Cooper - Schubert, Ravel, and Liszt, 28 November 2021

Wigmore Hall

Schubert: Piano Sonata no.16 in A minor, D 845
Ravel: Sonatine
Liszt: Années de pèlerinage: Troisieme année, S 163: ‘Les jeux d’eaux à la Villa d’Este’
Ravel: Jeux d’eaux; Valses nobles et sentimentales
Liszt: Hungarian Rhapsody no.13 in A minor, S 244

Imogen Cooper (piano)

A concert of two halves, this. Imogen Cooper’s severely insistent account of Schubert’s A minor Sonata, D 845, contrasted strongly with more colourful, yielding Ravel and Liszt. That, you might say, would be as expected, and you would have a point. I nevertheless longed for a little more in the way of chiaroscuro in Cooper’s Schubert, whilst acknowledging this may have been as much a matter of taste as anything else. Rhythm and, perhaps to a lesser extent, motivic working were to the fore in an angry first movement, whose uneasily wandering development section intrigued and did anything but console. There was greater ambiguity to the Andante con moto theme and variations, which again wandered in alienated, darkly Romantic fashion. An estranged lilt hilted at something else, but it was only a hint. Mercurial insistence in the scherzo led to still bleaker unease in its trio, whose ultimate note seemed to be of exhaustion. One would hardly expect the closing rondo to comfort. It certainly did not, though there were a few more ambiguous passages again. Ultimately, however, this was a bleak conclusion to a bleak reading. 

There was no question of playing Ravel as if it were Schubert (however understood). The Sonatine benefited from lighter touch and mood, and greater flexibility. There seemed to me, right from the start, to be greater awareness or at least communication of harmonic rhythm, and Gallic charm too, however clichéd the phrase. All three movements, albeit with different contours, character, and pulse, glistened from within. A liquid—aptly enough—account of Jeux d’eaux had backbone too, in a performance that was clearly deeply considered, whilst remaining quite free of pedantry. Valses nobles et sentimentales showed greater kinship, through its waltz rhythms, with Schubert. This was unashamedly big-boned Ravel, but none the worse for it; until it yielded, that is. For the second waltz proved more languorous and flexible; the delectable pain of the third was well-judged; and so on, through magical rubato and keen awareness of what had passes, musically and perhaps extra-musically too. There was a ghostly suavity to the ‘Epilogue’. 

After the Sonatine, we heard the first of two pieces by Liszt: ‘Les jeux d’eaux à la Villa d’Este’. Its muscular virtuosity also offered glistening results, very much here in the heat of the midday sun. It was forthright, yes, but it sang, in a performance of fine musical integrity. The A minor Hungarian Rhapsody is, well, rhapsodic—and sounded as such. Fervent Lisztian I may be, but I should quite happily never hear the Hungarian Rhapsodies again. They have their fans, though, and in her closing number, Cooper did not shy away from giving a grandly rhetorical performance, imbued with a rubato that evoked both temporal robbery and another, diabolical form of bargaining.

Cooper - Beethoven, Schoenberg, and Haydn, 26 June 2018

Wigmore Hall

Beethoven: Eleven Bagatelles, op.119

Schoenberg: Six Little Piano Pieces, op.19

Haydn: Piano Sonata in C major, Hob.XVI:50

Beethoven: Thirty-Three Variations on a Waltz by Anton Diabelli, op.120

Imogen Cooper (piano)

Any programme including the Diabelli Variations will offer an extraordinary challenge for pianist and audience alike; so too, after all, would a programme in which Beethoven’s op.120 was the only work on the programme. With a first half of works by Beethoven, Schoenberg, and Haydn – a programme of which, I hasten to add, I wholeheartedly approve – the difficulties but also the opportunities multiply. Whilst not everything here in Imogen Cooper’s recital proved equally convincing, there was certainly more than enough to enjoy and to make one think.

