When superlatives are not enough – Josep Vicent and Anna Federova with ADDA Simfónica in Rachmaninov and Mahler

 

Last night the 2025-2026 season of ADDA concerts was brought to close. On paper, for a seasoned concert goer, there was nothing particularly outstanding on the program. We were to hear Rachmaninov’s Paganini Rhapsody, and then the First Symphony of Mahler. In the end, the performances of both works approached perfection and originality. Despite the fact that both works were very familiar, the performances achieved memorable status, in the Rachmaninov because of the level of communication between the soloist and the orchestra, and then the Mahler because of the highly original approach to the work taken by Josep Vicent, conductor and artistic director of ADDA Simfónica.

Anna Federova was soloist in the Rachmaninov Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. The ADDA audience had a preview of the music during the previous concert when Andrey Baronov played the Caprice number 24 as an encore. Rachmaninov’s variations on the same theme are an orchestral showpiece. There is rhythm and colour in every phrase, but despite all the massive contributions from the orchestra, the composer manages never to impinge on the soloist’s audibility. This is not surprising, since Sergei Rachmaninov was writing the piece to show off his own skills as a pianist, but the handling of the orchestra is also literally brilliant. Everything seems to shine, but the Rachmaninov bells are still in evidence.

The work contains the eighteenth variation, of course, which is become without doubt one of the most popular pieces in the repertoire. It is how it is hard not to sound clichéd in this music, but, as ever, the pace of the performance without pauses between the variations keep the work alive. Context is all – and breaking that context is a recipe for disaster. But ADDA Simfónica under Joseph Vicent brought the whole work to life, not just the famous bit! Anna Fedorova's playing was superb throughout, as would be expected from a soloist who has become so famous for her interpretation of Rachmaninov.

The eighteenth variation also provided the first encore. This was followed by a solo piece by Rachmaninoff, the Prelude Opus 32 number 12 I think. The music did not surprise because it is well known, but the musicianship of all concerned approached perfection.

And then to the second half featuring Mahler’s Symphony No1. I point out that this is the sixth time I have heard the work in concert performance in the last decade. I have probably heard it broadcast many times as well. It was, however, the first time that ADDA Simfónica have played it in a concert that I also attended. I was therefore prepared to renew an acquaintance with a work that I know well and that I first heard about sixty years ago in a recording by Bruno Walter.

Put simply, I have never heard Mahler’s First Symphony played like this. Josep Vicent’s take on the music – because it was surely a personal re-examination of the score that led to this performance – stressed the impressionistic nature of the first movement. The composer himself stated that it is supposed to be infused with nature. It is supposed to be evocative of sounds that one might hear on a country walk. Josep Vicent used rubato throughout the first movement, whenever it would make a point of stressing the detail of every sound combination that Mahler wrote. The off-stage trumpets of the start were miles distant, but the variable rhythm allowed the conductor to bring to the fore every detail of the score. Also clear was how easy is the transition in the slow movement from funeral march to Jewish klezmer. And again the use of tempo change stressed the contrast.

The result was just like hearing the music for the first time, so differently did the performance bring out the contrasts in this music. The approach was wholly original, ADDA Simfónica clearly enjoyed the challenge, it was a clear triumph for Josep Vicent and superlatives were not enough to describe the effect.

Perhaps the best performance by a soloist in a lifetime: Andrey Baronov plays Taneyev’s Suite in ADDA Alicante

After over fifty years of concert going, it is unusual to attend an orchestral concert that features three works, each more than a century old, that one has not heard before. I have recordings of all three works, of course, but they have not figured regularly on my personal playlist. When such experience is coupled with a solo performance that ranks amongst the best I have ever heard, then you might conclude that the experience was memorable. The experience in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium last night suppressed surpassed that by a long way.

The works concerned date from 1907, 1882 and 1897. They are respectively the Suite for Violin an Orchestra by Sergey Taneyev and Dvořák’s Domov muj, My Homeland Op62 and A Hero’s Song Op111. Taneyev’s music - especially his orchestral works – do not figure regularly on concert programmes in Western Europe, whilst Dvořák’s symphonies and orchestral dances figure regularly, whilst his tone poems do not.

A Hero’s Song, the programme notes told the audience, is probably a short autobiography of its composer. At the time of the work’s composition, Antonin Dvorak was almost sixty and had returned from his teaching in the United States. The work suffers none of the pomp and obvious self-marketing of Richard Strauss’s attempt at the same idea. Richard Strauss was still in his thirties when he wrote the grandiose Ein Heldenleben, A Hero’s Life. Both in concept and hearing it could not present more different experience than that Antonin Dvořák composed on, basically, the same idea.

Symphonic in structure but spanning a single movement lasting less than 25 minutes, A Hero’s Song Op111 is recognizably the music of Dvořák, but it has modernistic directions in its writing. It is scored for a large orchestra, which is used by the composer to create tones and colours rather than a blunderbuss. Unlike Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben, A Hero’s Song was indeed the composer’s final orchestral work. If it is autobiographical, it is upbeat about things in general. There is a slow section that contains a funeral march, but then we all go there. Generally, the music dances, its way through its twenty minutes, but there are moments when Dvorak simply delights in the sounds that he can write for a full orchestra. And, though the work ends proudly upbeat, there is real humility in this music, as if the composer was saying to posterity, “That is who I am and that is what I can do. It’s now up to you!”

The performance of A Hero’s Song was preceded in the second half of the concert by Dvořák’s overture Domov muj, My Homeland, in which the composer celebrated Czech Theatre. This is middle Dvořák, after, it has to be said, that he had thrown off his mid-century tendency to gigantism when his compositions – the early symphony is for example – run to great length. My Homeland is a celebration of themes which were well known to his audience. The non-Czechs in an audience simply revel in the melodies.

This evening finished with the Slavonic Dance Op 72 No2 and in a second half devoted to three works by Dvořák, we had covered the nationalism, the folkloric dancing, and the serious introspection that characterized his work. Rossen Milanov’s conducting brought out all three sides of the composer’s music. He is clearly passionate about the music of Antonin Dvořák.

The first half of the concert had been devoted to a single work. And the Suite for Violin and Orchestra Op28 by Sergey Taneyev, at over forty minutes, is longer than most concerti for the instrument. The composer chose not to use to use the title “concerto”, but this is a vast work, making concerto-like demands on the soloist. Across its five movements, there is no obvious use of sonata form and the music – in the wrong hands – could appear episodic. Hence the title, “suite”.

