Frederick DELIUS (1862-1934)
A Mass of Life (1904-5) [98:24] *
Prelude and Idyll (1902, 1933) [19:55]
Janice Watson (soprano); Catherine Wyn-Rogers (mezzo)*; Andrew Kennedy (tenor)*;
Alan Opie (baritone)
The Bach Choir*; Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/David Hill
rec. The Lighthouse, Poole, Dorset, UK, 26-28 November 2011
NAXOS 8.572861-62 [47:31 + 70:48]
Cards on the table, first off: I admit that I struggle with Delius’
Mass of Life. It has many distinguished advocates, all of whom I respect
deeply, who argue that it is one of the great choral works of the 20th
Century, but I just don’t hear it. It has wonderful moments, for sure
- more of which below - but it also has some wearying longueurs where I wish
the music would just hurry up and get on with something … anything!
I’m not talking about the moments of intentional stillness, such as
the beginning of Part Two: those are wonderful! It’s just that there
are times, particularly in the second part, where I can’t help but think
that Delius gets caught up in his own philosophical navel-gazing, too overawed
by Nietzsche’s ideas to assess them critically or to respond to them
with sufficient musical skill.
All that said, this performance has done more than any other I’ve heard
to win me over ... somewhat. David Hill brings the score to life in a way
that you seldom hear and his performers are fully paid up for the project
so that they sing and play with full commitment. The only other readily available
recording is by Richard Hickox on Chandos, and it also uses the Bournemouth
Symphony Orchestra, so there are ripe grounds for comparison, though I should
say from the off that I think Hill’s is now the better buy.
There are technical reasons for this, most notably the recorded sound which
is superb. The Naxos engineers have done a great job of capturing the acoustic
of the Lighthouse, picking out each line with more precision than did Chandos,
whose wall-of-sound is effective but has a propensity to overwhelm in places.
Each line is clearly audible, even the instrumental lines, such as the harps,
which could get lost in other contexts, including a live performance. Hill
is also blessed with excellent soloists. Alan Opie as Zarathustra is excellent,
more declamatory and more arresting than Peter Coleman-Wright, who can sound
gravelly on the Chandos recording. Janice Watson and Catherine Wyn-Rogers
are also very good, but the one who really comes as balm to the ears is Andrew
Kennedy. His gorgeous, honey-sweet tenor is a delight to listen to, leavening
the texture every time he appears and quickening the ear whenever he turns
up in the big ensembles.
However, the thing that really sets this performance apart is Hill’s
conducting. He gets inside the mood of each movement in a way I found even
more convincing than Hickox. It’s a commonplace that the opening chorus
of each part is full of energy, but Hill elevates that dynamism to a new level.
The opening chord of Part One is like the crack of a starting pistol and the
whole of that first movement proceeds with such exuberance as to be uplifting
and exhilarating, perhaps the place in the work where text and music fit each
other most successfully. He captures this effervescent life force beautifully,
and he does so even more successfully in the two great dance-songs, which
carried me along much more convincingly than did Hickox. The first one is
a triumph: it is shaped organically so that it grows naturally out of the
opening recitatives and when the fugue arrives on Das ist ein Tanz
the whirl of the dance is almost bewildering. This exhilarating sweep carries
on into the evening scene of the second part where Zarathustra comes upon
the dancing maidens. Here the music carries on its exhilarating sweep, if
anything even more so than in the first movement, and Hill builds the multifaceted
edifice in a way that even won over a cynic like me.
It is to his credit that he is every bit as successful with the quieter moments.
The famous introduction to Part Two, On the Mountains, is spellbindingly
played (and recorded), Hill making a virtue out of stillness as the horns
call gently to one another, and he is just as fine when capturing the nocturnal
mood of the evening scenes. Here the playing of the orchestra comes into its
own too, with rich, swelling lower winds and glowing brass underpinned by
a swelling bed of support from the strings. It encapsulates very well the
mood of longing so intrinsic to Delius at his best and Hill controls it so
that it doesn’t sound sentimental but alive. I can’t say the same
about all of Part Two - parts of the fourth and fifth movements I find unbearably
tedious - but if you want to explore the Mass of Life then this is
now the best place to start. It’s better recorded and, on balance, better
performed than Hickox’s version for Chandos and it’s also a lot
cheaper at Naxos bargain price.
The Prelude and Idyll makes an unusual but effective filler, less substantial
than the Requiem which Hickox has for his coupling but satisfying in
a different way. The music began life in the opera Margot la Rouge,
unperformed in the composer’s lifetime, and towards the end of life,
with the help of Eric Fenby, Delius returned to it and extracted this music
to create a wholly new work for the concert hall. The prelude has a gently
pastoral air to it, while the Idyll is a gently reflective dialogue where
two lovers remember their encounter and recall it in idealised language with
passionate music to match. It’s sung very well by Opie and Watson, though
she is prone to a little shrillness at times.
Simon Thompson
This has done more than any other to win me over to the Mass of Life.
see also review by Rob Barnett