Volle/Deutsch - Schubert, Mahler, Schumann, Clara Schumann, and Strauss, 13 December 2013

Wigmore Hall

Schubert – Greisengesang, D 778

Du bist die Ruh, D 776
Lachen und Weinen, D 777
Daß sie hier gewesen, D 775
Sei mir gegrüßt, D 741
Mahler – Rückert-Lieder
Schumann – Widmung, op.25 no.1
Der Himmel hat eine Träne geweint, op.37 no.1
Clara Schumann – Liebst du um Schönheit, op.12 no.1
Schumann – Mein schooner Stern! op.101 no.4
Clara Schumann – Warum willst du and’re fragen, op.12 no.3
Schumann – Aus den ‘Östlichen Rosen’, op.25 no.25
Zum Schluß, op.25 no.26
Strauss – Vom künftigen Alter, op.87 no.1
Und dann nicht mehr, op.87 no.3
Im Sonnenschein, op.87 no.4

Michael Volle (baritone)

Helmut Deutsch (piano)

 

A wonderful recital of songs to texts by Friedrich Rückert, a recital about which I find it difficult to summon up the slightest reservation. (If I must, it would be the songs of Clara Schumann: as well performed as everything else, but of considerably lesser musical interest.) Michael Volle and Helmut Deutsch imparted a due sense of occasion to everything they did; even their dressing in evening tails, unusual for the Wigmore Hall, helped announce that this would be no ordinary evening.

 

The opening Schubert group showed no signs of limbering up, Volle’s voice and Deutsch’s fingers being perfectly primed from the off. Though an ‘accompanist’, Deutsch certainly does not sound like one; his part in the musical proceedings proving just as generative as that of Volle. There was real pianistic muscle, but just as telling was the voice-leading, not for its own sake (as one might sometimes experience with non-‘accompanist’ pianists), but as part of a collaborative response to text and music alike. Volle’s diction was perfect throughout, but more important was the sense that every word mattered; it was not merely pronounced, but felt and communicated. And so, Schubert’s responses to Rückert could be experienced to a fullness we almost have no right to expect. Greisengesang chilled, Volle offering telling, unexaggerated rubato, at the end of a number of the stanzas. ‘Doch warm ist mir’s geblieben/Im Wohngemach’: the warmth of the parlour lingered ever so slightly in the mind – and in the bones. Rapture, yet specific rather than generalised, characterised Du bist der Ruh, whilst the repetitions of ‘Sei mir gegrüßt! Sei mir geküßt!’ in the final song of the group always brought something new, or at least seemed to do so. The winning, utterly Schubertian lilt could not be attributed to either Volle or Deutsch; this was a true partnership.

 

Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder followed. Deutsch’s account of the piano parts was such as almost to have one forget how much one (should have) missed the orchestra; it was only really in ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ that I felt the odd pang in that respect, and that was certainly not the pianist’s doing. Again he showed equal command of both the alchemy of word and music, and of the more ‘purely’ musical devices, the sense of motivic development being especially strong. Not that there was any lack of atmosphere: the stillness – a cliché, doubtless, but none the less true for that – of ‘Um Mitternacht’ an equal tribute to the devotion of both artists. If there were odd occasions when Volle’s intonation slipped, they counted for almost nothing. What did count was the alliance of initial immediacy of expression and a mediated cultural hinterland; though the voices are very different, I thought more than once of Fischer-Dieskau at his best.

 

If Clara Schumann’s songs are never likely to change anyone’s life, they are competently written and pleasant enough. It is difficult to imagine them receiving stronger advocacy than here. Robert’s songs, on the other hand, offered all the magic and depth of feeling one could have hoped for. Cleverly selected and positioned, there was a true sense of development from ‘Widmung’ to ‘Zum Schluß’, with the songs by Clara at the very least reminding one of true object of Robert’s affections. A radiance not unlike that earlier experienced in Du bist die Ruh was, quite rightly, the concluding sentiment, leading ‘naturally’ – which, in reality, is to say with an excellent level of preparation and performance – into the more operatic inspirations of Strauss. Volle drew upon all the dramatic gifts at his disposal – and they are many – to produce with Deutsch an almost scena-like intensity in Vom künftigen Alter. Simply managing to have one’s fingers navigate the notes is often no mean feat in these songs, but Deutsch penetrated to the soul, technique liberating the imagination. A typically equivocal sunshine – should it actually be sunset? – crowned a distinguished recital indeed.

