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University Centre Auditorium
January 30, 2009
The music of Alexander Glazunov has, over the years, maintained a precarious, not to say tenuous foothold on the repertoire. Although a reasonably prolific composer, it is mainly on record that his music can be heard today - there exist, for example, an astonishing 28 recordings of the Chant du ménestrel for 'cello and orchestra, a work I do not ever recall seeing programmed at a concert.
Of those works of his which do crop up with something approaching regularity on concert programmes, one suspects that the relatively frequency of performance of the Concerto for Alto Saxophone and Strings, Op.109 is more due to the desire of saxophonists to play it than to audiences clamouring to hear it.
Which is a shame, as the concerto is a delightful and highly skilfully-constructed work, which deserves to be heard. Especially when played as well as it was on Friday evening.
Stephen Lewis was the first of three dauntingly-talented soloists who graced the stage of the Farquhar Auditorium in the University's annual Concerto Concert. All three, I gather, have yet to graduate, which makes their achievements all the more impressive.
Lewis's initial entry was fluid and lyrical - and an augury of things to come. Throughout the concerto he produced a lovely tone, while his technical control was superb.
The concerto is no profound masterpiece but has plenty of melodic interest and even a touch of uniqueness in the opening of the final section, a fugato led by the soloist playing unaccompanied.
This was a performance to win new friends for Glazunov, for the saxophone and, of course, for Lewis himself. Delightful.
I suspect that the sequencing of the music on Friday had as much to do with the size of the orchestra as anything else and so the second of the three concertos was, musically speaking, the greatest of them all: Beethoven's Violin Concerto.
There are few today who would dispute the notion that this is the single greatest concertante work in the literature for the instrument; for a violinist of Hollas Longton's youth to essay it in public is an act of either great courage or extreme hubris.
Or perhaps merely a justifiable self-confidence: from that first, oh-so-tricky solo entry, Longton was not only clearly in command of his instrument, he also had the measure of the music.
Longton has always struck me as an intelligent musician and this performance confirmed it. I have heard much-touted, professional violinists lose their way in this music - particularly the first movement; not Longton, whose concentration throughout was total.
After the opening movement there was a ripple of applause - not the applause of those who believe the music to be over, but the applause of an informed audience who realise they have just witnessed something rather special.
Nor do the remaining movements disappoint: the larghetto was exquisite and quite rivetting - one of those performances to confirm one's suspicion that Beethoven really was the greatest composer who ever lived; the transition into the finale was magical and the rondo had a definite swing to its step.
Although he ultimately wrote cadenzas for all of his piano concertos, oddly Beethoven left none for the violin. Over the years many of the greats have contributed their own: Joachim and Kreisler being the most notable. More recently some violinists have transcribed the cadenza which Beethoven did compose for the piano transcription, Op.61a. (The two main exemplars being the relatively straightforward version of Wolfgang Schneiderhan and the distinctly strange one of Gidon Kremer - complete with offstage piano.)
Although it did briefly occur to me to wonder, given the unfamiliarity of the cadenzas Longton employed, whether they were his of his own devising, I was still quite surprised to discover that they were.
Like his performance as a whole, Longton's cadenzas revealed a maturity beyond his years and, if anything, made his performance of this great concerto even more remarkable.
Antonin Dvorák's Cello Concerto in B minor is actually the second he composed (come to that Beethoven wrote at least part of an early Violin Concerto, in C); it is the first great Romantic concerto for the instrument and still dominates the repertoire.
As is often the case with Dvorák the performance should not give one time - or cause - to reflect upon its structure (particularly in the finale), which was never the composer's strongest point. It must be played to the hilt, by both soloist and orchestra.
Emily Burton certainly understands this and from her first entry grabbed the music by the scruff of the neck and did not let go.
Burton has a large and attractive tone and marvelous technique - as witness her stunning double-stopped passages in the opening movement. Lyricism was the key word in the adagio and the finale fizzed along.
A performance which had me mentally reprising the themes for the rest of the evening.
Of course the evening's main focus was on the soloists, but even the best soloists need sympathetic accompaniment and this trio could not have wished for more in that department.
The presence of a dozen "ringers" (faculty and guests) in the orchestra seems to have raised everybody's game; this was truly distinguished playing. Sumptuous string tones, delectably characterful winds and powerful, yet restrained brass; all sections shone.
And presiding over it all were the safe and sure hands of János Sándor, an accompanist par excellence.
A very special evening indeed.
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