A Retrospective: Three Orchestras and Two Quartets

February was a most interesting orchestral month for Winnipeg. The Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra performed twice (Feb. 4-6 and Feb. 25-6), and in between we had a visit from the National Arts Centre Orchestra (Feb. 11-2). Two orchestras, but three conductors: on Feb. 25-6 our own group was conducted by Ruben Gurevich, the assistant conductor, while on the other occasions the principal conductors were at the helm: Piero Gamba and Mario Bernardi. When you have three conductors you also have, in a sense, three orchestras. There can be few people who did not notice the different sound that Messers Gamba and Gurevich got out of largely the same group of musicians.

The three occasions were also of interest to pianists: each programme featured a piano concerto, and, as it turned out, each soloist inspired very mixed reactions. Perhaps part of the problem comes from the unfortunate situation that none of the pianists was playing the sort of work he does best: all three have a much more idiomatic response to modern music.

The most flagrant case is probably Gyorgy Sandor, who replaced Bruno Gelber in the Beethoven “Emperor”. What a missed opportunity! For many years Sandor has enjoyed a solid reputation as a Bartok specialist. He studied with Bartok; he is Hungarian; temperamentally he is atuned to the Bartokian style. But Beethoven? Actually, it was not so bad as many people felt — but it was personal and pianistically in the Modern Vertical style. So what? Well, ideally one would hear a pianist who was imbued with what can be construed as a Beethoven style and who would almost prefer to die than be deprived of the pleasure of playing the “Emperor” Concerto. There are such pianists, but we never hear them in Winnipeg — Arrua, Brendel and Serkin immediately come to mind. But Sandor at least gave us a performance that had its own conviction. There are three kinds of taste: good, bad and ‘no’. I would willingly banish from the concert hall the performer who has not enough character to risk offending those boring non-entities who usually think that they can hide piously behind (what they call) fidelity to the score. Like religion, music is contained more in the spirit than in the letter.

Sandor’s unmistakably modern spirit was evident right from the opening flourishes of the first movement: no rhetorical emphasis, no seeking for any special significance. Straightforward cadenza figures were projected with an edginess to the sound that often came from his use of alternating hands in figures normally played by the fingers of one hand. This sound was characteristic throughout: no trace of Arrau’s massive richness nor of Brendel’s extraordinarily orchestral palette. Sandor plays the piano the way most twentieth-century composers think of it — as a percussion instrument.

But I do not agree with those who found the playing cold. It was a no-fuss approach, bracing and bold, full of sparkle and fire in the third movement and not insensitive to the many pianissimo passages in all three movements Not the ideal performance, more slap dash on Friday than on Saturday, apparently, but a performance that I, at least, felt compelled to listen to with interest from beginning to end.

In a way, Robert Silverman’s playing of the Mozart A Major Concerto K. 488 was less absorbing. Silverman is a pianist I know from records, and I admire his Bartok as much as I do Sandor’s. He has also shown himself to be sensitive to the subtle beauties of Copland’s Piano Sonata, and he has enterprisingly and quite successfully recorded some rather rare works by Liszt. In the light of his recorded repertoire it is possible to suspect that his excursion into Mozart was at least encouraged by the chance to play with Ottawa’s chamber orchestra. Of course, Mr. Silverman would no doubt insist that he adores Mozart. But all those who adore his music do not succeed in playing it well (those who do not adore it also fall on their face — witness Glenn Gould). Mozart is appallingly difficult; he gets his due most often from a handful of pianists who make a specialty of his music.

The programme of the concert already suggested that we were not dealing with finicky specialists. If the tempo indications of the second and third movements emanated from either Bernardi or Silverman, it is clear that they display a strange indifference to using a really authentic edition. According to the autograph and the first edition, the second movement is not Andante but Adagio, and the third is not Presto but Allegro assai. Silverman certainly played the last movement Presto — perhaps Prestissimo — and the second movement was not, for me, even a Mozart Adagio.

