ST
PETERSBURG SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
Bridgewater Hall
I’VE never
known a concert change so much in an evening. After a rough and ready opening
with very little of distinction about it, the St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra
ended their programme at the Bridgewater Hall with a splendid performance and
roars of approval.
With two
encores provided by conductor and artistic director Alexander Dmitriev taking
them past 10pm, it was also good value for money. They are not, of course, the
St Petersburg Philharmonic – which some say is the finest orchestra in the
world – but at their best they can run them a pretty impressive second.
This is the
orchestra whose history includes the heroic performance of Shostakovich’s
‘Leningrad’ symphony at the height of their city’s desperate siege during the
Second World War, and Rachmaninov’s second symphony, which brought an ovation,
is their birthright, too, as it was premiered in St Petersburg.
But they
began their Manchester
programme with Sibelius: the popular, three-movement Karelia Suite. It was bold
and brash, with the typically Russian sound balance of dark, rich bass notes
and bright wind and brass tone, but came over as strident and piercing some of
the time. The Alla Marcia was like a foreign national anthem blasted out
unsympathetically in some athletic contest’s medal ceremony.
It was
followed by Beethoven’s Triple Concerto, with three top-class soloists: violinist
Alexander Sitkovetsky, cellist Natalie Clein and pianist Freddy Kempf. The
latter are two of Britain ’s
finest musicians today, and the three clearly gelled together, taking the music
by the scruff of the neck and injecting fun and life into it even when the
Russians seemed hesitant to do so. There were subtle rhythmic emphases from
Kempf, and the cello solo of the slow movement was pure delight.
But then the
80-year-old maestro and his orchestra got to home territory with Rachmaninov.
The bravura and over-emphasis we’d heard before transformed into a performance
that was heartfelt, assured, fluent, idiomatic and appealing. This music really
is their native breath (rather as Elgar’s first – written, incidentally at the
same time – is ours), and they know exactly how it works.
Their
strings rejoiced in the soaring melodies and rich harmonic textures, the wind solos
were beautiful, and the third movement reached a seriously powerful emotional
climax. It was full steam ahead to the finale’s last pages, and a deserved
ovation, in which the musicians seemed as keen to applaud their conductor as we
them.
****
Robert
Beale
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