Month: August 2012

Dancing in the Cathedral – Mozart and Bruckner from Simone Young and the NZSO

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Cathedrals of Sound – New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

MOZART – Symphony No.36 in C Major K.425 “Linz”

BRUCKNER – Symphony No.5 in B-flat

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Simone Young (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Friday 17th August, 2012

“A Bruckner Symphony is never just another concert” declared conductor Simone Young, interviewed a few days before her scheduled pair of performances of the Austrian composer’s Fifth Symphony, in Wellington and in Auckland. Not only did she mean that, more especially in this Southern Pacific area of the globe, performances of these symphonies are fewer and further between than in some other parts of the world. It was also an affirmation by a musician who’s already a great interpreter of these works, of their special character, part of which incorporates the power within the music to transform a normal concert experience into something uniquely special and truly memorable. And those qualities were precisely what we got from Bruckner, Simone Young and the NZSO  in Wellington’s Michael Fowler Centre on Friday night.

For a number of reasons the appearance of Australian-born Young excited considerable interest – women conductors of orchestras are still very much the exception rather than the norm (though we’ve come some distance, I think, from the once-prevailing attitude voiced by former NZSO conductor-in-chief Franz-Paul Decker, who was once famously quoted as finding women conductors “aesthetically unpleasing”!). Young is, moreover, perhaps the most highly-regarded woman conductor in Europe, with a particularly high profile in Germany, working as she does out of the Hamburg State Opera, and as music Director of the Hamburg Philharmonic.

She’s something of a controversial figure as well, having been “at odds” with a former employer, Australian Opera, over her budgeting demands during her tenure as the company’s artistic director, resulting in her contract not being renewed after only a couple of seasons. As it turned out Australia’s loss was Europe’s gain, as her dual appointments in Hamburg followed soon after – musical director of both the city’s opera and the Philharmonic Orchestra, posts she took up in 2005. Her native country had, by then moved to make some amends for her peremptory dismissal from the Opera, appointing her a Member of the Order of Australia in 2004.

2012 is an important year for her – besides having made her debut with the NZSO, she is bringing to Brisbane the Hamburg Opera and Ballet and the Philharmonic, performing a concert version of Das Rheingold (she is a seasoned Wagnerian with several Ring Cycles to her credit, including a complete recording) and the Mahler “Resurrection” Symphony. New Zealanders who might feel aggrieved that the “Hamburg Invasion” doesn’t include these shores might consider that neither does the venture include Sydney or Melbourne, Queensland wanting “exclusive rights” to the venture – now, why does that have a familiar ring?

With all of these things in mind, expectations were pirouetting on points among the audience awaiting the conductor’s entry to begin the Wellington concert. Diminutive, but authoritative, Young took the podium, and, dispensing with a baton, launched into the concert’s first offering, the Mozart “Linz” Symphony K.425.  Of course, the geographic links with Bruckner (Linz was the latter’s birth-place) made the choice a happy and appropriate one, though there were other possibilities of programming – one being the Fifth Symphony of yet another Austrian composer, Schubert, whom Bruckner is often linked with regarding his symphonic method. I would have been as happy with either.

Thanks to my formative listening experience with the Mozart “Linz” symphony I can’t, even after all these years, get Bruno Walter’s voice on his famous rehearsal recording of this work, out of my head through that opening – “Bahnn – off! Ba-bahnn – off! Ba-bahnn – off! ….” and so on (Walter’s orchestra was having trouble with the note values!). There seemed no such problem, here, the sounds focused, crisp and precise, yet with a warmth (no didactic vibrato-less “authentic” strictures, thank goodness!) and, indeed a glow about the textures throughout the slow introduction, which informed the lovely easeful beginning to the allegro, and made a wonderful contrast with the more bumptious and high-spirited energies to follow.

It was Mozart-playing that reminded me at times of Benjamin Britten’s recordings of some of the symphonies – the same marriage of lyricism and strength, informed by an attention to detail which enriches the music’s context rather than distracts from the flow. Young conducted, it seemed, with every fibre of her being, her fingertips expressing and conveying a kind of whole-body energy which mirrored what the music was doing (as she did later in the evening with the Bruckner), her feet dancing and her knees launching the rest of her body upwards to characterize the “lift” required by the music’s rhythms.

The orchestral playing, though not without some brass “blurps” at two or three cardinal points throughout the slow movement (the players settling in more as the work progressed), produced sounds that seemed an expression of Young’s will, the strings and winds getting a lovely colour, either when “playing out” or with the more softly-lit sequences in the movement’s middle section. As for the bright, vigorous, but still elegant Minuet, Young literally led the opening dance to the audience’s delight, and then got beautifully contrasted characterizations from the winds in the Trio.

The finale again married grace and strength, the players’ articulation clear and crisp at speed, even if Young’s direction slightly “squeezed” the rhythm of the concluding downward arpeggiated figure each time, as if stressing the music’s urgency. Throughout, we enjoyed the prominence accorded the timpani, Laurence Reece encouraged to make the notes tell with just the right amount of emphasis, enhancing both the work’s texture and rhythmic character.

Back from an interval – during which it seemed the conductor’s red shoes (prominent during all those dance steps) were discussed as enthusiastically as her music-making – we settled down to behold the splendors of the Bruckner Symphony. And what splendors they were, in Young’s hands (aided by a baton for this music – doubtless due to a bigger orchestra and music with some rhythmic complexity). The rapt opening of the work recalled Russian conductor Vasily Petrenko’s way with the opening of the “Leningrad” Symphony, almost exactly a year ago in this same hall with the same players – utter concentration upon sounds whose genesis here seemed deeply elemental, like a giant slumberer’s distantly-wrought heartbeat, with those deep pizzicato notes beautifully and sensitively coloured by the upper strings’ arc-lines. What a beginning to a symphony!

During the “Listener” interview previously quoted Young stated that she thought an older school of conductors’ way with Bruckner’s music had contributed to public perception of the works being “overlong”, and that she saw the symphonies as being more direct, theatrical and emotional than they were often played. So, here, the massive brass statements which answered the quiet opening were given with plenty of declamatory force, the playing nicely poised amid pauses for the utmost effect (a magnificent brass response, here, from the orchestra) – and the allegro which followed was swiftly and urgently propelled. Young handled the transitions throughout the numerous changes of tempo in the first movement with the utmost flexibility, moulding the ends of episodes into the silences with beautifully-judged luftpauses. She also seemed ever-ready to allow the music to dance, so that the monumental, cathedral-like aspect of the work was less dominant than is usually the case.

