Author: Lindis Taylor

Rewarding concert of choral works by two French organ composers

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Bach Choir of Wellington conducted by Stephen Rowley

The Seven Last Words of Christ and Toccata No 3 in G by Théodore Dubois; Messe Solennelle in C sharp minor, Op 16 , Naïades from Pièces de fantaisie, Op 55 No 4 and Berceuse from 24 Pièces en style libre, Op 31 by Louis Vierne

Organists: Douglas Mews, Christopher Hainsworth and Emmanuel Godinez
Bryony Williams (soprano), Thomas Atkins (tenor), Kieran Rayner (baritone)

Church of St Mary of the Angels

Sunday 17 April, 7pm

Two days after Richard Apperley had played Haydn’s account of the Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross on St Paul’s Cathedral organ, an choral version of the story by Théodore Dubois was sung in St Mary of the Angels. If Haydn’s version saw the New Testament story as offering hope and spiritual renewal for mankind, Dubois’s account of Les sept paroles du Christ, only 70 years later, seemed to remove it from the divine world to a bourgeois world where spiritual ideas and emotions are filtered through a style of music more reminiscent of the theatre and drawing room.

That is not to say that in the eight movements (an Introduction and the seven verses that were compiled in early Christian times from various Gospel sources), there were not episodes in which the composer captured the sense and the emotions of the words and the meaning behind them. ‘Mulier (woman or mother), ecce filius tuus’, is the equivalent of the medieval poem Stabat Mater, set by many composers, and part of which used as the following gloss, there was, through baritone, tenor and soprano soloists, an affecting representation of grief in descending phrases. It was perhaps a pity that the two male singers had voices that were rather similar in timbre so that it was often only when singing at the extremes of their registers that I was absolutely certain who was singing.

All three voices, of current students or recent graduates of the New Zealand School of Music, were bright, splendidly produced and fitted the roles they depicted admirably.

And in the fourth Word, ‘My God, why have you forsaken me?’, perhaps the most challenging theologically, the feeling may not have been utterly despairing and uncomprehending, but its intensity created a small tour de force. It so happened I heard Stainer’s setting of these words in his Crucifixion on RNZ Concert on Wednesday morning (as I was finishing this review). And though I find the work pretty glutinous and religiose, Stainer captured the words with simple honesty.

The entire concert was performed from the choir gallery which proved most congenial in terms of sound projection, detail and balance. Solo voices seemed less subject to any undue reverberation, and the choir’s first entry after short verses from tenor and baritone, was surprisingly powerful; I suspect that both the supportive acoustic and the entire ambience stimulated the Bach Choir to perform at a level of distinction that it has been regaining steadily under the leadership of Stephen Rowley in the past couple of years.

Dubois’s work consists of the ‘Words’, sung generally by one of the soloists, followed by an enlargement of the verse with appropriate liturgical texts, all in Latin and sung by the chorus and/or the soloists. The organ, in Christopher Hainsworth’s hands, added very importantly to the interest and liveliness of the whole work.

The first half of the concert was in Hainsworth’s hands for, as President of the Dubois Society, he had grasped an appropriate opportunity to advocate for him. The society is dedicated to the revival of attention to this neglected composer, as much in France as other countries. He had chosen his exhibit for the court very well. It is interesting to recall that Dubois had been director of the Paris Conservatoire during the time that Ravel was being repeatedly failed for the Prix de Rome, though he actually resigned just before Ravel’s last (unsuccessful) attempt.

He played Dubois’s most familiar organ piece, his Toccata in G, having warned us not to imagine that Dubois had merely imitated Widor: Dubois’s toccata came first. It was a splendid display, employing the organ’s brilliant capacities with a sure instinct for effective registrations.

After the interval there were another two organ solos – by the concert’s ‘other’ composer, Louis Vierne. Thirty years younger than Dubois, Vierne’s music is far removed from the theatre-dominated music of his predecessor: impressionism and fastidiousness are the hallmarks. Douglas Mews played the much anthologized Naïades, aqueous and luminous; and then the Berceuse from Op 31 was played by Emmanuel Godinez, still at secondary school – St Patrick’s College, who was last year’s Maxwell Fernie Trust scholar. His performance of this quiet piece was of course no spectacle, but sensitive and poetic.

Vierne’s Messe Solennelle, written around 1900, was accompanied at the organ by Douglas Mews; it does not include the ‘Credo’. Again, the organ’s part was distinctive and refined, but not without dramatic moments, in which some of the more colourful, occasionally ‘peasant’ registrations, lent interest to a work whose refinement and subtlety might otherwise have deprived it of variety and drama. The choir’s performance was again remarkably confident and robust, though when necessary, as in the ‘Benedictus’ and in the undemonstrative ‘Agnus Dei’, the singing was of a delicacy and calm that brought the concert to a moving conclusion.

If Dubois’s life was fairly untroubled, Vierne’s was a tale of loss and misfortune. He was born near blind; he was deeply distressed by a divorce from his wife; his brother and son were killed in the First World War; he injured a leg in a street accident which took a long time to mend, and he had to relearn his pedal technique at the organ. And though he held the presitigous post of organist at Notre Dame Cathedral, the organ was in a state of serious disrepair through most of his time. And the story of his death during his 1750th recital in the cathedral rests among the strange semi-myths of music.

