As the title indicates, this is going to be a two-part post -- although "two posts in one" might be a better description.
This week's mainstage concerts at the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony Orchestra mark the official end of Edwin Outwater's 10-year tenure as Music Director. Not surprisingly, his final appearance in this role has been conceived on a grand and festive scale. The orchestra was joined by both the Grand Philharmonic Choir and the Amadeus Choir of Greater Toronto, as well as many extra players to fill up the orchestral ranks for the large-scale main works.
The concert opened with a short work by Canadian composer Richard Reed Parry, well-known for his work in the band Arcade Fire, but by no means confined to that one ensemble. Parry composed the piece to mark Edwin's finale, and called it Fanfare but it bore no resemblance at all to the traditional idea of a fanfare. In a scant three minutes it encompassed two sound worlds: the first rather turbulent and unsettled, the second more quiet and meditative.
The orchestra and choirs then moved immediately into the large-scale Harmonium by American composer John Adams. This three-movement work has been called "a choral symphony in all but name," but I beg to differ. Even though there are three distinct movements, and sung texts from poets John Donne (in the first) and Emily Dickinson, I was left with the distinct impression that Harmonium is really a series of soundscapes on a giant scale.
Adams wrote Harmonium with one foot firmly planted in the world of the minimalist music of the 1970s and 1980s, and the result is fascinating to listen to -- once. It's an incredibly busy piece, with thousands upon thousands of notes pouring out from both instruments and singers. As with many of the more strict minimalist composers, much of this activity consists of small musical cells and brief motives endlessly repeated. The texts too undergo similar treatment, to such an extent that Adams arguably did not so much set the poems to music as use the words to create stylized vocalizations.
The problem here lay in the venue. Much as the Centre in the Square has been praised for its warm acoustic, it's really at its best in works for smaller orchestras or ensembles. To accommodate the nearly 300 performers, the boxes which provide acoustic backdrop had to be pushed almost to the rear of the stage, opening up a huge chunk of the upper reaches of the hall and lengthening the time of reverberation considerably. What then came out was a warm-sounding carpet of soft-grained sound, in which almost no individual notes -- or words -- could be detected. It's likely that a clearer sound picture would have emerged in a hall optimally designed for such large forces.
Certainly we could see the string players furiously sawing away, and conductor Outwater's hands beating time vigorously. But if you closed your eyes you might just as well have been listening to a single long chord in which this or that note changed occasionally, altering the colour. As sound it was fascinating and beautiful. As music, it left much to be desired.
The exception was the second movement, in which the upper strings remained silent and other instruments and voices were used in smaller groupings. Here, the propelling motives became more audible and the text could be more clearly discerned.
It's been many years since I have heard a live performance of Mahler's Symphony No. 1. During that time lapse the music has taken on a deeper emotional significance for me. For my husband, Massi, this was his favourite of all the Mahler symphonies. Although we enjoyed many fine concerts during our years together, the opportunity to hear Mahler's First never arose for us before he died from cancer in 2013. So for me, this concert became a time of recollection tinged with regret. I'm sure, though, that Massi would have enjoyed every second of the performance -- so I was honoured to enjoy it for both of us.
Since the normal strength of the KWSO is 49 players, and Mahler's epic work calls for over a hundred, serious reinforcement is essential. In particular, Mahler called for quadruple winds and 7 horns (the orchestra's regular roster has the normal double woodwinds and 4 horns of the mid-nineteenth century) and then asked for 3 more horn players to join in on the final pages of the last movement (the three extra horns were omitted this week). And as if this many horns weren't enough, Mahler even called for the horn players to stand up during those final bars so that the maximum volume of sound could be clearly heard! With so many extras in the brass and winds, equal reinforcement of the string sections to maintain balance is also necessary.
Outwater had a strong grasp of the entire score, its subtleties (yes, Mahler can be subtle!) and its treacherous spots, and held his interpretation together firmly all the way through the work. Not least impressive was the unanimity of the orchestral playing in a situation where over half the musicians were not regular members of the ensemble. The numerous tempo changes throughout the symphony were all cleanly negotiated. Some were a bit on the abrupt side for my liking, but only once did the shift really get pushed too far.
The offstage military fanfares in the long introduction to the first movement were suitably distanced and yet well integrated into the musical canvas of shimmering strings and bird calls. The eventual emergence of the first main theme (from the composer's earlier Songs of a Wayfarer cycle) came in with a delightful swagger. The remainder of the movement unfolded organically right up to the jokey final chords.
The second movement took off with a swing, yet still at a true ländler tempo, capturing the march-like tone of the music yet never losing the essential lilting character of the dance. The central episode relaxed easily and gently by way of comparison and the ending worked up a fine rush and forward impetus, reflecting Mahler's original title for the piece which was Under Full Sail.
