Russian Orchestra Makes Fine Case for Problematic Concerto

Russia may not usually present the ideal model for the smooth transition of power. But in the often fractious world of orchestras, it has done remarkably well with the Russian National Orchestra. A lasting glory of glasnost, the ensemble was created in 1990 by a young Russian pianist, Mikhail Pletnev, with the support of then-Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev, as a showcase for some of the country’s finest players. It proved an instant and brilliant success, not only for the impressive virtuosity of the ensemble, but also as a vehicle to demonstrate that Pletnev could be nearly as impressive a conductor as he is a pianist.

A year and a half ago, Pletnev stepped aside, handing his baton to Vladimir Spivakov, a well-known violinist who is also a conductor. And to demonstrate the continuity of vision and the cooperation between these two noted Moscow artists, the orchestra has embarked on its first U.S. tour under Spivakov, with Pletnev as piano soloist. Wednesday night, at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, the collaboration was in Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 2, which needs all the help it can get.

Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto is one of the most famous works for piano and orchestra, and his second is, if anything, a piece more lavish than its predecessor. It is certainly just as full of bravura passages for the pianist. The tunes are Tchaikovsky at his most contagious. The slow movement, based on a captivating melody, is a stunning, startling triple concerto, with prominent solos from first violin and cello.

Yet Tchaikovsky overextends himself. The material, fine as it is, doesn’t adequately expand to the epic proportions Tchaikovsky sought. But although editing was called for, the radical cuts provided by Alexander Siloti, published in 1897, just after Tchaikovsky’s death, mutilated the score, especially in halving the slow movement and thereby removing most of the beautiful solo violin and cello parts.

Pletnev and Spivakov played the concerto in a form closer to the way Tchaikovsky wrote it, and they made a very good case for the work. Pletnev is a direct pianist, who never exaggerates, never lingers, but who makes nearly every note count. In this concerto, making every note count is impossible--the monstrous bravura passages are endless, and there are so many notes as to be uncountable. But his cool confidence, his extraordinary control and his powerful ability to be expressive nevertheless underscored a great deal of exciting music.

Tchaikovsky was the evening’s focus, with the second half of the program devoted to a suite from “Swan Lake.” Spivakov’s conducting style is that of a general giving curt orders, and famous as this lush ballet music is, he made it sound like more fresh, mature Tchaikovsky. Much credit goes to the splendid orchestra. Individual players are exceptional--there were more breathtaking solos from the concertmaster, first cello, as well as from trumpet and harp--but even more remarkable is the focus of sound. The sharpness of attack, the tight vibrato in the strings and the rhythmic precision throughout the ensemble made this ballet sound more piquant than sentimental.

In between the two big Tchaikovsky scores was a short piece by the Estonian composer Arvo Part, “Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten,” for bells and strings. It begins with the quiet peals of the bells, and the audience--a full, excitable house--was unsettled, still finding its seats and its concentration after intermission. The strings begin quietly and swell. Part achieves a rapt intensity of sound that these players captured so effectively that the entire theater seemed to vibrate.

It was an amazing acoustic phenomenon, and it had an amazingly quieting effect throughout the hall. No one had to tell the rambunctious listeners to be quiet; the music and the wonderful players simply gave them no choice.