Month: November 2013

Paul Rosoman gives St Andrew’s two organs a work-out

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Pachelbel: Chaconne in F minor
Johann Fischer: Chaconne in F major, de la Suite Euterpe
Mendelssohn: Andante with Variations in D
Joseph Bonnet: Romance sans Paroles
Parry: Elegy for 7th April 1913
J.S. Bach: Prelude and Fugue in B minor

Paul Rosoman, organ

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 13 November 2013, 12.15pm

One of the pleasures of hearing an organ recital at St. Andrew’s is the fact that here are two organs; on this occasion both were played – firstly the small baroque organ downstairs, then the main organ, in the upstairs gallery.

Informed by excellent programme notes, the audience heard a variety of works from late seventeenth century to early twentieth century.  One of the most delightful was the first, the Chaconne by Pachelbel.  It was so good to hear the baroque organ used
(it seems to be but sparsely used these days), and the changes in registrations that Rosoman employed from one variation to another.  Particularly lovely was the sound of the flutes.

Fischer’s composition was probably more diverse and imaginative than the Pachelbel, and very rhythmic.  However, it was without that spark of genius that Pachelbel had.

The remaining pieces were played on the main organ.  Mendelssohn’s organ music is very much of the nineteenth century.  As the programme note said, the composer was ‘a romantic whose music was rooted in classicism’.  Repeated notes could have
done with just a little more separation, otherwise this was a good performance of what I found to be a rather syrupy, hymn-like piece.  Having been taught by the late Maxwell Fernie almost entirely on baroque organ music, I do not find Mendelssohn’s (or
Liszt’s) organ music to my taste.

Joseph Bonnet was the most recent of the composers we heard (1884-1944).  Despite the title, I did not find the piece particularly Romantic, but very charming, simple, and tuneful.  It received plenty of variety of registration, to make for a pleasing recital work.

Parry’s Elegy written for the funeral of his brother-in-law, the Earl of Pembroke, did not have the spirit of his choral music, but was pleasant, and certainly elegiac, but not especially distinguished.

The Bach Prelude and Fugue is not among the great composer’s well-known organ works, nor did I find it one of his more
appealing or interesting, though one could appreciate the counterpoint, and the intricacy of the finger and foot work required from the performer.  There was a bright mixture of stops chosen for the Prelude, but little change for the Fugue – maybe another reed was added.  Nevertheless, it received a fine performance, and gave a rousing end to a thoughtfully chosen and well-played recital.

Both organs sounded in fine form – and that is in large part a tribute to the organist.

 

A partnership going places – Inbal Megiddo and Jian Liu

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St. Andrews on the Terrace, Wellington, presents
Piano Plus – A Week of Concerts

Beethoven: Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 4 in C major, Op.102, no.1
Ross Harris: ‘Sunt lacrimae rerum’
Manuel de Falla: Suite Populaire Espagnole, arr. Maurice Marechal
Serge Rachmaninoff: Melody in E from Morceaux de fantaisies, Op.3 No.3
Rossini-Castelnuovo Tedesco, arr. Piatigorsky: Figaro from “The Barber of Seville”

Jian Liu, piano
Inbal Megiddo, cello

Wednesday 13 November

Wellington music lovers are very much the beneficiaries of the recent appointments of artists Inbal Megiddo and Jian Liu to teaching positions at the New Zealand School of Music. Each is an exceptional musician and instrumentalist, and this varied programme offered an opportunity to share their command of a wide range of musical and national styles.

The two movements of Beethoven’s sonata punctuate deeply expressive slow periods with vigorous Allegri interventions. In the poetic Andante and Adagio sections the cello had a wonderfully rich, sweet tone and beautiful phrasing, supported most sympathetically by the piano. The contrasting Allegri  were wonderfully spirited and dramatic, and fully exploited the wide dynamic range of the score. But during impassioned forte periods there were, unfortunately, times when the piano was simply too loud, obscuring the equally important cello role. The use of the long, rather than short stick on the concert grand piano made this an almost predictable hazard, but for most of the time Jian Liu kept the situation firmly under control.

Ross Harris’s brief ‘Sunt lacrimae rerum’ was composed for Inbal and Jian in 2013. Its title derives from Aenaes’ lament on the Trojan War “There are tears in things, and mortality touches the mind”. The outer parts of the score are a moving meditation on the frailty of human existence, with spare, atonal idioms that proved surprisingly effective in expressing this musical stream of consciousness. They encompass a central scherzo-like section of agitated, angry sentiment that was, however, less convincing. But that was certainly not the case in the arresting pianissimo harmonics from the cello that closed this affecting work, beautifully realised by the duo.

Falla’s Suite Populaire Espagnole comprises six movements based on popular songs from all over Spain. They alternate moods of vigorous, spirited excitement, at times almost wild, with sombre meditative tunes like the central Nana lullaby with its Moorish overtones in the cadences. The final Polo is full of the anger and resentment of the scorned lover, and the full range of all these contrasting sentiments was most convincingly explored by the duo.

