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Orchestra's "Best Of"¦' concerts
Tom Purdom
Is this how they did it in Mozart's day?
(Answer: Very possibly.)
TOM PURDOM
If you’re one of those odd people, like me, who actually read program notes, you’ve probably encountered quotes from letters that indicate our forebears didn’t share our ideas about proper concert programming. In Mozart’s day, according to contemporary accounts, audiences frequently listened to other pieces in between the movements of a symphony.
That sounds weird to us, but is it really that shocking artistically? In spite of all our talk about form and musical structure, the standard four-movement symphony is essentially a sequence of moods and tempos arranged to hold an audience’s interest. A big start grabs our attention, a slow movement gives us a change of pace, a scherzo or minuet livens things up again, and a grand finale brings the audience to its feet. A variety show host or a pulp fiction writer would understand its underlying purpose at a glance.
The Philadelphia Orchestra’s first “Best of...” concert finally gave me a chance to hear a symphony 18th-Century style. The Orchestra spread the four movements of Mozart’s 40th symphony over both halves of the program, with the first two movements of Eine Klein Nachtmusik, the opening allegro from the 20th Piano Concerto, and the final roundeau movement from the Third Violin Concerto played between the movements.
Did the interruptions have any effect on my responses to the symphony? Oddly enough, they made me more aware of the connections between the movements. When the Orchestra started playing the second movement, I found myself making a mental effort to connect it to the end of the first movement. I probably wouldn’t have done that if the musicians had merely paused and played the next movement. The same thing happened at the beginning of the third and fourth movements.
A flaw in the programming
I had no problem with the fact that the interpolations were single movements taken from longer works. Again, this seems to have been a common 18th-Century practice. The highlight of the evening, in fact, was the final rondeau movement from Mozart’s Third Violin Concerto, with associate concertmaster Juliette Kang as soloist.
The program notes rated the concert at one hour and 50 minutes— an average length for a Philadelphia Orchestra concert nowadays— but it seemed longer. It dragged, I think, because of a flaw in the programming. Conductor Rossen Milanov preceded the first movement of the symphony with the overture to Figaro and followed it with the allegro from the piano concerto— three lively offerings in a row. The rest of the program tended to emphasize allegros, too. That wouldn’t have happened, of course, if the movements of the symphony had followed each other, with the natural diversity of the form.
Nine Beethoven symphonies in a single night
Milanov avoided that mistake the next night, when the “Best of Beethoven” concert presented one movement from each of the nine symphonies. Milanov divided the program into two imaginary symphonies. He scheduled the first movement of the First, the second movement of the Second, and so on. The first movement of the Fifth ended the first half. For the second half, the first movement of the Sixth was followed by the second of the Seventh, and the third of the Eighth. The first movement of the Ninth broke the sequence, but it made a great finale.
The Beethoven was the most successful of the three programs. The sequence did, indeed, crowd a portrait of Beethoven’s development into a single evening. The opening of the Fifth sounded particularly moving coming hard on the end of the Fourth.
Milanov, the star
The star of all three concerts was Rossen Milanov. His comments before each selection directed the audience’s attention to central, interesting aspects of the music. These programs were obviously designed to attract people who aren’t familiar with the Orchestra’s wares. Milanov gave these novices useful guides when he talked, and the real unadulterated stuff when he conducted.
His comments during the third concert were less interesting, primarily because the concert focused on Tchaikovsky’s ballet music. Anybody who can hear can appreciate the beauty of that. But Milanov even managed to do something special with the 1812 Overture. In his remarks, he put it firmly in its place in the special genre of public music composed to commemorate a great event. As he pointed out, the 1812 received its debut at ceremonies outside the Kremlin 50 years after Napoleon’s invasion, with a performance that included cannons, military bands and all the other hoopla we’ve become used to. Then, as a conductor, working only with the Orchestra’s normal instruments, Milanov managed to color parts of it with some of the somber depth of Shostakovich’s World War II music. The 1812 Overture is, after all, just about the only battle piece in which the most rousing military music— the Marseillaise— represents the losing side.
