Royal Albert Hall
Berio – Sinfonia
Shostakovich – Symphony no.4
in C minor, op.43
London Voices (chorus master:
Ben Parry)
European Union Youth
Orchestra
Vasily Petrenko (conductor)
Although far from perfect,
the performance of Berio’s Sinfonia
in the first half of this concert was certainly its high-point; indeed, I
rather wish that I had left at the interval, given the tedium induced by
Shostakovich’s interminable Fourth Symphony. Still, such was the programme
Semyon Bychkov had been intended to conduct. Alas, illness had forced him to
withdraw, to be replaced at short notice by Vasily Petrenko. Petrenko did a
reasonable job in Berio; however, I could not help but wonder how often he had
conducted the work before. It was certainly a swift, driven reading, but that
seemed to reflect a head more than usually stuck in the score (understandable,
given the circumstances).
The opening of the first
movement was promising indeed: aethereal, its harmonies unmistakeably
announcing an ‘Italian’ flavour – both Dallapiccola and Nono springing to mind –
whatever the undoubted internationalism of Berio’s outlook. It is a great piece
for the European Youth Orchestra, not only in terms of that ‘internationalism’
but also because, like Mahler (if only we could have had his music in the
second half!) a large orchestra is employed, but sparingly, smaller ensembles
drawn therefrom to wonderful, magical effect. It was a pity Petrenko drove so
hard, but the movement recognisably remained itself. The second movement came
across almost as a ‘traditional’ slow movement, albeit again with sparing,
almost soloistic use of the orchestra. An appropriately geological and river-like sense characterised the
third movement. Mahler’s Second Symphony was the bedrock, of course, but I was
also fascinated by the thoughts of memory and its tricks that the Rosenkavalier references provoked. If
anything, Strauss and Hofmannsthal proved the more resonant on this occasion,
though whether that was simply a matter of my frame of mind, or was in some
sense owed to the performance, I am not sure. At any rate, the combination –
and conflict – between the EUYO and London Voices made it seem, especially in
the context of Petrenko’s once-again driven tempo, almost as though one were
trapped within a human mind, and a witty one at that. Mathieu van Bellen
offered an excellent violin solo. The typically varied vocal references
included one to ‘Shostakovich’s Fourth Symphony’, concluding with a ‘Thank you,
Mr Petrenko’. Amplification perhaps seemed a bit heavy in the fourth movement,
though perhaps it was more a matter of the acoustic; nevertheless Berio’s
imagination continued to shine through. I wondered whether the final movement
might have smiled a little more – no such problem with the voices – but all was
present and correct, and often rather more than that.
As for Shostakovich: well,
his apologists hail this symphony as a masterpiece, but an opportunity to hear
it had the rest of us wish it had remain ‘withdrawn’, not on account of any
dangerous ‘modernism’ – Stalinist ‘socialist realism’ truly was insane! – but because
it is such a dull, frankly un-symphonic work. For the most part, Petrenko and the
EUYO did all they did to convince, although string playing sometimes went awry.
The first movement opened with Lady Macbeth-style Grand Guignol, perhaps more interesting than anything that
followed. Precision and attack were impressive: there was a chilling
mechanistic quality to the performance, but alas, the work ensured that returns
diminished, Shostakovich’s threadbare invention rendered all too apparent after
a while. The second movement is at least shorter, but from the outset, one felt,
as so often with this composer, that one had heard it all before, and it still
seemed too long. Oft-drawn comparisons with Mahler seemed as incomprehensible
as ever. They made a little more sense in the final movement – so long as one
bore in mind Boulez’s observation that Shostakovich offers at best a ‘second
pressing’ in olive oil terms – but surely nothing justified the lack of
variegation and indeed the sheer tedium of this piece. Petrenko and the
orchestra rendered the movement’s Largo
opening nicely creepy. Various woodwind took the opportunity to shine within the
confines of generally unrelieved lugubriousness. There could, however, be no
papering over the formal cracks. How I longed for a little invention: Haydn,
Webern, Mahler, Berio, just about
anyone! Is it not about time that we abandoned puerile Cold War attitudes and
considered whether this music is actually any good, rather than merely sympathising
with the autobiography of an alleged ‘dissident’?
