Royal Albert Hall
Schoenberg – Chamber Symphony no.1, op.9
Beethoven – Concerto for violin, cello,
and piano, in C major, op.56
Tchaikovsky – Symphony no.4 in F minor,
op.36
Guy Braunstein (violin)
Kian Soltani (cello)
West-Eastern Divan Orchestra,
Daniel Barenboim (piano/conductor)
This was an intriguing opportunity. I
heard two of the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra’s three Salzburg concerts last
week, stupidly missing the third for a miserable Fidelio. Here, at the Proms, a work from each of those concerts was
given. I was thus able to hear two performances of the works by Beethoven and
Tchaikovsky, and to hear the Schoenberg First Chamber Symphony from that regrettably
missed concert. The acoustic of the Grosses Festspielhaus was, unsurprisingly,
a clear winner over that of the Royal Albert Hall. However, as so often, my
ears adjusted, so that the experiences were not so different as one might have
expected. Performances? Swings and roundabouts. In many ways, very similar, but
I think London had the edge in Beethoven, Salzburg in Tchaikovsky.
First, however, was the Schoenberg. I was
astonished at the balance between the instruments, difficult to attain at the
best of times. At no point were the strings overwhelmed. Barenboim’s
combination of flexibility of tempo and sure harmonic understanding made for a
very fine performance indeed; so did the richness of sound from these
extraordinary musicians. The ‘character’ of themes and their working was as
sharp as in Haydn, the cut and thrust of their development well-nigh
Beethovenian, in a way I cannot recall previously having heard. That was
certainly not at the expense of an array of colours, which seemed to look
forward to Schoenberg’s own op.16 Five
Orchestral Pieces. The Adagio
section brought suspense but also clarity in motivic derivation and
development. Colours, again, both took us back to so many of the Austro-German
predecessors of whom Schoenberg was so inordinately proud, and forward too. The
recapitulation did what it should: recapitulated, yes, but also further
developed. Not for nothing is Barenboim renowned for both Schoenberg and
Beethoven.
When it came to Beethoven’s own Triple
Concerto, the hairs on the back of my neck stood for the first orchestral
tutti. Both the deep, rich sonority of the orchestra and the sheer purpose of
Barenboim’s conducting ensured that. The sweetness of Guy Braunstein’s tone and
the aristocratic, almost Fournier-like character of Kian Soltani’s cello
playing proved perfect foils for each other. I was less entirely convinced
about Barenboim’s piano; as in Salzburg, there was something a little odd about
its tone. But I am over-emphasising small matters; this was a performance of
conviction with true fire from all participants. Moreover, Barenboim’s subtle
yet teasing rubato for his first entry underlined who was in charge. As in the
Schoenberg performance, formal dynamism was communicated and experienced. The
closing bars of that first movement were infectious in their sense of fun: like
an operatic finale. The slow movement unfolded in a single, unbroken line, with
all the dignity of a great symphonic slow movement. How it sang too! And how
all three soloists sounded as if they were a regular trio; perhaps they will
be. It seemed over in the twinkling of a greatly blessed eye. As in Salzburg,
Soltani expertly handled the transition to the finale. He is undoubtedly the
real thing; we should expect to hear much more from him. The movement made its
progress with Mozartian wit and Beethovenian idealism. Its ‘Hungarian’ lilt
edged us at times closer to Brahms. Perfectly poised then, both musically and
musico-historically.
Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony opened
urgently – perhaps quicker than in Salzburg. Flexibility was again soon
manifest, the hush of what we might think of as a second opening as impressive
as the great build-up that ensued. Extremes of tempo seemed more pronounced
than they had in Salzburg; indeed, there were just a few occasions when I
wondered whether Barenboim had gone too far. There was much else, however, for
which to be grateful, not least the incorporation of a balletic spirit into his
reading. There is no harm, indeed considerable virtue, in having the ominous
tread fuse with the spirit of the dance. A little more single-mindedness might
have been welcome, but that is to nit-pick. Certainly, the orchestra sounded,
insofar as the Albert Hall would permit, as magnificent as ever. For the depth
of tone we heard from the strings in the slow movement was breathtaking. Song
was an abiding presence, but we experienced too the (apparent, illusory?) pomp
of an Imperial Ball, looking forward perhaps to The Queen of Spades. Stark modernity then vied with Romantic
‘consolation’. There were contrasts, then, aplenty, all impressively
integrated. ‘Pizzicato games’ was my first thought in the scherzo, perhaps
recalling, somewhat unexpectedly, the funeral games of its Eroica counterpart. A piquant trio seemed more insistent, more
overtly ‘Russian’ than it had the previous week. That was quite a flourish with
which the finale opened. Detail was not lost but rather enhanced by the
rhetoric. Barenboim captured and communicated the tricky balance between
apparently shifting mood and underlying, implacable Fate. Here, the electricity
was at least as intense as it had been in Salzburg.
We were treated to no fewer than three
encores. I did not mention the two we heard in Salzburg, since I did not want
to spoil the surprise, if they were repeated, for anyone who might have read my
review and attended the Prom. The first two were indeed the same: a Sibelius Valse triste of finely traced,
rubato-laden progress, and a stunningly virtuosic Ruslan and Ludmila Overture. Following a typically diverting
speech, in which Barenboim revealed that the following day marked the 65th
anniversary of his first public concert and lavished praise upon his orchestra,
we heard an Argentinian tango. I am afraid I do not know by whom, but it sounded
splendidly idiomatic to my ears.
