Bertrand de Billy’s debut with the London Philharmonic Orchestra offered one of the more enticing programmes in this year’s season. Perhaps better known for his work in opera – he has guest-conducted several times at the Royal Opera House in recent years – de Billy here conducted a selection from Poulenc and Fauré and brought to the concert the sense of drama of the opera house, together with key understanding of the balance between voice and orchestra.
A posthumous work first: in 1959 Leonard Bernstein commissioned from Poulenc the Sept Repons des Tenebres for the New York Philharmonic, but the piece only premiered three months after the latter’s death, in 1963. It’s an odd work, disconcerting in some respects: Poulenc’s writing shifts repeatedly, changes in texture and pace, making it tricky to get a definitive grip on the work. Moments of almost morbid stillness contrast with lush, rich harmony. The piece was conducted by de Billy with deft balance, sustaining equilibrium between the LPO Choir, orchestra and the soloist, Katerina Tretyakova in such a way as to bring total clarity to the more substantial moments of the piece. Tretyakova was a luxury soloist for the piece, singing with total assurance and pointed diction. Projection was excellent and one sensed a commitment to the text that gave her singing added weight. The choir gave a nuanced, vibrant performance, though there were one or two moments in the early responsories where there seemed to be slight synchronisation issues.
It’s always a joy to hear the Festival Hall’s organ put to good use: the choir emptied to leave James O'Donnell alone for Poulenc’s Concerto for organ, timpani and strings. The opening blast, a striking blow, set the tone for O’Donnell’s performance, a virtuosic account of the piece of theatrical dynamism. The broad heft of the organ contrasted with de Billy’s strings, fizzing and snapping underneath. Balance for me was spot on; the organ reined in enough at key moments to avoid a total overpowering of the orchestra that allowed the contrasts to cut through. Tempi were just about right, spacious enough to allow the magnitude of the work to show without falling into ponderous dirge.