Autumn Elegy: Das Lied von der Erde, Bernarda Fink Prague

Jiří Bělohlávek in ceremonial robes, after receiving his honorary doctorate. photo credit Academy of Performing Arts, Prague, June 2016

Jiří Bělohlávek conducted the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra at the Rudolfinium, Prague, last week, in Tchaikovsky and Mahler, with soloists Joshua Bell, Bernarda Fink and Pavel Cernoch. The Rudolfinium is a shrine to the blossoming of Czech music and national spirit. A statue of Antonin Dvořák proudly faces the building. The interior is beautifully unrestored, the ambience enhanced, gracefully, by the fading patina of the gold painted columns and the mellow glow of antique wood panelling. Yet the orchestra members wore flowers, symbolizing Spring, for the concert marked the start of a new season. Renewal amid the autumnal weather outside, and the vintage atmosphere inside the hall.  Utterly appropriate for a performance of Mahler's Das Lied von der Erde.

Bělohlávek has conducted the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra and National Theatre for years, and has brought authentic, idiomatic Czech music to the world. Once he cut a striking figure with his bouffant hair and sturdy body language. Now he's frail, thin and bald, but if anything, that's added to the impact of his performances.  As Abbado showed in Lucerne, tough challenges can inspire. Bělohlávek may not have been a particularly Mahler-oriented conductor, but so what? He understands the  fundamental emotional depth of Das Lied von der Erde and that counts for a lot. This was an elegaic performance, not rushed, not somnolent,  but dignified. The composure of those who are truly strong from within themselves.

The trumpets attacked, with truculent fervour. Das Trinklied is no "drinking song". Dunkel ist das Leben, ist der Tod. The protagonist isn't giving up without a fight.  Life is short but what lies ahead but an ape, grinning in the moonlight?  For me, Trinklieds need a sense of feisty defiance. Golden goblets mean nothing when wine runs out.  Pavel Cernoch, a regular at the Czech National Theatre, doesn't have honeyed tones, but gets the right sense of anguish.

This framed the characteristic warmth of Bernarda Fink's voice, making one appreciate what she's singing about, and why.  She's not in the first bloom of youth, but that would be inappropriate. Instead, Fink sings with the poise of maturity. The "gold" in Das Lied von der Erde lies in the timbre, and in delivery informed by life experience.  Although her roots are Slovenian, Fink grew up in South America, and came to Prague when she was a Junge Mädchen.  Perhaps this had a bearing on her performance, which was magisterial yet sensitive : characteristic Bernarda Fink, but this time with extra, personal expressiveness.

The glow in Fink's singing was amplified by the orchestra, whose highly individual sound, honed on the feistiness of Czech repertoire,  balanced warmth with pungent spirit, again, utterly appropriate to Das Lied von der Erde. Nostalgia, yet not sentimentality, a sense of loss, yet not of meek submission.  Von der Jugend kicked off with energy  : already we can hear the images of movement to come in Von der Schönheit. where the orchestra played with sprightly vigour : the image of young men on prancing horses. The last, quiet moments cast a chill, as they should, a detail which is often overlooked.

Der Abschied began gently, suggesting the gathering of clouds: autumnal mists filled not with mellow fruitfulness, but something altogether more mysterious. Clarinets, bassoons, horns and harp : something cosmic is happening . The flute swoops in graceful ellipse : moving us on. Der Abschied moves in a series of stages, a miniature "procession" as Mahler's transitions so often resemble.  Bělohlávek observed the long central interlude carefully, for it is during this section that the transformation, whatever it may be, germinates.  When the vocal line returns, we've entered a new scenario. "Er stieg vom Pferd": the moment of departure. Fink's singing became even more gracious. The winds sprang up, almost literally, leading to another transit. "Ich wandle nach der Heimat".  Then the celeste, truly "celestial",  and we're on another plane of existence, where the earth becomes green again, and blossoms bloom "Ewig.....ewig".

