Royal Festival Hall
Saint-Saëns – Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso, op.28
Mozart – Piano Concerto no.20
in D minor, KV 466
Elgar – Enigma Variations, op.36
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| Image: Decca |
Sir Neville Marriner and the
Academy of St Martin in the Fields (the ensemble’s initial hyphens dropped in
1988) have been performing together in public since 1959, though Marriner
appeared as violinist on a good few recordings before then. Having founded the
ensemble and guided it through a number of transformations – not least, its
varying constitution as small ensemble, chamber orchestra, and symphony
orchestra – Sir Neville, though no longer the Music Director, still plays an
active part in the life of the ASMF as conductor. Often, sadly, that happens
more often abroad than here in England; indeed, though I have often heard the
orchestra, this was actually the first time I have heard the conductor ‘live’. Two weeks shy of his ninetieth birthday, that
was put right with a wonderful celebratory concert, including the present Music
Director (only the second in the orchestra’s history), Joshua Bell, and
Principal Guest Conductor, Murray Perahia.
Bell acted as soloist and
director for his contribution, Saint-Saëns’s Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso. Perhaps surprisingly, it was
here that the orchestra was at its smallest (strings: 7.6.4.3.2). It was a
stylish performance, benefiting from razor-sharp unanimity and a keen sense of
rhythm, without being driven too hard. There was plenty of light and shade, a
credit both to the players’ responsiveness and to Bell’s enlightened direction.
It was indeed a joy of sorts to hear such immaculate playing from all
concerned. There is, of course, only so deep one can go in such a piece, but he
ensured that it was not merely an opportunity for virtuoso display.
I had assumed that Perahia
would be directing Mozart’s D minor Piano Concerto from the piano, so was
delighted when Marriner came to the podium to conduct. The string section here
was larger, though still on what one might call a chamber scale (10.8. 6.6.3).
More important than mere size, however, was the transparency of sound, allied
to commendable fullness where need be (more so, I fancied, than on the ASMF
recordings with Alfred Brendel). Doubtless Marriner’s detractors would consider
this a failing, but I was quite delighted to hear the first movement open as if
it were the same orchestra that had played for Amadeus. (The beautifully-illustrated programme had an amusing
advertisement for that ‘motion picture’, with pictures of Mozart and Marriner: ‘Only
two people were qualified to conduct the score of Milos Forman’s “Amadeus”. One
was unavailable.’) The standard of orchestral execution was outstanding: sweet
of tone, beguiling indeed, but with not a little demonic fury too. Such things
are relative: this was not the Mozart of, say, Barenboim or Furtwängler, but
nor was it trying to be. It was, however, a splendid display of fine
musicianship from all concerned. Tempi and phrasing went unnoticed in the best
sense: this was an excellent example of art concealing art. Perahia perhaps
proved a little darker, even on occasion heavier of hand, than one might have
expected, but for the most part, his was a fine performance too. The cadenzas –
I do not know whose they were: certainly not Beethoven’s – here and in the
finale were imaginative and received fine advocacy. The slow movement was
poised, rightly, between tragedy and consolation, making one feel both all the
more, without a hint of exaggeration. It was beautifully shaped, without
sounding ‘shaped’. Perahia offered a considerable degree of ornamentation.
Clean lines and characterful woodwind (not least, Christopher Cowie’s oboe)
added to an account that was far more than ‘pleasing’. Coughing, alas, extended
until the end of Perahia’s opening solo to the finale. Nevertheless, it was
expertly played: a very tricky moment indeed to bring off. Then the ASMF truly
unleashed Mozart’s D minor daemon, whilst remaining clean, clear, and lithe:
this was never going to be a performance of Furtwänglerian mysticism, but it
convinced on its own terms. There was just the right degree of tension between
minor and major, the coda proving a delightful release.
A larger orchestra again
(strings 12.10.8.8.6) convened following the interval for Elgar’s Enigma Variations. I was struck
immediately by the cultivated sound of the strings: not for its own sake, but
at the service of the score and its subtleties. Fabled virtuosity and
transparency were once again apparent, often evoking Mendelssohn, indeed as
early as the Theme and certainly in the first variation. This was not ‘weighty’
Elgar, but nor was it ‘light’ in any trivial sense. And there was plenty of
depth to the string tone where required, as for instance in the fourth
variation, ‘WMB’. Tumultuous passages were taken at quite a lick, yet never
sounded merely quick; there was bravado here, but musical bravado. ‘He who
dares wins’: and he did. Moreover, there was plenty of what, in traditionally
gendered terms, not inappropriate in Elgar’s case, we might call ‘feminine’
contrast. Crucially, there was never so much as a hint of sentimentality. ‘Nimrod’ was deeply felt, yes, but musicianship was
all. ‘Dorabella’ brought lightly-worn Mendelssohn and Brahms to the fore, maybe
even a hint of Strauss. ‘GRS’ perhaps Liszt – and not only in the use of the
triangle. But the composer’s voice remained ever present, whoever his forebears
may have been.
This was a distinguished
performance, a fitting celebration of a distinguished career. Let us look
forward, then, to a similar occasion in ten years’ time. And lest the thought
seem absurd – maybe it is, maybe it is not – let us remember Elliott Carter,
whom no one would have expected to continue composing into his second century.
