London Town: Wigmore's Grumpy Mr. Handel

Louis de Bernières reminds me of Dom DeLuise, at least he did when he appeared as the titular composer in a frivolous little ditty of a Wigmore-Hall recital called “Mr. Handel”.

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London Town: A Sibelius Lover's Frozen Dream

A program of the Sixth and Seventh Symphonies and the Violin Concerto is the stuff dreams are made of. A Sibelius lover’s dream, that is… and certainly when the performers are the LSO (Sibelius being perhaps the only composer these all-rounders can take specialist-credits for), Leonidas Kavakos as the soloist, and conductor Osmo Vänskä.

The latter, in turn, is one of the very few replacements for the ailing Colin Davis who might be considered an upgrade with that program. It’s conjecture, but given the superb results it strikes one as a plausible one.

The Sixth Symphony was the most appreciated item on the bill: It’s a much less often performed work than Symphonies Two, Five, and Seven, but every bit as moving. Its deceptive four movement outline suggests something relatively orthodox where there is no symphonic orthodoxy at all. The work barely has beginnings and it has even fewer ends. Between movements, there is scarcely enough of a signal to audience to start their coughing-cascades. The work has an aim, but the target of it never seems to be revealed; its principal feature might be the strange, intriguing attractiveness in an inverse Marilyn Monroe way: Very beautiful, but not at all pretty. Vanska, a Sibelian semaphore of astounding exactitude, led the LSO in a performance of perfect clarity and of a seamless, organic fit. Or at least perfect compared to the dog’s breakfast most continental European orchestras make of Sibelius’ intertwining lines of thought. The brief third movement was juicy, the finale fleet and of irresistible wit and detail.

Kavakos on ionarts: Kavakos Roars through Mendelssohn (April 17, 2009) Ionarts at Large: Kavakos & Leonskaja in Brahms (October 15, 2008) Ionarts-at-Large: Thielemann & Kavakos in (More) Brahms (July 01, 2008) Too Few Witness Sibelius Greatness (March 09, 2007) Dip Your Ears, No. 28 & Best of 2005 - Stravinsky/Bach (February 13th, 2005)

Kavakos, in his clever black-on-black polka dot smock, stepped up for the concerto. Perhaps it is the name-power of solo violinists that makes the Sibelius Concerto such a relative hit, even in otherwise Sibelius-deprived regions. Or it is the palpable feat that the soloist achieves during the performance. In any case it can’t be the music, which is great, but makes no more concessions to conventional ears than the Second or Fifth Symphonies. Kavakos certainly dazzled the audience with his unforgiving, severe mastery in the concerto and especially the incredibly idiomatic cadenzas. He did that so irresistibly, indeed, that half the audience applauded the astonishing first movement finale and no one stooped to shush them out of this instinctive show of appreciation. Splendid pianissimos, suspense, and not an ounce of self-indulgence held sway in the slow movement, and the LSO matched Kavakos’ dry and to-the-point performance perfectly. The third movement sounded like Kavakos and Vänskä revving up a tank-engine and then shooting large caliber elegance at the nearest targets… to stunning results. “There was nothing I would have had any different about this performance” remarked the accompanying picky musician friend. Agreed; the performance was as good as I’ve ever heard one, including the last time I heard the same performers in that concerto, 2007 with the NSO.

J.Sibelius, Violin Concerto (org. & rev. versions), L.Kavakos / O.Vänskä / Lahti SO BIS

In a perfect dramatic arc, the Seventh Symphony was programmed after intermission. First of all it really is impossible to properly play anything music after the end of that work (like encoring a Chopin Étude after opus 111), secondly its twenty-minute brevity makes the block after intermission snappy and short, and thirdly that brief focus heightens our appreciation of how much greatness per note this symphony contains. It’s really as though all the great romantic symphonist and Richard Wagner had come up with one massive symphony and then entrusted the execution to Anton Webern.

The best prescription for listening to the Seventh is: close your eyes and cry about the loss of the Eighth. Everyone played along beautifully: brass especially, with extra merit points for trombones and horns; a few demerits for the hissy flutes and airy clarinets, though even those worked their own charm in the Sibelian landscape. A fine cap to a rare gem of a concert.

