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SEEN
AND HEARD CONCERT REVIEW
Berlioz,
La damnation de Faust :
Marguerite – Sarah Connolly (mezzo), Faust – Marcel Reijans
(tenor), Méphistophélès – Peter Rose (bass), Brander – Patrick
Bolliere (baritone), Voix céleste – Sarah Tynan (soprano), BBC
National Chorus of Wales, Bristol Choral Society, BBC National
Orchestra of Wales / Thierry Fischer (conductor), St. David’s
Hall, Cardiff, 4.4.2008 (GPu)
Berlioz’s fascination with Goethe’s Faust was early and
enduring. In his Memoirs he calls his first encounter with
the book “a landmark” in his life. Reading Faust in the
translation by Gérard de Nerval, writes Berlioz, “made a strange
and deep impression on me. The marvellous book fascinated me from
the first. I could not put it down, I read it incessantly, at
meals, at the theatre, in the street”. His first musical response
was his Eight Scenes from Faust, published at Berlioz’s own
expense. Though it has been described by Ernest Newman as “the
most outstanding Opus 1 that the world of music had ever known”,
Berlioz himself soon came to think of the work as “crude and badly
written” and recounts in the Memoirs how he “rounded up all
the copies [he] could get hold of and destroyed them”. Goethe’s
work was one of the influences on the Symphonie fantastique
and left its mark elsewhere on Berlioz’s writing. By the time that
he came to give Goethe’s drama a central place in another
composition, he did so having thought about the text and its
significance profoundly and over a period of many years; Faust
was, as it were, thoroughly interiorised for Berlioz, having
become one of his central ways of thinking about the world and
himself. La Damnation de Faust, légende dramatique,
Berlioz’s Opus 24, was largely written during his journey to
Germany in 1845 and premiered – in a half-empty Opéra-Comique in
Paris – in December 1846. Fortunately, the indifference with which
it was received than has since been replaced by much greater
enthusiasm and understanding. Certainly enthusiasm was not in
short supply at the end of this electric performance conducted by
Thierry Fischer.
Throughout, Fischer elicited impassioned playing and singing from
his large forces, and was able to maintain a springiness of rhythm
(where appropriate), avoiding the luxuriating stodginess that can
so easily infect performances on this scale. The choral
contributions were generally of a high order (not least in
‘Tradioun Marexil fir’) and orchestral passages such as the
Rákóczy March and the Minuet of the Will-o’-the-Wisps (what a
splendidly eccentric piece it is!) were played with a convincing
sense of idiom and engaging vivacity. Fischer’s team of soloists
also served him well. As Marguerite Sarah Connolly was quite
magnificent – this was one of the very finest interpretations of
the role that I have heard. Connolly sang with intense commitment
and expressivity, but also with unfailing vocal control. To ‘Que
l’air est étouffant’ and ‘Autrefois un roi de Thulé’ she brought a
radiance of voice that was quite startlingly beautiful (and how
perfectly the writing for solo viola made its contribution to the
Ballad, a touch very characteristic of Berlioz). After the initial
innocence of these pieces, Connolly brought a profound weight of
emotion to ‘D’amour l’ardente flamme’, her higher notes
translucent, the lower ones rich without the slightest hint of
heaviness, providing a purely human emotional substance to the
work, a dimension which can sometimes get lost amongst the sheer
excitement and colour of so much of the music and the supernatural
imagery of so much of the text.
As Faust, Marcel Reijans sang with an attractive lyricism which
was particularly effective in Parts One and Two, not least in
Scene 1’s rhapsodic greeting of spring (‘Le vieil hiver a fait
place au printemps’). In Scene 4, when alone in his study (‘Sans
regrets j’ai quitté les riantes campagnes’) there was a moving
poignancy to his expression of Faust’s sense of isolation, a
central feature of Berlioz’s conception of his protagonist’s
character and situation (and, indeed, those of Marguerite and
Méphistophélès too, in their different ways). In his early
dealings with Méphistophélès, Reijans created an ambiguous sense
of vulnerability and heroism. Later on, in Parts 3 and 4, there
was a greater sense of struggle in Reijans’s singing, some of it
apt enough to the plot and the emotions, but some of it also
seeming to be the product of vocal strain and tiredness. I have
heard more powerful accounts of ‘Nature immense, impenetrable et
fière’, where Reijans fell just short of the full heroic demands
of the words (Berlioz’s own). On the whole, however, his was a
moving reading of the role, if not quite of the very highest order
in terms of sheer vocal quality. Peter Rose looked (dressed all in
black, against the virginal all-white of Connolly’s Marguerite)
and sounded a splendidly insidious Méphistophélès. This was
another fine piece of vocal characterisation, communicating not
only a superficial sense of mockery, but also the sense both of
profound evil and of Méphistophélès’s equally profound awareness
of what he, as a fallen angel, has lost. This emotional and (to a
degree) moral ambiguity permeated all of Rose’s contributions and
gave an impressive subtlety to his performance. This was a
Méphistophélès who could be both lyrically persuasive and
mockingly maledictory, a figure well calculated to control the
dangerously idealistic and already troubled Faust.
The minor roles in this Damnation were luxuriously cast
with singers of high quality. As Brander, the Belgian Patrick
Bolleire (who was a late replacement for Jonathan Lemalu) gave a
mordantly gleeful reading of ‘Certain rat, dans une cuisine’, full
of dark humour and effectively counterpoising the slowly
disintegrating mental stability of Faust. At the close, up on high
in more senses than one, Sarah Tynan’s Voix céleste summoned the
soul of Marguerite to heaven in tones both alluring and pure.
Most of the ‘parts’ then, were very good indeed. And, better
still, the whole was more than merely the sum of them. There was a
strong sense of organic unity to the whole, a sense of the musical
and poetic working out of a coherent artistic and moral entity,
for which Thierry Fischer’s conducting must surely take much of
the credit. In Fischer’s control of orchestral colour and
dynamics, in his responsiveness to Berlioz’s startling contrasts
and quasi-symbolic use of certain instruments (as in the trombones
so often associated with Méphistophélès) – in these and other
respects this was a very intelligent and well-judged reading of a
complex work. With the quality of the team of soloists and the
high competence and commitment of both choirs and orchestra added
to Fischer’s vision, we were treated to a memorable performance of
a remarkable work, surely one of the highest achievements of
musical romanticism.
Glyn Pursglove
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