BBCSSO: Bartók’s ‘Bluebeard's Castle’

City Halls, Glasgow, 16/4/26

BBCSSO, Elim Chan (conductor), Dorottya Láng (mezzo-soprano), Gábor Bretz (baritone)

 The penultimate concert in the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra’s afternoon series at Glasgow’s City Halls was on 16th April and promised a concert performance of Bartók’s one-act opera, ‘Duke Bluebeard’s Castle’, a darkly gripping symbolist psychological thriller, after the interval.  Bluebeard and his new wife Judith were sung by Hungarian baritone and Professor of Singing at the Franz Liszt Academy, Gábor Bretz, and his compatriot prizewinning mezzo Dorottya Láng.  The concert opened with Britten’s equally tense and brooding orchestral portrait of the North Sea as seen from the Suffolk coast, the ‘Four Sea Interludes’ from his opera ‘Peter Grimes’.  Before the interval, we heard Shostakovich’s ‘Hamlet - suite’, orchestral music from his score for Akimov’s darkly absurd satirical Russian (sung) production of Shakespeare’s play.  The programme was conducted by returning Hong Kong-born guest conductor, Elim Chan.  A concert, therefore, of theatrical music, all of which plays on the listener’s expectations.  Elim’s last thrilling appearance with the orchestra six months ago had featured the flamboyance of Gabriela Montero’s ‘Latin’ Concerto with the composer as piano soloist, and the dramatic romanticism of Brahms’ Fourth Symphony, so the prospect of catching her in a contrasting programme of vivid tonal picture-painting was an attractive one.  The concert was recorded for broadcast on Thursday 23rd April on ‘Radio 3 in Concert’, introduced by Kate Molleson.  Leader of the Ruisi Quartet Alessandro, Ruisi returned, just under a year since his last appearance, as guest leader for the afternoon.  Attendance was modest but satisfactory. 

Peter Grimes, the anti-social pariah fisherman, and Bluebeard, the secretive reclusive aristocrat, may be vastly different in social status but both are victims of the rumour mill.  Not that the audience can be certain that Grimes is innocent, but we can be certain that the small-town (thinly-disguised Aldeburgh) minds are firmly closed against him, despite being acquitted of causing the death of his apprentice.  Although the orchestral interludes fulfil the utilitarian function of masking scene changes, they are laden with atmosphere and dramatic tension, evoking both mood and scene, including oppressive suspicion and distrust, the barely concealed threat of violence, the implacable, irresistible and ever-present sea as both friend and foe, and the pathetic fallacy of the environment mirroring human passions.  Elim Chan shaped and guided a very complete reading of the score.  ‘Dawn’ juxtaposed three elements, the focus shifting between them.  The glimmer of light on the horizon seen through the chill air was high on violins and flutes, the frisson of wavelets on the water’s surface disturbed by the breeze burbled on clarinets and violas, the (for now concealed) immense power of the sea hinted at by horns and timpani rolls and, later, all the brass.  ‘Sunday Morning’ started with the clamour of bells, first on horns but later more insistent and discordant on a tubular bell, the shrieking of gulls and other birds adding to the sense of alienation and aching unease of the ostracised Grimes in the string melody.  ‘Moonlight’ contrasted the beautiful glimmer of flecks of reflected moonlight from the wavelets and the stillness of the immense sea with a hint of its menacing restrained power, the spirit-lifting beauty offset by the melancholy of social isolation, the glimmers shifting to trumpet and xylophone on notes outside the scale of the other instruments.  The ‘Storm’ unleashed attacca the pent-up snarling fury of sea and sky.  A beautiful interlude of eerie calm in the eye of the storm was swept aside by the final rage of the coda.  It is a piece I have heard live about half a dozen times over the years and I never tire of it.  This was as fine and compelling an interpretation and performance as I have heard.

