IN: Reviews

Bostridge and Adès Take Desolate Journey


On my journey to Jordan Hall to attend Friday’s Celebrity Series of Boston- and the Boston Symphony Orchestra-sponsored recital by the inimitable duo of world-renowned tenor Ian Bostridge and notable conductor/pianist/composer Thomas Adès, I found myself bothered not one bit by the rain and wind. I was lost in a reverie imagining the life-changing music I was about to hear, thinking about my beautiful family, and how happy I was with the state of things in my life.

In the middle of my sigh of contentment, I happened to lock eyes with an elderly gentleman whose face, so fiercely weathered from life’s difficulties, made it such that I hardly recognized his humanity. His eyes were sunken and seemed to be on the verge of a century of tears. His lifeless gait telegraphed that if any joy ever existed in his heart, or if he ever had anything worth living for, that it had flown away into the wind that was berating what was left of his cold shell on this bustling street in Boston. We passed each other and I gave as empathetic a nod as possible, but the man just walked past me as if there were no other person or being left in his universe.

I viscerally imagined in that wanderer the story that I was about to watch performed, in a living, breathing human being, standing immediately before me.

In Winterreise (“Winter Journey), Schubert set 24 poems by Wilhelm Müller (of Die schone Müllerin fame). The tragic journey depicts a man who has experienced a profound and all-encompassing love, happiness—all the contentment life can offer. But as the seasons progress from the new life of spring to the last leaf falling in autumn, so also does his relationship. At the opening of the cycle, the wanderer is leaving the life that he knew, his first words being “Fremd bin ich eingezogen, fremd zieh ich wieder aus.” (I arrived as a stranger, and as stranger I leave.) This sets the stage for the utter desolation and desperation that is to come.

Bostridge and Thomas Adès entered to uproarious applause—much of which was not acknowledged by Bostridge, who seemed to be already in character for the journey. As Ades began, Bostridge’s tall and striking figure leaned against the piano as if it were an informal rehearsal, very intentionally neglecting to acknowledge anyone else in the auditorium. The wanderer (NB: I considered using the plural because the piano plays an equal role in the storytelling) leaves through the snowy road leading away from his lover’s house making note of various elements of the situation. He comments on the weathervane that sits atop the house with wind changing directions, like women’s hearts, and the linden tree that is just before the edge of the property that was the site of many of summer daydream.

He sings of his warm tears which could thaw the snow and ice and to bring back the green grass and flowers to the estate, and of his heart, which had since grown numb. He continues his journey remarking on the river that he knew so well, now covered with ice, and relates the feelings of his heart as the under-ice current of the river. He closes his eyes and dreams of spring while he rests from his travel, and imagines a love requited and that overwhelming feeling of being loved. When the morning comes, he opens his eyes to remind him of the bleakness and loneliness that hovers over him like a dark cloud.

The snow falls on his head, making the appearance of him as an old man, but as the snow melts, it reveals his black hair again, reminding him how far he has until the comfort of the grave. He is visited by a crow that seems to circle him as a vulture waiting to make a meal of him. The wanderer assures him that it will not be long. He arrives to the town the evening before a tremendously stormy morning with dogs constantly barking keeping him from sleeping, He has foregone sleeping entirely, to keep himself from dreaming of his lost love. His mental facilities are dramatically reduced, and with every passing moment he slips further into despair and mental instability. He arrives to a graveyard, that he calls an “inn,” with the funeral wreaths as the welcome signs. He leaves, dejected, realizing that all the rooms are taken, and he progresses further into the snow and wind. Lastly in his total psychological breakdown, the wanderer finds a hurdy-gurdy player at the edge of the village. He recognizes himself in the loneliness of the old man’s songs, and becomes one with “Der Leiermann.”

The musical settings of these poems tend to be, as one could imagine, predominantly in the minor mode, but very specifically and intentionally, Schubert uses unexpected major tonality in the abyss of sorrow to further break the listener’s heart. Schubert’s text painting evokes operatic storms that could be found in Donizetti’s Lucia or Rossini’s Barber of Seville (Einsamkeit), a demented music box, oppressively circling the voice (Die Krahe), dogs growling in the piano (Im Dorfe), and a warm fire glowing in the fireplace, with hymn-like chords (Wirtshaus).

Adès mastered this “opera” with many moments of delicate sensitivity and an ethereal quality, and others throbbing with hot-blooded passion, yet his partner Bostridge, who has made quite a name for himself for the interpretation of this work, seemed unable to embody the same range of color and power. In certain moments, Bostridge attempted to take advantage of the acoustics of the room, yet from where I was sitting, no matter how delicately Adès  played, Bostridge was virtually inaudible. His vocalism ranged through the night from musically tonal Sprechstimme, complete with barked high passages, to a straight tone without the amplitude to carry alongside against the sensitive artistry of Adès.

Thomas Ades and Ian Bostridge (Robert Torres photo)
Thomas Adès and Ian Bostridge (Robert Torres photo)

Many moments suited this wispy vocal color, yet to make a full artistic impression, the singer must contrast his sotto voce with fully sung vocal abandon. Admittedly, my aesthetic is one of a more romantic sound, but it is abundantly evident that Bostridge’s precision and silvery English boy-choir-esque production has endeared him to the world—in this repertoire especially.

