Liszt Petrarca Sonnets complete - Andrè Schuen, Daniel Heide

An ambitious new series focusing on the songs of Franz Liszt, starting with all three versions of the Tre Sonetti del Petrarca, (Petrarca Sonnets), S.270a, S.270b and S.161  with Andrè Schuen and Daniel Heide for Avi-music.de. Since no complete edition of the songs exists apart from the Alexander edition for Breitkopf and Härtel in 1919-21, this may be more than an ordinary completist series. There could be as many as 145 variants, with questions of classification, since Liszt did not not assign opus numbers. This recording seeks to highlight the connections between Liszt's three settings oPetrach’s ts 47, 104 and 123.  Recorded in the Marküs -Sittikus Saal in Hohenems, these are performances of great sensitivity, as we'd expect from Schuen, and Heide. Andrè Schuen is easily one of the more promising young baritones around, and one whose genuine love for repertoire leads him to in-depth performances of more eclectic material. He recorded an outstanding Frank Martin Sechs Monologe aus Jedermann as well as Schumann, Beethoven and Wanderer, an excellent collection of Schubert Lieder. Please read more about that HERE and HERE.  At the Wigmore Hall on Saturday 23rd November, Schuen and Heide are giving a recital of Schubert and Mahler (Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen and the Rückert Lieder). Be there ! I grabbed tickets months in advance. 

Liszt's first settings of the Petrach sonnets date from 1842-6 while the second settings were completed between 1864-1882. Composed decades apart, these are far more than simple "variations" but thoroughly thought-through new works, showing the evolution of Liszt's approach though time.  The order of songs is also transposed. In the first Sonetto 104, (Pace non trovo) is declamatory, each verse clearly separated by a piano interlude. The line "equalamente mi spiace morte et vita" rises with operatic flourish, before a hushed ending, marked by two assertive chords on the piano for emphasis.  The second Sonetto 104, better reflects the brief phrases in the poem, which flow in succession, building up tension towards the line "né mi vuol vivo, né mi trae impaccio" expressing the poet’s frustration. The line "in questa stato son, donna, por voi" is all the more moving because it expresses love, tenderly complemented by a gentle piano postlude. 

In the first Sonetto 47 (Benedetto sia 'l giorno), the mood is gentler, suggesting the purity of the beloved.  Elaboration is focussed on the third strophe "Benedette le voci tante" where phrases are repeated, adding lustre to the name "Laura", which Schuen projects with glowing awe. The second setting of this sonetto is even more sensitive, Liszt's attention even better attuned to the scansion of Petrarch's flowing phrases,  "'l giorno, e 'l mese, e l'anno, e la stagione, e 'l tempo, e l'ora, e 'l punto", which are all connected, since they underline the meaning of the poem.  Schuen's perfect diction underlines the melodious nature of the text.  Only in the line "E le piaghe, ch'infino al cor mi vanno" is there a hint of the pain the poet is going through.  With such subtlety,  Liszt has no need to decorate the third strophe : its impact comes from the sincere, direct expression of emotion.  This makes the final strophe even more moving, as it gradually decelarates into quietude.  For the poet, nothing matters but the beloved : "Ch' è sol di lei" sings Schuen with deep feeling, "si ch'altra non v'ha parte". As the song subsides, the word "benedette" is intoned, like a prayer. 

An extended piano prelude introduces the first setting of Sonetto 123 (I' vidi in terra), the genly rocking melody taken up in the vocal line. The beloved is now a memory,  "par sogni, ombre e fume". Though there are differences in the two settings for voice and piano, the focus is now on the poet, alone. For Liszt as composer, such personal expression would have favoured the piano. Given that the versions for solo piano from Années de Pélerinage, Année II (Italie) S 161 no. 4 to 6 were written shortly after  the first settings of the songs for voice and piano, S 270a, it is natural that the resemblances are strong. The popularity of the pieces for piano thus derives from the emotional power inherent in the songs, even shorn of text.  Hearing all three sets together enhances understanding of their context and the role they play in the development of Liszt's oeuvre.  Paradoxically, this also means a greater appreciation of the later set, known as S 270b,  but much more mature, subtle and  sophisticated than mere variation. 

Appositely, Schuen and Heide conclude this first volume in the Liszt Lieder series with Liszt's setting of Victor Hugo, Oh! Quand je dors, S 282, here in the second version, completed in 1859.  Many of Liszt's songs are standard repertoire, but the time has come for a re-evaluation of all the songs, in context.  Recently, Cyrille Dubois and Tristan Raës presented Liszt Lieder together with his Mélodies in the French style, demonstrating how original Liszt was, a composer "beyond boundaries", so to speak. Please read more about that HERE.  This recording with Schuen and Heide is even better, so good that it should be essential listening for all.  

Franz Liszt Vor hundert Jahren - Kirill Karabit's Ode to Schiller

Franz Liszt : Vor hundert Jahren (1859) highlight of Kirill Karabits’ tribute to Friedrich Schiller.  In these modern times when the world seems hell bent on denigrating intellect, we neeed Schiller more than ever.  Schiller's importance in modern culture cannot be underestimated.  To him, even more so than to Goethe, we owe the philosophical framework of freedom and democracy. Vqalues that matter in increasingly authoritarian times. Full marks to the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra for having the courage to start their new season with this truly inspired programme : Hummel Freudenfest Overture, Liszt Kunstlerfestzug, Liszt Vor hundert Jahren and Richard Strauss Suite on Rosenkavalier.  Bournemouth raising the bar for all Britain : will other orchestras dare meet the challenge ?

Johann Nepomuk Hummel's Freudenfest (Overture for orchestra in D major (S148) is based Hummel's overture to Die gute Nachricht (op 61, S103) written to celebrate the defeat of Napoleon in 1814, a collaborative piece with contributions from  Beethoven, Adelbert Gyrowitz, Georg Friedrich Treitschke and others. 1814 was a defining moment in German history. Germany then did not exist as a nation, but a conglomerate of 300 or so different territories.  The Wars of Liberation united thinkers, artists and activists across state boundaries. Thus was born the idea of Germany as a nation, inspired by the ideals of the Romantic Revolution, which owed so much to Schiller.  Please read my piece HERE on the Lützowsches Freikorps and their connections to Schubert, Beethoven and much more.  Hummel's Freudenfest flows with energy, light woodwinds flying above the orchestra : a military march, but fleet-footed and joyous. Quotations of the anthem God Save the Queen abound, Britain at that time being perceived as a bastion of democracy.

Friedrich Schiller

Franz Liszt Vor hundert Jahren combines poetry, philosophy, history, music and theatre. This kind of intellectual hybrid was popular at the time. Imagine Berlioz and Schumann without spoken narrative - so modern audiences just have to stop thinking only in present day terms.  The form goes back to the allegory dramas of the 16th and 17th centuries. As Stravinsky said "To be a good listener, you must acquire a musical culture.... you must be familiar with the development and history of music, you must listen". Don't sneer at what might be different to what you expect, but listen where things are coming from (Please read more here).  

