Alemania
Rhythms and Swells
Jesse Simon
June is often a good time to be in Berlin. The days are long, the strawberries are in season, and there are usually a few good concerts to be found in the weeks before the orchestras shutter their windows for the summer break. This year, the Berlin Philharmonic brought their regular season to a close with a satisfying programme, conducted by Sir Simon Rattle, which placed the German première of a new work by Unsuk Chin between two very different works – Haydn’s Symphony No. 80 and Brahms’ First Piano Concerto – united by the key of D minor.
A clear majority of Haydn’s symphonies (roughly 90%) were composed in major keys, and the scarcity of his minor key excursions often make them something of a delight. The Symphony No. 80 – which, according to the programmes notes, had not been played by the Berlin Philharmonic in so long that they could not find a record of its last performance – featured a brisk opening with wonderfully menacing string swells that could have almost been a distant relative of the storm which opens Die Walküre, although it was not long before a pronounced shift in both key and rhythm directed the movement into less tempestuous territory.
It is difficult to imagine that Sir Simon is as passionate about Haydn as he is about, say, Mahler or Stravinsky; yet the few Haydn symphonies he has conducted with the Berlin Philharmonic over the past few years have always been enjoyable, and notable for their dedication and execution. His Haydn has neither big-band opulence nor period-performance austerity, but the details are clear, the rhythms agile, and there is an appealing leanness to the sound of the orchestra.
This evening was no different: he was able to maintain a great rhythmic focus throughout the first movement, delighting in (but not exaggerating) the heightened pauses that are so crucial to its structure. The slow movement was equally delightful, while the boisterous menuetto and the slightly more relaxed trio of the third movement were elevated by exceptional playing from the strings. Only the fourth movement sounded a touch laboured – some of the lightness of spirit from the first movement would not have been unwelcome – but it nonetheless featured some wonderful playing from the two oboes and the flute.
The orchestra doubled in size for Unsuk Chin’s Le Silence des Sirènes, which received its world première at last year’s Lucerne Festival and was, on this evening, having its first outing in a German concert hall; yet while the piece was described in the programme as a work for soprano and orchestra, it was Sir Simon alone who returned to the stage. As soon as the piece began one could hear the distant sound of a soprano voice, but the acoustics of the Philharmonie made it impossible to determine its place of origin. Thus there were a few moments of disorientation before Barbara Hannigan eventually emerged from the back of Block A and marched toward the stage with a fearful sense of purpose.
For the quarter-hour duration of the piece, Ms Hannigan remained in a state of heightened, almost frantic animation. The text she performed – ‘singing’ would be far too limiting a description – consisted of a brief prologue (in Greek) drawn from Homer, followed by a longer passage (in English, sort of) of fragmented, kaleidoscopic word-play extracted from the ‘Sirens’ chapter of Joyce’s Ulysses. Joyce himself had intended the chapter to have musical properties (he is said to have devised it as a fugue), and Ms Chin appeared to have chosen it as much for its rhythmic potential as its meaning.
As delivered by Ms Hannigan, one had the impression of hearing nothing so commonplace as the English language, but rather a series of precisely calibrated tics and swoops that would occasionally resolve themselves into recognisable words; one could make out ‘avowal’, ‘goodbye’ and ‘Liszt’s Rhapsodies’ amid a rapid onslaught of disorienting sounds that recalled Schwitters as often as Joyce. It was difficult to imagine what the notation for this nearly unbroken stream of syllables and emotive noises must have looked like, but Ms Hannigan attacked the whole of the text with consummate assurance and an intensity of focus that was captivating.
The orchestra, although highly disciplined, sounded just as excitable, especially in the opening section which featured a dizzying array of metallophones, whistles and whooping sounds. Around two-thirds of the way through, the orchestra had settled into a mode that was less jittery and more expansive; there was a constant surge of sound that would rise and fall, occasionally crash and fragment, but always gather itself together and return to its uneasy balance. When the piece was over, Ms Chin appeared on stage along with Ms Hannigan, Sir Simon and the orchestra, and was met with considerable applause.
For fans of Brahms’ D minor Piano Concerto, the last two years have been an especially good time to be in Berlin and, on this evening, Krystian Zimerman – whose own recording with the Berlin Philharmonic from 2006 stands as one of the best in recent years – offered a performance that was cerebral, articulate and occasionally heroic, but also unforced and thoroughly amiable.
The mood was set from the opening bars, which had a suitably weighty sound – the timpani was prominent and forceful – but a pace that allowed nothing to be drawn out for the sake of drama. Within this setting, Mr Zimerman’s introductory passage possessed a certain unvarnished honesty, neither timid, nor introspective, nor especially emotional. The appearance of the second theme further confirmed the relaxed authority of his performance. Where other interpreters might exaggerate the tension of the opening movement, or focus too heavily on its undercurrent of angst, Mr Zimerman allowed the piece to unfold with a compelling serenity. Even the decisive, almost brusque descending passage that prefaced the reappearance of the opening theme was presided over by an unerring sense of balance.
In the second movement, Mr Zimerman seemed intent on removing any traces of overt sentimentality, and it resulted in some highly deliberate phrasing that stood out against the delicate strings, who were nowhere more majestic than when playing at their quietest. Without ever straying from the rhythm, Mr Zimerman seemed to hold each phrase and each note to the very limit of acceptability before moving to the next. He built up to the movement’s great climactic passage, but stopped short of allowing the piano its moment of release. Playing against the straightforwardly romantic playing of the orchestra, Mr Zimerman made the second movement feel fascinatingly at odds with itself.
It was in the third movement where Mr Zimerman and Sir Simon seemed most aligned in their intentions. The pace was urgent without sounding overly driven and Mr Zimerman’s finely controlled playing, rather than trying to break free of the rhythms set by the orchestra, remained firmly within their flow. For the final time of the evening, the strings and woodwinds offered a thrilling demonstration of what they sounded like a the height of their powers, bringing the piece – and the Berlin Philharmonic’s 2014/15 season – to an energetic and joyous conclusion.
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