Jonathan Mills turns out to have a real knack of proving his critics (or at least this one of them) wrong. Last year (as regular readers may recall) did not prove a happy one for Opera or Theatre, mainly thanks to the kiss of death theme of art and technology. I was already mentally planning a shorter visit this summer, and preparing some choice words of advice for Mills's successor, and lo and behold, his final programme proves to be one of his most interesting.
Opera
The clear highlight of the opera programme, and indeed one of the highlights of the Festival as a whole, is the return of the Mariinsky Opera in three performances (part of the strongly programmed final weekend) of Berlioz's masterpiece Les Troyens. I was surprised to see on my twitter feed today quite such a vehemently negative reaction to the prospect of Gergiev's Berlioz. Now, I concede that I haven't heard him perform anything by the composer, but past experience has taught me that I can be surprised by Gergiev. I had doubts in advance of his 2011 Festival Die Frau ohne Schatten and it proved to be one of the most thrilling operatic evenings I've experienced, I similarly doubted whether I would like his Brahms at the 2012 Festival, and again I was surprised (read my brother's review here). Gergiev's other operatic appearances at the Festival in recent years have including several other stunners besides Die Frau so I am overall optimistic about this one. As with Die Frau there are two casts. The Thurs/Sat cast are mostly the same as those who performed this work over two evenings with Gergiev in New York in 2010 (well received here, here and here), I think they will all be new to me. The production by Yannis Kokkos dates from Paris in 2003 and is available on DVD. Some sense of the production's approach can be gleaned here. Will these performances equal the wonderful concert performances from Donald Runnicles and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra back in 2001? Time alone will tell.
Showing posts with label Festival Hall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Festival Hall. Show all posts
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
Monday, 26 September 2011
Salonen and the Philharmonia PLAY Kullervo
I was actually in London primarily for family reasons this weekend, but even if Sunday's Philharmonia season opener hadn't been a neat fit, I would have made the journey south to hear it. The reason was simple: Sibelius's Kullervo. This early choral symphony is not performed all that often - I last heard it during the BBC SSO's cycle of the symphonies in 2006; most recorded surveys of the symphonies omit it. Yet its neglect is surely unjust. Driving melodies, searing drama and wonderful choral and orchestral climaxes, it has them all in spades. What an opening concert it would make for, say, the Edinburgh International Festival.
But I digress. Esa-Pekka Salonen directed an extremely persuasive reading, with an excellent sense of the work's structure, keeping his powder dry early on, thus ensuring that the later climaxes had full impact. As he managed with Stravinsky's Rite of Spring in Edinburgh recently, he delivered a performance that was not only fearsomely dramatic but extremely graphic and full of violence. After that performance someone I spoke to remarked that he brought out new details. I do not know that score well enough to comment, but he certainly highlighted things in the Sibelius that haven't struck me before, such as the orchestral accompaniment when Kullervo's sister tells of her time picking fruit or the delicate open to the finale.
He was aided by stunning playing from the Philharmonia, both at the quieter moments and in those thrilling climaxes, and in his well judged transitions between the two. This was apparent at many points, such as a jump in the first movement from beautifully soft pizzicato basses to blazing brass. While this was perhaps a little too blazing for one or two members of the chorus who found themselves just above the tuba (and could be seen with a finger in their ear at one or two points) it was glorious in the stalls.
But I digress. Esa-Pekka Salonen directed an extremely persuasive reading, with an excellent sense of the work's structure, keeping his powder dry early on, thus ensuring that the later climaxes had full impact. As he managed with Stravinsky's Rite of Spring in Edinburgh recently, he delivered a performance that was not only fearsomely dramatic but extremely graphic and full of violence. After that performance someone I spoke to remarked that he brought out new details. I do not know that score well enough to comment, but he certainly highlighted things in the Sibelius that haven't struck me before, such as the orchestral accompaniment when Kullervo's sister tells of her time picking fruit or the delicate open to the finale.
He was aided by stunning playing from the Philharmonia, both at the quieter moments and in those thrilling climaxes, and in his well judged transitions between the two. This was apparent at many points, such as a jump in the first movement from beautifully soft pizzicato basses to blazing brass. While this was perhaps a little too blazing for one or two members of the chorus who found themselves just above the tuba (and could be seen with a finger in their ear at one or two points) it was glorious in the stalls.
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Uchida, Jansons and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra PLAY Beethoven and Strauss
When the first international season was announced for the reopened Festival Hall in 2007, one highlight was an appearance by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. At the time it was said that this was part of a deal for regular visits spanning four years. They have been consistent highlights of the concert seasons. A shame, then, that this weekend marks the last visit; none is scheduled for next year.
Still, you could hardly have wished for a finer note to end on. In the first half, a slimmed down orchestra was joined by soloist Mitsuko Uchida for a glittering performance of Beethoven's 3rd piano concerto. She was, perhaps, at her most persuasive in the softer moments, displaying both a wonderful poetry and delicacy, especially in the first movement cadenza. And yet that is not to suggest that anything was lacking in the meatier sections. Behind her Jansons and the orchestra provided superbly judged accompaniment, no trace here of those performances where soloist and conductor do not seem to share the same conception of the piece. Indeed, Jansons was often craning round to take his cues from her, something especially apparent when judging the orchestra's reentry following that first cadenza. I often regard the third as not being one of my favourites, yet after a reading such as this I find myself wondering why.
Still, you could hardly have wished for a finer note to end on. In the first half, a slimmed down orchestra was joined by soloist Mitsuko Uchida for a glittering performance of Beethoven's 3rd piano concerto. She was, perhaps, at her most persuasive in the softer moments, displaying both a wonderful poetry and delicacy, especially in the first movement cadenza. And yet that is not to suggest that anything was lacking in the meatier sections. Behind her Jansons and the orchestra provided superbly judged accompaniment, no trace here of those performances where soloist and conductor do not seem to share the same conception of the piece. Indeed, Jansons was often craning round to take his cues from her, something especially apparent when judging the orchestra's reentry following that first cadenza. I often regard the third as not being one of my favourites, yet after a reading such as this I find myself wondering why.
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic finish their London residence with Mahler 3
In many ways, Wednesday's final performance of the Berlin Philharmonic's four day stay in London was no different to the rest: the calibre of the orchestra's playing was of a similarly high order and Rattle displayed a fine control of the impressive instrument he has at his disposal, the expressions on his and their faces no less passionate than they have been all week. But, for whatever reason, and I'll try to get to the bottom of it with this post, the performance didn't speak to me emotionally. This brings home particularly starkly how personal and subjective such reactions are, others were clearly deeply moved by it, perhaps for some of the same reasons my heart was not set racing.
That's worth noting as I was clearly in something of a minority, with many in the Festival Hall rising to their feet at the end. Interestingly, for whatever reason, ovations like that seem much common in the Festival Hall; the previous two days of superb Schubert and Mahler at the Barbican did not draw the same response. At Edinburgh's Usher Hall it often feels like the only way you'd get a standing ovation would be to electrify the seats, which I feel is a pity and probably ruled out on health and safety grounds. I don't mention that in any way to belittle the audience's response, rather because I'm simply curious as to the reason for the difference. But I digress.
That's worth noting as I was clearly in something of a minority, with many in the Festival Hall rising to their feet at the end. Interestingly, for whatever reason, ovations like that seem much common in the Festival Hall; the previous two days of superb Schubert and Mahler at the Barbican did not draw the same response. At Edinburgh's Usher Hall it often feels like the only way you'd get a standing ovation would be to electrify the seats, which I feel is a pity and probably ruled out on health and safety grounds. I don't mention that in any way to belittle the audience's response, rather because I'm simply curious as to the reason for the difference. But I digress.
Monday, 15 November 2010
A musical tribute to Charles Mackerras
It's difficult to review this concert objectively. Charles Mackerras was probably my favourite conductor and, as I explained in my tribute to him, he provided me with many unique musical experiences and shaped my tastes massively. This concert, which comprised many works with which he was closely associated, frequently brought those things to mind as well as the gap that he leaves behind. It was an extremely emotional experience, but I expect that would have been the case had the players come on and sat in silence for three hours. To these ears, though, just as well that they didn't!
The programme was divided between two London orchestras with whom Mackerras enjoyed long relationships. The first half, or rather, the first third, was given over to the Orchestra of the Age of the Enlightenment. Appropriately they played the Handel's firework music. Appropriate because back before period performance was cool, Mackerras unearthed, premiered and recorded, the original wind arrangement. Sadly that wasn't what we got, but it did have a satisfyingly rasping quality and as much of a richness as you could get without the absurd numbers of wind instruments called for. In the hands of Steven Devine it also benefitted from not feeling routine or twee, as it too often can. It wasn't perfect though, and while it's true that playing period horns without without cracks or fluffs is tricky, the sheer quantity was far, far more than should have been the case.