First came the op.119 Bagatelles, the opening G minor piece notable for its nobility of utterance, with more than a glance back to Mozart’s use of that key. E-flat major warmth – again, perhaps not entirely without reference to Mozart or indeed to Haydn – offered welcome, illuminating contrast and association. Cooper phrased beautifully, shading tellingly yet without pedantry. Beethoven’s counterpoint sounded unusually Bach-like, refreshingly so. As the set progressed, we heard intimations of Schumann, Chopin, even, I fancied in the seventh piece with its strange inner-part trills, of Janáček; we felt musically as well as technically – if that makes any sense – the need to cross hands; above all, we experienced Beethoven’s need to develop, even when there is barely time to do so. Sublime melodic simplicity left us in no doubt as to the composer, likewise the strangeness and difficulty of late Beethoven (irrespective of the precise dating of individual pieces). A heavy-handedness that went beyond mere vigour, boisterousness, or resolve (no.6: ‘Risoluto’) occasionally detracted – yet only occasionally.

Further illumination was had from placing Schoenberg’s aphoristic op.19 Little Piano Pieces after those Beethoven ‘trifles’ (anything but, of course). There were again a few occasions when heavy-handedness slightly hampered proceedings, not least in the free-floating of these wisps from another planet. That should not, however, be exaggerated. The will-o’-the-wisp quality to the first in particular was well captured, as were the twin requirements of voice-leading and characterisation. The obstinacy of the second’s major-third figure gained very much from juxtaposition with Beethoven’s not entirely dissimilar games. The sixth spoke as much of Schoenberg’s orchestral experiments – the all-too-little-known, posthumous Three Pieces for Chamber Orchestra, yes, but also the preceding op.16 Orchestral Pieces – as of Mahlerian funeral bells. Harmonies suggested timbre, but timbres we could not quite year, yet fancied we did, also in turn suggested harmonies.

Haydn’s C major Piano Sonata, Hob.XVI:50 was taken attacca: an obvious ploy, perhaps, but a fruitful one nevertheless. The quirkiness – please forgive the cliché – of its opening emerged with still greater freshness from the still strange harmonic world of ‘freely atonal’ Schoenberg. A sonata form thus formed itself, almost as if from a lower-case representation of chaos. Cooper’s tempo was judicious, permitting of necessary subdivision without garbling. I found the musical argument utterly absorbing. Beethovenian connections suggested themselves, but the individuality of Haydn’s imagination and intellect were undimmed, not least in a development that is surely like no other. The Adagio sounded with almost Schoenbergian complexity, with Mozartian echoes equally apparent, indeed related. It always sang – as is crucial to the music of both. The finale, however, I found somewhat bewildering. Lack of clarity seemed a deliberate interpretative decision, but I could not understand why.

And so to the Diabelli Variations. Cooper certainly conveyed a necessary sense of, and incitement to, intellectual struggle, likewise the variety of response – to put it mildly – in Beethoven’s treatment of the ‘cobbler’s path’ of a theme. Her way with his humour was excellent: straight-faced, even mock straight-laced, speaking in earnest so that Beethoven could make his point. The second variation could then, for instance, sound all the more disconcerting una corda following the march rhythms of the first. Tenderness of melodic line made connections with, or perhaps better developed from, what we had heard in the opening Bagatelles. Schumann again came to mind. So even did Schoenberg, when tonality – dialectically – came to sound most under strain the more it was insisted upon. The variety of insistence was, of course, very much a thing in itself; such was certainly the case in performance. And yet, there was, particularly in the middle variations, sometimes a sense of having lost our way. Perhaps that was just me, but I was not sure, even after the event, where I was being taken or why. Thrill of discovery is an absolute necessity, but some variations began to sound a little arbitrary. It was, at any rate, a considerable relief to reach the C minor Adagio ma non troppo of the twenty-second variation. Was, however, Beethoven’s ‘ma non troppo’ heeded? The fugue sounded properly uncompromising, although it was perhaps also a little lacking in chiaroscuro to begin with. Perhaps, though, that had been the point, for light and shade were soon to be heard and indeed felt in abundance. Cooper will doubtless have more to say about this work in the future; this, however, was more than just a start.

