Due to the fact that recently I have spent a considerable amount of time driving, I decided that there could be no better opportunity to revisit the Ring Cycle. I was fortunate enough to see it staged last June at the Vienna State Opera and while there were some serious deficiencies in the production — such as the Brünnhilde — I found the experience of seeing the entire work again to be engaging, albeit tiring. Vienna’s Ring Cycle circa 2003 used to be presented in a most civilized manner: after a mid-week performance of Rheingold, the lengthier operas were held for Sundays starting in the late afternoon, allowing for sufficient time to enjoy a fortifying goulash prior to the experience (not unlike the American National Football League’s once-per-week schedule). This time around, they decided to go for a more intense schedule, presenting all four operas within the space of a week. I think I prefer the leisurely approach: in the week version, I felt as through I was running some kind of opera marathon, not once but three times. After seeing the entire cycle, I decided that it would be the ideal time to cement the operas into my musical memory by listening to them whenever possible. Pairing many hours in the car with the Ring Cycle was an ideal combination.

What has struck me in my most recent exploration of these works is their reliance on moments, a characteristic that I associate more with Italian operas rather than German ones. Virtually all of us are acquainted with these events in Italian works: consider the dramatic moments as Canio puts on his costume in Pagliacci, Cavaradossi recalls a rendez-vous under the stars, or Aida conjures up distant Ethiopia. In contrast, Wagnerian music drama is rarely discussed in such terms. Instead, there is a fixation on motives, particularly those that can be traced throughout the work and serve as clear signifiers of objects.

Yet Wagner’s works are equally dependent on moments to make them work. There is one key difference between a Wagnerian moment and an Italian one: Wagner relies less on the singer and considerably more on the orchestra. Moments are by no means unique to the Ring Cycle. Consider the return of Isolde in Act III of Tristan und Isolde: as she enters, we hear the same music that was played when the potion took its effect in the first act. However, this is no passionate acknowledgment of love; instead, the lack of resolution is heightened by the scurrying motive in the strings that abates only after Tristan sings, ‘Isolde,’ an echo of his response in Act I and his last utterance before succumbing to the wound inflicted by Melot. Unquestionably, the motives serve a crucial role in this scene, but the culmination creates an operatic moment that is no less effective than those of his Italian contemporaries.

Considering the length of the Ring Cycle, it is astounding that Wagner created moments that are so sonically distinct that they can be remembered across operas. One of my recent favorites is the moment of Brünnhilde’s awakening in Siegfried (‘Heil dir, Sonne’), accompanied by a series of chords moving from an e minor to a C major, back to the e minor and then to a d minor. The passage stands out because of the unexpected progressions and the distinct orchestration in the winds and brass with harp accents. This sequence returns exactly twice more in the Ring Cycle. It is the first sound heard in Götterdämmerung (now lowered by a semi-tone) and, in what has to be one of the most poignant uses of a leitmotif in the entire work, when Siegfried suddenly remembers his love for Brünnhilde prior to his death and calls her name. The device is not unlike Tristan’s final ‘Isolde,’ yet here it creates a parallel with Brünnhilde in Siegfried since it is his own awakening from a spell.

Of the Ring Cycle operas, my favorite is Götterdämmerung, despite the fact that I am certain Wagner could have divided the acts more mercifully (the Prologue and Act I take two hours to perform). This was Wagner’s starting point and it is the closest to a conventional opera: we have a chorus in Act 2 as well as a trio; there is action instead of reflection (consider Act 2 of Walküre by contrast!); and all of the time-worn operatic themes surface such as tragedy, betrayal, and deception. Perhaps this is also why it features such unforgettable moments.

Placido Domingo and Renalda Tebaldi

As a genre, opera is not a high earner.  Indeed, the amount of money that must be invested to produce one is staggering: the costs are high and possibility for success unpredictable. Thus the question of programming has been a primary concern since the start of public opera. What will audiences want to hear? How can balance be achieved between the composition and its execution? Which works will keep the reliable patrons coming and draw in new audience members to the performance?

