Composed for David Oistrakh in 1967, Shostakovich stated that his Violin
Concerto No.2 was composed: "slowly and with great difficulty,
squeezing out one note after another." Betraying nothing of
the difficult circumstances of the work’s creation, Gidon Kremer
played this concerto with great ease and fluidity, realising every emotion,
every nuance of this multi-layered work.
Kremer’s tone is not overtly beautiful or refined,
rather rugged and acidic, and as such ideally suited to this sombre,
late work. In the first movement – Moderato - Kremer produced
a brittle, harsh and metallic sound, taking on an almost percussive
quality. This was matched by the Philharmonia, whose sympathetic, chameleon-like
playing, took on Kremer’s own colouring, notably with dark, brooding
sounds from the ‘cellos and double-basses. With the Adagio, Kremer
switched to a razor-sharp tone, sounding like a different instrument
and musician altogether. In the finale – Adagio–Allegro – Kremer’s
style changed yet again - a rough, course, almost Gypsy violin sound,
his acrobatic playing being wonderfully punctuated by an incisive dialogue
with the horns. Ashkenazy and the Philharmonia proved to be perfect
partners for Kremer’s wild way of playing this chamber concerto (for
there are no trumpets, trombones and tuba here).
Shostakovich’s Symphony No.13 ‘Babi Yar’ was
given an emotionally charged performance from beginning to end by Vladimir
Ashkenazy, Anatoli Kotscherga and the London Philharmonic Choir. Here
Ashkenazy showed himself to be an instinctive Shostakovich conductor
and he secured impassioned playing from the Philharmonia. Kotscherga
has the prefect vocal instrument for this protest symphony: an expressive
directness and clear projection that filled the RFH without ever sounding
forced or loud: he sang each poem with a subtle change of emotional
inflexion, colour and intensity. The all male LPO Choir sang convincingly
in Russian, with great passion, accuracy and expression, integrating
seamlessly with orchestra and soloist.
The symphony is based on the notorious Nazi massacre
and burial of 33,771 Jews at Babi Yar, a ravine to the north-west of
the city of Kiev, on September 29 and 30, 1941. The immediate inspiration
for the composer was the poem, ‘Babi Yar’, from a collection
published by Yevgeni Yevtushenko in September 1961.
The first movement (Babi-Yar: Adagio)
began with muted horns and trumpets, a chilling presage of the emotional
experience to come. As this bleak and foreboding score progressed the
conductor slowly built up the tension, conjuring up an awesome power
from the orchestra and giving the climaxes shattering impact, further
intensified by timpanist Andrew Smiths relentless pounding.
In Humour: Allegretto, the conductor made the
alleged humour of this section verge on hysteria by conjuring up frenetic
activity from percussion and screaming woodwind in a wild dance: a kind
of Freudian realisation that laughing is the inverse of screaming. Throughout
the third movement (In the Store: Adagio) the Philharmonia percussion,
including castanets and woodblock, created the urgent banging of cans
in a shop. The castanets constantly click as the all male chorus and
soloist sing in protest. Ten minutes in the tension explodes with eight
punctuating percussive chords: this was executed with incredible intensity,
realising completely the brute force of struggle.
Fears: Adagio - a poem by Yevtushenko written
especially for the symphony - opened with a rumbling bass drum perfectly
measured by Peter Fry; while the sinister sound of the solo tuba was
delivered by John Jenkins with a stark and eerie impact: I have never
heard this opening section delivered with such a sense of threatening,
brooding menace. The fifth movement (A Career: Allegretto) opened
with some very expressive woodwind playing, leading to an intermezzo
played delicately on pizzicato strings, followed by threatening
trombone glissandi, ending with an energetic fugue, with
notably pointed woodwind. This is followed by the most haunting and
poignant section of the symphony: the waltz of the ghostly string quartet,
ending with a sparkling sound from the celeste and bell: this was the
most intense and intimate point of the symphony, where Shostakovich
appears to find peace.
The Iraqi war lent this performance an even greater
poignancy: Shostakovich’s violent score and the artistry of conductor,
orchestra, chorus and Anatoli Kotscherga, unleashed an emotional frisson
and violent intensity that both evoked and condemned war, and rightly
produced a rapturous response from a full house.
Alex Russell
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