Stage resets between musical works are a standard feature of orchestral concerts: pianos are moved around, additional players file on or off. But I’ve never before seen a tea kettle brought on and placed ceremoniously at the front of the stage, as occurred ahead of the world premiere of Hannah Kendall’s LSO commission I have discovered the secret of death. But then Kendall’s music is vibrantly unconventional, often incorporating noise-makers from beyond classical music’s usual lineup.
Her latest work was exceptionally engaging, the beguiling textures of its opening – scratches and whistles, jingles and nervous twitches of piano tremolo – periodically interrupted by violent slam-dunks of timpani, double bass pizzicato, low brass. Later there were music boxes (a hallmark of Kendall’s scoring) and the narrow whine of woodwind reeds detached from instruments.
Mezzo-soprano Fleur Barron was amplified but positioned less as a soloist, more as another line within the orchestra as she sang through her hands, a harmonica and that whistling tea kettle. Her diction was crystalline, her tone urgently compelling, but only certain words and phrases – by Guyanese poet and activist Martin Carter – were audible through these physical barriers. Kendall’s long programme note explained the significance of kettles in the history of slavery as a means of resistance. But what communicated with disturbing clarity through her music alone was struggle: to speak and even to breathe.
The rest of the programme could hardly have been more different. Under Antonio Pappano, Liadov’s maximalist miniature The Enchanted Lake was all glistening surface – as exquisitely saccharine as if Wagner’s Tristan had procreated with a candyfloss machine. After the interval, Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No 5 was served as a vast dollop of heart-on-sleeve romanticism. The fine print was mostly present and correct: passages of rustic oompah in the first movement, a deliciously tender horn solo in the second, witty phrasing in the waltz of the third. But for long stretches, Pappano had the LSO firing on all cylinders, Tchaikovsky’s countermelodies and rhythmic chugging as prominent as any big tune, the climaxes turned up to brash. It certainly wasn’t subtle – but when as polished as this, the primary-colours approach is also a lot of fun.
