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Reviews
The Boston Globe
Pro Arte pleasures: celestial, yet down-to-earth
Maestro Gisèle Ben-Dor did not start this concert with
a bang. With an undulation of her batonless hand that
was reminiscent of an Indonesian dancer, she asked her
orchestra to join with a high sweet tone that had been
sounding since the world began. So commences Aaron Jay
Kernis' "Musica Celestis for Strings," which
he has described as "inspired by medieval angels
singing God's praises eternally." The achingly
pure sustained opening, with high tones grazing one
another and floating away again, sounded like the music
of the spheres.
Eternity is a long time, however. Despite a radiant
string sound and tender violin solos by Kristina Nilsson
and Pattison Story, the piece lapsed back to earth.
The middle section's whooshing sounds (the passing of
fast-lane angels?), an accelerando and the unfulfilled
threat of a fugue did not cause the piece to take wing
and catch the light again.
Pianist Soomi Lee, who has been active in this area
as a chamber player and teacher, made her debut with
Pro Arte in Chopin's F-minor Concerto. Her opening gambit
came off as rather stiff, as if the piano were fighting
her. Rubato hesitated rather than lingered, and fast
notes blurred together. During tuttis she seemed overmatched
by an orchestration notorious for its too-subordinate
role.
However, in the perfumed love-dream of the adagio Lee
showed that she is a poet. This soaring bel canto aria
was inspired by the adolescent Chopin's crush on a young
singer, and the extravagant decorations of the big tune
gave Lee a chance to shatter the tender stream of melody
into shimmering sprays of coloratura. In the recitative,
over trembling strings her impassioned cries and confessions
were lovingly shaped, wanting only more dynamic diversity
at the loud end.
The mazurka movement presented some togetherness problems
for the orchestra, but elicited flashes of temperament
from Lee. She caught fire and played well, but the swagger
and self-display of the Polish dance eluded her until
the final moments.
The orchestra took us on a dazzling, sparks-flying
ride through Haydn's Symphony 104. Ben-Dor has wonderful
physical eloquence (her elbows speak volumes) and the
group mirrored her gestural vocabulary in sound. Everything
they did had wit, color and sculptural shape —
even the silences. The coy stretchings of time and surprising
depths of feeling in the great trio of the minuet called
up the goose bumps. The final movement's earth-sprung
peasant tune and countertheme of courtly melancholy
were turned inside out and upside down in a development
of such health and humanity that you felt utterly satisfied
— until you heard the recap and coda and realized
that you had seriously underestimated your capacity
for joy.
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