Tag: choral

Orchestra Wellington in full “swing” with escapist New York jazz

Posted on by Peter Mechen

ORCHESTRA WELLINGTON -2026 Collaborations
W:ELLINGTONMarc  Taddei with Orchestra Wellington  – Photo Credit : Andy Best

LEONARD BERNSTEIN – Chichester Psalms
– Tudor Consort / Joshua Derbyshire-Foale (boy soprano)
GEORGE GERSHWIN – Piano Concerto in F
– David Fung (piano)
ROLF LIEBERMANN – Concerto for Jazz Band and Orchestra
– Te Koki Jazz Band
DUKE ELLINGTON – Harlem

Orchestra Wellington
Marc Taddei (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington
Saturday 30th May 2026

Reviewed by Leila Lois
for MIddle C

What a treat to experience Roaring Twenties New York, replete with a jazz-inflected orchestra and virtuoso soloists, on an early winter evening in Wellington. This edition of Orchestra Wellington’s ‘Collaborations’ series transported audiences to the streets and speakeasies of a bygone Manhattan. The evening exuded classical jazz sophistication, with a pleasing
programme loosely fitted to the jazz era theme: Leonard Bernstein, George Gershwin, Rolf Liebermann, and Duke Ellington.

The evening began with a gorgeous rendition of Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms, featuring the Tudor Consort and boy soprano Joshua Derbyshire-Foale. The chorus roused the piece with “Behold how good”, the cello foreshadowing the beauty to come. The work sat perfectly within
the Michael Fowler Centre’s acoustics, maintaining its ecclesiastical air while finding warmth in the venue’s wooden architecture.

Next came Gershwin’s Piano Concerto in F, with pianist David Fung bringing a syrupy fluidity to the keys. Honed by training with the Cleveland Orchestra and Los Angeles Philharmonic, he proved a wonderful collaborator throughout. There was a playful call and response between trumpet, timpani, and piano, melting into the swoony strings under the expert direction of
conductor Marc Taddei. The helter-skelter rondo evoked Roaring Twenties Manhattan so vividly it could practically be felt — the muted trumpets a particular standout, alongside the desultory pizzicato violin and the balmy calm of flute and piano.

Liebermann’s Concerto for Jazz Band and Orchestra, accompanied by the Te Koki Jazz Band, delivered a vibrant dance-hall sound. The pacy cymbals and trombone (the latter led by Jakob Elijas) had the audience toe-tapping and shoulder-shimmying within moments. A playful turn into bossa nova, complete with cowbell and Afro-Cuban instrumentation, added a welcome frisson.

Winds, brass and percussion – Orchestra Wellington – Collaborations 2026 :  Photo Credit: Andy Best

The final piece, Duke Ellington’s much-admired Harlem, perhaps transported audiences furthest of all. Ellington once quipped that “you can’t write music right unless you know how the man who’ll play it plays poker” — and this work fully embodies that spirit, maximising the plush textures of the full orchestra to conjure a vivid, colour-drenched Harlem of the early-to-midtwentieth century.

A beautiful showcase of escapist New York jazz, this edition of Orchestra Wellington’s ‘Collaborations’ series was a real hit, and at the onset of winter, it brought welcome colour and delight.

Nota Bene brings people in for some mellifluous music-making at St.Andrew’s

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Four Hands, Two Grands and a Choir (striking a modern chord)

Gabriela Glapska / Catherine Norton (pianos)
Nota Bene Choir
directed by Maiike Christie-Beekman

St.Andrew’s-on-The-Terrace, Wellington

Sunday 31st May, 2026

What an inspirational title for a concert! – words obviously intended to  quicken the interest and activate any curiosity! And it all seemed to have worked a treat, as St.Andrew’s-on-The-Terrace Church proceeded to fill up with people almost to bursting-point! What was more, all of us were told on entry by the organisers to “fill up the seating gaps” – in other words, to “bunch up” today and ignore that good old Kiwi inclination to “leave a space” if one is next to somebody one doesn’t know. We all did our best, and were able to start up many an unsolicited conversation with our neighbours as part of the acclimatisation experience! Naturally there were a number of “sisters , cousins and aunts” present, to support friends and relations among the Nota Bene performers, so that everybody soon jelled as a responsively homogenous audience.

For choir performers perhaps the name René Clausen (b.1953) is a familiar one, though this was my first encounter with the composer’s music. I found a note describing him as “one of America’s most popular choral composers, creating music suited to all levels of expertise”. His music, though obviously challenging for performers doesn’t ever startle or berate the listener with dissonant or over-angular tones. The opening Prayer, a setting of words by Mother Teresa of Calcutta, uses very open harmonies that give the work a lovely spaciousness. The individual lines successfully explore both freedom of individuality and a sense of belonging to something greater – lovely cluster-tones in places contrast with the sopranos’ free, stratospheric lines elsewhere, while conductor Maaike Christie-Beekman gets pleasing unanimity and gorgeous tones from her voices throughout.

A setting of Psalm 100’s “Make a joyful noise” certainly achieved the words’ desired effect, with catchy syncopations tossing varieties of tone, timbre and colour at us, while the accompanying pianists, Catherine Norton and  Gabriela Glapska brought out the dance-like qualities of the work to perfection with adroit, incisive playing, the antiphonal effect on two pianos nicely ear-catching! With the Song of Solomon setting of Verses 5-8, ”Set Me as a Seal” the choir regrouped as a kind of wisely-spaced “circle” around the church’s outer aisles, with Christie-Beekman in the centre aisle as conductor. The result was captivating, the flowing lines and resonating harmonies capturing the “strength from tragedy” context of the work, composed in the aftermath of the tragic death of the composer’s unborn child – a detail only vaguely hinted at in the programme, and which I discovered while researching material for this review, making the music’s response to such a devastating loss all the more poignant upon rehearing.

In the wake of such touching sounds we were treated to the completely different experience of hearing two pianos in a performance of a set of variations by Roumanian composer George Enescu (1881-1955). Amazingly the work was written when Enescu was just seventeen, at that stage as proficient a pianist as a violinist (the work is dedicated to fellow-pianists Édouard Risler and Alfred Cortot), and also undertaking composition studies at the Paris Conservatoire. Gabriela Glapska and Catherine Norton threw themselves into the fray with the music’s majesterial and ceremonial opening sparking off a series of imaginatively-wrought contrasts of mood and response, from the delicate and decorative first variation, through delights such as the triplet-rhythmed third variation, and the stylish “promenade” trajectories of the fifth“ episode – not unexpectedly the final variation was a fugue which grew out of some florid exchanges, resolutely intertwining the  lines towards a satisfyingly grand three-chord conclusion!

Another composer whose work is known to the few rather than the many was Josef Rheinberger (1839-1901), perhaps best known for his works for solo organ, which were highly regarded as “the most valuable addition to organ music since Mendelssohn”, though his choral music “pops up” every now and then – I have just one of his choral works on a lovely recording, a Christmas cantata “The Star of Bethlehem”, for soprano, chorus and orchestra), but didn’t know the beautiful six-part Abendlied which we heard next – a kind of “Abide with me” in effect, the voices achieving throughout under Maaike Christie-Beekman’s direction a gorgeously-sounded seamless flow.

We then had another work I didn’t know, Johannes Brahms’s Nänie, written in 1880-81 as a memorial tribute to a friend, the painter Anselm Beuerbach. The words are Friedrich Schiller’s, which draw from three well-known myths , Orpheus and Eurydice, Aphrodite and Adonis, and the death of Achilles,  each illustrating the transience of youth and beauty through death. Written originally for choir and orchestra, Brahms made a version for four-hands piano accompaniment to allow the work to be performed when an orchestra wasn’t available.

A longish piano introduction began the work before the voices entered, proclaiming the poet’s overall idea that “even beauty must die”, The intensities rose and fell as the singers described the efforts of Orpheus to win back Euridice, fatefully intoning the message that “only once did love melt the Lord of Shadows”, and how, at the last moment, all was lost. Then, rather than elaborating greatly on the tragic deaths of both the beautiful Adonis and the heroic Achilles, Brahms instead expressed an empathetically-controlled sense of the mourners’ bereavement, saving any great outpouring pf emotion for the description of Achilles’ mother Thetis, rising from the sea in the company of the sea-nymphs and weeping for her son, the voices conveying resounding tones of lament before the beatific conclusion  here expressing the idea of mourning transfiguring and truly celebrating a life.

The concert’s second half began with another rarity, Igor Stravinsky’s 1926 work “Otche Nash” (Pater Noster) – with the setting in “Old Slavonic” – Stravinsky, whose years (1882-1975) traversed whole eras of musical expression, characterised this work as belonging to his “most earnest period of Christian Orthodoxy” – slow and atmospheric, I enjoyed its SOUND immensely, and partly because the words could only be Russian – they reminded me so much of my listening to Rachmaninov’s wonderful “Vespers” (and, naturally enough, I knew exactly what the words meant!) Incidentally, the singers took their places “around” the church for this item, similarly to the first half’s “Set Me as a Seal” performance, and just as effective as a surround-sound” experience! For the 4-part work by Arvo Part (b.1935), “Da Pacem Domine”, which followed, Maaike Christie-Beekman got her singers to move to a “front-and-back” antiphonal exchange position, each group the corner of a rectangle. This 2004 work came to be associated with a tragic train-bombing in the city of Madrid that same year, and is still often performed in Spain. Typically for the composer, the music is slow-moving, giving an impression of great stillness, absolutely mesmeric in effect, as if captured “out of the air” – we heard a kind of “declamation then echo” pattern of utterance which over time created an incredible timeless kind of effect – the “improvisatory” nature of the sounds meant that any slight imprecisions between the groups had a spontaneity which seemed entirely natural, making for a true sense of meditation and connection between sound and emotion.

For the second time that evening the two-piano ensemble came, in a sense, to our rescue from the music’s quiet sense of tragedy, and catapaulted us into a world of colour, movement and excitement. Composer Darius Milhaud (1892-1974) had written some incidental music for two separate productions which he had afterwards worked into a “suite” called “Scaramouche” for saxophone and piano. At that point (1937) the famous French pianist Marguerite Long requested of Milhaud a work for two pianos, which gave him the idea of using the “Scaramouche” music, and which quickly established itself as a concert item. And, along with the composer’s famous orchestral piece  “Le Boef sur le Toit” (The Bull on the Roof), the two-piano version of “Scaramouche” became his most well-known work.

Catherine Norton’s and Gabriela Glapska’s pianistic energies and scintillations were fully on display here, as the first of the three movements. “Vif” hit the ground running, with irrepressible movement and cheeky syncopations, before the players switched mode to a whimsical children’s chant section, reminding one of the old English count-down tune “Ten green bottles hanging on the wall” – after which the helter-skelter opening returned, unabated! The second movement sounded part lullaby, part reverie, with different voices echoing between the instruments, and with a nostalgic Ravel-like sense of children’s bedtime games capturing a child-like world. The last movement revitalised us once again, our pianists enticing the catchiest of rhythms from their instruments with a well-known rhumba-like dance whose vivacity, through various kaleidoscopic key-changes was exhilarating to keep up with – such great fun!

Nobody could complain of a lack of variety in this splendid concert, and especially as the Stravinsky work which concluded the afternoon was quite unlike anything else on the programme. Composed in 1930, the Symphony of Psalms was commissioned to mark the 50th anniversary of the formation of the Boston Symphony Orchestra by its famous then-conductor Serge Koussevitsky – however the conductor fell ill and the Boston performance had to be postponed, allowing the Swiss conductor Ernest Ansermet to give the work’s premiere in Brussels early in December 1930, Koussevitsky in Boston following a week later.

