United Kingdom Tchaikovsky & Saint-Saëns: Natalie Clein (cello), St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra, Alexander Dmitriev (conductor), Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 15.02.2015 (SRT)
Tchaikovsky: Fantasy Overture, Romeo and Juliet
Symphony No, 6 “Pathétique”
Saint-Saëns: Cello Concerto No. 1
The first thing that struck me tonight about the St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra, more so than , was the distinctness of the sound of each section. It’s often said, by me among others, that Russian orchestras are known for the visceral power, almost rawness of their sound, but what hit me tonight, and what makes the St Petersburgers so different from most western orchestras, was what seemed like a deliberate aversion to blending the sound. That wind choir that opens Romeo and Juliet with Friar Lawrence’s theme, for example, always sounded like a set of clarinets and bassoons, never a homogeneously blended ensemble. This carried on into the rest of the work, generating an undoubtedly exciting performance because it was so different. This aversion to blend meant that each section not only stood out very distinctively, but also managed to sit side by side in their differences: the winds remained unusually prominent throughout, for example, and the brass were never shy of putting their line across forcefully. I wouldn’t always want to hear this way, but it’s a welcome reminder that not everything in our musical world has become homogenised.
The first thing that struck me tonight about the St Petersburg Symphony Orchestra, more so than when I’ve heard them before, was the distinctness of the sound of each section. It’s often said, by me among others, that Russian orchestras are known for the visceral power, almost rawness of their sound, but what hit me tonight, and what makes the St Petersburgers so different from most western orchestras, was what seemed like a deliberate aversion to blending the sound. That wind choir that opens Romeo and Juliet with Friar Lawrence’s theme, for example, always sounded like a set of clarinets and bassoons, never a homogeneously blended ensemble. This carried on into the rest of the work, generating an undoubtedly exciting performance because it was so different. This aversion to blend meant that each section not only stood out very distinctively, but also managed to sit side by side in their differences: the winds remained unusually prominent throughout, for example, and the brass were never shy of putting their line across forcefully. I wouldn’t always want to hear Romeo and Juliet this way, but it’s a welcome reminder that not everything in our musical world has become homogenised.
This approach to sound also brought the benefit of the most exciting Pathétique march I’ve ever heard, the sound bright and forward, gleaming in its precision. That didn’t make it clumsy, however: in fact, its precision was remarkable, and better than it had been in Romeo and Juliet. Elsewhere there was tremendous beauty from the violins, a warm bloom that gave enormous life to the great theme of the first movement, as well as the desolation of the finale. We then got an enormous surprise when, as their encore, they gave us an Air on a G String that emanated a gentle glow that was as understated as they symphony had been electric.
If that approach worked for Tchaikovsky, it wasn’t as successful for the more blended, velvety world of Saint-Saëns. Here that love of distinctness produced playing that felt rather distant and brittle at rimes. The delicate figurations of the Minuet, for example, were admirably precise, but also rather cold and uninvolving, an approach that recurred throughout the work. The orchestra stood in marked contrast to Natalie Clein’s sweeping cello line. Where they exercised rigid control, Clein seemed willing to abandon herself to the music’s passion, her solo line all mellifluousness and warmth. It wasn’t a grating mismatch, but nor was it a meeting of minds. I thought that, like Orpheus taming the Furies, Clein had just about won over the orchestra by the time of the finale’s gorgeously smooth second theme, but not quite.
Simon Thompson