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Thinking About the Future

Monday, January 9th, 2012

By Alan Gilbert

On January 4 the Philharmonic made a very important announcement: Matthew VanBesien has been named the next Executive Director of the Orchestra. I feel very positive about this choice, as I was quoted as saying, but here I want to discuss some of the thoughts that have come to my mind in the wake of the announcement.

Filling Zarin Mehta’s shoes has been a challenge for a couple of reasons. First of all, he’s a master at what he does. He’s a legend in the business, and deservedly so: there’s nobody who has existed at this level of orchestral endeavor for as long as he has and with the success he’s had. Zarin’s sense of what the New York Philharmonic is, and of what it can and should be, is full of respect for the traditions of music. His connections with guest soloists and conductors and with concert presenters around the world are epic.

We looked for someone who could step into the role that Zarin has filled who would fully respect the heritage and the venerable traditions of the New York Philharmonic and, at the same time, have the ability to carry forward into the 21st century both the New York Philharmonic and the elusive notion of what an orchestra should be. It remains to be seen what will actually happen, but the discussions that the Philharmonic’s Board, the Search Committee, the musicians, and I have had were extremely positive and extremely optimism-inducing. What we’re trying to do is nothing less than to redefine the shape, function, and role of the modern symphony orchestra.

Certain things are not going to go away. We will continue playing concerts in our home — a concert hall that, by the way, we’re going to be renovating, if not completely reconceiving. That’s going to be an enormous project on Matthew’s plate. But also up for discussion is the way we interact with our audience, beyond the traditional concert format, how we connect with our community. This very broad concept of outreach — which means going out and not expecting people to come to us — is very important to us, and I think it is something that contains an enormous amount of potential. Also, we can expand the types of concerts we give — working with mixed media, blending cultural trends and forces, collaborating with other institutions in New York City such as arts and dramatic organizations, theaters, museums, schools. There are a lot of ways in which we can expand our reach in what will hopefully be a consistent philosophical mode; not in a way that would be gratuitous and or extraneous, but which would actually be central to what we, as an orchestra, can mean.

In terms of education, there has been a clear shift. Schools are not spending as much time, energy, or resources on music education. Orchestras are trying to pick up the slack — the Philharmonic already has been very active in this area, with our School Partnership Program and other projects (http://nyphil.org/education/schools_overview.cfm) — partly because they can, and also because I think it is becoming an essential part of what an orchestra is. In a sense, everything we do is “education.” When we introduce new music to audiences, or when we try to show connections between pieces on a given program that may not be immediately evident, that’s also education. So it’s not really a stretch to expand the function of the modern symphony orchestra to increase actual educational activities. The capacity of musicians to be teachers, to be advocates for music itself, is something we’re tapping into more and more.

Matthew is very committed to all these things and is interested in thinking out of the box, much as I hope to do.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

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Ruminations and reflections, Lyonnais

Monday, October 17th, 2011

By Alan Gilbert

I’ve recently tried my hand at acrylic painting, and just bought a how-to book that stresses the overriding importance of composition — i.e. form and the use of spatial elements — in a successful work of art. By that measure, I can tell you right now that this blog entry will not be successful, since for my return to this space after a series of hopelessly sporadic postings, for which I apologize and beg your indulgence, I anticipate a random series of thoughts and musings.

At the moment I am looking out the window of my sister’s sun-drenched apartment in Lyon, France. This is undoubtedly one of the great gastronomic capitals of the world, and I am looking forward to a great meal tonight at Mère Brazier with Chef Mathieu Viannay, a restaurant I’ve long wanted to try.

Last night we ate at Yomogi, a hugely popular Japanese noodle bar, of which my sister is a part-owner. I think this is very cool — in addition to being concertmaster of the Orchestre National de Lyon, Jenny followed through on a dream we have talked about for years: she actually opened a restaurant in Lyon, a city where half of all new food establishments close after six months. Yomogi just celebrated its first birthday, and from the quality of the food (the gyoza were particularly yummy) and the good vibe I experienced, it looks as if they are in for a good run.

