Cleveland Orchestra
Franz Welser-Möst
(conductor)
Saturday 14 September 2002
Severance Hall,
Cleveland
Varèse: Tuning Up
Glinka: Overture to Ruslan
and Ludmila
Haydn: Symphony No. 60 ("Il distratto")
Dalbavie: Rocks
Under the Water
Respighi: I pini di
Roma
Given the standard coziness of gala welcoming concerts and the
already warm relationship between Franz Welser-Möst and Cleveland's music
community, the only real suspense about his first concert as the Cleveland
Orchestra's Music Director was where in the hall the players would be seated for
the Marc-André Dalbavie premiere. The excitement in the city over
Welser-Möst is such that on Saturday evening, the Austrian conductor received a
standing ovation before even raising his baton.
He began with Varèse's Tuning Up (a brief and witty satire on the process orchestras go through before the conductor appears on stage, rendered here without much wit) and went directly into a brisk and diverting rendition of Glinka's Overture to Ruslan and Ludmila. Conductor and the orchestra gave this crowd-pleaser a warm, lavish treatment — opting for a courtly pace rather than the frenzied gallop that the overture often receives. (There appeared to be a grin on Welser-Möst's face throughout the piece, not unlike the expression of someone taking his new car out for a joyride.)
After Glinka came Haydn's Symphony No. 60. It began disconcertingly with a sluggish Adagio which threatened to turn the light, summery work into a dirge. The Andante which followed was also a touch too stately, but Welser-Möst's graceful hand made the winds' interruptions elegant and nuanced. Luckily, by the time they reached Haydn's wonderful C minor Presto, these pacing problems were solved. Conductor and orchestra came together to produce a sterling two-and-a-half minutes of dynamism and precision. The lamantazione and Finale were of equally high quality, expressive and energetic. While the performance may not have emphasized the playful possibilities of the score (which was written to accompany a summer theatrical comedy), the F-to-G tune-up received the small laugh that it should.
Next came the big surprise of the evening: all of the players of Dalbavie's Rocks Under the Water were actually on the stage. Unlike Concertate il suono and other of the 41-year old French composer's works (which work extensively with spatial effects, placing musicians in different parts of the hall), Rocks is a more conventional orchestral work. But this is not to say it is any less interesting.
Rocks begins with a resonant pluck and then a single note sustained by the strings. As the work progresses, winds join in, atonal piano tones jolt, and a xylophone shimmers — but that opening note drives the piece. Like much of Dalbavie's previous work, Rocks contains simple sounds strung together with fierce intensity, but in small ways, this new piece is a departure.
In interviews recently Dalbavie has been likening his creative process to that of a Japanese painter. He composes in his head for long periods of time and then commits a work to paper in one rush. Rocks is his first work to possess a distinct Asian influence: the fluid tones and symmetrical melodies are reminiscent of Takemitsu's great water-influenced compositions (which is not surprising, given Takemitsu and Dalbavie's shared influences: Debussy, Messiaen, etc.) and the five large percussion strokes toward the end of the piece evoked Japanese taiko drumming. As with his previous work, the varied textures of this music keep you guessing where a particular sound is coming from, but this tactic never becomes too clever or distracting. Rocks may not be as instantly striking or passionate as Dalbavie's Violin Concerto or Concertate il suono, but it is no less intelligent or captivating. When the composer came out from the audience to take a bow with Maestro Welser-Möst, the encouraging applause was well deserved.
Ironically, it was just after Dalbavie left the stage that members of the orchestra branched out into other parts of the hall. For the finale of the evening, Respighi's The Pines of Rome, there were two trombones in the balcony and two trumpets in the boxes.
The dramatic opening of the first movement, "Pines of the Villa Borghese," proved that if ever there was a piece to show off the glorious acoustics of Severance Hall, Pines is it. Even with the brass in the audience blaring, Respighi's bells, rachets and other percussion knickknacks were still audible, and they meshed seamlessly with the rest of the instruments to form a bold, silvery tone.
But beyond the user-friendliness of the piece and the showcase of the hall's aural capabilities, there was little emotional resonance in the performance. Respighi's music may be a rebuke to Italian verismo, but a bumptious Italianate quality is needed to give the piece life and raise it above mere sonic fireworks. Except for a horn solo during the "Pines Near a Catacomb" movement which cried from the back of the orchestra with a memorably plaintive, Copland-esque sound, there was little departure from convention. That said, the "Pines of the Appian Way" finale, with bells glistening and horns at full throttle, was overpowering. The audience loved it, responding with vigorous applause.
While Welser-Möst didn't manage to infuse Respighi with a personal touch, he
more than made up for it with his encore, a work he described to the crowd as "a
little piece from my country" — a rousing version of Josef
Hellmesberger's Danse diabolique. Caressing the melodies, keeping a firm
tempo, yet presiding with a gossamer touch, the relaxed conductor seemed much
more at ease with these Viennese rhythms. The encore was both refined and
vibrant — words that aptly describe the style that Franz Welser-Möst's
tenure in Cleveland seems to promise.
