Philharmonia/Dohnányi - Bartók, Mozart, and Beethoven, 28 June 2015

Royal Festival Hall

Bartók – Divertimento

Mozart – Sinfonia concertante for violin and viola in E-flat major, KV 364
Beethoven – Symphony no.7 in A major, op.92

Arabella Steinbacher (violin)

Lawrence Power (viola)

Philharmonia Orchestra

Christoph von Dohnányi (conductor) 

 

The Philharmonia’s closing concert of the 2014-15 season showed no sign of winding down, not that one would expect such from a conductor such as Christoph von Dohnányi. This was not the most ‘Hungarian’ of Bartók performances, but it was well considered, and, like any composer worthy of the name, Bartók does not benefit from being defined in nationalistic terms. The first movement offered alert, sometimes even febrile string playing. Climaxes and contrasting intimacies were very well shaped, rhythms not without a tellingly ominous quality. A broad emotional range, then, was traversed, as in the slow movement, whose contours were equally intelligible throughout. In the finale, the solo intrumentalists sounded especially impressive, quite beyond reproach. Counterpoint was admirably clear in a performance which, rightly, looked back to Bachian inspiration without ever losing sight of the composer’s inimitable voice.

Judging by the frequency of performances he has conducted of Mozart’s great E-flat major Sinfonia Concertante, Dohnányi is very fond of the work – and, frankly, who could fail to be? Its greatness, likewise, did not fail to announce itself from the orchestral tone and direction in the opening tutti. ‘Authenticity’ might never have happened; instead, solid, unfashionable, musical virtues were the order of the day. The Philharmonia’s evenness and beauty of tone during a long crescendo were certainly of a golden age. Arabella Steinbacher and Lawrence Power proved equally intelligent, sensitive, and gracious. Mozart is never an arena in which to attempt point-scoring, and it was never attempted here, but there was nothing bland to the performance either; the score was simply, or not so simply, treated with the respect it deserves. Chamber-like collaboration between the soloists was exemplary. Both of them took on, rightly, more of a solo voice in the Andante, which, as a whole, sounded ineffably sad, though never inappropriately bitter. A swift tempo for the finale worked well too; this was Apollonian Mozart, which yet did not lack anything in depth. (As Nietzsche put it, the Greeks ‘were superficial – out of profundity!’ Well, not quite like that, but anyway…) Mozart’s symmetries and his formal dynamism came together as only so fine a performance of his music can possibly suggest.

Nowadays, conducting Beethoven convincingly seems as tall an order as doing so for Mozart. It is good, therefore, to report that Dohnányi passed the test with flying colours – perhaps because he had nothing to prove. The first movement’s introduction offered both weight and delicacy. Although slightly on the slow side for what many are used to today, it was certainly none the worse for that. Crucially, every note sounded necessary. (That ought to go without saying, but alas does not.) Whilst it is doubtless fanciful to think of this too emphatically as Klemperer’s old orchestra, the thought would not quite leave me alone. Dohnányi’s handling of the transition to the exposition was that of an old (in the nicest sense!) pro: almost imperceptible. And then, came true exhilaration; there was no mistaking the vigour in the Philharmonia’s playing, nor its freshness. Form was dynamic, as it must be, and yet so rarely is. Double basses sounded duly weird and goal-oriented in the celebrated coda. When the movement had come to a close, I found myself astonished at its concision, almost as if it had been the first movement of the Fifth. The second movement flowed with a typical lack of showiness, although I could have done without an intervention from mobile telephone. Inevitability – difficult to describe, but impossible to mistake – was the properly Beethovenian characteristic, bar that intervention from another world. The music seemed to encompass tragedy, without being narrowly defined by it. Rhythm offered absolute security for the movement’s foundations, upon which composer and performers could build. The Scherzo was very fast, without sounding harried, its Trio providing relative relief, but no drop in tension. How was that possible? In a word: harmony. Joy won out in the finale, although this was no easy victory. Tradition, not as mere Mahlerian Schlamperei, but understood in a properly Catholic, developmental sense, also proved a victor. So too did Beethoven.

