May Putin's reign of terror end soon

 

I stand by this statement and if it gets me banned from Blogger and Twitter, so be it.  As Toscanini said, "The spine curves when the soul is curved. But the conduct of my life has been, is, and will be the echo and the reflection of my conscience."

February 25, 1953

When Vladimir Horowitz stepped onto the stage at Carnegie Hall on February 25, 1953, no one knew it would be his last public performance for over 12 years.  Instead, it was to be a celebratory occasion: the Silver Jubilee recital commemorating 25 years since his United States debut.  Horowitz’s record label, RCA Red Seal, was on hand to document the event, which was duly issued as a two-LP set. 

The "Actual Recording"?  Not entirely...

Not the actual program cover

It must be pointed out that there are numerous differences between the recital, as performed, and RCA’s release – billed as the “Actual Recording” of the concert.  First, three works were omitted from the album: Brahms’ Rhapsody, Op.119, No. 4; Debussy’s Little Shepherd, from the Children’s Corner suite, and Clementi’s Rondo in in B-flat major, Op. 24, No. 2.  Further, Debussy’s Serenade to the Doll was moved from its place in the program and used as an encore.  Even the lavish booklet which accompanied the album, made to appear as if it was a program book from the concert, was altered to accommodate the changes.  Substantially, several aspects of the performance were edited, most notably in Schubert’s B-flat major Sonata, D. 960. Comparison with the unedited concert recording, copies of which circulated privately for decades before it was released by Sony Classical (superbly remastered by Jon Samuels) in 2013, results in the question: What possessed Horowitz (who was closely involved in the editing process) and RCA to make these changes?  The musical differences are minor and technical fluffs in the unedited original barely detectable.  Further, the poor quality of the splices themselves, with noticeable shifts in pitch and the rumbling subway underneath Carnegie Hall suddenly appearing and disappearing, is distracting to the musical experience.  For the purposes of this essay, I am referencing the original, unedited recording of the February 25^th concert, including the works deleted from the official release.

The Brahms Rhapsody starts with several nerve-induced missed notes before settling down to a rendition notable for the pianist’s refusal to rely on the sustaining pedal.  Sections which too often are blurred and indistinct emerge with clarity here.  Yet the performance is dutiful rather than joyous, and one is not surprised to learn that this was Horowitz’s last public performance of any work by Brahms.

Horowitz’s rendition of Schubert’s final piano sonata was widely criticized when initially heard.  Listening with fresh ears through the perspective of time, one finds little that is objectionable to the open minded.  Tempi do not stray far from the established norms – yet the pianist finds something fresh in a work that has become overly familiar.  Horowitz does not observe the first movement repeat - few did at the time.  He strips from his performance aspects which had become traditional but were unspecified in the score, such as the oft-heard ritardando at bars 73-75.  The pianist’s sparing use of the sustaining pedal ensures textures are clear, yet he still achieves many subtle colorations.  The second movement, a true Andante, gels in a way that Horowitz’s 1986 studio recording does not - it is profound without being portentous.  The Scherzo - with the trio’s off-beat pizzicato accents - has a humor too often missing from pianists trying to make the music seem like proto-Mahler.  It’s only in the final movement where Horowitz’s playing becomes too large-scaled and Lisztian for some tastes – but one can understand the pianist’s desire to project the work in a manner suited to a modern concert hall instead of a 19^th Century Schubertiade.  In the final analysis, this performance of Schubert’s last Sonata is neither Horowitzian nor Lisztian, but strongly architectonic in the spirit of Toscanini.

It was a rare Horowitz recital that did not include works by Chopin, and the Silver Jubilee was no exception.  The pianist made several recordings of the Nocturne in E minor, Op. 72, No. 1, both studio and live.  As with the others, this rendition is a bit more intense than standard performances, with a sense of menace brewing underneath the left-hand accompaniment – further emphasized by Horowitz’s occasional extensions of bass notes.

Intensity and Chopin’s Scherzo in B minor, Op. 20 go hand-in-hand – and this is easily the most enervated of Horowitz’s many recordings of the work.  Tempos start fairly normally, but by the first repetition of the main theme the pianist hits the accelerator and doesn’t look back – leading to a few frantic moments where he teeters on the edge of catastrophe.  The central section goes a bit cavalierly, lacking the hushed reverence Chopin intended for this adaptation of the Polish Christmas carol Lulajże Jezuniu.  Then Horowitz takes off again driving the work toward a coda that must have left the keys smoking.   

