A fine French program at the Boston Symphony on Wednesday night was rescheduled from February 9, when the concert was snowed out, and the result was a hall less than half full. But it was very rewarding to that diminished throng. This was also my first view of Alain Altinoglu, whom I had known as the conductor of the excellent first-ever recording of Édouard Lalo’s first opera, Fiesque, which was never produced anywhere until just a few years ago.
A perennial favorite, Berlioz’s Roman Carnival Overture led off; the printed notes recountred BSO performances as early as 1883, and Koussevitzky conducted it more than 50 times. This outing found it clean, precise, and vivid, although several times it was also too loud in the brass department, which I attribute to Altinoglu’s highly choreographic conducting style — he was all over the place beating, cueing, gesturing, and swinging, almost jumping, seemingly demanding more at every moment. Yet apart from the cavorting, everything in his conducting was admirably precise, from the beat pattern to the registering. One didn’t have to actually watch his antics on the podium to respect the confident sound of his results. This also means that the world-class Boston Symphony players knew the music backward and forward, and took what they needed from the conductor; but Altinoglu’s gyrational style would not have been readily comprehended a second-tier orchestra.
Le Carnaval Romain (1844), an extract from the failed opera Benvenuto Cellini of 1838, mature and virtuosic Berlioz, seemed like a warmup for the overture to Béatrice et Bénédict (his last work, 1862), with the same kind of chopped-up, multi-sectional sprawling form, with really amazing orchestral brilliance. There were some golden moments. Robert Sheena, one of the best English horn players anywhere, gave us a fine solo in the Andante introduction, in C major; the long melody repeats in E major, and again climactically in A major, in canon between upper and lower woodwinds and strings, with a honky-tonk brass and percussion accompaniment that no other composer could have got away with without provoking laughter. After the introduction, the Allegro vivace begins with a main theme pianissimo in muted strings — subtle, daring, even exquisite, and a perfect setup for the sudden explosive ff that follows.
Lalo’s Symphonie espagnole, op. 21 (1874), is hardly a symphony; it’s a violin concerto in five movements, written for and in admiration of Pablo de Sarasate, and one can hear in it regular echoes of notable works not yet written: Sarasate’s own Zigeunerweisen (1878) and Saint-Saëns’s Havanaise (1888). This most popular of all of Lalo’s works is a bright illustration of the Spanish infatuation that penetrated much French music of the time, including especially Bizet’s Carmen (1875) and Chabrier’s España (1883), and these in turn heralded Debussy’s and Ravel’s Spanish music of a generation later. This performance featured Renaud Capuçon, 41-year-old French violinist, and his execution was brilliant and commanding. Most of the listeners might have wished for a rendition that wasn’t quite so hurried, especially in the first and last movements, where one wanted enough breadth of tempo, and even rubato, that would have allowed more time for expression; the fingerwork was expert in the fast passages, but one wanted to hear it more clearly, simply because of its fleet virtuosity between high registers and low. A transparent and crisp take withal. Lalo, who is now almost entirely forgotten, deserves revival; the BSO needs to revive the ballet suites from Namouna, not heard here since 1928 (and currently enjoying a ballet performance in New York).
Henri Dutilleux, who died at age 97 in 2013, long enjoyed a partnership with the BSO, thanks first of all to Charles Munch, who commissioned Dutilleux’s Second Symphony, subtitled “Le Double” because of the chamber orchestra that is situated in front of the main ensemble. I was present for the premiere performance of this thrilling work in 1959, and for the second performance next year at Tanglewood. (Both times the harpsichord was played by my teacher, Luise Vosgerchian.) It was gratifying to hear last night how well this rarely-heard and completely modern symphony has stood up over the decades. In three movements, with textures ranging from gentle to massive, from solo string quartet to huge tutti, this symphony projects authoritative musical coherence, regulated especially by a small cohort of melodic motives, and motivic harmony. Some particular chordal sonorities recur — one of these seemed recognizably inspired by Stravinsky’s Symphonies of Wind Instruments, a work dedicated to Debussy’s memory, and we remember that Dutilleux, two years old when Debussy died, inherited some of his mantle. The opening Animato, ma misterioso was made mysterious by a recurring clarinet ripple; it returned from time to time as a signal between great orchestral outbursts in fast triple meter. The Andantino sostenuto slow movement is marked by long-sustained pitches that diffuse throughout broad expanses of changing texture, eventually yielding to a three-note motive that marks the ending of the slow movement and the beginning of the Allegro fuocoso finale. This was a fast 2/4, and fiery enough, but led to a Calmato episode in slow triple meter at the end, with a repeated upper melody and a regularly climbing bass, all the while bringing back the widely-spaced motivic chord that haunted the entire texture. The work does not disclose all of its complexities on first hearing, but it is already a memorably impressive work, and the orchestra obviously appreciated its own fine task.
