Category: Live performance

Outstanding concert for peace, of Renaissance music, plus Arvo Pärt, plus momentous New Zealand work

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

The Tudor Consort, conducted by Michael Stewart, with Fiona McCabe and Catherine Norton (piano duet in Pacifc), Tom Chatterton (organ, The Beatitudes)

‘Dona nobis pacem’
Gesualdo: Da pacem Domine (‘Grant peace, Lord, in our time’)
Palestrina: Agnus Dei (from Missa Papae Marcelli)
Josquin des Prez: Agnus Dei (from Missa L’homme arme super voces musicales)
Byrd: Agnus Dei (from Mass for four voices)
Pärt: The Beatitudes
Da pacem Domine
Gemma Peacocke: Pacific 

Wellington Cathedral of St. Paul

Saturday, 16 September 2017, 7.30pm

A substantial audience heard a most innovative and rewarding concert from the ever-reliable Tudor Consort.  An unusually large dose of contemporary music was adorned with Renaissance music, in a concert marking International Day of Peace (21 September).

It began with a setting by Italian Carlo Gesualdo (1566-1613) of ‘Da pacem Domine’.  As Michael Stewart said in his pre-concert talk, this composer was ahead of his time; his writing for choirs had more in common with those who came a little later.  This was a very appealing composition.  The interweaving parts and delicious clashes were points of interest in the smooth, but not lifeless, singing.  Beautiful cadences were a feature.

The three settings of the Agnus Dei (final words: ‘grant us peace’) were quite contrasted.  That by Palestrina (c.1525-1594) was sung so well it had an other-worldly feel.  One felt transported to 16th century Rome.  The choir used the acoustics of the cathedral splendidly; the parts were distinctive, well-balanced and uniform in tone.

The Josquin (c.1440/1450-1521) offering was of a different character.  It had not the brilliance of the Palestrina, partly because there were no sopranos in this Agnus Dei; men and altos only.  It was a long and complex piece of musical architecture, and more severe in nature than its predecessor.  Blend and balance between parts was superb; every voice was in fine form.  The weaving in and out of the parts was like the stone vaulting in a medieval or Renaissance cathedral or chapel.

Byrd (c.1539-1623) brought another character again, with his much shorter Agnus Dei.  The return of the sopranos brought a brighter sound.  It was interesting to note the different pronunciation (with an ‘s’ sound in ‘pacem’) in this English work.  The effect of the piece was somewhat plaintive, but quite beautiful.

The first half concluded with Arvo Pärt’s The Beatitudes.  Both this and the composer’s ‘Da pacem Domine’ sung after the interval surprised me.  I am not a great fan of his minimalist compositions, such as Fratres.  However, these two choral works were full of variety and interest.  The Estonian composer (born 1935) wrote The Beatitudes in 1990, and the shorter piece in 2004.

The Beatitudes, an English language composition, was performed with the choir split in two.  It was full of contrast, and contrasted with earlier items by being harmonic rather than contrapuntal.  There were lovely harmonic clashes, and very varied treatment of the words, which for the most part could be heard clearly.  The underpinning from the organ was effective.  Towards the end, the singing got louder; there was a little stridency from the basses here – the only flaw I detected in the whole evening’s singing.  At the jubilant ‘Amen’, the organ embarked on a solo, reiterating the harmony of the choir’s utterances; a very satisfying episode.

The ‘Da pacem Domine’ was complex: parts entering and re-entering at different points, the words thus somewhat disconnected, and appearing like little explosions, giving an echo effect, with very varying dynamics.  There was rich harmony, and a smooth, quiet ending.

After this second Pärt offering came the principal work of the concert.  In the pre-concert talk, Michael Stewart had interviewed the composer, Gemma Peacocke, a New Zealander based in the US, where she is undertaking a PhD at Princeton University.  It was interesting to hear about her inspirations, compositions and use of electronics, as in tonight’s work.

The name Pacific connotes both peace and New Zealand’s geographic position.  The three parts of this new commission from Gemma Peacocke used words from New Zealanders who believed in and promoted peace.  The first were from a speech by Te Whiti o Rongomai in 1880.  The music began with the electronic tape playing a gong sounding, followed by other sounds, and the pianists playing.  The choir began by intoning the words of the speech.  The choir part was very strong and telling, though often treated as musical sounds, not delivered always in whole phrases and sentences (having this feature in common with the preceding Pärt piece).

The tapping brass sounds continued, along with other harder-to-identify noises.  It was quite an elaborate construction, but very musical.

The second part quoted from Archibald Baxter’s book We will not Cease (shown as published by Cape Catley in 2014, but I was given a copy in the 1970s; it was first published in London in 1939, then in New Zealand in 1968 and 1980s).  The choir commenced with vocal sounds (not words); the voices were echoed by electronic sounds.  This was not declamatory in the manner of the Te Whiti episode; it was more sombre and mournful, an effect heightened by a fine soprano solo.  There were more vocal effects, which were brilliantly executed; in fact the whole was a tour de force.

The third part was named ‘David’, being based on excerpts from David Lange’s famous speech at the Oxford Union debate in March 1985 on the proposition ‘That all nuclear weapons are morally indefensible’.  These excerpts were played on tape, along with sound effects that fitted with the theme.  The words were not always readily deciphered, either from the speech or the choir, but they were printed in the programme – as were the words, plus translations where necessary, for all the items in the concert.

Much of the choral writing, along with the piano duet, was almost contrapuntal.  After the last part of the speech there were long choral chords.  The piano part was very busy, but as background rather than foreground.

The mood throughout the whole work was similar: solemn, and though promoting peace was much focused on the existence and characteristics of war.  It was very imaginative musically, with plenty of variety.  It made a considerable impression as a well-crafted and substantial composition.  It was not unduly long; the concert was over before 9pm.

The concert was an outstanding performance from all concerned; it was gratifying to learn that it is to be broadcast by RNZ Concert.  Congratulations to Michael Stewart, choir, pianists and organist – and to Gemma Peacocke.

If I have one criticism of the concert, it is that it would have been useful and informative to print in the programme the dates of each composer’s life, and also to give the dates (where known) of the compositions performed.

