Selected Reviews

Clara Rodriguez at The Wigmore Hall

Clara Rodriguez and the Brodowski Quartet
The Wigmore Hall

Perhaps one wouldn’t expect to come to a concert whose highlights are Mozart and Rachmaninov and find oneself enjoying some twentieth-century, lesser known Latin American music more. The Latin American music in question was by Villa-Lobos – so how can there be a concert where a Latin American, not exactly very well-known composer is more appreciated by the audience than Mozart and Rachmaninov?

Clara Rodriguez, a Venezuelan pianist who has been playing all over the globe for a few years now, was meant to be the star of the evening on April 12. But in the first piece, Mozart’s A major Piano Concerto, K414, the Brodowski string quartet took over. Maybe this was because they were positioned in front of her on the stage; a scenario quite unusual for a piano concerto. But most likely because their playing seemed absolutely accomplished, they were never out of time with each other, and they put as much vigour and passion into Mozart’s Concerto with only a piano to partner them as they would have playing a far more popular piece in a far more grandiose setting. Rodriguez’s playing was accurate, but it seemed at times a little too playful, at times too delayed and behind the strings, and the melody on the piano didn’t quite seem to stand out. It was the strings which got the attention of the audience; the piano was probably more successful at almost lulling them to sleep.

When it came to Rachmaninov’s Op. 32 and Op. 23 Preludes, the case was different. Rodriguez was on her own, putting much more passion into the preludes - which are known to be extremely difficult and to really prove the mastery and craft of a pianist - than she had when she had had the string quartet to support her. Initially, her playing was a little tentative, and the contrast between the subtle, piano parts and the aggressive chords wasn’t present. Neither was the melody prominent enough against those aggressive chords. But when it came to the famous Prelude Op. 23, No. 5 in G Minor, alla marcia, Rodriguez came into her own. She picked up the dance style of the piece and the melody came through, as well as the sudden, jumpy, violent chords - even if at times they did tend to sound clumsy.

But the real highlight of the evening was when Rodriguez played the music which, it is fair to say, is probably closest to her. Although Villa-Lobos wouldn’t be a sole reason to attend a concert, unlike Mozart or Rachmaninov, his music, though not seemingly very melodious and definitely drifting into a twentieth-century, more experimental style, has a certain sinister, dark tone in it; as though there is passion underneath, but it is just a more subtle passion than Rachmaninov would portray in his aggressive chords. Here Rodriguez seemed at home; she was neither clumsy, nor too playful, nor too lento.

Rodriguez is certainly an accomplished pianist. She is a star in her own musical domain and travels the World to introduce the classical sounds of Latin America, not the salsa or samba for which the continent is famous, but the lesser known Spanish spice encountered in the country’s classical music. This was a concert worth attending to make that introduction, and Rodriguez is undoubtedly the pianist with whom one ought to make it.

Sophia Lambton

A Budd that has bloomed

Engaging a director and a set designer to make their operatic debuts at Glyndebourne sounds like folly; and when that opera is as difficult an assignment as Britten’s all-male Billy Budd folly turns to madness. However…the result is a triumph, the production on May 23 the most successful to date, from the premiere which I saw on December 1, 1951, onwards. Christopher Oram’s multi-decked set transports us to a ship of the line of 1797 when the British navy was fighting the French and the threat of mutiny within its ranks (a member of the cast told me that the cast cheered when it saw the set at the first stage rehearsal).

Herman Melville apparently based his short story on a true story of those old times when conditions were tense, discipline strict and cruel. In the first act we see the bloody result of a young novice flogged because he bumped into the Bos’un, a flinchworthy sight that matches Britten’s pathetic music, a contrapuntal slow tangle that parallels some of Bach’s Passion music with on the top line a poetic saxophone where the older composer used the cor anglais.

