s most well maintained cars, but I miss the glory days when Szell thrust Cleveland onto the international scene.
Though I have indeed matured throughout the years, a far more drastic shift has occurred in the audiences that hear the orchestra play. In the beginning, I was a privilege reserved only for the rich and famous; I even had a special entrance for chauffeurs to drop of guests of honor. For decades, nobody questioned that I was a valuable cultural icon. Money was not an issue. However, as time passed and fleeting popular music took over society and my most faithful patrons died, cash flow was choked off. Suddenly, management had to pursue options that twenty years before would have seemed inconceivable- playing with jazz and popular music stars, starting a shortened Friday night concert series with a dance party afterwards, aggressively pursuing young people with ten and twenty dollar ticket offers. In a place where tuxedos in the audience, not just on stage, used to be custom, guests began to show up in clothes as casual as t-shirts, shorts, and sneakers. Empty seats, once a rarity, became commonplace, especially during concerts of lesser-known programming. Indeed, one conductor even joked that the Orchestra would have to play Beethoven’s Ninth every year just to balance the budget! Though my situation is considerably better than that of someplace like Minnesota, it is uncomfortable being a young concert hall whose future is unknown.
There will always be the Musikverein, the Philharmonie, the Concertgebouw, and the Royal Albert Hall. A handful of classical musicians in Vienna, Berlin, Amsterdam, and London will always play. But will I always exist? Will I be shut down, abandoned, discarded? Will I live long? I dislike having to confront the questions about life that a human octogenarian might ask himself. I can only hope that the jeans and basketball shoes that stick out amongst my velvet seats signal a shift in the classical paradigm, not the beginning of the end. I can only hope that the culture that I have given the people during the past eighty-two years was not all for naught, and that my musical heart will continue to beat for many years to come.
Marc Minkowski’s speedy, unadorned interpretation of Joseph Haydn’s Symphony No. 93 is an authentic and exhilarating rendition of a familiar work. Performed on period instruments with different tuning, Minkowski’s Haydn is aurally pleasing but dynamically dry. The fortissimo playing of Les Musiciens de Louvre is indeed impressive-particularly in a Haydn symphony- the orchestra fails to play sufficiently softly during the many quiet sections of the first movement. In addition, it is disappointing that the string players in Minkowski’s orchestra play with a brush bow stroke throughout, not differentiating between staccato and legato markings. Fortunately, the vitality of Minkowski’s performance more than makes up for the performance’s occasional disobedience of the score. The fast tempi that the conductor takes inject new energy into a work that is easily performed blandly. This exuberance is especially apparent at the end of the fourth movement when the orchestra, playing feverishly and tiptoeing on the edge of disaster, drives the piece to a raucous conclusion. Ultimately, although Minkowski’s performance is neither dynamically heterogeneous nor perfectly refined, it deserves a second listen because it teaches the often forgotten lesson that ‘historically informed’ performance does not have to be held back or delicate.
George Szell’s recording of Haydn’s Symphony No. 93 is rhythmically accurate, stylistically pleasing, and pleasurable to listen to. One notes this coherence immediately- while the pickup to the second D major chord at the very beginning of the symphony is practically inaudible in Minkowski’s recording, in Szell’s it is strong, together, and defined. Though Szell’s tempi are considerably more conservative than Minkowski’s, they pay off; the Cleveland Orchestra, as is its custom, doesn’t miss notes and the winds, brass, percussion, and strings are always aligned. Dynamic contrast is present but not overdone- rather than exploding into the fortes and pianos marked in the score, Szell eases into each with subtle crescendos and decrescendos. Furthermore, the balance between different sections of the orchestra makes it easy for even the least experienced listener to pick out melodic and harmonic lines. Best of all, Szell doesn’t take himself too seriously. One could argue that he overdoes the gag in the second movement (you’ll have to listen to figure that one out), but this comical moment makes an already stellar recording even better.
Comparing two drastically different recordings of a familiar piece never fails to bring to light the variety that exists within the world of classical music. The same score, the very same notes that Haydn put on the page, can be completely changed by whoever takes up the challenge of interpreting it. For this reason, recordings by a small period instrument ensemble and a behemoth the modern orchestra world can be equally appealing.
In classical music, if you don’t like one version, you’re not entitled to hate the work. Just pick another recording.
Both versions are available on Spotify.
CityMusic Cleveland, a fabulous professional chamber orchestra founded in 2004, has made a point of bringing new works into the public spotlight. This past week, it gave several performances of Dan Visconti’s Roots to Branches, a new percussion concerto based on the stories of refugees who risked their existences to make their ways to Cleveland. Some new music is a little too much to take; this piece, however, is an exception. It’s creative and it isn’t torture to listen to.
I went to one of the concerts. It was marvelous.
Concerto Infinito 