‘Mit Singen kann er lachen / Und selig weinen machen!’
He certainly can, although in this recital much of the laughter and
blissful tears came in the second half, during which Quasthoff and Zeyen
gave us performances of five Loewe ballads and three encores which it
would be difficult to imagine being equalled in their combination of
charm, vocal prowess and powerful characterization.
The first half of the concert was composed of a selection
of mostly well – loved Schubert songs to poems by Seidl, Schulze and
Goethe; they presented a very similar group at last season’s Schubertiade,
and I have reviewed the performance here. It is in the nature of live
music, of course, that every evening is different, and last night it
seemed to me that Quasthoff was not singing with the same kind of commitment
that he had displayed in Schwarzenberg; indeed, there were times when
I felt that he was not as familiar with the songs as I would expect
him to be, and his frequent use of the score in front of him impeded
direct communication with the audience. ‘Sehnsucht’ was rather a strained
beginning, and it was not until ‘Der Wanderer an den Mond’ that we could
really hear what this singer and accompanist can do; that poignant key
change which still brings tears to one’s eyes even after the five hundredth
hearing, was achieved with subtle grace, and the tone of both voice
and piano at ‘Doch auf der Himmel Boden steht!’ was as beautiful as
could be desired.
There were times during parts of the programme where
singer and pianist did not achieve their accustomed unity, most notably
in ‘Bei dir allein,’ but the performance of ‘Im Frühling’ was very
fine. This evocation of the contrast between the bleakness of the present
and the exquisite nature of remembered joy was sung and played with
sensitivity and intimacy, although there were lines where I felt that
almost too exaggerated tempi had been chosen. This, indeed, was something
I noticed often, in that lines seemed to be pulled about by the singer
in a rather wayward fashion, and this may have contributed to what I
heard as a lack of colour in the voice; the tone seemed not to possess
its familiar nobility or burnished quality, although this observation
relates only to the first half, since the Ballads which comprised the
second allowed Quasthoff to display his great skills as a narrator and
interpreter of dramatic incident.
Loewe’s ballads are not very often performed, and one
can see why; apart from their length, they present daunting challenges
to any singer or pianist, but on this occasion we were treated to renditions
of these eerie narratives that were as gripping as anyone could desire.
‘Der Nöck’ tells the tale of the spirit who taught mortals to sing
and was thereby promised redemption, and Quasthoff’s performance of
it was stunning, his long – spun lines in the narrative – ‘Und atmend
horcht die Nachtigall’ contrasting with his pleading at ‘Komm wieder,
Nöck, du singst so schön.’ The gruesome ‘Edward’ was equally
gripping, sung and played with tremendous force and fervour; Quasthoff’s
characterization of the lines was masterly, especially in the son’s
harsh ‘Die Welt is gross, lass sie betteln drin’ and the passionate
damning of ’Fluch will each lassen…..’
‘Tom der Reimer’ is probably the most popular of Loewe’s
ballads, and it is clearly a piece very close to Quasthoff’s heart;
it was not difficult to see him in both the roles of enraptured poet
and bewitching Elf Queen, since he presented both with equal wit and
empathy. The arching lines at ‘Er küsste sie, sie küsste ihn,
Ein Vogel sang im Eschenbaum’ were remarkable for the ecstatic tone
of the voice and the accompanying rippling of the piano, and the narrative
unfolded with mesmerizing pathos. ‘Nun bist du mein, nun zieh mit mir,
Nun bist du mein auf sieben Jahr’ sings the Elf Queen to the poet, and
so we were, and many of us would quite probably have been willing to
follow him into that greenwood for seven years.
Three encores followed, a lively, vividly characterized
‘Heidenröslein’ which Quasthoff informed us he would not introduce
because, he said rather slyly, ‘You are of course the most educated
audience…………’ a mischievous ‘Die Forelle,’ and finally ‘Danny Boy.’
My distaste for what might be called ‘non – classical’ encores being
well known, a friend waggishly remarked afterwards that ‘He sang ‘Danny
Boy’ just for you,’ and indeed, as the first few notes sounded, I had
felt my husband’s hand on my arm – not in a romantic gesture for once,
but, he said, to keep me from leaving. Had I done so (and who would
dare, given that this singer is quite likely to call one back) I would
have missed a treasurable performance; like John McCormack and Gerald
Moore before them, Quasthoff and Zeyen lavished as much love and care
upon this sentimental ballad as thought it had been by Mozart; Quasthoff’s
inherently touching voice is perfect for the sweet melancholy of this
song, and it called forth tears from many in the audience…… oh, all
right, then – my throat did tighten up a little. So there.
Writers often say that audiences are ‘in the palm’
of a singer’s hand, and those of us so blest as to be in easy reach
of the Wigmore Hall have now had that experience twice within six days,
the other being Matthias Goerne’s recital on Friday, but what very different
experiences these are. The palm of Goerne’s hand is sometimes a rather
scary place to be; you know that you’re hearing a voice of unsurpassable
beauty and unrivalled technical skill, that you’re learn a lot from
being there, that you’ll emerge with a new approach to music you thought
you already knew, but it’s also a bit of a white – knuckle ride into
a world of such unique intensity that you sometimes fear for your –
and his – safety. With Quasthoff, you simply feel warmly held by a uniquely
affectionate spirit, and if the audience reaction on Wednesday was anything
to go by, you find it hard to leave.
Melanie Eskenazi
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