Nor is intensity lacking in the performance of Scriabin’s “Black Mass” Sonata that followed intermission.  The 1953 audience must have been shocked by what was then an unfamiliar work to most American music lovers.  For all the talk, including from the pianist himself, about Horowitz’s 1953 rendition being “too fast”, the performance convinces the listener that this is a well-structured composition – giving the lie to Aaron Copland’s assertion that Scriabin’s late piano sonatas were one of the great mistakes of the piano literature.  Even in this 1953 version, Horowitz holds his powers in reserve until he reaches the work’s climax, which under the pianist’s hands is truly satanic.  

The two Scriabin Etudes which follow (B-flat minor, Op. 8, No. 11; C-sharp minor, Op. 42, No. 5) provide ample contrast to each other and to the Sonata.  The B-flat minor Etude is primarily lyrical, with a bit more turbulence in the recapitulation than heard in later live performances (preserved on pirate recordings) and the 1972 studio recording by the pianist.  The work ends in a pianissimo as only Horowitz could make.  The C-sharp minor Etude, a beast to play, is akin to navigating a boat in stormy waters.  The pianist amply pulls and pushes the phrasing and tempo until the repetition of the main theme half-way through the piece, where he pulls out the stops.   

The recital included two excerpts from Debussy’s Children’s Corner Suite: The Little Shepherd and Serenade to the Doll (the latter was a frequent encore).  Horowitz apparently never performed the complete suite in public, unfortunately.  In this concert, the excerpts are apparently placed as a “breather” between the Scriabin and Liszt.  The Little Shepherd includes a very minor memory lapse which is likely the reason it was not included in the original album.  (Horowitz’s musical memory, while formidable, was hardly infallible, with recorded memory lapses as far back as his 1930 Rachmaninoff Third Concerto with Coates, contradicting the notion that electroshock treatments during the early 1960s and 1970s were the cause of memory lapses in subsequent years.)

Horowitz is on record as describing his arrangement of Liszt’s Second Hungarian Rhapsody as the most difficult he ever performed, eclipsing even the Rákóczy March.  The pianist sticks closely to the original during the lassan – which is justly paced and performed without the excessive schmaltz one often encounters.  The friska is a demonstration of how Horowitz was able to build tension and volume without covering up with the pedal.  In addition to the high-wire excitement generated, the pianistic gymnastics are superbly controlled and always musical – particularly when the pianist combines three themes into a contrapuntal tour-de-force.  This is not the playing of a man on the edge of a breakdown, but an example of stellar pianistic and musical control.  (It must be mentioned here that attempts by several pianists to play this arrangement have met with varying levels of success and failure, but none have come close to scaling the heights as Horowitz did here.)  

Throughout his career, Horowitz invariably performed a quiet, contemplative piece for his first encore, allowing the audience to “come down” from the high generated by the program closer. 

Chopin’s Waltz in A minor Op. 34, No. 2 – the composer’s favorite – is given a quietly poetic performance that deftly balances melody with inner voices, the final bars fading away as Chopin must have intended.  

The Clementi Rondo, Op. 24, No. 2 was not included in the original release.  I can find nothing in the performance that merits its exclusion, and can only conclude it was excised to avoid duplication with the pianist’s 1950 studio recording of the work.  The live performance here is even more pointed, sparsely pedaled, and witty – demonstrating that Horowitz continually found new aspects of works within his repertoire.

Horowitz’s last encore for twelve years was the finale from Prokofiev’s Sonata, Op. 83, a study in motoric music.  It starts much as his 1945 studio recording, at a sensible tempo and dynamics held in check.  As he approaches the coda he begins rushing the rapid chords in the upper-register, making the conclusion sound frantic in place of his granitic studio recording.  The work’s final descending then ascending octaves bring a roar from the audience, but as with the Brahms that started this recital, this was the last time Horowitz played the music of this composer in public.

For everything Horowitz, visit Vladimir Horowitz Appreciation Society, the internet’s premiere curated Horowitz site.

 

Abrahamsen and Brahms at Severance

The Cleveland Orchestra continued its recent practice of commingling the new and the old this weekend at Severance. 

