Going in, the program for the San Francisco Symphony’s June 16-19 concerts at Davies Symphony Hall looked like an uneasy compromise. The opening and closing selections — a brief appetizer of Bartók’s tasty and readily digestible Romanian Folk Dances and a lengthy, spun-sugar dessert of Act 3 music from Tchaikovsky’s ballet Swan Lake — tilted the menu toward crowd-pleasing, summery fare. In the middle came a strongly flavored main course of Bartók’s Piano Concerto No. 2, with its inky sauce of percussive keyboards chords and passagework laid out on an orchestral platter of unruly outbursts and splatty colors.
But as it happened, at Thursday’s opening performance, the seeming imbalances revealed some inner connections and congruences. Those early and forthright Romanian dances, from 1915/1917, primed the listener for Bartók’s appropriation of folk music and idioms in his 1931 concerto. The glossy sheen of the Swan Lake music, which set off one solo instrument after another in a kind of showcase display, reflected back on the way that some of those same instruments emerged to much harsher and more caustic effect in the concerto. One kind of transformation followed another.
Still, it made for a curious arrangement of courses. But those who skipped out after intermission, restricting themselves to an all-Bartók diet for the evening, missed out on the full plan of Michael Tilson Thomas’ unorthodox musical meal.
First composed for piano in 1915, the Romanian Folk Dances were recast for orchestra two years later. At a running time of six minutes, this mini-anthology documents, more than it explores, the composer’s commitment to excavating and preserving his homeland’s indigenous music.
The strings dug in with a dense, warm, throaty sound. The phasing and accents were deliberate, without any heavy-heeled thudding. The clarinet had its turn, capering gently. Then the piccolo tossed off an exotic and beguiling riff, conjuring the image of someone dancing languidly in a town square, all alone in a light summer breeze. Concertmaster Alexander Barantschik played the gypsy violinist for a bit, foreshadowing his show-stopping solo in the Tchaikovsky.
Describing the intended differences between his first and second piano concertos, Bartók said the latter would have “fewer difficulties for the orchestra and more pleasant themes.” What he manifestly didn’t do is make things easy for the soloist.
Disarmingly Heroic Artistry
Apparently shrugging off an arm injury that compelled her to cancel a scheduled June 21 solo recital, S.F. Symphony artist in residence Yuja Wang took on the demanding piano duties. She played heroically, with plenty of thunder, clarity and nerve — and with the score in front of her. What was lacking, in spots, were interpretive insights. The orchestra’s flash and snarl got the best of her at times, as well, when Tilson Thomas allowed his players to dominate to a fault. Balance wasn’t always optimal. Color took precedence.
In its bright but rigorously designed way, the Concerto No. 2 has more than a little show business in its veins. Ballet, appropriately enough (for a night with Swan Lake on the bill), hovers in the echoes of Stravinsky’s Firebird and Petrushka. And then there’s Bartók’s dramatic deployment of his resources. It’s only after the strings sit out the first movement and the woodwinds the second that he lets the entire ensemble loose in the third. The percussion remains busily employed throughout, with the timpani chipping in on one cadenza and the bass drum on another.
Wang warmed right away to her collusion with the drums and other noisemakers. She gave the firestorm of notes in the opening Allegro a clattering intensity. Her rhythmic sense was especially keen, delivering the giddy jolts and shudders of the movement with great flair and precision.
The hushed string opening of the Adagio was gorgeously done, with a hint of mysterious apprehension. Wang didn’t quite pick up the mood, remaining more fascinated by the piano’s lingering dissonances and eerily broken chords. Through its ferocious Presto and concluding Adagio, the second movement lays out a deep dialogue between soloist and orchestra, not unlike the one in Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4. As lovely and alarming as some of the exchanges were, this conversation fell short of its full potential.
Wang was back at full strength at the end, carving out her passages with a dark, raw sound. You could almost hear the wood of the instrument straining to be heard. Wang’s uncanny technique got a complete workout. She ferreted out separate voices and poured out the torrent of notes and intermittent smoother streams without gushing. The orchestra may have overwhelmed her in its wild rush to the finish, but the mutual sense of elation was unmistakable.
Tilson Thomas was in his gregarious mode for the Swan Lake escapades. He half turned to the audience a few times, encouraging them to kick back and enjoy all the lushness and pyrotechnics. Go ahead, he seemed to say after a run of dances — Hungarian, Spanish, Russian, an oom-pah mazurka — break in and applaud in the middle if you feel like it.
A good and blatantly showy time was had by all. Without any actual ballet dancers to defer to, MTT let loose. Waltz tempos surged and swooned. The brasses sent out their proud fanfares. The woodwinds spun and glittered. Barantshik’s bravura solo turn featured ripe double stops and ethereal harmonics. The tambourine and castanets wouldn’t shut up.
It won’t go down as one of the great concerts of the season. Yet there was more to enjoy and savor than a first reading of the menu promised.