Mark-Anthony Turnage
was the featured artist of the Barbican’s 2003 January Composer’s Weekend.
From Friday to Sunday films, live concerts and opera centring on this
composer exuded from the Barbican’s every pore. The concerts I attended
provided a remarkably powerful experience, frequently moving and always
fascinating.
Turnage is probably most famous (or notorious) for
his affinity to jazz music. If there is to be one point to be taken
away from this weekend, it is that far from this being any kind of gimmick,
the jazz elements function as an integral part of Turnage’s expressive
core, a necessary part of his compositional armoury. As if to reinforce
this loudly and clearly, one of Turnage’s most famous works started
off the mini-festival in high style – the nine-movement Blood on
the Floor (1993-96), whose 80-minute duration earned it a whole
evening to itself. This suite for jazz ensemble is much more than a
demonstration of compositional virtuosity, as it makes an indelible
impact on the listener. If one can hear the influence of various twentieth-century
composers – Stravinsky in the woodwind writing in ‘Junior Addict’ (the
second movement, composed in response to a family member’s death through
drug addiction), or Messiaen in the vital rhythmic impulse of ‘Cut Up’
(movement 7), or even Bernstein in the bright exuberance of the Prologue
(‘Blood on the Floor’) – they are nevertheless subsumed under Turnage’s
concept.
The complexity of Turnage’s orchestral writing seemed
to keep the BBC Symphony Orchestra on its toes and, under Martyn Brabbins’
precise beat they played with a unanimity of purpose they do not always
display. The soloists were exemplary: Martin Robertson made his saxophones
sing; Peter Erskine displayed a jaw-dropping command of his drum-kit;
John Parricelli (guitar) was superb.
If it were not for the mesmeric, fascinating qualities
of Turnage’s music, attending two concerts on Saturday the 18th
might have felt like overkill. Instead, it was enervating in the extreme.
Beginning the afternoon concert, entitled ‘Etudes and Elegies,’ with
Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem, Op. 20 (1940), was an inspired
decision. A pity the BBCSO, this time under Leonard Slatkin, did not
fully get inside this music: there were distinct pointers towards rehearsal
time being shunted towards the Turnage items (understandably enough).
The bleak opening was not entirely together, and the second movement
(Dies Irae: Allegro con fuoco) was accurate, but careful rather than
exciting. The disjunct lines of the finale, ‘Requiem aeternam’ went
a long way toward saving the day, with the jagged violin lines painfully
expressive. Despite these shortcomings, the overall programming concept
became clear as the climax of Turnage’s Your Rockaby for saxophone
and orchestra (1992/3) seemed aurally connected to the Britten in the
monumental nature of the orchestral gestures (the dark rhythmic impetus
of the opening provided another link). Martin Robertson was once again
a superb soloist, presenting the plangent lines with superb tone and
confidence.
Two World Premières made up the rest of this
concert. A fresh revision of Momentum (1990/1) was played back-to-back
with the first performance of Etudes and Elegies (2000-2). Momentum
was originally commissioned for the opening of Birmingham’s Symphony
Hall in June 1991. The title refers to the inherent energy of this music:
the piece begins with appropriately bright, celebratory fanfares. Violin
lines spoke of an only-just harnessed wildness, and the shadow of open-air
Copland crept over the cello parts. At a mere ten minutes it was the
perfect foil for Etudes and Elegies, a triptych, each part of
which may be performed as an individual entity.
Despite the brass, woodwind and percussion virtuosity
of the first movement of Etudes and Elegies, ‘A Quick Blast’,
and the touching, strings-only, ‘A Quiet Life,’ it was the second movement,
‘Uninterrupted Sorrow’ which stood out. This evoked a frieze in sound
of the utmost and most compelling beauty. The BBC Symphony strings rose
to the occasion impressively.
Saturday evening’s event consisted of a concert performance
(semi-staged) of Turnage’s infamous opera, Greek (1986-8). Turnage’s
adaptation of Steven Berkoff’s play presents a retelling of the Oedipus
myth, relocated into the East End of London. There is a gritty realism
to Turnage’s setting (of course, the Oedipal basis, especially when
emanating from the mouth of a ‘Sphinx’, recontextualizes and reinforces
the literal meaning of the term, ‘motherfucker’). Here, indeed, was
a performance in which everything fell into place. The London Sinfonietta
re-affirmed its place at the top of the list of London-based instrumental
ensembles by managing to sound as if they played this music every day.
If Greek retains much of its capacity to shock,
its primary purpose seems now to stimulate. Of the vocal soloists, it
is difficult to single out any one for special praise. Baritone Roderick
Williams was convincing as the narrator Eddy; soprano Mary Plazas was
breathtaking in the multiple role of Mum/Waitress 2/Sphinx 1, displaying
a clear, well-rounded tone and portraying her parts powerfully. Richard
Chew, another baritone, as Dad/Café Manager/Chief of Police acted
superbly (the East End gait perfectly caught). Rebecca de Pont Davies
(mezzo), as Wife/Waitress 1/Sphinx 2 acted and sang well, without quite
being as inside the piece as the other soloists. Jac van Steen conducted
with confidence.
This was a superb reaffirmation of Turnage’s talents
as a composer. I only wish I had been able to be present at each and
every event: in addition to the above, there was (amongst other delights),
showings of the film of The Silver Tassie, an all-Turnage programme
from the BCMG and another BBC Symphony Orchestra concert, featuring
three Turnage pieces (including Three Screaming Popes) juxtaposed
with Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms. Treats indeed.
Colin Clarke