Month: March 2011

Elios Ensemble captivates at St Andrew’s season

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Elios Ensemble (Karen Batten – flute and alto flute, Martin Jaenecke – violin and soprano saxophone, Victoria Jaenecke – viola)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace Season of Concerts

Music by Bartók, Igudesman, Debussy, Reger, Mansurian, Ginastera and Beethoven

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Tuesday 15 March, 7.30pm

This was the kind of programme that probably sorts out its own audience, or rather, it would sort them out if there were enough to provide a good statistical sampling.

On the one side are those who are drawn to a concert by names that are familiar, both composers and pieces; and on the other, Stendhal’s ‘Happy Few’, those who are enticed by a mix of the familiar and names that are evocative, half-heard, that arouse curiosity and suggest ambiguity and other-worldliness, as well as having an emotional force. You gauge the latter as much by what you have come to know of the performers as by the composers’ names and titles of the music.

How could you resist a programme that included a delightful early piece of Beethoven, another chance to explore Max Reger whose true nature, I feel, keeps eluding me; some of Bartók’s 44 Duos for Two Violins; and two names that merely rang bells?

Let’s go chronologically. Beethoven’s little six-movement Serenade Op 25 was written for these very instruments, and his writing for the flute, for starters, showed how acute Beethoven’s sense of instrumental timbre and capacities was. The first movement, starting with a veritable flute fanfare, belonged very much to Karen Batten.  Elsewhere, violin and viola were rewarded and these two superb, somewhat unacknowledged players had plenty of exposure, in particular in the Andante con variazioni.

Reger’s Serenade was very clearly based on Beethoven’s and afforded him the chance to show a levity and gaiety that are not qualities usually encountered. Written about a year before his death in his early 40s, perhaps he was attempting to redress the balance. It showed Reger as a perfectly gifted melodist (I read a recent review that remarked that he couldn’t write a tune to save himself – not true!). Generally, he had concerns other than merely writing tunes, which might have been a bit misguided.

This proved an engaging suite – like Beethoven’s, in six movements – that was sometimes thoughtful, often gay (original sense), entertaining in its treatment of the three instruments and achieving nicely, just what one felt Reger wanted.

Debussy’s contribution was the predictable Syrinx for solo flute where Karen Batten demonstrated her virtuosity as well as her feeling for the piece’s place as sinuous, sensuous impressionism, and a brilliant little show-stopper.

Bartók comes next, though his pieces were first in the programme. I’m not acquainted with the entire collection of 44 Duos, but after this brilliantly played foray in which the two violins were replaced by, variously, viola, alto and normal flute and soprano saxophone, I will be exploring them. The pieces played were Ruthenian Song (Ruthenia was the little territory at the eastern end of the inter-war Czechoslovakia, north of Hungary and Romania and now in Ukraine), Teasing Song, Slovak Song, Pillow Dance, Fairy Tale, Mosquito Dance (very nocturnally disruptive), Sorrow and Dancing Song.

Ginastera’s Duo was originally for flute – alto flute – and oboe in three movements; like much of his music, it’s a bit hard to place both geographically and chronologically. At times, it seemed like a serious Françaix or Ibert, even, at times, not very remote from Britten’s sound world. There was little evidence of the popular Latin American musical world, and one accepts the statement that it employs Argentinian folk music. Persuasively performed, the Duo nevertheless made less impact on me than most of the other pieces in the programme.

Tigran Mansurian was born in 1939 in Beirut of Armenian parents. His piece, Lachrymae, is for soprano saxophone and alto flute, offering a lovely exhibition of these two very distinctive instruments. In general terms it evoked the sounds of the region – Caucasus, central Asia, the Levant, which of course is as various in its music as in its history and its religions; the use of quarter tones was just one of the identifiable features. It was also curious to hear the soprano saxophone exploiting its lowest register, sounding like an alto sax. As it did with one or two of the Bartok pieces, the saxophone seemed radically to alter the character of the music, inevitably in a trans-Atlantic direction.

I thoroughly enjoyed Lachrymae, making a mental note to explore more of Mansurian’s music.

Finally came a name altogether unfamiliar to me: Aleksey Igudesman (born Leningrad 1973). A more knowledgeable friend described his stage (or cabaret?) performances, with Hyung-ki Joo, that are very clever, very musical and very funny. (See www.igudesmanandjoo.com). There were three pieces, all with their feet in Ireland, but their heads somewhere else, mainly in the former Yiddish world of Eastern Europe where Klezmer was endemic. They were highly entertaining; the first in the infectious rhythms made familiar by the phenomenon of the River Dance. I have never heard such a piquant rendering of Danny Boy which I recoil from in its usual boring, unadorned harmonic dress. Igudesman had devised such an engaging and amusing harmonic setting – comparable to, but even more diverting than, Britten’s folk song arrangements – that it became a new song. The Klezmer element was strongest in the third piece, Giora Feidman lost in Dublin. Loved all of it.

Enchanting concert by Antipodes Trio at Waikanae

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Antipodes Trio (Christobel Lin – violin, Nicholas Hancox – viola, David Requiro – cello)

Dohnanyi: Serenade in C, Op 10; Lilburn: String Trio; Handel/Halvorsen: Passacaglia in G minor on a Theme by Handel (from Harpsichord Suite HWV 432); Schubert: String Trio in B flat, D 471; Beethoven: String Trio in C minor, Op 9 No 3

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 13 March 2.30pm

One of the reasons for going to this concert was the patriotic impulse to hear a Wellington musician who’s making good in Europe. Nicholas Hancox took his B Mus (Hons) at Victoria University and has now completed a master’s at the University of Michigan. Learning never ends: he has moved to Munich for post-graduate work at the Hochschule (Academy) für Musik und Theater. The group’s violinist Christobel Lin is from Auckland and studies four hours away by train, in Vienna. Their cellist derives from a New York connection; he’s appeared as a soloist with the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington and the Tokyo Philharmonic, and is now artist-in-residence at the University of Puget Sound in Washington State.

The subsidiary reason for going to Waikanae, really just a big bonus, was the pleasure of going all the way by train which discharges you about 100 metres from the hall. Even without a Gold Card, the journey would be so infinitely more enjoyable than sitting behind a car wheel: the commuter queues on the roads north leave me incredulous.

Finally: the concert. They confess that their ensemble is not of long standing, but I needed to be told that as it would not have occurred to me. Individually they play with great accomplishment; it may well be perceived that the cellist has a slight edge in terms of finesse in articulation and tonal variety, but the excellence of their musical togetherness kept me from observing significant differences in their levels of artistic attainment. Critics often make a display of perceiving such niceties; the truth is that only the players themselves and perhaps their tutors can really notice the almost imperceptible nuances.