Yomogi is going through some changes in staff, and it was interesting to observe Jenny interacting with the people she manages. In many ways the analogy of a restaurant to an orchestra could not be more apt: both rely on goodwill and effective teamwork, and when these elements are in place and functioning well, both are better able to please and fulfill their customers. I was also struck by the behind-the-scenes dimension (planning for renovation of the ventilation system, hiring new cooks, mediating tensions between the workers) that reminded me uncannily of experiences I’ve had with orchestras.

I was able to make this quick two-day jaunt to Lyon because I am between two performances with the Munich Philharmonic. The first concert was yesterday at 11:00 a.m. on Sunday, and the other is not until Tuesday evening. Jenny has left to hear a contrabass audition for her orchestra, and as I sit here alone in her flat, it feels like the first real breather I’ve had since early September (not to mention the first chance I’ve had to address my blogging responsibilities!).

That month was insane for the New York Philharmonic — many members told me that they could not remember a period in which they played so much repertoire under such intense conditions. The season opened with three wonderful programs that included Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony, an important premiere by John Corigliano, and Frank Peter Zimmermann’s first concerts in his season as our Artist-in-Residence. Frank Peter really wanted his first appearance this year to underline the collaborative spirit he likes to feel, and so the first piece on the program, preceding his magnificent reading of the Berg Concerto, was the Bach Double Concerto for two violins, for which I joined him as the other violin soloist.

Before the subscription season proper even began, the Philharmonic was already in full swing: working backwards, we had Opening Night, with the incredible Deborah Voigt in great voice; a memorable Henry V by Walton, with Christopher Plummer’s profound Shakespearean presence; and A Concert for New York on September 10th, marking the 10th anniversary of 9/11. And if this were not enough, the Orchestra also played the fiendishly difficult sound track to Bernstein’s West Side Story with the film projected live in Avery Fisher Hall, and a few days later I joined them for by an outdoor extravaganza in Central Park with Andrea Bocelli, Bryn Terfel, Tony Bennett, and Celine Dion.

All in all it was, despite the intensity, a great stretch for the New York Philharmonic: the Orchestra is playing unbelievably well and is truly fulfilling our hopes to be an important cultural force in the U.S. and abroad. During the last few days I have been struck by how many people in Europe have told me that they have been following us on European television and in the news. I think it is fair to say that for many of them the New York Philharmonic is a major icon.

For the moment that feels very far away, though: my pressing concern is what to eat for lunch, knowing that a traditionally heavy Lyonnais meal awaits tonight. See you soon!

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

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Music and 9/11

Tuesday, September 13th, 2011

On Saturday, September 10 2011, Alan Gilbert spoke before the New York Philharmonic performed Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, Resurrection, on A Concert for New York. Following are his reflections that preceded the performance, which was telecast nationally on PBS and can be watched in full at http://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/episodes/a-concert-for-new-york/watch-the-fully-edited-broadcast-program-with-tom-brokaw/1182/.

We are faced, on this anniversary, with the responsibility and privilege of commemorating the devastation and bravery we witnessed in our beloved New York City ten years ago, of acknowledging sacrifices and heroism that still leave us stunned. 

We look back, remembering the fallen with a sadness that will never pass, and also look ahead, seeking inspiration and reassurance. Words pale, and we are humbled.  So we do what people do when the boundaries of our reasoning are strained and we must turn to art.  We make music.

In that day’s immediate aftermath we spoke through music and questioned through music.  There were concerts by professionals and by schoolchildren. By saxophonists in the subways, and by singers on the sidewalks. By the New York Philharmonic, in this very hall, and by these same musicians in Lower Manhattan. We reached out to each other as Mankind always has, touching each other’s hearts and feeling our shared humanity.

We do so again tonight, with Mahler’s Resurrection symphony and its evocation of every aspect of life, from its agonies to its joys and its profound sense of hope. 

This is a performance for New York City, but it is particularly for the families of those who died, along with those of the courageous first-responders, many of whom are here tonight. 

