This is a charming Berceuse - really more of a lullaby by the french composer Henri Sauguet, He was of the generation just behind Le Six and although he lived a long time and was very prolific he has rather disappeared from view.
I remember hearing this on the radio some years ago (I think in a programme introduced by Jeremy Nicholas , though I might be wrong on that) and was utterly enchanted by its simplicity but also but the piquancy of the harmony. I can't find a copy of the text on line, but it is a bed time song to a child from its mother , who is looking out over the sea and watching the birds and the boats fly away. It was written in Madagascar and actually comes from an opera le plumet du colonel
I don't think that I have ever heard another note of Sauguet's music, although there are published recordings and other extracts on YouTube so I really ought to find out more about him.
Saturday, 20 September 2014
One track wonders - Love's dream after the ball
I have mentioned in this blog before how I sometime leave the IPOD on random and see what comes up. This popped out a few days ago and I thought that I would share it. But more than that it got me thinking about composers for whom I have precisely one track on my IPOD.
This is a gorgeous piece of nostalgic delight by Alphons Czibulka (there are various spellings) who was an Hungarian bandmaster and composer of operettas. He was obviously very prolific as this is opus 356!
Richard Bonynge knows exactly how to bring off a piece like this. He obviously enjoys the charm and sentimentality but he doesn't milk it for all it is worth. It takes great musicianship and technique to perform light music as elegantly as this,
I doubt that many readers will have heard of Czibulka, but I would be prepared to put quite a lot of money on a wager that everybody reading this will recognise at least one of his melodies. The "hearts and flowers" melody so often used as an accompaniment to love scenes in the silent movies is based on a song by Czibulka! Whether that is how he would like to have achieved immortality in that way is a moot point, but at least he has left a thumb print on musical and cinema history.
This is a gorgeous piece of nostalgic delight by Alphons Czibulka (there are various spellings) who was an Hungarian bandmaster and composer of operettas. He was obviously very prolific as this is opus 356!
Richard Bonynge knows exactly how to bring off a piece like this. He obviously enjoys the charm and sentimentality but he doesn't milk it for all it is worth. It takes great musicianship and technique to perform light music as elegantly as this,
I doubt that many readers will have heard of Czibulka, but I would be prepared to put quite a lot of money on a wager that everybody reading this will recognise at least one of his melodies. The "hearts and flowers" melody so often used as an accompaniment to love scenes in the silent movies is based on a song by Czibulka! Whether that is how he would like to have achieved immortality in that way is a moot point, but at least he has left a thumb print on musical and cinema history.
Monday, 15 September 2014
Heavenly length?
Had a rehearsal play through of Schubert 9 last week. It is a piece which excites strong opinions. But one thing that all orchestral players agree on is that it is one of the most exhausting pieces in the entire repertoire. It is not long as a Mahler symphony, but in Mahler there are generally places to take a break, whereas the Schubert is inexorable and there is nowhere to relax. The first three movements are difficult enough in this respect, but the finale - over 1000 bars - is in a class of its own. Thankfully we did it without all the repeats. I do remember playing in a performance years ago with all of the repeats - it very nearly finished me off.
As far as is known Schubert never heard the work performed - indeed there seems not to have been a performance in his lifetime, although there may have been a private informal run through. Schumann admired what he call the symphony's "heavenly length" but I am of the view that had Schubert heard the symphony in performance he would have made some small excisions here and there just to cut out some of the repetition.
But what a symphony it is. In many ways it is more modern and forward looking than Beethoven's 9th symphony , which is more or less its contemporary. So much of it looks forward to the world of the next generation. Heard out of context parts of the trio are pure Dvorak, while the slow alternating chords near the end of the slow movement are highly characteristic of Brahms. Incidentally it was Brahms who was responsible for the confusion over the numbering of the symphony. He believed that unfinished works should be numbered after finished works, so attached the number 7 to the symphony, on the basis it was the only symphony Schubert finished after no 6. The "unfinished" was no 8. So the parts we were playing from were headed symphony no 7. The absurdity of this symphony being numbered before the earlier unfinished symphony was gradually appreciated and so the symphony became no 9. The unfinished remained no 8. And no 7? Well there is another unfinished symphony which became no 7. This is much more fragmentary - for most of the piece we only have a first violin line so it is not really performable, although there have been realisations of it. But it plugs in the gap in the numbering very conveniently.
The other composer whose music seems pre-echoed in the symphony is Bruckner. Some of the harmonic daring , particularly in the first movement, seems to foreshadow much of what can be found in Bruckner - and of course the sheer scale of Schubert 9 was not really matched until Bruckner's symphonies a generation later. But there is a direct connection between the two composers. Right towards the end of his life Schubert felt the need to improve his counterpoint skills and arranged some lessons with Simon Sechter, who was one of the leading teachers of the day. We don't know exactly what happened in those lessons, indeed if they every really took place, but it is astonishing that Schubert felt he needed lessons. The link is that Sechter was one of Bruckner's main teachers - we know for certain that Bruckner went through an intensive course of harmony and counterpoint with Sechter.
Schubert 9 is of course the work of a young man, even though it is a "late" work. I can remember discussing with one of my lecturers at university what Schubert's music might have developed into had he lived longer. After all he would only have been in his mid 60s when Tristan und Isolde was written. One senses that had he lived Schubert would have got to the harmonic language of Tristan well before Wagner.
As far as is known Schubert never heard the work performed - indeed there seems not to have been a performance in his lifetime, although there may have been a private informal run through. Schumann admired what he call the symphony's "heavenly length" but I am of the view that had Schubert heard the symphony in performance he would have made some small excisions here and there just to cut out some of the repetition.
But what a symphony it is. In many ways it is more modern and forward looking than Beethoven's 9th symphony , which is more or less its contemporary. So much of it looks forward to the world of the next generation. Heard out of context parts of the trio are pure Dvorak, while the slow alternating chords near the end of the slow movement are highly characteristic of Brahms. Incidentally it was Brahms who was responsible for the confusion over the numbering of the symphony. He believed that unfinished works should be numbered after finished works, so attached the number 7 to the symphony, on the basis it was the only symphony Schubert finished after no 6. The "unfinished" was no 8. So the parts we were playing from were headed symphony no 7. The absurdity of this symphony being numbered before the earlier unfinished symphony was gradually appreciated and so the symphony became no 9. The unfinished remained no 8. And no 7? Well there is another unfinished symphony which became no 7. This is much more fragmentary - for most of the piece we only have a first violin line so it is not really performable, although there have been realisations of it. But it plugs in the gap in the numbering very conveniently.
The other composer whose music seems pre-echoed in the symphony is Bruckner. Some of the harmonic daring , particularly in the first movement, seems to foreshadow much of what can be found in Bruckner - and of course the sheer scale of Schubert 9 was not really matched until Bruckner's symphonies a generation later. But there is a direct connection between the two composers. Right towards the end of his life Schubert felt the need to improve his counterpoint skills and arranged some lessons with Simon Sechter, who was one of the leading teachers of the day. We don't know exactly what happened in those lessons, indeed if they every really took place, but it is astonishing that Schubert felt he needed lessons. The link is that Sechter was one of Bruckner's main teachers - we know for certain that Bruckner went through an intensive course of harmony and counterpoint with Sechter.
Schubert 9 is of course the work of a young man, even though it is a "late" work. I can remember discussing with one of my lecturers at university what Schubert's music might have developed into had he lived longer. After all he would only have been in his mid 60s when Tristan und Isolde was written. One senses that had he lived Schubert would have got to the harmonic language of Tristan well before Wagner.
Sunday, 31 August 2014
Chips from the workbench?
It is easy to recognise greatness in major masterpieces. But sometimes I think that the real place to look for it is in minor works that slip from the composer's workbenches. Sometimes these are pieces written to earn money, sometimes as a piece for a special occasion and sometimes just to give a composer a bit of breathing space between major projects.
In many ways it is easier to achieve greatness on a vast canvas - but it takes a special form of genius to achieve it in a brief piece lasting only a couple of minutes. One of the real masters of this was, in my view, Stravinsky. If you look through his list of compositions there are all sorts of minor "odds and ends" scattered through the catalogue. Almost without exception these miniatures encapsulate the genius of Stravinsky in a few deft strokes. You only need to hear the opening notes of a piece like the Circus Polka or the Scherzo alla Russe to be instantly transported into Stravinsky's world. I've played a good few of these pieces over the years and always enjoy doing so. One I haven't played but would love to is the Greetings Prelude
You know from the very first notes that it couldn't be by anybody except Stravinsky - indeed it sounds so much like "real" Stravinsky that you begin to suspect that the tune we all know ...and love ... is a simplified version of the Greetings Prelude!
Was there ever another composer who left quite so many tiny fragments of musical genius?
