Editorial
Tolerance is possibly our Salvation
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“Marks & Spencer’s has apologised to a mother for causing her teenage daughter “distress” after she was asked if she needed help by a transgender employee in its bra section”, writes the Daily Telegraph and both the fact that M&S is said to have apologised and that the Daily Telegraph has found it worthy of their funds, and didn’t back off, is simply an embarrassment for the civilised world we want to be a part of.
Biological affiliation, racial purity, ethnical cleansing; wasn’t it already condemned in Nuremberg back in 1945 and 1946?
We’d hoped it was, and so we were certain, that to spot people in public places for their physical appearance is not polite at all. I bet we all have learned that lesson at the age of five at the latest, maybe even three or four: as soon we learned to speak we were told not to offend others.
Times seem to change, the rules as well, and we’ve got the green light again to make PR for good genes and spot bad ones; it is certain good and bad is back as well the profit out of the common drive to feel superior above others.
Again, there is God and the holy scripture in play as justification for the ugly art of humiliation and offense. It’s been forgotten that that scripture has got a “glow up “ and fillers throughout the centuries and could have changed a lot from the original.
Monotheists have made life hell for gays and lesbians for centuries. Perhaps the only reason is the need to generate an external, common foe in order to distract the crowd from the corruption inside the institution of power, no matter court or church, so the twenty percent of all living persons (assumedly homosexual) serves as a trustworthy scapegoat ever since.
Homosexuality has fed the bullying hunger for long enough, a restock was needed and transgender people seem to suit as a new prey.
That mob is frequently just people, who are to be fed with lies about saving their God and national identity by the right powers which are concerned about wins, not the identity or pride.
Instead of mind cleansing through meditation, psychotherapy, hiking or good old sex, the mob is choosing dirty, boring, bullying to feel released.
Perhaps that teenage girl had a gloomy day, or her mum could have been upset about anything like low grades or over daughter’s time spent on TikTok, and that trans woman who happened to be at work in the lingerie selection just did her job and offered help; at least she is employed to do it.
She’s been unfortunate to serve as an object of redirection of teenage troubles and of the waste of ink by The Telegraph.
The girl was scared, but of what is quite unclear in fact; there hadn’t been a threat at all, but it seems to be enough to be too tall, or have a low voice to be labelled as a danger and make the chiefs apologise for having “freaky” people doing their job properly.
Inclusiveness could not be that sincere, rather a sort of cover for hypocrisy and cowardice.
Trans people have a thorny path, from self-discovery and struggles to accept one’s self and try to get accepted among the family, the actual transition hurts, is painful, full of dangers of sickness, not to recover from the surgeries as hoped, to lose friends and family, become uncoupled for an uncertain period of time and eventually, in some cases, to lose the ability to have an orgasm for the rest of one’s life.
Is the anonymity and the regard not the only way to get along with one another in case we want to maintain a civilised society and the diversity among it instead of falling into the dystopia of Philip K. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle?
I interviewed a physician MD, PhD Alexey Schwarz in Zürich (Switzerland), who’s been treating people in transition for 10 years. He’s had hundreds of patients of both genders within that time.
According to his records, there is almost 100% success and life quality for patients who have decided to transition.
Dr. Schwarz says.
… it is a rare case in the medical practise when we can achieve such a success and feeling of having helped long term despite all difficulties on the way.
Among 100 people who have transitioned, Dr. Schwarz hasn’t had a single case of regret and some of the patients have mentioned the fact that if the transition wouldn’t have been available, they would have committed suicide.
There is hormone therapy, the surgery and the recovery and rehabilitation as well as the re-socialisation afterwards.
If it wasn’t tough enough, the thread of violence beyond all reason and the constant fear of rejection is a constant concern. And there is a lot to add.
Sexuality is not connected to gender, and the transition doesn’t have a lot to do with it, so Dr. Schwarz is pointing out that sexuality and gender transition aren’t connected and that this field is still tricky and not sufficiently explored or developed.
Dr. Schwarz is serving Hippocrates, he’s treating people, helping to improve the quality of life, no matter if it brings him laurels or troubles.
It’s highly recommended to back off with judgements of other people’s genes and save the resources for education, maybe get a bit old fashioned by making clear, that the bad is bad and good still good.
To shame others – bad; to be polite is good.