Vor hundert Jahren is music drama, unfolding as a series of tableaux, illustrating aspects of Schiller's life and works. The text by Friedrich Halm, an Austrian dramatist, was heard here in English translation by Richard Stokes. In the first scena, a processional march introduces a succession of artists. Not militarists, but artists and intellectuals !  The harp and clarinet melody, reiterated by strings and muted brass, suggested refinement, not brutality. The pace speeds up with mounting excitement, punctuated by percussion exclamation marks ! Germania (Sara Kestelman) recounts the horrors of the Thirty Years War, which tore German nations apart : millions were killed, some areas depopulated.  This apocalyptic horror is the context behind the dream of peace and unity. "Who shall save Germany's name and when its neighbours houses are ablaze?"  Poetry (Jemma Redgrave) prophecises that "self-inflicted sorrow" will be replaced by a "magic circle of love around the defiant hearts of (Germania's) children..... Salvation is a great human being is presently will greet my enraptured heart."  Horns and strings usher in the "Song of Destiny", a vision of hope embodied in the person of Friedrich Schiller, depicted in his simple cradle. "He shall live not long, but eternally" the Three Graces chanted in unison. "A master of words, a lone individual but yet an entire army". "The region that begot the Hohenstauffen and the Hohenzollern begot him too ....but Swabia has a mother's claim".  Schiller's Ode to Joy, in Beethoven's setting begins to grow and swell. 

Germania speaks of the struggles Schiller will face before he returns to Germany, purified. Another almost cinematic prelude sets the stage for the next phase in Schiller's journey to artistic maturity. Since the piece was meant to be staged, one can visualize a non-speaking actor playing Schiller striking heroic stances, surrounded by figures whom audiences in Liszt's time would have been able to identify.  Simon McBurney created a semi-staging for this performance : knowing his style, it would have been intelligent and well informed. Another interlude, alpine -sounding horns and cowbells suggesting Switzerland, and Schiller's hero, William Tell, whose bravery helped his nation to independence.  Its mountains and clear air were also symbols of the lofty ideals of the Romantic revolution.  The Ode to Joy swells up again in the orchestra. "Immortality!" says Poetry, "Let one phrase echo in every heart : He was a German and we are German!" A resounding coda. Liszt's  Vor hundert Jahren is fascinating as a missing link in the development of music theatre. Much more than a novelty, it captures a unique sensibility which modern audiences might not get at first, but could warm to if they appreciate its background.  

After the interval Richard Strauss's Suite from Der Rosenkavalier, Karabits conducting a scintillating performance.  Subversion and freedom from authoritarian scam, disguised by elegant "silvery" light.  Even now many people don't get Strauss, and don't understand his self-deprecating humour : but he, too, was a revolutionary in his own way.    Listen to this most rewarding programme here for 28 days.

Wigmore Hall Opening Gala - Boesch, Martineau, Heine and friends

To mark the start of the Wigmore Hall's 2018/19 season, Florian Boesch and Malcolm Martineau in a characteristically thought-provoking programme of songs to poems by Heinrich Heine, by Robert Schumann, Franz Liszt and Robert Franz.  From Boesch and Martineau, you can always expect the unexpected, but done with intelligence and insight. So I'll start with the end,  and the encore, which Boesch introduced as being like those endless but addictive Brazilian TV soaps where relationships go round and round forever.  Robert Schumann's Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen, standard repertoire, but rarely heard with such originality.  Heine's mischevious wit came to life as Boesch sang, his eyebrows arched in disbelief as he counted the different permutations on his fingers.
"Es ist eine alte Geschichte, 
Doch bleibt sie immer neu;
Und wem sie just passieret,
Dem bricht das Herz entzwei".

But back to the beginning of the recital where Boesch and Martineau sang nine songs to poems from Heine's Lyrisches Intermezzo.  Had the point of the programe not been evident beforehand, the songs might have come as a shock, since these weren't the familiar texts to Schumann's Dichterliebe but settings by Robert Franz (1815-1892).  The two men were contemporaries.  Schumann praised Franz's first songs while he was a music critic for Die Neue Zeitschrift für Musik.  Hearing Franz's settings of the same texts that Schumann set highlights the difference in their compositional styles.  In Franz's Im wunderschönen Monat Mai (op 25/5 1870), the piano part is ornate, suggesting floral imagery, while Schumann's version emphasizes the declaration of love.  Schumann responds to the irony in Heine, whereas Franz softens the more sarcastic edges.  The strong definition of Schumann's Im Rhein from Dichterliebe (op 48, 1848) suggests the power of the river and cathedral, contrasted with "meines Lenbens Wildnis" : the poet hardly dares speak of lost love. In Franz's version, (op 18/2 1860), "die Augen, die Lippen, de Wanglein" glow radiantly.  The suppressed fear in Schumann's Allnächtlich in Taume gives way to sadness in Franz. Schumann represents Romanticism with its sense of individualism and the unconscious, while Franz represents Romanticism in more Beidermeier discretion.  Franz, like many other composers of the period, such as Carl Loewe or Franz Lachner, and many others, are important because they remind us of the many different seams in the Romantic imagination

Yet another strand of Romanticism, with an intermezzo before the songs of Franz Liszt, Schumann's Abends im Strand (op 45/3 1840) ; the very image of paintings by Caspar David Friedrich where tiny figures on shore watch ships sailing to unknown places.  Ardent figures in the piano part suggest excitement, and the vocal part rises wildly at the phrase "und quaken und schrei'en" before retreating from adventure to the gentility of the last verse  where "endlich sprach neimand mehr".

Boesch and Martineau continued with Liszt's Heine settings, including Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam (S309/1 1860), Du bist wie eine Blume (S287 1843-9). In Liszt's Im Rhein, im schönen Strome (S272/1 1840) the piano line depicts the rolling flow of the river, which gradually gives way to more sparkling figures illuminating the last verse which mentions the lost beloved, then ends in reassuring repeated motif.  Martineau shone, and Boesch's dignified phrasing added solidity.

The high point in this set was Loreley (S273/2 1856) in one of the finest performances of this song I can remember.  Liszt creates textures in the piano part which suggest the sparkling waters, the word "loreley" embedded  wordlessly, over and over.  The delicacy with which Martineau played showed why this song is so often performed by women. But Boesch has the skills to carry it off even more convincingly.  He sang the first verses with tender restraint, creating a sense of wonder : the protagonist is, after all, not the loreley herself but a mortal wondering why the tale is so tragic.  He sang the lines "die luft ist kühl" so quietly that a ghostly chill seemed to descend, and even negotiated the tricky sudden ascent to higher range on the word "Abendsonnenschien".  Martineau played the second phase of the song to bring out the lyrical, golden warmth with which the loreley seduces.  Boesch's voice seemed to glow on the words "Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet" growing with strength and volume, evoking the power of the "wundersame, gewaltige Melodie", leading logically into the next section of the song where the seamen  are seized "mit wildem Weh", and hurled to their deaths.   Rumbling turmoil in the piano part, Martineau unleashing the fury in the waves, enhancing Boesch's darker timbres as he sang, emphasizing out the menace and horror.  This created a wonderful contrast with the last section of the song, where the gentler melody returns, as the river becomes calm once more. Now not only the motif "loreley" repeats but whole phrases, gradually retreating into a serenity which we now know will last only until the next doomed sailor appears.

