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University Centre Auditorium
March 31, 2007
"It appears to us in so far as it is seemly to judge after a single hearing of this composition - that the genius of the great master was not present at its conception."
The words are those of an anonymous Frankfurt critic, written after the premiere in that city (April 1, 1825) of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, first performed the previous year.
It was not only the critics who got it wrong: Louis (Ludwig) Spohr, fellow-composer, who had taken part in the first performance of the Seventh, described the finale as ""so monstrous and tasteless and, in its grasp of Schiller's Ode, so trivial that I cannot understand how a genius like Beethoven could have written it."
To which one is tempted to respond that that if Spohr had been a genius, perhaps he would have understood; but then how does one explain the first-night audience in Vienna the previous May, whose enthusiastic applause was so far in excess of what was considered appropriate even for the Royal Family that, according to Anton Schindler, the Police Commissioner himself stepped in to quiet them?
The universal appeal of The Ninth has been understood by people as (presumably) diverse as Josef Stalin and the European Community officials who selected the Ode to Joy as the European anthem.
On Saturday night János Sándor directed a performance of The Ninth of such penetration, such excitement that it will be some considerable time before I feel the need to hear the music again. The combination of the youthful performers (the choir and soloists obviously being young at heart) most of whom had probably not performed the music before, and the veteran conductor, was a winning one indeed.
There were a few uneasy moments: the work's very opening, simple - nay elemental - as it sounds is something of a tour-de-force of orchestral layering and there were one or two uncertain moments as the musicians played themselves in.
The most worrying moment came during the second movement's trio; I shall not embarrass those involved (who surely know who they are) by dwelling on the details. Suffice it to say that for a few bars we heard nothing but accompaniment, until Sándor's force of will (and peremptory left hand) brought the recalcitrant ones back into line.
Having dispensed with the minor imperfections, let me now expound the merits of the performances, which were manifold.
Firstly Sándor's tempos were unimpeachable; unswayed by fashion (a fairly swift opening movement but a reasonably slow adagio) these were clearly the tempos Sándor felt were right - as, in his hands, they so obviously were.
As I have often observed in the past, Sándor has a remarkable architectonic ability, allowing the first movement to unfold as a single, huge paragraph. The climax was particularly intense, and coda ominous, almost Mahlerian.
Many a performance of The Ninth has been let down by its scherzo, a movement too many conductors seem to view as an irritating interruption between the Gothic mysteries of the first and the profound lyricism of the adagio.
Saturday's scherzo suffered from no such superficiality. Although his tempo was considerably quicker, there was something of Klemperer's granitic approach and, despite Sándor's taking most if not all of the repeats, the movement held the attention from beginning to end.
The adagio, taken at a leisurely yet flowing tempo, provided an oasis of tranquility between the motoric scherzo and the all-embracing finale. It was also extremely well-played.
Until the 1920s, only the first three movements of the Ninth were ever played at the Promenade Concerts in London. Perhaps the reason was economic, but it also serves to remind us that Beethoven really was "boldly going" in the finale - and that the result is still not without its unbelievers.
From the almost understated opening discord (no Stokowskian exaggerations here) the movement built inexorably to its blazing close. The gradual revelation of the main theme from its tentative beginning on cellos and basses to the full orchestra is one of the wonders of Western Music. But even that is not sufficient.
"Nicht diese töne" says Beethoven in the opening baritone recitative (the text at this point is not Schiller's), casting aside what has gone before as insufficient for the universal message he is about to impart; Steven Price's declamatory entrance was exactly right: imbuing it with just the right combination of swagger and determination.
From this point I was simply swept up in the majesty of the performance. Sándor's direction of the two double fugues (more innovation) was tremendous, with every line clear as a bell.
The solo quartet was very well balanced, although it was occasionally clear that Beethoven's demands (Caroline Unger, contralto in the premiere, called the composer "a tyrant over all the vocal organs"), especially at today's significantly higher pitch, can still pose challenges even for experienced, professionals. (Just listen to Toscanini's 1952 recording - his soprano actually shouts her top notes in the final quartet.)
The chorus, although a few more men would have been handy during the trombone-accompanied "seid umschlungen", sang very well. Internal balances were good as was intonation (with the usual slightly wobbly top notes - that tyrant at work again). Most impressively, the horrendously exposed beginning of the choral double fugue was sung with a confidence one often misses.
Sándor's incandescent coda brought to an end one of the most satisfying musical experiences I've enjoyed in Victoria. Bravo indeed!
The entire orchestra played wonderfully. Strings were rich and resonant, winds perky and full of character, the brass sumptuous and powerful, yet never overblown. Jeff Donkersgoed's timpani in the second movement (the world's first timpani concerto?) were crisply devastating, his percussive colleagues added heft and sparkle to the alla marcia in the finale, and the fourth horn (I believe it was Patrick Reikie) was superb in the slow movement.
If you'd ever wondered exactly why Beethoven's Ninth was so influential on future generations of symphonic composers, Saturday's performance would have answered all your questions.
The concert's first part was taken up with Monteverdi's Lagrime d'Amante al sepolcro dell'Amata (Tears of a Lover at the Tomb of the Beloved).
Susan Young (wearing her conductorial hat) directed a flowing, confidant and well-sung performance. It was interesting to observe the polyphony of the earlier movements making way for the homophony of the later - mirroring the direction choral music was taking in Monteverdi's day.
If I seem a little lukewarm blame me, not the music or the performers. I was simply in a Beethoven Nine frame of mind.
In sum: an evening to treasure.
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