It is always worthwhile to see and hear the old warhorse works of the 19th century orchestral repertoire live. Strange to think how disturbed Brahms’ contemporaries were by some of his music. Defining, how the dogged determination is such a part of his being, even as a young man of 25, in his Piano Concerto No. 1 in D Minor, Opus 15 (1859).
This massive work luxuriates in its scale, building its structure with a Brucknerian sense of grandeur. It is well known via recordings, but not performed with frequency. Its demands are enormous. This performance by the Ukrainian/Australian pianist, Alexander Gavrylyuk, with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra (SSO) conducted by David Robertson delivered its grandeur and intimacy with ardour and skill. The first movement “Maestoso” unfolded with organic splendour - conductor and soloist deeply response to each other. The startling thing in performance was the absolute delicacy and tenderness of many of the piano interventions. Gavrylyuk made us wonder anew at their freshness and concordance with the orchestral texture that inspires or supports their poetic intent.
Hugo Wolf’s description of this work's “icy, dank and foggy” ambience is partially true but it forgets the struggle that pulses through its chords, as though the weight and shock of being alive must be confronted with the will to exist - forced upwards through the mesh of tough orchestral sounds. Gavrylyuk demonstrated tremendous power and authority when unleashing this life force and its perpetual struggle. Its Germanic gait was underscored by a robust athleticism that at times seemed piquantly Wagnerian its uplift.
The solo sections of the first movement summoned a consortium of Brahmsian piano solo memories that link across his lifetime of composing, even hinting at the late flourish of Opus 116 to Opus 119: sad haunting filigree that seems to flesh tenderness across the keyboard.
The hovering poise of the middle movement takes us into the heart of a certain kind of love: tentative, bashful, but also stirring up the forces of ambiguity and regret. Even at 25, Brahms knew the heartache of the forbidden, the unrequited. The emotional terrain seems to say: here lurks the passive ardour of one born to be alone. This music aches, even across its rhapsodic lunges, when thematic development takes on a rush of power. The piquancy of the woodwind and piano interactions was a deep pleasure in this performance – as was the horn playing – music for which Brahms had a golden touch. The strength of the piano line was paramount, even when improvisation beckoned. A wondering intent, “experimenting and feeling my way”, was Brahms’ post compositional verdict on its hybrid intent: symphonic heft aligned with the intense poetry of the solo piano. The warmth and simplicity of the “Adagio” brings us close to the young Brahms with its tracery of tender expectations. This performance delivered all its youthful complexity.
The finale brings forth cadenza like flourishes of faux gypsy music, verbunkos grandly imagined, but too neat and tidy to release all that Magyar energy. But it is proudly athletic and essentially Germanic in its crisp fugal gait, but even here the delicacy of the emotional impulse draws a potent wistfulness from within its rondo structure. Gavyrlyuk judged all of this with bedded strength and colossal dynamic range. The soft was velvet, the loud tensile and dark though never overwrought.
The SSO responded with committed and complementary music making deftly supporting the shared vision of pianist and conductor. The old warhorse was minted afresh, challenging perceptions of this composers’ supposed dour originality with its hints of experimental impulses. Bizarre to think that this Everest of a piano concerto – now bedrock conservative – was considered ungainly and hissable when presented by the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in 1859!
The first half of this substantial all Brahms concert was devoted to delicious performance of the late Double Concerto, Concerto in A Minor for Violin and Cello, Op. 102 (1887), with Andrew Haveron on violin and Umberto Clerici playing cello. The simpatico between these two principals of the SSO was a pleasure to watch and listen to. Clerici, in particular, seems to radiate a kind of intense but joyous watchfulness as he listens and responds to orchestra and his partner soloist.
This sonic duality of the work seems to invite rhapsodic intent and a graphic luminous doubled leaded melodic line that instantiates a mellow luxuriousness. This work has some of those long-breathed melodies that Brahms could always summon, this time in deep overlay as the two instruments become one luscious vibration.
The work feels very autumnal and meanders a little towards the end – with a somewhat cold peremptory finale. In this performance we could admire how carefully Brahms positions the cello and how the violin lifts inwards with the cello to imitate the melodic line with flecks of rubato, portamento and curling energy. The real glory of this work is to again present the questing hybridity of Brahms, with hints of the showcase concerto underpinned by chamber music textures, lovingly dovetailed and even wryly humorous at times – and does the ear play tricks with the intimations of surging Straussian string textures in the first movement?
The interplay between soloists bought memories of Tchaikovsky’s earlier Piano Concerto No. 2 in G major, Opus 44 (1881), with its long slow movement that creates equally luminous chamber musical textures - and even the Delius Double Concerto for Violin, Cello, and Orchestra (1915/1920) which was directly inspired by a performance of the Brahms by the Harrison sisters. The transparency of the orchestration and the soft low voice of the cello also remind us how Britten in his Cello Symphony, Opus 68 (1964) handled these darker forces. So Brahms did have some distant progeny!
The Brahms work presents a highly varied conversational impulse. The dialogue is sometimes confronting, sometimes playful. Sometimes the soloists weave in and out of each other’s related thoughts – the gruffness of pleasurable friendship seems to lurk in its pages. The two soloists embraced its low-key dynamics with warmth and good humour, judging its swaying moods with burnished éclat.
The curtain raiser was the Academic Festival Overture, Opus 80 of 1880. This seemed blissfully Wagnerian at times, full of boyish punning and tingling with percussive touches. The German humour might be thickly layered, but is almost endearing as its potpourri of drinking songs reminds us that Brahms was the eternal bachelor student. Robertson and the SSO raised its rousing hymn to rejoicing – Gaudeamus igitur- on high and ensured its tread was merrily tipsy.