Cooper - Schumann, Liszt, and Wagner, 8 June 2016

St John’s, Smith Square

Schumann – Geistervariationen in E-flat major, WoO 24

Schumann – Davidsbündlertänze, op.6
Liszt – Années de pèlerinage: Deuxième année (Italie), S.161: ‘Sposalizio’, ‘Il penseroso’, ‘Canzonetta del Salvator Rosa’, and ‘Sonetto 104 del Partrarca’
Wagner – Elegie, WWV 93
Wagner, arr. Kocsis – Tristan und Isolde: Prelude to Act I
Liszt – La lugubre gondola, S200/1
Wagner, arr. Liszt – Isoldens Liebestod – Schlußszene aus Richard Wagners Tristan und Isolde, S447

Imogen Cooper (piano) 

 

The Southbank Centre’s International Piano Series came to a season close with Imogen Cooper, on Schumann’s birthday. The first half, not unreasonably, was devoted to Schumann’s music: never something about which I am likely to complain, and certainly not here. That said, I find the Geistervariationen disturbing music indeed, even when performed with such warmth of tone as on this occasion. Cooper gave the theme the nobility of late Beethoven; its simplicity is not entirely dissimilar either. The strangeness of the first variation disconcerted all the more. And so Schumann’s final work went its own strange way, but with a quiet, assured sense of purpose. Its flights of fancy continued to disturb, but the turn to the minor mode brought with it both an almost Classical self-justification and post-Schubertian poignancy. The return of the theme had it sound both the same as before and yet utterly transformed by experience, almost as if we had just heard the Goldbergs.

 

The Davidsbündlertänze followed, seemingly flowering in the wake of death yet to come. A veritable kaleidoscope of colours was to be heard even in the first piece, announcing a grand manner that not only suited the work surprisingly well but also laid some of the groundwork for Liszt in the second half. Cooper’s leaning into phrases and her weighting of them always intrigued and, far more often than not, satisfied. The second, marked ‘Innig’, sounded just so, with finely judged balance between the melodic and harmonic demands of inner voices. The third, however, sounded unduly deliberate to my ears, ultimately remaining earthbound, although its successor made amends, with a highly Romantic, even mercurial reading. I greatly enjoyed the semi-introverted charm of the fifth and the stark power of the sixth, after which the sadness, as well as the strength in sadness of the seventh suggested that this was truly the emotional heart of the work. Agility and impetuosity were the hallmark of its successor, although I sometimes wondered whether it might have yielded a little more. The tenth certainly did, and was all the better for it. As we neared the close, the splendidly judged heavy lilt of the thirteenth piece made its mark, and somehow we always knew – even if, rightly we were made to doubt this – that Eusebius would win out. So he did, of course; and so he should have done.

 

Liszt was the most generous of composers – in almost every sense. However, even he was known to use ‘leipzigerisch’ as a not entirely complimentary term with respect to Schumann and Mendelssohn. Nowadays, we are perhaps more inclined to hear what Liszt and Schumann, Wagner and Brahms, Berlioz and Mendelssohn had in common. At any rate, the second half, of Liszt and Wagner, offered both things in common and a good deal of contrast. I had not thought of Cooper in connection with Liszt before: my oversight, for she revealed herself to be very much my sort of Lisztian, one who takes Liszt’s music seriously, quite the antithesis of a shallow virtuoso.

 

‘Sposalizio’ brought strength and mystery in its opening bars, both with respect to mood and to thematic working out. Cooper brought an undeniable sense of narrative, with or without words (or images) to what we heard, in a distinguished performance. ‘Il penseroso’ was grief-laden, but Cooper never confused sentiment with sentimentality. Liszt’s extraordinary dissonances were not exaggerated; they seemed ‘simply’ to speak. It sounded, like its predecessor, as the visionary piece it is. I still do not quite understand what the ‘Canzonetta del Salvator Rosa’ is doing in such company – doubtless my problem – but it received a nicely jaunty performance, its sterner moments registering too. It actually made for an excellent context from which the 104^th Petrarch Sonnet could emerge. Cooper had it do so without a break, in commanding fashion. This full-blooded performance balanced well the demands of the ‘public’ Liszt and interior eroticism.

