Consummate Brahms and Rachmaninoff from the Canton Symphony Orchestra

Consummate Brahms and Rachmaninoff from The Canton Symphony Orchestra 

Violinist Jennifer Frautschi

CSO Maestro Gerhardt Zimmermann

By Tom Wachunas

   Under the baton of Maestro Gerhardt Zimmermann, the final program of the Canton Symphony Orchestra’s MasterWorks season was yet more compelling proof of this ensemble’s consummate artistry. I have always enjoyed closely observing and listening to audience reactions, and on this occasion, awestruck wonder was the order of the evening throughout the performance of two masterpieces of the Romantic spirit: Brahms’ Violin Concerto in D Major, and Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 in E Minor. In the process, we witnessed the most magnificent performance by a guest soloist in recent memory.

   That honor goes to violinist Jennifer Frautschi. From the outset of the Brahms concerto, she was a stunning presence, her playing a breathtaking conflation of grace and grit, and at times downright ferocious. The riveting  breadth of her virtuosity – particularly powerful in her cadenza at the end of the first movement - along with her deep sensitivity to the music’s nuanced lyrical flourishes, worked flawlessly to conjure a wholly gripping emotional experience.

   This was no small feat, considering Brahms’ ceaseless and daunting technical challenges to the soloist. Beyond the sheer agility and wide span required of the violinist’s fingers, there’s the necessity for consistently strong intonation so as not to be drowned out by the lush sonority of the orchestral arrangement, which was never intended to be merely a soft accompaniment to the soloist’s bravura colorings. In that regard, Frautschi and the ensemble achieved a mesmerizing equipoise. Each navigated the work’s ebb and flow of Brahms’ rich melodic developments in a mutually energizing manner.

   Energized indeed, the performance of the Rachmaninoff symphony was every bit as enthralling. When played as originally written, the symphony is about an hour-long adventure, including an unusually lengthy first movement.  It’s not an uncommon practice for conductors to make some judicious cuts, as Maestro Zimmermann did on this occasion. But his editing did nothing to weaken or diminish Rachmaninoff’s masterful command of lyrical suspense and forward thrust.

   It’s a mastery given dramatic clarity by an electrifying ensemble. From the churning storminess of the first movement, into the sparkling syncopations of the lively second movement, on to the lovely and wistful Adagio - featuring an exquisite, haunting solo from principal clarinetist Randy Klein -  and on through the festive and triumphal finale, this inspiring orchestra once again served up an invigorating elixir of transcendent musicality.

Variations on the Theme of Living

Variations on the Theme of Living

"My own discursive thoughts oppress me"

Detail - "My own discursive thoughts oppress me"

"There's Emptiness at the Center of Everything"

"Shrine to Endless Cycles"

"Shrine to Longing"

"Shrine to my out breath"

By Tom Wachunas

   “…My haptic meditation and the viewer’s contemplation of the result are intimately connected. Both are sensory experiences of repetition that can transform anxiety about impermanence, uncertainty and imperfection into curiosity about the mystery of what’s actually here in the present moment…” - Stacia Yeapanis,

https://staciayeapanis.com/home.html

EXHIBIT: PRACTICE –  works by Stacia Yeapanis / THROUGH May 4, 2019, at The Lemmon Gallery, located inside the Kent Stark Fine Arts Building, 6000 Frank Avenue, North Canton, Ohio / Gallery viewing hours are Monday – Friday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m.

   One of the most striking aspects of this exhibit is its paucity of works. The 12 pieces here by Chicago-based artist Stacia Yeapanis are situated throughout the gallery so that there’s an unusual amount of unoccupied wall space, leaving a plentitude of whiteness. Yet this apparent emptiness wants for nothing. It becomes an integral component of the exhibit’s contemplative character, allowing lots of space to ruminate. In this setting, the relatively few wall pieces on display acquire an uncanny largeness that belies their modest physical scale. And the air in the room feels charged with a potent serenity.

