BBC Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican

This concert, was one, of many concerts, in a cycle, in celebration, of the composer, Martinu. My reasons, for attendance, were, however, not the composer in celebration, nor the BBC Symphony Orchestra, tellingly talented, as they are, not even, the conductor, that greatest of maestros, Jiri Belohlavek, but the soloist, the greatly, magnificent, Gerald Finley. This singer, of such splendid sumptuosity, has always been, one of my most extreme, favourites, and it is always, a delight, to be, in his thrilling presence.

The concert, opened, however, not with Gerald, but with a performance, of Mozart’s Symphony, Number 29, in A major. K201. Mozart, is a composer, of ingenuity, so therefore, the performance of tragic, flatness, can be blamed, only, at the door of the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Mozart, is a composer, of joyous delights, but, such delights, were unforthcoming, in this performance, of horrific dryness.

The Martinu Symphony, Number 1, too, was a work of disappointment, of many excitements, it is true, but none such, to touch my heart, although, the virtuosity, is, of course, to be admired, it lacked, a certain, moving intensity.

The remainder, of the performance, focused, on Gerald Finley, singing, first, a selection of deep intelligence, from Des Knaben Wunderhorn. Gerald, shades, each very note, with the most irridessant, of colours, he invests, each story, with such powerful meaning, and sparkling beauteousness. Whether he sings, of the most melancholic, of sadness, whether he imitates, an animal, even one so unmusical, as a donkey, whether he is telling, with such charming, wittiness, a story, the resulting performance, is one of sensitivity, sweetness, humour, and, of course, great musicality.

The Songs and Dances of Death, held, still less cheer, but, when sheer masculine virility, is the object, this, too, Gerald can provide. They demand, one would have thought, a voice of the deadliest darkness, of sombre shadows, of murky malignancy. And Gerald, is able, with the depths of his musicianship, to add a quality, of luxuriance, to his voice, but the brilliance, of his vocal darkness, came not from the sound, so much, but from the sublimity, of the interpretation, the expressional emotivity. Gerald was uniformly terrifying, yet exclusively captivating. The memory, of his performance, is one to treasure, always.

Violetta

primi-divi at hotmail.co.uk