Two tenors, two concerts of twentieth century English music, the second
with some French song - yet how different the singing, and, one
suspects, how different the general critical response. On Saturday, we
heard John Mark Ainsley give performances of "On Wenlock Edge" and
"Ludlow and Teme" which were models of style, where we heard a voice in
the full flower of its beauty and interpretative skill. On Monday, we
heard Ian Bostridge in performances where the voice was clearly not in
good shape, and the interpretation only remarkable for the
accompaniment. Yet, so far, only "Seen & Heard" has noticed Ainsley's
all - English concert, but I am sure that virtually every newspaper
will give a barely qualified rave to the Bostridge. As to the reasons
why, one can speculate that all-English programmes are not sufficiently
exotic, or perhaps that Ainsley is not quite glamorous enough;
certainly, Bostridge's much-hyped person might be regarded as more
likely to inspire knicker-throwing, but in the case of these two
concerts, it falls to the more dispassionate critic to say that the
singing of the (slightly) older tenor was that of true greatness,
whereas the younger man really ought to have stayed at home.
Bostridge apparently had a throat infection on Saturday, and this was
surely the main reason for his less than ideal singing; one has to
accept that singers are human and they cannot always be at their peak,
but if they offer themselves to the public, then one has the right to
judge them. I have to say that I have never really cared for his singing
of Mélodie; it's such a specialised art, demanding a perfect balance
between languour and astringency , and it's an art which is by no means
beyond English singers, as Felicity Lott as well as the aforementioned
Ainsley have exquisitely demonstrated - both those singers have perfect
French diction , too, whereas Bostridge takes so many liberties that on
this occasion I found myself glancing at the translation quite
often, something I hardly ever do, since I am a native French speaker.
There were some lovely moments during "La bonne chanson," most notably
the delicate phrasing of "O bien - aimée" in "La lune blanche," but in
general his singing of this cycle was detached in manner and strained
in execution. I found myself concentrating on the piano; every time I
hear Drake, I am delighted anew with his supportive, empathetic and
completely idiomatic playing, and his limpid rendition of such passages
as the introduction to "L'hiver a cessé" gave constant pleasure.
It was a similar story in Poulenc's "Tel jour telle nuit." The piano
parts were executed with real style, poise and grace, but the vocal
line was less than ideally served. Granted, this is difficult music,
with its extreme contrasts in dynamics and the challenge it gives to the
singer to paint a mood in what is sometimes seconds rather than minutes,
but here the whole seemed to merge into one, and the febrile atmosphere
of Eluard's poems was barely suggested.
Bostridge was more at home in the central work, "A Young Man's
Exhortation," and quite apart from anything else, it was such a delight
to hear this music at all. These settings of poems by Thomas Hardy are
not the stuff of dreams for those who consider that English music is
"drippy," and Bostridge must be praised for the way in which he eschewed
a too-dreamy approach. Finzi's love for Hardy was an enduring one; I
have always been touched by the story of how he attended the sale of
Hardy's library in 1938, but was unable to afford to buy any of the
poet's books, instead coming away with his walking stick. Hardy's poems
are unquestionably greater than, say, those of Housman, or indeed of
Seidl or Schulze, but they do not automatically appear to lend
themselves gracefully to musical setting, owing to that ceaseless
inventiveness in syntax and metrics which is so characteristic of his
style yet often leads to awkwardness. Finzi's settings do not attempt to
compensate for this; instead, they are loving evocations of the
atmosphere which the poet so beautifully evokes.
Bostridge performed the cycle with commitment, but also varying degrees
of success; he sounded most like himself in the lovely "Shortening days"
with its almost Keatsian evocation of autumnal richness; here, his
uniquely sweet tone emerged briefly, wonderfully supported by Drake's
playing. For the rest, there was much to enjoy, but also many moments to
regret, such as the very strained endings to each stanza in "Ditty" and
the sometimes over-dramatised half - lines in "The dance continued."
Throughout, Drake played with absolute mastery of the music as well as
sympathetic partnership of the singer, and he made this concert an
evening to savour, despite the tenor's less than definitive singing.
Melanie Eskenazi
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