Somehow, the country has managed to make it through 250 years. I am old enough to remember the bicentennial and all the celebrations that took place. The public was disillusioned with the federal government in the aftermath of the Vietnam War and Watergate scandal. However, the arts were booming, and there was an optimistic feeling in the air. The atmosphere on July 4, 1976 was mostly lovely, with temperatures across the country quite pleasant. Winds were light, and there was a bit of rain on the East Coast.

What a difference 50 years makes! As it turned out, this July offered its own reminder that history, weather, music, and mishaps still know how to arrive together.

Several of my early career opportunities were due to cancellations by other conductors. In 1974 alone, Riccardo Muti was unable to make his New York Philharmonic debut, and I took his place, pretty much launching my journey. Daniel Barenboim was attending to his ailing wife, Jacqueline du Pré, so I stepped in for him in Chicago. Sir Adrian Boult became ill, and I flew to London for this important European debut.

52 years later, I got an unexpected call from the Boston Symphony. Damon Gupton had to pull out of their first concert of the Tanglewood season. It was a Bernstein/Gershwin program with just one rehearsal. Could I fill in?

The list of conductors I have replaced on short notice is extensive. They have all been either my elders or colleagues within my age group: Bernstein, Steinberg, Previn, Levine, et al. Having previously chosen to cut back my summer activities, I decided to add this to my calendar, simply because it provided an amusing historical context, marking the first time I would substitute for one of my students.

As the date approached, so did a tremendous heat dome, and it would certainly loom over the Berkshires. The historic Red Lion Inn in nearby Stockbridge advertised that it was actually three years older than the country. They failed to mention that the air-conditioning system was from the same time, but Cindy and I made ourselves as comfortable as possible.

The day before the concert, there was a blocking rehearsal with the four singers during which we worked out all the stage moves that needed to be performed. The next morning, July 2, we took to the Koussevitzky Shed and ran through the second half of the show with keyboard accompaniment. It was already getting hot, and we still had an hour and a half before the orchestra arrived. This was the Boston Pops, not to be confused with the Boston Symphony, although most of the players come from the parent organization. Everything went smoothly, and I was able to get through what was actually a difficult program. In the meantime, I believe I lost about three pounds of water weight.

That evening, more people showed up in the audience than I expected, and they were most gracious when I walked onstage. The orchestra was brilliant, especially in the West Side Story “Symphonic Dances.” Smooth sailing continued until lightning struck. Literally!

Just as the storm arrived, the amplification system failed. Some audience members headed for their cars, while others followed instructions and sheltered in place. We went on with the final two numbers, although projecting without microphones was difficult. Somehow, we managed, and most people seemed to enjoy themselves.

At this stage of life, one does not necessarily expect a summer evening to include Bernstein, Gershwin, a historic inn, a heat dome, and a lightning strike. Then again, after all these years, I should probably know better. The music usually survives, and so, somehow, do we.

***

Kennedy Center Watch, July 5: This was supposed to be the day the building would shut down for two years for the “revitalization” of the entire structure. A judge put that on hold until the end of the month. The tarp remains up, covering the name. Plans are being made for next season, which is just two months away.

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In another century, I had the pleasure of serving as principal conductor of the Grant Park Orchestra. The summer festival dates back to 1935, making it one of the oldest of its kind in the country. Best of all, every concert is free to the public, thanks to support from the City of Chicago. There really is nothing quite like it anywhere else.

Back in my day, we played in the Petrillo Music Shell, a rather rickety structure where rats could occasionally be seen frolicking beneath the stage. It was a genuinely outdoor venue, with no covering for either the orchestra or the audience. These days, performances take place in the Jay Pritzker Pavilion, where the artists are mostly protected from the elements.

Of course, one of the charms—and occasional challenges—of outdoor concerts is sharing the evening with the sounds of both nature and city life. There is a reason Chicago is called the Windy City, and musicians often have to secure their individual parts with enlarged paper clips. Even the conductor keeps two small, weighted bricks on the stand, ready to hold down the score should a gust decide to turn a page or two.

The park itself sits just west of Lake Michigan, so boat horns make regular guest appearances. During my week there, the Taste of Chicago food festival was also in full swing. Along with its countless stalls and food trucks came a series of rock concerts at the site of the old bandshell, which meant we had to make a few adjustments to our own presentations.

