13 - 19 September 2001
Issue No.551
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Al-Ahram Weekly Online 13 - 19 September 2001 Issue No.551 |
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Nothing like a monster
David Blake hears three in a row
Wagner, Walkuerentritt, Tchaikovsky concerto for Piano and Orchestra in B flat-minor Op 23, Mahler Symphony No 1 in D-major, "Der Titan"; Soloist (Piano) Tatiana Szebanova; Conductor Ahmed El-Saedi, Cairo Opera House, Main Hall, 8 September
These three events, and events they are, have been around for years though they show little signs of being threadbare. They are good, genuine straight monsters out to terrify and impose, but never bore. They belong nowhere, to no one. They can always deliver a knock- out blow to the self-indulgent person who thinks he knows all about them.
Tchaikovsky's electric talent took him to the dangerous and exalted musical chairs surrounding the Romanovs. He had to pay a price for his intimacy and the secret, even today, is how much. Mahler upset the mighty Viennese musical establishment and went to the New York Metropolitan Opera but was never the same afterwards. Wagner upset everything and everyone and still does. He's still going strong in the monster stakes, the blood-breathing Godzilla of Bayreuth.
After the usual labours of summer the Cairo Symphony Orchestra showed up in fighting form to present these three pieces. But then a funny thing happened to each of the programme pieces. They are big stuff but where was the primal impact of the Wagner Walkuerentritt, which should go off like a rocket?
It began sounding as if it was a chamber opera. The metallic silver sound was missing. One never expected Wotan's daughters would be dab hands at bridge but there was not a horse in sight. No flight or swoop and no intimations of imminent thunder. Then the music itself changed. The ride was over. A sort of phoney peace conference was awaiting us on stage and the chairman of the board is a woman. Soon enough the shouting will commence and we will be witnesses to one of the most awful put downs in history. This is just what El-Saedi suggested. Wagner prepares the scene and the music. From the freedom and aerial light of the opening movement he lets us down to the ground floor by floor in a sort of lift. Level by level each change of pitch was thrilling, dark, foreboding and nasty.
Next monster, Tchaikovsky, was another kettle of fish. Wagner always went public while Tchaikovsky retreated into a cocoon of unreality. He almost turned himself from a chrysalis into a night moth of unbelievable colours. A bar or two is enough. This could only be Tchaikovsky. There is little to be known in Tchaikovsky's life. It moved, it suggested a pace which is unlivable. Tatiana Szebanova's hands had no tremble. She's tall and beautiful with long tendril arms quite unlike the bicep-flexing viragos who usually play this piece. And she is Russian. It helps to be so.
The entire world knows the opening of this concerto, chords, huge ones, flashed between lights, darks and turmoil. So what was she doing kneading bread for Sunday's dinner. She seemed to love bread, kneading carefully and gently as the concerto crashed on around her. The blanket of dough seemed to soak up everything. We passed on through sections of surge and turmoil which other players, young and old, fly at. Not a tremor came from Tatiana's lovely arms. Don't be a lump of dough, dear, just relax.
The monster has a heart too warm and loves beautiful people in spite of his family. About the middle of this concerto, after plenty of weltshmerz and angst the monster drops into a place strewn with flowers, mostly daisies. Daisies everywhere, chains of them dripping off the piano. And where was Miss Bread Roll Tatiana all this time? This Russian pianist must be dealing with one of her own monsters.
Then it happened to her. She was struck by the spark of the concert. Her fingers began to fly, the arms became sinew and bone. Her concentration became complete. She was in the daisy chain. It suited her. She sweated and dabbed her face and forehead and she became more beautiful and alive. We passed into true Tchaikovsky. Her personality took another dimension -- sharp, full of pathos and power. Some of her phrases flew up into the air. She, the voice barely on her seat, seemed to say "look, late late Baroque destruction," and down she thundered to the keyboard. Another Tchaikovsky B- flat minor to be remembered. They had put on speed. Her octaves flew land she was happy. So was El-Saedi.
The last monster, the Mahler Titan symphony, is the most really awful of them all in tonight's programme. It is the Titan, a race of large massive people, objects, ships, everything -- and symphonies. Mahler was brave with this weird, colossal piece, which in spite of its length has little form. But it never stops moving and its vast size is troublesome. It is more like a Rothko painting with huge, unrelated areas like washes of colour.
El-Saedi is a Mahlerian. He has the touch, the love and the ability to put Goliath together. But in this symphony Mahler mostly appears to be falling apart. There is nothing secure about it. Birds, water sounds, human appearances: there are people in this strange edifice. The melodies are from everywhere -- pop tunes, marches of death or war, we are given the noises of an entire life. The greatest black holes in music are in Mahler's music and so are the sweetest bird sounds. The grandeur is often paralysing. He was the most difficult monster of tonight because he's so pure, all love like a great bird on the wing. Will he ever pass this way again?
Unique and unpredictable he fits no known mould. When he goes up and away on his notes, he takes with him the entire landscape as well as any children about in it. Ending with Mahler was nice of the Opera. This concert was not highly finished. It was working through a lot of unsolved problems but they made the most of it and that's what real concert going is about.
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