Fischer/BBC NOW: Tribute for what debt Dada, Poulenc might have owed Stravinsky

This highly interesting, provocative program started with a new piece by Michael Berkeley, son of Lennox Berkeley, mourning the deaths of a young close family friend - sudden victim of freak cart-wheeling accident - and that of Richard Hickox.

A natural history unit of BBC off the coast of Alaska took recordings of humpbacked whales for what here was ‘Gabriel’s Lament’, lasting sixteen minutes. Broken antiphonal or responsorial choral singing breaks in upon music well organized, but clearly emphatic on creating a mood conducive to meditation or reflection. Aggregates of thirds are built into the texture and scale-wise fragments of often five notes winding up on tritone from starting pitch usually below. Elements of there being chords of different tonalities break in, more to the effect at least of being pan-diatonic nearly as often as chromatic.

The recorded whale calls come in succinctly timed, as do broken ostinati in winds, trumpets, etc. Moment or two of Elgarian writing lent this music an air of a distinct feeling of nostalgia as well. Fischer kept textures not absolutely light as possible, but clear and with also with proper necessary weight. He thus connected the different strands therein with a fine, never overbearing sense of line. He also ensured well a readily apparent exactitude to choral and solo entrances, to refreshing extent most desirable.

One could not be quite sure how this opening piece prepared one for the rest of the program here, but the Berkeley, half as long as each of the other two, lent the program perhaps a much needed air of sobriety before continuing on. Putting it in-between the Poulenc and Stravinsky works would’ve made the Poulenc the last light moment on the program. I perhaps had a uniquely uncanny sense that this program by BBC Nat’l of Wales at St. David’s in Cardiff seemed to comment upon what was so below par about the all Russian program Rattle conducted for the annual Waldbuhne within days of this. Each program included Rite of Spring.

There could’ve been nothing more midcult, conformist, completely devoid of meaning – the pairing from Berlin of the two Russian composers, with several Nutcracker excerpts thrown in, making sure nobody missed how thoroughly tired, decadent such an arrangement could be. Here, however, the inclusion of Poulenc’s complete Les Biches with chorus fit beautifully with Rite; it made perfect antidote to Waldbuhne of so recently - very humorously so.

Just one thing about Les Biches briefly mystifies me – the title above one movement – Rag-Mazurka – that I marked as ‘tarantella’ in my notes; listening more closely, hints of ragtime do indeed appear, along throughout with or encircling the debauchery that is Les Biches other dance steps, hints thereof.

Fischer, while maintaining a wonderful balance between running a tight ship and flexible beat, in comparison on disc with the more straight-laced Georges Pretre, put a finger on just about all the wit one can find in Les Biches. He did so deadpan, thus without underlining anything more than at a minimum. Brass, in particular lower brass, had all varieties of insolence and impudence to give, and then some, packed for them. They played it all as perfectly unaware to themselves that it is funny – as though instead on best behavior - but with all making sure it came across perfectly hilarious. There were certainly a few moments that were over-the-top, clearly intentional – such as a real bump tango for about ten seconds from fine brass concertato soon before the end of Rondeau. Moments of as though something hoary from the deep would occasionally break in on the bourgeosie glibness and complacency of it all - to siphon off before either final cadence or the next thing as though not having ever appeared at all, at least as in way apparent to any character onstage. One could almost be revisiting Angel Exterminador or L'Age d'Or of Bunuel.

No doubt still lurks in about all of us something of the primal savage or Neanderthal – with any of us stripped down too easily to our natural instincts - perhaps most of all among people in 1920’s Paris or, as an aside, in corrupted-turned-neocon parliamentary life in both Paris and Berlin anymore - of course hardly anything to mention having gone wrong with interwar Berlin.

Not quite all here is quite farce, what lyrical, pensive moments there are, but lurking beneath - not far behind - is also a clear sense of the mock-serious. The height of hilarity however with Les Biches, in context of even so much deft nuance, was when called for broadly caught as well, with brass, cacciatore horns ripping into gigue and chorus racing along with them in ‘la chasse’ mode. Fischer merrily lent both marche and gigue gratuitous swagger, in contrast with graceful step of other baroque dance forms, including the gentle musette of the Adagietto. High whinnying clarinets therein, to upset the balance, plus touches of calliope, Moulin Rouge and swing elsewhere (too) made up the sundae toppings, with helping of bad nuts (or of bad notes) on purpose thrown in.

Following the break was Rite of Spring. High register bassoon only held first note for four seconds; he did not seem to know there had started a contest, such as between Maazel’s New York and Rattle’s Berlin principals, as to who can hold it the longest. Fischer, several very minor slips aside, approached the opening music, so heavily scored for winds, in subtly detached manner, not to (seriously) clip anything. Fischer’s way of understanding woodwinds - how they work, and how this music for them works - was very obviously complete, and very insightfully infused things very well throughout this Rite. Sense of inner pulse thus far was close to exemplary. It seemed, even with Fischer’s use of the 1911 score, that clarity of execution was paramount in his mind - much to one’s amazement as well.

One could feel with Fischer percussion and all else being marked so precisely - clearly to indicate the stamp of feet around the medieval Russian hamlet, when one reached ‘Augurs of Young Girls.’ Hardly any enveloping of this at all was the case here, as you might find on, aesthetically, the classic Fricsay recording; such was the case here in order to preserve textures as dry, even approaching classical, as opposed to with Markevitch the force with which some of this music, its chords and rhythms can explode right in front of you. Animated triplet figuration for violins with very rapid tonguing in trumpets in Jeu de rapt was very brilliantly played. “Spring rounds”, with no bloat to it anywhere, with stamp of feet prominent below surface, was excellent, which along with “Rival tribes” to follow, ended with urgent pacing and alone on purpose a dragged postlude. Opening dotted half notes to melodic figure that goads the Procession of the Sage on sounded undercut. However, through propulsive start to Dance of the Earth, with mysterious, long held chord right before to the end of Part One, hardly any more could have been asked of this.

