Wagner: Tannhaüser Ouvertüre/Tristan Liebestod

My listening diet has dried up to a trickle stream. Which does not mean that my musical life is uneventful. Last week, on Thursday, on an impulse I played two short pieces in sequence: the 4th dance from Bartok's Wooden Prince and Wagner's Tannhäuser Overture and Bacchanale music. There is indeed a certain resemblance between them in the combination of that typically yearning Wagnerian chromaticism and a rather frenzied, eroticised dance-like episode. I find that 15 minute section from the Bartok ballet an impressive piece in itself. A pity, maybe, that Bartok never turned it into an autonomous, rounded composition. I am quite sure it would have secured a reputation similar to, say, Bax's Tintagel, Strauss' Tod und Verklärung or Rachmaninov's Island of the Dead, to name just a few examples of tone poems where this late romantic opulence flares up in impressive clair-obscure.

The Wagner disc I selected is a late Karajan recording, dating from 1984. It's a favourite of mine. This is what the Gramophone Classical Music Guide (2009) writes about it: "When, in modern times, have you heard from Berlin (or anywhere else) such long-drawn, ripe, intense, characterful, perfectly formed and supremely controlled Wagner playing? Not from some other sources with the Tannhäuser Overture, whose Pilgrims are less solemn and whose revellers produce less of Karajan's joyous éclat. Moving on a few minutes, and the passage where Karajan's Venus succeeds in quelling the riot finds him effecting a spellbinding sudden diminuendo (from 4'41", track 2), leaving us with the enchanted eddying of the orchestra. It must surely qualify as one of Karajan's 'greatest moments', if the seemingly unstoppable tidal wave that preceded it hadn't already done so." And so on.

This is indeed a great recording and it led me to dig into Youtube to unearth that documentary that I saw on television more than 20 years ago. I didn't recall a lot about it, only that the ageing Karajan rehearsed the Tannhäuser Overture and that at a certain point he lets the trombones play the main theme by themselves to conclude that "this was how he had heard it in his dreams." (or an exclamation to that effect). It was not so difficult indeed to rediscover the "Karajan in Salzburg" film (taped in 1987, never released in Europe on DVD) with its many moving and interesting sequences, amongst them the Tannhaüser rehearsal (here and here), the Liebestod rehearsal with Jessye Norman,  and the final Liebestod concert. Particularly against the background of that fateful and drily uttered "Fini" at the beginning of the sequence, the concert is a very poignant testimony to the unconditional love for the music that impregnated likely every fiber of Karajan's being. That combined with his masterful professionalism and his unconditional quest for perfection is something that continues to inspire me.

Friday evening I fell ill and Saturday and best part of Sunday I spent in a slumber, with fever peaking up to 39°. I know from experience that in cases of illness, music can have a healing impact. (I still remember listening to a Mahler 6 (Maazel version) 25 years ago when I was struck with a mysterious illness I had caught in Switzerland. There was at that time no better tonic for me than that music). But now I hardly listened. I just put on a single disc, sotto voce - the Fabula Suite Lugano from Christian Wallumrod and his ensemble (ECM). The wrong choice, however, as this is a musica povera of the most uncompromising sort, unlikely to infuse anyone with a boost of energy. But meanwhile the music was going on relentlessly in my mind. Predictably I fell back on the Mehldau/Tokyo disc I had listened to earlier in the week. But also Gershwin's An American in Paris popped up, surprisingly. And the Tannhäuser, of course. On Sunday I was a little better, and I tried to listen to the second half of the Karajan disc: the Meistersinger Act III prelude (this only is worth a lot) and the Prelude and Liebestod. However, my mind was too unfocused: I could hear the sounds but could not follow the music. No way I could grasp the larger structures but the gorgeous orchestral sound in itself made a deep impact.

All this amounts to precious little music, however. The combination of greater listening discipline and lack of time has reduced my exposure to music significantly. So one gets used to silence as well. I can sit for hours in silence without needing music. Likely the pendulum will swing the other way again quite soon. But for the time being, it's a good experience.