Kopatchinskaja/Shaham/LSO/Rattle: Bartók and Falla, 18 January 2026

Barbican Hall

Bartók: Violin Concerto no.2, BB 117; Five Hungarian Folksongs, BB 97
Falla: The Three-Cornered Hat

Patricia Kopatchinskaja (violin)

Rinat Shaham (mezzo-soprano)

London Symphony Orchestra

Simon Rattle (conductor)

Images: Mark Allan

A busy few days for Simon Rattle and the LSO: first two concert performances of The Makropulos Case, then this concert with Patricia Kopatchinskaja and Rinat Shaham. Both performances proved, moreover, of the highest quality. Bartók’s Second Violin Concerto is a substantial work by any standards; it seemed all the more so in this case. Whether it was actually a spacious performance, I do not know, but it felt like it in a positive sense, on a grand scale—that is, not a euphemism for dragging. Kopatchinskaja’s opening statement was relaxed, almost louche, but certainly not lacking in precision, any more than her highly energetic response. At times, she seemed almost shamanic, but from within, not without, the music. It was a highly personal account, though never without warrant, either in the score or in the more general ‘idea’ of the piece. Rattle has often seemed to me at his very best as an ‘accompanist’. This was no exception: he led the LSO not only in kindred precision, but kindred direction, colour, and atmosphere, always underpinned by harmonic understanding and communication. Kopatchinskaja proved every bit as responsive to the orchestra as vice versa. Her cadenza was spellbinding, an object lesson in line, commitment, and understanding. And throughout, performances sang—and showed, moreover, that they had something to sing, and that there were different ways in which to do so. 

Another such way was on offer at the beginning of the slow movement: fragile yet with undeniable inner strength, a testament of intimacy that could yet turn outwards. The LSO and Rattle wove a gorgeous tapestry of orchestral sound, which, in collaboration with the soloist, often turned towards chamber music. Take, for instance, Bartók’s extraordinary writing for violin, double basses, and timpani; or magical passages of well-nigh suspended animation for harp, celesta, and woodwind. As the path became ever more surprising, even when one ‘knew’, it remained ever secure and coherent, both here and in a finale that combined improvisatory freshness with deep knowledge and understanding. Various balances and relationship were key to this, whether between solo and orchestra, or harmony and rhythm. It was a fantastical, exhilarating performance that achieved that status through command of detail and its integration into a keen sense of musical narrative. The piece felt ultimately like a Mahlerian symphonic ‘world’: in idea, rather than expression, but as an utterance of that stature. Kurtág’s ‘Ruhelos’ from his Kafka-Fragmente said all that might be said as an encore, Webern to Bartók’s Mahler. 

Bartók’s Five Hungarian Folksongs made for an arresting opening to the second half, all the more so in such committed, comprehending performances as we heard when Rinat Shaham joined Rattle and the orchestra. My first and last question was: why on earth do we not hear these songs more often? My fist and last answer were alas identical: the language, of course. It is a great, if understandable pity. I cannot vouch for Shaham’s Hungarian, but I can certainly vouch for her communication, which often seemed so vivid as to transcend mere linguistic understanding. ‘In Prison’, the first song, offered a sense of direct witness from the soloist, to another beautifully woven orchestral accompaniment. From the house of the dead, one might say. As Shaham’s delivery became ever more declamatory, her witness chilled all the more. Every song was sharply characterised by all concerned, the LSO warm and precise in the ‘old Lament’, Shaham colourful, even whimsical, yet with something undoubtedly serious to the core of ‘Yellow Pony, Harness Jingling’. A poignant ‘Complaint’ preceded ‘Virág’s Lamps Are Burning Brightly’, delivered with palpable relish: a fine, spirited finale.

