Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 27

City Halls, Glasgow, 19/2/26

BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

Ryan Wigglesworth (conductor), Imogen Cooper (piano)

Link:  https://www.bbc.co.uk/events/efxd2m

A fortnight after the last Thursday night concert of the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra’s and merely 4 days after their last afternoon concert, I was back in Glasgow’s City Halls on the night of 19th February to hear them again, with a programme that comprised a world premiere of a BBC commission, Mozart’s last piano concerto, and Dvořák’s sunniest symphony.  It is a tough life, isn’t it?  The Mozart was the headline work before the interval, with Dame Imogen Cooper as soloist, part of her farewell tour following 60 years on stage.  The premiere was Philip Dutton’s ‘There, where I call home’.  Dvořák’s Eighth rounded off the evening, all under the baton of Chief Conductor, Ryan Wigglesworth.  The orchestra continues to perform with guest leaders, and our leader for the night was Clio Gould, Professor of Violin at the Royal Academy of Music in London and former leader of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and the London Sinfonietta, her third guest appearance with the orchestra since August.  There was quite a good turnout.  The concert was broadcast live on Radio 3 and introduced as usual by Kate Molleson.  It will remain accessible on BBC Sounds for a month.

For British-Czech composer Philip Dutton, a former Royal Philharmonic Society Young Composer, ‘There, where I call home’ is not a geographical location, but rather a landscape of the mind, the result of a childhood spent between England and the Czech Republic with no unique fixed pied-à-terre.  Among his acknowledged musical influences are Janáček, Lutosławski and Messiaen, and evidence of the inspiration of all three appeared in the 12-minute commissioned piece.  The least of these delivered something of the directness and attention-arresting mercurial variety of Janáček.  To a greater extent, the organisational discipline and blend of 12-tone austerity with a more relaxed cluster-avoiding approach to harmony, almost unique to the genius of Lutosławski, shone in the texture of some really delicious polychords.  But the composer I was most reminded of, especially in the reach, scale and range of dynamics, orchestral colour and expression of awe and wonder, was the Messiaen of ‘Des Canyons aux Étoiles’.  So, all in all, a captivating piece of new music.  Would I be seeking a second hearing?  Probably not, but that should be seen more as a comment on the nature of private listening then any sort dismissive jibe.  A concert programme is like a ‘set menu’; home listening, for me at any rate, is more in the character of a ‘buffet’.  Happy to try something new, but always fonder of “goodies”.  At any rate, Glasgow gave the Dutton a warm reception.  The young composer came to the stage to acknowledge the applause.

Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.27 in B-flat major, composed between 1788 and 1791, exudes idyllic charm and an air of guileless simplicity but, as so often with Mozart, there is nowhere to hide if soloist, conductor and chamber orchestra cannot inhabit the piece in a way in which the interplay and dialogue gel to perfection.  With Ryan Wigglesworth (himself an accomplished pianist), Imogen Cooper and the BBCSSO, there was nothing to worry about on that score.  The nuances of phrasing in the orchestral introduction anticipated perfectly those of the soloist‘s entry, which was sublime.  Dialogue between soloist and sections of the orchestra was seamless and unforced, as always with the BBC Scottish, but particularly fine with this genial music.  A brief passage, repeated near the end of the movement, where harp-like pizzicato in the cellos and basses accompanies an agile but gentle sequence in the piano, was as magical as I’ve heard, making me surmise that Mozart must have hugged himself when he thought of it.  As in the finale, Mozart’s own elegant cadenza was used (thankfully).  The E-flat major Larghetto sustained the illusion of effortlessness, demonstrating that beguiling innocence is not an oxymoron, even as cloud shadows of surprising modulations flicker across the idyllic landscape.  Another goosebump-inducing moment, where the main theme is played in unison near the end of the movement by piano, a flute and first violins, had me holding my breath.  The playful dancing finale, back in B-flat, tripped along joyfully, not without its own occasional shadows, but good humour and smiles being the order of the day.  Mozart like it was meant to be.  Glasgow’s fulsome approval was unmistakable.  Excellent.

Back in early 1984, I had joined the second violins of the Dublin Orchestral Players and was rehearsing a programme which included Dvořák’s Symphony No.8 in G major, so I know what a thrill it is to play in a Dvořák symphony, though a job offer in Wiltshire meant that I never played it in the concert.  I got to know Dvořák’s last three symphonies in the reverse order 9-8-7 but, whilst I love them equally, I’ve always had a particularly soft spot for No.8, even before it became the only one I’ve ever played in, probably because it is bursting with inventive melodies, each a delicious earworm.  It seems that Dvořák, having “ticked the box” of “monument to Brahmsian gravitas and Germanic symphonic structure” with his Seventh, was letting his hair down and showing that a symphony can be built out of an abundance of rattling good tunes.  Not that the Eighth lacks structure, but there is a sense of Schubertian freedom of expression and joy in the appreciation of colour.  What’s not to like?

It was immediately obvious that Ryan and the players agree and they set about revealing the beauties of the Eighth as if it were new, fresh and unknown.  The cellos sang the wistful opening hymn as if welcoming the dawn of a day of sombre introspection.  Birdsong from a cheerful flute vetoed that and, as throngs of people spilled into a Bohemian market square, the music sang of life-affirming colour and variety.  Other than the multiplicity of characterful themes, the movement had the bones of sonata form, with no exposition repeat.  There were storms in the development (whether meteorological or composed of human passions is kept ambiguous), though they subsided and yielded to the good humour of the virtual recapitulation and a celebratory coda.  The not-at-all-slow Adagio began with a wistful sigh from the strings, again immediately tempered by pastoral idyllic winds in a fusion of birdsong with melodies rich in Slavonic and Roma tropes, followed by a folksong-like episode featuring a delicious solo from Clio Gould’s violin and a radiant climax.  Like the first movement, there was an anxious contrasting episode, heralded by a baleful horn, which always reminds me of a similar passage in the slow movement of Schubert’s ‘Unfinished’.  The tune-rich idyll reasserted itself and the movement ended, after a joyous exclamation, in deep contentment (flute and trumpet teasing each other over whether the birdsong is really a fanfare or not).  Gorgeous.  The Allegretto grazioso was a leisurely G-minor waltz, not remotely Viennese in its outlook but exuding a certain laid-back Czech melancholic charm.  Its trio section sang in the major with a folksong-like narrative quality and lilting syncopation that made it dance.  The faster, cheeky, throwaway coda was a hilarious Slavonic romp.  The snappy fanfare that opened the finale was followed by a lyrical stately theme introduced by the cellos with gloriously warm singing tone.  The first variation, a grandiose strutting pavane, made us wonder whether there was perhaps an element of tongue-in-cheek.  The next variation settled that with a riotous romp, complete with whooping horns, flanking a virtuosic fluttering avian flute solo from Luke Russell.  A quick march-like variation / quasi development became impressively fugal before winding down to a restatement of the theme and a tender smoochy romance variation and, for a while, it did look as if the movement might end in a scene of domestic bliss.  But no, the riotous romp variation is reprised, before going full tonto in wildly celebratory coda.  Thoroughly enjoyable, with fabulous playing from all, strings and winds in particular (it is a symphony that is particularly generous to the cellos and the first flute).  Over the years, I’ve heard (and indeed possessed) recordings of the work from some of the great European and American orchestras, as well as attending a few concert performances, and the performance I heard in Glasgow would have given them all a run for their money, with the added boon that it was live.  No second takes?  Absolutely.  None needed.