Schubert’s "Shepherd
on the Rock", with clarinet obbligato,
may not be the deepest of the master’s
late lieder but it is one of the most
magical and it spawned a whole series
of imitations. Among his imitators was
not, I would say, Louis Spohr. While
chronologically it was perfectly possible
for him to have known the Schubert piece,
he had long developed a line of clarinet-writing
all his own through his association
with the clarinettist Simon Hermstedt
(dating back to 1808/9) which had produced
four concertos and some smaller pieces.
This was the first time he used the
clarinet as an obbligato to a set of
lieder, but a glance at the printed
score is enough to show us that a composer
influenced by Schubert would have gone
about things very differently. One rather
wishes to follow Handel’s example when
Maurice Greene brought him a composition
for his comments; unceremoniously, Handel
hung it out of the window, explaining,
with heavy-handed Teutonic humour, "Your
music wants air!". Spohr, like
many a lesser composer, seems afraid
to leave empty spaces on the page, but
his well-padded textures fall agreeably
on the ear and we might easily share
Mendelssohn’s predilection for the second,
which he praised "for its perfectly
natural sweetness as a whole, which
from beginning to end flows so lightly
and gratefully to the feelings".
A glance at the scores
by Schubert’s friend Lachner shows that
he had learnt the lesson well; in clarity
of conception and in their unfailing
melodiousness they are a worthy offering
at the greater composer’s shrine. If
only he had not set texts which were
to be immortalised by later composers!
"Seit ich ihn gesehen" is
none other than the opening poem of
"Frauenliebe und Leben" and
Lachner is certainly far short of the
rapt magic Schumann could distil from
a mere two pages of apparently simple
chordal writing. It is questionable
whether Mendelssohn ever quite touched
this level of sublimity, but one of
the pieces in which he approached it
was certainly his own version of "On
wings of song"; again the comparison
with Lachner shows that, the greater
the composer, the fewer notes he writes.
Kalliwoda and Spaeth
continue agreeably in the Lachner vein;
Mariano Obiols is an outsider. A Spaniard
who came to Italy to study with Mercadante
and wrote "I Laj" during his
Italian sojourn, he offers a bel canto
aria (to an Italian text) which his
master would not have disowned. The
remaining three works also stand out
for their quality. The Meyerbeer is
a broadly conceived, rather original
creation with operatic overtones. Friedrich
Kücken was exceedingly popular
in his own day, although even then Sir
George Grove remarked grumpily (in an
article signed by himself in the first
edition of his famous dictionary) that
they were "beloved … almost exclusively
however by amateurs and the masses;
among musicians they found no favour
and are already almost forgotten".
The present miniature plumbs no depths
but is so exquisitely turned as to make
one wonder if the "amateurs and
the masses" had not reason on their
side. Lastly, the other "outsider"
to the programme, the British composer
Richard Walthew, a pupil of Parry and
Stanford once appreciated for his chamber
music. His hauntingly atmospheric setting
should not be passed over by aficionados
of British music because it is the only
British piece on the disc. Truth to
tell, though, a comparison with Mackenzie’s
setting of the same words (by Tennyson)
tends to reinforce the idea that the
better the composer the fewer notes
he writes, but until somebody feels
like recording the Mackenzie this is
not a comparison many people will be
able to make.
Colin Bradbury and
his like-minded pianist have long been
dedicated to searching out odd corners
of the romantic clarinet repertoire,
and for longer still Bradbury has been
known as one of Britain’s leading clarinettists.
Hear him launch the glorious opening
melody of the Schubert, his rich tone
untrammelled by bar-lines. Everywhere
in the programme his easy technique
and natural musicianship are sympathetic
to the music on hand.
Robert Murray is clearly
a very young artist, as yet somewhat
over-parted by the quasi-operatic demands
of the Meyerbeer but very pleasing indeed
in Kücken. However, the lion’s
share goes to Eirian James. Some time
ago I gave the general title "What
is a mezzo-soprano?" to a series
of a dozen or so reviews, and I was
tempted to add this to their number,
if only to say that, whatever a mezzo-soprano
is, I don’t really think Eirian James
is one. I can only surmise – since the
highest note here is a B natural – that
she prefers this title because she has
some doubts about her top C, but that
does not of itself make a mezzo-soprano.
The Schubert has, it is true, been recorded
also by Christa Ludwig – interestingly,
Ludwig is a rare case of a mezzo who
essayed Beethoven’s Leonore, and Leonore
and "Das Hirt auf dem Felsen"
were written for the same singer – and
its low B flat can be a problem for
sopranos. There seems no real reason
why high mezzos like von Otter, Ernman
or Kozena should not sing the piece.
But they would still sound like
mezzos (with some doubts about the last
named). I can only report that James
sounds no less a soprano here than does
a "pure" soprano like Edith
Wiens; she negotiates the coloratura
towards the end, not to speak of the
top notes, with the ease we would expect
of a soprano and, conversely, sounds
no happier than Wiens with her descent
to B flat.
Indeed, only one piece
in the whole programme actually uses
what might be considered the true mezzo
range – the Walthew, which crosses continually
over the lower break between head and
chest registers. A mezzo should be in
her element down here, but James sounds
more like a soprano coping gamely with
a tessitura not quite right for her.
For the rest, the programme
sits happily in a midway range which
would be perfectly comfortable for either
a soprano or a mezzo (though the first
Lachner piece is performed a semitone
down, unless the Musica Rara edition
I have has been transposed up)
and there is no denying that James’s
warm tones suit the programme well.
Only in the Obiols did I feel that her
vibrato was a little too wide for the
type of music, making the voice rather
too blunt an instrument for the bel
canto style. I do not wish to belittle
this attractive singer, only to find
the right label for her. The accompanying
curriculum gives the game away, mentioning
that she has sung and recorded Despina
and Zerlina with John Eliot Gardiner.
Zerlina is a borderline case (and a
mezzo’s only chance of getting into
Don Giovanni at all), but in Così
fan Tutte the mezzo role is Dorabella;
Despina is usually the preserve of a
light soprano.
Still, none of this
need worry the general listener, who
will find an attractive programme very
well presented, and this includes the
excellent recording by Andrew Keener
and the informative notes, on which
I have drawn above. Texts and translations
are included.
Christopher Howell
Eirian James (mezzo-soprano) (1), Robert Murray
(tenor) (2), Colin Bradbury (clarinet), Oliver
Davies (piano)