Friday, February 6, 2015

Seattle Symphony, Jan 29th, Charles Ives' Fourth Symphony


As the concert ended, half of the audience leapt to their feet in an applause that lasted ten minutes, as Ludovic Morlot, beaming, came back onto stage for another bow, and the orchestra stood, victorious.  The other half of the audience could be found streaming out the front doors as fast as they could, shaking their heads and grimacing.

At the "ask the artist" talk afterwards in the main lobby of Benaroya Hall, Morlot was asked, "Why did you choose to bill both Rachmaninoff's 3rd Piano Concerto and Charles Ive's Symphony 4 for the same concert?"  Morlot's answer was to the point: "Because I wanted you all to come!"

That impulsive billing decision succeeded in spades.  The next evening of the program, the house was completely sold-out, turning away dejected would-be audience at the box office.  I, being the unlucky usher that night who had to choose between the two above-mentioned magnificent pieces of art, went in for the second half, and got an earful of Ives.

To my utter surprise, I didn't hate it.  Actually, I can honestly say that the work appealed to my aesthetic values.

The entire work is a bipolar conglomeration of exceptional beauty and utter chaos.  Such chaos, in fact, that there has been a survival guide written for the orchestra by Thomas M. Brodhead.  It might also be mentioned, in passing, that although the work was completed in 1916, it was not performed until 1965.

Ives, who had a day job as a insurance salesman, has been called the "first American composer"--not by dint of nationality alone, but because he was the first to bring truly American elements of folk music together into formal composition.  This piece is littered with fragments of multiple folk songs, hymns, and American cultural phenomenon, often in blatant disregard of the others that happen to be playing at the same time.  In addition, the eerie timing of the work, on the crux of World War I, adds a chill to the otherwise innocently 20th century context.

A word must also be said about the orchestration of this piece.  In addition to the normal 20th century orchestral spread, an extra flute/piccolo has been added, more clarinets and bassoons than necessary, not one but three saxophones, two extra trumpets and a couple of cornets, 8 percussionists, two harps, and five keyboards, including two concert pianos, one for solo, one for four-hands, a celesta, an organ, and the obligatory upright piano--with random keys tuned at quarter tones.  Not to mention the chorus, of course, since their entrance is marked "preferably without chorus" (they sing anyway).  And to keep all this mess together, especially taking into account that there are two groups of instruments on opposite sides off-stage, Morlot decided to use four conductors, adding in a snarky aside to the audience in his introduction of the piece that as a result, there was a surplus of ego on stage as well.

So, what is it about this symphony that makes it actually enjoyable for some (albeit, hardly for everyone...)?  I believe it comes down to the craftsmanship that was poured into it.  As delicately balanced as Damocles sword, all of the melodic/harmonic elements, the pacing from climax to climax and beauty to chaos, and of course the orchestration, have been skillfully placed exactly where they have their greatest impact.  Nothing about it is haphazard or lazy.  It strings itself out, piece by piece, delivering the story without giving anything away.


The first movement begins by building an atmosphere that sounds like a quotation from every horror film ever made; with heavy piano and dark strings, and then a ghostly choir enters, singing a gentle hymn, in blissful unawareness of the harmonic significance of the rest of the orchestra.

The scherzo of a second movement, the 'comedy', spends its time dallying between slow, ghostly and at times hauntingly beautiful stretches of strings, the concert piano and light winds, interrupted with patches of brass, percussion, and many more pianos.  Thus, a series of climaxes lead up to a particularly poignant conclusion, as a solo violin plays its melancholy tune, and then four separate marching bands abruptly charge onto the scene, bombast the audience, and then collapse into silence.

A melancholy fugue based on a Christmas hymn, beginning in the celli, ushers in the third movement, lovely and actually tonal.  Almost completely scored for the strings, the movement also demands an organ, gloriously fulfilled at Benaroya Hall.

The final movement has more of the character of the second movement, with similar pendulum swinging through chaos and climax, yet it quotes the first and third movements as well, and closes with the choir, hauntingly beckoning in thoughts of the impending War.

I don't know if I will ever have a chance to hear this work again, but I can honestly say that I think the production put on by Morlot and the Seattle Symphony was outstanding.  The members of the orchestra seemed to be energized by the challenge of the music and exhilarated by the sound.  Their passion rolled over us, the audience, like a wave, drawing us into the dark world of Ives.

To be honest, I personally feel like this is the best performance I've experienced yet.

But we shall just have to wait for the Brahms Symphony 1 in June!

The Gardens Between

Imagine a game in which you can't actually control the characters you are playing - you can only move forwards and backwards in time...