By 11:30 in the morning, electric bass and drums were already pounding away, their sounds drifting enthusiastically into the Pritzker Pavilion. There are protocols for just such occasions: a sliding wall, with a few windows, is put in place for rehearsals. Curious listeners still get the audio experience, even if it is not easy to see us behind the wall. At least we can get our work done with only minor inconveniences—and perhaps a little extra percussion.

Joseph Schwantner’s Violin Concerto was premiered in Detroit in 2021 with soloist Yevgeny Kutik. The work made a strong impression on the audience, but because the city no longer had newspaper music critics covering such events, it received very little attention. I tried, without success, to have the piece programmed by other orchestras, but other agendas prevailed—until now. At 30 minutes, it is a generous, full-throated work, almost in the style of a Romantic-era concerto. The demands on the soloist are immense, and Yevgeny is wonderfully suited to the material. The orchestration is colorful and brilliant, as is always the case with Joe. His voice comes through loud and clear, and I very much hope the work will find its way onto more orchestra schedules. Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony rounded out the program.

The orchestra draws its players from several ensembles around the country and, as is so often the case in such circumstances, played beautifully. I knew a few of the musicians, and some of the older ones had even played with me when I led the festival all those years ago, which made the week feel like a small reunion.

Oh, did I mention the fireworks? They added their own contribution to the lively sonic palette of horns, sirens, and merrymaking. One learns to take it all in stride, even when those sounds briefly drown out the music. Somehow, outdoors in Chicago, that is all part of the experience.

At the first performance, everything remained deceptively calm until the final minutes of the symphony’s first movement. Then, without warning—and apparently without anyone on the Grant Park staff having received the memo—a pyrotechnic display erupted just a few yards from the pavilion. It was so loud that the last 30 seconds of Tchaikovsky were reduced, for those of us onstage, to an elaborate pantomime. Determined to finish the movement, and conducting from memory, I had to see the score in my head, cueing players through what had suddenly become Tchaikovsky’s Fifth with optional artillery.

The audience applauded, naturally, since they had enjoyed both the music and the unscheduled light show. I was not entirely sure how to proceed, but I picked up the microphone when I realized that fate had handed me one of the better set-up lines of my conducting life: “Someone needs to tell the fireworks crew that they are shooting things off during the wrong Tchaikovsky piece.”

Everyone got it. The feux d’artifice ended while I was speaking, as if taking its cue from the podium. The rest of the symphony proceeded without further bombardment. A different show of fireworks permeated the Finale.

Speaking of fireworks, I ventured out to see Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey. It deserves all the praise being heaped on it, but I did wonder if anyone else had difficulty understanding some of the dialogue—not because of the actors’ accents but due to the director’s penchant for having the score and sound effects play at high levels, as well as times when the characters whisper. With the high-tech sound systems, you would think that the storytelling could be clearer. I look forward to seeing it at home, where I can turn on the subtitles.

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Five Things I Learned during the World Cup

1. Cape Verde will now be flooded with tourists, so I have to cancel my vacation plans.
2. It is far better to watch the matches with the Spanish-speaking announcers, even though I do not understand the language.
3. Every conductor should have some yellow cards to hand out at rehearsals and concerts if someone in the orchestra has missed too many notes.
4. Acting lessons are a critical part of soccer training.
5. Politics has no business in sports, but I already knew that.

***

Colorado Festivals: Boulder and Beyond

The remainder of last month found me at festivals in Colorado. I have been coming to the state in summertime since Aspen in 1964, and it remains a haven for musicians. Aside from the occasional challenge of adjusting to the altitude, it is a remarkably pleasant way to spend time away from the heat and humidity found elsewhere.

Boulder was founded 150 years ago, and the Colorado Music Festival arrived a century later. The town sits a little under an hour’s drive from Denver, which makes it a quieter retreat from the metropolis, while still being home to the University of Colorado and a healthy collection of businesses.

I had never been to this festival before and knew relatively little about it. It runs for five weeks, offering two different orchestral programs—one of them performed twice—alongside chamber concerts and solo recitals.

As with many summer ensembles, the orchestra draws its players from several groups around the country. Nearly all are professional musicians, with a few advanced students in the string section. I was pleasantly surprised by the group’s cohesive sound, especially in the third week of the festival. From the first downbeat of An American in Paris on this all-American program, it was clear that we were going to get along just fine.

