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Concert Reviews |
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 Index of Reviews |
Academy of St. Martin in the Fields and Chorus, Neville Marriner (cond.), Andrew Marriner (clarinet), Saturday 28 January 2006, Symphony Hall, Birmingham The culturally aware will not have failed to notice that Mozart is celebrating his 250th birthday this year (or would be, were he alive), an event that is being widely observed by musicians. As part of its own festivities, Symphony Hall offered us a programme featuring two of the composer’s most popular works: the Clarinet Concerto and his Requiem, both written in 1791, the year of Mozart’s death. Indeed, the Requiem remained unfinished and it was left for the composer’s pupil, Süssmayr, to complete. Debate continues as to what extent the work is Mozart’s. What is certain is that the Requiem contains much profoundly moving music, even to those of us of little or no religious faith. The Clarinet Concerto was performed by Andrew Marriner, one of Britain’s foremost clarinettists (and son of this concert’s conductor). His interpretation favoured the playful aspects of the work, and although his remarkably smooth tone minimised the potential for light and shade, one cannot deny that this was a beautiful rendering of a masterpiece. The orchestra gave Marriner the breathing space (both conceptually and literally) he needed and one got the impression that both were at ease with each other, the partnership vital to a successful performance of a concerto which places clarity of expression above virtuosic display. The ensuing performance of the Requiem was similarly characterised by clarity and brilliance. Marriner (senior) here coaxed the Academy to a greater degree of intensity, yet one carefully controlled throughout and never at risk of descending into sentimentality (how very British). Of the soloists, I was particularly struck by tenor Lothar Odinius, whose performance was least operatic of the four, and favourably so. The chorus showed themselves capable of great subtlety, particularly in the poignant ‘Lacrimosa’, and of vitality in the rousing sections. To contemporary ears the Latin Requiem mass may contain little of relevance; we tend to recoil at talk of Wrath, Judgement, bottomless pits and Perpetual Light. How should the faithless approach such a work today: as a ‘museum piece’ whose context we recognise but do not affirm, or as ‘pure music’ devoid of meaning? While we can rightfully dismiss religious dogma, we cannot dismiss the beauty of the art it has inspired. Optimists must seek comfort not just in humanity’s capacity to create epoch-enduring art but in our continuing ability to perform it with passion and integrity. Tim Foxon |
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