JOYAS MUSICALES: BRITTEN

Britten, *Sonata in C for Cello and Piano Op.65 - 1.Dialogo

(Mstislav Rostropocich & Menjamin Britten.

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Genio de la música, paladín de la democracia y ciudadano del Mundo son tan sólo algunos de los calificativos de Mstislav Rostropovich. Según palabras suyas “Sin Bach, no hay música para mí”, el preludio de la Suite nº1 BWV 1007 de J.S.Bach, una de las que se pudieron escuchar en su funeral, aparece a modo de introducción a la obra de Britten. Interesado por el folklore y gran conocedor de las formas y técnicas tradicionales, BENJAMIN BRITTEN (1913-1976) basó su lenguaje en el eclecticismo, en hacer suyo aquello que admiraba en otras músicas. Su cualidad melódica tonal y el magistral manejo de los timbres con fines psicológicos le convirtieron en estandarte internacional de la música inglesa, junto a Ralph Vaughan Williams. A diferencia de las composiciones de Bach, cuya forma e instrumentación fueron directamente influenciados por las condiciones de su empleo, la obra de Britten fue con frecuencia el producto directo de una relación que estableció con un músico o compositor en particular. En un discurso de 1964, Britten dijo: "Creo en las raíces, en las asociaciones, en los orígenes, en lo personal, en las relaciones ... Yo quiero que mi música sea de utilidad para las personas, a favor de ellos, yo no escribo para la posteridad." La Suite Op. 72 no es excepción: Britten había conocido al violonchelista Mstislav Rostropovich en 1960, en el estreno en Londres del Concierto nº 1 para violonchelo de Shostakovich, y ya entonces le había prometido una obra, la Sonata Op.65 para violoncello y piano, estrenada por ambos en 1961 y que supuso el comienzo de una íntima amistad y de todo un catálogo de obras. La Suite Op. 72 se la ofreció como regalo de Navidad a Rostropovich en 1964, y la estrenó en el Festival de Aldenburgh en del año siguiente. Inspirado en el precedente de Bach, pero también en otras suites para cello solo del siglo XX, como las de Max Reger o Ernst Bloch, Britten exploró hábilmente las capacidades técnicas y expresivas del instrumento, encontrando los medios para transmitir una profunda afectividad. Esta primera Suite está estructurada en seis movimientos, como en Bach, y están enmarcados por el recurrente Canto en dobles cuerdas, que actúa al modo de un ritornello. Ellos ayudan a guiar al oyente a través de esta pieza - Britten era claramente consciente de los retos de entender la música para violonchelo solo en este estilo. La pieza se abre con el optimismo del Canto Primo, lleno de gesto retórico y dramático con tensión y liberación armónica. Se desvanece en un Re mayor y en un breve silencio emerge la Fuga. Ninguna de las suites para violonchelo solo de Bach incluyen movimientos fugados, ya que se estructuran tradicionalmente como suites de baile, pero él no se oponía a la escritura de fugas de otros instrumentos de cuerda: cada una de sus sonatas para violín solo comienza con un Preludio y Fuga emparejamiento. Britten incluye movimientos fugados en sus tres suites para violonchelo solo, reconociendo el avance de la técnica de violonchelo durante el siglo XX,. La tarea del violonchelista es llevar a cabo las diferentes voces por la variación de la calidad del tono y fraseo cuidadoso. Britten sigue este movimiento con el Lamento, una simple canción se debate entre las tonalidades de Mi y Mi bemol que mezcla directamente en el Canto Secondo. La Serenata tiene un carácter inequívocamente español y Britten utiliza el violonchelo como una guitarra con ritmos cruzados arraigadas en la tradición flamenca, mientras que en la Marcia podemos oir un desfile militar que se acerca y se aleja, entre armónicos que recuerdan a una trompeta y tambores evocados por los efectos col legno. El siguiente Canto Terzo marca un nuevo hito de la suite, la construcción de un clímax apasionado con disonancias que luego se desvanece. El Bordone rinde homenaje tanto al estilo barroco del recitativo monódico sobre un bajo monótono de Re. El material está tomado de sus viajes por India, la música de Bali y las técnicas del gamelán. Por último, el diabólica Moto Perpetuo e Canto Quarto explota fuera de esta meditación. Una ráfaga de cromatismo, que surge hacia arriba y abajo, dando vueltas en todo el rango del instrumento. De repente, estalla a través de Canto Quarto. A medida que nos acercamos al final, los dos temas se confunden y se unen entonces para el galope final. SERGUEI RAJMANINOV (1873-1943), compositor, pianista y director de orquesta ruso conocido por su música para piano, caracterizada por los aires melancólicos extraídos de su Rusia natal. Vocalise fue publicada en 1912 como la última de las canciones pertenecientes al libro Fourteen Songs op.34 escritas para voz y acompañamiento de piano. Estuvo dedicada a la gran soprano rusa Antonia Nezhdanova. El mismo Rostropovich, al cual rendimos homenaje, arreglo esta obra para cello y piano. Una pieza breve, sin la ambición de sus conciertos para piano o sus sinfonías, pero no inferior en su belleza. Tras una sucesión de obras de todo tipo y diseño, sustancialmente orquestales, DIMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975) pareció entrar en un "estadio creativo" de tranquilidad y a la vez emocionalmente intenso, al haberse enamorado de una estudiante del festival de Leningrado y tras la separación de su esposa Nina (con quien volvería a casarse un año más tarde), que le permitió componer tres obras que en muchos aspectos anticipan el talante del Shostakovich "romántico" de la Quinta Sinfonía de 1937: los Venticuatro Preludios para piano, Op. 34 (de 1932-33), el Concierto nº 1 para piano, trompeta y orquesta de cuerdas, Op. 35 (de 1933) y la Sonata para violonchelo y piano, op. 40, fechada en 1934. De todas las páginas antedichas, la más "conservadora" es la Sonata, Op. 40, que Shostakovich compuso para su amigo el violonchelista Viktor Kubatski. Estrenada la obra el día de Navidad del mismo año de composición, pocos meses después Gregor Piatigorsky la daba a conocer fuera de la Unión Soviética y gestionaba la publicación de la partitura. Por otro lado, Rostropovich, muy amigo de Shostakovich y conocedor de su música, interpretaba en sus recitales la sonata. Música de elaboración clásica y estilo marcadamente melódico. La cálida, romántica entrada del violonchelo,y su amplitud de ideas y desarrollo se compensa, en los pasajes finales, con un Largo que recapitula, en un clima de quietud, con el instrumento de cuerda asordinado, los elementos de partida. En contraste, el breve Allegro, irónico, batallador, parece más campo de discusión entre iguales, con los vehementes ataques del piano y las descaradas respuestas o interpelaciones del violonchelo. El inmediato Largo, que el violonchelo abre de nuevo con sordina, nos lleva a una meditación concisa, clara, con un Shostakovich que está aún lejos de la intensidad de sus grandes tiempos lentos sinfónicos o de cámara, pero que ya se revela capaz de una introspección sutil. El Allegro de clausura, directo, vehemente, abierto por el piano en un 'moto perpetuo' al que tras 17 compases se adhiere el solista de cuerda, constituye una conclusión eficaz, virtuosista y rotunda de la primera producción amplia del músico en el campo camerístico. 

