Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House
January 25, 2016

Anima Eterna Brugge set quite a pace as they leapt out of the starting blocks to embark on their Beethoven symphonic marathon last Wednesday with high-voltage accounts of the first two symphonies. For those fit and lucky enough to be keeping up with the world-class Belgian period instrument specialists over their subsequent three concerts at Angel Place it has been quite a work out for ears, hearts and minds. The opportunity to hear these oft-played cornerstone works over five consecutive evenings doesn’t come along that often and it proved revelatory in all sorts of ways.

Of course we all know that the Eroica was a revolutionary symphony, it was even intended to celebrate an actual revolution, but hearing it back to back with its predecessor throws its innovations into such sharp perspective that you actually gasp. In the ideal and intimate acoustic of City Recital Hall, the quantum leap achieved by the composer in what were just a few short years was very apparent. With every phrase under the sonic microscope, the dissonances, the stabbing chords, the sheer new demands placed on the instruments themselves, all were laid bare for all to see and hear. I won’t forget the grisly scraping of the three superb double bass players at the start of a chilling funeral march weighed down with an atmosphere of tolling bells and muffled treads. You could almost smell the tumbrels and hear the murmerings of the sans-culottes!

The Fifth Symphony emerged as the rule-breaker that it always was, its first movement a riff on a rhythm rather than a melody, and then the exuberant firepower of the finale with the band augmented by three trombones, piccolo and a deliciously rasping contrabassoon. Equally rewarding was rediscovering the originality of the Pastoral – without hearing the symphonies back-to-back it doesn’t register so clearly that Beethoven had composed 20 previous propulsive symphonic movements before he dared to write one with no timpani part. And hearing the extraordinary way the cellos and basses opened the famous Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony with a sound akin to a viol consort, for the first time I knew exactly why that movement had to be encored at the premiere.

These were just a few of the highlights in the first four concerts, not to mention the pleasure of seeing burnished period horns and woodwind made of actual wood while appreciating the skill of the players forced to cope with the snowballing demands that the increasingly deaf composer placed upon their instruments (in the ten years between the First and the Eighth, instrument design could have barely changed, yet Beethoven utterly and mercilessly transformed an entire genre). And there were questions too: When did cellos get their spikes? Did Beethoven have a grudge against natural horn players or was he just plain sadistic? Why did one bass player use a different bow grip from his colleagues? (Festival Director Lieven Bertels actually answered that one for me – apparently Immerseel’s meticulous research suggests both were in use during Beethoven’s time).

Photo by Jamie Williams

So what about the grand finale? Over 12 years elapsed between the Eighth and Ninth – as long as it took Beethoven to write all of his previous symphonies put together. Anima Eterna didn’t double the wind as Beethoven supposedly did at the premiere, and of course the sound didn’t have the walloping impact that it did at Angel Place. Nevertheless, the orchestra gave it their all in an incisive performance full of detailed phrasing and strong on the harmonic daring that was Beethoven’s stock in trade cross all of his late works.

Sadly the sharp tone of the original instruments were largely blunted in the resonance of the Sydney Opera House concert hall, with only bassoons, brass and percussion keeping their distinctive edge (that said, the horns did struggle at times with fiendish writing for a fiendish instrument). Highlights would have to include Immerseel’s crisp dramatisation of the first movement and the mercurial wind playing in the trios of the Scherzo. The Adagio was interesting – the fastest I’ve ever heard it taken. Did it work? It did, and in the process became something rather different.

The chorus on this occasion was our own Australian Brandenburg Choir, quite the smallest I’ve ever seen attempt to tackle this taxing finale live. With male altos and only six sopranos they had their work cut out, however they acquitted themselves very well indeed, singing with incisive tone and great confidence. As they were placed far apart on either side of the stage, and almost in front of the conductor, occasionally they struggled to come in or finish entirely together, but their sound more than made up for the odd rough edge. The lower than usual firepower in the chorus meant that the four fine soloists were easily heard (the tenor of Yves Saelens especially appealing). Their beautifully tight and balanced quartets were a spine-tingling delight and the combined hell for leather race for the finish raised the usual goosebumps.

A Beethoven Nine is always a great way to finish off anything, but it seemed singularly appropriate that outgoing Festival Director Lieven Bertels should make his exit to the strains of a Belgian ensemble raising the roof at the end of the kind of ‘big event’ that should be the meat and drink of an international festival. A packed SOH clearly felt suitably uplifted while those who had been on the full journey with Immerseel and his band I’m sure felt duly enlightened.

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