James MacMillan's Britannia energetically lives up to his description of it as a "volatile concoction" of elements including Elgar, Arne, an Irish reel, a Cockney drinking song, and "a hazy Celtic modality". MacMillan's music initially communicates quintessential Britishness, with duck calls, a siren, a policeman's whistle, and a car hooter following on from a violinist's jig offset by a delicate yet tonally obscure harp accompaniment. Conducted in this performance by the composer, his discordant minor-key refractions of patriotic music became alarming: the world of Rule, Britannia! was replaced by images more like a Nazi parade. Despite an effort by the violinst's jig and harp to restore order, the fading end was that of a irreparably tarnished world.
MacMillan's The Beserking was named after Viking and Celtic warriors "who would work themselves into a frenzy with mead, mushrooms, and hyperventilation to achieve performances of ferocious courage in battle". The piece commenced with the rhythms of a crowd at a football match, conveyed by the BBC Philharmonic's wind section clacking their keys and the cellos tapping their strings. These clacks assumed melodic forms, swiftly followed by solo piano and orchestra in mad attacks of energy. The ambient middle section, featuring quiet strings sustained underneath gentle improvisatory piano notes, seagull-like violins, celeste and harp, was drowsy, disorientating, and exceptionally beautiful. Yet this mood became violent and contorted, in a climax with psychotic undertones.
MacMillan's two works provided enough stimulation for an entire concert, but this cannot be said of Thomas Adès's clever yet unmemorable setting of Alfred Brendel's satirical poem, Brahms. The German text was not provided for the audience, making it difficult to comprehension the superb baritone Christopher Maltmann. Adès captured Brendel's sarcasm, but the overall musical effect was over-intellectualised and contrived.
Admittedly, this is a criticism that could be levelled at Brahms, but his skill was better served by a performance of his 4th Symphony, conducted by Günther Herbig, whose direction - without a score - was economical and gentle. His conception of Brahms was heartfelt rather than dogmatic, with the BBC Philharmonic shaping every phrase with warmth and sensitivity. The slow movement was sweetly played, full of lyricism and tenderness. Herbig certainly had more substantial observations about Brahms than about Adès.
