Parvo Järvi, NHK Symphony Orchestra, Royal Festival Hall

Parvo Järvi, NHKSO - photo Belinda Lawley

   
By Marc Bridle : Takemitsu, Schumann, Rachmaninoff: Sol Gabetta (cello), NHK Symphony Orchestra, Parvo Järvi (conductor) – 24th February 2020 

Does an orchestra have to be centuries old for its sound to be unique and definable? In many cases the answer is yes, but there are rare instances of twentieth century orchestras which have become recognisable for their sound – the Philharmonia for their woodwind, the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks for that extraordinary blend of mellowness – and the NHKSO for the monumental richness of their strings. There is a particular quality to Japanese string playing, and no orchestra represents it better than this one.

Of the two symphonies the NHKSO are playing on their current European tour it is probably the Bruckner Seventh, which they played at their first concert in Estonia, which would have better impressed on us the sheer range of their strings. But it was evident in Schumann’s Cello Concerto, and ample enough in Rachmaninoff’s sweepingly romantic E minor symphony. Indeed, there was absolutely nothing understated about that performance: It may not have been overly lush, but it was heavy on dramatic impact and it seared in a way which is unusual in performances of this work. Robert Simpson’s 1967 assessment of this symphony as a work which “lapses into facile sentiment… collapses under its own weight… and drifts towards inflation” couldn’t have seemed more inappropriate, harsh or outdated as viewed through the prism of Parvo Järvi and his players.

Järvi is not a conductor who tends to hang fire in much of what he conducts; indeed, his tendency for dynamic tempos can benefit certain composers (Bartók and Shostakovich) but it can sometimes work against others (Richard Strauss and Mahler). In Rachmaninoff he is at the extreme end of the spectrum, especially when compared to two other live recordings the NHKSO made with other conductors, Yevgeny Svetlanov and André Previn. Svetlanov’s performance from September 2000 is the slowest, with an Adagio which stretches beyond 17 minutes; Previn’s, from September 2007, is typically mainstream for this conductor. There is a consensus that this Previn is his finest interpretation of the work; there is also a consensus the clarinet solo in the Adagio is particularly weak, an indication of some of this orchestra’s weaknesses. Järvi’s soloist, the hugely expressive Kei Ito, gave a performance as fine as any I have heard, an indication this orchestra can be a chameleon when it wants to.

You never quite know with a performance of this symphony where a conductor is quite going with it during its opening 20 bars – will it be Rachmaninoff, or will it be more like Tchaikovsky’s Fifth? The opening motto on cellos and basses suggested the former, while the echo of the theme on first violins followed in quick succession on the second violins – an echo that was achieved here by antiphonal strings – confirmed this impression. It was only Järvi’s treatment of this movement’s climaxes which somewhat muddied the waters – the first suggestion of the Dies Irae on clarinets and violas, the rampant timpani, the stripping away of romanticism in the violins, woodwind and horns slipping into brutality. This wasn’t a notably balanced view of the first movement by the end of it.

 The Allegro molto – perhaps not taken at that tempo – was riotous. If the virtuosity and precision of this orchestra is a given, in the past it has sometimes leant towards being mechanical and perfunctory. That is not the case today; this is a body of players who tends to exhibit an involvement with the music, and it was notable during this performance how often they swayed gently and moved with their conductor’s beat. But this was playing which often sounded robust and muscular – those massively powerful trumpets and trombones, the chasmic basses, the yawning clarinet, and yet how sudden the orchestra could plummet into the one bar of complete silence which is unique to this movement. If the Allegro molto sometimes veers towards moments of dialogue between its instruments this was not entirely convincingly done here. But there were sections – the fugue, the coda – which pressed the lyrical side of the music.

The Adagio – very slightly more measured than it had been in the broadcast of their performance at Suntory Hall on the 5th of February – was potent and vigorous rather than inclined towards romanticism. Järvi’s willingness to strip down the intensity of slow movements in some symphonies – a notable feature of his Mahler Sixth – can sometimes make them seem indelicate; indeed, one often wonders if Järvi isn’t looking backwards to a stricter view of romanticism but forwards to a leaner kind you find in works, for example, by Bartók. The clarinet solo here was undeniably beautiful, but it was a moment of lone expression, a voice sealed inside a chorus of strings which were stripped of all sentimentality. Clarinet and oboe solos, and the duet with the cor anglais, mirrored that long first solo, but how Järvi drove the climax, the pause at its close almost toppling into the beginning of the development. If there had been a particular vision here it was in striking a contrast between this movement’s ecstasy and its crests. Some conductors certainly make this music sound excessively rich; Järvi is not one of those, and this performance of the Adagio had a freshness of expression.

