Kirklees Orchestral Concerts: Sibelius.  Finlandia, Violin Concerto; Elgar: Symphony No. 1. Orchestra of Opera North, Valerij Sokolov (violin), Richard Farnes (conductor), Huddersfield Town Hall, Wednesday 31 January 2007 (PSe)

 

What makes a performance “successful”? More specifically, considering that even critics need criteria, how do we measure “success”? In the absence of, say, any overriding “revelatory” aspect – for example, see my earlier Seen and Heard OON review – we generally adopt the show-jumping method: the fewer “faults” the better. Here I counted only two. That’s good, isn’t it? Usually, “yes” – most faults are like the “wood”, partly obscured by the “trees”. However, faults occupying significant situations have a habit of looming disproportionately large.

 

One fault occurred at the end of the concerto and the other, courting the disdain of Wilde’s Lady Bracknell, at the end of the symphony. Sibelius’s seismic surges had scarcely more impact than damp squibs, whilst Elgar’s motto was insufficiently provoked to attain the expected excess of grandiloquence. Concluding mediocre performances, these faults would have been in their element. Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately? – here this was decidedly not the case!

 

Finlandia furnished a rip-roaring start. Richard Farnes’s reliable beat, illuminated as ever by his prominent, Daz-white cuffs, lured a glowing tonal depth from the brass, whose chords really seemed to have been built upwards from the firm foundation of the OON’s formidable tuba. I am also ever more impressed by OON’s strings. The 50 players blended superbly, producing immaculate pianissimi, pin-point articulation, and here a fierce growl to launch Sibelius’s propulsive allegro. In fact, without sacrificing its customary brilliance, the whole orchestra now sounds richer and warmer than it does on its otherwise excellent Naxos recordings.

 

The peculiar intensity of Sibelius’s concerto prompted me, in a MusicWeb programme note (see here), to suggest, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Sibelius, [similarly to] Stravinsky, recalled ‘the Finnish spring, which began in an instant, and was like the whole Earth cracking.’” You can feel this in the first movement’s glacial gloaming wherein languishes lyrical “Life”, the second’s urgent pleading and prayer, and of course the “rebirth” implicit in the finale’s tonal torrents. In this sense, it’s essentially a youthful work.

 

The first thing I noted about the Ukrainian, Valerij Sokolov, was his unruly blond mane, continually threatening to thwart proper eye-contact with Farnes! This sort of tonsorial extravagance, in my younger days, drove my parents into paroxysms of complaint. Beneath those flowing locks were discernable the strong jaw-line and clean-cut visage of Youth. Again, as he started playing, his concentration had an intensity that we customarily prefix with “youthful”. He seemed an ideal candidate for the part.

 

So it was to prove. Admitting no room for contemplation of any middle-aged navel, Sokolov sought “song”, sweet and simple, the consistent animation of his line redolent of Life’s persistence amidst the first movement’s orchestral Winter. Farnes, playing the part of “Jack Frost”, ensured that the eruptive orchestral responses were not premature, but merely reluctant stirrings of rebirth.

 

Beautifully balanced woodwind and horns set a just tone for the violin’s second-movement supplication, which flowed naturally, eliciting the rhythmic point of the strings’ accompaniment. Setting off at a jolly jog-trot, the finale really felt like the World returning to life. The OON distributed its weight cunningly, both mining a rich vein of sonority and clarifying the complicated rhythmic shenanigans. Sokolov danced joyfully, as befits a successful supplicant. This fine, thought-provoking performance made the orchestrally-understated coda all the more puzzling. Had that “reluctance” become something of a habit?

 

Elgar’s First Symphony also has an agenda (see my MusicWeb programme note). Basically, I believe that Elgar intended a warning and rallying call against the growing threat to the British Empire’s cosy stability. Following its premičre, as the threat escalated, its message grew more significant. Sadly, its relevance is undimmed by the passing years. The music’s impact largely depends on the various incarnations of the motto - indicative both of “the Empire” and what we might dub the “Saving Grace”.

 

Farnes’s opening augured well. The motto - mobile, replete with rosiny strings and burnished brass - hit “cosy stability” amidships. Having developed a sense of panic, culminating in a furious “avalanche”, it was a pity that Farnes didn’t make room for the fearsome corruption of that innocent dance motive to wax baleful. However, he redeemed himself in the coda, where the caring motto cleanses the dance.

 

The second movement started splendidly, a nervously twitching motto variant urging the march to belligerent action. The second subject’s bubbly woodwind were at first merely a delicious confection then, later, as the first subject’s troops departed, became infected with anxiety. Farnes drew a veil of expectancy across the famous transition. This rapt moment of motto transmutation, which saw the OON reduced to the merest wisp of sound, was the performance’s high point – the hall itself seemed to hold its breath. Elgar’s carefully calculated decay – like a summer’s day progressively enshrouded by apprehension – was under-emphasized. This time, redemption came from the contrast between the subjects, rendered with consummate tenderness.

 

The finale finds a fearful question on everyone’s lips: “How went the battle?” Farnes communicated all the fretfulness of this, perhaps Elgar’s most uncharacteristic utterance, then answered with swashbuckling vigour, quick – yet clean as a whistle. Equally impressive was the still-disbelieving motto, answered by the lovely, liquid march variant, perceptively kept up-beat by Farnes

 

Again, I was all the more puzzled that the buffeting of the motto, giving every impression of victorious troops roughly congratulating the engineer of their victory, seemed overly polite and – c.f. the first movement’s “corruption” - the now-triumphant motto didn’t swell with well-earned pride. Maybe, both here and in the Sibelius, Farnes was reluctant to risk degrading the orchestra’s sound? I don’t know, but I do know that sometimes, amid such overall excellence, the real danger is spoiling the ship for a ha’porth of tar. Next time, Richard, go for the jugular!

 

Paul Serotsky