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SYMPHONY REVIEW
October 5, 2005
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By Heuwell Tircuit
Last week's San Francisco Symphony program promised to be a good one, what with pianist Leon Fleisher back, veteran conductor Herbert Blomstedt on the podium, an American premiere, plus some otherwise unusual programming in store. But it wasn't just a good evening last Wednesday; it was a great one. All three works glowed with solid musicianship and freshness, unexpectedly, even Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.
Fleisher opened the evening with Mozart's seldom-performed Piano Concerto No. 12 in A Major, K. 414. That was followed by the first U.S. outing of Hindemith's 1923 “Piano Music with Orchestra (Piano Left Hand),” Op. 29, and, following intermission, Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 in C Minor, Op,67, in an astoundingly fresh rendition that was “note worthy” as well as noteworthy. That was the finest performance of the work I have yet encountered; I was hearing it for the umpteenth time, but it was utterly enjoyable.
Hindemith's early aversion to most traditional titles led him to invent his own, as if they were new forms. But a concerto is a concerto no matter what you call it, and the Klaviermusik mit Orchester (Klavier: linke Hand) is obviously a piano concerto. What we heard last week — chewy title notwithstanding — was a four-sectioned concerto, played without pause like a single-movement piece. It runs a bit over 18 minutes, which is to say that it's about the same length as Ravel's well-known “lefty” Piano Concerto. I suspect, however, that Carl Maria von Weber's “Konzertstück” for piano and orchestra (Op. 79) was a strong influence, since both works are in four sections played without pause. Let it quickly be added that Hindemith's Concerto is an impressive work which seems to me his finest concerted creation, his most original and most immediately meaningful.
Like so many concertos for the left hand, Hindemith's stems from a group of commissions by Austrian pianist Paul Wittgenstein. Having lost his right arm on the Russian front during World War I, Wittgenstein used his considerable inheritance to foster his career hopes by adding to the catalog of music for left-handed pianist. He commissioned various European composers to write specifically for a left-handed pianist with orchestra: Richard Strauss, Erich Korngold, Franz Schmidt, Ravel, Prokofiev and Benjamin Britten. (He also commissioned a few chamber works.) Being conservative in his tastes and frankly of limited technique, Wittgenstein never played the most difficult or adventurous of his commissions. Yet he tightly retained the rights to them until his death in 1961. That accounts for the late premieres of the Prokofiev Concerto No. 4 and also of this newly published Hindemith Concerto, which was premiered only last December by Fleisher, Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic. (A recording by those forces is to be released on CD this winter.) What's surprising is how many elements in the “new” Concerto look forward to Hindemith's music of the 1930s and '40s. I picked up little patches of the “Philharmonic Concerto” for orchestra (1932), the Symphonic Dances (1937), and suggestions of the 1940 Symphony in E-Flat. There were those brassy outbursts, lots of percussion effects, and repeated phrase-tunes tossed about the orchestra, as in the second of the Dances and the first movement of the Symphony. And like those works, the Left-Hand Concerto calls for a larger orchestra than is normal in Hindemith's music.
But the most unusual aspect of the score is its central slow movement. It's set as a long, utterly beautiful solo for English horn over an ostinato bass of the so-called Baroque “walking bass” variety. All the while, the piano plays an obbligato role, adding soft, lacy whirligigs around the English horn's song. Now here's the scorcher: It's all vaguely in 12-tone mode. (OK, 11-tone — the 12 chromatic notes minus F-sharps.) I do not know of another such instance in Hindemith. It may well be his finest slow movement before that in the “Konzertmusik,” Op. 49 of 1930 — another concerto grosso of sorts, for solo piano, two harps and brass choir. This concerto belongs among the finest of Wittgenstein's commissions, right beside Ravel's and Korngold's. Fleisher was miraculous. He seems right back in the virtuoso form that ranked him so highly in the piano world 40 years ago, before he lost the use of his right hand in 1965. The playing was as graceful, as full of sprit and depth, as ever, with no hint of defect in the (two-hands) Mozart Concerto. Fleisher has even brought back the full panoply of color-ranges within his playing. No one else has played that kind of velvet legato altering with elegance of tinkle since the late Clara Haskil. Yet he could cut loose against Hindemith's large orchestra when necessary, with all the grand weight he once brought to bear in Beethoven and Brahms concertos. Both the Mozart and Hindemith performances were as fine as the works are likely ever to receive. I stand simply amazed by what Fleisher and his doctors have accomplished.
Blomstedt seem inspired, smiling his way through the concert in a relaxed but controlled fashion in a way I have not often seen in him. He was a model partner to his soloist, in balance as well as in ensemble. Of course, he cheated a little, using classical seating: first violins and cellos to his left with basses behind them; second and violas to his right. That brings orchestral music so much in the way of clarity and ease of intonation that I wonder why it is not more commonly in use. Forty-five years ago the London Symphony toured Japan with three name conductors in alternating concerts: Pierre Monteux, Georg Solti and Antal Dorati. Solti and Dorati used the standard modern seating with all violins to their left, Monteux the classical. When one Japanese critic asked Monteux why he changed the seating, he huffed, “Change? I don't change! That's the way the orchestra has always been since the beginning of time — since Haydn and Mozart” He wasn't kidding. That setup certainly added enormously to the purity and effectiveness of the Beethoven. Then, too, Blomstedt's maturity shone through as something special and particularly apt. Rather than the clenched-fist effect normally associated with the Fifth, Blomstedt offered it an open hand filled with perfect tempos and smooth textures. The piece remained heroic, but free of brash military rashness. The performance sounded as fresh as a premiere. It simply couldn't have been better conceived or played. There were some unusual things, too. The little, quiet episode of the first movement for unaccompanied oboe went unconducted, which is the usual thing. But Blomstedt allowed the soloist a freedom I've not encountered before. Our soloist played a considerably slowed-down version, delivered with beautiful tone as a kind of distant, soulful meditation. And, to my surprise, it worked. It should never be otherwise. The orchestra played to a standard that could be envied by all the world. I have no complaints to offer, only gratitude to all concerned.
(Heuwell Tircuit is a composer, performer and writer. He was chief writer for Gramophone Japan and for 21 years was a music reviewer for the San Francisco Chronicle, and previously a reviewer for the Chicago American and Asahi Evening News.)
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