During the calm evening before an apocalyptic London storm, trumpet virtuoso Håkan Hardenberger delighted the Barbican audience with not only the advertised two showcases for his peerless qualities of tone and expression, but a third as well. Neither Haydn nor Hummel could make it to applaud his deft and dashing accounts of their concertos; but the composer of the encore certainly did. Mark-Anthony Turnage, whose moody, bluesy “Nocturne for Trumpet and Strings” saw Hardenberger swap his classical dress almost for a Miles Davis vibe, gave a standing ovation from his seat (in my row) to his interpreter – who is also the dedicatee of this 2018 piece. It was richly deserved.
The presence of Turnage, on the stand and in the flesh, injected some variety into a solidly mainstream programme. It saw Daniel Harding and the Mahler Chamber Orchestra deliver beautifully cooked and served dishes from a familiar menu. Every trumpet star has to recycle the Haydn and Hummel concertos, and the Swedish brass doyen did so with a relaxed, almost sauntering, mastery. This pair of favourites came between Haydn’s “La Reine” symphony and Beethoven’s Fourth to complete a classical slate executed with unfailing elegance. Harding led the MCO – the cosmopolitan but close-knit touring ensemble he has supported since its inception – in performances of a stylish panache and close-focus precision. That all bodes well for his big new job as music director of the LA Philharmonic, although a Gustavo Dudamel clone he is decidedly not. Yet the Turnage, ardently played and warmly received, hinted that, here at the Barbican, they might have chosen not to play so safe.
Haydn’s “La Reine” announced from its opening bars the minute control of pace and phrase that made both this piece, and the Beethoven, not a lazy visit to old friends but a fresh encounter with demanding scores packed with tricks and ambushes. Harding’s debonair momentum, with tempi and dynamics subject to well-judged and never over-eccentric swerves, dips and surges, extracted every gram of wit and mischief from this music. The strings, for all their modest forces, had impressive depth and heft; and through the evening the woodwinds chipped in time and again with impeccably crafted solo turns, from flute (Julia Gallego Ronda) down to the all-important bassoon (Guilhaume Santana). If the MCO commanded salon tenderness in the Romance and rustic earthiness in the Minuet, their finale bounced and tripped through a huge dynamic range, with nifty fine-grained pianissimos to savour.
Hardenberger wandered on as if casually late for a Sunday-morning band practice, but then played both concertos as if their ink was hardly dry. What is it about super-cool trumpeters? His laid-back persona partners a bracingly alert and agile performing style that lends his instrument not just brilliance but a loose-limbed, liquid warmth. He makes the most acrobatic passages, especially in Haydn, sound like a walk in some perfectly laid-out park. And in the Andante, he touches a vein of meditative cantabile lyricism that could not be less “brassy”; the gleaming tubes seem to be filled with an angel’s breath.
Both the Haydn and Hummel were composed, a few years apart, for different iterations of Anton Weidinger’s newly-developed keyed trumpet. Set side by side, the ever-entertaining Hummel feels more like a flashy test-drive designed to show off the slick moves of this prototype vehicle. Hardenberger did, enjoyably, bring out its positively operatic side. The trumpet launches into glittery coloratura runs and, in the Andante, slides into a sort of leisurely long-breathed bel canto aria. Hardenberger brought it home with a glowing polish. Still, the jazzier but darker, shadowed beauty of Turnage did effect a welcome change of mood.
Beethoven’s Fourth gave every corner of the MCO a moment, or many, in the sun. Harding supplied a properly dramatic jolt to the first-movement shift from adagio to allegro, and never stinted on surprise through the rest of the work. His textures were clear and lucid but never overly austere, with a sort of compacted aggression to the playing that justified this size of ensemble. Not for one bar did we miss the sound of a bigger band.
Bassoon, flute and oboe (João Da Silva) made their flavourful contributions, while Harding whisked us pleasurably from the mysterious swing and lilt of the Adagio to the dancing whirl of the scherzo. Yet we were never out of earshot of the piece’s Haydn-esque urbanity, with a perpetuum mobile finale of galloping geniality, but no Romantic descent into frenzy. This quicksilver rendering had plenty of light and shade; it handsomely showed off an expertly-blended outfit crowded with distinctive individual voices. Next time, I hope to hear them quit the princely park and venture into wilder country.
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