Five of LA’s Finest Play Brahms, et al, at Mason House

l-r: Ambroise Aubrun, Martin Chalifour, Todd Mason, Cécilia Tsan, David Kaplan, Jonah Sirota,
Dr. Kristi Brown.

REVIEW

Chalifour and Friends play Mason, Kreisler, Debussy, and Brahms at Mason House

DAVID J BROWN

I’m not usually a fan of playing isolated movements from integrated works like a sonata or a symphony, where the contrasts between the often widely differing movements add up to an expressive whole greater than the sum of its parts. But if anyone has the right to sanction such a selection then it’s the composer of the piece in question, and this was the case with host Todd Mason at the February concert in this year’s season (the 12th) at his Mar Vista home, when he chose to open the program with just the Andante tranquillo first movement of his own String Quartet No. 1 (2019).

The aim was to induce, at least for this evening, a sense of calm to counter the external turmoil and discord we’re all living with, and the performance by some of LA’s finest string players (Martin Chalifour and Ambroise Aubrun, violins; Jonah Sirota, viola; and Cécilia Tsan, cello) was as nuanced and responsive to the music’s ebb and flow as anyone could wish—though, a little ironically perhaps, the very acoustic clarity of Mason’s purpose-remodeled concert room revealed more clearly than would a larger space the music’s inner harmonic tensions as the instrumental lines wove together.

Fritz Kreisler.

Mason House regular Dr. Kristi Brown in her pre-concert talk made the most of the juicy back-story to the next two items on the program. After showing an early review of a concert by violinist Fritz Kreisler (1875-1962) including pieces by some 18th century composers, she segued to another later clipping in which he confessed (shock! horror!) that in fact they’d been pastiches by himself. Following the Mason quartet movement, the capacity audience was privileged to hear a couple of these from the virtuoso hands of Martin Chalifour, joined by pianist David Kaplan.

Both Tempo di Minuetto and Prélude et Allegro were originally attributed to Gaetano Pugnani (1731-1798), the former amiably stately in its outer sections, enclosing a jaunty little trio, but overall not particularly remarkable. The Prélude et Allegro was altogether more impressive, however, with its wide-leaping first half giving way to a really scorching account by Chalifour of the whirlwind, cadenza-like Allegro.

Claude Debussy, c.1910.

By late 1914 Claude Debussy was already seriously ill and, as a patriotic Frenchman and particularly a Parisian, was angered and depressed by, and personally feeling the effects of, the war with Germany. His impulse to compose had diminished severely, but was reawakened when his publisher encouraged him to embark on a set of sonatas, each for a different combination of instruments. The first half’s final item was thus the first of these, Debussy’s Cello Sonata L.144, with Tsan replacing Chalifour up front, and Kaplan remaining at the piano.

In some hands these late chamber works of Debussy can feel a bit like disjointed fragments from a sensibility so refined it can barely be articulated, but this performance was anything but reticent. As played by Kaplan—and joined by Tsan from the fourth measure—the first movement’s slow start, tellingly marked Sostenuto e molto risoluto, felt like a portentous opening onto the new expressive world where this sonata and the two following would unfold, as well as the never-to-be-realized plan for the three more that Debussy’s death in 1918 at only 55 would cancel.

The Cello Sonata’s three movements cover a remarkable range of dynamic, pace, timbre, and style of instrumental attack across their total duration of under 12 minutes, and Kaplan and Tsan, faithfully following as many of Debussy’s myriad expressive markings as seemed humanly possible, delivered a performance of visceral impact and intensity.

Brahms in 1866. 

The single big piece after the interval was arguably the one amongst Brahms’s chamber works that went through the most reworking before it reached its final form, and—pretty inarguably—is the most dramatic of them all. Privy to its evolution, Clara Schumann is said to have suggested that the work which eventually reached its final form in 1864 as the Piano Quintet in F minor, Op. 34 could equally be for orchestra (indeed the English composer Robin Holloway has very successfully orchestrated it as “Symphony in F minor”), and Chalifour and friends duly treated the Mason House audience to a performance which combined visceral impact in the great unison passages and sensitive interplay, as at the violinists’ duetting in the opening movement’s second subject group.

With the overall duration at a very trim 38 minutes or so (not entirely due to the omission of the first movement exposition repeat, which gave that movement even more of an arrow-like momentum than usual), the arrival of Brahms’ astonishing concluding cadence to the finale, like a lead-weighted drop-curtain plunging down, had the proper effect of a stunned silence before the applause erupted. Yet another memorable evening at Mason House, enhanced as ever by Ethel Phipps' wonderful catering, and three concerts still to come in this season—may there be many more!

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Mason Home Concert, 3484 Redwood Ave., Mar Vista, CA 90066, 6:00 p.m., Saturday, February 21, 2026.

Images: The performance: Todd Mason; Kreisler, Debussy, Brahms: Wikimedia Commons.