The beginning of the Finale felt more like Tchaikovsky than perhaps any of the previous ones had done; and the rest of it never really deviated from that. The thrust of this movement – an Allegro vivace – often felt it was bulldozing towards inevitability. The timpani which sounded as if it were on a parade, ascending triplets shooting like gunfire, hammering trumpets and drumming horns, cellos descending into the grave, pizzicato octaves on violins and violas that were explosive – all were symptomatic of an orchestra that would eventually be sucked into a vortex. And it was never less than stunningly virtuosic.

I think Järvi ripped much of the richness and glow from this Rachmaninoff and what we were left with was a diametric view of a symphony which was leaner on its romanticism and more inclined towards drama. This wasn’t a view of the work which addressed the symphony’s conventional opulence; nor was it one which saw it dripping in pigments and tints. It was undeniably high on drama, and a view of it which was convincing only if one could open one’s ears to the strikingly different impact we got.

Sol Gabetta, Parvo Järvi. photo : Belinda Lawley

Schumann’s Cello Concerto is in some ways an enigmatic work. It eschews both a conventional structure – although its three movements are distinct, they are played without a break between them – and it lacks the virtuosity of many cello concertos written during the same period of its composition. In another sense, it might not necessarily be a piece one would wish to play with an orchestra quite as powerful as the NHKSO.

What the work has in common with some of Schumann’s symphonies is a lyricism which is suggestive of lieder. The development section of the first movement is a substantial dialogue between the orchestra and soloist; the slow movement can sometimes appear in its poetic inspiration like a series of disconnected phrases; and there is even the hint of a duet with the soloist and principal cellist. Sol Gabetta showed considerable skill in navigating much of the concerto’s challenges. There was a femininity to her playing, a vocalisation to her fingering which understood the work’s inner voices. In her duet with the NHKSO’s cellist, Ryoichi Fujimori, the difference in tonal colour worked well. But there is also a strength and force to Gabetta’s playing which comfortably rose above the orchestra’s brawnier strings; and her meditative, sometimes contemplative interpretation of the work was projected rather than understated. If not an epic performance that relied on power (but then this work hardly needs it), it was one which easily contextualised the concerto’s emotional curves.

The concert had opened with Takemitsu’s How Slow the Wind. Based on an Emily Dickinson poem from 1883, it is his only piece for chamber orchestra, and certainly different in style and meaning to another setting of this poem by the Argentine composer Osvaldo Golijov who had written the piece for soprano and string quartet.

It is probably wrong to interpret Takemitsu’s orchestration of the work as being more large scale than one expects it to sound in performance. Its strings (8-6-4-4-2), and the delicacy and restraint of the writing that Takemitsu gives to them, is never going to stretch the tone of the players – not even for a string section as rich as that of the NHKSO. If this often felt more like a Japanese version of Haydn it was because it largely was. The work is grounded on repetition – rather a lot of it – and it is a balancing act for the strings of any orchestra to make the length of the piece not outstay its welcome. The NHK strings had an elasticity of colour, a delicacy of sound, and an ability to shape-shift what came before and what came after. Some of the orchestration might feel a little odd, even perhaps cluttered – the cowbells, the variegation in percussion – a vibraphone and glockenspiel – a harp, a piano and celesta but this is an orchestra which is notable for its clarity and the way it can make textures distinctly separate. That is exactly what we got here under Järvi’s knife-like and precision conscious baton.

The only encore of the concert – unlike the luckier Estonians who had been given two, the other being Sibelius’s Valse Triste – was Heino Eller’s Kodumaine viis. A reminder of Järvi’s roots, that country’s Independence Day and the NHK Symphony Orchestra’s glorious string section it perhaps settled once and for all what makes this orchestra such a special instrument. 

Vivacious Schumann Symphonies 1 & 3, John Eliot Gardiner, LSO

John Eliot Gardiner's Schumann series with the London Symphony Orchestra, from the Barbican Hall, London in 2019, now available on CD. This recording captures the verve and spontaniety of live performance, which further enhances the vividness of expression.  Schumann's Symphony no 1 in B flat major,Op. 38, (1841) and his Symphony No. 3  in E flat major, Op. 97, (1850), together with the Overture to Manfred Op. 115 (1848). (For my review of Schumann Symphonies no 2 & 4 with Gardiner and the LSO, please see here)

Following on from Gardiner's Mendelssohn series with the LSO, this Schumann series presented Schumann as Early Romantic, his sensibilities shaped by Mendelssohn and Weber.  In the last few decades, the assumption that Schumann's orchestrations were "inept and clunky" and needed "fiddling and re-touching", to quote Gardiner, has long since been refuted, as musicians and audience have come to appreciate Schumann on his own terms, demonstrated by the number of performances and recordings in recent years inspired by this fresh approach. Gardiner's Schumann series with the LSO is significant because, more than most conductors, he comes from a background immersed in period style and aesthetics.  The London Symphony Orchestra doesn't use period instruments, but that in itself means much less than their understanding of the aesthetics of informed perfomance practice.

