Adès went on to explain that he began his project with a decision: should it be the conventional virtuoso display, a battle of soloist versus orchestra? No, he concluded, it should be "more like real life," the soloist should be in a "conversation" with the orchestra, "first among equals," "first among a great sea of things happening."
True to his conception, the violin part, rather than dominating the stage, interweaves lines with those from the orchestra. Reports on earlier performances complaining that Josefowicz often could not be heard are, I believe, missing the point. The texture is complex — especially with respect to off-barline rhythms; yet the music's pattern repetition make the work relatively easy to follow. So did Josefowicz' expressivity: She owned the concerto as much as she did her stunning satin gown (and the most elegant ponytail I've ever seen on a violinist).
Movements All Different, Yet of a Piece
The 20-minute concerto is in three highly contrasting movements. The first gives the violin two chores: either sawing away in broad sine-wave patterns with the orchestra, or soaring at the very top of the range. (I was close enough to see Josefowicz get within a millimeter of the end of the fingerboard.) The second
The third movement alternates a fast and fairly severe dance with a melody not unlike the main finale theme of César Franck's D-Minor Symphony. Psychologically, it's as though the violinist has gone back to work at a factory and is reconciling the preceding death blows with fonder memories of times past. But the music ends abruptly.
What astounds me most is that these movements, different as they are (the second, for instance is longer than the other two combined), sound like a single, unbroken, profound assertion, one predominantly of descent. This “sinking” effect is generated by devices such as (a) bringing patterns down and up, but each time slightly lower at the top; (b) shifting harmonies downward, chromatically; and (c) limiting upward strivings mostly to sudden leaps followed by many descending notes. The result tightens diverse elements into a whole, and makes for one of the strongest English violin concertos since Edward Elgar's nearly 100 years ago.
Shedding a Work, Gaining Some Perspective
The concert was part of the Symphony's "6.5" series, where one work of the week's program is dropped (in this case, Haydn's relatively dull Symphony No. 52) in order to offer, according to brochures, "a rare opportunity to get inside a performance.”
“Before each piece is played in its entirety, you’ll hear the conductor share unique perspectives on the composer, the work, and its place in music history. Another lecture series? Hardly. Friday 6.5 is an innovative, involving way to go deeper into the music."
The verdict on this installment is A+. Rather than talk much (unlike too many other 6.5 conductors), Gaffigan played many excerpts from the concerto before playing it in its entirely. Many I talked to in the audience during intermission felt this was a tremendous help. Having the composer present is optimal, though of course it's too early to discuss his place in music history.
Devoting the extra time solely to the new work was worth every minute, for the second half of the refreshingly brief, 90-minute evening, Mozart's Symphony No. 39, needed no introductions. It was superbly and vigorously played by Gaffigan and company. There were chuckles of sheer joy from some patrons at principal clarinetist Carey Bell's rendition of the Minuet's gorgeous Trio. I couldn't think of a better way than Mozart to provide an express elevator out of the deep and dark place where Adès' masterpiece left me.