Perhaps Auckland Philharmonia’s Scheherazade concert was fated to fill the town hall, with Rimsky-Korsakov’s exotic symphonic spectacular on the programme.
On Thursday night, it was certainly a thrilling climax to an evening of superlative music making, but would one have expected anything less with maestro Alan Buribayev onthe podium?
The Saqqara Bird, by Australian Melody Eotvos was an attractive opener and an intricately finessed showcase for the musicians, shaded with myriad bird calls.
Conductor Alan Buribayev at the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra Scheherazade concert at the Auckland Town Hall. Photo / Simon van Boxtel
Two years ago, New Zealand pianist Sylvia Jiang deputised for an indisposed Jean-Efflam Bavouzet, dashing off a Liszt concerto as if it had been written for her.
On Thursday night, she fearlessly confronted the glittering beast that is Prokofiev’s Second Piano Concerto and, surrounded by the ultimate in simpatico support, unlocked the great, beating heart of this daunting score.
Initially we were given graceful, melancholic octaves, airborne over what sounded like piquant harmonic liquefaction, but, within minutes, an unsparing eight-page cadenza had Jiang brandishing her virtuoso calling card.
Prokofiev’s superhuman demands were as nothing to this woman, as she coolly moved in and out of various orchestral conflagrations, threading relentless semiquavers through a hurtling scherzo and, in the middle of a fiery finale, creating an oasis of beautifully modulated meditation.
It was very special to play at home, Jiang told us before her encore, which turned out to be a homegrown offering - Gareth Farr’s The Horizon from Owhiro Bay, its spacious Pacific impressionism contrasting with the steely glint of Prokofiev.
After interval, Buribayev would have persuaded even the most jaded of concert-goers that the familiar Scheherazade was overdue for another airing.
Pianist Sylvia Jiang.
Spine-tingling thrills would come in due course, but early one felt the delicacy of chamber music in the first movement’s waves; and when Jonathan Cohen’s clarinet rose up against throbbing strings, there was a whiff of klezmer in the air.
Everywhere, small but incisive touches left their mark, with a hint of portamento adding sensuality to the love of the prince and princess, while, throughout, Andrew Beer’s eloquent violin proved a storyteller par excellence.
