Author: Lindis Taylor

Wellington G&S with another hit in funny, well-sung The Gondoliers

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Wellington G & S Light Opera Company

The Gondoliers by Arthur Sullivan and William Gilbert
Musical director: Hugh McMillan; stage director: Wayne Morris; producer: Stuart Gordon

Lead singers: William McElwee, Orene Tiai, Laura Loach, Charlotte Gartrell, John Goddard, Malinda Di Leva, Georgia Jamieson Emms, Mark Bobb, Chris Whelan,

The Opera House

Saturday 19 September, 7:30 pm

G&S goes on and on. Hard to think of another composer whose music in a certain genre has acquired such a single-minded following from so many, and of those, one suspects, some don’t particularly enjoy any other kind of opera or musical theatre, or even any other kind of classical music. Offenbach has no comparable cult status in France; nor Lehár or Kálmán in Austria; nor any one composer of zarzuela in Spain. Though in all cases, the relevant numbers of operettas is considerably larger than the usual
canon of G&S.

The G&S repertoire is rather small after all. Out of the total of fourteen operettas on which the two men collaborated, only about eight can be regarded as being in the standard repertory. Compare with the far greater number from each of the many prominent operetta composers of France, Austria, Germany. The number of extant zarzuelas is reputed to exceed 1000.

The Gondoliers, which was the last successful collaboration between composer and librettist, was well chosen for its contemporary New Zealand relevance. It deals with one unusual issue – the novelty of the introduction of the limited liability law – but also normal social issues of class, the nobility, honours, republicanism, the question of equality – everything but the flag; perhaps the flag controversy can be seen hovering just below the balustrade. As important for the success of the piece, apart from the full ration of splendid tunes, was the conventionally contrived plot involving misalliances, a missing heir to a Ruritanian throne, which is temporarily shared, giving Gilbert’s legal background rein for mockery; by shifting the setting for gentle satire of English royal and parliamentary institutions to Venice and an obscure, mythical central European state, they avoided censorship dangers.

The interpretation, staging and design were presumably the collaborative work of producer Stuart Gordon and stage director Wayne Morris.

After the overture that offered assurance that the players, mostly from Orchestra Wellington, would support the singers pretty professionally, the chorus confirmed a well-coached ensemble. And the chorus remained a delight throughout the evening, even taking account of moments later on when the voices of men and women of the chorus parted company. Under musical director Hugh McMillan, balances between orchestra, chorus and soloists were conspicuously comfortable, and the pace and expressive character remained lively and sensitive.

The stage revealed an expansive grand canal with stylized buildings, hinting rather shyly at Venice, rising from it. Some of the solo singing at the beginning showed a little uneasiness; but William McElwee and Orene Tiai as gondoliers Marco and Giuseppe, grew steadily into their roles… as did the two maidens, Gianetta and Tessa (Laura Loach and Charlotte Gartrell) to whom they would shortly be betrothed. The four sometimes operated better as a quartet than separately, for example in the ‘Then one of us will be a queen’.

The entry of the visiting Spanish Duke and Duchess (John Goddard and Malinda Di Leva) with their lovely daughter Casilda (Georgia Jamieson Emms) soon embedded the story in serious improbability, and this was a strength that enlivened the performance in the true spirit of absurdity; Goddard’s early vocal unevenness settled after a little while.

The farcical element helped obscure weaknesses in the singing by the less experienced singers; on the other hand none of the nonsense obscured the fact that there were excellent performances, by Emms, and by McElwee and Tiai, who found themselves sharing the job of temporary monarch. The important role of the Grand Inquisitor, Don Alhambra, was splendidly carried by Chris Whelan, without excessive overacting, displayed brilliantly in his ‘I stole the prince … no possible doubt whatever’, which reveals the crux of the problem that dominates the drama.

The denouement sees the temporary dual-king(s) deposed, to their great relief, and the heir to the Baratarian throne, is revealed as Luiz, tenor Mark Bobb, a recent arrival in New Zealand. One of the most vivid figures on the stage, he sang excellently with a fast, disciplined vibrato. In the first act he had acted as ducal orchestra, displaying finesse on the side-drum to herald the Duke’s arrival. He and Emms – lovers, unaware of how things will evolve – sang a charming duet, ‘There was a time’.

The stage scene at Act II is the interior of the royal Barataria palace, quite an imposing affair with grand staircase set to a curious perspective. Giuseppe’s amusing solo about the troubles of a king, up-dated, had the edge on Marco’s ‘Take a pair of sparkling eyes’, pretty as that was.

The action proceeds with an energetic Spanish dance and then the Grand Inquisitor’s (Chris Whelan) classic show-stopper, ‘There lived a king’, showing how equality and republicanism are quite absurd. These moments are usually furnished with localised political lyrics, this time by the singer himself, which I have permission to reproduce here. The singing was accompanied by a series of pertinent illustrations of many of the leading comic figures involved in the following narrative.

In southern oceans far away
A strange perversion once took sway
The people wanted greater say
And MMP resulted

It meant that none could rule alone
Without some partners on the throne
And compromise would be the tone
At least that was the theory.

Soon parties formed in every hue
Of red and blue and yellow too
So every wretched fellow knew
Their interests were cared for.

But parties needed ways to share
The power so that all seemed fair
So to the top of every tree
Promoted everybody

Now it is clear and plain to see
That ranking colleagues equally
Will put an end to rivalry,
Promoting everybody.    

Soon ministers were everywhere
With rank and perks in equal share
But trade and finance ranked the same
As arts and social housing

Like Judith Collins some were bad
Or Gerry Brownlee slightly mad
Though voter faith did gently sag
The PM seemed delighted.

The coalition held its course.
Dave Seymore was a trifling force
And Peter Dunne was a resource
Among the minor minions.

So party leaders you might meet
In twos and threes in every street,
Professing with no little heat
Their various opinions.

Now that’s a sight you couldn’t beat
Two party spokesmen in each street,
Professing with no little heat
Their various opinions.

The end can easily be guessed,
When skill no longer is the test
Soon personality was best
For getting voter traction

The voters favoured charm and wit
And ranked good hair above true grit
Soon one emerged that seemed to fit
In Southland and Kaitaia

The voters turned to one who seemed
Averse to baubles though he preened
Through spluttering indignant schemes,
Was Winston made kingmaker.

In short whoever you may be
To this conclusion you’ll agree
When everyone is somebodee,
Soon no one’s anybody.

Now that’s as plain as plain can be,
To this conclusion we agree:
When everyone is somebodee,
Soon no one’s anybody.

And there were various references to current political scandals scattered through the score, for example the ennoblement of The Duke of Plaza-Toro dotcom.

