Intermezzo

Jonas Kaufmann - at Wigmore Hall - at last

Jonas Kaufmann / Helmut Deutsch - Die schöne Müllerin - Wigmore Hall, 31 October 2010

 

Jonas Kaufmann hasn't given a London recital for five years or so, part of the reason why this was the hottest Wigmore ticket in living memory. Even many Wigmore 'Friends' were disappointed. A box office assistant told me they could have sold out ten times. The queue of hopefuls waiting for returns stretched down Wigmore Street.

Inside, the lucky ticket holders included the royal presence of the Duke of Kent. Halloween ambience was provided by Angela Gheorghiu, disguised as herself.

a double helping of Matthias Goerne

Matthias Goerne / Helmut Deutsch - Wigmore Hall, 28 February and 2 March 2010

You never know quite what you're going to get in a Matthias Goerne recital. He can be great or unremarkable, surly or welcoming, engaged or indifferent - and he's not averse to switching round meticulously-planned programmes on the hoof. In these two, part of his ongoing 200-song Wigmore Hall Schubert marathon, a little bit of all of the above emerged.

Goerne's appeal has always lain in the rich velvety loveliness of his baritone as much as his artistry. But as soon as he began the first concert on Sunday night, it was obvious something was awry vocally. Whenever he pushed above the softest mezza voce, a tight, grainy, and frankly ugly sound was forced out. I assume tiredness or illness were to blame - the problem was gone by Tuesday.

Though I couldn't be a bigger Goerne fan, it was tough on the ears, and probably a blessing that he skipped one of the programmed songs. The only moment of real beauty was an extraordinarily slow Du bist die Ruh, spun out in such endlessly long-breathed, flowing lines that time seemed suspended. A slight waver as he crowned the stave on erhellt matched the limits of the voice perfectly to the climax of the song and proved that whatever his physical limitations on the night, his musical instincts were unerring.

On Tuesday his voice was back. Back too was his usual sheaf of crib notes, laid unashamedly on the piano's half-open lid. With sixteen songs on the programme, few of them in Goerne's (or indeed anyone's) regular repertoire, this much can be forgiven. What I found surprising though was how little he referred to them, and how much he simply made up as he went along. His substitutions were intelligent, not mere tongue slips - like schaut for the similar-meaning blickt. So it's possible even German speakers would have been none the wiser. In its own way, I suppose that's quite an impressive feat. But still odd. Simple memory lapses, or attempts to recraft the material in his own image?

Failing or not, it was easy to overlook in Goerne's otherwise beautifully-delivered programme. The sombre songs complemented his gifts for the reflective and introspective. The simplicity and sincerity of his Litanei auf das Fest aller Seelen made it the most affecting item of the evening. He rarely unleashed the full power of his voice, but when he did, in Der Zwerg, the air moved as people shot up in their seats. Even the meandering and overlong Viola and the saccharine Stolberg Stimme der Liebe were set out with care and love. 

The stalwart Helmut Deutsch proved the most attentive and least egotistical of accompanists, whether authoritative, as in the Der Tod und das Mädchen prelude, or simply framing the singing of the unpredictable Goerne.

28 February - Der Jüngling und der Tod D545, Das Lied im Grünen D917, Die Herbstnacht D404, Lied (Ins stille Land) D403, Der Herbstabend D405, Drang in die Ferne D770, An mein Herz D860, Der Wanderer D649, Über Wildemann D884, Klage D371, Am Bach im Frühling D361, An die Laute D905, Des Fräuleins Liebeslauschen D698, Augenlied D297, Du bist die Ruh D776, An die Musik D547, An eine Quelle D530, Der Sänger am Felsen D482, Abschied von der Harfe D406, Liedesend D473

2 March - An die untergehende Sonne D457, Der Tod und das Mädchen D531, Die Rose D745, Erinnerung D101, Litanei auf das Fest aller Seelen D343, Auf dem Wasser zu singen D774, Abendbilder D650, Nach einem Gewitter D561, Der Zwerg D771, Im Frühling D882, Stimme der Liebe D412, Die Blumensprache D519, Viola D786, An die Entfernte D765, Bei dir allein D866 No. 2, Ganymed D544

Matthias Goerne's Schubert at Wigmore Hall - part 1

Matthias Goerne / Christoph Eschenbach - Wigmore Hall, 15 June 2009

It's Matthias Goerne week at Wigmore Hall. The World's Greatest Singer and his distinguished sidekick Christoph Eschenbach kicked off their three Schubert cycles with Die schöne Müllerin on Monday night (Winterreise follows on Wednesday and Schwanengesang on Saturday). They recently recorded the cycle together - you can listen to the Amazon track previews here.

Goerne can sometimes present an introspective front at recitals, his head dipped over the piano's innards, the audience all but ignored. But here his mood was outgoing, and his curiously graceful squirming and swaying turned the little patch of stage in front of the piano into his own personal ballroom. 

Goerne's protagonist is a man, not a boy. And not just because he's a baritone rather than a tenor - there's an assertive quality to his voice that shades every one of its many colours. While he can give every emotion an adolescent strength of feeling, here is none of the hesitancy of youth. He exploits extremes of tempo and dynamics without histrionics or striving for effect. From his super-slow Des Baches Wiegenlied to his breakneck Der Jäger, all had the inevitability wrought by certainty. 