 

University cellists bring ensemble to St Andrew’s lunchtime concert series

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand School of Music Celli

Samuel Berkahn, Alex Hoare, Emily Peterson, Toby Pringle, Lavinnia Rae, Rebecca Warnes, Olivia Wilding, Inbal Megiddo (cellos)

Bach: Suite no.6 in D, Prelude
Albéniz: Malagenia (normally spelt Malagueña), arr. Claude Kenneson
Mozart: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, K.525, arr. Blaise Dejardin
Pergolesi: Stabat Mater, arr. Robert Legg

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 13 August 2017, 12.15pm

A well-filled church was treated to a very enjoyable concert performed by the New Zealand School of Music cello ensemble, made up of current and past cello students of the NZSM.  It opened with supremely well-played Bach, performed by Olivia Wilding.   There were a few slight lapses of intonation in this difficult music, but the cellist’s playing was highly competent and confident, her tone and volume excellent.

She was followed by the full ensemble of eight cellos playing, firstly, a Spanish piece.  I find that the arranger, Claude Kenneson, was a Canadian, who died a few years ago.  There was some magnificent playing, especially from those who did short solo parts.

Another arrangement was of the well known Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.  This was arranged by Blaise Dejardin.  Google informs me that he is a young French cellist now playing in the Boston Symphony Orchestra.  After a slightly shaky start to the allegro first movement, the ensemble showed excellent rhythm and phrasing throughout.  The players produced a pleasant tone, and the balance between the parts was fine.  However, the lack of variety in sound quality compared with hearing the full family of strings play the work made it pall a little.

The minuetto third movement seemed to me to be played too fast to allow a graceful dance to be performed to it.  There were a few rough moments.  The rondo final movement was brisk and robust.

The final item was another arrangement.  Pergolesi’s work was arranged by Robert Legg, a staff member of the New Zealand School of Music.  This was a very fine performance; the playing seemed somewhat better controlled than in the Mozart, with a lovely, cohesive tone.

The concert was proof of the excellent teaching going on at the School; the teacher, Inbal Megiddo, was part of the ensemble.

 

NZSM students give insightful performances of New Zealand music and pieces by Haydn, Beethoven, Brahms and Barber

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Lunchtime concert at Old St Paul’s

Piano students and a violinist from the New Zealand School of Music
Amanda Bunting, Matthew Oliver, Claudia Tarrant-Matthews (also, violin) and Sophie Tarrant-Matthews

Music by Beethoven, Barber, Psathas, Haydn, Brahms, Lilburn

Old St Paul’s

Tuesday 12 September 12:15 pm

We’ve been neglecting Old St Paul’s lunchtime concerts this year, and so I was glad to find a good audience for this varied exhibition of NZSM piano talent.

It began with Amanda Bunting who played two pieces: the first movement of Beethoven’s Tempest sonata (Op 31 No 2) and Samuel Barber’s Excursions, first movement. Though the Tempest is obviously still a work in progress, with quite a lot of slips, there remained an underlying understanding of its vigorous, shall we say, masculine character, both in its expostulatory and its equally masculine quality of sensitivity.

Then her playing of the first movement, Un poco allegro, of Samuel Barber’s Excursions, one of his best known piano pieces. It’s in four movements and might well be called a suite or even a sonata. Here was a better prepared and executed performance, dealing carefully with the sharp dynamic shifts and capturing the mid-century mood and moderate modernism of composers who had not succumbed to the pressures of serialism.  Its character reminds me, curiously, of one of John Psathas’s early pieces, Waiting for the Aeroplane which of course is quite irrelevant to one’s impressions of this performance.

The next pianist was Matthew Oliver who did, in fact play a couple of pieces by Psathas; the first and third movements from his Songs for Simon for piano and tape. There were problems with the tape, with both the apparent source and quality of the sound, and its intended relationship with the piano. I could detect little connection between what the piano was doing and what seemed to be unrelated sounds from the tape. The tape was hardly audible in the first section, His Second Time; but it was clearly intended to be more dominant in Demonic Thesis. Right at its beginning, the tape problem was again obvious and simply became a distraction; Oliver might better have settled for the piano part alone which was attractive, energetic and repetitive, in a jazz-influenced sense; and he played with energy, intelligence and insight.

While its accompaniment occasionally gave hints of what Psathas had intended, a process of mentally isolating of the piano part yielded music that was inventive and enjoyable. As one does these days, I listened to a YouTube recording by Donald Nicolson in order to get a proper impression of the piece that I regret that I hadn’t heard before: particularly the way the taped percussion sounds were integrated as intended with the piano. It deserves to be better known, and I look forward to a more technically successful performance.

Two sisters, Claudia and Sophie Tarrant-Matthews completed the recital. Claudia played first, the Presto, first movement of Haydn’s Sonata in E minor, Hob XVI/34. Her handling of the sonata was most accomplished, its tempo swift and fluent, the dynamic variety and subtleties understood and vividly expressed; the quiet wit that lies within most of Haydn’s music was conspicuous.

Then she played the first two of Brahms’s four Ballades Op 10. I have always found these strangely enigmatic in terms of their rhythmic and melodic intentions, and it’s never a good idea to attempt to give such characteristics certainty; she didn’t, and it was a satisfying performance. The second Ballade is more sunny and limpid in tone, and the performance again suggested that Claudia wasn’t seeking to solve its problems, to produce a definitive performance; as with so much Brahms, this is the way his music makes its impact and holds the attention. Technically, her playing was highly competent.

Lilburn’s third sonata for violin and piano
I have followed the careers of the two sisters with interest over the years: both have achieved distinction in both piano and violin. Sophie Tarrant-Matthews then introduced Lilburn’s Sonata for Violin and Piano in B minor, composed in 1950. I was sitting a few rows back and could not hear much of what she said, which might have included some of the following background.

This Lilburn violin sonata in B minor was actually his third, and so should be listed either as No 3, or defined by its key. Though the two sonatas, in E flat and C, of 1943 are relatively youthful works (well, he was 27 or 28), they are not insignificant; in fact, they are both around ten minutes longer than the B minor one. The ‘date’ test doesn’t consign to ‘insignificance’, other much played pieces such as the Drysdale, Aotearoa and Festival overtures, Landfall in Unknown Seas and the Canzonetta for violin and viola, all written before 1943.

