Exceptionally prescient : Janáček Jenůfa - Belohlávek. Mattila

Highlight of the whole opera season so far this year: Leos Janáček Jenůfa with Jirí Belohlávek, his team from the Czech Philharmonic, and Karita Mattila making her debut as Kostelnicka Buryjovka. British audiences embraced Janáček even during his lifetime and Rafael Kubelik introduced him to Covent Garden. Belohlávek has transformed the whole way in which Czech repertoire is received in this country. This Jenůfa continues Belohlávek's mission to present Czech music affirming its idiomatic individuality, fuelled by intuitive feel for language and culture. From Belohlávek we've had outstanding Smetana, Janáček, Dvorak, Suk  and  Martinů, so expectations were high, and totally fulfiilled.

Exceptional playing from the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. When they come to London with Belohlávek, they seem to put their souls into performance. The dynamism and verve they offered brought this Jenůfa to vivid life. This performance was intense, yet clear-sighted, giving context to the extreme emotions in the narrative. In the glowing strings and richness of the winds, we could visualize the cornfields around the village, a symbolic metaphor for fertility, and by extension, the continuity of communal life. In her own way, like a good farmer, Kostelnicka protects the resources  around her. She wants the best for Jenůfa, and until Števa shows he can run the mill responsibly, the couple can't marry. Unfortunately, fertility plays tricks. When Laca stabs Jenůfa, sharp, violent chords suggest Laca's frustration. He, who cannot inherit or get the girl, can only destroy. Yet the abundance and energy in the music remind us that Nature is infinitely greater than mortal men. Eventually it will triumph.  

Significantly, the Second Act takes place in winter, when people are trapped indoors, physically and psychically. Hence the ominous drumbeats and the pale, fragile figures on winds, sharp chords and a dragging undertow, all suggesting the interplay between environment and human drama. Can we hear the river flowing beneath the frozen surface?  In this Act the vocal parts take prominence. Jenůfa's music is tender, contrasting with the harshness of her dilemma, and with the whining arrogance in Števa's music. Jaroslav Brezina sang Števa, and Adriana Kohútková sang Jenůfa, the lightness in her voice suggesting how innocent Jenůfa is, despite her past.  Aleš Briscein, a Czech Opera regular, whom we've heard many times, gave Laca firm definition, which matters, since the character will prove, in the end, to have the depth to overcome his flaws.  When Karita Mattila sang Jenůfa she was good, but Kostelnicka would seem to suit the complexity in her voice even better.  The intensity in Mattila's voice shows that, as a sacristan's wife,  Kostelnicka understands mortal sin, but the underlying warmth suggests that her love for Jenůfa makes the sacrifice worthwhile. 

In Spring, the ice in the river melts: we hear again in the orchestra lively motifs that suggest movement, and the energy of peasant life. Now the choruses really come into full focus: the Czech Philharmonic Choir Brno show how integral natural fluency in language connects to Janáček's idiom  The spikiness in the orchestration springs from a language invigorated by consonants and stresses very different to, say, Italian or German.  The interplay of individual voices in the final act was masterful: Belohlávek is an excellent conductor for voice.  Mattila's voice commands the action, at once tragic and resigned. Perhaps that's the fate which awaits Jenůfa and Laca. The music around them feels heroic, though pointedly not overblown. At the end, we hear the suggestion of bells ringing in the distance. Balance returns, wisdom is gained and the rhythm of Nature restored. People die, life goes on.

Jirí Belohlávek is looking older and more frail, but in many ways that might have enhanced the performance. This was a Jenůfa of very great emotional depth, executed with the kind of authority which comes from genuine sensitivity. We have been truly blessed to experience an interpretation as perceptive as this.

The photo above was taken in Prague last week.  Please click on the labels at right to read what else I've written about Belohlávek and the music  he serves so well.

Interpreting Mahler 9th - Bernard Haitink

In a career spanning over 60 years,  much of which was spent with one of the great Mahler orchestras, Bernard Haitink has probably conducted more Mahler than anyone else. Recordings tend to shape opinion, but recordings aren't "real life" but only snapshots of a moment, which, once past, is gone.  Musicians like Haitink can't churn out the same thing all the time.  Thus the importance of constantly learning, constantly re-thinking  and developing.  And always, drawing insight from source. "Conductors should not treat Mahler as a "free for all", Haitink once said, "Mahler's symphonies should not be treated as fantasies, rhapsodies. They are very carefully structured. He was a conductor, he knew very well what he was doing. Emotion is there but one should not tilt the balance".
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Because the 9th was Mahler's last completed symphony, the myth has it that it must be gloomy and death-ridden. Such interpretations are valid, if they reflect a conductor's response. Hence Haitink's comment that interpretation should stem from understanding not wilful intervention. Emotional intelligence enhances nuance: the wider the emotional range, the greater the capacity for understanding. Modern scholarship shows that Mahler was an intellectual, who could see beyond surface sentiment. Unlike many of his era, he didn't get off on the pornography of death, but tried to consider what might lie beyond.  He loved life, and nature and the power of the soul to transcend earthly limitations. Throughout his entire output run themes of transformation and renewal.  Fifty years ago, we weren't familiar with what Mahler completed in what's now known as his Tenth symphony.  We can't blank that out. So bang goes any theory of histrionics in Mahler 9th.