Employment is better based on skills and aptitude instead of on genetics, which isn’t magisterial at all, or otherwise we might get far into eugenics and that is not a silver lining on the horizon for our children’s future, but rather a horror show of the dirty past.
Tolerance is not implying, following or imitation, it simply means not fighting or erasing.
Perhaps salvation has requirements of the ability to co-exist with others, instead of freeing the drive of the Jurassic world by using the cognitive abilities of enlightened homo-sapiens, enjoy life, go shopping, staying clear of problems, that there is no reason to freak out about encounters with employees, accepting others unconditionally for what they are; not good nor bad – just people.
Hana Gubenko
Editor
In his issue:
Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro at the Proms (Colin Clarke)
Gender Fluidity and the “New Normal” (Colin Clarke)
You don’t need to understand my music, just listen!: Gráine Mulvey in confession with Hana Gubenko
Obituary: Alfred Brendel (1931-2025), Colin Clarke
Pianist Ivan Šiller in recital: review by Colin Clarke
Philip Nitschke on Assisted Dying – in conversation with Hana Gubenko
“Figaro” at the Proms
To say Glyndebourne and Le nozze di Figaro are linked is a huge understatement: it was Mozart’s opera, which many see to be the most perfect ever constructed, that launched that great institution in 1934; that cast included Heddle Nash as Don Basilio and Willi Domgrf-Fassbaender as the Count. And who can forget Vittorio Gui’s recorded performance with the Glyndebourne Festival Chorus and Orchestra from Abbey Road in July 1955; the cast there included Sesto Bruscantini and Sena Jurinac (and the much-loved Ian Wallace as Bartolo); the performances with that cast at Glyndebourne itself took place in June of that year.
Here’s the full Gui:
Figaro – Sesto Bruscantini Susanna – Graziella Sciutti Conte Almaviva – Franco Calabrese Contessa Almaviva – Sena Jurinac Cherubino – Risë Stevens Marcellina – Monica Sinclair Bartolo – Ian Wallace Basilio – Hugues Cuénod Curzio – Daniel McCoshan Antonio – Gwyn Griffiths Barbarina – Jeannette Sinclair Conductor – Vittorio Gui Orchestra – Glyndebourne Festival Orchestra Chorus – Glyndebourne Festival Chorus
… and here, just for good measure, is another classic Glyndebourne Figaro: 1973, with a cast including Kiri te Kanawa, Frederica von Stade, and Ileana Cotrubas:
Figaro – KNUT SKRAM Susanna – ILEANA COTRUBAS The Countess – KIRI TE KANAWA Count Almaviva – BENJAMIN LUXON Cherubino – FREDERICA VON STADE THE LONDON PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA THE GLYNDEBOURNE CHORUS Conductor JOHN PRITCHARD Stage Director PETER HALL
Perhaps it’s fair to close the video selection (both the above are the full opera, remember) with the 30-second Official Trailer to Glyndebourne’s newest production, the one heard in reduced format at the Royal Albert Hall:
The Glyndebourne Prom is always a special night, productions pared down for the Albert Hall stage. This was the eleventh semi-staged performance of Figaro at the Proms: all from Glyndebourne, starting in 1963 (Varviso). The most recent, like this occasion, featured the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, but conducted on that occasion by Robin Ticciati (Vito Priante as a characterful Figaro, Sally Matthews as the Countess and Isabel Leonard as an unforgettable Cherubino). In between the first peformance and today, luminaries such as Haitink and Rattle have bought their thoughts (Rattle was the first to bring a period instrument band, as here, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment).
No wonder the place was packed to the rafters. And it was an evening of surprised (not leas being told it was estimated to finish at 2220 after an 1830 start: it actually finished nearer 10). But maybe that misdirection was fate saying there were tempo surprises ahead. Conductor Riccardo Minasi has clearly rethought the score in light of scholarship, or at least one hopes so; there was rubato here, for example. But not rubato one might encounter in Tchaikovsky, more one gleaned as an extension from Affektenlehre and directly related to the theory of rhetoric. I had hoped for an explicatory essay, perhaps references to Johann Matheson and Mozart’s extension of Baroque aesthetic within a Classical orbit, but no (and apparently nothing in the Glyders booklet either). The closest parallel I know to what I heard on stage is the Narratio Quartets recent cycle of Beethoven String Quartets on Challenge Classics; but the Narratio seem more immersed in their chosen composer, and so are completely convincing. That cycle will change the wy may people hear Beethoven. With Minasi, there were raised eyebrows aplenty, but revelations from any sort of ‘Above,’ there were few. ‘Sull’aria’ lurched around curiously, slowly, asif sea-sick, but in slow motion.
