Intermezzo

Vienna Philharmonic bring Beethoven to Paris

Vienna Philharmonic / Thielemann - Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, Paris, 16 November 2009

An all-Beethoven programme may sound like the most conventional scheduling ever. But in London, the fear of being labelled anything less than cutting-edge means it's the last thing you're likely to hear.

No such reservations for the Wiener Philharmoniker, who are taking a whole series of Beethoven concerts around Europe with Christian Thielemann over the next few months, culminating in a back-to-back cycle at Berlin's Philharmonie next December. Mit CD/DVD tie-in (alleged production cost - $1m) natürlich. Sadly London is not included on this particular tour - the ineradicable Lorin Maazel will, yet again, prepare our annual helping of Wiener.

Paris however was bestowed with Maestro Thielemann and Beethoven's 7th and 8th symphonies. A skinny sliver of sparkling new Jörg Widmann was to have slipped in between, but the overextended composer never got round to writing it, so the Egmont Overture it was instead.

All the better for Christian Thielemann, a Beethoven specialist and famously resistant to the lure of the new. Thielemann is on something of a high at the moment in the German media. Recently voted Germany's most popular conductor by a mile in a newspaper poll (though he'd probably pwn the least popular title too), he's also just been appointed next chief conductor of the Dresden Staatskapelle and, something of a coup, has snatched a coveted Xmas TV concert slot from the mitts of Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic. All this is big stuff in Germany, a country that actually cares who runs its orchestras and how.

The artistic understanding between Thielemann and the Wieners is evident not just from the musicians' total attentiveness (and a few doggily adoring glances). Thielemann spins the music out in long, polished phrases, sculpting each section with dramatic shifts in tempo and dynamic. The orchestra breathe with him, the rapport is absolute. Each idea emerges with utter clarity.

From their London performances it can hard to fathom why the Vienna Philharmonic are often called the world's greatest orchestra, but on this showing they exceeded any reasonable expectation. Thielemann bounded on with a hypercaffeinated energy that he maintained from the con brio first movement of the 8th right to the end of the night. The one-bar jokes of the Scherzando second movement were actually funny, and the contrapuntal brilliance of the third was captured in perfectly balanced crystalline layers, in exquisite contrast to the luxurious sonic carpet the Wieners rolled out for the last movement.

The 7th became a roller coaster ride, a gem of immaculately juxtaposed contrasts.  From an introductory adagio so molto it nearly ground to a halt, Thielemann launched the vivace theme of the 7th's first movement at an exhilarating pace. The second, 'slow' movement is actually marked allegretto, and that's exactly what we got, not the usual funereal trudge but something curiously evocative of a cha-cha. And it ended with a wildly driven dance - Wagner's famous words incarnated.

Among the violinists at the 7th's first performance was Ludwig Spohr, who noted of Beethoven's conducting style, "As a sforzando occurred, he tore his arms, previously crossed upon his breast, with great vehemence asunder. At piano he crouched down lower and lower to show the degree of softness. If a crescendo entered he gradually rose again and at a forte jumped into the air." Thielemann would be the last to follow the emaciated 'historically-informed' school, but I did wonder if Spohr's well-known words influenced Thielemann's gymnastic gesticulations on the podium, at variance with his usual Thunderbird puppet style. Whatever it was, it worked.

 

Prom 50: Barenboim's Fidelio

Prom 50: Fidelio - West-Eastern Divan Orchestra / Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 22 August 2009

This Prom was, predictably, packed out. So why did the BBC need once again to occupy precious space and block people's views with yet another podium-mounted camera positioned slap bang in the middle of the arena? They already had a battery of equipment stationed at the sides, not to mention a roaming cameraman right in front of the stage for those all important up-nostril shots. The Met, the Royal Opera House and the Berlin Philharmonic, to name just a few, manage to produce professional DVDs with far less gear, all unobtrusively positioned, and without disrupting a large chunk of the audience. But then they're dedicated to music, not to viewing figures.

Year by year the Proms inches further away from its origins as a live performance festival and further towards reincarnation as a BBC-branded TV special 'filmed in front of a live audience'. At least the evening Proms concerts haven’t yet sunk to the depths of the daytime ones, where the audience are instructed not just how and when to applaud, but how loudly to chat amongst themselves to generate the prescribed ‘atmosphere’.

But back to the music. 

This concert performance was punctuated by a mostly pre-recorded English narration from Waltraud Meier as a disillusioned Leonore, some years later, a bitter and apposite reflection on the difficulty of living up to ideals. The choice of opening overture - the Leonore 3 - in itself a backward-looking summary of the opera - emphasised the point, a nostalgic evocation of a past forever lost.

The West-Eastern Divan Orchestra played incredibly well (and this is not an easy score), meeting all of Daniel Barenboim's detailed and demanding requirements, by turns dark, thrilling and joyfully defiant. Barenboim's pushing and pulling and tweaking around sometimes perplexes - but not here. It's as if he has a magic key to Beethoven's secrets. There was not one routine passage, yet everything sounded inexorably right.

The soloists were on this occasion simply outshone by the orchestra. John Tomlinson came out best as a convincing Rocco, an involuntary wobble here and there only adding to the impression of age and inconstancy.

Leonore, as I have previously observed, is not the greatest showcase for Waltraud Meier's vocal skills, lying in her least comfortable range and making unfulfillable demands on her agility. Her pitch was often wildly off but at least her earnest intensity was some compensation, and her dramatic presence is undeniable. She cut a chic figure in a white taffeta wrapover ensemble-thingy, and like her contemporary Renee Fleming, seems able to spin the wheel of time in reverse. A flattering new dark pixie haircut complemented her smooth-browed peachy complexion.

Simon O'Neill made a brilliant start with an arresting, needle sharp “Gott, welch Dunkel hier!”, but his big voice doesn't manoeuvre easily around Florestan's rapid lines. When things sped up, he trailed in the orchestra's wake, chasing the notes at the expense of the text.

Gerd Grochowski's Don Pizarro and Viktor Rud's Don Fernando were efficiently sung, but lacking in the necessary authority and presence. Adriana Kučerová's Marzelline and Stephen Rügamer's Jacquino were again efficient, but simply anonymous.

The best singing of the evening came from the back of the hall as the sterling BBC Singers and Geoffrey Mitchell Choir delivered the prisoners' chorus with an intensity and commitment that was often lacking at the front.

