Philharmonie
Rachmaninov:
Piano Concerto no.3 in D
minor, op.30
Elgar:
Falstaff, op.68
Strauss:
Till
Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche,
op.28
Lahav Shani (piano)
Staatskapelle Berlin
Daniel Barenboim (conductor)
The most German of all English
composers, no one benefits more greatly than Elgar from rescue from the clammy, constricting embrace of ‘English music’. No conductor and orchestra perform
that deed of rescue with greater conviction, insight, and rewards than Daniel
Barenboim and the Staatskapelle Berlin. With this astonishing performance of Falstaff, they perhaps surpassed even
themselves. Here, pre-empting Till Eulenspiegel,
in danger of slightly overshadowing it, we heard a tone poem unmistakeably in
Strauss’s tradition, albeit pushed still further, certainly not to be reduced
to inheritance; yet equally unmistakeably, it spoke with Elgar’s voice, as if
this were his true third symphony. Mordant yet affectionate, grand yet
intimate, as thrilling as it was poignant, this performance, full of colour and
incident, was, as much as any from Barenboim of Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, or
Wagner, founded securely and dynamically on harmonic and motivic development.
Counterpoint was dramatically, even riotously, as generative as any in Die Meistersinger. Barenboim’s expert
shaping at micro- and macro-levels never felt unduly moulded; this was
music-making without so much as a hint of narcissism. Conductor and orchestra
alike nonetheless revelled in the sheer complexity and virtuosity of a work
that has eluded so many; I certainly felt that it had eluded me as a listener until
then, hearing it as if for the first time. String tone was glorious, yet never
for its own sake; every part of the orchestra, every soloist – principal
bassoon, cello, and concertmaster first among equals – came truly into their own, as
if this were their core repertoire. Thanks to Barenboim, it is not far off
becoming so.
It was fascinating, then, to
hear Till Eulenspiegel in Falstaff’s wake, in a performance that
shared many of its virtues and added others of its own. Infinitely flexible,
where called for, it was equally secure in direction and equally vivid in
narrative. Above all, perhaps, it smiled – through Strauss’s mastery’,
Barenboim’s, and that of the Staatskapelle Berlin. Technique is, or should be,
a supremely enjoyable thing; so it was here. It should be a moving thing too,
when in the service of something worthy, which here was the case in every
sense.
In the first half, we had heard
Rachmaninov’s Third Piano Concerto, with Lahav Shani as soloist. This is less
obvious Barenboim territory, though he proved a wise, supportive accompanist to
his protégé. In the first movement, depth and clarity alike characterised an
often understated performance at swift tempi, not the only thing Shani’s
approach had in common with the composer’s own. There was plenty of space
nonetheless for pianistic reverie, for evocation of more than a few Lisztian
sprites too. The second movement, arguably possessed of a broader emotional
range here, sounded more in the line of Tchaikovsky. The piano part in
particular proved more volatile, without loss to precision and pointing.
There was no grandstanding to the finale, again taken swiftly, and none the
worse for it. The turn to the major was especially well handled, Barenboim
clearly understanding – and communicating – what was at stake. Harmony, then,
once more.
