When Julia Fischer walked on stage at the Stadthalle in
Heidelberg a week or so ago, I was struck first by her air of utter authority,
and secondly by a marvellously callipygous behind, sheathed in what looked like
spray-on velour but was probably a far more sophisticated material. What
happened next was that she started to play the violin, and my eyes pricked with
the very first note. I am no expert in
music but I had no doubt that what I was hearing was performance of the very
first order. Fischer’s petite, willowy body
moves with the music as in a gusty breeze; she arches backwards and lunges
forwards. She takes the bow from the
strings with a flourish. And I mention her
behind because it seems to provide a perfect metaphor for her playing: both
taut and sensuous.
Accompanying on the piano was Milana Chernyavaska, who must
be very good.
The programme was: Sonatas by Tartini and Mendelssohn, 4
pieces by Sarasate and Ravel’s ‘Tzigane’.
I liked them all, but my wide middle brow enjoyed the Sarasate best.
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