Albeniz - again

Three blogs on Isaac Albeniz in this series might be thought excessive, but here’s a fourth, for I have been listening to his opera ‘Merlin’, (referred to on June 27th. 2005). This splendid performance, recorded by Decca in Madrid, is the result of much research and advocacy by the conductor on these discs, Jose de Eusebio. I noticed the boxed set as I looked through some of the CD’s in our local library and felt duty bound to hear what I had previously in ignorance written about.

Jacinto Torres writes in the booklet that accompanies the two discs, ‘There is in Merlin not only the harmonic richness, varied modulation and rhythmic grace shared by his piano works of the same period….but also a rich display of subtlety and imagination in tonal quality and textures and in the dynamic contrasts’.

I find it most attractive, confident music, with some wonderful orchestration, flexible rhythms, lyrical scoring for the strings and bouncy brass, and have been playing it a lot. It’s a work of some genius considering the story line and libretto Albeniz had to work with, which is full of cod medievalisms. One example, part of a chorus in Act 3 : ‘ For Maytime, merry Maytime, is prankt with greens and yellows, and bird with bird enfellows, by night-time, by day-time; new love to marriage mellows.’ Albeniz was very fortunate in having Francis Burdett Money Coutts as his mentor; pity that the deal involved setting his awful words to music as well!

Albeniz was influenced not only by his French connections but also by his enthusiasm for the music of Wagner. There is a swirling Wagnerian grandeur about this work, but I heard pre-echoes of Elgar as well. The performance is fine with particularly good singing from the baritone Carlos Alvarez who takes the name part. Placido Domingo is perhaps not in his best voice, but the score is very demanding and a lot of it is uncomfortably high, even for tenor and soprano. In addition this largely Spanish cast must have had some difficulty with the English text, though if they didn’t understand it too well it could have been an advantage! The Orquesta Sinfonica de Madrid is in excellent form, and the warm acoustic of the Auditorio Nacional de Madrid adds to the pleasure of the recording.

Do get to hear it if you can.

B.R.

Victor de Sabata

For twenty years Victor de Sabata was the chief conductor of La Scala, Milan and towards the end of his time there he brought the orchestra, chorus and company to London. I think it was in 1950. This was their first visit to the U.K. since the war and as I remember they performed several operas at Covent Garden. They also gave a performance of Verdi’s Requiem in the Royal Albert Hall. I was there. I cannot be sure who the soloists were, apart from the baritone, Paolo Silveri. I think the soprano was probably Maria Caniglia, near to the end of her career and there was a new tenor on the scene whose name I forget, and possibly Ebe Stignani was the contralto. It was a long time ago! De Sabata recorded the work the following year with Rebata Tebaldi singing the soprano part.

Two visual memories I have about the performance. The first was de Sabata himself, an erect noble figure like some re-born Roman senator, with the eye of an eagle. He had the reputation of being a dramatic conductor and this was borne out by the electric effect he had on both performers and audience. There was a climatic moment (it must have been in the final Dies Irae with its enormous thwacks on the bass drum), when he stooped down almost to a kneeling position and then rose wildly and majestically, embracing the artists and the music with his arms in an avalanche of sound. The second memory I have is that all the members of the orchestra (all of them men in those days) had frilly dress shirts and white ties, an elegance and flair in contrast to the more soberly dressed players that I was used to.

De Sabata made several recordings although apparently he disliked and felt confined by studio conditions. The most famous of these must surely be the recording of Puccini’s Tosca which I referred to earlier, with Maria Callas in the title role, and the immensely evil and lecherous Scarpia of Tito Gobbi, and Guiseppe de Stefano, a great favourite of mine, singing Cavaradossi. Here again the orchestra and chorus were those of La Scala, and of the several versions, probably the Naxos recording has the best sound. The prototypical Italian opera performed by artists who have it in their blood. Nothing could be better.

B.R.

The Finnish National Ballet

Recently we visited Helsinki and attended a performance of the ballet Don Quixote in the superb Opera House there. The score is by Aloisius Ludwig (also known as Leon Fedorovich) Minkus (1826-1917). An Austrian composer of Polish or Czech origin, he wrote music for many of the Petipa staged ballets in St. Petersburg. The details of his life – and his death, are obscure. There are for example three accounts of his demise in three different places. His early contacts and work in Paris remained a focal point throughout his life, but most of his work was done in Russia, which became his home. The suggestion commentators make is that he was overshadowed by Tchaikovsky, who of course was much more than a composer of ballet music which was Minkus’ main interest. At the time of Don Quixote’s great success in 1869 he was appointed to the post of official Composer to the Imperial Russian Ballet.

