Dallas Symphony music director Jaap van Zweden tends to avoid the traditional overture-concerto-intermission-symphony formula for orchestra concerts. At Thursday night’s concert at Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center, he embraced that recipe but took it in new directions.
In the slot usually assigned, in the tried-and-true manner, to an ear-warming curtain-raiser, Van Zweden and the orchestra presented the twelve-minute Dark Waves of John Luther Adams (who should not be confused with contemporary composer John Adams, whose presidential-sounding name already stirs a little bewilderment). A twelve-minute compositional tour-de-force that may be taken as either hyper-abstract and minimalist (there is very little variation in pitch and no evident break in phrase) or hyper-representational—in that it quite convincingly evokes the rise and fall of an ocean wave—Dark Waves captures the ears, and, after a minute or two, the imagination of the listener with a flawless marriage of symphonic and synthesized sound. (I was somewhat surprised to find that my own immediate reaction was considerably more enthusiastic than that of the people sitting around me.)
In the slot usually assigned to a concerto, Van Zweden presented, instead of an instrumental soloist, German baritone Matthias Goerne. And, instead of a traditional orchestral song cycle (or a variety pack of operatic excerpts such as one might have expected in an orchestral concert featuring a vocal soloist in times past), Van Zweden and Goerne presented a montage of songs by Schubert and Richard Strauss. Conductor and soloist clearly wished to make a point here, with the intertwining of Schubert’s early and Strauss’ late romanticism. Even the fact the Strauss songs were orchestrated by the composer and the Schubert songs, originally for voice and piano alone, were orchestrated by other composers, added an intriguing aspect to the event.
The sheer beauty of Goerne’s voice as well as his deeply intelligent, obviously passionate reading of the songs was constantly engaging. Here, however, in contrast to my experience with the opening work, I found myself a little less enthusiastic than the folks sitting around me, wishing for a little more contrast and maybe just a touch more direction and obvious momentum in the artificial arrangement.
The evening closed with another refreshing alternative in the spot usually reserved for a major symphony or similar work. Shostakovich’s Ninth can be taken in many ways—rather obviously as an essay in traditional symphonic form, but also as a showpiece for orchestral color and a hearty workout for the winds. Van Zweden chose to underline the darker aspects of this outwardly light-hearted work, composed during the closing years of World War II, at a time when the Russian people, having thrown off the horrors of the Nazi invasion, faced a return to brutal Stalinist tyranny with no end in sight. For this listener, Van Zweden’s reading of Shostakovich’s Ninth produced a complex combination of hidden sorrow and forced rejoicing quite appropriate to the score.