Wigmore Hall
An
den Mond in einer Herbstnacht,
D 614; Hoffnung, D 295; Tiefes Leid, D 876; Abschied, D 475; Herbst,
D 945; Über Wildemann, D 884; Der Wanderer, D 649; Der Wanderer an den Mond, D 870; Der Zwerg, D 771; Abendstern, D 806; Im Walde,
D 834; Nach einem Gewitter, D 561; Der Schiffer, D 694; An die Nachtigall, D 196; Totengräberweise, D 869; Frühlingsglaube, D 686; Nachtviolen, D 752; Abendlied für die Entfernte, D 856; Wehmut, D 772; Der Strom,
D 565; Der Hirt, D 490; Lied eines Schiffers an die Dioskuren, D
360; Nachtgesang, D 314; Der Sänger am Felsen, D 482
There was a great deal to
admire in this recital. However, with a few exceptions, I found myself
strangely unmoved by Christian Gerhaher’s singing. Perhaps that was my fault or,
at any rate, my problem; however, I shall attempt to explain what it was, for
me at least, that seemed to be missing. Gerold Huber’s playing of the piano
parts I found constantly illuminating: full of colour, incident, strength,
subtlety, and a fine sense of form too. One thing for which I can certainly not
fault Gerhaher is his programming, not just here, but elsewhere too, including
a November recital in Vienna, in which I found his performance far more engrossing. Here,
in London, the balance of Schubert songs, mostly but not all familiar, varied
in mood, was well judged indeed.
Opening with an early quasi-scena,
An den Mond in einer Herbstnacht, neither entirely characteristic nor
entirely uncharacteristic, we heard sweetness, delicacy, and, when the verse
turned nasty (‘Wenn ein schrecklicher Geier an der Seele nagt’), nastiness in
the voice too. That, however, was something of which we heard perhaps too
little later on; one does not expect Gerhaher to sound like, say, Matthias
Goerne, for they are very different artists, but that was a comparison coming
to mind more than once for me. A brief, welcome contrast in the Goethe setting,
Hoffnung, was followed by what I
thought of us as very much the ‘real thing’ in Schubert: the despair of Tiefes Leid. There was sorrow, but was
there despair? It felt observed: perhaps a valid choice, but one that did not
entirely convince me on this occasion. The second stanza offered more, but was
it enough? In Abschied, the long
lines played to Gerhaher’s strength of sustaining. Here, we could feel the
beauty as well as the pain of resignation: perhaps a little like Mahler,
albeit less mediated.
In Herbst, there was less vocal defiance than one will often hear, but
there was musical weariness, especially in the piano: the continuity of its
chill was striking. Über Wildemann
offered immediate intensification, first in the piano, and then next, yes, in
the voice: considerably closer to Fischer-Dieskau than one might have expected.
Uneasy repose in Der Wanderer led to
an unmistakeable sense of portrayal of a wanderer in Der Wanderer an den Mond, both in the piano tread and in the softly
restless vocal delivery. Abendstern
perhaps inevitably brought to mind Gerhaher’s starlit Wolfram, but I found the
vocal part in Im Walde a little too
understated. There was no doubting, however, the dark nobility heard in the
piano part, decidedly ‘late’.
Following the interval, Nach einem Gewitter presented a
post-Mozartian mood in piano and voice, poignant concerning implicit loss: we
might want to return to Mozart, but we cannot. It was in the piano part that
the drama of Der Schiffer really
seemed to lie: pictorial and form-creating. The second stanza brought
butterflies to the stomach, but I am not sure that Gerhaher did. Likewise, in Totengräberweise, I heard the song
almost instrumentally, at least until the penultimate and final stanzas, in which
suddenly, Gerhaher seemed resolved to do more with the words – and how! Frühlingsglaube was suffused with quiet
longing, whilst Nachtviolen again
offered an emotional build up rooted in words as well as music. However, there
seemed once again to be a somewhat excessive degree of vocal reticence in Abendlied für die Entfernte; Huber’s command
of rhythm offered considerable compensation.
In the final group, Wehmut had a more strongly defined mood
to it. I was intrigued that Der Strom
sounded decidedly ‘late’, despite its relative earliness (1817?) Here, Gerhaher
sounded more animated than had often been the case; if ‘enraged’ would be an exaggeration,
it would be a pardonable one. Der Hirt
received a splendidly subtle performance, the slight vocal wanness in the final
stanza telling of much. Nachtgesang
likewise drew one in subtly, as did the closing Der Sänger am Felsen. There one heard undeniable artistry of the
highest order, Gerhaher offering, in one sense, a return to the world of the
very opening, but now laden down by some of the cares voiced in the intervening
songs. That was a significant achievement of both programming and performance.
Perhaps some of my expectations had been unreasonably high.
