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| Vladimir Jurowski (photo: Vera Zhuraleva, IMG Artists) |
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| Photo: Roger Thomas |
Driving through the rainstorm on the way to the South Bank this evening, the Embankment was flooded, so you could hardly make out where the road ended and the river began. Utter despair. But in Vladimir Jurowski we have a haven of hope. His programmes are always thoughtful, his mind connected to higher ideals and principle. Unlike politicians and the media who own them. The concert started with Debussy Berceuse héroïque, premiered in October 1915, commissioned by the Daily Telegraph to show solidarity between the allies. There are quotations from La Brabançonne, the Belgian national anthem, which my partner knows well, with his background in racing bikes. The anthem expresses love (patriotism) but not aggression (nationalism). Thus Debussy set it as a berceuse, a lullaby, for piano. Here we heard the arrangement for orchestra, where harps introduce low voiced strings and winds. It is ironic that the Daily Telegraph today stands for anti-European jingoism, not solidarity and certainly not civilised restraint.
Magnus Lindberg's music is well known to South Bank regulars - there have even been Lindberg festivals in the past - so I expected much from this world premiere of his Triumpf att finnas till (Triumph to Exist). It has Lindberg characteristics, like firm structure, its seven sections well characterised, with a reprise of the beginning to form a satisfying canon, an observation worth remembering in context with Stravinsky's Requiem Canticles. The text is a poem by Edith Södergran (1892-1923), a Swedish-speaking Finnish poet, written in 1916, during the Finnish war of independence, which she herself, living in Karelia, experienced first hand. "Its meditation on the transcience of life is a defiantly positive affirmation of the joy of existence" writes Lindberg , "the outpouring of one who refuses to submit to the hopelessness all round her." Lindberg has written relatively little for voice, so it was interesting to hear how he uses the texts almost like incantation: vowels extended as if each were dotted with strings of umlauts. The performance suffered, though, because the diction of theLondon Philharmonic Choir wasn't up to their usual standards. (They were fine, though, in Stravinsky and Janáček). Perhaps the cause was the very newness of the piece and lack of rehearsal time : I suspect it will grow as it matures.
Jurowski's journey through Stravinsky these last few years paid off handsomely with the Requiem Canticles. where the orchestra and choir were joined by soloists Angharad Lyddon and Maxim Mikhailov. Dating from 1966, it is late Stravinsky, but also surprisngly "modern" in the sense of being original. Based loosely on a Requiem Mass, its seven sections move with deliberate formality, the inner structure sparsely but concisely defined. The Dies Irae offers some form of emotional release, but otherwise the piece proceeds like a a funeral cortege, so painful that at times sounds fall silent, mirroring a kind of inner desolation. The Libera me is a call for help without faith in deliverance. Is this a Requiem for a post-apocalyptic world, where there is no hope of redemption ? Given the current political situation, the performance felt unusually harrowing, a tribute to Jurowski's uncompromising clarity of purpose. The Canticles are framed by a Prelude and a Postlude, both entirely orchestral, with an Interlude in the middle, providing foundation for the segments for voice and chorus which operate with different textures, like the wailing of mourners, though more disciplined. Details, such as the trumpet calls and bells, add colour, but only enough to throw the chiaroscuro gloom into relief. Mikhailov's voice rang out forcefully, filling the hall. The London Philharmonic Chorus were on top form, as they usually are, every syllable well articulated.
Janáček’s The Eternal Gospel was written around the First World War, when the destruction of the old order seemed imminent. This was a critical point in the Czech struggle for independence. The “Allelujahs!” here aren’t religious, but political, much in the way the Glagolitic Mass isn't a Christian piece but something far more primeval. In The Eternal Gospel, there is an angel, but one which comes from the End of Time. The poem, by Jaroslav Vrchlický (1858-1912), is a "modern" take on Revelation, based on a 12th-century mystic's vision of the end of time when "wealth, all possessions, gold, jewels and fortune will turn to mire". It's incendiary stuff, attacking the "she-wolf of Rome". It even knocks Jesus, who "only stooped to man". Raising St Francis of Assisi above Christ isn't something a 12th-century monk would or could do. This is clearly Vrchlický's poem, not Joachim di Fiore, but an adaptation. It's uncompromisingly radical, way beyond piety or even nationalism. Janáček, passionately anti-clerical, could spot a cogent bit of blasphemy. The piece also represents a critical point in the composer's development. In 1917, Janáček was poised between his "old" style of writing and the breakthroughs he'd reach with The Diary of One Who Disappeared and what was to follow.
Vsevolod Grivnov sang Joachim of Fiore : a wonderful performance, ringing with conviction. The high notes are meant to express strain, defeated by the protagonist's visionary fervour, and are no demerit whatsoever. My benchmark is the recording with Benno Blachut, almost beyond compare, but Grivnov is good, holding the piece almost the whole 20 minutes. Andrea Dančová sang the Angel, but she had less to do, because Janáček isn't that interested in the angel, except as justification for the wilder sentiments expressed in the tenor part. Though Janáček’s The Eternal Gospel is not "about" the 1914-1918 war, and has nothing to do with Armistice Day, its message perhaps transcends such things, reminding us that there are more important concerns than war-mongering, and the shabby non-ethics of populism and hate. No surprise then that it is a Jurowski favourite, which he has conducted on quite a few occasions.
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