Barbican Hall
Mozart – Idomeneo: Overture
Stravinsky – The Rake’s Progress: Act I, Scene 3
Haydn – Symphony no.49 in F
minor, ‘La Passione’
Mozart – La clemenza di Tito: Overture
Mozart – Concert Aria: ‘Bella
mia fiamma, addio!... Resta, o cara’, KV 528
Stravinsky – Pulcinella: Suite
A concert from Britten
Sinfonia and Barbara Hannigan boded well – and more than fulfilled expectations.
Programmed around the idea of ‘Stravinsky and neo-Classicism’, it was not in
any sense didactic, but highly enjoyable, whilst at the same time giving
opportunities for thought: in my case, reminding me that what I tend more often
to think of Stravinsky aping, or rather inventing, ‘neo-Baroque’ manners is not
always so.
The opening Overture to Idomeneo fairly took my breath away.
Post-Gluckian grandeur and gravitas were from the outset the order of the day.
Mozart’s hints of Salzburg luxuriance remained, albeit subordinated to dramatic
purpose. The Britten Sinfonia may have been smallish in size, but it did not
sound so. Hannigan’s direction was reassuringly ‘traditional’, for want of a
better, less misleading word; but for the double-dotting, this might almost have
been the late Sir Colin Davis at the helm, and I can give no greater praise
than that. Splendidly grainy woodwind made their characterful presence felt.
How I longed for the rest of the opera to follow!
But instead, a scene from The Rake’s Progress followed on
immediately. Affinity or difference? We could decide, and indeed, the
either/or, as so often, was found wanting. Perhaps perversely, perhaps with
justification, I found Stravinsky, in the opening woodwind lines, all the more
strongly himself, even perhaps closer to The
Rite of Spring, than ever. Hannigan’s vocal crescendo – yes, she sang and
conducted – put me in mind of what one hears from Jonas Kaufmann at the
beginning of the second act of Fidelio.
I am not sure I have heard a more sparkling despatch of ‘I go, I go to him’. Moreover,
what can sometimes seem mere clever words here had true dramatic import. And
what a difference antiphonally seated violins made too.
This may well have been the
first time I have heard a live performance of Haydn’s Symphony no.49, ‘La
Passione’, but then the same might be said of far too many of his symphonies.
Surely no great composer, with the possible exception of Webern, is more
hideously treated by modern concert life. The wait was certainly worth it, the
first movement grief-laden, a true wordless drama, which of course is precisely
what it should be. Excellent command of the longer line had one hearing forward
to later Haydn works – I thought in particular of the Seven Last Words – and indeed beyond. Kinship with the composer’s Stabat Mater was also evident. Sturm und Drang characterised the second
movement. Urgency was never mistaken for the merely hard-driven. Harmony
remained at the root, if the pun may be forgiven, of all that transpired,
expected or unexpected. The third movement remained dark in its onward trudge,
its trio but a fleeting relief. In the finale, we went back, or rather forward,
to Sturm und Drang. Motivic working
seemed already to presage the Paris
Symphonies. A splendidly full-blooded performance, not least from the strings,
made me hungry for more Haydn from these superlative artists.
Mozart’s Overture to La clemenza di Tito opened the second
half. It was noble and, yes, grandly neo-Classical. (Of all Mozart’s works,
this has long seemed to me the most worthy of that tag.) Again, weight and
drama encouraged, indeed incited each other. Counterpoint was wondrously clear –
these players are the match of any of our symphony orchestras! – and,
crucially, was despatched with a fine sense of direction. This was a thrilling,
absorbing account: again, I am delighted to say, quite the best I have heard
since Sir Colin. I cannot help but wonder whether Hannigan should turn her
thoughts to conducting a Mozart opera. She certainly has the voice and agility for
singing one of the plum roles, as the performance of Bella mia fiamma, addio! made clear. (Hannigan has sung Fiordiligi,
but I, alas, have yet to hear her do so.) The Britten Sinfonia strings were
wondrously alert, as this lovely aria, woodwind from Elysium, made its way
through typically extreme chromaticism to resolution. A taste in miniature of
things to come? Let us hope so.
Finally, the Pulcinella Suite; I dare say to ask for
a vocal contribution would simply have been too greedy. The Overture was an
object lesson, especially from soloists, in the illustration of Paul Griffiths’s
memorable observation that Pulcinella
is less a composition than a ‘way of hearing’ – although, as so often with
Stravinsky, one could with almost equal justification argue quite the contrary.
There followed a Serenata that was graceful to a degree in its slightly wistful
lilt. In the sequence thereafter, I occasionally, to my surprise, found a slight
want of the utmost rhythmic definition, but colours remained both bold and
subtle. By the time of the Tarantella, there was certainly not the least
slackness. Mozartian Hamoniemusik
seemed more strongly echoed in a number of movements than I could recall
previously hearing. (Hannigan did not always conduct.) The strange apotheosis
of the final movement resonated in startling fashion; nor was it rushed. It
made for a splendid conclusion to a splendid concert.
