The second of the National Concert Hall's summer series exploring the legacies of three European cities focused on St Petersburg.
The series artistic director, Finghin Collins, took a little licence with his self-imposed brief, by including Stravinsky's Soldier's Tale Suite rather than anything the composer actually wrote in St Petersburg.
It was, however, a wise decision, as it was the Stravinsky which provided the finest playing of the evening, with clarinettist John Finucane in top form, whether he was called upon to cackle, insinuate, or simply run riot. The Tango, valse, ragtime movement was violinist Elizabeth Cooney's show, with, in spite of the dance names, the music still running in Stravinskian changing metres. And Collins himself was an expert aider and abetter at all times.
The opening performance of Shostakovich's Cello Sonata, with Collins and French cellist Marc Coppey was rather lacklustre, as if the two players were moving through the piece with too much independence of spirit, in spite of their well co-ordinated playing.
The St Petersburg String Quartet's performances of Shostakovich's Piano Quintet (with Collins) and Tchaikovsky's string sextet, Souvenir de Florence (with John Lynch, viola, and Coppey), will have provided a fascinating contrast for anyone who heard the same pieces at the recent West Cork Chamber Music Festival, where they were played by members of the Kopelman and RTÉ Vanbrugh Quartets and pianist Elisabeth Leonskaja.
The tendency in Bantry was for much in both works to be presented as a kind of miniature violin concerto, with Mikhail Kopelman in the spotlight. Democracy prevailed in Dublin, and a much warmer and more relaxed view of the Tchaikovsky presented an altogether more genial side of the piece.
There was much more of light and shade in the Shostakovich, too, though Collins was a much more consistent presence at the piano than Leonskaja had been. She chose to dominate certain moments to an extent which he didn't approach, but she also melted into the background, too, blending with the strings with extraordinary subtlety. But Leonskaja was not matched by her colleagues. Wednesday's Dublin performance was altogether richer in variety of texture and range of expression. - Michael Dervan
Keane - Point, Dublin
Talk about rising without a trace. When, exactly, did Keane become an arena-filling, anthem-churning behemoth with one of the most spectacular productions to visit the Point since Miss Saigon hung a helicopter over the stage? How did this band make the leap from playing, say, the Olympia? And who allowed a band to become this successful with barely a guitar in sight? If Coldplay are the new U2, then Keane are the new Simple Minds, and singer Tom Chaplin is a pretty convincing Jim Kerr.
Wearing trousers so tight it looks like a leotard, Chaplin poses and struts across the stage, up onto elevated platforms on either wing and down a central gangway into the centre of the crowd. When songs reach their most dramatic crescendos, he reverts to a kind of Spider-Man crouch, hand pointing to the heavens. Below the immense projections on the illuminated back wall, songwriter Tim Rice-Oxley makes up for the lack of a swaggering guitarist by throwing himself at his keyboard with sweaty abandon, while drummer Richard Hughes sticks to drumming.
Their big hits, such as This is the Last Time, Everybody's Changing and Is It Any Wonder? might have a number of speeds, but only one gear, and that's impassioned. It works, though, as the audience veer in mood from euphoric to ecstatic. Cynics might suggest that the dazzling production and lightshow, a kind of Zooropa-light, is designed to distract from the lack of variety in the music. Of course, cynics wouldn't be seen anywhere near a Keane gig, leaving plenty of room for fans who are more than happy to sing along to the chorus and wave their hands in the air.
There is, admittedly, a preposterous sense of bombast to the whole enterprise - from taking their place at the end of the gangway for a few songs to the massive illuminated orb that descends from the ceiling, or in particular inviting Neil Hannon from the Divine Comedy to shakily recite some Yeats (because they're playing Dublin, don't you know), these guys obviously aren't on speaking terms with irony.
They do, however, know how to put on a massively crowd-pleasing show. - Davin O'Dwyer
