Hélène Grimaud, an artist who generates excitement wherever
she goes, brought her unique talent and charisma to Philadelphia March 3 through 4, 2016,
in a performance of the towering Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto in B flat with
the Philadelphia Orchestra led by Yannick Nézet-Séguin.
There’s no doubt that the French pianist’s mastery is known
and appreciated in the Philadelphia area. Every seat in Verizon Hall was taken, and
listeners edged forward in their seats as the minutes ticked past the 2 p.m.
matinee start time on March 4. Clad in a shiny grey shirt and black pants,
shoulder-length brown hair tousled and free, Grimaud strode briskly onto the stage
before the conductor, and accepted applause reaching the ovation level before
she played a note. Grimaud is also renowned as an environmental and human
rights activist and author.
But once seated and eased into the Brahms by some of the
best-known horn phrases in classical literature, Grimaud's playing merged with Neget-Seguin’s lively direction. Grimaud has an unusual ability
to walk a tightrope between classical purity and romantic emotionalism. It’s as
though there’s this tiny pathway between the two that she unerringly navigates.
As a result, the Brahms’ Second emerges in a more passionate voice that we may
be accustomed to, but always reverent to the majestic architecture of this
complex and inexhaustible work.
I say “complex” as we would refer to a gourmet dish that balances
subtle, often contrasting flavors and textures in new and refreshing ways. This
is opposed to “complicated,” an approach in which the player becomes bogged
down in the sheer weight of notes, introduction of new phrases that would shout
out, “I’m here now, pay attention to me!”
and massive chordal progressions.
There was no feeling of being trapped in a dense fishnet of
musical ideas here, rather it seemed as though Grimaud had liberated the music
from its form, allowing it to escape from the artists to the audience. And a
gleeful escape it was.
Grimaud’s technique and expressive genius drove this lengthy
work in four movements (classical concertos typically have three) without
faltering during the work’s 50 minutes. Brahms is one of the pillars of Grimaud’s
repertoire, and one can hear the difference it makes when a pianist truly loves
the work that he or she is playing. Noteworthy to me was the thoughtfully
constricted dynamic range, no extreme softness, no sudden burst of fortissimo
as we would expect in Beethoven, but rather a consistent balance between piano and forte in which her sensitive, insightful, and expressive
interpretation could unfold.
Nézet-Séguin and the orchestra kept their part of the
musical bargain, supporting, parrying, lobbing phrases back and forth, even
erupting in a bit of musical frenzy worthy of Tchaikovsky about halfway through
the first movement. Noteworthy moments included some beautiful horn passages
throughout and a haunting cello solo in the third movement.
During one of several enthusiastic curtain calls, Yannick
cupped his hands around Grimaud’s and lifted them like a chalice or a precious
treasure, which they are.
After intermission, the orchestra performed Schumann’s
Symphony No. 1, also in B-flat major, Op. 38, the “Spring.” This was the first
major symphonic work by the German master, composed shortly after his marriage
to the pianist and composer, Clara Wieck, and was debuted under the baton of
Felix Mendelssohn in 1841.
Composed between the great symphonies of Beethoven and
Brahms, the four Schumann works may seem like foothills below the Matterhorn,
but they have their own charm and inventiveness. The First is noteworthy for
its energy, lightness, harmonic originality, and memorable melodies, a work
Schumann outlined in a burst of activity over a four-day period in the winter
of 1841, perhaps one of the happiest times of his life (Schumann succumbed to
mental illness and died at the age of 46).
Nézet-Séguin emphasized the musical variety in this
symphony, the effective use of orchestral colors, highlighting its lively
themes and drive from the first to final allegros. Every time I hear the final movement, though,
I am transported back to my early teens when I sawed that tune on a cheap
fiddle, adding the words, “I hate playing/the vi-o-lin!” Schumann clearly has a
message for everyone.
(photo of Grimaud by Carolyn Cole, Los Angeles Times, below)
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