Wigmore Hall Schumann Miah Persson Florian Boesch Martineau

Miah Persson and Florian Boesch sang Schumann with Malcolm Martineau at the Wigmore Hall for the latest of his Songlives series. In this recital we traced the different stages of Schumann's development as song composer. There were thirty seven songs, some of them fairly long, plus two encores, but the performances were so good that the evening seemed to end all too soon.

Sensucht (WoO 121 1827), written when the composer was 17, is a deceptively simple song, for which Schumann wrote his own text. Heinrich Heine stimulated him to a more sophisticated work, the same year, Gesanges erwachen (1827). Persson's voice was lithe, suggesting youth..

Most of the Wigmore Hall audience know Schumann's songs of 1840, so Martineau and his singers presented a brief selection of Eichendorff,
Kerner and other songs. The Liederkreis op 39 are familiar, but Boesch and Persson made them feel fresh and newly minted. Persson's Frühlingsnacht, her timbre so lustrous that you could almost see moonbeams. Yet even in the midst of beauty, Lieder reflect on deeper mysteries. In Schõne Fremde, the rustling myrtle leaves seem to whsiper secrets. "Was sprichtest du wirr" Boesch sang in hushed tones, "wie in Träumen zu mir, phantjatstiche Nacht?" Boesch's flawless modulation expressed excitement, wonder and even a twinge of fear. In Waldesgespräch, a vision of beauty turns on the beholder. Boesch sang the maiden's song so it felt almost hypnotically plaintive. Thus he didn't have to exaggerate the word "nimmermehr" at the end. Its forceful impact had been building up quietly all along.

There are eight songs in the full Frauenliebe und -leben op 42. but the three chosen here were a succinct summary. Persson's voice fluttered as she sang of the woman's first glimpse of the man she would marry. No coy giddiness here. Persson's singing is so assured that she can suggest that this woman is no mere object of a man's fantasy, as some critics of the cycle believe. Persson makes the woman feel mature and confident, making her own choices.  Helft mir, ihr Schwestern came across as a warm-hearted hymn to sisterhood. Hearing the song of widowhood straight after this was very touching.. Just as we've come to know the woman and her happiness, that happiness is snatched away. It's relevant, too, in the context of Robert and Clara's life together.

Boesch sang three songs from Kerner Lieder op 35 and Persson sang two of of the Zwolf Gedichte aus 'Liebesfrühling' op 37 to texts by Friedrich Rückert. Together they sang the duet Herbstlied op 43 no 2,. It's a jolly song: winter poses no threat to those who believe that Spring will come again. Suddenly, the mood changed. Boesch sang Belshazar op 57. What an inspired juxtaposition of two very different songs!

Bryn Terfel sang Belsazar at the beginning of the Wigmore Hall 2013/14 season (more here).  Boesch sang with equal dramatic intensity but brought out the psychological nuances far more effectively. "Der Mitternacht", sang Boesch, immediately establishing a sense of dangerous portent. Schumann writes hustle and bustler into the music, to suggest the rowdy party. Boesch's phrasing shows how the King is getting drunk, reeling from side to side, rashly showing off before his vassals. "Ich bin der Kõnig von Babylon!", sang Boesch, just slightly off kilter so you could imagine the King puffed up but wobbly. Martineau played the rumblings in the piano part: even before the hand of Jehovah appears, the Babylonians are on shaky ground. The text is Heine, so the song ends curtly, without melodrama. The last line is chillingly matter-of-fact. ""Belsazar ward aber in selbiger Nachrt" sang Boesch without sentimentality. "Von seinen Knechten umgebracht".

To illustrate Schumann's later years in Dresden (1845-50) and in Düsseldorf (1850-54), Martineau picked songs that  highlighted different aspects of Schumann's life. To show Schumann as Pater familias, songs from the Liederalbum für die Jugend Op 79: Boesch sang Schneeglõckchen and Persson sang the Mõrike song Er Ist's. These songs are charming and whimsical, in contrast to  the Harper songs from Wilhelm Meisters Lehrejahre Op 98a, written within the same year.

