Part
of ‘Omaggio: A Celebration of Luciano Berio’
(which runs from April 15th-30th),
this concert presented the UK premiere of
Berio’s Stanze. Any Berio première
is an occasion, but this one was lent added
poignancy by the sense of loss at this great
composer’s demise in May last year after a
long illness.
Stanze
was preceded by the ‘Prelude to the Council
of the False Gods’ from Debussy’s Le martyre
de St Sébastien. Comprising clear,
crisp brass fanfares it functioned in effect
like one of Stockhausen’s ‘Greetings’ to his
operas, a brief (three-minute) welcome before
we arrived at the meat. Stanze is Berio’s
last composition and sets poems by Paul Celan,
Giorgio Caproni, Edoardo Sanguineti, Alfred
Brendel and Dan Pagis all of which are linked
by a preoccupation with ‘an unmentionable
other and other place’ (Berio).
This is no deliberation on a Christian God,
rather a spiritual meditation by a non-believer;
or God as concept. A fascinating take on a
subject that more often than not inspires
fervent response.
Stanze
(‘Rooms’, or ‘Panels’) is scored for baritone,
three antiphonally deployed male choruses
and orchestra (with inverted seating of strings,
so violins are on the left and cellos on the
right). Berio spent a long time considering
the layout of the work - indeed, hearing it
‘live’ like this was most effective and reduction
to ‘stereo’ will surely demean its strength.
The work is structured in five ‘panels’, the
text delivered, always clearly and intelligibly,
by the baritone soloist (François Le
Roux’).
The
first poem, ‘Tenebrae’ is by Paul Celan and
is in German. It opens under cloudy, mysterious
harmonies, the ensuing vocal line fairly disjunct
but, as always with this composer, underpinned
by a firmly lyrical basis. The text contains
an interesting inversion in which the Lord
is entreated to pray to Mankind, His own creation
- yet Berio saves his most beautiful scoring
(high woodwind with percussion highlights)
for the line Es war Blut, es war,/was du vergossen,
Herr’; ‘It was blood, it was,/ that you shed,
Lord’. Only Le Roux’ lowest register (right
at the close of the setting) gave any cause
for concern - how far would it carry if it
sounded weak relatively close up, in the lower
part of the stalls?
The
second movement is a setting of an Italian
text by Giorgio Camproni (‘The Ceremonious
Traveller’s Farewell’) - it is here the choruses
enter. Long vocal lines are set against woodwind
arabesques (again, Le Roux’ projection gave
cause for concern at one point). The correlation
of journey (life) and journey’s end (death)
is clear.
The
central panel (on a text by Sanguineti - a
‘free manipulation of fragments from Job’,
in the words of the poet) is unpredictable
in its unfolding, anguished in its scoring,
disturbing in its effect. In fine contrast
stands the biting humour of Alfred Brendel’s
(English) text with its references to the
‘Tritsch-Tratsch-Polka’, a poem that elicited
a Sprechgesang response from Berio. The final
movement, ‘The Battle’ (sung in German - ‘Die
Schlacht’ by Dan Pagis) actually begins like
we are suddenly in the aftermath of a battle.
Frozen timbres paint a bleak meditation on
death.
Stanze
will without doubt repay further hearings.
This was a memorable première.
SOLO
for trombone and orchestra demands the talents
of someone like Christian Lindberg (here dressed
like a leather-trousered Harlequin); it is
wide-ranging in its virtuosity, and the soloist
did not disappoint. Different modes of attack
on a single note defined the sense of movement
at the opening. Lindberg (astonishingly, performing
the twenty-minute work from memory) conveyed
a palpable sense of theatre. The musical argument
was grippingly presented.
How
much rehearsal time, what with two important
Berio items on the programme, had been allocated
to Stravinsky’s Petrushka, I wonder?
There was a careful slant to the trickier
passages, balance was sometimes awry and the
overall conception seemed lacking in cohesion.
Highlights came from individual contributions
(creamy clarinet, plangent bassoon etc) rather
than from any sense of the whole and even
the famous ‘Russian Dance’ was vivacious without
being truly incisive. This Petrushka
felt curiously dull and lifeless, a pity after
the hugely impressive Berio pieces that preceded
it.
Colin
Clarke
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