Sampson/Heath Quartet - Bach, Musto, Webern, and Schoenberg, 1 July 2015

Wigmore Hall

Bach – Chorale Preludes: ‘Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier,’ BWV 731; ‘Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr,’ BWV 662; ‘In dulci jubilo,’ BWV 608

John Musto – Another Place (world premiere)
Webern – Langsamer Satz
Schoenberg – String Quartet no.2, op.10

Carolyn Sampson (soprano)

Oliver Heath, Cerys Jones (violins)

Gary Pomeroy (viola)

Christopher Murray (cello) 

 

Bach goes more or less unerringly well with music of the Second Viennese School. Three Chorale Preludes, arranged for string quartet, did not, however, seem to have any obvious connection with the song cycle, Another Place, by John Musto, which here received its first performance. (Nor did works by Schoenberg and Webern.) Treated on their own terms, though, they were welcome to hear. Bach from a string quartet often seems to offer a slight element of friction, perhaps because it is so ‘Classical’ an idiom at heart: does one ever fail to think of Haydn or Beethoven? I remain to be convinced, for instance, that the Art of Fugue finds its most natural home here. By the same token, however, Bach is too great to be constricted by such matters, and the Heath Quartet offered an intriguing balance, despite my initial doubts concerning minimal vibrato, between modernity and the sonorities of certain Baroque organ stops. More than once, I fancied I heard an echo of an 8’ Gamba. ‘Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier’ was taken at a sensible tempo, speaking, as the useful cliché has it, ‘for itself’. There was indeed something winningly self-effacing about all the performances. Great clarity was achieved; harmonic tension was productive, without being exaggerated. The quasi-serial expansiveness of ‘Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr’ had me wish it would continue for eternity. ‘In dulci jubilo,’ however odd it might sound on the hottest day of the year, was, by contrast, experienced in the twinkling of an eye.

Musto’s new work sets verse by Mark Strand, father of the dedicatee, Jessica Strand. Paul Griffiths’s programme note tried gamely to discern a Schoenbergian connection: ‘The soprano in Schoenberg’s Second Quartet discovers, was we will hear, the “air of another planet”; in this new work …, she finds “another place”, which seems to be a place out of this life.’ If you like. Aside from a certain busy-ness of counterpoint in the first movement, I failed to discern anything more. No matter: whilst I cannot say that the songs made a great impression upon me, they were well enough put together, provided one could take a language which, at its most adventurous, seemed to extend little further than Britten or Weill. The second, ‘Another Place’, offers a passacaglia one can hardly miss: certainly several times less oblique than that of Pierrot lunaire. Likewise, the 5/8 dance of the following ‘XVIII from Dark Harbor’ and pictorial representation of a heartbeat therein announce themselves without subtlety, though not without effect. Performances were throughout committed. As I have repeated perhaps too often before, if you like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing you will like.

Webern is certainly the sort of thing I do like. His early slow movement for string quartet received as fine a performance as I can recall, enabling me almost to see, let alone hear, early twentieth-century Vienna. It was ‘late Romantic’ in the best sense, ushering in, as well as waving the fondest of farewells: not just gorgeous, but tastefully gilded. Tempo was admirably flexible, founded upon sound structural understanding. Kinship with Verklärte Nacht was abundantly clear, especially when a motif passed furiously between the instruments. Vibrato was – well, put it this way: not for Norringtonians. But there was great variegation with respect to dynamic contrasts, which were yet always integrated into an expansion of what Schoenberg would have called the Idea. Even the relative gaucheness of the young Webern could hardly have proved more lovable.

I am not sure I have heard a bad performance of Schoenberg’s Second String Quartet; there was no question of this performance breaking that particular mould. The first movement was already heading in that direction, whilst remaining of our own – or rather, 1908’s own – planet. The contrapuntal complexities of the First Quartet and First Chamber Symphony, and the latter’s joy (if here, ever turning to F-sharp minor melancholy) soon came to mind. It was salutary to hear Schoenberg sounding more radical than Webern. Brahmsian intensity was palpable throughout; so also was the possibility of themes we heard taking on life beyond their present tonal moorings. (The same can also, of course, be said of many of Brahms’s themes.) Flexibility and harmonic understanding again provided a sure context for the unfolding musical drama.

The second movement seemed to take us a step closer. (I know that I am speaking teleologically, perhaps unduly so, but it is difficult to avoid doing so in this work, and I am not sure I see the point in trying.) There was certainly a great deal of pent-up intensity in both the material and its unfolding. Again, it was the sureness of integration – of melody, harmony, and rhythm – that signalled the excellence of the Heath Quartet’s performance. That quotation actually had me laugh, so startling did its humour, if humour it be, prove. The closing bars were incendiary.

