Strathmore, July 24, 2026 • 7:30 p.m.
A few notes on last night’s Rachmaninoff concert: I barely made it there, avoid the crushing Beltway. and taking a slow, but pleasant, drive through the Palisades There was a good Friday night turnout, better than the Sunday matinee I previous attended, and there seemed to be a number of Russian or Slavic speakers in attendance; appropriate for the material and perhaps turning out to support guest conductor, Russian-born Lidiya Yankovskaya.
The program began with Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise, a deceptively simple piece that immediately established the warm quality of the full orchestra. It was followed by the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, with Joyce Yang as soloist, and concluded after intermission with the Symphonic Dances.
Yankovskaya was solid, conducting with verve. Someone might’ve invoked what Dr. Johnson said about women preaching, but for tonight’s concert, that would have been most uncharitable.
Joyce Yang, of course, was the center of the show. Although it would be hard to displace Khatia Buniatishvili’s mastery of Rachmaninoff (see especially her take on the Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 30) in my mind, Yang was worthy, and was easily able to deal with Rachmaninoff’s formidable demands in the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, including the complex hand stretches and the cascading variations. One could hear the familiar Dies irae theme that Rachmaninoff wove into the work, allowing dark undertones to surface fleetingly. Yang’s command of the piece was impressive, although in a few of the louder passages I felt the orchestra overwhelmed the piano somewhat. This may have been an issue of acoustics, but in a work where dialogue is central, it was noticeable.
Yankovskaya spoke briefly to the audience before the concert and again after intermission. I continue to find this off-putting, as it breaks the spell, but frankly her comments were informative. She explained, appropriate for the venue and the semiquincentennial, that Symphonic Dances reflects Rachmaninoff’s travels across the United States.
During the waltz-like second movement, I thought I detected some echoes of Beethoven. It could be because the last orchestral concert I attended at SummerFest featured Beethoven, as I don’t think there’s much formal basis for the comparison, but it was an interesting reminder of how one piece can color the way one hears another. Yankovskaya also noted that some passages in Symphonic Dances sounded like Aaron Copland; an opinion, but I don’t disagree, and it was a side of Rachmaninoff I hadn’t expected.
The audience responded with a standing ovation almost immediately and it struck me how generous we Americans are with our praise. Yang returned for an encore: Gershwin’s The Man I Love, in a solo piano transcription. It was a change of mood, and I suppose that I could be persuaded that Gershwin could well end up with a more serious reputation than he had for most of the 20th century.
A fitting end, then, for America’s 250th summer (at least for me, anyway). Rachmaninoff remains unmistakably Russian, but Symphonic Dances, his final major work, was created here in America, where he died and was buried.
The performance itself was another success in the warm wooden hall at Strathmore. As usual for these types of events, if one is under seventy-five one feels very young. There were plenty of walkers and wheelchairs, and even a woman on oxygen near me. But perhaps this is to the good. No matter what one thinks of “the boomers,” they are, in their own way, keeping these performances alive.
However there were also signs of a younger audience. I stood with a gang of polite, Chinese-speaking youth, and walked out with a couple of young guys smarting off to each other.
“So did you park in the garage”
“No, I did no such thing. I parked on the street, like a true American.”
True Americans indeed. Fittingly, the biggest challenge of my evening was exiting the long lines at the (free!) Metro parking garage and winding back home on the still-choked Beltway.