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RECITAL REVIEW
October 7, 2006
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Three Bs, Modified By Heuwell Tircuit
It was Liszt who first used the phrase “The Three Bs,” although he meant Bach, Beethoven, and Berlioz. That later shifted as poor Berlioz was dropped and Brahms added in his stead. Saturday evening in Old First Church, the eighth of the Basically British series came up with yet another combination: Brahms, Bridge, and Britten (although I doubt it will ever catch on). The new arrangement was the work of the San Francisco Opera’s John Parr, who is British. The ensemble he gathered — soprano, mezzo-soprano, two violas, and himself as pianist — turned out to be as unusual as his Bs grouping.
Four Brahms songs opened the evening: Vergebliches Ständchen (Futile Serenade), Sonntag (Sunday), Sapphische Ode, and Meine Liebe ist Grün (My Love Is Green), all sung by mezzo-soprano Katherine Rohrer. She later added Britten’s A Charm of Lullabies, Op. 41, and Brahms’ Two Songs for Contralto, with viola and piano, Op. 91. Elizabeth Prior Runnicles served as Rohrer’s viola partner. Between the opening Brahms songs and Britten’s little cycle, soprano Rhoslyn Jones offered Frank Bridge’s Three Songs for Medium Voice, Viola, and Piano, supported by Runnciles and Parr, and yet another set of three following intermission. Yet, easily the most unusual part of the program was Bridge’s Lament for Two Violas, performed with dark panache by violists Runnicles and Natalia Vershilova.
Bridge’s Lament turned out to be a small jewel of the evening, especially because it was played so well. As is usual with Bridge, it’s not at all melodramatic — British reserve, you know. But also as a violist, chamber musician, and conductor, he contributed much to that instrument’s repertory. So, the feeling for color and sonic possibilities on the instrument was exceptional. His viola duo of 1912 shows signs of breaking with the blandness of his early romanticism, as sampled in the first group of his songs with viola. The second set of three Bridge songs, settings from Tagor, was a tad better with tidbits of impressionism à la Debussy popping up here and there.
As far as I’ve heard, the best Bridge works are those from the 1930s, when he developed an increasing admiration for Alban Berg’s music. That may have been brought on by his student in the late 1920s, Benjamin Britten. But the truth is that Bridge, while a terrific technician in composition, never managed to develop any individuality. Part of this is no doubt due to his meticulousness. He labored his compositions to death. His sole opera in 1929 — The Christmas Rose — took him 11 years to complete.
I don’t know of a single piece in any medium that is automatically recognizable as being by Bridge. Yet, he was unquestionably an important figure in British music until his death in 1941. Early on, he served as violist in the Joachim Quartet and English Quartet, conducted at the Savoy Theater and Covent Garden before World War I. Yet his star never quite caught fire, in the sense that not a single one of his works which have achieved repertory status. It’s a bit like Schönberg’s desire to be a great painter as well as composer. I once asked Alfred Frankenstein if Schönberg was truly serious about that, and Al answered, “Unfortunately, yes.” Unfortunate because his creations were more a matter of will than talent, as with of Bridge’s music.
Britten was an entirely different case in point. He was a great natural talent as well as an astute musical technician. The five songs of his Op. 41 are indeed charmers and each approach the subject from a different emotional stance — in one you hear a nearly romantic serenade, another has jagged accompaniment, a scherzo, and so forth. But the last, The Nurse’s Song, actually lulls itself into sonic sleep. It begins with the singer’s solo vocalise. The piano makes only the most delicate appearance, and as the poem ends, the word lullaby tapers down to, “laby ... laby ... laby,” as the music fades into silence. Now that’s genius for you. The first four Brahms songs are all fairly well-known, and indeed popular enough in their time to be modified for other uses. The opening of Sapphische Ode, for instance, turns up in the opening cello solo of Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto. The other three all give a nod to Brahms’ Vienna. Futile Serenade is a witty duo for one singer. A young man comes to the home of a girl, pleading love for her so she will open her door, but she won’t. He claims he’s freezing outside, and still she refuses. Brahms even marked each stanza “He” or “She” to indicate the character. Unfortunately, Rohrer ignored those indications and sang in one uniform timbre. It was unusual, as I’ve never come across that kind of indifference before. But then again, she tended to oversing most of those songs in that “Anything you can play, I can sing louder” tradition. (The singer’s curse!) I’m always amazed to hear such ignorance with regards to venue, especially from an alumna of the S.F. Opera’s Merola Program. If you’re in a large hall or opera house, belt it out and bellow to your heart's content. But in a smallish concert room for chamber performances, you’re expected to hold back a little. Why can’t singers be taught that sheer volume never equates to quality? She was far better during the Britten songs and in those final two Brahms supersongs of his Op. 91. Just as the early songs took on a lighter Viennese character, the viola songs, as they’re commonly known, are awash in the glow of Germanic umber. There is much of the serious, glowing warmth of Brahms’ last three Motets, Op. 110, or the “Four Serious Songs,” Op. 121 — settings from the Bible. The interplay of viola and voice were handsomely matched, although Rohrer’s voice is clearly not contralto. On the other hand, there are precious few of those around these days, so any reasonable compromise is to be cherished. Jones was more subtle in her vocal art, but it was a pity that she only got to sing the Bridge songs, which failed to impress me — more of something to pass the time without offending anyone. There comes a point at which the attempt to promote an obscure composer becomes tedious for the public. Six Bridge songs on one program is three too many. His reputation is more harmed than helped by excess. Convert us if you can, but for heaven’s sake, don’t bore us.
(Heuwell Tircuit is a composer, performer, and writer who was chief writer for Gramophone Japan and for 21 years a music reviewer for the San Francisco Chronicle. He wrote previously for Chicago's American and the Asahi Evening News.)
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Katherine Rohrer