Introduction to Part 2 sounded plenty mysterious, but with perfect guarantee of simplicity for its purpose and design. Acrid sounding high clarinets seemed to depict some stench, as from toxin adrift above. One had overall sense of much damage and decay to the landscape in one’s midst, unlike with any Rite that (crudely) romanticizes this music. Horns and violins sang their lines toward end of ‘Circles’ very sensitively with a deep tristesse, and without gilding a thing. Diaphanous cover over depicting such sense of loss one got from Fricsay and then also from Metzmacher (with London SO in 2002) was somewhat cast aside - thus leaving a more sickly, wan impression of all landscape around, All this music's latent potency in preparing for what was to come was fully intact.

Fischer played the turns at the spinning off crests of Glorification de l’elue riskily a bit quick, but with precise rhythm. Not quite the most volcanic impression could be made this way, but one could not help but be thoroughly engaged with how even this went.. Marking of Invocation of the Ancestors was excellently spaced, with then Fischer making gradual crescendo of the stamp of feet to mid-ground or just slightly above it through Ritual Action of the Ancestors to make complete menace of what had started much earlier with ‘Augurs of Young Girls.’ For what had been a somewhat held back performance of Sacre du printemps thus far, Thierry Fischer sufficiently let loose so that ‘Danse sacrale’, though slightly rushed in a few spots, was anything but anticlimactic toward ballet’s conclusion - huge tutti therein making use of the full orchestra at full tilt. Fischer had no reason to hold back at this point and did not.

Fischer had his woodwinds practically shriek their cries at the start of ‘Danse sacrale’, absolutely on pitch, to harrowing effect. Triplet drum beats during closing pages of ‘Danse sacrale’, were instead of being hit as hard as possible for all they are worth, were clearly heard and restored to their proper rhythms (more barbaric then hearing much vague pounding resonance instead) - different from what often is the case.

For one piece as inspired by Diaghilev, one had the polite veneer, cover for sake of modern-day bourgeoisie comfort covering much even ogre-like savagery underneath. For the other one had such even primitivism, barbarity with the cover or veneer completely removed – interpreted, played here by Fischer and BBC NOW in such a way that would even in its own unique way eloquently speak to the vernacular of the time all this music was written. No better advocate could have been found than Thierry Fischer; both major works here are expected on disc soon from these forces.

Rattle/BPO Waldbuhne 2009: off night - ' Idiot's guide to' undercutting Russian warhorses

If one ever looks to the Berlin Philharmonic for playing of true class or distinction, which they have achieved somewhat for Sir Simon Rattle before, it was better to stay away from this year’s Waldbuhne - over any media or in any form.

Two major works filled most of the program – Rachmaninov Third Piano Concerto and Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. As filler, Rattle included several excerpts from the Nutcracker ballet by Tchaikovsky. This portion, which took us from miniature overture just as far as the end of the March, was played a little too coy to be digestible. String crescendi in the overture got worked, and transition to the March was messy; the March carried sufficient casual swagger about itself to almost practically redefine it.

Yefim Bronfman – now ‘pianist-in-residence’ with the Philharmonic - was soloist for the Rachmaninoff Third Piano Concerto. No distinctive shaping happened during opening lines of the first movement. Bronfman then worked Berlin cellos with meaninglessly highlighted upbeats while he otherwise coasted through mostly steady stream of sixteenths to accompany them. Phrasing to follow also sounded indecisive. Rattle’s bloating of transition to the second theme, with hints of Fauntleroy, did not help. For expressivity from Bronfman, one got a measly generic massage-the-phrase treatment this music certainly better does without. After a good ride over larger crest to the line, all was tweed, ‘take-me-to-Palm-Court’ to close exposition to the first movement.

For the development section, orchestral ensemble deteriorated further and Bronfman’s playing, enough to mistake him for Eugene Istomin attempting this piece – I myself grateful to never have heard that - became increasingly choppy and clipped. For enveloping purposes - returning center of gravity to proceedings - before the cadenza began, Rattle engaged the Berlin Phil in some truly inordinate heavy breathing. Bronfman then, though hitting most of the notes, proceeded to pulverize much of the more difficult version of the first movement cadenza. Smearing of figuration and back-phrasing of what also followed was hardly distinctive.

Not far into the intermezzo, Rattle went for a huge dip in shaping the line, followed by Bronfman making a smear of starting his first entrance, ascending through his cocktail lounge jazz-improv assessment of cadence in D-Flat Major. No reference to Rattle’s Stravinsky coming up, but playing by Berlin winds and ‘street’ reprise of first movement theme were alone in being effective until end of this movement - Bronfman getting cluttered toward end of final brief cadenza he had started well.

Hardly anything happened during the finale, played unabridged, inconsistent with what had preceded it, except that choice of tempo, in being more forward moving, improved on earlier. Berlin PO violins on lyrical subjects sounded hardly distinguishable from those for instance of the Los Angeles Philharmonic; by this point, Berlin, like Bronfman, had started to smear significant amount of passage-work. Extended episode in E-Flat Major ranged from heavily clipped to Ketelbey coy – Rachmaninoff as ‘picnic party’ for much of this. Combat phrasing, truffle hunting of opening to reprise of A section, smear to follow, then phoning in of reprise of the second theme did not assist matters. Lower strings on segue into start of the coda made ‘Julien’s concert’ (as brass get described therein) out of it, then the brass on upbeats; Rattle apoplectically veered between clipping and bloating the music out of shape – just in part to match Bronfman.

Matters improved little for Rite of Spring; Rattle is more responsible on his old EMI disc of this. Holding opening note on upper-register bassoon for ten seconds just helps make it contest between orchestral principals the world over as to who can hold it the longest.

A ‘street’ Rite of Spring followed this, for much of it, as coming off the upper west side. With Leonard Bernstein, it seems that we have been here before - as recently found slavishly imitated by Paavo Jarvi to no convincing effect with Cincinnati. This is Berlin here however. I thought (and still do) that both the Karajan recordings of this music were mediocre, but not in terms of at least technical ability of Berlin to play this music well. Hip swagger of so much of Stravinsky’s rhythms here went well over the top, through Rattle’s take on how a slow hoochie-goo of ‘Glorification de l’elue should go.