 

 

Prom 40: Beethoven's 9th rides yet again

Prom 40: BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra / Volkov

Having committed to programming all of Stravinsky's ballet scores at this year's Proms, Roger Wright clearly ran out of sensible places to stick them.

And so it came to pass that the annual Beethoven 9 was prefaced by the neo-classical niceties of Stravinsky's Orpheus under the dainty baton of Ilan Volkov. Very neatly played by the BBCSSO, but how could anyone dance to it? Lightweight, refined, and a bit boring.

The Big B trod the same path, at least until the last movement. Even though Volkov didn't push the pace, the well-rehearsed gloss of the Adagio gave way to some shaky playing. I wouldn't normally praise mistakes, but it lent a much-needed frisson of unpredictability. This movement is intentionally tough on singers and musicians alike, and it needs to sound like it.

And once the City of Birmingham Symphony Chorus let rip, there was finally a sense of involvement and, yes, passion.

The soloists were terrific too. For once I could actually hear all of them above the orchestra, no mean feat. The bass James Rutherford wasn't quite agile enough to centre all his notes, but he sang with beautiful tone and great enthusiasm. Rebecca Evans (in a saloon gal frock that only someone as wholesome as her could pull off), Caitlin Hulcup and Anthony Dean Griffey rounded off a well-balanced quartet.

If you happen to watch the concert on BBC4 (I think it's on this Friday), spare a thought for the prommers who queued for hours for front row places, only to be shoved aside to make way for the BBC's ohso important camera, and even more insultingly, a handpicked selection of photogenic munchkins gathered from all corners of the auditorium. No, viewers, the Proms audience is still packed with silver-haired grannies and baldy middle-aged men in polo shirts, whatever the BBC would like you to think.

 

the joy of Beethoven

Amazon reviewers comment on various recordings of Beethoven's 9th.....

Teh Furtwängler:

• I first encountered this recording in the Franklin Mint set of the 100 greatest recordings of all time, and I was ecstatic when I saw that it was available on CD.

• This is a historic phenomenon. As you know, the orchestra is Bayreuth, which the orchestra of the famous opera house of R. Wagner. But this building was alomost collapsed in 1940's, because of Nazis!!...

• Beethoven would not approve thsi recording, perhaps the performance.

• Soloists are fine; look at the booklet and you will see the font size of the name of the soprano is a bit greater than the rest of the soloist.

• The reason I put 4 instead of 5 is that there must be a better way of performace. I dont know if this has been achieved or not.

• People drop things during the recording. Sometimes the brass is out of tune. I don't recommend this as a study CD.

• For me this version is way too slow. I blame it on Wagner.

Teh Karajan:

• Beethoven recordings are like Lays potato chips. Who can possible settle for only one?

• The timpani generally sound like dead pots.

• The soloists are indeed powerful and joyous and amazingly skilled and just unbelievably competent... but the timpani do indeed sound like tin pots. Karma, I suppose.

• Beethoven's quintessential masterpiece is performed with a rare and noble magnificents befitting The world's greatest composer.

• Forget about this pop music and this rap, this music stimulates the mind and sole.

• For all I know, old HvK may well have been a Nazi, but it certainly does not affect my opinion of his conducting, just like such things don't stop people from buying Mercedes-Benzes or Volkswagens.

Teh Solti:

• If you want to feel like a newborn wonder child, free of all jadedness in taste, buy this version NOW. And this comes from a manager of a string quintet which stresses modern classical.

• Perhaps the next lunar mission will be accompanied by this CD, to emphasize the magnitude of the accomplishment.

• The French invasions of Napoleon was taking place and Beethoven thought that there was no better time to call for a brotherhood of man.

• The scherzo was at one time used for the opening music to the NBC Evening news.

• When I checked a copy of this CD out of my library and gave it some quality time in my Mirage speakers, I knew that Georg Solti was my new favorite conductor.

• I won't bore you with my opinions on the various aspects of the performances.

• Not everyone will like the earsplitting timpani thwacks that begin the Scherzo, but others will be thrilled.

• Soprano Jessye Norman's wings always lift her to the rafters of even the most imposing concert hall.

• The whole is quite slacking indeed, as if the musicians are reluctant to perform.

• There should be many Beethovens in people's mind, and you may also like Solti's Beethoven.

Goerne's Mahler; Mahler's Beethoven

LPO / Jarvi / Matthias Goerne - Royal Festival Hall, 4 February 2009

The Thames from the Royal Festival Hall, 4.2.09

Why did Mahler's arrangement of Beethoven's Ninth arouse hostility in its early Vienna performances? Hard to tell from Neeme Jarvi's LPO presentation - the differences from Beethoven's original score weren't glaring. As Jeremy Barham's very helpful pre-concert talk set out, most of Mahler's changes involved doubling up wind and brass lines, with a few dynamic variations here and there. He added a tuba (unknown in Beethoven's day); he transposed some string lines up an octave. Hardly fundamental stuff. It's easy to suspect any controversy arose more from Mahler's idiosyncratic conducting style than from his subtle tinkerings.

In contrast Neeme Jarvi seemed reluctant to impose himself on the music at all. The Scherzo was lively enough, but the surrounding movements were flabbily anodyne, and the final movement more panicky than joyful. 

A few lapses of ensemble hardly helped, and flute intonation was excruciatingly inexact. At least the choir and soloists did a reasonable job.

The first half's Kindertotenlieder were more successful. The barn-sized Royal Festival Hall seemed to shrink around Matthias Goerne as he confided the painful intimacies.

His voice wasn't quite 100 percent - the traces of a cold perhaps - but he still managed a beautifully nuanced and moving performance, despite some graceless support from the LPO.

  

All new Gürzenich Orchestra - now with added Stockhausen !!

Prom 48: Gürzenich Orchestra / Stenz / Kirchschlager - Royal Albert Hall, 22 August 2008

Mahler Symphony No.5 
Stockhausen Punkte (1952/1962/1993)
Schubert Ständchen, D921 orch. David Matthews, Bei dir allein, D866/2 orch. Manfred Trojahn, Nacht und Träume, D827 orch. Colin Matthews, Das Lied im Grünen, D917 orch. Detlev Glanert
Beethoven Overture 'Leonore' No.3

This was perhaps the oddest-looking but most fascinating programme at this year's Proms. 

