SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Schumann and Bruckner: Radu Lupu (piano), New York Philharmonic, Riccardo Muti (conductor), Avery Fisher Hall, New York, 26.1.2008 (BH)

Schumann: Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54 (1841-45)

Bruckner: Symphony No. 6 in A major (1879-91; ed. L. Nowak, 1952)


It was interesting hearing the Schumann Piano Concerto so soon after Christian Zacharias and Orpheus did it so winningly just a few weeks ago (review).   Zacharias offered a lighter, fleeter version, with a smaller ensemble, whereas Radu Lupu’s conception was more towering, with a full-sized complement of New York Philharmonic musicians, all led with maximum drama by Riccardo Muti.

The first movement was monumental, large and luxurious, with the orchestra in sleek form.  Lupu drummed out the theme with precision, but with a certain leisure.  Sitting back in a chair rather than a traditional bench, Lupu almost seemed like a parent reading a story to a child, and when the latter says, ”tell me more,” Schumann obliges.  Urgency and passion were tempered by an orchestra that never blared, always kept in check by Muti.  The middle ”intermezzo” might have been the highlight, with the ensemble scaling back to a hush when necessary, and Lupu offering tender phrasing.  The finale was more relaxed and congenial rather than high-energy, again with Muti paying keen attention to dynamic levels.

Twenty years ago, Muti recorded the Bruckner Sixth Symphony with the Berlin Philharmonic, and this performance reminded me of the virtues of that CD: tempi on the quick side, empathy for the sharp contrasts and above all, a grasp of the breadth of the score and its arc.  Muti obviously believes in this score very strongly and never lost momentum, his hands gently sculpting the air, his body balletic but never distracting.

The first movement, marked ”majestoso,” swelled and retracted, the orchestra like a giant organism, breathing softly now and then but able to suddenly blossom with enormous power.  Colors burst and melted into one another.  The brass section surged, hinting at the road ahead.  Flames subsided in the haunting ”adagio,” one of Bruckner’s most glistening and intense slow movements, with its gentle heartbeat pulse.  Sometimes I held my breath waiting for the horns, given some of the painfully exposed writing waiting for them like bear traps in the woods, but they inevitably came through with grace and reverence.  My gaze wandered up to the third tier, where a 30-ish guy was bobbing his head intently in time with the music.

This time, the ”scherzo” reminded me of Dukas’s Sorcerer’s Apprentice on steroids.  It charms with wicked motion, and gleeful contrasts.  Whispered comments clash with thunderous utterances.  In the finale the gigantic blocks dissolve, or just disappear, with tiny flute and clarinet solos jostling the brass for attention.  Eventually the air clears as the massive structure makes its way toward Bruckner’s gleaming conclusion.  If the concert wasn’t quite as incandescent as the previous week, well, one doesn’t scale Mount Everest every day, either.

Bruce Hodges


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