His recital was to end with two improvisations on submitted themes; he read the first theme in Braille, then selected the stops he would use; he suddenly pitched forward, and fell off the bench as his foot hit the low E pedal of the organ. He lost consciousness as the single note echoed throughout the church, and the story goes that the congregation only realised something was wrong as the note continued to sound. The latter is apocryphal however as his friend Maurice Duruflé was beside him at the time. But he had thus fulfilled his oft-stated lifelong dream – to die at the console of the great organ of Notre-Dame.

Wellington Chamber Orchestra interprets Michael Vinten’s orchestral disinterments

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Wellington Chamber Orchestra conducted by Michael Vinten with Linden Loader (mezzo soprano) and Roger Wilson (baritone)

Sibelius: Scaramouche Suite, Op 71 (re-arranged by Michael Vinten); Mahler: Nine early songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn (orchestrated by Michael Vinten); Schubert: Symphony No 10, (completed and orchestrated by Michael Vinten from D 936a and 708a)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 17 April, 2.30pm

This will go down as one of the most unusual concerts of the year. An orchestral concert entirely of works completed and/or orchestrated by the conductor. Few would claim all three exercises to have been an unmitigated success, but all three had singular virtues and elements of great interest.

In terms of musical content I suppose that the Mahler songs should rank high – they should recommend themselves to singers everywhere. There are not so many Mahler songs that the addition of another group, juvenilia to be sure, would not be welcomed. In any case, most were very attractive compositions.

Then the Schubert Symphony: I was curious to discover, first of all, whether the material Vinten drew on had not already been edited, completed, orchestrated. And of course it has been, as I discovered courtesy of Wikipedia when I started to write this review. It has been orchestrated by one Brian Newbould, performed and recorded; but as a three movement work, not in the four movements that Vinten created using a Scherzo movement from another incomplete symphonic piece (D 708a). Newbould had concluded that the finale, Rondo, was marked ‘Scherzo’ because it combined the functions of a scherzo and a finale.

Vinten, on the other hand, was presumably not convinced that the word ‘Scherzo’ at the top of the first page of the Rondo pertained to that movement, and surmised perhaps that it indicated where a Scherzo would go.

The Scherzo movement from D 708a did, however, fit admirably in the sequence following the Andante movement, both in D major. On the other hand, you don’t have to look for a suitable movement in the same key. In Schubert’s time it was not the rule that each movement in a multi-movement work should be in the same key: look at any number of symphonies and concertos from the classical period on.

However, the exercise was very convincing. One could be picky about the instrumentation chosen by Vinten; sometimes textures sounded a bit too fussy, sometimes a woodwind combination sounded unSchubertian; there is any number of permutations possible. But the general result sounded like a symphony, and there was possibly some virtue in Vinten’s inclination to vary his instrumentation more than Schubert typically did, for it overcame Schubert’s tendency to repeats themes in virtually unchanged dress many times during a long movement.

The second theme of the first movement sounded like the real thing, as did the somber theme of the second movement, imaginatively developed and engagingly orchestrated.

Vinten scored for double winds (including trumpets and horns) and three trombones; one must add that some of the woodwind playing was less than lovely and the strings had moments of uncertainty, but generally the orchestra handled the work well; timpanist Alec Carlisle was well-placed (forward of the chamber organ) and his playing was admirable.

The Mahler songs, as Roger Wilson explained, contained ideas that occurred in later symphonies and songs. Des Knaben Wunderhorn was an extraordinary treasure-trove for the German Romantic movement in both literature and music. As a student, I understood there were doubts about the ‘folk’ authenticity of these songs and ballads ‘collected’ by Arnim and Brentano, but they certainly had greater integrity than McPherson’s Ossian of forty years earlier. They were the usual mixture of quasi-tragic, touches of the risqué, the impact of military service and war, death… Few composers have actually captured the irony, drollerie, cruelty, mindless carelessness of some of the behaviour illustrated in these folk poems, as well as Mahler. Roger Wilson and Linden Loader sang them with a vigour, sensitivity, insouciance that exhibited their emotion and their character vividly and often with humour. The orchestrations were very much in Mahler’s style, with piquant use of instruments such as bassoon, horn, trumpet. Characteristic was Selbstgefühl, with its use of horn and woodwinds, a portrait of a selfish, self-pitying fool: hints of the music of Baron Ochs (though the influence would of course have been in the other direction), sung by Wilson.

Less persuasive was Vinten’s arrangement of music Sibelius had written for a Danish play about the comic/nasty commedia dell’ arte figure Scaramouche. (whom you’ll be familiar with from the Milhaud suite). Quite varied in mood, it was easy to hear it as effective incidental music in the theatre, and some of it was quirky and unusual. There was a nice waltz and a slightly dry love scene, all good for twenty minutes of diversion. Vinten had succeeded in distinguishing and giving some life to the characters on the play, and we could indeed sense and smell them. 

Wellington Orchestra set for another triumphant year: a superb concert

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Debussy: Nocturnes; Mozart: Piano Concerto No 23 in A, K 488 (with Diedre Irons); Borodin: Symphony No 2 in B minor

Vector Wellington Orchestra conducted by Marc Taddei

Wellington Town Hall

Saturday, 16 April, 7.30pm

Perhaps it was the controversial issues involving Creative New Zealand’s funding of the orchestra, as well as the interesting character of the concert that drew a pretty full house at the Town Hall. Both were excellent reasons for being there.

