Appl/Johnson - Schubert, 6 March 2016

Wigmore Hall

Adelaide, D 95; Lied aus der Ferne, D 107; An Emma, D 113; Abschied, D 475; Der entsühnte Orest, D 699; Freiwilliges Versinken, D 700; Die Mutter Erde, D 788; Der Einsame, D 800; Lied des gefangenen Jägers, D 843; Fülle der Liebe, D 854; Sehnsucht, D 879; Trinklied, D 888; An Silvia, D 891; An die Laute, D 905; Jägers Liebeslied, D 909; Herbst, D 945

Benjamin Appl (baritone)

Graham Johnson (piano)

 

At the risk of sounding too much like a stuck record, this was another fine recital – the third I have heard already this year – from Benjamin Appl. Unsurprisingly, his pianist, Graham Johnson, was not bad either, just as had been the case on 4th January! Where that had been a mixed programme, here, as just a week later (with Jonathan Ware), this was an all-Schubert recital. Programmed chronologically, the songs spanned the whole of the composer’s all-too-short career, beginning with three from 1814 and concluding with Herbst, from 1828.

When we think of Adelaide, we naturally think of Beethoven; Schubert’s setting proved still closer to Mozart. It received a stylish performance, which already announced the hallmarks of the recital as a whole: beautiful, even tone, diction beyond reproach, and a communicative skill second to none. In Lied aus der Ferne, the words also by Friedrich von Matthisson, some of the harmonies sound more unmistakeably Schubertian, likewise some of the piano turns of melodic phrase. If neither of those songs, nor Emma, is fully mature, it is of interest to hear them from time to time, especially in performances as alert as these. Johnson, as expected, made the most of the piano parts through long-standing knowledge; there was no grandstanding here.

The opening (and closing) chords of Abschied certainly caught the attention; they might almost have been by Liszt. (We perhaps tend to think of him as further removed from Schubert than he actually was; if the latter had lived longer, musical history would doubtless look – and sound – very different.) Taken at an effortlessly leisurely tempo, it revealed its secrets all the more effectively. Mayrhofer supplied the words for the following two songs too. Der entsühnte Orest offered Appl an opportunity, well taken indeed, to show quiet, patient, masculine strength: ‘… und murmelst sanft. „Triumph, Triumph!‟/Ich schwinge Schwert uns Speer.’ I really do not know what to make of the strange concluding lines to Die Mutter Erde (Friedrich Leopold Graf zu Stolbert-Stolberg). Seemingly out of nowhere, we are told that if only we should look upon the face of Mother Nature, we should not fear her bosom. They sounded almost reasonable here, especially if one concentrated upon the musical aspects. (It was not difficult to do so.)

Der Einsame brought a welcome change of mood. Johnson’s piano crickets chirped splendidly, very much part and parcel of a good-natured performance. It had its sterner moments too, as Appl reminded us: the ‘schwarm der lauten Welt’ cannot bring ‘Zufriedenheit’. Lied des gefangenen Jägers received an appropriately heroic rendition, which yet yielded where required. It and the ensuing Fülle der Liebe displayed very different, yet not entirely different, aspects of Romanticism. The depth of Johnson’s piano tone in the latter song was especially noteworthy. So were the words: ‘Ein Stern erschien mir vom Paradies’: they truly sounded as such. A keen sense of drama characterised Sehnsucht, emotional kinship with Schubert’s song-cycles undeniable.

The first of two Shakespeare settings, Trinklied, brought humorous contrast, especially the second time around, Appl slurring his speech to genuine comic effect. Mozart’s Osmin came to mind. An Silvia could hardly be more familiar, yet rarely can it have sounded so fresh, simply, or so it seemed, by letting it speak for itself. An die Laute offered a playful sense of the lute as instrument. Attentiveness to verbal meaning characterised Appl’s response to Jägers Liebeslied, quite without pedantry. Finally, at least so far as the published programme was concerned, Herbst sounded with Beethovenian purpose, albeit in an illustrative fashion that was unquestionably Schubert’s own. The sense of helplessness was heightened by vocal security and beauty. We were treated to two encores: a Ständchen so seductive it might have been sung by Don Giovanni, albeit with palpable sincerity, and the winning contrast of Das Fischermädchen.

