Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Opus 16 is the longest of the five he contributed to the genre – and probably the most significantly rewritten. It embraces four movements and includes two substantial cadenzas. It is piquant and imaginative, building cascades of sound on simple thematics and enjoys some marvellous orchestration (tuba and trombone shaded against the extreme kinetics of the piano soloist).
In this performance, the power, technique and extreme dynamic range of Behzod Abduraimov’s playing was a perfect partner for this glittering, quirky music. He delivered its sarcasm, its eruptions, its sparkling wit and droll humour with absolute clarity – giving us delicacy and demonic with equal glory and invention.
Prokofiev’s musical narrative is often jagged and quirky but responsive to the musical chess game that he unfolds. Yet the opening andantino is deeply poetic, calmly picking its way across the keyboard as if not quite sure how wide and varied the ambit would be. It echoes some of the wistful melancholy of Rachmaninov - sometimes with a delicious hint of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 and its heroic encounters of forte and piano. In the opening movement, the long cadenza releases extraordinary power: climax after climax (marked fff and colossale!) It is enormous in scale, testing technique and keyboard limits. This is tumultuous music, arrestingly discordant and deeply fascinating - as we begin to discern its patterns. At the end, Prokofiev screeches to a halt and in spectral mode his pizzicato strings remind us of the now haunting quality of the opening theme.
The scherzo is an exhilarating ride, in diabolical toccata fury, fiercely chattering, ushered in by the dark brass utterances.
The intermezzo brings a strong streak of fantasy into play. This was always a part of Prokofiev’s nature, wistful in the Violin Concerto No. 1, liberating in this work and the opera The Love of Three Oranges. Rippling with muscular wit, whirling with fantastical sounds – and dance like spikiness – this is both energising and engaging music. Again. the orchestra unleashes extraordinary warning sounds: ferocious orchestral climaxes heave and groan. Again. the movement ends with a kind of lulling, spectral softness. Prokofiev confounds with his quirkiness.
Abduraimov rode all this invention with power and eloquence, driving its motoric impulses with clarity. Having previously witnessed his playing of one of the Prokofiev war sonatas -Piano Sonata No. 6 in A major, Op. 82 - it was no surprise that his attack would be monumental. But he is also delicate and playful when required. The conductor (Han-na Chang) rode the tiger with him, ensuring a brilliant and clarifying performance that was truly collaborative with outstanding playing from various members of the orchestra.
The orchestration across the work is wondrous. Dark strings sigh, a doleful bassoon plots a journey, an acidic flute intervenes. The flute in particular plays a deep comprimario role, its spiky roulades responding to the deeply percussive sound world of the piano with perky elan. The Lisztian cadenzas imply a communing with vaguely elemental forces (late 19th century) and a modernist psychology that sharply etches sarcasm into lyrical riffs. The work’s querulous ending, dashing to the finishing line with abrupt clarity, seems fit for purpose.
Tchaikovsky refused to believe that his Symphony No. 5 in E minor was a masterpiece. He refused to believe the premiere audience were really applauding its many beauties and wonders. Funny old fellow, Tchaikovsky – deeply morose – but apparently a man of good humour – just battered by the need to combine his love of Russian melody and his desire to be part of the European canon of music.
He needn’t have worried. This work is a triumph, and in this performance was guided by a strong sense of its elemental structure - distinct movements intimately connected– ensuring that the recurring thematic material was highlighted with clarity and a balanced emotional temperature.
The horn solo that starts the slow movement was unfurled with beauty and a steady gait – ensuring the latent nostalgia and sadness of this movement was crystalline. This set the tone for how the whole movement’s emotional layers and sweep would be beautifully spotlit – ensuring structure and emotional intensity were given as balanced options.
The waltz that brings lightness to bear after the powerful yearning of the slow movement was morphed into its scherzo like gait with grace: here was elegance, pointed rhythms and a certain touch of whimsy.
The extraordinary first climax in the last movement was delivered with overwhelming power, so much that some of the audience thought the work had ended. The conductor turned and smiled and then launched into the extraordinary schwung of its long striding march. This spaciously filled the hall with a true and hard gained sense of well-being - as though we had all experienced survival against the perils of living. Not bombastic, but an enriching energy.
