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Vienna Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall
Bodies and souls together:
Now, this is an orchestra
BEERI MOALEM
Long cues formed as early as 7 a.m. around the block at 57th Street on this frigid winter morning. But if you weren't there by 8 a.m., after waiting for three hours for rush tickets, you would be turned away empty-handed. Soon, scalpers were selling tickets for $150 and up. But even paying that price, I consider myself lucky, and not only because of the quality of the music; the waiting list to hear the Vienna Philharmonic at its "home court" in the Musikverein is six years for a weekday evening subscription, and 13 years for a weekend subscription! (I couldn't believe it either when I first heard. Skeptics can check for themselves.) They are completely sold out, and it’s not difficult to see why.
The Vienna Philharmonic plays with the best precision and passion that I’ve ever heard. To try to describe it would be futile (but I'll do it anyway), and even its best recordings and annual TV broadcasts don't come close to the excitement of seeing and hearing one of the world's greatest orchestras live. It’s an orchestra of virtuosi, one by one.
Even in most of the top-tier orchestras, fast notes in the high register can sound smeared and blurry. After all, how can one expect hundreds of human fingers to move in perfect unison at such speeds? But the dashing runs that conclude Verdi's Forza del Destino Overture and the thrilling licks that rouse Tchaikovsky's finale to his Fifth Symphony— thousands of notes— were amazingly well-together. Usually, these difficult flurries of notes go up in exciting clouds of dust. But these flurries were so well articulated and unified that the exact textures and details were clearly audible— instead of a flurry, one could make out individual snowflakes. The finite articulation matched the fine golden filigree that adorns Carnegie Hall's Stern Auditorium. A glimmering sheen of sound, almost delicate in its thinness in time, yet potent in its exacting precision.
Awkward contortions, without fear
That is not to say that a calculating German accuracy dominated at the expense of a passionate and emotionally sensitive performance. The Vienna Philharmonic can make dramatic hesitations, change tempos and transform moods at the conductor's whim, and still remain remarkably unified. Emotional response to the music is visible in the facial and body expressions of the musicians and conductor. No matter how much passion the instrumentalists poured into their music making, Maestro Valery Gergiev would match their energy and then some. He would literally lean past the first row of string players' stands and all but poke them with his baton. Not afraid to contort his body into awkward and unflattering positions, he pleadingly wrung every last drop of feeling from the ebullient musicians. The visible theatrics, of course, elevated the audible experience of the performance as well.
With all emotions running at such a fervor, it’s difficult to understand how the orchestra retained such precise control of the technical aspect. But I believe that both energies can assist each other, if they’re allowed to interact freely. Many American orchestras seem to hold a certain reserve— afraid, unable or, most likely, uncomfortable with displaying a pounding heart on the sleeve. Soloists have it, and occasionally section leaders use it. But unless the whole section is committed to giving 120%, and unless the conductor demands 150, it's not going to happen. Just as a fiery energy is contagious, so is a lethargic one. One musician wouldn’t feel comfortable playing his heart out in the company of tuxedoed zombies. Yet that zombie would feel inadequate and would instantly wake up in the company of energetic musicians giving all of their hearts, minds, fingers, mouths, bodies and souls to the music.
Finally, some Viennese music
The ensemble also displays a wide dynamic range, which was shown off in Liszt's Les Preludes and used to great effect. The brass section, seated in a different formation compared with American orchestras, delivered devastatingly glorious fanfares. But the soft end of the dynamic spectrum could have been much softer. Perhaps the foreigners were afraid of playing too quietly in the cavernous Stern Hall, which is much bigger than the Musikverein. From my vantage point in the orchestra level, pianissimos in the Tchaikovsky sounded like mezzo-piano.
The one snafu in the concert occurred at the end of the Liszt, when the concertmaster held the final note noticeably longer than the rest of the orchestra. Can't say that I blame him, though— I didn't want it to end, either! Two encores were given: a waltz and a polka by Johann Strauss— finally, some Viennese Music from the Viennese. In their three-day visit to New York, the Vienna Philharmonic played nothing but French, Italian, Russian and Hungarian music, with one Wagner prelude. I guess I have to wait until next time the Vienna Philharmonic crosses the Atlantic to hear it play Brahms, Beethoven and Mozart. Or I could go to Vienna and wait six years for a ticket.