Some address of current local vernacular tendencies, mere suggestion thereof, can be apropos in Rite of Spring, but one must be far more mindful than this example and two other listed above, not to turn Rite into caricature. Thierry Fischer and BBC Nat’l of Wales very deftly, concisely pointed references in Rite to vernacular even in French internationalized society of the time right after Rite was written. Fischer thus accomplished making numerous very interesting interpretive points.

Struggle here to keep so much a jungle of woodwind interaction together during Introduction to Part One was palpable. Placement of isolated two measures of trill in the violins went for naught. Underlining of woodwinds during ‘Augurs of Young Girls’ was too self-conscious by half - compromising pulsation throughout this section. Jeu de rapt’ then got compromised by scherzo pointing of the winds, some voltage from timpani interjections showing up just how sanitized all of Rattle’s rhythms had already become, with violins note-spinning outflow in sextuplets from everything preceding them.

‘Rondes de printemps’, after heavily gilded intro to it, started adequately, for one section, with accenting correct, except for heavily gilding, enveloping the two note sff brass intrusions that made nonsense of those. For the faster coda to ‘Spring Rounds’, Rattle’s rhythms turned loose to point of being anywhere from gently Africanized to flitting by. ‘Games of Rival Tribes’ and ‘Dance of the Earth’, the latter barely starting off together, proceeded casually, as down Harlem way. In-between was Procession of the Sage, in which theme in lower brass got a bit covered by repeated note (A-flats) in a pair of bassoons – a picture of the Sage dilly-dallying about while all the rest marched by.

A heavily gilded Introduction started off Part 2 on the wrong foot, with much gas and bloat of repeated consequent to the opening phrase. What in the meal offerings had given the tribe so much indigestion? Flutes, with their gilded dovetailing to everything they were playing, turned all positively Technicolor. A four note chant within space of a whole tone was given gentle swivel to its step. Balances between leading and supporting voices several places before ‘Glorification’ were altered for seemingly hardly more purpose than to notice Rattle’s personal stamp on proceedings. Segue to ‘Glorfication’ got italicized - with ‘Evocation of Ancestors’ extendomh the hitch that had just infused ‘Glorification.’ Much jazz improv ensued through ‘Ritual Action’, with just adequate street pulsation to t climax of this section – right before bass clarinet riff into ‘Danse sacrale.’

Pointed by farts in the tuba at its start, ‘Danse sacrale’ coasted casually along, a cross between gas-bloated phlegmatic and ‘upper west side.’ Allowing violins to be heard too clearly above all else going on and especially out-of-the-way spotlighting of ascending tuba through thicket of busy texture turned all practically Mehta-esque. Sudden speed-up before reprise of Intro to ‘Danse sacrale’ was practically entrance of Tinker-bell to change screen on Wonderful World of Disney. Was it Mickey Mouse or Goofy then to meet Sir Simon in the foyer or green room? Playing Nutcracker Pas de deux as encore to Rite deserves no comment.

Brahms (a somewhat retiring Third) and Shostakovich at the Proms last summer made fine showcase of what Rattle and Berlin are capable, but their Messiaen Turangalila during the same week showed up where Rattle can come up short, for lack of being attentive to important issues while taking on twentieth century music.

While I must cut things short here in order to make my Michael Jackson grief support counseling session on time, I leave the house only able to think back as far as this Rite of Spring. Perhaps there has been no more fitting tribute, hardly more innocuous, to mark ahead of time occasion of the passing of who gave even Berlners the moonwalk.

DSO Berlin/Tugan Sokhiev - misguided replay of 2007 broadcast

This broadcast of DSO Berlin should come as warning to a good number of people in Berlin as to what can happen to a good orchestra if left to the wrong leadership. Should DSO Berlin be left something to be free-agent status among a coterie of young marginal talent with very powerful booking agents, we can expect results, as I report below - more often similar to how described here than not.

First piece on the program, by 1950 born Elena Firsova proved quite a find. Firsova rose quickly while in her twenties to prominence on the international new music festival scene after study, consultation with Edison Denisov and also with Austrian émigré composer and Anton Webern protege, Philip Herschkowitz. Firsova wrote Garden of Dreams as homage to Shostakovich. In its well regulated but entirely spontaneous atmospheric writing, redolent of nocturne movements in concerti, symphonies by Shostakovich, this twelve minute piece is really something quite substantial. Subtle psychological references, even quoting the previous composer’s DSCH motif come up. Brass writing at times had chordal structure – luminosity through such occasionally, mildly remindful of the music of Messiaen.

One this occasion however had to listen a little harder than perhaps should be so for this music’s virtues. Tugan Sokhiev, protégé of Valery Gergiev and from same province (Ossetia) got, uncharacteristic of DSO, muddy playing out of the strings, and overall, playing amorphous in line and formal grasp. Calibration of percussion ostinati, similar as to be found in late-period Shostakovich, was weak. In order in part to compensate for what was lacking, Sokhiev tended to underline things excessively; hardly convincingly would doing so ever amount to much.

The Cello Concerto No. 2, Opus 126, of Dmitri Shostakovich, followed. Truls Mork was soloist. Between Sokhiev and Mork, one sensed here unfortunately an apparent contentment to be able to reach a certain level with this music, but to not even attempt making it anywhere beyond that, with what demands this music makes. This performance thus shortchanged the alternatively wistful, elusive, metaphorical, menacing, and ironic character of this music. Interaction by contra-basses of DSO with Mork at the beginning sounded gauzy, vague of both pitch and shape. Mork, in excessively sinking into his opening lines, perhaps in order to better match Sokhiev, denied them the shape they could have.

Contrast between darker sonorities between for instance the opening and of D Major for berceuse second theme got cheated as well; no underlining was at all going to make the difference, including interlude for lower winds that went sour in intonation directly preceding the berceuse. Sokhiev, in embellishing, gilding the ‘toy-shop’ motif episode in the first movement, denied this passage its quintessential surreal, sinister character. Doing such happens, equally misguided, with the first movement of Symphony No. 15. Woodwind parts got covered up to the point of nearly being inaudible and when heard, crudely accented; the climax of the first movement became then overblown. Vague shaping and placement of voicing, color persisted to the end of the first movement, through lingering horn appoggiatura to close all off.

