United Kingdom Coleridge-Taylor, Tippett, and Elgar: Steven Osborne (piano), London Philharmonic Orchestra / Edward Gardner (conductor). Royal Festival Hall, London, 25.1.2023. (MB)
Samuel Coleridge-Taylor – Solemn Prelude (London premiere)
Tippett – Piano Concerto
Elgar – Symphony No.1 in A-flat main, Op.55
Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s B minor Solemn Prelude was written, at Elgar’s advice, for the Three Choirs Festival in 1899. It then went unperformed till a revival, likewise at Worcester Cathedral, for a similar pageant in 2021. It has now lastly reached London, Coleridge-Taylor’s personal metropolis, in a fantastic efficiency from the London Philharmonic Orchestra and Edward Gardner. Its opening, in melody, concord, scoring, and certainly the LPO’s efficiency sounded quite Tchaikovskian: certainly a case of affect, although on the similar time to not be diminished to that. Indeed, it was Russian symphonism extra usually that got here to my thoughts, Borodin too, than say the ‘solemnity’ of Wagner or Bruckner, one development’s passing resemblance to Parsifal however. It definitely qualifies as solemn, although, albeit in an amiable kind of means: a totally skilled piece of writing, that deserves efficiency, particularly with string sheen and customarily rounded orchestral tone equivalent to was heard right here.
Michael Tippett’s Piano Concerto adopted: a welcome outing for a chunk hardly ever heard, but likewise worthy of revival. Gardner, the LPO, and soloist Steven Osborne took us instantly to an imaginary panorama, in an imaginary (quasi-dramatic) context. Its first motion sounded very a lot as if a scene from an opera with out phrases, but not essentially with out motion. The Midsummer Marriage naturally got here to thoughts, but it surely was a world of its personal we heard, inviting and filled with fantasy. The piano half is something however simple, but hardly ever if ever showy; this isn’t the standard (post-)Romantic battle of piano in opposition to orchestra and didn’t sound that means. One delighted as an alternative within the scene painted, nearly as a lot by woodwind and celesta as by the undeniably sensible soloist, celesta and piano nearly equals within the cadenza. The sluggish motion was equally well-shaped, enjoying out in a associated but totally different world, as if a scene that adopted. It was darker, a notturno given with an apt charisma, even ritual. Bearing in thoughts Tippett’s inspiration for the work as a complete, Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto (which he heard Walter Gieseking rehearse), it was troublesome not to consider Tovey’s evocation of Orpheus taming the Furies. The finale meanders at instances, maybe, however I doubt anybody minded a lot. It was sharp, brilliant, in the end decisive — and it danced.
The onward tread to the opening to Elgar’s First Symphony, hesitant then positive(r), ever imbued with ineffably Elgarian unhappiness and the Aristocracy, might be traced in some ways. Gardner’s means satisfied, as did the response to it. A level of Brahmsian sentiment might be perceived by means of a associated but totally different orchestral kaleidoscope; crucially, sentiment was by no means confused with sentimentality. Passages of hushed inwardness, particularly on this first motion, mixed with wounded swager to captivate and propel. If an occasional tough edge intruded, as with Tippett, it was nothing of significance. Far extra essential had been liminal passages of an nearly Straussian, but extra delicate phantasmagoria — and the place they took us. The second motion’s opening materials, someplace between diabolical and livid, was adopted by a lifting of clouds nearer to the brand new vistas of Mahler than one may need anticipated. Music between these poles mixed their tendencies in addition to having them do battle: a matter of efficiency nearly as a lot as of composition. A wealthy, even ripe Adagio was maybe slightly indulged for my, arguably additionally for Elgar’s, style, but it was troublesome to withstand the wonderful LPO sound. Inflected by different materials that but didn’t deflect the music from its path, there remained a lot to admire right here. Ghostly unease and misplaced recollections laid naked the compositional mastery of the finale. It was a turbulent journey, seeking a house that was maybe by no means fairly reached. The ‘cyclical’ qualities of Elgar’s writing had been vividly communicated right here by Gardner, bringing it nearer to César Franck than usually one hears. Was it in the end slightly exhausting pushed? Perhaps, however arguably it held to its personal logic.
Mark Berry