In brief, not to denigrate the achievements of the orchestra with conductor Taddei in the past few years, this was a stunningly successful concert, with playing that in energy, subtlety, freedom of expression and instrumental virtuosity might even have bettered what we often hear from the NZSO.

The centerpiece was no doubt the Borodin symphony. I can’t remember when I last heard it played live; it is regarded by many as one of the greatest symphonies of the 19th century after Beethoven. In any case, it must be one of the most neglected real masterpieces in the symphony repertoire.

After the interval it found both orchestra and conductor totally ready for a performance that exuded huge confidence, familiarity (Taddei had no score before him) and where it mattered, a fine sense of heroism, folklorish colour and abandonment. The orchestra took great pains with distinctive phases of the music, giving full value to the arrival of a sudden stillness, galloping passages, accelerations and rallentandi, emphatic brass ejaculations. The second movement took liberties with the traditional notions of that sort of movement, with its variety of style and tone, evoking the Russian magical world. The third movement teases the audience with an expectation of a big ‘Kismet’-like tune, but it is the richer and more engrossing for its melodic restraint. Here there was plenty of opportunity for the orchestra’s quality in every department to be heard. The last movement follows without pause, no hint of any loss of momentum, this was a performance of huge confidence, possible only when conductor and his players have got it totally under their belts.

Taddei had noted in his short introduction that the performance now was appropriate since the orchestra is to accompany the ballet Petroushka later in the year; and he suggested strong influences in it from the Borodin symphony.

But the first half was no less successful.

A performance of Debussy’s first large-scale orchestral work opened the concert. The beginning of Nuages, with beautifully modulated winds and, soon, its lovely cor anglais solo, said everything about the maturity and sheer refinement of the orchestra. It was obviously a thoroughly studied achievement; not only were the winds elegant and subtle, but the gleam of the string sections that introduced the second part, Fêtes, might have surprised an audience in Vienna’s Musikverein. The muted trumpets in the middle created a mystical, remote magic; Debussy’s orchestra sounded sometimes is if the Ravel of Daphnis et Chloé, a decade later, had been helping with the orchestration.

During Fêtes, it had occurred to me to wonder about the singers for the next part: where were they? Perhaps off-stage? Perhaps replaced by a synthesizer? As Sirènes began they materialized from behind the woodwinds, in front of the brass (I was sitting in the stalls – not a good place if you’re a musician spotter). The women of Cantoris were magical, exemplary; a delicate harp seemed to bring the singers’ gentle lyricism into focus.

And perhaps as an aside, Thomas Guldborg is one hell ’v a timpanist.

Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 23, in A, was in the pre-interval slot.

In truth, its orchestral introduction seemed a bit routine, and Diedre Irons’s first phrases were just a little uneasy. But it settled into a performance that was robust and enjoyed a sense of freedom; yet the cadenza at the movement’s end seemed to have little to say.

The slow movement of the C major concerto, K 467 (‘Elvira Madigan’), is perhaps the most famous, but this one is really more beautiful, and the gloriously easy pace that was adopted by soloist and orchestra allowed all the time we wanted to wallow in its beauties, the ebb and flow of the piano’s dynamics, the love shown for every phrase, delicious clarinet scales, delicately planted string suggestions. But the orchestra’s contribution, while exquisite, is almost casual; it’s really little more than an adagio for piano, and Irons made it her own with all the sensitivity and insight of which she can be mistress.

The same flowing ease carried things through the joyous last movement, again, not too quick, with the orchestra now making a more significant contribution.

It’s music that seems so perfect, so inevitable in its shape and its melodies and their endlessly inventive transformations, that it must always have existed. What could the world have been like before 1786?

Haydn’s Last Words from organist Richard Apperley at St Paul’s

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Great Music 2011: Organ recital series

Haydn’s Seven last Words of Our Saviour on the Cross (Die sieben letzten Worte unseres Erlösers am Kreuze)

Richard Apperley (Assistant organist, Cathedral of St Paul)

Cathedral of St Paul

Friday 15 April 12.45

The great days of a flourishing market for transcriptions of symphonies and opera chunks for the organ, or the piano, might have passed, but there remains a lingering suspicion of the practice, and an almost automatic disposition to find them improper and tasteless.

But famous successful cases must make it dangerous and silly to denigrate them as a species.

Certainly, this was an example that called for open ears and a readiness to be delighted; for that is what I was.

There are several versions of the work that was written in 1786 to a commission from the Bishop of Cadiz for performance in the Grotto Santa Cueva near Cádiz. The original was for orchestra, and Haydn later arranged it as an oratorio with both solo and choral vocal forces, and there are reduced versions for string quartet and solo piano. There is some doubt about the authenticity of the string quartet version, which is the most commonly played. Incidentally there is a version on CD from Jordi Savall’s Le Concert des Nations recorded in 2006 at the church of Santa Cueva in Cádiz.

I don’t know which source Apperley used for his arrangement. It was not the longest version as the entire performance lasted only about 45 minutes; it can otherwise take over an hour.