The tiny Rachmaninoff Morceau  is a beautiful Melody where the cellist gave full voice to her wonderful, rich cantabile and expressive phrasing, and was most sympathetically supported by the piano.

The final arrangement of Rossini’s Figaro aria from “The Barber of Seville” was an unashamed show-off piece for the cellist. While not particularly successful as a piece of music, as an astute act of programming it ended the recital with great enthusiasm and gusto at a breathless gallop, and the audience was rightly thrilled.

 

Beethoven’s and Michael Houstoun’s “Les Adieux” – for now…….

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Chamber Music New Zealand presents:
Michael Houstoun – Beethoven reCYCLE 2013
Programme Seven “Les Adieux”

BEETHOVEN – Sonata in F minor, Op 2 No 1 / Sonata in G, Op 79
Sonata in E flat, Op 81a ‘Les Adieux’
Interval
Sonata in E minor, Op 90   / Sonata in C minor, Op 111

Michael Houstoun (piano)

Michael Fowler Centre,Wellington

Monday 11th November 2013

This was the final concert in Michael Houstoun’s Beethoven reCYCLE 2013 project, which has encompassed the composer’s entire output of 32 piano sonatas, presented in forty concerts, spread across ten centres. The atmosphere of eager anticipation in the Fowler Centre was almost palpable from an audience of some 600 listeners who were clearly devotees not only of Beethoven, but of the artist too.

The concert opened with the first published piano sonata and ended with the final one, written nearly 30 years later. Despite being an early opus, the F minor work is nevertheless full of the drama, beauty, and individualism that we associate with Beethoven’s mature output, and he was indeed already a highly successful pianist and composer in Vienna when he wrote it. Michael Houstoun’s reading was fresh and vigorous, and immediately engaged the audience for the journey through this ambitious programme.

The G major work is a captivating gem, its three brief movements more in the scale of a sonatina than sonata. Houstoun fashioned a wonderful balance between the poetic central Andante and its encompassing outer movements, in an interpretation that offered a lightness and transparency to the ear.

The E flat sonata “Les Adieux” was dedicated to a friend and pupil of Beethoven’s, the Archduke Rudolph. When this patron left Vienna in 1809 to avoid the French advance and bombardment, Beethoven wrote this very personal work with movements entitled The Farewell, The Absence, and The Return. No other Beethoven sonata has an explicit programme like this, and the work has a sense of acute personal involvement, intimately and richly expressed. Houstoun embraced this with moving artistry, particularly in the central Andante expressivo.

The E minor sonata, with only two movements, is reputedly a love story for Count Moritz Lichnowsky, to whom it is dedicated. He had successfully wooed an opera singer, and wedding bells were in the offing, but the first movement seems to capture the moods of  early courtship – the passion, hopes, doubts, even despair, of initial discovery and tentative advancement…….. Conversely, the second movement conveys a sense of profound relief, and the serenity of a rich, mutual understanding finally established.  Houstoun explored all these aspects with a sensitivity that conveyed a particularly special and personal affinity with this work.

The C minor sonata Opus 111 sits within the works usually labelled “late Beethoven”, yet to me it is much more immediately engaging and accessible than, say, some of the late string quartets. The first of its two movements opens with a Maestoso section that then moves into Allegro con brio ed appassionato. The following Arietta is marked Adagio molto semplice e cantabile, and it finally fades away with a beautifully crafted coda resolution. Houstoun’s artistry captured every mood, and conveyed throughout a telling sense of profound fulfilment– as though aligning a deep satisfaction derived from the mammoth reCYCLE undertaking with similar sentiments encapsulated as Beethoven penned his final sonata work.

It seems churlish to harbour even a single reservation about this wonderful concert, but there were a few things I would have liked to hear done differently. Throughout these sonatas there are the characteristic extended periods of high speed, sometimes frenetic, finger passagework, often at a forte dynamic, which Houstoun presents in unbroken sweeps of uniform sound. My preference is for a much more rigorous rhythmic articulation of individual figures and motifs within these passages – which can enable the listener to hang onto the phrasing structure while never losing sight of the overall architecture which always underpins them. Also, these works offer an incredible dynamic range, and I would have appreciated more exploration of the pianissimo region, which the Steinway used here has well within its capacity.

But perhaps the single element I most missed was silence – encapsulated in Debussy’s telling comment “Music is the silence between the notes.” After each statement of a new phrase or subject I craved that infinitesimal spacing that enhances absorption by the senses. And even more so between movements, where a moment’s breath would enable the listener to comprehend fully the artistry of Houstoun’s playing just past, before embarking with him on his journey forward.

Houstoun’s extraordinary achievement and musicianship in presenting the entire reCYCLE project was acknowledged with huge appreciation by a unanimous standing ovation at the end of the concert, where he stood showered in clouds of glittering ticker tape spewed from two confetti cannons overhead, and was presented with a gigantic rich red bouquet. It was a brilliant and memorable moment in Wellington’s music making scene, and an inspired way to celebrate an extraordinary partnership between the artist, the supporters, and Chamber Music New Zealand.

Bravo all!