Boesch and Martineau capped this wonderful Liszt Loreley with an equally impressive Schumann Belsazar (op 57, 1840). They have done this song on numerous occasions, but this performance was exceptional, Boesch relishing the inherent drama but doing it with such naturalness that it didn't feel forced. Theatrical as the scene is,  Heine's telling of the story is human.  Martineau played the rippling figures evoking the high spirits of the party in the palace, the lines flowing like wine.  "Es kirten die Becher, es jauchzten die Knecht" sang Boesch with robust vigour.  This matters, for it is drink that makes the King bold enough to curse Jehovah. Boesch's timbre is elegantly regal and his words rang forcefully : "Ich bin der König von Babylon !" Martineau's piano spakled : a last moment of fizz before the mood descends into hushed fearfulness.  A sinister chill enetred Boesch's voice, his words measured and carefully modulated, his "t"'s as sharp as knives.  Great insight, for that very night Belsazar gets stabbed to death.

After this immensely rewarding first half of the recital came a selection of Schumann's Heine settings, including Die beiden Grenadiere (op 49/1 1840). vividly characterized and muscular, and three Lieder from Myrthen op 25 , Die Lotosblume, Was will die einsame Träne and Du bist wie eine Blume. showing Boesch at his sensitive best.  Trägodie (op 64/3 1841) a song in two contrasting parts. Lover elope in hope, but their dreams are doomed. The songs are neither Heine's nor Schumann's finest, so they depend more than usual on good performance. Boesch and Martineau did them so they felt like real people, rather than maudlin figures as in some less accomplished hands I've heard.  Boesch and Martinaeu gave a very good account of  Liederkreis (op 24 1840) with some extremely interesting high points.  Warte, warte wilder Schiffmann suits Boesch's masculine physicality, while Berg' und Burgen schau'n herunter brought out something even harder to achieve ; exquisite, well-defined nuance, for this is an almost bi-polar song and poem. A boat sails merrily on the sunlit river, but above loom mountains and castles, realms of death and night.  "Oben Lust, im Busen Tückern, Strom du bist der Liebsten Bild!"  In comparison, Mit Myrten und Rosen is full-hearted joy, though it, too, is haunted by a Heine kick in the tail, which Boesch and Martineau brought out with subtlety.  Liederkreis can often be the crowning glory of a recital, and this one was good, but the first half of this programme was so unusual and so brilliantly done  that this time, for a change, Liederkreis took second place.

Gounod Saint François d'Assise - Laurence Equilbey

The world premiere recording of Charles Gounod's last oratorio, Saint François d'Assise,  with Laurence Equilbey, the Orchestre de chambre de Paris and Accentus chamber choir and soloists. First heard in March 1891, Gounod's Saint François d'Assise was thought lost for over a century until a manuscript was discovered in a convent in Auvers-sur-Oise. Sponsored by Palazetto Bru-Zane, and distributed by Naïve, this recording was made in performance at the Philharmonie de Paris in 2016.
"A dream crossed my mind to write a sort of musical triptych after the manner of the primitive painters", wrote Gounoid as he began Saint François d'Assise. "I would like the first of the two tableaux to be a musical represenation of Murillo's painting depicting the crucified Christ as He leans towards St Francis and puts his arm around him. The secvond tableau would be a transposition of Giotto's admirable painting The Death of St Francis in which he is surrounded by his friars."   Hence the character of this oratorio, at once simple and profound, reflecting the values of St Francis, who renounced worldly status  for vows of poverty and humility. The beauty of Saint François d'Assise lies in its quiet sincerity, its colours radiant but pristine.  It is a long way from Grand Opéra, but moving in its own way.  


The first section, La Cellule, begins calmly, with a pulse that resembles plainchant heard from a distance, the line gradually rising upwards and growing brighter.  From this arises the voice of the tenor, Stanislas de Barbeyrac. St Francis is alone in his cell, contemplating Christ. "Mon conurbation s'abîme", the orchestral line surging, as if in tune with the saint's heartbeat, or perhaps the flow of eternal,fountains, mentioned in the text.  Suddenly  a new theme appears, richer and firmer still, for the crucifix in the cell seems to come alive in the voice of the baritone (Florian Sempey). For the saint, this is a miracle. "Je ne suis plus à moi" but one with his God.   In the second part, St Francis is on his deathbed, the choir representing his fellow monks chanting in prayer. Long, elliptical  brass lines suggest chill, or perhaps a call from afar : quiet winds suggest the palpitations of a weakening heartbeat.  St Frqncis comforts his monks. "C'est la mort qui s'enfuit" Another chorus, this time representing angels, wafts the saint up to heaven.
Also on this recording, two hymns to St Cecilia, the patron of music, the first Gounod's Hymne à Sainte Cécile and Franz Liszt's Légende de Sainte Cécile.  Unlike Gounod's larger religious works, such as his Messe solennelle de Saint Cécile, his hymn is a miniature for solo violin (Deborah Nemtanu) and small orchestra with horns,  harps, winds and strings.  A lovely coda, where the violin line flutters delicately, haloed by the other strings.  Liszt's Légende de Sainte Cécile for mezzo soprano (Karine Deshayes) chorus and orchestra sets a poem describing the life of St, Cecilia, martyred in Roman times. Thus Liszt alternates mourning with sublimation, suggestions of early plainchant with "modern" idiom, the two strands flowing together as if in procession.    

More than Pictures at an Exhibition - Volkov Julian Anderson Liszt

Ilan Volkov photo: Alastair Miles, courtesy Maestro Arts

The Imaginary Museum - Julian Anderson's Piano Concerto at Ilan Volkov's Prom 16 with the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, the most innovative Prom programme so far, and possibly the best performance, too.  Music doesn't exist in a vacuum, but in a continuum. Volkov's eclectic programme showed how visual images and music connect: a cross-fertilization that reflects the panorama of human experience.  Though the Prom was billed "Pictures at an Exhibition" because Mussorgsky sells, the heart of the programme was Franz Liszt';s tone poem From the Cradle to the Grave (Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe).  In April 1881,  Liszt received a drawing from the Hungarian artist Mihály Zichy. Zichy was preparing a book of illustrations tracing the role of music in life, from birth to death and the afterlife, and wished to portray Liszt as the Muse of Music on its title page.  Liszt was delighted. "Celebrated Artist!", he wrote "Your drawing about the Genius of Music is a miraculous symphony! I am trying to set it to music and shall offer it to you".

Though composed as a symphonic poem in one movement, Liszt's From the Cradle to the Grave unfolds in a series of vignettes, like the illustrations in Zichy's volume. The gentle first phase suggests, perhaps, innocence, though there's no obvious lullaby melody.  Gradually  textures develop, the tessitura growing higher until, ornamented by rich, shimmering strings and a trumpet, one might imagine the fullness of time. Then, silence and rarified calm. Although this piece isn't nearly as flamboyant as Liszt's Hamlet S104 from  1858, it's interesting because it's more inward, almost impressionistc in its abstraction. Hamlet, though, is a jolly showpiece full of colour and drama. An excellent opening piece, setting the stage, so to speak, and a counterbalance to Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition, (orchestrated by Ravel), where each "picture" tells a story.  An ebullient performance, though, nicely detailed. The BBC SSO are an excellent band, and have worked so long with Volkov that orchestra and conductor understand each other well.   