There have been many recordings of the B minor sonata, perhaps most recently, together with the two 1943 sonatas, by Justine Cormack and Michael Houstoun. (see the list of earlier recordings in Peter Mechen’s review of 14 September 2011, of the recording by Elizabeth Holowell and Dean Sky-Lucas). The 1943 sonatas were first performed, respectively, by, Vivien Dixon (violin) and Anthea Harley Slack (piano), and Maurice Clare (violin) and Noel Newson (piano). The B minor sonata was written in 1950 for Frederick Page (pianist and head of the music department of Victoria University College) and violinist Ruth Pearl, after Lilburn had become a lecturer at the university; they premiered it at the university and then played it again three months later in Wigmore Hall in London.

As Sophie spoke, Claudia dispensed with her piano hands and reached for her violin, and her sister sat at the piano, which of course contributes much more than mere accompaniment to the work. To hear playing of such a finely integrated work by two sisters with years of experience playing together, was very interesting. The affinity between two who obviously enjoy a close musical rapport has developed over many years, to the point where they almost think and feel as one: with an intimately shared view of the character and shape of the music, and grasp of its melodic characteristics.

It’s in one movement, consisting of several contrasting phases, which are not distinct enough to be considered ‘movements’. For the record, the sections are marked: Molto moderato; Allegro; Tempo primo, largamente; Allegro; Allargando and Tempo I, tranquillamente; which returns the music to the home key of B minor.  The parts are conspicuous enough on the page, but the shifts in both tempo and tonality are so organically natural, and handled with such finesse that they clearly form parts of a carefully composed whole. Not only were the slow parts invested with a mature contemplative quality, but the Allegro sections were executed with strength and real conviction. The typical Lilburn spirit lies in the way the energetic B flat Allegro section subsides towards the end to return to the calm of the opening Molto moderato.

 

New Zealand Youth Choir delivers excellent concert, though absence of a major work regretted

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Anthems, spirituals and songs
New Zealand Youth Choir, conducted by David Squire and Michael Stewart; soloists and narrators from the choir

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Sunday, 10 September 2017, 4pm

The cover of the programme appeared to be the poster advertising the choir, but I did not see it anywhere earlier as a poster, and a friend in the audience to whom I spoke after the concert had not seen any publicity either.  Both of us found few people we knew in the audience, which also pointed to a lack of publicity.

The Youth Choir comprises 50 voices.  A delightful feature of the concert was that members of the choir read, prior to each song, the text of the poems, or other texts relevant to the message of the song.  This helped the audience to follow the songs,  since neither the words nor any explanatory notes were printed.  There appeared to be a microphone where the speakers stood, but if it was such (and not solely for broadcast purposes), it was not switched on.  However, most of the speakers spoke sufficiently loudly and clearly for the majority of the words to be heard.  Likewise with the singing, the words were projected with clarity, on the whole.

Blend, balance and intonation were virtually impeccable throughout the programme, and attention to dynamics was salutary.

The first item was ‘Flame’ by Englishman Ben Parry, who is director of the National Youth Choirs of Great Britain, and has visited New Zealand.  The choir was spread around the four walls to sing this demanding piece, unaccompanied – as were all except for one item on the programme.  The music included clashing semi-tones, all perfectly in tune.  Gradually the piece built up to a rich, multi-strand tapestry; the fortissimo filled the church with sound.  When it ended, the choristers moved to the front of the church, intoning a chant.

Next was an old favourite of the choir, right from its early days: ‘Kyrie’ and ‘Heilig’ by Mendelssohn.  The rich tone produced by the choir made it sound a more mature choir (in years) than it is.   Incidentally, I found it curious that a timeline of the choir printed in the programme did not mention Guy Jansen (the choir’s founder, and first conductor, who was present) nor Professor Godfrey, who conducted it for a number of years.

Deputy Music Director of the choir, Michael Stewart, conducted ‘Aurora Lucis rutilat’ by Orlande de Lassus (or Orlando di Lassus if you prefer). This was more restrained in tone than the previous pieces.  The various parts were eminently clear and the antiphonal singing was most effective.  It was useful to have the Latin words translated in the spoken introduction.

Chris Artley’s ‘Agnus Dei’ was the 3rd prize winner in the inaugural International

Choral Composition Competition Japan 2015, and it was the choir’s next item.  The composer, English-born but long-time New Zealand resident, set the words from the Mass.  It was striking both melodically and harmonically, and the composer had set the words beautifully.  It was gorgeously sung, following the opening, which was spoken in Emglish.

Bruckner has featured quite frequently in the choir’s repertoire over the years.  ‘Christus factus est’ was preceded by the appropriate reading of two verses in English from the Biblical letter to the Philippians.  Rich harmonies, typical of Bruckner’s choral music were a feature, including sustained chords.  Impressive.

For a change of mood and territory, we heard ‘How to survive Vesuvius’ by Matthew Recio, a young American composer. The brief preparatory reading about the piece was a little too quiet for me to hear.  The piece involved a variety of vocal effects, including many plosives and interesting harmonic shifts.  The piece rendered the atmosphere of a disaster very well.

After the interval, the pieces were all in the English language.  First was ‘Through coiled stillness’ by New Zealand composer Leonie Holmes.  It started with a spoken poem, in Maori and English.  Sounds of the sea were most impressively produced by members of the choir and a woman soloist sang strikingly along with the choir for much of the piece.  Towards the end there were chimes – bells?  Small Asian cymbals?

English composer Gustav Holst’s arrangement of the folk song ‘I love my love’ was prefaced by several members of the choir speaking as inmates of the infamous Bedlam, making a chilling introduction to the song.  Its spirited ending made an upbeat conclusion in contrast to the depressing opening.  Another Englishman followed: Pearsall, whose ‘Great God of Love’ featured his typical harmony, with many gorgeous suspensions.

Thence to the United States, with two spiritual arrangements by William Dawson: ‘Soon ah will be done’ and another old favourite of the choir, ‘There is a balm in Gilead’.  The first was particularly notable for the beautifully controlled dynamics falling from fortissimo to pianissimo.  The introduction to the latter was not the poem of the song, but a contemporary description of the cruel treatment of slaves.  The performance featured three excellent soloists from the choir.