The work has a four-part chorus and a large orchestra – Stravinsky, however, eschewed the usual large-scale orchestra sound, choosing to write in what became known as the composer’s “neoclassical” manner, and using Latin psalm texts. For this performance conductor Maiike Christie-Beekman had the use of a famous adaptation of the work’s orchestration for four hands /two pianos by Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich, who greatly admired Stravinsky’s work. There were three movements, the first a setting of the closing verses of Psalm 38, the second of the opening verses of Psalm 39, and the finale the whole of Psalm 150, all in the latin text of the Vulgate, the late 4thCentury translation of the Bible which used “vulgar” or “everyday” Latin, spoken by the common people.

Beginning with bare, uncoloured piano figurations the work’s vocal line followed suit with lines similarly bare and astringent – the opening “Exaudi orationam meam” (Hear my prayer) sung almost hypnotically, but with the emotion rising, beginning at “Quoniam advena ego sum” (for I am a stranger) and reaching desperation levels with “Sicut omnes patres mei” (as all my fathers were” and with the cries of “Remitte mihi” (Spare Me!  towards the end. The second movement was more agitated, the fugue beginning with angular piano lines, and carried on by the choir with “Expectans expectavi Dominum” (I waited patiently for the Lord)  growing in complexity as the music proceeded. A heartfelt outburst from the voices at “Et immisit in os meum canticum novrum” (And he hath put a  new song in my mouth) affirmed faith and trust, as the music died away into silence.

An impulse of joy lit up the church with the third movement’s opening “Alleluia” giving the music an austere beauty. At first  the voices sounded quietly-confident impulses of praise, initiated by piano chords, and with repeated murmurings of “Laudate Dominum” – when suddenly the pianos suddenly galvanised the ensemble with driving rhythmic trajectories, over which the voices floated their continued “Laudate” phrase. These broke off for a brief luftpause of praise with an “Alleluia”, before returning to the driving piano rhythms and floating choral phrases. We were spellbound as the choir and pianists brought the work to a close with a quiet but determined “Laudate Dominum” – these focused distillations of worship and awe from the singers and quietly steadfast support from the pianists, were all held tremulously in place through Maiike Christie-Beekman’s  beautifully-judged sense of culmination – finis pulchra!

Two far-flung universalities from the Orpheus Choir – Mozart and Christopher Tin

Posted on by Peter Mechen

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART – Requiem
CHRISTOPHER TIN – To Shiver the Sky

Emma Pearson (soprano), Charlotte Secker (mezzo-soprano),
Ridge Ponini (tenor), Robert Tucker (bass)
Orpheus Choir, Wellington
Children’s Choir (Samuel Marsden  Collegiate School, Wellington Girls’ College,
Wellington East Girls’ College)
Orchestra Wellington
Brent Stewart (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington
Saturday, April 18th, 2026

Music can readily speak to us from across the ages, especially with word-settings of frequently-performed choral works, from Renaissance and Baroque times, throughout the classical and romantic eras and into and including works up to the present day. Tonight’s presentation featured music from, firstly, the classical world of Mozart, his poignantly unfinished but still resounding Requiem, and from the present day, a work by American-born composer of Chinese descent, Christopher Tin –  his choral work “To Shiver the Sky” an epic, time-traversing tribute to human flight in various aspirations and forms.

Firstly came the Mozart – a work that’s grown partly out of legend wrought by confused, incomplete documentations and by the transcendence of the work itself (its genesis was a request from a dilettante nobleman wanting to pass the work off as his own, though Mozart’s health had declined to the point where he became convinced he was writing his own Requiem). He died with parts of it unfinished, leaving his pupil Franz Xaver Süssmayr, to finish the uncompleted sections so that the promised fee would be paid to Mozart’s widow, Constanze. What Süssmayr did has since been hotly debated by scholars in regard to its extent, with even further revised versions appearing that reduce the latter’s contributions and reconstruct certain parts based on the composer’s own structural and harmonic style  – which, to be fair, is what the much-maligned Süssmayr reconstructions themselves partly succeeded in doing anyway!

Some performances have presented what Mozart wrote and no more, though the outcomes have come across as more pedantic than musical – so the tradition of an unfinished piece of music completed by one or more helping hands has become firmly entrenched, probably to the relief of the majority of listeners in this case!. Heard this evening in a brilliantly-wrought performance by conductor Brent Stewart with a nimbly sonorous Orpheus Choir and full-blooded responses complementing exquisite detailings from Orchestra Wellington, the results were eminently satisfying. Only the solo singing was variable in a couple of places –  the women’s voices, the ever-pleasing soprano of  Emma Pearson and that of her enthusiastic and capable mezzo counterpart Charlotte Secker, were a consistent joy throughout, but both men, tenor Ridge Ponini and bass Robert Tucker seemed, I thought, to have to work surprisingly hard in their delivery of some of the orchestra-accompanied text. The tenor was a new name to me but I had previously heard and enjoyed Robert Tucker in a number of roles (a wonderful Noye in Britten’s “Noye’s Fludde” for instance), so  I was, for instance, surprised at my difficulty in picking up some of his lower notes in passages such as his “Tuba Mirum” solo, admittedly treacherous that they are to sing.

Brent Stewart maintained a lucid balance between orchestra and choir throughout, with vocal lines and orchestral detailing alike maintaining a splendid clarity. The fugal “Kyrie Eleison” was well-sprung but not rushed, allowing us to revel in the delicious energies of the singing’s contrapuntal passagework. I liked the impetuousness  of the beginning of the “Dies Irae”, plunging into the ferment of terror and dread conjured up by text and music immediately at the end of the “Kyrie”, the different sections engaging a multitude of responses from solo and choral voices, with the “Tuba Mirum” sequence bringing all the soloists into play – bass Robert Tucker sounding splendid with his very opening declamation, while tenor Ridge Ponini stylishly delivered “Mors stupebit” (what wonderful poetry these words make!). Charlotte Secker’s mezzo was suitably awe-struck at the judge’s entrance (“Judex ergo cum sedebit”), bringing into relief soprano Emma Pearson’s heartfelt “Quid sum miser”, the voices harmonising beautifully for the verse’s final “Cum vix justus sit securus” plea for justice and mercy.

As for the choir, the voices responded as readily to their conductor’s encouragement of majestic tone from the men with “Rex, tremende majestatis”  as with beseeching and  piteous pleas at “Salve me fons pietatis” uttered by the women.from the women’s voices. Such a dramatic, almost theatrical contrast with adjoining passages was repeated with the men’s plunging into “Confutatis maledictis” with sterling orchestral support, and the women’s almost ethereal plea “Voca me cum Benedictus” in response. Even more ethereal and atmospheric was the wonderfully spooky “Oro supplex et acclinis” for the whole choir, sung sotto voce, with the trombones helping to colour the accompanying chords in the most downcast and submissive manner for the concluding “Gere curam mei finis” (Help me in my final condition!)

All Requiem roads lead, of course, into and through the “Lacrimosa” the pity of which was beautifully captured here, emphasised by the haltingly staccato-ish delivery of the rising notes of “Qua resurget ex favilla” – the “rising from the ashes”  of all humanity – a particularly heart-stopping moment bursting into full-blooded  feeling came with “Judicandus homo reus”  – when Man shall be judged! Such depth of feeling needed a stirring and well-focused end-point which was delivered with a splendidly rock-solid “Amen”.

No rest, however, was accorded the forces, the immediately following sequence a driving and exciting Offetorium,  “Domine Jesu Christe”, with music and texts urgently and agitatedly delivered, first by the choir and then by the soloists summonsing up the celestial standard-bearer St Michael to lead the way (“Sed signifier Sanctus Michael”). But even more thrilling were the exhortations for the redemption of Abraham and his descendants  – here, presented as and duly given exciting contrapuntal treatment from both voices and players (“Quam olim Abrahae”) to absolutely exhilarating effect!

The following “Hostias” wrought the changes most effectively – the music’s pacing was more meditative, though the voices varied their dynamics tellingly throughout alternating both complete lines and short phrases of text with dramatic “loud-soft” changes. But the sudden, theatrical return of “Quam olim Abrahae” as before was brilliantly handled, with the contrapuntal lines tossed exhilaratingly back and forth until the music cried “enough!” with a final, hushed “et semini ejus!”.

Then came the grandly-voiced “Sanctus”, here an outpouring of glorious acclamation, though with a surprisingly abrupt fugal treatment of “Hosanna in excelsis”. However, the “Benedictus” which followed was here so exquisite one could forgive the composer the seeming rush to immerse everybody in such beauteous strains – again the women’s voices had a “presence” which the men couldn’t quite match, though both bass and tenor had solo moments allowing their voices space in which to “sound” – and, together with some noble brass playing, the general effect gave considerable pleasure to all.

More scalp-prickling contrasts were afforded by the “Agnus Dei”, with emotionally astringent opening chorus tones heightened in retrospect by hushed responses of “Dona eis requiem, the third beautifully elongated with the word “sempiternam”. Back came the music of “Te decet hymnus”  from the Introitus, again sung by the soprano – “Lux Aeterna lucceat eis” (Let eternal light shine”), leading to a reprise of the “Kyrie” fugal music for the work’s concluding “Cum Sanctus tuis in aeternum” – vigorous, confident and fulfilling, as befitted the final moments of such a work.

Whatever criticism might be levelled at the much-maligned Sussmayr for his “completions”  Brent Stewart and his forces gave the kind of performance that disarmed any thoughts of inadequacy or inappropriateness relating to the overall effect of the work – one was reminded of that great Mozartean Sir Thomas Beecham who once caustically remarked upon certain freshly discovered “edits” relating to Haydn’s music with the words “Are they scholarly or musical?” At the conclusion of this performance I felt more than readily inclined to credit Mozart’s posthumous Requiem’s editor with a  completed task worthy of Beecham’s approval!

A different world awaited us in the concert’s second half, enthusiastically introduced by conductor Brent Stewart, and featuring American composer Christopher Tin’s work “To Shiver the Sky”. The composer himself describes the work as “an oratorio about the history of flight, and mankind’s quest to conquer the heavens”. Tin used texts from eleven sources and in different languages, the writings of astronomers, inventors, visionaries and aviators themselves – the work’s title was taken from a poem by Rudyard Kipling, one whose subject was actually the ill-fated “Tower of Babel” which the poet describes as built “to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart”. Significantly, some of these efforts included in the work described disastrous failures and/or destructive rather than life-enhancing purposes, though the over-riding theme is one of adventure, progress and outward-looking aspiration.

I felt I was suddenly in a “minority” in the concert-hall, as many of the audience audibly resonated with Brent Stewart’s description of the work as having connections with a video game, Civilization IV, one whose theme music was used in the opening section of tonight’s presentation, the “Sogno di Volare”. Though a conventional orchestra and choral forces were used, the music had a definite kind of “New Age” flavour and excitement, one to which my rather more old-fashioned sensibilities still managed to positively respond in all but one particular instance!

Beginning with the aforementioned Sogno di Volare (Dream of Flight), a setting of writings of Leonardo da Vinci, the orchestra launched into an excitable repeated rhythmic pattern to which the choir firstly contributed a recitative-like refrain describing the poet’s aspiration towards imitating what birds can do, and thus achieving the heart’s desire – to fly! Choir and orchestra then moved majestically towards imagining mankind’s great joy at achieving what the birds achieve, and “filling the universe with wonder and glory”.  The subtitles were difficult to read from where I was sitting, and the programme notes impossible due to the dim light in the auditorium – so following specific ideas from the text during the performance posed difficulties! However, the sheer energies of the singing and playing enabled one to be caught up in a kind of torrent of inspiration, even when reference-points were difficult to decipher!