Such was the concentration and energy of the music-making from all concerned that each of the first three movements seemed to be taken on the wing of a single breath. The sometimes problematic opening to the Adagio, with its awkward three-against-two rhythms, here flowed as mellifluously as could be, the music’s innate restlessness perfectly expressed, and the oboe solo’s emotional outpouring simple and direct. The strings’ luscious second-subject theme grew lovely, upward-reaching tendrils of sound, then joined with the brass unforgettably in a snowcapped climactic moment that filled the ensuing silence with magic. And towards the end, with the brass golden and confident, the sound-surges evoked by Young and her players created out of the spaces around us whole mountains and valleys into which the tapestried ambiences etched lonely impulses of wind tones and softly-thrummed silences.

After this came the scherzo, with its outlandish stop-go aspect, and rhythmic sequences alternating between demonic energy and heavy-footed rustic bonhomie, Young and the players (especially the brass) revelling in the quick-fire alternations. If not all of the brass detailing was entirely accurate, what was far more important was capturing the music’s quirkiness and volatility, the textures here in constant and spontaneous effervescence, in places laughter “holding both its sides”, while in others, such as throughout the trio, rustic charm prevailed, the detailing from winds and brass again treasurable (a lovely gurgling upward arpeggio from the clarinet at one point, and beautiful chording from the horns towards the end).

The opening of the finale (a similar hush to that of the symphony’s beginning) was almost spoilt by unfortunate audience coughing – as, earlier in the evening, a flurry of late audience arrivals had interrupted the Mozart Symphony’s slow movement. Fortunately the clarinet’s perky octave jumps (a precursor of the fugue to come) seemed to refocus the attention of the coughers, so that we could all concentrate on the Beethoven-like reintroduction of themes from the symphony’s earlier movements, prior to the fugue’s hugely dramatic first entry-proper. In Young’s hands, as she promised, the music was more lithe and muscular than leviathan-like, making for engaging, closely-worked arguments between voices, and advancing the music’s progress towards a promised climax or sense of fruition.

That came, of course, with those mighty closing brass chorales, which capped off the mountain ranges of music running like a spinal cord through the structures. My first reaction there was to crave a more overtly “grand” manner than Young was directing – she drove the orchestra straight into those mighty statements while keeping the music’s underlying pulse beating, risking a “more of the same” feeling rather than creating an overwhelming sense of arrival and resolution. But what her approach did do was, in the long run, elevate the status of the whole of the finale to that of a truly cosmic dance, the rhythmic drive working hand-in-glove with the “cathedrals of sound” – so that, in the midst of these mighty structures right at the end, we still felt like dancing with the music.

So – it was music-making of one’s dreams from orchestra and conductor, suitably acclaimed by a delighted audience at the end – how long will it be before we can invite Simone Young back again to make more music?

 

 

 

 

Young musicians’ mid-winter warm-up with Mozart and Rachmaninov

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Youth Orchestra Winter Concert

RACHMANINOV – Symphony No.3 in A MInor Op.44

MOZART – Requiem (arr. Maunder)

Amelia Ryman (soprano) / Alison Hodge (contralto)

Cameron Barclay (tenor) / Matthew Landreth (bass)

Wellington Youth Choir (Katie Macfarlane – Music Director)

Wellington Youth Orchestra

Hamish McKeich (conductor)

Wellington Town Hall,

Sunday 12th August, 2012

Aside from the circumstance of this being the THIRD Mozart Requiem performance offered the Wellington concert-going public this year so far (after all, it’s only August!), I thought the program of this concert by its own lights adventurous and challenging. And, regarding the combination of Mozart and Rachmaninov, a well-known French saying – “Vive la différence” can easily put it in an acceptable context.

Looking at things more closely than mere concert listings, one then discovers that, unlike with the first Mozart Requiem performance of the year by the Bach Choir of Wellington, this latest performance did feature an orchestra, and not merely an organ accompaniment. And unlike both of the previous performances (the second one being by the Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir and the Vector Wellington Orchestra), the recent one explored some different musical territories, using an edition prepared in 1986 by the scholar Richard Maunder, which largely dispensed with the attempts of Mozart’s pupil, Franz Süssmayr, to finish the work, uncompleted at the composer’s death.

Maunder’s version, completed in 1986, retains some of Süssmayr’s completions of Mozart’s sketches, but abandons what he feels are the non-Mozart parts, such as the Sanctus and Benedictus. Maunder does retain the Agnus Dei, feeling that the influence of Mozart did guide Süssmayr here more directly. But he recasts the work’s two final movements differently – Lux Aeterna and Cum Sanctis – drawing from material earlier in the Requiem. 

Like others before and since, Maunder considered Süssmayr’s work generally unworthy of Mozart’s, though many music-lovers down the years have had far more cause to thank than revile the unfortunate “johnny-on-the-spot”, given the sheer impossibility of his task. Poor Süssmayr wasn’t exactly a favourite of Mozart’s, either, the composer, in a letter to his wife Constanze, referring to his erstwhile pupil as a “blockhead”, and likening his native intelligence to that of “a duck in a thunderstorm” – but then Mozart was often almost pathologically unkind towards people he considered his inferiors.

From the singers’ point of view (as well as from that of this audience member), the dropping of both the Sanctus and Benedictus might well seem unfortunate, irrespective of considerations of greater “authenticity”. Still, both the on-going conjecture and the various attempts to render the work nearer to what the composer might have “wanted” have kept the music well away from any kind of museum mothballing. In essence, it’s very much a “living classic”, and likely to remain that way, considering that some of the work’s secrets can never be actually told – merely guessed at.

As regards the actual concert, I’ve run ahead of things, here, as the evening began with music from quite a different world. This was the Rachmaninov Third Symphony, a stern test, I would have thought, for a youth orchestra to tackle. Rachmaninov wrote this work late in his composing career, and filled its pages with contrasting and conflicting impulses and emotions. In places, the sounds and themes nostalgically evoke the Imperial Russia of the composer’s boyhood, of Tchaikovsky and Rimsky-Korsakov, particularly the latter composer – Rachmaninov shared some of his older compatriot’s fondness for quasi-oriental themes and orchestral colorings. In other places the music snaps at the heels of contemporary trends, with enough rhythmic and timbral “bite” to suggest Bartok, Prokofiev and Stravinsky.

There are the familiar Rachmaninov trademarks, among them the well-known plainchant “Dies Irae” theme, which pulsates like an electric current through much of the composer’s music (contributing not a little to its deep, prevailing melancholy, and undoubtedly influencing Stravinsky’s famous description of his compatriot as “six feet of Russian gloom”), the brilliance of the orchestration, and the heartfelt beauty of the themes, so candidly and unashamedly expressive. It seems incredible when listening to this work to imagine anybody writing of its effect – “a chewing-over of something that had little importance to start with….” which is what one New York critic wrote after the premiere in 1936. Another, a tad more sympathetically, wrote “Rachmaninov builds palaces with his music in which nobody wants to live any more…”.

