The BPO's instrument transporter outside the Albert Hall; does it have a gym inside?
One of the joys of a Proms season is listening to a carefully composed programme that offers new insights into music which the audience might have heard many times before. Concerts that are narratives; that tell a story, illuminate a history, that are conceived as a whole.
We've recently had three. First, Ivan fischer's Brahms 3 and 4 with the Budapest, which was not simply the Third Symphony followed by the Fourth; it was "Brahms' symphonic imagination, parts two and three." then there was the vibrato-free Norrington and the Stuttgart, with Beethoven's Eighth, Berlioz's 'Romeo Alone' and Dvorak's Ninth.
Finally, last night, with Rattle and the Berlin in Prom 64, Rachmaninov's 'Symphonic Dances' followed by Stravinsky's 'Firebird'.
Let's go back, for a moment, to Norrington and Prom 62. In Prom 54, Gardiner had very elegantly produced a Missa Solemnis to win over those of us (like me, I 'm afraid) who really don't get the thing at all. Perhaps we should try to imagine it as a long kind of highly ceremonial coronation anthem for the mitredom (or installment, enthronement or whatever it is) of an Archbishop, as I found myself trying to do.
Otherwise, it does seem to be difficult to grasp, and for all Gardiner cleverly played up the occasional resemblances to the Ninth to encourage us, for me it still does.
If Beethoven's Seventh really is 'the apotheosis of the dance', Norrington and his Stuttgart orchestra made both the Eighth, the Berlioz, and Dvorak's Ninth a combinative illustration of the zenith of spiritual dance. The Beethoven was the epitome of clarity—vibrato-less playing assisting no end—and conducted as a decisive link between the Seventh and Ninth. And, being Norrington, vigorous and fast-paced too.
Norrington, too, placed the double basses up beyond the brass at the 'top' of the orchestra, which was extremely effective this time for both the Eighth and the Dvorak. The Dvorak was decidedly novel, and the Largo clearly discomfited much of the audience; it was not so much a 'spiritual' of the slave south, but spiritual; you could almost see the ectoplasm.
Clearly, judging by the coughing during this quiet passage, this disomfited some of the audience (as it appears to have at least one critic), since all too many were concentrating on their coughing rather than on any new insight to the Ninth this might have given them. Had they allowed themselves more introspection, perhaps it night have dawned that Norrington was telling us there was rather more Beethoven in Dvorak—or Dvorak in Beethoven?—than we might have thought.
Before we get to Rattle and the Berlin ("Let's rattle and roll" I think some of the Arena shouted) I'd like to demand that Pronms-goers who buy seats should be either given score-reading lessons, or at least presented with a time-sheet that tells them when the orchestra will be playing pianissimo and when fff, so they will know to orchestrate their hacking coughs with the loudest bits.
Not for the first time, Rattle and the Berlin strained (or should have done) the audience's ears in another record-breaking attempt for the quietest ppp from a large orchestra ever heard (or barely heard) in the Albert Hall in the Firebird. Rattle knows the Albert Hall well, of course, but this was pushing the boundaries even for him and the amazing control of the Berlin players. He packed off three trumpeters to the gallery too—sonething that doesn't always come off!— for the Firebird, to great effect.
This was a Firebird that was elegant ballet and wistful and delciately coloured in every feather; and crashingly vivid and violent, tail feathers flying and wings beating furiously, the dissonances grabbed by the scruff of the neck and forced into your ears in wild and panicky contrast.
A superb and memorable performance that could not have been achieved without a good deal of introspection. the initial piece was similarly, I suspect, a surprise to much of the audience. There were, for once, quite a few youngsters about, which is something of a relief after seeing all too many grey heads at some Proms.
Whether they found either the Symphonic Dances or the Firebird quite as accessible as they may have thought I'm uncertain. The Rachmaninov was played, fascinatingly, not as a brassy shpoowpiece, but also, in parts unusually introspectively as though it was Rachmaninov's 'Previously Unknown' Symphony. Both performances were grandly symphonic; and fascinating to hear.
The Berlin played gloriously. The strings, particularly used up a lot of elbow grease; I wondered if the Berlin's transport parked outside had brought a gym along for them. Rattle—as Norrington had—conducted without a score. The double basses, however, were in their usual place . . .Bit of a surprise seeing a 'normal' orchestral disposition again.
The lighting effects were the usual blue; what this year seems to be the favoured colour; but for that particular reversion to the traditional (the only one of the night) I thought they might have tried sepia. The lighting producer is playing around a bit this year: Prommers at a late Prom are greeted with a 'stretched' photo of the Albert Hall at night spread over the LCD screens at the back of the orchestra . . .It's daylight for the earlier ones, I noticed. Subtle, eh?
At the end, after lengthy applause, Rattle—who was very nice about the Proms-goers, despite the damnable coughers!—had the band turn around with him and salute Henry Wood. This was one of the nights—I may sometimes moan we don't always get enough of them in a season—you really do have to pay homage and pour libations to the Muses and the spirit of the man.
No comments:
Post a Comment