Last night's concert by the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony Orchestra was a fair sample of the kind of programming so typical of that admirable ensemble: a modern work by a Canadian composer to begin, a well-known concerto, and a lesser-known symphony by a well-known composer.
The hook which undoubtedly drew many of the audience was the appearance of world-renowned Canadian pianist Janina Fialkowska to play Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Minor, Op. 21. Indeed, the concert was billed in advance as "Janina Plays Chopin," and why not? Fialkowska was acclaimed as "a born Chopin interpreter" by Artur Rubinstein at the outset of her career and has gone on to amply confirm that judgement in decades of concerts and recordings.
Together with guest conductor Heiichiro Ohyama, she presented a reading of this concerto which belied its status as an old warhorse. Considered as a concerto for piano and orchestra, it falls squarely into the category of works which exist primarily to show off the piano part, and with the orchestra relegated to a background role. Indeed, some researchers have asserted that Chopin himself didn't trouble to orchestrate the music, entrusting that task (which must not have interested him at all) to students.
It's one thing to know this as a historic or musical fact. It's quite another matter to play the concerto in that manner. A pianist who does is apt to become far too dramatic and flashy, forgetting that the composer was the man known as "the poet of the piano." Fialkowska certainly did not -- she's far too fine a musician for that. Her reading was marked by all the poetry and nuance anyone could ask, and even a whimsical feeling of fantasy in the rondo finale. Together, she and Ohyama presented a finely integrated reading, the orchestra remaining right with the pianist throughout all the passages in which the necessary Chopin rubato was most naturally applied. Ohyama brought out some interesting counter-melodies in several places, parts played by violas and bassoons that usually get run over by the rest of the orchestra. An absolute delight!
The concert opened with an intriguing work by Canadian composer Jocelyn Morlock, entitled Solace. She originally composed it for full orchestra, but then withdrew that version in favour of the one we heard on this occasion. The music is scored for a chamber-sized body of just fourteen string players. The group play in a style that might almost be called musical stasis, long sustained notes hanging on and changing slowly. Some play in the natural register of their instruments. The violins contrast with their high harmonics, adding a glassy sheen to the sound. In front of this group sit two soloists, a violin and a cello, playing chains of notes which are quite plainly inspired by birdsong, in the manner of Messiaen. Actually, though, the sound at times (especially when the violin was playing) was like nothing quite so much as the Vaughan Williams of The Lark Ascending crossbred with Ligeti. I know it sounds odd, but for me it was quite gripping and involving to hear this almost timeless sound world unfolding.
After the intermission, a second go round for me. I've noticed this before, that I can go for years without ever hearing a live performance of a particular work, and suddenly everyone's doing it. It's not even four months since I heard the Dvorak Symphony No. 7 performed live for the very first time in London UK (read about it here: New Hall, Classic Orchestra ). And now, I've had a chance to hear it again! Believe me -- I'm not complaining!
Many experts consider this the finest of Dvorak's symphonies, the immense popularity of the New World Symphony (No. 9) notwithstanding. It's a tightly integrated piece, inhabiting a darkly tragic sound world in which the sunny atmosphere so characteristic of much of Dvorak is largely absent.
The first and basic difficulty faced by Maestro Ohyama was the issue of balance. The score has some heavy-duty writing for horns and trombones, and the string body of the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony lacked the necessary numbers to balance those heavier instruments. Although some extra players were added, more would have been a big help.
By comparison with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra noted above, this was a rawer-edged reading, less polished but more dramatically intense. There were a few instances where the tricky Brahmsian cross-rhythms refused to integrate. Such details, though, weren't of any real importance in the bigger picture. The slow movement remained of a piece with the drama of the work as a whole, instead of being drawn as a relaxed contrast. The scherzo third movement, often characterized as a folk dance inspiration, here showed kinship with the similarly dance-rooted scherzos of Bruckner -- feet on the dance floor, but the heart and head among the clouds of high tragedy. The vehemence of the finale set the seal on a performance of great intensity. The final coda showed us exactly how this remarkable work finishes in the depths of its own tragedy -- even when the final chords turn to the major key, the dark heavy horn and trombone writing undermines any notion of triumph.
As always when a piano concerto is played at a concert, there are members of the audience who vanish at the intermission. In this case they missed a powerful and dramatic performance, perhaps a bit heavy-handed, but that character is well within the compass of this remarkable score.
Many experts consider this the finest of Dvorak's symphonies, the immense popularity of the New World Symphony (No. 9) notwithstanding. It's a tightly integrated piece, inhabiting a darkly tragic sound world in which the sunny atmosphere so characteristic of much of Dvorak is largely absent.
The first and basic difficulty faced by Maestro Ohyama was the issue of balance. The score has some heavy-duty writing for horns and trombones, and the string body of the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony lacked the necessary numbers to balance those heavier instruments. Although some extra players were added, more would have been a big help.
By comparison with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra noted above, this was a rawer-edged reading, less polished but more dramatically intense. There were a few instances where the tricky Brahmsian cross-rhythms refused to integrate. Such details, though, weren't of any real importance in the bigger picture. The slow movement remained of a piece with the drama of the work as a whole, instead of being drawn as a relaxed contrast. The scherzo third movement, often characterized as a folk dance inspiration, here showed kinship with the similarly dance-rooted scherzos of Bruckner -- feet on the dance floor, but the heart and head among the clouds of high tragedy. The vehemence of the finale set the seal on a performance of great intensity. The final coda showed us exactly how this remarkable work finishes in the depths of its own tragedy -- even when the final chords turn to the major key, the dark heavy horn and trombone writing undermines any notion of triumph.
As always when a piano concerto is played at a concert, there are members of the audience who vanish at the intermission. In this case they missed a powerful and dramatic performance, perhaps a bit heavy-handed, but that character is well within the compass of this remarkable score.
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