Although I knew his work from
countless recordings, I only heard Neville Marriner conduct once, in a
concert held at the Royal Festival Hall more than two years ago, to
celebrate his ninetieth birthday. In Mozart and Elgar, with his beloved Academy
of St Martin in the Fields, time had not stood still, but rather had brought
great joy and wisdom. I was also delighted to write the English-language programme
note for a
concert he conducted as recently as the end of August, this year, at the
Salzburg Festival. His abiding civilisation, thoughtfulness, musicality, and
sheer good character, always lightly worn, unmistakeable to those with ears
to hear, will remain with us longer still.
Bernhard Heinrichs (oboe) Gustav Mahler Youth Orchestra Philippe Jordan (conductor)
Bruckner, Bruckner, wherever
one goes; From Salzburg
to London, he is with us, he is with us indeed, and will be next week too. (I
shall even be given the Third Symphony another try, on my birthday: the things
I do for Daniel Barenboim…) Still, at least it seems to mean that fewer
unnecessary Mahler-as-showpiece performances are being foisted upon us. Moreover,
in this case, it was good, indeed great Bruckner, rather than one of the
interminable number of ‘versions’ of interminable earlier works.
Keen though I was to hear the
Gustav Mahler Youth Orchestra in Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony, for he principal
attraction for me, and for a good part of the audience, was in any case the
extremely rare opportunity to hear a Bach cantata played by mainstream
performers – especially, so it seemed, when the soloist was Christian Gerhaher.
According to the programme, there had only been two previous such opportunities
to hear Ich habe genug at the Proms:
in 1956 and in 1962, with Heinz Rehfuss and Hermann Prey as soloists, both
enticing prospects indeed. Ian Bostridge performed the version for high voice
(with flute obbligato, rather than oboe, and period instruments) in 2000.
As it was, Philippe Jordan, heedless
of the size of the hall, opted for a very small orchestra (oboe, strings
6.4.3.2.1, chamber organ) and, perhaps more to the point, insisted throughout
that the strings play in very subdued fashion. An advantage of smaller forces
can often be a greater willingness to play out, but not here. It is a
reflective work, of course, and does not need to sound like Mahler (or
Bruckner), but the approach nevertheless seemed perverse; I can imagine it
might have worked better on the radio. The opening aria was taken at a ‘flowing’
tempo, which is to say considerably faster than would ‘traditionally’ have been
the case. On its own terms, it worked well enough, but memories of, say, John
Shirley-Quirk with Neville Marriner, or Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (with various conductors) were anything but effaced. Gerhaher’s use of head-voice, moreover, left
this listener at least longing for something deeper, darker. There was
certainly greater resolution, though, upon the da capo. His diction, whether in arias or recitatives, was
impeccable. Bernhard Heinrichs’s oboe playing was unfailingly musical, very
much a second ‘voice’. ‘Schlummert ein’ was again relatively swift, although I
felt Gerhaher might have done more with the words without coming anywhere near
over-emphasis. And Jordan’s pauses seemed excessive: disruptive more than
anything else. The following recitative offered much more in the way of verbal
emphasis, as did, to a lesser extent, the final aria, ‘Ich freue mich auf
meinen Tod’. Here I was rather taken with the swift tempo, which engendered something
of a spirit of defiance.
Jordan seemed very much to have
rethought ‘traditional’ approaches to Bruckner, but to rather more successful
effect. Once past a rocky opening – devoid of mystery, and of much else too,
not helped by an onslaught of coughing – we heard some fine playing indeed from
the young players of the GMYO: first strings, then the oboe soloist, and so on.
The first movement was taken pretty fast, but not unrelievedly so. Intriguingly
pointillistic woodwind matched well string pizzicato playing, and added to a
sense of provisionality; this was no ‘cathedral in sound’ of cliché. There was,
moreover, a strong sense of development: necessary here to avoid a sense of
mere repetition. And there was a sense of intimacy too: not the constraint of
the Bach performance, but something penetrating deeper, to the very essence of
the musical lines. The moment of return was duly awe-inspiring: what a
wonderful orchestra this is! Was the approach too fragmentary, though? Perhaps,
perhaps not. It was certainly interesting. There was no wanting of power in the
coda.
The scherzo opened with a
lightness that was far from non-committal, more Mendelssohnian perhaps.
Response thereto was anything but light, although one could certainly hear
Bruckner as an heir to Schubert (his Ninth Symphony in particular). Perhaps it
was a little too driven, but it was certainly not dull. There was occasional
insecurity concerning pulse, though. The trio was full of incident, proving
both urgent and, occasionally, a little languorous. I liked its range. The
finale developed the sense of late Romantic hypertension. There was nothing
comfortable to this view of Bruckner, which was all to the good. Both the
virtues and the drawbacks of the previous movements endured. Jordan proved,
however, especially able in highlighting the contrasting nature in the musical
material. Moments of crisis registered; much, it seemed, was at stake. The
close was blissful, Schubertian.