In many ways it is easier to achieve greatness on a vast canvas - but it takes a special form of genius to achieve it in a brief piece lasting only a couple of minutes. One of the real masters of this was, in my view, Stravinsky. If you look through his list of compositions there are all sorts of minor "odds and ends" scattered through the catalogue. Almost without exception these miniatures encapsulate the genius of Stravinsky in a few deft strokes. You only need to hear the opening notes of a piece like the Circus Polka or the Scherzo alla Russe to be instantly transported into Stravinsky's world. I've played a good few of these pieces over the years and always enjoy doing so. One I haven't played but would love to is the Greetings Prelude
You know from the very first notes that it couldn't be by anybody except Stravinsky - indeed it sounds so much like "real" Stravinsky that you begin to suspect that the tune we all know ...and love ... is a simplified version of the Greetings Prelude!
Was there ever another composer who left quite so many tiny fragments of musical genius?
Thursday, 21 August 2014
Great endings no 1 - Sibelius symphony no 5
A long and tiring day at work today and feeling pretty miserable by the time I got home. I turned on the TV for some mindless watching and found myself listening to Sibelius 5 from the Proms. It really cheered my spirits - the end of the symphony is one of the most uplifting moments I know - I really did find myself shouting out in excitement after the last chord. So I have decided to start a new series - on great endings.
I've a limited amount of experience of Sibelius. I've played the first and second symphonies and done a play through of the fourth. I've never played the fifth although I did a conducted a string sectional once. I don't know all of the symphonies that well but particularly enjoy the second and third.
But the finale of the fifth must be the composer's greatest achievement. This is a wonderful example of organic growth and the screwing up of tension towards a triumphant harmonic resolution. And then there are those final chords - the massive hammer blows - irregularly spaced with time almost standing still between each of the chords - except between the last two, which are more closely spaced than the others. It never fails to thrill.
It is such a stroke of genius that one feels that it must have come as red hot inspiration to the composer. But we know that this is not the case. The 5th symphony had a complex gestation and the work as first performed was significantly different to the version which we now know and love. The most remarkable difference is right at the end. The hammer blows are still there but there is no silence between them - instead sustained string chords. Such a different effect.
It is of course difficult if not impossible to hear this original version without comparing it with the familiar revision and so it sounds very odd. If you can get the revised version out of your head I suspect that the original version is, on its own terms, highly effective, but there is no doubt that the revision makes a much greater effect.
Genius is indeed 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration.!
Wednesday, 13 August 2014
If i'm not pure at least my jewels are!
Like many orchestral players I first came across Candide when playing the overture with my youth orchestra. This was my first step up into a senior youth orchestra and I still remember the programme
Bernstein - overture to Candide
Strauss - suite from Der Rosenkavalier
Berlioz - Royal Hunt and Storm and Trojan March
Mussorgsky orc Ravel - Pictures from an exhibition
That was quite a step up from simple arrangements in the school orchestra! What on earth must it have sounded like
I remember in particular struggling with the cross rhythms at the end of the overture - which are of course used in Glitter and be Gay.
I vaguely remembering hearing one of the ensembles (I think it might have been I am easily assimilated) on desert island disks and being hooked. I got hold of the original cast LP soon after wards and it was one of my most played recordings.
It is a piece of real genius - worth to stand with the finest of lighter operas - in fact with any sort of opera. The inventiveness is astonishing and Bernstein's ability to send up grand opera in an affectionate way is never shown to greater effect than in this aria. It is hard to listen to the Jewel song from Faust or the Bell song from Lakme without a smile once you know this parody.
But Candide also has one of the most spine tingling moments I know in all music. The final number builds to a great climax and then
the chorus is left on their own
I remember the hairs rising on the back of my neck when I heard this at ENO a few years ago.
Much as I love parts of West Side Story , Candide is undoubtedly Bernstein's masterpiece.
Bernstein - overture to Candide
Strauss - suite from Der Rosenkavalier
Berlioz - Royal Hunt and Storm and Trojan March
Mussorgsky orc Ravel - Pictures from an exhibition
That was quite a step up from simple arrangements in the school orchestra! What on earth must it have sounded like
I remember in particular struggling with the cross rhythms at the end of the overture - which are of course used in Glitter and be Gay.
I vaguely remembering hearing one of the ensembles (I think it might have been I am easily assimilated) on desert island disks and being hooked. I got hold of the original cast LP soon after wards and it was one of my most played recordings.
It is a piece of real genius - worth to stand with the finest of lighter operas - in fact with any sort of opera. The inventiveness is astonishing and Bernstein's ability to send up grand opera in an affectionate way is never shown to greater effect than in this aria. It is hard to listen to the Jewel song from Faust or the Bell song from Lakme without a smile once you know this parody.
But Candide also has one of the most spine tingling moments I know in all music. The final number builds to a great climax and then
the chorus is left on their own
I remember the hairs rising on the back of my neck when I heard this at ENO a few years ago.
Much as I love parts of West Side Story , Candide is undoubtedly Bernstein's masterpiece.
Sunday, 3 August 2014
Saint-Saëns
Two of the bitchiest musical quotes I know are both directed at Saint-Saëns. Ravel , on being told that the composer had continued to write music during the first world war said " if he had been making shell cases during the war it would have been better for music while Nadia Boulanger, the great French teacher is reported as having said Saint-Saëns knew his business admirably well. He only lacked what no one could give him.
Boulanger was essentially saying that Saint-Saëns was had technique but no inspiration. I think that that is an extremely harsh verdict.
I think a lot of the criticism is actually about Saint-Saëns the man rather than the musician. Boulanger and Saint-Saëns had a famous falling about over the 1908 Prix de Rome, where the judges , including Saint-Saëns did not award her first prize in the composition composition. The composer did indeed seem to have had a talent for falling out with people and making musical enemies. The story of him storming out of the first performances of The Rite of Spring because of the misuse of the bassoon is not quite correct (the incident was at the first concert performance, which, unlike the first stage performance, was very well received), but it does show something of his character.
One of the problems with Saint-Saëns is that he was active musically for such a long time that he got left behind by musical tastes. Indeed he must have had one of the longest musical careers of all time. He was born in 1835 and was already a major figure in French musical life by the 1840, counting Berlioz, Liszt and Berlioz. He composed all through his long life - his final work was written in 1921, the year of his death. In today's terms this would be equivalent to somebody still active who was born in the late 1920s and who had been heard playing the piano by Elgar.
Among other incidents in a very full life Saint-Saëns should be remembered as the first major composer to write a score for a film - his 1908 music for The Assassination of the Duke of Guise.
While all of this is fascinating background it shouldn't get in the way of the music itself. I know only a tiny fraction of the composer's large output (indeed I suspect that very few people have even a reasonable knowledge of the repertoire) I do find myself turning to Saint-Saëns more and more. I have a soft spot for the Organ Symphony - not least because I conducted a performance at university, but I have to admit that at times it is a bit old fashioned and creaky, but I am admiring the piano concerto more and more. I'm beginning to get to know some of the chamber music - the wonderfully quirky septet with trumpet of course but also the piano quartet. And there is always the carnival of the animals, which never fails to raise a smile.
What it is that attracts me to this music . It is I think a combination of its fluency and charm. Everything works and fits to together perfectly and the melodic invention is always first rate. But perhaps more than anything there is a sense of communication - this is not inward facing - it is there to be heard and enjoyed. Listen to the second movement of the second piano concerto for a real sense of exuberant fun in the tradition of a Mendelssohn Scherzo, or the poise and control of the beginning of the piano quartet.
Of course there are times when one want music to plumb the emotional or intellectual depths and perhaps Saint-Saëns is not the idea companion for such journeys. But when you want a slightly gentler and less angst ridden journey but still of the highest quality give Saint-Saëns a chance.
Boulanger was essentially saying that Saint-Saëns was had technique but no inspiration. I think that that is an extremely harsh verdict.
I think a lot of the criticism is actually about Saint-Saëns the man rather than the musician. Boulanger and Saint-Saëns had a famous falling about over the 1908 Prix de Rome, where the judges , including Saint-Saëns did not award her first prize in the composition composition. The composer did indeed seem to have had a talent for falling out with people and making musical enemies. The story of him storming out of the first performances of The Rite of Spring because of the misuse of the bassoon is not quite correct (the incident was at the first concert performance, which, unlike the first stage performance, was very well received), but it does show something of his character.
One of the problems with Saint-Saëns is that he was active musically for such a long time that he got left behind by musical tastes. Indeed he must have had one of the longest musical careers of all time. He was born in 1835 and was already a major figure in French musical life by the 1840, counting Berlioz, Liszt and Berlioz. He composed all through his long life - his final work was written in 1921, the year of his death. In today's terms this would be equivalent to somebody still active who was born in the late 1920s and who had been heard playing the piano by Elgar.
Among other incidents in a very full life Saint-Saëns should be remembered as the first major composer to write a score for a film - his 1908 music for The Assassination of the Duke of Guise.
