Stream: RSNO Penderecki & Beethoven
This was another of the RSNO’s Digital concerts, played as live from their studios in Glasgow. It was originally intended that Principal Conductor, Thomas Sőndergård, would conduct the concert, but the Coronavirus and its travel restrictions and quarantining problems forced him to withdraw. In addition, a change of programme had to be made, as Karen Cargill was also unavailable, but, possibly to our advantage, the orchestra’s Principal horn player and the Principal cellist combined to create a new work, based on Belarusian folk songs, allowing us to share in the feelings of despair both in that country and abroad for its political crisis.
Krzysztof Penderecki, who died in March this year at the age of 86, was a Polish composer whose music changed over the years from avant garde modernism to a more approachable melodic style. Indeed, in his later years, he wrote extensively for film and television, but, throughout his career, it was clear that he was a composer of the first rank. The piece which opened this concert was the Adagio for Strings, a work adapted from his own Symphony No 3, and written in 2013. By this time in his career, he had realised that the experimental atonal music of his youth, influenced by Webern and Boulez, was taking him and others toward a dead end, and that audiences needed the grounding of harmony to understand what he wanted to say.
This short piece was a moving start to the concert, and we were introduced to it both by the Associate Leader of the orchestra and by the replacement conductor, Cornelius Meister. Mr Meister has recently taken control of music in Stuttgart in Germany, as director both of the State Opera and the State Orchestra, and he was clearly well in control here from the beginning. He was born in Hannover in 1980 and will also conduct Beethoven’s 7th Symphony in this Digital series.
The Adagio starts with a direct quote from the opening of Wagner’s ‘Tristan und Isolde’, one of the seminal works of 19th century music, and feels generally elegiac in character. From a quiet start, it swells gradually to a moving climax, and then fades away gently to its conclusion. It was the perfect start to the concert, showing off the fine string tone of the RSNO, and, rather like Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, one could imagine it played at funerals and as a soundtrack to a film. This is not in any way intended to be a negative comment, and I enjoyed it very much. The concert was sponsored by the Consulate General of the Republic of Poland and the Adam Mickiewicz Institute, as part of the celebrations to mark the centenary of Poland’s regained independence.
The change of conductor and soloist forced the RSNO to change the second item on the programme, but necessity proved the mother of invention by allowing us to hear a very moving set of three wordless Belarusian folk songs set by Christopher Gough, the orchestra’s principal horn player, given their first performance here by Aleksei Kiseliov, himself the principal cellist. A remarkable soloist on this most emotional of instruments, as well as a teacher at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, Mr Kiseliov is from Belarus, that interesting country bounded by Poland, Russia, Ukraine, Lithuania and Latvia; literally, White Russia, although opinions differ as to the origin of the name, it has existed as an independent Republic since the breakup of the Soviet Union in 1991, and since 1994, it has been ruled with an iron grip by Alexander Lukashenko. Disputed elections this year resulted in a crisis which continues to this day, as Lukashenko and the opposition leader, Svetlana Tikhanovskaya both claimed victory. Marches and protests have become a feature of life, along with brutal repression, and the crisis has been exacerbated by the government’s refusal to accept the consequences of the Coronavirus pandemic. Strongly supported by Russia, the outcome of the election has been severely criticised by the West, and Tikhanovskaya, in exile in nearby Lithuania, continues to claim that she should be president. No obvious solution is in sight, but the two musicians have created a piece designed to show solidarity with the people of Belarus in their struggle. It cannot be easy for Mr Kiseliov to be in Scotland when his country is in political turmoil, and suffering from inept handling of the pandemic, but, once again, music proves that it can speak directly to the heart, and this beautiful set of songs, magnificently played by soloist and orchestra, may give a little hope in difficult times.
The first song, ‘Flying Cranes’, starts with percussion and matches the cello against ethereal strings high above. Like the Penderecki, the movement swells through a slow melodic course, and then fades away gently. As it swells, there are definite echoes of Vaughan Williams, the great collector and user of British folk songs, but the intrinsic sadness of many Slavonic folk tunes comes through most markedly here.
The second song, ‘By the Sea’, was described by Mr Kiseliov as a sort of scherzo, a jolly song about swan feathers and infidelity. The orchestra plays with fine swagger and fire and the soloist is allowed to demonstrate his virtuosity before a quirky ending.
The third and final song, ‘Kupalinka’, is a more recent folk song and has been taken up as a sort of unofficial anthem by the protesters in Belarus. It is about a girl who gathers roses and turns them into a wreath which she tosses into the river. If it drifts away, she will marry. If it comes back to shore, she will not. If the wreath submerges, she will get sick.
