Two iconic Russian compositions, penned just 40 years apart, offer a striking contrast of musical temperaments: Rachmaninov’s beloved Second Piano Concerto, with its lush, sweeping romanticism, and Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony, a harrowing wartime anthem forged in the crucible of Leningrad under siege. Together, they represent the breadth of Russian music, from soulful yearning to blistering defiance.
If concert programmes came with health advisories, this one by the National Symphony Orchestra might warn of possible infarction – supreme indulgence followed by heart-stopping cacophony. Heedless of these risks, the audience lapped it up as evinced by the flurry of standing ovations. Indeed there was much to admire.
French pianist Lise de la Salle was less interested in savouring the lush harmonies of Rachmaninov or unfurling his yearning melodies than in having the audience on the edge of their seats with her jaw-droppingly exhilarating playing. Her muscular, non-sentimental approach had echoes of the composer’s own performance of this work where she revelled in giving edge and depth to some of the more gnarly sections. In the first movement, she tore through the towering chords of the climax leaving the audience gasping for breath; kudos to conductor Diego Matheuz and the NSO who followed her meticulously throughout.
The oboe’s haunting melody of the second movement brought much needed stillness to the work and by its recap de la Salle brought a dreamy, reflective quality to her playing. The finale burned with white hot intensity: brilliantly crisp repeated notes, virtuosic motifs and sonorous chords, this movement had it all. The sweep of the famous melody possessed an attractive gravelly edge and when it came to its climatic reiteration Matheuz drew out its full emotional weight.
Shostakovich’s Seventh, a work fraught with political tension and symbolic resistance, is an imposing behemoth. Clocking in at just under 80 minutes, its ferocity and complexity can overwhelm, but this performance transformed the experience into a taut, riveting journey. Matheuz’s handling of the symphony’s monumental scale was nothing short of masterful. Swaggering strings in strident unison made for a powerful, confident opening. Matheuz impressed with his control of dynamics both in the small phrases and in the large-scale canvas moments. He carefully ratcheted up the menace and tension in the invasion theme so that the climax poured forth in a murderous all-consuming cacophony of sound, terrifying in its fury.
The symphony’s more introspective passages, particularly in the inner movements, offered moments of poignant calm. The clarinet’s smooth melody brought a fleeting sense of normalcy, while the delicate whispers of the flute’s line evoked a touching simplicity amidst the prevailing storm.
But it is in the final movement that Shostakovich’s vision reaches its most bombastic heights. With 21 brass instruments – some positioned in the choir balcony for lack of space on stage – the sonic explosion was simply earth-shattering. Matheuz, pushing the NSO to its limits, coaxed from each section a breathtaking contribution to the thundering discord. The brass blared, strings screamed and the percussion erupted in a cataclysmic burst of sound, sending a tremor through the entire hall. The result was a thrilling, seismic climax, an electrifying declaration of victory and survival that resonated long after the last chord faded into silence.
