RSNO Chamber, 23/02/2020
Hahn - Debussy - Duparc - Jongen - Chausson - Wagner
Karen Cargill, mezzo-soprano
Simon Lepper, piano
Maya Iwabuchi, violin
Xander van Vliet, violin
Tom Dunn, viola
Aleksei Kiseliov, cello
Karen Cargill brought a rich programme of (mainly) French song, steeped in decadence, to the RSNO's New Hall, accompanied by regular recital partner Simon Lepper and, for two numbers, by the quartet of the RSNO's strings section leaders. Leaving the Wagner aside for a moment, this was all fin-de-siècle music, written within two or so decades on either side of the turn of the 20th Century, all quite different, yet all clearly drawing from the same sources, both in the lushness of harmonic colour, and in the opulent imagery and symbolism of the poetry. Part of that common source was Wagner, so the presence of the Wesendonck-Lieder at the end of the recital was both perfectly reasonable, and worked admirably, not causing any sort of disconnect with the music previously heard.
She began, though, in a more restrained idiom, with the delicate, elegant, pastiche of 18th Century style that Reynaldo Hahn created for what is possibly his most famous song, "À Chloris". This was followed by four other songs, of which the best was "Infidélité", an idyllic evocation of a garden once frequented by the poet and his beloved, in which the final, bitter-sweet turn was perfectly calculated by Cargill, without excess but with piercing poignancy.
The Chansons de Bilitis by Debussy date from the last years of the 19th Century. Debussy was working on Pelléas et Mélisande, and working his way out from under the influence of Wagner, his musical language growing more transparent and sparser. The Bilitis songs, however, settings of Pierre Louÿs texts from a collection that he pretended was a translation from antique Greek of Sapphic poetry, drew a rare degree of explicit sensuality from Debussy, similar to that of the Prélude à l'Après-midi d'un Faune. The two outer songs are innocence trembling on the brink of extinction, and Cargill's French, although well-pronounced, is not always quite clearly articulated, so "La flûte de Pan" lacked a certain degree of limpidity. For "La chevelure", however, the most openly erotic of the songs, the weight and warmth of her timbre were ideal, wrapping round the music like the long hair caressing the lover's throat.
Duparc's tiny collection of songs comprises some of the finest examples of French mélodie ever written, notably Cargill's opening choice, "L'invitation au voyage", with its shimmering piano accompaniment, exquisitely rendered by Simon Lepper. This was an invitation indeed, Cargill's tone intimate and persuasive, again, never overdoing it, just making the play of light and water in the song immensely appealing. "Chanson triste" was also calm and radiant (to be honest, I've never quite understood what's 'sad' about this song, it seems very hopeful to me), while "Extase" was beautifully still, all post-coital languor. Finally, to close the first half of the programme, the most operatic of Duparc's songs, "Phidylé", allowing Cargill really to loosen the reins on her voice to fine effect.
The original planned running order of the second half was Chausson - Wagner - Chausson - Jongen, with the two numbers featuring the string quartet at the end. This was altered (quite rightly, I believe), to put the two accompanied pieces first, and finish with the Wagner. So we began with "Calmes, aux quais déserts" by Joseph Jongen. Jongen was a Belgian composer who, amongst many other activities, was the director of the Brussels Royal Conservatoire from 1925 to 1939. "Calmes...." was probably written in England, since he and his family spent the years of WWI there, and exists in two forms, either with piano alone, or with piano quintet. It's a late example of a fairly select group of works written for voice and piano quintet, such as Vaughan Williams's "On Wenlock Edge", Fauré's "La bonne chanson" or the Chausson work which followed this.
The text is by Albert Samain, a Symbolist poet much influenced by Baudelaire and, indeed, there's something curiously similar to "L'invitation au voyage" in the text, an evocation of twilight falling over an urban landscape, with ships docked at harbour, and workshop girls pouring out into the streets at the end of the day. Jongen is distinctly of the Franckist school of composition and there was definitely a moment in this song-setting where I was quite strongly reminded of the Franck Piano Quintet, a surging cello line between the second and third verses, eloquently delivered by Aleksei Kiseliov. It's a short piece, four or five minutes at most, very much part of that 'heure exquise' aesthetic you often find in Symbolist poetry, and the interpretation here from all concerned was such as to whet the appetite where Jongen's music is concerned.
