A remarkable
concert in many ways. Czech conductor Jirí
Belohlávek on home turf is evidently
a force to be reckoned with, and the ovation
he received from the orchestra at the end
of the evening only confirmed impressions
that there is a close rapport in operation
here. Belohlávek’s work in the Czech
Republic has included a stint as Chief Conductor
of the Prague Symphony Orchestra (1977-89)
and the founding of the Prague Philharmonia
in 1994; in the UK he was appointed Principal
Guest Conductor of the BBCSO in 1995.
Belohlávek
has recorded Janácek’s Sinfonetta
for Chandos. His experience showed through
in an interpretation that emphasised this
composer’s progressive side. Antiphonally
placed trumpets around the orchestra made
for an impressive sonic experience in the
fanfares of the first and last movements (what
playing!) and one sat open-mouthed at the
violin’s almost nonchalant way with Janácek’s
improbable demands in the second movement.
In this latter movement the grotesque was
to the fore, but at the same time in certain
passages Belohlávek heightened the
lyric – the juxtaposition and resultant friction
of the two forces created the necessary energy.
In Belohlávek’s hands, the brass climax
referred clearly back to the fanfares of the
first movement (and pointed forward to those
of the close), a reflexivity not always highlighted.
If Janácek’s
Romantic roots were celebrated by an unashamed
string ‘sigh’ to open the Moderato, it seemed
a shame that some of the more manic horn writing
was not pushed forward in the balance more;
similarly, the tempo of the fourth movement
was on the verge of Allegro, yet just fell
short of violating the ‘Allegretto’ indicator.
Here abrupt contrasts once again formed a
characteristic disjunct momentum. Much superb
playing – if one section of the orchestra
deserves unreserved praise, perhaps that should
go to the creamy-toned and completely confident
trombones.
The
same high standards made Dvorák’s New
World a memorable experience. Intensity,
certainly, was there from the very start.
Pauses, pregnant with expectation, were judged
perfectly (by no means always the case) and
if the rhythmic life of the Allegro was by
now no surprise, the explosive brass was.
A refusal to linger unnecessarily for the
flute’s second subject meant that the triumvirate
marriage of structural delineation, surface
detail and emotional truth led to a feeling
of inevitability I have not heard in this
piece for many a year (perhaps twenty years,
in fact, when Zdenek Macal conducted the Hallé
at the Free Trade Hall in a performance that
carried with it much the same confidence and
inevitability).
The
famous Largo’s cor anglais solo was almost
upstaged by the perfectly balanced, creamy,
stately brass chords that formed its introduction.
If the Scherzo was notable for characterful
woodwind and punchy rhythms, it was the finale
that brought the Philharmonia to a peak. It
was ‘con fuoco’ indeed, just as the composer
asks, yet this was a fire born of a joy in
life itself. A clarinet solo of liquid legato
was a highlight along the way, but there is
no doubting that the Philharmonia in full
cry as it brought the work to a close was
the most memorable part of the experience.
In between
came a more routine account of Mozart’s sunny
A major Piano Concerto, K488 (No. 23, for
those that like to count). Scaled-down orchestral
forces provided the perfect back-drop for
Hungarian pianist Zoltán Kocsis (who,
incidentally, played along ever so subtly
with the orchestral exposition). With chamber
playing like this from the orchestra, the
concerto emerged more as an expanded Piano
Quartet, such was the intimacy of interchange.
Belohlávek highlighted the clarinets
in the texture, invoking a Zauberflöte-like
aura. If the Adagio was remarkably swift,
it still held within it a great many shadings
from pianist and orchestra. Only an underplayed
left hand from Kocsis meant that the significance
of a piano-bassoon exchange was lost. Speed
was once more of the essence in the Allegro
assai finale, but here there was some distracting
blurring of passage-work from Kocsis (miraculously,
not from the bassoonist, who despatched the
semiquavers with aplomb). The orchestra pointed
the theme significantly better than Kocsis,
who displayed a tendency to garble whole passages.
A shame – he was comprehensively outclassed
by his accompanists.
The
Janácek and the Dvorák will
live long in this reviewer’s memory. As a
postscriptum to this review, it is worth mentioning
a pre-concert recital, given by Russian violinist
Shlomy Dobrinsky and Malaysian pianist Mei
Yi Foo as part of the Philharmonia’s entirely
laudable ‘Total Talent’ series. Poignantly
dedicated to the memory of Hugh Bean (who
died on Boxing Day, 2003), both young artists
impressed in a daunting programme of the Franck
Violin Sonata and the Prokofiev Second Sonata
- especially (once she had warmed up) the
pianist. If a touch more abandon in the admittedly
fiendish second movement of the Franck would
have had us on the edge of our seats, a little
more cumulative energy would have made the
finale more impressive. In addition, some
steadier bow control from Dobrinsky would
have eased the third movement: in the final
analysis, this remained a performance seated
on the cusp of maturity. The bittersweet world
of Prokofiev’s fiendish D major Sonata came
across well (Foo brought off the perilous
choral ending laudably). An interesting bonus.
Colin Clarke
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