 

Appl/Johnson - Schumann, Mendelssohn, Brahms, Pfitzner, and Wolf, 4 January 2016

 

 

Wigmore Hall

Schumann – Frühlingsfahrt, op.45 no.2; Der Einsiedler, op.83 No.3; Der frohe Wandersmann, op.77 no.1

Mendelssohn – Pagenlied, WoO 17 no.2; Nachtlied, op.71 no.6; Wanderlied, Op.57 no.6
Brahms – In der Fremde, op.3 no.5; Mondnacht, WoO 21; Parole, op.7 no.2; Anklänge, op.7 no.3
Pfitzner – In Danzig, op.22 no.1; Der Gärtner, op.9 no.1; Zum Abschied meiner Tochter, op.10 no.3
Wolf – Nachruf; Das Ständchen; Der Musikant; Der Scholar; Der Freund

Benjamin Appl (baritone)

Graham Johnson (piano)

I had heard excellent things about Benjamin Appl, one of BBC Radio 3’s New Generation Artists. On the basis of this Radio 3 Lunchtime Concert at the Wigmore Hall, they would all seem to have been true. It certainly was not his fault, nor that of Graham Johnson, that I left an all-Eichendorff recital feeling that I had heard enough from the poet for a while. I am sure this is a matter of taste – maybe lack thereof – rather than of critical judgement, but it would seem that, for me, a little of his verse, especially when it wears its piety on its sleeve, goes a long way. His distinguished list of musical settings is, however, another matter. Here we heard three sets: Schumann and Mendelssohn; Brahms and Pfitzner; and Wolf.

 

Frühlingsfahrt made for a forthright opening. Appl’s dark, rich baritone would have had anyone sit up and listen. So equally would its subtle transformations, whether responding to verbal or musical prompting. The difference in shading and general manner of delivery between the music for the ‘zwei rüst’ge Gesellen’ was spot on: almost but not quite ‘characterisation’, for there was no easy lapse into the first person here. Quiet gravitas marked Der Einsiedler, both vocally and in Johnson’s careful hermit tread. Appl’s diminuendo on ‘dunkelt’ captured to perfection the sense of a darkening sea; yet, as with all his colouring, it remained integrated into something greater than the moment. Der frohe Wandersmann benefited from a commendably generative rhythmic impetus. Mendelssohn’s Pagenlied did likewise, albeit in its own, very different way, the poet’s mandolin here our guide. Nachtlied offered the first of a number of glorious vocal perorations, all the more so here for its subtlety, preparing the way for a final subsiding. Equally excellent command of line was to be heard in Wanderlied.

 

Early Brahms followed. And yet, the piano part already sounded darker, perhaps even more involved, with In der Fremde. (It is partly, of course, a matter of the register in which Brahms writes.) Mondnacht offered a stronger sense of inheritance from Schumann. I especially liked the sense of homecoming on the final ‘nach Haus’. In Parole, we heard another of those splendid Appl perorations, a swift contrast being presented by the ghostly Anklänge. It was, much to my surprise, Pfitzner’s In Danzig (1907) that proved the highlight of the recital. I was quite unprepared for the almost Schoenbergian sense of harmonic adventure and mystery, a highly intelligent choice, as if the Brahms song had partly, but only partly, prepared the way. Structurally, it sounded, moreover, almost as if a mini-scena. If the following two Pfitzner songs were more conventional, then there was winning grace to be heard in Der Gärtner and another splendid yet integrated peroration to enjoy in Zum Abschied meiner Tochter.

 

Finally, Wolf. Johnson’s evocation of a lutenist’s strumming in Nachruf eased us into those magical Lisztian harmonies – and prepared the way for the undimmed beauty of Appl’s voice. Another ‘instrumentalist’ introduction in Das Ständchen made for a nice link between the two songs. Der Musikant sounded, in context, as something lighter, more straightforward. The tricky vocal chromaticism of Der Scholar held no fears for Appl, who negotiated notes and words equally well. Der Freund proved an intriguing climax, almost implying a contrasting encore: the ever-special and, here, particularly-magical Verschwiegene Liebe.