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Schubert Sings Schubert (and Others) at Mason House

REVIEW

Anna Schubert, soprano & Milena Gligić, piano, Mason Home Concerts, Mar Vista

RODNEY PUNT

A snug living-room full of music lovers was treated to a terrific song recital on the fourth Saturday in January, delivered by soprano Anna Schubert and collaborative pianist Milena Gligiċ. As LA Opus readers will know well, the venue was the private house in LA’s Mar Vista neighborhood where owner/impresario/composer Todd Mason has presented his home concerts for the last 12 years. While instrumental music has predominated, vocal music is increasingly popular.

Anna Schubert.

Anna Schubert is well known to this writer from her performances at the Long Beach Opera (reviews here and here), where her tall presence (almost six feet in heels) projected authority in two strong Handelian character roles. Nonetheless, the two most important art-music forms for the human voice couldn’t be more different in form and function.

While opera is grand, with big emotions, and often bigger performers who go at each other fiercely, art song is small in scale, its universe of emotions delivered by a single singer. Opera productions are easy to follow, with evocative sets, and plenty of physical action between the singer-actors. Nowadays printed lyrics are either festooned above the proscenium or on the backs of seats facing the viewer, vastly improving comprehension of the opera’s action.

Debussy by Marcel Baschet, 1884.

Song recitals are an entirely different experience because each song is its own encapsulated story-world in miniature. The challenge for the singer is to articulate lyrics clearly while conveying varied emotions in each story. Given the lack of physical action, the singer must convey a song’s emotional meaning by face and voice only. Further complicating matters, most art songs in the repertory are sung in languages other than English.

This evening’s 14 songs were divided, eight and six, between French and German settings. The French first half opened with three of the Ariettes oubliées L. 60, a song-cycle written between 1886 and 1887 by Claude Debussy (1862-1918). Schubert and Gligić gave us Nos. 3, L'ombre des arbres, 5 Green, and 6 Spleen (both the latter designated as Aquarelles), all three of which shared a mood of romantic nostalgia and resignation, eloquently projected by Anna Schubert.

Henri Duparc, 1880.

The Gallic ennui continued with Elégie (1874), Extase (1874), and L'invitation au voyage (1870) by Debussy’s older countryman Henri Duparc (1848-1933), and was thoroughly maintained with the final pair from Debussy, Beau Soir L. 84 (1890-91) and Apparition L. 57 (1884). If I have a criticism it’s that there was no break in this first set, which made for a long string of songs that might have been better grouped in two sets of the two composers. The audience did not know when or if they should clap, so they didn’t.

After the break, as ever enriched by refreshments including a hot dish from the skilled hands of Ethel Phipps, we had, first, Schubert singing Schubert, with Anna charmingly acknowledging that she just might have a distant family connection to the great Austrian master. The selections were Suleika I, D. 720 (1821), Du bist die Ruh, Op. 59, No. 3, D. 776 (1823), Nacht und Träume, Op. 43, No. 2, D. 827 (1823), and finally the early but astonishingly original Gretchen am Spinnrade, Op. 2, D. 118 (1814), its passion transfixing in Anna’s performance.

Schubert as imaged by
Gustav Klimt, 1890.

Two widely differing items completed the program. The first was Ich scheide, S. 319 (1860), by Franz Liszt (1811-1886), the haunting tenderness of which might have come as a big surprise to anyone used only to the barnstorming virtuosity of much of his solo piano music.

Then, to close an evening that had progressed in an approximately reverse chronological order, came the ineffably beautiful soprano aria Bete aber auch dabei, the fourth number in J. S. Bach’s church cantata No. 115, Mache dich, mein Geist, bereit, BWV 115 (1724).

Milena Gligić.

Needless to say, this shortish but memorable recital had a rapturous reception from Mason House’s capacity audience, its success owing much to Anna Schubert’s collaboration with Milena Gligić, a last-minute substitute for another indisposed pianist, and a singer herself.

She played Mason’s 1986 Yamaha C7 with German hammers, which really help to give the instrument the softer tone so welcome in chamber music, as well as when accompanying a voice, as here. In addition, the acoustic design of this small concert room magnifies the low end so it sounds a lot better than if it were in a typical home or even a big stage.

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Mason Home Concerts, 3484 Redwood Ave., Mar Vista, CA 90066, Saturday, January 24, 6:00 p.m.

Images: The performance: Todd Mason; Debussy, Duparc, Schubert: Wikimedia Commons.

Strauss's Don Quixote and Tchaikovsky at Long Beach

Cécilia Tsan (cello), Music Director Eckart Preu, and the Long Beach Symphony acknowledge the heartfelt reception for their performance of Richard Strauss’s Don Quixote.

REVIEW

Long Beach Symphony, Terrace Theater, Beverly O'Neill Performing Arts Center, Long Beach

DAVID J BROWN

The first half of the January concert in the Long Beach Symphony’s 2025-2026 season was devoted to Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35 (1878), played by the American violinist Tai Murray with the LBSO as ever under the baton of its Music Director Eckart Preu. As is well known, Tchaikovsky wrote it, on the rebound from his brief and disastrous marriage, while staying in Switzerland with his composition pupil, the violinist Iosif Kotek. Composition was rapid, and in close collaboration with Kotek, who was also probably his lover.

Tchaikovsky with Iosef Kotek (left).

