Elgar: Variations on an Original Theme, ‘Enigma’, op.36
Tchaikovsky: Symphony no.4 in F minor, op.36
Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
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| Images: Berliner Philharmoniker/Lena Laine |
Elgar and Tchaikovsky are not exactly strange bed-fellows, but nor are they frequently programmed together. Their harmonic and, in some cases, melodic worlds have more than some might suspect in common—and can be nudged further in that direction in performance, as I think probably happened here, from Kirill Petrenko and the Berlin Philharmonic. Indeed, in a decidedly un-English performance, the theme of the Enigma Variations already danced a little closer to St Petersburg than I have previously heard. It only struck me afterwards that both works on the programme, that and Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony, were their respective composer’s op.36. It would seem a strange reason to programme the two works together, but it would also seem a strange coincidence. Maybe Petrenko first thought of them on that account and pursued the idea further to the extent of recognising the combination might work.
First, I should state that I stand warmly
in favour of celebrating Elgar as a great European rather than ‘English’
composer. We need not rehearse here his musical antecedents, Richard Strauss’s praise,
and the rest: they are by now common currency, though perhaps more in criticism
and musicology than in performance. I cannot recall hearing Elgar from this
Petrenko before, though I have done so from his namesake Vasily and been greatly impressed. Perhaps more to the point, I have heard Daniel Barenboim and another great Berlin orchestra, the Staatskapelle, more than
once in this music, and raved. There was much to admire in this performance,
not least the ever-outstanding playing of the Berlin Philharmonic, not to
mention the still-too-rare opportunity to hear it play Elgar. There is a ‘but’
coming, as you may have sensed, yet I should like first to attend to the
positive, often highly so, side of the ledger. From the outset, this was warmly
expressive, cultivated playing which yet never curdled into narcissism.
Petrenko clearly had his own ideas about the score and knew very well how to
pursue them with his players. Every variation had sharply etched character, had
seemingly been approached anew, developed within, and often offered contrast
with its predecessor and successor. I shall not list them all, but a
good-natured ‘R.P.A.’, in which we reheard Mendelssohn through Brahms, exquisite
solo viola-playing in ‘Ysobel’, and a truly rollercoaster ‘Troyte’, propelled
by wondrous timpani, more Berlioz than Brahms, were three that lay at the
heart. A flighty ‘Dorabella’ had one hear the music newly, as did a ‘Nimrod’ that
unfolded with the most natural, warm Romanticism one could imagine. There were
some variations, however, that to my ears and sensibility felt driven too hard:
perhaps most of all a ‘B.G.N.’ that came dangerously close to a mere showpiece.
There was some of that to the finale too, though I greatly appreciated the way
Petrenko had its opening somehow sound and feel as if it were the final movement
of not only a set of symphonic variations but a symphony. It was ultimately,
though, in that sense rather than its far from unwelcome heterodoxy, that I
felt the performance added up to less than the sum of its parts. There is more
to the relationship between these variations than individual character and
contrast. A guiding thread founded on harmonic motion, such as we should
unquestionably have heard from Barenboim, proved elusive. Moreover, comparison with Petrenko's superlative way with another Barenboim speciality, Schoenberg's Variations for Orchestra, op.31, might also suggest this to be something of a work-in-progress. I hope he will return to Elgar and develop his often interesting thoughts further.
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For three of the four Tchaikovsky movements I felt that more keenly. (Perhaps not entirely coincidentally, this was also repertoire in which Barenboim excelled.) The opening of the first movement felt more idiomatic, more ‘inside’ the music, the trumpet fanfares already drawing back in dialectic relationship to a Fate that must be obeyed yet from which the subject in performance must surely also recoil: thereby grief-laden without so much of a hint of the mawkish. At some point Petrenko dropped his baton, later to be retrieved by concertmaster Noah Bendix-Balgley, but it mattered not a jot to the cohesion and persuasiveness of the performance. It chilled just as much, perhaps even more so, in its eerie, nether passages, again evoking the world of Berlioz (in whom I should be very keen to hear Petrenko). Struggle was felt, not merely observed, throughout, as was a sense that it might become too much, the falling nature of motifs itself becoming a motif. The second movement again ‘spoke’ as well as sang beautifully—and consequently. ‘Soul’ and form seemed as one in its unfolding. Pain, pride, all manner of sensitivities vied beneath the surface and in turn helped shape it. In its bitter, pizzicato introversion of a balletic world, the third movement edged us a little closer to Mahler, without forsaking the composer’s own palette or sentiment. There was always, moreover, ambiguity: a sense, sometimes achieved in the trio, that something more joyous might break through, albeit not without a welcome dose of Prokofiev-like sardonicism.
And so, when all that pent-up energy exploded at the outset of the finale, the performance seemed truly to have arrived. Alas, it was here that I felt its narrative fell apart somewhat. Yes, one can drive this music hard: it is marked ‘Allegro con fuoco’. But it is, or should be, with fire rather than like a machine. Technical accomplishment was beyond compare, but it seemed more hysterical, even Shostakovich-like, than deeply felt. It came and went, like a whirlwind, yet seemed not only out of proportion, but also a little out of meaning. At any rate, a London audience increasingly starved of high-profile orchestral visits during its normal concert season, responded with great enthusiasm.
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