BY ANGUS MCPHERSON
Scheherazade
Sydney Symphony Orchestra
Sydney Opera House, 3 March
Scheherazade is the brave story-teller of The Thousand and One Nights, whose quick wit and enchanting stories stay the hand of her cruel husband, the Sultan Shahryar. Enraged by his first wife’s infidelity, Shahryar vowed to marry a new wife each day, slaying the previous day’s wife after a single night of marriage. In Scheherazade’s case, however, Shahryar repeatedly delays the execution, anxious to hear her stories.
The Sydney Symphony Orchestra under David Robertson paired two very different works inspired by this legendary figure: Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade and a new work, John Adams’ Scheherazade.2, co-commissioned by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, the New York Philharmonic and the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra.
Scheherazade opened with full-bodied, overbearing trombones – Rimsky-Korsakov’s musical depiction of the Sultan. Robertson made the most of the composer’s lush orchestration, barely pausing between movements for a smoothly flowing narrative. Scheherazade offered plenty of opportunities for the SSO winds to shine, Todd Gibson-Cornish’s rich bassoon lines particularly delightful in The Story of the Kalender Prince. Concertmaster Andrew Haveron played the character of Scheherazade, binding the stories together with glistening poise.
Violinist Leila Josefowicz, for whom Adams wrote this dramatic symphony for violin and orchestra, made an altogether different Scheherazade; her character more action hero than framing device, and the structure of Schehrazade.2 felt as much cinematic as symphonic. The four movements have programmatic titles with political undercurrents: Tale of the Wise Young Woman – Pursuit by the True Believers, A Long Desire (love scene), Scheherazade and the Men with Beards, and the finale, Escape, Flight, Sanctuary. Adams denies any specific program or text, but he doesn’t need one: the music is its own story.
Josefowicz navigated the frenetic complexity of the first movement with expert poise, her reflexes razor-sharp as she went head-to-head with the orchestra. The music conveyed intense struggle, but Josefowicz never lost any ground. A brief moment of unison between soloist and orchestra was a shock, the soloist lithely using the orchestra’s own weight and momentum against itself. Josefowicz played the part of Scheherazade with energy and verve, bringing an operatic drama to the role and never breaking character. Melodious strings soared over churning dissonances in the winds and brass in the second movement, a ‘love scene’ full of dark tension. In Scheherazade and the Men with Beards, the orchestra foamed at the mouth while Josefowicz kept her cool, defiant in the face of her oppressors. The finale was a frenzied, high-octane chase scene, Scheherazade eventually reaching safety as the strings oozed relief, the soloist bloodied and exhausted but free.
Unlike Rimsky-Korsakov, Adams avoids most of the usual trappings of exoticism – his concession is a cimbalom, a kind of hammered dulcimer from Eastern Europe with a distinctive twang. The musical language of Scheherazade.2 is challenging: Alex Ross described it as “a kind of Romantic neo-modernism, with episodes of dissonant density abutting lush, Sibelius inflected textures”. However, the work’s narrative strength and Josefowicz’s dramatic characterisation kept the listeners on the edge of their seats.
Programming these two works together created an elegant unity out of what are two very different ideas of the same character; Rimsky-Korsakov conjuring a lavishly Exotic, fairy-tale Scheherazade while Adams creates a bold heroine in an exciting demonstration of what symphonic music in the 21st Century can be.
Image supplied. Credit: Chris Lee.
