‘Prom 49: Dvořák and Suk’: Mentor, Mentee, Music and Melancholy
A review of ‘Prom 49: The Czech Philharmonic play Dvořák and Suk’, at the Royal Albert Hall, London.
It does not hurt my pride at all to say that in matters of classical music I am an amateur; and my clumsy attempts to discuss how I feel when I listen to it amount in the end to a rather pathetic groping in the darkness for some as-yet unknown vocabulary with which to describe the emotions that arise when I listen to, say, Bach, or Vivaldi, or Brahms. Bear all that in mind while I tell you about my trip the other night to the Royal Albert Hall to hear Dvořák and (his son-in-law Suk).
Thanks to an article in the Guardian I understand that it is the Year of Czech Music (I am afraid I didn’t know such a thing existed) and there are major anniversaries for Suk, Smetana, and sundry other composers throughout the year. The Czech Philharmonic, therefore, has been busy; and presumably will be kept busy over the coming months. This — Prom 49 — was the first of two Proms at which the orchestra would play, both of them conducted by Jakub Hrůša, who next year will replace Antonio Pappano to become the music director of the Royal Opera House. He has big shoes to fill: Pappano has done 22 years at the ROH, which makes him its longest-serving director.
There are major anniversaries for Suk, Smetana, and sundry other composers throughout the year.
Back to the Proms. The orchestra played Dvořák’s Cello Concerto, which is reasonably well known, but also a symphony — Symphony No 2 — by Suk. Suk began writing this symphony eight months after the death in 1904 of Dvořák, who was not only his father-in-law but his mentor. More unhappily still, part-way through the composition, in July of 1905, Suk’s beloved wife Otilie died. Somehow Suk ploughed on and finished the symphony, which fittingly is named ‘Asrael’ for the angel of death in the Old Testament (and carrier of souls after death in Islam).
So as you might imagine it is rather gloomy, with minor keys and low strings and brass, clashing notes and dissonance; but it is also in some respects spirited and vital. It was, after all, intended to be a celebration of Dvořák’s life and work. Suk rejected the upbeat tone of his initial imaginings, but it seems — due to its richness of texture, the steady pulsating tempo, perhaps, or the way it evokes movement and life through contrast from quiet to loud — to remain. Suk later wrote in a letter:
The fearsome Angel of Death struck with his scythe a second time. Such a misfortune either destroys a man or brings to the surface all the powers dormant in him. Music saved me and after a year I began the second part of the symphony, beginning with an adagio, a tender portrait of Otilka.
‘Asrael’ is rather gloomy, with minor keys and low strings and brass, clashing notes and dissonance; but it is also in some respects spirited and vital.
This second part, devoted directly to Otilka, is evocative of yearning, regret, nostalgia. But there is also a gentleness and warmth to the music — conveyed through softer sounds, and lighter orchestration (ie, fewer instruments playing together). I hope it is not too romantic of me to say that it is as if the music is whispering. And the solo playing adds, if you like, a personal touch. If it is true — and I think it is — and through music, art and literature we rehearse emotion and reconcile ourselves with it, then perhaps this second part would be in some way soothing to those heavy with grief.
In closing, I simply have to mention the solo cellist Anastasia Kobekina, who to my ears played beautifully throughout but whose encore was just a little odd. Written by her father, Vladimir Kobekin, who appeared on stage from the left with a tambourine, it was a sort of energetic, foot-stomping dance. The person next to me was visibly enjoying himself, but honestly, reader, I did not know what to make of it. Then again, as I say, I am an amateur.