The 11th-Century mystic Hildegarde of Bingen was the next librettist, with “The Heavenly Kingdom”, the words describing how the birds in flight expressed devotion to heavenly things, and in doing so expressed heavenly love – a smaller group of women’s voices intoned timeless-sounding  melismatic phrases describing the seeming devotion of birds,  strings and winds gradually adding their supporting strains, then joined by  larger groups of voices, the effect almost canonical when intertwining their lines with the women’s voices, their interactions bedecked by shimmering percussion and excitable winds in places before allowing the smaller group of voices the final say.

The first truly dramatic sequence darkly followed, a setting of Ovid’s account in “Metamorphosis” of Daedalus and Icarus attempting to escape their imprisonment on the island of Crete by King Minos, through the use of bird’s feathers made and shaped into wings and held together by wax and flying to freedom. Daedalus warned his son Icarus to take a “middle course” when flying, neither too high nor too low, but Icarus disobeyed his father, exulting in his powers of flight and soaring upwards towards the sun – when the wax melted and the feathers were lost Icarus plunged into the sea and drowned. A darkly urgent and fearful orchestral opening  introduced Daedalus outlining his plan to his son – though tenor Ridge Ponini gave his all to the text the ever-mounting orchestral forces made it difficult for us to decipher his words, though we still got the sense of the father warning the son, and the excitement felt by the boy at being able to fly like a bird! – the sense, firstly of exhilaration, and then of impending danger, were ardently conveyed by orchestra and choir. The most heart-rending moment was Daedalus’s despairing cries of “Icare! Icare!” after the boy had fallen – the women’s voices continued the despairing lament for Icarus with a repeated percussion- accompanied sequence (which, though initially moving, I thought by the end somewhat too much of a good thing!)

It followed that the fourth poem “The Fall” from Dante Alighieri’s “The Divine Comedy” eminently suited the sense of loss and failure which followed the fall of Icarus, equating it with the larger principle of success often being accompanied by failure. The words from both soloist and choir were unclear throughout, but a general sense of lamentation came across as paramount.

The fifth sequence, Astronomy, with lyrics by Nicolaus Copernicus, was given a passionately-delivered  performance by the choir, sparklingly punctuated with percussive scintillations, the words a paean of homage to the heavens, their beauties fully revealed through observation, as “the work of God”. A strikingly colourful contrast came with the setting which followed, that of Jules Verne’s “De la Terre a la Lune”  – I enjoyed the spaciousness of the orchestral textures and the lightness of the singing from the children’s choruses – the music had an engagingly innocent, almost naïve quality about its buoyancy and confidence, and made an even more telling variance with what then followed, harsh, aggressive tones introducing words attributed to German inventor Ferdinand von Zeppelin regarding the use of aircraft for peaceful human interaction between nations, and concluding with the despairing words “Oh, the Misfortune!” – a nightmarish sequence mercifully relieved without a pause by humming voices introducing (or transitioning) to the next sequence!

This was a setting of aviatrix Amelia Earhart’s poem “Courage”, one which, though heartfelt, didn’t, in a sense, for me, convey sufficient real and palpable sense of the loneliness and solitude which would have been part-and-parcel of the explorer’s experience. It seemed intent, instead, upon morphing into a kind of show-stopping aria-like outpouring of emotion, almost a stock-in-trade moment which I thought missed some of the essence of what was Earhart’s achievement – however, others will (and seemed to at the time) feel differently! What however, garnered an undisputed unanimity of response was the following setting – an incredible evocation of implacable power, might and destruction far beyond ordinary human experience  – this was “Become Death” , J.Robert Oppenheimer’s famous quote from the Sanskrit Bhagavad Gita, upon witnessing the first nuclear bomb test in the United States in the 1940s, sung in the original language. Its effect was indescribable, remaining in my mind long after all other sounds from the work had ceased to resound – incredible in a kind of nihilistic way….the ghostly opening voices were followed by mournfully beseeching string tones, leading to sudden ghoulish reiterations of the voice representing Death the Destroyer, as the percussion incessantly roared and winds repeatedly shrieked, until all that was left was a piercing single note which died into nothingness…….

Just as impactful, but in an entirely different way was the composer’s treatment of the words of space’s first cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, a soulful statement of humanity that transcended national boundaries and  spoke for all peoples. I liked Tin’s “growing” of the voices from the men’s very matter-of-fact beginnings and burgeoning into a whole-choir paean of love and respect for Planet Earth, and the desire to “preserve and increase this beauty, not destroy it!”, then finishing with an evocation of “the power of the spirit” in mankind. It was, I thought in retrospect,, one that might well have provided a fitting climax to the work! However…….

The final setting was of words drawn from President John F. Kennedy’s famous  “We choose to go to the moon” speech in relation to the United States space exploration programme. While it seemed like a great idea for a setting in theory,  I actually found parts of it somewhat uncomfortable to listen to – though the sentiments expressed may have been worthy ones in their original context many of the words seemed to me here to be forced into a hasty marriage with a kind of all-purpose Disney-like musical surface sheen. Parts of the text did for me work, responding to music-setting more readily than did others – the section ‘We set sail on this new sea…..” down to “….the progress of all people” shared with the words a rhythmic swing and a lyrical unanimity of purpose – as did some of the section leading up to “….a theatre of war”……with appropriately baleful orchestral accompaniments.  And the rhetoric associated with weapons and hostile flags was appropriately mitigated by mention of “the banner of freedom and peace”. But so much of the rest of it (even the Mallory story, for example, containing the mountaineer’s well known reasoning for climbing Mt.Everest – “Because it’s there!”) seemed to me like earnestly-delivered note-spinning – words simply out of kilter with their music!

Obviously my reaction will not be shared by many, judging by the ovation the work received at the end – I am even finding myself at odds with younger generation family members who also heard the work!! And I did think Tin’s work in general an astounding achievement in its range and scope, despite what I thought were the occasional longeurs, and the final setting’s “in-places intractability”. The sheer impact, and the underlying message of the “Become Death” sequence, for one, will haunt my sensibilities for a long time to come, and I would readily go back to many of the other evocations to enjoy, once again, the various librettists’ inspirational words and Christopher Tin’s insightful elaborations through his inspired settings of almost  (in my opinion) all of them!

Very great credit to conductor Brent Stewart for his unflagging energies and inspirational direction – and to his performers, vocalists and instrumentalists, who manifestly “gave it all” throughout the evening – the coupling of “established” with the “new” was a great success, truly inspired and engaging, and the results as performed and received were nothing short of tumultuous tumultuous!

 

 

 

Sonic Architecture and Musical Splendour at Wellington Cathedral of St.Paul

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Sound Cathedral – assembled forces, Wellington Cathedral of St Paul – all photo images courtesy Nick George, Creative

SOUND CATHEDRAL:  Almost 500 years of music and sound collaboration brings together Renaissance composer Orlande de Lassus’s Sibylline Prophecies from1550,  traditional Taonga Puoro from Aotearoa, and  present-day composer Michael Norris’s reconstructive configurations of Renaissance polyphonies.
The Tudor Consort – directed by Michael Stewart
Rangatuone Ensemble – conducted by Riki Pirihi
Stroma Ensemble – directed by Michael Norris
Organist – Max Toth
Bellringers, Wellington Cathedral – Dylan Thomas, Jamie Ben

Wellington Cathedral of St.Paul, Molesworth St., Wellington
Sunday, Ist March, 2026

Presented with the auspices of Aotearoa New Zealand’s 2026 Festival of the Arts

Over half-an-hour before the event’s beginning there were groups of people forming lines in the foyer of  Wellington’s Molesworth Street Cathedral of St. Paul, drawn by the prospect of experiencing what composer Michael Norris had described in the pre-concert publicity as an enlivening of “the sonic architecture” of the Cathedral.  Those of us who had in the past revelled in the Cathedral’s inherent aural capabilities with music written especially for large spaces were irrevocably drawn to the prospect. And, inside, our programme notes contained effusively elaborations on the venue becoming “an immersive bath of sound that emanates from every corner”. No better introductory build-up to the event’s efficacy could have been devised.

The musicians involved in “Sound Cathedral” began taking up positions at the beginning which enclosed the audience in a kind of surrounding web, the atmosphere further enhanced by diaphanous streams of mist emanating from the altar end of the nave and creating veritable swathes of ambient mystery. A hush suddenly prevailed as the Dean of Wellington Cathedral, Katie Lawrence welcomed and addressed us both in Te Reo and English from the pulpit, enjoining us to “open our hearts and enjoy the spectacle”.

The Karakia is delivered, sonorously and scalp-pricklingly, augmented with impressively sonorous, even baleful-like trumpet tones from the taonga puoro players – others join in from the surrounding areas, with the sounds taking on a less confrontational, more “inclusive” kind of ambience as we begin to discern voices amongst the instrumental sounds. Gradually the voices were made manifest by the singers’ one-after-the-other appearance from the back and up the central aisle to the front, as the instrumentalists continued with their all-enveloping array of sounds from all precincts of the nave. It was an enchanting cornucopia of sound, in constant swirling flux, unexpectedly reminding me at this point of those “river sounds” which build up in the same way in Wagner’s Prelude to his opera “Das Rheingold”.


MIchael Stewart

Following his singers was music director Michael Stewart, whose appearance occasioned a withdrawal of tones from the various instrumentalists in favour of eerie, almost spectral percussive sounds, intended to accompany the Consort’s singing of the Prologue – in effect,  Lassus’s own sung introduction to his set of Sibylline Prophecies which were to follow. Beginning with the words “Carmina chromatico” , this enchanting episode ( performed by the Consort Voices just as the composer had written) struck me in that instant as the kind of musical “sound” this building was surely created for, as celestial an effect as was the singers fan-like dispersal at the end to both sides, whilst still singing, the sounds augmented by soft percussion and harp in a seamless, dream-like flow!


Tudor Consort Singers


Lenny Sakofsky, percussion


Michelle Velvin, harp

At this point one sensed that the music was preparing to “take flight” from its place of origin, as if we were present at the very act of creation, with the sounds inspired by Lassus’s following “Sibylla Persica” seeming to themselves resonate and augment their own existing ambiences – I could make out some of the Sibyl’s words at the beginning – “Virgine Matre satus…” but with the sounds seeming to follow composer Michael Norris’s idea of introducing qualities of utterance such as “cloud-like time-stretching”, encouraging our listening sensibilities to perhaps soar, or, conversely, cease physical movement in favour of hitherto unexplored realms. This delightfully disorientation of time and space accompanied a rich resonance of taonga puoro instrumental detail, sounding for all the world like birdsong as if emanating from a deep and hitherto undiscovered adjoining valley.


Riki Pirihi – director, Rangatuone Ensemble

What this did was disengage me from the singers words’ and their meaning from here onwards, save for the occasional phrase, such as the emphasis given to the line “…ille Deus casta nascetur virgine magnus”, with those birdsong ambiences rising to a great outpouring of forest  amplitude with voices and instruments. I presumed this was a depiction of  ”Whirl / Komiro” with the splendid bullroarers helping to build up the ambieces leading to the “Oscillate/Kopiupiu” with its almost visceral pendulum-swings, expressing the idea of surpassing nature’s work  “by he who governs all things”. For the rest I simply gave myself over to the repeated phrases and their mesmeric effect bearing my sensibilities aloft, the sounds again vindicating the building’s capacity to creatively augment any such potential resonances to their utmost effect.