 

 

 

Concert No 6 of Michael Houstoun’s triumphant return to Beethoven

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas: Concert No 6
No 4 in E flat, Op 7
No 14 in C sharp minor, Op 27, No 2 ‘Moonlight’
No 15 in D, Op 28 ‘Pastoral’
No 31 in A flat, Op 110

Michael Fowler Centre

Sunday 10 November, 5pm

Let me go back three decades.

This series celebrates Michael Houstoun’s 60th birthday, and the 20th anniversary of his earlier cycle, in 1993.

It is also the 30th anniversary of a momentous step for music in Wellington. In 1983, as Charlotte Wilson quotes from the Introduction to the 1993 programme, the Wellington Chamber Music Society, inspired by its chairman Russell Armitage (and indeed the whole committee), took a bold step. With some opposition from the national federation of chamber music societies, the predecessor of Chamber Music New Zealand, the society inaugurated a series of Sunday afternoon concerts; in the first three years they were held in the Victoria University Memorial Theatre, attracting good crowds, enticed in part by free mulled wine in the interval.

The original impulse was to enable us to hear chamber music that a) demanded less familiar groups, such as sextets or nonets, and music for woodwind and brass instruments, and b) would give performance opportunities to local players – up-and-coming players – who were largely neglected by the then Music Federation of New Zealand.

In that first four-concert series, in June/July 1983, the Wellington society engaged Michael Houstoun for a Beethoven recital; he played the Op 10 no 3, along with the Pathétique and the Appassionata.  (The success of that series inspired a further short series in October; and an important new music series had been launched!) In 1984 Houstoun played Op 2 No 3, Op 78 and the Waldstein, and so on annually thereafter. In 1986, the year of the first International Festival of the Arts, the concerts moved from the university to the Concert Chamber – the original 600-seat chamber upstairs in the Town Hall.

The annual Beethoven recital from Michael Houstoun was a regular high point, and the goal was set to play all the sonatas. That goal was reached by the early 1990s.

Armitage then proposed a re-packaging of the entire sonata canon in a dedicated festival over the space of three weeks.  It would take place in the Ilott Concert Chamber in the newly strengthened and rebuilt Town Hall.  They ran from 3 to 24 November 1993, on Saturday and Wednesday evenings.  I was at all the concerts and reviewed five of them for The Evening Post; Gillian Bibby reviewed concerts four and five. For me the chance to hear Houstoun in this series was one of the most remarkable privileges in my reviewing career.

Houstoun took his series over the following months to Auckland, Napier, Christchurch and Dunedin.

But it was not the first complete Beethoven cycle in New Zealand. I had clipped a letter from The Listener of 19 March 1994 that recalled a series in Dunedin in 1968 by Hungarian pianist Istvan Nadas when he was artist-in-residence at Otago University.

However, to the matter in hand.
This time, it was Chamber Music New Zealand itself that took up the baton, with elegant and generous acknowledgement from Euan Murdoch of the many sponsors and other individuals as well as the staff of CMNZ who created these repeat performances, that attracted here an audience of more than 600.

Each recital was carefully constructed to balance early and late, famous and unfamiliar, to offer contrasted moods and, for those with perfect pitch, satisfying key relationships. The latter were hardly evident in a programme that had Op 7 in E flat next to the Moonlight in C sharp minor, and the Pastoral in D before Op 110 in A flat.

The E flat sonata is less familiar, without quite the emotional warmth or the electrifying drama of the famous ones.

I was slightly uncertain about the sound I was hearing on Sunday. Seated well to the left, the piano’s sound in the first sonata seemed a little unfocused, which I put down to the sometimes wayward acoustic in certain parts of the MFC, but could have been imperfections in the piano voicing.  Nevertheless, Houstoun’s impetuosity and rhythmic energy in the Allegro molto rapidly overwhelmed technical matters, and the fine subtlety of dynamics, the hint of rallentando towards the middle section and the ever-changing patterns of the music focused attention on the music’s essential grandeur and inventiveness.
In any case, moving to a central position after the interval I found the sound perfectly balanced and coherent.

No mood remains constant through any movement, portentousness and wit in the Largo, gaiety and moments of repose as the major-minor key switch enlivened the scherzo-like Allegro. Finally, the last movement breaks the predominant triplet rhythms of the first three movements, though the speed, now in duple time, seemed otherwise to change only slightly.

The Moonlight stands in dramatic contrast to the Op 7 as its moods, really in all three movements, remain constant, but it didn’t mean that the all-too-familiar first movement was monotonous; all manner of minuscule tempo changes, rubato, the teasing obscurity of rhythms in the vacillating triplets. The insouciance that Houstoun brought to the Allegretto was free and heart-easing and it made the reckless speed of the flawless last movement all the more astonishing.