Goerne never underplays, but even by his standards, this was an incredibly intense performance. Even at the finest lieder recitals, I confess I can drift now and then, but Goerne had me pinned to my seat for the full 80 minutes or whatever it was. He sang mostly in very beautiful and finely controlled mezza voce. Explosions into full voice for passionate outbursts like Mein were sparing and properly shocking, not just digging into the individual words, but shaping the dramatic structure of the whole cycle.

Christoph Eschenbach was not so much an accompanist or even a partner as an extra limb. I didn't see him so much as catch Goerne's eye, yet their symbiosis was total. I can't recall ever hearing a lieder duo quite so well-paired. Eschenbach's contribution was always understated, but never mere background, and responsive to Goerne's every twist and turn.

Standing ovations are few and far between at the Wigmore - quite frankly many in the typical audience are no longer sufficiently sprightly to leap to their feet - but a fair number stood up at the end to show their appreciation.

Only one thing spoiled the evening. I am not a cough nazi and I don't normally bang on about it here, but the amount of coughing between songs was just ridiculous. And it didn't sound like real illness, either, just mass throat-clearing. Do people in a specialist audience like this really not know that the silent moments between songs are part of the cycle, not a rest break? And they were all old enough to know that you should cover your mouth if you really have to cough, so why didn't they? It was quite clearly annoying the artists, and perhaps that was the intention, but ruining everybody's evening is a remarkably selfish and vulgar way to express disapproval. Has it reached the point where venues need to give coughing instructions along with the now-traditional mobile phone announcements at the start?
 

Hanno Muller-Brachmann and Andras Schiff at Wigmore Hall

Hanno Müller-Brachmann / András Schiff - Wigmore Hall, 8 January 2008

Schubert Willkommen und Abschied; Versunken;
An Schwager Kronos; Meeres Stille; Prometheus
Mendelssohn Variations sérieuses in D minor Op. 54
Busoni 5 Goethe Lieder
Wolf 3 Michelangelo Lieder
Brahms Four Serious Songs

Encores: Schubert Der Musensohn   Brahms Wiegenlied

How do you fill the house for a Wigmore Hall debut by a little-known singer? Simple. Hanno Müller-Brachmann may not be a big name, but András Schiff doesn't share the stage with just any old singer. Result - a capacity crowd.

Some may have been aware of Müller-Brachmann from his frequent and highly-acclaimed appearances in his native Germany - though I suspect many were simply curious about this seeming unknown who nevertheless bears the Schiff stamp of approval.

But judging by some of the disparaging comments I heard in the interval, not to mention the number of glaringly empty seats for the second half, a fair few were disappointed. 

For like Fischer-Dieskau before him, Hanno Müller-Brachmann is not afraid to chop up a musical line or two in service of the text. The result, from a purely sonic perspective, can be forceful and disjointed. Not at all pretty.

Schubert suffered but Goethe gained from Müller-Brachmann's almost conversational delivery. The tunes were rendered unwhistleable but the diction was immaculate, each syllable precisely weighted, each word considered. Even the languorous line of Meeres Stille was translated into a deliberate and disturbing recitative. An Schwager Kronos galloped; Prometheus thundered. Schiff took something of a back seat, his usual tendency to pick out and accentuate inner voices nowhere apparent. Here his contribution was muted, faster passages often lightly smudged, cushioning the vocal line rather than framing it with precision.

The Busoni selection - more Goethe - showed a a genuine comic sensibility, without resort to any silly effects.

The second half's Wolf and Brahms displayed a few chinks in Müller-Brachmann's armour, with their greater demand for smoothness of line. A slight wavering on held notes and a dry tone lacking in true luxuriance were the main drawbacks, though his lowest bass notes were admirably rich and chocolatey.

The programme was put together by Schiff, and his immaculately-constructed reading of Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses punctuated the first half. A little something for those unconvinced by Müller-Brachmann.

Thomas Quasthoff at Wigmore Hall

Thomas Quasthoff /Justus Zeyen - Wigmore Hall, 21 November 2008

 

Schubert Der Sänger; Auf dem See; Wandrers Nachtlied II; An Schwager Kronos
Musorgsky Lieder und Tänze des Todes
Schumann Liederkreis Op. 39

Encores Schumann Widmung; Schubert Der Musensohn; Seligkeit

Is Thomas Quasthoff planning a new career in chat? He certainly gave us plenty of it at the Wigmore Hall. His introductory speech made a (quite unnecessary) apology for tackling Musorgsky in German rather than Russian, on the eminently reasonable grounds that he doesn't think he should try to sing in a language he doesn't speak. Later he managed a lengthy introduction for each of his encores (without actually mentioning what he was about to sing, it should be added). Not that he's bad at it. I can't think of another singer so able to entertain and hold an audience's attention with this sort of thing. But it disturbs some sort of indefinable equilibrium, turning a recital into a show of a quite different type.

And did it alter his own focus? Intensity was lacking at key moments; there was a hint of going through the motions, or perhaps just tiredness. Quasthoff is blessed with a fine natural instrument. In the lower-lying An Schwager Kronos and particularly the rumbling Musorgsky death songs he used it with devastating power. These were truly terrifying, showing a startling flipside to the jovial bonhomie of his introduction.

Perhaps sustaining this level of intensity throughout a recital is too much to ask of any performer.  Wandrers Nachtlied was by contrast rather half-hearted, as were many parts of the Eichendorff Liederkreis, particularly the higher or quieter passages where Quasthoff is least at ease technically. Justus Zeyen's unobtrusive excellence was some compensation.

