Kadeřábek, Dvořák, Martinů, Janáček, Maxim Rysanov (solo viola), BBC Symphony Orchestra, Jiří Bĕlohlávek (conductor),
Barbican Hall, London, 10.11.2011 (CG)
Jiří Kadeřábek: ‘C,’ BBC commission: World premiere
Dvořák: The Golden Spinning Wheel, op.109 (1896)
Martinů:  Rhapsody Concerto (1952)
Janáček: Taras Bulba – rhapsody for orchestra (1915-18)
Are you sitting comfortably?

“Jiří Kadeřábek sees the listener of his music as being ‘inside a geometric shape of many sides, a polyhedron, with mirrors reflecting every small line and direction.’” So commences the ludicrously pretentious programme note. And it goes on, and on, likening his music to the Cubist Picasso – “It’s as if the Women of Avignon were singing from each strange facet of their bodies. I think that’s the point: the deconstruction of linear association and the emphasis of purely structural particles.”

In fact what we got was a piece of mind-numbing banality. “C” consists of twiddles and scales in C major, with a couple of sections of the brass players blowing air, but no notes, through their instruments. If the composer, the BBC, or anyone else imagines that there’s a useful point in this nonsense, then it’s certainly lost on me. You might argue that it’s not the fault of the commissioners that Kadeřábek turned in a piece of abject rubbish, but they might have guessed, and that they make errors of judgement like this when there are umpteen British composers dying to have the opportunity of having their music played by a fine symphony orchestra beggars belief. What a dreadful waste, a thought also going through the minds of the orchestra who looked bored out of their minds and failed to applaud the composer as he stepped onto the platform.

Moving swiftly on, the next item in this all-Czech programme was the tone poem The Golden Spinning Wheel, which was one of several works which marked Dvořák’s move from the purely symphonic forms of his great idol, Brahms, into the more ‘progressive’ area of Liszt, who had already established the revolutionary idea of the tone poem. This was a big and controversial departure for a man nearing the end of his life, and the five tone poems composed between 1896 and 1897 contain some of the composer’s most imaginative and colourful music. The Golden Spinning Wheel is one of four based on the ballads of the Czech folklorist Karel Erben and contains elements of Bohemian folk music woven into a richly lyrical symphonic tapestry. There was some really lovely woodwind playing from the orchestra; Michael Cox’s flute was especially poignant, with Bĕlohlávek clearly revelling in every moment of it and bringing poise, charm, warmth and humanity to musicians and audience all too ready to involve themselves in some real music after the opening dud. What a shame, then, that the conductor had savagely cut the music; why? Important elements of the story were lost, and although this rarely heard piece may be quite an effort for an audience unfamiliar with it, a few extra minutes certainly wouldn’t have hurt.

Martinu followed the interval in the shape of the seldom-performed Rhapsody Concerto, with Maxim Rysanov the full-toned soloist. Composed in America in 1952, the work harks back to Martinu’s homeland, with some of the melodic material reminding us strongly of Bohemian folk music and Dvořák. It is a predominantly sweetly lyrical work, relatively uncomplicated harmonically, and a far cry from Martinu’s famous Double Concerto for Two String orchestras Piano and Timpani, and other more dissonant works from the 30s; back then Martinu was flirting with expressionism, neo-classicism, and jazz, but by now the composer was in his sixties, weary and seriously homesick. If melody is to the fore, it does not mean that the music is dull rhythmically, especially in the last movement. Here Rysanov’s technique came to the fore with some extremely impressive finger and bow-work, and the BBC SO responded with equally impressive vigour.

But the highlight was still to come. With Taras Bulba, we were on a different planet. The bloodthirsty tale on which it is based tells of the Ukrainian warrior, Taras Bulba, and the attacks of the Poles. Remarkable, isn’t it, that at the time Janáček was a committed fan of everything Russian, believing that his own country would be protected and freed by the indominatable Russians. Whatever the rights and wrongs of Janáček ‘s political views, he certainly composed one of his most vivid masterpieces with Taras Bulba, and this extraordinary music was given a stupendous performance tonight. Janáček ‘s orchestration is so intensely personal, and so raw and ruggedly expressive – there’s absolutely nothing ordinary about it. There was especially gorgeous playing from Alison Teale (Cor Anglais), Richard Simpson (oboe) and Stephen Bryant (solo violin.) and the brass and percussion playing was as bright and incisive as you could possibly want. A fabulous performance of fabulous music.

If it hadn’t been for that awful first item, this would have been a completely enjoyable and even inspiring evening. What a shame, then, that the BBCSO’s Barbican concerts seem to be comparatively badly attended. The stalls were more or less full, but the balcony not even open. Why? The LSO consistently fills the same hall. Is it the often somewhat strange programme planning? Inadequate publicity? I search for answers. The BBCSO is a terrific orchestra and deserves to have the very strongest following, especially in the face of current budget reviews.

