STUART MILLSON ranges from Manon Lescaut to Mystical Songs
Sumptuous sound – yet with pin-sharp detail – is the order of the day in the new Chandos issue of orchestral works by Puccini. Scaling the heights of dazzling audio-demonstration-level engineering, the Chandos engineers bring John Wilson’s Sinfonia of London into sharp focus – highlighting the brilliant solo playing of sections and section leaders (musicians all handpicked by the conductor) and the sheer unanimity of a sound that truly gels and sparkles. Puccini is just the right choice of composer for artists who set out to re-create what is, possibly, a lost style of orchestral playing – or at least, that resonant richness associated with the large London ensembles of the 1970s and ‘80s.
Listen out for the immaculate, tenderness of the woodwind at the opening of the Act II Prelude to Manon Lescaut, with graceful violins leading us on to the emotional blaze at the height of the piece. Likewise, a soft breeze from the Italian coast wafts through the Prelude to Act III of Edgar, a Puccini opera we hear very little. An old-world charm, reminiscent of Grieg’s Holberg Suite, is to be found in the Tre Minuetti (from about 1881, revised seven years later). This gem of a sequence started life in string quartet form, but John Wilson saw its potential for larger forces and so duly orchestrated it. From the thrilling, orchestral ‘attack’ in the short Scherzo (18812-83) to the famous, nostalgic, sepia, bittersweet Crisantemi, the Puccini collection will greatly appeal even to those who are not naturally followers of opera, but who nonetheless relish a tug of the heartstrings.
In a different era of recording, yet with an equally striking sound, but finely remastered, is SOMM Records’ Sir Thomas Beecham archive. Sir Thomas was one of a group of great inter- and post-war British conductor-knights, often known for their biting wit and somewhat authoritarian presence on the podium. At one rehearsal with the Royal Philharmonic, the position of the chair and music-stand on the conductor’s rostrum was not to Sir Thomas’s liking, and he became a little irritated by the arrangement. “Do you think I’m Samson?” he remarked, as he tried to adjust the heavy podium apparatus. “Sometimes, we do wonder, sir?” replied a brave member of the orchestra. Beecham saw the funny side, fortunately. Yet the conductor was a musical titan, as can be heard in Richard Strauss’s grand symphonic odyssey and autobiography, Ein Heldenleben.
For Strauss, his music rooted in Wagnerian willpower, the ‘Hero’s Life’ of the title referred not to a sword-wielding Siegfried, but to the German artist himself – fighting battles for recognition, for artistic truth, against sniping and snarling critics (Das Helden Widersacher – The Hero’s Adversaries). Heldenleben is, perhaps, Strauss’s version of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony, although the work ends not in exultation, but in the sense of the artist having satisfied many of his desires. Sir Thomas Beecham revels in the almost operatic texture of the music – the grand sound of French horns and martial trumpets; the music striding on as if accompanying both Zarathustra and Don Juan, all in one. Once again with SOMM, Lani Spahr’s audio restoration leaves us in no doubt as to the mission of this record label: to establish for all-time, one of the most remarkable conductors’ and composers’ sound archives to be found anywhere in the catalogue. Also on the CD is Beethoven’s Eighth, a work of beauty, lightness, diversion – a recapitulation of all the good things we find in the Symphony No. 1 – and just the prelude needed before the mighty Ninth, the Choral Symphony. Lovers of vintage records will enjoy the mid-1950s sound, and it is truly enriching for us to be able to reconsider and re-assess the legendary musicians of 70 years ago.
But SOMM’s musical exploration of the past goes even further back in time: their first volume of Elgar from the Archives presenting two recordings from the 1920s of the Enigma Variations – one conducted by the composer himself; the other by the founder-conductor of the Proms, Sir Henry Wood. Given that the recording techniques here involved the Royal Albert Hall Orchestra – and Wood’s own Queen’s Hall Orchestra – performing in front of what looks like a large Trinity House foghorn, the sound quality is remarkably clear. Again, sound-supremo, Lani Spahr has done a wonderful job of “French-polishing” this (English) music, and because of it, we can enjoy the glorious playing of the orchestras’ woodwind and string principals in this most famous symphonic warhorse.
