Britten Peter Grimes - Skelton, Gardner, Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra

Britten's Peter Grimes at the Royal Festival Hall with Stuart Skelton, Edward Gardner conducting the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra. Exactly the same cast (except for the Boy apprentice) in London as at Bergen in May 2017. What an outstanding performance that was ! How does London compare ?

When "Sexy Ed" Gardner left the ENO for Bergen, many of his fans wept openly, but it was a wise move on his part, since, until that time, his career had been relatively insular. He needed to branch out, both in terms of international exposure and in terms of repertoire. And the Bergen Philharmonic, one of the oldest orchestras in Europe, needed livening up.  A match made in Heaven?

Bergen is sounding better than it has in years, much sparkier and classier, without losing a distinctive flavour.  The cast list was superb - possibly one of the best that can be put together at present - so no surprises there. But what impressed me even more was the Bergen Philharmonic. This Peter Grimes seemed to come to them intuitively: they don't at all have an "English" sound, but that's all to the good.   Though Britten was an Englishman through and through, his music is far too individual to fit pigeonholes.

This Peter Grimes sounded like a force of Nature, surging like a storm blowing across the North Sea. You could feel the pull of the ocean in this playing.  The Bergeners seem to connect  instinctively to how unseen forces might control destiny, just as nature controls tides, winds and waves. Seamen, like Grimes, understand these things, or they don't survive. Grimes doesn't survive, but what happens to him is more than the pettiness of a small provincial community. When he sails out alone, and tips his boat, he's offering himself in a kind of sacrificial atonement.  He may have been abused himself as a boy, forced into a trade he might not have chosen.  His music suggests that there's a sensitive, poetic side to his personality he may have had to repress, even had other choices been open to him.
Skelton's been singing the part so long and so well that  he can convey Grimes's personality in myriad nuances. But with the Bergen Philharmonic around him, it's as if the Furies themselves were swirling about him, invisible to us, but in his head.  His "Now the Great Bear and Pleiades" was beautiful, but his long Act Three monologue was haunted, he and the orchestra observing the subtle, but important, changes as Grimes's mind begins to unravel. Now we know why Ellen Orford sets such store in knitting. She needs control, every bit as much as Mrs Sedley and Auntie do in their own ways. Ellen isn't as nice as she thinks she is.  Notice how Britten writes Grand Opera parody into her music, when she decides to shelter the child from Hobson the carrier. On some level, Ellen is a diva, a heroine in her own mind, trapped in a small town with no prospects, like everyone else in this claustrophobic community.  Giselle Allen sings well, but Ellen is, like Grimes, illuminated by the music around her. Because Peter Grimes was Britten's first mature opera, and probably Britain's first mature opera, too, it's tempting to think of it primarily as an opera.  But the orchestral writing is magnificent and highly inventive: not for nothing that the Sea Interludes work so well as stand-alone.  Britten knew the music of his time, and the operas of Alban Berg in particular, where orchestral passages shape the narrative.  In Peter Grimes, the orchestration is huge in comparison to Britten's later works, knitting  the opera together, in a sense.  The swells and surges are huge, but not significantly fulsome in the way that, say, The Flying Dutchman is cataclysmic.  Britten, being English, is too polite. Not all that many detect the way Britten used quirky humour to subvert convention.  But it's there, all right.

Please read my numerous pieces on Peter Grimes, and on  Gloriana HERE and on Albert Herring HERE. Britten is oblique : his targets don't know when they're being got at. Gardner "gets" Britten, so he brought out the undercurrents.  Perhaps there is prostitution in places like Aldeburgh, but it's pretty discreet.  The music in the pub echoes American dance-hall music, which Britten knew from his sojourn in America, and would have included for a purpose. Peter Grimes isn't really set in 18th-century or even 19th-century Suffolk, whatever the origins of the tale.  Auntie, her customers and her Nieces sell out, but Peter Grimes is the one character who doesn't lose his integrity, warped as he may be. Grimes doesn't do games. And so he has to die.

Gardner and the Bergen Philharmonic players are magnificent in the big surging swells. Wonderful percussion, the timpani rumbling like thunder.  Thor, beating his hammer. And why not? The Vikings roamed the North Sea.  Their genes must be part of coastal DNA. Baleful horns, moaning bassoons.   But the quieter passages were even more revealing. Britten observed the world around him. We can hear "star" music andd delicate diminuendoes that glow like phosphoresence over the water at night, or the sparkle of light on a Sunday morning. Outstanding playing from the lead violist, who got a well-deserved curtain call on her own. Beautiful harp playing,and strings that kept together smoothly enough, while still sounding individual and lively, like the choruses, where the variety of voices adds vividness to the impact.

Norwegian tragedy in wartime Shanghai

Evolving mysteries - a Norwegian, Fritz Eugen Thoresen, a Captain in the merchant marine, whose ship at sea was captured by the Japanese Navy.  In prison he suffered greatly and died in tragic circumstances.  Fritz Eugen Toresen Fød 1884-06-15 var ombord på den allierte Britiske SS, Shinhwa da han ble tatt til fange og sendt til den japanske fangeleieren på Amay . Han ble syk i slutten av juni og døde i Shanghai 15 august 1944. A colourful life, but such a sad end.

It started so differently. Fritz's father's family came from Norderhov and his mother, Anna Larsson (born 31st May 1860) from Andebu or Tønsberg.  Fritz was born 15th June 1884, second of seven children, three of them ending up in China.  In 1905, he joined the Imperial Chinese Maritime Customs, an organization which belonged to the Chinese governemnt but which was run mainly by foreigners. He was stationed in Lappa near Macau,  but very soon after quit to go back to sea, based in Amoy (Xiamen), a very large port on the east coast of China. In the Norwegian national census of 1910. he's still on the way up the naval hierarchy, listed as"styrmann" (First Mate), visiting his widowed mother and siblings, after five years abroad.  Two years later his younger brother Thorbjørn would also go to sea, on a wooden ship with sails, which got shipwrecked off the coast of Australia, where he was rescued by aboriginals, and lived among them for a while.  Fritz Eugen was also a Freemason, initiated Corinthian Lodge, Amoy 9 Sept 1911, then Northern Star Lodge of China 10th June 1913 and later at Newchwang, Manchuria.  By 1919 he is Grand Master of the Lodge at Amoy, usually dominated by Englishmen. By 1939, he was a Captain employed by Wallem & Co, a very big shipping company, which still exists today, and presumably captained large vessels.  He made his will at this time, aged around 55, which was the age Europeans usually retired in China.


