Wigmore Hall
Schumann – Kerner Lieder, op.35: no.1, ‘Lust der
Sturmnacht’, no.4, ‘Erster Grün’, no.7, ‘Wanderung’, no.9, ‘Frage’, no.10, ‘Stille
Tranen’
Dichterliebe, op.48
Wagner – Wesendonck Lieder
Liszt – Three Petrarch
Sonnets, S 270
Although 2015 has only just
begun, it is difficult to imagine that there will prove a more difficult musical
ticket to acquire than one for Jonas Kaufmann’s Wigmore Hall recital. Having
abandoned all hope, I was extremely fortunate to snap up a return the day
beforehand. (Many thanks, far from incidentally, to the ever-helpful Wigmore
Hall in that respect!) It is equally difficult to imagine that anyone will have
attended the recital and been disappointed – unless, that is, he or she, went
along with that intent, and even then I think it would have been difficult to
follow through that intent. Whilst I found the second half still more
impressive than the first, any reservations I might have held were far from
earth-shattering.
One might have been the
programming of the first half itself. It seemed a pity only to have five of
Schumann’s Kerner Lieder, and I
wondered whether some more Liszt, or perhaps even some Schubert or Strauss,
might have complemented the other songs better. But I was probably just being
ungrateful and/or greedy, since there was much to enjoy on the programme’s own
terms. Kaufmann crooned a little too often for my taste here, especially in
no.9, ‘Frage’. Even there, however, his imploring rendition exploited most of
what is best about a more ‘operatic’ approach to Lieder-singing. (A great deal of nonsense is spoken about the
relationship between song and opera, largely by self-appointed guardians of the
purity of the ‘Lied’. The relationship is in fact, complex, concerning both
work and performance, and different artists will quite rightly bring different
strengths to their interpretations.) The dark, impetuous opening ‘Lust der
Sturmnacht’ set up welcome, necessary contrast in a properly innig ‘Erstes Grün’, leaving this
listener at least with a lump in his throat fit to recall first or at least
early love. ‘Wanderung’ seemed to unite both tendencies, suggesting cannier
programming than I had first allowed. And the final ‘Stille Tränen’ proved ‘operatic’
in the best, blazing sense, Helmut Deutsch’s well-nigh orchestral ‘accompaniment’
equally crucial here. Indeed, throughout I was often just as impressed by
Deutsch’s contribution, especially in this first half, in which he proved
himself, as if proof were needed, a Schumann player of true distinction.
Moreover, the two players not only complemented
each other but supported and incited each other in a way that only the greatest
partnerships can.
Dichterliebe followed. ‘Im wunderschönen Monat Mai’
was euphoniously expectant to a degree. Here, and indeed throughout the cycle,
Deutsch’s piano voicing was what one might expect from a solo pianist tuned
one-night collaborator; works such as the Arabeske,
Faschingsschwank aus Wien, and so on
often coming to mind. (It would, I suspect, be wonderful to hear him in some of
the solo works.) The quickness, in more than one sense, of the implied heartbeat
in ‘Die Rose, die Lilie, die Taube’ was something no listener could ignore.
Subtle artistry such as Kaufmann’s lingering, enough but not too much, on ‘Ich
liebe dich’ in the following ‘Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’’ emphasised a
Romantic longing that seemed precisely Schumann’s own. There was not so much in
the way of irony, but that is a characteristic of Schumann’s response to Heine’s
far more ironic verse, and a climax such as that to ‘Ich grolle nicht’ brought
its own rewards, such as cannot be found in ‘straight’ Heine. (One small(-ish)
gripe whilst speaking of the verse: Richard Stokes’s programme notes, whilst
interesting and informative upon Heine, had little to say concerning Schumann’s
setting of Heine’s verse; moreover, they had almost nothing at all to say on
Wagner’s or Liszt’s music.) Under Deutsch’s fingers, one truly heard the
wedding band in ‘Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen’; Mahler seemed briefly to
beckon. ‘Aus alten Märchen’ offered a perfect instance of the two musicians on
stage collaborating to provide something greater than the sum of its parts, the
sense of German fairytale delight, its roots perhaps in Weber as much as in the
Brothers Grimm, quite a relief for one song at least. Of course, ‘Die alten,
bösen Lieder’ was still to come. Resolute to begin with, the music seemed to
sink in performance with the coffin of Heine’s text. Schumann’s – and Deutsch’s
– Bachian postlude, however, offered magic that somehow went ‘beyond’, in any
number of ways.