But under the baton of Rossen Milanov and especially with Andrey Baronov as soloist, what we heard was not only virtuosic playing, but also a work that deserves to be more central in the repertoire of violin and orchestra.

Its five movements were diverse. It opens with a Prelude, a dialogue between soloist and orchestra, reminiscent in my ear, at least, to the opening of the first concerto of Shostakovich. This is music that seems to be searching for a home and then decides just to keep wandering. The movement that follows could have been written by Respighi some years later. It is almost pop music, but its neoclassical style twists and turns the thematic material is surprising ways.

The Fairy Tale that follows was surely in Sergei Prokofiev’s mind when he wrote his first violin concerto. The violin appears to be alone in a land of strange orchestral colours and a succession of broken phrases. As fairytales go, it is something magical.

The biggest of the five movements, Theme and Variations comes next. Taneyev was here showing off how many styles in which he could present what is really a rather trite theme. It holds together because of its virtuosity, the solo part being dominant without being domineering.

The finale is a Tarantella that dances its way out of a work that has lasted over forty minutes. The movement is reminiscent of those biting scherzos that became popular amongst composers in the mid twentieth century, but its teeth were not so sharp, and the music remains celebratory.

And so ended the real surprise that will change my listening habits. I do have a recording of the piece, but it’s a recording that I have hardly played. It may now even become worn out.

Lastly, I must record that Andrey Baranov’s playing as soloist in Taneyev’s Suite must rank amongst the most impressive performances that I have ever heard. Not only was he committed to the music, with which he clearly was a good deal more familiar than anyone in the audience, but he made every phrase communicative. The suite is not a concerto, so he had no cadenza in which to show off. But the result was much more than a suite of unrelated pieces. It became more of a dialogue between orchestra and violin that made musical and experiential sense. It is not often that a soloist takes repeated curtain calls to the unanimous applause – not just bow waving – of the entire orchestra, but Andrey Baranov did just that. This was not merely memorable: it went way beyond that.

As an encore, Andrey Baranov chose to play the 24th Caprice of Paganini, which was an interesting choice, because next time the ADDA audience will hear Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on the same piece.

Escandinavia – ADDA hosts Joan Enric Lluna and Joana Carneiro in Grundman, Bach and Schumann

 

The concert was subtitled “Escandinavia”, a label that some of the audience found a little confusing. But a program note clarified that the Symphony No. 2 of Robert Schumann is also often called Escandinavia as a nickname. Despite being premiered in Dresden in 1845, it was also dedicated to King Oscar of Norway and Sweden – hence the nickname.

Baffling labels aside, there was nothing in this program to challenge a concert-going audience, apart from possibly a world premiere of a piece by locally resident composer, Jorge Grundman. The History of a Smile for clarinet and orchestra was listed as his opus 96, no less. The orchestra in question turned out to be strings and a percussion section of a vibraphone and a marimba. These latter instruments played a significant part in creating a soundscape for the work, while, if anything, the full complement of strings was, if anything, underused.

But this is essentially a show piece for solo clarinet, though it would be stretching things to say it was a concerto. Minimalist structures are heard here, with many figures relying on minor scales or modes around a bass pedal. The overall effect is perhaps rather monotonous, but, given the minimalist inspiration, that is part of the point. Joan Enric Lluna’s playing was superb, as were the two encores he offered, both his own compositions and forming two parts of his Homenaje á Maestro Rodrigo.

Joana Carneiro’s conducting of this opening work was itself astounding in that she prompted every detail of the score. It came, therefore, as no surprise to read that she often specialises in contemporary music. When she moved onto Bach’s Orchestral Suite No. 3, she was equally precise with music that demands above all precision. Now this is every well-known music, especially the second movement, the Air, which is often heard as a standalone piece. The ADDA Orchestra’s playing, especially that of the trumpet, was breathtaking.

And in the second half we heard a Romantic symphony that epitomises the mid-nineteenth century approach to music. It is often levied as a criticism against minimalism that the music is all process, not product. Anyone thinking that this is a characteristic of modern music should listen to the Symphony No. 2 of Robert Schumann, where the composer’s assumptions of form, modulation and orchestration are more than evident. In the end, it is a satisfying work, but, for all Schumann’s reputation for unpredictability, this particular concertgoer tends to find his approach formulaic. It’s a personal opinion.

The orchestral playing, the conducting, and the solo playing were all superb. The program also held together beautifully and as a whole it was also superb.

Nacho de Paz in Valencia conducts Scriabin and Messiaen and achieves revelatory sounds

Nacho de Paz had a challenging program to conduct in his concert with the Orchesta de València. It’s not that the music was especially difficult, it’s just that the three works included in the program are not often played together. The workload in rehearsals must have been tremendous, but it was time well spent because these performances were memorable.

In his pre-concert talk, however, Nacho de Paz explained that the two composers whose works we heard both held universe-explaining obsessions, albeit of radically different kinds, and thus both composed according to their philosophy.

The main attraction for me personally was the Scriabin Poem of Ecstasy. The composer at the time of its composition was becoming obsessed with theosophical ideas, where a synthesis of ideas, religions and human experience were raised to a force which could drive the universe. The Poem of Ecstasy predated his work on The Mysterium, that vast unfinished work, whose first performance in the Himalayan foothills in India might just bring an end to the universe, the composer thought. The Poem of Ecstasy, an orchestral piece in one movement, otherwise known as the composer’s fourth symphony, was much closer to the fundamental core of human experience. It has clear sexual meaning and, when all said and done, without sex there would be no humans. Nacho de Paz, in his pre-concert talk, seemed to ignore this angle, concentrating on Scriabin’s exploration of the multiple harmonics that naturally spring from a long note. For Nacho de Paz, the massive apotheosis of the Poem of Ecstasy was a symbol of Scriabin achieving a kind of mathematical perfection by synthesising the mathematical possibilities of harmonics. My view is that it represents a purely physical, not mental experience. The performance of the work regularly achieved the composer’s intended dynamics, thus rendering the experience of listening quite physical.