 

Maltman/Johnson: 'Friedrich Schiller – Ein Leben in Liedern': Songs by Schubert, Schumann, and Liszt, 10 September 2011

Wigmore Hall

Schubert – Elysium, D 584

Der Kampf, D 594

An den Frühling, D 587

Gruppe aus dem Tartarus, D 583

Das Geheimnis, D 793

Dithyrambe, D 801

Schumann – Der Handschuh, op.87

Schubert – Die Bürgschaft, D 246

Schumann – Des Buben Schützenlied, op.79 no.25

Liszt – Drei Lieder aus Schillers ‘Wilhelm Tell‘, S 292

Schubert – Strophe aus ‘die Götter Griechenlands’, D 677

Christopher Maltman (baritone)

Graham Johnson (piano)

A recital of Schiller settings from Christopher Maltman and Graham Johnson seemed an excellent way to open the Wigmore Hall’s new season, and ample compensation for Soile Isokoski’s indisposition. There was indeed much to admire and to interest, but, with the exception of Liszt’s William Tell settings, Schiller rarely seemed to have provoked the composers concerned to scale the greatest heights. Perhaps that is partly a consequence of the ballad form in which a number of these settings were written: it seems less to speak to us – or at least to me – than various other song forms. But even when the compositional level fell somewhat beneath outstanding, one could enjoy Schiller’s verse. Maltman’s excellent diction was of great importance in that respect: at times, it felt as though we were attending a musically heightened verse reading.

The first half was devoted to Schubert and a single song by Schumann, Der Handschuh. the latter vividly pictorial, Johnson clearly relishing the opportunity to paint tigers and lions. Maltman imparted a keen narrative thrust, even a winning feminine impersonation of Fräulein Kunigund. This 1850 ballad was not, however, to put it mildly, the inspired and inspirational Schumann of his celebrated ‘year of song’. The opening Elysium announced an initially Mozartian Schubert, albeit a little hesitantly at first, though soon turning itself into a full-blown operatic narration, Maltman’s stage experience clearly informing his delivery. When hearing of truth rending the veil (‘Wahrheit reisst hier den Schleier entzwei’), that was just what we heard in the music. A rapt stillness accompanied the grim reaper’s sickle falling from his hand, whilst the ‘Donnerstürme’ looked forward to The Flying Dutchman. Der Kampf, which followed, benefited from a strong sense of musical structure on Johnson’s part, Maltman presented an urgent, masculine reading, again not so far from the opera house. An den Frühling, the second of Schubert’s two settings, was charmingly sung, but there might have been greater sensitivity and shading from the pianist. Gruppe aus dem Tartarus emerged hellish than triumphant, a resounding tribute to the power of Maltman’s voice. Dithyrambe showed that he could be boisterous too, the poet’s cup verily overflowing.

Die Bürgschaft, which I think I last heard in concert in a spellbinding reading from Jonas Kaufmann in Munich, was heard in similar vein to the first-half items: highly dramatic, with an acute sense of verbal poetry and meaning. There was fine shading too, both voice and piano sounding truly silvery on the ‘silberhell’ description of the spring, almost as if we had suddenly exchanged a Steinway for a Bösendorfer and a baritone for a tenor. This may be far from Schubert at his greatest, but Schiller was permitted to sing quite movingly his hymn of Romantic friendship. There followed four songs from William Tell, one by Schumann, three by Liszt. The former’s Des Buben Schützenlied received a good-natured performance, but the piano opening to Liszt’s ‘Der Fischerknabe’ immediately announced a new level not only of piano writing, but also of compositional inspiration. Even in the hands of a less than first-rank Lisztian – there are times when Johnson sounds a little too much of an ‘accompanist’ – the composer’s figurations and harmonies cast their seductive magic spells. Maltman evinced a seemingly instinctive command of Liszt’s idiom, including his post-Schubertian harmonic shifts. (Intonation had not always been the strongest card earlier on, but there were no such problems here.) The seduction from the watery depths – ‘Lieb’ Knabe, bist mein! – could hardly have been resisted by anyone, certainly not by me. The pastoral setting, ‘Der Hirt’ struck a winning kinship with Berlioz’s L’Enfance du Christ, whilst sounding utterly characteristic of Liszt. The final song, ‘Der Alpenjäger’ is less interesting, but its closeness to the dramatic Schubert settings heard earlier provided its own programming justification. Finally, as an epilogue, came Schubert’s Strophe aus ‘die Götter Griechenlands’, in which at last the heart-rending feeling of loss that Schubert uniquely can summon was to be heard, somehow presaging the twin worlds both of the song-cycles and of the Moments musicaux. Eliza Butler’s Tyranny of Greece over Germany seemed more æsthetically justified – whatever Schiller’s steadfast resistance to political tyranny – than ever.  