The string trio is a much less common creature than either the string quartet or the piano trio and its repertoire is much smaller. Two of Beethoven’s early opus numbers comprise string trios, usually seen as rehearsals for his graduation to the string quartet; we heard the third of the Opus 9 group. With its C minor key, it has the outward signs of seriousness and it was the second movement where both the music’s quality and the players’ understanding became evident, taking their time through its spaciousness and imposing, slow tempo. That was the last piece in the programme.

The concert had begun with Dohnanyi’s now rather familiar Serenade (it was played in the recent Chamber Music Festival at Nelson), written with an ear touched by the Beethoven model (his Serenade, Op 8, in D and the Serenade for flute, violin and viola, Op 25, which the Elios Ensemble played two days later in the St Andrew’s season of concerts ).

The Dohnanyi was handled with vivacity, with striking attention to the detail of dynamics even to the detailing of individual notes. that could be compared not unfavourably with its performance by the Hermitage Trio in Nelson. The serenade form here seems to be shorthand for a series of short movements that avoid the sonata form’s succession of themes and their development and elaborate recapitulations. There was no time to become impatient of slender ideas, no matter how charming. Interest was maintained through sharply contrasted movements: a Romanza that took us on a light-hearted journey, diverting through the varying roles given to the three instruments and their playing techniques: each had its turn in the limelight. A Theme and Variations had ever-changing tempi, and allusions to the most serious devices employed by serious classical music.

Lilburn’s string trio from the mid 40s, when he was about 30, is a fairly insubstantial piece. Any kind of criticism of Lilburn is comprehensively outlawed in this country, but I have to confess to finding this piece so generally uneventful, the melodic fragments insipid and so tentatively handled that it is hard for me to say much apart from remarking its sympathetic and idiomatic performance.

After the interval, the trio played the Passacaglia for violin and viola that Norwegian composer Halvorsen based on theme of Handel (the Harpsichord Suite No 7, HWV432). A tune that lends itself to variations, it is treated with little reference to its origin, handled with imagination and variety in the sequence of variations that such a theme often invites. Being something of a virtuoso showpiece (though it is rather more than that) it was just one occasion that I was highly impressed by the performances by Lin and Hancox. Both combined bravura and artistry, nowhere better displayed than in a beautiful, breathless, pianissimo passage played at the octave. It was as satisfying an experience as anything else in the programme.

The remaining piece was the single movement String Trio in B flat, D 471, by Schubert. A simple utterance based on charming themes, it gains its place more through that melodic simplicity than through any interesting evolution and development. The players had all the musical resources to make it a wholly enchanting performance.

Paekakariki’s ‘Classics for Christchurch’ with the Kapiti Orchestra

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

A reflective musical event in support of the Christchurch Earthquake Relief Fund

Music by Albinoni, Mozart, Fauré, Barber, Michelle Scullion, Lilburn, Poulenc, Haydn and John Dankworth; poems by Apirana Taylor, waiata sung by Hinemoana Baker

Kapiti Concert Orchestra led by Douglas Beilman, Mary Gow (piano), Moira Hurst (clarinet), Erica Challis and Kirsten Sharman (horns), Janet Holborow (flute, piano), Kate Lineham (soprano), World of Flutes, conducted by Michael Joel; presenter, Lee Hatherly

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday, 13 March 2011, 2pm

A well-filled Memorial Hall proved both the level of interest in music in the community, and its willingness to support such a worthy cause. There must have been around 100 people present.

The orchestra, led by Douglas Beilman, a member of the New Zealand String Quartet, had a good sound, and its level of accuracy and versatility, based, I understand, on one rehearsal, was most commendable. Janet Holborow and the others involved in quickly organising this concert are to be thanked for their work in getting together such a diverse and enjoyable programme.

It was pleasing to see numbers of children present, and their level of attention and behaviour was excellent, aside from rather a lot of chair-scraping towards the end of what proved to be a long concert. Many were sitting on the stage (the performers were at the other end of the hall) from where they could see well.

It may have been decided that the number of separate items and the nature of the concert, made it desirable to have a compère, but this undoubtedly contributed to the great length: two hours and 40 minutes, which is rather long for adults who are seasoned concert-goers, let alone for children. A late start, due to people dribbling in late, did not help. The printed programme contained adequate information, so the talking could have been abbreviated.

However, this was an appreciative audience, as the standing ovation at the end proved, and the breadth of music performed was wide. The wooden floor and walls (up to window height) made for a bright sound.

Albinoni’s Adagio suffered from a little untidiness in rhythm, but on the whole was smooth and euphonious. Douglas Beilman’s solos in this item were strong, and superbly played.

Continuing the theme of reflective music, the next item was the Adagio from Mozart’s piano concerto in A, K.488, played by the orchestra with Mary Gow as a sympathetic, restrained and highly competent soloist. While the orchestra was a bit insecure in places, especially in the woodwind, this didn’t apply to the marvellously flexible clarinet playing. The ensemble was good, and the mood was conveyed well.

Apirana Taylor read some of his poems, and played the putorino (?) most evocatively. His loud utterances of ‘Mauri ora’ were most appropriate to the occasion, while his striking short poems were mainly in a delightful combination of te reo and English.

The slow movement of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A, K.622 was quite sublime. The bright sound suited Mozart, though of course the instruments in his day were quieter. This was very fine music and very fine playing from both the orchestra, and especially from soloist Moira Hurst. While the orchestra played extremely well for a small, mainly amateur group, the playing of the soloist would have stood up in any company. I found it very moving.

Next was Fauré’s Dolly Suite, for piano duet. The pianists were Mary Gow and Janet Holborow. The lively ‘Kitty Valse’ and ‘Berceuse’ gave a welcome lighter touch between more sombre works.

Following this, a poem was read by Lee Hatherly. It was written by Pam Vickers, a Sumner resident, on her experiences during and after the earthquake. It surely expressed what many residents of Christchurch must have been feeling, and probably still are.

Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings is somewhat of a cliché for this sort of occasion, and did not show the orchestra at its best, intonation-wise. Because the work is slow and so well-known, it demands to be played more expertly.

After the interval, following a few words from MP Kris Faafoi, the World of Flutes played pieces by Michelle Scullion. The first, ‘For Ike in memory of Snoo’ was for five players, including a bass flute. It was an enchanting piece, especially for the juxtaposition of bass flute and sopranino recorder. Next we heard ‘Arabian Reverie’ for two alto flutes. I found this rather dull at first, but it developed into being quite a lively piece. The third piece was entitled ‘A crumpled town to return’, written for four flutes (including bass and alto) as a tribute to Christchurch, a city Scullion said in her introduction that she knows well.

