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Time Out
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Time Out
Lang Lang talks roots, rhythm and the beauty of bridging cultures
Chinese-born pianist Lang Lang has long demonstrated music's ability to transcend boundaries. With remarkable talent and unwavering passion, he has captivated audiences the world over, performing with leading orchestras such as the Berlin Philharmonic and the Vienna Philharmonic. Beyond the concert hall, Lang Lang extends his artistry across genres, collaborating with musicians as varied as Herbie Hancock, Pharrell Williams and Metallica. His presence has graced the world's grandest stages – from the opening ceremony of the 2008 Beijing Olympics to the Grammy Awards and the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony. In a country known for its rich culture and diverse lifestyles, Thailand is home to a growing community of classical music enthusiasts who have long awaited the chance to experience this maestro live. That moment finally arrived thanks to the Royal Bangkok Symphony Orchestra Foundation and who brought the world-renowned pianist to Bangkok for his debut solo recital. Held on May 31 at Thailand Cultural Centre, the sold-out performance was met with thunderous applause and standing ovations. Before he took to the stage, we sat down with Lang Lang for an intimate conversation. In this rare interview, he opens up about how he protects his greatest instruments – his hands – and what it means to connect cultures through his music. He even reveals which pop icon he'd love to collaborate with and shares a glimpse into life behind the spotlight. As this is your first solo recital in Thailand, how do you feel about performing for a Thai audience? 'I'm very curious, as this is my first time here. I've watched so many Thai films, especially those set in Bangkok, so I feel like I already have some sense of the atmosphere. Thai food is popular everywhere, so that's something I'm quite familiar with. But I'm particularly curious about performing a recital here. Thailand seems to be a vibrant and new market for classical music. I was honestly overwhelmed by the number of pianos and the quality of the facilities. It's really impressive. I hope tomorrow will be exciting. It feels like the beginning of a new journey.' How do you mentally and physically prepare for high-stakes tours? 'I try to get enough sleep. That's probably the most important thing. Without proper rest, performing becomes nearly impossible because it's just too exhausting. I always make sure to rest well. I also make a point of enjoying the food in each city, as it's one of the best ways to experience the character of a place through its flavours.' In a world filled with chaos, political tension and uncertainty, how do you think music can bring people together? 'That's a tough question. Music has important qualities because it can heal people's hearts and unite emotions while acting as a bridge between cultures. But making world peace through music alone isn't easy. It requires great willingness and kindness from people to ease tensions. Music can help with that, but achieving world peace through music remains very challenging.' Your finger technique is amazing. How do you create that push and pull feeling that makes your playing style so unique? 'For me, my approach to playing piano is different from other instruments. With most instruments, you can hold them and carry them with you. But with the piano, you have to connect with it. You have to hug the piano because you cannot carry it around. You have to be with the instrument to make a true connection. If you just press the keys without that connection, it feels like typing on a computer, not playing music.' 'Yes, I've met Lisa a few times in Paris. Maybe we'll collaborate in the future. Who knows?' What has been the most unforgettable performance of your career so far? ' I would say the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics in 2008 was unforgettable. Another memorable moment was during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, when Lady Gaga held a concert on social media called One World: Together at Home. I performed a song alongside Celine Dion, Andrea Bocelli and John Legend. We each performed individually from our homes, connected through social media. That experience was really special given the circumstances.' How do you create a meaningful connection between Western and Eastern cultures through your music? 'I grew up in China during the early part of my life, so I have strong Chinese roots. At the same time, I was exposed to Western culture quite early. My first competition was in Germany when I was 12 and I have been living in the United States since I was 14. This gave me the opportunity to experience both cultures from a young age, which helped me find a balance between them. The cultures are very different. America is very different from China and Europe sits somewhere in between, leaning more towards the US but still deeply rooted in old traditions influenced by the East. For me, it's about finding my own position. I want to maintain my identity while embracing the wider world. It's important not to stick rigidly to just one culture but to be open and embrace everything the world has to offer.' What are your future goals regarding your personal life? 'Right now, I have a son who is four and a half years old. He's at a great age where we can really talk and connect. He plays drums, and his biggest idols are The Beatles. He's supportive of me and says I'm doing well, but he definitely prefers The Beatles. Besides drums, he also plays guitar. If he wants to pursue music further, that's completely fine with me.' Who is your favourite band or musical group? 'I'm not really into pop music, though I do listen to it sometimes. If you ask me about my favourite band, I'd say something more harmonic. I do like pop, but I'm not crazy about it. I'd love to collaborate with a band like Coldplay. I really admire Chris Martin. However, compared to pop, I still prefer classical music. I enjoy combining styles, but classical remains my favourite.' What's your routine for taking care of your fingers? 'I take care of my fingers by using hand cream regularly and avoiding activities that could cause injury. I try to avoid anything too rough or sharp, like playing basketball. Otherwise, I just do normal daily tasks.' What advice would you give to young Thai musicians who want to pursue a career in classical music? 'I think it's amazing that there is a growing interest in classical music here. It's very positive for the classical music scene. This new energy is something everyone needs. My advice is to believe in yourself, keep learning and always work on improving. Stay strong and passionate.'