The new was the world premiere of Vers le silence, by Danish composer Hans Abrahamsen. The title is an allusion to Scriabin’s Vers la flamme, so memorably performed by Horowitz.  But if Scriabin’s later music was intended to depict the end of the world, the static quality of Abrahamsen’s work brings to mind the end of the universe – which current science predicts will end with a whimper, not a bang.  The two works are opposites, as the Scriabin starts off quietly and builds to an explosion, and the four movements of Vers le silence start explosively and dissonantly and fade into silence.  Following the work’s performance, the composer was invited to the stage to share in the applause.

Brahms’ titanic Second Piano Concerto is something of a repertoire staple – nearly every important pianist has recorded it.  But this marks the first time I’ve heard the piece at a concert.  The work, which is much more difficult to play than it sounds, is a tough nut to crack.  Most performers approach it as a magnificent structure, or as a stern work that only offers a few tight-lipped smiles, or worst with a pseudo-reverence that drains the work of its energy.  Levin and Welser-Möst offered instead a performance marked by rhapsodic feelings and occasional whimsy.  At times, the tempi seemed unusually brisk.  Then I remembered a study of Brahms’ metronome markings indicated most movements should go much quicker than heard on most recordings.  Parts of the performance reminded me of Rubinstein’s famous 1929 recording of the work with Albert Coates and the London Symphony Orchestra – although Levit was far more polished technically.  The tempi in the opening movement in particular were markedly flexible, contrasting the energetic theme as presented after the introduction with the later dreamily contemplative section.  Principal cellist Mark Kosower contributed soulfully meditative playing in his third movement solo, while the joy and grace of the final movement (parts of which have always reminded me of children playing tag) built to a conclusion that brought the audience to its feet.    

Four days in Puerto Vallarta

Generally, when I travel, I post my trip report within a few days of my return.  Upon returning from my most recent trip I fell into such a deep funk I found myself unable to write.  But I have pulled myself together, and here’s my post.   

If you’re of a certain age, you’ve seen the Love Boat TV series, which stopped at numerous ports of call, including Puerto Vallarta (often abbreviated as PV).  That’s where I first heard the name.  But it wasn’t until recently I felt the desire to go there – although I’ve been to Mexico several times since I was a teenager, and Daniel and I visited Ensenada during our 2017 cruise. 

Puerto Vallarta has recently been dubbed the “San Francisco of Mexico” – a double entendre as PV is not only dotted with hills just as steep of those as the city to the north, but has also become a destination of choice for LGBTQ+ travelers worldwide.  As for the hills, worry less about your footwear fashion sense and prioritize comfortable shoes – you’ll need them.

The steps illustrate the hills and PV's attitude.

We initially planned to go to PV in March of 2020.  COVID put the kibosh on that and the border was closed just days before our trip.  Another attempt to visit fizzled out that September, as Dan & I decided to keep our travel domestic until we were fully vaccinated.  Finally, the stars aligned, and we were able to visit for four all-too-brief days in the first week of December.  It was a trip in which we had new experiences and made new friends – and which left us with a desire to return soon.    

Mexico’s currency is called the peso.  Confusingly, the peso’s symbol is the same as the US Dollar: $.  For clarity, some retailers will supplement the Dollar sign with MXN.  The exchange rate varies but usually hovers around 20 pesos to the dollar.  While larger retailers accept credit cards, there are often currency exchange fees attached.  To get the most bang for your buck (or peso), I recommend changing currency at your local bank prior to leaving.  It’s best to do this no less than one week prior to departure in case your bank needs to order pesos.  Unless you’re a penny pincher, trade at least $100 (American) per day you’ll be in Mexico.  You can always change pesos back when you return. Following this procedure has the added benefit of allowing you to avoid changing currency at the airport (more on that later).

Daniel and I flew to PV via American Airlines, connecting at Dallas-Fort Worth airport.  Although DFW is a very large airport, it’s arranged in a manner that allows travelers to get from terminal to terminal relatively easily.  There are also plenty of shops and restaurants in each terminal in case you have extra time and want to grab a bite.  As it was, our 1.5-hour layover was more than adequate. 

After landing at Aeropuerto Internaccional Licenciado Gustavo (PVR), we deplaned on the tarmac and entered one of three buses, which headed to border control, which processed our line efficiently.  From there, we collected our baggage, make our way through customs, and ran the gauntlet of time-share hucksters and the currency exchange to exit the airport.  I cannot emphasize this enough: do not interact with time-share salespeople.  They will make offers – including carrying your bag, calling your taxi, or a bus ride to wherever you’re going – just to rope you in.  Ignore them, do not make eye-contact, and proceed to the exit.

