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
Monday, 28 July 2014
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
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