Atlantic
01-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
How Leonard Bernstein Won Over Europe
Leonard Bernstein's way with orchestras that wouldn't give him what he wanted was usually imploring, even beseeching. He was disappointed —the musicians were not so much failing him, the conductor, as failing the composer, failing the music. But on one occasion, his disappointment turned to anger. In 1972, he was working with the Vienna Philharmonic on Gustav Mahler's Fifth Symphony. Mahler had been the head of the Vienna Court Opera and had conducted the Philharmonic from 1897 to 1907. This was their own music —and they were holding back. Bernstein was rehearsing the stormy first movement of the Fifth Symphony. In his own score of the work, now lodged at the New York Philharmonic Archives, he had written, before the opening movement, 'Rage—hostility—sublimation by Mahler and heaven.' And then, 'Angry bitter sorrow mixed with sad comforting lullabies—rocking a corpse.' But he was getting neither rage nor consolation from the Vienna Philharmonic. Sighing and shrugging, irritably flipping pages of the score back and forth, he finally burst out (in German): 'You can play the notes, I know that. It's Mahler that's missing!' The orchestra had arrived at the anguished climax toward the end of the movement, and the strings—by habit sweet and lustrous—were not playing with the harsh intensity that he wanted. 'I'm aware that it's only a rehearsal. But what are we rehearsing?' It was an implied threat to walk out. Bernstein later reported hearing grumbling from the ranks. ' Scheisse Musik.' Shit music. Scheisse Musik was Jewish music. Mahler was a Bohemian Jew. 'They thought it was long and blustery and needlessly complicated and heart-on-sleeve and overemotional,' Bernstein said later in a documentary interview about his relations with the orchestra. The Philharmonic, after banning Mahler during the Nazi period, had played his great, tangled, tormented later symphonies only a few times. The orchestra didn't know the music; the musicians didn't love it. The moment is startling because this was hardly Bernstein's initial encounter with the esteemed Vienna Philharmonic. He had first conducted the orchestra in 1966, and with enormous success (bouquets were flung; champagne was poured), so his wrath carried a hint of betrayal, as if to say, 'We are squandering a lot of hard work.' Turning Mahler into a universal classic—not just a long-winded composer of emotionally extreme symphonies—was part of Bernstein's mission, part of his understanding of the 20th century, and essential to his identity as an American Jew. In their prejudice against Mahler, which was both racial and musical, the Germans and Austrians at the core of classical tradition had torn out of themselves a vital source of self-knowledge as well as musical glory. Destroying Mahler made it easier for them to become Nazis. Bernstein was determined to restore what they had rejected. Bernstein needed the Vienna Philharmonic, and it needed him too. In fact, after the war, the orchestra needed him desperately. He was proud of America's musical achievements —proud of the work of the composers Charles Ives and Aaron Copland, and perhaps even prouder of the enduring native talent for popular Broadway entertainment, which, in 1972, was largely a Jewish creation. He had ennobled that tradition himself with the galvanizing West Side Story and the brilliant potpourri that is Candide, an homage to Voltaire's satire and to European operatic styles, shaped into the greatest American operetta. Ever eager to break down the barriers between classical and popular music, he put elements of jazz into his work. In the '20s, Europeans had certainly become conscious of American jazz, and Bernstein wanted to enlarge that recognition; he wanted to join America to world culture, even world history. From the December 1957 issue: Leonard Bernstein on 'Speaking of Music' It turned out that he needed the Vienna Philharmonic, and it needed him too. In fact, after the war, the orchestra needed him desperately. That angry rehearsal was a cultural watershed. Bernstein demanded that Vienna, and Europe in general, acknowledge what both America and Mahler meant to the 20th century—the century that the Europeans had played such a dreadful part in and that the