Mahler's Fifth Symphony was premiered by Cologne's Gürzenich Orchestra in 1904, and the first idea for tonight's Prom was to reproduce that programme. Then new orchestrations were commissioned for the Schubert songs, performed at the 1904 concert with piano accompaniment. Conductor Markus Stenz wanted to add something by Cologne-born Stockhausen, as 22 August would have been the exact date of his 80th birthday. So we ended up with a two-interval concert, the old programme sandwiched with Stockhausen.

The big symphony came first, 70-ish minutes of non-stop music, in a reversal of the modern day practice which normally places it at the end. Or was it? We nowadays often programme the new stuff at the start of the night - and that's just what they did in 1904, before soothing the duly baffled Cologne audience with some more familiar Schubert and Beethoven. If nothing else, tonight's programming highlighted that even the most venerable of chestnuts were new once.

As once was Stockhausen's Punkte - but that was nearly sixty years ago. Unremarkably, the ageing Mahler fans who form a large part of the Arena audience came out with the usual lame jokes and mutterings. But to their credit, the vast majority returned from the bar after the interval for the Stockhausen. A few passive-aggressive old bats chose to demonstrate their superior musical tastes by ostentatiously rustling their boiled sweets and Sudoku 'books' throughout, but the vast majority stood there silently and perhaps attentively, prepared at least to give the music a chance.

I doubt if many were converted - Punkte is one of the early works where musical effect is subsumed to the underlying idea, and the idea sustains more like 27 seconds of music than the 27 minutes it extends over. Although Stockhausen went back later and revised the work, it remains, despite a supple and accurate performance by the Gürzenich, largely dry and unrewarding. "It wasn't flowing" complained a nearby prommer, who unwittingly grasped the Punkt of it all "just a load of different noises with gaps in between".

Stockhausen's legacy is I think better served by the outright sonic manipulation of later works. But Punkte I guess slotted better into this programme, because it deploys relatively conventional orchestral forces. The unconventional but typically thoughtful layout (violins to the right, a harp on each side of the conductor) provided the main foretaste of the spatial soundgames Stockhausen was later to play. 

Orchestrating Schubert lieder is a rather quaint and unfashionable practice, but one that might be worth reviving if cast the songs in a new light.

But all four of the newly-commissioned orchestrations for this evening were dull and formulaic. I've heard more interesting arrangements on ye olde scratchy lieder 78s (and would have been happy to hear these revived - what's the point of revisiting if you're not going to rethink?)

A couple were worse than dull - Colin Matthews' stodgy brass band lullaby for Nacht und Träume entirely missed the point of its hidden death wish, and Detlev Glanert's leaden Das Lied im Grünen had none of the joys of spring.

Careless programme editing didn't help - the text for the Rellstab Ständchen D957 was printed instead of the required (identical in name only) Grillparzer Ständchen D920. (Correct text and original music is here for anyone interested, translation is here, and here's an idea for the editor's Xmas list.)

Angelika Kirchschlager, dressed as everyone's favourite Quality Street, nuts and gooey caramel in a purple wrapper, did her effortful best to project over some unsympathetically dense orchestration. The upper end of her range sparkled. The lower notes, her weak point anyway, often just disappeared. But at least she brought a charm that the grimly serious earlier part of the evening had lacked.

Just when I was thinking the Gürzenich was a fine professional orchestra but nothing more, they surprised by flashing their opera house credentials with a weighty and truly stirring Leonore No.3 Overture to finish, and capped even that with their encore, a nice bit of Parsifal. We were by now more than three hours from the start, but I could happily have stayed for hours more. Why is it only at the Proms, and then only rarely, that we get orchestral concerts of any substantial length?

1 down, 75 to go - the First Night of the Proms

Prom 1: Christine Brewer / Pierre-Laurent Aimard / Nicholas Daniel / Wayne Marshall / Royal College of Music Brass / BBC Symphony Orchestra / Jiří Bělohlávek - Royal Albert Hall, 18 July 2008

R. Strauss Festliches Präludium
Mozart Oboe Concerto in C major, K314
R. Strauss Four Last Songs
Messiaen Dieu parmi nous, from 'La Nativité du Seigneur'
Beethoven Rondo in B-flat, for piano and orchestra
E. Carter Caténaires (solo piano)
Scriabin The Poem of Ecstasy

If there's one thing the Proms are good for, it's a whinge or two. So here, in no particular order:

- the weather. In place of the usual bugbear, scorching heat inside and out, this year's Proms started damp and blustery, with the odd shower sprinkling those of us queuing outside. The white at the top of the picture >>>>>
isn't overexposure btw - it's a solid bank of cloud....

- the first night programme. A bitty 'sampler' that needed a different orchestra/stage configuration for each piece. Seemingly designed to maximise tea break time for the TV audience at home (the whole Prom was broadcast live, and is still available on the BBC iPlayer here if you're interested), but all the fannying around completely disrupted the momentum for the live audience.

- The 8ft BBC camera platform plonked in the middle of the Arena >>>>> 
and blocking the stage view for anyone behind it. With a capacity audience, particularly unfair.

- the free Proms pocket guides running out before the concert had even started.

But what about the music? Well, the opening  Festliches Präludium shows Strauss at his least subtle, all banging organ chords and brass fanfares. Bělohlávek conjured up decibels on a Ted Nugent scale. My ears rang. What a start. 

After an eternity of faffing the stage around, the now-drastically pruned orchestra were ready to take on Mozart's Oboe Concerto, with Nick Daniel in the driving seat. A choux puff after Strauss's black forest gateau, it was handled with delicacy and a touch of wit by all concerned. I couldn't help thinking though that for all its charm, it does just go on a bit.

Then came the late sub, the redoubtable Christine Brewer, billowing in on a cloud of white satin and powder blue chiffon. Not many voices can fill the Royal Albert Hall, so the knob masters at the BBC often twiddle up the vocal volume for the benefit of home viewers. But la Brewer chose instead to give her live audience a real performance. She belted out Strauss's Four Last Songs at her impressive full capacity. Subtlety was necessarily in short measure, but her lusciously creamy soprano, capped with a remarkably even vibrato, rang out to the back of the hall.

I know it's Messiaen's anniversary year and all that, but even a diehard fan couldn't complain about the amount of Messiaen on offer at this year's Proms. The first of the many tributes came with a stunning Dieu parmi nous from Wayne Marshall. I could barely see him, bent over between the 9,999 pipes of Britain's second largest organ in his stage-rear eyrie, but the sound was ear-splitting.

