Shakespeare has much to answer for. In a positive sense, of course. No other literary giant has provided so much inspiration for composers. This concert with Gemma New making her London Philharmonic Orchestra debut offered a twin approach to the story of “star-crossed lovers”, as reflected in the music of Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev. However, what works for one doesn’t necessarily work for the other.
There is sometimes a tendency to indulge the brooding elements in Tchaikovsky’s Fantasy Overture Romeo and Juliet, especially in the opening Andante section where Friar Laurence’s solemn chords portend the unfolding tragedy. New erred in the other direction, moving swiftly on through the registers and despatching the tale in just 19 minutes. It was all rather coolly efficient, with the LPO almost on auto-pilot and paying little attention to the angular jabbing of New’s conducting style. There were too many unconnected surges and I missed those long cantabile string lines that this composer is famous for.
New’s constant lunging, stabbing, flicking and prodding worked much better for Prokofiev. Her selection of nine extracts from his ballet Romeo and Juliet, drawn from the two suites the composer himself made in 1936, revealed detailed work in rehearsal. Much of the drama and turbulence was well conveyed. What in other quarters has been dubbed “The Apprentice Theme” emerged with panache, the raw, angry brass, throbbing percussion and sighing strings potent as ever. The Death of Tybalt too had plenty of nervous energy, with the fight sequence persuasively characterised: the strings scampered, the woodwind squealed and the brass snarled. Some fine individual and ensemble playing was to be heard in Romeo and Juliet Before Parting, where, contrasted with the initial serenity, there was a growing sense of unease, marked by the staccato flutes, piccolo and strings. It was only in the concluding Romeo at Juliet’s Tomb in which New’s forcefulness detracted from the poignancy of Prokofiev’s music. The repeated high horns already signal emotional distress: sometimes it is so much better to allow the nobility of the writing to emerge naturally rather than through constant visual signposting.
Between the double dose of dramatic sadness there was a brief clearing of the skies to display the unbroken sunshine that seemingly only Mozart can conjure up. It is a matter of speculation that after composing three concertos for the violin in G major, D major and A major, he might have gone on to write another in E major, thus cleverly symbolising the four strings of that instrument. What you need in a soloist for the Violin Concerto no. 3 is suppleness and a sweet-toned richness of expression.
This was amply provided by the evening’s soloist, Randall Goosby. His sense of impish playfulness was evident throughout the concerto, all good-humoured and at peace with the world. Ideally, I would have wanted a slightly less brisk tempo for the opening movement, where graceful elegance is as important as high spirits. Yet his playing was never short on contrasts. The central Adagio offered a solo line of finely spun silk and the closing sequence intensified the essential serenity, like being mesmerised by the gentle flickering of a candle in the darkness of night. New and a suitably reduced LPO, grounded on just two double basses, provided a sympathetic accompaniment. One instance of this came in the final Rondo where Mozart suddenly plunges into a short pavane-like episode in G minor. Here the overlapping of the inner parts played pizzicato demonstrated perfect adroitness. In Goosby’s encore, the Louisiana Blues Strut by Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson, the sunny smiles and sense of fun were out in full force.