Haitink has conducted Mahler 9th many times, so it's pointless to think he does a "standard" version.  But one performance sticks in my mind because it moved me so much.  It was in London, in 2009. I wrote then that he "produced a performance of ethereal, spiritual clarity, so pure that it felt like abstract art. As Haitink said, the coda is "timeless", soaring ever higher until it disappears from human hearing. To Haitink it is a "farewell" but not in a maudlin sense, but in the sense that Mahler is heading into unknown territory, where earthly constraints no longer apply. Mahler is stretching the boundaries, heading towards a new beginning. That's why it's so exhilarating.

Almost immediately, Haitink establishes the ground rules. He gets a surprisingly sweet, warm sound from the London Symphony Orchestra -- completely different from the sour crudeness Gergiev produced. Instead, Haitink gets the strings to play with such gossamer lightness that the sound seems to rise into the air. Open horizons, endless possibilities, the finale already in sight. Suddenly the pace steps up with the striding theme led by brass. Things move forward. There's definite, purposeful direction beneath this delicate spirit.

It's not for nothing that Mahler was a keen hiker who spent much time in the mountains. Think back to the "mountain peaks" of the Third Symphony and the panoramic vistas that unfold. Here we hear them again, when Mahler might have thought his hiking days over. Haitink's light touch brings out the sub-themes, which swirl like wind, circulating in spirals but always pushing forward. From this evolves the solo violin, played by the leader, Gordan Nikolitch. Even by his standards, this was exceptionally beautiful. The violin soars but doesn't take off on its own. Instead it dialogues with the flute, here played with great delicacy by Gareth Davies. It's like watching two birds flying together. Then the violin takes flight and soars ever higher beyond the reach of the flute. Because the second movement is titled Im Tempo eines gemächliches Ländlers, it's easy to assume it's a straightforward depiction of country dances, but Mahler has been using these images so often that we know he's not entirely literal. Haitink doesn't exaggerate the dance aspects, not even the muted swagger. Mahler's instructions were that these passages should be played "clumsily", the way real peasants move. The orchestra is solemn and dignified, trying very hard to be earthbound, for soon the mood will change.

Haitink even finds dignity in the Rondo-burleske. Defiance doesn't need to be violent. Indeed, this muted tension seems to spring from sources too deep to be easily defused, and is all the more powerful for that. Stamp, stamp go the angular rhythms, like an impatient beast pounding the ground. Against this suppressed savagery, the notes of the harp take off, flowing up the scale, an image of light, yet again.

When the final movement begins. it's clear from Haitink's reading that it's a resolution of what has gone before. This Adagio seems to lift off, rising higher and higher. It moves in ever increasing circles like a bird hovering over the earth. The "stamping" theme of the Rondo burleske surfaces in muted form but is left far behind. Haitink plays this orchestra so well that the music seems to grow, smoothly and naturally, like an organic being. Gradually. literal detail fades into abstraction. Are we seeing the world below disappearing like a bird might see it when entering clouds? The final lift-off is magical, the sound receding as if it were being drawn up into the stratosphere. If Mahler has headed off, it's into the transcendent light, the Urlicht, which has fascinated him all along."

Erotic Ralph Vaughan Williams - Fair Child of Beauty

Ralph Vaughan Williams : Fair Child of Beauty, the latest release from Albion Records, the recording label of the Ralph Vaughan Williams Society.  All Albion's recordings present RVW rarities, but this disc has a much wider potential market. It's important because it demonstrates the creative relationship between the composer and Ursula Wood, who would later become his wife. Many remember Ursula as the elderly lady who presided over RVW Society events and was the force behind the Little Missenden Festival, but Ursula's own role as an artist is overshadowed.

While still a student, Ursula  had heard RVW's Job, a Masque for Dancing.  Perhaps she remembered this when she approached RVW with a scenario for a masque based on Edmund Spenser's Epithalamion, a text she'd loved since her schooldays, Spenser had written the piece for his own wedding in 1594, so despite its invocations of Gods and images from classical antiquity, it's enlivened by heartfelt immediacy.  The bridegroom anticipates the arrival of the bride. The rituals of the ceremony progress until the couple are left "concealed through covert night" in wedded bliss. The scenario proved prophetic. RVW invited Ursula to lunch to discuss the project. As they left, Ursula later said "as we were waiting for the light to cross, he put his arm around me and gave me a passionate kiss...by the time I went to see him off, I had fallen in love",

And thus was born A Bridal Day: A Masque by Ursula Wood, to use its official title   This was music to be danced to, and mimed, in the formal but understated Tudor style, hence the simplicity of the orchestration - solo flute, piano, five strings and a small vocal ensemble. The direct, personal nature of the poem is further emphasized  by the use of a baritone, declaiming the spoken narration and singing where necessary. The bride remains veiled behind the music, which throughout bears RVW's individual stamp.

