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Benjamin BRITTEN (1913-1976)
Phaedra, op. 93 (1975) [15:00]
A Charm of Lullabies, op. 41 (1947, arr. C. Matthews 1990)
[12:16]
Lachrymae, op. 48a (1950, rev. 1976) [15:32]
Two Portraits (1930) [15:09]
Sinfonietta, op. 1 (1932, rev. 1937) [14:45]
Sarah Connolly (mezzo: Phaedra), Maxim Rysanov (viola: Lachrymae,
Portraits)
BBC Symphony Orchestra/Edward Gardner
rec. Studio 1, Maida Vale Studios, London, 23-25 September 2010.
DDD
CHANDOS CHAN 10671 [73:18]
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Phaedra is all concentrated tension: stark, sepulchral,
unremitting. You don’t get any perspective on her other than
her own withering self condemnation. You experience with her
that torment and feel the tragedy.
Sarah Connolly finely colours the characterization, able to
invest the singing simply of a name with eloquent meaning. Her
husband Theseus is coloured with loathing, his son Hippolytus,
her forbidden love, addressed with both desire, a covert whisper
‘I love you’, and remorse.
Edward Gardner’s handling of the orchestration graphically catches
all the resonances of this passion, especially the two great
ascents of divided strings that we learn, after the first, mark
the infusion of poison Phaedra has taken. I compared the recording
made in 1977 by the first performers of the work, Janet Baker
and the English Chamber Orchestra/Steuart Bedford (Decca 4256662).
Baker has more fiery intensity as well as sadness. Her central
recitative is colder, more stony while Bedford’s closing Adagio
is more markedly a laborious death march. Connolly brings for
the listener an equally involving uncompromising and unpitying
analysis of her state laid bare with great clarity. Her central
recitative (tr. 1 6:20), however, is warmer and Gardner’s closing
Adagio (9:19) is a smoother infusion of poison, rather
than the celebration of Phaedra’s declaration of atonement through
sacrifice. Bedford brings more tension, Gardner reveals more
detail of layering and cross-reference.
The cycle for mezzo and piano, A Charm of Lullabies, is
here presented in Colin Matthews’ arrangement for mezzo and
orchestra. ‘A cradle song’ begins with the accompaniment now
an introduction by strings. This sets a mood of deceptively
gentle contemplation belied by the uneasy flutes’ emphasis of
the infant’s ‘cunning wiles’, climax of nightmare and loss of
innocence. In ‘The Highland Balou’ balmy flutes provide a serenely
regal quality which lightens the snap of the backing rhythms.
This also allows Sarah Connolly to offer a lullaby of contentment.
In ‘Sephestia’s Lullaby’ it’s the oboe that signals foreboding
before Connolly brings a sullen chorus and hyperactive verses.
‘A charm’, on the other hand, proves to be more of a curse,
delighting in nightmare pictures of violence. After this the
oboe introduces the melody of ‘The Nurse’s Song’, an archetypically
loving lullaby, with Connolly wholly maternal, vividly conveying
wonder and gratitude mixed with anxiety. This is aided by warm
touches of horn to effect a haunting and positive close. Matthews’
orchestration is sensitive and enhancing while Connolly’s presence
well differentiates the highly varied nurse figures.
Lachrymae (tr. 7), subtitled ‘Reflections on a
song of Dowland’, is in effect variations on ‘If my complaints
could passions move’. That opening line is all that’s heard
in the introduction, a throbbing miasma of strings around viola
solo meditation. The entire theme isn’t heard until the end
as a procession on string bass (11:43). There the soloist adds
to the tension through tremolando semiquavers and a gradually
increasing dynamic until he takes over the tune in impassioned
expression. In the meantime there have been memorable reflections,
such as the second (3:07) where the viola’s pizzicato
study of the theme opening is punctuated by rapt, very soft
string chords scored for 11 parts. The third reflection (4:35)
presents a little more of the theme in sheeny high strings punctuated
by viola arabesques, yet both grow more animated, to emotive
and moving effect in this performance. The sixth reflection
(7:58) has the soloist offering a morose soliloquy quoting the
actual Dowland Lachrymae song, ‘Flow my tears’. The seventh
(8:46) is a suave and delicate waltz. The ninth (10:50) is a
stunning, icy panorama of falling strings while the viola remains
static. Maxim Rysanov and Gardner are alert and sensitive to
all these changes of mood and create a gripping account.
The first of Two Portraits (tr.8), of school-friend David Layton,
is based on a rising six-note figure. The writing for strings
sometimes flows with this and sometimes energetically tumbles
around it. A slower, more ardent version of the motif in the
cellos from 1:56 suggests an inherent sensitivity in David.
A later introduction by the violas (5:41), is soon joined by
the violins. This has a more expansive, musing aftermath and
it’s in this more reflective cast that a solo viola closes the
piece. The second Portrait (tr. 9) is of Britten himself and
spotlights the solo viola, his own string instrument. Based
on an opening phrase of eight notes, this is a more lyrical
setting. Understated at first, you mightn’t recognize a melody
until the muted violins shortly take it up and the soloist adds
a reflective commentary. If the first portrait offers a foretaste
of the angst of the Bridge Variations, the second glimpses
the haunting lyricism of the Serenade. Particularly attractive
is its becalmed final statement sinking to a dusk of pianissimo
double-basses.
Gardner’s account of the Sinfonietta is characterized by tremendous
energy and progression in its opening movement. Yet there’s
a feeling of a work fully formed rather than experimental. The
contrast marked ‘calmante’ (tr. 10 0:47) is clearly observed
yet still fresh, as is the tranquillo second theme flute
solo (0:57). The many instrumental solos emerge in this performance
in a more purposeful and assertive manner than in the 1998 Hallé
Orchestra/Kent Nagano recording (Apex 2564673917). In this way
Gardner achieves a greater sense of urgency and community working
together. This is also partly because he uses a smaller body
of strings: Britten’s recommendation. Gardner reveals more clearly
how the slow movement Variations develop from the first movement’s
second theme, settling early on with an expressive duet by violins.
Again his greater sense of urgency brings a more affirmative
flute and oboe duet which seems naturally to lead to the burgeoning
of the first violins’ climax. This is before the horn has the
closing solo against a backdrop of serene high violins. In the
Tarantella finale Nagano supplies more density of tone but Gardner
has more rhythmic bite and a crisper contrast between the strings’
material in quavers and the woodwind’s semiquaver swirls.
This is a wonderful collection showcasing Britten’s mastery
of both dramatic and poetic setting. His ability to distil a
range of moods and responses is deeply impressive. This is even
more so when contemplating an Elizabethan composer’s inspiration,
his skill in creating musical portraits and an unconventional
yet often expressive and always stimulating Sinfonietta. Moreover,
the juxtaposition of early and late works makes you appreciate
how well Britten applied his mature perspective, especially
in the string orchestra arrangement of the original piano accompaniment
of Lachrymae. It succeeds because of the excellence of
the performances.
Michael Greenhalgh
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