Debussy : La Mer
Debussy/Beamish : Suite for cello and orchestra (Steven Isserlis)
Ravel (arr. Tognetti) : Deux mélodies hébraïques (Steven Isserlis)
Ravel : Une barque sur l'océan
Ravel : Valses nobles et sentimentales
Ravel : La Valse
BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
Donald Runnicles
A concert constituted entirely of Debussy and Ravel was already close to my idea of paradise; when it began with an outstanding reading of "La Mer", my evening was made, and it would have taken a very great deal to upset me thereafter. Water is frequently evoked in Debussy's music, but "La Mer" is rather more abstract than some other visions, such as the "Sirènes" heard last week. You are out of your depth here, land is nowhere in sight, and all that matters is movement and light, and the subtleties of layering of the sound. Runnicles' timing was impeccable, the orchestra vivid and subtle, the sound flickering around from part to part, restless, enigmatic and consistently enthralling.
Like most of the great virtuosi, Steven Isserlis is constantly seeking to expand his repertory. Not being a composer himself, he commissions new works, or adaptations of pieces not originally conceived for the cello, and sometimes comes up with rarities that have been lost in someone's attic for an age, but which were, in fact, originally for his instrument. This Suite for cello and orchestra is something of a combination of all of these states, from what I gathered from the programme notes. There are two early (1882) pieces for cello and piano which are believed to have been intended as part of a suite for cello and orchestra; to these, Sally Beamish has added three other short pieces from the same period, and orchestrated the whole to make a five-movement suite.
I might have found the end result more convincing had I been less familiar with the three "new" pieces. The two original elements were unknown to me, and therefore automatically interesting, although Beamish's orchestration wasn't nearly as Wagnerian as Debussy's own (from that same period) would have been. Those of "Beau Soir" (one of the best known of his early songs), "Rêverie" and the "Danse bohémienne", seemed a little more apropos, although Beamish claims to acknowledge the Russian influence in Debussy's early music, and I wasn't hearing it. She's certainly right that it exists - Mussorgsky's musical fingerprints are all over "Pelléas et Mélisande" - but I can't say I perceived it in these orchestrations. Also, in the "Danse bohémienne", I thought the cello part was pitched too low, and often covered by the orchestra, reduced though it was, which was a pity, because regardless of my reservations concerning the piece as a whole, Isserlis's playing was every bit as engaging as one would expect from an interpreter of his class.
I enjoyed the versions of Ravel's "Deux mélodies hébraïques" rather more. The Australian violinist and composer Richard Tognetti has scored these for solo cello or violin replacing the vocal part, and a tiny string orchestra plus harp. Although it does not particularly sound like Ravel, the overall effect is elegant and atmospheric. If I had a problem with these transcribed songs, it's one that exists in the original version too; the Kaddish is such a powerful piece that the second song, far more folky in style, seems like a throwaway number, almost inconsequential alongside the somber, stately beauty of the ancient prayer.
Ravel's own orchestration of the fourth of his "Miroirs" for piano is a direct link to Debussy; having heard "La Mer" as an opener, the lessons Ravel absorbed from his colleague are obvious, without diminishing Ravel's own remarkable talent as an orchestrator, or the quality of his orchestral palette. However, when you get to the "Valse nobles...", and then "La Valse" itself, it's clear that Ravel has fully graduated and come into his own unique style. The "Valses nobles..." were a trifle sedate for my taste - I tend to like them a little more fantastical. I also think Runnicles missed a bit of an opportunity by leaving too large gaps between the waltzes, and then not allowing them to run directly into "La Valse", which it is entirely possible to do.
The attention to detail and colour, though, was lovely, and his take on the pieces became clearer once he had begun "La Valse", which right up until the first reprise of the opening pulse was sunny and smiling, not much of its ominous shadows showing in the early stages. It's an unusual interpretation in my experience, but was perfectly convincing, and the headlong plunge into the apocalyptic climax was as effective as I have ever heard in concert.
[Next: 10th February]
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