 

Wagner’s Elegie is a fascinating miniature, serious indeed, clearly born not only from the world of the scandalously underrated Sonata for Mathilde Wesendonck, but also from the world of Tristan und Isolde itself. Its curious insistency here sounded not un-Lisztian. Likewise the Prelude to Act I of Tristan, in Zoltán Kocsis’s transcription. Its opening bars both melted and insisted, invited and warned. I remain ambivalent about the transcription itself; here I could not help but wonder what Liszt himself might have achieved. It was undeniably interesting, even provocative, to hear it, though. Cooper offered a performance of considerable cumulative power, a certain squareness to the arrangement notwithstanding. Instead of the Sailor’s Song for which it cried out, we heard, still darker music, the first version of La lugubre gondola, issued forth. Venetian waters seemed to threaten to suspend rhythm as much as tonality; and yet, quite rightly, they did not succeed in either case. Here, again, was Liszt the visionary, but now the darkly embittered visionary of old age. If Wagner’s death beckoned there, we heard transfiguration in the so-called ‘Liebestod’ (Liszt’s fault, not Wagner’s). It sounded, resounded as a true conclusion to the arduous journey taken. Cooper offered great tonal beauty, but that was never the point. Her serious Lisztian credentials were furthered in her encore: the Fourth Mephisto Waltz. Its Mephistophelian character told – how could it not? – yet so did kinship with what had gone before: with Liszt and with Wagner. So too did anticipations of Bartók.

Cooper/LSO/Elder - Strauss and Mozart, 4 May 2014

Barbican Hall

Strauss – Serenade in E-flat major, op.7

Mozart – Piano Concerto no.22 in E-flat major, KV 482

Strauss – Macbeth, op.23

Till Eulenspiegels lustiche Streiche, op.28

Imogen Cooper (piano)

London Symphony Orchestra

Sir Mark Elder (conductor)

 

Strauss and Mozart are anything but surprising bedfellows; indeed, as Strauss’s career progresses, one of the most interesting battles to observe, even to experience, is that between what, for the sake of argument, we might call the twin poles of the Mozartian and the Wagnerian. Mozart is, though, less apparent as an influence in much of Strauss’s earliest music, an exception being the Wind Serenade, op.7, so here we were able to experience Mozart both as complement and contrast. The Serenade received a loving account from Sir Mark Elder; I am anything but a foe of such music-making, but there were occasions when I wondered whether it might have been just a little too loving. That minor reservation aside, there was much to savour, not least the playing from members of the LSO. The introduction certainly presaged – or, in historical terms, followed – Mozart’s serenade writing, beautifully expressed by the colours of the LSO woodwind. There was also, moreover, a fine sense of drama, much as one always experiences in Mozart’s instrumental music. (It was thoughtful of the occupant of L47 in the Stalls not to wait until as late as the second bar to start coughing, still more of her to ensure that second bar was not left out either.) Recognisably Straussian phrases, of which there are a good few, made their point without undue emphasis. Elder’s spacious manner worked well on the whole.

 

Imogen Cooper joined the orchestra for its move from interesting early work to mature masterpiece. Elder opted for a tiny orchestra: only eight first violins, down to three double basses. Sometimes I  felt the lack of strings more than at other times, but there was a slight mismatch with Cooper’s admirably big-boned approach. Hers indeed was a performance of such distinction that I was put in mind of Sir Clifford Curzon’s Mozart. The first movement was taken at a swift tempo but, for the most part, was not too driven. Split violins made their point on a number of occasions. And once Cooper entered the fray, the orchestra proved more yielding too. It was a blessing to hear Mozart treated as Meissen china, whilst at the same time not degenerating into sentimentality or ‘period’ grotesquerie. The pianist’s touch enabled both clarity and warmth. Still more important was the formal dynamism to be heard, especially in the development and recapitulation, which achieved a splendid sense of return.

 

The opening of the slow movement was darkly veiled, yet without asceticism. Splendidly judged by Elder, it sounded akin to the opening of an accompagnato or arioso – which is, in a sense, just what it is. Cooper proved the master – or should that be ‘mistress’? – of the long line, a line which embodied dignified pathos, both strong and tender. If I have a criticism, it is that there perhaps might have been a little more of the ‘tender’, such as one hears with, for instance, Daniel Barenboim, but Cooper’s Classicism had its own justification and impetus. Again, clarity of part writing was a particular virtue: not as an end in itself but as an aid to expression; again, the LSO wind proved ravishing, especially during the episodes. At the end, however, there were certainly passages in which a cushion of a few more strings would have been welcome. Mozart’s finale was given a performance that was spirited, whilst staying on the right side of raucous (just about, in the case of trumpets and drums). Piano virtues were as before: this was a splendidly forthright performance, equally admirable in its chiaroscuro. The central serenade stopped the heart as it must. And the cadenza – by Edwin Fischer, with additions, I think, like that used in the first movement – was magnificently played: initially Beethovenian, prior to melting.

