The cut-to-the-bone 1841 "first" version of the Fourth Symphony seemed better judged, although parts of the Scherzo were overemphatic and the finale wasn't a patch on Saturday's "encore" performance, served after a masterly account of the 1851-52 revision. By now, Gardiner was balancing luminosity with passion, and the effect was exhilarating. Suddenly I imagined what it might be like to cut my teeth on his Schumann then switch to, say, Kubelik or Furtwangler as for the first time. Would I then experience these treasured old masters as hopelessly indulgent? I doubt it less now than I would have done before Saturday's performance of the 1851 Fourth Symphony.
The concert had opened with a fleet, balletically-turned account of the delightful Overture, Scherzo and Finale, the Scherzo suggesting Wagner's Valkyries on tip-toe. Gardiner's pacing was judicious, textures were appropriately open and the performance culminated in a blazing brass peroration. Of the two concertos programmed, it was Saturday's Piano Concerto, performed by Robert Levin on a restored 1850 Streicher instrument, that came off best. Levin and Gardiner collaborated for a supple, fluently phrased rendition, much abetted by the piano's water-coloured tonal properties (a bright treble and resonant bass) and with an especially capricious reading of the central "Intermezzo". Here was a true meeting of minds, or so it seemed, whereas Friday's presentation of the Violin Concerto pitted Thomas Zehetmair's highly emotive and fancifully inflected playing against a coolly attenuated accompaniment. The effect was compounded by the visual clash of Zehetmair's hirsute trendiness and Gardiner's headmasterly profile, but the apparent mismatch was definitely musical.
The real "revelation" of the series was Sunday's presentation of Schumann's choral masterpiece Das Paradies und die Peri (1843), where a superb septet of soloists, led by the soprano Barbara Bonney, was supported by a full- throated Monteverdi Choir. Gardiner's performance was easily the best I've heard, expertly paced, sensitive at every turn (especially to the Bachian balefulness that greets the slaying of the "young man" and the Berlioz-style orchestration of the baritone's principal aria in Part 3) and consistently illuminating. The work itself suggests a string of unfamiliar Lieder charged with dramatic continuity. It was an utterly riveting experience, although I wouldn't have missed the afternoon chamber concert where, beyond a fetching sequence of shorter works, Steven Isserlis, Daniel Phillips and Robert Levin balanced body and soul for a sweetly voiced and wonderfully spontaneous account of the D minor Piano Trio. Again, the spirit of the Lied was uppermost, and yet here was the tenderness, vulnerability and sense of equivocation that, earlier in the series, had occasionally slipped away with the dirty bath-water of stultifying tradition.Reuse content