Category: Live performance

A revelatory Bach X 2 lunch recital on piano and organ by Jonathan Berkahn

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Jonathan Berkahn (piano and organ)

JS Bach: Fantasia in C minor, BWV 906
Lute suite in C minor, BWV 997: Sarabande and Gigue
CPE Bach: Sonata for Organ in D, Wq. 70/5
JS Bach: Toccata and Fugue in F, BWV 540

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 20 June, 12:15 pm

Jonathan Berkahn is a versatile musician, happy to play any keyboard instrument, including the piano accordion. In this recital he played three J S Bach pieces on the Steinway, then moved to the pipe organ in the gallery to play an organ sonata by CPE Bach and a final Toccata and Fugue by Bach père.

The Fantasia in C minor is a splendid piece which sounds as bold and inspiring on the harpsichord as on the piano; Berkahn’s playing had all the fluency and energy one could look for. His playing doesn’t prioritise subtlety or finesse; yet his playing was accurate with no more than insignificant smudges, but more importantly for me, it conveyed a sense that the pianist admired it greatly and was able to give it a performance that communicated that belief to his listeners.

That was followed by two pieces from a lute suite in C minor that seems to be more played these days as a guitar piece than on lute or keyboard. The entire suite comprises Prélude, Fugue, Sarabande, Gigue et Double, and he played just the Sarabande and Gigue (without the ‘Double’). The first had an unpretentious dignity that began with a certain ambiguity, a study in slow-moving semi-quavers that rather evaded a conventional melody. Berkahn took the Gigue only a little faster, hardly allowing it to inspire anything other than fairly sedate dancing. And though I suspect these pieces are not felt to have quite the weight of the suites for keyboard, for solo cello and other solo instruments or ensembles, they can be invested with much more weight and gravitas simply by the way they are played – the persuasivenss of the player. That’s what Berkahn achieves for me.

C P E Bach 
Berkahn explained that Bach’s eldest son didn’t follow in his father’s organ footsteps, and that he left very few organ pieces. At the church’s main organ he used registrations on separate keyboards that struck me as somewhat too distinct, which created the impression that the bolder, diapason sound came from somewhere out in the middle of the nave. His playing was staccato in character, and hinted at playfulness and even if it didn’t convey evidence of a gifted organ composer, once one had retuned one’s hearing to 50 years later, to the ‘galante’ musical environment of the court of his monarch Frederick the Great, Emanuel Bach finds a respectable place. The middle movement, Adagio e mesto, did offer hints as to Emanuel’s musical inheritance; yet Berkahn’s playing, thoughtful and careful as it was, showed well enough how his father’s genius could never be recaptured, in a different environment, just half a century later.

The very different character of the later 18th century – the ‘rococo’ or ‘galante’ style even more marked – was audible in the final Allegro. I felt that the boisterous triplet quavers in 4/4 time seemed to call for rather more flamboyant registrations and brilliant playing than might have been possible on the St Andrew’s organ .

Toccata and Fugue BWV 540 
Berkahn remained at the gallery organ to play J S Bachs Toccata and Fugue in F, which I found I hardly knew. The toccata is a startling piece, a sort of perpetuum mobile with endless semiquavers on the manual over prolonged pedal points, which became a virtuoso semi-quaver exhibition on the pedals. It must have been an impressive exhibition for those who’d responded to Berkahn’s suggestion to go upstairs to watch.

It certainly sounded splendid from the ground, and I found that I’d scribbled remarks like ‘impressive pedal work’ ‘it seems to lose a bit of what one thinks of as Bach the church organist’; ‘the 21st century organist takes charge’.  (They don’t all survive as considered views). What a contrast then, as the slow, meditative Fugue began, using more sober registrations for an ordinary fugal subject as it began; but one nevertheless sensed the potential for a build up to a level of excitement that might match the toccata; and indeed it did. The fugal figures moved between manuals and pedals with increasing complexity, calmly gaining in fugal elaboration but in unvarying tempo.

The piece was a bit of an eye-opener for me, and I rather look forward to hearing it on a really big organ: how about hurrying up the Town Hall rebuild! In the meantime, this was a rather splendid recital that offered some fresh insights, both into C P E and into a J S Bach work whose unfamiliarity (to me) was a matter of considerable surprise. It was a very rewarding lunch break.

Lawrence Renes, NZSO and Simon O’Neill in superb Wagner songs and monumental Bruckner 4th

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
Conductor: Lawrence Renes; tenor: Simon O’Neill

Wagner: Wesendonck Lieder
Bruckner: Symphony No 4 in E flat

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 16 June, 7:30 pm

This subscription concert was advertised as ‘An Evening with Simon O’Neill’, obviously in the hope that the name of New Zealand’s internationally most distinguished singer would match that of the recently retired Kiri Te Kanawa. But it didn’t work as the auditorium was hardly half full. Nevertheless, O’Neill is indeed one of a small handful of leading tenors in the Wagner class. Sure, he doesn’t compete in the public mind with his contemporaries Roberto Alagna, Jonas Kaufmann, Juan Diego Florez, Josef Calleja, Rolando Villazon, because he has emerged as a superb Helden-tenor, the fach particularly associated with Wagner. But he has done much else, for example as Otello, Cavaradossi in Tosca in New Zealand, Papageno in The Magic Flute and symphonic tenor roles such as Mahler’s Eighth and Beethoven’s Ninth. Clearly, Wagner in Europe and North America now keeps him very busy; why on earth not here?

So I wondered whether the orchestra might better have programmed him in the real thing: in a couple of the great excerpts from the music dramas like Siegmund’s ecstatic, passion-driven episode in Walküre Act I, ‘Winterstürme wichen dem Wonnemond’, or the Prize song from Die Meistersinger, or ‘In fernem Land’ from Lohengrin.

One can’t help wondering why a certain Wagner passion that arose with the 1990 Festival production of Die Meistersinger, which had four pretty full houses in the Michael Fowler Centre, evaporated so soon; Auckland’s Flying Dutchman a couple of years later didn’t do well and that a wonderful, semi-staged, all-New Zealand-singer Parsifal twenty years later didn’t even get one full house.

So this concert might better have been ‘An Evening with Bruckner’, for that was both three times as long as the Wesendonck Lieder, and is a greater work.

Wesendonck Lieder
However, O’Neill’s performance of the little song cycle, even promotionally spiced with references to the possible love affair between poet Mathilde Wesendonck and the composer, beautifully sung as it was, hardly competed with the possible alternative of two or three excerpts from Wagner’s stage works.

O’Neill’s voice is much more than either a fine lyric tenor or a commending Helden-tenor; there is a remarkably warm, polished and simply beautiful quality that was immediately obvious from the first notes. His performances seemed to be fully sensitive to the meaning and the fervid emotional feel of the slender poems in the flavour of early 19th century German lyric poetry. All five songs are linked in mood and musical feeling, though it is the third, ‘Im Treibhaus’ with its clear relationship with the music in Tristan und Isolde that seems to make the strongest impression, and where O’Neill’s instinctive affinity with Wagner’s musical complexion was present.

Its generous setting allowed more time for the mood to unfold that in ‘Schmerzen’, the next song, which moved through its text more brusquely, sounding more Lohengrinish than Tristanean.

And in the last song, ‘Träume’ (the programme note lost the umlaut) which, like ‘Im Treibhaus’, was marked by Wagner “study for Tristan und Isolde”, O’Neill created an uneasy, unsettled mood in a song that can be somewhat more sanguine in the hands of some singers, at least in its central passages. I had the unusual experience of having expected the last song to evolve more and in differing ways; not for the first time, I felt that Wagner might have made a more extended – indeed elaborate, Tristanish meal of it.

