And with a final flutter of the hands he was gone. This was Valery Gergiev’s last UK concert as principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra — an eight-year stint that none of us, for better or worse, will forget. There’s that dancing toothpick, his baton of choice. That neurotic energy too — perfect for Tchaikovsky and other tormented Russians, but not always elsewhere.
Then there was his hurtling schedule, the squeezed rehearsals, and the narrow repertoire, only accentuated by Britain’s other conductors from Russia and its environs so often ploughing the same fields. And during the world’s recent convulsions it was hard to shake off the mounting political baggage carried by this vocal champion of Putin. All in all, over the years, I became fed up with him.
On Sunday night, though, he was on pretty fair form in Bartók and balletic Stravinsky, key Gergiev repertoire. The LSO tore through the notes with the kind of ferocious precision that becomes almost frightening. It’s right, of course, to be frightened during Bartók’s Miraculous Mandarin suite, sounding magnificently lurid here, with baleful winds and brass and slashing strings.
Yet should I have been cowering during Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra? Nigel Thomas attacked his timpani as though he was thumping out the earth’s core. As for the work’s final notes, Gergiev broadened and weighted them in a way that compromised all the movement’s virtuoso exuberance. Sometimes, Gergiev just doesn’t know how to make music smile.
A kinder, more humane spirit happily shone through Stravinsky’s Chant du Rossignol. Hard glitter and jet propulsion were generated, but they never stamped out the beauties of Gareth Davies’s flute, the harps’ delicate lace, or the other dancing chamber sounds embedded within. Finely balanced music-making, this, and from Gergiev especially, something to treasure.