Every now and then the figurative use of language goes head-to-head with its literal origins; and we find ourselves confronted with how a tried-and-true trope acquired its impact. Organist Jonathan Dimmock did not quite pull out all the stops of the Ruffatti organ this afternoon in Davies Symphony Hall; but he pulled out just the right amount to blend in with the full force of the San Francisco Symphony (SFS) under the baton of visiting conductor (and former Music Director) Edo de Waart. As might be guessed, the occasion was the concluding Maestoso of Camille Saint-Saëns’ Opus 78, his C minor symphony best known by its “Organ” epithet.
Even without the introduction of a full pipe organ (nothing less will do), this is decidedly one of Saint-Saëns’ most imaginative compositions. Written in 1886, it is a “four-movement symphony in two movements,” meaning that both the first two and last two movements are performed without interruption. It is structured around both themes and motif fragments that recur through each of those movements, situating the use of this technique between the idée fixe of Hector Berlioz’ “Symphonie fantastique” and the cyclic form of César Franck’s D minor symphony, composed two years later in 1888. It offers up a more than generous share of imitative fugal writing, particularly during that grand Maestoso, as well as evoking some stunning sonorities through innovative instrumentation (such as octave doubling of the flute by the English horn).
Let’s not kid ourselves, though: The raison d’être for this symphony is the confrontation between the full force of a symphony orchestra and the full force of a pipe organ. True, the initial appearance of the organ is a subtle one, applying sustained tones to serve the Poco adagio that concludes the first half of the symphony almost in the capacity of continuo. However, in the chord that begins that concluding Maestoso, the organ reveals its full power, making it no surprise that the symphony was composed as a memorial piece for Franz Liszt. Liszt’s ghost probably relished both the solemn quietude of the Poco adagio and the unbridled triumphalism of the Maestoso in equal measure.
For all that showmanship, however, the symphony is a challenging balancing act. As with any other composition, the music cannot be “all climaxes all the time.” Thus, while the abundance of sonorities may dazzle us all, the real star of this performance was de Waart, who kept all of those sonorities under control from the hesitant suggestiveness of the opening motifs to the full-throated declaration of the final tonic chord. Like his colleagues who succeeded him, de Waart left all of us on audience side reveling, yet again, in the splendid sounds of the SFS itself.
Thus, we should not neglect the first half of this concert, which was just as generous in serving up such sonorities. The program began with the first SFS performance of the opening prelude to Franz Schreker’s 1914 opera Die Gezeichneten (the stigmatized). This was followed by a performances of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s 1941 revision of his Opus 40, his fourth piano concerto in G minor, originally composed in 1926. The soloist was the young Macedonian pianist Simon Trpčeski, last seen with the SFS when he performed Edvard Grieg’s A minor piano concerto with visiting conductor Vasily Petrenko in April of 2010.
Each of these works had much to offer by way of sonorities. The Schreker prelude requires a particularly large orchestra, including two harps as well as full sections of winds, brass, and strings. It begins with the shimmering quality of those two harps set against celesta, piano, and a highly-divided string section. This begins a journey through a wide variety of mood evocations, each of which draws upon different instrumental resources. Those who saw the San Francisco Opera production of Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s Die Tote Stadt in the fall of 2008 would probably have registered familiarity with the lusher qualities of some of Schreyer’s sonorities; but his was very much his own original voice (even if his opera subjects shared Korngold’s tastes, as well as those of Alexander von Zemlinsky, for bizarre narrative).
As might be imagined, there was no shortage of lush sonorities in the Rachmaninoff concerto, just as there was no shortage of virtuoso challenges for the soloist. However, the opening of the concerto, which plays the piano’s introduction of a lyric theme against rapid-fire staccato coming from both winds and brass is far from “garden variety Rachmaninoff.” One might say that this is the concerto in which the orchestra merits as much attentive listening as the piano; and, once again, de Waart found just the right approach to balancing these resources, enhanced by thorough attentiveness on Trpčeski’s part.
Since the Opus 40 concerto is not often performed, Trpčeski complemented this concerto with a non-standard encore. After explaining that he had originally studied accordion, he took “Dancing Fantasy,” an accordion piece by Koco Petrovski, and played it as a duo with Concertmaster Alexander Barantschik arranged by Damir Imeri. No accordions were harmed in the course of this performance, but the spirit of the original instrument could readily be sensed.
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