The director, Michael Grandage, is well known for his work both in New York and in London where he runs the Donmar theatre. His handling of the large chorus of the crew is as masterly as that of the principals, both the lower deck and the officers on the bridge. We see Captain Vere who fails to save the young foretopman Billy Budd from the penalty of hanging from the yard-arm when, unable to overcome his stammer to answer the charge of mutiny brought by Claggart, the master of arms, he strikes his superior officer. Claggart is a villain of the deepest dye with a homosexual lust for the young sailor.

Nearly every opera that Britten composed had to have a big part for his tenor partner, Peter Pears. There is no parallel to this liaison which gave rise to at least six major operas. The curious thing is that Britten wrote music for Pears so bound up with the idiosyncracies of the tenor’s voice and musical personality that one still seems to hear that unique voice again in the performances of latter-day singers. Here it is John Mark Ainsley singing very well but with overtones of the original portrayer of the part of Vere. Jacques Imrailo from South Africa is every inch and every sound Billy Budd, loose-limbed, innocent, a carefree young man until he is doomed. Philip Ens from Canada is an impressive Claggart, only lacking a hard edge to his voice that would make him into a kind of latter-day Iago. All the smaller roles are part of a cast that realises Britten’s intentions.

But all this excellence is matched by a mastermind directing Britten’s wonderful music (on reflection this grand opera and the chamber opera The Turn of the Screw mark the summit of this composer’s achievement, despite the fine qualities of his first success in the medium, Pater Grimes).

It seems to me that Sir Mark Elder is now at the zenith of his career. Now in his early sixties, every work he conducts has a feeling of rightness and he gets what he wants out of his performers. He is at home in modern music, he delights in the music of the ottocento (1800-1850), his English music – Elgar and Delius – is first class and here he gives us a perfect performance of Benjamin Britten. The Hallé Orchestra is fortunate in having his direction and his visits to London’s concert halls and opera houses bear golden fruit and, as here, bring a Budd to splendid bloom.

John Amis

Copland:
Clarinet Concerto/Appalachian Spring
(version for chamber orchestra)
Finzi: Clarinet Concerto / Romance for Strings

Sarah Williamson, Clarinet / Orchestra of the Swan / David Curtis, Conductor
*****SOMM CD 244 [78’12”]

There's no doubting the beautiful playing of Berliner Philharmoniker or that Simon Rattle unfolds the opening of Symphony No. 1 with a view to its tragedy and the eventual need for light to triumph over darkness. There are more explicit, less consciously moulded or sounded performances of Brahms 1 available, but Rattle certainly has the measure of the music's emotional import; his is a Romantic view of Brahms's expression, yet he avoids exaggeration and mannerism. This is a cogent and expressive account, if one with few if any revelations, yet with the deep satisfaction of listening to a very familiar masterwork performed so wonderfully well. Yet it begs the question as to whether we should expect something revelatory from the latest version of much-recorded music, especially when it is from such high-profile performers.

Conversely, that would be to put a burden on interpreters consciously to seek-out a new angle for the sake of it and then be accused of novelty for no good reason. Rattle, to his credit, conducts Brahms's long-gestated symphony with power, subtlety and innate flexibility, which the recorded sound conveys with clarity and naturalness and with a wide dynamic range (enough for some of the pizzicatos at the beginning of the finale to be near-inaudible if 'just' ear-catching).

Rattle omits the exposition repeat in the first movement of the C minor Symphony, a wise move, for the exposition's return can seem half-hearted and a dissipater of tension (Boult's also-EMI version is a notable exception in this regard, and a magnificent performance overall), and it is therefore best to continue into the stormy development. Such stability also informs the finale, a well-controlled traversal that ratchets-up organically into the liberating coda, which Rattle commendably takes at a single tempo (thankfully there is no grotesque slowing for the return of the 'motto', nor any tub-thumping when it does; much as I love their conducting, Barbirolli and Bernstein, both with the Vienna Philharmonic, go ludicrously over-the-top at this point).

