Live-Tweeting from The 2020 Proms - The LSO under Simon Rattle

Live-Tweeting from The 2020 Proms - The London Symphony Orchestra under Sir Simon Rattle

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2019 (17 to 24 October)
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30 August

Live-Tweeting from The 2020 Proms - The London Symphony Orchestra
under Sir Simon Rattle on 30 August 2020

After Venetian brass*, which might well have resounded in San Marco as it did to-day, such a glorious moment when the string-sound of the Elgar broke through :

All credit to @londonsymphony players and @BBCRadio3 crew for such clarity !

* #UCFF guesses - the Tweets don't say.

— THE AGENT APSLEY #ScrapUniversalCredit #JC4PM2019 (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) August 30, 2020

Gorgeously inventive programming to suit times of trial and trouble, with Beethoven's Op. 27 and György Kurtág's Op. 27 response :

The setting of #mitsukouchida's performance, in time and space, and the lay-out of the players around her, vividly described by @Ianskellyradio3 !

— THE AGENT APSLEY #ScrapUniversalCredit #JC4PM2019 (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) August 30, 2020

I will be rattling my keys in the Kurtág tonight ⁦⁦@bbcproms⁩ ⁦@londonsymphony⁩ pic.twitter.com/DVFxHhlYaV

— Thomas Adès (@Thomas_ades) August 30, 2020

Known via Sir Adrian Boult's recordings (and before energetic recentish champions such as @ClareCollege alumnus @andrewmanze), even he didn't achieve the third-movement pianississimo in this symphony for which Ralph Vaughan Williams is heard thanking Boult at the end of No. 6 (?)

— THE AGENT APSLEY #ScrapUniversalCredit #JC4PM2019 (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) August 30, 2020

The Passacaglia's structure brings us out of the preceding movements' blessed, healing enchantments, seeming to rise in joyous, untriumphal harmony, but to a held-off close*.

* RVW feigns several, and then, via sinuous knotting and unknotting, brings it all back to serene rest.

— THE AGENT APSLEY #ScrapUniversalCredit #JC4PM2019 (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) August 30, 2020

Such a treat to hear Vaughan Williams’ beautiful Symphony No 5 performed LIVE @bbcproms and on @BBCRadio3 by the wonderful @londonsymphony. First proper orchestra I saw live as a kid and I’ve never forgotten it. Things are looking up!

— Emma Bloxham (@emmablox1) August 30, 2020

Vaughan Williams’s Symphony No 5 is a shaft of sunshine in a gloom-filled year. Thank you @bbcproms @SirSimonRattle @londonsymphony

— George Poles (@GeorgePoles) August 30, 2020

Loved "Dawn" - thank you so much @londonsymphony @bbcproms @RoyalAlbertHall @SirSimonRattle @Thomas_ades - in fact, loved the whole concert !

— Paul Davies (@pd1946) August 31, 2020

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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

A swaying, snarling, even spitting Schubert for our times

This is a review of Ian Bostridge and Thomas Adès in Schubert’s Winterreise

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2014 (28 August to 7 September)
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This is a review of a performance at The Maltings, Snape, of Franz Schubert’s Winterreise (Op. 89, D. 911) by Ian Bostridge and Thomas Adès on the evening of Sunday 22 June 2014 in the 67th Aldeburgh Festival (@aldeburghmusic)

One might have imagined that the theatrical nature of to-night’s Winterreise at The Maltings, Snape, was Nicht für alle – but when Adès had sounded the final moment of calm, beyond bereftness, and had maintained long his final position on the keys (holding the reaction off), the vivid acclaim proved otherwise.

And seventy or more minutes had passed without seeming so, taking us to Der Leiermann quite, it might almost have felt, by surprise – could we really be at journey’s end already (wherever we actually were in time, that is)… ? Had we not been immersed, and begun to lose track of the number of song-settings by around the seventh – and why, anyway, was the figure of thirty-two floating around in the mind (or was that from The Goldberg Variations, BWV 988 ?) ?

In ‘Gute Nacht’ (1*), right at the start of Wilhelm Müller’s sequence (though there were originally only twelve poems), there might have been some wonder at Bostridge’s extreme enunciation of clusters of letters at the ends of words such as gemacht / Nacht, and then, in reverse order, Nacht / gedacht**.

The initial impression was that maybe Bostridge had reacted to some criticism of his German by over-accentuation – but no, with further listening, diction in other places was more interior by far, not simply quieter, and, although (with the hall’s fine acoustic) it must have, seemed in danger of not reaching halfway up the side-stalls, let alone carrying to the back of the raked seating :

Something more complicated was going on with the voicing of this piece, which not only looked back to Bostridge’s recording with Julius Drake of ‘Erlkönig’ (D. 328) (on the EMI album Schubert Lieder*** in 1998), but also to his acclaimed appearances in so much Mozart, so much Britten, even as Caliban in Adès’ own much-lauded opera. (And, as Bostridge was in Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia, fitting to be reminded of a Director of Studies at Cambridge, who once expressed the belief that the separate characters in The Rape of Lucrece are different parts of one person – and the concomitantly repellent implication that Shakespeare had composed a fantasy of rape.)