‘Buy my bagels’ was next, but metaphor between (a whore’s) street cry and minor ninth semaphores of living in a mechanized world got smothered out here. We got the usually expected stilted opening to this brief scherzo instead – clipped, bumped - in other words again, the usual. Humor in this very sardonic music got heavily underlined instead of the both subtle and brutal irony of it all Shostakovich’s rhythms abet – as one can so readily hear on a truly definitive recording of this by Frans Helmerson and Valery Polyansky (on Chandos).


In order to keep what vague rhythm persisted in Sokhiev’s concept of this piece secure, he began breaking up and compartmentalizing this music into little sections and then to kletzmar things up even more dragged the beat behind Mork for reprise of the opening tune. Helmerson, pacing things right, makes very convincingly a desperate cry out of all of this. No simplicity, that one had to listen hard for is ever lost on the Chandos disc.

Fanfare/cadenza opening of the third movement was shapeless, mildly apoplectic from all involved. The six-eight of the opening undulating theme of the third movement, first moment of relaxation in six minutes, loosened close to point of being an Elvis nine-eight. March interludes that followed, though with Mork understating matters well, Sokhiev turned into self-caricature. Interaction between upper winds and Mork through much of what then transpired lacked sense of good pulsation underneath. Four note figure antiphony, out of which is built a toccata, instead became demarcated to the point of being silly, followed by Sokhiev making ‘Disney’ out of a more than interesting enough wind-percussion concertato Snare drum and Mork then joined each other in slapping at the music - further attempt at characterization. That led up to a dressing up well of the movement’s climax, thus rendering void all its menace.

Mork, uncharacteristic of his playing, became slithery in pitch in crucial passage before the end of the concerto. Nothing glaringly to least bit inconsistent with what had come before in this performance happened for the last five minutes of this, including Sokhiev’s odd regroupings at the end - i.e., all his scrupulizing with percussion et al.

Perhaps a specialty of the house for Sokhiev, Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances started unpromisingly, with the standard clipping of opening notes, rests, barking of the brass dominating the stretti that follow. Sokhiev showed what link Symphonic Dances might have with film music, making even one wonder perhaps if Sergei could have been – even if nobody was looking - a fan of early John Wayne. It is better, especially from double-basses, to leave this kind of suggestion not so easily perceptible.

Sokhiev did not ever sufficiently gain any real steadiness with this music, until into the slower middle section, in which the well played melancholy saxophone solo and violin section copying him gave his idea decent shape. Over-emphasis did become the order of the day right before re-transition to the A secton of the first movement, the re-transition following through with further over-emphasis in much jerky subdividing – making almost combat-Rachmaninoff out of the re-transition.

Molto marcato marking for reprise of the Intro to the movement was too clipped and rushed to be marcato. Sokhiev gilded to 'palm court' level a closing consolation from the violins and then beat time through interesting descanted sonorities of piano, bells, and harp.

Trumpets greeted flat the opening of the waltz second movement, followed by Sokhiev with concertmaster allowing the line proceeding from opening fanfares to sag. DSO’s English horn achieved sour, even almost watery tone for the opening waltz subject, which violins then proceeded to gently back phrase – things thus far not quite out of character yet. Things then clotted in achieving first major crest to the line. Sokhiev had his flutes, upper winds feel, that in order to keep animation or life going, they must heavily accent what they are playing in what started sounding quasi-apoplectic – also making the music break up into minutiae, little sections, much as happened earlier in this concert.

In seeking ever greater profundity for this valse morte, Sokhiev back-phrased each remaining two or three re-statements of its main theme a little more than its previous. For pointing on this and/or slower transitions, an ever heavier application of unsteady vibrato, to grotesquely so, took over here - making ability to achieve the right feeling for this passage way overdone. Intonation in winds in remainder of the waltz turned moldy, mildew-y before all got said and done.

From how things had gone so far, nothing unpredictable happened with the usually capricious finale and through what resulted in a highly clipped and brutal ending to Symphonic Dances. Sokhiev accomplished nothing except to show off what taste he has for incurable over-emphasis. The opening D octave starting the movement got struck so hard that all overtones to the pitch were lost. Much slithery and gauzy tone and intonation greeted more lyrical or subdued passages - clipping and heavy regroupings the main scherzo-like section(s) of the finale.

After hearing how DSO Berlin has been playing lately, it is on verge of slander to pull this broadcast out for replay – except for the value of the still relatively new Firsova piece. One should of course welcome Russian guests on the podium with DSO, such as Vassili Petrenko, Ilan Volkov, and Valery Polyansky. Comparing with Polyansky’s Russian State SO, DSO Berlin here achieved less of their own virtues than does RSSO on their disc of the Shostakovich cello concerti. RSSO aspires well for the intonation that DSO Berlin can get; DSO Berlin itself did far less so here.

Sokhiev does not altogether lack ideas; his having to tweak the music so much apart though comes across that he neither trusts the music to be better able to speak on its own nor also quite has the technique to handle real task at hand.

ROH Fliegende Hollander - heavy slog through thick swamp

This had to be one of the worst broadcasts of Wagner I have heard in a long time - perhaps since a 1992 Houston Grand Opera Lohengrin - conducted by Christoph Eschenbach. Houston did an appreciably better Flying Dutchman than this in 1998, if memory serves me correctly - even if just on musical grounds.

Netherlands Opera music director-designate Marc Albrecht, making his Convent Garden debut, made it clear that he was very certain that he had arrived to the best part of this opera, the good stuff, when Act 3 started - so much so, Act 3 alone is reason enough to add this to any party or joke CD collection – should it come available.

Anja Kampe (Senta) was sympathetic enough as seafarer-struck maiden. She however had a middle that proved unpredictable and top whenever under pressure that turned strident. She got herself locked into following Albrecht (not any relation with the more famous Gerd Albrecht) on a tempo a bit too slow singing the first part of the refrain in her ballad into singing it almost perfectly note-by-note before applying a dreamy cast over the closing lines of her ballad’s repeated refrain.