Fortunately for those of us in the audience at this concert, conductor Hamish McKeich and his young players (their numbers judiciously augmented by a handful of NZSO members, probably some of the students’ tutors) seemed to pay no heed to such agenda-driven comments, and instead plunged into and appeared to revel in what the music had to offer – a whole-hearted, sharply-etched lyricism, expressed through a brilliant and wide-ranging orchestral palette. Both conductor and orchestra leader Arna Morton seemed to me inspirational by dint of gesture and physical involvement with the music, each readily able to delineate the work’s every mood and movement and show the rest of the players the way.

Arna Morton’s solo playing was nicely turned, as were some of the many wind solos throughout the work – the horn solo at the slow movement’s beginning actually sounded rather “Russian” with an engaging “fruitiness” of tone. Then first the flute and afterwards clarinet (from where I was sitting I couldn’t actually see the soloists) made a lovely job of the third movement’s solo lines leading to the whiplash conclusion of the symphony; while, of the other instruments, Dorothy Raphael’s timpani made something resplendent of the brief but impactful crescendo at the climax of the central movement’s scherzando section.

The richly lyrical moments were what this orchestra did best – the opening soulful “motto” theme, and the movement’s luscious tunes, the second movement’s richly and exotically-wrought archways, and the finale’s dying fall, the melodies and their inspiration spent. In these this orchestra gave its all, bringing a natural, youthful ardor to the shape and intensity of those yearning lines. And the  ceremonial episodes, such as the finale’s opening, had great exuberance, a similar sense of “playing-out” and letting things “sound”. Somewhat predictably, the players found the many treacherous “scherzando” passages in the work difficult, fraught with syncopations and difficult rhythmic dovetailings, as though the bar-lines were booby-trapped and waiting to pounce. To their credit, conductor and players kept going through the squalls, celebrating the triumphs and thrills along the way as readily as coping with the spills – at the end of the day the performance’s overall effect did enough of the work justice for conductor and orchestra to be pleased with its achievement.

Orchestrally, the Mozart was more uniformly impressive, perhaps even too much so in relation to the choir and soloists, whose relative backward placement seemed to put them at a dynamic disadvantage. Of the soloists, soprano Amelia Ryman shone brightly, her lines clear and silvery and always a delight. The others lacked her projection, and sometimes had to force their tone to be heard, stationed as they were just at the foot of the choir. It’s always seemed to me that composers intended soloists’ voices to stand out, rather than be given a “solo voice from the choir” kind of balance; and here for most of the time alto, tenor and bass needed all the help they could get, not necessarily an enthusiastic student orchestra anxious to demonstrate what they could do, to accompany them.

Throughout, both the general playing and detailing of individual instrumental lines from the orchestra was of a high standard – a sonorous trombone solo at “Tuba mirum”, majestic strings at “Rex Tremendae”, and secure brass and strings throughout the final “Cum Sanctis” fugue. The choir sang truly, beautifully and accurately, even if there were times when those voices didn’t manage to get across the weight of tone required to properly dominate the sound-picture, such as in the aforementioned fugue. To fill a Town Hall with sound, after all, takes some doing. I would have actually like the soloists closer, so that I could have more readily enjoyed Amelia Ryman’s singing, and got a better sense of the voices of the other three. For each of them, mellifluous moments of singing alternated with sequences where they seemed to struggle to be heard against the orchestra. Tenor Cameron Barclay made the most consistent impression, though his voice seemed not to have quite the same command and attack that was evident when he sang in the Beethoven Missa Solemnis, earlier in the year.

Still, very great credit is due to these young singers and players for what they achieved, and to their “guiding hand” on the night, conductor Hamish McKeich, who was able to bring the different elements together and preside over their fruitful interaction. The efforts he and others inspired made for an enjoyable and heartening evening’s concert.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blistering Brahms, diaphanous Dutilleux and monumental Mozart, from Amici and Diedre Irons

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Chamber Music

Amici Ensemble with Diedre Irons (piano)

MOZART – Piano Quartet in G MInor K.478

DUTILLEUX – String Quartet “Ainsi la Nuit” (Thus the Night)

BRAHMS – Piano Quintet in F Minor Op.34

Ilott Theatre, Wellington

Sunday, 12th August, 2012

Blame Captain Haddock of the “Tintin” books for my “Blistering Brahms” heading – the other descriptions are more conventional, but no less heartfelt on my part. For this was a magnificent concert, a memorable marriage of great music and music-making, very much a “gentlemen of England now abed.…” scenario if ever there was one, for we lucky people in the audience.

With Mozart in his “G Minor mood” there was drama and dark purpose right from the concert’s beginning, with the composer’s K.478 Piano Quartet. The expression on Diedre Irons’ face, ready to plunge into the opening bars with her ensemble colleagues spoke volumes, really. The musicians relished it all, the major/minor mirrorings of the opening phrases, the piquant asymmetries of the lyrical contrasts and the richly unexpected modulations of the development – all contributed tellingly to a powerful, all-pervading ambivalence of mood throughout the opening movement.

Violinist Donald Armstrong led the ensemble with a will, his tone perhaps a little raw in places, but the sound indicative of the intensity of feeling he was investing with the notes. Mozart’s usual dictum “It should flow like oil” was here augmented with episodes of intense, knife-edged focus. Diedre Irons’ piano took the lead with the development, as always with her playing the tones coloured and inflected with what seemed like a Shakespearean kind of eloquence. In reply, the strings’ long-breathed lines were gorgeous, filled with intense feeling.

The operatic Andante sang out here, melody and counter melody drawing forth lines and accompaniments of great strength, the music never sentimentalized (a beautiful contribution from Julia Joyce’s viola at one point). The finale’s opening seemed a long way from the tragedy of the opening movement’s utterances. We heard such supple, beautifully-placed dovetailing at quite a cracking pace, everything made to “bubble” and generate high spirits, though with some lurches into a darker minor mood in places – the composer obviously saying, “Just to let you know that….” with these sequences.

After these antiquarian tragicomedies, the following work, a String Quartet from 1976 by Henri Dutilleux subtitled Ainsi la nuit (Thus the night)  brought a new earth to view. Donald Amstrong spoke before the work’s performance about its “organized disorganization”, a statement which seemed to characterize most aptly the sonorities and figurations that we encountered throughout. The opening sequences certainly suggested the Nocturne of the title, with haunting repetitions, punctuated by what might be characterized as owl-cries or distant ship-horns at sea. The ambiences seemed layered, so that as skins of texture were discarded others seemed firmly fixed in place underneath. After this, the Miroir d’espace that was Movement Two irrupted with sharp impulses, before the sounds widened spectrally between a haunting violin line and  a near-subterranean cello, creating a yawning vista between, flecked with instrumental incident.

