Quatuor Ébène - All-Beethoven - 03/04/26

Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet No. 2 in G Major, Op. 18, No. 2 

Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet No. 16 in F Major, Op. 135 

Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp Minor, Op. 131 

One of the very few advantages of getting older is to be able to look back and reflect (Moreover, let’s face it, looking forward is kind of depressing these days). And that’s exactly what I was doing last Wednesday night in the medium-sized Sala Sinapoli of the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone as I was eagerly waiting for the all-French Quatuor Ébène to appear. I unfortunately could not attend their January concert due to a mild but ill-timed cold, and the time had finally come for me to make up for the missed opportunity. 

So there I finally was, fondly remembering hearing them for the first time at the Library of Congress, which was pretty much in my backyard back in 2009. Although they had already been generating an impressive buzz closer to home, they were kind of new on the international classical music scene, but not for long. Their splendid performance of quartets by Ravel, Fauré and Debussy, wrapped up with an a cappella version of “Un jour mon prince viendra” (One day my prince will come) from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (Yes, Disney’s animated movie) left no doubt. They had arrived, and they would go much further. 

Almost two decades, a couple of personnel changes, and several encounters on both sides of the pond later, I saw two of those same musicians, who are now accompanied by two newer members, come onto the stage and I felt a kind of motherly pride that I did not even know I had in me. I guess it is one of those things you don’t even know you have until you suddenly experience it. 

Even better, last Wednesday night’s concert was one stop of their ambitious “Beethoven 2027” project, through which they will play all of Beethoven’s quartets, and not just any stop either since that one would feature the Opus 131 and the Opus 135, two dazzling masterpieces among the extraordinary six-packs that are his Late Quartets. So who cared of the performance started at the ungodly time of 8:30 PM?

The concert started with Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 2, a youthful piece that the composer wrote when he was barely in his thirties. While it is understandably not of the same caliber as his later works, it was still a very pleasant way to ease ensemble and audience into our Beethovenian evening. This lively homage to his beloved teacher Joseph Haydn overflows with humor and witticism, and the four musicians did an excellent job at conveying its carefree insouciance while warming up for the bigger and better things to come. 

We then fast-forwarded about three decades to his Opus 135, which is the shortest of his Late Quartets as well as the last major composition he completed. It is also, as far as I am concerned, the most stunning of them all, a priceless gift that keeps on relentlessly giving under its deceptively simple package, the countless gifts including an exquisite slow movement and the famous “difficult resolution”. The Quatuor Ébène brought it to life with all the fire and grace it so richly deserved, and just like the group of French attendees I heard comparing notes later on, I thought this was the best performance of the evening. 

After intermission, it was time to move on to the epic tour de force that is the Opus 131, a terrifying challenge that essentially consists in playing its seven movements without an actual pause over the course of about 40 minutes. This means that the musicians need to have not only superior technique and unwavering stamina, but also good reflexes and endless flexibility in case their much put-upon instruments decide to do their own thing. That said, when you have the right ensemble, you can just sit back, relax, and marvel, like the entire audience did on Wednesday night. Schubert and Schumann were allegedly in awe of that ground-breaking quartet, which is as good a stamp of approval as any. On Wednesday night, we all were too.

Teatro di San Carlo - Verdi - 02/28/26

Giuseppe Verdi: Messa da Requiem 

Conductor: Nicola Luisotti 

Choir Master: Fabrizio Cassi 

Pene Pati: Tenor 

Caterina Piva: Mezzo-Soprano 

John Relyea: Bass 

Pretty Yende: Soprano 

Any excuse for a little excursion out of town is a good one, and attending a performance of Verdi’s magnificent Requiem in Naples’ magnificent Teatro di San Carlo is certainly a better one than most. Add to that the presence of South-African soprano Pretty Yende, whose much lauded talent I had never gotten a chance to check out before (not for lack of trying though), and I grabbed some tickets for my Neapolitan friend Vittorio and me as soon as they went on sale last year. 