The only work accompanied by piano (Michael Stewart) was ‘Those Others’, by Rosa Elliott from Burnside High School in Christchurch, who was the winner of SOUNZ Composition Competition in 2015.  It was a very fine piece with an enchanting accompaniment, and soloists.

The concert ended with Cole Porter’s ‘Ev’ry time we say goodbye’, a close harmony number, sung with appropriate style and pronunciation.

The concert was not long – about an hour and ten minutes, if the interval is not included.  While the choir sang extremely well, I felt a lack of something substantial; all the pieces were short, with little relationship between them, although they amply showed off the different styles and techniques the choir has mastered.  Perhaps the organisers were aware of the discomfort of sitting for long on the forms that pass for pews at Sacred Heart?

 

 

Orchestra Wellington with scintillating programme: Grieg piano concerto midst spectacular orchestral waltzes

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Orchestra Wellington conducted by Marc Taddei
Pianist: Jian Liu

Ravel: Valses nobles et sentimentales
Grieg: Piano Concerto in A minor
Weber: Invitation to the Dance (orchestrated by Berlioz)
Ravel: La valse

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 9 September, 7:30 pm

Orchestra Wellington’s 2017 series has followed the theme of music inspired or commissioned by the great impresario Serge Diaghilev. The two pieces with Diaghilev connections at this concert were Weber’s Invitation to the Dance and Ravel’s La valse, though there was also a ballet connection with the first Ravel music in the programme which was originally a set of waltzes for piano which Ravel orchestrated at the request, not of Diaghilev, but of ballerina Natasha Trouhanova.

Ravel based his set of eight waltzes on the many that Schubert had written for the piano: a set of 34 dances entitled Valses sentimentales, in 1823 and a set of 12 entitled Valses nobles, in 1826. Ravel originally called his orchestrated waltzes Adélaïde, ou le langage des fleurs.

A programme note by pianist Richard Dowling describes the original ballet performance: “It was orchestrated in two weeks in March 1912 and the ballet was performed in April 22, 1912 at the Théatre du Chatelet with Ravel conducting the Lamoreux Orchestra. Mme. Trouhanova danced the part of Adelaide. The premiere was an outstanding event, as four ballets were conducted by their respective composers, Vincent d’Indy, Florent Schmitt, Paul Dukas, and Ravel.”

Ravel composed, not just a set of individual dances, but a sensitively composed, unified work. That’s not to say it has a formal structure like a sonata movement, but a sequence that finds unity in melodic, rhythmic, emotional contrast in a way similar to the pattern of a suite or set of character pieces such as Schumann composed for the piano. The variety ensures that the listener is constantly stimulated by something fresh, but a creatively composed suite also creates a coherent, integrated group, each supporting or offering a connection with the next.

The problem with music that has been first conceived for a certain instrument or instruments, and later arranged for others, is the feeling, hard to dislodge, that the second version is something of a compromise or trade-off with the original. Here the big orchestra dramatized the waltzes, perhaps burdening the piano score with unnecessary colour and tonal variety; Taddei was careful to invest them with appropriate charm, energy, calm, delicacy, a touch of mystery or melancholy, the unexpected or enigmatic.

Grieg’s piano concerto is allegedly one of the most popular, but I’m mystified as to how it gains familiarity these days when there are so few live performances (that I have recent memory of); nor does it get played by RNZ Concert (which is surprising in light of their obsession with certain categories of the very popular classics). So what emerged as a lovely performance of a, to me, thoroughly familiar and well-loved concerto might not have been that for many of the audience. In addition, it used commonly to be belittled as a youthful, immature work, and evidence that Grieg was merely a miniaturist and couldn’t handle big forms. I’ve never agreed at all.

I used to love the Schumann concerto (which we heard played by Stephen de Pledge a month ago) more than Grieg’s, but the effect of this performance re-awoke my affection for Grieg, with Jian Liu’s luminous, calm, deeply felt performance and demeanour, and with very similar characteristics emerging from the orchestra.

New-comers to it could scarcely have had a more persuasive introduction. All its important features were in place: the big opening timpani statement preceding the arresting piano double octaves that at once subsides as the orchestra quietly runs through the opening themes long before the piano re-enters to elaborate on what we’ve heard. Jian Liu at once established his tone of poetic graciousness that really characterised the whole piece, even in the more flamboyant parts of the last movement, though I note that it’s marked ‘Allegro moderato molto e marcato’ rather that ‘molto vivace’ or ‘presto’, or ‘con fuoco’, etc. Though the long cadenza is a poetic rather than a virtuoso exercise, which Liu made no attempt to impose, all the brilliance necessary was there, and he seemed always driven by the view of the cadenza as an integral part of movement. Each phrase was given charming breathing space, and such things as slightly prolonged gaps between certain big chords at its climax were beautifully judged.

The second movement expresses a gentle calm that Liu approached almost diffidently, though the deft keyboard flutterings, at one point duetting with Ed Allen’s perfectly sympathetic solo horn and with Mark Cookson’s clarinet also distinctive. But the charms of the slow-movement don’t end, as the last movement too, passes through contrasting meditative and calm episodes between its excitable and challenging bravura passages.

Weber’s Invitation
I was ready to consider the Grieg the concert’s highlight (and really, it was), but to get a rare live hearing of Berlioz’s sensitive and felicitous orchestration of Weber’s Invitation to the Dance was a treat, and attention was rightly focused on Brenton Veitch’s beautiful cello ‘invitation’ and courteous ‘escorting of his partner back to her seat’ after the waltz ends. Marc Taddei’s own introduction, discreetly reminding those unfamiliar with it not to clap at the end of the waltz itself, did the trick. It was a lovely way to awaken those who had not already discovered it, to Berlioz’s genius in finding extraordinarily sensitive orchestral interpretations of tales, moods and visual scenes.

La valse
If I’d felt that the Ravellian orchestra weighed a bit heavily on the Valses nobles…,  La valse itself was rather different, conceived and designed by Ravel as an orchestral tour-de-force. This performance, employing very large wind and percussion sections, and two harps, emphasised the traditional character of ‘the waltz’ and for about two-thirds of its length it may have been formally modelled on the concert waltzes of Johann or Richard Strauss. But it becomes increasingly clear that the composer wanted to dramatise the potentially frenzied and chaotic characteristics that he felt impacted 19th century society, and the orchestra successfully navigated its path to the almost stupefying climax with increasing intensity, yet there was little loss of detail in the performance that was truly a credit to Taddei and the orchestra.