Each of two sections that follow were subtitled Litanies, the first closely-worked and claustrophobic, concerted passages interspersed with instrumental “adventures”, while the second sounded a kind of siren’s song, with elements of a lament, a sort of chromatic welling up from the depths and gathering strands of sharp focus together. I thought the players’ characterizations of these many and widely-contrasted sound-impulses vivid and compelling. Just as focused was the playing in Constellations, rhythmic, spiky and volatile, as if part of the cosmos was in ferment, the music expressing that “disorganized organization” Donald Armstrong talked about.

Such were the mesmeric qualities of the sounds, I found myself drifting into the music quite non-analytically at some points, losing my overview of things in impulses of delight, and then having to regretfully resist further blandishments. Even so, the last two sections of the work remain indissoluble in my mind, the music’s ambient world establishing such a sense of organic flow at this stage in the piece, the divisions were subsumed and everything became as one, a veritable “memory footprint” established by those sounds, one which haunts me even as I write this.

As if these whole-world-entities weren’t enough, after the interval we were given the full high-romantic gamut of emotion, refracted through the Brahmsian end of things. The composer’s great Piano Quintet had to claw its way through two separate gestations – firstly for strings alone, then for two pianos – before emerging in its finished form. I found the comments made by friends of the composer regarding each of these “tryouts” interesting – violinist Joseph Joachim found that the strings-alone version “lacked charm”, and the great conductor Hermann Levi told Brahms that he had turned “a monotonous work for two pianos” into a masterpiece of chamber music. Brahms destroyed the strings-only work, but the two-piano version still exists as the Sonata Op.34b.

What the Piano Quintet version of the music gives us is the work’s structural strength expressed in a “best-of-both-worlds” garb – and these were the musicians to do the music’s strength, colour and lyricism justice. The sombre opening was played in a way that hinted at the turbulence to come – a big, quasi-orchestral sound that reflected the word of the piano concertos, with Diedre Irons’ playing underpinning the grandeur of the music’s range and scope. The give-and-take between instruments had a satisfyingly full-blooded quality – only once did I find the playing of the strings too insistent, a repeated-note sequence towards the end of the development which dominated rather than accompanied the piano’s material. Conversely, I found the ‘cello occasionally not forthright enough in such company, though Rowan Prior’s counterpointing was invariably beautifully voiced and phrased.

Throughout the work the musicians never let the intensity flag, the slow movement enshrining the most passionate lyricism (a beautiful unison from violinist Cristina Vaszilcsin and Julia Joyce shining out at one point, and a plumbing of the depths from Rowan Prior’s ‘cello at another), with everybody else similarly “playing out” and realizing the emotional potentialities of the music. And, what could have been merely high spirits in the scherzo had a supercharged, “possessed” quality – no half-measures! I loved the players’ engagement with it all, the fugal sections swirling up into the festive, swaggering theme, making a great dramatic contrast with the reprise of the opening, after the trio.

What mattered more than the less-than-ideally-pure string intonations at the finale’s beginning was the mood the players evoked, portents of impending tragedy, to which the ‘cello and piano then moved swiftly and hauntedly. With Brahms moving from light to darkness through different sequences the music’s roller-coaster ride was exhilarating, rhythmic poise turning almost without warning to pursuit on occasions. The playing simply kept up its extraordinarily vivid and physical effect right to the end, where the 6/8 Presto whirled our sensibilities away, flinging the music’s last few notes out into oblivion. It was, I thought, afterwards, the kind of music-making that makes life worth living.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Superb New Zealand premiere of Donizetti masterpiece in the Catholic Cathedral

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Opera in a Days Bay Garden – Opera in the Basilica

Donizetti: Maria Stuarda

Lisa Harper-Brown (Elizabeth I); Paul Whelan (Talbot); Benjamin Fifita Makisi (Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester); Matt Landreth (Lord Cecil); Clarissa Dunn (Anna Kennedy); Rhona Fraser (Mary, Queen of Scots)
Producer: Rhona Fraser; Michael Vinten (conductor); Sara  Brodie (director)
Chapman Tripp NBR New Zealand Opera Chorus; orchestra

Cathedral of the Sacred Heart

Friday, 10 August 2012, 6.00pm

This was New Zealand’s first performance of Donizetti’s great opera, one of seven (I’m open to correction) that he wrote based on English and Scottish history and stories.  This one had a turbulent early history of censorship and numerous revisions because of its theme of battling royals and the execution of a crowned monarch.

Days Bay Opera was not in a garden this time, but appropriately in a Catholic church bearing the inscription ‘Sub Maria Nomine’.  It was virtually full of people; they witnessed an absolute triumph!  Days Bay Opera, principally the work of Rhona Fraser, producer and soprano soloist), gave us a performance of a very high standard and fully professional in all its elements, while conductor Michael Vinten and director Sara Brodie allowed their experience and their imaginations to invest Donizetti’s great opera with musical and acting delights.  It is worth noting that the sponsor of this enterprise was none other than Jeremy Commons, world expert on the operas of Donizetti.

In 1992 I attended this opera performed by Australian Opera in the Sydney Opera House.  It was notable that not only was the essay in the lavish printed programme written by Jeremy Commons, but three of the six principals (though not Elizabeth or Mary) were New Zealanders: Rodney Macann as Talbot, Anson Austin as Leicester (who was indisposed the night I attended) and Heather Begg as Anna.  A brief quotation from the essay sets the scene: “A beautiful and rewarding opera in itself – a fascinating study of two queens held apart by politics – a sensitive and moving representation of the final hours of one of the most unfortunate figures in British history – an intriguing window upon the theatrical world of its day – Maria Stuarda is all of these things.”

This choice constituted a departure for Days Bay Opera, whose previous productions have been of a lighter cast: The Marriage of Figaro, Journey to Rheims, and Alcina (which is not as light as the other two, but has a happy ending).

The change to an indoor venue in winter from a beautiful garden and watery view in summer is also major.  Sara Brodie used the building to great effect, its architectural features enhanced by lovely lighting, with action taking place in various parts, although predominantly at the sanctuary end, where the small orchestra was placed.  Action further back could not readily be seen by those near to the front; however, the acoustics are so fine that the sound could be heard anywhere.  The action in the central aisle and side aisles enabled other parts of the audience to see and hear well at different times.  The use made of the many points of entry into the church was imaginative; the coup de grace (coup de l’église?) was at the end, when Mary and her retinue walked the length of the nave and out the west door (to her execution).

