The Philadelphia Orchestra began programming the work of Florence Price in earnest just two years ago, yet the mid-century American composer already feels as central to their repertoire as Rachmaninov or Mahler. The first subscription performances of her Symphony no. 3 in C minor, led by her latter-day champion Yannick Nézet-Séguin, only further solidified this ensemble’s intimate understanding of Price’s complex musical style. The Third finds Price in conversation with multiple modes of American music, as well as classic European forms, all of which came together harmoniously in an intricately shaped and thrillingly propulsive interpretation.
The opening movement of the Third begins speculatively, weaving forceful brass chorales together with lightly textured woodwinds. The strings enter with an almost neoclassical flare, before introducing quotations from familiar spirituals, including the beloved Deep River. The overall effect – American, Brucknerian, contemporary – might well serve as a reflection of Price’s varied cultural and educational influences. These clashes continue delightfully throughout the piece: the Impressionistic character of the second movement; the way the introductory Juba dance in the Allegro melts into a bluesy Scherzo, punctuated by wild percussion; the chaotic nature of the finale, in which broken chords continually interrupt the music’s harmonic progression. At times, I wished that Price had been given the opportunity to score movies, so evocative was her phrasing of the classic landscape of American cinema. Nézet-Séguin balanced fire with elegance, valuing an admirable level of individual detail even when the forces were playing at full tilt.
The choice to perform Price next to Clara Schumann’s lovely Piano Concerto in A minor highlighted how rarely the works of two women appear on the same concert bill. It also confirmed – if any such confirmation is still needed – the serious character of Schumann’s music, which has often been dismissed as juvenilia. The balance of pianistic flair and musical development between soloist and orchestra keeps the listener on the edge of their seat throughout the brisk 20-minute work. Beatrice Rana found a lovely Romantic quality in many of the concerto’s slow interludes, particularly the second movement duet with principal cello Hai-Ye Ni. The virtuosic cadenzas interspersed throughout the three movements could have emerged with greater force and more precise intonation, and Rana’s sound occasionally receded when Nézet-Séguin turned up the volume on Schumann’s many tutti passages. But the ultimate conclusion to be drawn is that this concerto should appear as often as those of Beethoven or Brahms – or the other Schumann, for that matter.
Ravel bookended the program and, next to such serious and thought-provoking selections, it sometimes seemed like too much of a good thing. Le Tombeau de Couperin showed the woodwind section in its full glory – special praise to oboist Philippe Tondre, bassoonist Mark Gigliotti and English hornist Elizabeth Starr Masoudnia – but Nézet-Séguin’s surgically precise reading of the score made it sound fussier than usual. The beloved Boléro felt freer but no less prodigiously played – yet it also seemed somewhat inconsequential, a nod to familiarity on an otherwise adventurous evening. In a recent New York Times article, Nézet-Séguin noted that “we’ve had too much of the white European male for too long.” So why did he still open and close his concert with one?