See also ionart's Survey of Sibelius Cycles

London Town: Too Beautiful Beethoven

The Philharmonia Orchestra put on two shows while I stayed in London: the Kurt Sanderling Centenary Concert (a Beethoven-Brahms program with prior outings in Leicester and Bedford) and a Prokofiev-Tchaikovsky night the following Saturday. Preferring contemporary performers, I skipped the Lorin Maazel-led concert and missed, by trustworthy accounts, a sad performance of the Second Prokofiev Violin Concerto with the rapidly declining Vadim Repin and then an incandescent Tchaikovsky “Pathétique”. I did catch the Sanderling concert, though, with two very much contemporary performers: conductor David Afkham and violinist Arabella Steinbacher.

Afkham is the 2010 Kit-Kat* Conductor, which is to say the winner of the first Nestlé Young Conductors Award that is now handed out annually in cooperation with the Salzburg Festival. That explained the presence of Mitsuko Uchida for the first half; checking on the young man she helped pick as a then-member of the jury. Afkham is certainly the most successful and the most promising of the winners so far, and his career is fully under way with the finest and most prestigious orchestras on his conducting itinerary. Now among them also the Philharmonia which he conducted that Thursday at the Royal Festival Hall, opening with a snappy, detailed and elegant Beethoven Coriolan Overture.

Serge Dorny, Intendant of the Lyon opera and former artistic director, compared the Philharmonia to the transparent sound of a Pleyel piano. Or a vintage Bechstein, now with Salonen’s influence added to that of Christoph von Dohnányi… in any case, there’s a lean luxuriousness to the sound which was a pleasure to hear not only in the Beethoven but also the ensuing Brahms Third Symphony, the trickiest of the Brahms symphonies. Forcing this impassioned music is tempting...

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London Town: The LSO, Vengerov, and the Queen

As my colleague-friend-mentor Bob Reilly and I approached the air-raid shelter masquerading as a cultural center under the name “Barbican Hall”, a motorcade skipped by… tiny, by Washington DC / Presidential standards. Thirty feet further, amid a handful of enthusiast bystanders, it spilled its contents—chiefly a little white haired woman—into the Barbican, blocking the entry for a couple minutes.

On the inside waited the London Symphony Orchestra with a concert framing the presentation of the 2012 Queen’s Medal for Music. And what would be the point of a Queen’s Medal for Music without Her Majesty The Queen. In contrast to her quiet, placid ways (which reminds me of nothing so much as of Harpo Marx, minus the props), she was received with much Fanfare. Literally, too: An Entry Fanfare by Dudley Bright, the National Anthem, and then the Master of the Queen's Music’s Fanfare: Her Majesty’s Welcome: Royal Gebrauchsmusik by Peter Maxwell Davies — conducted, especially, by Timothy Redman. Maxwell Davies’ piece for professional orchestra and student players is an exceedingly inoffensive, pleasant brassy curtain raiser with tasty sour tinges in the harmony and irregular rhythms that propel it with foot-tapping drive… not that there was much foot-tapping on part of the audience, royal or not.

Maxim Vengerov, whose career has been rather quiet since his prolonged Tango-sabbatical, performed the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. With his solid, leathery tone, he cut through the delicate, fleet, and light-footed orchestral opening that Robin Ticciati (substituting for Colin Davis, who is in ill health) coaxed from the orchestra. Vengerov did so unassailably, as if in isolation from his surroundings, and without any detours by way of nuance; rhythmically (if not intonation-wise) secure and steadily as though he had swallowed a metronome. For the most part Ticciati just followed, but he also added magnified timpani accents which, together with the straightforward, mercifully unperfumed interpretation, allowed for new, unusual hearing-angles on the concerto. Like or not-like these peculiar effects; hearing a war horse slightly anew and newly askew has to be be a welcome thing.

