Jonathan Leshnoff’s Violin Concerto No. 2

In his memoir A Republic, If You Can Keep It, United States Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorsuch argued that legal documents should be written so that the average citizen can understand the constitutional principles at play. Perhaps the same could be said for music. Just as we return from performances of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker and Rossini’s Barber of Seville humming the melodies of those works, so too should we be able to return from hearing a contemporary classical composition with fragments of the music running through our heads.

Baltimore composer Jonathan Leshnoff has built a career doing just that. Dubbed the “leader of contemporary American lyricism,” Leshnoff’s unabashedly tonal and melodic music features powerful themes, soaring orchestral textures, and a captivating sense of rhythmic complexity. Amidst the sea of indecipherable experimental music being promoted today, Leshnoff’s style is a welcome refreshment. And the evidence suggests that both audiences and critics agree. Leshnoff has already been nominated for a Grammy award, received commissions from the largest orchestras in the country, and had his compositions premiered by the likes of Gil Shaham and Joyce Yang.

Leshnoff’s latest album, a recording of his second violin concerto with the Oklahoma City Philharmonic and Berlin Philharmonic concertmaster Noah Bendix-Bagley, offers a panoramic view of his melodic creativity. Jointly commissioned by the Dallas and Harrisburg symphonies, the concerto contains four movements that feature jaunty rhythmic energy and Leshnoff’s signature lyricism. The album also includes two other compositions by Leshnoff: “Elegy” and “Of Thee I Sing,” a work commissioned by the Oklahoma City Philharmonic in memory of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing.

Now, a few words about the concerto. Almost immediately after the opening of the first movement, the soloist introduces the broad, benevolent melody that will serve as the primary thematic material for the concerto. This melody is, in a word, American. One can hear in it the expansiveness of Copland, the simplicity of Barber, and the punchiness of Reich. I heard some Stravinsky as well, particularly in the way Leshnoff takes rhythmic units and stacks them like building blocks until they cascade into a new melody or texture. I suppose you could call this an American influence, too, since Stravinsky lived the latter half of his life in California. Leshnoff gives the soloist only a few moments of respite from the churning, syncopated energy of the initial theme; otherwise, the music is relentless. Again, I thought of Reich and the American minimalists, though I did not think of them with the sigh of resignation that usually accompanies my encounters with minimalist music. Rather, I thought of them only with the pleasant familiarity that comes with the assurance that the music will not, in fact, veer into such dullness.

The second and third movements are a study in contrasts. Scored only for soloist, strings, and harp, the second movement provides a powerful and, at times, melancholy release from the rush of the first movement. In his public remarks about the concerto, Leshnoff has noted that this movement is based on the Jewish spiritual idea of “Chokhma Yud,” which refers to the moment of inspiration one might have during a creative process.

The third movement, on the other hand, is gone almost before it arrives. Two quick trumpet blasts introduce the dance-like theme, which Leshnoff has described as “klezmer-like.” Barely two minutes later, the movement ends with a harmonic question, which I thought was a delightful and well-placed bit of ingenuity by Leshnoff.

That question is answered in thrilling fashion by the adrenaline-infused fourth movement. Listening to the fourth movement felt as though I was being carried—indeed, almost thrown—toward the end of the concerto by an orchestra that can no longer contain its syncopated glee. The soloist flies up and down the fingerboard while the strings maintain a steady, roiling momentum, and Leshnoff ends the concerto by combining the opening theme of the first movement with the energy of the fourth in an exuberant climb to the finish.

Bendix-Bagley performs the concerto well, with his characteristically exacting intonation and dogged steadiness. There is a tendency, I have noticed, among concertmasters to play in a way that prioritizes reliability above all else. Every note is in its proper place, clear and simple, without risk or rubato. And there is virtue in this approach, to be sure. Of all the qualities a concertmaster could have, this is perhaps the most important. But a soloist? I would have liked more daring from Bendix-Bagley, more pizazz, and more drama, even if it meant a few notes weren’t perfectly in tune. 

In all, though, the album is a great success. Paired as it is with two of Leshnoff’s other orchestral compositions, the second violin concerto shows itself to be that rarest of creatures: a contemporary classical concerto that builds on the tonal tradition of great violin works while avoiding the twin pitfalls of mimicry and academic indecipherability. Freed from the madness of serialism and the monotony of minimalism, the concerto proudly takes up the banner of tonality and—not to my surprise, at least—brings audiences happily along with it. Should young violinists in the future be learning this work as part of the standard repertoire, I would not be surprised.

Print