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SEEN AND HEARD UK
CONCERT REVIEW
Boulez: Explosante-fixe 'in memoriam Stravinsky' (1971) arr. Holliger (1972)
Schumann: Six Canonic Studies for Pedal Piano Op 56 (arr. for oboe d'amore, cello & piano by Theodor Kitchner)
Holliger: Songs without words for violin & piano (selection)
Schumann: Romances for oboe & piano Op 94 (1849)
Sándor Veress: Sonata for solo cello (1967)
Schumann: Märchenbilder for viola & piano Op 113 (1851)
Holliger: Duo for violin & cello (1982)
Schumann: Five Pieces in Folk Style Op 102 (1849)
Here, in the first of two concerts, was Heinz Holliger,
oboist of highest international reputation - utterly
deserved, as our own ears gave witness. We heard him
play Boulez and Schumann. We also heard two of his
compositions, neither of them requiring an oboist. A
further feature was that we heard three pianists -
Beatson in two Schumann works; Lonquich in pieces by
Holliger and Schumann and, last of all, Tong in
Schumann.
Boulez' commemoration of Stravinsky originally appeared
without conventional notation, as a circular-pictogram
score, offering each performer freedom to interpret.
Holliger's realisation set down his particular
vision/version of the work. We heard a 'pointilliste'
account in which multifarious fragments of sound broke
ceaselessly into brief surrounding silences. There was
diversity and grave beauty in the varying combinations
of instruments, and delicacy from the harp. The sonic
quality changed according to which instruments were in
combination at any one time. The volume changed hardly
at all. This gave an egalitarianism of sound to each
fragment. Being circular in construction, the work was
intentionally repetitive and without advancement. In
this sense, there was no 'reason' why the piece should
ever end. On the other hand, the end, when it came, was
moving. These fragments, tiny and vulnerable, were
ceasing to be - mirroring Stravinsky's gradual ceasing
to be part of this world any longer.
Holliger's Songs
Without Words, from which we heard a
selection, had, cumulatively, a strange poetry. Several
were brief 'in memoriam' pieces, recalling, though by no
means imitating, Stravinsky's farewells to T. S. Eliot
and Dylan Thomas. Holliger writes with a lyrical,
earnest, spare, experimental Puritanism. He is very much
concerned to give a noticeably different character to
each of his brief pieces. In one of them - 'Flammen ...
Schnee' - the pianist alternately struck the notes on
the piano's keyboard and then reached over into the
piano's interior to pluck the strings. The concluding
Berceuse was grateful and soothing. Holliger's earlier
Duo for violin and cello (1982) played perceptively with
the sonic possibilities of two members of the same
family of instruments.
The Sonata for solo cello by Veress made strenuous
technical demands on the performer. The work is clearly
a product of several musical cultures and devices - such
as nationalism and dodecaphony. They do not quite sit
together comfortably. I recognised, too, recollections
of the robust rough presence of Kodàly, one of Veress'
distinguished teachers. Xenia Jankovic handled these
stumbling blocks with measured certainty.
Holliger admires Schumann greatly, seeing in him the
arresting paradox of a genius living with his personal,
troubled darkness, yet nevertheless capable of writing
music that is simultaneously subjective and sublime. He
played Schumann's music in exquisite, long phrases,
appearing hardly to breathe - out of respect for the
soaring breadth of the composer's character and
inspiration. This was sublime artistry.
We heard four much-favoured works. The six Canonic
Studies for Pedal Piano, the Romances for oboe & piano
and the
Märchenbilder for viola & piano all sounded
rather cool and distant, as though we were listening to
an intensity of personal expression coming from the open
window of a house at the other end of the street. In
contrast, the five Pieces in Folk Style were played in
the same room as oneself, as it were. The difference was
thrilling and warming. Daniel Tong's piano was a
presence by one's side. The sounds were immediate; the
playing was robust; the phrasing was marked. In the
right sense, the playing was dramatic. Suddenly, into
the room came the striking presence(s) of Florestan and
Eusebius. The emotional contrast, rightly, constituted
the shape of each piece: its emotion was its form.
Reciprocally, Christoph Richter's cello played in
partnership with the mellow passion and rich hints of
depth that characterise his instrument. This was the
culmination as well as, as it happened, the end of the
evening.
Ken Carter