The other two works on the program were both by Olivier Messiaen. Now Olivier Messiaen was a devoted Christian, a Roman Catholic, who constantly strove to reveal a spiritual truth through his musical composition. The fact that audiences often find his work hard to appreciate is his apparent rejection of form in his work. Messiaen’s music rarely conforms to what anyone expects from a concert piece. It is always meditative and possibly also intensely personal, even when, for instance in the Nine Meditations on the Holy Trinity, he is exploring the transliteration of text in the music. He called the system he invented a “communicable language”, but often audiences find that they have never learned his language.

The two works on offer in this concert were Les Offrandes Oubliées and L’Ascension. The former is the more conventional concert piece, but in the end, when the music literally dissolves into silence, the effect is strange in that the music does not seem to embody emotion. It simply exists.

L’Ascension’s four movements are effectively a concerto for orchestra. The first movement concentrates on brass, the second on wind and the last strings. Messiaen explores the sonorities just like any other composer would when trying to show off what an orchestra can do, but doubly baffling then is the decision to use only the strings in the last movement and then only part of the strings on the platform. Harmonically, Messiaen’s music is always recognizable. His signature is complex and, for the casual ear, it is perhaps unintelligible. Repeated listening, however, reveals patterns that the composer uses time and again, but they remain unconventional. The complications of dissonant notes in ecstatic chords always seems to cast doubt into the meaning of the music, doubt that still might have troubled the composer.

Overall, the concert was a triumph. It presented three twentieth century masterpieces on a single programme, works that presented composers grappling with the philosophies that drove them. Harmonies used by both composer were truly ecstatic. But by then end of L’Ascension, the slow progression of the music was surely a vision of the infinite that no human being can comprehend.

Leticia Moreno plays Fazil Say's 1001 Nights in the Harem with ADDA orchestra under Josep Vicent in Alicante

Last night’s concert in ADDA featured a program of unusual style. The main work on offer was a half hour violin concerto, and there is nothing strange about that. This, however, was a violin concerto with a difference. But the rest of the program comprised three works by Ravel, two of them excerpts and the third, that strangely familiar experience we call Bolero. Throughout this concert featuring effectively a Spanish-Turkish sandwich, a thread linking these works was their “orientalism”, that nineteenth century concept blending mysticism and magic in the eyes of then colonial Europeans. But the orientalism imagined by Ravel was here contrasted with the voice of a contemporary Turkish composer, whose claims to authenticity were surely justified, despite his having studied in Germany and his liking for jazz. In this world, after all, everything is syncretic.

The concert started with Ravel, the Feria from Rhapsodie Espagnole. The orchestral sound, textures and ensemble were perfect throughout. This was Ravel at his most joyous, and perhaps once forgetting manacles that kept his asceticism to the fore. The playing of this piece, so familiar, was exceptional, and was duly noticed by and remarked upon, via applause and acclamation, by the audience.

In the second half, a second Ravel excerpt, the Ouverture de Féerie from Shéhérazade was, by contrast, much more restrained, much more of a conscious recreation of a scene in the composer’s mind than a depiction of a place and time.

Then, to complete the Spanish-Turkish sandwich, we heard a performance of Bolero. It is such a strange piece of music that I doubt anyone other than its composer understands what it is doing. The composer himself said there was no music in it. In some ways, it is an essay in orchestration, which is eventually one orchestral tutti played in slow motion with a drum beat. Here, the master orchestrator has the majority of the strings played pizzicato for half the piece, and some of the strings remain pizzicato until near the end. In Ravel’s music, however, you can always hear the harp.

But despite the strangeness of this music, basically two repeated melodies varied only in dynamics in texture, it has gained remarkable popularity. And this performance, as ever by the ADDA Orchestra under Josep Vicent was greeted with cheers of appreciation.

The main part of the Turkish filling in this sandwich came from the evening’s main work, which was 1001 Nights in the Harem, a violin concerto by Fazil Say. In this world, the composer mixes extended violin technique, Turkish percussion, a traditional song in the slow movement and a multiplicity of understated orchestral textures to create the quiet world in which Sheherazade might have told her bedtime stories. Leticia Moreno, who was soloist, gave a truly memorable performance of this monumental solo part in which she is rarely silent throughout the half hour duration of piece. Some of the scrapes and scratches of the first movement perhaps had the audience worried that she would have no bow left by the end, but all was well. This is virtuosity that rarely involves simply showing off. Much of the solo part is very quiet, accompanied by mere orchestral punctuation. Here is a concerto where the soloist must feel like a specimen under a microscope. There is simply no room for error whatsoever and every detail is audible. The fact that the orchestra and the soloist gave such a faultless performance of this strange and reflective work is testament to everyone concerned, Josep Vicent. Leticia Moreno, the ADDA orchestra and ADDA audience, attentive as ever. I did listen to Kopatchinskaja with Pappano in 2024 in the same work before writing this this review and I could spot no difference in interpretation or playing. Both were faultless, followed similar tempi and phrasing.

There were two encores. Having taken her bow at the end part one, Leticia Moreno returned to the stage to play Piazzolla’s Oblivion with orchestral accompaniment and then we had the final section of Bolero repeated. This was one to remember.

ADDA sets off for a tour of Japan with Rimsky-Korsakov, Rodrigo, Tchaikovsky and Khachaturian with Kaori Muraji

 

In the second concert of the new season, ADDA Simfónica under their artistic director Joep Vicent last night offered a mix of perhaps overstated bravura interspersed with one of music’s great understatements. At the start, I will say that no longer is it necessary to describe this orchestra, conductor or venue in glowing terms. Everyone in last night's audience, ADDA regulars, knows that this is now amongst the finest orchestras in the world, and that the ADDA venue approaches perfection in terms of view and acoustics. The orchestra has by now set off on a tour of Japan. Success brings the pressures of demands, but the ADDA project has become a resounding success for all concerned.

Last night’s program opened with Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnole. It made a popular start to a concert that did rather concentrate on well-known favourites. But these pieces are well known and favourite because, in the right hands, they continue to deliver unforgettable experiences and this version of Capriccio Espagnole did deliver. I still find Rimsky-Korsakv’s orchestration rather heavy, however.

Then there followed the evening’s understatement. If one is trying to make a noise, then the last instrument to choose is a guitar, which is almost impossible to play forté. The beauty of good writing for the instrument, however, lies in its ability to be totally personal, apparently to make public the player’s inner most thoughts.

Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez is the best known of all guitar concertos. Its fame is often as a result of the separation of the slow movement as a lollipop to sweeten an audience. The practice is mistaken, however, because by itself it can be played mournfully, making it a sad piece of music designed to make everyone in the audience sadder. In its rightful place, between two brightly lit neoclassical allegros, the slow movement becomes merely a time to reflect. Whereas the outer movements present a sunlit landscape, the central movement describes the exact same landscape at twilight. Everything is softer, cooler, gentler, but it is never mournful. The Japanese soloist, Kaori Muraji, who performed last night and will accompany ADDA on the tour of Japan, was clearly enjoying every moment. Rodrigo’s brilliant and sympathetic orchestration never drowns the guitar’s small voice and overall creates a spectacular tense excitement that is never lost. Superb: superb writing, a superb work, superbly performed.

Kaori Muraji offered an encore of one of her own pieces, inspired, she told the audience, by old Japanese temples. The audience heard, I would suggest, especially in the right hand, something that reminded them of more nearby historical sites.

The second half opened with another popular favourite. Tchaikovsky suite from Swan Lake has some of the most familiar tunes in the repertoire. What is often ignored, is how spectacular is the orchestration which, of course, the ADDA orchestra made crystal clear and exciting.

Our evening came to a close with a selection from Khachaturian’s Spartacus. If what had gone before was not sufficiently melodic or rhythmically arresting, then this selection from Khachaturian’s ballet was a perfect was the perfect solution. The grand, Romantic string theme, at least for British ears, remains associated with sailing ships on a Sunday evening, and the viciously rhythmic sections almost bit the ears. And this superb playing of the ADDA orchestra was offered twice, as they repeated the upbeat section as an encore.

A goodbye to remember forever - Daniel Harding, Fleur Barron, Andrew Staples and the Swedish Radio Orchestra in Wagner, Jolas and Mahler in ADDA, Alicante

 

This was not the last concert in the other season, but it offered a totally valedictory theme. We heard four works, presented as three because the first two were run together seamlessly and, by hearing them together, the theme that was to dominate the evening was established.

The two works that were offered as one were by Richard Wagner. We are familiar with the opinion that the Prelude from Tristan and Isolde changed music forever. Before then, unresolved chords and “confusing” harmonies had been used by composers but usually resolved to something that felt definite. Wagner’s operatic prelude, however, is a succession of unresolved chords and “confusing” harmony. The music marks time, but also stops it, making an audience listen for every detail, of which, in this sparse music, there is a wealth. To run that directly into an orchestral version of the Liebestod marked a transition. Here is Isolde, bereft and alone, is saying goodbye to life by singing a love song. And so the valedictory theme was established.

Betsy Jolas describes how when she spoke to Simon Rattle about Ces Belles Annees, he was conducting Tristan and Isolde at the time. In 2023 and already 95 years old, she thought that this work might be her last orchestral commission, so she wrote a work whose theme was the passing of years by creating variations loosely based on Happy Birthday. The orchestral writing is confused, almost disjointed, but theoretically, not harmonically. Any harmonies are merely passing, just like the passing of time it celebrates. When the soprano enters, this evening Fleur Barron dressed in party frock and bovver boots, she is in party mood and invites the audience to join with her, to come to her birthday party, to celebrate the passing of years. At 95, Betsy Jolas chose to end the work with the orchestra in a tutti of laughter, perhaps a comment on the fact that we take life and time too seriously, perhaps commenting that in the end, nothing matters, despite the conviction and sincerity of the soprano’s words of invitation.

And then, in the second half we heard perhaps the most beautiful performance of Das Lied von der Erde imaginable. This was music-making of such a high-quality, such intensity, such attention to detail that it is hard to describe. The ADDA audience were spellbound by this largely quiet music, which, despite its juxtaposition of drinking songs alongside reflection, is eventually a valediction and an invitation to contemplate eternity.

A note on the performers is essential, especially in this work, which relies for its start on the presence of a Wagnerian tenor, one who has an instrument with the power to sing Seigfried, but with the inherent ability to communicate simply and directly. Performances of Das Lied von der Erde often fall short because of the opening, when the tenor simply cannot bring it off. Not so Andrew Staples, whose voice was not only up to the task, it shone. He managed a perfect balance of power, humour, and lyricism in words that speak a lot of drinking and having a good time, but always with the underpinning idea that the experience will not last.

Andrew Staples, surely in recognition of the fact that the main act in this work is the female voice, chose to sit at the back of the first violins when not singing, rather than take a seat centre-stage. In the alto’s final farewell, he took a seat in the stalls. Perhaps he also wanted to listen to Fleur Barron’s performance, which was nothing less than exceptional. Nominally a mezzo-soprano, she coped perfectly with the soprano-alto range of this part so that nothing interrupted the flow of this beautiful music. It was a performance that was memorable, right down to the last, barely audible, “eternally”.

Last, but certainly not least, Daniel Harding’s direction of the Swedish Radio Orchestra was both masterful and utterly transparent. He clearly has a very special relationship with the music of Gustav Mahler and both the detail that he brought out and the space that he created were utterly exquisite. It was a long goodbye, but a musical experience I would repeat many times, if time were to allow me the chance.

 

A concert of surprises - Beethoven Piano Concert No4 and Symphony No4 featuring Joachim Gustavsson and Antonii Baryshvskyi

What could possibly be surprising about a concert whose program listed two works by Beethoven, both numbered four, one a piano concerto and the other symphony? Well, the answer is just about everything. To start with, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 4 is certainly not the most played of his symphonic works. I am sure I have heard it in the concert hall before, but I am also sure it was more than four decades ago. The fourth piano concerto, on the other hand, is a regular inclusion on concert programmes, and I have heard it several times in the last decade and countless times via recordings. But it has never sounded quite like this.

The first surprise, though it was announced in advance, was the identity of the soloist. Antonii Baryshvskyi played the concerto instead of Judith Jauregui, who stepped down on medical advice. In addition, the evening’s conductor was Joachim Gustafsson, a guest of the ADDA Simfonica, was making, I believe, his first appearance with the orchestra.

The fourth piano concerto of Beethoven is a masterpiece. It has that amazing concept of a slow movement where the quiet piano competes with angry strings and wins them over by gentle persuasion. It is perhaps one of the most original pieces of music ever written. In the hands of Antonii Baryshvskyi, the movement attained perfection.

