United Kingdom PROM 55 – R. Schumann, Smetana: Víkingur Ólafsson (piano) Berliner Philharmoniker / Kirill Petrenko (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London 31.8.2024. (CSa)
R. Schumann – Piano Concerto in A minor
Smetana – Mà vlast
Visits by the Berlin Philharmonic to the UK have become a little more frequent over the last 20 years, but they remain red-letter days in the nation’s concert calendar and their appearances are occasions to be treasured. Dubbed by many as ‘the best band in the world’ they are the orchestral version of a Daimler Benz: renowned for its meticulous technical precision, perfect control, and opulence. It has played at the BBC Proms no less than 22 times since 1927. Almost a year to the night since their last appearance in 2023 under their Chief Conductor Kirill Petrenko, the players returned to a sold-out Royal Albert Hall and a hero’s welcome for the first of two concerts: Robert Schumann’s virtuosic Piano Concerto in A minor and Smetana’s cycle of six grippingly patriotic tone poems: Má vlast (‘My Fatherland’).
At first blush, the pairing of these two works in the same programme appeared to be unconnected. After all, Má vlast was written by Smetana almost 20 years after Schumann’s death and owes little in substance or style to the latter’s early Romantic orchestral compositions. Yet Robert and his wife Clara were personally known to the younger composer. They met briefly in Prague in 1844 in the house of a Czech nobleman, where Smetana, then a young music student, served as a children’s tutor. It is said that Smetana sought Robert and Clara’s opinion on a sonata he had written but was rebuffed.
From a political perspective, both men were – albeit in different ways – fervently involved in the nationalist movement in German-speaking Europe. For Smetana, the burning issue centred on the national identity and freedom of his homeland which was at that time trapped within the Austro-Hungarian Empire. There was another programmatic link too, or more accurately, a rather curious and tragic coincidence. Both Schumann and Smetana contracted syphilis. In Schumann’s case, it contributed to severe psychotic episodes and an attempted suicide which led to his admission into an asylum near Bonn in 1854. He died there two years later. In Smetana’s case, he became completely deaf while composing Má vlast, and six years after its completion in 1884, was incarcerated in an asylum in Prague.
The Piano Concerto in A was written between 1841 and 1845, a period of optimism and personal happiness for Schumann. He intended it to be played by Clara, an accomplished pianist in her own right. Rather than a virtuosic piece in which the orchestra is ‘a mere spectator’ it takes the form of a lyrical dialogue between the players and the soloist. On this occasion the soloist was renowned Icelandic pianist Vikingur Ólafsson. Looking considerably younger than his 39 years, and soberly attired in a Rishi Sunak style slim-fit suit, skinny tie and oversized spectacles, he could be mistaken for an accountant on his way to the office until the moment he took his seat at the piano and his fingers touch the keyboard.
His playing has been described as breathtakingly brilliant, with an ability to turn the piano into physical landscape of feeling. Saturday night’s performance conclusively showed that such plaudits are not exaggerated. From his first dramatic entry under Petrenko’s pin-point baton, Ólafsson maintained an intimate and evenly balanced conversation with the finely honed orchestra. His ability to play softly yet audibly in the vastness of the Royal Albert Hall was an extraordinary accomplishment, particularly in the delicate cantabile section of the first movement where his gentle piano accompaniment floated lightly on an undercurrent of strings. The Intermezzo second movement was taken at a leisurely pace, subtly coloured, and played with a Mozartian grace and tenderness which momentarily belied the power of Ólafsson’s expressive fingering. Any lingering impression of fragility was immediately banished in an explosive Allegro vivace in which Ólafsson ramped up the momentum while Petrenko, full throttle, took his gleaming Daimler Benz of an ensemble all the way to a thrillingly virtuosic conclusion.
When a baying crowd of 6,000 demand an encore, it is difficult to refuse. Ólafsson duly obliged with a sublime account of the Adagio from Bach’s Fourth Organ Sonata, adapted by Smetana’s pupil, the Czech composer and pianist August Stradal. From the contemplative almost hushed first moments to the slowly swelling grandeur of the movement’s climax, Ólafsson, his head bowed low as if in prayer, transformed the vast auditorium into a small and sanctified space – one in which he held his audience transfixed and utterly still.
A full complement of 117 Berlin players assembled after the interval to play Smetana’s mighty Mà vlast, a work generally regarded as having established a new and authentic Czech musical style. This massive set of six symphonic poems runs for almost 75 minutes. In it, Smetana traces the history, legends, folklore and landscape of what is now known as the Czech Republic. The work has been described as a rich slice of Bohemian village life, with an ingenuous quality of a folktale, with a score that seems to spring from the bosom of Bohemia. It is perhaps for this reason that the work is rarely performed in its entirety, save in Czechoslovakia by Czech musicians.
Yet, Smetana’s fundamental message of freedom is universal and not confined to the Czech homeland or its people. Furthermore, its rich canvas of instrumental colour and profusion of gorgeous melodies provide the perfect showcase for an orchestra of any nationality.
In the first of the two poems, Vyšehrad, two harps introduce the turbulent history of the eponymous castle perched on a rock high over the River Vltava near Prague. The tapestry of historic events and the majesty of the setting, woven into Smetana’s score were dramatically evoked by distant horns, muted winds and sighing strings, all combining to give Smetana’s musical narrative an airy, almost weightless feel. In Vitava, the second and best known of the poems, the Berliners’ sumptuous sound conjured images of a powerful fast-flowing river winding its way through the Bohemian countryside, while the vengeful heroine and wild and rugged landscape depicted in Šárka were perfectly captured in a dynamic but restrained performance. A richly coloured and gorgeously pastoral account of From Bohemia’s Woods and Trees, was followed by the two last poems, the anguished Tábor and uplifting Blanik. Here, Petrenko brought to bear all his skills, eliciting a tightly controlled almost febrile intensity from his players, mounting all the way to a thrilling conclusion. This was an apt way to celebrate the 200th year of Smetana’s birth, and a memorable performance by an orchestra and conductor at the top of their game. Let’s hope that the prolonged applause and roars of approval encourage them to come again soon.
Chris Sallon