 

Dangerous liaisons investigated by New Zealand String Quartet in restored St Mary’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand String Quartet (Helene Pohl and Monique Lapins violins; Gillian Ansell, viola; Rolf Gjelsten, cello)

Beethoven: String Quartet no.1 in F, Op.18 no.1
Bartók: String Quartet no.1 in A minor, Sz.40
Schumann: String Quartet in A, Op.41 no.3

St. Mary of the Angels Church

Thursday, 7 September 2017, 7.30pm

This year, the Quartet’s tour was entitled ‘Dangerous Liaisons’, and introductory remarks explained how this epithet applied to each of the three composers whose early compositions in the genre the items were.

It was a robust and demanding programme heard by a rather modest audience.  Two little deficiencies for me: the lights were switched off entirely, save for the spotlights on the players (more of that later), and thus one could not refer to the programme during the concert; secondly, the printed programme did not carry the tempo designations of the movements.  The latter are always useful to know.  However, the spoken introductions were valuable, especially the longer one, with many musical examples, given by Helene Pohl for the Bartók..

The acoustic of the beautifully refurbished St. Mary of the Angels church is eminently suitable for chamber music, and it was good to hear all the subtleties; these can be lost in a bigger venue.  Every nuance was present in the Beethoven quartet; there was nothing mechanical about this playing.  The grand gestures of the first movement (allegro con brio) were interrupted by gentler passages.

The second movement adagio affetuoso ed appassionato, was influenced, the composer said, by the final, tragic scene in Romeo and Juliet – the ‘dangerous liaison’.  The solemn opening set the scene; towards the end the music had hints of yearning.  The beautifully expressive playing could be heard so well in the church,  Gorgeous lilting passages were followed by highly dramatic ones.

The scherzo third movement was a great contrast, being quite jolly in nature, driving ever onward.  The allegro final movement began in similar mood to the third, though it was a little more serious.  Counterpoint abounded.  Despite this quartet being one of the composer’s first, it was very assured.  Its close was flourishing and satisfying.

From early Beethoven (despite his quartet being numbered as no.1, apparently it was not the first, the numbering not being strictly chronological) to Bartók’s first composition in this genre.   The quartet is in three movements, played without breaks between.

A doleful introduction to the lento first movement evolved into more dramatic music, reflecting the composer’s unrequited love for the violinist Stefi Geyer, who broke off their relationship (another ‘dangerous liaison’).  Many different elements are present, but all the music was played in the same committed, unified way.  There are numerous passages where the violins play together, then the lower strings follow.  Concerted episodes abound also, including impassioned ones.

The second movement is marked allegretto (sometimes referred to as poco a poco accelerando all’allegretto). The quickening tempo between the three movements made its mark despite no more than the slightest breaks.  The third was allegro vivace.  Hungarian folk music features particularly in the latter two movements.  The music was often tense and highly strung and towards the end became frenetic.

It was a brilliant performance, and made me think how fortunate we are to have a resident quartet of such a high standard.

Monique Lapins introduced the final work, the Schumann.  Again, it was an early work, written in his ‘year of chamber music’, 1842, and composed in just three days.  Because of the enormous opposition from Clara Wieck’s father to her marrying Robert Schumann, and their recourse to the courts to gain permission, this too was a ‘dangerous liaison’.

Perhaps partly because Robert had by this time married Clara, the quartet is not as impassioned as the two quartets heard in the first half, and is considerably more lyrical than they.  However, it is not without passion, and the work’s many ascending sequences engender a positive mood.
(The movements are: 1. Andante espressivo – Allegro molto moderato, 2. Assai agitato, 3. Adagio molto, 4. Finale: Allegro molto vivace.)

Compared with the two works played earlier, this work was relatively straightforward; it was certainly more  Romantic, particularly the second movement, though the mood became gradually more disturbed, before the busy movement drew to a peaceful close.

Another disturbance intervened: the spotlights shining on the musicians went off, and there they were, playing just by the light of approximately 40 candles behind them.  As true professionals, not a note or a beat was missed, and they carried on.  The priest was able to go into an adjacent room and turn on the house lights, but the lighting for the players’ scores was not as good as the five spotlights had been.  It was easier for the reviewer to write notes, though!

The third movement was slow yet passionate in its opening phrases.  The music modulated and became more sombre.  The underpinning of the upper parts by pizzicato cello was most effective.  The melody here could be that of a song, something that Schumann excelled at, of course.

The final movement was quite jovial, like a lively dance, and brought the concert to a pleasing close.

There were some down-sides to this concert: the church was cold; the pews are very hard for sitting on for a concert-length period of time.  Then there was the lighting; at first, none for the audience, and then the failure.  As we exited the church, the priest remarked that the street lights were out.  All the CBD was without street lights, but traffic lights were working, as were lights in shop windows and some floors of office buildings.  This was noted in Friday’s news; it affected some suburbs as well as the central city.  Driving home, I was without street lights until coming to Molesworth Street.  But why should the temporary lights inside the church be affected??

 

St Andrew’s captures fascinating sample from the 44th International Viola Congress in Wellington

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Recital by leading Polish violist Marcin Murawski and pianist Gabriela Glapska

Music by Grażyna Bacewicz, Michael Kimber, Paweł Michałowski, Henryk Wieniawski, Władysław Żeleński, Fryderyk Chopin

St  Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 6 September, 12:15 pm

St Andrew’s managed to attract one of the visitors to the 44th International Viola Congress that was held in Wellington over the weekend. Polish violist Marcin Murawski together with pianist Gabriela Glapska (Polish doctoral student at Victoria University’s School of Music) played an interesting 45 minutes of Polish music. Apart from a couple of pieces by contemporary composers, most was by 19th century composers, and it was little surprise to find that two of Chopin’s Nocturnes ended the recital and that another was by one of the most brilliant composer/violinists of the 19th century, Henryk Wieniawski.

It was a programme that confirmed the impression that most would have, that the viola is an unostentatious instrument whose forte is meditative, calm, elegiac music, rather in line with at least some of the music that was played in the NZSO concert on Monday when three violists from the congress played evocative, pictorial, striking works written or arranged for the viola.