But so did the first and third movements. Antonii Baryshvskyi’s style throughout was sensitive and accommodating of an orchestral sound that refused to dominate. This was real human dialogue between soloist and orchestra. In fact, the orchestral textures throughout - except, of course, for the strings in the second movement - were light and played softer and with less attack than would be the norm. The overall effect was to render the whole work profoundly human and humble. Then, given the nature of the argument of its second movement, this approach rendered the experience utterly moving from the first note to the last. Surely everyone present was deeply affected by this perfect music making.

Antonii Baryshvskyi chose to play different credenzas from any that I have previously heard. This concerto has several cadenzas written by various composers and pianists. I did not recognize the ones that the pianist chose, and conclude, therefore, that they were his own. It was both surprising and startling to have contemporary-sounding cadenzas appearing in such familiar music, but nothing was out of place. Everything made perfect musical sense. Joachim Gustavson’s muted approach to the music allowed the experience to develop and the space thus created was emotionally very special. Antonii Baryshvskyi then played two encores. The first was Chopin’s Revolutionary Study – how apt, given what we had just heard! - and the second, again I speculate, was probably his own work. The ADDA audience gave him the warmest possible applause in recognition of something profoundly special.

So after the familiar cast anew in the first half, the second half embarked upon the less familiar fourth symphony. The fourth symphony’s opening could pass for Mahler and the rest is hardly less revolutionary for the first decade of the nineteenth century.

Beethoven wrote the work after the Eroica and before the anger of the fifth. It is a work that could be superficially classed as a tranquil interlude between two great statements. But anyone who listens to this music will conclude that it is wholly original and indeed visionary. There were times when we might have been listening to Mendelssohn, forty years early!

Again, Joachim Gustavsson’s reading of the music was perfect. The music seemed actually to be human, so much did it seem to breathe. Anyone unfamiliar with this work, and there will be many, even amongst regular concertgoers, should listen intently to its argument because it makes perfect sense. The rhythmic variations Beethoven used in the scherzo are reminiscent even of the seventh symphony. This was a performance that will live in the memory forever.

The evening’s third encore was something completely different, the Intermezzo from Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana. Like everything else on this wonderful evening this was a surprise.

Beethoven, Bruch and Mendelssohn in ADDA Alicante with Max Bragado-Darman - a concert of surprise and excellence

 

This was a program that seemed so middle-of-the-road that attendance might mean getting hit from both directions, from both predictability and familiarity. A programme comprising Beethoven, Bruch and Mendelssohn sounds both predictable and familiar and there are certainly some concert goers who are attracted by these promises. But here the familiarity disappears with closer inspection.

OK, the Beethoven Egmont Overture is frequently played. It is, however, so full of wonderful energy that it can be heard of fresh every time. The unpredictability here started with the opening chords. I have not heard this piece in concert for some time and the textures of the opening phrases seemed utterly new to me. I had never before noticed such harmonies. And these were written in 1810! From the very first bars, thanks to a conductor whose clearly intimate knowledge of the repertoire allows him to draw a listener’s attention to detail without losing overall shape, this concert was going to be familiar perhaps, but certainly not predictable. The final passages of the overture were even repeated at the end of the evening as an encore, and, even second time through, the work’s conclusion was still full of energy and invention.

A Bruch concerto followed. But, as the evening’s program notes pointed out, this was neither a popular violin concerto nor a Scottish fantasy. It was in fact, the double concerto, opus 88, originally written for clarinet and viola, but reshaped by the composer himself for violin and viola. This is mid-Romantic music written as late as 1911. It is backward looking in its apparent willingness to revisit well-trodden paths, but then it is also modern in the way that the soloists share material with the orchestra in the form of a dialogue, if a dialogue can have three contributors, without the need to place the soloists on a showing- off pedestal. The result, especially in the hands of Max Bragado-Darman and the ADDA orchestra and the evening’s soloists, Sarah Ferrández on viola and Maria Florea on violin, was an intimate experience, an examination of melody and texture. The soloists played a little Bach counterpoint as an encore.

Then, in part two, we came to the main course, which was Mendelssohn’s last symphony, number five, The Reformation. Familiar it might be, but I checked, and I have not heard it in the concert hall for over fifty years. Familiar it also may be because of other composers having mined it. Phrases in the violins during the first movement are pure Parsifal from the end of Wagner’s creative life. The theme of the slow movement reappears as a waltz in Shostakovich’s Jazz Suite a hundred years later. And the sonorities of the chorales in the finale might even be reminiscent of Copland!

But, to make musical sense, a symphony needs to be performed with sufficient vision for the intellectual progression to make sense, or, if that be the point, to emphasize its chance and randomness. The latter qualities are not part of Mendelssohn’s oeuvre and the ADDA Orchestra had a director in Max Bragado-Darman whose overview of the music was so perfect that it became transparent. Only the composer’s inspiration shone through, but this was surely this evening’s conductor’s mission and, as such, it was both surprising and memorable. This was a performance by all of the very highest quality, never predictable, and whose familiarity led to respect.

Cappella Andrea Barca and Sir András Schiff play Bach and Mozart in Alicante

 

CAPPELLA ANDREA BARCA

SIR ANDRÁS SCHIFF, DIRECTOR Y PIANO

Johann Sebastian Bach, Concierto de Brandemburgo nº5 en Re Mayor (BWV 1050)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Concierto para piano núm. 25 en Do mayor, K.503

Johann Sebastian Bach, Triple concierto para flauta, violín, clave y cuerda en La menor (BWV 1044)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Concierto para piano núm. 24 en Do menor, K.491

Sir András Schiff is renowned worldwide for his interpretation of the music of Mozart and Bach. I admit at the start that I respect the music of both composers and even recognize the gargantuan achievements of both. But rarely do I feel anything other than respect when I hear performances of their work. Sometimes, performances rise above my prejudice, and I am always delighted by these insights into the musical personalities of Bach and Mozart that a musician can reveal. It’s not that I actively dislike this music, it’s just that it rarely surprises me. So it was with preconceived expectations that I approached last night’s ADDA Alicante concert.

The program presented by András Schiff and Cappella Andrea Barca, the orchestra the soloist himself constructed to play alongside him, included two works from each composer. All four works were called concertos, but the Bach versions each featured three soloists. The works in question were the Brandenburg Concerto No5 and the Triple Concerto, BWV1044.