Having established his reputation as a composer of music for solo piano, Schumann turned to works for voice and piano, influenced in no small part by his marriage to Clara.  The glorious outpouring of his Liederjahre  saw the creation of masterpieces like Dichterliebe, where individual songs form a larger work internally connected by theme and form.  Appreciating Schumann's Symphony no 1 in this context helps us appreciate him as symphonist. The associations with Spring aren't merely descriptive, but may refer to the Early Romantic symbolism of Spring as purity, simplicity and the freshness of Nature. In four movements, the symphony is "classical" though the spirit is distictively individual.  The exuberant fanfare follows speech rhythms,  quoting a line from the poet Adolf Böttger, "Im Thale blüht der Frühling auf". The andante picks up to vigorous allegro molto vivace, ending with emphatic affirmation. This accentuates the restraint of the second movement, which briefly had the title "Evening".  The scherzo repeats the fanfare, this time more earthy, highlighting the charm of the two trios. "The fanastic, mercurial humour of Schumann's great solo piano cycles", says Gardiner, "is here recreated brilliantly in orchestral terms". The final movement quotes Schubert's C Major symphony, the "Great", whose manuscript Schumann had uncovered in Vienna in 1838, but, as Gardiner says, the slow horn and flute cadenzas are pure Schumann "and for a moment it seems a new world of magical possibility is opened up".

Gardiner's approach to Schumann's Symphony no 3, the "Rhenish", also brings out the connections between the symphony and Schumann's many songs, even more so than in the First Symphony. Given the central position of song in Schumann's ouevre, his sensitivity to poetry and visual images and his very personal identification with the Rhine, it is wise not to underestimate the song aspects of this symphony.  Indeed, one could suggest that Schumann's Third inhabits a place from which we can consider his search for new forms of music theatre, evolving from oratorio Das Paradies und die Peri  (Op 59, 1843) (please read more here) to Genoveva (1848)  (read more here)  an opera that is more Weber than Wagner.  Is Schumann 3 song in symphonic form ? John  Daverio, the most intuitive of Schumann scholars, felt that text was integral to the music far more deeply than in the sense of word-painting. Schumann liked the shape of syntax, the rhythms of declamation. Schumann's music drama is only "difficult" if we expect it to evolve like Wagner, with conventional narrative. Instead, it's closer to abstract, conceptual art. In this performance, Gardiner and the LSO illuminated the colours, evoking the magic of the worlds of Weber, Mendelssohn and Singspiel tradition.  Lightness of touch, and freedom, are thus integral to interpretation.

Schumann's Symphony no 3 was inspired by an interlude of great happiness, when Robert and Clara took a holiday along the Rhine, both of them acutely aware of its symbolism and place in  Schumann's songs, such as "Berg’ und Burgen schaun herunter" from Liederkreis op 24, and the verse, from Heine :
"Freundlich grüssend und verheißend
Lockt hinab des Stromes Pracht;
Doch ich kenn’ ihn, oben gleißend,
Birgt sein Innres Tod und Nacht.!"

In a sense Schumann's third symphony is almost autobiographical, as if the composer were looking back at the high points in his career.  Gardiner and the LSO articulated the sparkling figures in the opening movement so they flowed, like a river, sunny but with darker undercurrents hinted at in the strong chords in the second theme, and the quieter passages in its wake. This coloured the second movement, suggesting the scherzo qualities behind the surface. There are echoes of folk dance, evoking the vigour of peasant life, but Schumann doesn't tarry. Bassoons, horns and trumpets called forth, the movement, ending on an elusive note.  The movement marked "Nicht schnell" was gracefully poised: as an intermezzo it connects the happiness of the Lebhaft  movement with what is to come. The solemn pace of the fourth movement marked "Feierlich" may describe a ceremony the Schumanns witnessed in Cologne Cathedral, but its musical antecedents can be traced to other sources, such as the song "Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome" from Dichterliebe.  The size of the cathedral, and the reverberations within it are suggested by the figures (trombones, trumpets, bassoons) which stretch out as if filling vast spaces. With Gardiner's clear textures the motif suggesting a cathedral organ was very distinct.  Whateverv the movement may or may not mean, the muffled horns and brass fanfares evoke a power that is very far from the insouciant quasi-folk tunes that have gone before. Yet Schumann concludes not with gloom but with a reprise of the sunny Lebhaft, the emphatic chords even stronger than before, this time lit up by a glorious fanfare, the brass shining above the strings below. The very image of the Rhine surging past towering mountains. Since we now know of Schumann's suicide attempt, this adds depth to our response.