It’s a work comprising an introduction and seven ‘sonatas’, plus (for the orchestral version) a postlude depicting an earthquake

The introduction and seven sonatas are as follows:

Introduzione, D minor, Maestoso ed Adagio 

Sonata I (‘Pater, dimitte illis, quia nesciunt, quid faciunt’; Father forgive them for they know not what they do), B flat, Largo  

Sonata II (‘Hodie mecum eris in Paradiso’; Today you will be with me in Paradise), C minor, Grave e cantabile, ending in C major

Sonata III (‘Mulier, ecce filius tuus’; Behold your son, behold your mother), E major, Grave

Sonata IV (‘Deus meus, Deus meus, utquid dereliquisti me’; My God, my God, why have you forsaken me), F minor, Largo

Sonata V (‘Sitio’; I thirst), A major, Adagio

Sonata VI (‘Consummatum est’; It is foinished’), G minor, Lento, ending in G major

Sonata VII (‘In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum’; Father into your hands I commit my spirit), E flat, Largo

And the original orchestral version had a final movement – an earthquake, not inappropriate after the devastating Lisbon earthquake of 30 years earlier.

Il terremoto, C minor, Presto e con tutta la forza

(For which I am indebted to Wikipedia)

Wikipedia also contains interesting material on the sources of the seven ‘Words’ under ‘Sayings of Jesus on the Cross’ and much other related scholarship, via links.

I have only been familiar with the string quartet version. This arrangement came as a surprise on account of the variety of colours that are available on a large organ and which Apperley applied with great skill and taste. The Introduction was immediately arresting, shifting from bold diapason pronouncements to lightly articulated passage in high registers. There was a clear Bachian quality, but that was always coloured by sounds possible only on a post-19th century organ distinctly influenced by Franck and Vierne and Reger and so on.

The first sonata was lit with beautiful high-lying melody in delicate, sensitive arrangement. The second is more serious in tone, yet there is light in the depiction of Paradise in thoughtful little phrases on celestial flute stops.

The surprising thing about the piece is the absence of any particularly tragic or gloomy episodes. Haydn’s view of the Crucifixion seems to be of an event that should have brought a new era of enlightenment and improvement in the behaviour of men and nations. And Haydn, for the sake of the music, could forget that nothing of the sort had happened.

The third sonata, ‘Mother, behold your son’ (misnamed in the programme leaflet) is depicted through soft, sustained chords, interrupted by short phrases, and underpinned by a beautiful melody. A far cry from the expression of this episode in the multiple settings of the Stabat Mater.

Even in the most heart-rending words, in the fourth sonata, the writing is dominated by ascending scales and arpeggios, suggesting hope. The fifth sonata displayed the most imaginative range of registrations, for which the cathedral organ seemed ideally designed. Though not regarded by the experts as the finest organ in the city, its clarity, brilliance and variety are always a source of delight, to me at least.

Most impressive was the way the organ captured the quite beautiful, subsiding, moving phrases with which the last sonata ends.

As if to denigrate the work, the fact that it is a series of adagios and largos is sometimes used against it, but tempo is only one of many elements in music, and the over-riding feeling of humanity, hope and sanguinity that infuse the whole work give it an emotional depth as well as a lightening of the spirit.

And this organ arrangement and Apperley’s playing really surprised me by the way all of that was so brilliantly and musically captured. The recital was simply a great delight. How sad that so few were there!

Kapiti choir’s farewell to Guy Jansen: Serenade to Music

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Kapiti Chamber Choir’s Farewell to musical director Guy Jansen

Soloists: Janey MacKenzie, Linden Loader, Michael Gray, Roger Wilson and an orchestra, with Jonathan Berkahn – organ

Haydn: Te Deum; Bruckner: Ave Maria; Duruflé: ‘Kyrie’ from his Requiem; Debussy: ‘Dieu, qu’il la fait bon regarder’; Stravinsky: Pater Noster; Franz Biebl: Ave Maria; Vaughan Williams: Serenade to Music; Handel: three choruses from Messiah (‘Hallelujah’, ‘Worthy is the lamb’, ‘Amen’)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 10 April, 2.30pm

Guy Jansen took up the post of musical director of the Kapiti Chamber Choir after founding conductor Peter Godfrey retired in 2007. Now, having become chairman of the New Zealand Choral Federation and becoming more involved in educational activities, he was giving his last concert with the choir.

The hall, which is designed basically for indoor sports, with a high roof, presents difficulties for music, though the recent construction of a recessed stage for chamber groups has been an improvement, at least for those near the players. But it was of no use to a 40-voice choir,  raised on benches, and a 28-piece orchestra, all on the floor; and it wasn’t helped by a curtain that covered the recess, absorbing some of the sound.

The concert opened with Haydn’s Te Deum, employing the orchestra. It comes from late in Haydn’s career, the period of the last half dozen masses. Though it’s not the equal of the best of those masses, the effects of careful rehearsal were evident and it was an arresting start to the concert. Even though one was grateful for the presence of an orchestra instead of an organ, it was the vocal part that was generally more polished and energetic than the orchestra: the brass instruments were not entirely integrated either with the strings or the choir.

In Bruckner’s Ave Maria, an a cappella piece that opened with women’s voices alone, the choir was spread, in groups, out across the full width of the hall, illuminating parts very nicely, and it offered the singers perhaps a better opportunity to shine.

Maurice Duruflé’s Requiem has become popular in recent decades, and it gave the choir the double opportunity – to demonstrate its skill in quasi-plainchant and in a 20th century French idiom; rather restrained at the start, the singers became more lively as it moved along.

One of Debussy’s three unaccompanied choral songs, ‘Dieu, qu’il la fait bon regarder’, might have seemed an odd choice, but it was Guy Jansen’s obvious aim to demonstrate his choir’s versatility. With careful French pronunciation, and conducted by Bridget O’Shanassy, the singing nevertheless showed quite understandable signs of intonation shakiness at certain moments, such was the choir’s conspicuous exposure in this difficult piece.