As musicologists, many of us enjoy tackling the question of which works are popular and why (conversely, we also enjoy wondering why some works disappear completely from the repertoire). Most of the time, we attempt to find broader patterns that we feel reflect societal values, yet such hypotheses can be nebulous and difficult to isolate.  Today, I would suspect — contrary to popular belief — that one could partake in a variety of repertoire unprecedented in the history of the genre, even if local opera companies (particularly in North America) feed their audiences a steady and unwavering diet of Puccini. (I have nothing against Puccini, but I do have something against the constant programming of Madama Butterfly/La bohème every season).

I write this as I am listening to Metropolitan Opera broadcast of Adriana Lecouvreur by Cilea, possibly the least vero of verismo operas: the heroine is killed by her rivals after sniffing some poisoned violets (one constant of opera regardless of era may be the suspension of disbelief). This afternoon’s performance is a tribute to Domingo, who made his Met debut in the role of Maurizio 40 years ago and he is singing the lead role again in the same production. As anyone who has been in a standing room for such an occasion can attest, the casting of a Tenor (of the Three) is almost a guaranteed sell-out. Even the most casual opera-goer might be motivated by the opportunity to hear a legendary singer — sufficiently motivated that poisoned violets as a plot device become acceptable. Singers have drawn audiences since the beginning of the genre as well and witnessing an artist navigating the challenges presented by an opera apparently never gets old.

One of the real contemporary advantages for opera-goers, though, is the opportunity to hear revivals of neglected works and I find it fascinating to see works that have disappeared from the common repertory. Of course, there is the compelling question of why: historical circumstances, performing difficulties, or even the argument that plots are simply too unbelievable for today’s audiences. I would submit that it would be difficult to create an opera with more inherent silliness than some in the canon today (Wagner, I’m looking squarely at you) yet audiences still flock, so the third of these tenets seems to be a stretch (not to mention the fact that I am currently listening to an opera that features death by poisoned violets).

Fortunately for fans of opera, some stages are championing these forgotten chestnuts, providing us with the opportunity to have a far better understanding of what earlier audiences knew. Opera scholar Carolyn Abbate has pointed out that contrary to the image projected by textbooks and scholarly literature, the vast majority of people ca. 1905 would not know Richard Strauss’s Salome — but they would have been very familiar with Ambroise Thomas’s Mignon. This disconnect between the canon as it was staged and the canon created by historiography is important to keep in mind and I believe that there is much to be gained, both for scholars and opera-lovers, in hearing these old pieces with new ears.  One venue that does stage such works is Vienna’s Volkstheater where the repertory is generally a mixed bag between operetta, opera, and musicals. It was here that I had the opportunity to see Friedrich von Flotow’s Martha, a perfectly pleasant light opera with a true show stopper in ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’ Their version of Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld is entertaining and amusing (you may know the can-can, but do you know the operetta?).  Continuing in this tradition, they will stage Daniel Auber’s Fra Diavola this year in a new production.

There is a certain comfort in seeing familiar works with established singers, but the chance to expand one’s repertoire should not be passed up. While balancing between novelty and familiarity for audiences can be risky, it is encouraging that operatic establishments are allowing us to rediscover these forgotten pieces and (for scholars) rethinking perceptions about the canon.

There is a reason why opera is thought to be the perfect art form and institution of monarchy. The monarch paid the piper and called the tune at once. The opera house displayed his splendor and entertained the court, sometimes even the people. The king, however, is dead – long live the opera! In the almost 100 years that opera houses and modern states have been institutionally connected there has been a constant need to negotiate the tensions between opera’s feudal heritage and the democratic demands for access, transparency and accountability.

What kinds of difficulties they have to struggle with was shown once again Monday night in Berlin. Experts, politicians and artists met at the “neutral territory” of the Radialsystem, Berlin’s stylish new off-theater space, to discuss the crisis and future of the operatic landscape of Berlin. Among them Gerard Mortier and Klaus Zehelein, both internationally renowned managers of opera houses; Kirsten Harms, Andreas Homoki and Jürgen Flimm, the current and future heads of the Berlin opera houses; Monika Grütters, Alice Ströver and Barabara Kisseler as representatives of cultural policy and the public administration. Today, this debate fills the German feuilletons again – as it has done for years.

