Last night’s all-Ravel program at
Severance Hall was further proof to me that not even the finest recordings reproduced
on the most expensive sound systems can duplicate the experience of live music
in concert. Daniel and I entered
Severance and found the stage was crammed with every instrument the orchestra
had to offer, along with seating for the chorus – featured in the evening’s final
work.
Ravel wrote a number of works for solo
or duo piano, which he later orchestrated.
One such work is the Mother Goose ballet,
which began as a suite of five works for piano duet. (There are two orchestral versions: the
complete ballet, and a suite of excerpts.)
Last night, the Cleveland Orchestra presented the 15-minute Suite, under
the direction of guest conductor Matthias Pintscher. (Pintscher also appeared with the orchestra last
year, both as guest conductor and composer.) The Suite was given a mostly tranquil
performance, with the delicate harmonies insinuating themselves into the melody
and the textures discreetly handled. But
I found myself longing for several sections from the complete ballet,
particularly the Dance of the Spinning Wheel.
After the opening work, the Hamburg
Steinway was rolled onto the stage for what turned out to be the night’s main
event. Ravel’s Piano
Concerto for the Left Hand was written in 1930 on a commission from Paul Wittgenstein, a
German pianist who lost an arm in World War I about a hundred years ago. (In one of history’s bizarre twists, Wittgenstein’s
younger brother, Ludwig, was schoolmates with a young boy named Adolf Hitler.) Of the various concertos Wittgenstein was
able to commission from the composers of the era, including Prokofiev, Britten,
and Richard Strauss, Wittgenstein seems to have liked the Ravel the least – and
his recording of the work is rather weak.
As for the Concerto itself, it stands as proof of the adage “Art thrives
on Limitations.” The work ranges from a
rather sinister opening featuring the contrabassoon, to the majestic fanfare, an
almost orgiastic march, and a denouement which mixes elements of all of
these. In terms of structure,
orchestration, and exploitation of the piano’s capabilities, the work is a
masterpiece – even though certain types may sniff that it’s lacking the “profundity”
of Mozart, Beethoven, or Brahms. Last night’s
soloist, Jean-Yves Thibaudet, has recorded this concerto with the Montreal
Symphony under Charles Dutoit (who was originally scheduled as guest conductor
but withdrew in the wake of accusations of sexual impropriety). Truth be told, Thibaudet's is my favorite recording of this work. This is the third time I’ve heard Thibaudet
live – the previous two times were at Blossom in Liszt’s
Totentanz and Grieg’s Piano Concerto. As with his previous appearances here, there was a concentration in his demeanor,
along with a whiplash quality he brought to the performance, which brought a
clarity and focus to the performance which is rarely heard in this piece. It wasn’t merely the technique that dazzled,
but the way in which Thibaudet integrated pianistic effects - including glissandi,
rapid staccato passage-work, leaps and arpeggios - which in the wrong hands can
sound like extraneous note-spinning, into a convincing musical argument. It was a performance to remember (hampered
only by a very rude audience member using her smart-phone to video the first
minute of the performance, until an usher scolded her). Responding to rapturous applause, Thibaudet treated
the audience to an encore, a two-handed piano piece which was unfamiliar to me,
but sounded like a melding of Liszt’s Liebesträume No. 3 and Brahms’
Lullaby.
Following intermission, the Cleveland Orchestra
Chorus joined Pintscher and the orchestra for the complete Daphnis & Chloé ballet score. As with some other ballet scores, including Stravinsky’s
Rite of Spring and Firebird, Daphnis & Chloé loses little
with the absence of actual dancers. Ravel’s
gorgeous and inventive orchestration, which includes celeste, glockenspiel, and
even a wind machine, was shown to full advantage here. There
is a mythic quality to this score which was brought to the fore, yet Pintscher
never let the dance element of the work fall from his grasp. The complicated wind playing of the Lever du jour
was executed flawlessly and with aplomb, yet it was the careful balancing of
the various orchestra sections along with the chorus that remains in the
mind. Ravel was a meticulous man, and I
left the hall with the sense that he would have approved of the evening’s
concert – which combined precision, sensuality, and passion.
