San Francisco Classical Voice

Even more telling was the problem of balance: while a disposition of eight first and six second violins against four violas and four cellos (plus, inexplicably, two double basses) may seem plausible, the effect was undeniably top-heavy. Beethoven¹s complex web of motivic interplay, so crucial in the denser passages of the outer movements, was repeatedly sacrificed in favor of a more homogeneous, homophonic texture. The result was an ersatz Serenade for strings à la Tchaikovsky, which glossed over many of the strange and elusive qualities of Beethoven's original.

All of which is not to say that the arrangement itself was without merit. Indeed, Beethoven's Op. 127 is in some ways the perfect candidate for string orchestra. The songful lyricism that pervades most of the piece was further enhanced by the fuller, lusher sound of the Academy. They were even more successful in conveying the fragility of those long ethereal passages towards the end of a movement: I was especially moved by the close of the second and last movements.

Perhaps it would be best to think of this as a Work In Progress. Future improvements could impose the use of solos (especially from the first violin) to highlight certain key moments — most crucially, the arioso opening to the second movement, which surely demands the sound of a single voice. Occasional thinning of the violins, alleviating some of the denser textures, would not be amiss. Certainly, it would assist the first violins' lapses in intonation that occurred with the occasional stratospheric passage.

It is all too easy to hear Beethoven's “Emperor” Concerto with jaded ears, so pervasive is its presence in concert hall and recording studio alike. But the Academy's performance was far from business as usual, as Perahia would conduct from the keyboard. Moreover, the use of a chamber orchestra is still unusual, although reduced forces better approximate those of the concerto's 1811 premiere and are common enough among Early Musick ensembles.

Enthusiasts may recall Perahia's 1986 recording with Haitink and the Concertgebouw: an elegant, somewhat staid reading. In the intervening years, Perahia has completely transformed his approach, adding a new urgency and attack to the luminous polish of his legato. His use of tempos has become extremely flexible, reminiscent of an earlier generation of conductors that adapted speed to each individual moment. Perahia welcomes risks like a true virtuoso, accelerating through passages bristling with difficulties, and dropping to a snail¹s pace at sections requiring a seamless legato. The results were so rewarding that the few finger-slips and the occasional pedal-blurred moments were easily forgiven.

Rarely has the Academy sounded better. The forces that tended towards inflexibility were now lithe and supple, a perfect foil for Perahia. The ensemble matched every dynamic nuance, every delayed downbeat — which was all the more to their credit, since Perahia had to conduct primarily with his eyes. Sounding more like a small chamber group than an orchestra, these 37 musicians avoided the weighty bombast that often mars the “Emperor” (a misleading nickname if ever there was one). Rather, they recaptured its underlying nobility.