A winter evening in Vienna. It is as well the Blue Danube Waltz is still far in the future as tonight the river is a cold and steely grey. It’s been snowing all day, and the elaborate tiling on St Stephen’s Cathedral roof has an extra sugar-dusting, making it look like one of those wickedly rich cakes you can find in any Viennese coffee-house. The snow softens the clatter of the carriage-wheels as the guests arrive, most of them good friends. They are the Schubertians, and they have come to hear Tubby, as his male friends call him affectionately, play them his latest pieces, and perhaps some of their favourites as well. They’re glad to get into the cosy drawing-room, with its porcelain stove crackling gently in the corner, and its pretty Biedermeier furniture. Not much of this can be seen, however, as every available seat is being sat on, and some of the gentlemen are going to have to stand.
Never mind, spring will come and it will be such fun to all go out on picnics in the Vienna woods. If it’s like tonight, there may be some shuffling of music-stands round the piano, which, with its slim form and wooden frame, still looks rather like a harpsichord, because there is going to be chamber music, and maybe there will be a professional singer or, if not, Schubert can always give an idea of the songs himself.
It is just such an evening which a most accomplished music party re-created at this concert. It is always a joy to discover such a ravishingly beautiful piece as the Trio known as “Notturno”, which I have to confess, I had somehow never heard. The Leonore Piano Trio is an ensemble which is well bedded-in, and what makes them particularly attractive is they look as if they’re enjoying playing together. Schubert is a master of “water” music, and the lovely flow of this piece recalled various songs which feature water. “Gorgeous” is a terribly over-worked word, but I cannot think of a better one to describe the sound-world of this piece. The piano and cello became the singing “voices” at first, and then the sonority of the violin was added. A lovely start to the programme.
We then moved on to a different combination of cello, piano, this time played by James Sherlock, and tenor Paul Robinson. Originally the cello part was written for horn, but that would have deprived us of Gemma Rosefield’s rich and ample sound. Paul Robinson, whom I had heard before in other repertoire, turned out to be just the sort of Lieder singer one would expect – warm and sympathetic, with very good German – and a knack of drawing his audience in to listen to him. James works over such a wide range – solo piano, organist, conductor, choirmaster – and this, the only field in which I had not yet heard him. He is an extremely accomplished chamber musician and just how accomplished we were about to find out.
Gemma Rosefield continued to prove what a quality cellist she is in the Arpeggione sonata for cello and piano, which she played next. It wouldn’t surprise anyone that she has a blossoming career both here and abroad.
After the interval, we were ready for more Lieder. But first, back to Vienna. The seven songs we heard from the collection known as Schwanengesang” were set to poems by Ludwig Rellstab. Schubert must have at least known him, or seen him around, because they belonged to the same club. And what a club! It had the odd name of “Ludlums Höhle” but all the smart Arts crowd in Vienna belonged – writers, composers, artists, actors, singers – you name them. Of course it was very much a male affair, and things got very laddish indeed. When Weber, whose operas were so grand that even modern opera houses have to look to their budgets, joined, he was quite baffled by the goings-on.
Of course all this was fairly harmless but Schubert’s friends were unable to understand how someone like him, who plunged into the lowlife of Vienna could write such great music. They obviously hadn’t met many great composers – from Vivaldi to Wagner, and beyond, they weren’t exactly models of respectability! Nor did they care. One had only to think of Verdi, living up to his nickname of the Bear of Busseto, where his farm was, growling at his gossiping neighbours “In my house there lives a lady…..”
Schubert never called these songs and their companions “Schwanengesang”. They were published after his death, and it was the publisher who named them as his Swan song. It is poignant to think that Schubert was dead when he was not much more than a year older than James who was playing them. They are not a cycle, which means changes of mood from song to song – a great opportunity for both members of the partnership.
In the first song Paul’s tenor was well suited to the sparkling brook provided by James. And it was so nice to see the pianist smile such a lot! Why not? We then had a complete change, to a song which could be sung in such a situation today – the soldier, the only one awake in his camp, sending a thought message to his sweetheart – and saying grimly that soon he’d sleep well. Longing for spring followed with Paul’s voice and James’ playing, as light as a spring breeze. And here I put my hand up – “Serenade” the next song, is one of my favourite pieces of Lieder. To a seductive, rocking accompaniment, the lover sings his message and says even the nightingales are singing it for him. “Come, make me happy” he pleads. Who wouldn’t? Two much heavier songs follow – a landscape with all the romantic rocks a painter like Caspar David Friedrich could desire, and then back to the theme of Winterreise of a man in despair, leaving the person he loved and everything else he loves as well.
The last song was one of the treats of the evening. “Farewell” again is a traveller’s song – but, oh, what a difference! Yes, he’s got to move on, but he’s a travelling Man, and he has to take the rough with the smooth. James’ high-stepping trotting horse in the piano part was a delight, and Paul achieved the air of bravado without getting sloppy, which the song needed.
We welcomed the trio back to close the programme with an unmistakeably Schubertian Trio. You cannot help recalling his songs – not that he is repeating them, in any way, but so many of the musical motifs occur in his repertoire. One last triumphant chord on the piano, one upsweep of the bows of the violin and cello, and the Rondo – and the Trio, was over.
Happily James tells us we expect more Schubertiads one day. Schubert was infuriated by a request (can’t a man have a drink with a mate in an inn in peace?) to write some music for some members of the Vienna Opera House Orchestra. He lost his temper and was very rude, but one thing he shouted at them has rung down the ages – “I am Schubert – Franz Schubert, and don’t you forget it.” We never will.
Schubertiad Review
Suzanne Pinkerton