God and Godzilla

Lansing Symphony brass brings it for Bruckner

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My organs of anticipation, whereverthose are, were knotted with pride and dread on the way to Saturday’sLansing Symphony concert at the Wharton Center. On one hand, the hometeam was about to play a symphony by Anton Bruckner, an ambitious slabof sound for any orchestra to quarry, sculpt and polish, in Berlin,Stockholm or Lansing. That was something to be proud of.

On the other hand, they were about toplay a symphony by Anton Bruckner — music that comes with seriouscultural baggage, deserved or not, as the Aryan love call that sent theFuhrer himself into raptures. Damn you, History Channel! 

As it happens, there’s a big differencebetween Bruckner gurgling behind jerky films of Nuremberg rallies andBruckner roaring and glowing in front of you, in all its warmth andintimacy. 

Saturday’s big surprise wasn’t thefinely wrought, seamless, muscular performance of Bruckner’s Fourth thesymphony delivered. By now, we’re used to seeing music director TimothyMuffitt and the LSO deliver big-city passion and polish on a small-townbudget. No, the kick came from bracing for a blitzkrieg and, instead,getting a hot-oil massage by candlelight, with just enough blitz toleave a mark. 

Closing the distance between music andlistener is Muffitt’s specialty. He has an uncanny way of whipping uplofty joys while keeping you as close as a neighbor chatting overcoffee. In his hands, the Bruckner epic was a deep-breathing cycle ofsunburst and shadow. The second movement, with its gentle ‘pim, poom’walking beat, was so mesmerizing it was easy to lose track of all thetricky handoffs from one section or soloist to the next. Behind hismonolithic, foursquare facade, Bruckner moves the ball around a lot,animating his mile-high beams of light with millions of busy littleparticles. Muffitt and the musicians deployed the details exhaustively,but not exhaustingly, to surround the Wharton Center audience in thatshimmering space.

Two seemingly contradictory moods,grandeur and intimacy, balanced and nourished each other, as they dowhen you go for a walk in the mountains with a friend. When brassfanfares broke out, it was like stopping to take in a dizzying view.When the tumult subsided into tender melodies, usually from thestrings, the hiking and conversation resumed, with heightened joy and anew sense of discovery. Muffitt lovingly walked every step, neverrushing or apologizing for the deliberate pace.

The strings, tentative at first,blossomed into a supple lyricism, and the woodwinds liquidly linked themusic’s refined skin to its dinosaur bones. But this symphony is mostremarkable for wave after wave of titanic blasts of brass calling forthGodzilla, God or both. In what may be their finest hour and 10 minutes,the Lansing Symphony brass brought it. Principal horn Janine Gaboury,principal trombone Ava Ordman and tuba man Philip Sinder blew likethree horsemen of the Apocalypse. (Principal trumpeter Rich Illmanmisfired a few times, but not so conspicuously as to induce a wince.)

It was a good thing the orchestra gotits Bruckner rampage in, because it had to contend with a thunderous,spirited chorus of more than 200 voices in Mozart’s Coronation Mass.The orchestra and four vocal soloists got their licks in, but themassed Michigan State University Choral Union, University Chorale andState Singers held the floor through a bustling pageant of styles andmoods. 

The performance hit the heavenly marksas required, but it also brought out the fun of Mozart’s sacred music.Close your eyes and the Gloria could be sung by a maid with a featherduster.

Lack of coherence among the soloists wasmore of a drawback than usual for this particular mass, in which thesoloists have to sing together most of the time. Bassist BenjaminClements often seemed aloof from the others, as if singing from his ownlittle tower, and soprano Anne Nispel was in her own dimension ofvibrato.

Only the Credo, with its tumblingmomentum, achieved full integration. This is where Mozart maniacallythrows the switch and the express elevator zooms to heights of glorystraight out of Handel. Soloists, orchestra and chorus charged ahead infull, unified voice. In typical Mozart fashion, it was over before youknew what hit you.

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