Month: April 2010

Wellington Orchestra opens the season in fine form

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Vector Wellington Orchestra conducted by Marc Taddei

Stravinsky: Danses concertantes (1942); Psathas: Djinn (with Pedro Carneiro – marimba); Beethoven: Symphony No 3 in E flat ‘Eroica’

Wellington Town Hall

Saturday 17 April 2010

The Wellington Orchestra’s 2010 season does not have such a conspicuous theme as the two previous seasons have had. This year the anniversaries are being celebrated: while I am personally affected by such curiosity, not everyone is urged to place everything in a historical continuum. So the first concert was about this year, and marks it with a piece by a New Zealand composer first performed at this concert which is, oddly enough, 2010. Following concerts feature music first performed in 1810, 1910 and 1710 respectively.

Marc Taddei told us that the choice of the programme pivoted on Psathas’s new work, which he wanted to set between important music from the greatest composers of the 19th and 20th centuries.

At certain points in the 20th century there may have been little argument about Stravinsky’s pre-eminence; it might not be so obvious now. Just one, and clearly idiosyncratic, measure: in my own collection of LPs and CDs, six other composers born after 1875 rate higher – Rachmaninov, Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Ravel, Bartok, Vaughan Williams, with Poulenc hard on Stravinsky’s heels! 

Nor would everyone think the Danses concertantes stand alongside Beethoven’s Eroica. Stravinsky envisaged it as music for dance but few ballet companies have taken it on, and it certainly doesn’t rank with the three great ballets, or even later ones such as Apollon Musagète, Le baiser de la fée or Agon. Yet it sounds very danceable, even though it is all written in varieties of common time, two of the five sections being marches, of unmistakable Stravinsky character. The melodies and the orchestration are also unmistakeable, notwithstanding possible influence of a composer like Poulenc (though that might that have worked the other way?).

The orchestra handled the vivid dynamic and tempo changes, and balances between winds and strings, with dramatic awareness; if polish was uneven there were plenty of moments where the sonorities and the instrumental textures delighted: the familiar horn fanfares were just one. Conductor and orchestra showed a singular instinct for the score.

What the performance did was to remind me of the large number of Stravinsky’s orchestral works, quite apart from the three great ballets) that we should hear more often – the three symphonies, the Divertimento, the concertos, as well as the later ballets such as Pulcinella, Jeu de cartes and those mentioned above.  If he is the greatest composer of last century, why does he feature so rarely in the concert hall and, relative to others such as those I named, on recordings?

The main course was the premiere of John Psathas’s new orchestral score, entitled Djinn. César Franck’s symphonic poem of the same name, inspired by Victor Hugo’s poem, was, naturally, of no help in preparing one’s receptors for it.

It is a concerto for marimba and orchestra, predominantly ebullient, riotous, though often with an implicit calm, suggestions of raga, of Latin sentiment, all the while employing the orchestra, especially percussion and winds, with enormous virtuosity. Not overlooking the palette of effects from strings that created the element of mysticism that lies in the Indian supernatural being which Psathas blends, at least in his evocative note, with Greek mythology and philosophy: for two of the three movements have Greek references (Pandora, Labyrinth and Out-dreaming the Genie).

One could imagine that the Djinn, depicted by the marimba, played with almost unbelievable wizardry by Portuguese percussionist Pedro Carneiro, was floating above or was inseminated into the entire fabric of the piece.  Not a conventional concerto by any means, not even with the ebb-tide, look-alike cadenza that ended the Labyrinth movement.  A secondary soloist in Jeremy Fitzsimons’s side drum, placed in front of the conductor; whose role hardly seemed to justify the limelight.

Without having seen the score, I can only imagine the near dismay that might have faced Marc Taddei when he first opened it, and even more, as rehearsals began. Not only the task of realizing the sounds and their relative weight and meaning, but the complex rhythms.  The outcome was a highly impressive premiere which I’m sure will tempt other orchestras.

Nevertheless, I found myself more than a little bemused and battered at the end of this phantasmagoria of riotous sound; increasingly a lover of the sublime, of sustained lyricism and spirituality: speed and massive orchestral forces have decreasing appeal for me, even when huge skill, undeniable musical impulse, an underlying scheme and a spiritual message are present. As the Emperor said (foolishly, and probably apocryphally) about Die Entführung aus dem Serail: ‘Too many notes my dear Mozart’. But I wouldn’t dare.

Just as it has become risky for a 90-piece symphony orchestra today to tackle pre-1800 music, because the ‘historically-informed’ police frown, so it might be risky for a small orchestra to tackle orchestral music from the Eroica onwards. (Not that today we are short of lighter, tighter, more transparent accounts of the Romantic masterpieces from the likes of Gardiner and Harnoncourt). The immediate impression was of less than ideal weight and bass-driven sonority; and faster speeds than of old. But such impressions are often fleeting, and when within a few minutes the impact of a genuine musical instinct in a conductor becomes evident, all is well.

