March 20, 2010

Stellar Singing by Ian Bostridge

Ian Bostridge is a master singer of German lieder, and he brought Schubert’s Winterreise to UC Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall Sunday afternoon, splendidly partnered by pianist Julius Drake. Experiencing Schubert’s intimate, searing song cycle would be more satisfying in the intimacy of Hertz Hall, where we last heard Bostridge. But, being smaller, Hertz holds fewer people, so what is Cal Performances to do?

Schubert set Wilhelm Müller’s verse poems with enormous skill, evident from the opening Gute Nacht (Good night). The first two verses are musically identical, the third introduces melodic variation, and the last switches from minor mode to major. It was clear from the start that Schubert would be well-served by Bostridge, whose attention to the meaning of the poetry is stellar. He laid out the narrative in the first two verses, then joined Schubert in expressing his feelings: Boy loves girl, his love is returned, girl changes her mind, boy leaves on a heartsick ramble through the wintry countryside. The very weather vane on her house-top is fickle (second song), as is the weather inside.

Both singer and pianist reveled in dynamic extremes. Bostridge’s tenor voice is true in pitch and well-supported, but in Zellerbach his soft is sometimes too soft. And some of his lowest notes, though audible, do not have a lot of presence. His basic sound has ample presence, and is relatively straight, and therefore very well-suited to expressing irony, bitterness, and deep unhappiness — feelings that dominate the poetry and music of Der Winterreise.

When he came to Der Lindenbaum (The linden tree), remembering how he had cared for the tree and carved his words of love into its trunk, the singing sound was warm and beautiful, the phrases arching in true bel canto style. Even after the piano crashes into a verse about cold winds, taking the singer with it, he ends up remembering the rustling of the leaves telling him “here you shall find rest!”

I would have preferred hearing the opening verse of Frühlingstraum (Spring dream) graced by that same lovely unforced sound, creating even more contrast with the shattering second verse. Yet both singer and pianist were extremely good at sudden mood changes, and Frühlingstraum ended in a heartfelt expression of intense longing.

Weeping on Hope’s Grave Bostridge walks about a good deal as he sings, though his steps are purposeful, and consistent with the image of singer as storyteller. And he is able to use the piano as part of his performance, notably in Rast (Rest), in which he says he cannot rest, and in fact leans on the piano and looks very tired indeed. Singing Letzte Hoffnung (Last hope), he staggered as hope faded, and crumbled over the piano as if weeping on hope’s grave.

The 24 songs of the cycle were performed without intermission, and I was struck by Bostridge’s vocal endurance all the way through the last four songs. A special tonal quality pervaded Das Wirtshaus (The inn). When he sang Bin matt zum Niedersinken (I am faint with weariness), the high soft note on matt floated gorgeously. When the inn (metaphor for a graveyard) refused him, he soldiered on, loud, with his walking stick. Immediately, the piano tore into Mut (Courage), Bostridge ending with stormy defiance. His voice was firm and beautifully colored for the haunting Die Nebensonnen (Phantom suns).

Straightforward narrative propelled the closing Der Leierman (The organ-grinder). An old man staggers about, barefoot on the ice, playing his hurdy-gurdy. “Shall I go with you, singing my unhappy songs?” The ending is up in the air, and as the singer stood fixed and questioning, and the pianist’s hands remained on the final chord — not yet finished — some members of the audience couldn’t wait, and applause spread through the hall, well-deserved but ill-timed. The performance was memorable, and many, including the performers, weren’t quite ready for it to end.