Wigmore Hall
Myrten, op.25: ‘Freisinn’, ‘Talismane’, ‘Aus
den hebräischen Gesängen’, ‘Venetianisches Lieder’ I and II, ‘Aus den “Östlicken
Rosen”’, ‘Zum Schluß’
Liederkreis, op.39
Die
Löwenbraut, op.31 no.1
Kerner-Lieder, op.35
Christian Gerhaher (baritone)
Gerold Huber (piano)
No surprises here in one sense: an
excellent recital from start to finish. And yet, such excellence cannot but surprise at a deeper level. Christian Gerhaher has a well-nigh
perfect combination of vocal beauty and verbal intelligence. His longstanding partnership
with Gerold Huber is clearly a meeting of minds and sensibilities; indeed, there
were times when I felt I was almost hearing a single musical voice as opposed
to two partners.
Gerhaher and Huber opened
their recital with seven songs from Myrten.
The free-spiritedness of the opening ‘Freisinn’ was communicated from the very
opening, rhythms finely sprung, the second stanza properly going deeper, but
not too much so. Subtlety of shifting moods was characteristic of the set as a
whole, indeed the recital as a whole, another case in point being the
understated sadness in the third stanza of ‘Talismane’: ‘Mich verwittren will
das Irren; doch du weißt mich zu entwirren.’ ‘Aus den hebräischen Gesängen’ was
more intense, yet remained variegated, aching for consolation its overwhelming
characteristic. Huber’s handling of the crucial balance, or perhaps better
dialectic, between harmony and counterpoint put me in mind of Schumann’s Arabeske, op.18. The two Thomas Moore songs
(translated by Freiligrath) benefited from telling rubato, in perfect tandem
with verbal stresses. Both musicians, not just Huber, created that
unmistakeably German evocation of Venice in the rocking rhythm of the first –
and the colours, the colours at Gerhaher’s command…! Much the same could be
said of the final two songs, both by Rückert. ‘Rapt’ is doubtless an overused
word, but it might have been coined to describe the performance of ‘Zum Schluß’
– and, of course, the song itself.
The op.39 Liederkreis followed, ‘In der Fremde’
offering plangent, late Schubertian tones: here we seemed to hear a response to
Winterreise. How the dissonances
told, again quite without exaggeration, the overriding impression of painful
beauty. Likewise in the ensuing ‘Intermezzo’, bringing quite a lump to the throat,
the syncopated defiance of its second stanza judged to perfection. ‘Waldgespräch’
peered forward towards Mahler, albeit with a different, Romantic form of
alienation. This was the ebullience of an intellectual who wanted the forest,
but would never quite be at home there. Huber’s piano part was every bit as
sharply etched in ‘Die Stille’ as Gerhaher’s vocal line; as ever, they seemed
to be of one mind and voice. ‘Mondnacht’ evinced a kinship with the night of
Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht: one
truly felt its agonising beaurt. Eichendorff’s ‘sternklar’ really was the word
for it. A sense of discovery, including that of things yet to come,
characterised ‘Schöne Fremde’, followed by the intimate sadness of age(s) in ‘Auf
einer Burg’. An intense yet fleet ‘In der Fremde’ was followed by ‘Wehmut’, the
voice-leading in the piano epilogue painfully exquisite. However, all was not
beauty, or not straightforwardly so: Gerhaher’s withdrawal of colour for the
final line of ‘Zwielicht’ duly chilled. The hesitations of ‘Im Walde’ finally
led once again to the pain of expectancy – and the expectancy of pain – in ‘Frühlingsnacht’.
Schumann makes a valiant
effort with Die Löwenbraut, but I
cannot account it one of his great songs. Nevertheless, the suavely prowling
lion in the left-hand and the lingering coldness of the ‘letzten Kuß’ made
their mark. The rest of the second half was devoted to the twelve Kerner songs of
op.35. Especially notable earlier on were the Nazarene beauty of ‘Stirb, Lieb’
und Freud’!’ and the shining moon of the piano treble in ‘Auf das Trinkglas
eines verstorbenen Freundes’, tinged with melancholy. Rock-solid rhythm ensured
the resounding success of ‘Wanderung’, the piano part almost seeming generative
of the poem itself, rather than vice
versa. The ardent quality to the final stanza proved heart-stopping. ‘Stille
Liebe’ was simply lieblich, and ‘Frage’,
yes, questioned as it should. Gerhaher’s shaping of the vocal line in ‘Stille
Tränen’ would have impressed deeply in a purely instrumental sense; married to
his verbal acuity, it proved unforgettable. The closing ‘Alte Laute’ showed
again the necessity of pain, every bar imbued with the sense of life slowly
passing. ‘Und aus dem Traum, dem bangen. Weckt mich ein Engel nur.’ ‘Requiem’,
op.90 no.7 offered an apt, duly moving encore.