That was not quite what happened, as opportunities, in the first movement and again in the Finale, for the dramatic pause, the slight rallentando before a fresh declamation, were not always grasped; though the latter had started with a fine sense of foreboding, a slightly uneasy anticipation.

In the first movement, the orchestra, which played throughout with uncommon verve and commitment, was sometimes discomforted by the speed; the slightly brisker andante of the Funeral March made sense, while the Scherzo was surprisingly effective, perhaps benefiting from the leaner body of strings.

Nevertheless, the conductor and orchestra continue to attract big – almost sell-out – audiences, which makes one wonder at the signs of reduced activity this season.

New Zealand Secondary Students’ Choir astonish in competition sampler

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Taste of the NZSSC’s programme for British Columbia choral competition in July  

Musical Director: Andrew Withington; accompanist: Grant Bartley

Pataka Museum, Porirua

Friday 16 April, 7.30pm

Listening to a choir of young singers is always exhilarating; to hear the New Zealand Secondary Students’ Choir is more than that.  These young people, from secondary schools throughout the country sing well, and their discipline, balance and consistency of tone and pronunciation are exemplary.

What is even more astonishing is that the whole of their programme that was well over an hour long, was sung from memory.  This included everything from Schütz, Mendelssohn and David Childs to Swedish folksongs, to ‘Kua Rongo’ (performed with poi, including one young woman using long poi) to a Samoan item with drumming and exuberant action.

This choir is to travel to a competition in British Columbia, Canada, fairly soon.  They are certain to wow the audiences there, as did the 2003-04 NZSS choir; at the same competition it won three choral categories, more than any choir in the history of the competition.

These young women and men have an adult sound, yet without losing the freshness of youth.  They are well-trained by their young conductor, Andrew Withington, their vocal coaches Kate Spence and Morag Atchison, and doubtless by several language coaches also.

Most of the programme consisted of unaccompanied singing, but some items were ably accompanied by Grant Bartley on piano, and a few had the addition of double bass and drums.  There were few solos, but tenor Benson Wilson was notable in ‘Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen’ as arranged by British choral conductor and composer, Bob Chilcott.

There was variety in tonal colour different levels of sound for  the varying moods and characters of the songs, including some lovely pianissimo singing.  However, the main problem was that the choir’s robust sound was often too much in the acoustic of the main concourse at Pataka.  The space is quite narrow, and this meant a lot of reverberation that had not much room to get away (as it does in a cathedral).  To the right of the men (left from the audience’s viewpoint) was a large wooden sliding door that closes the entrance to the galleries.  The sound bounced off this, making the men’s sound seem strident at times.

The choir’s musical director needs to be aware of the need to adjust to each auditorium the choir sings in.  Similarly, the piano sounded unnecessarily loud and percussive at times, the effect of the narrowness of the space and the wooden floor.  At the concert I attended on Sunday afternoon in St Andrew’s on The Terrace in Wellington, it was notable that a velvet rug had been placed under the piano, to absorb some of the sound.

It was marvellous to see as many tenors as basses in the choir; surely the envy of every other choir!  It is to be hoped that these young men will all graduate to community choirs who are desperate for tenors!

From a very interesting and varied programme it is only possible to mention some items, without writing an extended essay.  The two Swedish Folksongs (arr. Hugo Alfvén) were lilting yet lively, and to my untutored ear (though I have been to Sweden), the pronunciation sounded authentic; at any rate, everyone pronounced the vowels in the same way.  David Hamilton’s ‘Caliban’s Song’ was a most beautiful setting of Shakespeare’s words.

Visually, there was variety from the placing of the singers depending on whether the work was for single SATB or double choir (all movements were efficiently and gracefully made); in the second half the singers wore diagonal sashes.  Then there were the actions, including poi, in ‘Kua Rongo’ and much vociferous actifity in ‘Mauga e ole Atuolo’.  ‘Ain’t Misbehavin’’ and ‘I got Rhythm’ were accompanied by appropriate swing movement.

The choir has excellent choral technique, and intonation was perfect.  Songs were sung in German, Latin, English, Swedish, Maori and Samoan  eleven songs in all, plus encore.  Through all of this memorised programme, with its difficulties, the choir members appeared relaxed and confident.

Go well in Canada!  You deserve to win your classes.  New Zealanders should be proud of you  if only the news media would inform them of your existence and your excellence!

New Zealand String Quartet: Lower Hutt

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Schubert: String Quartet no 1 in G minor/B flat major, D.18; Helen Fisher: String Quartet; Tan Dun: Eight Colours; Beethoven: Duet for viola & cello, WoO 32; Haydn: String Quartet in G minor, Op 74 no 3 “The Rider”

St. James’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 14 April, 8pm

As the excellent programme note for the opening work said, “there is enough musical meat here for us to enjoy the work on its own terms” despite the lack of subtlety employed by its composer in his extreme youth: he was only thirteen when he wrote it.

