Wigmore Hall
Mahler – Songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn
Debussy – Chansons de Bilitis
Mahler – Rückert-Lieder
Debussy – Ariettes oubliées
Messiaen – Poèmes pour Mi: Book II (selection)
Magdalena Kožená (mezzo-soprano)
Dame Mitsuko Uchida (piano)
Though an announcement was made to the effect
that Magdalena Kožená was suffering from a sore throat, for the most part one
would barely have known, for this was a fine recital, intriguingly programmed
and committed in performance. It did no harm, of course, having a pianist of
the stature of Dame Mitsuko Uchida, the individuality of her artistry apparent
from the introduction to ‘Rheinlegendchen,’ the first of the two Wunderhorn sonds. Uchida’s shaping of
phrases, her voicing of harmonies, and the sheer weight of tone made it
abundantly clear that this was no ‘accompanist’. The individuality of Kožená’s
voice, a deep mezzo that sometimes borders upon the rare realm of the
contralto, was an equal joy to experience. Searing drama was to be heard in ‘Das
irdische Leben,’ its tale of a child’s starvation peering forward towards the Rückert-Lieder heard later in the
programme and indeed to Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder.
The final line, starkly delivered, ‘Lag das Kind auf der Totenbahr’ (‘The child
lay on the funeral bier’), chilled to the bone.
The Rückert-Lieder
were equally distinguished. ‘Liebst du um Schönheit’ brought an almost straightforward sunniness, whilst
the will-o’-the-wisp quality imparted to ‘Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder!’
inevitably reminded one of Schubert’s ‘Irrlicht’. Uchida’s leaning into
accented notes was judged to dramatic perfection. A chilling stillness pervaded
the piano introduction to ‘Um Mitternacht’, its first interlude well-nigh
orchestral in its colour – and drama. The blissful repose both artists conveyed
in the final stanza of ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ provided a
spellbinding conclusion to the first half.
In between the two Mahler sets we had
heard the contrasting erotics of Debussy’s Chansons
de Bilitis. Uchida’s experience in Debussy really told, the opening to ‘La flute
de Pan’ sounding as if a newly-discovered Prélude,
its conclusion simply exquisite in its touch. Kožená’s quasi-spoken vocal style
drew inevitable parallels with Pelléas et
Mélisande, whose latter role she has sung with her husband, Sir Simon
Rattle. ‘La chevelure’ could also not help but bring to mind that most subtly ravishing
of operas (with the perennial exception of Così),
the deepness of Kožená’s voice an especial boon here. The climax, ‘ou que tu
entrais en moi comme mon songe’ (‘where you enter into me, as in my dream’)
left one in need of a cold shower afterwards. Ecstasy was finely
counterbalanced in ‘Le tombeau des Naïades’ by the fine sense of storytelling Kožená
brought to proceedings.
Ariettes oubliées opened the
second half. ‘C’est l’extase langoureuse, c’est la fatigue amoureuse,’ are
Verlaine’s opening lines – and so it was: languorous rapture, amorous fatigue.
Attention to detail without the slightest hint of exaggeration is crucial to
these songs, a splendid example of which was the expectant pause, beautifully
judged, after ‘C’est’, before ‘vers les ramures grises’. An unfortunate broken
note upon the final word, ‘bas’ was a rare sign of Kožená’s indisposition. The
dramatically, musically alert playing Uchida contributed to ‘Il pleure dans mon
cœur,’ once again had one fancy this was a piano Prélude – with obbligato voice. Uchida’s virtuosity and Kožená’s
vocal impetuosity proved a fine match in ‘Chevaux de bois’, its final stanza
bringing an apt sense of sickness, following the whirling of the
merry-go-round. ‘Spleen’ was operatic, but never too much – just like Pelléas itself, of course.
Messiaen’s Poèms pour Mi, or rather a selection from the second book, made one
long to hear these artists in both books. Uchida brought an unsurpassable
feeling for harmony and its progression. ‘L’épouse,’ the first song programmed,
benefited from startling muscular performances from her and from Kožená: one
was left in no doubt of the imperative to go where the Spirit leads. Rhythmic
command is equally crucial, as displayed in an ecstatic ‘Ta voix’
(second) and the difficult metrics of the final ‘Prière exaucée’, whose
melismatic solos terrified and mesmerised. In between, we heard an intensely
dramatic, both weird and orthodox ‘Les deux guerriers,’ which penetrated to the
very heart of Messiaen’s unique French mysticism, and a duly heated ‘Le collier’,
two arms entwined around the neck.