Americans had helped liberate from infamy. An American Jew had become the necessary instrument in the New World's reforming embrace of the disgraced Old. The child of Ukrainian immigrants, Bernstein grew up in suburban Boston, an irrepressibly musical little boy who loved listening to the radio and beat out rhythms on the windowsills at home. He didn't have a piano until he was 10. His father, Sam, notoriously refused to pay for piano lessons, but when he finally relented, Lenny accelerated to full speed, working with the best piano teachers in the Boston area, including the well-known German pianist Heinrich Gebhard. In the summers, he stayed at the family cottage in Sharon, Massachusetts. As a teenager there, Lenny mounted a production of Carmen in which he played the temptress, wearing a red wig and a black mantilla, and a tumultuous Mikado in which he sang the part of Nanki-poo. Let me make a comparison with a renowned European musician. In 1908, Herbert von Karajan was born in Salzburg, Mozart's birthplace. There were at least two pianos at home, and Karajan played through Haydn and Beethoven symphonies with his family. On special evenings, string and woodwind players among the family's Salzburg friends would assemble at the house for chamber music. When he was 6, Karajan took classes at the Mozarteum, the school that preserved the Austro-German musical legacy. He spent his summers with his family on a stunning mountain lake, the Grundlsee, 60 kilometers east of Salzburg. The contrast makes an American happy: on the one side, tradition, serious public performance, luxury; on the other, émigré teachers, amateur musicales and family shenanigans, casual summers in the modest countryside. Yet what Boston and its environs had to offer in the 1930s, however scrappy, was enough to bring out Lenny's talent. Karajan was a prodigy; Bernstein was a genius. From the November 1954 issue: Leonard Bernstein's 'Symphony or Musical Comedy?' On November 14, 1943, the 25-year-old American conducted the New York Philharmonic without rehearsal; the concert was nationally broadcast on CBS Radio, and Bernstein was famous by the next day. In the following years, he conducted all over the country while working on his own classical compositions, including his Symphony No. 1 (Jeremiah), based on biblical texts. By the time he was 40, in 1958, he had created the Broadway successes On the Town and Wonderful Town, in addition to Candide and West Side Story, as well as some of his enduring classical scores. In that same year, he took over as music director of the New York Philharmonic. Initially, there was a lot of excitement in the press—the first American at the helm of one of the great orchestras! But the tone soon became hostile, even acrimonious. Audiences loved Bernstein, but his full-bodied manner on the podium—arms, head, hips, shoulders, eyebrows, groin in motion—caused embarrassment and even anger. The critic and composer Virgil Thomson, writing in the New York Herald Tribune, complained of 'corybantic choreography' and 'the miming of facial expression of uncontrolled emotional states.' In the arts, embarrassment may be the superego of emotion: This liberated Jewish body dismayed not only Thomson but the fastidious descendants of German Jews in New York, especially Harold C. Schonberg, the chief music critic of The New York Times starting in 1960, who gave Bernstein terrible reviews for years. In the eyes of Schonberg and others, Bernstein was hammy, exaggeratedly expressive, undignified: He was Broadway; he was show business; he lacked seriousness. The ecstasies of classical music are supposed to be, well, clean. But here was this lusciously handsome young man, a little overripe, leading orchestras in Haydn and Beethoven. I went to a lot of Philharmonic concerts in Bernstein's early days as music director, and I heard some things that were under-rehearsed and overdriven, a bit coarse, without the discipline and mastery that were so extraordinary in his later years. But the playing was always vital, the programs exciting. And one concert, given on April 2, 1961, changed my life. It was a performance of Mahler's Symphony No. 3, a monster with six movements, 95 minutes of outrageously stentorian swagger and odd, folkish nostalgia, capped by a lengthy adagio marked Langsam. Ruhevoll. Empfunden ('Slowly. Tranquil. Deeply Felt'). Bernstein took the adagio at a very slow tempo indeed, considerably slower than did many subsequent conductors, who, I daresay, would have had trouble holding it together at that speed. But the tempo wasn't remarkable in itself. What was remarkable was the sustained tension and momentum of the movement and the sense of improvisation within it—the slight hesitations; the phrases explored, caressed; and also the singing tone of the entire orchestra at those impossibly slow speeds, all of it leading to the staggering climax at the end. The audience erupted into applause, and I remember thinking (I was 17), Anyone who doesn't know that this man is a great musician can't hear a thing —or something like that. (The Mahler Third was recorded within the next few days at the Manhattan Center, on West 34th Street. What I heard then, you can hear now on a Sony CD and a variety of streaming services.) After the concert, I went home shaken. That last movement opened gates of sensation and feeling that I had never experienced before, at least not outside of dreams. I was a very repressed and frightened teenager, and the music granted permission, a kind of encouragement to come out of myself and meet the world. The word awakening sounds banal, but I don't know how else to describe what happened. Bernstein had that effect on many people. But it took his first engagement with the Vienna Philharmonic to awaken New York's critics, which became one of the great ironies of American musical taste. During that first stint in Vienna, in 1966, Bernstein conducted Verdi's Falstaff (at the Staatsoper, the orchestra's sister organization, formerly known as the Vienna Court Opera). With the Philharmonic, he also did some Mozart, along with Mahler's Das Lied von der Erde, the orchestral work for two voices that was in fact part of its repertoire. (It was the convoluted and violent later symphonies—masterpieces, all—that the orchestra resisted.) The ovations in 1966 went on forever, in a startling kind of release that even Bernstein, who certainly enjoyed acclaim, thought was a bit curious. 'I'm a sort of Jewish hero who has replaced Karajan,' he wrote to his wife, Felicia. And a couple of weeks later, making a report to his parents: You never know if the public that is screaming bravo for you might contain someone who 25 years ago might have shot me dead. But it's better to forgive, and if possible, forget … What they call the 'Bernstein wave' that has swept Vienna has produced some strange results; all of a sudden it's fashionable to be Jewish. The reference to Karajan was far from casual. The prodigious child of Salzburg had become a dominant figure in European classical music. In 1954, when he and Bernstein were both working at La Scala, they talked late into the night. Lenny wrote to Felicia: 'I became real good friends with von Karajan, whom you would (and will) adore. My first Nazi.' (Karajan had joined the party in 1935 and remained in it until the end of the war.) Bernstein's way of appropriating ex-Nazis has elements of both seduction and triumph. When he went to Vienna in 1966, he had to deal with the repulsive truth that a man named Helmut Wobisch, a former trumpet player in the Philharmonic, was now the manager of the Philharmonic. Wobisch had worked for the SS during the war, and was likely involved in expelling Jewish members from the orchestra. Bernstein referred to him in public as 'my dearest Nazi,' and there are photos of Wobisch happily greeting the maestro at the Vienna airport. Bernstein made grim jokes, but he wanted to woo these men away from their past, their guilt; he would win them over, asserting not only Jewish talent but Jewish forgiveness. He and Karajan developed a friendly rivalry. On different occasions, when they were working in Vienna and Salzburg at the same time, they took turns upstaging each other in public. One was a perfectionist who gave performances of stunning power that sometimes became smoothed out and even bland through repetition; the other was full of surprises—always discovering things, a sensibility always in the making. For years, they represented two versions of musical culture: the authoritarian essence of the Old World and the democratic essence of the Jewish-immigrant New World. From the April 1955 issue: Leonard Bernstein's 'A Nice Gershwin Tune' That an American conductor of any kind was enjoying acclaim in Europe was itself cause for wonder. From Bernstein's point of view, the odds had always been stacked against him. Some years after that 1966 triumph, he wrote the distinguished Austrian conductor Karl Böhm: You were born in the lap of Mozart, Wagner and Strauss, with full title to their domain; whereas I was born in the lap of Gershwin and Copland, and my title in the kingdom of European music was, so to speak, that of an adopted son. But by 1972, the positions of son and elders were reversed, and Bernstein's tone as he fought the Vienna Philharmonic in that rehearsal of the Mahler Fifth was anything but abashed. Bernstein did not, of course, walk out of the turbulent session. He stayed, and he drove the Vienna Philharmonic hard. An American Jew would make them play this music. In a 1984 video lecture called 'The Little Drummer Boy,' Bernstein insisted that Mahler's genius depended on combining two laughably incompatible musical strains—the strengths of the Austro-German symphonic line and the awkward and homely sounds of shtetl life recalled from the composer's youth in Bohemia. The exultant and tragic horn calls in the symphonies and in Das Lied von der Erde —were these not the potent echoes of the shofar summoning the congregation on High Holidays? The banal village tunes that Mahler altered into sinister mock vulgarities—did these not recall the raffish klezmer bands, the wandering musicians who played at shtetl weddings? The ambiguity, the exaltation and sarcastic self-parody, the gloom alternating with a yearning for simplicity and even for redemption—all of that reflected the split consciousness of Jews who could never belong and turned revenge upon themselves. In a remark that Bernstein often quoted, Mahler said, 'I am thrice homeless. As a native of Bohemia in Austria, as an Austrian among Germans, and as a Jew throughout all the world. Everywhere an intruder, never welcomed.' Mahler was demanding and short-tempered, and shame— the shame of being a Jew —may have been an element in his volatile disposition; Bernstein felt that it was. Leading orchestras in London, Tel Aviv, and Berlin, as well as in Vienna and New York, he performed the symphonies and song cycles with a violence and tenderness that ended any further talk of shame. By advocating for Mahler as powerfully as Bernstein did, he helped bring the Jewish contribution to Austro-German culture back into the lives of Europeans—and perhaps also a range of emotions, including access to the bitter ironies of self-knowledge that had been eliminated from consciousness during the Nazi period. Mahler died in 1911, but Bernstein believed that Mahler knew; he understood in advance what the 20th century would bring of violence and harrowing guilt. 'Marches like a heart attack,' Bernstein wrote in his score of Mahler's apocalyptic Sixth Symphony. The tangled assertion and self-annihilation, the vaunted hopes and apocalyptic grief—that was our modern truth. It was all there in the music. In 2018, the Jewish Museum Vienna mounted an exhibit called 'Leonard Bernstein: A New Yorker in Vienna.' The accompanying catalog featured the words 'Bernstein in Vienna became the medium through which a prosperous democratic German-speaking cultural community could display its newly found post-war liberal tastes.' Yes, exactly. The ovations for Bernstein went on forever in part because Vienna was celebrating its release from infamy. Perhaps only an American Jew—open, friendly, but a representative of a conquering power—could have produced the effect that Bernstein did. After his initial Vienna triumph in 1966, Bernstein returned to New York, and the embarrassment and condescending reviews petered out. Vienna had taught New York how to listen. The Europeans were enchanted by the expressive fluency that the New York critics had considered vulgar. Everyone but the prigs realized that Bernstein's gestural bounty was both utterly sincere and very successful at getting what he wanted. He wasn't out of control; he was asserting control. Karajan, by contrast, worked through the details in rehearsal and then, in performance, stood there with his eyes closed, beating time, thrusting out his aggressive chin and mastering the orchestra with