Höbarth/Tomes - Mozart, 23 June 2013

Wigmore Hall

Violin Sonata in D major, KV 306/300l

Violin Sonata in F major, KV 376/374d
Variations on ‘Hélas, j’ai perdu mon amant,’ KV 360/374b
Piano Sonata in B-flat major, KV 570
Violin Sonata in E-flat major, KV 481

Erich Höbarth (violin)

Susan Tomes (violin)

 

 

It was a delight to welcome back Erich Höbarth and Susan Tomes to the Wigmore Hall, following an earlier all-Mozart recital last September. For just a few opening bars of the D major sonata, KV 306/300l, I was unsure about the balance, Höbarth’s violin sounding a little too forward, but soon all was well. Höbarth offered nicely modulated tone, born in part of intelligently varied vibrato; Tomes’s piano part was clean, clear, equally pleasing in its attentive though not fussy shading. This first movement proved predominantly sunny, the stormy contrast of the development section well judged. Warm lyricism from both players characterised the slow movement. Conversational rhetoric made its delightful points, without detracting from overall structure. Again, the fine degrees of shading from both Höbarth and Tomes impressed: not for its own sake, but for the insight showed into Mozart’s music. Such qualities were equally apparent in the finale. The tricky alternating metres were successfully navigated, not least in a witty account of the cadenza. The first movement of the F major sonata, KV 376/374d, showed itself by turn radiantly lyrical and sensitively sinuous. Poised throughout, it was nevertheless alert to the music’s sterner moments. The sophistication of Mozart’s melodic and harmonic construction – when does one idea end and another begin? – was perceptively and lovingly communicated in the Andante. Mozart’s abundant melodic genius was once again hymned in the finale. Harmonic understanding was equally apparent, whether with a broader brush or in the subtlety of the moment.

 

The second half opened with the G minor Variations on ‘Hélas, j’ai perdu mon amant’. Mozart’s dignified sadness in this tonality was readily apparent, as was a fine sense of give and take, rubato included, between pianist and violinist. The performance culminated in a dramatically vehement sixth variation. Why do we almost never hear this wonderful music? Tomes then had the stage to herself for the B-flat major Piano Sonata, KV 570. Her first movement upheld the balance between Bachian counterpoint and sinuous melodic chromaticism. Voicing was clear, and there was ample sense of formal dynamism. Above all, the deceptive ‘simplicity’ of this sonata and of late Mozart more generally was granted a voice. I initially cavilled at the swift tempo for the slow movement; it is, after all, marked Adagio. Yet it was made to work in unassuming fashion. There is greater profundity to be found here, not least of the searingly Romantic variety, but this was certainly preferable to striving after meretricious ‘effect’. Some decoration was applied, all eminently reasonable, though that did not prevent a seemingly irritated and unquestionably irritating man in front of me from shaking his head whenever it occurred. Tomes surely navigated the treacherous demands of the finale; even its opening phrase is enough to have one throw one’s hands in the air and say that it is unperformable. Crucial to her achievement was the ability to place notes, both in themselves and in relation to one another: there is, as ever in Mozart, nowhere to hide. Mozart’s marriage of learned counterpoint and extreme chromaticism once again worked its eternal marriage; we did not sound so very far from the well-nigh Schoenbergian Gigue, KV 574, as indeed we are not, whether musically or chronologically. Again, decoration was tastefully employed.

