Notes from the 2011 Salzburg Festival ( 18 )

Shostakovich Cycle

One of the delightfully outlandish bits of programming at the 2011 Salzburg Festival was a cycle of Shostakovich’s 15 string quartets in chronological order in four concerts over two days: Two shorter afternoon-sessions of three quartets at 4PM (1-3 on the 18^th, 9-11 on the 19^th), another five and four quartets respectively at 7.30 in the evening. I had operas to attend to in the evening, but was glad to take in even just six Shostakovich Quartets on the side—especially with the wonderful Mandelring Quartett.

DSCH, String Quartets Nos. 1, 2, 4, Mandelring Quartett Audite DSCH, String Quartets Nos. 3, 6, 8, Mandelring Quartett Audite DSCH, String Quartets Nos.5, 7, 9, Mandelring Quartett Audite DSCH, String Quartets Nos. 10, 12, 14, Mandelring Quartett Audite DSCH, String Quartets Nos. 11, 13, 15, Mandelring Quartett Audite DSCH, String Quartets Nos. 1-15, Mandelring Quartett Audite

Over the last few years the Mandelring Quartett has issued the complete cycle on SACD for Audite (reviews here and here) and recordings gave a pretty good idea of what awaited one at these concerts: “The sheer beauty of all of Shostakovich’s brilliantly harrowing ugliness that these discs offer […] is something to behold.” That’s pretty much it: The Mandelring Quartett offers more beauty and less gore in Shostakovich than one would expect if the only reference were the performances of the (all-Russian) “Borodin”, “Beethoven”, or “Shostakovich” Quartets. They accentuate surfaces more than spikes and corners; their rhythmic beat is propulsive but rarely maniacal. They are DSCH-seducers, not DSCH-enforcers… which is not to say that they can’t work up an awesome storm. The intensity of the afternoon sessions, was considerable to inclined ear. But one must first get out of ‘Borodin-mode’ to listen to the Mandelring Quartett and gain the maximum reward from their sessions with Dmitry.

In the 1938 Quartet No.1, the melodic opening lines sounded like parallel Christmas songs. As if any dissonance or chromatic stress was sheer coincidence; an innocent by-product of the performance. The first violin’s deep, varnished, occasionally dominating sound (Sebastian Schmidt) variously sang and twitched above the viola’s (Roland Glassl) beat. The finale bristled with energy even distributed among the four players. The flow and pull of the Second Quartet (1944) and its modulated sweetness swept the rug from underneath your feet and immediately pulled you into that strange, wild, but unthreatening dance that the first movement constitutes. At anywhere between 30 to 40 minutes, it’s a comparatively long work and the second movement stretches particularly.

In the course of it a little girl a row behind me, perhaps four, whispered a few curious questions into the ear of her dad, who in turn tried to tamper that curiosity to buy himself a twenty-minute delay and see those questions asked during intermission. But they obviously burned upon the girl’s little soul and immediate inquiry needed to be made. It was endearing, actually… as was the very fact that a wide-eyed and wide-eared four year old attended an afternoon of Shostakovich String Quartets in the first place. But the intermittent whisper did not fail to bring out the evil eye of indignity of a senior couple two rows in front, which sent buckets full of withering, scornful stares into the innocent’s direction. It’s not been that long since I’ve felt similar such ocular pronouncements of disapproval and it touched me distinctively the wrong way. With something less than my usual charm I leaned forward and pointed at the stage, suggesting firmly to the gentleman that the music played up front, and that his contortions would only get him crick in his neck. The advice wasn’t taken kindly, but it was taken summarily. My later apology fell flat, though, when I suggested that among extra-musical noises, the whispered question of a curious child was by far the loveliest anyone could wish for… in any case better than hearing-aids going off, dentures incessantly being sucked into prim position, or old ladies in search of tightly wrapped cough drops really getting to the bottom of their bags.

