When I looked at the New York Philharmonic’s program, I had to blink. I could not quite believe my eyes. This was an “old-fashioned” concert in an “old-fashioned” format: overture, concerto, symphony. (A format that has never been improved on.) The evening was to begin with a Wagner overture. Then move on to a Beethoven piano concerto. Then conclude with a Brahms symphony. On the podium would be an old-school, Old World conductor and at the keyboard would be an old-school, Old World pianist.
Was this legal?
Just before the concert, on Thursday night, I remarked to a musician friend, “The program seems almost an accident, a mistake.” He said, “I know, right? Maybe someone confused Richard Wagner with Melinda Wagner.”
(Ms. Wagner is a contemporary American composer. Mind you, I have nothing against her, at all, and neither does my friend. It was simply a funny remark.)
The Philharmonic was to give this program four times, Thursday through Sunday. I am told that all four performances were sold out. It could be that the public, or some significant slice of it, is hungry for great composers. We should not enter into a programming debate now. Suffice it to say: it was heartening to see fannies in the seats.
First on the program was the overture to Die Meistersinger. And our conductor was Jaap van Zweden, the Philharmonic’s music director. The opening measures were warm, plump, and rounded. This, I found interesting: Van Zweden can be a little hard, a little blunt. His reading of the overture was brisk and efficient—but it was not martial. The music had its crestings, and heavings, and importunings. The orchestra was imperfect in its execution. But the outline was there.
I was ready to hear the rest of the opera (which would have taken us into the wee hours).
The Beethoven piano concerto was No. 4, in G major, and the soloist was Rudolf Buchbinder, the veteran Austrian (born in 1946). When you have time, you might like to see a video of Artur Rubinstein playing this concerto, in London, in 1967: here. Rubinstein was eighty—and the ease and sovereignty of his playing is a wonder.
This concerto begins with the piano alone. And the pianist opens with a chord of eight notes, four in each hand. All eight notes must be heard. They must be together. And the top B, which begins the melody, must sing. Herr Buchbinder did this, to a T.
In the first movement, as throughout the concerto, he made beautiful sounds—pearly sounds. Buchbinder is a pianist who cares about sound. But don’t they all? No, actually. For some pianists—many, probably—sound is a secondary consideration.
Some of Buchbinder’s passagework was smooth as silk; some was a little stiff and ungainly. Buchbinder brought out some inner voices that are seldom heard, or highlighted.
At the end of the first movement, people applauded, as is natural to do. Others shushed them—so unnecessary, and so unpleasant.
In the middle movement, the orchestra is big and powerful, and the piano is quiet and inward. (An ample literature is available about this movement and its secrets.) Van Zweden brought the right intensity. Buchbinder was rightly intimate, although he can sing more than he did.
Above, I mentioned a detail about the opening of the concerto, and I will now mention a detail about the closing of the middle movement. The movement ends with a phrase whose penultimate note is an F sharp and whose last note is an E. The E must be “under” the F sharp (which is to say, softer than). Many pianists botch this. Buchbinder handled it beautifully.
The final movement, the Rondo, ought to begin crisp, crisp. It is the orchestra alone that begins this movement. And crispness is a specialty of Jaap van Zweden. In this instance, however, the orchestra was not especially crisp. Later on, Carter Brey, the principal cello, made some suave contributions—per usual.
As for Rudolf Buchbinder, some of his accentuation was rather strange and unconvincing, at least in my judgment. But, clearly, he knows his Beethoven and plays it with authority.
How about the Brahms symphony, after intermission? It was No. 4, in E minor. This symphony was played in Carnegie Hall at the beginning of December—by the Berlin Staatskapelle, conducted by New York’s other major maestro, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the music director of the Metropolitan Opera. (For my review, go here.) It has been a good winter for Brahms here in New York.
The quickest thing to say about Jaap van Zweden’s reading is—it was a Brahms 4. I don’t mean it was ho-hum or undistinguished. It was a true Brahms 4. There was nothing odd about it, nothing that suggested a personal “take.” The conductor was serving the composer and the score.
Think of how James Levine conducted Brahms, or how George Szell did. (The former apprenticed with the latter.) Van Zweden is cut from that cloth.
Under his baton, the symphony was clear and well-defined, not dissolving into Romantic soup. You could have written the score down, from the playing. It was virile, as Van Zweden performances tend to be. I would have liked a touch more warmth. But this reading was not cold, and Van Zweden teased considerable warmth out of the violins in the second movement.
Earlier in that movement, the horns stumbled, as horns are wont to do. What a fiendish instrument.
I once did a public Q&A with Esa-Pekka Salonen, the conductor (and composer). He began his musical life as a horn player. “I don’t even look at them,” he said, referring to the horns. “And the worse they play, the less I look at them.”
Brahms’s third movement should be, among other things, a shout of joy. It was. The last movement should be, among other things, remorseless. Bristling. It was. Also—to say it for the thousandth time—Robert Langevin, the principal flute, is an asset to this orchestra.
We are now halfway through Jaap van Zweden’s final season with the Philharmonic. He began his tenure in 2018. I suspect that he will be unmourned, when he exits our city. He has never been a big deal here, so far as I’m aware. Never been a celebrity. He is just a good or great musician (“just”!). He is not one for “outreach,” except with his music-making. I have never heard him speak from the stage. I have never heard the sound of his voice. He just conducts (again, “just”).
At the top of this review, I used the designations “old-school” and “Old World.” I am amazed that Van Zweden was ever hired by the Philharmonic in the first place. I’m glad he was.
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Source: newcriterion.com