Saint-Saëns – Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso,
op.28
Mozart – Piano Concerto no.20
in D minor, KV 466
Elgar – Enigma Variations, op.36
Joshua Bell (violin/director)
Murray Perahia (piano)
Academy of St Martin in the Fields
Sir Neville Marriner (conductor)
Image: Decca
Sir Neville Marriner and the
Academy of St Martin in the Fields (the ensemble’s initial hyphens dropped in
1988) have been performing together in public since 1959, though Marriner
appeared as violinist on a good few recordings before then. Having founded the
ensemble and guided it through a number of transformations – not least, its
varying constitution as small ensemble, chamber orchestra, and symphony
orchestra – Sir Neville, though no longer the Music Director, still plays an
active part in the life of the ASMF as conductor. Often, sadly, that happens
more often abroad than here in England; indeed, though I have often heard the
orchestra, this was actually the first time I have heard the conductor ‘live’. Two weeks shy of his ninetieth birthday, that
was put right with a wonderful celebratory concert, including the present Music
Director (only the second in the orchestra’s history), Joshua Bell, and
Principal Guest Conductor, Murray Perahia.
Bell acted as soloist and
director for his contribution, Saint-Saëns’s Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso. Perhaps surprisingly, it was
here that the orchestra was at its smallest (strings: 7.6.4.3.2). It was a
stylish performance, benefiting from razor-sharp unanimity and a keen sense of
rhythm, without being driven too hard. There was plenty of light and shade, a
credit both to the players’ responsiveness and to Bell’s enlightened direction.
It was indeed a joy of sorts to hear such immaculate playing from all
concerned. There is, of course, only so deep one can go in such a piece, but he
ensured that it was not merely an opportunity for virtuoso display.
I had assumed that Perahia
would be directing Mozart’s D minor Piano Concerto from the piano, so was
delighted when Marriner came to the podium to conduct. The string section here
was larger, though still on what one might call a chamber scale (10.8. 6.6.3).
More important than mere size, however, was the transparency of sound, allied
to commendable fullness where need be (more so, I fancied, than on the ASMF
recordings with Alfred Brendel). Doubtless Marriner’s detractors would consider
this a failing, but I was quite delighted to hear the first movement open as if
it were the same orchestra that had played for Amadeus. (The beautifully-illustrated programme had an amusing
advertisement for that ‘motion picture’, with pictures of Mozart and Marriner: ‘Only
two people were qualified to conduct the score of Milos Forman’s “Amadeus”. One
was unavailable.’) The standard of orchestral execution was outstanding: sweet
of tone, beguiling indeed, but with not a little demonic fury too. Such things
are relative: this was not the Mozart of, say, Barenboim or Furtwängler, but
nor was it trying to be. It was, however, a splendid display of fine
musicianship from all concerned. Tempi and phrasing went unnoticed in the best
sense: this was an excellent example of art concealing art. Perahia perhaps
proved a little darker, even on occasion heavier of hand, than one might have
expected, but for the most part, his was a fine performance too. The cadenzas –
I do not know whose they were: certainly not Beethoven’s – here and in the
finale were imaginative and received fine advocacy. The slow movement was
poised, rightly, between tragedy and consolation, making one feel both all the
more, without a hint of exaggeration. It was beautifully shaped, without
sounding ‘shaped’. Perahia offered a considerable degree of ornamentation.
Clean lines and characterful woodwind (not least, Christopher Cowie’s oboe)
added to an account that was far more than ‘pleasing’. Coughing, alas, extended
until the end of Perahia’s opening solo to the finale. Nevertheless, it was
expertly played: a very tricky moment indeed to bring off. Then the ASMF truly
unleashed Mozart’s D minor daemon, whilst remaining clean, clear, and lithe:
this was never going to be a performance of Furtwänglerian mysticism, but it
convinced on its own terms. There was just the right degree of tension between
minor and major, the coda proving a delightful release.
A larger orchestra again
(strings 12.10.8.8.6) convened following the interval for Elgar’s Enigma Variations. I was struck
immediately by the cultivated sound of the strings: not for its own sake, but
at the service of the score and its subtleties. Fabled virtuosity and
transparency were once again apparent, often evoking Mendelssohn, indeed as
early as the Theme and certainly in the first variation. This was not ‘weighty’
Elgar, but nor was it ‘light’ in any trivial sense. And there was plenty of
depth to the string tone where required, as for instance in the fourth
variation, ‘WMB’. Tumultuous passages were taken at quite a lick, yet never
sounded merely quick; there was bravado here, but musical bravado. ‘He who
dares wins’: and he did. Moreover, there was plenty of what, in traditionally
gendered terms, not inappropriate in Elgar’s case, we might call ‘feminine’
contrast. Crucially, there was never so much as a hint of sentimentality. ‘Nimrod’was deeply felt, yes, but musicianship was
all. ‘Dorabella’ brought lightly-worn Mendelssohn and Brahms to the fore, maybe
even a hint of Strauss. ‘GRS’ perhaps Liszt – and not only in the use of the
triangle. But the composer’s voice remained ever present, whoever his forebears
may have been.
This was a distinguished
performance, a fitting celebration of a distinguished career. Let us look
forward, then, to a similar occasion in ten years’ time. And lest the thought
seem absurd – maybe it is, maybe it is not – let us remember Elliott Carter,
whom no one would have expected to continue composing into his second century.