Seated at the back of the orchestra, Shaham crafted two excellent cante jondo interventions, one in the Introduction, one in the second act’s ‘Dance of the Miller’, to Manuel de Falla’s ballet The Three Cornered-Hat. That Introduction and indeed the whole of the first act seemed to need no theatre; theatricality lay in the score and the images its performance evoked. The world of puppetry never seemed far away: whether that of the composer’s puppet-opera El retablo de maese Pedro or, increasingly, Stravinsky’s Petrushka. Diaghilev kinship was certainly strong, though Falla’s score never quite sounded ‘like’ anyone or anything else—which certainly included the Spain of Frenchmen such as Ravel and Debussy. Fast and furious, this account shone a welcome midday sun on a dark and wintry London evening. In the second act, Rattle imparted a fine sense of inevitability, the Miller’s dance seemingly necessitating his arrest, which in turn necessitated his escape. The Beethoven parody was clearly, wittily handled and properly integrated into the narrative whole. The ‘Final Dance’ emerged as if a mini-ballet in itself, eliciting rapturous applause from a capacity Barbican audience.

Katharina Kammerloher and friends - Wolf, Schoenberg, Brahms, Mahler, Wolf, Reutter, and Falla, 2 October 2019

Apollo Saal, Staatsoper Unter den Linden

Wolf: Auf einer Wanderung; Verschwiegene Liebe; Begegnung; Nimmersatte Liebe; Lied vom Winde

Schoenberg: Brettl-Lieder: ‘Galathea’, ‘Mahnung’, ‘Arie aus dem “Spiegel von Arkadien”’

Brahms: Feinsliebchen, du sollst mir nicht barfuß gehn, WoO 33 no.12; Da unten im Tale, WoO 33 no.6; Vergebliches Ständchen, op.84 no.4

Mahler: Des knaben Wunderhorn: ‘Trost im Unglück’; ‘Verlorne Müh’’; ‘Aus! Aus!’

Brahms: Zigeunerlieder, op.103: ‘Brauner Bursche’, ‘Röslein dreie’

Wolf: In dem Schatten meiner Locken

Brahms: Liebesglut, op.47 no.2

Wolf: Die Zigeunerin

Hermann Reutter: Tanz

Falla, arr. Christian Dominik Dellacher: Siete canciones populares españolas (first performance)

Katharina Kammerloher (mezzo-soprano)

Roman Trekel (baritone)

Klaus Sallmann, (piano)

Ensemble Monbijou: Dana Sturm (piano), Tobias Sturm (violin), Boris Bardenhagen (viola), Hannah Eichberg (cello), Kaspar Loyal (double bass).

With this recital, mezzo-soprano Katharina Kammerloher, joined by colleagues Roman Trekel, Klaus Sallmann, and musicians drawn from the Staatskapelle Berlin under the name of Ensemble Monbijou, celebrated her twenty-five years as a member of the Staatsoper Unter den Linden’s ensemble. From the past couple of years or so, I have heard her as the Ariadne Composer, Marcellina, and Eva (Meistersinger), and in a trio of roles from Schumann’s Szenen aus Goethes Faust at the Linden opera’s reopening, a good number of performances before that too. This, however, was the first time I had heard her in recital. This evening in the Staatsoper’s Apollo Saal proved most enjoyable, heightening the sense of a likeable, intelligent, and versatile artist.

The opening set of Wolf songs did not necessarily offer the easiest way to start, yet struck just the right tone. Attention to detail in Auf einer Wanderung was noteworthy: the floating first syllable of ‘Nachitigallenchor’ indicative of a world of song to come. Pianist, Klaus Sallmann’s piano introduction proved skittish and generative, for both parts. A sense of change, of transformation following the song’s Wagnerian interlude was palpable, Richard Strauss and his world no longer distant; ‘Ach hier, wie liegt die Welt so licht!’ A rapt Eichendorff Verschwiegene Liebe, and vividly communicative performances of the two following songs, prepared the way for a dramatic, unmistakeably post-Wagnerian reading of the Mörike Lied vom Winde, Sallmann’s nimble, directed fingerwork rendering him at least an equal partner. Here and elsewhere, Kammerloher’s collegiality shone through: this was clearly as much an occasion to celebrate the company as a whole as her contribution over the past quarter of a century.

