Classical performances at the National Concert Hall and the Hugh Lane Gallery are reviewed.

Irwin, RTÉ NSO/Markson
NCH, Dublin

MICHAEL DERVAN

Schubert– Symphony No 5.

Mahler– Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen.

Haydn– Symphony No 104 (London)

It’s not often the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra puts on a classically scaled programme. But 2009 marks the bicentenary of the death of Haydn, and in the first half of the year the orchestra is going to clock up more performances of Haydn symphonies than it has in the 21st century to date. Principal conductor Gerhard Markson launched the celebration on Friday with the composer’s final symphony, which was premiered in London in 1795, and brought the composer great critical acclaim and a scale of monetary reward not available to him in his native country.

Markson takes a hearty approach to Haydn. He doesn’t seek out the lightness of texture or quickness of response favoured by the leading Haydn interpreters of today, nor does he present the music with the corpulence that was common a generation ago. He seemed to have made a wise enough decision in sticking to the middle of the road. The audience gave the music a welcome that was long and warm. In Schubert’s Fifth Symphony, Markson concentrated on the work’s unfailing geniality, making no special points, letting Schubert, as it were, speak for himself.

Ann Murray, the advertised soloist for Mahler’s Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (Songs of a Wayfarer) had to withdraw due to a throat infection, and her place was taken by mezzo soprano Jane Irwin. Irwin is a rock-solid performer, choosing on this occasion to concentrate on the dark side of melancholy rather at the expense of tender lyricism.

Markson was like a man transformed during the song cycle, responding to the colours and contours of the orchestral writing with an alacrity that was absent from his traversals of Haydn and Schubert.

Ensemble Avalon

Hugh Lane Gallery, Dublin

MICHAEL DUNGAN

Bach– Solo Cello Suite No 3.

Beethoven– Piano Trio in C minor Op 1 No 3

The first compositions Beethoven published were three piano trios in the set Opus 1. He intended them to make a big splash in his adopted home of Vienna which, in the 1790s, was still the music capital of the world. There he had been studying with Haydn, whose influence is clearest in the second of the trios. The first one is more reminiscent of Mozart. It is the third, in C minor – what would be the key of several of his landmark works – that boasted so much Beethovenian originality that it divided its first audiences and prompted Haydn to express reservations.

What was most noteworthy in the Ensemble Avalon’s fine performance was the sense they generated of an internal ambiguity between the conventional and the utterly new – exactly what Haydn was worried about. It’s very difficult for us, with our modern ears and our familiarity with Beethoven, to identify precisely what’s “new” about this piece. But that was the Avalon’s achievement, conveying the excitement and daring beauty of something that was breaking boundaries.

They did it without overstatement, too, so that Beethoven’s roots in Viennese style remained in the foreground. Pianist Michael McHale, for example, always maintained the subtlety and balance of his playing, even in passages with striking foreshadows of great works yet to come, such as the Pathetique sonata and the Third Piano Concerto, both in C minor. Similarly, in the fast-paced finale, violinist Ioana Petcu-Colan and cellist Gerald Peregrine played with an intense engagement but no undue emphasis, allowing Beethoven’s strong contrasts between might and lyricism to speak for themselves. And their account of his unconventionally irresolute C major closing was hushed and magical.

The concert opened with No 3 in C major from the set of six suites for unaccompanied cello by Bach. Peregrine was fluid and flexible rather than romantic in the way he made the melodies breathe and sing, and firm in the simultaneous maintenance of a bass presence and harmonies – the great miracle of these pieces. His tone was at its most lustrous and consistent in the slow Sarabande, and his tempos – especially in the dancing Bourrées and Gigue – were well-judged.