There was no let-up from the challenging music with Stravinsky’s Pater noster, a coldly powerful piece delivered without much dynamic variation; it had the character of chant in spite of its somewhat stark harmonies.

The conductor introduced the Ave Maria by Franz Biebl, an Austrian-born American composer, as his only composition to have found favour. Its melodic character was clear and the solo parts, beautifully sung by all three – soprano, tenor and bass (Janey MacKenzie, Michael Gray and Roger Wilson) – gave it interesting variety.

If there was some diffidence in the performances in the first half, Vaughan Williams’s Serenade to Music which opened the second, was a more striking demonstration of what they could do. The orchestra opened with very encouraging confidence and good ensemble, and the choir (the piece was originally for sixteen solo voices, but we heard the composer’s arrangement for four soloists and choir) sounded well rehearsed and filled with affection. Here, the soloists were occasionally a bit stretched, but all four, now including mezzo Linden Loader who sang the phrase from ‘Music! Hark!…’ comfortably with special warmth, were individually striking as well as integrating beautifully with the choir and the orchestra. The charming violin solo was beautifully handled by Sharon Callaghan.

The three choruses from Messiah were also vigorous and well sung, particularly the ‘Allelujah’ in which the audience was invited to join. As Guy Jansen stepped aside after long applause, baritone Rodney Macann came forward to sing a spiritual, unaccompanied apart from some gentle intoning from the choir, ostensibly a spontaneous gesture. It brought a very appropriate occasion to a nice conclusion.

Voice students of NZSM in excellent recital at St Andrew’s

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New Zealand School of Music – Voice students, accompanied by Mark Dorrell

Emily Simcox, Angelique Macdonald, Simon Harnden, Isabella Moore, Thomas Barker, Amelia Ryman, Thomas O’Brien

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 6 April, 12.15pm

Second and third year voice students at the New Zealand School of Music, tutored by Richard Greager, Margaret Medlyn, Jenny Wollerman and Emily Mair, gave a varied and excellent demonstration of both their own talents and the quality of their teaching.

The recital was interestingly planned, starting with four arias from Mozart operas. The first two were from The Marriage of Figaro: Emily Simcox opened with ‘Voi che sapete’, an attractive, guileless performance, her voice displaying quite a ring, and a polished legato style; another soubrette role from Figaro – Barbarina’s ‘L’ho perduta, me meschina’, quite short but quite charming.

Bass Simon Harnden sang Sarastro’s aria, ‘O Isis und Osiris’. He has a naturally attractive low voice though at this stage his voice seems invested with little colour and his German pronunciation was iffy.

Then Isabella Moore finished the Mozart group with Fiordiligi’s ‘Come scoglio’ from Così fan tutte; she too will learn how to colour her singing more interestingly, but her strong voice projected well, her breath control was good and she handled the large intervals skillfully.

Then came two arias that show how interest in exploring neglected areas of the opera repertoire has grown in recent years; arias from Ambroise Thomas’s best-known operas, Hamlet and Mignon, were chosen by the next two singers. Thomas Barker, baritone, sang Hamlet’s (non-Shakespearean) apostrophe to wine, ‘O vin, dissipe la tristesse’, offering appropriate gestures, and singing with an attractive swagger. From Mignon, Emily Simcox sang the gavotte (which used to be found in most piano albums) that Thomas wrote when a contralto sang Frédéric as a trouser role: ‘Me voici dans son boudoir’. Speaking of which, Mark Dorrell’s piano accompaniments, in this, and throughout, were admirable in their lively and dramatic support.

The programme then passed to the next generation of French opera composers – to Massenet. Amelia Ryman, as Manon, sang quite movingly the sentimental farewell to the little table where she and Des Grieux have lived; we are beguiled by her charming fickleness.

A less familiar opera is Hérodiade – the story of Salome, though her aria ‘Il est doux, il est bon’ is familiar. It depicts Salome very differently from the Oscar Wilde-Strauss version of 25 years later: something approaching love between John the Baptist and Salome who tries to intercede and even seeks to be killed alongside John. Isabella Moore used her strong, sometimes rather too big, voice to great effect.

Thomas O’Brien’s voice is soft and he sang Fauré’s ‘Après un rêve’ with nicely controlled dynamics and expressive gestures.

There followed two German pieces: Angelique Macdonald returned to sing what is known as Marietta’s Lied from Korngold’s Die tote Stadt, with a voice of considerable delicacy and tonal purity. And Thomas Barker capped his fine performance of the Hamlet aria with the song to the Evening Star from Tannhäuser ; his tone is even, he knows how to control it without pushing to gain louder of higher notes. One of Elgar’s Sea Pictures was chosen by Emily Simcox – ‘In Haven’ – a moment of calm in the otherwise restless cycle; she captured it well with phrasing that was flowing and legato.

Three English songs, by Thomas Quilter, ended the programme. Amelia Ryman who had sung the Manon aria with such clarity, brought that care with diction to ‘Come away Death’ from Twelfth Night; Thomas O’Brien sang ‘Go, lovely Rose’ and then Shelley’s ‘Love’s Philosophy’; the first, restrained, delicate if not very strong, the second evincing the same sweetness of tone, and more liveliness.

The recital was not interrupted by singers’ commentaries on their pieces (each singer had written short notes in the programme) or pauses between each performance, and so audience interest was maintained very well; it was one of the most enjoyable student voice recitals I’ve heard in a long time.

