Berlioz, Sibelius, Ives, Stravinsky, Adès: Rebecca von Lipinski (soprano), Susan Bickley (Mezzo-soprano), BBC Singers, BBC Symphony Orchestra, Barbican Hall, London, 13.04.2007 (AO)


This was a programme filled with blockbusters, each carefully chosen to enhance Thomas Adès’ America: A Prophecy. The experience would have been overwhelming had the performance matched it in intensity throughout.  Too many high-octane explosions at one time can exhaust the ear.  Since this concert was part of the major Thomas Adès retrospective, and showcases his most significant work, it can safely be assumed that the audience had come to hear Adès.  The rest of the programme is fairly well-known, and in any case was compiled to enhance America, and place it in perspective.  Thus if performances up to the highlight of the evening were less than explosive, for once, there was a valid artistic reason.

America: a Prophecy was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic to celebrate the Millennium.  Horrifically, its premiere was eclipsed by the events of 9/11, although the text in fact refers to the annihilation of Mayan civilisation 500 years ago.  America: a Prophecy is about extreme cataclysm. Accordingly it’s an explosive statement.

Thus the concert opened with a brash curtain raiser, Berlioz’s early Overture from Les francs-juges.  Much more substantial, though, was Sibelius’s Luonnotar.  This remarkable piece of music is based on a primeval creation myth from the Kalevala, describing how the world was formed after millennia of nothingness and suffering. America : a Prophecy may be about the end of the world, but what both pieces have in common is a sense that seems to tap into ancient, shamanistic wisdom.  Luonnotar’s metre stems from the wailing singing style Karelian folk musicians used.  It’s essentially wild and untamed.  The tension between this primal energy and formal, orchestral convention can ignite very powerful interpretations, but on this occasion, its depths were more hinted at than realised. I was, however, quite pleased with Rebecca von Lipinski, the soloist.  Luonnotar is one of the ultimate challenges in song, the K2 of soprano repertoire, not to be attempted by any but the brave.  There are sudden leaps of almost an octave within a single word, extreme changes of emotional intensity and Finnish isn’t the easiest language to sing.  When von Lipinski came to the final verse, her relief was palpable.  It really was too much to expect her to express ecstatic wonderment at the idea of stars forming in the firmament. If only the orchestra had done the music justice! On the other hand, though, it is not a piece that’s easy to integrate into a programme with as many star turns as this one. Also, I’m probably too picky as I love this piece so much.  Please see review.

Another aspect of America: a Prophecy is its conjunction of different musical forms.  Charles Ives was, of course, a master of this genre, and Adès has conducted his work regularly.  Ives’ Orchestral Set no 2 benefited from much more careful preparation, and was a more satisfying experience. The opening bars vary almost imperceptibly, but Adès makes their subtle progression resonate like some undersea current.  This music is a composite of hymns, marches and popular song.  Each brief snatch of melody evokes memories and wider connotations, expanding the effect beyond the notes on the page. Conducting multi-layered music like this must take considerable focus. 

It’s like those marching bands where the players march precisely, but in different formations, interweaving and regrouping while somehow still playing the same tune. Here, Adès deftly kept the shifting textures distinct, while retaining a clear sense of the music’s overall direction.  I really liked the way the orchestra achieved the “smeary” discords.  The piano vaguely resembles a banjo, and the accordion wavers, deliberately, almost off-key. Ives isn’t doing reality but a quirky alternative.  The tolling bells in the third part sounded eerily as though they were heard from a distance, as if underwater.  Then I remembered why Ives had written it in the first place – as a reaction to the news of the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915.  That was the 9/11 of its day.

The juxtaposition of Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms  and the rest of the programme was also interesting.  Stravinsky is writing a symphony using ancient psalms as source material, rather than setting the psalms themselves, but he was a believer.  In America: a Prophecy, religion is an agent for destruction. The mood here is of catastrophic upheaval. The opening is portentous and tense, intensified by dark figures on tuba.  Then, suddenly, out of the gloom, the soprano peals forth with a piercing, lucid “Ooooooh……”.  Susan Bickley has been singing this piece for years and she knows intimately how to colour her line in relationship to what’s happening in the orchestra.  Her long, pure tones are followed by sharp staccatos, like fragile shards, splintering, then are followed by a sonorous passage where tubular bells, drums and low-toned winds resurge.  “They will come! They will come!” Bickley cries. Then Adès unleashes the prophecy of destruction in a huge, violent crescendo complete with unmuffled tuba played full blast, and a magnificent section for trumpets, one of which is surprisingly high-pitched and shrill, creating an intense, almost hysterical effect.  From having heard Ives, we can better appreciate the way Adès weaves conflicting themes like “Spanish” military fanfares and what sounds strangely alien, like Mayan music.  In the last few years there’s been a surge of interest in music written in South America in the wake of the Conquistadors. It would be fascinating to hear America: a Prophecy in that context, though it’s probably too specialist to be practical in normal performance. Bickley intones, “Prepare!” her line surrounded by metallic figures on flutes and brass. The strings stay silent, as if enchained.  The choral parts convey a sense of sinister might, making the contrast with the solo voice even more striking.  Again, Bickley leads,” Burn, burn, burn !”, and later “Ash, ash, ash !”, the final repeat taken near the top of her range, an echo, perhaps, of the shrill, high-pitched trumpet. Her final line “Ash feels no pain” is chilled and hollow, reflecting the metallic, muffled percussion.  The music ends with almost imperceptible violin bowings, as if those “defeated” in the prophecy aren’t completely extinguished. In this piece, Adès conducted with passion and conviction, inspiring a performance that was worth waiting for.

 

Anne Ozorio