Mahler definitely staked his turf as a musical explorer of "things that go bump in the night" with the third movement funeral march. Of all the odd things, it's a modified rondo whose main theme is a canon based loosely on the folk tune Brüder Martin (better known here as Frère Jacques), and the tune is first given out in its entirety by the solo double bass (Ian Whitman in fine form). As other instruments join in one by one, their points of entry into the theme are varied in a way that keeps pushing the grotesquerie of the music into the foreground.
Even more grotesque is the bizarre contrast, in the episodes, of traditional Yiddish klezmer music, which reminds us that Mahler himself was Jewish by birth although he converted to Christianity for professional reasons (it was a style of music that he never revisited in his later symphonies). Strange in another, more remorseless way was the gentle, reminiscent playing of the "Farewell" theme from the Wayfarer cycle at the heart of the movement. Conductor and orchestra alike relished all the odd sound combinations that result when you just let this music be itself and don't try to "correct" it or make it sound "nicer." The one problem was the sudden and huge acceleration in tempo into the brief final recurrence of the klezmer music. Yes, it's marked to go faster, but this was the one place where I felt Outwater far overplayed his hand.
No such difficulties attended the turbulent dramatics of the finale. The opening explosion went off like a rocket and the main march theme was both fast and powerfully heavy in its tread. Orchestra and conductor made the most of the giant-size dynamic contrasts throughout the movement. The slow buildup to the eruption of the main theme in its major-key form was beautifully paced. Even in the loudest climaxes, the clarity of the playing was stunning. I was amused to note that there was no particular dynamic benefit when the 7 horns leaped to their feet, as directed, in the final pages. None was needed. The entire performance of the symphony cohered magnificently, and the grand peroration of brasses and percussion capped the entire edifice with absolute grandeur.
The concert opened with a short work by Canadian composer Richard Reed Parry, well-known for his work in the band Arcade Fire, but by no means confined to that one ensemble. Parry composed the piece to mark Edwin's finale, and called it Fanfare but it bore no resemblance at all to the traditional idea of a fanfare. In a scant three minutes it encompassed two sound worlds: the first rather turbulent and unsettled, the second more quiet and meditative.
The orchestra and choirs then moved immediately into the large-scale Harmonium by American composer John Adams. This three-movement work has been called "a choral symphony in all but name," but I beg to differ. Even though there are three distinct movements, and sung texts from poets John Donne (in the first) and Emily Dickinson, I was left with the distinct impression that Harmonium is really a series of soundscapes on a giant scale.
Adams wrote Harmonium with one foot firmly planted in the world of the minimalist music of the 1970s and 1980s, and the result is fascinating to listen to -- once. It's an incredibly busy piece, with thousands upon thousands of notes pouring out from both instruments and singers. As with many of the more strict minimalist composers, much of this activity consists of small musical cells and brief motives endlessly repeated. The texts too undergo similar treatment, to such an extent that Adams arguably did not so much set the poems to music as use the words to create stylized vocalizations.
The problem here lay in the venue. Much as the Centre in the Square has been praised for its warm acoustic, it's really at its best in works for smaller orchestras or ensembles. To accommodate the nearly 300 performers, the boxes which provide acoustic backdrop had to be pushed almost to the rear of the stage, opening up a huge chunk of the upper reaches of the hall and lengthening the time of reverberation considerably. What then came out was a warm-sounding carpet of soft-grained sound, in which almost no individual notes -- or words -- could be detected. It's likely that a clearer sound picture would have emerged in a hall optimally designed for such large forces.
Certainly we could see the string players furiously sawing away, and conductor Outwater's hands beating time vigorously. But if you closed your eyes you might just as well have been listening to a single long chord in which this or that note changed occasionally, altering the colour. As sound it was fascinating and beautiful. As music, it left much to be desired.
The exception was the second movement, in which the upper strings remained silent and other instruments and voices were used in smaller groupings. Here, the propelling motives became more audible and the text could be more clearly discerned.
It's been many years since I have heard a live performance of Mahler's Symphony No. 1. During that time lapse the music has taken on a deeper emotional significance for me. For my husband, Massi, this was his favourite of all the Mahler symphonies. Although we enjoyed many fine concerts during our years together, the opportunity to hear Mahler's First never arose for us before he died from cancer in 2013. So for me, this concert became a time of recollection tinged with regret. I'm sure, though, that Massi would have enjoyed every second of the performance -- so I was honoured to enjoy it for both of us.
Since the normal strength of the KWSO is 49 players, and Mahler's epic work calls for over a hundred, serious reinforcement is essential. In particular, Mahler called for quadruple winds and 7 horns (the orchestra's regular roster has the normal double woodwinds and 4 horns of the mid-nineteenth century) and then asked for 3 more horn players to join in on the final pages of the last movement (the three extra horns were omitted this week). And as if this many horns weren't enough, Mahler even called for the horn players to stand up during those final bars so that the maximum volume of sound could be clearly heard! With so many extras in the brass and winds, equal reinforcement of the string sections to maintain balance is also necessary.
