Despite fine playing, Schmidt’s Second Symphony fails to convince in Berlin

Germany Martines, Mozart, and Schmidt: Evgeny Kissin (piano), Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra / Fabio Luisi (conductor). Philharmonie, Berlin, 6.10.2023. (MB)

Marianna Martines – Sinfonia in C major
Mozart – Piano Concerto No.23 in A major, KV 488
Franz Schmidt – Symphony No.2 in E-flat major

This concert from Evgeny Kissin, the Berlin Philharmonic, and Fabio Luisi brought together three very different works from composers working in present-day Austria. (Mozart, of course, came from Salzburg, which only became part of Austria some years after his death, but he had been living and working in Vienna for some time.) Mozart’s A major Piano Concerto, KV 488, is an imperishable masterpiece, even amongst his piano concertos. Haydn pupil Marianna Martines’s C major Sinfonia proved pleasant, even interesting, to hear, if hardly something to which many would frequently return. As for Franz Schmidt’s Second Symphony, I know it has its devotees, and I was keen to give it a second chance, having heard it a few years ago at the BBC Proms, but on this basis I cannot understand what they hear in it.

Martines’s piece is a Sinfonia in the old-fashioned sense; in three very short movements, it could readily have been a three-part opera overture. Written for strings, two flutes, two oboes, two horns, and timpani, with continuo provided by harpsichordist Arno Schneider, it lay, as one might expect, on the cusp of what we have come to know, not necessarily helpfully, as the Baroque and Rococo, form lying somewhere between the two, melodic and harmonic language closer to the latter.  The first movement, Allegro con spirito, is put together from very simple material: scales, arpeggios, and so on. The composer shows keen facility, including that for (slight) modulatory surprise, but there are no more fundamental surprises here. Luisi here and elsewhere kept the Berlin Philharmonic on a tight leash, perhaps a little too tight at times, but such is the way nowadays of most conductors with eighteenth-century music. The second movement, Andante ma non troppo, is more lyrical, again as one would expect. It unfolded largely according to a predictable harmonic plan, save for one moment which sounded more puzzling than adventurous. The third movement, in triple time, comes close to a minuet, though I am not sure I should quite call it that. It is strangely lacking in harmonic motion, though a contrasting central section (a trio, I suppose) brought some tonal variation. No masterpiece, then, but a welcome opportunity to expand our knowledge of Italianate musical culture in Vienna in the early 1770s.

Luisi retained a smallish string section for the Mozart, but it sounded warmer and fuller. There is, of course, a slightly larger wind section too, oboes exchanged for clarinets, with two bassoons joining the band, albeit without timpani. The orchestra sounded considerably larger, though, reflecting less constraint. Conductor and pianist opted for a steady tempo: welcome in many ways, yet sometimes tending a little to the foursquare. Kissin proved admirable in his clarity, if at times somewhat deliberate. A little more ‘flowing like oil’ would have done no harm. The development section seemed to suit him better, perhaps a consequence of a more (post-)Beethovenian mindset. Luisi largely seemed content to follow; I could not help but wonder what difference the presence of Kissin’s former collaborator, that supreme Mozartian Sir Colin Davis, might have made.

Again, the slow movement evinced a welcome disinclination to rush, but also at times a certain ponderousness and lack of lyricism. Climactic high notes, which should breathe the air of the opera house, were too often stabbed at. Lightness of touch and gravity of sentiment can readily go together; indeed, in this movement, they surely must. The Berlin wind, as elsewhere, were well-nigh perfect. In the finale, Kissin better combined steadiness with forward motion; it is all too easy to take this music too fast at the beginning and find oneself compelled to skate over its latter course. Not so here. He might have been more yielding at times, but that is not his way. What did it lack? Ultimately, that sense of magic in every bar that the greatest performances bring to Mozart.

Schmidt’s symphony naturally brought a considerably larger orchestra to the stage. I had no reservations concerning the performance; the Berlin Philharmonic clearly relished its task, playing as if this were a repertory piece, and Luisi conducted it as such, with evident belief, leading a fine balance throughout the work’s three lengthy movements of detail and grand sweep. I only wish it were belief in which I could have shared. The first movement was probably the most convincing, with just enough occasional approaches to more adventurous composers (say, Elgar and Richard Strauss) to hold one’s attention. Yet it could never quite take flight; or rather, when it seemed to do so, it was never entirely clear why. However gorgeous the orchestra sounded – and it truly did – the composer seemed in need of some intensive study of Brahms.

The second movement, a theme and ten variations, was again well paced and phrased. The theme’s Harmoniemusik again sounded a little like early Strauss, albeit without the memorability or the daring. Variations passed pleasantly enough between strings and woodwind, at one point suggesting watered-down Reger, at another something closer to Mendelssohn (though without his lightness of touch). The fourth brought something a little sterner, the sixth a hint of yearning, the eighth something broader, and so on. It was competent, yet hardly inspired. By the time we reached the final variation, the composer seemed to have run out of steam; and yet… it continued for quite some time. At the end, someone shouted ‘Bravo!’ and others applauded. Maybe they thought or hoped the symphony was over.

The final movement’s opening counterpoint is well put together, yet again it remained stubbornly unmemorable. If you are going to write in such reactionary fashion, at least write a tune. It sounded like the introduction to a Bach transcription that never materialised. Nor, if I am honest, did anything else much. This was note-spinning at length. If that length had been acquired from Bruckner, how to use it to good effect had not. The end, of course, simply had to include a chorale in augmentation. In the future, I shall stick with Schmidt’s Fourth Symphony, which has its moments, not least in its Adagio, more finely wrought than anything here.

Mark Berry