CHICAGO SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
at Orchestra Hall
Barenboim wanted to make a statement with his opening concerts as music director designate, and he chose the music of Brahms to do so. This was music he had never conducted here before, although as a pianist he had played both of Brahms’s piano concertos back-to-back as recently as two seasons ago. (There were also preconcert Brahms lectures and recitals and a specially prepared book of essays and snippets about Brahms.) Over two weeks of concerts, Barenboim conducted all four Brahms symphonies, the Violin Concerto (with Itzhak Perlman), the First Piano Concerto, and the Berio arrangement of the Clarinet Sonata, op. 120, no. 1. He also accompanied Perlman on the piano in a separate recital of all three Brahms violin sonatas.
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Then something interesting began to happen. Although I found Lupu’s interpretation extremely dull–certainly the slowest Brahms First Piano Concerto I’ve heard, one that brought out the most repetitious and unadventurous aspects of the music–the orchestra was right there with him every step of the way. This is extraordinary when you consider that Barenboim’s conception of the piece, as a pianist, couldn’t be more different from Lupu’s. I would have expected either a soloist who shared Barenboim’s ideas on the music, or a fight between pianist and conductor. But Barenboim deferred completely to Lupu’s interpretation, which is what a responsible conductor will always do. One could argue the wisdom of Lupu being there in the first place (I certainly would), but as long as he was, Barenboim did that which best served the music. (Lupu’s performance was further hindered by the unpredictability of Orchestra Hall’s Hamburg Steinway, an instrument long overdue to be honorably retired.)
Barenboim had changed the CSO layout to a more European style: the violas had been moved to the center of the orchestra, making for a more uniform string balance. It was obvious from the first measure that he had left nothing to chance: everything had been so well rehearsed that not a single phrase was out of place. This was Brahms playing of the very highest order, with exquisite phrasing and perfect ensembling and performed with great subtlety and poetry. Although Barenboim’s approach to Romantic music has often been overblown, this performance was remarkably conservative and careful. Even the brasses, which are often harsh and overbearing, played as if Claudio Abbado were leading. And just when I thought it was all going to spill into excess in the climax of the finale, caution and restraint won out.
All of the second week’s concerts began with the Brahms Violin Concerto, performed by Itzhak Perlman. Perlman, Barenboim’s good friend, was obviously lending his superstar status to these crucial Barenboim concerts. Indeed, the lift he added was so great that Perlman and Barenboim ended up taking the audience right into the stratosphere.
What is particularly gratifying is that even when things didn’t quite work as well as they might have, the issue was not Barenboim’s technique or competence but the quality and effectiveness of his interpretation. That is an enormous victory for Barenboim, and much more important, an enormous victory for Brahms and for Chicago.