Outwater had a strong grasp of the entire score, its subtleties (yes, Mahler can be subtle!) and its treacherous spots, and held his interpretation together firmly all the way through the work. Not least impressive was the unanimity of the orchestral playing in a situation where over half the musicians were not regular members of the ensemble. The numerous tempo changes throughout the symphony were all cleanly negotiated. Some were a bit on the abrupt side for my liking, but only once did the shift really get pushed too far.
The offstage military fanfares in the long introduction to the first movement were suitably distanced and yet well integrated into the musical canvas of shimmering strings and bird calls. The eventual emergence of the first main theme (from the composer's earlier Songs of a Wayfarer cycle) came in with a delightful swagger. The remainder of the movement unfolded organically right up to the jokey final chords.
The second movement took off with a swing, yet still at a true ländler tempo, capturing the march-like tone of the music yet never losing the essential lilting character of the dance. The central episode relaxed easily and gently by way of comparison and the ending worked up a fine rush and forward impetus, reflecting Mahler's original title for the piece which was Under Full Sail.
Mahler definitely staked his turf as a musical explorer of "things that go bump in the night" with the third movement funeral march. Of all the odd things, it's a modified rondo whose main theme is a canon based loosely on the folk tune Brüder Martin (better known here as Frère Jacques), and the tune is first given out in its entirety by the solo double bass (Ian Whitman in fine form). As other instruments join in one by one, their points of entry into the theme are varied in a way that keeps pushing the grotesquerie of the music into the foreground.
Even more grotesque is the bizarre contrast, in the episodes, of traditional Yiddish klezmer music, which reminds us that Mahler himself was Jewish by birth although he converted to Christianity for professional reasons (it was a style of music that he never revisited in his later symphonies). Strange in another, more remorseless way was the gentle, reminiscent playing of the "Farewell" theme from the Wayfarer cycle at the heart of the movement. Conductor and orchestra alike relished all the odd sound combinations that result when you just let this music be itself and don't try to "correct" it or make it sound "nicer." The one problem was the sudden and huge acceleration in tempo into the brief final recurrence of the klezmer music. Yes, it's marked to go faster, but this was the one place where I felt Outwater far overplayed his hand.
No such difficulties attended the turbulent dramatics of the finale. The opening explosion went off like a rocket and the main march theme was both fast and powerfully heavy in its tread. Orchestra and conductor made the most of the giant-size dynamic contrasts throughout the movement. The slow buildup to the eruption of the main theme in its major-key form was beautifully paced. Even in the loudest climaxes, the clarity of the playing was stunning. I was amused to note that there was no particular dynamic benefit when the 7 horns leaped to their feet, as directed, in the final pages. None was needed. The entire performance of the symphony cohered magnificently, and the grand peroration of brasses and percussion capped the entire edifice with absolute grandeur.
***********
The programme booklet contained appreciative comments about retiring music director Edwin Outwater from several members of the orchestra. I want to add my own personal words of appreciation for a most unusual musician.
Edwin Outwater is definitely a musician's conductor rather than an audience's conductor. By this I mean that his beat, always completely clear and precise, is delivered in a simple and understated pattern with no outsize gyrations or gymnastics such as some conductors use. He doesn't even use a baton, but his hands -- in the same underplayed manner -- are always at work shaping the music. In no sense is he showy or flashy, but he always demonstrates a clear command of the music at hand.
The range of music he has presented is much wider than might be expected, and there's never any indication that he's just going through the motions. He plainly knows and understands all the works he leads, shaping them with a long view rather than as a disconnected series of effects, and finessing their difficulties in such a way as to make the course of the music seem both easy and inevitable.
What Outwater has done most successfully is to build on the orchestra's strengths while at the same time building on his audience's strengths too. Like many another small-city orchestra, the KWSO often needs to programme the staples of the repertoire, from Beethoven and Mozart to Brahms and Tchaikovsky. While the main anchor work of each concert rarely strays beyond the territory of the well-known, there's hardly a concert that goes by without some contemporary work and composer being introduced to the audience (this week's concert was plainly no exception). In presenting these more adventurous choices, Outwater has taught his
listeners to approach the music of our time in a more open-minded way,
and to value its qualities. In the process, he's given exposure to many
fine young composers, including many (but not limited to) Canadians.
Not only among contemporary pieces, but equally among the great masters of past centuries, he's demonstrated strong advocacy for some of the rarely heard works found in every composer's workbench. Unusual soloists, too, leaven the traditional mix of instrumentalists and singers. These collaborations have likewise enriched the musical world of Kitchener-Waterloo.
Not only among contemporary pieces, but equally among the great masters of past centuries, he's demonstrated strong advocacy for some of the rarely heard works found in every composer's workbench. Unusual soloists, too, leaven the traditional mix of instrumentalists and singers. These collaborations have likewise enriched the musical world of Kitchener-Waterloo.
I've managed to attend quite a few KWSO concerts under Edwin Outwater's guiding hands since I relocated to southern Ontario in 2010, and it's been a most rewarding experience.
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