Harking back to the opening of the concert, the opening bars of ‘Litanei’ sounded almst as if they were from a Bach Chorale Prelude, albeit with a touch of Beethovenian ‘Muß es sein?’ With Carolyn Sampson’s entry, almost but not quite bell-like, ghosts of Romanticism assembled, as they (not quite correctly) believed, for one final conference. Twin ecstasy and nostalgia relating to that assumed parting of the ways thrilled, as did Sampson’s mini-Kundry-ish downward leap. Strings briefly reminded us of what, tonally, was at stake.

The ‘air of another planet’ never fails to brace, to invite, even to seduce; nor did it fail here. So we were brought to the moment of transition, which, I am not afraid to admit, elicited a tear from my eyes. With those words, necessary release came – without, or so it seemed, the slightest of effort. And how ambivalent the following cello line sounded, testament to the meaning of both work and performance. Thereafter, there came exploration, ever firmly to what had gone before, and yet with early freshness of discovery recaptured. Moonlight silver and vocal conviction sounded with unerring conviction. The players, however, quite rightly reminded us that, ultimately, this remains a string quartet – and what a string quartet!

I had not anticipated an encore, let alone two; nor would I have anticipated the choices. The second of Britten’s Three Divertimenti and an a cappella performance of The Ash Grove – as Sampson told us, her favourite folk song – proved just the unexpected ticket, in their different ways.

Prom 23 - BBC SSO/Runnicles: John McLeod, Beethoven, and Mozart

Royal Albert Hall

John McLeod – The Sun Dances (London premiere)

Beethoven – Symphony no.4 in B-flat major, op.60

Mozart (ed. Robert Levin) – Requiem in D minor, KV 626

Carolyn Sampson (soprano)

Christine Rice (mezzo-soprano)

Jeremy Ovenden (tenor)

Neil Davies (bass)

National Youth Choir of Scotland (chorus master: Christopher Bell)

BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

Donald Runnicles (conductor)

Another programme of which it was difficult to make much sense: a twenty-first-century Scottish tone poem, followed by a Beethoven symphony, followed by Mozart’s Requiem. As it turned out, I should readily have skipped the first half and simply heard the Mozart, which, if, in Donald Runnicles’s hands, it certainly did not plumb any metaphysical depths, offered excellent singing from the National Youth Choir of Scotland.

 

Apparently, John McLeod’s 2001 The Sun Dances takes its inspiration from the story of an old Scottish woman, Barbara Macphie, climbing Ben More on the Isle of Mull to see sunrise on Easter Sunday. It seemed well played by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, but alternates awkwardly between stretches of relatively biting, highly rhythmical music, and more Romantic, even film-music-like material. Attractively orchestrated in a post-Ravel fashion, it was not really clear to me what it added up to. The BBC SSO brass seemed to enjoy the climax though.

 

Runnicles’s account of Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony started promisingly enough, the introduction to the first movement full of potentiality. What followed, however, set the scene all too well for a largely characterless performance: almost ‘designer Beethoven’. The first movement proper was very fast indeed, highly (excessively?) articulated, with undeniably characterful woodwind. Of metaphysics, or indeed more generally of meaning, there was not so much as an aural glimpse. The development passed almost without incident (!), but some degree of fury was whipped up for the return; without context, however, and without any of the necessary flexibility, it could make little real impact. Applause followed – as, annoyingly, it would every movement. Runnicles offered a strange conception of an Adagio, surely more of an Andante. The slow movement was pleasant rather than dignified, let alone deep. Despite incidental felicities, it felt skated over and, frankly, rushed. The scherzo was clear and correct, but where was the struggle? There was nothing especially objectionable, but nothing revelatory either. At least there was a sense of relaxation for the trio. The close to the movement as a whole was perfunctory in the extreme. Beethoven’s finale was taken attacca, very fast indeed, more akin to a Presto. An horrendous bout of audience coughing accompanied its course. Otherwise it was stylish, sleek, sometimes even urgent, but never exultant, more often brusque and unsmiling. If only we could have heard Daniel Barenboim again…  

 

Mozart’s Requiem was performed in Robert Levin’s edition, which goes beyond the familiar Süssmayr completion in a number of respects. It was interesting to hear, but I cannot say that I should in general wish to do so. In any case, as mentioned above, the principal joy of this performance was the alert, expressive singing of the National Youth Choir of Scotland, ably supported by the BBC SSO. The female soloists, Carolyn Sampson and Christine Rice, fared better than their male counterparts, Jeremy Ovenden and Neal Davies. Runnicles again exhibited a tendency towards unduly fast and driven tempi, but was on better form than in the Beethoven, even though again it was difficult to detect anything much in the way of religious or more generally metaphysical import.

