When Jennifer France fell ill and Louise Alder stepped into the breach it felt as though Zerbinetta from Ariadne auf Naxos had given way to Sophie from Der Rosenkavalier. The analogy is not unduly far-fetched, because the Op.68 Brentano-Lieder by Richard Strauss amount to a conspectus of the composer’s soprano obsessions: diverse, multi-faceted and formidably challenging for any one singer.
The songs are perfumed with all the great Strauss roles for a high female voice, and therein lies their difficulty. The 30-minute set ends with a monster, Lied der Frauen (Song of Women), that’s beyond the Fach of all but the most robust of dramatic sopranos. Seven minutes of raging storm and vocal stress at the end of an epic sing… Elektra-lite it is not. Yet it comes immediately after the high, light coloratura of Amor (Cupid), with its Zerbinetta-inflected vocal leaps, and that in turn follows on from the voluptuous Capriccio-style mien of Als mir dein Lied erklang! (Your song rang out! I heard it).
Alder has sung these songs before, albeit not for a while, yet she made light (and heavy) of them at short notice as a luxury jump-in. Especially rewarding was her laid-back delivery of Ich wollt’ ein Sträuaaalein binden (I meant to make you a posy), where she tripped through some skittish Straussian intervals like a child skipping in a playground. Her versatility was prodigious, her ovation unbridled.
The flourishing partnership between Vasily Petrenko and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra is vital in both senses of the word. Together they are making indispensable music in performances that are invariably alive, deeply considered and anything but routine. Take Rachmaninov’s mighty Second Symphony: the conductor’s slow opening tempo may have seemed portentous but when the composer drew back the curtains, his energy let a blazing sunshine into the Royal Festival Hall. The mood contrast was illuminating and the ears (mine anyway) soaked it up.
Petrenko rode the galloping second movement like a bronco and his return to its verve after the Trio section was sublimely managed. He played the ensuing Adagio with a warmth and intensity that were unmistakably Russian – nothing lachrymose, just beauty and a passionate lyricism – while the fast-winged Finale invited a joyous outpouring by the RPO’s unison strings. It was a performance to savour and remember.
Even in Elgar’s Cockaigne, which had opened the concert, routine and predictability were kept at arm’s length in an unhackneyed interpretation that showed there’s a lot more to Elgar than Nobilmente. Tchaikovskian strings and showstopping trombones had their own authenticity, while the RPO’s busy urban colours even raised a nagging sense that George Gershwin may have had it in mind when he wrote An American in Paris.