They were then joined by soprano Mhairi Lawson, standing in for Rebecca Evans, for two Handel arias. Lawson possessed a nicely toned voice, though it was fairly small and needed slightly more sensitive accompaniment than Devine delivered. Of the two, Let the bright seraphim from Samson was the most impressive, not least for the trumpet solos that David Blackadder delivered alongside Lawson.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Rossini's Guillaume Tell, or You Think You Know Rossini? Think Again.
As I may have mentioned before, I am a bit of a Rossini fan, so when I discovered by chance that the Chelsea Opera Group was putting on a concert performance of his last opera, Guillaume Tell, I was there like a shot. It proved to be a surprising evening. I thought that I knew Rossini, but I was wrong.
Much of the programme was taken up with commentary on the strange fact that Tell proved to be Rossini's last opera even though he was then only 37. There remains disagreement about why he chose to retire, but what hearing the opera makes very clear is how unfortunate this was in musical terms. Tell is very far from being your typical knockabout Rossini with zipping, decorative arias, and choruses and ensembles dashing towards a breakneck conclusion. Yes, there are moments of this, the conclusion of the famous overture being one of them, but much of the rest is truly grand opera. So much so indeed that at times I almost thought I was about to be in the depths of the Escurial with Philip II, or crossing the rainbow bridge into Valhalla.
So far as I can tell the chorus and orchestra are amateurs and I'm afraid that in places it showed. There were a few too many cases of ropy tuning or the chorus getting out of sync with the band. The big problem, though, was a just perceptible lack of security. The overture is a good example of this. The end of the overture needs to ratchet up madly, you need to feel that sense of being driven. This is not to say the orchestra didn't get up a good head of steam but it just didn't quite have that ultimate Rossini sparkle and spring. During the interval I overheard another audience member commenting on the chorus, he obviously had some connection with the group, and was noting the loss of younger members to exams. Indeed the problem was reminiscent of the Edinburgh Festival Chorus – something of a lack of power against the orchestra in the climaxes, and some uncertainty in the fiddliest bits. A recruitment drive in the music schools would seem to be in order. Perhaps the fair thing to say is that this was a very creditable performance for an amateur group, but it just wanted that bit more zing, fire, and excitement.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Jansons and the Bavarians PLAY Shostakovich's 10th Symphony
It was a fearsome spectacle. From the outset of Saturday's performance of Shostakovich's 10th symphony, the quality of the sound the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra produced under Mariss Jansons was stunning, wonderfully rich and yet with the kind of unified precision in the strings that one expects from the Cleveland Orchestra. Time and again he whipped them up into furious, frenzied climaxes, the players never missing a beat, and yet so keen was his sense of structure that he was able to transition naturally to the quieter passages and their bleak and depressing landscape without ever losing momentum.
Perhaps most harrowing was the second movement, ostensibly a portrait of Stalin, the militaristic opening powerfully calling to mind his terrors, vast parades of weaponry, and tanks crushing dissent.
Without fail, in solo passages, the members of the orchestra distinguished themselves: violinist Padoslaw Szulc, oboist Stefan Schilli, bassoonist Eberhard Marschall and, especially, clarinetist Stafan Schilling played superbly (I trust those names are correct - the programme lists multiple principals).
Perhaps most harrowing was the second movement, ostensibly a portrait of Stalin, the militaristic opening powerfully calling to mind his terrors, vast parades of weaponry, and tanks crushing dissent.
Without fail, in solo passages, the members of the orchestra distinguished themselves: violinist Padoslaw Szulc, oboist Stefan Schilli, bassoonist Eberhard Marschall and, especially, clarinetist Stafan Schilling played superbly (I trust those names are correct - the programme lists multiple principals).
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Vanska and the LPO finish their Sibelius cycle in style
I've only heard Osmo Vanska live once before, that too was for an all Sibelius programme where he provided the highlight of the BBC SSO's 2006 cycle with blinding readings of the third symphony and Kullervo (which was sadly absent from the London Philharmonic's cycle).
We seem to get precious little Sibelius north of the border so these concerts were sorely tempting, but in the end only one concert was a realistic prospect. Fortunately that one contained the sixth and seventh, two of my absolute favourites (along with, in no particular order, three, one, four, two and five).
They began, however, with Tapiola. Composed some years after the last two symphonies it seemed a slightly odd choice. I must confess the work has never completely grabbed me in the way his symphonies do. I found it a little disjointed and while the orchestra played well enough, it didn't seem as vividly textured as the best Sibelius can: the string motifs evocative of icy winds felt neither quite icy or windy enough. It was not without its moments, but it didn't sweep me away.
It was followed by a pair of oddities Cantique and Devotion: Two Serious Melodies for Cello and Orchestra. These were rather nice, and Sibelius at his sunniest rather than the wintery feel that is more common. Kristina Blaumane was a rich and warm soloist. Yet, enjoyable though they were, one could see why they're not a regular feature in the concert hall.
The best by far was yet to come. The sixth symphony is achingly beautiful and Vanska judged the opening well. Everything felt sharper - the tones of the orchestra richer and move vivid. He gave the music a wonderful flow. The third movement was almost overflowing with joy. There was some fine playing from the orchestra, especially some of the rich cello chords in the finale. Yes, the sixth is my favourite. It has a beauty that at times brings the listener close to tears, though not because it's sad. True, Vanska didn't equal Barbirolli in this regard, but he got more than close enough.
They closed with the seventh, the first Sibelius symphony I ever heard (in a performance by Oramo and the CBSO in Basingstoke). Bad performances of it suffer terribly from what I like to call Mahler Nine Syndrome, namely the tendency both works have to sound like a disconnected series of miniatures when played badly (it's named after the Mahler because that's where I first heard it). There was not a trace in Vanska's reading, which flowed seamlessly from one section to the next. Indeed, as with all good performances, I was left wondering how Mahler Nine Syndrome can ever occur in the first place. Along the way Vanska found some wonderful details, an early section with the violas stuck out particularly. Then came perhaps my favourite moment: the wonderful trombone theme, but then I'm a trombone player, albeit a very bad one. He judged the balance well, with the theme carrying clearly over the orchestra and yet without being overly prominent. If anything, the orchestra seemed on even better form than for the sixth. I don't like 'top this' lists and 'greatest thats', but if you told me I could only keep one symphony in my collection, the seventh would surely be near the top of the shortlist. Within those twenty-two odd minutes Sibelius somehow manages to say everything that needs to be said. As the trombones make their return, with what I like to call the journey's end motif, I feel like I've been on an epic voyage; Vanska was no exception and he had showed plenty of wonders along the way. Actually, there's no question, the seventh is my favourite.
Okay, the truth is my favourite is probably whichever one I've just heard last. They're glorious works and well done to the LPO for celebrating them with one of the top Sibelius conductors.
It was well received, but the encore, Valse Triste, was a mistake. After the seventh nothing more needs to be said, and though they played it nicely, and Vanska clearly had fun, particularly with a pause at the end, the evening would in some ways have been finer without it: those weren't the bars I wanted ringing in my head as I left. True, it was not as if he'd followed Mahler's resurrection with an encore, and hence he doesn't get our inappropriate encore away.
Still, I do need to dole out an award. Etiquette for encores is tricky. If you decide to make your exit before the applause has ceased, you run an inverse musical chairs. Should the music start up again you have only one decent choice: freeze and, if you are lucky, sink into a vacant seat nearby. If you're very close to a door you can nip out the rest of the way, ditto if you have a exceedingly quiet step. Why do I mention this, you may well ask? Well, a gentleman, no, sorry, that's a serious abuse of the word. A person in the audience chose a third way: from three quarters of the way up the second aisle of the balcony, he clomped down the stairs and out of the hall, treading with what was clearly deliberate force, with a furious expression on his face as if to demand how very dare Vanska interrupt his exit with some music. It was staggeringly rude to players and audience alike. I mean, I might have preferred not to have an encore, but I have some manners. Of course, this presents a slight snag as far as our awards are concerned, since they are always eponymous, but we can rise to the occasion:
The Anonymous/[insert name here] Award for Staggeringly Rude and Unbelievably Obnoxious Behaviour by an Audience Member
If the person in question is reading this, and would like to claim his award, or apologise, the comments are below. However, it was not sufficient to detract from the superb music. Now, if only we could get a little more Sibelius north of the border.....
We seem to get precious little Sibelius north of the border so these concerts were sorely tempting, but in the end only one concert was a realistic prospect. Fortunately that one contained the sixth and seventh, two of my absolute favourites (along with, in no particular order, three, one, four, two and five).