While all of this is fascinating background it shouldn't get in the way of the music itself. I know only a tiny fraction of the composer's large output (indeed I suspect that very few people have even a reasonable knowledge of the repertoire) I do find myself turning to Saint-Saëns more and more. I have a soft spot for the Organ Symphony - not least because I conducted a performance at university, but I have to admit that at times it is a bit old fashioned and creaky, but I am admiring the piano concerto more and more. I'm beginning to get to know some of the chamber music - the wonderfully quirky septet with trumpet of course but also the piano quartet. And there is always the carnival of the animals, which never fails to raise a smile.
What it is that attracts me to this music . It is I think a combination of its fluency and charm. Everything works and fits to together perfectly and the melodic invention is always first rate. But perhaps more than anything there is a sense of communication - this is not inward facing - it is there to be heard and enjoyed. Listen to the second movement of the second piano concerto for a real sense of exuberant fun in the tradition of a Mendelssohn Scherzo, or the poise and control of the beginning of the piano quartet.
Of course there are times when one want music to plumb the emotional or intellectual depths and perhaps Saint-Saëns is not the idea companion for such journeys. But when you want a slightly gentler and less angst ridden journey but still of the highest quality give Saint-Saëns a chance.
Monday, 28 July 2014
Judith Weir
Delighted to see that Judith Weir has been appointed Master of the Queens music. Let's hope that she turns out to be an Edward Elgar and not a Nicholas Staggins! (No, I had never heard of him either).
I've been lucky enough to play a couple of piece by Weir: her song cycle Natural History and the orchestral piece The Welcome Arrival of Rain. The latter in particular made a very strong impression right from the first notes I heard at the read through. She had a fabulous ear for orchestral sonority and a beautifully crafted sense of imagination. I feel that she carries on the tradition of Michael Tippet - especially late pieces such as the 5th quartet and the triple concerto - and via Tippett to the Stravinsky of Agon.
I heard a broadcast of A night at the Chinese Opera when it was first performed and remember enjoying it, though truth to tell I can't remember that much about it. Time to catch up with it again I think
I've been lucky enough to play a couple of piece by Weir: her song cycle Natural History and the orchestral piece The Welcome Arrival of Rain. The latter in particular made a very strong impression right from the first notes I heard at the read through. She had a fabulous ear for orchestral sonority and a beautifully crafted sense of imagination. I feel that she carries on the tradition of Michael Tippet - especially late pieces such as the 5th quartet and the triple concerto - and via Tippett to the Stravinsky of Agon.
I heard a broadcast of A night at the Chinese Opera when it was first performed and remember enjoying it, though truth to tell I can't remember that much about it. Time to catch up with it again I think
Sunday, 27 July 2014
Favourite historic recordings :Lucien Fugere: "C'est un Torrent Impétueux", Pelerins de la Mecque
Two dates are relevant for this recording
1848 - date of birth
1929 - date of recording
That means that Fugère was 81 when his was recorded - you would never believe just from listening to this that the singer was anything like that age. It shows the importance of a good technique and in particular using the words as well as the notes.
Fugère was a mainstay of French operatic life for many years, creating roles in operas by Massenet, Charpentier, and Chabrier amongst others.
There is a link to another of these posts, in that Hugues Cuénod heard Fugère sing live (his last performance was in 1933 at the age of 85). Cuénod made his last appearance at the age of 90 and died only in 2010 at the age of 108.
Saturday, 26 July 2014
An unexpected fact I wanted to share
I was looking for something else on the web when I came across a bit of information which would make a great question in a specialised musical pub quiz: where did the world premier of the orchestral version of Schoenberg's Verklärte Nacht take place?
Vienna? Paris? Berlin? London? ...Actually is was in Newcastle! It was conducted by Edward Clarke, later to be contemporary music adviser to the BBC and the main UK champion of the composer's music.
Now it is no disrespect to Newcastle to say that it is not the first place that one would associate with the music of Schoenberg. But in fact the UK was an important centre of early Schoenberg performances, most famously Henry Wood's performance of the 5 Orchestral Pieces at the Proms in 1912 Stick to it gentlemen: this is nothing to what you will have to play in 25 year's time!
I spent some time studying Verklärte Nacht at university and always retain an affection for it. The beginning and the end are magical , though I do think that it does get bogged down in places in the middle. Some of it dangerously approaches Kitch.........
I still have a very sketchy knowledge of Schoenberg's music - I must have heard most of it at some time or another but I don't really have any strong memories or impressions of it. As far as I remember I've never played any Schoenberg in the orchestra , though I did learn some of the easier piano pieces as a student.
One final memory is of one of our lecturers saying, almost in a confidential whisper, that after years of study and efforts s/he had reached the conclusion that Schoenberg was actually unmusical! This lecturer was by no means an anti-modernist and had very broad taste, but could just not get on Schoenberg's wavelength! In the 1970s, when total serialism was very much in vogue, this amounted to heresy - which is why I am protecting identities!
Sunday, 13 July 2014
Favourite historic recordings :Medea Mei Figner Liza's aria from The Queen Of Spades
Writing about Tchaikovsky this morning led me to thinking about another post in my "historical" series. This is Medea Mei Figner, who created the role of Liza in the Queen of Spades in 1890 along with her Husband, who created the role of Hermann. The couple were an important part of the Russian operatic work at the end of the 19th century and created several important roles. Medea also gave the first Russian performance of several key roles, including Mimi, in La Boheme, for which she received coaching from Puccini himself.
There is a magic about creator records, particular those stretching so far back, and it is wonderful to be able to hear this. But there is also a note of caution to be had. Tchaikovsky got very annoyed with the way that the Figners altered his music - they even wanted to him to revise the printed score to reflect their "improvements". The end of this aria is a case in point - the printed score does not include the very low notes with which Mei Figner ends the aria. Some sources say that this is an alternative ending sanctioned by Tchaikovsky, but others are not as definitive and it is at least possible that the invention was from Mei Figner alone and Tchaikovsky was forced to go along with it.
Medea had a very interesting life and lived on until 1952. Very late in life she recorded an interview in which she talked about working with Tchaikovsky. So far I have not tracked this down on line but if I do I will post a link
Brahms and Tchaikovsky
Played in an interesting concert last night - the first half was two sets of variations. First the Brahms' "Haydn" variations and then the air and variations from Tchaikovsky's suite no 3. (Contrabassoon in the first and tambourine in the section - I wonder if that was a first for these two pieces?)
Brahms is, as my friends and colleagues know, a complete blind spot for me. It is always interesting to play Brahms, and he has an instinctive feel for exactly where to add the contrabassoon, so I never object to playing his music, but I still find almost no connection with it whatsoever. Whereas the older I get the more I find to admire and enjoy in the music of Tchaikovsky. When I was a music student expressing enthusiasm for Tchaikovsky (certainly the popular pieces) was still see as a bit suspect but I am glad to say that these days people are more open minded.
Tchaikovsky met Brahms at least one and they got on well - even if they did seem to spend most of their time together drinking. He described him (not to his face I hope) as a "pot bellied boozer" and a "ruddy short man with a large paunch" but there seems to have been a good personal connection between the two of them. But Tchaikovsky clearly couldn't make any sense of Brahms' music. Notoriously he wrote the following in his diary:
What an ungifted s[wine]! It angers me that this conceited mediocrity is regarded as a genius. Why, in comparison with him Raff is a giant, not to mention Rubinstein, who, when all is said and done, still is an outstanding and living human being. Whereas that Brahms is just some chaotic and utterly empty wasteland
(There are other translations of the word Swine, mostly even less polite!)
That is probably just letting off steam. But I recently came across a much more interesting comment by Tchaikovsky in which he explains what he thinks as he does. It is worth quoting this in full:
In the music of this master (for his mastery can of course not be denied) there is something dry and cold which repels my heart. He has very little melodic inventiveness; his musical thoughts are never spoken out to their conclusion; no sooner has one heard a suggestion of a melodic form that can be easily appreciated, than the latter has already sunk into a whirlpool of meaningless harmonic progressions and modulations. It's just as if this composer had deliberately set himself the task of being unintelligible; what he does is precisely to tease and irritate one's musical feeling. He does not wish to satisfy the latter's needs, he is afraid to speak in a language that reaches the heart. His depth isn't real — elle est voulue [French: 'it is assumed, artificial'] — he seems to have decided once and for all that it is necessary to be profound, and it is true that he has a semblance of depth, but only a semblance. His profundity is empty. One can't say that Brahms's music is feeble and insignificant. His style is always elevated; he never chases after outward effects, he is never banal; everything in him is serious and noble, but the most important thing is missing — beauty. It is impossible not to respect Brahms; one cannot fail to bow before the chaste purity of his aspirations; one cannot but marvel at his steadfastness and proud refusal to make the least concession to triumphant Wagnerism, but it is difficult to like him. In my case at any rate, no matter how much I've tried, I simply haven't been able to. By the way, I should, though, make the following reservation: namely, that some of Brahms's works from his early period (for example, his string sextet in B♭ major) do appeal to me infinitely more than his later ones, especially the symphonies, which seem to me incredibly boring and colourless.