Joshua Bell, Bělohlávek and the Czech Philharmonic began this concert with Tchaikovsky beautifully played, but for me, this Das Lied von der Erde was one to remember.

Schumann Das Paradies und die Peri, Rattle, LSO Barbican

Is  Robert Schumann's Das Paradies und die Peri an oratorio or an experiment towards a new form of music theatre?   Simon Rattle and the LSO at the Barbican,  London,  confirmed its rightful place in the repertoire.  It's a wonderful piece which, like all truly original work, defies pigeonholes. 

The Peri is a half-human, half-demon Mischling who has to die to be redeemed. The original poem, Lallah Rookh, by Thomas Moore, titillated 19th century readers because its exoticism confounded comfortable, Christian concepts.Perhaps that's exactly why Schumann chose to set it. References to Bach flow through the piece so frequently that it's clear that Schumann is making a statement. Yet the subject might have appalled Bach's more devout listeners. There are references, too, to Mendelssohn's  oratorios, like Elijah, and to his songs, particularly Auf Flügeln  des Gesangs, with its images of flying across night skies to the Ganges, to palm trees, to lotus blooms (read  my piece on it here)   What secret message is Schumann sending?  The late John Daverio called Schumann "the Herald of a New Poetic Age"  Would Schumann, had he lived, heralded a new musical age ?  By 1843, he'd proved his mastery of Lieder. Might he not have turned his attention to experiment with new forms of music drama as an outgrowth from his immersion in the literature and music of his time?  There are references to Weber, for example, as there are in Schumann's opera Genoveva (read more HERE).  Das Paradies und die Peri is a sophisticated approach to music drama, not a throwback to a time before Wagner changed the whole game plan.

Rattle has conducted  Das Paradies und die Peri with the Berliner Philharmoniker and has conducted it in London before, with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. This LSO performance was warmly received, but not quite in the same league. In the first part, textures and tempi weren't as sharp as they might have been, though things picked up immeasurably in the second half.  Go to the Berlin Philharmonic Digital Concert Hall for a really definitive performance. We love the LSO. our home band, but they aren't quite in the same league. The female soloists are the same. In London, we had Mark Padmore whose extensive experience in Bach oratorios helps make the Bach connection more obvious, especially to new audiences. We also had Florian Boesch whose 'Jetzt sank des Abends goldner Schein" was  extraordinarily moving. The part isn't big yet the passage and its partner "Mit ihren Schwester" are critical, so it really needs the authoritative, clear definition which Boesch brought to it. The connection between the bass and the fluttery quartet of Peris was wonderful. The biggest part, however, falls to the Peri. Sally Matthews's diction-free billowing sound was certainly enthusiastic, though there's much more depth to the Peri than she got here. Bernarda Fink has been singing Das Paradies und die Peri  longer than anyone else. In 1999 she sang the Angel for John Eliot Gardiner, whose concerts and recording transformed the fortunes of this work. It's still the benchmark, I think, though Harnoncourt with the Bayerischen Rundfunks Orchester (which also features Bernarda Fink) is also good.  She also sang for Rattle with the OAE, when she stood among the chorus, and her voice shone forth, like an angel. Bernarda Fink deserves some kind of award for services to Schumann. 

This Rattle/LSO concert was recorded for the LSO's own label. Worth hearing for Padmore and Boesch, but to be honest, Gardiner, Harnoncourt and Rattle/Berlin are the ones to go for. 

Bernarda Fink Dvořák Wigmore Hall

The Wigmore Hall Dvořák series culminated in a concert by Bernarda Fink and Roger Vignoles. Fink is the foremost Dvořák mezzo around. Her recordings (some with Roger Vignoles) are benchmarks. So it was a surprise that the Wigmore Hall wasn't packed out. Maybe it was the Friday 13th factor, maybe it was Easter when people are out of London. Perhaps, ironically, it was the simple fact that Fink's Dvořák and Brahms are so well known; audiences forget how live performance is nothing like recording.  Fink is a natural recitalist (not all singers are, even if they're good). She smiled graciously and sang as if she was singing for a private gathering of friends. That's aplomb! Dvořák and Brahms songs aren't meant for flashy display. Bernarda Fink makes them feel personal, as natural as on- to-one conversation.

