What the Fuss Is About
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

Ian Bostridge, the British tenor, is one of the most ballyhooed singers in the world; Leif Ove Andsnes, the Norwegian pianist, is one of the most ballyhooed instrumentalists in the world. Sometimes they deserve this enthusiasm; at other times, one wonders – I wonder – “What’s all the fuss about?”
They came together, tenor and pianist, at Carnegie Hall on Saturday night for “Winterreise,” the song-cycle of Schubert. Not often do you hear a tenor in “Winterreise.” You hear them in Schubert’s other great song cycle, “Die schone Mullerin.” But tenors are certainly welcome in “Winterreise.” Peter Anders sang it, and so did Peter Pears, and so have others. It’s just that this cycle is usually the province of baritones.
And there is more than one approach to “Winterreise.” You may prefer Hans Hotter, or Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, or someone else. But there is no definitive “Winterreise,” no one true way. Beyond a certain point of defensibility, we are in the realm of pure preference.
Mr. Bostridge and Mr. Andsnes have recorded the cycle, for EMI, and, though I have not heard that recording, I doubt it could be any better than what the audience at Carnegie Hall heard two nights ago. Mr. Bostridge was in superb voice – I have never heard him in better voice. He was also in command of his technique – I have never heard him in greater command. And Mr. Andsnes was as solid as a rock (a feeling, Schubertian one).
They have much in common, these two musicians. For example, they’re both regarded as cerebral. Of course, many musicians who are not regarded as cerebral have more going on under their hoods than you might suppose. They simply don’t let their braininess show. Others like it to be as obvious as possible.
In “Winterreise,” Mr. Bostridge and Mr. Andsnes were thinking alike. Or if they were not, they hid it well, someone deferring to the other.
The opening song, “Gute Nacht,” did not portend good things. The men were surprisingly free with tempo, robbing the song of its drive. Mr. Bostridge in particular was precious, arty – uh-oh.
What’s more, it was startling to hear a tenor – and that kind of tenor: light, lyric – in that song, and in this cycle. Would it simply be too youthful? Too youthful for the speaker of this wintry poetry? Never mind that both composer and poet – Schubert and Muller – were young when they wrote. (They never got old.)
Fortunately, Mr. Bostridge and Mr. Andsnes continued more disciplined than they began. And you quickly ceased being startled by the voice. Now, you could argue with almost everything that the two musicians did – but everything they did was defensible. For me, Mr. Bostridge was a little too aware of his phrasing, too aware of his singing in general. And too pleased with it. I could never shake awareness of the singer, could never forget him and think of the journeyer in “Winterreise.” But he was extremely polished. Too polished? Jose van Dam – certainly at this stage – will give you a rougher, more straightforward “Winterreise.” A less stylish, or you might say stylized, one.
But I repeat: We are in the realm of preference.
Mr. Bostridge is unquestionably loaded with talent. He has made the German language his own. He can get to the heart of a musical matter. In “Die Post,” the ecstasy and the urgency were fabulous. To “Das Wirtshaus,” he applied an interesting, effective blanched voice. The final song, “Der Leiermann,” was uncanny, not quite of this world.
As for Mr. Andsnes, he never did anything distasteful. He is a sturdy pianist – a “vertical,” into-the-keys pianist – but he produced a nice singing line. The chordal openings of at least two songs – “Das Wirtshaus” and “Die Nebensonnen” – were gorgeous. And he did an admirable job of connecting the various songs, in thought.
In short, this was a beautiful “Winterreise.” An exquisite “Winterreise.” I’m not sure it was a shattering one. But the pair deserved the audience’s long, loud ovation.
There was no encore, incidentally. What? An encore? How could there be, after “Winterreise”? Well, all I can tell you is that Renee Fleming and Christoph Eschenbach performed an encore after “The Four Last Songs” the other week, in Carnegie Hall. Given that, I’m prepared for anything.
***
Nathaniel Webster is an American baritone, not nearly as well known as Ian Bostridge – but he is regarded as an up-and-comer. He has a varied ca reer, and lives in Frankfurt.
In Weill Recital Hall on Friday night, he gave a most inviting program, consisting of Purcell, Schumann, Wolf, Ravel, and … a group of songs too difficult to label, but which I will take up in due course.
The Purcell songs were three great ones, beginning with “If Music Be the Food of Love.” (Nice phrase, huh?) Mr. Webster didn’t offer much beauty of sound, but beauty isn’t everything. That voice is serviceable. He strained on some high notes, however, and could not seem to get comfortable. This hall – Weill – is an exposer of flaws. It holds a voice, and a vocal technique, up
to a pitiless light. Of course, if you have voice and technique in spades, Weill bathes you in glory. In Mr.Webster’s favor, he was excellent at the long, long breaths that Purcell requires.