The OAE was on top form, of that there was no doubt, following Minasi’s relaxings into new phrases like a hawk, offering punchy timpani and brass (the horns were exceptional throughout the evening: Gavin Edwards and David Bentley). Mathew Fletcher’s harpsichod continuo was stunningly imaginative (playing an instrument that t least in the hall was so deep-toned it could have been a fortepiano) Woodwind added tuns and decorations on repetitions of material (much like a singer might in the A1 section of an aria). The final succession of chords in the Overture before the coda were highly emphasised, and definitely slower than the prevailing tempo; effective at the time, but how convincing is it, really?
The stage held minimal props: a screen and a chair to begin with, augmented later by a bath. The Glyndebourne production was directed by Marianne Clément; the adaptation for the Albert Hall was by Talia Stern, who used the stage well (both in front of and behind the orchestra – plus a nice acknowledgement at one point of Sir Heny’s bust). And there was a nice game involving reducing numbers of chairs late on. But paring the production to its basics puts the onus on the singers and their acting. Prety much across the board, the cast rose to the challenge, sometimes stunningly so.
Where to start with the cast? Those who impressed the most should be fist though the door, so step forward Adèle Charvet. She is a regular at Versailles, her Giulietta (Zingarelli’s Giulietta e Romeo; yes, that’s ‘Juliet and Romeo’) a highlight. If Sarah Leonard was luxury casting last time around, Charvet was equally if not more stunning, her mezzo miraculously rich and expressive. She plays a trouser role of course – a female playing male who here at one point has to dress as a female. Gender fluidity ain’t new, kids. Charvet’s act 2 ”Voi che sapete” was a model of phrasing and perfect interaction with the OAE woodwinds.
Alessandro Corbelli has been around for a long time (his Sulpice La fille du régiment particularly memorable) and still dominates the stage. His “La vendetta” was a masterclass in acting and characerisation (the bravos form the audience immediately after fully justified). Add to this the Countess of Louise Alder, her second act ‘Porgi amor’ sung from the heart, her third act ’Dove sono’ shot through with poignant regret. How well she interacted, too, with her Susanna, a singer new to me live, Swedish soprano Johanna Wallroth (who represented her home country at the 2023 BBC Cardiff Singer of the World and who is a BBC Radio 3 New Generation Artist, 2023-25). Wallroth revelled in the role, her interactions (yes with the Countess, but also Figaro) alive at each and every moment.
All of the smaller roles were well taken: Alexander Vassiliev was particularly noteworthy as Antonio, very funny in his inebriation, and the simply stunning Barbarina of Canadian soprano Elisabeth Boudreault stood out, elevating her character to far more than a one-aria role (the ‘Pin’ aria was wonderful, though, her agitation palpable). Madeleine Shaw was an imposing Marcellina, adapting her voice nicely to Mozart (she impressed previously as the Abbess in ENO’s Suor Angelica in September 2024; her roles elsewhere include Wellgunde and Fricka). Vincent Ordonneau and Robert Forrest made the most of Don Curzio and Don Basilio, respectively.
Which leaves the Count, and Figaro himself. Huw Montague Rendall was a testosterone-driven Count, brutish often, and clearly wanting his own way. No wonder he bought back the droigt du seigneur. The last performance of Figaro I saw at Glyndebourne was marred by a botched request for forgiveness to the countess; not here, it regained its status as one of the most ravishing, heartfelt moments in music (even if the Countess’ instant forgiveness does rather stretch credulity). Montague Rendall’s debut album, Contemplation (which includes a Papagena from another singer this evening, Elisabeth Boudreault, is well worth seeking out). As Figaro, Tommaso Barea seemed to warm into the evening somewhat, but his overall characterisation was multi-dimensional, his comic timing good. Perhaps his act 4 aria ’Aprite un po’ quegl’ occhi’ was, along with that request for pardon, his finest moment, more animated than many readings of this aria.
There is a ’child’ too, played by Pippa Baton, a directorial sleight that perhaps refers to a wish from the Countess for children?