his stick and his left hand. He was fascinating but almost frightening to watch. Karajan radiated power when he conducted; Bernstein radiated love. Smiling, imploring, flirting, and commanding, he cued every section and almost every solo, and often subdivided the beat for greater articulation. If you were watching him, either in the hall or on television, he pulled you into the structural and dramatic logic of a piece. He was not only narrative in flight; he was an emotional guide to the perplexed. For all his egotism, there was something selfless in his work. From the November 1976 issue: The Mahler boom In 1988, when Bernstein and Karajan were both close to death, they had a final talk in Vienna. Karajan, after neglecting Mahler's music for decades, had taken up the composer in his 60s and eventually produced two glorious recorded performances of the Ninth Symphony. The Austrian could no longer afford to ignore Mahler; he had become too central to concert life, to 20th-century consciousness, and Bernstein had helped produce that shift. They spoke of touring together with the Vienna Philharmonic. I am moved by the thought of the two old men, rivalries and differences forgotten, murmuring to each other in a hotel room and conspiring to make music. Mahler had brought them together. A few days after struggling with the Vienna Philharmonic over Mahler's Fifth in 1972, Bernstein performed and filmed the work with the orchestra in Vienna. The musicians are no longer holding back; it's a very exciting performance (viewable on YouTube and streaming services). Fifteen years later, in 1987, Bernstein and the Vienna Philharmonic returned to the Fifth, taking it on tour. The performance in Frankfurt on September 8, 1987, was recorded live by Deutsche Grammophon and released the following year, and is also available to stream. It is widely considered the greatest recording of the symphony. But it is not the greatest recording of the symphony. Two days later, on September 10, at the mammoth Royal Albert Hall in London, Bernstein and the orchestra played the work yet again. The BBC recorded the performance for radio broadcast, and though the recording (audio only) has never been commercially released, it has been posted on YouTube. The symphony, in any performance, is a compound of despair, tenderness, and triumph. But in many performances, much of its detail can seem puzzling or pointless—vigorous or languorous notes spinning between the overwhelming climaxes. Bernstein clarifies and highlights everything, sometimes by slowing the music down so that one can hear and emotionally register such things as the utter forlornness of the funeral march in the first movement, the countermelodies in the strings that are close to heartbreak, the long silences and near silences in which the music struggles into being—struggles against the temptation of nothingness, which for Mahler was very real. From the June 1993 issue: Re-hearing Bernstein The symphony now makes complete sense as an argument about the unstable nature of life. Toward the end of it, after a passage slowing the music almost to a halt, Mahler marks an abrupt tempo change: accelerando. In Bernstein's personal score, he writes at this point, 'GO.' Just … go. In London, the concluding pages—with the entire orchestra hurtling in a frenzy to the close—release an ovation in the hall that has the same intensity of joy as the music itself. Mahler's music is the dramatized projection of a Middle European, Jewish-outsider sensibility into the world. Bernstein carried the thrice-homeless Mahler home, yes, home to the world, where he now lives forever. The conductor may have been frustrated in some of his ambitions (he was never the classical composer he wanted to be), but he blended in his soul what he knew of Jewish sacred texts, Jewish family life and family feeling—blended all of that with the ready forms of the Broadway musical, the classical symphonic tradition, Christian choral music. He took advantage of new ways of reaching audiences —particularly television—without cheapening anything he had to say. He died too young at 72, dissatisfied, full of ideas and projects, a man still being formed; yet throughout his half-century career, he brought the richness of American Jewish sensibility into the minds and emotions of millions of people.