That chimes almost exactly with my own feelings about Brahms (even to the extent of being positive about the B flat String Sextet) . In particular the comment about music thoughts never being spoken out to their conclusion seems to be to me spot on. Time after time in Brahms one hears an appealing melodic idea only for it to just peter out rather than reach a satisfying conclusion. The opening of the 4th symphony is a case in point for me, but this happens often in the Haydn variations we played last night - the 6/8 variation no 7 is a typical example. There is the start here of a beautiful melody but it goes nowhere.
One of my tutors at university was a very distinguished Brahms scholar and I had plenty of opportunities to share his insights. I remember him very clearly saying that he thought that there was not a single piece of Brahms in 6/8 that was not also, at least in part, in 3/4. I am sure that that it is true: he saw it as a convincing sign of his genius. I am afraid that I see it as a chronic inability to stick to something simple and straightforward and instead always wanting to muddy the waters with complexity!
What then of Tchaikovsky. I know all of the criticisms that can be made. The air and variations we played last night is probably not the best of Tchaikovsky, and it had some moments of banality. But who cares. What it has is personality! It leaps off the page at you and draws you along irresistibly. That is not so say that it is simplistic: far from it. There is some extremely complex music in some of the variations and it does not give up all of its secrets on first hearing. But ultimately I feel that Tchaikovsky is writing music which it to meant to be heard. I do feel that all too often Brahms is writing for himself and is not really bothered whether anybody else is listening.
Perhaps one day I will undergo a conversation and will read these words with horror - but I've know the music of Brahms for most of my life and have played all of the major pieces, some several times, without changing my mind.
So I am with Tchaikovsky. In fact I am prepared to risk what musical credibility I still have by saying that I would gladly swap the Brahms' entire output for Tchaikovsky's Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and feel that I had come off best!
Brahms is, as my friends and colleagues know, a complete blind spot for me. It is always interesting to play Brahms, and he has an instinctive feel for exactly where to add the contrabassoon, so I never object to playing his music, but I still find almost no connection with it whatsoever. Whereas the older I get the more I find to admire and enjoy in the music of Tchaikovsky. When I was a music student expressing enthusiasm for Tchaikovsky (certainly the popular pieces) was still see as a bit suspect but I am glad to say that these days people are more open minded.
Tchaikovsky met Brahms at least one and they got on well - even if they did seem to spend most of their time together drinking. He described him (not to his face I hope) as a "pot bellied boozer" and a "ruddy short man with a large paunch" but there seems to have been a good personal connection between the two of them. But Tchaikovsky clearly couldn't make any sense of Brahms' music. Notoriously he wrote the following in his diary:
What an ungifted s[wine]! It angers me that this conceited mediocrity is regarded as a genius. Why, in comparison with him Raff is a giant, not to mention Rubinstein, who, when all is said and done, still is an outstanding and living human being. Whereas that Brahms is just some chaotic and utterly empty wasteland
(There are other translations of the word Swine, mostly even less polite!)
That is probably just letting off steam. But I recently came across a much more interesting comment by Tchaikovsky in which he explains what he thinks as he does. It is worth quoting this in full:
In the music of this master (for his mastery can of course not be denied) there is something dry and cold which repels my heart. He has very little melodic inventiveness; his musical thoughts are never spoken out to their conclusion; no sooner has one heard a suggestion of a melodic form that can be easily appreciated, than the latter has already sunk into a whirlpool of meaningless harmonic progressions and modulations. It's just as if this composer had deliberately set himself the task of being unintelligible; what he does is precisely to tease and irritate one's musical feeling. He does not wish to satisfy the latter's needs, he is afraid to speak in a language that reaches the heart. His depth isn't real — elle est voulue [French: 'it is assumed, artificial'] — he seems to have decided once and for all that it is necessary to be profound, and it is true that he has a semblance of depth, but only a semblance. His profundity is empty. One can't say that Brahms's music is feeble and insignificant. His style is always elevated; he never chases after outward effects, he is never banal; everything in him is serious and noble, but the most important thing is missing — beauty. It is impossible not to respect Brahms; one cannot fail to bow before the chaste purity of his aspirations; one cannot but marvel at his steadfastness and proud refusal to make the least concession to triumphant Wagnerism, but it is difficult to like him. In my case at any rate, no matter how much I've tried, I simply haven't been able to. By the way, I should, though, make the following reservation: namely, that some of Brahms's works from his early period (for example, his string sextet in B♭ major) do appeal to me infinitely more than his later ones, especially the symphonies, which seem to me incredibly boring and colourless.
That chimes almost exactly with my own feelings about Brahms (even to the extent of being positive about the B flat String Sextet) . In particular the comment about music thoughts never being spoken out to their conclusion seems to be to me spot on. Time after time in Brahms one hears an appealing melodic idea only for it to just peter out rather than reach a satisfying conclusion. The opening of the 4th symphony is a case in point for me, but this happens often in the Haydn variations we played last night - the 6/8 variation no 7 is a typical example. There is the start here of a beautiful melody but it goes nowhere.
One of my tutors at university was a very distinguished Brahms scholar and I had plenty of opportunities to share his insights. I remember him very clearly saying that he thought that there was not a single piece of Brahms in 6/8 that was not also, at least in part, in 3/4. I am sure that that it is true: he saw it as a convincing sign of his genius. I am afraid that I see it as a chronic inability to stick to something simple and straightforward and instead always wanting to muddy the waters with complexity!
What then of Tchaikovsky. I know all of the criticisms that can be made. The air and variations we played last night is probably not the best of Tchaikovsky, and it had some moments of banality. But who cares. What it has is personality! It leaps off the page at you and draws you along irresistibly. That is not so say that it is simplistic: far from it. There is some extremely complex music in some of the variations and it does not give up all of its secrets on first hearing. But ultimately I feel that Tchaikovsky is writing music which it to meant to be heard. I do feel that all too often Brahms is writing for himself and is not really bothered whether anybody else is listening.
Perhaps one day I will undergo a conversation and will read these words with horror - but I've know the music of Brahms for most of my life and have played all of the major pieces, some several times, without changing my mind.
So I am with Tchaikovsky. In fact I am prepared to risk what musical credibility I still have by saying that I would gladly swap the Brahms' entire output for Tchaikovsky's Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and feel that I had come off best!
Wednesday, 28 May 2014
Ten composers - Ten operas. Falstaff
Falstaff was the first Verdi opera I got to know. Looking back that is rather surprising and I can't quite remember why it was this particular opera. It may have been the Geraint Evans masterclasses again, but it could simply have been that it was in the repertoire of the company touring Norwich at the time.
Whatever the reason it remains one of my very favourite Verdi operas. From the first chord through to the final fugue Verdi's invention is astonishing and the action never flags. And what a fabulous use of the orchestra - a whole essay could be written on the piccolo part. Much as I enjoy the vigour and impact of the early Verdi operas it is almost impossible to believe that the Falstaff is by the same composer.
In an opera of some many wonderful scenes and episodes it is difficult to pick out some highlights. The scene between Sir John and Mistress Quickly (Dalle due alle tre) is always a joy, but perhaps the single moment that always makes me smile is at the end of Ford's monologue where his pomposity is burst by the descending chromatic scales in the french horns.
I love the fact that Verdi tried to convince everybody that he was writing Falstaff for his own private pleasure and that he didn't actually want it to be performed. As if the most famous operatic composer of his generation could keep such an opera all to himself. It is a difficult opera to bring off in the theatre simply because there is so much detail in the score and it can easily get lost in a reverberant acoustic, particular where there is laughter going on and in many ways it is the idea opera to listen to on CD or DVD.
Whatever the reason it remains one of my very favourite Verdi operas. From the first chord through to the final fugue Verdi's invention is astonishing and the action never flags. And what a fabulous use of the orchestra - a whole essay could be written on the piccolo part. Much as I enjoy the vigour and impact of the early Verdi operas it is almost impossible to believe that the Falstaff is by the same composer.
In an opera of some many wonderful scenes and episodes it is difficult to pick out some highlights. The scene between Sir John and Mistress Quickly (Dalle due alle tre) is always a joy, but perhaps the single moment that always makes me smile is at the end of Ford's monologue where his pomposity is burst by the descending chromatic scales in the french horns.
I love the fact that Verdi tried to convince everybody that he was writing Falstaff for his own private pleasure and that he didn't actually want it to be performed. As if the most famous operatic composer of his generation could keep such an opera all to himself. It is a difficult opera to bring off in the theatre simply because there is so much detail in the score and it can easily get lost in a reverberant acoustic, particular where there is laughter going on and in many ways it is the idea opera to listen to on CD or DVD.
Tuesday, 27 May 2014
Favourite historic recording. Harry Plunket Green Hurdy Gurdy Man - Schubert Der Leiermann - W...
This is simply one of the most moving recordings I know. Plunket Green was an important concert singer - most famous for taking part in the first performance of The Dream of Gerontius - and an influential teacher and writer on singing.
He was born in 1865, so he was almost 70 when he recorded this - the last song of Winterreise. Much of the voice has gone but there is enough left to support the superb insight into the way that the words and music work as one. Somehow the fact that this is in English (albeit with an unmistakable Irish accent) makes it all the more vivid.