  If you string just the titles of Yeapanis’ five wall pieces and four zabutons (her hand-stitched meditation cushions) together, you might sense a beguiling spirituality at once personal and universal. It’s a lyrical, in-the-moment flow of consciousness that reads like a diary entry, or a poem: My own discursive thoughts oppress me. Come Back, Come Back, Come Back, Come Back. Nothing is Missing. Nothing is Wrong. When I stitch, I think about swimming. When I swim, I think about stitching. Perpetually wanting things different. However Long It Takes. There’s Emptiness at the Center of Everything. May I find stillness within change. I’m in Love with My Own Boring Life.

   Yeapanis has written in her statement accompanying this exhibit that her pieces are about “… a longing for stillness and a compulsion towards action…the sacredness of everyday cycles…”  She has constructed a symbolic iconography, airy and delicate, born out of the practice of repeated, cyclic actions. Her meticulous, focused process of making is a fascinating metaphor for mindful attention to the ephemeral moment.

    The dominant material in several of her works here is of a decidedly ordinary, even throwaway nature: toilet paper tubes. She slices them into lens-shaped loops, then connects them into tactile matrices of patterns intertwined with remnant threads from her zabutons. Collect, cut, connect, repeat.  Let’s get real for a moment and consider the types of cycles that we engage daily. Some are lofty, some lowly, some desired, some not. Toilet paper tubes. I’m reminded how much daily living requires repeated rituals that are simply necessary, however mundane: Eat, poop, wipe, repeat. This too shall pass.

   Then there are Yeapanis’ floor pieces, her shrines. One, Shrine to Longing, is a sumptuous sea of tiny, intensely colored upright cardstock scrolls seemingly emanating in undulant waves from a golden bowl. The piece evokes something indeed sacred - timeless and therapeutic, like the ceremonial sand paintings of Navajo shamans, or the spectacular sand mandalas from Tibetan Buddhist monks.

   Another, Shrine to my out breath, is an equally intricate sprawl of miniscule cardstock tubes, rings, gold leaf and beeswax sticks. Think of it as an interactive altar, awaiting fulfillment. Viewers are encouraged to make it so by placing one of the waxed sticks into the shrine, not too unlike lighting a vigil candle. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly. Repeat. Rites of passage.

At the Crossroads of Leaving and Cleaving

At the Crossroads of Leaving and Cleaving

Ananias J. Dixon (left) and Jeff Haffner

Stephanie Cargill (left) and Anne McEvoy

Scott Esposito (left) and Stuart Hoffman

By Tom Wachunas

   “How do we leave well and how do we cleave well?...It’s about what we owe the ones we love – and what we owe ourselves…about finding the balance between caring for others and allowing ourselves to be cared for…”  - from the Director’s Note by Craig Joseph

   First, here’s a little background on Canton-based Seat of the Pants Productions. It’s an itinerant band of theatrical storytellers established by Artistic Director Craig Joseph in 2012, with a mission to “…focus all our resources on telling tales, truthfully and beautifully; share compelling narratives in unique spaces and vibrant communities; develop an aesthetic rooted in imaginative staging and human connection.”  

   That mission has been very well accomplished in Seat of the Pants’ first venture into Cleveland city limits with Craig Joseph directing The End of the Tour, a fascinating tragicomedy by playwright Joel Drake Johnson. There is something oddly appropriate as well as ironic about experiencing this play in a church (Pilgrim Congregational Church, in Tremont). Church – a haven of rest and rescue, a house of solace for troubled souls. And is it not also a place for…confession? As it is, the play happens not in the ornate sanctuary, but in the big, bland expanse of an adjacent, windowless chamber. Life is large and often not pretty.

    This is an arresting tale of restive family members and partners desperately navigating their woundedness while floundering in the wreckage of their dysfunctional relationships. Set in Dixon, Illinois (the birthplace of Ronald Reagan), we meet former chanteuse Mae (Anne McEvoy) as she recuperates in a nursing home after breaking her ankle; her recently divorced  daughter, Jan (Stephanie Cargill), who urges her estranged, Chicago-based brother, Andrew (Stuart Hoffman), to visit their severely depressed mother. Andrew bickers with his lover, David (Scott Esposito), over the usefulness of such a reunion. Elsewhere, Jan’s ex-husband, Chuck (Ananias J. Dixon) wallows in his kitchen. Fretting obsessively over what to do exactly about his beloved, dying cat, he seeks comfort and counsel from his best friend, Tommy (Jeff Haffner).  

