Day: 26 March 2015

St.Matthew Passion rich and dramatic from Wellington’s Bach Choir

Posted on by Peter Mechen

The Bach Choir of Wellington presents:
JS BACH – ST.MATTHEW PASSION BWV 244

Richard Greager (Evangelist) / Simon Christie (Jesus)
Nicola Holt (soprano) / Maaike Christie-Beekman (alto)
Lachlan Craig (tenor) / David Morriss (bass)

Wellington Young Voices (Christine Argyle, director)
Douglas Mews (continuo)

Bach Choir of Wellington
Chiesa Ensemble (Rebecca Struthers, leader)

Peter Walls (conductor)

Metropolitean Cathedral of the Sacred Heart
Hill Street, Wellington

Sunday, 29th March 2015

When looking through various articles in search of a thought-provoking quote with which to begin this review, I found a number which set me upon my ear! – or perhaps that should be my eye! – of course I had to choose only one, for fear of being accused of using other people’s words to write most of the review for me! After some soul-searching, my choice was a statement from the 89 year-old Hungarian composer, pianist and teacher György Kurtág:

“Consciously, I am certainly an atheist, but I do not say it out loud, because if I look at Bach, I cannot be an atheist. Then I have to accept the way he believed. His music never stops praying. And how can I get closer if I look at him from the outside? I do not believe in the Gospels in a literal fashion, but a Bach fugue has the Crucifixion in it — as the nails are being driven in. In music, I am always looking for the hammering in of the nails.”

The performance of JS Bach’s St.Matthew Passion at which we were present on Sunday afternoon at the Metropolitean Cathedral of the Sacred Heart seemed to me such an act on a communal scale, presenting a work of art that simply invites humanity to believe in itself and partake in its capacity to act as human beings might do when showing love and compassion for one another.

That same belief in an essential humanity informed not only the music we heard but its performance. In terms of intent, commitment and insight it was one that, in Kurtág’s words, “never stopped praying”, mirroring the actual music and presenting it in human terms through singing, playing and conducting. At every point I felt the musicians were fully taken up with the composer’s inspiration and belief, and the music’s intellectual and emotional power.

Probably the reason that what I’ve written so far sounds more like an article of humanist faith than a music review is that the work, one of the mightiest that has come out of Western civilization, made such an overwhelming effect through its performance on this occasion. György Kurtág’s comment regarding the crucifixion having “the hammering in of the nails” could have been applied in metaphorical terms to other Gospel account imagery in a hundred such places throughout the narrative, in this deeply-committed rendering.

Before the performance began, conductor Peter Walls talked about the work and some of its detailing along similar lines – he pointed out some of Bach’s particular placements of instrumentation and how they reflected the content and mood of the words. Though Bach was often criticized for what some people considered over-dramatisation of the text (“Opera in church!” one distinguished lady was heard to declare disapprovingly at the end of one of the Passion performances), he actually broke with a trend that favoured sentimental verse settings of the Gospel stories, by restoring the actual Biblical texts, sung in recitative by a tenor as the Evangelist, and by other soloists as the main characters  in the story, with the choruses representing the crowd.

Walls drew our attention to the special character given to recitatives performed by the singer representing Jesus, – how Bach underlined the idea of the character’s divinity with string-accompaniment, except for the latter’s final outburst – “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”, signifying a kind of divine abandonment. The conductor also drew our attention to Bach’s frequent use of chorales which in effect represent the congregation. Their melodies would have been familiar to Bach’s congregants, who would probably have joined with the choir in singing them – the most often-recurring chorale (sung five times throughout the work, with different words and slightly varied harmonisations each time) uses a melody actually adapted from a popular song of renaissance times, an organic, if somewhat whimsical connection between great art and everyday life!

