Grosser Saal, Leipzig Gewandhaus
Christina Landshamer (soprano)
Daniel Behle (tenor)
Michael Nagy (baritone)
Gewandhaus Choir, Dresden Chamber Choir (chorus master: Edwards Caswell)
Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra
Trevor Pinnock (conductor)
A much discussed – and much
praised – recent recording of The Seasons
has been that from Paul McCreesh and his Gabrieli forces. I have not heard it yet, although I wrote the booklet note; a
copy is, I believe, awaiting me on a brief return to the United (sic) Kingdom
next month. However, I know that it is sung in English, and on the grandest –
authentic in the proper sense – scale. Trevor Pinnock’s Leipzig Gewandhaus
performance was, naturally, sung in German, and with small forces: strings
10.8.7.4.4, and two small choirs coming together to make one chorus. What may
occasionally have been lost in grandeur, though – this was definitely more
Marriner than Karajan – offered compensations in terms of intimacy (not, of
course, that we should fall for the canard that such need be lacking in
larger-scale performances).
What perhaps surprised me was
that Pinnock’s way with Haydn’s score was often somewhat Romantic (in the more
popular sense, rather than necessarily having anything much to do with the
nineteenth century). Tempi were rarely rushed, if anything, slightly –
occasionally more than slightly – on the slower side, with more than a little
lingering in certain cases. For instance, relaxation in the first number,
during the orchestral interlude between Lukas’s and Hanne’s words, was greater
than I can recall hearing, but convincing, even delightful. Pinnock generally,
as, for example, in the following chorus, ‘Komm, holder Lenz!’ shaped the music
nicely, without moulding it unduly. Rhythms could be perky, well sprung, when
called for too, as in ‘Schon eilet froh der Ackermann’, which also benefited from
some ear-catching piccolo playing ( Alexander Koval, a member of the
orchestra’s Mendelssohn Orchestra Academy). Indeed, woodwind colour was very
much to the fore throughout, solo flautist, Sébastian Jacot and solo oboist,
Philippe Tondre time and time again delighting the ear and heightening one’s
musical perception. In the Spinning Song, woodwind solos sounded unusually
present, as ‘relief’, against the darker, proto-Weberian, even proto–Wagnerian,
whirring of the wheel. The pictorial elements were vivid, self-explanatory, so
much so that, at times, one almost need not have listened to the words, but not
at the expense of line and flow. What a relief, moreover, it was to have
intelligent, interesting continuo playing (Michael Schönheit, the Gewandhausorganist,
on fortepiano) that was not of the exhibitionistic ‘look at me’ school. (Let us
hope that that fad passes soon.)
There were a very few occasions
when the string tone was a little thinner than might have been ideal; Simon’s
aria at the beginning of Summer was one, following a finely veiled (vibrato
withdrawn) introduction. More often than not, though, the litheness we heard in
the very opening number proved far from antithetical to warmth and cultivation.
Perhaps Pinnock’s concentration, or communication thereof, was nodding a little
in those early minutes of Summer, for the soloists’ lead-up to Sun’s full
majesty was a little sluggish. Thereafter, though, in that Trio and Chorus,
majesty and thrills were in full supply. Timpanist Mathias Müller, chose his
sticks and general approach carefully: this was anything but a
one-size-fits-all approach, as befits so vividly colourful, temporally (and
climatically) transforming a score. the distant thunder in Simon’s recitative,
‘O seht! Es steiget in der schwülen Luft’ a case in point. I loved the general
uncanniness in that calm before the storm, which then came, if not quite de profundis, then certainly out of the
dark. The way, moreover, in which the music picked itself up, as it were, with
Lukas’s ‘Die düst’ren Wolken trennen sich’ was spot on: credit both to Daniel
Behle, orchestra, and conductor. When tempi were swifter than ‘traditional’, as
in the Chorus in Praise of Industry, the result was light of foot rather than
uncomfortably driven.
Behle’s relatively light tenor
did not lack depth or seriousness when called upon. It matched well Christina
Landsamer’s soprano, possessed of equal clarity and cleanness of line, although
sometimes a little unclear of diction. Both are undoubtedly intelligent,
musical artists. Michael Nagy’s baritone was for me the vocal highlight, its
richness never an end in itself, but the foundation for a wide variety indeed of tonal
variegation. At one extreme would be the splendidly grey monotone (if that
should not be a complete contradiction in terms) on ‘steht er, unbewegt, der
Stein,’ as befitted the words. His sadness at the beginning of Winter –
Pinnock’s very slow tempi offering striking contrast with Lukas’s Aria, ‘Hier
steht der Wand’rer nun’ – approached hopelessness yet did not capitulate. Even
in that relative pallor of tone, there was beauty: Winter indeed, one might
say. Choral singing offered many of the same virtues, clear throughout,
weightier at the ‘big’ moments, ably supported by resplendent brass (and the rest
of the orchestra, of course). If I had my doubts about Pinnock’s brisk, even
martial beginning to the final number, more contrast, it seemed, than climax,
the stereophony of Haydn’s eight-part choral writing, a question-and-answer
cross between The Magic Flute and Israel in Egypt, banished them as swiftly
as it did those winter clouds of old age.