Even though Wagner only orchestrated this last song, they feel incomplete without orchestra. Felix Mottl orchestrated the others. There’s a 1976 orchestration by Hans Werner Henze which employs lighter textures, and observing fewer players in some parts of the orchestra, I had wondered whether that was used. But the orchestra tells me that Renes had simply reduced the string numbers.  For an account of the various orchestral arrangements over recent years look at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wesendonck_Lieder.

Bruckner 4th
Much as it was a pleasure to hear such a fine and idiomatic performance of these songs, the main fare was undoubtedly the Bruckner symphony. It did surprise and disappoint me that so few of my fellow citizens felt it important to hear this very approachable Bruckner symphony in live performance, especially, I assume, the second version which is quite a bit shorter than the first of 1874.  Perhaps a better known conductor might have made a difference, but I felt from the very beginning that in Lawrence Renes, here, was a man with a splendid grasp of the music’s demands. The biographical note made no reference to his major orchestral performances (a lot of opera however – odd when he’s here for an orchestral concert).

Not all symphonies create such an immediate feeling of expectancy, like the start of a much looked-forward-to trip. But that, to my delight, was the impression from the secretive opening horn solo; that restraint seemed to be prolonged since much of the first few minutes are in the hands of solo or duetting instruments over quiet tremolo strings. The atmosphere Renes created in the superficially repetitive first movement had miraculous characteristics of suspense, expectancy and calm, constructed on that rare, octave-wide motif that never out-lived its hypnotic power.

If the first movement was, as Bruckner instructed, ‘Bewegt, nicht zu schnell’, for 20 minutes, the true slow movement, though marked ‘Andante, quasi allegretto’, felt as if the rest of one’s life might fruitfully be absorbed by this rapturous music, and its 15 minutes or so seemed to be over far too soon. Renes’s approach was scrupulous, handling every detail as if his listeners were already in a state of trance or rapture. Here the weight rested with strings: violas and cellos, along with often quite exposed solo woodwinds, which seemed to carry its essence, even when the whole orchestra eventually became engaged, then subsided as they played the little dotted motif over and over.  I could understand the hesitant clapping at the movement’s end: I would guess it was from those who actually knew and loved it so well that this beautiful performance and its hallowed ending had moved them so profoundly.

So after more than half an hour of generally painstaking, meditative music, the Scherzo can seem as if Bruckner was simply responding to audience expectation of a brisk, even jolly, movement. But he gets it out of the way in about 10 minutes, including the charming little Ländler-like Trio section, led by clarinets and strings. It seemed, as always, a bit unexpected when the superbly polished trumpets and trombones of the orchestra which launched the Scherzo, return to punctuate its predominant string and woodwind filigree.

But the Scherzo has prepared the audience for a Finale of the traditional sort, in the kind of sonata form that is the usual first movement architecture. Yet the work’s limpid charm never abandons it, and the orchestra shifted from blazing brass-led fanfares to the most delicate passages where solo flute or horn for example flutters over shimmering strings with basses delivering a commanding beat.

Renes worked with the orchestra about seven years ago I gather, though I have no memory of having heard him conduct. He is an acolyte of music director Edo de Waart; I hope his return, very soon, can be arranged. Along with the chance to hear Simon O’Neill singing in his home territory, this was a superb concert.

 

Chris Hainsworth – “Perfection of Sound” on the Fernie organ at St.Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Peter Mechen

CHRIS HAINSWORTH ON THE FERNIE ORGAN

A book-prelaunch celebration – “The Perfection of Sound” – the story of the “Fernie Organ” at St.Mary of the Angels Church, Wellington

Music by Franck, Chaminade, Quef, Torres, Bonnet, JS Bach, Gounod, Debussy, Vierne, Lefebure-Wely, Mine, Widor

Chris Hainsworth playing the organ at St.Mary of the Angels Church,
Boulcott St., Wellington

Friday, 15th June, 2018

This, of course, was a concert with a difference, being the occasion of a book pre-launch, though regarding the actual music performed, perhaps to a less idiosyncratic extent for those who, unlike myself, have previously attended one or more of organist Chris Hainsworth’s recitals. Hainsworth has, on previous occasions at the St.Mary of the Angels Church organ, given presentations of a somewhat less-than-highbrow nature, partly due to his well-documented philosophy of avoiding solemnity in his programmes and countering passivity amongst his audiences! – see two previous “Middle C” reviews of the organist’s recitals,  one from 2013 –  https://middle-c.org/2013/02/organ-megalomania-christopher-hainsworth-courtesy-maxwell-fernie/ and the other from 2009 – https://middle-c.org/2009/04/christopher-hainsworth-at-the-organ-of-st-mary-of-the-angels/

Perhaps the humour was rather less overtly-expressed this time round, the programme contents themselves at first giving little outward cause for eyebrow-raising, sorting themselves dutifully into theme-groups such as the opening “A Suite of Carols for Midwinter”. I did wonder how Hainsworth then came to characterise a pairing of a Serenade by Charles Gounod and an arrangement of Debussy’s much-played “La fille aux cheveux de lin” as “A Baptism and a Funeral” – (shades of Ravel’s “Pavane pour une Infante defunte” perhaps?)

However, this mystery paled into insignificance when compared with the organist’s wonderful title for his last bracket of pieces – “A Fake New Symphony”. My Middle C colleague, Rosemary Collier, with whom I was sitting, leaned over and commented – “Well, he’s come up trumps with this one!” Four diverse pieces from different composers’ organ symphonies were followed by an improvisation-finale in the best virtuoso-composer tradition, one based on “Personent Hodie” a Christmas Carol originating from Scandinavia in the Middle Ages.

Obviously a lot of thought had gone into Hainsworth’s choices of music, each piece played during the evening having some kind of connection with the man to whom the organ in St.Mary of the Angels’ Church owes its unique existence, distinctiveness and reputation, organist, choirmaster and visionary, Maxwell Fernie (1910-1999). However, it was some time before the actual musical side of things got going, as part of the evening’s business was to officially announce the projected appearance of a book, “The Perfection of Sound” – the history of the St.Mary’s organ with all the correspondence between Max, the organ builder, the pipe makers and the parish priest.

The Parish Priest of St.Mary’s Church, Father Kevin Conroy SM, welcomed what was a goodly Friday evening audience to the concert, before inviting James Young, the current organist at the church, to introduce a number of speakers with something to tell us regarding their association with Max Fernie, with the organ, and/or with the forthcoming book, to be published by Steele Roberts at the year’s end.

It fell to Roger Steele to begin by telling us about the book project and enjoining those present to avail themselves of the chance to gain first-hand knowledge of the organ’s genesis in its present form. After Fernie’s widow, Greta inherited all her husband’s papers and the correspondence associated with the organ’s rebuilding, she thought such detailed documentation would constitute a unique story if gathered together and edited to make a book. Alan Simpson, who had been a pupil of Max’s and was also interested in technical aspects of organ specifications, edited the bulk of the material, including correspondence and interviews; while another former student Ros Johnston drew from a 1996 interview with Max by journalist Anna Smith, writing a substantial introduction to the correspondence in the context of Max’s career. The whole will be curated by Roger Steele for eventual publication.