Leading Hungarian pianist Endre Hegedűs celebrates Liszt bicentenary to benefit Christchurch

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Liszt Bicentennial 2011:  Au bord d’une source; Mephisto Waltz No 1; Sonetto di Patrarca; Les jeux d’eau à la villa d’Este; Hungarian Rhapsody No 14; Norma – réminiscences; Wolfram’s song to the Evening Star from Tannhäuser; Transcription of the Overture to Tannhäuser

Endre Hegedűs – piano. Sponsored by the Hungarian Embassy in Canberra and the Honorary Consul-General in Wellington, to mark the current Hungarian Presidency of the European Union.

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Friday 1 April, 7pm

The tour of New Zealand by this established Hungarian pianist had been organized some time before the February earthquake in Christchurch, but when the pianist heard about its devastation, he generously decided to give all proceeds from his five New Zealand concerts to help the victims.

I had not heard of Hegedűs, but that is no reason to imagine that he has little to offer.

I did not respond to all his playing but there was more than enough that I found interesting, perceptive and moving, and almost all showing arresting bravura and accuracy. In fact, though not among the top twenty perhaps, his international reputation is clearly thoroughly established.

The recital began with Au bord d’une source, from the First year – Switzerland – of the Years of Pilgrimage, uttered with splashy runs in scintillating tempi that shifted and slackened poetically towards the ends of phrases; the impression was of great clarity. Liszt is almost the last composer about whom it is safe or sensible to attempt to lay down standards or to claim to have a definitive interpretation in one’s head, and this piece introduced me to a lot that was individual and which only rarely sounded routine rather than the result of an individual conception.

The first Mephisto Waltz is one of Liszt’s most remarkable pieces: feverish, demonic, erotic and in the hands of a master, very exciting; and that was how this performance emerged. The three Petrarch sonnets are drawn from songs which are among Liszt’s loveliest and which are coming to be heard as important in the canon of romantic lieder, or in this case, quite closely related to the French art-song or mélodie. The piano version is gloriously rhapsodic and I’m sure there are those who seriously doubt that all the heated romantic passion is good for one’s moral health. So far I have maintained good health through a life-time of exposure to such pestilences. I enjoyed this performance immensely.

The fountains at the Villa d’Este which I recall seeing before being acquainted with Liszt’s guide-book entry, are beautifully portrayed in this piece from the Third year, Italy, of Years of Pilgrimage. It is possible to hear this as a succession of impressionistic scales and decorated arpeggios that evades the need for conventional musical substance; but bear in mind that the essence of bel canto, of which Norma is a great example, is its use of such ornamentation to express emotion. It makes its impact in much the same way as did the confessed French impressionists fifty years later. Again, water, whether flowing, churning, jetted or as storm-tossed seas, are among the most often used and evocative inspirations of the romantic imagination in all the arts, and Hegedüs was not wrong in his generous application of effects that created vivid visual impressions, working openly on the emotions.

The first half ended with the flamboyant 14th Hungarian Rhapsody. It has other manifestations, as Hungarian Rhapsody No 1 for orchestra (which, coincidentally, you’d have heard the next morning, about 9am Saturday, on RNZ Concert), and a later version for piano duet (also No 1 in that series) and for piano and orchestra, called the Hungarian Fantasia).

Hegedűs worked through its ever-changing moods, pushing them often to their limits, starting with quite formidable weight on the opening chords, then investing the big first theme with a quite individual rhythm, and taking quite open delight in what have come to be the despised ‘gypsy’ tunes as distinct from the ‘true Hungarian’ melodies that Bartok sought out and recorded later. The performance gathered itself up with increasing flamboyance and reckless disregard for the hard acoustic of the church and the survival of the piano; so that it increased in speed and loudness in a way that may well have driven off some who could hear it only as brazen exhibitionism.

The second half was devoted to transcriptions and reminiscences from opera. The first rode luxuriantly on the long, and richly lyrical lines of Bellini’s tunes in Norma. Its first impact was to draw attention to Bellini’s genius in that sphere; Liszt’s generosity of spirit towards other composers and musicians was constant throughout his life. While his transcriptions of operas and symphonic works were indeed vehicles for his own playing, they were just as much to honour and to popularize the operas themselves. Not that Norma needed any promotion in the early 1840s after its enormous success on the stage in 1831. The Norma reminiscences nevertheless, run the risk of smothering the rich melodies with needless embellishment and becoming something rather different.

In seeking background about Hegedűs, I came across an entry in Wikipedia that revealed his name among those whose recordings had been misappropriated in the Joyce Hatto scam a few years ago and which was exposed shortly after her death in 2006. Many of the alleged Hatto recordings appear in a fascinating list together with the apparent sources of each recorded performance. Several of Hegedűs’s are there, including opera transcriptions. Many of the Hatto forgeries were in fact performances by distinguished pianists like Ashkenazy, Hamelin, Bronfman, Marshev, Collard, Ingrid Haebler …. Hegedűs was in good company.

I have not found reviews of the ‘Hatto’ recordings traced to Hegedűs, but it would be interesting to see how critics heard them. The Norma reminiscences are not in the list.

