ENDNOTES, 2nd December 2015
In this edition: BBC Symphony Orchestra in Gallic mood at the Barbican * Edward Gardner conducts Janacek * Rare Grieg piano music from Somm Records
Only a few days after the appalling terrorist outrage in Paris, the BBC Symphony Orchestra took to the platform at the Barbican to perform a concert of Gallic music (a programme which had been scheduled long before the gunmen ran amok in the French capital). Clearly, many London concertgoers had decided to stay at home in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, as the Barbican seemed to be only half-full. Normally, a programme which included the Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique – not to mention Jean-Efflam Bavouzet performing Ravel – would have attracted a much larger audience, but what the hall lacked in numbers and atmosphere, the orchestra made up in its thoughtful and compelling performances.
Needless to say, the artists – which included a relative newcomer to British concert platforms, conductor Pascal Rophé* (he replaced an indisposed Francois Xavier-Roth) – dedicated the evening to the victims of the Paris attacks, a dedication which drew warm applause from the audience. I hope that the Radio 3 audience that night included many French listeners, enjoying the inspiring music of their country in an immaculate realisation by one of Britain’s greatest orchestras.
A work by Pierre Boulez had originally been programmed, but this was replaced by César Franck’s 1882 symphonic poem, Le chausseur maudit (‘The Accursed Huntsman’) – a quarter-of-an-hour-long curtain-raiser full of late-romantic forest murmurs and a growing sense of diabolic doom. Franck was born in Liège, a city whose Belgian status belies a French cultural hegemony – so it is perhaps right to see Franck as a French composer. And yet his music does have a Germanic drive to it, rather like the works of Vincent D’Indy, that French Wagnerian. However, the next composer on the BBC SO’s menu was Maurice Ravel; a deeply private, inscrutable, fastidious, almost classical figure transported to the 20th-century, and as profoundly French as it is possible to be. Franck’s 19th-century forests gave way to the light and shade of Ravel’s modern impressionism – in this concert, the Piano Concerto for the Left Hand (1929-30), written for Paul Wittgenstein, brother of the philosopher, Ludwig.
I have never encountered even a semi half-hearted review of anything undertaken by Jean-Efflam Bavouzet, and it is little wonder – considering this artist’s total self-assurance and possession of the stage; his astonishing ability to bring finer shades even to the fine shading of Ravel; and the sense that he brings to his performance – even with a large orchestra – of being within the fibres and fabric of a chamber group. The BBC Symphony Orchestra has played this concerto many times, but its low, deep, formless, almost grumbling opening from the deeper register of the orchestra has seldom sounded so mysterious; with the more “open air”, exultant passages which follow achieving a great sonority. The work’s harder edges – its post-World War One “angles” and shapes, and occasional coldness were all summoned and highlighted in this excellent performance. After the interval (and there was very little of the usual bustle in the bars, in fact, everything was very subdued indeed) the ensemble delivered a remarkable reading of the Symphonie Fantastique by Berlioz, the French romantic who took Beethoven’s concept of programme, scene-setting music and added huge brush strokes and grand gestures to it. This five-movement symphony – a love-sick wandering through French fields to a ballroom; back to a countryside menaced by approaching thunder; and then to a terrifying execution at a scaffold – followed for good measure by a witches’ Sabbath – dates from 1830, with revisions made a year later, and once again, in 1845. For such a pre-Wagnerian work, the Symphonie Fantastique sounds as though it belongs to much later in the century.
Pascal Rophé’s conducting style was most interesting: an intense direction of events (as if conducting one of the contemporary music ensembles in which he first made his name), but without overblown or over-dramatic arm gestures, and yet conveying much through his clearly technical mode of operation. But this did not mean that there was restraint all the way through – far from it, in the terrifying, braying brass accompanying the March to the Scaffold, with percussion that thudded through this dream of imminent death; and then the shrieking, almost atonal moments in the nightmare torrents and torments of the finale.
The acoustic of the Barbican Hall is such that the music is revealed very much in its bare bones – as if a piercing light is shining on each section of the orchestra. The sound is not exactly dry, but in sharp relief – and it seemed, at least in the first movement, that the clear, unfussy, astringent approach to the Symphonie took the BBC Symphony Orchestra close to the performance style of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment or the London Classical Players, especially in the economy and “attack” of the violins and violas.
