Preview

At around seventeen minutes Maurice Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand showpiece for his pianist friend Paul Wittgenstein who lost an arm in the First World War packs a lot of material in.

There is a sense of glorious defiance in the piano’s opening material. Bold, expansive, and demanding, Ravel demands much of the soloist in the opening bars. After the orchestra’s response, a more reflective serene sequence follows in the piano with a hint of Debussy and the possibility that we’re on a glassy lake, sunlight dancing on the surface of the water.

A demonic dance idea opens the final contrasting movement of the entire work. The bold opening statement heard at the beginning of the work returns, before a piano solo line that begins at the bottom end of the piano starts the run for the gloriously splashy conclusion that includes a possible nod to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Ravel’s concision sees many ideas and treatments in a short space of time, making this colourful quarter of an hour highly entertaining.

Even though Walton composed this before the Second World War, his musical language radiates the kind of post-war optimism we tend to associate with the 1950s — stirring, glossy, and oddly reassuring. Crown Imperial is a good example of that.

You’ll need to wait until the fourth movement of Walton’s Symphony No. 1 to get the full technicolour Walton experience in that respect, though there’s a concise tasting menu in the first 45 seconds of the second movement scherzo. That full-colour moment is earned — the first three movements lay the groundwork. There’s a strong whiff of Sibelius’ brooding quality (think the first movement of his Violin Concerto) in Walton’s opening.

The second movement scherzo has a fiery kind of menace about it, with screaming strings and brass in a defiant dance. The third movement manifests melancholy with a melody that conjures up awkwardness and yearning all at the same time. Sometimes there’s a feel of Aaron Copland’s musical language — especially in the opening bars, where a grand vista with a pencil-thin horizon is revealed by a slow-moving tracking shot. Then, as the strings swell and the brass enter, there’s a distinct shift — something darker, almost Shostakovich-like.

The unbridled rip-roaring celebration of the final movement is textbook Walton, but with even more scrunchy chords, brassy fanfares, and zingy string flourishes. Towards the middle of the movement, a fugue played out in skittery strings hints at a musical nervous breakdown — multiple voices all vying for attention, before coming together into a whole that moves events onto something far, far calmer. A final set of fireworks makes the ending unequivocal: a solid brassy triumph.

One-handed pianist Nicholas McCarthy, graduated from the Royal College of Music in 2012. Since then, he’s combined a busy international performing schedule with motivational speaking, inspiring leaders across sectors by sharing his story. His advocacy work — with the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music and the Paraorchestra, among others — has helped open up opportunities for disabled musicians. Warm-hearted and generous-spirited, McCarthy speaks with palpable enthusiasm for the genre and for his inspiration, the pianist Paul Wittgenstein, for whom Ravel wrote his Piano Concerto for the Left Hand.

Review

Ravel pulls his Concerto for the Left Hand from the murky depths with a creaking contra bassoon. Quite the ominous and theatrical opening. From here we’re heading towards a shimmering reveal by the time the solo piano line completes the picture. On radio, the balance felt a little skew-whiff, trumpets favoured, with strings lost in the mix. The consequence wasn’t imbalance so much as a tentative feel. Although some harp cues were evident, I missed the detailed textures in the string writing. The concluding march combined a pleasing toe-tapping strictness with a sense of playfulness, though there were moments when orchestra and ensemble slipped in and out of sync. There was a little more prominence given to the string textures, though the mix still made the overall effect cautious. On the flip side, the bias towards woodwind in particular here revealed the intricacies and demands in Ravel’s orchestral writing. McCarthy thrived in the more lyrical and soloistic sequences, hypnotising with kaleidoscopic reflections that flickered across glassy seas.

Importantly and unusually, McCarthy’s words before his Scriabin encore were heartfelt, underlining the enormity of his Proms debut (he was only the second one-handed pianist to play the work since its Royal Albert Hall debut in 1951) and what it meant to him. This works well in Proms Director Sam Jackson’s new editorial approach to the Proms, humanising the artist who, to date rarely strays from a simple introduction of the encore they’re about to play. Giving the artist the microphone in such politically charged times isn’t something you’d expect the BBC would be at ease with given events and the broadcaster’s recent troubles. But here, McCarthy’s words and the heart behind them remind us of what we as audience often take for granted: they are moved by the experience just as we are.

The mix issues are resolved come the beginning of Walton’s Symphony No. 1. Gently-motoring strings give the opening its impetus, powering the work towards take-off. The first movement sees the strings working hard, a gritty, dry sound enhancing the articulation. Legatos in quieter sequences are silky and delicate, with wind and brass punctuating with pinpoint accuracy. After an eerie contrast, the brass lead the charge towards the end, and the concluding bars pack in a variety of timpani effects, the more brittle textures especially satisfying.

In the second movement Scherzo, taut strings drive the music forward with a restless, menacing energy. The dynamic is tight enough to expose flickers of woodwind madness, clarinet lines in particular. When the material returns later in the movement, the sudden drop from fortissimo to pianissimo sets up the final approach well, underpinned by a fruity tuba and a judicious trombone slide.

The woodwind ensemble at the beginning of the third movement is deliciously melancholic. And while the horns and cellos are slightly out of sync in the material that follows, it doesn’t detract from what becomes a special moment for the woodwind section as a whole — the principal oboe and clarinet in particular. Come the end of this movement, sustained yearning has created something special that resonates come the final sound. Melancholy yes, anguish certainly.

A muscular string sound opens the final movement, preparing the ground for a whip-cracking allegro that pulls no punches, showcasing the hard work the Bournemouth Symphony strings have clearly put in (something already evident in the Poole performance I heard a few months ago). The fugue, with its dry, distinct articulation, is an electrifying listen — disciplined cacophony, bookended by assertive, tightly focused brass. Confident but never overplayed dynamic shifts are deployed by Wigglesworth with great effect. A cracking performance brought to life with characteristic precision and joy. Textbook Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra.

Reviews of the remaining works in this concert programme will be published shortly.

Gallery

📷 Chris Christodoulou / BBC

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