 

The opening bars were ominous enough, on the swift side but not unreasonably so. Both the chorus and Sampson made a welcome mark in the ‘Introitus’, though excessively articulated violins proved less of a boon. The ‘Kyrie’ was very fast, frankly too fast and too light in texture. (What a strange response to words and music alike!) At least there was, as throughout, fine choral singing to enjoy and Runnicles slowed down to offer a glimpse of real neo-Handelian grandeur at the very close. If the ‘Dies irae’ were very fast, that was fair enough; it was darker of hue too, a welcome development. The ‘Tuba mirum; was taken at a predictably ‘flowing’ tempo, but was permitted to breathe. Davies’s solo was uncomfortably wobbly. A wonderfully forthright ‘Rex tremendae’ followed, choral clarity especially noteworthy. The ‘Recordare’ was light of character, but on its own terms flowed nicely; Ovenden’s tenor was, however, anything but ingratiating of tone. Surely, however, there should have been more at stake than we heard in the merely fast ‘Confutatis’ and a decidedly un-Romantic ‘Lacrimosa’. Levin’s ‘Amen fugue was the surprise: perfectly competent contrapuntal writing, but not, to my ears, remotely Mozartian. I think we can do without it.

 

Again, the ‘Domine Jesu’ was too fast, the words and their meaning ultimately lacking seriousness, however well sung. It sounded, I am afraid, dangerously close to Mendelssohn fairy music. And should the setting of ‘Quam olim Abrahae’ really sound jaunty, however beautifully blended it was? So it continued, through a driven ‘Hostias’, to the ‘Sanctus’, in which Levin’s hand offered interesting new violin figuration: the one case in which I positively welcomed his intervention. Levin’s ‘Osanna’ sounds more Handelian – with an obvious, perhaps too obvious, nod to Mozart’s Mass in C minor – than what we are accustomed to hear. The ‘Benedictus’ was prettily skated over, but again, what of meaning, what of liturgical context? Radically different orchestral writing was to be heard; I should not mind hearing it again, but I am not convinced that it was definitely preferable to Süssmayr, whatever the accusations of clumsiness sometimes hurled at him. Ovenden was here again the weakest link, often sounding strained indeed. Levin’s transition to the following ‘Osanna’ was more ‘interesting’ than convincing. The ‘Agnus Dei’ showed that (relative) gravity and swift tempi were not necessarily incompatible; alas, it was interrupted by some extraneous (electronic?) noise. There was an intriguingly Bachian (the B minor Mass came to mind) character to the close, after which the ‘Lux aeterna’ offered a spirited conclusion, more in keeping with the performance than the work. Might Runnicles have been happier with, say, Fauré than the tragic Catholicism of Mozart’s final work?

 

ASMF/Sampson - Bach, 15 June 2013

Hall One, Kings Place

Cantata: ‘Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten,’ BWV 202

Concerto for oboe and violin, BWV 1060R
Violin Concerto in A minor, BWV 1041
Cantata: ‘O holder Tag, erwünschte Zeit,’ BWV 210

Carolyn Sampson (soprano)

Christopher Cowie (oboe)

Academy of St Martin in the Fields

Tomo Keller (violin/director)

 

 

A string section of the size 4.4.3.2.1 is small by reasonable standards, though doubtless counts as positively – or rather negatively – Furtwänglerian by the mullahs of ‘authenticity’. Nevertheless, there was no sense that the Academy of St Martin in the Fields was undernourished, and in any case its ‘orchestral’ contribution was intermittent. Carolyn Sampson and obbligato oboist Christopher Cowie took the first movement of the wedding cantata, Weichet nur, betrubte Schatten, as equal ‘soloists’ in something that fell midway between an instrumental concerto and a vocal duet. That aria emerged clear and clean, but not without warmth. Sampson’s tone remains somewhat ‘English’ in quality; provided one does not mind that, there is much to enjoy, even though a touch more vibrato would not have gone amiss. Breath control and phrasing were exemplary from both ‘soloists’. The arioso-like quality of some of the recitative writing was well handled by Sampson. There was a nimble rendition of the cello part to the second aria, though intonation was not always beyond reproach. In the third aria, ‘Wenn die Frühlingslüfte streichen,’ Sampson was fluently complemented by violinist, Tomo Keller. This cantata may not represent Bach at his most profound, but there is considerable pleasure nevertheless to be had in his effortless mastery of melody, harmony, and counterpoint. Instrumentalists such as the cellist in the final recitative took their opportunities for word-painting. Despite the small forces, there was a welcome courtly sturdiness to the closing gavotte-aria, in which the full orchestra returns.

