Live Log 2024: Return To Zankel Hall
A Du Yun premiere, Wu Man, and The Knights bring me back to Carnegie's basement
Let’s get one thing out of the way from the start: In almost any other city, an entire cultural center would be built around The Knights, the orchestra founded by brothers Colin and Eric Jacobsen in the late 90s, such is the excellence and commitment they bring to their performances. But perhaps part of their artistic success lies in their flexibility, with players free to pursue other interests outside of The Knights, returning newly invigorated when called upon for a show.
Those were some of the thoughts going through my head on February 29th, as The Knights opened their concert at Zankel Hall, a wood-lined modernist space two escalators below Seventh Avenue. The concert was an entry in Carnegie Hall’s sprawling festival, “Fall Of The Weimar Republic: Dancing On The Precipice,” so naturally Kurt Weill was on the program, but that was the only expected thing from the night. For example, the first piece, Maurice Ravel’s Le Tombeau de Couperin (1914-17; arr. 1919), could more be said to be from the dawn of Weimar rather than its fall, and pays tribute both to comrades fallen in World War I and the French Baroque. It could also be seen as an offering to the audience, a more familiar dish to whet the appetite for less familiar works to come.
In what I call “the great sort” of the 1980s, when I listened broadly to classical music to determine where I wanted to listen deeply, I must confess that I did not spend much time with Ravel and have barely listened since. But I brought open ears to The Knights’ fleet and fully engaged performance, which a balletic Eric Jacobsen conducted without a score. The textures were wonderfully transparent and the funereal Menuet had pathos, but not in excess as Jacobsen kept the rhythms sharp. I found myself focusing on cellist Alex Greenbaum, whose visible delight with every note he played and absolute virtuosity were captivating and gave me entree into the slender virtues of the piece.
This was also my first time at Zankel Hall since 2019, when I saw the American Composers Orchestra give the New York premiere of Where We Lost Our Shadows, a multimedia work of immense power with music by Pulitzer Prize-winning composer Du Yun. Even though I wasn’t sure where she fit in to the Weimar theme, the world premiere of her Ears Of The Book (2023), a concerto for Wu Man’s pipa and orchestra, was actually the main draw for me. She cleared things up immediately after coming on stage to introduce the work, exclaiming that she felt right at home as she loved Kurt Weill and had played Ravel’s piano pieces often as a student.
She also went on to say that she “Writes for people, not instruments,” proclaiming Wu Man “my hero.” Even though both composer and performer have Chinese backgrounds, Du Yun declared, puckishly, that the “Chinese-ness of the pipa doesn’t matter,” that what matters is the sound it makes and that “it goes from one thing, to the next, to the next…” and so on. I will have to say that the word “pipa,” so like “pipe” in English, feels inapt for this two thousand year-old member of the lute family, with its rich, dimensional sound, seemingly developed in response to natural sounds - rustles of animals skittering through woods, wind sweeping through a field of grain - and propensity for dramatic flourishes.
But what’s important is Du Yun knows how to write for it and does Wu Man ever know how to play it! Her skill and identification with the instrument seem both complete and limitless, qualities that were on display right from the the start of Ears Of The Book, which began with a solo section full of bends and slurs. The strings slowly came into focus behind it, sounding almost like electric guitar feedback.
As the pipa got more discordant, its near violence was accented by the brass and the rest of the orchestra began to swirl and swell until FURY, a vast churning that left a chasm of quiet when it ended. Du Yun’s orchestration was full of innate wisdom as she seemed to let the sound profile of the pipa dictate some of her choices, such as when the basses were played with drumsticks or when the percussion section was led into spectral effects.
While the work is divided into 12 segments, which Du Yun envisioned as aural Polaroids, snapshots “in an emotive mosaic,” there still was a sense of concerto form, with a long solo feeling a bit like a cadenza. There was nothing formal about the solo itself, however, filled as it was with wild, virtuoso moves that were brought down to earth by folk-like patterns while the percussion alternately supported and cajoled. As Du Yun noted in the program, “together we attempted to work against the grain of the pipa, finding new territories for this instrument to venture into.” Attempt successful!
At some times, the pipa provided a steady center around which swirled either chaos or restlessness from the orchestra. It all led to a staggering, near-operatic ending: a burst of percussion, breath-like sounds, then silence. A total triumph of musical and emotional imagination, Ears Of The Book received a deservedly rapturous ovation. Let’s hope it has a future life, at least as a recording since it’s hard to imagine anyone else playing that pipa part.
After the intermission, we were treated to a committed, occasionally intense run at Weill’s too-infrequently played Symphony No. 1, sometimes called the “Berliner Symphony. The piece was written in 1921 when Weill was 21 and never performed until 1956, six years after his death. Older recordings, such as the slightly weedy 1973 Edo de Waart version I got some years ago, may have treated the youthful work as almost a footnote to Weill’s more accomplished music. The Knights dove into it with far more nuance and power, making the most of the orchestration, with the percussionists, including Sae Hashimoto from Talea Ensemble, especially outstanding. If you’re unfamiliar, the recent release of Weill’s orchestral work by H.K. Gruber with the Swedish Chamber Orchestra will clue you in nicely.
After the Weill, we were treated to a marvelous trio of songs, with the first and third arranged by and featuring the singing of the remarkable Christina Courtin, also a violinist with The Knights. Her epic expansion of Bob Dylan’s When The Ship Comes In was an act of flexible reverence, with the bells and brass lending a sense of occasion while the rhythmic sensitivity of the orchestra revealed the complex timing of the master’s indelible lyrics. While far from the raw nerve of Dylan’s 60 year-old original recording, Courtin’s banked-fire performance was almost equally shattering. She also gave us a near-perfect rendering of Weill’s Alabama Song, managing to fit Wu Man’s pipa into her colorful arrangement.
In between, we got Colin Jacobsen’s epic take on Chico Buarque’s Geni e o Zepelim, sung by the stylish Magos Herrera. His approach put a modernist spin on Claus Ogerman’s classic bossa nova arrangements, with the pipa standing in for the nylon string guitar and some dissonance adding a tart complexity. Between Herrera’s fantastic voice and The Knights’ assured playing, they never lost sight of the song itself for a very satisfying experience.
As the escalators dragged me back up to the cold streets, I marveled at all we had heard during what was a truly transporting evening. Kudos to The Knights, Du Yun, Wu Man, and all involved for creating such a wonderfully varied, enthusiastically played concert.
How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Wrong answers only!
From the archives:
Concert Review: Shadows And Hope At Zankel Hall
The Best Of 2018: The Top 25
Three Portraits: Cheung-Trapani-Du Yun
Focus On: Contemporary Classical