There were no weak links in this production; the cast was very thoroughly rehearsed, knew their words well, and projected them more than adequately. I noticed that the soloists seldom looked at the conductor, yet they were spot on in entries and timing.  The English version used was that of Amanda Holden, who created it for English National Opera in 1998.  It was described by the Sunday Telegraph as ‘Amanda Holden’s racy new translation’.

The orchestra comprised eight players, plus a pair of trumpets that appear only in one short scene, ‘off-stage’ (out the side door, in fact), when Elizabeth arrives to meet Mary.  Vinten’s reduction of the score was masterly, with sufficient of both volume and content to render the music with enough variety of timbre and dynamics.  The five strings, flute, clarinet and piano all worked hard and played extremely well, with many wonderful moments.  Early on, I especially noticed beautiful playing from the clarinet.  The piano never intruded, but gave a firm base for the other players.  Later in the first Act there was winsome flute playing accompanying Mary and Anna.  A lovely prelude preceded Act II (Act III in most 20th century performances), full of foreboding and anticipation.

Costuming a period production can be an expensive business.  The solution here was to dress the characters mainly in modern dress, including lounge suits and ties for the men (although Elizabeth’s queenly robe, and her hunting costume deviated from the modern), apart from Mary Queen of Scots and her attendant Anna, who wore period costume.  Director Sara Brodie explained to me in the interval (which was deliciously lubricated with mulled wine) that this was to convey the idea that Mary and her court were in a ‘time-lock’, while the court of Elizabeth had moved on in time.

The cast was uniformly good. What a coup to have Paul Whelan as Talbot – a bass-baritone who sings in opera houses around the world!  While he was the principal singer in that register, he was not the leading soloist.

Lisa Harper-Brown played Queen Elizabeth I with great dignity and hauteur, her vocal coloration and facial expression always apt for the moment.  Her voice was rich and expressive.  Donizetti took her to both the top and the bottom of her range in quick time, but this seemed to present no problem.

In the first Act, she had a delightful lilting solo with pizzicato accompaniment.  Her Scene Two solo in the presence of Mary was delivered with a sense of foreboding, as Mary and Talbot intoned their reactions against the floating notes of Elizabeth; Anna joined in to make a gorgeous ensemble.  There was a slight lack of co-ordination, but considering the distance the singers were from each other, ensemble was very good, featuring masterly, controlled tone, while Mary’s soliloquy that followed was dramatic and agitated.

Ben Makisi sang Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, with passion and to great dramatic effect.  His voice had full, ringing tones, producing (as always) lovely soft top notes; in the case of his duet with Elizabeth, these were unaccompanied.  The men’s duet that followed was full of drama, as was Elizabeth’s anger with Leicester. Makisi, of all the performers, managed to get a look in his eye that expressed his emotions and his objections to Elizabeth’s wishes (since his greater affection was for Mary).

Rhona Fraser’s singing as Mary Queen of Scots was magnificent.  I have heard her sing in each of the operas.  Here, her role was much larger, more dramatic and more difficult than those she had previously essayed, and she rose to the occasion superbly.  Her intonation was perfect, her runs thrilling, and her acting thoroughly in keeping with the role, as indeed was the acting of all the cast.  Her tirade against Elizabeth in the second Scene of Act I incorporated coloratura runs, +and was impressive, the voice ringing out strongly, but with no hint of forcing.  Again at the end of Act II there were superb coloratura passages, while Fraser’s low notes were dramatic and mellow, helping to bring the audience into the passion and drama.

The following duet between Leicester and Mary, in waltz time, revealed a wonderful bloom to Fraser’s voice, and how splendidly both singers used their resonators.

At the beginning of Act II there was a stunning duet between Makisi and Whelan, as they discuss plots against Elizabeth, their double lives, of service to Elizabeth, but their love for Mary, and in Talbot’s case, the fact that he was a clandestine Catholic. Whelan was at his best in the scene with Mary, his voice fully resonant in the sanctuary of the church.  Here, Mary had yet more beautiful period clothing.  Her solo with chorus, Talbot and Anna was mellifluous, enhanced by the acoustic.

Mary’s prayer was exquisitely sung, and Fraser’s facial expression conveyed tragic feeling.  The lighting contrasted the light and space of Elizabeth’s court of the first scene with the confined, darker castle at Fotheringay where Mary was imprisoned.  Presumably for this reason also, there was less movement in those scenes.

In the final scene, leading to the execution, the crew erected barriers to keep back the crowd.  The chorus began here rather weakly, but improved as they went on, though facial expressions were mostly too dead-pan.  Their placards read “Shame on England”, “We love you Mary” and other 21st century phrases; very telling.  Makisi was very strong here, and the chorus became more involved.

Clarissa Dunn was effective as Anna, Mary’s companion.  Her acting as the calm, comforting, dutiful servant was just right; her relatively small amount of singing revealed a very attractive voice, and good enunciation.  She acquitted herself well in the ensemble in the first Act with Mary and the soldiers, and again in the final scene.

The chorus was first heard behind the audience, in the gallery, making a great impact and their work, vocally, was consistently good.  Paul Whelan also first sang from behind where I was seated; he produced a magnificent sound, powerful and intense and projecting the words strongly. The brass and off-stage chorus were sonorously splendid as they announced Elizabeth’s arrival at Fotheringay Castle to visit Mary (historically, this never happened).

This opera features many duets and ensembles.  Early on, Elizabeth and Leicester  sing a tender duet that soon turns to fire; this was splendidly done – but so were all the ensembles.

Some aspects of the production were less convincing than others.  Both Elizabeth and Mary used the pulpit on occasion; the first time, it was Elizabeth, holding a dog, which she hands to Cecil (Matt Landreth, a cynical courtier who sang expressively, though with sometimes insufficient volume though at others, strongly) while she sings her first aria; this was excellent.  But the photographers doing a photo-shoot of Elizabeth in the first scene (complete with make-up brush) was perhaps a little OTT, especially the distracting flashes.  Elsewhere in the production had Elizabeth using a laptop, Cecil using a cellphone, but these features were not overdone.

The only slightly negative note was the appearance of the chorus.  Most had not memorised their music, which was perhaps understandable, but their scores were held at sundry angles, and in the last scene some of the chorus held protest placards as well, which added to the problem. More uniform handling of the scores would have improved the look. Nevertheless, the chorus shone vocally.

Here we had a team of individuals performing impeccably, both dramatically and vocally, conveying expertly Donizetti’s music and drama at his melodic, harmonic and rhythmic best.  Congratulations to all concerned with this stunning production – not forgetting the effective lighting.  Particular praise must go to the two female leads, who were outstanding, and to Rhona Fraser for producing a performance of such quality, with tension, drama and momentum maintained throughout the performance, with no dead spots.

The second and final performance is on Saturday, 18 August at 8pm.  Go if you possibly can!

