Trpčeski/LSO/Petrenko - Beethoven and Elgar, 18 October 2012

Barbican Hall

 

Beethoven – Piano Concerto no.5 in E-flat major, op.73, ‘Emperor’
Elgar – Symphony no.1 in A-flat major, op.55

Simon Trpčeski (piano)

London Symphony Orchestra

Vasily Petrenko (conductor)

Sir Colin Davis remains in recovery from a recent illness, so Vasily Petrenko stepped in to conduct this concert, the programme unchanged. Petrenko’s way with Beethoven and Elgar was certainly very different from what one would have expected – and doubtless heard – from Davis, but there was much to intrigue, especially in Elgar.

From the outset of Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto, there was no doubt that Petrenko intended to make full use of the capabilities of the LSO – no fashionable scaling down here – just as Simon Trpčeski would employ the full resources of his Steinway. The tempo was fast, faster than my general preference, but that is neither here nor there; it suited the performance, which was very much of the here and now rather than a probing of Wagnerian metaphysics. A muscular exposition tutti did not detract from characterful woodwind playing. Petrenko’s reading was rhythmically insistent, very different from the more flexible and harmonically-grounded Beethoven one hears from, say, Daniel Barenboim, or would have done from Furtwängler. It was highly martial, perhaps too much so at times, but I was intrigued to hear Beethoven’s score here more as a successor to Mozart at his most public (the 25^th Piano Concerto, rather than the 22^nd, despite the key), albeit with greater menace, or indeed to the military brass interventions in Haydn’s late masses, inevitably putting one in mind ultimately of precedents for the Missa solemnis. Trpčeski’s performance was finely shaded, always clear, notably in the cruel left-hand passagework, unfailingly even in tone. The moment of return was a high point, piano and orchestra together veritably blazing. A songful, intermezzo-like character was granted the slow movement, clearly informed by experience in Romantic (post-Beethoven) piano concertos: Schumann, even, more controversially, Chopin and Tchaikovsky. I was not entirely convinced, but it made me think, and it was a welcome luxury to hear such warmth from the deep-pile LSO string section. The finale was taken at a fast tempo too, but was carried off well. Trpčeski voiced those extremely difficult chords in the opening bars to perfection, though there were occasional examples later on when heavy-handedness intervened. There were a couple of odd instances of slowing down, pianist later echoed by conductor, so they would seem to have been the products of conscious decisions. That bassoon solo emerged unscathed from the preceding orchestral onslaught.

 

After the interval, Elgar’s First Symphony opened arrestingly with deliberate tread, almost as if the glorious celebration of a hero passed (a successor, perhaps, to Siegfried, or even to the hero of the Eroica?), sad yet defiant. The main Allegro, by contrast, opened in fast and furious fashion, quite un-Boult-like, though its fragility would soon be exposed. The score often sounded closer to Tchaikovsky than Brahms, especially at its most frenetic, the LSO brass ablaze. This was an unabashedly Romantic reading, which yet did not preclude uncertainty, above all at the close. The second movement – I suppose one ought not to call it a scherzo, since Elgar did not – also opened furiously, by turn thereafter balletic and martial. (I could almost imagine it danced.) It was quite different from any performance I could recall, yet clearly from conviction rather than a desire to ‘say something new’ for the sake of it. I found it exhilarating. The slow movement emerged with almost Mahlerian intensity from the strings, the warmth and generosity of their vibrato throughout a standing rebuke to the Norringtonian tendency. Echoes of Wagner – sighing phrases, choice harmonic shifts, baleful English horn (Christine Pendrill) – were sung freely. Instability was never far from the surface, despite the often ravishing beauty of the performance. Though the opening of the finale was well-nigh obliterated by a barrage of coughing, it emerged from bronchial envelopment with a nice sense of fantastical revisiting: a tribute to Strauss? The Allegro recaptured earlier fury, yet quite rightly seemed to struggle; ‘hard-won’ would be misleading, since it was never clear that victory had been attained. Astonishingly, even today, Elgar sometimes needs to be rescued from provincial devotees, who would confine him to the ranks of merely ‘English composers’. In this fine performance, he was triumphantly, which is in another sense also to say equivocally, rescued.    

Prom 4: Trpčeski/RLPO/Petrenko - Schumann, Rachmaninov, and Tchaikovsky, 19 July 2010

Royal Albert Hall

Schumann (re-orch. Mahler) – Overture: Manfred, op.115
Rachmaninov – Piano Concerto no.2 in C minor, op.18
Tchaikovsky – Manfred: Symphony in four scenes after the dramatic poem by Byron, op.58

Simon Trpčeski (piano)
Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra
Vasily Petrenko (conductor)

Outstanding! I am tempted to leave it at that, but had better not. After my first two Proms (Mahler’s Eighth Symphony and Die Meistersinger), I was beginning to think that I must have been unduly harsh; perhaps I had not given due regard to the notorious vagaries of the Royal Albert Hall’s acoustic. This stunning performance from all concerned persuaded me that, if anything, I had been lenient, for there was a world of difference to be heard from the opening bar of Schumann’s Manfred Overture, as re-orchestrated by Mahler.

