<Translated from French automatically>
Paris. Salle Pleyel. 13-VI-2012.
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953): Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor, op. 16.
Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915): Symphony No. 3 "The Divine Poem" in C minor, op. 43.
Boris Berezovsky, piano;
Orchestre de Paris, conductor: Alexander Vedernikov.
There is apparently a "topos" when reviewing a performance of Prokofiev's Second Concerto: one must marvel at the cadenza—that cadenza which alone represents half the duration of the first movement and reshapes all the thematic material into a firework display of virtuosity and lyricism. It is a commonplace that one grows exasperated with until one has seen, with one's own eyes, a human being play these pages; and the audience at Salle Pleyel, who had that chance, had only one phrase on their lips when leaving the concert: "the cadenza! the cadenza!". It was a just reward for the maximum investment of the soloist, Boris Berezovsky, during the thirty minutes that this concerto lasts—the piano part occupying at least twenty-nine of them. When it would have been so easy for him to bluff by drowning certain passages under the pedal, the performer insisted on mastering every note. With rigor, humility, and an ease that only physical fatigue tempered in the final bars, he overcame this diabolical monument, a stumbling block even for talented pianists.
However, it must have been difficult for someone discovering the score to be sensitive to its beauty, because under the pianist's fingers, it barely breathed, manhandled by sometimes daring tempi. The balance between fury and expressiveness is fragile, and Boris Berezovsky favors the former too much; perhaps, obsessed by a desire for perfection, he is somewhat disdainful of passages that do not demand the appalling feats required by others. This impression is reinforced by a curious modesty shown by the Orchestre de Paris which, while willingly fulfilling its role as accompanist, is caught off guard when the spotlight falls on it. As if they were embarrassed to compete with such a luxuriant piano, the musicians sometimes reduce their own solos to a series of hurried "mutterings," and the dramatic unity of the work suffers as a result.
The orchestra is more convincing in Scriabin’s symphony, when it knows that the listeners' attention belongs entirely to it. This work, which equals neither in density nor in inspiration Prokofiev's concerto, nevertheless constitutes a fine second half of the concert. The musicians apply themselves to achieving interesting colors together, and they render quite well those ecstatic paroxysms—those moments of maximal intensity where the harmony changes in blocks—which are so characteristic of Scriabin's style. The conductor, Alexander Vedernikov, thus honorably succeeds in his first contact with the Orchestre de Paris: let us remember that he had to replace Kirill Petrenko at the last minute. Let us simply deplore an excess, even a vulgarity in his gestures (such as stamping his foot on the podium), which betray a slightly caricatured vision of this music.
The very appropriate encore that Berezovsky chose to conclude his performance also deserves a few lines: it is a Skazka (Tale) by Nikolai Medtner (a brief form that this composer favored), Opus 20 No. 2, a piece that the pianist, in clear French, insisted on relating to Prokofiev's style, and in which one indeed finds a violence imbued with motorism. The arid beauty of this piece is worth the detour and should earn it greater fame.
Source.
Paris. Salle Pleyel. 13-VI-2012.
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953): Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor, op. 16.
Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915): Symphony No. 3 "The Divine Poem" in C minor, op. 43.
Boris Berezovsky, piano;
Orchestre de Paris, conductor: Alexander Vedernikov.
There is apparently a "topos" when reviewing a performance of Prokofiev's Second Concerto: one must marvel at the cadenza—that cadenza which alone represents half the duration of the first movement and reshapes all the thematic material into a firework display of virtuosity and lyricism. It is a commonplace that one grows exasperated with until one has seen, with one's own eyes, a human being play these pages; and the audience at Salle Pleyel, who had that chance, had only one phrase on their lips when leaving the concert: "the cadenza! the cadenza!". It was a just reward for the maximum investment of the soloist, Boris Berezovsky, during the thirty minutes that this concerto lasts—the piano part occupying at least twenty-nine of them. When it would have been so easy for him to bluff by drowning certain passages under the pedal, the performer insisted on mastering every note. With rigor, humility, and an ease that only physical fatigue tempered in the final bars, he overcame this diabolical monument, a stumbling block even for talented pianists.
However, it must have been difficult for someone discovering the score to be sensitive to its beauty, because under the pianist's fingers, it barely breathed, manhandled by sometimes daring tempi. The balance between fury and expressiveness is fragile, and Boris Berezovsky favors the former too much; perhaps, obsessed by a desire for perfection, he is somewhat disdainful of passages that do not demand the appalling feats required by others. This impression is reinforced by a curious modesty shown by the Orchestre de Paris which, while willingly fulfilling its role as accompanist, is caught off guard when the spotlight falls on it. As if they were embarrassed to compete with such a luxuriant piano, the musicians sometimes reduce their own solos to a series of hurried "mutterings," and the dramatic unity of the work suffers as a result.
The orchestra is more convincing in Scriabin’s symphony, when it knows that the listeners' attention belongs entirely to it. This work, which equals neither in density nor in inspiration Prokofiev's concerto, nevertheless constitutes a fine second half of the concert. The musicians apply themselves to achieving interesting colors together, and they render quite well those ecstatic paroxysms—those moments of maximal intensity where the harmony changes in blocks—which are so characteristic of Scriabin's style. The conductor, Alexander Vedernikov, thus honorably succeeds in his first contact with the Orchestre de Paris: let us remember that he had to replace Kirill Petrenko at the last minute. Let us simply deplore an excess, even a vulgarity in his gestures (such as stamping his foot on the podium), which betray a slightly caricatured vision of this music.
The very appropriate encore that Berezovsky chose to conclude his performance also deserves a few lines: it is a Skazka (Tale) by Nikolai Medtner (a brief form that this composer favored), Opus 20 No. 2, a piece that the pianist, in clear French, insisted on relating to Prokofiev's style, and in which one indeed finds a violence imbued with motorism. The arid beauty of this piece is worth the detour and should earn it greater fame.
Source.
With Alexander Vedernikov, a concerto under control
Joseph THIROUIN, ResMusica, June 16, 2012
