Violin virtuoso leads Houston Symphony in marvelous Beethoven.
Violinist conquers Beethoven’s technically demanding yet emotional work
Historically, happy Beethoven has not amounted to popular Beethoven. Joshua Bell and the Houston Symphony hardly let that stop them this weekend.
To say the least, the world’s most famous composer is not remembered for his sunny disposition. But in 1806, he had ample reason to smile: That summer he completed a new symphony that his patron, one Prince Lichnowsky, had commissioned well in advance; and his long-gestating violin concerto in honor of his old friend, the Viennese virtuoso Franz Clement, came to fruition just days before its premiere that December.
Taken together, the two pieces radiate a charming lightheartedness that more than makes up for whatever they may lack in the drama of the composer’s better-known works. Both are blessed with some of Beethoven’s most pristine melodies, which shine perhaps even brighter today because they have not been completely coopted by pop culture.
Bell, now 51, may be well past his prodigy years, but his dexterity navigating the Violin Concerto easily matched his boyish countenance. The piece is demanding enough to be a proper platform for a high-level soloist’s technique but also expressive enough to be emotional; here, the Indiana native’s prowess on his 1713 Huberman Stradivarius lay as much in his close interpretation of Beethoven’s various moods as his technical mastery of the specific notes.
Beethoven’s Violin Concerto is rather unusual because of the opening movement’s long orchestral introduction. Melodically, the composer is in no great rush to reveal his destination, but it’s worth it: A softly tolling tympani introduces a series of instrumental feints, most notably by the winds, which in turn slowly swell into a heartfelt conversation between the high and low strings. It’s stirring, poignant stuff.
Passages like these, however unsung within Beethoven’s own body of work, help explain why his reputation remains undiminished more than 190 years after his death. More important, by this point the composer has also provided ample material for his soloist to explore and embellish, and Bell did not disappoint.
Eschewing a podium, the violinist stood so close to the lip of the stage his freely swaying upper body might have sent him over the edge if not for a sturdy center of gravity. When not conducting, often by sweeping his bow in a 180-degree arc across the orchestra, Bell coaxed an entire spectrum of tones out of his instrument — a resinous amber all the way to shimmering silver as his fingers reached the upper registers.
Exactly how much bow to spend on any given measure is a fundamental taught from the most elementary levels of violin, but the great ones like Bell make something even that basic a pleasure to watch. Sometimes he would travel the length of the fingerboard in one long trill; talk about a smooth operator. In the lively triple-meter third movement, his bow flew so fast it seemed like it might actually slip out of his hand.
Of course it didn’t, but it would really be something to watch him do “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” sometime.
Following intermission, Bell came back to conduct Beethoven’s Symphony No. 4, the least often performed of the nine. Robert Schumann called it a “slender Greek maiden between two Norse giants,” those being the mighty Third and Fifth. Reckoning with weighty concepts such as the hero’s journey and implacable destiny may make for a convenient shortcut to musical immortality, but it’s also exhausting.
The Fourth, though, is a little more than a mere palate-cleanser. Its frisky melodies and rich instrumental dialogues (especially in the finale) can be just as emotionally satisfying as Beethoven’s more dramatic symphonies, if in a somewhat lower-key manner.
In other words, instead of quickening the pulse, the Fourth tickles the heart.
More practically, it also made an excellent showcase for this particular orchestra’s sparkling woodwinds section; that’s actually two weekends in a row after its fine work in the all-French program of Debussy’s “La mer,” etc. A jaunty extended bassoon melody helped set the pace during the opening movement, and oboe and clarinet each took a turn during the slower, gorgeously realized second.
Even without a bow — which turned out to make a fine baton during the first half — Bell made for a curiously panther-like conductor, gradually growing very still before pouncing on the inflection points of the more intense passages. During the more lyrical moments, meanwhile, his movements resembled an elaborate interpretive dance, which in a way it was.
With music this lovely, it’s tough to not be swept away.