The relationship between artists and arts funders seems ever more complicated. It seems to me that most funders (trusts, public sector funders, private sponsors) lack the energy, time or knowledge to vet funding applications in the arts on the basis of merit or quality. The problem is compounded in music as few people making decisions about musical projects can read a score well enough to judge its merits. Instead, these days funders decide in advance who or what they want to fund, and artists have to somehow find a way to thread their artistic vision through the hole in someone else’s needle.
Take for instance a new and worthy scheme for supporting repeat performances of new musical work- it’s a wonderful idea, but the scheme has already decided which pieces by which composers they will fund. What if one wants to support one of the composers in the scheme, but the selected works are not programmable for that organization but others would be? What if a performing organization or artist thinks there are, dare I say it, better or more deserving composers not on the list? A project whose laudable goal is expanding the repertoire becomes self-limiting both in terms of the composers and works which could benefit from its support, but also limits which organization’s skills, talents and networks the funding organization can benefit from.
Has it always been thus? Why do some artists and composers become “fundable” and others, equally deserving, not? I fear it has far too much to do with the clique-ish and tribal nature of the arts. If you’re in the club, you’re in the club. If you’re not, you’re not, and you’re probably not going to be. There are many great, great artists in the club, but also plenty whose last ten projects were stinkers, but they’re still fundable because of something they did (or someone they knew) in 1974.
In an industry that seems to be crying out for innovation, an industry that oozes group-think on an industrial scale, why is it so hard make the case that something genuinely new is a good idea worth funding? Rather than subsidize the 1 percent of artists who have already made it, why not invest more in identifying extraordinary talents who have not yet had their time in the sun? It seems that we’ve reached the point where there is almost no mechanism by which a credible artist or organization can make the case from scratch that a given project is worth funding solely on merit. When you’ve reached the point at which one can only fund projects and people who are already funded, or duplicate work already being done, or commission composers/authors/artists who are already being supported, the phrase “creative industries” starts to sound ever more oxymoronic. Industry is about mass production, about churning out consumer-ready content, whether it’s cars or ten minute concert openers with catchy titles. What is creative about that? It seems our funding paradigm has actually forced us into a consumerist, semi-oligarchical business model in the arts.
Where there is money, there will always be politics, but surely there ought to be some scope for more transparency and more peer review of funding applications?
Meanwhile, I know that the best way to look after my own orchestra and the artists I want to support is to focus on making me and the orchestra fit the “who we want to fund” box. We’re very lucky that some of what we want to do is what people want to fund, and some people want to fund us because of who we are. Bless everyone of our supporters for everything they do to help make the music possible. But how do we develop new ideas, how to we find new audiences, how do we support new voices if they’re not already on the who/what lists?
What do you think?
For me, it was musical love at first sight. The first time I heard the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto was on a cassette tape. I loved it so much, I kept rewinding and replaying bits of the first movement (most often the big tutti at the end of the exposition- even then I had conductor tendencies). It must have taken me the better part of 2 hours to listen to get to the end of the first movement the first time I listened to it. I was hardly new to Tchaikovsky- I’d imprinted on the Fifth Symphony and Romeo and Juliet at a very young age. But the Violin Concerto struck me as very special from the first time I heard it.
And since then, I’ve heard it and heard it and heard it. I’ve played it in orchestra a gazillion times. I’ve conducted it many times. I’ve heard performances that ranged from astounding to atrocious.
I suppose these days, it has true warhorse status- every serious violinist has learned it. One could walk the hallways at the IU School of Music when I was a student and hear 35 people practicing it at once- and almost all of them playing it damn well.
And yet, the piece remains a curiously high risk work of art, one that somehow seems to confound many performers. How can such a well-known masterpiece still be performed regularly with cuts that Tchaikovsky abhorred and which only weaken the structure of the work?
It is the nature of a such a famous piece that it will ultimately be heard in all manner of performances, good and bad, but I can’t help but feel that it gets more than its fair share of the bad. Somehow, in spite of those many performances which fall into the obvious traps (sensationalistic, routine, competition-ish), the piece survives in the hearts of music lovers worldwide.
1877 was the year of Tchaikovsky’s disastrous marriage to Antonia Milyukova, a former student who made so little impression on him that he couldn’t even remember when he received her first love letter. The marriage only lasted a few months, but drove Tchaikovsky to a botched suicide attempt. Rescued from the situation by his brother Anatoly, Tchaikovsky seemed to recover his focus and inspiration rather quickly. In the early months of 1878 he completed the two works he’d been working on before his marriage: the Fourth Symphony and Eugene Onegin. Shortly thereafter he had a visit from another former student, and likely past (and possibly current) lover, the violinist Yosif Kotek. The two played through Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnol, and Tchaikovsky was struck by the work’s freshness, and Lalo’s willingness to avoid the sobriety he associated with German essays in the genre. Tchaikovsky quickly set to work on his own Concerto, working closely with Kotek, who learned the violin part as Tchaikovsky wrote it and helped advise the composer on writing for the violin. Progress on the Concerto was swift, and the work was finished within a month. In the end, however, it was not to be Kotek who would bring the work to life. Tchaikovsky dedicated the new Concerto to Leopold Auer, then the leading violin soloist and pedagogue in Russian musical life. A premiere was planned for March 1879, but Auer pulled out, reportedly dismissing the Concerto as “unplayable” (Auer later firmly denied saying this) Tchaikovsky was devastated, humiliated, and the concert was cancelled.
