Tristan und Isolde: Philharmonia Orchestra - Royal Festival Hall, 26 September 2010
This semi-staged production arrived in London at the end of a mini-tour that took in the unholy trinity of Lucerne, Dortmund and Birmingham. No surprise after all that practice to hear unusually disciplined playing from the Philharmonia - barely a note out of place all night. The puffed-up programme note - irritatingly braggadocious as an X Factor contestant - claims it "has the greatest claim of any orchestra to be the UK's national orchestra". Well, on this showing they were certainly the best-rehearsed.
Prom 60: Lang Lang / Marc Yu and Prom 61: Verdi's Requiem - BBCSO/Bělohlávek / Urmana / DeYoung / Calleja / d'Arcangelo - Royal Albert Hall, 31 August 2008
Mozart Sonata No.13 in B flat major, K.333 Rachmaninov Prelude in G minor, Op.23 No.5; Prelude in Bb Major, Op.23 No.2 Chopin Grand Polonaise in E-flat major Schubert Fantasia in F minor for piano duet, D940 Debussy Preludes, Book 1 - La fille aux cheveux de lin; Les collines d'Anacapri Traditional Chinese Moonlight Reflections; Spring Dance Liszt transc. Horowitz Hungarian Rhapsody No.2, S.244 Encore: Chopin Étude Op.10 No.3 in E major
Why would Lang Lang want to share the stage with a child pianist? Marc Yu is undeniably gifted and technically brilliant - for a 9 year old - but nowhere near the finished article. He's got all the moves, but nothing more than accomplished mimicry to present. And to be ruthlessly objective, with his miniature hands, most of the serious concert repertoire is simply beyond his physical capabilities right now anyway. Some day he might be the next Barenboim, but right now he's a novelty act, a mini-maestro in a tiny black suit.
Giving over a substantial chunk of his recital time to a duet with little Marc was generous of Lang Lang, but it also switched the focus unequivocally from performance to performer. Hardly the smartest move when you're repeatedly criticised for insubstantial showboating.
I hear something in Lang Lang that makes me think he's an immensely talented and, yes, sensitive pianist, but his frustratingly blingy performances are more often dazzling than illuminating.
He began promisingly with a Mozart sonata - hardly a revelatory performance, but at least it wasn't thumped out like the crudely-hewn Rachmaninov that followed. Coordination was surprisingly poor in the centrepiece Schubert duet - very much two pianists rather than four hands.
Lizst's gloriously bright and splashy Hungarian Rhapsody is perfectly tailored to the ever-present showman in Lang Lang, but it was only with the Chopin, and particularly the E major Étude he encored with, that there was a glimpse of sensitivity and true accomplishment.
When I arrived, a couple of hours before the start, the day tickets queue was already stretching way down Prince Consort Road. As anyone could have predicted with one of the world's most popular pianists on the bill.
But TV is God, and so at least a hundred queuers were excluded because the piano was placed, not on the normal stage, but on a camera-friendly makeshift platform that is normally standing space in the centre of the Arena (and which also compelled the performers to enter through the audience).
Even though the TV cameras left with Lang Lang, the d-i-y boxing ring was still in place for the evening performance of Verdi's Requiem, again squeezing some concert goers out, and crushing the rest of us into the whiffy armpits of our fellow prommers. Sometimes I wonder why the BBC don't just do the whole thing from a studio. But at least it was a rewarding performance.
With a double choir of nearly 300, the explosive Dies irae had undeniable impact, though the quieter choral moments lumbered unwieldily, dragging at the skirts of what was otherwise a sprightly reading. Bělohlávek lit a fire under the BBCSO, and the soloists were excellent.
Michelle DeYoung's otherwordly radiance was a slightly odd match with bingo gran Violeta Urmana's more traditionally operatic approach, and they sounded better alone than together. Urmana's final Libera me was a heartfelt and moving prayer, bravely nuanced. Though some thin top notes marked her limits, this was the best singing I've heard from her in a long time.
Joseph Calleja's ringing, flexible tenor was, oddly, more imposing than the anxious-looking Ildebrando d'Arcangelo's light bass. And both shrivelled like shrimps before the might of Urmana, but otherwise these were both thoughtful and well-judged ensemble performances.
Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody performed by a true master. Including a lesson on handling pesky coughers at 1:10:
In the splendidly (over)decorated Prinzregententheater auditorium any perfomer needs to make a splash to be noticed. Regally proportioned, sporting a black gown sprinkled with giant sequinned spiders, hair puffed into retro waves, Violeta Urmana swept on stage every inch the old-school diva. And with his wispy blond afro and little wire specs her accompanist Jan Philip Schulze looked the perfect mad-muso foil.
It's a brave singer who commits three quarters of her programme in the land of lieder to non-German song, but Urmana began with Berlioz and ended with Rachmaninow, squeezing just a handful of Mahler lieder in between.
She started Les Nuits d'Été rather tentatively and never really settled down. Berlioz demands abandon but Urmana was locked in clenched buttock reserve. Little contrast emerged between the songs. Her uniform stadium volume was impressive, but not suited either to the intimate space or to the dramatic ebb and flow of the material. The accompaniment didn't help. Les Nuits d'Été sounds so much better in its orchestral version. The piano arrangement is a sparse and weedy one, and though Schulze did his best, it didn't really support Urmana or give her anything to bounce off. A tiny silvery moth which (unnoticed by Urmana) landed atop her bouffant during Sur les lagunes was more of a highlight than it should have been. Her impeccable breath control, flawless intonation and immaculate diction were technically impressive, but no substitute for real engagement.
She seemed genuinely surprised by the strength and warmth of the applause at the end. Given her long association with Munich it may have been as much simply for her presence as her performance, but it seemed to revive her confidence, because she became a different singer in the second half of her programme.
As she floated out her first Mahler, Ich atmet' einen linden Duft, she at last found an emotional link with the music she was singing, and dynamic contrast and meticulous word shaping emerged to colour her performance. From here on she was flying, positively channeling every note, and her final Mahler, Um Mitternacht, drew genuine and uproarious applause.
The Rachmaninow set was equally effective, and here Schulze came into his own, the richly textured piano part providing a real discourse with the vocal. Vocalise, a song with no words, demonstrated most clearly Urmana's empathy with this most Russian of music and her vast palette of tonal colours.
I'd heard she had trouble with some top notes in Tosca at Covent Garden recently, but other than a little thinness at the very top, there were no problems tonight. One of her four encores (and the enthusiastic crowd wanted even more) was Vissi d'arte, delivered with an intensity that convinced even my Puccini-phobic self. She may have started shakily, but Violeta Urmana ended up with a performance which blew some of her overhyped contemporaries right out of the water. Her rather matronly appearance may do her no favours in our image-obsessed times, but it was clear tonight that she's in no way past her best when it comes to what really counts, the singing.
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