Why Schoenberg’s Brettl-Lieder are not performed all the time, I simply cannot understand, although I suppose I would say that. It would doubtless be an exaggeration to say they are as indicative of the composer’s subsequent path as his Gurrelieder, but an excellent performance, albeit here of only three, can persuade one otherwise – as this did. One thinks, perhaps inevitably, of Berlin, but a sense of the composer’s travelling between Vienna and Berlin is, or should be apparent, and was in this case. (The songs were not, as has sometimes been claimed, written for Ernst von Wolzogen’s Buntes Theater, where Schoenberg served as Kapellmeister; Schoenberg had written them in Vienna, before leaving for Berlin.) Whatever Schoenberg may have had to say about style and idea, style is crucial here, and Kammerloher – Sallmann too – captured that Schoenbergian cabaret style, leading to Pierrot and beyond. Driven by words in a different way from Wolf, yet without loss to the melodic line, these witty performances were equally driven or, perhaps better, founded upon a rhythmic lilt it is difficult not to consider Viennese.

Brahms and Mahler concluded the first half, the former in folksong mode, the latter not a million miles therefrom, albeit with a distancing that comes necessarily with the Mahlerian territory. Perhaps there might have been a little more sense of alienation in those Wunderhorn songs, although, by the same token, it might in context have sounded overdone. Joined now by pianist Dana Sturm and baritone Roman Trekel, Kammerloher and her partners again worked with the lilt of dance rhythms, to bring out verbal as well as musical meaning, the lightly worn sadness of Brahms’s Da Unten im Tale a particular highlight for me. I was intrigued, moreover, by how Mahler sounded with reference not only to Brahms but to Schoenberg: interesting programming, which paid off handsomely.

Brahms reappeared after the interval, this time accompanied by Wolf (and Sallmann). A lively Brauner Bursche offered perhaps more refulgent vocal tone than we had heard hitherto, yet not at the cost of precision and verbal communication. Brahms’s Liebesglut offered a welcome instance of the composer in darker mode: turbulent and determined in both parts, in work and performance. Such richness here in a single song, wonderfully revealed! Wolf’s Die Zigeunerin offered an intriguing pendant: much more than a more pendant, of course, but again indicative of intelligent, meaningful programming, as was the inclusion thereafter of Hermann Reutter’s post-war Lorca setting, Tanz. One rarely hears Reutter’s music, doubtless partly on political grounds. This song suggested, however, that we should. Motoric, after Hindemith, it proved quite thrilling, both as song and scena, Kammerloher not afraid to make a rawer sound, yet within the bounds of song.  

An accomplished new arrangement, by Christian Dominik Dellacher, for voice, piano, violin, viola, cello, and double bass, of Manuel de Falla’s Siete canciones populares españolas, received its first performance as the final item on the programme: both well prepared and welcome in its contrast. Dellacher’s work was not overdone, yet helped lift or translate the songs into a new setting, the instrumental ensemble bringing an atmospheric sense, appropriate in context, of somewhere between the coffee house and the cabaret. In the most overtly ‘Spanish’ of the songs, such as ‘Nana’ and the closing ‘Polo’, the latter imbued with nervous energy by all concerned, Kammerloher seemed both possessed by and to possess the local idioms. The intervening ‘Canción’ proved, aptly enough, more conventionally songful, harking back to much of what we had heard before. It was a lovely evening, then, and a fitting tribute to Katharina Kammerloher as first among equals.

Filarmonica della Scala/Barenboim - Falla and Ravel, 6 April 2012

Philharmonie, Berlin

Falla - Noches en los Jardines de España
Ravel – Rapsodie espagnole
Alborado del gracioso
Pavane pour une infante défunte
Boléro

Filarmonica della Scala
Daniel Barenboim (piano/conductor)


Not necessarily the most obvious of Good Friday programmes, one might have thought, but it was with Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain and ‘Spanish’ works with Ravel that Daniel Barenboim and his ‘other’ orchestra, that of La Scala, marked the occasion – or rather, did not. Falla’s concertante piece not so long ago received a generally impressive performance in London from Jean-Efflam Bavouzet, the Philharmonia, and Vladimir Ashkenazy. Though there were times when I could not help but think that the present performance would have benefited from an additional musician on the platform – Falla’s writing does not always lend itself to direction from the keyboard – Barenboim’s account on the whole possessed a greater degree of dramatic tension and impressive narrative drive, for a work that can all too easily meander. A few orchestral imprecisions aside, which might have been avoided had there been a separate conductor, the Milanese orchestra conjured up aptly sultry sonorities. Principals, be they violin, cello, most of the wind, offered much to delight in their solo spots.

