SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Louis Andriessen, Francisco Lara, Hans Abrahamsen, Simon Holt:  Roderick Williams (baritone), London Sinfonietta / Thierry Fischer (conductor) Julia Bardsley (video and staging), Queen Elizabeth Hall, South Bank, London, 5.11.2007 (AO)

Many composers we revere today were once the berated avant garde. For forty years, the London Sinfonietta has enriched the musical life of this country, immeasurably enhancing what we listen to:  its members are all virtuoso players but what makes them special is their love for music in all forms. Artists, in general, are free spirits, so they experiment, even if it doesn’t always succeed and  this concert was a mixed bag.  If there was nothing revolutionary, nothing  much scared the horses.  There was enough to listen to and learn from though, which will in turn add to what we hear in the longer term.

Louis Andriessen is almost Establishment now. His masterpiece, Die Staat,  has long been a Sinfonietta staple, and was last performed two years ago.  It was good to see the hall filled with students, as the Sinfonietta had invited three schools along to participate in an on-going programme to expand the experience of listening.  Coming as he does from a family of composers with diverse interests, Andriessen has radical ideas on the role of music in society, and on the organisation of orchestras: his views can spark lively debate about what we listen to, how and why. His composition tonight was Zilver, from 1994.  While not remarkable, it’s accessible, and sets the scene for Hans Abrahamsen’s Schnee.

Abrahamsen is also reasonably well-known. His Märchenbilder was commissioned by the Sinfonietta  and his work has been broadcast on the BBC and featured in Proms. Like Andriessen’s Zilver, Abrahamsen’s Schnee is a two part invention of sorts, with John Constable on piano and strings in one unit, and Clive Williamson with clarinet, oboe, piccolo and sound sheet in the second.  It starts in silence, Laurent Quenelle bowing barely above the level of audibility, but gradually viola and cello join, developing the melody. The piano adds a steady pulse that’s almost metronomic at times but is in many ways the basis for  the piece.  The second part expands the first, the extra instruments taking up the ideas, though the first piano is still the foundation.  It’s tuneful, harmonies circulating backwards and forwards, like the round shape the percussionist draws on the sound sheet, whirring just above the threshold of silence.  It’s aphoristic, like an elegantly constructed puzzle. But puzzles can be fun, and this one operates on several levels, so it's  fun figuring it out. Apparently, there will be more later as these two parts will be included in a larger-scale work.

Francisco Lara’s Kammerkonzert burst with vivid incident, ideas whizzing past so rapidly that it was almost too much to take in.  Again, the use of circular themes dominated, the violin buzzing like an maddened bumblebee, the double bass commiserating in sympathy. . Spirals of sound whirl round each other to dizzying effect, moderated by long, droning passages like rolling thunder.  There’s also some nice  dramatic writing for horn and  Lara’s liveliness provided stark contrast to Holt’s Sueños.

Simon Holt is one of the big names in British music, so the hall was filled with faces not usually seen in this milieu.  Dark and impassive, the music certainly is, with the ominous portent of a black and white Buñuel film.  The prelude sets a strange scene, crazed violin and chirping bird song projected from above the stage.  Accordion and guitar feature  and a very long, plaintive melody on flute, which had me thinking of the late Sebastien Bell, who would have been here were it not for his sudden, untimely death. No doubt everyone else was thinking the same, including the poor flautist  Karen Jones, who has a lot to live up to, even though she’s more than very good.  The haunted mood was, however, quite appropriate, for Roderick Williams then materialised behind a backcloth, intoning solemn phrases at the bottom of his already deep register.  Slow drum beats mark a funereal pace,  recorded sounds of thunder above tuba and muffled brass are so bleak that William’s lusciously rich voice sounds quite magical. Although I’ve heard him more times than I can remember, this was some of the best work he’s done.  Phrases like “no, mi corazon no duerne” are gorgeously coloured, uttered with deep commitment to meaning. It’s quite an achievement to sustain this dignified intensity for so long. 

Where the cortège was heading, I’m not quite so sure. There were hints, sometimes obvious, like the sound of the foghorn of a ship, sometimes more elusive, like the sad, high pitched viola melody played by Paul Silverthorne.  It probably doesn’t matter, as this seems more like tone painting than narrative and perhaps could best be approached in that impressionistic way, like the giant celestial lyre the text refers to, “bringing to life ….long forgotten music….carrying some few brief words of truth”. I think the music would convey more on its own minus the staging, which rather distracts from the uncompromising nature of the music. Then, in the final song, The Devil, a demon tries to drag the poet into hell. Yet in the midst of this nightmare inferno, the orchestra sings a manic kind of melody.  Bell-like tones interrupt, and the flute again soars up high, despite the background rumble.  The finale is elusive, the music decelerating like the end of an old movie where the film unwinds.  It’s certainly not easy listening and quite depressing.  Yet Williams sings with such conviction that, if this piece works for him, I’ll listen again, after the initial shock impact wears off.

Anne Ozorio

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