Riccardo Chailly's return to the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra was a highly anticipated event. The former Chief Conductor, now Conductor Emeritus, had been expected last season, but unfortunately was forced to withdraw due to ill health. One day before the anniversary of Prokofiev's death, the Italian conductor finally descended the iconic Concertgebouw stairs with an unusual programme devoted entirely to this composer's music: the Fourth Symphony and the cantata Alexander Nevsky. He was joined by contralto Marie-Nicole Lemieux and two of the Netherlands' leading choirs: the Groot Omroepkoor and the Chorus of Dutch National Opera.
The Fourth is among the least performed of Prokofiev's symphonies, and had never been played by the Concertgebouw Orchestra before. Composed in 1929-30, it was later revised into a denser, more serious version that poses considerable interpretive challenges. Not for Chailly. From the very first movement, the transition between the energetic fanfare and the lyrical material was so fluid as to reveal a clear narrative view of the work. This sense of continuity was reinforced by a beautiful integration of the ‘machinery’ theme, which felt less like a contrasting episode and more like an interlocking gear of the whole.
The pensive Andante tranquillo was handled with equal attention, its long melodic lines giving the RCO room to display a rich, yet transparent sound, each thematic restatement acquiring its own distinct colour. Even a work as serious as the Fourth cannot entirely resist Prokofiev's sarcasm, and in the Moderato quasi allegro Chailly created a wonderful sense of the unexpected, handling the lighter and more dramatic material organically and culminating in moments of ominous ambiguity. The finale, certainly the most treacherous movement, was surprisingly consistent, even in its most curious passages. The E flat major episode, which can sound out of place, felt like a decisive moment, allowing the woodwinds’ sweetness to emerge with clarity, a bright contrast to the mystery they had conjured in the earlier movements. When the witty cancan-like theme suddenly flowed into the final apotheosis, the music gained an almost telluric force from the brass, driving the work to its glorious conclusion.
Before Alexander Nevsky began, a programme note circulated through the hall, acknowledging the cantata's nationalist text and its recent appropriation as state propaganda, yet affirming it as a work of undeniable artistic merit. No surtitles were offered, “so as not to give the sung text more emphasis than necessary”.
Prokofiev occasionally marks freddo in his scores, and although he does not do so here, that is precisely the atmosphere he conjures. Chailly was so precise in his dynamics that the oscillations truly evoked a physical shiver. The choir's first entrance was utterly gentle and seemed almost absorbed into the orchestral texture, before shifting with quiet pride into a beautiful dialogue. The sense of collective despair that followed was sustained no less by the brass, which gradually swelled the music to threatening proportions. Virtuosity, when it came, was never an excuse for excess, choir and percussion both shining, fully anchored in the music itself. The Battle on the Ice carried that same cold atmosphere of the opening, choir and orchestra never losing sight of its epic force. When Marie-Nicole Lemieux laid her voice over this wintry orchestral landscape, there was so much warmth and quiet determination in it that she seemed to be melting her own path through the music, sobriety guiding her even in the loudest dynamics. In the joyous finale, the ensemble maintained its nobility without ever losing sight of the interpretive cohesion that binds all seven movements together. A dramatic work to close a memorable evening
