When I was in Stockholm in 2012 (I can't believe it was so long ago!!!), I went to a performance of the first three Beethoven symphonies by the Royal Philharmonic, conducted by Lorin Maazel (who died in 2014). I wrote about it in my blog (link in my profile), but thought I would share the experience here.
The Konserthuset, where the Nobel Prizes are awarded, did not feel
very big or very impressive in the way it’s decorated. It has big
columns that block the view for some seats in the balcony, including
mine. In fact, if I sat back in my seat, all I could see was a few of
the bass players. But it was easy to lean forward (I was in the front
row and the railing was actually contoured to fit forearms very
nicely), and then I could see the entire stage, and it felt as if I
was very close to the action.
A few things were different from going to a concert in the states.
First, when I got there, about 15 minutes before the concert began,
some of the musicians were on stage warming up in street clothes.
Eventually they left, and the stage was empty. The players pretty much
all came on stage within the last five minutes. The men were in white
tie and tails; the women in black dresses (no pants that I could see).
The concertmaster came on stage with all the rest of the musicians and
simply stood up to signal the oboist for A 440.
Then someone came out and made a lengthy announcement. About the only
word I recognized in the speech was “Beethoven.” The audiences laughed
a few times during his talk. Then at the end, he introduced Maestro
Lorin Maazel. I had not picked up a program, figuring it would be in
Swedish, and I didn’t remember from when I booked on line that Maazel
was conducting. Anyway, the audience applauded him very warmly as he
moved slowly onto the stage (he’s 82 years old). He had no music stand
on the podium. He lifted the baton and launched into Beethoven’s first
symphony.
I honestly thought I was beyond this kind of reaction. In fact, I
don’t remember the last time this happened to me, but as they began
playing, tears started streaming down my face. The Beethoven
symphonies are such standard pieces, I know them well, and yet it was
as if I was hearing them for the first time. Maazel used such an
economy of movement, and the orchestra played with so much subtlety
and refinement when that was called for, and bombast and bravura when
appropriate. At times it was like listening to the most intimate
chamber music. I’ve never heard such exquisite pianissimo playing, so
together and so in tune. And Maazel brought out things I’d never heard
before, often giving inner parts unexpected prominence. In all three
symphonies he treated the scherzo movement as prologue to the finale,
so there was no real pause between them. In fact, in the finale to the
Eroica, the fermata between the opening fanfare and the start of the
first variation was significantly longer than the pause before the
movement began.
During the applause after the first symphony, when Maazel asked
certain members of the orchestra to stand for individual bows, the
first person he pointed to was the tympanist. I’ve never seen the
tympanist called out for symphony playing before any other section or
individual. But it was completely justified; he was that good.
Between the tears, I had goose bumps. This was truly the most
extraordinary musical event I’ve ever witnessed. I suspect it was not
just me who heard something magical tonight; the audience stood and
applauded persistently, eventually evolving into rhythmic clapping.
This concert alone makes my entire vacation worthwhile. I will never
forget the experience of hearing this music tonight.
