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.

The “Kreutzer” and Dvořák’s Romance on Second Sunday

Roger Wilkie and Robert Thies welcomed by the audience at Rolling Hills United Methodist Church.

REVIEW

Roger Wilkie and Robert Thies, Second Sundays at Two, Rolling Hills United Methodist Church

BARBARA GLAZER, Guest Reviewer

Roger Wilkie and Robert Thies.

After his performance with pianist Robert Thies of the Romance in F Minor, Op. 11, by Antonin Dvořák (1841-1904), violinist Roger Wilkie delivered some excellent comments on the program, noting that this first selection had been based on the slow movement of Dvořák’s String Quartet No. 5 in F minor (1873).

It was first performed in 1877 as a violin/orchestral piece by Prague’s Provisional Theater Orchestra in their annual concert. Dvořák’s version for piano and violin, played here, was revised from the orchestral piece and dedicated to violinist František Ondříček (1857-1922) but was never played in public during the composer's lifetime.

Dvořák in 1879.

It is infused with gorgeous melodies, yet most unusually for a Romance is written in Classical sonata form, merging with a Slavic folk style. It is in compound duple meter (two beats per measure, each beat divided into three smaller parts) which produces a sort of swaying sound, with a dreamy quality of reverie or melancholy—perhaps reflective of the deaths of three of Dvořák’s children during these years: one in infancy, another from accidental poisoning, and the third from smallpox.

I loved the Thies/Wilkie performance: the beautiful melodies played with impeccable lyrical taste and phrasing and superb technical prowess: one would never discern from Wilkie's fluid account how difficult the key of F minor is for a violinist.

George Bridgetower.

And then came the Beethoven (1770-1827) Kreutzer Sonata (Violin Sonata in A Major, Op. 47, 1803). The piece was originally written for and played by his African-European violinist friend George Bridgetower (1778-1860), but after they had a falling out (over Bridgetower's remark about the morals of a woman Beethoven admired), Beethoven rededicated the work to the virtuoso violinist Rodolphe Keutzer (1766-1831), who as noted in Wilkie’s remarks never played the composition, calling it "unintelligible."

The Kreutzer presents an array of difficulties: its length (about 40 minutes), its technical demands on both instrumentalists, and its transitional style between late Classicism and Romanticism. In structure and forms it is Classical with a sonata-form first movement, a kind of rondo in the last, and the middle movement a set of five variations—a forte of Beethoven. But, adumbrating the Romantic movement, it should be played with drama, high energy, and in the designated “concertante style”—the instruments being co-equals, the piano never an accompanist, but two virtuoso instrumentalists playing as if in a mini- concerto.

Title-page of the first edition of the Kreutzer Sonata, noting that it was
written "in uno stile molto concertante come d’un concerto.”

The speed of the last movement also poses difficulties: like the later Hammerklavier piano sonata (No. 29, 1817), the speed must not obscure the music—the compositional brilliance which is often difficult to hear for the speed and technical fireworks. In many respects this performance by Thies and Wilkie, technically sound, was very “classical,” and I think it just needed to be punched up dramatically—with the earthy, raw, almost sexual romantic element that so incensed Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910), and inspired him to write his novella The Kreutzer Sonata (1889).

Sonya and Leo Tolstoy.

Tolstoy must have felt a taboo breached, as audiences did much later hearing Stravinsky's savagery in The Rite of Spring (1913). Tolstoy's novella is the first-person narrative of a husband who hires a violinist to accompany his wife, a pianist and, upon hearing their impassioned performance, is aroused with suspicion regarding their relationship and inflamed with sexual jealousy. The two musicians (never really lovers, never caught en flagrante) are seated at a table talking when the enraged husband, senseless from jealousy, stabs his wife to death.

Tolstoy’s novella is an argument for sexual abstinence to avoid our “swinish,” “animalistic” proclivities which hinder the attainment of humanity and cause us such agony, and strife. His wife Sonya (Sophia) penned two rebuttal novellas (Whose Fault, 1891-94; Song Without Words, 1898, both unpublished during her lifetime), citing her husband as insensitive, unfeeling, and growing more and more ascetic and combative in a stormy marriage once marked by mutual love (and 13 children): Tolstoy did leave home in 1910, ending their marriage.

