Good programming is to classical music what luxury tablecloths and cut glass are to restaurants. They provide just that little elevation, that sprinkling of je ne sais quoi, which makes whatever is being consumed a little more special. The Berlioz-Szymanowski sandwich provided by Sir Antonio Pappano and the London Symphony Orchestra was a dreamy prospect: the ethereal, piquant soundscape of Szymanowski’s Violin Concerto no. 1 placed between the idiosyncratic genius of Berlioz’s sound, represented by his Le Corsaire overture and the warhorse Symphonie fantastique; both complementary and contrasting.
Le Corsaire is a fine way to open a concert. Pappano whipped his forces into a buccaneering opening, precise, but robust. We had glorious colour to the double basses, and fine, lively woodwind across the violins. There was space – this was a tight interpretation, but not excessively controlled – and theatre. Taut brass, in careful balance, and a raucous approach to the finale gave enough fire to get the adrenaline going before the vibes shift to the Szymanowski.
Violinist Lisa Batiashvili, who had appeared earlier in the LSO’s season for Schnittke’s First Violin Concerto – gave a colourful reading of the Szymanowski, in perfect harmony with Pappano. It was unshowy playing – no ‘virtuosic’ moves – but clean, precise bowing with a glistening sound in the piano moments. Pappano is always good on texture and in this piece he gave space to every section to develop, allowing the interplay to stand out, particularly in the woodwind where the flutes particularly shone, and in the percussion. Climaxes were treated with care, the build up steady, the afterglow crepuscular. Batiashvili was never overwhelmed, giving a particularly fine opening and a sweeping, yet subtle finale.
And then on to one of the finest musical love letters in the canon, a heady waltz through the sensations concocted from unrequited love. Gutsy strings and sensitive tempi marked the first movement of the Symphonie fantastique, a touch of camp giving the right level of hyperbole to the imagined young musician. The waltz of the second movement was taut but velvety, elegance rippling through the whirling strings. The third movement was perhaps the only weak point; it can be a tricky section in which to sustain momentum and at times this performance bordered on the languorous.
The fourth movement, Berlioz’s poet marching to the scaffold, was rapt and precise, the horns muted, the strings in gleaming unison, the bassoons nagging, anxious. And then the finale, when Pappano really let the orchestra rip. No compromise was made on volume, but Pappano held the sections together amid the chaos, the robust timpani the axis around which the rest spun. The squealing of the woodwinds – Berlioz is not kind to the section – was deftly managed, and an appealing snarl to the brass worked well across the snap of the strings. Not a revelatory interpretation, but one that embraced fun and brought across the eccentric genius of the mind behind the work, with a strong narrative thrust and a willingness to go for the dramatic.
