Seattle Symphony, Dvořák and Bartók, March 15, '14

Last night I went to the Symphony for Mozart; instead, I ended up lured by the prospect of Dvořák and Bartók.  Ushering at the Seattle Symphony requires a painful amount of decision-making, since I can only ever see half of the night's show.  Oh, well.

What stood out to me most about Dvořák's "The Noon Witch" was the intrinsic simplicity of melodic, harmonic, color and textural choices.   Because of the startling clarity, from the foreboding oboe birdsong in the midst of the playful pastoral theme, to the full string section in unison, clear-cut rhythmic patterns and harmonic progressions, it seemed like even the smallest error or oversight in orchestration would be glaringly obvious.  Yet there was none.  Suspense was created with time spun out, repeated phrases and everything understated, pianissimo passages effectively drawing the attention as close to the stage as possible.  After the 1st pastoral theme, a dark, stormy theme intervenes; when the pastoral theme reappears, for all intents and purposes a reiteration of what was before, the theme is eerie and ominous. The real action starts after this; in what is practically a development section, followed by an out-of-left-field bass clarinet solo (later accompanied by clarinet proper).  Add to this unique tone coloration with a tuba, and as the energy builds with the advent of the witch herself, threatening and cackling, the rest of the brass join, building to a shocking end.  I have noticed recently how much brass stands out, used effectively or not.  It's almost as if it's on a different physical plane from the other instruments.  In addition, I should mention the extensive use of percussion, including orchestral bells, used in this work; not a continual barrage of sound effects like Berlioz, but, like the rest of this work, subtly, effectively, transparently.

Béla Bartók's music does tend to all sound the same to me.  Oh, don't get me wrong, from the moment I heard "guitar" and looked in vain until I found the harp creating that deceptive tune, the thought that was incessantly running through my head was, "I love this, but I don't understand it."  Bartók has a very distinctive style, one which, like Debussy, has been copied since by overeager composition students with unfortunate results.  The violin sings directly through him, with a quality I can only describe nonderogatorily as "soapy".  What does that mean?  Waxy, suppressed, with a lot of surface area...whatever it is, that is the Bartók gypsy violin.  It crawls, buzzes; it doesn't fly or soar, but leaps and twirls with the sharp-cut grace of a modern dancer.  The violinist of the night, James Ehnes, has a very studied sort of expression--everything is clearly planned, but not quite spontaneous enough for my tastes.  His double stops were immaculate; the bent tones in the 1st movement made me catch my breath.  And, as aforementioned, I love the harpist.  And the timpanist.  You both rocked Bartók.

The end of the 1st movement made the word "virtuosity" pale and back away in embarrassment.  And a well-educated audience burst out into loud and long applause, such that at the end of the 2nd movement, the conductor (André de Ridder) swiftly moved onto the 3rd to avoid it from happening again, which I find understandable on both ends, a little sad, but mostly amusing.

The beginning of the 2nd movement reminded me strongly of Mahler, but for some reason the movement as a whole did not carry my attention.  Perhaps a second listening will cure me. I will say the the lushness of the accompaniment by the orchestra was delightful.

The 3rd movement, in addition to a lovely tongue-in-cheek dip into waltz, had some incredibly beautiful melodic elements. 

The percussion, once again, not the roller-coaster joy ride of Berlioz, but still full, detailed, and virtuosic in its own right, was an ear-fest of fastidious perfectionism.  Even such a small effect as a triangle sound had an astonishing effect; there were some effects that I couldn't even recognize; a few times I could've sworn I was hearing a piano, although I suspect it would have been more obvious if there was one on stage.  One effect that I particularly feel the need to "steal" at some point is Bartók's orchestration of snap pizzicato in low strings accented with the timpani in the 2nd movement.  The way he drew attention to the difference between snare, bass drum and timpani by having them "speak" to each other in the 3rd movement made me smile.  

In all, I can't say that I regret my decision to forgo Mozart in favor of Dvořák and Bartók...just this once.

Cheers!
-G