Be Careful What You Anticipate

By JAY NORDLINGER - The New York Sun
April 21, 2006

It was a much-anticipated concert,and there was some good in it. A lot of good, actually. But sometimes you have to be careful about what you anticipate.
The New York Philharmonic was led on Wednesday night by Mstislav Rostropovich. This Russian is one of the greatest musicians of our time, or any. He will turn 80 next year. The soloist was Maxim Vengerov, the brilliant Russian violinist. And the concert was all-Shostakovich. Mr. Rostropovich was very close to Shostakovich, and is perhaps his foremost interpreter.
And, in 1994, he and Mr. Vengerov made a recording of Shostakovich's Violin Concerto No. 1 (along with the Concerto No. 1 of Prokofiev). Mr. Vengerov was 19 at the time. These performances are famous, and justly so. Rarely has the Shostakovich, in particular, been executed with such assurance and relish.
Wednesday night's concert began with this concerto. Mr. Rostropovich is thin and stooped now, not the irrepressible bear he once was. But his magic has not left him. Mr. Vengerov may be considered in his prime - a prime that began years ago, and will almost surely extend years into the future.
Shostakovich's Violin Concerto No. 1 can be played two different ways, at least: It can be played cool and chilling; or it can be played hot and passionate. Either way works, provided the violinist is musical enough. Mr. Vengerov tended to the passionate side, although he was never grossly emotional.
From the Vengerov-Rostropovich team, the first movement - Nocturne: Moderato - was unusually slow and careful. The musicians sometimes gave the impression of inching through it. Mr.Vengerov applied lots of portamento (a sliding between notes), more than was wise. And he suffered some un-Vengerovian technical glitches. Most disturbing, he and the orchestra were frequently not together.

And yet Mr. Vengerov could not help doing some beautiful playing. His sound, his legato, his sense of phrasing - these are hard to match. Nevertheless, Shostakovich's first movement should transfix, and I'm afraid it did not.
Once this movement ended, something unfortunate occurred: Latecomers to the concert were let in, resulting in something like a mini-intermission. The performers were left to chat, and look at the auditorium worriedly. Any chance for musical momentum was lost. As I sometimes say, I would favor starting such a concert very late - say, 15 minutes past the appointed time - and then keeping everyone out.
In any case, Messrs. Vengerov and Rostropovich finally began the Scherzo, and from the violinist it was precise and punchy. He has fleet fingers, not to say demonic ones, and he showed them to us. But again, soloist and orchestra were too often not together. And, from Mr. Rostropovich, the Hebraic melody that pops up lacked its usual swagger, its tangy ethnic flavor. Mr. Vengerov, however, made his fiddle dance.
The next movement - Passacaglia: Andante - is one of the most beautiful slow movements in all of Shostakovich, which is to say, one of the most beautiful slow movements in all of music. Mr. Rostropovich started it strangely: slowly, timidly, very, very softly. But Mr. Vengerov handled his duties with heart and conviction. And he judged the cadenza leading into the final movement superbly.
That final movement is the Burlesque, and Mr. Rostropovich - continuing a pattern - started it unusually slowly. But Mr. Vengerov would have none of it. When he came in, he took his own tempo, much livelier. And he gave the music the wild, jagged character it deserves. This notwithstanding the fact that he and the orchestra were often out of sync.
When you go to hear Maxim Vengerov and Mstislav Rostropovich perform the Shostakovich Concerto No. 1, you expect a peak musical experience. At least you want one. This was not such an experience. But this is part of the humanity of concert life. You pays your money and you crosses your fingers.

I must say that the second half of the concert came as a relief - because Mr. Rostropovich showed that he could still conduct, still lead an orchestra. The piece was Shostakovich's Symphony No. 10.
And it started well-nigh perfectly: with accuracy, nimbleness, and growly warmth. As the music went on, the strings sang movingly, and Mr. Rostropovich conducted with all his understanding and skill. You were with Shostakovich, in those dark days (the Stalin period). Even when Mr. Rostropovich and the orchestra were at their calmest, they indicated an anxiety. And the Philharmonic's woodwinds were outstanding. The flute, for example, played tantalizingly.
I might add that, in this opening movement, Mr. Rostropovich lost his baton - behind him it went, into the audience, and he never reclaimed it. This often happens at Rostropovich concerts. He should keep at least one spare on his music stand.
The second movement of the Tenth should have a rattling edge, and it did not, on Wednesday night. But at least it was correct. The next movement had a nice matter-of-factness, though it was a nervous matter-of-factness, if you will allow. Mr. Rostropovich did not quite let loose in the circus-like section. But he wasn't staid. The Philharmonic's horns were exceptionally good.
The Allegro portion of the closing movement can be conducted with much more abandon. But Mr. Rostropovich wasn't in that kind of mood. His Tenth was autumnal, inward, maybe a little tired. The authority behind it was unquestionable. As is the greatness of the man on the podium, who took Shostakovich's orchestration class at the age of 16.