When Rattle turned to conduct the young Tiffin singers in the auditorium, the audience saw what the orchestra and chorus see all the time – Sir Simon at work, directing operations with coaxing, smiling assurance, using his special gift to make every performer feel their contribution is vital.
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The orchestra was brilliant throughout, providing some magical moments: the lightest of string tones at the opening of Parts 1 and 3; the woodwind’s uncannily accurate representation of a military silver-band for the Marche Hongroise, the dark brooding quality of the opening of Part 2; the perfect Second-Empire sound of muted woodwind and brass, trembling strings and soft timpani for the opening of the Easter Hymn; and just the right touch of the gothic for the terrifying gallop for the Course d’abîme, where Berlioz’s writing is at its most florid, and care needs to be taken not to stray into camp overstatement (it feels as though it needs only the addition of coconut hoof-beats for it to tip into comedy).
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Cumulatively, there was plenty to stun, plenty of elemental drama, every department of the LSO excelling, the coloration vivid, inevitable, terrifying, snarling, the processional, assault and climaxes relentless.
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The velvety flow of the opening minutes, the electrifying buoyancy of the soldiers’ marches in Part 1, the throbbing double-bass heartbeats underlying Marguerite’s lament – the performance was full of memorable cameos, joining together seamlessly to form a rich and vivid picture.
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Only the superlatives, only the full five stars can do justice to an evening which is bound to stay imprinted on the memory. This was a very fine concert indeed.
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The devil really does get the best tunes and Rattle ensured a demonic gallop into hell before that celestial finale.
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Rattle and his superlative LSO players did full justice to [The Firebird's] ravishing sonorities, capturing also its enchanted quality.
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And if the LSO-Rattle era unfolds in similar style, we’re in for some thrilling concerts. The orchestra sounded fabulous and the LSO Chorus was on fiery, agile form as, variously, soldiers, students, peasants, gnomes, sylphs, demons and the damned.
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But the real challenge in this 1913 piece is to be simultaneously precise and unkempt, and that’s where this performance really scored. There was no recoiling here from Stravinsky’s pounding rhythms, nor from his extreme decibel levels: credit, especially, goes to the outstanding percussion and brass sections.
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Orchestrally, perhaps the exceptional viola solos of Alexander Zemtsov in the “Ballad of the King of Thule” merit a spotlight of their own, but one has to acknowledge overall that this was the London Symphony Orchestra at its very best.
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Well, last night, with no celebratory overload around the main event, the homecomer was flying like a firebird, and taking a newly galvanized orchestra with him, at the start of another genuine spectacular.
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As Faust’s fantasy beloved Marguerite, Karen Cargill was appropriately demure and ardent, in telling contrast to Christopher Purves’s Mephistopheles: singers don’t come much more infernal than Purves, who balances perfectly between malevolence and charm.
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