Barbican Hall
Strauss – Serenade in E-flat
major, op.7
Mozart – Piano Concerto no.22
in E-flat major, KV 482
Strauss – Macbeth, op.23
Till
Eulenspiegels lustiche Streiche,
op.28
Strauss and Mozart are
anything but surprising bedfellows; indeed, as Strauss’s career progresses, one
of the most interesting battles to observe, even to experience, is that between
what, for the sake of argument, we might call the twin poles of the Mozartian
and the Wagnerian. Mozart is, though, less apparent as an influence in much of
Strauss’s earliest music, an exception being the Wind Serenade, op.7, so here
we were able to experience Mozart both as complement and contrast. The Serenade
received a loving account from Sir Mark Elder; I am anything but a foe of such
music-making, but there were occasions when I wondered whether it might have
been just a little too loving. That minor reservation aside, there was much to
savour, not least the playing from members of the LSO. The introduction certainly
presaged – or, in historical terms, followed – Mozart’s serenade writing,
beautifully expressed by the colours of the LSO woodwind. There was also,
moreover, a fine sense of drama, much as one always experiences in Mozart’s
instrumental music. (It was thoughtful of the occupant of L47 in the Stalls not
to wait until as late as the second bar to start coughing, still more of her to ensure
that second bar was not left out either.) Recognisably Straussian phrases, of
which there are a good few, made their point without undue emphasis. Elder’s
spacious manner worked well on the whole.
Imogen Cooper joined the
orchestra for its move from interesting early work to mature masterpiece. Elder opted
for a tiny orchestra: only eight first violins, down to three double basses. Sometimes
I felt the lack of strings more than at other times, but there was a slight
mismatch with Cooper’s admirably big-boned approach. Hers indeed was a
performance of such distinction that I was put in mind of Sir Clifford Curzon’s
Mozart. The first movement was taken at a swift tempo but, for the most part,
was not too driven. Split violins made their point on a number of occasions.
And once Cooper entered the fray, the orchestra proved more yielding too. It
was a blessing to hear Mozart treated as Meissen china, whilst at the same time
not degenerating into sentimentality or ‘period’ grotesquerie. The pianist’s
touch enabled both clarity and warmth. Still more important was the formal
dynamism to be heard, especially in the development and recapitulation, which
achieved a splendid sense of return.
The opening of the slow
movement was darkly veiled, yet without asceticism. Splendidly judged by Elder,
it sounded akin to the opening of an accompagnato or arioso – which is, in a
sense, just what it is. Cooper proved the master – or should that be ‘mistress’?
– of the long line, a line which embodied dignified pathos, both strong and
tender. If I have a criticism, it is that there perhaps might have been a
little more of the ‘tender’, such as one hears with,
for instance, Daniel Barenboim, but Cooper’s Classicism had its own
justification and impetus. Again, clarity of part writing was a particular
virtue: not as an end in itself but as an aid to expression; again, the LSO
wind proved ravishing, especially during the episodes. At the end, however, there
were certainly passages in which a cushion of a few more strings would have
been welcome. Mozart’s finale was given a performance that was spirited, whilst
staying on the right side of raucous (just about, in the case of trumpets and
drums). Piano virtues were as before: this was a splendidly forthright
performance, equally admirable in its chiaroscuro. The central serenade stopped
the heart as it must. And the cadenza – by Edwin Fischer, with additions, I think, like that
used in the first movement – was magnificently played: initially Beethovenian,
prior to melting.
There was certainly no
shortage of strings in either of the Strauss tone poems performed in the second
half: eight desks of first violins, down to eight double basses. Elder gave an
eloquent spoken introduction to the unfairly neglected Macbeth. The chance to hear that early work was justification
enough for the concert, let alone in so fine a performance as ensued. As the
conductor remarked, Strauss here portrays in sound the psychology of two
murderers and their interaction, not least through alteration – and not quite
co-existence – of meter. It is, he explained, ‘a dark, unremitting, ruthless’
piece, not ‘gorgeous’. I might cavil slightly at the latter, negative part of
the claim, for there are moments which might fall under that umbrella, but the
general truth holds. The work received a blazing opening; there were shades of
Liszt, yes, but once one caught certain turns of phrase, one knew very well the
actual identity of the composer. There was a properly frightening – ‘terrifying’
would be too strong – quality to the psychological impulses on display, but
there was plenty of phantasmagoria too, not least in Lady Macbeth’s putting on
a show: knowing sweetness. Strauss showed himself an ironist even in the mid-1880s. The darkness of the bass line, however, gave the game away, just in case
one were in any doubt, and then that darkness encompassed the orchestra more or
less completely. Uncertainty of conclusion was not the least of this fine
performance’s virtues. The presence of microphones was a good sign. Now, might
we also have some Liszt from these musicians?
Before indulging in that
fantasy, however, I should turn to the final work, Till Eulenspiegel. It received a truly outstanding performance; I
am not sure that I have heard a better one. Orchestral excellence is of course
here a sine qua non, and there was
virtuosity to be heard in abundance, indeed without exception. However, it
never sounded as if it were for its own sake – as it does, perhaps
surprisingly, from time to time in an older version of this orchestra’s
recording with Claudio Abbado. There was once again a real sense of drama,
doubtless born of Elder’s long experience as an opera conductor. It was sharp,
brilliant, sardonic – and that was possible because the LSO managed both to be
playable as a single instrument and to retain its myriad of colours and
individual personalities. Narrative and commentary were experienced in equal
measure; although ‘scintillating’ may now be a word overused, it seems the right
one in this case. Not that any of this incident was at the expense of the
longer line, far from it. Above all, however, I felt astonishment once again
at the superlative orchestral craftsmanship of Richard Strauss.
