Unusual, enterprising concert centring on Britten and Helen Webby’s harp

‘Alleluia: a newë work!’  The Ceremony of Birth and Death

Baroque Voices (women only) directed by Pepe Becker; Helen Webby (harp)

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Saturday 16 November 2013, 8pm

Sixth in a series of concerts celebrating universal themes, the concert featured Britten’s A Ceremony of Carols, celebrating the composer’s centenary year.  It was split into two, to open and close the performance. Between these two parts were no fewer than seven specially commissioned works for voices and harp – how unusual and enterprising!  I don’t suppose I have ever before been to a concert comprising entirely music accompanied by harp.

The  chant ‘Hodie Christus natus est’ was intoned unaccompanied by the choir of six women slowly moving from the back of the church to the front; the reverse process was undertaken for the repeat of the ‘Hodie’ at the end of the concert.  Then Helen Webby began the delicious music of ‘Wolcum Yole’, in which Britten, in his late twenties, revealed his extraordinary talent at word setting.  In a completely different mood was ‘There is no rose’; such a beautiful setting, that ended with a lovely decrescendo to pianissimo.  The interesting harp parts could in no way be considered mere accompaniment.  Here, as throughout the concert, Helen Webby exhibited her astonishing skill and talent as a harpist.

A notable feature of the performances was that all the words were in Middle English spellings, in which the singers were so well schooled, that the vowels were absolutely unanimous.  This was particularly notable in the song ‘Balulalow’, where most of the words differed from their modern equivalents in spelling, pronunciation, or both.  The words of all the songs were printed in the programme, adding to the audience’s ability to enjoy what was being performed.

The final song in this part of Britten’s work, ‘As dew in Aprille’, is well-known in several versions, but Britten’s was very unlike these.  The singers made errors towards the end, so stopped and started again, rendering the piece faultlessly this time.  The hugely varied harp part was absolutely pleasing and delightful.

The first of the commissioned works, Songs of Thomas Moore, consisted of settings of poems by that poet and songwriter (1779-1852), by Carol Shortis.   The first, ‘Ode LXIII’ was a short but effective composition, especially in the voice parts (one voice to a part).  Next came, appropriately, ‘The Origin of the Harp’, that epitomised the harp as a Siren, and told her sad tale of lost love.  This was a more complex composition.  The choir’s parts were fairly regular in rhythm and metre; the words were set expertly.  The harp’s part was charming.

‘Child’s Song from a Masque’ was the third and last song, and was also very appealing.  The words, about the child’s garden, and her (?) fawn were universally clear.  Their more modern form made them easier to pick up – and it is easier for a small ensemble to convey words clearly than it is for a choir.  The rhythms of the poems were followed in the music – which is not always the case in contemporary settings.  Yet again, the setting for harp was very fine.

Now we came to the first of the poems especially written for the commissioned composition.

The poem, entitled Coverings was by Elena Poletti and the music by Anthony Ritchie.  Google informs me that Elena Poletti is a lecturer at the University of Otago, and thus a colleague of Anthony Ritchie’s.  It is a pity that the ample printed notes about the composers were not accompanied by notes about the poets, although some notes about the individual works contained information about them.

Therefore as well as commissioning composers, Baroque Voices has given an opportunity and encouragement to the writing of new poetry.

The idea of renewal was conveyed through words about a penguin moulting and gaining a new coat, and about trees waiting to gain new leaves. The singers’ parts were not as melodically interesting as some of the items in the concert, but there was a dramatic harp part.  The third verse, beginning ‘Trees stand stark against the storm,’ was more exciting, and skilfully written.

Uncertainty/Eternity (Demeter, Ursula, Buddha) brought together poems by Rilke and Ursula Bethell, and French words concerning Demeter, a French science project investigating ionospheric disturbances from seismic and volcanic activity.  These were coupled with the search by the goddess Demeter for her daughter Persephone.  The music for these pieces was by Glenda Keam, an Auckland composer moving to head the Department of Music at the University of Canterbury.

Hers was a much less traditional musical language than we had heard so far.  I found the setting of ‘Pause’ by Ursula Bethell very lovely.  The contrast between the high and the low voices was most effective, and gave a mysterious quality to the piece.  In these items the harp part was not so prominent.

