Ahead of this concert I’d been wondering whether Yannick Nézet-Séguin and his fabulous Philadelphians would be able to switch successfully from the sensuousness and voluptuousness of their reading of Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony the night before to a quite different animal from the same stable. For the composer’s First Symphony is one whole emotional world removed from what followed later. Where the E minor work is warm, enveloping and ultimately life-affirming, the D minor piece is shot through with gloom and dark premonitions, the Dies irae to which the composer later returned carrying the full force of what César Cui thought “would delight the inhabitants of Hell”. On the score Rachmaninov inscribed the words “Vengeance is mine; I will repay”. However, without hellfire and brimstone this work is only half the picture.
The playing was once again stupendous. Saturated string tone from the start, organ-like in its splendour; delectable wind solos, mouth-watering in their vernal delicacy, especially in the Larghetto; a rounded brass section with trumpet players that sparkled like fairy-lights on a Christmas tree; a percussion section that lacked nothing in precision. It was all very plush, supremely well upholstered, and at times too overly manicured, as though Nèzet-Séguin was seeing this first symphonic statement through the prism of all the composer’s later works. If you want a D minor work to sound like triumphant D major, this reading was for you. Had he heard it, Cui might well have quipped that it was all just a little too noisy for the angels in Heaven.
Two things really bothered me. There is an aching, yearning quality to some of those extended string paragraphs, akin to what Tchaikovsky wrote in the first movement of his F minor symphony, which should touch the soul. Here, loneliness and desolation were in short supply. Though Nézet-Séguin fully respected the Allegro con fuoco marking of the Finale, it became a little relentless, virtuosity for virtuosity’s sake, and this breathlessness robbed the coda of its explosive effect. Taken at a slower pace, it should chill the marrow, the sharp sonorities should evoke images of the final day of reckoning, and above all that first crushing stroke of the tam-tam should strike fear into the heart instead of being instantly dismissed.
In the first half, Nézet-Séguin again burnished his credentials as a superb accompanist, when he partnered Daniil Trifonov in a performance of the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. As on the previous night for the Fourth Piano Concerto, he deployed a full string complement, providing a downy cushion of support for his soloist, but also picking out complementary and contrasting details from his players. In particular, the deeply soulful and plangent oboe, horns that swelled majestically and then gently retreated, deliciously tingling shivers from the upper strings. No question: this was a work for both piano and orchestra.
And Trifonov certainly didn’t disappoint either. He has this extraordinary capacity to make every individual note glisten and glitter, as in the unaccompanied 27 bars of Variation 15. He dazzled in the cascades of notes that characterise the early variations; in Variation 11 he made the piano sound like a harp; he echoed a mournful bassoon in Variation 12; he moved in the twinkling of an eye from one mood to another, from the deeply probing Variation 16 through the sinister qualities of Variation 17 to the sunshine of the following and most famous variation of them all, taken quite briskly but still retaining its cantabile quality before building to a satisfying emotional release. His Art Tatum encore once again demonstrated his astonishing pianistic versatility.