This concert consisted of pieces that were apparently composed for the viola, though the two Chopin Nocturnes were obviously and very successfully given a viola line.

The first piece, Polish Caprice, for solo viola, was written in 1949 by Grażyna Bacewicz (1909-1969) who, the Internet tells me, Paderewski enabled to attend an academy in Paris where she studied with Nadia Boulanger. She is regarded as the most outstanding 20th century Polish female composer. It presented the viola in its quintessential character, thoughtful, very quiet and slow, hovering around the bottom, C string. But it soon evolved into a short, brisk dance-like phase, individual in character and somewhat angular. It ended all of a sudden.

United States composer and violist Michael Kimber wrote Murovisation. He is clearly a close friend and colleague of Murawski who has released six CDs of Kimber’s music played by Murawski’s viola quartet; Murovisation, again for viola alone, is on the first of those discs, its title clearly acknowledging the relationship between composer and violist. It is one of those pieces that opens so tentatively that I thought for a moment he was just tuning up. It became a series of slow, rising, widely spaced notes, a sort of arpeggio, endlessly, slowly, modifying as if exploring for the listener’s sake, the secrets of the viola’s beauty with a sense of mystery. It gradually accelerated, tumultuously and then returned, slowing to the sounds with which it started.

Paweł Michałowski was born in Wrocław in 1982 and appears to be primarily a bass guitar player, but with many other musical and scholarly sidelines, including a PhD that sought to reconstruct John Lock’s philosophy of language. I found a reference to his Lullaby Passacaglia (Passacaglia kołysanka, if you’d like the Polish) on a CD of passacaglias by several composers from Biber onward, played by a quartet of two violas, violin and piano, one of the violas being Murawski, though he played it here as a solo viola piece. It was a lullaby in the sense of being slowly rhythmic, quiet, such as to send a child to sleep; not the least dissonant, but subject to a slowly increasing intensity of expression. It demanded considerable technical feats that did not aim to be flamboyant or virtuosic.

Then came composer and great violinist Wieniawski and, for the first time, pianist Gabriela Glapski. Wieniawski’s Reverie offered alternating piano and viola solo passages at the beginning, so we become aware that Murawski had a highly talented partner. The music matched its title, creating a mood suggesting the two reminiscing, and when they came together the reflective mood remained though each became more distinct.

Throughout the concert, Murawski’s instrument and his playing captured what I have always felt to be the essence of the viola’s character. What Wieniawski we usually hear are the violin concertos – splendid pieces – and so it was interesting to hear something different that confirmed his place as a real composer rather than one confined to the player’s own instrument.

Władysław Żeleński was a contemporary of Tchaikovsky, Dvořák, Grieg,… and his Lullaby (kołysanka again) sounded of that period. His melodies betrayed a distinct Romantic strain, which viola and piano captured in a subdued, rocking rhythm.

Two of Chopin’s Nocturnes (No 18 in E, Op 62/2 and No 13 in C minor, Op 48/1) were obvious candidates to continue the theme, with the addition of a viola line that seemed a perfectly integral part of the music and did not detract from the spirit of Chopin’s creations. Naturally, neither called for pyrotechnics, and the players’ approach was a combination of conviction and an unaffected aim to be faithful to the original; in fact Chopin’s long melodic lines almost suggested that it might have been Chopin who had reduced the score for viola and piano to piano alone.

So, though I was delighted to be at the Viola Congress’s concert with the NZSO on Monday, I rather regretted not getting to any of the events during the weekend (as I had at the 2001 congress that was similarly hosted by Donald Maurice and Massey University’s then Conservatorium of Music) and so I was very happy to hear this visitor’s playing, first of music of, for me, unknown Polish composers, and second, such quintessentially evocative and beautiful viola music.

 

An engaging performance by a young Auckland piano trio

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Auckland Piano Trio (James Jin, violin; Xing Wang, piano; James sang-oh Yoo, cello)
(Waikanae Music Society)

Mozart: Piano Trio no.6 in G, K.564
Kodály: Duo for violin and cello, Op.7
Arensky: Piano Trio no.1 in D minor, Op.32

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 3 September 2017, 2.30pm

This is a trio of young players.  The two string players are currently playing in the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra.  The pianist in 2015 won the NZ School of Music concerto competition.  All three have studied overseas; James Jin won the same competition in 2014 that his female colleague won the following year.  The cellist has spent most of his career in Australia so far.

Their engaging manner of performing was initiated by the violinist introducing the first work with interesting remarks and, along with his colleagues, playing themes from the music.  He explained, and demonstrated, that the string players are merely accompanying the piano most of the time.  This being the case, I was surprised not to have more sound from the piano.  The lid was on the short stick, and the piano simply did not speak through the sound of the strings; it was too reticent.

The second movement, andante: thema mit variationen (as shown in the programme, but more usually con variazioni) featured a theme beautifully played on the piano with lovely sustained notes – without use of the sustaining pedal.  The great clarity of Mozart’s writing was thus revealed.  Phrasing, too was impeccable.

This was not the most scintillating of Mozart’s chamber music, but it received light and airy playing.  The allegretto final movement included delightful rippling effects.  Perhaps I sat too close to the platform; I found the strings not the most mellow I’ve heard; this may also have been the result of playing Mozart on modern instruments but using minimal vibrato to emulate a classical style.

Originally the programme was to have included Shostakovich’s Sonata for cello and piano Op. 40.  However, substituted for it was the Kodály Duo.  Again, the violinist gave a commentary.  While this is helpful communication, I couldn’t help feeling it was partly a filler for a rather short concert programme.

The first movement, allegro serioso non troppo, featured both pizzicato and spiccato techniques for the string players.  There were extravert, rapid Hungarian dances full of vitality, interspersed with soulful passages.   The movement quietly tailed off.

The second movement, adagio, carried  quiet melodies for each instrument.  There was great variation of dynamics, and some brilliant passages for violin, followed by some for cello; the cellist was required to play pizzicato with the left hand, while it was also making the notes, and the right hand bowing at the same time.  Harmonics were employed also, and high notes almost at the extremity of the fingerboard.

