United States Prokofiev, R. Schumann, Tchaikovsky: Frank Peter Zimmermann (violin), Cleveland Orchestra / Osmo Vänskä (conductor). Mandel Concert Hall at Severance Music Center, Cleveland, 22.9.2024. (MSJ)
Prokofiev – Symphony No.1, Op.25, ‘Classical’
R. Schumann – Violin Concerto in D minor
Tchaikovsky – Symphony No.6 in B minor, Op.74, ‘Pathétique’
Talk about mixed feelings. The Cleveland Orchestra’s music director, Franz Welser-Möst, had to pull out of the opening weeks of the season on advice from his doctors due to ongoing side effects of cancer treatment, likely exacerbated by the orchestra’s extensive European tour, led by Welser-Möst. Everyone wishes him a speedy recovery, but his stand-in for the opening concerts, Osmo Vänskä, led a blazing, memorable performance.
On paper, the program looked peculiar, as one can think of little in common between Prokofiev’s ‘Classical’ Symphony and Tchaikovsky’s Sixth other than the composers both being born in Russia. The key to the program was Robert Schumann’s Violin Concerto, an often-ignored piece that Schumann’s wife and friends actively suppressed because they thought it showed traces of the composer’s mental deterioration, which just months later would lead to a suicide attempt and institutionalization from which he never recovered.
So what if it does show that deterioration? We don’t need to be protected from the tragic truth, and performances that try to disguise Schumann’s decline are probably going to be made obsolete by Frank Peter Zimmermann’s interpretation. The violinist demonstrated that the concerto can absolutely be an effective concert piece. While it must be gripped tautly, in a neoclassical manner like the Prokofiev, it also has seething emotion that points toward the extremes of the Tchaikovsky. Finally, in Zimmermann’s ferociously concentrated interpretation, we were given a performance that did not apologize for the finale’s obsessive repetitions – it tore into them, showing us Schumann’s battle.
Zimmermann brilliantly made a distinction between the moments when the solo part goes introspective and the moments when the violin surges to the front to lead. In those latter moments, Zimmermann would look back at the orchestra’s violin sections, as if to muster his troops for the charge, but then step away from them and isolate himself when the music became self-absorbed, finding a whole spectrum of tonal variation in his sound to capture the work’s fluctuating moods. He made the violin an active leader in the storms of the first movement, a heart-breaking singer in the slow movement and a desperate dancer in the supposedly folklike finale, which became more and more of a danse macabre as Zimmermann dug into the solos. Vänskä and the Clevelanders supported, sparred and charged with the soloist as needed, and it added up to a startlingly moving performance that got a much warmer ovation than one would usually expect for this dark horse concerto.
As emotional as the Schumann was, the Tchaikovsky was downright blistering. It is a work that is not often given full license to rage, with so many of today’s conductors uneasy with the full romantic rhetoric that comes into play. I wasn’t sure what Vänskä would make of it, considering how briskly controlled his Sibelius and Beethoven recordings with the Minnesota Orchestra in recent years have been.
But my fears were ungrounded. Vänskä used his considerable skills to keep the discursive piece – a veritable symphonic Requiem Mass – focused, but he in no way let those techniques block the emotional eruption of the volatile first movement. This included allowing the brass to unleash their full power at the hellish height of the development, and letting the strings drench the final appearance of the sensual second theme, as it should be. The middle movements were kept urgently moving, building to an almost unbearable excitement by the end of the third movement march/scherzo. This is a point where audiences often leap into action and applaud, even though the work is not finished, because it is so exciting, resulting in conductor and orchestra waiting until the applause dies down to start the finale. But Vänskä did something brilliant: he launched into the slow, lamenting finale without a pause. The abrupt undercut was like a wave of ice water on the manic brow built up by the third movement, and it was devastating. I almost gasped out loud, and I am sure I was not the only one. Having heard it like that, I don’t ever want to hear it the old way again.
The finale did not exaggerate any emotions, but it didn’t avoid them either, building up to a frenetic peak and then plummeting to the depths as it faded off into nothingness. The orchestra was in grand form, featuring John Clouser’s opening, brooding bassoon solo and Afendi Yusuf’s yearning clarinet solo from the close of the exposition section of the first movement. It was an outstanding performance of a piece that is too often underplayed these days, and the impact was tremendous.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, the opening Prokofiev was played with witty elegance. Vänskä delighted in sorting some textures and subtly pointing out a few details along the way, but mainly occupied himself with shaping the longer lines of the piece. There were a few minor blips early on (suffice it to say that woodwind reeds can be intractable on a hot day with humidity, even inside an air-conditioned building), but it quickly snapped into place with poise. The burbling wind solos took flight led by Joshua Smith on flute and Frank Rosenwein on oboe, and the strings were nimble and fleet.
Vänskä was an inspired choice to step in for the indisposed Welser-Möst. Next up will be Elim Chan, who will be filling in on the following weekend of concerts, conducting Rachmaninoff.
Mark Sebastian Jordan