Besides having a significant part for a keyboard soloist, these two works also feature solo violin and solo flute. Indeed, the central slow movement of each work features only the three soloists, so here both works become chamber music.  Cappella Andrea Barca’s leader Erich Höbarth was the violin soloist in both works. The orchestra’s two flautists Wolfgang Breinschmid and Wally Hase took turns to solo in the Brandenburg and the Triple respectively.

It is rare for me to criticize anything, but this will be one occasion when I do so. The flautists were both wonderful. Their playing was faultless and was delivered with obvious enthusiasm and commitment. Erich Höbarth, I am sure, is an accomplished violinist, but in the ADDA Hall last night, it was difficult to hear his part. This may be quite harsh, since the violin soloist is often playing along with the first violin part, but even on those occasions when he was playing alongside only the other two soloists, such as in the two slow movements of both concertos, his contribution remained barely audible. Now a flute can be an assertive voice, but neither flautist was playing in such a way as to deliberately drown out a colleague, let alone the leader of their own orchestra!

The two Mozart works were piano Concerto No24 and No25. The first one is a rather gentle affair to my ear, presenting a simple, perhaps over-simplified theme in a very simple way. Number 25 has more substance and is longer than its predecessor. András Schiff both directed and played the solo part with great ease. A grand piano is a perfect way of communicating a Mozart concerto, but many keyboard players would choose a smaller voice for the Bach works. In the hands of András Schiff, however, a lightness of touch and an obvious sympathy with the performers meant that the keyboard never dominated. One really felt that this orchestra loves playing with András Schiff and that everyone loves this music. But there again, there were times when there was more than a hint of “we have been here before”.

The audience demanded an encore and András Schiff delivered a Bach fugue. Everyone went home happy.

 

 

Helsinki Philharmonic under Saraste play a Sibelius programme

 

Jukka-Pekka Saraste conducted the Helsinki Philharmonic orchestra in a program devoted to the music of Sibelius. Now a Finnish conductor with a Finnish orchestra playing Finnish music might sound like it could turn out to be a cliché. But these people know precisely what they are doing with their national composer. Clearly, the Helsinki Orchestra plays a lot of Sibelius, but they also clearly never tire of the task.

The concert started with a work not published in the program. The previous concert had been cancelled in the aftermath of the devastating floods that had hit the Valencian region. As a mark of respect for those who have suffered, the orchestra opened with the Valse Triste of Sibelius. It was a gesture appreciated by the audience.

The first half of the concert then got underway with Jan Söderblom, the Helsinki Philharmonic leader playing the First Serenade for violin and orchestra, Opus 69a. This is a thoroughly understated work. The Second Serenade, more substantial and more musically interesting came third on the program with Jan Söderblom again as soloist.

In between, the orchestra’s principal flute, Niamh McKenna, was soloist in the Nocturne No.3 from Sibelius’s incidental music to Belshazzar’s Feast. So it was with these three short pieces, featuring solo violin, flute, and then violin again that the concert started. If I have a criticism, which I accept is the level of nitpicking, I would suggest that these three pieces should have been presented with the flute first or last, allowing the two serenades to be played back-to-back. It was in this form that the Helsinki orchestra premiered in 1915, a concert which also featured the original version of the fifth symphony.

The performance of Finlandia that followed saw several extra musicians take to the stage and the familiar cords did ring out. Finlandia is a thoroughly moving experience and no matter how many times it is played, it always has a rousing effect on an audience. This was no exception.

The second half was taken with a performance of the Fifth Symphony, though in its revised version, not the original of 1915, which is never now played. And the fifth is perhaps the composer’s most popular work, alongside the Violin Concerto. With such a well-known work, it would be easy to fall into the trap of mouthing platitudes, but this performance was anything but that. The music was fresh, as fresh as Sibelius himself would have wanted when he said that whereas modern composers were offering up cocktails, he only wanted fresh spring water. The music was both clear and refreshing.

There was also an encore, the Alla Marcha from the Karelia, which needed even more musicians on stage

Shunta Morimoto plays in Denia, 7 November 2024, 8pm, Teatro Centro Social

 

The Philharmonia with Suzuki and Queyras in Schumann and Dvorak - another case of "no superlatives"

Some time ago, for a review of the concert in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium, I used the headline “No superlatives”. I chose the words not because I wanted to question the quality of the experience, but quite the opposite. The concept of “superlative” was itself transcended by the quality of the music and performance in that concert. Indeed, a superlative only makes sense when a comparison is to be made. But to what can we compare perfection? Last night the ADDA audience experienced another “No superlatives” concert. Perhaps I am reverting to my north of England Yorkshire stereotype where the judgment “I couldn't fault it” represents the highest possible praise.

The concert in question was delivered by superstars. Jean-Guihen Queyras was the cello soloist and Masaaki Suzuki conducted the Philharmonia Orchestra. I lived in London for twenty years and the Philharmonia, known then paradoxically those years ago as the New Philharmonia, was always my personal orchestra of choice whenever I scanned the monthly South Bank agenda. Last night, the richness and dynamics of the orchestral sound were stunning, as was the orchestra’s control of rhythm and phrasing, so important in the evening’s principal work, Dvorak’s Eighth Symphony.

If the orchestra noticeably excelled, then Masaaki Suzuki was surprisingly anonymous. There can be no greater compliment to a conductor to admit that you really did not notice him or her. Masaaki Suzuki appeared to let the music flow naturally, seamlessly, to such an extent that at times he seemed superfluous. We might all aspire to such transparency, but achieving it demands true artistry, true and supreme ability. When, to accompany an encore, Masaaki Suzuki return to the platform to conduct a lyrical Slavonic Dance by Dvorak carrying a triangle, which he threatened to play. Only then did the attention focus on him and him alone. He used the instrument almost as a tease, still allowing the dulcet tones of Dvorak’s melody to shine.

In the first half we had heard Jean-Guihen Queyras play the Robert Schumann Cello Concerto. Specifically here, superlatives do not apply. Neither can the label “virtuoso” be attached to the performance, whose quality was way beyond such words. The three movements are played without a break and the composer’s imagination was clearly running wild at the time. Personally, I often find Schumann’s music rather impenetrable, but not in this performance.

