Cadogan
Hall
Time was, etc., etc. Now we
account ourselves fortunate to have the opportunity to hear any Handel, even
the Messiah, on modern instruments.
But of course, things are not quite so simple as that. Not just Baroque, not
just Classical, but even Romantic music and beyond have been increasingly
surrendered to the strange hybrid of allegedly ‘period style’ – in reality, as
Richard Taruskin has long argued, a thoroughly contemporary style – and a
mixture of instruments from any combination of periods that appears to suit
those performing. One London conductor has, for instance, recently, bizarrely
used ‘period’ trumpets alongside modern horns (and strings) in Haydn, in
performances whose principal purpose seems to have been to rush through the
music as quickly as possible, with occasional distending of tempo apparently just
‘because he can’. The meaningless of post-modernism – and this is where
Taruskin’s critique seems to me to have things quite the wrong way around – has
been the victor, not modernism.
There was nothing so extreme
here, thank goodness. But it was difficult not to suspect that the English
Chamber Orchestra’s string playing was somewhat hampered by instructions at
odds with their modern instruments. Modern, that is, save for the bizarre
appearance of ‘period’ kettledrums, which certainly made an impact but an
impact which seemed intended for another performance entirely. It was far from
clear, either to me or to the violinist friend who attended with me, that what
the violinists were doing with their right hands was compatible with the actions
of their left hands. Lower strings seemed better off in that respect. Playing
was generally reasonably cultivated, but surely would have been far more so,
had the players been encouraged to rejoice in the capabilities of their instruments.
It was notable that leader Stephanie Gonley’s violin solo in the penultimate ‘If
God be for us’ – not the happiest of choices in the version of the work offered
in performance – was far freer in style, greatly to its and our benefit.
Nigel Short’s tempi were
sometimes a little on the fast side, but there was nothing unduly objectionable
in that respect. For instance, if ‘Ev’ry valley shall be exalted’ was more
energetic than we are used to, a convincing enough case was made for the decision.
Although a small choir, twenty-strong, Tenebrae was perfectly capable of making
a full sound, not least in ‘Surely He hath borne our griefs,’ which emerged
furiously, and the (relatively) mighty conclusion to the final chorus. Alas,
the ‘Hallelujah!’ was largely disrupted for me by a man a couple of rows behind,
who insisted on jangling loose change in his pocket throughout its course, a
strange updating of the custom of a segment of the Viennese public to jangle
keys in order to disrupt Schoenberg’s concerts. The freshness of the choral
voices had been immediately apparent in ‘And the glory of the Lord,’ and
continued to give considerable pleasure and enlightenment.
Finest of the vocal soloists
was an outstanding Martha McLorinan, described in the programme as an ‘alto’,
although she sounded more of a mezzo. It was a pity that she was not given more
to sing. She edged closer to Handel’s operas in the B sections of ‘But who may
abide the day of his coming?’ and ‘He was despised and rejected,’ although never
too much. There was contrast and continuity, then, and Charles Jennens’s text
was ably communicated. Alas, the contrast between McLorinan and the strangely
pop-like – I said we were in post-modernist territory! – delivery of the soprano,
Grace Davidson, was especially glaring during their duet, ‘He shall feed His
flock.’ Davidson made little of the words there and elsewhere. Although her
light soprano might initially have sounded attractive enough, both it and her
performance lacked any greater depth. Her coloratura was correct but strangely
robotic. Tenor, David de Winter, opened promisingly. His first accompagnato, ‘Comfort
ye, my people’ was splendidly imploring, gaining in strength as it progressed,
the following aria nicely variegated. However, despite a gloriously lingering ‘Thy
rebuke hath broken His heart,’ the aria, ‘Thou shalt break them with a rod of
iron’ proved somewhat strained. There is a good oratorio voice there, though,
without doubt. So is there in the case of bass, William Gaunt, whose attention
to both words and music impressed throughout; moreover, he was not afraid to
employ fuller tone on occasion.