Los Angeles Times
15-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
How the storied Vienna Philharmonic returned to SoCal for the first time in a decade
It had been a decade and a year since the Vienna Philharmonic came our way to remind us how, for this storied ensemble of like-minded musicians, the medium can be magically both the message and the massage. The orchestra produces a ravishment of sound both immaterial and downright tactile. The orchestra's pair of concerts this week at Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall in Costa Mesa were, as always, tradition-bound. The ensemble's membership may have become slightly more international since last here. A few more women have been welcomed into its formerly misogynistic ranks. Old-timers' fears of diversity diluting the unique Vienna affect — the blend of instruments being a wonder of the orchestral world — proved unsurprisingly unfounded. The standard repertory, moreover, barely budges. Beethoven, Schubert, Dvorák and Richard Strauss were on the tour's docket — nothing written in the last 125 years. One way to maintain its hold on a glorious past is for the musicians to run the show. The orchestra has no music director to push it in this or that direction. Every conductor is, in effect, a guest of the manor invited by the musicians. No breaking the china. Every piece by Mozart or Beethoven, every Viennese waltz, remains a venerated relic. Yet to be Viennese is to be inherently open to an occasional fling or three. And the orchestra has had notable affairs with the unlikely likes of Leonard Bernstein and Pierre Boulez. These days it shows fondness and respect for Esa-Pekka Salonen and downright love for Gustavo Dudamel. The Vienna Philharmonic sound is so sumptuous it takes a rare conductor to resist its advances. A Salonen or Dudamel is just as likely to get the Viennese to try something new. Yannick Nézet-Séquin, who led the concerts at Segerstrom, is another who enjoys a long-term relationship with the Vienna Philharmonic. The French Canadian conductor, just turned 50, is a mainstay on the East Coast as music director of the Metropolitan Opera in New York and the Philadelphia Orchestra. He is prominent throughout Europe and much-recorded. But he has had little exposure on the West Coast. Nézet-Séquin conducted the Los Angeles Philharmonic once, 16 years ago. That is not, though, to say that he doesn't care about L.A. He did drop everything (namely a chamber music concert with musicians from his Met Opera orchestra at Carnegie Hall) to show up at the Hollywood premiere of 'Maestro,' having contributed to the bland soundtrack of the Leonard Bernstein biopic. Nézet-Séquin's popularity, however, hardly derives from blandness. The Viennese fondness for him may well be that, in his exuberance, he lets them live it up, even when that might mean chipping the china a little in his lust for splashy spectacle. Then again, lust in music, art and literature is one of Vienna's great gifts to the world. At Segerstrom, Nézet-Séquin had an interesting advantage. The hall opened shortly after Philadelphia's Marian Anderson (formerly Verizon) Hall with a similar, but improved, acoustic design by Russell Johnson. Now in his 14th season with the Philadelphia Orchestra, Nézet-Séquin knows how to exploit Johnson's variable sound-enhancing devices. He got remarkable results. Rather than the warm acoustical refinement of the famed Musikverein, the Vienna Philharmonic's home, every orchestral utterance jumped out at the audience like a 3D special effect. That could be full orchestra climaxes louder than you ever thought possible without amplification. The very, very quiet violas, cellos and basses opening Dvorák's 'New World' Symphony had a soul-filling robustness that even the best headphones couldn't match. At either extreme, it could be hard, as a listener, to catch your breath. Each of the two programs contained an early 19th century classical period work and concluded with a late 19th century romantic period one. Sunday afternoon the opener was Beethoven's Third Piano Concerto with Yefim Bronfman as the bold-toned, rhythmically precise, eloquent soloist. Where permitted, Nézet-Séquin added sharp orchestral punctuations but otherwise let the orchestra support without fuss a commanding pianist. That was followed, in the second half, by Strauss' 'Ein Heldenleben' as sonic spectacular. There is nothing new to that. Decades ago, a young Zubin Mehta blew Angelenos' minds with 'Heldenleben,' and his Los Angeles Philharmonic recording of it still can. Daniel Barenboim led a grandiloquent 'Heldenleben' at Segerstrom Center's older, acoustically troubled hall on an earlier visit of the Vienna Philharmonic. In Nézet-Séquin's performance, Strauss' hero proved still larger than life. Brass blared, winds squawked, timpani thundered as though this hero who conquers music critics and makes love to his wife were Captain Marvel. The real marvel, in this instance, being the avoidance of vulgarity. No matter how hard the orchestra was pushed, it never sounded strained. Much of the same could be said for the second program, Tuesday night, with Schubert's early Fourth Symphony and the ubiquitous 'New World.' In the Schubert, Nézet-Séquin went for bold Beethovenian effects that strained Schubert's score. In the Dvorak, Nézet-Séquin appeared to want to outdo everyone else, making this 'New World' a louder, softer, slower, faster place. He had the means. He had the acoustics. He had the persuasive power to get the orchestra to give its incomparable all. The audience jumped to its feet, thrilled by the bravura of it. But it was just that, an hour of bravura, not a new world.