The recital was preceded by a talk by Professor Jan Smaczny. Talks and programme notes these days are often inept filler, but Smaczny is in an altogether different league. He's a genuine scholar with first hand, original knowledge. He speaks about Dvořák's manuscripts with the authority of someone who knows them well. "Dvořák used them like a diary, noting daily events in the margins". Many Czech specialists don't communicate well in English, so our perceptions are shaped by anglocentrism. Smaczny understands the context of Czech culture and Dvořák's part in the evolution of Czech music. We don't hear Smaczny often enough in London but should. This is the sort of quality the Wigmore Hall should embrace.

Dvořák's orchestral music is permeated by his affinity for song. As Smaczny says, songs "were pivotal to his developing musical style,  and frequently gave notice  of important changes of direction  in his expressive language". Thius it was good to hear Fink and Vignoles start with Dvořák's Six Songs From the Queen's Court Manuscript op 7 (1872). The texts were based on what were believed to be authentic medieval sources, but were modern invention. No matter, for they inspired awareness of Czech national identity. The poems are pastoral, like imitation folk song. Gentle, rolling piano creating a pleasant background to the sharp sibilants in the words. The warmth in Fink's voice complements the images of summer and youth, yet she catches the undertones of sorrow. Sensucht, one might say if the songs were German.
 
Yet in the last song, "Jahody" (Strawberries) Dvořák becomes much more adventurous. Fink captures the strange unresolved tension in  the first strophe. A girl has been gathering strawberries but a thorn has cut her foot and it's infected. She can't walk and her lover is angry. The piano part describes his impatience and the sound of his horse galloping off, taking the lovers to another place where they snatch a few moments of love, before dashing home again. With its sudden changes of pace and mood, the song is unsettling, almost a miniature opera. Fink expresses the urgency and fear that makes the song dramatic, without overdoing the "voices" or excess histrionics.

Brahms's Deutsche Volkslieder (publ 1894), are similarly art song masquerading as folk song, so Fink and Vignoles performed four songs, a sample of Brahms's two large collections of Volkslieder that aren't actually Volkslieder. Mature Brahms and early Dvořák don't really compare, but Fink and Vignoles followed these with five of the ten Dvořák Biblical Songs from op 99 (1894) (no.s 1, 2, 3, 8 and 10) to even the score. One instinctively thinks of Brahms's Vier ernste Gesänge (op 121 1897) which of course was written for low baritone, That's an idea, programme them together with different singers.

Bernarda Fink has made Dvořák Five Biblical Songs one of her trademarks. She sang it at the high profile Dvořák anniversary concert in Prague Castle in 1991. (read more here and listen to a clip). She's sung these songs many times at the Wigmore Hall, so if her performance on this occasion wasn't as compelling as usual, it evoked many good memories. 

It was good to hear how Slovenian contemporaries of Brahms and Dvořák approached song in their own language. From what we heard this evening, Benjmin Ipavec (1829-1908) and Anton Lajovic (1878-1960) wrote pleasant though undistinguished Biedermeyer. Lucilan Škerjanc (1900-1973) though, is more cosmopiltan and original. In "Evening Impression", Fink's sensitive phrasing and upward soaring lines created emotion and shape. The poem, by Igo Gruden is lovely, even in translation. Fink and Vignoles make a case for it as mainstream repertoire. To hear more, there's a recording by Fink and her brother Marcos ( a bass baritone), both native speakers, on Harmonia Mundi.