 

The concerto for oboe and violin opened well, its first movement harmonically grounded, and with a well-chosen tempo that permitted the music to speak. There was splendid give and take between the soloists, Cowie and Keller. Above all, Bach’s score was played as music; the issue of the score’s reconstruction melted away, or rather simply did not arise. The slow movement was on the swift side for an Adagio, though it generally worked. There were, however, occasions on which one wished the performance would prove more yielding, more in the case of the violin than the oboe. There was exemplary pizzicato support from the ASMF. The finale would have benefited from a slightly more moderate tempo, Keller’s performance veering uncomfortably close to the world of Vivaldi. Bach does not need to sound aggressive.

 

It was a relief, then, after the interval, to have the A minor violin concerto performed in less harried fashion. Again, the tempo for the first movement was well chosen; it certainly was not slow, but nor was it relentless. Phrases were nicely turned. Dynamic contrasts and gradations made musical sense throughout. The slow movement was arguably a little brisk, somewhat no-nonsense in the orchestral approach. There were, however, moments when it yielded. Moreover, there was none of the non vibrato nonsense one fears in present-day Bach performance; the violin was permitted to sing throughout. Playing was clean, strong, and sweet-toned in the finale, which benefited from a well-judged tempo. It excited through musical means rather than through exhibitionism, which has no place whatsoever in Bach.

 

The relative neglect of the wedding cantata, O holder Tag, erwünschte Zeit, is puzzling; to my eyes and ears, it is a superior work to Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten, though I should not wish to be without either. Cowie returned to the orchestra, this time on oboe d’amore, and was joined by another instrumentalist, flautist Paul Edmund-Davies. The first aria (though second movement), ‘Spielet, ihr beseelten Lieder.’ Was elegantly despatched, no mean feat given the trickiness of Bach’s vocal writing. It may be a cliché to describe it as instrumental in quality, but that description certainly fits the bill here. Sampson’s coloratura was excellent. Moreover, her handling of recitative proved admirably supple throughout. The aria, ‘Ruhet hie, matte Töne,’ with three ‘soloists’, voice, violin, and oboe d’amore, proved a veritable garden of musical delights, with excellent balance between the soloists, and between them and the continuo. Partnership between Sampson and Edmund-Davies in ‘Schweigt, ihr Flöten,’ was just as impressive. The ultimate recitative, ‘Hochteurer Mann,’ benefited from an instrumental richness – strings and those ‘solo’ instruments – that almost approached the arioso writing of the Passions, after which the final aria, ‘Seid beglückt, edle beide,’ proved a glorious wedding gift indeed. Infectiously joyous, a radiant and musicianly conclusion from all concerned; we might almost have been in an Orchestral Suite, with added soprano.

 

ASMF/Sampson - Bach, 22 February 2013

Hall One, Kings Place

Cantata: Non sa che sia dolore, BWV 209

Concerto for flute, violin, and harpsichord in A minor, BWV 1044
Concerto for two violins in D minor, BWV 1043
Cantata: Ich habe genug, BWV 82a

Carolyn Sampson (soprano)

Stephanie Gonley, Martin Burgess (violins)

Michael Cox (flute)

Steven Devine (harpsichord)

Academy of St Martin in the Fields

Having ‘unwrapped’ Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart, and Brahms, Kings Place has turned in 2013 to the greatest composer of them all, Johann Sebastian Bach. Even for a year-long festival, much of Bach’s voluminous surviving output will remain unperformed, but there is certainly a good deal on offer throughout the year. Here we heard a pair of cantatas and a pair of concertos, those old Bach hands in the Academy of St Martin the Fields joined by soprano, Carolyn Sampson.

