Joy – that’s what the final motion of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is absolutely about, regardless of all of the heavy lifting it’s been made to do over the a long time. The Aurora Orchestra’s efficiency, with the Ode to Pleasure thrillingly sung by the BBC Singers and the 100-plus younger adults of the Nationwide Youth Choir, had that as its overriding takeaway. And but, as ever, there was far more to this Promenade.
Aurora’s from-memory performances are inclined to make the music in some way extra seen, in that what we see – when it comes to each the stage blocking and the way in which by which the musicians can transfer freely as they play – reinforces what we hear. The concept of utilizing eyes in addition to ears aptly permeated the semi-dramatised exploratory introduction earlier than the interval – one other Aurora hallmark.
Beethoven’s preparations for the premiere had been dropped at life in scenes concurrently spoken and signed by the actors Thomas Simper and Rhiannon Might – the latter sharing with the composer the expertise of residing with listening to loss. Written by Jane Mitchell, who additionally co-directed together with James Bonas and Matthew Eberhardt, the script drew on the notebooks Beethoven habitually carried round with him at this stage of life, stuffed with to-do lists and, fascinatingly, one-sided exchanges – Beethoven’s companions would scribble down for him their contributions to a dialog, negotiation or argument. Round this, the conductor Nicholas Collon took bits of the music gently aside for us: an exploration of the massive tune utilizing the pedagogic hand gestures of tonic sol-fa introduced that melody, too, into the realms of gesture.
The efficiency itself was electrical, pacey and fluid, with the 4 principal woodwinds – together with Mitchell, who’s Aurora’s first flautist, and Timothy Orpen, whose clarinet solos constantly shone – sparking off one another.
The ultimate motion started with solely the orchestra on stage. The place had been all of the singers? It was nonetheless a thriller as the massive tune emerged on low strings – hushed, as if performed from underneath the platform. Then, because the tune repeated and grew, the choir and soloists streamed on behind and round and between the gamers, and the stage was full – simply in time for Christopher Purves to steer the singing, giving the bass solo his fullest, gladdest throttle. Right here was pleasure, loud and clear, audible and, sure, seen.
