Category: Live performance

Brilliant guitar recital from Owen Moriarty at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Owen Moriarty – guitar

Music by Marek Pasieczny Joaquin Rodrigo, Manuel Ponce, Mauro Giuliani

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 8 April, 12:15 pm

At some stage at most guitar recitals, the famous words of Chopin come to mind. “Nothing is more beautiful than a guitar, except, possibly, two.” We had only one, though Jane Curry, head of guitar at the university School of Music, was there too, evidently without her guitar.

Owen Moriarty began with the youngest piece, a Little Sonata by Polish-born Marek Pasieczny (it was wrongly spelled in the programme). It was in four movements, inspired by Schubert’s set of four piano pieces, the Impromptus, Op. 90; and the title was suggested by Hindemith’s ‘Kleine Sonate’.  In truth, it was quite some distance from Schubert, but I knew what he meant: each movement was in a spirit that, give or take a couple of centuries, owed something to the outward shape or spirit of Schubert’s. Schubert’s first piece is marked Allegro molto moderato; Pasieczny’s is Moderato galante; the second, the favourite Schubert Impromptu, in quaver triplets in E flat, is simply Allegro while Pasieczny’s is marked Lento religioso, rather different.

Never mind. The first was ‘galant’ – mid 18th century – sure enough, in character, though somewhat advanced in melodic shape and harmony. Like most of the programme, it afforded Moriarty excellent scope for his superb dynamic subtleties; and the gentle second piece was an even better example of the way the player shifted the sound not merely through the vigour of the plucking but by the position of his right hand working the strings. The third piece, Arpeggiato largamente opened with spacious broken chords that led to charmingly worked out themes; while the fourth, the equivalent of Schubert’s fast A flat Impromptu, exploited the guitar’s essential strumming technique, vigorous and somewhat grand as it reached the end.

Rodrigo’s Bajando de la Meseta is one of five pieces in a suite characterising regions of Spain, this one literally, ‘Lowering the plateau’; Meseta refers here, specifically to the plateau of New Castile (Castilla Nueva), the most central region of Spain in which Madrid is situated. It opened in a deliberate manner, lento strumming, in fast common time, which shifted to triplets, increasingly virtuosic with fast scales and fancy decorative passages.

Ponce’s Balletto and Preludio comes from a generation before Rodrigo. He had an association with Andres Segovia and the two were complicit in publishing this pair of pieces as a newly discovered work of the great lutenist Silvius Leopold Weiss, a contemporary of J S Bach; this was the era when Kreisler was turning out pieces that he attributed to various baroque composers.

It certainly worked as a piece of that age, the Balletto, charming, slow and danceable; while the Preludio was subject to several rhythm changes with motifs weaving through various lines adroitly delineated by the player.

The real spectacle came with Rossiniana No 1 (of six) by the Italian guitarist Giuliani whose guitar concertos (more than one I think) were familiar a few years ago, but not heard (by me) recently. This was one of six pot-pourris on tunes from Rossini’s operas arranged freely and with huge flair and an eye to impressive virtuosity. The tunes were somewhat familiar, at least one from L’italiana in Algeri?, with the last leading to the typical Rossini crescendo of increasing excitement and spectacular agility by both the guitarist’s hands

Another piece by Rodrigo was the last item in the programme: Pequena Sevilliana – The Girl from Seville. Coming from Andalusia, flamenco music was to be expected, but quirky, with little twists that involved the fingers darting all over the finger-board. It was a delightful finish to a highly entertaining and revelatory recital of, quite simply, international calibre guitar playing.

 

Memorable and illuminating exploration of the Miserere, its rivals earlier and later, by The Tudor Consort and Michael Stewart

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Tudor Consort conducted by Michael Stewart

Miserere:  Music for Holy Week

Cathedral of Saint Paul, Wellington

Friday 3 April, 7:30 pm

I have been rather neglectful in recent years of pre-concert talks. This time, even in the disagreeable face of train replacement by buses and possible crowds heading for the Stadium, I decided to expose myself to the possibility that I might learn something by listening to Michael Stewart. I had already heard him talking with Eva Radich on Upbeat and wanted to get a bit more clarity on the subject of the vicissitudes of Allegri’s Miserere. A very good crowd had also come early to hear the talk, which Michael illustrated with projections of various parts of various versions of the work, as well as by singing key phrases with such acute brilliance.

