CHICAGO SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
It’s not hard to understand why Barber was popular in the postwar Eisenhower years; with his patrician looks, reserve, and impressive pedigree he embodied what passed for highbrow culture in America. Moreover, his meticulous, largely tonal style–used most expressively in the Adagio for Strings and Knoxville: Summer of 1915–gently reassured listeners jarred by modernism’s dissonance. By the early 60s he was the winner of a pair of Pulitzers (for the opera Vanessa and his piano concerto) and numerous other official accolades. Then the tide turned. His most important commission–the opera Antony and Cleopatra for the Met in 1966–was panned by critics and left the audience cold. Disheartened and disillusioned, he spent most of his remaining years in seclusion and composed very little before his death in 1981.
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The concert, programmed and conducted by Barber specialist Andrew Schenck, included pivotal works from Barber’s early, middle, and late years. Performed back-to-back, the First Symphony (1936), Prayers of Kierkegaard (1954), and The Lovers (1971) neatly summarize his long trek from self-advertisement to self- acceptance, from youthful passion to autumnal grace. In the 30s and 40s Barber, like many of his American peers, was taken with the majestic sweep and long-breathed lyricism of Tchaikovsky and Sibelius. The influences are unmistakable in the one-movement symphony–a resume piece if there ever was one. The compression of the traditional four movements into one was cleverly done, and the music displays Barber’s strength as a fastidious craftsman adept at assimilating established styles. Especially striking is the final march in passacaglia form, which moves from solemnity to euphoric resolution–as if echoing the composer’s own growing confidence. The CSO’s performance was engaging, making the most of the extroverted moments.
Partly because he produced so little in his later years, Barber was seen to be racked by self-doubt, and it was assumed that he was depressed over the public’s perception of him as a relic. However, he may simply have been struggling to incorporate a new bold sensuality into his style. There are strong hints of lust in his arias for Cleopatra, possibly the best thing one can say about that ill-fated opera (which was recently given its Chicago premiere by Lyric Opera). However, it took him until he was 60 to finish a score that deals directly and frankly with eroticism and physical love.
For her official CSO debut Warner and conductor Michael Morgan picked Schelomo by Ernest Bloch. Hard to play and even harder to interpret well, this rhapsody for cello and orchestra is basically a grand and impassioned soliloquy by the solo instrument. Though born and raised in Switzerland, Bloch emigrated to the U.S. in 1916 (one year after composing Schelomo) and spent much of the rest of his life here teaching and conducting. He became an American composer, but one with deep Jewish roots. He didn’t care to join the dry Episcopalian company of Elliott Carter and Samuel Barber; his music evokes the sensuality of the desert sands and the solemnity of the synagogue. (The older Barber might have envied Bloch’s voluptuous melodies.)