If the C minor receives a satisfying performance (if no more than that), the Fourth is decidedly impressive, quite leisurely yet taut in the first movement, tragically emotional and wholly engrossing, the Berliners inspired. Maybe he has been asked, and his answer is in print somewhere, but I wouldn't mind betting that Brahms 4 is Rattle's favourite among these symphonies. 'Favourite' is the wrong word, of course, for the music is profound, as is our response to it, but he does conduct it in a way that suggests that this music is very special to him, every note moulded expressively (nowhere more so than in the second movement) yet without giving the impression of micro-managing it from an objective standpoint. The Scherzo has weight and truculence, a burst of exuberance, and is also a false trail for the finale's opening pages are solemnly intoned, the bulk of the movement monumentally traversed, so that when a 'normal' tempo is resumed it is with something of a jolt; nevertheless this emotionally undisguised performance is engrossing (with much beguiling woodwind detailing along the way).

Of the middle symphonies I am less sure, and let me make this clear, EMI offers us just the symphonies; neither the overtures nor the Haydn/St Anthony Variations are included. Symphonies 2 and 3 are coupled together, the former is rather frisky in the first movement (and I do miss the exposition repeat here), not quite settled, or maybe Rattle is consciously suggesting a more volatile work than is customary for a work that had the 'pastoral' epithet settled upon it many moons ago. Sometimes restless as if put-upon, the first movement undoubtedly opens-up its own thrall, but the arguably-too-spacious account from Christoph von Dohnányi (Philharmonia Orchestra/Signum Classics) has a greater sense of shape that seems altogether more edifying (if comfortable). From Rattle, contrasts also abound in the slow movement (calm and upsurge, but no lack of eloquence). The intermezzo-like third movement is pleasing in its gait, and the finale unforced in its bravura, although some changes of dynamics are somewhat manicured.

In its opening, the Third Symphony lacks rough-hewn grandeur - here the homogeneous timbres of Berliner Philharmoniker varnish the music in too smooth a manner - although greater intensity is apparent come the repeat of the exposition; yet, second time through the exposition, Rattle makes an impulsive lurch into the development that is unconvincing. I suppose one could cite here something Furtwänglerian, but without his inner resource. The remaining movements are a little creamy-rich in sound, very beautiful often, nowhere more so than in the Poco allegretto third movement, lovingly shaped (and I am not likely to forget how Lorin Maazel performed this music with the Philharmonia Orchestra on 28 June 2008 in the Royal Festival Hall, London, when he turned it into a precursor of the Adagietto of Mahler 5, and that is not necessarily a criticism). With a finale that has a bit more grit and ardour to it, this is Rattle's most successful movement of the Third Symphony.

So, performed during October and November last year in the Philharmonie, this set of Brahms's symphonies is hardly 'a new milestone in the history of Brahms recordings' as EMI claims; what this issue represents though is dedicated performances of traditional values, the Berliner Philharmoniker given its lustrous head, Rattle often following the familiar interpretative furrow of his predecessors (Furtwängler and Karajan came to mind at various points, but not the same ones) and delivering a Fourth of undoubted stature, the other symphonies not quite adding up but to different degrees, but each has many fine features, especially the C minor.

Colin Anderson

Molly and the Sword by Robert Shlasko

Jane & Street Publishers Ltd 32 pages hardback, many illustrations
ISBN: 0-974-5077-4-1

In this delightful children’s book set in the 19th century, a young girl, Molly, who is a student of the violin, is about to play in a famous concert hall. But she’s so nervous that she’s afraid to go on stage. Years earlier, at a dangerous time, she had gone in search of water for her family. Back then, an officer in an enemy army had saved her from harm. Now, at the concert hall, the officer suddenly reappears - can he help Molly regain her courage?

This is a simple story, with many morals excellently pointed and told. The age of the intended readership is as wide as, say, 6-12; the book is brilliantly illustrated and very well produced. In the end, of course, Molly triumphs, but not before she understands that she has to practice hard to succeed.

The book has been enormously successful in the USA and in Scandinavia – it deserves to repeat that success in Britain. I enjoyed it very much and so did my 7-year-old grand-daughter who’s just taken up the violin.

Robert Matthew-Walker