As an encore Jean-Guihen Queyras played the Sarabande from Bach’s Cello Suite No. 4, preceded by a short Ukrainian melody. The music had a life of its own thanks to these amazing performances. Again, no superlatives.

Fumiaki Miura, Josep vicent and ADDA Simfonica in Ravel and Shostakovich

This was a concert of two halves, both superb, both contrasted, both within and between. Shostakovich in the first half and Ravel in the second provided the between contrast between. The works chosen, two by each composer, provided the contrast within.  To the second half first.

Ravel’s Daphne and Chloe Suite No2 is a concert hall favourite. It is a post-impressionist splash of colour, like Matisse cutouts dancing around their own space. But it’s also symphonic: it feels like the colours develop and transform, though strangely they do not seem to merge, except in the opening sunrise. Josep Vicent used two locations for the wordless chorus, one group, at the rear right of the stage as the audience saw it, and the second in a box, higher and further to the right, above the stalls. The effect was akin to surround sound. The orchestral playing in this work, and the one that followed was outstanding, with all the timbre and textures of the music glowing in their own right.

Ravel’s Bolero has been described as the music of madman. Ravel’s own assessment of the opinion was that it was correct. The work is so well known that I will say nothing about the music itself, except to point out one aspect which Josep Vicent chose to stress. The drum rhythms are usually insistent and ever-present in this piece. There are performances where the audience hears very little else. But this was not one of them. Josep Vicent had the drum’s contribution in dynamic balance with the rest of the instruments. At the start, the drum was barely audible above the pizzicato strings. As a result, the superb orchestral playing was able to communicate all the textures the composer chose to exploit, and these became the focus. That magical passage where a horn and celeste play together sparkled like Christmas lights. We even got an encore of the final sections, just in case we had missed it first time round.

In the first half, the ADDA audience heard two works by Shostakovich. The Jazz Suite No1 was played by an ensemble including saxophones, trumpets, trombone, violin, bass, various percussion, an upright piano, a banjo, and a slide guitar. As always with the music of Shostakovich, the listener is never quite sure whether to take anything seriously. He always seems to be looking over his shoulder to judge reaction, except, of course, when the subject with himself, when he wallows in DSCH, as in the Eighth Quartet or the Tenth Symphony. The personal signature motif, however, seemed to be lacking from both the Jazz Suite and what followed. The textures and witticisms of this music came across vividly, as did its inherent self-doubt mixed with tragic whimsy. It was, after all, Shostakovich.

The piece that ended the first half of the concert was something completely different from the rest of the evening. This was Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No2 with Fumiaki Miura as soloist. This particular concerto is not played often and dates from thirty years after the rest of the programme. Like much late Shostakovich, such as the Viola Sonata, quartets and symphonies, it seems almost distracted. This is music made of lines that don’t seem able to decide where to go, never mind join up. It’s an unsettling experience, full of questions that are not even finished, let alone answered. Unlike the other works in the program, however, this second violin concerto by Shostakovich does invite further listening. The almost chamber music feel of the orchestration, where particular sounds stand out unexpectedly, is surely part of what the composer was trying to achieve. And what would you make of the interjections from a tom-tom that seem to interrupt and threaten? The solo part often seems to be screaming, but quietly, almost trying to hide its nervous agitation.

All of this complexity was perfectly interpreted and conveyed by Fumiaki Miura, the soloist for this performance. It’s not performed as much as other concertos, so Fumiaki Miura understandably chose to have a score in sight. But his interpretation of this narcissistic, self-conscious, self-referential. perhaps self-mocking music was as close to perfect as I could imagine. And that drum? Is it fate knocking on the door, or the police? Or is it Shostakovich waking up the audience?

Despite all the brilliance of Daphnis and Chloe, the firework show of Bolero and the witticisms of the Jazz Suite, it is Fumiaki Miura’s playing of this enigmatically understated work that will last in the memory. And, just to add to the surrealism, he played the Vieuxtemps Variations on Yankee Doodle Dandy as an encore. Memorable.

Orchestra of the Royal Capital City of Krakow under Katarzyna Tomala-Jedynak in ADDA Alicante

Surprises come when least expected. On entering the ADDA auditorium, it was at least a shock to see so little of the stage occupied. So used have we become to seeing a platform crammed with seats and percussion hardware in preparation for a “big” work that the apparently scattered chairs and stands that awaited the arrival of a moderately size string orchestra was at least startling. And there was to be only one double bass!

Providing a perfect example of the phrase “less can be more”, the orchestra of the Royal Capital City of Krakow proceeded with a program that surprised and delighted the audience almost with every note.

We began with the Sinfonietta Number Three of Penderecki, a reworking for string orchestra of his String Quartet No. 3, subtitled “Pages from an unwritten diary”. The composer’s style, outside of his religious works, tends towards the episodic. Seemingly simple ideas come and go, and via abrupt transitions and apparent non-sequiturs, we are led around an idea that reworks itself, perhaps without reaching even musical finality, let alone a position of argument or comment. Celebrating Penderecki's 90th anniversary, this piece’s subtitle was apposite. What might have been written if this diary had been complete? The Sinfonietta Number Three is thus an example of what might have been, its apparent raw edges deliberately left unsmoothed.

There followed a performance of a thoroughly different kind of work. The Concerto for String Orchestra by Grazina Bacewicz is a masterpiece. She uses the string orchestra in a largely neo- classical manner, in a way that seems to alternate between the concerto grosso and sonata form. But there are also harmonies here that come from popular music, and all this is encased in a rhythmic drive that never lets the piece flag in its apparently relentless progress. It is succinct, tightly argued, and makes perfect sense in a surreal, unexpected way. Clearly, this is a piece that the orchestra plays often, and they clearly enjoy it every time.

The real surprise came after the interval with Mendelssohn’s Ninth String Symphony. The product of a mature mind aged about twelve, the piece is an astounding achievement. It is tightly structured and musically convincing. The surprise comes in the slow movement, which Katarzyna Tomala-Jedynak did not try to conduct.

Using just eight players, the movement begins with four violins in counterpoint. There follows a balancing section of two violas, cello and bass, before a conclusion, where the four violins are joined by the others in an octet. Treating this as chamber music and leaving the decisions to the players emphasized the whole program’s closeness to the chamber music experience. By the end, the communication that this engendered between performers and audience more than compensated for the lack of volume. The orchestra of the Royal Capital City of Krakow offered a short, but energetics dance movement as an encore.