Bostridge was bringing what amounted to a semi-staging to this late work of Schubert (hardly anything later than the year of death, and correcting the proofs of Part 2 of the song-cycle), but almost within the conventions of the concert-hall : done-up dark suit, single buttoned and almost a less-showy dinner-jacket, white shirt, but no tie for Adès or him.

Sometimes leaning on the curve of the Steinway grand as if this were cabaret (and sounding not a little Kurt Weillish), sometimes feeling like about to dive into it, under its lid (yet not as at a word-prompt, but as if his lost love and heart might be there), other times advancing upstage, at yet others writhing, contorted, and seeming to start disintegrating. Which, of course, is at the heart of Winterreise (after – and painfully leading on from – [Schubert’s setting of] Müller’s optimistic and enthusiastic Die schöne Müllerin (no sly self-reference there).

Or, more than two centuries later, at that of Beckettt in Molloy**** (and the other two novels of that trilogy, or even in the earlier work Mercier and Camier), though one was reminded most of that writer’s more famous and actually once cultured ‘men of the road’ in Vladimir and Estragon (affectionately, Didi and Gogo) : Could Bostridge possibly be seeing himself as a Vladimir, first of all seeing that special tree (‘Den Lindenbaum’ (5)), but with difficult feelings because of the mismatch with what is rooted in memory ?

That was the first really lyrical voicing, with Lieder-type gestures and tone, but it led, for example, to :

* ‘Wasserflut’ (6), with a massive, expressionistic stress on Haus (the ultimate word of the lyrics)

* Looking back on the town, as the departing man leaves it behind (‘Rückblick’ (8))

* The heart’s unfettered reaching out, in rapturous hope, when ein Posthorn klingt (in ‘Die Post’ (12)) – more clamorous lyricism

* The fixéd resignation / resolution (in ‘Der Wegweiser’ (20)) of :

eine Straße muß ich gehen,
die noch keiner ging zurück


Maybe at this point a different note set in – or perhaps as early as ‘Der greise Kopf’ (14)*****, contemplating the poet’s happy illusion of being old (because of frost on the hair). From then, diese Resie not seem to be demanding of Bostridge in the same way, and the slightly reeling and slurred Tom Waits down tone, contrasting with the defiant up voice that clearly and angrily states how the traveller has been treated, had evaporated – the feeling of ill-treatment had been early, starting with ‘Die Wetterfahne’ (2), and seeing Cressida-like inconstancy in the weather-vane signalling a change of direction (indicated by what is described as ‘[ein] Schild’, a crest or shield), and in the cynicism of the wind-changed beloved’s parents :

Was fragen sie nach meinen Schmerzen ?
Ihr Kind ist eine reiche Braut.


Yet this living so deeply with the role (no less than that, say, of Lear, where there is some respite) must have been at, and continued to be at, a price : at the end of Winterreise, when Adès and he went off, Bostridge seemed physically reduced from being already slim – though perhaps it was just the back view – and looked depleted, almost lamed.


Just one minor hesitation…

Yes, we can be plunged into this winter-world, but (especially if we do not know it, and struggle to follow the unremitting text in the concert-hall’s relative gloom) do we best find our emotional direction with Schubert’s work here ? Coming to the performance with our maybe hurried occupation of seats, our life outside the hall, brought into our seat ? – until, though, we relax into the offered music. No, we definitely would not have demanded more of Bostridge before Winterreise, but could we not have had a momentary taste of the composer just for piano, just to get us in his sound-world ?

As it was, it transpired that Adès, as accompanist, had read back into the early sections the spiky strangeness of the close, with his brought-out bass-figures and what seemed quirkily anachronistic stress, but could we have followed him better, and alone first, with a suitable Impromptu or two, to remind ourselves of the Schubert who after all strove, not least in Rosamunde (however fragmentarily his efforts usually survive, outside Radio 3’s (@BBCRadio3’s) Schubert marathon, as ‘incidental music’), to be part of theatre ?

Or even Liszt transcriptions of some songs, to take us away from the text-based, score-based literalism with which we might have approached what, it turned out, was anything but a hide-bound Winterreise, but a dangerous encounter with the part-like nature of the self…


A review of the following night's marathon solo piano recital by Festival director Pierre-Laurent Aimard is now available here



End-notes

* The numbering denotes the positioning of the poems of the song-cycle (as against Müller’s sequence of poems).

** Not here, but later, is where sounds were almost launched at the front rows of the stalls, right below Bostridge : ab in ‘Gefrorne Tränen’ (3), and, probably next, überdeckt andausgestreckt in ‘Auf dem Flusse’ (7).


*** The initial recording, to which a Volume II was added (in the release in 2001).

**** ‘Rast’ (10) talks of sheltering in a charcoal-burner’s house, and there is such a person in Beckettt’s Molloy…

***** In the closing two lines, we have confirmation that this is a definite departure, eine Reise :

Wer glaubt’s ? under meiner ward es nicht
auf dieser ganzen Reise !