I found myself led by instinct by an upsurge of beatific vocal lines floated in “Sibylla Cimmeria” , with its reference to “Eco lucebit sidus ab orb Mirificum” (And the star shines from a wonderful orb), sounds which here create as celestial and unworldly an ambience as any music has a right to sound. A subsequent dark and portentous episode enabled me to surmise that we had reached “Sibylla Phrygia” with its punitive words “…punire volentem Mundi homines stupidos”  (…wishing to punish the stupid men of the earth)…..the grim, forceful accents which characterise the sequence strike an appropriate contrast afforded by the final “Sibylla Agrippa” with its music’s return from the dark depths.

With the choir reducing its size and the taonga puoro taking up a “cleansing” sound-palate, the time for reconciliation seemed at hand. Nature is returned to accord as the whole choir gathers, inviting the furthest-flung strands to renew unanimity and kinship. All is heightened by euphoric sequences of aleatoric vocalism, creating a kind of hubbub of renewal into which all strands are gradually wound – the choir pauses to allow the natural world its primacy, before the voices join in, the lighter voices overlapping with stratospheric tones representing a kind of “on high” overlordship, with tones constant and glorious, to which the organ adds its mighty voice.

Standing ovations can become cliches, but in this case one found oneself propelled upwards and on one’s feet by the sheer force of delighted response to join in with the acclaim. Afterwards, reactions and opinions I shared stressed the magnitude and splendour of the occasion, with some, like me, admitting to the expectation of hearing more clearly other parts of Lassus’s music in the manner presented by the Prologue – but instead his music became the deep well from which irresistibly gushed all kinds of time-and-place elaborations upon his themes and texts, proving in a very visceral sense the fantastical “onreach” of artistic  impulse!

One certainly with which to grace the capital’s music performance chronicles – and perhaps even to record for posterity (the latter already done and dusted?) However caught and held, this was a memorable addition to our part of the world’s distinctive sonic voice!

Handel’s “Messiah” from the Orpheus in warm-hearted seasonal tradition

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Orpheus Choir and soloists  with Brent Stewart  in Handel’s “Messiah” at the MFC

George Frideric Handel – MESSIAH
Emma Pearson (soprano)
Maaike Christie-Beekman (alto)
LJ Crichton (tenor)
Joel Amosa (bass)
Orpheus Choir of Wellington
Orchestra Wellington
Brent Stewart (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington
Saturday, 13th December, 2025

Walking into a concert hall foyer a good half-hour before the performance’s starting time and encountering a veritable sea of faces and conglomerate of bodies all exuding a kind of excitement and anticipation tells you that you’re somehow onto a good thing for the evening!

Such an osmotic buzz of expectation spreads like a forcefield throughout the shared spaces to the performers, creating a “charged” environment through which the ordinary is metamorphosed into the fabulous even before a note is sounded.

Through some kind of alchemy, Handel’s “Messiah”, no matter how many times it gets performed, never loses its appeal. I’ve practically lost count of the ones I’ve attended, and the details have a habit of running together when I try to fetch up specific memories of a presentation with this conductor and that singer, and especially in tandem with dates – but it has for me developed the aura of a ritual in which I feel something of an unexplained compulsion to repeatedly take part.

Of course a major consideration for many people is that “Messiah” is almost never the same work on each occasion it’s presented – and I don’t mean merely in terms of differences of interpretation of the same score, because there is no single “same score” – no single “definitive” version. A statistic I encountered recently which took my breath away was that Handel had produced forty-three versions of the work’s fifteen solo numbers, the composer making numerous adjustments to suit the needs of the different singers he used at various times. Different versions of the whole work also appeared, beginning with the Dublin version in 1742, then a London version the following year, followed in 1750 at the London Foundling Hospital and a revision in 1754, featuring different music and alternate version of numbers.

This near-profligacy of difference makes each performance of this work something of an adventure for the listener – and it’s definitely a factor in the music’s never-ending joy and fascination. Naturally interpretation plays a part in this on-going process, with different conductors and soloists (and choirs and orchestras, for that matter) bringing to each occasion singular characteristics and qualities. While I can remember with great pleasure certain aspects of past performances involving both individual and concerted efforts, it’s a particular joy to encounter, as here, something of a shared benchmark of achievement on the part of all the performers. In fact I can put my hand on my heart and declare that I thought this a splendid and great-hearted “Messiah” which set out from the very beginning to “engage” with us, drawing us increasingly and unsparingly into the story’s intense wonder, drama and fulfilment regarding Christ’s sojourn on Earth.

Under conductor Brent Stewart’s focused direction, orchestra, soloists and choir were able to touch realms that seemed almost transcendent in places –  of course every listener will cherish certain singular “moments” and mark them out for “legendary” status in times to come (as I’ve done now and then with past hearings of this work,as an essential component of the process). Tonight’s soloists rose to the occasion in various instances  – tenor LJ Chrichton pleased with his attractively airy “Evry Valley” at the work’s beginning, even if his opening phrase of  “Comfort Ye” seemed more like a “test run” than the real thing  – but his subsequent longer-held phrases made sonorous amends! At the other end of the expressive scale was his more-assured Part Two set of recitatives and ariosi, concluding with the vigorous “Thou shalt break them”, which featured some confident ascents to the demanding top notes of “thou shalt dash them in pieces” – sterling, true-toned efforts!

His bass counterpart, Joel Amosa, impressed throughout with his virility and flexibility, pinning our ears back with his “Thus saith the Lord” and rolling his voice up and down his runs on the word “Shake” in fine style. Even more thrilling was his partnership with the orchestra in “Why do the Nations?” , a high-energy combination of rushing orchestral figures and melismatic vocal lines, the singer’s triplet figures riding the orchestra’s impetuous common-time trajectories with breathtaking adroitness! However, it was Amosa’s partnership with trumpeter Lewis Grey in “The Trumpet Shall Sound” which carried the day, the singer’s prescient introductory story-telling tones paving the way for the splendid combination of voice and brilliantly-sounded instrument that we were then treated to.

I’ve always thought the alto in “Messiah” had fewer opportunities to really “shine” in this work compared with the other singers, with the exception of the great aria “He was despised”. Here, Maaike Christie-Beekman movingly took us right into the hollowed-out chamber of sorrow and rejection  suffered by the beleagued Christ, almost as if it were a great and private universal “confession of sorrow”. I’m nearly always disappointed when a performance neglects to include the tempestuous middle section “He gave his back” because of the dramatic contrast it sets up – a real “trial” for everybody concerned, though, when it happens!

Soprano Emma Pearson’s first recitative entry, of course, was preceded by the sublime sweetness of the “Pifa” (the Pastoral Symphony characterising the shepherds), after which she sang the 4/4 version of “Rejoice greatly” (my first hearing of this was Handel’s first gigue-like 12/8 version) – the coloratura passages were terrific, really capturing a “joyous” effect! Pearson’s lovely voice also came into its own in the second half of “He shall feed his flock”, following the alto’s opening verse with another, “Come unto him”. Where Pearson’s singing, however, for me “touched” that transcendence I’ve mentioned beforehand was in “I know that my Redeemer liveth”, her clear-as-a-bell rendering still giving the line affecting nuances while fully proclaiming the emotion of belief and surety – something about the unaffected simplicity of her “And though worms destroy this body” I found ineffably touching without knowing really why, but it was a moment that has stayed with me as one of those memories which will endure – a salutary experience for an unbeliever!

As for the “Mighty Orpheus” (as the choir has been known for decades) the voices were at one with their conductor/director Brent Stewart right from the outset, with a vigorous and stirring response to “And the Glory of the Lord”, with the sopranos particularly radiant in their soaring, largely single-note lines.  I felt at times that the rapid tempi for a couple of the choruses missed a certain “deliciousness of utterance”  (“And He shall purify” was one and “His yoke is easy” was another), but I could register the enjoyment of a compensatory “effervescence” in the overall effect (for example, in “All we like sheep” the voices scintillated like bubbling and cascading springs!).  Though not at all related to THIS performance, I still can’t help repeating  for enjoyment’s sakes a reasonably well-known anecdote attributed to the famous conductor Sir Thomas Beecham, who was heard to remark at one point in a “Messiah” rehearsal.  “Ladies and gentlemen of the chorus, when you sing “All we like sheep have gone astray”, could we please have a little more regret and a little less satisfaction?” ).

At the other end of the expressive scale the chorus work projected tremendous potency – in “Surely He hath borne our griefs”, for example, whose opening word was like a hammer-blow – then, in both “He trusted in God” (the most thrillingly incisive performance I can remember ever hearing of this!) and “Let us break their bonds asunder” with similarly biting lines, allied to fantastic energy, making the words come alive – and  making the most of dramatic contrast in “Since by man came death”, bursting out from its positively sepulchral opening in grandly theatrical style. I especially relished, too, the varied treatment of the final “Amen” Chorus, which featured sequences of solo and paired string-playing alternating with the voices – a scalp-prickling effect, then rounded off with plenty of suitably sonorous orchestral tones in support of the voices – wonderful!

With stirring support from the Orchestra Wellington players (a scaled-down band to more readily reflect a Handelian sound-world) aided by the mellifluous strains of  both Bethany Angus’s harpsichord and Jonathan Berkahn’s chamber organ, Brent Stewart and his performers gave Handel’s work a solidly-based sonority from which the details readily sprang, always interestingly, and often excitingly to the ear. The “buzz” that had begun earlier that evening in the foyer had certainly done its job on this occasion, and  in the best seasonal “Christmas tree” tradition!

BACK TO BACH from Baroque Voices takes the listener on a journey

Posted on by Peter Mechen
Baroque Voices at St.Mary of the Angels – from left: Pepe Becker, Andrea Cochrane, Samuel Berkahn, David Morriss, Imogen Granwal (‘cello), Simon Christie. Jamie Young, Toby Gee, Rowena Simpson

 

JS BACH – The Six Motets (BWV 225-230)
Baroque Voices (directed by Pepe Becker)

Pepe Becker, Rowena Simpson (sopranos)
Andrea Cochrane, Toby Gee (altos)
Samuel Berkahn, Jamie Young (tenors)
David Morriss, Simon Christie (basses)
Imogen Granwal (baroque ‘cello)

St.Mary of the Angels Church, Boulcott St., Wellington
Sunday 30th November, 2025

To my shame, I had never before heard a single one of JS Bach’s Motets before finding out about this concert – I’d “heard of” a couple of the titles of famous ones, such as “Komm, Jesu, komm” and “Jesu, mein Freude”, but had never taken the step of getting to know them, thinking that the “Passions” and the “B Minor Mass” and the “Christmas Oratorio” and the “Magnificat”, plus a clutch of Cantatas sufficiently qualified me as an accredited “Choral Bach listener”. So I was both delighted and intrigued upon being told by Baroque Voices’ director Pepe Becker some time ago that this concert was coming up, and DID managed to track down a couple of recordings and fit in some “listening” beforehand so as to get something of an idea of what I was in for…..

The concert date duly arrived and the presentation took place with the succinct title “Back to Bach” for  the Voices’ heady “whirlwind tour” through all six of the composer’s sacred motets, performed by the Wellington ensemble in the sumptuous (perhaps a tad too much so acoustically!) setting of St.Mary of the Angels church in the heart of the city. The director, Pepe Becker, described these works in her programme notes for the concert as “sublime, complex and deeply moving”, though one could add plenty of further epithets to the description of the afternoon’s performance by the ensemble. We warmed as readily to the exuberance of the writing, its enjoyment generated as much by the music’s own urgencies of feeling as by the voices’ different physicalities, all with their own channelled energies. These things all came together, the pieces amply reflecting their creator’s unquenchable human spirit and belief in a higher divine authority.

