The iconic German violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter never visited Sydney until 2012. Since then, the excellent musical relationship with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, helped by the wholeheartedly warm response from the local audience, has blossomed into further collaborations. Last week, on her third visit to Australia, Mutter chose two works to perform with the SSO. The concert started with the Romance in F minor for violin and orchestra by Antonín Dvořák, followed by his Violin Concerto in A minor. During the compositional process of the latter, the composer had hoped to get some advice – even a commitment to perform the concerto – from Joseph Joachim, one of the most well-known virtuoso violinists of the 19th century, but neither eventuated. Whatever Joachim’s objections were, they may have influenced later violinists as well, as this opus never achieved the popularity of other great Romantic violin concertos or Dvořák’s own famous Cello Concerto. Mutter herself, despite her most impressive discography, avoided recording the Dvořák Concerto for many years: performances with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra and a subsequent studio recording took place only in 2013.
If anyone can do justice to this composition, it is Mutter. Her understanding of the stylistic requirements of both of these Slavic works is as impressive as her impeccable command of their substantial technical demands. Her once uncompromisingly fierce style of performing has mellowed considerably in recent years. To be sure, she still appears to be fearless as she gets around the most demanding parallel thirds and octaves, stratospherically high notes and rapid passages. But her sound is filled with sustained velvety warmth when she wants it; the soft dynamics are not there for show, nor even to simply follow instructions from the score, but to draw the listener into an introverted, sublime other-world. Her portamenti (slides between notes) are never self-serving, her vibrato always reflects the content of the music: at times completely absent over a number of notes, here gentle, there wildly passionate. Her bow appears to connect with the string almost magnetically, the intensity and speed of the contact deliberately and precisely executed, producing a myriad of seldom heard tone colours. She follows the composer’s instructions faithfully but not blindly, and when her artistic want requires some delicate change, she follows her musical instinct; the Concerto’s third movement is a case in point, where at the key and time-signature change Dvořák specifies L’istesso tempo (the same tempo), yet it felt noticeably slower in this performance.