German-American violinist Augustin Hadelich, who grew up in the foothills of rural Tuscany, is most definitely the man of the moment and is quite rightly earning a reputation as one of the finest violinists on the circuit. He travelled to Amsterdam to join the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra and conductor Karina Canellakis for his first Concertgebouw concert since his 2017 debut.
Opening with Sibelius’ Violin Concerto in D minor, I was reminded of a masterclass given by Maxim Vengerov many years ago in which he compared the violin opening to an eagle soaring high over the vast swathes of the Finnish countryside. Tonight, Hadelich was that eagle, soaring high in the Concertgebouw, surveying all in his midst.
From the outset, the RCO matched each changing colour superbly with a sound that was never forced. Deep, dark and menacing brass and woodwind colours in the orchestral tutti continued this theme. But Hadelich’s ability to draw an audience into his world really sets him apart. The cadenza, ending with an open G telling a thousand tales, captivated the hall. I sat transfixed. The precision and economy in his playing was a joy, with a tremendous bow arm and relaxed left hand.
An unexpectedly short note to conclude the Allegro however, was a nod to possible storms ahead. The Adagio had some beautiful touches, but the length of line and intensity from the orchestral accompaniment wavered. All felt too heavy. Uncertainty continued in the Allegro where an unusually aggressive timpani rhythm from the outset (played on hard sticks and far exceeding the “pp marcato” instruction) proved a distraction to the intensity and virtuosity of the solo violin. Hadelich seemed unphased and certainly relished his time in an acoustic, hugely sympathetic to the solo violin. He finished with one of his own arrangements, the delightfully quirky Orange Blossom Special – quite a treat.
With all eyes now firmly on Canellakis in this her RCO debut, the search for length of line continued. However, Canellakis’ very metronomic opening to the Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde dashed any hope of desire before we even started. All felt too exact, where playing to the beat is valued above passion, intensity and emotion. A sultry clarinet, shimmering strings and a lyrical cello garnered hope, but Canellakis never quite found Wagner’s complex, heady world.
Scriabin’s Poem of Ecstasy concluded proceedings. Last performed by the RCO in 2014, this fiendishly difficult score, built around distinct colours which Scriabin hints at in an accompanying poem, is a huge challenge: to allow these distinct colours to find their way through the dense orchestral textures while giving each time to shine in Scriabin’s complex harmonic landscape, largely built around whole tone scales. The huge orchestral forces, including eight horns, two harps and a celesta, played superbly, but just needed more time and breadth to let each colour really come to the fore. Principal Trumpet Omar Tomasoni must be commended; with razor-like precision, his trumpet cut through the mêlée and provided necessary direction.
As we approached the final climax, Canellakis finally invited the RCO to give a taste of what might have been. With horn bells aloft, drums crashed, gongs clattered, clarinets shrilled and the glockenspiel chimed. The hall came alive; even the chandelier lights seemed to shine brighter in approval. Quite a night to remember.