Gardiner and the LSO make further connections by pairing Schumann's Third with his Overture to Manfred. In Byron's poem, Manfred is doomed, "half dust, half deity" driven mad by some unknown guilt, possibly incest, which in Byron's case may have been true. To German readers, there would have been echoes of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister.  Schumann's emotional extremes had been apparent at an early age, and his sister had committed suicide in her youth. Mendelssohn, whom Schumann revered, had died in 1847 while still in his prime. The Overture begins with majestic upward chords, rising like mountains, quintessential Early Romantic symbols on many levels, undercut by plaintive woodwinds and strings. As Gardiner points out, "the dark key E flat minor is particularly challenging for strings, yet the sense of strain this creates adds to the intensity".  Schumann's orchestration is so well defined that, in the eleven minutes of the Overture alone, he captures surging turmoil and psychic upheaval.

Fantasy Botany - The Anguished Lotus Bloom

Die Lotosblume ängstigt 

Sich vor der Sonne Pracht

Und mit gesenktem Haupte 

Erwartet sie träumend die Nacht. 

Der Mond, ist ihr Buhle 

Er weckt sie mit seinem Licht,

Und ihm entschleiert sie freundlich

Ihr frommes Blumengesicht, 

Sie blüht und glüht und leuchtet 

Und starret stumm in die Höh'; 

Sie duftet und weinet und zittert

Vor Liebe und Liebesweh. 

(The lotus bloom is stressed under the glare of the sun, and bends her head to await and dream of the night.  The moon, her secret lover, awakens her with its light, and for him, she she reveals her purity. She blooms, and gleams and shines and gazes towards the heavens. She releases her fragrance to the air and weeps and trembles with love and the pain of love.) 

The poem, by Heinrich Heine, is deceptively subtle.  The setting, by Robert Schumann is discreet, but notice the throbbing piano accompaniment, suggesting the palpitations of an anxious lover's heart.  Neither Heine nor Schumann probably saw lotuses growing in their natural habitat, where they grow en masse in ponds and lakes, reaching upwards toward the sun.  It's hot in the tropics, though the water keeps them cool.  The petals look fragile, though they're strong, like the stems and roots. Perhaps Heine and Schumann and their audiences identified the lotus with the moon, stillness, and secrecy, as Goethe did when he wrote of feelings inspired by the untouchable Charlotte von Stein.  In the last  line, passion breaks through,the voice part fills out "for love, and the pain of love"

Sunshine, mists and magic : Mein Wagen rollet langsam

From Heinrich Heine Buch der Lieder 1827, this lovely song by Robert Schumann Mein Wagen rollet Langsam op142/4 (1840) from Vier Gesänge .

Mein Wagen rollet langsam 

Durch lustiges Waldesgrün, 

Durch blumige Taler, die zaubrisch 

Im Sonnenglanze blühn.
 

(My carriage rolls along slowly through the glorious green of the woods,through flower-stren valleys that bloom, like magic in the sunshine)
The poet's sitting in a horsedrawn carriage, not a horsecart, he's not a farmer. So he can daydream and nod off.  The piano sparkles, as if enchanted by the "magic" in the sunny haze. Suddenly, the pace changes. It becomes hesistant, as if the horses are plodding, maybe up a steep slope.

Ich sitze und sinne und träume, 

Und denk' an die Liebste mein; 

(I sit, and ponder and dream and think of my beloved) . 

Da grüßen drei Schattengestalten 

Kopfnickend zum Wagen herein. 

(Outside the windows, three shadowy spirits rise up to greet me, shaking their heads.

Sie hüpfen und schneiden Gesichter, 

So spöttisch und doch so scheu, 

Und quirlen wie Nebel zusammen,

Und kichern und huschen vorbei. 

(They hop, and pull faces, at once mocking yet elusive, and twist themselves (quirlen) so they disappear into the mists (which have suddenly materialized) and cackle and slip away. The lines seem so smooth and lyrical that the vision passes almost unoticed. In the long postlude the piano sparkles again, as if the interruption were just a dream. Or not - maybe the poet's been spirited away, too. Below,  the wonderful André Schuen with Daniel Heide.

