Dvořák’s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, Op. 33, the composer’s only piano concerto, has long been criticized for being too technically demanding yet lacking the virtuosic flair expected from such works. Despite increased performances in recent years, its popularity remains limited compared to the more frequently performed violin and cello concertos by the composer. The first movement features a lively yet somewhat fragmented conversation between Classical and late Romantic elements, with multiple references to Mozart. The second movement, however, stands out as the most evocative, offering a gentle shift towards lyrical moments. Throughout, the piano acts more as a guide, interacting with the orchestra in a way that feels more like a relay than a solo showcase, culminating in the passionate exchanges of the final movement.
Russian virtuoso Daniil Trifonov was the featured soloist for this challenging yet underappreciated concerto, which was paired with Leoš Janáček’s Glagolitic Mass during the final evening of a week-long celebration of Czech music at Carnegie Hall. Trifonov’s performance was polished, exhibiting a glass-like clarity—lucid, solid, and delicate, yet slightly distant. His physical engagement with the music was warm, with fluid hand movements and intense facial expressions, often contorting into a grimace of passion. However, despite the visible emotional involvement and technical precision, the emotional impact of his performance seemed somewhat muted, leaving the audience with a beautiful but not entirely stirring interpretation. Nevertheless, Trifonov received four ovations, and it was later revealed that Czech President Petr Pavel was in attendance. His encore, a brief but charming arrangement of Tchaikovsky’s “Silver Fairy” from Sleeping Beauty, displayed a more playful and spirited side of the pianist.
Conductor Semyon Bychkov led the Czech Philharmonic with a focused but relaxed energy. While Dvořák’s concerto is a staple for the orchestra, they sounded somewhat scattered during this particular performance, with occasional lapses in synchronization within the violin section and some moments of slightly off-kilter tuning. After the intermission, however, the orchestra regained its focus, particularly in their performance of Janáček’s Glagolitic Mass, which is more energetic and straightforward in comparison.
The contrast between the two pieces may explain this shift. While Dvořák’s concerto contains moments of intense excitement, its uneven nature makes imperfections more noticeable. In contrast, Janáček’s Glagolitic Mass has a raw, immediate quality that the piano concerto lacks. Written just two years before the composer’s death, this work reflects Janáček’s complex relationship with religion. An atheist, he channels both resistance and reverence in his composition, elevating folk melodies to sacred heights while simultaneously rejecting the traditional structure of the Mass. The Glagolitic Mass is a journey through turmoil, with bursts of triumph, terror, and even anger, interspersed with moments of mystery and acceptance. One of the most striking moments is an organ solo, where the hymn-like theme is frequently interrupted by brass fanfares, skillfully played by Daniela Valtová Kosinová. The work concludes with the Intrada—Entrance—suggesting that the Mass is only the beginning of a spiritual journey beyond conventional boundaries.
It has been over a decade since Janáček’s Glagolitic Mass was last performed at Carnegie Hall, and it is hoped that such a long wait will not occur again. No recording can fully capture the raw force of its doubt and passion, and Bychkov’s powerful interpretation with the Czech Philharmonic showcased the piece’s potential to make a significant impact on American stages once more.