It took another two years for the work to find a first performance, but this was not to be a happy occasion for Tchaikovsky, either. A young, relatively unknown violinist named Adolph Brodsky learned the piece and organized a performance with none other than the Vienna Philharmonic and conductor Hans Richter. Not only did the concert go poorly, it drew one of the most vituperative reviews in all music history from the influential critic Eduard Hanslick. Hanslick said of the piece that it was music “whose stink you can hear.” Tchaikovsky never forgot that review and could quote it word for word until the end of his life.
(The 75-year-old Leopold Auer shreds some Brahms)
Auer was eventually shamed into learning the Concerto, and became an important advocate for the piece, although his legacy remains decidedly mixed. To his credit, he performed the piece many times, and, perhaps more importantly, taught it to some of the greatest violinists of the new century, including Jascha Heifitz, Nathan Milstein, Mischa Ellman and Efrem Zimbalist. On the other hand, Auer insisted on making his own “version” of the work, which he taught to his many students, rewriting several passages and introducing many cuts in the score, and, sadly, many of these changes continue to appear in performances of leading violinists to this day. Auer’s changes are worse than unnecessary – they represent a major defacing of a great work of art, and a strangely enduring defacing at that.
I’ve already pointed out that Auer’s cuts and rewritings to the Violin Concerto constitute a very regrettable stain on that great violinist’s reputation. Nevertheless, we should remember one thing about Auer’s role in the genesis of the Concerto: while the piece was inspired by Tchaikovsky’s fling with Kotek, and although Brodsky would be the one who brought the piece into the world at last, while writing the work, Tchaikovsky always had Auer in mind as the soloist for the premiere, and as the planned dedicatee.
We’re very lucky that a few bits of Auer’s playing survive on recording. Although he is remembered as the godfather of the great Russian school of violin playing, Auer himself was Hungarian and studied in Vienna with Jakob Dont, Josef Hellmesberger Sr. and Josef Joachim. As the excerpt above shows, what Auer got from Joachim was a kind of super-focused intensity of contact between bow and string, and a very sustained, well-projected, even, singing sound with fantastic clarity of articulation. Auer, at least in the few clips that survive, seems to play with a more frequent and intense vibrato than Joachim.
But what did his students get from Auer, and what, if anything, does their playing tell us about how the Tchaikovsky should be played? Perhaps no instrumental pedagogue in history had so huge a legacy of astounding students as Auer. Those who come close to him in sheer numbers like Ivan Galamian and Dorothy Delay in essence gave up playing to teach full time. Auer was a formidable and prolific performer and had a long career.
Auer’s greatest students, including Oscar Shumksy, Misha Elman, Jascha Heifitz, Efram Zimbalist and Nathan Milstein were a very diverse group of distinct personalities. No fan of the violin would ever mistake Heifitz’s playing for Elman’s. Their very different takes on the Tchaikovsky, however, share a number of qualities, most importantly, in my opinion, in their fundamental approach to the use of the bow. All of them are superb lyrical players, all play with incredible focus, and an incredible sense of linear intensity. Their “voices” were fundamentally different- Heifitz with his very fast vibrato and laser-like directness, Elman with his more old-school sensibility, his elegance and aristocratic passion, and Milstein with his incredible vocal naturalness and virtuoso’s sense of courting danger- for me, his was always the perfect voice, even if Heifitz was the more perfect singer. Vibrato in their performances is generously applied, but constantly varied and colored, and often quite restrained and narrow. Somewhere in their the breadth of their interpretive differences, the vastly wide-ranging contrasts of their personalities, and the similarity and variety of their tonal vocabularies, one begins to get a sense of what the parameters of a historically grounded approach to Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece might sound like, at least in instrumental terms. I’ve selected below, almost at random, recordings of three of these eminent violinists for comparison, but a curious listener will discover just as much of interest by seeing how each of these players’ approach varies throughout their career, from performance to performance, and recording to recording.
If the careful study of early recordings can help us to understand the soloist’s balance of intensity, lyricism, power, delicacy and classical clarity that Tchaikovsky seemed to have in mind when writing the piece, it’s important to strenuously point out that I can scarcely think of any piece of music which has suffered more from being learned from recordings than this one. Far too many young violinists know only their own part (we call them “top liners”), and have bypassed careful study of the full score by substituting the imitation of other artists’ (and their own teachers’) mannerisms and choices.