Los Angeles Times
14-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
The Crowd: Vienna Philharmonic's visit to Orange County made possible by patrons of the arts
Centuries of classic European orchestral excellence graced Orange County this week when the Vienna Philharmonic arrived for a residency. The orchestra was brought here by the Philharmonic Society of Orange County, in partnership with Cal Performances. Rousing ovations echoed throughout the Reneé and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall during the performances conducted by internationally acclaimed maestro Yannick Nézet-Séguin. The Orange County concerts followed performances that had been held at Zellerbach Hall at UC Berkeley. Both West Coast appearances were made possible primarily through the philanthropic largess of two women dedicated to the musical heritage of the 180-year dynasty of the Vienna Philharmonic. The two modern 'Medici' patrons responsible for the performances are San Francisco Bay Area resident Maria Manetti Shrem and Elizabeth Segerstrom, of Newport Beach and New York City. Without their significant patronage the public would not have the opportunity to experience such performances. Dedication to the highest level of artistic presentation exists today as it did centuries past due to individuals such as Manetti Shrem and Segerstrom. Their credit goes largely unknown by the general public, making it even more important to recognize such support in the media. In addition to the performances, the visiting orchestra's residencies in both Northern and Southern California included multiple opportunities for educational and civic outreach. The Segerstrom Concert Hall performances were held last Sunday and Tuesday. On Sunday afternoon, the concert featured pianist Yefim Bronfman with the Vienna Philharmonic delivering Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 3 and then Strauss's world-renown triumph, Ein Heldenleben. The Tuesday evening performance shared with its audience Schubert's Symphony No. 4 and Dvořák's popular Symphony No. 9, also known as 'From the New World.' With the music came revelry. Following Sunday's performance, the Westin South Coast Plaza Hotel welcomed patrons to a celebratory dinner reception in honor of the orchestra and the donors making it possible. Joining Segerstrom and Manetti Shrem were major sponsors the Donna L. Kendall Foundation and the Shanbrom Family Foundation. Additional significant support came from Jennifer and Anton Segerstrom, Elizabeth An and Gordon Clune, Dee and Larry Higby, Patricia and William Podlich, Connie and Peter Spenuzza, Katherine and Howard Bland and Mary and John Carrington. Also front and center for the Philharmonic Society were Whitney and Jerry Mandel, Hung Fan and Michael Feldman, Elaine and Carl Neuss, Gail and Robert Sebring and Deirdre and Douglas Smith. The elegant party décor was inspired by the paintings of Austrian artist Gustav Klimt, who was known for his Symbolist style. A legendary figure in the Vienna Secession Movement in the late 19th century, his imprint was evident throughout the Westin Ballroom, which was adorned in vibrant splashes of color and expressive floral displays. The crowd enjoyed a multi-course Sunday supper raising additional funds in support of music education in Orange County. With considerable grace, both Elizabeth Segerstrom and her close friend and fellow arts advocate Maria Manetti Shrem accepted the Philharmonic Society's Performing Arts Visionary Awards. Arts mentorship matters. The entire community is elevated through such passion and generosity. To learn more visit development@
Yahoo
10-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Strauss' 'The Blue Danube' to waltz into interstellar space on May 31
The Vienna Philharmonic is to play Johann Strauss' "The Blue Danube" in the Austrian capital on May 31, with the concert transmitted to the Voyager 1 probe in interstellar space. The Deep Space Antenna of the European Space Agency (ESA) in Spain will transmit the famous tune, Norbert Kettner, head of Vienna Tourism, said on Monday. The orchestra is to play the piece in the city's Museum for Applied Art (MAK). When it was launched in 1977, the probe carried 27 recordings of music by composers including Bach, Beethoven and Mozart, but not Strauss' waltz, which has become an unofficial theme tune for space following Stanley Kubrick's sci-fi film "2001: A Space Odyssey." Voyager 1 has on board a gold-plated audio-visual disc that includes photographs and information on the Earth, as well as various recordings, including music. This was done in case the probe is ever found by alien civilizations. The event is part of a Vienna Tourism campaign marking Strauss' 200th birthday this year. The ESA celebrates the 50th anniversary of its founding on May 31. Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 are now around 25 billion kilometres away from Earth and well beyond our solar system. The signal is expected to take around 23 hours to reach Voyager 1. Whether the signal can be picked up elsewhere depends on the technical abilities of any civilizations receiving it, organizers said. Anyone wishing to participate symbolically in the trip can sponsor one of the 13,743 notes free of charge.
