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CHAMBER ORCHESTRA REVIEW
March 29, 2003
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By Dan Leeson
It seems hard to believe, but next October marks 60 years since the first
performance of Benjamin Britten's remarkable and enigmatic Serenade for tenor, horn, and strings, Op. 31. That composition, the second of
three works presented, was the centerpiece of Saturday evening's
Master Sinfonia Chamber Orchestra concert under Music Director and
conductor David Ramadanoff at St. Bede's Episcopal Church in Menlo
Park. It is an innovative work in that the instrumental/vocal
combination has few precedents.
Britten's Serenade is a dramatic and mood-setting composition on poems (by Charles Cotton, Alfred Lord Tennyson, William Blake, Ben Johnson, John Keats, and an anonymous 15th-century author) that, collectively, do not tell a story. Instead, the varied subject matter of sunset, moonlight, death, night, and sleep combine to evoke the work's character.
Of the music for the two soloists, that for the French horn is virtuosic instrumental writing. From the first movement — which the horn executes entirely unaccompanied using only the instrument's natural harmonics, perhaps to establish the natural order of things — to the final one in which the horn is again presented alone, the solo part demands both iron control and a masterful technique. This should come as no surprise considering that one of the two soloists for whom the work was written was the legendary Dennis Brain, then 22 years old and principal horn with the 1943 wartime RAF military orchestra.
The solo part, written for Britten's lifelong friend and companion, Peter Pears, exploited the singular character of Pear's tenor voice. It's a rare accomplishment when a composer creates a work modeled after a specific artist's unique vocal complexion. Tenor soloist Gregory Wait, Director of Vocal Studies at Stanford University and Schola Cantorum's Music Director, sang very professionally, with a calm and relaxed manner. He has a pleasant instrument that is not harsh anywhere in its extended range. His diction, though not poor, was difficult to understand at times, a problem caused by his failure to articulate mid-word consonants crisply. He was, however, particularly conscientious about final consonants. The lighting of St. Bede's sanctuary was bright enough to follow the text of each poem, and only by doing that did I find the soloist fully comprehensible. Horn soloist John Burton has been an active player in San Francisco chamber and orchestral groups for many years, holding the position of principal horn of the Master Sinfonia Chamber Orchestra. His management of the difficult part was nicely done and under good, though not perfect, control. Like almost all virtuosic French horn performances, there were some entrance problems but the tone character was lovely, the execution both bold and courageous
The evening's opening work was by French composer Francis Poulenc, who, even in his serious compositions, finds a moment to present some humor. When he decides to create genuinely funny music, one laughs out loud at his delightful and occasionally outrageous Gallic musical jokes. The Suite Française (1935), designed as incidental music for a French comedy, La Reine Margot, was played by a small wind orchestra of nine performers (pairs of oboes, bassoons, and trumpets, plus three trombones) supplemented by one percussionist and a harpsichord. None of the seven movements lasts longer than three minutes. Except for a few occasions when Poulenc's restraint at using the then-shocking harmonies could not be contained, this pleasant but undistinguished work was more of a transcription than a composition. The final piece, Mozart's E-flat symphony, K. 543, is the first of his final three miracle symphonies. To hear this work was always, is now, and probably always will be one of life's most perfect moments. Any concert at which it is performed becomes ennobled by its presence. Unfortunately the performance was the weakest of the evening, made so by the difficulty of the string parts where the slightest inaccuracy in intonation becomes instantly obvious. The constantly shifting and occasionally brazen harmonies only work perfectly when the string pitches are flawlessly executed. There were also difficulties in making two of the composer-requested repeats, with some players forgetting to do so at both times in the symphony's first movement. In the finale, conductor Ramadanoff inexplicably eliminated the most daring, dramatic, and important repeat of all, an inexplicable decision considering his normally attentive attitude to matters of performance practice.
Repeats in music of the Classic Period have reached a state in which many performers assume that it is exclusively their option to observe or ignore any one as they see fit, often arbitrarily. But repeats serve an architectural function and have a variety of purposes including giving a composition a more distinguished breadth. The casual dismissal of certain ones can act destructively on the composition's integrity. A word of special praise to Amy Duxbury, the orchestra's principal bassoonist: It was a joy to hear her beauty of tone and sensitive, dignified, mature musicianship.
(Musicologist/author Dan Leeson is a former member of the San Jose Symphony Orchestra, a retired businessman, and an editor of the 220-volume complete Mozart edition published by Bärenreiter.)
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