The Pastoral sonata is far from ‘pastoral’ in the usual sense; none of the names bestowed on the sonatas had Beethoven’s sanction and it’s surprising that such an inappropriate name as this has continued to be used. In fact, not all editions use it: my Augener album does not. Written just after the Moonlight, it takes an entirely different path that for me creates a very strong and interesting musical character; Houstoun’s playing elevated its stature well above the merely picturesque, to a work that is purposeful, with impressive formal strengths as well the most engaging thematic inventions. The Andante created a cloistered feeling, 2/4, squarish in shape after the 3/4 rhythm of the Allegro, and hinting at some sort of mechanical movement. If you still seek something of the outdoors, it might be found in the last movement which opens in a fanciful mood but is laced with bravura passages of sweeping scales and arpeggios. Houstoun’s playing would have surprised any doubters of this sonata’s originality and enchantment, and it reinforced my own admiration and delight.

All three of the last sonatas have a place in music that has to be likened to religious revelation and for an increasingly secular society, it is music of this kind, as well as the most transcendental poetry, drama and prose fiction and visual arts that have come to be seen as a fully satisfying substitute for religion.
Though all three are uniquely different one from another, all are masterpieces.

The first movement of the Op 110 opens with a melody that is of quintessential beauty in the quite untroubled key of A flat major, calling up a unique spiritual state, reinforced by its repetition and elaboration that is comparable to the chanting of religious ritual. The ethereal atmosphere emerged from the stillness of Houstoun’s performance, a stillness mirrored by the sense of peace and repose that his demeanour at the keyboard expressed, utterly undemonstrative, without gestures, merely the medium for the music itself.

And though the second movement, Allegro molto, is a startling change, with just a near modulation into D flat in the middle, it was in perfect accord with the nature of what went before. Then there was the remarkable recitative that leads to the lamenting Arioso which the programme notes explain, quoting Antony Hopkins, as suggesting that Beethoven here expresses frustration at the inadequacies of his musical resources: a theory that seems to me to belittle not just this sonata, but Beethoven in toto.

I think it’s allowed to express the composer’s profound grief at the entire human condition, at the inadequacy of the human spirit in dealing with the cruelties and evils of the world as well as the despair he faced through deafness and the ailments that would soon kill him. Yet that’s not Beethoven’s conclusion. The sonata ends with an extraordinary fugue that breaks off to return to the Arioso before accelerating to a final peroration, which Houstoun created in a spirit of almost overwhelming exultancy.

An exultancy that found voice in another clamorous, standing ovation. Thank you Michael Houstoun and Chamber Music New Zealand.

 

“Un spectacle fantastique” from orchestra and fireworks

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New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
“Fireworks and Fantasy”

Britten     The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra
Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No.1 in B flat minor, Op.23
Berlioz     Symphonie Fantastique Op.14

Piano : Plamena Mangova
Conductor : Julian Kuerti

Michael Fowler Centre,

9th November 2013

Britten’s Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra received its first performance in 1946, when the LSO under Sargent also performed it on film for distribution to British schools. It became one of the best known British works of the C20th, and is certainly one of Britten’s most accessible and appealing compositions. It is based on a resounding theme from Purcell’s incidental music for the play Abdelazer, which Britten used as the basis for a fascinating set of variations. Conductor Kuerti and the entire orchestra launched into the imposing opening statement of the theme with an enthusiasm and breadth that immediately captured the audience, followed by each instrumental section in turn adding fresh richness and colour. The subsequent variations explore an astonishing variety of instrumental mood, timbre and techniques, and each section or soloist took up the baton with great relish for the task. The writing showcased the outstanding skills and musicianship of the NZSO players, and the sheer fun they had playing this brilliantly inventive music was infectious. The closing fugue and final tutti statement of the Purcell theme was awesome and it had the audience bringing the house down.

Tchaikovsky’s first Piano Concerto Op.23 is another well loved work, and the choice of gifted Bulgarian pianist Plamena Mangova was an inspired one. She was in total technical command of the very demanding score, and her musicianship explored an astonishing range of dynamics, moods, and sensitivities in a way that drew the audience into the wonderful intricate conversations that Tchaikovsky creates between pianist and orchestra. Under Kuerti’s unobtrusive baton they together moved seamlessly from contemplative passages of exquisite delicacy to the most dramatic full-bodied tuttis. The climaxes were full of richness, warmth, and riveting bravura while never straying into the overblown or bombastic. The woodwind principals were again a standout feature of the performance.

The following interval was timed to allow patrons to flock out and watch the annual Guy Fawkes’ fireworks display provided by the City Council in the nearby arm of the harbour. Wellington turned on a breathlessly calm, balmy spring evening and crystal clear skies for the event, which fittingly endorsed the festive atmosphere of the music making. An opinion reported earlier in the Dominion Post was that Guy Fawkes celebrations are now outdated baggage from our colonial past, and that the fireworks display would much more appropriately mark some indigenous festival like matariki, the Maori New Year. Quite apart from the difficulty that matariki falls in the depths of winter, when low cloud, drizzle, and freezing southerlies are the norm, it is not clear to me why the pakeha settlers of Aotearoa are expected to truncate their historical references, while the Maori are not. Surely, in another millennium we, and our many local ethnic groups, will seem like a bunch of settlers that stumbled ashore on almost the same day…….

