A WONDERFULLY FULFILLING TCHAIKOVSKY PIANO CONCERTO FROM MALOFEEV AND TAUSK IN THE VSO SEASON OPENER

Alexander Malofeev (piano), Vancouver Symphony Orchestra/ Otto Tausk (conductor): Music of Mazzoli, Tchaikovsky and Richard Strauss, Orpheum Theatre, September 12, 2025.

As in the past few years, the Vancouver Symphony opened its new season with tried-and-true blockbusters: Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto and Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra. Featuring widely-heralded 23-year-old Russian pianist Alexander Malofeev, the performance of the concerto was very successful: magnetic and exciting, but with its usual bombast and heaviness often replaced by a lighter flow of lyricism and warmth. Malofeev is technically brilliant and strong, but his ability to guide the narrative of the work by way of imaginative tonal shadings and contrasts, and a keen poetic sensibility, distinguishes him from his cohorts. Otto Tausk was a beguiling collaborator in the concerto and also inspired a strong response from the orchestra in the Strauss, though the interpretative deficiencies noted his 2019 performance remained.

Many concertgoers have known the Tchaikovsky concerto since their youth, so it is difficult to find insightful new performances to intrigue them. The current reading had a genuine freshness to it, finding an increased emotional range, a more complex narrative and a lovely romantic glow. Tempos were always moderate, but the concentration never flagged. Malofeev can clearly storm the heavens with the best of the Russians, yet it was the variety of his postures – light and mercurial at one moment, tender and lyrical at the next – that created a striking sense of communication and line. His cleanness of articulation is something to marvel at.

One witnessed the pianist’s decisive virtuoso strength in the opening bars and in the first movement’s cadenza, but what distinguished his journey in between was an acute understanding of the two sides of Tchaikovsky: his more passionate, impetuous side – as playing off against his contrasting desire to cocoon himself in a child-like world of ‘The Nutcracker’, where everything is comfortable and sweet. The pianist could feather through a passage with Lisztian brilliance but then suddenly expand a phrase to find quiet Schumannesque contemplation and reverie. The performance really brought out the significance of the composer’s brief reveries, making the piece less demonstrative and more personal. But, of course, all the bravura was there too, and this could surge up on a moment’s notice. Coupled with the tenderness in Malofeev’s lyrical phrases and his ability to point phrases with insight, this mix created a consistently interesting interpretative line – and Maestro Tausk was with the pianist every step of the way. 

The Andantino was beautifully set, with excellent winds and an intimacy and poignancy in Malofeev’s playing. The pianist’s contours were both expressive and refined, the feelings again taking one to Schumann initially, then to Liszt later. I do not take this style as misplaced: Schumann was probably Tchaikovsky’s favourite composer for the piano.

The finale was beautifully paced at a moderate tempo, with a genuine bounce and glow, and a lovely sweetness in the violins in the long cantabile theme. Malofeev was remarkably patient in articulating his line, and the movement unfolded so coherently that the excitement of the ending emerged naturally from what came before. The close of the work was particularly exciting, and so much joy poured out of it! Unalloyed joy is not always the dominant feeling one gets in brightly-lit Slavic performances of the work: again, the romantic glow and sense of inevitability perhaps brought one closer to what one feels at the close of the Schumann concerto.

Malofeev’s encore was Mikhail Pletnev’s transcription of the ‘pas de deux’ from The Nutcracker: wonderfully emotional and intimate on one hand, yet already exhibiting a grand, aristocratic manner. I should also remark that this was some of Otto Tausk’s most involved and conscientious concerto conducting. 

I do hope more thoughtful performances of this well-worn concerto will continue to appear. While one may still appreciate the style of the original Horowitz, van Cliburn, and traditional Russian-source readings, it is rewarding to expand the standard interpretation of this piece. In more modern times, both the Pletnev and Argerich interpretations have been inspiring, but I am possibly even more appreciative of the lyrical/rhapsodic elements in Kirill Gerstein’s more recent premiere recording of the urtext edition of the 1879 version. I also am indebted to Alexander Gavrylyuk for initially making me understand the ever-present dichotomy between Tchaikovsky’s impetuous, dramatic world and his child-like world of innocence and caprice.

The Also Sprach Zarathustra was not on this level, being more of an exercise in orchestral execution than interpretation. As I remarked in 2019, when Tausk first performed the work, ‘This was possibly the quickest and most positive Zarathustra I have ever heard, almost completely free of Nietzschean complication or struggle.’ I don’t find too many structural differences this time, but I do note Tausk’s effort to improve string unanimity and shape, clarify contrapuntal strands, and tighten the brass response. The initial ‘sunrise’ was firmer, with a better-defined organ pedal, but the driving, tight-knit quality of what followed soon seemed to wear out its welcome when presented free of the work’s underlying mystery, ebb-and-flow and contemplation. In fact, when we arrived at the point where the big opening chords were restated, it was difficult to see what they were consolidating: what adversity had we actually overcome?

As before, the remainder of the work mainly reveled in a ‘Waltzes from Der Rosenkavalier’ spirit, again full of frothy positive sentiment and blue skies ahead, with some nice orchestral effects. This of course made it difficult to present the ambiguity embodied in the ‘riddle’ at the close, and as I remarked last time, ‘it seemed only like a grand party had finished, where the last patrons were leaving, and the lights were dimming.’ The famous tonal conflict between C major and B major at the very end was rendered as little more than a technical curiosity. I fully understand Tausk’s desire to showcase the orchestra’s improvements in execution, but I would hope that one day he will give us his interpretation too.

I should mention the opening contemporary work by Missy Mazzoli, an American composer who has provided interesting work for decades. It was a pretty piece indeed, entitled Sinfonia (for Orbiting Spheres). As usual with such pieces, their description can be obscure and possibly confounding: ‘music in the shape of a solar system, a collection of rococo loops that twist around each other within a larger orbit’, where the term sinfonia ‘refers to the old Italian name for the hurdy-gurdy.’ A simpler expression might have been ‘Homage to Sibelius 7’, since the work seemed to be a sophisticated application of the principles of space and organic growth contained in that symphony. Indeed, the long, arching string lines, anchored rhythmic motion, punctuating brass, and the evocative use of the woodwinds showed a remarkable similarity. I found this a rather beautiful piece, and it is only at the end where the string line got shorter and the contemporary rhythms took over that its message became more diffuse.

© Geoffrey Newman 2025

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