Fast forward to December 1941. Fritz Eugen is captain of the SS Shinhwa  which sails out of Shanghai on 6th December.  This was a much smaller ship,  owned by a man who was nowhere in the same league as Wallem & Co.  The Captain who should have sailed this voyage died of a sudden heart attack, so Fritz Eugen took over at short notice. Two days later Japan declared war on Britain and the US, attacking Pearl Harbor and Hong Kong. On 9th December, the Shinhwa is captured by the Japanese navy and Thoresen is forced to take it to Amoy. Ironic timing - leaving port in peacetime, sailing into war.  The Shinhwa was owned by a man called George Lewis Shaw, half Japanese, half Scottish, from Fuzhou. Though Shaw and his son also married Japanese women, Shaw supported Korean Independence from Japan. (Please read more here).  So the Japanese Navy had reasons for seizing the ship and throwing its crew into a naval prison.  Fritz Eugen probably wasn't involved in Korean independence. China and Japan had been at war since 1931, and there was a bad effect on trade, and shipping. The Shinhwa was on a long-term wartime charter to the British government though in what capacity, I can't find.  It probably flew a British Red Ensign - another reason for the Japanese seizure. Certainly Thoresen is listed on the memorial to merchant seamen lost in the service of the British at Tower Hill, London.  In theory, this would have meant that compensation would have been due to Thoresen's dependants but Shaw objected : there's correspondence on file where he denies all responsibility.  That's how I found letters from Fritz Eugen's brothers and sister to the Norwegian consulate in China,  all in Norwegian except for the brother who went to New York and writes in English, American style. Thoresen is also listed on a memorial in Oslo to Norwegians who died abroad in wartime, but I don't know if there's anyone left there who knew him.

Even though as a Norwegian, Thoresen was neutral, he was treated badly : at this stage he may have contracted the tuberculosis that was to kill him later. On 1st July 1942, he was released to return to his home at apartment 7A, 25 Rue du Consulat in the French concession in Shanghai where he'd been living for 5 years. The registration document above is the certificate issued by the Shanghai municipal authorties in 1944, the "33rd year of the Republic of China" and gives the same address, in Chinese, and also a transliteration of his name in Chinese "Tung Lei Sun". He has a dependent, Tito Livio Rozario, a student, born 1924, parents deceased, though his will dated 1937 mentions only his siblings.

In the 1920's and 30's Shanghai had been one of the world's largest cities with a population greater than New York. It was a manufacturing and financial centre, with international trade.  In 1937, the Japanese captured it, causing an exodus of refugees and prosperity. It didn't recover until quite recently. Living in Japanese-occupied Shanghai was extremely difficult, for everyone, Chinese or foreign.  Jobs were hard to come by, and without an income it would have beeen difficult to make ends meet, especially in a wartime situation. Though Fritz Eugen had quite considerable savings, they ran out or could not be assessed, since British banks were sealed off when Japan and Britain went to war.  He survived on loans from the Swedish consulate pledged against his stocks and shares.  Basically, he was close to destitute.  Fritz Eugen's sister, Ruth, married to Shelton (English? and, it seems, another sometime Maritime Customs employee) was also in Shanghai (106 Ferry Road) but she wasn't well either and died in 1946.  Their brother Thorbjørn was interned in a camp in Hong Kong where at least he had regular food, but not much. He, too, died in 1948. He rests in a Hong Kong cemetery, the only Norwegian surrounded by thousands of graves with inscriptions in Chinese.

By February 1943, Fritz Eugen was so unwell that he had to see a doctor, but by this stage both his lungs were affected. Health care was not free - if you were poor, you had no choice. "He refused to go hospital and insisted on being treated ambulatorily", wrote his physician, (Dr B. Meyerowitz) and deteriorated quickly.  "In March, he consented to go to the Shanghai General Hospital, here I treated him until April when a bed in the first class  of the Tuberculosis Ward of the Victoria Nurses Home became available.” He remained there until the summer of 1943, when, in an improved condition he discharged himself contrary to the physician's advice".  In September 1943, he contracted a fungus infection of the right hand. "On this and on several other occasions, the gravity of his position was pointed out to him and attempts were made to induce him to return to the hospital.  He did not agree before March 1944, when his general health and the general findings of his lungs showed a sudden deterioration. he was admitted to the Shanghai Municipal Hospital, re-transferred to the first class ward of the Victoria Nurses Home,  where the lung specialist of the City of Shanghai took charge of his treatment again. An improvement of his condition could not be effected. The patient succumbed to his disease on the 15th August 1944".  ("First class" in this context doesn't mean luxury. It just meant that it was westernized standard better than available to ordinary Chinese.)

Clearly, Fritz Eugen could not afford medical treatment, and was realistic enough to know that he would not survive.  But what choice did he have ?  The photo at the top shows him in February 1944, looking gaunt and unwell : in the last picture, taken only a few years earlier, he doesn't look too great. With a brother and sister in China in difficult situations and relatives in wartime Norway, Fritz Eugen must have faced his fate alone. There is no way we can mitigate the bleakness of his position.  Until this time last year I didn't even know his name.  But purely by chance a friend came across a mention of him in a merchant navy archive, and from there, things started to emerge.  So Fritz Eugen isn't forgotten after all.

Bergen Philharmonic Berlioz Grande Messe des Morts

Edward Gardner in Bergen

Livestreamed from Norway, Edward Gardner conducted the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra in Berlioz Grande Messe des Morts
op 5 1837, with Bror Magnus Tødenes, the Edvard Grieg Kor, the Bergen Philharmonic Choir, Collegiûm Mûsicûm Chorus and the Royal Northern College of Music Choir. An expansively smooth introduction, the long lines stretching as if reaching out into space. Interpretively valid, since a Requiem is a quest for meaning in the face of death.  This long, surging line was picked up by the choirs, creating a magnificent effect in a relatively small auditorium like the Grieghallen.  Maximum impact without strain : the prayer-like moments, like hushed Kyrie, were very well judged, and all the more moving for that.  Rich dark undertones in the orchestra introduced the Dies Irae, where the choral writing pits different sections against each other, to create a sense of division and anxiety. The fanfare blazed - brass underpinned by rumbling thunder, voices rising slowly and darkly, like the spirits of the dead.  Hellfire conjured up in a concert hall !  No wonder the Lachrymosa felt sorrowful.  Even at this stage in his career, Berlioz was a man of the theatre.

Gardner emphasized the details suggesting Catholic ritual : the choirs singing quietly, like penitents.  Though the orchestra is huge, it did not over-dominate : our sympathy should be with the lost souls.  A wonderfully bright start to the next section, sharp, clear intonation indicating the passage away from hell to resolution. Crisp interaction between female and male voiuce, creating animation, contrasting well with the sudden descent into darkness: low chords and distant trumpets, pulsating strings and more fanfares. I loved the groaning bassoons, followed by clear, pure high voices.  Now, when the choirs sing of tearfulness, their voices are edged with hope. The four brass choirs called from above the main platform, like the Last Trumpets of Revelation, followed by huge waves of timpani, and the crash of cymbals.  Exceptionally vivid brass playing - where has Bergen been hiding these players ? They're world class.  It felt as if the Bergen Philharmonic were ushering in the End of Time.

