The familiar seen and heard anew – Ivan Fischer, Francesco Piemontesi and the Budapest Festival Orchestra in Schumann, Dohnanyi and Strauss

 

Some time ago, Hillary Hahn played the Sibelius Violin Concerto in Alicante’s ADDA hall in a way that I described as utterly new. Though I had heard the work many times, at least hundreds, this performance opened my eyes anew to its qualities, many of which I had clearly hitherto missed. The same quality of experience applied to Francesco Piemontesi’s interpretation last night of the Schumann Piano Concerto.

It’s a work I have perhaps heard not just hundreds, but thousands of times. Frankly, I don’t have much time for Robert Schumann for reasons I won’t go into. Let’s just say that I tend to tolerate his music’s presence on concert programs without really seeing the point. I tend to find his music over-planned, too self-conscious, perhaps over-eager to present a facade. I admit that he may not be the only artist at fault in such areas!

After Francesco Piemontesi’s performance of the Piano Concerto, however, I feel I may have just been missing the point over the years, or perhaps it might be that the norm in performance is to splash the canvas of interpretation too liberally with respect and too little with humanity. In the hands of Francesco Piemontesi, there was hardly a phrase of this piece that was not “interpreted”. Now sometimes that’s a euphemism for “over-played” or “over-done”. In this case, it meant the use of subtle dynamics, changes of pace, nuances of touch, all designed to bring the music to life. The overall effect was to render the solo part conversational, even personal. I doubt there was a member of the audience who did not feel that this was a personal occasion, shared only by themselves and the soloist. The sense of communication was all-pervading, with the orchestra and soloist never in conflict, always cooperating to create musical sense. And what orchestra playing it was!

Ivan Fischer and the Budapest Festival Orchestra seemed to weave in and out of the textures of the piano, never conflicting, never competing and never overwhelming. And so, by the end, I felt literally as if I had heard the work for the first time, so different was the experience from my expectation.

The Budapest Festival Orchestra under Ivan Fischer began the concert with a performance of Dohnanyi’s Symphonic Minutes. Though less of an innovator than Bartok and perhaps less melodious than Kodaly, Dohnanyi shares the same heritage and his music, witty, sumptuous and yet also neo-classical deserves to be played more.

The second half of Richard Strauss presented a pair of tone poems, Don Juan and Till Eugenspiegel sandwiching The Dance of the Seven Veils from Salome. These two tone poems demand superb orchestral playing and coordination, and right from the opening bars of Don Juan, it was obvious that the Budapest Festival Orchestra both relished and warmed to the task. The result was stunningly vivid, spectacular and exhilarating. Salome’s dance was colourful and deliberately graphic. Then came a masterstroke.

At the start of the evening it was noticeable that Ivan Fischer had placed the basses at the back of the orchestra. This seem to create a balanced, even orchestral texture, through which detail was only enhanced. For Till Eulenspiegel, Ivan Fisher moved the horn section to the front to sit like a quartet of soloists around the podium. The effect was to amplify Till’s pranks, enhance the story and render the performance ultra-vivid, almost surreal.

An encore also broke the mould. Instead of an orchestral lollipop, three members of the Budapest Festival Orchestra played a piece of traditional Hungarian peasant string band music. Here were the quarter tones and strange harmonies of the type that Bartok, Kodaly, Dohnanyi and others had tried to record, in their estimation before they disappeared. Here they were alive, well and rapturously received. It really was an evening of surprises.

A triumph of programming - ADDA Symfonica with Ivan Martin under Yaron Traub play unfamiliar Scriabin and Tchaikovsky

Much thought nowadays is devoted to the construction of concert programmes. A mass audience, almost by definition, is dictatorial. The old favourites are always safe, and the need for posteriors on bucket seats often demands repetition of the hackneyed, the overplayed lollipops of popular taste. But there is also another side to programming these days, an approach that explores the repertoire and, at least, for part of the concert, challenges an audience to listen without expectation, or pre-judgment. Usually this is done by including a contemporary piece alongside a cobwebbed standard. Sometimes, as in last night’s concert in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium, it is achieved by exploring the lesser known, less played works of well-known names. It is rare, however, for a whole concert to be devoted to such less well-known early works.

In an all-Russian program, the ADDA orchestra under Yaron Traub played two works, written just three decades apart in the nineteenth century, Scriabin’s Piano Concerto from the 1890s and Tchaikovsky Symphony No.1, Winter Daydreams, from the 1860s. The truly inspired element of the programming was the shared significance of both these works in the careers of their creators.

Both works are seen as early works, written before the development of the composer’s mature style. In the case of Scriabin, of course, we could discuss precisely what that might have been at some length. Both works have become labelled as breakthrough works, in both cases the creator’s first orchestral success - again in Scriabin’s case this might be debatable! But together, they offer an audience a terrific insight into how these creative minds developed by locating, essentially, where they started from.

Scriabin’s Piano Concerto was written to show off his own virtuosity. It does sound rather like Chopin, even conservative in outlook, given that this style was already half a century old by the 1890s. The composer scored the piano to play close to continuously throughout piece, and there are a couple of places where the orchestra drowns the soloist, but then he would do that later in Prometheus, wouldn’t he? And here there’s no real cadenza, no real opportunity for the soloist to take centre stage, which is strange, given the composer’s self-serving motivation. Orchestration, at this point in Scriabin’s career, was clearly not a strong point, but the integration of soloist and orchestra in the work was its forward-looking aspect. Ivan Martin’s performance was beyond perfect and it was his contrasting encore of baroque trilling.

Winter Daydreams, the Symphony No1, was Tchaikovsky’s breakthrough work. Unlike Scriabin, at the same age, Tchaikovsky showed in this early work much that would become his mature style. There is even a passage for horns in this work which sounds like it came straight out of Nutcracker. And again, unlike Scriabin, Tchaikovsky’s regular use of long lines of theme give this work almost the feel of a novel with a linear plot. All the strong contrasts and outbursts, which were later to characterize his writing, are here already formed, part of the composer’s language.

It is a great program that can surprise through assumed, but misunderstood familiarity.