Beethoven, With Not-So-Subtle Attacks of Piccolo, Drum and a Standing Violinist
By CORINNA da FONSECA-WOLLHEIM
Too often we think of historically informed performances in terms of
what is stripped away: less vibrato; fewer players; the muted brilliance
of gut strings and natural horns. But as John Eliot Gardiner
demonstrated in two red-blooded performances of Beethoven masterworks at
Carnegie Hall this past weekend, the period-instrument movement is, at
its best, an ambitious grab for big effects and heightened expressive
power. On Friday he led his Monteverdi Choir and Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique in a flame-drawn rendition of the Ninth; on Saturday he gave a glowing performance of the “Missa Solemnis.”
Mr. Gardiner created the Orchestre Révolutionnaire, a large symphony
orchestra playing on 19th-century instruments, in 1989, but its sounds
still hold surprises. Some are quietly revealing, like the wood-bodied
flute that insinuates itself into the soloists’ quartet in the “Et
incarnatus” of the “Missa.” Others come as a shock: the kettledrums that
sound like cannon fire; the piercing insistence of a piccolo that seems
to have been requisitioned from Napoleon’s army.
But, ultimately, the choice of instruments is like casting in theater: a
dream lineup of character actors still needs a director with vision in
order to tell the story. For Mr. Gardiner, that vision begins with the
text. Even in the purely instrumental movements of the Ninth, there
appeared to be words encrypted in the music, so declamatory and
speechlike were some phrases. At other times he whipped up furiously
fast tempos that left no room for the sort of ponderous self-importance
that can sneak into performances of Beethoven’s music and that are
deadly in the extensive fugues of the “Missa.” Mr. Gardiner is an
expressive conductor, shaping phrases with expansive arm gestures and
the occasional sideways flick of a hip.
In the choral finale of the Ninth and throughout the “Missa,” the
primacy of the text was never in doubt. The Monteverdi Choir sang it
with crystalline diction and extraordinary flexibility, giving
individual words deliberate dabs of color. Rarely has the word “Kuss” —
the poet Schiller’s kiss to humanity in the “Ode to Joy” — been
delivered with such panache. The “Sanctus” of the “Missa” was uttered in
hushed whispers like an incantation.
The English bass Matthew Rose made an authoritative entrance in the
Ninth when he jumped to his feet to sing his introductory recitative. In
the “Missa” he showed great reserves of power and depth. Some of the
most moving solo singing came from Jennifer Johnston, whose mezzo glows
with unforced feeling and whose pure style fits well into the
period-instrument world. The soprano Elisabeth Meister and the tenor
Michael Spyres rounded out the finely matched quartet of soloists.
But certain instrumentalists, encouraged by Mr. Gardiner, managed to
steal the spotlight when he invited many of them to stand for their
solos. Among them were Peter Hanson, who rose for the extensive violin
part that meanders in and out of the “Benedictus,” and the three
trombones who acted as a sort of celestial press gang throughout the
“Missa.” In the final bars of the “Ode to Joy” the piccolo stood in
front of the chorus like a fifer leading his troops into battle.
No comments:
Post a Comment