Hinemoana Baker sang a waiata by Hana O’Regan, then the well-known lullaby, ‘Hine e hine’. She used an interesting contrast in styles and tones. The first was sung in a traditional Maori style, from the throat, barely using the breath, whereas the second was in a more European manner, singing on the breath. Both were telling, in their very different ways.

The piano returned, with Mary Gow playing first a charming, simple prelude by Douglas Lilburn, then a Novelette by Poulenc – an interesting and satisfying piece, and a Nocturne by the same composer. The harmonies in this were more conventional than I expected from Poulenc. Both pieces were somewhat improvisatory in nature; the nocturne was certainly reflective.

Haydn’s Double Horn Concerto is seldom heard; the Romance from that work featured two consummate soloists, though the orchestra was not at its best.

Moira Hurst played again, with Kate Lineham this time. John Dankworth’s ‘Thieving Boy’ was rather too low in the voice for Kate Lineham (she’s not Cleo Laine), and thus she did not project enough to prevent the clarinet being too loud and bright as an accompaniment. In between the two programmed items, Shona Holborow read the poem ‘Death and the Nightingale. An Estonian folksong (sung in English) was in a higher register, and suited Lineham’s voice much better.

The final item was another Mozart Adagio, this time from his Flute Concerto in G major. The solo flute was played by Janet Holborow. It was a very peaceful and reflective piece to end the concert with, featuring not only beautiful flute playing, but lovely muted violins.

Altogether, this was a fine musical experience, and should have raised a substantial sum for the relief of those badly affected by the earthquake in Christchurch.

Diabolically fine fiddling from Martin Riseley

Posted on by Peter Mechen

St.Andrew’s on The Terrace Season of Concerts 2011

Martin Riseley (violin)

JS BACH – Sonata in C BWV 1005

PAGANINI – Introduction and Variations on Nel cor più non mi sento (from Paisello’s La molinara)

YSAŸE – L’Aurore

BARTOK – Sonata for Solo Violin (1944)

St.Andrew’s on The Terrace, Wellington

Sunday 13th March 2011

The trouble with the kind of jaw-dropping musical virtuosity demonstrated by the likes of Martin Riseley is that it can for some people obscure the actual substance of what’s being performed – since the time of the master-fiddler, Paganini himself, this “circus entertainment” aspect demonstrated by skilled executants has frequently bedeviled their musical efforts. Paganini recounted how, on one occasion, he was approached by a gentleman who claimed to have discovered his “secret”……

One individual…affirmed that he saw nothing surprising in my performance, for he had

distinctly seen, while I was playing my variations, the devil at my elbow

directing my arm and guiding my bow.  My resemblance to him was a proof of my

origin.  He was clothed in red–had horns on his head–and carried his tail

between his legs.  After so minute a description, you will understand, sir,

it was impossible to doubt the fact–hence, many concluded they had

discovered the secret of what they termed wonderful feats.”

It may come as a disappointment to some readers of this review that I’m not going to swear to having seen a similar apparition at Martin Riseley’s shoulder during his St.Andrew’s on The Terrace recital – but there was nevertheless plenty of sulphurous wizardry about his playing, albeit placed entirely at the service of the music throughout. When one encounters, as here, a fusion of virtuoso skill and musical sensibility, the results can be overwhelming. The programming judiciously underlined this marriage of technique with substance – and I recall being delighted by a previous solo violin recital of Riseley’s in which he presented the complete Paganini Caprices as a set of musical treasures, not mere virtuoso show-off pieces.

Riseley began his recital with an unprogrammed item, an Elegy by Stravinsky, to pay tribute to the people of Christchurch in the wake of the disastrous earthquake of February 22nd of this year. The violinist, himself a native of Christchurch, had already announced that he was donating his fee for the concert to the city’s relief fund. His playing of the music appropriately realized the elegiac nature of the piece, bringing to the textures a sombre, viola-like quality which made one imagine in places that the larger instrument was being used. Riseley requested that there be no applause at the end.

Strong, tensile, detailed and expressive – these words came to my mind as I listened to Riseley begin the Adagio which begins the Bach C Major Sonata BWV 1005. By the end he had managed to give us something both monumental and beautifully crafted at one and the same time. The Fugue astonished, as should be its wont, for the same reason, the player’s mastery evident in his ability to relate such a myriad of detail to a coherent structural argument – a feast for the intellect as well as for the ears. After such far-flung magnificence the Largo was bound to seem almost cowed at first, but the violinist’s lightness of touch found the essential contrast of mood, preparing us for the fleet-fingered concluding Allegro. Riseley told us at the end that he last performed the work in Christchurch’s ill-fated Cathedral, thus investing what we’d just heard with a thoughtful retrospective.

True to expectation, the introduction to Paganini’s Variations on a theme of Paisiello’s (the aria “Nel core più non mi sento”) generated flinted sparks and similar coruscations, after which the actual theme of Paisiello’s was subjected to all kinds of virtuoso “tricks”, including left-hand pizzicati. Paganini never actually published this work, for fear of his techniques being stolen by others – so posterity has had to rely on transcriptions by other people – in this case one Karl Gurh – to convey a sense of what the little wizard did with the hapless Paisiello’s theme. Throughout, Riseley’s playing properly titillated our capacities for sheer pyrotechnic enjoyment, while drawing attention occasionally to the charm and poignancy of this or that poetic turn of phrase. The virtuoso fireworks were properly put in context at the very end of the work by a deliciously throwaway ending, whose creative insouciance and deftness of touch were very much appreciated.

I liked, too, Ysaye’s L’Aurore, an evocation of dawn which gently eased us back into the fray after the interval. The work’s long-breathed lines paralleled plenty of accompanying incident, such as pizzicati and double-stopped figurations. It was as if through great lyrical archways all kinds of ambient detail scampered, the changing moods of the piece including a dance-sequence at the end, the human element in concourse with nature.

Before beginning the Bartok sonata, Riseley talked about the music’s performance difficulties, with reference to the work’s early interpreters, who were faced with what seemed like near-impossible challenges, and contrasted those endeavors with modern-day virtuosi whose technical prowess can seem just as misapplied in a completely different way when the music is made to sound almost “easy”. If the music didn’t sound “easy” under Riseley’s fingers, it was through no lack of skill on the violinist’s part. In the first movement one got the feeling of the lines being pushed to the utmost limits of physical expression, while the Fugue managed to combine ideas whose beauty, angularity and sharply-etched focus create what Riseley called in his programme-note a “tour de force” of concentrated composition. Though the Adagio chartered vastly different contourings, its concentrated mood readily found affinities with what had gone before – Riseley’s playing generated an amazing sense of extra-terrestrial traversal, those long lines and melismatic scale-fingerings together creating an unworldly effect, rich and strange.

