Hanneke Rouw and Sofia Vasheruk, Chichester Cathedral, Mar 3rd.
You wouldn't expect Rachmanninov to undersell the piano and in the Sonata in G Minor for Cello and Piano, Op. 19, he doesn't.
While Hanneke put in some great work on the cello, it didn't always seem an equal share of the action it was being given.
The Op. 19, Sofia told us came after the Second Piano Concerto with which he had come back from the depression caused by the reception given to the First Symphony. If you're going to come back, it's best to do it memorably.
The sonata opens with stillness before the rippling piano is contrasted with the smooth lines of the cello part. The second movement, Allegro scherzando, has darker undertones among its more assertive passages.The concert was being filmed so if it turns up on You Tube, I'll put a link in because the best way to describe music is to play it and you will benefit from almost having been there. It is never a wasted journey for the best value music I know of and Hanneke and Sofia were easily up with the high standard always set at Chichester.
The Andante seemed 'moonlit' to me, vaguely reminding me of the Beethoven Op.27 no.2. The cello was gorgeously melancholy in Hanneke's hands and it built to some crescendo before a wonderful, peaceful ending. After which the Allegro mosso fourth sounded like a scrapbook ideas and a coda to the whole thing. The piano suggested dappled light while cello unfolded song-like lines. It seemed like the big ending was pre-figured once and then again and left one wondering if that would be how it ends or if it would fade to quiet. But Rachmanninov was the Last Great Romantic.
He ends with a flourish, of course, and the usual appreciative, Chichester applause for their international visitors on a brief trip to the UK. They must come again soon.
David Green
- David Green (Books) is the imprint under which I published booklets of my own poems. The original allocation of ISBN numbers is used up now, though. The 'Collected Poems' are now available as a pdf. The website is now what it has become, often more about music than books and not so often about poems. It will be about whatever suggests itself.
