CHICAGO — Whether they play violin or trumpet, flute or timpani, tuba or bassoon, the principal players in every major orchestra constitute a clutch of distinctive artists who can be relied upon to deliver the critical spot solos in major works that help to lift a symphonic experience over the top.
These key players are behind crucial episodes in major orchestral works — the mood-setting horn theme at the outset of the Brahms Second Piano Concerto, the magical snare drum in Nielsen’s Fifth Symphony, the nostalgic “Going Home” melody for English horn in Dvořák’s Ninth Symphony, or the trumpet’s Ballerina Dance in Stravinsky’s Petrouchka, so crisp and light, in perfect time with the delicate drum.
Little wonder, therefore, that orchestras compete internationally for the best principal players, and that they fight hard to keep them, often commissioning concertos or concerto-like works for them to premiere. The Chicago Symphony has steadily commissioned star turns for its titled players, going back to the Georg Solti era and well before.
Indigo Heaven is one of these, a shimmering, expansively colored clarinet concerto by the 57-year-old Dallas native Christopher Theofanidis, commissioned for the CSO’s principal clarinet Stephen Williamson and introduced in impressive premiere performances led by Spanish conductor Gustavo Gimeno at Orchestra Hall March 6-8.
The alluring new work has an ambitious tonal palette and an attitude that is at times acerbic and confrontational, at other times diaphanous and elusive. One sensed an affectionate dual kinship with the thrusting spirit of Strauss’ Don Quixote, insistent if charmingly clueless against the universe, and especially with Ravel’s ravishing Suite No. 2 from Daphnis and Chloe, which balanced the new work on the CSO program.
Theofanidis’ new concerto is a true solo vehicle replete with extravagant, solitary musings for the solo clarinet that Williamson fleshed out fully, surrounded by dreamlike orchestral hues that drenched the whole in surreal intensity. Yet Indigo Heaven is no less a lyrical tone poem, a love song to the night sky.
As the title suggests, this Indigo concerto evokes that sense of the neither-nor, a vast transitory space, with bursts of spectacular color and sudden movement, yet hints of ancient modes and exquisite stillness in the stunning orchestral reflections. Theofanidis’ control over time is impressive; the concerto, which lasts nearly half an hour, flows easily by, its shimmering aloofness unfazed by the protagonist’s exercise.
The concerto’s first part, “Hypnotic, easy,” has an awestruck quality, with coolly assertive interjections on the part of the clarinet that I associate with an American groove. A brilliant soloist, Williamson toyed with persistent bravado throughout: a single voice in a foreign space, pursuing a quest, a theme familiar to many concertos.
The second movement (“Vast, patient”) could well be an ode to the vivid clarity of the night sky in the Rockies where, absent city lights, the distant galaxies flicker; both Theofanidis and Williamson spent summers there. Impressionistic in its delicate textures and color washes, with a solo cadenza that seemed much like an awakening, the ambitious work ends in sonic fireworks.
Where to go after that? Ravel, of course, and plenty of it, never a mistake for this orchestra, for which the Rapsodie espagnole and especially the Suite No. 2 from Daphnis and Chloe are a natural fit. Its many virtuosic passages echo a sense of natural wonder, the magic of daybreak, the birdsong, the warmth of the sun, the celebration of life. I heard the performance twice, and on the latter evening, it was Ravel’s virtuosic music that almost stole the show.
The Rapsodie espagnole, with its irresistible evocation of the habanera in a steady bacchanalian crescendo, set the stage for Suite No. 2 from Daphnis and Chloe. The ballet’s lovely first movement, a magical dawn, seemed an appropriate answer to Theofanidis’ Indigo Heaven, opening as the suite did to piccolo birdsong and fluttering strings. CSO flute Emma Gerstein delivered the spellbinding solos — prized among cameo moments for that instrument — with languid grace, and the last movement, that wild General Dance, was such an exuberant crescendo of orchestral excitement and dizzy rhythm that resistance was futile. The whole thing was just too much fun.