The work’s very opening made here a deeply-felt and richly-sounded impression, with both chorus and instrumentalists divided into two groups alternating with descriptions of the scene where Jesus is carrying his cross, over the top of which sounded voices belonging to a children’s choir (Wellington Young Voices) intoning the words of a gentle chorale, “O Lamb of God”. The choirs were secure and full-throated, while in support the instrumentalists enabled an enticing accompanying texture, a sea of buoyancy on which the voices sailed safely and soundly.

As the Evangelist Richard Greager brought to bear on his recitatives all of his dramatic skill at making the words leap from the page of score and take on all the elements of the drama. I was worried after listening to the opening lines that the voice might not be steady enough for the more sustained notes, but as the work proceeded and things warmed up, I found myself increasingly relishing Greager’s vivid and varied story-telling with each phrase of the text. Among the most telling moments was the Evangelist’s recounting of Judas’ appearance with the priests to betray and capture Jesus, a moment which brought forth impassioned, ringing vocalizations!  – another great sequence was Greager’s expressive retelling of the story of Peter’s denial of Christ, bringing out the disciple’s horror and shame when he realized what he had done.

Central to the drama was, of course, the character of Jesus Christ, whose words were sung by bass Simon Christie – at first I found his tone gruff and a touch abrasive around the edges, qualities which he gradually relinquished with each of his subsequent utterances. His voice’s dark quality certainly suited the story’s subject-matter, and he was able to “pull rank” with some authority, such as when he delivered Jesus’s rebuke to the apostles for their objections to Mary Magdalene washing and anointing his feet.  He also paced and inflected Christ’s  “trinket alle daraus” (Drink from this, all of you)  beautifully and sensitively, and, of course, he had the expressive power to do justice to moments like “Mein Vater”, Jesus’s supplication to His Father to spare him the oncoming agony of his prophesied death.

The other singers of course delivered all the non-Biblical recitatives and associated arias which Bach interpolated into the narrative. Written by a poet known as Picander, these meditations comment introspectively on the meaning of the Gospel events, inviting the listener to become emotionally involved with the drama, personalizing key moments in the work and giving it incredible depth of feeling. First of the quartet to appear was the alto, Maaike Christie-Beekman, who brought her richly-wrought but finely-gradated tones to both recitative “Du lieber Heiland du” (My Master and my Lord) and to the aria “Buß und Reu” (Penance and remorse), each beautifully accompanied by the flutes, with solo ‘cello enriching the aria, the instrumental figurations vividly illustrating the “Tropfen meiner Zähren” (teardrops) of the text. Throughout the whole of the work, Christie-Beekman’s voice and way with the text took me to the heart of whatever she sang, such as with the heart-rending “Ach Golgotha, unselges Golgotha!” (Ah! – Golgotha, unholy Golgotha), the oboe-playing heartfelt and stricken, and with the recitative followed by a most touching aria (“Sehet, Jesus hat die hand….ausgespannt”) (See, Jesus has stretched out his hand) with poignant chorus interjections.

Though soprano Nicola Holt was less vocally consistent, occasionally singing a tad sharp under pressure, her line nevertheless had a purity and steadiness in most places, which gave the text an almost instrumental strength, as in her opening “Blute nurd, du liebes Herz” (Bleed now, loving Heart), words chillingly and pitilessly addressed to the mother of Judas the traitor, who nurtured at her breast one who became “a serpent”. Then, immediately following Jesus’ invitation “trinket alle daraus”, came a difficult, cruelly high entry to the recitative “Wiewohl mien Herz” (Although my heart) for the soprano, which she managed with great credit, supported ably by an oboe and lower strings, though in the aria which followed “Ich will dir mein Herz schenken”  (I will give my heart to you) came one of the few passages in the work which to my ears needed more judicious balancing, where the oboes were too insistent in places for the singer’s lines to be clearly heard.

A highlight of the performance was the duet with chorus for soprano and alto “So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen” – the two soloists lyrical and sorrowful, their voices set against the anger of the chorus’s cries, the latter representing the fury of the apostles trying to resist Jesus’s capture, the choir spot-on with their entries under Peter Walls’ direction, and with the help of irruptive figurations from the bass instruments working up to and achieving a positively seismic outpouring at the climax of the chorus “Sind Blitze, sind Donner in Wolken verschwunden?” (Have lightning and thunder vanished in the clouds?) – a stirring effect!

