I always wonder what Beethoven's contemporary audiences must have thought of his work. I would imagine that his Symphony
No. 7 with its percussive rhythms must have had the same effect as Stravinsky's Rite of Spring practically a century later and that the Cavatina of his Op. 130 String Quartet with its grief-laden abstractions must have affected audiences in the same way that Barber's Adagio for Strings did even later into the last century.
The recent orchestral concert with the National Orchestra under Michael Laus's baton and with the participation of pianist Caroline Calleja devoted the first half of the programme to Beethoven's Ruins of Athens Overture and the Piano Concerto No. 4.
The Ruins of Athens, poetic and evocative as it may sound, is not one of Beethoven's most celebrated works in the genre. It is not a Coriolanus, Leonora or Fidelio by any means. Despite the promise of its melancholic opening chords it soon develops into an allegro con molto brio that marches, rather unremarkably, to a triumphant conclusion. Mro Laus conducted this otherwise very pleasant overture with great control and precision. One could have said that the end result lacked panache, however, the overture's demands were not of the expressive weight of the others I mentioned.
The Concerto No. 4 in G Major Op. 58 is another matter altogether. Although I thought that the first movement was a trifle restrained towards the beginning both soloist and orchestra somehow let loose and what we got was for the most part sheer rhythmic delight. This is yet another work that must have mesmerised Beethoven's audiences and held them spellbound. Ms Calleja is a very fine pianist indeed. Just a slip of a thing and she consistently produces the full force of the Beethovenian sound with a precision, crispness and clarity that was amazing. The breathtakingly executed runs and roulades of the long and involved cadenza in the first movement had us at the edge of our seats!
I love the dialogue of the andante con moto which in the programme notes was described as Orpheus supplicating the gods of the Underworld. Indeed it suddenly dawned on me that there are very similar chordal dialogues in Gluck's opera and one will always wonder whether the movement was directly inspired by Gluck's conception of Hades. Hitherto I had always felt that those angry and ungainly orchestral chords portray Beethoven himself stomping about in some frustrated rage, being soothed by the melodic richness of the delicate piano writing. I thought that this movement was the most successfully played of the three. The last movement, a potpourri of dance tunes, was played with great style and concluded the concerto with gusto that deservedly brought the house down.
From the Sturm und Drang of Beethoven's early Romanticism to another bout of Dvorak-itis that I caught earlier and am still enjoying the after-effects of as I happened to have been invited to San Anton Palace the Friday before where this nightingale of a soprano regaled us with two Dvorak Song Cycles followed by the conclusion of the String Festival with Dvorak's ethereal Serenade for Strings at the Manoel Theatre and now the Symphony No. 8 in G Major; four gorgeous movements that abound with Dvorak's inimitable penchant for producing a succession of lovely tunes that seem to gush out effortlessly from a limitless and an unstoppable source! Although I thought that at times Mro Laus was holding back; keeping the orchestra on a tight rein, the beautiful rhythms and sometimes quirky development, coupled with those amazing melodic lines, allowed both conductor and orchestra to a refreshingly beautiful mood of broad expansiveness; setting the kind of mood that makes you want to sigh with happiness. It is in fact the waltz of the third movement that induces that sort of mood after the complexities of the adagio which, unusually for Dvorak, has plenty of blackness in it.
I dislike programme notes that attempt to paint pictures that are just one critic's idea of what the music could or should convey. Unless the composer has left specific notes to explain his music as Beethoven did with his Pastoral Symphony I would rather leave well alone. Music is an abstraction that relies on aesthetic memory that cannot always be solved by applying pictures to clarify it. Beauty had best be left unexplained. The adagio is a movement that can practically stand on its own. So complex is its construction that its funeral overtones interspersed with broad brushstrokes of warm colour climax in bell-pealing and thunder that reminded me of Mussorgsky's Great Gate of Kiev in Pictures; unforgettable stuff!
Mro Laus and the National Orchestra gave us a most memorable interpretation of this lovely symphony that lives in the shadow of the celebrated New World just like the Beethoven's Concerto No. 4 lives in the shadow of the Emperor Concerto. Either of them is no less splendid in the bargain. Dynamics were rivetingly executed and although I always feel that the theatre's acoustic is cruel on the instrument that is Dvorak's favourite as it is mine, the cello, the orchestral sound was consistently poetic.
