Photo: Chris Lee

In the new issue, coming up in a few days, I talk quite a bit about Anne-Sophie Mutter—who played the Dvorak Violin Concerto with the New York Philharmonic. She made a hash of it, too. It was an interesting hash, however. Sometimes bad playing is merely bad; sometimes it is interestingly bad. In any case, Mutter played a recital in Carnegie Hall four days later, and she was mainly excellent. Concert life can seem schizo.

I wish to say something about the rest of that Philharmonic concert—which was all-Dvorak. On the podium was a guest conductor, Manfred Honeck, the Austrian who helms the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Honeck is one of the better conductors of today, and the PSO, in a nice parallel, is one of the better orchestras.

Honeck began the Philharmonic concert with the Carnival Overture, which had authority and verve. How refreshing to be in the hands of a real pro (Honeck)! The only problem with this reading was that it was a bit dry and hard. If I may put it this way, there should have been more breath or moisture coming through the notes.

After Mutter’s hash, Honeck led the orchestra in the “New World” Symphony. The first movement was a lot like the Carnival Overture. The second, Largo, began with a wretched entrance. But it was made up for by the English-horn player, Keisuke Ikuma, who intoned the theme endearingly. (That theme is known in some quarters as “Goin’ Home.”) Was it my imagination or did Ikuma not have to breathe? It seemed slightly non-human.

The third movement, the scherzo, was vivid, folkloric—very musical. And the finale had its due passion and fire.

A piece such as the “New World” may be familiar and overly familiar—but there is no excuse not to show it off freshly. Honeck accomplished this, which was no surprise to those who know his work.

I would like to say an additional few words about Mutter’s Carnegie Hall recital, too. On the program was Schubert’s Fantasy in C for Piano and Violin (and that’s the right order, by the way: piano and violin). (Mutter’s pianist was her longtime partner, Lambert Orkis.) As I point out in my magazine chronicle, the Fantasy begins with an interesting blend of “Die Allmacht” and “Ave Maria.” Both of these songs are by Schubert, so he is perfectly entitled.

Here is the confession I wish to make today: I love the Fantasy, as I love Schubert in general, but I will admit to thinking it may suffer from a little too much “heavenly length.” (This is the phrase famously applied by Schumann to Schubert’s Great C-major Symphony.) I think more than a few Schubert pieces are a little long on heavenly length. Call me a hypocrite—go ahead—but I wouldn’t take that criticism from a Schubert detractor. Only from a Schubert venerator, like me.

Mutter played two encores in this recital. As usual—certainly in my experience—the pianist, Orkis, announced them. He said they would play Brahms—and before he could say any more, Mutter quipped, “Violin Concerto.” What they played was the Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G minor. Then Orkis announced they would play Dvorak—whereupon Mutter quipped, “Violin Concerto.” They played the Humoresque (in the Kreisler arrangement).

Now, when one says “Humoresque,” one means No. 7—the Humoresque. Mutter played the Saint-Saëns Violin Sonata in this recital, and when one says that, one really means No. 1, for the second one is seldom played. A reader once wrote to chastise me for failing to indicate which of the Saint-Saëns violin sonatas I was talking about. I regarded this as generally—not always, but generally—unnecessary.

In a post a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned the Shostakovich Violin Concerto. That can only be No. 1. How about the Bruch Violin Concerto? There are three of them. Without further indication, we only, always, mean No. 1. How about the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto? No. 1, unless “No. 2” or “No. 3” is stated.

Above, I spoke of Brahms’s “Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G minor.” Why? Because there are two very, very famous Hungarian Dances in G minor—the other is No. 5. Otherwise, I would simply have indicated the key.

Let’s end with Die Fledermaus, that eternally tasty confection of Johann Strauss Jr. The Metropolitan Opera has a new production of it. I devote some time to this production in my upcoming chronicle. I’m going to devote a little more time.

One of the quips in the new production has to do with Andrew Lloyd Webber and his theme-stealing. The heavy implication is, “The composer is a plagiarist.” He is not (as I explained in a piece once, long ago). He is a borrower, as many composers are, and have been. A borrower and an adapter. But I think it’s wrong to say he is below board.

I’ve noticed in my life that Lloyd Webber attracts a fair, or unfair, amount of envy. He has written some songs that will last and last, which must stick in many craws. He’s rich, too (speaking of craw-sticking).

The other week, I interviewed Christa Ludwig, the great, octogenarian mezzo-soprano. That interview appeared at National Review Online in three parts: here, here, and here. Let me give you a quick item that did not appear in that series.

Ludwig made her debut at 17 or 18—I forget which—as Prince Orlofsky (a Fledermaus role). I informed her that, in the Met’s new production, the prince is a countertenor. Shrugging, she said, in essence, “It’s Fledermaus—anything goes.” Which I guess is right.

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