The Elgar disc is completed by delicate and sensitive recordings of the Violin Sonata and String Quartet, both works the products of Elgar’s stay in the woodland of West Sussex at the end of the First World War. For Lady Elgar, the slow movement of the Quartet captured the essence of sunshine; and Sir Edward’s chamber music from this southern sojourn was often generally referred to as showing a mysterious “wood magic”. Marjorie Hayward, violin, and Una Bourne, piano, are the soloists in this 1919 acoustic recording, while the String Quartet in E minor recorded two years later, shows the virtuosity and understated English emotion of the London String Quartet.
Finally, again from our own land, the words and music of Easter, and poet, George Herbert, set by Ralph Vaughan Williams. In Five Mystical Songs we sense the growth of flowers, of the daffodil – the Lent lily – and experience the quiet revelations of resurrection and renewal, although not through the usual choral and orchestral forces associated with the work, but in the composer’s own arrangement for baritone, piano and string quartet. The songs were first performed in Worcester at the 1911 Three Choirs Festival, that gathering so associated with such masters of our musical renascence as Howells, Elgar and ‘RVW’ himself. On a new recording from Albion Records and the Vaughan Williams Society, Roderick Williams, baritone, gives a warm-hearted, clearly-articulated interpretation of the songs, accompanied by the Sacconi Quartet – a performance of intimacy and reflection, reminding the listener a little of the atmosphere of Butterworth’s song-cycle A Shropshire Lad. Here, England at Easter-time lies before us: “Rise heart, thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise without delays, / Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise, / With him may’st rise…”
WILLIAM KING relishes a cinematic realisation of a great musical moment
There was a time when I never thought of visiting YouTube, believing it to be full of cat videos uploaded by doting owners. Later I discovered my error – it was, in fact, full of a wide range of pointless videos. Then I came to discover that there are many worthwhile grains to be found among the chaff and Eroica is surely one of them. I think myself exceptionally fortunate to have accidentally discovered this British film, and this is my justification for reviewing something made over two decades ago, in 2003.
Eroica is a dramatisation of the first, private premiere of Beethoven’s third symphony, the ‘Eroica’ or heroic symphony. The film’s most remarkable feature was the brave decision that saw the full symphony – all 49 minutes of it, plus a little bit of Mozart – incorporated into a film that is only 83 minutes long. This might seem to leave little time for any drama as well: surely the drama – the main plot and an amorous sub-plot – must cease when the music commences? That this is not the case is due to the excellent screenwriting of Nick Dear, the intelligent direction of Simon Cellan Jones, and the emotional sensitivities displayed by the cast. And, of course, the very fine playing by the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique, conducted by Beethoven in the film, and by John Eliot Gardiner ‘behind the scenes.’ As a result, music and drama become inseparably fused throughout the film.
It might be best to sketch briefly some of the known facts relating to the private premiere of Beethoven’s third symphony. As we shall see, it should perhaps be called the first rehearsal, rather than the first performance.
Eighteenth century view of the Palais Lobkowitz in Vienna
It was held in June 1804, in the Vienna palace of the Bohemian nobleman Prince Joseph Franz von Lobkowitz, one of Beethoven’s principal patrons. It took place in a small hall – still known as the Eroica Hall – usually reserved for chamber music, but which could accommodate over two dozen musicians and guests. Lobkowitz was born with a deformed hip, and needed to use a crutch all his life. As a young man he inherited a fortune in money and estates and was known for his lively disposition and warm-heartedness. He was also renowned for his extreme passion for music, employing his own orchestra and chorus – a passion that was ultimately financially ruinous to him. As Count Razumovsky, a Russian nobleman and ambassador in Vienna, later noted: “This Prince was as kindhearted as a child and the most foolish music enthusiast. He played music from dawn to dusk and spent a fortune on musicians.”
A cynic might say Lobkowitz squandered his fortunes on music; I prefer to think that he sacrificed his fortunes to music. Certainly it was he, and a small number of other patrons, who gave Beethoven the financial security to devote himself to composition.
Rehearsals were unusual for symphonies at that time. Professional musicians were expected to give a competent performance by sight-reading the score – even at a premiere. The ‘Eroica’ was different however: almost twice the length of a conventional symphony, the complexity of the score and Beethoven’s perfectionist attitudes rendered rehearsal imperative. The – thankfully private – premiere rehearsal/performance did not go well. With Beethoven himself conducting, errors crept into the playing.
