| This
is another head-scratcher with the confused cosmological juxtaposition of a classical,
a Romantic and a 20th century fin de siècle work in the space of
one evening, none of which bears an obvious thematic or artistic relation to the
other two. Take Barber's Adagio for Strings: apart from its valedictory
martial associations and uncannily serendipitous timing, what with the SARS deaths
and Iraqi war and all, it was a peculiar choice as the seat-warmer. Not
for the first time, the musicians played like they were starting cold and only
just getting used to the feel of the concert ambience. What was even more surprising
was that in the resonant acoustic of the Esplanade Hall, without distraction of
brass, winds or percussion, there was a surprising lack of transparency and strata
in the massed string sound. Yu Long's mannered, if not restrained, reading, was
a brave attempt at gradually bringing the music to an emotional boil and indeed
had its moments, but it really needed something better than this lukewarm performance
than to transmit any pathos to the audience.  Taking
centrestage next was Brigitte Wohlfarth, the creamy soprano from the previous
week's Mahler 2, offering a set of
three Mozart arias. Now, these are genuine concert hall works designed for voice-and-symphony
performances, and not for the theatrical stage, combining standalone dramatic
texts and situations with Mozart's rich concertante orchestral writing.
Some of these pieces had texts selected by Mozart's singers themselves, and Mozart
himself disregarded the traditional boundaries between sopranos, mezzos and contraltos,
demanding flair, technique and prodigious amounts of skill from his singers. 'Bella
mia fiamma', for instance, was written by Mozart for Josepha Duśek on
the condition that he would only give her the music if she could sing it properly,
at sight, from his fresh manuscript. (In return, Josepha had him famously locked
into her villa, and would not let him out until he had finished the aria which
he had promised her.) The dramatic structure of these works is based on the two-part
recitative and aria: the former is where the "action" takes place, and the latter
summarizes and comments upon the foregone action. The action would be self-contained
scenes of great drama, emotion and pathos (as found in any typical opera seria
of the period), as vehicles for the vocal stylings of the singers. Mozart's
set of delightful miniatures music here, unfortunately, was not so much a vehicle
as a tricycle with training wheels for Ms Wohlfarth. There was, in her recital,
little to no dramatic urgency, which perhaps could have been brought out by some
contrasts in tempo and dynamics. A clearer delineation of interpretation between
the semantic contexts of the recitative and arioso passages would have
also helped. We should have witnessed Titano's outburst of despair over his (yes,
it's a soprano-in-pants "trouser role") separation from Prosperpina, but Ms Wohlfarth's
identification with the situation and person of Titano was inadequate. We
also know that Mozart often reused and reworked his music. 'Al desio di chi
t'adora' was written to replace the original 'Deh vieni non tardar',
the so-called 'Rose' Aria, in the final act of the 1789 Viennese production of
The Marriage of Figaro where Susanna is impersonating the Countess. It
is a work which greatly intensifies the original aria, and also makes some artistic
and technical demands on the singer (which, in Figaro, needs to portray
Susanna trying to mimic the Countess's musical and physical mannerisms.)
| Period Versus Modern We were wondering if the
massive symphonic forces on stage would overpower Ms Wohlfahrt's voice. In modern
performance, having a big orchestra on stage gives you power and brilliance, and
sacrifices the flexibility and intimacy which a chamber-sized group offers. Of
course, had it been a period performance, technically there wouldn't even have
been a conductor, since the direction of the orchestra would have been divided
between the concertmaster and the continuo player. (Here allowing also
for the variations in performance practice in different regions of Western and
Middle Europe.) Would an authentic performance have
utilized Romantic-sized strings? And where was the harpsichord continuo?
There is a fairly well-known reference to a mammoth Mozartian extravaganza in
1781 where he conducted an orchestra of 40 violins, 10 violas, 8 cellos and 10
double-basses, plus doubled winds and tripled bassoons. But the fact remains that,
even with reinforced ensemble, Mozart often wrote for economical forces. It was
not until a bit later that rich orchestral palettes came into vogue as composers
sought colour and variety to express themselves. | I
wish I could describe her approach as "artless simplicity", but unfortunately
I'm afraid her longueurs gets only halfway there. (Either half will do.)
This was altogether disappointing, given Ms Wohlfarth's extensive operatic experience.
Although lacking the subtlety and refinement to bring these little dramas to life,
she was nonetheless technically unruffled by the demands and phrasing of Mozart's
musical dramaturgy. Ironically, it was not until her encore, a reprise of the
final stanza of 'Al desio di chi t'adora', that she appeared comfortably
secure with the material and showed us a glimmer of energy and exuberance in the
role. The lack of affection from her orchestral accompanists
didn't help, either. Yu's approach was old-fashioned, using large-scale forces,
red-blooded vibrati, heavy bass sonorities, leaden rhythms, and lacked
a sense of individuality - which was equally disappointing, given his operatic
experience. There are qualities in Mozart's vocal writing which needs nuance and
sensitivity, someone to sculpt the harmonic lines with poise, but this someone
was unfortunately not Yu. On the other hand, the orchestra
has more than just a passing familiarity with Dvořák's genial giant
of an Eighth Symphony - in October 1998, they toured this warhorse to Hong
Kong and received no little acclaim for it. Certainly their penchant for Romantic
repertoire (as opposed to the hopelessness of their Mozartian foray before the
intermission) made them play and sound like a completely different orchestra in
the second half, responding to Yu's direction gorgeously. We ought to single out
the violas and the flutes for some especially fine musicianship here. Yu
is a natural Dvořákian, making this one of the better performances
of the composer's music in recent times. The inner movements were especially well
done, with the conductor capturing all the character of Dvořák's Bohemian
idiom and bringing the composer's nationalistic self-portrait vividly to life
in an epistolatory interpretation. That's not to discount the impressive sweep
and hoopla of the outer movements, smartly accentuated with intelligent change
of tempi and pointing of character. Some might even
say too accentuated to the point of vulgarity - as with the horn-drenched
perorations of the last movement, or the garish orchestral stampede to the finishing
line - which all but obliterated the distant bad memories of the first half. Not
even the usual lapses in ensemble or the imbalance of sectional timbre were as
bad as in the previous weeks, although the strings don't seem to have rediscovered
their lush, pre-Esplanade sheen as yet. Even the copywriting in the programme
book seems to have improved; only perhaps half as many typos as last week's. One
alarming point, though, which is the disturbing fact that whoever's doing the
programme book seems to have a gleeful lack of knowledge and respect from halfway
to forever for foreign languages. Dvorak is not the same as Dvořák,
for one. Neither is Aïda correct in English. (It's plain Aida
in English, German and Italian, and only takes a diaresis, Aïda, in
French.) 'xing ban' is Andante, not Adagio. There's not much sense
in providing Chinese translations, I think, if it's not done accurately. Picture
of conductor Yu Long was obtained from the Beijing
Music Festival webpage.
William Beh doesn't
speak that many languages, but he knows a lot of bad words.
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