As powerful as bass-baritone Bryn Terfel’s voice is, it’s not strong enough to sink the British Isles by itself. But were you to play the great Bryn’s latest CD, Scarborough Fair: Songs from the British Isles (Deutsches Grammophon B0012642-02), loud enough, the combined force of Terfel’s magnificent instrument and Chris Hazel’s insufferable arrangements for the London Voices and London Symphony Orchestra, unsparingly conducted by Barry Wordsworth, just might do the once-mighty empire in.
The first track, Ireland’s traditional Carrickfergus, starts out with one of the sweetest, gentlest vocal lines Terfel has ever recorded. He’s as seductive as can be — until he opens up the voice. Stentorian and overdone, his interpretation and the silly cymbals in the accompaniment also flash an alert: Beware the swamps of sentiment and cesspools of excess that lie ahead.
But the swamps advanced faster than I could retreat. Anyone other than a critic can flee the room, skip around the CD, or return it to their retailer with the explanation that playing it clogged up the plumbing and induced digestive distress. I had to resort to typing as the CD played, in order to distract myself from the sop.
Those who love Simon & Garfunkel’s touching rendition of Scarborough Fair will welcome the prospect of a duet between Bryn and the gorgeous soprano Kate Royal — until they listen to it. Then you discover a heavily dramatized version that overwhelms the song’s simplicity. Similarly, if you want to wallow in the sentimentality of first love you need only play Terfel's gushy rendition of the Welsh traditional ballad Cariad Cyntaf.
Listen to the Music
Bryn Terfel - Carrickfergus
The military drum at the start of Loch Lomond seems an insightful commentary, until it builds to the point that the whole chorus, strings, trombone, and timpani join in. Then we wonder what really did the soldier in, battle or bombast. The major-chord finish is the final death-blow. Just as bad are dreamboat Ronan Keating’s pop contributions to the world’s soppiest version of Danny Boy, and the full-monty chorus that contributes “woo-woos” as our Bryn sings of the death of Molly Malone.
Floundering without a life raft, I committed an act of selfishness by skipping at least six tracks. But I did listen to the closing Ae Fond Kiss, a traditional Scottish folk setting of poetry by Robert Burns. Its Uillean pipes, percussion, full orchestra, and overdone vocal line provide conclusive evidence that no one involved with this project chose to learn from the exquisitely spare, emotionally trenchant folksong settings of Benjamin Britten. My reaction, and this review, end like Burns' poetry, with “warring sighs and groans.”