Prokofiev - Man of the People?

So runs the title of a two week festival dedicated to the composer and headed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, using the South Bank as its hub. The question posed is a pertinent one, as festival director Vladimir Jurowski looks in to Prokofiev;s output in fine detail, largely shunning the crowd pleasers in favour of some of the more supposedly 'difficult' corners of his published works.

Jurowski's point is a valid one, that the composer of Romeo and Juliet (recently encountered for the first time by viewers of The Apprentice!) has a lot more up his sleeve than the strongly melodic style we already know and love. Whether public exposure to works such as the Second Symphony or the music to Chout will change consciousness remains to be seen, but the attendance for the second of four orchestral concerts in the Royal Festival Hall indicated a keen interest.

Topping the bill for this work was the Sixth Symphony, of which more later, but first there was the relatively awkward lyricism of the Symphonic Song. This 15-minute work seemed to fall between forms, a lettercard rather than a postcard, one whose most attractive moments were sweet but also one whose section of conflict was more industrial and discordant. The final 'achievement' rang rather hollow as a result, but the feeling remained that this was a work Prokofiev needed to write to ease his transition from the avant-garde works of 1920s Paris to red blooded ballet scores such as Romeo & Juliet and Cinderella.

Formally the Fifth Piano Concerto was stranger still, cast in five movements and possessing some oddly oblique melodies, ones that shouldn't work – but which somehow remained in the head throughout the interval. The balance between piano and orchestra worked well here, with Steven Osborne an undemonstrative soloist while the barbed dialogue between piano, woodwind and percussion was at its height. The final Toccata summed things up succinctly, a helter-skelter dash to the finish that crashed in to a wall at the same time as the harmony reached G major. It was a strange but effective end, the sort of signing off Prokofiev does rather well, yet on this occasion it was one that puzzled and pleased the audience in equal measure.

After this slightly uncomfortable but strangely uplifting exuberance we entered a completely different emotional world for the Sixth Symphony, a work written in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. This is arguably Prokofiev's finest symphonic achievement, even with the carefree Classical and resilient Fifth symphonies taken into account.

The chilly disposition of the opening is slightly melted by a theme whose roots appear to be in chant, inviting parallels with Rachmaninov's almost obsessive use of the Dies Irae melody but making a strongly elegiac impression. Around this the colouring of brass and wind in particular are highly original, and the London Philharmonic trombones and tubas were superb, conveying their lines as if they were anguished cries of torment. The piano, too, lends a sharper edge to the music, adding extra punch to the rhythms.

Jurowski was rather cool in the first two movements, especially in the Largo second movement where some freedom with the tempo would have heightened the expression of what is already a powerful, fraught melody. The finale however carried maximum impact, its opening theme one of Prokofiev’s delightful flights of fancy but one that finally turns sour. When it did the full power of the orchestra could be unleashed, the impact a sudden slap in the face for the earlier forced jollity. In this single gesture, the culmination of a pot boiling over with repressed feeling, Prokofiev shows himself to be a man of the people indeed, expressing in full the torment felt in the immediate aftermath of war.