Pierre-Laurent Aimard was the evening's final soloist. A rather slight piece of early Beethoven, the B flat Rondo, with orchestra, was followed by Elliot Carter's Caténaires. Written for Aimard, and receiving its UK premiere, it's a tiny twinkling gem, a mad ant dash around the keyboard that displays Aimard's extraordinary skill with line and phrasing (not to mention virtuosity) to the full.

The closer, Scriabin's Poem of Ecstasy, was hardly an orgy of sensuous abandon under the dour baton of Bělohlávek, but was at least lively enough to end the evening in the spirit of celebration in which it had begun. And like everything else on this evening, loud.

Incidentally, I was surprised to read a review of the Scriabin in The Guardian, as my friend Lu claims she was sitting right behind its author in the side stalls and he left just before it began. But perhaps it's a case of mistaken identity.

No mistakes about The Times Proms podcast - several of us in the Arena watched discreetly as a couple of Timesers stood in the corner recording this before the concert. So if they say it comes directly from the Proms, it's nothing but the truth. 

 

 

 

Alfred Brendel says Auf Wiedersehen to London at the Royal Festival Hall

Alfred Brendel - Royal Festival Hall, 27 June 2008

Haydn Variations in F minor, Hob.XVII/6 (Un Piccolo divertimento)
Mozart Piano Sonata in F, K.533/494
Beethoven Piano Sonata in E flat, Op.27 No.1 (Quasi una fantasia)
Schubert Piano Sonata in B flat, D.960

After 60 years on the padded stool, Alfred Brendel is finally calling time on his piano playing career, sealing his choice with a series of farewell gigs around the world. Tonight it was goodbye to London, with his last ever solo recital in the capital.

It must have been a hard decision to make, but I think his timing is right. I've wondered for a while whether he wants or needs to perform as much as he used to. Generally looking a great deal more happy and comfortable in the audience than on the stage, his recent performances have often been marked by lapses in focus and concentration.

But tonight was different - the relief of the marathon runner in sight of the finishing tape perhaps? At any rate, he appeared elated, not just at the massive ovations he received, but even at several times during his performance, and his concentration was absolute.

The characteristically intelligent programme had all the Brendel hallmarks of elegant juxtapositions of key, mood and context, its path tracing inexorably to Schubert's Vienna, arguably Brendel's pianistic home.

Brendel's touch was delicate, almost cosseting. He played with affection and tenderness, as if each piece were a newborn baby being put to bed. There was no thunder and no theatrics. Neither tempo nor dynamics were ever sharply accentuated. His assurance was such that he could trust the tiniest inflection to do all the expressive work for him. If wisdom has a sound, this was it.

Far from imposing a misguided uniformity on the disparate parts of the programme, Brendel's approach simply accentuated their atavistic similarities. Attention to detail took care of the rest. Only a few graceless inter-movement coughs and rumbles during the Schubert could break the rapt spell that Brendel cast - little wonder he leapt into its last movement without pausing for the inevitable distraction.

Encoring first with part of Bach's Italian concerto and then Liszt's Au Lac de Wallenstadt, it wasn't until Brendel's final encore, almost inevitably Schubert's G flat Impromptu, that he kicked loose and thundered out the first and last fortissimo of the night. 

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Click here for a recent Dutch TV interview (in English) where Brendel discusses his retirement.

 

Imogen Cooper and Fazil Say - two pianists for the price of one and a half

Imogen Cooper - Wigmore Hall, 1.00pm 23 June 2008
Fazil Say - Wigmore Hall, 7.30pm 23 June 2008

Schubert 4 Impromptus D.899
Bartók Selection from 14 Bagatelles Op. 6
Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody No.13 in A minor

One day, two pianists. First up was Imogen Cooper, in one of the Wigmore Hall's bargain (£10!) Monday lunchtime recitals, broadcast live on Radio 3 (though these days the audience in the hall might be bigger than the one on the little box).

In boho-chic gunmetal silk smock floating over loose black trousers she looked the part. But as soon as she started playing, it was clear something wasn't quite right. It was as ever a meticulous and controlled performance. Ms Cooper's fingers would never dare disobey her.  But her laboured pace, monotonous dynamics and spectacularly overheld sustaining pedal suggested her mind was on matters other than Schubert. The four pieces, so different in shape and mood, blurred into one big Schubert soup. The eleven brief Bartók Bagatelles, spare-textured folk-influenced early works, suffered less. The approach was just as unvaried, but at least the foot came off the pedal here to expose delicately articulated melodic trails. The harmonic and rhythmic similarities between these pieces and the closing Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody were deftly drawn out, but the Liszt too suffered from an excess of subtlety.

Bach French Suite No. 6 in E BWV817
Bach/Say Passacaglia BWV582
Mozart Piano Sonata in A K. 331
Beethoven Piano Sonata in D minor Op. 31 No. 2 ‘The Tempest’; Piano Sonata in F minor Op. 57 ‘Appassionata’

Excessive subtlety is not an accusation you could level at the pianist on the evening shift, Fazil Say. Wringing every last drop of expressive potential out of the piano, he made Bach sound like Beethoven and Beethoven sound like Bach.   All while looking oddly like Oscar Wilde (right) with his floppy fringe and loose black velvet Chinese jacket.

Say's extreme licence with tempo and rubato won't have pleased the purists, but Bach is resilient to a surprising variety of musical 'crimes' and the hyper-romantic intepretation was energising and refreshing. Incidentally, and oddly, his own transcription of Bach's (organ) Passacaglia was the only piece Say required a score for. 

Clearly not everyone was convinced by Say, and there were more than the usual number of half time grumbles and departures - musical specifics and Say's flamboyant grunting and hair-tossing were both criticised. But whatever anyone's opinion on these, it is clear Say is a serious musician whose presentation is integral to his performance, and not simply a showman indulging in lowest common denominator theatrics.

By contrast to the Bach, his Beethoven had a quickfire clockwork precision. While there was little sense of the subliminal orchestral textures that tug at Beethoven's sonatas, Say's sheer exuberance was winning. A large part of the audience seemed to be made up of Say partisans rather than Wigmore regulars, but the enthusiasm of the final applause seemed to be pretty much general.

He finished the evening with an inspired version of Gershwin's Summertime that swept the keyboard from end to end. But his first encore was his own composition, Black Earth, which juxtaposes some cheesy sub-Michel Legrand jazz noodling with some far more interesting Turkish-inspired passages, where he reached one hand inside the piano to hold the dampers in place while he thrashed out the tune on the keys with the other. The resulting hollow plucked sound revealed the very essence of the piano - a row of metal wires whacked with wooden sticks.

