It's the stuff TV movies are made of. Well, actually a real Hollywood movie was also made with the same storyline in mind: brilliant young musician desiring growth and opportunities only dreamed of under repressive communistic government mysteriously defects to the welcoming shores of the USA where artistic freedom and fame are soon realized. The Hollywood movie is called "For Love or Country: the Arturo Sandoval Story" about the brilliant Cuban trumpet player who was finally able to defect and realize the freedom and acclaim so richly deserved.
Vakhtang Jordania, guest conductor with the CSO Thursday evening at the Tivoli, may not have a Hollywood movie made about him—yet—but he certainly shares with Sandoval and other former Iron Curtain country artists a powerful and adventurous story involving art and a dramatic escape from the world's most powerful police-state. For in 1983 Jordania defected to the US and soon found himself conducting a little regional symphony orchestra far, far removed from anything Russian. And it didn't help that the maestro spoke no English.
But perhaps music is truly an international language for somehow Vakhtang managed to communicate his musical wishes to a group of bemused players who grew to respect his leadership and enjoy the increased stature that came with their maturity. Of course that group was the newly re-organized Chattanooga Symphony and Opera Association that currently celebrates a very successful 20 years by welcoming its first conductor back home as guest for this week's concerts.
After a brief address to the somewhat sparse Thursday night crowd, Jordania launched into the dramatic overture to Verdi's opera "La Forza del Destino" ("The Power of Destiny"). This piece is usually a barn-burner, and from the bold opening chords, the barrel-chested Vakhtang commanded attention with his powerful outstretched arms and long baton. What followed could be considered more vigorous and rugged than highly polished as the powerful brass bordered on gruff, and the string playing seemed more Russian than Italianate.
But that was simply a warm-up for the featured soloist of the evening at a possibly youthful record-breaking age of thirteen—Hyorim Han from South Korea. Performing at the express request of the maestro, Han tackled the Saint-Saens "Violin Concerto No. 3." French composer Camille Saint-Saens was a prolific pen, turning out a host of concerti for various instruments. Although his works have enjoyed some popularity, none has risen to the first ranks of a Tchaikovsky or Beethoven concerto.
This particular work was composed in 1880 for the famous virtuoso Pablo de Sarasate to show off his stupendous technical mastery. Which means that young Miss Han had her work all cut out for her. Needless to say, there was immense talent packed within that small person on stage. For from the moment she dove into the piece, Han demonstrated powerful, singing tone that could best be described as elegant and refined. Overall her playing was very sensitive with nearly impeccable intonation. The only spot that betrayed her youthfulness was a set of fiendish arpeggios requiring artificial harmonics—a nearly impossible feat but one that produced, nevertheless, the most captivating string sound I've heard in a long time.
At times, as in the surprisingly sunny second movement, Han's tone approached a melting beauty and a great depth of feeling that will no doubt develop more completely with additional years of experience. In many ways this concerto is a hard sell, owing to its episodic character that never really develops very long in one direction but seems to skip from one tuneful idea to the next. I'd like to hear her tackle the more tuneful Mendelssohn—even though it's played to death.
Han's stage persona has yet to blossom as she displays a modestly animated presence but not one that carries much past the footlights. The standing ovation she received clearly derived as much for her youth as from her performance. However, just remember, that the human dynamo and force of nature, child prodigy-become-musical institution, Midori, had to start somewhere. Watch out for Han.
After intermission the spotlight returned to Vakhtang, conducting the music that runs through his blood: Tchaikovsky's much loved and much performed "Symphony No. 5 in e minor, Op. 64." At this point it might be appropriate to share with you something of the maestro's worldwide recognition; and if I overburden you with too much detail, be patient, there's method in my madness. While still in Russia, Jordania carved out a brilliant career, assisting the legendary Yevgenny Mravinsky and becoming music director for the Leningrad Radio Orchestra, the Saratov and the Kharkiv Philharmonics. He twice directed the Tchaikovsky Competition. (Now hang in there with me a little more.)
He led a busy conducting schedule, working with the top performers in classical music, and on defecting to the US, he made a stunning debut at Carnegie Hall, later achieving international success on additional continents. He has a huge list of recordings and record labels including Grammy nominations, and an international conducting competition has been created in his name.
My point: he's a conductor of recognized international stature and a Russian at that; Tchaikovsky is as much a part of him as "Rocky Top" is to Tennesseans (maybe I could have found a better analogy had I searched longer). So why, then, was his direction of Tchaikovsky's "Fifth" so perfunctory, so relatively unemotional, and un-romantic. It's certainly NOT because he doesn't know how to conduct this stuff. And I don't think he was just phoning in the performance.
Now with this brilliant symphony, it's going to sound exciting if you just wind it up and let it go on its own. The driving rhythms, the languorous melodies such as the famous second movement horn solo--masterfully played by principal Gordon James—the pulsating themes and soaring emotions combine to make this piece a winner every time. But it's usually performed with molto emotion involving lots of tempi fluctuations and rubato while this performance—by contrast—seemed rather guarded. It certainly wasn't the usual Tchaikovsky of alpine pinnacles and subterranean depths, of emotional agony one moment and ecstasy the next. But maybe Vakhtang didn't want it to be that way. If so, what does he know or feel about this music that we don't. I'm still pondering that point. (I'll have to get back with you when I figure it out.)
For this half of the concert, the orchestra played much better than the first. Ensemble was immediately tighter and cleaner with the horn section leading the way in a rock-solid performance. Intonation also improved considerably. And like Hyorim Han, a lot of sound came from a relatively small source, for--while the CSO always borders on being understaffed string-wise (were we missing a double bass on this concert?)—the group produced a full and rich sound with only a few spots evidencing thinness of texture.
Not unexpectedly, a standing ovation greeted the maestro after the Tchaikovsky, and he reciprocated with a "Hungarian Rhapsody" which allowed him to take a more frolicsome approach to conclude the evening. The CSO players and audience have every right be proud of their former director and the man who undoubtedly lifted the orchestra from a modest local ensemble to a fine regional orchestra and opera association.
Mel R. Wilhoit
WILHOIME@Bryan.edu