   Johnson’s writing about the vexing foibles and failures of his characters is remarkable in its sensitivity and insight – an intricate and sometimes indelicate symmetry of illuminating wisdom and dark wit. He doesn’t set out to cure them of their ills, but simply tells their truths. And it’s a marvelously facile ensemble here that brings those characters to life with unflinching, often startling authenticity.

    As Mae, Anne McEvoy is riveting as the impatient patient; the brooding and unapologetic matriarch given to explosive fits of anger and insult, or complaining about the theft of her candy and cigarettes by a wandering Alzheimer’s patient named Norma (Chris White). She seems unable or unwilling to resolve the long-festering conflicts with her children, and would much rather sing old standards to over-medicated senior citizens. Meanwhile, Stephanie Cargill is achingly credible as the dutiful but exhausted daughter, Jan, wearied and frustrated by the sheer emotional weight and complexity of her circumstances. In the midst of still processing her divorce, she’s sorely conflicted by caring for the mother she resents.

    Stuart Hoffman is equally commanding in his intriguing portrait of gay brother Andrew. Returning to Dixon to finally visit his mother, he carries a heavy load of painful memories from when he was kicked out of his home after coming out in high school. He’s a bit uncomfortable in his own skin - nervous and insecure about publically showing physical affection for his lover. In that role, Scott Esposito is particularly gentle, and might be arguably the most stable character of the bunch, even as he sadly strives to understand why Andrew keeps him literally at arm’s length.

   Back where a listless cat lies in a box on a kitchen table, Ananias J. Dixon, as Chuck, is terribly insecure, too. His exchanges with the delightfully wry and earthy Jeff Haffner, as Tommy, are among the play’s most tender and funny, though not without a moment of tearful rage. Watching Dixon agonize over his cat becomes all the more heartbreaking when sensing that it’s maybe his veiled way of finally owning the end his marriage.

   At the conclusion of this tour through intersected lives in flux, there was no formula offered, no prescription given for the characters to ultimately find cathartic healing or peace. Call it instead a momentary arrival, a tacit  acceptance of life on life’s terms. 

    Now, back to church, and confession time. Thanks to the expressive intensity of the ensemble’s performance, I began to view the characters not as merely fictive elements in a metaphor, but actual people. And who couldn’t love them? Despite the mess they’d made of their lives, I found myself empathizing with them, rooting for them, hoping the best for them. Good practice for real life. That’s the power of truly compelling theatre.   

- Photos by  Aimee Lambes -   

    

The End of the Tour /    Remaining performances are Friday, April 5th at 8 PM, and Saturday, April 6th at 2 PM and 8 PM. All shows are performed at Pilgrim Congregational Church in Tremont, 2592 West 14th Street, Cleveland. Tickets are $20 and can be purchased at

https://theendofthetour.eventbrite.com  or www.seatofthepants.org 

Additional information about Seat of the Pants Productions at:

https://seatofthepants.org/about

Their Cup Runneth Over

Their Cup Runneth Over

Justin Woody as Jesus

(Center) Desiree Hargrave and Justin Woody

Desiree Hargrave as Mary

Daryl Robinson as Peter, with Desiree Hargrave

(Center) Sean Fleming as Judas

(Center) Micah Harvey as Herod

By Tom Wachunas

   “Wipe your face, you just swallowed my soul.”  - Hugh Prather

   The Players Guild Theatre continues to wreck my heart in a most wondrous way. With its production of the musical, Jesus Christ Superstar, opening night left me not only gobsmacked  (as its English composer Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyricist Tim Rice might put it), but God-smacked as well. And once again, director Jonathan Tisevich has brought to the stage his uncanny prowess at not only assembling astonishingly gifted performers, but also inspiring their impassioned immersion in the spiritual and emotional essence of the story.

