In some ways,
the trajectory of the Bavarian Radio Symphony
Orchestra follows a similar one to London’s
own Philharmonia Orchestra. Both are of a comparable
age, both were founded by inspirational musical
figures whose main criteria was to attract players
of the highest calibre, and both have had an
illustrious roster of conductors perform with
them. One conductor who enjoyed a warm relationship
with the orchestra was Leonard Bernstein and
anyone who has ever heard his Philips recording
of Tristan und Isolde will know how magnificently
the Bavarian orchestra plays for him; in many
ways, it is the finest orchestral performance
of the score ever committed to disc. The greatness
of this orchestra should surprise no-one.
The
Bavarian’s sound is unique and instantly identifiable
– rich strings, characterful woodwind and
glowing brass allied with playing of uncommon
precision. It is a wholly German sound – much
more German than that of the Berlin Philharmonic,
in fact – and that glorious sound was in evidence
when Mariss Jansons brought the orchestra
to London on Monday for their first UK concert
with him as their new Chief Conductor.
The
programme – two revolutionary Nineteenth century
symphonies – proved an inspired one. Jansons
has a knack of making the most familiar works
sound spontaneous and fresh (who can ever
forget his extraordinary performance at a
Prom two years ago of Dvorak’s New World Symphony
with the LSO) and that was the case with both
works here; if the performance of Berlioz’s
symphony was the greater one it was largely
because the orchestra wore its virtuosity
so lightly on its sleeve.
The
youthful make-up of this orchestra – with
some of the woodwind players literally dancing
with their instruments – made the performance
not only aurally compelling, but visually
compelling too; and with Jansons not just
igniting fires within the orchestra but balancing
the work’s histrionics to within a whisker
of decency it proved to be as satisfying musically
as it did sonically. Off stage timpani in
‘In the Meadows’, for example, were thrilling
– just muffled enough to add mystery, just
thunderous enough to fracture the solitude
– and a tolling bell from high up in the auditorium
was visceral without being overwhelming or
a distraction.
Such
carefully graded tone shading was symptomatic
of the performance as a whole. Some of the
orchestras best playing was reserved for ‘Un
bal’ where the carnivalesque playing was just
brilliant enough to be self-effacing. ‘In
the Meadows’ produced dynamics of breathless
weightlessness whilst the ‘March to the Scaffold’
was exhilarating in its directness, with the
movement’s fleeting changes from fierceness
and sombreness plunged into bitter relief.
‘Sabbath Night Dream’ verged between tubas
that plummeted to grotesque depths and skeletal
wood tappings that were sinister, almost like
an echo of welcome into Hell itself. It was
an orgy of sound that was simply magical.
The coda was a final flourish of brilliance,
as ecstatic as it was torrential.
The
greatness of the performance lay as much in
Jansons vivid view of the symphony – a panoply
of sound that he interjected with single-minded
insight – as it did with the pristine playing
of the orchestra. If one image stands out,
it was of two harps placed either side of
the podium to give the impression of the conductor
wearing angel’s wings. Nothing could more
clearly illuminate the virtues of this heavenly
performance.
The
drama of Beethoven’s Fifth could have been
made for Jansons and he succeeded in giving
a performance of the work that satisfied from
first note to last. The well-drilled hammer
blows that open the work were nailed with
fortitude – this is, after all, a conductor
who has touched death – and often throughout
the drama of the first movement Jansons and
the orchestra did play this music as if their
lives depended upon it. At times, it seemed
uncontrollable with the sheer depth of the
strings offset against their own untamed violence,
bows lashing the air around them like sharpened
rapiers. When the Andante arrived it did so
with uncommon calm – though not resignation
– and proved mercurial in phrasing and tone.
The Trio was neatly done, though couldn’t
foresee the terrible unleashing of sound that
the Allegro brought to the performance. Utterly
memorable was the piquant phrasing of the
piccolo – never before done so acidly as it
was here – and the resplendent horns and trombones
that filtered explosions of sound through
music making of uncommon directness. The closing
pages blazed like a Dantean inferno.
In an
age of great orchestras the Bavarian Radio
Symphony stands amongst the greatest. That
glorious sound is not just sublime it is also
hypnotic. Time and time again I found myself
mesmerised by the sheer beauty of what I was
hearing. With Mariss Jansons at the helm we
are witnessing one of the great musical partnerships
of the age.
Marc Bridle
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