Unlike the cantatas, which Bach wrote regularly for every Sunday of the church year, the motets were infrequently produced for special occasions in Leipzig, and some may have even been lost. The six surviving ones were in fact the only choral works of Bach which didn’t disappear entirely from view until the renowned “Bach revival” of the 19th Century. The famous story of Mozart’s joyful response, upon hearing in Leipzig in 1789 a performance of Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied (Sing to the Lord a new song) bears witness to these works carrying a torch for future generations.

It’s unclear what Bach’s intentions were regarding the instrumental accompaniment of these works – only one of the motets, Der Geist hilft unser Schwachheit auf (BWV 226) has extant orchestra parts, and two other Motets have separate continuo basslines written, Furchte dich (BWV 228), and Lobet den Herrn (BWV 230). So there is no “final word” regarding instrumental accompaniment, according to the composer. The works would probably have been accompanied at least by basso continuo (an organ or a melodic bass instrument) – Baroque Voices use a bass stringed instrument in all but two of the Motets – Komm, Jesu, komm (BWV 229), and Jesu, meine Freude (BWV 227), here a baroque cello, played by Imogen Granwal.

Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied got the concert away to a stirringly festive beginning, with the wonderful “pinging” calls of the opening Singet, the tones brightly shining, and the lines mellifluously blending, swirling nicely together at Die Gemeine der Heiligen sollen in loben, (Sing His praise in the congregation of saints). As well, the infectious “dancing” tones of Die Kinder Zion sei’n frölich über ihren Könige  (Let the children of Zion be joyful in their King) were delightful, leading to the  splendid all-in tones of the climactic Mit Pauken und Harfen sollen sie im spielen! (Let them sing praises unto Him with the timbrel and harp)! The second-movement Chorale Wie sich ein Vat’r erbarmet (As a father is merciful) had one group singing the chorale, and the other interspersing lines from the aria Gott, nimm dich ferner unser an (O, Lord, continue to care for us) – beautiful, heartfelt exchanges! A suitably zestful Lobet den Herrn in seinen Taten (Praise the Lord for His mighty acts), then moved without a break in momentum to a triple-time Alleluia for a satisfying finish.

Next was the tremulously-expressed Komm Jesu, Komm (Come, Jesu, Come), so very theatrical at the outset, and with the individual voices then conveying the hardship of life’s vicissitudes with Die Kraft verschwindt je mehr und mehr (My strength is fading more and more), and the solace of expectation, freed from “Der saure Weg” (the stony path). The voices put an infectious eagerness into the renewed cries of “Komm, komm”, and a renewed strength of certainty  (with touches of elation!) into the trajectories of Du bist der rechte Weg, die Wahrheit, und das Leben (The Way, the Truth and the Light). The concluding Chorale, Drum schliess ich mich in deine Hande (So I entrust myself into Thy hands) quietly exalted in its certainty here, right to the final long-breathed notes.

Though written for the funeral service in October 1729 of Johann Heinrich Ernesti, longtime rector of the St. Thomas School  in Leipzig, Bach was perhaps inspired by the great man’s positive qualities by writing some attractive and inspirational music for this motet, Der Geist hilft unser Schwachheit auf (The Spirit also helpeth our infirmities). Its cheerful, forward-pressing gait and general overall tone includes some droll references to the “Spirit’s” intercession for our prayers “mit unaussprechlichem Seufzen” (with unutterable groanings)! The music’s lovely 3/8 trajectory at the beginning changes to common-time for both the “groanings” and the references to “Der aber die Herzen forschet” (He that searcheth the Heart). My only other thought was that the Chorale could perhaps have been a little more hushed, and varied in delivery at the outset, as befitted the words “Du Heilige Brunst, süsser Trost” (Heavenly Fire, sweet consolation) – which sounded as if they might have come from Schiller, for goodness sakes!

The interval gave us time to reflect on the magnificence of the music and the manifest qualities of the performances, which were considerable – brightly-shining tones, nimble trajectories, neither rushed nor dragging, distinctive individual voices, and, despite some idiosyncratic vocal “blends” in certain places, still successfully ensuring the voices’ clarity and the words’ flavourings and colourings were imparted. I wondered in places whether the acoustic was actually a bit “too much”, resulting in some of the singers’ tones being amplified more than others, and wondered whether a smaller, sparser acoustic might have integrated the sounds better. However, it was a “sometimes” effect, as more often the ensembled sounds came together most mellifluously.

The lovely opening of Fürchte dich nicht (Fear not) with its euphonious exchanges continued our pleasure, as did, in an entirely different way, the dramatic interpolations of recitative-like utterances of “Ich stärke dich!” from individual singers, and the contrast between the austere chromatic fugal passages and the radiant chorale excepts from the sopranos in the ensuing fugue, a vocal contrast that continued to delight us until the final concerted statement “Furche dich nicht – Du bist mein!” Heartwarming!

The longest and most complex of the motets is Jesu, meine Freude  (“Jesus, my Joy”). Essentially scored for five voices, including a second soprano line (as with Bach’s Magnificat) it alternates a chorale tune by Johann Crüger with settings of texts by Johann Franck and from Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. It’s uncertain just when this motet was composed, or for what particular purpose, with one scholar even advocating the idea of Bach using the work just for educational purposes with his St.Thomas’s Leipzig  choir.

The beautiful opening sang out gloriously, the singers relishing the third of each group of lines of text, arching each towards a moment of intense feeling – a marked contrast with the beginning of the next movement’s Es ist nun nichts Verdamliches (There is therefore now no condemnation) with the word “nichts” separately and pointedly repeated, and the following line “Die nicht nach dem Fleische wandein” (Who walk not after the flesh) which wanders graphically in a kind of wilderness! The wonderful third movement Unter Deinem Schirmen (Protected by Thee) returned to the chorale tune, whose serenity was “roughed up” with references to Kracht und Blitz (“Thunder and Lightning”) and then Sünd und Hölle (“Sin and Hell”) adding to the dramatic effect. The three women’s voices then consoled our fears with the fourth movement’s Denn das Gesetz des Geistes (“For the Law of the Spirit”).

More drama and contrast was depicted by the fifth movement’s  Trotz dem alten Drachen (“Defy the Old Dragon”), the singers hurling the word “Trotz” (Defy!) upwards and outwards, and agitatedly word-crafting a world raging and quaking (Tobe, Welt und Springe – ”Rage, world, and quake!”), before painting a picture of the soul standing and singing  in perfect peace with God (Ich steh’ hier und singe in gar Sicher Ruh). The following movement Ihr aber seid nich Fleischlich (“For ye are not of the flesh”) most winningly here contrasted a quick-moving fugal opening with a sonorous chorale-like conclusion Wer aber Christi Geist nicht hat, der ist nicht sein! – (“Yet one who has not the Spirit of Christ is not His!”).

The vigorous and wonderful Weg mit allen Schätzen(“Away with all earthly treasures!)  that followed featured the soprano with the chorale line set against such deliciously contrasting and detailed figurations from the others – the urgently-delivered opening from the lower voices and with its first word Weg! repeated, was such a delight! And the singers conveyed the “strongly-felt essence” of other utterances such as Elend, Not, Kreuz, Schmach und Tod (“Poverty, distress, Cross, disgrace and death”) so very vividly at the conclusion.

The winsome So aber Christus in euch ist (“And if Christ be in you”) was gentle and dance-like, here, until the words Der Geist aber ist das Leben “But the Spirit is life”, when the figurations quickened, though leaving us with a somewhat unresolved conclusion – this was supplied by the following Gute Nacht, O Wesen (“Goodnight, O earthly Life”) – here, a stunningly beautiful piece whose lines I thought the sopranos  took a little time to settle into at the beginning, but which achieved a magic by the end.

After these heartfelt articulations, So nun der Geist des (“Now that the Spirit of him”) seemed businesslike and anecdotal by comparison, almost a case of the narrator moving the story on to its inevitable conclusion! Bach replicates the manner of the work’s second movement in the use of a repeated word (here, “Geist” is repeated, as was the word “Nichts” in the second movement) and the text has the same instruction-like tone as Es ist nun nichts Verdamliches. The true frisson of feeling came with the final Weicht, ihr Trauergeister (“Disperse, sombre spirits”), with the original opening Chorale melody taking us back to the work’s beginning in the most disarming and direct way – all truly wonderful!

There remained the “orphan” of the bunch to give some attention to – the motet Lobet den Herrn, alle Heiden (“Praise the Lord all ye nations”), the one that there’s “doubt” as to whether or not it’s by Bach at all.  Pepe Becker put it succinctly in her programme note about the piece, saying that “it’s hard to imagine who else could have written such a vital, well-crafted piece”. And who could blame her, with such material to perform? At the beginning a sprightly combination of lines led to a splendidly-voiced fugue at “Und preiset ihn, aller Völker”, after which an appropriately slower section made reference to Seine Gnade und Wahrheit (which will) waltet uber uns in Ewigkeit “His mercy and truth (which will) reign over us for all eternity” – and with everything then enlivened by a sequence of triple-time Alleluias – an appropriately joyful way to end such a concert!

What to say? – except that the experience for me of hearing these works in concert for the first time was life-changing. To Pepe Becker and her Baroque Voices grateful thanks for a truly resounding experience!

 

Music from Home and Abroad – for its time and for all time

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Orchestra Wellington presents:

THE ARTIST REPENTS

VICTORIA KELLY – Requiem
DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH – Symphony No. 5 In D Minor Op.47

Barbara Paterson – soprano
Alexander Lewis – tenor
The Tudor Consort
Orchestra Wellington
Marc Taddei – conductor

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington
Saturday, 22nd November, 2025

The sixth and final concert in Orchestra Wellington’s 2025 series The Dictator’s Shadow portrays a creative artist’s dilemma living and working in a regime seeking to curb individual artistic expression and freedom of speech, and while under severe duress producing a work which adroitly treads a path of compromise. Dmitri Shostakovich had fallen foul of Soviet dictator Josef Stalin with an opera, “Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District” in 1936 which brought the full weight of displeasure upon the composer’s head via the Government’s official print-organ, the newspaper “Pravda”, which condemned the work and its performance on the basis of Stalin’s negative reaction to the production (ironically, since its premiere two years previously, “Lady Macbeth” had been a resounding success with the public and with officialdom!).

Reeling under the weight of the regime’s official expression of displeasure, Shostakovich had his opera withdrawn within two months of the “Pravda” article, and then did the same with his ballet “The Limpid Stream”, which was being performed at the time, and came under similar attack from the same source – while this was happening, he was writing his Fourth Symphony intending to have it performed, but was persuaded from doing so by friends and associates who heard the work in rehearsal and feared for the composer’s safety if the performance went ahead. Shostakovich complied with the advice and turned, not to an ostentatiously patriotic cantata or regime-praising ode, but to yet another symphony, one, however, that came to have bestowed upon it the famous byline (whether from the composer himself or another commentator is uncertain) “A Soviet artist’s reply to just criticism”.

The work’s reception, in November 1937 could possibly have saved Shostakovich’s skin, judging by the fate of some of his friends and colleagues whose activities had similarly displeased Stalin at around this time. It addressed all of “Pravda’s” criticisms regarding the composer’s previous efforts – the music was tonal, with simple, direct language, its form was classical, with easily-discernable themes, and it ended on a positive note, in fact with a triumphant fanfare-like apotheosis. Shostakovich said later in private that the music for the finale was a kind of satire, with a hollow exuberance glorifying the dictator. One of the composer’s biographers, Elizabeth Wilson, aptly characterised the situation for Shostakovich, commenting that in this music “he had found a way to be truthful for those who had ears to listen.”