The third movement, maestoso e largamente, ma non troppo lento, opened strongly, with the violin playing an angular theme.  Then both strings played pizzicato, interspersed with declamatory chords.  Were these gongs of war we were hearing?  The work was written in 1914.  There was certainly quite a lot of discordant writing.  I found it ominous.  Featured was a pentatonic melody for violin.  After the slow introduction, a presto brought the work energetically to an end.  The work was a  vigorous contrast to the Mozart, but the aesthetic was not one with which I was comfortable.

Utterly contrasted was the final work.  Arensky’s Romantic trio was written only 20 years before the Kodály Duo, but seems worlds apart.  After another spoken introduction with played examples, we were straight into an opening theme on the violin which recurs, with some alteration, in later movements.  A conversation of flowing figures was between all three instruments.

I noticed that now the lid of the piano was on the long stick; it presumably was thought more appropriate for the late nineteenth century work – but after all, the piano was the principal instrument in the Mozart work, and deserved a little more prominence than it received.  Compared with the Mozart, the Arensky work was much more of an equal partnership between the performers.

There were a few moments here and there in the Arensky where intonation was not quite matching between the strings.

The key of D minor was appropriate, encapsulating the spirit of mourning; the trio was written in mourning for the passing a few years earlier of cello virtuoso and Conservatory director Karl Davidoff.

The scherzo movement was carefree, enchanting and scintillating, featuring much pizzicato.  The second section was more sombre, even lumbering, but quixotic  A return to the opening feather-light music came through a teasing, hesitant bridge passage.  The music ws always moving and driving forward, until the cheeky little ending.

The elegia: adagio slow movement, began with variations on the opening theme from the first movement on cello alone, then the violin joined in; both instruments were muted.  This was followed by meditative music, in which the piano took the melodic lead.  The violin had its turn before we were back to the solemn, romantic melody of the opening.

The finale, allegro non troppo, began in declamatory style, with plenty for each player to do.  Echoes of the main theme from the first movement returned as a second subject.  But here it was a much more robust statement.  Here again, the strings were not always absolutely together with either intonation or rhythm.

A return to the opening theme for firstly, violin and then cello was followed by a rapid conclusion.

This was an interesting programme performed by very competent young players.  The hall was not as well filled as usual; the price perhaps of unknown performers.

 

 

Momentous performances of Beethoven violin sonatas: the third and fourth recitals

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Michael Houstoun (piano) and Bella Hristova (violin)
Chamber Music New Zealand

Beethoven’s Violin Sonatas: Concerts 3 and 4

Violin Sonata No 8 in G, Op 30 No 3 and No 9 in A, Op 47 (‘Kreutzer’)
Violin Sonata No 3 in E flat, Op 12 No 3 and No 10 in G, Op 96

Renouf Foyer, Michael Fowler Centre

Wednesday 30 August and Thursday 31 August 2017, noon

My only knowledge of an earlier full cycle of Beethoven’s violin sonatas is at the first New Zealand International Festival of the Arts in 1986. They were played by Maurice Hasson and Maurice Till, in three recitals: two in the old Concert Chamber of the Town Hall and the third, which included the Kreutzer, in the main auditorium of the Town Hall. The old concert chamber, for those whose memories are not so long, seated many more than its replacement the Ilott did; it was upstairs, where the mayoral chambers were located after the 1990s refurbishment of the building (just incidentally, why was that major restoration not sufficient to meet earthquake standards only two decades later?).

It was the beginning of a truly optimistic era when Wellington’s claimed cultural pre-eminence was fairly undisputed; that ritual claim is now a joke. The music-rich festival was possible as a result of sponsorship by most of the major New Zealand state and private corporations, most of which abandoned Wellington as an indirect result of the neo-liberal devastation of the late 80s and early 90s. At that first, 1986, festival there were about 36 concerts of real classical music, which I’ll write about in an ‘extra’ article shortly.

This time we heard at the piano the most distinguished of Maurice Till’s pupils. Houstoun and the 2007 winner of the Michael Hill International Violin Competition spread them over five hour-long lunchtime recitals, in the Renouf Foyer where they were positioned backing the long south wall , between the two bars.

The sonatas were paired interestingly, the first and the second of each set of three, together; Opp 12 and 30; the Op 23 and 24 pair (which had probably been intended to be published under the same opus number) were played together on Tuesday; while the last two, Opp 47 and 96, had the third of the Opp 12 and 30 sets as mates.

Op 30 No 3, in G, opened calmly and swiftly (relative to some), both instruments in admirable accord in terms of dynamics and expressive detail, allowing a quite subtle increase in volume as the theme was repeated. The piano seems to make the running for some time, while the violin is involved in more decorative effects, perhaps reflecting sympathetically on what the piano is saying. The atmosphere hardly changes from a congenial and sunny character apart from the few moments when the violin delivers rapid tremolo phrases.

There was a charming touch of hesitancy in the Minuet, second movement which is largely a study in triplets – triplet quavers inside the minuet rhythm, yet in many ways it seemed to be the thoughtful, meditative heart of the sonata. And the last movement, though fast, never sacrificed its basic elegance which was shared gracefully between the two instruments.

The ‘Kreutzer’ Sonata
Then the Kreutzer. Unlike all the earlier sonatas, its inspiration lay in intended performance by a star violinist, and its quasi-symphonic character confers a reputation that tends to put it in a privileged class. A provenance similar to that of Op 96 which was in Thursday’s concert, and which for me is at least as interesting. However, the Kreutzer is a big drama and the two met it on those terms. The singular, tentative opening by the violin set the scene which was reflected in different colours by the piano. It seemed to me that the shifting moods and meanings of the body of the first movement were superbly balanced as each instrument found its own voice, the one never impeding the other, even through the increasingly tumultuous episodes.

The ‘theme and variations’ second movement opens undemonstratively, but goes through the typical range of sharply contrasted variations, the first two offering a dominant role, inviting attentiveness first to one, then to the other was like a display of mutual admiration and respect. Later came the time for virtuosic, meditative, more purely decorative episodes but ending in pensive tones. The Presto movement suggests a tarantella, and the players again dealt impressively with the successive, abrupt mood changes: calm, then agitated and brilliant. They were admirably balanced and cohesive, and given their contrasting musical backgrounds, displaying a oneness of vision that filled the space.