Lott/Johnson - Wolf, Duparc, Strauss, Britten, and Poulenc, 10 July 2010

Wigmore Hall

Wolf – Mörike Lieder (selection)
Duparc – L’invitation au voyage
Extase
Lamento
La vie antérieure
Chanson triste
Phidylé
Strauss – Ständchen
Allerseelen
Ruhe, meine Seele
Blauer Sommer
Schlechtes Wetter
Britten – The Ash Grove
O Waly, Waly
La belle est au jardin d’amour
Quand j’étais chez mon père
Poulenc – Banalités: ‘Voyage à Paris,’ ‘Sanglots’
Calligrammes: ‘Voyage’

Dame Felicity Lott (soprano)
Graham Johnson (piano)

Though I have long admired Dame Felicity Lott, both in the theatre and in the concert hall, this was the first time I had attended a recital of hers. I was not to be disappointed. A slightly hesitant opening Begegnung opened the way to a distinguished further selection from Wolf’s Mörike settings: Agnes, Der Gärtner, Heimweh, Das verlassene Mägdlein, An eine Äolsharfe, and finally Er ist’s. Typical clarity of diction, lightness of touch (not in any sense to be confused with lack of commitment), and responsiveness both to words and music were a hallmark of these Wolf songs and indeed the recital as a whole. Storytelling came to the fore in Der Gärtner and Das verlassene Mägdlein, though longing and reflection were just as present here as elsewhere. Graham Johnson proved a powerful presence at the piano, occasional slips in no way vitiating a finely tuned sense of the composer’s harmonic narrative. Wagnerian undertones were skilfully but never heavily brought out by both artists: the Wesendonk-Lieder were not far away at all. But nor was an impression of where Wolf was leading; Strauss and Schoenberg beckoned equally.

For the Strauss Lieder with which the second half opened would prove at least as successful. The qualities that combine to make a fine Marschallin combined here too to present longing without a hint of the lachrymose, charm without a hint of kitsch, verbal acuity, and command of line. If Strauss be a prince of Lieder, then Lott was a princess of their performance. Johnson again did not shrink from emphasising the often surprisingly modernistic harmony in some at least of these settings, though they always, quite rightly, remained within a Romantic context. The post-Rosenkavalier waltzing of Schlechtes Wetter, Strauss as masterful in his irony as Heine, rounded off an exquisite group.

The French song Dame Felicity has so much made her own was an important presence in this recital too. She has Duparc to a tee: the poise, the manner of the verse, the perfumed elegance. The Baudelaire settings, L’invitation au voyage and La vie antérieure, were an especial joy, the latter a master-class from both performers in economy and meaningfulness of climax. Britten featured in English and French. I cannot claim great fondness for his folksong settings. The Ash Grove’s contrary harmonies put me too much in mind of the ‘clever’ reharmonisations in which organ scholars from my undergraduate days would delight – though, in fairness, they surely had Britten’s greater originality in mind. O waly, waly is simply rather dull. Likewise, I should much rather hear the composer’s own melodic invention – and his response to verse – than the two French chansons populaires. There could, however, be no faulting the performances here.