Christoph Prégardien Wanderer Tapestries

Christoph Prégardien Winterreise at the Wigmore Hall Thursday 21st March, in Normand Forget's arrangement for chamber ensemble with Pentaèdre, and Joseph Petric, accordionist.  This is an  arrangement for wind quartet and accordion, released on CD 10 years ago. Why do some people still go berserk at the idea of transcriptions ? Music has always stimulated creative respones. The idea that it should be standardized fixed product is only very recent, more to do with consumer expectations than to do with music or musicianship.  Winterreise in particular has attracted more arrangements than perhaps anything else in the repertoire.  There are Winterreise arranged for guitar, different types of chamber ensembles and even for hurdy-gurdy. There are stagings, adaptations and dance versions.   Prégardien's Winterreise with Andreas Staier on fortepiano is so good that it's an essential part of the discography.  Julian Prégardien's Hans Zender Schuberts Winterriese is a through-composed "new" piece not a transcription, also best in its class (Please read more here).

Gustav Mahler's Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen  exists as song for voice and piano,  the songs further adapted and incorporated in his Symphony no 1. Arnold Schoenberg's arrangement for small ensemble, was created for the Society for Private Musical Performances (Verein für musikalische Privataufführungen) in 1920.  This was an organization of musicians for musicians, hence the title "private".  Musicians only, dedicated to the analysis of new works. Some 154 pieces were examined, the concerts being the fruit of these discussions.  Schoenberg's arrangement brings out the correspondances in the songs, showing how they form a true, unified cycle. This orchestration is restrained, expanding the piano line with subtle flourishes that suggest Spring and lightness.  This delicacy works especially well for tenor, particularly one like Prégardien, whose timbre is pure and clean, suggesting youthful vigour.  Prégardien's recording with Ensemble Kontraste on the disc Wanderer for Challenge from 2010 is wonderful  a must for any serious Mahler listener.  

Prégardien and Ensemble Kontraste also perform several of Wilhelm Killmayer's Hölderlin-Lieder II, which Prégardien has recorded in full. Hölderlin's verses are fragments - one no more than the phrase ".....wie Wolken um die Zeiten legt...." .which Killmayer sets with great transparency  lots of white on the page, I suspect. But that's the essence of the poems : horizons stretch beyond articulation. Pinning down meaning would restrict and demean.  Killmayer created two sets of Hölderlin songs, one for voice and piano, the other for small ensemble. The chamber version is exqusite.  The flute tessitura runs very high, soaring upwards, defying gravity.  A pervasive sense of rapture : the poet contemplating the mysteries of the universe, transcending the prison that is his tower.  Lower, sensual murmurings from clarinet, viola and cello  : single note passages  like celestial light.  Epigrammatic as these songs are, they evoke infinite possibilities.  "Greichenland" sings Prégardien, in clear, bright tones : Hölderlin transfixed by shining ideals, the richness of the ensemble behind him adding dimension.  Killmayer was a master of re-invention, expanding afresh the frontiers of Lieder.

Also on this recording, Marcus Maria Reissenberger's arrangements for small ensemble of 14 pieces by Robert Schumann.  Reissbenberger's transcriptions are faithful to the basic piano line, the other instruments adding extra colour.  Also interesting is the way he mixes songs from  texts by Heine, Kerner and Eichendorff, (not all mega famous) with piano works, not in random order, but with a new logic. A tapestry woven from many threads.

 

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.

John Eliot Gardiner LSO Schumann Berlioz

John Eliot Gardiner, photo Sim Canetty-Clarke

The start of a major Schumann series with John Eliot Gardiner conducting the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican: Schumann Symphony no 2 in C major op 61 (1847) and the Overture to Genoveva with Berlioz Les nuits d'été, soloist Ann Hallenberg. Gardiner is one of the great Schumann conductors of our time, so the LSO are right on the mark, choosing him to head their Schumann series, which began with this concert, continues on 15th March and into 2019.  A major series, whose importance cannot be overestimated.  Perhaps we can hear Schumann all the time, but rarely at this level of excellence.

Gardiner's  approach to Schumann is inspired by a deep understanding of the composer's aesthetic.  It's a mistake to assume that period-informed performance means period instruments  It has much more to do with understanding the composer's idiom and practices which might enhance performance dynamics. The LSO doesn't use period instruments, but achieves werktreue effects by other means.  The players didn't sit down to play but instead stood up throughout.  Immediately, you could hear  the difference.  You'd need cloth ears not to notice, even if you didn't know "why". Because the players were closer together, the sound was more concentrated, achieving volume without having to force the instruments, the sound projected from a few feet higher than usual,  intensifying the interaction between players and podium. Chamber-like sensititivty, in a large (ish) ensemble. The musicians could move freely, flexing their bodies naturally, without the rigidity that comes from sitting down. This flexibility flowed through to the music, which felt direct and spontaneous, textures bright and clearly defined.  Gardiner's Schumann is agile and alive, revealing the composer's true originality.