Here's a video of Fazil Say playing Black Earth:

And just to show how different his approach is, here's Fazil Say playing the last movement of Beethoven's Tempest sonata (quite a bit faster than he played it at the Wigmore Hall, and on a more 'pingy' instrument):

compared with Wilhelm Kempff's version of the same:

Krystian Zimerman - one keyboard is not enough

Krystian Zimerman - Royal Festival Hall, 27 May 2008

Bach Partita No.2 in C minor
Beethoven Piano Sonata in C minor, Op.111
Brahms 4 Pieces for piano, Op.119
Szymanowski Variations on a Polish folk theme in B minor, Op.10

A piano is a machine. Sounds are produced when the hammers hit the strings, not when the fingers hit the keyboard, a fundamental fact often ignored when we talk about a particular pianist's 'tone'. If I strike a key, it sounds the same as if any other pianist had struck it. It's quite different from instruments like the violin, where you'd spot instantly whether it was me or Joshua Bell drawing the bow across a string. With the piano, it's only in a sequence of notes, their relative duration, volume, pressure, that the characteristics of the individual emerge.

Most pianists, if they address the inevitability of tone quality at all, do so in generalised ways like selecting a particular piano. Krystian Zimerman's approach is far more interventionist. A recent FT interview reports that he "impregnates the hammers that strike the strings with specific chemicals, works on his piano's voicing and sound, has devised his own method of transportation, and permits no other technician to touch his instrument."

Unfortunately I missed his discussion with Jessica Duchen prior to this evening's concert, so I'm not sure exactly what his special preparations were. But from the bright, pinging tone, almost clavichord-like, of the opening Bach Partita it was obvious that his adjustments had been radical.

I've never heard a piano sound quite like this. The notes popped out hard and round like pearls, each perfectly self-contained. Combined with Zimerman's immaculate technique, each note evenly articulated, his lilting romantic gloss, and idiosyncratic tempos it was quite unlike any Bach I've ever heard. (Unlike any Bach that Bach himself would have heard, too, so not for the purists.)  Zimerman invited us to inspect the brushstrokes rather than look at the whole painting, and I was happy to absorb the sound on a purely sensory level. It was all over far too soon - with Zimerman's Eddie Van Halen arm-swinging flourish hinting there might be a surprising hint of showbiz tart lurking beneath the fearsomely brainy exterior.

Next came the clever bit. Zimerman sloped off for a couple of minutes (no more), and a technician sped on stage, whipped the keyboard out of the piano, and replaced it with another one (see photo right). A quick screw into place, and that was it.

I'm not sure exactly what the swap achieved from a technical perspective, but the sound changed dramatically to a far more conventional tone, the notes velvety and diffused at the edges.

Zimerman's fantastic, near effortless technical control seemed in some ways a hindrance in the final Beethoven sonata, which only truly comes alive when it's stood up to and wrestled down. A pianist like Barenboim who finds it at the limits of his technical capacities can bring a more vivid sense of struggle. From Zimerman, it all sounded just a bit too easy, a mountain that was soared over rather than scaled.

If the piano was tinkered with again during the interval, I didn't notice. Zimerman seemed more in tune with the Brahms, extrovert but intimate, and the luridly spectacular Szymanowski than he had with the Beethoven. He exuded a simple and engaging joy in performing and a ravishingly supple technique, every note precisely at his command. It wasn't quite heart-stopping stuff, but then that's not really the nature of these particular pieces anyway. And it didn't stop him receiving a thunderous reception, possibly as much for who he is and the simple fact that he chose to perform here as for the performance itself. No encore though.

A lengthy and interesting interview here.

 

 

Leif Ove Andsnes leaves the fjords behind

Leif Ove Andsnes - Royal Festival Hall, 10 March 2008

Between the towel and the mighty fjord - Norway's biggest pianist

Bach Toccata in E minor, BWV.914
Beethoven Piano Sonata in E flat, Op.27 No.1 (Quasi una fantasia)
Sibelius Commodo (Kyllikki, Op.41 No.3), Elegiaco in C sharp minor, Op.76 No.10, The Birch, Op.75 No.4, Barcarola, Op.24 No.10
Grieg Ballade in G minor, Op.24
Debussy Preludes - Brouillards (Bk.2 No.1), Le vent dans la plaine (Bk.1 No.3), Les collines d'Anacapri (Bk.1 No.5), Des pas sur la neige (Bk.1 No.6), La puerta del vino (Bk.2 No.3), Ce qu'a vu le vent d'ouest (Bk.1 No.7), Bruyeres (Bk.2 No.5), La serenade interrompue (Bk.1 No.9), Canope (Bk.2 No.10), Ondine (Bk.2 No.8), La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune (Bk.2 No.7)

I've been keen to catch Leif Ove Andsnes for a while, but somehow the scheduling has never worked out till now. Tonight's smorgasbord of a programme offered tasters from an unusually broad repertoire. Unfortunately the starter, a ponderous and over-pedalled Bach Toccata, didn't show Andsnes in his best light. The Beethoven satisfied more, but still seemed timorous and fractured in comparison to the effusive assurance of Daniel Barenboim's recent account, still fresh in the memory.

With comforting predictability, Andsnes shifted into top gear with the Scandinavian section of the programme. The four Sibelius pieces, previously unfamiliar to me, may lack the depth and power of his symphonic work, but they do have a certain charm and vivacity that was underscored by Andsnes' intimate and relaxed delivery.

The Grieg Ballade, which Andsnes recently recorded for the first time (story and audio here), formed the centrepiece of the evening in every way. A twenty minute set of variations on a Norwegian folk song, it is all jagged cliffs and deep pools, with little of Grieg's characteristic drawing-room manners. Andsnes drew together its unevenly matched elements in a penetrating and virtuosic performance, truly revelatory.

His second half offering, an intelligent selection of Debussy Preludes based loosely on the theme of weather, was equally engrossing - not to mention unexpectedly appropriate, with storms raging outside all day. From the ever-mounting swells of the opening Brouillards to the ironic Au clair de la lune quote which begins the closing La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune, Andsnes mastered these richly evocative understatements with a memorable delicacy and refinement.