It was played with the usual NZSQ care, commitment and attention to detail. The players illuminated all the felicities in this delightful quartet.

The opening andante was followed by presto vivace, yet the movement remained largely sombre. The second movement minuet was ländler-like; quite enchanting. The andante third movement was like a slow waltz: most attractive. As the note said, the drama was particularly in the two outer movements. The presto finale featured more modulation than in the earlier movements, and thus more drama.

Helen Fisher’s quartet was premiered by NZSQ in this very venue, 15½ years ago. It opens with the members of the quartet vocalising the Maori word “Aue!” Gradually the instruments enter, with glissandi at the end of notes and phrases similar to those employed in traditional style at the end of the word “Aue”.

Helen Fisher addressed the audience, and told of her inspiration from the karanga sung by women on the marae. There were indeed many inspiring moments on this 15-minute journey from grief and pain to hope (as described by Fisher), along with discordant phrases depicting pain. It all made sense in the sensitive hands of the New Zealand String Quartet, though the pain and grief threatened to overwhelm at times.

Even the dance section seemed subdued, despite its complexity of cross-rhythms and intersecting tonalities. An underlying agitated accompaniment gave coherence to the song sequence that concluded the work, which ended with a hopeful upwards glissando.

Eight Colours, by Tan Dun, was as colourful as the name suggests. Written as a sort of drama derived from Peking Opera (as described by the composer), the sections are titled: Peking Opera; Shadows; Pink Actress; Black Dance; Zen; Drum and Gong (in which the players rhythmically slap the hands onto the strings and finger-board); Cloudiness; Red Sona.

The alternating slow and fast movements use a variety of string techniques (including some that are a ‘no-no’ in Western music). The work is extremely demanding technically and rhythmically. The New Zealand String Quartet has played it before, and it’s New Zealand premier was in Wellington in 1998 (by other New Zealanders).

Tan Dun has written ‘I found a danger in later atonal writing to be that it is too easy to leave yourself out of the music. We can therefore assume that this is expressive of himself and his approach to life.

The very percussive music employs numbers of intriguing sounds, including those of birds. The music is not totally unemotive, but full of effects for the listener to interpret. Some of the effects are not easy on the Western ear. It is a tribute to the players that they could coax such a variety of timbres from their instruments and use so many different techniques.

The work ends abruptly and amusingly.

The amusement continued after the interval, with Gillian Ansell and Rolf Gjelsten playing a short duo by Beethoven, written for himself and his friend Baron Nicolaus Zmeskall von Domanowecz, a talented amateur cellist, to play. Its subtitle ‘with obbligato eyeglasses’ was obeyed literally by the performers: both sported spectacles, and not a little ‘hamming up’ was employed here and there.

A jolly piece, it is nevertheless virtuosic in places, and as Rolf Gjelsten said in his introduction, used some techniques that were advanced for the time of the work’s composition (though paling beside those used by Tan Dun). This was a delightful cameo to throw into a concert programme.

Haydn’s “Rider” quartet, probably named for the galloping, high-spirited finale, gave rich enjoyment as always with a Haydn chamber word, revealing the cheerful character and inexhaustible invention of the composer. While at times the structure seems classically formal, at others, apparent spontaneity and exuberance take over, the more so in the lively yet nuanced playing of the New Zealand String Quartet.

The sublime rising intervals of the largo assai movement, following the interesting opening allegro, give an almost Romantic cast to the movement, as well as epitomising the positive nature of Haydn’s musical mind. It was richly and warmly played.

The minuet was certainly no predictable classical movement; it had a lively character in both musical language and rhythm.

The finale featured great animation and a fine singing quality.

This was a concert of a range of music that demonstrated the sheer accomplishment of this, New Zealand’s premier chamber ensemble. The players’ consummate skill and artistry never came between the music and the listener.

 

TEN: anniversaries of 2010

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The concert during the Festival by the New Zealand String Quartet entitled TEN (music composed in 1810, 1910 and 2010) prompts us (rather given to dates and things) to look at all the other anniversaries this year.

Of course it’s the 200th birthday of Chopin and Schumann. But did you know about the other major composers born in 1810? Otto Nicolai, composer of Die lustige Weibe von Windsor (The Merry Wives of Windsor); he was born, like Kant and ETA Hoffmann, in Königsberg (now Kaliningrad); Ferdinand David – dedicatee of Mendelssohn’s violin concerto, composer and concertmaster of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra; and his name-sake the French composer Félicien-César David who wrote the once famous and popular ode-symphony Le désert, and operas such as Christophe Colomb (1847), La perle du Brésil (1851), Ferenc Erkel, the father of Hungarian opera (notably Bánk Bán), who acquainted Berlioz with the tune of the Rákóczi March which he used in La damnation de Faust.