In fact, the rigid regurgitation of the nuances of a given recording would surely have been abhorrent to a player like Mischa Elman, whose playing is marked by such a natural, easy, in-the-moment sense of flexibility, and an uncanny ability to make one wonder if he’s improvising at times.
Rubato is the salt and vibrato the pepper of Romantic music- the essential seasonings which brings the flavor of it to life. Tchaikovsky, for all his classicism, would probably be pretty horrified to hear a strictly metronomic “the Urtext and nothing but the Urtext” reading of his Concerto, but by the time one is listening to a third or fourth generation imitation of a tempo nuance that an early 20th c. player probably only did once or twice in his career, one has blurred completely the line between engaging creatively with Tchaikovsky’s text, and not knowing, or worse yet not caring, what that text actually is. Remember, you can learn a poem in a foreign language by ear and repeat it accurately without having any idea what it means- this is not an interpretive approach an artist ought to settle for.
My advice to a violinist learning, or relearning, the piece would be to learn it from the score and to analyze it as one would a symphonic work (ask a conductor or composer how if you need to), treating the solo part as an integrated and interdependent part of the musical whole. The first movement is symphonic in both scope and character, and it’s important for the soloist to not only have all kinds of cool ideas about when to take time and all that fun stuff, but to understand the structure, to understand how each section develops, ebbs and flows. How did Tchaikovsky hear the piece unfolding its totality in his inner ear?
The second movement’s lyrical simplicity and the finale’s rustic virtuosity show Tchaikovsky deploying very different facets of his art. For all its high spirits, the Finale is just as carefully (and beautifully) constructed as the first movement. It’s lighter character puts the concerto in the same tradition as concerti for violin and piano by Brahms and Beethoven, in which the main structural weight of the work is in the first movement. However, Tchaikovsky never intended the finale to be a throwaway affair, which is why the cuts (and the rewrites to the violin part) which originated with Auer are such a travesty. By shortening the movement, they turn it into something much more empty and merely showy than the composer intended. It’s no more repetitive than the last movement of the Beethoven Violin Concerto (less so, actually), and nobody would dare cut Beethoven.
It’s no surprise that a piece as popular and ubiquitous would invite performances which go to sometimes absurd lengths to stand out from the crowd. In 80’s and 90’s, the way to get noticed with the Tchaikovsky was to treat it like an Olympic sporting event and try to rack up as many world records as you could: the world’s widest vibrato, world’s closes-to-the-bridge contact point, world’s loudest violin, world’s fastest finale, world’s cleanest octaves… You get the picture. Even in concerts and recordings, the competition mentality seemed to dominate. As with the imitation of recordings, treating the work like a 100 yard dash or a powerlifting event tends to make one forget what the piece actually is- we play faster to show we can play faster, we play louder to show we can play louder.
More recently, we’ve seen a number of soloists chuck the baby right out with the bathwater of the competition mentality with performances that simply strive to be as bizarre and contrarian as possible. As anyone who has raised a toddler will know, being contrary does not always equate to being wise, reasonable, knowledgeable or inspired. Do we really need a ponticello Tchaikovsky, a Baroque Tchaikovksy, a flautando Tchaikovsky or or a fiddle Tchaikovsky? Or, for that matter, a brutalist Tchaikovsky or a metronome Tchaikovsky? All of these approaches can only be delivered by limiting the dynamic and expressive range of the violin, which seriously impairs the ability of the soloist to do justice to the structure of the work, particularly the first movement, with it’s long, gradually evolving melodic arches. A real re-think of the piece ought to be about a careful and detailed examination of the text, challenging oneself to find where the balance between head and heart lies. It’s about making millions of small decisions free from vanity, not about looking for one big blockbuster gimmick to get yourself noticed. It’s about finding 1000 ways to use and not vibrato, not simply turing it to stun or turning it off completely. Doing something novel with a piece like the Tchaikovsky is not hard- little kids come up with novel ideas for food all the time, but most folks wouldn’t want to eat roast beef with marshmallow sauce. Bringing such a familiar piece to life with total commitment and honesty is harder than simply playing the whole concerto with a bass bow. Moving an audience is harder, and far more meaningful, than simply surprising or shocking them.
At the end of the day, maybe the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto would actually benefit from a few more performances where the audience left talking more about Tchaikovsky’s genius and less about the approach of the soloist?
Not long ago, I did the piece with my friend Tamsin Waley-Cohen, who recorded this fascinating little video with some of her thoughts about the piece. I think what she says about the stylistic commonalities between the Concerto and Tchaikovsky’s ballet scores is really spot on
I’ve conducted the Tchaikovsky now many times both with and without the cuts. In every case, I’ve found the cuts to be unnecessary and destructive, as are Auer’s re-writings of the solo part. However, that’s not say by any means that I haven’t enjoyed working with my colleagues in those performances. At the end of the day, it’s the violinist’s piece to make or break- the conductor can encourage, advise and suggest a little bit here and there, but at the end of the day, my job is to make their decision, whether I would have made the same decision, sound like the right decision. I’ve done some thrilling performances with the cuts, and one just hopes that someday, I can repeat the piece with those same wonderful colleagues without!