One of the BBC Symphony Orchestra’s regular conductors is Edward Gardner, an artist of what might be called the younger generation, but at the age of 41, already a figure of great musical authority and international achievement. On a recent recording for the Chandos label (CHSA 5156), Mr. Gardner raises his baton at the Grieghallen, Bergen, Norway – eliciting playing of pinpoint accuracy and polish from the players from the city’s Philharmonic Orchestra in the music of Leos Janacek (1854-1928). Works such as Jealousy, the Violin Concerto (The Wandering of a Little Soul), The Ballad of Blanik make this a CD rich in central-European flavour. But the greatest piece, by far, on the collection is the tense symphonic poem, Taras Bulba, based on a tale by Gogol about the heroism of a legendary Russian warrior as he fights to liberate his ancient lands (the steppes of the Ukraine) from the Poles. A dim light of legend and melancholy permeates the opening of the work, the Chandos sound-engineers capturing the yearning woodwind phrases and the gloom-laden organ passage which floats above and “behind” the orchestra – adding to the feel of ancient prophecy and landscape.
Finally, folklore is very much celebrated in a remarkable new CD from Somm (CD 0154), a re-mastering of an RCA record from 1978 in which the composer and pianist, John McCabe (who passed away this year – a great loss to music) performs rare works by Grieg. His Stimmungen (Moods) opens the collection, and this seven-piece pot-pourri includes a Studie (Hommage a Chopin), Folk Tune from Valders, and The Mountaineer’s Song. Norwegian Peasant Dances, Op. 72 follow – the soloist bringing to life scenes from an idealised world: spring dances, bridal marches, a tune for a goat-horn, a Bridal Procession for Goblins, and a Tune from the Fairy Hill. Perhaps McCabe’s inner sensitivity as a composer has worked a magic here: he certainly brings tenderness (but never over-romanticism) to Grieg’s dreams of a world beyond our own. A splendid tribute to John McCabe and something of a coup for Somm in finding and presenting this evergreen recording made nearly 40 years ago. With its Nordic feeling, I have no hesitation in recommending the CD as an ideal present for – should I say, yule?
STUART MILLSON is Classical Music Editor of The Quarterly Review
*Pascal Rophé studied at the Paris Conservatoire and won second prize at the 1988 Besancon competition for conductors. He worked with Pierre Boulez, and has conducted a number of orchestras worldwide, including the Philharmonic forces of Radio France, the NHK Orchestra in Japan, the BBC National Orchestra of Wales and the Norwegian Radio Symphony Orchestra

























Lost in France
Static.dnaindia.com
Lost in France
Ilana Mercer lambasts the Hexagon’s Keystone Cops
“HEY, it’s me, Salah Abdeslam. Did you see the attacks across Paris? Bismillah, may we have many more like them. Brothers Brahim Abdeslam, Abdelhamid Abaaoud, my self and others pulled it off. I’m still in Paris. I need a ride back to Brussels. Come get me.”
After executing 130 people in Paris, and maiming many more, Abdeslam called his compadres in Belgium to ask for a lift home. I can’t vouch for the precise wording of the telephonic exchange between Salah Abdeslam and his contacts in Belgium. But the call took place, as BBC News reported. And it must have been quite a relaxed one, circumstances considered.
Still on the lam, Abdeslam knows he has nothing to fear. The French authorities were on heightened alert. The Kufar’s telephones had all been tapped. Yet Salah’s faith in the French fools was unshaken for a reason.
Without court orders, as The Guardian tells it, François Hollande’s socialist government taps phones and emails, hacks computers, installs “secret cameras and recording devices in private homes”; infects French Internet and phone service providers with “complex algorithms” designed to “alert the authorities to suspicious behavior.”
Yet it all—the French Surveillance State—amounts to naught.
Like gun laws, spy laws oppress only law-abiding, harmless individuals.
As in all western democracies, France’s Big Brother surveillance apparatus is as useless as it is oppressive.
France’s “protectors” knew nothing of the conversations taking place under their noses.
Duly, Marine Le Pen would be summoned to appear in Court for “inciting religious hatred against Muslims,” in October. Leader Le Pen, who loves her countrymen and would never harm them, was in court for saying “France for the French.”
Marine Le Pen
Yes, Salah knew all too well—still knows—that offensive speech French authorities would diligently prosecute, all the more so when uttered by a “white supremacist.” But a suspicious looking supremacist like himself, hell bent on killing his hosts, would not so much as be stopped for an inquisitive chat.
