United Kingdom PROM 14 – Tüür, Beethoven, Bruckner: Yunchan Lim (piano), BBC Symphony Orchestra / Paavo Järvi (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London, 29.7.2024. (MBr)
Erkki-Sven Tüür – Aditus
Beethoven – Piano Concerto No.5 in E-flat major, ‘Emperor’
Bruckner – Symphony No.1 in C minor (1877 Linz version, ed. Nowak)
There was, of course, a full house for this BBC Prom – at least for Beethoven’s ‘Emperor’; poor Bruckner, in his 200th anniversary year, didn’t quite manage to keep the hall packed to the rafters for the first Prom’s performance of the 1877 Linz version of his First Symphony, the single work in the second half.
Classical musicians have always endured some kind of obsessive appeal with audiences, going back to Paganini. This probably sits a little less comfortably with someone like Yunchan Lim (and is possibly more intrusive in some countries than others) but it seemed pretty restrained at this concert. True, not the entire Korean community of New Malden had upped sticks from Zone 4 and travelled to the Royal Albert Hall for Lim’s debut; but then, what we might describe as the nuclear family, hardly makes for fandom either. How charming to see so many young children at this concert – although this, too, is common for Yunchan Lim recitals and concerts.
If one looks at some of the pianists who have performed the ‘Emperor’ at the Proms – Myra Hess (five times), Clifford Curzon (seven times), Stephen Kovacevich (four times) and Alfred Brendel (three times) and, most recently, András Schiff – it is an impressive list. Lim’s Beethoven is technically flawless, it is also Beethoven that is remarkable for this pianist’s ability to control tone and contrast to quite wonderful effect. What this is not is Beethoven that has much depth beyond the exceptional way the pianist phrases everything on the surface.
The first movement, the Allegro, was superlative. In Lim’s recording of this concerto (issued by DG in Korea) the very close balance hints at much less contrast than we got here (and actually proves how mercurial and transparent the acoustic of the Albert Hall can sometimes be). Some details such as the ascending trills, and some of the miniature figurations that Beethoven writes – such as the bell-like tinkles – were fabulous. Some notes were embellished with such lightness, with such serenity, they barely registered at all so gentle was the touch against the keys: if it wasn’t necessarily pathos, it was almost there. At his best, the pianissimo playing shimmered and sparkled magically. One might have expected the F minor arpeggios (in the Development) to have been overwrought as some of Lim’s unison playing can err towards – but here it had a context. There was no lack of virtuosity in this Allegro, although the ease with which it was passed off cast some doubt in my mind as to whether some of the tension and power was really here. In a movement with its militarist hints, rumbles of thunder and corrosive and biting touches Lim could sometimes seem curiously understated.
If I had found the Adagio on the DG recording something of a minor miracle then the one in this performance left me rather cold. This is hardly Beethoven at his most profound – and yet, what Lim seemed to be playing came close to didactic phrasing, with little sense of any arc to join the music together. He certainly did leave space between the notes in the opening of the Adagio – the problem was the arid air between them. The hymn-like theme was somewhat better done, with rather more regret reflected in the playing, but the silhouettes that shape this movement were largely absent. The Rondo was often sublime, however. There were flashes of brilliance here (cascades of broken octaves that gushed through the floodgates), giddying chromatic scales, and a sense that Lim was defining the scale of this performance where previously he might not have been doing that. Lim’s ability to play with enormous aggression – and then sink into pianissimos of staggering finesse – worked well here; it also sets him apart from many young pianists with a much less expressive touch. But no matter the brilliance, and there was lots of it, this performance fell short when it came to digging deep.
The BBC Symphony Orchestra and Paavo Järvi didn’t always seem on the same page as Lim, not least because this was hardly a Beethovenian sized orchestra. Woodwind solos were sometimes a little rampant; the timpani certainly more ‘martial’ than I can recall in some performances of this concerto. Lim’s one encore was Bach’s Siciliano BWV 1031 in the transcription by Wilhelm Kempff. It was dazzling, transcendent and had a core depth to it that seemed otherworldly. It rather oddly sounded as if he were playing this for himself rather than the audience. Undeniably magical.
The Linz version of Bruckner’s First Symphony is largely preferable to the later revision by the composer – although the work itself can seem barely recognisable to his middle and later symphonies no matter which of those editions one hears. Paavo Järvi’s time in Japan has clearly been well-spent when it comes to seating western orchestras since the clarity of sound we got from this performance was often unusually good – even if the playing of the BBC SO was not in the slightest comparable to that of the NHK Symphony Orchestra, one of the most impressive of Bruckner orchestras. However, what we lacked in depth and weight of string tone, and a lack of refinement in the woodwind, we more than made up for in some glorious brass playing – and that is effectively what the core and resolution of this symphony’s Finale is entirely rooted in establishing.
One could hardly say this performance hung fire, though. Järvi positively zipped through the work perhaps making some of this symphony sound a little cruder than it needed to. Did tuttis in the first movement sound just a touch too assertive? Trombones, for example, are supposed to be majestic here but perhaps they were just less imposing than might have been, more glaring maybe. Dynamic contrasts might not have had quite the right sweet zone, either; but the coda was thrilling. A little more gloom and darkness at the beginning of the Adagio might have added some tension, but the cantabile phrasing was beautifully done – even if this wasn’t an Adagio which swung between internal tempi to the degree it should have.
Where the First gets interesting as a symphony is in the two final movements. Here, Järvi’s tempi did justice to the music – especially in a Scherzo that can sometimes seem to be overly repetitious. Järvi made the arpeggios sound weighty, but not overly so; they were emphatic, but not so blunt as to be short on tension. The Trio was a gorgeous moment of contrast. The Finale (marked ‘feurig’ – fiery) was the performance’s highpoint. Bruckner’s brass writing certainly became more powerful and mountainous in his later symphonies (the Fifth, for example) but with the First the seeds of it are all there (unless you hear the 1890 revision). Järvi clearly knew where to project the scale of this movement: the bloodthirsty opening, fortissimos and crescendos that were never less than their marking, tuttis that weren’t encrypted in distant sound. Timpani were especially thrilling, with little of the restraint one sometimes hears in Bruckner. The coda was superb, helped by the fact that Järvi didn’t really put the brakes on.
The concert had opened with Erkki-Sven Tüür’s Aditus. A kind of overture (as the composer describes it) it is an exhilarating work firmly planted in both an atonal and tonal world where its centre of gravity lies in the use of an extensive percussion section. The ebb and flow of timpani, tubular bells and other percussion against a kaleidoscopic mantle of strings stretches tonality until the work melts into the fullest spectrum of orchestral sound. Paavo Järvi, who gave the first performance of the work, and the BBC SO, played the work superbly, with a blistering conviction and certainty as to its drama and musical impulses.
One of two standout performances of the evening – the other being a four-minute encore of Bach playing of exquisite beauty and depth.
Marc Bridle