Simon Keenlyside does Wigmore Hall

Simon Keenlyside / Malcolm Martineau - Wigmore Hall, 26 October 2008

Fauré Mandoline No. 1 from 'Cinq mélodies de Venise'; En sourdine; Green No. 3 from 'Cinq mélodies de Venise'; Notre amour; Fleur jetée; Spleen; Madrigal de Shylock; Aubade; Le papillon et la fleur   Ravel Histoires naturelles   Wolf Gesang Weylas; Heimweh; Auf eine Christblume II; Lied vom Winde   Schubert An Silvia D. 891; Die Einsiedelei D393; Verklärung D59; Freiwilliges Versinken D700; Gruppe aus dem Tartarus, D583; Himmelsfunken D651; Ständchen D957; Die Sterne D939; Auf der Bruck D853

Encores: Wolf Der Knabe und das Immlein; An die Geliebte   Poulenc Hôtel 

This was the second of two identical recitals that Simon Keenlyside is committing to disc for the Wigmore Live CD series. And if the engineer can zap out the intrusive but ohso predictable coughing it should make one terrific recording.

New dad (congratulations!) Simon is like the Swiss Army knife of baritones - he can do just about anything. Well, except pluck your brows or pick stones out of ponies' hooves, but you have to pay extra for that.

At Wigmore Hall there was little trace of the physicality so central to Simon's operatic performances. Nattily turned out in a three-piece grey suit, he commanded the Wigmore stage by sheer force of presence, fingers locked over his chest. And he was in excellent form, even though his admirable insistence on performing in original keys meant he was stretched tissue-thin at the top.

The first half's Fauré, drawn from the less sticky end of the syrup pot, was sung with affection and feeling, and Ravel's quirky animal songs allowed room for characterisation. His diction was clear without being fussy, and his French mostly excellent. Only a tendency to nasalise vowels too early marked him out as English (a bit pedantic eh, but unless long vowels are sung open, only nasalising towards the very end of the note, it's a dead giveaway.) Malcolm Martineau was in perfect accord, locating as he so often does that tricky middle ground between anonymity and assertiveness.

Simon sang everything without a score, only a couple of lines in the second half's Wolf group challenging his memory. But the Schubert group which followed was the highlight of the evening for me, traversing from the sublime yearning of Ständchen to the operatic thunder of Auf der Bruck and everything in between. The encores continued on a high. The main programme had been beautifully sung, every note placed perfectly, but here in the pair of Wolf songs Simon let rip more, taking risks he perhaps hadn't dared earlier. It left me wanting more....the ideal way to end any recital.

Schubert Karaoke

Singen Sie a bit of Schubert - Gretchen am spinnrade, with Kiri te Kanawa kindly providing guide vocals:

or if it's not a crime to sing over it, how about An Die Musik with Felicity Lott:

and finally the exquisite perfection of Elly Ameling's double-chunk Der Hirt auf dem Felsen. Definitely a crime to use this one for karaoke practice:

All new Gürzenich Orchestra - now with added Stockhausen !!

Prom 48: Gürzenich Orchestra / Stenz / Kirchschlager - Royal Albert Hall, 22 August 2008

Mahler Symphony No.5 
Stockhausen Punkte (1952/1962/1993)
Schubert Ständchen, D921 orch. David Matthews, Bei dir allein, D866/2 orch. Manfred Trojahn, Nacht und Träume, D827 orch. Colin Matthews, Das Lied im Grünen, D917 orch. Detlev Glanert
Beethoven Overture 'Leonore' No.3

This was perhaps the oddest-looking but most fascinating programme at this year's Proms. 

Mahler's Fifth Symphony was premiered by Cologne's Gürzenich Orchestra in 1904, and the first idea for tonight's Prom was to reproduce that programme. Then new orchestrations were commissioned for the Schubert songs, performed at the 1904 concert with piano accompaniment. Conductor Markus Stenz wanted to add something by Cologne-born Stockhausen, as 22 August would have been the exact date of his 80th birthday. So we ended up with a two-interval concert, the old programme sandwiched with Stockhausen.

The big symphony came first, 70-ish minutes of non-stop music, in a reversal of the modern day practice which normally places it at the end. Or was it? We nowadays often programme the new stuff at the start of the night - and that's just what they did in 1904, before soothing the duly baffled Cologne audience with some more familiar Schubert and Beethoven. If nothing else, tonight's programming highlighted that even the most venerable of chestnuts were new once.

As once was Stockhausen's Punkte - but that was nearly sixty years ago. Unremarkably, the ageing Mahler fans who form a large part of the Arena audience came out with the usual lame jokes and mutterings. But to their credit, the vast majority returned from the bar after the interval for the Stockhausen. A few passive-aggressive old bats chose to demonstrate their superior musical tastes by ostentatiously rustling their boiled sweets and Sudoku 'books' throughout, but the vast majority stood there silently and perhaps attentively, prepared at least to give the music a chance.

I doubt if many were converted - Punkte is one of the early works where musical effect is subsumed to the underlying idea, and the idea sustains more like 27 seconds of music than the 27 minutes it extends over. Although Stockhausen went back later and revised the work, it remains, despite a supple and accurate performance by the Gürzenich, largely dry and unrewarding. "It wasn't flowing" complained a nearby prommer, who unwittingly grasped the Punkt of it all "just a load of different noises with gaps in between".

