It is a very good idea to couple together the two
last major works of Mozart, both written in the final year of his life
and looking forward to the romantic era which was soon to dawn. These
two works have something else in common; they are both best known in
editions which contain music that was certainly not written by Mozart.
In the case of the
Clarinet Concerto this arose from the fact
that Mozart was writing for an instrument which had only recently begun
to be employed in orchestral music, and the design of which had not
been finally established. In particular it is clear that the clarinet
for which he wrote had an additional downward extension in range which
Mozart did not hesitate to employ. When the work came to be published
(the original manuscript is lost) an unknown editor rewrote these passages,
transposing up an octave the parts of the score that were unplayable
on the clarinet as that instrument had become standardised. The results
are often very difficult to play, with inelegant fast-running passages
over the ‘break’ in the instrument’s compass which
certainly were not what Mozart originally had in mind. In recent years
attempts have been made to reconstruct the instrument for which Mozart
wrote - it has been dubbed, not very originally, the ‘basset clarinet’
- and restoring the low-lying passages to their original octave. The
results are much more satisfactory as a musical experience than with
the old ‘standard’ edition, and that is the version of the
score that we are given here.
The clarinet part is played superbly by Benjamin Dieltjens on an instrument
with delightfully woody tone. It is described in the booklet as a “clarinette
de basset” but the soloist explains in a lengthy note that in
fact he used two instruments, including a specially adapted clarinet
constructed by Rudolf Tutz of Innsbruck on the basis of a sketch of
Stadler’s original instrument found in Riga. He says that he sought
to obtain a vocal quality of sound, and in this he succeeds magnificently.
The period instruments which accompany are also superbly characterful,
but as so often with ‘authentic’ performances there is something
wrong with the internal orchestral balance. We know that Mozart expressed
delight when he came across an orchestra which sported forty violins
- even Wagner would have regarded that number as excessive - and there
can surely be little doubt that the reason for this delight would have
been his realisation that at last the melodic lines in the violins could
be properly heard without being overbalanced by the wind and brass accompaniment.
During the
concertante passages of the performance here, the
balance between clarinet and strings is succulent and tasty. During
the
tutti sections (especially at the opening) the violin lines
- which bear the brunt of the thematic development - are frequently
so far overshadowed by the wind and brass as to be ineffective. There
are a mere dozen violins here, and double that number would hardly have
been sufficient. It seems to me that there is a bleak choice here: either
we have the music of Mozart and his contemporaries played by chamber
orchestras, in which case modern instruments are needed to ensure correct
balance; or we should have larger bodies of ‘period’ strings
in order to make certain that the intentions of the composer are properly
realised. To try and have one’s cake and eat it is here to miss
out on the cake altogether, or at least a considerable part of the filling.
The
Requiem was never completed by Mozart at all, and the standard
version for many years was that made by his pupil Süssmayr at the
request of Mozart’s widow Constanze, who was anxious to obtain
the commission that was due on the completion of the work. Initially
there was some confusion as to how much of the work was Mozart’s
and how much that of Süssmayr, but editions from the mid-nineteenth
century onwards clearly identified the work of each composer. It was
not until the mid-twentieth century, however, that new editions of the
work began to appear, replacing Süssmayr’s sections of the
score with alternatives founded in Mozart’s sketches. This procedure
generated a good deal of controversy; it is not clear to what extent
Mozart discussed his intentions for the work with Süssmayr, but
the pupil may well have been given guidance by the master which should
not be simply ignored. What we are given in this performance is by and
large simply the sections of the score which Mozart is known to have
substantially completed - which leaves out the whole of the
Sanctus,
Benedictus and
Agnus Dei - with one exception. The
Lacrymosa,
which was left incomplete by Mozart, is here given in Süssmayr’s
completion with the addition of an
Amen fugue written by Richard
Maunder and based on a Mozartean sketch which Süssmayr ignored.
The result is somewhat odd - the Süssmayr conclusion ends with
a bold choral
Amen to which the ‘new’ fugue seems
a rather perfunctory appendage. David Druce, in his edition of the score,
takes the bolder step of recomposing the Süssmayr material to lead
into the fugal material in a more organic - if perhaps less Mozartean
- manner. What it all comes down to in this performance is whether the
listener will want a recording in which the matter of completion (by
whichever editor) is completely ignored and the work left as an inevitably
incomplete torso. It has been suggested, for example, that the fugal
Hosanna is based on a subject which Mozart himself suggested
to Süssmayr - and if that is indeed the case, surely this passage
at least should not simply be omitted. There are also one or two oddities
in the edition of the score presented here. This basically follows the
revised edition of 2005 by Hans Beyer, but the conductor explains that
he has ‘completed’ the trumpet parts in the
Dies irae
and those for the trombones in the
Offertorium. This doubling
of the choral parts by trombones is dubious at best, especially when
the results sometimes drown out the singers. The
crescendo on
the final chord, thrilling as it is as a conclusion to the performance,
does not sound very Mozartean at all but more like a romantic excrescence
on the score.
Nonetheless the performance
is a thrilling one. The choir, an
excellent body of two dozen singers, are lively and strong. Clearly
they thoroughly enjoy themselves. The soloists, a well-blended team,
are also nicely full-bodied and make no attempt to produce the sort
of anaemic tone that sometimes is held to pass for authenticity. As
in the concerto, one could really do with more body from the string
players, but since so much of the thematic content is contained in the
vocal and woodwind lines this is not as serious a problem as in the
concerto, although this could also be the result of the different and
more resonant recording venue.
In short, despite some reservations over the internal balances of the
orchestra, this is a most enjoyable pair of performances. If the ingenious
coupling appeals, lovers of period instruments will find much to give
pleasure - more so in the
Requiem than in
Roger
Norrington’s period performance which I reviewed recently.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
