After two concerts that reflected little of the Dresden Music Festival's loose theme, Russlandia, here were a pair of concerts that more than redressed the balance. Mischa and Lili Maisky provided a rich programme of Russian Romances arranged for cello, followed by Shostakovich's Sonata, while Valery Gergiev and his Orchestra of the Mariinsky Theatre seemed to tap the very essence of Russsian musical identity with a coruscating performance of Tchaikovsky's 'Pathétique'. The Mariinsky's programme was to have been leavened with Gallic cool, but Hélène Grimaud was forced to withdraw at late notice. She was replaced by Denis Matsuev, and Ravel's jazz-infused concerto was substituted with Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini.
Rachmaninoff featured heavily, too, in the songs Maisky chose to sing on his cello, alongside Glinka, Anton Rubinstein, Tchaikovksy and Rimsky-Korsakov. And while there's something indulgent about listening to these transcriptions—especially, as in this case, before midday on a Monday—there are few cellists who can communicate so much through these melodic lines alone, shorn of their texts. Lily Maisky, Mischa's daughter with whom he now forms a regular partnership, inevitably took a secondary role as her father wrung every last drop of intensity from this melancholy selection of Romances, but set the scene each time adeptly with the piano's swirling lines. The communication between the pair was so instinctive, their rubato so relaxed and spontaneous, that there was a feeling of genuine intimacy, despite Maisky easily filling the Semperoper with endless rich tone.
There was greater variety in Shostakovich's sonata, which also brought Lily into the spotlight with her father, where she showed more than enough virtuosity and strength of character in the fearsome piano part to match him. The sonata's low-key opening gave way to outbursts of powerful intensity that pushed at the boundaries of the first movement's self-imposed restraint, while the sardonic Scherzo was despatched with relish. The beautiful Largo harked back to the romances of the first half, sung here by Maisky with just as much mournful eloquence. The boisterous Allegro finale, by contrast, saw father and daughter unleash salvos of blistering virtuosity between po-faced reprises of the mischievous opening theme. Encores were provided from the store of the Russian song repertoire to conclude a highly satisfying recital.
The celebrations for Pentecost meant a rare gap in the festival's programme, but the appearance of Valery Gergiev with his Mariinsky orchestra was more than worth the day-and-a-half wait. Reasons of capacity dictated that we were denied the Semperoper's warm and rewarding acoustic on this occasion, having to make do with the rather bleak—both visually and sonically—hall of the Soviet-era Kulturpalast. This gave the orchestra a lot of work to do in Wagner's Tannhäuser overture, which opened the concert. The brass managed to bring warmth, however, to the chorales, and the detailed work from the divisi strings was impressive, even if intonation problems in the florid elaborations around the return of the main theme were ruthlessly exposed. Gergiev seemed on his best behaviour, and the result was a fine account but one which nevertheless missed some aspects of the bachannalian frenzy and pious sincerity of the piece.
The festival had done well to procure the services of Denis Matsuev at such short notice, and he's a pianist in whom Gergiev has invested a great deal; their recording of Rachmaninoff's Third Concerto and Paganini Rhapsody has recently appeared on the Mariinsky's own label. Yet while there's no doubting Matsuev's extraordinary technique, or an instinctive musicianship that serves him well in this music, I found his playing here far too eager to please.
Meticulously micro-managed, it was a performance characterised by precipitous accelerations over short spans, dynamic extremes, and fussy voicing. Not even in the famous eighteenth variation did he allow himself to relax, insisting on emphasising the rhythmic quirks of the accompaniment. There was some jaw-dropping virtuosity on display, and the variations in tempo brought an edge-of-the-seat excitement, but there was a sense of this masterly work being hijacked for personal display. The transcription of 'Largo al foctotum'—of Matsuev's own concoction, I suspect—that served as an encore, meanwhile, was of such vulgarity as to make Liszt's operatic paraphrases seem like models of ascetic chastity in comparison.
There was little doubt that the main event, however, was to be the Mariinsky and their Music Director perform Tchaikovsky's 'Pathétique' Symphony. And focus was brought back on to the conductor before the second half by the brief presentation of a 25,000 Euro prize. Financed by Glashütte, the Dresden-based watchmaker and one of the festival's main sponsors, it was presented by Jan Vogler, the festival's director. Gergiev expressed his aim to use it to help nurture young Russian musicians and the Tchaikovsky Competition, at which, appropriately enough, Matsuev had been a prize-winner in 1998.
As soon as Gergiev had returned to conduct, however, such niceties were banished to make way for an achingly powerful account of the 'Pathétique'. London audiences, in particular, have witnessed the variable results of Gergiev's forays into French and German repertoire, so it was welcome to be reminded of the type of performance that made the conductor such a superstar. This was spontaneous, live interpretation that kept musicians and audience on tenterhooks. The Mariinsky players, too, seemed to relax into music that is in their blood, playing with white hot commitment, with the whole performance intensified by great extremes of tempo and dynamics. Each pause before the first movement's second theme made an appearance, for example, seemed to last an eternity, while principal clarinet Kulyk Victor teetered more precariously on the border of imperceptibly each time. Despite the Kulturpalast's acoustic, the warmth of the tuttis was unmistakable.
While the second movement seemed to lack a little grazia, Gergiev's furious tempo for the Allegro molto vivace brought thrilling results. It was the heart-breaking sadness of the Adagio lamentoso that made this performance so memorable, however. Played as if composed on the spot, with an almost unbearable intensity, it drew the audience into the depths, while showing glimpses of solace in the strings' gentle lines and rushing scales, capped by the consolation of the trombones' beautifully voiced chorale, before sinking into a numb emptiness. As a shattered Gergiev slowly lowered his arms at the close the audience remained silent, before finally recovering with tumultuous applause.
By Hugo Shirley
Photo Credits: Deutsche Grammophon (Mischa Maisky)
The Dresden Festival continues until 6 June 2010, for details see the festival website