But that's not negative because that's when the the dead will rise again. "Domine, domine".  Thus the new theme arising from the orchestra, with long, sweeping lines again, this time more serene and comforting.  "Libera!"  and a heartfelt "Amen!".  Ominous tubas, as baleful as ophicleides.

In the Sanctus, the individual emerges from the throng. Bror Magnus Tødenes's delivery was powerful, not Heldentenor, but hero, nonetheless, his voice ringing out and soaring into the performance space. The echo in the hall created a halo around the voice, making it feel as if it were reverberating from heaven.  Long chords, too, in the Agnus Dei, hushed reverential singing, winds and brass projecting into space.  The long chords signify transition, the crossing of great distances spiritual as well as temporal.  The pace was measured, the destination looming into focus with great portent. 

Berlioz Grande Messe des Morts is dramatic, but this performance was more dramatic than many, particularly as the impact was created by quality, not quantity for its own sake.  Gardner, with his background in opera, realizes that drama lies in contrast and tension, clarity of form and meaning.  When he left the English National Opera for Bergen, many of my friends wept because he was their hearthrob, "Sexy Ed".  But I thought the move was wise, and told him so. He grinned. He was right. He needed to broaden his scope and prove himself as head of a really good orchestra.  With Bergen, he's hit the jackpot.   Bergen may be a relatively small city but the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra is one of the oldest public orchestras. If they sounded a little tired some years back, they are now revitalized and dynamic,  very much one of the great orchestras of Europe. Even their livestream is classy. The presenter knows what he's talking about musically and assumes his audiences do too - why do some orchestras hire presenters who kid around and act stupid ?  Bergen treats its audiences with respect, and deserves respect in return.  This performance was being recorded by Chandos for future release. Grab it. 

It rains, in Bergen !

Verdi Otello Bergen Philharmonic - Gardner Skelton Moore Lynch

Verdi Otello livestream from Norway with the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Edward Garner with a superb cast, led by Stuart Skelton, Latonia Moore, and Lester Lynch (full list here) and four choirs, the Bergen Philharmonic Chorus, the Edvard Grieg Kor, Collegiûm Mûsicûm Kor, the Bergen pikekor and Bergen guttekor (Children’s Choruses) with  chorus master Håkon Matti Skrede.   The Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra was founded in 1765, just a few years after the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra : Scandinavian musical culture has very strong roots, and is thriving still.   Tucked away in the far north, Bergen may be a hidden treasure, but, as this performance proved, it's world class.

Otello is one of Stuart Skelton's signature roles.  He's matured into the part, singing with even morer depth and richness than before, negotiating the range fearlessly, for Otello is a hero who has  achieved great deeds.  Significantly though, a storm is brewing in the orchestra as he arrives in Cyprus in triumph.  Skelton sang that "Esulate" like a roar, like a lion pre-emting danger.  But what was most striking about Skelton's portrayal was its subtlety.  His Otello is a man who has confronted overwhelming obstacles all his life and has no delusions about apparent success.   When he does find the love he needed so much, his inner insecurities prove his undoing.  His tragedy is that he's a good man, destroyed by those more venal than himself.  "Fuggirmi io sol non so!"  After Otello has killed Desdemona, Skelton's singing is coloured by such sincerity that, despite the crime, Otello is, for his last moments alive, revealed in his true nobility.

Skelton's Otello proves that make-up has nothing to do with artistry.  We see the "real" face of Otello and feel his emotions direct.  Blacking-up has been anathema in Britain and most of Europe for decades, and it should be.  Blackface reinforces the idea that people are defined by outward    appearance  It may not have been racist in Shakepeare's time, but it is now. .Otello is an outsider, as is clear in the plot and in the music. No-one should need a caricature Darkie to understand the opera.  So Bergen deserves absolute respect for giving us a white Otello and a black Desdemona - people are people, and equal, whatever the colour of their skin.

Latonia Moore is beautiful, in every sense. Her voice is lustrously pure.  She creates Desdemona as a  halo that glows with spiritual light, which is much more to the point of the opera.  Desdemona  is an almost visionary personality who sees the innate goodness in Otello and who is prepared to sacrifice herself for love. A soul sister of Gilda and Violetta Valéry.  Moore is also sexy, suggesting Desdemona's love of life. The natural sensuality in her voice intensifies characterization, for Desdemona, like other Verdi heroines, isn't virginal though her moral strength elevates her saint-like self-denial.  In the first Act, Moore was surrounded by the children's choruses,  all of them looking, and sounding, angelic.  One young girl looked like she had stars in her eyes - no wonder she was looking at Moore with genuine fondness.  Though the staging was minimal, it serves to enhance Moore's artistry, Her dialogue with Hanna Hipp's Emilia was lucidly intimate. Curtains and bed linen don't create personality : good singing does. Incidentally Hanna Hipp sang Emilia at the Royal Opera House. I first heard her in student productions at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. She's good.

I was looking forward to Lester Lynch's Iago, too, after his Lescaut in Baden-Baden, where he achieved a hugely impressive dynamic with Eva-Maria Westbroek. The pair interacted so well that  they really felt like brother and sister, sparring and flirting.  Manon wasn't the only rebel in that family.  As  Iago, Lynch generated similar energy, his voice curling with menace, key words darting forth with venom.  Yet again, there's no reason why Iago "has" to be any particular race. Scumballs lurk anywhere.

This Bergen Otello is hard-hitting and emotionally secure,the orchestra playing with vigorous élan. A clean "northern" Otello (staging by Peter Mumford) and no worse for that. Otello is universal. It's not Mediterranean, nor Italian, nor Shakespearean but human drama, for all times and places.

The "full" Edvard Grieg Peer Gynt

From the 1876 premiere of Grieg's Peer Gynt

 Edvard Grieg's birthday, a good excuse to listen again to Peer Gynt op 23 in the edition by Finn Benestad from 1988, which keeps the order of the composer's score from the premiere performance in 1876, omitting the cuts made in later performances, but including Grieg's fuller orchestration from the 1886 performances in Copenhagen.   The original play by Henrik Ibsen was a Lesedrama, a play meant to be read, as opposed to being watched on stage.  The full text apparently takes five hours to act out, plus another hour or so of music - quite tiring, I presume. But in book form, you can savour the ideas without pressure, reading back and forth. Peer Gynt is an allegory that doesn't exist in real time.  Ibsen was satirizing aspects of Norwegian mentality in the period when the country was a colony of Denmark. Life was hard : the peasants so poor that many did live, like Peer, in rags, scrambling to survive by using their wits. 