The Miserere is the first word of Psalm 51 (50 in the Latin, Vulgate Bible) and has long been a part of the Catholic liturgy for Holy Week, sung at the end of the Tenebrae office, ritually sung in increasing darkness as 15 candles are extinguished in the course of the singing. At its end there follows the Strepitus, or loud noise that represents the earthquake believed to have followed Christ’s death, done by ‘slamming a book shut, banging a Hymnal or Breviary against the pew, or stomping on the floor’ (Wikipedia).

Michael Stewart’s commentary
Stewart spoke of the various versions of the Miserere, both before and after Allegri’s; the secrecy imposed on the Allegri setting by the Vatican, its notation by the 14-year-old Mozart (thus in 1770), and the Papal response later, as Clement XIV praised Mozart personally for the genius of his accuracy in transcription. In the meantime Mozart had given English music historian Charles Burney a copy and it was published in 1771 (so soon?).  Later aural recordings were made by Mendelssohn and Liszt.

The young Mozart’s action was recorded in a letter home from Wolfgang’s father immediately after.

It was also recorded in 1792, the year after Mozart’s death, by his sister: “…they travelled on the 15th March 1770 to Parma, Bologna, Florence, [on] to Rome, here they arrived during Holy Week. On Wednesday afternoon they accordingly went at once to the Sistine Chapel, to hear the famous Miserere. And as according to tradition it was forbidden under ban of excommunication to make a copy of it from the papal music, the son undertook to hear it and then copy it out. And so it came about that when he came home, he wrote it out, the next day he went back again, holding his copy in his hat, to see whether he had got it right or not. But a different Miserere was sung. However, on Good Friday the first was repeated again. After he had returned home he made a correction here and there, then it was ready. It soon became known in Rome, [and] he had to sing it at the clavier at a concert.”

But one has to note that the co-author of the version performed by The Sixteen under Harry Christophers, Ben Byram-Wigfield, writes: “And several myths have grown up around the piece, such as the idea that the Pope forbade copying of the work, punishable by excommunication; and the young Mozart supposedly copying the work after hearing it performed. Neither is true.”  (http://ancientgroove.co.uk/essays/allegri.html)

The question of embellishment was also interesting. It is said that the actual ornaments used in the Sistine Chapel were, as much as anything, the most closely guarded, and the version that Burney published did not include them. They were not in the public domain until Roman priest Pietro Alfieri published an edition in 1840, which preserved the performance practice, including ornamentation, of the Sistine choir.

Stewart also dealt with the modifications to the scoring accounting for the non-authentic ‘high Cs’ in the version we know, thought to be the result of transposition. Again, Ben Byram-Wigfield notes: “the ‘Top C’ version, which was never performed in Rome, … merely a serendipitous scribal error”.

Thus, what a great idea to perform both the original version and that current today!

Two Allegri versions
The conventional version with the High Cs was sung in the first half. To enhance the impact of the high female voices, all singers of the quartet (sopranos Pepe Backer, Melanie Newfield, alto Andrea Cochrane and bass David Houston) went to the gallery above the south (Molesworth Street) door and their voices created the most thrilling effect at each return to inauthentic (if you must) bursts of spiritually ecstatic exclamation. The contrast with the other fourteen singers was marked, their voices more suffused in the huge main space of the cathedral. There was a breathless conviction about the whole performance.

Alfieri’s account of the original, with the best realisations we will ever have of the original embellishments, was sung after the interval. Here, all the singers except Paul Stapley who sang the plainsong part from the pulpit, remained at the front of the Choir. While the female voices had similar effects to handle, it was naturally less thrilling that with voices emanating from high above the nave, though awareness of the modern version teased us with an expectation that treble phrases would rise higher. Stapley’s contributions were very fine, projected with ease, even delivery allowing discreet dynamic changes, but with arresting pauses in the middle of his stanzas.

