21-23 February 2013

Any concerns that may have been raised recently about relationships between performers and their audience obviously do not apply to the Bath Bach Fest. This all too brief – I would say intimate – festival should be an example to all of how easily soloists can relate to their audience while maintaining the highest musical standards.

It opened with flair at St Mary’s, Bathwick, where we heard Handel’s Acis and Galatea in the secure hands of Paul McCreesh and the Gabrieli Consort & Players. Nicholas Mulroy was a late substitute for Jeremy Ovenden as Acis, but it was clear from the fun he was having and his ability to sing without the score that he was very familiar with the work. This became even more obvious with Love sounds th’ alarm echoing around the church. Mhairi Lawson was no shrinking violet as Galatea, her warm tone filling the building and bringing a welcome petulance to Hush you pretty warbling choirs where the recorder player was quite obviously not going to give up. Ashley Riches turned Polyphemus into a somewhat more comic character than is possibly in the score, playing off the line to good effect, but singing so convincingly he was easily forgiven.

The performance zipped along at a lightning pace until the death of Acis when comedy gently gave way to pathos and a most moving ending. The five singers took all the chorus parts as well, exposing Handel’s choral writing and showing just how good it is. An enthusiastic reception was well deserved on a very cold night.

The next lunchtime brought harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani to the Guildhall with a programme of French and German baroque works, opening with a very intense Toccata in E minor by Matthias Weckmann. The tension relaxed slightly for eight Pieces de clavecin by Rameau, ranging from the naivety of Les Niais de Sologne to the glorious fantasy rondo of Les Cyclopes.

Before the CPE Bach Mahan spoke to us of his love of the composer and his importance to the history of music in that he was the break-away from the Bach clan. The Wurttemberg Sonata No6 in B Minor is revelatory in its implications, hinting at Beethoven’s invention far more than looking back to the solidity of his father or brothers’ compositions. The opening Moderato is wayward in its approach and its logic is difficult to follow though its emotional narrative is clear. If the Adagio is more conventional there are chordal progressions that hint far into the 19^th century and beyond.

The concert ended with the performers own version of JS Bach’s Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue BWV903. The rendition uses the central chordal sequence as a basis for improvisation which was telling and convincing throughout. A brief encore left us wanting more.

The evening recital in the Assembly Rooms was introduced by Sara Mohr-Pietsch, familiar to most of the audience from Radio3. She was in conversation with Pavlo Beznosiuk, violinist and director of the Academy of Ancient Music, who were to play Bach’s Four Suites BWV 1066-69. Their conversation proved to be enlightening as it did not simply regurgitate the programme notes but introduced each suite and played some musical examples to help us to listen. Not only did this encourage a much closer attention to the works but also a more personal response as we came to know the musicians themselves somewhat better. This was particularly true of the Third Suite with its familiar Air. Before it was played we heard part of it without the top line to enable us to experience the superb harmony which supports it. Consequently, in performance, it was all too clear that this is not a solo violin piece, with additions, but a finely crafted orchestral movement in which all the voices count. The trumpets had joined the ensemble for the opening and closing suites, cutting through admirably, though there had been times earlier when the Assembly Rooms’ acoustic had defeated the strings who lost their edge and clarity. This was particularly unfortunate for Rachel Brown whose flute playing for the Second Suite was sensitive but often lost amid the general melos.

If the first two days had been good the final day brought unexpected delights. Colin Carr’s performance of three of Bach’s Cello Suites was outstanding whichever way you looked at it. He spoke with gentle humour and simplicity before playing, noting that the only reason he was with us in the Guildhall was because he had nothing better to do. The quality of his approach belied this. Only a performer who has Bach at his heart can play with this authority. After giving us the Second, Third and Sixth Suites, he returned for an encore to play the Sarabande from the Fifth Suite. This seemed to tie the whole performance together, for it had been the Sarabandes which seemed to hold the key to his interpretation. In the Second Suite the endless yearning and melancholy of the Sarabande seemed to run into eternity, while the expansive, relaxed hope of that in the Third Suite turned us away from despair. In the Sixth Suite there is an air of resignation, which is not depressive but which lacks the naive joy of the Third. The encore drew all these threads together with its introspection and lightness of touch, which at times drifts into nothingness. It was masterly throughout and we could have gone on listening long into the afternoon.

The Abbey is a large venue by comparison to those we had been in for the earlier performances, but the promise of La Serenissima and Vivaldi was enough to fill it. As in earlier events, this was introduced from the stage, Adrian Chandler being our guide to the evening, as well as playing lead violin and directing the ensemble.

