Wigmore Hall
Mahler – Des Knaben Wunderhorn: selection
Zemlinsky – Altdeutsches Minnelied, op.2
Das
bucklichte Männlein,
op.22 no.6
Entbietung, op.7 no.2
Meeraugen, op.7 no.3
Schoenberg – Wie Georg von Frundsberg von sich selber
sang, op.3 no.1
Warnung, op.3 no.3
Mädchenlied, op.6 no.3
Der
Wanderer, op.6 no.8
Korngold – Schneeglöckchen, op.9 no.1
Die
Sperlinge, op.5 no.7
Was
Du mir bist?, op.22 no.1
Mit
Dir zu schweigen, op.22
no.2
Welt
ist stille eingeschlafen,
op.22 no.3
Annette Dasch (soprano)
Helmut Deutsch (piano)
This was an excellent
recital: committed performances from both artists, and a fascinating programme.
Annette Dasch, whom I last heard as Elsa
in Bayreuth’s Lohengrin last year,
proved an equally captivating recitalist; Helmut Deutsch may need no
introduction as a collaborative pianist, but his artistry should not be taken
for granted either.
The first half was devoted to
ten of Mahler’s Wunderhorn songs. Deutsch
offered a wonderfully slow, teasing introduction to ‘Rheinlegendchen’, its lilt
and indeed harmonies looking forward to Schoenberg’s Brettl-Lieder. Dasch set out her stall from the outset, making a
great deal of the words, especially during the stanza in which we hear of the
little gold ring being swallowed by a fish, to be served ‘at the King’s own
table’. There followed a splendidly militaristic ‘Trost im Unglück’, prior to
relaxation. Dasch presented two quite different ‘voices’ for the hussar and the
girl; the latter’s ‘away with you; I have had my fill’ (‘Und geh’ du nur hin, Ich
had mein Teil’) delivered through audibly clenched teeth. ‘Zu Straßburd auf der
Schanz’ benefited from a highly atmospheric piano introduction, the Alphorn
sounding through pedalled melancholy. Dissonances throughout the song, and again,
noticeably in the later ‘Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen,’ sounded all the more
biting in the sparseness of a piano ‘accompaniment’ than when heard in their
more familiar orchestral guise. ‘Lied des Verfolgten im Turm’ offered another
opportunity, well taken, for Dasch to distinguish between ‘characters’. The almost
paradoxical phantasmagorical clarity of the piano part sounded verily
Debussyan. A deeply felt ‘centre’ to the first half was afforded by both ‘Wo
die schönen Trompeten blasen’ and the following ‘Urlicht’. The warmest of
futile consolation was communicated in the former: ‘Willkommen, lieber Knabe
mein, So long hast du gestanden.’ We knew that it would not last, long before
its ghostly conclusion. ‘Urlicht’ offered a quite extraordinary sense of ‘revelation’,
largely through that elusive ability to permit words and music to speak ‘for
themselves’. Its ecstatic progress whetted the appetite for the rest of the
Second Symphony, but instead it was to be followed by a sardonic, though
occasionally shrill, account of ‘Wer hast dies Liedlein erdacht?’ The journey
of ‘Ich ging mit Lust’ was lovingly and knowingly traced, that sense of
knowingness certainly present also in the ensuing ‘Verlorne Müh’. Mahler’s
inveterate sophistication showed through, as it should, even when the surface
might seem ‘simple’. ‘Scheiden und Meiden’ rounded off the Wunderhorn selection, a properly ambivalent Mahlerian climax.
Zemlinsky’s songs made a
welcome appearance at the beginning of the second half. His ‘Altdeutsches Minnelied’
proved more direct than Mahler’s songs, both in work and performance, though
the piano part was certainly not without its subtle surprises. ‘Das bucklichte
Männlein,’ a Wunderhorn song, comes
harmonically from quite a different world, reflecting the chronological gap
between the two songs: 1895-6 and 1934, respectively. The extraordinary latter
song sounds as post-Schoenbergian as anything I have heard from Zemlinsky: a
true discovery (at any rate for me). Dasch and Deutsch offered a superlatively
animated performance, every note and every word being made to count. Dasch’s
extraordinary vocal production for the final two lines, hushed and grotesque, truly
chilled: ‘“Liebes Kindlien, ach, ich bitt, Bet’ für’s bucklicht Männlein mit!’”
The hunchback – shades of Zemlinsky’s famed ugliness? – petitioned the child,
as best he could, to pray for him too. ‘Entbietung’
and ‘Meeraugen’ are both Richard Dehmel settings from 1898. Both took us back
to a Tristan-esque world, in which
Dasch allowed her gifts as a hochdramatisch
soprano full rein, the impulsive eroticism of the former leading into an
exquisite account of the latter, seemingly well along the way, at least at
times, toward suspension of tonality.
Such talk inevitably has one
think of Schoenberg, to whom we turned for the next group. Another Wunderhorn song was to be heard with ‘Wie
Georg von Frundsberg von sich selber sang’. It offered another apparent return
to relative straightforwardness, but the piano part, especially in Deutsch’s
hands, soon showed otherwise, its Brahmsian ‘involved’ quality so utterly
characteristic of the composer. Dasch’s performance again drew upon her
operatic experience, whilst remaining true to the tradition of Lieder-singing. It would be an excellent
thing to hear more Schoenberg from these artists, preferably on disc too. ‘Warnung’
is another Dehmel song. It proved properly disquieting, its musical violence
mirroring, furthering that of the text
with its dog and ‘blood-red carnations’. ‘Mädchenlied’ proved as erotic as
anything in Berg, its musical complexity both as work and performance drawing
one similarly into a sinful labyrinth. ‘Der Wanderer’ showed itself to be the
most overtly Tristan-esque of the
Schoenberg songs, recalling Zemlinsky’s ‘Meeraaugen’, and yet going further, in
its approach toward the air of another planet.
Though I find Korngold’s
operas difficult to take – wild horses would not drag me back to another
performance of Das Wunder der Heliane
– there is real craftsmanship to enjoy in his songs. ‘Schneeglöckchen’ opened
the group with an apt change of performative register: late Romanticism, or
whatever we want to call it, yet thankfully not overheated. Deutsch in
particular offered a fine sense of harmonic understanding and surprise. ‘Die
Sperlinge’, another Eichendorff song, appeared in context almost as if a
scherzo, albeit with a duly radiant conclusion, a true impression of ‘opening
out’. The latter quality was present also in the following ‘Was Du mir bist’,
though by now there was perhaps a little overheating: more a matter of work
than performance. Likewise, by the end of ‘Mit Dir zu schweigen’, there was
something of a sense of too much Jugendstil;
something a little more Bauhaus-like would have been a good antidote. That
said, performances were excellent; the final ‘Welt ist stille eingeschlafen’ offered
musical as well as verbal consummation. As an encore we heard the Shakespeare
setting, ‘My mistress’ eyes’ (Sonnet 130), whose ambivalent harmonic progress
put me in mind both of the earlier Abschiedslieder
and even the late F-sharp major Symphony. (Both of these pieces, incidentally,
may be found on an excellent CD from the late Edward Downes.)
