*****
Berliner Philharmoniker/Sir Simon Rattle
Barbican, London, 10 January 2015
Jessica Duchen
The Barbican was heaving at the concrete
seams as the Berliner Philharmoniker began its London residency, the promise of
which has been engendering unprecedented heat. Divided between this hall and
the Southbank Centre, it features Sir Simon Rattle at the helm of his German orchestra,
widely termed the best in the world. The expectations of this orchestra are
such that tickets for its Mahler Second Symphony at the weekend are rumoured to
be changing hands for £200 a piece. Meanwhile Rattle’s mooted appointment as
music director of the London Symphony Orchestra is still up in the air.
Opening their complete cycle of symphonies
by Sibelius with the first two, Rattle and the Berliners proved at the peak of
their powers: an orchestra of individual virtuosi playing as one, as if in
supersized chamber music, with Rattle, conducting from memory, leading the way
with an assurance that proved at every turn that the music is part of him and
he of it.
Rattle has a long history with the Sibelius
symphonies – he recorded them back in his years last century with the City of
Birmingham Symphony Orchestra – and his interpretations have grown into
something at once individual and universal. Here the progress of the composer's imaginative sophistication from the first to the second symphonies shone out: No.1,
dating from 1900, aching in the shadow of Tchaikovsky; No.2 moving into new dramatic
territories in which no step is safe, no illusion unquestioned, yet no lament
unanswered by hope.
For some, Rattle’s interpretations might at
first seem too rich, too warm; we imagine Sibelius as rugged and lonely,
shivering through the Finnish winter. But his ability to pace the drama paid
ample dividends: working in long lines and giant paragraphs, generating energy
from small details that gradually rise to take over, striking just the right
balance to cast new light over the precipices, the power of thought is made
palpable with overwhelming intensity.
Above all, though, listening to this
orchestra is an experience of astonishing sensuality, the aural equivalent of,
for example, bathing in asses’ milk laced with rose petals while sipping the
finest vintage Bordeaux and watching the Northern Lights at their most
spectacular, topped by a meteor shower. If you thought an orchestra could not
do that, be advised: it can.
This opulence of tone is the Berliner Philharmoniker’s own, honed long ago under the baton of Herbert von Karajan; Rattle is in some ways åits custodian. But it is clear how much he will be leaving behind in Berlin when he departs, and equally clear what we would be missing if he does not ultimately accept that post with the LSO. Frankly we need Rattle here more than he needs us. If a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like this is missed, if the UK’s only home-grown great maestro is allowed to slip through our fingers thanks to finance and mealy-mouthed politicians, it would be an act of criminal irresponsibility against the cultural life of the UK.
This opulence of tone is the Berliner Philharmoniker’s own, honed long ago under the baton of Herbert von Karajan; Rattle is in some ways åits custodian. But it is clear how much he will be leaving behind in Berlin when he departs, and equally clear what we would be missing if he does not ultimately accept that post with the LSO. Frankly we need Rattle here more than he needs us. If a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like this is missed, if the UK’s only home-grown great maestro is allowed to slip through our fingers thanks to finance and mealy-mouthed politicians, it would be an act of criminal irresponsibility against the cultural life of the UK.
