Dionysus Overwhelms Apollo in HK Gruber’s Realization of Oedipus Rex

“What is important for the lucid ordering of the work – for its crystallization,” Igor Stravinsky tells us in Poetics of Music, “is that all the Dionysian elements which set the imagination of the artist in motion and make the life-sap rise must be properly subjugated before they intoxicate us, and must finally be made to submit to the law: Apollo demands it.” Unfortunately, there was too much Dionysian abandon and insufficient Apollonian discipline in the performance of Stravinsky’s Oedipus Rex (1926/27) by the the BBC Philharmonic with soloists Ian Bostridge and Angelika Kirchschlager, led by composer/conductor HK Gruber, in Vienna on March 18, 2013. Though there were many truly beautiful moments, the music overall did not crystallize due to Gruber’s general intoxication with the bombastic potential of the score. The performance was consistently a few dynamic levels too loud.

Stravinsky’s directive can be seen as a guiding principle for composition, as well as one to heed in the interpretation of music in performance or, for that matter, the creation of good art in general. That spark of inspiration which gifts the artist with a flurry of ideas should be seen as only the first stage in a long process of creation which, in later stages, demands great discipline. Both Dionysian heights and long, cold hours of reflection and mechanics are required in a successful creative process. But that discipline was clearly lacking in Gruber’s approach to this performance.

Immediately in the first act of Oedipus Rex, the Chorus Viennensis shone, lamenting the oncoming doom with clarity and power. Tenor Ian Bostridge sang Oedipus with direct frankness, adding nothing beyond what was strictly required, a disciplined interpretation which may have pleased Stravinsky greatly. However, the orchestra quickly became so loud as to erase any sound emitting from the mouths of the chorus or the excellent soloists. Similar excessive dynamics plagued the performance throughout. In her opening aria in the second act, the excellent mezzo-soprano Angelika Kirchschlager as Iocasta shone over the spectacular wind section of the BBC Philharmonic. However, during their moment of terrible realization that they are mother/wife and husband/son, Iocasta and Oedipus were drowned out by an orchestra that was simply not restrained by Gruber. While this level of sound did highlight the dramatic nature of the orchestral writing, it was not necessary. After so much previous weight, the penultimate shouts of chorus and orchestra dragged, sending poor Oedipus limping to his doom.

Given the spectacular talent onstage, and the subtlety in Stravinsky’s score, it would have required but a gentle restraining gesture or two on the part of the conductor towards his orchestra to prevent this overwhelming tide from intoxicating the music. But Gruber barreled on, emitting the same level of energy and enthusiasm in his baton from the opening measure to the closing one, seeming to revel in the giant sound it elicited.

The opening two pieces on the concert also contained interesting and beautiful moments, but were similarly hampered by a lack of control and restraint. Gruber’s own Northwind Pictures (2011) is a symphonic poem based on his opera der herr nordwind. A character piece, this work integrates many influences to describe various situations from the modern fairy-tale opera: a warbling trombone solo accompanied by the rest of the brass section slapping their mouthpieces; an oft-repeated set of saxophone solos involving scooping up to notes; several tiny music boxes, operated by the percussion section; and a wind machine, along with copious other percussion toys. While each episode provided interest, there was no discipline in the use of these influences. Outside the context of an opera, the audience was simply treated to a series of textural whims without purpose. The vitality of the early sections were quickly overblown into a finale which was excessively loud without reason; it was all Dionysian life-sap with no container to hold it.

Nachtmusiken op. 104 (2009) by Gruber’s friend and long-time colleague Kurt Schwertsik was more contained, both in the score and its interpretation. Consisting of five short movements, this BBC commission was written as a reflection on Mahler’s Seventh Symphony. The arresting first movement channeled the quirky language of Janáček with a yearning melancholy air. Other movements brought the sounds of Vienna cafés with an accordion, and a dissonant march, marked “In breakneck rage” (or, less literally, “With fury”). Most of the influences in this work felt better balanced and more carefully considered.

The overall effect of this concert was that of a heap of many disconnected moments, some of them lovely and unique, which did not crystallize into a coherent whole. With all of the well-cultivated raw materials at hand, a little more careful consideration would have turned this disconcerting listening experience into a truly exciting one.

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Caitlin Smith is a Canadian composer, currently based in Vienna. Follow her on Twitter: @tinyalligator.