As for the finale, Riseley characterized the music’s contrasting modes splendidly, the haunted “flight” music of the opening giving way to folk-idioms suggesting both dance and song, the melodic fragments stretched and intensified, and ever more closely juxtaposed with the urgent scherzando mood of the opening, a fragment of which seemed to become the final upward flourish of the work.

Its triumphant realization by the violinist brought to an end a truly splendid concert, one which amply served to demonstrate the wonder and privilege of having an instrumentalist of Martin Riseley’s talents close at hand to perform such music for our pleasure.

Aivale Cole with splendid Lieder for the St Andrew’s series

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Schumann: Frauenliebe und -leben
Duparc: L’Invitation au voyage, Chanson
Triste Tosti: Quattro Canzoni d’Amaranta
John Carter: Cantata

Aivale Cole, soprano, Sharolyn Kimmorley, piano

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday, 12 March 2011, 7.30pm

It was delightful to hear Aivale Cole singing lieder and other songs, but it was a great pity that so few thought so. Insufficient advertising may be partly to blame, since I have discovered that several people I thought would be interested in these artists and the programme were unaware of the performance. Certainly the Schumann song cycle was heard recently, sung by Joanna Heslop, at the National Portrait Gallery, but such a wonderful sequence of songs is worth hearing again, especially when sung by a singer with such a different style of voice.

I regretted the advertised Debussy and Hahn songs were no longer on the programme. Duparc was certainly an ample substitute.

One of the great things about this recital was that there were brief programme notes, and all the words were printed (including the words of a verse in the sixth song that Schumann did not set – he may have felt too embarrassed to set words about pregnancy that translate as ‘About the signs I have already asked Mother; my good mother has told me everything… she has assured me that by all appearances, soon a cradle will be needed.’)

Again, we had a superb accompanist who produced no clatter from the St. Andrew’s platform floor.

Aivale Cole’s voice and presentation were warm and lovely, with beautiful nuances. Early on, breathing was a little noisy at times, but this was overcome. She produced an exemplary precision with words, and lots of expression, but neither detracted from the flow or the tone. Consonants fitted in their place, but were never over-emphasised. She was never too hurried; always the words and mood came across without fuss. Cole used the scores for most of the music, except the Carter, but was never tied to them.

The performers were thoroughly rhythmic; the rhythm was not too strict, but always illuminated Schumann’s gorgeous music and the poet’s romantic words.

The beautiful piano postlude to the work was played in a restrained manner, more quietly than usual, portraying perhaps the resignation of the protagonist following the death of her husband – conveying the final words ‘I withdraw silently into myself, the veil falls, there I have thee and my lost happiness, O thou my world!’

It was a delight to hear two of Duparc’s incomparable songs. These were beautifully sung, but not quite as expressively as I have heard them. In the first, ‘L’invitation au voyage’ there was not the sense of delighted surprise that is represented in the words. Cole’s French pronunciation was as good as her German.

In the languorous ‘Chanson Triste’, the singer caressed the sensuous words beautifully (though ‘genoux’ did not come out quite right). I could happily have listened to more Duparc, or Fauré, or Debussy, but we turned now to Italian, and Tosti.

The four songs were new to me. Aivale Cole’s thrilling tone and delivery made them very effective, if sentimental. I found the postlude to the songs a little over-pedalled, especially through the rests, for my taste, as indeed was the Schumann postlude. Sharolyn Kimmorley is a very still pianist, and turns all the pages herself.

John Carter’s cantata brings together four Negro spirituals: “Peter, Go ring o’ dem bells”, “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child”, “Let us break bread together”, “Ride on King Jesus”. These settings were very lively, and set in different ways. The first was imaginative, but contained a lot of repetition. There was a magical sustained top note. The second was set, and sung, with much feeling, while the fourth was very jazzy with a very fast and complicated accompaniment. It made for a dramatic ending to the recital, in English, the fourth language to be used.

The range of the programme was good, and the execution superb.

My friend and I left the church well satisfied. What was our surprise to hear someone calling ‘Excuse me!’, and to find running after us along the footpath Aivale Cole (in mufti now), who thanked us for attending, and said she wanted to speak to everyone! She told us that she is off to London next month. We wished her the very best for this venture, and hope that she will get the opportunities she so richly deserves in what is now a difficult economic environment, with opera houses closing, contracts not being fulfilled, and fees dropping rather than increasing.

Go well, Aivale!

Two supreme chamber works at St Andrew’s season of concerts

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Musika Ensemble – Christina Vaszilcsin and Lyndon Taylor (violins), Peter Garrity (viola), David Chickering (cello), Catherine McKay (piano)

Borodin: String quartet No 2 in D; Dvořák: Piano Quintet in A, Op 81

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Friday 11 March, 7.30pm

The second concert in this admirable series arrived at the very heartland of chamber music. The two pieces played are, I am sure, among the top ten of any real music lover’s favourites, both coming from the wonderful store of Slav romantic masterpieces. But you wouldn’t guess that from the sad array of worthy but utterly predictable stuff that gets into Radio New Zealand Concert’s New Year count-down every year.

Just to animadvert there for a moment. No piece of chamber music made it this year; though there were a couple of piano pieces (including, amazingly enough, the Waldstein and not the Moonlight sonata). However, I recall that both Schubert’s marvelous String Quintet and his Death and the Maiden Quartet have been there in past years.

You’d have thought that the endlessly played trailer that touted for votes for weeks might have prompted a few punters to include Berlioz’s Nuits d’été. But I suspect that, failing to recognize it, none had sufficient curiosity to identify it. I don’t recall Berlioz ever featuring on the list: to me, blindingly incredible.

It’s one of music’s great tragedies that Borodin was such a conscientious scientific researcher that he had so little time to compose; many have compared his genius with Schubert’s for its natural sense of form, its spontaneity and melodic abundance.

His second string quartet is dangerously overloaded with tunes, rich and long, that hurl themselves at you right at the start. Hurling was the operative verb this evening as the four players, in a readily amplifying acoustic on hard timber floor, made an overwhelming noise; I mean in the way of Beecham’s joke against the British: they didn’t like music much but loved the noise it made.

Each player seemed equipped with the most opulent and beautiful instrument and each played as if they’d been together for years and were in total accord.

Curiously, none of the string players are New Zealanders by birth; and one (Lyndon Taylor), sadly, is about to return to the States.

Borodin’s first movement was driven by playing of wonderful sonority and romantic sensibility. The second, a Scherzo, without a trio but with a changed tempo middle section, was no less luxuriant in tone though it might have lost a little in polish. (A few years ago a couple of the tunes in this quartet would have been familiar because of their use in the Borodin-inspired musical, Kismet). The disappearance of that pastiche has meant that Borodin’s music no longer suggests something that at times seems overly sentimental. The fact that the Nocturne has become more familiar in an orchestral transcription, however, doesn’t help: the real thing cleanses the palette, especially in a performance such as this, shamelessly romantic.