The “crisis of opera” has become a standing phrase in the ongoing debate on Berlin’s cultural developement for almost twenty years. It served as analysis and apology; as rational for demand and decline. Yet, what it this crisis all about? On the one hand, so it was stated at the top level panel discussion, everything seems to work out very well: The “Staatsoper unter den Linden” is celebrating international success; under its star conductor Daniel Barenboim, the “Staatskapelle” became one of the most distinguished orchestras in Germany. The “Deutsche Oper”, located with some disadvantage in the former West, is expecting a gifted new musical director with Donald Runnicles, while its chorus was voted “chorus of the year” by Germany’s top opera critics. The Komische Oper even became “opera of the year” in the same contest. Numbers of attendance are increasing at all three houses. So: little to wail and much to acclaim? The whole debate no more than a case of typical German lamentation?

Not at all! Since on the other hand the “Deutsche Oper” just announced a huge financial deficit that might lead to incapability of further artistic action; since at the “Staatsoper” the so acclaimed orchestra is rarely seen to be playing at home and the house decreased its number of opera performances drastically; and since the “Komische Oper” shows a break even as low as 18% and an average attendance at around 60%. Further, the three opera’s umbrella organization, ”Stiftung Oper in Berlin” claims itself powerless at the mercy of the dominant “Intendanten” and the Mayor of Berlin, Klaus Wowereit. The latter set himself in charge of cultural policy four years ago acting mostly at his own arbitrary willpower. The organization was founded in 2004 to save the “Deutsche Oper” from closure and to reduce the operating costs of all three houses. Now, finding it without power, is the existence of three artistically autonomous opera houses put at risk again?

All this was brought up by the different participants of the panel. As it had been the years before. Thus, the evening in Berlin turned out to be quite frustrating not only for the prominent participants but also for the large and expectant audience, which lost its patience while the hodgepodge of artistic, financial, political, conceptual or whatever crisis became even more obscure every hour. Contrary to the general statement, the crisis did not seem to be something acute, but rather a matter of creeping conflicts. The debates, again, revolved around solutions to rather elementary questions.

So again: What is this crisis all about? It might be fruitful to see in the importance of this term a matter of debate rather than a statement of fact. This crisis is, then, to be seen as a semantic space to articulate or hide conflicts; where traditions or their need to change is proclaimed; where current events must be linked to core values. Opera has, since its beginning, been a showcase of political power and therefore provides a window to the neural points of the relationship between politics and culture, culture and society, society and politics. With its long political tradition and as such deeply embedded mental and technical structures opera provides a link between the questioning of established fundamental values to the idea of change: the term “crisis” marks the vanishing point of communication, which connects current problems to fundamental values, whether in approving or challenging them.

This is especially true for Berlin. Whether it was the artistic profile or a lack of finance, the appointment of a new conductor or a flopped premiere – in the operatic landscape of Berlin of recent years, nearly every issue and conflict arose in connection to the city’s new role as capital of a united Germany. It increased the determination to break new ground in many areas and restricted the options nurtured by this atmosphere of departure at the same time.

“The structure of the three operas in Berlin is a result of the history of the Prussian capital, respectively of the division of the city” the politicians in charge claimed once and again. The new capital had inherited the three opera houses – the “Staatsoper” and the “Komische Oper” in the former East, and the “Deutsche Oper” in the West of the city. As the houses had played an important symbolic role during the Cold War, when both parts of Berlin had to be the cultural flagships of the two separated German states, after 1989 they did not get rid of their symbolic function. The struggle about the opera houses always reflected the state of the city’s reunification. The closure of one of them, this was made clear again yesterday, would still necessarily be seen as a statement about “East” and “West”.
For years the major issue of this debate was the question of who was actually responsible for the Staatsoper unter den Linden. Since it was build by a Prussian King and remained the Prussian State Opera after the First World War, it was declared essential to decide who could be regarded as the successor of Prussia in the federal political system of a unified Germany: The State of Berlin (das Land) or the Federation (der Bund)? Although Prussia had not existed for more than 50 years by this time, this matter was considered crucial in the question of what to do with the opera.

Further, the opera houses played a vital role in the question of what type of capital Berlin should be: a splendiferous one as it had been previously in its history or a rather modest and functional one as the former capital Bonn had been.

Last but not least after decades of uncontested public subsidies, financial cut backs and increased need for justification demonstrate the state’s dwindling financial virility and demand new strategies. The financial deficit that Berlin is facing and fighting is but one tip of the iceberg that the whole cultural sphere of Germany is heading for.
All of these were – and still are – questions related to power, vested interests, money and prestige. Therefore everybody was persuading a majority to accept a certain definition of a situation as a crisis. Admitting this, it is no wonder that denying a crisis for some of the participants was as right and important as it was for others to state it. It allowed to claim competence or to simply pass the buck.

