At the end of the 19th century, while Germany, Italy and France fermented deep in the throes of late Romanticism, composers from other parts of Europe turned their eyes – and ears – to other, more personal sources of inspiration. Myths and tales from the homeland as well as folk music made their way into local concert halls and theatres, revamping the programmes with new sounds and stories. Even now these works pass the test of time, as was recently proved at Berlin’s Konzerthaus, where Chief Conductor Joana Mallwitz led a short but thrilling concert featuring works by Dvořák, Grieg and Kodály. Together with the appealing programme, tight chemistry with the Konzerthausorchester and soloist Elisabeth Leonskaja granted Mallwitz a deserved success.
Based on a character of Slavic mythology, Dvořák’s symphonic poem The Noon Witch is a veritable musical fairy tale, effective as it is in narrating a simple story with strictly orchestral means. Its instrumental symbolism – the bass clarinet depicting the witch and the oboe being the child who falls victim to her – was immediately apparent in Mallwitz’s rendition, which oscillated between the playful and the tragic. If the poem’s tone shifts sounded exasperated, it was because such is the character of many fairy tales. Indeed, Mallwitz pushed the orchestra to its extremes, alternating perky moments to spectral ones, bringing different sections to the foreground for dramatic effect. This resulted in a particularly vivid telling of the story, fully absorbed in Dvořák’s idiom.
From the first bars of Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A minor, it became clear why Elisabeth Leonskaja has a regular presence at the Konzerthaus. Listening to her, one was under the impression that they were witnessing something somewhat titanic. The first movement proceeded at a taut pace, Leonskaja’s left hand fluttering delicately while her right hand firmly shaped the melodies. In this scenario the piano was unarguably at the lead, capable of hushing itself to a mist but also of roaring like an avalanche. Such confidence at the keyboard favoured the dance-inspired liveliness of the third movement, where Leonskaja’s playing joined in the collective rapture of the orchestra. For her part, Mallwitz matched the soloist with a sharp interpretation which allowed solo instruments – especially Yuan Yu’s flute – to shine.
The last work programmed for the evening, Kodály’s Dances of Galánta, was composed well into the 20th century, just going to show the longevity and good fortune of folk music research. Mostly written in verbunkos style – therefore drawing large inspiration from Hungarian Romani music – the dances are structured as one slow introduction followed by several increasingly fast and virtuosic movements. Their melodic and rhythmic charm is initially exemplified by a solo clarinet, and then extended to the whole orchestra. Mallwitz managed this solo-tutti dynamic gracefully, presenting the succession of sections with growing enthusiasm. Her conducting gave Kodály’s score a sinuous, almost serpentine quality, which made it hard to sit still on one’s chair. With their riveting crescendo, the Dances proved to be a great choice to exhibit the compactness of the orchestra, leaving the audience on an exuberant note.
