Thursday’s Chamber VI program presented a revered French favorite, plus our first festival appearances by cherished American soprano Dawn Upshaw and this year’s series composer-in-residence Jonathan Berger.
“There are certain selfish pleasures involved in being director of this series,” said series host Geoff Nuttall as he sauntered onstage with three of his colleagues to introduce the first number, Gabriel Fauré’s delicious Piano Quartet in G Minor. “I not only get to pick the music, but I get to pick who plays it.” Since he had his violin in hand, it was obvious that he had picked himself for this one. “I couldn’t resist playing this wonderful music, or the chance to perform with three of my favorite musicians on the planet,” he added, before introducing his illustrious colleagues: pianist Stephen Prutsman, violist Hsin-Yun Huang, and cellist Alisa Weilerstein.
Geoff went on to describe the composer as “sort of the missing link between Brahms and Debussy,” adding that “Fauré is one of those composers who created a unique musical language of his own.” And so it seemed to us as they got into the music. The brisk opening movement had passion to burn and stretches of nearly unbearable beauty. The following scherzo movement (Geoff described it as “piquant”) began at a frantic, headlong pace – even keeping its boldness and sense of tension going in later slower passages. The dreamy and pastoral slow movement — the most impressionistic-sounding of the lot — built gradually to a passionate peak before winding back down; you could even hear the ghostly suggestion of church bells pealing in the distance, as Geoff had told us to listen for. The finale was a veritable riot of instrumental color and surging power. “You just keep wanting to play some sections over and over,” said Geoff, grinning and mopping his sweaty brow after it was all over.
Geoff then introduced us to composer-in-residence Jonathan Berger, who proceeded to describe the next number to us: Sink or Swim, a short, four-movement suite for violin solo. He told us that the work was based on “The Water is Wide,” a well-known Appalachian folk song (the title words appear in one of its verses). “I’m a cubist composer,” he explained. “I like to dissect my thematic material, and explore its fragments in a kaleidoscopic way.” He added that sometimes you have to listen hard to pick up on these fragments. “You won’t hear the whole song all at once until the last movement.”
Enter star violinist (and Geoff’s wife) Livia Sohn to deliver the music. The opening section was slow and eerily reflective, full of technical tricks and harmonic devices (like broken chords, or playing in thirds or octaves) to add interest and achieve the “kaleidoscopic” effect the composer spoke of. (I wish I could publicly humiliate the unknown dolt whose cellphone went off right in the middle of the movement’s most delicate moment.) The same approach continued in the next movement, only much faster; the skittish music was delivered in quick, choppy phrases, with brusque and explosive touches. The third movement’s frantic start reminded me of bird-like fluttering, followed by some episodes of near-violence. But things calmed down in the finale: a soft, slow, affair that finally revealed the original song’s lovely and nostalgic melody in its entirety. I thought I caught a few of the fleeting earlier theme-snippets, but I couldn’t be sure. Livia nailed this imaginative and heady music with glittering virtuosity and deep sentiment, and the crowd really seemed to like it.
And then Dawn broke — Dawn Upshaw, that is — in her first series appearance. And, trust me, she lit up the stage (that’s star power for you). But first, Geoff explained to us that Dawn and her composer/collaborator Stephen Prutsman go way back as dear friends, and that the origins of Piano Lessons (the music at hand) began a decade ago, when Dawn gifted Steve with a book of poetry by Billy Collins. It came in handy when Steve was later commissioned to compose a piece for Dawn (and mega-pianist Emmanuel Ax) to take on tour. The title poem reminisces about the poet’s childhood piano lessons, from a teacher who “lies on the floor with a bad back.” (Geoff saw to it that the audience got a printout of the poem). The verses overflow with humor, nostalgia, and poignant, almost reverent reflection.
And Steve’s music reflected all of these qualities, and more, matching the poetry perfectly. As I’ve reported before, Steve is not only an awesome pianist, but also a wonderful composer and arranger. Knowing well Dawn’s ability to float effortless high notes, he gave her several here, which she delivered to ravishing effect. Of the poem’s (and the music’s) six sections, my favorite was the subtly bitter verse that describes the dilemma of the pianist’s left hand: the one “who never gets to hold the pen or wave good-bye, and now, never gets to play the melody.”
This was the first time Dawn ever performed the piece with her friend Steve at the piano, and a very sweet and memorable performance it was, indeed. You can hear this legendary soprano for yourself in a broad array of choice music over the next three programs — don’t miss her!
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