Tenor Lachlan Craig was given his first opportunity at the point of the story where Jesus and his apostles go to the garden at Gethsemane to pray – firstly a kind of “word-melodrama”, shared by the soloist and the choir, “O Schmerz!” (O sorrow!), and then an aria whose words are also shared by the tenor and the choir, “Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen” (I shall keep watch with Jesus). This was a very bright voice with an intense, almost “pinched” tone, not unlike fellow new Zealander Simon O’Neill’s voice-quality, accurate and intense. At one or two places in the aria the solo voice was put under strain, the awkwardness of some of the writing indicating that Bach was thinking in instrumental, rather than vocal terms when writing much of this music. However, Craig made a good fist of the extremely demanding recitative “Mein Jesus schweigt zu falschen Lugen stille” (My Jesus is silent in the face of lies) and the following aria “Geduld!” (Patience!) after the first of the confrontations between Jesus and the High Priest The tenor had to work to phrase his lines at the brisk tempo set by the conductor for the aria, straining some of the highest notes in the process, but on the whole keeping his pitch steady.

Last of the singers was the bass David Morriss, whose well-rounded tones throughout his range and sense of theatrical variation of emphasis and tone-colour added a dimension of interest to everything he sang. He began with the recitative “Der Heiland fällt vor seinem Vater nieder” (The Saviour falls down before his Father), whose sinister, slithery string accompaniments well reflected the bitterness and rancor of the imagery chosen by the poet – and continued with the aria “Gerne will ich mich bequemen” (Gladly will I bring myself ), which the singer began softly, subtly varying his delivery of the repetitions of the word “gerne” and making something grow from out of the beginning’s darkness of despair, so that the words countering Christ’s suffering and death become gentle, even sensual – “his mouth, which flows with milk and honey” – words that the singer delivered with the utmost relish.

Later, in the wake of Judas’s despair and suicide, came the bass aria “Gebt mir meinem Jesum wieder!” (Give me back my Jesus) the singer’s tones soaring as the line rose, beautifully supported by the solo violin. And as Jesus was forced to carry his cross, helped by a bystander, Simon of Cyrene, whom the soldiers dragged from the crowd to assist, Bach’s bitter-sweet music consoled us, the bass recitative “Ja, freulich” (Yes, truly), accompanied by the beautifully pastoral sound of flutes, reminded us that life is a cross we must bear sooner or later; while the aria “Komm, süßes Kreuz” implored Christ to help us with carrying our own burdens of suffering – organ, bass viol and cello all supported the singer nobly, Morriss for his part handling the long vocal lines with great poise and dignity.

With the singers at every step of the way was the sterling support given by both chorus and orchestra, each group often divided, and with individual singers and players at certain points contributing vocal and instrumental solos. From the outer, the chorus’s response to Peter Walls’ direction was whole-hearted, detailed, varied and hugely satisfying. Nowhere was the concentration and focus more evident than with the grave and beautiful “Wenn ich einmal solo scheiden” (When I one day must depart from here), sung by the choir just before the upheaval accompanying Jesus’ death, the voices pointing the contrast with the ensuing chaos most dramatically with the sharply etched emphasis upon the words “Kraft denier Angst undo Pein” (By the strength of your agony and pain”). And when the full-blooded impact of the earthquake had ceased (the orchestra doing a splendidly visceral job with it all), the choir held us in thrall with its beautifully awed response “Wahrlich, dieser ist Gottes Sohn gewesen” (Truly this was the Son of God).

