The Philharmonic Concert of Saturday evening presented, as usual, much excellence, both in the music selected and in its performance. The Fifth Symphony of Beethoven is well know as one of the sublimest expressions of genius ever vouchsafed to man. Its performance at this Concert seemed to us deficient in fullness, where so much is required. In the great triumphant passages, there did not seem an adequate volume of sound. Either it was not there, or swallowed up somehow by the structure of the room or the cloaks of the auditors; or, perhaps, it stole away over our heads.
We wish the Society would give the Pastoral Symphony.—The new Overture, by Mr. Loder, seemed to possess little merit. It took effect on the ear only. The composition by Lindpainter seemed insipid and tedious, but the Concerto by Mendelsohn afforded universal delight. Its dreamy loveliness and exquisite grace could hardly be surpassed, and it was finely performed. We have never had a fair opportunity of hearing Mr. Timms before, and must add our mite to the tribute his talent and skill have commanded. We heard a gentleman say, “We need no De Meyer,” and, though we think, on the contrary, that it is the province of excellence to make us prize more and need more all other kinds of excellence, yet, surely, during this performance, we were not only charmed but satisfied—satisfied with the composer, and sure that the performer did him justice.
Burke played admirably in a fine composition of De Beriot’s, and was received with warm applause by the audience. We understand it has been the same elsewhere, and think he has secured the desired place in the country of his choice. We were glad to have the entertainment of instrumental music alone, and though we found some around us were disappointed by this, we believe that, when accustomed to it, they would find they could enjoy these fine works for the orchestra better, if the mood was not broken by the introduction of Italian opera airs. It is a change from which a mind capable of a mood must reluct, one would think, from one of these symphonies to some poor little love song by Donizetti. Those are well enough in their place, but who would like to drop suddenly from the Prometheus of Æschylus to–Stanzas on a broken Ring, by Alaric A. Watts?!*
“Philharmonic Concert,” New-York Daily Tribune, 20 January 1846, p. 1.