This was equally true of the three Poulenc Apollinaire settings. Once again, the mood was just right: light but tender, and every word clearly and meaningfully – insofar as the idea be appropriate for this poet – discernible. Melancholy cast its spell, without the slightest danger of descent into the maudlin. A couple of encores – Britten’s Shakespeare setting, Tell me where is fancy bred, and Poulenc’s delightful, politically incorrect Hôtel – made one wish for still more. Sadly, my hoped-for Morgen was not to be; I suppose one cannot always hear it in a recital that includes Strauss. Next time, perhaps…

Maltman/Johnson - Schwanengesang, 20 April 2010

Wigmore Hall

Schubert - Schwanengsang, D 957

Christopher Maltman (baritone)
Graham Johnson (piano)

Some of Schubert’s strangest music may be found in his final collection of songs, Schwanengesang. It is an unsettling collection and it unsettled here, though perhaps not to the extent that last November’s quite outstanding performance of Die schöne Müllerin from the same artists, Christopher Maltman and Graham Johnson. That cycle and Winterreise possess an intrinsic unity, narrative and otherwise, that was never intended for the songs in the present collection, but there can be opportunity, in imparting a unity of one’s own – as, essentially, Schubert’s publisher, Tobias Haslinger did in the first place. Maltman and Johnson had no intention of shirking that possibility, the ‘cycle’, never light in the first place, darkening considerably through the Heine settings. There were a few technical blemishes. Maltman’s intonation sometimes wandered, especially in the higher register; though this did not bother me unduly, it might have done some. And Johnson on occasion could sound a little effortful, as if Schubert’s piano writing did not come so easily to him as once it had, though one should not exaggerate. On the whole, however, this proved an excellent performance.

One was certainly drawn in from the very opening, the piano sounding the murmuring brooklet (‘Rauschendes Bächlein’), to be followed by the baritone, this water, as so often in Schubert, suggesting far more than just a natural phenomenon. The change of mood in the third stanza of this opening Rellstab setting, Liebesbotschaft, was subtle yet palpable, telling of ‘her’, whoever she may be, lost in her dreams. In Kriegers Ahnung, the agitated insistence of the piano part came across clearly, if, as I suggested above, a little less readily than once it might have done: still, there is nothing ‘easy’ about Schubert in any case. Maltman brought to the final stanza an almost Wagnerian climax – many a battle still calls – before subsiding into desolation. The expectancy of the following song, Frühlings-Sehnsucht was thus all the more poignant, and all the more ready to be dashed, especially as the protagonist’s Romantic ardour increased. Much the same could be said of Ständchen, an unsettling serenade if ever there were one, all the more so for its relative containment. Thus, when Maltman really let rip in the second stanza of Aufenthalt – his tears as waves – the sentiment was overwhelming. Johnson always proved adept at teasing meaning from Schubert’s modulations, nowhere more so than in the interludes to the final song from this group, Abschied.

And so, on to Heine. ‘Ich unglücksel’ger Atlas!’ we heard (‘I, unfortunate Atlas!’) Unfortunate, indeed wretched, he sounded, though, quite rightly, richly so: Maltman’s is a beautiful voice. The contrast between major and minor was telling in the first stanza of Ihr Bild and, still more revealing, almost eradicated in its final stanza, as the lover tells of having lost ‘her’. Only Mozart is quite so heartbreaking when he smiles through tears. I used the word ‘unsettling’ earlier: it is apt too for the strange harmonies of Die Stadt, which here sounded close to, arguably beyond, the world of the late piano sonatas. It was an excellent idea to move without pause into the beauty of loneliness instantiated in Am Meer. I could not help but think that the bitterness with which the final poison of tears is recounted might well, for the composer, refer to Schubert’s ‘other’ poison(s) too. And then, Der Doppelgänger, that terrible, unbearable song, almost, but not quite a scena: just to watch Maltman, let alone hear him, one would have known what sort of ghostly confrontation this was. The touching sincerity of Die Taubenpost could not but sound strained after that. Two encores, Herbst and Der Winterabend, both beautifully, limpidly performed, continued, but unsurprisingly could not quite achieve, the dissipation of such tension.