Opera in Berlin is still a place to experience high quality performances, new talents and unexpected views. The opera city par excellence, with an at least potentially unrivaled variety. At the same time opera in Berlin became a pessimistic image and cultural metaphor: for the disastrous financial deficit of the city, the problems on the way to a finally united capital and the historical heritage that is burdening the metropolis. Put in either one context of this double bind situation, any single performance, personal decision or political concept is easy to communicate, but difficult to solve.

Angela Gheorghiu with her portrait

Today I attended the Metropolitan Opera broadcast at my local movie theater in a performance of Puccini’s La Rondine (like La Traviata, only minus the tuberculosis and judgmental father).  I cannot thank the Met enough for getting these performances out to a wide audience because for many of us here in the US, it is virtually impossible to see good opera live.  This topic would require another blog entry in a more rant-like style, so I will defer for now and simply note that I very much enjoyed the performance, even if Angela Gheorghiu did have a bad cold (she still sang well, except right at the beginning when her voice seemed a bit weak.  But I digress again).

During the intermission, Renée Fleming spoke to Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna (the tenor) about the opera and why they have championed it so fervently.  Gheorghiu said that she enjoyed the role, particularly because unlike many Puccini operas, the heroine does not die (Fleming then made a ‘She’s Alive!’ joke).  This statement got me thinking about the famous feminist critique of opera, Cathérine Clement’s Opéra, ou, la defaite des femmes, translated into English as Opera, or, the undoing of women.  Clement’s book looks at how operas treat women, particularly the women who die, and how often these deaths are graphic, brutal ends.  Naturally, there are plenty of operas in which the women do not die, many of which are in the standard repertory (Mozart’s works, Fidelio, Rosenkavalier, and plenty more, even some not written by Germans), but Clement does have a point that many favorite works do end poorly for the soprano.  One critique of the study pointed out that in basing her argument primarily on the text, Clement ignores the precise vehicle which gives the women power: their voices. Yet to me, Clement’s study reveals less about operatic tradition and more about the operatic present. It would be one matter to look back and see a fixation on deaths for the female leads but to me, it is far more unsettling that these continue to be the works that dominate the operatic stage — and continue to do so without reflection about why they are still so popular.

Thus far, the female roles at the Met have been varied.  There was Salome, who is not only a soprano but a hysterical one; her death does feel mandated considering how far behind she has left conventional society.  In Thaïs, the soprano death is particularly bizarre: one minute she is a reformed courtesan crossing a river to leave her life of sin behind, the next minute, she is no longer of this earth [apparently these two operas teach us that sopranos should avoid deserts....see also Aida]. Contrast that with the courtesan Magda, the lead in La Rondine, who realizes that without money she and her love cannot be happy, so she makes the logical (and almost non-operatic) choice to go back to her benefactor in the end.  Has anyone heard of an opera company staging an ‘All Courtesan’ Season?  It would be very doable, even though Thaïs really should be staged only by extremely competent professionals.

The most telling work, though, that I’ve seen so far this season in terms of women was John Adams’ Dr. Atomic, a piece that, because it is new, cannot be simply dismissed as the product of a different time or place.  There were two main female roles in this opera:  Kitty Oppenheimer, the wife of the main character, and Pasqualita — I don’t have a brief statement of who her character is because her role was never made clear to me.  In fact, neither part had much of a role.  Kitty primarily quoted from works of literature and sometimes vocalized, whereas Pasqualita mostly vocalized and sometimes spread Mother Earth-type wisdom that one might find printed on the side of a Starbuck’s cup.  Both roles, then, featured women who sang, but who had no voice: no text of their own, no ideas to convey.  Earlier operas may have undone women, but in Dr. Atomic, they did not even require an undoing — perhaps this explains why they, unlike their predecessor compatriots, managed to escape the desert alive.  Womens’ voices are absolutely necessary in Dr. Atomic, particularly in the extremely effective opening chorus, where the combined power of the voices in a high part of the tessitura sets up the tense, driving atmosphere that permeates the rest of the opera.  But the women don’t seem to have much to contribute in Los Alamos; it is the men who sing of important matters, like science, math, chemical elements, and the weather.  The opera ends with a disembodied female voice speaking in Japanese, pleading for water presumably in the wake of the destruction from Dr. Atomic’s bomb.  She has a voice but no body; in the opera, the women had voices but no words — all in all, it’s hard to understand how these characters fit into the work at all, and that makes me truly wonder what this opera is saying about women.