This was not a ‘complete’ Figaro; but is there such a thing, anyway? Interpretatively, it raises many questions, and that’s a good thing. And I shall be keeping my eyes peeled for Boudreault, for sure.
Le nozze di Figaro
Composer: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Libretto: Lorenzo da Ponte
Cast and production staff
Figaro – Tommaso Barea; Susanna – Johanna Wallroth; Count Almaviva – Huw Montague Rendall; Countess Almaviva – Louise Alder; Bartolo – Alessandro Corbelli; Marcellina – Madeleine Shaw; Cherubino – Adèe Chalrvet; Don Basilio – Robert Forrest; Barbarina – Elisabeth Boudreault; Antonio – Alexander Vassiliev; Don Curzio – Vincent Ordonneau; First Bridesmaid – Sophie Sparrow; Second Bidesmaid – Biqing Zhang; Child – Pippa Barton
Conductor – Riccardo Manasi; Director – Talia Stern (based on the 2025 Glyndebourne Festival production directed by Marianna Clément)
Gender Fluidity in Opera, and the “New Normal”
In Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, as we saw above, Cherubino is a male played by a female who the pretends, a one point, to be female. Contemporary society today is a gender and identity explosion (LGBTQ+, or is that LGBTQ++++). The haters, they will hate (and do!) but they act as if all this is something new,
It’s not.
Opera, for various reasons, has long had men playing women’s roles. In Tudor and Jacobean England, woman on stage were viewed with suspicion, hence the penchant for using boys for female roles. In Italy, of course, castrati played female roles in opera. Add to that disguise, and any character is fair game.
One disc the plays fast and furiously with this idea of transformability is Deutsche Harmonia Mundi’s disc Baroque Gender Stories, with mezzo Vivica Genaux and countertenor Lawrence Zazzo playing role swapsies left, right and centre.
Vivica Genaux has frequently sung so-called ‘trouser roles’ in the bel canto repertoire. Remember I Capuletti e i Montecchi has two female leads, , but male and female protagonists: Giulietta is a soprano, Romeo a mezzo. But it is Genaux’s comments in an interview companying that HM release that are so illuminating:
… as I began singing more Baroque roles, the androgynous aspects of both male and female became more prominent. The strong dichotomy between man and woman seems to me to have developed during the Enlightenment, when women began to be portrayed as disempowered, helpless victims and men as domineering, volatile alpha males. In the Baroque however, women were just as likely to put on armour and go to war as men were; both women and men had power, and both acted on and reacted to conflict. Thus, I look more at human emotion as accompanied by male/female energy, rather than a more black/ white interpretation according to gender
The process also begs questions of just how to do this, something called head-on by Lawrence Zazzo, again in interview:
Amastre in Serse [Handel, HWV 40], for example, is a woman disguised as a man, so I wonder should I ‘play’ a man, but just a little awkwardly, perhaps trying to overemphasise my ‘masculinity’ while adding more ‘genuine’‘feminine’ touches, taking into account that I’m singing in a higher, alto castrato register already using my falsetto? My quotes show my doubts – I think it’s better for the audience to either sort out or to be pleasantly confused by those layers while experiencing a performance.
Not you everyday set of quandaries, admittedly, but importent ones for the process, and also how we as uience experience this (th end result of Zazzo’s questions). It is Génaux hat nails it:
… the exposed emotional sensitivity demonstrated by male interpreters is probably most in contrast with today’s social standards. This kind of energy today is associated with the modern metrosexual, however it’s not something artificial that we in- vented in the 20th Century – in baroque art this fluidity between yin and yang is demonstrated as natural to human psychology, not something that has to be defended or justified
Also, there was the idea of disguise, which we saw so persuasively in Figaro. that you have Amastre in Serse as a female character who spends much of the time disguised as a man. And the converse was also present, with operas dealing with the story Achilles disguised as a woman (such as Handel’s Deidamia). Despite in Mozart’s Così disguises herself as both Doctor and Notary, and in the process masks her voice; comic moments, of course, but seen in the overall context offender fluidity they seem to b more pat of.lager continuum.
