Valery Gergiev and the London Symphony Orchestra Open the Symphonic Masters Series at Lincoln Center
The second Brahms program by Gergiev and the London Symphony Orchestra was at once more challenging and more satisfying. The choice of repertoire was less popularly appealing, more demanding, and much darker in palette. The choice of soloist — Russian pianist Denis Matsuev — in the titanic first piano concerto was much more felicitous, insofar as there was a greater sense of coherence and unity of interpretation between solo and orchestra than had been the case with the violin concerto.
Matsuev, who is fondly known as the “Siberian bear,” is a man of enormous stature and strength. Watching him attack the keys with his huge hands, one could not help but think of Brahms himself, who was known to be a powerful pianist, also due to the size of his hands. The D minor concerto was the perfect vehicle for Matsuev, as he was able effortlessly to convey the sense of commanding authority called for by the work, while at the same time melding in complete synchrony with Gergiev and the orchestra. Indeed, one could not help but think of the performance as a kind of “family affair,” so attuned was the soloist to the maestro’s every gesture. Both Matsuev and Gergiev took a slow and heavy approach to the first movement, effectively bringing out its dark timbre and ponderous sense of foreboding and drama. Both could freely indulge in mercurial mood changes and huge contrasts of dynamics, from exquisite pianissimi to thunderous fortissimi, without needing to be concerned about balance. In Brahms’ own cadenza for the first movement, Matsuev almost seemed to be channeling the composer himself, masterfully creating the illusion of an extemporary, spontaneous dialogue between left and right hands. The colors that he achieved in the long, slowly descending chromatic line leading to the coda were truly extraordinary.
Reflective and thoughtful in the second movement, Matsuev meandered through the phrases in an almost fragmentary way, occasionally floating with bell-like sonorities above the ostinato of celli and basses. His musings gave way to a fiery and tempestuous finale, which bore all the hallmarks of a virtuoso tour de force, yet never lost its playful quality. A particularly endearing moment was Matsuev’s expression of almost childlike delight in the fugato variation of the rondo; unlike Ehnes in the violin concerto, he seemed to be completely invested in the musical substance of the work.
Received by a standing ovation and shouts of “Bravo,” Matsuev could not resist performing an encore: Rachmaninoff’s pensive, lyrical Prelude in E flat major, Op. 23, No. 6. It was somewhat of a shock to hear Rachmaninoff in the midst of an all-Brahms program, but Matsuev has come to be universally recognized as a Rachmaninoff specialist (having even made a recording, “Unknown Rachmaninoff,” on the composer’s own piano), and he played the flowing prelude with such expressive musicality that one was happy to hear it.
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