Guy Rickards, Gramophone
Join Ken in 2016-17 for
More Krenek with Mihail Korzhev and the ESO
The world premiere of John Joubert’s opera “Jane Eyre”
A new symphony from Philip Sawyers
Mahler 10 in Colorado
Robert Matthew-Walker in the July-September 2016 issue of Musical Opinion
“The performances are exceptionally good, with Mikhail Korzhev proving a terrific virtuoso and highly sensitive musician. Indeed, at that level, it is hard to imagine these works ever being better recorded. The orchestral plays with formidable musicianship and commitment under Kenneth Woods.
Ever wonder what sort of concertos exist for the violin beyond the marvelous mainstays from Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Bruch, Brahms and Sibelius? Well- there’s a lot out there.
There are a number of tremendous 20th. C concerti that are now pretty well established in the repertoire, such as those by Shostakovich (particularly his First), Barber, Berg, Bartók (particularly his Second) and Prokofiev. Then there are those works which are still relatively rarely sighted in the concert hall, but have been recorded and discussed quite broadly- Korngold’s, Shostakovich’s Second (even greater than the First), the Khachaturian (not a fan!). More recently, there are modern classics by Lutoslawski, John Adams, John Corigliano and Alfred Schnittke. All major works, none heard as often as I’d like live, but all well known among musicians and readily available on disc. Today we’re looking farther out, towards the uncharted frontier of the repertoire.
Of course, there’s no point in directing you towards completely obscure works- if you can’t listen to them, there’s really no point. Here then are 10 pieces you should listen to today. If you can buy the CD, you should- downloading a stream does nothing to support future recordings of unknown music. Vote with your pocketbook for a recording industry that continues to make great music widely available. There’s a lot more out there. This list, while “official” and “all time” is by no means exclusive or complete.
Which works do you think are the unknown gems of the violin repertoire? Share your thoughts in the comments.
The numbering/ordering of the 10 works on this list is completely arbitrary.
Schumann wrote his final orchestral work for his very close friend, the violinist Joseph Joachim. Joachim expressed great early enthusiasm for the piece, but made a fool of himself during a run through of it with orchestra and then suppressed the work, stipulating it could only be published 100 years after his death. The story of how the work came to light is one of the strangest and funniest in music history. The Violin Concerto has none of the quicksilver wit or boundless fluency of rhetoric that so animates Schumann’s early piano music. Instead, it is austere, strange and often incredibly beautiful music. The slow movement may well be the most haunting few minutes of music written in the 19th C- I can scarcely think of anything so sad and fragile.
John McCabe’s death in 2015 was a devastating blow to British musical life. While by no means an unknown composer, the sheer magnitude of his accomplishment remains somewhat under recognized simply because so many of his major pieces await commercial recordings and regular performances. One such work is his Second Violin Concerto, a large-scale, bold, magnificent work which combines a sort of Bartókian intensity and strength of character with a potent lyrical impulse. It was one of the pieces that those of us who admired and loved John were scrambling to record before he died. I’m still scrambling.
Yes- I am biased. This was the first piece we recorded for my first commercial CD as a conductor (for Avie). It was premiered in 1933 in the days just before Hitler’s ascension to power, when Gál was still one of the leading composers of the German-speaking world. On that occasion, it was performed by the leading German violinist of the day, Georg kulenkampff with the legendary conductor Fritz Busch conducting the Dresden Staatskapelle. The work had to wait 71 years for a second performance. The infinitely seductive, magical opening melody sets the tone for a work of sublime lyricism. It’s been compared often to the now well-established Korngold Concerto, a work I’ve also always loved. The Gál is an even deeper, greater, more important concerto.
Okay, I know the sceptics among you are starting to raise eyebrows. Two Gál concertos in a row on this list? Surely the author is just trying to sell CDs. Say what you will-Gál’s Concertino for Violin and Strings is that good of a piece. I dare say, it’s an even greater work than his magnificent Violin Concerto. And what’s wrong with selling CD’s anyway? The six years since the completion of the Violin Concerto had seen Gál’s life turned upside down. Written just after his family had fled to the UK, it is a work of serene beauty. Gál’s daughter writes of the work that “Gál did not believe in music as a sounding board for the chaos outside, but rather as a place of refuge from the chaos and an affirmation of transcendent values…” Be sure to listen to the astonishing fugue- it’s amazing music, and I was quite pleased with how it turned out in the recording.