Also on Aldeburgh...

Ever-ambitious Aimard wows with authenticity

The Humphrey and Andy Show (Britten on Camera)


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Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Vagueness possible

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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26 October

I have known the phrase Darkness visible back to at least first reading, if not before, Paradise Lost, and the link is usually said to be partly with Milton's blindness, as he totally lost his sight in 1652, when John Aubrey says that he had yet to start the work by dictation (although others see that parts must have been written earlier than Aubrey's approximate date of commencing of 1658).

I remember it in Book IV, but that is where Satan gets about things, and it is in Book I that we have the substantive lines (which lead to a recollected Hell in that later Book*)


At once, as far as angels ken, he views
The dismal situation, waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible.


One Christmas, when there had been a broadcast that year of a reading of the entire work for some Milton multi-centenary (or other anniversary), I had intended to re-read PL on each of the Twelve Days, but it came to nothing. However, maybe finding myself back there now, as the psychology of Satan that the quotation below exemplifies seems very complex, is a good time for a visit...

Plus, also, I was reminded of the phrase, which I knew from Milton, when hearing announced a work yesterday evening of our friend Thomas Adès, in which he has reworked Dowland's song for solo piano (which, I am sure, that it needed), and given it the title Darkness Visible :


In darkness let me dwell; the ground shall sorrow be,
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;
My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,
O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come.


Whether giving the piano arrangement that title, and the connotations that it has, is suitable remains for others to decide (but are we to imagine Satan himself as the voice of the submerged song, or the complainant figuring that he is content in damnation?) :


End-notes

* In these lines


Horror and doubt distract
His troubled thoughts; for within him hell
He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell
One step, no more than from himself, can fly
By change of place.


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What is this fascination with the music of Adès? (2)

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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4 March

An achievement whose performance, I feel, deserves celebration, by contrast, is that of a piece that I happened to hear (and turned out probably only to have missed the beginning of and a little bit twenty minutes on) as part of Music Nation on Radio 3 last night:

It was Surrogate Cities by Heiner Goebbels, called a composition for orchestra, and broadcast live from The Royal Festival Hall.

In default of saying anything more meaningful now, here is a link to the composer's web-site:
http://www.heinergoebbels.com/en/archive/works/complete/view/46


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Naomi Campbell performs her Sonata for Piano (according to Samuel VII and YouTube)

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
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3 March

And a cracking performance it is!

Shunning designer wear for a frock borrowed (on the sly) from Katie Derham, Campbell cuts a stunning figure, as she sits silently, contemplating the black interleaved with the white.

Then, in a shot of her actually at the piano, we see her hesitate, before unleashing this piece of compressed energy. For the entire sonata, although in two quite different movements, lasts just 15 seconds, without repeats. (With repeats, which are intermeshed in a complicated way, it could take days, which is longer than can be uploaded to the relevant web-site.)

In a naive act, as if of rage, we are reminded of nothing so much as Bartók's Allegro barbaro, and then, in the contrasting mood, of his well-known nuance for 'night music'. How good, then, that Campbell turned down, in favour of this work, a commission for a Theme and 57 Variations on an Original Melody by Thomas Adès!

Just the first in a strand dubbed 'Supermodels play Sonatas'*.


End-notes

* Although, personally, I'm with Nietzsche still - and waiting for the hypermodel to emerge.


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What is this fascination with the music of Adès? (1)

More views of - or after - Cambridge Film Festival 2011
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1 March

Well, I have now witnessed the much-vaunted Thomas Adès (I was sceptical, but The Tempest - almost like The Artist (2011) - seemed to have everyone enthralled, i.e. in slavery), and he does not, at any rate, look like a man who is comfortable with himself: it could be fanciful, but he struck me, in dress and demeanour, as more like a harassed postmaster (or, maybe, an astonished station-master) than the director of an evening's programme of music.

In fact, he did not direct at all: he conducted, arms jutting out to give cues and the like, and he even conducted a very small chamber group, of no more than half-a-dozen players, almost as if, with a string quartet performing one of his works, he would do the same.

As to his music, it may not be pastiche as such, but these were my brief impressions of his concerto Concentric Paths (which, I also believe, was meant to sound more clever than it was - some people want to claim about Chopin that his solo piano works sound very difficult, but are not really that hard to play):

If I had not known that I was listening to the first movement of this concerto for violin, I would have sworn that this was a piece of Ligeti, and that made me feel that Adès does not have his own voice.

(Sally Beamish has just been on Composer of the Week, and, Undertow, a piece by Tansy Davies was played to-night on Radio 3, and neither of those composers sounded so like anyone else.)

In the second movement, it appeared to be a variety of composers' influences (two British) that I was hearing: in writing this, I did forget, for a moment, who all three were, but it was Shostakovich, Maxwell Davies, and Nyman.

In the case of Nyman alone, he continued into the finale: unlike with what sounded like a piece of Ligeti, the music just seemed immensely in the shadow of Nymanesque concerns and approaches (and maybe, as Adès looked, not happy with them).


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