Muti & Chicago or Immanent Magic

– by Sebastian Spreng | February 12, 2020

Translation by G. Muñoz Küster

For the second consecutive year the Adrienne Arsht Center Classic Series had the cunning and privilege of receiving the Chicago Symphony Orchestra led by the legendary Riccardo Muti, an unbeatable combination nowadays. The top orchestra west of the Atlantic (with just two or three rivals on the other side of the pond) under the leadership of the last representative of a glorious lineage dating back to Arturo Toscanini, show absolute affinity and consubstantiation, here the chemistry between Europe and America works unbeatable, healthy and renewed. At his illustrious seventy-eight years, the charismatic Neapolitan master offered a model concert reviving his unquestionable versatility, his musical and scenic authority, his tight control of musicians and audiences (it was enough to move two fingers elegantly unparalleled to silence a glimpse of applause inopportune between movements) to lead the musical discourse towards a state of grace of an orchestra possessing a unique sound, as well as a large part of the audience. And what was outlined as “the concert of the year”, was left an indelible mark.

Since the time of Georg Solti, the overture of The Flying Dutchman has been synonymous with the CSO and the ideal presentation of a famous ensemble for its metals that thundered sovereigns in the Knight Hall. Less impulsive than the Hungarian, more resounding and truthful, the fierce leader of the “come scritto” delivered a Wagnerian reading as perfect as it would have to be the whole evening balancing the silky astringency of the strings subtly interwoven with the blinding power of the bronzes.

It was followed by a sadly less frequently performed work that in his hands was the revelation that must be, the Mathis der Maler that Paul Hindemith composed in 1934 at the request of director Wilhelm Furtwängler in full assumption of Nazism about Matthias Grünewald (1476-1528) author of Wonderful Altar of Isenheim, and whose existential dilemma found obvious echo in the composer and so many others. Tormented between art and politics, these symphonic interludes that serve as a gateway to the homonymous opera, summarize the struggle to express themselves freely in an unfortunate climate of turbulent repression. Divided into three “tableaux” – Angelic Concert, Entombment and The Temptation of Saint Anthony – it seems incredible that this mystical, sublime triptych was labeled a “degenerate” by the Nazis motivating a major scandal that led to the director’s resignation – he had defended it in the article The Hindemith case – and the consequent exile of the composer. Extraordinary piece of musical goldsmithing, in the triumph of grace that culminates with the medieval Gregorian sequence of Corpus Christi, the orchestra literally transformed into a pipe organ shaped an amazing sound cathedral favored by the great acoustics of the Knight Hall.

In the second half, Muti did magic again by greening the laurels of the popular Ninth Symphony – from the New World– of Dvorak with a reading overflowing with exemplary lyricism, illuminating unknown corners, imbued in equal parts with fervor and accuracy. Severe but affable, Muti created an immense fabric carefully and impeccably woven to show off each section of the orchestra again demonstrating its chameleonic stylistic versatility. A version as refreshing as unforgettable that was justly lauded.

As an encore, no less exciting because it was the same last year, as a genuine testimony of his unfailing, visceral love for opera, the Italian titan performed the brief Intermezzo from Fedora by Giordano drawn with infinite sweetness and twilight, perhaps a tacit tribute to one of the last roles of the recently deceased Mirella Freni, ” this Amor ti vieta, is much more suitable for this orchestra than for the tenors for which it was written,“ joked the Maestro. Said and done, the orchestra “sang” it like no other and the closing provided an unusual and comforting Mediterranean warmth.

It cannot be over-emphasized that it was a lesson from every point of view. This is how a concert should be, that’s how music is made, that’s how you educate yourself, that’s how you entrance the audience. Muti and the CSO reconfirmed that the model is not outdated, that it does not need attachments, concessions or superfluous dawns, when things are done as it should, all is said: music is enough. Thank you maestrissimo, thank you, Chicago. Come back soon.