As one would expect from these players, and from people such as Douglas Mews and Robert Oliver providing superb continuo support, the instrumental playing throughout from the Chiesa Ensemble was a joy to experience, thanks in no small part to Rebecca Struthers’ leadership and inspirational solo playing, with, as one example, lovely violin obbligato support (what one commentator called “virtuosic pathos”) for the contralto in “Erbarme dich, Mein Gott” (Have mercy, My God). All of it was held together with such strength, patience and aplomb by the direction of Peter Walls, whose conducting seemed to me to combine the clarity and precision of recent scholarship concerning early music performance with sufficient weight, gravity and breadth of utterance sometimes given short measure by some of these so-called “authentic” realizations of such music. It made for an extraordinarily satisfying and enriching musical experience – one suspects for both the audience and the musicians, in this case – and an occasion I think the Bach Choir can justly regard as a triumph.

 

 

Quintessential music-making from the Brodskys

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Chamber Music New Zealand 2015 presents:
THE BRODSKY QUARTET

Music by Purcell, Britten, Bartok and Beethoven

PURCELL – Chaconne in G Minor (arr.Britten)
BRITTEN – Poeme (2nd Mvt. of String Quartet in F Major 1928)
BARTOK – String Quartet No.5 SZ 102
BEETHOVEN – String Quartet in C-sharp Minor Op.131

Daniel Rowland, Ian Belton (violins)
Paul Cassidy (viola), Jacqueline Thomas (‘cello)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Thursday, 26th March 2015

Reading about the Brodsky Quartet brings much pleasure and a few surprises: the group was formed thirty-five years ago in Manchester, and was named after Adolf Brodsky, the great nineteenth-century Russian violinist notable for premiering Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in 1881, and whose career eventually took him to Manchester, in England, where he became Principal of the Royal Manchester College of Music. Two of the original Quartet are still with the group, Ian Belton and Jacqueline Thomas – Paul Cassidy joined in 1982 and Daniel Rowland in 2007.

This is the Quartet’s third visit to this country – the group was here in 1994 for the International Festival of the Arts that year, and in 1998 toured the country with Chamber Music New Zealand. After seventeen years it was high time that the group returned – and as a result of hearing this concert I find myself hoping that I won’t have to wait for another seventeen years before encountering these remarkable musicians performing live again.

In this concert the group for me ticked the boxes which defined a well-rounded concert experience for chamber music enthusiasts – two string quartet classics, each with aspects in common, though from different centuries, were presented, along with two lesser-known, but utterly distinctive pieces, again composed in completely separate times, but linked by certain circumstances. It was programming whose connections offset the wide range of differences of the various pieces in term of style and language.

The first “pairing” came with the two opening works on the programme – first was Purcell’s Chaconne in G Minor, played in an arrangement for quartet by one of the composer’s most recent and famous devotees, Benjamin Britten. A Chaconne is a French courtly dance in which the basic harmonic pattern of the piece supports any number of melodic variations, giving rise to wonderful invention on the part of various composers who’ve written examples for various instruments.

The Purcell was followed by – indeed, actually linked to the second work on the programme, with we in the audience so completely spellbound by the music and playing to even think of applauding after the first piece – it was a magical moment when Britten’s music simply grew out of the silence that followed the Purcell. This work was a movement from an early Quartet in F Major by Britten, the material reworked by the composer into one of three Poemes for String Quartet – this movement is marked Andante. I thought it an absolutely stunning piece – a magical sound-world, not unlike the kinds of ambiences the composer created in some of his choral works to create atmosphere, such as the falling snow effect in “A Boy Was Born” – there were equally beautiful equivalents here. The music in fact gave the impression of being refracted through a dream, thanks in part to a wonderfully other-world-like ostinato figure, from the second violin.

The Brodsky Quartet’s leader Daniel Rowland, talked about the relationship between these two works, calling Purcell’s work “contemporary” in its freedom of expression, and emphasizing the inspiration the music must have been to Britten (who as a conductor made a recording of the work). The playing of the Purcell seemed timeless in its effect – because it comes into the category of “early music” the players were sparing with their vibrato in the manner that’s become accepted “period practice”, but were otherwise very free and subtle with the treatment of Purcell’s theme – very forthright voicing in places, making for great tensions, but with some magical soft playing towards the end of the piece, the final few bars creating a hypnotic effect that carried through the silences and into the beginning of the Britten which followed.

