Last Saturday to the SOH to hear the SSO. I met up with my friend and former student (though I don’t think I ever directly taught him in class), Db.
It feels as though Db and I go even further back than we actually do. His PhD supervisor, M (who died relatively young in about 2001) was a close family friend and neighbour when I grew up in West Pymble. M told Db a few anecdotes about my family which gave a perspective on that time which I would otherwise not have had. And retrospectively going even further back, Db is now responsible for and from time to time travels to a scientific facility which is just up the road from the sheep station where my father grew up before WWII.
The program, conducted by Asher Fisch, was:
Dorman, After Brahms, 3 orchestral intermezzi
Brahms – Schicksalslied and Gesang der Parzen (with the Sydney Philharmonia)
Strauss, Alpine Symphony.
The first two of the Dorman pieces are based on/derived from aspects of late Brahms piano pieces, respectively Op 118 No 1 and Op 119 No 1. I can’t say the Brahmsian spirit really struck me in the first one. It seemed, in its orchestral version, simply too helter-skelter. The second was closer to its original. Funnily enough, it was the third piece, claiming no specific Brahms model, which felt the most Brahmsian.
This was the SSO’s first performance of Schicksalslied and also of Gesang der Parzen. For that matter, I’m not sure if we’ve had Nänie and the Alto Rhapsody is only infrequently done.
I had been particularly looking forward to Sl and GdP. Both texts have rather similar themes, and even a metaphor in common of mortals’ destiny (as opposed to the Gods’) being like water falling downwards over Klippen (cliffs). GdP (Goethe from Euripides; a song sung by the fates to poor old Tantalus) was grimmer. They are both a reminder of a Hellenism which is definitely a bigger thing in German literary culture than English. I enjoyed them both, notwithstanding rather whiter-than-ideal tone at an exposed high and quiet tenor part of the Gesang.
At interval Db reminded me that it was at the SOH that we had been to what he counted as his most memorable Strauss performance. That was on (if Ausstage be my guide) 13 September 1991. After taking part in a school concert in the Concert Hall, we slipped into about row C of the stalls for the last act of Der Rosenkavalier. This was Stuart Challender’s last ever performance, three months to the day before he died. You can only imagine what he must have been feeling when he conducted the bit where the Marschallin muses on the passing of time.
I’m afraid I didn’t really get into the Alpine Symphony. I must have been in the wrong mood for it. There are definitely some bits which are a bit like the fight between Telramund and Lohengrin and which are only just music. Until the final section, it just seemed so loud and fast. I wanted to pause for a few more breathers on the way up the mountain. The playing, however, was fine, and I’ve since listened to the broadcast on air and online and enjoyed it more.
On Friday, I went impromptu to Angel Place to hear/see the St John Passion – stirred by the rehearsal I had stumbled across the day before at St James King Street. Inevitably in Angel Place the choir could not match the exhilarating power of its opening chorus when sung in an almost empty church the night before. Whilst the church would have been less resonant when full and obviously its capacity is less than Angel Place, I wonder if they wouldn’t have been better off staying in the church – sticking the kids up in the back gallery with maybe a few in the choir stalls if they wouldn’t fit upstairs. Fewer people would have got to hear it and yes those pews are not comfortable, but Angel Place is so expensive to hire that I imagine the financial outcome could have been about the same and there are other reasons – let’s call them authenticity for short – for keeping it in the church.
I was surprised at how few solo arias there in fact are. Sally-Anne Russell was better suited to her second than her first. I’m not sure that I have ever heard an unequivocally successful rendition of the second soprano aria, which may be more about the aria and its place near the end of work than the performers.
I find myself less in sympathy with the religious content than I would once have been. The St John is the more blood-libelly of the Passions (“If thou lettest this mango, thou art not Elias’ friend.”) At one time I affected to prefer it to the St Matthew, on account of its more punchy narrative, but now I suspect it would take the more elaborate stage machinery of the latter to sweep me past the Religion to my own higher sphere.
It was an estimable performance. “You look exhilarated!” said the cloak-room attendant when I went to get my bag at the end, and I suppose I was.
On Saturday just past to UNSW to hear the Australia Ensemble.
The concert was entitled “Fantasy and Variations.” The fantasy was a work for piano quintet by Carl Vine. This was very effective without necessarily sticking its neck out very far. I enjoyed it.
The remaining works all featured variations: the Carl Nielsen wind quintet; a Prélude, récitatif et variations for flute, viola and piano by Duruflé, and the Mozart Clarinet Quintet. The Duruflé was a discovery to me: it’s only his Op 3 and it seems his only published chamber work, so I wouldn’t say it is really typical of him; it was quite lush. The Nielsen is deservedly a classic.
I had been blasé about the Mozart in prospect. It is a work which suffers a bit from over-exposure. But blasé was good because things could only get better once the quintet started. Although the clarinet is prominent – the opening movement is almost a duet between the first violin and the clarinet – what was really striking was the way that David Griffiths integrated himself within the ensemble as a whole. It’s not the kind of piece where you stamp and shout at the end, but you know you have heard, at least in a performance like this, a masterpiece.
Of the three concerts, I enjoyed the Australia Ensemble’s the most.