Berlioz’ Symphonie Fantastique occupied the second half of the concert. Subtitled An episode in the life of an Artist, it is grounded in Berlioz own romantic experience. An intriguing programmatic work, it charts over the course of five movements the angst of a young musician desperately in love with a woman who embodies all he idealises and longs for. His early dreams and passions, and the disturbing images of his beloved that haunt him, are explored by Berlioz in the two initial movements with exquisite artistry, using a recurring idée fixe. Kuerti elicited a wonderfully sympathetic interpretation from the orchestra and again, standout beauty from woodwind principals. The third movement exchanges between first oboe and cor anglais were profoundly moving and breathtakingly accomplished, and set the tone for the dark unravelling of the plot in the last two movements. The expanded brass and percussion came wonderfully into their own, capturing ominous and brutal moods alike with equal intensity, and enriching the power of the maniacal tutti conclusion. The full house was blown away and, undeterred by a long evening’s listening, brought the conductor back repeatedly to express their appreciation.

This programme might be labelled by some as unashamedly populist, but in my view there is every good reason to provide such a chance to enjoy some of the great classics. It is an effective and rewarding  way to showcase the full resources of this wonderful symphony orchestra that our taxes provide, and to enjoy the outstanding musicians we are privileged to hear in our own home town.

 

 

Houstoun’s stupendous feat in first of the final trilogy of Beethoven sonata recitals

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Chamber Music New Zealand  Beethoven reCYCLE 2013: Programme Five

Sonata no.2 in A, Op.2 no.2
Sonata no.8 in C minor, Op.13 ‘Pathétique’
Sonata no.18 in E flat, Op.31 no.3 “La Chasse’
Sonata no.30 in E, Op.109

Michael Houstoun (piano)

Michael Fowler Centre

Friday 8 November 2013, 7.30pm

How does one express in words the riches of hearing Beethoven’s incomparable piano sonatas superbly played?

The only real drawback to the performance was the fact of it having to be held in the Michael Fowler Centre due to the earthquake strengthening of the Town Hall, in which building is also located the Ilott
Theatre, where the first (April) concerts in this series were held.

Sensibly, much of the auditorium was roped off, so that the audience was concentrated in the central and left side sections of the downstairs seating.  In his introductory remarks, Euan Murdoch (Chief Executive, Chamber Music New Zealand) assured us that the audience of approximately 500 would fill the Wigmore Hall in London, venue for so many recitals and chamber music concerts.

However, there was some effect of such a cavernous space on the sound the audience received, despite a lower platform below the main stage being used, as it was for the Goldner Quartet in September, that  brought pianist and audience somewhat closer together.

Though the early sonata that opened the concert (1794-95) has the style and format of a classical sonata, the content is such that it could not have been written by Haydn (its dedicatee) or Mozart.  As
Charlotte Wilson said in her introductory talk, Beethoven’s distinctive contrasts between soft and loud, staccato and legato, were in full evidence, with moments of great delicacy contrasting with bravura passages.

The chorale-like opening of the second movement is satisfying and solemn, and develops through a delightful transition before the firm steps of the opening return.  Further variation in grimmer mode
follows, then a gentler, almost dance-like version.

The third movement is a joy, and Houstoun’s lightness of touch made the most of every phrase, while in the extended rondo final movement Houstoun’s facility allowed Beethoven’s beauties to reveal themselves.

The well-known Pathétique sonata would have been demanding and even puzzling at its first hearing, though written only four years after the sonata we heard first.  Here we had no mechanical performance; there were rubati and slight variations of tempi in the first movement, which Beethoven would surely have approved.  After the opening (grave), the allegro molto was indeed fast, with just an occasional loss of clarity.  The vast majority of its magical characteristics were all there.

As is usual with Michael Houstoun’s playing, one was unaware of the sustaining pedal, so judiciously is it used.  The gorgeous slow movement displayed pianism at its finest.  Houstoun never succumbed to a romantic rendition, yet instilled the music with plenty of feeling.

The final movement, another rondo, was again pretty fast just a shade too much so for me.  I found that at this tempo the odd note clattered rather than sounded fully in the way that most of its fellows did.  But Beethoven’s effects were there for all to hear.

‘La Chasse’ (1802) is one of my favourite sonatas, especially the minuet, for which years ago in a youthful romantic phase I wrote words.  As with the first sonata, this being after the interval, it took a
little time to become accustomed to the sound in the Michael Fowler Centre acoustic, but again the strangeness soon wore off.

This was a cheerful chase.  Surely the prey would not want to be caught, so that it could continue to listen to this wonderful music!   The second movement’s running opening has the music always going somewhere, and the little strophes that interrupt don’t stop the genial progress for long.

The minuet and trio were as enchanting as ever  more so than in the hands of some pianists.  I don’t know when I last heard this sonata in a live concert; I found it a joyful and fulfilling experience. The skill in the modulations of the last movement were breathtaking.

Finally to late Beethoven  1820, to be precise. The opening probably suffered the most from the acoustic, but again, one’s ears adapted, and the ripple of calm yet lyrical notes soon found the right receptors.  Soon the driving, burning talent of Beethoven breaks through the calm, only to alternate with it in episodes.