Borodin’s attention to the string quartet form met with the disapproval of some of his fellow ‘Mighty Handful’ (‘Могучая кучка’ – Moguchaya kuchka, earlier known as ‘The Five’) colleagues. Though there are melodic suggestions of Russian folk music, they are by no means as foreign to western European ears as is much of the music of the Balkans that Bartók and others later exhumed. It has always seemed a strange obsession that some Russians are determined to claim their music to be quite ‘uneuropean’, exotic, when Russia’s cultural as well as political history is so profoundly tied up with Europe.

The audience could count itself doubly blessed, with Dvořák’s beautiful piano quintet in A as the second piece. Along with Borodin and Schubert, Dvořák too was one of the greatest naturals of the 19th century, or any century, and this quintet is as full of melody as anything in the repertory. Dvořák’s gift not only unleashes endless melody but enables him to explore and develop them in full symphonic scope.

The addition of a piano to the ensemble seemed to bring about a degree of tenderness and refinement in the playing. Here, there was no question of any unwelcome dominance by the piano, and things were near perfect. For much of the time the strings create such beautiful sounds, having the monopoly of thematic presentation, that the piano is there simply (far from simply) to create illuminating texture, a feminine, supportive role, offering sparkling contrasting splashes. But every so often the piano grabbed the spotlight. When she had it, Catherine McKay used it with discreet delicacy, lightly fluttering, sounds of ravishing musicality, weight without noise, flawlessly judged in its relationship with the strings.

To simulate an orchestral sound is not the aim of chamber music, but the best chamber music, played by the most percipient musicians in a generous acoustic does attain that level of richness and opulence. This was such an occasion.

For the Dvořák, first and second violins changed places. While in the Borodin, Taylor’s lead fiddle was strong and confident; in the Czech music, Cristina Vaszilcsin led with a greater delicacy and diffidence in places where it counted, and that included the most boisterous parts of both the Dumka and the Furiant movements. Her own background in the Transylvanian region of Romania, and with what I assume to be (from her name) her own Magyar descent, she sounded at ease in the music from a few hundred kilometers to the north, with no need for invented histrionics.

I must say I was somewhat distressed that a larger crowd was not here for this programme of two of the most beautiful pieces of music – ideal as an introduction to anyone who thinks classical music is not for them. This is the kind of programme and the kind of musicians that an enlightened education ministry (don’t laugh – I’m serious) should be funding to tour the secondary schools of the country on a regular basis in an attempt to alleviate the cultural deprivation that curriculum changes over the years have stricken us with.

Joanna Heslop sings Russian songs for St Andrew’s season

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

‘Russian Romances: songs by Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, Rachmaninov, Balakirev, Cui, Shostakovich

Joanna Heslop, soprano, and Richard Mapp, piano

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

10 March 2011, 7.30pm

Richard Greager and Marjan van Waardenberg and their supporters are to be congratulated on the variety and excellence of the concerts they are presenting in this year’s ‘Season of Concerts’ running for ten days from the date of this first presentation. It is a pity that there was not greater patronage: approximately 30 people attended this recital, into which so much work had been put. Among these it was pleasing to see a number of students of singing.

A programme of entirely Russian songs is unusual – in fact probably unique in this country. There can’t be any other New Zealand singer with the knowledge of this repertoire and language that Joanna Heslop has, after her years of residence, study and performance in Russia.

She was complemented in the most supportive and professional way possible by Richard Mapp. This was difficult music, played and sung skilfully and sympathetically. Sometimes, since the refurbishment of St. Andrew’s church, there has been a problem with the piano sounding too percussive over the new polished floor. Only in one or two first song did I find traces of this difficulty; the piano lid on the short stick and the immaculate pianism of Mapp provided thoroughly musical performances, well balanced with the voice.

There were aspects which detracted from complete enjoyment: most importantly, the lack of translations of the songs. Songs are half poetry, half music. If the audience has only the knowledge from the translated titles of what is being sung, then they cannot fully understand or enjoy what is being sung, despite beauty of tone, a certain amount of gesture and facial expression, and excellent accompaniment. Only for the Shostakovich songs at the end of the programme were we provided with printed words. It is also reasonable to expect that the poets will be credited in the programme – only Pushkin was.

The other factor was linked; a total of 25 songs in a language most of us do not understand, by a group of composers of the same nationality tends to a sameness that is a little hard to take. The famous melancholic Russian soul was very much in evidence until we got to the five Satires of Shostakovich. The first three brackets of songs had the headings ‘Inspired by Nature’, ‘Night and Dreams’, ‘Love’, and ‘Settings of Pushkin’.

The ecstatic first song (by Rimsky-Korsakov), about a lark, featured rapid staccato and triplets on the piano, while the second (Tchaikovsky), ‘The Sultana speaks to the canary’, was quieter, with a sultry Slavonic sultana delivering in a purer tone.

The next two items were from Rachmaninov; ‘Lilacs’ was quite delightful, with quite a strong character. It was soft and calm with a bird-song-like accompaniment, while the ‘Daisies’ was charming, with lovely trills accompanying the singing.

The same composer contributed the first three of five songs in the ‘Night and Dreams’ bracket. The opening song about a willow certainly had a darker sound than the songs in the previous bracket, but the willow seemed very noisy in its weeping, and the ending scream was too much for this lively acoustic.

‘I dreamed I had a native land’ was expansive yet pensive; ‘Twilight’ was rendered with lovely variety of tone and open-throated singing that was polished and refined with an easy flow.

The singing of Rimsky’s ‘A Summer Night Dream’ displayed Heslop’s ability to convey the many moods of a narrative in which a lot seemed to be going on, and achieved some fine high notes in this very melodic song. This appeared to be a difficult song for both voice and accompanist; again the final loud notes were too shrill.

Tchaikovsky’s ‘Why do I love you, bright night?’ had a passionate accompaniment, and some beautiful tone from the singer. I found the amount of gesture employed rather too much at times, but it was a means for the singer to convey meaning when the audience had no words to follow.

After a short interval there were six songs grouped under the heading ‘Love’, comprising four by Tchaikovsky and one each of Rimsky-Korsakov and Rachmaninov. Here, there was greater warmth of tone and emotion, and fewer shrill top notes. Heslop’s lower register projected richly. The opening ‘Serenade’ sat well in her voice, despite the wide range of the song. A lilting character for both voice and piano was very pleasing. Intimacy was communicated through facial expression – which did not switch off the moment the song ended.