Chausson's "Chanson perpétuelle" was his last completed major work before his premature, accidental death, again existing in two forms, for voice with piano quintet, or with orchestra. The orchestral version is the more widely played, but I have to say I prefer the voice/quintet version, because I find the orchestral one desperately lugubrious. It is, to all intents and purposes, a suicide note (an abandoned woman declares her intention to drown herself), so clearly that it's lugubrious is hardly inappropriate, but there's a luminosity to the chamber version which I appreciate. Cargill's voice is quite dark for this work, I'm more accustomed to hearing sopranos here, but the long, smooth lines, and the intimate tone were still most effective. The only hitch was a slightly clipped final note on "l'absent".
The quartet left the stage once more to Cargill and Lepper alone, and they continued with four more Chausson songs, beginning with a radiant and seductive "Sérénade italienne". All of this selection of Chausson songs were a delightful contrast to the "Chanson perpétuelle", airy and fresh in the musical settings, even if the texts (notably "Le colibri") were as heady and colourful as anything we had already heard, or were yet to hear.
So we came, finally, to the Wesendonck-Lieder, and its position at the end of this recital made it exceptionally clear how much all the music previously heard was indebted to Wagner. It's almost impossible to over-state how profoundly Wagner's music, and in particularly Tristan und Isolde, affected Western music at the time; the ripples were still being felt well over half-a-century later. Wagner wrote the Wesendonck-Lieder while he was also writing Tristan, the third and fifth songs were explicitly labelled "studies" for Tristan. I grew up with these songs in their orchestral version by Felix Mottl, but as time goes on, I find myself increasingly preferring the original voice-and-piano version, especially when the piano is played as magnificently as Lepper did this afternoon. There was a real use of silence, of pregnant pauses and suspension of time here that functioned beautifully, both from singer and pianist.
Wagner is very much Cargill's home territory, it is one of her predominant claims to fame, and it's clear she's very comfortable with it. This was a recital, she rarely really let go with the full strength of her voice because it would have been displaced much of the time and, on the contrary, she displayed a marvellous sense of intimacy, drawing you in with a quiet, focused tone and delivery, and never more so than in the last song, "Träume" which, I think, had us all almost holding our breath, to capture every last, evanescent wisp of dreams.
Such a sterling performance could not end without an encore; Cargill and Lepper returned, he with score in hand, while she took up a position at his back. Cheerfully, she informed us she wasn't absolutely sure she remembered all the words, and was going to be leaning over his shoulder, but she was sure we understood. The song was another dream, Greig's ecstatic "En Drøm" (sung in German), which, effectively, was a little bit under-prepared, but delivered with an irresistible glow and sense of wonder, to conclude an exceptional recital.
Karen Cargill, mezzo-soprano
Simon Lepper, piano
Maya Iwabuchi, violin
Xander van Vliet, violin
Tom Dunn, viola
Aleksei Kiseliov, cello
Karen Cargill brought a rich programme of (mainly) French song, steeped in decadence, to the RSNO's New Hall, accompanied by regular recital partner Simon Lepper and, for two numbers, by the quartet of the RSNO's strings section leaders. Leaving the Wagner aside for a moment, this was all fin-de-siècle music, written within two or so decades on either side of the turn of the 20th Century, all quite different, yet all clearly drawing from the same sources, both in the lushness of harmonic colour, and in the opulent imagery and symbolism of the poetry. Part of that common source was Wagner, so the presence of the Wesendonck-Lieder at the end of the recital was both perfectly reasonable, and worked admirably, not causing any sort of disconnect with the music previously heard.
She began, though, in a more restrained idiom, with the delicate, elegant, pastiche of 18th Century style that Reynaldo Hahn created for what is possibly his most famous song, "À Chloris". This was followed by four other songs, of which the best was "Infidélité", an idyllic evocation of a garden once frequented by the poet and his beloved, in which the final, bitter-sweet turn was perfectly calculated by Cargill, without excess but with piercing poignancy.
The Chansons de Bilitis by Debussy date from the last years of the 19th Century. Debussy was working on Pelléas et Mélisande, and working his way out from under the influence of Wagner, his musical language growing more transparent and sparser. The Bilitis songs, however, settings of Pierre Louÿs texts from a collection that he pretended was a translation from antique Greek of Sapphic poetry, drew a rare degree of explicit sensuality from Debussy, similar to that of the Prélude à l'Après-midi d'un Faune. The two outer songs are innocence trembling on the brink of extinction, and Cargill's French, although well-pronounced, is not always quite clearly articulated, so "La flûte de Pan" lacked a certain degree of limpidity. For "La chevelure", however, the most openly erotic of the songs, the weight and warmth of her timbre were ideal, wrapping round the music like the long hair caressing the lover's throat.
