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Dave Dunnet Community Theatre, Oak Bay High School
March 17, 2018
"When, after a few introductory bars, clarinet and oboe sound una voce a sweet melody on top of the quiet murmuring of the strings, any child knows the composer and a half-suppressed exclamation "Schubert" runs hummingly through the hall. He has hardly entered, but it is as if you knew his steps, his very way of opening the door..."
In 1823, probably in response to his being awarded an honorary diploma by the Graz Music Society, Franz Schubert sent the manuscript of a work he had composed the previous year to a leading member of the society, his friend Anselm Hüttenbrenner.
For reasons which are still the subject of speculation, Hüttenbrenner did not reveal even the existence of the score for over four decades, but kept it hidden away in a drawer.
It was not until 1865 — by which time Hüttenbrenner was 76 and had only three more years to live — that he was persuaded to show the music to a visitor, the conductor Johann von Herbeck, who could scarcely believe his eyes, for what he held in his trembling hands was nothing less than the two movements of Schubert's Symphony No.8 in B minor, soon to be universally loved under the sobriquet of the "Unfinished". (We can argue about the numbering of Schubert's symphonies another time.)
The remarks quoted above are from the review, by the legendary (or notorious, depending on your point of view) Viennese critic Eduard Hanslick, of the work's first performance on 17 December 1865.
It is interesting to reflect on the fact that, had the work actually been premiered when Schubert composed it, far from the "half-suppressed exclamation 'Schubert'" running around the hall, the audience's reaction was more likely to have been indifference (or a half-suppressed exclamation of "Franz who?"), assuming, of course, that there had been an orchestra prepared to play it.
Moreover, and far more alarmingly, had it not been for Herbeck's visit and Hüttenbrenner's sudden change of heart, Schubert's "Unfinished" might have been lost forever; and not simply lost, as are, for example, works by Bach, Haydn and others which are known to have existed; the B minor Symphony would never even have been a blip on the radar of musicological history.
Schubert's "Unfinished" was, I believe, the first symphony I ever heard in its entirety, on a record purchased by my father more years ago than I really care to contemplate. Indeed, so familiar is the music that it can be difficult to get excited by it.
Or so I thought, until Yariv Aloni and the Civic Orchestra of Victoria performed it to open their latest concert programme.
After a few years in the doldrums, sans Music Director, I am delighted to say that with the appointment of Brian Wismath to that position, the Civic are once again at the top of their game and Aloni directed a performance of real depth and insight.
Matters began well, with ominous lower strings and almost translucent winds playing that melody which caused the "half-suppressed exclamation" at the premiere. The horn support for the delicious second subject was also well-nigh immaculate. I loved the ponderous pizzicatos leading back to the repeat and Aloni's way with both pacing and dynamics shaped the movement superbly, so that, despite the (very) occasional intonational insecurities, I felt as if I was discovering this wonderful music all over again.
Nor did the andante con moto disappoint: once again every section of the orchestra played with great sensitivity and there was, notably, some very fine piano playing from all concerned.
Having begun with, as Aloni put it, "two slow movements", the afternoon arguably became less profound as it progressed.
This, by the way, is an observation, not a complaint.
Although I am familiar with some of the music of Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (and anyone who wishes to programme the Fantasies for clarinet and string quartet will find me in the audience), his Irish Rhapsody No.1 was new to me, although the "big tune" with which it culminates was, I'll wager, familiar to everybody present.
While scarcely deep music, the rhapsody was highly enjoyable, from the excellent brass at the opening to the full-blooded climax on the melody variously known as the "Irish Tune from County Derry", the "Londonderry Air" or "Danny Boy". Along the way, the playing was buoyant and the music frequently danced, while the numerous tempo changes were deftly handled.
It only occurred to me while writing the earlier paragraphs of this review that three of the afternoon's featured composers had extremely short careers: Schubert died at 31, Bizet (who closed the afternoon) at 36 and, although he lived to be 76, Rossini retired, a rich man, and to that date, the most popular composer in history, at the age of 37, to devote the remainder of his life, apparently, to eating.
I'm sure that I cannot be the only person of a "certain age" who has an overriding association between Rossini's overture to his final opera Guillaume Tell and the Wild West. (Anyone reading who has no idea what I am referring to should watch the first thirty seconds or so of this.) And try to find somebody of my age whose pulse does not even slightly race at the trumpet fanfare which introduces the final section.
Of course, there is more to Rossini's overture than The Lone Ranger, indeed his overtures are more exquisitely-crafted miniature tone-poems than anything else.
William Tell begins as chamber music, with five solo cellos who, led by principal Nathan Jacklin, played the opening wonderfully. The ensuing storm's approach was beautifully contoured by Aloni and the tempest itself played with just the right amount of force — it can so easily be overdone — with some excellently penetrating winds (no pun intended).
And finally, of course, came the moment that many of us had been waiting for.
Nor did it disappoint, rather it thrilled and that, in part, was because Aloni controlled the tempo very tightly and did not let the music run away with him. I imagine that quite a few others in the audience had the words "return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear!", not to mention "a hearty hi-yo Silver!", running though their heads.
As with the Schubert, otherwise so different in so many ways, this was another performance to make me appreciate all over again music which has always, or so it seems, been a part of my life.
The personal connections to the music continued with the final item on the programme, Bizet's Carmen Suite, which was probably the first operatic music I encountered: my mother was a big fan and I can still picture the cover of the LP set which a Spanish business friend of my father's brought her as a gift.
Carmen, of course, is full of instantly memorable melodies, a fact which did not escape advertisers in the UK — I can't speak for anyone raised elsewhere, but I'll bet those of us who lived in England in the late 1950s had something of a struggle not to mentally accompany the main "Toreador" melody with the words "The Esso sign means happy motoring".
Each of the seven short movements was superbly characterised and marvellously played, culminating in the duelling flutes (Mary Jill McCullough and Cynthia Moorhouse) which launch the final Danse Bohème and help propel it to its dizzying conclusion.
Judging by their playing, the Civic Orchestra have recaptured their old form and then some. It was a memorable and deeply satisfying afternoon.
Now, if they can just persuade the stage manager that, although the Dave Dunnet may be a theatre, when there is music being played there really is no need to dim the house lights so much that the poor reviewer is plunged into Stygian darkness and can hardly see to write in his notebook...
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