The Messiah gets
to be performed so often that audiences take it for granted and conductors
endeavour to bring something different to the work in a bid to get us to see it
in a new light. Brett Weymark certainly
wanted to bring something distinctive to his performance with the Hong Kong Philharmonic
on Saturday evening; he only half succeeded.
He was, it has to be said, starting on the back foot for, even
before the solemn Sinfonia started the
inexorable path to the final, great Amen, the publicity supporting the concert
rather clouded the issue. Not that there
were any false claims; merely a number of confusing half-truths.
Half truth Number One was the claim that this marked a “resurrection”
of the Hong Kong Philharmonic Chorus. In
that the Chorus has not sung in public since 2010 that was true, but as any
half-decent chorus refreshes a large proportion of its membership through auditions
every two or three years, there was nothing particularly new about the 160
singers ranging across the width of the Cultural Centre Concert Hall’s
auditorium. What was not up for debate
was just how good this Hong Kong Philharmonic Chorus was, drilled to an
extraordinary level of excellence by Philip Chu. Messiah
is quite a sing for any chorus, yet this one never flagged or showed signs
of weakness. They sang with tremendous verve
and precision, pitching and ensemble were flawless, diction and articulation
magnificent and the sopranos, in particular, searing in the intensity of their
tone. It might all have reached a
shattering climax with the Hallelujah Chorus,
but this was largely drowned out by the sound of seats thumping shut, programme
books (and their multiplicity of enclosures) dropped to the floor and joints
creaking as, in a mark of respect to British Colonial Power, the Hong Kong
audience, almost to a man, staggered to their feet in the time-honoured tradition
of acknowledging a long-dead monarch who, in an early performance of the work,
decided enough was enough and got up to leave, causing, in the act, a major disruption
to the performance (as such, that would seem to make King George II a true icon
to Hong Kong audiences).
Half truth number two was the description of Xiao Ma as a “Countertenor”. He was not; he was a falsettist and while he
possessed a fairly solid tenor register and could produce a reasonably hearty
hoot on the top notes, between the two was not just a very obvious break, but
one which Xiao manifestly was unable to negotiate. On top of that he delivered some weird
diction; at the point where The Messiah reaches
its most intense sorrow we heard the odd comment that “He was despy-Sid and
acquainted with glee”.
Chen Yong was a true tenor, his voice light but sharply
focused, and while at times he had problems riding over the top of what was a
very large orchestra (I reckon there were almost 40 strings on stage, only a handful
of which were placed on the reserve benches while Chen sang), he still managed
to convey a strong sense of conviction, not least in his buoyant aria “Ev’ry Valley”. (Why did the programme book insist on calling
all the arias “Songs”, which is something very different?)
Eclipsing all the other soloists in terms of sheer vocal
presence was Brian Montgomery whose magisterial bass, delivered with wonderful
aplomb and an almost operatic physicality, was an object-lesson in effortless projection
and masterly delivery. He had no
difficulty at all in overwhelming the massed orchestral forces sent to support him,
even when he reverted to a bare whisper (“Behold I tell you a Mystery” was
almost having a closely-guarded secret divulged), and his big arias were
brimming over with latent drama. Rarely
have the “heav’ns and earth” been so violently shaken, while the nations seemed
likely to lose off an armed warhead so aggressively did they rage together (was
Montgomery thinking of North Korea at this point?).
The most blatantly operatic moment of the whole performance
was Yuki Ip’s entry on to the stage. As
the Pastoral Symphony, here pared
down to just two oboes and bassoon, bobbed along, she shimmied across the
platform to cast her angelic soprano on to the assembled shepherds. She presented a truly effusive “Rejoice
Greatly”, and the icing on the cake came when, as she sang with crystalline
purity the worlds “For Christ is Risen”, the bleeping watch of a nearby
audience member, drew attention to the fact that Easter Day had just dawned
somewhere in Weymark’s native Australia.
Unfortunately, her final appearance almost resulted in disaster when, in
what can most kindly be described as a misjudgement, Weymark decided to open
the Amen chorus with the four soloists alone.
It was pretty shaky already, oozing with wholly inappropriate smnoochiness,
but when Ip mistimed her entry it all fell apart to be rescued, almost
farcically, by a peculiar mock-Irish jig from a lone violin, possibly in
acknowledgement of the country in which Messiah
was first performed.
And that brings us to Half-truth Number Three. The programme notes claimed that Handel wrote
The Messiah in just twenty-four days.
That is certainly true insofar that Handel did write enough of the work to be
performed in Dublin in that time, but he spent many more years adding to and
revising it for various subsequent performances, with the result that what we
hear today rarely comprises what Handel wrote in those 24 days. Weymark had elected to use the Clifford
Bartlett performing edition which, in brief, includes just about every bit of
music Handel wrote, revised or changed in the work, leaving it to the conductor
to decide which bits to include and which to leave out and thereby shaping the
performance to his own ends.
Weymark’s choice was to cut lots from the last part, but leave
most of the first two parts intact. That still left a great deal of music to
get through, and to ensure he was done by 10.30 (in which task he succeeded
magnificently) his tempi were, to put it mildly, brisk. “Let us break their bonds” was chaotic, but
no matter how sorely tested the chorus was by Weymark’s breathless tempi, they responded
magnificently, barking out “All we like sheep” as if they were a pack of hungry
wolves descending in formation on their next feast. But while, in many ways, this Messiah represented an unequivocal
triumph for an outstanding chorus, the real hero of the night was the Hong Kong
Philharmonic Orchestra who, despite their numbers, played with a precision and
clarity of attack which went a long way towards achieving Weymark’s obvious intention
of the giving the performance a crisp, desiccated “Baroque” feel. The violins showed astonishing uniformity,
while the cellos, led by the glorious buoyancy of Richard Bamping, had a
lightness which belied their massed ranks.
Perhaps not trusting the chorus
to stay in tune, Weymark had the organ doubling their parts throughout, and it
is to the undying credit of Marsha Chow (and Ann Other on the organ stool),
that this did not seriously impede the music; although the harpsichord did, in
the event, seem a trifle superfluous.
This Hong Kong Messiah
had lots to commend it, but ultimately it did not seem to know where it
wanted to go. It was neither authentic
nor romantic, neither intimate nor expansive, neither scholarly nor
populist. Had Handel heard it he would,
I’m sure, have found some of it perplexing, some of it strange and some of it vaguely
familiar. But most of all he would, I suspect,
along with everyone in the audience, have found it thoroughly enjoyable.