P.Tchaikovsky, Violin Concerto, V.Repin / V.Gergiev / Kirov Orchestra Philips Elgar, Blacher, Kodály, Enigma-, Paganini-, Peacock-Variations, G.Solti / WPh Decca

Despite uncharacteristic near-stumbles from Vengerov—in the first cadenza especially—there was also the suspended tenderness in the second movement to enjoy, and for those who like the infallible applause-generating effectiveness of the hurried fast-and-loud approach, also the finale. For those who thought the Tchaikovsky an odd run-through, meanwhile, a stately Adagio from Bach’s C major Sonata ought to have been assuaging stuff.

After intermission came the ceremonial bit: After a film on the short history of the Queen’s Medal for Music (past winners include Emma Kirkby, Judith Weir, Bryn Terfel, Charles Mackerras, Colin Davis), the 2012 medal was bestowed upon the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain (last reviewed here in 2009)… the first time an institution was at the receiving end. A few pimply representative representatives clambered up the stage, shook the silent Queen’s hand, forgot to curtsey, and toddled off after an awkward moment of silent disorientation, all under the auspices of master of ceremonies Peter Maxwell Davies.

Robin Ticciati—who looks a little like young Jake LaMotta shadowboxing—and the LSO (amended with a few of those NYO kids) then put a most English end to the concert, with a run-through of Elgar’s Enigma Variations. After a bit of routine tedium and a cliché-sodden Nimrod variation—it’s supposed to be two friends talking about Beethoven; it often ends up two pallbearers on a rainy day in a pub—there were moments lovely enough to redeem the entire concert. Most notably the Basil G. Nevinson cello bit of the 12^th variation (a much more naturally emotive section than Nimrod) and the following Romanza, with exemplary pianissimo passages and a shining string sound at last. Botched entries in the “E.D.U.” finale did little to undo this late fine impression of a reasonably good concert that has already begun to fade from memory.

Ionarts-at-Large: Hélène Grimaud's Ravel and London Strauss

Richard Strauss’ Don Juan is a wonderful little firecracker to get a concert started. Especially when the dry timpani whacks hit you right in the face and the xylophone rings clear and loud as if the executing percussionist sat on your seat-neighbor’s lap, not diagonally across at the very back of the Barbican Concert Hall.

Daniel Harding conducted this tone poem as an orchestral exercise in the spectacular, not with a lingering and luscious take on it. Choosing effects over flavor is a perfectly legitimate choice, of course, and in that the performance succeeded unreservedly. When it came time to wax lyrically, his players—the oboe above all—did that famously, too.

Maurice Ravel’s attitude about his Piano Concerto sounds just as healthy and agreeable as the work itself: “What is my opinion of this Concerto? A rather good one, actually…. I think that I found what I was looking for. Well, almost, at least. You never find exactly what you are looking for. […] And if, one day, I did, I fear that would be the end of me. Anyway, this Concerto strikes me as one of the works in which I was able to shape the content and form that I sought, in which I was best able to assert the dominance of my will.... Am I being too partial to my newborn? […] For the most part I’ve not yet succeeded in finding what I want. But I’ve still got some time…. That’s if I spend it laboring away at Montfort (I can’t get anything done in Paris), since I’m not one of those who can compose quickly. I don’t trust facility. I [like] constructing a work with solidity, seeking the purest material, and consolidating that properly. The concert [for example] cost me two years of labor.”*

M.Ravel, Piano Concertos, Zimerman / Boulez / Cleveland, LSO - DG

R.Strauss, Also Sprach Zarathustra et al., N.Järvi / Scottish NO - Chandos (2CDs)

Hélène Grimaud is wonderful to hear in Ravel’s Piano Concerto; all classical lightness one moment, Gershwinesque brusqueness the next, and always coy, never too serious. There’s much to admire in that level-headed playing of hers, which has never disappointed me yet (though admittedly never thrilled, either).I equally admire that she does not succumb to sentimentality even in the perfectly sentimental solo opening of the slow movements—one of the highlights of the 20^th century concerto literature. The LSO played along with robust eagerness, car-horn-honking its way to the happy conclusion like a gaggle of excited motorists.