The performance was sumptuously romantic from the outset, with exquisite intonation from Ms. Murray and the customary attentive skill with which Maestro Preu managed the orchestra’s interaction with her. However, to these ears their expansive account of the long first movement to some extent lacked urgency and the emotional tension that’s surely behind the work’s genesis and is indeed never far beneath the surface of Tchaikovsky’s music, and thus made the movement seem more like a meditative rhapsody than a dynamically evolving structure.

Nonetheless the audience was on its collective feet and cheering even after that first movement, and following an inarguably inward and tender account of the Canzonetta, with some deliciously pointed woodwind contributions, Tchaikovsky’s attacca subito before the Finale fortunately neutered the impulse to any more inter-movement applause. This Finale certainly lived up to its initial Allegro vivacissimo marking, and Preu’s control through what seemed more extreme tempo contrasts than usual in this movement held it together securely.

Tai Murray speaking at the
 post-concert reception.

The rapturous reaction from the near-capacity audience was redoubled at the concerto’s whiplash conclusion, and Ms Murray rewarded them with, as encore, a poised and haunting performance of the Largo third movement from J. S. Bach’s Sonata No. 3 in C major, BWV 1005, for solo violin.

Near the end of his long life Richard Strauss (1864-1949) is said to have remarked "I may not be a first-rate composer, but I am a first-class second-rate composer." We cannot know how much genuine self-deprecation or irony there was in that statement, but if one at least amongst his orchestral works justifies him being elevated to the top level of the pantheon it is Don Quixote: Phantastische Variationen über ein Thema ritterlichen Charakters, Op. 34 (1897), with the clever double meaning buried within that subtitle.

Richard Strauss around the time of
Don Quixote's composition.

The work is indeed an extraordinarily virtuosic set of variations on a musical theme “of knightly character,” but equally “theme” in this context can be taken to mean the personality of its titular hero, with those “variations” being aspects of both his character and his actions. Strauss’s balancing of this double meaning, with genius-level musical craft bringing to life a profoundly human subject, is the central factor that elevates this seventh of Strauss's 10 tone-poems to true greatness.

The 10 numbered and titled variations that form the main body of Don Quixote have two preceding sections, the first of them an extensive Introduction, so complex and varied in mood, texture and dynamic that it could stand as a miniature symphonic poem all by itself. Not only does the Introduction adumbrate the very distinctive themes that represent the Don and his squire Sancho Panza— who are “officially” introduced in the second of those preceding sections by the solo cello and viola that represent them—but it also foreshadows the dramatic events that unfold in the variations themselves.

To include Don Quixote in an LBSO concert had been an ambition cherished alike by Maestro Preu, Principal Cello Cécilia Tsan, and President Kelly Ruggirello for several years but, caught first between the Scylla of Covid and then the Charybdis of budgetary restrictions, only in this season was it at last possible to mount the work, given Strauss’s very large orchestral specification. And it was clear from the outset that this promised to be an exceptional account of the piece.

Andrew Duckles and Eckart Preu.

In an illuminating pre-concert chat with Maestro Preu, LBSO Principal Viola Andrew Duckles (the evening’s Sancho Panza) opined that Don Quixote is really the first “concerto for orchestra,” given how Strauss exploits each instrument and tests every player to the utmost, and already in the Introduction alone Preu’s spacious and skillful direction, and the LBSO’s devoted following of him, demonstrated the truth of this in translucent detail, as individual players and sections, from solo flute down to the tubas (one tenor, one bass)—notably via an important thematic statement from the viola section alone—each had their moment in the spotlight.

And then, after this resplendent and tumultuous preparation, we met the Don himself in the person of Ms. Tsan, celebrating 25 years as the LBSO’s Principal Cello. In yet another demonstration of Strauss’s mastery, he carefully conceives the cello part as a “first amongst equals” rather than with concerto solo prominence, and Ms. Tsan’s assumption of the role was a consummate embodiment of this. Her opening solo certainly projected the bold challenge of the Don’s first appearance—where Strauss’s theme embraces imperiousness, grace, and underlying disturbance—but immediately there was the first of many generous collaborations with other players, this being the duet with solo violin (Concertmaster Roger Wilkie) that elaborates contrapuntally on the theme.

Sancho Panza first arrives (Maggiore in the score) in a huffing, rumbling duet between tenor tuba and bass clarinet (Arisa Makita and Michael Yoshimi respectively) but the viola soon takes center stage in the story’s second important characterization. Mr Duckles conveyed all of the part’s various confidences and hesitancies, cheerfulness and questionings—and in this opening relished another of Strauss’s “concerto for orchestra” inspirations, duetting with the piccolo (Diane Alancraig).

In brief comments before the start Maestro Preu confessed that his favorites amongst the 10 variations were #II, where Quixote mistakes a herd of sheep for an emperor’s army and engages them, and #VII, the “ride through the air.”

The former is probably the most extreme example of scoring innovation in the entire work, and the LBSO brass duly bleated pianissimo against witterings from multi-divided violas ppp, and then along with all the winds fortissimo as they were attacked. Strauss’s sense of proportion in this work is unfailing, however. Each of these most virtuoso of the variations—in #VII grand brass cadences are borne aloft by swirling woodwind and strings and energetically cranked wind machine—lasts barely a minute. Nothing outstays its welcome.

