Wednesday 1 April 2015

Brazen and Dissolute Splendour

Among the out-of-the-way corners of classical music, there are works which have gained immense popularity only to then fall into shadow.  There are works which have remained unique in their composers' output, and works which have remained unique in the world of music.  There are works which are better known by name than by sound, rarely performed in public because of the daunting requirements for numbers and quality of performers.  And there are works which absolutely shatter the traditional borders of whatever genres they seem to inhabit.  All of these descriptions intersect to perfection in a remarkable work written by the English composer William Walton (later Sir William) between the ages of 27 and 29, and premiered in 1931 at the Leeds Triennial Festival.

Of course, Belshazzar's Feast is still often heard in Britain, where it's a definite repertoire staple.  Not so, sadly, in North America where it has largely dropped off the charts after its early and remarkable success in the 1930s through to the 1960s.

Belshazzar's Feast resists classification because it is definitely sui generis.  Although the text is drawn entirely from the Bible, and tells a Biblical story, it's hardly an oratorio since the devotional aspect so characteristic of oratorio in general is absent.  Nor is it a dramatic cantata, since its structure totally ignores the typical layout of such works.  Much later in life, Walton tried to describe it as a "choral symphony" but that won't do because the vivid and all-important orchestral writing still serves primarily the function of illustrating the sung text, rather than advancing a symphonic structure.  Like Elgar's earlier The Dream of Gerontius, Walton's work refuses to fit into any genre because it is a genre, literally in a class of its own.  And, like Gerontius, it is no less than a masterpiece.

Once we've said that, dismiss Elgar from your mind.  The influences at work here certainly include the long tradition of choral writing for the Church of England, but heavily interwoven with the Stravinsky of The Rite of Spring and the popular sounds of contemporary jazz.  The work is conceived on the largest Festival scale, including a vast percussion section and extra brass bands (this happened because the 1931 Leeds programmes included the huge Berlioz Requiem, and Sir Thomas Beecham, the director, told Walton that he might as well use the brasses too "because you're never going to hear it again, anyway"!).

The result was a shocker to the sensibilities of the audience in 1931, but also hugely exhilarating.  One writer described the initial impression of the work as a noisy, modernistic masterpiece.  Yet, in looking again at Belshazzar now, it's easy to see that it actually lives in a very tonal musical world; the dissonances are carefully calculated and used for maximum effect at key moments of the work.  It remains, as it was from the outset, the most intensely dramatic and hugely energetic work ever written for chorus and orchestra.

Belshazzar's Feast falls into three basic sections, each one in turn divided into three.  The first of these is prefaced by an unaccompanied recitative for divided male choir, a fierce utterance of the prophecy of Isaiah that the Israelites would be enslaved in Babylon.  The first main part is a long, mournful song for the people of Israel, with a contrasting middle section where the chorus first encounters the jagged, jazzy fast rhythms so characteristic of the piece.  This rhythmic power underscores the words, "For they that wasted us required of us mirth, they that carried us away captive required of us a song."  More viciously still, the choir then sings "Oh, daughter of Babylon, that art to be destroyed, happy shall he be that taketh thy children and dasheth them against a stone."  The slow song of mourning then resumes and winds down to its quiet, deep conclusion.

A bass soloist sings an unbarred and unaccompanied recitative about the merchandise of Babylon, which the composer used to ironically call "the shopping list".  The second main section then launches with a rapid four-note downward arpeggio spread across the interval of the minor ninth.  This motif dominates and frequently recurs in the ensuing pages.  This is the description of the feast itself.  The music is energetic, joyful, almost orgiastic, and demands the utmost precision from singers and orchestra alike.  

After the king and his wives and concubines drink from the sacred vessels taken from the Temple in Jerusalem, the King's demand to "Praise ye the god of gold" is announced by the soloist.  This launches the gigantic march in praise of all the gods of Babylon, punctuated by blazing brass fanfares and specific different percussion instruments to illustrate each of the gods of gold, silver, wood, stone, iron and brass.  The climax of the march enlists all the forces in full cry at once to sing "Praise ye the gods!"

Another silence, and the wild song of the feast resumes.  The people of Babylon drink from the sacred vessels again, crying in dissonant harmonies, "Thou, O King, art King of Kings!  O King, live forever!"  A shocked silence falls.

The music then moves swiftly to the climax of the drama.  The soloist sings of the appearance of the handwriting upon the wall, accompanied by some of the creepiest and most chilling orchestral sounds ever heard outside a Hollywood movie.  The climax of his narrative -- "In that night was Belshazzar, the King, slain!" -- is echoed by an exultant shout of "Slain!" from the chorus.  That's right, a shout -- not even a musical pitch, just a single staccato yell. 

(At one of the infamous Hoffnung Festival concerts in London in the 1950s, Walton himself appeared and directed the shortest-ever "performance" of Belshazzar's Feast: the single shout of "Slain!", which he conducted with a fly-swatter!)

The final section then erupts into the exultant celebrations of the people of Israel.  Once again the syncopated jazz rhythms of the score are well to the fore, and chorus and orchestra are again at full stretch.  The centrepiece of this final part is a contrasting slow, quiet lament for the fallen city.  But the rapid music soon bursts forth again, swinging into the roaring, frenzied Alleluias which bring the work to its breathtaking conclusion.

Fortunately for those of us who rarely have an opportunity to hear Belshazzar's Feast live, there are numerous fine recordings -- definitely this has been a lucky piece in the studio.  Trying to record this work, incidentally, raises virtuoso challenges not just for singers, players, and conductor, but also for the producer and recording engineer who have to encompass the hugely percussive climaxes without losing sight of detail, and without changing the sound picture too much from the quieter, more reflective moments. 

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