Also Spoke Zarathustra—more Richard Strauss—began with a recitation of Nietzsche’s introductory words from his famous, famously misunderstood tome. Between the stodgy translation (not Walter Kaufmann’s) and the preachy and ceremonial delivery, this was extraordinarily off-putting. If anyone actually bothered listening, they were treated to that all-too-common cartoonish misrepresentation of Nietzsche that makes him to be a melodramatic bloviator instead of quick-witted Dionysian. Luckily all that was forgotten as soon as the double basses started scrubbing away at their instruments to impressive and sonorous effect.

It’s really a feast for the ears to be treated to this grand (possibly great) work in a concert performance. Engulfed completely in sound (M21 being the seat in this particular case), the body throws overboard all resistances and allows the waves of music to take you in completely and (in the moment) uncritically. The critical ears might have been pricked, on this occasion, by the directionless stammer in the double bass and cello episode, or a subsequent trumpet howler, but Strauss so quickly proceeds to fire up the Quattro a few more times that those become mere footnotes in the perception. I don’t care much for the pretentious silence forced on audiences by conductors that will retain their arms in the air for seconds after the last notes have gone; no more, in any case, than I do for eager early clappers… but I suppose if it weren’t for that pompous gesture, the same people who merely cough awkwardly after the first movement (where the composer surely desired applause) would establish their musical acumen by clapping right into the last bar. Ah, the best of all worlds clearly isn’t identical to a perfect world.


* Nino Frank, “Maurice Ravel entre deux trains”. Candide, May 5^th, 1932. Quoted in Arbie Orenstein’s Preface of the new Eulenburg edition of the Ravel Piano Concerto


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Ionarts-at-Large: London - Colin Davis & Znaider in Sibelius

Our thanks again to guest critic Robert R. Reilly for contributing this review from London. You can read his latest column on Classical Music at CRISIS / Inside Catholic.com

Has Colin Davis ever given a less than good performance of Sibelius? In fact, his recorded legacy has amply proven that he is a great Sibelian -- going back to his first and perhaps still best traversal of the 7 symphonies with Boston Symphony Orchestra on Philips.

Davis is every bit as good with his home-town London Symphony Orchestra – as was demonstrated the evening of Sunday, June 29th at the Barbican (where the cement underground parking lot ambiance of the lobby was relieved by the warmer wood-paneled interior of the concert hall) in an all-Sibelius program.

The LSO began with a crystalline if somewhat cool Oceanides that might have benefited from a greater sense of mystery. However, every strand of this impressionistic music stood out clearly in the bright acoustic of the hall.

The sensation of the evening was the Violin Concerto, played by Nikolaj Znaider, who opened with great delicacy and refinement. It was the red breast pocket handkerchief which signaled his passionate approach to the work. He showed himself flexible within the phrase, occasionally bordering on lingering, but never breaking the line. Znaider was fully in command without a single tentative moment.

He is a very expressive player -- perhaps too expressive, depending on one's interpretive take on this concerto. Znaider played it in the tradition of the great Romantic violin concertos, and the overall impression was of Italian fire on Nordic ice. Regardless, his interpretation was consistent and his bravura playing was gorgeous, with a breathtakingly delicate diminuendo at the close. Davis and the LSO gave stirring support.

The anti-Romantic antidote was administered in the second half of the program with the 4th Symphony, a deeply ruminative, mysterious lament. With superb string playing (and an excellent first-chair cellist), Davis and the LSO caught the melancholic heart of this brooding work. Each of the four movements -- even the at times rousing Finale;allegro -- ends enigmatically, softly -- indecision hanging in the air.

It was a magnificent Sibelian evening, encompassing the great composer's range from the climatic to the anti-climactic.

Sibelius, Symphonies 3 & 7, LSO / Colin Davis

Sibelius, Symphonies 5 & 6, LSO / Colin Davis

Sibelius, Symphony 2 & Pohjola's Daughter, LSO / Colin Davis

Sibelius, Violin Concerto, Haendel / Bournemouth S. / Berglund

Sibelius, Symphonies v.1, BSO / Colin Davis

Sibelius, Symphonies v.2, BSO / Colin Davis