SCO Mozart’s ‘Turkish’ Concerto
Stirling Castle Great Hall: 6/8/26
Scottish Chamber Orchestra, Bogdan Božović (violin director)
On the night of 6th August and in the first of three outings for the Scottish Chamber Orchestra’s late summer tour programme, they returned to Stirling Castle’s Great Hall with Serbian violinist Bogdan Božović as both soloist in the Mozart’s ‘Turkish’ Concerto and director from the leader’s chair (with an extra cushion in lieu of podium) in the other pieces. The programme opened with ‘Three Nordic Tunes’, string arrangements of traditional folk music by the Danish String Quartet adapted by Mr Božović for string orchestra. The one work after the interval was Haydn’s last symphony, No.104, the only one of the last 12 so-called ‘London’ Symphonies to retain the nickname. There was a very satisfactory turnout in the venue that is one of my favourites, not only because of its proximity to my home. Mr Božović introduced the programme, revealing that he had indulged in selecting some of his own favourite pieces, with a theme fusing folk-inspired music with exoticism.
The first Nordic Tune, ‘Stæedelil’ comes from a medieval ballad from the Faroe Islands, a jaunty melody that reminded me a bit of an Irish dandling song ‘Nead na lachain sa mhúta’ (the ducks’ nest in the mire), though I read in the programme that the story involved a knight inexpertly trying to woo the lady of his dreams with magic runes, getting the ‘wrong’ lady, but the queen intervening to convince him, as it were, “if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with”. Solo string quartet entries morphed into a rich ensemble sound with a syncopated spring in its step, exemplifying what is so special about the SCO in “chamber music mode” sans conductor. In this venue in particular, the players can all see each other, resulting in something that can be perceived in the sound. The folk music element also adds an additional layer to the palpable joy of chamber music-making. This was to be a feature of the whole evening. The slower second tune, ‘Æ Rømeser’ began with some of the exquisite stillness and wistful tenderness of Max Richter’s ‘On The Nature Of Daylight’, becoming a slowish graceful dance, with each section getting a chance to carry the melody. The dance is unique to the village of Sønderho on the Danish island of Fanø, though its title means ’The one from the island of Romø’. Beautiful piece. The set concluded with a ‘Polska’ (a Swedish folk dance based on Polish forms) from the Lapland village of Dorotea in the north of the country, a brisk 3 getting increasingly rambunctious until the riotous coda. What larks!
Two natural horns, two oboes and (if my eyes didn’t deceive me and to my surprise) a bassoon joined the strings for the concerto. The first violins rearranged themselves, with Mr Božović’s desk partner Tijmen Huisingh occupying the leader’s cushion and, as usual, the soloist performed standing, playing with the first violins during the introduction. Five months ago, in a review of the Scottish Ensemble Quartet playing Mozart, I wrote the following on the topic of phrasing: “In my youth (the 70s), the performing tradition, supported by the scholarship of the day, was to play Mozart and Haydn accaciature as appoggiature. The Scottish Ensemble played them as written, which is of course entirely logical and sensible, though strange to my older ear”. I would echo this observation for the concerto, perhaps more surprising as, in his introductory remarks, Mr Božović had noted that the teenage Mozart had probably written the concerto for himself to perform, under the influence of his father who had written an influential treatise on the art of violin-playing and expected his son to be a prominent virtuoso of the instrument. That said, the chamber reading of the first movement was an absolute delight. Another surprise awaited at the cadenza. It was not the usual (the Joachim) or any of the other cadenzas to the ‘Turkish’ that have sprouted over the years and have come to my ken. I tentatively conclude that the cadenzas we heard were of Mr Božović’s own devising. And they were absolutely delicious, making imaginative use of Mozart’s thematic material, virtuosic but not showy, the transformations informed by an apparent fondness for Bach’s solo violin music. I would have no hesitation, if my attribution is not mistaken, in saying that those cadenzas merit publication. The idyllic slow movement received a lyrical cantabile chamber reading, with lovely responsive ebb and flow in the dynamics, and another tasty cadenza. Perfect Mozart. The rondo started on its best behaviour with a prim and graceful minuet in a narrative style, with charming frisky departures and mini cadenzas in the same metre. The ‘Turkish’ march episode that gives the concerto its name was stylish and full of military swagger, col legno bowing on cellos and basses doing the job done by the cymbals in Haydn’s ‘Military’ Symphony (No.100). Back to the minuet before the last big cadenza, and it was a corker, slow and contemplative, drawing on thematic material from all the movements. The minuet concluded, tongue-in-cheek in its ‘innocence’. Turkish delight: full of Eastern promise.
The full band returned, complete with clarinets, natural trumpets and timpani, for the Haydn, and Mr Božović returned to lead. After the slow introduction consisting of three solemn fanfares each followed by mysterious search for a theme, the cheery melody set off, as if on a happy journey (rather ironic for Haydn, not the happiest traveller), bowling along with good humour. Subtle rallentandi gently pointed the whimsy. The development was muscular and driven with great drama in the tutti. More was made of rallentandi and wee pauses in the recapitulation. A strutting fanfare rounded off the coda. The Andante is styled as a theme-and-variations. The genial G-major theme is full of rustic charm, but some cloud shadows are cast in the middle variations. As so often with Haydn, humour takes over, with two jokes at the expense of the principal flautist. When he introduces a dotted rhythm to ornament his solo variation, the whole orchestra interrupts fortissimo (“we know how this goes”) mockingly finishing his phrase with the same dotted rhythm. When the flute tries with triplets instead, the violins take over, steering through a series of improbable modulations, then handing back to the flute, who of course gets hopelessly lost. After two abortive attempts, the violins resume control, deftly taking us back to the home key so that we get a proper unsabotaged triplet variation. Fabulous playing from principal flute André Cebrián, and the two natural hornists in the charming close of the movement. The boisterous Allegro minuet was full of undanceable mischief, complete with disorienting cross-rhythms from the lower strings, a timpani roll and a two-bar pause. The contrasting Trio in B-flat had a gorgeous sinuous melody from Maria Victoria Muñoz Zaragozá’s oboe, joined by Cerys Ambrose-Evans’ bassoon. After a short suspenseful bridge passage, the rowdy minuet was reprised. A drone D on horns and cellos, emulative of Croatian bagpipes, opens the finale. In his introductory remarks, Bogdan Božović had said that the dancing main theme is a Croatian folksong quoted by Haydn, adding that we would hear the SCO perform as never before. Intriguing. There is something of the celebratory mood of a street party in the music, but also, in the second theme, the wistfulness of an Austrian composer bidding farewell to an appreciative (and adoring) London audience. Nothing new there. But when the exposition repeated, instead of playing the melody, the first violins sang the folk song in (I assume) their best Serbo-Croat. Fabulous. The party mood was sustained through the mysterious key-exploring development, the spirited recapitulation and the exuberant coda.
This was a super concert with the SCO on top form. There were no “passengers”: every single player totally focussed and committed to the music-making and the ensemble sound. Full marks from me.