 

There was certainly no shortage of strings in either of the Strauss tone poems performed in the second half: eight desks of first violins, down to eight double basses. Elder gave an eloquent spoken introduction to the unfairly neglected Macbeth. The chance to hear that early work was justification enough for the concert, let alone in so fine a performance as ensued. As the conductor remarked, Strauss here portrays in sound the psychology of two murderers and their interaction, not least through alteration – and not quite co-existence – of meter. It is, he explained, ‘a dark, unremitting, ruthless’ piece, not ‘gorgeous’. I might cavil slightly at the latter, negative part of the claim, for there are moments which might fall under that umbrella, but the general truth holds. The work received a blazing opening; there were shades of Liszt, yes, but once one caught certain turns of phrase, one knew very well the actual identity of the composer. There was a properly frightening – ‘terrifying’ would be too strong – quality to the psychological impulses on display, but there was plenty of phantasmagoria too, not least in Lady Macbeth’s putting on a show: knowing sweetness. Strauss showed himself an ironist even in the mid-1880s. The darkness of the bass line, however, gave the game away, just in case one were in any doubt, and then that darkness encompassed the orchestra more or less completely. Uncertainty of conclusion was not the least of this fine performance’s virtues. The presence of microphones was a good sign. Now, might we also have some Liszt from these musicians?

 

Before indulging in that fantasy, however, I should turn to the final work, Till Eulenspiegel. It received a truly outstanding performance; I am not sure that I have heard a better one. Orchestral excellence is of course here a sine qua non, and there was virtuosity to be heard in abundance, indeed without exception. However, it never sounded as if it were for its own sake – as it does, perhaps surprisingly, from time to time in an older version of this orchestra’s recording with Claudio Abbado. There was once again a real sense of drama, doubtless born of Elder’s long experience as an opera conductor. It was sharp, brilliant, sardonic – and that was possible because the LSO managed both to be playable as a single instrument and to retain its myriad of colours and individual personalities. Narrative and commentary were experienced in equal measure; although ‘scintillating’ may now be a word overused, it seems the right one in this case. Not that any of this incident was at the expense of the longer line, far from it. Above all, however, I felt astonishment once again at the superlative orchestral craftsmanship of Richard Strauss.

Wolfgang Holzmair Farewell Concert – Schubert, 16 November 2013

Wigmore Hall

Auf Heliopolis II, Philoktet, Der entsühnte Orest, Atys, Fahrt zum Hades, Freiwilliges Versinken, Der zürnenden Diana, Am Strome, Wie Ulfru fischt, Auf der Donau, Der Schiffer, Einsamkeit, Die Sternennächte, Trost, Lied eines Schiffers an die Dioskuren, Auflösung

 

Wolfgang Holzmair (baritone)

Imogen Cooper (piano)

 

Twenty-four years after his 1989 Wigmore Hall recital debut with Gérard Wyss, Wolfgang bade farewell – at least as a recitalist, though other appearances are not ruled out – to the venue with a programme of Schubert songs to texts by Johann Mayrhofer. (Richard Stokes’s otherwise exemplary programme note fell strangely silent upon the relationship between Schubert and Mayrhofer, surely a matter for discussion in a programme such as this, saying no more than that they ‘shared lodgings’. Maynard Solomon’s article, ‘Franz Schubert and the Peacocks of Benvenuto Cellini’, published in the year of Holzmair’s Wigmore debut, might at least have been mentioned, if only to dispute its suggestions, likewise Susan Youens’s response. But let us leave that on one side for the moment.) It was only fitting that Holzmair’s recital partner should be Imogen Cooper, their series of performances and recordings having been rightly celebrated for much of the period in which Holzmair has been performing – and, as Holzmair pointed out, in a modest response to the Hall’s closing presentation, he has been professionally performing Lieder for a period half as long again as that which he has in London: quite a career, by any standards. It was a splendidly non-crowd-pleasing programme, one in which attention to text, both musical and verbal, was exemplary throughout, and a moving opportunity once again to hear both that unmistakeably Austrian way with words and that unmistakeable voice, in which a baritone’s range is so tinged with the timbre of a silvery tenor that one has to remind oneself that Holzmair is not actually a tenor.