The prestissimo second movement is short and also episodic.  Then comes the sublime slow opening of the final movement.  Its nostalgic and contemplative quality summons up thoughts of what might have been in Beethoven’s mind at this stage of his life.  This is one of the many treasures that the composer has given us; such expressive beauty!

The variations are a considerable tour de force, but several are of a slower pace, rather than increasing the
prestidigitation.  The return of the theme at the end made for an exquisite close to an evening of music that transported one; magical and peaceful.

To have all 32 sonatas under the fingers and in the brain, as Houstoun has, is a stupendous feat, and  much appreciated by the attentive audience.  The experience of hearing these sonatas in such
capable hands was elevating and joyous.

 

Schubert’s “Trout” engaging despite wayward balances

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Schubert: Quintet in A, Op.114 “The Trout”

Violin – Yid-ee Goh / Viola  –  Konstanze Artmann / Cello  – Jane Young
Bass   – Paul Altomari / Piano  – Rachel Thomson

St. Andrew’s on the Terrace

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Schubert’s Trout Quintet is not often heard live in Wellington, yet it would have to be one of the best loved works of classical chamber music. The good turnout for this concert reflected that, which would have been rewarding for the ensemble, who were highly polished and technically well in command of the score. The work was written by the young Schubert, aged only 22, as a thank you gift to the wealthy amateur cellist Sylvester Paumgartner, who sponsored weekly summer musical salons at Steyr in the Austrian Alps. Schubert had soon become the centre of attention there in the summer of 1819, and the work was composed after his return to Vienna.

The score exudes the carefree delight of friends gathered to make music in a relaxed salon environment, and St. Andrew’s offers Wellington a very sympathetic setting for such a situation.

The opening Allegro vivace is announced with a dramatic tutti chord, followed by the first subject beautifully set for the violin. The movement was not far advanced however, before the imbalance between the instruments started to prove profoundly frustrating. From the balcony where I sat, the violin and piano were heavily dominating, the viola and cello recessive, and the bass at times barely discernable. The statement of the magical second subject seemed far too aggressive from the piano, and the inner voices simply did not provide the clarity of rhythmic locomotion with which Schubert underpinned and energized it. This quintet is largely an intricate conversation between equal voices, but the cello needed to be heard more, and the bass to provide a much more audible, secure foundation. The viola adopted all too effectively the Cinderella epithet sometimes applied to this instrument, when in fact its part, and that of the cello, are undoubtedly written to be heard and appreciated.

The same frustrations dogged the following Andante where the dominance of the violin and piano continued. Since this work was written for a salon situation in the early nineteenth century, the use of a modern concert grand can put the pianist on the back foot from bar one. So it requires careful adjustment if the sound is not to be overly bright, and risk overshadowing the deceptively simple but powerful inner rhythms and melodic lines. Closing the piano lid would have helped, as would some preliminary sound tests in the auditorium. The exuberant Presto and delicate Trio that follow were better balanced and came into their own much more successfully.

In the next Andantino Theme and Variations, Schubert invites each player to caress and elaborate the wonderful Trout theme from his lied, which was a particular favourite of his patron Paumgartner. The violin gave a loving opening statement of the beautiful melody, though he was not given the support from the lower strings that could have lifted it to another plane. Unfortunately the busy and energetic variation that followed was launched from the piano at a level that smothered the rich and throaty counter-statement of the theme given to the bass, and in the following viola variation one again struggled to make out its theme through the volume of piano and violin. The cellist played the final variation very poetically, but needed more sympathetic support from the other players. My distinct impression of this movement was that there had been far too little concentration on establishing how each player was to act out their role within the ensemble as a whole, and how each role could be most musically enhanced by the supporting textures. The simple but exquisite theme is developed by Schubert in extraordinarily complex and subtle ways, yet it felt as though the ensemble was walking across a carpet of fantastic autumn colours without noticing what was underfoot.

In the straightforward and vigorous Allegro giusto Finale the balance was much better, though the piano was still often far too loud in forte passages. But the movement was played with a convincing gusto, and it was clear from the final applause that the audience had really appreciated the opportunity to hear a live performance of this much-loved work. It was good to know that the group would play the work again at St. Ninian’s Church in Karori two days later..

My colleague Rosemary Collier comments: From my seat three rows from the front downstairs, the imbalance was not so marked – there was more of  a salon-like distance between me and the performers, and it was probably an advantage not to be above the level of the piano.  Nevertheless, I did find that cello, bass and viola seemed to be somewhat in the background aurally, especially the latter two instruments.

Aroha Quartet fills the Futuna Chapel with impressionist and colouful music

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Aroha Quartet (Haihong Liu and Blythe Press – violins, Zhongxian Jin – viola, Robert Ibell – cello)

Shostakovich: Two Pieces for String Quartet
The White Haired Girl by Yan Jinxuan, arranged for string quartet by Zhu Jian’er and Shi Yongkang
Debussy: String Quartet in G minor

Futuna Chapel, Friend Street, Karori

Sunday 3 November, 2pm

Prefatory note: The Aroha Quartet leave in December for their second tour to China where they will play in the spectacular new Xinghai Concert Hall in Guangzhou, and to Zhongshan. They will have with them works from six countries including China and New Zealand.

