With seasonal flus and tricky colds taxing many of us these days, short-notice cancellations are to be expected in theatres and concert halls. Such was the unfortunate case for the Berlin Phil’s own Kirill Petrenko, who had to withdraw from the German premiere of Czech composer Miroslav Srnka’s Superorganisms due to ill health. Stepping in last-minute is always an acrobatic feat, but David Robertson thankfully came to the rescue, having conducted the European premiere of the piece in Prague last year. The concert, part of the orchestra’s ongoing Biennale, also featured Varèse’s Arcana and Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony.
While acoustically antithetical, Arcana and Superorganisms share a similar fascination about the potential of an orchestra. What to make of a large ensemble whose timbral and harmonic combinations are almost infinite? In Arcana, Robertson held together the ranks of Varèse’s bursting instrumentation with a tight rhythmic grip. Much emphasis was given to the roaring underbelly of the Philharmoniker, namely the double basses and low brass. Together with a profusion of percussion instruments, this created a wall of sound that kept resonating even during general pauses. Piercing, flashing apparitions of high brass and woodwinds on a heavily rhythmic ground placed the score of Arcana just as close to Stravinsky as it is to Berlioz.
The term ‘superorganism’ is an elusive one, its application ranging from biology to cybernetics. In its most generic connotation, it indicates a group of organisms whose reciprocal interactions are tight, synchronised and often essential to the group’s wellbeing and survival. This level of co-dependency – and of highly refined coordination – originates an entity that is at once one and multiple, hence the ‘superorganism’. For musical minds, the analogy is immediate: isn't an orchestra also a superorganism?
Divided into four movements, Srnka’s piece indeed felt organic and alive. The ensemble was just as large and malleable as Varèse’s, but deliberate choices in the instrumentation produced an entirely different effect. Within piano and pianissimo dynamics, Robertson expanded and contracted an orchestra whose strings are at times treated like individual parts. These countless inner motions are barely audible singularly, but together they merge into a swarming flow which cannot but sound ‘biological’. In the second movement, two accordions led the way in what felt like a moment of collective breathing. This sense of attunement was preserved by Robertson until the last movement, where ascending and descending scales played on four marimbas mix with lulling intervals in the strings. In one last tour de force, the piece ends with an orchestral tutti in fortissimo that goes upward and is suddenly cut short.
After the microbiological hustle and bustle of Srnka’s score, Robertson guided the audience into a more familiar setting with Beethoven’s Sixth. The smaller ensemble and a more placid approach to nature relieved the tension that had built up in the first part of the concert. Compared to the sound masses of Varèse and Srnka, Robertson’s Beethoven was almost chamber-like, valuing lyricism first and foremost. It is perhaps redundant to dwell on the virtuosity of the Berlin Phil’s first chairs, but their solos enriched a performance that – for understandable scarcity of rehearsal time – sometimes bordered on conventionality. Overall, Robertson’s interpretation had the merit of keeping the symphony’s simple narrative cohesive, making the most of its picturesque aspects.