 

The second Heliopolis song opened the programme: a performance that seemed to begin in medias res, no warming up here. Both Holzmair and Cooper imparted a vigour, even a fire, that impressed in itself, fitted Mayrhofer’s wish that passions seething in brazen harmony (‘Laß die Leidenschaften sausen im metallenen Accord’), and augured well for what was to come. Even in a slow-moving song such as Philoktet, both musicians knew how to impart a winning, echt-Schubertian lilt, for instance to Holzmair’s ‘Unterhalt’, relief from the loneliness of Philoctetes without his bow. Atys was a particular highlight of the first group, a performance possessed of a particularly fine sense of narrative. The ghostliness with which the quotation in the final stanza was delivered chilled, and yet developed into a fuller bitterness as that stanza progressed, a fine preparation for the dark harmonies offered by the rock-solid harmonic foundation for Cooper’s journey to Hades in the following song. Ghostliness and lilt found themselves in perfect equipoise in Der zürnenden Diana.

 

It seemed fitting that in, Am Strome, which opened the second group of songs, the beauty of youth was recaptured in both voice and, implicitly by recollection, in the text: a heart-rending moment that led, in the song’s second and third stanzas, into the voice of experience, again both in terms of work and performance. A group of water-based songs – by the river, fishing, on the Danube, and the boatman – relished yet never exaggerated Schubert’s essentially Romantic yet city-bound love for the natural world. A darker side was, of course, always present, yet never forbiddingly so: ‘Untergang’, the destruction with which Auf der Donau closed, was desolate enough, yet neither Holzmair nor Cooper felt any need to exaggerate. The song spoke, or seemed to speak, for itself, art concealing art.

 

The second half opened with the extraordinary Einsamkeit, almost cantata-like, not only in its length but also its shifting moods, a fine challenge, expertly navigated, for a farewell recital. Cooper’s voicing of Schubert’s chords was an object lesson in the art, harmonic rhythm thereby propelling the musical argument. ‘Gib mir das Glück der Geselligkeit!’ Likewise the quasi-orchestral quality to the piano part upon the suggestion of riding into battle: ‘Reitet in die Schlacht hinein.’ Give me the good fortune of conviviality: whatever form(s), twists, and turns, the historical relationship of Schubert and Mayrhofer may have taken, one knew here that it was something not to be taken lightly, and yet at the same time not unduly to be laboured. Sociability offered its own message for the recital as a whole: as it were, a gathering of friends, a Schubertiade, united in the ‘Liebe’ of which the poet spoke. The following starry nights (Die Sternennächte) were simply lovely – or, better lieblich, as Webern, one of Schubert’s most avid successors, once marked one of his truly Viennese piano pieces. Cooper’s exquisite horn calls in Trost and straining towards Liszt in the following Lied eines Schiffers an die Dioskuren offered excellent examples of picturesque ‘moments’ that were yet integrated into a convincing whole. The patent sincerity of both musicians shone through especially strongly in the latter song’s final stanza, parting the ocean’s waves, before the Auflösung of the final song, which followed without a break. ‘… störe nimmer die süßen ætherischen Chöre!’ Well, who in his right mind would wish to disturb those sweet, æthereal choirs? On either side of the presentation we were treated to an encore, the second, Wolf’s Mörike Fußreise both welcome and tantalising: like the recital as a whole.