Whereas Kampe conveyed hardly any real passion for the Dutchman, she did manage to convincingly lead one or two ensembles toward the end of the opera that tonally could have nearly fallen apart, according to true sense of pitch, otherwise. The part of Senta in effect has a pair of what resemble lines of peroration. For Kampe the first one certainly turned out fine, with me thinking that at least she had helped bring all to a fine conclusion. As for the really concluding line, she in effect rolled up her sleeves as if to say, ‘I’ve really gotta give this some balls!’ So, she revved it up, lunged at two long pitches above the staff with all her might, thus overtly a high B skidded off the runway before she could freely let go. Her climb up an F-sharp major chord to raw A-sharp near end of Act Two duet was also, lets say, mildly out of character.

Hans Peter Koenig (Daland) certainly revealed ample voice, flexibility for what his part demands. Intonation was good. What prevented him from giving much of any noticeable interpretation of Senta’s old man was his frequent rhythmic sloppiness. He, other than in his well-sung aria in Act Two, made somewhat of a milque-toast out of him, kind of your garden variety fuddy-duddy. For what turned into the ‘Wir wunderbar’ waltz during Act One, for instance, he helped Albrecht cut the number of beats per measure from four down to nearly three.

For ‘Wie wunderbar,’ I would have expected to see Daland in sports coat or white leisure suit – soft purr of an organ playing in the background alongside the orchestra and trio of Lennon sisters right behind him, as take your pick, his three extra daughters or as just simply hired back-up. All the octogenarian couples could then be out on the dance floor in front of cameras, with bright lights, champagne, hors d’oeuvres as happy as peach at how indeed wunderbar all really indeed is.

Torsten Kerl played Erik. The part starts off forcefully, so Kerl squeezed to get first top G out. While singing relaxed especially in lower register that way, he sounded pleasant, but even a few lower passages still stuck in the throat. I mistook him, just singing in lower register for about one page in Act Two, for Terfel in a relaxed moment, but then his music jumped up to singing around an octave higher and then one was really sure of who it really was. Oppressive squeezing around the break and above persisted throughout. Kerl rendered “Willst jenes Tag” (Act 3) altogether without charm - with two painfully flat acuti. His handling of a couple of turns in lower register at the end of the aria had me expecting Senta to ask him which brand of mouthwash – for maybe how good it smells, but hardly at all for how he sounds using it.

John Tessier sang as bad a Steersman as I can recall hearing. His first phrase, starting a bit low, sounded like process of clearing the throat; he practically spoke it instead of singing it. One could hear good suggestion of the pitches, but I hope he will remain alone the one truly sprechstimme Steersman I have ever heard for a long time coming. He would sweetly, coyly bleat around the break, making him perhaps decent enough tenor to play a G&S lead – but he most certainly has no business doing Wagner. Clare Shearer made the acceptable, doting, house mezzo Mary one often expects so many places. How is it that Royal Opera can not do any better in casting parts like these?

As for Bryn Terfel, perhaps the less said, the better. His voice sounded precariously worn at the edges from lower middle register on down and also on top. He could still flexibly sing, make lyrical some mellifluous passages; his interest in the text and the angst filling out the part of the lonesome, eternally wandering seafarer were still clearly evident. However, he could only minimally provide the color that should envelop the sound, thus his singing robbed this character of its certain and quintessential air of mystery. The opening of “Der Frist ist um” was a case in point.

He, like Koeng, also tended to clip numerous passages. Most notably however, Terfel also corrected Albrecht by singing “Nur eine Hoffnung” (the “Nur eine Hoffnung” waltz – how Albrecht conducted it) during the Act One monologue with more correct sense of rhythm and phrasing. It was Terfel, as much as anybody could tell, who, rhetorically speaking, needed the clipping, not the conductor – to make time pass more quickly? His outcries in Act Three were not so out of character as just lacking in sufficient power to carry the day. His rendering of them were hardly more terrifying than what might be from a Beckmesser, Schigolch, or Barak. What hurt matters significantly, perhaps most of all for Terfel was the wonky, highly uneven support that Marc Albrecht provided him.

The biggest culprit in this mess was indeed the man occupying the podium. There was indeed an idea here, something about breaks, in a modernist sense, but hardly any honestly developed concept at all of what Fliegende Hollander is about or anything to make coherent sense of it. The first sign of serious trouble happened in the overture, as a very start-and-stop trudge through its ‘Senta’s Ballad’ episode. Whereas the orchestra had moderately engaged the color, stormy sea already, this section broke apart into eight distinct sections, robbing it of line and sweep. Brass twice too easily covered up the violins as well and ensemble turned ragged.

Once the choruses started, one got a cheapening of just about everything. The sailors frequently sounded raucous, the women shrill. The strident high A’s, just belted out, during cabaletta to the spinners’ chorus after Senta’s Ballad were comparable to squeaky chalk on a blackboard, or enough to start dogs howling a full block away. The ‘laughing’ thirty-second note runs for the spinning maidens were accented, bumped forward so hard, I could mistake them for a retrograde, sped up version of the huntsmens’ chorus from Wozzeck - using women instead of men.

The incurable overemphasis Albrecht lent the Norwegians’ chorus in Act Three with accents in it just misplaced enough was so risible, one sensed John Cleese might enter at any moment to finish leading such picture of strapping youth on stage. The Dutchmen came in as though a marauding pack of beagles or basset hounds. Terrifying indeed! This was the fun part. It had seemed a long time in coming.

What made so much of the rest of this make Gotterdammerung on just merely a good average day seem like a walk in the park by comparison was obvious. This was a Dutchman so lacking in atmosphere, line, and passion generated from within that to try figuring out how one thing could possibly relate to the next thing or another would make one have to stop and go back once or twice (which unfortunately one can on BBC). If a day at sea, it was just as well a day lost at sea - as a heavy slog through the mud up a little over ankle deep. Many rhythms went askew, either by clipping, excessive placement of often misplaced accents, or both.

A great example overall of how everything went was the Act 2 closing duet “Wie aus der Ferne” with Terfel and Kampe. Opening lines were slithery in pitch from Bryn Terfel. Certainly here and there from both singers were strands of good phrasing, but in the big arch to a number of lines Kampe and Terfel were out at sea as to where to find from Albrecht crucially needed support for what they were singing - and often to no avail. Afterwards, with having sung for twelve minutes without such assistance, we then got the more rapid passages.. Terfel just had had to awkwardly negotiate dotted rhythm intervals of thirds and fourths back and forth across the break, so started to bray away at everything, and with everything in terms of organization turning into a real free-for-all. The allegretto Li’l Lord Fauntleroy waltz-march finale to Act Two Wagner marked a very rapid paced terzetto came across quite Disney-esque.