The other Miserere settings
But there was much more of great interest in this concert whose intention was to let us hear other treatments of the Miserere. First was a short setting by William Byrd, the performance of which revealed the composer’s ability to convey the feelings of lamentation and self-flagellation so beloved of religion.

And the even earlier setting (around 1503) by Josquin des Prez, evidently the best known setting before Allegri. It was thought to have been inspired as a testament to Savonarola who called for ‘Christian renewal’ and the church’s reform. He denounced clerical corruption, despotic rule and the exploitation of the poor, and was a painful thorn in the Papacy’s side. He was tortured and executed by Pope Alexander VI in 1498. Josquin’s composition is not given to expressing much sense of exultation, and expression of praise of the Almighty, which is a significant purpose of the Psalm, but emphasised our sins and the need to be purged and cleansed. Among otherwise pretty flawless singing of the other works in the programme I felt there was a touch of insecurity in ensemble and balance here.

Giovanni Croce’s Miserere of 1599, 40 years before Allegri, came from Venice (Josquin’s was from Ferrara, not far away), with the sounds of the Gabrielis in the background, and here was the precursor of the sort of high soprano ecstasy, with richer harmonies cultivated by Allegri. It was also curious, not that it seemed to affect the mood or richness of the musical setting, that the Psalm text was paraphrased as a sonnet by Francesco Bembo, whose name only calls up painters.

The Gesualdo setting
Then came what for me was the third most interesting piece on the programme (after the Allegri and the James MacMillan), the imaginative and original setting by Carlo Gesualdo, more famous for a certain violent episode in his life. There’s no better account than by music critic Alex Ross (have you read his The Rest in Noise?) in The New Yorker – (http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2011/12/19/prince-of-darkness).

His music is generally said to be ‘ahead of its time’ by anything up to three or four centuries (and four would bring it up to the present decade). The words employed as evidence are ‘chromaticism’ and ‘dissonance’; neither is to be remarked upon today; the dissonance amounts to momentary departures from an expected harmonic cadence which are rather delicious. It was splendidly sung, all these little touches exposed with clarity and wit; with the excellent Paul Stapley, as in the Allegri, singing the plainsong verses, falsobordone (French: fauxbourdon) = false bass, I believe they are called. Nevertheless, the music follows a repeated pattern which allows the senses to relax each time the surprise comes round in the shape of a sort of rise in the tonality of the treble voices.

MacMillan – the today setting
Finally, the strong and arresting Miserere of James MacMillan who, I suppose, has a special authority today, as a confirmed Catholic. Men and women take the lines of the Psalm in turn, with women seeming to have more of the running, though the men are given an emphatic “Ecce…” – behold, in line 5. The energetic rhythm seems to flow naturally from the intrinsic rhythm of the Latin, a language which, spoken with resonance and fluency, has that unparalleled power, supported by a wonderful literature, that made the language survive remarkably, till my generation – the last, I fear, to have been in a state secondary school where perhaps a third of the boys in the third, fourth and fifth forms learned Latin.

Again at the ‘Libera me de sanguinibus…’, the great shout of anguish had dramatic power, that was quickly softened by the overlapping of men’s and women’s parts; as the end approached  the dynamics rose and fell with moments of ecstasy and spiritual entreaty.

When Simon Ravens founded The Tudor Consort back in 1986, the choir attracted overflowing, rock-concert style houses, such was the impact of his engrossing pre-concert talks with imaginative programming, often through liturgical reconstructions in a dramatically striking manner. No subsequent director has quite matched Ravens’ flair and charisma, but Michael Stewart, in his own way, is recapturing something of the excitement of that time which had the effect of raising audience numbers for most choirs, and inspiring the formation of new ones. This splendid concert and the size of the audience perhaps presages a real choral renaissance and more adventures to come.