It's all over for Daniel Barenboim - Beethoven sonata cycle part 8

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 17 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in E, No 9
Sonata in E flat, No 4
Sonata in F, No 22
Sonata in C minor, No 32

The sense of occasion accompanying each one of Daniel Barenboim's performances seemed magnified today for this, the final performance in his Beethoven sonata series.

For the whole three week period, a TV screen in the foyer has been looping a pre-recorded Barenboim interview. There was a horde packed round it before the concert, even though, with a limited number of free headphones provided, only a lucky few could actually hear it. Others had grabbed foyer seats for the free live relay of the concert itself. I gave up counting the returns queue at fifty, and this only minutes before the start time.

Inside the auditorium, insufferably hot today, the lights were taken right down for Barenboim's entrance. Appropriately dressed for the 3pm start, with a short coat in place of the longer one he's worn for the evening concerts, he walked around the stage and acknowledged the welcoming applause for a minute. Not the least of the reasons for his warm reception has to be the the appreciation that he graciously demonstrates for any ovation. Too many performers simply stomp on and rush off, seemingly unaware that the audience has come to experience their performance rather than simply hear their interpretation, which, let's face it, we could all do with our CDs at home, but Barenboim has thankfully not fallen into this trap.

Today's programme, more than any other except perhaps the first one in Barenboim's series, demonstrated Beethoven's journey from classicism on to a new musical language. One of the revelations of this series has been Barenboim's deft charm in the early sonatas, and he didn't disappoint with the crystalline sparkle of the delightful No 9.

After this, we shot abruptly to the other end of the scale, where Barenboim played out the dramatic contrasts of No 4 with violent abandon, the alarming roughly-hammered con brio opening followed by a largo of such soporific repose that my opera-loving neighbour actually drifted off ("this is why I don't come to recitals..." she claimed "...too quiet").

Through all these reports, I haven't yet mentioned the concert programme, but it is an excellent one, with notes by the perspicacious William Kinderman. At only £4 and covering all eight concerts, it's a bargain by grasping South Bank standards. Professor Kinderman writes of No 22 that the first movement has "two contrasting themes - a gracious, dignified feminine theme resembling a minuet and a stamping, assertive, masculine theme". Beneath the manly mitts of Daniel Barenboim, both of the first movement's themes were thundered out in decidedly masculine fashion, but at least my neighbour was now awake and alert. And it formed a masterful contrast to the anxiously arpeggiated second movement and its successful resolution in the finale.

What would drain many performers seems to energise Barenboim, and despite everything he'd put in to the earlier parts of the programme, he seemed to have more left for Beethoven's final sonata. The violent declamation of the first movement formed a stunning contrast to the pensive opening of the second, which is a series of variations. The pin-drop silence maintained throughout was testament to its riveting effect on every single member of the audience. The expansive syncopations of the third variation displayed perhaps the most startlingly original point of Barenboim's interpretation, but the finale too, in its marmoreal sublimity, will be etched into my mind for a very long time.

The gap of several seconds between the final note and the start of the applause (and - inevitable? - standing ovation) was proof, if any were needed, that the audience were attuned as one to the performance. I had sort of assumed that the showman in Barenboim (and don't doubt this is a major part of his makeup) might leave his most spectacular performance to last, but never imagined that the artist in Barenboim might make it such a magnificent one.

In addition to the applause, today Daniel Barenboim received several personally-delivered bouquets from ladies in the audience. He looked surprised, but accepted them with the same grace that has dignified every other mark of appreciation.

For some reason (probably South Bank inefficiency), I didn't get the invite to the post-concert reception that other full-series purchasers had. But I blagged my way in (I loathe doing this, so undignified when you're over 19 ---- h8 u Southbank).

In the event, Daniel Barenboim only made a brief appearance (he said he had a flight to catch), but it was almost inevitably a memorable one. He said he'd thought this would be the last time he'd do the full Beethoven series, but this had given him the itch to do more. He thanked the audience for being quiet in the performance, but loud in their applause, and said it was usually the reverse, with a lot of noisy coughing. This got a big laugh, not least because each movement of the earlier concerts had been demarcated by coughtastic eruptions, but whatevs, the sentiment was appreciated, and what could have been a disappointment in the brevity of his appearance was magically transformed into a Moment, something that will remain in my memory as long as the performance itself.

This blog (in Japanese) has some more photos, taken from the platform:

http://ameblo.jp/peraperaopera/entry-10073509755.html

It'll all be over soon - Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven part 7

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 15 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in G, No 16
Sonata in C sharp minor, No 14 (Moonlight)
Sonata in F, No 6
Sonata in A flat, No 31

Martin Kettle says in this morning's Guardian that Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata cycle at the Royal Festival Hall "is being lauded as London's musical event of the year - and even, according to the Evening Standard, of the decade." I wouldn't disagree with that. So why has the Guardian managed to review less than half of the concerts Barenboim has given so far? And I don't mean to pick on the Guardian - its rivals' coverage is just as skimpy. As far as I can tell, this blog is the only complete record of Barenboim's achievement. Why should that be when we have a number of national newspapers that purport to cover classical music?

Earlier this week, Guy Dammann claimed in the Guardian that "the cultural irrelevance of classical music... has now been officially recognised" on the grounds that a recent Guardian special contained "no entry of any kind on classical music". Discarding the bizarre premise that cultural relevance can be measured in Guardian column inches, isn't it the British newspapers themselves, with their ever-diminishing classical music coverage, and their general failure to contextualise it any way, which are becoming the cultural irrelevance?

The goverment's recent proposal to fund cultural activities for young people may be feeble, underfunded and ultimately unworkable, but at least it acknowledges that the near-disappearance of high culture in everyday lives is an issue that needs to be addressed. Why aren't the newspapers doing their bit? As regular readers of the terrific Milan-based Opera Chic blog will have cottoned on, the Italian press cover classical music, especially opera, in much greater breadth and depth than the British do, and whether as cause or consequence, have a keen readership.

Anyway, on to the seventh and penultimate concert in Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata cycle. Is the law of diminishing returns setting in, or was Barenboim just a little bit complacent tonight? In the earlier part of the series, he's played as if he had something to prove, really fought for our attention. Tonight's concert had an air of the victory lap about it, as if he'd already said all he had to say. Technically, the focus wasn't always there either - poor articulation at pianissimo simply eliminated notes at random.