 

 

Well-presented concert from NZSM’s Young Musicians’ Programme

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Young Musicians’ Programme of the New Zealand School of Music

Students of voice, piano, flute, violin, clarinet and guitar

St Andrew’s on the Terrace

Wednesday 8 August, 12.15pm

Pre-university music students can seek to study in the Young Musicians’ Programme of the New Zealand School of Music, in preparation for tackling the real thing when they matriculate later.

There are various opportunities to hear music students at the secondary stage of their education, such as at concerts by the New Zealand Secondary Students’ Choir, the Wellington and the National Youth Choirs and Orchestras (the Wellington Youth Orchestra plays this Sunday, 12 August at the Town Hall), and at events like the ‘Big Sing’ of the National Choral Festival, the Final stage of which can be heard at the Town Hall on Saturday 18 August, and the Schools Chamber Music Contest.

For a decade, a very special concert was staged annually by the Michael Monaghan Trust at which young instrumental players played concerto movements with an orchestra of players from the NZSO; that was wound up last year with the promise that the NZSO itself would pick it up and run something similar: what has happened?

At all these events, it is normal to hear performances that are astonishingly skilled and musically insightful.

The lunchtime audience at St Andrew’s enjoyed such an experience on Wednesday.

Eight young students played and sang, each introduced clearly by the programme director Shannon Digby. One of the most talented opened the concert with a short bracket of piano pieces: by 17th century Italian composer Bernardo Pasquini and Brahms. Nicole Ting played two movements of the Pasquini suite with a rare sensitivity and a surprisingly developed instinct for the music’s style and spirit, her ornaments were tasteful and charming, and her playing fluent and accurate. Though she had a wee lapse at the start of Brahms’s Intermezzo (in F minor, Op 118 No 4) here too she showed a maturity of understanding that took me by surprise.

Rosalie Willis on the flute may not have demonstrated quite that level of technical polish or fluency but her playing of a Fantasie in E minor by Telemann, showed care with phrasing and dynamics; the rhythmically testing last movement, Allegro, she managed very nicely.

Sophie Smyth has an as-yet softish soprano voice. She sang Der Lindenbaum from Winterreise, capturing its heart-broken mood with singing that was charming and accurate, and with accompaniment from Buz Bryant-Greene that gave sensitive support, though it’s not always easy to hold the voice and piano together, and he rarely overtopped her quiet delivery. Her second song was Jenny McLeod’s ‘I have no name’, from her collection Through the World, a small masterpiece that I’m humbled to say I hadn’t heard before. Sophie did it real justice.

Amber Madriaga is a guitarist already exhibiting surprising facility; her playing of Roland Dyens Tango en Skai gave off an air of confidence and considerable accomplishment in the repeated whirlwind flourishes, and occasionally almost too much dynamic subtlety.

There followed the Romance movement from Poulenc’s Clarinet Sonata from the already well advanced player Emily Evers, moving through its big range smoothly though her top was given to some shrillness. Emily later joined with tutor Karlo Margetic and oboist Ashley Mowbray in a fellow student’s composition, Subversion by Sean Pearless. It was musically interesting and treated each instrument with considerable understanding.

The only contribution from a jazz student was from Alex Ware, singing Butterfly, with a vibrato that might need watching later, though with confidence and an ease of delivery essential to the idiom; and then a scat-style concoction based on Summertime which perhaps suffered a little on account of her striving for innovation; yet there was no mistaking her fluency and an attractive vocal quality. Both were accompanied idiomatically by Daniel Millward.

Buz Bryant-Greene returned to accompany Allanah Avalon in He Moemoe (‘A Dream’), a rather beguiling song by Anthony Ritchie. Here there were moments when the two seemed not to be in perfect balance; her voice is attractive though a bit more attention is perhaps needed on projecting her lines.

Such was the pleasure of the concert that I was surprised my watch showed 12.50pm when I felt it was only half way through.

These young musicians will be interesting to watch.

 

Janet Gibbs delightful organ recital at Old St Paul’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

J.S. Bach: Toccata and Fugue in D minor, BWV 565
Chorale Prelude ‘Nun Komm, der Heiden Heiland’, BWV 659
Chorale and two variations ‘Sei Gegrüsset, Jesu Gütig’, BWV 768
Fantasia in G, BWV 572
Mendelssohn: Sonata no.6 – Chorale, Fugue, Finale
Christopher Tambling: Trumpet Tune
Ceremonial March

Janet Gibbs, organ

Old St. Paul’s

Tuesday, 7 August 2012, 12.15pm

Janet Gibbs chose a delightful programme that was a mix of the well-known, the lesser-known and the unknown.

Sitting quite close to the organ, I was aware of its quite strident sound, facing directly out to the auditorium as it does, rather than into the choir, or from a gallery, or from a side alcove as in most churches.  However, I soon became accustomed to this.  The great advantage in Old St. Paul’s is that one can see the organist at work, albeit necessarily a back view, whereas in so many cathedrals, Town Halls etc. the audience is remote from the performer and can see little or nothing.

Wellington City Council’s free winter Sunday afternoon recitals, begun for the hundredth birthday of the organ and continued for a number of years, sadly are no more.  There, they had the great idea of removing the rear panel from behind the organist, and relaying onto two large screens live video of the movements of hands and feet, interspersed with views of the inside of the organ.

The famous Bach Toccata and Fugue in D minor (shown as G minor in the printed programme) was taken at quite a fast pace compared with that of most renditions of this familiar work that I have heard.  However, this did not prove to be a problem either to the organist or to the hearers.  The fact that Janet Gibbs turned her own pages of music and changed her registrations herself made her performance even more impressive than it already was from the fine playing.

I thoroughly enjoyed hearing so much of Bach’s organ music.  The next piece ‘Nun Komm der Heiden Heiland’ was quite gorgeous in the way it developed from a quiet beginning, and opened out.  I found myself transported by the music in a manner different from that effected by any other composer.  I thought the lines of the chorale could do with just a little more phrasing to separate them from each other.  The registrations used was very appealing.

‘Sei Gegrüsset, Jesu Gütig’ is part of a much larger work, with 11 variations in total.

Janet Gibbs had a most pleasing choice of stops for the first variation; she showed this organ off well.  The second variation was much more full-bodied, with registration being closer to full organ, including more reed stops.  The varying moods were conveyed tellingly.

The wonderful Fantasia in G is in three distinct parts.  The lively opening section’s arpeggios could sound like a five-finger exercise, but with the right tempo and registration, as here, it is more like a spirited dance.  The second section I found a little too fast (it is marked ‘Grave’ in my Novello edition), but was very satisfying nonetheless.  The third section is difficult, but was brilliantly executed.