The concert commenced with a rip-roaring rendition of the Ruslan and Ludmilla overture – the strings scurrying with deft energy.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra – Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House, Sydney – May 9, 2024
Gar Jones
In this performance, the power, technique and extreme dynamic range of Behzod Abduraimov’s playing was a perfect partner for this glittering, quirky music. He delivered its sarcasm, its eruptions, its sparkling wit and droll humour with absolute clarity – giving us delicacy and demonic with equal glory and invention.
Prokofiev’s musical narrative is often jagged and quirky but responsive to the musical chess game that he unfolds. Yet the opening andantino is deeply poetic, calmly picking its way across the keyboard as if not quite sure how wide and varied the ambit would be. It echoes some of the wistful melancholy of Rachmaninov - sometimes with a delicious hint of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 and its heroic encounters of forte and piano. In the opening movement, the long cadenza releases extraordinary power: climax after climax (marked fff and colossale!) It is enormous in scale, testing technique and keyboard limits. This is tumultuous music, arrestingly discordant and deeply fascinating - as we begin to discern its patterns. At the end, Prokofiev screeches to a halt and in spectral mode his pizzicato strings remind us of the now haunting quality of the opening theme.
The scherzo is an exhilarating ride, in diabolical toccata fury, fiercely chattering, ushered in by the dark brass utterances.
The intermezzo brings a strong streak of fantasy into play. This was always a part of Prokofiev’s nature, wistful in the Violin Concerto No. 1, liberating in this work and the opera The Love of Three Oranges. Rippling with muscular wit, whirling with fantastical sounds – and dance like spikiness – this is both energising and engaging music. Again. the orchestra unleashes extraordinary warning sounds: ferocious orchestral climaxes heave and groan. Again. the movement ends with a kind of lulling, spectral softness. Prokofiev confounds with his quirkiness.
Abduraimov rode all this invention with power and eloquence, driving its motoric impulses with clarity. Having previously witnessed his playing of one of the Prokofiev war sonatas -Piano Sonata No. 6 in A major, Op. 82 - it was no surprise that his attack would be monumental. But he is also delicate and playful when required. The conductor (Han-na Chang) rode the tiger with him, ensuring a brilliant and clarifying performance that was truly collaborative with outstanding playing from various members of the orchestra.
The orchestration across the work is wondrous. Dark strings sigh, a doleful bassoon plots a journey, an acidic flute intervenes. The flute in particular plays a deep comprimario role, its spiky roulades responding to the deeply percussive sound world of the piano with perky elan. The Lisztian cadenzas imply a communing with vaguely elemental forces (late 19th century) and a modernist psychology that sharply etches sarcasm into lyrical riffs. The work’s querulous ending, dashing to the finishing line with abrupt clarity, seems fit for purpose.
Tchaikovsky refused to believe that his Symphony No. 5 in E minor was a masterpiece. He refused to believe the premiere audience were really applauding its many beauties and wonders. Funny old fellow, Tchaikovsky – deeply morose – but apparently a man of good humour – just battered by the need to combine his love of Russian melody and his desire to be part of the European canon of music.
He needn’t have worried. This work is a triumph, and in this performance was guided by a strong sense of its elemental structure - distinct movements intimately connected– ensuring that the recurring thematic material was highlighted with clarity and a balanced emotional temperature.
The horn solo that starts the slow movement was unfurled with beauty and a steady gait – ensuring the latent nostalgia and sadness of this movement was crystalline. This set the tone for how the whole movement’s emotional layers and sweep would be beautifully spotlit – ensuring structure and emotional intensity were given as balanced options.
The waltz that brings lightness to bear after the powerful yearning of the slow movement was morphed into its scherzo like gait with grace: here was elegance, pointed rhythms and a certain touch of whimsy.
The extraordinary first climax in the last movement was delivered with overwhelming power, so much that some of the audience thought the work had ended. The conductor turned and smiled and then launched into the extraordinary schwung of its long striding march. This spaciously filled the hall with a true and hard gained sense of well-being - as though we had all experienced survival against the perils of living. Not bombastic, but an enriching energy.
The concert commenced with a rip-roaring rendition of the Ruslan and Ludmilla overture – the strings scurrying with deft energy.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra – Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House, Sydney – May 9, 2024
Gar Jones