But the rhythmic management was as flawless as ever in the lolloping syncopation of No 16's first movement and the dotted contraflow over the Moonlight's ripple of opening triplets (given an unexpectedly 'objective' reading throughout). And Barenboim had no problem locating the humour in No 6, served up with a knowing wit. No 31 suffered in places from pedestrian pacing, but the finale at least was lucid and ultimately magisterial.

Of course Barenboim received a standing ovation at the end, graciously and lengthily acknowledged, as he has after every concert in this series, even if it was rather less merited on musical grounds this time. (Incidentally, I'd love to know what he said to individual audience members on the platform as he went round acknowledging their applause - most looked thrilled, but a few expressions registered something closer to shock.)

See here for posts on the other concerts in Barenboim's Beethoven series - and do check out this genius alternaview of the concert from 16 y/o Calvin too.

 

Daniel Barenboim's quiet night in - Beethoven Sonatas part 6

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 11 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in D, No 15 (Pastoral)
Sonata in C, No 3
Sonata in F sharp, No 24 (À Thérèse)
Sonata in E, No 30

Tonight's programme, an exercise in languid repose, sat in contrast to the blood'n'guts bravura of the previous couple of concerts in Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata series.

He began with the rolling lullaby of No 15's opening movement and ended on a similar note with the graceful finale of No 30. One of the revelations of this series has been his mastery of the modest gesture, his ability to shape and colour without imposing dramatics.

In between came the baroque poise of No 3 with its shroud of glitteringly brilliant outer movements. Barenboim's imperfect execution barely marred these, nor the equally testing passages in the two sonatas of the second half. By now I'm accustomed to his alarming dissonances, hollowed-out chords, gap-toothed runs and craftily improvised patch-up jobs. It's not even a trade off - accuracy versus expression or whatever - it seems an integral part of his approach.

There were moments of great daring - impossibly extended rests, so heartstoppingly long I wondered if he'd had a memory blank, a thundering prestissimo punctuating the serene expanses of No 30. But mostly tonight's concert was an opportunity for Barenboim to show that even when he's not painting in broad brushstrokes and bold colours he can entrance an audience. Who gave him a standing ovation, of course, as he's received for every concert in this series. And despite the needling comments I've read about this in some of the press, I really think the audience are genuinely applauding the performance they've just heard - not Barenboim's celebrity, and not his other work. I think you'd have to be there, to experience the atmosphere, the pin-drop attention, to really appreciate this.

(Incidentally - I saw Sir Ian McKellen in the audience - but was that him on the PA too, with the pre-show stfu and stop coughing announcement? Or have the SBC pushed the budget boat out for a Sir Ian soundalike?)

Beethoven's piano sonatas - the Andras Schiff lectures

This may be a timely point for a reminder that in 2006 András Schiff gave a highly informative and insightful series of lecture-recitals at the Wigmore Hall in parallel to his Beethoven sonata series. They are still available on the Guardian website, here.

Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven - part 5

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 9 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in E flat, No 13
Sonata in D, No 7
Sonata in E minor, No 27
Sonata in C minor, No 21 (Waldstein)

Daniel Barenboim looked, by his normal puppydog standards, a little tired and worn down as he stepped on to the stage tonight. Without pausing to acknowledge the fusillade of welcoming applause as he had done on previous evenings, he settled straight down on the piano stool. At least his indisposition or whatever it was seemed to be over - no coughing. The handkerchief came out for a quick dab and then it was back in his pocket for the rest of the night.

He began no 13 with the most audaciously minimal pianissimo, willling the entire attention of the audience. Barenboim's complete lack of self indulgence is a joy. The music comes first, of course, but he is always aware that performance demands communication, not just bare execution. Watching him never feels like a voyeuristic nose into someone else's private reverie. This sonata is a delightful example of Beethoven's inventive genius with very slight thematic material, just a handful of notes really, and an improvisatory genesis was suggested by Barenboim's exploratory touch. 

Looking back at Sonata no 7 via two hundred years of musical hindsight can make it hard to appreciate its original shock value in the era of Haydn, but Barenboim's angular reading gave an extraordinary vision of how very rock'n'roll this must have sounded at its birth (in the 18th century!), and the closing presto combined knife edge tension with wit.

Was it my attention or Barenboim's that wandered in no 27, played straight after the interval? There was something perfunctory about his performance. Was he perhaps holding something back for the closing Waldstein sonata?

He dug straight into a weighty reading of the Waldstein with a robust opening Allegro movement, more majestic than serene. Here Barenboim the dramatist was on display for the first time in the evening. A tentative, exploratory Adagio with daringly suspended tenutos demonstrated how much more Barenboim seems attuned to the visionary than the reflective. The final movement became a forcefully-delineated battle followed by a victorious prestissimo finale, Barenboim punching the keys as he slid across the stool and slapping his feet against the floor. A brutal, riveting and astonishingly novel account. No surprise that the audience reaction was - yet again - a standing ovation.

For anyone unable to get a ticket for the remaining concerts in the series, there is a (free) live screening in the ground floor Ballroom of the Royal Festival Hall. I've no idea of the sound quality of this, but it might be worth a try if the returns queue is too daunting.

Barenboim back on top with Beethoven part 4

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 6 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in C minor, No 5
Sonata in B flat, No 11
Sonata in G minor, No 19
Sonata in G, No 20
Sonata in F minor, No 23 (Appassionata)

One of the most impressive aspects of this Beethoven series has been the consistently satisfying and intelligent programming. Tonight Barenboim laid the ground for the raging Appassionata by opening with the C minor sonata, in some ways a polite prefiguration in its alternation of lyricism and expressive power. Barenboim's presentation was all grace and clarity. A more probing, even playful touch came in the textural explorations of the No 11.

The featherweights of the bunch, No's 19 and 20, had to go somewhere in the series, and here they landed. Even Barenboim couldn't unearth any hidden treasures here, but at least he brought great charm to bear.

Nothing could have provided greater contrast to the Appassionata. The series has so far provided more insight into Barenboim than into Beethoven.

But his bold, remarkable performance redrew this familiar work in all its raw brilliance. Thundering rage sank into repose, only to mount again, the compulsion and futility of battling the inevitable never so blindingly displayed.

Exactly halfway through the series, have we reached its high point?

