DSO Berlin (06.12.2009) - Return of Tugan Sokhiev for scintillating Tchaikovsky 5. Johannes Moser, cello (Dvorak).

December return by Tugan Sokhiev to DSO Berlin tells altogether a different story than did previous visit – all Russian program – of Sokhiev’s work with this orchestra.

This was the fourth DSO broadcast within seven months of a cello concerto, as conducted by second to third tier men – Hanno Lintu, Hans Graf, and as previously, Sokhiev. Lintu and Sokhiev, Isserlis and Mork divided the two Shostakovich between themselves respectively - Mork one of two most successful out of four. The other, as just conducted by Sokhiev, is Johannes Moser. DSO principal Grunkorn on the Barber turned out fine as well, but especially compromised by having had to make concessions to a weak podium.

Before the Dvorak, we had Alexander Borodin’s ‘In the Steppes of Central Asia’ - first time I recall seeing this fine morsel programmed in quite some time. In its exotic charm, simplicity, it seldom makes itself unwelcome. It also has its subtleties to trip up anyone unsuspecting as to excessively understate the case for it - or try to make too much of one. Sokhiev, depending in part on very fine wind principals of DSO Berlin, achieved fine, expressive results. In shaping soulful English horn solo, when handed over to the strings, Sokhiev’s affection for this piece was clear. What may strengthen his next go at it is to anticipate downbeats less, rely less on doing so to be expressive. His ear for balances was still good here, plus his feel for atmosphere, apart from slightly heavy underlining and occasional soggy attacks from the brass.

Equally atmospheric was the brooding opening to the Dvorak concerto on clarinets. Some bearing down on the horns, making way into first orchestral tutti did not necessarily augur well for the rest of this, but fortunately only proved momentary lapse. Getting absolute clarity with downbeats still proves an issue with Sokhiev; the good news is that it may not be crippling his efforts so much anymore, it seems, for instance accompanied less by so much bearing down - as true several seasons ago. His considerable slowing down for second theme in the horn could have stalled matters, but both the artistry of DSO Berlin principal horn and of Sokhiev encouraging warm understatement of the case made doing so fine. He then provided fine lift for polka step raptly anticipating solo entrance.

Johannes Moser made controlled entrance of notable dignity, warmth, reserve, nobility, unfazed by double-stops and other technical challenges in the part that encumber many second-tier down cellists right away, attempting this. Pointing of woodwind concertato underneath was crisp, attentive – without any stiffness as found for similar writing in the Barber last week. Second theme sounded forth equally as genuine as from horn player in the orchestral exposition - then spinning forth into sextuplets with flute obbligato with fine aplomb. And then for sake of making slightly heavy rhetoric out of gestures on part of about all, closing section before ritornello and Development, for just about minute taken came across episodic.

Sokhiev recovered poise just about two lines into ritornello; starting with rapt, broadly paced musing that Moser gets to re-enter with, all proceeded through the Development with fine simplicity. Sokhiev made crackling transition, led by trumpet, then flutes and Moser together, into ending well the first movement.

Only momentarily self-conscious accenting, and disallowing violins enough foreground over brass (not playing too loudly) for opening of its middle section hampered a lovely, atmospheric handling of the second movement. Moser’s gently broad, arched, singing line, and Sokhiev’s sensitive accompaniment all related matters well, alongside fine concertato of DSO winds. All sentiment was unabashed, but very seldom ‘worked.’ Feeling of heartbreak at end, as the music on its own spells out nobly in sublime manner, came across entirely genuine.

The finale, with its internal contrasts between, within sections came off best. Wei Lu, in descant to Moser during long, extended final section to this rondo finale sounded curiously slightly placed back, but played his part fluently, expressively well. Crisper downbeat to dance accents near the start of this, from Sokhiev, might have been better though. Without being to the Bohemian folk manner born, he perhaps can still come closer to definitive in conducting this music with crisper accent for the more animated tutti frequently occurring in Dvorak. One could hear most of the impetus for this already present. Vigorous stringendo with which he invested starting the finale made the case.

Spiccato, fluent work on fingerboard, confidence to make animated flourish out of much of this, together with sensitive interaction with wind principals of DSO Berlin and Wei Lu made complete what Moser brought to this. It was still moreover confidently the very noble sentiment and line and rich tone one will most likely recall of Moser's playing the Dvorak. Cheers and mostly well achieved encore of Bach’s first sarabande (G Major) for unaccompanied cello were both richly deserved A dove-tailing of two lines in first half of the Bach was self-conscious; once past halfway, Moser made introspectively enraptured supple, focused, noble line out of all the rest. May we hear much more of Moser and thus pick up how Moser will most likely be able to take his playing from here.

If it was not for what risk-taking occurred during Sokhiev’s interpretation of the Tchaikovsky Fifth Symphony, mostly delivered well, I might have quickly deduced that what he brought here to Berlin was hardly more than case of ‘specialty of the house.’ Witness however the steeply arched, bombastic affect that Gergiev endowed this piece on a much hyped Vienna Philharmonic release of the same some years back. Little of this seems to have rubbed off on his student here; it also hardly sounds as though I write of same person conducting this as I did on Russian repertoire before.

A fine imaginative, attentive sense of narrative coursed throughout so very familiar terrain. When there might arrive mild understatement of at times overly emphatic internal tempo instructions on the composer’s part, it was always with long view of the whole picture in mind - deftly stated as such. No definitive interpretation of this piece surfaces yet, but Sokhiev here is still only thirty-three. Aim of being headed at least somewhat in the right direction certainly seems unmistakable.

A few miscalculations, mistakes occasionally belied someone experienced being on the podium, but the youthful spirit with which he engaged this music, for instance the fine swagger he gave the opening of the finale and coda restatement spoke very highly of how he had prepared us so well earlier for what would transpire. Lithe feel for the third movement, with open rustle of fresh breeze throughout its trio section and beautifully, subtly calibrated figuration from there into return of main section all sounded very fresh..

It was clear from the first few minutes of this Tchaikovsky Fifth – I can happily report - we were not embarking on approach to something of fate-obsessed, metaphysical aspirations, such as one will pick up in one way from Bernstein (DGG) and more achieved on surface, brilliantly, 1970’s Karajan - or as odd hybrid between - Eschenbach (Ondine). If so, as from someone with Sokhiev’s limited experience, there would be a much different review to read. Sokhiev gave us a Tchaikovsky Fifth in what impact it might have had, intimating cross between 1960’s Karajan and Mravinsky, without achieving as confident security of the former or interpretative depth capable of the latter

Sokhiev’s simple doleful handling of first movement introduction, with his extending out of (dotted) half notes in fate motto for clarinets, with it barely perceptible his doing so immediately revealed sense of aspiration for some aesthetic finesse with this music. No less was it so with the long breathed wistful sigh he made out of opening of both exposition and recapitulation from both strings with lithe accompanying winds, and then dourly introspective bassoon respectively. It is only perhaps on the surface that what resembled a miscalculation was a marked early slow down for final chain of restatements of opening subject as such to close the first movement. Transitions otherwise were effortlessly achieved. Youthful impetuosity with a few moments, such as bridge transitions each time to second theme unexaggeratedly emerged fresh.

Beautiful too was the weighted introduction to the Andante - that Sokhiev made emphatically slow (but pulsated with intent of keeping the line alive). This then remained an Andante - as something to have organically emerged out of how the first movement ends. If one sought bombastic rhetoric at key nodal points here, one looked in vain. More primary on Sokhiev’s mind was how to always sustain a continual sense of narrative throughout this, even past fleeting doubt of his handling of one or two transitions therein. A slight phrasing from behind of clarinet seemed overt, starting middle section to all this; such concern also only proved fleeting. Lines for solo horn were long-breathed, but with Sokhiev requesting a Slavic inspired affectation of Gallic formed embouchure in playing horn for sake of desirable color, regardless what risk.

A certainly rapid-fire approach to much of the finale brilliantly closed the concert, but while similar in pace to Mravinsky or Gergiev, eschewing excessive bombast of the latter. Heavily accented start to the Exposition for amassed strings alone came across portentous. The shove into rapid brass re-statement in C Major of ‘fate’ was risky, for how transition into the Development realistically should work. Without any derailing or threat of such, all proceeded organically from what had opened up here.

The opening of the finale, eschewing grandiosity, certainly something just to stand on its own as so much rhetoric Sokhiev revealed being interpretively mature to realize, lest one prefer much empty hectoring instead. Sokhiev instead proceeded with fine swagger, such as with stepping out for a brisk walk on morning of bright sunlight over remaining frost on the ground. Sokhiev in the coda subtly pointed out dark chromatic progression in undergirding brass to violins’ unison ‘fate’ motif in E Major to bring us full circle from whence things started.. Brilliant, closing flourish to all this came across most refreshing.