Duparc's tiny collection of songs comprises some of the finest examples of French mélodie ever written, notably Cargill's opening choice, "L'invitation au voyage", with its shimmering piano accompaniment, exquisitely rendered by Simon Lepper. This was an invitation indeed, Cargill's tone intimate and persuasive, again, never overdoing it, just making the play of light and water in the song immensely appealing. "Chanson triste" was also calm and radiant (to be honest, I've never quite understood what's 'sad' about this song, it seems very hopeful to me), while "Extase" was beautifully still, all post-coital languor. Finally, to close the first half of the programme, the most operatic of Duparc's songs, "Phidylé", allowing Cargill really to loosen the reins on her voice to fine effect.
The original planned running order of the second half was Chausson - Wagner - Chausson - Jongen, with the two numbers featuring the string quartet at the end. This was altered (quite rightly, I believe), to put the two accompanied pieces first, and finish with the Wagner. So we began with "Calmes, aux quais déserts" by Joseph Jongen. Jongen was a Belgian composer who, amongst many other activities, was the director of the Brussels Royal Conservatoire from 1925 to 1939. "Calmes...." was probably written in England, since he and his family spent the years of WWI there, and exists in two forms, either with piano alone, or with piano quintet. It's a late example of a fairly select group of works written for voice and piano quintet, such as Vaughan Williams's "On Wenlock Edge", Fauré's "La bonne chanson" or the Chausson work which followed this.
The text is by Albert Samain, a Symbolist poet much influenced by Baudelaire and, indeed, there's something curiously similar to "L'invitation au voyage" in the text, an evocation of twilight falling over an urban landscape, with ships docked at harbour, and workshop girls pouring out into the streets at the end of the day. Jongen is distinctly of the Franckist school of composition and there was definitely a moment in this song-setting where I was quite strongly reminded of the Franck Piano Quintet, a surging cello line between the second and third verses, eloquently delivered by Aleksei Kiseliov. It's a short piece, four or five minutes at most, very much part of that 'heure exquise' aesthetic you often find in Symbolist poetry, and the interpretation here from all concerned was such as to whet the appetite where Jongen's music is concerned.
Chausson's "Chanson perpétuelle" was his last completed major work before his premature, accidental death, again existing in two forms, for voice with piano quintet, or with orchestra. The orchestral version is the more widely played, but I have to say I prefer the voice/quintet version, because I find the orchestral one desperately lugubrious. It is, to all intents and purposes, a suicide note (an abandoned woman declares her intention to drown herself), so clearly that it's lugubrious is hardly inappropriate, but there's a luminosity to the chamber version which I appreciate. Cargill's voice is quite dark for this work, I'm more accustomed to hearing sopranos here, but the long, smooth lines, and the intimate tone were still most effective. The only hitch was a slightly clipped final note on "l'absent".
The quartet left the stage once more to Cargill and Lepper alone, and they continued with four more Chausson songs, beginning with a radiant and seductive "Sérénade italienne". All of this selection of Chausson songs were a delightful contrast to the "Chanson perpétuelle", airy and fresh in the musical settings, even if the texts (notably "Le colibri") were as heady and colourful as anything we had already heard, or were yet to hear.
So we came, finally, to the Wesendonck-Lieder, and its position at the end of this recital made it exceptionally clear how much all the music previously heard was indebted to Wagner. It's almost impossible to over-state how profoundly Wagner's music, and in particularly Tristan und Isolde, affected Western music at the time; the ripples were still being felt well over half-a-century later. Wagner wrote the Wesendonck-Lieder while he was also writing Tristan, the third and fifth songs were explicitly labelled "studies" for Tristan. I grew up with these songs in their orchestral version by Felix Mottl, but as time goes on, I find myself increasingly preferring the original voice-and-piano version, especially when the piano is played as magnificently as Lepper did this afternoon. There was a real use of silence, of pregnant pauses and suspension of time here that functioned beautifully, both from singer and pianist.
Wagner is very much Cargill's home territory, it is one of her predominant claims to fame, and it's clear she's very comfortable with it. This was a recital, she rarely really let go with the full strength of her voice because it would have been displaced much of the time and, on the contrary, she displayed a marvellous sense of intimacy, drawing you in with a quiet, focused tone and delivery, and never more so than in the last song, "Träume" which, I think, had us all almost holding our breath, to capture every last, evanescent wisp of dreams.
Such a sterling performance could not end without an encore; Cargill and Lepper returned, he with score in hand, while she took up a position at his back. Cheerfully, she informed us she wasn't absolutely sure she remembered all the words, and was going to be leaning over his shoulder, but she was sure we understood. The song was another dream, Greig's ecstatic "En Drøm" (sung in German), which, effectively, was a little bit under-prepared, but delivered with an irresistible glow and sense of wonder, to conclude an exceptional recital.