There followed the transcriptions of Wolfram’s aria ‘O du mein lieber Abendstern’ and the overture from Tannhäuser. The Evening Star was poetically played with quiet chords though Liszt found it hard to bring it to a restrained conclusion. The overture soon succumbed to the temptation to grandiloquence and flamboyant rhetoric, somewhat unrelenting, and I had to confess to being rather overwhelmed by playing that became simply too reckless and loud, though never careless. It may have worked in a large auditorium well upholstered with a couple of thousand people; hardly in this space.

Hegedűs introduced each piece in words that were often difficult to catch but there was enough to reveal an engaging personality with a nice sense of humour; a pervasive love of his instrument and of Liszt’s music.

In all, Hegedűs’s brought to Liszt’s music an authentic romantic spirit that was poetic, as well as capable of grandeur and excess; and the chance to hear some of the rarely played opera transcriptions was a real bonus.

‘NZTrio’ at Paekakariki’s Mulled Wine concerts

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

 

Piano Trio in F sharp minor, Hob XV:26 (Haydn), Intaglio (Chris Gendall), Grooveboxes from Swing Shift (Kenji Bunch), Piano Trio in A minor, Op 50 (Tchaikovsky)

The New Zealand Trio (‘NZTrio’): Justine Cormack – violin, Ashley Brown – cello, Sarah Watkins – piano

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday 27 March 2.30pm (and also, in part, at the Lower Hutt Little Theatre, Monday 28 March)

The Mulled Wine concert series at Paekakariki has become an interesting and singular event in the pattern of music in the Greater Wellington region. Some of the concerts are indeed to be found repeated elsewhere in the region; some are not. The NZ Trio’s concert could have been heard again the following evening at Lower Hutt and I took myself there in order to get a different aural experience and to listen again to the pieces new to me. (I happen to live in a suburb roughly equidistant from Paekakariki, Lower Hutt and Wellington city).

I believe that this was the first visit by the NZ Trio at this series. They would have been charmed by the setting, both by the traditional small-town hall and it location by the sea. The dramatic variety of microclimates visited on the south-west corner of the North Island was dramatically played out too.

Just an hour or so after a phenomenal downpour that cause floods in the Porirua basin, here it was pleasant and partly sunny. Kapiti was moored offshore and the sound of the waves on the eroding beach were sometimes synchronised with the rhythms of the music. I’m sure the players would have been impressed at the enterprise and friendliness of the series organizers, led by Mary Gow, not to mention the mulled wine afterwards.

The players were seated about half way along the western wall with their backs to the sea, and so on the same level as the audience, so there were sight-line difficulties of some.

That placing may have contributed to the way the acoustic amplified the players’ sounds; as well as being too loud, it had the effect of somewhat flattening dynamic nuances.

All three musicians are bachelor graduates of the University of Canterbury and they have all done post-graduate study in the United States. The trio has been around since 2002 and it’s pre-eminent in its field here as well as having built up an impressive reputation overseas. Their present schedule shows over 30 concerts here and abroad this year.

They played two ‘classical’ pieces, one of Haydn’s 40-odd trios, and the only one that Tchaikovsky wrote; plus two shorter contemporary pieces.

No one claims to know all of Haydn’s music, and I hadn’t heard this one in F sharp minor (Hoboken catalogue number XV:26) before. It overflows with drama, colour and variety, making up for a certain lack of charm and memorable tunes. My only misgiving was that the players hadn’t quite got the measure of the hall, which probably affected the Haydn more than the other pieces. Nevertheless, Haydn would have enjoyed the robust and determined force of the performance, even in the more soulful slow movement.

Tchaikovsky’s only piano trio more than occupied all the second half. It’s so full of rapturous and voluptuous melody that it’s easy to understand how certain more ascetic listeners and critics might have considered it sentimental or saccharine; perhaps some still do. Not only did the trio exploit all its overflowing romantic qualities to the full, but they invested it with a facsimile of a full orchestral sound.  Sure, the volume control was still set too high, but it was a flawless performance of surpassing brilliance and power, that surely calls for a recording ASAP.

In between, before the interval, came two contemporary pieces, one of New Zealand, the other from the United States.

The first, by Wellington-based Chris Gendall, was called Intaglio – a term familiar to print-makers. A composition of the experimental kind, free of conventional melody, but rich in non-musical techniques and intriguing relationships between the instruments. It was to hear this piece again that I went to Lower Hutt the following evening. Though the theatre is reputed to have a difficult acoustic, it accommodated the trio’s performance more comfortably in the Haydn, and gave me a clear hearing of Chris Gendall’s piece; though I still failed to recognize any relationship between the musical character and the ‘intaglio’ printmaking process. If, as the composer writes, it refers rather to the process of its composition, its use seems a pointless gesture for the listener. However, a second hearing, as so often, offered a sort of recognition experience, even the seeming random, widely spaced piano hits. And I listened to it with some enjoyment.

It was followed by a part of a New York inspired piece called Swing Shift, capturing in relentless rap rhythms that would serve for break dancers, the nocturnal life of a city that never sleeps.I loved its energy and the powerhouse performance by all three players, employing engaging jazz pulse generated by what the notes describe as a DJ’s ‘beat box’ or ‘groove box’, of the nature of which this audience member is blissfully ignorant.

Possibly, the trio is mildly irritated with my pedantry in preferring to spell out their name. I never abbreviate the name of my country (or any other country) in anything I write. I have always been guided by what today might be becoming old-fashioned printers’ style, as is found in printers’ ‘style books’, such as of the former New Zealand Government Printing Office and The New York Times; they are generally very clear:“Don’t abbreviate!”. Acronyms are permissible when universally used, at least by your particular readership, like NZSO for us.Even stronger is my dislike of calling New Zealanders Kiwis and things pertaining to New Zealand, Kiwi. I find it demeaning, and as an editor I have always taken the liberty of eliminating ‘Kiwi’ from others’ copy.