My only trepidation about writing in as such is that of too much a push this still fledgling career receives today. This is first time apparent to me there is indeed a real gift here not only for orchestral, but more so for operatic work. The repertoire is vast, challenges, temptations great, such as have already tripped up greater men than, at thirty-three, Sokhiev. He stepped in for Mehta in Seoul for Haydn 104 and Brahms 4 (for his VPO debut?) last fall. There are subtleties with Brahms 4 that must still confound eager youth - youth nothing to disparage. More than immediate success, one can best wish Mr. Sokhiev much prudence in planning what may result in rewarding career ahead for him.

RAVE: Tchaikovsky Eugen Onegin (Bolshoi at Palais Garnier - 2008) - guide to dandyism or Onegin for the cognitively dislocated

Viewing operas at cinemas has become somewhat a mainstay for numerous fans – over just these past three years. One finding traditional experience of opera, Eugen Onegin included, so predictable, perhaps then one might embrace what showed here as though taking in a breath of fresh air. I anticipated this being so - after having heard how Galina Vishnevskaya stormed out once during opening Moscow run of this production. In part, self-styled enfant terrible Dmitri Tcherniakov fulfilled expectations; in other ways he has not. Essentially, however, he is indeed the show here – except nobody actually sees him until curtain calls. And yet one seemed to partly miss him for Act Three; therein the singers and music recovered some due prominence.

I sighed ‘first mistake’ upon seeing action on stage, around a very long dinner table soon after the prelude began. John Steane, among others, has cited every turn this production makes as due to bad judgment. I am not so sure of that; Tcherniakov shows much craft at Regie, but he has not quite learned how to harness his gifts to extent he can show us near as much his command of the art of omission as that of commission. When Tcherniakov finally decided on more prudence, it appeared he was starting to wind up empty. A certain relaxed disdain in how this Onegin has been written up, has hinted at this production not quite well sustaining any well-organized challenge or offense to our sensibilities that we all need cringe. A new production Daniel Barenboim recently conducted in Vienna has been called more radical than this.

The first scene alone would make “Eugen Onegin as comedy” certainly plausible take on what has occurred here. Could one not catch on to several disturbing motifs within action presented, it might just as well remain so. Larina (Makvala Kasrashvili (very accomplished former Tatiana herself) and Emma Sarkisyan (Filipyevna) laughed themselves silly over mutual reminiscences. The staging denied the wistful character of the music, while making it very clear from the get-go exactly what Tcherniakov wanted.

A large family with guests is seated at the large table for dinner; the peasants’ chorus begins and continues as sung by them. That then climaxed in an ample sized Makvala Kasrashvili boisterously tossed to the floor amongst much general ruckus. Lensky may be in love with Olga, but it never got reciprocated, Olga laughing through Lensky’s first aria and then immediately flirting with the Onegin. She also got a bit too much in Tatiana’s face with her own aria – as though trying to make Tatiana snap out of it. One could predict well ahead, without knowing the plot, as to who would be dancing with whom in the next major ensemble scene – in which challenge between Onegin and Lensky quickly developed much physicality. Olga’s laughter at Lensky over his poetry, then over his amorous protestations fully went over the top.

Some playful tryst or gossip ridden dalliance looked to be happening backstage to start final scene of Act One - one of several more clever touches here. Most riotous was Lensky usurping Triquet’s couplets, toward making a complete buffoon out of himself, after smiling much of the way during his first confidences of anxiety to Olga during this scene.

Mariusz Kwiecien made for slightly effortful lyric casting as Onegin – simultaneously so cool an Onegin. The voice has good color to it, when Kwiecien sings softly, but it often gets pushed; this is a voice a bit reticent at sounding forth, except for when push and shove will enter the mix and did here. The tone then spread – as at any point Kwiecien started in on any hectoring - his threat to Lensky at end of Act Two, Scene 1 one surprising exception. As part of arduous scheme to avoid sentimentalizing anything, Kwiecien excited little sympathy as Onegin.

