Tatiana Rybakina. Festival everyday life

Festival everyday life
Shostakovich and Bruckner in the Great Hall of the Conservatory

Tatyana Rybakina

Publication date: January 11, 2002

At the main concert venues in Moscow, those that are primarily associated with classical music - the halls of the Conservatory and the Tchaikovsky Hall - there is a festival dedicated to the 80th anniversary of the capital's Philharmonic. The poster contains famous names that make up the glory of Russian art. This is not a pretentious statement, but a simple statement of facts.

Victor Tretyakov, as usual, ensures that any hall is sold out, and no weather disasters, and in our case, frost, will become an obstacle for fans. The Great Hall of the Conservatory on the day when the violinist, together with the Moscow State Academic Symphony Orchestra conducted by Pavel Kogan, performed Violin Concerto No. 1 in A minor (Op. 77), did not accommodate everyone. True, it must be admitted that many did not stay for the second part, they were not so interested in the Bruckner symphony, but taking into account the fact that those standing in the aisles moved to the vacant chairs, the hall still remained full.

concerto Shostakovich's has long become a classic. Subtle connoisseurs are happy to compare interpretations. Less sophisticated listeners simply trust the performer. Viktor Tretyakov led the audience and orchestra. Pavel Kogan “muted down” the orchestra, giving it an accompanying role. Unfortunately, this was not always justified by the internal dramaturgy of the concert, but it made it possible to enjoy the beauty of the melody produced by the violin. The semantic culmination was the third part - “Passacaglia”. The violin alternately entered into dialogue and then into sharp conflict with a group of strings or the power of brass. The tragic chorale seemed to fill the entire space. The tremolo of the timpani accumulated energy, alarming and exciting, but all the collected force strangely did not lead to an explosion, but, unexpectedly interrupted, “hung” with some kind of echo, giving way to the solo violin. The cadence of a solo violin is equal in scale to a separate movement. In it, with ever-increasing virtuosity (this concerns not so much tempo definitions or technical capabilities), images of all three parts appear, acquiring a new semantic sound. The tension builds and the solo almost collides with the bravura, fast-paced “Burlesque”, the final movement of the concert.

The second part of the concert featured Anton Bruckner's Symphony No. 1 in C minor . Today, the works of the Austrian composer are included in the golden fund of world symphonic literature. But quite recently - it’s hard to believe, but it’s true - the study of Bruckner’s legacy was not included in the curriculum of foreign musical literature courses in colleges. Although now it is impossible to imagine the end of the 19th century without these monumental opuses. The drama of symphony #1 is in the conflicting juxtaposition of thematic material. From strict melodies performed by clear unison of groups - to almost operatic sound imaging. From a precise, almost “velvety” sound on the piano - to a long, painful crescendo. But a certain “supra-worldliness”, the detachment of Bruckner’s music from excessive sensitivity and passion, was expressed in Pavel Kogan’s performance in an unexpected “blurred” sound. Not a single tutti sounded like a genuine forte; it seemed as if the entire orchestra was mixed with a huge mute. But in fairness, it should be noted that sometimes mezzo-forte in the harmony of sound, when the entire orchestral group is like one instrument, is more important than the loud peals of thoughtless fortissimo.

The last chord of the symphony did not become the finale of the concert: the audience applauded for a long time and finally forced the conductor to return to the podium. As an encore, the overture to Wagner's opera "Tannhäuser" was played, where the trombones sounded incredibly powerfully, but the woodwinds let the rooster crow in an incredibly offensive way. But “Radetzky March” by Johann Strauss corrected the impression. His playfully emphasized arrogance and proudly flaunted army “zeal” were also played out by the conductor: either he resembled a diligent regimental bandmaster, exaggeratedly showing the introduction, or he stood up to attention, holding his breath like a young cadet.