Benjamin Britten was not yet nineteen when, in the space of two
months, he composed his Double Concerto. In his diary entry for
6 May 1932 we read “I am putting my Concerto away for a
bit.” At that point the work was complete, though the orchestration
existed only in the form of detailed sketches. In fact he never
came back to it and never heard it. This version is a realisation
of the score he put away, made by Colin Matthews in 1977. The
opening movement begins with fanfare-like figures which are soon
taken up by the soloists and which are recalled at the end of
the movement. This feature, and especially the opening chords
of the slow movement, over a held pedal note in the bass, are
so typical of the mature composer as to be almost uncanny. This
slow movement features some remarkably assured and very beautiful
writing for the two soloists in duet, in music that never quite
settles into anything like repose. The finale opens with repeated
notes on the timpani leading to a passage of much rhythmic uncertainty.
Given the age of the composer we can hardly complain if it slips
for a while into noisy, conventional bombast. But then, just
as you think he is working towards an exciting ending, the horn
calls from the opening of the work are brought back, transformed
into something much more tranquil, this magical ending the irrefutable
sign that we are in the presence of an emerging genius. The performance
is everything we could wish for. The two soloists, both LPO principal
players, give every sign of being totally committed to the work,
as does the orchestra under Jurowski. I first encountered this
work played by Benjamin Schmid and Daniel Raiskin on an Arte
Nova disc (74321 89826 2). There is little to choose between
the performances, but readers who decide to buy the present disc
are urged to investigate the other too, for its interesting programme
including Double Concertos by Arthur Benjamin and Max Bruch.
When, after about a minute or so of Britten Op. 10, Frank Bridge’s
theme is heard it seems insubstantial and difficult to discern,
a most unpromising subject for a set of variations. In the event
the theme is often difficult to pick out within the variations
too, so profoundly does Britten develop it. A bewildering number
of styles, so many that the work threatens to go out of control,
make up this youthful masterpiece. Some of the variations charm
the listener -
Romance, for example - whereas others,
such as
Aria Italiana, move the listener by their sheer
brilliance. This live performance is brilliantly played and,
the strings being fairly numerous, everything is very rich and
sonorous, strikingly so in the first variation,
Adagio.
One is struck throughout by the meticulous attention Jurowski’s
pays to Britten’s multitude of dynamic and expression markings.
Indeed, with one crucial exception, this must be one of the most
accurate performances available. Listen how the opening of
March contrives
to be both
pianissimo and
martellato (hammered).
And
Wiener Walzer is, for once, loud enough, again respecting
the score, closer than ever, in spirit at least, to Ravel’s
La
Valse. This is, then, an outstanding performance, but there
are two snags. First of all, I think the engineers might have
shortened the pauses between the variations, as the sound of
turning pages and some little audience shuffling damages the
atmosphere, grievously so between the last two variations. More
serious, though, is the problem of the final variation. The first
part of the fugue is stunningly played, but in the later, astonishing
passage where the theme returns in long values over the chattering
fugal strings, those chatterings are just too loud. The young
composer’s achievement here, to combine the brilliance
of his fugue with the wistful inwardness of Bridge’s theme,
is seriously undermined. Nor do the long, sustained E naturals
grow out of this texture gradually, as if they have always been
there - which, in a way, they have. There are other performances
which manage this passage better than here, that conducted by
the composer himself on Decca, for example, indispensable.
Though conceived for soprano, most of
Les Illuminations was
composed in the early days of the composer’s relationship
with Peter Pears. Rimbaud’s poems I frankly find hard going
and have often wondered if Britten would have bothered with them
had he encountered them later in his life. Others, though, will
find more in them than I do. The young Britten clearly did, especially
affected, apparently, by the line “
J’ai seul la
clef de cette parade sauvage” (I alone hold the key
to this savage parade). Whatever the poems are meant to communicate,
the music is direct and wonderfully inspired. The opening fanfares
are perhaps not sufficiently trumpet-like here - the score specifies
this, after all - but Sally Matthews’ first entry, with
the phrase above is striking and dramatic, leading one to expect
the best in the remainder of the performance. This is pretty
much delivered, with a superbly controlled
glissando down
from a top B flat at the end of
Phrase, and likewise the
pianissimo intonation
of the “key” phrase at the end of
Interlude.
The most appreciative comments in my notes refer to quieter passages,
though, and when the dynamic level rises to
forte or above
the singing can be less pleasing. In
Villes, for example,
there are passages marked
giocoso (joyfully) which come
over as strident, and the end of
Royauté lacks
charm - one should listen to Heather Harper’s delicious
portamenti here
to hear how it might be done. Only one or two odd vowels betray
the fact that the singer is not French, but the text is not always
audible all the same. This is a good performance of
Les Illuminations,
though, and one I will come back to, even if I prefer either
Heather Harper or Jill Gomez, both on EMI.
Applause is retained only after
Les Illuminations. Otherwise,
the problems mentioned in the
Variations are the only
real signs that these are live recordings. The booklet contains
a most readable and informative note by David Matthews.
William Hedley
see also review by Siebe
Riedstra