Boisterous banshees, and ghosts of war

Way back in orchestral history, at the 1971 Proms, a modest-sized broadcasting orchestra appeared at the Royal Albert Hall for the first time. An ensemble of some 40 players, the (then) BBC Welsh Orchestra performed smaller-scale works by Haydn, Mozart, Stravinsky and Brahms under the baton of the American conductor, Irwin Hoffman — who, incidentally, as a US serviceman, had been stationed in Britain. In a radio interview, Hoffman talked about the sense of occasion felt by the orchestral players, transported from their Cardiff studio duties to the international stage of the Royal Albert Hall — sentiments which might come as a surprise to concertgoers, today, accustomed to the work, international scope and remit of the c. 80-strong BBC National Orchestra of Wales.

From their modern performance centre, BBC Hoddinott Hall at Cardiff Bay (the larger St. David’s Hall in the city, opened in 1982, remains — curiously — closed and crumbling) the Welsh national orchestra plays for a dazzling array of international conductors. The trend started with Mariss Jansons in 1992 (with Richard Strauss’s massive Alpine Symphony) to Tadaaki Otaka, the Japanese maestro who loved and performed Elgar and attained laureate status with the musicians.

At Aberystwyth Arts Centre on the night of the 13th March (touring is a major priority of the orchestra) Christoph König presided over a programme of four intriguing divertissements for orchestra – Ravel’s Great War homage to lost friends and artists, Le Tombeau de Couperin, Anna Clyne’s modern saxophone fantasy on a theme of the banshee, Grasslands, Louise Farrenc’s boisterous, if uninterestingly-named ‘Second Overture,’ and Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 9 — the complete opposite in scale to his 7th, 1941’s ‘The Leningrad.’

A detailed delicacy of tone, especially in the woodwind section, made Ravel’s homage to an older France sound particularly tender and nostalgic. Yet the players switched effortlessly to a different scale of sound in the spikes and sparks of Anna Clyne’s banshee world, Grasslands, complete with an exciting pizzicato chase in the last movement — foreshadowing the Shostakovich 9th that ended the second half. The brilliant saxophonist, Jess Gillam, almost co-led the orchestra in this weird phantasmagoria — striding on with a complete stage-presence, notwithstanding her pink suit and blue spectacles. However, another player had a chance to shine in the concerto, the overlooked double-bassist, who had a mysterious little accompaniment to perform alongside Jess’s saxophonic highs – a moment of real atmosphere.

A sardonic march, a cheeky fizzing curtain-raiser to an odd sort of symphony, is what the first movement of Shostakovich 9 is all about — a far cry from the tense, tortured spans of the Stalin-shadowed 5th and 7th. Here, the BBC National Orchestra of Wales and their (batonless) conductor found much to enjoy — and full marks, of course, to leader, Lesley Hatfield and the ice-cold violin tingle achieved in her sinister-sounding mini-solo of the march theme. Even with such a divertissement of a symphony, Shostakovich still managed to create that hypnotic feel (which you find in the ‘Leningrad’ or in the 11th) in his slow movement — before the unsettling, quixotic torrents of the work reach their exciting finale. 

At Aberystwyth, the orchestra fielded c. 60 players, just right for the dimensions of the Arts Centre, and an audience of some 300. In this era of cuts to arts funding (even within the BBC) it is vital to maintain visits and tours to places which are a little off the usual orchestral beaten track. Perhaps the orchestra might consider going even further afield – deploying a detachment of string players to the Theatr Mwldan, Cardigan, for example – or chamber groups drawn from the various sections, to visit churches or village halls, or best of all, schools, in which classical music is desperately needed but often utterly absent.

Such considerations aside, the Aberystwyth concert was a good night for orchestra and audience, alike. Concertgoers in Wales are truly fortunate to have these inheritors of Irwin Hoffman’s BBC Welsh Orchestra.

Sinfonia sparkle for austerity December

An American in Paris
STUART MILLSON is transported to a warmer sound-world

Any sense of malaise, austerity or winter gloom in London was dispelled for two hours (for those fortunate to be in attendance) by the Sinfonia of London’s 2nd December performance of Walton, Ravel, Dutilleux and Gershwin at the Barbican.

Much praised by the critics and always receiving great waves and whoops of adulation even before they have played a note, the Sinfonia’s concerts are an occasion: this mainly young orchestra, handpicked by their enterprising and unpredictable-in-repertoire conductor, John Wilson, playing with much physical joie de vivre and idiomatic interpretation. Confirmation of the latter came in the form of the jazzy trumpet playing – straight from the environs of Tin Pan Alley – in Gershwin’s intoxicating An American in Paris; a score we all know, or thought we knew… True to form, John Wilson, a great fan of the golden age of Hollywood and a musician dedicated to rediscovering lost scores, managed to track down 86 bars of unheard original Gershwin music, reconstituting the piece – turning it from that brilliant, boulevard ballet for Gene Kelly into a symphonic poem of The Great Gatsby era. The cliche, ‘it brought the house down’ certainly applied to this performance, as nuanced as it was bold, as cinematic as a work could ever be.

Yet the Gershwin was not the only work in John Wilson’s line-up that matched the mood of the composer. In Walton’s Scapino overture, the Sinfonia found all the wafting Mediterranean warmth and dry wit for which the English composer (who took himself off, post-war, to the Bay of Naples) is renowned. Similarly in Ravel’s 1903 song-cycle, Sheherazade, whichsets the mysterious oriental poetry of Wagner-attracted ‘Tristan Klingsor’ (otherwise known as Leon Leclere), a heady sense of the exotic and of unattainable sensuous revelation oozed from the Sinfonia strings; complemented by soloist Alice Coote’s equally beguiling articulation and vocal reveries.

Henri Dutilleux, a well-respected French composer who died some ten years ago, was represented by a 1950s’ ballet score, Le Loup, whichsoundedverymuch like a cabaret piece by Milhaud or Satie, turned into a symphonic poem. How authentic the work is as an example of the true musical character of Dutilleux is a matter of debate, but Le Loup – the wolf – had plenty of well-crafted passages for the Sinfonia to enjoy – although the piece, for what it was, did seem rather overblown in length. 

Ravel’s Bolero could be considered as another of those works which, despite being very well known, does not entirely represent the best efforts of its creator. Yet in the hands of John Wilson, the audience had a chance to rediscover and re-hear the piece, entirely. From the first side-drum taps, to the strange, slow, disjointed thrums of the harp, Bolero has a curious mystery to it; an odd sense that you can’t break away or get out of a dream – which, before you know it – has sucked in every instrument of the orchestra and is fast propelling you to the edge of a precipice. John Wilson’s arrival at that moment jolted the Barbican audience into a tidal wave of applause. 

And there was one additional, non-musical touch to the evening: the concert took place in the presence of Hollywood royalty. Enjoying the Gershwin in particular (no doubt), was none other than Gene Kelly’s widow, a lady of immense grace and style – a living reminder of golden ages which now seem out of reach, but which in fact are still just within our grasp.