While the build-up to the denouement goes along nicely, as the former nurse is finally persuaded to tell the court that neither of the joint-temporary kings is the heir, no imperishable musical hits are to be found in the last scenes, apart from a reprise of the big dance scene.

The costumes were elaborate, the sets ingenious and appropriate, and the direction generally lively and credible, paying some attention to the traditions of 1880s comic opera, and today’s tendency sometimes to do violence to the original conception and to impose our own interpretation. There was nothing at which one could take offence in this.

It had been see already in Lower Hutt, Kapiti and Whanganui, so that any teething troubles would have been sorted out and word spread of its virtues. Thus there was a good audience at the Opera House.

 

Admirable cello and piano lunchtime concert by Inbal Megiddo and Diedre Irons

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Lunchtime at Adam Concert Room
(New Zealand School of Music)

Inbal Megiddo (cello) and Diedre Irons (piano)

Beethoven: Cello Sonata No 4 in C, Op 102 No 1
Brahms: Cello Sonata No 2 in F minor, Op 99

Adam Concert Room, Victoria University

Friday 18 September, 12:10 pm

In earlier days the university’s lunchtime concerts were on Thursdays, both when I was a student a century ago and when I started reviewing for the Evening Post in the 1980s. It was more convenient for me as for many years Fridays have been proscribed and I have rarely managed to get to them.

The chance to hear cello sonatas by Beethoven and Brahms was too hard to resist however, and I made a momentous alteration to my life to be there.

In his sonata in C, Beethoven takes his usual liberties with the conventional forms that had guided his predecessors. It is unusual in its shape: just two movements, each with a slow introduction leading to an Allegro vivace, each of seven to eight minutes duration. Yet both the Allegro sections, though short, follow reasonably normal sonata form.

Inbal Megiddo opened gently, finding the sort of nasal quality of the D rather than the A string (not that I could see her bowing), which matched the thoughtful character of the melody with its unusual octave leap in the middle; and the two players at once announced themselves as strikingly sympathetic, both with the music and each other: though the piano lid was on the long stick, the cello’s voice was always equal to whatever the piano was doing.

The Andante is only about 3 minutes long and so never suggested a merely brief first movement, establishing its own, perfectly congenial coherence, and it fell silent at just the right moment. The contrast, as the main part of the movement began, was perhaps a little too assertive, rather than simply sanguine. It too is quite short.

The prelude to second movement, Adagio, can be recognised early as a sort of variation on the main theme of the Andante, with its rising octave interval and its improvisatory feeling. The Allegro vivace then begins playfully and it character was illuminated with great confidence and conviction by both instruments. Beethoven’s teasing wit is never far away. There are the odd pauses and the precipitate ending, into all of which both pianist and cellist entered wholeheartedly.

The Brahms sonata in some ways shows greater respect for the classical tradition, even though adopting a more lyrical and romantic tone. And the duo seemed to relish the chance to dig into the big romantic melodies and the denser, almost orchestral textures. Brahms seemed to take pleasure in the warm and deep bass notes – pedal notes – from the cello: one wonders whether those moments hark back to his father’s sounds as double bassist with the Hamburg opera orchestra. The cello’s pizzicato passages in the Adagio were deliberate, even a bit inert, but the general rhapsodic feeling produced a lovely performance.

In the third movement, Allegro passionato, acting as a Scherzo I suppose, Megiddo’s forceful and energetic style set the tone, somewhat at the expense of the beautiful; the beautiful was confined to the middle section which did indeed offer a heart-felt respite. The last movement is one of those rich, Brahmsian creations, where, as I noted above, orchestral sound is close by. The playing by both, obviously in wonderful sympathy with the composer’s aesthetic, fulfilled every Brahms-lover’s expectations.

I was pleased to see a good audience in the Adam Concert Room.

A few years ago, this venue presented serious accessibility problems, with virtually no parking weekdays and infrequent buses. Bus timetables during term-time are now good (non-term-time, still hopeless). I travelled by train and bus from Tawa to Kelburn Parade in about 35 minutes.

So it’s a concert venue that deserves the attention of all serious music lovers with a bit of flexible time at midday.

 

 

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Beethoven and bravura violin music from Valerie Rigg and Mary Barber at Old St Paul’s

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Lunchtime concert at Old Saint Paul’s

Valerie Rigg – violin and Mary Barber – piano

Kreisler: Praeludium and Allegro in the style of Pugnani
Beethoven: Violin Sonata No 10 in G, Op 96
Wieniawski: Polonaise brilliante, Op 4

Old Saint Paul’s

Tuesday 15 September, 12:15 pm

I had no knowledge of the programme till I arrived on this sunny, breezy morning, at Old Saint Paul’s, now famous as one of the most beautiful buildings in New Zealand. So that in spite of sightline problems here and there, and acoustic oddities with some sounds, the pleasures to be found just to be there are great. The stained glass creations, among almost an entire suite of stained glass, of Saints Catherine and Cecilia (her, the patron saint of music) side by side on the north wall on my left, can afford comfort for any catastrophe (and I speak not of religious belief or sensibilities).

But here we had a brave violinist taking on a couple of terrifying, virtuoso violin pieces. The performance began with that feeling of tension and suspense that accompanies watching a high-wire act, as Valerie Rigg started the Kreisler. But the thrill of an exciting performance vanished suddenly as conspicuous signs of serious insecurity in intonation and articulation in the playing were obvious, which really continued throughout. The cause I couldn’t guess, but I thought it unlikely that her musical skills had just deserted her.

At the end she went off and Mary Barber spoke about the character of the Beethoven sonata that was to follow and, as Valerie returned, remarked casually that she’d had to replace a string. Ah! What a pity she hadn’t stopped as soon as the trouble emerged and changed the string then!

So the Beethoven went well, with new confidence, even sound, good intonation. There was a nice feeling of rapport between the two players, whose common approach was restrained and modest. It’s always good to observe the pianist in a sonata duet, and both to see and hear the way the pianist, without becoming subservient, watches expressive gestures, careful hesitations by the violinist and matches them sensitively, which enriched the sanguinity and sanity of the long, warmly melodious first movement.

As Mary Barber had observed, the slow movement suggests an exploratory frame of mind with descending arpeggios or scale passages that seemed to be drawing some kind of message from the music but not perhaps arriving.  That’s probably a good way to describe a movement that is not superficially engaging, as the melodies are not among Beethoven’s most memorable. Yet the performance held the attention and the composer’s gifts in creating bewitching music from unspectacular material proved themselves, as well as the perceptiveness of the players. And it’s not as if  it’s a short movement. There’s a tantalising suspense on the enchanting last page that leads to a dark key change, from E flat to the Scherzo and Trio in G minor, which was well expressed.