They began, however, with Tapiola. Composed some years after the last two symphonies it seemed a slightly odd choice. I must confess the work has never completely grabbed me in the way his symphonies do. I found it a little disjointed and while the orchestra played well enough, it didn't seem as vividly textured as the best Sibelius can: the string motifs evocative of icy winds felt neither quite icy or windy enough. It was not without its moments, but it didn't sweep me away.
It was followed by a pair of oddities Cantique and Devotion: Two Serious Melodies for Cello and Orchestra. These were rather nice, and Sibelius at his sunniest rather than the wintery feel that is more common. Kristina Blaumane was a rich and warm soloist. Yet, enjoyable though they were, one could see why they're not a regular feature in the concert hall.
The best by far was yet to come. The sixth symphony is achingly beautiful and Vanska judged the opening well. Everything felt sharper - the tones of the orchestra richer and move vivid. He gave the music a wonderful flow. The third movement was almost overflowing with joy. There was some fine playing from the orchestra, especially some of the rich cello chords in the finale. Yes, the sixth is my favourite. It has a beauty that at times brings the listener close to tears, though not because it's sad. True, Vanska didn't equal Barbirolli in this regard, but he got more than close enough.
They closed with the seventh, the first Sibelius symphony I ever heard (in a performance by Oramo and the CBSO in Basingstoke). Bad performances of it suffer terribly from what I like to call Mahler Nine Syndrome, namely the tendency both works have to sound like a disconnected series of miniatures when played badly (it's named after the Mahler because that's where I first heard it). There was not a trace in Vanska's reading, which flowed seamlessly from one section to the next. Indeed, as with all good performances, I was left wondering how Mahler Nine Syndrome can ever occur in the first place. Along the way Vanska found some wonderful details, an early section with the violas stuck out particularly. Then came perhaps my favourite moment: the wonderful trombone theme, but then I'm a trombone player, albeit a very bad one. He judged the balance well, with the theme carrying clearly over the orchestra and yet without being overly prominent. If anything, the orchestra seemed on even better form than for the sixth. I don't like 'top this' lists and 'greatest thats', but if you told me I could only keep one symphony in my collection, the seventh would surely be near the top of the shortlist. Within those twenty-two odd minutes Sibelius somehow manages to say everything that needs to be said. As the trombones make their return, with what I like to call the journey's end motif, I feel like I've been on an epic voyage; Vanska was no exception and he had showed plenty of wonders along the way. Actually, there's no question, the seventh is my favourite.
Okay, the truth is my favourite is probably whichever one I've just heard last. They're glorious works and well done to the LPO for celebrating them with one of the top Sibelius conductors.
It was well received, but the encore, Valse Triste, was a mistake. After the seventh nothing more needs to be said, and though they played it nicely, and Vanska clearly had fun, particularly with a pause at the end, the evening would in some ways have been finer without it: those weren't the bars I wanted ringing in my head as I left. True, it was not as if he'd followed Mahler's resurrection with an encore, and hence he doesn't get our inappropriate encore away.
Still, I do need to dole out an award. Etiquette for encores is tricky. If you decide to make your exit before the applause has ceased, you run an inverse musical chairs. Should the music start up again you have only one decent choice: freeze and, if you are lucky, sink into a vacant seat nearby. If you're very close to a door you can nip out the rest of the way, ditto if you have a exceedingly quiet step. Why do I mention this, you may well ask? Well, a gentleman, no, sorry, that's a serious abuse of the word. A person in the audience chose a third way: from three quarters of the way up the second aisle of the balcony, he clomped down the stairs and out of the hall, treading with what was clearly deliberate force, with a furious expression on his face as if to demand how very dare Vanska interrupt his exit with some music. It was staggeringly rude to players and audience alike. I mean, I might have preferred not to have an encore, but I have some manners. Of course, this presents a slight snag as far as our awards are concerned, since they are always eponymous, but we can rise to the occasion:
The Anonymous/[insert name here] Award for Staggeringly Rude and Unbelievably Obnoxious Behaviour by an Audience Member
If the person in question is reading this, and would like to claim his award, or apologise, the comments are below. However, it was not sufficient to detract from the superb music. Now, if only we could get a little more Sibelius north of the border.....
Friday, 11 December 2009
Brewer, Mackerras and the Philharmonia serve up some tasty Wagner chunks
Christine Brewer doesn't sing Wagner in the UK all that often, so when she does it's not to be missed. The last time I caught her, it was for a stunning Gotterdammerung at the 2007 Proms, conducted by the man himself (obviously I mean Runnicles, not Wagner, that would be impressive!).
When I spotted that she was joining the Philharmonia for an all Wagner programme, I knew it was not to be missed. Furthermore, with Charles Mackerras on the podium, there was a seemingly unbeatable combination.
Mackerras is not necessarily the first name that springs to mind when one thinks of Wagner, though he has racked up plenty of experience, from a Ring cycle at ENO to an impressive DVD of Meistersinger (not to mention the inaugural concert at the Sydney Opera House, where he conducted Wagner chunks with the legendary Birgit Nilsson, CD/DVD available).
The concert started with Mackerras and the Philharmonia alone in the Prelude and Venusberg Music from Tannhauser. This was quite simply superb, and in some ways the highlight of the evening, perhaps because it is a little more satisfying in isolation than the other chunks. The orchestra's rich and intricate playing was a joy to hear. Mackerras, never any slouch, didn't show his eighty-four years in the brisk tempi he chose and in the thrilling reading he delivered (those with £1 burning a hole in their pocket could do worse that pick up the recording they made at their 2006 QEH concert).
They were then joined on stage by Brewer for a tender and moving account the Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde. There was a nice flow and sense of drama and Brewer's power and ability to soar above the orchestra was simply stunning (though the fact that even she was at a few moments overwhelmed indicates why Wagner recessed the orchestra so much at Bayreuth).
The second half was entirely given over to Gotterdammerung and a selection of, for the most part, well chosen highlights. A lively account of Sigfriends Rheinfahrt set things off, marked especially by some stunningly boisterous brass playing, trombones particularly. The only sour notes were the rather too many fluffed notes from the off-stage Wagner tuba, who then had the ignominy of having to sneak back on stage to join the rest.
This was followed by The Death of Siegfried, a slightly odd choice and not one I've come across before in Wagner chunks. There's a good reason for this: Siegfried should be singing here. Had we had a Siegfried present that would have been all well and good, without him it felt even more glaringly incomplete than such exerts normally inherently do, especially in the tender moments where the songbird's motif returns. Much more sensible, surely, to have skipped it and, if the programme needed padding, to draw from elsewhere such as the Walkurenritt or the Waldweben.
They were on safer, well, chilling ground for the Trauermarsch and then the final scene. Brewer was perhaps on even finer form here, though it is true that it does lack the same impact as it would have with the whole of the preceding four hours, no matter how finely played and sung (and it was very fine indeed).
Still, good opera house Wagner is hard to come by, and by no means an everyday occurrence, so such concerts form a nice stopgap. My next full encounter with Wagner will be the Deutsche Oper Ring in April (a familiar conductor at the helm); I found myself wishing Brewer was going to be on duty there.
The only other grip is the failure to provide texts in the programme. Of course, the Philharmonia's programmes cover several concerts in one go, but I still take a dim view of it, especially when you write in it "The sung texts and a translation are available as a free supplement from the programme sellers before this concert". Well they weren't, and it really isn't good enough. If I knew I wasn't getting them, I could bring my own. Still, such administrative mess-ups aren't enough to blight artistic excellence.
Those unable to secure tickets to the Concertgebouw's Mahler second on Sunday afternoon could do worse than check out Mackerras's second concert of Beethoven's sixth and chunks from Hansel and Gretel.
When I spotted that she was joining the Philharmonia for an all Wagner programme, I knew it was not to be missed. Furthermore, with Charles Mackerras on the podium, there was a seemingly unbeatable combination.
Mackerras is not necessarily the first name that springs to mind when one thinks of Wagner, though he has racked up plenty of experience, from a Ring cycle at ENO to an impressive DVD of Meistersinger (not to mention the inaugural concert at the Sydney Opera House, where he conducted Wagner chunks with the legendary Birgit Nilsson, CD/DVD available).
The concert started with Mackerras and the Philharmonia alone in the Prelude and Venusberg Music from Tannhauser. This was quite simply superb, and in some ways the highlight of the evening, perhaps because it is a little more satisfying in isolation than the other chunks. The orchestra's rich and intricate playing was a joy to hear. Mackerras, never any slouch, didn't show his eighty-four years in the brisk tempi he chose and in the thrilling reading he delivered (those with £1 burning a hole in their pocket could do worse that pick up the recording they made at their 2006 QEH concert).
They were then joined on stage by Brewer for a tender and moving account the Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde. There was a nice flow and sense of drama and Brewer's power and ability to soar above the orchestra was simply stunning (though the fact that even she was at a few moments overwhelmed indicates why Wagner recessed the orchestra so much at Bayreuth).
