No matter: I was excited to see Benjamin again, having previously watched him conduct the U.S. premieres of his own operas Lessons in Love and Violence (2022) and the much-lauded Written on Skin (2013), both with librettos by the British playwright Martin Crimp. (Benjamin's latest collaboration with Crimp, Picture a day like this, premiered last summer.) Here, Benjamin led a performance of his 2015 cantata Dream of the Song. Written in between Skin and Lessons, it shares much of their same sound world, not to mention violent, gothic imagery. While Benjamin's music can be bracingly modern, his craftsmanship is so pristine and precise (not unlike that of his former teacher, Olivier Messiaen), you can't help but fall under its spell. 

Central to that enchantment is Benjamin's scoring for the otherworldly countertenor voice, represented here by the British singer Tim Mead. Mead, a Handel specialist who has also performed as the Boy/Angel in Written on Skin, conveyed confidence and reserved passion in these songs, adapted from 11th century poems by Sephardic mystics from Andalusia (translated into English by Peter Cole.) Those were juxtaposed with choruses written by the 20th century Andalusian poet Federico Garcia Lorca, sung expertly in Spanish by the women of the Cleveland Orchestra Chorus. The music throughout is quietly haunting, save for the disturbing "Gacela of Marvelous Love" with its graphic imagery of nature-inflicted wounds, punctuated by an apocalyptic low-register burst from the horns. 

Although I largely knew what to expect from Benjamin conducting his own music, I wasn't sure how he'd handle works by other composers, which made up the balance of the program. As it turns out, Benjamin is a sensitive interpreter, at least when he sticks to music that has some personal meaning for him. Benjamin encountered the music of Swiss composer Dieter Ammann when he was a guest at the Lucerne Festival, where Ammann co-directs the academy's Composer Seminar. Ammann's kaleidoscopic glut (2016) (trans. "glowing") vacillates between dark chaos and bright tonality, with a pulsing texture occasionally reminiscent of John Adams' music. The large orchestra unleashed a vast array of sounds, including tam tams, Japanese temple bells, and bowed glockenspiel. Ammann, who was present for the performance, received a generous - if slightly bewildered - ovation from the Cleveland audience.
Benjamin was Oliver Knussen's closest friend and confidant for nearly 40 years before his untimely death in 2018, so it was appropriate that Knussen was represented on the program with The Way to Castle Yonder (1990), cobbled together from the interludes of his 1985 opera Higglety Pigglety Pop! It was also a return of favor, as Olly - a frequent guest conductor in Cleveland - introduced Benjamin's music to Severance Hall back in 1997. (Knussen's Cleveland Pictures, commissioned by the TCO and left incomplete at his passing, was premiered at the Aldeburgh Festival in 2022.) A seven-minute symphony in three movements, Castle Yonder combines lyricism with exuberance before resolving into a blissful toccata at the end. 

Maurice Ravel might seem like an outlier here, but Benjamin has long professed an admiration for Ravel's music, with whom he shares a predilection for precision and nuance - particularly Ravel's ballet Mother Goose (Ma mère l’Oye), which he's been conducting for more than 40 years. Presented here as the complete ballet in a new edition co-edited by Benjamin, the music was lush and sweet when it needed to be, but also hypnotic and mysterious. As with the period-spanning programs of Benjamin's friend Pierre-Laurent Aimard, Ravel's finely crafted music sounded fresh, even modern when placed in context with scores written a century hence. The Clevelanders played with their characteristic reserve and poise, illuminating the score's rich colors and shimmering textures; the concluding "Apotheosis" was particularly brilliant in its sunburst of brass and chimes.

A two hour drive and 24 hours later, I was at Heinz Hall in Pittsburgh to hear the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra perform under their music director Manfred Honeck. Despite the fact that Honeck, 65, is now in his 16th season with the PSO (where does the time go?), I've only seen them perform together once before, way back in 2010. Which is a shame, given his reputation as one of today's most incisive, exacting conductors, garnering rave reviews for his releases with the PSO on Reference Recordings. (Just give a listen to their ferocious account of Bruckner's 9th.) I blame the powers that be for not bringing them to NYC more often: their last appearance here was as Lincoln Center in 2019; the last time before that was nearly a decade ago at Carnegie Hall.

