On a bitter-cold January night, one might be inclined to stay in and forgo a chance to see the St. Luke’s orchestra at Carnegie Hall. I am glad I didn’t. From the moment guest conductor Raphaël Pichon took the podium, calmly pausing for a very long time before allowing the music to start with a gentle gesture that made me think of a prayer, I could feel a powerful alertness emanating from him that would take us by the hand and lead us into a deeply engaging dreamscape. A wistful mood descended onto the hall like a soft, black velvet blanket, as soloist Ying Fang’s voice mysteriously emanated from within the auditorium to intonate Schubert’s slowly lamenting a cappella piece, Lacrimosa. It took me a while to make out that she was standing in one of the First Tier Boxes, illuminated by a spotlight. Eventually, members of the all female chorus, (with the exception of its leader, countertenor Christopher Lowry, singing with the altos), Ensemble Altera chimed in, little by little, slowly getting off their seats, sending a rippling wave of gentle sound cascading into the auditorium as Miss Fang shone her own light into it from the sides and Pichon, held all the strings together like a spellbinding magician, his sinuous body at times contorting like Egon Schiele in his legendary self-portraits.
The program, created by Pichon and inspired by a psycho-dramatic, enigmatic text written by Franz Schubert (and given its title, “My Dream,” by the composer’s brother) wove together works by Schubert, Liszt, Schumann, Brahms, and Carl Maria Weber in an elegantly seamless fashion. There was no intermission, nor applause between pieces, interspersed in the shortest of pauses that allowed the hall to reset. The effect was baffling, and deeply moving. Clearly, the stars had aligned that night behind Pichon’s artistic vision and intention as every single contributor shone in this stream-of consciousness fresco that gently moved though the scale of emotional depth, from despair to acceptance, from unrest and upheaval to wonderment and, ultimately, transfiguration, via Schubert’s composition Des Menschen Seele gleicht dem Wasser (the human soul resembles water,) beautifully sung by Ensemble Altera.
What a joy it was to hear Christian Gerhaher again. I had last seen him twice on the Met Stage, where he hushed the house to swooning silence by bringing a Lied-like quality to his interpretation of “O Du Mein Holder Abendstern,” Wolframs legendary Act III aria in Wagner’s Tannhäuser. Herr Gerhaher has developed a style all his own, molding every single word he sings with surgical precision, squeezing every drop of emotion out of them before carefully placing them on the dynamic edifice he builds before our eyes. He had me completely transfixed, like a diamond that breaks down light into sharp fragments. As to Miss Fang, who emanated calm poise and gentle authority, I cannot imagine a tone more beautiful or pure. In one instance, during a fragment from Schubert’s rarely performed opera, Alfonso und Estrella, her character, once again strategically positioned, standing on the harp’s podium upstage, prompted her father, sung downstage by Gerhaher, to sing to her the story of the hunter, a request he at first refutes but ultimately yields to. It was surprising to see Miss Fung leave the stage at that moment, until I realized that by this simple act she had de facto turned us into her– we all became the eager listener she had modeled for us.
Throughout the recital, the joyful commitment and communication between Maestro Pichon and the musicians of Saint Luke’s once again reminded me of my opinion that the greatest collective human achievement is and will always be the orchestra, where everyone is focused on playing their clearly defined part while being completely attuned to one another, jointly creating something divine that is both effervescent and eternal: for everything that is as true as great art resonates in the universe to lasting effect. I left the hall in a state of shock, intensely feeling that I had been blessed to witness this highest level of artistry, beginning with the carefully crafted artistic programming that alternated between lesser known works by Schubert and legendary ones, breathing new life into both, to the perfect casting, and its authoritative yet playful execution.
This is how the magic is done, and we must try to live up to it.