By WILLIAM DART
Kodaly's Dances of Galanta was the perfect opener for the Auckland Philharmonia's Thursday concert. The orchestra was in fine form, under the baton of visiting American conductor Steven Smith.
A fervent cello song in the opening bars augured well, and Bridget Miles' clarinet took its lead with a
blend of innocence and persistence until Smith eventually swept the piece to its exultant close.
Kenneth Young's Piano Concerto came across as more than a little Slavic too, with hints of Shostakovich, Prokofiev and, even at one point, Rachmaninov.
From the opening piano line, etched over pulsating strings, Michael Houstoun imprinted his trademark clarity on proceedings, encouraging similarly incisive playing from the orchestra.
All musicians took extreme care with Young's expressive demands. Houstoun enjoyed navigating the cross-rhythms when his instrument took flight, although this central section was less persuasive compositionally in its musical material.
The slow movement was lovely in its fragility, leaving us with images of a crystalline B major tinged by dissonances, balanced by chord sequences that could have slipped from the pages of Strauss. The Hallelujahs from Stravinsky's Symphony of Psalms could not have been in better musical company and the players revelled in Young's frank emotionalism.
Young says his last movement is a romp and it is, although a lot more more solid than the composer's description of "frenetic" would indicate. Darting contrapuntal sorties provided respite from some of the most extrovert piano writing of the score, not all of which projected into the auditorium.
A few days earlier, Smith told me Brahms' Second Symphony should be something of a journey from dark into light. He made it just that in a gripping symphonic performance.
Stressing the "non troppo" status of the first two movements, the first pitted sweeping strings against inevitable woodwind and burly, sinister trombones, until the final dancing Coda.
Momentum was well sustained in the Adagio and, after an appreciated tuning up from the orchestra, the Allegretto grazioso had a litheness that would have served it well on the ballet stage, with its Presto sounding uncannily like Tchaikovsky.
The Finale was a joyful outburst, Bachian in its splendour and confidence. A magnificent journey had been achieved.
