I must admit that I approached The Bard Music Festival with a bit of apprehension this year, if not outright caution. It is not that I dislike Liszt, but more that I was not convinced that there is enough Liszt around which to shape a music festival. I also must admit that although I enjoy listening to Liszt’s piano works, I am not convinced that he commands the same place in the musical firmament as the likes of Brahms, Haydn, and Shostakovich.
And so, at the end of weekend #1, I can say that I have been surprised and yet also justified in some of my pre-conceived notions. Leon Botstein, in his opening address stated that Liszt was a highly innovative and influential composer in his day, as well as a virtuoso performer, and that he was, indeed, far more than a pretty face. But his works have become neglected. At the end of the weekend I can only say, that to some of extent the neglect is justified, but perhaps not the dismissal.
This is not to say that I did not enjoy the concerts. The entire weekend was enjoyable and there were fabulous moments. The opening concert thrilled and promised interesting discoveries to come. The first piece, Réminiscences of Don Juan, was a spectacularly dramatic opening to the weekend, highlighting the characteristics of Liszt with which we are all familiar, the dramatic, preening virtuoso. An incredibly difficult and virtuosic piece, it was spectacularly performed by Valentina Lisitsa to tremendous applause.
But then the opening concert moved on to the lesser known Liszt, the list who wrote incredibly beautiful songs such as Die Lorelei, which in a performance by Nicole Cabell, could stop the heart and bring tears to the eyes. Also performed were the simple choral works written by the late Liszt, Liszt the Abbé and these songs, such as the benedictus were incredibly affecting.
So there were surprises. But for the most part they were few and far between.
The programs were lovely. There were many performances of mostly lovely but uninspiring works by very good but uninspiring performers. It seems it is difficult, if one goes to many concerts, not in the end to become a critic of sorts, and this is a subject that is brought more to mind in a program that is as much about performance and virtuosity as it is about the writing of music. And this to me is the difficult thing. There were many excellent pianists, who are technically extraordinary but in the end the performance is unmemorable. I know that the level of competence in conservatories has increased phenomenally in my lifetime. But what makes a virtuoso, a performer who makes your heart sing when they command the keys? I cannot explain this. One cannot expect that every concert will change one’s life, and the pleasure of hearing music, although dependent on the skill of the musician, does not require transformation. The Scientific American magazine ran an article last month on what it takes to become an expert and I am sure this applies to expert pianists as well. But what does it take to make the transition from outstanding pianist, from being an expert, to being a true artist? I know that, for me in this first weekend, that only moment of transfiguration came during the Saturday evening concert, when Arnaldo Cohen performed Liszt’s Piano Concerto #2 a performance filled with bravado and virtuosity as well as quite reflective sensitivity. It haunts my memory.
The remainder of that Saturday Evening concert was less memorable. Liszt’s symphonic works left me cold, although the orchestra itself performed beautifully. Liszt may have been important for developing the symphonic poem but later composers mastered the idea. The only other bright spot of that evening was when the violinist Alexander Markov played Heinrich Ernst’s Concerto Pathetique in F Sharp Minor. Even G, who tends not to be particularly fond of solo violin was thrilled. No matter how much I admired that performance however, I was far more carried away with the same Mr. Markov’s performance on Sunday afternoon, when he performed selections from Paganini’s 24 Caprices. Judging from the applause, I would say I was not the only one who fell under his spell. None of the variations on this work, which followed Mr. Markov’s performance, had any of the pure breathtaking beauty of that which we had just heard.
Which brings me back to the pianists. Any program about Liszt must have piano music and there was a great deal of it. I love piano music; I always have. And there was a string of stupendously competent pianists, technically very good, but not brilliant. Some of the pianists sat and played the piano wonderfully, performed difficult pieces with aplomb, but they were just competent people playing the piano. Others commanded the piano, made it theirs with the first touch, but still, in the end there was nothing special. On Saturday I would have to say the prize went to Michael Abramovich who played a piece titled le Vent by Charles-Valentin Alkan with elegance and finesse, the wind transformed into music was breathtaking.