Julian Anderson is a composer whose visual imagination has stimulated and inspired his music for the last 25 years. Think Poetry Nearing Silence,  Imagin'd Corners, The Book of Hours, the Alhambra Fantasy, Eden (sparked off by Brancusi's The Kiss) and even Symphony, which, despite its non-committal title, is vividly graphic, like a fast-flowing mountain stream such as in paintings by Sibelius's friend Axel Gallen-Kallela.  Or, more recently, Incantesimi (at the Proms last year, with its multi-level layers in perpetual orbit, reflecting early machines used to explain the universe.  Indeed, I think Anderson's best work springs from ideas sparked by visual stimuli, as opposed to literary sources. Thebans, for example, though I liked it (review here) isn't at all typical of his work.

The Imagined Museum isn't typical Anderson, either, but it's a successful new departure for a composer who writes more for orchestra than for single instrument, and this is very much a piece where the soloist (Steven Osborne) is alone, in the foreground.

On the Radio 3 broadcast, Anderson explained how moved he was by a B flat which Steven Osborne played at the end of his encore at the Proms last year, the note echoing into the vastness of the Royal Albert Hall.   That note is thus the "found object" that starts this imaginary voyage.  Thus the title of the first of the six sections is "The World is a Window"  tiny single notes, stretch outwards in space, awakening the flute, then other instruments.  Suddenly, the piano strikes off in a new direction, Osborne playing long fast-moving lines, darker sounds in the orchestra suggesting vertiginous depth. Anderson says the idea came from Janáček's study of wells in Hukvaldy.  Thus time the "echo" is the sound of an object hurtling down a well, into inner space. Another transformation and we are once again in the open, the orchestra surguing as if on the high seas, the piano flying over the waves.  The strings introduce a sea change, and the piano once more defines single note patterns against a backdrop of silence. Where are we? Although there's a programme - of sorts - you listen with your mind. In the fluttering figures in the piano line do we hear a bird, or clear water, or winds in an empty desert?   Poetry is often more evocative than prose.  You could listen to Anderson in purely functional ways,  but I think it's rewarding to listen with an inner ear and wonder how the sounds act in relation to each other, processed through the effect that they have on your imagination. 

Italian Lieder Luca Pisaroni Liszt Wigmore Hall

At the Wigmore Hall, London, Luca Pisaroni and Wolfram Rieger presented an inspired programme: Lieder in Italian. The core Lieder repertoire is solidly Austro-German. Writing Lieder in Italian poses challenges: different syntax, different sounds, different sensibilities. Pisaroni is Italian, and a very well established opera singer. He brought great insight to an unusual programme. 

Beethoven's In questa tomba obscura spans the cusp between Classicism and Romanticism. This song reflects the early 19th century fascination with death, but also the tradition of seeking inspiration from Classical Antiquity. Rieger played the slow, solemn chords so you could imagine an ancient marble monument. Pisaroni's dignified tone added human richness. Then, faster figures  suggesting wind and the rustling of leaves. One could almost visualize a landscape by Claude or Poussin. 

Having established the tone with Beethoven, Pisaroni and Rieger turned to the songs of Johan Friedrich Reichardt, born a generation before Beethoven and an associate of Goethe, Schiller and Gottfried Herder. Pisaroni sings a lot of Mozart, who also wrote art song, but Reichardt's settings of Petrarch fitted the Lieder-oriented programme well. In his first Wigmore Hall recital (more here) , Pisaroni sang Liszt's Petrarch Sonnets (S270) The Reichardt and Liszt settings compared would be a miniature lesson in music history. Hearing Reichhardt, one recalls Goethe's conservatism about song, and his supposed disregard for Schubert. The songs are beautiful, but formal: Liszt's settings are freer and much more expressive. Incidentally, Reichardt's daughter, Louise, an exact contemporary of Beethoven, wrote Lieder in a more "modern" style, and was highly regarded. 

Brahms Funf Gesänge  op 72, formed a bridge between Reichardt's almost pre-Lieder style and the 19th century sensibilities of Franz Liszt. Liszt's songs i n many ways aren't Lider is the Schubert, Loewe or Schumann sense but songs for piano with voice accompaniment. Liszt's more florid form suits an Italian temperament, even when the texts are in German. Pisaroni is wise to make Liszt another of his specialities. It's interesting to compare Liszt's version of the Goethe poem Wer nie sein Brot mit Tränen aß with the settings by Schubert and Hugo Wolf. Reichardt and Zelter made settings of that, too. Liszt's Drei Lieder aus Schiller's Wilhelm Tell (S292) on the other hand are exqusitely vernal, piano decorations trilling brightly, creating the impression of spring and mountain vistas. I thought of those sub-genres, the Alpine operas of Catalani (La Wally) and even the Bergfilme of Franck, Riefenstahl and Luis Trenker, when Pisaroni sang the Der Alpenjäger, with a piano part as formidable as a rugged cliff face.

More conventionally lyrical and Lisztian, Die Loreley, which suited Pisaroni's gift for breathing sensual colour into words. Pisaroni and Rieger followed this with Uber Allen Gipfeln ist Ruh (S3062) and Die Drei Zigeuner (S320). Angelika Kirchschlager sang this with Yves Thibaudet at the Wigmore Hall last week (more here). Both very good performances, though very different. Pisaroni's bass baritone is swarthier and masculine, bringing out the male bonding implicit in the song, even if the tessitura is a little high. Rieger's assertive playing suggested macho bravado. For an encore, Liszt's Im Rhein in schönen Ströme (S272) and O Liebe, so lang so Leben kannst (S298/2)

This recital is available online for a week on BBC Radio 3 with the added bonus of Reichardt's Harpsichord Sonata. 

Jacques Imbrailo Wigmore Hall

I'll be at The Royal Opera House Wagner Parsifal  Monday. Review here. But first: Jacques Imbrailo at the Wigmore Hall, with pianist Alisdair Hogarth.The programme didn't look promising in theory but Imbrailo is the kind of artist who can make anything interesting and individual.  At the end I was so glad I came that I didn't miss the rush at Covent Garden!

What thread would connect the songs of Liszt, Vaughan Williams, George Butterworth and Stephen Hough? Imbrailo's choices revealed great intelligence and sensitivity. He began with RVW's early Songs of Travel, unfortunately marred because latecomers were allowed in while he was singing.T he ushers at WH are kind hearted but it's really not fair on the audience and on the performer. Luckily the RVW songs are not the composer's finest works but served to highlight what was to come. Imbrailo sang them with his customary warmth. When Terfel and Roderick Williams sing these songs they sound robust, the kind of "Muscular Christianity" that appealed to Late Victorians. When Imbrailo sings them, his lighter, more lyrical voice broiught out something more sensitive. His "Let Beauty Awake", "Youth and Love" and "Whither must I wander?" felt like sincere songs of love and regret. RVW ends the cycle with  " I have tread the upward and the downward slope", where the piano describes clodhopping footseps : Hogarth played them with a flexible touch, to match Imbrailo's gentleness.

