Not to be outdone by Manchester’s contribution to the Proms in the form of Mark Elder and the Hallé, Birmingham swiftly dispatched the CBSO under its new chief Kazuki Yamada for a calorific feast of 1930s choral hits, a reminder for those of us more London-bound of the musical riches in our other big cities.
It was an elegant programme. Stravinsky’s influence on Puccini was demonstrated by Antonio Pappano in the Royal Opera House’s most recent Turandot, and in Carmina Burana there are clear traces of Stravinsky in Orff’s soundscape. The pairing of Carmina with Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms is not unheard of – Hans Graf did it with the LPO some ten years ago – and works well in the juxtaposition of numinous profundity from Stravinsky with Orff’s playful bawdiness.
In the Stravinsky there was much to enjoy, with a few reservations. Yamada’s pacing in the first and third movements was well judged, the first tentative and searching, but in the second movement the performance seemed to lag slightly, the momentum and rhythmic thrust dwindling. Heft was restored for the third movement in a heady, hypnotic conclusion, the choral voices entwined with the orchestra, swaying like the last drunk couple on the dance floor of a backstreet nightclub, the joy muted – weary, fatigued – but palpable in the voices and particularly in the woodwind. The choral forces were well balanced throughout with no issues either internally or against the orchestra.
Whatever the performers were drinking during the interval, it was certainly caffeinated. Carl Orff has become known as a one-hit wonder, with Carmina Burana – a piece whose premiere in 1937 he recognised as marking a major moment in his career – being practically all for which he is generally remembered. The CBSO and the assorted choruses gave an energised, dramatic performance of the work. Yamada’s opening was brisk, but the players retained definition, the sound crisp and clean, and as we moved into Veris leta facies the precision remained tight but not at the expense of a certain mellifluousness. Yamada’s reading pulsed with rhythmic intensity, and a vein of something akin to a dance ran through it. There was humour in the sounds and smells of the tavern – sweat, booze, blood. Perspiration began to bead, the pulse quickened, the foot tapped as the performance whirled into the Tanz. Among the highlights, the classy ladies in Floret silva over luscious percussion and pellucid flutes stood out, while the gentlemen seemed to have a huge amount of fun in Chramer, gip die varwe mir, throwing out fingers, shaking their heads and generally behaving in ways not often seen on the choral benches.
Germán Olvera’s baritone was a constant strength throughout, showing a real sense of text in the Omnia sol temperat, the higher notes gleaming, the lower register solid. Countertenor Matthias Rexroth was a late replacement for the indisposed Levy Sekgapane; Rexroth’s “Roasted Swan” was sweetly sung, but the hall’s size caused acoustic challenges that slightly diminished his impact. Soprano Maki Mori showed a lovely trill in Amor volat undique, floated beautifully over luscious string playing, though descents into the lower register were not always as audible. The audience reacted with justified enthusiasm. The majority of concerts are usually reasonable straight-faced affairs; Yamada’s Orff was a blend of serious music-making and real fun.
