Cut From The Cuff
Cut From The Cuff
The BSO’s Off The Cuff Series omits the best parts of this week’s subscription series.
The Baltimore Symphony Orchestra has a casual series called “Off The Cuff.” They take place on select Friday or Saturday nights, start earlier than a regular subscription series concerts, and cut out half the program, presenting just one main piece from what’s scheduled for the other performances. From what I can tell, On The Cuff tickets don’t cost any less than a regular series performance. The purchaser gets less music for the same price, and gets to arrive and leave earlier. That’s the draw. I think.
Obviously I am not the intended audience. I know this because the Off The Cuff performances cut out the most interesting pieces on the program (at least the ones that got my attention). I thought, who on Earth would want to hear just Brahms’ 4th Symphony and then go home, skipping the Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, as well as a rare chance to hear Hindemith’s one-act opera Sancta Susanna? Did the Friday and Saturday night performances draw bigger audiences than this weak Sunday crowd? Why would anyone choose this option? And why do this for a Brahms 4th, or any Brahms piece for that matter? There is way too much Brahms being performed by classical music organizations.
So maybe it won’t surprise you when I say the first half of Sunday’s concert, featuring the above-mentioned works by Wagner and Hindemith, was much more satisfying than the second, which had the feel of being just another perfunctory, leaden-paced performance of a symphony by Brahms, in this case the 4th.
Leading off with Wagner’s Prelude, and omitting the next fours hours of music to go straight into the finale of the “Liebestod” (music only, no singer) was a little disconcerting, like hearing Wagner performed at a demolition derby or fashion show and having it not be The Ride of the Valkyries. The performance was ok, certainly propped up by being a performance of arguably the most sublime music ever written. It’s hard to screw it up as long as it’s played reasonably well, but both pieces lacked grandeur, mystery, and a sense of purpose.
That certainly wasn’t the case with Sancta Susanna. Running somewhere between 25 and 30 minutes, Hindemith’s 1921 shocker about lust-filled nuns has aged well, and some enterprising opera company would find an audience by programming the entire trio from which it came. Musically sharp-toned, and built on variations of a theme emanating from the flute, Sancta Susanna is essentially an escalating conversation between two nuns that winds itself up into a frenzied encounter, with a chorus of nuns coming in toward the end. Its intensity reminds me of Berg’s operas, especially Wozzeck, and while after today I wouldn’t be interested in hearing Marin Alsop conduct Wagner, I’d be very curious to see what she would do with Wozzeck.
Best of all was the introduction to two stellar singers, both making their debuts with the BSO. As Susanna, the impressive Lithuainian soprano Aušrinė Stundytė revealed clear top notes and swooping range, as well as compelling dramatic stage presence. Mezzo-soprano Renée Morloc also impressed as the older Sister Clementia, who knows the secrets of the nunnery and has a few of her own. Kateryna Sokolova fluidly directed the staging of the singers and Women’s Voices of Peabody Opera.
It used to impress me when I would see conductors doing their job without a score, but now it makes me feel the audience is about to hear a rote performance. Instead of imparting an expectation of expertise, it signals there is little chance to hear something new or illuminating because the conductor already thinks they have everything they need to know about the piece in their head. Granted, this is not always the case, but the more performances I see the more I think it’s generally true most of the time.
Thankfully I didn’t notice Alsop wasn’t using a score until sometime midway through the first movement, and was looking for other possible reasons the performance felt so unsatisfying. The tempo in the first movement felt like it was being beaten on the ground with a heavy stick, while each section of the orchestra sounded on like it was on its own island, with nothing blending together. There was no attempt to create something monumental or dramatic, despite the numerous opportunities provided by the score. Things did gel for a bit as a stately march slowly emerged during the 2nd movement, but the energy was temporary, and the flat-footedness returned. Speaking of flat-footed, why is the orchestra not performing on risers? From the orchestra section of the hall, only the musicians seated closest to the apron of the stage were visible, which meant the audience was largely invisible to them. It sounded that way too.
Top: Aušrinė Stundytė, photo by Schneider Photography.