Only ten years separate Vaughan Williams's Songs of Travel from George Butterworth's Six Songs from a Shropshire Lad but the two cycles are worlds apart. The Songs of Travel bear the heavy, suffocating hand of Charles Villiers Stanford, from whom RVW only escaped when he went to France and studied with Ravel. Butterworth was only 13 years younger than RVW but his mindset was radically different. When Butterworth was a student at Oxford, one of the dons remarked "There goes more Red Revolution than in all Russia". Considering that the remark was made after the Uprising of 1905, this was not small talk. Butterworth was also far more upper crust and Establishment than RVW. He was an Eton man, not easily intimdated by Stanford, Cambridge and the Royal College of Music. This year, with so much attention on Britten's alternative British music, we should be reassessing Butterworth more deeply.

A E Housman's poems from A Shropshire Lad were set by Butterworth and RVW a mere two years apart. Anyone seriously interested in the composers would do well to compare them. It's not my job here in this review, but I might write more sooner or later. There is more on Butterworth on this site than most anywhere else, and some first-hand research. Please explore.

Imbrailo's "Loveliest of Trees" was thoughtfully phrased. He lingered on the words "stands about the woodland ride" so one thought about the tree, rooted to its soil. Then, when Imbrailo sang "wearing white for Eastertide", his voice glowed with beauty. Men grow old, but each Spring, the cherry tree blossoms and grows anew. English singers tend to stress vocal lines at the expense of more abstract musical values  Imbrailo, with his extensive opera experience, showed masterful control of the legato in "Look not into my eyes", revealing the beautiful structure of the song. Like the Grecian lad, its beauty is elusive : danger lies in those seductive lines.

Butterworth's "The Lads in their Hundreds" has become connected with the mass slaughter of the 1914-18 war partly because the composer himself was a casualty (Please read my account of his death in battle). Housman, however, was writing about the Boer War, and the terrible waste (to him)  of handsome young men. But the Boer War was gruesome. It saw mass ethnic cleansing and the invention of concentration camps. We would do well to ponder the Boer War as a prototype of what was to happen in Europe, in the mass public "celebrations" that start next year.  When Imbrailo sang "The Lads in their Hundreds", he sang with such poignant tenderness, that he made me think of the wide-scale human tragedy that lies beneath the song. My partner's eyes filled with tears. We've all heard this song s often that we forget what it really means.

"We couldn't follow A Shropshire Lad" with something upbeat, said Imbrailo, in his usual understated way, introducing his first encore. So he sang My Sarie Marais, an Afrikaans folk song referring to the Great Trek, the mass migration of the Boer people across Southern Africa, and the wars which followed. The song has been adopted by military marching bands, which is ironic. Imbrailo, however, sang it with exquisite tenderness, so it felt poignantly personal.  As music, the song is naive, but Imbrailo's performance gave it emotional power greater than the "art" folk songs RVW and his peers collected. Sincerity makes all the difference!


Imbrailo's many fans had come to hear him sing the gloriously Italianate star turns he does so well. With Franz Liszt's Three Petrach Sonnets S270/1 (1842-6) he delivered.  Exceptionally lyrical singing, richly coloured and resonant. Yet, being the opera singer he is, Imbrailo doesn't simply make beautiful sounds, but infuses them with meaning. "E nulla stringo, tutto l'mondo abbracio" he sang.  His technical control is superb - this is how rubato should properly be used. His chest opened out and soared so you could feel "i sospiri e le lagrime e 'l desio" welling up from deep within. The piano lines are almost more beautiful, delicately sculpted by Hogarth. He and Imbrailo are an excellent team.

Like Liszt, Stephen Hough is a pianist who writes song. Imbrailo and Hogarth premiered Hough's Herbstlieder at the Oxford Lieder Festival in 2010. Please see my detailed review here.  Hearing it a second time, I could appreciate the subtle images, diminuendos like falling leaves and mists settling on a landscape. Curling lines that circulate like autumn breezes, smoky lines that blur. As a mood piece, it's atmospheric. Yet there's suppressed pain here, too. "Welcher wie ein weisses Stadt" leapt high up the register like a scream of anguish. Hogarth's piano pounded like an oncoming train "Bestürz tmich, Musik, mit rythmischen Zürnen" sang Imbrailo. A good performance, but what weill remain with me is the meory of Imbrailo singing Butterworth and My Sarie Marais.

Goerne Wigmore Hall Wolf Liszt Haefliger

Matthias Goerne and Andreas Haefliger's recital at the Wigmore Hall was eagerly anticipated.  Goerne and Haefliger are a Dream Team, who have worked together for about 15 years. In the audience were many who had heard Goerne before he became famous, and some who knew Andreas Haefliger's father, the tenor Ernst Haeflinger. An audience like this doesn't need popular titbits. Goerne and Haefliger performed Wolf and Liszt  with intense, passionate committment. Even by the very high standards of the Wigmore Hall, this was an evening to remember.

Hugo Wolf's Peregrina I and II (1888) set the mood. Peregrina was a real, if mysterious, woman, a beautiful semi-vagrant, extremely well read and intellectual, though tinged with religious mania. Eduard Mörike, a nice Lutheran pastor, was intrigued because she represented  a wild, exotic alternative to conventional mores. The piano part seems worshipful, but when Goerne sang the phrase "....Tod im Kelch der Sünden", the poisonous danger in the reverie could not be mistaken. Wolf set only two of Mörike's five Peregrina poems, but the ending of Peregrina II might suggest why. The poet is in the midst of a family celebration. But in the midst of the festivities, the ghost of Peregrina comes to him, and they walk out, hand in hand. Goerne expressed the horror, but also the excitement. After 150 years, Peregrina continues to taunt, tempt and tantalize.

In contrast, Wolf's An der Geliebte, also to a poem by  Mörike, seemed heartfelt relief.  Goerne's voice these days is freer and brighter at the top.  In the two Wolf  Reinick songs Liebesbotschaft and Nachtgruß (both 1883), he could bring out the images of light and transparency to great effect.

These very early songs thus served as a good prelude to Wolf at his craggiest, the Three Lieder to texts by Michelangelo (1897). These songs, originally written for bass, have long been Goerne specialities, for they fit his natural register so well.  Haefliger delineated the firm opening chords, so when Goerne's voice emerged, it seemed hewn from stone. In Wohl denk' ich oft , the two strophes contrast past and present. Once, the poet thought "to live for song alone" though "im jeder Tag verloren für mich war". Now he's famous - and censured - "Und, dass ich da bin, wissen alle Leute!"  Goerne brought out the bitter irony, his voice spitting the consonants in the last line, contrasting with the firm round vowels of "alle". Two parallel realities embedded in the structure of the song.

Haefliger's chords struck like purposeful hammerblows in Alles endet, was entstehet. Goerne sang with nobility, the smoothness of his legato giving the song an elegaic quality. Yet this was no marble monument. When Goerne sang "Alles, alles rings vergehet!", he expressed human, personal anguish. In the final song, Fühlt meine Seele, the poet wonders whether his art has been inspired by "Licht von Gott". When Goerne sang "ich weiss es nicht", he expressed something altogether more complex. The strength in his timbre suggested where Michelangelo's deepest convictions lay.