Berlin 1945 – Staatsoper Unter den Linden

This is the Berlin Staatsoper Unter den Linden in an image from the days shortly after the war. If you watch carefully (you will probbaly want to click on the image to get to a higher resolution), you will see a pedestrian in the left corner of the image, who has stopped to take a look at the bomed-out building. Is he looking at some of the sculptures that have miracolously survived the heavy air raids?

Other places were not as lucky. In Hamburg the opera house had to be partially reconstructed:

Hamburg 1955 – Reconstruction of the Opera

This is the model for the new opera house. Lots of glass, open spaces. If 1950s architecture is done well it has a irresistable aura of lightness.

The model for the Hamburg Opera House

Same building in use (much friendlier, don’t you think?)

Hamburg Opera House

Here are two images from Münster. As you can see (once you click on the image to enlarge), the entire structure is built around the remains of two 19th-century residential houses. A very powerful image, especially if one considers the integral role that opera plays in German (bourgeois) society nowadays.

Münster Opera House

Münster Opera House – Interior

As you can see in the image above, one interesting feature of the post-war opera houses is their conspicuous lack of a middle box. This often exuberantly decorated middle box was in most cases reserved for royal patrons or (ironically) the socialist/communist rulers of the post-war era, as the following image shows:

East-German and Russian socialists/communists in the Royal middle box of the Bolshoi Theater, Moscow

Thanks to Michael Scott Cuthbert for bringing this wonderful archive to my attention.

Salzburger Festspiele

Ok, this year’s festival was a short one for me. I saw only a couple of performances but some of these were really excellent!

1) Grisey: Les Espaces Acoustiques. I’ve already written about that one on this blog.

Marc Ribot

2) Then there was this other concert from the Kontinent Scelsi series. An evening with the Ensemble Dissonanzen and Marc Ribot, whose Morning Scelsi was combined with several of Scelsi’s own compositions. While I was initially very enthusiastic about this idea, the performance itself turned out to be a let-down. First of all, Ribot’s music is not really ingenious, it’s not even convincing. Second, at times the performance was so loud that it started to be painful for one’s ears. What I liked about the evening, though, was the superb performance of the first two pieces from „Tre pezzi“ for saxophone by Scelsi.

Sauser aus Italien. Eine Urheberei

3) Scelsi/Marthaler/Klangforum Wien: Sauser aus Italien. Eine Urheberei. I saw this excellent production twice and if I had had the chance I would have gone a third time. Marthaler created a theater play around several of Scelsi’s pieces. The fine performance by the Klangforum Wien and the impressive playing by Marthaler’s family (as he calls his actors) was my personal highlight of the festival. Imagine a stage design that incorporates seemingly random items such as buddha statues, tape recorders, candles, oriental table linen, and antiquarian radios (in fact most of these things can also be seen on images taken in Scelsi’s study). This imaginary Scelsi-landscape is inhabited by strange characters who seem to be living in the same apartment block. The whole performance spans over the time of one day, starting with a surreal breakfast scene that features an essentially one-note piano piece by Scelsi and ending with a cocktail party that is accompanied by a Respighi (?) piece for orchestra. In the course of the day the characters listen to several pieces by Scelsi, and what’s really cool to observe for us are their reactions to the music. Sometimes they are delighted, sometimes their are frightened. They dance, dream, wonder, dislike and detest – the whole gamut of human reaction to music is there. Of course – one can ask, why do you have to create a theater play that goes along with contemporary music? The answer is: just for poetry’s sake. Nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Gidon Kremer

4) Gidon Kremer, Tatjana Grindenko, Mischa Maisky and Valery Afanassiev. It’s always the same problem when chamber music is performed by musicians who rarely play together. Delicate entries are seldomly together, the sound of the ensemble is often out of balance, and since many famous performers apparently have no time to practice, the difficult bits and pieces never quite work. The Brahms sonata No 3 in d minor (with Afanassiev) was completely obnoxious, as were the first two movements of the Bartok sonata for solo violin. The remainder of the evening was much better (second half of Bartok and the Prokofjew sonata for two violins) – at times even breathtakingly beautiful (the Shostakovic trio in e minor). This, by the way, is also typical for great performers: they know exactly which parts to practice and play well – it’s always the last piece of the evening that the audience keeps in mind. In this case, everyone will have the recollection of a wonderful chamber music evening.