   Every element of this production works successfully to maximize  electrifying drama, including the set designed by Joshua Erichsen, with its towering, cavernous Romanesque architecture encased in scaffolding; the infectious tribal energy of the choreography by Molly Weidig; the rugged, streetwise modernity of costumes by Stephen Ostertag; the fiery textures and relentless rhythms from the superb live orchestra conducted by Steve Parsons.

   Here is a briskly paced, implacably humanist perspective on Jesus Christ. We watch him struggle mightily to reconcile his humanity with his divinity. While he intimately knows the what and the how of dying, he also questions the why of it. Nowhere is this tension more heartrending than in the second-act song, “Gethsemane,” when Jesus is praying alone in the garden, his apostles fallen asleep around him. As Jesus, Justin Woody is an enthralling and luminous theatrical force. The expressive sonority and amazing range of his singing voice is breathtaking in the way it makes both gentleness and anger a tangible presence.

   This sublime emotive potency is all the more enhanced and amplified when seen in tandem with the volatile performance by Sean Fleming as the conflicted Judas, the unbelieving apostle we love to hate. With a singing voice every bit as compelling as that of Justin Woody’s, Fleming’s haunting rants and wails are truly frightening.

   Speaking of ‘conflicted,’  it’s Desiree Hargrave, in her role of Mary, who most tenderly embodies the sociocultural angst that surrounded the misunderstood Jesus. When she sings the powerful anthem, “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” time seems to stop altogether. The sheer pathos of the moment sears our hearts as she tearfully voices her urgent spiritual dilemma in achingly sweet and soaring tones. Later, she sings the equally sweet “Could We Start Again, Please?”  It’s a brief but very moving duet with Daryl Robinson, who plays Peter. Their piercing harmonies are a brilliant articulation of real sorrow and supplication.

   In “King Herod’s Song,” Micah Harvey delivers one of the evening’s rowdiest and most salacious interludes – as hilarious as it is chilling. Accompanied by high-kicking showgirls, he brings down the house with his bawdy portrayal of a viciously strutting monarch hurling sardonic taunts at a passive Jesus.

   Not so overtly raucous are the stern-faced demeanors and throaty intonations of Christopher Gales as high-priest Caiaphas, and Mark Dillard as Roman governor Pontius Pilate. Both are remarkably solemn if not downright  scary in how they wield their dark authority over the fate of Jesus.  

  

   Finally, there’s the otherworldly lighting, designed by Scott Sutton. It creates a consistently charged atmosphere of ethereality that culminates in a mesmerizing flash of white at the conclusion of the production - like bolts of frozen lightning delineating the suspended body of the crucified Christ. But this startling image doesn’t depict the devastating end of a life. It is indeed the profoundly contemplative and glorious vision of a life beginning.

 Jesus Christ Superstar /  Through April 14, 2019 / Performances at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, and 2 p.m. Sunday / at Players Guild Theatre Mainstage, Cultural Center for the Arts, 1001 Market Ave. N, Canton / TICKETS: $32 for adults, $25 for 17 and younger, $29 for seniors. Order at 330-453-7617 and www.PlayersGuildTheatre.com   (Photos - courtesy Players Guild Theatre)

A Circuitous Path to Haydn's Mass in Time of War

 A Circuitous Path to Haydn’s Mass in Time of War

Matthew Jenkins Jaroszewicz

Dr. Britt Cooper

Canton Symphony Chorus

Soprano Heather Phillips

Mezzo-Soprano Sandra Ross

Tenor Tim Culver

Baritone Michael Roemer

By Tom Wachunas

   It would seem that the timing of the March 23 MasterWorks  concert from the Canton Symphony Orchestra (CSO) – a few weeks into Lent -  was no accident. If the mission of the program was to leave the audience awed enough to ponder and savor heavenly matters, it was ultimately accomplished with glorious panache. But the road to get there was paved with strange intentions.

