Like Tchaikovsky before him, Richard Strauss adored the music of Mozart, so pairing these two composers always makes good sense. Ahead of this short cycle, including all the violin concertos to be played by Julia Fischer with the London Philharmonic Orchestra under Thomas Søndergård, orchestral PR was using the phrase “naughty, but nice” as a teaser. Was this ringing alliteration justified in this first concert of the series?
Mozart’s last three violin concertos were all written in 1775, when the composer hadn’t even entered his twenties. Rather surprisingly, he never returned to this particular genre. None of them is a virtuoso display piece. What they each require, however, is precise articulation, a clear sense of line and a singing tone, qualities which Fischer displayed in abundance. In both the G major and D major concertos she was in radiant form.
Fischer’s physicality in her playing, visible in her gently swaying body inclining alternately to the first violins, wind soloists and conductor, together with the long and seamless movements of her bowing arm, always kept the music on the move, yet allowed it to breathe naturally. She drew especially rich sonorities from her instrument in the cadenzas dotted through the movements of both concertos, the succulence of her G string conveying particular allure, most notably also in the opening Allegro of K216. In that concerto’s slow movement she came as close as possible to its heartfelt operatic nature, recalling Alfred Einstein’s description of it as “an Adagio that seems to have fallen straight from heaven”. This was Mozart from the soul speaking to the soul, Fischer’s stylistic assuredness underpinning the sublimity of the writing.
Søndergård, deploying antiphonal violins to good effect in the orchestral introduction to K216, had slimmed down the strings so that they never detracted from the importance of the solo line. Though he was unfailingly supportive of his soloist, there were moments when I wished for a little more assertiveness in the handling of the accompaniment. The introduction to K218, for instance, created a buzzing quality rather than the festive mood suggested by the fanfare-like theme, and it was noticeable that Fischer’s first entry here was a degree firmer in articulation.
If the two concertos certainly endorsed the reference to niceness, I listened in vain for instances of naughtiness in the two Strauss tone poems that bookended this programme. Don Juan had a rocket-like start, as did the early molto agitato section of Tod und Verklärung later, the LPO on sparkling form with gleaming strings, eloquent woodwind contributions and agile brass. Søndergård gave full expression to all the impetuosity in this young man’s piece, yet nothing was overblown, no hint of hysteria intruding into the narrative. Far from depicting the character of Don Juan as a louche libertine, Nikolaus Lenau’s poem, which Strauss used as his inspiration, sees the hero in search of perfect love.
The search for perfection, albeit of an artistic kind, informs Tod und Verklärung, the first of the composer’s tone poems to provide a detailed programmatic description. There was plenty of atmosphere from the start, gloom settling like a dust-cloud over everything below, and Søndergård excelled in all the chthonic elements with which this score is shot through, the throbbing tam-tam towards the close being one obvious highlight. Sweep and swagger intensified the exhilaration and intoxication: at just 23 minutes this was a fairly brisk reading. What I did miss, however, was more of the grandeur and majesty that should characterise the transfiguration. Was the hedonistic abandon a little too dominant? Perhaps that was the naughtiness I had been seeking after all.