Kwiecien revealed good swagger while making the rounds to press the flesh during opening Act Three polonaise; He understood well throughout what he was singing. With his legato being a bit hit-and-miss however, he undercut what elegant or noble shape to lines one most often seeks. . He looked fine – better than baritone from second run of this production that opened in Moscow one month ago. That included at literally walking out on Tatiana at end of Act One, leaving her sitting at end of the table opposite to door through which he made his exit – all this replacing the gentlemanly thing to do. In putting forth doing so simply, this proves about the biggest coup de theatre for the entirety of this production.

One must admire the intensity Tatiana Monogarova invested in a deconstructed Tatiana in so many ways. The voice is a lyric, with burnished colors to it - a voice too that can turn cloudy at the break. She sang the Letter scene affectingly enough, but as affected perhaps most of all by the detachment of the staging and dramatic intensity called upon from, expected of her. Legato through normally expected couching of her lines and nuance, shading thereof got compromised.

Monogarova’s acting of Tatiana was riveting, excessively so to characterize what typically is a young woman in love. With the Letter Scene, after seeing her earlier moving slowly with constantly empty look, stare straight ahead, we in effect have unawares picked up Tatiana’s mad scene. The gestures, countenance, jerky motions, everything looked copied out of role-play infused group or drama therapy. The penetrating blank stare on Monogarova’s face – Monogarova not quite a great beauty to behold, certainly not ugly either – became its most intense during Act Two, Scene One – intentional irony this was so – enough to force me to avert my gaze
several times. Should some of this had to do with camera angle, this was also intentional. A momentarily stomach lurching experience of Tatiana from singer certainly competent to how to encompass the part’s vocal demands became hallmark of everything here.

Once into Act Three, while elegantly presenting herself, this Tatiana turned a little bland, though wanting to invite some sympathy during final scene with Onegin. Subtle hints of neurasthenia crept in – as good reference to earlier phase of narrative. Still I would like the name of unseen psychotherapist involved for how far he has been able to get this Tatiana over span of just several years (since the first two acts take place).

Emma Sarkisyan, as Filipyevna, seated herself by Dunaev as he sang his long lament, making gestures for every line, comparable to one finding inserted emoticons at the end of every sentence in a long letter one gets. What frisson in check should be there – purpose for why Tchaikovsky stretches this out - got zapped. Vedernikov, following inartistic goals of this production a little too closely, kept things mildly too foursquare for this scene. He however though infused its closing lines in moderately high tremolo from raptly attentive Bolshoi violins for shudder to evoke – after a quite eccentrically staged duel to have run across.

Andrei Dunaev was the elegantly turned Lensky, one displaying fine open melos tonally to supplement Lensky’s poetic ardor. It was as subtle an aspect of anything one would ever encounter here. In portraying the poet, affably so, Dunaev still conveyed a Lensky altogether cool, self-absorbed. Except for slight strain for a few high notes, Dunaev provided most of Lensky’s music with lovely shape, then only to provide just adequate connection with others on stage while interacting with him – something we usually take for granted in a piece like this. And yet in this production it was impossible to take anything much at all so. It is unfortunate, however, that the duel scene quickly became so undercut, first off by (while taking place in the same long rectangular dining room) having appear during opening chords family and guests all wel engaged in moving out. Valery Gilmanov made a serious Zaretski with strong vocal presence, but Guillot, Onegin’s assistant, had this inanely persistent laugh, as though having been on the bottle all the previous night and not lacking the stamina to carry on more.

Triquet’s couplets, as sung by Dunaev, conveyed a unusually cool, irreverent irony to them, devoid now of any smarminess for sure, who to deliver them but Lensky usurping an always merry, lean as a stick aging Triquet. Triquet certainly looked as though he had had a few too many while enjoying someone else instead sing what he has written. Even Dunaev getting on the floor with a small mechanical white fluffy dog, imitating its motions – I fully expected him to lift one leg - while crowd enlivening - worked no wonders on a still, very still, phased out Tatiana.

Most unqualified success here was the pleasantly dark-hued Olga of Margarita Mamsirova, beautifully, securely even across the range. She contributed plenty of spunk, while fortunately stopping short of over-acting Olga. As this production dictated, she also stopped short of ever making Olga sympathetic at all, thus her looks of incomprehension to shock at Lensky during Act Two almost registered as her deserved comeuppance that things might turn out so badly. Anatoli Kotscherga, singing Gremin’s aria almost entirely in Kwiecien’s face, carried necessary gravitas - compromised by odd acting and effortful legato - in vocal weight and physical stature. His voice, heard as Boris Godunov for Abbado (Sony), is full, if still awkwardly produced.