Winterreise is a young man's journey, ending up in despair as he meets the hurdy gurdy man. Plunkett Green seems here to become the hurdy gurdy man himself.
I got to know Winterreise at University and one of my guides was Richard Capel's book on Schubert's songs. This would now be regarded as a very old fashioned book with too much description and not enough analysis, but I think that it still has valuable things to say, and certainly at the time I found it a very good companion. The commentary on this song has stayed in my memory for what must now be the best part of 40 years.
That is fine writing and an ideal introduction to this recording
He was born in 1865, so he was almost 70 when he recorded this - the last song of Winterreise. Much of the voice has gone but there is enough left to support the superb insight into the way that the words and music work as one. Somehow the fact that this is in English (albeit with an unmistakable Irish accent) makes it all the more vivid.
Winterreise is a young man's journey, ending up in despair as he meets the hurdy gurdy man. Plunkett Green seems here to become the hurdy gurdy man himself.
I got to know Winterreise at University and one of my guides was Richard Capel's book on Schubert's songs. This would now be regarded as a very old fashioned book with too much description and not enough analysis, but I think that it still has valuable things to say, and certainly at the time I found it a very good companion. The commentary on this song has stayed in my memory for what must now be the best part of 40 years.
A wonder is reserved for the last page of the ' Winterreise.' Given a thousand guesses, no one could have said that the last song would be at all like this. Miiller must be given his due. Der Leiermann was an inspired ending. The madman meets a beggar, links with him his fortune ; and the two disappear into the snowy landscape. Schubert must be given his due. He realized the beauty of the proffered subject. No one else would have taken it quite like this. Almost anyone else would have overdone it. We say that such a man was worthy of any gift. How this one was compensated in the acceptance ! The result is pure poetry. The lamenta- tions of seventy pages have died away. We may read any- thing or nothing much into the cleared scene. All that happens is the drone and tinkling of the hurdy-gurdy. The bass A and its fifth sound throughout the piece (a device here renewed from Schubert's use of it in the Pastoral Melody in ' Rosamunde '). The hurdy-gurdy's two-bar tune enters intermittently between the wanderer's half -numb sentences, which strike us strangely after all that has gone before. Only near the end is there a glimmer of warmth. An almost toneless song. But what a task to set a singer at the end of an hour and half ! Der Leiermann has had unforgettable interpreters, like George Henschel and Plunket Greene. The ' Winterreise ' as a whole awaits one. No one in our time has had quite all the qualities of heart, head, and voice. A fine voice is wanted to hold the attention for so long, but the most musical tone will pall here if it is not the servant of the imagination. The singer must have sympathy with the passionate temper. For the dry of heart, the ' Winterreise ' might as well not exist
That is fine writing and an ideal introduction to this recording
Monday, 19 May 2014
Elgar's unfinished...........
You probably know that the original ending of the Enigma Variations was a lot shorter. After the first performance Elgar was persuaded to extend the final variation and today the revised ending is almost always played. But not on Saturday! I was playing contra in the Derby Concert Orchestra concert in Wirksworth church. We had just started the finale when all of the lights went out. We continued as best we could for a few moments but then it all inevitably fell apart and we had to stop. We waited for the lights to come back on but after five minutes it was clear that there was a major power cut and we were not going to get the lights back. So we had to abandon the concert and very carefully find our way out of a very dark church.
Never happened to me before.
The contra part in Enigma is not exactly the most extensive item in the repertoire and the only bit of sustained playing is in the finale! So given that it took an hour to drive to the church for the concert I didn't exactly over exert myself
Never happened to me before.
The contra part in Enigma is not exactly the most extensive item in the repertoire and the only bit of sustained playing is in the finale! So given that it took an hour to drive to the church for the concert I didn't exactly over exert myself
Saturday, 17 May 2014
All aboard......
Sometime I put the IPOD onto shuffle play when I am in the car. Not only is this safer (no need to access the controls......) but I also enjoy the random juxtapositions that sometimes occur.
It has been a very busy couple of weeks and I was not feeling at my best when I drove to a rehearsal last night but I was immediately cheered up when the IPOD turned up this gorgeous piece for two pianos by Poulenc. L'embarquement pour Cythère, was originally written for the film le Voyage en Amérique but was published as a separate piece . Poulenc suggested that it was reserved as an encore piece.
This is a masterpiece of insouciance. It verges on the trivial but never slips into it. The waltz theme is irresistible and the harmonic twists and changes of key keep the ear guessing. And like so much of Poulenc there is an indefinable air of melancholy and wistfulness just under the surface.
My knowledge of Poulenc is pretty limited and I don't really know much of the more serious music but this little trifle is always one of my favourites. If you ever need cheering up I thoroughly recommend it.
Thursday, 15 May 2014
Favourite historic recordings: Adelina Patti Ah Non Credea Mirarti
With my first two postings in this category no special pleading was required. On any level the performances spring to life out of the loudspeaker and no further explanation is needed.
Is that also the case for this posting - the famous recording of Bellini's Ah Non Credea from La Sonnambula. Would a listener coming to this cold with no background immediately see the greatness of this performance or would they dismiss it as the sad and uncontrolled warblings of an old lady?
I think it is wonderful, but have known this for so long that I can no longer quite tell whether I am responding objectively to the sound or am influenced by the face that this is a recording of the most famous singer of the latter half of the 19th century, admired by Rossini and Verdi among others, and therefore a tantalising link back to the distant operatic past? So am I projecting my own thoughts as to what I want this to sound like on top of what I am actually hearing?
I can' rule this out, but I really do think that this is remarkable singing. The tone itself is not particularly attractive and this is clearly the voice of somebody at the end of her career, but what sets its part is the style. The way that the legato line is floated over the accompaniment with subtle rubato reminds me of nothing as much as a performance of a Chopin Nocturne played by a really fine pianist. It is all so effortless and she seems to have all of the time in the world to fit in the decorations in the vocal line. And the technique itself is still in good shape - the trills are famous and the chromatically inflected runs are beautifully poised.
The cadenza towards the end is a bit rough - I suspect that she got too close to the recording horn in her enthusiasm, but you can can forgive this.
If you have never heard this before try it - do you hear the magic?
I love the story - which may be apocryphal but which deserves to be true - that when Patti didn't want to go to a rehearsal she sent her maid to stand in for her! Those were the days.
Mendelssohn
Without really planning to I have heard quite a lot of Mendelssohn in the last couple of weeks. I caught a performance of the overture Der Schonen Melusine on the radio on the way to work - I don't recall ever hearing it before and I was particularly taken by the delicacy of the opening. And yesterday I listened to the whole of the incidental music to A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Elijah is my mother's favourite choral work and I grew up with the Malcolm Sargent recording as an ever present background. Yet somehow Mendelssohn is always an overlooked figure when it comes to evaluating the great masters. He is in many ways the least "flashy" of the great 19th century composers and doesn't have that sense of excitement and daring of many of his contemporaries. And somehow the comfortable circumstances of his personal life and his association with Queen Victoria don't fit with what we expect of a romantic composer.
Yet he produced at least half a dozen masterpieces which are worthy of comparison with anything else in the repertory. A good case can be made for saying that the violin concerto is the greatest of all concertos for the instrument and the Octet is one of the masterpieces of the repertoire. Add to these the Italian symphony, Fingals Cave and the music to A Midsummer Night's Dream (not just the overture) and Mendelssohn's place in the pantheon of the musical gods is secure.
The one piece I have problems with is the Scottish Symphony. I've played it several time but have never really got to understand it - it always seems a bit heavy and turgid in comparison with the Italian. And I am afraid that I regard the end - where a wholly new theme is introduced - as one of the two great miscalculation in the symphonic repertory (I"ll leave you guessing what the other one might be until a later post!). I have a recording of the symphony by Klemperer and he obviously had the same thought because he scrapped Mendelssohn's ending in favour of a new ending of his own composition! Outrageous of course and the musicologist in me could't possibly approve! - but I think that it works very well.
I remember at University discussing with my tutor which composers were the best orchestrators. I remember coming up with the obvious names - Berlioz, Wagner, Strauss - and was very surprised when he suggested that I should add Mendelssohn to the list. But of course he was right. Being a great orchestrator is not the same as being the most outrageous or eccentric in the use of the orchestra. Mendelssohn gives another perspective - the command of the orchestra is so complete that the orchestration does not draw attention to itself - is simply fits the music like a glove.
There is still a lot of Mendelssohn for me to get my teeth into - I'm gradually discovering the string quartets but I hardly know the other chamber music , the songs or the choral works beyond Elijah.
Elijah is my mother's favourite choral work and I grew up with the Malcolm Sargent recording as an ever present background. Yet somehow Mendelssohn is always an overlooked figure when it comes to evaluating the great masters. He is in many ways the least "flashy" of the great 19th century composers and doesn't have that sense of excitement and daring of many of his contemporaries. And somehow the comfortable circumstances of his personal life and his association with Queen Victoria don't fit with what we expect of a romantic composer.