Samuel Sebastian Wesley the last in the line of the notable musical and theological family, was born in 1810; and Danish composer Hans Christian Lumbye (of The Copenhagen Steam Railway Gallop). 

It was the date of Rossini’s first opera: La Cambiale di Matrimonio, in Venice. Beethoven premiered his Emperor Concerto.

250 years ago, in 1760, Luigi Cherubini was born in Florence; Jean-Francois Lesueur, near Abbeville in Picardy: he was one of the most significant pre-Berlioz French composers; he taught Berlioz who admired him. In that year, Dussek and Matteo Albeniz (note that he, an almost anonymous composer, was born exactly a century before his famous name-sake) were born. Christoph Graupner died in 1760; he, you will remember, was the second choice, after Telemann withdrew, for the position of Cantor at St Thomas church in Leipzig to which Bach was appointed, after Graupner could not gain release from his employer in Darmstadt. Graupner wrote the Leipzig authorities a generous letter endorsing their appointment of Bach.

Go back to 1710: births included Thomas Arne (and his opera Thomas and Sally appeared in 1760); Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, eldest son of Johann Sebastian; William Boyce (but perhaps 1711); and Giovanni Battista Pergolesi who might have been the greatest composer of his generation but was dead within 26 years.

On a visit to London Handel completed Rinaldo in 1710 and it was premiered the following year.

350 years ago, in 1660, Alessandro Scarlatti was born; and also Johann Kuhnau, Johann Hoffman, and André Campra, the most important French opera composer between Lully and Rameau; his opera-ballet Les Fêtes vénitiennes appeared in 1710.

In 1610, the only thing we can think of is the publication of Monteverdi’s Vespers.

In 1560 Gesualdo was born, almost more famous as murderer than as composer (for sensational detail that would make even The Dominion Post blush, go to Wikipedia).

A century earlier, 1510, Louis Bourgeois, French musician, was born.

Going forward in 50 year steps, 1860 was a fertile year. Mahler, Hugo Wolf, Isaac Albeniz and Ignaz Paderewski were born. And others of perhaps less importance: Gustave Charpentier (Louise), Emil Reznicek (Donna Diana), Alberto Franchetti who wrote Cristoforo Colombo and Germania, and Edward MacDowell, were born.  Minor German composer Friedrich Silcher, died (he wrote ‘folksongs’, such as Die Lorelei).  It was the year of Tannhäuser’s Paris fiasco.

In 1910, a good year for Americans, Samuel Barber and William Schuman were born. And Balakirev and organ composer Carl Reinecke died.

Stravinsky’s first ballet for Diaghilev, Firebird, was performed in Paris. Mahler’s 8th symphony was premiered in Munich and his 9th symphony finished; Elgar’s Violin Concerto and Bartok’s 1st String Quartet premiered. Premieres: Puccini’s La fanciulla del West, Massenet’s Don Quichotte at Monte Carlo, with Chaliapin in title role, Delius’s opera A village Romeo and Juliet; Bloch’s Macbeth,

In 1960 Ernst Dohnanyi, Hugo Alfven and Rutland Boughton (The Immortal Hour – remember?) died. Shostakovich wrote his 7th and 8th string quartets. And Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream was premiered.

New Zealand String Quartet and Diedre Irons at Waikanae

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

String Quartet in G minor, Op 74, No 3 ‘Rider’ (Haydn); Song of the Ch’in (Zhou Long); Piano Quintet in A minor, Op 84 (Elgar) 

New Zealand String Quartet and Diedre Irons (piano)

Memorial Hall, Waikanae

Sunday 11 April 2010

Waikanae’s chamber music concerts take place in a large hall which is equipped for indoor sports and so it has a high roof and is much longer and wider than needed for music other than on the scale of a symphony orchestra.

The size is mitigated somewhat by the players being in a recessed stage at one end; that helps focus the sound. The result nevertheless, is a sound that, while not unduly small, seems light and lacking in bass resonance.

This was the first in their splendid, nine-concert 2010 series.

The impact of the playing of Haydn’s ‘Rider’ quartet was discreet and perhaps unintentionally fastidious. The music’s minor key offers a somewhat sober gloss on the potentially boisterous character in the riding rhythms of first and last movements, and this acoustic refinement added further gentility.

My memory of the quartet’s earlier performances of this piece, which I recall as one of their early favourites, is of a much more robust approach, and of a piece that they interpreted with more abandon and gusto. At the end of the first movement I felt as if a promised adventure had been somewhat uneventful.

