Philharmonia, Salonen, Batiashvili, Latry, RFH 26 June 2014

Saariaho: Maan varjot (UK premiere)

Sibelius: Violin Concerto

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2

Olivier Latry (organ)

Lisa Batiashvili (violin)
Philharmonia Orchestra

Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor

Royal Festival Hall, 16 June 2014

Esa-Pekka Salonen hasn’t conducted much Sibelius in London. But given he’s (among many other things) a Finnish music specialist, audiences here could well have anticipated that he’d demonstrate a mastery of the music. This evening he did exactly that, showing not only that he’s learned well from his many Finnish predecessors, but that he also has his own distinctive vision.

The Violin Concerto and Second Symphony were presented in an all-Finnish programme that began with the UK premiere of a new work by Kaija Saariaho, Maan varjot, a co-commission with three other orchestras that was given its first performance in Montreal at the end of last month. Its presentation here marked one of the final stages of the “Pull Out all the Stops” festival celebrating the restoration of the RFH organ. True to form, Saariaho avoided the idea of the guest instrument being a concertante soloist, and the relationship between organ and orchestra was complex throughout. The score is filled with her trademark subtleties and complexities, the textures often involving all or most of the orchestra, but rarely loud. Tremolos or complex woven lines in the middle voices, the violas for example or the woodwinds, create a subtly textured bed upon which to rest longer lines in the upper and lower voices. The organ occasionally rises to a position of dominance, but more often supports the orchestral textures with inscrutable, complex harmonies in the upper register or pulsing bass notes from the pedals. The work is structured in three movements, the character of which suggest, at least tangentially, a concerto format. The slow second movement gave Saariaho the opportunity to explore more intimate relationships between sections of the orchestra and corresponding registrations in the organ. The last movement begins with a toccata flourish from the organ, but that’s Saariaho’s single concession to triumphalism, and the music soon returns to her more muted and complex textures. The piece was played well, by orchestra and soloist alike. The composer seemingly had little interest in showcasing the talents of the celebrity organist for whom it was written, Olivier Latry, or even the capabilities of the newly-restored organ, a shame on both counts. Still, this was a great demonstration of the benefits that the newly restored organ will bring to concert life here, making performances like this possible, and without stealing the show.

In the event, the show belonged to Lisa Batiashvili, whose Sibelius Violin Concerto was one of the standout performances of the season. Her casual mastery of what is considered by many the most difficult concerto in the repertoire seemed to be a given from the very first notes. But the style, poise, elegance, and carefully regulated drama she brought to the work put her into another league. Batiashvili has an utterly distinctive tone, which she maintains through even the knottiest of passagework. It is complex and warm, slightly nasal and in some ways introverted. But it’s very elegant and it has a singing quality to it. The only quality it lacks is the grand, strident character that Sibelius sometimes demands, especially in the finale. A constructive tension quickly emerged in this performance between soloist and conductor; Salonen gave a more opulent and symphonic reading, while Batiashvili maintained a more intimate tone. But it worked well. There were never any balance problems, and the orchestra’s responsiveness to the soloist held the performance together, even when their expressive aims diverged. Batiashvili’s understated mastery really came into its own in the last pages, where the music gets more and more flamboyant in its virtuosity, and yet she continually refuses to break her controlled demeanour. The crowd went wild, and rightly so, this was a very special performance.

It was followed by a short encore, a recent arrangement of a Ukrainian folksong by a Georgian composer (I didn’t catch the name), part of a work he describes as Requiem for Ukraine. Again, Batiashvili used her calm, focussed stage presence to impressively powerful effect, this time for more political ends. The political influence exerted by classical musicians is an issue of seemingly endless debate, but Batishvili demonstrated here that making your point with no great fuss or fanfare, using the direct line of communication that your talent permits, has far greater power and resonance than some of the more gratuitous stunts we have recently seen from other performers.

The Sebelius Second got a revisionist reading in some ways from Salonen, yet not to the point of antagonising more traditional tastes. Phrasing was often clipped, tempos were always provisional, and clarity of texture always took precedence over atmosphere. Yet, despite all this micromanagement, the bigger picture was never compromised, and the playing was suitably expansive when required. The orchestra was on top form, especially the strings, with all those pizzicatos in the cellos and basses given with absolute precision. Given that the concert opened with what must have been a very difficult new work, it was impressive that Salonen also found the time to rehearse, and rehearse well, the more familiar symphony. Once or twice his approach seemed a little too constricted. The build-up into the finale for example wasn’t so much a process of tension and release as just a carefully graded crescendo. But it was clear that Salonen always knew what he was doing. It turned out the reason he had underplayed that particular passage was so as not to pre-empt the similarly dramatic lead into the coda. And the ending was just magnificent. Like Batiashvili at the end of the concerto, Salonen gave us understated power here, with plenty of volume from the orchestra, but plenty of detail too. In the end, it turned out that Salonen had provided all the qualities that make a Sibelius performance great, the grandeur, the majesty, the expressive focus, but he’s done it in a distinctive way that was all his own.

