RSNO: Søndergård Conducts Alpine Symphony
Usher Hall - 29/04/22
After the excitement of a nearly full Usher Hall on Thursday night for the SCO Mozart, Chopin and Beethoven concert, it was a salutary experience to be in a half full hall for the RSNO Friday night concert of Capperauld, Alfvén and Strauss. Clearly, the names of the composers in both concerts reveals the reason for the attendances, but it was quite a marked difference. Happily, there were more young people in the Friday audience than usual, and they certainly made up for the numbers in volume of applause and cheering, since it was an excellent concert, culminating in a fantastic performance of Richard Strauss’ huge Alpine Symphony. Still, it was a programming choice that didn’t quite work out, as an unknown modern piece by a young Scottish composer, an unknown ballet suite by an unknown Swedish composer and a rarely- played symphony by a not very well known, if established, composer were unlikely to bring in a bumper crowd! This was a shame, as it was a terrific concert, especially the Strauss, and it featured the biggest orchestra you will ever see, the RSNO being joined by musicians from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. I assume that, with the Conservatoire being in Glasgow, the follow-up Saturday night concert in Glasgow will be much better attended, as I presume there will be a lot of friends and relatives of the students there!
We began with a piece by the Scottish composer, Jay Capperauld, entitled Féin- Aithne, which my recent study of Scottish Gaelic reveals is “self-identity”. The composer graduated with a Masters degree in Composition (with Distinction) from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland in 2014, and this work was premiered by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra in 2016. Mr Capperauld describes the piece as “a representation of my own sense of identity as a Scot”, and he has written a very personal and interesting introduction to Féin-Aithne in the programme. He has composed several quasi traditional Scottish “folk” melodies, including piobaireachds, airs and jigs, in order “to personalise and internalise (his) own culture within a musical context”.
This all sounded excellent in the programme, but I was saddened to discover the reality of an over-loud, raucous and largely incomprehensible din, with occasional quiet rapt moments. Nary a folk melody could I perceive, and the sheer volume of noise was at times unbearable. It felt like a throwback to those days when composers wanted to tell us that music was not there to be enjoyed but was rather an exercise in self-expression. This may be the reaction of an older person to something new and exciting, and indeed there were cheers and bravos from some sections of the audience, but at the interval incomprehension was the unifying response. Mr Capperauld explained in his notes that the work was able to be reinvented each time it was performed and, indeed, we heard the 2022 version, but I am not sure I would like to follow its course.
The second work in the programme was a suite formed from a ballet written by the Swedish composer, Hugo Alfvén, of whom I had previously been unaware. This was Bergakungen Suite (the King of the Mountains Suite), an orchestral selection taken from his rarely performed ballet of the same name. It had its premiere as a ballet in 1923 in Stockholm and told the story of a troll abducting a shepherdess. Realising it was never going to be a standard ballet, Alfvén composed this four movement suite, which I have to say I found delightful, if undistinguished. There were some lovely moments, and I particularly enjoyed the last movement, Dance of the Shepherd Girl, with its super-fast outer parts balancing a more leisurely section within. Whether it merited its place in a concert programme, I am not sure, but the huge combined forces of the RSNO and the RCS gave their all.
Most of the audience had come for the chance to hear Richard Strauss’ last tone poem, Eine Alpensinfonie (An Alpine Symphony), one of the mightiest orchestral pieces ever written, necessitating enormous numbers of players. I had never heard it live before, and it did not disappoint.
The RSNO’s musical director, Thomas Søndergård, was the conductor for the evening, and the Strauss really demonstrated what a great asset he is to Scottish musical life. He was in total control of his massive forces right from the very beginning, and I found his conducting, even from behind, mesmerising. He has a very clear beat and is magnificently expressive in his movements at the podium. I am endlessly fascinated by great conductors, many of whom I have worked with, from our own great Sir Alexander Gibson through Sir Colin Davis and Norman del Mar (a Strauss expert with whom I sang his late opera ‘Capriccio’) to Sir Antonio Pappano and Sir Donald Runnicles. What makes them different from the average? It’s not just the clarity of the beat – certainly not in Sir Alex’s case – nor the amount of movement or gesture, but perhaps the essence is a sort of calm in the midst of a storm, and the Alpine Symphony presents us with the Daddy of all orchestral storms. It was interesting to hear two of the great symphonic storms on consecutive nights, with Beethoven’s Pastoral on Thursday and Strauss’ huge alpine tempest on Friday.
Richard Strauss, a proud son of Bavaria, loved the high Alps in the south of his homeland, and indeed built himself a magnificent villa near the mountain resort of Garmisch-Partenkirchen. As a youth, he went climbing in the mountains with friends, and this work, at its most simplistic, is a presentation in music of one such jaunt into the Alps, from sunrise, through the fields and alpine meadows with their tinkling cowbells, on to the fearsome glacier, and despite dangerous moments, to the mighty summit. The descent becomes treacherous, as a huge storm hits the climbers, but eventually the friends return safely, the sun sets, and night descends on the mountain. Strauss depicts this scenario in 22 short movements, and one can follow the day’s events by using his précis. Yet, there is more to it than that. The work was long in gestation, with early sketches in 1899, and represents more than just a day’s climbing. The death of Gustav Mahler in 1911 affected Strauss greatly, and the advent of the First World War in 1914 must have upset this famously unworldly man. The work was premiered in Berlin in 1915, played by the orchestra of the Dresden Hofkapelle, conducted by the composer, and it is on a very large scale. A minimum of 125 players is needed, with huge brass sections, an off-stage band of sixteen brass players, and a vast array of percussion instruments, including two sets of timpani, various drums, tam-tam, cowbells, two wind machines and a thunder sheet. No wonder the RSNO brought in so many students from the Conservatoire, as the cost must have been enormous.
It all made for a most exciting experience, as Mr Søndergård took us through the many stages of the work, and when the full forces were unleashed in the storm, the Usher Hall shook on its foundations. These are the sort of works which demonstrate the necessity for a great symphony orchestra in Scotland, and the RSNO are presently at the height of their powers. We are indeed fortunate at this time, to have such a fine conductor at the head of the orchestra, and the programme for the coming season, which has just been released, is very promising, for we can look forward to more wonderful occasions like this one. It was only sad that so few people were there to experience it, and it may be that more publicity could be arranged, to seek out the audiences that we need.
My concert going over the last month has convinced me that there is a future for great classical music in Edinburgh, and there is a younger cohort out there which needs to be teased in, maybe with cheaper seats, but certainly with more overt publicity. I am very conscious that I am writing here after the event. Maybe we should be setting concerts up, almost as much as we review them? There is little point in me telling you what you have missed. I would much rather share, with a larger number, my views and ideas about what we have heard together, than reveal the delights of the past to an absent audience! I don’t in any way want to dismiss the idea of a review, since that’s why I am here writing this, but wouldn’t it be great if we could all share this wonderful music together, and I could perhaps guide your understanding of it, rather than tell you how much I enjoyed it (and occasionally didn’t enjoy it), and how you should have been there?