   The evening began on a decidedly funereal note with the Leopold Stokowski transcription of Henry Purcell’s Dido’s Lament. Purcell’s 1688 chamber opera, Dido and Aeneas, was based on Book IV of Virgil's Aeneid, and tells of Dido, Queen of Carthage, her love for for the Trojan hero Aeneas, and her suicidal despair when he abandons her to return to Italy. Dido’s Lament was named for the story’s final aria, among the most arresting moments in all of opera: “When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast. Remember me but forget my fate.”

   Stokowski once offered this observation to fellow conductors: “We have to try to understand and give to the listening public what we consider was in the mind of the composer.”  CSO Assistant Conductor Matthew Jenkins Jaroszewicz clearly took that sage advice to heart.  He let Stokowski’s sublime arrangement for lush-sounding strings do all the singing and  directed his attentive ensemble through slowly unfolding, nuanced layers of the bittersweet melody, beautifully augmented by poignant soloing from principal cellist, Brian Klickman. 

 

   One might reasonably hope that after experiencing the searing emotionality of the lament, the next program selection would offer something less morose, more uplifting, or at least gracefully optimistic. Instead, Igor Stravinsky’s suite of eight pieces from his music for the ballet, Pulcinella, was an oddly frenetic interlude in this context. After drinking so deeply of Dido’s pathos, Pulcinella, even in its most pleasant moments, had all the grace of a hiccup. The fault, if it could be called one, was neither in the orchestra’s adventurous performance nor in the brisk conducting by Jaroszewicz.

   In 1920, Stravinsky was so impassioned by his study of the charming simplicity he encountered in assorted choral and instrumental scores by 18th-century Italian composer Giovanni Pergolesi (and a handful of other forgotten composers) that he re-worked them for his ballet score. If the music sounds like  a somewhat scatterbrained exercise in thematic meandering, it’s only because it reflects the dual nature of Pulcinella himself. He was a comic hero who became a stock character in 17th century Neapolitan commedia dell’arte productions. Depending on a given scenario, he could be a crass, silly bumpkin, or a proud, witty thief, and often both.

    As it was, the orchestra pranced through all the suite’s spasmodic twists of harmonies, textures, and rhythms in a spirit of giddy abandon. Fortunately, the intermission afforded enough distance from such worldly wanderings so we could more calmly prepare for passage into loftier realms. After all, we were about to be taken to church.

   Responding to a complaint that the ending of one of his Masses was too frolicsome, Franz Joseph Haydn said, “I cannot write them otherwise. When I think of God, my heart is so full of joy that the notes gush forth as from a fountain. Since God has given me a joyful heart, He will forgive me for having served Him joyfully.” Haydn composed Missa in Tempore Belli (Mass in Time of War) in the autumn of 1796, a notably unjoyful time. France and Austria were at war, and Napolean’s army was advancing toward Vienna.

   Under the commanding baton of Dr. Britt Cooper, Director of the Canton Symphony Chorus, singers and orchestra delivered a reverent, brilliantly paced account of this dramatic work that was wholly magnificent. Cooper’s meticulous sensitivity to the ebb and flow of expressive aural dynamics in the work – when to be loud, when to be soft - was impeccable.  The vocal quartet – featuring the crystalline luster of soprano Heather Phillips, the steady warmth of mezzo-soprano Sandra Ross, the radiance of tenor Tim Culver, and the robust sonority of baritone Michael Roemer - was spellbinding. Additionally, the large chorus was itself an auditory phenomenon of astonishing clarity and power, and always in perfect balance with the orchestra.

   While Haydn effectively implied some of the wartime angst of his day in the final part of this Mass, the Agnus Dei (Lamb of God), the stunning music eventually soars above the morbid. Yes, it began with the chorus voicing an urgent, somber plea for mercy amid the encroaching sounds of timpani sounding out an ominous march. But bright trumpet fanfares signal hope, and the chorus begins to voice divine assurance in a dance-like rhythm, repeating dona nobis pacem. Grant us peace. Haydn’s notes, gushing forth as from a fountain. In the end, not only God, but we too, had been served joyfully.

