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.