SCO, 20/12/2013

Haydn : Symphony No. 85, "La Reine"
Mozart : Piano Concerto No. 9, K. 271, "Jeunehomme"
Ravel : Pavane pour une infante défunte
Poulenc : Sinfonietta

Scottish Chamber Orchestra
Christian Zacharias (piano/direction)

Haydn's Symphony No. 85 is one of a set of six known as the "Paris" symphonies.  Haydn was about to embark on a new stage in his career; he had recently re-negotiated his contract with his employer, Prince Esterházy, and under the new terms, for the first time since he had begun to work for the Esterházys, the music he wrote was his own property.  This opened up considerable vistas to him both nationally and internationally, and his music rapidly began to acquire international renown.  The commission from a Parisian Masonic branch possessed of an unusually large and competent orchestra for the period, was a handsomely remunerated arrangement, and inspired Haydn to some of his brightest, most charming symphonies.  The first movement in particular, tonight, was played with plenty of zest.

Interestingly, although the orchestra is, I think, just a little smaller, the sound for the Mozart concerto seemed immediately larger and warmer.  This was possibly in response to the use of a modern concert grand piano - there's little point in trying to pretend to greater discretion when proceedings are dominated by a powerful instrument like a contemporary grand.  And dominated they were; despite the dialogue nature of the writing, there was little doubt that the piano was the leading partner in this dance.  This was not to the detriment of the concerto, however; Zacharias is never less than stylish, he knew exactly what he wanted from the orchestra to best complement his own playing, and he got it.  The pianist taking on the "Jeunehomme" had best really know how to play trills; the solo part is absolutely loaded with them, and Zacharias gave an exemplary demonstration of how to integrate them effortlessly into the texture.

After the interval, the Ravel seemed a little bit like a make-weight, something to ensure the programme reached a certain length.  I felt neither mystery nor nostalgia in this reading, just a sort of bland graciousness.  The Poulenc Sinfonietta, thankfully, was a different story.  Poulenc's changes of mood were pulled off mostly effortlessly. There were a couple of rough corners in the first movement, but also one or two instants of sheer brilliance; an abrupt hiatus, as if the composer had stopped in his tracks to suddenly say, "Oh, no, wait a second, I want to go that way!", before dashing off again.  Poulenc is often accused of being too much under the influence of too many other composers (most notably Stravinsky), yet while there is a good deal of truth to that, his music is nevertheless uniquely and completely individual, you cannot mistake Poulenc for anyone other than himself.  The dizzying varieties of mood and direction were delivered with enthusiasm, lyrical phrases singing out with grace and charm, and the piece is full of hints of things yet to come from the composer  - there are very distinct pre-echoes of Dialogues des Carmélites at times - that were fully exploited.  When the end came, tossed off lightly with smiling insouciance, it left us with a laugh and a smile too.

[Next : 27th December.  Seasons' Greetings to all]