One of the highlights of my 2015-6 season (and there were actually quite a few) was getting my first chance to conduct the music of Kurt Schwertsik. I heard his Nachtmusiken at the Mahler in Manchester festival in 2010 and thought it would be the perfect work with which to launch my tenure at the Colorado MahlerFest. Getting to know more of Kurt’s wise, sophisticated and ridiculously beautiful music has been a joyful by-product of that decision, and one of the most thrilling of his pieces is his Violin Concerto no. 2, “Alayzin and Sacromonte” dedicated to his wife Christa (“my personal advisor”). Schwertsik’s wonderfully enigmatic introduction to the work takes the form of a poem:
Under southern skies:
Birdcalls at the break of dawn
Olive trees in the fragrant heat
The wild colors of the dusk
The immensity of space in the night
Through the curtain of stars
I almost forgot the palms
It’s easy to see parallels in the lives of Hans Gál and Mieczyslaw Weinberg- both victims of Nazi oppression who had to rebuild their lives in foreign lands. While Gál escaped to the UK, Weinberg went east, settling in the Soviet Union where he became a friend and duo partner of Shostakovich and went on to compose an enormous amount of music. Like Gál, people are finally starting to rediscover and re-evaluate his vast output, and the Violin Concerto is one of his more wonderful offerings. However, where Gál’s music often comes across as a refuge from the horrors of the world, Weinberg’s Violin Concerto plunges us right into the deep end, a sound world of raw emotion and brutal contrast. It’s high stakes, high powered, very moving stuff.
Hartmann’s Concerto may not really belong on this list. It’s been recorded several times and is something of a modern classic among connoisseurs. On the other hand, Harmann’s music seems all but un-programmable outside of the German-speaking world. I first encountered Hartmann via his magnificent First String Quartet. I heard the piece on the radio- my first reaction was that it seemed there was a Bartók String Quartet I didn’t know, but I quickly detected a distinct musical personality in the music and sat in the car till the end of the work to find out what I was hearing. Within a few days I’d tracked down both quartets, the symphonies and much of the rest of his output and have been trying to perform it, without success, ever since. Written at almost exactly the same time as Gál’s Concertino, Hartmann explores darker places. Maybe some advocacy for this, probably his best-known piece, can help open the doors to more regular performances of his music in the rest of the world.
2016 is the 150th anniversary of the birth of Busoni, one of the most influential musical thinkers of the early 20th C. There’s been a certain amount of criticism voiced over the fact that his music will go un-played at this year’s Proms, but it’s not generally easy music to programme. His best known work is his monumental Piano Concerto, a nearly 2 hour long musical behemoth for piano, huge orchestra and male voice choir. The Proms are one of the few organizations that could do it justice, but it would have been a massive commitment of resources. Busoni’s relatively early Violin Concerto is a more user-friendly, if less ambitious, work. I conducted it recently and found it to be rewarding for both the audience and the orchestra. The influence of Brahms and Bruch is easy to spot, and there are some charmingly blatant quotes from the Brahms Violin Concerto and his Third Symphony. Busoni lacks the kind of melodic genius that Bruch and Brahms had in spades, but this concerto is a superbly effective virtuoso vehicle nonetheless, and it has a certain quirky humor to it that I find irresistible. Played by someone like the ever-astonishing Frank Peter Zimmermann, it’s a true tour de force.
I first encountered Rautavaara’s music at Aspen in the 1990’s. We played Angels and Visitations with a ridiculously young conductor on the podium who had a gift for irritating the players like nobody I’ve ever seen. In spite of everyone’s foul mood, the Rautavaara made a huge impression on many of us, and I’ve been struck again and again by the beauty and power of his music. When I raced out to buy Angels and Visitations, I discovered the Violin Concerto in a fantastic performance by Elmar Olivera. Find it. Buy it.
The first work we commissioned in my time at the ESO turned out to be a gem. Written for the violinist Harriet Mackenzie, Pritchard as written synaesthetically in response to the remarkable series of paintings by Maggi Habling, “Walls of Water.” Pritchard’s one movement concerto is a dark and intense work, but also a very beautiful one. I don’t think it will stay on an list of “unknown works” for very long. In fact, I think it’s not unreasonable to believe that all ten of these pieces will soon be off this list.
The rediscovery and reevaluation of the music of Mieczyslaw Weinberg is surely one of the more positive stories in classical music in recent years. If this blog post piques your interest in Weinberg, do check out the podcast version of BBC Radio 3’s recent “Composer of the Week” series on him (scroll down the page and click where it says “clip”). Donald Macleod’s description of Weinberg as “the best composer you’ve probably never heard of” is telling. There are now recordings available of most of his orchestral music and more comes out all the time. A major biography is urgently needed. Sadly the only major English-language book on Weinberg is a strangely disinterested and low-energy affair; hardly more than a list of dates, places and works, with fairly little to offer in terms of insightful commentary about, or even perceptible enthusiasm for, the music. It does, at least, cover the basics in a utilitarian way, and is worth reading on that basis. His String Trio is a remarkable work that seems to always have an incredible impact whenever we play it live. My program note for the Trio follows.
