I
POMERIGGI MUSICALI
Teatro
dal Verme, Milan
(October
18)
At one of this season’s Pomeriggi Musicali series of
late-afternoon matinee concerts I enjoyed an account of the Elgar Cello
Concerto sounding more English than many performances we hear in the country of
that elusive work’s birth.
Still in his very early 20s, Ettore Pagano, a graduate from
Rome’s Conservatory of Santa Cecilia, delivered a reading which was totally
attuned with the Concerto’s atmosphere of regretful nostalgia, opening with a
broad, ruminative introduction sympathetically answered by the PM Orchestra’s
horns. Violas then rocked us gently into
a genuine sense of woodland magic as Pagano unfolded a poignant soliloquy of
regret, deft, eloquent woodwind enhancing the air of English pastoralism.
Audience attention in this recently refurbished interior of
the historic Teatro dal Verme (unfortunate name) with its fabulous acoustic was
rapt, and the orchestral attire, tails and black dresses, really added to the sense
of occasion, and of course no drinks or filming during the performance;
misguided management of some British orchestras, deluding themselves that
dumbing down will enhance the concert experience, take note.
Pagano’s endlessly grieving line was of course punctuated with
adept bowing dexterity in the allegro sections, his whole conception based on
deep concentration communicating such a sense of involvement to an audience perhaps new to this
elusive work.
His natural, unforced rubato and tenuto were sympathetically
matched by the attentive orchestra under George Pehlivanian, but after such an
empathetic collaboration, this conductor’s Doctor Jekyll turned into a grotesque
Mr Hyde.
I have never seen such gestures from any conductor as those Pehlivanian
displayed so extravagantly during the subsequent performance of Schubert’s “Great”
Symphony no.9. Yes, this was certainly a
well-sprung reading with generous washes of sound, and instrumental
contributions were of the highest quality, not least the human-like oboe, the
noble trombones, and of course the hardworking, put-upon violins. But visually this
was a spectacle inducing mal de mer.
As the performance developed, so the conductor’s antics
became more histrionic, such as strutting atop the rostrum during the finale’s
second subject, flicking out his fingers in all directions to no effect at all,
and generally giving himself a physical workout.
I have problems with this symphony in any case, its unforgiving
length arousing suspicions that Schubert might have been hoping he would be
paid by the note, but this display of fustian showmanship did it no favours at
all – and diminished memories of the wonderful Elgar.
Christopher Morley