Gardiner preceeded Schumann's Symphony no 2 with the Overture to his opera Genoveva, which he began at around the same time as he wrote the symphony. The connections go deeper.  The original folk tale on which Genoveva is based dates back to the Middle Ages. Indeed it’s the basis of stories like Snow White, for in legend, Genoveva lived in the forest, protected by animals and by her virtue. Significantly, though, Schumann rejected the medieval concept, choosing instead to base his opera on Friedrich Hebbel’s more psychological drama, published only four years previously. Schumann wanted a “modern” take on the story. As Hebbel said “Any drama will come alive only to the extent that it expresses the spirit of the age which brings it forth”. The Overture sets the stage, introducing the themes that will be developed more fully in the opera. It's marvellous, but listen to how it zooms into a chorale, and then into the opera proper, rather like successive proscenia in a theatre add depth to a flat stage. Schumann's doing dramatic perspective with music.

Schumann's Symphony no 2 begins with another brass chorale, which  here came over without stridency, the "brassiness" muted and dignified, integrating well with the bassoons, winds and strings. How poignant the horns and winds sounded, evoking Nature, hinting at the deep sources of the Romantic imagination.  Moving from sostenuto to allegro, Schumann then creates a wild scherzo where notes seem to fly in fiendishly complex patterns, though the themes are sharply defined.  Schumann 2 is unusual, because it mixes serene passages with oddball quirks. The last movement is sublime, but it's undercut by the moody bassoon from the Adagio, which Schumann told a friend was when he heard his "half sickness" calling him. Yet he had a "special fondness"  for this strange melancholy , which infused even the happiest moments of his life. Who but Schumann could have written Dichterliebe as a wedding gift after having struggled so long to win Clara from her father?

Throughout this symphony there are oblique references to Bach and especially to Mendelssohn whose Midsummer Night's Dream music casts a magical glow on the Adagio.  The assertive, affirmative confidence of the final movement seemed to come straight from the spirit of Beethoven. 
Genoveva and Lohengrin both premiered in the summer of 1850. Wagner disparaged Schumann, as he disparaged Mendelssohn (Schumann’s hero). Since Wagner’s opinions were influential, Genoveva has been eclipsed, and most late Schuman undervalued because it doesn't fit the Wagner ethos  But  Schumann’s ideas on music and music drana stem from sources earlier than Wagner, and might have developed an alternative path had he continued writing after the age of 45.

Between Schumann's Overture to Genoveva and his Symphony no 2,  Berlioz Les nuits d'été op 7 (1841). Gardiner is also a great Berlioz conductor : remember his Damnation of Faust last year ? (read my piece here).  The immediacy of Gardiner's style adds punch to  the song cycle, enhancing dramatic tension.  Ann Hallenberg was a good soloist, not especially French, but in the context of a Schumann series, that's perfectly apt. 

This concert was also broadcast live, part of the LSO live initiative. This itself is news, since it enables the LSO to reach international audiences online who might not otherwise be able to attend concerts, even when the LSO goes on tour.  This particular concert seems to attracted less than the number who logged in for Bychkov's Mahler symphony no 2, but that's fair enough. Mahler is box office, while Schumann and particularly up-market Schumann is more esoteric. It will be interesting to see what the next live stream draws on April 11th (Mahler 10, Simon Rattle, Michael Tippett The Rose Garden)  The economics of livestream are hard to measure.  This concert reached about as many as would be seated in the Barbican, but will continue to attract viewers on Youtube for a longer period. The knock-on effect should also be felt in CD/DVD sales. Long term, streaming enhances the profile of the orchestra, and reaches a wider public.

Matthias Goerne Schumann Einsamkeit

Matthias Goerne Schumann Lieder, with Markus Hinterhäuser, a new recording from Harmonia Mundi.  Singers, especially baritones, often come into their prime as they approach 50, and Goerne, who has been a star since his 20's is now formidably impressive.  The colours in his voice have matured, with even greater richness and depth than before.  If the breathiness that once made his style so immediate is gone, that's more than made up for by the authority with which he now sings. In this recording, the lustre of the voice combines with  Goerne's truly exceptional powers of interpretation: an ideal channel for a composer like Schumann, whose genius, surprisingly, is still underestimated.  Many of the songs in this collection come from the composer's later years, sometimes unappreciated because the style changes, heading toward new pathways.  Schumann was well informed, aware of new currents in cultural life. Certainly he knew Wagner, but Wagner and Schumann were probably heading in different directions.