All of this was here laid aside for the concert’s second half, as the evening’s opening item confronted us with a vastly different work in many ways – New Zealand composer VIctoria Kelly’s 2023 Requiem, for soprano, tenor, mixed choir and orchestra. In her programme notes she calls the work “a secular contemplation of life and mortality”, using texts from five New Zealand poems, alongside word-fragments of the text for the Latin Requiem Mass. We were fortunate to have the composer’s presence at the concert, emanating as vibrant a force in person when acknowledging the applause and the efforts of the musicians as had her music done that we’d heard.

Kelly wrote the work in response to the deaths of her parents, ten years apart, telling us that her music and the poets’ words were her responses to not being able herself to find “words for the events” bringing with them such loss and grief and all of their manifold associations. For her it took shape as a non-religious work. hence the “secular” poetry, but with connections to tradition briefly acknowledged (the word “Requiem” itself being an example). She talks of the poems as “filled with the wonder of nature, of grief and longing, of surrender and letting go”….

This work has already achieved fame, winning the SOUNZ Contemporary Award / Te Tohu Auaha at the 2023 APRA Silver Scrolls. I had the enthralling experience of watching the SOUNZ/RNZ film of the premiere performance at the Auckland Town Hall, given by the Auckland Philharmonia and conducted by Vincent Hardaker, with soloists Simon O’Neill and Jayne Tankersley, together with the Luminate Voices Women’s Chamber Choir and Lux Singers   – so I was in a sense prepared for tonight’s performance, while finding myself consumed with expectation as to how different it could sound with different performers!

What particularly transfixed my reactions to both performances were the solo singers in both cases – Kelly required the tenor in particular to sing in falsetto for much of the time, far above his natural register, wanting his voice to convey “vulnerability, hope and fear”, which Alexander Lewis certainly managed, though not as effectively as Simon O’Neill due to the latter being so closely-miked (as were both the Auckland soloists). In this latter performance both singers, though miked, were not as clearly projected – I could hear more of Barbara Paterson’s voice, though she, like her partner, struggled in places to be heard over instrumental and sometimes choral tones. We had the texts in our programmes, and I could read them, but still found them difficult to follow – and friends sitting elsewhere told me during the interval that it was too dark where they were sitting to make out the words on the page!

Having said all of this it struck me that the impact of the work as sound alone was conveying such a visceral impression, with orchestra and choir making music which, in Kelly’s own words  “ebbs and flows around the poetry”, that one could surrender readily to the degree one often experiences so exhilaratingly in opera where the singers’ voices are the catalysts for overwhelming emotion rather than the words’ “meaning” in a literal sense!  This in an almost animalistic way gave to us throughout the work so much of that “reaching for one another” sensation which Kelly described as creating “harmony” – here a kind of transcendent thing that didn’t need explaining, as so many great abstracted instrumental pieces of music do with their tones alone.

We were able, therefore, to “experience” those frissons of feeling described by the singer with the words “I stayed a minute – and the garden was full of voices” – the “language of earth” activated for our pleasure in the midst of sorrow! Likewise, we were taken, here tumultuously, with the ascending voices and percussive scintillations illustrating Sam Hunt’s lighthouse keeper manning the lights “to reappear among his polished stars”. Coincidentally, I had not long before heard John Rimmer’s beautiful instrumental realisation “Where Sea Meets Sky” using those same words by poet Ian Wedde as used here by Kelly, here poignantly continuing with the second part of the poem , in which friends long to embrace once more “between sea and sky”, to the accompaniment of the chorus’s beautiful “Libere eis de morte aeterna” (Free them from eternal death).

The voices began and continued Chloe Honum’s claustrophobic “Bright Death” with canonic “Lacrimosa, dies illa” phrases  accompanied by piteous oboe tones, the music inexorably and obsessively building towards grief-stricken utterance, before concluding with a quietly-voiced “Requiem”. And lastly, we felt a liberation of sorts with James K. Baxter’s “High Country Weather”, with spacious string and percussive texturings, and voices sounding like unfettered winds sweeping through the sky – the choir built great utterances from the word “Gloria” after which the silences surged softly backwards and forwards, allowing the soprano to intone the thoughts of a life in what seemed the throes of its finality, with the words “Surrender to the sky your heart of anger” marking a final acceptance of what is and will be. Barbara Paterson’s celestial soprano took us there unerringly and gratefully (with a quieter, less demonstrative, but just as needfully “present” voice as Jayne Tankersley’s), one which, along with the choral voices and instruments drifted through hypnotic repetitions of the word “surrender” and into the silence finally left by a single sustained instrumental note…

As much thoughtfulness as discussion (mostly regarding the solo voices and the different impression they made) seemed to absorb every moment of interval before resettling and proclaiming us ready for the Shostakovich symphony to follow. It proved a more than fitting finale to the composer’s “season”, with Marc Taddei and his well-versed forces bringing all the music’s sharply-focused accents, upholstered tonal weight and gait, and purposeful attitude to the fore throughout the first movement’s tense, playing-for-keeps utterances!  Those baleful brass calls splendidly activated the rest of the orchestral forces towards an allegro which in turn pushed the playing  excitingly into  the string reiteration of the opening – so gloriously wild and combatative! The big recitative-like unisons would have gladdened all hearts at that first performance (most likely for different reasons!) – but they were just the job, as were the great crashes leading to the flute-and-horn “appeasement” passages (with one or two slightly “blurped” brass notes here simply adding to the excitement!).

Then, what terrific attack we got from the lower strings at the Allegretto’s beginning! – such incredibly “engaged” playing from all the sections! And what a contrast with the Largo, with its real sense of “lament” (I read somewhere there were accounts of people at the first performance weeping during this movement!) – the performance made much of the contrast between the moments of tension and the hush of the more desolate sequences, Again one was made to think in various places of the “layered” agenda of the composer in giving the establishment what it thought it wanted!

As for the finale, its “enormous optimistic lift” referred to by most Soviet critics was here made more than palpable by the orchestra’s performance, the playing holding nothing back, its full-bloodedness a resounding indication of how officialdom’s faith in the composer’s  restoration of “all that is bright, clear, joyous, optimistic and life-affirming” would have been restored. And, of course, we also heard in this performance what other critics were able to discern at the time as “unsettled, sensitive, (and) evocative music” inspiring “gigantic conflict” – the same sounds which the composer reportedly referred to as “forced rejoicing”. Those massive concluding bass-drum strokes here at the work’s end continue, as they did at the time, to speak volumes in today’s world of enforced glorification and scarce toleration of views which dare to be different!

To Marc Taddei and his redoubtable Orchestra Wellington players I dips me lid in sincere tribute to their incredible collective artistic achievement throughout what has been a truly memorable season of music-making that’s exhibited both brilliance and depth – brilliance in the standard of execution, and depth in the explorations of music as a living entity of our human condition, be it a Requiem with a recognisably home-grown articulation of ritual from the orchestra’s resident (and native-born) composer Victoria Kelly,  or the music of a distant Russian composer, Dmitri Shostakovich which expressed attitudes and values out of step with those of the ruling powers, and initiated what potentially became a life-and-death struggle, one with wider implications for humanity at large. I look forward to the continued enrichment of music and music-making from these amazing artists with the advent of 2026.

 

Amazingly vibrant, energetic and tumultuous “Christmas Oratorio” – the Bach Choir of Wellington, Nota Bene and the Chiesa Ensemble

Posted on by Peter Mechen

The Bach Choir, Nota Bene Choir, The Chiesa Ensemble and soloists, conducted by Shawn Michael Condon  – photo, Colin McDiarmid

JS BACH – Christmas Oratorio
BWV 248 – Parts I, II, III and VI

Georgia Jamieson-Emms (soprano)
Maaike Christie-Beekman (alto)
Iain Tetley (tenor / Evangelist)
Robert Tucker (bass)

Douglas Mews – organ

The Bach Choir of Wellington
Shawn Michael Condon (director)
Nota Bene
Maaike Christie-Beekman (director)
The Chiesa Ensemble
Rebecca Struthers (director) / Anne Loeser  (Concertmaster)

Shawn Michael Condon (conductor)

St.Mary of the Angels Church
Boulcott Street, Wellington

Saturday 15th November, 2025

There’s been a definite kind of newly-furbished “buzz” associated with choral events I’ve attended in Wellington over recent times, particularly associated with a venue, St.Mary of the Angels Church, which by dint of its richly-appointed  ambiences and built-to-standard acoustical properties seems made-to-order for public performances of works of an ecclesiastical nature – two such for me have been, firstly, of Claudio Monteverdi’s 1610 Vespers for the Blessed Virgin ( ) and, more recently, of JS Bach’s Christmas Oratorio. I’m actually anticipating some kind of triumvirate of performance in writing this, as another different vocal ensemble based in the capital, Baroque Voices, is set to perform another work of JS Bach’s, the Six Motets BWV 225-230, later this month, again in St.Mary of the Angels Church  – hopefully the occasion will be as tumultuously supported as were both the Monteverdi and the more recently performed Bach work which I’m here reporting on….

Of course the excitement of a “sold out” concert for both musicians and audiences can’t help but add layers of lustre to any such occasion, and would have certainly “fired up” the musicians involved in this recent presentation. I’m certain there would have been a degree of corresponding “lift-off” to the performance we heard, relating to such overwhelming audience support, and  particularly as the opening chorus of the work “Jauchzet, frohlocket” (Celebrate, rejoice) was sung and played at the liveliest pace I’ve ever heard it performed – in fact, conductor Shawn Michael Condon took it all a tad too vigorously for my liking, though all the musicians, vocalists and instrumentalists, seemed to get their notes in! And I was sitting close enough to register the absolute delight and definite purpose on the faces of those in the choir singing this music, as if the extra notch or three of trajectorial purpose was stirring the blood of all concerned even more!

Conductor Shawn Michael Condon, with soloists Iain Tetley (tenor), Maaike Christie-Beekman (alto), Robert Tucker (bass) and Georgia Jamieson-Emms (soprano) –  photo, Colin McDiarmid

The rest had manifold pleasures and beauties – all of the vocal soloists made ear-catchingly impressive “beginnings” – the first to be heard, tenor Iain Tetley, handled his opening “Es begab sich aber zu der Zeit” (It came to pass at that time) with great aplomb and nicely-varied impulse, continuing to do so right through the evening, though the composer’s near-impossible demands upon the tenor in the final cantata seemed to take something of a toll! Elsewhere, though, his tones and enunciation of the text were a joy to listen to, in Part Two catching the excitement of the heavenly hosts,  and in Part Three conveying plenty of the narrative’s thoughtfulness, particularly  regarding Mary’s pondering of the words spoken about the infant’s wondrous birth…

I enjoyed the dulcet tones of alto Maaike Christie-Beekman, her line steadily and fluently maintained in “Bereite dich, Zion” – and she was especially  moving in Part Two’s lovely “Schlafe, mein Liebster” where her lovely long notes and sensitivity in general made up for a somewhat prosaic “Schaut hin, dort liegt im finstern Stall”  from the choir – a pity, as the soprano choral tones had been so lovely in the previous part’s “Wie soll ich dich empfangen?”