This is a vigorous but not specially witty movement, though obviously more vigorously characterful than the Adagio. It’s also quite short. The vivid Scherzo is followed by a more lyrical, swaying melody in the Trio section which almost suggests a mazurka.

I had forgotten how attractive the last movement of this last of Beethoven’s violin sonatas was. And the players delighted me, really enhancing the feelings I had at having my memories so splendidly refreshed. On top of the pleasure expressed in the body of the movement, the tempo change in the Coda brought an excitement to the conclusion that was very satisfyingly prolonged.

Then came the Wieniawski which, now, raised no misgivings in me as I knew that Valerie Rigg’s instrument, as well as she herself, were fully able to manage the pyrotechnics. In the event, they played his Polonaise Brilliante at a slightly calmer pace, none of the hectic speed and flamboyance that a dedicated violin virtuoso might adopt. In fact, it was at the more stately, processional sort of speed which is the way the dance must be performed (watchers of the last act of Eugene Onegin will know about that). So the dangers were sensibly minimized really to the music’s benefit. Sure there was the occasional minor missed mark in the wide-spaced arpeggios, and in the inescapable bravura flourishes, and the last section didn’t go perfectly, but in general, intonation, double-stopping, and in fact, the essential spirit of the music were convincingly present.

 

Young Musicians Programme in another impressive concert supported by Music Futures

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music Young Musicians Programme
Presented by Music Futures

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 13 September, 3 pm

This concert, a showcase for a large number of the students who have participated in Victoria University’s Young Musicians Programme was the second in the space of six weeks.

It was facilitated by Music Futures. After the Friends of the NZSO wound up, Valerie Rhodes was approached by an orchestra member with the suggestion of an organisation to support young musicians. That led to the formation of Music Futures in 2011 and their first concert in August 2012.

This year Music Futures offered to fund a concert for the Young Musicians Programme at St. Andrew’s on 13 September, giving access to a venue they wouldn’t otherwise have used. In addition to those promoted by Music Futures the YMP continues to put on a programme of public concerts throughout the year.

Although we had been led to believe that the YMP was not as warmly supported by the university as it might have been, Dr Robert Legg assures us that YMP is viewed as critically important by the university and by NZSM, and that significant resources, in terms of staff time, are devoted to the programme.

Contributions from a wide range of NZSM staff, including Legg (who had hosted Sunday’s concert), Rodger Fox, Dave Lisik, Inbal Megiddo, Michael Norris, Debbie Rawson, and centrally the New Zealand String Quartet, make YMP possible. NZSM director Euan Murdoch is also very interested in the YMP, having founded one of its predecessor organisations, the Victoria Academy fifteen years ago; he was
present at the concert.

The tutors involved at this concert were Simeon Broom, Margaret Guldborg, Reuben Chin and Debbie Rawson, Jonny Avery, Linden Loader, Ludwig Treviranus and Rachel Church.

Some of these players I’d heard in a concert at the School of Music on Queen’s Birthday weekend; others at the Music Futures concert on 26 July.

I had begun this review intending to avoid naming individuals, but that proved impossible; the challenge then was to find some rationale for mentioning some and not others. I have not really succeeded as the reasons for mentioning certain ones, especially where they appeared more than once, have been so varied. To those omitted, my apologies: all are equally praiseworthy.

The first group, two violins and piano, had played at the June concert the same pieces by Godard as they played here, now the Godard Trio (Tony Xie, Peter Gjelsten and Keiran Lewellen). In my review of 1 June I noted that Benjamin Godard was a gifted French composer who lived a short life in the late 19th century, famous for the lovely Berceuse from his 1888 opera, Jocelyn. The two movements played from his Six Duettini supported his reputation as a charming melodist, and again they captured the flowing rhythm and gentle melodies.

Next was an ensemble of five violins and two cellos, some of whom reappeared in different formations later. Their interesting choice was two of Lilburn’s four Canzonas which have recently emerged to become among his most genuinely popular pieces, especially the first. However, these performances, including the very brief No 2, helped confirm the charm of the whole set. Though one or two players looked no more than seven or eight, the support of the septet did the music proud. Eliana Dunford, lead violinist, reappeared later in the Rachmaninov; Nick Majic played again in the Saint-Saëns and the two Lewellen boys had other appearances too.

Two saxophones represented the woodwind department (though there’s not much wood in saxophones). First a March by Prokofiev, which created a rather lazy atmosphere, though there was nothing lazy about the performance; it was followed by ‘Lazy Coconut Tree’, a calypso tune which exhibited rather more energy than the Prokofiev. Both Annabel Sik and Stella Lu were surprisingly comfortable in their performances.

A sextet of guitars produced a coherent performance of a tune by Michael Jackson, ‘Billie Jean’, revealing a wide range of abilities, some doing little more than tapping the body of the instrument. That’s not fair: under Jonny Avery, all contributed to the attractive ensemble.

Linden Loader led a vocal sextet through one of Rossini’s Soirées musicales, ‘La Pesca’.  Not much to do with fishing, it’s a nocturnal love duet sung on the sea shore, and the duet for soprano and mezzo was happily transformed for a group of attractive young voices.

Then, straddling the interval, came five pianists, all tutored by Ludwig Treviranus. Brendan Looi played a sweet little Intermezzo by a small-time Australian composer Robert Adam Horne, who came to New Zealand later; he wrote in a Victorian salon style: charming. Patrick Grice, who’d played cello in the Lilburn pieces, played a Sarabande by another obscure composer, this time one born in New Zealand: Hugo Vernon Anson. If that made little impression, Grice gave a fine performance later in the Saint-Saëns piano trio. Stella Lu had earlier played the saxophone; here she made an accomplished job of the third movement of Beethoven’s Sonata, Op 10 No 1.

The next two were the brothers Xie – Perry and Tony, both very young: Perry, thoughtfully in the first movement of Mozart’s Sonata in C; it’s sometimes called the Sonata Semplice, because it’s easy for beginners (but hard for professionals). Tony had played piano in the Godard pieces and here he played a Chinese piece, part of The Dance of the Watergrass, gentle, impressionist music.

Finally there were three piano trios. The Glinka Trio, comprising three small boys (one, Perry Xie again) on violins and piano (Zhe-Ning Chin), playing Russian pieces, evidently all by Glinka. I’m not sure whether this was exactly the same group that had played some Glinka pieces in the June concert. Each group had spoken briefly about their music, some hesitantly, some with clarity and confidence: the violinist Brayden Lewellen was the latter kind.

The group named Melodius Thunk had played last June: then the opening of Smetana’s piano trio; now, tutored by Simeon Broom, Rachmaninov’s first Trio Élégiaque. Listening to each player in turn – Nick Kovacev, Bethany Angus and Eliana Dunford – I was impressed by their polished and accomplished performances, individually and in ensemble, demonstrating real grasp of the style and musical content.