Gareth Farr’s contribution was to set a poem by New Zealand/Venezuelan poet Desirée Gezentsvey, written in English but in the published version given a Spanish translation, which Farr chose to set because of the language’s more musical character.   La Próxima Vez (Next Time Around) used brief but expressive words.  There was some harsh tone from the singers in this one – they had already done a lot of singing, and the second half of the concert was still to come. However, there were some delightful and telling musical effects.  Here, too, there was often wide separation of the high and low voices.

Pepe Becker’s composition began the second half, after a minute of silence in memory of Felicity Smith, who had sung with Baroque Voices, and died in London recently, aged 33.  This work used words from an English translation of the Sanskrit  Bhagavad Gita, most of the words sung being from a transliteration into Hindi.  The work was entitled na jayate mriyate.  There were sparse notes on the harp; Helen Webby was required also to knock on the wood of the instrument.   The setting was meditative, as if to induce a trance-like state.  Intervals of a second were featured – these were perfectly pitched.  In one section, the singers clapping small stones together, which made an attractive sound supporting the rhythms, and adding to the considerable variety of the piece.

Helen Bowater’s contribution, in the east, to the right was in a much more esoteric style, though oddly, the beginning was rather similar to Pepe Becker’s work, despite the very different theme.  It was sub-titled ‘humpty dumpty – a modern ecstasy’, the poem being written for the occasion by Andrew Caldwell.  It was an amusing commentary on Humpty’s famous fall, full of funny rhymes and pseudo-philosophical musings on the effect of his fall.  The last two lines give an idea of the mood: ‘with a map or an app you can see him by night,/ he’s that bright twinkling star in the east, to the right…’  Despite a fine choral and harp rendering of the fall, I did not feel that the musical setting reflected the humour of the piece.

The harp part had many intriguing musical figures; the use of small megaphones by some of the singers in parts may have been related to Humpty’s fall, and was certainly intriguing, and the music sounded like twinkling stars for those final two lines, but otherwise, I (and others I spoke to) thought the music too clever for the subject, and the opportunity for reflecting the joyous humour of the delightful poem was lost, although the harp part reflected it to some extent.  The structure of the work was not apparent (similarly in one or two of the other pieces performed).

Persephone by Mark Smythe (Pepe Becker’s brother, based now in the US) used a Latin translation of English words.  As the programme note stated, this work was ‘more dissonant and nebulous’ than Baroque Voices’ usual offerings.  Here, the structure was clear, but the repeated patterns for harp did not make the most of that instrument.  But splendid singing and brilliant playing, some beautiful intervals, harmonies and progressions made it an enjoyable listening experience.

We returned to the last items of A Ceremony of Carols: ‘This Little Babe’, ‘Interlude’ (harp solo), ‘In freezing winter night’ ‘Spring carol’, ‘Deo Gracias’ and ‘Recession’.
The first of these was so fast that most of the words were hard to pick up.  The harp solo was gentle, simple, evocative and subtle, employing a range of dynamics; the result: beautiful.

Britten’s astonishing writing for the harp – dramatic, adventurous and apt, was again prominent in the ‘Spring carol’, a duet for two sopranos.  ‘Deo Gracias’ is declamatory and very satisfying as an ending for the work (followed by the repeat of the ‘Hodie’).

The performance was warmly received by the audience, and congratulations are due to Baroque Voices for conceiving the programme and commissioning the New Zealand works, and ending with such expertise and beauty in the Recession.

Pepe Becker expressed her hope that many of the commissioned works would be taken up by choirs and ensembles.  Not all could be performed by any but the highly skilled, but some could.

It was unfortunate, in my view, that an encore of a light ‘radio theatre’ piece by Mark Smythe was given, spoiling the mood and atmosphere created by the last part of the Britten work.  It was bland, with a repetitive chant from some singers while others sang in both unison and harmony, accompanied by a sustained, somewhat repetitive harp part.

