Scottish Chamber Orchestra: The Auld Alliance with Maxim, Karen Cargill and the SCO Chorus
Usher Hall - 21/03/24
Scottish Chamber Orchestra | SCO Chorus | Maxim Emelyanychev, conductor | Karen Cargill, mezzo-soprano | Gregory Batsleer, chorus director | Robert Jordan, bagpipes
Four short works, none lasting more than 20 minutes, make up tonight’s programme celebrating the ancient Franco-Scottish Alliance, a real enough compact when both countries were threatened by the might of England, but now a more sentimental bond.
Berlioz’s ‘Rob Roy’ is an appropriate opener, the French composer’s tribute to Scotland and in particular to the hero of Walter Scott’s novel. The work’s main theme is the melody of ‘Scots Wha Hae’, otherwise known as ‘Hey Tuttie Tatie,’ the pipe tune popularly supposed to have been played before the Battle of Bannockburn. Wikipedia reveals that the song, known as ‘Marche des soldats de Robert Bruce,’ is on a list of French traditional military music, and commemorates the Auld Alliance. There is unfortunately no citation for the further intriguing claim that the tune was played by Franco-Scottish troops before Joan of Arc at the Siege of Orleans in 1429!
With an orchestra almost 50 strong it makes a rousing start to the programme, the contribution of four horns , two natural trumpets, a cornet and three trombones providing considerable heft to the familiar notes. After development by full orchestra, the tune alternates with another martial theme for lower strings and winds, before a gentle melody for oboe and harp breaks through., one that Berlioz later recycled for ‘Harold in Italy.’ The ‘Scots Wha Hae’ tune resurfaces at first tentatively and in varying guises, finally progressing unhindered to a fortissimo conclusion.
Tonight’s second Berlioz work, also composed when he was in his twenties, is quite different. The cantata ‘La Mort de Cléopâtre’ was written in 1829 as a competition piece, his fourth attempt to win the Prix de Rome. Last month we heard Carolyn Sampson sing ‘Herminie,’ Berlioz’s entry for the Prix de Rome the previous year, which came second. Alas, ‘Cléopâtre,’ a more adventurous cantata, did not meet the judges’ approval.’ Karen Cargill is the soloist in this richly coloured imagining of the last minutes of Cleopatra’s life. More focussed than ‘Herminie,’ and with even more flamboyant orchestration, this is a splendid vehicle for Cargill’s rich mezzo. The cantata is in two parts, ‘Scène lyrique’ and ‘Méditation.’ After an ominous orchestral introduction, an accompanied recitative recounts Cleopatra’s shame at having to plead with her conqueror, Octavian, and her irritation that he has failed to respond to her “charms.” Pierre-Ange Vieillard’s subtle libretto indicates that Cleopatra is proud of being the widow of both Julius Caesar and Antony , but is also always conscious of her position as ‘‘the daughter of the Pharoahs”. (Unfortunately the practice of providing a printed libretto then dimming the lights means that these finer points are not always apparent during the performance!) The aria which follows is melodic with delicate wind accompaniment and begins with a happy reminiscence of her days with Caesar and Antony when she ”appeared in triumph on the banks of the Cydnus”. This refrain is repeated twice, interspersed with further exploration of her current shameful position, brought about by the defeat at Actium – these sections with heavier orchestration. In a further dramatic recitative, the ‘Scène’ ends with her decision to commit suicide. “There is nothing for me but eternal night.” ‘Méditation’ contains outbursts in which Cargill’s voice soars over the brass, as she take upon herself the burden of knowledge that she has caused the defeat of Egypt by the Romans. The musical depiction of Cleopatra’s death in voice and orchestration is the most daring writing in the cantata. The appearance of the “serpent,” the asp that causes her death, is brilliantly realised in Berlioz’s music: a slithering in the lower strings and the fierce stabs of piercing violins conjure up the moment and the horror of her death. Karen’s broken voice, and the quivering orchestration fade away poignantly. There’s much appreciation of Karen Cargill’s performance in the prolonged applause.
After the interval, the Scottish part of the programme contains two works by composers, very much associated with the SCO. Tonight sees the World Premiere of James MacMillan’s ‘Composed in August,’ a setting of a poem by Burns for orchestra and choir. Better known by its first words, ‘Now Westlin’ Winds,’ it was one of Burns’ earliest works, in which, as MacMillan says, ”the poet’s love of nature is contrasted with and interwoven with his love of a young woman.” The poem also elaborates Burns’ concern, clear from the first line, that August is the month of “slaughtering guns.”
After a hummed opening, the first verse is a folk -like melody for all four parts. After an interlude of bird-song on the clarinets, flutes and oboes, the lower voices take up the main melody in the second verse, while the upper voices, and continued orchestral bird-song, provide an ornate accompaniment. The birds are mentioned by name in this verse: “paitrick” (partridge) “plover” “woodcock” and “cushet” (pigeon or dove) . Halfway through the third verse the mood changes abruptly, as frantic strings, trumpets and timpani accompany the singing of “Avaunt, away, the cruel sway/Tyrannic man’s dominion!/ The sportsman’s joy, the murdering cry/The fluttering , gory pinion.” The terror subsides but despite the love theme of the fourth verse, a certain unease is suggested by high violins and soft trumpets. Oboist Katherine Bryer moves to the side of the stage, where she plays an extended bird-like solo, with trills and swoops – an entirely joyous flourish. There’s a gradual diminuendo by the orchestra and the choir finishes as it began with humming. It’s an enjoyable, yet thought-provoking setting. MacMillan has a gift for writing choral works, and this is sure to be heard often. The composer takes his bow to enthusiastic applause, with Gregory Batsleer, the SCO Chorus Director and the Chorus also greeted with cheers.
The Chorus stay on stage to enjoy the final item, ‘An Orkney Wedding with Sunrise,’ one of the pieces which Peter Maxwell Davies wrote while he lived on Orkney. On my first visit to the St Magnus Festival some years ago, I saw Max conduct children’s choirs from various Orkney schools in songs he’d written for their parents’ generation many years earlier. Staff and local worthies are mentioned in the songs by name, and some were at the concert, as well as the now grown-up children, seen in the original photographs on the stage. ‘An Orkney Wedding’ is another example of his benign and witty populism.
The orchestra begins raucously, and gets more so, as our conductor, another Max, puts his hands over his ears and appeals to the audience. More coherent dances in scotch-snap rhythms follow: Max stamps the beat and the orchestra hoochs as a reel is struck up. When a tray bearing two tots of whisky is brought on, Stephanie Gonley has one, Max the other. Stephanie’s careful fiddle solo soon starts to go awry, but here are her fellow string principals, yet another Max on viola and Nikita on double bass, trying to help her, despite producing very strange sounds from their own instruments… The music fades, but as dawn breaks with the shining sounds of brass, a perfectly timed piper enters from the back of the hall to join the orchestra for the final celebration. It works every time! Piper, Robert Jordan, who made the recording of ‘Orkney Wedding’ with Peter Maxwell Davies and the SCO, takes his applause with Maxim and the orchestra.
The audience leaves, still smiling.
