Very few musicologists have been able to promote their
scholarship in such a way that alters the perspective of modern musical
performance quite like Sir John Eliot Gardiner, whose work with the Orchestre
Révolutionnaire et Romantique over the past 20-odd years has seemingly changed
the perception of Beethoven’s orchestral works forever. Not only has Gardiner fine-tuned his ensemble to become a machine of period-instrument virtuosity,
his superhumanly acute ear continues to provide crystalline clarity to
Beethoven’s complex polyphony in ways that make his performances akin to
hearing these works for the first time.
Returning to Carnegie Hall for the first of two concerts,
Gardiner led his orchestra, along with the Monteverdi Choir, in alternately
chilling and spiritual performances of the Ninth Symphony, as well as the
seldom-heard mini-cantata, Calm Sea and
Prosperous Voyage. For listeners and musicians alike—groomed on Karajan’s
and Bernstein’s heavy, legato rendetions of the Beethoven symphonic cycle—it
admittedly takes some time to get used to the period style: the lowered pitch,
the gut strings, the lack of a precise modern attack from the winds and brass.
To dip the listener’s proverbial toe into the pool, the
nine-minute choral work served as a light and reverent preamble to the feast to
come, beginning with a blanket of string sound that seemed to rise imperceptibly
from the hall itself before the chorus’s first statement of the evening, “Deepest
calm lies on the water.”
The Ninth Symphony, however, only provided a few flickering
seconds of sonic reprieve before the firestorm of the first tutti arrival, immediately showcasing
Gardiner’s singular approach to note lengths, voicing, and strict sense of
rhythm. The first two movements, collectively, were incredibly precise
throughout, despite the period instruments’ inability to cut through the hall
like their modern brethren. Although the woodwind voices struggled to be heard
at times, it was thrilling to hear the archaic valve-less horns and trumpets
work with the timpanist in their militaristic fanfares.
Absorbing the orchestral movements of the symphony in such a
new style makes the entrance of the vocal soloists and choir even more jarring;
Matthew Rose’s cavernous bass sound struck the ear as the first modern and
relatable timbre of the evening. Gardiner incorporated the vocal forces into
the framework just as he had done with the orchestra—leading sudden changes in
dynamic and color, bringing out inner voices usually hidden by overwrought
playing, and moving through the work at breakneck speeds.
There was a unity of sound and approach displayed that was
only marred by soprano Elisabeth Meister’s warbly soprano, a piercing instrument
that dominated many of the vocal quartet’s finer moments. Not even one
performer taking too much of the spotlight could deter from the performance,
however, as splashes of color came fast and furious—especially in the Turkish
march material, where the orchestra’s piccolo, cymbal, and contrabassoon drove
the ensemble and chorus to their final, joyous declamations.