(Answer: Very possibly.)
TOM PURDOM
If you’re one of those odd people, like me, who actually read program notes, you’ve probably encountered quotes from letters that indicate our forebears didn’t share our ideas about proper concert programming. In Mozart’s day, according to contemporary accounts, audiences frequently listened to other pieces in between the movements of a symphony.
That sounds weird to us, but is it really that shocking artistically? In spite of all our talk about form and musical structure, the standard four-movement symphony is essentially a sequence of moods and tempos arranged to hold an audience’s interest. A big start grabs our attention, a slow movement gives us a change of pace, a scherzo or minuet livens things up again, and a grand finale brings the audience to its feet. A variety show host or a pulp fiction writer would understand its underlying purpose at a glance.
The Philadelphia Orchestra’s first “Best of...” concert finally gave me a chance to hear a symphony 18th-Century style. The Orchestra spread the four movements of Mozart’s 40th symphony over both halves of the program, with the first two movements of Eine Klein Nachtmusik, the opening allegro from the 20th Piano Concerto, and the final roundeau movement from the Third Violin Concerto played between the movements.
Did the interruptions have any effect on my responses to the symphony? Oddly enough, they made me more aware of the connections between the movements. When the Orchestra started playing the second movement, I found myself making a mental effort to connect it to the end of the first movement. I probably wouldn’t have done that if the musicians had merely paused and played the next movement. The same thing happened at the beginning of the third and fourth movements.
A flaw in the programming
I had no problem with the fact that the interpolations were single movements taken from longer works. Again, this seems to have been a common 18th-Century practice. The highlight of the evening, in fact, was the final rondeau movement from Mozart’s Third Violin Concerto, with associate concertmaster Juliette Kang as soloist.
The program notes rated the concert at one hour and 50 minutes— an average length for a Philadelphia Orchestra concert nowadays— but it seemed longer. It dragged, I think, because of a flaw in the programming. Conductor Rossen Milanov preceded the first movement of the symphony with the overture to Figaro and followed it with the allegro from the piano concerto— three lively offerings in a row. The rest of the program tended to emphasize allegros, too. That wouldn’t have happened, of course, if the movements of the symphony had followed each other, with the natural diversity of the form.
Nine Beethoven symphonies in a single night
Milanov avoided that mistake the next night, when the “Best of Beethoven” concert presented one movement from each of the nine symphonies. Milanov divided the program into two imaginary symphonies. He scheduled the first movement of the First, the second movement of the Second, and so on. The first movement of the Fifth ended the first half. For the second half, the first movement of the Sixth was followed by the second of the Seventh, and the third of the Eighth. The first movement of the Ninth broke the sequence, but it made a great finale.
The Beethoven was the most successful of the three programs. The sequence did, indeed, crowd a portrait of Beethoven’s development into a single evening. The opening of the Fifth sounded particularly moving coming hard on the end of the Fourth.
Milanov, the star
The star of all three concerts was Rossen Milanov. His comments before each selection directed the audience’s attention to central, interesting aspects of the music. These programs were obviously designed to attract people who aren’t familiar with the Orchestra’s wares. Milanov gave these novices useful guides when he talked, and the real unadulterated stuff when he conducted.
His comments during the third concert were less interesting, primarily because the concert focused on Tchaikovsky’s ballet music. Anybody who can hear can appreciate the beauty of that. But Milanov even managed to do something special with the 1812 Overture. In his remarks, he put it firmly in its place in the special genre of public music composed to commemorate a great event. As he pointed out, the 1812 received its debut at ceremonies outside the Kremlin 50 years after Napoleon’s invasion, with a performance that included cannons, military bands and all the other hoopla we’ve become used to. Then, as a conductor, working only with the Orchestra’s normal instruments, Milanov managed to color parts of it with some of the somber depth of Shostakovich’s World War II music. The 1812 Overture is, after all, just about the only battle piece in which the most rousing military music— the Marseillaise— represents the losing side.
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