The Kreutzer Sonata by Rene Xavier Prinet.

The cultural links continue: upon reading Tolstoy's novella, Leoš Janáček (1854-1928) composed his String Quartet No. 1 (1923), a work depicting psychological drama and passion, ending in a dramatic rejection and release.

In 1901 the artist Rene Xavier Prinet (1861-1946), had painted The Kreutzer Sonata: a beautifully dressed pianist, her fingers still touching the keyboard as she stands to receive an impassioned kiss from her violinist lover—an image that in 1932 (and for years) was used in the perfume advertisement for "Tabu, the Forbidden Fragrance."

It's no wonder that impassioned music, in fact all types of music, have sometimes been censored by governments or banned outright by religious sects. Beethoven is said to have opined that "to play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable." His Kreutzer Sonata may be a transitional composition as noted, but it needs to feel less Classical and more Romantic, more earthy, more impassioned, more fiery, if we are to understand its cultural effects and as we hear in the most superb performances: Augustine Hadelich/Orion Wiess and Patricia Kopatchinskaja/Fazil Say, and close behind: Gidon Kremer/Martha Argerich.

In the Classical Crossroads recital we heard, Robert Thies on piano was outstanding, but I felt Roger Wilkie needed to punch it up—even his body stance was so collected and straight, so classical—so that overall, this good performance left me hungry for a more impassioned account. I have viewed this concert on the usual excellent Vimeo video several times, and have listened to many other performances. As a non-professional I have felt hesitant to write my impression, which also accounts for my delay in contributing this review.

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Images: The performers: Classical Crossroads, inc.; Dvořák, Bridgetower, Kreutzer title-page, the Tolstoys, The Kreutzer Sonata: Wikimedia Commons.

A Gorgeous Season Opener for Classical Interludes

Trio Sol: l-r Veronika Manchur (violin), Colin McDearman (piano), Joseph Kim (cello).

REVIEW

Trio Sol, Classical Interludes, First Lutheran Church, Torrance

BARBARA GLAZER, Guest Reviewer

Classical Crossroads Inc., one of Southern California South Bay’s leading promoters of free-admission chamber music concerts, each season presents two series: “Classical Interludes” on the first Saturday afternoon of each month at First Lutheran Church & School in Torrance, and “Second Sundays at Two”—on the second Sunday afternoon of the month, as the name implies—at Rolling Hills United Methodist Church in Rolling Hills Estates.

Barbara Glazer, local Rancho Palos Verdes resident but global concert attendee and lifelong classical music student, writes: “The Trio Sol's concert—with Colin McDearman on piano, Veronika Manchur on violin, and Joseph Kim on cello—opened Classical Crossroads’ 2025-26 Classical Interludes series on a gorgeous high note which I have enjoyed twice so far (as if in the best house seat) by viewing the excellent Vimeo video. In a masterful performance of a program of well-paired and demanding compositions, the members of the Trio displayed their superb individual technical and lyrical skills, and their ability to meld as one voice.

"The opening piece, Lost Tango (2002) by the Ukrainian pianist/composer Volodymyr Vynnytsky was, according to his wife and cellist Natalia Khoma, so named as an “in joke” because he contended that he had "found it"—being a reinvention of the dance by fusing the historically-suppressed, traditional, elegant Spanish tango with an eastern, coarse, rough-edged dance rhythm with some interesting dissonant harmonies. One could hear dumky-like echoes of Dvořák's dances, with the sharp abrupt changes in tempo and accents, and references to eastern folk tunes. As a folk dancer, and someone with Ukrainian roots, this piece, and the Trio's expert performance, brought a smile to my face, a delight to my ears, and the desire to dance again (if only possible now!).

Colin McDearman.

Next was the Prelude No. 1 in G-Sharp Minor, composed and brilliantly performed by the Trio's pianist, Colin McDearman, based on his love poem to his fiancé. This was a firework display of technical prowess while retaining deep emotionalism, speaking of passion, inspiration, admiration, and joy.

Originally preludes were short pieces that introduced a larger work, but in the hands of Chopin in particular, and others, became stand-alone works that explored a specific mood or activity. McDearman's Prelude No. 1 has aspects of both: while it is a passionate, explosive, ecstatic expression of love, the ending lacks the expected resolution so that it feels like an introduction to the next stage—culminating perhaps in Prelude No. 2, the marriage?