Holzmair/Cooper - Mahler, 28 October 2012

Wigmore Hall

Des Knaben Wunderhorn (selection of nine songs)

Winterlied
Frühlingsmorgen
Erinnerung
Hans und Grethe
Serenade aus Don Juan
Phantasie aus Don Juan
Urlicht
Three Rückert-Lieder

Wolfgang Holzmair (baritone)

Imogen Cooper (piano)

 

I can imagine that this would have been a recital, as the cliché has it, to divide opinion. Though I found it an enriching, enthralling experience, I could well imagine that some, many even, would have responded less warmly to Wolfgang Holzmair’s voice, which has become drier, than once it was, relatively lacking in tonal variety. For my part, I relished not only his keen verbal attention, not only his undeniably ‘acted’ approach, but also that inimitably Austrian way he has with the language, which simply seems so right here, leaving many peddlers – or should that be pedlars? – of Hochdeutsch standing. I doubt that anyone, however, could have entertained doubts concerning Imogen Cooper’s contribution. Rarely if ever have I heard Mahler’s piano parts sound so convincingly orchestral: not straining towards an unattainable ideal – well, not very much – as taking on the very hues not just of any orchestra, but Mahler’s. Such was certainly apparent from the very first of the Wunderhorn settings, ‘Ablösung im Sommer’.

 

Holzmair’s ‘Revelge’ revelled in almost cabaret-like fashion; Weill came to mind, performance somehow encompassing both Berlin and Vienna. A certain dryness of tone was more than offset by sheer communicative ability, poised somewhere between bitterness and sweetness, or rather combining the two. Cooper’s communication of Mahler’s underlying rhythms was every bit as impressive. Neither was afraid to make an ugly sound where necessary, the piano quite tumultuous before ‘Er schlägt die Trommel’.  By contrast Schubertian lineage sounded very much to the fire from both artists in ‘Zu Straßburg auf der Schanz’. The piano proved as sardonic as the voice in ‘Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt'. One actually relished the relative awkwardness in pianistic terms, especially some of the right-hand passages. Holzmair told the tale with an almost childish truculence, though of course, with Mahler, there is always an alienated sophistication to reassert itself too. Nothing is unmediated: the blessing and curse of modernity. Irony pertained too in ‘Trost im Unglück’, another vista opening up with the second character of the girl (Mädchen), but was it for real? The piano sounded almost Schoenberg-like in ‘Der Tambourg’sell’, but that is how Mahler’s writing should come across, perhaps especially in its piano version. Vocal defiance provoked resonances once more of Brecht-Weill, Wozzeck too. If ‘Das irdische Leben’ does not chill to the bone, something has gone terribly wrong; no fear of that here, though there were of course all sorts of other fears to experience. Detail both verbally and from the piano was exemplary. ‘Rheinlegendchen’ was suffused with melancholy, nostalgia for a typically Mahlerian golden age that never was – and we knew it. Its loss is of course none the less painful for that. ‘Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen’ evoked similar feelings. Here I admit that I did feel the loss of a more beautiful voice – Fritz Wunderlich would have been ideal – or indeed the deeper tones of a more conventional baritone. (Holzmair often sounds closer to a tenor.)

 

The second half opened with echoes of Schubert and Schumann in Winterlied; both artists’ experience in the music of those composers really told. Cooper’s tone sounded close to Debussy in Frühlingsmorgen, which preceded a pervasive yet detailed (words and music) sadness in Erinnerung. Beautifully judged rubato helped the apparently naïve progress of Hans und Grethe. Serenade aus Don Juan was sweetly seductive through sheer vocal – and pianistic – intelligence; the following Phantasie proved similar in tone to Erinnerung. Urlicht was taken faster than one would be likely to hear it performed with an orchestra, but that makes sense. Crucially, it retained its quiet dignity, but sounded perhaps more Romantic, less Nietzschean. (I could not help but long for the rest of the Second Symphony.) Three Rückert songs completed the programme. ‘Liebst du um Schönheit’ displayed an admirable refusal to confound sentiment with sentimentality. ‘Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder!’ offered itself as a companion to ‘Das irdische Leben’, Holzmair’s detailed verbal response suggestive of Wolf. ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ was performed with straightforward, clear-eyed dignity. I was put in mind of Peter Schreier in Wolf. Yes, hand on heart, I should prefer the darker tones of, say, Hanno Müller-Brachmann here, but this moved and provoked nonetheless.