Book Review - Martin Geck, Robert Schumann: The Life and Work of a Romantic Composer

(This review was first published in Times Higher Education, 11 October 2012 (2071), p.50.)

 

Martin Geck has written a good few composer biographies: Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and Wagner. In his most recent, first published in German in 2010, Geck turns his attention to Robert Schumann.

 

The author draws out some important biographical themes, not least the extent to which, from an early age, Schumann’s twin literary and musical careers informed one another. In the most impressive section, Schumann’s role as editor of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, in its heyday one of the most influential music periodicals of all time, is brought to vividly Romantic life. Schumann’s ‘friends’, fiery Florestan and introverted Eusebius, and the Zeitschrift’s ‘League of David’, dedicated to the defeat of the ‘Philistines’, played games of identity with readers not unlike those of German Romantic poets such as Schumann’s beloved Jean Paul.

 

The composer’s marriage is treated more sensibly than often, though Clara Schumann is treated with kid gloves. No mention is made of the Schumanns’ rank ingratitude towards Liszt; nor does Geck deal critically with Clara’s music – perhaps because, sadly, it is not intrinsically very interesting. The final years of Schumann’s life and career receive surprisingly short shrift. It is almost as if Geck stands reluctant to tell the harrowing tale of psychosis and the Endenich asylum. Moreover, the sheer strangeness of Schumann’s highly disturbing late works goes unexplored.

 

In general, a deeper understanding of Schumann remains elusive. One particular problem lies in the lack of any sense of place. We learn some facts about, for instance, Schumann’s time as a student in Leipzig; yet without a keener sense of what Leipzig, or indeed Saxony, c.1830, was like, they amount to little more than the sum of their parts. An historian of nineteenth-century Germany, alert to the differences between, say, Saxony and Prussia, might have had something revealing to say here. Alan Walker’s compelling Liszt biography presents a model too little followed in writing on composers’ lives.

 

Discussion of Schumann’s music – which is surely why we are most interested in him – is mixed in quality. Following a striking, if brief, discussion of the piano piece, Papillons, and citation of Schumann’s contention that he had learned more about counterpoint from Jean Paul than anyone else, comes the bizarre claim that the Marseillaise quotation in Faschingsschwank aus Wien is ‘almost unrecognisable’. I recall it leaping out from the page at me in a childhood piano lesson – and certainly not on account of any particular acuity. Analysis and even description tend to be approached and veered away from, an odd state of affairs for a treatment of ‘life and work’. Attempts at theoretical engagement, for instance, citation of Roland Barthes, seem somewhat forced and sit oddly with a generally belletrist approach. There is nothing wrong with the latter; sadly, however, Geck’s lettres prove more often grises than belles.

 

Historical situation of Schumann amongst his peers is dubious, largely consisting in his relative elevation through swiping at others. Quite why an irrelevant and, in the worst sense, merely subjective contrast with Schoenberg, whose music ‘is less popular than Schumann’s ... [because] it is more difficult to understand,’ is thought necessary but four pages in, I cannot imagine. Inevitably, though no less wearisomely, there comes a host of digs at Wagner. Even Beethoven has his middle-period works portrayed as one-dimensional when compared with Schumann’s music. As for Geck’s wildly unhistorical claims that ‘until Beethoven’s day composition was primarily a craft that required an adherence to traditional rules,’ and that ‘Mendelssohn and Schumann were the first musicians,’ not even the first composers, ‘to receive a proper formal education,’ hands must be thrown up in the air.

The Sixteen - Brahms, Schumann, and Clara Schumann, 16 March 2012

Hall One, Kings Place

Schumann – Spanische Liebeslieder, op.138, nos 4 and 9
Clara Schumann – Romance in E-flat minor, op.11 no.1
Brahms – Zigeunerlieder, op.103
Schumann – Liebesfrühling, op.37: ‘So wahr die Sonne scheiner’
Schumann – Vier Duette, op.78: ‘Tanzlied’
Schumann – Fantasiestücke, op.12, nos 2 and 3
Brahms – Neues Liebeslieder, op.65

Members of The Sixteen:
Julie Cooper, Charlotte Mobbs (soprano)
Alexandra Gibson, Martha McLorinan (alto)
Jeremy Budd, Mark Dobell (tenor)
Alex Ashworth, Eamonn Dougan (bass)

Christopher Glynn, John Reid (piano)
Harry Christophers (conductor)

Having ‘unwrapped’ Beethoven, Chopin, and Mozart, Kings Place in 2012 is mounting a year-long series, ‘Brahms Unwrapped’. This was the second of two contributions from The Sixteen, or rather members thereof, ‘The Eight’, Brahms’s Zigeunerlieder and Neue Liebeslieder accompanied by vocal and piano works by Robert and Clara Schumann. It made for a relatively short programme, but there are worse things than that.