Indeed, all the variations proceed one to the next without pause, so that any successful performance must neither minimize nor stumble over the many abrupt changes of instrumental texture, speed, dynamic, meter, and key, where Strauss’s musical narrative turns on a dime from humor to grandeur, from heroic tragedy to bucolic musing. Preu’s masterly handling of the score and the LBSO’s response managed to combine all the sudden vividness of contrast needed with overall conviction and coherence.

Cécilia Tsan at the post-concert reception.

Ms. Tsan carried the Finale, where Quixote at lasts returns to sanity, with playing of radiant tenderness than never threatened to slip into exaggeration or sentimentality, and Preu and the orchestra maintained their eloquent support.

The Finale’s moments of renewed agitation and, latterly, near-exact repetition of the orchestra’s first statements of the principal themes in the Introduction, show Strauss’s mastery in perfectly closing the work’s expressive circle, and the performers’ unerring nailing of these aspects as well as the rich eloquence that pervades the movement and the gentle quietude of its end set the seal on one of the finest accounts of this masterpiece that I have ever heard.

Two concerts remain in the LBSO’s 2025-2026 Classical season. On February 28 Pepe Romero returns to play Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez in a program that opens with Gabriela Lena Frank’s Elegia Andina for Orchestra and concludes with the first two of Handel’s Water Music suites. Then to close the season, on June 6 the orchestra musters even larger forces than the Strauss for Mahler’s Fifth Symphony, with Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik as the amuse-bouche. 

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Long Beach Symphony Orchestra, Terrace Theater, Beverly O'Neill Performing Arts Center, Long Beach, Saturday, January 31, 2026, 7.30 p.m.

Images: The performance: Todd Mason and David de Santiago; Tchaikovsky and Kotek: tchaikovsky-research.net; Richard Strauss: Wikimedia Commons.

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Fiery Magic and Gold at the Segerstrom Concert Hall

Aubree Oliverson plays Korngold’s Violin Concerto with the Pacific Symphony under its Artistic and Music Director Designate, Alexander Shelley.

REVIEW

Pacific Symphony Orchestra, Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, Costa Mesa

DAVID J BROWN

From the distance of what is now well over a century, it’s easy to bracket together Stravinsky’s three early ballets, Firebird (1909-1910), Petrushka (1910-1911), and The Rite of Spring (1911-1913), and indeed they were collectively the launchpad for his subsequent 50-year-long compositional career, whose unpredictably mercurial metamorphoses formed a key thread in the development of 20th century “classical” music, and a legacy for and influence on many composers that continues to this day.

Stravinsky by Jacques-Émile Blanche, 1915.

Nonetheless, the concert-hall fates of the three ballets have been rather different. The Rite of Spring has become a favorite for orchestras to show off their virtuoso chops if they can muster its huge forces (perhaps the one piece of “modern music” as guaranteed to fill a hall as a Brahms or Beethoven symphony), and Petrushka turns up fairly frequently, usually in Stravinsky’s more modestly scored 1946 revision. Firebird, however—half as long in duration as either—is much more often represented by one or other of the suites that he drew from it.

Stravinsky well knew what he was doing when, first in 1911, then 1919, and finally 1945, he extracted the immediately memorable “plums” from the score, and the contrast between these set-pieces and the many, often purely textural, passages that link them tasks any conductor to present the complete Firebird as a compelling and integrated whole in concert, divorced from any representation of the scenario it was originally written to accompany. 

This was the challenge for the Pacific Symphony’s Artistic and Music Director Designate, Alexander Shelley, in the February concert of the Orchestra’s 2025-26 season, and from the very start he got it right. The muted pianissimo cello and bass undulations that begin the Introduction can feel static and even aimless if taken too slowly and without tight rhythmic control; here their steady forward motion was all ominous purpose, enhanced by the (for once) clearly audible bass drum roll that underpins them.

Alexander Shelley.

From here on the ballet’s many linking sections flowed seamlessly together so that nowhere was there any sense of waiting for the movements so well known in Stravinsky’s suites, from the Firebird’s Dance through to the simply thrilling account of the Finale (which, oddly, he omitted from the 1911 suite).

The performance of course benefited from the Segerstrom Hall’s acoustic, so that the myriad threads and colors of the young composer’s astonishingly imaginative scoring came across with almost hallucinatory vividness in the Pacific Symphony’s deployment of Firebird’s full and “wastefully large” (as the composer described it in old age) orchestra, including quadruple woodwind, multiple percussion, three harps, and briefly deployed but clearly audible offstage brass.

It was perhaps ironic that for a performance so convinced and cogent that it could well have stood without any visual element—other than perhaps supertitles of the 22 sections—Mr. Shelley and the Pacific Symphony chose to accompany it with a full-length animation commissioned from the small Californian studio Fowler Amusement Co., who averred that "… for the look of the Firebird projected media, we drew inspiration from theater, dance, and classic illustrations of NC Wyeth, Arthur Rackham, and Howard Pyle…” 

In contrast to Disney's invented scenario for the Firebird Suite in the final segment of its Fantasia 2000 follow-up to the celebrated 1940 original, Fowler's animation followed the ballet’s narrative fairly faithfully. At its best it was spot-on, as with the Firebird itself (above) and the gorgeously swirling semi-abstractions into which the realistic main action devolved from time to time. And it wasn’t at all a bad thing that the rather jerky movement of the human figures had a marionette-like feel, nor was the way Koschei’s castle sometimes recalled Sauron’s realm from Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. Altogether it was a highly successful experiment and the capacity audience loved it.

