One of the most memorable concerts I have heard in the last couple of years
was
Gil and Orli Shaham’s programme
Nigunim in New York’s
92Y,
in April 2011. I have been hoping ever since that this event would be put on
disc,
and here it is. Not all the concert is here. For example, I am pretty sure
that
some George Perlman pieces, such as the charming
Dance of the
Rebbitzen,
were played there but they did not make it to the disc. Even so, most of the
programme
is preserved.
Three large works are surrounded by smaller pieces written by Jewish
composers at the beginning of the 20
th century. This was the time
when this nation’s musical culture was trying to find its way and join
the family of other national traditions. The smaller pieces all belong to
the traditional styles of Jewish songs and dances, the styles that are
associated the most with the “Classical Jewish” music - think
Ernest Bloch. Joseph Bonime’s
Dance hébraïque opens
proceedings and already displays that prominent quality of the Jewish music
so admired by Shostakovich, its sad joy - or joyful sadness. This is
laughter with sad eyes, and a frown with a wink. The music sounds as if
Liszt had decided to write a Hebrew Rhapsody: a stately dance with more
playful episodes. The
Hebrew Melody by Joseph Achron is a dramatic
ballad; it tells a story of unhappy events. The same composer’s
Hebrew Lullaby is bittersweet and tense, while the attractive
Hebrew Dance alternates scenes of different character, tempo and
emotion, like a mini-rhapsody. Leo Zeitlin’s
Eli Zion has the
feeling of a cantor singing in a spacious synagogue, a deeply felt, fervent
declamation. Such music could only come from a culture where prayers are
sung, as it is both a song and a prayer.
Between these traditional works, the monumental Violin Sonata No. 3
by Avner Dorman looms like an iceberg. It is very different from the other
works; and yet the roots are unmistakably the same. Dorman looked outside
the standard box and brought in musical influences from such different
places as Northern Africa, the Balkans, the Caucasus and Central Asia. His
intent was to imagine the hypothetical music of the Ten Lost Tribes. The
work is entitled
Nigunim; this Hebrew word is the plural of
nigun, which is an instrumental tune of improvisatory character. The
music emerges from the mists, evoking remote times. The
Adagio
religioso has bold, affected gestures, and a sensation of spiritual
mystery, rather like Arvo Pärt’s
Fratres. The active,
dynamic
Scherzo has folk dance traits, but the insertion of hostile
episodes stops this dance from becoming a happy affair. The slow movement is
meditative, with the static beauty of Feldman and Pärt. Dorman knows
how to bring out the beauty of a single note, transition, even a pause.
Memories of notes hang spectrally in the air, like memories of people and
places. When the melody appears, it is simple and devoid of caramel. The
music has something of Shostakovich’s fragile angularity and rises to
an intense climax. Then we plunge into the dancing abandon of the finale, a
saltarello-like
tour de force, a swirling dance frenzy.
The writing for both instruments is very inventive. Each turn of the
road brings something unexpected. Dorman writes a lot for the piano, and so
the piano here is an equal partner. It’s certainly not an accompanying
role. The violin sings in all kinds of voices, from the cello to the fiddle
and up to the stratosphere. Though stylistically the only modern work here,
Nigunim looks natural among the more traditional pieces, like a
distant cousin that is welcome at the family feast table. This work startles
and enthralls.
Three pieces from the
Schindler’s List soundtrack by
John Williams share the general nostalgic atmosphere. The melody of the
first, the main theme of the movie, resembles one of the
Harry Potter
tunes, and is very sweet, but also touching and sincere, full of sad beauty.
The waves of memory carry us to the
Krakow Ghetto in winter. This
angular, bitter music brings gruesome thoughts. The violin is not an
impartial storyteller. The mini-cycle is closed by
Remembrances, with
another haunting melody. There is no smile behind this sadness, yet there is
a feeling of calmness and acceptance when looking back.
Bloch’s
Baal Shem is again in the traditional
“Classical Jewish” style. The suite has three parts.
Vidui is a plaintive narrative, spacious and bitter.
Nigun is
more expressive and passionate, heating up to an operatic level.
Simhat
Torah is one of the merriest days in the Jewish calendar, and the final
movement speaks of untamed rejoicing, with episodes of happy dance
interleaved with stretches of aquiline ecstasy - a radiant, positive ending
to the album.
I can’t imagine a better performance of these works. There is
no need to recount Gil Shaham’s devilish virtuosity. He plays
with panache; however, it’s the expressivity that is the center-piece
here: Shaham is totally absorbed, and his hands seem to be directly
connected to the soul. Orli Shaham’s piano wraps and balances
the violin gently, giving it caring support. In the rare moments when
the piano takes the stage, it shows power and finesse. As expected this
sibling duo is in perfect sync. There is no sameness in the interpretations,
no “main courses” and “fillers”: each piece
is made special. The recording favours the violin slightly; it is clear
and spacious. The liner-note is informative and interesting. This album
is full of that singular Jewish spirit, the sadness and the smile. It
is heartfelt and profound.
Oleg Ledeniov