Mendelssohn wrote a number of fairly large-scale organ works, not all of which I find appealing.  But this Sonata, in the hands of Janet Gibbs, and on this organ, was different, and enjoyable.  She introduced it by saying that ‘You can’t get better than Bach’.  No-one knew that better than Mendelssohn, Bach’s great nineteenth-century rediscoverer.

Bach would surely have approved of his treatment of the Chorale.  Here, the separated notes in the pedal part were very skilfully managed.  The brilliant fugue was totally controlled, and enthralling, with the melody in the pedals while the hands performed scintillating arpeggios on the manuals.  The quiet final section sounded rather like the worst of nineteenth-century sentimentality by comparison with what had gone before.  A few pipes slightly out of tune did not help.  The change in tonality and ambience was not the fault of the registration; I’m sure Mendelssohn would have approved of that.

Christopher Tambling is an Englishman, Director of Music at Downside College in England.  Trumpet Tune was a delightful little piece, reminiscent of Jeremiah Clarke, and of the well-known Tuba Tune by New Zealand-born C.S. Lang who spent his career in England.  The second piece was a robust march in a traditional style.  The use of a 2-foot stop added piquancy, as did reeds, to a very effective piece of music, appropriate for finishing the recital.

Throughout the recital, Janet Gibbs’s foot-work was impeccable, and the use of the swell pedal was always judicious, never showy.  A few fluffs elsewhere did not spoil the enjoyment of a memorable recital. This was organ-playing of a very high standard indeed, and there was a good-sized audience to hear it, which is often not the case at organ recitals.

 

Australian Piano Trio delights Waikanae

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

The Streeton Piano Trio (Benjamin Kopp, piano; Emma Jardine, violin; Martin Smith, cello)
(Waikanae Music Society)

Schubert: Piano trio no.2 in E flat, D.929
Haydn: Piano trio in D, Hob XV/27
Ravel: Trio for piano, violin and cello

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday, 5 August 2012, 2.30pm

Sunday’s programme was a good one; though all the works were familiar, they were contrasting in period of composition and in character.  The Streeton Trio (made up of Australians based in Berlin) gave the audience a broad spectrum of great works for piano trio.

Schubert’s glorious trio is always a delight to hear.  The Streeton Trio made a wonderful build-up of tension and played beautifully, apart from some low cello notes being off-pitch near the beginning.  However, things improved, to render the lyrical quality of the first movement in tender fashion. Worrisome bottom-string notes returned briefly – was the C string slightly out-of-tune?  I noticed that the cellist tuned it slightly after the second movement.  As the programme note states, the first movement is ‘in turn energetic and uplifting, restless and troubled’.  It was always interesting.

Between the first and second movements there was a surprise: the pianist spoke to the audience introducing the Swedish folk song on which the initial melody in the andante con moto second movement was based.  He and the violinist then played the song.  In the movement itself, the melody was played beautifully on the cello, and then decorated by the piano.

Piano and violin were lovely to hear, the pianist playing in a manner appropriate for the period.  The third movement, a sprightly scherzando, was many miles removed from the soulful music that preceded it.  There was delicacy, but muscular energy also; the mood was light and lovely.

I noted that the acoustic was not the best for Schubert’s music: the jolly opening of the fourth movement (allegro molto) brought forth a lively tone, but there were times when I wanted rather more mellowness.  The gorgeous melody from the second movement returned on the cello against pizzicato violin, and sublime passages followed.

Speaking of mellowness – the tweaking of programmes in the audience could be an irritant in quiet passages; a change to a better quality of paper might help to lessen this small problem.

An elegant, quick opening to the Haydn trio revealed the pianist’s ability to make the grand piano almost sound like a fortepiano.  His playing was always delightful and utterly sympathetic.

Sitting nearer to the front of the hall in the second half made, I found, a considerable difference to what I heard.  In the graceful introduction to the slow movement, played with rubato at the ends of the phrases, I could imagine myself in a late eighteenth- century drawing room, such was the intimacy conveyed.  The sparing use of the sustaining pedal, and of vibrato on the strings were part of this effect – but these features did not mean that there was any lack of warmth in the playing.

The fast dance that was the presto final movement had its jauntiness exploited to the full, yet it still had grace as well as jollity.

The Ravel Trio is often performed; when all the subtleties are brought out as in this performance, it is a pleasure to hear.  The sonorous opening was beautifully varied.  The tempi were well-managed, and we heard some superb playing here.  Again, the piano was outstanding.  The Streeton Trio has recorded both the Haydn and the Ravel works, so they know obviously them well.

The delightful grasshopper of the second movement, marked Pantoum (a form of Malay verse) assez vif, jumped, was at rest, and then flew.  The music was very well delineated, whether soft or loud.

The passacaglia third movement was, by contrast, solemn, almost liturgical and elegiac.  There was a steady conversation between the parts.  In the latter part of the movement, the use of mutes on the strings gave an ethereal effect, especially where the strings played without piano.  A sombre song on the cello followed; the piano ended the movement.

In the Finale (animé) the strings trilled harmonics while the piano played a quick passage, followed by solo violin with pizzicato on the cello.  Glissandi and grand chords for the piano were examples of the Spanish influences in Ravel’s music.  Plenty of contrast in dynamics featured, but overall there was a lightness of touch before the thrilling ending.

A musical treat was had by all who attended.

 

 

 

Exemplary concert by NZSM woodwind students at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Pieces by Reinecke, Demersseman, Rachmaninov, John Elmsly, Mozart, Marlcolm Arnold, Poulenc and Jindřich Feld

NZSM Woodwind students: Lena Taylor (flute), Emma Hayes-Smith (alto saxophone), David McGregor (clarinet), Andreea Junc (flute), Hannah Sellars (clarinet), Reuben Chin (soprano saxophone) and NZSM Saxophone Quartet (Chin, Hayes-Smith, Katherine Macieszac (tenor sax)and Sam Jones(baritone sax))

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 1 August 2012, 12.15pm

From one point of view, this was the best presentation yet by NZSM at St. Andrew’s: they made their introductions to the pieces to be played using the microphone, so every word could be heard – hooray!

It was a pity not to have any oboe or bassoon students performing, but those who played had secure techniques and obvious musical sensibilities.  All the accompanied pieces had Kirsten Simpson as piano accompanist; she performed her role impeccably, playing with appropriate refinement and panache as required, and never drowning her colleagues.

Most of the pieces were written for the instruments that played them, the exceptions being Rachmaninov’s famous Vocalise (written for voice) and the Poulenc work, which was an extract from a sonata for oboe and piano, played here on the soprano saxophone.  The Mozart work had piano substituting for orchestra.