Ursula was to have mimed the part but the first full performance did not take place due to the war. Perhaps, a piece that celebrates Juno the guardian of marital fidelity and Hymen, the spirit of virginity, might have been sensitive in an era when moral judgement went against extra-marital relationships.  The refrain "all  the woods will answer and their echoes bring" would be a bit racy when the lady in question was a Mrs Wood.  It is a delightful piece, a very Turangalîla-Symphonie, glorifying explicit erotic passion.  Many, many years ago, reading about Ursula VW and Elizabeth Maconchy, I  observed how modern those women were in their honest enthusiam for healthy pleasure, and nearly got lynched for lèse-majesté  To Ursula's credit, she was never a hypocrite.

The premiere did not take place until 1953, but the black and white television transmission didn't please the Vaughan Williamses. Perhaps now is the time when some enterprising ensemble can bring The Bridal Day to fruition? But nothing twee, please. The beauty of this recording lies in the excellence of performance. The Britten Sinfomia Septet conducted by Alan Tongue play with committment and dignity.  Philip Smith sings the baritone part, John Hopkins declaims the narration and the Joyful Company of Singers, directed by Peter  Broadbent, do the choruses, as cheerfully and naturally as if they were singing at a real wedding.

Disappointed by the reception of The Bridal Day, RVW created Epithalamion, a Cantata (1957), reworking The Bridal Day for more conventional chorus and orchestra, leaving out the solo voice, narration and dances.. This later work is reasonably well known, since its sequences suggest snatches of RVW's other music. It's also less emotionally up front, almost neutered, which might perhaps cater to some audiences,  but hasn't the quirky personality of The Bridal Day.

Rattle Messiaen Bruckner LSO Couleurs de la cité céleste

Sir Simon Rattle conducted Messiaen and Bruckner with the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican Hall, London.  Rattle's love for these composers shone forth, inspiring the LSO to respond with greater verve than they've sometimes performed of late.

An astonishingly vivid Messiaen Couleurs de la cité céleste (1963). This work doesn't quite get the attention it deserves, coming between truly exceptional works like Chronochromie and Et Exspecto resurrectionem Mortuorum, Read here about Rattle's Et exspecto in 2011.  In comparison,  Couleurs de la cité céleste seems like a typical Messiaen study in light and colour. The piece shimmers, resplendent and glowing as if it were made of gemstones refracting light. Yet it also reflects the cosmological belief that, at the Apocalypse, the world will be destroyed by cataclysm. yet above the chaos, a vision will appear in the heavens: the celestial city of eternal life.  

Rattle demonstrated the innate strength that underpins the firm foundations on whuch  Couleurs de la cité céleste is built. Conductors who think Messiaen is self indulgent excess don't understand the composer at all. Witness a shamefully self indulgent Turangalîla-Symphonie (definitely not Rattle) not too long ago. The piece begins with short, sharp dissonant shards, their impact marked with carefully observed intervals.  When Boulez conducted it with Ensemble Intercontemporain in 2008, these chords seemed monumental. Rattle captured that same sense of dramatic portent. When the "bells" of percussion rang out they felt like reiterations of those first chords, marking a stage of transition.   
 
Just as with Buddhist mandalas and Sanskrit wheels, the symmetry in  Couleurs de la cité céleste affirms meaning. Messiaen observed that birds descended from dinosaurs: hence the presence of birds at the End of Time, not so much in bird song as in the jerky angular movements birds make when they're on the ground, which Pierre-Laurent Aimard defined with great insight. Soon, we know, these earthbound birds will take flight.  Symmetry, too, in the instrumentation: three clarinets, three trombones, three percussion instruments forming a central core.  Scurrying percussive figures gathered speed, hurrying the music along. Expansive brass chords, surging forth. Massive tam tam crashes, then sudden silence. which in this performance felt suitably, like a shock. Rattle makes telling connections between Couleurs de la cité céleste and Et Exspecto resurrectionem Mortuorum.

Bruckner Symphony no 8, which followed, was conducted and played with majesty. Listening to Bruckner after Messiaen reveals different perspectives. Emotionally I was still in the "mountains" of Messiaen's apocalyptic ecstasy, so I picked up on details I don't usually hear in the grand design. Nonetheless, that's good. Often i think of Bruckner the man, an oddball figure lurking behind his huge structures. If this concert signifies LSO's future with Rattle, we have lots of good things to look forward to.