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During the eighth concert of Beirut Chants, cellist Michal Kaňka and pianist Jaromír Klepáč asserted their mastery with a somewhat smooth but convincing Beethoven, an exuberant Dvořák, a feverish Martinů and a triumphant Franck.
On Thursday, December 7, as the skies of Beirut shed silvery tears over the city, humming a gentle melody, the nocturnal streets of Gemmayzé were adorned in an elegant sfumato, reminiscent of smoky lanterns. Twenty o’clock was about to chime. Saint Maron Church was preparing to warmly welcome, in its nave, the eighth concert of this new musical season of Beirut Chants. The carefully selected works indeed promised to ignite the icy evening with their comforting melodies. The audience, wrapped in silent expectation broken only by soft whispers, patiently waited for harmony to fill the sacred space. In this atmosphere of anticipation, eyes were turned towards the church choir, where the imminent arrival of the two Czech soloists, cellist Michal Kaňka and pianist Jaromír Klepáč, was drawing near. Once the applause subsided, the two artists embarked on a luminous nocturnal musical journey, through the scores of Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827), Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904), Bohuslav Martinů (1890-1959) and César Franck (1822-1890).
Exuberant Vigor
The concert opens with Beethoven’s Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 5 in D Major, Op. 102, No. 2. This piece, the last of Bonn’s genius dedicated to the cello, seems to push the boundaries of his late period with renewed boldness. However, it does not sacrifice the exuberant vigor that characterizes all five of his sonatas. Like Sonata No. 3 in A Major, Op. 69, it is structured in three movements, offering a captivating musical trilogy. In the first movement, Allegro con brio, Michal Kaňka’s bow moves with almost ethereal lightness, scarcely lingering on the harmonic density of the sound, favoring melodic elegance over any quest for musical intensity. After this delicate entrance, the cello, and particularly the piano, a bit too discreet, struggle to infuse the heroic effect expected of a movement meant to be performed “with brilliance.” Indeed, this movement sheds all superfluous ornamentation, contenting itself with minimal thematic material, based on scales and intervals that could be described as simple. However, it is in no way Mozartian, but rather imbued with the vehemence characteristic of Beethoven’s spirit.
In the second movement, Adagio con molto sentimento d’affetto, the cellist creates a tormented, poignant, even piercing atmosphere, offering an interpretation of remarkable delicacy. He reveals a musical expression steeped in the “feeling of affection” to which the German composer refers in his score, thus conferring deep emotional depth to his performance. Alternating between dark and light tonalities, between meditative and tender moments, this movement is saturated with the ineffable fusion of depth and simplicity that distinguishes Beethoven’s late works. The pianist remains in the background, but this now seems more understandable, given that the cellist takes on the role of the protagonist. However, the duo resonates much more harmoniously, with Jaromír Klepáč meticulously enhancing his colleague’s musical discourse. As the movement appears to reach its end, in an ostensibly dark resolution, a revelation occurs. In the very last second, Beethoven makes a sudden turn and, without any interruption, launches into the final movement, Allegro fugato. From this ultimate Beethovenian moment, what remains in memory is the fugue, brief yet condensed, masterfully unveiled by the cellist’s talent.
Czech Colors
The musical evening continues with Dvořák’s Rondo in G minor, Op. 94, in its original 1891 version for cello and piano. This composition is brimming with the melodic-harmonic charm characteristic of the Czech genius who, throughout his career, strived to ennoble the popular musical traditions of his homeland. The omnipresence of the minor key reflects the melancholy felt by the composer before his transatlantic journey to America. Michal Kaňka elegantly serves this music, which is at once playful, virtuosic and eloquent, with palpable grace: everything sings and dances, each passage evoking contrasting scenes, mirrors of rustic life. The cellist’s attacks are frank and clear, the projection is broad, but the intonation occasionally lacks assurance. Jaromír Klepáč delights in being a discreet accompanist, not daring to disturb the ambient harmony with any superfluous interference. The Czech pianist finally breaks the balance that prevailed during the first half of the recital in Martinů’s Variations on a Theme by Rossini, and becomes a full protagonist alongside his colleague. Thus, the duo breathes life into the fluctuating dynamics and sculpts the sonic effects throughout the theme and four variations. They maintain the fluidity of the dialogue with meticulous precision, thus revealing the charm and audacity inherent in the work of their compatriot.
Between Gentleness and Vehemence
The Czech duo concludes the concert with Franck’s monumental Sonata for Cello and Piano in A major. Originally written for violin and piano, this piece was rearranged by the French cellist Jules Delsart (1844-1900) for cello and piano, while fully preserving the piano part. Throughout the first movement, Allegretto ben moderato, Michal Kaňka and Jaromír Klepáč never lose control and dominate with the virtuosity of an equitable score that grants each of them their moment of glory. The cellist reaffirms his complete mastery of the instrument, particularly of the bow, which allows him to meticulously sculpt the dynamics with great relief, while infusing the performance with a sound that is both warm and shimmering, enhanced by a well-measured vibrato. Jaromír Klepáč, for his part, draws a clear melodic line, supported by an intelligently expressive pedal, and sequences the chords with a goldsmith’s precision. In the second movement, Allegro, exuberance, even turbulence, reaches its climax. The cello growls vehemently while the piano scrupulously follows the musical discourse, deploying nuances ranging from piano molto dolce to forte con passione. In the third movement, Recitativo-Fantasia, moments of pure poetry emerge, offering a welcome tranquility after the tumult of the preceding movement. The evocative power of Michal Kaňka’s cello and the harmonic richness of the piano writing, accentuated by Jaromír Klepáč, lend this movement a moving majesty, culminating in a triumphant apotheosis in the final movement, Allegretto poco mosso.
Following a warm and well-deserved ovation, the Czech duo concluded their concert by gratifying their audience with an encore filled with tenderness: The Swan, the thirteenth movement of The Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921).