Poor Cherubino has both. This has been explored in deil vey someone who has suggested Cherubino: Erin Puttee, whose 2012 Undressing Cherunino:Reassessing Gender and Sexuality in Mozart’s ‘Le nozze di Figaro’ comes via the University of Ottawa:
On the surface of the drama, the opera seems to be about class disruption: the Count is the head of the household, but it is his servants who run it. This plot is made evident to the audience, and it is the message that most critics draw from the work. However, there may be a second meaning below the surface that is, in fact, more subversive than the overt one. While class structures are questioned in the foreground, another more hidden narrative explores alternate depictions of femininity and sexuality. This covert meaning is arguably embodied in Cherubino. This character is portrayed as an adolescent boy despite the fact that the role calls for a female singer. Cherubino is understood to be male, and functions as one in the drama, but, as I will suggest, may in fact be conceived as female. As a pagegirl raging with sexual love for all the women in the palace, Cherubino may be seen embodying a prototype of femininity that is contrary to the heterosexual norms of the overt narrative.
It sounds as if everyone was game for this, but it was not always so. Hasse had to wait years to set Metastasio’s libretto for Achille in Sciro becuse he faught to find a male singer who was happy to spend 50% of the time in a dress. A character is hidden amongst a host of women so he can void being mudered, as per a prophesy. In Handels’ Serse, it is the other way around, a woman who has to wear man’s clothing.
Dynamics, acts and even Papal edicts meant what was true in London might well not be (and was’t) true elsewhere: the Pope decreed that women may not appear on stage, so that, for example, when Giovanni Battista Lampugnani presented his own version of Semiramide riconosciuta at Rome’s Teatro delle Dame, main female characters had to be sung by castratos.
There are even some roles that are equally split between male and female singers and yet appear as one gender (Prince Orlovsky in Die Fledermaus is the prime example)
As we enter the twentieth century, a long way from Baroque and Classical (and even Romantic) ideals, where do this fluidities live? Comedy seems to be the answer (Dame Edna Everidge springs to mind). And in opera, of course: Richard Strauss’ Composer Ariadne aux Naxos is a trouser role, as of course is Octavia Rosenkavalier. And much more recently, Ariel is sung by a high coloratura female in Thomas Adès’ setting of Shakespeare’s The Tempest.
So is our LGBTQIA+ world so new? Underlying contemporary definitions seems to be the “Q”: “Quesioning”. It’s all as disorientating as … as the cast of a Baroque opera!. Perhaps we have forgotten such fluidity; perhaps opera holds the key (I like to think it holds the key to a lot of things: cue a fugue article on Wagner, religion and spirituality!). While the LGBTQIA+ seeks to honour individual freedom and expression, there seems a societal backlash that seems to show little or no awareness of historical precedent. This ain’t new, kids.
You Don’t Need to Understand My Music, Just Listen!: Gráinne Mulvey in conversation with Hana Gubenko
Life is multifaceted, and its content and surroundings are multilayered.
Some of this content is to be understood (like the meaning of life or the essence of the divine), some is to be felt (like inspiration or affection), perceived or escaped from (like the forces of nature).
While books and other written works should be understood according to their content and context, music is a kind of mixture between human creation and a force of nature. It is not so much created as received and put into a specific shape, either on a piece of sheet music or as a digital sound file.
The universe is sounding, and the flow of time does too , so a composer doesn’t so much invent as reflect time and space in terms of his or her abilities and visions. And the result, unlike a piece of prose, doesn’t need to be understood; it’s just there to be enjoyed or put aside.
Like thunder, rain, or sunshine it is neither good nor bad; it’s resonating, either uplifting one’s moods, or pulling it down.
When thinking how to describe time, perhaps the music written in a certain epoch gives a clue about what it’s like.
Perhaps instead of labellling music as good or bad, one should simply give oneself a chance just to receive whatever is on offer—like looking into a pond to observe the life in there without being judgmental.
If certain music doesn’t elevate one’s mood, perhaps it is the time and the environment that makes it like smoke that contaminates the rain; the music shouldn’t take the blame.
I had the pleasure to come across the Irish composer Gráinne Mulvey’s work and to change my mind about the avant-garde.
I never really enjoyed that style before, and I couldn’t understand the pleasure of others who did, until I got into Gráinne’s micro-universe which sounds full of humour and with a straightforward narrative in every single tone, pause, or scratch of amplification.
Born into a music-loving family, Grainne became equally familiar with classical music and Irish tunes, and developed a genuine curiosity to explore musical space without prejudice.
