Barbican Hall
Mozart – Violin Concerto no.1
in B-flat major, KV 207
Mozart – Violin Concerto no.4
in D major, KV 218
Tchaikovsky – Symphony no.4 in
F minor, op.36
Nikolaj Znaider (violin/conductor)
London Symphony Orchestra
Nikolaj Znaider and the LSO
will be giving three concerts of Mozart (violin concertos) and Tchaikovsky
(symphonies), of which this was the first. A recording of the concertos is in
the offing; it was to have been conducted by that supreme Mozartian, Sir Colin
Davis, but will now be directed by Znaider himself. I say ‘directed’, but
Znaider was for the most part content to leave the LSO, here very much chamber
size, to play without interference. There was, to both concerto performances, a
fine sense of collegiality, of chamber music, Znaider certainly the soloist in
the sense of having the solo line, but in no sense assuming any position of
superiority. Occasionally, I felt the music’s darker emotions a little undersold,
notably in the slow movement of the Fourth Violin Concerto, but for Apollonian
Mozart, this would today be difficult to beat.
The first movement of KV 207
brought spruce, variegated playing from all concerned. Znaider’s conception
drew one in rather than striving to impress. (What does he have to prove,
anyway?) The bass line offered a firm foundation and occasional, winning
nudges. Phrases were well-shaped without sounding moulded: I could imagine Sir
Colin smiling benignly on the performance. Lightness of touch certainly did not
preclude depth of feeling here. Every scale, moreover, perhaps especially in
the orchestral strings, was full of life, no mere figure. The Adagio was taken relatively swift, and
was light on its feet too, but not, I think, too much. There was much beneath
the beguiling surface, that surface boasting wind chords from Elysium itself.
What can sometimes sound rather slight material in the finale was simply
treated musically, with no attempt, thank God, to do something to it. This movement emerged
effortlessly as a cousin, an equal to Mozart’s symphonies of a similar vintage.
It was characterful, all the more so for not being in hock to someone else’s
character.
The Fourth opened just as
fresh, if anything more so. Znaider and the LSO are clearly not in the business
of offering generalised Mozart, for this performance was alert to the work’s
specific character, its increased sophistication. Slight agogic accents made
their point very well, quite without mannerism. The rapport the soloist had
with other front desks would have been palpable, even if one had not seen the
visual signs. (Violins and violas were, by the way, all standing, not a
practice I can imagine Davis having adopted.) The slow movement, as previously
mentioned, was certainly Andante,
certainly cantabile, but lacked
something in the way of Mozartian shadow. The finale, though, showed playing
alert to Mozart’s rhetoric, without permitting ‘mere’ rhetoric to dominate.
Hints of Gallic, courtly complication were welcome, the drones very much part
of that world rather than an opposing force. Le Petit Trianon, perhaps, or Il re pastore?
Znaider’s good relationship
with the orchestra was just as apparent in Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony, which
he conducted again from memory. It would be difficult to say that there was
anything out of the ordinary with respect to interpretation, but he and they
offered a brilliantly played ‘central’ performance, which only occasionally
stood in need of a firmer helping hand. The LSO brass offered harshness of
opening Fate, to be assuaged (a little, at least) by the warmth of string
response. I liked the general solidity to the performance, which was not to say
that it was inflexible, far from it. Some, however, may well have preferred
something more mercurial. Znaider’s ability to find plenty of space for the
music, to remain faithful to its spirit and letter, nonetheless made a welcome
change for me. And what a glorious full orchestral sound it was, even if the
Barbican’s acoustic reminded us poignantly of London’s desperate need, now
denied by our political masters, for a new hall.
Depth of string tone, not
always a strength of London orchestras, was again a great advantage in the
second movement, as was woodwind colour. Kinship with ballet was apparent,
without collapsing the symphony into something which it is not. There was some
magical, hushed playing to be heard too, full of suspense, maybe even tentative
hope. Predictably splendid pizzicato was to be heard in the third movement: not
splendid for its own sake, though, for it was always directed, and kept on
commendably tight (not too tight) rein by Znaider. The music actually sounded
strikingly modern, which in many ways it is: consider Stravinsky’s love for
Tchaikovsky. There was an equally splendid piquancy from the LSO woodwind,
pointing towards Petrushka, the brass
not irrelevant here either. It was Eugene
Onegin, however, that came most strongly to mind, another kinship seemingly
acknowledged and enjoyed.
Taken attacca, the opening of the finale brought a smile to my face, but
not for long, for there remained darker forces at play. There was something,
quite rightly, ambiguous about the rejoicing we heard – not unlike Tchaikovsky’s
own conception, quoted in the programme: ‘If within yourself you find no reason
for joy, look at others. Get out among the people … find happiness in the joys
of others.’ Onegin was now in Petersburg. What was certainly not in doubt was the magnificence of the
LSO’s playing – and not just when extrovert.
