As I wrote in my preview piece, Marek Janowski’s return as conductor of the San Francisco Symphony at Davies Symphony Hall involves a pair of subscription concerts consisting entirely of the music of Ludwig van Beethoven. The first performance of the first of these was presented this afternoon and featured the young Finnish pianist Juho Pohjonen as soloist in the Opus 37 piano concerto in C minor (the third). This was performed after the intermission; and the first half consisted entirely of the Opus 60 symphony in B-flat major (the fourth). However, following the concerto Janowski decided to conclude the program with an overture, the third of the Leonore overtures, Opus 72a.
Looking at the program book, one is easily struck by how close these compositions are in time. The concerto was given its first performance on April 5, 1803 and the overture on March 29, 1806. The symphony was completed in early autumn of 1806. However, when one considers just how productive Beethoven was (Alexander Wheelock Thayer’s Life of Beethoven devotes entire chapters to individual years beginning with 1800 and continuing up to Beethoven’s death), this “calendar proximity” can be a bit deceptive.
Thus, the concerto is best approached in terms of its “mediating position” between the traditional forms of first two concertos and the significant departure from tradition in the fourth. There is also the extent to which the third is distinguished by its C minor key, often taken to be Beethoven’s favorite for “dramatic expression.” From this point of view, both Pohjonen and Janowski sought to distinguish the concerto through assertive expressiveness, reinforced by Janowski setting a tempo to move things forward at an energetically determined pace. Following the extended orchestral introduction, Pohjonen burst forth with a series of sharp attacks. However, having made his point, his engagement with both the orchestra and Beethoven’s sense of rhetoric made it clear that he was not just another loud-and-louder pianist. He knew exactly how to engage a soft-spoken rhetoric when it was necessary and always found the right dynamic balance with the orchestra. Nevertheless, he maintained a general sense of sharply delimited articulations that nicely complemented the urgency of pace set by Janowski. Thus, while the dramatic element was never reined in, it never succumbed to the tedium of being excessive.
The same could be said of the dramatism of the Opus 60 symphony. Here, too, Janowski never let the pace drag. However, here he had to present an Adagio introduction to the first movement, rather than the “summarizing” Allegro con brio meant to acquaint the listener with the thematic material of the concerto. That Adagio introduction almost sizzles with tension, as well it should, since it builds to an Allegro vivace that begins with a volcanic eruption. Janowski not only homed in on a perfect pace for the Adagio but also clarified the nature of its tension through a reading that gave a bit more dynamic emphasis in the shaping of his phrases. If the third concerto plays a mediating role, the fourth is often dismissed as Beethoven catching his breath between the monuments of the third and the fifth; but Beethoven is anything but resting in his efforts to present and unfold thematic material that differs radically from those two symphonies that “surround” the fourth. It is a symphony that arrests the attentive listener, and Janowski knew just how to get our collective attention.
The context of the overture, on the other hand, is the context of Beethoven’s struggle, over several years, to get the opera he had in mind to “work.” This overture is probably his most successful effort to introduce key thematic material from the opera in a manner that also captures the dramatic spirit of the narrative. It was eventually replaced by the overture now given the final title of the opera, Fidelio; but it is often played as entr’acte music to cover for the major change in decor that precedes the final scene of the opera. The problem is that this music is so powerful that it runs the risk of overwhelming even the most rousing rendition of the final chorus, so it tends to be at its best when removed entirely from any operatic context.
Nevertheless, Janowski recognized its powerful “sense of finale,” which is probably why he chose to conclude with it. This allowed the orchestra to come back into its own in full force, after having engaged in dialog with the piano; and Janowski pulled out all the stops for that full force. It was as exciting a reading as one could wish for, creating no sense that it had to be followed by anything “operatic.”
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