RSNO and Okisawa
Usher Hall 9/5/25
Royal Scottish National Orchestra, Nodoka Okisawa conductor
Håkan Hardenberger trumpet
An Odd Programme
On a beautiful early summer’s evening, a sparse audience turned out at the Usher Hall for a programme which sadly offered very little incentive to the usual Friday night concert goers. This was a shame, as some of the evening was superb, with the RSNO relishing playing for the diminutive Japanese conductor, Nodoka Okisawa, in her first outing with the orchestra. I hope it will be the first of many, as she demonstrated a marvellous control over proceedings, and brought new insight and thrilling dynamic levels throughout the concert.
We opened with Tchaikovsky’s ‘Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture’, a justly famous piece from the composer’s brilliant imagination. First heard in Moscow in 1870, and not hugely successful, the overture underwent extensive revisions over a long period of time, emerging in triumph in 1886 in, of all places, Tbilisi, and it has gone on to be one of Tchaikovsky’s most loved works. The composer loved Shakespeare, and the tragic tale of star-crossed lovers in Verona appealed enormously to him. Listening tonight, one could only marvel at the incredible melodic imagination of Tchaikovsky, as the blazing love theme soared over us, fabulously played by the RSNO and thrillingly brought to life by Ms Okisawa, whose every gesture seemed to produce more excitement and dizzying melody.
Alas, almost all of that was lost in the second piece in the first half, the Scottish Premiere of Helen Grime’s Trumpet Concerto: night-sky-blue. First heard in London in 2022, the piece promised much, in particular the playing of the Swedish trumpet virtuoso, Håkan Hardenberger, for whom the concerto was written. The programme notes alluded to the composer’s initial starting point – the theme of night, in particular nocturnal gardens. However, as the one movement piece progressed, I fear I was at a loss to discover any relevance in this inspiration, as another dreary example of atonal modernism unfolded over a twenty minute period that seemed much longer. The renowned trumpeter, Mr Hardenberger, resplendent in a jazzy maroon jacket, played as if his life depended on it, coaxing extraordinary sounds out of his gleaming instrument but to little effect. His part seemed unconnected to the orchestral sound, despite the programme notes promising a rhythmic percussive motif fired back and forth between soloist and orchestra. Much of the concerto sounded like one of those modern jazz pieces where the soloist improvises for ages, while the audience waits for the drum solo. Unfortunately none of this was improvised, and the drum solo never came!
I hate to be negative about new music, as we need it to renew classical music, but I really thought we had progressed from the days of composers writing music that no one wants to hear, and that seems to take a pride in its own technical difficulty at the expense of the listener’s pleasure. To be fair, there was some applause at the end, although somewhat lukewarm, and we were all in awe of the stupendous playing of Mr Hardenberger, and the various soloists within the orchestra.
After the interval, it was truly a great relief to hear the beautiful melodies of Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’, arranged for orchestra by Leopold Stokowski, originally for inclusion in Walt Disney’s ‘Fantasia’, although omitted from the final film. Written as part of his Suite Bergamasque, for solo piano, in 1890, but only published in 1905, Debussy poured all his impressionist genius into this beautiful evocation of a moonlit night. Listening in the Usher Hall to the transcription made by the composer and conductor, Stokowski, it seems extraordinary that Debussy did not in fact orchestrate the piece, so wondrous does it sound with full orchestra. The fact that this version was arranged by a Polish-Irish man, born even more bizarrely in Nether Wallop in rural Hampshire, who emigrated to the USA and then put together, with Disney, the miracle that is ‘Fantasia,’ is one of the great stories of early 20th century film-making! Ms Okisawa was open to all the nuances of the orchestration, and conducted a fluid and shimmering performance.
Tōru Takemitsu wrote his soundscape ‘How Slow the Wind’ in 1991, and its premiere was in Glasgow the same year, played by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Here it continued the mood of the impressionist second half of the concert, as the composer sought the essential sound of the wind as it sculpts its way through the land. Full marks to the percussion section in particular for their attention to detail. This was an example of a modern sound world but with a purpose, and the audience reacted very well to its subtleties.
Finally, we heard Rachmaninov’s tone poem, ‘Isle of the Dead’, a response in music to a painting by the Swiss Symbolist painter, Arnold Böcklin, entitled originally ‘The Grave Island’. So successful was the image that Böcklin made several copies, and prints of the painting cropped up all over Europe. It was a print that awakened the fascination of the young Rachmaninov, and his tone poem was premiered in Moscow in 1909.
I had never heard the piece before, and I was bowled over by the majestic performance of the RSNO, superbly conducted by Nodoka Okisawa. Some of the climactic moments were quite overwhelming, and it was remarkable that such a slight figure (the podium had to be raised somewhat) could unleash such mighty sounds. All the principal players were on top form, and congratulations go to the guest leader, Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay, a German/Hungarian violinist who is Joint Concertmaster of the Philharmonia Orchestra.
To sum up, this was a generally excellent concert, but with such an odd programme that the large swathes of empty seats told their own story.
Can I make yet another plea for the auditorium lights to be less dim!? With a programme like this one, it was crazy that none of us could read the programme notes. The music was largely unknown, meaning that the inspiration behind it was entirely necessary for any proper understanding of what we were hearing. Without those notes, we had simply no idea what we were listening to. In addition, the last piece, ‘Isle of the Dead’, was based on a famous painting. Could not that painting be reproduced in the programme?
