With visa problems preventing pianist Daniil Trifonov from joining the Philharmonia and Paavo Järvi, there was a side swerve from the original programme, from Brahms to Tchaikovsky, with violinist James Ehnes now taking centre stage. This, and the added bonus of Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune, made for a lighter first half mood to complement Prokofiev’s mighty Sixth Symphony.
Järvi’s take on Faune was languorous and warm, yet with a kind of mystical reverence. Principal flautist Samuel Coles set the tone with a beautifully fluid opening solo, and Järvi kept the pace relaxed. Even the more mischievous clarinet solo or the later quirky oboe and cor anglais interjections weren’t allowed to raise the faune’s pulse too much, and things remained a little subdued yet languidly expressive throughout.
Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major is almost guaranteed to be a crowd-pleaser, with its heart-on-sleeve romanticism combined with joyful virtuosity. Ehnes’ unquestionable virtuosity is such that this performance felt almost understated, in a good way. Nothing appeared to be any effort at all, so even in the craziest runs every note was clearly articulated. While this was astonishing, it never got in the way of Tchaikovsky's melodic shape. Ballet is never far away in Tchaikovsky, and Ehnes danced along throughout, with beautifully poised turns at phrase ends in the Canzonetta. Järvi et al had great fun with the finale’s rustic drones, and Ehnes’ gunshot spiccato got faster and faster, with a frankly crazy but exhilarating race to the end. He followed with a startling performance of Ysaÿe’s Violin Sonata no. 3 in D minor, ranging from whispering pianissimo to searing multiple-stopping, building to a madly rapid coda to finish. Again, his virtuosity impressed, but still allowed the wildness of Ysaÿe’s invention to shine through.
Whilst Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony has a more (on the surface at least) positive tone, supposedly celebrating the human spirit and freedom, the Sixth is definitely more of a memorial to those lost in the war, rather than any triumphant expression. The Fifth has remained popular from the outset, but the darker Sixth fell foul of Zhadanov’s censorship and was soon banned in the Soviet Union. Although it received performances elsewhere, it was not really until after Prokofiev’s death that its merits were reevaluated.
Järvi put the Philharmonia through their paces, with some particularly unforgiving tempo, especially in the finale, but they were up to the challenge. From the cartoonishly grotesque muted trumpets at the opening, into the strangely uneasy, lumbering march, solos and ensemble alike were precise and clear, and the contrast between the jaggedly dotted strings and seasick horn swells, and the scary timpani and bass drum rumbles made for an excitingly disturbing first movement.
A thundering opening to the second movement followed, with shrill woodwind and a gloriously slithery trumpet and first violin line. Järvi extracted full weight from the strings when needed, then immediately calmed things down before the next surge. But it was in the finale that the true terror was unleashed, with the second violins hanging on for dear life with their rapid, stop-start offbeats. Then, all of a sudden, Prokofiev pulls the rug from under us, with a sudden return of the oboes’ mournful lament from the opening movement. But this is short-lived, and soon Järvi was cranking up again to the final scream and thunderous gallop to the end. This was surely Prokofiev’s anger at the horrors of war, and Järvi and the Philharmonia duly delivered the required sense of terror.
