A decadent act: Gurre-Lieder at the Bridgewater Hall
Gurre-Lieder
Mark Elder, Brandon Jovanovich, Emily Magee, Alice Coote, Graham Clark, James Creswell, Thomas Allen, the Hallé, BBC Philharmonic, the Hallé Choir and gentlemen of the Edinburgh Festival Chorus and London Philharmonic Choir
Bridgewater Hall
Stalls H38, £29
4 June 2017
Bridgewater page
A performance of Gurre-Lieder is a decadent act. So many people – so many instruments – so many hours' rehearsal – so much noise – so many notes! I'll confess certain moments are too rich for my palate – like (simile warning) gorging on foie gras that has been made from a goose that was force-fed foie gras. But there are other moments that are so tremendous, so exciting, thrilling verging on terrifying, like a Wagner-Mahler love child on acid, and emphatically Schoenbergian in ambition.
At the helm of this outpouring of decadence was Mark Elder. What a feeling that must be, to have the responsibility for bringing all those people and hours and notes together. It's a burden Elder to me seems particularly well suited to shoulder; he seems to exude steely fury on the podium, a tightly wound manifestation of will. Not quite everything worked, but that's perhaps even an encouraging signal that there is a limit even to Elder's power.
The things that didn't quite work were few. Brandon Jovanovich as Waldemar has a loud and exciting timbre but here his legato seemed to be switched off, every phrase broken into notes. He hid his nose in his copy throughout, and also cupped his hand against his ear for high notes. The orchestra is loud, certainly, but professional singers shouldn't need that kind of crutch. Emily Magee as Tove didn't penetrate as I wished her too, and the negligible chemistry between the two of them led to some pretty turgid moments in Part One. And the vast chorus, impressive in so many ways, didn't quite manage to sing all the right notes.
Everything else was superb. Alice Coote's wild performing intensity and glorious vocal lustre could not be better suited to the Wood Bird's gory monologue. Graham Clark should be a national treasure: so embedded within the music, and so magnificently loud. Thomas Allen is very definitely a national treasure and worthy of the according accolades, his intelligently sung Sprechstimme a masterclass in the form. James Creswell, standing in for Johan Reuter, acquitted himself well.
And the chorus and orchestra were phenomenally loud! I would be lying if I tried to claim I could hear every part (the harps, for example, might have stayed at home for all I could tell), but the cumulative effect was of awesome strength, of full-blooded commitment to this absurdly challenging work, and of lusty engagement with its meaty flesh. It thrilled, exactly as Gurre-Lieder must.
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