Chandos have once again put
us in their debt by releasing this superbly
recorded and impressively committed performance
of the John Veale Violin Concerto. Written
in 1984, this deeply personal work was one
of the first fruits of a return to composition
after 12 years of silence. This creative hiatus
was caused by lack of performances and broadcasts
thanks to the Glock regime at the BBC. At
times one can hear in the concerto some of
the anger and frustration of an artist stifled
by rejection alongside a more personal grief
which surfaces most poignantly in the beautiful
central Lament.
The first movement begins
portentously with a majestic orchestral flourish
followed by an ascending line from the soloist,
establishing the late Romantic idiom and essentially
tragic character of much of the work. The
orchestral introduction is dominated by two
main themes, the first underpinned by an urgent,
rocking motif and the second a lyrical outpouring
for strings dominated by a falling triplet.
This introduction recalls John Veale’s facility
for scoring films with its rhetorical, broad
brushstrokes that pack an emotional punch.
The rest of the movement concerns the working
out of the two main themes with the soloist
acting as the first person singular in the
symphonic narrative. An idiomatic and impressively
extended cadenza grows from and leads back
into a scherzando-like passage, more like
a ‘hunted’ scherzo than a ‘hunting’ one with
its desperate, fugitive character.
After the opening movement’s
grand, tragic gestures, the Lament is an intimate
song of personal grief. Harp ostinati unlock
a world of great tenderness and fearless emotional
honesty. The delicate harmonics and rising
sobs from the soloist with which this heartbreaking
movement ends arise naturally, unconcerned
by empty technical prowess, always at the
service of the music.
(The
clicks you hear are not on the CD but seem to
be an artefact of my sample compression process)
After this soul bearing, the Finale tries
to assume a brave face with a hearty Waltonian
bluffness but memories of previous themes
return to haunt the music.
It is the searing intensity
of the first two movements that stays in the
memory after the Finale’s hearty gestures
have long faded. The overall impression is
of a concerto on a grand scale distinguished
by its tender intimacy, which is sympathetically
written for the solo instrument and communicates
directly with its audience. Alban Berg’s Violin
Concerto is one of the few 20th
century examples in the genre with comparable
intensity and emotional impact.
The Britten concerto receives
a more relaxed reading than the 1971 Decca
recording with Mark Lubotsky and the English
Chamber Orchestra under the composer’s direction
(London 417 308-2). The work benefits from
a more spacious view, its considerable complexities
rightly subordinated to a clear narrative
line. The reflective conclusion is most beautifully
realised. Orchestra and soloist are clearly
in sympathy with both of these concertos and
the chemistry between Mordkovitch and Hickox
produces such wonderful results I hope this
partnership will feature in future recordings.
This disc would have been even more desirable
had it been released as an all-Veale CD and
included a symphony (ideally the composer’s
second, shamefully still awaiting its premiere).
Nonetheless, this is mere carping in the light
of such a winning performance of John Veale’s
impassioned and moving work that engages the
emotions without manipulating them.
Paul Conway
Lydia Mordkovich (violin) 