Lidia Alonso Pérez

http://meetinarts.com/In-Memoriam-Rostropovich/2457/

On the Kutuzov embankment in St Petersburg is a handsome mansion that caught Mstislav Rostropovich's eye when he returned to Russia in 1990 after 16 years in exile. During the Soviet years it had been converted into communal apartments, and Rostropovich set about rehousing no fewer than 42 different families (the last of them moved out only last year) to allow him to restore the mansion to its former glory as a single residence. Now, four years after the cellist's death, his widow, Galina Vishnevskaya, still calls it home when she visits the city, and it continues to house their collections of art and furniture, as well as their archive of manuscript scores, newspaper cuttings, correspondence, photographs, medals and theatrical costumes. The only absentees are the cellos themselves, among them his "Duport" Stradivarius (reputedly once played by Napoleon) and his beloved Storioni, both safely stored in a vault.

On the top floor of the mansion, a curator has been painstakingly cataloguing a collection of video and audio tapes and discs, among them bootleg recordings of events that are sometimes hard to identify. When researching my new film Rostropovich: The Genius of the Cello, I was intrigued to find an almost silent VHS tape of him playing a concert, withBenjamin Britten conducting, shot from four different camera angles. The pictures also showed Shostakovich applauding effusively as both performers were wreathed in flowers. Frustratingly, the only sound on the tape was an electronic buzz.