Dialects of Glossolalia?

 Dialects of Glossolalia?

Andrea Belag, "Cave" - oil on wood

Joanne Freeman, "Covers Cobalt" - etching

Deborah Freedman, "Oaks and Oleandrs #1" - acrylic on polyester

Joseph Haske, "Asterion #5" - acrylic on canvas

Mark Saltz, Untitled - oil, resin, pigment on linen

Marjorie VanDyke, "Ides #1" - oil on canvas

By Tom Wachunas

   “Abstract art is a fundamental distrust of the theory of reality concocted by the eyes.” – Robert Brault

   “One of the most striking of abstract art’s appearances is her nakedness, an art stripped bare.” – Robert Motherwell

   “Abstract literally means to draw from or separate. In this sense every artist is abstract... a realistic or non-objective approach makes no difference. The result is what counts.”  - Richard Diebenkorn

EXHIBIT: Painters Prints / works by Andrea Belag, Deborah Freedman, Joanne Freeman, Joseph Haske, Mark Saltz, Marjorie VanDyke / at The Lemmon Gallery, located inside the Kent Stark Fine Arts Building, 6000 Frank Avenue, North Canton, Ohio / THROUGH APRIL 6, 2019 / Gallery viewing hours are Monday – Friday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Gallery Talk: April 4, 3:30 p.m. / Artist Reception: April 4, 5–7p.m.

   Aesthetics 101: Two-dimensional art is a language of myriad dialects, both learned and intuited. When we say that an artwork “speaks” to us, we affirm its capacity to take us into some quiet state of perception that resonates with our own experience of existence.  Mindful looking, or listening, if you will, requires slowness, and begins with a surrender, founded upon our intentionality, our willingness to be transported, perhaps even transformed.  What the artist makes becomes all the more compelling when it prompts us, the viewers, to look at our world in a deeper way.

   Now stretch your imagination to consider the possibility that this highly captivating exhibition of abstract prints and paintings by six accomplished New York City-based artists could be a variation of the phenomenon known as glossolalia (glôs-ō-lā’- lēə). Here’s the Collins English Dictionary definition of the term: 1. ecstatic or apparently ecstatic utterance of usually unintelligible speechlike sounds, as in a religious assembly, viewed by some as a manifestation of deep religious experience / 2. gift of tongues.  

   Glossolalia, or speaking in tongues, is known in many cultures, most of them ancient. In Christianity, for example, it is regarded as a mystical language coming directly from God, and spontaneously voiced by entranced worshippers. A communing with the divine. To the uninitiated or insensitive, such utterances might well sound like gibberish.

   Similarly, it’s no secret that there are viewers who, in their passing rush to identify the meaning of what they see only with their eyes, consider abstract art, particularly of the non-objective sort, as the strictly proprietary language of artists engaged in iconoclastic nonsense. Those who hold such a dismissive view are probably looking too fast.

   This is certainly not to say that we should consider all artists as either the dispensers of mystical experiences or the sole recipients of cryptic messages from on high. It’s not entirely unreasonable, however, to regard artists such as those presented in this marvelously diversified fete of abstractions as somehow akin to shamans, or spirit-catchers. Think of them in a larger sense as curious gatherers of energies and essences. As all visual artists do, the individuals in this exhibit have made symbols, allegories, metaphors. These particular artists, however, have channeled their personal encounters with corporeal realities and personal memories into varying dialects that depart from conventional naturalism to arrive at intriguing if not transcendent distillations.

   Back to mindful looking for a moment. Yes, there is a substantial presence of rarefied quirkiness in this exhibit. So slow down. Let your intuition do the deciphering. Here’s where the ordinary and the predictable get wrecked. It’s viewer-friendly glossolalia.  

Giggles and Grace from the Canton Symphony Orchestra

Giggles and Grace from the Canton Symphony Orchestra

By Tom Wachunas

   Imagine watching a very fine orchestra as it begins to perform the stirring final movement of a symphony. After only a few bars, the violinists abruptly stop playing and start to tune their instruments. Oh, the indignity! Nervous giggles ripple through the audience as the conductor, clearly mortified by such a cacophonous interruption, glares incredulously at his rude ensemble before continuing.

