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Tchaikovsky, Medtner, Rachmaninov:  Dmitri Hvorostovsky (baritone); Evgeny Kissin (piano). Barbican Hall, Thursday, 16.10.2008 (CC)


This was an intriguing prospect. Evgeny Kissin is known for his solo work and his concerto appearances, but not for his accompanying skills; his rather awkward demeanour would seem to count against the very thought of intense human interaction, and sometimes in the past his playing has implied a distinct remove. Dmitri Hvorostovsky is one of the great baritones of our day, having toured the World since his Cardiff victory in 1989. Heart–on–sleeve emotion has never, it seems, been a problem to him. So how did this curious meeting fare?

In the event, extremely well. The programme (all-Tchaikovsky first half, followed by some Medtner “melodies” that made me for one wish we heard more of them regularly and finally a handful of Rachmaninov) was beautifully considered, a careful mix of the familiar and less familiar.

There was, it has to be said, a sense of “warming up” to the first song, “Why?” (op. 6/5). Kissin established his credentials for the evening by creating a gorgeous pianissimo atmosphere, to which Hvorostovsky added his characteristic velvet legato. The singer’s high register was characterised by a tone that refused to thin unduly. Hvorostovsky was largely immobile (in fact, his platform gestures did not start to open out until around the seventh song). Over–eager applause reminded one that the audience might not be the most discriminating ever, but that it might be the trying for the accolade of the most keen.

There are swings and roundabouts to having a solo concert pianist sit as accompanist. On the pro side, there are moments of a magnificent, almost Mussorgskian, depth of tone (“The love of a dead man”, op. 38/5), and moments of carefully considered tonal gradation (“Say of what, in the shade of the branches”, op. 57/1), but on the con side there is the ear’s temptation to concentrate overly on the piano’s contribution. Or so it was here, at any rate. Hvorostovsky was not at his very best, failing to convey a sense of the greatness of these songs, a greatness that Kissin seemed convinced of. Time and time again the ear was led to Kissin’s lightness of tone, his flowing piano introductions, his perfectly placed chords (“On golden cornfields”, op. 57/2) and his ear for detail.

The sweet, Italian-language, “Pimpinella” (op. 38/6), coming at the mid-point of the Tchaikovsky set, functioned as a light interlude, with easy ornamentation from Hvorostovsky and – one for the diary – rare humour from Kissin’s contribution. But best from the first half, perhaps, was the bitter-sweet regret of “In the midst of the ball” (op. 38/3). The outpouring of “Don Juan’s Serenade” (op. 38/1), formed a fitting conclusion to this section of the concert.

The Medtner was a revelation! Although best known for his piano music, Medtner’s songs have appeared successfully on disc (try the Susan Gritton disc of Medtner’s Goethe-Lieder, Chandos CHAN10093). Harmonies were immediately less directional than Tchaikovsky’s, but without the perfume of, say, Scriabin. Much happens in the mid-range of the accompaniment, too, which means that textures could easily overload and therefore do the music a disservice. Not so here, for Kissin was in his element, and even in the most virtuoso moments (“To a dreamer”, op. 32/6 and “Winter evening”, op. 13/1), was intent on achieving the greatest clarity. If there is an accusation against Medtner, it would lie in a certain anonymity of line for the singer, but Hvorostovsky did his best to imbue everything with the requisite emotion. Memorable.

Finally, for the published programme, a set of five Rachmaninov songs. This is a part of that composer’s output that has never really been given full credit, probably because of their overshadowing by the more famous piano works and concertos. These songs seemed less heart–on–sleeve (although still recognisably Rachmaninov) than the composer’s more public face. It was in “I was with her”, op. 14/4 that one became aware of Kissin’s ability to really listen to his soloist; it was in “Let us rest”, op. 26/3, that one became fully appreciative of Hvorostovsky’s capabilities of perfect projection, something that had not been fully reliable throughout the concert. “Spring waters”, op. 14/11, with its huge gestures, was a well-chosen finale.

Two encores: “In the silence of the night” (Rachmaninov) was full of the very long legato lines which Hvorostovsky so excels at, and Robert’s aria from Iolanta (Tchaikovsky) in which Kissin played the orchestral reduction very convincingly.

Colin Clarke


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