Goethe's Wilhelm Meister songs have been heard at the Wigmore Hall in various incarnations several times this year, (Wolf and Schubert) so it was immensely satisfying to hear Schumann's versions. Boesch started with Wer nie sein Brit mit Tränen Aß, perhaps the bleakest , then sang Wer sich der Einsamkeit vergibt and An den Türen will ich schliechen. His firm, measured pace suggested that the Harper faces his destiny with dogged resolution, far more courageously than if he were to court self pity. Of the current crop of singers in this fach, only Goerne and Boesch create the insight these songs deserve.

Schumann's Goethe songs were interspersed with settings of Lenau and more minor poets, such as Wilfried von Neun (Es stürmet am Abendhimmel, Op 89/1, 1850), Friedrich Halm (Geisternähe)  and Christian L'Egru (Aufträge), Ulrich, Kinkle and Pfarrius (from Sechs Gesänge Op 107, 1851). These demonstrate the depth of Schumann's interest in contemporary literature.

The recital concluded with songs written towards the end of Schumann's productive life, Abschied von der Welt and Gebet from Gedichte der Königin Maria Stuart Op 135, 1852). In the circumstances, lines like "Was nützt die mir noch zugemess'ne Zeit ?" (What use is the time still allotted me?) feel painfully poignant. We think of Schumann in the asylum, alone, the past behind him. 

This review appears in Opera Today
photo of Miah Persson : Credit Mina Artistbilder

Unusual Partners? Jurowski LPO Zimmermann Brahms

For their second concert on the theme of human suffering, Vladimir and The London Philharmonic Orchestra presented Brahms German Requiem with Bernd Alois Zimmermann Ich wandte mich um und sah an alles Unrecht (Ecclesiastical Action). Unusual partners. But what they share is a deeply felt concern for the human condition.  So much of the Unrecht (injustice) of this world haopens because people deny others the right to exist. The least we can do can do is listen.

Zimmermann's  Ich wandte mich um und sah an alles Unrecht (Ecclesiastical Action) opens with baleful blasts of trumpets and trombones, suggesting the Biblical connection. Part of the text comes from Ecclesiates Ch 4 but the mood is apocalyptic. One can think of Messaien Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum (read more here), The brass forms great arcs of sound reaching into space, a reference to the Final Trumpet of the Last Judgement?  Zimmermann uses a large orchestra but colours are used in stark black and white contrast, powerful blasts of sound against tiny barely audible detail. Zimmermann embeds meaning into his musical form. The two speakers  (Omar Ebrahim and Malcolm Sinclair) quote text from Ecclesiates, which the central figure transforms into strange, incantation. What he represents is not of this world.

Zimmermann then employs the tale of the Grand Inquisitor from Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. Christ has returned to Earth, and is imprisoned as a madman. The two speakers come at the central figure on all sides, but the Prisoner remains silent. When Jesus was tempted in the desert, Satan proposed that He use his powers to end evil. Why should mankind suffer if God can change things?  "But You would not deprive humanity of its freedom".

The Grand Inquisitor (Speaker 2) cannot comprehend.  "I swear mankind is weaker and more worthless than You could ever have imagined?" UN REST, CON FUSION, MIS FORTUNE this is the lot of mankind, " Sinclair spits out savagely (it's even more effective in German)  "oh for many centuries the chaos of man's free thinking". The emphases are in Zimmermann's score, for he uses the shape of sound to suggest the speaker's dilemma. For a man of temporal power, faith in the flawed "children" of  humanity is plain illogical. Can he understand why The Prisoner kisses him as he is released? The speakers shout staccato, disjointed phrases, which express their confusion.