Two further speakers were firstly John Hargraves, an organ-builder and director of the South Island Organ Company, who worked with Fernie from 1979 on the organ’s completion and subsequent refurbishments. He elaborated on Max’s insistence at developing specific tonal characteristics in the organ, adding a reminiscence of his involvement with Max in the 1985 restoration of the Wellington Town Hall organ. The final address came from Elizabeth Kerr, arts administrator, who talked about her experiences of Max as a teacher, with whom she had singing lessons as a chorister and a soloist, and as a “compelling” interpreter and conductor of the music he loved.

Introductions, documentations and reminiscences then made way for the sounds of the organ in question, Chris Hainsworth duly welcomed and introduced, and beginning his concert with music by Cesar Franck, a “Grand Choeur”. This was stirring stuff commencing with the “Noel” tune, grand and imposing, and continuing with a sprightly march with lots of dotted rhythms, the music employing a variety of timbres and building up to a series of contrasts between grandeur and energetic excitement to great effect.

A complete contrast in mood was wrought by Cecile Chaminade’s beautiful and nostalgic “Pastorale pour la Nuit de Noel”, gentle dotted rhythms and mellifluous tones contrasting with more plaintive reed-like sounds at the end. It made a fine contrast with little-known composer Charles Quef’s “Noel Parisien” with its rattling toccata-like passages and celebratory themes.

Hainsworth’s selection certainly played up the contrasts, with Eduardo Torres’s “Lullaby for the Holy Infant” again applying balm to our stimulated sensibilities with appropriately soothing and utterly charming “piping” timbres, a kind of “trio” section affording some contrasts of texture before returning to the opening. The suite’s finale was Joseph Bonnet’s “Rhapsodie Catalane”, music that brought out a pronounced virtuosic element, specifically with the use of the pedals, whole cadenzas in fact! After the relatively restrained music we’d heard thus far, this piece seemed to open up the instrument’s latent power and brilliance to spectacular effect, the pedal sounds almost seismic in their visceral impact. Based on two Catalan carols, the music’s second section featured even more spectacular pedal virtuosity in places which, when the hands joined in, produced easily the grandest sounds of the evening thus far.

Respite, if needed, from these all-out expressions of grandeur was given by the music of JS Bach, in the form of two Chorale Preludes, the first being the beatific, timeless-sounding  “Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier”, while the second was a somewhat more anxious and insistent “Ich ruf zu dir”. These certainties of faith were followed by a curiously-titled pairing of pieces by Gounod and Debussy – “A Baptism and a Funeral”. I got the “Baptism”concept without too much trouble, Gounod’s “Serenade” offering a suitably attractive nascent quality not unlike parts of Faure’s “Dolly” Suite – but, as already stated, I struggled when equating an organ transcript of Debussy’s piano Prelude “La fille aux cheveux de lin” with a funereal kind of association. When listening to this much-played piece, I thought how much more exciting it would have been to hear a different prelude of Debussy’s served up on the organ, one appropriate to the surroundings – La Cathédrale engloutie (The Submerged Cathedral) – though perhaps there might not of course have been a connection with Max that justified such an inclusion.

The concert’s finale was the “trumped-up” – sorry! – the “Fake New Symphony”, with Hainsworth inventively bringing four existing movements from other “organ symphonies” together, along with an improvised finale. This form was developed almost exclusively by French composers inspired by the new sonic capabilities and growing sophistication of organs built by Aristide Cavaillé-Coll during the nineteenth century. The first “movement” was supplied by Louis Vierne, taken from his own “Organ Symphony No.2”, one with an attention-grabbing opening and a gentler, major-key second subject, the development alternating the music’s sterner and more lyrical aspects, until the symphony’s opening returned with even more strength and expressive power, its conclusion grand and definite.

After this Alfred Lefebure-Wely’s Andante sounded very small beer indeed (“A lot of rubbish!” sniffed somebody sitting alongside where I was) – yes, it was mawkish-sounding, complete with “cooing doves” effects in places, but I thought the effect at the very least delightful, and certainly no more insipid than a rather trite scherzo contributed next by one Joseph Mine, a composer from the period in France regarded by music historians as “barren” – between Rameau and Berlioz – rather like Mozart’s self-mocking “Kaiser Song”, replete with empty fanfare-like gestures.

I liked how Hainsworth then eschewed the “obvious” finale from the genre, firstly taking from its composer, Charles-Marie Widor, the Adagio movement (a pleasant piece, pure and serene) from that very same Symphony No. 5, and then finishing with the organist’s own improvisation, based on the previously-mentioned Christmas Carol “Personent Hodie”. It rounded off an extraordinary, and appropriately flamboyant concert, and provided a sonorous demonstration of the fruits of Max Fernie’s labours in the shape and form of the present St.Mary of the Angels’ Church organ.

For those interested in the whole story the proposed book promises to be enthralling reading. To find out further information, or to place an order, go to Steele Roberts Aotearoa Ltd – http://steeleroberts.co.nz/contact/, or send an e-mail to Roger Steele at  info@steeleroberts.co.nz.

 

 

Engaging and exploratory viola music from NZSM students at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts 
New Zealand School of Music viola students, with accompanist Catherine Norton

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 13 June, 12:15 pm

This is the time for music students to use the facilities and be exposed to audiences at St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts in preparation for their first semester assessments. For audiences too, there are a couple of benefits; invariably, there are students who surprise, sometimes astonish, with their level of musicianship and technical skill; and there’s the chance to hear some unfamiliar, sometimes very engaging music. Some is chosen to display students’ strengths regardless of the interest of the music for the general, musical public, but there’s always some that is little known and prompts curiosity and thus an impulse to do a little research, to look for recordings in the library or on YouTube.

Zephyr Wills is a first year student who played a Potpourri for viola and piano by Hummel. A few decades ago Hummel’s name meant a pedantic and flashy pianist, a rival of Beethoven in virtuosity who wrote superficially attractive music. A lot of his music has been unearthed including some, yes, attractive and exciting music, a lot for the piano, but also orchestral, chamber and choral music. This piece was very listenable and proved both manageable and at times challenging for a student. It offered music that suited Wills’s flair for easy rhythms and long lyrical lines, employing tunes that were familiar, though not always identifiable. As with each of the pieces played, Catherine Norton, undoubtedly one of the finest accompanists working in New Zealand, supported and enlivened the performances.

Allegro appassionato, by Paul Rougnon, presumably composed as an examination piece at the Paris Conservatoire where he taught, was played by Debbie King, a second year student. Rougnon was a contemporary of Fauré and Massenet (and such disparate composers as Chabrier and Widor too), though I didn’t notice any conspicuous similarities. Not melodically very distinctive, the music had a generally lyrical feel that showed through its shape and textures; it is probably fair to say that its aim seemed mainly to demonstrate students’ technique, which King made tasteful, not showy use of; she played with confidence and musicality.

The Prelude to Bach’s first solo violin suite (BWV 1001), was played in an unattributed scoring for viola, by fourth year student, Charlotte Lamb. The listener is no doubt at a disadvantage attempting to listen objectively to music that is very familiar since so many famous and deeply musical performances lurk in the mind, perhaps to the disadvantage of the present player. It was different, of course, more warm and mellow than on the violin and so less brilliant. Lamb’s playing was accurate and rhythmically coherent but something of Bach had been diminished: this in spite of my secret preferring the tonal range of the viola over that of the violin.