This initiative, the Sunday concert series at the Futuna Chapel, to make good use of an architectural gem that was saved from the attentions of developer/vandals a decade ago, began last year and shows every sign of survival and even flourishing. The disposition of seating is perhaps not ideal, and one’s normal expectation of the shape of a church needs a little adjustment: which part is the nave and which a transept or alcove? Seats/pews are placed at right-angles with the ‘sanctuary’ at the place of convergence. A slab-like ‘altar’ occupies most of the raised sanctuary which means musicians sit at floor level with impaired visibility from back rows.

But the sounds, which are actually the main thing in music after all, are clear and full.

The players had set us a little test. We all listened sympathetically to the first piece in the programme: the Chinese string quartet arrangement, presumably. My notes commented on the fact that even in the period of the Second World War as the Japanese were steadily devastating and slaughtering both soldiers and hundreds of thousands of civilian people, there was little outward sign of a distinctive Chinese flavour, let alone anguish, in the rather gentle music; and the first episode ended with a long warm note on the viola.

But then a second part continued with spiky, pizzicato, satirical sounding, like a polka. Ah!!! I know this – it’s Shostakovich; they are playing his Two Pieces for String Quartet first.  The first piece is the elegy that Katerina was to sing in the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, lamenting her boring life; it came to the stage in 1934 with an infamous sequel. Though I’ve seen the opera three times over the years, I didn’t recognize it.  The second piece, a Polka from the 1930 ballet, The Age of Gold, composed before the evils of Stalinism had reveled themselves; it is a satire of the decadence of capitalism and Western politics. Shostakovich made the arrangement in 1931 for the Vuillaume Quartet (Vuillaume was a most famous, 19th century French luthier); long before Shostakovich had written his first string quartet.

So we came to The White Haired Girl. Haihong Liu introduced it and Robert Ibell took us through the musical motifs that mark the various episodes: a tale of a poor young girl, persecuted by the cruel landlord but eventually rescued by the Red Army which was fighting the Japanese invaders.

The White-Haired Girl (Bái Máo Nǚ) is a Chinese opera and ballet, the music by Yan Jinxuan; later it was adapted to ‘Beijing Opera’ and for a film. The first opera performance was in 1945; the film was made in 1950; the first Beijing Opera performance was in 1958 and the first ballet performance by Shanghai Dance Academy, in 1965.

I should really not have mistaken the first piece in the concert. We have reviewed it previously. Peter Mechen wrote a review of a performance at St Andrew’s in October 2010 and I reviewed one in June 2012 at Paekakariki. Accordingly, it was no surprise that the quartet handled it confidently, making no apology for its distinct European musical characteristics, while weaving the Chinese elements colourfully and idiomatically. The musical narrative is based on motifs representing episodes of the story: the north wind, the red ribbon, day turning to night, joining the Eighth Route Army (against the Japanese invaders) and so on. Unlike the typical western classical string quartet, the individual instruments seemed to be expected to draw attention to themselves without ostentation, and it allowed viola and cello, especially, to shine. Certain effects lent themselves predictably to a film sound-track: marked dynamic contrasts, tremolo effects for moments of alarm or terror, sudden fortissimo chords depicting violence.

Though it might sound a bit unsophisticated to some western ears, its success within the idiom and musical culture of China was clear, as was the comfortable manner of its performance.

At their Mulled Wine concert at Paekakariki last year the Aroha Quartet also played the Debussy quartet.  I would be less than honest if I pretended to claim that their performance here was better or worse than last year’s: I don’t remember as well as that. This was simply extremely comfortable and idiomatic, sounding at once spontaneous and thoroughly ingested.

Their dextrous dynamics always reflected the sense of the music; in the second movement long-breathed, summery violin strokes alternated with the lively rhythms generated by pizzicato. They players understood what Debussy meant by Andantino, doucement: it was almost breathless, quite still, with a beguiling melody launched on the viola and passed on to the others in turn, and became a kind of recitative, flowing absent-mindedly, without bar lines.

The fourth movement began very quietly, rather more modéré than that word might suggest, but it simply increased the delight as the mood livened a couple of minutes later, becoming warm and opulent.

 

Festival Singers and Cantoris – Choirs for all Seasons

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Festival Singers of Wellington and Cantoris Choir
Cloudburst – Celebrating the seasons

Musical Director: Brian O’Regan

Spring
Eric Whitacre – Alleluia
Brahms – Wie Lieblich sind deine wohnungen
John Tavener – The Lamb
John Rutter – For the Beauty of the Earth
Summer
King’s Singers –  I’m a train
Robert Applebaum – Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day
Moses Hogan – Elijah Rock
Morten Lauridsen – Sure on this Shining Night
Autumn
Joshua Shank  Autumn
Eric Whitacre – Cloudburst
Winter
Ralph Vaughan Williams – The Cloud Capp’d Towers
R. Thompson – Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
Brahms – Waldesnacht
Chris Artley – O Magnum Mysterium 

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

Friday, 1st November 2013

This concert was a joint performance between Cantoris Choir and Festival Singers of Wellington, both of whom are directed by Brian O’Regan. The programme was built around Eric Whitacre’s iconic work “Cloudburst” as part of a journey through the seasons that featured choral works from different ages and genres.

