Speed and Volume: The New Standard in Classical Music

Speed and Volume:  The New Standard in Classical Music

So why do so many young interpreters/conductors feel the need to play or force their orchestras to play faster than anybody else?  Since when is speed the prime factor in interpretation?

Francois-Xavier Roth is a case in point.

Here last week to conduct the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Roth chose two super-familiar pieces.  One was the C Major Piano Concerto by Mozart, with Benjamin Grosvenor as soloist.

Let’s start with the Mozart.  There were exquisite moments.  The woodwinds were gorgeous.  The piano playing was superb.  Grosvenor is in total charge of his playing; his fingerwork is impeccable, his coloration is nothing short of sumptuous.  He truly captured the spirit, emotion and beauty of the concerto.  Except for the slow middle movement, the famous “Elvira Madigan” music.  Perhaps the pianist’s young age compelled him to drive the triplets a bit much.  They became restless, taking something away from the luxuriousness of the music.  The melody should have floated over the triplets; instead, it felt rushed.

Tempos are individual and unique to the interpreter and the moment.  I understand that.  Other than that, Grosvenor’s playing was truly beautiful. His Moskowski Etude encore was colorful and brilliant.  I would be happy to hear him play other works as well, particularly Scarlatti.

But the Beethoven Fifth Symphony was another matter altogether.

The speed with which this work was played was without any rhyme or reason.  Granted, it made the interpretation sound “fresh.” And indeed, after hearing this symphony played so often that every note is fixed in your memory, head, and every bone inside your body, “fresh” may not be so bad.  It was also very, very loud.  Here and there, a well-placed pianissimo only served to highlight the loud, serving no other purpose.

That the Boston Symphony Orchestra could play at that speed and volume—and play magnificently—is proof (if still necessary) of what a great orchestra it is.  Still, a split note from the brass (the French horn?) at the Saturday night concert was not due to the player, but rather to the speed in which the first movement was going.  It took the orchestra a while to build up compliance with Roth’s unreasonable and needless demand for breathlessness and speed. 

Music has to breathe.  It has to evolve naturally.  Great music has to be organic.  The opening four notes stand not only as an iconic statement, but actually give the whole symphony its drive and emotional impetus.  Done too quickly and breathlessly, the entire work is weakened.  One has to trust Beethoven and not supplant him.

But OMG, it was loud! The ending of the symphony goes on and on endlessly, and for it to work the dynamics need to be structured and layered.  Otherwise it’s no more than an onslaught upon the listener’s ears. 

The audience, needless to say, loved it and couldn’t jump to their feet fast enough.

The opening work of the concert, the overture to “Les Amazones, ou la Fondation de Thebes” by Etienne-Nicolas Mehul, suffered from the same malaise.  Roth does not let the music evolve naturally; it doesn’t breathe, it doesn’t grow, it does not become what it is meant to.  This work isn’t spectacular; it isn’t particularly melodic.  What it is, however, is a series of very interesting harmonic progressions that anticipate music from a much later time.  The harmonies are the centerpiece of this otherwise pedestrian work.  For that to work, one needs to listen, to let the progressions lead you rather than vice versa.  Otherwise, you’ve missed the whole point of this work, and in that case, why bother.

The Boston Symphony Orchestra is still a phenomenal orchestra.  Its players are consummate musicians. One simply cannot hear enough of this artistic and cultural treasure.  Luckily, there are a few concerts left in the series I subscribed to this season. 

But my main complaint is not with the BSO.  It’s bigger than that.  It has to do with the way we hear music—or rather, the way music is all too often presented for us.  Everything is too athletic (classical music is NOT the Olympics, after all).  Too fast, too muscular.  Gentleness, softness, a curved line rather than a sharp spike—these have become synonymous with weakness.  Brash is best, if to judge by the playing of such as Lang Lang and others of his ilk.

Maybe we’ve gotten too used to over-loud music.  Everything is amplified for us_­.  God forbid we should miss the obvious.  The subtle, unfortunately, disappears under the massive blanket of sheer volume and runaway speed.  We’ve gotten too used to overstimulation. Silence frightens us, or, worse, bores us. 

Speed is the new spectacle.

How sad. 

© 2018 by Boaz D. Heilman