Rachel Church, who’d tutored the Glinka Trio, also looked after the final group, the Saint-Saëns Trio. They were Patrick Grice, Milo Benn and Nick Majic. This too had been in the June programme and I was impressed then. I was even more impressed hearing it again, and wondered why, though now familiar from the earlier playing, I hadn’t been thoroughly acquainted with this accomplished, compelling work before, a work that deserves to be in the standard piano trio repertoire (perhaps it is in other countries). I’d have thought that it would, from its publication in 1892, have been confirmed as a major chamber music work of the late 19th century, certainly of the French school. The trouble would have been the long-lasting disparagement of Saint-Saëns as a great composer, due to his refraining from falling in behind the ‘progressive’ movements of his later years.

So there can be very interesting, incidental and peripheral discoveries flowing from the choice of music by students whose teachers often plough fields that are not in fashion in the wider world of classical music. That was just one of the reasons for enjoying this enterprising concert.

 

 

 

Delightful Takiri Vocal Ensemble heralds a new era for the song recital?

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Takiri Ensemble
Anna Leese (soprano), Bianca Andrew (mezzo-soprano), Andrew Glover (tenor), Robert Tucker (baritone)
Kirsten Simpson (piano)

Songs and ensembles by Schubert, Schumann, David Hamilton, Ross Harris, Anthony Ritchie, Britten and Vaughan Williams

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 30 August 2:30 pm

The Takiri Ensemble is a novelty for New Zealand: a vocal quartet that aims to be a permanent presence in this country. It challenges the long-held and flimsily sustained belief that there’s no audience for the song recital; another similar, ill-supported notion is that there’s little appetite for piano recitals. Each prejudice has probably been based on cases that have not been representative or well-conceived, flawed through poor programming, or uninteresting-looking performers.

I should, however, note another straw in the wind: an enterprising song recital inspired by pianist Catherine Norton on 10 June (see the review at that date).

This example looks like winning through the presence of at least the two well-known female singers, and a programme that has a decent proportion of genuinely popular, well-known material. Soprano Anna Leese has become one of the best-known young singers to have established an international reputation; Bianca Andrew, now at the Guildhall in London, has attracted a big following in New Zealand through her vivid persona. Andrew Glover has not been so visible in New Zealand since going to study overseas where he has had substantial professional engagements: Opera North, Garsington Opera, Opera Holland Park and English Touring Opera. Robert Tucker studied with Andrew at the Opera Centre in Perth, and has been singing professionally overseas for some years, including Schaunard in La bohème and Guglielmo in Così fan tutte (which he sang recently, alongside Bianca as Dorabella, with Wanderlust Opera in Wellington).

Pianist Kirsten Simpson is an artist-teacher in accompaniment at the school of music, Victoria University. During her extensive time overseas she has accompanied at the Solti Te Kanawa Accademia di Bel Canto in Italy.

The programme began with what I imagine is still the best known of Lieder: Schubert. All very familiar to me from my teens, though how familiar they are to today’s teenagers, I wonder. I was lucky to have had two music-loving German masters at college who used Lieder, mainly Schubert (also my first hearing of Schumann’s ‘Die Grenadiere’), and German folk-songs to embed the language, and at university, the wonderful Oxford Book of German Verse, very much my Bible, was annotated with details of musical settings.

So it will be obvious that the quartet did not confine itself to music composed or arranged for all four singers; in fact, all of the Schubert songs were sung in turn by individual singers. Because these are generally more familiar, I suspect that the ensemble will be wise to include a reasonable number of such well-loved songs as ‘loss-leaders’ for the more meaty or less easily digested music.

The second group of songs was totally unfamiliar to me: Schumann’s late cycle entitled Spanische
Liebeslieder (Op 138) might have been composed specifically for this ensemble. The piano alone plays a Prelude at the beginning and an Intermezzo in the middle, signalling the significance of the piano as scene or mood painter; it was always rewarding to listen to Kirsten Simpson’s thoughtful and colourful support for the voices.

Each of the eight songs is set for one or two voices and the last, ‘Dunkler Lichtglanz’, for the quartet, and the performances follow the pattern of voices adopted in the famous Graham Johnson Complete Schumann songs, on Hyperion for the bi-centenary in 2010.

Anna sang the first song, Schubert’s ‘Die Forelle’; it was a wonderful exhibition of her fluidity, her easy command of varied articulations and colours and the fisherman theme reappeared with ‘Fischerwiese’, marked with a joyous quality over sparkling accompaniment.

Robert Tucker used dynamic subtleties, especially a hardly audible pianissimo, in ‘An Sylvia’ which used to be popular as sung to Shakespeare’s original lyric from Two Gentlemen from Verona. Then there was firm metal in the voice, and in his later ‘Schwanengesang’ (not the song cycle), pregnant silences, depicting the approach of death.

Andrew Glover’s first song was the heart-felt ‘An die Musik’, with a caressing tone and an almost religious pianissimo, supported by discreet face and hand gestures. Then in ‘Nacht und Träume’, he held long high head notes, beautiful breath control. But in the Schumann cycle, in ‘O wie lieblich ist das Mädchen’ there was a little tightness in his high register.

Bianca Andrew took over, with the powerfully emotional ‘Die junge Nonne’, which she sang with impressively rich imagination; she knows how to use her head and arms to illuminate the music and dramatise the sense of the words.

Though not all the Schumann songs are equal in melodic charm and emotional integrity, this cycle, Spanische Liebeslieder, deserves outings as a whole. Though the notes naturally drew attention to Spanish character, there was little to my ears; both verses and music sounded thoroughly absorbed into a German sensibility. So they stood in the mainstream of the Lied. The two women sang the duet ‘Bedeckt mich mit Blumen’ with special delight, their voices and intent in harmony.

The men too had their duet, ‘Blaue Augen hat das Mädchen’, and their voices showed a delightful unanimity of style and sense.

After the interval came a few New Zealand songs: David Hamilton’s arrangements for these singers of his choral pieces, Three Anzac Settings.  Utterly unpretentious little works, quite different one from the other, handling sharply contrasting aspects of the war, including one, ‘Before Battle’, which dealt with the experience of conscientious objectors, in an idiom refreshingly free of any striving for ugliness or horror. There was a childlike tone in its rhythms, beautifully caught by singers and pianist, very remote from the sanctimonious character found in much music that deals with the tragedy of war.

The third, ‘In Flanders Fields’, was more subdued, in which men’s voices predominated.