The second suite from Albert Roussel’s Bacchus et Ariane (1930) wrapped things up. This favorite of Charles Munch still glows with orchestral radiance. Roussel has always been an enigmatic original who doesn’t quite fit the French-Impressionist mold; his harmonic sense is sui generis and seemingly somewhat disorderly, influenced a little by Ravel on the one hand and Stravinsky on the other; but his orchestral sense is infallible. The Greek ballet (choreography by Serge Lifar, one of the Diaghilev descendants) is no mere Daphnis et Chloé imitation, at least not the music. There are wonderful timbres and rhythms throughout. The sleepy muted-string beginning, a D major triad penetrated by an F-natural oboe note, yields to a lovely high-register solo viola, admirably projected by Steven Ansell, and answered by Malcolm Lowe’s solo violin. Ariadne wakes up and becomes more energetic, and a fast 6/8 dance is soon decorated with dazzling flute-piccolo sextuplets. There’s a kiss motive; then an erotic sea with surging waves; and finally a vigorous, marchlike bacchanale in which I thought I could distinguish a pattern of ten beats (3 + 3 + 2 + 2). There’s one moment here when the whole horn section proceeds up a chromatic scale in augmented triads, like a house afire; trumpets double it on the repetition.
In this expertly-produced French program in the durable BSO tradition, the only vaguely Germanic “heavy” was the Lalo, already a lot lighter and more interesting than, say, Max Bruch. The eveninig paid homage to the Second Empire, the belle époque, and the antidodecaphonic heritage, from start to finish.
Mark DeVoto, musicologist and composer, is an expert in Alban Berg, also Ravel and Debussy. A graduate of Harvard College (1961) and Princeton (PhD, 1967), he has published extensively on these composers and many music subjects, most notably, harmony.
“…but Altinoglu’s gyrational style would not have been readily comprehended a second-tier orchestra.”
One presumes that master conductors know how much to expect from the orchestra they are conducting at the moment and adapt their demands accordingly. Andris Nelsons, another wonderful musician, also conducts demonstratively and in much detail, a characteristic much appreciated, I believe, by the orchestra and audiences alike, producing wonderful results.
With ‘second tier’ orchestras, chances are both conductors (and others) would focus more on basics or on whatever would produce the best possible result,- very similarly to an expert instrumentalist adapting her/his playing to the instrument on hand.
Looking forward to the concert this evening.
Comment by Tanya Bartevyan — March 30, 2017 at 3:41 pm
A spot-on review of a really excellent concert! I attended Thursday night, and the orchestra’s response to everything – especially the Dutilleux – was extremely gratifying. I was impressed with the complete mastery of this program by this young conductor, who is clearly a rising star. It may be obvious to say this, but hearing the BSO in this French repertoire is an unmatched experience when they are on form, as they surely were Thursday, and for that matter, Tuesday, March 21st when Bernard Haitink led a simply peerless performance of Debussy’s Nocturnes. Don’t miss Saturday’s repeat of this very engaging program.
Comment by John W. Ehrlich — March 31, 2017 at 11:40 am
The atmospheric effects of the Dutilleux were sensuous and hypnotic, starting with the “clarinet ripple” as DeVoto aptly calls it. A young man sitting next to me, budding conductor from NYC, said that the chamber orchestra seating was dictated by Dutilleux. I was going to go to hear it again today, but alas, it is not on today. Peccato!
This octogenarian was so glad for the eroticism of the Roussel.
