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Alix Goolden Performance Hall
June 12, 2010
On the face of it, calling a concert scheduled for less than two weeks before midsummer's day "A Summer Evening" would seem to be a safe bet. During the weeks immediately beforehand, though, I cannot have been the only person who saw irony looming large.
In the event, of course, last Saturday evening proved to be as clement as one could have wished for, which poses an interesting question: did the powers-that-be at the Civic know that the weather would be good, or was it good precisely because of the planned event? (The notion that it was pure chance, I think we can safely discard as being unworthy of serious consideration - after all, as Sherlock Holmes once remarked, when you have eliminated the case, whatever remains, however impossible, must be improbable. Or something along those lines.)
Whatever the true facts of the matter, Saturday evening's season-closer was truly something to celebrate and, even though he was adamant that no fuss be made, everybody present seemed to be aware that this was to be George Corwin's final concert as Music Director of the Civic and that they were witnessing the End of (another) Era.
The evening opened with the overture to Leonard Bernstein's Candide. This is music which demands - and received - accuracy and rhythmic vitality. The full sound, replete with whooping horns, was most impressive.
Alexander Glazunov's wide-ranging output is almost completely unknown today. Which, judging by the colour and tunefulness of his Sixth Symphony, is rather a pity.
George Corwin directed a fine, richly-textured performance of this unfamiliar music. The opening movement's slow introduction was beautifully shaped, with a most impressive crescendo, leading to a whirlwind of an allegro, which grabbed the listener by the scruff of the neck and did not, even for one second, let go.
The second movement, a theme and (by my count) six variations, began with some fine string playing in the theme and featured some excellent wind in the variations; the third movement was a charming intermezzo, with a trio which was busy yet floated along.
The finale is perhaps the weakest (least strong?) movement, its portentous, heavy introduction leading to a main theme which, I suspect, could easily, in lesser hands, tend to the bombastic.
Fortunately, of course, Corwin's hands are far from lesser and he brought the occasionally rambling, always swaggering movement to a rip-roaring close.
The final work on the programme was the quasi-eponymous "Les Nuits d'Été" by Berlioz, which became history's first great orchestrral song-cycle almost by accident (or malgré lui as Molière might have put it). Having composed the six songs in 1841 for baritone, alto or mezzo-soprano, and piano, Berlioz reworked them some fifteen years later, for soprano and orchestra.
It was, of course, this final and most frequently-heard version of the cycle which closed Saturday's concert.
It is well-known that I am not a great fan of singers or vocal music in general; however, like Oscar Wilde, I have simple tastes: I am always satisified by the best. And I can hardly imagine the music's being sung better than it was by Charlotte Corwin.
Whether it was the smile in her voice in the opening song, the bell-like clarity of her singing in the fourth or the almost flirtacious manner of the final song, Charlotte Corwin never put a foot (or, one should say, vocal cord) wrong. This, surely, was artistry of a very high order indeed.
Nor was the orchestra unworthy of her: Berlioz - history's first great orchestrator - provides an extremely subtle (and I suspect, difficult to play) accompaniment which must support the singer while never drawing attention to itself.
Which is precisely what we heard on Saturday. A superb performance which justificably brought the audience to its feet.
For an encore - and to rub in the meteorological points I was making in the opening of this review - we were given an absolutely spellbinding performance of "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess.
A splendid evening.
In his dozen seasons with the Civic, George Corwin has gradually transformed them from a group of enthusiasts whose performances had to be listened to with a enthusiast's ear, into a real orchestra, capable of raising the pulse and thrilling the senses. A considerable achievement. Whoever succeeds him will have a difficult act to follow.
And, of course, the weather deteriorated noticeably on Sunday. Coincidence? I think not.
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