Peer uses his imagination to get ahead, but he's also a rascal who scams other people, especially women, and gets scammed himself, also by women.  Peer goes to North Africa, but at heart he's the same local yokel who hangs out with trolls, whose take on reality is defiantly perverse  Whatever the Bøygen is, he doesn't overcome it so much as scam his way past. In the end, he's back where he came from.  Solveig doesn't have much sense either. She still loves the scoundrel.  Not all so different from the Troll King who feasts on cow turds and ox piss, whether bitter or sweet "as long as they're our cow turds and ox piss".  Grieg's music is so wonderful that you can blissfully enjoy fantasies of fjords, mountains and goblins, but knowing the context is even more rewarding.

I first heard the "full" edition with dialogue in 2001 when Manfred Honeck conducted it with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra, with Bo Skovhus, who stole the show, even from a star like Barbara Bonney.  In 2011, Marc Minkowski conducted the BBC SO at the Barbican Hall with Miah Persson,  Johannes Weisser and Anita Hallenberg.

There are numerous recordings of Grieg's Peer Gynt suites but extended versions  with text are few.   In 2005, the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra under  Ole-Kristian Ruud recorded the incidental  music with  dialogue in Norwegian. The following year, Guillaume Tournaire conducted the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande  in the world premiere of the Perroux edition, with texts in English translation.  Hearing the music in context is important, but once you've got the picture, so to speak, it's better to hear the words in Norwegian, since the language fits the music so well. 

The Orchestre de la Suisse Romande have much more stylish polish but the Bergeners are nicely down to earth. The Bergen singers and choir are clearly native speakers, which gives their singing natural verve. On the other hand,  the "Swiss" orchestra used a professional Hardanger player, using a traditional fiddle, as opposed to a violin. This electrifies the performance, giving it a wildness and crazy freedom conventional orchestras can't quite manage.   It shouldn't be too difficult for Bergen to one day record the piece again with an authentic Hardanger fiddle.  They're sounding particularly good these days with Edward Gardner, so maybe they should revisit the full Peer Gynt.
 
Please see my other posts on Grieg, Norway, Norwegian film and Ibsen by following the labels below. 

Britten in Bergen : Peter Grimes, Edward Gardner

Benjamin Britten in Bergen with Edward Gardner conducting Peter Grimes with the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra livestreamed from Norway.  Stuart Skelton, the Grimes of  choice these days, headed an ideal cast (details here) and singers from the Bergen Opera.  Is livestream the future?  Not everyone wants to watch opera in a cinema, and most serious listeners have good-quality sound systems linked to their home PCs.  HD is dead. Opera companies and orchestras can now find ways of presenting themselves direct to audiences beyond their physical location.  This livestream didn't repeat, because livestream isn't cheap, but the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra is bringing Peter Grimes to Edinburgh this August. It should be the highlight of this year's Edinburgh International Festival, if what we heard tonight is anything to go by.

When "Sexy Ed" Gardner left the ENO for Bergen, many of his fans wept openly, but it was a wise move on his part, since until that time, his career had been relatively insular. He needed to branch out, both in terms of international exposure and in terms of repertoire. And the Bergen Philharmonic, one of the oldest orchestras in Europe, needed livening up.  A match made in Heaven?  Bergen is sounding better than it has in years, much sparkier and classier, without losing a distinctive flavour.  The cast list was superb - possibly one of the best that can be put together at present - so no surprises there.

But what impressed me even more was the Bergen Philharmonic. This Peter Grimes seemed to come to them intuitively: they don't at all have an "English" sound, but that's all to the good.   Though Britten was an Englishman through and through, his music is far too individual to fit pigeonholes.  This Peter Grimes sounded like a force of Nature, surging like a storm blowing across the North Sea. You could feel the pull of the ocean in this playing.  The Bergeners seem to connect  instinctively to how unseen forces might control destiny, just as nature controls tides, winds and waves.  Seamen, like Grimes, understand these things, or they don't survive. Grimes doesn't survive, but what happens to him is more than the pettiness of a small provincial community. When he sails out alone, and tips his boat, he's offering himself in a kind of sacrificial atonement.  He may have been abused himself as a boy, forced into a trade he might not have chosen.  His music suggests that there's a sensitive, poetic side to his personality he may have had to repress, even had other choices been open to him.   Skelton's been singing the part so long and so well that  he can convey Grimes's personality in myriad nuances. But with the Bergen Philharmonic around him, it's as if the Furies themselves were swirkling about him, invisible to us, but ringing in his head.  His "Now the Great Bear and Plieades" was beautiful, but his long Act Three monologue was haunted, he and the orchestra observing the subtle, but important changes as Grimes's mind begins to unravel.

Now we know why Ellen Orford sets such store in knitting. She needs control, every bit as much as Mrs Sedley and Auntie do in their own ways. Ellen isn't as nice as she thinks she is.  Notice how Britten writes Grand Opera parody into her music, when she decides to shelter the child from Hobson the carrier. On some level, Ellen is a diva, a heroine in her own mind, trapped in a small town with no prospects, like everyone else in this claustrophobic community.  Giselle Allen sings well, but Ellen is, like Grimes, illuminated by the music around her.

 Because Peter Grimes was Britten's first mature opera, and probably Britain's first mature opera, too, it's tempting think of it primarily as an opera.  But the orchestral writing is magnificent and highly inventive: not for nothing that the Sea Interludes work so well as stand-alone.  Britten knew the music of his time, and the operas of Alban Berg in particular, where orchestral passages shape the narrative.  In Peter Grimes, the orchestration is huge in comparison to Britten's later works, knitting  the opera together, in a sense.  The swells and surges are huge, but not significantly fulsome in the way that, say, The Flying Dutchman is cataclysmic.  Britten, being English, is too polite. Not all that many detect the way Britten used quirky humour to subvert convention.   But it's there, all right. Please read my pieces on Gloriana HERE and on Albert Herring HERE. Britten is oblique : his targets don't know when they're being got at. 

Gardner "gets" Britten, so he brought out the undercurrents.  Perhaps there is prostitution in places like Aldeburgh, but it's pretty discreet.  The music in the pub echoes American dance-hall music, which Britten knew from his sojourn in America, and would have included for a purpose. Peter Grimes isn't really set in 18th-century or even 19th-century Suffolk, whatever the origins of the tale.  Auntie, her customers and her Nieces sell out, but Peter Grimes is the one character who doesn't lose his integrity, warped as he may be. Grimes doesn't do games. And so he has to die.

Gardner and the Bergen Philharmonic players are magnificent in the big surging swells. Wonderful percussion, the timpani rumbling like thunder.  Thor, beating his hammer. And why not? The Vikings roamed the North Sea.  Their genes must be part of coastal DNA. Baleful horns, moaning bassoons.   But the quieter passages were even more revealing.  Britten observed the world around him. We can hear "star" music and delicate diminuendoes that glow like phosphoresence over the water at night, or the sparkle of light on a Sunday morning. Outstanding playing from the lead violists, who got a well-deserved curtain call on her own. Beautiful harp playing,and strings that kept together smoothly enough, while still sounding individual and lively, like the choruses, where the variety of voices adds vividness to the impact.