The second half was entirely given over to Gotterdammerung and a selection of, for the most part, well chosen highlights. A lively account of Sigfriends Rheinfahrt set things off, marked especially by some stunningly boisterous brass playing, trombones particularly. The only sour notes were the rather too many fluffed notes from the off-stage Wagner tuba, who then had the ignominy of having to sneak back on stage to join the rest.
This was followed by The Death of Siegfried, a slightly odd choice and not one I've come across before in Wagner chunks. There's a good reason for this: Siegfried should be singing here. Had we had a Siegfried present that would have been all well and good, without him it felt even more glaringly incomplete than such exerts normally inherently do, especially in the tender moments where the songbird's motif returns. Much more sensible, surely, to have skipped it and, if the programme needed padding, to draw from elsewhere such as the Walkurenritt or the Waldweben.
They were on safer, well, chilling ground for the Trauermarsch and then the final scene. Brewer was perhaps on even finer form here, though it is true that it does lack the same impact as it would have with the whole of the preceding four hours, no matter how finely played and sung (and it was very fine indeed).
Still, good opera house Wagner is hard to come by, and by no means an everyday occurrence, so such concerts form a nice stopgap. My next full encounter with Wagner will be the Deutsche Oper Ring in April (a familiar conductor at the helm); I found myself wishing Brewer was going to be on duty there.
The only other grip is the failure to provide texts in the programme. Of course, the Philharmonia's programmes cover several concerts in one go, but I still take a dim view of it, especially when you write in it "The sung texts and a translation are available as a free supplement from the programme sellers before this concert". Well they weren't, and it really isn't good enough. If I knew I wasn't getting them, I could bring my own. Still, such administrative mess-ups aren't enough to blight artistic excellence.
Those unable to secure tickets to the Concertgebouw's Mahler second on Sunday afternoon could do worse than check out Mackerras's second concert of Beethoven's sixth and chunks from Hansel and Gretel.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Beethoven and Brahms from Jordan, the Philharmonia and Vogt
Spending a few cultural days in London, as I'm wont to do, I found myself without anything planned for Sunday evening. I think I had initially intended to have a night off, but when the time came I didn't feel like that. Sadly, nothing much musical was happening at the Barbican (which would have been convenient), but a quick glance at the internet showed an enjoyable looking Philharmonia programme. Sadly, the South Bank Centre has now started piping in music. Walking past the ground floor bar before the concert started, some Beethoven was blaring over a sound system so horribly tinny that it would flatter many a kitchen radio. Please, if anyone at the South Bank is reading this, piped music is awful, for the love of god stop it, or, rather, Pipe Down. But, I digress.
The last time I encountered Philippe Jordan, he was conducting the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester at the 2006 Edinburgh festival for a rather fine performance of Mahler's fifth symphony (I'd post a link to the review, but I haven't got to that point in collecting the archive reviews from that year). This time the concert followed the traditional overture, concerto, symphony model with works from Beethoven and Brahms.
Beethoven's The Creatures of Prometheus was the curtain raiser. (Not too long ago, I heard James Lowe conduct the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in the complete ballet.) Taking a fairly brisk pace, Jordan gave a crisp and energetic reading with the Philharmonia's playing up to their usual high standards.
The chairs were then rearranged to accommodate Lars Vogt, or, more particularly, the piano he was to play Beethoven's Emperor concerto on (the work making its second appearance in my concert going this season, the first having, once again, been with the SCO). It is, perhaps, not the ideal thing to report, but what stood out first and foremost about the performance was Jordan's beautifully judged accompaniment. The orchestra's playing was superb, Beethoven at his dynamic best. Vogt's playing, on the other hand, was not entirely to my taste, but then I am extremely fussy about pianists. He thumped much of the time, striking the keyboard harder, and in a more percussive manner, than I feel necessary. His playing also felt a little rushed and something in the music seemed to get lost as a result: some of the majesty. Surprisingly, then, the slow movement was sublime, with Vogt caressing the ivories as gently as gentle can be. He and Jordan held the tension very well in the transition into the finale (a moment that ought to tease the audience to the edges of their seats and beyond). But then the thumping returned, though not quite with avengeance, as flashes of that delicacy still came through. Of course, as some will note, more than delicacy is required in the work. However, Vogt could take a lesson from the likes of Paul Lewis who can get all the power they need without thumping. The finale was fairly good none the less, not least for the orchestra's rich playing. (Bafflingly, my favourite is not among the four recordings the programme recommends, the more confusing since it features the Philharmonia, conducted by Menges, with Solomon bringing unparalleled majesty.) I'll hear the Emperor for a third, and hopefully final time, this season in June when Lewis plays it with Davis and the LSO. That should be quite something.
The last time I heard Brahms fourth symphony in the concert hall, it was also with the Philharmonia. That was around four years ago, in a concert they gave in the Anvil in Basingstoke (back before I lived in Edinburgh). The conductor was Charles Mackerras so, of course, it was a thrilling tour de force and an extremely hard act to follow. Under Jordan, the first movement cast doubts. It took a long time to get going and didn't have nearly the drive or boiling tension of my favourite performances. However, the final few minutes of the movement were very exciting. The subsequent slow movement was beautifully played. This was followed by a wonderfully energetic third movement and a finale that was nothing short of thrilling. For the most part, then, a very fine performance. The orchestra were, by and large, superb, especially principal flautist Kenneth Smith in his solo. The only blemish was that there appeared to be something a little wooly about the horn sound (not something I would expect from a team who gave such a blinding rendition of Schumann's Konzertstück for four horns and orchestra at Aldeburgh last year).
Actually, there was one final blemish. As I left the hall, the moron in charge of the piped music had decided to play the third movement of the Brahms. With the Philharmonia's lush tones still ringing in our ears, the last thing anybody can have wanted was this parody.
The last time I encountered Philippe Jordan, he was conducting the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester at the 2006 Edinburgh festival for a rather fine performance of Mahler's fifth symphony (I'd post a link to the review, but I haven't got to that point in collecting the archive reviews from that year). This time the concert followed the traditional overture, concerto, symphony model with works from Beethoven and Brahms.
Beethoven's The Creatures of Prometheus was the curtain raiser. (Not too long ago, I heard James Lowe conduct the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in the complete ballet.) Taking a fairly brisk pace, Jordan gave a crisp and energetic reading with the Philharmonia's playing up to their usual high standards.
The chairs were then rearranged to accommodate Lars Vogt, or, more particularly, the piano he was to play Beethoven's Emperor concerto on (the work making its second appearance in my concert going this season, the first having, once again, been with the SCO). It is, perhaps, not the ideal thing to report, but what stood out first and foremost about the performance was Jordan's beautifully judged accompaniment. The orchestra's playing was superb, Beethoven at his dynamic best. Vogt's playing, on the other hand, was not entirely to my taste, but then I am extremely fussy about pianists. He thumped much of the time, striking the keyboard harder, and in a more percussive manner, than I feel necessary. His playing also felt a little rushed and something in the music seemed to get lost as a result: some of the majesty. Surprisingly, then, the slow movement was sublime, with Vogt caressing the ivories as gently as gentle can be. He and Jordan held the tension very well in the transition into the finale (a moment that ought to tease the audience to the edges of their seats and beyond). But then the thumping returned, though not quite with avengeance, as flashes of that delicacy still came through. Of course, as some will note, more than delicacy is required in the work. However, Vogt could take a lesson from the likes of Paul Lewis who can get all the power they need without thumping. The finale was fairly good none the less, not least for the orchestra's rich playing. (Bafflingly, my favourite is not among the four recordings the programme recommends, the more confusing since it features the Philharmonia, conducted by Menges, with Solomon bringing unparalleled majesty.) I'll hear the Emperor for a third, and hopefully final time, this season in June when Lewis plays it with Davis and the LSO. That should be quite something.
The last time I heard Brahms fourth symphony in the concert hall, it was also with the Philharmonia. That was around four years ago, in a concert they gave in the Anvil in Basingstoke (back before I lived in Edinburgh). The conductor was Charles Mackerras so, of course, it was a thrilling tour de force and an extremely hard act to follow. Under Jordan, the first movement cast doubts. It took a long time to get going and didn't have nearly the drive or boiling tension of my favourite performances. However, the final few minutes of the movement were very exciting. The subsequent slow movement was beautifully played. This was followed by a wonderfully energetic third movement and a finale that was nothing short of thrilling. For the most part, then, a very fine performance. The orchestra were, by and large, superb, especially principal flautist Kenneth Smith in his solo. The only blemish was that there appeared to be something a little wooly about the horn sound (not something I would expect from a team who gave such a blinding rendition of Schumann's Konzertstück for four horns and orchestra at Aldeburgh last year).