The next piece, When Gravity Fails, in three parts, by Christchurch composer Philip Norman was shared by three players: Grant Baker with Flingamango Tango, Zephyr Wills with Evening Romance and Lauren Jack playing Isla’s Blues. Each section was vividly different and the word ‘quirky’ often comes to mind in characterising Norman’s carefully insubstantial, sometimes ironic or flippant music; but its great virtue is his interest, not shared by a large number of contemporary composers, in entertaining his listeners. In each of the markedly different pieces, the aim was to amuse rather than challenge or to demonstrate a mastery of complex forms or recondite musical vocabulary. The odd smudge or blurred phrase felt like fun, unimportant, and all three seemed to feel at liberty to enjoy the varied emotions or images that invested Norman’s creations.

The most substantial, main-stream work was Bloch’s Suite Hébraïque rhapsodie in which Lauren Jack discovered a depth of feeling that was recognisable to anyone familiar with Bloch’s Schelomo for cello and orchestra, a piece that I discovered in my teens and has had me looking for comparable music by Bloch ever since (there is some). Lauren Jack, another talented first year student, gave it a very thoughtful and enjoyable performance, and I felt it went some way to meet my longings.

The recital ended with two players returning to play pieces that complemented what they’d played before. Debbie King moved from an obscure French composer to an obscure German one. Eduard Pütz was born in 1911 but I can find nothing about his life though he obviously lived through the Nazi years. His Blues for Benni clearly suggested jazz and employed agreeable if somewhat complex jazz rhythms through three distinct phases. King sounded very comfortable in her handling of the idiom and its rather particular demands, though I felt, obviously in my first hearing, that the piece rather outlasted its material.

And Grant Baker ended the recital with a piece by Belgian violinist and composer Vieuxtemps (a contemporary of Franck, Lalo and Gounod, even Offenbach, if that’s in any way relevant), best known for his violin concertos. This Elégie for viola and piano was melodically attractive and Baker gave it an excellent account with lyrical playing, tinged with a gentle pathos. It called for a good deal of embellishment from both viola and Catherine Norton’s unfailingly sensitive and supportive piano, which the pair handled with flair.

Some impressive performances from NZSM string students at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand School of Music String Students and Catherine Norton (piano)

Music by Haydn, J.S. Bach, Hans Fryber, Mozart, Wieniawski and Max Bruch

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 6 June 2018, 12.15 pm

On the coldest day of the winter so far, there was still a respectably-sized audience at the lunchtime concert.

The students introduced themselves and their music, but unlike the wind students I reviewed two weeks ago, these students did not use the microphone, and so several of them were inaudible, speaking as though to a few people sitting in front of them.  One who spoke in audible tones nevertheless was too fast for his words to carry in a large auditorium.  The concert ran somewhat over the usual time; two players performed after one o’clock, but only a few of the audience left before the end.

Naturally, there was a range of abilities and experience displayed.  However, it was a diverse programme, full of interest, and we heard some excellent playing.

The first item was the allegro moderato first movement from Haydn’s cello concerto no.2 in D, played by Rebecca Warnes with Catherine Norton accompanying on the piano.  This is quite a lengthy movement, and demanding for the players.  Catherine Norton made a splendid job of being a one-woman orchestra, and despite having the lid of the piano on the long stick, she was never too loud.

The soloist played the movement from memory.  There were numbers of episodes of imperfect intonation, especially at the beginning, whereas in the difficult cadenza towards the end, almost every note was in place – since it was her unaccompanied solo, perhaps she had practised it more?  It went right down to the extreme bottom of the finger-board, i.e. very high notes.

Her legato passages were excellent and fluent, and her bowing technique likewise.  Once she got into her stride the intonation improved.  It was great to hear this warmly lyrical movement.  Double-stopping featured in this difficult score, which was mostly given an accomplished reading.

The second student to perform was Leo Liu, on the violin.  He played from memory and unaccompanied Bach’s Gigue in D minor, BWV 1004.  He explained that he was a second-year student.  He was confident and capable.  His playing was very fine, and his tuning almost perfect.  He played the tricky, quite extended piece with flair.

He was followed by Jandee Song, who played the double bass, performing Allemande from Suite in the Olden Style, by Hans Fryba, an Austrian double bass player and composer (1899-1986).  At first, the music had the performer playing at the extreme low end of the finger-board.  This unaccompanied piece was played from memory.  Intonation was very accurate but she did not give much variation in tone or dynamics.

Next was Patrick Hayes, violin.  He performed Fugue from Sonata no.2 in A minor, BWV 1003 by J.S. Bach.  This was another solo piece, played from the score.  Notable was his good phrasing; double-stopping and chords were handled well.  However, his tone was sometimes harsh.  Nevertheless, Patrick coped with the difficult, and quite long, movement well.

The remaining three pieces were all for violin, and were accompanied by Catherine Norton.  First, Charlotte Lamb performed Rondo in A, the third movement of Mozart’s fifth violin concerto K.219.  It is a delightful movement; its Turkish elements earned it the nickname of ‘Turkish’ concerto.  It was played with appropriate style and nuance.  A few intonation inaccuracies there were, but good tone and dynamics were present throughout the performance.  The contrasting ‘Turkish’ and minuet sections of the movement made it continually easy on the ear.

Edward Clarkson played Obertass Mazurka Op.19 no.1 by Wieniawski.  Grove informs me that obertass or obertas denotes a faster form of mazurka.  Edward had a clear, strong voice when giving his brief introduction.  The same characteristics were present in his violin-playing.  This was one of the composer’s showy pieces.  The violinist played it from memory, and gave it plenty of variety and lightness.  Harmonics were interspersed at high speed, plus fast trills and left-hand pizzicato. It was a short but very accomplished performance.

Last up was Sarang Roberts, who played the finale (allegro energico) of Max Bruch’s well-known and highly romantic first violin concerto, Op.26.  The playing was fast but well-controlled.  Her legato was excellent, and she played with a fine, warm tone, from memory.  Catherine Norton’s assignment in accompanying was quite a tough one, but she played with her usual aplomb.  The two musicians brought out the work’s mood and aesthetic splendidly – bravo!

The students performing would be at several different levels in their studies.  I assumed that these last two were senior students.  I had a few words with Martin Riseley, Head of Strings at the New Zealand School of Music at Victoria University, after the concert.  He informed me that these two were both first-years!  Their skill would seem to indicate a bright future ahead.

 

 

Full house Mulled Wine concert at Paekakariki with NZSM violin and piano stars

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Mulled Wine Concerts
Jian Liu (piano) and Martin Riseley (violin)

Bach: Solo Sonata for Violin, BWV 1001
Lilburn: Sea Changes and Violin Sonata
Brahms: Intermezzo in B minor, Op 119 No 1
Grieg: Sonata for Violin and Piano No 3, Op 45

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday 27 May, 2:30 pm

We’ve sadly missed a couple of earlier Mulled Wine concerts from Paekakariki: the Rodger Fox Jazz Ensemble in January and Toru (the Wellington trio of flute, viola and harp) in March, though we caught up with them at Lower Hutt recently.

This concert was perhaps more than merely a compensation, from two of the distinguished classical performance lecturers at the school of music of Victoria University.

There were three solo pieces: Bach’s solo violin sonata in G minor, BWV 1001, Lilburn’s Three Sea Changes and one of Brahms’s last compositions, an Intermezzo, the first of the four pieces from Op 119.

Bach: Solo violin
The Bach piece famously taxes a violinist, both on account of its technical challenges and its musical substance. Riseley’s playing was not of the sort that makes it look easy, nor was its intellectual character diminished through smoothing out its angularities which are rather audible in the longest movement, the Fuga.