Please see my other posts on Britten, on Norway, on Peter Grimes, Stuart Skelton  Roderick Williams and James Gilchrisdt etc by follwingbthe labels below

Swedish opera : Stenhammar's Ibsen Gillet på Solhaug.

Gillet på Solhaug. Scenbild ur Kungl. Operans uppsättning från 1908. (Musikverket)

 The Feast at Solhaug : Henrik Ibsen's play Gildet paa Solhaug (1856) inspired Wilhelm Stenhammar's opera Gillet på Solhaug. The world premiere recording is now available via Sterling CD, in a 3 disc set which includes full libretto and background history. Well worth shelling out for, since  Gillet på Solhaug is good listening and the new critical edition, by Anders Wiklund, should establish a reputation for early Swedish opera. Wilhelm Stenhammar (1871-1927),  like most musicians of the time, studied in Berlin and Florence, but worked primarily in Sweden. As a composer, he is extremely well known  for his songs, chamber music and piano works. Gildet på Solhaug, completed in 1893, was his first formal opera. It premiered at the Hoftheater Stuttgart in 1899 and at Stockholm Opera in 1902.  

Gillet på Solhaug begins with a brief introduction not a formal overture, and moves almost immediately to the core of the drama. At a drunken party, Knut Gaesling, a notorious thug, spies Signe, a delicate maiden, and swears he will marry her. His friend, Erik fra Haegge,  agrees, so as far as Knut is concerned the deal,is done whatever Signe might think. Marriage as horse trading. Knut hasn't reckoned on Margit, Signe's strong-willed older sister. In a long and moving soliloquy "Vel var det, han gik", she describes herself: The bride of Solhaug, wealthy but so desperately unhappy she longs for death.  The part is written for a mezzo with good lower resonance, suggesting Margit's inner strength. As Knut sneers, Margit should have been a priest. Signe is written for high soprano, suggesting innocence, the music around her skipping innocently.  Seven years before, Margit and Gudmund Alfsøn had pledged their love. Now he's an outlaw and she's married another man.  Margit tries to hide her feelings but the music says what she can't, but with a clean, pure chastity that fits her character. Gudmund's a harpist: Stenhammar lets his music sing.  



In the second act, the feast at Solhaug is in full swing, drunken guests carousing to the sounds of  Hardanger fiddle, scored for modern orchestra. Stenhammar’s background in writing for voice, choir and orchestra comes to the fore, providing an ironic backdrop to the action unfolding. Knut's machinations are brutal,Gudmund's declaration of love for Signe is thrown into chill perspective. But Margit dominates above all.  Her lines are grave and dignified.  The purity of Margit's line expresses something deep in her soul.  What a pity the English translations are risible. "How should I quiver my magic lay"("Hvor skulde jeg kvade" in Danish, "Wie woll't ich singen" in German) and "I'd fain fling it down to the neckan hard by" ("Skaenke den til nøkken dernede"). Margit's mixing poison. 



A long, mysterious passage, with low woodwinds describes the night scene, when the guests depart.  Suddenly, the pace accelerates. High winds and brass and a swooping string diminuendo suggest alarm.  What is happening in the darkness  ?  In I morgen så drager vel Gudmund herfra, lit by mournful bassoons, Margit sings of a child born blind, whose sight is restored by witchcraft. But the magic can't last: the child falls blind again, but this time with the pain of knowing what he's lost.  In contrast, Bengt's bluff, crude music underlines Margit's torment.  Though they've been married three years. he still thinks he's done her a favour because she once was poor. He's only saved from drinking the poison when news arrives from outside. Knut's defeated, Gudmund's won favour with the King and will marry Signe. Bengt lives, but Margit can't go on. Her final aria "Skaemennede engel, fromme og milde" is powerful :  better to renounce the world than endure a living death.   Wonderful, shimmering string textures, Gudmund and Signe join in with wonder, and a choir in reverent, clean tones, sings about rays of light, emanating from Heaven.  Although photos of early stagings show elaborate furnishings and  sets. Margit's story is, fundamentally, one of renunciation. Hence the purity of Stenhammar’s setting. Wagnerian or Verdian excess would not work quite so well. Margit, for all the intensity of her passions, is essentially a country girl whose instincts lie with purity. 

This performance was conducted by Henrik Schaefer with the Symphony Orchestra of Norrköping and Choruses, recorded in August 2015 in connection with Swedish Radio. Matilda Paulsson sang Margit, Karolina Andersson sang Signe, Per Håkan Precht sang Gudmund, Fredrik Zetterström sang Bengt, Erik Lundh sang Erik and Mathias Zachariassen sang Knut.  Definitely a recommendation! Please also see my piece on Hugo Wolf Das Fest auf Solhaug HERE, where Wolf;s incidental music is blended with a very good modern narration, very much in the spirit of 19th century German story telling drama.

Das Fest auf Solhaug - Ibsen bei Hugo Wolf

Hugo Wolf's Das Fest auf Solhaug (1890-91) was written for a Vienna production of Henrik Ibsen's Gildet paa Solhaug (1856). Wolf didn't take kindly to working on commission.  "I like the Ibsen play less each day... It is right honestly botched with damned little poetry. I don't know where I shall get the plaster from, with which to clothe in music this home-made carpentry".

Admittedly, Wolf was working from a German translation which may not have captured Ibsen's unique idiom.  Shorn of the inherent music in Ibsen's syntax, the plot may well  be awkward.  Margit is unhappily married to rich old Bengt. Margit's really in love with Gudmund, now an exiled outlaw, but returns to Solhaug.  Margit plans to poison Bengt so she can marry Gudmund, whom she does not realize has fallen in love with her gentle sister Signe, who has been promised by the King to Knut, a brute. Knut kills Bengt. The King learns that Gudmund wasn't a villain at all and lets him marry Signe.  Margit becomes a nun.

Wolf's Das Fest auf Solhaug languished in negativity until the original score was edited and published by Kalmus in 1987.  The first, and only, recording,released in 2006, with Helmuth Froschauer conducting the WDR Rundfunkorchester Köln,with Günther Lamprecht as speaker. He's wonderful, and acts so well with his voice that he makes the work come alive, in the tradition of German spoken theatre.  In this version, prepared for performance by Christoph Schwandt, there is no dialogue. The cadences of spoken prose communicate, telling the story in a personal, believable way.  There are only two solo songs, for Margit and Gudmund, the rest scored for chorus and orchestra.  This "new" version of Das Fest auf Solhaug shows that it is much more than the set of three songs from the piece published in 1897.  I've long loved  the lyrical "Gesang Margits" for piano and soprano.  Did Wolf know Grieg's Solvieg's Song (1876)?  He despised copying, as true artists do, but perhaps it had a subliminal effect on his sensibilities. The orchestral version we hear here is something else, though.

