BRAHMS Double Concerto VIOTTI Violin Concerto DVOŘÁK Silent Woods
Gramaphone
Edward Seckerson
The dedication on this album reads ‘In Memoriam Lars Vogt’ – and that gives it a special resonance. Christian Tetzlaff and his sister Tanja Tetzlaff made music with him together and independently on many occasions and in one way and another they wanted that reflected in their choices.
The sibling symbiosis is, of course, especially welcome in the Brahms Double Concerto where their seamless interaction (be it shared or conflicted) and instinctive dovetailing of lines really adds something to the feeling of spontaneity in the performance. Their colleague and friend Paavo Järvi is also key in that respect encouraging a super-incisive and, where appropriate, trenchant dynamism from the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin. In the opening movement it is confrontational alluding to attempts to mend the spat between Brahms and his friend and muse Joseph Joachim. I always love that the cello’s opening proclamation, confident and defiant, conceals a darker purpose. And so it grows in a sweeping symphonic argument full of drama and incident. We’ll get through this, it seems to say.
And then, paradoxically, harmony is restored in the reassuring warmth of unison octaves as the slow movement rekindles a deep and abiding kinship. Two voices, two Tetzlaffs, as one. More than a glimmer of optimism looking towards the playful sparring of the finale (think the finale of the Second Symphony) driven with exciting ebullience by Järvi.
The Viotti Violin Concerto No 22 might seem an odd bedfellow (it pulled me up short) until we learn that it was a favourite of both Brahms and Joachim. ‘One of my very special raptures’, said Brahms. Christian Tetzlaff revels in its unapologetic showmanship and bravura again playing to the music’s sense of total spontaneity – of something created in the playing of it.
The gorgeous Dvořák miniature Silent Woods is Tanja Tetzlaff’s parting gift to Lars Vogt. They often played Dvořák together (including the Cello Concerto when Vogt began conducting) and the inherent sadness (or should that be wistfulness) of the piece is as always tempered by the composer’s gentle geniality. Such guileless music. And yet, a quiet profundity.
Terrific disc, then, and the best kind of tribute from three exceptional musicians to one of their own.
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