The exhilaration of Britten’s Prelude and Fugue, Opus 29 (1943) was startlingly realised by the strings of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. Its complement of 18 players was led by Andrew Haveron who exercised discreet but permeating leadership, ensuring the brilliance and quirky wit of the fugue was clearly highlighted.
With all players standing (a la the Australian Chamber Orchestra) this was thrilling, visceral music making, as each player chased the fugal subject, from the glorious subterranean pleasures of the double bass through to the slashing rhythms of the violins. The athleticism of the playing and the composer’s invention were warmly received by the large audience, many probably hearing this World War 2 composition for the first time.
The Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings, Opus 31 (1943) is one of Britten’s best-known works, written for his lover Peter Pears and close colleague Dennis Brain. Like the Prelude and Fugue, it is a dazzling work that draws on the rich artefacts of English verse: across the centuries, from the anonymous 15th century dirge to Keats in elegiac mode. After conquering the French and Italian languages in Les Illuminations and the Sonnets of Michelangelo, Britten renewed his love of English song, forever the true successor of Purcell in his wide ranging responsive to the quirky and angular modulation of the English tongue. The Ben Jonson “Hymn to Diana” is a scherzo full of passionate energy, as befitting the subject, the “goddess of delight”: the coloratura ornamentation breathtakingly simple yet dazzling.
The interaction of horn (Stefan Dohr) and tenor (Andrew Goodwin) was inspiring, each listening and responding to each other’s rhythmic impulse and melismas. The grave beauty of the Blake setting – “O Rose thou are sick” – its sexual imagery and dark destruction - was exquisitely realised by both performers. The angst of the horn and its outcry of passion and anguish seemed to receive a sense of forgiveness as it rested near the tenor’s invocation of “thy deep bed of crimson joy”.
Both players summoned the trumpet calls of “The Nocturne” with clarion dexterity – the dying sounds inherent in the Tennyson setting - “Bugle, blow; answer echoes, dying” - were layered with natural and subtle variation.
Goodwin made the vocal line his own, securely beyond the deep connectivity that this work has with the unique voice of Peter Pears. His purity and passion were exemplary. The powerful impact of the Keats sonnet setting was intensely moving, whereby the singer is both part of the dream while also observing its perils: “upon my pillow breeding many woes”. This work startles us with intimations of the War Requiem – as in the final melismas of “seal; the hushed Casket of my Soul” - before the now offstage horn, valves untouched, places its distant and unreachable benediction on the travails of a soul that responds too deeply. Here, Britten was already essaying his inexorable journey beyond the land of lost content, and a time there was - before the birth of consciousness.
The horn playing of Stefan Dohr was outstanding – ravishing, playful, foreboding - summoning the inspiration that Britten must have derived from the equally great Dennis Brain. That in one year, 1943, Britten could produce these two works, while working hard on Peter Grimes, speaks of a rare kind of productivity and inspiration. The audience responded to its dark, blessed beauty with prolonged applause.
The Barshai arrangement of the Shostakovich 10th string quartet for string orchestra (Opus 118 a) was a fine companion composition. The slow lament of the first movement sent its tendrils across to the Britten prelude, reminding us how close and responsive these two composers were to each other.
The amazing attacca and ferocious energy of the second movement of this Chamber Symphony was maintained with startling accord by the players. Given their numbers and the string quartet origins of the original, this was no mean feat. The pivotal role of the cello sound in this work was powerfully realised.
The slow movement lament is painfully beautiful, but provides its own solace, while the soft questioning of the last pages of this work were a strong intermingling of despair and defiance, the lone violin and cello voicing the composers’ darkest feelings - yet underpinned by survival. Overlooking the abyss, so to speak, yet intact and wanly hopeful.
The haunting silence that preceded the works cessation and the audience response was ample testimony of this works power to disturb and impress by creating a sound world that expresses fears and terror and yet great human beauty. The white-hot energy and inspiration of this work traverses the deep recesses of human feeling - but the life force within Shostakovich seems to have triumphed both against his ageing body and the caged nature of his Soviet greatness. The cascade of emotions that flows across this fulsome work was touchingly realised by the players.
