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CHAMBER ORCHESTRA REVIEW
Gloriously, Fallibly Human
March 18, 2001
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By Mack McCray
A concert of rare, luminous beauty took place Sunday. And oddly, it was the several imperfections that made it most endearing and beautiful. The San Francisco Symphony's Great Performers Series brought the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, with Murray Perahia playing and conducting, for two nights of graceful music-making in Davies Hall. Both programs featured an overture from a Handel opera, keyboard concertos by Mozart and Bach, and ended with a symphony, one evening by Mozart, the next by Haydn.
Perahia and the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields have both long been synonymous with good, solid performing, particularly of the elegant, poised, and perfect kind. At first it seemed likely that this tradition would continue unchanged as the Academy, led by concertmaster Kenneth Sillito, delivered a ravishing, near-perfect performance of Handel's Overture to Alcina. As the string trills piled on top of one another in the overture's first movement, it was easy to feel thankful again for the amazing reconstruction that has made Davies Hall such an excellent acoustical site for so much music. The Academy had me smiling with delight: precision, rhythmic elasticity, melodic line, and utter gracefulness seemed to be achieved without trying.
Perahia joined the ensemble as soloist and conductor in Mozart's G Major Piano Concerto No. 17, K. 453, and the thrill of witnessing playing so effortless (one of the essential ingredients of virtuosity) only increased. Indeed, early in the first movement a single bassoon casually doubled the soloist's fast-note passagework, quietly darting up an octave and a half, lockstep with the piano, in a startling affirmation of what these virtuosi are all about. The opening theme was treated with an interesting combination of grace and energy, with a gentle shrugging off of the felicitous F-natural blue note, which in its position and function is strikingly similar to the blue note in Rogers and Hammerstein's "Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin'."
However, there were moments when it was possible to wonder if these great artists had traveled this road a bit too often. Some ensemble work was a little ragged, and for all his poise and fleet fingerwork Perahia seemed to be toying throughout the piece with sudden, hard, loud accents and occasional unsubtle, point-making phrase shapes that I had never heard from him before. It was as if he has coarsened a bit, was treating the music with less delicate wonder and more assured show-business know-how. Still, when an artist of this stature plays a harsh forte, we pay attention, and everything he did might have seemed convincing to someone on some level. The problem of soloist as conductor is also one that remains unsolved for me. It can be argued that Perahia achieves a great unified vision, but it could also be argued that the dialog, the real chamber music of partners listening and responding, is lost. In any case, the pianist did not always seem comfortable tackling both jobs. The second movement, though beautiful, didn't ever seem as heartbreaking as it should. This might have been due to Perahia's chores in his dual role or simply to his famous tasteful reticence. But though Perahia has long been typecast as elegant and restrained, his actual interpretation often belied the image. One of his most striking ideas as conductor occurred at the end of the minor variation in the third movement: He unexpectedly opened full throttle and swelled right into the brilliant music that introduces the finale, a vulgar but exciting and endearing glimpse of a creative artist at work.
As wonderful as the Mozart was, the Bach Keyboard Concerto in D Minor, BWV 1052, was a more successful performance. For one thing, the keyboard and orchestra aren't fully developed as protagonists, adversarial or conversational, but instead often lock into a motoric drive together, or else one is clearly subservient to the other, thereby demanding less of a soloist/conductor. (Actually, Sillito did much of the leading here, since Perahia's hands were too occupied.) For another thing, the performer's cool elegance worked better in the logic and complex maze of Bach's music, although as in the Mozart he seemed to be experimenting with sweeping Romantic colors and shapes that were far from cool and elegant. In any case, the performance made a splendid argument for Bach on modern instruments — vibrato, Steinway, and all.
The fine concluding performance, of Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, K. 550, was appealing partly because of the imperfection of the conductor. The Academy of St. Martin in the Field could clearly sound fabulous even if they were being directed by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, and they didn't seem to receive a great deal of immediate help from Perahia. He cued a great many entrances as they were occurring, which is entertaining and helpful for the listening audience but not at all for the performer, who needs that cue at least a beat before its actual occurrence. Perahia also tended to bend tightly at the waist, raise his shoulders, and then let the entire upper torso become involved with energetically flailing arms, again not very helpful or subtle conducting. Yet the orchestra responded so sympathetically that it is clear how much they respect this artist's ideas and how compelling he must have been as a leader in rehearsal. The results were often ravishing — although again the Andante was not deeply moving, or the first movement pathetic or anguished enough. The last movements were the best, full of wit and excitement. Somehow the greatness of the performers and the humanity of the few flaws made for a rich program I wouldn't have missed for all of the perfect Perahia/Academy recordings in the world. (Mack McCray is a concert pianist and a member of the faculty of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.) ©2001 Mack McCray, all rights reserved |
