Night and day with Royal Northern Sinfonia & Ólafsson
Night and day conjured up in a variety of musical styles and execution, all enthusiastically and succinctly introduced from the stage by conductor Dinis Sousa.
Eerie soundscapes packed with thrills, spills and a hint of mild peril made Kaija Saariaho’s concert opener Ciel d’hiver (Winter Skies) a delight.
Anguish, pain and frenetic dances commanded attention in Bartok’s Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta.
And there was both bombastic prowess and devastating beauty in Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto too.
This was a thoughtfully put together programme that both entertained and captivated. Soloist Víkingur Ólafsson took centre stage, his performance style as enthralling as the sound he produced at the keyboard.
Kaija Saariaho’s Ciel d’hiver won’t frighten the horses. Evocative material full of high notes, trombone slides and twinkling percussion make this one to trigger the imagination. It’s creepy and ethereal sounds give this a pleasingly cinematic feel. Film music without the tiresome distraction of an actual film.
Bartok’s Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta — his finest work, according to conductor Dinis Sousa — picks up the vibe Saariaho establishes, but with a little more menace. It’s efficient writing — a sort of ‘grown up’ version of Shostakovich’s hard-edged and sometimes grotesque musical language. There are moments when it feels as though the clarity in the playing is lost – phrases running into one another, ensemble not perhaps as together as it might be. It’s these moments when we’re more aware of the slightly boomy acoustic. Things felt back on track acoustically during the second movement during the fast-paced pizzicato sequence — tantalising toe-tapping storytelling.
The draw for the night was Ólafsson. He is a rare thing in the classical music world at present: an artist who deserves the hype. Bold, assertive statements at the keyboard, complemented by a clarity of articulation in the ensemble, were a stark contrast to first half. It was as though it was an entirely different band. Night and day stuff. Olafsson may well have upped the game, but he paid back with an endearing engagement with the orchestra when he wasn’t playing. It was as if he was satisfying his time off with a personally choreographed dance, swaying, leaning, and gesticulating simply because the music was so good. This was infectious: he’s obviously loving it, how can we not?
Ólafsson is not performative. Every movement shows intention and sincerity. In the second movement his craft had a devastating effect, the audience holding its breath as the delicate personal statement was given its space. No one was in a hurry. There is nothing quite so magical as the moment when you realise an artist has summoned a prolonged moment of stillness amongst a 1500+ audience. At the heart of this devastating experience, a rock star pianist with a maths-nerd vibe dressed in a well-cut suit–showing not telling. If you don’t get Beethoven, be sure to listen to Ólafsson playing the composer’s music. You’ll be sure to get it then.