Erich Wolfgang Korngold in 1940.

Before the interval the main work was Korngold’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35, the enthusiastic championing of which the young American violinist Aubree Oliverson made clear in her pre-concert chat with KUSC host Alan Chapman.

That her technique was also well up to both the work’s passionate lyricism and its rapid-fire intricacies was made clear by her collaboration with Shelley and the Pacific Symphony in a performance that demonstrated how skillfully Korngold built a large-scale and entirely convincing concerto from movie music elements across all three of its movements.

Though the work is notably economical in woodwind and brass (only one trombone!), the score includes all the untuned and tuned percussion and lavishly elaborate string writing that make Korngold’s sound world so memorable. From the outset the Segerstrom’s wonderful acoustic projected all the exquisite pointillism of celesta, harp, glockenspiel, and vibraphone that clothe the violin’s rhapsodic flights.

Aubree Oliverson.

Ms. Oliverson’s absolute security, including some thrillingly attenuated phrase-ends at the edge of audibility, worked as one with the plentiful rubato of Shelley’s conducting, which managed at once to feel freely spontaneous yet have sure goal-centered purpose. It was a marvelous performance of a great concerto that has, thank goodness, thoroughly establshed itself in the repertoire. For an encore, Aubree Oliverson gave us her own arrangement of Menuhin Caprice (2021) by Mark O'Connor.

John Adams in 1982.

The concert opener was John Adams’ Short Ride in a Fast Machine (1986), written when he was a leading proponent in the backlash of minimalism against musical modernism and before he grew to seniority in the established American musical scene. It has remained one of his most-performed works. With some recordings in mind, I thought the opening wood-block ticking too loud, but no, forte is the marking, and under Mr. Shelley’s urgent baton its pervading presence (I wonder if maintaining that rhythmic constancy is as taxing for a player as the side-drum in Ravel’s Bolero?) drove Adams’ very large forces through four minutes of ear-pounding unanimity.

To someone who has never been much of an Adams fan nor of minimalism in general—all that repetitiveness sounding like preparation for something that never quite happens—the key word in the work’s title is “short.” Nonetheless the aspiring trumpet phrase that emerges around three minutes in was certainly frisson-inducing, and this exhilarating account signaled the magnificent playing to come. Short Ride in a Fast Machine was written originally as the second of Two Fanfares for Orchestra and, if preceded in concert by its slower companion, Tromba Lontana, the diptych would be more than the sum of its parts and still not outstay its welcome as a concert opener.

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Pacific Symphony Orchestra, Segerstrom Center for the Arts, Costa Mesa, Thursday, January 15, 2026, 8 p.m.

Images: The performance: Doug Gifford; Stravinsky, Korngold: Wikimedia Commons; Firebird animation: Fowler Animation; Adams: LA Philharmonic archives.

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Apollo’s Sun Shines on Richard Strauss's "Daphne"

The Seattle Opera Orchestra and Chorus, conducted by David Afkham, in Richard Strauss’s one-act
 opera, Daphne, Op. 82 (1938).

REVIEW

Daphne in Concert, Seattle Opera, McCaw Hall, Seattle Center

ERICA MINER

Daphne in Concert, Seattle Opera’s latest offering in their series of concert presentations initiated in 2023, proved that the series concept is a successful one.

Filled with virtuosic opportunities for singers and orchestra alike, this rarely performed Richard Strauss opera is a true tour de force for all the artists involved. Seeing it performed in person is a life-changing experience. The work is so transformative that Richard Wagner’s grandson Wieland is said to have named his youngest daughter Daphne out of his love for the piece.

Based loosely on a mythological figure from Ovid’s masterpiece Metamorphoses, one of the most influential works in Western culture, the Daphne episode of this epic poem embodies one of its key elements, that of transformation. The story chronicles the tragic journey of a woman (or nymph, depending on the interpretation), the daughter of a river god who, rejecting the advances of the sun god Apollo, is transfigured into a laurel tree, forever honoring her by declaring it sacred. “Since you can never be my bride,” Apollo tells her, “At least, sweet laurel, you shall be my tree.”

Richard Strauss on the cover of Time
magazine, 1938.

At its 1938 premiere, legendary maestro Karl Böhm, to whom Strauss dedicated the work, subtitled it “Bucolic Tragedy in One Act.” Indeed, the requirements in this pastoral setting for the most skilled performers possible were fulfilled in every aspect of this performance, from its expert singing to its dazzling orchestra playing. The ensemble as a whole accomplished their mission with Olympian expertise.