As we perform and as we listen, we remember what we lost, and we honor those who have struggled to live after losing their loved ones. We also aspire to give resonance to some of the best aspects of the human spirit — tolerance, perseverance, and optimism. We are united in our hope for a bright future – a future in which we will never forget: stronger for our differences and living together in a world rich with friendship and peace.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

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Afterthoughts

Tuesday, June 28th, 2011

By Alan Gilbert

I have been thinking generally about how orchestras define themselves and, specifically, about what the New York Philharmonic means to the public we serve.

Last week’s Philharmonic production of The Cunning Little Vixen was a joy to work on, and I am hugely proud of what we achieved as an institution. For the last month or so, our various departments banded together and effectively functioned as a top-notch opera company. Hallways became costume and prop storage areas, people could be heard discussing the story and meaning of Janáček’s masterpiece, and the buzz of activity with its unifying force was truly gratifying.

The experience we had last year with Ligeti’s Le Grand Macabre was helpful — we certainly learned a lot that came in handy this second time around. But, at the same time, the bar had been set so high by the enormous triumph of the Ligeti that I think we all felt real pressure to have a great success. Many of the previews in the press openly wondered, ”Can they do it again?” and ”Will lightning strike twice?” On a personal level, I was hoping to provoke a response that would justify the unusual commitment that presenting a staged opera demands of the Philharmonic.

It worked. Reactions were overwhelmingly positive, and many opera buffs even said that they felt that we achieved a greater-than-usual emotional power with Doug Fitch’s enchanting production of Vixen. I am sure that the unexpected and non-traditional setting was largely responsible for this — as soon as one entered Avery Fisher Hall one felt a fresh sense of possibility that naturally comes along with the unexpected. Who had ever seen a huge grove of sunflowers sprouting among the musicians of the New York Philharmonic?

What was most gratifying, however, was the response to the Orchestra’s playing. Each night the ovations were the loudest when the musicians stood. Of course, my choice of this particular opera was largely influenced by the prominent role that the orchestra plays, but the combination of hearing the New York Philharmonic play this ravishing score, with its range of opulence and shimmering tenderness, and of actually seeing the musicians on stage had to have been extremely powerful in inspiring this reaction. It felt like a new paradigm not only for opera, but also for orchestras. Why shouldn’t we do away with the artificial boundaries that separate art forms?

Of course the New York Philharmonic’s primary mission remains that of performing great orchestral repertoire at the highest possible level. I will never forget this season’s many highlights, which include memorable performances of Mozart’s Symphony No. 40, Bruckner’s 2nd, Mahler’s 5th, and Beethoven’s Eroica. I will equally remember Lindberg’s Kraft, and Vixen, both because they were artistically important and gratifying, but perhaps even more because they were accepted and received with an enthusiasm that is doing away with the lines that would have at one time caused them to be defined as ”out-of-the-box.”

Last week more than one audience member came backstage after a performance of Vixen to tell me that the applause for the Orchestra and for me was not only for that night’s performance: it was also for our vision, and for what this Orchestra is coming to mean for New York City. All of us on stage sense this as well. We feel the support and connection with the audience that is based on this identity — an identity that is, after all, at the very core of our aspiration to be, in the deepest, most meaningful way, New York’s own Orchestra.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

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What We’ve Been Doing Lately

Tuesday, June 7th, 2011

By Alan Gilbert

Those of us who were involved in preparing for last year’s production of Ligeti’s Le Grand Macabre are remembering the great excitement we all felt in this very same rehearsal room as we prepare for our upcoming performances of Janáček’s opera The Cunning Little Vixen, but are also amazed at how different the space feels. This time Doug Fitch — our brilliant director/designer/costume genius — has created a fantastic, magical landscape, populated with the most gorgeous creations: animal suits, bug antennae, plants and flowers, all fashioned out of found materials and readily-available clothing. LGM (as we referred to the Ligeti) filled the studio with high-tech equipment, making it feel rather like a mad-scientists laboratory. It is a testament to Doug’s incredible range that he is able to be so convincing in such vastly varied ways. I encourage everybody to check out Doug’s Website as well as the video that was made for the Philharmonic’s site to get a real sense of this amazing artist. 

