Liszt’s Second Piano Concerto is heard less often than his First, though it is the better work, and more original. In a single short movement the soloist is by turns both poet and provocateur, in a structure that seems to evolve constantly through Liszt’s individual method of thematic transformation. This imparts more richness to the concerto form, beyond the “combat and collaboration” of most 19th century concertos – though the element of struggle, of one against many, is still there.
Of course the soloist still needs substantial technical skill, but the constant growth of the music, more than displays of raw virtuosity, is paramount. Alexandre Kantorow has the full measure of all these demands, and gave a superb exhibition, so that the orchestra and he were often playing chamber music. It was an effect that, when it recurred, inspired Kantorow to still higher poetic flights – and was notably touching when the Philharmonia Orchestra’s Principal Cello Steffan Morris added a lyrical solo to make a duologue. But Kantorow was also dazzling in the bravura moments, when cascades of double octaves were required. The Philharmonia players were full chamber-musical partners at many points, hardly mere accompanists, and responded well to conductor Manfred Honeck’s close control of this shape-shifting score. The performance should win the work new friends.
Honeck also led an imposing account of Bruckner’s unfinished Ninth Symphony. Its “completed” finale is sometimes added, but has not as yet been universally accepted, and the three movement version heard here remains the norm. But it is still a mighty torso, often going beyond any of Bruckner’s earlier symphonies in harmonic daring and emotional reach. The Feierlich (“Solemn”) opening was certainly portentous, and although the crescendo was accompanied by an (unmarked) accelerando, as so often, this was sensitively done. Thus we arrived at the massive fff statement of the first theme, imposing indeed. Its fierce loudness would have sounded best from the balcony, but that was closed for lack of an audience large enough to occupy it.
Can it really be that Bruckner in Britain still needs champions? Well, he found them in the Philharmonia under Honeck. Perhaps the various pianissimo markings were honoured slightly less than those triple forte ones, but this was a dedicated account of this tremendous movement.
The relentlessly pounding Scherzo, like no other in Bruckner, was savage. It seems to have almost nothing Viennese or Austrian about it, unless it could be characterised as a “Ländler for Leviathans”. Honeck often just set the next statement of those hammering D’s going, then dropped his arms to his side, knowing this thing had its own demonic life, and had taken possession of the players. The excellent oboe solo that began its second half was one of several fine contributions from Principal Timothy Rundle. The swift trio benefitted from precise featherweight playing from the violins (firsts and seconds placed either side of the podium), before the nightmare returned.
The finale matched all this in an account of sustained and questing intensity. One day I would love to hear clearly the first theme’s plunging ninth in the horns (bar 17), which references the strings’ opening rising ninth, and is marked fortissimo: presumably the composer meant us to hear it. But all the rest of the orchestra is fortissimo as well and masks the horns in their register – so we can blame the composer, who of course never heard or revised this work. If he had, what a piece he would have left us. But in this anniversary year we will have many reasons to be thankful to Bruckner, and this was another.
