High-minded Herbert Blomstedt is in town for his annual two weeks with the San Francisco Symphony, fulfilling his obligations as its conductor emeritus. In his first program, he created a sensation Wednesday evening in Davies Symphony Hall with only two pieces — but what two pieces they were! Neither amounted to a well-known or remotely popular composition.
The evening began with Witold Lutoslawski's 1987 Piano Concerto. Following intermission came Anton Bruckner's Symphony No. 2 in C Minor (1872/2005). The Polish pianist Krystian Zimerman, the concerto's dedicatee who premiered the work at the Salzburg Festival in 1988, served as Blomstedt's superb soloist. This seemingly severe program had the audience on its feet and begging for more.
Lutoslawski wrote a number of masterpieces, though none more original than his Piano Concerto. In one swoop he changed the entire landscape of concerto writing. Music hasn't had that kind of a shake-up since Beethoven's "Emperor" Concerto, which ushered in the symphonic concerto, and Weber's Konzertstück, which established the concerto as tone poem. What Lutoslawski accomplished was something akin to a double concerto.
The pianist faces a difficult, virtuosic Piano Concerto, while the orchestra, rather than merely supporting the pianist, exists as a highly diversified unit on its own. There are many soloist turns in the orchestra, as well as important passages for one section of instruments. It's playing what amounts to an entire concerto for orchestra at the same time as the pianist is dealing with his own concerto. Naturally, soloist and orchestra share certain materials, though in different fashions.
Then, too, the makeup of the orchestra is unique. While it is large, the strings are reduced — except for 16 second violins. The other strings are cut back, as for instance only four double basses. Those basses, however, have various solo work to do, whether individually or as a unit, sometimes in divisi. In one case they support the solo pianist, unaided by other colleagues. Blomstedt gave them a solo bow at the end of the performance, which obviously surprised even them. They hesitated a few seconds before standing, their facial expressions distinctly reading "Who, me?" (That brought forth a few chuckles from the audience members near me.)
And whereas a considerable variety of percussion instruments are called for, there was only one player to cover them all. Much of the time, portions of the orchestra were divided into assorted forms of chamber music, playing at full strength only occasionally. I suppose that's the influence of Mahler, whose orchestrations were once described as "... chamber music for 110 musicians."
The layout of the four movements is only mildly unusual: a fast bravura movement, then what amounts to a loud Scherzo, an ultrarelaxed and lyrical slow movement, and last a strap-on-your-seat-belts finale. What's so unusual here was the slow movement, which is played almost entirely as a quiet recitative for solo piano, sometimes even as single notes. In that sense it amounted to the Concerto's nonbravura cadenza, testing not the pianist's dexterity so much as his poetic sensibilities.