Stockhausen's legacy is I think better served by the outright sonic manipulation of later works. But Punkte I guess slotted better into this programme, because it deploys relatively conventional orchestral forces. The unconventional but typically thoughtful layout (violins to the right, a harp on each side of the conductor) provided the main foretaste of the spatial soundgames Stockhausen was later to play. 

Orchestrating Schubert lieder is a rather quaint and unfashionable practice, but one that might be worth reviving if cast the songs in a new light.

But all four of the newly-commissioned orchestrations for this evening were dull and formulaic. I've heard more interesting arrangements on ye olde scratchy lieder 78s (and would have been happy to hear these revived - what's the point of revisiting if you're not going to rethink?)

A couple were worse than dull - Colin Matthews' stodgy brass band lullaby for Nacht und Träume entirely missed the point of its hidden death wish, and Detlev Glanert's leaden Das Lied im Grünen had none of the joys of spring.

Careless programme editing didn't help - the text for the Rellstab Ständchen D957 was printed instead of the required (identical in name only) Grillparzer Ständchen D920. (Correct text and original music is here for anyone interested, translation is here, and here's an idea for the editor's Xmas list.)

Angelika Kirchschlager, dressed as everyone's favourite Quality Street, nuts and gooey caramel in a purple wrapper, did her effortful best to project over some unsympathetically dense orchestration. The upper end of her range sparkled. The lower notes, her weak point anyway, often just disappeared. But at least she brought a charm that the grimly serious earlier part of the evening had lacked.

Just when I was thinking the Gürzenich was a fine professional orchestra but nothing more, they surprised by flashing their opera house credentials with a weighty and truly stirring Leonore No.3 Overture to finish, and capped even that with their encore, a nice bit of Parsifal. We were by now more than three hours from the start, but I could happily have stayed for hours more. Why is it only at the Proms, and then only rarely, that we get orchestral concerts of any substantial length?

Alfred Brendel says Auf Wiedersehen to London at the Royal Festival Hall

Alfred Brendel - Royal Festival Hall, 27 June 2008

Haydn Variations in F minor, Hob.XVII/6 (Un Piccolo divertimento)
Mozart Piano Sonata in F, K.533/494
Beethoven Piano Sonata in E flat, Op.27 No.1 (Quasi una fantasia)
Schubert Piano Sonata in B flat, D.960

After 60 years on the padded stool, Alfred Brendel is finally calling time on his piano playing career, sealing his choice with a series of farewell gigs around the world. Tonight it was goodbye to London, with his last ever solo recital in the capital.

It must have been a hard decision to make, but I think his timing is right. I've wondered for a while whether he wants or needs to perform as much as he used to. Generally looking a great deal more happy and comfortable in the audience than on the stage, his recent performances have often been marked by lapses in focus and concentration.

But tonight was different - the relief of the marathon runner in sight of the finishing tape perhaps? At any rate, he appeared elated, not just at the massive ovations he received, but even at several times during his performance, and his concentration was absolute.

The characteristically intelligent programme had all the Brendel hallmarks of elegant juxtapositions of key, mood and context, its path tracing inexorably to Schubert's Vienna, arguably Brendel's pianistic home.

Brendel's touch was delicate, almost cosseting. He played with affection and tenderness, as if each piece were a newborn baby being put to bed. There was no thunder and no theatrics. Neither tempo nor dynamics were ever sharply accentuated. His assurance was such that he could trust the tiniest inflection to do all the expressive work for him. If wisdom has a sound, this was it.

Far from imposing a misguided uniformity on the disparate parts of the programme, Brendel's approach simply accentuated their atavistic similarities. Attention to detail took care of the rest. Only a few graceless inter-movement coughs and rumbles during the Schubert could break the rapt spell that Brendel cast - little wonder he leapt into its last movement without pausing for the inevitable distraction.

Encoring first with part of Bach's Italian concerto and then Liszt's Au Lac de Wallenstadt, it wasn't until Brendel's final encore, almost inevitably Schubert's G flat Impromptu, that he kicked loose and thundered out the first and last fortissimo of the night. 

*********************************************************************

Click here for a recent Dutch TV interview (in English) where Brendel discusses his retirement.

 

Mark Padmore brings home Winterreise

Mark Padmore / Julius Drake - Wigmore Hall, 21 May 2008

Mark Padmore made the point in his excellent programme note - as reproduced in the Guardian - that 'Winterreise starts almost where Die Schöne Müllerin leaves off'. I don't see as much in common as that suggests, and I wonder if Padmore really does either, because his approach to tonight's Winterreise bore little relation to his Schöne Müllerin of a couple of nights before.

What made the most difference was his total commitment and confidence. The other night he'd hidden behind the loveliness of his voice for much of the cycle. But here, he had a clear idea of where he was going, and not even the odd slipped note could divert him.

This was a Winterreise of neurosis punctuated with ferocious self-loathing, not so much a journey as an unchecked torrent of despair, brought to a stuttering lull in dawning self-knowledge at Der Wegweiser before continuing to its bleak and bitter end.

