SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Saito Kinen Orchestra in New York: Mitsuko Uchida (piano), Yukio Tanaka (biwa), Kifu Mitsuhashi (shakuhachi), Christine Goerke (soprano), Anthony Dean Griffey (tenor), Matthias Goerne (baritone), Tatsuya Shimono (conductor), Seiji Ozawa (conductor), Saito Kinen Orchestra, Carnegie Hall, 14, 15 and 18.12.2010 (BH)

Program 1:

Atsuhiko Gondai: Decathexis (2010, U.S. premiere)

Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 in C Minor, Op 37 (1800)

Brahms: Symphony No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 36 (1862-1876)

Program 2:

Takemitsu: November Steps for Biwa, Shakuhachi, and Orchestra (1967)

Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique, Op. 14 (1830)

Program 3:

Britten: War Requiem, Op. 66 (1961-1962)

For the first evening of its rare New York appearance, the distinguished Saito Kinen Orchestra opened Carnegie Hall’s JapanNYC festival with a premiere, followed by two warhorses designed to show off the ensemble’s versatility. Two subsequent concerts, with Takemitsu, Berlioz and Britten, proved to be equally interesting litmus tests.

Stepping in on the first half of the opening two nights was Tatsuya Shimono, currently conductor of the Yomiuri Nippon Symphony Orchestra. Shimono led a hypnotic performance of Atsuhiko Gondai’s Decathexis, which had its world premiere just a few months earlier. Born in 1965, the composer describes the piece as “an acrobatic attempt to accomplish the contradictory task of creating contact between infinity (Eternity) and a single moment (Transience).”

Rather than trying to divine the meaning of that comment, I’m happier reporting that the score (whose title refers to Nirvana) is fascinating. Gondai focuses the ensemble on a single note “C” at the beginning, deploying the group’s tightly focused strings. (The orchestra began as a string ensemble.) The opening is a striking mix of flutter-tongued flute, subterranean pitches on tuba, and the strings in delicate col legno clattering. Glissandos come in, as the strings gather weight and lurch up in what sounds like Ravel’s La Valse, struggling to break through the texture. Gondai deploys the orchestra’s tangy woodwinds beautifully, with special attention to the piccolo, adding sparkle atop the gently rustling surface. But all roads eventually led back to that “C,” until the final pages marked by sepulchral drumbeats, while the concertmaster executed a long, shimmering tremolo, growing quieter and quieter as it slowly rose into the stratosphere. The composer, dressed in a bright red jacket, bounded onstage during the audience ovation, and seemed delighted with the effusive reaction.

For Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto, Mr. Shimono dropped the ensemble to a pleasant, mid-sized volume level, making the soloist, Mitsuko Uchida, sound even larger in proportion. This might be one of the quietest versions of this piece I’ve ever heard, and the contemplative Largo only reinforced that impression. The final Rondo—perhaps a mite too reticent—nevertheless was securely played, and not too fast. Uchida, looking typically urbane in a diaphanous sea green top over iridescent dark green pants, was especially effective in the florid cadenzas.

After intermission, the orchestra began trickling onstage for Brahms’s First Symphony, and as the applause suddenly spiked, it became apparent that Seiji Ozawa was among the musicians. When he finally took the podium the crowd let loose a wave of appreciation, before he sat down—but not for long. The warmly conceived, powerfully paced Brahms caused the conductor to leap to his feet in places, belying his recent health problems.

The second night revealed even more of the ensemble’s agility with color, opening with Takemitsu’s classic November Steps, which embeds two traditional Japanese instruments within the orchestra. Yukio Tanaka (on biwa) and Kifu Mitsuhashi (shakuhachi) sat in eloquent stoicism in front of the stage, giving delicate life to the composer’s limpid sonorities, as Mr. Shimono drew a striking range of timbres from the ensemble. After intermission, Mr. Ozawa returned for a detailed, entertaining Symphonie fantastique, one of Berlioz’s most flamboyant scores. Despite some weak brass here and there, and moments of brief rhythmic confusion in the final “Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath,” the overall impression was of the composer’s astoundingly creepy palette fully transmitted, fueled by sharp contrasts and luminous playing.

But perhaps the best came last: a moving, magnificently rendered Britten War Requiem, with an outstanding trio of soloists and three superb choirs—the SKF Matsumoto Choir, Ritsuyukai Choir, and SKF Matsumoto Children’s Chorus, all coordinated by Pierre Vallet—all subtly rebuking one skeptical friend, who wondered how Japanese singers would handle the English and Latin texts. Christine Goerke, placed dead-center among the singers against the back wall, had vocal presence that must have been felt all the way to the opposite wall of the balcony. She was particularly effective in the “Sanctus” and “Libera me,” her powerful voice seeming to inspire the choirs to even greater rapture. Anthony Dean Griffey had many tenderly shaped phrases, bringing back memories of his gripping portrayal of Peter Grimes. I doubt anyone was unmoved as he gently unfurled Was it for this the clay grew tall?

But top honors must go to Matthias Goerne, whose final monologue was built from sorrow and chilling intensity. As Wilfred Owen’s famous line arrived, “I am the enemy you killed, my friend,” there was not a sound in the room. During the overwhelming refulgence flooding out in the final section, with the orchestra swirling amid the rising tide of the soloists and the choirs, I could sense the audience being swept up by the occasion. And at the end, the audience remained frozen in a few moments of absolute silence, before the waves of applause and cheering began as Ozawa slowly lowered his hands.

This orchestra doesn’t come to New York all that often. They were last here in 2001, and before that in 1991, and on this visit the excitement was amusingly evident. Despite the numerous, well-meaning admonishments from the Carnegie Hall staff—“No photos!”—their pleas seemed as futile as asking New Yorkers to stop ignoring cars while crossing in midtown traffic. Especially on the final night—perhaps due to some anxiety about when Ozawa will return—flashbulbs were popping as if the orchestra were playing in the closing ceremonies of the Olympics.

Bruce Hodges