Between Two Nimrods

I am not sure who tried to turn "nimrod" into a derogatory common noun; but I take some comfort from the fact that the latest edition of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary does not recognize that definition. It rather pollutes a proper appreciation of both the composition and the performance of Edward Elgar's "Enigma Variations;" and I think too highly of Elgar to ignore such slights to his memory. In that context I find myself reflecting on how Yuri Temirkanov's selection of the ninth of these variations (whose "enigmatic" title is "Nimrod") as an encore had me look back upon my previous experience of hearing this work in concert (in its entirety) and forward to last night's performance by the San Francisco Symphony under the baton of Leonard Slatkin. Not counting my having seen Frederick Ashton's choreographic interpretation of this music, that previous experience was the first time I had heard a "live" performance; and at that performance Norman del Mar led the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra when they were performing at the Purchase campus of the State University of New York a little over two decades ago. Until I heard Elgar's first symphony for the first time, I had associated the composer with the jingoistic sentimentality of his "Pomp and Circumstance" marches; but I heard in that symphony the same kind of emotional depth that I had previously found only in the music of Gustav Mahler. Thus, I was not surprised to learn, initially through Ashton's choreography, about the depressive nature of Elgar's character. I suppose there are still those who find all this excessive sentimental indulgence, just as Harold Schoenberg could never get beyond calling Mahler a "cry-baby." Del Mar, on the other hand, conducted this music as a highly personal examination of Elgar's self in the setting of those who meant the most to him. The "decoding" of the title of the ninth variation refers to August Jaeger (whose name means "hunter" in German, as Nimrod was the "mighty hunter" in Genesis), who was second only to Elgar's wife in sustaining him through many of the worst of his depressions. The variation is a pivotal point in the whole set, and del Mar knew exactly how to make it function in that role, only to surface again in the triumphant finale of the concluding variation.

By selecting this variation as an encore, Temirkanov detached it from its context. Only those of us with a strong sense of the entire cycle could appreciate that he understood the shadings of tone and orchestration through which Elgar could reflect back on his personal agonies and those who tried to make them more endurable. Neither Temirkanov nor his Saint Petersburg Philharmonic could claim a "native" understanding of Elgar's cultural context the way del Mar could with his ensemble; but the Russians knew how to let the music speak for itself. The result, for me at least, was the reminder of a performance to come and the opportunity to hear the full set of variations in their entirety.

As an American, Slatkin had no more claim to the British mentality than Temirkanov did; but he, too, knew how to let the music speak for itself. He found his own voice most notably in a surging approach to crescendos that I had not recalled in del Mar's interpretation (which, admittedly, was some time ago). This was most evident in the finale, which is very much a bursting forth from the shadows of depression into a blazing light. It demands a might sound from the orchestra, which does not deteriorate into reckless blaring. With all of their Mahler experience, the San Francisco Symphony knows how to do this; and they could provide Slatkin with just the right shaping that his interpretation required. This was also true of the entire cycle, which, from the point of view of the respective lengths of the variations, is not as neatly balanced as most variation sets are. Like del Mar, Slatkin knew how the pace the work in the large, treating the brief and impulsive variations, such as the bulldog antics of the eleventh, with a mercurial spontaneity while letting the more expansive variations, such as "Nimrod," "expand" to fill the requisite "emotional space." Ultimately, this performance was a reminder that this work is not performed frequently enough; but I was glad to see that we have conductors from both Russia and the United States who can do as much justice to this work as the British have done.

On the other hand Slatkin also has the advantage of excelling in American music, including works that also do not receive enough performances. This was evident in his performance of Samuel Barber's piano concerto with Garrick Ohlsson as soloist. This is also a work of grand sounds, but there is nothing British about Barber's grandeur. His talent for sharp bright orchestral colors is matched by an aggressive approach to counter-rhythms at the keyboard. As The New York Times recently observed when Vanessa was revived at New York City Opera, Barber was dismissed as excessively sentimental in his own time due to his rejection of all the more cerebral experiments taking place, particularly around the serial approach to composition. It is only now that we have put that ideology at a safe distance that we can begin to appreciate the virtues of the voice he found for himself. Both Slatkin and Ohlsson had no shortage of that appreciation; and, while many of the melodic and contrapuntal contortions were not easy for the "newcomer" ear to follow, their performance left me (at least) with a desire to hear more of this work. In other words they both exercised the virtues of concert programming to the best of their abilities.

With all of those large sounds, Slatkin also made the judicious choice of beginning with the smaller scale of a Haydn symphony, Number 67 in F major. Haydn is, of course, known for the sense of wit that he could bring to his compositions; and in this symphony he is at the top of his game. Slatkin, in turn, found just the right lightness of touch to allow each of Haydn's almost throw-away gestures prod the ear into the recognition that this was not just another symphony. Particularly amusing was his decision to render the trio of the Menuetto movement as a duet for the leaders of the first and second violin sections. Since this was a mini-excursion into chamber music, Slatkin just stood there, watching attentively, while Alexander Barantschik and Dan Nobuhiko Smiley took the spotlight. Then, after starting the orchestra on the da capo, Slatkin took a few bills from his pocket and offered them each a "fee" for their service, which fit in nicely with the good humor of the event, even if it did not fit the customs of Haydn's time. The audience "got" the spirit of the joke and acknowledge it by applauding after the movement had finished.