Yet he produced at least half a dozen masterpieces which are worthy of comparison with anything else in the repertory. A good case can be made for saying that the violin concerto is the greatest of all concertos for the instrument and the Octet is one of the masterpieces of the repertoire. Add to these the Italian symphony, Fingals Cave and the music to A Midsummer Night's Dream (not just the overture) and Mendelssohn's place in the pantheon of the musical gods is secure.
The one piece I have problems with is the Scottish Symphony. I've played it several time but have never really got to understand it - it always seems a bit heavy and turgid in comparison with the Italian. And I am afraid that I regard the end - where a wholly new theme is introduced - as one of the two great miscalculation in the symphonic repertory (I"ll leave you guessing what the other one might be until a later post!). I have a recording of the symphony by Klemperer and he obviously had the same thought because he scrapped Mendelssohn's ending in favour of a new ending of his own composition! Outrageous of course and the musicologist in me could't possibly approve! - but I think that it works very well.
I remember at University discussing with my tutor which composers were the best orchestrators. I remember coming up with the obvious names - Berlioz, Wagner, Strauss - and was very surprised when he suggested that I should add Mendelssohn to the list. But of course he was right. Being a great orchestrator is not the same as being the most outrageous or eccentric in the use of the orchestra. Mendelssohn gives another perspective - the command of the orchestra is so complete that the orchestration does not draw attention to itself - is simply fits the music like a glove.
There is still a lot of Mendelssohn for me to get my teeth into - I'm gradually discovering the string quartets but I hardly know the other chamber music , the songs or the choral works beyond Elijah.
Friday, 9 May 2014
Favourite historic recordings; Sir Charles Santley The Vicar of Bray
This takes us almost as far back into operatic history as possible. Charles Santley was a pillar of the British musical establishment for most of the second half of the 19th century. He took part in the first staged performance of a Wagner opera in England and Gounod was so impressed by his performance as Valentin in Faust that he wrote an additional aria for him.
Santley gave up the operatic stage relatively early in his career and concentrated on oratorio and ballad singing - in those days it was perfectly possible for a "serious" singer to perform ballads - indeed the ballad concert was a very important past of Victorian music life.
Santley made a number of recordings at the end of his career, mostly of the ballad repertory. This is my favourite - the Vicar of Bray, recorded in1904. Santley was born in 1834 so he was 70 when he recorded this.
Clearly this is the voice on an old man and you can hear the wear and tear in the voice. But what I love is the way that he projects the words so vividly. The relish with which he delivers the last line of each verse "I'll be the vicar of Bray sir!" always makes me smile.
We really are linked a long way back through this recording. In his memoirs Santley recalls a performance of Elijah in his youth (he was singing in the chorus) and talks about the difficulties of rehearsal because "this was a comparatively recent work" . Santley was a Garcia pupil, and Garcia's father was the creator of important tenor roles, most notably the count in Rossini's Barber of Seville.
The past is not as far away as we sometimes think!
Santley gave up the operatic stage relatively early in his career and concentrated on oratorio and ballad singing - in those days it was perfectly possible for a "serious" singer to perform ballads - indeed the ballad concert was a very important past of Victorian music life.
Santley made a number of recordings at the end of his career, mostly of the ballad repertory. This is my favourite - the Vicar of Bray, recorded in1904. Santley was born in 1834 so he was 70 when he recorded this.
Clearly this is the voice on an old man and you can hear the wear and tear in the voice. But what I love is the way that he projects the words so vividly. The relish with which he delivers the last line of each verse "I'll be the vicar of Bray sir!" always makes me smile.
We really are linked a long way back through this recording. In his memoirs Santley recalls a performance of Elijah in his youth (he was singing in the chorus) and talks about the difficulties of rehearsal because "this was a comparatively recent work" . Santley was a Garcia pupil, and Garcia's father was the creator of important tenor roles, most notably the count in Rossini's Barber of Seville.
The past is not as far away as we sometimes think!
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
Favourite historic recordings: Reynaldo Hahn L'île heureuse (1909)
My link to the Mapleson cylinders on my Meyerbeer post has got be thinking about historic recordings so I though that I would start a series of my favourite historic recordings.
This first brings together two of my current enthusiasms - Chabrier and Hahn. Like most people my early experience of Chabrier was Espana, which is in my view unparallelled as a single movement orchestral showpiece. And of course a great piece for a bassoonist to play. It is comparatively recently that I have got to know more of Chabrier's music and every discovery increases my admiration for his distinctive voice. If you want to experiment try the introduction to the unfinished opera Briséïs or the completely mad Duo de l’ouvreuse de l’Opéra Comique et l’employé du Bon Marché which has to be heard to be believed (anybody for a yodel!)
Raynaldo Hahn is a recent discovery - I heard a extract from the Susan Graham Hahn recital and was completely hooked. His melodic invention and evocative mood is captivating.
Hahn was a great musical all rounder - he was a composer, musical administrator and conductor but most importantly for my present purposes a singer. Judged purely on beauty of tone he can't be said to be up there with the greats, but what makes his recordings so memorable is their sense of style and total immersion in the idiom.
Take this recording of what is probably Chabrier's greatest song. A modern performance, such as that of a singer like Felicity Lott with a professional accompanist like Graham Johnson is on a purely technical level more secure and accomplished. But nobody quite gets to the heart of the style like Hahn. Pinning down what makes it special is not easy, but I think that it has a lot to do with the very subtle rubato all through the vocal line. Hahn is essentially moulding the words and the vocal line into one seamless whole. And this is self accompanied. Again judged on purely technical grounds this has some problems - not least a few wrong notes - but again who cares when it is delivered with such panache.
This was recorded in 1909 - not that long after Chabrier's death. I don't know for certain whether Chabrier ever heard Hahn sing it, but I would have thought that this was quite likely, because they certainly were part of the same musical circles.
The recording quality is pretty good for the time and you soon get used to filtering out the surface noise.
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
Antony Hopkins - RIP
The Guardian is reporting this evening the death of Antony Hopkins
Guardian obituary
I remember with great affection his series talking about music which was a fixture of the radio schedules when I was at school and university. I mean no disrespect to my teachers and lecturers when I say that I probably learnt as much about music from listening to his talks on the radio as I did from any other person.
His narrative approach to musical analysis is now very out of fashion but to a young learner it gave me exactly what I wanted. In the short time since I read the obituary I have been remembering the music that I got to know through his talks. Three that come to mind - still on my favourites list are
Guardian obituary
I remember with great affection his series talking about music which was a fixture of the radio schedules when I was at school and university. I mean no disrespect to my teachers and lecturers when I say that I probably learnt as much about music from listening to his talks on the radio as I did from any other person.
His narrative approach to musical analysis is now very out of fashion but to a young learner it gave me exactly what I wanted. In the short time since I read the obituary I have been remembering the music that I got to know through his talks. Three that come to mind - still on my favourites list are
- Tippett string quartet no 2
- Britten violin concerto
- Schumann violin concerto
I also remember a couple of talks on pieces I knew well. First of all Scheherazade, where he was totally un-snobbish about a piece of popular repertory and was very illuminating about Rimsky managed to tell a story in musical terms. Secondly a programme about Beethoven 5. This was the days before historically informed performances but he played a version conducted by Hermann Scherchen, which at the time was one of the very few performances which didn't introduce a massive ritardando before the recapitulation of the opening motive. I remember thinking that that was exactly the right way to do it.
I can't imagine that on the current radio 4 (or even radio 3) schedule such broadcasts could ever find a place, which is a great pity. Hopkins was a broadcaster of real distinction.
Hopkins was a Norfolk man like me, and I think that he once acted as an adjudicator in a music festival I was playing in. But I was only 8 or 9 at the time so I can't be sure.
Monday, 5 May 2014
Ten composers -Ten operas. 3:Les Huguenots
It is hard now to think that Les Huguenots was once a mainstay of the operatic repertory(the Paris Opera reached its 100th performance of the work in 1906). Indeed had you turned up at random at any opera house between 1850 and 1900 the chances that you would be seeing Les Huguenots or Faust must have been very high.
Yet now Les Huguenots is a beached whale of an opera - its aesthetic far removed from what we expect an opera to be like.
It is easy to point out what is lacking in Meyerbeer. Sometimes his harmony can be astonishing crude (I remember at university listening to a recording of Robert le Diable and seeing one of my fellow listeners - now a distinguished composer - literally wince at the gauche chord progression in the opening bars and I could see him thinking -"how many hours of this have I got to listen to!"). Equally he could never be regarded as master of transition: some of the links between numbers are perfunctory in the extreme.
But that is only one side. On his own terms the operas work! The big moments in Les Huguenots - such as the consecration of the swords, are thrilling - he certainly knew how to use a chorus, soloists and orchestra together to great effect, and there rage of colours and moods is extraordinary. The bathing scene in act 2 may have been put into please the men in the audience whose reasons for attendance may not have been entirely musical, but the colour in the music and the charm of the melody are still hugely affective (as a bassoon player I would love to have a chance to play this).