As in most Strauss operas, the focal point of the drama and vocality lay in the principal roles, and the casting of tenors in two of them was an enjoyable variation. In this case, three debuting singers formed the lead ensemble that met the vocal challenges of their central roles with impressive assurance and control. American soprano Heidi Stober as the heroine Daphne and British tenor David Butt Philip as the sun god Apollo were taking on the roles for the first time. American tenor Miles Mykkanen has sung the role of Daphne’s childhood friend Leukippos elsewhere.

Heidi Stober.

Stober’s interpretation of the fisherman’s daughter Daphne was superb, vocally and dramatically. Despite the immense difficulties of the role, she used the gorgeous melodies of her opening monologue to spin the high notes with great delicacy. She maintained her tone quality throughout the long and arduous performance, and her stunning final monologue left the audience breathless.

As the sun god Apollo, tenor David Butt Philip burst on the scene with panache, reflecting the energetic leitmotif the composer created for him. He negotiated the fiendish tessitura with strength and muscle, never wavering or allowing the massive Strauss orchestra to overpower him.

Miles Mykkanen expressed his ideal love for Daphne with sincerity and passion combined with engaging bits of humor. His voice was perfectly suited to the role: lighter than a dramatic tenor but full and round in its sound and consistent from top to bottom.

David Butt Philip.

Mezzo-soprano Melody Wilson’s voice was appropriately lush for the role of Daphne’s mother, Gaea, though dramatically she was a bit lacking in passion. British bass Matthew Rose was wholly impressive in the pivotal role of Daphne’s father, Peneios. The voice was beautiful, generous, and powerful: everything the listener could have desired.

Though their appearance onstage is briefer than that of Daphne, Strauss’s vocal writing for the two maids is still demanding. Debuting Soprano Meryl Dominguez and mezzo-soprano Sarah Coit made every note sparkle and could not have been more charming dramatically.

As the four shepherds, baritone Ilya Silchukou, tenor Martin Bakari, baritone Micah Parker, and baritone Michael J. Hawk all sang well and with authority.

Sarah Coit and Meryl Dominguez.

One of the advantages of a concert version of an opera is to be able to watch the conductor’s every move. In his debut with the company and with the score, David Afkham demonstrated his considerable expertise as a Strauss specialist.

The German native conveyed the composer’s musical word painting of the sounds of nature, the power of the Divine, and the tragic nuances, with sureness and Mozartian sensitivity. He conducted the richly orchestrated Bacchanalian interlude with the keen understanding and breadth of a Strauss tone poem, providing a consummate showcase for the orchestra. The musicians performed magnificently, highlighted by sweetly played violin and cello solos and the use of a real Alpenhorn to add authenticity.

David Afkham.

Chorus Master Michaella Calzaretta elicited a unified choral sound and a gamut of emotions from the chorus men: declamatory and convincing, tonally excellent, but never shouting.

David Gately, who previously directed the company’s Samson and Delilah in Concert, fulfilled the difficult mission of finding creative ways to provide action in a concert setting. The performers’ entrances and exits flowed seamlessly, and their gestures and facial expressions provided dramatic interest.

Lighting is of the utmost importance in this opera, since the plot and the characters’ declamations revolve around the set’s transformations from sunrise to sunset. Debuting Lighting Designer Ranleigh Starling created stunning images in the colors of the background, ranging from blue to purple, awash with sunlight, lightning darting across the sky during a tempestuous storm, and other visual splendors. Especially magical was the light moving from the stage over the heads of the first several rows of audience members during Daphne’s climactic transformation at the end, as the stage background morphed into the green of her laurel leaves.

Seattle Opera Chorus.

Seattle Opera deserves its own laurels for bringing this rare treat to their stage, the first Strauss opera to be performed here since Ariadne auf Naxos in 2015. One hopes for more Strauss in the near future, and the audience is sure to look forward to the next in the company’s concert presentations. 

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7:30 p.m., Sunday, January 18, 2026, McCaw Hall, 321 Mercer Street, Seattle Center, Seattle, WA 98109.

Images: Richard Strauss: Time magazine; The performance: Sunny Martini; David Afkham: Gisela Schenker/artist website.

Symbolism and Impressionism at "Classical Interludes"

REVIEW

Iryna Krechkovsky and Sookkyung Cho, Classical Interludes, First Lutheran Church, Torrance

BARBARA GLAZER

Sookkyung Cho.

Iryna Krechkovsky.

This recital, given by Iryna Krechkovsky (violin) and Sookkyung Cho (piano), was an extraordinary performance by a pair of supremely talented performers who, though in only their first concert together, played with one heartbeat, and translated the music into exquisite aural paintings.

Nocturne (1911) and Cortège (1914), the opening two pieces by Lili Boulanger (1893-1918, younger sister of Nadia Boulanger, the globally acclaimed piano teacher and composition instructor), set the stage for a concert showcasing the refined, elegant, French style, often identified with French Impressionism, though Lili—who indeed was inspired by Fauré and Debussy—also represented the Symbolist tradition in music. While Impressionism in music focused on fleeting sensory moments—light, atmosphere using fluid rhythms, blurred harmonies, to create impressions—Symbolism (from the Latin Symbolium, meaning signs of recognition), heavily influenced by literature, aimed to suggest deeper spiritual or abstract meanings (dreams, myths) using symbolic motifs and complex structures to reveal “inner truth.”

