Last week's Thursday afternoon symphony programme looked unusually enticing on paper, but proved in the event to be a bit less than the overwhelming experience it could and should have been.
The programme consisted of two major works: the Piano Concerto No.2 by Brahms, and the Symphonic Dances by Rachmaninoff.
Soloist for the Brahms (a last-minute replacement) was Inon Barnatan, and the guest conductor was Stéphane Denève.
The concert opened with the Brahms. Soloist and conductor treated us to a reading with more contrasts and gradations of light and shade than one sometimes hears. The result was that the most dramatic passages, such as the climactic moments of the first movement and the rousing ending of the scherzo struck home with all the more force.
The epic first movement in particular benefited from this more subtle treatment, giving the audience a journey of wider emotional scope than usual.
Judging by the conversations at the intermission, many audience members were upset that the conductor did not give the horn soloist a bow at the end, and rightly so -- I can't recall ever hearing the opening horn solo and its recurrences played with such warmth and creamy smoothness of legato.
Joseph Johnson's cello solo in the third movement was both lyrical and heart-warming.
Barnatan gave an excellent account of the huge piano part throughout this truly symphonic concerto, standing forth when it was time to do so and withdrawing discreetly into the ensemble when the composer wrote the part in that manner. No virtuosity for virtuosity's sake here, and all the more effective for that.
That's not to say that there were no fireworks, and his big wind-up at the end of the scherzo was strong, purposeful, and hard-edged in the right way.
I especially enjoyed his performance of the finale. With some pianists, this can come across as an also-ran or afterthought, but Barnatan plainly relished the lighter, sunnier mood and made it clear with the beaming smiles he shot at the orchestra, conductor, and audience.
After the intermission, in the Symphonic Dances, we hit the disappointing part of the programme. For whatever interpretive reason (which I cannot guess), Denève chose droopingly slow tempi for the first two movements of this work. The opening dance is ponderous enough with its endless descending triad figures, and there's no need to make it more so by taking it at such a slow speed. The second movement waltz was even slower, and pretty much laid it down and died as a result. The waltz tempo is clearly written into the music, complete with the classic ump-pa-pa rhythmic figures throughout. If you set a sensible, swirling waltz tempo as your benchmark then you can take the short slow-downs and hold-ups requested by the composer without losing momentum. Denève's waltz never even got going, and there was no momentum to lose as a result.
By the time we reached the final movement, the game was already lost. The final movement shot off the mark at a much more central speed, and the raucous concluding pages hit the mark, but the performance earned no more than respectful applause, and not even overly much of that.
I've heard the orchestra play Symphonic Dances several times before, and always with so much fire and passion that they yanked the audience clear out of their seats at the close. I couldn't help wondering how the players must have felt, being forced to drag and droop their way through music that rightly needs to lift and fly and spit fireworks!
No comments:
Post a Comment