Philharmonia Salonen Roméo et Juliette RFH 26 Sept 2013

Berlioz: Roméo et Juliette

Christianne Stotijn, Paul Groves, Gerald Finley, Philharmonia Chorus and Orchestra, Esa-Pekka Salonen

Royal Festival Hall, London, 26.9.13

This evening’s concert opened with the announcement of some very welcome news: that Esa-Pekka Salonen has renewed his contract with the Philharmonia up to 2017. This orchestra has been more fortunate than most when it comes to Artistic Directors, and the list of conductors who have led the ensemble reads like a who’s who of 20^th century musical talent. But even in this context, Salonen’s tenure has been a golden age. Among his many qualities is the ability to bring out the very best in his players, and the chemistry between Salonen and the Philharmonia seems to improve with every performance. He’s also got a knack for interesting programming, picking works, often obscure, that really show his orchestra’s strengths. All these qualities came together this evening, and the results were spectacular.

Even so, Roméo et Juliette is a tough nut to crack, and a very daring choice for the orchestra’s season opener. Plan A had been The Damnation of Faust, but presumably casting problems forced a rethink. This ‘dramatic symphony’ demands less of its vocal soloists, but considerably more from the chorus and orchestra. It also needs a conductor who can make sense out of the work’s bizarre, hybrid structure. Fortunately, it got everything it needed this evening, in a performance that was well paced and dramatic as well as lyrical and coherent, or at least as coherent is this work is ever likely to sound.

In the opening movement, a small chorus of 12 singers and the mezzo and tenor soloists introduce the action. Or rather, they introduce Berlioz’s oblique gloss on the tale. He assumes that his audience already knows every detail of Shakespeare’s tragedy, a safe bet in the English-speaking world. The performance took a few minutes to get going, and the strings were scrappy in the opening passages. Mezzo Chistianne Stotijn was also out of form, not managing her usual purity of tone. The choir and tenor Paul Groves, however, were excellent, and Groves in particular was scandalously underused, not appearing again after this brief solo. Berlioz’s orchestration is radical throughout this work, even by his standards, and for a few minutes towards the start of the movement, it seemed as if his unusual combinations were going to compromise the ensemble playing. Fortunately, though, these problems were fleeting, and when the orchestra got into its stride from the second movement onwards, the playing was excellent.

Choral movements bookend what is otherwise essentially a programme symphony, and, spare a brief offstage interjection from the chorus, the inner movements are purely orchestral. Again, Berlioz expects us to both know the story and to follow him as he represents it in seemingly abstract music. Salonen’s approach here is ideal. He’s never one to skimp on drama, but he also understands that continuity is required for this narrative-based structure to succeed. So the transitions were always carefully judged and the musical ideas seemed to flow, one into another. Every section of the orchestra gets a real workout, and none disappoints. There were some great woodwind solos, especially from the cor anglais (Jill Crowther), whose solos grace many of the movements.

Towards the end, the full forces of the Philharmonia Chorus make an entrance and play a key role in the finale. They too are given some very demanding music, and never disappoint. Salonen could have paid them a bit more attention, but he was usually having to negotiate multiple strands of divergent counterpoint in the orchestra, so it was probably just as well that the singers could just get on with it without too much guidance.

Then Gerald Finley made his entrance, and from then on the class and quality of the performance was assured. The part is low for his voice, more bass than baritone, but the elegant rich sound that makes his upper register so appealing is just as evident lower down. He doesn’t quite have the projection at the bottom, but Salonen insured that he was always audible. The choral finale is yet another curiosity of the piece. It’s more conciliatory than valedictory, there’s nothing to celebrate here so it is more about lessons learned. It is still loud though, and suitably climactic, but Salonen was able to bring grandeur to these closing gestures without straying into undue heroism or grandstanding.

A curious lighting programme was used for the concert, designed by David Holmes. It consisted of lights projected on the orchestra from above that subtly changed in hue with the emotions of the music. Sadly, the lights didn’t quite reach to the edges of the stage, nor to the conductor, who stood as a Stokowski-like silhouette throughout most of the performance. But at least it was not unduly districting, like Berlioz’s narrative innovations, an experiment that didn’t quite work but that didn’t spoil the evening.

But despite the obscurity to which the lighting consigned him, Salonen was the star of this show, making musical sense out of this strange score and drawing some excellent playing from his orchestra. This opener bodes well for the Pilharmonia’s season ahead, and for the three more that will follow under Salonen’s dynamic leadership.

