I have rarely attended a program at the New York Philharmonic that seemed as thematically coherent as the one Karina Canellakis conducted on Saturday night, made up of works that all sprang from impulses mystical or ineffable in some way. Saariaho’s Lumière et Pesanteur (Light and Gravity) took its inspiration from writings by philosopher/mystic Simone Weil; Les Offrandes oubliées (The forgotten offerings) is one of Messiaen’s many works to draw on his Catholic faith. Berg's Violin Concerto, possibly the only piece from the Second Viennese School to have become part of the standard repertoire, is dedicated “To the memory of an angel”, and can be seen as an emotional essay on death and grief; and what is more ineffable than the vastness of the sea, as heard in Debussy’s La Mer?
Or at least that was the idea. I imagine one’s receptivity to this sort of endeavor varies with the audience member. Between the long stretches of meditative, time-altering pianissimo, and the need to stay underneath the soloist during the concerto, Canellakis was able to let the orchestra off its leash only a few times during the whole evening, which I eventually found frustrating. Even the delicate filigree in the quieter passages of La Mer, no matter how exquisitely realized, became yet more meditation.
But most of the program was, indeed, exquisitely realized. Canellakis seems to have a tremendous rapport with the orchestra, with no gap between intention and execution. Moreover, the overall sense of clarity and balance to the music was never short of breathtaking. The Wu Tsai Theater is more generous to clarity than the Philharmonic’s previous digs, of course; but even in the new hall it’s unusual to have the sense that you’re hearing all the way to the bottom, that there’s no detail just out of reach.
In the Messaien and the Saariaho, this gave the deliberately ethereal, eternity-evoking passages a welcome depth and authority. In the Saariaho, instrumental families moved in parallel like geological strata, solemnly trading melodic fragments; in the Messiaen, the extended meditative passage for the first violins seemed to stop time entirely. I was fascinated by the fact that Canellakis put down her baton for the outer sections of the Messiaen, using it only for the violent, propulsive middle section.
Veronika Eberle was the soloist for the Berg concerto, making her subscription concert debut with the Philharmonic. Eberle has tremendous facility; there were times during her performance that I had to remind myself that playing the violin is difficult! It was only the second half of the concerto that caught fire and transcended technique, however. The Andante–Allegretto seemed like parallel play with the orchestra, inconsequential if lovely. But in the long cadenza-like passages that begin the Allegro–Adagio, she pulled the orchestra into her wake and continued on through the Bach Chorale quotes to the end of the piece with something important to say.
I’m not sure how well the Debussy served the overall theme of the concert, or was served by it. But it was beautifully done, with clarity and momentum and the individual characters of the three movements distinct. As my wife said to me leaving the hall: “Debussy – what’s not to like?”
