Korngold – Symphony in F-sharp
Walter Jurmann – Veronika, der Lenz ist da
Dimitri Tiomkin – High Noon: ‘Do not forsake me, O my darlin’’
Weill – A Touch of Venus: ‘Speak Low’
Weill – Klopslied
Jurmann/Bronisław Kaper – A Day at the Races: ‘All God’s Children Got Rhythm’
Weill – The Seven Deadly Sins
Storm Large (singer)
Hudson Shad
BBC Symphony Orchestra
James Gaffigan (conductor)
In the world’s present parlous
state, Brecht (Weill too, perhaps) speaks to us more clearly, more sharply than
most. Donald Trump could pretty much have sprung from the pages of Mahagonny, or indeed The Seven Deadly Sins. The fine
performance of that masterly ballet
chanté which was the necessary performance in this BBC Symphony Orchestra
performance. The rest I could pretty much take or leave, although there were
clearly admirers in the audience.
When first hearing Korngold’s
Symphony in F-sharp (in the BBC Philharmonic recording with Edward Downes), I
rather liked it. It must have been years since I had last heard the piece; I
cannot say that I had missed it greatly, and indeed found it something of a
bore on this occasion. It was a well-enough upholstered bore, yet I did not
find the material justified the length. In the first movement, it took a while
for the orchestra to achieve a good balance, although the Barbican acoustic
should probably take some blame for that. (Thanks to the Government, by the
way, for scuppering the plan for a decent concert hall in London!) James
Gaffigan went to considerable extremes of tempo, but held the movement together
pretty well. A certain cinematic quality to its progress was not inappropriate,
nor was a certain sonic similarity to the ‘heroic’ Prokofiev of the Fifth
Symphony. Transitions were well handled in the scherzo, though ensemble was not
always so precise as it might have been. I liked the languorous quality to its
trio; Gaffigan’s tempo, however, sometimes brought the music to
near-standstill. A Brucknerian quality was apparent in the slow movement, which
received a warmly neo-Romantic reading, not lacking in necessary malice. The
finale proved colourful, but a well-paced performance could not disguise its
excess of repetitions.
The second half opened with a
number of close-harmony pieces from the American group, Hudson Shad. I am not
convinced that concert-hall listening is really quite right for such music:
perhaps they would be better off in a bar, with drinks and chatter. (But then, I
was never able to understand Cambridge choirs’ enthusiasm for them; I longed to
hear more Byrd instead…) My patience for Kurt Jurmann’s hit Veronika, der Lenz its da was limited
indeed, but others seemed to enjoy its ever-so-mild camp. Likewise the other
Jurmann song, and the two contributions from Dimitri Tiomkin. ‘Speak Low’ from A Touch of Venus served to reinforce my
prejudice that Weill’s music lost almost all interest upon emigration across
the Atlantic. The short Klopslied,
however, was recognisably the work of Busoni’s pupil, albeit with a healthy
dose of surrealism thrown in. The gentlemen did not overplay it, thereby
letting its anarchic wit speak for itself. It was a real find (for me, that
is).
For The Seven Deadly Sins, Gaffigan and the orchestra returned, joined
by Storm Large, a singer with real presence, indeed real star quality. For a
performance in English (the translation by Auden and Kallman), one is better
putting out of one’s mind the world of Lotte Lenya. That was surprisingly easy,
for Large, ably accompanied, made the work very much her own, in a subtle,
sharply observed, finely enunciated performance. She could act, but did not
need to draw attention to the fact, just as she could sing and dance, again without
any need for underlining. The shedding of her overcoat spoke volumes; so did
the chill of those spoken Anna II statements: ‘Right, Anna’. With a wind-heavy
band that sounded just right, with Gaffigan unfailingly adopting tempi that
sounded equally right, and with just the proper sense, from time to time, of a
little rhythmic drag, Weill permitted Brecht to speak. Dance rhythms pointed to
Weill as ironic heir to Mahler. Much orchestral material reminded us that this
was the composer of that magnificent Second Symphony. (What a pity we had not
heard that in the first half instead! Or indeed the Violin Concerto.) Hudson
Shad were on excellent form too, their ‘Family’ often sounding very much of a Neue Sachlichkeit world, the bite of
Brecht’s text – ‘Shameless hoarders earn themselves a bad name’ – drawing blood.
The exploration of sins had a properly cumulative effect as far as ‘Envy’,
after which the Epilogue proved a further study in alienation. They were going
home to Louisana, to that little home beside the Mississippi. ‘Right, Anna!’
