STUDY WAR NO MORE
Last night’s program at Disney Hall began with a subdued but clear strike on the chime. It came in without warning. The atmosphere is austere and solemn, and under the clear and watchful eyes of Maestro Simone Young, the LA Phil slowly unfolds the lush colors of Arvo Pärt‘s Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten. A descending entrance of the string section followed, like a blooming flower, each note, sound, and timbre cared for and cradled. The velvet sound of the bass in concert with the cello moves glacially and assuredly while the ever-present and growing bells strike in regular but undetectable intervals. The resulting texture and experience are akin to sitting in a cathedral and listening to the church bell chime while looking at the multicolor lights of the stained glass dances across one’s vision. It is both majestic and filled with the weight of sorrow. I had to wipe my misting eyes after this stunning composition, performed with a delicate touch and a lot of heart.
This program, which plays through April 7, is one of reflection and sorrow. The program was chosen to give attention to the suffering experienced worldwide. Estonian composer Pärt never met Britten, a renowned British composer who wrote some of the most beautiful compositions. Instead, the two composers have celebrated talent and mutual admiration. Drawing a relatively poor but necessary parallel, I have, in recent days, spent more than a few moments each day thinking about the suffering endured by the people of Gaza, Ukraine, and any other proxy wars that the world is waging. In Orrin Howard‘s program note on the work, he quoted Pärt to have said, “Why did the date of Benjamin Britten’s death — December 4, 1976 — touch such a chord in me? During this time I was obviously at the point where I could recognize the magnitude of such a loss … I had just discovered Britten for myself. Just before his death, I began to appreciate the unusual purity of his music. And besides, for a long time, I had wanted to meet Britten personally, and now it would not come to that.” Perhaps Maestro Young wishes to convey to the audience how music can help us to build the bridge of empathy, admiration, and sorrow to those that we do not know. After all, music has the power to go where words become insufficient.
The French cellist virtuoso Gautier Capuçon took the stage to a warm welcome. Even in his graceful, quick step and firm grasp of his instrument, I can detect a hint of nerve in him. After all, it is Elgar’s excellent Cello Concerto, which has been performed and interpreted by every great cellist in the world. Monsieur Capuçon did not disappoint. Unlike Cantus, this piece opens with two decisive chords, two solemn e-minor chords, and an open third and root position. The yearning melody descends slowly and closes with the dark descension of a delicious glissando slide into the low e. The gut-wrenching opening begins to wander with the viola in union with a swaying pattern later joined with the cello.
As someone who has performed in the orchestra accompanying other soloists, and watched multiple recordings, I can attest to Capuçon’s somewhat reserved take on this opening movement. While his tone is steller, each vibrato and phrasing is tenderly delivered with precise tone and incredible fullness, and he does not overexaggerate the emotional content of the material with excess rubato or a looser take on the rhythm. Instead, he choosesd to execute the patterns cleanly and precisely. He has decided to be reserved. Even in the high point of the drama, when he reaches down into the low D and ascends to the G, where the orchestra bursts into a declarative tutti, his timing remains stoic as he pulls back emotionally and dynamically.
What curious choices! I had little time to ponder as Mov II started almost too abruptly. The virtuosic detaché chase theme — between staccato and legato — emerges from the solemn ponder theme. From this point forward, great mastery is witnessed. With near embarrassment, I can hardly recall the contents of subsequent movements of this piece, but I now appreciate it after hearing this performance. Without words, Young and Capuçon seem to be saying, “Yeah yeah yeah, we know Movement I is iconic, but watch what we will do with the entire work”. The cello, while heavily featured, blends beautifully with the orchestra. The rhythm is tight, and each articulation is clear. The wind section of LA Phil has continued to be a reliable powerhouse of great players with incredible intonation, musicality, and blending. Watching Burt Hara, Associate Principal clarinetist, deliver lines with great sonority and clarity continues to be joyous.
Movements III and IV increase in brightness as the composition rises from the somber journey to what Howard has penned as “the chin up, carry on” bravado of British fortitude. Capuçon’s tone brightens and opens, rhythmically less strict, as he and Young dance together into the finale. In the closure, Elgar reinserts the sorrowful descending theme of the opening movement, but this time, our soloist delivers a bittersweet farewell. Boy, what a journey the first half has taken us through! Upon reflection, I was further taken aback at the mastery of ‘reserving the best for last’ approach by both conductor and cellist. They demonstrate their seasoned approach of patience and development with the master material and create an awe-inspiring experience.
A performance of such caliber roused the full house, which was treated with an encore: “Song of the Birds” (“El cant dels ocells”) an antiwar anthem solo. Capuçon introduced the encore by explaining the Catalan origin, adding that famous cellist Pablo Casals would open his concerts with this song as a political stance against war. Because of this work dedicated to the “recognition of the plight of refugees around the world”, Casals was awarded the United Nations Peace Medal in 1971. Casal himself has said about the piece, “Birds sing when they are in the sky, they sing: ‘Peace, Peace, Peace,’ and it is a melody that Bach, Beethoven, and all the greats would have admired and loved.” The pin-drop silence that lingered long after the last note conveyed the the viewers’ entrancement.
After the interval, and the heavy first half, we move to Vaughan Williams‘ Symphony No. 8 in D Minor. An army of violins and percussionists fill the stage to the apron. Not a single space was wasted. Treated to the delightful colors mastered by the great British composer, I can go on and on about the incredible artistry of the conducting and the ensemble. It is essential to point out that while the choice of Vaughan Williams seems to be a joyous answer to the solemn first half of the concert, it is, in fact, a work written by a war veteran who experienced significant loss during World War I. I am also grateful to enjoy a live performance of this rarely programmed work. I’m putting in a quick plug about concertmaster Martin Chalifour, Principal Flutist Cathy Ransom Karoly, and Principal Cellist Robert deMaine, who all took on the solos in the score with great precision. I do, however, have one continuous grief with the symphony; the first violin section really needs to get together and play more like an ensemble. There are a few sloppy entrances and inconsistent bowing by the section.
I hope you will take time to attend this concert to reflect and take mental refuge in knowing that we are all connected through music and shared pain. I most definitely enjoyed the hell out of this music.
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Denis Bouriakov did not play this program. Cathy Ransom Karoly was playing principal flute.
Thanks, Jim — we made the correction.