Although Padmore was in fine voice, he made beautiful sounds very sparingly, limiting them to the more wistful and reflective moments like Der Lindenbaum and Frühlingstraum. The effect was all the more telling for its rarity. Elsewhere he underlined mental instability with explosive dynamic contrasts, almost shouting lines like the last one of Die Wetterfahne, 'Ihr Kind is eine reiche Braut' - this was heartfelt fury, not the sneering dismissal it's often portrayed with. Sincerity is so much harder to convey than irony, but this is the course Padmore chose, and he succeeded.

Julius Drake provided spirited and equally strong-willed accompaniment. Indeed there was a moment of tension right at the start in Gute Nacht when Drake seemed to be pushing on while Padmore pulled back - if this was intentional, it was inspired, because it really sounded as if they were about to fall apart. Reviewers never seem to find any fault with Drake's playing. Unlike them, I sometimes find Drake's own firmly-expressed ideas, his interventionist style, to intrude on a real sense of partnership. But paradoxically, that's his strength as well. His idiosyncratically powerful contributions to Rast and Täuschung were not only radically different from the conventional but entirely in keeping with the boldness of Padmore's interpretation.

Their final song, Der Leiermann, sounded, quite properly, like the last song at the end of the world.

Peter Anders made one of the greatest Winterreise recordings with Gerald Moore in 1945. The voice is less beautiful than Padmore's, and the style more operatic, but the existential despair is all there:

Gute Nacht:

Die Wetterfahne:

Der Leiermann:

Mark Padmore's not-so-schöne Müllerin

Mark Padmore/Till Fellner - Wigmore Hall, 19 May 2008

Tonight's Die schöne Müllerin was the first of Mark Padmore's hotly anticipated, sold out months ago trio of Schubert cycles at the Wigmore Hall. Winterreise follows on Wednesday and Schwanengesang on Saturday.

It was a frustrating hour, with only a few high spots offering a glimpse of what Padmore might be capable of. While it was far from terrible, it was also from a singer of his abilities and experience disappointingly close to average. He simply wasn't able to sustain the dramatic arc of the cycle, to take us on that emotional journey. The fracturing of the sequence was tellingly emphasised by a hail of inter-song coughing.

More critically, many of the songs were skimmed through in an adept but bland style, finely-crafted and superficially attractive singing that gave little weight to meaning. Padmore had a few technical problems, particularly in his upper range,and it crossed my mind that his reserve might have something to do with not wanting to risk any further exposure of these. What should have been the first dramatic peak of the cycle, Ungeduld, turned out  to be something of a damp squib, creamily purred through without a hint of passion. Mein had a little more thrust behind it, but little warmth - the effect was joyless and almost creepy, like the ramblings of some unhinged stalker.

Although Till Fellner provided refined and sensitive accompaniment, it couldn't provide the magic that was needed here - if anything it reinforced Padmore's emotional detachment.

It wasn't until Padmore was close to the end, with the suicidal Die liebe Farbe, that voice and heart clicked into place, and I could finally believe what he was singing. The last five songs were a hint of what might have been, a glorious melding of intelligence, interpretative sensitivity and impeccable technique. I just hope he can find some more of whatever that is for Wednesday's Winterreise, because it'll be a long night otherwise. 

This concert was recorded and will be broadcast on Radio 3 on 28 May at 7pm.

***UPDATE***

One of the finest recorded versions of Die schöne Müllerin comes from the exquisitely friable tenor of Aksel Schiøtz. Recorded in 1945 with Gerald Moore, here are the first twelve songs of the cycle auf Muxtape. 

 

Andras Schiff's Schubert marathon

András Schiff - Wigmore Hall, 15 May 2008

Schubert – Impromptus, D.899, Moments Musicaux, D.780, Drei Klavierstücke, D.946, Impromptus, D.935

It rarely seemed that way, but this was an unusually long evening, with a 90 minute first half and another half an hour in the second. I'm not sure of the purpose of stuffing so much into the first half, but the main effect was to underline how much less consequential the six Moments Musicaux are than the Impromptus and Klavierstücke Schiff framed them with.

Schiff had performed the same programme in the Wigmore Hall the previous evening. How draining that had been is a matter of speculation. But Schiff made a surprising number of clunky errors in the first set of Impromptus. Painting with a broad brush, sparing of pedal, he took a bold and decisive line. His left hand sang out purposefully -- it was grave and relentless stuff, with little of the improvisatory flavour of his playful approach the last time I heard him perform these pieces.

He seemed reluctant to take a break between these and the Moments Musicaux which followed. Visibly itching for the applause to end, he launched in as soon as was decent, and seemed suddenly more relaxed and able to explore a lighter lyrical side, though again without great refinement of detail.

With the Drei Klavierstücke, again kicked off after a pause of mere seconds, he returned to the bold outlines of the earlier part of the programme, as if he had plenty to say but nothing left to ask.

The break between the first and second half seemed to rejuvenate Schiff. With the D.935 Impromptus he was fully alert to the interplay of line and gave a considerably more detailed, considered and frankly musical performance. Particularly in the startlingly forward-looking final F minor Impromptu, Schiff finally sounded as if he had unlocked something not only in Schubert but also in himself.

Encoring with Schubert's Hungarian Melody D.817, Schiff bizarrely sounded more far more energised and alive than he had at the start of the recital, cleverly leaving us wanting more. And after over two hours of performance, that's no mean feat.