Wolf set the scene for the play ambitiously. The orchestral prelude is grand, even panoramic, rising to a sudden crescendo then suddenly breaking off.  On this recording there is descriptive narration, but not dialogue, a good idea since the emphasis here is the music. .  Margit's song "Bergkönig ritt durch die Lande weit"  is intoned heroically, heralded by trumpets and horns, taking up the challenging thrust of the Prelude. The voice lowers with menacing portent,as if Margrit were a character in The Ring.  Perhaps Wolf did intuit the background to the tale,where an anonymous King pulls strings, trading his subjects off as if they were chattels.  "Bei Sang und Speil sind wir vereint" sing the chorus:  Solhaug is celebrating the anniversary of Margit's marriage to Bengt, but the mood is ferocious,more hunt than party,with large, pounding ostinato and the clash of cymbals,and trumpet calls. Now it is night, and the narrator tells us about Margit mixing poison. Gudmund sings , "Ich führ wohl ber Wasser" The mood remains truculent and upbeat, with a vigorous orchestral interlude, haunted by solo clarinet, perhaps symbolizing sinister intent. Swirling figures,interrupted by savage,sharp chords, then a madly merry dance.  The horns blast, and morning comes. And so ends the Fest at Solhaug. Bengt's dead, Knut's in trouble with the King and Margit ends up in a convent.  The choir sings in hushed tones, while the orchestra blasts forth in grand coda. Wolf's Das Fest auf Solhaug isn't half bad. We can imagine Wolf gnashing his teeth in exasperation. Perhaps we can feel his impatience. He'd rather be getting on with The Spanish Liederbook than writing mock medieval slush, which may come from the Vienna translation, which fortunately isn't easy to track down..   

Which is more than can be said for Hans Pfitzner, whose own  Drei Vorspeil zu Henrik Ibsens Das Fest auf Solhaug completes this disc.  The first and last Vorspeils are ponderous, taking nearly 20 minutes to say very little.  At least Hugo Wolf gives us a merry jape !  The middle Vorspeil, only 5 minutes, is livelier. Perhaps he's depicting a party of sorts.  But Ibsen and Wolf had a pretty good idea that the festivities at Solhaug were bluff.  Well played, though, even if the music isn't so good. I've been revisiting Das Fest auf Solhaug  as another musical version is released, Wilhelm Stenhammer's Gillet på Solhaug). The world premiere recording of Wilhelm Stenhammer's opera Gillet pa Solhaug, a significant contribution to Swedish music. Read review here.

Brudeferden i Hardanger Fiddles and film

Tomorrow at the Aldeburgh Music Festival is Hardanger Fiddle Day. Julian Anderson's Ring Dance for two violins (1987) will be heard at the Jubilee Hall, together with pieces played by Hardanger fiddle master Sivert Holmen.  The Hardanger tradition comes from the mountains of western Norway.  In rural areas, social occasions like weddings  brought isolated communities together,  thus helped shape regional culture. Hardanger fiddlers played for dances: thus the strong rhythmic beat and repeated patterns.  Hardanger music is joyful, even athletic - some forms of Norwegian dance resemble acrobatics. Yet Hardanger music is also plaintive, with an overlay of keening melancholy. 

That curious blend of youthful vigour and sorrow pervades Brudeferden  i Hardanger, a film from 1926, directed by Rasmus Breistein, who was himself a country fiddler and later learned the Hardanger style. The film is based on at least one novel, but also explicitly connects to one of the most famous paintings in Norwegian art, Brudeferd i Hardanger, (1848) by Tidemand and Gude. The painting shows a boat sailing down a fjord, surrounded by mountains. On the boat is a bride leaving home for a supposedly happy future.  In the film, there's a shot in the film which almost exactly replicates the painting.  Presumably those who watched the movie made the connection.

Breistein's film, though, starts out first with another scene in which a boat carries a family, forced by poverty to emigrate. Marit refuses to go with her parents, but runs up the mountainside, watching the ship head out to sea. The family look back, grimly, at the mountains, not knowing what will lie ahead. Marit stays because she's secretly in love with Anders. Anders is leaving, too, but gives Marit his mother's Sølje, a traditional wedding brooch.  She assumes he'll marry her but four years pass without a word.

Next we see a bridal procession, the Brudeferd. The soundtrack, added when the film was restored, features Hardanger fiddle played by a named master, though otherwise the music is mostly Grieg.  It's a big wedding, with at least a dozen boats, being rowed down the fjord, fancier than in the painting. The bride is rich, wearing a jewelled crown, and elaborate traditional dress. Wonderful shots of the wedding party, with  the women in starched aprons and headresses.  Hardanger embroidery ? Hardanger fiddlers, of course. But who is the bridegroom ? Marit gets Anders alone and scolds him for marrying money.  Marit quits her job in the house of the judge and goes to work with a crofter in the mountains.  Loyal Tore, who has loved her all along, finds her and takes her back to Skjralte, his big farm in the valley.

Many years pass, and Marit is now a rich old widow. Look at her embroidered finery now !  She's still wearing Anders's mother's Sølje. But she's bitter, her mouth hard, like a scar.  Anders has fallen on hard times. His wife's money is gone, and the once rich bride is forced to peddle small goods to scrape a living.  Cruel Marit humiliates the woman, who eventually dies.  Fate, though, intervenes. Marit's daughter Eli falls in love with Anders's son Bérd. When her mother throws her out, she goes to live with him and old Anders in a humble hut. Another country dance, another Hardanger fiddler. Marit's son Vigleik gets drunk, goes to Anders's hovel and beats the old man up. Eli takes Anders back to Skjralte to recover, Vigliek flees to America, and Marit nurses Anders back to health.

The film is beautifully shot, lingering lovingly on things like spinning wheels, bucket making, rustic houses furnished sparsely, some with simple painting on on the walls. and the laying of hay to dry on branches set in the ground.  The acting is good, too, much better than in most silent film.  The restoration is so good that  details are given in full at the end, deservedly so.  Brudeferden i Hardanger is an even more beautifully made film than Troll-Elgen  (which I wrote about here) though Marit is an unsympathetic piece of work.  In the photo below, we can see the simple, portable cameras Breistein's crew used, shooting on location in the open countryside.

