The stage of Teatro alla Scala Milan opera house is extended over the orchestra pit, even over the front stalls. Italy has been scoured from heel and toe south to the Alps for violinists, cellists, horn players, enough other brass to furnish a foundry, forests of woodwind, a complete backrow of thermo-nuclear percussion devices. And four dazzlingly gilded harps, standing pertly to attention.
Maestro Riccardo Chailly cautiously edges his way round the perimeter of probably the largest orchestral force amassed in Italy since Benito Mussolini described his model of Fascism as “A great orchestra, where everyone plays a different instrument”.
The soloist singers bump into each other as they settle into space-saving folding chairs. Behind, stretching to a distant, raked, vanishing point horizon is space for the massive male and female choruses who will feature, only briefly, in the second half of the evening’s performance.
Performance of what? Arnold Schoenberg’s final Romantic masterpiece, before he was struck down by atonalism, his oratorio, Gurre-Lieder, written between 1900 and 1911. That’s what. A monumental work, hardly ever performed for the obvious reason that most countries don’t have enough musicians to provide the forces Schoenberg demands.
It’s almost impossible to resist the petty notion that, inflamed by Gustav Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony (No2), in its day the vocal and instrumental Tarzan of the Romantic era, Schoenberg wanted a chest-thumping final word before that era drew to its close. As Mahler died in 1911 there was scant chance of a riposte.
Gurre-Lieder, meaning Songs of Gurre, is based on the medieval Danish legend of King Waldemar, who died in Gurre castle in the 12th century and his mistress, Tove Lille, murdered by jealous Queen Helva, who thought Danish divorce law at the time was uncertain, so took matters into her own hands.
The work started out as a fairly simple song cycle but morphed over the years as Schoenberg worked through the influences of Richard Wagner – Tristan und Isolde – Richard Strauss and Mahler, who he met in 1903. It sets to music the poems of Danish novelist, Jens Petr Jacobson, Gurresange.
If you have never heard of it, I admit, neither had I, until I discovered La Scala was mounting a performance to mark the 150th anniversary of Schoenberg’s birth, available as a live stream until 24th September for less than the price of a casual cornetto and cappuccino at the Cafè Scala in Milan’s Duomo square. Switch on before the cut-off date.
Much scholarly attention has been devoted to deconstructing Gurre-Lieder, its influences, and Schoenberg’s motives. I shall give that worthy intellectual analysis a body swerve and get to the point.
Gurre-Lieder is an emotional blast I am ashamed to be encountering only for the first time. I shall be slaking my thirst regularly at the live-stream watering hole until the 24th. The drama in the story and the overwhelming power of the score make it a rare experience.
Writing in The Musical Times of 1914, one of the renowned commentators of the day, Ernest Newman, had this to say; “As Schoenberg’s name is at present a byword among us for calculated and meaningless cacophony it is important to insist upon the absolute sanity and sincerity of mind that is revealed to us in the Gurre-Lieder.” Ouch. Pretty outspoken for the time.
Tout en court, many commentators, baffled by the Second Viennese School’s shift to atonalism, simply thought Schoenberg had gone nuts. This final sally into Romanticism was, however, much admired.
What’s it all about, Waldemar? In part I which lasts about an hour, we are told of the love of Waldemar for Tove. Impending misfortune and death are prefigured in nine songs for soprano and tenor, with blazing orchestral accompaniment.
The work calls for a tenor with heft to reach above the orchestra and La Scala found one in Austrian, Andreas Schrager. He sings with consummate authority and clarity.
A long orchestral interlude leads to the Wood Dove’s Song, arguably the most famous part of the work, which tells of Tove’s death and Waldemar’s grief.
Wood doves, en general, are great commentators who can cut through plot thickets with insightful machetes. Why do you need the expense of three extra characters to explain what’s going on if an all-seeing Wood Dove can explain all from the vantage point of a handy tree?
Judith Weir used the device to great effect in her Blond Eckbert. Wagner has a Wood Dove of a sort flying around his Ring Cycle. In Milan the role is sung superbly by German mezzo-soprano Okka Von Der Damerau, her voice narrating the emotional tale with rich conviction.
Tove is Camilla Nylund, a Finnish soprano, currently one of the most sought-after performers on the opera circuit. Her moving interpretation of the fated Tove explains why.