But overall the pianists were less memorable. Janice Weber is technically excellent. Peter Orth is very good. I love watching Martin Kasick’s expression as he plays. But they were in the end unmemorable performances of unmemorable works. Oddly what sticks in my mind most about the afternoon concerts, aside from Mr. Markov, where the things that struck a sour note, namely the performances of Simone Dinnerstein and Valentina Lisitsa.
Simone Dinnerstein is a young soloist who played very well. Unfortunately I was sitting on the right, where I could see her face as she performed, and this was so painful that I had to close my eyes because I could not bear to look at her expression. The pieces were not sad, but Ms. Dinnerstein’s strong and lovely features were transformed into an expression that was almost a caricature of tragedy and pain. Her deep set eyes are framed by strong eyebrows that slope at a sharp angle from the center of her face. As she played, she drew them in toward the center of her face making a deep triangular shadow at her eyes, almost like a deeply shaded diamond formed by a greater-than and less-than sign. Below she pursed her lips in concentration. It was as if a clown face had been painted. A clown face of pain:
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It is most sad because I am certain this something she cannot control, but it has the potential to control her career.
The other disappointment, for me at least, was Valentina Lisitsa, with whom I was so impressed in the first performance. Oh, she handled the Réminiscences quite well. At that performance I was sitting on the left and was able to watch her amazing technique and that shaded my perception of the concert, because what we hear is also shaped by what we see. Lisitsa played very fast with very well-oiled elbows and wrists. It was almost as if her arms were plastic, as if Gumby were playing piano in overdrive. It was an amazing display. But when she performed on Saturday, I could not help but notice that yes she is a virtuoso, and yes she draws tremendous audience applause, but she plays like a 3 year old turned loose in a toy shop. With bravura and energy and gusto and absolutely no subtlety. When I got home that night, tired though I was, I googled her, but all I found were exclamatory promotional writings, but no reviews. Perhaps I am wrong. But I was disappointed.
The last concert of the weekend was titled Grand Opera Before Wagner and I had not been sure what I would be thrilled mostly because I just am not that familiar with opera. I have enjoyed what I have seen and heard, but G is not an opera fan and I think his willingness to listen to opera was worn out by his first wife, who apparently was a big opera fan. At any rate I enjoyed the opera very much. The excellent young bass, Christopher Van Horn performed again – we had heard him before in the weekend and I had been thrilled by his songs. In fact all the male vocals were good. And there were also several roles sung by Nicole Cabell, who although I am no judge of vocal ability, I think must be a fabulously promising young soprano. In fact if I were in Chicago and they were performing, I would go to the Lyric Opera just to hear Cabell and Van Horn. The other soprano, who unfortunately sang far more than Nicole Cabell, was shrill and unpleasing to listen to, but the Bellini operas as well as the Rossini, were lovely. I admit to being partial to Rossini; his oboe concerti were one of my first musical loves, and Rossini’s works will always hold a fond place in my heart.
I suppose from all I have said it sounds like a less than fabulous weekend, but this is not true. Bard Music is quite addictive. One doesn’t want to miss anything. You never know when some fabulous piece will turn up or some spectacular young performer about whom you know nothing. Immersing oneself in a musical milieu draws one in and out of normal life. It is exhausting and exhilarating all at once. I had a marvelous time.
Why do we choose a biography to read? What do we expect to find? Do we expect that by finding out something about a person’s life, we will learn something that will explain their work, or is reading a biography simply a voyeuristic exercise? It is, of course, human to want to know about other people’s lives. We look to a person’s life to see if it will explain how or why they became famous or successful; we want to know how they are different from us, and yet at the same time we look for similarities to see how they might be like us. This is especially true if the biography is of someone we think we admire, or whose work or accomplishments we admire. Do we feel more justified in our admiration if we can also find that the person is like us in someway?, Does the knowledge that they are not like we imagined change our judgement of their work? Do we think that by understanding an artist we can understand his or her work?
