Barbican
Hall
Schreker – Vorspiel zu einen Drama
Busoni – Berceuse élégiaque, op.42
Ravel – Shéhérazade
Pavane
pour une infante défunte
Schoenberg – Chamber Symphony
no.1, version for full orchestra, op.9b
Nora Gubisch (soprano)
BBC Symphony Orchestra
Josep Pons (conductor)
A refreshing programme of
early(-ish)-twentieth-century orchestral music from the BBC SO and Catalan
conductor, Josep Pons, which, if it did not always possess the last word in
refinement, certainly benefited from Pons’s palpable enthusiasm for this
repertoire. Indeed, the opening Schreker Vorspiel
zu einem Drama – not, as the
Barbican website had it, the Overture to Die
Gezeichneten, from which this longer concert work derives – can rarely, if
ever, have been heard with such liveliness, even bumptiousness. The performance
itself made a refreshing change from the over-ripe decadence to which we have
become accustomed in such music. Not that there was no hint of such a tendency,
but the last thing the music needs is exaggeration in that quarter. Amidst a
sea, no an ocean, of coughing and even – I kid you not – widespread eating and
drinking, Pons projected a strong sense of line, the BBC SO responding with
apparent glee to Schreker’s orchestral phantasmagoria. There was plenty of bite
too, rhythmic command being especially impressive. And if there were perhaps
times when Pons’s infectious enthusiasm threatened to run away with itself, the
performance was one of warmth: just the ticket for a cold December night.
Busoni’s Berceuse élégiaque followed. If Schreker is a minor master of whom
it would be no bad thing to hear a little more, then Busoni is a scandalously
neglected figure, his Doktor Faust
one of the great twentieth-century operas, and his other three operatic scores
all fully worthy of repertory status. Given his pre-eminence as pianist, Busoni’s
orchestral music is often still more overlooked than his operas. (Not that his
piano music is performed nearly so often as it should be.) Schreker’s large
orchestra contrasted strongly with Busoni’s refined instrumentation, likewise
the former’s superior proto-Hollywood harmonies with the latter’s radical
ambiguity. Is this the major or minor mode? We may well be asking the wrong
question – but not in a Schoenbergian sense (though at times, the orchestration
sounds not so different from a Schoenberg ensemble, ‘influence’ being most
likely to fall at least as strongly in the opposite direction). There was a
properly nauseous and ominous sense of the rocking berceuse to this performance,
though there were times when it sounded a little effortful. In general,
however, there was admirably clean, classical elegance to be heard, coupled
with a dark, troubling undertow. Late Liszt, unsurprisingly, came to mind more
than once as prelude to Busoni’s dissolution of ‘form into feeling’, a
wondrous tribute to his mother upon her death.
Ravel, that towering master
of orchestration, was to be heard immediately before and after the interval. Nora
Gubisch joined the orchestra for a wonderful account of Shéhérazade, her tone both lustrous and clear: in many ways ideal
for the composer. Pons assured a variegated account, matched by his soloists,
transitions in ‘Asie’ especially well
handled. There was true dramatic urgency where required. The ecstasy upon the
word ‘Chinie’, followed by a plethora of orchestral chinoiserie, was just as
impressive as the exultant climax upon ‘haine’ and resultant orchestral
afterglow. ‘La Flute enchantée,’ with an excellent flute solo from Michael Cox, was expectant than
‘langoroureux,’ the balance between mystery and clarity well judged. ‘L’Indifférent’
emerged with all its sexual ambiguity. What a wonderful hush was to be heard
upon the injunction, ‘Entre!’ The Pavane
pour une infante défunte was treated to an unsentimental account, which
Pons kept moving without rushing. Dance rhythm was apparent, even generative,
throughout.
I wish I could feel greater
enthusiasm about Schoenberg’s 1935 version for full orchestra of his First
Chamber Symphony. Whilst understanding his reasons for providing this
alternative, it seems – and continued to seem – inferior in every respect to the
original, like a considerably more extreme case of Verklärte Nacht. Timbres and edges are smoothed and blunted; solo
moments come as welcome relief, reminding one of just what one is missing. That
said, there were in this performance occasions when a stronger still kinship to
Mahler and Brahms came through, partly as result of the larger forces. Pons’s
tempo shifts were considerable but not unconvincing, save for a sagging of
tension during the slow movement. Still, this is Schoenberg, and it is no bad thing
to remind ourselves from time to time of a weaker, yet indubitably ‘authentic’,
version of what remains a strong candidate for the title of most joyous twentieth-century
musical masterpiece.