 

Höbarth returned for the E-flat Violin Sonata, KV 481. Difference in scale from the earlier works for piano and violin immediately registered. Here was a grander canvas, upon which, most creditably, Mozart’s music was granted plenty of space to breathe, the Fuxian ‘Jupiter’ tag from the first movement’s development section making clear the composer’s seriousness of purpose. I could not help but wonder whether the drama of that movement as a whole might have been projected a little more strongly, but it remained an eminently musical performance. Again, a grander scale was apparent in the slow movement, though certainly not at the cost of more intimate moments. There was, quite rightly, a strong sense of the operatic aria to the performance, especially from Höbarth, but there also remained a complexity that was inescapably ‘instrumental’ in thought as well as deed. I again missed on occasion a stronger sense of drama in the finale, but it received a fluent performance, in which, no mean feat this, instrumental balances were always finely judged. And from the fourth variation onwards, any prior reticence was banished. There was, moreover, an excellent lilt to the final, ‘hunting’ variation. As an encore we heard another great aria-like slow movement, that to the A major Violin Sonata, KV 526.

Höbarth/Tomes - Mozart, 30 September 2012

Wigmore Hall

Sonata for piano and violin no.22 in A major, KV 305/293d

Rondo in D major, KV 485
Sonata for piano and violin no.27 in G major, KV 379/373a
Sonata for piano and violin no.21 in E minor, KV 304/300c
Rondo in A minor, KV 511
Sonata for piano and violin no.32 in B-flat major, KV 454

Erich Höbarth (violin)

Susan Tomes (piano)

 

I wonder how differently one hears music when one has played, indeed, performed it oneself. The difference can doubtless be exaggerated and will always depend on a number of other factors too. It is, moreover, surely possible to listen critically to a performance of Tristan und Isolde, and indeed to write about it, without having conducted the work, let alone to have played or to have sung every part. Nevertheless, there is probably a certain insight – ‘in-hearing’? – which is likely to assert itself via the engagement of performance, even if it remains far from impossible otherwise to acquire it. I was led to such thoughts on this particular occasion since I realised that I had at some point, and in some cases more than once, performed each of these works in public. Indeed, such a bloody nose did I receive from a teenage performance of the D major Rondo that I swore I should never play Mozart in public again, realising with a vengeance the truth of Schnabel’s oft-quoted remark about music being better than it could be performed. It took me another fourteen years before I dared perform that particular piece again, though in the meantime I had actually played its more complex cousin, the A minor Rondo, also on this Wigmore Hall programme, a number of times in front of an audience. At the very least, then, bitter experience enables one to realise quite what an extraordinarily difficult task performing any piece of Mozart will always be; indeed, it would be unusual were one not to conclude that Mozart is the most difficult of all composers to perform well.

 

In a field more than unduly littered with failures, Erich Höbarth and Susan Tomes acquitted themselves very well. Tomes is celebrated as a chamber musician, so I was interested to hear her in two solo rondos. The D major, KV 485, was fluent, nicely shaded, though to my ears at least lacking a sense of darker undercurrents. Many, I realise, would say that they are simply not there in so overtly sunny, even blithe, a work, but certain harmonic shifts would seem to imply otherwise. It was a good performance – I shudder when I even think of that teenage effort of mine mention above – but perhaps a little closer to the spirit of JC Bach than to the richness of Mozart. The A minor Rondo, which I have often thought Mozart’s single greatest work for solo piano, was sad, chaste, though none the less involving for that. Counterpoint was clear but, every bit as important, imbued with harmonic direction. At times, I might have wished for something more Romantic, especially in the build up to those climaxes at which Mozart really goes for the Wagnerian, even Bergian, jugular. Nevertheless, a more Classical reading, so long as it is not unduly understated or, worse, mechanised, has validity. No one could have doubted from Tomes’s performance that this was a towering masterpiece – though perhaps someone behind me did, given that she burst into inexplicable laughter at the end.

