BSO - Beethoven and Berlioz

Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/Karabits, Beethoven and Berlioz, Portsmouth Guildhall, March 29

'Byronic' and 'height of Romanticism' would not always be terms of endearment on this website but I've always made Berlioz one of many exceptions to the sort of rule I'd never make. Harold in Italy is, in effect, Symphony no.2, for viola and Orchestra, and Ralf Ehrens here brought both spirit and consideration to the changing moods of this adventure. He did more than make the music, he made his own viola as well. I was very impressed to read that and might have a go at one myself over the weekend if I can find a suitable bit of wood and my saw.

There's not much repertoire for viola and when a player finds that this rare major piece was written for Paganini, it must be quite daunting. But Ehrens, for me, was particularly impressive in the more reflective, solitary passages, like the arpeggio across all four strings in the second movement. And I am indebted to Terry Barfoot, the pre-concert lecturer, who was kind enough to answer my interval question on what to call that. But it is a great piece, not forever to be overshadowed by the Symphonie Fantastique, and was given a rousing and eloquent outing for an appreciative Portsmouth audience.

Beethoven, of course, invented Romantic music when he wrote the Pastoral Symphony. Only joking. The clarity of both orchestra and acoustic for this performance was stunning from my seat in the second row. I have to declare an interest that it is my favourite symphony, a position that was enhanced by this wonderful account. Beethoven creates the most gorgeous countryside in this finest of all descriptive, and programmatic, music. Whether it is the tone of the violins, the birdsong in the woodwind or the natural unfolding of the composition, this is orchestral music almost in a class of its own. But the double bass parts are compelling, too, and it's a fine storm he conjures. It was a captivating 40 minutes and seemed nothing like as long as that.

The recording I had of it by Giulini must have been bought nearly 40 years ago and was played a great deal, one having fewer things to pick from as a teenager, and it is a privilege that the difficult, tempestuous man's realization has become so much a part of one's own consciousness for such a big part of one's life. It is seamless and it is genius and to hear it played at such close quarters by an orchestra in tremendous form was a gift at a mere fifteen pounds, including Mr. Barfoot's excellent lecture on the Berlioz beforehand.

I might get myself a season ticket for next year at this rate.