Nothing could be easier and nothing could be harder than an effective performance of Haydn’s Seven Last Words of Our Savior on the Cross. The music is compellingly dramatic. It seethes with Beethoven-ian outbursts. I have a Berlin Philharmonic recording that sears. But on the other hand, the overall mood is monotonous; it’s all shades of black. And then the expressionist exclamations co-exist with elegant ruffles and lace, which disconcert modern sensibilities. It's a tricky but worthwhile thing to present.
Unfortunately the L.A. Phil’s performance last Saturday under Bernard Labadie was not all it could have been. It played at seriousness rather than being serious. And the actor brought on stage to recite the words made a botch of it, which is incredible when you think of it. He didn’t have the presence or the voice to pull it off, and it actually diminished the dramatic effect.
Too bad. And earlier that evening they had done such a fine job with Haydn's violin concerto in C, with Martin Chalifour.
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