Opening the evening was Moses Hogan’s Elijah Rock, a riveting Negro spiritual that ventures almost into rap territory. It was an ambitious first choice, but was carried off with total panache and technical command by the combined choirs, who immediately engaged the audience with their enthusiasm and polish. The following Cloud Capp’d Towers of Ralph Vaughan Williams was a total stylistic contrast, beautifully rendered, again by the joint choirs. How canny of Brian O’Regan to choose this pair of opening numbers– two genres that are just about as far apart as can be, yet each finishing on the note of meeting one’s Maker. In the spiritual the singers literally hurtle through the Pearly Gates, shouting “Comin’ up Lawdy, I’m comin’ up Lord”, while in the latter the voices fade away into nothingness as “our little life is rounded with a sleep”. Masterful programming………

The Festival Singers then presented a bracket of three numbers by Rutter, Artley and Lauridsen. With loving phrasing, dynamics, and exemplary balance between the voices, they beautifully conveyed the great mystery of the manger scene and a sense of wonder at the beauties of earth and sky. This theme was rounded out by a combined choir rendition of Brahms’ – Waldesnacht (Woodland night), regarded as one of the masterpieces of the Romantic choral repertoire. Its nuances were sympathetically delivered to convey the profound sense of peace and tranquility that Nature can provide as a balm for weary limbs exhausted by the “insane anguish” of everyday life.

Eric Whitacre’s Cloudburst was the central piece in the programme, and rightly so. It involved both choirs, piano, percussion band, and the seven players of the Tinakori Hand Bell Choir. This is an exciting work which uses a wide variety of vocal and instrumental effects to convey all the sound sensations experienced in a cloudburst– everything from the whispering pitter-patter of the first gentle raindrops to the auditory assault of a torrential downpour, complete with thunder from the band. The vocal writing is very percussive and instrumental in places, and the singers gave it their all to great effect. They formed an excellent ensemble with the instrumentalists that resulted in a highly evocative performance.

The combined male voices next presented R.Thompson’s setting of Robert Frost’s 1922 poem Stopping by woods on a snowy evening. The pianist, Jonathan Berkhan, and choristers together captured most evocatively its magical imagery of the rider stopping between the woods and a frozen lake on the darkest evening of the year. The expressive harmonies were beautifully balanced, and the diction quite the clearest and cleanest of the entire evening. Bravo gentlemen!

Joshua Shank’s Autumn, sung by the combined choirs,  explores a wonderful metaphor where the falling leaves of autumn represent that final descent we all must make. The singers made the most of the expressive dissonances and showed beautiful control, especially in the final lines And yet there is One/ Who holds this falling/ in his hands/ With infinite softness.

 The jaunty King’s Singers’ number I’m a train was a dramatic contrast, with its characteristic clever vocal effects, rhythms and wordless train soundtrack puffing energetically along. The singers were obviously having a ball, and demonstrated yet again their great versatility in switching between widely different genres.

Cantoris presented the next two numbers by Applebaum and Tavener. The setting of Shakespeare’s 18th sonnet eschews any hint of the saccharine, reflecting rather the devastation and heartache of Applebaum who wrote it to mark his daughter’s untimely death. The sometimes raw a cappella harmonies express the dark side of this wonderful poem, and they were movingly rendered by the singers. Tavener’s work was given an equally beautiful reading which tellingly captured the wide-eyed delight of a child talking to the lamb in its Softest clothing, woolly, bright.

The choirs combined again for the final two numbers, the first being Brahms’ How lovely are thy dwelling places from his German Requiem. This was sung with a piano reduction for accompaniment, a format I had never heard before. The singing was entirely competent, but the amputation of the orchestra had a devastating effect on the performance. Never can it be said that Brahms was here composing a vocal work with orchestral accompaniment. The two elements are never conceived separately, but are part of an intimate relationship which can no more be split asunder than can a pair of dancers. I believe that the stature of this masterful work must be respected and its exquisite music left intact, even at the cost of its being omitted from programmes where an orchestra is not available.

Eric Whitacre’s Alleluia is a far cry from the usual finale romp that this title often suggests. It is rather a subdued, contemplative work set for choir with male and female soloists. Those voices floated poetically through the choristers who in turn beautifully shaped their own interweaving melodies. The whole effect was one of peace and calm, and serene conclusion.

Festival Singers and Cantoris  are exceptionally fortunate to have found a director of Brian O’Regan’s experience and competence. He produced an exemplary concert that gave obvious pleasure to singers and audience alike, and I trust that Wellington can look forward to plenty more in the future.