Royal Festival Hall
Bartók – Divertimento
Mozart – Sinfonia concertante
for violin and viola in E-flat major, KV 364Beethoven – Symphony no.7 in A major, op.92
The Philharmonia’s closing
concert of the 2014-15 season showed no sign of winding down, not that one
would expect such from a conductor such as Christoph von Dohnányi. This was not
the most ‘Hungarian’ of Bartók performances, but it was well considered, and,
like any composer worthy of the name, Bartók does not benefit from being
defined in nationalistic terms. The first movement offered alert, sometimes
even febrile string playing. Climaxes and contrasting intimacies were very well
shaped, rhythms not without a tellingly ominous quality. A broad emotional
range, then, was traversed, as in the slow movement, whose contours were
equally intelligible throughout. In the finale, the solo intrumentalists
sounded especially impressive, quite beyond reproach. Counterpoint was
admirably clear in a performance which, rightly, looked back to Bachian
inspiration without ever losing sight of the composer’s inimitable voice.
Judging by the frequency of
performances he has conducted of Mozart’s great E-flat major Sinfonia
Concertante, Dohnányi is very fond of the work – and, frankly, who could fail
to be? Its greatness, likewise, did not fail to announce itself from the orchestral
tone and direction in the opening tutti.
‘Authenticity’ might never have happened; instead, solid, unfashionable,
musical virtues were the order of the day. The Philharmonia’s evenness and
beauty of tone during a long crescendo
were certainly of a golden age. Arabella
Steinbacher and Lawrence Power proved equally intelligent, sensitive, and
gracious. Mozart is never an arena in which to attempt point-scoring, and it
was never attempted here, but there was nothing bland to the performance
either; the score was simply, or not so simply, treated with the respect it
deserves. Chamber-like collaboration between the soloists was exemplary. Both
of them took on, rightly, more of a solo voice in the Andante, which, as a whole, sounded ineffably sad, though never
inappropriately bitter. A swift tempo for the finale worked well too; this was
Apollonian Mozart, which yet did not lack anything in depth. (As Nietzsche put
it, the Greeks ‘were superficial – out of profundity!’ Well, not quite like that, but anyway…) Mozart’s
symmetries and his formal dynamism came together as only so fine a performance
of his music can possibly suggest.
Nowadays, conducting
Beethoven convincingly seems as tall an order as doing so for Mozart. It is
good, therefore, to report that Dohnányi passed the test with flying colours –
perhaps because he had nothing to prove. The first movement’s introduction
offered both weight and delicacy. Although slightly on the slow side for what
many are used to today, it was certainly none the worse for that. Crucially,
every note sounded necessary. (That ought to go without saying, but alas does
not.) Whilst it is doubtless fanciful to think of this too emphatically as
Klemperer’s old orchestra, the thought would not quite leave me alone. Dohnányi’s
handling of the transition to the exposition was that of an old (in the nicest
sense!) pro: almost imperceptible. And then, came true exhilaration; there was
no mistaking the vigour in the Philharmonia’s playing, nor its freshness. Form
was dynamic, as it must be, and yet so rarely is. Double basses sounded duly
weird and goal-oriented in the
celebrated coda. When the movement had come to a close, I found myself
astonished at its concision, almost as if it had been the first movement of the
Fifth. The second movement flowed with a typical lack of showiness, although I
could have done without an intervention from mobile telephone. Inevitability –
difficult to describe, but impossible to mistake – was the properly
Beethovenian characteristic, bar that intervention from another world. The music
seemed to encompass tragedy, without being narrowly defined by it. Rhythm
offered absolute security for the movement’s foundations, upon which composer
and performers could build. The Scherzo was very fast, without sounding
harried, its Trio providing relative relief, but no drop in tension. How was
that possible? In a word: harmony. Joy won out in the finale, although this was
no easy victory. Tradition, not as mere Mahlerian Schlamperei, but understood in a properly Catholic, developmental
sense, also proved a victor. So too did Beethoven.