The was an expertly curated program of 20th century music.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra – City Recital Hall, Sydney – August 24, 2023
Gar Jones
With all players standing (a la the Australian Chamber Orchestra) this was thrilling, visceral music making, as each player chased the fugal subject, from the glorious subterranean pleasures of the double bass through to the slashing rhythms of the violins. The athleticism of the playing and the composer’s invention were warmly received by the large audience, many probably hearing this World War 2 composition for the first time.
The Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings, Opus 31 (1943) is one of Britten’s best-known works, written for his lover Peter Pears and close colleague Dennis Brain. Like the Prelude and Fugue, it is a dazzling work that draws on the rich artefacts of English verse: across the centuries, from the anonymous 15th century dirge to Keats in elegiac mode. After conquering the French and Italian languages in Les Illuminations and the Sonnets of Michelangelo, Britten renewed his love of English song, forever the true successor of Purcell in his wide ranging responsive to the quirky and angular modulation of the English tongue. The Ben Jonson “Hymn to Diana” is a scherzo full of passionate energy, as befitting the subject, the “goddess of delight”: the coloratura ornamentation breathtakingly simple yet dazzling.
The interaction of horn (Stefan Dohr) and tenor (Andrew Goodwin) was inspiring, each listening and responding to each other’s rhythmic impulse and melismas. The grave beauty of the Blake setting – “O Rose thou are sick” – its sexual imagery and dark destruction - was exquisitely realised by both performers. The angst of the horn and its outcry of passion and anguish seemed to receive a sense of forgiveness as it rested near the tenor’s invocation of “thy deep bed of crimson joy”.
Both players summoned the trumpet calls of “The Nocturne” with clarion dexterity – the dying sounds inherent in the Tennyson setting - “Bugle, blow; answer echoes, dying” - were layered with natural and subtle variation.
Goodwin made the vocal line his own, securely beyond the deep connectivity that this work has with the unique voice of Peter Pears. His purity and passion were exemplary. The powerful impact of the Keats sonnet setting was intensely moving, whereby the singer is both part of the dream while also observing its perils: “upon my pillow breeding many woes”. This work startles us with intimations of the War Requiem – as in the final melismas of “seal; the hushed Casket of my Soul” - before the now offstage horn, valves untouched, places its distant and unreachable benediction on the travails of a soul that responds too deeply. Here, Britten was already essaying his inexorable journey beyond the land of lost content, and a time there was - before the birth of consciousness.
The horn playing of Stefan Dohr was outstanding – ravishing, playful, foreboding - summoning the inspiration that Britten must have derived from the equally great Dennis Brain. That in one year, 1943, Britten could produce these two works, while working hard on Peter Grimes, speaks of a rare kind of productivity and inspiration. The audience responded to its dark, blessed beauty with prolonged applause.
The Barshai arrangement of the Shostakovich 10th string quartet for string orchestra (Opus 118 a) was a fine companion composition. The slow lament of the first movement sent its tendrils across to the Britten prelude, reminding us how close and responsive these two composers were to each other.
The amazing attacca and ferocious energy of the second movement of this Chamber Symphony was maintained with startling accord by the players. Given their numbers and the string quartet origins of the original, this was no mean feat. The pivotal role of the cello sound in this work was powerfully realised.
The slow movement lament is painfully beautiful, but provides its own solace, while the soft questioning of the last pages of this work were a strong intermingling of despair and defiance, the lone violin and cello voicing the composers’ darkest feelings - yet underpinned by survival. Overlooking the abyss, so to speak, yet intact and wanly hopeful.
The haunting silence that preceded the works cessation and the audience response was ample testimony of this works power to disturb and impress by creating a sound world that expresses fears and terror and yet great human beauty. The white-hot energy and inspiration of this work traverses the deep recesses of human feeling - but the life force within Shostakovich seems to have triumphed both against his ageing body and the caged nature of his Soviet greatness. The cascade of emotions that flows across this fulsome work was touchingly realised by the players.
The was an expertly curated program of 20th century music.
Sydney Symphony Orchestra – City Recital Hall, Sydney – August 24, 2023
Gar Jones