Actually, there was one final blemish. As I left the hall, the moron in charge of the piped music had decided to play the third movement of the Brahms. With the Philharmonia's lush tones still ringing in our ears, the last thing anybody can have wanted was this parody.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Mackerras, The Philharmonia, Bronfman, Mendelssohn, Mozart, Tchaikovsky 6 and an ophicleide
A what? You might well ask, if, like me, you don't recall having seen one before. Well, more anon. It's always a treat when Sir Charles Mackerras teams up with this superb orchestra, but Sunday afternoon's programme (a repeat of a concert given on Thursday) was something special, even by those high standards.
They led off with Mendelssohn's Overture, A Midsummer Night's Dream, doubtless occasioned by the current bicentennial celebrations of the composer (in related news, it emerges that there are a jaw-dropping number of unpublished works, though it does seem that quite a few of these are fragments). Now, in my experience, Mendelssohn needs to be done with plenty of drive and energy, otherwise it can easily fall flat. However, with Mackerras on the podium, lack of drive and energy are never a concern. More interesting, he has recorded the overture with the period ensemble the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, something I've been meaning to sample. As he often does with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, he had persuaded some of the players to turn in their instruments for earlier models: horns and trumpets were natural, the timpani also seemed to be period. Lurking next to the trumpets was a strange looking creation that, by a process of elimination from the orchestra list, had to be an ophicleide (the picture on the link confirms this), which turns out to be a precursor of the tuba and euphonium, though, mouthpiece notwithstanding, its design was more reminiscent of a saxophone. Elsewhere, the playing was of a distinctly historically informed flavour. The results were excellent. The orchestra provided a showcase of their talents, especially in the incredibly delicate playing of the opening. The piece bubbled along with drama and joy and proved a fine curtain raiser. I'll have to pick up the OAE disc (it includes the rest of the incidental music for A Midsummer Night's Dream and the Italian symphony).
Also worth noting, the orchestra seemed to be having a lot of fun. The wide grin on the face of Tony George (the ophicleide player - perhaps the instrument is not often needed in the Festival Hall, more's the pity given his playing) was lovely to see, but it was widely shared. Indeed, there seemed to be the same joy in making music that one finds in an amateur ensemble, though there was nothing amateur about the playing. Similarly, and perhaps it was just that I was sitting quite close to front, there was a real sense of the communication between the players, in a way one normally only notices in a chamber ensemble. It only confirmed the view I've aired before that this orchestra is rather special.
There was a brief gap while the stage was rearranged, and the piano moved into place. This would be the second time I'd heard Mackerras perform Mozart's K491 piano concerto in the last year or so (he previously did it in Edinburgh with Alfred Brendel and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra at the Festival). Tonight's pianist was Yefim Bronfman. Mackerras provided a powerful introduction and Bronfman's slightly subdued opening notes gave me pause for though, would this be another all to common example of mismatched approaches? I needn't have been concerned. Bronfman displayed every inch the fire needed to match the propulsive accompaniment. And yet, it was a sensitive accompaniment too, never did Mackerras tread on the pianist's tones. There was delicacy to Bronfman's pianism too, and it was a beautiful and unmannered performance with no thumping in sight. Perhaps not quite having the clarity that Paul Lewis does, but a compelling performance nonetheless.
The real meat came after the interval with Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony. Recently, I've heard an illustrated talk Leonard Bernstein recorded about this symphony, which demonstrates how much of it is build up from simple scales, the genius being that it doesn't appear simple at all. Mackerras gave a thrilling reading, from the soft opening bars onwards there was a gripping tension which, every now and then, he would release in the most almighty avalanche of sheer orchestral power. He frequently did not hang about, yet the control and discipline of the orchestra in the fastest moments was something special to hear and they kept up with him splendidly. He found delicacy and tenderness too, where the score called for that. The slightest half-smattering of applause followed the thrilling conclusion of the scherzo. In lesser hands the adagio can underwhelm in comparison. Not so in this case: the climaxes were heavy with emotion and Mackerras provided a transporting reading that faded to a quiet yet powerful conclusion. Playing was superb throughout, and while individual sections may have impressed at times, such as the winds or the horns, not least for the effect they gave, almost of off-stage brass, when stopped in the final movement, to single any out seems unfair given the uniformly high calibre of the ensemble.
All in all, one of the most satisfying concerts I've heard in a long time (indeed, one that has a compelling claim on the yellow jersey for best concert of the season thus far). The array of microphones indicated that it was being recorded for release on the orchestra's own label (either as a download, or, hopefully, on CD; previous achievements include an excellent Schubert 9th, if not quite so fine as his SCO recording, and Mahler's 4th). Mackerras may now be 83, but you'd not have had an inkling of this if you'd been sitting in the hall with your eyes closed, or, indeed, if you sample these superb performances when the CD releases come, which can't happen soon enough. Sir Charles next joins the Philharmonia on Thursday for a programme that includes the K466 concerto and Elgar's first symphony, sadly I must be back in Edinburgh before then. After that, it is Wagner chunks with Christine Brewer on 10th December. I can't wait.
They led off with Mendelssohn's Overture, A Midsummer Night's Dream, doubtless occasioned by the current bicentennial celebrations of the composer (in related news, it emerges that there are a jaw-dropping number of unpublished works, though it does seem that quite a few of these are fragments). Now, in my experience, Mendelssohn needs to be done with plenty of drive and energy, otherwise it can easily fall flat. However, with Mackerras on the podium, lack of drive and energy are never a concern. More interesting, he has recorded the overture with the period ensemble the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, something I've been meaning to sample. As he often does with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, he had persuaded some of the players to turn in their instruments for earlier models: horns and trumpets were natural, the timpani also seemed to be period. Lurking next to the trumpets was a strange looking creation that, by a process of elimination from the orchestra list, had to be an ophicleide (the picture on the link confirms this), which turns out to be a precursor of the tuba and euphonium, though, mouthpiece notwithstanding, its design was more reminiscent of a saxophone. Elsewhere, the playing was of a distinctly historically informed flavour. The results were excellent. The orchestra provided a showcase of their talents, especially in the incredibly delicate playing of the opening. The piece bubbled along with drama and joy and proved a fine curtain raiser. I'll have to pick up the OAE disc (it includes the rest of the incidental music for A Midsummer Night's Dream and the Italian symphony).
Also worth noting, the orchestra seemed to be having a lot of fun. The wide grin on the face of Tony George (the ophicleide player - perhaps the instrument is not often needed in the Festival Hall, more's the pity given his playing) was lovely to see, but it was widely shared. Indeed, there seemed to be the same joy in making music that one finds in an amateur ensemble, though there was nothing amateur about the playing. Similarly, and perhaps it was just that I was sitting quite close to front, there was a real sense of the communication between the players, in a way one normally only notices in a chamber ensemble. It only confirmed the view I've aired before that this orchestra is rather special.
There was a brief gap while the stage was rearranged, and the piano moved into place. This would be the second time I'd heard Mackerras perform Mozart's K491 piano concerto in the last year or so (he previously did it in Edinburgh with Alfred Brendel and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra at the Festival). Tonight's pianist was Yefim Bronfman. Mackerras provided a powerful introduction and Bronfman's slightly subdued opening notes gave me pause for though, would this be another all to common example of mismatched approaches? I needn't have been concerned. Bronfman displayed every inch the fire needed to match the propulsive accompaniment. And yet, it was a sensitive accompaniment too, never did Mackerras tread on the pianist's tones. There was delicacy to Bronfman's pianism too, and it was a beautiful and unmannered performance with no thumping in sight. Perhaps not quite having the clarity that Paul Lewis does, but a compelling performance nonetheless.
The real meat came after the interval with Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony. Recently, I've heard an illustrated talk Leonard Bernstein recorded about this symphony, which demonstrates how much of it is build up from simple scales, the genius being that it doesn't appear simple at all. Mackerras gave a thrilling reading, from the soft opening bars onwards there was a gripping tension which, every now and then, he would release in the most almighty avalanche of sheer orchestral power. He frequently did not hang about, yet the control and discipline of the orchestra in the fastest moments was something special to hear and they kept up with him splendidly. He found delicacy and tenderness too, where the score called for that. The slightest half-smattering of applause followed the thrilling conclusion of the scherzo. In lesser hands the adagio can underwhelm in comparison. Not so in this case: the climaxes were heavy with emotion and Mackerras provided a transporting reading that faded to a quiet yet powerful conclusion. Playing was superb throughout, and while individual sections may have impressed at times, such as the winds or the horns, not least for the effect they gave, almost of off-stage brass, when stopped in the final movement, to single any out seems unfair given the uniformly high calibre of the ensemble.