Prelude No. 1 has some very difficult fingering, especially for the fourth finger, and allows McDearman to display his keyboard artistry, but the music, the harmonies are not lost: in particular, the resolution of one brief harmonic wedge was exquisite. Like a shy suitor, McDearman was so very modest, so reserved in acknowledging the audience's enthusiastic appreciation—leaving the music to speak for him. A total success.

Antonin Dvořák's Piano Trio No. 4 in E minor, Op. 90, B. 166 “Dumky” (1891) exquisitely concluded this outstanding concert. Dumky is the plural form of dumka, a Ukrainian word for a thought or an idea; in music it is expressed as a lament in an epic melancholic ballad of a people held in bondage, struggling for nationhood—and for me, with non-Slavic paternal Ukrainian roots, the inclusion of the Dumky Trio in the program felt like a tribute to the current Ukrainian nation bravely fighting yet another attempt to wipe it off the map.

Dvořák in New York, 1893.

The dumky ballads are said to have roots in the songs of wandering Cossack bards, accompanied by a lute (kobza), telling of their comrades’ resistance to foreign overlords. The music is characterized by slow, pensive, melancholic sections with abrupt changes to faster sections of joy and exuberance. This reflects the mood shifts in the Slavic sensibility, and therefore greatly appealed to the Bohemian Dvořák (1841-1904), and other Slavic composers.

The Dumky Trio was premiered in Prague (then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire) to great success in 1891 with Dvořák on the piano, and I learned at a concert in Brno (his birthplace) that it was repeated over 40 times in a tour of Moravia and Bohemia before the composer left for America in 1892. To the great delight of my Czech guide, I mentioned that I knew why Dvořák had gone there: to assume directorship of the National Conservatory of Music of America in NYC (1892) where he changed American classical music. Influenced by Black composers to whom he awarded music scholarships, Dvořák instructed American classical composers to use American folk music, especially Black folk music in their work, as he had used Bohemian and eastern folk tunes in his.

Veronika Manchur.

The Dumky has six movements, but to understand the mood and tempo changes within each of them, all their different tempi must be listed, not just that of the opening:
I. Lento maestoso, Allegro quasi doppio movimento, Lento maestoso, Allegro; II. Poco adagio, Vivace non troppo, Poco adagio, Vivace; III. Andante, Vivace non troppo, Andante, Allegretto; IV. Andante moderato, Allegretto scherzando, quasi tempo di marcia; V. Allegro, Meno mosso, quasi tempo primo, Meno mosso; VI. Lento maestoso, Vivace, Lento, Vivace.

The first three movements are linked harmonically, and usually played continuously; the last three—not harmonically linked—are normally played with slight pauses between them. Many musicologists contend that this gives it the character of a four-movement piece. The Trio Sol did not make this distinction, giving equal weight to each of the six movements, but following the tempi within each.

Joseph Kim.

Joseph Kim’s cello soared gloriously in several of them, often introducing thematic material taken up by the piano and then the violin; in particular I was transported by his playing in III, and Veronika Manchur on violin in V. Colin McDearman's pianistic anchoring of the whole piece, and his taking center-stage where the piano is highlighted, were superb.

Gratefully, I still have the video for still another encore of the entire concert which deserved the fulsome appreciative applause that it received from the audience.

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Classical Interludes, First Lutheran Church and School, Torrance, Saturday, October 4, 2025, 3:00 p.m. Images: The performers: Classical Crossroads Inc; Khoma and Vynnytsky: You Tube; Dvořák: Wikimedia Commons. 

“Musical Friends” Unveil the Unfamiliar at Mount Wilson

l-r: Kyle Gilner (violin), Jonah Sirota (viola), Geoff Osika (double bass), Micah Wright (clarinet),
Gigi Brady (oboe).

