On March 4 the Hopkins Symphony Orchestra played a three-piece set for a small, though appreciative, audience. Starting the program was a world premiere commission from Andrew Cole, a Peabody graduate with masters degrees in music composition and computer music, entitled Maya Beckons: I Shall Embrace Her. Hopkins' own Matt Sterling assisted Cole with the electronic realization. The piece, introduced by conductor Jeff Gaylin as being beautiful and soaring, was only superficially so; at times it loomed huge and monstrous; at others it waned sparse and wandering. It went beyond the typical bounds of an acoustic orchestra via the live manipulation of microphone feeds with computer software, then amplified through loudspeakers. In so doing, the piece ran a dark gamut of dissonance and density. Shades of composers like Holst, Mahler, Glass and Goldenthal sprang to mind -- all this after several microphone gaffes before the program began.
Thankfully the volume of the speakers did not overpower the orchestra, nor was ear-cracking feedback an issue. Subtlety was key. Only in moments of tranquility was any speaker output distinctly audible. The electronics flavored the entire piece, although at times intangibly. Maya had a hypnotic quality that held the listener's attention fast; less dissonant than Schoenberg yet more so than today's typical movie music, the piece struck a balance between popular and serious art music. Indeed, as the piece ended, there was a moment of confusion among the audience, which was whether to clap or hold its breath. In all, a most excellent work from a young composer.
Next on the program was Ravel's Concerto in G. Soloist Sonya Lifschitz ably manned the piano and led the orchestra well through the piece's delightful chaos. Dressed up something like a red-haired gypsy, she picturesquely evoked the piece's exoticism, bowing and swaying to the dictates of the melodies. Her handling of the lengthy second movement, which focused mainly on the piano, was superb; her fine touch revealed the complexities behind the part's seeming simplicity. Nor were the faster sections any less admirable; rather, they thrilled and awed. Under Gaylin, Ravel's ingenious orchestrations came out brilliantly as well.
Following the intermission, the HSO tackled Beethoven's enormous Seventh Symphony. The rollicking first movement went without a hitch; the day's pattern of excellence continued unabated. However, the second Allegretto movement, which has made the work famous from its first performance, was hardly allegretto. It felt rushed, needlessly so, as though it were some kind of repertory showcase piece. Just as Lifschitz had demonstrated the wonder of Ravel's Adagio from the earlier concerto, Gaylin similarly wounded the soul of the supernatural allegretto by moving forward some few beats per minute too fast. At the grand close of the movement, the tempo finally reached its appropriate mark, but by then it was hardly worthwhile, a sad moment of what should have been.
This might have been excusable if the theme of the performance were stylized swiftness. However, Gaylin took his time with the following Presto, as though in his head he heard each section of the symphony played at the same tempo throughout. The rolling feeling from the first movement has here returned with a more simple joy to it; we hear a triple-meter rollicking third movement similar to that of the Sixth Symphony, the so-called Pastoral. And yet the HSO performance lacked vigor, blood or spirit. Even at the slower tempo, the brass section twice disagreed with itself at a certain downward arpeggio in the gentle reprisal. One wondered if perhaps the orchestra could not play up to speed -- hardly a reproachable fault given the notorious reputation of all of Beethoven's symphonies among players -- but if this were in fact the case, why hustle through the one movement whose power is its solemn bearing?
Similarly, the final movement sounded nearly abortive. Gaylin's hesitant rubato was confusing to listener and orchestra alike. Even the crazy person sitting next to me had trouble keeping his own tempo with his hand clapping.
For all of its faults, however, the whole of the symphony was above par. The orchestra played faithfully to the conductor's direction, and for the most part without error. What bothered me most was all the empty seats in Shriver Hall -- I wondered what dear thing everyone was so occupied with that they had to miss this afternoon of great music.