 

Ya-Ting Liou – delight and triumph amid near-empty spaces

St.Andrew’s-on-the-Terrace presents PIANO +
A week of concerts in support of the proposed new Welcome Centre

Concert No.5 – Ya-Ting Liou (piano)

BEETHOVEN – 6 Bagatelles Op.126
BERG – Piano Sonata Op.1
LISZT – Années de Pèlerinage – Première année: Suisse

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

Saturday 16th November 2013

I had thought at first that last night’s poor attendance at pianist Melanie Lina’s St.Andrew’s recital was the fault of a kind of “Friday night” syndrome. As it transpired, I had singled out Friday most unfairly, because this evening (Saturday) less than half last night’s already meagre number turned out to hear pianist Ya-Ting Liou. It’s true that neither of  the pianists were “names” to conjure with as far as the public was concerned, but each of their programmes as listed spoke volumes in terms of interest and musical pleasure.

Fortunately for those of us who had gone to these concerts, each of the pianists seemed completely unfazed by the lack of audience numbers, assuring we who were there that the important thing was to be able to play, and that SOMEBODY was there to listen. And judging by the programme that Ya-Ting Liou had put together this evening, it was obvious that here was potentially a most interesting and questing spirit wanting to play for us.

Taiwanese-born Ya-Ting Liou came to New Zealand in 2009 to live, and has since concertized both as a soloist and chamber musician throughout the country. I’ve seen and heard her play only once before, in a 2011 Wellington concert with her husband Blas Gonzales, as part of a duo called the “Pangea Piano Project”, playing works by New Zealand composers (https://middle-c.org/2011/05/pangea-piano-project-the-art-of/). On that occasion I was impressed by her artistry, but my appreciation was somewhat decentralized both by the excellence of her musical partnership, and the interest generated by the home-grown repertoire. In short, I wasn’t really prepared for the overwhelming experience of encountering her work as a recitalist.

And what music she offered! – Beethoven’s final set of Bagatelles for piano, the richly-wrought Op.1 Sonata by Berg, and Liszt’s first youthful Year of Pilgrimage, inspired by Switzerland. Each of these works tends to be talked about more than played, though interestingly enough it was the third occasion I’d heard the Berg Sonata in concert in relatively recent times. The Beethoven however, took me all the way back to my first and only experience of Alfred Brendel playing “live”, in Wellington in 1975, while Liszt’s Première année I’d never before heard in recital complete (I fancy there may have been a Vallée d’Obermann or two at some stage along the way…..).

The first Beethoven Bagatelle elicited warm, rich sounds from player and instrument, but without smoothing over the piece’s rhythmic and melodic angularities – and to follow, what a contrast Liou got with the impulsiveness of the following allegro! Her engagement with the music was at all times apparent, demonstrating a spontaneity and volatility surprisingly at odds with her diminutive appearance and seemingly tiny hands! After a richly contemplative Andante she again released great surges of energy for the rumbustious Presto, in full command of the dynamic contrasts in the music, and creating a gorgeous liquid flow throughout the “trio” section, one whose gossamer finish had a slightly “other-worldly” quality.

As for the final Bagatelle’s remarkable fusion of grand serenity and dismissive volatility (one commentator described the explosions of energy which introduce and dismiss the piece as “the composer delivering to his instrument a kick down the stairs”), Liou brought out the kinship of the music’s visionary explorations with the slow movement of the Hammerklavier, allowing free play between both immediacies and the mysteries of the sounds – at the end, only a slight mis-hit took away some of the finality of the payoff that its composer perhaps intended.

What to make of Alban Berg’s enigmatic one-movement piano sonata? Berg was simply thinking along the lines of Debussy who famously remarked that “after Beethoven, sonata form was no longer valid for composition”. Here, after a brief exposition, the music takes its cue from the piece’s opening phrase, and develops accordingly and organically.

Interestingly enough, some of Berg’s sequential passages reminded me of Rachmaninov’s keyboard writing in his First Sonata – what’s common to both, I feel, is the emotional drive at the bottom of the sequences, however much in thrall each composer is to a prevalent ideology of composition. Ya-Ting Liou expressed this yearning and striving towards these “remote consonances” with real feeling, as wholeheartedly as she delineated the piece’s haunting downward intervals towards even more remote regions. She brought to life the rhapsodic surface of the music throughout, while keeping the underlying strands of the music’s journeyings unbroken.

