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Phillip T Young Recital Hall
July 15, 2017
"The flute is not an instrument which has a good moral effect; it is too exciting."
I surely cannot be the only person to differ from Aristotle in that "exciting" is not usually the first word that springs to mind in connection with the flute.
Even allowing for the fact that, some two millennia before Theobald Boehm invented the modern flute, the instrument must have been somewhat different in Aristotle's day, the only conclusion one can safely draw from his remark is that Greek philosophers appear to have been easily excited. (We'll leave the question of their morals for another day.)
Which is not to say that Saturday's recital by UVic's Suzanne Snizek and Harald Krebs lacked excitement; even in advance, the prospect of hearing music by several virtually unknown composers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was, for some of us, excitement enough.
Nor did the event fail to satisfy. Although only one of the works was given in its entirety, I, for one, left the hall with a desire to investigate all three composers further.
The flute sonata by Richard Rössler (1880-1962), of which we heard the first two movements, was a delight. The opening Allegretto grazioso was delicious; the ensuing Adagio, rather more solemn and rising to an impassioned outburst in the centre, showed that there was more to Rössler than simply charm.
This was superbly played by Suzanne Snizek and Harald Krebs; nothing in their performance even hinted at the fact that just a few short years ago this music was terra icognita to both musicians.
Günter Raphael's (1903-1960) Op.47 is a most unusual set, consisting of nine solo sonatas: two for violin, two for viola, two for cello, two for flute and one for bassoon.
Unlike the stringed instruments (but like the bassoon), the flute is only capable of monophony. The resultant challenge for the composer is therefore that much the greater; any harmonies are only implicit and must be (mentally) supplied by the listener, who must also, therefore, work harder.
It is a testament to Raphael that none of the work's four movements outstayed its welcome by even a single bar, although I can well believe that a less inspired performance than Snizek's might have had one thinking otherwise.
The opening movement, Frei improvisierend, not only had that improvisatory feel, it had a real sense of questing; this movement and the inner-directed, solemn Langsam which followed must surely reflect Raphael's state of mind at the time of its composition, 1940, some six years after the Nazi regime had classified him as a "half-Jew", with its consequent banning of any performances of his music and the loss of his teaching position at the Conservatory in Leipzig.
In a sense, given the circumstances, the final two movements are even more remarkable: a lively scherzo, with a more relaxed trio and an abrupt ending, followed by a charming finale, in mood somewhere between folksong and a melody by Dvořák, complete with an amusing false ending and an almost throwaway real one.
The performance itself was as fine as the music: penetrating in the first two movements, captivating and enchanting in the final two.
I can only hope that Snizek will, at some time give us Raphael's other solo flute sonata and that some of her colleagues will investigate the rest of his Op.46.
Finally, Snizek was again joined by Krebs for the first movement, Allegro amabile, of the sonata by Camillo Schumann (1872-1946).
I imagine that this Schumann's biggest burden was his surname, although his family (grandfather, father, brother) were also musicians. To add posthumous insult to injury, poor Camillo — unlike his elder brother Georg — does not even get his own Wikipedia page.
Judging by this single movement, however, Camillo Schumann does not merit this obscurity; although his sonata seems the most conventional of the three works we heard (at least in part), it was a charming piece, with rhythmic echoes of his more famous namesake, a certain Brahmsian feel (so common among lesser composers of this period) and even hints of Franz Schubert in its exuberant main theme.
Once again Snizek and Krebs performed the piece as if they'd known it their entire lives.
This was one of those rare occasions when it was just as sunny inside the hall as it was outdoors.
To paraphrase Oliver Twist: can we have some more, please?
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