During a break in rehearsal I was talking with Daniel Boico, my terrific Assistant Conductor at the Philharmonic, about how lucky we are to have a job that can be so different from day to day. The world of theater, where we are now, is a totally different experience from what our activities last week, when we were performing and recording Time Machines, Sebastian Currier’s marvelous new violin concerto with, Anne-Sophie Mutter for Deutsche Grammophon. We literally went directly from a listening session of the first edits into a staging rehearsal for the Janáček — the contrast could not have been greater.

It is difficult to believe that only two weeks ago we wrapped up our 11-concert EUROPE / SPRING 2011 Tour which took us to nine cities. Aside from the splendid playing of the Orchestra, night after night, some of my strongest memories from the tour are of the audiences — how intensely concentrated and appreciative they were, and also how distinctly different they were from place to place, from culture to culture. Audiences may not always realize how crucial they are in creating mood in a concert, and the great influence they can make on the inspiration, or lack thereof, of the performers. Many of the Philharmonic musicians were commenting on this as the tour progressed, observing that our performances experienced subtle changes over the trip according to the atmosphere we felt in the different halls.

The Budapest audience was definitely the most shocking: they have an amazing routine that involves rhythmic clapping that gradually increases in speed. Many audiences do this, but what was unusual for us was how slowly the rhythm started; the crowd began the accelerando with such long pauses between each clap that it sounded as if they had rehearsed!

All of the audiences were very quiet during the music, but there was a special intensity we felt in Leipzig; Lisa Batiashvili, one of our soloists on the tour, said that she thinks they have “cleaner ears.”  Perhaps so, or perhaps not, but in any case there was a palpable connection that created a rare musical bond for all of us who were there.  

But now back to rehearsing Vixen: It’s taking shape wonderfully already, and everyone is excited to hear the New York Philharmonic play this luscious score. See you there!

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

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Meaning in Music

Thursday, April 7th, 2011

By Alan Gilbert

On Monday, April 4, 2011, Alan Gilbert became the first New York Philharmonic Music Director to give the Annual Erich Leinsdorf Lecture. His remarks, titled “Performance and Interpretation,” were Webcast live. Following is an excerpt from his speech, which can be watched in full on the New York Philharmonic’s Website, nyphil.org/leinsdorf.

Meaning in music is elusive — in fact, there are those who have said that music has no meaning. Nevertheless, for this discussion, I will be bold enough to posit that music does indeed have meaning, albeit not in the concrete or overt way that the word “apple” has meaning. Still, a performer interprets a piece of music by playing it in a way that is designed to enable the audience to understand the piece’s meaning, and I think that we can agree that it is not enough just to present the notes in the score. There must also be emotional understanding that adds meat to the bones of the score.

But what is meaning in music? Is it necessary to defend the notion of music as having meaning? As I just said, there are those who have said that music per se has no meaning — that music is essentially an empty shell that can only provoke individual responses that are not intrinsically related to whatever quality the music holds. I could be tempted to counter this nihilistic attitude, first, by pointing to the many functions that music has served over the millennia. For one thing, music has crucially served as a call to religious life —  by the shofar at Rosh Hashanah, or by masses for weekly or funeral rites, or other types of music used for rituals in other religions. Similarly, music has inspired people in battle, in declarations of love, and in other various communal and social forms. Today many art forms — art song and opera, Broadway musicals and film — are human expressions in which music contributes to the text’s meaning. How could it be possible, especially in cases where it is an accompaniment to narrative, for music to lack meaning?

That having been said, I am much more comfortable with a non-rigorous, intuitive reaction: obviously music has meaning, because it so palpably provokes a deep emotional response in people. I think I am drawn to this approach for dealing with this profoundly important question partly because I am far from being a true scholar — I lack the intellectual tools that academics use to effectively carry a convincing philosophical argument very far.