However, one of the most famous incidents came when Ferdinand Ries, pupil and friend of Beethoven, interrupted the playing when he incorrectly thought the horns had come in too early. As Ries recalled: “’That dammed hornist,’ I said. ‘Can’t he count. It sounds frightfully wrong. I nearly got my ears boxed and Beethoven did not forgive me for a long time.’”
Joseph Haydn, revered as the Grand Old Man of music in the early 1800s, arrived at the palace in time to hear the final movement of the symphony, and to make a number of prophetic comments about it.
The public premiere did not take place until April 1805. We may be certain that the orchestra was properly rehearsed this time, but the length, scope and sheer power of the piece, especially the first movement, was too much for some. One member of the audience was infamously heard to cry out: “I’ll give another kreuzer [a copper coin] if the thing will only stop!” There was muted applause at the end.
So much for history; what of the drama? It is a sad fact of life that film and TV dramatisations have rarely more than a nodding acquaintance with historical reality. All too often dramatists, whether through ignorance, an ‘agenda,’ or a desire to ‘jazz things up,’ see no reason to let reality get in the way of a good drama. A bit like newspaper editors never letting the facts get in the way of a good story! Thankfully there are few such blemishes here, and when they occur they can be excused on the grounds of dramatic licence. A few examples should however be mentioned.
Wenzel Sukowaty, Beethoven’s copyist, rushes in shortly before the performance is due to start to give out the sheet music to the orchestra. Cue much baffled incomprehension from the players – “The fingering. Have you seen bar 34?” and indeed, “Bloody hell.” The copyist quietly explains to Prince Lobkowitz, “The piece is a monster… It may not be music at all.”There are a few false starts when Beethoven commences conducting, and he has to explain that the orchestra are to play ‘sforzando,’ attacking each note, for maximum intensity. The sad plea “Can’t we play a bit slower?” is answered with a resolute no. However, from then on the orchestra sight-reads, at first time of asking, a piece that is exceptionally long, complex and not like anything they have played before, without error.
This is surely not what happened in real life, but – and this is a huge but – it means we get to hear the Eroica as Beethoven wished it to be heard, played on historically authentic instruments by a first-rate orchestra, under a leading conductor, fully in sympathy with the music. If dramatic licence is not forgivable here, then when is it?
More examples of such licence may be given. The long-suffering Ries does indeed interrupt the playing, leading to a volcanic eruption of rage from Beethoven, but did he really cry out, “Piss off!” to his hapless apprentice, in front of Prince Lobkowitz and his assembled guests, many of them ladies? No doubt Nick Dear, the writer, felt it necessary to ‘update’ the language for 21st century ears. One can only say, O tempora, O mores…
Finally, towards the end there is a ‘flash-forward’ scene when Beethoven and Ries visit a tavern after the performance. Ries there discovers from a friend that Napoleon has declared himself Emperor. He nervously informs Beethoven of this, knowing that Beethoven was a great admirer of Napoleon, regarding him as an embodiment of republican virtues. Beethoven, in a towering rage, rips out Napoleon’s name from the dedication to him on the front page of the manuscript score. Historical accounts vary slightly but it would seem Beethoven did hear of Napoleon’s declaration from Ries, and he did destroy the dedication to Napoleon, but probably not immediately after the premiere performance. This is, of course, why the third symphony is called the Eroica symphony, and not the ‘Buonaparte’ symphony as originally planned. A little dramatic licence is surely excusable here.
These minor quibbles aside, what are the most noticeable virtues of Eroica? Apart, of course, from the exquisite playing by the orchestra. First and foremost Eroica is superb in its exploration of the relationship between music and society as a whole: specifically, in this case, the musical revolution that Beethoven is about to unleash against the backdrop of the social and political changes after the French Revolution, and symbolised by Napoleon Buonaparte.
This is, for the most part, done with much subtlety. For example. the film opens with the lead violinist of Prince Lobkowitz’s orchestra playing a piece by Mozart, before the guests have arrived and the new symphony is to be first aired. It is very beautiful piece, calm and serene, but it is not in any way threatening – it will never, as it were, be the backing track to a revolution. Playing it serves as a counterpoint to what will come. No wonder Beethoven laughs on hearing this music on his arrival – he knows just how much of a shock his music will be.
