One of the benefits of this Messiaen centenary year is the upsurge
in recordings of the composer’s works. Playing this music is as
satisfying as it is to listen to. It’s so rich that there are
always new angles to explore. You learn something new every time.
Easily
the best known piece on this recording is the Quartet for
the End of Time. It is now almost “basic repertoire” which
everyone should be familiar with. Part of its cachet stems from
the fact it was written in a prisoner of war camp in Silesia, in harsh conditions. This story has been told so often and so well that
it’s pointless telling it again, except for the fact that this
recording kept making me think about that first performance
in snowbound Görlitz. There are more spectacular versions, but
this one I like because it has the sincerity and commitment
Messiaen and his companions must have called upon. “Faith is
simple”, Messiaen used to say. Purity is often harder to achieve
than elaborate artifice. Listening to Matthew Schellhorn and
the soloists from the Philharmonia made me feel close to the
spirit of “simple” faith that must have shone through the spartan
conditions in which it was first played.
The
first section represents the beginning of time, depicting the
first birds waking to greet the dawn. Barnaby Robson’s clarinet
catches the light transparency. This section, is, after all,
called the “Liturgy of Crystal”. Schellhorn’s savage
ostinatos mark the dark power of nature – Messiaen’s characteristic
“canyons and mountains” are symbols of the grandeur of creation,
yet are also symbols of time, moving imperceptibly but inexorably
towards a final destination. From this rises the violin part,
pure, followed by the famous clarinet solo. Robson does the
long, searing legato well. It’s like a siren, for we are being
warned that something is about to happen. The clarinet’s long
lines also remind us that time stretches endlessly, and moves
purposefully forward. If the recording process captures some
of Robson’s breathing that’s no disadvantage, for it reminds
us he’s human. At the first performance in prison camp, Messiaen
and his quartet wore wooden clogs which added “extra percussion”
as they moved.
This
sense of slowly unfolding time marks the equally famous cello
solo, The legato here is so extended that the bow seems to hover
almost without movement. Here, David Cohen judged it well. Then,
like a scherzo, the lively fourth section marks a change of
mood – I liked the three cello thrusts near the end, like a
village band. This makes the next quiet movement so moving.
This is classic Messiaen “contemplative rapture”, the violin
soaring upwards, marked by the steady pulse of the piano. The
seventh section, Danse de la fureur is a favourite with
many listeners because it’s easy to follow, the instruments
playing similar cadences. But it’s not as simple as some assume:
Messiaen is breaking time up into whizzing blocks of sound,
up and down the scale, finally exploding in the massive final
theme which marks the sounding of the Seven Trumpets that herald
the End of Time. With four basic instruments, Messiaen is depicting
massive, apocalyptic forces.
Because
of the circumstances in which this piece was written, it’s sometimes
claimed that performances should be gloomily portentous. Yet
in 1941, the final Holocaust and Hiroshima had not happened. In any case the Bible does not depict
the End of Time as disaster, but a kind of liberation. Worldly
sufferings don’t last. So the final two sections express sublime
reverence, contemplating Immortality. At last the violin has
its moment of glory, and James Clark revels, supported by the
piano, clarinet and cello.
Messiaen
fans will seek this recording out for the relative rarities
it contains. Fantaisie, for violin and piano, was not
published until 2007 when it was finally unearthed from the
mass of material the composer left behind. It was written for
Messiaen’s first wife, the violinist Claire Delbos, with whom
he often performed. Already, the composer’s adamant, dominant
chords appear, contrasted with the freer sensuality of the violin.
Schellhorn is heard to very good effect here, reminding one
how the piece resembles the mighty organ version of L’ascension,
written in the same period. It would be interesting to hear
the piano, organ and full orchestral works together.
Also
relatively unknown is Le Merle noir (The blackbird) written
as an exam piece for students at the Conservatoire. The flautist,
Kenneth Smith, is put through the paces, displaying various
techniques as the music evolves. Morceau de lecture à vue is a morsel indeed, a sight-reading piece written to
test students, rather than as “art”. Yet these morsels count,
as Messiaen was a brilliant and extremely unusual teacher, whose
methods have yet to be thoroughly appreciated. A more complete
“performance version” of Pièce pour piano et quatuor à cordes
was heard at the Proms in 2008. Here Schellhorn gives us the
original, as Messiaen left it. As such, its very simplicity
is a virtue, for it reminds us just how pure and sincere Messiaen’s
vision could be.
Anne Ozorio
Matthew Schellhorn (piano); Soloists of the Philharmonia Orchestra,