Now, this is an orchestra
BEERI MOALEM
Long cues formed as early as 7 a.m. around the block at 57th Street on this frigid winter morning. But if you weren't there by 8 a.m., after waiting for three hours for rush tickets, you would be turned away empty-handed. Soon, scalpers were selling tickets for $150 and up. But even paying that price, I consider myself lucky, and not only because of the quality of the music; the waiting list to hear the Vienna Philharmonic at its "home court" in the Musikverein is six years for a weekday evening subscription, and 13 years for a weekend subscription! (I couldn't believe it either when I first heard. Skeptics can check for themselves.) They are completely sold out, and it’s not difficult to see why.
The Vienna Philharmonic plays with the best precision and passion that I’ve ever heard. To try to describe it would be futile (but I'll do it anyway), and even its best recordings and annual TV broadcasts don't come close to the excitement of seeing and hearing one of the world's greatest orchestras live. It’s an orchestra of virtuosi, one by one.
Even in most of the top-tier orchestras, fast notes in the high register can sound smeared and blurry. After all, how can one expect hundreds of human fingers to move in perfect unison at such speeds? But the dashing runs that conclude Verdi's Forza del Destino Overture and the thrilling licks that rouse Tchaikovsky's finale to his Fifth Symphony— thousands of notes— were amazingly well-together. Usually, these difficult flurries of notes go up in exciting clouds of dust. But these flurries were so well articulated and unified that the exact textures and details were clearly audible— instead of a flurry, one could make out individual snowflakes. The finite articulation matched the fine golden filigree that adorns Carnegie Hall's Stern Auditorium. A glimmering sheen of sound, almost delicate in its thinness in time, yet potent in its exacting precision.
Awkward contortions, without fear
That is not to say that a calculating German accuracy dominated at the expense of a passionate and emotionally sensitive performance. The Vienna Philharmonic can make dramatic hesitations, change tempos and transform moods at the conductor's whim, and still remain remarkably unified. Emotional response to the music is visible in the facial and body expressions of the musicians and conductor. No matter how much passion the instrumentalists poured into their music making, Maestro Valery Gergiev would match their energy and then some. He would literally lean past the first row of string players' stands and all but poke them with his baton. Not afraid to contort his body into awkward and unflattering positions, he pleadingly wrung every last drop of feeling from the ebullient musicians. The visible theatrics, of course, elevated the audible experience of the performance as well.
With all emotions running at such a fervor, it’s difficult to understand how the orchestra retained such precise control of the technical aspect. But I believe that both energies can assist each other, if they’re allowed to interact freely. Many American orchestras seem to hold a certain reserve— afraid, unable or, most likely, uncomfortable with displaying a pounding heart on the sleeve. Soloists have it, and occasionally section leaders use it. But unless the whole section is committed to giving 120%, and unless the conductor demands 150, it's not going to happen. Just as a fiery energy is contagious, so is a lethargic one. One musician wouldn’t feel comfortable playing his heart out in the company of tuxedoed zombies. Yet that zombie would feel inadequate and would instantly wake up in the company of energetic musicians giving all of their hearts, minds, fingers, mouths, bodies and souls to the music.
Finally, some Viennese music
The ensemble also displays a wide dynamic range, which was shown off in Liszt's Les Preludes and used to great effect. The brass section, seated in a different formation compared with American orchestras, delivered devastatingly glorious fanfares. But the soft end of the dynamic spectrum could have been much softer. Perhaps the foreigners were afraid of playing too quietly in the cavernous Stern Hall, which is much bigger than the Musikverein. From my vantage point in the orchestra level, pianissimos in the Tchaikovsky sounded like mezzo-piano.
The one snafu in the concert occurred at the end of the Liszt, when the concertmaster held the final note noticeably longer than the rest of the orchestra. Can't say that I blame him, though— I didn't want it to end, either! Two encores were given: a waltz and a polka by Johann Strauss— finally, some Viennese Music from the Viennese. In their three-day visit to New York, the Vienna Philharmonic played nothing but French, Italian, Russian and Hungarian music, with one Wagner prelude. I guess I have to wait until next time the Vienna Philharmonic crosses the Atlantic to hear it play Brahms, Beethoven and Mozart. Or I could go to Vienna and wait six years for a ticket.
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