Makvala Kasrashvili, at age of 66, sang Larina more light toned than some, showing slight fraying at the edges, and fell into easy temptation here of hamming things up too much. She can be found on youtube, singing the Letter scene in concert attire, from approximately twelve years ago, with more security and (less interfered with) ample feeling than Monogarova provided us. Away from Tcherniakov, his influence,I’d certainly like to hear Monogarova sing this again. Emma Sarkisyan had the authority with the words of Tatiana’s nurse, look and feel of experience to it all, but voice today showing much wear and tear. Until at least Act Two, the unaffected animation which she invested the part enhanced well all that went on.

With firm sense of orchestral and choral ensemble, Alexander Vedernikov conducted with consistent strong forward motion and frequently buoyant spring to many lines. The big dances in the last two acts had much vitality and swagger to them. One also found practically sufficient pause for poetic scoring to depict atmosphere, but self-conscious on Vedernikov’s part to so painstakingly avoid risking hint of any excess. Feel for this Onegin, as guided by the staging increasingly felt two-dimensional – even imprudently rushed occasionally. He supported his singers well without allowing them much room to expand out on their lines - to extent some of them could have. The cool, distancing effect of Tcherniakov’s production thus held sway. And yet Vedernikov indeed has contributed much vitality and freshness overall to this enterprise.

Trademark here was once more the production itself. Take for instance the mime Filipyevna of Sarkisyan during scene with Lensky soon before he is shot, not to mention the practically barbaric psycho-analytic handling of Tatiana, making it seem that Tatiana has been through worse trauma than Jenufa or Kat’a Kabanova. Idea here, especially with Lensky in his scene was obvious - to avoid, at all cost, sentimentalizing anything. Nevertheless, it backfired on Tcherniakov. In place of genuine emotion, one had instead insipid to silly bathos. Business of Onegin, while facing Tatiana, putting a gun to two different parts of his body at the very end came across as meaningless, silly. There is much craft here, no doubt, in how to move characters around and in how they interact amongst themselves to a detailed extent. Such bravado in putting this on display, though, became very disorienting. It takes much discipline to stage something on a unit set; only a little ways does Tcherniakov seem to have this down yet.

The smugness (frequently on faces of chorus members), self-absorption, constant smiles and laughter even through some serious passages quickly became clumsy. Typical was the highly affected smile on face of one dapper young lad - sitting next to who we soon discovered is a laughing, inebriated Guillot - as tensions rose, among large gathering, between Onegin and Lensky. Dandyism on display, within much a façade of detached elegance here, toward depicting less polite behavior than should be the norm originates from Pushkin and Tchaikovsky. However, what comes across is an exposed narcissism in how Tcherniakov presents his vision. Overall modus operandi eventually I fear more than just intentionally comes across cognitively displaced or dislocated; this entire enterprise has accomplished just that.

Vishnevskaya may have unintentionally provided this Onegin some imprimatur by storming out on it as allegedly she had done; she certainly made this production worth seeing once. One may just never return for second helpings - except to bewilder or confound one's friends. When there is a Russian remake of Stepford Wives, whenever that could occur, the new director need not look further than this Onegin to cast it – this year’s Tatiana - woman who just won the Cardiff - Mrs. Van Sant and Monogarova as the lead (the Katharine Ross character). Once having better learned his craft plus some empathy, Tcherniakov can direct.

For especially the warmer feel of the two leads and equally idiomatic playing by the Met orchestra, better engaged podium of Gergiev, if less so for the Lensky (Vargas) and wobbly Olga (Elena Zaremba), my preference for dvd selection between these two still clearly points toward the Met. If told that mercury levels in potage for the Larinas had become precariously high, I would hardly bat an eye after observing what got sent us here from Paris.

BBC Proms 2009 16 and 20: Nelsons/CBSO and Nezet-Seguin/SCO

Prom 16. City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Andris Nelsons. Stephen Hough. Royal Albert Hall - July 28, 2009.


The Proms debut of young Andris Nelsons with the CBSO was much anticipated, given the charisma and seemingly dependable musicality of their new chief. His concert opened with what was most musically insightful of the evening – Orion Over Farne by John Casken (1984; rev. 1986). It combines in its imagery elements of narrative - Greek myth of Orion – to combine abstractly with view of the Farne islands off Northumberland coast, including depiction of constellation one can see at night certain times of year.