Ross Harris composed three songs for Wellington soprano Lesley Graham in appreciation of her role in Harris’s two operas of the 1980s, Waituhi and Tanz der Schwäne. Bianca sang these charming vignettes set to poems by Bub Bridger; short little stories, gently declamatory; ‘Gossip’ had the air of wistful memories.

Two songs by Anthony Ritchie: the more I hear of his music, the more I feel it reflects clearly the happy return to compositional sanity, honesty and musical communicability after the perversities of the late 20th century. ‘He Moemoea’ is a polished, mature little song; ‘Ataturk Memorial’, to me, was somewhat unconvincing, a little prosaic, yet it seemed to work as a song.

Andrew Glover sang two songs by Britten: ‘Let the Florid Music Praise’ and ‘Oliver Cromwell’, the first with an uncanny hint of his Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings, the second a witty little piece, quite
splendidly done.  Anna Leese sang Britten’s ‘O Waly Waly’, with an arresting edginess and clarity.

Three Vaughan Williams songs brought the programme to an end. Anna and Bianca joined in singing ‘It was a Lover and His Lass’, weaving among the notes joyfully; the two men in ‘Fear no more the Heat of the Sun’, produced tones of touching solemnity, calm, elegiac; and the quartet sang ‘Linden Lea’, a cappella, perfectly fitting.

The quartet had sung already in Kaitaia, Wanaka and Motueka; they go on to Whanganui, Rotorua and Whakatane, but sing nowhere else in Wellington – What A Shame!

Do the other concert promoters still fear that singers will keep their audiences at home? This concert, with its audience of over 300, should persuade them otherwise.

P.S.
My colleague Rosemary Collier, who was also at the concert, has just commented about the excellent diction, which is so important in the singing of Lieder and other ‘art song’ – that they are ‘a marriage of poetry and music’.  (10am, Tuesday 1 September). I totally agree with her.

 

 

Orpheus Choir under Brent Stewart outstanding with Bruckner and Poulenc

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Orpheus Choir of Wellington conducted by Brent Stewart

Poulenc: Gloria (Rachel Alexander – soprano)
Bruckner: Te Deum (Rachel Alexander – soprano, Rebecca Woodmore – alto, James Benjamin Rodgers – tenor, James Henare – bass-baritone)

Organ (Douglas Mews) and instrumental ensemble: Matthew Ross (violin), Jennifer Vaughan (flute), Barrett Hocking (trumpet), Shadley van Wyk (horn), Julian Kirgan (trombone), Grant Myhill (timpani), Ludwig Treviranus (piano)

Cathedral of Saint Paul

Saturday 22 August 7:30 pm

Though this concert was advertised as being accompanied by the cathedral organ, without mention of other instruments, the programme disclosed the names of seven instrumentalists. I am one of the pernickety race that hopes for performances from the voices and instruments prescribed by the composer. However, while I’d have loved Orchestra Wellington to have been on hand, the small band and Douglas Mews’ organ playing did very well, supplying needed colour. (I am very fully aware of the economic constraints applying in the value-system of our political culture).

Brent Stewart took over as the choir’s conductor at the end of last year; this was my first experience of the choir since then (I missed their acclaimed Elijah in May).

I am almost always pleased when a conductor does more than merely bow as he/she steps on to the podium, and reaches for a microphone or perhaps simply projects his voice well. Stewart spoke interestingly about Poulenc, his character and that of his music, though I imagine his warnings about the often unserious nature of his music hardly prepared those of the audience unfamiliar with this or other music of Poulenc, for the uncommon tone of the religious music with which his Gloria opens. The audience: surprisingly large on a cold night.

Here, I must confess, I had wished for a more complete orchestral support, as certain instruments enjoyed a somewhat unbridled jaunt: single lines where Poulenc has brass or woodwinds playing in harmony. Poulenc’s writing for wind instruments is vivid and very characteristic and I did rather miss the full sounds of the orchestra both playing by itself and in support of the choir. Perhaps the fifth movement’s introduction, scored prominently for woodwinds, suffered most from the absence of other than a solitary flute, beautiful as that was.

However, the choir’s contribution was full of vigour and well integrated, overcoming impressively the long and testing echo that is both a strength and weakness of the cathedral. While the lively, Stravinsky-like, outer sections of the ‘Laudamus te’ and the ‘Domine fili unigenite’ were splendid, with its staccato rhythms in both choir and instruments, the acoustic was more bothersome in some of the fast, complex passages. Nevertheless, the ‘Laudamus Te’, with the surprising, quiet ‘Gratias agimus’ in the middle, demonstrated most clearly the essential spirit of the work as well as of Stewart’s success in leading the choir with clarity and wonderful energy.

The soprano soloist is employed in the more pensive third and fifth movements where flute and horn led to Rachel Alexander’s beautiful contribution. Her sensitivity was most clearly shown in the last movement, ‘Qui sedes’, where she had an unaccompanied passage followed by a quite poignant passage
leading to the Amen.

Before starting Bruckner’s Te Deum, Stewart spoke again about the music, but also drew attention to the choir’s farewell to choir member and administrator Judy Berryman, choir member for 30 years.

The Te Deum, unlike his three masses, which had preceded his mature symphonies, was written about 13 years later, about the time of the 6th symphony. It demanded all four soloists and a full orchestra. Strangely, instrumental sparseness seemed far less significant here than in the Poulenc, though in truth, the orchestra makes a glorious contribution that usually affords me quite as much delight as the singing. However, my notes made no reference to any inadequacy here and the strength of the singing by both choir and soloists proved more than enough in itself. Perhaps it was a case of the discriminating organ and the individual instruments supplying enough for the imagination to fill in the gaps.

After the arresting opening, at ‘Tibi omens Angeli’, the four soloists entered one by one – soprano, tenor, alto, bass, and each made a fine impact, dominated in many ways by the strength and clarity of James Rodgers’s tenor (he led again, impressively, at the opening of the ‘Te ergo quaesumus’); and there was a conspicuous violin obbligato from Matthew Ross. If the orchestral element was lacking, the choir achieved a wonderful feeling of exultation in the following choral passage, contrasting with the mystical, subdued, ‘Patrem immensae majestatis’. One tries not to smile at the emotional climaxes
that accompany certain words like the composer’s excitement at ‘Tu ad dexteram Dei sedes’; we attend the music and not the doctrine however, and the music and its singing continued at a level of commitment and richness that could be achieved with a choir approaching a hundred in number.

Later in the work, it was good to hear other soloists more conspicuously, especially James Henare at ‘Et rege eos’ in the fourth section. And in the final section, ‘In te, Domine, speravi’, the four sing in one of the rare ensembles, allowing soprano Rachel Alexander and alto Rebecca Woodmore, to be heard to impressive effect. That section, involving the repetition of only eight words for seven or eight minutes, was offered more chances to enjoy separate sections of the choir, the sopranos against the altos; women and men interweaving in counterpoint.

