Our orchestras would be as great as the Berlin Philharmonic if only they weren't worked so hard
In the horn players' dressing room at the Philharmonie, the home of the Berlin Philharmonic, there is a poster from an old marketing campaign. The slogan is "128 virtuosi, one orchestra". With other orchestras, this would be a cliche. With the Berlin Phil, it feels accurate. With five concerts in London last week, the Berlin Philharmonic has spent the longest period in the city since the arrival of its British chief conductor, Sir Simon Rattle, in 2002. For those lucky enough to hear any of these concerts, it has been a thrilling musical experience.
Not only that, but it has been a week of enjoyable learning of the talents of particular players. For, unusually, this is an orchestra that does not come across as a mass of anonymous musicians, but as a collective of extraordinary individuals, whose singular talents have not been blurred and tamed by overwork or cynicism. Which is why Stefan Dohr, the principal horn player, was the subject of a Guardian leader last week. And why I am not the only one who has been gripped by the heart-stopping playing of principal viola Amihai Grosz, who performs Mahler symphonies as if they were string quartets ? and quartets as if symphonies. Then there is Jonathan Kelly, the superb British principal oboe player, who followed Rattle from Birmingham.
This visit has asked of audiences: what would it take for London to field an orchestra as great as this? An orchestra in the international super-league, as excellent as those of Berlin and Vienna; an orchestra that defined the cultural identity of London, a source of pride way beyond its regular audiences?
The answer partly lies in its musicians. London's symphony orchestras ? the London Philharmonic, the London Symphony Orchestra and the Philharmonia ? are, like the Berlin Phil, composed of virtuosi. But they work under entirely different conditions. The Berlin Phil players are treated like the elite that they are. London players, frankly, work like drudges. One of the Berlin Phil players told me of their shock when she undertook freelance work with a major London orchestra. An intensive rehearsal in the morning was followed by a recording session for a film score in the afternoon, then a concert in the evening. Is it any wonder that London players do not seem to play with the fierce passion, of, say, Grosz, when their schedule ? necessary to scrape a living ? is so punishing? All eight of England's symphony orchestras cost the public purse less than the Berlin Phil. Is our model lean, mean, and brilliant value? Or are we squeezing musicians so hard that we are cheating them ? and audiences ? of the chance to shine as bright as the Berlin Philharmonic?
If one were designing London's orchestral landscape from scratch, it certainly would not look as it does, with three very good but not Berlin-beating orchestras, all struggling to define themselves as distinctive. The LSO, resident at the Barbican, and the LPO and Philharmonia, at the South Bank, were founded in very different times: the LSO, the country's first player-run orchestra, in 1904, the Philharmonia in 1945, and the London Philharmonic in 1932, at the dawn of an age, now lost, of lucrative recording deals. If one started with a blank sheet, one would surely create one, or perhaps two, super-orchestras (since London has two concert halls), each given sufficient funding to fulfil its potential.
Arts Council England announces funding to arts organisations next month. The three London orchestras receive about �2m each a year. Whether the arts council would dare to remove cash from one or two to beef up a single "super-orchestra" is uncertain. It would be logical, if perhaps impossible. But one thing is certain: Britain's musicians do not lack Berlin-style flair; only the conditions to give it full expression.
No comments:
Post a Comment