Two songs from Schumann’s 1849 Spanische Liebeslieder opened the programme. ‘Bedeckt mich mit Blumen’, for two sopranos, made for a slightly staid opening, but ‘Blaue Augen hat das Mädchen’, for tenor and bass, proved livelier, the captivation exerted by the girl’s blue eyes for the two protagonists readily apparent. I am sorry to say that I have never heard, or indeed played, a piece by Clara Schumann I have wished to re-encounter, and this piano Romance, op.11 no.1, offered not exception. It was actually a better piece than many I have heard from her, but it proved four-square, repetitious, and unadventurous harmonically, never rising above the generically Romantic: pleasant enough, if you like that sort of thing. Alas, I cannot report on the respective contributions of the two pianists, or indeed of particular singers, by name, since the programme gave no indication as to which was which, or to who was performing what.

The Zigeunerlieder opened in rather peculiar fashion, one of the two tenors – I shall call him Tenor I – sounding closer in style to Weill than to Brahms; it worked surprisingly well, but I could not help but wonder whether it were intended. More troublingly, however, Harry Christophers, who now joined the ensemble to conduct, drove the music hard. I am not convinced that it needs a conductor; this evening’s experience suggests otherwise. It tends to flow more easily, to sound more ‘natural’ in expression, without. ‘Lieber Gott, du weißt, wie oft bereut ich hab’ benefited from commendable attention to detail, yet, like so many of the songs, sounded over-determined. ‘Kommt dir manchmal in den Sinn’ relaxed somewhat, however, and was all the better for it, permitting one to relish Brahms’s harmonies and their implications. Likewise, there was a nice sense of sad mystery to ‘Horch, der Wind klagt in den Zweigen traurig sacht,’ though there was some especially ropy singing from Tenor II here. Tenor I sounded strained in the closing ‘Rote Abendwolken ziehn am Firmament’; indeed, I was taken aback throughout at the problems both tenors experienced.

Schumann’s ‘So wahr die Sonne scheiner,’ a Rückert setting for alto and bass duet, sounded rather lovely: modest, but heartfelt, a welcome change from the over-determination of the conducted works. ‘Tanzlied,’ for soprano and tenor, benefited from a winning lilt to the waltz and its progress; the soprano shone, but the tenor again proved a bit of a trial. Two of Schumann’s Fantasiestücke followed, given by whichever was the pianist who had not performed the piece by Clara. ‘Aufschwung’ was dextrous, though it sounded closer to Mendelssohn than to a progenitor of Brahms. The performance was not especially probing, but pleasant enough, if short-breathed; it stopped very abruptly. ‘Warum?’ exhibited a fine piano touch, though it was perhaps unduly insistent.

The Neue Liebeslieder are of course for piano duet; the new piano texture was both welcome in itself and well navigated by the pianists, richer without ever becoming occluded. As for the vocal performances, much the same could be said as for the Zigeunerlieder. Christophers needed to calm down, and really had no business in part-conducting a piece such as ‘An jeder Hand die Finger’, for soprano solo (rather good, if somewhat bright in tone for Brahms). At least he desisted for most of the other solo songs. Even, though, where a piece went less hell for leather, for instance in ‘Finstere Schatten der Nacht’, it tended to emerge too moulded, audibly as well as visually. ‘Weiche Gräser im Revier’ was marred by Tenor II, ‘Ich kose süß mit der und der’ by Tenor I, who offered charmless, often out-of-tune, bellowing. A pity, given the quality of much of the rest of the singing. ‘Am Donaustrande, da steht ein Haus,’ from the op.52 Liebeslieder-Walzer, was a winning encore, more gemütlich than pretty much anything that had gone before. On the whole, however, the evening lacked Viennese charm and idiom; instead, we were left with an impression that Evensong had preceded the performances. To have had the singers stand around the piano, without conductor, might well have offered a better starting-point.