Similarly, the Largo assai seemed to skirt round any temptation to utter profound thoughts, though by its end I had become more impressed by the wonderful refinement of the playing, here absolutely in place.

The last movement revealed the players’ ready response to Haydn’s delight in little teasings and surprises, all delivered with the most disingenuous straight face.

Zhou Long is an important Chinese composer, based in the United States, now aged 56; his Song of the Ch’in is a most effective amalgam of Chinese music as played on the ancient seven-stringed instrument, heard through the filter of western contemporary conventions. The result, a remarkably subtle piece, could hardly have found more sympathetic players, at ease with the variety of pizzicato, trembling bow strokes and delicate glissandi, decorated with idiomatic ornaments. In several sections, in contrasting tempi and moods, and an interestingly cyclical shape, it reached a discreet climax before subsiding into its earlier meditative state.

The first half ended with the unadvertised addition of a droll duo by Beethoven called Duet With Two Obbligato Eyeglasses for viola and cello (WoO 32).  An example of the kind of satirical piece, popular at the time, that mocked clumsy composers who used stock phrases and clichés but were incapable of finding ways to develop or integrate their musical ideas in coherent forms. At least the players here, Gillian Ansell and Rolf Gjelsten, gave it a performance that exhibited all its mocking strengths and weaknesses convincingly.

The second half was devoted to Elgar’s Piano Quintet. Diedre Irons and the quartet approached it with an affection and sympathy that gave it a softness and charm that perhaps robbed it of a certain strength. Nevertheless, the first movement, with a couple of quite enchanting melodies, has a charm that is all its own and the players, in evident accord, made no attempt to dress them in anything other than the sweetest tones.

Though the programme note recorded a common view that the slow movement is its highlight, this performance didn’t convince me. There is melody, meandering and elegiac, but its ideal expression demands a very special balance between sentimentality and Brahmsian pensiveness, which I have heard captured; perhaps chamber musicians do not have a great deal of scope for the cultivation of that peculiar kind of English idiom.

I did not miss a scherzo movement, which is a convention that I often find surplus to the needs of a sonata composition.  For the Brahmsian (again) energy that drives the varied last movement serves a scherzo function excellently and it rekindled my attention to the rather unique loveliness of this quintet, and the regret that Elgar was not among the English composers of around the 1920s who cultivated chamber music more seriously.

Sweet, Seductive Sounds – La Musica Antica at Te Papa

Posted on by Peter Mechen

La Musica Antica

Un viaggio musicale – a musical journey through the 16th and early 17th century

Songs and instrumental music from Italy

Music by Monteverdi, da Festa, Da Rore, Rognioni, Spadi, Strozzi, Frescobaldi, Caccini and Mazzochi

Pepe Becker (Baroque  Voices), soprano / David Morriss, bass

Robert Oliver (Phantastic Spirits), viola da gamba / Donald Nicholson, virginals

Peter Reid, cornetto

Te Papa Marae, Wellington

Sunday, 11th April, 2010

La Musica Antica consisted of singers and instrumentalists from different performing groups in Wellington coming together to charm and delight an audience with some utterly gorgeous sounds from the late Renaissance/early Baroque era, all secular music, and mostly on the topic of love.  A programme with English translations of the songs was provided at the concert, but I had little recourse to refer to mine during the performances, so captivated was I with the “sounds” of the music-making, the combination of voices, cornetto, viola da gamba and virginals having an unashamedly sensuous appeal to my susceptible ears.

Remarkably, these musicians recreated these sounds with one of their original number missing, soprano Rowena Simpson being indisposed and unable to perform. Pepe Becker reassured us that the concert wouldn’t be unduly affected, because cornettist Peter Reid would play all the duets with Pepe, realising the second soprano part on his instrument. The only piece they couldn’t thus play was the first listed in the programme, a Monteverdi duet for two sopranos and cornetto Come dolce hoggi l’auretta which was dropped.The concert began instead with the second-to-last listed item, a work by Costanzo da Festa, Venite amanti insieme, for soprano, bass, and cornetto, music whose pleasingly “ancient” sounds called to mind scenes of festive pageantry, of a kind often used in presentations of Shakespeare and his times.

The cornetto, whose sound has such a distinctive colour and timbre, worked beautifully as a “singing voice” especially in duet with Pepe Becker. Add to the texture David Morriss’s sonorous tones, and you have, as in da Festa’s Si come sete, a beautifully-tapestried combination of singing lines, delightfully teased-out for the listener’s pleasure. Again, as with most of these settings, it seemed to me to be the sounds as much as the words which gave these settings their peculiarly intense passion – something about these tones are “charged”, making a perfect vehicle for the highly emotional words of the texts.