There is much debate about music and its place in society. The opposition to Beethoven, and all he stands for, comes from Count Dietrichstein, a nobleman friend of Prince Lowkowitz. He is very much a supporter of ancien régimes – if you don’t have a title your views scarcely count. Wisely he has not been presented here as an ignorant buffoon. Rather he is an intelligent man but with fixed ideas – fixed about the nature of society and fixed about what music is. Since the feelings and opinions of the ‘lower orders’ count for little he condemns, to Beethoven’s face, the first movement as “Violent, needlessly violent” and “a tasteless intermarriage of the diatonic and chromatic.”
Dietrichstein is however honest: as the symphony progresses, he is clearly emotionally affected. Nonetheless he explains to Beethoven,
That wasn’t bad. It’s not a symphony though… The symphony has a structure. This is a formless mass. A mere arrangement of noise. A great piling up of colossal ideas. It’s very moving. In parts it has elements of the sublime. But it is also full of discord… But it is not what we call a symphony.
Mozart can be enjoyed by Count Dietrichstein – it does not threaten his musical tastes or the social order he inhabits. He simply does not understand the Eroica – and we are all unsettled by that which we do not understand. But he does understand that this is new music, which challenges the established musical order, and he worries that he does not know what the broader impact on society might be.
Beethoven is in more congenial company among the lower orders: he joins the members of the orchestra as they enjoy a mid-symphony lunch break. They discuss Napoleon: is he a threat or a liberator? Should he be resisted if he leads an army to Vienna? And will the existing social order continue?
Prince Lobkowitz has long believed that music is not just for the nobility. He is keen to have his servants enlightened and educated by exposure to high culture, thus the sound of Eroica has echoed throughout his palace. Downstairs in the servants’ quarters, an inexperienced footman is discussing it with Gerhardt, a senior servant, evidently one who has received a significant musical education through his years with the Prince:
“What do you reckon to the band, then?”
“They’ve taken the symphony to new heights.”
“Christ, have they?”
Thus the first wholly-unequivocal praise given to Eroica in the drama comes from a servant. Should we be surprised? Probably not.
There is a brief romantic sub-plot, centering on Beethoven’s unsuccessful proposal of marriage to the Countess Josephine von Deym, but most of the film relentlessly focuses on the symphony and reactions to it. Much of the film consists of shots, often quite long shots, of people listening to the music and their reactions, intercut with the sight of the orchestra playing. This depiction of the listening process is surely one of the keys to the film’s success. The facial expressions of members of the audience, variously showing delight, distaste, excitement and incomprehension carry the plot forward without the need for dialogue. There is also the aesthetic benefit that one can enjoy the music without people talking over it. This was quite a risky directorial decision: the slightest trace of ‘ham’ overacting could have left the film liable to ridicule. Thankfully what we got was acting at its best, from the actor playing Beethoven, through to those portraying the assembled nobility and down to the kitchen staff. Every part was played excellently. It would be invidious to single out any of the actors for especial praise – but I fear this is what I must do. Three of the finest British actors demand special praise.
First, Ian Hart as Beethoven. His face is alert, alive, the face of a man who cannot but show all his emotions. From towering rage, to marital disappointment, to sublime joy as he hears his creation come to life, Hart is excellent. As the last of the symphony ends, Hart is left in total silence – a grim foreshadowing of Beethoven’s forthcoming deafness.
Secondly, Tim Pigott-Smith as Count Dietrichstein. His haughty dialogue with Beethoven – always on the verge of verbal fisticuffs – is good, but the unspoken scenes, when he is listening to the symphony, clearly not wanting to like it, yet becoming emotionally affected by it, are sublime. A lesser actor could easily have ruined these scenes.
Finally, Frank Finlay, in a cameo role as a frail, elderly Joseph Haydn, the only man that Beethoven calls ‘Master.’ Arriving late to hear the finale of the symphony his words are a fitting conclusion to this review:
He’s done something no other composer has attempted. He’s placed himself at the centre of his work. He gives us a glimpse into his soul. I expect that’s why it’s so noisy. But it is quite, quite new – the artist as hero. Quite new. Everything is different from today.
