A Cathartic Close to Canton Symphony’s Beethoven Festival
By Tom Wachunas
“It’s not just a question of conquering a
summit previously unknown, but of tracing, step by step, a new path to it.” -Gustav Mahler
First-time
listeners to Music Einem Ritterballet
(Music for a Knight’s Ballet) might understandably hear more of Mozart or
Haydn than Beethoven in the work. Still, the choice of this early composition
(1791) for the opening selection the third concert of the Canton Symphony
Orchestra (CSO) Beethoven Festival (on April 25 at Umstattd Hall), jaunty and
charming as it is, ultimately served to illuminate Beethoven’s separation from his classical
predecessors in a steady and bold ascent to the pinnacle of his ninth symphony.
Once again the
journey continued with pianist André Watts performing Piano Concerto No. 4 and,
after the intermission, No. 5 (“Emperor”). In these, all of the aspects that
comprise Watts’ consummate artistic integrity – his breathtaking embrace of
lyrical nuance, his keen attentions to intimate dialogue with the orchestra,
and the sheer force of his technical virtuosity – were wholly evident. During
the intermission, I heard one audience member, wide-eyed and nodding his head
emphatically, declare to his companion, “That piano player is a poet.”
Indeed.
Particularly
astonishing was the lengthy (the longest I’ve ever heard) cadenza in the first
movement of the No. 4 concerto, replete with sustained trills, lavish scales
and chording, and crisp arpeggios that travelled up and down the keyboard like
so many cascading waves. That monumental interlude seemed to foreshadow the
even more electrifying piano dynamics, as well as the sumptuous orchestral
textures of the fifth concerto – all of it performed with riveting panache.
A similar presaging
unfolded in the final concert of the festival (April 26), beginning with
Fantasia in C Minor for Piano, Chorus, and Orchestra, generally known as Choral Fantasy, composed in 1808.
Structurally unique in Beethoven’s oeuvre, the work augured many of the ideas
and innovations that would come to full fruition in his ninth symphony,
completed 15 years later. Both works have a choral finale, and the main theme
threaded through the eight sections of Choral
Fantasy greatly resembles that of the ninth symphony’s glorious last
movement, which is something of a symphony in itself.
Mr. Watts’ piano
work was especially enchanting as he finessed the successively more elaborate
variations on the main theme, all impeccably balanced with the captivating
sonority of the orchestra. The choral finale was initiated by the wondrously
ethereal voices of sopranos Rachel Hall and Maribeth Crawford, along with
mezzo-soprano Kathryn Findlen, tenor Timothy Culver, baritone Britt Cooper, and
bass Nathan Stark (the quartet of Hall, Findlen, Culver, and Stark would return
for the fourth movement of Symphony No. 9). Joining them were the Canton
Symphony Chorus, the University of Mount Union Concert Choir, and the Walsh
University Chamber Singers. This marvelous gathering of blissful, inspired
voices paved the way to the evening’s most lofty summit.
In introducing
Symphony No. 9, I’ve never heard Maestro Gerhardt Zimmermann be more articulate,
poignant, or sincere. He rightly referred to the work not so much as an earthly
accomplishment, but an unparalleled, life-changing phenomenon - a “…miracle in music
history,” and a profoundly cathartic message for all humanity.
And so I found the performance to be just that
– cathartic - from the primordial quiet,
chaos and struggle of the first movement, the startlingly brisk, pounding pace
of the second movement (what Zimmermann called “a maniacal dance”), the
ineffable serenity and majesty of the third movement, and through to the
unearthly choral power of the finale. Still and ironically, I remain confounded
by the inadequacy of words to describe what transpired. Then again, it is in
the nature of the greatest music, greatly rendered, to leave one in speechless
awe.
As if driven by
the same forces that compelled Beethoven to find his perfected expression of
the mysteries and grandeur of life, the orchestra and chorus were caught up in
a benevolent conspiracy of excellence. All of the elements that have made the
CSO so remarkable in the past were here elevated to an unprecedented zenith.
Cosmic silence to creation. Angst and
suffering to the blessing of brotherhood and joy. Divine destiny. Here was
Beethoven’s rapturous “kiss for all the world,” his urgent and sacred embrace
of the universe, delivered by a magnificently impassioned conductor, ensemble,
and chorus.
At the final,
triumphant burst from cymbals, bass drum and timpani, we in the audience immediately
stood as one, lifted by our own rapturous noise of gratitude and approval. FREUDE!
