Jean-Efflam Bavouzet and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Photo by Jag Gundu (edited for Blue Riband)
(Program)
The Toronto Symphony Orchestra presented three works by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart on Wednesday January 22, 2020 at Roy Thomson Hall.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
- Overture to Cosi fan tutte (Composed in 1789)
- Piano Concerto No.9 (Composed in 1777)
- Symphony No.40 (Composed in 1788)
‘Mozart 40’ runs until January 26 at George Weston Recital Hall, Meridian Arts Centre
A bit of trivia to start: much continues to be made of the etymology of the subtitle of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.9, ‘Jeunehomme’, is it a nod to the young man breaking his teeth on the genre or, in fact, the result of a game of historical broken-telephone instigated by one Victoire Jenomy, the amateur pianist to whom the work is dedicated? This TSO program, beginning with the exceedingly famous Overture to Cosi fan tutte and concluding with the Symphony No.40, at any rate concerns itself with the music of the young composer. After the brief Overture, the Concerto brings to the mind an image of the young Mozart, of whom there are colourful anecdotes regarding his personality: foul-mouthed, clever and petulant despite his tirelessly inventive musicality. Like many of Mozart’s late works—and their ‘persistent view of melancholy’—the Symphony No.40 sketches an antipode to that image, that of Mozart the grizzled symphonist, doing more with less flair—the original score of No.40 did without trumpets, drums or clarinets (the latter added as an afterthought to lighten the sombre mood).
Despite the plentiful energy of the opening movement’s famous first theme (which now, sadly, holds the dubious distinction of being one of the most annoying cellphone ringtones of the late 20th century), the movement has an overriding mood of resignation, discernible from the start in the accompaniment to that theme, played in the lower strings. “” Don Anderson on Symphony No.40, TSO program notes
Jean-Efflam Bavouzet and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Photo by Jag Gundu (edited for Blue Riband)
Another trajectory traced by this program is that of the various forms of instrumental music for which the composer is famous. The symphonic form developed out of the opera overture, found its main artery in the works of Joseph Haydn, its heart in a good list of Italian composers, and a clever head in Mozart. Mozart’s ability to work dramatic connotations into purely instrumental music began as a tip on Haydn’s iceberg; what Mozart admired most of Haydn’s body of work reveals what he wanted most from his own: ‘to joke and terrify, to evoke laughter and profound sentiment’. There’s still one more performance left in this program (at the George Weston Recital Hall inexplicably) so if you’re looking for some preparatory listening, or to a sense of Mozart as an upstart, as something fresh and new—listen to a couple of Haydn’s quartets.
The program is directed by guest conductor Bernard Labadie, returning to the TSO after since completely recovering from cancer treatments. After his recovery he found his hands would shake when holding a baton and was unable to stand for longer than 45 minutes; so he stopped using the baton and opted to conduct from a platformed seat instead—improvise, adapt, overcome. His realization is that these adaptations have made him a better conductor: the singular gestures of the baton have been replaced with the manifold gesticulations of his ten digits—a boon for conducting the heavily ornamented works by Mozart in his repertoire—and sitting at nearly the same level brings him closer to the orchestra, ‘primus inter pares’ as he puts it. With or without a baton, standing or sitting, it’s obvious Labadie enjoys a great belief in both the enchantment and baffling relevance of Mozart’s compositions.
The program’s other standouts, aside from Labadie, were Michael Sweeney (principal bassoonist of the TSO) and solo pianist Jean-Efflam Bavouzet. As part of the TSO’s ongoing spotlights on long-standing members of the orchestra, Sweeney step up to the mic to introduce the Piano Concerto—a short treatise on the Jeunehomme/Jenomy paradigm—a sarcastic detailing of the bells and whistles he had outfitted for his custom-made bassoon (known to leave fellow bassoonist ‘flummoxed’) and closed his short lecture with what is my new favourite sign-off: I’m going to now excuse myself to recover from haven spoken to you.
Enter Bavouzet, pianist at large, to play the solo part in a concerto that is essentially a sing-off between two entities, an absentminded ‘improvised dialogue between piano and orchestra’. This selection for the program is welcome surprise as Mozart’s early piano concertos are relatively hard to come by in recordings and orchestra programs alike, taking a backseat to the oft performed stretch between No.17 and No.25. It took me a good three months of waitlisting to get a vinyl copy of his Piano Concerto No.11 (1782)—the third movement of which remains my gold standard of grace and delicate figurations on the instrument. Written in 1777, there are likewise moments of levitating grace in this Concerto, long stretches of the soloist playing unaccompanied as bounding prestos seamlessly blend into gliding cadenzas. The work sits naturally with Bavouzet, his play is not merely from memory but primarily from expression. He frequently gestured away from the instrument in between sequences—throwing his hands in the direction of the orchestra to bring them back into action, raising an index finger to announce an absolutely brilliance stretch. No.11 still remains my favourite, but this one has its charms: the composer is just a little younger, a little more energetic, the strings whir with more gusto and the sprinkling notes on the solo instrument fall like a ball capering down an imaginary staircase.
Jean-Efflam Bavouzet and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Photo by Jag Gundu (edited for Blue Riband)
Perhaps in order to remain faithful to how the Symphony No.40 would have sounded in the 1790’s (an official premiere date remains up for debate)—or perhaps to remain faithful to the program’s title—the TSO performed this symphony with a sparse roster of forty musicians. The small troop nevertheless made the most of the highlights of Mozart’s last grand orchestral gesture. In fact the reduced scale of the orchestra made the work more listenable, as is the case whenever a popular piece is treated to a lower volume and more intimate setting. The performance yielded an altogether cleaner sound, rarifying that famous melody as it swings back and forth between high and low strings, emphasizing the baroque colours of the striated lines on violins in the second movement—here Labadie’s influence as an early-music conductor was most evident. The standout performance was in the fourth movement, which brought the program full circle inasmuch as the finale has all the dramatic flair of an Overture.
This final movement is an almost complete image of Mozart and his chimeric combination of Classical order and Baroque extravagance. The first sixteen bars are a systematic sequence of loud and soft pronunciations, but their relation to each other create an effect far from calculated:
The pattern is like a prison, not a source of comfort, and when the music succeeds in breaking out into a furious tutti, it seems inevitable: scales and arpeggios rush out unceasingly, as if trying to get as far as possible from the constrictions of the opening theme. “” Robert Philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Guide to Orchestral Music
A gentler second theme, followed by a tutti, brings the first section to a close. That however is the last instance of respite in the final movement, the rest of the Symphony is a series of lurches and answered questions, the main theme hammered over and over, to which a decisive resolution doesn’t surface but the TSO nevertheless sealed the evening with a ringing finality.