As a primer to serious Russian orchestral music, this concert by the Singapore Symphony Orchestra led by music director Hans Graf could not have served as a better introduction. Tchaikovsky is sine qua non and so is Rachmaninov (although not included in this programme), but what about Prokofiev? To be honest, the music of Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953) has become a 20th century staple and its fear factor lost through the passage of time. By the 1930s, the former enfant terrible of Russian modernism in the West had returned to the Soviet Union and was composing accessible music agreeable to Stalin’s totalitarian regime.
His Violin Concerto no. 2 in G minor, Op.63 from 1935 was such a work, finding an eloquent muse in Austrian violinist Benjamin Schmid. Opening in a totally exposed solo built upon the G minor triad, Schmid’s sumptuous tone and pristine intonation came like a breath of fresh air. Despite Prokofiev’s attempts to inject tension by way of chromaticisms and dissonances, he was really a Romantic at heart. What else would account for the second subject’s melting lyricism?
Prokofiev would up it several notches in the slow movement, a graceful dance with a flowing melody accompanied by gentle pizzicatos. That was certainly cut from the same fabric as the ballet Romeo and Juliet (Op.64), also from the same year but premiered several years later. Its reverie, voiced most lovingly by Schmid, was even dreamier with the theme’s reprise but shaken by the finale’s savage romp. Even this madness had a method, its clacking castanets, ringing triangle and snare-drum beat being a knowing nod to its Madrid premiere. Schmid’s mastery was complete, his perfectly voiced encore being in G minor as well, Heinrich Biber’s Passacaglia (from the Mystery Sonatas). A canny piece of symmetry.
The Prokofiev was sandwiched between two Tchaikovsky war-horses, the concert commencing with the indestructible Romeo and Juliet Overture. The woodwind playing of its opening was clear and fluid, the very well-disciplined deportment carrying well into the Montague and Capulet feud. One might have wished for more blood and guts here, or the gushing love theme’s orgasmic potential being fully consummated. These were however kept at arm’s length, and while the performance was not bland, one suspected that chastity was being preserved.
In a similar manner, it took some time before the orchestra’s performance of Tchaikovsky Symphony no. 5 in E minor, Op.64 was set alight. The recurring motto theme, to be heard in all four movements, was well-defined in its first appearance. Ma Yue’s solo clarinet help set the initial droll tone, varying with each movement’s progress. The ensuing Allegro con anima was march-like and its tension built up incrementally. There was to be no hysteria or wildness (thus separating the civilised Fifth from the more volatile Fourth and Sixth Symphonies), only polished playing.
The brooding slow movement opened almost identically as Romeo and Juliet and was lit up by Austin Larson’s radiant horn solo, its distinctive voice not easily forgotten. The motto theme returned, but now with added vehemence tinged with violent undertones. The slight third movement was an elegant waltz, with motto tacked on like an afterthought. That would all change for the finale, with its gesture of defiance. The development was taken at a furious pace, the once-dormant colossus now awakened. Easily the most gripping part of the performance, its striding and swaggering end was greeted with loud cheers and applause.