I might remark that the usual custom of offering words to help the audience follow the action, is not a bad tradition – both Latin and English preferably; though I must acknowledge the pithy and illuminating notes that were printed in the programme.

The two works each lasted between 20 and 25 minutes, meaning the concert lasted only about an hour and a quarter, a bit shorter than is normal. Nevertheless, the strength and commitment – quality – of the singing compensated remarkably for lesser quantity.

Nothing really diminished the impact of the final page or so of the work, with brass and timpani doing their best along with the splendid, climactic efforts by the choir, combining to make Brent Stewart’s second major concert with the choir a resounding success.

 

Delightful, witty Così fan tutte from Wanderlust Opera

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Così fan tutte (Mozart) in concert
Wanderlust Opera: produced by Georgia Jamieson Emms

Musical director: Bruce Greenfield (piano)
Narrator: Kate Mead
Georgia Jamieson Emms (Fiordiligi); Bianca Andrew (Dorabella); Imogen Thirlwall (Despina); Cameron Barclay (Ferrando); Robert Tucker (Guglielmo); Matthew Landreth (Don Alfonso)

English translation by John Drummond, Ruth and Thomas Martin and Georgia Jamieson Emms

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 15 August, 7:30 pm

It’s best to start with comment about the somewhat unfortunate timing of this wonderful enterprise. A clash with the university school of music’s double bill, running four performances from Thursday to Sunday. On top of that, many vocal enthusiasts would also have been torn by having to choose between the last day of the Big Sing, the choral competition/jamboree/gala of secondary school choirs, held this year in Wellington.

Because of conflicting commitments among the cast, no alternative date could be found however, and the audience (around 100) was a bit smaller than I’d expected: it certainly deserved a full house.

Though it was not a fully staged performance, there were many other features that contributed to a sparking, highly entertaining show; the mere absence of sets and costumes of the era didn’t deny the singers plenty of histrionic scope. Recitatives were replaced by a ‘performance’ by Kate Mead, named ‘narrator’. She was much more than that; in a flamboyant black and silver costume, she entered arm-in-arm with Bruce Greenfield, took her place on a platform on the right while Greenfield went to the piano, which served very well as orchestra.

He launched impulsively into the overture, hitting the keys with staccato ferocity. But after only a minute the overture was cut short and Kate took over to set the scene, with detail rich in witty hyperbole, insight, oxymoron, cynicism and meticulous Neapolitan geography. (If you’re interested, Piazza Carolina is close to the great San Carlo Theatre; their five-storey house is on the corner of Via Gennaro Serra – check it out next time you’re in Naples).

Kate’s dramatic elan ran the risk of upstaging more than one of the real performers. Like the singers, she spoke in English, which, in theory, negated the need for surtitles; but as usual, they’d often have been a help, as voices vary in clarity and carrying ability. (I have to confess a very strong preference, always, for the original language, with surtitles of course). So the scene was promptly set for a comedy in which there was no hope of rational intelligibility.

The other most important actor was the one-man-orchestra, the piano, which did get in the way sometimes, and made it hard to catch some of the Italian-inflected English. But it was always worth paying attention to the sheer brilliance of Greenfield’s playing of the delicious score.

However, the more important thing is the singing.

The three men, in dinner suits, established their characters at once, voices very distinct, though Cameron Barclay’s self-confident Ferrando was at first a little better projected than the Guglielmo of Robert Tucker whose well-grounded baritone slowly distinguished itself. The sisters’ several duets were nicely differentiated in timbre, and models of emotional excess. Bianca Andrew as Dorabella, the more susceptible of the sisters, used her fine penetrating mezzo wonderfully; Georgia Jamieson Emms benefitted as a result of the different character of her voice and personality, easily capturing the nature of Fiordiligi. They both wore glamorous, timeless, ball dresses.

Matthew Landreth as Don Alfonso did not, early on, quite command the nonchalant, Figaro-factotum character that Da Ponte and Mozart envisaged, but by the advent of the quintet, ‘Sento, o dio’, he was fitting comfortably into the texture of the performance.

It’s true that quite a lot was left out (there were 17 numbers listed in the programme from a total of 31 usually numbered in the score), though none of the well-known arias and ensembles was missing, like the divine trio ‘Soave sia il vento’, Fiordiligi’s ‘Come scoglio’ with a conspicuously splendid piano accompaniment; or tenor Ferrando’s touching ‘Un’ aura amorosa’. As an opera without a chorus, it is famous for its beautiful duets, trios and quintets, and they were often more beguiling than the solo arias.

With Alfonso’s pecuniary persuasion, Despina (Imogen Thirlwall) has entered the fray; her performance is vivacious and her initial hesitation to be complicit in Alfonso’s scheme quickly falls away.

The implementation of Alfonso’s plot is followed by a big sextet, as the two Albanians are introduced, and offer the most taxing of all suspensions of disbelief with the most improbable of disguises in all theatre, sporting moustaches and with unstable fezes (plural?), still wearing dinner suits, but with loosened ties.

Despina assumes great importance in Act II, starting with her perky ‘Una donna a quindici anni’, in her attempt to modify the girls’ self-denying virtue. With a few cuts in the score, we miss the agonising vicissitudes of the four as Despina’s principled counsel slowly takes root, especially in the Fiordiligi, the more virtuous of the two, leading precipitately to a double wedding officiated by Despina the notary.

To be sure, one missed the often hilarious, accelerating marital climax that a well-staged performance can offer, but the combination of fine singing and nearly believable acting was not a bad substitute. The outcome from the collapse of earlier assumptions about human behaviour is often left obscure; though I feel that an enigmatic outcome makes better dramatic, psychological sense, here the return to the original pairing was clear (perhaps it would be more acceptable in the provinces).

This splendid, entertaining, Wanderlust Opera enterprise is a serious attempt to find a way to bring opera to wider audiences. Georgia Jamieson Emms and her co-conspirators are to be congratulated on their courage and success which, given some financial support, has the potential to relieve operatic starvation in parts of the country.

The plan is for this performance to become fully staged under director Jacqui Coats and to travel next year to Wanganui, the Kapiti Coast, New Plymouth and Carterton. What is clearly needed is a change of attitude by Creative New Zealand which has a wretched history over many decades of rejecting applications for assistance by admirable, small opera groups.