Tristan and Isolde: Philharmonia, Esa-Pekka Salonen

Wagner: Tristan and Isolde (concert performance) Soloists, Philharmonia Orchestra and Voices, Esa-Pekka Salonen (conductor), Royal Festival Hall, London 26.09.2010

Gary Lehman Tristan

Violeta Urmana Isolde

Anne-Sofie von Otter Brangäne

Matthew Best King Marke

Jukka Rasilainen Kurwenal

Stephen Gadd Melot

Joshua Ellicott Shepherd/Sailor

Darren Jeffery Helmsman

Bill Viola visual artist

Peter Sellars artistic collaborator

Multimedia additions have been the selling point of the Philharmonia's Tristan project, but innovative as they are, the most insightful contribution here is from conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen. He's not known as a Wagnerian, nor do his musical inclinations suggest a natural sympathy with the composer. The success of the result was, I think, the result of a certain friction between Salonen and Wagner. It meant that the musical focus of the work shifted, and the dramatic significance of the orchestra was cast in a new light.

Typically for Salonen, the sheer physical energy from the podium maintained the momentum throughout the work. At the opening of the prelude, he beat the six quavers of each bar with heavy, deliberate strokes. He then continued to conduct the whole of the prelude like this, never tempted to fall back into a relaxed two in a bar. The result was sustained dramatic intensity from the orchestra, even through the extended passages of mid-range dynamics from the strings and woodwind. Salonen's stock in trade is the evenly paced crescendo leading to intense and sustained climax. Wagner provides many such opportunities, but unfortunately most of them are in his other operas. Musically, the defining moment of this performance was the conclusion of the first act. The ship, upon which the action has so far taken place, reaches the coast of Cornwall and is greeted by the retinue of King Marke, all of whom – the trumpeters and the choir of guards – were distributed around the auditorium. It was a classic Salonen moment, dramatic, intense and searing.

In comparison to this, most of the rest of the score was relatively understated, and while Salonen ensured that the balance and ensemble were always finely measured, he was happy for the lead singers to dictate the mood. This was something of a relief, as watching his intensely expressed beat in the prelude, it seemed as if he was planning to control the entire opera with a Solti-esque iron grip.

Salonen's faith in his singers is well founded. The cast for this production is impressively, and almost uniformly, strong. However, one or two singers really do stand out. First and foremost is Gary Lehman, who is that rarest of opera singers, a Wagnerian heldentenor who is actually up to the job. His voice isn't the strongest I've heard, but it has enough power to carry over Salonen's inflated orchestral textures. He has a pure sound in the upper register and an almost baritone richness to the lower end. Both he and Violeta Urmana, his Isolde for the evening, can also be heard in Gergiev's new Parsifal recording. Both shine in Tristan as well as they do in Parsifal, and to hear them together live is a real treat.

The support cast contains some top flight Wagnerians too. Urmana is a great Isolde, but there were one or two occasions when the more experienced and more timbrally distinctive Anne Sofie von Otter came close to upstaging her as Brangäne. Matthew Best has the ideal presence of tone, not to mention stamina in Act 2, for King Marke. He too is an ideal singer for this project, in that there is never any danger of his being overpowered by the on-stage orchestra.

The Philharmonia were on their usual top form. As ever under Salonen, they were regularly taken outside their comfort zone in terms of dynamics and always coped well. The lower strings are a real strength of this orchestra and get many chances to shine in Tristan, the preludes to the Acts 1 and 3 spring to mind. Fabulous cor anglais playing from Jill Crowther. The instrument is used in so many contexts that it could almost be considered one of the cast, and its sheer variety of timbres really aided the dramatic credibility.

Which brings us to the video instillation. I notice that the term 'semi-staged' was not used in any of the publicity material, which is probably just as well, because it was about a quarter staged at most. In some of the scenes, the singers were distributed around the auditorium, but in general it was as if the live action had been deliberately played down in order not to distract from the video projections. Bill Viola has taken two basic approaches to the work, an almost prosaic literalism and a more abstract symbolism. With four hours or so of music, there is plenty of time for both, but their combination can lead to disorientation and incoherency. Each of the first two acts opens at the literal end of the scale, the first with images of the sea, the second with night time images of a forest. And at the end of act 1, when the ship reaches the coast, that is also literally depicted, although the North coast of Cornwall looks suspiciously like the South coast of California. For the abstract episodes, he takes a few visual metaphors that he then presents in a variety of contexts. Love/love potion/love magic are all represented by water, a visual device that flows seamlessly from the maritime imagery of the opening. Passion and lust are represented by fire and also by...well, gratuitous nudity. That's not a complaint, although it does mean that a number of the surtitles go unread. In general, the pace of the imagery is deliberately slow, figures moving in slow motion interspersed with slowly transforming abstract images. This has the practical benefit of filling the time, but also means that the video and the live action, such as it is, move at different speeds. It is as if the singers are playing out Wagner's skeletal narrative, while the video addresses the underlying and timeless philosophical issues.

Clever then, but also waywardly incoherent, and occasionally struggling for ideas. The video is at its best in the final scene (I won't give away the details) and musically these last 20 minutes were also exceptional. Urmana saved something in reserve for the closing scene, and was brilliantly supported by Salonen, who drew a smouldering intensity from the orchestra. Impressive stamina all round, especially considering that most of the performers are not generally known for their Wagner. The video is likely to remain controversial, but I suspect that acclaim for the musical side of Salonen's Tristan project will be universal.

Gavin Dixon