I decline to accept the end of man
15:40 | 08-10-2013 | Music | No Comments
при всей глобальности, даже некой космической всеобхватности cимфонии № 7 Антона Брукнера, все же именно неоконченная 9-ая, посвященная автором Богу, говорит со мной о человеке, — открыто, четко, во весь голос — о неизменных падениях и будущем триумфе, о поиске и борьбе, о необходимости двигаться вперед.
помните, Фолкнер говорил, “we are doomed to fail, since, as long as we do fail and the hand continues to hold blood, we will try again,” — и нет лучшей иллюстрации его словам, чем 9-ая симфония.
Вильгельм Фуртвенглер писал когда-то:
The relevance of [Bruckner’s great art today] is perhaps due to the fact that it directs our awareness towards the sphere of the absolute, forcing us to abandon the usual historical methods which, in the fullest sense of the word, ‘encumber’ modern man’s direct communication with the art of the past <...> Bruckner did not work for the present; in his art he thought only of eternity and he created for eternity.
что ж, он знал:
While most interpreters try to smooth the score into a cohesive whole comparable to his other work, a few seem willing to regard the Ninth not as a failed attempt at an orderly artistic statement or personal closure but rather as a perfect depiction of a tortured and turbulent mind. Above all other conductors, Wilhelm Furtwangler best mined this image of turmoil. A man of conscience deeply conflicted within the cauldron of Nazi Germany, Furtwangler identified fully with the composer’s anguish and strife. His 1943 concert Ninth with the Berlin Philharmonic (on Music & Arts) aches throughout with a tangible nervous pain, the rhythms unstable, the balances harsh and tense. He discounts transitions, boldly chopping the stormy first movement into disparate fragments and wrenching the mood from lilting grace to raw savagery, tempos from standstill to runaway and dynamics from inaudible to heavy overload. The scherzo and trio transcend the slightly menacing waltz under other batons to become a furiously driven, vertiginous plunge to damnation. The intensely chromatic concluding adagio grinds massive planes of conflicting tonalities, heaves its way through feverish unrest to a fearsome dissonance, and withers its turbulent fragments into exhausted silence. Furtwangler’s radical grasp of the Ninth is one of the most devastating and demanding performances ever captured on record.