What Bostridge lacked in vocal color and warmth, he delivered in theatrical commitment. He contorted in wringing pain, and toward the end of the cycle he gazed at a point in the back of the hall, never blinking, but fully embracing the insanity of the wanderer.

At the close of the concluding song, Bostridge and Adès held us in great suspense, allowing the final utterances, both vocal and pianistic, to evaporate into the room. They held the mood as long as they were able, before the atmosphere was shattered by an overly exuberant clap from the rafters. They were then met with an immediate standing ovation, from a very packed Jordan Hall, and came out to bow on four separate occasions, for we had witnessed two artists in their artistic primes hold nothing back emotionally in one of the most powerfully affecting works of western music.

Joshua Collier, lyric tenor and Co-Founder of Opera Brittenica, is represented by Berger Artist Management and enjoys performing Opera, Concert, and Musical Theater works around the country, and with many of Boston’s musical institutions.


6 Comments [leave a civil comment (others will be removed) and please disclose relevant affiliations]

  1. Wrenching lede, Mr. Collier!

    Comment by Fred Bouchard — October 31, 2016 at 12:57 pm

  2. Many thanks, Mr. Bouchard! It is quite an honor to have your approval!

    Comment by Joshua Collier — October 31, 2016 at 11:39 pm

  3. Bostridge and Adès have been touring with this program for a while. They were at Carnegie Hall last week, and WQXR has audio from that recital at!/story/tenor-ian-bostridge-and-pianist-thomas-ades-bring-schubert-winterreise-carnegie-hall/ (will be taken down eventually).

    Mr. Collier has put his finger on the two big things that struck me about what I heard, listening to the NYC performance. Bostridge’s depth of preparation in the song cycle borders on the obsessive; his book is essential reading for anybody who wants to perform the cycle as pianist or singer, and seeks deep, deep background about the songs, down to the socioeconomic implications of a life as a charcoal burner (in eines Köhlers engem Haus …). Mr. Collier has elegantly summarized, however, that curious mix of thoughtful, dramatic attention to text and (to me) unlistenable vocal tone.

    Adès’s playing was a revelation. I have a select pantheon of great art song pianists — Gerald Moore, Benjamin Britten, Julius Drake — whose technique serves always as a servant to their imaginations, and bring an enormous wealth of pictorial detail to the piano parts. Adès, like Britten a composer and conductor, brings fresh insights to Winterreise. There are methods of articulation and shading that I’ve never heard before in performances of this cycle. It’s unfair to single out a single great thing, but the way he elicits barking dogs and rattling chains (“Es bellen die Hunde, es rasseln die Ketteln” in “Im Dorfe”) stuck out to me as memorably masterful.

    And thanks for sharing the haunting image of the real-life joyless gentleman. I’m lucky enough not to have wound up walking the path of Müller’s stranger, but those strangers are all around us, and anyone who performs the cycle has to reach into that world (though in the interview segment after the recital, Bostridge and Adès both make it clear they’re only visiting, not living there).

    Comment by James C.S. Liu — November 1, 2016 at 5:12 am

  4. Mr. Collier has made some important and salient comments in his review. However, I was more of a fan of Mr. Bostridge’s “singing.” Where I was sitting, I had no problem hearing him even in the very soft places. Yes, his instrument has some definite English traits, but when he needed to use his voice and the variety of colors, the sound and emotion were there. Mr. Bostridge is not a “stand up straight in the curve of the piano and behave yourself” kind of singer. He is very physical, moves frequently, and angles himself, supported by the piano. He is controversial in this manner and not to everyone’s taste. I have seen him sing Schubert songs with his hands in his pockets, not as a gimmick, he obviously feels this posture is the essence of the poem and music. Mr. Adès playing was truly illuminating with details matched to text, a profound performance. I have been fortunate to hear live performances of this cycle by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Hermann Prey, Michael Meraw, Gerald Finley and others. The Bostridge/Adès Winterreise will stand strong with all these wonderful artists. Yes, take Mr. Liu’s suggestion of reading Mr. Bostridge’s book “Anatomy of an Obsession.” Obsession, it is.

    Comment by Terry Decima — November 1, 2016 at 2:51 pm

  5. I write to second Terry Decima’s comment about having no trouble hearing Bostridge. I trust Josh Collier and accept as fact that for him Bostridge was difficult to hear. I was sitting in the last row of the balcony, on the stage-right side, and heard every syllable. The acoustics of Jordan Hall can be very unpredictable, sometimes. One doesn’t always know where to sit. I found both color and warmth in the vocal performance.

    Comment by Alan Levitan — November 1, 2016 at 8:50 pm

  6. Having seen (and heard) the performance IB and TA gave at Carnegie Hall, I am definitely NOT a fan of IB’s “way” on and around the stage. I found it, as well as his penchant for coloring every last detail of 24 songs, distracting and attention-getting. While it is fair to say that the articulation of these details is possible only for a singer of enormous abilities and intelligence, it was precisely that–thinking about IB–that prevented me from apprehending the journey. I am wondering if anyone (including, of course, Mr. Decima) remembers the incredible, self-immolating, performance of this cycle given at Longy School by Jane Struss and Victor Rosenbaum, perhaps 30 years ago?

    Comment by Daniel Farber — November 4, 2016 at 5:31 pm

RSS feed for comments on this post.

Sorry, this comment forum is now closed.