Not on returning from one of many round trips to Syria and back, to Turkey and back, to Morocco and back. And not on returning to the scene of the crime.
Megyn Kelly took up an entire segment of her Fox News extravaganza to kibitz about the un-Islamic lifestyle of the architect of the attacks. OMG! Abdelhamid Abaaoud had been swilling whiskey in Paris’ Saint-Denis district, in contravention of Islamic law, moaned Imam Kelly.
The real “breaking news” story Kelly missed.
Abaaoud was thus relaxing and celebrating a day after the successful attacks.
Shortly after the attacks, Abaaoud had managed to return undisturbed to the scene of the crime to mill about among the moronic French gendarmes and survey his handiwork with them.
The “breaking news” here, Ms. Kelly, is the criminally negligent, worse-than-shoddy French police work.
Where were the roadblocks? Where was the rational profiling at the roadblocks? Where was the basic police procedure that used to see cops stop and politely question loiterers at a crime scene?
Nowhere!
Thus did Paris’ chief gendarme order the city’s peaceful Jews to cancel public Hanukkah celebrations. Better that, than to stop a North-African looking chap for a chat.
Jews may be removing themselves from Paris’ Public Square, but not Jihadis. Rest assured: with the help of their political and constabulary enablers, Jihadis are already surveying the city for more soft targets, just like the Parisian headquarters of Charlie Hebdo, a satirical newspaper, whose writers were exterminated in January.
France is no civilized outpost; it is paradise on earth for martyrs; it’s hell on earth for their dhimmis.
Why, just the other day a Jewish teacher was stabbed in Marseilles by purported ISIS supporters. And a local businessman was beheaded near the city of Grenoble. These French Salafists brazenly impaled the poor man’s severed head on a fence.
Other than the U.S. Transportation Security Administration, nobody employs more un-vetted Muslims than the French. According to The Australian, at least “57 workers with access to runways and aircraft were on [a French] intelligence watchlist as potential Islamist extremists.”
One of the assailants at Bataclan, Omar Ismail Mostefai—mercifully, he blew himself to smithereens likely because he knew the gendarmes would take pity on him and slow down his journey to Gehenna—was fingered back “in 2010 as a suspected Islamic radical. Since then, Mostefai appears to have been able to travel to Syria; he may have also spent time in Algeria.”
Another Bataclan alumnus, Samy Amimour, a 28-year-old Frenchman, also partook in France’s generous, frequent-flyer terrorist tours. He scuttled to commune with ISIS in Syria without being kept out of France, or deported for good to ISIS Land.
A BBC News headline asked: “Paris attacks: Is bashing Belgium justified?”
An unqualified yes is the answer—provided blame is apportioned between France, Germany, The Netherlands and other European countries, which all keep the revolving door in operation, so that their Islamist youngsters may circumambulate from Europe to ISIS Land and back again.
When the butcher aforementioned, Brahim Abdeslam, commenced his pilgrimage to Syria, the Turks were sharp enough and responsible to send him packing back to Brussels, where he was wanted, but not a Wanted Man.
The best I kept for last: Salah Abdeslam was stopped by police “in his car,” not once, but “three times in the hours following the attacks, on the last occasion near the Belgian border” (BBC News). Abdeslam and two fellow travelers were waved by, presumably because they did not resemble Marine Le Pen.
The little man in charge of France responded in Syria to the presence of ISIS in France. Hollande’s lunacy excited neoconservatives stateside no end. That’s because the inmates are running the American and European asylum, where The People are the real refugees.
Patriots who promise no more than to make the West safe for its people again; the gilded traitor elite threatens with court orders.
Marine Le Pen’s Front National, the Freedom Party of Austria, and Geert Wilders’ Party for Freedom (to be joined, indubitably, by Donald Trump) are outsiders in their homelands. But in France, it’s business as usual for the barbarians.
Ilana Mercer is a paleolibertarian writer, based in the U.S. She pens WND’s longest-standing, exclusive paleolibertarian column, “Return to Reason.” She is a fellow at the Jerusalem Institute for Market Studies. Her latest book is “Into the Cannibal’s Pot: Lessons For America From Post-Apartheid South Africa.” Her website is www.IlanaMercer.com. She blogs at www.barelyablog.com Follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/IlanaMercer “Friend” her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ilanamercer.libertarian
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