Mieczyslaw Weinberg was born in Warsaw in 1919, where he completed his studies as a pianist at the Conservatory in 1939. He had hardly finished his education when he had to flee the German occupation of Warsaw. He managed to escape to the Russian border, but his parents and sister were captured and burned alive. During 1942, Weinberg was a refugee in Tashkent when the composer Israel Finkelstein, a colleague of Shostakovich, took an interest in him. Finkelstein showed Shostakovich Weinberg’s First Symphony, and Shostakovich was so impressed that he arranged for Weinberg to move to Moscow. The two composers forged a close friendship that remained central to both of their lives until Shostakovich’s death in 1975. Weinberg never forgot the role Shostakovich had played in saving his life and was clearly grateful for the inspiration he had taken from him, writing ‘although I never had lessons from him, I count myself as his pupil, as his flesh and blood’. In exchange, Weinberg fostered Shostakovich’s abiding interest in Jewish folk music, and it is around the time of their emerging friendship that Shostakovich wrote his most important Jewish-themed works: the Second Piano Trio, the Fourth String Quartet and the song-cycle ‘From Jewish Poetry’.
The influence of Jewish, gypsy and Moldavian folks themes is pervasive in Weinberg’s String Trio (1950). With his ability to seamlessly integrate folk material, fugal technique and post-tonal harmony, Weinberg in 1950 seems already quite far along in reconciling the old and new, as Penderecki, Kurtág and Schnittke would seek to do a half-generation later. The first movement opens with a gently melancholic tune in the cello and builds to a furious climax, before winding down in a more Klezmer-inflected restatement of the opening. The haunting second movement, an eerie fugue, is the one part of the Trio that is free of folk influence. The finale, on the other hand, is almost pure folk music: emerging over a long, slow-burning ostinato, it builds to a screaming climax of orchestral proportions, before dying away and ending in desolation. It is not known if the work was premiered publicly at the time it was written (it seems unlikely) – it remained unpublished until 2007. Shortly after completing the piece, Weinberg was arrested by the KGB for ‘Zionist activities’ and was only released when Shostakovich interceded on his behalf. When the authorities let him out of prison a few days after Stalin’s death in March 1953, it was Shostakovich he rang first.
c. 2012 Kenneth Woods
A fantastic review from Eric Levi for the recent Avie Records recording of Gál and Mozart Piano Concertos with Sarah Beth Briggs and the Royal Northern Sinfonia in the August, 2016 issue of BBC Music Magazine.
“It’s something of a mystery as to why this attractive and accessible work enjoyed only a few performances in Britain and Germany before falling into complete oblivion. Whatever the reasons, I cannot imagine it receiving a more convincing account than the one given here. Sarah Beth Briggs has the necessary breadth and depth of tone and touch to navigate both the barnstorming bravura passages in the first movement and the delicate filigree in the figuration in the introspective slow movement. Her partnership with Kenneth Woods, already a seasoned interpreter of this composer’s works, is also impressive, the conductor securing commitment and incisiveness from the Royal Northern Sinfonia.”
The one pervading evil of democracy is the tyranny of the majority, or rather of that party, not always the majority, that succeeds, by force or fraud, in carrying elections.
—?The History of Freedom in Antiquity, 1877
In spite of my deep disappointment and despair at the outcome of last week’s referendum, I’ve been very reluctant to speak out on the issue. As a conductor, one feels a tremendous amount of pressure not to divide one’s audience or alienate potential friends or supporters. One doesn’t want to do or say anything that could have a negative effect on the orchestra or its finances, but, even more importantly, it’s vitally important that concerts be a place where people of diverse views can come together in constructive ways. Music ought to be a unifying presence in our communities whenever possible.
In this instance, there is so much at stake for my children that I feel I have to speak my mind. After all, protecting our children’s future is every parent’s highest priority. My children were born in possession of EU citizenship. I can scarcely think of a more valuable asset to come into the world with- the right to live, study and work in 28 of the most dynamic, culturally vibrant and affluent nations that have ever existed. As a result of last week’s appalling vote, they now stand to lose that citizenship and all the rights, privileges and opportunities that come with it.
To all those who shrug their shoulders and say “well, it’s democracy, we have to live with the result,” I would point out that referendums have been considered the lowest and most dangerous form of democracy since Greek times. Please read and share the Wikipedia article on the “Tyranny of the Majority,” which concisely describes the long history of how societies have tried to protect themselves from the most obvious risk of representative democracy. The right of the majority to rule must be limited to protect the fundamental rights of the minority in any democracy, or society crumbles. The Wikipedia article illustrates how Herbert Spencer in “The Right to Ignore the State” (1851), pointed the problem with the following example
« Suppose, for the sake of argument, that, struck by some Malthusian panic, a legislature duly representing public opinion were to enact that all children born during the next ten years should be drowned. Does anyone think such an enactment would be warrantable? If not, there is evidently a limit to the power of a majority. »
In a free and democratic society, one person or group is not, or should not be, allowed to strip another person or group of their fundamental rights, and citizenship is such a right- it can usually only be stripped by government for serious cause, after due process. Governments have huge latitude over when to grant citizenship to both individuals and classes, but the nature of citizenship is that once bestowed, one’s rights as a citizen are protected in the same way as one’s fellow citizens. In this case, it is legally absurd that a British person’s EU citizenship can be retracted without their consent while a French or German person’s EU citizenship is safe.
