Not the least of requirements for a good conductor is the ability to accompany a soloist. It’s not just a question of technical competence either. When conductor and soloist work hand-in-hand, sharing a combined vision, the gains are immeasurable, giving added meaning to the concept of partnership. Once in a while there is such a meeting of minds, as was the case in this performance of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 3 in C minor, in which Jan Lisiecki was joined by Elim Chan, marking her debut with the BBC Symphony Orchestra.
Lisiecki’s first entry was as emphatic as the concluding lines of the long orchestral introduction, given extra propulsion by a prominent timpani. This was later echoed in the approach to the cadenza, where the handover between Chan and Lisiecki was as perfectly judged as the seamless transition from the soloist’s concluding soft trills to the gentlest of responses from timpani and strings. The partnership flourished further in the central Largo, in which the unanimity of dynamic shadings was especially striking, the hymn-like qualities set in relief by touches of colour from mournful bassoon and plaintive flute, gentle surges from the orchestral bass line acting like zephyrs to carry the line forward.
Lisiecki has an extraordinary gift for combining weight, articulated in a solid bass line, with moments of tenderness and intimacy that enhance the lyricism in Beethoven’s solo writing. This concerto has its heroic moments, to be sure, but I was repeatedly reminded of the aria-like qualities present in the antecedent model of Mozart’s great C minor concerto. In the concluding Rondo Lisiecki easily conveyed the inherent exuberance and sparkling frivolity with sharpness of rhythm and smart pedalling: the movement took wing, aided by stylish playing from the woodwind. One might quibble about the excesses of the timpani, made more insistent with additional rolls in final chords, but these dramatic touches from Chan undoubtedly gave voice to the revolutionary undertones. Lisiecki’s translucency of tone characterised his exquisitely played encore, Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 no.2.
The European premiere of Noriko Koide’s Swaddling Silk and Gossamer Rain, with which this concert opened, did not fare well in this setting. It is a much too chamber-like work for the cavernous space of the Royal Albert Hall, depending for its effects on contrasts between glittering and shimmering string textures and long sustained sighs from the woodwind. Fleeting moments of colour came from marimba, piano and oral clicking sounds from individual brass players, but the ear was never completely tantalised.
It is always interesting to encounter different approaches to Elgar’s Enigma Variations, if only because it raises the question about the universality of the work’s message. Is this more than just a series of musical cryptograms based around a development from melancholic inwardness at the start to a blaze of newfound confidence at its close? Does it indeed matter where the individual idea came from or why a certain degree of mystery continues to surround the “Enigma”?
Chan frequently took this Elgar into the sound-world of his immediate contemporary Debussy, seeing it in terms of musical pointillism. It was like witnessing the work through a gauze-like haze. I have rarely heard such a soft-hued performance, with softness and gentleness the overriding features. Nimrod emerged from near-inaudibility, the emotion held in check. I kept wondering whether Elgar only had such good-mannered and well-behaved acquaintances. Individual characterisation was limited: puffs of smoke from a calabash-like bassoon in R.B.T. and a very distant sounding clarinet in *** offset by the tapping of hands on the timpani. Chan’s take was unquestionably thought-provoking, if not ultimately persuasive.