Franz Liszt expressed himself ideally in his works for piano, and in some ways his songs work best as Lieder-in-reverse, where the piano sings and the voice accompanies. That in itself makes them an interesting part of the repertoire. Haefliger came to the fore. He played the introductions and postludes elegantly, but with the focus on meaning that differentiates piano song from piano solo. In Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam (S309/1 c 1855) the piano's sparkling, twinkling chords describe snowfall and starlight. Heine's poem is more ironic, for he imagines the spruce tree imagining itself a palm. For Liszt, though, the atmosphere is magic, and we marvel in its beauty.

More conventional poets seem to bring out the best in Liszt. In Laßt mich ruhen (S314 1858) to a [poem by Hoffmann von Fallersleben, Liszt creates the "Mondes Silberhelle auf des Baches dunkler Welle" so vividly that the song is almost a tone poem. Ich möchte hingehen (S296, 1845), Georg Herwegh the poet thinks how nice it must be to die. The piano part is almost jolly, as if Liszt is mocking the poet's delusion. The new brightness in Goerne's voice worked very well indeed.  Only in the last verse does reality intrude. The lines go haywire. and Goerne sings sardonically. "Das arme Menschenherz muss stückweis brechen".

Liszt responds to individual lines in  poems, like "Noch leuchten ihre Prpurgluten um jene Höhen, kahl und fern" in Des Tages laute Stimmen schweiugen S337 (1880)  to a poem by Ferdinand von Saar. Delicious round sounds for Goerne to circulate his voice around. Liszt is interesting as song composer, too, because his songs suggest how Lieder might have been experienced in the interregnum between Schubert, Schumann and Hugo Wolf. Liszt's Über alles Gipfeln ist Ruh' (S306/2, 1859) predicates on repeats of the words "Warte nur" and a nice final coda. Dozens of composers set this poem by Goethe, not all to penetrating effect.

Earlier this week at the Wigmore Hall, Goerne sang Schubert Lieder accompanied by harp (full review here) with the three Gesänge des Harfners.Now he turned to Hugo Wolf's settings of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister songs, Harfenspieler I, II and III (1888). Wolf's approach is more extreme than Schubert's, veering away from tonality towards psychic disintegration. The piano treads penitentiually. "Wer sich der Einsamkeit ergibt", sang Goerne, bringing out the desolation. "Still und sittsam, will ich stehn"sings the Harper in the second song. One of Goerne's great strengths is his inwardness. Like the Harper,  he doesn't emote theatrically to entertain an audience, but draws in on himself, physically and emotionally, focussing expression outwards, entirely through his voice. In the third song "Wer nie sein Brot mit Tränen aß" brought the loudest asnd most forceful singing of the evening, but, as always with Goerne, volume was natural and unforced, deployed intelligently, not simply for show. Magnificent singing, and done with integrity. No populist showmanship here.

Goerne and Haefliger concluded with three Wolf songs from 1896, Keine gleicht von allen Schönen  and Sonne der Schlummerlosen, to texts by Byron and Morgenstimmung to a text by Reinick. A glorious ending to a thrilling concert. "Die Engel freundejauchzend fliegen". Goerne's enunciation was flawless. The encore was Wolf's Anakreon's Grab. Goethe describes the Greek poet's grave festooned with flowers. "Frühling, Sommer, und Herbst genoß der glückliche Dichter; Vor dem Winter hat ihn endlich der Hügel geschützt. der Hügel geschützt." As I left the Wigmore Hall, the thought of that "mound" where art rests eternally cheered my heart.

This review appears in full in Opera Today

Sandrine Piau, Roger Vignoles, Wigmore Hall

Sandrine Paiu and Roger Vignoles teamed up  for the latest concert in Vignoles's "Perspectives" series at the Wigmore Hall.  Piau's background is in the baroque, where the ethereal purity of her voice seems to illuminate the music. Yet she's also passionately involved in 20th century French music, and has worked with innovative ensembles like Accentus.

Piau and Vignoles are a well-balanced partnership, and on the basis of this concert, should work together more often. Piau brings out the best in Vignoles. He was playing with great refinement, as if inspired by her distinctive "white" timbre. Piau's Fauré songs were good, but her Chausson set even better. Her Amour d'antan (op 8/2, 1882) glowed, legato perfectly controlled so lines flowed seamlessly. In Dans la forêt du charme et de l’enchantement (op.36/2, 1898) Piau observes the tiny pauses between words in the first strophe so they're brief glimpses of elusive fairies. Then Piau's voice darkens. The fairies aren't real. "Mirage et leurre", she sings, desolated. Piau sings almost unaccompanied in Les Heures (op 27/1, 1896), Vignoles playing with restraint so as not to break the fragile mood of the song. Hear these again on Piau's recent recording "Après un rêve" (details HERE).

In the more robust Liszt songs,  like Der Fischerknabe, (S292), to a poem by Friedrich Schiller, Vignoles's playing sparkled delightfully, like the waters that seduce the fisherman's boy. "Lieb' Knabe, bist mein!" sings Piau sharply, as the boy is pulled under the waves. Piau's voice maintains its innocence, but the piano with its sharp lunge downwards tells us that it's a malign spirit who drags the boy down. Der Loreley (S273, 1856) is even more dramatic, Piau intoning the word "Loreley"  so you hear the tragedy behind the loveliness.

Piau's 2002 recording of Debussy Mélodies with Jan van Immseel, is still one of the best available. Ten years later, Piau's voice is still fresh. Her Ariettes oubliées (op 22) to poems by Verlaine, was a pleasure. Long, arching lines, thrown out effortlessly in Il pleure dans mon coeur, expressing sadness, tinged with a very French decorum. "Quoi? null trahison? .....ce deuil est sans raison". You feel the smile behind the tears. In Chevaux de bois, Vignoles plays lines that move in circles, while the voice part leaps up and down. The image of a merry-go-round, where wooden horses seem to prance when there's music. "Tournez, tournez", sings Piau with a hint of sorrow, for soon the fair will end. You can hear the chucrch bells toll  in the piano part and guess at what they mean.

Piau sang some of the Zemlinsky and Strauss songs she recorded a few years ago with pianist Susan Manoff.  This time they seemed livelier, perhaps because Vignoles's style differs from Manoff's. This specially benefits Zemlinsky. The brightness of Piau's timbre gives his songs a lift they don't often get. For various reasons, he's not well served on recording. Piau sang Richard Strauss's Mädchenblumen (op 22 1891) with similar grace and charm. Two Poulenc sets rounded off the evening : Deux Poèmes de Guillame Apollinaire (1938) and Deux Poèmes de Louis Aragon (1943). In Allons plus vite and Fêtes galante, Piau demonstrates impeccable diction at breakneck speed. The words busrts out like machine gun fire. Poulenc is taking aim at the complacent bourgeosie, shaking them out of their torpor. In the famous and very lovely song C, Piau and Vignoles are even more moving. "J'ai traversé les ponts de Cé", sings Piau recalling French history flowing like a river. "O ma France! O ma délaissée". France is occupied by the Germans. It's a cry of pain, a dose of harsh reality after all those fairy songs and flowers.

Full review here in Opera Today.

Sandrine Piau is the soloist in a special concert at the Wigmore Hall on 15th October with Ian Page and Classical Opera titled "Ruhe sanft : A Mozart Kaleidoscope". Be there.

