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The Telegraph, 5 February 2017 |
Rupert Christiansen |
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Liederabend, London, Barbican, 4. Februar 2017 |
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Jonas Kaufmann's Barbican Hall concert proves he's still the world's greatest tenor
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“The World’s Greatest Tenor” – as Jonas Kaufmann, 47, is now regularly and
not unjustifiably labelled – has had a rocky time of it since he last
appeared in London in September 2015. As well as a run of respiratory
infections, a burst blood vessel on his vocal cords – those damnably fragile
strings of gristle on which a singer’s life depends – obliged him to make
some embarrassing cancellations and endure months of silent convalescence.
Many throats that suffer such a trauma never fully recover, and Kaufmann’s
fans have all been praying that his full-time return to performance would
not show signs of irrevocable decline.
So far, so good. Last month he
earned glowing reviews for his Lohengrin at the Opéra Bastille in Paris, and
now he is based for a couple of weeks at the Barbican Centre, where he is
giving three concerts and a talk. The song recital which inaugurated this
residency was simply superb.
Perhaps out of caution, it gave us short
measure in terms of time (barely 70 minutes of singing, including a single
brief encore in the form of Richard Strauss’s ebullient Nichts), but not of
quality – here was a beautifully balanced programme of the greatest vocal
music, interpreted with consummate artistry by both Kaufmann and his regular
pianist Helmut Deutsch.
After a rather charmingly sheepish spoken
apology for the music stand that would serve as a safety net if he forgot
his words (he didn’t), Kaufmann opened with Schumann’s masterly Op. 35, a
collection of a dozen songs set to poems by Justinus Kerner. At first, as if
he was feeling his way forward, The World’s Greatest Tenor sounded tight and
a little monochrome: Lust der Sturmnacht had no bloom to it, and with
Deutsch carefully holding back to keep him free of pressure, no risks were
taken.
But his marvellous solidity of technique – even legato,
seamless tonal production and breath control, perfect tuning – was
immediately evident, and in some sweetly whispered yet firmly projected
pianissimi in Stirb, Lieb und Freud, the magic began to work its potent
spell. Sehnsucht was rich in the colours that had previously been lacking;
Stille Tränen floated through the song’s palpitating ardour; the final Alte
Laute hung on a thread of desolate melancholy.
After the interval
came five mélodies by Duparc. Here one was made aware of the tasteful
elegance and rare intelligence that informs Kaufmann’s musicianship – he is
never vulgar, never the popinjay playing to the gallery, and although he can
be exquisitely refined, there is nothing affected about his style. The
“luxe, calme, et volupté” of L’Invitation au Voyage and La Vie Antérieure
were subtly but richly painted without wallowing in languor, while Le Manoir
de Rosemonde became the most eerie of nightmare domains. Throughout
Kaufmann’s French sounded excellent, but I wonder if he has a slight problem
enunciating the acute é – Phidylé sounded more like Phidylee than Phidylay.
No such niggling reservations could be directed at the magnificent
performance of Britten’s Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo, those exuberant
hymns to the discovery of sexual love written in the wake of the composer’s
initiation into physical passion. Deutsch became fully Kaufmann’s equal
here: for the Duparc, he had evoked wisps of cloud and golden sunsets
through some ravishing impressionistic pianism; for the Britten, he evoked
trumpets, bells and drums, as Kaufmann celebrated and mused on the joys and
woes of desire – never more alluringly than in the sinuously seductive
Veggio co’ bei vostri occhi un dolce lume.
Such is Kaufmann’s relish
of Britten’s vocal writing, is it too much to hope that he will one day sing
Peter Grimes? Meanwhile, as well as his Siegmund in Act I of Die Walküre,
Barbican audiences can look forward to Kaufmann’s appropriation of songs
normally associated with women’s voices – Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder and
Strauss’s Four Last Songs. The World’s Greatest Tenor is not resting on his
laurels.
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