‘Kreutzer plays
Kreutzer’ might almost be the headline for this
review: Maxim Vengerov, after all, plays the
great ‘Kreutzer’ Stradivarius and played it
in this recital that included Beethoven’s Sonata
No.9 in A major – the ‘Kreutzer’. Of course,
Rodolphe Kreutzer never played the work, describing
it as ‘outrageously unintelligible’, something
a critic might also suggest of the performance
we were given. Like the Bach Sonata No.1 that
started the recital, and the Beethoven which
ended it, this was a concert which could not
really be judged by normal musical standards,
with both Vengerov and Say offering playing
that was as inspirational as it could be infuriating.
The
Bach is as good as any place to start for
it showed how mercurial both these outstanding
musicians can be. Both violin and piano weaved
a sombre passion through the meditative opening
Adagio that was as sheerly beautiful as it
was dynamically flawed. Say’s playing – of
a composer whose works he regards as sacred
– was almost too breathlessly hushed; so much
so that one yearned for more florid finger-work
so as to at least suggest an element of keyboard
colour. That came in the Allegro where Vengerov,
too, seemed more aware of the contrapuntal
energy that gives the movement its flux. The
inspiration from both players, however, came
in their seamlessly intertwined legato which
sustained the work’s moonlit darkness. Indeed,
like Siamese-twins conjoined at the head this
was extraordinarily single-minded playing
that never ceased to impress, at least on
an interpretative level. Yet, the contrast
between the keyboard and violin was so ruthlessly
understated – and this again showed through
in their narrowly textured performance of
the Andante – that one constantly yearned
for one or other of the players to break ranks.
That almost happened in the closing Allegro
with Say’s playing – and especially his right
hand – proving more mercurial of phrasing
than Vengerov’s luminous, though occasionally
over-stated vibrato. If a cerebral approach
to Bach’s contrapuntal writing was what seemingly
dominated the performance it was done at the
expense of individual characterisation.
Unquestionably
great, however, was their performance of Brahms’
Violin Sonata No.2 in A major. One of Brahms’
sunnier works – almost akin to the Second
Symphony in mood – what we got from Vengerov
and Say was a performance that was almost
the antithesis of what it should have been.
Darker toned, dramatically played and thrillingly
articulated it makes one anticipate their
forthcoming CD of the complete sonatas with
some eagerness. For once, that great opening
subject of the sonata distilled some of the
Wagnerian inflections that some hear in it;
and aided by Vengerov’s almost cathedral-like
tone (how magnificently he projects a sonorous,
almost epic sound from the G string) one was
spellbound by the wordless song that makes
this work one of Brahms’ most poetic chamber
pieces. Come the second movement Andante –
with its alternating moods of tranquillity
and high-energy - and the movement’s Slavonic
mood was captured with vibrant authenticity.
If Say was the more improvisatory – using
his pedalling to dextrous effect – it was
Vengerov who captured more the movement’s
innate musical temperament. The simplicity
of the rondo finale was emboldened by tone
colours that rose preternaturally from keyboard
and violin alike to close a performance that
was as memorable as it was original.
Brahms’
C minor Scherzo opened the second half
and was given a similarly authentic sound
world as that of the A minor sonata; juxtaposing
cumulative energy –with sprightly spun rhythms
– with understated, but melodic, phrasing
it served aptly to contrast Brahms at his
most concise with Beethoven at his grandest.
And
Beethoven wrote few things greater than his
A minor Violin Sonata. The outstanding achievement
(or, indeed, drawback) of Vengerov and Say’s
performance of this Everest of sonatas may
not be the incandescent virtuosity which characterised
every bar, nor may it be the denial of almost
two centuries of performance history, for
this was a peculiarly self-indulgent performance
that had no direct ancestry nor a modern-day
context for what we heard. No, the greatness
of this interpretation goes back to the very
first piece played – Bach’s Sonata No.1 -
and the way that these players became subsumed
by a singularity of musical thought. What
I found extraordinary about the performance
was the way that Vengerov literally played
second fiddle to Say with mood, rhythms and
dynamics largely dictated by the pianist.
The very gestures that Beethoven invokes in
this work – it’s almost concerto-like scale,
for example – often seemed to derive from
the keyboard and it was that grandness, that
power, that Vengerov hinted at in his opening
of the work with his double-stopping given
much greater depth than is usually apparent
in performances of this sonata, and which
Say used to such deliberate – and leading
- effect with the power of his left hand.
The hectic, prestissimo divisions that followed,
too, seemed less augmented by the violin than
by the brilliance Say brought to his right
hand on the keyboard with a glittering relentlessness
that pushed Vengerov towards ever-greater
freneticisms of virtuosity. If the richly
composed second movement restored a sense
of musical proportion – if not egalitarianism
- it was again the propulsive final Presto,
with its torrential tarantella, that shifted
the balance back towards Say.
The
problem with this unique performance was that
by subverting Beethoven’s mastery of instrumental
balance we were led along a musical path that
was not wholly convincing. Say, who for a
long time was afraid to attempt Beethoven,
saw elements in Beethoven’s masterpiece that
are not necessarily beneficial to a rounded
performance of it. Because the breathtaking
scale of its difficulties were so easily overcome
by both players what was left was an interpretative
conundrum that remains only partly resolved,
with Say’s impression of this work all but
subverting Vengerov’s own.
And
in this, Say’s stage presence is all-important,
with him proving to be the dominant on stage
partner. He crouches at the piano uncomfortably,
and when not crouched sways perilously towards
his partner. Throughout the entire Bach one
wondered why he needed a page-turner because
he simply wasn’t looking at the music, or
played with his eyes firmly shut. When not
using his right hand he either rubs his chin
or conducts his partner; when not pedalling
(and this was damaging in the Beethoven) he
shuffles and stamps. Vengerov, by no means
a still stage presence himself, seemed propelled
along by his partner’s mannerisms and took
interpretative risks I’m not sure he would
with a less dominant partner. The great irony,
of course, given the instinctive nature of
both these players’ music making – and the
almost telepathic symbiosis that exists between
them at times- is that amid the chaos also
rise moments of genius. An unforgettable –
if controversial ‘Kreisler’ – is proof of
that.
Marc Bridle
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