There is no need to become hung up on Mahler’s role here, though it is noteworthy that this orchestration was being performed for the first time at the Proms. Mahler sharpens up the definition a little, but this still sounds like Schumann. The overture opened dashingly; Vasily Petrenko’s more or less immediate downbeat announced silken string sound of an entirely different order from that served up on those earlier two Proms. I was put in mind of the Philharmonia under Christian Thielemann, though Petrenko’s reading pulsated with life whilst remaining highly flexible. (The Philharmonia/Thielemann recording of Schumann’s Third Symphony is first-rate, however.) Petrenko had no time for the latter-day nonsense of scaling down strings. That there were as many double basses (eight) as for the BBC Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of the Mahler was partly testament to their insufficiency; more importantly, the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic sounded like a full orchestra. How the cellos sang – and how sepulchral the trombones sounded! This Manfred was febrile, heroic, but always in the orbit of Beethovenian humanism, never driven too hard. There was also a loving tenderness that looked forward to Strauss’s Don Juan; Petrenko really made those Neapolitan sixths tell.

Petrenko and Simon Trpčeski then went on to impress upon me that Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto is merely over-performed – and over-performed at an insufficient level. For in this reading it sounded minted afresh. Trpčeski’s magical opening chords and crescendo showed that, if ever a composer wrote for the Steinway, it was Rachmaninov, but he needs a pianist equal to the task, which he found here. Trpčeski (almost) made it sound easy, but never routine. Petrenko’s orchestral part was the equal of any I have heard: well, perhaps not the Philadelphia Orchestra of old, with the composer himself at the keyboard, but certainly, for instance, Haitink’s Concertgebouw for Ashkenazy. Moreover, the partnership between Trpčeski and Petrenko was as tight as any I have heard, revealingly as much about integration as opposition. With touches of echt-Russian vibrato in the brass, this was a reading that drew upon tradition but also presented something new: an almost Mendelssohnian, elfin performance at times, nevertheless lacking nothing in weight when it came to the great climaxes. As for the intervention of a mobile telephone, I can only hope that the offending object was put to its proper use as rectal thermometer for its owner. The tender slow movement permitted Trpčeski to impart an interestingly Brahmsian quality to the placing and voicing of the piano chords. Nicholas Cox’s melting clarinet solo would rival any I have heard. For the most part, this Adagio sostenuto was restrained, but there was no doubting the genuine quality of the emotion bubbling beneath the surface – and occasionally over it. Such subtlety would of course have been impossible without absolute security in terms of understanding and outlining the music’s harmonic progression. Taking the finale attacca prevented applause from once again being sounded, though bronchial dissent was not to be stifled. Trpčeski unleashed a veritably Lisztian devilry in his pianism, complemented by a combination of warmth and sardonicism – snarling brass in particular – from the RLPO. Brahms was not yet vanquished, however, in the voicing of the chords; indeed, a battle royal between him and Liszt was not least of the musical excitements on offer. The fugato was likewise clear and exciting. Though I fancied myself weary of this music, I should eagerly have heard it repeated immediately in a performance of this quality.

If the Rachmaninov is oft-performed, one cannot say the same of Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony. Petrenko and the RLPO have recorded the work, as indeed they have the concerto with Trpčeski; if either performance matches this concert, it should be highly commended indeed. Liszt once again came to mind with the opening, the hero’s theme surely a reminiscence of the questing Faust Symphony, likewise the unusual tonal instability. There was no mistaking, however, the utter Russianness of the RLPO strings’ interventions. Once again, their depth of tone put earlier performances to shame. Petrenko proved a sure guide – no easy thing in music that can readily meander – and imparted a taste of Swan Lake to the magnificent yet rounded climaxes. The scherzo, the realm of the Alpine fairy, brings hints of Mendelssohn, albeit with Liszt’s – and Berlioz’s – means. The lyricism, however, is all Tchaikovsky’s own; Petrenko revelled in both aspects. So did his crack players: the strings took us to St Petersburg, the trio of flutes proving equally beautiful of tone. And if the movement goes on a bit, there is only so much performers can do – but they did. Ravishing horn playing was one of many highlights in the Andante con moto. It flowed, but rightly took its time too, permitting the strings to sing. There were hints of the ‘Scène aux champs’ from the Symphonie fantastique, but rustic elements were given their due too, albeit without the hideous over-emphasis in which one can imagine some conductors indulging. Sterner moments looked forward towards the late symphonies. And the bells tolled atmospherically, inevitably reminding once again of Berlioz. The finale proved equally colourful, if more resplendently so, given its nature. I was again struck by how well-drilled the orchestra was, though never bureaucratically so. The fugato was despatched with flair, whilst a strong narrative sense emerged through the movement’s – indeed, the symphony’s – progress. There was, finally, a true sense of tragedy to the denouement. Graham Eccles’s organ contribution was properly grandiose: this may be hokum, but when done with such style, who can complain? It was, however, the orchestral subsiding, beautiful and noble, that lingered more stubbornly in the mind. On this showing, Petrenko and his orchestra are a pairing to match any resident in London.

