Barbican Hall
Liszt: Les Préludes, S 97
Mendelssohn: Violin Concerto in E minor, op.64
Schubert: Symphony no.9 in C major, ‘Great’, D 644
Francesca Dego (violin)
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| Images: Mark Allan |
This was a slightly curious concert: much to admire and very little, if anything, to which to object, the LSO on excellent form throughout. Yet the performance of Schubert’s ‘Great’ C major Symphony rarely ignited as it might have done, a case of being almost yet not quite there under Daniele Rustioni’s direction, and Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto received an unusual, interesting, yet again not entirely convincing performance from Francesca Dego.
Liszt’s symphonic poem Les Préludes came
off best, in an outstanding performance from orchestra and conductor alike.
From the opening bar, they conjured up a splendidly Lisztian sound – easier said
than done with orchestra, as opposed to piano – and showed themselves adept at
managing those all-important transitions and transformations. What can all too
readily sound stiff, even from the most exalted names, here evinced first-rate
continuity and flexibility; it was refreshingly free of brashness, let alone vulgarity,
too. Lyrical, even operatic, it seemed to confirm Wagner’s unhistorical placing
of Liszt’s symphonic poems as an intermediate stage between Beethoven’s symphonies
and his own music dramas. Exemplary woodwind playing and blend, melting strings
(with an especially spirited cello section, where called for), and big-hearted
climaxes that lacked nothing in power combined to form a performance of power
and sensitivity.
Rustioni’s way with the Mendelssohn was often
as impressive. He began the first movement swiftly, yet never drove too hard,
and lightly emphasised its darker undercurrents, as if to confound absurd
preconceptions of this as ‘pleasant’ music. Dego’s sound was often on the
smaller, silvery side, worlds away from, say, Anne-Sophie Mutter, yet always
cut through, and line was secure and finely spun; any qualms were really a
matter of taste. She had a nice line in telling rubato too. The cadenza in
particular was captivating, likewise the closing accelerando. Her tone
in the slow movement was often a little nervy, even wiry: again, clearly an
interpretative choice, since it was not always like that, but a little odd.
There was nothing routine to the performance, though, which showed commendable
metrical flexibility. A quicksilver finale pulsed with life and good humour,
with all the give and take of chamber music. It made me smile, and goodness
knows we need something like that in the world right now.
The introduction to the first movement of
the Schubert trod a middle path between old and new. (The labels make little
intrinsic sense, but perhaps remain the easiest way to describe broad
interpretative trends.) It was certainly alla breve, yet sounded less
rushed than has became the case, nonetheless lacking the grandeur – and meaning
– of ‘old’, whether Klemperer and Furtwängler, or Colin Davis and Daniel
Barenboim (Barenboim’s 2015 VPO performance in Berlin by some way the best live performance I have
heard). It was elegant and euphonious, and had a sense of heading somewhere,
the movement ‘proper’ then being taken at a perfectly reasonable tempo. Likewise,
it evinced vigour and rigour, still flying by, all the time retaining creditably
cultivated orchestral sound. The Andante con moto was bracingly swift, yet
retained flexibility and an admirably Viennese sound. Solo playing was
comfortably the equal of any one would hear around the world, and the orchestra
as a whole offered a winning match of transparency and warmth. The third and fourth
movements, both played very well and far from lacking in energy, nonetheless
seemed to outstay their welcome, repetition supplanting development: a pity,
given the swagger of the scherzo and the initial excitement of the finale.