Sir Antonio Pappano returned to Symphony Hall with a masterful program of protean compositions by Liszt, Strauss and Hannah Kendall, the latter, O flower of fire, an American premiere. Kendall was inspired by the spirit of Voices, a poem where Guyanese poet and political activist Martin Carter explores the interweaving and cross pollination of faiths, traditions and practices which form the cultural matrix of diverse peoples living in one place. Kendall harnesses that same transformative power through the manipulation of the traditional instruments and sounds of a symphony orchestra, creating a coat of many colors.
Unusual elements like harmonicas in different keys and an occasionally audible array of music boxes playing a variety of excerpts enrich the textures. Players are asked to play in atypical fashion or tweak their instruments: among others, the harpists use hair clips, retractors and combs to modify and produce their sound; oboists play just their mouthpieces; and the brass play two notes at once. Quiet exchanges between gongs and modified harps give a Far Eastern flavor to the opening. Then the shape shifting begins with more primal sounds from various combinations of sections and more agitated rhythms all billowing and subsiding. Muted brass add a hint of the blues while harmonicas randomly ripple like whippoorwills then reappear as drones over whispering strings.
On a first listen, the unusual sounds tease the ears. Trying to pinpoint who and what are making them could be a distraction to some but also adds a definite quality of mystery and surprise. So much invention and innovation packed into 20 minutes demands a second hearing at least to fully appreciate the transformations of sound and color and incident Kendall achieves. Nonetheless, Pappano, who conducted the world premiere, and the BSO created an eloquent, theatrical narrative for O flower of fire which drew the listener into its mesmerizing sound world.
Liszt makes much out of little in his Piano Concerto no. 2 in A major, transforming a limited series of themes with distinct melodic profiles according to mood and context. A moonlit stillness characterized Jean-Yves Thibaudet’s entrance, setting in motion the fluid progression of metamorphoses which followed ranging through the languorous and rhapsodic, to the storm-tossed, the martial and the ecstatic with improvisatory flair. His expressive and dynamic range lent a chamber music intimacy to his exchanges with the woodwinds and soloists, particularly Principal Cello, Blaise Déjardin. Pappano matched Thibaudet in energy, drive and focus. Both brought out the poetry behind the virtuosity for one of the most fully realized performances of this concerto in my experience. Thibaudet chose Schubert’s Kupelwieser Waltz, as arranged by Richard Strauss, for his encore, turning a waltz into a lullaby with the left hand gently rocking the dance to sleep.
Similarly, Pappano tempered the potential bombast of Also sprach Zarathustra by just letting the music speak without editorializing and creating a driving narrative arc for its episodic ruminations. His Sunrise was unrushed, broad and spacious, its majesty a marked contrast to the subdued and querulous close of the tone poem’s Night Wanderer’s Song. Along the way, The Tomb Song, Of Science and Learning and The Dance-Song with First Associate Concertmaster, Alexander Velinzon’s lilting, laughing solo stood out. Beginning in blazing light and fading out in darkness should make the conflict of keys on which Strauss closes dramatically apt. But that requires having the end in mind from the very beginning of the tone poem, which is exactly how Pappano approached Zarathustra and made it convincing.
