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Soloist Yunchan Lim with the London Symphony Orchestra. Photo by Chris Lee.
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the evening of Thursday, March 6th, I had the pleasure to attend a superb concert presented by Carnegie Hall—the second of two on consecutive nights—featuring the excellent London Symphony Orchestra under the very distinguished direction of its Chief Conductor, Sir Antonio Pappano.
The event started brilliantly with an amazing performance of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s incomparable Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18, with the terrific soloist, Yunchan Lim. The very beginning of the initial, Moderato movementhas a premonitory character, but it very quickly becomes the vehicle for a moody, passionate Romanticism, while the piano enters with the exquisite, primary theme; the music intensifies, ultimately concluding forcefully. The ensuing, slow movement, marked Adagio sostenuto, is extraordinarily lyrical, if meditative; it too builds to an early climax before closing softly. The Allegro scherzando finale is dynamic, propulsive and dazzling, but with quiet interludes, ending triumphantly. Exceedingly enthusiastic applause elicited an exceptionally beautiful encore from Lim: Franz Liszt’s "Sonetto del Petrarca No. 104" from Années de pèlerinage, deuxième année: Italie, No. 5.
The second half of the concert was also remarkable: a sterling realization of the undervalued, seldom played Symphony No. 1 of William Walton. According to the useful notes on the program by Jack Sullivan, “Walton wrote it during an unhappy love affair to a young, widowed baroness he could not hope to marry because of his lower-middle-class social status.” He adds that “The work is dedicated to the lover who broke up with him, Baroness Irma von Doernberg.” The composer said, “This awful tempestuous work was really all her fault.” Sullivan comments:
Nonetheless, the symphony took a while to enter the repertory, partly because, as Walton ruefully said, “it is so damn hard to play.”
In 2021, the late critic Terry Teachout eloquently wrote the following about the piece:
The First Symphony, above all, is a work of colossal force, one that has always belonged in the international repertoire, and this symphony as well as its companion pieces of the ’30s deserve to be known as masterpieces whose accessibility is a mark not of their superficiality but their distinction. They may not sound all that English, but they sound like no one else … and their time will come.
The first movement—it has a tempo of Allegro assai—begins suspensefully, rapidly becoming very turbulent—but with subdued episodes—and finishing emphatically. The succeeding Scherzo, marked Presto con malizia, is breathless in momentum for much of its length, but again with less exuberant passages, and it ends abruptly and unconventionally. The slow movement (Andante con malinconia) is inward and emotional, but song-like at times, and it closes gently. The annotator records that:
Walton wrote the ending first, so he knew where the symphony was heading. “I always looked forward to the last movement when I was conducting it,” he said.
The Maestoso finale is stirring, exciting and dramatic—even sometimes extravagant—but, again, with more tentative sections; it concludes affirmatively, if not pronouncedly so. A deserved standing ovation was rewarded with another magnificent encore: the unsurpassably enchanting Valse triste of Jean Sibelius.
Photo by Chris Lee.
At the remarkable Stern Auditorium, on the afternoon of Sunday, March 2nd, I had the considerable pleasure to attend another superb concert presented by Carnegie Hall—the last of three on consecutive days—featuring the exceptional musicians of the Vienna Philharmonic under the outstanding direction of the inestimable Riccardo Muti.
The event started brilliantly with a masterly realization of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s awesome Symphony No. 41 in C Major, K. 551, the “Jupiter,” from 1788. The initial, Allegro vivace movement—here is one place where the composer’s music is close to that of Ludwig van Beethoven—is stirring but with a somewhat solemn cast; ultimately affirmative, even quietly celebratory, it contains a dazzling, fugue-like section. Despite its consummate grace and almost pastoral passages, some of the ensuing Andante cantabile has a tragic ethos; it ends softly. The Menuetto, marked Allegretto, has an ebullient quality but with dramatic touches as well as moments of great charm, especially in the enchanting Trio. The Molto allegro finale is propulsive, even exhilarating, but with subdued episodes; the complexity of its fugal structure is simply astonishing. The movement closes regally.
The second half of the program was maybe even more memorable: a sterling account of Antonín Dvořák’s magnificent, melodious Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95, “From the New World,” from 1893. The first movement’s Adagio introduction is at first gentle and then portentous; its Allegro molto main body, for all its turbulence and lyricism, is sweeping in its expansiveness and it finishes powerfully. The song-like Largo that follows—its primary theme came to be the basis of the Negro spiritual, “Goin’ Home”—has a hushed atmosphere but becomes more animated with a more urgent interlude; it ends ethereally.
The succeeding Scherzo, marked Molto vivace, is exciting and dynamic but with elements of mystery, and it has much forward momentum but also contrasting, leisurely measures as well as a certain joyousness for much of its length; it ends emphatically. The Allegro con fuoco finale which is exultant and forceful, but inward and tentative at times, sustains a great intensity; after a triumphant climax, it ends serenely. Deservedly enthusiastic applause was rewarded by a fabulous encore: the delightful Overture to the operetta, The Gypsy Baron by Johann Strauss, Jr.