 If you liked this concert you would have loved these Wigmore Hall concerts :  Véronique Gens : Massenet, Gounod..... Florian Boesch Die schone Mullerin........Werner Gura Schubert songs .....Sandrine Piau Schubert Transcribed.

Liszt A Faust Symphony - Jurowski Prom 15

You could already hear how Vladimir Jurowski and the London Philharmonic would shape Liszt's A Faust Symphony  (BBC Prom 15) from what they did with Kodály and Bartók, not the most obvious companions to Liszt apart from the fact they were Hungarian. Different times, different outlooks, but Jurowski drew on the common thread.

Elegant detail in Kodály's Dances of Galánta, especially the glorious solo clarinet theme. It leads the whole piece forwards, seductive yet sinister. This is no empty pastoral: the dances were used by the Hapsburgs to pressgang guileless recruits into the army.

Similarly, Bartók's Piano Concerto no 1 builds upon confrontation between piano and percussion, Bartók deliberately wanted the piano and percussion together to focus on the struggle which lies beneath the otherwise poised, almost Bachian orchestra. Recently, Yefim Bronfman played this concerto with Salonen and the Philharmonia. Jean-Efflam Bavouzet with Jurowski and the LPO take a different approach, though both are equally well thought through. Bronfman's solid richness was impressive, but I think Bavouzet's crisp, "French" brightness sharpens the bite.

Liszt's A Faust Symphony is a study of psyche. He knows that everyone knows the story already so he pits the protagonists by creating character together through the impressionism of abstract music.

Thus the first movement, depicting Faust, sets out the main themes which will dominate the whole symphony. They're open, and searching, like Faust's idealistic visions. The LPO's fabled strings carve expansive arcs which seem to probe into space. The famous affirmative theme here was gorgeous, full of vigour. Yet the brooding low winds suggest the melancholy of Faust's drab existence, entombed among his books. The violins probe, as if Faust is singing "Do I dare?" Alarums, cries of discord that sublimate into stillness. Is Faust contemplating or is he being seduced by Mephistophele's sinister charms? That's the beauty of a tone poem - you never know for sure, you rely on what you hear instead of reading text. Jurowski's background in opera informs the way he defines this symphony, so it "feels" vivid. The many repetitions aren't routine, for they reflect Faust's dilemmas. He's no hothead, he thinks before he acts. So when the glorious affirmative theme wins through, the brightness is dazzling.

The hesitations that begin the "Gretchen" movement reflect Gretchen's timidity. Then the affirmative Faust theme enters and Gretchen blossoms. Notice that Liszt gives equal time to Gretchen, whereas in Goethe, she's an almost incidental feature. Is she a real woman oir little more than Faust's fantasy of ideal purity? Perhaps that's why Gounod needed Valentin to flesh things out.  Part of Gretchen's appeal to Faust  may be that she doesn't cogitate like he does, but goes straight for her feelings. Maybe Gretchen is a projection of Faust's dreams. But without Gretchen, Faust would not be redeeemed and the crucial das Ewigweibliche zieht uns hinan would be meaningless.

Perhaps Liszt defines Gretchen with greater clarity because it gives him a chance to write poised, understated beauty. This Gretchen is harps, delicate violins, serenity, counterpoint to the crudity that is Mephistopheles. Faust's affirmative theme returns, but this time without the trascendant glow. Jurowski and the LPO play Mephistopheles's version of Faust's themes with deliberate hollowness, so you can hear how the old devil, for all his powers, can't figure out what Faust is about. The music jerks wildly between banalized Faust and even the refined Gretchen music. Thus, Jurowski paints the jerky, angular passages with their sudden stops and starts, so you can imagine Mephistopheles stomping about in frustrated rage.

Then the transfiguration. Mephistopheles is blitzed away by glorious male choir, out of which emerges Marco Jentzsch's plangent tenor. The way Liszt embeds the tenor into the choir is significant, for it creates the idea of Faust reborn. No more is he a loner locked in with his books. Here, he's helped heavenwards by other voices to new horizons. At last, words, but the real meaning is the way they're expressed in music. Jentzsch combines vulnerability with heroism. Listen to the way he projects the legato, without losing the beauty of tone even against the massed forces behind him. Nurtured well, Jentzsch has the makings of a Heldentenor. This "is" Faust, individual to the very end. Hinab, hinab, sing the chorus. No brutal bombast in this Ascension, because it's Gretchen's values that win out, not Mephistopheles's butch crudity.
 
Definitely worth relistening ! HERE is the link, available online on demand for 7 days on Radio 3, and on BBC4 TV from 29th July. This is a particularly astute performance because Jurowski defines the depth of character in the music so well. Sincerity and quiet faith, not banality. That's what Faust and Gretchen stand for. 

Why Vianna da Motta is interesting

Listening to Daniel Barenboim play Liszt last week stimulated me to listen again to Liszt's music as music, free from the flash of popular performance practice. Music and performance aren't necessarily the same thing. Then I remembered José Vianna da Motta, one of Liszt's pupils. Vianna da Motta was born in the islands of São Tomé off the coast of Africa in 1868, yet by age 14 he was in Germany, studying piano and composition.  He was a pupil of Franz Liszt in Bayreuth, and after Liszt's death, worked with Hans von Bülow. A devotee of Liszt (about whom he wrote a memoir), but deeply immersed in Wagner whose music he adored (despite first hand knowledge of Wagner the man and the way he treated Liszt).

Da Motta became a prominent soloist, appearing at the Wigmore Hall in 1903 when it was known as the Bechstein Hall, a mecca for pianists. Obviously he played Liszt and Chopin, but he was also an important interpreter of Bach and Beethoven (playing all 32 sonatas in 1927, the Beethoven anniversary year)

Da Motta was one of Ferruccio Busoni's closest friends. Busoni and da Motta formed a duo. Recordings still exist of them playing together. They were so close that da Motta provided commentary on Busoni's music  and no doubt was thoroughly familiar with Busoni's theories on art and culture. Both of them were outsiders, with perspectives on the mainstream others might not tap. Da Motta might look like a dandy in this early photograph but anyone so close to Busoni cannot have been an airhead. In his autobiography, da Motta mentioned how he and Busoni would scrap,  Busoni mocking da Motta's fondness for Wagner, da Motta mocking Busoni's thing for Berlioz.

Da Motta was also a composer. His 1895 symphony À Pátria is fairly well known as it's a stirring piece, very much of the period. It's really quite a sophisticated piece for a composer aged 27, and shows an awareness of current trends around him. Quite lyrical in parts too. More readily available is the CD from Hyperion with Artur Pizarro.  This contains da Motta's Piano Concerto in A,  Ballade and Fantasia Domestica. Because da Motta was a pianist, his works for piano are worth checking out - downloadable from amazon. I first discovered da Motta through his Lieder, mostly written before the First World War, also very much of the period. Much better than Franz Scheker's Lieder, for example, they're more pianistic and at ease with the idiom. Da Motta may have been Portuguese but he was absolutely fluent in German and in German culture, but maybe people typecast composers into boxes. Da Motta got sidelined because he went back to Portugal, and you need mainstream presence to get a mainstream profile. It's a pity he's not better known as he's pretty good. Here is an extract of the Piano Concerto in A, and the Finale from À Pátria

Barenboim Boulez, Wagner Liszt Staatskapelle Berlin South Bank

At first I thought, I can't write about this, I can't do it justice. But then I thought, that never stopped anyone else. So I stayed up late in the hope that Mark Berry at Boulezian would be writing and sure enough, he popped up. Worth waiting for! Why can't more music writing be as thoughtful as this? Here's another good link, to Edward Seckerson.  Less technical but perceptive and sincere. I read reviews to learn how people relate to what they hear, not simply to see who was where when.