Mozart Unwrapped (9) - Cooper/ASMF/Janiczek, 3 January 2011

Hall One, Kings Place

Symphony no.51 in D major, KV 121/196
Concertone for two violins in C major, KV 190
Piano Concerto no.9 in E-flat major, KV 271
Symphony no.21 in A major, KV 134

Imogen Cooper (piano)
Alexander Janiczek (violin/director)
Martin Burgess (violin)
Academy of St Martin in the Fields


This, the ninth of the ‘Mozart Unwrapped’ concerts I have heard, will be the last, although there remain a few still to be heard in December, culminating in two performances of the Requiem from the Choir of King’s College, Cambridge. There was much to enjoy, especially with respect to Imogen Cooper’s fine account of the solo part to the ninth piano concerto, though also from the playing of the Academy of St Martin in the Fields. However, there were also a few tensions between the performance style of the ASMF and that of Alexander Janiczek as violinist-director. In a nutshell, one had the impression that Janiczek might have been happier directing a ‘period’ ensemble, and that such an ensemble would have been happier than the ASMF to be directed by him.

The symphony ‘no.51’ – the overture to La finta giardiniera plus finale – received a lively reading, if a touch hard-driven. It was well-articulated – clearly a strength of Janiczek’s direction – whilst sometimes verging upon the abrasive, that quality clearly emanating more from director than orchestra. At least vibrato was not entirely eschewed. That said, the second movement, the ‘Andantino grazioso’, was ideally paced: a pleasant surprise indeed. The finale teemed with life, albeit life rather fierce at times. I was put in mind of Stravinsky’s comment having heard Sir Georg Solti conduct what one assumes to have been a typically turbo-charged, unyielding account of The Marriage of Figaro: Mozart is poorer than this.

For the Concertone, Janiczek was joined as soloist by Martin Burgess, though oboist David Theodore’s exquisite solos threatened to eclipse both violinists. I simply wished that Janiczek would calm down a little – and from time to time longed for a larger complement of strings. (The ASMF was truly pocket-sized for this concert: 4.4.3.2.1. As even an acoustical ignoramus such as I knows, eight first violins do not sound twice as loud as four, but they certainly enable smoother performance, even in a small hall.) The finale came off better than the first two movements, its vivacity better suited to the bright-toned approach.

The orchestral contribution to KV 271 possessed many of the lively virtues of the first-half performances, if also some of the drawbacks. Cooper’s contribution for the most part more than compensated for the latter. Exquisitely shaded, yet not afraid to sound bigger-boned when required, it was a Mozart performance more in the mould of Daniel Barenboim than Cooper’s mentor, Alfred Brendel (whose recording with the ASMF and Sir Neville Marriner remains highly recommended). Indeed, more than once in the first movement, I found myself thinking that Otto Klemperer would have approved. Again, there were times when the strings sounded a little undernourished, but that was not too much of a problem until the slow movement, which also suffered from astringent rather than merely muted violin tone. (I have never heard the ASMF sound like that, whether under Marriner, Murray Perahia, Iona Brown, or anyone else.) Such wiriness was quite at odds with the beautifully moulded and subtly variegated performance at the keyboard; solo ornamentation was tastefully handled. But this was deeply felt Mozart from Cooper – no Dresden china here – and never more so than in the cadenza. The finale proved exciting, yet not inappropriately so. There was, rather, to be heard a rollicking relish in Mozart’s melodic and harmonic invention, even though there were times when the orchestra sounded unduly fierce. The interpolated minuet, however, emerged as something truly to treasure, a veritable garden of delights.

It was, perhaps, slightly odd to follow Brendel’s ‘Eighth Wonder of the World’ with the Symphony no.21, but opportunities to hear early Mozart are infrequent and therefore to be welcomed. This performance proved something of a tale of two halves, the first two movements happier than the final two. Placing the opening movement on the cusp of the Baroque and Classical brought a welcome sense of CPE Bach’s sensibility to proceedings, and Janiczek’s tempo was well judged. Structure, including Mozart’s playing with our expectations, was properly conveyed. The slow movement was intelligently shaped and nicely shaded, though again I could not help but wish that the director would calm down somewhat. Dramatic flair was nevertheless imparted to the section in the minor mode. It was a pity, then, to encounter a minuet and trio in relatively aggressive mode, as if haunted by the spectre of Nikolaus Harnoncourt. Indeed, there were times when the trio threatened to shade into the world of Bartók. The finale, whatever the brilliance of its execution, failed to smile. I could not help but long for the likes of Karl Böhm.