But there is some genuinely great music here. The big duet at the end of Act 4 has a melody to die for (literally as it turns out) and Verdi must have heard echoes of it when he came to write the end of Aida. But there is much to admire elsewhere. It was a tradition for many years to end the opera with Act 4 - this seems very odd indeed given that there is so much interesting music in Act 5, particularly the extraordinary recitative and trio with accompaniment by solo bass clarinet and the use of the offstage voices singing the chorale melody. Wagner, for all his jibes about Meyerbeer, must have absorbed this scene into his musical DNA.
Les Huguenots will surely never return to the operatic repertoire other than as an occasional curiosity - tastes have changed. But that it is pity. So much of the later 19th century operatic repertory would have been very different without this opera - indeed part of my enjoyment when listening is identifying the pre-echoes of later works. I've already mentioned Wagner and Verdi, but you can also hear glimpses of composers as diverse as Sullivan and Mussorgsky. And there are not that many other things linking those two.
It is remarkable that aural evidence of the great tradition of Meyerbeer performances still exists. This is one of the famous Mapleson cylinders, recorded live from the stage of the Met in the early years of the last century. If you have never heard one of the cylinders before you will need to get used to the very heavy surface noise, but if you persist you will be able to hear a surprising amount of the performance. This is the end of the Queen's aria in Act 2 - one of the great show stoppers of the repertory. Controversy still remains over whether or not this singer is Melba, or the less well known Susan Adams, but whoever she is she was on blistering form. Surely this is what the 19th century operatic experience was all about
Friday, 2 May 2014
Ten composers - Ten operas. 2:Don Pasquale
Several of my 10 operas are comic opera of one sort or another - and I start with one of the best - Donizetti's Don Pasquale. I would't call myself a Donizetti enthusiast - indeed I only really know the famous bits from the other opera - but I've always loved Don Pasquale. I am pretty certain that what introduced me to the opera was one of the superb Geraint Evans master classes in the 1970s but maybe time has played tricks with me: but I have certainly known it from an early age and it was of the first operas I purchased on LP (there was a shop selling second hand classical LPs in Norwich in my youth and I built up a good collection on the cheap from there).
Don Pasquale has it all. Moments of high comedy, pathos, and drama. There are arias a plenty, but it is the ensembles which really stand out. Two of the many highlights to note. First of all the big E major ensemble at the end of Act two when Don Pasquale realises what married life to Norina will actually be like. The superb wide-ranging melody must have left its mark on Verdi when it came to the ensembles in Falstaff (more of that later). And then by contrast the great buffo duet between Pasquale and Matalesta which never fails to bring the house down and always make me laugh out loud. Here is Geraint Evans in fine form.
But there is another reason for my choosing Don Pasquale - it was my route into historic recordings. I purchased an ultra cheap LP of excerpts from the opera not really realising that it was of historic recordings. But I was hooked. It was my first encounter with Caruso among others, but what really grabbed my attention was the famous old recording of the patter duet with de Luca and Corratetti. Of course the two of them ham it up shamelessly and as pure singing it doesn't compare with the Geraint Evans version. But who cares. Scratchy the sound may be and the piano accompaniment is crude but the character and the fun just leap out of the loudspeaker.
Its sobering to think that this recording is now much closer to Donizetti's time than it is to ours.
Don Pasquale is sometimes seen as cruel, and I expect audiences of the time were probably very happy to see Don Pasquale humiliated and a figure of fun, whereas nowadays we see him more sympathetically. But however you look at it, this is a marvellous comic opera which comes up fresh as a daisy in every performance.
Thursday, 1 May 2014
Ten composers - Ten operas. 1:Peter Grimes
How on earth did Britten do it?
That's always what occurs to me when I listen to Peter Grimes.
My rhetorical question has two limbs
The first is how a composer growing up in the inter-war years could find such a strong individual operatic voice. There were of course operas by English composers before 1945 but nothing in them could possibly have been seen to lead up to Grimes. I think that now, from an early 21st century perspective we can see that there are elements of that extraordinary melting pot of early 20th century opera - Stravinsky, Shostakovich, Puccini, Janacek, Berg and others - threaded through the language of Grimes, but in 1945 most of this would have been completely outside English musical discourse. It remains a miracle that an Englishman could have absorbed all of this, fused it within an native tradition and produced a masterpiece that holds the stage all over the world.
But the second limb is more personal - where did Britten the man find the means to produce such a score. I've never believed the "happy composer writes happy music - sad composer writers sad music" school of thought, but there has to be some link between the man and the music.
One of the most fascinating recordings I know is the rehearsal tape (secretly recorded, much to Britten's annoyance) of the Decca recording of the War Requiem. Britten comes across as an affable, slightly effete prep school master directing a group of talented but inexperienced pupils. Over the years I have played in ad hoc performances conducted by such individuals. They tend to produce enthusiastic, if rough and ready performances without much in the way in excitement or energy. So listening blind to Britten rehearsing one might expect something similar - and then you get this extraordinary energy and intensity, in some cases savagery of the music. It really is hard to connect the one with the other.
It is the same with Grimes. How could that elegant , softly spoken, reserved man have conjured up the terrifying choral outbursts as the crown hunts down Peter Grimes. The roots of creativity and inspiration are truly incomprehensible.
Grimes is not I think a perfect masterpiece. Britten himself is supposed to have said that it was full of howlers - though I shudder to think how this notoriously thin skinned man would have reacted if somebody had pointed out one of them! Some of the music for the minor characters , such as Mrs Sedley and Hobson, can be tedious and there are times when things drag, but these are small matters. Time and time again Britten's inspiration is red hot. I've already mentioned the hounding of Grimes. Those chorus shouts of "Peter Grimes" are in a good performance among the most thrilling, and terrifying moment in the operatic repertoire, but perhaps even more notable is the mad scheme, with the offstage choir now reduced to a whisper and the low moaning of the tuba in the distance. To reduce the texture at the most critical point of the opera was a extremely courageous step, but it works!
Finally a personal recollection. I attended a concert in the Norwich festival in the early 1970s. I went to hear Stravinsky's Firebird and Symphony of Psalms, but sandwiched between them Peter Pears sang the Britten Nocturne. Britten was in the audience and stood up to acknowledge the applause. But shamed as I am to admit it now, not much of the applause was from me! I'd come to hear the Stravinsky and I found the Britten very hard going and uninspiring. I know better now. But at least I did see Britten in person.
There are wonderful moments elsewhere in Britten's operas - the end of A Midsummer Night's Dream is my favourite - but I don't think that he ever quite achieved the level of consistent inspiration that he achieved in Grimes......and all in his early 30s.
That's always what occurs to me when I listen to Peter Grimes.
My rhetorical question has two limbs
The first is how a composer growing up in the inter-war years could find such a strong individual operatic voice. There were of course operas by English composers before 1945 but nothing in them could possibly have been seen to lead up to Grimes. I think that now, from an early 21st century perspective we can see that there are elements of that extraordinary melting pot of early 20th century opera - Stravinsky, Shostakovich, Puccini, Janacek, Berg and others - threaded through the language of Grimes, but in 1945 most of this would have been completely outside English musical discourse. It remains a miracle that an Englishman could have absorbed all of this, fused it within an native tradition and produced a masterpiece that holds the stage all over the world.
But the second limb is more personal - where did Britten the man find the means to produce such a score. I've never believed the "happy composer writes happy music - sad composer writers sad music" school of thought, but there has to be some link between the man and the music.
One of the most fascinating recordings I know is the rehearsal tape (secretly recorded, much to Britten's annoyance) of the Decca recording of the War Requiem. Britten comes across as an affable, slightly effete prep school master directing a group of talented but inexperienced pupils. Over the years I have played in ad hoc performances conducted by such individuals. They tend to produce enthusiastic, if rough and ready performances without much in the way in excitement or energy. So listening blind to Britten rehearsing one might expect something similar - and then you get this extraordinary energy and intensity, in some cases savagery of the music. It really is hard to connect the one with the other.
It is the same with Grimes. How could that elegant , softly spoken, reserved man have conjured up the terrifying choral outbursts as the crown hunts down Peter Grimes. The roots of creativity and inspiration are truly incomprehensible.
Grimes is not I think a perfect masterpiece. Britten himself is supposed to have said that it was full of howlers - though I shudder to think how this notoriously thin skinned man would have reacted if somebody had pointed out one of them! Some of the music for the minor characters , such as Mrs Sedley and Hobson, can be tedious and there are times when things drag, but these are small matters. Time and time again Britten's inspiration is red hot. I've already mentioned the hounding of Grimes. Those chorus shouts of "Peter Grimes" are in a good performance among the most thrilling, and terrifying moment in the operatic repertoire, but perhaps even more notable is the mad scheme, with the offstage choir now reduced to a whisper and the low moaning of the tuba in the distance. To reduce the texture at the most critical point of the opera was a extremely courageous step, but it works!
