SYMPHONY CONCERT, Thursday February 18, City Hall; CPO conducted by Victor Yampolsky, soloist Jack Liebeck; Strauss: Tone Poem, Don Juan, Op 20; Bruch: Violin Concerto No 1 in G minor, Op 26; Brahms: Symphony No 4 in E minor, Op 98. DEON IRISH reviews
MY guest and I scudded into the upper reaches of The City Hall just in time to hear the overture from the (fortunately open) central doors to the gallery. A slightly different vantage point, but one which afforded a surprisingly good acoustic experience of a good performance.
Although to term this work of Strauss an “overture” is to belittle its stature, whatever its allotted function on this occasion. It is the second of the significant series of “tone poems” written by the composer, employing a form derived from Liszt, but developed by himself though the employment of the Wagnerian “leitmotiv”.
This substantial work proved a very suitable lead in to a concerto which, although not counted amongst the pantheon of inspired concerti, has consistently maintained its prominence in the orchestral repertoire and in the public affection. Indeed, no less a commentator than Tovey accorded it the status of a major work in his selected commentaries, with the trenchant comment that “it is not easy to write as beautifully as Max Bruch”.
The soloist on this occasion is a professor of violin at the Royal Academy and has the good fortune to be playing a celebrated Guadagnini of 1785. The opening movement is a fantasia – deliberately termed a “prelude” by the composer – and, in its free-ranging consideration of repetitive melodic elements, avoids any of the formal characteristics of a sonata first movement.
Liebeck commenced the weighty introductory dialogue with the orchestra in ear-catching fashion: both because of the beauty of sound engendered from his lovely instrument and because of his musical personality and lineage, immediately revealed.
Which led me to think thoughts which are, quite possibly, dangerous to express in our superficially fractious times.
It is seemingly no longer fashionable to compare cultures, these days: the uninformed attribution of racial and therefore genetic epithets is commonplace and vulgar, but the more nuanced recognition of learnt communal behaviour and response is somehow regarded as if it were the same exercise, and as though the praise of the cultural achievements of one society implicitly denigrates others; or as though cultural practices are somehow immune to criticism.
Well, there is a long and exceptionally rich tradition of violin playing within the Jewish tradition, particularly from within the Russian Empire and both Yampolsky and Liebeck claim lineage from that heritage.
So, Liebeck’s discourse was redolent with the sort of emotional intelligence one experienced in a Milstein performance, full of portend, and taken at a deliberate and yet not sentimental tempo. Yampolsky followed suit with a crafted accompaniment that, if it favoured the singing melodies, never lost sight of the weighty harmonic progression.
Bruch was not Jewish; but his concerto has been well-served by Jewish interpreters and the central adagio, with its searingly melancholic material, seems particularly apt for the expression of that indefinable and elusive yearning quality – partially explained by the approach to intonation – which great Jewish artists seem to have within their cultural being. This account was memorable both for its clarity of line and for its emotional impact.
The concluding finale, a confection which suggests a village fiddler of prodigious ability, emigrates from the Russian steppes to the Hungarian plain and the mood lightens; here Liebeck was able to demonstrate more of the technical, with an assured delivery of double stopped figures, skidding passage work and employment of a bowing arm that was consistently elegant in its phrasing and weighting.
The orchestra romped along in like manner and ensured the well-deserved ovation.
The concert ended with a most rewarding reading of the fourth and last Brahms symphony. But there was, once again, cause to consider the cultural impact of a Russian Jewish conductor on this most German of composers.
That impact is subtle; Yampolsky is a marvellous musician and pedagogue and his approach to the score is intellectually rigorous in ascertaining the composer’s musical intentions.
But, in performance, there is so much that is ultimately intuitive or instinctive and much depends in every instance on the recreative response of the performing artist. So, in this case, there were moments in the performance which made me think that the musical result was perhaps more Russian than German.
It was most apparent in some of the tempi choices and in the treatment of the bridge passages of the first movement. In the hands of many German interpreters, much of this work assumes a somewhat timeless character. Oh, there is rhythm and syncopation aplenty, and the composer’s favoured contretemps passages; but there is overall a sense of the leisurely, often characterized as autumnal, but perhaps really just contentment.
It was in these moments that a certain Russian affect crept in. A people familiar with joy and sorrow, but not, perhaps, with mere contentment.