When the phenomenally talented Yunchan Lim – still not yet 21 – launched into the opening of Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no. 2, each resonant chord seemed to pose a different question, raising expectations for an exceptional rendition of this warhorse. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that Lim’s approach, marked by a carefully cultivated interplay between respect for a score’s constraints and a sense of freedom and unbridled flow, did not always align with the more grounded interpretation favored by Sir Antonio Pappano and the London Symphony Orchestra. At times, rhythmic and dynamic balances wavered, and the orchestra overpowered the soloist on several occasions.
Still, moments of brilliance shone through, Lim’s refined lyricism and technical poise affirming his singular artistry. The Adagio sostenuto stood out, the pianist’s featherlight touch and crystalline phrasing lending the music a luminous, introspective quality. Woodwind solos floated with ease, their phrasing mirroring his avoidance of sentimentality. The Allegro scherzando highlighted his rhythmic agility, his articulation crisp and nimble, never sacrificing warmth for virtuosity.
The evening’s most transcendent highlight came with Lim’s encore: Petrarch Sonnet no.104 from Liszt’s second Années de Pèlerinage cycle. After the grandeur of Rachmaninov, he offered minutes of hushed beauty, shaping each sighing phrase with poetic sensitivity. His rubato unfolded naturally, allowing the melody to emerge with meditative yearning. It was a performance of intimacy and depth, distilling Lim’s profoundly personal pianism.
Anyone who left after Lim’s performance missed a reading of blazing intensity – one that made a compelling case for Walton’s Symphony no. 1 as one of the most imposing in the orchestral canon, though its stature remains largely underrecognized outside the UK. Monumental in scale and rhetoric, Walton’s symphony has often been compared to Sibelius for its structural cohesion, pedal points and the way themes build over sustained rhythmic foundations. Yet where Sibelius cultivates mystery and a sense of distance, letting themes take shape gradually within shadowy textures, Walton asserts his ideas with unyielding clarity, his climaxes carefully terraced but offering little room for fluidity or inner nuance. At the same time, its sheer massiveness may invite comparisons to Bruckner, but it lacks the spaciousness and metaphysical grandeur that define his music.
The opening Allegro assai surged forward with relentless force, its climaxes hammered into place with undeniable power. The Presto con malizia Scherzo was all sharp angles and rhythmic vehemence, with its aggressive syncopations and percussive outbursts leaving no space for wit or lightness. The Andante con malinconia, though more lyrical in conception, was imbued with a sense of inevitability rather than introspection. Walton’s finale – often regarded as the symphony’s weakest link – was delivered with unyielding energy, the fugal writing maintaining its taut precision and the brass proclamations ringing with conviction. Yet, there was no Brucknerian awe-filled culmination.
With Pappano at the helm, the LSO played, as they had in Mahler’s First the night before, with characteristic brilliance and conviction. Though the conductor’s commitment to bringing lesser-known British music to a wider audience is commendable, one hopes to hear them together again soon in repertoire that offers even greater scope for their partnership to flourish.