‘Amidst the noise of the ball, I saw you’ sounded familiar – perhaps its theme meant it was similar to an aria in Eugene Onegin. A song about the nightingale was most engaging and effective – dramatic, too, as was Rachmaninov’s song ‘Yesterday we met’, in a quiet way.

Rimsky’s song ‘Not a breeze’ had nevertheless a breeze-laden accompaniment. Presumably the words went on to enlarge about a breeze. It was quite lovely. Tchaikovsky’s ‘It was early spring’ had a gentle, mature sound.

The group of Pushkin songs comprised two by Cui, one by Balakirev and two by Rimsky-Korsakov. The first two were short and effective. The Balakirev song was very different from the others, but I found it too clattery. Rimsky’s first song, ‘On the hills of Georgia’, was rich and impassioned – but about what? The second was rather one too many – it became soporific having yet another baring of the mournful state of the Russian soul.

After a brief interval it was a case of ‘Now for something completely different’ (except for the language), and the singer changed from a red diaphanous stole over her black dress to a red velvet jacket. Shostakovich’s ‘Satires’ were a dynamic tour de force, and with words in the programme, coupled with the singer’s histrionic skill, the audience could empathise with the humour and irony.

The first, ‘To the critic’ and the second ‘Spring awakens’ were recitative-like. The portrayal of cats and other characters in the latter made for a mixture of drama and kitsch (no pun intended). The fast quavers and powerful triple time of the third number, ‘Descendants’, helped to tell the story of this rather macabre patter song.

‘Misunderstanding’ was acted out by the singer, in a slinky and sexy way, reminiscent of a cabaret song. The last song was entitled ‘Kreutzer Sonata’, though Beethoven would have found it surprising.

These quirky satires showed the singer off to great effect, especially her ability with characterisation. The delightful accompaniments had unexpected harmonies, twists and turns.

It was impressive that Heslop sang all these songs from memory, and that her intonation was excellent throughout, as, I am sure, was her Russian language, since she studied in Russia – but I am no judge. It was well enunciated. The voice was well produced, and in the main used admirably. These were brilliant renditions of difficult repertoire. There was a true partnership between accompanist and singer. The accompaniments sounded difficult, but were superbly played, and in the main at the right sound level.

It was good to have the opportunity to hear these songs, which one would seldom come across. Indeed, to have a song recital at all is a rare opportunity these days, so this is another point of congratulation for the organisers of these concerts.

Organist Elke Voelker in excellent varied programme at the Basilica

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Handel: Fireworks Music (transcribed by E. Power Biggs)
Bach: Adagio from Orchestral Suite in D (transcribed by S. Karg-Elert)
Rheinberger: Romanze from 9th Organ Sonata in B minor Mendelssohn: Prelude and Fugue in D minor
Grieg: Anitra’s Dance from Peer Gynt Suite (transcribed by E.H. Lemare)
Karg-Elert: ‘Now thank we all our God’, from Chorale Improvisations, Opp.65/59
Vierne: Aria from 6th Organ Symphony
Wagner: Festmusik from Die Meistersinger (transcribed by Sigfrid Karg-Elert

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Sunday, 6 March 2011, 2.30pm

Probably not many people beyond the organist fraternity know the music of Sigfrid Karg-Elert, who lived from 1877 to1933. Elke Voelker is part of the way through recording all the composer’s organ works on CD, and on Sunday she played one of his compositions, plus two transcriptions that he made of famous orchestral pieces.

Poor attendance at the recital may have been due to the inclement weather but also due to the unfortunate but understandable close proximity of another organ recital – that by four organists on the newly-restored organ at St. Peter’s Anglican Church in Willis Street on Friday evening, in memory of the staff of the South Island Organ Company who recently carried out the work on that instrument, and who died in the Durham Street Methodist Church in Christchurch, during the earthquake of 22 February.

Elke Voelker herself was very shocked by that event, having played on the Christchurch Cathedral organ in March last year.

The pitiful audience of just 13 people were given a wide-ranging programme.

The Handel music featured robust, detached playing in the Overture and The Rejoicing, with the 4-foot and 2-foot ranks sounding rather shrill in the nearly empty building. The legato Peace movement was most attractive. The Bourée and Minuet movements seemed too fast – it would not be possible to perform those dances at that speed!

The transcription of the Bach Adagio was very tasteful but to my mind the melody’s repeated notes needed to be more detached and it should have been phrased, not played continuously. In the early part the rhythm was not always even.

The marvellous Fantasia and Fugue in G minor forms a very grand and exciting example of Bach’s skill and invention, and is one of the better-known of the composer’s major organ works. The lively opening subject of the fugue is often given the words ‘O Ebenezer Prout, you are a funny man’, thus immortalising an eminent analyst and writer on counterpoint of an earlier age. One writer has said “The subject of the Fugue is one of the finest ever devised. (It was based on an old Dutch folk-song.) …the speed, quantity of notes and complexity of part-writing (all magnificently musically motivated) seem to produce a physical thrill in the player… perhaps the same feeling a racing-driver has when taking a fast car over a tricky but well-known road.”

Voelker’s registration was excellent, and the fugue very clear, resulting in a very satisfying performance of this great work.

The next item was something completely different: Rheinberger’s Romanze was attractive, and lived up to its name in the chromatic manner of its period.

Mendelssohn’s Prelude and Fugue was notable for a thrilling opening with huge chords alternating with runs involving lots of rapid finger-work, but placed alongside Bach, Handel and Rheinberger, was not very inspired – even though Mendelssohn was a great fan of J.S. Bach.

Grieg’s beautiful piece was very pleasingly registered and played, with delightful use of a 2-foot rank.

Karg-Elert’s is a grand piece, played by many organists (including me), and probably his best-known. Volker’s quavers were uneven at the beginning, but lots of accelerando and rubato were certainly acceptable and added to the mood and effect of the music, which includes interesting harmonies.

The Aria from Vierne’s 6th symphony, written in 1930, was the most modern work on the programme. Its intriguing and piquant harmonies and intervals and bright, upbeat mood were echoed in the registrations employed.

As a grand finale, nothing could be more truly festive than the Festmusik of Wagner. It was an excellent transcription, and made a rousing end to the recital.

The programme, combining works written for the organ with four transcriptions, demonstrated well the range of pipes on this first-class instrument. I thought it was a little out of tune in the upper reaches – this may have been due to the weather.

A wonderful new asset to the church, whose forms (rather than proper pews), have provided such discomfort to many of us in the past, so that we have brought our own cushions to concerts, are handsome red seat cushions on the front seven rows of seats. Comfort at last! Let’s hope this welcome development continues to all the seating in the church.

