Cadogan Hall
Mozart – Serenade no.12 in C
minor, KV 388/384a
Strauss – Suite in B-flat
major for thirteen wind instruments, op.4
Philippa Davies, Sarah
Newbold (flutes)
Gareth Hulse, Katie Clemmow
(oboes)
Michael Collins, Peter Sparks (clarinets)
Michael Collins, Peter Sparks (clarinets)
Dan Jemison, Helen Simons
(bassoons)
Fraser Gordon
(contra-bassoon)
Richard Watkins, Michael
Thompson, Elise Campbell, Carys Evans (horns)
This lovely lunchtime Prom at
Cadogan Hall presented Mozart’s great C minor Serenade for woodwind followed by
Strauss’s B-flat major Suite for thirteen wind instruments. The former is a
masterpiece, the latter an apprentice work, but it was something of a tribute
to the performance from London Winds that one could still respond more or less
equally warmly to both halves of the recital.
The Mozart Serenade opened in
grave fashion, opening up just as it should. In this of all Mozart’s ‘serenades’,
the popular understanding of the genre surely stands most distant. There is
typical chiaroscuro, of course, and there are plenty of well opportunities,
here taken, for Elysian delight, but this is a work of a seriousness we are
more likely to consider ‘symphonic’. Harmonic rhythm was beautifully,
meaningfully judged, often built here in the first movement upon a wonderfully
grainy bassoon line. The close was tragic in a properly Mozartian sense. Tender
dignity characterised the slow movement, played simply, seemingly ‘as written’,
though such simplicity conceals a great deal of artifice. As in its
predecessor, the tempo seemed just ‘right’, so much so that one did not notice
it. The minuet brought Mozart poised, quite rightly, between Bach and
Beethoven, ‘learned’ counterpoint and its harmonic implications the key to
tragedy. Its trio imparted welcome sunlight – or should that be moonlight? Mood,
voice, strength of purpose, and indeed form all served to have the finale point
to that of the C minor Piano Concerto, KV 491. Musical inventiveness gave the
lie to silly claims one sometimes hears concerning the relative impoverishment
of Classical variation form, the conviction of the performance leaving one in
no doubt as to this movement’s stature, or indeed as to that of the work as a
whole. As so often, Mozart’s chromaticism and construction had us know that we
were but a stone’s throw away from the Second Viennese School. The first
banishment of clouds, heralded by tender horns, had me think of Figaro; the second led to a suitably
good-natured conclusion which yet could not efface memories of what had gone
before.
The larger ensemble (thirteen
as opposed to eight instruments) required by Strauss necessarily resulted in
fuller tone, but there was also of course plenty of scope for subdivision.
Already in the first movement one heard a highly dramatic, even at times
operatic voice, if without quite the individuality or indeed the clarity of
purpose that would soon develop. The second movement came closer, not least at
its opening. Its dignity as a ‘Romanze’ seemed both to hark back to Mozart’s Andante and to pay its debt to
nineteenth-century masters. Mock-seriousness in the Gavotte was soon, almost instantly, transmuted into clearer
thumbing of the nose, Till Eulenspiegel-style,
even though Strauss’s handling of form here remains relatively stiff. Solos seemed
also to herald the world of the tone poems. Again, there was splendid contrast
between them and a grainy bassoon bass line, all the more delightful when one
of the bassoons itself turned soloist. ‘Learned’ counterpoint might not suit
Strauss so well as Mozart, but that in the final fugue was despatched – both in
work and performance – with good humour, even delight. This might not be a
masterpiece, but its performance confirmed my general belief that the lesser
works of great composers are of more interest than the principal works of
lesser composers. Who would not rather hear Apollo
et Hyacinthus or Guntram than …
(fill in the gap)?