In the minds of many people, Franz Liszt’s fame is based upon his flashy, virtuoso instrumental pieces, and the greatly exaggerated tales of his “frequent” amours (which, if true, would have left him precious little time for his better-documented activities and achievements). He was, of course, reputed to be the greatest pianist of his age, and a good deal of his music reflects that extraordinary keyboard facility. However at least as much again shows the composer in a more serious and purposeful mood, and many of these less overtly spectacular works have, until recent times, been seriously neglected, known only to scholars and connoisseurs.

Perhaps it would be unfair to class Liszt’s three collections of music inspired by his travels – he called them Années de Pèlerinage (Years of Pilgrimage) – as neglected in toto, because certain pieces from each of the three volumes have been regularly featured in pianist’s recital programs. From the opening Swiss Year comes Vallée d’Obermann, and from the Italian (Second) Year there are the Petrarch Sonnets and the concise but powerful Dante Sonata. Finally, from the Third Year collection there’s the justly famous Les jeux d’eaux a la Villa d’Este (The fountains of the Villa d’Este). However, performances of any of the books as complete entities have, until recent times, been rare.

Most welcome, then, was Ya-Ting Liou’s presentation of the first of these collections, the Première année: Suisse. Liszt and his mistress Marie d”Agoult travelled extensively in Switzerland during the 1830s, the composer recording his reflections in a collection of pieces titled Album d’un voyageur, published in 1842. He later revised the cycle of pieces, adding two further ones and rechristening the collection Première année: Suisse (“First Year: Switzerland”) republishing the set in 1855.

If I go on to describe Liou’s performances in detail it will take people longer to read the review than it would to listen to a recording of the cycle! – tempted as I am by the impact of witnessing her achievement, by the totality of her conception, the brilliance of her playing and her conveyance of a great love for and understanding of the music, I’ll reluctantly content myself with a few brief descriptions of certain “moments”, hoping that readers will glean from these something of my excitement and thankfulness at “being there”.

Grand, rich chordings opened the first piece Chapelle de Giuillaume Tell, giving the music eons of resonance and space – bold, colorful playing! – I liked the touch of “diavolo” in places, with mischievous and sometimes menacing snake-slithers of sound, one that gave way to the grandest, most orchestral of conceptions of the music, which we revelled in like great lords and ladies! From this, the change to the tranquil waters of the Lake Wallenstadt was almost surreal, producing a magical effect, the playing “embracing” the music’s textures and colours, and painting a “landscape of emotion”.

The next piece sounded like Liszt’s homage to Beethoven via the latter’s “Pastoral” Sonata, while the lively and volatile Au bord dune source seemed to gather both momentum and girth to the point where the music became a rushing torrent – very “organic” thinking by the pianist, in view of the onslaught of the following Orage, with its terrific physical attack and ferocious, incisive aspect. As with Melanie Lina’s playing of Ravel’s Alborado the previous evening, I was astonished at the incredible “glint” in the pianist’s tones, and wondered if that was helped by what appeared to be Liou’s sparing use of the sustaining pedal – nothing, no sound, colour or texture, was indefinite or muddled, the pianist’s fingers doing all or most of the work so brilliantly.

Vallée d’Obermann was next, a veritable tone-poem in itself, and a touchstone of romanticism in music. Liou’s performance had a positively psycho-analytical ring, the music delving into the Byronic character’s growing crisis of confidence and faith, and overwhelmingly coming to terms with the world at the end, amid Musorgsky-like sonorities, with the traveller having the last word when nearly all was said and done. Much-needed relief from these full-on outpourings was provided by the Grieg-like delicacies of the following Èglogue, Liou’s wide-ranging capabilities of touch producing all kinds of easeful sonorities here.

How affecting, then, was Le mal du pays, its emotion fetched up from the depths and striking at the heart of the weary and comfortless traveller. In Ya-Ting Liou’s hands the feelings grew from out of the sounds, remembrances of home overlaid by world-weariness and anxiety, and seeking some kind of equilibrium and solace in the rich ambient chords which quietly closed the work. More celebratory and ritualistic was the final Les cloches de Genève, Liou’s seemingly boundless tonal resources at the music’s service whole-heartedly, making for a resounding and celebratory conclusion to the journey.

So, by dint of the playing on both of these occasions at St.Andrew’s, our initial dismay seemed to morph into delight!  Very great honour is due to both pianists on all counts – but we Wellingtonians will have to look to our laurels in the future.