This video is part of a masterclass Schiff gave - it's interesting in the context of what I noticed in the recital to see how he's focussing more on what his student should take out than on what she needs to put in:

Alice Coote's unforgettable journey

Alice Coote/Julius Drake - Wigmore Hall, 28 March 2008

Schubert - Winterreise

Very few women have tackled the manly Winterreise successfully - Brigitte Fassbaender, and, memorably, Christa Ludwig are the only ones I'm aware of. And to add to the pressure on Alice Coote, tonight's performance, the first of two over the weekend, was being recorded.

Her performance tonight was completely idiosyncratic and entirely Alice, utterly spellbinding.

She swept through the entire 75 minutes with bare seconds separating each song, no pauses for breath, water or recomposure, turning the 24 songs into an uninterrupted torrent. This was not an intellectual exercise in laying each song in turn on a velvet cushion of considered response, but a revelation of the emotional truth underlying whole cycle.

Any blurring of the individual identity of each song was recompensed in the blinding intensity of the performance. Resisting any temptation to break the mood, the often jauntily-taken Die Post was in her hands cuttingly ironic, the illusory repose of Der Lindenbaum exposed as the bitterest of despair.

Alice Coote's voice is not merely an instrument, it's almost an orchestra in its own right. The core is a luscious velvety mezzo of great beauty, but we heard little of that tonight. The range of colour and expression she can extract is staggering, and she deployed it fearlessly. Not all of the risks worked - she can conjure something forceful and screechy, most effective used sparingly, like black in a painting. Here she daubed it on too liberally in the earlier part of the cycle.

No stranger to a trouser or two on the operatic stage, tonight Alice went for an all-black Liza Minnelli-ish look - black satin mini trench belted over narrow pants and a sparkly low cut vest.  I mention this not merely in the interests of fashion. Alice Coote is an instinctive, almost compulsive, actress, and we would have got a different performance in a dress. Lurching forward, one hand in the piano, or twisted into some gawky pose or another, she cut an awkward, arresting, but entirely unselfconscious figure.

Julius Drake was an unintrusive and solid support, his role tonight very much a secondary one, no flourishes and no extended postludes, the piano symbolically on its shortest stick. As they left the stage after the final applause, she clutching the obligatory bouquet, he the wine bottle that the Wigmore Hall supplies to performers of the masculine gender, she made to grab his bottle. All that singing must build up some thirst......

Incidentally, I wasn't surprised to see a music stand - many performers need that crutch, regardless of how well they know their material - but I was surprised how often Alice referred to it.

Alice Coote and Julius Drake visited Radio 3's In Tune on Thursday to perform a couple of songs and discuss Winterreise. Here is the programme (their bit starts about 10 minutes in) - available online until Thursday.

Bostridge Bostridge Bostridge

Ian Bostridge / Dorothea Röschmann / Thomas Quasthoff / Julius Drake - Barbican
and
Ian Bostridge / Sophie Daneman / Julius Drake - St Luke's, 14 January 2008

Aller guten Dinge sind drei

This was an interesting idea I'd like to see the Barbican repeat more often. One evening, two concerts, a short walk apart, and just enough time in between to grab some of London's finest sushi. The common link - Ian Bostridge - both were part of his year-long series of concerts at the Barbican.

For the first, an all-Schubert affair, he was joined by Dorothea Röschmann and Thomas Quasthoff. Schubert's duets and trios are not his strongest work, and the programme wisely majored on solo settings, mostly of Goethe.

It's probably true to say that there aren't that many people in London who attend lieder recitals on a regular basis, so with a 2,000-ish audience in the Barbican, there must have been a fair number of newcomers present. So it was a brave decision to begin with the heavy stuff, as Bostridge took on the three rarely-heard Gesänge des Harfners, the desolate outpourings of a blind and destitute old harper. Though his awkward twitching and lurching was barely watchable, hands fighting to levitate from pockets, the voice in contrast was pure and immaculately controlled, the tone simply beautiful.

Instead of the mannered enrobement of each and every syllable which has detracted from some of Bostridge's previous performances, there was a real sense of poetry asthe lines flowed, with consonants accented selectively and judiciously. OK, some of his technique, the flicked notes, the portamento, wasn't technically 'correct', but they were choices that worked. I was riveted; some other audience members weren't, but the coughing was boldly and effectively reduced by Thomas Quasthoff with a loud shush and an angry look.

The logical follow up was a little light relief, the lovely if slight duet Mignon und der Harfner, which introduced Dorothea Röschmann. Her presence is direct and assured, her tone bell-like and lyrical, and she complements Bostridge perfectly. Going it alone in the three following Mignon Lieder and Kennst du das Land, her artless simplicity transformed her into the sad child of the songs.

Thomas Quasthoff lightened the tone with the rollicking Normans Gesang and the familiar Ganymed. Grenzen der Menschheit rather overstayed its welcome, but the compensation of a very subtly characterised Erlkönig followed. Quasthoff has enormous warmth and a very easy delivery, but there were many moments when he seemed imperfectly focussed, his naturalness sliding into a less than thoughtful delivery. Not enough of the material was in his satisfyingly rich and resonant bass register either, and he strained on the higher notes.

The trio Kantate zum Geburtstag des Sangers Johann Michael Vogl which closed the lengthy first half at least takes singing as its subject matter, and of course as a rare Schubert trio was appropriate for this particular line up of performers. But a good eight of its ten minutes seemed excessive - at least it was delivered with humour and energy.

