A Rhapsodic Fusion of East and West
By Tom Wachunas
Exiting Umstattd
Hall after the January 24 “East Meets West” MasterWorks concert by the Canton
Symphony Orchestra (CSO), I briefly noticed wide-eyed wonder on the face of a
woman just ahead of me as she looked at her companion. I heard her gush, “Oh,
those strings, those glorious
strings! I had no idea!” And I thought to myself ah ha… another convert.
She was probably
voicing her pleasure at the orchestra’s remarkable performance of the last work
on the program, Brahms’ Symphony No. 4, memorably rendered here with sharply
majestic and passionate grace. Still, her glowing assessment could just as well
have applied to the entire evening, beginning with Grieg’s Holberg Suite, with its rollicking pizzicatos from basses and
cellos in the first movement, the delicate lyricism of the fourth movement, and
bright dance energy of the fifth movement. Those glorious strings…con brio indeed.
But it was the second of the three program
selections that delivered a delightfully more expansive sense of string power
to these proceedings. Pipa Concerto No. 2, composed in 2013 by Zhao Jiping, was
commissioned by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and co-commissioned by the CSO for
world-renowned pipa soloist, Wu Man, who was the featured guest artist for this
Ohio premiere of the work.
The single movement concerto is an adventurous
pastiche that deftly weaves together modalities both traditionally Chinese and
distinctly Western in flavor. Given Jiping’s distinguished history as a film
score composer, it’s not surprising that this work would have a cinematic
sensibility. At times it subtly evokes the spirit of John Williams’ most
extravagant orchestrations, and the folkloric poeticisms of Aaron Copland. In
all, a lyrical merging of power and gentleness.
The real thrust of
the work, however, lies in the astonishingly dexterous hands of Wu Man. You’d
think that a four-stringed wooden instrument as ancient and delicate as the
pipa would be swallowed up by lavish orchestral sonority. But a well-placed
microphone was all that was required for Wu Man’s artistry to be heard in
perfect balance with the orchestra.
For all of her
consummate technical facility in achieving a considerable array of timbres –
from percussive and twangy to silken and liquid – Wu Man is as much a magician.
She conjured textures and moods at will, joyous and pensive, here fanning the
strings in lush cascades of staccato notes, there drawing out lilting melodic
lines, or strumming furious, rhapsodic rhythms. She wasn’t just playing the
instrument. She was making it sing, whether in soaring unison with the
orchestra, or in dramatic counterpoint. Particularly savory were Wu Man’s
various dialogues with other soloists in the orchestra, like gilt threads
running through a plush tapestry – a shimmering frolic with the harp or violin,
a haunting call and response with the cello.
Through it all, Wu
Man’s demeanor suggested the serenity of a Buddah, occasionally flashing a coy
or knowing smile. When she wasn’t clearly caught up in the sheer sweep of the
music, she looked closely at Maestro Gerhardt Zimmermann, perhaps not so much
for cues or prompts, but as a mutually poignant embrace of a lovely or potent
moment. They, and the orchestra, were wholly on the same page in a sustained
musical meditation.
Late in the work
there is a cadenza that seemingly explodes with an intensity reminiscent of
brash Russian Romanticism. Yet the work ends not with a bang, but an airy
whisper, a harkening back to ancient quiet. The audience clamored for an
encore. The magician responded generously with a traditional, electrifying
Chinese piece that left us standing in slack-jawed amazement.
I include here a
link to a video of Wu Man talking about the pipa:
