Page 204 - FINAL_The Sixteen Coverage Book 40th Anniversary Year

The latter – subtitled “Le grand Inconnu” (the Great Unknown) – was epic, both in scale (an hour
long) and in its multi-faceted, exhaustive exploration of what MacMillan considers uncharted
territory: a symphonic response to the mystical complexities of the Holy Spirit. Mahler gave it a
go in his “Symphony of a Thousand”, MacMillan acknowledges in a cautious and questioning
programme note. But composers of our own time, he believes, have shied clear.

He certainly has not, and in a performance expertly handled by Harry Christophers, there was no
mistaking the outflow of ecstatic passion that drove the compositional process. It opens in surreal
territory, amorphous intakes of breath that turn to specific words, eventual pitched sounds
punctured by microtones and harmonics paving the way for a turbulent three-movement adrenalin
rush of all that MacMillan is known for.

There are mind-blowing catharses, such as the vast vocal blanket climaxing the second movement,
and the sudden delicate music box combination of piano, harp and violins that quell it. There are
those signature gut-wrenching cohabiting extremes of expression and style. There is, quite simply,
everything of the composer piled into what he himself tellingly refers to as “a stream of
consciousness”.

And that’s the rub. No mistaking the scorching emotional heat that roused this audience instantly
to its feet. But is there too much going on, symphonic cohesion stretched to near-bursting point?
Despite this electrifying performance, I still find myself asking that question.

Especially compared to the succinct expression of the Second Symphony, which MacMillan
conducted in the first half. Interesting, too, to see a revision of the original 1999 programme notes,
excising his previously bitter references to the “spiritual desolation” of Scotland. Without that, the
music spoke potently for itself, the dissolving Wagner quotes in the short finale symbolising one
of these typically enigmatic MacMillan tantalisers.

Can the same be said for A Scotch Bestiary, written after MacMillan’s falling out 20 years ago
with factions of the Scottish establishment after his challenging Scotland’s Shame lecture at the
1999 Edinburgh Festival, and hardly disguised as a ferocious tirade in response?

Written with specific but unnamed targets in mind – we now know that Kirsty Wark is “Her
Serene and Ubiquitous Majesty, Queen Bee”, and Richard Holloway is “The Reverend Cuckoo
and his Parroting Chorus”, besides others too sensitive to mention – MacMillan paints his targeted
“menagerie” as grotesque caricatures.

The organ is the ultimate instrument of abuse, soloist Stephen Farr blasting out its frenzied
discords like a madman possessed, egged on by the cartoonesque virtuosity of the SSO.

The other Scottish premiere, Woman of the Apocalypse (2012), a dramatic tone poem inspired by
plantings by Dürer, Rubens and others, was an altogether warmer and comforting antidote to the
demons of the Bestiary.

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