Zankel Hall, Carnegie Hall, N.Y., October 20, 2011
Andreas Scholl, one of the world’s leading counter-tenors, came to Zankel Hall with conductor Harry Bicket and The English Concert and presented a program of Baroque music that sounded far more varied than it looked on paper. It was mainly by Henry Purcell – songs, overtures, dances mostly from King Arthur and The Fairy Queen – with a sonata for strings, continuo and trumpet by Biber to open the evening and Muffat’s Passacaglia for strings to open the second half. Both are rarely heard and were fine curtain raisers: the Biber bright (and accurately, energetically played by Mark Bennett on a valveless trumpet) and the Passacaglia busy and rhythmically more complex as it progressed, with every combination for the strings imaginable. Otherwise, the program alternated instrumental and vocal selections.
But Scholl was the centerpiece and he doesn’t disappoint. The voice can go from otherworldly and diaphanous to laser-like in its upper reaches and soothing in its lower; counter-tenors can rarely alter the color of their tone, but Scholl can – and does. “Sweeter than roses” and “Music for a while” found the singer’s mid-voice somewhat clouded but his story-telling unimpeded; despite diction that distorts some vowels, crucial words – the repeated “drop” in “the snakes drop from her head,” for instance, are treated with onomatopoetic perfection: a slight tinkle on each – the song comes alive. The word “eas’d,” on a long, low syllable, lands like a pillow. With “An Evening Hymn, “ Scholl found his voice’s full power and bridled it: a hypnotic oasis of calm – the word “Hallelujah,” taking up a third of the song, is not an exclamation, but a quiet, legato, melismatic statement, never rising above a whisper, and Scholl had the audience rapt. By the time he sang “What power art thou,” better known as The Cold Genius (a baritone solo from King Arthur that has been co-opted by countertenors), he was in such command of the chromatic writing and his breath control that in his purposeful aspirates (on the word “scarcely”) the audience could practically see the steam coming from the freezing singer’s mouth. It was unearthly. The final word – “death” – sung in his baritone register, was held without vibrato – a pit of darkness. The weird dissonances in the string writing were underlined by Bicket and the Concert; it soon became clear that Harry Bicket is the least dogmatic early music conductor in the world: When vibrato is called on to heighten expression and understanding, he does not stint, and he knows when to hold back and let go.
Remarkably effective for its understatement was Scholl’s reading of Dido’s Lament from Dido and Aeneas; intimate, pleading, with enough emphases on the repeated words “Remember me” but without melodrama. This was the suffering of a monarch and the gender-bending was not an issue. Scholl acts as he sings – he moves slowly but surely, and normally seems to become more another instrument than a singer; here he was the Queen of Carthage. “Fairest Isle,” “Strike the Viol” and a few other songs completed the program.
Maestro Bicket’s instrumental choices were superb for their varied color: one dance for solo trumpet, oboe and violin; two other sections of an overture with tambourine, a few for all twelve players, with oboists doubling on recorders and trumpets pealing forth. Purcell’s famous bass figures had real momentum, his more florid instrumental writing was graceful and decorative, and Bicket made the most of strong rhythmic attacks. There was no sense of esoteric elitism; the simple black suit, shirt, and sneakers of countertenor Scholl set the tone of familiarity and ease. The English Concert played like virtuosi. A beautiful evening of music-making in a fine setting.
Robert Levine