Comment by Bettina A Norton — March 31, 2017 at 11:58 am
I discovered the Dutilleux Symphony back in 1971 as an 18 year old budding jazz bass player. It was one of the revelatory works of my own time that inspired me to devote myself to orchestral playing. To be playing this magnificent masterwork as a member of the BSO this week is indescribably gratifying. For those of us who cherish this and other late 20th Century pieces, the pleasure of hearing them live is a dishearteningly rare occurrence. The only live performances I have ever heard of this work are the ones in which I have been a participant. I’ve never once experienced the luxury of hearing the work from the audience, from where it can be best enjoyed. But I count my blessings.
James
Comment by James Orleans — April 1, 2017 at 12:11 am
An unusually pointed take on this conductor and his skills:
https://www.bostonglobe.com/arts/music/2017/03/30/alain-altinoglu-aces-bso-debut-with-all-french-program/CJ9xFNhBeCWdF6guQNK7qJ/story.html
Comment by david moran — April 1, 2017 at 1:17 pm
He is simply “one” with the music, with the orchestra, and with the moment.
Comment by Tanya Bartevyan — April 1, 2017 at 2:23 pm
Alain Altinoglu conducted beautifully on Thursday night, and the result…merveilleux! I don’t think this evening will be the last time he leads this orchestra.
Comment by nimitta — April 1, 2017 at 3:21 pm
Is it possible to argue convincingly that the greater the orchestra, the more difficult it is to judge the competence of the conductor that leads them? I will give it a try. (My thanks to Tanya Bartevyan for starting me off in what I hope is not an outlandish direction.)
Maestro Altinoglu was standing a few nights ago before a congregation of some of the finest musicians in the world. There is more than a good chance that he could have stood on his head and whistled “Tea For Two” at A=415 as part of his conducting “gyrations” and the Boston Symphony would still have returned a stunning performance for his efforts. These musicians are, I don’t need to remind readers here, that good.
Conversely comes the suggestion that the lower the tier of the ensemble, the easier it is to judge if the conductor on the podium is a good musician or not. Put this same maestro in front of The Huron (South Dakota) Symphony and see what he can do. If he has the skills, through a commingling of effective technique and wise pedagogy to raise the prairie group from their modest 36th-tier to 30th, I would call him competent…to 24th, quite good…to 10th, highly accomplished. No doubt Atlinoglu has these abilities in spades. Well almost no doubt. The point I am trying to make is that putting him in front of one of the greatest orchestras in the world doesn’t give him a definitive way to prove it.
Now let’s see this to the almost the end: If Alain Altinoglu brought the fortunate Huranites up to the third-tier from their original distant place, then all praise to him! He would deserve to experience what happened to Father Brown in that wonderful Chesterton story when that priest-detective led the lower-tier policeman Valentin (who had been gyrating haplessly from the beginning) to the criminal Flambeau:
“And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow.
“Do not bow to me, mon ami,” said Valentin with silver clearness. “Let us both bow to our master.”
Comment by Jonathan Brodie — April 2, 2017 at 4:00 pm
“Is it possible to argue convincingly that the greater the orchestra, the more difficult it is to judge the competence of the conductor that leads them?”
More difficult? Perhaps, but only in certain sorts of pieces. Impossible? Far from it.
As far as I’m concerned, the real work of working together has been done by the time most works reach the concert stage. It is in rehearsal that a conductor’s knowledge, vision, and skill set are wielded most directly: listening to the orchestra, communicating an approach, teaching and learning from the players, discovering with them.
It might seem as if anything’s possible with the current BSO – a humming Ferrari, as Andris Nelsons puts it – but that’s not quite true. They play many a piece that would sound marvelous even if the podium were empty, as we all get to hear during the yearly conductor-free program. Many more works, however, require a leader and very careful preparation to sync properly in performance. For example, had Alain Altinoglu stood on his head during rehearsal of Lalo’s Symphonie espagnole, like that other Father, Lewis Carroll’s William, when it came time to perform it the band would have been deprived of the rhythmic flexibility it needed to grant Renaud Capuçon his full range of expression. Soloists like M. Capuçon deeply appreciate a conductor who knows how to accompany – that is, to convey the needed values to the real accompanists. There are at least a dozen points in such a piece where, absent a skilled leader, everyone would have had apply the brakes to keep from running off the rails.