The shorter second half of the concert was dominated in every sense by Dorothea Röschmann's three Faust songs, a spectral Der König in Thule, an intense Gretchen am Spinnrade and a moving Gretchen’s Bitte. There is a simple authenticity to everything she sings, an ease which makes every word sound fresh-minted and completely honest - though she wasn't best served by Julius Drake's idiosyncratically languorous accompaniment here, to a lesser extent an issue all evening.

The Szene im Dom which followed, another Faust setting and effectively a duet for Röschmann and Quasthoff, gave Quasthoff the opportunity to play to his strengths as the darkly evil spirit chastising the desperate Gretchen.

After the charming Bostridge/Röschmann duet Licht und Liebe the concert closed with the rather silly but at this stage enjoyable Der Hochzeitsbraten, complete with hunting calls and yodelling effects, where a pair of hare-poaching lovers are caught by a gamekeeper.

And then, at least for the lucky few, it was off up the road to the much smaller St Lukes, where Ian Bostridge and Julius Drake were joined by Sophie Daneman for what was billed as 'Late Night Cabaret', a set of songs by Coward, Porter and Weill. Bostridge's Schubert credentials are impeccable, his popular music less so. The stage was set with a starry night sky backdrop, a champagne bucket and a haze of filtered lights. (No smoking allowed tho).

Opening with Coward's I Travel Alone, Bostridge showed a much less mannered touch than his recording, now a few years old, would suggest. He hardly has the insouciant ease of a Sinatra, but in the songs he connected with, like this one, the performance was at least credible, and considerably less physically awkward than his earlier Barbican showing. The dismissal of considerations of technique which to some ears flaw his classical performances give him a head start here, where the centred voice and the clipped note are not always what works. In others, like Twentieth-Century Blues, he seemed to be offering more of a commentary than a performance, and it didn't come over nearly as well.

He has a terrific rapport with Sophie Daneman, who brought a relaxed charm to the evening. Her high, silvery, vibrato-free voice is just as well suited to musical theatre as to the baroque opera she's more usually associated with. There was never any sense of pain behind her perpetual smile though. As she translated the quiet despair which should underline If Love Were All into a cheerily game resignation, I longed for the raw simplicity of a Judy Garland.

Surprisingly, the least effective songs were the six from Weill's Die Dreigroschenoper, for which Drake's loosely phrased piano work was partially to blame. It's an unfortunate reflection on the art of accompaniment that the audience tends only to notice what the pianist is doing when it's not quite right, but that's the way it goes. A bit more rhythmic impetus would certainly have helped here. And Bostridge's tendency to spit out every other line like a curse grossly distorted the text.

It was a smart idea to end with a group of Cole Porter songs, their supercilious wit ideally matched to the performers' strengths. I don't think this is an experiment I'd want to see repeated any time soon, but as classical crossover goes, it was at least not entirely witless or excruciating, a rarity in itself.

 

Angelika Kirchschlager shouts some Schubert

Angelika Kirchschlager/András Schiff - Wigmore Hall, 6 November 2007

Angelika Kirchschlager is capable of singing very beautifully indeed. A fresh-minted sweetness and purity of tone are her hallmarks, and that's exactly how she packaged most of her higher notes in tonight's Brahms/Schubert recital.

But it was disappointing (to those of us who go in for that sort of thing anyway) she chose to deploy her lower register in a semi-conversational style bordering on sprechgesang. In the lighter songs - like Brahms's Och Moder - it was comically effective. But elsewhere it was over-employed to the point of mannerism. I can't recall noticing this in her singing before (at least not to this extent). Not one true chest note all night, so I don't think it can be passed off as interpretive choice. Illness, affectation, nerves? -- baffling.

At the other end, her highest notes were paper-thin, so it's perhaps fortunate the programme had been judiciously selected to minimise these.

She remains at least a marvellous actress, with an ability to bring songs to life physically even where the vocals are lacking. In the elegant silky bias-cut dress pictured above, and painful looking high pointy stilettos she commanded the stage.

The evening was billed as 'Songs with and without words', and accordingly each half was bisected with a group of short piano solos. Although the sort of thing András Schiff might have had difficulty working into a regular piano recital, here they slotted in neatly. He gave a typically poised and thoughtful reading of three Brahms Intermezzi inspired by poems, and later on cut loose for three characterful Schubert pieces, from the songlike Hungarian Melody to the rumbunctious Grazer Galopp. They're pieces you might not get to hear very often, unless you play them yourself, so were all the more welcome.

Brahms Wach auf mein Herzensschöne; Es steht ein Lind: Da unten im Tale Op. 97 no. 6; Och Moder, ich well en Ding han!; Vor dem Fenster Op. 14 No. 1; Feinsliebchen, du sollst mir nicht barfuß gehn; In stiller Nacht;
3 Intermezzi Op. 117;
Von waldbekränzter Höhe Op. 57 No. 1; Wenn du nur zuweilen lächelst Op. 57 No. 2; Es träumte mir, ich sei dir teuer Op. 57 No. 3; Ach, wende diesen Blick Op. 57 No. 4; Unbewegte laue Luft Op. 57 No. 8

Schubert An Silvia D. 891; Der liebliche Stern D. 861; Geheimes D. 719; Wiegenlied D. 867;
Hungarian Melody in B minor D817; Allegretto in C minor D915; Grazer Galopp in C D925;
Am Bach im Frühling D. 361; Der Pilgrim D. 794; Lied des Florio D. 857 No. 2; An den Mond D. 259; Sehnsucht D. 636

Nash Ensemble go the wrong way Around Schubert

Nash Ensemble/John Mark Ainsley - Wigmore Hall, 6 October 2007

Oh dear. Tonight's first performance did not augur well for the remainder of the Nash Ensemble's lengthy 'Around Schubert' season at the Wigmore Hall.