REVIEW

“A Celebration of Strings and Winds” by Hans Gál, Britten, and Prokofiev, 100-inch Telescope Dome, Mount Wilson Observatory

DAVID J BROWN

In his usual welcome at the penultimate event in this year’s season of Sunday Afternoon Concerts in the Dome, Mount Wilson Institute Trustee and COO Dan Kohne asked for shows of hands from those who were making their initial visit and those who had been before. The rough split was about 60/40 in favor of the first-timers—doubly encouraging both because it showed that the word about these unique seasons and venue is well and truly out and, given that the seating area encircling the 100-inch Hooker telescope was healthily filled if not a sell-out, that today's relatively unfamiliar program was not an audience turn-off, either for newcomers or seasoned attendees.

Jonah Sirota.

The violist Jonah Sirota had curated it as an exploration by a group of “musical friends” of chamber works scored for both stringed and woodwind instruments; as he noted in his introduction, there’s plenty of repertoire for each family separately, but together? Not so much. Influenced by the venue, his choice had homed in on pieces written within two decades of the telescope’s opening, of which the first to be played was at once the last completed (in 1935) and by the oldest and longest-lived of the three composers, as well as the figure least known today.

This was Hans Gál (1890-1987), an Austrian/Jewish composer, performer, teacher and scholar who, when he wrote his Serenade for clarinet, violin and cello, Op. 93, had already had his academic career in Germany summarily terminated by the Nazis, and within three years would flee to the safety of Britain. This Serenade, though, bears no signs of personal turmoil, being one of many elegant and poised exemplars of the musical values enshrined in the great Austro-German classical tradition, composed by Gál throughout his very long career.

Hans Gál.

The first of its four movements, a sonata structure headed Cantabile, opens with a long, gently aspiring clarinet melody, played here with expansive easefulness by Micah Wright. Very soon, though, this initial serenity is subverted, first by a faster, rather spiky extension of that main theme, and then throughout the remainder of the quite lengthy and elaborate movement by quicksilver changes of rhythm and texture, masterfully distributed by Gál between the three instruments, and equally masterfully navigated by Mr. Wright and Kyle Gilner (violin) and Jonathan Flaksman (cello).

Their affectionate treatment was marked in the latter part of the movement by subtle drawings-out of apparently concluding cadences only for the music to quietly turn aside and continue, as if saying “No, we’re not quite done yet…”

Micah Wright.

The Cantabile, at well over one-third of the Serenade’s total length, is by far its longest movement and is succeeded by a Burletta—effectively a concise scherzo-and-trio whose vigorous and scurrying outer sections enclose a gentle, slow-moving contemplation led by the violin. The third movement Intermezzo, with its long-breathed clarinet melody over plucked strings, similarly showed Gál’s skill at conveying spaciousness within a brief span (just three minutes), its concluding clarinet cadenza running straight into the jaunty strains of the Giocoso finale—which nonetheless accommodates a reprise of the Intermezzo’s exquisite musings before the cheerful music returns.

Kyle Gilner.

This rare but memorable and gorgeously played opener was followed by the 18-year-old Benjamin Britten’s Phantasy Quartet for Oboe and String Trio, Op. 2 from 1932. This wasn’t the first occasion on which this work had been heard in the 100-inch Hooker telescope dome; series Artistic Director and cellist Cécilia Tsan played it with three of her own musical friends in the second concert of the third season on 2 June, 2019, and it was instructive to compare impressions of that performance (reviewed here) with this account from four different and equally skilled collaborators.

Gigi Brady,

More than in that earlier performance, I felt, the piece was dominated here by Gigi Brady’s oboe, which presented as a confident, even at times imperious, protagonist throughout the work’s several varied and linked episodes, beginning with its quasi-pastoral melody that blooms after the opening march from the three strings (Mr. Sirota here joining Messrs. Gilner and Flaksman).

Over 24 measures Britten builds this up from the most fragmentary, uncertain beginnings, muted, ppp, and played pizzicato sul tasto (on the fingerboard). The players’ assured handling of its assembly gave it just the right sense of growing aim from initial hesitancy.

Benjamin Britten in 1930.

Whither was the youthful genius Britten marching with such strutting purpose, and where from? As ever, his late-flowering contribution to this peculiarly English sub-genre of chamber music (always distinguished by that “ph” for “phantasy” to label the single, multi-section movement) impressed by his acute ear for striking sonorities, skillful creation of an original, complex, and unpredictable design, and remarkable maturity of expression overall.

