Song of a Reformed Headhunter

I heard the London Philharmonic Orchestra, under the baton of Vladimir Jurowski, twice last week. On Sunday, Vadim Repin was the spell-binding soloist in Shostakovich's Violin Concerto No. 1 in A minor. The performance of Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 after the intermission was intelligent and nuanced, more Apollo than Dionysus. Then on Monday H élène Grimaud performed a highly individualistic performance of Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4. The first movement was more frilly than strong. The second slow movement made up for the first. It sounded the depths, I thought. In the last movement, she seemed to be fighting against the music instead of playing it. It was a remarkable display of a fine musician imposing her will on a mighty music. I heard the Concerto in a way that I had never heard before, but was it Beethoven?  I did not care for Mahler's Symphony No. 5 performed after the intermission. The orchestral effort was heroic: the five movements added up to 72 ...

Things Out of Place A flute in a trumpet case. A red crayon slash on white linen. A spray of heath in a plastic pail outside a deli. A cheeky boy among mourners at a wake. A beautiful man married to a woman. A Singaporean in New York. The Singaporean in Singapore. The moon in a lake. * Listened with LW to the London Philharmonic, conducted by Vladimir Jurowski, at Lincoln Center on Sunday. Shostakovich's Five Fragments (1935) were minimalist delights. The conducting was precise but not prissy. Alexander Toradze played Ravel's Piano Concerto in G major (1929-31). The second movement was extremely moving, and I teared up. As LW said, the French is just so good at handling sentimentality with intellectual wit. After the intermission the orchestra played Shostakovich's Symphony No. 4 in C minor. It was massive and manic, especially the first and last movements. Show-offish, but inventive and colorful, nevertheless. It was deeply indebted to Mahler for its woodland soun...