 

Flutist makes sparkling Wellington premiere at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Gabriella Kopias (flute) and Richard Mapp (piano)

Music by Doppler, Debussy, Takemitsu, Fauré, Rachmaninov; Chaminade, Piaf and Ravel

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 1 April, 12:15 pm

It’s not clear what has brought Gabriella Kopias to Wellington, but it was whispered to me that she would rather like to stay here. That would be lovely, not because there is any lack of excellent flutists in town, but another of the quality of Kopias (pronounced Kópyas, I expect) could hardly be any sort of embarras de richesses.

She was born in Szeged in Hungary in 1975, graduated with distinction from both the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest and the Arts University in Graz, Austria and now makes her home in Vienna. While she has had some orchestral experience, including with the Vienna State Opera Orchestra, she seems to have made a career as a flute soloist; and also as a cantatrice: she ended her recital, leaving her flute aside and singing Piaf’s La vie en rose, with a very creditable Piaffian timbre and style. She also exhibits as a painter.

Gabriella chose a diverting and varied programme, starting with the Fantaisie pastorale hongroise by Polish/Hungarian, flutist-composer Albert Franz Doppler, who was born in Lemberg (when part of Austria in the 18th century), Lwow when in Poland after WWI (though the population from the 16th century was predominantly Polish and Jewish), and now Lviv, after the total expulsion of the Polish population (‘ethnic cleansing’) after 1945, when it was taken by the USSR to be part of Ukraine. Doppler was a close contemporary of Franck, Lalo, Johann Strauss II, Bruckner).

He wrote successful operas and instrumental pieces, the most famous of which is this Fantaisie. She played this delightful war-horse from memory, accompanied with verve and discretion by Richard Mapp; in three distinct parts, each illustrating a different aspect of Hungary’s musical character, finally a csardas, all full of lively melody and rhythm.

Debussy’s Syrinx seems to be most commonly played solo flute piece, so its place was to be expected, and most welcome.

Toru Takemitsu may still be the best known Japanese classical composer, it was the chance for Richard Mapp to be heard alone; Rain Tree reveals itself in a magical palette that derives from Debussy impressionism and the mysticism of the Buddhist or Shinto world. It seems to evolve but there is also the strong sense of remaining still.

Fauré’s Fantaisie (Andantino and Allegro) is one of those pieces, the Allegro at least, that’s familiar, attractive, but whose composer I hadn’t logged in the memory; one of the many pieces inspired by the great French flute player and protagonist, Paul Taffanel. The piano’s contribution was a very significant element in the performance, lending the first section, Andantino, more interest than it gets sometimes;
and the flute’s contribution was beguiling, fast and brilliant. The two were, as everywhere in the recital, in delightful balance, in support of each other but never invading the other’s space. (I missed the point of Gabriella’s comment, introducing the piece, about Cinderella, and quoting the words put in her mouth in the current Walt Disney film, ‘Have courage and be kind’).

I wondered whether in her next piece she would return to the platform without her flute, to sing Rachmaninov’s Vocalise, which is its original idea of course. But she played the flute, showing how adaptable this evergreen gem is.

Cécile Chaminade, in her long life (born before Puccini and died during the second World War), acquired a sort of palm court reputation in her lifetime and later, but she’s much more than that: her genius was for geniality, charm, sticking to melody and tonality through the turbulence of atonality and avant-gardism. In any case this Concertino, originally for flute and orchestra, Op 107, which was also dedicated to Paul Taffanel, gave clear indications of a capacity for those gifts to find expression in an extended piece that was carefully balanced, ending with an accelerating flourish. Again this well-matched duo proved splendid advocates for unpretentious music that is clearly surviving the years.

Then Gabriella really did leave her flute behind and picked up the microphone to sing Piaf, as I noted above. How many would accept that the definition of ‘classical’ extends far beyond the ranks of those composers whose names are followed by brackets showing dates of birth and death?

Finally, an encore listed in the programme: Ravel’s Habanera, or rather, the Vocalise-étude en forme de habanera, is a song for deep voice and piano. In arrangements for a great variety of instruments it’s been called Pièce en forme de habanera. As does Rachmaninov’s Vocalise, it sits happily for almost any instruments, and this was a most attractive way to end this introduction to a musician whom I hope we will hear again.