Lili Boulanger, by Jean Dupas, 1916.

It used leitmotifs—recurring musical ideas—to build meaning, often with complex, chromatic harmonies to emphasize the internal, psychological, or mystical rather than the merely sensory. Impressionism is about how things feel, sensory impressions; Symbolism is about what things represent—for a deeper meaning of their truth and reality. Debussy, indeed, bridged both traditions, as to an extent did Lili Boulanger.

She was born into a Parisian musical family: her father, Ernest Boulanger (1815-1900), was a famous cellist, conductor, and vocal teacher, who married one of his vocal students, Raissa, a Russian princess, 41 years his junior. He was 77 when Lili was born, six years after her sister Nadia, and concerned about his remaining lifespan, introduced Nadia to her infant sister as the “adult” responsible for her care and welfare. Nadia took that responsibility seriously, and for Lili's short life Nadia fulfilled the role as her surrogate parent and musical (and cultural) tutor (a familial relationship I can identify with, as that is the role my own older brother played for me).

The last extant photo of Lili
Boulanger, 1917.

Lili's ill-health stemmed from a bout of pneumonia at the age of two, which led to the intestinal TB that eventually killed her, yet she produced a body of extraordinary work. She was the first woman to win the Prix de Rome (in 1913) for the cantata Faust et Hélène based on Goethe, but was too ill to receive the award in person. Her father won this prestigious prize in 1835, but her more famous sister failed to accomplish it even after four attempts. (The Prix de Rome, established in 1683, was only opened to women for music in 1903.) 

Beginning this concert with Boulanger’s two pieces was brilliant programming. The term “nocturne” was first used by the Irish composer John Field (1782-1837) for works that evoke the night-time and inspire contemplation, and was famously developed by Chopin, typically with a slow, lyrical, dreamy, singing melody over flowing arpeggiated chords. But Boulanger's Nocturne is more than a dreamy impression. It does have a gorgeous main theme, a delicate interplay between the violin and piano (alternatively flute and piano), but it goes from a sparse beginning to an intense emotional peak, speaking of the sense of loss of a loved one. Haven't we, on some night, had such an ineffable feeling, when suddenly the loss of a loved one floods our very being? Krechkovsky and Cho gave an exquisite performance that sculptured this music into a categorical truth—beyond an impression of night.

 By contrast, Cortège is a cheerful, energetic, and joyful piece. Here, semantic is important: the word might have solemn associations for Americans, as in a funeral cortège or procession, but in French it means “attendants,” and the music can very well embody, as in Boulanger's Cortège, merriment and joyful display by the attendants at any event. It's a wonderful piece, with fragmented motifs, pentatonic scales, strong changing textures, and a super display of violin pizzicati, done exquisitely by Krechkovsky with Cho's brilliant keyboard dexterity and lyrical forte on full display, all with a sparkling French voice of elegance and optimism, and a stark contrast to Nocturne, pointing to Boulanger’s wide creative range.

Gabriel Fauré by John Singer Sargent, 1889.

Gabriel Fauré’s Violin Sonata No. 1 in A major, Op. 13 (1875-76), was at first refused by a Leipzig publication house, but then reconsidered if the composer would waive his fee, which he did. It was a sensation at its 1877 premiere, and is now deservedly considered a crown jewel in chamber music. Fauré dedicated it to Paul Viardot, the brother of his lover, Marianne Viardot.

The movements are Allegro molto, showcasing a very bold coda; Andante (like a barcarolle); Scherzo, Allegro vivo, with gorgeous cross-rhythm runs and pizzicati that at the premiere brought down the house, demanding an encore.

The duo of Krechkovsky and Cho performed it so magnificently that I used the excellent Vimeo video to hear again before going on to the Finale, Allegro quasi presto, which is filled with melodic fertility, rhythmic variety, and gorgeous harmonic progressions with awesome violin double stops. This sonata is a duo concertante: the instruments equal with each other—never solo with accompaniment—each having independent and intricately interwoven lines. Krechkovsky and Cho played it wonderfully.

Valentin Silvestrov.

The encore was Lullaby by Valentin Silvestrov. He was born in 1937 in Kiev (then part of Russia, before Ukraine achieved independence after WWII), and taught himself the piano, not having a lesson until he was 15. He attended night music school in Kyiv while he studied civil engineering, before he transferred to the Kyiv Institute for Music. He fled to Berlin after the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Silvestrov has produced a huge body of work, including nine symphonies—a deep roster representing every genre of classical music. At first he was a modernist and championed “new music,” which he has now rejected for Post Modernism, hoping to revive classicism. "Lullaby" is difficult to translate: it can be a soothing song, with a slow, simple, repetitive melody to induce sleep, but also, as in the French term “berceuse,” a song or composition conveying cultural knowledge, to pass down traditions and values from one generation to another.

