Tonight Thomas Quasthoff performed a marvelous concert at the Kennedy Center, accompanied by Justus Zeyen.
The last time he was in town, he sang in the much smaller Terrace Theater. I remember finding his voice overpowering, that night; I felt like a gnat trapped inside a kettle drum! But tonight, in the Concert Hall, the voice had plenty of room to expand, and there was a wonderful gradation from thunderous forte to whispered, scarcely-audible pianissimo.
Interestingly, he had requested that the air conditioning be turned off. The ushers seemed terrified, and they were actually doing all they could to dissuade people from sitting in the 2nd Balcony, trying to move people down to the lower levels (alas, the house was far from sold out).... But I and a few other hardy souls stuck it out in the high reaches, and it really never got too bad. And the sound up there was just great!
The program:
| Schubert |
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| Loewe |
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| Brahms |
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And he gave two encores:
During the first song or two, there was a slight sense of stiffness. There were places in the Schubert set (although it was gorgeously sung) where I found his approach slightly cool, slightly generalized; there were places were it seemed like there could have been a bit more detail, sharper attention to individual words, a wider pallet of colors...
But after that, things caught fire! The Loewe were extraordinary. I was sure they were going to be the highlight of the night--but then the Brahms were perhaps even better.
In Der Nock -- the incredible delicacy, the sensuousness, the sense of forest and waterfall and magic floating on the air...
In Herr Oluf -- the eeriness of his singing, the almost uncanny tingle he brought to the voice of the Erlking's Daughter (something which he had just fallen short of in Erlkönig itself), and the sharply drawn distinction between the voices of Oluf and his mother, and the sudden heartbreak in his voice at the word "Braut"...
The moments of blinding intensity in Odins Meeresritt --with Zeyen's contribution being especially memorable here, especially in the last stanza...
And the buoyance, good humor, and whimsical magic he brought out in Tom der Reimer...
After the intermission, after the first of the Brahms songs, he made clear with a quick, curt wave that he didn't want any more applause between songs.... And from that point on, throughout each of the Brahms sets, the intensity in the hall seemed to increase.
Finally, with the Four Serious Songs, he held the crowd in a sort of spell. The silence at the end of each song was almost palpable. I hadn't really "gotten" these songs before, although I had been listening to recordings. But tonight, midway through the first song, it seemed to click for me... and the rest was absolutely exquisite. I'll especially remember the sweetness he brought to the word "Liebe", growing more poignant at each repetition, throughout the final song.
The applause at the end was intense.
During Swing Low, a surprising thing happened. In the middle section, as his voice soared up into the tenor range and seemed to just linger there for ages, shining and thrilling, a large segment of the audience actually lost their self-control and started spontaneously clapping, right in the middle of the song! Then, of course, at the end of the song, he drops down all the way to a cavernous final note... and he holds it and seems to revel in the sheer darkness of it forever... And then the crowd goes really wild!
I wish he had added another encore or two, but after all he gave it seems churlish to wish for more.
A couple interesting tidbits from his bio in the program, regarding upcoming recordings:
"In addition to several recital discs, future Deutsche Grammophon projects include orchestrated songs of Schubert with Claudio Abbado and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe and Handel's 'Saul' with the Gabrieli Consort."
David Danoff
I found myself sitting in almost the same seat that I was given for the Fleming recital. I remembered her emerald green satin dress, and I remembered the unbelievable beauty, the shiny liquidity of her voice.
I wasn't sure what to expect last night. I was afraid I'd be sleepy, since I'd been awake since 4:30 am. But never fear. With his first song (Schubert's The Singer) Quasthoff had my rapt attention, and never let go after that.
All the songs in the first half (except maybe "the singer," and that's a Maybe) had to do with encounters with the supernatural: Der Zwerg (The Gnome), and Schubert's Erlkönig; Loewe's Der Nöck (no translation, but I'd bet), Lord Olaf, Tom the Rhymer, and Odin's Sea Ride. Quasthoff's voice, his posture, everything about him, lived in the character that spoke (almost all the songs were folk tales). He was a fearful little boy in his father's arms, and he was the father. He was the Queen of Elves, and he was Tom, and both as they rode off through the green woods, as birds sang and the sun shone, "and whenever she pulled on the reins the little bells rang brightly." An enchanted world, and I didn't want to leave it.
The second half included Brahms' Fünf Lieder and Vier ernste Gesänge. All of this, all was new to me, you know. And Quasthoff did the same for these very different songs: mesmerize me. He lived in every song, and therefore, so did I. Every word of "Rise, Beloved Shade" still belongs to me, even though I couldn't actually recite it. And "My Heart is Heavy," that too. And then, and then, the bitter depth of the Ecclesiastes texts, and the final song, ending in those great words. I couldn't believe it was the last.
Quasthoff sat there, after some of the applause had died down, and repeated them, I was going to say in his own voice, but you know what I mean. "That is true, the truest of true, " he said. "The greatest of these is love." I just looked at that small figure, more distant than I would have preferred, and choked. Perhaps we all did.
He only gave us two encores, in spite of what constituted hysterical yelling for Washington: one a Schubert song I didn't catch the name of (it's about a little boy, like me, he said, with a smile) and the other Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. It was just wonderful, and someone in the crowd yelled "Thank you!"
I looked down at the all-important program with the burning words of those songs, indelible now. And I thought of Fleming in her green dress, and you know, I could not recall the name of anything she sang. But Quasthoff, I will always remember.