Pepe Becker’s soprano was as pure an instrument as I’ve ever heard it to be, whether in duet with the cornetto, or creating whole realms of beauty out of a single line. Where she really showed her solo mettle was in the Barbara Strozzi setting I’Eraclito Amoroso in the concert’s second half, the composer requiring of the singer a vocal line that soars, weeps, fumes, melts and charms, the whole drawing the listener into the gamut of emotion wrought by a text describing the despair of love’s betrayal. Then, with the singer in partnership with the cornetto, Monteverdi’s Ohimè, dov’ è il mio ben featured Pepe Becker and Peter Reid in perfect accord, relishing the music’s mellifluous harmonisings and beguiling dovetailings of lines.

In such forthright company, David Morriss’s beautifully soft-grained bass voice, though clear enough in the opening Venite amanti insieme, by da Festa, was occasionally too reticent, especially where the tessitura was extremely low, as in the same composer’s Affliti spirit miei – here the voice needed a bit more juice in places, though the overall effect was touching and sensitive. He had more opportunities to shine in the following Una donna, where a slightly higher and more energetic line allowed the voice more expressive freedom. By the time he had reached Giulio Caccini’s spectacular Muove si dolce, towards the end of the programme, his voice had completely settled, resulting in powerful and varied tones used excitingly, with great runs, and, occasionally, even some very low notes. Adding to the excitement here and elsewhere was the continuo-playing of Robert Oliver on viola da gamba and Donald Nicolson on virginals.The instrumentalists had solo items, or extended solo passages within items, both the cornetto and the viola da gamba taking it in turns to duet with the virginals, each combination producing fantastic playing, some incredible runs and entertaining contrasts between both instruments and music keeping us burbling with interest and enjoyment.

The final Folle cor by Domenico Mazzochi brought together all the different elements of the concert’s success, again those seductive green-and-golden sounds, brought out by beautifully intertwined teamwork from singers and instrumentalists, relishing the quixotic rhythmic patternings of the setting. This was a kind of “eat, drink and be merry; for tomorrow…..” song, whose recurring and somewhat sobering moral has its own common-time gait, underlining the contrast with the lighter, more carefree tread of the verses. Some of the composers in this concert were names I did not know – Costanzo da Festa, a sixteenth-century Italian composer who, like Monteverdi, wrote both sacred and secular music, Giulio Caccini, a member of the renowned Florentine Camerata, who, along with Jacopo Peri, is regarded as one of the very first composers of opera (each composed an Eurydice at about the same time), and Domenico Mazzochi, who wrote only vocal music and is best-known for his activities an a papal composer, working at the same time (late renaissance, around 1600) as the aforementioned figures. To be able to be entertained AND educated thus at a free concert of this quality goes to show that there are still silver linings that flash and glitter into view amid the present gloom of uncertainty and recession and whatever else darkens our lives; and that we should thank our luck stars for them and for the musicians who make them shine so brightly.

Grief and Grandeur – New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Posted on by Peter Mechen

R.STRAUSS – Metamorphosen for 23 Solo Strings

BRUCKNER –  Symphony No.7 in E Major

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Pietari Inkinen (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Saturday 10th April 2010

At the beginning of the concert the NZSO’s Chief Executive, Peter Walls, brought the Chilean Ambassador Luis Lillo onto the platform to speak to the audience. The Ambassador talked about the devastation in Chile in the wake of February’s major earthquake, and thanked the orchestra and the concertgoers present for their support of the Chilean Earthquake Humanitarian Relief Fund. The NZSO has announced that all proceeds from programme sales at this and the Auckland concert on Saturday 17th April will go to the Fund. What a pity, therefore, that the attendance for this concert was noticeably less than usual, despite Peter Walls’ hope expressed in the programme foreword, that because of the music offered the concert would be well patronised. A possible explanation is that a proportion of orchestral patrons continue to take fright at the appearance of the name “Bruckner”, while another is that the combination with Richard Strauss’s Metamorphosen seemed to some people as if it would be too much like hard listening work!

Certainly the pairing of two largely elegiac and valedictory scores gave the concert a very specific flavour, exploring a particular ambience in depth as it were, from two different viewpoints. Of course, there are as many responses to great music as there are people, and for some, the prospect of having to square up to any composer’s (let alone TWO composers’) outpourings of grief and mourning can be too sobering, even disturbing an experience, rather too far outside the parameters of “comfortable listening”. It’s precisely because of this that others, like myself, would have revelled in the experience of being taken so profoundly into those darkly despairing realms, far removed from normal experience. In fact I thought that, musically, it was great and imaginative programming.

Strauss’s Metamorphosen, scored for for 23 solo strings, was written by the composer as a lament for the physical destruction suffered by German cities during the Second World War – though the larger view of the composer’s intent would probably include the havoc wrought by the Nazis and the war in general upon German art and culture. The music’s intensity was highlighted in this performance by the musicians, with the exception of the ‘cellos, standing up to play, giving the music-making an extra “gestural” quality, quite choreographic in effect, and fascinating to watch. For me, it added to the performance’s intensity and sense of player-involvement – incidentally, qualities which I’m pleased to observe, seemed to carry over into the second-half performance of the Bruckner as well, even though most of the orchestra members had for the symphony resumed their seats.