Fink and Vignoles performed another set of Brahms songs, including the wonderful Von ewiger Liebe (op 43/1 1894) before returning to Dvořák In Folk tone (op 73, 1886).  Perhaps Fink had been waiting for them, since her singing  now moved from attractive to truly inspired. These songs are sophisticated in the best sense. Moods change swiftly, hinting at submerged meaning, tantalizing the listener. Fink's keening legato gave the first song, a lullaby, a searching edge that made one realize it wasn't about a baby. The piano part, too, is unashamedly sensual.  In the second song, a girl is scything and sees her forner lover. The piano sounds bright and optimistic, but the vocal part breaks into strident staccato "Šuhaj, šuhaj z druhej strany". She taunts him fiercely, but inside her heart is breaking. Fink repeats the final line "už si v mojom srdci riastla"  wistfully, with great tenderness. Simiarly, the lilting piano in the third song sounds happy, but the firm deliberation in Fink's voice suggests that this steel has been forged through fire. More defiance still, in the final song where the piano prances like the swift pony. Fink's voice dances along too, but Dvořák uses the sharp Czech sibilants to suggest the "arrow" which cuts through the lover's heart.

More soon in Opera Today. 

Dangerous Ravel - Bernarda Fink, Wigmore Hall

The Wigmore Hall marks the 75th anniversary of the death of Maurice Ravel with a series of concerts that run through to June 2012. Mixing piano song with chamber music, Bernarda Fink's recital  titled "Une rare émotion",  placed Ravel's vocal music in the context of his era.

That "rare emotion" was a search for alternatives to mainstream culture, exemplified by exotic, alien places. While British colonialism infantilized other cultures, the French saw in "orientalism" potential for creative growth. Ravel's fascination with non-western concepts wasn't effete, but an act of affirmative courage.

Bernarda Fink began her recital with Ravel's Cinq mélodies populaires grecques  Their simplicity is deceptive for they represent a very different aesthetic to the often florid fin de siècle lushness of the time. Perhaps it's significant that the poet who wrote the texts, Michel-Dimitri Calvocoressi, persuaded Ralph Vaughan Williams to study with Ravel instead of with Vincent d'Indy. Fink and Christopher Glynn, her pianist, are right not to overdo the folk origins of these songs, for they herald Ravel's later work, like Rapsodie espagnol and even Boléro. Perceptively, Fink and Glynn juxtaposed these songs with Debussy's Chansons de Bilitis, written only 5 years previously, preceding the sensuality of La Flûte de Pan with Camille Saint-Saëns Une flûte invisible (Flautist : Adam Walker)

More stellar, however, was Fink's performance of Ravel's very early Shéherézade (1903). "Asie, Asie, Asie", she sang, her voice glowing with excitement, "Vieux pays merveilleux des contes de nourrice". Then, she intoned the words "Je voudrais voir des assassins souriant", almost parlando, hinting at menacing mysteries. Emotional extremes and daring - Ravel was by no means as mannered as the dandy image might suggest.

Jules Massenet's Élégie (1872) was a reminder of the French Romantic tradition, here transcribed for cello (Marie Bitlloch) which nicely complimented Fink's lower register. The highlight of the evening, nonetheless, was Fink's performance of Ravel's Chansons madécasses (1926). This is Ravel's exoticism in full glory. Fink's singing took on a shimmer that brought out the suppressed erotic tension. Her Aoua! was spectacular, vibrant with horror. "Méfiez-vous des blancs, habitants du rivage", she sang. Beware of the whites, who make enticing promises, but bring carnage. The violence is even more terrifying when Ravel follows this outburst with Il est doux. A man is sitting under a palm tree, a woman is preparing his meal. The music lilts languidly. But who is the man, and who is the woman? After Aoua!, we should beware. Ravel is provocative. Exoticism isn't safe.

Fink and Glynn sang Debussy's Trois mélodies de Paul Verlaine (1891) and a selection of Fauré songs from his op 39 and 76, including the lovely Les roses d'Ispahan which often makes me swoon,  but after that Aoua! anything but Ravel seemed tame. Glynn's transcription of Poulenc's Priez pour paix, for voice, piano, flute and cello ended the evening on a less disturbing note. Full review in Opera Today  here.