It could be argued that Gál’s designating his Op. 93 as a “serenade” might mislead some listeners to expect something more lighthearted and simple than the intricately wrought structure that it actually is, and conversely the simple formal title of Prokofiev’s Quintet in G minor, Op. 39 equally and thoroughly belies the zany, sometimes disquieting, circus romp with which these consummately skilled musical friends concluded their fascinating program.

Jonathan Flaksman.

The precise scenario envisaged under the title Trapèze by the ballet master Boris Romanov when he commissioned its score from Prokofiev in 1924 now seems lost to time, but as Prokofiev also conceived his work for concert performance, the music itself lived on, and presumably with the ballet in mind, the instrumental line-up he chose—oboe, clarinet, violin, viola and double bass—certainly enables extreme timbral contrast.

For this performance Micah Wright returned to join Gigi Brady for the work’s woodwind pairing, while in the strings Kyle Gilner and Jonah Sirota remained on stage, Jonathan Flaksman departed, and Geoff Osika came to the platform for the first time as double bassist to complete the ensemble.

Prokofiev and Stravinsky in Paris, 1920.

The first of its six brief movements (their overall cohesion here marred, sadly, by intermittent applause) is as with the Gál the longest, though not to such a marked degree. The implications of its heading Tema con variazioni are only fulfilled to a limited extent. There are just two variations, with the movement falling into two halves comprising (1) the long theme itself—given a notably tongue-in-cheek lachrymose quality in this performance—plus the equally extensive and medium-paced first variation, and (2) the second variation, Vivace, with gadfly leaps and glissando squeals all over the ensemble, followed by a full reprise of the lugubrious theme.

Next up is an Andante energico. Was Prokofiev teasing expectations and players’ abilities with this seemingly contradictory marking? If so, Mr. Osika responded as well as anyone could imagine with the elephantine thudding and chugging of his opening double bass solo, after which what is effectively continuous variation on that solo’s elements from all the players well lived up to what Mr. Sirota called the work’s “rag-tag circus band quality.” The movement’s unexpectedly long-drawn quiet ending gives way to more chugging and raucousness in the ensuing Allegro sostenuto, ma con brio, but for me the highlight was the fourth, Adagio pesante, movement.

Geoff Osika.

Played with measured intensity, this grim, lowering drama surely marked in the original ballet the entry of some sinister malefactor (a distant pre-echo of Pennywise, perhaps?), as well as in its latter stages recalling somewhat the great glistening, downward-sliding chords with which Prokofiev’s on-and-off friend and rival Stravinsky opens the second part of The Rite of Spring. Frenetic scurrying was back in the fifth movement, Allegro precipitato, the players here tending to zoom on through the qualifying ma non troppo presto.

Always unexpected, Prokofiev concludes his Quintet with an Andantino that begins with what sounds like a stately, slightly ghostly dance that then veers off into more discursive, dissonant scampering. The activity eventually dies down to a pizzicato double bass solo before the slow dance returns, Tempo primo. This builds up a considerable head of steam before violent sextuplets in the clarinet, viola, and double bass chase down, tumultuoso e precipitato, to a single, cut off, final chord.

Cécilia Tsan: Artistic Director, Sunday
 Afternoon Concerts in the Dome.

Perhaps the Mount Wilson audience was too discomposed by the sheer weirdness of the piece to give the five players the standing ovation they most richly deserved for their virtuosic and impactful performance. For this listener the whole concert was one of the richest and most rewarding yet in eight years of attending Cécilia Tsan’s and Dan Kohne’s truly unique series.

This season has been both the biggest (nine concerts compared with previous years’ six) and the most musically wide-ranging. In the greatest possible contrast, the final concert on Sunday, October 19, will be given by Los Angeles’ all- female Mariachi band, Mariachi Lindas Mexicanas.

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100-Inch Telescope Dome, Mount Wilson Observatory, Sunday 5 October 2025,
3 p.m. and 5 p.m.

Images: The performance: Taavi Sirota; Jonah Sirota, Jonathan Flaksman: artists' websites; Hans Gál: composer website; Micah Wright: Pasadena Conservatory of Music; Kyle Gilner: Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra; Gigi Brady: Pasadena Symphony and Pops; Prokofiev and Stravinsky: Legendary Musicians/Facebook; Geoff Osika, Cécilia Tsan: Long Beach Symphony.

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