After an uneventful trip and timely arrival under the Parthenopean City’s famed bright sunshine last Thursday afternoon, things went somewhat downhill with a dreadful combination of overcast skies, low temperatures, and a temporarily out-of-service heater, but things perked up again on Saturday evening with a delicious sfogiatella and a delectable performance in downtown Naples, where we eventually showed up reasonably scrubbed, adequately fed and fully ready at the totally civilized time if 19:00 PM.

Once we had happily settled in the first row of our premium box—Never mind the little space for the knees before us and the invasion of French tourists behind us—we watched the spacious stage gradually fill up with the large orchestra, who were later joined by the equally sizable choir, the four soloists, and the conductor Nicola Luisotti. In the end, the space was unusually crowded, but it also was a real treat to see the faces of the musicians that we by default hear, but not see, when we attend an opera there. 

Fact is, the impressive number of performers felt more than justified when, in due time, the thunderous Dies Irae movement repeatedly took the entire audience by storm with irrepressible force and remarkable focus. Verdi obviously wanted to make sure that this Day of Wrath would not be denied or avoided, and I, for one, can never get enough of it. And sure enough, on Saturday evening, the brilliant Teatro San Carlo’s orchestra and choir unleashed their take-no-prisoners power and announced the upcoming biblical destruction with all the terrified intensity it deserved every single time. 

The rest of the performance went swimmingly too. The composition’s operatic grandeur and emotional intimacy were beautifully conveyed through gorgeous—Dare I say “divine”?—melodies and dramatically shifting rhythms that were commendably handled by musicians and singers. The choir demonstrated a strikingly unified front, the four soloists fulfilled their substantial parts with admirable technique and commitment, with Miss Yende effortlessly meeting my sky-high expectations, and the orchestra, for which Verdi has to be an old friend, kept everything going with predictable expertise and efficiency. 

 That was a prime example of the kind of dazzling accomplishment impeccably timed teamwork can create (Grazie, maestro Luisotti!), and the memorable experience made dealing with the rowdy Saturday night crowds totally worth it.

Orchestra e Coro dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Fauré & Ravel - 02/14/26

Gabriel Fauré: Pavane in F-sharp Minor, Op. 50 

Gabriel Fauré: Requiem in D Minor, Op. 48 

Maurice Ravel: Shéhérazade, Op. 41 

Maurice Ravel: La valse 

Conductor: Alexander Soddy 

Soprano: Golda Schultz 

Baritone: Mikhail Timoshenko 

After having unexpectedly strayed from my regular schedule the previous week, it was wonderfully comforting to resume my routine with the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia and return to the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone last Saturday evening at 6:00 PM. And not just for any program either as last week’s line-up featured Gabriel Fauré et Maurice Ravel, two remarkable French composers who embody the relatively challenging transition from the 19th century to the 20th century with their own innovative spirits and common sense of refinement. 

So, in the end, that Valentine’s Day, which started with low skies and fierce showers, slowly but surely got better with a fabulous breakfast with friends, the consolidation of exciting travel plans, an engaging visit to the ever-interesting MAXXI museum—Never mind that the free entrance offer had brought hordes of people who stubbornly stuck around even during lunch time—before wrapping up with an early concert celebrating French culture. I could not have asked for much more.

The performance started with one of Fauré’s shortest and most beloved works in Pavane, an amuse-bouche that immediately assured us that orchestra and chorus were in excellent shape. It just as quickly demonstrated that the occupants of the entire section I was sitting in would not be able to see the screen above the stage due to the sizable smorgasbord of lighting, recording and acoustic equipment hanging from the ceiling (sigh). 

At least the frustratingly obstructed view was not an issue for Fauré’s Requiem since it is a well-known piece whose content is predictable anyway. Let’s not forget, however, that Fauré made sure to put his own personal touch to the Latin mass, which essentially consisted in taking out the dark side of death, including the terror usually felt when facing the unknown, and focus on the original meaning of the word “requiem”, which is “rest”, instead. Therefore, his after-life journey is all about eternal hope, peaceful acceptance and sweet comfort, the exquisite music bringing solace and serenity to the inevitable proceedings. 