It is regrettable that so many performers of music still feel that the divine spark of their inspiration will forever be snuffed out by consultation of the best text and of the relevant performance styles so laboriously reconstructed by musicologists. Fortunately there are exceptions, and I must mention again Alfred Brendal, whose playing of Mozart is pure delight and is informed by a formidable historical and textual erudition. With competition like that, Silverman’s performance can only strike one as of passable interest. His playing was too even in touch and dynamics; it was often poorly projected and phrase endings tapered off into inaudibility; the second movement definitely needed more voice; the touch should more often have been semi-detached. And so on. It was not an unpleasant account of the Concrete. But it did not seem particularly ‘right’, interesting or illuminating.

When it comes to Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No.3, it is not particularly hazardous to suggest what is ‘right’ since there exists the composer’s own magnificent interpretation of it on an easily available record. However, we know that he greatly admired the performance of both Horowitz and Gieseking, and since they are very different from one another and very different from the composer’s interpretation, it is best not to be too dogmatic. One thing that does seem particularly characteristic and admirable and (except for the rabid fans) even necessary in playing Rachmaninoff’s music stylishly is a good dose of discretion. The gorgeous tunes are not played by the composer for all they are worth but almost coolly: the temperature is obvious enough in the contours of the music.

Jeffrey Siegel did not play in so chaste a manner as Rachmaninoff, but he was a good deal more under control than many of the pianists who build their careers on such repertoire. Siegel is a much more varied pianist: he has played Mozart and Shostakovitch in Winnipeg, and he has done a maginificent recording of Dutilleux and Hindemith (No.3) Sonatas. Rachmaninoff is only a minor part of his sympathies and interests, no doubt, but he played it in a way that, again, kept me listening hard throughout even the most overwritten and disposable bits of this long concerto. He displayed a pretty stupendous technique in the obvious speed and accuracy of his playing but also in the great range of touches and dynamics. A gripping performance, and if the opening of the first movement was on the slow side it was not nearly so slow as Gieseking’s famous interpretation of it.

When it comes to assessing the purely orchestral content of these three concerts there is less controversy. As a whole, all three were eminently satisfying; all three showed the musicians involved to be highly professional if not ‘inhumanly’ perfect. In the light of their reputation, perhaps the little imperfections of the players of the National Arts Centre Orchestra surprised us most. The lapses in intonation were slight and few, however, and there is no need to comment on such lapses except to wonder whether the orchestra is still playing with the same vital commitment that it showed in its early years.

Mr. Bernardi’s own personality came through in the sort of sound he favours and in the greater success of fast movements over slow. Although so many conductors today show particular interest in the woodwinds in eighteenth-century music, Bernardi (particularly in the Mozart Concerto) favoured string sound. In the Haydn Symphony (No. 104) all the sparkling intellectuality of the score was admirably expressed — lean and vital in three of the four movements. As for Hetu’s third Symphony, it turned out to be a not very interesting example of the “modernsky” style (to borrow Schoenberg’s devastating witticism about Stravinsky).

Mr. Modernsky himself was represented in Piero Gamba’s concert: the WSO gave a rousing account of “Petrushka”. It was exciting to feel the involvement of the players in this work. Of course, it affords almost everyone a place to shine, but more than that the orchestra seemed really to want to play Stravinsky’s music, a feeling that was not in the least apparent in the opening Beethoven Overture to Egmont.

On the whole the audience as well seemed to love “Petrushka” (public taste is edging into the twentieth century — the score was started in 1910!) If I am a little surprised by everyone’s enthusiasm, it is because I have never found “Petrushka” to be entirely convincing simply as an orchestral piece. On the one occasion that I have had to see the ballet, every note of the music seemed absolutely inevitable; when I hear the music alone, much of it seems arbitrary and not specially interesting. A general knowledge of the story of the ballet is not enough; detailed knowledge of the choreography seems to me to be necessary to give the score its logic. I find it strange indeed that it is fashionable to smile at nineteenth-century programme music and to revel in orchestral performances of ballet music of this sort.

Mr. Gurevich had a much easier task with Debussy’s “La Mer”. The titles of the movements are all you need to follow this highly evocative score. Again the WSO rose to the occasion splendidly. The players obviously enjoy these major challenges — may they be given many more: it is precisely this sort of assignment that the orchestra seems to need at this stage of its development. Mr. Gurevich obviously had prepared his scores meticulously — he accompanied Mr. Siegel most attentively, he showed considerable care in the phrasing and balancing of the Brahms Academic Overture, and he had a great success with the difficulties of Debussy. Most really stylish French conductors avoid the temptation to romanticize the third movement: there is no ‘big’ tune soaring over a discreet accompaniment but rather drama, unrest and conflicting voices. Mr. Gurevich’s view is a common one, but it is less exciting, finally, than the other approach.