The second half was devoted to Ravel. Unfortunately, the earlier pieces often lacked precision – not just the razor-sharp variety one would expect from Boulez, a true master in this repertoire, but at times even the basic standards of ensemble one would expect from a major orchestra. Orchestral sonority, moreover, could sometimes sound more Romantic in Puccini-like fashion than is really appropriate for Ravel, however intriguing the idea might sound. And so, whilst enjoyable enough, the Rapsodie espagnole emerged as if one had heard a decent rehearsal rather than a truly finished, let alone polished, performance. The heaviness one sometimes heard in the ‘Feria’ was also a characteristic of Alborado del gracioso, at least in its outer sections. Perhaps predictably by now, its central section came off best, ‘Spanish’ and sultry in a fashion that took us back to Falla. Pavane pour une infante défunte suffered, again, from a lack of precision: one would never have understood Stravinsky’s celebrated reference to Ravel as Swiss watchmaker. The final chord was disturbingly hazy and unfocused.

It came then, as something of a surprise, albeit a welcome one, that Boléro should receive so fine a performance. From the soft, almost imperceptible yet nevertheless insistent, cellos of the opening, the score manifested the necessary machine-like precision I had doubted would, or indeed could, be revealed. The impression was that the piece had been far better rehearsed, so much so that Barenboim for a great deal of the performance stood back and permitted his musicians to play sans conductor. Though the celebrated saxophone solo was noticeable well taken, suave and sinuous, so indeed were all the other solo opportunities. This was, I think, an account that would certainly repay re-listening.

I was delighted to be correct in my prediction as to encores: numbers taken one by one from Bizet’s first Carmen suite. First came the ‘Aragonaise’, the Scala strings silkily smooth and orchestra and conductor splendidly focused. Then the Intermezzo, beautifully performed, though with a distinctly odd balance between flute and clarinet. (I assume it to have been deliberate, since no attempt was made to rectify the situation; it nevertheless mystified.) ‘Les Dragons d’Alcala’ followed, with a nice twist, Barenboim, ever the showman, turning to the audience at the end and singing, to the final notes, the words, ‘C’est fini’. I assumed that was that, but then the orchestra, apparently without conductor, the number for which much of the audience had clearly been waiting. I could have done without the clapping along from some, but not to worry. Barenboim appeared from within the orchestra to direct with respect to his presence, if not with his baton. Even when one does not hear him at his best, it is well nigh impossible not to respond to his irrepressible charm and enthusiasm.

Bavouzet/Philharmonia/Ashkenazy - Dukas, Ravel, Falla, and Debussy, 11 December 2011

Royal Festival Hall

Dukas – L’apprenti sorcier
Ravel – Piano Concerto in G major
Falla – Noches en los jardines de España
Debussy – La mer

Jean-Efflam Bavouzet (piano)
Philharmonia Orchestra
Vladimir Ashkenazy

All too often, one witnesses a thoughtless reflex reaction directed toward pianists-turned-conductors. Maurizio Pollini suffered considerable hostility on beginning to conduct; the experience appears to have put him off for good, save for directing Mozart concertos from the piano. One sometimes still hears people say they wish that Daniel Barenboim would concentrate upon the piano, apparently oblivious to how much his conducting has enriched his performances at the keyboard, and vice versa. Vladimir Ashkenazy presents a more difficult case: clearly he is not a bad conductor, as some instrumentalists or singers have proved, but it would be difficult to argue that he has enjoyed similar success in that role as he did as a pianist. One can imagine, though, how much a pianist might value having him as a concerto ‘accompanist’, knowing so many works as a pianist himself. Ashkenazy presents such a genial, collegiate personality on the stage that one cannot help but wish him well; however, my experience on this occasion, as in the past, turned out to be mixed.