The music begins in jaggedly majestic fashion, along lines one might expect of French overture. Lines of melisma extend out, sometimes underpinning augmentation of such figuration into broadened lyricism in the violins, sometimes getting extended over to solo woodwinds. Repeated note tremolo, trills, and often five-note scale-wise patterns (also getting extended into stretches of octave or so) going up tritone instead of perfect fifth – also produce (extended) harmonic underpinnings and mark overtones in frequently dense writing. Snatches of gigue, possibly representing street music will sometimes but just fleetingly frame an extended event, passage, or long arch of lyrical outpouring. Such anchoring, framing device one finds in the music of Lutoslawski. Microtonal writing, especially in the strings shows up - suggesting where such could lead - but suggestion of there being aleatoric elements in play, even controlled ones just rests subtly at that. Such element is more essential to impetus and construction in Lutoslawski.

The piece, following no discernible narrative, is in four movements – relatively fast, slow, scherzo, and slow finale. Especially in the scherzo, ostinati develop in high winds, even a few strings, light percussion that seemed - amidst such (spirit of) yearning and striving that infuses so much of the entire piece - to represent what glitter, brilliant light might decorate the sky on a clear night off the Northumberland coast. Much toccata activity throughout different branches of the orchestra interactively livens up a despondent, even at times gloomy atmosphere to rub off on one while listening to this. This holds true until a short ways into the finale. Impression of wide open spaces, typical of Northumberland apparently, comes off here - often put as abstract.

Individual use of percussion writing, writing for woodwinds and brass too especially was clearly evident, along with recapitulatory element of reprise of the ‘french overture’ opening to the work during the scherzo. Such reprise provides a clear moment of underlining what formal elements of this music are perceptible. Nelsons’ control of his forces seemed exemplary - with his grasp of the meditative quality of particularly the slow finale – long string lines offset by mercurial descant and effects. Barcarolle motion through lower registers over span of nearly two octaves open spaced E Major chord combined with scale-wise extension of B Major above suggested deep overtones and gave moment or two in the fourth movement a much coveted feel of stability. More open engagement of colors here along with tighter formal sense might be welcome; effort put forth here still was good. Chant-like lines in six, broken up into melodic dyads in the second movement suggested Messiaen. Harmonic and melodic implications playing off each other antiphonally, first just among woodwinds, again suggested as much.

The opening of the 1910 score of Stravinsky’s Firebird, complete, sounded forth mysteriously, but one had to wonder about a certain want of tonal depth in CBSO double basses. Such began a certainly competent, well organized, polished rendition of the complete score, but seemingly unwilling to take one any further into it than that. Nelsons frequently has a fine ear for color, but often little to indicate how he might understand where some of it should lead. As to freely paraphrase a BBC emcee - such held true while Nelsons would beatifically look out over his orchestra with expressions of ‘voiced delight’ at what he'd hear come back.

Tempos were not conspicuously slow, but the internal life of it all was undercut by priority being given to color over rhythm. Where however was the vitality, the sense of charting new horizons, the danger, the risk-taking, the spark, the fire? Where at times were the sharp corners, the wit? Firebird does not owe 1980’s American film scores any debt. One gets the color, already there more than sufficiently in the scoring of this, even the identity or earmark of what ensemble is playing this from Stravinsky’s rhythms. Nelsons tended to prefer window-dressing, romanticized underlining, dovetailing its many corners instead. Better for Nelsons seemed to be what Stravinsky presumably had picked up from Rimsky-Korsakov, but in glib, clean, modern fashion. So much pointing of color here thus did not lead anywhere specific. Good color, a moderately well engaged orchestra, combustion for something to happen was clearly there, but little to set it off.

The tempo relationship between Adagio and Allegretto during ‘Suppplications’, for example, got minimized. With return of the Adagio, Nelsons tried to provide shape by inserting more breaks into the line, but such, subtle as they may have been, failed to emerge from within. With ominous sounding Katschei related motif on bassoon, Nelsons then went about sanitizing interesting wind concertati occurring above, as for them not to detract attention by their real peculiarity. So much writing since has developed out of such peculiarity, but no matter. Pacing of the Firebird Dance earlier was good, but with so much tweaking and nuance of it as to interrupt its own inherent animation.