Albrecht’s earlier sectional, start-and-stop leadership of “Wirst du das Vaters.” was highly indicative of how so much of this Dutchman went. There should be something nobler, heroic in mind with such a passage than watching it arrive in detached little pieces or fragments. It was becoming after a while observing this score as one might a body that has suddenly fallen off a thirty story building. There’s a hand over here, an eyeball over there, some guts laying over there in the grass ten yards away, some strands of hair along the curb nearby, etc. And yet Tim Albery, the insipid producer of what looks from photos to be a truly mediocre production said that doing Dutchman without breaks (between acts) keeps the vitality of this music going. Breaks interrupt it – though Albrecht spoke of not being afraid of the internal breaks between the bel canto of this music and more progressive aspects of it. It takes neither rocket scientist nor nuclear physicist to tell that this Fliegende Hollander had breaks in it alright.

Even though Marc Albrecht even coincidentally studied with Gerd Albrecht though unrelated, one would think on the one hand that something would’ve rubbed off - moreover that Netherlands Opera might have to come up with better than this to follow their outgoing guy and their one man also so good for many years right beforehand - Edo De Waart. I had not sought such tawdry results in the least by tuning into this. There was reminder of Sinopoli, even a little of Klemperer in Albrecht’s approach. However, usually even with early Sinopoli, one noticed clearer goals in mind than evident here.

I might like to produce Fliegende Hollander and assisted by picking up some tips from Peter Konwitschny as to how to really go about it. Put it on a Mississippi River paddle boat; have the get-up on board be such as to resemble brightly lit Branson, Missouri. The Dutchmen in Act 3 could be an invading civil rights riot. Now, that would be thoroughly entertaining, instead of just for one act. In what has already been a Konwitschny production, Senta’s fellow spinners work out on their stationary bikes and then to close the entire opera Senta drops something in the bar below deck and blows up the entire ship. If Wagner heard this performance of Dutchman, he would definitely not miss anything by seeing the company doing this completely blow up and disappear. All Peter left out, in how he staged it, was hardly more than just ‘peaches and cream.’

Instead of feeling awed by the force of a tempest on the North Sea - sea and wind driven at least metaphorically by occultist pagan Dutch hordes - I, upon hearing in Act 3 passage of string sextuplets, felt like standing up and shouting ‘Long live crank-start electric lawnmower carburetors!’ No, to further paraphrase Dutch journalist Erik Voermans, this Fliegende Hollander presented us with no (high) level or sheen of finesse at all.

DSO Berlin/Metzmacher: 'Aufbruch 1909' orchestral concert - part 2 - Erwartung

Even if the Mahler on May 26th was mildly underwhelming, it would have been highly errant to have left the Philharmonie at the break, even if one had just come for the Mahler. The best was yet to come after the break and did so with a vengeance. I do not recall a more definitive account of Schoenberg’s monodram Erwartung than this, as sung by Angela Denoke and conducted by Metzmacher. One heard all the experimental, progressive aspects of Erwartung as hardly at all understated, but in a broader musical context, accepting in some of the romanticism of the score. In doing so, there was shed a little new light on the radicalism of it, as in a considerably broader but also very intellectually considered musical and dramatic context.

Erwartung survives very well, even flourishes, as interpreted in a well thought out clinical manner, when it indeed has been. The best example of such I have heard is probably one sung by Phyills Bryn-Julson with Michael Gielen conducting. Gielen is too sensitive an artist to have let things fall to limit the dimensions of such a work to account of quasi-catatonic or automaton driven utterances from a person of broken or disrupted psyche and string of orchestral gesture to mimic that.

In its sudden briefly held ostinati that sprout seemingly out of nowhere at times, disrupt train of thought, consistency of musical processes, proper sense of time and space, and also its intermittent pedal points, aching lyric line, and other allusions, the music seems to tenuously grope for somewhat of a tonal center. It may be D Minor a little more frequently than otherwise, with individual pitches and thirds a half step off often intrusive on the general sense at hand. If/when it is somewhat apparent, it is with plenty going on to occlude, disrupt too obvious a statement of a tonal center as such. If one should so emphasize the work’s color, romantic allusions, much of the intricate descriptive to manic activity often constantly going on can get coasted through and/or mildly submerged None of that happened at the Philharmonie.

In this interpretation of Erwartung, all that is disruptive in this score was clearly intended and able with utmost simplicity to be heard in what proved a tour de force performance by DSO Berlin. The tonal allusions therein were very sensitively articulated by placement where each strand of activity might best make its intended impact whether in rear, mid-ground or foreground. Even a major seventh glissando in the double basses for the space of two beats was clearly heard about five minutes in thus, mid-ground, in interaction with what was happening above.

Suggestion of forests, moonlight, hovering images of tree trunks and of other objects and elements of nature were made most evocative. Such suggestion alludes here to what goes on in the life of the psyche. All this happened however in just proportion - filled with color, ambience, light to hardly be romanticizing this music at all, but to make what one hears in this work sound both thoroughly three-dimensional and realistic in perspective.

Equally powerful a presence in this performance was soprano Angela Denoke. The derangement of ‘Woman’ was front and center - her tenuous grasp on ordered thought; reality was reckoned here in full, but without ever overdoing it. The humanity of the part, while serving the composer's intentions most faithfully was paramount. Denoke did project some expression of real warmth here. With state of such dissociation that Erwartung almost immediately dredges up, one could here still palpably empathize with its heroine. The context is one so jagged, remote, fragmented as to real location, state of consciousness, as to be completely unclear.
as correctly cognizant of all her environment, but never crossed that line.

Early on, one has the sensation of a gentle breeze through the birches set as in effect brief textural klangfarbenmelodie and ostinato movement in contrary motion of chromatic thirds in celesta conveying a mixed sensation of distant sound of crickets and/or beams of light from the moon cutting gently through the darkness, then all breaking down into chirped static smaller interval in celesta, staccato, for insect at closer range. This all, caught so poetically here, opened out a world of the power of suggestion in place of being illustrative.

