REVIEW: Philosophy in the Air at the Philharmonic
Above: Wu Wei, sheng soloist, with the New York Philharmonic. Photo by Chris Lee.
October 19, 2019
By Brian Taylor
Susanna Mälkki, Finnish conductor of worldwide renown, takes the helm at the New York Philharmonic this week to lead a program seeking equilibrium between philosophy and nature.
Joseph Haydn’s Symphony No. 22 in E-flat Major, dubbed “The Philosopher,” finds a chamber-sized slice of the Philharmonic onstage. Mälkki, deliberate and poised, crafts a stylish, elegant reading of this 1764 Haydn symphony that begins with a noble Adagio, and progresses concisely through three quicker, jauntier movements.
The symphony has one foot planted in the Baroque. The scoring is unusual: strings and continuo (doubled in the bassoon, and harmonized lightly by harpsichord), two horns, and instead of a woodwind section, just two English horns. The resulting timbre is dark and rich. Mälkki chisels from Haydn’s modest score an aerodynamic, white marble sculpture. Tension and repose in equal measure.
Unsuk Chin, a South Korean-born composer based in Germany who studied with György Ligeti, is seemingly conversant in every strain to emerge from twentieth century art music. Chin was awarded the Philharmonic’s Marie-Josée Kravis Prize for New Music, and has been commissioned through Project 19, so we’ll be hearing more from her in New York.
But tonight, Chin’s breathtaking vehicle for Wu Wei — the world’s leading practitioner of the sheng, a complex Asian mouth-blown reed instrument — demonstrated what is so exciting about her work. Šu for Sheng and Orchestra finds common ground between the composer’s Asian roots and her academic, Western musical vocabulary. It’s also a thrilling introduction to this exotic instrument.
Wu Wei bounds onstage like a marathoner. He clutches in his hands the sheng, a beautiful bundle of bamboo pipes, looking like a cross between a harmonica and a bassoon. He blows into its bell-like mouthpiece, generating a sound that recalls a choir of sweetly toned recorders, mysterious and ageless.
Wu Wei’s robust breath control and myriad of tonguing and fingering techniques present Chin with a wide palette at her disposal; the instrument seems capable of anything the composer dreams up. Long, lamenting tones slip into plush clusters of harmony; sharp, shockingly violent accents relax into shimmering, lingering vibrations. The music, as if depicting the balance of the universe’s elements, floats between a nebulous stasis and a driving, racing surge.
Šu refers to the Egyptian mythological symbol for “air,” for it is air that activates the sheng, and air that goes on a rhythmic adventure in Chin’s riveting dreamscape. Mälkki maintained tight cohesion with Wu Wei’s athletic performance. A panoply of percussion, such as bongos, congas, thunder sheet, water gong, and Javanese gongs, is employed generously yet surreptitiously.
This was a gripping, virtuosic performance by soloist and orchestra alike, introducing the audience to an instrument rarely heard on these stages, not with a piece of kitsch, but a vital work of contemporary art. An enthusiastic standing ovation from the audience seemed to shout, “more please!” And, in turn, Wu Wei delighted with an impressive encore.
Friedrich Nietzsche’s philosophical novel Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None, in which he stated “God is Dead” and expounded on the concept of the “Übermensch,” served as inspiration for Richard Strauss’s tone poem Also Sprach Zarathustra from 1896.
Strauss coyly left listeners to philosophize about how literally his symphonic piece is drawn from Nietzsche’s writing. The tone poem is divided into named sections inspired by chapters in the work of prose. But as a pure piece of music, it dazzles like few others. The Philharmonic, stuffing every corner of the stage, gave a mind-bending account, thumbing their noses at the limits of the hall’s famously flawed acoustics.
The opening fanfare, “Sunrise,” is one of the most iconic in all of music, thanks largely to Stanley Kubrick. New York’s brass and percussion triumphed. The final, oh-so-satisfying C major chord, sent goosebumps down my spine, the entire room ablaze in a brightly glowing fortissimo. You might not think an orchestra could play any louder without shattering smartphone glass. But, wait until later, when Strauss indicates a dynamic level of fortissISSimo!
But the real pleasure in the Philharmonic’s high level of playing is not in amplitude. Rather it’s in the details: quick phrases that accelerate from pianissimo to fortissimo with focused power, and the breadth of skill individual players contribute, such as principal cello Carter Brey’s meaty solo that segues from “The Dirge” to the chocolaty choir of low strings that begins “Of Science.” Mälkki’s clear-headed direction keeps the piece from sagging, even in the noodly middle passages. The piece ponders deep, philosophical questions. But it provides no answer — Mälkki conducts the enigmatic ending matter-of-factly. All the better to leave the audience ruminating.
