The Proms
Joyful noise
Rodney Mikes
Both massive symphonic statements in the last week's Proms, Mahler's Eighth and Tippett's Third, aim high, Mahler with his setting of the last scene of Goethe's Faust and Tippett with his qualifying paraphrase of Beethoven's Ninth. Neither falls flat on its face, which, in a miserable sort of way, might be expected. The Tippett, premiered a month ago, is surely one of the most satisfying works he has yet written, but about the Mahler I begin to have fearful doubts. Both are serious and intense works demanding the utmost concentration, and Whether or not the Proms are the best setting for them is open to debate.
Incipient old age may account for my finding the dart throwing, the slogan Shouting, and the barking noises in the silence before play begins, increasingly tiresome, and scarcely conducive to listening to music seriously. Has an audience that stands to shout and cheer before the last chord of the Mahler has reverberated into silence really been listening to the words? The Tippett, though, ends quietly, and the applause started moderately and grew mightily, Which says something about both works.
Mahler is the Cecil B. De Mille of the symphony. There is a cast of hundreds In the Eighth, and the composer's personal amalgam of Catholicism and Jewishness is hardly given to understatement. There are Moments when he almost goes over the top, or seems to when the performance is less than careful: in Pater Ecstaticus's squirming chromaticisms (which sound rather as if Saint-Sans had written Tristan), in the passage for harps, harmonium and first fiddles at ' Dir, der Unberilhrbaren ' (where orchestral players grinned at each other behind their stands --a bad sign) and the jangling mandolin for the 'blessed boys' as they approach flying in circles.' But genius glows from every bar of this setting of Goethe's last lines, and a choir Of 500-odd singing pianissimo is a gutgripping sound. This last movement was hugely successful here, with some incandescent solo singing from Anne Pashley and John Mitchinson. But it is a ship-spoiling economy to have Miss Pashley doubling the roles of Gretchen and Mater Gloriosa: asking permission to guide Faust's soul and granting it to herself straight off is to give the proceedings a touch of the W. S. Gilberts where they least need it. The first movement was somewhat compromised by Colin Davis's brisk light infantry march tempo, which suggested not so much invoking the Creator Spirit as flushing it out of a No-Go area. The reception indicated that this is a perfect Prom ' happening ' (whether or not that is flattering to Mahler) and it must become an annual event.
What is so wholly admirable about the Tippett symphony is its directness Of expression, not something always associated with this composer. After a mere two hearings, the basic shape of the work is clearly discernible, the use of material throughout the huge single span (presented in two parts of just over thirty minutes) immediately comprehensible. And although it is no criterion, you certainly come out humming the tunes. Just as impressive is the toughness of the musical thought; here is no wishy-washy message of compassion and love, but one as positive and muscular as Beethoven's own.
The writing for orchestra is truly virtuoso, though never for its own sake, with its intricate violin figurations, contemplative passages for lower strings and vivid breaks for solo trumpet and clarinet. The LSO seizes upon this with intoxicating fervour. The only problem is that of balance between soprano soloist and orchestra. Even when discreetly amplified (so discreetly that I could not judge how or where) Heather Harper is hard put to it to be heard in some crucial passages. It is difficult to say at this stage whether this is something Colin Davis could remedy, but with the words printed in the programme it remains a comparatively minor problem.
Brahms's first piano concerto followed. Having been quietly businesslike in the Tippett (and in the Mahler the previous week), Colin Davis suddenly started emoting all over the podium a la Lennie Bernstein. Cynics might put this down to the presence of TV cameras — the result will be seen on Sunday. His shoulder heaving in the last movement, like the Prime Minister laughing, was especially distracting. One of the cameramen yawned openly, and the comment was apt enough. The soloist, Misha Dichter, is a restrained musician with a delicate touch — almost too much so for the music — and Davis's somewhat relentless accompaniment was like smothering a good sale meuniere with tomato ketchup.
One of the happiest Prom events so far has been Haydn's 93rd Symphony, with Charles Mackerras at his most benign and relaxed drawing exceptional playing from the New Philharmonia, whose string tone is silk to most other orchestras' rayon. This was a supeelative performance.
Quite the nastiest event was last Sunday's relay of Liszt's Hexameron, variations on a march by Bellini for six pianos and orchestra. If a piece is worth doing, it is worth doing properly, i.e. finding a conductor who can keep it together and some pianists who play fewer wrong notes. Or if you are going to send it up, send it up properly, with a bit of style. This horrid bit of low camp was depressingly unworthy of the Proms.
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