Sudden illness of artists is the stuff of nightmares for concert managements. Thomas Søndergård’s indisposition required a replacement for this London Symphony Orchestra event. Though there was no change in the originally advertised programme, this meant that, a mere ten months after performing Sibelius’ Second Symphony with another London orchestra, Dima Slobodeniouk was conducting it yet again in the capital. Back in 2023, this conductor had been scheduled to do the Four Lemminkäinen Legends, heard much less frequently than the D major work, and in many respects far more typical of Sibelius’ output as well as being orchestrally more challenging. Ahead of that concert the London Philharmonic Orchestra had decided to discard the Legends.
Since it fell to me to review Slobodeniouk’s interpretation of the symphony with the LPO, and this has remained markedly the same – given the conductor’s provenance and background, did it really have to be Number Two in the symphonic canon again? – I can only repeat that this was an utterly compelling view of the work. At its heart was once more the second movement, marked out by the many peculiarities of a Sibelian landscape. By day leaden winter skies tinged with cobalt, ceding to a pitch-black night illuminated by the aurora borealis, with hosts of spectral apparitions leaving one set of shadows to stalk another, wolves howling ominously in the wind. The dark plangency of tonal colours which Slobodeniouk found not only here but elsewhere was quite remarkable.
As with so many other contemporary pieces, Lotta Wennäkoski’s Of Footprints and Light – Helsinki Variations, with which the LSO opened this concert, was strong on technique and decidedly weak on inventiveness. Eerie woodwind, ghostly keyboard percussion, strings that slide and slither, ostinato patterns, dissonant textures colliding, a morendo conclusion. The most rewarding element for me was the sudden and warm embrace from the strings halfway through, owing much to Mahler, yet which emerged from nowhere. Slobodeniouk conducted with pinpoint precision.
Breathing new life into a standard repertory piece is something that Leif Ove Andsnes manages almost effortlessly. It was striking that in this performance of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 5 in E flat major he found an urgency not present in his recording of the work. Coming in at just 37 minutes, and therefore short of its usual duration, this might have run the risk of breathlessness. That was not the case. Suave and stylish as ever, Andsnes offered playing of rare quality: absolute evenness in the placement of both hands, first-movement octaves hammered out with heroic force, sparkling trills, delicacy in his dialogues with the clarinet and flute towards the end of the slow movement, wonderful gradations in dynamics down to a virtual whisper, sonorities that constantly caught the ear. There was a quicksilver character to much of the playing, with moods that switched in the twinkling of an eye, which gave this performance an invigorating freshness. His awareness of Beethoven’s playfulness, present in the rapid ascents of the keyboard, was a particular delight.
In the Rondo Finale, Andsnes delivered bustling energy from the vantage point of sunny uplands, revelling in all the swashbuckling moments. Above all, his ability to hold a legato line at speed was a wonder to behold. Not the least of the satisfaction derived from this performance was the ever-alert dovetailing between soloist and orchestra, Slobodeniouk matching Andsnes all the way, with the LSO strings dancing on their feet, woodwind mouth-wateringly eloquent and timpani always used judiciously and never for pure effect. The encore, a Chopin Mazurka in the key of the following symphony, neatly rounded off the terpsichorean elements of the concerto.