 

Framing the two solo performances in both halves were violin sonatas or, strictly, sonatas for piano with violin accompaniment. (For what it is worth, they are not really: a performance of the piano parts alone would be a nonsense.) KV 305/293d, in A major, received a wonderful performance. The first movement was ebullient without sounding boisterous, Höbarth and Tomes exhibiting impressive unanimity without a hint of the clinical. They proved themselves flexible as the harmony demanded, or at least suggested. From the outset, and throughout the recital, I was impressed by the very real sense of a physical connection with Höbarth’s instrument; this was a true violinist, not a mere virtuoso. There was not the glossy perfection associates with certain celebrated and, frankly, boring players, but something far more rewarding and meaningful. So many players take the second movement far too fast. It was a relief that Höbarth and Tomes allowed plenty of space for the harmony to speak, their command of phrasing ensuring that the longer line unfolded without interruption. Mozart is already not so very distant from Beethoven here, so the variations emerged as properly weighty, in the sense of being consequential – and not just in the minor mode. Above all, the players communicated their love for the music – even above a quite extraordinary bout of bronchial intervention.

 

The G major sonata, KV 379/373a, benefited from a rich, almost Beethovenian, sound to the piano introduction, matched by Höbarth’s violin response, equally rich and dignified. The Allegro was alert, finely articulated, and every bit as responsive to the demands of the harmony. Yes, there were moments of imperfect intonation, but the meaning of the notes was always fully apparent. Neither musician mistook vehemence for driving too hard. As with the second movement of the A major sonata, the intricacies of Mozartian variation form sounded not at all distant from Beethoven. There is a tendency amongst some musicologists as well as performers to underestimate Mozart and Haydn as writers of variations; that was rightly resisted here, or better, would never have occurred to either musician. Tomes notably relished both the syncopations and the richness of harmony. Each variation was characterised, not least the extraordinary Bachian – though it is a moot point how much of Sebastian Bach’s music Mozart would yet have known – fifth variation, which, with its piano decoration and violin pizzicato can hardly fail to put one in mind of certain slow movements from Bach’s piano concertos. And the whole was undoubtedly greater than the sum of the parts.

 

The opening phrase of the E minor sonata, KV 304/300c, was imbued with Schubertian sadness, but Mozart’s imagination was soon shown to more variegated than that might imply. Indeed, the first movement was characterised by a passion that all but the most sentimental would recognise as operatic. There were passages when I thought that Höbarth, perhaps recalling his association with Concentus musicus Wien, might justly have applied a little more vibrato, but tonal warmth was certainly not neglected elsewhere. Mozart’s piano writing sounded, quite rightly, concertante in style at times. The nobility of contrapuntal utterance from the piano’s opening bars of the second movement marked it out as something quite special, counterpoint and melody proving properly indivisible. The E major trio emerged warm, hymn-like, as if from another (Zauberflöte-like) world, which in a sense it is. Tragic vehemence marked the sonata’s close.

 

Few, I am sure, would contest the claim that the B-flat major sonata, KV 454, is one of Mozart’s greatest contributions to the genre. (To my mind, the A major sonata, KV 526, is the only work to match it.) The first movement’s introduction had due grandeur, eliciting a splendid feeling of release for the ‘launch’, as it were, of the exposition proper. Again, there was an entirely apt air of the piano concerto to much of the writing. Joy was not unalloyed – Mozart is always more ambivalent than Haydn, Handel, even Bach – but the fecundity of his operatic imagination sang through, indeed moulded, his conception of sonata form. Though the performance never went so far as to be hard-driven, there were occasions when I thought it might have yielded a little; I am nit-picking really though. The slow movement flowed without being harried. There was no doubt here as to Mozart’s operatic inspiration; this was revealed to us in its beauty, its darkness, all its ambiguities, as a sister-aria to those of the Countess, though of course such ‘influence’ runs both ways. If I might sometimes have preferred something a little more Romantic, that is neither here nor there. It is very tempting to take the Allegretto, despite Mozart’s marking, too fast to allow the richness of his melodic and harmonic genius properly to tell. Here the players arguably fell on the fast side, not absurdly so, for the music remained enjoyable and, at times, winningly theatrical. I could not help but think, however, that a slightly more measured approach might have offered a more penetrating interpretation. That was nevertheless one of very few reservations I harboured concerning an impressive recital.