This starts with an elegiac solo for cello, plumbing the depths of the Slav soul. From rich full bow to eerie harmonics, the music and the orchestral tapestry around sounds like a lament for a lost homeland. Mr Kiseliov plays beautifully, and we are lucky to have such a fine player in our orchestra. He obviously relishes the challenges set him by the composer, as we hear more echoes of Vaughan Williams, and the movement is brought to an ethereal close, allowing us to ponder on the sadness of a country trying to establish some sort of democracy in a dismal time. This very good substitute work prepares us for the sublime symphony that is Beethoven’s 6th, the Pastoral.
Written between 1802 and 1808 and premiered in a 4 hour, under-rehearsed concert at the Theater an der Wien in Vienna on 22nd December 1808, it was given its premiere in the same concert as the premiere of his 5th Symphony, and it is one of the quirks of history that it was played in the first half of the concert, and was actually heard before the 5th!
Vienna was and is surrounded by beautiful hills and woods, and Beethoven loved walking in the country. The forces of Napoleon, who had made himself emperor, to Beethoven’s horror, were crashing across Europe, leaving death and destruction in their wake. The Battle of Austerlitz on 2nd December 1805 had seen Napoleon triumphant against the forces of Austria and Russia, and the Treaty of Pressburg (modern day Bratislava in Slovakia) confirmed his ascendancy. The concert at the Theater an der Wien was partially organised to raise funds for injured Austrian soldiers.
Consequently, the pastoral nature of the 6th Symphony was in stark contrast to the reality of the countryside round Vienna, but Beethoven’s music transcends contemporary history and takes us deep into the Vienna Woods and the nearby fields and villages.
Cornelius Meister demonstrated his complete command of this well-known symphony, conducting from memory and delighting the viewer with his very expressive conducting and gestures. It is one of the joys of this digital season that we get to see the conductor as if from the orchestra, rather than his back as is normal in most concerts.
The first movement, “Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside” does indeed make us feel cheerful and warm, and it was good to see the full orchestra in the room, with woodwind, brass and timpani to the fore. Once again, the excellent camerawork allowed us to see the various solo players to fine effect, and Beethoven gives full rein to many of them. Mr Meister has a flexible conducting technique that I would describe as idiosyncratic, often appearing to be following rather than leading, but actually, always in control. He reminded me a little of the great Sir Alexander Gibson, founder and inspiration of this orchestra, and with whom I worked many times, albeit with Scottish Opera rather than the RSNO. It remains a source of regret that I never performed with my national orchestra, but such are often the vagaries of a long international career.
The orchestra played very beautifully, and, for I think the first time in my experience, I didn’t immediately conjure up visions of centaurs and centaurettes, a la Fantasia. My thoughts turned much more to that wondrous countryside around Vienna, directed by Beethoven’s inspiration.
The second movement, ‘By a Brook’, was taken very slowly indeed by Mr Meister, a smoothly flowing stream rather than a babbling brook, but it enabled us to relax into Beethoven’s vision perfectly, and to let the instruments depict that vision. I particularly enjoyed the flute playing, warmly expressive and touching. At the end of the movement when bird calls are created out of the woodwind (nightingale in the flute, quail in the oboe and cuckoo in the clarinets), it was lovely to watch the players listening to each other and complementing each other.
The third movement (‘Peasants Merrymaking’) was, in contrast, taken very fast, as if the peasants couldn’t wait to get dancing, spurred on by the excellent wine of the region. It turned into a veritable barn dance, and very entertaining it was, revealing the virtuosity of many of the players, including the French Horn.
The fourth movement (‘Thunderstorm’) starts ominously with gusts of wind and scurrying strings, and explodes into the full orchestra with trumpets and drums, in a great outburst, but it quickly subsides and the fifth movement (‘Shepherds’ Hymn after the Storm’) sees the storm pass into the distance. The rain stops, the clouds disperse and eventually, in one of the great moments in all music, the sun comes out again, and we are all bathed in the warmth of a glorious evening. It was great to watch Mr Meister bringing the symphony to a conclusion, and a very fine concert to an end.
It may be that his acquaintance with Stuttgart, close to the Black Forest in Germany, enabled him to let us hear and imagine a rural landscape rather different from Scotland’s.
It is interesting that my first review for the ‘Edinburgh Music Review’, back in pre-lockdown days, was of the Scottish Chamber Orchestra playing, among other pieces, this very same symphony. I have deliberately not looked at what I wrote then, but it is extremely encouraging to find two of Scotland’s best orchestras playing Beethoven so beautifully in this 250th anniversary of his birth. I have always been a Beethoven fan, and the fact that his music can still thrill and stimulate all these years later, and having heard it, and sung it many times, it amazes me that I can find new things to appreciate anew.
Magic!
