This concert closed with a symphony subtitled “Romantic”. It opened with those quintessential Romantics, Lord Byron and his literary self-portrait, Manfred, the despairing wanderer among the Alps, shaking his fist at God and fate; “half dust, half deity, alike unfit to sink or soar”. Schumann also identified with him, once breaking down when reading the poem to a group of friends. His 15 numbers of incidental music for Byron’s dramatic poem are rarely heard in concert, apart from the overture, which makes a fine curtain-raiser.
It suffers the prejudice of its three-figure opus number (Op.115), later Schumann assumed to be lesser Schumann, but no-one who heard this performance from the London Philharmonic Orchestra and Principal Guest Conductor Karina Canellakis would think it so. It was given with due weight accorded to its slower music, picturing Manfred’s suffering with poignant woodwinds, and in the Allegro main section the playing of the LPO strings was driven and passionate, their antiphonal placement aiding clarity.
Another later Schumann work is his Cello Concerto in A minor, Op.129, which also survives in the repertory, doubtless in part because cellists do not have that many concertos from major Romantic composers that they can afford to overlook it. But it is quite different from the combative, one-against-all, concerto manner, being a soft-voiced work, more songful than spectacular. But it is also closely wrought, with three motivically interlinked movements playing continuously for 25 minutes.
Truls Mørk was the soloist and his playing served the work’s intimacy well, as far as was possible in a large hall. Perhaps at times it felt as if we were not so much hearing as over-hearing his performance, a privileged group of listeners at a private function, attending closely to an inward and withdrawn interpretation. But the rewards were considerable, Schumann at his most confiding, often recalling the poet of the earlier solo piano works. Mørk’s skilfully graduated dynamics and range of tone colours might be the outcome of years of dedicated hard work, but seemed quite spontaneous, the responses of a musician in the moment, especially interacting with individual orchestral players. The Sehr lebhaft (Very lively) finale was no less successful, the swift passagework neatly articulated. The encore, Casals’ Song of the Birds, was more than usually superfluous after such a notable account of Schumann’s concerto.
Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony opens deep in a forest, to judge from its magical horn call over tremolo strings, echoing from the sylvan glades of an enchanted past. This soon becomes a mighty first subject, recalled with tremendous effect at the close of the movement and again at the close of the whole work. Canellakis’ command of this first movement announced we were in truly Brucknerian hands, her pacing, phrasing and pauses all aligned with a powerful forward momentum. The cortège-like gait of the slow movement was evocative, rising inexorably to its well-timed climax. There is a programme to this symphony – “Romantic” is Bruckner’s title – but well-meaning friends are thought to be behind its elaboration. But the description of the Scherzo as a hunting scene is hard to dislodge, once we have heard the music delivered with the rhythmic panache the LPO provided. The Finale, as in some other Bruckner symphonies, has not so persuasive a structure as the earlier movements. But Canellakis trusted the composer, never dragged or rushed and, once a Bruckner coda is in sight, we are rarely denied the satisfyingly sonorous summation we heard here.