Simon Trpčeski, Wigmore Hall, 4 March 2008

Wigmore Hall

Chopin – Piano Sonata No. 2 in B flat minor, Op.35
Debussy – Children’s Corner
Prokofiev – Old Grandmother’s Tales Op.31
Prokofiev – Toccata in D minor, Op.11
Prokofiev – Piano Sonata no.7 in B flat major, Op.83

Simon Trpčeski (piano)

Simon Trpčeski possesses a phenomenal technique, but is also clearly a fine musician with a mind of his own. Chopin’s second sonata received a commanding reading, a couple of slips in the scherzo notwithstanding. Trpčeski has an extraordinary fullness of tone: undoubtedly pianistic, but also highly suggestive at times of orchestral colours. This, one could tell, was someone born to play a Steinway (and Rachmaninov). The first movement was big-boned, at times almost Beethovenian in its sound, although there is of course nothing Beethovenian about Chopin’s remarkably original handling of sonata form. There was a true sense of a cortège to the Marche funèbre, which somewhat surprisingly put me in mind of the ‘Bydlo’ from Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. The middle D flat major section of this movement was especially notable. Taken at a daringly slow pace, there was a daring spareness of texture allied to the noble singing tone that was Trpčeski’s throughout the recital. The Presto final movement sounded less spare, less flickering, than is generally the case, but certainly worked well in Trpčeski’s bolder interpretation of its moto perpetuo. Indeed, there was a sense in which it therefore seemed more of a ‘finale’ than is often the case with a movement that bewildered Schumann and Mendelssohn amongst others.

The six movements of Debussy’s Children’s Corner were sharply and winningly characterised. Trpčeski’s Debussy is not a composer of (post-)impressionist hazes, but paints in bold, primary colours. This is Debussy for the Steinway, not the Erard. I do not wish to imply absence of variegation. ‘Jimbo’s Lullaby’ was softer in touch and approach than, say, its predecessor, ‘Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum’, which fairly rattled through Debussy’s affectionate parody of Clementi’s tedious keyboard exercises. Yet mystery was not to the fore of this pianist’s agenda. Occasionally, for instance in ‘The snow is dancing’, I felt this as a lack, but there were compensations aplenty, not least from Trpčeski’s tightness of rhythm, which did not preclude well-considered rubati from time to time. This is a pianist of aristocratic poise, as he would also show in the first of his encores, the first Arabesque. The part-writing was as clear as it would have been with Maurizio Pollini, but with a more Romantic, less modernistic tone. In ‘Golliwogg’s cake walk’, the gently mocking quotations from Tristan und Isolde were wonderfully handled: full of character, yet integrated into the general musical argument.

Prokofiev perhaps fared best of all. The Old Grandmother’s Tales sounded duly nostalgic, pining for a Mussorgskian ‘Mother Russia’ that no longer existed, if ever it had. The ‘whiteness’ of Prokofiev’s piano writing – irrespective of key – was married to a wonderful, vocal projection of line. This was followed by a simply spellbinding Toccata, which never relented and yet never lost that extraordinary fullness of tone. I have long treasured Pollini’s recording of the seventh sonata as hors concours, but upon the evidence of this recital, Trpčeski is a serious rival. Indeed, his tone and more general post-Romantic approach are arguably more appropriate than the crystalline modernism of the Italian pianist. (In practice, of course, there is absolutely no reason why one should choose; I simply mention Pollini in order to signal the level of pianism at which Trpčeski is operating.) The mechanical – war-like? – quality of some of the first movement’s rhythms was once again projected with an orchestral fullness of tone. This did not soften the hints – and more – of barbarism, but rather heightened the tension. The pianist’s singing tone and length of line present in the middle Andante caloroso could not have been more impressive. And the barbarism of the final Precipitato exceeded that of the Toccata, which in retrospect at least now sounded jejune. The relentless 7/8 rhythm put me in mind of the wilder reaches of Bartók (in whose music I should love to hear Trpčeski), and once again this was miraculously accomplished without the slightest hardening of tone. There was an abandon which perforce had to remain controlled, but one might never have guessed so as the sonata was hurled towards its barnstorming conclusion. Trpčeski had the measure of that strange marriage between percussive and lyrical writing, which stands at the heart of Prokofiev’s writing for his own instrument.