The opening Adagio invites the most profoundly passionate interpretation, making its evolution a uniform process but Riseley almost seemed to allow the creative process behind every phrase to be heard distinctly, as each phrase seemed to be exposed to our examination. The Fuga (‘Fugue’) movement moves more quickly and its pulse carried the performance along in a more flowing and deceptively easy manner. The Siciliana is caste in a complex triple time with a slower pulse, and the violinist here found the opportunity to demonstrate a more lyrical and easy-flowing quality, sometimes almost too disarmingly.

A return to the ‘exercise’ character of the first movement comes with the last movement, simply marked Presto. Incessant semi-quaver triplets offer no relaxation and though obvious hard work lay behind the performance, its relentless pulse demonstrated Riseley’s talent and musical insight clearly.

Lilburn for piano and violin
Jian Liu followed with the first of Lilburn’s Three Sea Changes. One is used to Margaret Nielsen’s playing of these and it was a small revelation to hear something different, invested with the sensibility of pianist of a different ethnic and musical background. It was both polished and invested with a musical spirit that was European – perhaps of a Debussy-derived character. I must get to hear his playing of all three, and I hope Jian Liu is encouraged to lay down his own performances of Lilburn’s large piano oeuvre.

Liu’s other solo piece was the first Intermezzo of Brahms’s set of four piano pieces, Op 119 (there are around 20 intermezzi, most of them written in his last years, after overturning his earlier decision to retire completely). Affection for them, as with most of Brahms, simply increases with age (so there’s no need to worry!). The programme note took the trouble to reproduce Brahms’s sweet remarks to Clara Schumann about this particular one. It went so: “The little piece is exceptionally melancholic and ‘to be played very slowly’ is not an understatement. Every bar and every note must sound like a ritard[ando], as if one wanted to suck melancholy out of each and every one, lustily and with pleasure out of these very dissonances!”  It didn’t strike me like that, apart from the tendency to ritardando, and this beautiful performance certainly didn’t induce dangerous melancholy.

Martin Riseley returned to play Lilburn’s 1950 Violin Sonata (and what a pity Lilburn wasn’t surrounded by audiences calling for more chamber music; instead he was encouraged to pursue musique concrète).

I might remark here on the violin that he used. It was a 19th century German instrument on loan from Kapiti resident Bill McKeich (He was the leader of the orchestra at Wellington College in which I played the cello; we were in the same form in the upper 6th). It produced a comforting, warm sound, and here it created music that seemed more quintessentially Lilburn than one sometimes hears.  The notion had not occurred to me before that there was a Schumannesque character in this music, or at least in this performance; once such an idea arises, it’s easy to hear it confirmed as the music goes on. So, as a particularly irrational Schumann lover, I found more delight in Riseley’s playing in this piece than I have before.

Grieg’s third violin sonata
Finally, the major work in the concert, Grieg’s third violin sonata, an old favourite. I recall first hearing it at a chamber music concert in Taumarunui in …(long ago), where I was posted ‘on section’ while at Auckland Teachers’ College. (Taumarunui High School was a sought-after school because of the Whakapapa ski field; as a self-indulgent aside, poking about the music department I came across 78 rpm recordings of Roy Harris’s famous Third Symphony which struck me as remarkable in a secondary school; I suspect scarcely anyone has even heard of it today).

Anyway, the best known of Grieg’s sonatas is not much heard these days, even in towns 50 times the size of Taumarunui. So to hear it with the sound of the sea close by was a delight, not to mention the excellence of the performance, which was quite passionate, interspersed with gentle and sometimes quite prolonged lyrical passages. The partnership itself was a thing to delight in as one’s attention shifted from one to the other, the music seeming to breathe in response to its own pulse and mood from bar to bar.

Jian Liu’s playing was both elegant and deeply attuned to the spirit and poetic quality of the music, while Martin Riseley’s playing often felt as if he was observing the music from the outside yet was able to capture the whole-heartedness and complex lyricism of Grieg’s composition. The slow movement speaks so clearly in Grieg’s language, that blend of sentiment and a northern reserve; so that the music has a changeable atmosphere, alternating between E major and minor, refusing to commit to either.  And the duo captured the qualities of the last movement, Allegro animato, mixing freshness and thoughtfulness that always demanded admiration, for both the complementary elements of their styles and the fluency of their playing.

And after rather protracted applause, the duo returned and uncovered another score on their music stands; it was Tchaikovsky’s Serenade Melancholique, Op 26, demonstrating their ability to give genuinely pathetic utterance to the sort of sadness that Tchaikovsky created so movingly.

There was a predictably full house in the hall by the sea. The inducement consists in more than just the free mulled wine in the interval; it’s definitely worth more than merely a detour.

 

Liturgical music, dramatic and meditative in splendid Orpheus Choir concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Orpheus Choir and the Orchestra of the New Zealand School of Music, conducted by Brent Stewart and Kenneth Young
Jenny Wollerman (soprano) and James Clayton (baritone)

Giovanni Gabrieli: Canzon Duo Decimi a 10 (#3)
Duruflé: Requiem
Leonie Holmes: Frond
Dvořák: Te Deum

Wellington Cathedral of Saint Paul

Saturday 26 May, 7:30 pm

The Orpheus Choir made a striking decision to perform two great choral works that are not often heard – one that is well-enough known but not so often heard (the Duruflé) and Dvořák’s Te Deum which I had not heard before. It’s one of those pieces that you are sure you’ve heard at some time, but turns out to be quite unfamiliar.

Gabrieli and Dvořák
However, the concert began with something else that was not revealed in the programme booklet: it was a surprise, simply to see the dozen brass virtuosi from the NZSM orchestra file on. We were in for something special: Giovanni Gabrieli’s Canzon Duo Decimi a 10 (#3) from the book of Symphoniae Sacrae of 1597. They set the aural scene brilliantly.

Two conductors were involved. Kenneth Young conducted the Gabrieli, the piece by Leonie Holmes and the Duruflé, while the choir’s conductor, Brent Stewart conducted the Dvořák.

The choral part began with the Dvořák. It struck me at once as a pretty unconventional liturgical work, far more histrionic and secular in feel than most music of the genre. Things like the last movement of Beethoven’s Choral Symphony, or perhaps the operatic character of Verdi’s Requiem offer some idea of its nature. The timpani opening was stunning, might I even say spectacular and it was obvious that accompaniment by a full orchestra was indispensable; I listened to the university orchestra with real admiration from the very start.

Jenny Wollerman’s voice was an obvious choice among Wellington sopranos: large, clear and attractive, able to cut through orchestral sounds, though it was interesting that the orchestral writing was generally considerate of the soprano’s performance. Was it an alto flute that emerged in the middle of the first part? The flamboyant character of the music came to a great climax at the end of the first chorus and the baritone part takes over without a pause, with fresh brass fanfares.

James Clayton’s voice and presentation was every bit as vivid and appropriate as Wollerman’s had been and he managed to maintain the operatic-cum-oratorio character of the music. I kept reflecting that it was remarkable that Dvořák, in spite of the confusion about the text he was to set for the Columbus 400th anniversary immediately on his arrival in New York, had judged the sort of music that would be fit for the occasion, as he wrote it while still at home in Bohemia.

Some writings about the Te Deum seem to suggest that it was tossed off as an obligation, a last minute substitution for a text that didn’t arrive in time.  It was melodically and rhythmically strong, with plenty of excitement, for though an American school of composition hadn’t emerged (and that was part of the reason for Dvořák‘s invitation), there was plenty of evidence of a taste for the big-boned, noisy, extravert music on a huge scale (read about the reception of Johann Strauss II in Boston in 1872).