New Sounds – SMP Ensemble, Magda Mayas, Tony Buck and Hermione Johnson

Posted on by Alan Wells

SMP ENSEMBLE

“INTERIORS I”

Mitchell McEwen (flutes), Andrzej Nowicki (clarinets), Dylan Lardelli

(guitar), Carolyn Mills (harp), Claire Harris (piano), Antony Verner

(violin), Andrew Filmer (viola), Charley Davenport (cello), Jeremy

Hantler (taonga puoro).

DYLAN LARDELLI: “Musical Box”;

PHILIP BROWNLEE: “He rimu pae noa”; “As if to catch the fleeting tail of time”;

SUN-YOUNG PAHG: “ThresholdIng”,

RACHAEL MORGAN: “Unfold”,

SAMUEL HOLLOWAY: “Sillage”.

Adam Concert Room, Wellington.

Saturday 26 February 2011


MAGDA MAYAS, TONY BUCK

St Andrews on the Terrace, Wellington

Saturday 26 February 2011


HERMIONE JOHNSON

Two Works

Adam Art Gallery, Wellington

Sunday 6 March 2011

After funding was withheld from leading NZ contemporary group Stroma

for this year, the senior-student/recent-graduate ensemble SMP was

left to carry the torch for new “concert” music – at least for
Wellington. Thankfully, some money was made available by Creative NZ
for “Interiors I”, the first of two presentations exploring subtleties
of tone colour and aspects of player interaction.

All but one piece featured the versatile Dylan Lardelli on guitar, and
all but one (a different one) were written by recently-emerged New
Zealand composers. Lardelli himself is one such: he starred in his own
2009 “Musical Box”. This delightful dance of harmonics from guitar,
Carolyn Mills’ harp and Andrew Filmer’s unexpectedly resonant viola,
was joined by Jeremy Hantler on taonga puoro: soft contrabass-clarinet
kakapo booms blown across the hue gourd, mouth modulated infrasonics
from the spinning porotiti, and (in a change of mood at the end) the
piccolo register of the bone koauau. There was a sense of timelessness
here, which Lardelli has evoked before, nowhere more successfully than
in “Aspects of Theatre”, premiered by SMP Ensemble under Lucas Vis in
March last year. There was an absence of development, which was not
however a deficiency: as also in Holloway’s “Sillage”, the sounds were
sufficient unto themselves.

Lardelli seamlessly integrated the traditional Maori instruments into
the world of western classical ones. So too did his fellow graduate
from Victoria University (NZ School of Music), Philip Brownlee. The
2009 “He rimu pae noa” began with Jeremy Hantler whirling the
dove-voiced poi-a-whio-whio gourd, while simultaneously playing the
nguru (with mouth). The albatross bone putorino, heard first in flute
mode, announced the climax with its trumpet voice, while Claire
Harris’s brittle, sparkling piano displaced Lardelli’s otherwise
ubiquitous guitar. Hand cupped “speaking stones” (Phil Dadson style)
led this well-shaped piece back to its beginning.

I found Brownlee’s “As if to catch the fleeting tail of time” (also
from 2009), less successful, despite the precision playing from SMP.
Here Lardelli’s guitar solo (and it can be played as a solo) was
magnified by the ensemble: blended tonally with the harp, its attacks
extended by Charley Davenport’s cello. I found the succession of
separated events overlong, compounded by the lack of the sense of form
and direction found in Morgan’s “Unfold” and Brownlee’s own “He rimu
pae noa”.

I had a similar feeling about the only work not written by a New
Zealander. Sun-Young Pahg is a Korean living in Paris, and her
“ThreshholIng” (2007) was an alternation of slow, spacious passages
with more agitated sections.

Rachael Morgan’s “Unfold”, on the other hand, unfolded, simply and
beautifully. Another graduate of VUW/NZSM, Morgan has been a recipient
of the Edwin Carr Foundation Scholarship which has taken her overseas.
Beginning with the guitar softly bowed (yes, bowed) near the bridge,
“Unfold” grew gradually with string tremolandi and flute pitch bends
to an understated climax (where the guitar strings were struck with
what appeared to be a dulcimer hammer), before returning to the sotto
voce opening.

Aucklander Samuel Holloway is one of our most exciting
recently-emerged composers. In his somewhat Webernian 2005 trio
“Stapes”, he managed to make a piano sound microtonal by using quarter
tone pitches on the violin and cello. The long-held tones of “Sillage”
(2010) belong to the time-suspended world of his recent string quartet
“Domestic Architecture”, which made a feature of the pulsing beats
between sustained micro-intervals. These scores are dangerously close
to minimalism – dangerously, because Holloway has publicly expressed a
distaste for minimalism. However, his idiom here is far removed from
the frenetic repetitions of Philip Glass (which, I think, Holloway had
in mind), and more akin to the “holy minimalism” of Aarvo Part, and
the prolonged soundings of LaMont Young. In “Sillage” (the word means
a wake in water or a waft of perfume) Lardelli’s bowed guitar
established a harmonically rich tambura-like drone (unobtrusively
detuned over the course of the piece) above and around which the
timbres of alto flute, clarinet, viola and cello merged and emerged.
Atmospheric as this realisation was, the instrumentation (apart from
guitar) is variable: a different version will be heard in SMP’s next
concert (“Interiors II”, Adam Concert Room, Friday March 11, at 7pm).

Interiors (in this case the inside of the piano) was very much the
theme of the recital by German musician Magda Mayas. Perhaps
paradoxically, there was greater ebb and flood of tension in these
extrovert, improvised interactions with percussionist Tony Buck, than
in many of the  more fully composed offerings from SMP. I caught only
the last one-and-a-half sets (and missed the contribution from Sound
and Light Exploration founder Daniel Beban altogether) because –
crazily – there were two concerts of enterprising new music scheduled
for the same evening.

Sound and Light Exploration member and regular performer at their
Frederick Street venue Fred’s, Hermione Johnson, had two works played
at the Adam Art Gallery. The reprise of a  multi-instrumental piece,
originally premiered in October to open the Designs for Living
exhibition, took advantage of the disparate spaces of the Gallery:
violinists Chris Prosser and Tristan Carter on different floors, Jeff
Henderson on sax in a side room, Nell Thomas on the mezzanine with her
theremin, Gerard Crewdson prowling with spooky unpitched staccatos on
the trombone, and Johnson herself barely audible on accordion in a
distant corner. The second item was rather more, well, dramatic.
“Drama Studies” was improvised – brilliantly – by Johnson, on a
spectacularly prepared piano (not only the classical Cage bits of
metal and wood, but also a network of wires strung from the ceiling).
After a long first half that was like Stockhausen on speed – something
of a marathon for both pianist and listeners – the rewards came as
Johnson began to use varying slabs of texture and changes of tempo,
culminating in a galaxy of attacks  mixing standard and altered tones.
A tour de force, never to be heard in quite the same way again.