The referendum was undemocratic (because the rights of the minority were not protected) and unconstitutional (because it imposes a loss of fundamental rights on a minority).
If membership in the EU was simply a matter of being part of a trading organization that shared certain laws, trade agreements and treaties, one could make the case that voting to extract the nation from those treaties is a relatively simple matter. Voting to strip your friends, neighbours and their children of their EU citizenship is not only not a simple matter, it’s clearly illegal and deeply immoral. It is no less absurd than stripping people of their British citizenship because they grew up on the North side of their street, or stripping people of their American citizenship because they were born on a Tuesday. Stripping an EU citizen of their citizenship because they were born in Dover instead of Calais is equally wrong and unfair. A second referendum ought to not be necessary- I should think the UK Supreme Court would be able to rule the referendum result as invalid, as would the EU Court of Human Rights.
Now is not the time for restraint or resignation when it comes to protecting minority rights of all kinds- Western society, from Europe to the Americas, is closer to fracture and mob rule than at any time in the last 70 years. The economic implications of Brexit have already proven to be far worse than even the most dire predictions of those who advocated a “Remain” vote: world stock markets have seen their biggest-ever two day fall, and the Pound is at a 30 year low as I write. There are reports of widespread acts of racist abuse across the UK. Far Right political parties are more powerful now than any time since 1945, or should I say 1939?
Our politicians’ reaction to this crisis has been shockingly casual- this is not the same thing as losing a football match on a questionable call and accepting the result as a matter of sportsmanship. Lives, societies, economies and fundamental human rights are at stake. A multi-party statement including key members of both Leave and Remain groups can and should be issued which says that while the referendum has shown the urgent need for reform of European institutions, and demonstrated the huge risks to the world economy and European stability of a failure to reform, that the invocation of Article 50 would be unconstitutional, a violation of widely accepted human rights law, and would cause irreparable damage to the British and European economy and social order, and that, therefore, Article 50 must never, and will never, be triggered.
The world is watching and history is already judging. Shrug and the window of opportunity to stop this madness may close. When we make mob rule the law of the land, everything is over. If and when people realise that nobody is going to stop Brexit, I fear the events of the last 72 hours are going to look quaint.
The nearly-washed-up conductor Robert von Bohyarti, former Decca recording artist and long-time conductor of the Minneapolis Philharmonia, is considering launching a solo violin career, it has been learned. Bohyarti, whose instrument is the piano, is reported to feel “a little bored at this stage conducing the same handful of Beethoven and Brahms symphonies over and over again,” saying “I find myself craving new challenges and new repertoire.”
While colleagues in the orchestra wished von Bohyarti well should he choose to pursue a career as a violin soloist, a number of them expressed skepticism about the conductor’s motives for his career change. “I wouldn’t say von Bohyarti is completely nearly-washed-up,” said principal violist David Bratschemeister, “he can still dispatch a pretty good Tchaik 5 on a special occasion when he puts the work in. But his four pattern isn’t what it once was- his second beat is creeping up so it’s not on the same plane as his downbeat, and his cuing is not as precise as it once was. Last year, he gave a cue in The Planets and I couldn’t tell whether he was cueing the second or third clarinet.”
Opinions vary on how age affects the skills of conductors and what causes them to become nearly-washed-up. Professor Boyle D. Hamm at Southwestern Kansas State Community College said “elite conductors, like elite athletes, invariably lose muscle twitch as they get older. A conductor in his late 50’s like Maestro von Bohyarti will not have the same explosion in his upbeat that he will have had in his 20’s, and he’ll not be able to conduct as fast or as loud as he could earlier in his career.”
However, internationally recognized conducting coach and performance guru Rheinhold Zudick believes that age is not always the prime reason for a mid-career decline in skills, and that becoming nearly-washed-up is more likely the result “of a combination of factors to do with time management, repertoire fatigue and waning motivation. Maintaining a world class conducting technique takes constant practice—it’s like training for an Olympic event for your entire life. I would think that von Bohyarti, like many middle-aged athletes and musicians, struggles to find the will to continue to spend the necessary eight hours a day practicing his beat patterns in front of a mirror. But you remember what Fritz Reiner said- “less than eight hours a day in front of the mirror and I know something is wrong, less than seven hours a day in front of the mirror and the critics know something is wrong, and less that six hours a day in front of the mirror, and the public know something is wrong.” If you want to stay at the top, you’ve got to keep climbing.”
Concerns were raised as to whether von Bohyarti might be nearly-washed-up following a performance of La Mer with the Orchestre Symphonique de Paris Sud which critics slammed as being “very nearly flawless and enchanting, beautifully balanced and shaped, but just lacking that last tiny bit of effervescent sparkle.”
