ENTER A LIVING LEGEND
Munich Philharmonic at Symphony Hall ★★★★
We live in the age of celebrity when the runner-up in a television reality show is hailed as a star and 1970s singers performing their two hit singles on the revival circuit are labelled legendary. In the midst of this devalued currency the audience for this concert had the privilege of seeing an authentic living legend perform. Martha Argerich first appeared on the concert platform, aged eight, 77 years ago, triumphed in every competition she entered becoming a star when winning the International Chopin Piano Competition in 1965. Look at the cover photograph of her first recording made that year for EMI and you'll see a pouting beauty with a mane of black hair for whom the word "sultry" could have been coined. She made Bardot loom prim. But tempus fugit; the Martha Argerich who was greeted with cheers and applause from an enthusiastic Symphony Hall audience is 85-years-old, the mane is grey, in black and white patterned dress and black top the look was bohemian granny chic. Her playing still sparkles, the articulation crisp, the phrasing imaginative. Beethoven's Piano Concerto No 2 in B flat major is the Cinderella of the five concertos, the least performed, but it's Argerich's favourite. Perhaps because it fits in with her long-held decision to abandon solo recitals for collaborating with other players. The second concerto has that sort of collective feel, its lighter more Mozartian than the later concertos, Beethoven omitted clarinets, trumpets and timpani and textures are clarified. After the orchestral introduction to the Allegro con brio first movement the pianist's entry re-works the material as if responding to the orchestra with "well this is how I think it might go..." and when the orchestra returns the music becomes more playful and Argerich was delightfully skittish here, the much-played runs up and down the keyboard looking and sounding spontaneous. Beethoven's carefully crafted and complex cadenza - composed much later than the concerto - can sound a mismatch in less capable hands but Argerich made it feel organic, its tonal wanderings part of the concerto's fabric. The Munich Philharmonic, under their chief conductor Lahav Shani, were always attentive, playing neat and crisp, the wind section provided wistful support in the Adagio to Argerich's ruminative playing, before having the final word as the movement sighed to a close. Then we were off for final Rondo's hurly burly with Argerich emphasizing Beethoven's humorous ear-tickling syncopations and a jolly rumbustious ending. Cue voluble audience acclamation, thoroughly deserved, more than matched for the encore, another Argerich favourite. In 2004 she recorded Ravel's suite 'Ma mère l'Oye' (Mother Goose) in piano arrangement (four hands) with pianist Mikhail Pletnev. Lahav Shani is also a concert pianist and so we had a collaborative encore, the gorgeous 'Le Jardin féerique' (The Fairy Garden), the apotheosis of Ravel's suite, slow and grave but the essence of romanticism with playing to match.
Not surprisingly the rest of the concert was like switching from Technicolor to monochrome. It opened with the Overture No 2, from 1834, by French composer and pianist Louise Farrenc. It's a pleasant lively work which sounded like something Berlioz might have tucked away in his bottom drawer and forgotten about, he'd have certainly come up with something more memorable than its by-the-numbers ending. The second half of the concert was devoted to Brahms and by far the best part was the encore, a vigorous and unbuttoned rendering of the boisterous Hungarian Dance No. 5. I found Shani's approach to Brahms' magnificent Symphony No 4 in E minor cautious, reverential and heavy on the strings so that, even with Symphony Hall acoustic, the orchestra's fine wind section was occasionally swamped. The Allegro non troppo's opening - Brahms' amazing orchestral sigh - found Shani sluggish, and the whole symphony rather ponderous. Shani should listen to Carlos Kleiber's recording of the symphony which captures its disturbing examination of passion desperately seeking tranquillity.
Norman Stinchcombe
We live in the age of celebrity when the runner-up in a television reality show is hailed as a star and 1970s singers performing their two hit singles on the revival circuit are labelled legendary. In the midst of this devalued currency the audience for this concert had the privilege of seeing an authentic living legend perform. Martha Argerich first appeared on the concert platform, aged eight, 77 years ago, triumphed in every competition she entered becoming a star when winning the International Chopin Piano Competition in 1965. Look at the cover photograph of her first recording made that year for EMI and you'll see a pouting beauty with a mane of black hair for whom the word "sultry" could have been coined. She made Bardot loom prim. But tempus fugit; the Martha Argerich who was greeted with cheers and applause from an enthusiastic Symphony Hall audience is 85-years-old, the mane is grey, in black and white patterned dress and black top the look was bohemian granny chic. Her playing still sparkles, the articulation crisp, the phrasing imaginative. Beethoven's Piano Concerto No 2 in B flat major is the Cinderella of the five concertos, the least performed, but it's Argerich's favourite. Perhaps because it fits in with her long-held decision to abandon solo recitals for collaborating with other players. The second concerto has that sort of collective feel, its lighter more Mozartian than the later concertos, Beethoven omitted clarinets, trumpets and timpani and textures are clarified. After the orchestral introduction to the Allegro con brio first movement the pianist's entry re-works the material as if responding to the orchestra with "well this is how I think it might go..." and when the orchestra returns the music becomes more playful and Argerich was delightfully skittish here, the much-played runs up and down the keyboard looking and sounding spontaneous. Beethoven's carefully crafted and complex cadenza - composed much later than the concerto - can sound a mismatch in less capable hands but Argerich made it feel organic, its tonal wanderings part of the concerto's fabric. The Munich Philharmonic, under their chief conductor Lahav Shani, were always attentive, playing neat and crisp, the wind section provided wistful support in the Adagio to Argerich's ruminative playing, before having the final word as the movement sighed to a close. Then we were off for final Rondo's hurly burly with Argerich emphasizing Beethoven's humorous ear-tickling syncopations and a jolly rumbustious ending. Cue voluble audience acclamation, thoroughly deserved, more than matched for the encore, another Argerich favourite. In 2004 she recorded Ravel's suite 'Ma mère l'Oye' (Mother Goose) in piano arrangement (four hands) with pianist Mikhail Pletnev. Lahav Shani is also a concert pianist and so we had a collaborative encore, the gorgeous 'Le Jardin féerique' (The Fairy Garden), the apotheosis of Ravel's suite, slow and grave but the essence of romanticism with playing to match.
Not surprisingly the rest of the concert was like switching from Technicolor to monochrome. It opened with the Overture No 2, from 1834, by French composer and pianist Louise Farrenc. It's a pleasant lively work which sounded like something Berlioz might have tucked away in his bottom drawer and forgotten about, he'd have certainly come up with something more memorable than its by-the-numbers ending. The second half of the concert was devoted to Brahms and by far the best part was the encore, a vigorous and unbuttoned rendering of the boisterous Hungarian Dance No. 5. I found Shani's approach to Brahms' magnificent Symphony No 4 in E minor cautious, reverential and heavy on the strings so that, even with Symphony Hall acoustic, the orchestra's fine wind section was occasionally swamped. The Allegro non troppo's opening - Brahms' amazing orchestral sigh - found Shani sluggish, and the whole symphony rather ponderous. Shani should listen to Carlos Kleiber's recording of the symphony which captures its disturbing examination of passion desperately seeking tranquillity.
Norman Stinchcombe