With warm timbre, certainly feminine, Denoke did not miss a beat in intensely capturing in subtle hues and often more than that the rapidly shifting moods and fantasizing of a distraught woman. Such was a performance from both Denoke and Metzmacher that let the always frankly delineated modernism of this score speak both sharply and for itself; here it did so most eloquently. Denoke may have stepped to the line of perhaps injecting this music with excess opulence and portraying ‘Woman’ as correctly cognizant of all her environment, but never crossed that line.

Metzmacher, in the Mahler, Abscheid in particular, stressed the linearity of the writing, as one for instance picks up in chamber ensemble performances of it, and also (as supported by such transcriptions) as though a little more free of its tonal moorings than it actually is. His work with Erwartung behaved in what appeared to be a mildly restorative fashion, in capturing some sense of tonal hierarchy that as the diatonic system, had governed Western music for so long. He thus seemed off in a little opposite direction from how he approached the Mahler. He was thus out to more greatly reveal the by then shocking disturbances happening, erupting by means of Schoenberg infusing ever stronger elements of chromaticism into his music. Metzmacher also kept it forefront enough that Scheonberg with Erwartung still was s tenuously holding on to at least suggestion of a real sense of tonal hierarchy;. Ingo Metzmacher made it full circle in constantly keeping in mind and our ears attuned to picking up such crucial reference.

Angela Denoke, earlier this season on Wesendonck Lieder with Metzmacher, practically stretched the hopeless erotic, practically Tristan-esque yearning of this music to something suggesting mysticism, abetting similar means by Metzmacher thus. Just partly by way of contrast, such a line as ‘Oh der Mond schwankt” (‘the moon is swaying’) happened so intimately as just on the breath - under celesta/harp descant and then softly chromatic descending horn all over a sinister chord from the winds and rumbling from kontrabassi. Moments later over insinuating viola and violin obbligati, “Mein Liebe, mein einziger Liebling” went much the same way. Denoke’s range of expression would even include singing such a line as “drei Tage warst du nicht bei mir” - line soon after discovery in the forest.- all not self-consciously with dead tone – tone drained of all color and expression, over burnished sonorities of oboe and bass clarinet over divisi cellos.

Denoke certainly grasped in full the drifting in and out of lucidity, but most memorable of all was the humanizing of this part without adopting or taking on any form of grand or stately manner, as one has also heard occasionally with this music. The overt weeping on one lingering appoggiatura – ‘da, ich wuste’ early in Scene 4 was most affecting, and as much further down mimicked by febrile and vigorous sighing from DSO Berlin strings.

The air of distractedness brought up the idea of ‘memory and recurrence’ as mentioned in a whole different context and aesthetic field as the Shostakovich just recently reviewed; the concept itself hardly bears any resemblance to itself between these two pieces. Here, in Erwartung, the writing of course is so linear, that other than the shards of ostinati that break in, disrupting sense of time and space, there is hardly ever any stable sonority in play, at least for long.

How Denoke was so affecting was the shifting of tone between that of resignation, longing, regret, desperation to cling to something so dearly held onto before, and based on both distracted and distorted memory of a situation that seemingly psychologically and realistically has been floating in state of flux for some time. Metzmacher’s command of tone color and harmonic references, to summarize what has been said already, was such that would never crowd out or unduly understate the garish modernism of Schoenberg’s writing, but deftly highlighted it and brought all into again a most three-dimensional perspective.

There has been more, especially in terms of chamber music and piano/vocal music, including Metzmacher at the keyboard, to this mostly Schoenberg festival. It should be urgently put to Deutschland Radio Kultur and affiliates that it is a must-hear for both the network’s listeners both (here) abroad and at home – the festival in its entirety, not just the two orchestral parts of it – the other having been a concert of Schreker, Stephan, Busoni, and Reger played one week earlier.

If there was any doubt that Erwartung, in terms of the universals it expresses, is a great work of art, and that what we heard from Berlin was great music-making, Angela Denoke, Metzmacher, and DSO Berlin put it all to rest. May I put in a plea for, unedited, a digital download or compact disc of this performance? One, as attempting to write authoritatively here, as can anybody, can afford second and third helpings for sure.

David H Spence

DSO Berlin/Metzmacher: Aufbruch 1909 orchestral concert - part 1 - Das Lied von der Erde

This program presented what is considered calling card for Ingo Metzmacher with any good major ensemble - Mahler and Schoenberg. On one, he merely (and frustratingly) suggested the possibilities. On the other, results seemed imperceptible as any distance at all from absolutely definitive.

Mahler's Das Lied von der Erde unusually found itself on the first half of this concert. There is hardly any more vigorous thrust than with which such can begin for first movement as happened here. It seemed before the singer entered mostly as though such purposeful thrust infused with classical objectivity might hold sway. American tenor Stephen Gould, in on several days notice for Johan Botha, started 'Das Trinkleid von Jammer der Erde' lachrymose, but full in sound, before reaching a first high, strained B-Flat. Thereafter, there was a frequent infusion of allargando and with frequent lunging about toward high notes, of heavy emphases. Metzmacher followed Gould more often than not on what he wanted. DSO Berlin etched the development section with its English horn solo and flutter-tonguing flutes poetically; Gould then re-entered and ignored the dynamics.

Gould sang this with more than ample voice. In fact he did so to the point that his tubular manner of projecting his baritonal timbre became too easily hardened, hooty, and at times questionable in intonation – so then what one could assess as little better than a poor man’s Hans Hopf. With low priority for the text itself - how to provide it good color and meaning - his interpretation came across as sophomoric.

"Der Einsame im Herbst" started off quite breezily, sloughing off the 'Enmudet' in the tempo marking entirely and then not allowing the Fliessend markings for B sections of the movement to be heeded in either any noticeable fashion. There seemed to be developing here an emphasis on the linearity of the music that one or two chamber ensemble reductions of this score suggest could be a way of proceeding overall. The method for achieving such fragmentation, sense thereof in the first song, with allargandi, lunging onto and off the crest of the line, though never to be outre, seemed considerably different. In Christianne Stotijn, Metzmacher had a considerably different type of artist (better to have been paired with Johan Botha). I'd hate to think that he was merely tailoring his interpretation of Mahler to suit the character of his two individual singers. That, however, is what really seemed to be happening.