Surprise, surprise – Bergmann and Baldeyrou play Sibelius, Weber and Franck in ADDA, Alicante

Surprise, surprise might seem an incongruous title for the review of a concert which seemed to offer a-middle-of-the-road programme. Sibelius’s Finlandia began the evening – it often does. Call Maria von Weber’s Clarinet Concerto is not played in concert as much as it should be, but its inclusion raises no eyebrows. César Franck’s Symphony in D Minor, again, is not played very often, but it’s a work that everyone knows about, though for most concert goers it's hardly commonplace. So, given the familiar appearance of the program, what was surprising?

Well, the personnel were unfamiliar. We had our regular band, our ADDA orchestra, but our guest conductor was the Norwegian Pune Bergmann, who was making his debut in this hall. His entrance provided the evening’s first surprise. Rune Bergmann is a big man, but he is also quite amazingly jovial, his smile appearing to stretch right across the string section. It seemed like the celebration of Finland’s identity was being directed by a laughing, Norwegian mountain, laughing out of the sheer joy of the music, I hasten to add. Musically there were no surprises here, just our usual quality.

The second surprise came with our soloist, Nicolas Baldeyrou. Few concert goers ever hear a clarinet concerto. For most who do, it’s probably one written by Mozart, with Weber’s work coming a distant second in the list.

Now Weber’s Clarinet Concerto was doubly surprising. First the playing of Nicolas Baldeyrou was nothing less than outstanding. His understanding of the music alongside his wonderful communication with conductor and orchestra made this performance of the work I have heard in recordings and broadcasts innumerable times something completely new. Especially surprising was the slow movement, which times reached pianissimos that were on the limits of hearing, and as a result, all the more dramatic and poignant. This performance will live for ever in the memory, so beautifully crafted and played that it became a completely new experience.

The ADDA audience does tend to bring soloists back on stage for another bow. We are used to demanding an encore. But this ADDA audience’s reaction to Nicolas Baldeyrou was special. The communal recognition that this with something special was almost tangible. The demanded encore was given, and it was again a surprise.

It was the Habañera from Bizet’s Carmen, arranged for clarinet and orchestra. And it was more than a showpiece, more than a lollipop to quieten the crowd. Faultless playing, communicative ensemble, again combined to create a new, surprising experience from what was immediately familiar.

A symphony in name, Cesar Franck’s D Minor has only three movements, two of which are marked allegro, thought you would never know it. Not really a master of orchestration, Franck seems to have concentrated on the storytelling. The musical lines evolve like the narrative of a novel, so that this symphony becomes more like a tone poem than an argument. And, after living in the world of minor keys for most of its duration, the long first movement surprisingly, and without warning, suddenly finds its conclusion in a major key. It’s all quite baffling, like a believer questioning a faith that suddenly returns, dispelling doubt.

And yes, there was an encore. Rune Bergmann again turned to the audience and again smiled that broad grin. “Edvard Grieg La Mañana”, he said. It was the first piece of classical music I ever heard, but it wasn’t  in Spanish.

ADDA hosts Jordi Savall and Le Concert des Nations in Elements and Furies

Sometimes a program does not seem attractive. Since I generally prefer more modern sounds, particularly contemporary music, a program that lives in the first half of the eighteenth century is not likely to attract, let alone promise something memorable.

I doubt that my tastes are not the norm amongst most concert audiences who tend to recoil at the thought of contemporary music being played. “Where are the tunes?” they ask.” Do you call that harmony?” I think, but never actually say in response, just listen. Just open up and hear if the composer has anything to say! And never mind the quality, just feel the width. There are textures and sounds that tunes would hide! Can't you feel it? It’s not a question I tend to ask of the eighteenth century, however, since to me so much of the music is all gloss, all decoration. At least that’s the stereotype I often think. And then there was Rebel, and Handel, and Gluck, and finally a clapping Rameau. And so the evening did turn out to be musically memorable.

The pedigree of the performers was beyond doubt. Jordi Savall and Le Concert des Nations are superstars in their field and a considerable way beyond that as well. They certainly pulled in the crowds, despite their sound being, perhaps, potentially a little small for this auditorium. By the evening’s end, however, one would not have noticed any shortfall.

Jordi Savall has spent a lifetime rediscovering anew old music and establishing a tradition for its performance. He and the orchestra played this program as if they were walking through familiar terrain, but of course the repertoire is vast, and the styles are widely varied. It takes real musicianship, vision, and imagination to bring a program like this to life and these expert performers, did exactly that.

The opening piece was Rebel’s Les Elements. Now this probably surprised anyone expecting wall-to-wall tunes, wrapped in conventional harmony. Written in 1737 and 1738, Rebel’s work was intended to portray the elements of the ancient world, air, fire, earth, and water, or at least their characters and properties in sound. But at the start, the composer wanted to convey Chaos, the disorderly universe as it existed in his imagination before a divine hand had imposed order. With this orchestra, a small band by modern standards, Rebel wanted to convey what a modern mind might hear as a big bang, but he chose to do it subtly, rather than with force. The musical shock of atonal music written early in the eighteenth century is profound. The work progressed, both dramatically and playfully, if not always coherently. The playing was perfect, the overall design somewhat opaque.

Then, we heard music by a German written in Italian style, conceived for a German monarch in England. The first suite of Handel’s Water Music is well known, but deservedly so. Again the opening is a real surprise, with Handel’s melodic and harmonic invention to the fore throughout the piece, which, despite its familiarity, is full of surprises.

Finally, we heard the ballet suite Don Juan ou Le Festin de Pierre (Don Juan, or the Stone Guest's Banquet) by Gluck. The work was listed almost as co-written by Gasparo Angiolini, Gluck’s choreographic collaborator. The work was first performed in 1761 and in it we could hear musical classicism alongside more decorative elements. It was always surprising. The music was vivid, and culminated in Don Juan’s descent into hell with a piece subtitled The Furies. It seemed we had come full circle in that musically we were almost back to the opening of Rebel's The Elements in places. Except that now, it was the power of the musical forces that was being unleashed.

An encore from Rameau was pure romp. In a short introduction, Jordi Savall coached the audience in a five beat twice-given clap to pick out a repeated rhythmic pattern in the work, and the ADDA audience starred by taking the cues in perfect unison. And everyone went home very happy.