Trekel/Martineau - German Song 1840-1850, 17 December 2010

Wigmore Hall

Mendelssohn – Warnung vor dem Rhein
Venetianisches Gondellied
Wanderlied
Frühlingslied
Altdeutsches Frühlingslied
Nachtlied

Schumann – Liederkreis, op.24

Clara Schumann – Liebst du um Schönheit
Die stille Lotosblume
Sie liebten sich beide
Lorelei

Carl Loewe – Der Graf von Habsburg
Meerfahrt
Der gefangene Admiral

Roman Trekel (baritone)
Malcolm Martineau (piano)


The Wigmore Hall traversal ‘Decade by Decade – 100 years of German Song 1810-1910,’ has reached the decade (surely eleven years?) 1840-1850. Originally advertised as vocal soloist was Dorothea Röschmann, but she withdrew, leaving Roman Trekel, another Berlin Staatsoper regular, to offer a replacement programme with Malcolm Martineau as pianist.

The wealth of nineteenth-century German song is such that the Wigmore Hall could programme little else and still come up with great variety of programmes. The decade by decade approach is clearly an attempt to present works in a somewhat different context. It is often said that one appreciates the peaks far better once one knows the foothills; there is certainly something in that. Nevertheless, the present programme did not provoke any startling revaluations on my part.

Carl Loewe’s three ballads remain a taste resolutely unacquired. There used to be a fashion – perhaps there still is – to prefer Loewe’s Erlkönig to Schubert’s; I fail to understand why, but I have to admit the Erlkönig to be a more interesting setting than the three songs included here. Trekel and Martineau gave strong accounts, the tone of both instruments well judged. In the Schiller setting, Der Graf von Habsburg, the baritone proved declamatory within essentially though not exclusively strophic bounds, whilst the pianist pleased with occasional flourishes of pageantry. Ultimately, though, my appreciation was for Schiller’s verse, which one could certainly hear to good advantage, rather than for Loewe’s frankly tedious setting. Perhaps I am just not attuned to the form, but I am very happy to hear, for instance, Schubert’s ballads.

Preceding Loewe’s offerings were five songs by Clara Schumann. Commendably, Trekel and Martineau expended as much effort upon these as they had on her husband’s settings in the first half. They are pleasant enough, and show a fine taste in verse. The Heine Sie liebten sich beide permitted Trekel’s voice to move; the harmony has its moments, to which Martineau was highly alert. If it remains somewhat generalised compared to great Lieder settings, there is no harm in hearing it once in a while. The other Heine setting, Lorelei, seems to hark back a little too obviously to Schubert’s Erlkönig, but again it received a fine performance.

Six Mendelssohn songs opened the recital. The strophic approach can become a little wearying, but Trekel supplied ample good nature to the opening Warnung vor dem Rhein. The ensuing Venetianisches Gondellied almost inevitably put one in mind of some of the Songs without Words; perhaps the Lied is a little over-dramatised for its material. Nevertheless, Trekel here – and elsewhere – impressed with a beautiful, poignant mezza voce. Eichendorff’s Wanderlied was nicely impetuous, especially the piano part: agile but never merely facile. By the time we reached Frühlingslied, the initial slight dryness to Trekel’s voice had been surmounted, though there were cases in the following Altdeutsches Frühlingslied of notes being less than perfectly centred.

Schumann’s op.24 Liederkreis immediately sounded more relaxed, receiving an impressive reading from both musicians. Trekel’s mezza voce again stood out in lines such as ‘Und schlich mir ins Herz hinein,’ from Ich wandelte unter den Bäumen. Martineau’s prologue and epilogue to that song were just as beautifully voiced. The pathos in both parts was unmistakeably post-Schubertian; Winterreise came to mind when Trekel rendered his voice pale and wan for Lieb Liebchen, leg’s Händchen aufs Herze mein. The Brahmsian gravity of the brief, penultimate Anfangs wollt’ich fast verzagen was genuinely moving, whilst the closing Mit Myrten und Rosen sounded lovely indeed, the contrast in ‘O könnt’ ich die Liebe sargen hinzu!’ (‘Could I but bury my love here too!’) chilling indeed. This cycle and the recital encore, Du bist wie eine Blume were certainly the highlights of the evening for me.