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Beethoven, Shostakovich, and Strauss: Leonidas Kavakos, violin; Enrico Pace, piano; Hall, Benaroya Hall, Seattle  1.4.2009 (BJ)


This was an evening of memories for me. I still recall the deep impression Shostakovich’s Violin Sonata made on me when I reviewed its Chicago premiere, played by the dedicatee David Oistrakh with pianist Frida Bauer, something like 40 years ago. A late expression of the composer’s saturnine temperament, the sonata, like the still later and perhaps even greater Viola Sonata, handily surpasses in concentration and sheer inspiration the sonata he had written for the cello more than three decades earlier.

Oistrakh is, of course, a hard act for a violinist to follow, but Leonidas Kavakos is not someone who needs to fear the comparison. In one respect, he may be even better equipped to interpret this particular work than his great predecessor was. Oistrakh possessed the most opulent golden tone, but Kavakos’s tone is silver, and its refinement realized with chilling vividness the etiolated self-communing that Shostakovich gives rein to in the first and last of the sonata’s three movements. Meanwhile, the middle movement, a scherzo in manner but in content no joke, was played with every ounce of the violence and bitterness it demands, and the entire performance made a still stronger impact through the powerfully characterized contribution of pianist Enrico Pace–a true chamber-music partner, whereas Bauer was more a self-effacing accompanist in the Oistrakh performance.

These have indeed been glory days for the violin in Seattle. In just the last three weeks we have had superb performances of the Elgar and Stravinsky concertos by, respectively, Tasmin Little and Julian Rachlin, and the performance of Beethoven’s E-flat-major Sonata, Op. 12, that opened Kavakos’s and Pace’s recital showed that we were in for another evening on the same high plane of artistry.

Unfortunately, there was a problem–the audience. Inexperience is always pardonable, and I suppose I should be glad that many people unfamiliar with concert etiquette were nevertheless present in the hall. There is, too, a certain element of snobbism in protesting over applause between movements. But the insensitivity that allows clapping to break in on the hushed end of a work like the Shostakovich sonata before the violinist has even lifted his bow from the string is less forgivable.

It was moreover a measure of the performers’ powers of concentration that they were able to continue playing superbly even in the face of the volleys of unrestrained coughing that punctuated the music throughout the evening. As they walked off before intermission, Kavakos in particular looked deeply dispirited, as he well might. It would have been understandable if he had just gone home at that point. But he and Pace returned to give a glowingly expressive performance of Strauss’ Violin Sonata. An early piece, written when the composer was 23, it is too often dismissed by patronizing commentators as mere student work, but it displays many original touches, and played as sympathetically as this it is always a pleasure to listen to.

Maybe the beginners in the audience were learning–at any rate, there was much less inter-movement clapping during the second half of the program. And presumably cheered up by this, the players gave an entertaining and unfamiliar encore in the shape of the Burla from Max Reger’s set of violin-and-piano pieces, Op. 79d.

The evening ended, then, on a happy note. It’s only regrettable that the Shostakovich performance was so badly damaged by extraneous factors. I hope that the experience will not deter this wonderful Greek violinist and his gifted Italian colleague from coming to play for us again.

Bernard Jacobson


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