Still, my belief that music has meaning lies on an even more basic level: as a musician, believing in the primacy of meaning in music could not be more fundamental as a defining point in who we are and what we do. Furthermore, the idea that we must constantly search for meaning and truth in music is, I think, the guiding light for most musicians, and it provides a framework for stylistic choices: why would it even matter how we decide to play a given piece if there were no reference goal or meaning to pursue? It does matter, it has to matter, since otherwise we would have no compass to guide us in our interpretive decisions.

Of course, music’s meaning is ineffable — precisely because it picks up where words leave off. How often have we, as music lovers, felt something incredibly powerfully as the result of hearing a piece, or a phrase, or even a note of music, without being able to express or understand why we had that particular feeling? Amazingly, these musical moments can seem unbelievably precise, although there may be no words to describe them.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

 

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Roman Holiday

Tuesday, February 22nd, 2011

By Alan Gilbert

It’s hard to avoid Michelangelo in Rome — his presence seems to be everywhere in this most beautiful of cities. Sunday was free from my work with the Accademia di Santa Cecilia Orchestra, and you could say that, in a way, I actually spent the day with Michelangelo (and most pleasant it was, indeed!).

I never visit Rome without stopping by St. Peter’s to see Michelangelo’s Pietà. His David and the Sistine Chapel may be even more well-known, but for me this sculpture is the most miraculous. How is it possible that out of solid rock he was able to fashion something so vibrant, textured, and emotionally piercing? Michelangelo famously said that every stone has a sculpture within it, and that the sculptor must merely chip away the extra parts to reveal it. This resonates powerfully for me: it doesn’t explain how the artist has the eye or genius to see a pietà within a crude block of marble, but it does support the sense of inevitability and oneness with nature that imbues this masterpiece.

Hans Werner Henze attended my concert on Saturday night and kindly invited me to have lunch with him the next day, so after leaving St. Peter’s I drove out to his gorgeous villa in the Lake region outside of Rome with Mauro Bucarelli, the artistic administrator of the Accademia. Mauro is a terrific orchestra manager, but I must say that he really missed his calling as a Roman tour guide. On our ride out of town I heard fascinating history and facts about the many monuments we passed. (I particularly enjoyed passing the Teatro Argentina, where I learned that the premiere of Rossini’s Barber of Seville took place.)

Arriving at Maestro Henze’s villa is like stepping back in time, both because of the actual Roman ruins that surround the house, and also because of the old-world elegance and way of life Henze has maintained. He is not as mobile as he once was, but he is still the most perfect and charming host. While we were served a splendid meal by his staff — a meal that began with a perfect risotto milanese and ended with “frappe,” a kind of fried dough that puts carnival food to shame — we discussed music, Italian politics, wine, the New York Philharmonic: a host of topics that show how engaged and endlessly curious Henze remains.

Legend has it that the olive grove on Henze’s land is the exact spot in which Michelangelo wooed Vittoria Colonna, who would become the amorous subject of his ardent sonetti. I’ve become extremely interested in a very recent piece by Henze, Immolation, which was written for the Accademia in Rome. It is a powerful hour-long work that poignantly and shockingly explores the subject of love and the way it is entwined with the eternal struggle between the forces of good and evil. As I was browsing Henze’s library, and admiring his fantastic collection of modern art, a good portion of which he painted himself (there is also an amazing Francis Bacon on the wall), I couldn’t help but think that Henze is the quintessential modern Renaissance man, a worthy successor to Michelangelo. How inspiring, and yet unsurprising, it is that the elements of life that move him are the same timeless ones that fueled Michelangelo centuries ago.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

Michelangelo's Pieta

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Casual Musings on Top 10s and Greatness

Tuesday, January 25th, 2011

By Alan Gilbert

I have followed Anthony Tommasini’s recent series in The New York Times on the Top 10 composers with great interest, both because I was curious about what the final list would be, and also because it is reminiscent of one of my favorite parlor games that I have played for years with my fellow “muzoids” (with thanks to Tom Morris for the term). Our rules are slightly different, however: we always limit ourselves to the Top Five, and we work with the premise that each time we return to the exercise, we have to introduce to the list at least one different composer. I like this fluid approach to something that, on at least a superficial level, sounds dogmatic. What becomes important in coming up with a new pantheon each time is an enthusiasm for music itself and, further, for the different criteria we use to measure greatness.