Goerne has been interested in late Schumann for many years, and sang many of these songs in his concert at the Wigmore Hall in 2015 with Menahem Pressler, where the songs were presented in the context of late Schumann piano pieces.  Please read more about that here  because it is important to consider the songs in relation to the piano works so dear to Schumann's soul). This recording, thus, is a must for anyone genuinely interested in Schumann beyond the "greatest hits" for it shows how Schumann remained a creative force, despite encroaching illness, an illness that might possibly be better understood today, which might have extended his creative years.

Nikolaus von Lenau

Schumann's op 90, to poems by Nikolaus von Lenau, were written in August 1850.   Goerne and Hinterhäuser began with Mein Rose, the second song in the set, evoking the fragrance of love song which makes Dichterliebe an enduring masterpiece.  Goerne's voice, though formidably powerful, can also be remarkably tender.  The gentle lilt of Die Sennin suggests warm summer breezes wafting the herdgirl's songs down from alpine meadows to the valley. It's a song in which tenors excel, but Goerne captures its sunlit radiance.  Then Einsamkeit, where the mood darkens. Under the densely overgrown spruce trees, "Still hier der Geist der Liebe", deep, hopeless love. Thus we are prepared for Requiem, the seventh and last song in Schumann's op 90.  The Requiem sets a text by an anonymous poet, which is rather apt since the poem deals with the annihilation of personality that is death.  The piano part is soothing, the lines long and sedate, but Goerne's artistry brings out the undercurrent of tragedy that lies beneath the conventional piety of the text.

We remain in the pensive solitude of Der Einsledler op 83/3 (Eichendorff) , also from 1850, before looking back on the past with a few songs from Myrthen (Heine) op 24 from 1840, the glorious Liederjahre in which Schumann's genius for vocal music suddenly blossomed, inspired, perhaps by his marriage to Clara.  Die Lotousblume and Du bist wie eine blume are sensuous, Goerne's voice imparting tenderness as well as desire.  Provocatively, though, Goerne and Hinterhäuser interrupt the floral reverie with two Rückert songs, Der Himmel hat eine Träne geweint op 37/1 and Mein schöner Stern !"  op,101/4 from Minnespeil, a collection from 1849 for different combinations of voices, reminding us of Schumann's interests in larger vocal forms.  It feels as though a chill has descended upon the spring blooms. But Schumann's creative forces do not wither but change direction. The imagery in the songs on this disc switches towards wider panoramas. Nachtlied op 96/1, to the famous text by Goethe, is in Schumann's setting, much more haunted than Schubert's.  

Wifried von der Neun

Goerne and Hinterhäuser then return to 1850, with the complete set of Sechs Gesänge op 89 to poems by a strange man who used the pen name of Wilfried von der Neun,  "Wilfred of The Nine", meaning the nine muses, no less. This was the glorified pseudonym, allegedly adopted in his early youth by Friedrich Wilhelm Traugott Schöpff (1826-1916) who made a living as a pastor in rural Saxony. The poems are pretty banal, far lower than the standards Schumann would have revered in his prime. However, bad poetry is no bar, per se, to music. As Eric Sams wrote "the inward and elated moods of the previous year mingle and  blur together in the new chromatic style in the absence of diatonic contrasts and tensions a new principle is needed. Schumann accordingly invents and applies the principle of thematic change....It is as if he had acquired a new cunning and his mind had lost an old one."  The songs aren't premier cru : Schumann with his exquisite taste in poetry must have had a bad day.  Nonetheless,  Goerne and Hinterhäuser give such a fine performance that definitely justifies the prominence given to therm on this disc.  Lesser musicians beware. Though not ideal, these songs are worth knowing because they demonstrate Schumann's willingness to explore new directions. Sams is the source to go for studying these songs, for he analyses them carefully, drawing connections in particular to Am leuchetenden Sommermorgen and Hör' ich ein Liedchen klingen in Dichterliebe.  Sams said "Schumann's memory is playing him tricks".