Thursday: Opus 12 No 3
The Thursday concert included the other stand-alone sonata, Op 96 – the tenth, premiered in 1813, nearly a decade after the ‘Kreutzer’. It might have been interesting to have heard the two successively.

But first came the third of the Opus 12 sonatas, in E flat, and it was here that I felt, for the only time, that the piano was out of step with the violin. The piano was in charge right from the start; not merely in charge, but somewhat unmindful of the complementary role of the violin. It was an impression that I was initially ready to attribute to my position, on the right side of the players, that is, the Town Hall side (on Wednesday I’d been on the left of the players). It was so unexpected that I imagined for a while that I was imagining the effect, and that I must try to rid my head of prejudice, if that was the problem. But even when piano and violin seemed equal partners in terms of the music’s spirit and interest, I couldn’t avoid the feeling that the piano was careless of its impact on the balance; and I couldn’t persuade myself that it was somehow the violin which was not measuring up.

The second movement brought better balance however, even where the violin’s role was to express the calm and dreaminess of the Adagio, and so this was the most successful part of the E flat sonata. However, in the third movement the same sort of imbalance recurred. While I didn’t conduct a statistically flawless survey, the odd comment from acquaintances, unprompted, rather confirmed my own impressions.

Opus 96
The Opus 96, G major sonata (the second of the ten in that key), returned to the flawless performances of the two sonatas on Wednesday, where there existed a courteous and discreet balance between the two parties; a congenial conversation between them, reasoned and thoughtful. Between its expressive thematic clauses, decorative passagework was shared beautifully between the two. The character of the Adagio espressivo, and much else in the piece, which the programme notes attributed to the known talents of the violinist for whom it was written, was particularly rapturous: meditative in the best Beethovenian sense, unobtrusive and wistful. It responded magically to the sensitivity and supremely unhurried pace at which Hristova and Houstoun stepped through it.

I will now risk confessing that I had forgotten that the music that emerged in the fourth movement and which I seemed to know much better than the earlier movements, belonged to this sonata. As a finale, it seems unusual, not at all a compulsive race to the finish, but a series of superficially distinct episodes, in turn animated, brusque, meditative, meandering, in lively conversations that dart suddenly this way and that. As you think the real coda has at last arrived, comes yet another change of mood and a sort of secretive exchange emerges till the first theme reappears, only to be interrupted as the listener is tricked again and again, Haydn-like, by unfulfilled expectations. I may well have decided that this was my favourite of the ten sonatas, though with players of the calibre and sensitivity of these two it tended to be the response to nearly every one of them.

Compressed, alternative version of Mozart’s Figaro treated with wit and flair

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Mozart: The (other!) Marriage of Figaro, libretto by Georgia Jamieson Emms

Wanderlust Opera
Alicia Cadwgan (Susannah), Stuart Coats (Figaro), Megan Corby (Marcellina), Georgina Jamieson Emms (Countess), Barbara Paterson (Cherubino), Orene Tiai (Count), Fiona McCabe (accompanist)

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 30 August 2017, 12:15

Although only a few weeks ago Eternity Opera put on Mozart’s famous opera at the Hannah Playhouse, this was something very different.  Georgia Jamieson Emms’s group are to perform a fully-staged production of their show on 20 and 22 October at St. Matthew’s Collegiate, Masterton, then next summer take it on tour.  A good-sized audience was present for the concert, despite Houstoun and Hristova performing Beethoven at the other end of town.

It was both hilarious and very well performed.  Jamieson Emms knows how to use microphone, which was a great advantage when delivering her linking narrative.  She also knows how to write funny lines to well-known melodies.  On the whole, but not exclusively, arias stuck to English translations of the original words, while recitatives let fly with topical New Zealand references and colloquial language – not to mention music that Mozart never knew.  What about a bit of Evita thrown in?  And the old American song with words ‘Oh Susannah!’?

There were deviations to the text alluding to the performance being in St. Andrew’s Church.  Throughout, there was clear diction, superb timing, and lively acting, the latter admittedly somewhat limited by a small platform.

The show started with Susanna and Figaro literally measuring up their room.  They were both full of life and sang splendidly.  Throughout the performance the singers lived their characters.  The only partial exception was Orene Tiai as the Count, but this was thoroughly excusable; it was explained that he had come in at short notice when Craig Beardsworth was not able to perform.

Stuart Coats continued with ‘Se vuol ballare’, translated as ‘Come to my party’.  Most of his arias and ensembles he sang from memory, with panache and enthusiasm. The duet between Marcellina and Susanna was a most amusing narrative.  It was interesting to seem them using iPods instead of paper scores to read their parts.  However, they knew their scores well, and did not refer to the aids frequently.  Others in the cast used these tools occasionally later, too.  Up till now I had only seen pianists use these devices.

Next was a very lively and active Cherubino, in the form of Barbara Paterson.  This part suited her superbly, and I found her singing thoroughly engaging, compared with some recent occasions, where obviously the music did not suit her so well.  Her interactions with Susanna were entertaining and believable.

In the following trio the Count was added to the two we had just heard; Orene Tiai was very good in the role.  He was inevitably outshone by Figaro, though.  Stuart Coats  (who sang without score) was very strong, and always humorous.

For a complete change, Georgia Jamieson Emms gave us a very demure, gentle and understated Countess.  The contrast was most effective, coming before a lively Susanna/Cherubino duet, in which the latter proved her athleticism – her jumping out of the window was rendered by her jumping off the platform.

In the sextet of all the characters, all sang with full voice – it became a little overpowering in the excellent acoustics of St. Andrew’s.  Fiona McCabe’s accompaniments were always absolutely with the singers, and immaculate.

In the Letter Duet, the Countess’s and Susanna’s voices were absolutely lovely together, and their timing was perfect.

Another hilarious solo from Figaro brought us to the Finale, in which all sing.  It started from the point at which the Count realises that it is the Countess who is dressed as Susanna.  The voices were all outstanding, the ensemble was achieved fabulously well, and the acting was animated.

All in all, a delightful hour-long show.  I hope that Wellington audiences will get a chance to see the opera complete, with sets and costumes.  All praise to the participants, but especially to Georgia Jamieson Emms.