MiV Home
Phillip T Young Recital Hall
January 24, 2018
It might be thought, considering the number of versions that exist of most of his symphonies, that Anton Bruckner was a man somewhat lacking in the courage of his own convictions. And easily swayed: many of those revisions were prompted by others, notably his pupils, Ferdinand Löwe and the Schalk brothers, Josef and Franz.
Yet this notion does not bear close examination: Bruckner knew full well the power of his original conceptions; if not, why would he have insisted that his manuscripts be preserved for posterity?
Of his nine (or ten, or eleven, depending on how you count them) the only numbered symphonies not to have been revised are five, six and seven.
Bruckner's only mature chamber work, his String Quintet in F, was composed between December 1878 and July 12 1879 (there is also an early string quartet, composed in 1862, which is rarely performed), thus placing it between the composition of the fifth and sixth symphonies.
There were some fairly minor revisions made in 1884 — including a change in the order of the movements, placing the slow movement third after the scherzo, as in several of his symphonies — but the most significant "revision" was the composition of an intermezzo, to replace the "curious, elfin scherzo" which Joseph Hellmesberger, for whose quartet the work was written, found too technically challenging. (And there is, after all, ample precedent for such a substitution in the shape of the Grosse Fuge, Beethoven's original finale of the Op.130 quartet.)
However, in 1885 Hellmesberger decided that his group could, after all, perform the original work in its entirety, which they did the following year. The intermezzo would not be performed until 1904, almost a decade after Bruckner's death. The quintet, on the other hand, received twenty-three performances in Bruckner's lifetime, whereas much of his music had to wait for posthumous hearings.
While Bruckner's quintet hardly qualifies as a "veiled symphony", it is nonetheless conceived on a rather larger scale than much chamber music and performing it with a string orchestra is less in conflict with the original conception than, say, the string orchestra versions of some of the late Beethoven quartets, which are fairly frequently so performed.
Yariv Aloni directed a superb performance of his own arrangement of the quintet to close the latest outstanding Galiano Ensemble concert.
He took opening movement at a flowing tempo, eliciting a wonderful depth of sound from his players; his arrangement made tasteful use of solo voices (first violin, second viola, cello) when appropriate and, as I noted, the pacing and sense of rubato were well-nigh perfect. The only detail which did not convince me one hundred per cent was Aloni's slight acceleration in the coda. But to criticise the performance for that minor (to my ears) blemish would indeed be to pick nits.
The (original) scherzo was both bouncy and determined and any technical difficulties were lightly tossed aside.
The slow movement — and Bruckner surely produced some of the most profound slow movements this side of Beethoven — was again cast in gorgeous tone colours and included a most eloquent viola solo from Joanna Hood. The glorious outpouring of sound ended with a hushed close to take the breath away.
Bruckner often had trouble with his finales (perhaps, most notoriously, with the fourth symphony) and even in his seventh symphony, the only of his major orchestral works to receive unmitigated praise during his lifetime, the finale is noticeably the least successful movement.
I would venture to suggest that the same is true in the case of the quintet, although, after its somewhat angular introduction, the second subject does reveal some of the lyricism of the seventh's problematic finale and also a fugal passage which briefly summons up the finale of the fifth.
Aloni made as fine a case for this movement as I believe I've ever heard, almost — almost — overcoming my doubts and completely sweeping them aside in the huge crescendo that ends the work.
Now I am left desperately wanting to hear him conduct at least one of the symphonies.
The first half of the evening gave us two little-known serenades by two composers each mainly known for a single work.
The opening movement of Samuel Barber's Serenade, Op.1, is marked Un poco adagio and there are indications of that more famous Adagio to come. Harmonies were slightly astringent, and the quicker music had a delicious lilt.
The andante con moto which followed was lovely, gently rocking; and the finale was cheerful, although not extravagantly so, and also had its more wistful moments before coming to a delightful close.
While no masterpiece, Barber's Serenade, composed at the tender age of eighteen, deserves more frequent outings than it normally receives.
Max Bruch's Serenade on Swedish Folk Melodies, by contrast, was written when its composer was seventy-eight, half a century after writing his Violin Concerto No.1, the work for which he is today largely known.
Again, it is doubtful if anybody, including its author, would claim the serenade to be great music, but it most certainly is great fun.
The opening and closing movements, both marches, summon up images of muscular Scandinavians striding the hills in determined fashion; the first ending with some superbly resonant pizzicatos. The lush second movement showed a more ominous side during its central section; the scherzo was in a jovial triple time but also exhibited considerable volatility; the fourth movement my notebook simply describes as "lovely"; while the aforementioned marching finale also took time out from its striding to pause and admire the scenery before subsiding in a slow, exquisite final chord.
While not the standard "Three Bs", Messrs. Bruckner, Bruch and Barber, when played at this level, are certainly worthy of the sobriquet.
Another deeply rewarding evening from the Galiano Ensemble.
MiV Home