"Israel in Egypt" Fundraising Concert (11 Sep 2009)
Handel's Israel
in Egypt, Cadogan Hall
One after the other came their pleas. “Save us!” they cried, "Save us, or we will be no more!” Not the words of the enslaved Israelites of
Handel’s oratorio, however, but the sentiments of the English Baroque Soloists,
the Monteverdi Choir and their supporters during their pre-concert
supplications. Never has the plea of a fundraising concert chimed so well
with the thrust of the music. Moments after Sir John Eliot Gardiner -
then Sir David Attenborough - had begged the crowd of sponsors to empty
their pockets for the musicians, the choir of Israelites struck up their own
prayers to their benefactor in the skies.
Indeed, so convincing were the little talks before the two
halves of the concert that I came to think that they might be incorporated into
the oratorio permanently, as rediscovered recitative. But then, this is an
oratorio that really doesn’t need any more desperate, pleading talk. The work
hits the pits of despair early on, meanders through the hair-raising plagues of
Exodus in graphic style, and then only ten minutes from the end explodes into
redemptive jubilation.
In some ways it is the Spielbergian blockbuster of Handel’s
oratorios, with its manipulative nihilism, vivid effects and over-the-top
evangelical salvation. It perhaps explains why it was such a flop at its 1739
premiere. If you were looking for edification – which is what a night out at an
oratorio was all about – Israel in Egypt
was not going to offer it.
It offers other things though: piercing choral numbers that
seem to swim and stab, firecracker-like brass explosions – the work boasts an
unprecedented three trombonists, two trumpeters and a timpanist - moments of
intense, impregnable darkness, and ridiculously well-evoked programme music for
each of the plagues. Gardiner pushed the choir and orchestra down into the
depths, hitting the phrase “by thy greatness” in the chorus, The people shall hear, and be afraid,
with an almighty crunch that rattled the bones.
The small size of the hall helped the singing to ring
through one’s body, as did the quality of the choir, which was powerful and
passionate, and even when it was at its softest never failed to hit you between
the eyes. Their solo turns, too, were exemplary: unaffected, unassuming and
perfectly in tune to the intentions behind these arias, which is to represent
the ordinary man.
There’s a lot of talk of fear in this work: an anticipation
of what it might be to fear and an at times shocking realisation of what it is
to face fear. Fear too in the faces of the conductor Gardiner in his
impassioned talk to the audience. But with the appearance of Zoe Brown and her
supremely graceful soprano voice in a repeat of the triumphant finale – one of
Handel’s most glorious – as an encore, the applause and good cheer, and the
healthy sound of coins hitting the bottoms of collection cans, seemed to drive
the pessimism away.
