Oliver Knussen shot to fame in 1968 as the 15-year-old who conducted the London Symphony Orchestra in the premiere of his own First Symphony. And such has been the tireless energy of his career as composer and conductor that it is bizarre to think of him as an elder statesman. But he turns 50 this year, and the Nash Ensemble's programme showcased his music alongside works by his younger British contemporaries.
Knussen has been a talismanic figure for British composers, and for none more so than his pupil, Mark-Anthony Turnage. The Nash gave the world premiere of his Cantilena, scored for oboe and string quartet. The oboe part is a soloistic melody, full of florid arabesques. But there was a melancholy to this impassioned song, and oboist Gareth Hulse captured its bittersweet ambiguity.
It was possible to hear connections between Turnage's music and the sensual harmonies of Knussen's Triptych, a set of pieces composed in the mid-1970s. But there were fascinating differences as well. Where Turnage expands single melodic ideas into long stretches, Knussen compresses every gesture into a crystalline form. The central piece of Triptych, Sonya's Lullaby for solo piano, creates a complete world in its six minutes. The work investigates the ambivalence of sleep and night. Gently rocking rhythms are offset by the dark tolling of the piano's low register. And at end of the piece, a bird-like call is enclosed by chiming chords at the extremes of the instrument's compass. Autumnal, for violin and piano, and Cantata, for oboe and string trio, complete Triptych.
The Nash's performances revealed the jewel-like polish of these pieces. But there is more to Knussen's music than well-crafted instrumental writing. There is a poetry in the violent extremes of a piece such as Cantata. The clarity and coherence of its musical processes suggest a cinematic play of images, and the work's volatile drama transcends its technical brilliance.
Knussen's Whitman Settings for soprano and piano demonstrated the richness of his vocal writing, even if Rosemary Hardy's uneven singing did not illuminate the full range of these pieces.
Of the music by other composers, Julian Anderson's Poetry Nearing Silence was the highlight. Conducted by Martyn Brabbins, the players relished the sheer inventive delight of these eight short movements. Just like Knussen's music, the transparency of Anderson's language created a dazzling, extrovert poetry.
