United Kingdom Shostakovich, Prokofiev and Beethoven: Nemanja Radulović (violin), Philharmonia Orchestra / Santtu-Matias Rouvali (conductor). Royal Festival Hall, London, 19.1.2023. (CSa)
Shostakovich – Suite for Variety Orchestra
Prokofiev – Violin Concerto in G minor
Beethoven – Symphony No.2 in D main
It has been nearly eighteen months since Santtu-Matias Rouvali took the reins from fellow Finn Esa-Pekka Salonen as Principal Conductor of the Philharmonia. The transition seems seamless, since Rouvali has evidently cast a detailed partnership with the orchestra, and there may be a lot about his masterful musicianship and swish physicality in widespread along with his predecessor. Small in stature, his head topped with a thatch of golden curls, Rouvali appears to be like significantly youthful than his 37 years. His expressive arms, delicate hand gestures, wand-like waves of his baton and a bent to bounce and rock to the music by no means distract. Rather, they infuse his performances with an nearly balletic grace and make them fascinating to observe. A conductor each actually and figuratively, the music programs by means of Rouvali’s physique like {an electrical} cost.
The Philharmonia’s imaginative coupling of Shostakovich’s Suite for Variety Orchestra and Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No.2 within the first half, and Beethoven’s Symphony No.2 within the second half, was linked by widespread themes: unhappiness, defiance and optimism within the face of non-public adversity.
Although compiled by pals of Shostakovich within the Nineteen Fifties, the suite includes movie scores, ballet and piano music written by him within the late Nineteen Twenties and Thirties, when he laboured below the yoke of Stalin’s repressive coverage of Socialist Realism. Jolly, melancholy and wistful in turns, this bittersweet assortment of eight actions, colourfully scored to incorporate saxophones, cymbals, glockenspiel and vibraphone, and crisply performed by the Philharmonia, comprises a strident march, some catchy dance tunes, a polka and a few light-hearted waltzes. Viewed by means of the darkish lens of state censorship working on the time, Rouvali tapped the work’s mordant satire lurking darkly beneath the floor.
Prokofiev’s concerto was composed in 1935, after he was getting ready to return from Europe to Russia and to an unsure future. The work’s ravishing and readily accessible melodies – a nod to the ‘Soviet Realism’ referred to above – had been probably designed to appease the authorities. They wouldn’t have recognised the composition’s underlying anxiousness, a high quality tapped by the intuitive soloist, Serbian violinist Nemanja Radulović. Bearded and with a lion’s mane of lengthy black hair topped by a person bun and wearing flared black culottes and Doc Martin platform boots, Radulović, in a break with the sartorial conference of the live performance corridor platform, resembled a younger, wild rock star. By distinction, his efficiency was marked by rigorous self-discipline, perceptiveness, and devoted solely to the musical integrity of the work.
The opening violin solo of the Allegro Moderato – a plaintive and unsettling introduction – adopted by a sensual, dancing dialog between violin and orchestra, was performed with the utmost sensitivity. In the second motion, marked Andante assai, Radulović skilfully conjured up the fragile soundworld of Romeo and Juliet, the ballet which Prokofiev accomplished three years later, in 1938, whereas the terrifying dance within the third motion Allegro, ben marcato was managed by a masterful approach. For those that had come to the Royal Festival Hall anticipating and maybe hoping for one thing somewhat extra harmful, the younger Serb didn’t disappoint. The encore, Radulović’s now well-known account of Paganini’s Caprice No.24 in A minor, was fairly merely dazzling – a dizzying show of virtuosic brilliance which introduced an ecstatic viewers to its ft.
Even Beethoven’s Second Symphony, a piece of plain genius which occupied the second half of the live performance, might have been one thing of an anti-climax. The deft precision of the orchestra below Rouvali’s skilful baton ensured that it was something however. Andrew Mellor, in his programme word, factors out that on the time the work was written, Beethoven’s impending deafness had pushed him to despair and suicidal ideas. Yet the primary motion, a tense Adagio adopted by a spirited Allegro, pulsated with pleasure, imbued by the vitality of the string part. The second motion, a poignant hymn-like Larghetto, was tenderly performed, whereas the playful Scherzo and the ebullient, ecstatic finale concluded a wonderful efficiency by an ensemble on the prime of its sport.
Chris Sallon