Christopher Gunning

Berlioz, Barber, Tchaikovsky: James Ehnes (violin), Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Charles Dutoit (conductor), Royal Festival Hall, London, 8.11.2011 (CG)

Berlioz: Le Corsair (1844)

Samuel Barber: Violin Concerto op. 14 (1939)

Tchaikovsky: Symphony no 5 in E minor, op. 64 (1888)

Appearances by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in London with its Artistic Director and Principal Conductor, Charles Dutoit, are comparatively infrequent, so this concert which included the Violin Concerto by Samuel Barber with the Canadian violinist, James Ehnes, and warhorses by Berlioz and Tchaikovsky, was something to look forward to. The RPO is sometimes considered the Cinderella of the London orchestras; it receives a fraction of the Arts Council funding of the others, and is thus forced to play a repertory which is often more overtly popular, and to embark on tours far and wide, resulting in a schedule which most musicians would find exhausting. Nevertheless, it boasts some of the very finest players in the land, and gets through a fantastically varied range of music – everything from well-worn classics to film scores and rock concerts. It is a tribute to the management that in the face of considerable difficulties, it continues to flourish and put in some fine performances.

Berlioz’s overture Le Corsair (the Pirate) could be considered something of an orchestral test piece. Composed in 1844 when Berlioz was on holiday in Nice, it is a swashbuckling extravaganza in which precision in the fast passages is the keynote. In this performance, Dutoit set off at a fast but not ridiculous pace, the strings impressing with their dashing scalic passages. The curious rhythmic wind and horn passages were perhaps less clear, but the long slower melody was was well done and overall the performance was bright and secure; if I felt that the conductor wished to get even more action from the orchestra in the fast passages than he actually received, it is a very minor carp.

The Barber Violin Concerto has an unusual history. The work was commissioned by a wealthy businessman for his young protogé, Iso Briselli, but when Barber presented the first two movements, the violinist declared the solo part too easy. As if to say “I’ll show em!” Barber then wrote a dazzling finale only to find that the same violinist pronounced it unplayable. The businessman wanted his money back, but Barber had already spent it, and, now desperate, presented the concerto to the virtuoso Oscar Shumsky, who decided it was indeed playable. The work finally received its first performance in 1941 by Albert Spalding with Eugene Ormandy conducting.

Samuel Barber was a somewhat reclusive man, who would have no truck with the American avant-garde, led by figures such as John Cage and Morton Feldman. Instead, he composed a series of essentially lyrical works in an easily comprehensible idiom which caught the public imagination and secured an important place for him alongside other mainstream Americans, such as Aaron Copland, Roy Harris and Virgil Tomson. James Ehnes won plaudits for his recording of Barber’s concerto together with those by Walton and Korngold in 2008 (ONYX 4016), and it was not surprising to find that his approach to the first two movements seemed to be just perfect. His purity of tone was beautifully suited to Barber’s melodic lines, with ample projection but nothing feeling forced or indulgent. Dutoit and the RPO accompanied carefully with exactly the right gently wistful tone colours, and John Anderson’s expressive oboe solo in the second movement – pale, but touching – was particularly noteworthy. In the last movement, all hell suddenly broke loose, with the violinist scurrying around and the orchestra giving their two-pennyworth; it’s phenomenally difficult, brilliantly effective, and utterly delightful. Ehnes was simply marvellous – and so was the RPO.

And as if to show that he could also fly through the more traditional virtuoso violin repertory on his Stradivarius, Ehnes played the famous Paganini Caprice no. 24 with complete accuracy and fantastic panache. The audience was enthralled.

And so to the major warhorse of the evening – Tchaikovsky’s 5th Symphony. Composed in 1888, when Tchaikovsky and others were convinced that his powers were waning, it was not immediately successful and this didn’t help the composer’s mental state one little bit; he was to die, tormented, five years later. Critical reaction was hostile, even in the US and Europe, but how times have changed; nowadays it is one of the most popular of all symphonies, and understandably so. The tunes for which the composer is famed are marvellous, and the construction, with its recurrent motto theme heard in different guises in all four movements, no less so.

Dutoit’s reading had plenty of high points. We were treated to some lovely phrasing from the woodwind, and a pleasingly rich string tone throughout. The famous horn solo in the lovely slow movement was beautifully played if perhaps a tiny bit loud, and in the third movement there was much grace and great elan from the strings in the fast passages. I would have preferred a gap between the third and last movements, and a slightly more stately tempo for the opening motto theme in the last, but in the fast sections the playing was simply hair-raising, with fantastically incisive work from the brass. So exciting, and just what was needed to get the blood coursing on this damp, dreary November evening.

Christopher Gunning