Conductor André de Ridder leads the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra through Shostakovich's Symphony No 8.
Conductor André de Ridder leads the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra through Shostakovich's Symphony No 8.
Ravel’s Pavane pour une infante defunte was an unexpectedly luscious launch for the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s Resonance concert, introducing an evening that would end with a searing immersion in the grim world of Dmitri Shostakovich.
Yet Ravel’s stylish lament was more than mere amuse-bouche, conductor Andre de Ridder offsettingits swooning surges of sumptuous harmony with finessed clarity.
Two weeks ago, Dutch trombonist Jorgen van Rijen pulled out of his programmed concerto by American composer Andrew Norman, leaving the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s (NZSO) David Bremner to step in with a lively account of a recent concerto by another American, Bryce Dessner.
De Ridder has brought us Dessner before – in 2023, his symphonic poem Mari struck me as a forest landscape with familiar music by Dvorak and Mahler hovering in the foliage, a voyage which, despite a picturesque palette and well-primed performance, was a little on the long side at 22 minutes.
This night’s 20-minute Dessner concerto only wore out its welcome in its last and longest movement, which, despite Bremner’s hip handling of some exotic sounds, straggled somewhat between its many brilliant splashes of colour.
The first two movements better explored the relationship between soloist and orchestra, especially when Bremner scattered maniacally repeated notes against jiving string rhythms.
When recurring minimalist tropes became too predictable, the fresh Coplandesque air of the second movement was much appreciated.
David Bremner performs Dessner's trombone concerto at Auckland Town Hall.
After interval, de Ridder eloquently prepared us for Shostakovich’s mighty Symphony No 8, talking of it being described by its composer as his requiem for the misery of World War II.
The symphony’s bold mix of stern, primal Adagio, militaristic marches and almost riotous circus-like buffoonery can be bewildering, but de Ridder maintained the focus admirably, Shostakovich’s massive first movement not losing intensity for one second of its 28 minutes. Early on, we were transfixed by the piercing sorrows of stratospheric violins; later, by the unfaltering lyricism of Michael Austin’s cor anglais.
Whilst a thousand cellphones might have gone off unheard during the wilder passages of the second and third movements, so thrillingly delivered, just one insolent machine tragically marred the hushed final minute of one of the most humanising of all Shostakovich’s finales.
