I've just been watching a most unusual live-streamed concert performance of Antonin Dvořák's splendid Cello Concerto in B Minor, Op. 104.
It's the quintessential Romantic cello concerto, and in many ways the final inheritor of the classical concerto mantle passed down from Haydn and Mozart through Beethoven and Brahms. This places it in a separate category from the more free-form and rhapsodic concertante works of most of the Romantic composers. This concerto covers the widest emotional range, from bold dramatic strokes to meditative reveries, and makes large technical demands on the soloist. It's filled with some of Dvořák's most ingratiating melodies, and equally full of remarkable structural features. The orchestral aspect of the work is a textbook demonstration of how to write a work for cello and orchestra without either letting the soloist become overwhelmed or forcing the orchestra to pull its punches. And it's been a favourite of mine, ever since I was just beginning to explore the world of music as a teenager.
What, then, was so unusual about this performance? First of all, there was no audience except those of us watching on the live stream (thank you, Covid-19). Second, there was neither orchestra nor conductor -- just a pianist. Third, this rather different concert was part of a music competition, the Bader & Overton Canadian Cello Competition.
Unfortunately, this event only came to my notice in time to hear this one performance. I'd have been happy to have heard some of the other performers as well. But here's how it worked, in brief. A preliminary elimination round which took place earlier in the week was not live-streamed. Eight cellists advanced to the semi-final round, and each performed a recital of assorted works lasting (at a guess) about 45-50 minutes. The recitals all included a commissioned work, The Turmoil of Madame Butterfly by Canadian composer Marjan Mozetich. Three of these eight musicians then proceeded to the final round, which consisted of a concerto. Although there were some duplications in the list of planned performances, in the event the three selected finalists had each chosen a different work for the concerto round. The performances were judged by a jury of eight distinguished cellists from the Canadian music world.
Each competitor received a high-tech broadcast-quality microphone kit to use in live-streaming the performances from their respective venues, thus ensuring uniformity of sound quality across venues in seven different cities located in three different countries!
Which brings me to the performance of Dvořák by the last of the three finalists to play today, Ottawa cellist Bryan Cheng. No surprise to regular followers of my blog, his accompanist was his sister Silvie, which meant that we heard the Dvořák Concerto played by the Cheng²Duo. Their venue was the Dominion-Chalmers Centre in Ottawa.
The first movement brought large-scale, bold playing from Bryan Cheng in his first dramatic entrance, and the largest possible contrast in the lyrical second subject. This slower music showed a much more personal, song-like approach, with a natural ebb and flow that had the music breathing almost like the voice of a singer. This proved to be his approach in most of the slower, more rhapsodic portions of the score. On the whole, the rest of the movement called forth a dramatic performance with marked contrasts in character from one passage to the next.
The slow second movement gave us more of the sense of a singing voice, and some lovely arabesques in the central portion. The ending wound down in a truly nostalgic reverie, with the cellist playing almost in the manner of a Baroque recitative -- free tempo allied to natural speech rhythms.
The rather four-square first theme of the finale has a definite march style, and that led Cheng into some of his most forthright playing of the work. This rondo theme is treated rather differently each time it recurs, and without the variation of orchestral sound to help, Bryan Cheng still gave a strong sense of originality at each appearance of the march. In the intervening episodes, we heard soaring lyricism in the treatment of some of Dvořák's most enticing melodic ideas. Then came that beautiful, emotional coda in which the music lapses into a dreamlike recollection of the opening theme of the entire concerto. Even without a live audience to supply the needed reaction, it was plain that the cellist could hear and sense the silent holding of breath which this music encourage in listeners.
Of course, any concerto is a partnership between soloist and orchestra. Even though the jury of such a competition necessarily focuses on the work of the soloist, we audience members can certainly admire the flair, energy, and finesse which Silvie Cheng brought to the piano reduction of the orchestral part. These reductions can be fiendish things, filled with multiple lines moving in all directions at once and wide-spread chords following each other in quick succession. It's true that we unavoidably missed much of the orchestral colouring which distinguishes this score, but as compensation we heard all kinds of detail in the inner voices which too often goes missing in a live performance with orchestra.
Given the awkward circumstances which live music has to deal with in these days, this was definitely a performance of Dvořák's masterpiece to revel in, and a memory to treasure. At a later date, when such things again become possible, I'll look forward to hearing a full-orchestral performance with Bryan Cheng as soloist -- and maybe the other half of the concert could be Dvořák's rarely-heard Piano Concerto with Silvie Cheng doing the honours!
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At the conclusion of the event, the jury's selections of award winners were announced. Bryan Cheng was the first prize winner. This prize includes a cash prize, a future recital date at the Isabel Bader Centre in Kingston ON, and a future concert date with the Kingston Symphony Orchestra. The other two finalists, tied for second prize, were Leland Ko and Andreas Schmalhofer.