 

Three out of the four works featured a prominent role for flute, hence Michael Cox’s soloist billing. He and Sampson proved nicely matched in the opening Non sa che sia dolore, a rare instance of Bach in Italian, if indeed it is by Bach at all. (It sounds as though it is.) The ASMF’s Sinfonia convincingly plunged us into the musical thick of it, the orchestral contribution being perhaps the finest I have heard in this cantata. Despite the small numbers (strings 4.4.3.2.1), there was requisite harmonic depth to the aria, ‘Parti pur e non dolore’, possessed of a fine sense of inevitability. Rhythmic precision did not come at the cost, as so often it does nowadays, of a hard-driven performance; there was nothing unyielding to any of the movements. There was occasionally something a little woolly to Cox’s tone; I wondered whether this were a hat-tip to the Baroque transverse flute. Whatever the truth of it, it did not perturb. Sampson’s tone was bell-like in its clarity without that entailing a lack of femininity; it seemed thoroughly apt for a secular cantata. Vocal and instrumental exuberance were not bought at the cost of the weird exhibitionism that sadly characterises so much present-day Bach performance.  

 

The orchestra was pared down further for the ‘Triple’ Concerto for flute, violin, and harpsichord (strings 4.3.2.2.1). Again, despite the small numbers, i was immediately struck by the harmonic depth of the ASMF’s performance. And what a relief it was to encounter sensible tempi in an age that often lauds as ‘exciting’ breakneck performances that never so much as permit Bach’s music to breathe. Balance between the soloists was well-nigh ideal: not clinically so, just apparently ‘right’. The first movement even had me come close to leaving on one side my dislike of the harpsichord as a solo instrument, so convincing were Steven Devine’s shaping of phrases and projection. Devine, Cox, and Stephanie Gonley all displayed admirable flexibility within a stricter overall framework. In the slow movement, the harpsichord (inevitably?) tended towards the merely ‘tinkling’; I longed for the sustaining power of the piano, but that was hardly the soloist’s fault. Gonley’s violin sounded wonderfully viola-like in its richness of tone. Again, balance was exemplary. Bach’s ‘learned’ counterpoint made its point in the finale, but so did his equally fine melodic genius in a shapely, stylish performance. If the harpsichord solos were at times a little clattering, that again was the fault of the instrument, not the performer.

 

The ‘Double’ Violin Concerto was the only disappointment of the evening. All three movements, but especially the outer two, were driven far too hard. Bach had no opportunity to breathe. The opening movement sounded as if a modern Vivaldi performance had been transferred to Bach’s music. ‘Calm down!’ one wanted to tell the players. Even the slow movement was harried – and Bach should be no more harried than Mozart. Ultimately, it proved prosaic, charmless even. O for the Oistrakhs...

 

Ich habe genug was given in its later version for soprano and flute (and should therefore have been marked in the programme as BWV 82a, not 82). The replacement of the original oboe with the flute makes the music less plangent, and a soprano can never hope to project the gravity of a Hotter or a Fischer-Dieskau. Nevertheless, this was a fine performance on its own terms, which certainly brought with it different Passion resonances. Again the depth of orchestral sound, doubtless assisted by the excellent Hall One acoustic, was crucial to the performance’s success. Recitative was supple, and if ‘Schlummert ein’ has been taken more slowly, it certainly did not fall prey to the inappropriate turbo-drive of the Double Concerto. Might not an organ, though, have been a better choice of continuo instrument than the harpsichord? Sampson’s low notes could not have the resonance of, say, John Shirley-Quirk in his great recording with Sir Neville Marriner and the ASMF, but this remained a moving account. The fast tempo of the final aria, ‘Ich freue mich auf meinen Tod,’ worked very well, both on its own terms and as a response to the strange Pietist words, a Christian never being at home in this world. Ornamentation was flawless, without loss to Bach’s humanity.

Sampson/Wadsworth - 'Echoes of Venice', 3 January 2013

Wigmore Hall

 

Monteverdi – Si dolce è’l tormento

Barbara Strozzi – Rissolvetevi pensieri (from op.6)
Alessandro Piccinini – Toccata X
Ciaccona in partite variate
Strozzi – L’amante segreto (from op.2)
Giovanni Kapsberger – Libro quarto d’intavolatura di chitarrone: Passacaglia
Strozzi – Che si può fare
Francesca Caccini – Lasciatemi morire
Benedetto Ferrari – Voglio di vita uscir
Piccinini – Toccata VI
Partita variate sopra quest’aria francese detta l’Alemana
Corrente terza
Strozzi – L’Eraclita amoroso (from op.6)

Carolyn Sampson (soprano)

Matthew Wadsworth (theorbo)

 

 

In a fit of excessive New Year enthusiasm, I initially typed the year for this recital as 3013. It transpires that an additional millennium has not yet passed, though nevertheless a degree of time travel somehow seemed comforting on a dark early January night, that time travel taking us back to seventeenth-century Venice. Monteverdi one might have expected, yet he appeared but once, at the very beginning – and what a change it was to hear in a recital focused upon any period or none, the music of not just one but two female composers.