Sebastian Spreng, Miami Clásica, February 12, 2020

Original article:

Muti & Chicago o La Magia inmanente

Por segundo año consecutivo la Serie Clásica del Adrienne Arsht Center tuvo la astucia y privilegio de recibir a la Chicago Symphony Orchestra capitaneada por el ya legendario Riccardo Muti, hoy por hoy una combinación imbatible. La máxima orquesta al oeste del Atlántico (con apenas dos o tres rivales al otro lado del charco) bajo el liderazgo del último representante de una estirpe gloriosa que se remonta a Arturo Toscanini evidencian una afinidad y consustanciación absolutas, aquí la química entre Europa y América funciona irrebatible, sana y renovada. A sus briosos setenta y ocho años, el carismático maestro napolitano ofreció un concierto modélico reviviendo su indiscutible versatilidad, su autoridad musical y escénica, su férreo control de músicos y público (le bastó mover dos dedos con elegancia sin par para silenciar un atisbo de aplauso inoportuno entre movimientos) para conducir el discurso musical hacia un estado de gracia de una orquesta poseedora de un sonido único así como gran parte de la audiencia. Y aquello que se perfilaba como “el concierto del año”, lo fue dejando una impronta indeleble.

Desde tiempos de Georg Solti, la obertura de El holandés errante ha sido sinónimo de la CSO y plato presentación ideal de un ensemble célebre por sus metales que atronaron soberanos en el Knight Hall. Menos impulsivo que el húngaro, mas rotundo y veraz, el feroz adalid del “come scritto” entregó una lectura wagneriana tan perfecta como habría de ser toda la velada balanceando la sedosa astringencia de las cuerdas sutilmente entretejidas con el poderío enceguecedor de los bronces.

Le siguió un obra lamentablemente poco frecuentada que en sus manos resultó la revelación que debe ser, la Sinfonía Matías el pintor que Paul Hindemith compuso en 1934 a instancias de Wilhelm Furtwängler en plena asunción del nazismo sobre Matthias Grünewald (1476-1528) autor del maravilloso Altar de Isenheim, y cuyo dilema existencial halló obvio eco en el compositor y tantos otros. Atormentado entre arte y política, estos interludios sinfónicos que sirven de pórtico a la ópera homónima, resumen la lucha por expresarse libremente en un aciago clima de turbulenta represión. Dividida en tres “tableaux”- Concierto angélico, Entierro y La tentación de San Antonio – parece mentira que este místico, sublime tríptico fuera etiquetado de “degenerado” por los nazis motivando un escándalo mayúsculo que llevó a la dimisión del director – lo había defendido en el sonado escrito El caso Hindemith – y el consecuente exilio del compositor. Extraordinaria pieza de orfebrería musical, en el triunfo de la gracia que culmina con la secuencia gregoriana medieval del Corpus Christi, la orquesta literalmente transformada en órgano tubular plasmó una asombrosa catedral sonora favorecida por la amplia acústica del Knight Hall.

En la segunda mitad, Muti volvió a hacer magia reverdeciendo los laureles de la popular Novena Sinfonía -del Nuevo Mundo– de Dvorak con una lectura rebosante de lirismo ejemplar, iluminando rincones desconocidos, imbuída en partes iguales de fervor y exactitud. Severo pero afable, Muti creó un inmenso tapiz tejido minuciosa e impecablemente para lucimiento de cada sección de la orquesta volviendo a demostrar su camaleónica versatilidad estilística. Una versión tan refrescante como inolvidable que resultó justamente ovacionada.

Como bis, no por tratarse del mismo del año pasado resultó menos emocionante, genuino testimonio de su inclaudicable, visceral amor por la ópera, el titán italiano regaló el breve Intermezzo de Fedora de Giordano trazado con infinita dulzura y luz crepuscular, quizás un tácito homenaje a uno de los últimos personajes de la recientemente fallecida Mirella Freni, “este Amor ti vieta, suele quedarle mucho mejor a esta orquesta que a los tenores para los que fue compuesta” bromeó el maestro. Dicho y hecho, la orquesta la “cantó” como ninguno y el regreso a casa proveyó una tan insólita como reconfortante calidez mediterránea.