After all, what is “greatness”? I have often allowed myself a non-rigorous definition, i.e., “you know it when you see it.” Admittedly, this immediately presents problems, since it relies on recognition as the determining factor, and throughout the history of music, how many composers can we think of who were not considered to be great until many years had passed? Does this mean that their music was not “great” until long after it was written?

Perhaps time is an important element, though. Many would say that the ability to withstand the test of time is an essential aspect of great art. Further, I guess that I believe that great art often does have the capacity to speak across generations and cultural differences.

I recently spoke about this subject with my good friend Marc Neikrug and, interestingly, he identified the attribute of profound ambition as being necessary for a composer to be truly great. He meant that great composers all share the desire and capacity to say something deep and important about our humanity. Beethoven had this most Shakespearean quality more than any other composer — every note he wrote was infused with an illuminating aspect. Delibes was less great than, say, Debussy, because his music doesn’t achieve or even aspire to true profundity.

I realize that, philosophically, these musings may carry very little weight, but they have been occupying my mind, and I thought I would share them.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

 


 



 

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Layover Thoughts

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010

By Alan Gilbert

Yesterday´s trip from New York to Stockholm turned out fine, I guess, since I eventually arrived, but it would have been easier to take if the problems had resulted from the bad weather that has closed so many of Europe´s airports, rather than from a simple screw-up by the airline. To make a long story short, the airport staff could not locate my reservation, due to the way it had been originally entered. When they finally figured out that I really did have a reservation, the flight had closed, and I couldn´t board. I had to buy a ticket on another airline, for a flight that had a long layover in Amsterdam.

The good thing (other than ending up joining my family at our home just outside Stockholm) was that this gave me time to think about my upcoming Leinsdorf Lecture (on April 4), at which I plan to discuss musical interpretation. On the plane I read a wonderful article by Alan Goldman with the deliberately provocative title of  “The Sun Also Rises: Incompatible Interpretations.” Goldman presents two very cogent, but diametrically opposed, readings of Hemingway´s The Sun Also Rises, and tries to resolve the question of whether they can both be “right.”

This discussion resonated in a meaningful way for me since, for a long time, I have been grappling with my own thoughts about what it means to interpret music, and what makes one  interpretation more compelling than another. I admit that it´s only relatively recently that I´ve been adding a certain rigor to my musings, but I have long held the image in my mind of a piece of music being represented by a mountain, and differing interpretations of the music represented by the different ways one can ascend that mountain. One mountaineer (i.e. musician) might scale the work from the south side, where it is raining, and another might start from its north side, where it is sunny, and both might achieve heights equally close to the summit (that elusive “perfect” interpretation) with completely different points of view.

I´m not sure where I will finally come out on this subject – somehow I like the idea that there is a perfect, best interpretation of a given piece of music, although in practical terms it is essentially meaningless, not least because performances happen in real time, under constantly changing conditions. Furtwängler described a performance as a river: always the same, and yet always different. This seems to me to be a position that is extremely close to an assertion that music does have one “right” course, although one that naturally shifts.

Added complications to the question of musical interpretation include the dimension of technique and execution that is obviously integral to the performance experience, and the expectations and prior knowledge of the audience. A performer must have the technical capacity to realize an interpretation, and this technical capacity finally becomes part of the interpretation, or at least an important aspect of what the audience takes from the performance. Furthermore, audiences may bring their own prejudices, which can either be supported or challenged by a performance – this also becomes part of the relative success or failure of an interpretation.

Hopefully I will come to a point where I will be able to discuss all these threads convincingly. For the moment, I just wanted to share some of my preliminary thoughts with you. I am finding it a fascinating process to read the huge body of work that has been written on the subject by many brilliant philosophers, and will make what headway I can over the next few months.

In the meantime, all best in this holiday season, and see you in the New Year!