To my ears, conducting the Lalo – as well as complex and subtle pieces like the Dutilleux and Roussel – gave Maestro Altinoglu a “definitive way to prove” his mastery, not only of the musical ideas but of the subtle human ways of relating that appeared to have this wonderful group of musicians ‘on his side’ and enthusiastically responsive to his approach. As I noted elsewhere, le résultat fut merveilleux!
Comment by nimitta — April 2, 2017 at 6:44 pm
Brodie’s argument is at least partly undercut, or at least qualified, by experience and reality.
For a half-century of ready media, we have been able to compare stronger and weaker BSO conductors with their work elsewhere. Perhaps few general lessons are to be drawn. Ozawa’s work was already locally found blandly generalized and featureless by the early 1970s, soon after his start, and yet elsewhere (Salzburg Mozart) was subject of raves for idiom. WSteinberg was deemed Germanic and stolid elsewhere and yet “raised the roof” (BSO player quote) locally. It is similarly easy to find a range of informed opinions about Levine’s (imo superbly crisp and light and detailed) work.
Of course it helps if the band is at a high level, through hiring and practiced discipline.
Also, naturally, good artists change, and develop in important and responsive ways. In the 1970s I, like everyone else in town, was most enthusiastic about a local conductor who ever aspired to marvelous revolutionary things with his symphony, and regularly I advocated for wider and higher appreciation. Why did he not get gigs with the BSO?? A BSO musical insider apprised me: “Oh, no, God, he would be laughed off the podium, for technique alone, but also for more.” And yet 45y later, that young man has become, by many, exceedingly well-regarded.
So I do not know that there necessarily are worthy generalizations to be made about about conductor and band skill levels, and which rises to which occasion and meets which opportunity.
Comment by david moran — April 3, 2017 at 12:07 am
Thank you Nimitta and Mr. Moran for not dismissing my argument out of hand. It would be easy to think that anyone coming up with such a quixotic argument may well suffer from being “one point of imitation short of a complete viola da gamba fantasia.”
I appreciate your open-mindedness and insightful thoughts.
If I understand Nimitta’s and Mr. Moran’s responses correctly, I think that we or at least share some common ground. Certainly it is not impossible to judge a conductor’s expertise when that leader is in front of a great orchestra; I never said it was. But I still stand by my notion that with so many remarkable artists on stage, it makes things less obvious as to how much of the results come from the podium and how much comes from the members of the orchestra.
I couldn’t agree more with this: “It is in rehearsal that a conductor’s knowledge, vision, and skill set are wielded most directly: listening to the orchestra, communicating an approach, teaching and learning from the players, discovering with them.” This sums up beautifully what goes into a successful rehearsal. One of the impressive things (only one of many advantages) about virtuoso members of great orchestras is that when a conductor communicates his or her own approach, those remarkable musicians are able to immediately do it. To be sure, the conductor’s intention needs to be communicated; but that is all. It does not need to be taught. What if that same leader, on the other hand, communicated an approach to a less accomplished “town and gown” orchestra. Those musicians might not be able to immediately fulfill the conductor’s intention without coaching and assistance. They may very well need to be taught. That takes more work, more time, and demands a boatload of expertise from the leader.
Great conductors are, more than anything, great teachers.
Time to end this so that I don’t overstay my welcome (but also with a bit of a flourish) : Where do we find the greatest conductor in the world. Where do we look? Don’t look in the great capitols of the world. Things are too easy there. Go elsewhere. Search in provincial and distant places. There! Don’t you see? There…in Huron, South Dakota. Those hardy Huronites just pulled off (with the help of a few ringers from Sioux Falls) a credible performance of Brahms 4th symphony. Stepping down from the podium is the Maestro who got them through it.
Let us all bow to our master.
Comment by Jonathan Brodie — April 3, 2017 at 12:34 pm
All true. Sometimes it can help not to watch, though. Michael Steinberg on Eugen Jochum leading the BSO:
I often felt a weird discrepancy between what I saw and what I heard. What I saw was someone extremely active on the podium, often in highly descriptive gestures, constantly engaged in urging on, stirring up, leaning far over and twisting into S-shapes, smiling, making confiding or beckoning motions with his index finger…. What I heard in Handel’s overture, for all but the minuet of the Jupiter, and for many pages of the Unfinished was flat, square, unmodulated playing of notes, one after one, on and on. I could find no connection between the animated attentiveness in the visual performance and the dull, colorless playing the orchestra produced in response to it.