 

Gallic musical entertainment chez L’Alliance Française

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Wellington Trio d’Anches (Calvin Scott – oboe, Mary Scott – clarinet, Penny Miles – bassoon)

Helga Warner-Buhlmann: Tango
Marin Marais: Deux danses françaises
Mozart: Divertimento No 2, K 439b
Auric: Trio d’anches (1948)
Milhaud: Suite d’après Corrette
Schulhoff: Divertissement für oboe, klarinette und fagot
Michael Burns: E toru nga hau
Auric: Moulin Rouge
Jules Oudot – trad.: ‘Auprès de ma blonde’/‘La ronde des microbes de la Seine’
Piaf: La vie en rose
Offenbach: Galop infernal (from Orphée aux enfers)

Alliance Française, 78 Victoria Street, Wellington

Friday 14 August, 6pm

From time to time the various foreign embassies and their affiliates present concerts of their music and/or by their musicians. There was a musically inclined Italian ambassador a few years ago who arranged for special recitals by visiting musicians from her country; for a few years the Japanese Embassy presented recitals by fine Japanese musicians; a variety of interesting musical and other arts presentations have been staged by the Brazilian Embassy; and there have been a number of others. Both the Alliance Française and the Goethe Institute invest considerable resources in the promotion of the cultures of their countries.

This small recital, small in the sense of comprising mainly small-scale and lightish music, was played by three Wellington musicians, familiar in other contexts. They called themselves Trio d’anches (trio of reed instruments), after a famous 1920s group, also oboe, clarinet and bassoon, of that name in Paris. Not all of it French: it began with a Tango by a German bassoonist, Helga Warner-Buhlmann, which acted as a sort of warm-up and was perhaps the least-well integrated piece, sonically, in the programme.

And one of Mozart’s Divertimentos, originally for three basset horns (low clarinets). They appear in the Köchel catalogue as “Five Divertimentos (25 pieces) for three basset horns in B-flat major, K. 439b (Anh. 229) (1783)”. The basset horn has a slightly lower extension than the basset clarinet (which itself is a major third lower than the normal clarinet) which was the instrument for which Mozart, inspired by Anton Stadler, wrote his Clarinet Trio, Quintet and Concerto. Not to be confused with the bass clarinet which is a full octave lower than the normal B flat clarinet.

Mary Scott managed the clarinet part well enough on the normal B flat clarinet (she must have been relieved at not having to play three instruments at once).

The divertimento was of course an arrangement for these three instruments and sounded happy enough as a result, even though the oboe, in particular, had some very high notes. It had five short, and fairly slight, movements, and was an engaging occasional piece.

Marin Marais, of the film Tous les matins du monde fame, was represented in a couple of good-humoured dances, the first in swinging, triple time, the second a sort of horn-pipe in which all three players sounded greatly at ease.

Two members of the non-group Les Six (after all they never really established a manifesto or common aesthetic or set of musical principles and went their separate ways soon after being christened Les Six by Henri Collet) were present in spirit. They and others were often found in groupings of various kinds during the following years. The two this evening were Milhaud (the most prolific and perhaps most important) and Auric (who became a significant film music composer).

Many composers wrote music for the group’s famous predecessor Trio d’anches de Paris. Among them were participants in this recital, Auric, Milhaud and Erwin Schulhoff. Auric’s two pieces were the first part of his Trio d’anches and an arrangement of the music for the much later film, Moulin Rouge. The first was a jaunty piece aptly entitled décidé; the second, the popular tune from the film. Milhaud’s was inspired by music of Michel Corrette, a prolific 18th century composer: six short, witty movements played with such vivacité. Schulhoff, a Czech Jew who died in a concentration camp in 1942 (of tuberculosis) contributed a Divertissement for these instruments. These were among the most interesting pieces in the concert: danceable, original, full of character. Michael Burns is a Manawatu musician, Victoria University educated, who now teaches bassoon at the University of North Carolina. They played his little weather sketch called E toru nga hau (The three winds).

Calvin Scott then introduced us to a satirical version of the well-known folk song, Auprès de ma blonde, which originated during France’s war with the Netherlands: the alternative title is Le prisonnier de
Hollande which afforded Scott a pungent current political aside (Socialist Hollande in bed with Right-wing Merkel, ou à l’envers?). The tour de siècle version is called Ronde des Microbes de la Seine
deploring the filthy state of the river in the 19th century.

Downhill from there: Michel Legrand’s Les parapluies de Cherbourg, Edith Piaf’s (without the essential
Piaf) La vie en rose and the Galop, or cancan, from Orpheus in the Underworld.  With French cheese and wines, an hour and a half profitably frittered away.

 

 

20th century music from charming flute duo: Bridget Douglas and Rachel Thomson

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Bridget Douglas (flute) and Rachel Thomson (piano)

Messiaen: Le merle noir
John Ritchie: The Snow Goose
Jack Body: Rainforest (2006) – Movement 2 – ‘Returning from a hunt’, and movement 3 – ‘Lullaby’
Gaubert: Sonata No 1 for flute and piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 12 August, 12:15 pm

According to Bridget Douglas’s programme note, Le merle noir was the only piece that Messiaen wrote for the solo flute, which seems extraordinary in the light of his passion for bird song for which the uninitiated would imagine the flute to be the commonest, closest instrument to the sounds of many birds. I know I’ve heard it played live before but had only a sketchy recollection of it.

It starts in a fairly raucous manner, suggesting our tui more than any other bird with which I’m familiar in New Zealand, though the music quickly becomes more calm. It was a careful and beautiful performance by both instruments.

Next was a small narrative piece by Christchurch composer John Ritchie, The Snow Goose, a once very popular story by Paul Gallico, about the loyalty of the bird that escorted one of the thousands of small boats that helped in the evacuation of Allied troops from Dunkirk in 1940.

The piece, originally written with orchestral accompaniment, is an uneasy, thoughtful piece that was suggestive rather than explicit about the story, using the flute, naturally, to depict the bird. The piece was played at a St Andrew’s concert on 29 April by Ingrid Culliford and Kris Zuelicke.

I rather expected the piano to describe other elements of the story such as the war and the sea, but the piano is little more than a sensitive accompaniment, often echoing the flute’s melodic hints. The two, as always, formed a particularly charming partnership. You will find on You-Tube, surprisingly I thought, a performance of the piece by Carol Hohauser and pianist Barbara Lee, made in a concert in New Jersey; it expressed its simply beauties, but just quietly, I think we heard a more persuasive account at St Andrew’s.

Bridget Douglas picked up her big alto flute to play Jack Body’s 2006 composition, Rainforest – the second and third movements. Rachel talked about Jack Body’s requirement to place a chain across the piano strings, finding the effect unattractive, and settled in the end for a very delicate necklace. I could not detect anything of its effect on the sound. The music was based on recordings of music from the Central African Republic and was originally scored for flute and harp, for Flight, comprising this flutist and harpist Carolyn Mills.

