Nothing second best about these talented stand-ins
THE Nottingham Classics concert series has scored many firsts in its long history but it’s unlikely the promoters will be looking for a repeat of what happened this time.
To lose a soloist (visa problems) is bad enough but when the conductor has to call off as well (illness), then you begin to wonder if an asteroid may also be hurtling towards the Royal Concert Hall.
Fortunately, there was nothing second-best about the replacements. The South Korean pianist Sunwook Kim, pictured, is a major star in today’s musical galaxy. He not only has the necessary technique and emotional intelligence to perform Brahms’ second Piano Concerto but the muscle power too. It is the most symphonic of concertos, soloist and orchestra being equal partners throughout.
Despite its awe-inspiring architecture and almost super-human demands, it is also a frequently intimate work requiring seemingly telepathic communication between pianist and conductor. Alexandre Bloch (stepping at very short notice) clearly has the work in his bloodstream, as was clear from the instant rapport he struck with his soloist.
This concerto is even more difficult than it sounds (and it frequently sounds impossible), with Brahms giving the soloist very little time to recover from the handfuls of notes that need to be swift and thrusting as well as arrestingly dramatic.
The opening of the first movement (such a quiet start to something so epic) was taken quite slowly, as if it was the start of an Olympian love duet. The horn solo, answered by a quiet piano phrase, had all the tenderness you could ask for – before the piano immediately changed the mood to something altogether more startling, setting the concerto on its monumental journey.
The scherzo became a sparkling whirl, whilst the slow movement (with one of the most glorious solo cello melodies in the entire repertoire) had the subtle intensity of Brahms’ chamber music.
The opening of the finale was sparklingly buoyant and carefree, with Sunwook Kim making light of the fact that Brahms soon turns it into one of the most horrendously difficult movements ever to confront a pianist born with only two hands.
The concert’s other work was Dvorak’s 7th Symphony, often described as his greatest symphony and one written to please Brahms, Dvorak’s musical hero and a great supporter of the Czech composer’s work. Alexandre Bloch’s energetic interpretation (one could almost say balletic, even gymnastic) conveyed the power of the work from the outset.
The first movement had an urgent intensity; the slow movement (with its constant flow of glorious tunes and magical horn solo) was a sensual, precisely sculpted delight.
The scherzo (the movement most obviously influenced on the dance rhythms of Dvorak’s homeland) returned to the intensity of the first movement, while the finale saw Alexandre Bloch summoning every ounce of physical and artistic energy to inspire the same strength of purpose which had characterised the whole concert.