Conductor Pietari Inkinen encouraged a deeply-voiced, extremely hushed beginning to the Strauss, the sounds seeming to grow from out of the ground the players stood upon as the violas brought in the first hint of the quotation from the “Eroica” Symphony’s Marche Funebre, one which transfixes this work. The upper strings brought cool and clear light and space to the textures, with intensities hinted at all kinds of different levels, both dynamic and timbral, and everything beautifully controlled and shaped. The work unfolded in great paragraphs, giving we listeners a sense of form and perspective with succeeding episodes, the transitions bringing out remembrances of light and warmth set against darker utterances, the solo violin a plaintive voice amid the ebb and flow of levels of feeling. Conductor and players brought the music up to an incredible fever pitch at the agitato climax, the lower instruments then digging in with a will, bringing out the full emotional force of the tragedy of man’s descent into inhumanity, and properly overwhelming the textures of the music with gloom and despair. It was black and trenchant stuff, taking us right to the abyss’s edge, before enveloping us within the deepest tones of dignified mourning at the close – impressive and deeply moving.

Of all the Bruckner Symphonies, the Seventh (although some would nominate the Fourth, instead) is possibly the most approachable for the uninitiated. It’s a most attractive work, filled with gorgeous melody, rich and varied colourings and a well-balanced amalgam of pastoral gentleness, playful impulse and epic power. The orchestra and Pietari Inkinen gave what I thought was a splendidly uninhibited performance of the work, bringing out and revelling in those marvellously juicy lyrical lines throughout the first two movements, and setting the music’s more ethereal other-worldly episodes against a gloriously epic soundscape of rugged and far-flung proportions.

One of the Symphony’s most distinctive features was a highlight of the performance and a resounding success – the use of those special instruments known as “Wagner tubas” in the work’s slow movement, the music paying homage to the composer that Bruckner admired almost unreservedly. The latter was at work on the slow movement when news of the death of “the Master” reached him, and he used the quartet of these eponymous instruments to express his grief. This was the passage immediately following the music’s biggest and most resplendent climax, when the instruments begin a dignified and sombre lament, which becomes a threnody of deeply-felt emotion – here it was all quite superbly played and beautifully controlled by the musicians.

With the other movements equally as characterful and focused, this was a performance to remember and savour – a soulfully-realised first movement with wonderfully-arched lyrical lines,a vigorous and charmingly bucolic Scherzo, and a Finale whose performance here knitted the music’s somewhat stop-start character together with rare cohesiveness, and brought about a resplendent finish. Pietri Inkinen and his players delivered the last pages of the work with a breadth and grandeur that evoked an image of the world viewed by the composer from what seemed like mountain-tops akin to the portals of Heaven.

All in all, I thought the concert a most promising start by the orchestra and its conductor to the 2010 season.

Chamber Music Hutt Valley emboldened to survive

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Earlier this year the committee of Chamber Music Hutt Valley reported a resolution to wind up. It was assumed that the reason was primarily falling support for their concerts.

Their April newsletter announces the welcome decision, by a new and strengthened committee, to carry on, disclosing that their earlier anxiety stemmed in part from lack of strength in the committee. Four new committee members have just been elected.
“The committee is optimistic that the society can remain viable for the foreseeable future”, says the newsletter.

And the first concert of the year will be on Wednesday 14 April in St James Church, Woburn Road, Lower Hutt, from the New Zealand String Quartet. The programme comprises string quartets by Haydn, Schubert and Helen Fisher, as well as Beethoven’s Duet for viola and cello and Tan Dun’s piece entitled Eight Colours.

See the Coming Events at 14 April.

Further concerts are scheduled for:

13 May Zephyr Wind Quintet and Diedre Irons

7 June  New Zealand Chamber Soloists

10 August   Amalia Hall and John Paul Muir (violin and piano)

14 September  Hot Young Strings, directed by Donald Armstrong

The Tudor Consort – Holy Week Lamentations

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Lamentatio Jeremiae Prophetae – Music for Holy Week

Works by ANON (Gregorian Chant), THOMAS TALLIS, ERNST KRENEK, GIOVANNI DA  PALESTRINA and ROBERT WHITE