Liszt is a composer I associate, rightly or wrongly, with flamboyant virtuosi who scream "Look at me!" when they play. So the prospect of Daniel Barenboim and Pierre Boulez doing Liszt was hard to resist. Barenboim's playing was dignified with classical restraint, but not dull, emphasizing the solid structure beneath the flash. For a non-Lisztian like me, it was fascinating to hear how Boulez integrated the piano part with the orchestra. Giving the soloist more space made for greater classical balance, further complementing Barenboim's music-focussed approach. Different, but stimulating.

For Barenboim and Boulez, it's the music that counts, not celebrity. They challenge you musically. Thus Wagner's A Faust Overture. A cheeky choice, since Liszt's Faust Symphony is by far more sophisticated, Liszt wins hands down, there. In the hands of lesser conductors, Wagner's Faust makes little impact. Boulez, brings out the structure so at least we can hear how Wagner might have been thinking in terms of in his youth.

Boulez's Ring for Bayreuth was a revolution.While Patrice Chéreau's direction was striking at the time, Boulez's conducting still sounds so fresh that it still sounds innovative. You feel you're hearing Wagner come alive from the score, undimmed by performance traditions. In the opera, you have to connect to Siegfried, but in stand alone concert performance, you hear it "as music" on its own terms. Siegfried the character, though a hero, is also an immature prat, which is why Wagner offs him. Boulez is anything but stupid. This Siegfried Idyll was extraordinarily personal, and expressive. Perhaps it's because the orchestra knows Boulez so well, that the playing seemed much more intimate than it does normally.

An intimate, personal Siegrfried Idyll? But Boulez made it feel that way. It flowed, mightily, like the Rhine itself, with an inexorable sense of direction. This is what the river symbolizes and why it's such a powerful metaphor for the undercurrents in the Ring. Exquisitely defined details along the way,so beautiful that it's almost heartbreaking to know that they must inevitably pass away.

All of us go on a Rhine Journey of our own through life. Listening to Boulez and the Staatskapelle Berlin made me think what the music might "really" mean, as symphonic statement. Don't swallow the superficial clichés in the media, but go to source, like he does with music. This performance was overwhelming because it was so deep and intense. Only an automaton could fail to be moved. Boulez has had a remarkable life : perhaps he's thinking on where he's headed. But from the passion he puts into the coda, it feels spiritually affirmative and uplifting. Like his Mahler. Mass standing ovation, from an audience who'd most likely come for Barenboim, not Boulez.

Luca Pisaroni wonderful recital Wigmore Hall

After hearing his stunning Leporello at Glyndebourne and his Figaro at Salzburg, there was no way I was going to miss Luca Pisaroni's concert with Wolfram Rieger at the Wigmore Hall yesterday. But I was delighted by how wonderful he sounded close up in  recital.

Extremely erudite choice of programme too. When Pisaroni started singing, it fell into place. He's primarily an opera singer and a specialist in Italian repertoire, Mozart and baroque.. He was even grew up in Busseto, Verdi's birthplace, so he he could coast to the top "to the manner born".

So the fact that he chose an unusually intelligent programme says a lot about his versatility and musical instinct.  He's also smart enough to have figured out the Wigmore Hall ethos. Although the auditorium wasn't full, those who were there were the real cognoscenti, serious listeners who really appreciate good singing (and good programmes). Some of them are getting on in years and don't get out as much as they used to, so the fact that they were there is a huge compliment to Pisaroni.

And Pisaroni delivered! Schubert wrote several operas in Italian, but instead of singing "bleeding chunks", Pisaroni picked Drei Gesänge, D902, (Metastasio, 1827) which look like excerpts but were written as stand-alones. This integrity brings them closer to Schubert's song repertoire.  They're Italianate but Schubert's Austrian aesthetic is clearly distinct. Pisaroni placed the last song in the group first, Il modo di prender moglie, (How to choose a wife - for money!) which was a good idea. It's a strophic comic ballad which doesn't make great demands and lulls you into forgetting who the composer might be. Then, the first song L'incanto degli occhi (the magic of eyes)  where the trure Schubertian voice is unmistakable. What a witty juxtaposition! Pisaroni not only has an amazingly good voice, but musical intelligence, too. Then you appreciate the humour in , (the deluded traitor) which isn't morbid, despite the title. When Pisaroni sang Ove son io? (Where am I?), and repeated it cryptically,  I had a vivid mental image of Schubert, frustrated by having too little success in a genre he needed to master if he'd compete with changing fashions.

Hence, Rossini. Again, Pisaroni chose songs rather than bits from popular operas, to connect better with Schubert.  Pisaroni is a bass baritone, so the darker timbres were extremely beautiful, but the voice is agile and flexible, so the transits upwards come with ease. Truly a gorgeous voice, full of nuance and colour.

Franz Liszt wrote transcriptions of Schubert's songs which are still popular today, though they sound much more Lisztian than Schubertian. They're florid, as if Liszt can't quite get the Lieder aesthetic and submerges it in too many notes. That's OK, they're different composers. Liszt also knew Schumann, the "new music" of the 1840's.  There are well over 70 Liszt songs for voice and piano, but Pisaroni again chose thoughtfully. Two settings of Heine, one of which, Im Rhein im schönen Strome is indelibly associated with Dichterliebe and Schumann.  Liszt's S272 (1855) is a more studied piece, reflecting a different approach to song, which is quite distinct, though the text in the last verse demands strong phrasing.

Pisaroni and Rieger followed with three songs Schumann didn't set, to emphasize Liszt's unique style. There are vaguely Schumannesque passages in the piano parts, though Liszt doesn't write extended preludes and postludes. Der Vätergruft (1844, Uhland) displays Liszt's gifts as dramatist. The ghost of a knight joins his ancestors in their tomb. Die Geisterlaute verhallten, da mocht es gar stille sein. (ghostly sounds fade and silence reigns again).  This could almost be a song without words, it's so effective.

This extremely well planned recital ended with Liszt's Tre sonetti di Petrarca S270 in the version for baritone and piano. Liszt as pianist triumphs. This isn't Germanic Lieder by any means but completely unique. Reiger played with great delicacy, matched by Pisaroni's sensitive modulation. His Benedetto sia'l giorno is truly a love song. He lingers gently on the words E i sospiri  e le lagrime so they feel like a gentle caress. An exquiste recital wonderfully realized. Next time Pisaroni appears, there should be queues around the block. He's singing  Argante in Handel's Rinaldo at Glyndebourne this summer with Sandrine Piau, who did  fascinating programme of Schubert transcriptions last week. (See review here)  So we've heard both Pisaroni and Piau in two unusual recitals in the same week at the Wigmore Hall. Brilliant!
photo : Marco Borggreve