Steinbacher/Philharmonia/ Dohnányi - Weber, Schumann, and Brahms, 2 December 2010

Royal Festival Hall

Weber – Der Freischütz: Overture
Schumann – Symphony no.1 in B-flat major, op.38, ‘Spring’
Brahms – Violin Concerto in D major, op.77

Arabella Steinbacher (violin)
Philharmonia Orchestra
Christoph von Dohnányi (conductor)


The renown of both the Philharmonia and Christoph von Dohnányi has always been founded upon core German repertoire. It was fitting then that this programme of German Romanticism should open with the overture to Der Freischütz, the clarion call for that movement in music. Immediately striking was the depth of tone to the Philharmonia’s strings: no fashionable scaling down here, with a section ranging from sixteen first violins to eight double basses, the odd sign of violin fallibility serving to illustrate general excellence. The warmth of truly Romantic horns was equally welcome. Dohnányi’s was a decidedly symphonic conception: fair enough, given that this was a symphony concert and the overture was therefore being treated as a concert overture. Early on, I felt an occasional four-squareness, but hair was let down in the final rejoicing, with an accelerando that threatened to turn Furtwänglerian, even if it just held back from doing so.

Dóhnanyi reduced the double bass complement to six for Schumann’s First Symphony (likewise for the Brahms Violin Concerto); otherwise, the strings remained constant. Again, this marked welcome refusal to condescend to fashion – and, more importantly, recognition that the crucial determinant of orchestral forces should be hall size, not incoherent dogma. We seem to have moved from a situation in which Schumann’s orchestration was generally excoriated to one in which it is claimed that all one needs to do is drastically to reduce the size of orchestra; neither case seems to me to have much merit. Throughout, Dohnányi concentrated upon delineation of structure, his handling of the transition from first movement introduction to exposition proving especially impressive, imparting a sense of Beethovenian purpose here and in the development, even when Schumann arguably falls a little short. Split violins echoed each other nicely; there was room to enjoy the sometimes colourful view too. Not every crack could be papered over, especially when it came to the recapitulation, but there is only so much a conductor can accomplish here. The slow movement was beautifully sung, not fashionably rushed. Cellos were especially rich in tone, whilst the delectable woodwind section hinted at Brahms. In the scherzo, Schumann was placed, aptly, midway between Beethoven and Brahms, whilst the rustic response to the opening bars proved utterly charming. Metrical dislocations were felt without the diminishing returns of exaggeration. Brahms again came to the fore in the finale; I was especially put in mind of the parallel movement in his Second Symphony. Perhaps most impressive was the buoyant sense of fun achieved, without compromise to structural integrity. Once again, Schumann’s mood swings registered without attention-seeking exaggeration.

Arabella Steinbacher joined the orchestra for the Brahms concerto. Though I had heard of her, this was the first time I had encountered her in performance, whether ‘live’ or on record. I was most impressed – and equally so by the orchestral contribution. Dohnányi elicited Romantic depth from the Philharmonia, married to properly Classical clarity and structural command. Steinbacher sounded the perfect partner to this approach, her silken sweetness redolent of another age; indeed, one could fancy her opening flourish Joachim-like. Though capable of greater toughness when required, hers was not an overtly ‘masculine’ approach such as one might hear from, say, Nikolaj Znaider or Anne-Sophie Mutter. There was occasional loss, perhaps, but this verges upon carping for its own sake; it is better, I think, to acknowledge that one performance is unlikely, arguably unable, to encompass all possibilities proffered by a masterwork. Certainly there was never the slightest doubt from all musicians concerned that the greater line would ever be sacrificed. And how the second subject sang, whether from violin or orchestra! There was power in the tutti passages, but beautiful orchestral shading too. Above all, the music-making sounded ‘natural’, unforced. The cadenza displayed not only perfect double-stopping intonation but unerringly musical phrasing. Applause, seemingly initiated by a single demonstrative figure in the choir, won but a few adherents; nevertheless, it was as unwelcome as it was immediate. The slow movement was beautifully judged. Dohnányi demonstrated that ‘flowing’ need not mean precipitate and need not preclude sensitive tempo fluctuation. Wind lines – and not just the oboe, fine though Gordon Hunt’s solo certainly was – were warm and inviting, well married to Steinbacher’s sweetness of tone and parallel abilities to sing and to shape a phrase. The abiding impression of the finale was once again of a perfect balance between the Classical and the Romantic. Though the ‘Hungarian’ quality was real enough, motivic articulation was never compelled to take a back seat. I can imagine that some might have found the movement as a whole just a little ‘controlled’; I was happy to appreciate its symphonism. As an encore, Steinbacher offered Fritz Kreisler’s Recitative and Scherzo, almost managing to convince one that it might justly serve as a pendant to Brahms.