Critic Fever

Last night saw The First Night of the Proms 2012 from the Royal Albert Hall (broadcast on BBC Radio 3), an all-British programme conducted (in homage to the 2012 London Olympics) by a relay of four top British conductors. The programme was:

Mark-Anthony Turnage - Canon Fever (world première)

Elgar - Overture 'Cockaigne (In London Town)'

Delius - Sea Drift

Tippett - Suite for the Birthday of Prince Charles

Elgar - Coronation Ode 

(You can, hopefully, listen to the whole concert here - for the next 5 days only!) 

I was amused to read the first two British newspaper reviews of the concert, one from Martin Kettle in the Guardian, the other by Ivan Hewitt in the Daily Telegraph. They have somewhat different takes! (I'll add my own reactions too).

They began by disagreeing over Canon Fever. IH was underwhelmed by M-AT's new anti-fanfare, which he said "may well be an exuberant technical tour-de-force on paper - as the programme note insisted – but it seemed disappointingly unfocused in the Albert Hall’s resonant acoustic." MK, however, was delighted, calling it "a saucy piece, instantly likeable and utterly appropriate to the occasion. It sounded like a schoolyard chant set to music."  (Listening via the internet the performance didn't seem unfocussed to me. It was spot on. The piece - punchy, a bit jazzy, dissonant, energetic - certainly lived up to its title, being full of audible canons whose short phrases piled on so closely behind each other to suggest feverishness. It didn't set my head spinning though, or set my world on fire. If you are unfamiliar with M-AT's music, this extract from Hammered Out will give you an idea of the side of it represented by Canon Fever.)

They both liked the Elgar Cockaigne Overture, conducted by Sir Roger Norrington. (This was their one main point of agreement and I'm with both of them here. Great piece, beautifully played). 

IH felt that "soloist Bryn Terfel was only intermittently on form" during Delius's Sea-Drift, whose "transcendental setting of Walt Whitman" was, according to MK, "sung with incisive clarity by Terfel." Hope Bryn reads the Guardian! (I definitely thought Bryn's performance was fine though his voice did sound a bit strained at times).

As for Tippett's Suite, well, compare these:

MK: What a dated piece it sounds now, a relic of the time when high-minded politically progressive composers thought they could forge a national musical style based on traditional folk tunes lightly spiced with modernism. Brabbins did his best, but it all sounds maddeningly quaint now, the musical equivalent of men in tights declaiming Shakespeare in fruity tones.

IH: Much the best playing of the evening came in Michael Tippett’s Suite for the Birthday of Prince Charles. The gravely beautiful Carol with its lovely horn-and-violins trio was so beautifully turned the audience broke into spontaneous applause.

(I completely disagree with MK's rant. I think he loads a heck of a lot of baggage onto a lovely piece.)

As for the Elgar Coronation Ode, well, it was yet another sharp difference of opinion:

IH: So far the evening was on an upward curve. But for me it plummeted back down again with Elgar’s Coronation Ode, with its tub-thumping patriotic verse and soulful appeals to the Pax Brittanica. To take it one really has to be in tongue-in-cheek, flag-waving, Last Night mode. Listening to it in stone-cold sobriety, with not a flag in sight, felt distinctly uncomfortable. 

MK: And so, via an extended and unusually full version of Elgar's often revised Coronation Ode of 1902, a work that is more than a curiosity, with the chorus rising to the occasion, to Land of Hope and Glory. Sarah Connolly tackled this far less relentless version of the great tune with total authority, with Gardner trying and sometimes succeeding in bringing out the score's poignancy.

(I so want to be with MK here but, unfortunately, Elgar's Coronation Ode is not one of his more consistently inspired pieces and not even the finest performance can bring out strengths that aren't really there.)

You could always take a listen over the next few days and decide where you stand between these contradictory takes on a single concert. 

Sea Pictures and a Popular Song

Edward Elgar isn't regarded too highly as a song-writer, with the exception of his orchestral song-cycle Sea Pictures. These are five marvellous songs. 

The set begins with my favourite, Sea Slumber-Song, in which the Sea-Mother lulls her unruly child to sleep. A theme for strings based on rising and falling arpeggios is only the first of several evocative 'sea themes'. The second is a gently rocking figure and the third is a deep, swelling accompaniment (a prophecy of Britten's third Sea Interlude). How beautifully the singer's opening melody opens out at that magical on 'slumber' and how wonderfully she rides the majestic waves of Elgar's orchestra. Those harp flourishes and flute responses instantly summon sea spray and gulls and the poem's tenderness is enhanced by the allusions to 'There's No Place like Home' (aka Home! Sweet Home!). 

Next comes In Haven, a strophic song that lightly hymns Love's power over the elements. It has a delicate accompaniment and a pretty tune. The curling figure that precedes each verse's climax (first heard on clarinet, then on oboe) is particularly attractive. Soft strings warmly shadow the tune during the final verse -  a lovely touch.