VECTOR WELLINGTON ORCHESTRA – whatever the weather……

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Vector Wellington Orchestra Summer Concert

Soloists: Aivale Cole (soprano) / Benjamin Makisi (tenor)

Footnote Dance Company

Kate Mead (Radio New Zealand Concert) – presenter

Marc Taddei (conductor)

Vector Wellington Orchestra

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Sunday 6th March, 2011

As comedian Michael Flanders, of “At the Drop of a Hat” fame, might have said, “If the gods had intended us to listen to music outdoors, they would never have given us weather!”. Such was the case on the weekend, when, to the intense disappointment of all concerned, the Vector Wellington Orchestra’s annual family concert sortie to the grounds of Government House had to be relocated to the Michael Fowler Centre. The smaller indoor venue meant that many ticketholders had to get their money refunded, although those of us who were lucky enough to have a transferable seat found ourselves still able to collect our picnic hamper, whose contents we sampled while pretending to be enjoying a beautiful day, sitting on dry grass, in the sun or under trees, watching the rest of the company doing the same. The ritual enabled something of the occasion to be salvaged (everything incredibly well-organised, I thought), while the wonderful music-making generated by singers, orchestra and conductor did the rest. So, despite the privations, it was a great success.

Again the Wellington orchestra’s management was able to demonstrate that, when something special was required to fit an occasion, it was delivered with aplomb (by contrast with some of the promotional efforts from the “other” orchestra in town, whose energies seem hardly to spill over from concert platform activities), inviting the Governor-General and the Wellington Mayor to speak at the concert, and properly “place” the event , albeit in its amended form. There might, actually, have been one speech too many, at the start, with the event’s raison d’être – the music – being, as it were, kept waiting in the wings a little too long. But the show’s compere, Kate Mead, of Radio New Zealand Concert, quickly put us at our ease and prepared each item with whimsical descriptions of the music’s contexts, and “humanizing” figures like the all-too-fallible Antonio Vivaldi of the “Four Seasons” fame, with stories of his being censored by his superiors for his “unpriestly” activities (some things never change…..).

Concerts such as these tend to go for the “instant appeal” repertoire, of which, naturally, there’s a marvellous store, especially in opera – interesting, really, that so many people regard the latter as a relatively “closed-book” kind of art-form, yet hugely enjoy the “great moments” upon contact. But also, making a world of difference here, were the singers, soprano Aivale Cole and tenor Benjamin Makisi, both in fine voice and having a wonderful theatrical ease and spontaneity on the stage, separately and together. As for the support from orchestra and conductor, the accompaniments were of a piece, by turns full-throated and exquisitely atmospheric – a particular joy was Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma”, with Makisi’s nicely-focused tones borne aloft on diaphanous veils of floating instrumental sound, everything deliciously delicate and wind-blown. Perhaps the orchestra’s reduced numbers helped, here (I counted just four ‘cellists, for example), of a scale comparable with that of the average orchestral band in the “pit” of an opera house. What these players achieved with conductor Marc Taddei in places was spell-binding, considering they were in the same space as the singers, rather than in the recesses of “the womb of Gaia” (as Wagner called the orchestral pit). Admittedly, the reduced sound-scale didn’t help things like Ponchielli’s “Dance of the Hours”, which seriously lacked “grunt” during the final Galop, but fortunately this wasn’t typical.

It was a nice idea to run the three “La Boheme” exerpts together from Act One (again, the “big moments” – two arias and a duet, with the only unimportant casualties being the interjections of the offstage Bohemians), allowing Cole and Makisi plenty of theatrical as well as musical expression – while they were both impressive, I thought Cole freer, more easeful vocally, and still with something in reserve, even with the cries of “Amor!” at the end – fortunately, the largely non-opera-going audience broke off their premature applause to allow the singers these final off-stage vocal ecstasies! Earlier, Aivale Cole had demonstrated her versatility in Gareth Farr’s “Aoraki”, contributing a soaring vocal line to the largely traditional ambiences of karanga, were and putatara, supported by a typically rhythmic orchestral background. Apart from one audible Michael Laws-like comment from an audience member at the very end, not far from where I was sitting, this work got an enthusiastic reception, as did the same composer’s “Sea Gongs”, later in the program. Well, as American baseball coach Connie Mack once said, “You can’t win ’em all!”.

Dancers from the Footnote Dance Company contributed to two items. They performed rather more effectively to Tchaikovsky’s lovely Waltz from the opera “Eugen Onegin”, where the ‘ballroom swirling” was nicely captured, than for Vivaldi’s “Summer” from the “Four Seasons” (a brilliantly-played solo from concertmaster Matthew Ross), their movements I thought somewhat out-of-sync. with the music in places. The orchestra generated much more fire with Berlioz’s “Le Carnival Romain” (a nicely-phrased cor-anglais solo) than with Ponchielli, the players inspired by Taddei to produce surges of tone and flashes of brilliance as required. Again, the singers shone, Aivale Cole capturing the magic of a couple more famous operatic moments, Catalani’s “Ebben? Ne andrò lontana” from “La Wally”,  and “Vissi d’arte” from Puccini’s “Tosca”; while Benjamin Makisi brought the caddish aspect of the Duke of Mantua from Verdi’s “Rigoletto” to life, tickling the sensibilities of the audience to perfection with his insinuations. And if Cole didn’t quite “nail” the fiendishly difficult penultimate note of the same composer’s “Sempre libera” from “La Traviata”, she could take comfort from knowing that many famous sopranos have also failed to totally convince at that point.  The “Brindisi” (Drinking Song) from the same opera brought the full-throated best out of both singers, a few impromptu waltz-steps from Cole and Makisi throughout the “chorus bits” again delighting the audience, and bringing an immediacy to the music’s context.

It remained for the old warhorse, Tchaikovsky’s Overture “1812”, to round the music off, which was done in quite spectacular, if unintentional fashion, when the second bass-drum player (brought in to simulate the cannon-fire at the piece’s climax) lost his grip on the drumstick at his first thunderous whack, sending it spinning across the back of the orchestral platform, to the risible delight of the audience! Wisely, I think, Marc Taddei had removed the repetitions of some of the music’s material in the middle of the piece, so that the actual battle came sooner than was expected. What astonished me was the weight of tone that the orchestra produced in places, so that nowhere did we feel sonically compromised or sold short in excitement. And the hapless percussionist who had lost his stick made up for the couple of entries he had missed while retrieving his implement by thundering away with extra vim and vigor at the height of the victory celebrations, earning himself a special accolade for his efforts at the music’s conclusion!