The Singapore Festival of Arts 1998 Friday 26 June 1998 Victoria Concert Hall	St.Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra
	ALEXANDER BORODIN Overture to Prince Igor (1869-70; 1874-87) ROBERT SCHUMANN Piano Concerto in A minor, op.54 (1841-45) ANTONIN DVORAK Symphony No.8 in G major, op.88 (1889) Encores: Sir EDWARD ELGAR Nimrod from the Enigma Variations. op.36 SERGEI PROKOFIEV Death of Tybalt from Romeo and Juliet BELLA DAVIDOVICH piano YURI TEMIRKANOV conductor

OVERALL NOISE RATING: 2 (According to the Law of Concert Annoyances, when will a pager go off? Answer: during the quietest moments. Which was the quietest moment during this concert? Answer: the opening of Nimrod. Did a pager go off? Answer: twice, in ascending and descending arpeggios, too.)

The Noise Rating Index is a partially-objective measurement of pager and handphone blasts, 9pm and 10pm watch beeps, coughing-during-the-pianissimo-bits, intra-audience conversation and other mind-bogglingly inept noises emitted in the concert hall during actual performance of music. It is measured on a scale of 0 to 5, in increasing annoyance.

Arts Fest 1998 tickets for Inkpot classical music reviewers have been kindly sponsored by the National Arts Council.

How typical it is that when a world-class orchestra is asked to play warhorses, its true colours (in every sense of the word) are demonstrated only in the pieces they themselves freely choose to play - the encores.

The final concert of the St. Petersburg series began with a fine rendition of chemist-composer Alexander Borodin's Overture from his opera Prince Igor. Conductor Yuri Temirkanov, who was the man to watch for the entire night, conducted "stick-less", using all ten digits of his hands to marry precision and sensitivity, sweeping on the left, beating on the right. The exacting finesse of the huge orchestra contrasted strangely with the inexactness of his air-swimming moulding of musical phrases. Both only succeed in translating the awesome musical telepathy between conductor and orchestra.

Their unity of tone was impeccable - almost too much so. Oh what a waste they had to play the Overture and not the voluptious Polovtsian Dances from the same opera! (Now that would have shown off the St. Petersburg in their true colours).

With the kind of deeply respectable grace that only comes with age, pianist Bella Davidovich came onto the stage to perform Schumann's only completed Piano Concerto, a gift to his beloved Clara (right). Throughout the performance, I could not get the image of Davidovich as Clara out of my mind, so light and strong was the reading.

Davidovich took the first movement with a lighter thread than other versions I've heard, and yet there is still something femininely noble about it. Her playing has the expected Russian weightiness, but also an impulsive quality in the individual phrases. In the meditative sections, she displayed a controlled state of resigned weariness, bringing out a Romantic sadness from the work. Things actually got better when the orchestra drew away for the soloist's cadenza, which was broadly conceived, powerful yet steady. Overall, there was a Rachmaninovian strength in the performance, made sumptiously grand with the bodyful accompaniment of the orchestra.

The Intermezzo, marked "Andantino grazioso", is similarly tenderly strong. Every touch of the keyboard was like a carefully and surely crafted act of art for Davidovich, who displayed much care for every phrase, every line of music. The final movement began with a very satisfyingly sure-footed tread. Although the tempo seemed to be on the slightly slow side, there was great contrast evoked from the score, everything done with admirable effort. Davidovich's runs on the piano were particularly beautiful, with a kind of metallic precision or even an impulsive mechanism that demonstrated the great experience of this queenly pianist.

In the performance of Dvorak's Eighth Symphony, lyricism was de-emphasized for effect. Add the intensity of tone (rather than lusciousness) of the strings to the articulate precision of the string-woodwind interplay, and you get again that impulsive quality that these Russians kept demonstrating. The Orchestra also showed off its many colours while Temirkanov struck different balances to great effect, bringing out many interesting details in Dvorak's symphonic landscape. The most interesting performance of an individual movement came in the finale, which Temirkanov treated like a miniature symphony. It opened in a surprisingly relaxed manner, as if continuing from the soft mood of the previous movement. Good show by the brass, though their parts were somehow much more brief than I recall of this symphony - which only meant to me that they were wasted playing nothing more than Dvorak.

Throughout, the main performer was really Temirkanov himself. He doesn't quite conduct, prefering instead the "gesturing" school of conducting. And my goodness, he's one heck of a grand example. For example, Temirkanov often, quite literally, "draws" the phrases, beckoning the orchestra with his entire armspan, even making wavering gestures with his fingers and hands to coax trilling, jagged or undulating musical phrases, or hammering out fortissimo chords. In all, he was the kingly conductor to match his queenly comrade.

And then there were the encores... first to come was the famous Nimrod from Edward Elgar's Enigma Variations. Noble and majestic as this piece is, I have never heard it performed like the St. Petersbrug did. Under Temirkanov's mighty direction, the music rose like a mountain landscape, every silver peak, every lush valley intricately moulded by his hands. The strings shimmered in complete harmony, intoning the great tune with organic sonority. But when the brass came, straightaway one could feel the awesome Russian darkness the performers had imbued in the work. With perfectly executed and synchronized dynamic changes, the brass burst in ecstasy, vibrato-ing to startling effect, before everything faded away, fleeting as the appearance of something so miraculous must be. I can only call this performance: divine.

Unfazed by the audience's awe and applause, Temirkanov - who had the expression of a magician with a bigger trick up his sleeve - launched into the opening string whizzing of the Death of Tybalt from Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet ballet. I was never sure who to watch - the spectacular feats of the orchestra (including the only use of the cymbals that night), or the commanding power of Temirkanov. As he struck the air with his arms, timpani blasted the hall; every gesture the king gave, his kingdom executed with totality. In all, the performance was the finest example of controlled fury I have ever seen "live". It left the audience stunned, multiplying the volume of applause at the end.

What a supreme waste it is to bring down one of the world's greatest orchestras and not have them play works that can show them off fully: Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Stravinsky, Khatchaturian, etc. - just to name the Russians. Going by the increasing volume and enthusiasm of the audience applause from the first piece to the last encore, I'm very certain I'm not the only one who feels this way. Going by the way this concert turned out, I'd rather have an entire evening of encores!

Chia Han-Leon's favourite Russians include Prokofiev, Dostoyevsky and Natasha Kinski.

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