All in all, one of the most satisfying concerts I've heard in a long time (indeed, one that has a compelling claim on the yellow jersey for best concert of the season thus far). The array of microphones indicated that it was being recorded for release on the orchestra's own label (either as a download, or, hopefully, on CD; previous achievements include an excellent Schubert 9th, if not quite so fine as his SCO recording, and Mahler's 4th). Mackerras may now be 83, but you'd not have had an inkling of this if you'd been sitting in the hall with your eyes closed, or, indeed, if you sample these superb performances when the CD releases come, which can't happen soon enough. Sir Charles next joins the Philharmonia on Thursday for a programme that includes the K466 concerto and Elgar's first symphony, sadly I must be back in Edinburgh before then. After that, it is Wagner chunks with Christine Brewer on 10th December. I can't wait.
Dvorak's Requiem - Jarvi and the London Philharmonic
The first thing I noticed, when glancing at the LPO website before setting out for this concert, was that Karen Cargill was in it, this only a month since we last came across her in another requiem (Verdi's).
Dvorak's Requiem is a rather different work. It is performed less often and, frankly, there seems good reason for this. That's not to say it's a bad work, far from it: not only was this an enjoyable performance, and one I'm very glad to have attended, but it is also always interesting to hear a work for the first time. However, it does not seem to have the same clarity of vision as the Verdi, nor the quite the same spiritual power. It is not transporting in the same way.
There are some fine moments, and some good fireworks along the way, especially in the Offertory, the Hostias and the wonderful Angus Dei. However, it doesn't quite seem to hang together as a whole. Compare, say, to his seventh symphony, which I have recently had cause to examine in some detail: there the work has a binding sense of structure and purpose.
For, we were told, 'artistic' reasons, an interval was added. The work is divided into two parts, and the fact that the first ends with an 'amen' would seem to support that it was written with this intention. But that only suggests it was written for the same bygone age where the Verdi requiem was performed with an interval (as is the case in the DVD performance from Giulini and the Philharmonia in 1964). You wouldn't dream of doing that these days, and I would suggest you shouldn't with the Dvorak either. That said, I did find the second half hung together better structurally.
Neeme Jarvi is a fine and unmannered conductor, who previously impressed me at the Festival two years ago doing some Sibelius. He drew superb playing from the LPO, again making me question how any self-respecting critic can suggest the LSO is the only British orchestra among the world's greatest.
The soloists were good too. Cargill has impressed me several times before, and did so again tonight with her beautiful and powerful voice. However, she was finely matched by both soprano Lisa Milne and bass Peter Rose. To the extent there was a weak link in the quartet, it was tenor Peter Auty, whose voice didn't always have quite the power one might have liked.
The London Philharmonic Choir, under Neville Creed were superb, whether in terms of diction, power, or, as in the closing moments, delicacy. Indeed, their contribution was one of the highlights of the performance and it ranks them as one of the finer choirs I have heard in recent years.
It seems, from the presence of a great many microphones, that the evening was being recorded for posterity, and doubtless release on the orchestra's own label. While it will not rank as a must buy, it is probably a should buy if you've never heard it before.
A couple of interesting notes remain. First, the organ, which sounded slightly wimpy, appears to have shrunk after the refurbishment, taking up less that half the space it used to. I'd be keen for any light anyone can shed.
Secondly, in the Foyer on the (I think) blue side, at any rate, the box office side, there is a wonderful work of art: a sculpture of a symphony orchestra made of card, the card is covered with a score of a Beethoven symphony. Superb stuff. The plaque tells you it was made by a prisoner. Nothing wrong with that, you might think. Indeed, nice that someone who's harmed society has put something beautiful back into it. To be applauded, you might argue. Unless, of course, you were the somewhat disturbed gentleman who told me, and everyone else in the men's room on level two during the interval, how awful it was that the work of a convicted criminal (probably, he said, a murderer, though any evidence he may have had to substantiate this was not presented at the urinal) was on display when his own was not. He changed his tune somewhat, and that it was a good thing the person's work was on display as it showed the kind of world we lived in. I decided that discretion was the better part of valour. However, I suspect there is probably a good reason his work is not on display in the South Bank Centre.
Update: 7-3-2009
Well, this explains why the organ looked so funny (thanks to my father for spotting the story). Apparently it was taken out for restoration and the job is only half-finished. This means it can be used for works like the requiem but not for solo recitals. We wish it a speedy recovery, though contrary to the article's title, there does not appear to be a fund for its restoration. Apparently we will hear it in its full glory in 2011.
Dvorak's Requiem is a rather different work. It is performed less often and, frankly, there seems good reason for this. That's not to say it's a bad work, far from it: not only was this an enjoyable performance, and one I'm very glad to have attended, but it is also always interesting to hear a work for the first time. However, it does not seem to have the same clarity of vision as the Verdi, nor the quite the same spiritual power. It is not transporting in the same way.
There are some fine moments, and some good fireworks along the way, especially in the Offertory, the Hostias and the wonderful Angus Dei. However, it doesn't quite seem to hang together as a whole. Compare, say, to his seventh symphony, which I have recently had cause to examine in some detail: there the work has a binding sense of structure and purpose.
For, we were told, 'artistic' reasons, an interval was added. The work is divided into two parts, and the fact that the first ends with an 'amen' would seem to support that it was written with this intention. But that only suggests it was written for the same bygone age where the Verdi requiem was performed with an interval (as is the case in the DVD performance from Giulini and the Philharmonia in 1964). You wouldn't dream of doing that these days, and I would suggest you shouldn't with the Dvorak either. That said, I did find the second half hung together better structurally.
Neeme Jarvi is a fine and unmannered conductor, who previously impressed me at the Festival two years ago doing some Sibelius. He drew superb playing from the LPO, again making me question how any self-respecting critic can suggest the LSO is the only British orchestra among the world's greatest.
The soloists were good too. Cargill has impressed me several times before, and did so again tonight with her beautiful and powerful voice. However, she was finely matched by both soprano Lisa Milne and bass Peter Rose. To the extent there was a weak link in the quartet, it was tenor Peter Auty, whose voice didn't always have quite the power one might have liked.
The London Philharmonic Choir, under Neville Creed were superb, whether in terms of diction, power, or, as in the closing moments, delicacy. Indeed, their contribution was one of the highlights of the performance and it ranks them as one of the finer choirs I have heard in recent years.
It seems, from the presence of a great many microphones, that the evening was being recorded for posterity, and doubtless release on the orchestra's own label. While it will not rank as a must buy, it is probably a should buy if you've never heard it before.
A couple of interesting notes remain. First, the organ, which sounded slightly wimpy, appears to have shrunk after the refurbishment, taking up less that half the space it used to. I'd be keen for any light anyone can shed.
Secondly, in the Foyer on the (I think) blue side, at any rate, the box office side, there is a wonderful work of art: a sculpture of a symphony orchestra made of card, the card is covered with a score of a Beethoven symphony. Superb stuff. The plaque tells you it was made by a prisoner. Nothing wrong with that, you might think. Indeed, nice that someone who's harmed society has put something beautiful back into it. To be applauded, you might argue. Unless, of course, you were the somewhat disturbed gentleman who told me, and everyone else in the men's room on level two during the interval, how awful it was that the work of a convicted criminal (probably, he said, a murderer, though any evidence he may have had to substantiate this was not presented at the urinal) was on display when his own was not. He changed his tune somewhat, and that it was a good thing the person's work was on display as it showed the kind of world we lived in. I decided that discretion was the better part of valour. However, I suspect there is probably a good reason his work is not on display in the South Bank Centre.
Update: 7-3-2009
Well, this explains why the organ looked so funny (thanks to my father for spotting the story). Apparently it was taken out for restoration and the job is only half-finished. This means it can be used for works like the requiem but not for solo recitals. We wish it a speedy recovery, though contrary to the article's title, there does not appear to be a fund for its restoration. Apparently we will hear it in its full glory in 2011.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Benjamin Grosvenor and the Philharmonia
After last night's horrors, anything the Philharomia did this afternoon was going to be a breath of fresh air. However, even had that not been the case, it would still have been worth attending.
I hadn't originally planned to, but, for reasons already outlined, tonight's LSO concert was abandoned (by your correspondent, if not anyone else) after Donald Runnicles dropped out. However, the Philharmonia programme seemed a more than ample alternative. The principal enticement was not the orchestra, the conductor or the music, but rather the presence of young pianist Benjamin Grosvenor. The sixteen year old musician first came to my attention back in 2004 when he won the piano section of the BBC Young Musician of the Year, before it was dumbed down out of all recognition. He should have won the whole thing, but, in keeping with the fact that nobody I want to ever wins these things, the judges gave first prize to Nicola Benedetti. He impressed not simply in his ability in getting around the keyboard with such small hands, but in the beauty and delicacy of his playing and the intelligence with which he discussed the music. I've wanted to hear him live ever since.