By contrast the Bartok which was next on the programme was less concerned with creating atmosphere, and much more about expressing essential elements of a distinctive musical language, strong rhythmic character, closely-worked harmonic and contrapuntal voices and cliff-face contrasts of mood and expression. The very opening of the work goes from terse unisons from groups of instruments to stamping rhythms, and then to a chromatic, somewhat eerie section played in canon – Bartok gives the listener these three contrasting ideas boldly and directly, then works them together in a full-on, abrasive way!

It seems to me that these works have a Beethoven-like quality in that they don’t employ any “padding” – the ideas are delivered straight-from-the shoulder, and in less-than-comfortable ways, making for the sort of effect that contemporaries of Beethoven used to complain about with his later music. Bartok is as wide-ranging as Beethoven, though in that he gives the listener plenty of contrast, both within single movements and in the individual movements’ differing character. In this quartet, the second and fourth movements have elements of the “night music” sounds that Bartok became known for. And in this quartet’s case in between these two movements Bartok wrote a scherzo movement as humourful and bucolic as any Beethoven wrote in a similar vein, one called “Alla bulgarese” – in the Bulgarian style. You could hear the folk-tune flavorings in the snappy rhythmic figurations – wonderful energies, at one and the same time music from the soil, yet given a kind of timeless, universal quality – which I think is a mark of greatness.

I couldn’t help thinking that same thought while going through the incredible journey that Beethoven took us in his Op.131 Quartet which finished the programme. It’s always seemed odd to me that people both contemporaneous with and in the years immediately after Beethoven simply couldn’t fathom his late music. I know there are music-lovers who still have difficulty with coming to grips with some of the works, like the Grosse Fugue and the Hammerklavier Sonata, but the general reaction even to these works is that they are masterpieces and their language is accessible. Bartok is a kind of modern-day equivalent, though perhaps not a contemporaneous one – there’s music which has been written since Bartok which is more likely to draw forth responses similar to what Beethoven’s music got from some of his contemporaries – such as fellow composer Carl Maria von Weber’s opinion upon hearing Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony that the latter was “fit for the madhouse”. There’s no doubt Bartok makes you work at listening – but, of course, if you’re fully engaged, Beethoven makes you work as well!

To my ears the Brodskys were lyrical and expansive in appropriate places, but dealt with the music’s more vigorous sections in a fairly straight, no-nonsense and unrhetorical way – whereas other groups of late I’ve heard tend to emphasize the composer’s “angular” quality. Basically I thought they didn’t make a “meal” out of anything, except that I did find the leader in the first movement had a tendency to slide between some of his notes in places that gave a slight sentimental air to the music which it didn’t need – the other thing is that if only one person in a group is doing that there’s a discrepancy of phrasing, of texture, of unanimity in places – he only indulged occasionally, and he “tightened” his phrasing as the performance moved through its different sequences. As for the group as a whole, I thought, their playing had a purposeful grip of the music which simply never let go – and even though the dotted rhythms of the finale were occasionally hurried, and their “snap” glossed over ever so slightly, the performance’s overall drive carried the music irresistibly forward.

During this performance of the Beethoven, I think the expression “in thrall” would have best described the audience response – as the work unfolded, with movement after movement following without a break, there was engendered a growing sense of undertaking a journey, far-flung, rich and strange, encountering all kinds of quixotic encounters and occasional difficulties and well as moments of deep and rich reflection. The effect at its conclusion was that we “snapped out of it” and reacted as if waking from a wonderful dream, but a very immediate and visceral dream. The Quartet players never overdid any aspect of the music, but kept it tailored to a greater purpose, the result being a cumulative effect of the kind which kept the music playing in my head long after the actual concert sounds had ceased. In sum, I thought, as stated above using different words, that the Brodskys gave us a quintessential chamber music experience.