Lucinda Hughes
The program was the same he sang here in New York a year ago, Schwanengesang and Brahms: 5 Songs and Vier ernste Gesänge. Last year, we were enchanted, and though I welcomed a repeat, also thought it impossible to improve on last year's perfection. Wrong!!
Each of the Schwanengesänge got its due. It's probably difficult for most singers to make such quick transitions from one disparate song to another. Not for Quasthoff. Each song was a drama in itself, with even more color and contrast than last year. It's hard to single out the best -- they were all mesmerizing. The old chestnut Ständchen was a young man hot to trot with his girlfriend but in proper Lieder style. I melted at "Rühren mit den Silbertönen," golden gossamer that made my neck hairs stand on end. Justus Zeyen's accompaniment too was passionate and beautiful. He continues to improve--a good pianist becoming a great one! Der Atlas boomed, Das Fischermädchen was caressed, Ihr Bild was despondent, and Doppelgänger was the eeriest I'd ever heard. By intermission, I was a quivering green jelly, with the second half still to come.
Must grumble at the coughing that drove us crazy all evening, not least our Quasthoff. Someone hacked aloud during the Ständchen postlude, and the singer was extremely annoyed to say the least. We got a lecture. Why is it so difficult for coughers to muffle the noise? You rarely hear a loud sneeze during a recital. Why must coughing be on the program? Most halls now offer free cough drops, which hasn't yet solved the problem. Boo!
The second half was just as enchanting. Sapphische Ode was a cello with words. The other Brahms miscellany just as wonderful. Before the ernste Gesänge, we got a gentler lecture that the texts of this cycle are very important, especially the final song with its message of "Glaube, Hoffnung, Liebe," with Love the best of the three. He added that there should be more love in the world and proceded to sing with an all-encompassing love that brought tears to our eyes.
As mentioned, our Quasthoff was in a chatty mood and some of his remarks had us rolling with laughter. After the second encore (the first was a very funny Die Forelle), Swing Low, Sweet Chariot with a final low note that rolled out below the staff, he exulted "It's so easy to make money!" The final encore was An die Musik. (His artistry is beyond price!)
This man is a brilliant singer, musician and entertainer rolled into one small package. Small or not, he's a giant. I live 4 hours from Boston but would willingly trek to Timbuctu for a recital like that!
Joan Abel
On Tuesday I attended a musically and emotionally generous recital by Thomas Quasthoff that featured Schubert's Schwanengesang sung in published order for the first half, and Brahms 5 Opus 94 songs and Vier Ernste Gesänge in the second half.
He started out with what seemed like a tiny little voice for Liebesbotschaft, which made me wonder whence all the comment on the size of his voice. But in the crescendo of Krieger's Ahnung he started flexing his instrument. Everything was very convincing, for me even songs that are less accessible like the verbose Frühlingssehnsucht which was beautifully shaped throughout the long strophes. He sometimes sounded croony, by which I don't mean affecting a microphone techique but leaning into the melting melodies. This in fact was of great appeal because it showed a vulnerability that I've sometimes missed from his recordings. Although my general experience has been that being a native speaker is less of a bonus in lieder than in mélodie, I definitely relished the spontaneity and emotional immediacy that his fluency allowed. A few times he sounded less than integrated, scooping lazily into his rich lower notes.
The audience seemed stunned by the end of In der Ferne, which had a world of feeling in it and tremendous breath control in his phrasing, with a big swell on the final phrase somewhat marred by a couple of botched chords under Justus Zeyen's hands. In fact, though the accompanist wasn't bad, he wasn't nearly as refined and spontaneous as Quasthoff, and it almost seemed like Quasthoff was accommodating him, which makes his own spontaneity all the more remarkable. So there is chemistry in the partnership. At the end of Der Atlas Quasthoff had a weak moment vocally, with the interesting effect of making this Atlas seem defeated ultimately rather than defiant to the end ... this may have been deliberate. The sustained heartbreak of the Heine settings seemed to move inexorably toward the crushing Doppelgänger.
Knowing the Brahms less well, I will say how Brahmsian and instrumental both sets sounded. I guess I had to hear Vier Ernste Gesänge live to "get" them -- though the melodies are often swooning, they aren't repeated and the effect is very textured. One could say that the spontaneity that is obviously Quasthoff's strength really came into its own in these settings that seem so spontaneous themselves. Zehen was technically assured on the difficult accompaniments. Again, the audience was spellbound.
His encores were Heidenröslein, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, and Die Forelle. Since they were encores, he was more pointed and characterful in both of the Schubert than would seem necessary, but they both had magic in them. He was delightfully light in Heidenröslein but seemed initially too heavy for Die Forelle, but again his reading though somewhat caracatured also offered wonderful nuance (appropriate rubato, some neat word pointing). Swing Low Sweet Chariot literally brought the house down as he unfurled his voice in a way that he hadn't theretofore-- moving from the top to the bottom of his range, with ringing baritone notes and finishing on a VERY resonant VERY low note (which, I couldn't tell you). He used some dialectical inflections very lightly, only enough to serve the music with gorgeous legato.
His stage manner was charming. He spoke twice, in an interesting combination of unaccented English but with Germanic syntax. He used the score but it almost seemed more like a prop, something to offer him a little more range of gesture. He didn't rely on it. He announced that he was to sing in San Francisco in two days (offered in response to a shouted request from the upper reaches as the reason he couldn't sing Erlkönig).
Terry Serres