Orchestral concerts are a mixture of attitudes and outlooks – of the composer, the conductor, the players – thrown together in a tension that needs some kind of resolution. At Wednesday’s City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra concert, conducted by Jörg Widmann, that mixture became a single, empathetic vision with the intensity of a laser.
The extent of that empathy could be heard, and seen, in Weber’s Clarinet Quintet (in its orchestral arrangement). Nominally, Widmann took the dual role of soloist and conductor, yet his direction to the CBSO consisted of little more than a look here, a movement of head or body there. The rest was unspoken, yet they moved as one, so simpatico they seemed almost telepathic.
What made this so remarkable was the flexibility of their approach, the opening Allegro pressing on one moment and holding back the next, as if the score were emerging spontaneously and nothing was decided at this stage. In tandem with this was Widmann’s solo demeanour, at a liminal point between elegance and athletic agility. This attitude typified the work as a whole, extending into the slow movement as a delicate balance of darkness and light, and making the cheeky music of the Minuet sound as if they were all colluding in an inside joke.
Either side of the interval were two works of Widmann’s. The first, his 2008 overture Con brio, looked ahead to the end of the concert. This also took on the quality of a joke, or rather a game, one where gestures and motifs from Beethoven’s music (specifically the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies) were distilled and abstracted. Nothing was quite what it seemed, shifting wildly between ancient allusions and modern illusions. Occasionally there was something mildly frustrating about its atomised, patchwork nature, though the way Widmann allowed Beethoven to protrude through the texture more and more was highly effective, like an underlying strain fighting to break free and impose order on the chaos.
Widmann’s Three Shadow Dances from 2013 saw him perform alone at different stations across the front of the stage. Lit in white, purple and red respectively, the music was correspondingly distinct: Echo-Tanz, hugely acrobatic yet elegant (partly echoing the Weber), demonstrating superb control of multiphonics that abruptly suspended the music; (Under) Water Dance a blur of tremolos with added reverb, like a moth flapping around a faint light; Danse africaine comprising rhythmic key-clicks and indistinct florid runs, ending in a loud shout. Widmann had already proved himself to be charismatic, but this solo performance – making Symphony Hall feel surprisingly intimate – won over any remaining doubters, the drama and charm of these miniature pieces seemingly being played to each of us individually, almost in private.
These days, one hardly expects miracles in performances of Beethoven’s symphonies. Are they played too often? Surely they are, yet on this occasion the Seventh had the nervous, edgy energy of a first performance. Here, again, was the flexibility, turning the tempo into elastic, not only in the Poco sostenuto introduction but also through the Vivace, carefully shaping each phrase and cadence while never breaking the momentum. The famous Allegretto became a slow-burn towards blazing passion, the CBSO teasing out inner lines too often missed, while the Scherzo was taken seriously fast, playing up its rhythmic irregularities, Widmann literally leaping up and down on the podium. Only in the finale did the elastic disappear, Widmann driving on the orchestra in a verbatim performance that made no attempt to smooth over the eccentricity of Beethoven’s accent-obsessed score. Here was pure exhilaration, and perhaps a miracle, as if the symphony were brand new.