They opened with an anonymous song from Venice c 1730, a gondolier praising the quality of his – boat! Two brisk and cheerful Sinfonia by Albinoni led to a darker and technically stunning performance of Vivaldi’s Concerto in E minor RV278. Anybody doubting Vivaldi’s wide ranging ability only need hear this in comparison to the more familiar Four Seasons to realise the composer’s versatility. Mhairi Lawson returned to sing two arias, the first from L’Olimpiade and the second from Motezuma. Both were written from castrati but one could forgive the imposition of a soprano voice when it is as well focussed as this. Where it had sounded good in St Mary’s it amply filled the spaces of the Abbey. In the Motezuma aria she was joined by trumpeter Simon Munday, who stood alongside her. This seemed somewhat daunting given that, in the opera house, the trumpet would have been far below in the pit, but it did not seem to affect the outcome, which was never really in doubt.

After a brief pause, we came to the Four Seasons. How good to hear them complete and played as well as this, together with the sonnets which Vivaldi wrote to accompany them. They help to make sense of the storms in summer and the pastoral scenes in autumn. On such a very cold February night, Winter was only too appropriate, but the warmth of the performance and the warmth of the reception left all making their way into the freezing night with a glow. Roll on next year! BH

ENO, London Coliseum, 15 February 2013

Why has it taken so long for Charpentier’s only obvious operatic masterpiece to reach the professional stage in London? With a positive embarrassment of baroque performances these days, it almost looks as if the composer still suffers the same exigencies of fortune as he did in his own lifetime. Thankfully David McVicar’s production, in stunning sets and lighting, goes a very long to making up for this dereliction.

The opening two acts feel very familiar territory for David McVicar. We are in a rather over-comfortable aristocratic environment which talks much of war but seems keener on dressing for dinner than actually fighting. Brindley Sherratt’s De Gaulle-like Creon is matched by the American swagger of Roderick Williams’ Orontes.  That both come to a sticky end is inevitable from the start, though the opening acts are full of entertainment which might seem out of place taken by themselves, but are a complement to the desolation of the end. As such, the gilded aircraft and Lindy-hop dancing are entirely apt. This is a society running rapidly towards its own destruction.

In the midst of all the glib entertainment is Sarah Connolly’s intensely focussed Medea. An outsider from the start, appallingly treated by all around her, her vengeance is all the more comprehensible. At first she seems simply to be a cheated woman, lied to and abandoned, but we quickly realise the complex politics which surround her are a Gordian knot which needs a knife to unravel it. There are subtle hints of incest from the royal family which Medea plays on when she invokes the spirits.

The knife itself becomes an idée fixe in the final acts. There is little blood in evidence but the blade flashes at us with ominous intent. Sarah Connolly has a wonderful ability to stand absolutely still and yet command attention. While the world falls to pieces in act four she is static, almost unaware of the impact of her power. Most challenging of all is the conclusion. Where one might expect some sort of catharsis, and given the date of the work, some religious resolution, there is nothing. Medea literally rises above it all. She has destroyed those she loved, leaving Jason alone alive in agony, and she is drawn up to the stars. No punishment, no divine retribution. Death is the end and she has conquered.

The mirror floor of Bunny Christie’s vast palace set allows Paule Constable to create a series of stunning visual effects, ranging from the most subtle misty greys to golden watery reflections which spin out into the auditorium.

The Large cast is drawn from strength and the chorus are kept to the edges, allowing the many smaller parts to make individual impact. There are no weaknesses on stage and it is a tribute to ENO that they can cast so well. This is arguably the finest thing Sarah Connolly has done – one tends to think so far – and she is surrounded by splendid voices from Jeffrey Francis’ lyrical Jason, the richly nasty Creon of Brindley Sherratt and Katherine Manley’s vapid but ultimately tragic Creusa.

While I have to admit I could not get on with Castor and Pollox this Charpentier was as good as it gets.  BH

Barbican Hall, 9 February 2013

BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, Martyn Brabbins

There is a good case for using live music with a wide range of films and presentations of Able Gance’s Napoleon and the 1925 version of Ben Hur are obvious examples.

Prokofiev’s score for Alexander Nevsky has suffered from the simple fact that the sound recording is one of the poorest that Eisenstein produced and does little justice to the quality of the composition even if it has its own special resonance. Prokofiev arranged the score into a choral cantata, and it is this which forms the basis of the version we heard at the Barbican Hall on Saturday. Does it work? Well, up to a point. The scoring is exciting and the almost entirely musical battle on the ice takes on a life of its own. However, the changes between the original soundtrack, hissing like a bad 78, and the clarity of the live orchestra is frequently disturbing.

One of the most effective moments is the long alto solo, beautifully intoned by Catherine Wynn-Rogers, at the end of the battle, where the survivors search for loved ones across the bleak landscape.

Martyn Brabbins brought enthusiasm and superb timing to his handling of the whole event, and there was some splendid playing from brass and percussion, but I was left wondering, given the wonders of digital technology, whether it would not be possible to merge the original soundtrack, suitably cleaned, with a new orchestral recording. BH