And this one only of you are really bold! Watch it until the end, there is a great tremolo coming…

Here are two short videos I found on YouTube of the 2006 performance. You can (and should!) buy a DVD of this wonderful performance. Check it out at http://shop.salzburgfestival.com

Da paßt das Motto des Abends, “Staatsoper für alle“, hervorragend ins Bild. Genauso wie Wowereits Politik, basiert es auf Blendung und Unwahrheiten. Der Slogan suggeriert einen beschränkten Zugang zur Oper, der durch die Openair Veranstaltung temporär aufgehoben würde und somit den sonst vom Opernvergnügen Ausgeschlossenen den Zugang gewährt. Ganz nach der Devise, Oper ist normalerweise nur etwas für die Reichen und Berühmten dieser Stadt, wird die Berliner Oper so zu einer kulturellen Veranstaltung der Elite gebrandmarkt (auf Neudeutsch müsste ich jetzt wohl “gebrandet” schreiben). Daß sie dies nicht ist, zeigt sich bei einem Besuch der Oper an jedem beliebigen Spielabend des Jahres. Die Preise für den Eintritt sind niedriger als in den meisten Opernhäusern dieser Republik und in den unteren Preiskategorien herrschen schon lange Verhältnisse, die sich am besten durch den anderen mißlungenen Slogan des Abends (“Staatsoper zu Kinopreisen“) beschreiben lassen. Fatal an einer solchen Vermarktung der Staatsoper ist nicht nur die Verfestigung eines falschen, nämlich elitären Charakters der Oper. Schlimmer noch wird durch diese Präsentation der Oper einer Erhöhung der Eintrittspreise Vorschub geleistet. Sind erst einmal mehr und mehr Menschen mit ein oder zwei kostenlosen Liveübertragungen aus dem Opernhaus zufrieden, und hat man dadurch ein paar mehr zahlungswillige Besucher gefunden, so lassen sich die Eintrittspreise Stück für Stück hochschrauben, bis man tatsächlich auf einem Niveau angekommen ist, bei dem es für den normalen Berliner heißt: “Ich muß leider draußen bleiben“.

Ist die Oper dann erst einmal zu einer Veranstaltung verkommen, bei der die Paparazzi von Gala, Bild, und BZ Schlange stehen, um die Gäste bei ihrem Einzug in das Opernhaus zu fotografieren, dann können wir Normalbürger uns in aller Ruhe auf dem Bebelplatz niederlassen um mit Bier aus Pappbechern und Deutschlandfahne in der Hand aus dem Sommermärchen ein Opernmärchen werden zu lassen. Das wäre dann sicherlich auch ganz nach Klaus Wowereits Geschmack.

PS: Eine Besprechung dieser phänomenalen Aufführung folgt.

The Staatsoper is still worshipping Anna N. with performances of Manon on Thursday and Sunday (this picture says it all). Additionally, they will stage Salome and La Forza del Destino on Friday and Saturday.

Like always, the best place for opera is the Komische Oper this week. They’ll be giving Don Giovanni in a staging by Peter Konwitschny on Friday, a charming staging of Hoffmanns Erzählungen on Saturday, and Gluck’s Iphigenie auf Tauris on Sunday.

In the Philharmonie you can hear the Spectrum Concerts Berlin with Schumann, Hindemith, and Ernst Toch on Thursday.

The Konzerthaus has chamber music (Weber, op. 34 and Schubert, D. 803) on Friday and a concert with an interesting program on Saturday and Sunday:

• Haydn: Symphony No. 88, G-Major Hob I:88
• Lachenmann’s Air for orchestra and percussion solo.
• Anton Bruckner: Adagio from the String Quintet in F-Major (orchestra version)
• Richard Strauss: Don Juan, op. 20

The DSO is doing Dukas and Williams on Saturday, while the RSB will present works by Zemlinsky and Sibelius on Friday.

All in all, not a bad week for Berlin.