With fine contributions from CBSO woodwinds, animation and coloristic effect was supplied aplenty for ‘Games with the Golden Apples’, but again hardly from within. The unabashedly Rimsky-Mozartean Round Dance deftly achieved lovely shape, but Daybreak appeared on the scene phlegmatically and with so much aimless fuss. After excessive slowdown into trotting out Katschei onto the scene himself, dialogue between prince and wizard was very suitably incisive, indicating so much of what we had already missed too often; the wizard’s crankiness in (over-the-top?) brass to the princesses interceding on behalf of handsome prince emerged fully in character. With loose to flaccid rhythm though, instead good preparation for infernal dance to follow, Katschei’s retinue, minions all wimped out on us. Ensuing battle seemed finished before it started.

Predictably, the infernal dance, as though everyone caught a little off guard, tamely, efficietnly coasted through with deft touch added here and there. Principal bassoon limned his lines for the Berceuse very nicely, but syrupy garden variety rubato from CBSO strings verged on practically Straussian. How Nelsons had Katschei keel over toward the end, was it to prove that Katschei indeed had seen better days? General rejoicing then began apologetically – perhaps we had been a tad hard on him all this time – with transition into wedding song (marked in five as in Rimsky-Korsakov operas) weak – leading eventually to soggy release at end of the long held final B Major chord.

Stephen Hough, in playing the Tchaikovsky concerti, seems to miss something. The tonal palette, variety of touch, and even size of tone he produces all come across as narrow for this music. He at least has most of the notes under his fingers, and the grace to shape lyrical pages well. There are qualities however, awkward though the writing is that distinguish Tchaikovsky’s writing for piano from that of Rachmaninov. Those did not come across here.

Nelsons proved little help on the Second Concerto, with somewhat punched out chords and chopped up line for majestic first theme. Even while sunny, there is some sense of imperial grandeur with which this piece carries itself. Strings were especially flat-line on lyrical ‘L’istesso tempo’ sections; the violins’ line sagged at the opening of the second theme. Hough repeated the rhapsodic ‘L’istesso tempo’ subject during his cadenza in way resembling too much music of the salon. Rubato, along with imperial grandeur less than socially correct these days, got ignored as option for bringing meaningful or defining shape to what then becomes only work-a-day - the technically most demanding passages of the first movement.

The second movement, with fine solo contributions across the board, was played absolutely complete, but including some editing from Hough with which it is hard to find sympathy. Replacing the violin and cello solos on the main theme to open the Recapitulation - preceding short cadenza for Mr. Hough but following theirs - entirely with piano playing this same passage instead did not turn out to be much of any idea. In attempting to revise, improve upon Tchaikovsky, having piano trio soloists trade off melodic line for instance in pairs might have worked better – or having left well enough alone. Rondo finale commenced earthbound; Hough invested pleasing room and space with light touch to how it carried on. Punching of chords from podium into coda to the finale was vulgar. Nelsons, imposing lightness as he did, working around rapid passagework from Hough, managed to turn the rondo into jaunty ‘Liberace’ for a less than dignified close to it all.

Prom 20. Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Yannick Nezet-Seguin. Karen Cargill, Andrew Staples, Brindley Sherratt, Nichlolas Angelich, soloists. Royal Albert Hall - July 31, 2009.

Yannick Nezet-Seguin spoke of potential pitfalls but the need to take risks, doing Stravinsky’s Pulcinella for what became his Proms debut – with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Stravinsky was quoted as calling this ballet an epiphany through which the whole of his ‘late works’ or emerging neo-classical style became possible. Had he thought of the charming melodic ideas and patterns, rhythms, and general aura or mood instead as dreary, measured, and simply tired as it all sounded here – certainly more than he himself perceived Rake’s Progress toward the end of the thirty-plus years that started with Pulcinella - he may have reduced those years by three-fourths and then moved on to serialism. According to such reasoning, Heinz Holliger, thinking back five years to one brief chat backstage I had with him, might have even found it desirable to have Nezet-Seguin around eighty years ago.

‘What risks?’ almost immediately came to mind once streamlined cruise through overture to the ballet, with soggy attack, was under way. A sagging, inadequately tuned oboe began the serenata, sung with spread tone by tenor Andrew Staples. Accompaniment was clunky, muddy, with Staples unable to keep line alive through cadences. Opening of Scherzino was phlegmatic - not to allow noticeable contrast in articulation with retiring G Minor cadential phrases in solo strings. Accelerated sections remained fixed to the bar-line and following Andantino was limpid, but shapeless. Allegro right before the mezzo’s first aria became at refrains so generically overstated as to get easily mistaken for Copland. Karen Cargill, staidly accompanied, though fruity around the break, sang and phrased her aria attractively.