It is an unusual thing indeed
to hear a man sing the Wesendonck Lieder,
though I am not entirely sure why, especially in the case of the original,
piano version. Not once during this performance, following the interval, did it
seem odd, or did I even reflect that this was not as it ‘should’ or at least would
usually be. Kaufmann indeed seemed just right for Wagner’s style, the line of
the opening ‘Der Engel’ immediately announcing its kinship with the composer’s
operas (and, if one must draw the distinction, his music-dramas too). Deutsch
too, and I do not mean this as a faint compliment, captured Wagner’s piano
style very well, wittingly or otherwise offering connections with, for
instance, the Sonata in A-flat major, also, far from coincidentally, written
with Mathilde Wesendonck in mind. (It is a far better piece than its allegedly
cultured despisers would have you believe.) ‘Stehe still!’ intensified the
impression of a singer every inch a Siegmund. The clarity and purpose of ‘Im
Treibhaus’, Deutsch’s achievement at least as much as Kaufmann’s, could not but put
to shame the aimless meanderings of Antonio Pappano’s latest attempt at Wagner
conducting at Covent Garden, and heightened both the regret that we never hear
Kaufmann there in German repertoire and also the longing we should feel to hear
him as Tristan. The words ‘Schweigens Dunkel’ suggested a darkness, again
without undue exaggeration, that was truly musical – which is to say, according
to Wagner’s world-view of the time, truly metaphysical. Deutsch’s piano part
towards the song’s close rightly hinted at Schoenberg. ‘Schmerzen’ offered
another experience ‘after “Winterstürme”’, preparing the way for a ‘Träume’
full of erotic expectation and fulfilment.
Finally, perhaps the greatest
performance of the evening: Liszt’s Petrarch
Sonnets, Kaufmann’s mix of the Germanic and the Italianate perfectly
complimenting Liszt’s own. Occasionally, I might have liked something a little
more assertive here from Deutsch, but perhaps he was ensuring that the greatest
of all pianist-composers did not unduly favour his own instrument. Kaufmann’s
long ‘operatic’ line was superlatively fitted to Liszt’s writing. No.47, ‘Benedetto
sia ‘l giorno’ benefited not only from that, but also from such splendid
attention to detail as Kaufmann’s crescendo on the second syllable of ‘Benedette
[le voci tante]’, itself echoed in the general crescendo of that third stanza
so far as the end of its third line: the calling of Laura’s name vividly
portrayed, re-enacted, memorialised. The final stanza simply sent shivers down
the spine. ‘Pace non trovo’ amply justified a relatively swift tempo – probably
more suited to vocal than solo piano performance. When Kaufmann sang of
embracing the whole world (‘tutto ’l mondo abbraccio’) one genuinely believed
it to be a possibility. The range of colours employed, even on a single word,
such as ‘impaccio’, had almost to be heard to be believed. Deutsch again had
one relish the extraordinary piano writing, which for all the unrecognised
virtues of Wagner’s, effortlessly surpasses his. ‘I’ vidi in terra angelici
costumi’ proved, fittingly, the most seductive of all, the sweetness of the
final stanza – ‘Tanta dolcezza avea pien l’aer e ’l vento’ and all – an object
lesson in Romantic style and aptness of conclusion. There remained a rapt
Schumann ‘Mondnacht’. Too beautiful?
I wondered at the time, but such puritanism was readily banished when I found
it lingering in my mind’s ear the following morning.
