Barbican Hall
Britten – Four Sea Interludes from ‘Peter Grimes’,
op.33a
Mozart – Piano Concerto no.17
in G major, KV 453
Beethoven – Symphony no.7 in
A major, op.92
Maria João Pires (piano)
London Symphony Orchestra
Bernard Haitink (conductor).
There is not a great deal of
Britten orchestral music, so this anniversary year will doubtless hear a good
few outings for the Four Sea Interludes.
I doubt that any will come better than this scorching – drenching? – account
from Bernard Haitink and the London Symphony Orchestra. The opening strings of ‘Dawn’
managed to sound both translucent and
brilliant, answered by woodwind marine fantasy and grave foreboding from the
brass. The movement was as dramatically pregnant as I have heard, perhaps still
more so: what we have lost in Haitink’s continued absence from the Royal Opera
House, and what, during that period, the LSO has gained! Britten is at his best
when his music is evidently ‘constructed’ – think of The Turn of the Screw, surely his masterpiece – and constructed is
just how ‘Sunday Morning’ sounded here. Its building-up of fourths put me
distantly in mind of Schoenberg’s First Chamber Symphony and of Bartók. Again,
Britten is at his best when rescued from parochialism, likewise the festival he
founded at Aldeburgh. Even if some of the movement and much of the ensuing ‘Moonlight’
sounds uncomfortably close to the banalities of Shostakovich, Haitink shaped
them very well indeed. The conductor unsurprisingly schewed easy histrionics in
the ‘Storm’ in favour of structural integrity, always a Haitink watchword. The
LSO brass were in fantastic form, but so, to be fair, was the entire orchestra.
It was then a pity, to put it mildly, that a man seated across the aisle from
me started to snore loudly; it was also astonishing, given the decibel and voltage
levels. Would that his neighbour had taken the trouble to awaken him, both here
and in the Mozart concerto that followed.
The G major Piano Concerto,
KV 453, opened with a well articulated, resolutely unsentimentalised tutti. Perhaps, though, Haitink might
have allowed the music to smile a little more; Sir Colin Davis would have done.
Nevertheless, Haitink’s command of structure remained something for which to be
grateful. Maria João Pires’s playing was immaculately turned, her ear for
phrasing unerring. Ultimately, though, this first movement never quite
displayed the ravishing Mozartian pleasure that it ought. Matters improved in
the slow movement: Haitink did not prove too brisk, as he has sometimes done
recently. The piano part was poised throughout, Pires exhibiting a touch to die
for. Strings were beautifully veiled for the minor mode section, the interplay
between them and Pires beyond reproach. Whatever had been missing in the first
movement was now certainly present. This was serious, as it should be, but
never ponderous. Haitink hit upon just the right Papageno-tempo for the finale;
far too often one hears it taken as an Allegro
rather than Allegretto, having the
late change of tempo result in a mere scramble. Again, Pires’s phrases were exquisitely
shaped, though no more so than those of the LSO woodwind. The fathomless
profundity of Mozart’s chromaticism effortlessly registered, as did the operatic
joy of diatonic release.
The last time before this I had heard
Haitink conduct Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, it had been in the very same
hall, though with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. In many respects this LSO account proved
very similar – sadly, including the problematic nature of the finale. That
said, there was much to enjoy earlier on. The introduction to the first
movement demonstrated that precision and weight were anything but antithetical.
There was a profound sense of inevitability, of something set in motion that
would take some time to resolve. A Vivace
of almost Brahmsian satisfaction ensued. No ‘points’ were being made; Beethoven’s
melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic invention seemed simply to speak for
themselves, art concealing art both in composition and performance. How refreshing
for an age in which the more extreme the perversity inflicted on Beethoven – it
did not start with Harnoncourt, and he is not the worst offender, yet he
remains emblematic – the more loudly it will be hailed in fashionable circles.
If much of Haitink’s recent Beethoven has proved oddly driven, here at least he
seemed to have taken a step back, and attained the sort of implacability one
associates with Klemperer. There were incidental pleasures, for instance the
backward recapitulatory glance towards the Pastoral
offered by the LSO woodwind, but structural integrity was again the overall
determinant. A grinding coda bass line was a case in point, never exaggerated,
and thus all the more telling.
The slow movement – and yes,
I know describing it as such is a red rag to certain bulls – was not undersold;
well, not grievously, anyway. It retained considerable darkness of tone and the
sense of a processional despite the swift tempo chosen by Haitink. After recent
lamentable Beethoven performances in London from the likes of
Esa-Pekka Salonen and Vladimir
Jurowski, this came as a considerable relief, perhaps particularly given
the quibbles one might have had with the performance if considered in the
abstract. This flowed in the best sense, even if it remained somewhat
earthbound when considered in the light of Daniel
Barenboim’s astounding Proms performance last summer. The scherzo veered
towards the unduly driven, but for the most part retained a degree of
freshness. Haitink permitted a slight relaxation for the trio, though, Romantic
that I remain, I could not help but wish for a little more. The LSO woodwind
managed nevertheless not to sacrifice all sense of the Mozartian serenade:
impressive indeed, at such a tempo! However, the finale, as in Haitink’s
Concertgebouw performance, proved relentless, the drive imparted antithetical
to Beethoven’s humanity. Orchestral weight remained, but this was a hectoring
account: clearly Haitink’s present conception, but one which, despite a
breakneck tempo, lumbered rather than danced.
