Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896
July 6, 2025
July 6, 2025 | Published by the Students of Johns Hopkins since 1896

BSO sends a message of hope

By Josephine Yun | September 20, 2001

In response to the tragedies of last week, the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra (BSO) changed the program for their opening performances. On Saturday, the Mozart Piano Concerto No. 14 and Richard Strauss' Burleske were replaced by Beethoven's fourth piano concerto and "Nimrod"from Sir Edward Elgar's Enigma variations. Ravel's La Valse remained.

"All of us have been deeply affected by what has occurred," wrote BSO President John Gidwitz. "Our thoughts are foremost with the victims and their families, and we hope that our musical offering can provide consolation."

First, Maestro Temirkanov led the orchestra and audience in an emotionally-charged "Star-Spangled Banner" that resonated richly throughout Joseph Meyerhoff Symphony Hall. After it was done, one man called out, "God bless America."

Temirkanov then began the Elgar piece. It was poignant and proud, a salve for the ears and heart. Soothing greens and blues emanated from the strings. "Nimrod" climaxed with trumpets that warmed the audience with waves of flawless vibrato, a kind of brass shawl. Instead of clapping, a long moment of silence was observed before Temirkanov walked offstage.

Then came the Beethoven. Before the concert started, soloist Emanuel Ax had stood onstage for a short discussion on why he had chosen that particular concerto. Said Ax: "The overriding message with Beethoven is that there is hope."

Because of its second movement, the Piano Concerto in G Major was called the "Orpheus concerto" and was famous even in the 19th century. In Greek mythology, Orpheus was a musician whose wife, Eurydice, became trapped in the underworld. His playing was so great he could charm vicious beasts, cause trees to move and make rivers stand still. Orpheus' playing, Ax said, is the voice of beauty, the voice of reason and humanity against evil.

After several struggles, Orpheus (the piano) overcomes the beast (the orchestra). He goes to Hades, rescues his wife, and begins to leave with Eurydice following him. All seems well, when the piano suddenly cries out in despair. Orpheus had turned to make sure Eurydice was still with him.

"You're not supposed to turn around. He does, and she's lost, dead. That is the cry of despair near the end.. In a very terrible way, I think it parallels what happened to us," Ax said. Despite voices of reason, or the eventual rediscovery of beauty, "We also lose things along the way."

Ax began the first movement with perky, Mozart-esque chords; moments later, his playing in the upper register was more lyrical, as it is in Chopin's work. But then a weird pattern of rushed endings caused a rift between him and the orchestra. Ax would finish too quickly, leaving the orchestra lurching just after the beat. After two missed meetings in a row, Temirkanov suddenly sped the symphony into a hasty gallop, as if to match Ax - or as if irritated by him. A missed note near the start of the cadenza choked Ax's interpretation further; he hesitated but went on, fingers churning phrases.

The second movement was Ax's saving grace. Some might say he took too much time - that it was too drawn out, too dramatic - yet, one could actually hear the legend of Orpheus unfolding. The strings were beasts, eventually tamed by the piano's simple but determined chords. As Orpheus watched his wife disappear before him, the "cry of despair" trilled and ran across the piano keys, frantic and dissonant. Ax's last notes were crowned with tenderness and grief that lingered as the orchestra faded into the third and final movement.

The third movement, like the first, only seemed satisfactory and certainly lacked the depth of the second. But, La Valse made up for everything. Perfectly demented - loopy, but lush - it was the most bombastic, wicked waltz of them all. Gorgeous, seductive strings were punctuated by bursts of insolent snare, bass drum and brass. Deliberately off-kilter, it was romantic yet mischievous - blatantly French, disastrously, but deliciously, flirtatious.

After a set of curtain calls, Maestro Temirkanov conducted "God Bless America," and the hall, again, echoed with singing voices.


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