It is good that Julian Anderson,
as the LPO’s Composer in Focus, is getting the attention he deserves:
a disc of his music has been recorded by the BBCSO under Oliver Knussen,
to be released on Ondine, and the current London exposure can do him
no harm. On this occasion we heard The Crazed Moon (1997); Stations
of the Sun was played last November and Khorovod will be
performed by the LPO on June 12th.
Anderson was due to give
a pre-concert talk, in conjunction with Anthony Burton. An ear infection
meant he could not fly back to London from the US in time, however (presumably
he was stuck on a boat, somewhere in the mid-Atlantic), so it was up
to Burton and the pianist Huw Watkins, a pupil of Anderson’s, to provide
the requisite background for the uninitiated.
The decision to include
performances of three of Anderson’s piano pieces as an aural starter
to the orchestral main course was a good one. Watkins gave eminently
musical accounts of Etude No. 2 (a study in monody with Eastern European
inflections), Etude No. 4 (entitled, ‘Misreading Rameau’) and Quasi
una Passacaglia (written for Oliver Knussen’s 55th birthday
celebrations: a 15-note passacaglia, with shimmering trills and oblique
glances at jazz).
The orchestral The Crazed
Moon came with a double dedication on this occasion. Initially,
it was an elegy for the composer’s friend, Graeme Smith, who died in
1995 at the age of 24. However, Sue Knussen, who had interviewed Anderson
before Stations of the Sun last November and was originally scheduled
to take the introductory event to this concert, died just a few weeks
ago after a sudden illness: this performance of The Crazed Moon
was explicitly dedicated to her memory. It is an impressive work. The
LPO responded to Otaka’s crystal-clear beat by giving a dedicated account.
Alas, the split-laden opening (on three off-stage trumpets) did not
bode well, but the ensuing subterranean grumblings set up a monolithic
aura which permeated the work’s 13-minute span. Anderson has a keen
aural appetite that can be heard not only in his expert and imaginative
orchestration but also in his complex heterophonies. It is clear Anderson
wishes to take the listener on a journey, and not an easy one at that.
But a richly rewarding one, nevertheless.
Mendelssohn’s First Piano
Concerto provided stark contrast. Lang Lang is an impressive pianist
on his day and his Teldec recital
disc is certainly well worth hearing.
Expectations were therefore running high. A pity then that he seemed
to feel his way into Mendelssohn’s fleet-footed world. The opening declamations
were not as sparkling as they might have been (the orchestra remained
closer to the composer’s spirit throughout the first movement). Only
in the Andante did Lang Lang unleash his sensitive side (mirrored especially
by some ravishing sonorities from the lower strings) and reveal his
affinity to Mendelssohn – the finale heralded a return to the joie-de-vivre-less
impression of the first movement. Lang Lang, now under contract to DG,
has recorded this concerto (the coupling is Tchaikovsky 1) with the
Chicago Symphony under Barenboim, due for release in June. It will be
interesting to compare that with this live performance. In the event,
the passages in the finale that did hint at Lang Lang’s sense of fun
only served to highlight what was missing elsewhere.
The encore was the real
surprise. Lang Lang returned to the stage with an older gentleman (‘this
is my father’) to play an arrangement for erhu (Chinese two-string fiddle)
and piano of a piece called, ‘Competing horses’. Great fun, sheer delight,
and totally unexpected. And proof that an erhu can neigh like the best
of them.
Otaka, conducting from memory,
presented Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony clearly and lucidly (this piece
can seem to sprawl in the wrong hands). Care was evident from the very
opening. Wind chords were expertly balanced, climaxes well prepared
(I thought Otaka was going to take off at one point). The LPO certainly
seemed to enjoy the romp of the second movement, an effective contrast
to the blossoming of emotion in the famous Adagio. This was a by turns
elevating, endearing, touching and rousing reading which was a great
success, even if it did not erase memories of Svetlanov and the Philharmonia
in this hall in January
2002.
As a bonus, I almost expected
Otaka to wheel out his uncle, toting a shakuhachi …
Colin Clarke
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