Troll-Elgen : Landscape and culture

Slow moving but strangely compelling, Troll-Elgen, a Norwegian stumfilm (silent) from1927, directed by Walter Fyrst (1901-1993). It's fascinating because it describes a world poised between the past and the modern, magic and reality. Think of Edvard Grieg's song cycle Haugtassa, where a girl lives alone in the mountains, communing with unseen spirits. Think also of Carl Maria von Weber's Der Freischütz, where a young huntsman must  prove himself, even if it means dealing with the devil.  The very pace of the film is part of its power, forcing us inward, cleansing us of the toxic muzak that passes for life.  Troll-Elgen is also important because it connects to the aesthetics of culture. Read Daniel Grimley Landscape and Norwegian Identity (2006), or, for that matter, Simon Schama : Landscape and Memory (2004) on forests and German art.

Fyrst's Troll-Elgen was based on the 1921 novel Troll-Elgen by Mikkel Arnesen Fønhus (1894-1973). Notice the time frame : Norway became independent from Sweden only in 1905   Literature and culture strengthened Norwegian identity, just as language and culture helped Finland break away from Russia.

The film begins with a panoramic shot of the mountains, densely forested and hostile to humans.  Wonderful landscape shots fill the screen throughout, emphasizing the beauty and power of nature.  In the wilderness lives an ancient elk, the Troll-Elgen , raely seen by humans, reputedly supernatural. Gaupa the huntsman tries to kill it but is driven insane. Huntsmen, like elks, are happiest in the woods but their lives are filled with hardship.  The craft in which Hans lives with his widowed mother is  utterly spartan. Even the rich don't do luxury. The local landowner, Rustebakke, throws a party, but his guests eat off wooden tables, No linen. There's no plumbing. Water is kept in a bucket and ladled into bowls.  Hans is forced to work on Rustebakke's farm, but he and Rustebakke's daughter Ingrid fall in love. The social divide between landowner and tenant is so great that he can't win Ingrid. "Unless", her father says, he can do something impossible, "like shoot the Troll-Elgen".  Gunnar, a horse dealer, and Hans fight over Ingrid. Gunnar gets stabbed. Hans runs away to the big city, thinking he's now an outlaw. He gets a job in the circus as "The Texan" sharpshooter.  Ingrid runs away too, hoping to find him.There's quite a bit of social comment in the film. Hans's boss abuses female employees and the relative Ingrid lodges with turns out to be a lecher. Separately, Ingrid and Hans return to the mountains, rejecting corrupt society.

Hans looks after mad old Gaupa, from whom he learns that Gunnar didn't die, so he isn't being hunted by the law after all.  Gaupa gives Hans a magic bullet, with which he fells the Troll-Elgen.  Ingrid is living alone in a remote cottage. Gunnar comes and attacks her. Hans walks in and the two men fight, but this time Rustebakke and his men intervene.  Hans and Ingrid marry. Presumably with elk for dinner. Or symbolically, anyway.  Although the plot is simple, the film is beautifully shot.  When Hans pursues the Troll-Elgen we see more panoramic vistas, and see the elk galloping over steep slopes and valleys, running along the river, its legs immersed in water. How did the camera crew set that up? The elk doesn't look tame.  The print is in good condition. Whispers of colour appear, too elusive to be remnants of hand tinting. I don't know the technology enough to know how that was done, but the effect enhances the magic of this film.

Invisible Theatre made visible : Morgen und Abend Haas ROH

The world premiere of Georg Friedrich Haas Morgen und Abend at the Royal Opera House, London -  so conceptually unique and so unusual that its originality will confound many.  But consider what music is - it's a means of communicating complex, abstract ideas which can't easily be articulated in words. No-one knows what happens when we die, or what the transition might feel like. Morgen und Abend  is a tone poem on a grand scale, with singing and personalities to point the way. It is opera in the very deepest meaning of the word, for it operates on our subliminal senses, activating our response to the human emotions we hear enacted on the stage.

Morgen und Abend begins with an Overture, of sorts. Loud, thudding percussion loud enough that our heartbeats begin to synchronize. The sounds come from the boxes on both sides of the auditorium, like the ears we have on each side of our heads, or the two lungs thar pump within so we can breathe, like the ventricles in our hearts that pump blood to keep us alive. This is "Invisible Theatre", drawing the audience physically into the drama. Perhaps that's why Morgen und Abend is both compelling and disturbing.  Listening becomes an active, not passive experience, challenging emotions we might find hard to deal with.  We, too, are part of the story.

An old man Olai (Klaus Maria Brandauer) sits in an empty room. A door stands on its own without walls. perhaps the man could pass through, but he doesn't. At first he notices the unnatural silence of his surroundings. A midwife (Sarah Wegener) appears, telling the old man that his baby son is born. Yet, listen to the strange broken phrases in the vocal parts, repeating cadences which are taken up subtly by the orchestra.  This isn't normal speech, even by opera standards. Is Olai re-living happy memories in a dream? The boy , named Johannes, "will be a fisherman like me", intones Brandauer  Woodwinds and horns create strange sounds - the crying of a newborn, the agony of a mother.  When Olai was a young man, birth was dangerous, the cusp of life and death.   I nursed someone in his last days, who had nursed me long before. Dying is a lot like being born: you're helpless, you don't know what's coming, you resist.

Another old man rises from his bed.  The atmosphere here, too, is unnaturally still and silent, though the percussion ticks gently, as if marking the passage of time.  The old man is Johannes (Christoph Pohl). He rises from his bed, but notices that his aches and pains have disappeared. Instead, he feels oddly weightless, and the room glows with light, as if objects are floating. Johannes notices that his body doesn't ache as it did before. He feels a strange weightlessness, and objects seem to float in light. Things haven't been the same since Erna, his wife (Helena Rasker), died. Yet he sees her, and she sings to him. Is she real, or an ilusion ?

 Johannes sings about Signe, the name of his mother, who long ago gave him birth, and also the name of his youngest daughter, a symmetry that suggests continuty and subtle change, reflected  in the understated  but complex instrumentation.  Johannes notices that his body doesn't ache as it did before. He feels a strange weightlessness, and objects seem to float in light. Things haven't been the same since Erna, his wife (Helena Rasker), died. Yet he sees her, and she sings.  His old friend Peter (Will Hartmann) appears. Why is Peter's hair so long? Why is he so grey? "Let  me cut your hair for you" sings Johannes, "like we did 50 years ago". "You can't" sings Peter.

Johannes wants to sail again as he used to. "When the  sea as still and calm as this", he sings, "I could sail out far into the west". Like his father Olai before him, Johannes is remembering happiness past.  In the horns and low woodwinds, we hear the roar of the ocean and feel the freedom Johannes must have enjoyed when he was young.  This journey, this time, is different.

Johannes appears in his daughter's house, but she can't see or hear him. Significantly, the part is sung by Sarah Wegener, who sang the Midwife. Yet Signe feels his embrace.. "Passing through a great chill" she sings, "But nothing evil".  Love doesn't die, there's nothing to fear, though Signe doesn't yet know what has happened.   The music bubbles along, occasionally spiking up, with long drawn slow diminuendos. It's as if the complex machinery of a human body is gradually shutting down,  the blood chilling, cells shutting down  Long, keening lines which seem to stretch out to limitless horizons. 