Kicking off with the simplistic early Violin Sonata in D, violinist Marianne Thorsen and pianist Ian Brown failed to convince that this is anything more than a cheery salon piece, with more enjoyment to be gained from playing it than from listening to it.

Next, Brown was joined by tenor John Mark Ainsley and cellist Paul Watkins for a bizarre backseat-driven of Auf dem Strom, where Ainsley's honeyed tone and lyrical grace (the unquestionable highlight of the whole evening) were all too often drowned out by the hectoring, overwrought cello of Watkins. At the end, Thomas Quasthoff leapt up from the audience and shot backstage, presumably to commiserate with the hapless Ainsley.

It left a bitter taste over the pleasant but unremarkable readings of Schubert's Arpeggione Sonata and Beethoven's 'Archduke' Piano Trio which followed. I admire much of the Nash's contemporary work, but on this account their Schubert falls well wide of the mark.

Angela Hewitt's Bach and Barenboim's mighty Wiener

Angela Hewitt - Cadogan Hall, 3 September 2007
     and
Prom 66: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 3 September 2007
     and
Prom 68: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Barenboim - Royal Albert Hall, 4 September 2007

The refinement of Angela Hewitt's playing was matched by her frock choice for this lunchtime recital, a slinky teal jersey sleeveless gown and pants paired with teetering stilettos in matching satin (a risky choice for an hour at the piano?). But as it turned out she pedalled minimally, allowing the bright, pinging tone of her Fazioli piano to illuminate her midday programme, which sandwiched a couple of Scarlatti sonatas between two Bach Partitas.

She characterised each dance in the opening Partita no 1 with a clarity and delicacy that flowed through the whole programme. A little hesitancy and some uncharacteristic fluffs in this opener weren't repeated in the closing Bach Partita no 4, each phrase shaped with complete focus and attention. 

Although Domenico Scarlatti was a contemporary of Bach, the two sonatas performed, K9 and K29, sound as if they come from another century, even another planet. Their sparky playfulness and invention provided just the right amount of contrast with the Bach.

Unfortunately, the BBC radio recording destroys the delicacy and intimacy of Hewitt's performance with a cavernous quality that wasn't at all apparent at the recital. But if you're curious about what a piano might sound like at the bottom of a well, it's worth a couple of minutes attention.

Given the tube strike which started a couple of hours earlier, it was surprising to see a full house for Barenboim and the Vienna Philharmonic in the evening, but it was worth any amount of difficulty to see a performance of this calibre.

They opened with Schubert's light and Mozartean fifth Symphony, composed when he was just 19. Finessing that tricky blend of assurance and freshness, the Vienna Phil gave the most charming and delightful performance.

Having no doubt drilled these consummate musicians to perfection in rehearsal, Barenboim simply waved his arms in the air now and again as if he was waiting for his deodorant to dry.

The main course of the evening was Bruckner's Symphony no 4, which according to the programme was performed in the original 1874 version. I didn't notice any differences from the more usually played 1880 version so I'm a bit baffled by this.

Anyway, who cares, it was a marvel from start to finish. Barenboim's conception had the air of confidence - no muddle and no theatrics. From the moment the horns reached out over the rippling strings in the opening bars through to the blazing finale there was not a second's drop in concentration. The burnished sweep of the string section was the foundation for some immaculate and inspired playing from the wind and brass as they shaped the long melodic phrases.

It really is impossible to pick out any one of the finely-crafted moments or any musician for special praise. Sometimes a great performance seems to be constructed in front of you from the base up - this one felt as if it had been born perfect, fully-formed, and simply unveiled to us slowly, second by second.

The tube strike finally managed to get its claws into the Proms with the Vienna Phil's second and final Prom the next day. There were great toothless gaps in the stalls seats, and even the arena could have squeezed a few more standing customers in.

It would have been unreasonable to expect anything of the intensity of the previous day's Bruckner, and indeed this was a much more relaxed affair.

If the previous night had focused on architecture and construction, this one was about painting. The huge textural differences between each of its four sections were what really leapt out from a surprisingly abrasive take on Bartók's Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta. Ligeti's brief Atmosphères was similarly rough-hewn, its curious shapes grinding up against each other.

The other two pieces, Kodály's Dances from Galánta and Enescu's Romanian Rhapsody No. 1 were delivered immaculately, and with tremendous verve. But despite their common Central European ancestry, their dancing rhythms seemed to belong on a different programme from the Bartók and Ligeti. Then again, perhaps that was the point.

The almost inevitable thundering ovation drew a couple of lively Strauss encores - the Vienna Phil as comfortable with these as with everything else they'd played.

Before the concert I slipped in to Proms head Nicholas Kenyon's audience Q&A session. This drew mostly the predictable Why can't we have more/less [insert name here] questions. However Kenyon did reveal that the Proms cost £8.5m, of which only £3.5m was covered by ticket receipts, the BBC footing the rest. For how long I wonder?