Speaking of the powers that be, they made it somewhat difficult to navigate the lobby of Heinz Hall, choked with promotional tables hawking everything from Pink Floyd tribute concerts, to T-shirts and key chains. They also clogged up the stage, barking before and in between pieces, making sure we knew just how much we should appreciate "Your Pittsburgh Symphony!" Which might have been less grating if it weren't for all of the fresh young faces sitting behind them in the orchestra, a reminder of the mass exodus which ensued after draconian cuts to pay and benefits resulted in a 55 day strike in 2016. Those cuts have finally been restored this year after new concessions were made during the COVID shutdown in 2020, though with the current contract set to expire at the end of the season, the future is uncertain. (Pittsburgh, even worse than Cleveland, played to near-empty houses over the past two years, though on Friday night the 2,700 seat hall looked fairly full, despite a snowstorm that dumped six inches during the concert.)

Here's the thing: in spite of its trials, the PSO is still an incredible orchestra and has been at least as far back as William Steinberg, who led the orchestra for 25 years (1952-76), followed by no less than André Previn (1976-84) Lorin Maazel (1984-96) and Mariss Jansons (1996-2004). And now Honeck, a veteran of the Vienna Philharmonic and regular guest conductor of all the world's great orchestras. I realize that the folks in Pittsburgh might not be quite as sophisticated as those in NYC - or even, dare say, Cleveland - but management may want to consider the fact that not everyone in the audience wants to be addressed as a novice; even if they are, management might try letting the music speak for itself. (There are other concerts for those inclined to have their music spoonfed to them. With cocktails.) 

Unfortunately, they also insisted on trotting out composer Katherine Balch to introduce her new work, musica pyralis ("Music of the Firefly"). Balch, who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else - at one point, she accidentally referred to the commissioning orchestra behind her as the "Portland Symphony Orchestra" - managed to stammer out a few sentences explaining how she'd been inspired by the sounds outside her "rural Connecticut home." (Balch teaches at Yale.) The resulting 10 minute piece included some appropriately folksy elements (harmonicas, croaking trombones, plinking piano) which made for some interesting orchestral colors, if not a coherent narrative. (New Yorkers can hear musica pyralis for themselves this April when Honeck guest conducts the NY Philharmonic.)

Rising star cellist Pablo Ferrández, who was introduced from the stage as "the next Yo-Yo Ma!" (um, how about Pablo Casals?) came out next to perform Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1. Ferrández, who plays a 1689 Stradivarius, has an energetic, pristine tone that easily soared above the orchestra. The long cadenza in the middle felt like a dirge, resonant with the sad news from Russia earlier in the day. For an encore, Ferrández performed the traditional Catalan carol "Song of the Birds": a favorite of Casals, though I doubt Casals would have held his silence at the end quite as long as Ferrández did.

The program ended, conventionally, with a symphony: in this case, Dvorák's 7th (which also happened to be played on the same night in NYC.) This was a very fine performance of a middle-of-the-road symphony: flat and full of repetitions, it sounds fairly dated to modern ears. Of course, it did have its moments: the Poco adagio was tender and heartfelt; the Scherzo had the spirit of a country dance (maybe an Austrian Ländler?) The Finale was the most impressive, with flying strings yielding to a brassy, triumphant conclusion. Overall, the playing was sharp and controlled, the tone balanced and assured. The audience leaped to a standing ovation, eating it up when an assistant handed Manfred a bouquet of flowers during curtain calls, just like they do in old Vienna. Whatever Pittsburgh may lack in musical sophistication, they more than make up for in sheer enthusiasm. And, unlike some other small-city orchestras with overly-exuberant audiences, the PSO's applause was wholly deserved. 

It's good for us New Yorkers, then, to remember that quality, even cutting-edge music happens week in, week out beyond the 212, or anywhere else that thinks they have a monopoly on world-class culture. Sure, these earnest midwesterners may not seem so elevated, but they love music just as much as anyone, even if they don’t always recognize the names on the program. One can only hope that's enough to keep these two outstanding orchestras going into the 21st century, and beyond. Try to catch one of them the next time they're in NYC: you'll be glad you did.

More pics at the photo page.