A story this surreal needs abstract presentation.  Greys, whites, silvers blend into each other, changing with light.  Nature itself operates in this way.  Stand on any beach and see the myriad gradations of colour in the sand, in the sky, in the sea.  Nothing is colourless unless you want it to be.

Objects seem to materialize out of nowhere: the props constantly shifting. Johannes's boat seems to disappear as quietly as it came. The effect is as in a dream, or memory, though it's created by a turntable mechanism under the floor, which works so well - and so quietly - that we hardly notice. A lot like the passage of time.

This Morgen und Abend operates on many levels, literally and figuratively. Although the texts are direct and conversational, this makes the characterizations human and sympathetic, allowing the music to work its magic on our emotions.  The libretto is by Jon Fosse, based on his novel Morgon og Kveld.  Against a backcloth the English text is projected, the words moving and changing in tune with music and mood. 

Georg Friedrich Haas (born 1953) is an important composer, so the Royal Opera House gives Morgen und Abend the attention it deserves. The cast are well known and well respected. The director is Graham Vick. The designer is Richard Hudson. But in an opera like this, where the music is protagonist, the orchestra makes all the difference. We  take the Royal Opera House Orchestra for granted because we hear them so often, but as Antonio Pappano has said, they are an extremely good band. Conducted by Michael Boder they sound as idiomatic as a specialist new music ensemble, clearly inspired by the challenge  of  Haas's music.  In 2013, Haas's In Vain was done by the London Sinfonietta. Please read my piece "Invisible Theatre" HERE.   Technically, Haas's music is nowhere as demanding as most of the London Sinfonietta's repertoire, but any comparison is an achievement. 

 Haas's music is beautiful, compelling and poetic. It can stand on its own merits, but conceptually it is sophisticated. New music isn't an easy sell to audiences expecting the music of 100 years ago. This is where the ROH could improve its marketing.  Fortunately the programme notes are good and include a piece by Tim Rutherford-Johnson on Haas's music, but the real need is  to give the public enough good information about the composer that they want to come in the first place.

A more formal version of this review appears in Opera Today (with production photos) 

Norway - Grieg, landscape and Utøya

Edvard Grieg wrote to a young urban composer "You need an inoculation of mountain stuff into your work.  For Grieg, the pure air and physicality of mountain living inspired a deep emotional response. He wrote about the "youthful combativeness" of Norway, "like the music of harsh triads compared with all the sugary seventh chords " in Denmark. In Norway, he said "the conflict concerns spiritual existence" while in the urban south it was "just a matter of trivialities".

That's probably arguable if you're Italian or German or Finnish or Czech,  but what Grieg is getting at is the concept that composers are shaped on an instinctive level by the landscape around them. For Grieg, the very remoteness of Norway's landscape symbolized the distancing he needed to counteract the Austro-German musical hegemony. Mountains, fjords and harsh winters concentrate the mind . What is trivial and commonplace is dwarfed by the power of nature. In his seminal Grieg: Music, Landscape and Norwegian Identity,(2006) Daniel M Grimley shows how landscape inspired a sense of identity that gave rise to concepts which would shape Norwegian culture. Speaking of Gangar op 54/2. Grimley demonstrates how Grieg develops a powerful structure by contrasting dynamic and static elements. "It is, arguably", he concludes, "the denial of personal subjectivity and the longing for transcendence that this systematic organisation and division of musical space creates that is the most powerful expression of Grieg’s landscape."

Grimley naturally focuses on Grieg, Bull and the poets who inspired them (and changed the very language).  But similar things were happening in the visual arts. Edvard Munch immediately springs to mind, but there were many other painters and craftsmen. Just as elsewhere in Europe, new concepts of design were sweeping away the past, so too in Scandinavia. About 25 years ago there was an exhibition at the Royal Academy called "Northern Light", which showed how art nouveau and Japanese design concepts meshed well with the nature-oriented simplicity of Norwegian life. Recently I wrote about Delius in this context, but the concept applies even more so to Grieg and his contemporaries (who got there first).(painting is Nikolai Astrup (1880-1928 ) Read more about him HERE

Everyone is going to have different ideas on any subject but that doesn't mean it's right to destroy anyone who doesn't agree. Now, thanks to the internet,  ideas about community and identity are being redefined. Once we jostled on with others and at some level realized that no-one really is omnipotent. Now any nutcase can link to other nutters and convince themselves that their reality is more important than anyone else's. This new community reinforces absolutism, in poltics and everything else.  In the moral vacuum of modern communications, perspective disappears, and with that tolerance and decency.  And I don't mean just gunmen. Again, Norwegian myth to the rescue.  Trolls don't venture forth, learn, develop. They are fools but they get their kicks from destroying travellers who do. They usually win because they operate  thru networks of fellow trolls.  Significantly, trolls live under bridges and travellers seek wide open spaces. Out in the mountains and in the vastness of nature, we're forced to realize how grubby bigotry can be.

I've written a lot over the years about what mountains signify in music, especially in Mahler. Please read HERE and HERE for example. Also please read here about Thorbjørn, who was a Traveller, in every sense.

Thorbjørn

"Yumpin' yiminey!" Thorbjørn used to say, never losing his heavy accent. His father was a harbour official at Christiania. One of his numerous siblings fell off the dock and drowned, aged 5. In her old age, his mother lived in a mountain hut near Lillehammer, "like Heidi". Thorbjørn and two of his other brothers went to sea and travelled all over the world.  Aged 17, he got shipwrecked off the coast of western Australia and lived with the aboriginals. Later, he wrote a book about it. One day he just happened to be walking down a street in New York, and what should happen, but all three brothers met up on the same street corner, though they didn't even know they were on the same continent. To mark the occasion they had a photograph taken at the nearest studio, as people did then. The brother who worked on JP Morgan's yacht stayed in America. Next brother settled in Fuzhou, China, where he had a large brood of kids, but then the Japanese came and then the Communists. Thorbjørn worked all over China, grew strawberries in Shanghai (quite  a feat),  played tennis, and was a fantastic draftsman, who did hundreds of pen and ink drawings of ships. He was close to his Parsee brother-in-law and his Cantonese PA whom I called "Chan Pak" (Grandfather Chan). He spent 2 1/2 years in a Japanese prison camp. Although Norwegians were officially Quisling, individually they gave grief to the Japanese. Badly weakened, he died soon after. I never knew him.

Now Thorbjørn is in a crowded burial ground, so higgeldy piggeldy that you have to step on dozens of others to get to his grave. No-one can ever find it. But I always locate it right away as if by radar, lord knows how..