Rian Evans 

BSO/Litton – review

The Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra's conductor laureate Andrew Litton took the reins for a Russian programme that nailed the country's characteristically fine orchestral colouring perfectly, writes Rian Evans
  
  


A Russian programme spanning three-quarters of a century might have seemed tailor-made for their principal conductor Kyrill Karabits, but the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra has a particular affection for its conductor laureate Andrew Litton, and together they attacked the repertoire of Rimsky-Korsakov, Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich with real zeal.

Rimsky-Korsakov's suite The Snow Maiden comes from his opera of that name, and its bright musical imagery, culminating in the whirling Dance of the Tumblers, established a strong sense of the characteristically Russian soundworld. So for Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto, the ears of players and audience had already been attuned to the fine orchestral colouring, too often secondary to the dramatic and technical fireworks.

But soloist Barry Douglas, for whom this work was his first passport to international recognition when he won the Tchaikovsky competion in 1986, seemed as concerned as Litton to highlight the extremes of shading in the work: he created a sense of danger in the first movement with some thunderously massive sounds, pitting the piano against the orchestra in the manner of Brahms' two concertos. This pushing of emotions to the very limits was just as persuasively realised in the poised poetic lines, with the final Allegro con Fuoco taken fast and furious, and Litton enjoying the risks as much as his pianist.

Shostakovich's Sixth Symphony (like the Rimsky-Korsakov, far less familiar than the rest of the respective composers' oeuvres) pushes the extremes even further and worked well as a partner to the Tchaikovsky. Desperation and consolation lie hand-in-hand in the long opening Largo, the essential core of this 1939 symphony, which Litton paced with great sensitivity. The two final scherzo-style movements then carried a manic exuberance, as gaudy and surreal as Mahler, and as disturbing. The enthusiastic cheers for piccolo, flutes and timpani were richly deserved.

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