Queen Elizabeth Hall
Violin Sonata no.8 in G
major, op.30 no.3
Violin Sonata no.9 in A
major, op.47, ‘Kreutzer’
Violin Sonata no.10 in G
major, op.96
When writing on the first
concert in this series, I tempted fate or rather the Almighty, by saying that,
barring an act of God I should be hearing all three. Transport for London
sprang into action on 7 November, to prevent me from attending the second.
However, I almost feel that I could have reviewed it anyway, so similar were my
responses to the Thursday evening and Sunday afternoon performances. In the
broadest terms, Renaud Capuçon’s playing remained a joy and a perceptive joy at
that; Frank Braley’s generally anonymous contribution remained a mystery in
Beethoven of all composers.
A quicksilver opening
promised good things for the G major sonata, op.30 no.3. Braley remained second
fiddle, as it were, but he seemed less reticent, if still far too polite. Capuçon
offered the sweetest of tone and, more importantly still, a true sense of what
Wagner would have called the melos of
the work. Motivic tension registered in the first movement’s exposition,
especially second time round. The development was over in a flash, but
accomplished its mission; the recapitulation was experienced at least as much
as a second development, at least insofar as the violin part were concerned. The
second movement flowed nicely, benefiting from beautiful – and meaningful –
gradation in violin tone. If only either here or in the finale, Braley had
matched Capuçon in expressive range and formal dynamism. From cheekiness to
truly Beethovenian vehemence, it was all there – in the violin.
The Kreutzer opened grandly, full of potentiality. Braley sounded
stronger too, though again he soon retreated into the background. Despite his
reticence, though, the first movement’s performance remained urgent. And how
one marvelled at the technique, tone quality, and dead-centred intonation of
the violinist – all in expressive service. Once again, then, Beethoven’s
minor-mode daemon made its presence felt, with due obsessiveness and humanity.
Braley was somewhat more assertive in the recapitulation – and what a
difference that made, apparently even pushing Capuçon to run the extra
thrilling mile. Much to my surprise, Braley often sounded heavy-handed in the
slow movement. Light and shade were too often missing. I found much of it on
the fast side too, missing the rapt quality that is surely necessary here.
Whilst it progressed pleasantly, even enjoyably, sublimity was not on offer, at
least not until the greater depth Capuçon discovered in the minore variation, perhaps suggestive of
Schubert, and its successor. The finale sounded similar in character to that of
the earlier G major sonata, though more boisterous – perhaps partly on account
of the greater need for releases. There was no doubt that this was the composer
of the Waldstein Sonata, the Fifth
Piano Concerto, the Fifth Symphony. If only… well, you know the proviso by now.
A different, decidedly ‘later’,
if not quite ‘late’ voice was, quite rightly, to be heard in op.96. The first
movement sounded apparently both simpler and more fragmentary; there was
something undeniably elusive to the performance, which reminded me of Adorno’s
thesis of Beethoven’s renunciation of symphonic mastery in his music of this
period. This first movement revealed strange but not unvariegated placidity, or
so it seemed. There was a touching dignity, vulnerability, and again
strangeness to its successor. The performance captured well an introversion
that could not help but attempt, with ambiguous success, to turn outward. In
context, the scherzo burst forth as necessary contrast, though it would have
done still more so, had the piano equalled the violin in character. It was
difficult to avoid the sense of a ‘late’, bagatelle-like quality, with equally
striking eighteenth-century reminiscence. The finale then offered an experience
of terse, would-be ‘simplicity’. Perhaps it might at times have benefited from
a more rarefied air, but relative straightforwardness had its own rewards.