The festival’s music director, Peter Oundjian, also holds that position with the Colorado Symphony in Denver. A former first violinist of the Tokyo String Quartet, he has done an outstanding job ensuring the high quality of each performance. There is no sense of competitiveness among the musicians. They are there to make music, enjoy the mountains, and enjoy one another.

Performances take place in Chautauqua Auditorium. The word “Chautauqua” does not refer to a Native American tribe but to a social gathering place with an emphasis on education. You may find this article about the history of Boulder’s auditorium interesting.

Reduced to about 1,200 seats, the auditorium is an acoustically warm space with surprisingly good clarity. The stage is comfortable, and the musicians can hear one another quite easily. When festival events are not taking place, the hall is rented out, with proceeds going back to the city. There are performances of some kind almost nightly.

We opened with the complete version of Aaron Copland’s Rodeo, which is only about five minutes longer than the more frequently heard “Four Dance Episodes.” The orchestra handled the tricky elements of the first movement with ease, and the piece felt perfectly suited to the setting; it was easy to imagine the rodeo taking place perhaps a mile from the auditorium.

Our soloist was the young violinist Njioma Grevious, performing the Chaconne from John Corigliano’s The Red Violin. The composer would eventually expand this music into a full four-movement concerto, but the standalone movement, at seventeen minutes, remains a masterpiece of construction and virtuosity. She navigated its hurdles beautifully and brought a lush sound to the lyrical passages.

The second half began with a buoyant, colorful work from the early 1950s. Ron Nelson’s Savannah River Holiday is now more often heard in its transcription for band. It is hard to imagine a better piece for engaging a general audience.

Cindy was represented by her haunting Adagio for Strings. I have begun to realize that this piece, along with several others, now carries an added resonance as we approach the 25th anniversary of 9/11. It still feels like yesterday. The orchestra was sublime, giving the music all the heartfelt emotion it requires, and I believe my wife was actually brought to tears.

We concluded with Gershwin. With so many young musicians, this is no longer a piece I can prepare with limited rehearsal time; too many details are lost without full attention. Four sessions turned out to be just right. The colors, humor, and jazz-tinged moments all came together, and “delightful” does not begin to describe the result.

The encore, for those of you who know me, was the usual Carmen’s Hoedown. This time, however, it had a genuine connection to the rest of the program. The final portion of the Copland features the famous “Hoedown,” so the concert was neatly bookended, while An American in Paris made the French connection obvious. One of the players added the now-obligatory “Yee-haw” with as much gusto as I have ever heard.

With the first leg of the Colorado journey complete, we headed to Breckenridge, at more than double Boulder’s elevation. I could only hope that altitude sickness would not make an appearance.

The National Repertory Orchestra has a distinctly different mission. For eight weeks, the festival brings together student musicians and immerses them in the fiercely competitive world of symphonic music, with the hope that many will go on to build outstanding professional careers.

Music Director Michael Stern has done yeoman service to that cause. Tireless to a fault, he oversees almost every aspect of the festival, ensuring that the young musicians encounter the widest possible range of repertoire and experience. Each week includes two full orchestral programs.

My program would have challenged any orchestra in the world. None of the music was remotely familiar to the members of the ensemble, and every piece had some connection to my family’s musical history. Cindy’s Circuits opened the evening with a lively, energetic bounce.

My son’s Voyager 130 returned to my repertoire as well. With both Daniel and Cindy in town, we also managed to enjoy some welcome family time. Musically, this was one of the best performances of the piece we have had.

On an even more unusual note, Elisabeth Chang, a member of the NRO, was the soloist in Korngold’s Cello Concerto, which was written for my mother. I had never performed this work without my brother playing the solo part. At around thirteen minutes, it remains both powerful and poignant.

After intermission came Rachmaninoff’s Third Symphony. The composer was introduced to the United States by my grandfather’s cousin, Modest Altschuler, who conducted the U.S. premiere of his Second Symphony at Carnegie Hall in 1909.

The young musicians did a fine job navigating the score’s many hurdles, especially since this style of composition is not really in their wheelhouse. Even so, they showed a strong grasp of the flexibility—the rubato—needed in a twentieth-century Romantic work. As usual, the only possible encore was Carmen’s Hoedown.

With two-thirds of the Colorado adventure over, it is time to drive over to Aspen, where I will lead a concert and spend a few days teaching. Then, I will prepare for the grand opening in Nashville.

See you next month,

Leonard