No. 7 with its percussive rhythms must have had the same effect as Stravinsky's Rite of Spring practically a century later and that the Cavatina of his Op. 130 String Quartet with its grief-laden abstractions must have affected audiences in the same way that Barber's Adagio for Strings did even later into the last century.
The recent orchestral concert with the National Orchestra under Michael Laus's baton and with the participation of pianist Caroline Calleja devoted the first half of the programme to Beethoven's Ruins of Athens Overture and the Piano Concerto No. 4.
The Ruins of Athens, poetic and evocative as it may sound, is not one of Beethoven's most celebrated works in the genre. It is not a Coriolanus, Leonora or Fidelio by any means. Despite the promise of its melancholic opening chords it soon develops into an allegro con molto brio that marches, rather unremarkably, to a triumphant conclusion. Mro Laus conducted this otherwise very pleasant overture with great control and precision. One could have said that the end result lacked panache, however, the overture's demands were not of the expressive weight of the others I mentioned.
The Concerto No. 4 in G Major Op. 58 is another matter altogether. Although I thought that the first movement was a trifle restrained towards the beginning both soloist and orchestra somehow let loose and what we got was for the most part sheer rhythmic delight. This is yet another work that must have mesmerised Beethoven's audiences and held them spellbound. Ms Calleja is a very fine pianist indeed. Just a slip of a thing and she consistently produces the full force of the Beethovenian sound with a precision, crispness and clarity that was amazing. The breathtakingly executed runs and roulades of the long and involved cadenza in the first movement had us at the edge of our seats!
I love the dialogue of the andante con moto which in the programme notes was described as Orpheus supplicating the gods of the Underworld. Indeed it suddenly dawned on me that there are very similar chordal dialogues in Gluck's opera and one will always wonder whether the movement was directly inspired by Gluck's conception of Hades. Hitherto I had always felt that those angry and ungainly orchestral chords portray Beethoven himself stomping about in some frustrated rage, being soothed by the melodic richness of the delicate piano writing. I thought that this movement was the most successfully played of the three. The last movement, a potpourri of dance tunes, was played with great style and concluded the concerto with gusto that deservedly brought the house down.
From the Sturm und Drang of Beethoven's early Romanticism to another bout of Dvorak-itis that I caught earlier and am still enjoying the after-effects of as I happened to have been invited to San Anton Palace the Friday before where this nightingale of a soprano regaled us with two Dvorak Song Cycles followed by the conclusion of the String Festival with Dvorak's ethereal Serenade for Strings at the Manoel Theatre and now the Symphony No. 8 in G Major; four gorgeous movements that abound with Dvorak's inimitable penchant for producing a succession of lovely tunes that seem to gush out effortlessly from a limitless and an unstoppable source! Although I thought that at times Mro Laus was holding back; keeping the orchestra on a tight rein, the beautiful rhythms and sometimes quirky development, coupled with those amazing melodic lines, allowed both conductor and orchestra to a refreshingly beautiful mood of broad expansiveness; setting the kind of mood that makes you want to sigh with happiness. It is in fact the waltz of the third movement that induces that sort of mood after the complexities of the adagio which, unusually for Dvorak, has plenty of blackness in it.
I dislike programme notes that attempt to paint pictures that are just one critic's idea of what the music could or should convey. Unless the composer has left specific notes to explain his music as Beethoven did with his Pastoral Symphony I would rather leave well alone. Music is an abstraction that relies on aesthetic memory that cannot always be solved by applying pictures to clarify it. Beauty had best be left unexplained. The adagio is a movement that can practically stand on its own. So complex is its construction that its funeral overtones interspersed with broad brushstrokes of warm colour climax in bell-pealing and thunder that reminded me of Mussorgsky's Great Gate of Kiev in Pictures; unforgettable stuff!
Mro Laus and the National Orchestra gave us a most memorable interpretation of this lovely symphony that lives in the shadow of the celebrated New World just like the Beethoven's Concerto No. 4 lives in the shadow of the Emperor Concerto. Either of them is no less splendid in the bargain. Dynamics were rivetingly executed and although I always feel that the theatre's acoustic is cruel on the instrument that is Dvorak's favourite as it is mine, the cello, the orchestral sound was consistently poetic.