Intimate Schumann

On the home page for this blog, I allude to the fun of coming across new music for the first time. Today I want to share one such personal experience which has completely captivated me since stumbling on it on Facebook.

I wrote about Robert Schumann (1812-56) in February last year. He had a life defined by chronic depression and it can’t have been a breeze being married to Clara Wieck (after huge protestation by his parents and experiments with countless others, most likely both sexes) whose talents at the keyboard were superior to almost everyone at the time. Robert’s own extraordinary gift at the piano was cut short prematurely by a finger injury.

His parents were not in favour of him becoming a musician, law was the preferred route of his mother.  His is truly a sad, complicated and tormented story, which I cannot hope to convey fully here, the marriage alone is now the stuff of folklore, a life riddled with self doubt, drink and a suicide attempt. It ended in an asylum.

But his legacy is music which goes right to the heart, as this little offering will demonstrate. I will be gobsmacked if you don’t instantly replay it.

“I do like the oboe, don’t you?” I remember being asked by an elderly companion many years ago at a prom concert. It took me slightly by surprise, because I hadn’t been especially aware of it during the piece we’d just heard.

And no, actually, if I’m honest, it doesn’t feature amongst my favourite instruments. Never has. Altogether too penetrating. Which has not stopped it being given some glorious tunes, notably the opening of the second movement of Brahms’s violin concerto, prompting one violinist to refuse playing the piece while someone else got the best tune.

And then I heard this, the second of Three Romances for oboe and piano, a piece which fits Hector Berlioz’s definition of the instrument perfectly – “The sounds are suitable for expressing simplicity…gentle happiness, or the grief of a weak soul.”

There is nothing particularly virtuosic about this, but the melody and the performances by Céline Moinet, one of the world’s finest oboists, and Florian Uhlig on the piano, are very special. Apart from the music, it took me a few hearings to understand why it entranced me so much.

It is actually quite simple: it is the absence of clutter. Two musicians in a bare space, no colour, with no sheet music, thereby enhancing eye contact and complete union. They are not just playing with eachother, but to and for eachother. Moinet plays effortlessly, no big breaths (just look at the opening note!), no uncomfortable grimaces that we often see on the faces of oboists. It’s almost as if she’s ‘miming’.

At the piano Uhlig accompanies sensitively, always in contact with his soloist. Listen to that left hand, ever present but never in danger of suppressing the oboe. Schumann marks the piece Einfach, innig, meaning simple and intimate. Accomplished here in spades.

You can tell I loved it from the start. I hope you will share my brief addiction to it.

 

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