Anne-Sophie Mutter is a remarkable
musician: she has, at her finest, the ability to make whole audiences
hang on her every note or be overwhelmed by her formidable virtuosity.
This series of the complete concertos for violin and orchestra was very
much her triumph.
In the first of their three concerts,
Sir Colin Davis prepared the way with a punchy, lively account
of the Symphony No. 32 in G, K318. In some ways, this is the
perfect curtain raiser: it could easily be an opera overture. The second
subject was notably suave, but some less than perfect ensemble robbed
the climax of the first section of its excitement. Although the Andante
flowed gracefully along, it was somewhat lacking in character: it was
left to the return of the opening material to erase memories of this.
The place of the violin concertos
in Mozart's output has long been an uncertain one. They have never really
attained the popularity of the mature piano concertos (or the horn concertos,
come to that). Certainly, if one was to believe Lindsay Kemp's programme
notes, the first concerto is merely enjoyable (' ... good-natured though
it may be, this is in some ways a rather serious and formal first attempt').
If Anne-Sophie Mutter had read this, it was obvious she did not believe
it. At no point did one doubt her advocacy of this work, even if technically
there was a sense of her playing herself in (after some strong and commanding
opening solo statements, there were passages of somewhat suspect tuning).
The problems came from the orchestra, especially some notably rough-and-ready
horn playing to begin with. By the second movement, these problems had
been ironed out, and Mutter provided some beautifully floated, almost
vocal lines; by the third movement, caution went firmly to the wind
and there was a palpable feeling of Mutter enjoying herself. Possibly
the most striking facet of this performance were Mutter’s cadenzas,
which were gripping from first to last.
The Second Concerto dates from 1775,
two years after the First. But for a composer as prolific as Mozart,
a lot can happen in that amount of time - and did. With just a twenty
minute interval to separate them, one could hear the compositional advances
Mozart had made in that period. There was more than a hint of chamber
music about this performance. The orchestra was predominantly delicate,
and when Mutter thinned her tone to a half-voice, the effect was utterly
spellbinding. Again, lines really sang in the second movement: Mutter
was gripping, if not at times truly hypnotic. The cadenza was a thing
of beauty. The finale was spirited, having a real spring in its step,
Mutter articulating superbly. Only some sluggish horn playing brought
back memories of certain parts of the first half. The audience clearly
understood that this was a special performance and gave Mutter the reception
she deserved.
It was hardly surprising, given
Mutter's star status, that a good number of people left at that point.
A shame, though. Davis’ ‘Prague‘ Symphony has much to recommend
it (although possibly not to authenticists, who may well have thrown
their hands up in despair at the Romantic conception of the Andante).
Sir Colin ensured the introductory Adagio was as imposing as it could
be, and that the ensuing Allegro was full of spirit. The Finale was
full of big, dramatic strokes, and not without a little humour, but
there is no doubt that this series was already beginning to belong to
Mutter.
The idea of, on Friday, playing
the next two violin concertos flanked by the same two pieces, then returning
on Sunday with both pieces changed is slightly bizarre. Did we really
have to have the Symphonies Nos. 32 and 38 again on Friday? Perhaps
the LSO management had anticipated a less than full house on Wednesday
and so the music would be fresh for the other half that was to come
along later in the week? Whatever the case, there was a strange sense
of déja vu as one registered the opening was not quite
as tight as earlier in the series and one had the impression that the
lack of character of the central Andante might be due to Davis’ non-authenticist
approach. The Prague did have a markedly different effect, though,
even if the interpreters and interpretation remained constant: after
Mutter on top form in the Third and Fourth Concertos, it could only
come as the evening’s ‘wind-down’.
Mozart’s Third Concerto in G,
K216 of June 1775 (only two years after the second) is the most
popular of the canon. The change in the orchestra was immediate, the
opening tutti better prepared than the whole of the preceding Symphony
No. 32. The playing was alert, Davis’ accompaniments immaculate
(the wind in particular excelled themselves). It was as if the very
presence of Anne-Sophie Mutter was enough to transform them. Perhaps
they knew what was going to happen: the way that she magically turned
phrases; the way she projected her lower range in a husky but never
over-powerful manner; the way the cadenza once more became a crucial
part of the argument. The final two movements were remarkable, despite
a fudged initial wind entry threatening to spoil Mutter’s perfect opening
gambit in the Adagio. Her level of inspiration almost seemed on a par
with Mozart’s. She spun her melodic line like a spider spins a silken
web. Portamento was used sparingly and always for the sweetest of expressive
purposes. The final Rondo was successful because some of that self-same
intensity came across the break between movements so the jollity was
tinged with an underlying sense of heavenly serenity.
Dating from the same year, the Fourth
Concerto is somewhat more outgoing in nature, a fact Mutter brought
to the fore. She has the most amazing ability to bring multiple, seemingly
endless shades of meaning to even the simplest arpeggio figure. Her
entry in the slow movement was a moment of luminous revelation that
ushered in real dialogue with the orchestra. The alternations of the
gallant and the resolute, which provide the last movement’s compositional
dynamic, were perfectly judged.
Both the Third and Fourth Concertos
represented examples of the Art of Mutter at its highest and left one
tingling with anticipation for the final concert on Sunday 9th. Originally,
both the Sinfonia concertante for Violin and Viola (with violist
Yuri Bashmet) and the Fifth Violin Concerto were to be
in the first half, leaving only the ‘Jupiter’ for the second. Did the
fear of a repeat exodus to end the series prompt the management to put
the Violin Concerto into the second half, thus forcing people to stay
after the interval?
In many ways, the Sinfonia concertante
in E flat, K364 deserves space to be heard and then digested, so
the decision did make musical sense. Of the two soloists, Mutter was
by far the most confident. This is a concerto which by its very nature
invites the listener to make comparisons between the two soloists (the
first movement mainly consists of exchanges between the two instruments,
rather than having them play together). The fact that Bashmet used music
whereas Mutter did not pointed to the aural truth that Mutter could
play more freely than Bashmet’s more score-bound rendition allowed:
nowhere was this more evident than in the heaven-sent flow of inspiration
that makes up the slow movement.
Almost a relief, then, to hear Mutter
unfettered and on top form for the final Violin concerto, No. 5 in
A, K219, after a break. Even the orchestra played better, possibly
in acknowledgement of Mutter being once more free. Her playing was characterised
by vigour and a feeling that with this concerto she had really arrived
home. The beautiful legato and the spinning of a seemingly unending
melody in the Adagio was almost scuppered by some orchestral moments
of uncertainty, only to be rectified by a stylish finale, complete with
visceral Turkish/Gypsy elements. This was a ravishing account which
in many ways would have crowned the series and left us with the most
memorable sounds echoing in our minds (indeed, a fair few people did
leave at this point). But to close with Mozart’s final symphony is to
give the composer the final say, and perhaps that is most appropriate.
Certainly Mutter’s almost self-effacing platform manner at the end of
each of the concertos would indicate that she would approve of this
reading.
The Jupiter, of all of Mozart’s
symphonies, responds well to Davis’ big-boned approach. Despite an Andante
cantabile that was actually an Adagio cantabile (taken firmly in six
rather than in three), it was largely successful, the last movement
bringing Mozart’s contrapuntal effusiveness to the fore. At the end
of the day, though, people came to See and Hear Anne-Sophie
Mutter: and an unforgettable experience it was, too.
Colin Clarke
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