Comment by david moran — April 3, 2017 at 3:09 pm
I understand Mr. Brodie’s question which I’ll take the liberty to paraphrase as “can one really tell how great a conductor is, if the orchestra in question is made up of master musicians?”
I disagree with some of his assumptions and conclusions.
Granted, an orchestra of the caliber of the BSO can probably execute almost any piece convincingly even without any conductor, *provided* there is adequate rehearsal time beforehand during which details are worked out, such as who leads when in various sections of the piece, especially a more complicated, lesser known piece.
However, once there is a conductor, it is assumed that it is s/he who will lead at all times (except possibly in segments where there are extended solos.) From then on, it becomes the conductor’s responsibility to communicate everything about the particular interpretation and execution that is to take place at that performance (and that can vary from performance to performance) – including not only tempi,entrances,dynamics,and other basics, but also balance, voicing, interaction, pulse, and not the least “energy” and “character.” That leadership is a function of skill as a conductor and of talent and maturity as a musician. Is there interplay between the conductor and the orchestra? Sure! One inspires the other, mutually.
As such, I strongly disagree with Mr. Brodie’s statement “[t]here is more than a good chance that he could have stood on his head and whistled “Tea For Two” at A=415 as part of his conducting “gyrations” and the Boston Symphony would still have returned a stunning performance for his efforts.”
That scenario may work when the BSO offers a non-musician benefactor the chance to conduct the POPS in “The Star Spangled Banner” (which the orchestra -I presume- knows inside out) – but I highly doubt that any “stunning” rendition of the Dutilleux or of the other pieces on this program would occur under the described circumstances. (A preferable performance, in fact, would be, a conductorless, pre-rehearsed version, since bad leadership would just make a confusing mess.)
I must add here that I don’t think it is accurate to reduce Mr. De Voto’s description of a “gyrational style” to “gyrations”. The latter comes across, to me, as unduly dismissive. I must also add, for whatever it’s worth, that during the Thursday evening performance, I was in the front row of second balcony left, and right on top of the stage, able to observe the conductor and orchestra; I saw a lot of energy and large and subtle motion, and precision, and involvement. I did not see a particularly more ‘gyrational style’ than many other energetic conductors.
Lastly, I disagree that “[g]reat conductors are, more than anything, great teachers” — not necessarily when leading an orchestra of the BSO caliber, where they are simply colleagues, each with a role to play – and no, this does not mean that therefore one can’t tell if the conductor is great. It means everyone does her/his part.
Great conductors are great teachers when a) in a “teaching” capacity, such as, yes, possibly with a second tier orchestra or with students; and b) in the sense that all good artists, in any discipline, are teachers by the vision and imagination they inspire in the public through their work.
“Let us all bow to our master” – sure – or to creation, universe etc. Humility is important. But denying talent, joy, and inspiration when one sees it is also also a mistake.
Note: I am a pianist, but I have had the good fortune of studying composition and orchestral conducting with eminent artists, among them two former assistant conductors of the BSO.
Comment by Tanya Bartevyan — April 4, 2017 at 5:21 pm
My thanks (a second time) to Tanya Bartevyan; this time for her response my musings. There is, I think, a measures of truth in her response that I should take into account; especially the idea that, with a remarkable conductor and remarkable musicians the nature of the relationship is more collegial than pedagogical. But I do think the there is some truth in my notions that she may want to consider. Isn’t it possible that in such a complex topic as this there is a good chance that we both have some worthy ideas to share with each other?
Yes …no doubt a masterful conductor in front of a masterful group of musicians will work together in a collegial rather than pedagogical manner. On the other hand, it is this very collegiality that allows the conductor a great luxury: she doesn’t need to dilly-dally with pedagogical challenges. A pleasant situation indeed for all involved, but not one that challenges the leader to teach. Teaching adds an extra layer of work to the endeavor. My suspicion is that there is very little to teach members of the Boston Symphony.
