BBCSSO: Beethoven’s Violin Concerto
City Halls, Glasgow, 24/9/26
BBCSSO, Ryan Wigglesworth (conductor), Bomsori (violin), Miah Persson (soprano), James Atkinson (baritone)
The BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra’s 2026-27 season opened on 24th September in Glasgow’s City Halls, under the baton of Chief Conductor Ryan Wigglesworth, in a programme of just two works. South Korean star violinist Bomsori, who had given us an unforgettable Sibelius concerto with the BBCSSO under Ryan back in May 2024, returned to play the radiant life-affirming Beethoven. After the interval, we heard a rarity (and totally new to this reviewer), Alexander Zemlinsky’s 1923 ‘Lyric Symphony’, 7 songs on poems by Tagore in German translation, charting a love affair so intense that its white-heat threatens to consume the lovers and they part for ever (a quasi-autobiographical rationalisation of being dumped by his pupil Alma Schindler in favour of Mahler. Ouch). Swedish soprano Miah Persson (BBCSSO Verdi Requiem March 2024) and English baritone James Atkinson (BBC Radio 3 New Generation Artist 2023-5) were the soloists in the Zemlinsky. Turkish virtuoso and former pupil of Pinchas Zukerman, Emre Engin, returned with his Gigli instrument as guest leader for the evening; I make that his third lead gig with the orchestra (no speculation, just a comment). The concert was broadcast live on BBC Radio 3, introduced for both audiences by Kate Molleson. Attendance was entirely satisfactory.
The five totemic timpani taps that open the first movement of the concerto and inhabit a lot of its thematic material were answered by the wind band with the genial first theme, joined by the strings, genial music unfolding and reminding us that the Beethoven is the least adversarial of violin concertos, allowing as much of a chamber reading as the players and conductor wish. And that, as regular readers of my BBCSSO reviews will probably expect, was “quite a lot”. Subtle rubato graced the solo entry, whereupon petite Bomsori brought forth the sweetest tone from her Guarneri del Gesù, reaching to every part of the auditorium. Her precision of articulation and intonation, even in the highest register, did not compromise the fluidity of line or expression. There were many magical moments, but I would single out the point in the development where the cellos and basses used the 5-tap figure to steer the dialogue to a new key, and the solo instrument responded with ever more ingeniously-wrought modifications to the lyrical themes. When the soloist did the steering back to the home key at the end of the development, it was spinetingling. I was pleased that Bomsori stuck with the familiar Fritz Kreisler cadenzas. The muted string sound at the beginning of the Larghetto was delicious, introducing the theme which the soloist never actually gets to play, instead soaring lyrically above it with ornamented comments and only later playing a variation to round off an affectionate love song passage. Again, the sweetest tone meant that this familiar concerto felt new and fresh. The playful, frolicsome finale, played attacca, set off at an agile dancing tempo and was delightful from start to finish, a lovely lightness of touch adding to the sense of freedom and playfulness. The enthusiastically appreciative Glasgow applause was rewarded with an encore that prolonged the Viennese charm: a phenomenally virtuosic solo violin version of ‘Schön Rosmarin’ by Fritz Kreisler (normally a violin-and-piano piece; there was “nowt left out”. Wow).
Having mentioned that Bomsori is petite, it is perhaps only fair to mention that baritone James Atkinson is extremely tall, with a voice to match. In the first song, after an epically baleful brass introduction, he sang of restlessness, unfulfilled longing and powerlessness. Zemlinsky employs a large orchestra and unleashes its brooding power a few times in the first number, with one huge climax. Soprano Miah Persson’s first song is more lightly scored with playful string solos, flirtatious with wee surges of delight and very Mahlerian, singing of the prince she fancies passing by but not noticing her. At the end, an anxious swirling outburst from the orchestra flipped the mood back to world-weariness for the baritone. In this manner, the singers singing turn and turn about, the narrative proceeded. His next song was more sensuous, singing of the girl of his dreams, knowing she is out there somewhere. In the soprano’s next sensuous song, solo violin, cello and harp sit in shimmering textures evoking a dark cloudy night; the lovers are in each other’s arms. She hints that after this night they will go their separate ways. Explosive brass launched the baritone’s next song, suffocating and begging to be released from her captivity of his heart. Her last song reluctantly agrees: they will forget this night. An anguished outburst from the orchestra marked the finality of this moment. The baritone’s last song is at peace; the end is not death but a kind of fulfilment. There are lots of Mahlerian and Wagnerian tropes in the closing moments, a horn hovering indecisively on a semitone being one of them. The final chord is ambiguously complex, like the one at the end of the first movement of Korngold’s symphony, both delivering and withholding resolution.
The ‘Lyric Symphony’ has a pleasing structure, fabulous orchestration and raw candour which I will not discredit with accusations of self-absorption. It received convincing advocacy from conductor, orchestra and vocal soloists, all of whom clearly recognise its worth. Powerful late romantic fervour from the teacher of Schoenberg and Korngold. As I said at the end of a review of Zemlinsky’s one-act opera ‘The Dwarf’ (dealing with the arbitrariness and inherent cruelty of aesthetic judgement, but clearly about being dumped by Alma) at Wexford Festival last year: “Poor Zemlinsky, he had it bad.”
Link: https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/exf3v2