And I must confess that not having the lyrics to follow made me appreciate the musicians and singers even more. Most particularly, the uniformly superb chorus dealt with its multi-layered parts with savviness and sensitivity, while Juilliard-trained and Berlin-based South African soprano Golda Schultz was simply extraordinary as she deftly unfolded the soaring melody of the “Pie Jesu” aria. As the performance was constantly reaching for new heights, one could easily imagine cherubic angels scattered around the auditorium attentively listening and readily approving.

After intermission, we jumped ahead a few decades and found ourselves in the mysterious world of the Far East of Ravel’s Shéhérazade, his exotic symphonic poem for voice and orchestra, featuring Schultz again. Although her contribution was much more significant in this piece, she had the vivacious orchestra to contend with this time, and consequently the whole experience of hearing her sing, while still supremely enjoyable, was less uplifting. Truth be told, as far as I am concerned, when it comes to Scheherazade, Rimski-Korsakov’s version is the one to beat, and it hasn’t happened yet. 

After leisurely basking in Ravel’s pining for far-away wonderlands, we were jolted back to reality by the overwhelming intensity of his ground-breaking La valse. Originally conceived as a ballet score and described by Ravel himself as a “choreographic poem for orchestra”, the boldly inventive tribute to the traditional waltz exuded the timeless elegance of the Old World while repeatedly getting dangerously close to the edge of the dark abyss that is the Modern World. And that’s how our French soirée ended with the resounding final blast of this thrillingly intoxicating, resolutely forward-looking wild ride.

 

Orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Elgar & Tchaikovsky - 02/06/26

Edward Elgar: Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85 

Pyotr Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 5 in E Minor, Op. 64 

Conductor: Lorenzo Viotti 

Cello: Ettore Pagano 

Almost two weeks after going to the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone for a fabulous Rach 3 that still resonates in my ecstatic ears, I was back in the Sala Santa Cecilia last Friday evening at the ungodly hour of 8:00 PM instead of my usual Saturday evening 6:00 PM performance, but then, I had only myself to blame. I had been mindlessly dilly-dallying, never mind the countless advertisements about the concert all over the city and the constant sight of the three beetle-shaped concert halls from my windows, and all the reasonably priced tickets for Saturday were sold out by the time I decided to just go ahead and buy one already. 

In fact, a quick look at the rest of the Parco della Musica’s cultural season showed me that, if some potential audience members had been a bit hesitant about committing to supporting the performing arts in January, which meant that excellent seats were still available at the very last minute, they are now planning to go to whatever will be going on out there with a vengeance and buying tickets in droves accordingly, which is fantastic news for the venues and the artists, slightly less so for the procrastinators. 

As for me, I simply could not resist the perspective of hearing Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto featuring Ettore Pagano, the inordinately young, gifted and fast-rising Roman cellist who would be boldly filling in for an ailing Sheku Kanneh-Mason, or Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5, both conducted by Lorenzo Viotti, the slightly-older-but-still-young Swiss-born maestro who takes eclecticism to another level by also indiscriminately dabbing in funk, jazz and death metal as a percussionist. 

There are few sounds that I find as darkly gorgeous as the ones produced by the cello, but the fact is, the cello repertoire being rather limited, the occasions to hear them outside an orchestra are unfortunately few and far between. So I was particularly grateful for the opportunity to discover a cello-centric piece I had never heard before, and not just any piece since it had been written by the esteemed early 20th-century English composer Edward Elgar, whose world-famous "Nimrod" is routinely heard in concert halls all over the world as well as during all kinds of ceremonies in England. 

