And three orchestras and an OOMP

Paavo Järvi is the son of Neeme Järvi, one of the most underrated conductors of our time—Neeme, I mean. Paavo is a conductor himself, and a very good one. (His brother, Kristjan, is also a conductor.) In recent years, he has visited New York with the chamber orchestra he leads in Bremen, Germany. This orchestra has proven one hot band. Järvi has led them in taut, bristling performances.

On a recent Friday morning, he was in Avery Fisher Hall, guest-conducting the New York Philharmonic. When he leads his chamber orchestra, he drives a sports car, so to speak; leading the Philharmonic, he drove an SUV—but a nimble and capable one. The program began with an OOMP: an obligatory opening modern piece.

This one was by Erkki-Sven Tüür, an Estonian (like the Järvis). It’s called Aditus, which, the composer told us in a program note, means “approach,” “access” and other things. The piece is of a familiar kind: busy, squirmy, percussion-filled. In spots, it seems a fanfare. When it was finished, a man behind me said, “Huh,” as though to say, “Interesting.” I agree.

But what purpose does the piece serve, really? In that program note, Tüür called it a “concert opener.” In other words—if I may—it’s an OOMP. To be replaced by other OOMPs and forgotten, in all probability.

Dutch violinist Janine Jansen

The guest soloist on this morning was Janine Jansen, the Dutch violinist—who played Britten’s concerto. She is an excellent musician who makes an extraordinary sound: liquid, seamless, beautiful. She also has a well-tuned sense of rhythm, which helped in this concerto. A fellow critic said afterward that, fine as Jansen had been, the work ought to be bigger, more dramatic. That seems to me perfectly just. But I think I had been too enchanted by Jansen’s virtues to notice.

After intermission came Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, which Järvi started unusually: There was very little break between the opening figures. The first movement in general was very fast—and sloppy, and indifferent. The oboe solo broke up the speed: It was slow and languorous (and maybe just a tiny bit goofy).

The next movements were much like the first: fast and indifferent, if not sloppy. There were some effective moments. For instance, Järvi produced the right tension before the C-major explosion of the finale. But this account was mechanical, workaday—I actually found it dispiriting.

I should record, however, that the crowd loved it, judging from their applause. Or were they mainly applauding the composition? I like to quote a sentiment attributed to Robert Graves: “The thing about Shakespeare is, he really is good.” So’s Beethoven’s Fifth.

From a Fifth to a Third

In the fall, Valery Gergiev brought his Mariinsky Orchestra to Carnegie Hall for symphonies of Mahler. A couple of weeks ago, he returned to New York to complete the cycle—not in Carnegie Hall, and not with the Mariinsky, but in Avery Fisher Hall with the London Symphony Orchestra. I heard the Third.

This is one of the most monumental and transcendent of all symphonies, by anybody. And Gergiev, who’s an off-and-on conductor, was very much on in it. So was the LSO. The first three movements were superb: incisive, gripping, somewhat raw. At times, the music was a little cold and brisk for me—but always defensible. Gergiev let Mahler have his nostalgia, but did not make it maudlin.

The fourth movement introduces a voice, a mezzo (or a contralto). She was Anna Larsson, and she was okay. In my view, the momentum of the performance was halted here. Gergiev executed a nifty transition to the next movement, a choral movement: It has a sparkling, Christmassy spirit. On this occasion, it was rather limp, dull. Momentum was further braked.

And the finale? It is slow, consoling and well-nigh medicinal. A balm. Some people think that “I’ll Be Seeing You” borrowed its tune from it. The movement is in D major, a key that composers typically use for brightness. But some composers know how to use it for warmth: Beethoven, for example (in his “Pastoral” sonata). And Brahms (in his Variations on an Original Theme and his Second Symphony). Mahler can make D major warm, too.

Gergiev shaped the movement nicely, powerfully. I found it a little big, a little grand, a little triumphant—not quite consoling or medicinal enough. But it was certainly wonderful. The crowd—a capacity crowd—had gotten its money’s worth.

Here is a footnote: The singer’s bio said, “Ms. Larsson is rightly justifying her position internationally as the premier interpreter of Gustav Mahler’s works.” If I were her, I would have that excised. Even if it were true, it would be embarrassing.

Fabulous Finns, and Others

The Minnesota Orchestra is an ensemble with a proud past, and a proud present. They spent an evening in Carnegie Hall with their music director, Osmo Vänskä, a Finn. And their soloist was Lisa Batiashvili, the Georgian-born violinist. Her concerto was the Beethoven—a work she has played often, and lovingly.

Her Beethoven is unusual: unusually tender, delicate and beautiful. Indeed, loving. It is also a little small-scale, especially in the first movement. On this night, the second movement, Larghetto, was somewhat stagnant. It did not flow as it might. But the Rondo burbled its contentment and mirth. Oddly enough, the violinist’s only poor intonation came in the last few notes—but this hardly mattered. It let you know the performance was live.

Batiashvili is a musician of rare integrity, evincing a spirituality and purity. There is no false ego about her. She touches an audience, without trying.

In this particular outing with the Beethoven, she used the cadenzas by Alfred Schnittke, the late Russian composer. They are interesting and skillful little pieces. But they are not my idea of a cadenza. What I mean is, they are intrusions on the concerto, rather than adornments to it. They sweep Beethoven off the stage, saying, “I’ll take over.” I think of Luciano Berio’s completion of Puccini’s opera Turandot. It is very interesting. But Berio made no attempt to slip into Puccini’s skin. The music is basically Berio.

On the second half of the concert, Vänskä conducted two symphonies by his national composer, Sibelius. These were the Sixth and the Seventh. He conducted them, frankly, like a master. And the Minnesotans followed him almost unerringly. They were unified, smoother than smooth—smoother than Finland’s, or Minnesota’s, ice. Not a hair was out of place. The composer’s qualities, some of them mysterious, came forth.

We have at least two first-class Sibelius interpreters among us—Sir Colin Davis and Vänskä. And I will pay Vänskä another high compliment: He made me understand the Sixth and Seventh symphonies better than I had. And, while I’m paying high compliments, here is one for the orchestra: The Minnesotans are not among the traditional Big Five in America—but do those five orchestras play better than they? I can’t say they do.

Vänskä & Co. closed the evening with the inevitable Sibelius encore, “Valse triste.” This spooky waltz can still please and haunt, after a thousand hearings.