Stotijn approached much of her part, even through Abscheid with a lighter tone, lighter touch than is perhaps the norm. She could still prove at times how well and quite beautifully her voice fills out in certain areas of her range. Simplicity of emotion and expression seemed to be the mainstay here. In fact, there is something to be said for singing this music this way - with sense of naive engagement with the world, immersion in and love for nature, and heartfelt desire to cling to life while still young. All that, in place of Das Lied sounding like immediate sequel to the Gesellen Lieder or Knaben Wunderhorn, would work, once Stotijn has lived with this music longer and made it a little more her own. A generic 'tragedy queen' approach to the three even-numbered movements of Das Lied ultimately cuts things to really even less. Curious that "Meine kleine Lampe" was darker in color than "Mein Herz ist mude" right before it - even suggesting perhaps a deconstructionist impetus.

"Sonne der Liebe" was understated, but Metzmacher made clear indication of his shaping of what followed it by his decisively angular approach to the abrupt downward climb from this line (marked Drangend) and in the ending postlude. He avoided too, along with Stotijn, sentimentalizing this music, not that it should be knee-jerk to anyone that this and Abscheid should leave us all soaked in bathos.

Scherzo of Das Lied began with Von der Jugend. Gould started mezzo-forte but with pleasing insouciance, a smile to the tone that certainly works. Satisfied that he had started so well, he - other than singing the notes and text - ignored most of the rest. The magically pensive, literally reflective middle section just about completely went for naught. It sounds of course that Von Der Jugend was written for a different kind of tenor than Der Trinkleid. Well, those singers who can work their voices into the manner or Fach that may approximate Viennese well are going to find versatility with which to be able to handle both movements. If Gould wanted better interpretively here than just good enough for him, may I suggest after the fact that he listen again to Ji-Min Park (Graf Albert -lissome supporting part) on a Royal Opera transcript of Die Tote Stadt in which Gould (Paul) starred himself.

Von der Schonheit started with limpid, translucent, febrile grace from DSO Berlin and with Stotijn starting off emotionally cool but relaxed. The horse-gallop middle section started off forthright and vigorously as it should, but then Metzmacher pushed the end of this section so much, that it was enough for Stotijn just to be able to speak the lines, much less having to sing them. Stotijn is not the first to get tripped up here by who is on the podium. In fact, I must stop and scratch my head to wonder just from where Metzmacher might have learned to conduct this passage so – whether or not he could indeed have from somewhere. The song ended with the deft touch, but hollow quality to Stotijn's lower middle register got a little uncomfortably exposed – Stotijn having put in a little aerobics a moment or two earlier - for the good of a line or two toward end of this song.

It was back to Gould one last time for Der Trunkene im Fruhling, by which time he had developed the art of providing enough nuance to just only the last note or two or last word to a number of phrases. He slammed into "Der Lenz ist da" so - enough that the bird that must arrive to report this would have flown away in great haste or fright, never to chance announcing ‘Lenz’ out loud again. Metzmacher, who was getting just about everything right thus far, loosened up several moments later his discipline or control over sonorities, once things started speeding up. He is in good company for letting such incidence occur at the end of 'Drunkard in Spring;' careless with it, its coda sounds more like clutter than music. The preceding sonorities were fine – those immediately following 'Der Lenz ist da' that so transfixed Anton Webern.

One thought it might have taken "Abscheid" to solve the enigma as to how uncertain things sounded with Metzmacher doing Das Lied thus far; here, quite oddly enough, we were denied. The five minute cortege ritornello at midpoint was well nigh perfect, at least up until shortchanging a moment in buildup to the climax to it and then the climax of it itself. Two lengthy principal flute solos, gorgeously played, had all the space, poetry they needed. On the other hand, there seemed so often an uncertainty about maintaining well enough an underlying steady pulsation even at the start of “Abscheid.” Preparation for numerous places, sections felt inadequate - most acutely - perhaps to avoid bathos - at “O muden Menschen.”

Things came into focus during the second section of the Exposition - though even the start of this felt rushed - and one could for several minutes sense a complete grasp of the full sonorities in the writing. Metzmacher having clipped “O schonheit” to help Stotijn sustain it, Stotijn a moment later then wisely goaded the very closing “Lebens trunkne Welt” to third part of the Exposition in such a way that got Metzmacher and orchestra entirely back on page. Christianne Stotijn, for the second half of “Abscheid,” showed greater involvement than earlier in this.

Other than understatement of the desolation of opening lines to the Recapitulation, Stotijn and Metzmacher gave here of their best the entire evening thus far, Stotijn alternately gentle, confiding, resigned, mildly despondent as called for. Getting near midway through the abbreviated second section of this, things twice started getting rushed again, a little perhaps after the model of early Bruno Walter, but with less of a consistent idea than Walter had. “Die liebe Erde”, its inebriated sonorities, got mildly shortchanged. Then with the entrance of celesta and the ‘Ewig’s’, Stotijn’s voice, so light, trailing off, melting away into the orchestral fabric, was close to ideal for translucent close to this – to what had been so much of the way a problematic, sometimes close to two-dimensional rendition of Mahler’s Chinese ‘symphony of songs.’

The linearity of Mahler’s late style seems to intrigue Metzmacher most - how such conceptualizing contributed to a breakdown in tonality and expected harmonic stability along with it. Two things bothered me, however. On the one hand, if there is something clear, cogent to say in making decisions about interpreting this music, its rich poetry and imagery, I welcome there being an irritating approach to doing it. Leave in a few clear markers of what one is about to those first and foremost of all who know the piece.

One on the other hand also does not have to impose one’s will, regardless the consequences for them, on soloists, such as for instance Karajan did, to have and to insist upon a commanding lead. Das Lied is essentially a symphony with widely varied leading vocal and (also) instrumental obbligati. The motives here were right and sincere. The elements of potentially a fine interpretation of this masterpiece are here but remain in gestation. So better to move on – that for now Metzmacher’s interpretation of Mahler’s ‘Das Lied’ should sit in queue as ‘work-in-progress.'