Barenboim's Beethoven - Part 3 - in which Mr Barenboim stumbles but does not fall

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 3 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in C minor, No 8 (Pathétique)
Sonata in A flat, No 12
Sonata in G, No 25
Sonata in A, No 28

Daniel Barenboim has been getting massive audience ovations at every performance in his Beethoven sonata cycle, but at least for the first half of tonight's performance it was barely merited. A blundering, heavy-handed approach to the Pathétique Sonata, where exaggerated contrasts of dynamics and tempo substituted for genuine connection, failed to convince at any point. The treatment was simply too robust for the subtleties of the work, though I was impressed by the improvisatory ability Barenboim demonstrated where his recollection of the score was imperfect.

The A flat Sonata was an improvement, Barenboim's childlike glee in thundering out the cannon shot motifs in the march section quite apparent. He looked even rougher than he had at his previous concert - handkerchief frequently deployed, slugging down water the minute he stepped off stage. Perhaps he simply wasn't able to give his all tonight.

But he accepted the first-half applause gracefully and gratefully, acknowledging each audience member within eye-shot as individually as it was possible to do, and even applauding back to a small boy who was part of the lucky few sitting on the platform.

The charming G major Sonata benefited from some more subtle handling, and was a delight throughout. If anything has surprised me so far in this series, it's how much more convincing Barenboim is in these less imposing works, and what a delicate touch he can apply to them.

In yet another example of the thoughtful and intelligent programming which has characterised the series, this led perfectly into the intimate and elegiac A major Sonata, the first of the 'late' sonatas. Barenboim seemed perfectly attuned to its predominant mood of twinkling nostalgia, and gave an open-hearted performance of real warmth and great refinement, glossing over the few key fumbles as if they were wrinkles on a well-loved face. This time the standing ovation was thoroughly deserved.

Daniel Barenboim does Beethoven - Part 2

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 3 February 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in A, No 2
Sonata in D minor, No 17 (Tempest)
Sonata in G, No 10
Sonata in E flat, No 26 (Les Adieux)

With this second concert, we're now a quarter of the way through Daniel Barenboim's Beethoven sonata series at the Royal Festival Hall . And it's proving utterly compelling stuff. Performing them out of sequence has allowed a different emphasis in each concert. The first one was a daytrip around Beethoven- the edited highlights of his musical journey from classicism through harmonic and structural experiment and on to the monumental Hammerklavier. For today's second concert, chronology was set aside, and Barenboim's selection led in a more thematic fashion to the exuberance of Les Adieux.

Looking relaxed, Barenboim greeted each packed section of the hall in turn, including several rows squeezed behind the piano on the platform, before settling down to play. He carried on glancing over every now and then as he played. He sure knows how to charm an audience.

The normally igloo-like Royal Festival Hall was baking today. No surprise that, dressed in a businesslike suit and tie in deference to the 3pm start, Barenboim soon looked warm. He took every opportunity to mop his brow with a huge handkerchief that he'd secreted inside the piano, even grabbing it with one hand while he played on with the other. But it didn't seem to bother him that much. Here he was, tapping his feet and shrugging his shoulders as the music took him. A couple of times it even looked as if he might get up and dance. He seemed set on having fun.

I've often found his recordings ruthlessly uncompromising, all meat and no potatoes, and while he's hardly gone vegetarian, there was a playfulness and spontaneity that particularly suited this programme. From the champagne sparkle of the opening No 2 Sonata to the regal glow of Les Adieux there was a warmth that even the turbulent storm-tossed allegro of the Tempest barely interrupted. A focussed and visionary display of Beethoven's joyfully affirmative aspect - or a one-sided account? Probably both, but it's hard to argue with a case so convincingly presented. The last thing I expected from this series was to learn anything new, but the way Barenboim is drawing out connected strands in his programming and performance is proving revelatory.   

The (inevitable?) standing ovation. Spot teh Sir Peter Hall:

the Barenboim, the Beethoven and the baby

Daniel Barenboim - Royal Festival Hall, 28 January 2008

Beethoven:
Sonata in F minor, No 1
Sonata in E flat, No 18
Sonata in B flat, No 29 (Hammerklavier)

At last! I saw Anna Netrebko! Unfortunately not in La traviata at Covent Garden, but flying down the Royal Festival Hall stairs in a sequinned mini to get backstage and congratulate Maestro Barenboim on a triumphant start to his Beethoven sonata series.

Also spotted in the packed out hall: Joanna Lumley, striking in peach tweed, and an impressive number of musicians, including ever-chic Mitsuko Uchida in a pleaty Miyake ensemble and Hogan sneaks.

Barenboim was in town to play the first in a series of eight concerts which will cover all 32 of Beethoven's piano sonatas. Not in chronological order, ohno - does anyone actually do that these days? Instead he has devised an exquisitely weighted programme with a mix of periods and styles in each concert, starting the series with the first sonata and ending with the last.

It was clear tonight's audience might be something of a pushover from the thundering applause Barenboim received simply for turning up. Small in stature but a teeny bit terrifying, in the Gergiev mould, you could imagine him back in Milan subduing the testy La Scala orchestra with just a glance. He paused, gracious but unsmiling, to acknowledge his greeting before taking his seat at the piano.

This was the first time I'd visited the Royal Festival Hall since its top-secret month-long holiday season lockup. Have they had someone in to sort out the formerly cr@ptastic acoustics? The piano certainly sounded a million times better that it has at any other time since the refurbished hall opened last July. Or has the piano been replaced? There was a fabulous ping and clarity to the tone, unmuffled even from my side gallery seat.

Barenboim made the most of it with a delightfully transparent and graceful reading of Beethoven's first Sonata, phrases outlined with the sort of exquisitely refined pedalling that rarely blurred the content.

To the deceptively complex E flat Sonata he brought levity, arching melodic line, and an explosive finale, slapping his foot down foursquare to the floor, strictly dancing.

The footslapping increased in the Hammerklavier Sonata. And there was more aggression in it now. Barenboim was going to grab this monster and wrestle it to the ground. Remarkably poised after his rampage through the first two movements, he lost focus in the lengthy adagio that followed. Whether it was me, him, or the unexpected accompaniment of a wailing baby, I don't know, but the tapestry started to unravel here. The closing movement brought a return of clarity, and the ferociously complex fugue provided a bravura flourish of an ending, despite upping the evening's fingerfudge score by more than a few points.

A standing ovation and a bouquet later, the night still wasn't over. To cap it off, Daniel Barenboim was presented with the Royal Philharmonic Society’s Gold Medal by the society's president. Of which I failed to get a great photo, despite being mere feet away, but the blurry bestof is below anyway.

Barenboim gets teh gong: