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Alix Goolden Performance Hall
May 6, 2006
During the nineteenth century the concerto changed (or, as some would doubtless have considered, progressed) considerably from the form that would have been recognisable by Bach, Handel or even Mozart.
Much of the change, from the collaborative to the competitive, was spurred by technology: to be precise, the technology which transformed the piano from an instrument which could only be heard clearly when gently supported by a smallish orchestra, into a steel-framed behemoth whose player could thrill an audience by dominating a much larger accompanying body.
Johannes Brahms wrote two piano concertos, perhaps the two largest and loudest piano concertos of the century, yet only one of them conforms to the "concerto as battleground" model.
The Piano Concerto No.1, Op.15 is a work which Robert Schumann might well have called a "veiled symphony" (the term he applied to Brahms's piano sonatas); a number of authors, mindful of its origins, have called it a "symphony with piano" and this, it seems to me, is the key to performing the music.
Unfortunately the concerto is all-too-frequently played as if soloist and accompaniment were at odds; I suspect it is the dramatic opening of the work which leads conductors and soloists into this trap, although the far more genial opening of the second concerto, which really is a battleground, seems rarely to be so misunderstood.
On Saturday night the Civic Orchestra of Victoria, soloist Cary Chow and conductor George Corwin closed their 2005-6 season with a magnificent performance of the D minor concerto. Tempos, especially in the opening movement, were steady, but the tension never flagged even during the (numerous) lyrical passages.
The almost elemental opening was made even more so by the fact that two of the four bassists had the extender on their lowest string, enabling them to drop an octave on the opening D and subsequent C sharp pedals and provide an ominously growling foundation to the sound.
Throughout the movement drama and lyricism were equally present; Chow's effortless virtuosity made light of what is often considered an unrewarding solo part, which he imbued with classical elegance and an almost feline grace (at his first entry, for example) as well as tremendous power: whenever I think of this movement, the first aspect that comes to mind is trills and Chow's were superb.
The adagio which follows has been called both a memorial to Robert Schumann, whose recent death had affected Brahms deeply, and a portrait of Clara Schumann. Such is the essential ambiguity of the "language of music".
Which view of the music one adopts - and frankly, I can happily live with neither - it was beautifully played; whether it was the noble solemnity of the winds and strings in the opening or the solo part, which in Chow's hands was steeped in nostalgia but never saccharine.
The finale was, in contrast to the first two movements, taken at a fairly brisk tempo and Chow's frothy opening statement was excellently picked up by the orchestra. Throughout the movement - indeed, throughout the entire concerto - ensemble was very good as was, aside from a few lapses, intonation.
A first-class performance.
Many nineteenth century composers got into a muddle with their numbering: Beethoven's (first two) and Chopin's piano concertos, Schubert's, Schumann's and Dvoràk's symphonies are notable examples.
But the prize for numerical confusion surely goes to Felix Mendelssohn. First he composed some thirteen symphonies for strings, now often referred to as his "string sinfonias", although he only numbered the first ten.
Then things got interesting. Mendelssohn's Symphony No.1 was indeed his first full orchestral symphony - but the autograph score, which is owned by the work's dedicatee, the London Philharmonic Society, inexplicably bears the number thirteen.
Mendelssohn's next symphony was the "Reformation", now numbered five; it was followed by the "Italian" (number four) then the "Hymn of Praise" ("Lobgesang", number two) and finally the "Scottish" (number three).
I rest my case.
The "Reformation" symphony can so often seem a turgid work, particularly the finale, based on Luther's "Ein feste Burg".
But on Saturday it was given a lively, even fiery performance as befits the work of a 21-year-old.
After a suitably solemn opening - balances not quite 100 per cent, but still good - the succeeding allegro was indeed, as marked, con fuoco and had plenty of energy. Dynamics were well-observed and the playing possessed an impressive forward momentum.
The scherzo truly danced, with lilting winds and a quite lovely trio. One measure of the improvement of the Civic in the years I've been listening to them was the resonance and depth of the pizzicatos.
The andante was taken at a fluid tempo and featured excellent playing from all sections. The transition into the finale was also deftly handled, leading to a fine wind exposition of the main theme.
Corwin maintained a high level of tension through the movement, in which contrapuntal lines (Mendelssohn even attempts a fugue at one point, which can often make the movement seem even more academically dry) were commendably clear. Indeed, whatever the opposite of 'turgid' is, that is the adjective I should like to apply to the playing.
Mendelssohn and Brahms were born in the same North German city and this concert was a superb tribute to two great Hamburgers (oh dear, oh dear).
All levity (honestly, that was the intent) aside, it was another marvellously satisfying and rewarding evening from Corwin and the Civic.
Mahler once famously remarked that "there is more to music than is in the notes". While the Civic may not always hit all of the notes, there is no doubt that that "more" of which Mahler spoke, is present in everything they do.
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