Daniel Barenboim’s two concerts of the complete
Brahms symphonies with the Staatskapelle Berlin merely proved the case
that no one conductor seems able to penetrate to the heart of these
works. In the first concert a slap-dash performance of Brahms’ Second
Symphony was followed by an inspired account of Brahms’ Fourth, and
in the second concert a plain dull performance of the Third was followed
by an incandescent account of the First. The middle symphonies – one’s
which both Toscanini and Furtwängler spent a lifetime trying to
perfect in performance, but never did – showed how intellectually impoverished
some conductors appear to be when confronted by these enigmatic works.
The Second, in so many ways the
most lyrical of the four, was so heavily conducted by Barenboim, with
wildly distorted tempi, that it never got off the ground. Lazy articulation,
poor intonation, uneven pitch and careless phrasing marred the performance
from the start. Lyrical though the work is it also has moments of great
drama but Barenboim’s lugubrious tempi dissipated most of this. The
balletic third movement stalled, and even the glittering fanfares which
close the symphony failed to ignite as they should (how Beecham gets
that moment so cataclysmically right). The last bars were a mess – with
trumpets, trombones and horns all pitched differently, the sound jarred
with so many notes split one really wondered why conductor and orchestra
had bothered.
After the interval came a kinetic
performance of the Fourth and a vision of the work that fully justifies
this symphony as one of the very greatest ever composed. Liquid tempi,
sublime phrasing (with antiphonally divided violins cavorting beautifully
between each other) gave the symphony a lifeline which Barenboim seized
magnificently. The pedestrianism, and overtly perverse rubato which
had marred the Second, was eschewed in favour of a full-blooded performance
that shattered preconceptions about how Barenboim might approach work.
Barenboim’s vision of the symphony is much closer to Carlos Kleiber’s
than it is to Furtwängler’s with the balance between elegy and
dynamism rather more evenly matched than Furtwängler ever achieved
in his performances of this work. True, there were moments of impassioned
nobility in Barenboim’s reading of the opening movement which veered
towards the dangerous but when it came to the movement’s closing bars
that rushed histrionicism that so frequently bedevilled a Furtwängler
performance was not evident. Barenboim’s balanced reading just bordered
on the right side of the dramatic. Crowning this superb performance
was a magnificent assumption of the Passacaglia with playing of dark-hued
tonal weight.
The second evening’s concert – coupling
the Third and First symphonies – followed a familiar route. The Third,
a symphony of questionable ambiguities, proved again how dangerous a
conductor’s individual rubato can be, often leaving the development
of this work floundering. Barenboim achieved moments of pianissimo string
playing that were astonishing for their lightness, but he coupled this
with a breadth of phrasing that bordered on the somnambulant (not least
in the interminable Andante). It was almost as if the prevailing tragedy
of the work had overwhelmed him and his vision of this symphony was
largely a highly spurious one which remained unconvincing from first
note to last. With parentheses replacing homogeneity the symphony was
almost structureless under Barenboim’s tired baton.
The complete antithesis to this
was a highly spontaneous performance of the First symphony that raged
infernally. Only in their performance of this symphony did this splendid
orchestra come into its own with mellow strings, highly atmospheric
woodwind and resolute brass heralding a performance of total integrity.
From the very opening drum strokes – so velvety in their resonance,
and so perfectly measured – this developed into a reading of pointed
breadth and high drama. Barenboim drew intense expressivity from his
players – especially from the strings – with the ingenuity of Brahms’
writing placed entirely at the service of the music. The performance
lacked none of the granite strength one expects from this symphony and
the comparatively brusque tempi Barenboim adopted served to give the
work a tortured impetus so lacking in performances of this symphony
today. Where this orchestra came into its own was in the final movement
with the gorgeous woodwind melodies played with sublime beauty; only
an orchestra schooled in opera could ever play this music with the utter
conviction of dialogue witnessed here; it was little short of miraculous.
With brass peerlessly toned, and strings sumptuously dark, this was
an unblemished performance of startling originality.
Although these were clearly very
uneven concerts (perhaps the harshness of my comments on the Second
should be mollified by knowing just before the opening of the second
concert that the orchestra had had accommodation problems on their first
day in London) they were in some ways all the more remarkable for their
erratic stature. The fallibility of both conductor and orchestra proved
uniquely human when we are used to pristine, crystal-cut performances
of uniform dullness. The Staatskapelle Berlin is clearly an orchestra
of outstanding pedigree, with a depth of sound so utterly Germanic to
make the Berlin Philharmonic sound rather bland beside them, and Barenboim
is clearly a gifted Brahmsian when it suits him. These two concerts
offered glimpses of the great music making it is still possible to hear
– and no one who heard their performances of the First and Fourth symphonies
could really think otherwise.
Marc Bridle