No puede dejar de enfatizarse que se trató de una lección desde todo punto de vista. Asi debe ser un concierto, así se hace música, así se educa, asi se extasía al público, asi se preserva la gran tradición. Muti y CSO reconfirmaron que el modelo no está caduco, que no necesita ni aditamentos, ni concesiones ni amaneramientos superfluos, cuando las cosas se hacen como se debe está todo dicho: basta la música. Gracias maestrissimo, gracias Chicago. Regresen pronto.

Chicago Symphony bookends Prokofiev in ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ groundbreaking Symphony No. 3

– by Harriet Howard Heithaus | February 14, 2020

What audiences heard Thursday night at Artis—Naples was two love stories filtered through the musical mind of Sergei Prokofiev. Both carried tragic overtones, but both were engagingly and powerfully composed.

So who better to bring them to us than the Chicago Symphony Orchestra with Music Director Riccardo Muti? These are works that make precision turns, cross the entire spectrum of dynamics and demand shadings you won’t hear for years. There’s no orchestra more capable of doing that than the CSO.

For contrasts, think about the unnerving anger served up in the Montague-Capulet theme, probably one of the best known in the Suite from “Romeo and Juliet” that opened the concert. Within minutes, it whirls around to focus on a buoyant string dance built around the playful Juliet. The segment of the masked ball nearly struts out with a jazzy introduction and leaps into a series of Prokofiev’s arresting accidentals.

There’s little time for the orchestra to breathe here; even the minuet goes into grand scale with a trumpet melody to articulate the melody and some exotic brass harmonics. In its performance, the Chicago Symphony scoops up equal parts of freshness and intensity. Even the painful moments are fascinating.

Muti radiates that intensity himself from the podium, and not necessarily for the large sounds; he nearly becomes airborne several times when he’s urging the orchestra — quite successfully — to keep Juliet’s carefree dances immune from gravity.

There’s room for an abundance of solo work within the orchestra, like Li-Kuo Chang’s impressively strong, sweet viola solo in the “Before Parting” sequence. The Chicago Symphony has the kind of percussion and brass sections conductors pray for — all controlled power and clarity — and few composers show that off so well as Prokofiev in both “Romeo and Juliet” and his Symphony No. 3.

Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 3 is based on his opera, “The Fiery Angel,” which incensed Soviet sensitivities so much Prokofiev kept it — and the symphony, which apparently riled Stalin — out of sight.

It is not the kind of symphony you’d curl up in a hammock with. Nor is it the kind of symphony you take a theme or two hum. In fact, it’s not even the kind of symphony some of us would buy for listening; we fear the power it wields in live performance would be diluted.

Prokofiev didn’t plan to make his Third Symphony “opera lite,” but to expand on some of its themes, and he did not spare the horses in that.

From an opening that crashes over the audience to an ending on close to a full run, it’s a complex, fascinating work. The brass instruments occasionally talk their own game while the violins spin a legato melody. The demands on the percussion put them at odds with other timing, a treat for the audience, if not for the other sections of the orchestra.

The symphony doesn’t linger on its melodies, but seems to open one door after another on ideas, and it’s a mesmerizing piece. Motifs like note pairs and brass statements return and, in the final movement, there’s a redux of the first themes on steroids

Through it all, the CSO strings are core strength in this work. They offer ethereal melodies; they function as percussion in tempo-forward series; they create the eerie opening atmosphere of the third movement with a series of tire squeals and high-speed sequences that’s beyond amazing.

Prokofiev embedded in the symphony a sense of foreboding, at even the lightest moments, it clings to this work like the light mist on your windows in the morning. The symphony and Muti caught every note of that, and gave their listeners the kind of riveting performance the composer meant for it. I would come to a second performance of this in a heartbeat. (Saturday night’s program is different, however; see the information box.)

Muti sensed the audience appreciation, and he and the orchestra obliged the ovation with a surprise: a full orchestral reverie from Scriabin, who’s known primarily for his piano works. It was a thoughtful piece, by turns pensive, slightly apprehensive and finally surrendering.

But that was only after the maestro wandered over to stage to pointedly wave goodbye to the thoughtless contingent who walked out during the middle of the applause. I am probably not the only music lover who wanted to crawl under a seat in mortification.

Harriet Howard Heithaus, Naples Daily News, February 14 2020

Watch the photos:

February 11, Miami