A fresh surprise strikes at the start of the third movement which is entirely sung by the chorus, and another flamboyant triple time rhythm takes over, though it soon quietens with the more prayerful words, ‘Et laudamus nomen tuum in saeculum, et in saeculum saeculi’.

If one sometimes wonders how much close attention the composer pays to the meaning of the hymn, one example struck me, the words sung by the choir: ‘Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri’ in the fourth part, as the soprano continues to be closely and impressively integrated in the increasingly frantic, exciting music that Dvořák delivers repeating ‘Alleluia’ numerous times. The work proves to be a singular combination of the expostulatory and triumphant punctuated here and there by some affecting contemplative passages.

Leonie Holmes
The first half ended with a piece written in 2004 by Leonie Holmes: Frond (which turned out to be, not a depiction of the mid-17th century uprising against Louis XIV, in France – La Fronde – but a portrayal of fern fronds). It failed to evoke any forest or botanical imagery for me, but I still found it an attractive piece which helped restore my belief in the value of contemporary music, after exposure the previous evening to some of the Stroma/Bianca Andrew/Alex Ross concert, some about a century old – long enough to have taken root in the affections of a tolerant listener had they been inspired by real ‘musical’ impulses. Holmes’s composition was evocative and her imaginative use of the orchestra and the musical motifs she employed made it a cleansing and spiritually restorative piece.

Duruflé
The continuation of that musical spirit came with the lovely Requiem of Duruflé. In my own record of Duruflé performances I had to go back to 2014 to find the last hearing in Wellington: from Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir under Karen Grylls, when it was coupled, as it so often is, with the Fauré.

If the Fauré and Duruflé requiems are congenial companions, the Dvořák had offered no clue as to its companion’s character, and it created a vividly different musical experience. The pace of its opening phase was of peace and consolation, though not conspicuously religiose (Go on! Look it up!).

It’s a work that is often accompanied by organ, and while that is a legitimate version, and though I enjoy organ music I am almost always more delighted with orchestral colour and variety where that’s what the composer wanted. In the opening phase cellos and basses and soon the uneasy brass and heavy timpani made me grateful that the choir had managed a deal with the NZSM Orchestra. And it made me wonder whether ways could be found to engage the orchestra for other major choral performances that find the cost of professional players out of reach but which would benefit hugely from the lively, excellent playing we heard from the university orchestra.

The striking feature of the singing was its subtlety and its subdued vitality, in something of a contrast to the Dvořák. The opening Introit set the tone and was in complete contrast: calm, tranquil, reverent, but the Kyrie involved a more clamorous plea for mercy in a short central section. Soloists do not get exposure here and we waited through several minutes of the Domine Jesu Christe, through a quiet organ passage and a plangeant soprano part that builds to a tutti outburst before baritone James Clayton enters with ‘Hostias et preces’, amid tremolo strings and a much more disturbing atmosphere. It doesn’t last long and the soprano-led plea for God’s restoration settles the atmosphere.

A comparable atmosphere of exultation builds slowly in the Sanctus, opening with rippling accompaniment on (I think) organ flute stops. The words ‘Hosanna in excelsis’ start quietly but are repeated, crescendo till they climax with massive timpani, and fades into near silence.

Soprano Jenny Wollerman emerged for her first and only solo passage in the Pie Jesu, again with open, confident, adagio lines, gradually rising and falling dynamically. Women’s voices led the way in the following Agnus dei, appropriately slow-paced and pleading, the words uttered with extraordinary slowness. Bassoons have some rewarding passages, e.g almost surrounding the voices in the Lux eternum as they dwell long on the same note.

Trumpets open In Libera me, and Clayton filled the air with foreboding at ‘Tremens factus sum ego…’ with only passing reference to the day of wrath, ‘Dies illa, dies irae’, a fine chance to hear the baritone’s rich and powerful expression. Duruflé picks up Fauré’s precedent with his final In paradisum; based on Gregorian chant, it might not have the popular appeal of the latter, but it captures a sustained kind of rapture, and invests the work with an innocent, guileless conclusion that passes over any expectation of doctrinaire belief.

It was a most interesting and satisfying concert of two very beautiful but different works that those who think they are allergic to choral music should be exposed to. Happily, the cathedral was very nearly full, and applause was prolonged.

Talents and skills of university woodwind students in St Andrew’s lunchtime recital

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

NZSM Wind Students

Music by Fauré, Francisco Mignone, Lowell Liebermann, Gareth Farr. Krysztof Penderecki and Debussy

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 23 May 2018, 12.15 pm

It is interesting to hear music students at different levels of their courses, and of ability and achievement.  All these students, though, performed well and provided engaging music.  In most cases they were accompanied on the piano, although two students played unaccompanied pieces.  It was pleasing to see a number of school students in the audience; perhaps they are studying wind instruments. Simon Brew, acting head of winds at the New Zealand School of Music, briefly introduced the programme.  Nearly all the students introduced themselves and their music more than adequately, using the microphone.

Fauré was represented by Fantasie for Flute, Op.79, played as the opening piece by Samantha McSweeny, accompanied by Kirsten Robertson.  French composers wrote prolifically for the flute, and this was a lovely example of their work, which for me carried over nicely from the Fauré songs I heard in Waikanae on Sunday.  The piece was inventive and graceful, with a languid opening section.  It changed to sprightly and playful passages.  It was written for a Paris Conservatoire competition, so it aimed to have the students demonstrate a range of techniques, tempi and dynamics.  As well as our player doing this more than adequately, the accompaniment was full of character.

I had never heard of the Brazilian composer Francisco Mignone.  His dates were 1897 to 1986.  (It would have been useful to have the composers’ dates printed in the programme.)   Improvised Waltz no.7  was the title of the piece for solo bassoon, played by Breanna Abbott.    It was quite a jaunty piece to start with, but the deep-toned instrument made it harder to get over a light-hearted mood.  It was short, and very competently played.

Lowell Liebermann is a contemporary American composer (born in 1961) who is a prolific composer as well as a performer.  His Movement 1 from Sonata for Flute and Piano, Op.23 was played by Isabella Gregory, accompanied by Kirsten Robertson.  A leisurely opening was followed by an allegro that brought a rush of notes before falling back to gentle utterances.  In places the piano doubled the part of the flute.  A new section was slow, but both flute and piano jumped around the staves, especially the latter.  Both played angular phrases, the flute employing particularly the lower register of the instrument.  A return to slower, gentler phrases brought the piece to a smooth, mellifluous end.

The only New Zealand composer represented was Gareth Farr; Peter Liley, alto saxophone, accompanied by Catherine Norton on the piano, played Farr’s Meditation very confidently, following an excellent spoken introduction.  The piece opened with notes on the piano, followed by chords, then a slow, pensive melody.  This gradually developed and built to a high climax – most effective.  More climbing motifs – then an abrupt end.

Solo clarinet was played by Harim Hey Oh, performing Penderecki’s Prelude for solo clarinet.  Slow, quiet single notes opened the short piece.  Then the music became quite gymnastic, with quick notes darting here and there, including very high notes and very loud ones (hard on the ears!).  Then it was back to slow, quiet notes, widely spaced – and it was all over.

