Mark Minkowski’s set of Haydn’s London Symphonies
was remarkable for a distinctive, unique take on a set of well-loved,
well-respected masterpieces. This set brings him and his orchestra
back to the Vienna Konzerthaus for another journey of exploration
in the canon of Viennese symphonies. The results are every bit
as exciting.
Les Musiciens du Louvre Grenoble are one of the most interesting
“authentic” bands playing today. Working with Minkowski,
they create a sound-world for Schubert that is utterly distinctive
and really rather special. They use period instruments, but
avoid the slightly harsh, sometimes abrasive sound that can
sometimes mar performances from the likes of Roy Goodman and
the Hanover Band. Minkowski’s performances feel revelatory
and exploratory rather than confrontational or intentionally
iconoclastic. The first thing you notice is the playing of the
winds: perky, distinctive, even a little cheeky in the early
symphonies - especially the two D major works - with a slightly
sour twang that gives them bags of character while still being
enormously pleasing to the ear. Listen to the moment when the
introduction to No. 3 veers away from the home key of D: the
wind playing that accompanies that episode is inquisitive and
probing, even ghostly at times. I found it magical and for me
it worked completely. They are capable of comedy too, resembling
the wheeze of a hurdy-gurdy in the trio of No. 3’s Menuet.
The strings, meanwhile, have that slight rough edge to them
that singles them out as interesting without once approaching
ugliness. Instead they have a sharpness that penetrates the
score and make the line stick out all the more. This is heard
to best effect in the first two movements of No. 4. The main
theme of the Allegro is vigorous and exciting, the gut sound
giving the minor key an extra edge of dramatic excitement. In
the succeeding Andante, however, the string sound is transformed
into something restful and beautiful, with almost an air of
benediction.
The whole approach works because it’s all of a piece with
the way Minkowski brings these works to life. He strips off
the patina that can accrue over these works and replaces it
with a forensic exploration of the music that, for me at any
rate, made it feel as though I was exploring these works for
the very first time. It also serves as a reminder of just how
fresh and exciting these works are, the earliest symphonic explorations
of a prodigious genius showing just what he could do. No. 5,
for example, comes across as a much more mature work than it
is normally given credit for. The first movement is sunny and
carefree but still vigorous and determined. The Andante, proceeding
with a fair spring to its step, is profound and beautiful, while
the Menuet is by turns stern and playful while always remaining
vigorous. The finale scampers with the playfulness of a kitten.
Minkowski’s direction is as fresh and exciting as is the
playing of his musicians. The slow movement of No. 3, for example,
proceeds with minimum bustle but a huge amount of Haydnesque
wit, the violins seeming to engage in a question-and-answer
session. It’s almost a game, with the rest of the orchestra,
and answered with a clarinet that simply oozes character. He
doesn’t lack any wit or exuberance in the early symphonies.
The finale of No. 3 whizzes like a Catherine Wheel, while in
that symphony’s Menuet he relishes the comedy of the off-centre
downbeat. There is drama and intensity too, however, even in
the most youthful works: the minor key episode in No. 1’s
Andante is intense and poetic; you have to keep reminding yourself
that this is the work of a “mere” sixteen year-old!
Likewise, the first movement of No.2 is a skittering, effervescent
delight, exuberant and playful with a majestic conclusion. Only
No. 6 feels a little routine, despite the delicacy of the grace
notes in the first movement, with a workmanlike slow movement
and slightly unexciting finale.
Minkowski’s interpretations deepen and broaden as he approaches
the two great last symphonies. The variety of texture in the
Unfinished is marvellous. Here, again, it is the string
tone that takes centre-stage, its hard edge lending the drama
an edge of severity, even of savagery that can really take the
listener aback. The beginning of the development feels like
a descent into the dark, and the first movement's coda is extremely
powerful. The strings then pour down Elysian light for the main
theme of the Andante, and the communion between strings and
winds makes for a sound of exceptional beauty and intelligence.
The first appearance of the second theme on the winds, for example,
emerges gently floated against a hovering bed of string sound
that is completely bewitching. It makes its ensuing savage disruption
all the more disturbing. Minkowski shapes the pair of movements
like panels of a complementary diptych, as if reflected in one
another. He produces a satisfyingly rounded whole, and there
is a sense of attainment and resignation in his reading of the
final bars.
The whole set is crowned by a sensational reading of the “Great”
C major, one of the finest I’ve heard. In the context
of the overall set, the sound for this symphony is surprisingly
big, notably more muscular than most of the rest of the set:
the horns that open the work came as a genuine surprise to me
in the light of what had gone before. Having a bigger orchestra
helps, but Minkowski’s skill is to keep them agile and
lithe in the pointing of every phrase: listen, for example,
to the way he launches the first movement’s exposition
repeat with what feels like a sly wink. The increased instrumentation
is allowed to do its job, though, and the trombones add an extra
blaze of glory to the coda. The Andante con moto proceeds
with seriousness and a touch of humour, with even a slightly
insolent tone to the way the oboe presents the main theme, and
the tutti passages are clipped and exciting. The Scherzo
is like a unison swagger, and the finale veritably bristles
with energy and, importantly, a sense of movement and direction.
The unison chords of the coda sound like the footsteps of a
giant, Schubert taking orchestral music to new territory and
succeeding triumphantly. The period instruments add an extra
touch of sauce to the sound, making this essential listening.
In fact, I’m tempted to say the same thing about the whole
set. Minkowski has re-thought these works and presented each
one with thoughtfulness and integrity. His players share his
love of them and, in their hands, listening to these works is
like undertaking a journey of discovery along with the musicians
themselves. In this way, the most pertinent comparison is with
Minkowski’s 2009 performances of Haydn’s London
Symphonies, also with Les Musiciens du Louvre, also recorded
live in the Vienna Konzerthaus. His approach to Haydn is as
archaeological as it is to Schubert: each symphony feels as
though it has been rediscovered, almost newly created. The special
texture of Les Musiciens du Louvre really brought the Haydn
symphonies alive in the same way as they do with Schubert. The
last three symphonies, in particular, with their especially
prominent roles for natural trumpets and drums, explode out
of the speakers with freshness and verve. In fact, Minkowski’s
greatest performance of that set, for me, is No. 102 in B flat.
He brings that work alive in the same way that he does with
Schubert’s junior B flat symphony. In the same way that
his Schubertian rhythms are well sprung and vigorous, he consistently
brings a similar touch to Haydn, particular in the triple time
opening movements of 96, 97 and 93. There is an irresistible
lilt in the way he points the rhythms of both composers, showing
himself to be fully inside the rhythmic universe of Classical
Vienna. The wit that he brings to Schubert is foreshadowed in
the various comic touches he brings to Haydn, such as the “foghorn”
effect at the end of 93’s slow movement, or the famous
surprise in No. 94 which is genuinely surprising here - I won’t
spoil it! More than anything else, though, it is the sheer,
explosive joy of music-making that unites these two symphonic
sets. No. 97’s opening movement, for example, is exhilarating,
as are the ebullient finales of No. 101 and No. 104.
Minkowski’s Haydn set has won many plaudits when it was
released, and this Schubert set deserves to do the same. It
helps that it appears at mid-price in an attractive clam-shell
box with excellent booklet notes. This is, for me, the most
successful Schubert set to have appeared since Abbado, and quite
possibly a first choice if you want period instruments. Invest
and enjoy.
Simon Thompson
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