Wigmore Hall, London

3 July 2007, 7.30

Ian Bostridge (tenor)
Julius Drake (piano)

“Pianist Julius Drake was every bit as insightful and original as the singer.” The Telegraph

Johannes Brahms:
Wie rafft ich mich auf Op. 32 No. 1
Nicht mehr zu dir zu gehen Op. 32 No. 2
Ich schleich’ umher Op. 32 No. 3
Der Strom, der neben mir verrauschte Op. 32 No. 4
Wehe, so willst du mich wieder Op. 32 No. 5
Du sprichst, daß ich mich täuschte Op. 32 No. 6
Bitteres zu sagen denkst du Op. 32 No. 7
So stehn wir, ich und meine Weide Op. 32 No. 8
Wie bist du, meine Königin Op. 32 No. 9
Sommerabend Op. 85 No. 1
Mondenschein Op. 85 No. 2
Meerfahrt Op. 96 No. 4
Der Tod, das ist die kühle Nacht Op. 96 No. 1

Robert Schumann:
Dichterliebe Op. 48

What the critics say

Ivan Hewett, The Telegraph, 5 July 2007

Magic touch of the sad, pale man

At one point, the pale, anguished-looking man on stage leaned on the piano, gazed soulfully over our heads and sang a tremulous line from a romantic song about the flowers in the garden, who whisper sympathetically to him: “You sad, pale man.”

It was just too perfect: it’s moments like this that make you realise why the tenor Ian Bostridge holds such fascination for his fans.

He’s the image of the pale and interesting poet, always tormented by unhappy feelings, always at odds with the world.

At the same time, his slender figure has a matinée-idol elegance, and suggests that the powerful feelings that possess him are reassuringly bodiless. There’s none of that dark, sexual menace that a singer such as Matthias Goerne can conjure.

All this makes Bostridge ideal for Brahms, who was so good at repressing unruly feelings towards the women in his life. They re-emerged in his songs, sublimated with almost unbearable poignancy into lonely night-time musings, or stoic acceptance, or nostalgia.

We heard more than a dozen of them in the first half of this concert, and they were full of magical touches that proved what an intelligent and sensitive artist Bostridge is.

In Mondenschein (”Moonlight”), how well he caught the change from bleak darkness to consolation, when the moon finally emerges from behind the clouds.

That was an example – one of many – of a bit of conventional Romantic bric-a-brac made to seem emotionally real. In that case it chimed in with our expectations.

But Bostridge can surprise, too. At the end of In the Rhine, the Holiest River (one of the Schumann song-cycle A Poet’s Love that filled the second half of the concert), the singer suddenly realises the image of the Virgin in Cologne Cathedral is exactly like the face of his beloved.

Bostridge gave this line a bitter tone, which restored the ironic edge to Heine’s words that Schumann’s music removes.

Pianist Julius Drake was every bit as insightful and original as the singer.

But the problem for me with Bostridge’s performances is that I miss a bedrock of simplicity and naturalness at the root of the voice. A lovely song like Brahms’s Wie bist du meine Konigin doesn’t need all that shading and finessing.

Which is why I felt more admiring than really moved.