Neues Gewandhaus,
Leipzig
Symphony no.2 in D major,
op.73
Piano Concerto no.2 in B-flat
major, op.83
Arcadi Volodos (piano)
Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra
Riccardo Chailly (conductor)
 |
Players of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra just prior to the
Saturday evening rehearsal for this concert |
Riccardo Chailly’s recent Decca
recordings of the Brahms symphonies and assorted other orchestral works are
being heavily promoted by symphony-and-concerto cycles – the concertos do not
appear in the Decca set – first in Leipzig, and later in London, Paris, and
Vienna. I cannot claim to have been a devotee of Chailly’s Beethoven, much
though I love the sound of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, and so, not having
heard the Brahms recordings, approached this concert with some trepidation. Perhaps
I should have recalled a Prom a good few years ago, in which Beethoven and Brahms were combined, for
I had found the latter far more to my liking. At any rate, if the inevitable list
of favourites from the past remains unchallenged, a problem almost as great for
Brahms as for Beethoven, this concert offered rewards beyond the undoubted
pleasure of this great orchestra’s ‘old German’ sound.
The first movement of the
Second Symphony was certainly not slow, but nor was it unduly driven. Tempo
variations were properly transitional, with none of the abrupt gear changes one
often hears in this music from ‘period’ conductors attempting to sound ‘Romantic’.
Chailly’s reading focused attention upon Brahms’s concision, at least during
the exposition; yet there was room for expansiveness later on too. Counterpoint
was not merely ‘busy’, but urgently propelling. This remained Brahms somewhat
in the mould of Schumann, even Mendelssohn, but there was strength where
required. Here and elsewhere, the Leipzig woodwind ravished in properly
post-Mozartian mould; such was Harmoniemusik
to melt the heart of the most sceptical of listeners. Schumann seemed still more
to haunt the second movement, more an intermezzo than an Adagio, even with the caveat non
troppo. Yet it worked; it seemed properly ‘placed’ within Chailly’s
conception of the whole. Impressively shaped, Brahms’s melodic transformations had
a necessary sense of ‘rightness’. Much the same could be said of the third
movement in its different way. Balletic to an extent that on occasion suggested
Tchaikovsky, it is not how I should always want to hear the music; here,
however, it made sense. The finale opened in what was perhaps overly excitable
fashion, and remained urgent throughout. Despite occasional lapses in ensemble,
the Gewandhaus Orchestra once again displayed a fine pedigree in Brahms. The
first of the composer’s Hungarian Dances
made for a swashbuckling and surprising encore – given that this was only the
first half.
Brahms’s Second Piano
Concerto is not so often heard as one might expect. Though I have loved it
since I first heard it as a sixth-former, I cannot recall having attended a
single concert performance, though I have often heard its D minor elder sibling.
Its ferocious technical demands were met with ease by Arcadi Volodos; yet,
however impressive on its own terms, such pianistic prowess is only a
starting-point for a musical performance.
Technique, as Sir Peter Pears once remarked, is the liberation of the
imagination – or at least it should be. If Chailly and Volodos did not plumb
the metaphysical depths of, say, Gilels and Jochum, in what remains to my mind
the greatest recording I have heard of the greatest piano concerto since
Beethoven, they nevertheless offered a thoroughly musical traversal. The
orchestra sounded lithe in its exposition, Chailly’s occasional rhetorical
inflections convincing and purposeful rather than attention-seeking. There was
strength, truthfulness even, to Volodos’s performance when he re-entered. If,
hearing his tone ‘blind’, I might have thought it more apposite to Liszt than
to Brahms, that was perhaps as much a matter of his Steinway as anything else.
(I cling in principle to my preference for a Bösendorfer here, though a great
performance will soon rid my mind of such thoughts.) Moreover, the ‘fullness’
of Brahms’s piano writing was felt, understood, and communicated without
heaviness. Trills were to die for too. And what a gloriously full-blooded
string sound was unleashed on occasion. The scherzo was urgent, though not
unduly driven. Volodos’s phrasing and shading were just as intelligent here.
That difficult transition to the trio was well handled by Chailly, the ensuing
cross-rhythms making their point. The slow movement was flowing, never rigid.
Hand on heart, I found it difficult to warm to the tone of the principal
cellist, relatively thin, with wide vibrato apparently employed to compensate.
His solos were well shaped however, and taste is certainly a factor in such
matters. Volodos displayed rich variation in piano tone, from half lights that
peered forward to the late solo works to a full Brahms thunder that evoked the
First Piano Concerto. There were wonderful moments of rapt stillness too, from
orchestra and soloist alike. The finale was well judged, with a winning lilt
that eludes a good number of performers. Once again, the Leipzig woodwind
proved an especial joy, prompting memories of the symphony in the first half,
helping to impart further unity to an impressive Sunday morning concert.