 

Impressive recital by piano duettists at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Pangea Piano Project (Ya-Ting Liou and Blas Gonzalez: piano duet)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace Season of Concerts
Dvořák: Slavonic Dance, Op 46 No 1; Tolga Zafer Özdemir: Mesopotamia Suite; Liszt: Après une lecture du Dante; Ligeti: Sonatina; Guastavino: Romance del Plata; Jack Body: Three Rhythmics

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Friday 18 March, 7.30pm

What was revealed in the leaflet advertising this highly enjoyable series at St Andrew’s hardly covered the reality. The names of neither of the two pianists were familiar, nor were two of the composers, though the name Guastavino might have rung bells. The two pianists have played together for several years, and are currently staff pianists at the University of Auckland School of Music.

However, Liszt’s Dante Sonata should have been enough to draw a crowd – Ya-Ting Liou’s performance was highly impressive – and there was the pleasurable certainty of one of Dvořák’s Slavonic Dances, played in its original form.

But there was also real delight in the four other pieces, all of which demonstrated the pianists’ adventurous taste, but most importantly their ear for contemporary music with a human face.

Tolga Zafer Özdemir is a young Turkish composer who in his Mesopotamia Suite makes a successful and attractive fusion of Middle Eastern and western European musical traditions. In one of his several interesting spoken offerings, Blas Gonzalez suggested Anatolian musical references, though the title would seem at odds with that: I am in no position to compare the musical characteristics of the Turkish heartland (Özdemir was born in Ankara in 1975) with that of the Arabs in what is now Irak. This piece, for one pianist, played by Gonzalez himself, was a splendid demonstration of his musical sensibility, keeping easy control of the fast and irregular rhythms and the quick-silver dynamic changes. It’s a delightful and arresting piece: fast, with strong though irregular rhythms in the first movement; a pensive quality in the second, with sharp dynamic contrasts between calm arpeggios in the left hand and sprays of brilliant notes in the right, hints of Ravel and Bartók; and a strikingly attractive last movement with fast, repeated, staccato motifs.

Ligeti’s Sonatina, for piano duet, was the second piece in the programme involving both pianists (after the Dvořák Slavonic Dance) which confirmed the pair’s singular accomplishment and superb ensemble. It was written in his early years, still in communist Hungary (he escaped to Cologne in 1956) and in a style acceptable to the regime; regardless of the artistic restrictions, Ligeti produced a piece that could hardly be mistaken for music of an earlier era. Yet for today’s ears it comes as a refreshing relief from much of the avant-garde music that Ligeti was eager to immerse himself in. There were tunes; the three movements were quite short, employing a palette recalling the French neo-classicists.

Gonsález remarked that Carlos Guastavino (1912 – 2000) was probably the third best-known Argentinian composer after Ginastera and Piazzola. Though his music is tonal, relatively ‘conservative’, its flavour is nevertheless distinctly mid 20th century. Underneath the charm and ease of Romance del Plata lies an individuality and integrity, the last movement in distinctly Latin American rhythms. In three movements, it proved a highly effective piece for four hands.

Jack Body’s Three Rhythmics has become something of a calling-card for the duo and while they played from the score, it was the product of obvious painstaking and conscientious work, in which I’m sure the composer would have delighted, such was the brilliance and command of their playing.

I first heard this piece – I think it was the premiere – at the October 1987 Sonic Circus, the last of the Jack Body-inspired 12-hour marathons, midday to midnight, of around 60 concerts and recitals of New Zealand music in every corner of the Town Hall and Michael Fowler Centre. At the very start of my reviewing career with The Evening Post, I shared its coverage with my predecessor Owen Jensen; for me it was a fairly overwhelming introduction to much New Zealand music with which I was at that stage unfamiliar.

Three Rhythmics was played by the late Diane Cooper and Dan Poynton. I remembered it with some wonderment because it made such an impact then, and this performance by an Argentinian and a Taiwanese pianist astonished me again. It was a riot of complex rhythms delivered through twenty fingers working at lightning speed; it is an exciting minor masterpiece of which, above all, they made vivid musical sense.

The two main-stream works in the programme were Dvořák’s first Slavonic Dance, which emerged in illuminating and rhythmic clarity, sufficient to encourage one to seek out recordings of all 16 dances in original piano duet format.

And Liszt’s Dante Sonata (Après une lecture du Dante, fantasia quasi una sonata; note the correct translation of lecture: ‘Reading’), as I said at the beginning, was a treat; sadly, not nearly as much played as the B minor sonata. From the very opening, Ya-Ting Liou’s playing was powerful and dramatic yet highly poetic; not too heavily pedaled but with all the density and force called for through the opening phase of this evocation of the Inferno from La commedia divina. Though described as ‘strange, confused and passionate’ (Searle) it can be a spell-binding piece; Liou handled the romantic, Chopinesque middle part with limpid clarity, showing a keen dramatic sense as the excitement grew through astutely handled crescendi and accelerations.

The Liszt was very much of a part with the entire recital, which could be regarded as an adventurous and highly successful exploration of some of the extremes of the Romantic piano world and some aspects of its survival in the present age.