SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Brahms and Sibelius: Nelson Goerner (piano), London Philharmonic Orchestra: Eivind Gullberg Jensen (conductor) Royal Festival Hall 30.5 2008 (GD)

Brahms: Piano Concerto No 2 in B flat Op 83

Sibelius: Symphony No 2 in D Op 43


The young Norwegian conductor Eivind Gullberg Jensen stood in tonight for Paavo Berglund who was indisposed. I have not previously heard anything from him, but from the opening of the Brahms concerto with clearly articulated horn and woodwind figures, more in dialogue with the piano solo than merely accompanying, I had the sense of a conductor who knows what he wants in terms of texture and balance, and how to achieve it. Similarly I have not previously heard anything from the Argentinian pianist Nelson Goerner, Much of whose playing was impressive in a decidedly muscular/dynamic manner; resonating and sounding through even the dry user unfriendly acoustic of the Fetival Hall. However throughout tonight’s performance although there was much to admire, I missed a certain lyrical/poetic tone intrinsic to Brahm’s concerto. One hears this diversity of dynamism and poetry/lyricism in the greatest interpreters of it from Schnabel through to Edwin Fischer, Solomon, Arrau, Gilels, Richter and Pollini.

Both conductor and soloist emphasised the ‘Allegro’ element of the huge first movement. This is a perfectly plausible interpretative strategy eschewing the kind of ponderous pomposity of pace and tone this concerto has frequently attracted. However at one or two places (just before the development with its semblance of the remote B minor – and at the start of the recapitulation.) I noticed a slight (or not so slight) unmarked ritardando. This kind of thing only serves to interfere with the overall structural flow of the movement. The stormy D minor second movement ‘Allegro Apassionato’ was the one of the most successful aspects of this performance. The D major quasi trio section became a perfect vehicle for Goerner to display his virtuoso technique with its twists and turns in tone and rhythm. Also Gullberg Jensen complimented Goerner with his meticulous attention to exact rhythmic execution especially in the exultant D major contrapuntal sequence for strings just before the ruminations in D minor which initiate the movements triumphant coda.

The great ‘Andante’ was mostly successful by being played as an andante and not an adagio as is often the case. The opening cello theme in B flat where Brahms typically pre-figures the riches to come in the wonderful op 99 Sonata for Cello and Piano, was beautifully contoured and projected by the LPO’s Principal cello Kristina Blaumane. The magical piu adagio in F sharp major, a dialogue for two clarinets and piano, was particularly successful in its real sense of dialogue - beautiful clarinet playing here - also Gullberg Jensen sustained a real pp without ever degenerating into pp mystical rhetoric. I was surprised the Goerner didn’t really respond to the ‘stormy trills’ of the contrasting F sharp minor section; everything was pianistically audible but this section, which one commentator likened to a ‘huge eagle momentarily caught in a complex of wires’, requires far more projection and the kind of rhythmic elan and pianistic finesse one finds in a Serkin, or a Pollini.

Tovey spoke of the ‘great childlike finale’. And one can see (or hear) what Tovey means; this is one of the few of Brahms’s mature works which exudes a lightness of touch, even a playful quality. But despite all this lightness and play Brahms’ ‘Allegretto grazioso’ is a model of economy and formal integrity; as one commentator has noted it is an object lesson in musical ‘pacing’. And some performances have emphasised the latter quality; Horowitz and Toscanini make it sound terse and muscular while still retaining the playful element. Tonight all these qualities came into play with a real sense of dialogue between piano and conductor. Particularly affecting and charming were the many examples where the orchestra and piano ( I am thinking in particular of the woodwind and piano) echo each other. The relaxed ( if occasionally ironic even gypsyish element) in the music was maintained right up to the codas lyrical, ‘light-footed’ brilliance; Brahms demonstrating that he no longer needed drums and trumpets here in crafting a totally punctual and satisfying coda. Tonight trumpet players and timpanist remained on stage in the last two movements, silent of course. In practical terms they were free to leave the stage. But somehow their presence was fitting - a visual reminder of their earlier contrasting tone and presence. Also perhaps a reminder Brahms’ mastery of orchestral contrast and diversity?

Overall the Sibelius symphony was a success. This was a big, bold thrusting performance as certainly befits the largesse of the work. Gullberg Jensen played the first two movements in the manner of a single contrasted fresco; the D minor second movement, parts of which Sibelius had originally intended as incidental music (never published) for ‘King Lear’, being played straight after the contrasting D major well caught pastoral flow of the first movement without a break. I do wish programme note writers like tonight's Stephen Johnson would desist from calling such movements ‘slow movements’ - there is nothing to indicate slowness in Sibelius’s ‘Andante, ma rubato’.  And Gullberg accentuated this andante pace with sharp accents from woodwind and brass, well delineated rhythmic contrast, and clear textures; the important parts for timpani were especially clear and well articulated. Sibelius later made references to this movement reflecting the fateful steps of the statue in the ‘Don Juan’ legend. But in an impressionistic way I prefer the ‘King Lear’ metaphor especially in the D minor opening figures on pizzicato bases and cellos, followed by a lugubrious bassoon solo, all sustained by a timpani pedal, evincing a suitably sepulchral atmosphere conjuring up Lear's developing madness perfectly. Gullberg observed the ‘ma rubato’ with several very subtle tempo shifts which in no way held up the flow of the movement; the mark of a real conductor!

The B flat major scherzo ‘Vivacissimo’ was inflected with real rhythmic zest (although I do wish the conductor had used antiphonal violins here - their answering swirls begging for such treatment). The pastoral sounding G flat major trio section dragged a little here where no diminution in tempo is requested. The second statement of the scherzo initiating the surging bridge passage to the joyous D major finale was well managed, although it lacked the sense of surging inevitability and massive drive found in say, Segerstam’s Helsinki recording. As for the finale itself? It was so charged with enthusiasm from orchestra and audience that I feel slightly churlish picking up on a few minor and not so minor blemishes. Apart from a few fluffed - and missed - woodwind notes, especially in the oboe, some of the more lyrical, songful phrases sounded as though the conductor was trying to squeeze out the last ounce of emotion; a bit like Bernstein at his most indulgent. All this flows so naturally in the already mentioned Segerstam recording. Also,  I felt that on a number of occasions Gullberg Jensen over-emphasised some of the phrasing especially in the woodwind, thus interfering with the grand flow of the movement. The concluding brass amens of the fabulous coda did not sound in the least tacked on or brassed-up as in some more contrived performances. It all developed naturally from the movement's earlier corresponding thematic material. As such it was all the more disappointing that the final chord did not quite sound (as though the concluding amen did not quite arrive) ending almost inconclusively; just a fraction before it should most definitely and resoundingly end. Initially, I thought this might have been some kind of post- modernist, deconstruction of grand ‘phallogocentric’ endings, or even the exhumation of some lost original retake of the coda cast in undecidability. But then I recalled the rest of the performance which despite being keenly contoured was cast in the traditional grand mould. No, I very much suspect that this was no more than a conductors error of timing. And overall it didn’t seriously damage the impression of a fine Sibelius 2. Most of the audience certainly didn’t seem to notice it.

Geoff Diggines


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