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)

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Paris Pelleas Project

Tuesday, November 30th, 2010

By Alan Gilbert

For many years I have been speaking about the idea of introducing a visual element to the auditory core of a concert with Doug Fitch, my friend and frequent collaborator. It’s a tricky matter as it is far from evident how to do so in a way that enhances the experience – by reflecting a true spiritual link between the music and images – and at the same time does not diminish the impact of the music itself.
 
When I ponder this there are several random points that come to mind, which have informed Doug’s and my musings on the subject: 

  • You can’t say that concerts are not already inherently visual: an important part of the experience is observing the ritual of the concert experience itself, from the musicians taking the stage in tails and gowns and tuning, then the concert itself, with the movement of bows and the raising of mallets, including the impressions of the audience around you and the conductor on the podium.
  • Opera is of course visual, and this is true, albeit less so, even when it is performed “in concert.”
  • Some composers purport to think in color: it isn’t just a case of Scriabin’s synesthesia, but the kind of “tone palette” used most obviously by Debussy and the impressionists.
  • Concerts on television present a real challenge: the director’s choices as when to close up and on whom can affect the viewer’s auditory experience as they guide which lines stand out, and add weight and focus in a way usually attributed to the conductor. This means that the listener/viewer is given less choice about what stimuli to respond to. In the concert hall, for example, one might be fascinated by how sensitively a violist is accompanying a famous oboe solo, and decide to concentrate on that level of the music. Seeing a close-up of the oboist’s reed, perhaps with a bead of sweat poised to drip off her nose, would, in this case, be a distraction.
  • Having consciously decided to add an additional visual element, it has to be done with taste and insight – with a real respect for the music itself.

Last Saturday Doug and I were able to act on our theories when I conducted Schoenberg’s Pelleas und Melisande with the Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France in a performance in which Doug’s images were projected. In fact, it was a series of concerts, because the piece was being done not only in a concert for adults, but also in two youth concerts.
 
We felt that this was an ideal work for us to implement our theories. The piece, although inspired by Maeterlinck’s drama, does not follow a linear narrative. The music captures the emotional spirit – feelings, locations, characters – but it doesn’t follow the story point by point in a literal way. The Rite of Spring would have been a wrong choice because, as a ballet, it was created to convey a storyline with a specific series of visual events. Yes, in the Schoenberg there are moments when clear visual images are suggested, such as the one in which Golaud murders Pelleas, but overall his Pelleas lives in the indefinable areas of psychological exploration and emotional impact.
 
Similarly, in last weekend’s presentation Doug’s images suggested the story without relating it, in a way that was stylish and musically sophisticated – a mis en lumière. For the most part he used black and white images, which seemed inspired by Japanese painting and brushwork, with only the occasional use of color, and the images were projected on a layered series of screens to create a sense of three dimensions. And while the stage lights were down, so people could see the projections of light that conveyed Doug’s visuals, I as the conductor had to be seen by the players, so I was brightly lit, which had the side effect of letting the audience know that the music was still of primary importance. (You can see it online: http://liveweb.arte.tv/fr/part/Orchestre_Philharmonique_de_Radio_France/.)
 
People seemed to like it – afterwards, they spoke of the beauty and commitment of the orchestra’s playing, the elegance and suggestive power of Doug’s images, and, perhaps most importantly for me, the fact that they were able to switch their attention seamlessly back and forth between the elements. This had been the elusive goal we were hoping to achieve in this experimental coupling of aural and visual media. And it wasn’t just the adults at the “normal” concert who appreciated it: the children (roughly aged 9-13) clearly “got it,” even though at first blush Maeterlinck’s story of illicit love, betrayal, and murder would not seem a natural subject for a kids’ concert. When you add to it the fact that this serious, intense 45-minute score is by Schoenberg, the project could seem absurd. But the young audience listened with incredible focus. We did have some explanation and illustrations, including commentary I gave, and perhaps that helped, but the fact is that we didn’t sugarcoat anything, and once the performance began the kids listened with an impressive degree of concentration, and responded warmly when it was over. I found this inspiring, and am eager to try similar projects in New York – for audiences of all ages.

(For more information on Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic, visit nyphil.org.)


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