Even with careful marking of every downbeat - stunting cumulative growth through ‘Allegro assai’ right afterwards - ensemble still turned muddy. Nezet-Seguin sounded still trying to organize what was in front of him while conducting it. Brindley Sherratt lacked control of pitch at the top of the staff in his first solo and continued wobbly from there on out. Trio of all three voices all sounded as though pressing request for ex-lax on hand. Some enthusiasm for having learned this music became evident during a pushed, scratchy Tarantella, but too little, too late. Soggy, bar-fixated pacing resumed through Gavotte with variations and minuet with French horn – self-parody to as ‘dying cow’ leading things for the latter. Stretto finale to the ballet turned into a racket, but as emerging from a joyless, badly academic, militaristically strict shouting match of trio that preceded it. Even Heinz Holliger would have hoped for better than this.

Following clunky downward trudge toward agitated three measures of intro, Nicholas Angelich and Nezet-Seguin gave a demonstration of how it might be possible to break the first theme of the Schumann piano concerto into perhaps as many as four or five sections at each serving of it. Nezet-Seguin appeared to be giving the impetus. Given this was a chamber orchestra taking such on so heavily, one could have wondered what things might have been like if had been full Philharmonia on stage instead. Angelich, when given rolling octaves – doing so in ‘Concert Fantasy’ mode - seemed interested in telling us that perhaps there is much in how Tchaikovsky (so awkwardly) wrote for the instrument in how Schumann did already in his one concerto. Stephen Hough can breathe a little easier now. Co-ordination of Nezet-Seguin’s strict accenting of the ritornello leading into the Development proved awkward; even clumsier was extended reprise during Development of the dotted rhythms from the Introduction, followed - so idiomatic - by more ‘Russian’ octave playing from Angelich. While left more on his own and given more lyrical material, Angelich lightened up and interacted well with sensitive principal clarinetist of the SCO. Expected bulges, surges, bumps, back-phrasings and what goes with the territory resumed in the Recapitulation, during which Nezet-Seguin made Schumann’s excitable reach into the supertonic working toward its second half– certainly excitable here – sound silly.

Matters did not much improve again until a fortunately nearly gracefully enough played intermezzo, yet with some phrase endings threatening to distend just as they had during the first movement. Transition to the rondo was effective, but runs by violins making it right into its first theme got slurped. Slavic values again quickly made themselves conspicuous. Angelich added back-phrased endings and teletype obbligato to between soft-shoe and Mexican waltz of a second subject, but found fluent touch through extensive arpeggi that followed, numerous times with lyrical extensions spinning off of them quite deftly. Nezet-Seguin, acknowledging Schumann’s lighter scoring, seemed finally for most of what remained to catch on.

Mendelssohn’s ‘Reformation’ Symphony closed the program. Nezet-Seguin got caught up a little in the four note arch that makes up much of the Introduction that somehow failed to build very well upon its own repetition into sequence that occurs. Each subphrase thus again had its own story, its own plot, but overall one quickly lost one’s own way, listening to this. After overdoing a repeated note idea in the brass, he enveloped the ‘Dresden amen’ in the strings just a little much. We are here not quite to Parsifal already. Measured phrasing prevailed in Allegro that immediately followed, making connecting line tenuous. Lighter touch on the second theme was good, but crude accenting morbidly broke following development section into much disconnected tissue.

Nezet-Seguin benefited by the lighter scoring in the Recapitlulation (until his free-wheeling handling of the Coda) and Scherzo - with accenting in the latter sliding into being clipped, ham-fisted. Pacing for the Andante intermezzo was slow, but with lovely sound and phrasing from SCO violins. Not until into the finale did serious trouble re-emerge - with accenting weighted very heavily and close to level of self-parody wrongly as well. Clipped ending notes on the strongly accented second subject almost thus became inaudible. Nezet-Seguin then gave impression of more security with what faced him, what ensued, that is until ragged string tone and ensemble over brass portentously sounding ‘A Mighty Fortress’ forth one last time.

There is no question, including in hearing Nezet-Seguin speak about music, the enthusiasm and grasp of even some musicality, but this is very evidently a career being pushed way too far, too fast for his own good - and that for the rest of us.