Once you exit the airport, you will see a line of white taxis.  Do your wallet a favor and skip them.  Turn left upon exiting, then left at the end of the building, and take the pedestrian bridge that runs over highway 200.  Seek out the yellow cabs and ask the cabbie how much it will cost to your desired location.  Our trip to Zona Romantica (seven miles) amounted to less than $15 American.  Uber is also available, but the yellow cab drivers, like their counterparts in London, have “the knowledge”.  They know how to get you where you want to go, and they often have great stories to share.  An added advantage of the yellow cabs is that they’re to be found at nearly every intersection: when it came time for us to return home, we just walked to the corner and a cab was waiting for us.    

Dan & I stayed at Hotel Mercurio, less than two blocks from Los Muertos beach and right in the middle of everything we wanted to do.  Mercurio mostly caters to the older gay community – we were about the youngest couple there.  That’s fine with me as I had no desire to spend my time with a bunch of selfie-taking “influencers” or middle-aged circuit queens with Peter Pan syndrome.  Most of the clientele were just regular folks like Dan & me.  The relaxed ambience at Mercurio was enhanced by the bartenders and barbacks Jorge, Briam, and David, who were such a joy to interact with.  On Sunday, the relaxation was cast aside for the weekly Beers, Boys, and Burgers party which was…well, I won’t be able to post any photos here. 

Los Muertos pier as seen from our hotel

Mercurio's bartenders Jorge & Briam

You’ve heard it in English and Spanish: Don’t drink the water/No tomar el agua.  It’s not just water, but anything washed in water, including vegetables, which if carelessly consumed could result in a case of Montezuma’s Revenge.  I’ve heard conflicting stories as to whether Puerto Vallarta’s water is safe for Americans (it’s worth noting there’s plenty of unsafe water here in the United States).  Out of an abundance of caution, we brought a supply of Travelan with us.  Just one pill before each meal and we didn’t have so much as a stomachache. 

The lack of digestive issues was most welcome, as eat we did, along with some drinking.  Our first stop after checking into our hotel was down Francisca Rodriquez at the intersection of Olas Atlas at Café San Angel where I enjoyed a fine Blue Cheeseburger with fries and Mexican Coke. 

Our hotel included breakfast each morning – so we never ventured out for an early meal. 

Friday night we went Italian at Piazzetta, just a block down and across the street from the burger place.  The bruchetta appetizer was generously proportioned, as was the fettucine Alfredo with chicken that was my main.  

This place eclipsed Cleveland's own Little Italy restaurants

By Saturday, I’d realized we’d been in Mexico for two days and hadn’t yet had any Mexican cuisine.  A gander to Tacos Revolución (close enough to our hotel that we were in range of their wi-fi) was a welcome dive into authenticity.  We enjoyed drinks, a large appetizer and three tacos each for less than $20 – including tip.

We also sampled La Romantica, a café that specialized in lighter fare, including artfully prepared salads, milkshakes, and churros – a longtime favorite of mine.   

Dan about to go into sugar shock

Unfortunately, we did not get around to trying out any street food, but it’s on the agenda for our next trip there.

PV is rich in options for nightlife, from dive bars to cabarets to more high energy spots.

Palm Cabaret hosted my friend Tonny Kenneth in his latest show, Disco Inferno.  He and the dancers gave lively, and often spicy, renditions of songs I grew up with.  It brought back memories of watching my sisters try the latest dance routines during the 1970s. 

Anonimo and One Six One, right next to each other on Calle Rodolfo Gomez, are two bars catering to mixed crowd.  Anonimo is on three floors, each with its own ambiance: the 2^nd floor has an outdoor patio, but don’t skip the ground and 3rd floors which feature two of the nicest bartenders I’ve ever met: David Mancilla and Miguel Ángel.  David carries a notepad, prepared to write down your favorite songs to add to the video mix.  One Six One is a bit more upscale, with a quieter scene – a great place for an intimate conversation.

At Anonimo

Miguel Angel and David at Anonimo

There are also flashier and wilder bars just north of where we stayed, but I’m a bit long in the tooth for those places.

Not all is perfect in Puerto Vallarta.  Lack of government regulations and zoning enforcement in Mexico has led to overdevelopment in some areas, particularly in Zona Romantica where one condo development not only collapsed during pre-construction but almost took three other buildings with it.  But the hilly, cobblestoned streets still retain much of their charm – for now.  