But first we had the orchestra on their own, conducted by Alexander Lazarev, in Tchaikovsky's Fantasy Overture, Romeo and Juliet. This provided a wonderful opportunity for them to showcase just what a superb instrument they are. The playing was beautiful in the slower moments and simply breathtaking when the score caught fire. Indeed, the players displayed a dexterity and a co-ordination that called to mind the Cleveland Orchestra, and I know of few higher compliments. I've said it before, but it eludes me how any group of critics could rank the LSO amongst the best orchestras in the world but not the Philharmonia. If there was a reservation, it would be there was too much contrast between these different parts of the work and Lazarev didn't entirely convince in how he went between them.
There was a brief pause as the stage was rearranged for the piano. The featured concerto was the Grieg, a wonderful work and one that is not, for my money, heard often enough in the concert hall. Grosvenor is now nearly five years older than when I last saw him and, as one might expect, his hands are now a size where merely traversing the keyboard isn't an impressive feat. He still retains a lot of the delicacy that endeared him to my ears, impressively so in the quietest moments. However, he has also found a lot of weight. For the most part this was of the Paul Lewis variety, in that it wasn't overly percussive and didn't consist of a lot of ugly thumping, but he needs to watch he doesn't go down that route. Lazarev's accompaniment could have been a bit more sensitive too. Nonetheless, it was a spellbinding performance.
He was warmly received and we got an encore, which I couldn't place with any certainty. However, I think it may have been some Chopin, possibly a waltz. Listening now on my computer, if I had to guess, I would have said it was op.34/1, but I may be off by miles.
The second half featured Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition, making this the second time in three months I've encountered it in the concert hall. However, with a significant difference: last time round it was the Stokowski orchestration. Lazarev opted for the traditional Ravel and served principally, in my mind, to underscore the extent to which I feel the former is the superior. That's not that it wasn't nice to hear, and certainly the orchestra played it very finely: saxophonist David Roach and trumpet Mark David making especially impressive contributions. However, it felt nowhere near so richly evocative as when the RSNO played the Stokowski, which makes it all the more galling that Stokowski's stereo recording is currently deleted. Please Decca, get your act together: in these days of broadband internet, no recorded need ever go out of catalogue.
One other note should be made: these 3pm Sunday concerts seem incredibly civilised (not least as it would mean I could get back to Edinburgh without needing to take Monday off work). It was also nice to see so many children, almost all of whom were extremely well behaved (with the exception of one in a box, whose father decided that the best way to respond to his question in the quietest moment of the Grieg was to open his mouth as well).
Finally, I sincerely hope that the Festival Hall didn't waste a lot of money getting Sir Ian McKellen to do their mobile phone announcement; if they did, I can't help thinking it could have been better spent (not least reducing the programme charge from a rather extortionate £3.50, one thing you can say for the LSO is that at least they're free).
I hadn't originally planned to, but, for reasons already outlined, tonight's LSO concert was abandoned (by your correspondent, if not anyone else) after Donald Runnicles dropped out. However, the Philharmonia programme seemed a more than ample alternative. The principal enticement was not the orchestra, the conductor or the music, but rather the presence of young pianist Benjamin Grosvenor. The sixteen year old musician first came to my attention back in 2004 when he won the piano section of the BBC Young Musician of the Year, before it was dumbed down out of all recognition. He should have won the whole thing, but, in keeping with the fact that nobody I want to ever wins these things, the judges gave first prize to Nicola Benedetti. He impressed not simply in his ability in getting around the keyboard with such small hands, but in the beauty and delicacy of his playing and the intelligence with which he discussed the music. I've wanted to hear him live ever since.
But first we had the orchestra on their own, conducted by Alexander Lazarev, in Tchaikovsky's Fantasy Overture, Romeo and Juliet. This provided a wonderful opportunity for them to showcase just what a superb instrument they are. The playing was beautiful in the slower moments and simply breathtaking when the score caught fire. Indeed, the players displayed a dexterity and a co-ordination that called to mind the Cleveland Orchestra, and I know of few higher compliments. I've said it before, but it eludes me how any group of critics could rank the LSO amongst the best orchestras in the world but not the Philharmonia. If there was a reservation, it would be there was too much contrast between these different parts of the work and Lazarev didn't entirely convince in how he went between them.
There was a brief pause as the stage was rearranged for the piano. The featured concerto was the Grieg, a wonderful work and one that is not, for my money, heard often enough in the concert hall. Grosvenor is now nearly five years older than when I last saw him and, as one might expect, his hands are now a size where merely traversing the keyboard isn't an impressive feat. He still retains a lot of the delicacy that endeared him to my ears, impressively so in the quietest moments. However, he has also found a lot of weight. For the most part this was of the Paul Lewis variety, in that it wasn't overly percussive and didn't consist of a lot of ugly thumping, but he needs to watch he doesn't go down that route. Lazarev's accompaniment could have been a bit more sensitive too. Nonetheless, it was a spellbinding performance.
He was warmly received and we got an encore, which I couldn't place with any certainty. However, I think it may have been some Chopin, possibly a waltz. Listening now on my computer, if I had to guess, I would have said it was op.34/1, but I may be off by miles.
The second half featured Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition, making this the second time in three months I've encountered it in the concert hall. However, with a significant difference: last time round it was the Stokowski orchestration. Lazarev opted for the traditional Ravel and served principally, in my mind, to underscore the extent to which I feel the former is the superior. That's not that it wasn't nice to hear, and certainly the orchestra played it very finely: saxophonist David Roach and trumpet Mark David making especially impressive contributions. However, it felt nowhere near so richly evocative as when the RSNO played the Stokowski, which makes it all the more galling that Stokowski's stereo recording is currently deleted. Please Decca, get your act together: in these days of broadband internet, no recorded need ever go out of catalogue.
One other note should be made: these 3pm Sunday concerts seem incredibly civilised (not least as it would mean I could get back to Edinburgh without needing to take Monday off work). It was also nice to see so many children, almost all of whom were extremely well behaved (with the exception of one in a box, whose father decided that the best way to respond to his question in the quietest moment of the Grieg was to open his mouth as well).
Finally, I sincerely hope that the Festival Hall didn't waste a lot of money getting Sir Ian McKellen to do their mobile phone announcement; if they did, I can't help thinking it could have been better spent (not least reducing the programme charge from a rather extortionate £3.50, one thing you can say for the LSO is that at least they're free).
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Jansons and the Bavarians PLAY (this time Mozart and Bruckner)
Where's Runnicles has twice before sung the praises of this superb combination: after their visit to the 2007 Edinburgh festival and when they gave a concert this time last year, the first of a four year partnership, at the Festival Hall. On both occasions they have proved one of the more impressive ensembles we have heard. Saturday's programme of Mozart and Bruckner was not, therefore, one we had any intention of missing. The Festival Hall were very good about replacing the ticket I had left in Edinburgh (though I wish the programme seller hadn't questioned my Scottish money).
The first half consisted of Mozart's Linz symphony (no.36). Certainly the orchestra played beautifully, but there did seem to be a little something lacking. In fairness to Jansons, I had last heard the piece four weeks and a day earlier when Charles Mackerras and the SCO played it in Glasgow (in a thrilling performance, the review of which is slightly overdue). Jansons did not find the same bounce and excitement, and I rather missed it.
The second half was another matter entirely: Bruckner's fourth symphony. Now, I don't know the work well enough to specify which version it was that we were hearing and Julian Haylock's programme note is vague to say the least.
So, was it the 1881 version we heard or some version dating from 1888 (which was actually the first published version, logically if it's the 1881 version it can't have revisions dating from the end of that decade)? It would be nice to be told.
Not that it really matters of course. In my view, the choice of editions is generally a less important question than that of how wonderfully they are played. And, in this case, the answer is with incredible beauty. This might be expected: the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra was founded in 1949 by Eugen Jochum, one of the finest Brucknerians there has ever been. As a result, the orchestra ought to have the composer in their blood to some degree.
Even refurbished, the Festival Hall acoustic sometimes sounds a little odd. Not, though, in this work. The sound was simply stunning, often breathtakingly so. From the opening, and flawlessly played, horn solo, beautifully supported by the stings, on to the thrilling finale which was in no danger of being upstaged by the scherzo as happened the last time I heard the work live (from Deneve and the RSNO), the orchestra produced one glorious sound after another. Time and again the score exposed one section or other of the orchestra, and each time that section shone incandescently, whether it was the superbly rapid dexterity of the flutes in the third movement, the driving bass rhythms at the start of the finale or that brass sound (not showy, in the wonderful manner of the Chicago orchestra, but more subtly beautiful).
This was true 'cathedrals of sound' Bruckner. One awesome climax or subtle texture was created after another, then the pieces put back together in a slightly different way. Never did this Bruckner feel repetitive in the way the worst can. There was also an extremely impressive dynamic range, the quality and delicacy of their quiet playing is about as fine as it gets.
