To conclude this musical month dedicated to the repertoire of Central and Russian Europe, the Nice Philharmonic Orchestra had invited American conductor George Pehlivanian for a program composed of the Overture from “Ruslan and Ludmilla,” an opera by Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka, the Ukrainian composer Karol Szymanowski’s second Violin Concerto, Op. 61 in A minor, and, in the second part, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4.
An opening in the form of an appetizer since the colorful dynamism of this piece, better known than the opera itself, immediately showed a confident and assured conductor, leading without a score and in perfect harmony with an orchestra powerfully imbued with his inspirations. Szymanowski’s second concerto proved a more challenging piece to approach: Vera Novakova played a Stradivarius violin kindly lent by a Niçois music lover and collector, Dr. Girard, for a piece dated 1934 but musically disconcerting. Fortunately, the violinist did not merely rely on virtuosity, for which musical director Marco Guidarini warmly congratulated her after the concert. With her intimate play, she also managed to give the music flesh and soul right from the introduction: the violin wavers like a lost voice in a misty vastness before attempting some high notes, as if wishing to break free from the oppressive atmosphere. Rhythmic alternations sometimes sudden and tonal evolutions attest to a form of struggle of the soloist with the orchestra. The orchestra returns aggressively with an intervention of the English horn or accompanied by some more muted notes of a piano which, like an uncertain reminiscence, remains distant and subdued. Armed with the score, the conductor executes this piece with precise hand gestures but without volume, all in a confined, even minimalist space reserved for the body. He explained after the concert that for such a difficult work, “short directing is more suitable.” It is somewhat akin to holding the reins of a team on a steep trail firmly in hand. The philharmonic orchestra seems quite comfortable, displaying serene confidence through both meticulous and enjoyable play.
In the second part, on the contrary, George Pehlivanian exploded the confining frame of his music stand, releasing a kind of bodily fervor and multiplying energy in the directive signals, ultimately creating a space designated, according to him, to “give the orchestra all the freedom” to express itself in a piece that requires an essential share of experience. One can hardly complain as the interpretation of this well-known work is enriched by this human density. A particularly majestic opening of the brass, a tormented bassoon then dominated by strings before the double basses take up a theme in which contemporary writing and ancient Russian melodies are intertwined. In the image of the second movement initiated by the wind instruments and punctuated by pizzicati from the cellos which accentuate its gravity while enhancing its melodic beauty. In unison, violins, violas, cellos, and double basses are then played without bows before contributing to the resounding finale that detracts nothing from the harmony of the ensemble. The last movement, where the brass again take center stage, seems marked by musical arrhythmias, sudden silences, and unexpected stops, the composer appearing to hold his breath as if to concentrate all his genius in the last and breathless measures.
At the end of the concert, where a warm “mabrouk” was addressed to him, George Pehlivanian shared some details about his Lebanese origin, touched by the nostalgic mention of Mar Mikaël, one of the neighborhoods of old Beirut where he was born. To the point of expressing the wish to come play one day soon in his native country, that of the cedar which he has not seen for more than thirty years.
