SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Berio and Brahms: Synergy Vocals, Steven Stucky (host), New York Philharmonic, Lorin Maazel (conductor), Avery Fisher Hall, New York, 25.1.2008 (BH)

Berio: Sinfonia for Eight Voices and Orchestra (1968-69)
Brahms: Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98 (1884-85)


One of the most stunning moments in this concert occurred before the performance even began, when composer Steven Stucky asked the eight members of Synergy Vocals (sitting onstage among the orchestra’s chairs) to replicate some of the sounds Berio requires in Sinfonia.  First they intoned the rock-solid opening chords, followed by the eerily precise phonating the syllables of "o king," whose syllables are based on Martin Luther King's name.  To close, they let fly some portions of the chaotic, Beckett-laced fervor that runs through the central third section.  To say that the demonstration increased anticipation for the actual concert is an understatement.

The orchestra had not performed Berio's seminal work since 1988, when Pierre Boulez returned to conduct it with the Swingle Singers.  To my ears this concert was one of the best evenings I’ve heard from conductor Lorin Maazel since he began in 2002.  The short first section, untitled, uses Claude Lévi-Strauss text, against an orchestral texture that becomes more frenetic as it progresses, helped by the Philharmonic's furious accuracy.  The crystalline Synergy Vocals palette made "o king" leap off the page, but ultimately the piece lives or dies on its center, an enormous maelstrom which takes the middle movement of Mahler's Second Symphony and mixes it with shards of Beckett's The Unnameable, swirled with Ravel, Schoenberg, Berlioz, Stravinsky and Beethoven, among others.  Its constantly pulsating surface constantly teases the ear, playing tiny magic tricks with the brain, the context shifting with each overloaded measure.

The fourth section returns to the quietude of the second, the voices whispering, half-heard fragments fluttering above a monolithic orchestra, before the fifth attempts to bring together moments from the previous four.  Conducting with keen attention to the score, Maazel could not have been more involved, and the surfeit of details was probably an ideal match for his restless mind.  The exultant orchestra combined Berio's precision with the fever of the 1960s, the percussion section in exacting form.  As Maazel's arms came to rest at the conclusion, the only slight disappointment was the subdued audience, who barely brought out the conductor three times.  I wanted to shout to the rafters.

The Brahms Fourth Symphony, good as it was, seemed almost an afterthought following this incandescent display.  The vigorous first movement had blood, but seemed slightly on auto-pilot.  The handsomely played second was minus a certain magic, although the horns had no end of lovingly shaped phrases, and Maazel invested the ensemble with suitable weight.  Best was the third: fire, brimstone and a throaty sound, which paused only briefly before the high-testosterone final movement.  But despite the solid musicianship from the orchestra, the moment had passed.

As time goes on, I'm more and more convinced that Maazel’s formidable intellect and musicianship require equivalent scores to keep him stimulated and at the top of his (considerable) game.  Whether in Carter's Variations for Orchestra last year, or Ives's Three Places in New England in 2004, I wish he would do more of this kind of repertoire, both for his happiness and ours.

Bruce Hodges


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