San Francisco Classical Voice

Thursday evening's program of works by Debussy, Prokofiev, and Tchaikovsky with the Kirov Orchestra and conductor Valery Gergiev reminded me of something George Bernard Shaw once wrote: "I hate performers who debase great works of art: I long for their annihilation . . . but I am necessarily no less extreme in my admiration of artists who realize the full value of great works for me, or who transfigure ordinary ones." This concert was, with few exceptions, a performance that not only realized the full value of the music, but often transfigured the familiar into something fresh and exciting.

Much of the credit of course must go to Gergiev, who consistently drew sounds of great refinement and beauty out of the orchestra. The ensemble played with a musical sensitivity and flexibility that is uncommon. I could sense a high level of involvement from each player — Gergiev clearly knows how to inspire the musicians to give their best. Perhaps compelling is the best word to describe Gergiev's artistry. You may quibble with a musical concept here or there, but his presentation of ideas is so strong that you're compelled to listen.

The program began with a more than sufficiently lovely reading of Debussy's La Mer. It was a performance that grew in stature as it progressed. The opening movement was too dark and lugubrious for an ideal sense of French style, but the second movement was remarkably transparent and revealed Gergiev's gift for balancing the orchestra so that each texture could be clearly heard. The final movement ("The Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea") fully captured the evocative qualities in the score. The sheer beauty of the orchestra yielded many wonderful moments, the most magical being the appearance of the long-breathed melody between and flute and oboe above the hushed whisper of the strings. Here time seemed to stand still.

The program continued with the Piano Concerto No. 1 of Sergei Prokofiev, a work dating from his student days at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. With this one-movement work Prokofiev gained notoriety as a composer, as well as the famous Rubinstein Prize, for he chose to play it instead of a classical concerto for the finals of the competition. Some of the more conservative jury members were outraged. But the prize went to Prokofiev, and his career as both a composer and a pianist began in earnest.

For this youthful and slightly bombastic work, Gergiev and the Kirov were joined by the powerful Russian pianist Alexander Toradze. Although Toradze's natural gifts at the piano lean more toward the percussive and hypertense, he is by no means an ordinary "banger" at the keyboard. In addition to an exciting rhythmic drive, Toradze found both wit and beauty in the score, and I was continually struck by the imagination he brought to the score. There were moments of both wit and elegance, and the more lyrical middle section was often strikingly beautiful, in spite of Toradze's lack of a true legato. With the exception of one or two brief moments, the ensemble between orchestra and soloist was excellent — Gergiev and the Kirov provided not merely support, but a real partnership.

After intermission came the well-known Symphony No. 5 of Tchaikovsky. It was immediately apparent that this reading would be out of the ordinary. The ominous mood and deep melancholy were present in the first phrase (a similar feeling I remember from hearing Gergiev conduct Tchaikovsky's opera Pique Dame at the Met a few seasons ago). This was a lean and taut reading of the score, full of emotion but also full of emotional dignity — an object lesson in the difference between pathos, of which there was plenty, and bathos, which was completely absent. Some may have found Gergiev's tempos on the fast side, but they were expertly handled and seldom seemed rushed.

The orchestra played splendidly throughout, the strings revealing a lushness that was often nothing short of ravishing. Gergiev allowed for no pause (that is, the usual 20 seconds of unnecessary coughing and shifting) between movements, and this cohesion between the first and second movements made an especially striking connection — the exquisite horn solo seemed to emerge out of the preceding darkness. Gergiev's pacing of the second movement led to a shattering climax, one that was all the more fulfilling because his sense of musical architecture is so clear.

Tchaikovsky of course excelled in writing waltzes, and the charming third movement recalled the opulence of a 19th century ball. The central section bubbled like fine champagne, the winds negotiating the difficulties with great virtuosity. In Gergiev's hands, the finale seemed to be a journey from darkness to light. Here I was struck by the conductor's ability to characterize the different sections of the work without losing sight of the overall structure. A standing ovation yielded a lightening-quick rendition of the Prelude to Act III of Wagner's Lohengrin for an encore. In summation, this was an evening of fine music making, with a fiery soloist, a brilliant conductor, and a world-class orchestra. No need to ask for the moon when you have three such stars.

(Pianist William Wellborn performs and lectures in the United States and Europe, and from 1995-97 was host of the program "Piano Legacy" on San Francisco station KDFC. Wellborn is on the faculty of the San Francisco Conservatory, where he teaches courses in piano, piano history, and opera.)

©2000 William Wellborn, all rights reserved