The Tudor Consort

Michael Stewart, director

Sacred Heart Cathedral, Hill St., Wellington

Good Friday, 2nd April 2010

Thanks to Vaughan Williams’ well-known Fantasia for String Orchestra, the musical language of Thomas Tallis (c.1505-1585) has a familiar ring for many concert-goers. The composer’s intensely melancholy minor modes with their “dying fall”, were quoted by Vaughan Williams from the work Archbishop Parker’s Psalter, and were also very much in evidence throughout what we heard of Tallis’s during this concert. The music seems to speak directly across the centuries, evoking at once both a timelessness and the atmosphere of the troubled times in which the music was composed.  Tallis’s settings of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, taken from the Old Testament and describing the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 B.C., were part of a Good Friday presentation given by the Tudor Consort, featuring various settings of these Lamentations, among them one from the twentieth century by Ernst Krenek (1900-91), and others by Palestrina and a lesser-known English Renaissance composer, Robert White. Two liturgical responses from Gregorian plainchant provided both framework and context for Tallis’s and Krenek’s settings in the concert’s first half.

For me, the Tudor Consort’s presentation in Sacred Heart Cathedral on Good Friday evening was magnificent, but also risky. I thought the repertoire chosen was possibly too consistently meditative, lacking the context of an on-going ritual or any marked contrast with different music. Of course, one suspects that, as with the case of the music-lover who compiles concert-hall-length presentations of slow movements only, there will be various staunch ideas regarding how best to present this repertoire in public. On Friday evening the insertion of two pieces of plainchant between the first-half settings of the Lamentations provided a little of the foil against which these pieces could have individually shone and glowed, not to say placed as part of a service – I liked the juxtapositioning of voices in the first Gregorian Chant exerpt , the Responsary In monte Oliveti shared between Michael Stewart singing the verse “Vigilate…..” and the choir’s wonderfully sinuous unison lines in response. But I felt less comfortable during the somewhat disembodied rendition by Stewart of the plainchant Lesson In coena Domini from the pulpit as the prelude to Krenek’s Lamentations setting – less to do with the singer’s own voice than his seeming abandonment of the choir, left standing in place as though it had been suddenly decommissioned.

Individually, the items were difficult to fault as regards singing, pacing and shaping – in every case the message of the text was projected with expression appropriate to the words’ meaning, Michael Stewart’s control of the ebb and flow of the singers’ delivery ensuring a constant connection on the part of the singers between words, phrases, paragraphs and whole works, and their message. But I wondered whether, by the time we had reached Robert White’s second-half Lamentations setting, a “less-is-more” situation was starting to develop. Given that the settings did use different texts in most instances, the almost wall-to-wall complaint and beseechment did begin to weigh upon the spirit of at least one listener, especially as the second half had no leavening plainchant or contrasting interlude between the two sets (Palestrina and White).

What was evident was that, with Palestrina after the interval, Vaughan Williams completely disappeared! The textures of the Italian’s writing seemed richer, and certainly different harmonically – perhaps something to do with a “certainty” or “centering” of spiritual identity, unencumbered by the travails of Protestant upheaval. Certainly, his work is regarded as having, in the words of one critic, “an austere serenity almost unique in post-medieval Christian art” – and the work of the choir brought out this beauty in places like the sopranos’ “Pupilli facti sumus” (all of this beautiful music, here and elsewhere, depicting despair and abandonment!), and tellingly-attenuated lines throughout the concluding “Jerusalem”, a beautifully-voiced supplication.

Following Palestrina’s setting, Robert White’s Lamentations sounded very “English”, a return some of the way to the sound-world of Thomas Tallis. Whether it was because the evening was wearing on and the singers were tiring, I didn’t really know; but I thought the choir’s lines not as “moulded” as earlier, with the tenors especially likely to ever-so-slightly obtrude, – though I must say that, for me this stimulated the ear and enlivened the textures in places, and dispelled any hint of bland homogeneity. As with Tallis, there seems to me an underlying melancholy about the harmonies, one that permeates English choral music – perhaps the influence of folksong? Some lovely moments in this work were nicely brought off by the choir – one I noted at the conclusion of “Sordes ejus…” in which the spaces between low men’s and high women’s voices suggested to me the breadth and depth of mankind’s affliction. As well a beautifully osmotic impetus was generated by the first “Jerusalem, Jerusalem”, beginning with the tenderness of the tenors’ supplication, and gathering girth and intensity with “..convertere ad Dominum Deum tuum” right through the descending repetitions.

A brief word on Ernst Krenek’s setting, which, despite one or two strained moments, was brought off quite magnificently by the Consort – sounds filled with light and air at the beginning, out of which spaces grew harmonies nicely piquant and kaleidoscopic. Again, evocative realms were generated between lower and higher voices, even if the harmonies at each end were often tightly-worked – and I liked a long, rolling section during which women’s voices soared above the lines of momentum with single high notes, before descending to continue the flow. The sinuous lines of the “Jerusalem” section explored far-flung paths, Michael Stewart keeping the voices in touch with considerable skill and sensitivity. An unexpected delight!