Moreover, this set was written close to the time Schumann wrote the superb Lenau set op 90 with which Goerne and Hinterhäuser began this recording.  This shows that Schumann's powers were not failing. Like most creative people he wasn't afraid to take risks.  It may be significant, though, that Lenau had some kind of mental breakdown in 1844, aged only 42, and spent the rest of his life incarcerated in an asylum.  This recording ends with Abendlied op 107/6 from Sechs Gesänge (1851–52) to a poem by Gottfried Kinkel.  The song is dignified, an exercise in balance and  refinement. Listen to how Goerne shapes the lines, flowing smoothly from very high notes to very low. The song demonstrates his range and technical ability, but even more impressively his grasp of emotional subtlety.  As night falls, the world sinks into darkness. But the stars appear "in Majestät". The poet hears "the footsteps of angels" and the advance of a golden, celestial chariot "in gleichen, festem gleise".  No wonder the song ends, not with gloom but firm resolve."Wirf ab, Herz, was dich kränket und was dir bange macht". Definitely not "alone" in Einsamkeit.  This song is so beautifully done, it's almost worth the price of the whole CD.

Jonas Kaufmann Barbican £435 ? Sex or art ?

Jonas Kaufmann's Barbican residency, London  Tickets sold out months ago, despite being priced way beyond average. High prices are fair enough for JK, Karita Mattila, Eric Halfvarson and Tony Pappano, but for the piano recital with Helmut Deutsch ? Viagogo advertised one ticket for the last concert at £435, though I've heard a rumour that prices on the black market were much higher.  This is indecent, it's nothing to do with art.  Which raises interesting questions.  Was the series artistic endeavour or celebrity binge ? Or both ?  Why not?  Nothing JK does is "ordinary". Some of my friends, true devotees, travelled for thousands of miles to attend, and had a wonderful time.  Experience of a lifetime!  Most of my friends opted for the Wagner concert, a wise choice, since hardly anyone does Siegmund better than JK, and Mattila was, by all accounts, even more impressive.

The first concert was much less interesting since Kaufmann's done similar programmes before, including at the Wigmore Hall.  Kaufmann's timbre is  quite Italianate, with luscious depth, ideally suited to Britten's Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo  op 22.  Much better than Peter Pears, who sounds like he's singing an alien language. Kaufmann makes the songs breathe sensual richness. Kaufmann's done the Schumann Kerner Lieder op 35 several times, too, as recently in London as 2015.  Nothing obscure about these songs !  Again, they suit Kaufmann's voice. In one of the songs  Stirb'  Lieb’ und Freud”! , a man observes a woman transfixed by religious ecstasy. Beautiful as the image is, it's unnatural to the man, who now can never speak of his love. The tessitura suddenly peaks so high that some singers scrape into falsetto, but no chance of that with Kaufmann, who has the range, and has the technique to make it easy.

It doesn't matter if listeners don't know the songs or who the poet was : the important thing was to pay attention and figure out why Kaufmann likes doing them.  Unfortunately some of the London press tends towards fashion victim. This is a shame, because that does JK no favours. The better audiences understand what he does, and why, the better they'll really value him, but with a press that values hype over substance, how do listeners learn ?.  Schumann's Kerner Lieder are by no means obscure, or difficult to follow.  Think about those images of gold, wine, mystery, lusciousness : JK all over, and making the most of the smoky undertones that make his voice unique.  Read HERE for more about the Kerner Lieder. 

Kaufmann's last concert could well be the most interesting of all, because he's doing something really different, Strauss Vier letzte Lieder, which were written for soprano.  Songs change when they're transposed to a different kind of voice, but there's nothing controversial about that, in principle.  So what Kaufmann will do with them is fascinating. They have been done by men before, even by baritones. But again, I think Kaufmann has the range and stylishness to convince. Moreover, presenting Vier letzte Lieder in the context of other Strauss, and together with Erich Korngold's Schauspeile Overture and Elgar's In the South, also makes a difference.  Again, even if these works are new the challenge is to listen, and appreciate how hearing things in context influences the experience.   Alas, the concert was cancelled at the last minute ! 

There's another concert Feb. 16th 2018, where Kaufmann will sing Hugo Wolf  Italienisches Liederbuch with Diana Damrau.  Tickets reaching £160 !  Again, a wise match between material and voice. Each of these songs tells a little story. While they aren't "operatic", they withstand operatic treatment better than most Lieder.  Kaufmann's voice and Damrau's balance very well, so it's hardly surprising that they've done these songs together before.  Although the Barbican Hall isn't ideal for piano song, it's not bad.  Fischer-Dieskau and Schwarzkopf sold out the Royal Festival Hall when they sang Hugo Wolf, sixty years ago. The RFH is bigger than the Barbican and in those days had a dead acoustic. In the end, it's the quality of listening that counts. 

So Jonas Kaufmann's a sex god ?   Real fans also love him for his art. And for many of us, that's WHY he's so darn sexy !