 

Monteverdi’s Si dolce e’l tormento was as notable for its theorbo ‘accompaniment’, Matthew Wadsworth offering considerable variation in attack, dynamic contrast, and mood, as for Carolyn Sampson’s intelligent ornamentation, admirably suited to the text. Barbara Strozzi provided the greater part of what remained of the first half. Sampson and Wadsworth showing her to be far more than an ‘interesting historical figure’. Despite the strophic form of the Monteverdi item, Strozzi’s Rissolvetevi, pensieri sounded in a sense simpler, perhaps more of a song in the modern sense, melody very much to the fore. At the same time, here and elsewhere, one felt that the opera stage was not so very distant; both ‘song’ and ‘aria’, then, seemed apposite frames of reference. L’amante segreto sounded almost as an operatic scena. Its plaintiveness was established from the outset by Sampson; even if one did not have, or did not understand, the words, one would readily have guessed their meaning. Her voice sounded ‘pure’ without the bloodlessness that afflicts a good number of ‘early music’ sopranos. This sounded very much as the post-Cavalli music that it is, certain aspects of melody and harmony recalling Strozzi’s teacher. Che si può fare was likewise beautifully sung. If, for my taste, a little more vibrato would not have gone amiss, there was nothing aggressive about its denial and there was no denying the cleanness of Sampson’s tone and the sincerity of her delivery.

 

In between the Strozzi items came solo pieces for Wadsworth. A little of such music goes a long way for me, I am afraid; I suspect it is infinitely more rewarding for the player than the listener, especially when the latter finds himself in a relatively large hall. (A seventeenth-century octagon room, such as that at Salzburg’s Schloss Hellbrunn, might well offer a different experience.) In the two pieces by Alessandro Piccinini, Wadsworth was an admirable guide, happy to leaven his tone with vibrato. The constant need to retune is a bit of a bore, but the fault lies with the instrument, not the performer. A passacaglia by Giovanni Kapsberger was cleverly programmed so that its ground bass ran straight into Strozzi’s Che si può fare, the solo item functioning as a prelude.  

 

Francesca Caccini, daughter of Giulio, opened the second half. Her ‘Lasciatemi qui solo’ was again song-like, seemingly in the tradition of her father’s music. Sampson’s Italian sometimes sounded a little careful, though meaning was always conveyed in an intimate performance, her deathly closing whisper, ‘Gia sono esangu’e smorto,’ a case in point. Benedetto Ferrari’s ‘Voglio di vita uscir’, despite its title, offered a lively contrast, something of a relief given the general tenor of the programme. Monteverdi sounded closer than elsewhere, both Zefiro torna and the notorious closing duet of L’incoronazione di Poppea – Ferrari a prime candidate as composer – coming to mind. Three more pieces by Piccinini followed. Again they were clearly well performed, yet to my doubtless untutored ears they proved rather tedious; perhaps some people feel the same about nineteenth-century piano music, but I think I shall stick with Chopin and Liszt. Strozzi’s L’Eraclito amoroso seemed to breathe the world of a small opera stage, though equally one could imagine it properly in more intimate surroundings, performed by the composer herself.  

 

If it would be difficult to claim any of this repertoire, even Monteverdi’s contribution, as ‘great’ music, much of it affords ample interest, especially when performed as well as here. It was a pity, then, that the programme note, arguably more important for listeners in a concert of unfamiliar repertoire than in, say, a performance of Winterreise, was often confusing and/or poorly written. Rick Jones’s opening sentences read as follows:

In 1612, Venice ended 45-year old Monteverdi’s year of unemployment since walking out on Mantua. He’d become famous through his operas Orfeo and the lost Arianna [certainly not lost in 1612!], and defended his ideas in the press, so that most employers were afraid to take him on. The merchant city state in the north was up for it though and never regretted it.

 
Alas, matters did not improve thereafter. It was a rare lapse, though, in terms of the Wigmore Hall’s typically high standards and did not detract unduly from the music, which for the most part spoke very well for itself.

 

As an encore, we were offered the English folksong, ‘I will give my love an apple’. Wadsworth explained that it was a somewhat oblique contribution to Britten year, given that Britten once set the song. At any rate, this was a loving and lovely performance.