A degree of caution is advisable when considering why this concert failed to take wing – why an all-Dvořák programme given by a distinguished conductor and orchestra enjoyed such variable success. The circumstances, to be fair, were less than ideal. An unusually large audience had been squeezed into the historic Église Saint-Jean-Baptiste in Saint-Jean-de-Luz and one has to wonder how far they – we – may have altered the church’s acoustic in the time between rehearsal and performance. As a community we were certainly guilty of occluding the orchestra’s high instruments; the triangle barely registered.
The above is an attempt to find excuses for a disappointing account of Dvořák’s Symphony no. 9 in E minor, the main work in a short programme that was given without an interval. L'Orchestre de l'Opéra national de Paris, which could barely be glimpsed from the main body of the packed nave (but they, as denizens of the orchestra pit, must be more accustomed than most outfits to delivering the goods unseen), responded well to the conductor, even though Semyon Bychkov’s lurching gear changes in the New World tended towards the eccentric. His tempo choices swayed like corn in the breeze, rarely stable and, for better or worse, never predictable.
After a dramatic account of Dvořák’s opening movement the conductor attempted to inject life into much-loved Largo by alternating the accelerator and brake pedal, but the only effect of this tottering approach was to compromise orchestral precision. Tension was dulled in the Scherzo, too, by a deliberate tempo that grew ever slower through the Trio section before a limp, languid ending. It was perplexing. Was the conductor saving up his firepower for a big finish? Possibly, because the Allegro finale was (at last) a swirling, satisfying experience that culminated in a flourish of nailed-on clap-bait.
The concert had begun excitingly enough with two of the composer’s concert overtures from 1892. Carnival was a triumph, the score’s procession of fluctuating moods beautifully managed by Bychkov, while In Nature’s Realm made a wholly contrasting impression from its literal opening of gentle forest murmurs through a more abstract focus on mood until the creatures took centre stage. It’s a magical 15-minute piece that ought to be heard more often than it is. Perhaps its relative neglect is because Dvořák rightly eschews a big finish. After all, animals in nature would not build to a loud climax; they’d just get on with things.
Mark's press trip was funded by the Festival Ravel