Silvestrov’s Melodies of the Moment, for violin and piano, is a series of works with seven cycles composed at different times. Cycle VI, from which Lullaby comes, has 22 movements (written about 2004, and premiered in 2009), with a"lullaby" theme that circulates throughout the composition, which is dedicated to Tchaikovsky. He is interested in the boundaries between “appearance” and “disappearance,” and I felt this very quiet selection spoke loudly of the fragility of culture under stress. It was fitting for a Ukrainian-born violinist, Krechkovsky, to play a Ukrainian composer's work at this time in history.

I enjoyed this concert tremendously—music that spoke to me, and played magnificently. Thanks to the performers, Classical Crossroads, and Jim Eninger for mounting a superb concert, with an excellent quality video allowing me to listen again and again.

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Classical Interludes, First Lutheran Church and School, Torrance, Saturday, January 3, 2026, 3:00 p.m.

Images: The performers: Classical Crossroads, Inc., and artists' websites; Lili Boulanger: Philharmonie de Paris, Musée de la Musique; Fauré: Wikimedia Commons; Silvestrov: photo Kaupo Kikkas, courtesy Huxley.

Live-to-Film Muppet Christmas Carol Evokes Nostalgia

REVIEW

The Muppet Christmas Carol/Seattle Symphony, Benaroya Hall, Seattle

ERICA MINER

What could please a 21st century child more than watching a late 20th century classic on a giant screen, with the soundtrack performed by a major symphony orchestra in a magnificent, holiday-bedecked hall? On December 6, the Seattle Symphony gifted the much-loved 1992 Jerry Juhl screenplay adaptation of the enduring Dickens tale to a packed and appreciative audience of enchanted kids and nostalgic adults, who cheered robustly at every recognizable moment.

The Disney-produced Brian Henson-directed film, narrated by Muppets Gonzo as Charles Dickens assisted by Rizzo the Rat, is dedicated to the memory of Muppeteer mastermind Jim Henson, as well as to his frequent Muppet collaborator Richard Hunt, whose character performances were thought to comprise “the heart” of the Muppets.

Thiago Tiberio.

At the orchestra’s helm, the award-winning international conductor Thiago Tiberio brought to the Benaroya stage his impressive experience, background, and youthful energy in performing this orchestra-and-film combination.

The maestro, who has led orchestras in scoring sessions for most of his career, demonstrated an expertise gleaned from an already stellar career as a specialist in live-to-picture synchronization concerts. Having arranged, orchestrated, and directed concert adaptations of panoplies of films, he was the perfect choice to lead this performance.

It is indeed a special occasion when movie aficionados and devotees of orchestral music are given the chance to hear such a brilliant soundtrack played live while simultaneously watching the film. Tiberio displayed a keen knowledge of Miles Goodman’s sparkling score, Paul Williams’s winning songs, and the screenplay, deftly balancing the razor-edged timing between the music and the action onscreen.

The conductor also showed his training as a composer, highlighting the virtuoso elements of the score with sweeping gestures and lively, dancelike movements, thus giving the musicians ample opportunity to shine. The orchestra’s enthusiastic performance matched the luminosity of the score, particularly in the entr’acte. Solos from the violin and trumpet were nicely done.

Juhl’s screenplay is replete with clever pun-filled dialogue in a mix of late 19th century London and contemporary American accents from everyone’s most cherished Muppet characters, paired with lyrics and puns that would elicit a chuckle from any self-respecting puppet vegetable lover.

The cast is festooned with the usual Muppet crowd pleasers, including Kermit the Frog (Bob Cratchit), Miss Piggy (Emily Cratchit) and Fozzie Bear (“Fozziwig”). Michael Caine played an appropriately fearsome and chilling Scrooge for all seasons who wouldn’t hesitate to heave a destitute Muppet out the door. All in all, adding up to 90 minutes of sheer delight.

The orchestra will offer several other events to add to the festivities of the season this month:

December 10: Tony Award winner Renée Elise Goldsberry (right) best known for her star-making role as Angelica Schuyler in Hamilton — arrives for An Evening with Renée Elise Goldsberry and the Seattle Symphony, featuring the world premiere of her brand-new Christmas concert.

December 12–14: Seattle favorite Stuart Chafetz returns to Benaroya Hall to conduct Holiday Pops, a program of popular festive favorites, featuring Broadway vocalists Ryan Silverman and Scarlett Strallen.

December 22: the Northwest Boychoir conducted by Artistic Director Jacob Winkler presents A Festival of Lessons & Carols, the story of the Nativity told through reading, choral setting and audience sing-alongs.

December 31: New Year’s Eve with The Hot Sardines is a celebration of the music and culture of the swing era from the 1920s-early 1950s. Conductor Enrico Lopez-Yañez and The Hot Sardines (left) will join the Seattle Symphony to perform jazz songs and originals, rounding out the evening with a post-show swing dance in the lobby with the Peter Daniel Band and performances by the Benaroya Hoppers and national swing dance champion Robin Harrison.

Bravo to the Seattle Symphony for offering these holiday feasts for all the senses as much-welcomed gifts of love and cheer.

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Benaroya Hall, 200 University St, Seattle, WA 98101, Saturday, December 6, 7.30 p.m. 

Photos: The performance: James Holt; Renée Elise Goldsberry: Cameron Bertuzzi; The Hot Sardines: Shervin Lainez.