Bass-baritone Robert Tucker’s versatility was in no doubt with his “Grösser Herr”  giving great pleasure and managing to even make something of those lower notes which were more difficult to “centre” than others! I thoroughly enjoyed his brief but vivid cameo of the despicable King Herod in Part VI , while earlier, his “So recht, ihr Engel, jauchzt und singet” joined with the heavenly host’s excitement at “Den Menschen ein Wohlgefallen”!  He also interacted splendidly with soprano Georgia Jamieson-Emms’s Angel in Part Three’s  Duet Aria “Herr, dein Mittleid” , both singers given ample space to float and negotiate their tones  while the oboes (I couldn’t tell from where I was sitting who was playing) were splendidly vital, by turns lyrical and energetic in their support.

Part VI had splendid orchestra playing, with the trumpets and timpani displaying pin-point accuracy and with plenty of “schwung” besides, from both chorus and orchestra. That done, the tenor and bass  vividly paved the way for the Angel’s condemnation of Herod’s treacherous intentions – Georgia Jamieson-Emms certainly gave her recitative plenty of bite, and, aided by great support from strings and oboes tackled the angular lines of her aria with plenty of verve and appropriate resolve.

All four soloists relished their interactive dramatic recitative, preparing us for the work’s final chorus, a tour de force for both instrumental and choral forces, alternating as it did the chorale lines with more vigorous instrumental passages. The instrumental playing from the various Chiesa Ensemble members (strings, flutes, oboes, brass and timpani) throughout couldn’t be faulted (including leader Anne Loeser’s hand-in-glove accompaniment of  Maaike Christie-Beekman’s “Schliesse, mein Herze”), the players  (including the continuo of Douglas Mews’ organ) achieving a standard I’ve not heard bettered in any performance of a baroque work I’ve previously attended.

Members of the Chiesa Ensemble – Kirstin Eade (flute) and Robert Orr (oboe) – photo, Colin McDiarmid

My abiding memory, though is of the chorus throughout, of those faces showing every sign of putting their hearts and minds into every syllable of what they uttered, and filling the building unstintingly with their tones accordingly. Their response to conductor Shawn Michael Condon’s every impulse was direct and giving, demonstrating in the most heartfelt way what their voices were conveying. It all made for a memorable and vibrant experience of a piece with the music we heard and enjoyed.

O FORTUNA – a sacred and profane Wellington/Auckland choral spectacular!

Posted on by Peter Mechen

LEONARD  BERNSTEIN – Chichester Psalms
CARL ORFF – Carmina Burana
Emma Pearson (soprano), Coco Diaz (counter-tenor), James Harrison (baritone)
Jian Liu, Diedre Irons (pianos)
Auckland Choral (Uwe Grodd, Music Director)
Orpheus Choir of Wellington (Brent Stewart, Music Director)
Wellington Brass Band (David Bremner (Music Director)
Brent Stewart (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington
Saturday, 27th September 2025

Palpable excitement was in the air regarding the Orpheus Choir’s September 2025 concert at Wellington’s  Michael Fowler Centre, featuring as it did the ever-popular choral classic by Carl Orff, Carmina Burana, and coupled with a lesser-known but up-and-coming classic from the 1960s, Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms. What gave the concert even more added interest was the double novelty of the Orpheus Choir  being joined by a second choir, Auckland Choral, and being accompanied in Carmina Burana by a brass band instead of the usual symphony orchestra. Together these ingredients gave the prospect of attending such a concert the kind of aura and excitement one recalled from festival events in previous years, an atmosphere palpably alive from the evening’s beginning in both the foyer and auditorium.

Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms  was composed as the result of a commission from the Dean of Chichester Cathedral, the Rev. Walter Hussey, who over the years successfully commissioned no less than eleven significant works from various well-known composers, failing only in his attempts to procure a work from Igor Stravinsky in 1968! Hussey had actually suggested to Bernstein that a Psalm setting  with “more than a hint of “West Side Story” about the music” would be more than welcome; and after some initial misgivings Bernstein became inspired by the Psalm-setting idea, producing in 1965 a work in three movements, to be sung in Hebrew. Its first performance was in New York in July of that year, with the composer conducting, after which came the Chichester Festival’s opening later that month. Bernstein did come to Chichester for the opening but declined to conduct, saying he wanted to hear it “as an audience member”. The success of that occasion was instrumental in inspiring  several more commissions by Walter Hussey for future Chichester festivals, from composers  William Walton, Lennox Berkeley and the American William Albright.

Here in Wellington the combination of the two choirs galvanised the openings of each of the works programmed in a manner each composer surely intended. The Hebrew words of the Chichester Psalms were translated for us in English surtitles, beginning with the declamatory “Awake, Psaltery and Harp” and with percussion and  piano adding to the clamour and excitement of the words. The composer, heedful of his commissioner’s comments referring to “West Side Story” set the following words from Psalm 100 “Make a joyful noise unto the world all ye lands” in a catchy, and in places percussive 7/4 metre, the angularities pointed by the voices and pianists with gusto!

Though I had heard the work only once before, I remembered well the plaintive solo contribution to the second movement with its distinctively “bluesy” flattened note in the melody line – suddenly there it was, in the guise of a memory awakened! From Psalm 23  “The Lord is my Shepherd – I shall not want”, with Coco Diaz’s haunting voice then joined by the choir’s female voices. The choir’s male voices then broke in with sharply-accented cries – “Why do the nations rage?” – similarly sharp, heavy accents rhythms underpinned the women’s voices, until the tenor soloist re-entered singing the words “Surely goodness and mercy”, and with the same  affecting “flattened note line” at the words “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord” – so lovely!

At this point something went awry with one of the lower platforms near the players, as if someone had dropped something percussive, making what seemed like an unscheduled entry!  – but all continued, with composure only briefly shaken and then restored – the pianists played an extraordinarily anxious and fretful sequence – by turns lamenting, brooding, fretting, and sorrowing – until the men’s voices entered with a gently lullabic  Psalm 131  – “Lord, my head is not haughty, nor my eye lofty”, , which the women’s voices joined in semi-canonic fashion, the groups approximating rather than replicating each other’s  utterances, until, joining together, the voices sang the same melody wordlessly (all of this was done in a deliciously improvisatory-sounding 10/4 rocking metre).

In conclusion, the voices turned to Psalm 133  – “Behold, how good and how pleasant it for people to dwell together in unity” unaccompanied, except for the concluding “Amen” – sentiments which, in view of the language used by the work would have resonated in a multitude of ways with many present, mindful of the present day-and-age goings on of the outside world.

Plenty of sober reflection then, to take into the interval and then, upon returning, worlds of difference to encounter!  –  this was Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana”, representative of a long-since departed age’s outrageously expressed declarations of defiance and disdain in the face of the supposed spiritual and social hegemony of the church at that time, here in the form of verses written by the more dissident and dissolute representatives of the era, for our edification, centuries later! Oh, yes, and composer Carl Orff also had a hand (or two) in the latter parts of the process!

Having been familiar with the “traditional” choir and symphony orchestra mix in performances of this work for the last fifty years, I was ineffably curious as to how it would all turn out with the Wellington Brass Band in attendance instead!  The opening “O Fortuna” was predictably magnificent, as was the following “Fortune plango vulnera”, both of which had plenty of full orchestra accompaniment in the originals. With the ‘Springtime’ songs the various individual instruments showed what they could do in imitation of normally-heard winds and strings, the first “Veris leta facies” beautifully sung and accompanied. Especially lovely was the second, “slow dance” from Part One, with beautifully “covered” brass notes and gorgeously deep trajectories, seductive in their way. And the beautiful “Chume, Chum, geselle min” featured a gorgeous flute-like solo as well as exquisite singing. Of course the final “Spring movement” Were din werlt alle min” with the “made-to-order” brass fanfares were dispatched by this ensemble and the voices with great pizzazz!

“In Taberna”   began with a clarion call and crash, the instruments pushing the dotted rhythms excitingly along in support of the singer, creating a striking contrast with the fantastic “Olim Iacus colueram”, the grotesque “roasted-swan” song for counter-tenor solo – the scene’s eeriness palpably wrought by the singing and playing as the singer was “turned on the spit” and “basted” by serving-wenches!

The band revelled in the other “tavern” scenarios, particularly the percussive interjections during the Abbott’s plaintive lament “Ego sum abbas”, and the exciting running trajectories in the “In Taberna quando sumus” – it was “Oompah!” with a vengeance, in places!

Among the enchantments of this performance were the brass instruments sounding almost like the winds they were replacing, particularly so in “Amor volat undique” (Love flies everywhere) supporting the children’s choir and the soprano, particularly in the latter’s enchanting “Siqua sine socio” – and the accompaniment of the soprano’s beautiful “Stetit puella” (There stood a young girl) – Emma Pearson everything one could wish for vocally, here! – gave us aural ambiences that were almost unworldly in terms of their beauty.

As for the pianists. Diedre Irons and Jian Liu,  along with the various other percussionists, they were heroes in terms of rhythmic precision, thematic networking and colouristic variety, picking up on each of the score’s different parts its special character, and adapting according to the season, the time of day, the locale and the different emotions in the music which flash or float by, linger or depart, proclaim or insinuate. Together with the band, and at the varied and persuasive instigations of their conductor Brent Stewart they marvellously realised the patchwork of qualities which make up this ever-fascinating work.

All of the solo singers gave what seemed  their utmost to their different roles – James Harrison’s baritone seemed to “fill out” as the work progressed, at his best in the “Ego sum abbas”, (where he enjoyed his touch of play-acting, collapsing on his chair) and at “Dies nox et omnia” (Day, night, and all the World), making a feature of the “falsetto” parts of his recitative and answering in his lower register with real authority. Countertenor Coco Diaz’s “Roasted swan” scene was almost a showstopper in its blend of picturesque timbral ambience and theatricality – a brilliant idea to have him being turned on a kind of “spit” as he lamented his fate! As for Emma Pearson, she enchanted from the moment of her entrance, at “Siqua sine socio” (If a girl lacks a partner”), and came into her own in terms of sheer vocal beauty at “In Trutina mentis dubia” (In the scales of my wavering indecision). The highest notes of the following “Dulcissimi” were effortful compared with the rest, but nevertheless conveyed a kind of “emotion in extremis” pinnacle to which everything had inevitably been brought.

As for the choirs themselves, the Children’s Choir, comprised of singers from  Samuel Marsden Collegiate School and Scots College enchanted from its first utterance in “The Courts of Love” sequence, and enjoyed the innocent rumbustifications of “Tempus est iocundum” (Pleasant is the season). The rest was a truly concerted delivery of vocally sonic delight from two recognised bodies of singers performing as one, and galvanising an audience in doing so. Brent Stewart’s direction of all of this was unerringly focused on bringing out in his singers the work’s obvious strengths of articulation, tonal variety and human interest, so that we were satisfied in all aspects of audience experience. As any listener might, I “heard” some things differently at times, most obviously the faster-than-accustomed-to speeds of some of the concerted passages  challenging and at times even seeming to blur articulation of words – but such observations merely confirm this performance’s desire to challenge and stimulate those who attended to react and resound what was heard and experienced in the memory. Judging from the reactions of people I spoke with afterwards the occasion was a triumph – and it augurs well for the Orpheus’s return visit to Auckland for a further performance, as guests rather than as hosts. For the moment, in the wake of this initial performance, one raises one’s hands in salute of and acclamation for a mighty and most memorable presentation.

