What does it mean to sandwich a Steve Reich premiere between Beethoven and Schubert? Surely it can’t mean nothing, and presumably more than the popular “old-and-new” model of programming. It may well have been, in the case of the New York Philharmonic’s debut of Reich’s Jacob’s Ladder, a gesture to sit the New York-born composer on the shoulders of giants. But the concert, beginning with Beethoven’s “Emperor” Piano Concerto and ending with Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony, made it seem the table was set... for what occasion I wasn’t sure.
Regardless, the premiere of a new Reich orchestral piece needs no excuse; a cartoon and a newsreel would have worked just as well, although robbing us of the opportunity to hear fine Norwegian pianist Leif Ove Andsnes, who performed the Emperor. It’s easy to understand – with its heroic themes, far from Beethoven’s usual brooding – how the concerto got its nickname. And it’s strange to listen to it today and to try to hear it as an ode to Napoleon (a dedication, legend tells us, bestowed upon it by an audience member at the premiere and not one intended or accepted by the composer), to hear it as anthemic at a time when the notion of a war hero, at least as an antagonist leader, feels so remote. Is Beethoven’s Op. 73 something Vladimir Putin would want dedicated to him? Probably so, although few would likely hear it that way.
The chimeric dedication persists but wasn’t heard in Lincoln Center’s Wu Tsai Theater Friday night, at least not by me. The orchestra, under Jaap van Zweden’s direction, was positively spritely and Andsnes’s playing brisk and bright; his resolution to the strong, chordal arpeggios in the first movement brought an actual smile to my face.
Jacob’s Ladder began with a quick string pulse that persisted, with voices, vibraphone and piano hung elegantly from the count. It felt akin to Reich’s earlier works for mixed ensemble, although with the wordless vocals from his more recent, spiritual work (of which this, by any practical consideration, was a part). It was simpler, less grand, and easily likeable, building in an almost Baroque manner over its 20 minutes. The work lacked gravitas, which was rather refreshing. I don’t expect lightness from Reich any more than I expect Beethoven to elicit a grin. Perhaps “unexpected pleasures” was the theme of the night.
Van Zweden brought a lush beauty to Schubert’s Unfinished. It’s all too easy, at least for me, to think of Schubert the tragic figure. I can barely hear his name without picturing him alone in the woods at night, the doomed wanderer in his Wintereisse. It’s too easy to forget the way he makes strings sing. Even the titular Unfinished calls to mind his early demise, his life itself an unfinished symphony.
The warmth of the recently renovated hall, even the look of the light wood walls (and matching music stands!) reinforced what we, what I, should remember about Franz Schubert, that more often there is in his music an embrace of and yearning for all the possibilities life has to offer – which ultimately makes his story all the more tragic but doesn’t, or needn’t, define the music. First must come the joie de vivre of his long and gorgeous, nearly calligraphic, melodies. Unexpected pleasures indeed, even when they ought to have been anticipated.
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