Sounds in The Night

By Michael Walsh

When Carnegie Hall reopened in December after a 30-week, $50 million renovation that saw the historic auditorium restored from floorboards to rafters, everyone agreed it looked beautiful. There was a new maple stage, a new floor and new plush red seats. The masonry walls, 4 ft. thick, were replastered and their gold detailings redone. Gone was the dowdy curtain that hung above the stage, obscuring a hole punched in the ceiling 40 years earlier and never repaired. Even the ushers sported handsome black-and-red uniforms designed by Ralph Lauren.

The real question, though, was, How would it sound? Opened in 1891, the Manhattan concert hall has long been renowned for its rich sound. Conductor Wilhelm Furtwangler once remarked that the hall with the best acoustics was the one with the best performances, but at Carnegie, second-rate symphonies sometimes sounded first rate. There, the resonance bathed performers in a mellow amber glow, and at orchestral climaxes the floor vibrated sympathetically beneath the listeners' feet. What did it matter if the subway occasionally added its profundo rumble to the bass, or if passing fire sirens sounded a wailing obbligato to the treble? Musicians and audiences loved it just as it was.

That Carnegie Hall has passed into legend. In its place is a brighter, more brilliant performance space whose sound has a sharper, harder edge. Woodwinds and brass now glitter where once they gleamed. At the same time, cellos and double basses purr where once they roared. Carnegie Hall now sounds crisper, although it still retains much of its fabled warmth. In its new incarnation, it is closer to Boston's lush but clear Symphony Hall than to its former voluptuous self.

Yet contrary to myth, the old auditorium's sound was not perfect. During the 1946 filming of the movie Carnegie Hall, the ceiling above the stage was ripped open to accommodate ventilation and lights. The hole was masked by canvas panels and curtains, which may actually have enhanced the hall's warmth by soaking up excessive high frequencies. But the first dozen or so rows lay in a dead spot, and an unsettling echo off the back walls was noticeable in loud, brassy passages. Despite its reputation, Carnegie was not quite as good as Boston's jewel and the Grosser Musikvereinsaal in Vienna, or newer spaces such as the Philharmonie in Berlin and Symphony Hall in Salt Lake City.

Time had not treated Carnegie kindly. The ceiling was leaking, and the floorboards were rotting. Says Chairman of the Board James D. Wolfensohn: "It's not that we wanted to change it because we had the money and thought it would be fun. There simply was no alternative." Under the supervision of Acoustician Abe Melzer, the old materials were replaced as much as possible with new ones possessing the same sonic properties. Notes Lawrence Goldman, the hall's director of real estate planning and development: "Each element was tested on the way out and on the way in."

Inevitably, the sound was altered. Some orchestral players claim they cannot hear one another adequately in performance, that the communication among them no longer has an intimate, chambermusic quality. Some listeners miss the old soul-rattling vibrations. Says Acoustician Larry King, who was not involved in the project: "Carnegie Hall doesn't shake the skull as it did before." Summing up the negative reaction, Music Critic Leighton Kerner of the Village Voice declared, "New York City now has another Avery Fisher Hall," referring to the acoustically troubled home of the New York Philharmonic at Lincoln Center.

Others disagree. "It is an extraordinary-sounding hall," says Conductor Dennis Russell Davies. "I have the feeling it is more brilliant than it was in the past, but I mean it positively, a spectacularly brilliant orchestral sound." Soprano Benita Valente, who sang there before and after the renovations, calls it a "little brighter, but glorious." Violinist Isaac Stern, president of Carnegie Hall and one of the leaders in the fight to save it from demolition in 1960, says, "What you hear now is this golden wash of sound, and at the same time there is clarity."

A sampling of recent events largely bears out that judgment, even if it is still too early to tell how the hall ultimately will turn out. The Boston Symphony under Seiji Ozawa, which performed Mahler's "Resurrection" Symphony * during opening week, bloomed in the new environment, but the Philadelphia Orchestra under Riccardo Muti sounded harsh and edgy in Beethoven's "Eroica" Symphony. Bass Samuel Ramey effortlessly reached the far edges of the balcony in his triumphant January recital, but it took several minutes before Warren Jones, his accompanist, adjusted his touch in order to project each melodic strand cleanly.

The renovation has eliminated the dead spots and the echo, although the subway trains still announce their passage. The removal of the drapery has revealed the full sweep of the proscenium arch, giving the hall a more vivid visual configuration, but it also reinforces psychologically the impression of acoustical brilliance. Although the cramped old lobby has been transformed into a gracious entrance flanked by twin grand staircases, entering and leaving the hall is more than ever a contact sport.

The most important difference between the old hall and the new, however, is likely to be the way performers adapt. The old hall flattered them and to some extent disguised technical deficiencies, particularly in intonation. In the new Carnegie, performers will have to experiment with seating arrangements and stage positions to obtain the most favorable acoustics. "Carnegie always had the reputation for musicians that you could just go out there and play," says Conductor Davies. "Now they must work more to do their best." This may mean that at first there will be fewer memorable evenings of the kind that have made the hall pre-eminent. But in the long run Carnegie Hall will offer a truer forum for projecting the world's musical talent. That alone makes the $50 million money well spent.

With reporting by Mary Cronin and Nancy Newman/New York