Finally a personal recollection. I attended a concert in the Norwich festival in the early 1970s. I went to hear Stravinsky's Firebird and Symphony of Psalms, but sandwiched between them Peter Pears sang the Britten Nocturne. Britten was in the audience and stood up to acknowledge the applause. But shamed as I am to admit it now, not much of the applause was from me! I'd come to hear the Stravinsky and I found the Britten very hard going and uninspiring. I know better now. But at least I did see Britten in person.
There are wonderful moments elsewhere in Britten's operas - the end of A Midsummer Night's Dream is my favourite - but I don't think that he ever quite achieved the level of consistent inspiration that he achieved in Grimes......and all in his early 30s.
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
So why Rameau?
Yesterday I wrote about my conversion to Rameau. So what it is about his music that I find so compelling.
Well first of all it is the sound itself. Now I know that that seems self-referential because what is there in music apart from sound? I suppose what I mean is that there is a richness of texture and a really good sense of balance between the bass line, the melody and the inner parts. It is constantly inventive.
Digging a bit deeper I would say that the use of the orchestra is a constant joy. Just three examples out of many.
Well first of all it is the sound itself. Now I know that that seems self-referential because what is there in music apart from sound? I suppose what I mean is that there is a richness of texture and a really good sense of balance between the bass line, the melody and the inner parts. It is constantly inventive.
Digging a bit deeper I would say that the use of the orchestra is a constant joy. Just three examples out of many.
- the use of bassoons in the recitatives in Zoroastre
- the low sustained notes in the horns in the musette in the last part of Les Fêtes d'Hébé
- and my favourite - the totally mad oboe parts in Platée representing the pond life

Then we have the ensembles. Rameau is surely one of the great masters of the operatic ensemble - nobody came near him in my opinion until Mozart, and if one is talking about ensembles involving soloists and chorus then one has to look into the 19th century for anything as impressive as, say, the end of the first act of Platée or parts of Act 4 of Les Boreades
(although I must say that I find this too fast - Gardiner judges the tempo much more effectively in my view)
But finally there is the dance music. Surely Rameau must be counted as one of the great masters of theatrical dance music - in my view his only competitors are Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, and much as I adore both them I think that I would have to hand the gold medal to Rameau. The variety is astonishing - at one time elegantly languid - at others infectiously foot tapping. Of course it is the dance that is the biggest problem to deal with in modern productions. I don't believe that there is any point in trying to recreate the original steps, but I do sometimes feel that modern choreographers must have a tin ear, given the astonishing gulf between the sense of movement in the music and what appears on the stage. The dancing in the performances of Les Boreades above is a case in point - it seems far too busy and fussy, as if trying to overcompensate for what the choreographer doesn't hear in the music.
Rant over!
So lets finishwith the wonderful contredanse that ends Les Boréades. I don't normally like clapping to live music but you can see why the audience wanted to join in.
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
Rameau
Tastes change.
If you went through the playlist on my IPOD today I think that you would find that I have played more "tracks" by Rameau than any other single composer. I would never have predicted this even 10 years ago.
I don't recall hearing a note of Rameau's music all the way through school or university. We did cover Rameau a little in the history of music theory and also briefly in the history of opera. If any Rameau was played as an example I have not memory of it whatsoever - not that there would have been many recordings back in the 1970s which could have been used. I do remember looking at some Rameau scores, but didn't find anything of interest there. I found them too fragmentary to get my teeth into and all of the ornamentation very fussy.
The only real memory I have of Rameau is a conversation with one of my lecturers in the music library. He told me that they had a bit of spare money in the library fund - that dates it! - and that they were going to use it to expand the range of complete editions which we held. When he told me that the first priority was Rameau I can still recall my reaction, which was "why can't we get something more interesting". I also remembering reading revues of the Rameau revivals by the English Bach festival and wondering why on earth anybody would bother!
Even when I started to develop an interest in Handel Rameau was still a closed book. I can date my first real encounter fairly precisely. In an early issue of one of the CDs which started to be included with Gramophone magazine. John Elliot Gardiner was being interviewed about his musical experiences and he mentioned how Rameau had come to life for him when he started to work with original instruments. The musical extract chosen to illustrate this was the Entreé from Act IV of Les Boréades.
I was hooked! I immediately ordered the CD of the entire opera and never looked back. I think that I now have at least one recording of each of the operas which have been released on CD or DVD. I managed to get to a couple of concert performance of Les Boréades (including one at the Proms conducted by Simon Rattle which left an indelible impression) and two staged performances of Castor et Pollux.
In my next post I will try to explain a little just why I find Rameau so captivating. In the meantime here is the wonderful Chaconne which ends the opera Dardanus.
If you went through the playlist on my IPOD today I think that you would find that I have played more "tracks" by Rameau than any other single composer. I would never have predicted this even 10 years ago.
I don't recall hearing a note of Rameau's music all the way through school or university. We did cover Rameau a little in the history of music theory and also briefly in the history of opera. If any Rameau was played as an example I have not memory of it whatsoever - not that there would have been many recordings back in the 1970s which could have been used. I do remember looking at some Rameau scores, but didn't find anything of interest there. I found them too fragmentary to get my teeth into and all of the ornamentation very fussy.
The only real memory I have of Rameau is a conversation with one of my lecturers in the music library. He told me that they had a bit of spare money in the library fund - that dates it! - and that they were going to use it to expand the range of complete editions which we held. When he told me that the first priority was Rameau I can still recall my reaction, which was "why can't we get something more interesting". I also remembering reading revues of the Rameau revivals by the English Bach festival and wondering why on earth anybody would bother!
Even when I started to develop an interest in Handel Rameau was still a closed book. I can date my first real encounter fairly precisely. In an early issue of one of the CDs which started to be included with Gramophone magazine. John Elliot Gardiner was being interviewed about his musical experiences and he mentioned how Rameau had come to life for him when he started to work with original instruments. The musical extract chosen to illustrate this was the Entreé from Act IV of Les Boréades.
I was hooked! I immediately ordered the CD of the entire opera and never looked back. I think that I now have at least one recording of each of the operas which have been released on CD or DVD. I managed to get to a couple of concert performance of Les Boréades (including one at the Proms conducted by Simon Rattle which left an indelible impression) and two staged performances of Castor et Pollux.
In my next post I will try to explain a little just why I find Rameau so captivating. In the meantime here is the wonderful Chaconne which ends the opera Dardanus.
Monday, 28 April 2014
An enigma and a connection
Back tonight after a rehearsal of Elgar's Enigma Variations.
I am not what you would call an out-and-out Elgar enthusiast. The one performance of The Dream of Gerontius which I took part in was enough for me, and I am one of those, perhaps rare, people who doesn't respond instinctively to the cello concerto. On the other hand I greatly admire the first symphony and enjoy some of the lighter music - if you don't know Mina, Elgar's very late musical tribute to his dog, then I thoroughly recommend it.
But the Enigma Variations is his masterpiece. The wit and tenderness of the portraits of his friends are irresistible, and there is not a note out of place (well perhaps the finale is a bit bombastic in places but who cares....). The variations are one of those pieces which just works!
At the heart of course is Nimrod. This is so embedded in the British musical psyche that it is sometimes difficult to hear it for what it really is - not a dirge but a heartfelt tribute to friendship. At least that is how I hear it. Of course there are other views. If you have never heard it before you should listen to Bernstein trying to turn it into the slow movement of a Bruckner symphony. I can just about see what he was trying to do - and on its own terms the performance is magnificent - but I can't help but regarding it as completely wrong headed and self indulgent.
Under the bonnet Nimrod is a wonderful example of the use of harmony to generate forward momentum. I don't yet have the blogging technique to incorporate and annotate a score into this post, but if I could I would love to show how the use of dissonance and resolution builds the tension and the forward propulsion towards the climax. Elgar may have been self conscious about his lack of formal training but in fact he was in complete control of his material in a way that never fails to impress.
I'd like to end with a treasured personal memory. When I was a school I occasionally attended meetings of the Norwich gramophone society and one evening the speaker was Wulstan Atkins, who was Elgar's godson. Afterwards I went with a few other members to somebody's house and Mr Atkins kept us entertained with lots of anecdotes of Elgar the man.
Not only was this fascinating in its own right but it opens up links to the musical past. For example Elgar's violin teacher was Adolf Pollitzer, whose teacher was Joseph Bohm, who was one of the members of the quartet which worked with Beethoven on the early performances of his quartets.
I suspect that if I did enough work I could probably find a link to Beethoven with one fewer steps. I wonder whether in his youth Elgar met somebody who himself had met Beethoven. The dates would work. Beethoven died in 1827, so somebody who met him aged 20 would have been born in 1807. Elgar was born in 1857 so if you project him to age 20 that would take us to 1877. Our putative man who met Beethoven would have been 70 then, so it is all possible. Perhaps one day I will identify him.
Sunday, 27 April 2014
Welcome back
Like so many other people I have started a blog with the best of intentions and then let it lapse. So I am going to have another go
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