I do feel it necessary to defend myself against the claim that I was being dismissive in my use of the work “gyrations.” I never said that the conductor in question did gyrate or even indulge in a gyrational style. I was not there to see what happened. I did write that in some fictional future he “could” gyrate with out imparting harm to the performance. What I should have said is that anyone on the podium “could gyrate” and the results could still be “stunning” “Stunning” , I concede. is too too strong a word. I do tend to get carried away. But I must point out there is a big difference in the intention and meaning of the word “did” and the word “could.” Also, the only reason I seized on the this descriptor is because a word closely related to it was in the original review and I wanted to continue the trope. Overall, in reading this passage, I see that the entire effort was too flamboyant: for that I apologize.
Only one more paragraph of defense. I am not denying the talent of this conductor or the wonderful results he achieved. I would have no right to do that as I have never watched him conduct or heard the results of his work. Undoubtably, he must be a musician of remarkable gifts to be invited to stand in front of your Orchestra. Also, my musings were not intended to stand in the way of the “joy and inspiration” that you say is the result of the a fine musical performance. When joy and inspiration come from a performance, when the leader is “at one” with the band; that is something to be celebrated and remembered.
I still stand by my point that, with an orchestra such as the BSO, it is challenging and difficult to discern how much of the performance is due to the conductor’s role and how much is due to the expertise of the musicians. That was my main point. I stand by it.
This discussion has given me much to think about. For that, I am grateful to all who have contributed.
Comment by Jonathan Brodie — April 5, 2017 at 10:39 pm
Thank you for your comments, Mr. Brodie. I did understand earlier that your comments about the- or ‘a’- conductor’s style were hypothetical, and I did get the impression that you were expressing thoughts in general, referring to the review rather than your personal experience of the concert. I did not assume or get the impression that you were present at a performance.
The reason I referred to ‘gyrations’ being an inaccurate reduction of ‘gyrational style’ (and also coming across to me as dismissive) was in relation to the art of conducting, and also in view of the fact that despite hypotheticals, we were discussing a particular review about a particular conductor.
It’s gallant of you to say you find your expression flamboyant in retrospect, though it is not necessary, and neither is an apology.
With regards to your main point, where you state that with an orchestra of the BSO caliber, it’s hard to discern how much of the contribution comes from the conductor and how much from the orchestra: My answer to the ‘how much’ would be ALL comes from both. (I believe you would not disagree with that.) This is related to what I wrote earlier that everyone does her/his part.
I got the impression, however, when you first started this aspect of the discussion, that your focus was somewhat more on the assessment of a conductor’s ‘greatness’ in particular – a related but different nuance.
As such, if we rephrase your original query as not ‘how much’ but *what* the orchestra and conductor each bring to the result, then it becomes possible to assess the expertise of each, because a trained listener can indeed distinguish between the orchestra’s expert execution, and the conductor’s expert direction – while acknowledging the give and take which is present in any fruitful partnership.
As for teaching: I have great respect for teaching, and, yes, when a conductor needs to engage in educating the orchestra in question, that is very much an added task requiring special skill and labor of its own.
However, I do not think that the added skill and talent of ‘teaching’ is part of a job description for conducting, which is its own stand alone art.
Yes, it has been a thought provoking discussion.
Thank you again for your comments.
Comment by Tanya Bartevyan — April 7, 2017 at 9:16 am
What a fine discussion this has been for me. It’s hard enough to teach and perform music. This pleasant debate reminds me how difficult it is to write about it. You, Ms. Bartevyan, can do it!
Part of the difficulty, perhaps, is that several side questions hitched on to the original discussion. I believe that I am the main culprit because I started it. My initial question was:
“Is it possible to argue convincingly that the greater the orchestra, the more difficult it is to judge the competence of the conductor that leads them? (That last word should be changed to “it”)
If I had been sensible and stayed with that question, the future discussion might well have been carried on with more clarity of purpose. Unfortunately, I brought up a “conversely” clause and brought onto the stage obscure ensembles in South Dakota, pedagogy, and another unfortunate word that I will now not mention.
As for that initial question, here is an idea: rather than think of it as a something to answer, perhaps it might be more enjoyable to occasionally (maybe once a year) take it out of the drawer and bring it to Symphony Hall.
As for me, I now happily accept your four-word conclusion:
“All comes from both.”
Comment by Jonathan Brodie — April 7, 2017 at 1:32 pm