She received a profound education in Ireland, then went to study in England around the time the IRA attacks were breaking news. But she seems to have such an independent mind that no matter what sort of apocalypse is current, she carries on with humour and never-ending empathy and understanding.
Some more information about Gráinne Mulvey.
Obituary: Alfred Brendel (1931-2025)
The death of Alfred Brendel was deeply felt in the musical community, and, I am sure, beyond. For he was adept with words, too, issuing forth both musings and witticisms. The last public performance I saw Brendel in was a lecture (with the occasional music example) at Wigmore Hall. To say he was warmly received is an understatement; the same could be said for his last London recital (which I was lucky enough also to attend) before his ‘retirement’ from the stage.
Sometimes criticised as being over-cerebral in his interpretations, this ws actually his greatest strength; we need more of this today, for sure. His repertoire was carefully considered, as was everything he did within that. Such depth of thought seems so rare these days. Known for his affinity to Haydn (who appealed to his wicked sense of humour so much), Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt and Schubert in particular, his recordings encompass Bach to Berg (the Op. 1 Piano Sonata) and no fewer than four cocoons of the Schoenberg Piano Concerto (two with Gielen, one with Kubelík, and one with the composer/coductor Bruno Maderna).
My own first experience of Brendel was at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester: Charles Groves conducted the Hallé in Delius’ Brigg Fair and Nielsen Fifth Symphony. In between was Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto, with Brendel as soloist. I went to get an autograph in the interval; tentatively congratulating him, I was met with a huge, very toothy, grin (Groves was equally affable after the concert, responding with “good, isn’t it?” when I mentioned the side-drum part in the Nielsen). The last time I saw Brendel was at Wigmore Hall, not as performer but in the audience for a young, award-wining Danish string quartet. Old and frail, quietly sitting downstairs.
In between were plethora of recitals in London, his home. Reading Musical Thoughts and Afterthoughts as a youngster made me rethink Liszt completely: as a teenager I thought of that composer only in his virtuoso mode. Then I heard Brendel’s recording of the Second Year (Italy) of the Années de pélèinage: pure poetry.
A respected teacher (his masterclasses are models of their kind: I seem to remember the BBC holds some in their vaults), his thoughts live on in those who follow. It is worth noting perhaps that a pianist associated with The Watchman, Ivan Šiller, shares traits with Brendel: an intellectual grasp of the music he plays, an innate musicality, nd a repertoire that moves from Bach to he present day.
There are few, if any, pianists left that display Brendel’s transcendent wisdom. Great living pianists are few and far between, and diminishing. every, first Pollini, now Brendel. But the recoding age has left a plethora of gems.
Here’s one: it has to be Haydn, to capture Brendel’s cheeky side. The finale of the D-Major Sonata, Hob. XI:42:
Colin Clarke
IVAN ŠILLER RECITAL
Berg Piano Sonata, Op. 1
Schubert Piano Sonata in A-Minor, D 784
Ravel Sonatine, M 40
Bartók Six Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm (from Mikrokosmos, Sz 107/BB 105)
The Great Hall of the Slovenian Philharmonic.
Ivan Šiller offers a typically wide-ranging programme here.
The Berg Op. 1 Piano Sonata is a great choice for opener. It can’t be called “in” B-Minor, but it is that key area towards which it gravitates at salient structural points. In between is a feast of voice-leading couched in harmonies so heady the recall Scriabin at times. Šiller undesads the voice-leading perfectly, his playing sensitive throughout. I like the way he pinpoints the ‘cascades’ at the climax of the piece very much; the music’s ‘calling’ thereafter is beautifully managed. Moreove, Šiller does not lose any definition of the bass in the semiquaver sextuplets.
All of the above traits could be mapped onto Brendel’s playing, of course. But why don’t you decide for yourself? Here’s Brendel’s Philips recording:
(and if you’re feeling super-keen, here’s Brendel’s performance in Venice in February 1968).
There is an underlying lyricism shared between Alban Berg nd Franz Schubert, despite the surface differences of language. Šiller opts for the wonderful A-Minor Sonata, D 784. The writing is quasi-orchestral at times, and Šiller gives a full-spectrum account, from fully-open chords to whispered sonorities. Both Brendel and Šiller count (as in, 1, 2, 3, 4 …) – I know that sounds strange, but most pianists don’t – and neither do a lot of conductors. Rests get full value, chords resonate correctly (and this is clerly a very good piano, deep tone, perfect for Schubert); the result is a sense of the expansive in the his movement that is truly Schubertian. Šiller is served by an excellent piano, caught in fine sound by Marek Piaček for this production. There is the most remarkable moment round 21 minutes into the first movement when suddenly Schubert’s score seems to see towards Mussorgsky. This is an orchestral tone-poem for piano.
