Kyung-Wha Chung, one of the most
graceful of violinists, has been absent from British concert halls for
too long. However, whether Brahms’ great violin concerto is the ideal
vehicle for this sometimes-temperamental player is questionable; throughout
her performance one was struck by her less than empathetic approach
to the deeper rooted ambivalences of the work.
In part this may be due to the comparative
astringency of her tone; even moments such as the pure spun lyricism,
played high on the E string, after the first movement cadenza, proved
uninvolving with that rapt intensity switched for a more declamatory,
harsh percussiveness. And percussiveness was noteworthy throughout the
performance – there was a willingness to bow harder against the strings
than is required, unfussy double string chords suggesting a technique
somewhat struggling to cope with the demands of Brahms’ scoring and
a lack of clarity in her articulation at key moments. In part it was
a relief to hear a performance which lacked sheer beauty of tone (so
often the norm in this work) and, if her playing owed more to Szigeti
than Oistrakh, it did have an almost irresistible originality. There
were many great individual moments – the depth of sonority she conjured
from the G string being one of them, her replicated sweetness following
the oboe’s second movement solo – but it remained an earthbound performance
of one of the most beautiful of concertos.
Opening the concert was a lugubrious
performance of Ravel’s Suite, Ma mère l’oye. Yet, even
given the somewhat ponderous tempi, this was a performance which impressed
with the beauty of the Philharmonia’s playing, the one constant throughout
this concert. Characterful woodwind (and especially the sublime flute
solos of Kenneth Smith) couldn’t fail to entice the listener into the
shimmering slumber of Ravel’s enchanting, sometimes-oriental sound world.
Radiant string tone, melancholic woodwind and magical brass glissandi
were epic in making the fairytale all the more believable.
What made this concert utterly unforgettable,
however, was a staggering performance of Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony
– quite simply the finest performance of the work I have heard in any
concert hall, anywhere. The key to its greatness was the magnificent
playing of the Philharmonia with every section (notably the brass) excelling
themselves in a performance that was as powerful and explosive as it
was intense and electrifying. With Dutoit by no means dragging tempi
(as he can do latterly) his grip over the symphonic architecture of
the work remained absolute (if not totalitarian).
Perhaps the opening ‘cellos and
basses didn’t quite have the extraordinary sonority of tone that Mravinsky
brought to this work, but listening to the ‘cellos at the opening of
the allegretto it was clear that they possessed the power to
deliver gritty string playing of coal-black darkness. Moments such as
the first movement’s climax and its disintegration into catastrophe
brought with it plangent brass – not least from the magnificent tuba
player, John Jenkins. Some might have found the brass during the first
movement a little too trenchant but given the scope of this performance
it was never less than appropriate; this was, after all, a performance
which appealed because its anger was determinedly reactionary, almost
declaiming this as a work antipathetic to the circumstances under which
it was written.
Dutoit’s panoramic view of this
symphony reached its apogee in the serenity of the Largo (an
exquisite performance, in fact) where sublime high violins were achingly
contrasted with the penumbral, dense harmony of the lower strings. Fabulous
intonation over-emphasised the purity of Shostakovich’s string writing
– during the raging middle section acerbic woodwind punctuated the whistling
of the violins and stammering percussion with an unequivocal and mesmeric
iciness. Ending in almost incendiary silence the sheer spellbinding
beauty the orchestra and conductor unravelled in this movement was not
only revelatory, but stunning. If this reviewer hears a performance
of this movement which even gets half way to the transparency witnessed
here he will be lucky indeed.
Launching straight into the Allegro
non troppo, with considerable panache one should add, Dutoit built
up the intensity swiftly. Peerless brass tone – with spectacular trombones
– laced the movement with the full-girdled sound this symphony deserves,
but rarely receives. The coda itself, with string playing of piercing,
penetrating power, was almost schismatic. The last bars just blazed
like an inferno rounding off a performance of astounding grip and power.
All the more tragic that this performance
was neither recorded nor broadcast. In every way – conducting, playing
and interpretation – it was world class.
Marc Bridle
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