The second song was the eternal, and supernal, “Now That the Sun Hath Veiled His Light (An Evening Hymn on a Ground).” There is hardly anything in the literature more wondrous or touching. Mr. Webster began it flat, however, and he never achieved much smoothness. Also, his tempo was perhaps slower than was wise. And there was little contrast among the sections of the song. The “Evening Hymn” ought to have sweetness, hopefulness, profundity, transport. Its final alleluias should breathe pure peace.
Anyway, it is always a pleasure to hear that song.
Closing the Purcell group was “Music for a While,” with which many singers like to open a recital. The song requires a silky, insinuating voice over a snaky piano accompaniment. Mr. Webster suggested this, somewhat. The ornaments he added toward the end were well conceived, but less well executed.
The pianist, by the way, was Kevin Murphy, who played commendably, although one might question Mr. Webster’s decision (or somebody’s decision) to have the piano’s lid as far up as it was. The singer might have benefited from the use of a short stick.
The Schumann group brought four songs on texts of Robert Burns. These German – and Austrian – composers certainly liked their British verse. (See Haydn and Beethoven also, for example.)
Mr. Webster was more successful in these songs than in the Purcell, perhaps because he was less exposed. “Dem roten Roslein gleicht mein Lieb” (“O My Love’s Like a Red, Red Rose”) is a beauty, nicely rendered by Mr. Webster. Another song, “Niemand” (“Nobody”), had a pleasing earthiness. And may I add that you sometimes have to consult the German translation in order to comprehend Burns?
The Wolf songs were from the “Goethe-Lieder,” and all quite familiar, except for the first: “Prometheus,” which is long and dramatic, almost a scena. Mr. Webster sang it with a notable concentration, a focus. “Anakreons Grab,” he might have treated with a little more nuance. And “Ganymed” should simply have been more tender, more serene. But Mr. Webster again exhibited his excellent breath control, in the final (holy) phrase.
The closing song was a much different one, “Der Rattenfanger,” on the Pied Piper theme. Mr. Webster gave it a swagger that reminded me somewhat of the Old American West. How ’bout that? And he happened to forget a verse, causing him to stop and start the song all over again. Was that wise? What were his options? Should he have bluffed his way through, or improvised, somehow? In any case, Mr. Webster showed both self-confidence and humility in saying, “Sorry, folks, missed a verse – let’s begin again.”
As the piano played its final bars, the singer did some pantomiming that was a little cutesy, but not terrible.
The second half of the program began with “Cinq melodies populaires grecques,” Ravel’s tribute to Greekness (in a word). Mr. Webster sang the first song, “Chanson de la mariee,” with some of the necessary flair, and his French proved excellent. The tempo was deliberate, but sustainable. In the next song, “La-bas, vers l’eglise,” Mr. Webster tried for a mezzo-piano, but he came up hoarse. “Quel galant m’est comparable” – like that Wolf song – had a nice swagger, plus some sweetness on the final words: “Et c’est toi que j’aime!” (“And it’s you I love!”). The penultimate song – “Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques” – conjured up something ancient-seeming. Mr. Webster had some more of that hoarseness, but sang through it. The pianist, Mr. Murphy, made an especially fine contribution here.
And the final song – “Tout gai!” – our program translated as “Everyone Is Joyous!” Uh, no: That’s not quite right. “Everyone Is Gay!” is exactly it. Between “gay” and “joyous,” we have a useful shade of difference. But the English word “gay” seems to be lost, or limited. The other day, I saw Poulenc described as a “gay Parisian.” Talk about an ambiguity!
Now to that hard-to-label final group: It was composed of Bernstein, Rufus Wainwright, Ned Rorem, and Gershwin. Mr. Webster sang Bernstein’s “Lonely Town” naturally and appealingly. And Mr. Wainwright? He is described as an “art-rock composer,” born in 1973. Mr. Webster first did his “In a Graveyard,” and then “Pretty Things.” The former is interesting, slightly macabre; the latter struck me as empty – something a stoned highschool kid might write to impress his friends, and himself.
The Rorem song was “The Park,” from that composer’s work about September 11, “Aftermath.” And from Gershwin, we had two songs. In “A Foggy Day,” Mr. Webster was a bit slidey and croony. He pronounced “British Museum” Britishly, which might have seemed a better idea in the conception than it proved in the execution. He did some light humming as the piano played, which wasn’t bad. But for some reason – twice – he rushed Gershwin’s marvelous phrase on the words “and through foggy London town.”
Last was “Lady Be Good,” which was decently stylish – so was the one encore, a Paul Bowles song. Again, Mr. Webster arranged a wonderfully inviting program.As to his singing, I suspect that he did not have his best night, and will have many superior ones.