Carl Reinecke(1824-1910) is heard quite often on radio, but I seldom hear his work played live.  His Ballade for flute and piano performed by Lena Taylor was quite enchanting in both the flute and the piano parts. The playing was very competent, and the players produced lovely variety of tone.

The Fantaisie for alto saxophone and piano by Jules Demersseman was introduced rather too rapidly (for a large venue) by Emma Hayes-Smith.  From Wikipedia I learn that the Belgian composer lived from 1833 to 1866; Emma informed us that the piece was one of the first to be written for saxophone.  The playing demonstrated how much more dynamic variation can be achieved on the saxophone than on the flute.  The very flexible performance brought out all the elements in what was quite a show piece.

The famous Vocalise sounded fine on the clarinet.  No name of an arranger was given.  David McGregor played well, and gave a very musical rendering of the popular piece, though his breathing was a little noisy.

Andreea Junc played a New Zealand composition: ‘Light and Shade’ from Three Doubles for solo flute, by John Elmsly.  This short piece used various modern techniques of flute-playing, and was very well played, following a very good spoken introduction.

A Mozart Andante for flute and piano was introduced by Natasha Taler as an alternative movement for the composer’s flute concerto in G; it appears(with orchestra)on my recording of the two flute concertos.  The soloist produced a lovely sound, and employed fine phrasing.  Perhaps the performance was a little pedantic and strict, and the piano did not make all the trills that are in the orchestral version I have.  Nevertheless, it was an admirable realisation.

Back to clarinet, with Hannah Sellars playing a movement by Malcolm Arnold.  This was a lively and spiky piece for both performers, with strong rhythm.  Its quirky ending finished an excellent performance.

Poulenc’s writing for winds is always delightful.  Reuben Chin’s somewhat quiet introduction to ‘Trés Calme’ from his Sonata for oboe and piano was very informative; apparently the sonata was commissioned by Prokofiev.  Just as Chin described it, the work was sombre and eloquent.  The contrast between the upper and lower registers was strong, and the range of dynamics large.  The playing was beautifully smooth.  There was a winsome tone in the high register, while the soft passages were most attractively played.

The last piece was a saxophone quartet by Jindřich Feld (the only composer honoured with a first name in the printed programme).  He was a Czech composer who was born in 1925 and died in 2007.  The final movement from his Quatuor de Saxophones was modern and unpredictable in style, yet melodic too.  There was always a lot going on, at considerable speed.  There were jazzy passages, plenty of light and shade, different moods, and variable dynamics.  Beautiful quiet chords at the end contributed to this being an excellent work with which to finish the concert.

A little information about the composers would have enhanced the printed programme, but it was good to see some notes from the Head of Woodwind, Deborah Rawson.

 

 

Interesting recital from first and second year voice students at New Zealand School of Music

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

William McElwee (tenor); Carl Anderson (bass baritone); Rebecca Howan (mezzo-soprano); Olivia Marshall (soprano); Tess Robinson (soprano); Rory Sweeney (baritone); Jamie Henare (bass)
Accompanied by Julie Coulson

St Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 1 August, 12.15pm

This concert featured seven voice students from the New Zealand School of Music who were either first or second year students and it was a first public performance for four of them. I had noticed only a couple of the names in lesser roles of last year’s wonderful production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: William McElwee and Tess Robinson.

Rory Sweeney had sung three Brahms Lieder a week before with the Bach Choir. He sang one of them again here: Feldeinsamkeit. In this context, with virtually no preceding German songs, it felt a bit naked and unsubtle; so it was interesting to hear his Donizetti aria, ‘Bella siccome un angelo’ (Don Pasquale) which preceded it, a good opera voice in the making, though still some way to go in command of vocal  character and agility.

Tess Robinson is a soprano who sang a familiar opera aria and then a couple of more adventurous songs. She introduced the first of them, Alleluia by American composer Ned Rorem in a literate manner, and sang its tricky, syncopated rhythms with spirit; and she spoke admiringly of New Zealand composer Anthony Ritchie’s work to introduce ‘Song’ – to a poem by Baxter. She sang it with real feeling, demonstrating  good control of her vocal resources.

Tess’s opera aria was ‘Batti, batti o bel Masetto’ from Don Giovanni in which she somehow expressed the duplicitous character of Zerlina’s plea.

Jamie Henare also sang an opera aria,’Vi ravviso. O luoghi ameni’ from La Sonnambula, with careful handling of the cadenza. There followed a Lied, his voice most imposing in Schubert song – ‘Der Tod und das Mädchen’ – sung as if without effort. With his natural bass voice he later sang ‘Deep River’ with marked ease from the very first notes.

And Rebecca Howan sang the first of Schumann’s Frauenliebe und -Leben: ‘Seit ich ihn gesehen’, with an appropriate simplicity of expression. Her first song had been a setting by Thomas Linley, of an 18th century family of composers; he composed an opera from Sheridan’s The Duenna (which, if you need to know, has had modern operatic settings by Prokofiev and Roberto Gerhardt). There were some florid passages that taxed her in ‘O bid your faithful Ariel fly’ from his incidental music for The Tempest, but her voice and demeanour are attractive.

The recital had started with tenor William McElwee singing two folk-song arrangements by Britten. They may have been placed first because it was felt that his later offering from Lehár’s 1928 operetta Friederike (about a love of the young Goethe – c. 1770: his role was sung famously by Richard Tauber) would leave the stronger impression. It was a shrewd move, for intonation was a problem with Britten’s songs, perhaps not helped by the accompaniment which is clever but, to my ears, needlessly thick and tonally obscure. In contrast he introduced ‘O Mädchen mein Mädchen’ with confidence and humour and sang far more accurately and with a certain aplomb.

Carl Anderson followed, with ‘Shenandoah’, singing guilelessly, with simplicity if not investing it with much magic. His second song was also an old favourite: John Ireland’s Sea Fever, again, he needed to take more pains with phrasing and to capture the poet’s powerful longing for the sea with more conviction.

Each singer introduced the songs with well-chosen, often amusing remarks, generally well projected, and acknowledged graciously the support of pianist Julie Coulson whose playing contributed greatly to the general self-possession they exhibited.

That doesn’t prevent human mishaps. First year student Olivia Marshall tackled a pair of arias: she suffered a memory lapse in Alessandro Parisotti’s ‘Se tu m’ami’ (from a collection called arie antiche purportedly by baroque and classical composers; but this one was by himself) which she sang otherwise with a charming voice, sensitive phrasing and a natural rhythm. Then she sang the aria ‘Let me wander not unseen’ from Handel’s L’allegro, il penseroso ed il moderato. An attractive timbre and handling of jolly dotted rhythms carried her through.

There will be further recitals in other venues from more advanced voice students. They are always very much worth looking out for.