The other great French composer represented was Debussy, by his Première Rhapsodie for clarinet, played by Frank Talbot with Catherine Norton accompanying.  The piece was written for graduate students at the Paris Conservatoire, so was constructed to test them.  Later, the composer orchestrated it.  This was a highly competent performance, employing a lot of different techniques and idioms. The full range of the instrument’s notes and dynamics were used.  It was most enjoyable music, not only for the clarinet’s role; the piano had a very varied part also.

This was a very satisfactory demonstration of the skills of wind students at the New Zealand School of Music at Victoria University of Wellington.

 

 

 

 

Unusual but timely concert by Supertonic, dynamic mixture of the musical, the political, the sexual

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Supertonic conducted by Isaac Stone

‘Shakespeare’s Sister: celebrating the music of women who created art in the shadows of men’
Music by Hildegard, Clara Schumann, Alma Mahler, Fanny Mendelssohn, Amy Beach, Francesca Caccini and Lili Boulanger, and two New Zealanders: Dorothy Buchanan and Rosa Elliott (who, at age 20, was the ‘featured composer’)

Pipitea Marae, Thorndon Quay

Sunday 20 May 6:30 pm

Middle C has reviewed two previous concerts by Supertonic (both by Rosemary Collier), in 2015, and she was impressed (where have we been in the meantime?). They were in different venues, the Sacred Heart Cathedral and the New Zealand Portrait Gallery. This time they gave me my first experience in the Pipitea Marae, which I’m ashamed to confess I’d never been in; a building of normal construction, with impressive Maori mural and ceiling decoration.

The concert was very well organised, with enough people at the door to take tickets and give seat numbers and generally manage. The seating on either side of a centre aisle was turned to face inwards by about 15 degrees. A congenial feeling.

One of the first impressions as the music began, was the splendid acoustics of the large whare, allowing distinct parts of the choir on the one hand and the choir singing homogeneously on the other to be heard as a finely balanced ensemble. Enhanced I imagine by the high vaulted ceiling and walls which were probably plastered and so a bit more absorbent than concrete, stone or timber.

The singers were ranged in four rows at increasing heights; the piano to the left and to the rear left, the ‘Concert host’, Clarissa Dunn, and a microphone. After the choir had entered, a chant arose at the back and the nine women’s voices came slowly to the front singing Hildegard von Bingen’s ‘Quem ergo femina’. The fine ensemble augured well.

This is the moment to remark admiringly on the paper-work. A nicely printed programme on glossy paper, with a woman in profile who has just released a bird – a swallow, a symbol? Inside, notes on the choir, on host Clarissa Dunn and the ‘featured artist’, the 20-year-old Canterbury University student composer, Rosa Elliott. All the composers’ names and the titles of the pieces were listed and on a separate page, original words and translations of all the songs in foreign languages.

There was a distinct air of professionalism about the entire presentation, not least the evidence of excellent, thorough rehearsal by Isaac Stone, a gifted young conductor who has a very impressive and interesting record both as musician and leader in musical and social areas, especially in the Maori sphere.

One thing we could probably not reasonably expect was to encounter music that we knew – though I speak only for myself.

Clarissa Dunn’s introduction
An unexpected element, but one that was illuminating was Clarissa’s quoting an essay by Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, on the importance of a space for creative work; it related to Dorothy Buchanan’s cycle. The essay presents an “argument for both a literal and figurative space for women writers within a literary tradition dominated by men” in the words of Wikipedia.

One hears often about the importance of having a private place in which to compose. Some such composing sanctuaries are famous, like Mahler’s two lake-side hideaways, at Steinberg-am-Attersee and Maianigg on the Wörthersee in Carinthia, or Ravel’s house in the country, Le Belvédère, at Montfort-l’Amaury. The same applies to women but it is harder for them to find such space.

Clara Schumann’s composing was not forbidden but after Robert died she composed no more and devoted herself to performance and the promotion of Robert’s music. The choir sang Drei gemischte Chöre (3 mixed choruses). They were sung with flawless ensemble, purity of tone and clarity of diction.

American composer Amy Beach’s music is heard more these days than a few years ago. She was, like Clara Schumann, both composer and pianist and her husband wanted her to concentrate on composing rather than performance. Again, the a cappella Three Choral Responses were accomplished works if not particularly original, showing little sign of absorbing composition trends of around the turn of the century.

Alma, Lili and Francesca
Then three singers from the choir sang songs by Alma Mahler, Lilli Boulanger and Francesca Caccini. Samantha Kelley sang the first, Die stille Stadt, with a very agreeable voice, and pianist Matthew Oliver, who was occasionally hesitant.

Lili Boulanger was the first woman to win the Prix de Rome at the Paris Conservatoire and though no barriers were put across her musical career, she died aged 24, 100 years ago. (She is one of this year’s important anniversaries; the others: Debussy’s death 100 years ago, Bernstein’s birth 100 years ago, Gounod’s birth 200 years ago, Rossini’s death 150 years ago*). Reflets, set to a poem of Maurice Maeterlinck, sounded an altogether more inspired composition, with an interesting, even adventurous piano accompaniment; Natalie Williams’s voice was well attuned to the music if occasionally insecure.

A duet from three centuries earlier, Aure Volanti by Francesca Caccini was sung by sopranos Natalie Moreno and Sophie Youngs; there were clear marks here of a fine composer, whose father was also a leading composer who composed one of the first operas in 1602. Women composers were not all that rare at the time; slightly later, Barbara Strozzi was famous and she has re-emerged. This performance handled the weaving voices and Isaac Stone’s piano accompaniment in a charming, authentic manner.

Fanny, Felix’s sister
Felix Mendelssohn’s sister Fanny (Hensel her married name) was also a gifted pianist and composer, whose musical inclinations and gifts were rather discouraged by Felix. Her settings of three of Eichendorff’s poems, Gartenlieder, appealed to me as much as anything in the concert; the writing was fluent and there was plenty of melodic charm and character, far from clichéd. I enjoyed the varied expressive qualities that were well conveyed in the choral performance.

The next group of pieces by Dorothy Buchanan was a curious composition: for flute (Liz Langam) and wordless women’s voices, a small cycle called Five Vignettes of Women. They were marked, Virginia (Woolf), Olivia (Spencer-Bower), Robin (Hyde), Fanny Buss and Katherine (Mansfield). The Virginia Woolf song was the link with the introductory reference to Woolf’s essay, A Room of One’s Own. The set was interestingly varied in style and mood and the different instruments produced some novel impressions. The whole struck me as very engaging work, admittedly with a not very important vocal element, but enough to justify its inclusion here.

Rosa Elliott’s Songs for Sisters
Featured artist was 20-year-old composer Rosa Elliott who set three of great 19th century novelist George Eliot’s (real name Mary Ann Evans) poems: Songs for Sisters.

Conductor Isaac Stone is quoted in a SOUNZ website saying that he fastened on her to compose for the choir because of her “incredible way with haunting melodies, matched perfectly with choral colours”. They involved violinist Vivian Stephens, pianist Matthew Oliver and Samantha Kelley using castanets. The first song, O Bird, coloured with hushed breathing, employed an undefined bird-call that later imitated a vocal motif from the choir. I lost track of the breaks between the three songs; however, the unusual combination of vocal effects, occasional distinct words, the melodic attractiveness, Stephens’ excellent violin contribution offered lively variety. The castanets marked the Spanish character of the third song, Ojala, in which the choir could be detected chanting the name. By the end I was won over by the unusual character of this trio of songs, their confident, surprisingly grounded feeling. I think they have a life.