The music we heard in February (excellently played) was delightful, well orchestrated with some lovely wind solos and often quite evocative – though the attempt at simulated Spanish music for one of the corps de ballet items was very heavy handed; almost a clog dance with castanets! The experienced ballet conductor John Lanchberry has said that Minkus ‘can occasionally lapse into trite note-spinning’, which is rather harsh. This is music suitable for its time and for the classical Russian ballet of that period, enhancing the action on the stage without distracting the listener.

There was plenty of action on the Helsinki stage, if a very tenuous story line and without much reference to the Don, who crept in and out of the narrative without contributing anything to it. It was a fine performance, lavishly staged, with a largely young company showing great enthusiasm and commitment, the two principles Carolina Aguero and Jaakko Eerola dancing with great skill and beauty.

Earlier on the day we were there, we had the privilege of a tour of the opera house which included all the dressing rooms, workshops and backstage equipment. The building had been in mind for seventy years, but was eventually completed only a few years ago in a beautiful setting facing the sea; on this occasion a sea full of pack ice! It is a well planned and tastefully designed building; one had a sense of great achievement and dedication by the opera and ballet company and the supporting staff. And in the evening we felt we had a special insight into the immense preparation and collaboration that goes into such a performance.

B.R.

Classical Music - Aversion Therapy?

Our local supermarket had a problem. In the evenings young people were gathering outside (nowhere else to go?) and causing older customers some discomfort by their noise and what was perceived as threatening behaviour. So the manager installed outside speakers and played loud classical music. It has been judged, says our local newspaper, a resounding success with potential troublemakers driven away by the music of Mozart and Tchaikovsky. Business was booming and more mature customers were not only stopping to listen to the music, but increasingly were choosing to shop in the evenings so that they can.

The regional loss prevention manager of this supermarket chain is reported to have said ‘we already know that different types of music affect people in different ways, and we have proved that classical music does move youths on. Playing the music makes our shops less cool as places for youngsters to hang out, and can make life much easier for our customers and staff.’

Concert halls around the country are doing all they can to attract young people to orchestral music with special programmes and lowering the cost of tickets, working hard to create an audience for tomorrow. The academies produce a flow of young musicians, and schools, after years of neglect, are increasing the musical curriculum and tuition. All to no avail it seems. Surely not. But if an age gap in musical appreciation exists, I wish it wasn’t aggravated by this method of commercial protection.

The interesting thing would be if this practice ended up as a means of conversion, and gradually the ‘yobs’ - as the headline calls them - were so influenced by what they were hearing that a new generation of young music lovers was born!

…meanwhile, I wonder where those young people now hang out. And since when have public spaces been only for shoppers?

B.R.

The Concertgebouw, Amsterdam

I have had the good fortune to attend quite a lot of concerts at this magnificent auditorium, regarded by many as having the finest acoustics of all the older European Halls. Two of those concerts remain as memorable experiences.

The first was performed by the resident orchestra - presently on a tour which includes concerts in London – and was conducted by Eugene Jochum. Their main work was, Bruckner’s eighth symphony. Famous as an interpreter of his music, Jochum had recorded by this time all the Bruckner symphonies three times. By now he was frail and conducting from a seated position until at a climax in the last movement, he stood to herald the great clash of the cymbals. A gaunt but tall and erect figure he was unable to climb up the long row of stairs that lead to the orchestra from the artist’s entrance, returning for the applause. Instead he moved to one side of the orchestra and took his many calls by shuffling back to the podium, as the audience stood and cheered. It was a privilege to be there.

The other concert was performed by the Rotterdam Orchestra and conducted by Alexander Lazarev. The concerto was Scriabin’s Piano Concerto, which I had never heard before and which he had himself performed at the Concertgebouw in 1911. Written in Scriabin’s more balanced years and before he became a somewhat scary visionary, this is a lovely work. Nicolai Demidenko was the pianist, and I subsequently bought a CD (on the Hyperion label) of the concerto, with the same artists but with the BBC Symphony Orchestra. The work ends abruptly; suddenly it’s over, but there is a wonderful delicacy about all three movements and a most beautiful tune in the first that stays in the memory long after the music is over.

I am a fan of Demidenko, who now lives in this country, and have heard him on several occasions. He is an intense artist, brooding over the key board as if it is a potential adversary waiting to be tamed. Recently I heard him play the Shostakovich 2nd and before the concert he was interviewed, coming across as a very different and engaging person for whom music is of deepest fascination. Responding to the applause after his performance, he gave an encore, which felt like a benediction as well as a bonus.

If you ever have any chance to go to the Concertegbouw, go! It is a wonderful experience just to be there. It was the place where the symphonies of Mahler first had recognition and is the nearest thing I know to a secular cathedral.

B.R.