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Royal Theatre
September 30, 2018
In 1889 the German government of Otto von Bismarck introduced the world's first old-age pension. At the time the qualifying age was seventy years old (it would not be reduced to sixty-five until 1916); by no coincidence whatsoever, this was then the average life expectancy for those who lived past childhood.
Which helps to put into context Brahms' Symphony No.3, with which Christian Kluxen and the Victoria Symphony closed Sunday's excellent concert; Brahms was fifty when he composed it. Today that would make him a strapping middle-aged man. In nineteenth century terms he was on the verge of old age. In Brahms' own mind, he already had one foot in the grave. In the event, he died at the age of sixty-three — seventy was, after all, only the average life expectancy.
Given that the equinox was only a few days past and given the composer and work, it would be difficult to discuss Sunday's performance without once using the word "autumnal". Let me say at the outset then, that the autumnal aspect of the music was present yet not emphasized.
The very opening of the work augured well: nicely-judged tempo (and a far cry from the almost world-weary trudge that Yannick Nézet-Séguin imposed on it the last time I heard the symphony in the Royal) and excellent, full but not dense sound. Kluxen took the repeat and seemed to imbue the music with an added sense of urgency the second time around. The second subject was simply gorgeous, with the winds to the fore. There was a lightness to the textures and Kluxen managed to find more colours than many a conductor: although far from Technicolor, we were still some way from the shades of sepia which too often pass for Brahmsian orchestration. I also admired the almost Furtwänglerian whipping up of the tempo in the coda: exciting and very satisfying.
Kluxen's basic tempo for the slow movement was broadly flowing, but with some very slow lingering over some of the more delectable passages, however, this felt affectionate rather than simply mannered. Throughout there was a meticulous attention to detail.
The third movement, which is probably my personal favourite in all of his symphonies, was simply delicious, taken at a slow tempo, to be sure, but not overly so. Perhaps in this most autumnal of all Brahms' symphonic movements the aching sense of nostalgia was a little underdone — but then, given Kluxen's relative youth, it would have been a little disturbing if it had not been.
The finale opened with a feline grace and built to a bold and dramatic climax, before finally subsiding into its serene and exquisitely beautiful close.
In a word: exceptional.
The old saying has it that "horses sweat, men perspire, but ladies only glow"; and it was only by the periodic wiping of the glow from her brow that Lorraine Min gave any indication that she was playing Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No.2 for the third time in as many days.
Min impressed from the work's very beginning, initially taking those massive chords very, very slowly, and quietly; but gradually — and, seemingly, inevitably — she piled on both the volume and the tempo. To inject fresh life into one of the best-known openings of any concerto takes a very special performer.
The violins' statement of the main theme was marvellous and commendably audible, although, unfortunately, from where I was sitting, the violas and cellos were directly behind the piano and were consequently less easy to hear when they took up the melody.
Nevertheless, the orchestra made a splendid sound and provided superb support, with much fine detail on display.
Overall, I should describe this movement as being more thoughtful than one is used to, but still gripping in its intensity (I made rather fewer notes than I expected, a testimony to the way the playing held the attention.)
The slow movement opened with lovely string tone and the interplay between soloist and accompaniment was excellent. It is unfortunate, in this context, that memories of Eric Carmen, who used the theme of this movement for the verse of a 1975 pop song, could not be entirely suppressed, although I do hope that I was the only person in the audience who half expected a pyjama-clad Bridget Jones to spring onto the stage, bellowing "All by myself, don't wanna be all by myself!"...
The finale, after a positively jaunty introduction, allow Min to dazzle us with her technique and the music built to a positive frenzy, before the sumptuous coda brought the concerto to its tumultuous close — and the audience to its feet.
Anybody who has ever given a business presentation will tell you that the rules are very simple: tell them what you're about to tell them, tell them, then tell them what you have just told them.
Towards the end of Polyphonic Lively, which opened the programme, I began to suspect that business presentations lurked somewhere in the past of composer Dinuk Wijeratne, for the piece seemed to declare its point, then make it and then make it all over again.
Which is not to say that the music was without interest: the first bars, for instance, put me in mind of a forest gradually awakening after a torrential downpour. And, while Wijeratne clearly has influences — there were passages which reminded me of composers as diverse as Manuel de Falla and Luciano Berio (admittedly not simultaneously, that would have been impressive) — it never sounded derivative.
And it was exceptionally well played; but, for me, it could have done with some judicious editing.
A truly excellent afternoon's music-making.
In closing I must just make a couple of points: I don't know whether the orchestral layout, with violins divided left-and-right and the basses on risers at the rear, is a recent (or indeed permanent) innovation, but I heartily approve. There was antiphonal detail audible in the Brahms which I don't believe I have ever heard before and the bottom end was commendably firm and full.
Finally, thank you to whomever it was whose electronic device made certain by its beeping that the audience was in no doubt when it was 3 p.m.; although the repeat performance, five minutes later, was probably superfluous...
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