Eroica, directed by Simon Cellan Jones, screenplay by Nick Dear. Music by the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique, conducted by John Eliot Gardiner. Run time: 1 hour 23 minutes
STUART MILLSON travels from Moorish Spain to Beethoven’s more-ish Mass
Newly minted by the imaginative Meridian CD label comes a recording which is best played, late in the evening – on a warm night – with a glass of Rioja to hand and candlelight flickering in the corner of your room. In the absence of real Iberian surroundings, the disc – FromAlAndalusto theAmericas – takes the listener from the times of the Moorish domination of Spain from the eighth century, to the fall of Granada in 1492 to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and eventually the late 19th/early 20th centuries, the era of composers Granados, Turina and the Argentinian, Ginastera.
The motivating force for and on the recording is the acclaimed American soprano, Christine Moore Vassallo, whose mother, of Arab-Levantine ancestry, inspired the singer to delve into the richly-textured, heady, overlapping mix of Muslim, Spanish, folk, religious, pastoral music and lamentations – fanned, like seeds in the air, to the New World, but rooted in the hills and gardens of Al-Andalus (the name for Spain during Umayyad rule). For this Meridian recording, Christine’s collaborators are Philip Arditti – an expert in Sephardi culture and an exponent of Darbuka, Riqq and Frame drums, Rachel Beckles Wilson, a writer and composer who is one of the West’s foremost authorities on the music of the oud, the guitar virtuoso, Pablo Gimenez, flautist Anthony Robb, and the Spanish pianist, Jorge Robaina. Each musician contributes to this fascinating hour-long time-travel through the history of the Iberian peninsula.
An anonymous pre-15th century piece begins the journey – Lammabada yatathanna – from a poetic genre of the Arab language which appeared in the tenth century. The song, though, is ageless, describing a gentleman’s interest in the ‘swaying hips’ of a woman, and bemoaning his malady of love. Sephardic songs then follow (arranged in 1975 by Manuel Valls), leading on to three anonymous 15th to 17th century items, collected by the poet, Lorca (1898-1936) Cancionesantiguasespanoles; the first ballad, LasmorillasdeJaen, telling the tale of three Moorish girls, converts to Christianity, gathering olives and apples on dusty terraces, but earning, too, admiring glances from a nearby farmer. The Iberian climate clearly inspires ‘youth, mirth and warm desire’…
In CancionesdelJardinSecreto, a composer of modern times, Anton Garcia Abril (1933-2021) sets old Arab texts, including the lament of Boabdil (or Abdullah, the last Moorish king) for his lost fortress of Alhambra:
‘Longed-for Alhambra, your castles are weeping
About what happened to me, Lord Abu-Abdullah
Give me my stallion and white blade
And let us go and take back the Alhambra…’
The collection ends with the colours and magic of Ginastera’s Five popularArgentiniansongs; taking us to the New World; to the frontiers of the Latin civilisation founded by trade, exploration, conquest, yet tinged and underpinned by the cadences of a culture – that of Islam and the Moors – which itself formed one of the world’s mighty empires.
Gustav Blaeser’s 1840 model for a never-made monument to Beethoven
Finally, by way of complete contrast, we travel to a mediaeval church in the ancient kingdom of Kent (the land now criss-crossed by motorways, the pilgrims in shorter supply) to a performance of Beethoven’s MassinC major, given by the powerful forces of the 70-strong East Malling Singers – Kent’s large-in-scale, large-in-ambition ‘amateur’ choral society. Able to attract exceptionally fine instrumental accompanists and accomplished soloists, the Singers (conducted by Ciara Considine, with organist, Nick Bland) patiently rehearse their repertoire for many gruelling weeks – a repertoire that typically includes Masses by Haydn, the occasional Handel oratorio, uplifting anthems and hymns by Parry and Vaughan Williams.
At first, the regular concertgoer and buyer of CDs might pause before considering a non-professional performance of a Beethoven Mass. But such reticence would be a mistake, because here – like an amateur orchestra tackling Strauss’s AnAlpine Symphony – we enjoy the pleasure of hearing the rush of adrenaline of aspiring artists, our fellow human beings, activating every sinew in the cause of doing their very best. And in the wide acoustic of the Church of St. James the Great, the rising swell of sound in Beethoven’s opening Kyrie is just as satisfying for any true music-lover, as if you had just ventured into a Deutsche Grammophon recording studio. With a reverential Bruckner motet as an extra item on the CD, how could you resist?
CD details: From Al-Andalus to the Americas, Meridian, CDE 84647
Beethoven, Mass in C Major. A private recording, but for further details contact Mrs. Elaine Gordon of East Malling Singers,www.eastmallingsingers.co.uk
