Pierre Boulez Saal
Mahler:
Lieder
eines fahrenden Gesellen
Mahler:
Des
knaben Wunderhorn: ‘Wer
hat dies Liedlein erdacht’, ‘Ablösung im Sommer’, ‘Ich ging mit Lust durch
einen grünen Wald’, ‘Um schlimme Kinder artig zu machen’, ‘Rheinlegendchen’,
‘Der Schildwache Nachtlied’, ‘Lied des Verfolgten im Turm’, ‘Das irdische
Leben’, ‘Zu Straßburg auf der Schanz’’, ‘Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen’
Mahler:
Kindertotenlieder
Christian Gerhaher (baritone)
Gerold Huber (piano)
Christian Gerhaher in Mahler
was always likely to prove special. Thus it was here at the Pierre Boulez Saal,
if anything still more so than an identical programme – I think – at the Wigmore Hall in 2014. At any rate, these were no repeated
performances; in many respects, they proved quite different, bearing no trace
of the routine.
Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen opened with Gerold Huber on piano nervous
(in a good way!) and agitated, full of detail, Gerhaher surprisingly wan of
tone (also in a good way: interpretatively, not by default). The sadness of
that first song’s final stanza sounded still more sorrowful, even desolate,
both in tone and tempo: ‘Denk’ ich an mein Leid! An mein Leide!’ A forthright ‘Ging
heut’ morgen über’s Feld’ followed, Gerhaher closer to Fischer-Dieskau than I
can recall, not least on repeated, ironic references to ‘eine schöne Welt’,
Mahlerian alienation strongly to the fore. Recent performances of Wozzeck (also forthcoming, in Munich)
seemed to have left their mark on a final, hallucinatory stanza. Would his ‘happiness’
now begin? No, no: that could never bloom for him. The vehemence, even rage, of
‘Ich hab’ ein glühend Messer’ again brought Fischer-Dieskau to mind; so too did
attention to detail, if not the detail of that detail. Different colourings applied
to cries of ‘O weh!’ offered progression without fussiness. Mockery,
hallucination, and much else seemed to have developed from previous songs,
whilst retaining their specific imperative and character in this. Memories of late
Schubert haunted the final song: Winterreise
and Schwanengesang in particular. They were memories, though, mediated
through and through. Here were not only smiling through tears, warmth that
could not warm: they knew themselves to be such.
A selection of Wunderhorn songs spanned the interval:
different in mood and implication, of course, yet possessed of similar virtues
in detail without pedantry. Bachian coloratura in ‘Wer hat dies Liedlein
erdacht’, ironic sympathy in ‘Ablösung im Sommer’ both lightly suggested a
continuation of that fateful, necessary alienation that haunts Mahler’s music
and summarises its modern lot. A leisurely stroll – much to take in, all the
better at such a tempo, as would also be the case in ‘Zu Straßburg auf der
Schanz’’ – through the green wood of the following song prepared the way for
affinity and contrast in ‘Um schlimme Kinder artig zu machen’ and ‘Rheinlegendchen’.
The prisoner in the tower sang freely, freshly, Gerhaher fully rising to the challenge
of two ‘characters’ without caricature. ‘Die Gedanken sind frei’ (‘thoughts are
free’) proved a final line rich with summative ambiguity. If Huber perhaps
underlined specific figures too much in ‘Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen’, in
danger of losing overall line, Gerhaher’s infinitely touching contribution more
than made up for that.
Presaged in ‘Das
irdische Leben’, Kindertotenlieder
took matters further – and what a work with which to close! What a performance
too. The different vocal colours in a single line such as ‘Als sei kein Unglück
die Nacht gescheh’n!’, a line that yet remained very much a line, set the scene
for a performance that moved through a profound musicality that had no need for
histrionics, for anything externally applied. That ability to express all
manner of verbal and emotional nuances without disruption to line was just as
apparent in the sadness and regret, moving towards yet never quite attaining
bitterness, of the second song too. Words were throughout permitted to chill
through the bitter-sweetness of music. Was the hallucinatory conclusion to the
final storm, repose ‘as if in their mother’s house’, enlightenment or delusion?
In a formal sense, it must be the former, yet performance quite rightly left
room for doubt. ‘Urlicht’ as encore brought lengthy, unfortunate, and deeply
unsettling telephone disruption; and yet, finally, comfort and resolution.