The Third Quartet has my favorite opening of the lot, a light violin line above the chugging cello and viola, buoyantly dancing along, untroubled by darker intrusions occasionally thrown in. It’s very hard not to bop my head along to it and shake all the limbs in rhythmic convulsion. But the action would undoubtedly, justifiably call forth even more recrimination than whispers, so I suppressed the urge… especially on the rickety seating in the Mozarteum where every tapped foot is transmitted half a dozen seats to both sides. Peckish, lyrical, intense, but also ruthless in the third movement Allegro non troppo, it was an astonishing way to finish the first afternoon set.

Everything about this opening shot of DSCH suggested that attendance for at least the next afternoon session was downright mandatory, and so I came back for another half measure of Shostakovich, Quartets 9 through 11, opp.117, 118, and 122. Despite being nominally sold out, the Grand Concert Hall wasn’t completely full. Perhaps the good weather had kept a number of ticket holders from attending the 4PM part, rolling in only for the more extensive evening bit, while as many of the afternooners were indisposed in the evening (or had their fill of Shostakovich), because similar lacunae were reported among the seats in those concerts, too, with only about half the audience remaining for the 8^th and 15^th quartets, respectively.

The Mandelring more or less picked up on Friday where I had left them, with great accuracy, excellent intonation (especially evident after hearing less-than-ideal examples), and their lyrical streak. The spiccato riding motif (not unlike the famous Rossini-William Tell Overture motif that Shostakovich uses in his 15^th Symphony) in the Allegretto of the 9^th Quartet, for example, was played with more delicacy than fierceness, but ever propelling. The concluding Allegro, twice as long as any one of the preceding four movements, was dashing-dynamic—and the leftover energy went right into the Andante of Quartet no.10. After few memorable moments in between, the Mandelring Quartet emerged again for a final movement, Allegretto, that veered nicely between thrilling and serene.

Symphonic dolefulness marks the opening of the 11^th Quartet, and the four musicians finally—dug into the seven-movement (but only about 16-minute long) quartet like berserkers which worked well with calm underlying pulse. With so much fun to be had for the ears, it was over before one noticed. Since the four players apparently appreciate the challenge of these Shostakovich marathons (this was the second time they had done the complete set in two days), there might be the opportunity to hear the missing nine quartets soon enough.

Picture courtesy Salzburg Festival, © Wolfgang Lienbacher

Notes from the 2011 Salzburg Festival ( 17 ) - Věc Makropulos Fantabulous

Leoš Janáček • Věc Makropulos

The Vienna Philharmonic doesn’t always get the glory and it doesn’t always deliver the best performances, but it really is the orchestral workhorse of the Salzburg Festival. And this year it certainly deserves all the praise it gets and then some for the work they are doing, in several shifts, in the pit. Phenomenal their malleability from conductor to conductor (Muti, Thielemann, Salonen, Nézet-Séguin), astonishing the average quality of the playing, delightful the various and very different nuances they bring to Verdi, Strauss, Janáček, and Mozart.

Věc Makropulous (The Makropulous Case) has terrific music with sweep and drama and sometimes ferocious energy, sometimes sardonic wit, and then chilling severity. It is based on a dark comedy by Karel Čapek about the ongoing, century-long court case of an inheritance dispute into which the famous diva Emilia Marty interjects herself—seemingly for reasons of fairness at first, having surprising knowledge of case details going back a hundred years and more.

L.Janáček, Věc Makropulos, Mackerras / WPh / Söderström... Decca L.Janáček, The Makrop. Case, Mackerras / ENO O. / Barker et al. Chandos (Opera in English)