Site of the recent collapse at Muertos beach

Returning to the US:

Dan and I learned of the new COVID testing requirements, which require a test within one day of the return flight, during our first night in Puerto Vallarta.  Although initially concerned, it turned out obtaining a test was simple and inexpensive thanks to our hotel.  Rapid result tests are also available at the airport.  We recommend arriving at PV airport at least three hours prior to departure, and allow yourself an extra hour if getting tested at the airport.  Despite the airport’s relatively small size there is a generous selection of duty free shops in which to spend your remaining pesos.

Although I took Spanish in high school, and many of the locals speak English, I realized during this trip that my knowledge of Spanish has faded to the point where I had difficulty following conversations between Dan & our new friends.  Having to ask him to translate was embarrassing for me.  So, I’ve downloaded an app and have begun refreshing my skills, as we are most certainly travelling to Puerto Vallarta again – hopefully soon.

 

French Perspectives at Severance

Last night’s concert at Severance saw guest conductor Gustavo Gimeno on the podium and the return of the Labéque sisters to Cleveland.  As with many concerts this season, the program was a nice mix of the familiar and the new, with the focus on music with connections to France which revealed the diversity behind the term “French music” – from the sensuality of Ravel to the almost Brahmsian Classicism of Franck. 

The concert opened with Ravel’s Mother Goose Suite, the second time I’ve heard it here in recent years.  Whenever I hear the suite, I find myself missing the additional music that was created to expand the work into a full ballet.  The performance was paced naturally, with beautiful washes of color applied in Laideronnette and The Enchanted Garden. 

The Concerto for Two pianos by American composer Bryce Dessner received its first Cleveland performance last night.  The work is in three movements, none of which could be considered slow.  The Concerto, although distinctly modern, is firmly tonal and comprehensible even to lay people.  It also has the benefit of being clearly and creatively orchestrated, and the piano writing is a demonstration of the term “pianistic.”  The pianists, conductor, and orchestra collaborated in a performance that was virtuosic in the best sense of the word.  As is customary, our orchestra played the complex piece as if they’d known it all their lives.  The performance was greeted by a deserved and sustained ovation, and the Labéque sisters graced the audience with a apropos encore: “Maria” from West Side Story, in memory of Stephen Sondheim who passed away the previous day.  

 

The Labéque sisters and Gimeno following the Concerto.

The concert’s second half was devoted to Franck’s Symphony in D minor.  The performance began promisingly, with the mystery of the work’s opening kept intact by Gimeno’s scrupulous observation of the section’s rests, which too many well-known conductors gloss over.  From there he seemed to go into auto-pilot and, while I couldn’t find much wrong with the performance, nor could I find much that was meritorious - beyond the technical polish of the playing.  In terms of pacing, the tempi suited the work and the acoustics at Severance.  Gimeno kept a tight rein over the orchestra and there was a sense of movement even in the Allegretto.  But the dynamics ranged from mezzo-piano to fortissimo and the interweaving lines one hears so clearly from, say, Monteux, were obscured in favor of textual flatness.  The finale was exciting and brought an enthusiastic response from the small, socially distanced audience.

I noticed the unobtrusive presence of cameras in the auditorium, so those with the Adella app may be able to watch this concert in the not too distant future.

Cancelled concerts in Cleveland and music in Hudson

The fallout from COVID-19 continues as the Cleveland Orchestra cancelled two concerts this past weekend due to a player testing positive and showing symptoms for COVID-19.  I had been scheduled to attend Saturday night’s concert with guest conductor Thierry Fischer and pianist Tom Borrow – making his Cleveland debut.  A well-connected source has informed me that the affected player was part of the brass section – and we wish the player a safe and speedy recovery.  The nature of wind and brass instruments makes the playing of them while wearing a mask impossible, and at the same time poses a risk to those nearby – the player’s breath, spittle, and germs are literally sent flying.  Thus requiring the player to sit out this concert made sense.  But the cancellation begs the question as to what would have happened it the player was, say, a violinist.  There are enough string players that the orchestra could continue even if a few were unavailable – and in smaller ensemble works the orchestra often utilizes only part of its string section.  Currently, the orchestra is requiring all patrons to be vaccinated, wear masks, and submit to temperature checks upon entry.  Clearly they are doing everything they can to keep local music lovers safe.  But the cancellation also causes one to question what contingencies the orchestra has in the event of further cases among brass and wind players.  Can substitute players be arranged?  It seems to me there is no shortage of gifted young instrumentalists at the nearby Cleveland Institute of Music who would jump at the chance to play with the Cleveland Orchestra.  True, a substitute with limited rehearsal time might result in a performance not having that last bit of polish associated with our orchestra.  But a blooper here or there seems a small price to pay for the continued riches our deservedly world renown orchestra furnishes.  After all, as Toscanini said, “for a few wrong notes no one was ever thrown into jail.”  Despite vaccinations and boosters, it appears COVID-19 and its variants are going to be with us for the foreseeable future.  With audiences willing to take the precautions and endure the mild discomfort of wearing masks, it seems an overreach to hold performances hostage when other contingencies are available.  