 

 

 

Lights which keep us from darkness – CLAUDIO MONTEVERDI – Vespro della Beata Vergine 1610

Posted on by Peter Mechen

CLAUDIO MONTEVERDI – Vespro della Beata Vergine 1610

The Tudor Consort, directed by Michael Stewart

Sopranos: Anna Sedcole, Erin King, Jane McKinlay, Lydia Joyce, Pepe Becker,
Rebecca Stanton   Altos: Andrea Cochrane, Alexandra Granville, Helene Page,
Alexandra Woodhouse-Appleby, Kassandra Wang, Maaike Christie-Beekman
Tenors: Axel Tie, John Beaglehole, Josh Long, Phillip Collins, Philip Roderick,
Richard Taylor   Basses: Brian Hesketh, David Houston, Frazer MacDiarmid,
Joshua Jamieson. Keith Small, Matthew Painter

Violins: Greg Squire, Anne Loeser   Violas:  Sophia Acheson, Lynsey Mountford
‘Cello: Jane Young    Viola da gamba: Imogen Granwal   Violone: Joan Perarnau Garriga
Cornetti: Danny Lucin, Matthew Manchester, Peter Reid   Recorders: Kamala Bain,
Katrin Eickhorst  Sackbuts: Peter Maunder, Byron Newton, Jon Harker
Dulcian: Ben Hoadley   Lute; Jonathan Le Cocq   Organ: Bethany Angus

St.Mary of the Angels Church, Boulcott St., Wellington
Saturday, 13th September 2025

Claudio Monteverdi’s 1610 Vespro della Beata Vergine (Vespers of the Blessed Virgin) could well lay claim to be the composer’s equivalent “signature work”  to that of Georg Frideric Handel’s  Messiah. Of course the latter’s popularity has never been in doubt,  triumphantly surviving even its somewhat grotesquely-inflated periods of presentation throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth-centuries, and continuing (in more “authentic” formats) to be widely-performed today. Monteverdi’s work, on the other hand, written well over a century earlier, has by comparison both a mystery-shrouded genesis and early performance history.  The work’s 1610 publication was in the form of eight partbooks rather than as a single, complete score, of which it seems only one has survived – and no performance of the Vespers in the composer’s lifetime has been documented. It wasn’t until 1932 when the first “complete” edition of Monteverdi’s works appeared that the work as a whole began to receive attention from scholars and performers, attention which has since come to represent almost iconic status!

Today with the help of both recordings and (happily, here in Wellington) “once-in-a-blue-moon” stellar live performances, we can be freshly astonished at the grandeur and splendour wrought by such an opulently resonant sound-window as that thrown open by the present performance. My own introduction to the work was in 2010 at the same venue through St Mary of the Angels’ then music director Robert Oliver’s magnificent celebration of the work’s 400-year existence with local singers (Baroque Voices) and instrumentalists (Academia Sanctae Mariae) – see the review at https://middle-c.org/2010/08/resplendent-monteverdi-at-st-mary-of-the-angels/  A quote from that review equally applies to what I heard just the previous evening (incidentally, with a few of the same singers and instrumentalists who performed the work in 2010) – one that remarked upon “virtuoso singers and players with a brilliant command of all the instruments and techniques”.

Tudor Consort director Michael Stewart chose not to use the Antiphons included by Oliver in his performance  (antiphons are texts, sung or spoken, used in conjunction with Psalms (quotations from the Old Testament) to rejuvenate the meanings of the latter in a more “Christian” sense). Monteverdi pairs each Psalm with a Motet, the latter termed  “sacred concertos” intended more as a contrast to, rather than an expansion of the Psalms – the wonderful verses Nigra sum and Pulchra est, for example, both being texts from the Biblical “Song of Solomon” – though the Psalm Lauda Jerusalem, is followed by a Sonata sopra Sancta Maria. Such differences between performances serve to indicate (here, admittedly, in a relatively minor way) how arguments might have developed regarding what ought/ought not to be included in the Vespers, and which have continued over the years since the work’s new-found world-wide popularity. Like all great music, it remains a work in progress rather than a museum piece!!

Long before the first note of the work was sounded, the atmosphere in the church was burgeoning and vibrant, the venue having almost filled up half-an-hour before the starting-time – amazing! If ever one wanted an indication that the city’s receptiveness towards and appetite for the performing arts was demonstrative and urgent, this all seemed as propitious a sign as any. To enthusiastic applause the musicians at last appeared to take their positions, the work beginning with tenor John Beaglehole’s ringing entreaty of the Almighty  – the opening of Psalm 70, with the words  “Deus, in adjutorium,meum intende” ( O God, make haste to deliver me!)  – followed immediately by the choir’s equally sonorous “Domine,  adadjuvandum me festina”!  (O Lord, make haste to help me!) accompanied by a fanfare-like orchestral panoply that its composer had previously used to begin his opera La favola d’Orfeo, a melody whose impact holds fast to its theatrical and emotional glory here as much as elsewhere.

What an amazing roller-coaster ride Monteverdi gives both his musicians and his listeners! Time and space obviously precludes a detailed description of the entire performance, so a modicum of description will serve to illustrate – suffice to say that Michael Stewart’s consistently vital direction infused his singers and instrumentalists with an infectious sense of joy and purpose throughout even the most complex figurations and deeply-felt sonorities realised by the presentation. And, as much to the work’s sense of the momentous and ceremonial, we were drawn into its rather more personal and intimate moments by the singing’s and playing’s beauties, evident in particular during those various “sacred concerto”  motets.

Beginning with that solo-voiced declamation, and those answering fanfares and choral entreaties came the first psalm setting, “Dixit Dominus”,  with its six-part choir combining steady sonorities in places (Sede a dextris meis – “Sit at my right hand”) with exciting rapid-note and -phrase emphases (Donec ponam inimicos – “Until I make  your enemies your footstool”). Sopranos Anna Sedcole and Erin King  voiced beautiful exchanges and adroit teamwork (Virgam virtutis tua emittet Dominus ex Sion – “The Lord shall send out the rod of thy strength from Zion”), while the choir’s different voice strands created great excitement with Dominus a dextris tuis confregit in die ira sua reges (“The Lord at thy right hand shall destroy kings in the day of his wrath”), the whole, with its interspersed contrasts between tonal beauty and physical excitement enticingly preparing us for what was to follow further.

An unfortunate audience sneeze briefly interrupted (but fortunately didn’t impede) the beginning of the beauteous Nigra Sum one of two excerpts from the “Song of Solomon” – texts used here in both cases for motets intended to be “antiphon substitutes” in a Vespers Service.  Here, tenor soloist Richard Taylor Taylor relished the delicious word-painting describing a black woman’s beauty, and the music’s animation at the King’s response to her charms, concluding with a gracefully-delivered final Tempus putationes advenit (“The hour of pruning is at hand”).Though the texts of this and Pulchra Es seem almost to border on the erotic, there was at this time in certain quasi-sacred works something of a sensual view of the soul of the Mother of God in line with being a spiritual kind of “Bride for the Church” – a similar attitude voicing this somewhat elevated kind of eroticism in relation to Mary appears also in the Psalm Audi Coelum later in the Vespers.

The ensuing Psalm Laudate Pueri Dominum was suitably adorned by warm and fluid texturings from the outset, individual voices  introducing separate strands beautifully cohering into descriptions of “the rising and the setting of the sun” (A solis ortu usque ad occasum) and of transformations of peoples lives – the men’s voices proclaiming Suscians a terra inopem (“He raises the simple from the dust”) and joining with the women’s voices to simply proclaim Ut collocet cum cum principibus (“That he may set him with princes”) – so beautiful! I enjoyed also (as did the singers) the “happy ending” of the phrase concerning the “barren woman” as becoming  matrem filiorum latantem  (“A joyful mother of children!”).

While not effacing my memory of Pepe Becker’s and Jayne Tankersley’s voices in 2010 with the erotic charge of their “Pulchra Es”, sopranos Anna Sedcole and Erin King here blended and intertwined their voices with echoes of the same, if with a notch or two’s gentler suggestiveness. In “Duo Seraphim”  it was the turn of the “Three Tenors” to shine, with Phillip Collins’ and Richard Taylor’s voices both floating their individual lines and negotiating their repeated-note phrases with confidence, joined by Philip Roderick at Tres sunt, qui testimonium  (“There are three who bear witness”) to reaffirm the Trinity. The ten-part double-choir forces of the succeeding “Nisi Dominus” gave us great, rolling sound- trajectories at the beginning, with energies aplenty enlivening both  Vanum est vobis ante lucem surgere (“It is vain for you to rise before dawn”)  and the rapid-fire triplet passages at Sicut sagitta in manu potentis (“As arrows in the hands of the mighty”), followed by a grand and rolling “Gloria” with a blazoned “Amen”.

The second half brought us an exquisite setting of the Psalm Audi Caelum, tenor Phillip Collins  pouring  whole draughts of feeling into the opening words Audi verba mea plena desidero et perfuse gaudio (“Hear my words full of longing and pervaded by joy”) – and straightaway beginning a paean of fulsome praise of the Virgin Mary as a woman, again enthusiastically blurring any boundaries dividing secular worship from  sacred devotion, the text somewhat coming to its senses as the declamations continued! Throughout, the echoed responses of the distantly-placed Philip Roderick seemed to exert a charged, “time-standing still” effect on the scene giving rise to a kind of magical wonderment of being.

“Lauda Jerusalem” which followed was guaranteed to break such a spell with gusto! – the singers seemingly to “melt” the bar-lines and fuse the irresistible trajectories of the  music into a kind of unstoppable flow! A stately and solemn Gloria at the end brought us to an equally conclusive and undisputed “Amen”, From these unbridled energies we were able to rest on what seemed like the immutable structures of the hymn “Sancta Maria”, the sopranos resembling snow-capped mountain peaks rising from the plethora of forests, ravines and plateaus suggested by the variegated instrumentql forces in their tireless, priestlike task of constant accompaniments of the “same-but-different” choral repetitions of the prayer.

In what seemed like no time at all we had left the mountaintops and were gazing at a star whose light spanned a vast ocean – Monteverdi’s first three verses of the hymn Ave Maris Stella (Hail, Star of the Sea) praise the Mother of God, rename Eve, the first woman, with the word “Ave”, and petition her with putting wrongs to right, light to darkness and bad to good. Each verse was followed by a different instrumental scoring with the aforementioned three choral (all delightful), the next three with solo voices (all characterful – soprano Rebecca Stanton, alto Maaike Christie-Beekman and bass Frazer MacDiarmid) and with a return to the choir for the last one. And with that we came to the Magnificat, the equivalent of a skyful of stars!

Monteverdi included two setting of the Magnificat in the 1610 Vespers publication, the first seven-voice part one being that used here. The twelve sections each feature a vocal line, either solo or with other voices, sometimes silent and at other times joining the instruments in the elaborations – the clear, long tones of the chants are thus festooned with what must have seemed like “music of the spheres” to Monteverdi’s musicians and listeners – as one critic put it, “dazzling variety married to simple unity” – as if it were the “Maris Stella” of the piece,  the steady light to which all else seems drawn. I enjoyed the vigour of Matthew Painter’s and Joshua Jamieson’s  Quia fecit (“For he that is mighty”), as I did the evocative echo-play between Phillip Collins and Philip Roderick against the women’s beautiful “Gloria”  – but found myself equally touched by two well-remembered voices from that 2010 Vespers, soprano Pepe Becker’s and alto Andrea Cochrane’s blending beautifully and indeed appropriately at Esurientes implevit bonis (“He hath filled the hungry with good things”).It was an apt metaphor for the musical feast to which we were being treated.

Such works as these Vespers stay in the memory as do lights which keep us from darkness  – what can one say, except to express boundless gratitude to the composer and his work’s devoted performers!