Stark octaves and ostensibly simple chord progressions open the slow movement: the chords are beautifully weighted by Šiller, and his treble sings. And yet Šiller still manages to give a.feeling of the monumental. This movement is less overly orchestral, although I do get the feeling Šiller orchestrates as he plays (another Brendel parallel: see he Master’s essay in Musical Thoughts and Afterthoughts on turning the piano into an orchestra). I like Šiller’s playful approach to the third movement very much, and also he way he brings in the world of the Ländler into the orbit of a full sonata. It’s there in the music, of course, but it needs bringing out. Perhaps the modernity of the ‘interrupts’ – those sudden loud broken ascents – could be more contrastive.
It is Maurice Ravel’s anniversary year, of course, so good to have the Sonatine here. If I would prefer more distinction between melody and the far more mobile inner parts in the first movement, Šiller still lightens his sound appropriately for Ravel: this is Ravel the master craftsman at work. The “Mouvement de menuet’ is perhaps a touch heavy. The finale, ‘Animé,’ was a triumph though, the left-hand animation exactly paced . There was a true sense of exaltation here. Melodies were perfectly projected (such sweet treble); superb Ravel.
Bartók’s “Six Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm” come from Mikrokosmos. Šiller is more persuasive than most, here. There are almost hints of church bells in the right-had descents of the firs; the second buzzes with febrile energy, the circular phrases almost heady, the close quizzical. Underlying all of this is the spirit of the dance of the title, something which comes to the fore in the third. Šiller teases in the fourth; his Bartók is far from mono-dimensional. The tricky fifth is despatched with ease, while the sixth and final dance has a real sense of culminatory celebration, Šiller reveling in Bartók’s scrunchy harmonies. There are real paralells there with Bartók ‘s own performances. Here’s the composer himself, in 1940 (New York):
Bartók and Ligeti exist on a linear path, so it is right to include two of the phenomenal Études by the latter composer (both from Book I). The first is ‘Cordes à vide’; the emptiness of the title is reflected in the obvious use of open fifths. Ligeti creates a sophisticaed, almost swirling space; post-Bartók, perhaps, but also deeper. It is complemented by the fourth Étude from Book I, ‘Fanfares’. Marked, ‘Vivacissimo, Molto ritmico,’ the fanfares of the title are pitted against obsessive, rising scales. Šiller’s ending is fascinating, offering a more nuanced territory than Ligeti’s most famous interpreter, Pierre-Laurent Aimard.
Ivan Šiller is much associated with the music of Daniel Matej (born 1963).Here, we have A Set of Five Pick Outs. Premiered in Bratislava in 2004 at the Evenings of New Music there by Daan Vandewalle , here are exquisite miniatures, each with a defined energy of its own. The first, ‘Monsieur “La Bellemontagne” vue à droit et sans lunettes.” (Mr Bellemotagne [Beautiful Mountain] seen from the right without glasses) has a Satie-esque title and Satie-esque sense of mystery. ‘Bartók war sich dabei” (Bartók was also there) makes explicit reference to the Bartók’s compose’s harmonic and gestural work, not without humour. Other composers are also referenced in the set: ‘Feldman and Messiaen watchin’em‘ is the fourth, whee space and poignant harmony meet. Regret is there, too (‘they never met and yet they would have …’).
Daniel Matej’s combination of imaginative bases for his pieces and the sheer compositional mastery in they realisation becomes more impessive the more I hear of his output.
There was an encore: Valentin Silvestrov’s First Bagatelle (2005). Šiller immediately inhibits Silvestrov’s fragile, highly individual wold. For Silvestrov, less is very definitely more; he has the ability, too, to move between styles in a heartbeat, and successfully. Zooming in on the nostalgia that inhabited some of the music of this recital, this makes fo the perfect end … and, perhaps, acts s an invitation to investigate more of Silvestrov’s music …
… or even the music of Giya Kancheli? Or Nodar Gabunia?
Philip Nitschke on Assisted Dying – In Conversation with Hana Gubenko