A nice concert for re-evaluating this stalwart of 19th century conservatism.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra– Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House – August 29, 2018
Gar Jones
This massive work luxuriates in its scale, building its structure with a Brucknerian sense of grandeur. It is well known via recordings, but not performed with frequency. Its demands are enormous. This performance by the Ukrainian/Australian pianist, Alexander Gavrylyuk, with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra (SSO) conducted by David Robertson delivered its grandeur and intimacy with ardour and skill. The first movement “Maestoso” unfolded with organic splendour - conductor and soloist deeply response to each other. The startling thing in performance was the absolute delicacy and tenderness of many of the piano interventions. Gavrylyuk made us wonder anew at their freshness and concordance with the orchestral texture that inspires or supports their poetic intent.
Hugo Wolf’s description of this work's “icy, dank and foggy” ambience is partially true but it forgets the struggle that pulses through its chords, as though the weight and shock of being alive must be confronted with the will to exist - forced upwards through the mesh of tough orchestral sounds. Gavrylyuk demonstrated tremendous power and authority when unleashing this life force and its perpetual struggle. Its Germanic gait was underscored by a robust athleticism that at times seemed piquantly Wagnerian its uplift.
The solo sections of the first movement summoned a consortium of Brahmsian piano solo memories that link across his lifetime of composing, even hinting at the late flourish of Opus 116 to Opus 119: sad haunting filigree that seems to flesh tenderness across the keyboard.
The hovering poise of the middle movement takes us into the heart of a certain kind of love: tentative, bashful, but also stirring up the forces of ambiguity and regret. Even at 25, Brahms knew the heartache of the forbidden, the unrequited. The emotional terrain seems to say: here lurks the passive ardour of one born to be alone. This music aches, even across its rhapsodic lunges, when thematic development takes on a rush of power. The piquancy of the woodwind and piano interactions was a deep pleasure in this performance – as was the horn playing – music for which Brahms had a golden touch. The strength of the piano line was paramount, even when improvisation beckoned. A wondering intent, “experimenting and feeling my way”, was Brahms’ post compositional verdict on its hybrid intent: symphonic heft aligned with the intense poetry of the solo piano. The warmth and simplicity of the “Adagio” brings us close to the young Brahms with its tracery of tender expectations. This performance delivered all its youthful complexity.
The finale brings forth cadenza like flourishes of faux gypsy music, verbunkos grandly imagined, but too neat and tidy to release all that Magyar energy. But it is proudly athletic and essentially Germanic in its crisp fugal gait, but even here the delicacy of the emotional impulse draws a potent wistfulness from within its rondo structure. Gavyrlyuk judged all of this with bedded strength and colossal dynamic range. The soft was velvet, the loud tensile and dark though never overwrought.
The SSO responded with committed and complementary music making deftly supporting the shared vision of pianist and conductor. The old warhorse was minted afresh, challenging perceptions of this composers’ supposed dour originality with its hints of experimental impulses. Bizarre to think that this Everest of a piano concerto – now bedrock conservative – was considered ungainly and hissable when presented by the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in 1859!
The first half of this substantial all Brahms concert was devoted to delicious performance of the late Double Concerto, Concerto in A Minor for Violin and Cello, Op. 102 (1887), with Andrew Haveron on violin and Umberto Clerici playing cello. The simpatico between these two principals of the SSO was a pleasure to watch and listen to. Clerici, in particular, seems to radiate a kind of intense but joyous watchfulness as he listens and responds to orchestra and his partner soloist.
This sonic duality of the work seems to invite rhapsodic intent and a graphic luminous doubled leaded melodic line that instantiates a mellow luxuriousness. This work has some of those long-breathed melodies that Brahms could always summon, this time in deep overlay as the two instruments become one luscious vibration.
The work feels very autumnal and meanders a little towards the end – with a somewhat cold peremptory finale. In this performance we could admire how carefully Brahms positions the cello and how the violin lifts inwards with the cello to imitate the melodic line with flecks of rubato, portamento and curling energy. The real glory of this work is to again present the questing hybridity of Brahms, with hints of the showcase concerto underpinned by chamber music textures, lovingly dovetailed and even wryly humorous at times – and does the ear play tricks with the intimations of surging Straussian string textures in the first movement?
The interplay between soloists bought memories of Tchaikovsky’s earlier Piano Concerto No. 2 in G major, Opus 44 (1881), with its long slow movement that creates equally luminous chamber musical textures - and even the Delius Double Concerto for Violin, Cello, and Orchestra (1915/1920) which was directly inspired by a performance of the Brahms by the Harrison sisters. The transparency of the orchestration and the soft low voice of the cello also remind us how Britten in his Cello Symphony, Opus 68 (1964) handled these darker forces. So Brahms did have some distant progeny!
The Brahms work presents a highly varied conversational impulse. The dialogue is sometimes confronting, sometimes playful. Sometimes the soloists weave in and out of each other’s related thoughts – the gruffness of pleasurable friendship seems to lurk in its pages. The two soloists embraced its low-key dynamics with warmth and good humour, judging its swaying moods with burnished éclat.
The curtain raiser was the Academic Festival Overture, Opus 80 of 1880. This seemed blissfully Wagnerian at times, full of boyish punning and tingling with percussive touches. The German humour might be thickly layered, but is almost endearing as its potpourri of drinking songs reminds us that Brahms was the eternal bachelor student. Robertson and the SSO raised its rousing hymn to rejoicing – Gaudeamus igitur- on high and ensured its tread was merrily tipsy.
A nice concert for re-evaluating this stalwart of 19th century conservatism.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra– Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House – August 29, 2018
Gar Jones
