The phrase “something old is new again” frequently applies to apparently “tired’ work given new life, and, accordingly finding a new audience or admirers.
But timeless masterpieces have earned their reputations for a reason: nobody’s done it better.
Over the decades various artists have attempted to “cash in” on the world’s finest repertoire such as Switched on Bach or Disco Beethoven—flash-in-the-pan knockoffs that have as much staying power as James Last’s “upbeat” versions of Chopin & Co.
And so it was with considerable apprehension that I ventured into the Cairns Recital Hall for “Dichterliebe: The Poet’s Love,” presented by Coleman Lemieux & Compagnie.
Having been weaned of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau’s incomparable recording (and, oh so happily live performance) with pianist Jörg Demus so many decades ago (cross-reference below), the bar was set extraordinarily high. Very delighted to report that bass-baritone Alexander Dobson (most ably supported by accompanist Jeanie Chung) delivered a finely nuanced, impassioned performance of this miraculous cycle—also notable for crystal-clear diction and word painting that left little doubt to the meaning of the verses whether one speaks German or not. Yet few in the somewhat sparse crowd would have been able to focus solely on the extraordinary music-making due to the decidedly patchwork choreography created for Laurence Lemieux by a dozen and a half artists of various persuasions (choreographers, students, playwrights, actors, filmmakers fashion designers, programmers and architects amongst their number). From stem to stern—like too many writers on a film—there was no overarching artistic intent.
The result? Lemieux’s contributions were frequently more annoying than insightful—failing to truly match Schumann’s crisp, clean rhythms, seldom adding more than an iota of understanding to the subtext of Heinrich Heine’s sublime poetry, never mind the composer’s magnificent harmonic plan.
Offering to translate (to English; as above: anyone with ears to hear needed no interpreter) one of the last songs, slipping in shtick-like references to Burlington et cetera, only managed to dumb down the artistic effect to the level of cancelled sitcoms (the clunky, arrhythmic footwear and equally pathetic wardrobe parade might have tempted a few to make an early exit).
Fortunately, Dobson and Chung managed to hunker down on what they do best: recreating one of the most emotionally enriching song cycles ever created while valiantly enduring the third-party physical assault swirling around them.
The evening began with a well-nuanced, wonderfully structured and voiced reading from Chung of the third movement from Schumann’s Fantasie in C Major. That was immediately followed by a heartfelt performance with Dobson of Schubert’s beautifully structured Schwanengesang.
Now in the winter months, it was more than a little distressing to have the musical flow frequently interrupted by the far-too-audible mechanics of heating mechanisms. Schumann never imagined those as accompaniments to his timeless art either. We can only hope that, like the still-missing, custom-made stage door, remedies will be found sooner than later. JWR