Emilia Marty, it is slowly revealed, is the great grandmother of one of the contestants, and the lover of the great-great grandfather of the other… then still living under the pseudonym Ellian Macgregor. She couldn’t care less who of the two receives the legacy of Josef Ferdinand Prus, but she does care about getting her hands on the recipe for the formula of eternal youth that has afforded her 337 years so far. Unfortunately a life not being finite means a life without intensity, without perceptible arch; Emilia ex-Ellian ex-Elina Makropulos (her actual, original name) has become a cynical and cold creature that suffers from her longevity more than she enjoys it. Thanks to Janáček, who superimposes his ever-lasting unsuccessful love-affair with Kamila Stösslová into this, and every other opera, she has spurts of humanity, breaking out like passionate rashes. Janáček bestows her with magnificent music… furthered in this case by Esa-Pekka Salonen’s markedly vital, fiery-yet-objective reading. Navigating the organ-like blocks, Salonen created an arch through the music that sucked one in from the first sweeping minutes to the harshly cackling, then Puccini-esque lyrical, finally brass-question-mark dotted finale.

I thought I had even perceived aspects of Salome in the music and Angela Denoke’s portrayal of Emilia Marty but in a brief and uncomfortable interview some days later, Denoke suggested that was nonsense of the first order, as the characters have nothing whatsoever in common. (They do have something in common, actually, and that is Denoke who was not only outstanding in every way in Makropolus but also the most notable Salome I have seen in the last few years. Perhaps I was thus misled.)

If Denoke stood out, she did so from a very even and satisfying cast with Johan Rueter as Jaroslav Prus really coming to life in the last act once he hears of the suicide of his son, Janek Prus (Aleš Briscein). Raymend Very as Albert Gregor, Peter Hoare as Vítek, and Jurgita Adamonytė as the aspiring singer and proto-Bobby soxer Krista. In conversation Angela Denoke complained that singers get very little credit for the productions they help to create, the focus instead going exclusively to the director. Christoph Marthaler, in this case. The irony is that in a successful production, the memory of the singers increasingly turns into a dramatic memory; each singer part of a whole and inextricably connected to a greater impression. The great stillness and tension with which Denoke’s Emilia endures the world around her (“very difficult at first, because I am a very physical singer and prefer to move around”) thus became part of a greater impression of ‘flavor’. That flavor, found in abundance, was the work of Anna Viebrock, responsible for the superb stage set—a 1920s central European court room that might have been straight out of a Kafka play—and the period costumes.


To the left and the right of the wide stage of the Grosses Festspielhaus were—literally—side-shows going on. An entertaining prologue (mouthed and super-titled by two re-occurring, chain-smoking extras, one young, tall, and beautiful, the other old, wry, and diminutive) set up the question of mortality, how long people ought to live, who would be allowed to live longer, who would decide on that, and whether Emilia Marty is indeed the greatest opera singer. The theme of (near-) eternal recurrence is played out not only on stage—insinuated in the long life of Elina Makropulos—but in this side-show. Whether a burly warden carries the old lady off stage only to find her re-appearing at the door he just walked her from, or whether he brings one bouquet of flowers after another to her (a ceremony that lasted for nearly half an hour), these bits take the pressure off the main events… almost as if Marthaler didn’t quite trust the story itself to be sufficient to hold one’s interest. The same principle ruled the third act when during the orchestral music the court assembles and disassembles (largely through trap doors) thrice or four times… giving a physical touch to the trial that already lasts for 100 years. Every character, except the stiffly rigorous Emilia, has a tick or develops one over the course of the opera. Jochen Schmeckenbecher’s Dr.Kolenatý has fits of anger when he has trouble getting out of or into his coats and frocks. The four men awaiting the verdict during Emilia-Elina’s confession fidget, squirm, and fuss with increasing violence. Why exactly isn’t always clear, but Marthaler-typical, it’s quite amusing.

The appealing production and its singing actors work on a superficial, gorgeous, and immediate level that—sideshow or not—didn’t distract from the music. Marthaler’s direction is neither a radical interpretation nor an outrageously clever way to shine new light on the core of the work, it is ‘ambiance’. The best thing about it is ultimately that it succeeded in making the music work on the audience in its most powerful possible, direct way. What remains is that sense of flavor and the will to taste from the cup of Janáček again, as soon as possible.

All pictures courtesy of the Salzburg Festival, © Walter Mair