Word: violins
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...festival offers some discoveries, however. Leningrad Composer Andrei Petrov's 1980 Violin Concerto is a sturdy showpiece that picks up momentum from its opening recitative to its blazing vivo finale; it got an otherworldly performance from Soloist Sergei Stadler, a baby-faced firebrand who shared first prize in the 1982 Tchaikovsky Competition with Viktoria Mullova. Sergei Slonimsky's sprightly two-minute Novgorod Dance -- hellzapoppin', cossack- style, ending with the clarinetist, trombonist, cellist, pianist and conductor all merrily hoofing it around the stage -- bespeaks a composer with both an ear and a sense of humor. Best of all is Schnittke...
That child was born into a rambling, bohemian flat in London's South Kensington neighborhood. At three Andrew began studying the violin; later he took up the piano and horn. "It was extremely noisy around our house," remembers Brother Julian. "I'd be scraping away on the cello, and Andrew would be bashing away on the piano." Adding to the happy din was John Lill, now a well-known British concert pianist, who was a member of the Lloyd Webber household and, more than anyone else, steered Andrew toward concerts and operas...
...programming. There are scores of neglected works by masters great and small that deserve dusting off. Instead of Dvorak's "New World" Symphony, for example, why not the equally seductive but infrequently heard tone poem, The Wood Dove? Instead of Beethoven's pawky Second Piano Concerto or the overplayed Violin Concerto of Mendelssohn, why not Rimsky-Korsakov's dashing Piano Concerto or Carl Nielsen's melancholic Violin Concerto? Instead of another Brahms' First Symphony, how about Joachim Raff's spooky "Lenore" Symphony, once greatly admired in the 19th century, or Austrian Composer Franz Schmidt's brooding Fourth Symphony, written...
TCHAIKOVSKY: VIOLIN CONCERTO; SIBELIUS: VIOLIN CONCERTO (Philips). Fiddle fireworks from Viktoria Mullova...
Viewing the orchestra pit had always been a preview to the main show. The smooth screech of a violin tuning up, the shrill whistle of the flute called me to the edge of the stage. I slid between a girl cladin a plaid dress with a big bow at the neck and a young couple dressed in formal wear. The yellowed, dried-out score lay open on the conductor's podium--"Peter Ilyitch Tchaikovsky" it read in spidery-flowing script...