Momentum 1
Sir William Walton (1902-1983)
Violin Concerto Op. 30
Ottorino Respighi (1878-1936)
Violin Sonata in B minor P.110
Liya Petrova (violin), Adam Laloum (piano), Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Duncan Ward
rec. 2021, St John’s, Smith Square, London, UK (Walton), 2023, Auditorium of the Queen Elisabeth Music Chapel, Waterloo, Belgium (Respighi)
Reviewed as a digital download from a press preview
Mirare MIR670 [60]
If nothing else, the Bulgarian violinist Liya Petrova deserves great credit for not giving us another coupling of the same old handful of violin concertos least likely to frighten the paying public. But she also deserves even greater credit for her lavish, magnetic performances of the two relative rarities that make up this first volume of a planned two under the cryptic title of ‘Momentum’ featuring overlooked violin pieces by composers better known for other works. This time it is Respighi and Walton, next time it is Korngold and Strauss.
The feeling of unlikely bedfellows extends to the fact that in both volumes a concerto is partnered by a sonata. Respighi’s sonata is big enough in conception and great enough in the demands it makes on both performers to virtually qualify as a concerto manqué.
As is abundantly clear from any halfway decent account of Walton’s lovable violin concerto – and this version is very high above the halfway decent – the reason for its relative neglect is the fickle finger of fashion. By 1939, when it was completed, even Prokofiev, whose influence can heard in its spikier moments, was seeming old fashioned – what chance a concerto whose other main influence seems to have been Elgar’s own violin concerto? Worse, it is an essentially warm hearted, romantic piece and what might have seemed a little out of date to post war trends is precisely what makes it so irresistible now. It overflows with melodic invention and the range of colour and effect put a lot of the greyer products of the 1930s in the shade.
In the hands of Petrova and new to me conductor, Duncan Ward, it exudes the Italian sunshine that accompanied its genesis whilst the composer was staying in Ravello in Italy. This is one of those lovely concerto recordings where conductor and soloist sound like co-conspirators rather than just colleagues. Apparently, this is the first time Petrova has played with the RPO but clearly there is chemistry there. Sensibly, she wanted to record it with an English orchestra better versed in what I would term Walton’s somewhat tricky English but not quite English idiom. That idea proves inspired and I very much hope Petrova can be persuaded to tour more this side of the Channel.
The combination of Walton’s unabashedly big tunes and Petrova’s fat, focused tone are as swoonsome as surely the composer intended. Even though it does test the technique of the soloist, this is a love song of a concerto and, whilst always tasteful, Petrova knows that behind an Englishman’s stiff upper lip beats a passionate heart. She does make ridiculously light of those technical demands too, contributing to the most pleasant sense of a rhapsodic piece. The double stops in the big tune of the finale are as light and seductive as silk wafting in the breeze.
As I mentioned at the start of the review, Respighi’s violin sonata of 1917 is an ambitiously big boned affair. I was expecting something much lighter and in the characterful vein of his better-known orchestral showpieces. Not a bit of it. I can only assume the fame of those works has led to him being pigeon holed and, if my response is typical, leading to disinterest in this chamber work – though the scale of this piece stretched that term. The important thing is that it is a mightily impressive composition. I can only imagine Petrova’s delight at discovering it – rather like mine upon hearing it.
After the sensuous delights of the Walton, it is a much more fierce and forthright listen. If Walton is a pussy cat, this is a lion. Like the Walton, and they aren’t especially similar which makes their pairing intriguing, it is an open-hearted piece. Melodies pour forth and then gather to big, aching climaxes. The piano part ripples whilst the soloist soars aloft. You get the picture. It is very much a way of writing that didn’t really survive the First World War.
Taken together, the odd couple of these two works form a composite portrait of the violinist who has had the good sense to take up two pieces which suit her musical personality rather just fit herself to more easily sellable compositions. In both instances, they allow Petrova to showcase her lavish tone which retains its irresistible breadth even way above the stave where Respighi often requires her to go. The magic of these performances- and her pianist partner, Adam Laloum, is as much in communion with Petrova as Duncan Ward was – is the way they convinced me I was listening to unfairly neglected music and not lesser works played well. There is a magisterial confidence to the way Petrova phrases the music that brooks no dissent so great and persuasive is her confidence. Great performances they say banish all thoughts of alternatives and by that measure alone these are great performances. The terrific passionate heat of the middle of the Respighi’s slow movement would thaw the iciest of hearts.
The Walton, though mysteriously still a rarity on concert programmes, has at least done better in the studio than the Respighi. All the usual suspects from Nigel Kennedy and Tamsin Little to James Ehnes have had a tilt at it but Petrova can hold her own in their company and the combination of the excellence of her accompaniment and the air of Italian summer they conjure up puts her above them in my book. The Respighi has been recorded quite a few times but by much less well known names and I think in this terrific work Petrova now reigns supreme. All that remains is for me make an appreciative nod toward the excellence of the production and urge the reader to go and buy it.
David McDade
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