Royal Albert Hall
Dukas – L’Apprenti sorcier
Turnage – On Opened GroundSchuller – Seven Studies on Themes of Paul Klee
Scriabin – The Poem of Ecstasy
Try as I might, I could not
discern a common theme or line to this programme, although there were certain
connections to be made between some of the pieces. No matter: it opened my ears
to two new works (new both to me and to the Proms), and was all very well
performed.
Dukas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is not heard so often as one might
expect. I am not sure I have heard it sound so hard-edged before; ideas of
something childish or even childlike were banished on no uncertain terms.
Oliver Knussen’s reading began quite deliberately, the opening offering a
languor that perhaps drew it a little closer to Debussy. It was full of
expectation too, before taking an angular course, which yet remained rather
jolly. A strong sense of narrative was imparted throughout, without detracting
from the musical substance.
Mark-Anthony Turnage’s On Opened Ground was commissioned by the
Cleveland Orchestra for Yuri Bashmet; Lawrence Power, who gave the British
premiere in 2004, joined the BBC Symphony Orchestra for its first Proms performance.
The first movement, ‘Cadenza and Scherzino’, gently upsets preconceived notions
of ordering. More important than that, its subtle opening, with quiet
accompaniment – had I not known otherwise, its hinting at refractions of the
viola might have had me thinking of electronics – captivates, draws one in to
an absorbing exploration of the viola and its potential relationships with the symphony
orchestra. Later, the ‘Scherzino’
section dances, hints at post-Bergian blues – Berg’s Violin Concerto more than
once came to mind – and, above all, sings in a voice that is recognisably
Turnage’s. The stillness of the close proved magical: testament to a fine
performance as well as mastery of orchestration. The second of the two
movements, ‘Interrupted Song and Chaconne’, begins in rapt fashion I am tempted
to call ‘pastoral’ or at least ‘elegiac’. There develops some sense of conflict
between soloist and orchestra, as if the latter is determined to thwart the
former, but Turnage’s keen sense of drama permits another way, resolving itself
through the working out of a chaconne: at times Big Band-ish, at others,
frankly Romantic, its Romanticism seemingly arising from the material rather
than the easy option beloved of so many neo-tonal composers. I have not always
responded warmly to Turnage’s work, but certainly did so on this occasion.
The other Proms premiere was
of Gunther Schuller’s Seven Studies on
Themes of Paul Klee: suite-like, and full of incident, often quietly
surprising. The opening ‘Antique Harmonies’, hieratic orchestrally as well as harmonically,
prepared the way for a delightfully quirky, even capricious ‘Abstract Trio’,
played only by three instruments at any one time. ‘Little Blue Devil’ offered a
possible connection with Turnage and jazz: very much at home rather than
depicting or imitating. ‘The Twittering Machine’, by contrast, seemed to move
between other, quite different, 1950s style: a journey, one might say, from
swarming to pointillism; or, alternatively, a hint of early Stockhausen (or is
it perhaps amused by him?) with a dash of Amériques-like
material (albeit with far more sparing use of the orchestra). Flute arabesques
from the Gallery, soon joined by other instruments in counterpoint, were the
abiding memory of the curiously Orientalist ‘Arab Village’. ‘An Eerie Moment’ is
more than a little suggestive of various movements from Schoenberg’s op.16 Five Orchestral Pieces, the contrast
with the concluding ‘Pastorale’ perhaps the greatest of all. Klee-like? I am
not sure; perhaps I am too wedded to the idea of Webern as the musical
manifestation of Klee. But that is neither here nor there, really; I should
happily hear more where this came from.
Finally, The Poem of Ecstasy. I cannot really take the piece seriously,
although many musicians I greatly admire, Knussen amongst them, clearly do. Such
music, even if one discounts the composer’s megalomania, tends to have me
reflect how economical Wagner is with his climaxes. Scriabin’s meandering is
clearly deliberate, but I am never entirely sure to what end. Knussen and the
BBC SO nevertheless offered an enjoyable, wholehearted performance, opening
with luscious, vibrato-laden languor (a possible connection with the opening of
the Dukas?) Although Scriabin’s climaxes come thick and fast, Knussen shaped
them with great skill, in as lucid a reading as I can recall. There was some
wonderfully evocative afterglow to be experienced, and it is always a joy to
hear the Albert Hall organ. Those bells, though…?