A long, cataclysmic chord rises, to overwhelming crescendo. Each section of the orchestra explodes - tubular bells are struck, the strings whizzing and whirring, the woodwinds wailing. It'a as if the heavens are being ripped apart, yet Jurowski maintains tight control, focussing the energy into meaning, for there is method behind this supposed madness.  Up to this point, The Prisoner (Or Christ) hasn 't said much, so the metallic dryness in Dietrich Henschel's voice is appropriate. Now, though, the bass part launches into an extremely difficult vocalize, where pitch and rhythm oscillate. Because there are no words, we have to listen for the emotional inflections in the voice. There are two recordings of this piece - Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Andreas Schmidt - which show how much the individuality of the performer fills out where words can't suffice. Henschel creates intensity, but relatively little coloration.

As the "normality" they represent collapses, their words gradually disintegrates, though phrases can be heard, "Man does not live by bread alone". They lapse into formal, mechanical gestures. Even the conductor has to stand down from the podium in symbolic renunciation. This isn't gesture for its own sake, but integral to the meaning of the piece. Jurowski has no problem assuming the lotus position with hands across his face. I''ve been told that he's a practising Buddhist, so maybe he knows why his face is covered, prayer-like, at this point. Muffled voices are heard, coming from members of the orchestra, indicating perhaps that Christ's message is understood by some of the common folk, at least. 

In the baritone's second solo, words like "Weh!" and "Allein"  and "Wer" are uttered in multiple variations. You need to listen carefully to piece the phrase together but that is the whole point : if we think, then we deserve the freedom Christ believed in.  (For ease of reference, it's "Woe to him that is alone when he falleth").  Then suddenly Jurowski leaps up and conducts the short but intense finale, a quotation from the Bach chorale Es ist genug. Trumpets and trombones blare but this feels different to the fanfare at the beginning. What does Zimmermann mean?  Hope or abandoned hope? Six days later, he committed suicide.

Johannes Brahms. German Requiem also takes its cue from the Bible, but not from conventional Christian piety. The choral part is glorious, but some of the impact was muted by less than perfect diction. The London Philharmonic Choir are reliable, and were pleasant enough, but on this occasion the honours went to the London Philharmonic Orchestra.  Jurowski's pace was contemplative and serene - a necessity, I think, after Zimmermann. This time we could hear the German Requiem as a resolution to the anguish that went before, though Brahms is too strong-minded to be soothing..

Jurowski emphasized details lovingly. In  Denn alles Flesich es ist wie Gras. the winds were particularly lush and verdant, which made Henschel's singing seem dry in comparison, though that worked well in Herr, lehre doch mich, but less so Denn wir haben keinen bliebende Statt, where his voice didn't glow in the critical word "Geheimnis". Still, it had been a long evening for him. Miah Persson sang Ich habe nun Traurigkeit sweetly, like an angel.


photo credit : Chris Christodoulou, IMG

Miah Persson, Swedish Song, Wigmore Hall

At the Wigmore Hall, .there's long been a tradition of Swedish song.  We've heard many of the greats, Anne Sofie von Otter, Barbara Bonney and others. Miah Persson and Roger Vignoles are in this constellation. One of their earliest London concerts was built around their 2003 recording Soul and Landscape (Hyperion). Since then, Miah Persson has become one of the most significant lyric sopranos in this country. The pair have been back many times at the Wigmore Hall, but it was still a pleasure to hear them, particularly in repertoire that is "new" to English audiences.

Persson and Vignoles began their programme with Emil Sjögren's Sechs Lieder aus Julius Wollf's Tannhäuser, (1884). Not Wagner's Tannhäuser but a setting of an epic poem written in 1880. As Geoffrey Norris writes in his knowledgeable programme notes, Wollf  (1834-1910) liked subjects "of a mythical past...described somewhat derogatorily as Butzenzenscheibenpoesie, a Butzenscheibe being an old form of archery target", like those round fake-archaic window panes we see in mock-historic pubs. Although I hadn't read Norris's notes until I started writing this piece, that's exactly how I felt about the songs. Sjögren, (1853-1918) chooses sections that deal with love, and are sweet rather than dramatic. Don't even dream of Wagner. These are songs that evoke late 19th century middle class values. "Ich möchte schweben über Tal und Hügel " let Persson sing very quietly. This Tannhäuser (or Elizabeth) is a gentle soul.

