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SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL CONCERT REVIEW
Beethoven : Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 61 (1806)
Sibelius : Symphony No. 6, Op. 104 (1923)
Sibelius : Symphony No. 7 in C Major, Op. 105
(1924)
During this relatively traditional concert at Carnegie Hall—at least, on paper—I would never
have expected the ghost of composer Alfred Schnittke to make an
appearance. Yet in this fascinating traversal of Beethoven's Violin
Concerto with Osmo Vänskä and the
Minnesota Orchestra, Lisa Batiashvili unleashed two Schnittke
cadenzas, which offered powerful alternatives to those by say, Fritz
Kreisler. In the first movement, Ms. Batiashvili (in a long, copper-colored
dress flashing a bit of knee), was able to project beautifully, even
in moments where she adopted a very soft dynamic, and her intonation
was a joy. Vänskä and the orchestra offered warm, even plush support.
The first Schnittke cadenza sputters, hesitates, adds dissonance and
double-stops; his suggestions put the rest of the movement in high
relief, one innovator commenting on another. Were he alive today,
Beethoven probably would have been delighted.
The Larghetto unfurled like a tender love letter, with conductor and
orchestra gently following the soloist's lead. The finale was taken
not too fast, skipping along delightfully, with Batiashvili engaging
in some lovely interplay with her violinist colleagues. This time,
Schnittke included moments for violin and timpani—a striking touch,
and deftly executed. (NB: Gidon Kremer has used these cadenzas on his
recording.)
Two relatively rare Sibelius symphonies completed the program,
and among today's conductors of this literature, it would be difficult
to think of one more authoritative than
Vänskä. ( He and the Minnesotans
are recording the entire cycle.) In uncertain hands, the Sixth can
seem puzzling, with its lighter-than-air textures, constant activity,
and unexpected contrasts. The shimmering ache of the opening movement
crests with a brass-tinged peak, before diving back down to end with a
whispering, scurrying flourish. Dazzling rivulets in the second
"allegretto" come to a sudden, hymn-like close. Some sublime passages
for the winds are the main delight in the third movement, where a
short motif is repeated, swept up in little eddies of sound-all of
which the ensemble executed with masterful precision. And the finale
has moments of stirring intensity, before gradually retreating into
silence.
But despite the fascinations of the Sixth, it is the Seventh that
shows the apex of Sibelius's talent: a single movement in which each
phrase seems inexorably interlocked with those before and after.
Hearing it feels like hearing evolution-like watching cells endlessly
divide, generating new life at each turn. In the notes, Robert Markow
calls it "organic unity," and it is hard to imagine a work that seems
to be continually showing different sides of itself, each moment
spawning a host of others. It takes a special conductor to make this
piece display its unique motion, and here Vänskä and these fabulous
musicians created something quite special, capturing a sense of
timeless regeneration. I can't wait to hear their recording.
Bruce Hodges