Dukas’s scherzo, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, received a disappointing performance. Following slight rhythmic hesitancy at the opening – on Ashkenazy’s part, rather than the Philharmonia’s – the conductor seemed to over-compensate, imparting thereafter a frankly brutal drive, which never relented. The mechanical entirely supplanted the fantastical; a smile was nowhere to be heard.

Jean-Efflam Bavouzet then joined the orchestra for two works, the first being Ravel’s G major Piano Concerto. The elegant ease with which Bavouzet despatched the opening piano flourishes was something to savour. Throughout the first movement, he remained alert to Ravel’s twists and turns – and, crucially, to their motivations. Ashkenazy’s handling of the orchestral music was less sure: there were a few minor imprecisions. More seriously, he was often too much the mere ‘accompanist’, following but never really leading. There was nevertheless a great deal to enjoy in the bluesy solos so evidently relished by various Philharmonia principals. The lengthy opening piano solo to the slow movement was not just exquisitely shaped but intriguingly alert to darker undercurrents, Bavouzet bringing the mood a little closer to that of the Left Hand Piano Concerto than s generally the case. Here and later on, his playing was full of subtle shading and phrasing. Again, there was some very fine woodwind playing, not least from Jill Crowther on English horn. The finale I found more problematic. It received a brisk, no-nonsense reading that rather lacked charm: Bavouzet’s delivery, followed by Ashkenazy’s, seemed at times closer to Prokofiev than to Ravel in its muscular approach. There were no such problems, however, with his encore, a darkly atmospheric account of Debussy’s ‘La puerta del Vino’ from the second book of Préludes. Rhythmic insistence was somehow combined with subtle and supple variation.

That ‘Spanish’ piece also offered a good link to the two pieces in the second half: Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain and Debussy’s own La mer. Ashkenazy’s conducting seemed much sharper in the Falla: full of energy and with a considerably broader colouristic range, those two facets well integrated. Indeed, both he and Bavouzet moved convincingly between languor and biting precision in the first movement, ‘En el Generalife’. The Philharmonia’s cello section was on especially fine form, but all the strings, indeed all the orchestra, contributed to a tremendous climax. The second movement, ‘Danza lejana’, was equally well judged: atmospheric, yet not at the cost of melodic and rhythmic definition. There was a true sense of dialogue now between piano and orchestra, similarly in the final movement, ‘En los jardines de la Sierra de Córdoba’, though occasionally I wondered whether it was a touch on the driven side. I am not sure that the movement presents Falla at his most distinguished, but it received a fine performance nonetheless.

La mer had much to offer too. The outer movements received for the most part eminently musicianly readings, though I have heard saltier accounts. No matter: there were some beautifully hushed moments and Ashkenazy conveyed an impressive degree of quasi-symphonic logic throughout, which, if anything became more pronounced during the course of the first movement. I do not recall a performance in which the presence of Franck has been so pronounced. Ashkenazy reinstated the brass fanfares at the conclusion of ‘De l’aube à midi sur la mer’. (I approve, though some do not.) ‘Jeux de vagues’ offered glitter but purpose too, precision but not too much, its mystery retained. What I missed, and this registered most strongly in the final movement, was a sense of Debussy’s modernity. This was, broadly speaking, Debussy emerging from the nineteenth century – Liszt, Tchaikovsky, and Borodin all sprang to mind – rather than the progenitor of Messiaen and Boulez. There is room for both approaches, of course, and doubtless for others too, though the final climax proved surprisingly brash. A little more refinement there would not have gone amiss.