And sure enough, his Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85, an established staple of Late Romanticism, grabbed my attention from the very first notes, which turned out to be a poignant recitative from the solo cellist. Even after the other instruments had joined in, they all made sure to preserve intimacy and soberness while Pagano masterfully conveyed the understated yet inescapable bitter-sweetness of watching a familiar world disappear forever before one’s eyes. Clocking in at about half an hour, the concerto was not very long, but its impact was still felt after the music stopped. 

It took a certain amount of convincing, but our young prodigy eventually heeded our persistent applause and came back for a starkly beautiful Sarabande that, to me at least, even surpassed the concerto. Bravissimo! 

And then we all happily switched gears after intermission and plunged head-first into Tchaikovsky’s intensely dramatic Symphony No. 5, shamelessly relishing the privilege of basking in a voluptuous ocean of hard-core schmalz for the second half of the evening. The consistently brilliant orchestra sounded even more revved-up than usual under the particularly involved baton of maestro Viotti, who ended up having quite a breathless work-out on his stand, and delivered a thrilling account of the magnificent score. I hadn’t heard the symphony live in a long time, and that exciting performance, with its sweeping waves of passion and its quiet interludes of introspection, reminded me why I fell in love with Tchaikovsky—and by extension classical music—in the first place, and why our relationship is as burning hot as ever.

Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Rachmaninoff & Bartok - 01/24/26

Sergei Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 30 

Bela Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra, Sz.116, BB 123 

Conductor: Juraj Valcuha 

Piano: Behzod Abduraimov 

Exactly two weeks and one fleeting cold after going to the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone with my visiting friend Vittorio for Tchaikovsky’s fabulous Piano Concerto No. 1, I was back, alone this time, for Rachmaninoff’s equally fabulous Piano Concerto No. 3 last Saturday evening. Unsurprisingly, the Sala Santa Cecilia was just as packed and buzzing with excitement as the previous time. Another irrefutable proof that if you program beloved warhorses, they will come. 

Last Saturday night’s record attendance was all the more remarkable as Slovak conductor Juraj Valčuha and Uzbek pianist Behzod Abduraimov, while well-known and respected in their fields, are not quite established household names yet. On the other hand, the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia has a pristine reputation and a simple mention of the monumental Rach 3 rarely fails to set aflutter the hearts of classical music aficionados, and others too (No offense to Bartok, whose work I was looking forward to discovering as well). So nobody had to twist any concert-goer's arms to show up, even on a cold and wet Saturday evening.

When it comes to their opening notes, Tchaikovsky’s and Rachmaninoff’s works could not be more different: The former is blatantly attention-grabbing while the second is deceptively subdued, almost apprehensive of where it is going. That said, on Saturday night, Abduraimov knew exactly how to proceed, and he took us there with impressive dexterity and confidence. Not only did he readily overcome the score’s countless daunting technical challenges, but he also brilliantly conveyed its lyrical beauty, emotional depth, and pervasive sense of mystery. 

At about 40 minutes, the composition is not overly long, but it is relentlessly demanding. Bringing it to life therefore requires constant concentration and unwavering stamina, both of which Abduraimov obviously has in spades. He almost made his commanding performance look effortless, and he certainly made it sound thrilling for all of us, as the stunned silence filling the concert hall during its entire duration could attest. 

After wrapping up such a flawless tour de force, he would have been forgiven for just basking in the thunderous applause and call it a night. But no, he had more in store for us, and he eventually sat back down at the piano to treat us to an equally virtuosic take on Franz Liszt’s delightful Campanella, the third of his six Grandes études de Paganini, S. 141. 

After intermission, everybody was back in their seats for Bela Bartok’s unquestionably pleasant yet rather conventional by his standards Concerto for Orchestra, but our hearts may not have been into it as much as the perfectly respectable work and admittedly wonderful performance deserved. For a lot of us, our evening had already been made with the mind-blowing experience that had been Rach 3, and there was quite a bit of comment exchanging, body shifting and phone checking in the audience during the second part of the program. But then again, the power of music eventually prevailed, and we all gratefully took it in.

Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Weber, Tchaikovsky and Dvorak - 01/10/26

Carl Maria von Weber: Overture to Oberon 

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky: Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Minor, Op. 23 

Antonin Dvorak: Symphony No. 8 in G major, Op. 88, B. 163 

Conductor: Manfred Honeck 

Piano: Seong-Jin Cho 

After having to begrudgingly contend with a very late arrival at Termini (You gotta to admit that a one-hour-and-a-half delay is a bit much even by Italian railroad standards, no?), very high demand and very little supply at the taxi stand, and a relentless downpour that even the cheerful holiday lights inside and outside the station could not make up for, I can definitely say that my return to Rome earlier this month was less glorious than I had hoped for. On the plus side, things could only get better. 

It took a while though, as The Eternal City was apparently targeted by a week-long biblical flood that only receded to give way to a Siberian cold spell for a couple of days, but hey, when things finally got back to kind of normal, the holidays were finally over, the year-long Jubilee was finally over, and the countless hordes of tourists and faithful were slowly but surely thinning out. And I had settled back in by then. 

Even better, since my Neapolitan friend Vittorio was going to be in town for the talk about music and spirituality by the eminent journalist, writer and TV host, as well as former European parliament member, Corrado Augias and conductor, composer and pianist Aurelio Canonici at the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone last Sunday morning, not to mention a daytrip to Florence for the stunning exhibition about Fra Angelico on Monday, we figured that it would be the perfect opportunity to go hear some live music as well. 

And that’s what we decided to do on Saturday evening, at the very same Parco della Musica at the totally civilized time of 6:00 PM, when the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia would present, among other things, one of Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s biggest hits with his Piano Concerto No. 1, which would be interpreted by rising star Seong-Jin Cho under the baton of highly regarded Austrian maestro Manfred Honeck. I was finally feeling I was getting my Roman groove back. 

As if to make up for the trying times I had had so far, the first live musical notes I got to hear this year belonged to the thoroughly delightful overture to Carl Maria von Weber’s Oberon, which happens to be widely considered the best thing about the opera. Although I still do not know the entire score, I very much enjoyed the piece's voluptuous Romanticism, enchanting melodies and intense drama. 

Of course, when it comes to Romanticism, melodies and drama, it is hard to beat Tchaikovsky’s forever thrilling Piano Concerto No. 1, which after a debut viciously panned by the experts and eagerly embraced by pretty much everybody else, has seldom been heard by anybody it was not able to immediately sweep off their feet with its commanding opening, impossibly beautiful sounds and irresistible emotional appeal. 

And sure enough, the magic operated flawlessly on Saturday night again as the endearingly understated Cho used his impressive technique and delicate sensitivity to skillfully calibrate virtuosity and elegance. The applause that rarely fails to spontaneously arise at the end of the uncompromisingly epic first movement was discreetly but successfully shushed throughout the sold-out auditorium by vigilant connoisseurs, and the brilliant performance went on unabated. 

And that was not all. After being called back numerous times, Cho eventually sat back down at the piano again and treated us to an exciting little gift with Frédéric Chopin's ever-shifting Waltz No. 7 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 64 No. 2, which was much appreciated by all. 

After intermission, we were all back for Antonin Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8, a major staple of late Romanticism, which effortlessly extended the good mood brought by good music among good people. Dvorak’s popular composition is unabashedly vibrant, joyful, and optimistic, and the consistently excellent orchestra was in particularly fine form, so we all ended up happily basking in a delicious combination of sunshine and warmth that had been sorely lacking in our lives lately. 

And then, just when we thought it was all over, maestro Honeck came back to wish us a Happy New Year with — Surprise! — my beloved Johannes Brahms's Hungarian Dance No. 1! That second and final special gift of the evening was so unexpected that quite a few concertgoers had already left, but the rest of us gratefully relished yet more uplifting Romantic sounds, livened up in this case with a healthy dose of zesty folk-dance flavor, till the very last note.