Petrenko and Abduraimov at Severance

This past Thursday I received the first of two doses of the Shingrix vaccine.  Although I experienced some unpleasant side effects Friday, by Saturday they were mostly resolved so, despite a slightly sore shoulder, I was able to attend the Cleveland Orchestra’s concert of 20^th Century music at Severance Hall featuring guest conductor Vasily Petrenko.  Unfortunately, Daniel has been fighting an annoying sinus infection, so he was unable to join me. 

The first work on the program was Edward Elgar’s concert overture, Cockaigne “In London Town,” a musical tribute to Edwardian era London and a reminder to this listener that he needs to book his flight for a planned spring trip there.  The work’s jaunty rhythms were delivered with crispness and a lack of pomposity, its massive orchestration never overpowering.

Petrenko was joined by pianist Behzod Abduraimov for the concert’s next work: Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2, Op. 16.  Originally premiered in 1913, the work’s score was lost in the aftermath of the Russian Revolution, reconstructed and revised by the composer, and received a second premiere in 1924.  The work is easily the most demanding of Prokofiev’s five piano concertos:  Four sprawling movements, harmonically pungent, truly knuckle-busting in terms of dexterity and stamina required.  The work has grown in popularity over the last few decades, although the contrarian composer seems to have had mixed feelings about it (he advised Vladimir Horowitz to not bother learning the piece, saying “it has too many notes and I don’t like it myself”).

Within two minutes of the work’s quiet, brooding opening, Abduraimov was demonstrating that he was the work’s master, not the other way around.  One must always remember that, despite the pseudo-servile statements made by numerous musicians, one must truly master the music to serve the composer’s vision.  Abduraimov’s technique was truly stunning, not merely in dexterity but in the balancing of notes and lines so that Prokofiev’s dense piano writing was more than merely loud, but made musical sense – thus, the technique served musical ends.  This was combined with a narrative sweep usually lacking in performances of this monster of a concerto – which too often ends up sounding like a jumble of scrambled notes.  Of the many performances, both recorded and live, I’ve heard of this work, this was the most memorable, and far more convincing than the one I heard in here four years ago. 

It has become commonplace to describe staggering feats of virtuosity such as what was heard last night as “effortless”, a term that can devalue the achievement and allow the audience to forget that the marvel came at the expense of countless hours of arduous work.  Last night’s performance was certainly not “effortless”, as witnessed by the pianist mopping his brow with a handkerchief during the rare moments of rest that the concerto allowed.  Abduraimov gave the last ounce of himself and the virtuosity was earned. 

In the end, it was a fearless, convincing, and compelling performance which did more than bring the audience to its feet, but also remained in the mind’s ear for hours afterward.  Petrenko and the orchestra matched the pianist note for note.  Despite the concerto’s exhausting demands, Abduraimov gave a charming encore: an arrangement of the Neapolitan Dance from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake.

The concert’s second half was devoted to William Walton’s Symphony No. 1, a work that the composer struggled to complete.  Walton was a more eclectic composer than Elgar, his music less obviously British, and it’s clear he was a strong influence on the film compositions of John Williams, both harmonically and in orchestration.  Petrenko and the orchestra delivered the work with brisk tempos, transparent balances, and a lack of unnecessary rhetoric.  But it seemed a bit anti-climactic.  Not that the work itself or the performance were lacking, simply that the Prokofiev was so astonishing.  The audience awarded Petrenko and the orchestra with a hearty ovation, but it was the Prokofiev which lingered for the rest of the evening, as attested by several conversations I overheard while leaving Severance Hall.