Philharmonie
Ravel: Rapsodie espagnole
Bartók: Viola
Concerto, op.post. Sz 120 (first European performance of new completion by
Csaba Erdélyi)Debussy, arr. Alain Altinoglu: Pelléas et Mélisande: Suite (world premiere)
Roussel: Bacchus et Ariane, op.43: Orchestral Suite no.2
Máté Szűcs (viola)
Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
Alain Altinoglu (conductor)
The
Berlin Philharmonic’s prowess in French, or indeed in any other, music should
not remotely surprise us. They have a long history together: Rattle, Abbado,
Karaja, not to mention guest conductors, foremost amongst whom must surely be
Boulez… Even Furtwängler conducted Ravel with them, although, as one of his
greatest admirers, even I should have to admit that his recorded performance of
the Rapsodie espagnole would perhaps
never be a first choice. (Listen to it, though: you will hear things you have
never heard before. I have just done so, and found myself liking it far more
than I ever had done before.) Alain Altinoglu, in his highly successful debut
with the orchestra, proved far closer to what we conventionally expect from
Ravel, without that indicating anything remotely routine. Excellent preparation
and technique liberate the imagination – and so it was here. What struck me
immediately, however unsurprisingly, was the exquisite character to the Berlin
sound and then, soon after, the seemingly infinite number of gradations to it,
whether in dynamic contrasts or timbre. Balances were throughout perfectly
judged, as were woodwind solos, Andreas Ottensamer’s clarinet alluringly slinky.
Altoinoglu proved himself quite the master in building suspense, not least in
always giving the impression of something being held in check, La Valse just around the corner. There
was languor, yes, splendidly so in the closing ‘Feria’, but even then it was
controlled, just like Ravel’s abandon, if one may call it that. A magnificent
performance.
Máté
Szűcs joined the orchestra for Bartók’s Viola Concerto, neither in the familiar
reconstruction by Tibor Serly, nor in the subsequent edition from Peter Bartók
and Paul Neubauer, but in a new version from violist Csaba Erdélyi (2004,
revised 2016), here receiving its European premiere. I am not sure that I could
tell you much about the differences; it is a long time since I have listened to
earlier versions, for it is not, alas, my favourite Bartók work. I had a sense
that there was, perhaps, more of an overt effort, really quite successful, to
bring the orchestration into line with that of other late Bartók works, above
all the Third Piano Concerto. What I can say, although I was still not entirely
won over by the work ‘itself’, is that Szűcs, first principal viola in the
orchestra, gave an impeccable performance, leaving me want to hear him again
soon. (Interestingly, I shall shortly hear Amihai Grosz, also first principal
first viola, in the Walton Concerto, under Simon Rattle.) His tone and
projection were such as to cut through the orchestral writing – that is partly
a matter of the scoring, of course, but only partly – at whatever dynamic level
he chose. Clarity and security of line were never sacrificed to ‘atmosphere’;
they were sides of the same coin. The passage in harmonics had almost to be
heard to be believed. Twilight sections, be they solo, orchestral, or both,
made their full impact. And there was a fine impression of the rhapsodic, in
the best sense (just as in Ravel). Bach’s D minor Sarabande made for a splendid
encore, and an intriguing comparison with Christian Tetzlaff on violin in the
same hall a few nights previously.
Altinoglu
conducted the new production of Pelléas et Mélisande inVienna earlier this year. He now offered the first performance of his own
single-movement orchestral suite. Previous attempts I have heard to forge
something coherent out of the score in purely orchestral terms have never quite
seemed to come off; this, I am delighted to say, did. There was, perhaps, one
transition that sounded slightly awkward, but even then only slightly. This
offered, needless to say, a very different form of, or approach to, ‘rhapsodising’
from Ravel or Debussy. Altinoglu, however, showed himself equally adept at the
art of dark anticipation here, not least as we moved towards that fateful well
(quite early on). The influence of Parsifal,
sometimes bordering on rather more than mere influence, spoke for itself. Indeed,
one especially welcome feature of the performance was the way that deep string
tone ‘spoke’ without words: post-Wagner, of course, but also, perhaps, with a
nod to earlier accompagnato writing. Altinoglu’s
selections were intelligent, having one convinced that one passage had ‘naturally’
led to another, even when it must actually have required a great deal of
thought to contrive that impression. Off-stage bells at the close were both
musically and dramatically apt. (I was interested to note, by the way, that the
Berlin Philharmonic’s first performance of the work had been with Rattle, in
Salzburg, in 2006. It seems that Karajan, although he recorded it with the
orchestra, never performed it in concert with them. In the course of a little
research, I discovered, however, that, in addition to performances in Vienna in
1962, Karajan also conducted the work with the RAI Orchestra in 1954, with
Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Ernst Haefliger.)
Finally,
we heard Roussel’s second suite, again in a single movement, from his opera, Bacchus et Ariane. The opening viola
solo (Naoko Shimizu: what strength the orchestra has here!) perhaps offered a
connection with Bartók, but difference was more striking. One might, I suppose,
have placed Roussel somewhere between Debussy and Ravel, but that would have
raised more questions than it answered; this was music, rightly, relished in
itself. Again, the way it ‘spoke’ without words was remarkable. Altinoglu
handled transformations of metre and mood with great skill. The orchestra
performed with an idiomatic command and security worthy of a ‘repertoire’
piece. There was no doubting the thrill experienced by much of the audience at
the suite’s bacchanalic close
