BBCSSO: Bruckner’s Symphony No.9

City Halls, Glasgow - 29/02/24

BBCSSO | Alpesh Chauhan, conductor

“Escape into Ultimate Romantics” – an irresistible invitation to wallow in late 19th century goodies with the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra’s go-to expert in such repertoire (and former Associate Conductor), Alpesh Chauhan.  The ‘ultimate romantics’ for the programme of 29th February in Glasgow’s City Halls were Puccini, Tchaikovsky and Bruckner.  The headline work, played after the interval, was Bruckner’s monumental 9th Symphony, a work paradoxically unfinished yet awe-inspiringly complete.  The intermezzi from two Puccini operas, ‘Madama Butterfly’ of 1904 and ‘Manon Lescaut’ of 1893, opened the concert, followed by Tchaikovsky’s lesser-known symphonic fantasy, ‘Fatum’.  The concert was introduced by Kate Molleson and broadcast live on Radio 3. It was quite well attended, though unlike the last two City Halls performances, the choir balcony was not needed.  Lucy Gould returned as Guest Leader.

The Intermezzo from ‘Madama Butterfly’, when not cut, occurs between Acts II and III after the ‘Humming Chorus’ and depicts Cio-Cio San’s state of mind through an all-night vigil in expectation of being reunited with Pinkerton, his ship lying at anchor in the harbour.  A sense of growing hope and passionate yearning was wonderfully evoked, building to a climax with music evocative of the dawn with imitated birdsong and oriental melodies with tuned gongs, finally subsiding to a serene afterglow.  Similarly, the Intermezzo from ‘Manon Lescaut’ separates second and third acts and depicts the eponymous heroine’s journey under arrest to the port of Le Havre, from where she is due to be transported to a penal colony, having eloped with valuables from a vengeful, controlling wealthy patron to join her penniless lover.  Super mournful solos from principal cellist Rudi De Groote and principal violist Scott Dickinson led to cantabile melodies on strings and winds, increasingly dramatic and passionate, with lots of chromaticism and writing in unison and octaves.  The brass injected a note of heartache but there was also a hint of hope in the concluding bars.  Both featured great playing and were a great concert opener.

Tchaikovsky’s 1868 ‘Fatum’ was a first encounter for me.  Anybody expecting the white heat of ‘Francesca da Rimini’ or the raw passion of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ will have been disappointed, but it was an interesting and engaging piece.  It was only performed twice in the composer’s lifetime, a promising premiere followed by a disastrous second outing, panned by, among others, Balakirev.  In fairness, it is not top-drawer Tchaikovsky, yet there is much to enjoy.  Episodic like the other symphonic fantasies, it opens dramatically and rhythmically with pounding low string chords answered by the brass.  There is plenty of fine contrapuntal writing for winds and brass, a recurring energetic Russian dance episode and another that is majestic and melodic with great writing for horns and strings.  I also enjoyed some deliciously spooky playing from basses and cellos and a lovely wee cor anglais solo.  But I just didn’t feel the music had an overall sense of direction or of progress towards a destination.  As regards the evocation of fatalism, it is no way as compelling as the last three symphonies.  Alpesh and the orchestra gave it the utmost advocacy, but it is what it is.  If this seems harsh, I point out that Tchaikovsky destroyed the score after the second performance and what we have was reconstructed from orchestral parts which survived.  I am genuinely glad to have heard it in concert, but I won’t be regarding its absence from my record collection as an ‘omission’.

I don’t know whom to credit with the observation, sometime early in the last century, that “whilst Bruckner symphonies still cannot fill an auditorium, at least they no longer empty one”.  And indeed, times have marched on and, whilst maybe not universally loved, the symphonies are now securely in the repertoire of concerts and recordings.  Contrasting traditions of interpretation have grown up, all emphasising (for it is unignorable) the epic character of the works.  Different metaphors of hugeness are favoured by different writers, such as monumental architecture, epic Gothic Romantic novels or biographies of struggle, and epic journeys or quests, and all of these visions have found expression in the interpretation of different conductors captivated (as indeed am I) by the Bruckner bug.  A distinctly German school has a tendency to approach the music with an awed reverence due to ‘heilige Kunst’, with a sense of distaste for the earthly passions which are also present in the music.  I am delighted to report that Alpesh is not of that school, and his Ninth was an epic journey, perhaps one of self-discovery, facing crises of identity, anxiety and self-doubt, demons of despair, unfulfilled longing and heartache, but finally finding inner peace.  Bruckner did intend a finale but died with only sketches written.  It is important to acknowledge that he did not simply run out of time – he busied himself with revising earlier symphonies.  The 3-movement Ninth that we have is as complete as he could make it.   I have attended a live performance of a scholarly attempt at ‘completion’ of the work through adding a finale and, if I never hear it again, it will be too soon.  The addition of a negative is subtraction.

Alpesh brought a sense of mystery and enfolding narrative to the first movement.  Bruckner’s tendency to revisit episodes to advance their symphonic development makes sense as a ‘meanwhile’ in a narrative and that was how they were presented.  The climaxes were spine-tingling.  The coda where, just like Beethoven’s D-minor Ninth, the ghosts of earlier themes return to build a final cadence, was magical and the searing top A on the trumpets was white-hot.  Super.  The Scherzo, a demonic Ländler for heffalumps, was a thrill, while the no less demonic scampering, impish Triooffered a momentary touch of light relief in the overall context of an un-dispelled nightmare.  A mishap befell the Scherzo reprise, in the form of an exposed premature timpani entry.  To quote my aunt, “These things happen in the best regulated of families” or indeed my late mother, as devout a Catholic as Bruckner himself: “It could happen to a bishop”.  No major harm done.  The Adagio was spellbinding from start to finish.  The anguished opening built to the first climactic transfigurative brass climax and the first of many episodes of goosebumps.  Wistful, sorrowful, string passages, yearning melodies reaching for fulfilment always out of reach, and stoic trudging marches come and go, but contentment remains elusive.  A cadential moment of delicious string polyphony shows that all is not woe, yet brings no peace of mind.  A brass chorale builds to a huge climactic crushing discord.  Then finally, after another abortive reach towards the transfigurative figure, inner peace finally emerges, the lovely timbre of Wagner tubas glowing in the final cadence.  Fabulous.

The podcast of the concert will be available on BBC Sounds until the end of March.