The Firebird at the Southbank Centre
Saturday 18th saw the London Philharmonic Orchestra at the Southbank Centre play Igor Stravinsky’s 1910 ballet The Firebird, his first of many orchestral pieces commissioned by the Ballets Russes, and my personal favourite. Being something of a classical music fan, I went along to my first major performance of classical music to see how an in-person experience would compare to the recordings.
Before the main event, however, the evening opened with the “Russian Eastern Festival Overture” by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, by all accounts a great 19th century Russian composer in his own right, but also a key influence on a young Stravinsky. I found the performance quite pleasant. Unfortunately, I don’t have much else to comment on, as I had to watch the performance through the television in the latecomers’ lobby – I’m afraid punctuality was never my strong suit.
We were allowed into the Royal Festival Hall in time for the second piece, Gustavo Díaz-Jerez’s “Tajogaite”, a concerto for piano and orchestra which apparently draws inspiration from the eponymous volcano on the island of La Palma. On the whole, it sounded chaotic, slightly hard to follow, and I was not very enthused, albeit some parts sounded almost unnerving to me, reminiscent of moments from Oliver Messiaen’s Turangalîla-Symphonie.
After a brief interval, we moved on to the main attraction. The Firebird draws from Slavic folklore about a prophetic bird whose feathers have mystic powers. The ballet uses its own version of the legend, but it’s honestly hard to gain a full appreciation of the story behind an orchestral work without the choreography, costumes, and sets.
In any case, you don’t even need to know the story behind The Firebird to delve into the music. It opens with the ominous to-and-fro melody of the celli, a motif later picked up by the flutes. It is such a strong, memorable opening for me, and it was a great relief to hear it clearly, compared to many recordings of the piece where it is effectively inaudible.
Afterwards, however, things settled down, and I found this to be quite a low point in the performance. Sometimes in ballets such as The Firebird, The Rite of Spring, and Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloé, in the absence of the actual ballet part, I feel the orchestral works sound like they are missing something, as though their musical effect is tied to seeing the ballet dancers on stage as well. On the other hand, this section featured some nice, quite dreamy motifs with powerful developments.
Still, whatever flaws The Firebird may have are completely washed away by its absolutely brilliant ending. The horns establish the theme, then the violins, before the brass jumps in with bombast as everything crescendoes. Then the motif is played again with a faster rhythm, before returning to its original rhythm, and the piece comes to an end, bathing us all in a sort of magical glow. The ending felt like a perfect marriage of the ballet’s dream-like magical quality, and sheer joy.
Yes, classical music concerts are notoriously expensive, although with student discounts, my ticket came down to a (slightly) more reasonable £16. Yes, you could listen to the same piece at home, and recordings are generally free of the coughing that accompanies a winter performance. Yes, there are lots of arcane rules attached to attending one of these things, though apparently (and thankfully) I was a little overdressed turning up in a shirt and blazer.
Yet I’d argue that, if you can afford the cost and actually manage to come on time, listening in person offers a whole new dimension to your experience of classical music: you can really appreciate the dynamic range of the various instruments. You’re also surrounded by people who love this music as much as you do – one of my key memories from that evening was the older gentleman sitting next to me, tapping away to the rhythm of the ending.
