Mendelssohn and Fauré Masterworks in the Dome

REVIEW

“Piano & Strings,” Mount Wilson Observatory

JOHN STODDER

On the penultimate Sunday in May, in the 100-inch Telescope Dome at the Mount Wilson Observatory—5,713 ft. above sea level and 50 miles away from Walt Disney Concert Hall—two sold-out programs of classical music showcased a contrasting pair of masterpieces of 19th century chamber music, Felix Mendelssohn’s outgoing and melodic Piano Trio No. 1 in D minor, Op. 49 (1839), and Gabriel Fauré’s brooding and unpredictable Piano Quartet No. 1 in C minor, Op. 15 (1876).

Each show had about 215 audience members, because that’s all that will fit in the unusual semicircular balcony space the Observatory offers for performances—each had a waiting list of 25 more people who would’ve attended. The organizers of this annual summer Sunday Afternoon Concerts in the Dome series, including Artistic Director Cécilia Tsan (who performed in both pieces) have struck gold artistically as well as experientially. If the Observatory wasn’t so far from LA’s urban enclaves, I suspect the demand for tickets would be overwhelming.

The 100-inch Hooker Telescope Dome.

To get to the Dome, you need to find your way to the Angeles Crest Highway turnoff from the Foothill Freeway, ascending the San Gabriel Mountain range for about 14 winding miles until reaching Mount Wilson Red Box Road, a narrow, twisting five-mile path that climbs to the Observatory.

I’m used to this landscape looking more desert-like even in late spring, but the soaking winter rains allowed the native chapparal, trees, grasses, and wildflowers to thrive colorfully across the foothills and peaks—deep green foliage, bright yellow wildflowers, and the fragrance of pine that followed us to our seats in the Dome (right). The journey turned out to be the perfect overture for the concert, especially the first piece performed, the Mendelssohn Trio—so carefree and sweet, like the arrival of spring.

The audience heard two virtuoso violinists: Asi Matathias, an Israeli musician who helmed the Mendelssohn, and Tosca Opdam, his Dutch spouse who led the Fauré. They had travelled to Southern California from Europe and in both pieces were joined by cellist Cécilia Tsan and pianist Zachary Deak, with violist Carson Rick added for the Fauré.

The musicians got a boost from the Observatory, which displayed ideal acoustics for chamber music. Reverberant yet crisp. Precise yet powerful. Little did the architects and builders of the Dome know that, in addition to helping humanity explore the mysteries of the universe, they were building the perfect vessel for a chamber music concert.

The piano, a refurbished 1907 vintage Steinway (the same year the 100-inch mirror at the base of the Hooker Telescope (above) was cast in France, according to the helpful pre-show introduction by Mount Wilson Institute COO Dan Kohne) had a shimmering gorgeousness, while the strings filled the space with silken, sweet-sounding tones.

Felix Mendelssohn, 1837.

The Mendelssohn was the perfect music to greet an audience that had just passed through the verdant, craggy highlands of Southern California and witnessed the famous “illusion of the Dome” that fooled even Albert Einstein—from the platform it looks as if the Telescope itself is turning, but it’s really the whole Dome on its 109-year-old but amazingly smooth bearings, bearings that had to track the distant universe for 16-hour photographic exposures.

Felix Mendelssohn’s First Piano Trio feels as romantic as Beethoven, but as exquisitely balanced as Mozart, to whom Robert Schumann compared Mendelssohn. It is one of the most magical of romantic chamber music masterpieces, one that, over the course of its four movements, delineates a person’s consciousness of love—the commotion of longing in the first movement (Molto allegro ed agitato), the tenderness of felt love in the second (Andante con moto tranquillo), the delight of passion in the Leggiero e vivace Scherzo, and the triumphant power of a new attachment in the Allegro assai appassionato finale.

Asi Matathias, Zachary Deak, and Cécilia Tsan.

The trio’s virtuosity was most on display in the breathless Scherzo, with Deak and the unit of two strings tossing joyful phrases back and forth, sometimes echoing, sometimes answering, keeping pace with each other as they raced downhill. Many Americans are experiencing bouts of despair at the damaging national and international developments of this moment in time. All the more reason to absorb Mendelssohn’s insightful, sincere statement of appreciation for what is joyful and good about being alive; with the added excitement of watching such passionate musicians proclaim it literally to the heavens.

Gabriel Fauré, by John Singer Sargent.

The joy Mendelssohn so successfully depicted goes behind dark clouds in Fauré’s First Piano Quartet, which followed the Mendelssohn without intermission—instead, there was just a pause to reconfigure the platform to include violist Carson Rick. Opdam, taking over the violinist’s chair, soon had a solo in the Allegro molto moderato first movement, following the opening section for all four players that sounded like someone pacing in a circle, ruminating, full of uncertainty.

Her solo extended the initial sense of imbalance, literally, in a passage full of unexpected, seemingly unnatural emphases, like someone struggling to put on their shoes after hearing a knock on the door. Quickly, the piano asserts control, straightens out the wrinkles, and begins presenting the movement’s melancholy themes more conventionally. It is a very talkative movement: we are hearing Faure’s side of an elusive but traumatic story.

The Scherzo that follows feels like a game of can’t-catch-me, with the musicians racing away from each other. It is whimsical but guarded, never letting the listener relax. A halt and shift of tone halfway through was so abrupt that audience members applauded, thinking the movement had ended. Its second half slows matters down slightly for a dialogue between the piano and strings that had elements of self-mockery in the voicings of the viola and cello. It is almost as if Fauré was signaling that the frolicking is fun but shouldn’t be trusted.

Tosca Opdam, Zachary Deak, Cécilia Tsan, and Carson Rick.

In the third movement Adagio, we heard a succession of unique textures melting into each other, with Opdam, Tsan and Rick peeling off for brief and solemn solo and duet statements, often accompanied by dreamy piano arpeggios. Cellist Tsan and violist Rick were frequently called upon to supply a growling sonic undercurrent, a river of dark tone created by their lowest strings being bowed hard and slowly. The sense of being chased by mysteries one doesn’t want to confront continued in the more formal, elegantly romantic, final Allegro molto, where Faure’s struggle reaches a stormy climax.

As the Faure’s final moment lingered under the Dome, I felt—and I’m sure most of the audience felt— that we had been on a journey from one form of strength to another: from Mendelssohn’s clarity about what is most beautiful in our existence, to Faure’s rational and devastating doubts, and his courage in illuminating uncertainty. Much for each of us to reflect on as we drove through the mountains again toward home on this perfect day. 

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100-inch Telescope Dome, Mount Wilson Observatory, Sunday, May 24, 2026, 3:00 p.m./5:00 p.m.

Images: The performance: Todd Mason; Landscape: John Stodder; Mendelssohn and Fauré: Wikimedia Commons.