When Wood Doves are scarce the next “move that plot along” device is a narrator. Sure enough, Schoenberg gives us one in the person of Michael Volle, a hugely experienced German baritone. Schoenberg deploys the first ever example of sprechgesang, spoken singing. He later used the technique in Pierrot lunaire.
Readers may be more familiar with sprechsgang as used extensively in Sir William Walton’s Façade, that comical series of sketches based on the writing of Dame Edith Sitwell.
The brief Part II (5 mins) consists of just one song, in which lies the kernel of the story. The bereft and distraught Waldemar tries to challenge God, accusing him of cruelty. God wins. As punishment, God curses Waldemar and his dead men to ride across Gurre lake each night.
In Part III (approx. 45 mins), Waldemar summons his dead vassals from their graves. The undeads’ restless roaming and savage hunt around the castle at night is thunderously depicted by the male chorus. Meantime, a peasant sings of his fear of the eerie army.
Waldemar then proclaims that Tove may be watching his actions from heaven. There is a humorous interlude in a grotesque song of a fool Klaus, brilliantly portrayed by Austrian tenor Norbert Ernst, whose facial fluidity and cynical wit were a theatrical foil for Waldemar’s tragedy.
Klaus is forced to ride with the macabre host when he would rather rest in his grave. As the sun begins to rise, the undead begin to sensibly retreat into their graves.
A gentle orchestral interlude vividly portrays the light of dawn and leads into the melodrama The Summer Wind’s Wild Hunt, a depiction of the morning wind, which flows into the mixed-choral, triumphant send-off, Seht die Sonne! (“See the Sun!”). The world is reborn in a blaze of sound.
Wielding the baton and an encyclopaedia of facial expressions perfectly matching the shape-shifting mood of the music from tragedy through defiance to victory, is Riccardo Chailly, La Scala’s music director.
The written score – with over 50 parts – is almost un-manoeuvrable, never mind conductable, but Chailly rose to every challenge, cuing every entrance with vigour. One of the joys of the livestream is being able see Chailly’s every move, rather than watching a motionless back.
Of course, Schoenberg went on to be a musical giant of the 20th century alongside the likes of Stravinsky and Prokofiev, in spite of Mr Newman’s acid judgement.
Whether one was “better” than the other is a worthless, sterile discussion. A bit like Classic FM’s mindless annual quest to discover the nation’s 100 favourite works of classical music. Vaughan William’s Lark Ascending always wins! Who cares? Maybe the odd, envious Wood Dove or two.
What is certain is that Gurre-Lieder, from a now neglected era of Schoenberg’s composing life, is a monumental foundation stone upon which that reputation would be built. And La Scala has done the rarity proud.
And Another Thing
As mega-star violinist Joshua Bell captivated us all with musical fireworks in his elegant downtown Manhattan penthouse last Thursday, he probably hadn’t counted on unsolicited vocal accompaniment – from his dog.
A charming pooch – the sort of chocolate coloured Goldendoodle/Cavapoo/Cockapoo/Maltipoo hybrid Doodle Dog favoured by Martha Stewart, often mistaken in New York apartments for a misplaced muff – it had been quietly sussing the room in a friendly way until the master began hitting impossible high notes at the top of his Stradivarius’ hallowed neck. Woof! Woof!
I was a guest of American Friends of London’s Academy of St Martin in the Fields. It had just been announced that Bell has agreed to continue as Music Director for an additional four years. Celebrations all round. Rightly so.
The ensemble is also celebrating the 100th anniversary of the birth of founder, Sir Neville Mariner with an effort to ratchet up its presence in the USA. A String Ensemble is touring in October – Columbia, Pittsfield, Hanover, Cedar Falls, Waterford, Denver, Santa Monica and Grass Valley.
Not obvious destinations for a London based troupe. The music-rush pioneers are determined to establish a stable bridgehead and move on from there.
The evening – fuelled by lush canapés and drinks – was a huge success. Bell led a varied programme, ranging across traditional European classics and American composers.
Everyone had a ball, and a lady was introduced who had donated $1m to the Academy. This was not an example I followed. I did, however, join the American Friends for a measly 200 bucks and look forward to more woofing through the fall.
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