The second movement, ‘Returning from a hunt’, began with a jaunty motif, flute and piano taking different paths, though the one was clearly necessary to the other. The third movement, ‘Lullaby 1’, according to the notes, ‘sounds unexpectedly restless to western ears’; not conducive to sleep, I thought, but sounding more like a complex dance.

Philippe Gaubert followed in the footsteps of the great flutist Paul Taffanel, became professor of flute at the Paris Conservatoire and later, conductor of the Paris Opera. His sonata was a charming, lyrical piece, probably difficult enough technically; though structurally conventional, with lively outer movements and a slow, Lent, middle movement, there was nothing bland or commonplace in the music, and it was given the sort of serious, committed performance that would be appropriate for a much more heavy-weight piece.

We noted back in May the frequency of recitals involving the flute. And having missed reviewing a recital by Karen Batten and Rachel Thomson on 24 June, here was another very fine exhibition of the instrument’s versatility and charm.

 

Schumann a winner but Sibelius and Mendelssohn unconvincing in fine Bach Choir performances

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Romantic Fairytales from the Bach Choir of Wellington, conducted by Michael Vinten

Sibelius: The Captive Queen
Mendelssohn: Loreley
Schumann: The Pilgrimage of the Rose

Douglas Mews – piano
Soloists: Bianca Andrew, Marian Hawke, Maaike Christie-Beekman, Oliver Sewell, Christian Thurston, Roger Wilson

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 8 August, 3 pm

Michael Vinten and his Bach Choir had decided to explore some pretty unexpected choral repertoire with this concert of mid-nineteenth century, plus a rather out-of-season, comparable work from half a century later.

I have to praise that initiative.
However, much of the choral music composed during that era has not stood the test of time. The problem can be ascribed to Romanticism, which encouraged composers to find new modes of expression, focusing on their own natures, and on stories that could be interpreted through non-theatrical music.

Traditional opera subjects drawn from Classical Antiquity and the Bible and the Middle Ages were rejected. At the same time, large middle classes arose, developing a taste for pubic orchestral and choral concerts, with ever-increasing numbers of players and singers. These could attract the new audiences which felt out of place in the expensive splendour of opera houses, and who were without the classical education necessary to follow many operas.

Some German composers tended to scorn opera, especially the Italian and French – Rossini, Donizetti, Auber, Boieldieu, Meyerbeer. Some tried to reinvent opera in the Romantic-German manner, like Weber, Spohr, Marschner; but it took the genius of Wagner to make it work.

The fashion for orchestral music telling a story in symphonic poems, and large-scale, theatrical-type choral compositions became the Romantic oratorio.

The Schumann work was an example of the folk-tale oratorio; Mendelssohn’s unfinished opera an example of the failed Romantic folk-tale opera.

Sibelius’s The Captive Queen is a late example of the secular cantata/oratorio; it served a political purpose, the Queen symbolizing the Finns, and her captors, the Russian Empire. I imagine its disappearance after its first performances is explained by the same reasons that left me unimpressed. Finlandia was a much more successful idea.

It seemed a pedestrian work, in a kind of pious, Victorian, English manner, with the composer struggling to find a convincing vein or melodic inspiration that would lift its lame poetry above a level of embarrassment. It would have been a blessing, though a harder learn, to have sung it in Finnish.

However, the choir sang with energy and conviction, though the men sounded thin in their introductory verses, before being buoyed up by the women. The other handicap was the absence of an orchestra which would at least have lent the music colour. I guess my feelings about the music (not the performance) are summed up by my scribbled question: “Was Sibelius’s heart really in it?  At least the choir makes the most of it”.

Mendelssohn’s Loreley was his operatic attempt at the end of his life, probably inspired by the wonderful soprano Jenny Lind. He’d written singspiels in his teens, but only one was produced: Die Hochzeit des Comacho. Its reception did not encourage him to persist.

But I couldn’t help wishing that he’d devoted his last year to something in which his gifts were real, like another string quartet, in the spirit of the one in F minor, Op 80. Again, understanding the words was embarrassing; onomatopoeic effects sounded childish; the cries for vengeance half-hearted. I could detect no theatrical instinct in the composer.

The soloist who sang the role of Leonora was the accomplished Marian Hawke, who lent it genuine feeling, and the choir sang with energy, though perhaps rather too driven, without sufficient rhythmic and dynamic variety and liveliness.

Happily, Schumann’s Der Rose Pilgerfahrt (The Pilgrimage of the Rose) was quite a different story. We are usually encouraged to believe that Schumann’s last years saw a decline in his musical creativity. As a serious Schumann lover, I’ve always been reluctant to take that without a fight, and here, for me, was pretty persuasive evidence of his non-declining musical powers.

The programme note seeks to deflect criticism of the character and worth of the oratorio (if that’s what it is), by mentioning its “slight narrative”, “little drama”, the numbers only “loosely joined”. That may be, but even if the words themselves, again unfortunately, in English, are naïve and straining for effect, the music has a persuasively genuine feel, creating a situation and narrative that in the context of fairy-story, becomes listenable on account of the beguiling music.  It’s the same case as quite a few operas with feeble libretti which succeed because of the music.

Michael Vinten and the chorus seemed to have been inspired by the lyrical and varied music, varied in tempi, with triple-time numbers here and there, and changes of mood and feeling that respond to the sense. The women of the choir became fairies with sprightly singing.

Bianca Andrew was affecting as The Rose and other soloists performed engagingly: their individual as well as ensemble numbers contributed eloquently to the telling of the story. It was a pleasure again to hear Marian Hawke whom I had not heard for a long time, before she reappeared in Days Bay’s Rosenkavalier last year. Both she and Maaike Christie-Beekman contributed in a lively and committed way. Occasionally, soloists moved to sing together, as a trio (Maaike, Marian and Oliver Sewell) or quartet, and this lent the performance greater dramatic life.

Tenor Oliver Sewell sang the big role of Max, the young lover of the Rose, not attempting an operatic style, but handling the rather narrative part seriously, with sensitively shaded dynamics.  Roger Wilson was a well-cast Gravedigger drawing, as usual, on what one feels is to some extent his own personality; and Christian Thurston found the sturdy role of The Miller and a narrator’s bass aria near the end, ‘This Sunday morn…’, well suited to the character of his voice.

In all, conductor, chorus and soloists, as well as Douglas Mews accompanying at the piano (and I wasn’t so conscious here of the need of an orchestra to provide colour and variety) brought this neglected work to life in a surprisingly attractive way.

It was of course, by far the largest work on the programme (just over an hour) and made the concert as a whole quite rewarding. Schumann and the performers involved in his work made the journey very worthwhile.