This performance, like those of Die schöne Müllerin and Winterreise, has been recorded for the Wigmore Hall Live in-house record label.

Maltman/Johnson - Die schöne Müllerin, 2 November 2009

Wigmore Hall

Christopher Maltman (baritone)
Graham Johnson (piano)

Only a few weeks ago, I heard Mark Padmore and Paul Lewis perform Die schöne Müllerin at the Wigmore Hall. Despite the many virtues of Lewis’s performance, I did not find that Padmore’s approach was for me. This performance, however, from Christopher Maltman and Graham Johnson, was quite outstanding. Not least of its virtues was a keen sense of the work as a whole: fluid, through composed, with or without breaks between songs, and with a clear, yet subtle dramatic trajectory. Johnson’s lengthy experience with this cycle, indeed with all of Schubert’s and many other composers’ songs, told, as did Maltman’s combination of natural ability with Lieder and dramatic experience from the operatic stage. The latter’s sheer beauty of tone, never more so than in the final stanza of Wohin!, was never an end in itself, but it was finely deployed and much appreciated.

Das Wandern began as sprightly, as full of hope, of expectation in both parts as I can recall, Maltman every inch the lusty lad with ideas of himself as a journeyman. As early as Wohin!, the second song, Johnson ensured that one could almost see, certainly feel, the brook as a constant background and frequent dramatic participant. The imploring tone of our hero in Danksagung an den Bach, ‘have I understood you?’ he asks the brook, already betokened unease, though things could go either way, or indeed in many directions. And by the time that work was over, in Am Feierabend, both musicians hinted, and sometimes more than hinted, at the danger to come. If only ... the fair maid of the mill might witness his love. But would she? Could she?

Der Neugierige took us further, though also drew us back. The sparseness of the musical delivery in the first two stanzas ensured that the words could take centre stage, but the harmony continued to do the musical work, preparing us for the melodic desolation of love in the third and fifth. One almost wanted to tell the hero to stop now, but one also knew that it would be hopeless to do so, a predicament underlined by the ardent way in which he leaned into ‘Dein’ during the following song, Ungeduld. Anger and frustration increased as that song reached its conclusion. Yet ever more Maltman engaged our sympathy, employing his head voice to infinitely touching effect in Des Müllers Blumen. The apparent triumph of Mein! was clearly to be heard, but we knew that it was deluded, as did Johnson and Maltman. That the devastation of Winterreise was only round the corner was pointed up by Johnson’s shaping of the bass line in Pause. And Der Jäger showed, through absolute musical control on both musicians’ part, that everything was getting out of hand, that madness had descended.

That song proved a bridge to Eifersucht und Stolz, in which we found ourselves in quite a new world, that of almost Pierrot-like expressionism: truly terrifying. The deathly calm with which Maltman continued, in Die liebe Farbe, was no less so, looking already towards the grave, likewise the insistence of Johnson’s piano part. In the song’s dreadful colouristic counterpart, Die böse Farbe, Maltman could speak with a wisdom born, if not of age, then of telescoped experience; it chilled to the bone. Noises off from outside the hall might have derailed a lesser performance, but Trockne Blumen would not let one go, its quiet inexorability quite gripping. (It is all very well, and quite right, that the Wigmore Hall should counsel against coughing, but disturbance from the entrance can be just as disturbing.)

By the penultimate song, Der Müller und der Bach, we were unmistakeably in the territory of Winterreise. I sensed, whether intended or otherwise, an intriguing premonition in the opening stanza of the starkness of Mussorgsky. And the chilling sweetness of the brook itself drew us as well as the hero in. Des Baches Wiegenlied was unbearably sad; much more and I felt that I might have gone mad myself. The title’s genitive was made to tell by Johnson: the lullaby was that of the brook, heartless agent that it is. We are but leaves on a tree, or better, reflections in its still, cruel waters.

This recital will be broadcast next Saturday on BBC Radio 3, at 2 p.m.