“Eet ees true, Chef Bohyarti did struugelle a beet in zi Debussy,” said OSPS general manager Pierre de l’Égout. “Being unable to deliver zee last tiny beet of effervescent sparkle is often a sign that a conducteur is becoming almost neerly-washed-oop.”
New York-based mega-agent Donald Wontford, who has represented Bohyarti since the glory days of his integral Havergal Brian cycle for Deutsche Grammophon in the 1970’s, firmly denied implications that his client’s conducting skills were eroding. “I reject absolutely the suggestion that Robert is approaching becoming almost nearly-washed-up as a conductor. Yes, it’s true he had some struggles with his four pattern recently, but all conductors do at some point. His three pattern remains one of the best in the industry, and I saw him do some cutoffs earlier this year that were as good as I’ve come across in 90 years running this company from my bomb-proof underground bunker.”
“This is not about being nearly-washed-up”, said Wontford, “it’s about a need for new challenges and personal growth, and it started with Robert’s aspiration to grow as an artist, not as a result of widespread critical concerns about his handling of tempo changes in Beethoven symphonies, or worries that his hair flips are not what they once were.”
Bohyarti said his dream of becoming a solo violinist was born almost by accident. “I came home late one night from a concert. I was tired and maybe had a few glasses of champagne at the reception, so I turned on the television to wind down. You never know what you’ll see on in the wee hours of the night. Anyway, there was this fascinating documentary about how the actor John Malkovich, who I really loved in that movie about the jewel thief, decided in mid career to become a puppeteer without any prior training. I thought that was just so inspiring, and so I called Donald the next morning and said I wanted to be a solo violinist, and next month I’m playing my first Bruch Concerto with the Dallas Philharmonic.”
Bohyarti dismissed concerns that his lack of violin training might limit his success as a violin soloist. “There are so many similarities- that’s why so many nearly-washed-up solo violinists become conductors. Any good violinist will tell you that all the sound comes from the right arm, which moves in a very similar way to a baton. It’s just that on the violin, it’s so much simpler- they only have to move the right arm back and forth from side to side. Just two directions, where a conductor has to master four: down, in, out and up! I’m finding it so liberating to simplify and focus on just two dimensions after so many years of being a four dimensional musician.”
“I’ve conducted an orchestra with one of the great violin sections in the world for over 20 years, and I’ve worked with every great violin soloist of the last two generations. I’ve watched them all very carefully to see which hand the bow goes in, what side of the face the violin goes on, everything. I think I know more about violin playing than a lot of these young kids out of Curtis and Juilliard! They may have the chops, but they haven’t lived with the repertoire- I’ve conducted the Brahms Violin Concerto dozens of times, and to do that, I had to learn about twenty different orchestral parts. The solo violinist only has to play one part!”
In spite of his confidence, von Bohyarti says he’s been treating his new career with all due seriousness of purpose. “I’ve always been an autodidact. I couldn’t see the point of going for a lesson with some loser violin professor at Eastman who makes less in a year than I make in a night. I’ve taught conducting all over the world, so I’m teaching myself violin the same way I would teach a young conductor to conduct. I’ve carefully marked up the solo part of the Bruch as I would prepare a Brahms symphony. Green highlighter for first finger notes, yellow for second, blue for third and red for fourth finger- to signal danger!”
“I’ve also been watching tons of YouTube videos. That’s the foundation on which great musicianship is built. You’ve got to study how the great violinists get the music across. I must have spent five hundred hours just watching Horst Herdenglocke videos. Of course, he sounds good, but he’s such a great communicator. I’ve conducted Horst many times, and to me, he’s the Carlos Kleiber of violinists. But I love all the modern players- they’re all so visually exciting to watch.
“It’s interesting to study how violin technique has improved so much since the invention of film and video. The older generation like Oistrakh, Milstein and Heifitz just sort of stood still and played. It’s so primitive. Today, almost every violinist I work with has the most incredible moves. I look at the way they swim their upper bodies, walk around, shake their heads and toss their hair and just think “that is the essence of great musicianship.””
With just over a month until his solo debut, von Bohyarti could hardly contain his enthusiasm: “I feel bad for young violinists, having to go out on the circuit with all these horrible regional orchestras. I’m not sure my ears could cope with working with orchestras like that– I’m used to working with the best. I’m so glad that my success as a conductor means I can start at the top with a really great orchestra like the Dallas Philharmonic. My Strad arrives on Tuesday, and that gives me well over two and a half weeks to translate everything I’ve worked on studying YouTube videos into a really great performance of the Bruch Violin Concerto. I really can’t wait.”
Critic Andrew Achenbach writes in the July 2016 issue of Gramophone Magazine.
“To my ears, Fraser’s richly upholstered orchestration works a treat yet also manages to be astutely appreciative of the simmering passion and sense of loss that permeate this wistful creation (the Adagio slow movement is especially affecting). Plaudits, too, for Woods’s characteristically lucid and fervent performance with his own English Symphony Orchestra, opulently captured by balance engineer Simon Fox-Gál.”
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