Royal Festival Hall
Schumann – Overture: Der Braut von Messina, op.100
Beethoven – Concerto for
piano, violin, and cello in C major, op.56
Schumann – Symphony no.2 in C
major, op.61
Baiba Skride (violin)
Daniel Müller-Schott (cello)
Lars Vogt (piano)
London Philharmonic Orchestra
Christoph Eschenbach (conductor)
Christoph Eschenbach is a
regular visitor to the London Philharmonic, but I think this was the first time
I caught them together. I certainly hope that it will not be the last, for it
is quite a while since I have heard the LPO on such good form. There was no nonsense
about scaling the orchestra down (fifteen firsts down to eight double basses
for the Schumann works); that cannot but have helped. But the dark,
convincingly German tone Eschenbach drew from the orchestra was just as
important, probably more so. Schumann’s Bride
of Messina Overture made for an excellent opening, its introduction full of
tension, slow but quite the opposite of staid, as if on a coiled spring. The main
Allegro was properly tormented, the
prominent piccolo part reminiscent of Beethoven’s use of the instrument. A
warmly lyrical clarinet second subject offered balm to the soul, though it was
soon undercut. This is the sort of piece – and performance – for which the word
‘Romanticism’ might have been intended, and it is a piece we should hear more
often.
The opening of Beethoven’s Triple Concerto nevertheless registered
an increase in voltage. What a joy it was to hear the LPO sounding so darkly
German in tone, miles away from the quasi-‘authentic’ experiments of its music
director. Romantic warmth from the cello, cultivation from the violin,
obstinate ruggedness from the piano: those were the initial impressions gleaned
from the solo instruments’ first entries. Character, then, was portrayed,
though it was amenable to transformation according to Beethoven’s demands.
Sometimes I felt that Lars Vogt’s piano playing was ingratiating, and could
also be rather neutral in tone, but at least it was not sentimentalised. Though
he did nothing to upstage his colleagues, Daniel Müller-Schott’s performance of
the cello part was the star turn for me. Eschenbach’s handling of the orchestra
was equally important though, drive coming from within, or better from below
(the bass line). The slow movement opened with a sweetly intense solo from
Müller-Schott. The trio, including Baiba Skride’s violin thereafter blended
uncommonly well in an ideally posed account that gave Beethoven all the time he
needed, without ever coming close to dragging. Orchestral depth was present
where it mattered. Müller-Schott’s transition to the finale was finely judged.
The movement fairly danced, lacking nothing to start with in Beethovenian
vigour, but fading of the latter made it overstay its welcome. There should not
be a suspicion of note-spinning; here there was, if only slightly.
Schumann’s Second Symphony
received a memorable account, revealing Eschenbach and the LPO at their finest.
I was very much in two minds for the first half of the first movement – but that
intrigued me. At first, I wondered whether Eschenbach’s direction was two
four-square, playing to the score’s potential weaknesses; however, Eschenbach
took the high road of making a virtue out of them. If his reading lacked the
easy flow of, say, Wolfgang Sawallisch, then rhythmic and motivic insistence
told their own story, even when underlined to an extent I should have thought
undesirable in theory. That was all the more the case when themes were tossed
between parts, Eschenbach’s division of the violins paying off handsomely,
though the woodwind proved equally distinguished in that respect. This movement
often sounded like an uphill struggle, even swimming against the tide, yet it
held the attention and, more than that, compelled. And there was a truly
Beethovenian spirit of triumph to the recapitulation.
The scherzo was taken at
quite a lick, almost insanely so, but Eschenbach’s tempo held no fears for the
LPO. The disturbing hesitance of the trios – a matter of interpretative
strategy – painted the outer sections in greater relief. Even when Schumann
sang, it was disquieting. A long-breathed account of a true slow movement
banished any thoughts of the mere intermezzo one sometimes hears. The LPO’s
playing was darkly beautiful, benefiting from the surest of foundations in
Eschenbach’s understanding of harmonic rhythm. There was, for once, not the
slightest hint of ‘chamber orchestra’ condescension; this was truly symphonic,
and all the better for it. A martial opening announced a finale that was
anything but carefree; there was symphonic battle yet to be done. And it was
won with gloriously rich string tone. Expertly shaped, this was as resounding a
rejoinder to the clarions of ‘authenticity’ as one could have hoped for,
arguably more so. Amongst present conductors, Eschenbach gave Barenboim a run
for his money: quite an achievement.
