It’s always good to welcome rare visitors, especially when they bring with them the scent, sound and spice of the East. The Symphony Orchestra of India is a relatively new presence on the world’s musical stage, formed less than two decades ago. Its first return to the UK since 2019 for nine concerts, here under the direction of Alpesh Chauhan, was keenly anticipated, not least for the inclusion of a triple concerto featuring three Indian instruments: the sitar, bansuri (bamboo flute) and tabla.
The concerto was Zakir Hussain’s Pyar (the Hindi word for love), which is loosely based on the Romeo and Juliet theme, in which the composer, seated at the tabla, performed a mediatory function between the two village protagonists (Niladri Kumar playing the sitar and Rakesh Chaurasia the bansuri), while the orchestra took on the role of the community.
There is something quite mesmerising about the individual and collective sounds produced by these three classical Indian instruments, directed towards an inner state of mind, reaching an apogee in the raga which ends the first movement. Flecks of orchestral colour were applied through the limited use of harp, clarinet, bassoon and tuba as well as percussion instruments such as tambourine and triangle. Ascending and descending scales, often in unison, characterised the orchestral strings. In the final movement, with its compressed energy and mounting sense of ecstasy, what stood out for me was the phenomenal playing at speed of Kumar’s sitar and also the haunting quality which Chaurasia brought to the bansuri. To my western ears, used to counterpoint and conflicts played out within the orchestra, it was a novel experience hearing such fusion between two different worlds of musical expression that culminated in a sense of peace and contentment.
There were two opportunities for the SOI to demonstrate its calibre in standard works of the western repertory. I’m not convinced the choice of Richard Strauss’ Rosenkavalier Suite, in the arrangement attributed to Artur Rodziński, was a wise one. You need not only a sumptuousness of sound in the strings but those many inflections of rhythm that make up what is called a Viennese lilt and which characterise the waltz sequences. The orchestra seemed to be on autopilot, not responding visibly to any of Chauhan’s repeated leaps, with playing that was often far too careful and not opening out properly for the swagger of Baron Ochs’ larger-than-life appearances.
A transformation took place in the second half. Here, in Stravinsky’s Petrushka, the SOI sounded much more comfortable in itself, with internal balances that allowed some of the remarkable sonorities such as tam-tam set against lower strings to emerge very effectively. There was a raw-knuckle rusticity, a peasant-like earthiness, which defined much of the narrative flow, aided by a very forward placed piano, bringing out all the vibrant colours in the hustle and bustle of the Shrovetide Fair. Perhaps the last ounce of allure was missing from the flute solos that characterise the ballerina and the trumpet’s contributions were marginally rushed, but I loved all the pulsating energy and rhythmic tautness that Chauhan brought to the score. Moreover, he paid particular attention to the many moments of chamber-like delicacy in which Stravinsky contrasts the external action with the psychological drama centred around the three protagonists. Full marks too for observing the critical moment when at the death of Petrushka the composer instructs the tambourine player to let his instrument fall to the floor audibly. Nobody can persuade me that the composer’s alternative fortissimo conclusion makes much sense. Here, the ending with a shrieking muted trumpet and plucked strings touched the soul.