The garlanded images of Britten and Rostropovich reminded me instantly of the photographs published after the premiere of Britten's Cello Symphony in Moscow. The Russian radio broadcast of that concert was issued some years ago on CD, but I didn't realise it might have been filmed until I saw that silent tape. So it was with a growing sense of excitement that I visited the Russian state film archives at Krasnogorsk, outside Moscow, to see what I could find. In Soviet days, the very existence of this archive was a state secret, but today the archivists are more accommodating. They dug out 11 minutes of footage from a Rostropovich-Britten concert, but without sound. Sure enough, it was the same footage as I had seen, but this time dated 12 March 1964, the day of the Cello Symphony's premiere. Four cameras had filmed the final three or four minutes of the work, but the rushes had never been edited together. Perhaps the sound fault had been too troublesome, the moment had passed, and the rolls of film put aside and forgotten.

Back in London, we put these images together, so we could watch all four cameras at once, and reunited them with the original radio sound. Even though the camera speeds were not uniform, it was as if Athena had sprung fully armed from the head of Zeus. We realised with a flood of emotion that we had recaptured a significant fragment of musical history, almost 50 years on. Here before our eyes we could witness, in Britten's own music, the extraordinary musical synergy between these two men, and the intensity of the occasion for both of them.

The Cello Symphony is not a work that is quick to dispense its favours, but the patient listener may well conclude that it is Britten's greatest orchestral work. As always with Britten, it took a particular performer to unlock his interest in the instrument. As a young man, and a viola player himself, Britten had never singled out the cello for special treatment, as he had Antonio Brosa's violin, Sylvia Spencer's oboe or Dennis Brain's horn. In America in 1941 he had contemplated writing a concerto for the great Austrian cellist Emanuel Feuermann, but nothing came of it, and it was not until he encountered the young Rostropovich at a 1960 concert in London that he fully grasped the cello's potential. It was effectively love at first sight.

Britten was already in the mood for love, primed by a radio broadcast he had listened to a few days beforehand. "This was a new way of playing the cello", he said, "almost a new, vital way of playing music." The concert itself featured the London premiere of Shostakovich's first cello concerto. From a fragment of news film shot by the BBC at the morning rehearsal, the sheer animal energy and abandon of Rostropovich at the age of 33 is fully evident. At the performance, Britten sat beside Shostakovich, who complained afterwards of bruised ribs, thanks to Britten repeatedly poking him with his elbow in delight at Rostropovich's playing.

How nearly it all went wrong. Rostropovich later confessed he had been barely aware of Britten, even by name. He had heard of his Purcell Variations, The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra, but had clearly not actually heard the piece, since he thought Britten belonged to Purcell's era. So when Shostakovich offered to introduce him to Britten after the concert, Rostropovich thought it was a joke. He just managed to stop himself laughing as he turned round to face the notoriously sensitive British composer, and insisted (as was his wont with every composer he met) that Britten write him a cello work. Inspired by this "gloriously uninhibited musician", Britten agreed. The result was the Sonata for Cello and Piano, of which they gave the first performance 50 years ago – a new departure in Britten's music.

Although he self-deprecatingly warned Rostropovich of his lack of firsthand experience of the cello, Britten tests its technical boundaries in the Sonata with his use of harmonics, pizzicato and quadruple-stopping. He said Rostropovich freed him of his inhibitions, and certainly, after years of focus on the voice, there is an unbuttoned playfulness in his musical ideas. Yet at their first run-through in London, both musicians were nervous, and, according to Rostropovich, required "four or five very large whiskies" before they could begin. "We played like pigs," he said, "but we were so happy."

Britten went on to write three Suites for solo cello, in direct line of succession from the six of Bach: they are cornerstones of any cellist's repertoire. By now Rostropovich thought of Britten as a younger brother, even though Britten was 14 years his senior. Their shared love of music, cars, food and drink, let alone an almost puerile sense of the absurd, bound them together. Their friendship darkened and deepened with, first, Rostropovich's period of disgrace inside the Soviet Union and subsequent exile, and second, with Britten's heart operation and physical decline.

When Rostropovich himself was dying four years ago, his family played him some of his recordings, for stimulus and consolation. One was his performance with Britten of Schubert's Arpeggione Sonata, which had featured at their first recital together in July 1961. Ever since, any mention of Britten's name had brought a smile to his face, with the words: "Ah, Benjik!" Although Rostropovich was by now unconscious, his daughter Olga says that, as the music played, a tear slid down his cheek. More than the many other works they performed together, it was the Arpeggione Sonata that captured the incredible fusion of their musical sensibilities. For Olga, it says that life is beautiful, eternal and without boundaries. "You have two people, two instruments, but when you listen to it, it sounds just like one." I asked her if he had played it often. "No," she replied. "Once he had played it with Britten, he didn't want to play it with anyone else."

http://www.theguardian.com/music/2011/jun/16/benjamin-britten-mstislav-rostropovich