BBCSSO, 09/02/2017

Haydn : Symphony No. 8 "Le Soir"
Ravel : Piano Concerto for the Left Hand (Jean-Efflam Bavouzet, piano)
Tippett : Symphony No. 2

BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
Martyn Brabbins

I'll freely admit that Haydn's not my favourite composer, but the symphonies, in the right hands, can be enjoyable enough.  These were not the right hands, alas.  Even with clearly reduced forces, the BBC SSO doesn't have the performance practice for Haydn, which was blatantly obvious from the first minutes of this plodding interpretation.  The amiably wheezing double-bass in the Trio of the third movement was mildly amusing, but could not overcome the tedium of the first two movements, and the finale - promisingly labelled "La tempesta" - was ridiculously genteel. What this work was doing in this programme to begin with remains a conundrum, further obscured by the very indifferent performance, and what was to follow would shed no better light on it.

Most of us first discover the pieces of music we enjoy via recordings, while we're still young.  There is always a risk, therefore, that we cling to those first impressions and those initial recordings.  Because that's how a certain piece was discovered, we hold up that performance as a benchmark when, in fact, it's not necessarily the case and there are better versions out there, never mind what we might hear in concert.  I've been conscious of that for a long time, and try not to view past experiences with rose-tinted glasses too much.  That said, there are always one or two performances that leave a deeper mark than the others.  I grew up with a very famous 1960 recording of the Ravel Left-Hand Concerto, by Samson François, conducted by André Cluytens, and it has remained my reference, despite many other experiences of the piece.

I think, to a considerable degree, this is because I felt that they took the piece seriously, which might sound like a stupid thing to say, but certainly in the last twenty-odd years of concert-going here, it's clear that the D major Concerto is not viewed as the equal of the G major, something with which I disagree fiercely.  While I would never deny the quality and the charm of the G major, it is, in the end, just another example from the long (and frequently illustrious) lineage of the piano concerto.  The D major concerto is another beast entirely, a brooding powerhouse of immense concentration and complete originality, quite unlike anything written around it at the time, but just as clearly a product of the darker side of Ravel's imagination, akin to Gaspard de la Nuit and La Valse.   Play it without respecting its savagery, and you rob it of life.  François and Cluytens got it right; for the first time, tonight, I heard a live performance to match that.

The miserable Haydn was immediately forgotten as the orchestra began building up the layers of sombre, moiré textures, low instruments growling out from a menacing, primeval murk to explode with the dark fireworks of the piano's entrance.  Bavouzet's magnificent piano tone, and the perfectly judged expansiveness of his playing, giving himself just enough time to ensure accuracy, as the left hand flies from bottom to top of the keyboard and back again, without ever dragging, placed the solo instrument at the apex of the music, like the first spark of life in the process of creation, like a new god being born from chaos to bring order.

Here was ferocity and tenderness, pain and joy, struggle and resolution.  Here was the war that cost Paul Wittgenstein his right arm, and the determination to overcome that handicap, and the indomitable will that made it happen.  Here was the Left-Hand Concerto, the greatest example of its kind, in all its arcane glory, Bavouzet the high priest and the orchestra the servants of the cult, in a fiery, defiant challenge.  Here Be Dragons, indeed.  The "Oiseaux tristes" from Miroirs that Bavouzet played as an encore calmed the mood, the gentle melancholy of the whistle of lonely birdsong beautifully and effortlessly delineated with exemplary warmth and clarity of sonority.

Such a tremendous performance was always going to be difficult to follow up, but the Tippett symphony proved to be a good choice.  The rhythmic emphasis was not dissimilar, and the detailed orchestration almost as ear-catching, but the sound world was quite different.  Most importantly, the performance given by Brabbins and the orchestra seemed very much more on a level with the Ravel than with the earlier Haydn.  I'm not at all familiar with this piece, but came away quite happily convinced by it, having enjoyed the interplay of the orchestral groups, and the bright, confident quality of the reading.  That it remains in the memory in the face of an overwhelming experience like the Ravel is indicative enough of its quality.

[Next : 23rd February]