February was also a remarkable month in Winnipeg for chamber music: on two successive Sundays we had the rare chance to hear two quartets, both Canadian, one from the east and one from the west. Will Winnipeg ever produce its own?

On February 6 at the School of Music of the University of Manitoba, the Purcell String Quartet of Vancouver gave us a programme of Mozart, Brahms and Turner. It was the Turner that turned out to be the most interesting experience.

Robert Turner, teacher of composition at the University of Manitoba, wrote his third Quartet for the Purcell group, the money coming from the Canada Council and the inspiration from the name Purcell. Wittily, Turner borrows a melody and the idea for his forms (chaconne and variations) from the composer Purcell in a work which is well designed to honour the skills of the four players of the Purcell Quartet. Turner also uses a twelve-tone row, but the modern idiom of the work is easy. Indeed, it is a brilliant and entertaining work which was performed with gusto by all four musicians, but perhaps most spectacularly by the cellist.

In fact, throughout the whole programme one’s attention tended to be drawn to the cello. Lack of balance? Actually, a lack of personality in the three other players. The Purcell Quartet plays very well but too often in a rather stolid manner. It was difficult to feel enthusiastic about the Mozart (K.499, “The Hoffmeister”). Already in this opening work a characteristic of the Quartet became apparent: each movement tended to begin somewhat tentatively — not instrumentally but musically. This impression of inhibition and retinence cannot be attributed to some idea of Mozartian style since the third movement of the Brahms (Quartet No.3, Op.67) suffered in much the same way. In Turner’s work, however, they played with a liberty and rhythmic drive that was hardly ever evident elsewhere. Even the Menuetto of the Mozart seemed awkward and unhappy with itself.

My feeling is that the Purcell Quartet has a lot of musical maturity still to acquire. When such staples as Mozart and Brahms come off with such little inner conviction, the instrumental control in evidence is hardly sufficient to keep us happy.

On February 13, the well-known Orford Quartet played for the Women’s Musical Club. Although these players are younger than the Purcell Quartet players, they have probably played together longer, and certainly they have established a quite solid reputation for themselves. They are Canada’s claim to international recognition in the quartet repertoire: it is difficult competition and the Orford Quartet has still not quite ‘arrived’.

In a way one can understand why. Although they perform in a quite different style from the Purcell Quartet I left their concert feeling a little let down. Certainly they play well, their ensemble is excellent, their intonation is good, each player has good instrumental command and there is no shyness in their personality. But was the Haydn Quartet in F Minor, Op. 20 no. 5, really so impressive? I think the minor key weighed too heavily on their imagination. The piece became wanly melancholy throughout and was surprisingly underprojected for the Orford Quartet. In this case, was it a result of some vague notion of ‘classical’ style? During their workshop at the University of Manitoba on the preceding day, it became clear that their approach to the problems of period and composer styles is a little casual.

The Beethoven (Op. 127) was an altogether different proposition, and it is really unkind to criticize since there was so much that was good in the playing of this marvelous music. But such masterpieces have, of course, been performed by all the greatest quartets and with the best will in the world it is impossible to forget the monumental interpretations of the past. Once the depths have been plumbed it is difficult to be content with lesser insights. More than almost any other music, Beethoven’s has benefited from the revelations of the best conductors, violinists, pianists and chamber players. It is a crushing burden for the would-be interpreter. I can only admire the courage of the Orford Quartet to take on the late Beethoven quartets at this stage of their career.

It was again the twentieth-century work that pleased me most. Bartok’s still quite early Quartet No. 2 is not an easy piece. Surface charm is at a minimum; the writing is tight and the atmosphere intense and often anguished. The Orford Quartet played it in what might be called an expressionistic style. All their admirable controlled dramatic flair was there in abundance. It was a great opportunity to hear this seldom performed work in so fine a view of it.

John Eliot Clark is the symphony editor of Arts Manitoba. He is also moderating a panel at the Eckhardt-Grammatte E-Gre Music Competition in Brandon.