Tchaikovsky songs of the same period brought out Persson's abilities as dramatist. In "Sred' shumnovo bala" (At the Ball, op 38/3 1878), Tchaikovsky paints dance rhythms into the piano part, and pathos into the voice. The ball is cheerful, but the beloved eyes are sad. It's a secretive song, but Persson makes you notice the subtle ciontrasts of mood. "Solovey" (op 60/4 1886) stressed Persson's voice slightly, but in "Cradle Song" (op 16/1 1872) she managed to convey the strange darkness behind this lullaby with images of eagles.

Five songs by Lars-Erik Larsson (1908-1986)  to words by Hjalmar Gullberg followed. Larsson and Gullberg worked together frequently and their cantata "Förklädd gud" (God in disguise) is a staple in Swedish choral singing circles. (It's even on youtube). Larsson worked in broadcasting, so he appreciated music that would have broad popular appeal, even though he studied with Alban Berg and was the first Swedish composer to experiment with serialism. These songs, here transcribed for voice and piano,  have charm, rollicking piano, and contrasting cleanly arching vocal lines. "Skyn, blomman och en lärka"  (The cloud, the flower and the lark) was lit up by Persson's ability to smile into her singing, adding warm tone. In "Kyssande vind" (the kiss of the wind), the piano rolls up a storm. Someone is stealing a kiss, disguised as the wind. The song ends with a flourish, and Persson sings with such happiness that you know the kiss is welcome.

More familar songs by Edvard Grieg, in which Persson excels. "En svane" (op 252 1876) had the right hint of melancholy. Elizabeth Schwarzkopf's recording, in German, is hauntingly beautiful, but the song is even lovelier in Norwegian.  "Mens jeg venter" (On the water, op 60/3 1893-4) was particularly beautiful. Vignoles playing sparkled : you could visualize light shining off the ocean waves. "Bro, bro, brille" goes the refrain, and Perssons makes it joyous. 

The highlight of this recital, for me, anyway, were the songs from Gösta Nystroem (1890-1966). Nystreom is one of the finest Swedish composers, whose "Sånger vid havet" (Songs by the sea), "På reveln" (At the reef) and "Själ och landskap"  (Soul and landscape) are a part of the repertoire of any female Swedish singer. Miah Persson of course does those for soprano: Nystroem inspired her first major recording nearly 10 years ago.  Here she chose two songs from Nystroem's incidental music to "The Tempest" (1946).  Given Nystroem's fascination with oceans, it's hardly surprising that the orchestral parts of this music are wildly turbulent, complete with wordless chorus. The two songs Persson and Vignoles pick reflect the magical side of the story, "Where the Bee sucks" and "Come unto these yellow sands" (in Swedish) are exquisitely lyrical, capturing the strange magic that Shakespeare conjures. The refrain "Hark! Hark! bow-wow" becomes "Hallå, Hallå, Å", whuch gives Nystroem a chance to write exotic ulullation, which Persson sings with clear, bright tones. Later, the refrain "Ding dong bell" becomes ("Bing, bång, farväl") , and Persson's voice rings like a silvery bell.

Perhaps one of the most famous of Gösta Nystroem's works is his "Sinfonia del Mare" (1946-8) a magnificent symphonic poem with a song in its midst, to a poem by Ebba Linqvist. Arising from the wild ocean intensity of the music, the song seems almost supernatural.  "Just as one flees the beloved, not bearing to be consumed", goes the poem, "So I have fled the sea". But just as life without love is in vain, the poet must leave sunny days in the forest, drawn back to "a sigh of the wind from the sea". Persson and Vignoles do an arrangement for piano and voice, so the emphasis is on the second strophe. "I must return, and sit by the sea and know. That is all there is on earth". This is the title of the poem, and its meaning.

A full review will appear soon in OPERA TODAY.