Review: Tchaikovsky's Pathétique | Dallas Symphony Orchestra | Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center

Dallas — Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was not able to attend the recent series of concerts presented by the Dallas Symphony Orchestra until the final performance—a Sunday matinee. By this time, the orchestra was in prime form and played Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 (named the Pathétique) beautifully. The soloist for the concert, the young German pianist Severin von Eckardstein, gave an electrifying performance of Prokofiev's Piano Concerto No 3. John Adams' 1986 frequently performed fanfare, Short Ride in a Fast Machine, popped along with its usual perky rhythmic flare.

One distraction was that the DSO played Adams' very short program opener (less than four minutes) and then took a 10-minute break to reset the stage for the Prokofiev – moving the entire string section out, the piano in, and then resetting the strings. This was completely unnecessary. There is no reason on earth that they couldn't have played the Adams with the piano already on stage. If the orchestra could play the complexities of the Prokofiev with the piano in the middle of the stage, the Adams would have presented no problems whatsoever. As it was, half an hour into the concert, we had only heard four minutes of music. And it started late to begin with. 

Grump. 

Once finally seated and arranged, von Eckardstein and the DSO gave an excellent performance of the Prokofiev Third Piano Concerto, an extremely difficult work and perennial favorite at international competitions. It requires nimble fingers and a steely touch to make its percussive writing shine through the heavy orchestration. Von Eckardstein had a detachment from the music that was completely appropriate to this particular concerto. He sat, unmoving, at the keyboard as he played the complex score in a note-perfect performance. This is not a concerto that requires emotion or sentiment, like one by Rachmaninoff or Schumann. His aloofness, which would have been off-putting in a more romantic score, was exactly what the Prokofiev required. 

The Tchaikovsky was also beautifully played. The orchestra was in fine form and there were many moments that were thrilling to hear. All of the solo wind players gave stellar performances. Gregory Raden always brings his very soft sound to his solo work. He creates a hush that can be felt throughout the audience. In a demonstration of the depth of the DSO roster, he was matched in this piece by Christopher Runk on the bass clarinet. In a very touchy moment, the solo clarinet (Raden) descends to the bottom of its range and the bass clarinet takes over to finish the phrase. It is no easy job to take over for Raden’s exquisite playing, but Ruck matched him seamlessly. Unless you knew the score, you would never have noticed the hand off. Many similar virtuoso moments occurred throughout the performance.  

The problem was Music Director Jaap van Zweden's concept of the piece. 

The ad on the radio for this performance said that you would hear "…Tchaikovsky's noble and deep symphony."  Now, everyone knows that this was advertising copy written by the marketing department and not van Zweden's take on the symphony.  But, unfortunately, this is exactly what we heard. His performance was indeed noble and deep – even passionate. However, Tchaikovsky's symphony is neither. It is hopeless, cowardly and bleak; riddled with despair. 

In her excellent program notes, Laurie Shulman relates the story told by the composer's biographer, Alexandra Orlova, of the hopeless situation in which Tchaikovsky found himself when he was writing this symphony. Orlova postulates that because he was about to be exposed as a homosexual because of an affair with a nobleman's son that he killed himself rather than face the consequences he expected in Imperial Russia. He would have been exiled, ostracized, imprisoned, disgraced and probably executed. 

Nothing new here. Even in these more enlightened times, we hear the same stories from distraught gay high school students. Tragically, many follow Tchaikovsky's solution. Back then, it is impossible to imagine how Tchaikovsky, a national icon and hero, must have felt. 

While there are contrary views, Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony is, in the opinion of many, a suicide note. A facsimile of the original score shows numerous pages with tearstains that blurred the ink. There are places where his writing was so shaky, and then suddenly better, that you instinctively know that he had to put his pen down until he composed himself enough to continue. There is a spot in the first movement that is a musical picture of someone crying uncontrollably with their head down of the desk. It is as sure a picture of uncontrollable grief as Beethoven's thunderstorm in his sixth symphony. Anyone who has been to these depths can recognize it. 

None of this despair was present in van Zweden's interpretation. The first movement was too shallow. The canted waltz, which is in five, was too ordinary. The march was at least doubletime and almost cheery. The last movement, while passionate, shed not a single tear. 

None of this is meant to imply that you need to sob over this symphony. You don't. But you do need to understand the hopelessness that pervades it from the very fist note. There is no joy in the waltz. Tchaikovsky observes the festivities from without, in the freezing cold and through a cracked window. There is no triumph in the march. It only leads to oblivion. The last movement is a sigh of exhaustion, tears spent, and resignation to the fate he so presciently foretold in his fifth symphony. 

Mahler is noble and deep. So are Beethoven and Bach. There is nothing noble nor deep about this piece. It is frightened of the morning, not noble; blatant in its laid-bare sorrow, not deep. It paints a searing picture of desolation that is unlike any other piece of music that I know. 

While this was an excellently played performance, it completely missed the point.