I have no doubt that if I had ever encountered a production of my favourite Shakespeare play as a farce, I would have detested it with a passion.  Fortunately, I have been spared that ordeal.  But the Shostakovich score is a different matter.  Written while he was also working on his opera ‘Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District’, he used ‘Hamlet’ to try out many of the new dramatic ideas and devices that were going to be so important in his opera.  To the ear it is unmistakably early Shostakovich, midway between the avant-garde absurdism of his first opera ‘The Nose’ and the unrestrained explosive creativity of the Fourth Symphony, and though it is composed of 13 short episodes, most played attacca, it hangs together as a convincing concert piece.  It is also surprising to hear many foreshadows of orchestral textures that would reappear in the later symphonies.  Even the Introduction had the same sense of gruesome dread that inhabits much of the first movement of the Thirteenth Symphony, while the ensuing melodies were scored like the revolutionary songs quoted in the Eleventh.  Later, the same scoring that evoked the eerie stillness of the Palace Square in the first movement of the Eleventh served a similar spooky purpose.  Music for a Requiem foretold the traumatic climax of the first movement of the Eighth.  There was plenty of lighter music as well, very like the composer’s ballet music, with fanfares, marches and dances, including a gorgeous saltarello.  The suite is a super piece and it received an engaging and compelling performance.  It does have a minor drawback, which is that the challenge of matching the 13 episodic headings in the programme to what the ear is hearing defeats most audiences, so they are not sure when to applaud.  Glasgow was no exception.  When they did start to applaud tentatively, Elim Chan pointed to the trombones to take a bow.  Fearing that this was a cue for another episode, the applause stopped momentarily, eventually reigniting with a nod from the conductor. This too is theatre.

The opera was sung in Hungarian with English surtitles.   Mezzo Dorottya Láng delivered the spoken preamble in English.  Judith arrives as Bluebeard’s fourth wife.  Nobody knows what happened to his first three wives, but there are grisly rumours.  His castle is dark and gloomy, but he is handsome, dignified and reserved, and her heart goes out to this seemingly lonely man.  The action, when staged, takes place in the hall of the castle, where 7 doors are visible.  All are locked.  Judith’s curiosity outweighs her dread and she demands to see what they conceal.  He lets her unlock the first two, revealing a torture chamber and a bloodstained armoury.  The music for these is predictably grim.  But the next three rooms are a treasury (celesta and solo violin), a beautiful garden (idyllic birdsong on 4 flutes) and a panoramic view over the Duke’s domain.  All of this is hers, along with the promise of his love.  But there is blood on the jewels in the treasury and the flowers in the garden, while the clouds in the landscape are blood-red.  Her curiosity must be satisfied.  The penultimate door reveals a lake, but it is a Lake of Tears.  Convinced now that the rumours must be true and that the 7th door will reveal the corpses of his first three wives, she refuses to be dissuaded from having the last door opened.  Three beautiful women, alive and well, dressed in the finest clothes, welcome her and dress her in similar finery.  They are queens of dawn, midday and dusk; she will be queen of midnight.

‘Duke Bluebeard’s Castle’ is a masterpiece.  The music is as marvellously descriptive of mood and place as the Britten, yet totally different with Bartók’s inimitable flair for the macabre and spooky night music allied to a rich incorporation of folk influences and fairy-tale psychological drama.  The singing of the two Hungarian artists was superb, with that special glow of pride that comes from people performing their national music.  In the week in which we lost Máire Ní Bhraonáin (Moya Brennan), formerly lead singer of Clannad and dubbed “Queen of Celtic Music”, it was particularly poignant, and I would like to dedicate this review to Moya’s memory.  The Glasgow audience certainly took the two singers and the conductor to their hearts and the affection in the applause was palpable.  Appreciation of the artistry, certainly, but there was something more, a visually pleasing element.  Elim is one of those conductors whose movements to shape the performance convey information not only to the performers but also to the audience, adding to the appreciation of what is heard.  But she is also very petite, whilst both of the vocalists are quite tall.  Thus, even on the podium, the top of her head was below theirs.  Glasgow loves cute.