The concert ended with a, for me, puzzling, enigmatic song: Quiet by (I suppose) a young woman called Milck. I confess to looking it up on Google. It’s a song protesting sexual violence in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein scandals, frankly bluesy in style, but more importantly, arresting in both its music and its message. She writes that it is part of “a massive movement of women and survivors speaking out against sexual assault, I find myself in awe and moved to my core”.  I caught words of intimate advice to vulnerable girls; it was, I guess, a timely insertion for the choir whose purpose here was to dramatise efforts to empower women and demand changed behaviour on the part of men, and sexual exploitation is as evil as depriving women of the wherewithall to create music.

An interesting and poignant way to end the concert which had virtues and strengths at many levels, social and musical.

*Composer Anniversaries
This sort of thing interests me. I was half aware of several other composers who were born or died in these or similar years. There’s Arrigo Boito (Verdi’s librettist for Otello and Falstaff and also the composer of Mephistophele), and Hubert Parry both of whom died in 1918. Then I came upon a contribution to the topic from a kindred spirit who writes a column in the French Opéra Magazine, Renaud Machart. He wrote about Lili Boulanger, naturally, and he also noted the successor and in some ways Offenbach’s rival in the post Franco-Prussian war period (1870 – 1880): Charles Lecocq (1832-1918). His best known pieces were La fille de Madame Angot and Le petit Duc. And very tongue-in-cheek, Machart  also pointed to one Procida Bucalossi (1832-1918), a British/Italian composer of light music; with that background, he naturally wrote a successful operetta for London in neither language, entitled Les Manteaux Noirs (The Black Cloaks).

Looking back to 1868, as well as Rossini’s death, Swedish composer Berwald died. And François Couperin was born in 1768, 250 years ago.

Admirable, stimulating programme of piano trios from Te Koki Trio

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Te Koki Trio: Martin Riseley (violin), Inbal Megiddo (cello), Jian Liu (piano) – senior lecturers in Victoria University School of Music
(Wellington Chamber Music)

Brahms: Piano Trio in C minor Op. 101
Avner Dorman: Piano Trio No. 2
Shostakovich: Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor, Op. 67

St. Andrews on The Terrace

Sunday 20 May 3 pm

Gale-force winds outside might have been an appropriate accompaniment to Shostakovich’s frightful war-time masterpiece. But it was not necessarily a fitting way to characterise Brahms’s third piano trio. In spite of the remarks in the programme notes (in general, illuminating), and even though it’s in a minor key, I have never found the opening pages devoid of melody, or revealing an ‘unsettled nature’; though later movements might be so characterised.

However, Jian Liu’s reading of the opening chords might for a moment have supported the sense of the programme note. His first chords were so heavy that they dominated the violin and cello and I rather wished the lid had been down, as well perhaps as having the piano on a carpet. But the music soon shifts to the much more sustained, warm and heart-felt second subject that in fact seemed to characterise most of the movement, in spite of momentary returns of the more emphatic first theme. The imbalance between piano and strings didn’t recur.

The notes might have somewhat exaggerated the restless and haunted nature of the second movement which is considered the Scherzo, though not marked so. The minor key colours the entire work and even this ‘scherzo’ movement hardly produces a feeling of ecstasy or contentment. Much of it is staccato in character, permitting neither buoyancy nor delight. The singular feature of the work as a whole is the shortness of each movement – the second movement lasts only about four minutes. And the first was only about twice as long.

The Brahms we’ve waited for arrives in the third movement, and here Martin Riseley’s violin and Inbal Megiddo’s cello play alone for half a minute and they do so again after the piano had a brief contribution. The movement seemed all too short, as I couldn’t help feeling that the players longed for its prolonging and I even wondered whether there was actually a repeat that they were ignoring. There is not of course. Here was the quintessential Brahms writing the most expressive and alluring music, and the programme note’s ‘unsettled material’ and ‘irregular phrases’ were not very audible to me.

Even though the last movement remains in the minor key and there’s a seriousness of mind which the players showed their full awareness of, there’s no lack of melody, even if the tunes are sometimes stretched over a wide range, and the occasional staccato irruptions hardly encouraged the listener to drift into a feeling of contentment. The gentle rising and falling theme which becomes the heart of the movement was all too short.

Avner Dorman
The novelty of the concert was a 2002 trio by Jewish-American composer Avner Dorman. When I looked at YouTube, I was surprised to find scores of performances of a great variety of music by Dorman, though none of this piano trio. He has clearly attracted a large following for music that is distinctive and genuinely imaginative. His music seems often to begin in a comfortable, familiar manner, sometimes, like the present trio, with the utmost simplicity. It began with a simple four-note chorale-like motif, repeated in subtly changing ways, creating at least the impression of each instrument playing distinct phrases in different keys, while one became aware of the original motif continuing repetitiously below the evolving sounds above.

Dissonances slowly became more and more arresting and complex, curiously, not in a way that aroused frustration or irritation. Perhaps no dissonance can today really sound barbarous or outrageous because profligate use of it has diminished its impact, its capacity to offend. Just as swearing in public, on television and film no longer has the power to shock though I suppose there are still some who find it offensive just as some still find gross dissonance offensive. To me these passages were simply counterpoints or foils to the more conventional. The players gave every sign of commitment, persuaded that here was music that had something to say, music that was not imitative but which did not seek to be ‘original’ just to win academic brownie-points.

These situations are always interesting as some in the audience reacted with at least a little reserve, even disapproval. The second movement was faster, no less free with unorthodox harmony and darting, reckless rhythms. Sudden passages of meditative music, violin and cello bowing their way in adagio sequences; then rushing torrents, from high to low registers. One always searches for influences and these were hard to perceive; perhaps certain hints of Vasks or Pelecis came to mind, absurdly perhaps.

Shostakovich’s Piano Trio Op 67
Few pieces of chamber music in the 20th century pack the punch that Shostakovich’s 1944 piano trio does (unless it’s his Eighth String Quartet). I first came to know it through performances by the Turnovsky Trio (Sam Konise, Christopher Kane and Eugene Albulescu) in the 90s. The famous opening, starting with uncanny, false (or artificial) harmonics by using (with the cello) the thumb to shorten the length of sounding string, presaged an extraordinarily sensitive and expressive performance. One could dwell on the range of ‘effects’ employed by the piece, but it is better to consider the plain emotional impact of the music – a matter that should always come before academic consideration of the means by which it’s achieved.

Traditional descriptive musical language, Allegro con brio, hardly captures the real nature of the music, any more than the neutral moderato and poco piu mosso does of the first movement. Its brio isn’t altogether a mistake, but there’s a manic quality here, and with all the bite and energy these players adopt makes you sit bolt upright. It’s the third movement in which Shostakovich expresses the grief that war has plunged his country into, a sustained threnody which fades with dying piano notes to the piano’s grief-stricken staccato start of the last movement.

Though written presumably after the Siege of Leningrad had been lifted (January 1944; the composer had been evacuated from the city in October 1941) this movement remains one of the most graphic, emotional descriptions of war imaginable. And the playing varied from despairing to terrifying, to repetitive, violent passages interspersed with sudden pauses to reflect and regain one’s balance and equilibrium.

I found the whole programme, the choice of works and their committed and accomplished performance by these three senior lecturers in the School of Music totally engrossing. As I seem to say often, it deserved a far bigger audience; a few short years ago these concerts in the Ilott Theatre in the “How long must we wait?’ Town Hall used to attract a couple of hundred people, even in blizzard conditions.