The weekend was not entirely bereft of music.  The Hudson based concert series Music from the Western Reserve continued with a duo-pianist recital from husband/wife team Antonio Pompa-Baldi and Emanuela Friscioni.  The program included music by Hindemith, Barber, Debussy, and Rachmaninoff.  All but the Hindemith were familiar to me, and all were exceptionally well played.  Before the concert the pianists engaged in a charming talk about the music, the challenges of duo playing on a single piano, and their personal stories.  At least four more concerts are scheduled for the remainder of the season.

Cleveland welcomes Sheku Kanneh-Mason

The Cleveland Orchestra hosted the return of guest conductor Jakub Hrůša and the Cleveland debut of cellist Sheku Kanneh-Mason this past weekend.  The repertoire featured ranged from the unfamiliar to the slightly familiar – something of a pattern this season.

The concert opened with the Ballade in A minor, Op. 33 by British composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor.  The work, composed in 1898, marked the professional conducting debut of the young man who was born out of wedlock into one of London’s poorest neighborhoods in 1875.  The Ballade is in the mid-Romantic style of Tchaikovsky and Dvořák – with similar orchestration.  Hrůša and the orchestra contributed a performance marked by sensible tempi and technical polish.  As I’d never heard this music before, I can’t compare it to any other performances or recordings.

Elgar’s Cello Concerto was initially a flop when it was premiered in 1919.  The work’s failure, the result of an unrehearsed performance, deeply wounded the composer (not for the first time in history, as Rachmaninoff’s First Symphony suffered the same fate as conducted by a drunken Alexander Glazunov).  The concerto did not achieve notability until the 1960s when Jaqueline du Pré began championing the piece – but still it’s not a repertoire staple.  To be sure, the concerto is a stark, challenging work.   Composed in the aftermath of a serious illness and during the First World War, it features moments of soaring lyricism contrasted with an almost agonized temperament – a world away from the same composer’s Pomp and Circumstance marches or even the Enigma Variations. 

Sheku Kanneh-Mason became a sensation in 2018 when he played at the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle – a televised event seen by some two billion people.  At the time I was stuck by the beauty of Kanneh-Mason’s playing and surety of his technique.  Needless to say, anyone who can play with such serenity and finish in front of so many demonstrates the quality of grace under pressure.  To the Elgar Concerto, Kanneh-Mason brought impeccable technique, variety of tonal shadings, and an ample dynamic range  - all put in service to the music.  Hrůša and the orchestra collaborated with an intensity of expression that matched the soloist.  The performance was followed by a very enthusiastic and sustained ovation, which led Kanneh-Mason to gift the audience with an encore: a brief contemplative piece which was unfamiliar to me.

Sheku Kanneh-Mason receives a well-earned ovation.

I first heard Dvořák’s Sixth Symphony as a teenager, listening to a scratchy 78rpm album of the work found in my grandmother’s basement as played by the Cleveland Orchestra under Erich Leinsdorf.  Aside from the third movement Scherzo, a delightful Furiant characterized by alternating two-beat and three-beat measures and surprise cadences, I found the work unmemorable.  But I was only about 16 years old, and my musical ideas were not fully formed – if they ever are.  I’ve heard the work several times over the years, and while there are worthy passages in every movement, along with fine orchestration, I find the work does not exceed the sum of its parts the way the composer’s last three Symphonies do.  Hrůša led the opening movement in an expansive manner, with dashes of orchestral color that revealed the work’s rustic character.  The work’s second movement Agagio was serene and soulful, with lovely woodwind playing.  The Furiant went at a bouncing tempo that was, well, furious, with the movement’s tricky rhythms tossed-off impeccably – an example of brilliant orchestra playing that resulted in an audible “whoo!” from a member of the audience.  Following on that, the finale insinuated itself into the proceedings with merriment until an unbuttoned, declamatory coda that, as they say, brought the house down.