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University Centre Auditorium
December 2, 2017
"I hate posterity - it's so fond of having the last word."
Aside from author Hector Hugh Munro, better known by his pen name of Saki, whose words those are, a number of composers, lauded in their lifetimes but derided after, might well have cause to express similar sentiments.
"Dry and academic" is the view of many music lovers of several composers, notably including Max Reger and, more germanely for this review, Paul Hindemith.
Perhaps some of each composer's music can be adduced to justify their posthumous reputations, usually adhered to by people who have rarely, if ever, heard a note of the music in question; but my own suspicion is that it is not insignificant that the composers who tend to be tarred with this particular brush also happened to be German.
Hindemith went through several stages, from enfant terrible to eminence grise, yet each phase of his prolific career produced music which is more than worthy of a place in the public's affections.
Today a mere handful of Hindemith's works have more than a tenuous hold on the repertoire, perhaps none more so than the dazzling Symphonic Metamorphosis of Themes by Carl Maria von Weber, premiered in 1944 in New York, which closed Saturday evening's terrific School of Music anniversary concert.
The music was written for a virtuoso orchestra — indeed, had Hindemith not written a Concerto for Orchestra almost two decades previously (and, hence, well before Bartók), he might well have dubbed it that.
The UVic Orchestra rose superbly to the challenge, although I did wonder if Timothy Vernon was shading his tempos slightly in view of the youth of his players. If he was, I suspect it was not really necessary.
The opening movement was taken at what I wrote at the time as a "determined tempo", which is my personal code for "it works, even though I'd prefer it a bit quicker". Tempo aside, Vernon brought forth an almost sumptuously full sound from the orchestra, rich strings, characterful winds and resonant brass.
The second movement is by some considerable margin the longest of the four and, to the casual listener, sounds like a set of variations. But, in much the same manner as the slow movement of Haydn's "Emperor" quartet, Hindemith does not vary the theme, but the accompaniment, for some eight repetitions, before giving a truncated and syncopated version to the brass for them to make into a fugue.
This movement was one of the highlights of the entire evening, with some marvellous playing both collectively and individually — and I must specifically mention the percussion here, who made the most of their moment in the sun — and possessing an unstoppable momentum.
The lovely slow movement once again found the winds and strings on top form, whereas the march that is the finale, once again taken at a "determined" tempo, allowed all sections to give of their very best producing a "joyful noise" to round off the evening in style.
Another composer who began as an avant-gardiste was Dmitri Shostakovich. Interestingly his fall from grace with the authorities in January 1936 came less than two years after Hindemith's and for much the same reasons: being avant-garde was not acceptable to either Stalin or Hitler.
Shostakovich's Piano Concerto No.1, also known as the Concerto for Piano, Trumpet and Strings, is one of the later products of his first period (if we may so call it). The variety of direct and parodistic quotations could easily have led to something less than a cohesive work in the hands of a lesser composer.
Fortunately Shostakovich was a genius.
Although he admitted later in life that the concerto had begun life for the trumpet, it must be admitted that, as completed, the work does not give the trumpet that much to do, although what there is is sardonic and to the point; moreover, it needs to be played very well in order to make its full effect. Merrie Klazek, who was most impressive in Stravinsky's L'Histoire du Soldat a few weeks ago, was simply stunning, by turns enticingly mellifluous and bitingly sarcastic.
As to Arthur Rowe, what can I say about his playing that I have not said before? He took his highly-virtuosic stylistically-variegated part by the scruff of the neck, made light of the technical difficulties and penetrated to the heart of the music.
Vernon directed a splendid accompaniment, string tone throughout was full-bodied and, when required, weighty. The tricky tempo changes in the finale were very well handled and the paradoxical nature of the music, gnomic and serious even in its overt levity, nicely captured.
All in all a most satisfying performance and one which conclusively established that the Lafayette String Quartet are not the only UVic musicians who understand Shostakovich.
A few weeks before the concert, I was discussing it with a friend — and I honestly cannot recall who it was — who, when I mentioned that Handel's "Utrecht" Te Deum was on the agenda, asked "why would they choose one of Handel's most boring choral works?"
I can imagine at least two reasons: firstly, by comparison with his oratorios the Te Deum is (mercifully) short; secondly, and this is from my own choral-singing past, unlike, say Messiah, the soloists are not given separate arias, the chorus therefore spending far less time sitting and twiddling their thumbs.
There is, however, one factor which probably mitigates against performances today and also sheds a good deal of light on the differing economics of the early 18th and 21st centuries : the work, all twenty-odd minutes of it, requires six soloists: two sopranos, three (three!) tenors and a bass. He could be profligate could George Frederic.
There is one further remark I would like to make: the text of this music is in English and, for perhaps the first time ever, I began to understand some of the Catholic Church's objections to Luther's wanting to conduct services in the vernacular.
Let me just observe that Handel could probably not have anticipated that, three centuries after he was composing the music, the massed choral singing of "Oh Christ!" would not have, for many of the audience, exactly the resonance he intended.
Having said all of which, I must admit to having enjoyed the performance rather more than I had anticipated. The accompaniment featured sprightly string playing (their numbers having been reduced from the full ensemble of thirty-seven to just seventeen) and excellent winds. The chorus were well-tuned and diction was mainly very clear (even when it might have been better if a little less distinct).
Although I never did work out which of the three tenors (to coin a phrase: is this where they got the idea?) was which and only knew which soprano was which because I had encountered one of them before, all six (I still find that number hard to credit) soloists acquitted themselves very well and, when singing in various combinations, blended very nicely indeed.
But I am never going to prefer Handel to Bach...
The evening opened with a splendidly trenchant performance of Beethoven's Coriolan, the last of that extraordinary sequence of ten masterpieces — beginning with the "Waldstein" sonata and including the "Appassionata", the "Eroica" and fourth symphonies, the Triple Concerto, the Piano Concerto No.4 and the three "Razumovsky" quartets — which more-or-less define Beethoven's "heroic" period.
From its strong opening, with deep, rich tones from the orchestra, the performance put nary a foot wrong. Tempos were well-chosen and on the quick side and dynamics meticulously observed. If it lacked the ultimate degree of tension that can be heard in, say, Wilhelm Furtwängler's 1943 Berlin account — well, the distinct absence of bombs falling outside the concert hall may well have had something to do with that.
A thoroughly enjoyable and rewarding evening.
Here's to the next half-century.
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