It is true that this was a fairly slow reading, running to around seventy minutes, and it didn't perhaps have the focus or drive of some. But when you can have such sounds it hardly matters, and I was more than content to let it wash over me. If only we had an orchestra like this in the UK (with the right conductors the Philharmonia and the BBC Scottish come close). They return at the end of March for a programme that includes Beethoven's Eroica, some Ravel and Strauss's four last songs (unfortunately I will not make that, in part because I will be hearing Runnicles himself do the Strauss with Christine Brewer just a few months earlier).
The first half consisted of Mozart's Linz symphony (no.36). Certainly the orchestra played beautifully, but there did seem to be a little something lacking. In fairness to Jansons, I had last heard the piece four weeks and a day earlier when Charles Mackerras and the SCO played it in Glasgow (in a thrilling performance, the review of which is slightly overdue). Jansons did not find the same bounce and excitement, and I rather missed it.
The second half was another matter entirely: Bruckner's fourth symphony. Now, I don't know the work well enough to specify which version it was that we were hearing and Julian Haylock's programme note is vague to say the least.
The rarely heard first version of the Fourth Symphony appeared in 1874. Four years later Bruckner made a wholesale revision, completely replacing the third and fourth movements. He then overhauled the finale again between 1880 and 1881 and this is the version we hear played in this concert, which also incorporates further revisions Bruckner made between 1886 and 1888.
So, was it the 1881 version we heard or some version dating from 1888 (which was actually the first published version, logically if it's the 1881 version it can't have revisions dating from the end of that decade)? It would be nice to be told.
Not that it really matters of course. In my view, the choice of editions is generally a less important question than that of how wonderfully they are played. And, in this case, the answer is with incredible beauty. This might be expected: the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra was founded in 1949 by Eugen Jochum, one of the finest Brucknerians there has ever been. As a result, the orchestra ought to have the composer in their blood to some degree.
Even refurbished, the Festival Hall acoustic sometimes sounds a little odd. Not, though, in this work. The sound was simply stunning, often breathtakingly so. From the opening, and flawlessly played, horn solo, beautifully supported by the stings, on to the thrilling finale which was in no danger of being upstaged by the scherzo as happened the last time I heard the work live (from Deneve and the RSNO), the orchestra produced one glorious sound after another. Time and again the score exposed one section or other of the orchestra, and each time that section shone incandescently, whether it was the superbly rapid dexterity of the flutes in the third movement, the driving bass rhythms at the start of the finale or that brass sound (not showy, in the wonderful manner of the Chicago orchestra, but more subtly beautiful).
This was true 'cathedrals of sound' Bruckner. One awesome climax or subtle texture was created after another, then the pieces put back together in a slightly different way. Never did this Bruckner feel repetitive in the way the worst can. There was also an extremely impressive dynamic range, the quality and delicacy of their quiet playing is about as fine as it gets.
It is true that this was a fairly slow reading, running to around seventy minutes, and it didn't perhaps have the focus or drive of some. But when you can have such sounds it hardly matters, and I was more than content to let it wash over me. If only we had an orchestra like this in the UK (with the right conductors the Philharmonia and the BBC Scottish come close). They return at the end of March for a programme that includes Beethoven's Eroica, some Ravel and Strauss's four last songs (unfortunately I will not make that, in part because I will be hearing Runnicles himself do the Strauss with Christine Brewer just a few months earlier).
Friday, 20 June 2008
A weekend of culture, Part III: Jansons and the Bavarians PLAY, again!
Another rather late review, and the third and final instalment of my November weekend in London. Part of the reason I haven't been in the greatest hurry to add this is that there isn't a vast amount to be added to the praise I heaped on Jansons and this fine ensemble when they came to Edinburgh last August.
This programme was, however, superior to the ones we had then: Haydn's symphony no.104 and Mahler's symphony no.5. Add to this that Jansons is one of the finest Mahlerians around, in my view, as evidenced by such recordings as his Oslo first symphony and his LSO sixth, and there was the potential for a special night.
The ranges of gestures that Jansons used to control the Bavarians during the Haydn was impressive, at times he would do nothing at all, when clearly their attention was best focused elsewhere and he had done the work in rehearsal, at others there would be a sweep or a marching action that was replicated in the ensemble's playing. The orchestra was somewhat scaled back to give more of a chamber feel, but they still had their wonderful richness. The minuet was not quite the focal point on which the work turned, in the way it would have been under Jochum but the finale was wonderfully exciting, with the timpani playing particularly well and a thrilling coda.
The Mahler is much more of challenge, and the first problem comes with the wonderful trumpet solo in the opening bars. From the programme I assume this was played by Hannes Laubin, who appears to be the principal, but I am open to correction. It was stunning. Taken at a slowish pace, with clipped phrasing and played with a precision that isn't found on most recordings, let alone a live concert. Jansons built the rest of the first movement solidly, without it entirely overwhelming, and held the tension well.
He let things go in the overwhelming second movement though, which built to a shattering climax with the triangle, a favourite part of mine, played to near perfection. Indeed, at this point I was almost ready to go home and I'm not sure how Jansons and the orchestra managed to carry on. The sound of the orchestra, the cellos in particular, was also stunning.
To the extent there were problems, they arose in the third movement, which is normally where they do. In the fifth it is fairly easy to make the 4th movement beautiful, and the finale exciting. The problem is that musically the first two movements can prove more of a climax than the finale. This is a problem for the Rattle/BPO recording and also for Haitink's live Concertgebouw reading. Charles Mackerras solves the problem with the RLPO by holding back in the earlier movements and building to the finale. Jordan, conducting the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester, solved it by gradually ratcheting down the tension during the scherzo. Jansons had already passed the point where the Mackerras approach could be used, and he didn't follow Jordan as the start of the scherzo was not at all fierce. As a result the transition to the adagietto didn't really work. The other problem is that the movement contains, in effect, a miniature horn concerto, and while this was well enough played, next to the trumpet solo it paled. That said, the fourth movement, when it came, was divine. Jansons then built well from this into a thrilling finale.
All in all it was a good and solid performance, and from many it won a standing ovation. I don't think, given the third movement, it quite deserved that, nonetheless, this is an impressive combination and I will be attending as many of their concerts here over the next four years of their relationship as I can.
This programme was, however, superior to the ones we had then: Haydn's symphony no.104 and Mahler's symphony no.5. Add to this that Jansons is one of the finest Mahlerians around, in my view, as evidenced by such recordings as his Oslo first symphony and his LSO sixth, and there was the potential for a special night.
The ranges of gestures that Jansons used to control the Bavarians during the Haydn was impressive, at times he would do nothing at all, when clearly their attention was best focused elsewhere and he had done the work in rehearsal, at others there would be a sweep or a marching action that was replicated in the ensemble's playing. The orchestra was somewhat scaled back to give more of a chamber feel, but they still had their wonderful richness. The minuet was not quite the focal point on which the work turned, in the way it would have been under Jochum but the finale was wonderfully exciting, with the timpani playing particularly well and a thrilling coda.
The Mahler is much more of challenge, and the first problem comes with the wonderful trumpet solo in the opening bars. From the programme I assume this was played by Hannes Laubin, who appears to be the principal, but I am open to correction. It was stunning. Taken at a slowish pace, with clipped phrasing and played with a precision that isn't found on most recordings, let alone a live concert. Jansons built the rest of the first movement solidly, without it entirely overwhelming, and held the tension well.
He let things go in the overwhelming second movement though, which built to a shattering climax with the triangle, a favourite part of mine, played to near perfection. Indeed, at this point I was almost ready to go home and I'm not sure how Jansons and the orchestra managed to carry on. The sound of the orchestra, the cellos in particular, was also stunning.
To the extent there were problems, they arose in the third movement, which is normally where they do. In the fifth it is fairly easy to make the 4th movement beautiful, and the finale exciting. The problem is that musically the first two movements can prove more of a climax than the finale. This is a problem for the Rattle/BPO recording and also for Haitink's live Concertgebouw reading. Charles Mackerras solves the problem with the RLPO by holding back in the earlier movements and building to the finale. Jordan, conducting the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester, solved it by gradually ratcheting down the tension during the scherzo. Jansons had already passed the point where the Mackerras approach could be used, and he didn't follow Jordan as the start of the scherzo was not at all fierce. As a result the transition to the adagietto didn't really work. The other problem is that the movement contains, in effect, a miniature horn concerto, and while this was well enough played, next to the trumpet solo it paled. That said, the fourth movement, when it came, was divine. Jansons then built well from this into a thrilling finale.
All in all it was a good and solid performance, and from many it won a standing ovation. I don't think, given the third movement, it quite deserved that, nonetheless, this is an impressive combination and I will be attending as many of their concerts here over the next four years of their relationship as I can.
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