   Such a scenario was actually one of several intentional breaches of symphonic protocol that transpired during the first work on the March 2 program from the Canton Symphony Orchestra at Umstattd Hall. Franz Joseph Hayden’s  Symphony No. 60, Il Distrato (The Distracted, or The Addle-Minded), was an expansion of the incidental music that he originally composed in 1774 for a comedy  by Jean François Regnard about a man named Leandre, who was so absent-minded that he nearly forgot to attend his own wedding.

    Accordingly, Haydn penned a particularly quirky symphony in six movements, rather than the “normal” four, presented here in keeping with the overall theme of the evening, “Humor in Music.”  In mischievously breaking with his own standards of composition that would earn him the epithet, “Father of the Symphony,” Haydn convincingly transformed the orchestra into the persona of the blundering Leandre, creating a work  replete with goofy non-sequiturs and “wrong” music.  For example, the first movement is disrupted by the inclusion of a direct quote from a completely different symphony (No. 45, “The Farewell”). The lovely processional wedding tune in the second movement collides with the sounds of a passing marching band. Elsewhere there are jarring key changes, obtrusive fanfares, and snippets of seemingly random folk tunes. Other than Maestro Gerhardt Zimmermann’s brief lapse into mock horror at the infamous tuning break in the final movement, he and his valiant ensemble navigated this impish farce with delightfully straight-faced, business-as-usual aplomb.

   And now for something completely different: The Carnival of the Animals, scored for two pianos and orchestra in 1886 by Camille Saint-Saëns, and subtitled “a grand zoological fantasy.” Zimmermann took a seat to the side of the orchestra in his role of narrator. Matthew Jenkins Jaroszewicz, CSO Assistant Conductor, directed this tantalizing tour of the animal kingdom from the podium with infectious zeal. The exhilarating narration, full of whimsical puns and tongue-twisting rhymes, was based on the the comical verses that Ogden Nash wrote in 1949 to accompany each of the work’s 14 movements.  Zimmermann inserted some hilarious improvisations of his own, including a much anticipated singing passage that was more a raucous chant than an actual song, though nonetheless endearing in its throaty chutzpah.

   Meanwhile, guest pianist Jeffrey Biegel and CSO pianist Dean Zhang significantly augmented the onomatopoeic brilliance of the music so magnificently articulated by the ensemble.  With enchanting keyboard magic, they deftly conjured everything from roaring lions, leaping kangaroos, and fish in glittering water, to galloping donkeys, fluttering birds, and even piano students practicing monotonous scale exercises.

  An old show business maxim admonishes, “Leave them laughing when they go.” So it was on this occasion with the final work on the program, Jacques Ibert’s wild, six-movement romp from 1929, Divertissement. The orchestra was clearly very eager to embark on this frenetic excursion into musical eclecticism that included some mild skewering of works by Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss Jr. It all ended with a zany evocation of a Keystone Kops chase scene, complete with Maestro Zimmermann frantically blowing a police whistle. And so yes, mission accomplished. We left laughing.

  Something else, however, lingered long after. Despite all of the evening’s boisterous, tweak-your-nose humor, I was left remembering, thankfully, the evening’s most quietly compelling performance – the second (Andante) movement of Dmitri Shostakovitch’s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No.2, composed for his son, Maxim, in 1957.

   Before the intermission, pianist Jeffrey Biegel had regaled us with an utterly stunning rendition of the work, which is for the most part playful, untroubled, and certainly witty. Biegel’s virtuosity was breathtaking, his technique in executing the work’s lavish trills and muscular arpeggiations clear, concise, and thrilling throughout. But it’s the second movement – ironically, anything but humorous – that lifted me up into Biegel’s mesmerizing state of impassioned lyricism. In this protracted moment of emotive profundity, his playing was a warm, slow pouring out of rapturous grace.