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SYMPHONY REVIEW
May 15, 2004
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By Renato Rodolfo-Sioson
Another concert, another competition winner, another Beethoven symphony. Alas, there was little novelty to be had with the San Francisco Symphony's concert at Davies Symphony Hall Saturday. The program, the first in their latest miniseries, “Beethoven's Vienna: Scenes from a Musical Revolution,” included yet another Third Piano Concerto, yet another “Eroica” Symphony. But if Michael Tilson Thomas had the misfortune to conduct the third “Eroica” under my review this season, at least the old adage proved itself: third time was the charm. Tilson Thomas' superlative interpretation captured the breadth of Beethoven's wide-ranging, sometimes contradictory score, eliciting power without falling into empty bombast, and invoking emotional depth without sacrificing brilliancy.
The one welcome bit of novelty was the opening Overture to Anacréon of Luigi Cherubini, offered as an example of the musical context of Beethoven's Vienna. Certainly the influence on Beethoven was quickly apparent. Cherubini's use of shifting instrumentation to delineate musical form, his interest in writing contrapuntal string textures, and his deployment of solo winds and brass were fingerposts — towards the Leonore and Fidelio overtures of his younger contemporary. Although I was not entirely convinced by Tilson Thomas'
approach — the surprising, “special effect” quality of all those interjected wind solos was not highlighted to the extent I would have liked — his ability to obtain a thick, organ-like lushness from the San Franciscans was as impressive as ever.
Decidedly unimpressive, however, describes Jon Nakamatsu's lackluster reading of the Third Piano Concerto, exhibiting very little of the brilliance or profundity that made the “Eroica” such a success. Which is not to imply that Nakamatsu is not an accomplished pianist. Paradoxically, it was his unwavering pursuit of an exacting, highly polished delivery that repeatedly blocked any chance for an inspired performance.
A scant seven years since his triumph at the Van Cliburn, Nakamatsu clearly has gone to some lengths to expunge the image of Competition Gold Medalist. He does not indulge in the hair-raising tempos, string-snapping fortissimos, and nose-dives into the keyboard that are all calculated to bring an audience roaring to its feet. Instead, he tries to persuade an audience into accepting his interpretive ideas, mainly through the beauty of his impeccably burnished sound, a sound that owes much to the pedal. Nakamatsu is, in fact, one of the finest masters of pedal technique I have ever witnessed. Even at the gentlest of dynamic levels, his pristine melodic lines rang out, and the most mechanical passagework or accompanimental figuration gained interest from an obsessive reliance on flutter-pedalling. But I could not escape a nagging question: “where's the drama?” Time after time, the presence of the Competition Gold Medalist was sorely needed. The whole raison d''tre for a concerto is, after all, to depict the dramatic conflict of a lone soloist pitted against the massed orchestra. (Indeed, much of Beethoven's music in other genres likewise expresses the struggle of the individual in adversity.) Inexplicably, Nakamatsu preferred to hide his light under a bushel, adopting more of a collaborative role. The unfortunate result sounded more like transcribed chamber music rather than a concerto. And those expecting a more emotionally compelling performance couldn't help but feel cheated. Fortunately, that accusation could not be levelled at the “Eroica.” This was largely due to Tilson Thomas's ability to project long-range trajectories within Beethoven's large structural spans. The most obvious manifestation of this were the great crescendos used repeatedly in the first movement to propel the music inexorably forward. Particularly memorable was the famous climax at the midpoint of the development: never have I heard it sound so horrifyingly catastrophic and (consequently) so deeply satisfying.
Other satisfactions arose throughout the rest of the symphony. The dramatic changes of mood in the Funeral March — a miracle of musical pictorialism in Tilson Thomas's hands — was now seemingly transformed into a quasi-tone poem, complete with funeral procession, graveside eulogy, lowered coffin and dispersing mourners. With his Finale, I especially appreciated the slow final variation, in which the horns imparted a kind of noble apotheosis of the theme — a much better approach than the distasteful swaggering that usually occurs here. But a special accolade to the string section leaders for that lovely solo quartet in the second fugato passage. Although it's not in Beethoven's score (whose idea was it?), it was a marvelous way to set up and enhance the ensuing orchestral crescendo. Musical insights of that level of acuity deserve to be patented. Even Tilson Thomas' tempos appeared to be chosen for their large-scale structural implications. At first hearing, the second movement Funeral March was too foot-draggingly funereal to be a true march. Nevertheless, it served as the departure point for a three-movement complex, progressing through a moderately fast Scherzo to arrive at a surprisingly swift Finale. This large-scale evolution from deep pessimism to triumphant jubilation effectively reinscribed the smaller trajectory of the first movement (albeit with more digressions and greater detail). The welcome result a tightening of Beethoven's somewhat loose-jointed symphony. Taped as part of a forthcoming television series, “Keeping Score: MTT on Music,” it will eventually be broadcasted on PBS — and probably in a better guise if they manage to edit out all that inter-movement coughing.
(Renato Rodolfo-Sioson has a Master's degree in musicology from the
University of California, Berkeley. He also received the Licentiate of the Royal Schools of Music in piano performance while studying in India and occasionally appears as an accompanist and chamber musician throughout the Bay Area.)
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Jon Nakamatsu