CSO/Muti: Prokofiev, Falla, and Ravel, 6 October 2007

Royal Festival Hall

Prokofiev: Symphony no.3 in C minor, Op.44
Falla: The Three-cornered Hat, Suite no.2
Ravel: Rapsodie espagnole
Ravel: Boléro

Chicago Symphony Orchestra
Riccardo Muti (conductor)

This was a splendid concert, full of orchestral colour, which acted as a showcase for numerous strengths of both orchestra and conductor. That the Chicago Symphony Orchestra is one of the world's greatest orchestras can hardly have been in doubt even before, but there could be no doubt having heard it at the Royal Festival Hall. It is in many respects a very American sound, with gleaming strings, great precision of attack, and of course its celebrated brass section, but it never sounded anonymously 'international' as some bands of that ilk can. Muti is of course a brilliant conductor, 'old school' and all the better for it. I was put in mind more than once of the orchestral command exercised by two former music directors in Chicago, Fritz Reiner and Sir Georg Solti. Yet there was none of the brashness that could sometimes characterise Solti's work.

Prokofiev's Third Symphony packed quite a punch from the very outset. Those thumping initial chords made a duly screaming impact, not only with their volume, not only with their dissonance, but also with the supremely judged balance, which allowed more colours to emerge than has often been the case in performances of this work. This was achieved without any lessening of the impact of brass and percussion. If the opening overshadowed the rest of the first movement, this is attributable to Prokofiev rather than to the performance, which did everything he could conceivably have asked. It does seem to me that there is something of a mismatch between the musical material, initially conceived for the masterly Fiery Angel, and symphonic form, but probably the best course of action is to consider a surreal succession of often garish images, rather than to worry too much about formal shortcomings. The repose of the slow movement was certainly welcome. Muti's command of the long, almost vocal lines impressed, as did the varied solo contributions. The violin glissandi and other ghostly aspects of the scherzo came across with unusual vividness, and never at the expense of the clearer form of that movement. Much the same could be said of the well-nigh faultless finale, whose marriage of grotesquerie and harmonic side-slipping lyricism was portrayed with both a keen ear for colour and balance and an impressive sense of theatrical effect. This symphony is not often performed, but I can safely say that I have not heard a superior performance.

In the second half, we moved to Spain. The second suite from Falla's ballet, The Three-cornered Hat, received an equally committed reading. Rhythms were acutely pointed, as was their marriage to harmonic progression. The array of colours on offer was kaleidoscopic, with warm and sultry moments caught in vivid relief against the backdrop of the dance. As with every section of the evening's programme, there was never the slightest doubt that the musicians knew precisely where they were going; they acted as perfect hosts during our colourful tour.

The Ravel items were, if anything, more impressive still, partly, I suspect, on account of their being whole works, and partly on account of the still greater scope they offered for colouristic differentiation. In this respect, orchestra and conductor wanted nothing. The emphasis may have been more brazenly 'Spanish' than French performances of the old school might have offered, but there is nothing wrong with that. There was certainly none of that wateriness in the strings that has often characterised readings of that school. Precision was at the very core, as it should be, since Ravel has none of Debussy's ambiguity; not for nothing did Stravinsky dub him a Swiss watchmaker. The ostinato rhythm of the Rapsodie's 'Prélude à la nuit' pulsated with a winning combination of persistence and languor, whilst Ravel weaved his colouristic and harmonic magic above. And the cumulative effect of Boléro can rarely have been better achieved - even if that very success did point to the undoubted monotony of the work. Thank goodness for that final harmonic wrench to E major, without which I might have been driven mad.

As an encore, Muti and the CSO offered a blistering account of the Overture to Verdi's La forza del destino. It exhibited all the virtues outlined above, and moreover boasted a flexibility born of the conductor's immersion in Verdi's music. To return to the beginning, its opening evocation of fate packed just as much a punch as had the barbarism of the Prokofiev symphony, yet the celebrated melody that followed (forever associated in my mind with the films Jean de Florette and Manon des sources) was as tender as one could imagine. Even for a Verdi sceptic such as myself, this provided a worthy culmination to the evening. The repertoire exhibited not a trace of Teutonic profundity, but our musical heritage possesses other aspects demanding attention, attention which paid off handsomely in this case.