Sabbath Morning at Sea, standing at the cycle's centre, bows down solemnly in awe of nature and God. A rising phrase, appearing first in the opening bars, aspires to such a vision. Initially it seems that it might not meet it but a splendid surge of nobility at the song's heart as well as the memorable violin-entwined phrases that follow it change that and provide the song's satisfying climax. Most satisfyingly, the deep, swelling figure from the first song twice returns, heralded by some gorgeous harmonies - as also discreetly does the figure from the cycle's opening bars.

Where Corals Lie, in which the sea's allure conquers human love, is Sea Pictures' best-known song. It has an unforgettable melody and a supremely delicate accompaniment. At each verses' emotional climax - all triumphs of minor-to-major-and-back-again modulations - the strings bring in fresh warmth.

The final song, The Swimmer, paints a picture of the harm the sea can do and how friendly it used to do. The contrast is made by setting violent orchestral figuration and a complementary declamatory vocal manner against gentler lyrical material led by a strong, striding tune. Note the return of the alluded lullaby from the first song along the way. It's a grand show stopper and it's no wonder Elgar placed it at the end of his cycle. 

(All the texts for Sea Pictures can be found here).

As a coda, why not also try his lovely In Moonlight? Admirers of his glorious tone poem In the South will recognise the tune (which is also sometimes heard as his Canto popolare). Indeed, Elgar adapted the tune from In the South and used it to set a poem (or part of a poem) by Shelley. It's always good to hear this tune and this song is an endearing one. 

Elegies

One of Edward Elgar's loveliest pieces is his Elegy for Strings, Op.58. Written in memory of his close friend and publisher August Jaeger, it feels like (and is) a very personal piece. It doesn't gush but contents itself with mourning in a dignified way, striking a peaceful tone. In its use of poignant suspensions and its harmonic fluidity, it inhabits a world that is quite close in spirit to the Mahler of the Adagietto or the young Schoenberg of Verklärte Nacht - though it's considerably shorter than either. The opening of Elgar's little masterpiece consists of a sequence of tender chords on upper strings falling against a funereal pizzicato accompaniment from the cellos and basses. It's a beautiful beginning. Then the violins sing the gorgeous 'cantabile' melody - a melody that doesn't sob but sighs (and makes me sigh too). 

The Elegy wasn't, of course, the only piece Jaeger inspired. He was also famously the inspiration behind Nimrod from the Enigma Variations. We have a lot to thank him for.

I love Romantic elegies and one I feel particularly passionate about is Tchaikovsky's Elegy in memory of Ivan Samarin - one of his finest pieces, for all its unfamiliarity. Like the Elgar, it has a main melody of exceptional beauty, is written with great imagination for a string orchestra and strikes a dignified, peaceful tone (for the most part). It also makes poignant yet heart-easing use of harmonic suspensions. The central passage is more anguished, shuddering with grief. That there is no comparable outburst in Elgar's piece might be thought to say a good deal about the characters of their respective composers and perhaps also about the cultures of their respective countries at the time - except for the surprising and inconvenient fact that this piece did not begin as an elegy. It was written as a 'grateful greeting' to Samarin, an actor, on the occasion of his 50th birthday. Only after Samarin's death did Tchaikovsky re-christen it as 'Elegy'. 

So, Tchaikovsky wasn't channelling feelings of grief and loss when he first wrote it (however sincere and heartfelt it sounds) and this outburst might much more accurately be seen as an example of its composer's dramatic genius. Note also how the coda brings in major-key harmony as a gesture of hope. Tchaikovsky didn't help himself with some of his his own pronouncements - such as saying that he wept while writing the finale of the Pathetique Symphony, even while all the other evidence from the time of writing shows him to have been generally cheerful at the time - and that has distorted how many people think of the composer. From all my reading about him, I'd say he was far less heart-on-sleeve than many people think and what people might take to be him emoting is much better seen as him writing music that evokes emotion. If great authors and playwrights can do that, why can't great composers?

Moving away from the Romantics, Igor Stravinsky, that other great Russian composer, wrote several elegiac works, ranging from the masterly Symphonies of Wind Instruments following the death of Debussy to the considerably less masterly Elegy for JFK. Few composers chose to be less heart-on-sleeve than Stravinsky, yet do you not find his 1944 Elegy for solo viola touching? It was composed in memory of Alphonse Onnou, founder of the Pro Arte Quartet. It's in ternary (three-part form) with a two-part invention as its outer panels and a fugue at its centre. The two-part invention sets two lines of melody in intimate counterpoint - one a lament that strikes a strong note of Russian chant, the other a tender tune based around tonic triads. The fugue is also in two parts (unlike most fugues). The solo viola plays suitably muted throughout. Sometimes consonant, sometimes dissonant, the harmony is pleasingly unpredictable. Formally perfect it may be, but its emotional impact is strong too. Or at least I find it so.