The Sheldonian, not unused to drawing large crowds, saw a full house for the Oxford Philomusica’s performance of the Brahms Violin Concerto in D major, Op.77, and Mendelssohn’s Symphony No.3 in A minor, Op.56, Scottish.
As a venue it’s pretty awesome, even if the upper gallery stepped seating is an endurance test in comfort deprivation. However, it was no impediment to my enjoyment of what proved to be a great mix of orchestral and individual musical treats. Plus the view, if a little vertiginous, is spectacular. My tip is to arrive early to secure the back row. You are truly up in the Gods, but at least you get some upholstery and a wall on which to lean.
The evening began with Fantasia on an Original Theme, composed by Rachel Lockwood. The piece was bright, crisp and full of movement, beginning quite sparsely, with just the small sections of the orchestra playing initially, and introducing a more complete range of instruments and a clearer sense of the melody in the second half. This allowed the tones and qualities of the horns, cellos and wind instruments, particularly, to shine through. I’m usually hard to please when I can’t immediately identify the tune, but I was held by its cleverness and found it a lively and a fitting introduction to the programme.
Then onto the main acts. Brahms is no easy task master. Throughout the first movement there’s an intense, fervent and downright noisy swelling and rolling of notes, which works the orchestra hard, to dramatic effect. But that’s nought to the challenge ahead for the soloist who, for this performance, was Maxim Vengerov, Oxford Philomusica’s Artist in Residence. I’m no expert, but I am pretty sure that what Vengerov had to do with that fiddle was far from easy –yet he made it appear so. No note in any octave was allowed to rest, and at given moments three were asked to be busy at the same time. Trills have never been trillier, and I’ve not sure I’ve encountered slide violin before. Decorum and tradition dictates that one refrains from applauding until the very end, but I felt strongly that I wasn’t alone in having to restrain myself from leaping up and applauding wildly before he had even drawn his bow across the strings for the last note of his solo.
The drama of the first movement abated somewhat in the second, but returned in rousing form in the third. It brought to mind a lively fiesta, full of colour and movement, and a summons to dance. Here, both violin and orchestra are tested to the max. It’s a contradiction in terms, but it felt like they were pitted against each other in harmonious battle. All very jolly though.
I am sure those who put together the programme know best, but for my money the Brahms, with its show-stopping display of technical virtuosity and flamboyance, should have been the finale. That’s not to say that Mendelssohn isn’t still big and bold and downright loud, and perhaps more epic. But the storytelling seems more blatant and there’s no soloist showing off - the music does that quite effectively.
The first movement begins ominously, full of portent and darkness, and then the storm arrives, sweeping in with gale force crescendos and the booming thunder of the timpani. The orchestra swells and lulls beautifully, as the storm abates and the violins pluck the final, gently falling drips of rain.
Things liven up in the second movement, like the sun coming out and illuminating a bustling market scene of busy merchants, jostling crowds, scampering children and street hawkers. There’s constant activity and movement, and a much lighter tone.
The final movement is a chance for the five-strong french horn section to give it some wellie – though there’s not an orchestra member not working hard to deliver a strident, fanfare-blowing, flag-waving finale. It all felt rather celebratory and triumphant, and almost regal– though the programme notes sate that Mendelssohn suggested it should be called Allegro guerriero (warlike). For me it feels victorious, rather than combative. Whatever the intended effect, both it and the preceding pieces stirred the audience suitably to induce lengthy, four curtain-call applause as the night ended.
For me, alongside the incredible music, the impressive performances of orchestra and soloist and the enjoyment of works by some great masters, there was another highlight. The conductor, founder and music director of the Oxford Philomusica, Marios Papadopoulos, provides a show all of his own, which I would happily pay good money to see. His conducting style is full bodied (literally) and flamboyant, with flourishes, swoops, hand gestures, waves of the baton and acts of balance that seem more like dance than leading an orchestra at times. Even his immaculate, seemingly un-mess-up-able hair gets involved. Riveting stuff.