 

The Bach Project splendidly under way on the St Paul’s Cathedral organ

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Bach Project at Saint Paul’s

Michael Stewart and Richard Apperley (organists)

Programme No 6 – played by Richard Apperley

Organ chorale: ‘O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde gross’, BWV 622
Concerto in D minor, BWV 596
Sonata III in D minor, BWV 527
Partita diverse sopra il corale ‘Sei gegrusset, Jesu gütig’ BWV 768

Cathedral of Saint Paul, Wellington

Tuesday 31 March 12:45 pm (330th anniversary of J S Bach’s birth)

Middle C’s neglect so far of this momentous project, the performance of all, yes all, of Bach’s compositions for the organ is regrettable: caused by absences from Wellington, conflicting obligations. In my case, the Nelson Chamber Music Festival, Napier’s production of Donizetti’s L’elisir d’amore, escapes to sun on the Horowhenua coast, and the past fortnight in Auckland and the far North.

Most of the musical fraternity know something of Bach’s huge output of music for the organ, though I imagine it’s rather confined, as is mine, to the ‘pure’ organ pieces – the preludes, toccatas, fantasias, passacaglias and fugues bearing BWV numbers in the 500s. But the scores of pieces based on chorales and other vocal music are perhaps too varied and numerous for the non-specialist to focus on.

My first reaction to the project was, ‘is it really possible, to play all the organ works in a series of 28 ¾ hour recitals’? If you look at the BWV catalogue (for example in Wikipedia) the organ works number from BWV 525 to 771, and there are later additions to the catalogue of organ pieces listed as Neumeister Chorales, BWV 1090 to 1121, which are also programmed throughout the series. That’s about 270 pieces. But if Stewart and Apperley play an average of ten or so each time, they make it.

This recital was a bit special as it was on Bach’s birthday.

The programme notes are written in a personal manner, a certain amount of musical learning, but a good deal of comment on the way the organist, here Richard Apperley, feels about the music and why it was chosen for the birthday.

The first piece was an organ chorale on a Lutheran Passion Hymn, for Lent (which is now), included in Bach’s Orgelbüchlein – Little Organ Book – composed during Bach’s years at Weimar (1708 – 1717). The notes quote Charles-Marie Widor’s judgement of it as ‘The finest piece of instrumental music written’, and Apperley adds that it’s one of the few chorale preludes to which he finds it possible to resist adding ornamentation. Indeed, as he played it, Bach’s own ornaments are elaborate enough, particularly given its chromatic character and richness of the counterpoint and fugal writing. Though generally it was an interesting illustration of the tastes of the period.

The general mood is lamenting, calm and heartfelt; and the tasteful registrations chosen allowed it to be heard clearly in the big space.

The Concerto in D minor is a transcription of one of Vivaldi’s L’estro armonico set, Op 3 No 11, which was for two violins. The Vivaldi is in three movements while Bach divides the first movement in two, separating its fugal section, so making it a four-movement work (Bach marks them: I. Ohne Bezeichnung (without indication), Grave; II. Fuga; III. Largo; IV. Finale). Though, before reading the notes, I had thought the fugal passage was, indeed, simply part of the opening Allegro.

The Vivaldi is a splendid work, but as the notes remark, Bach’s account is even more exciting. This had the effect both of demonstrating Bach’s genius as well as that of the commonly under-estimated Vivaldi who was after all responsible for the basic music and its shapes.

There were many delightful elements in the work, the varied registrations, the tempo contrasts, the beautiful Siciliano middle (third) movement, and the racing Finale of great virtuosity.

Richard Apperley wrote that the Sonata III, also in D minor, was his favourite of the six sonatas in the set; sometimes referred to as Trio Sonatas, they require the right and left hands to play distinct melodic lines on separate manuals, as if a violin and cello, while the feet play the basso continuo part on pedals, calling for considerable skill. The Trio Sonatas for organ seem to have been composed in Bach’s first years in Leipzig, from 1723; an early biographer stated that Bach wrote them as practice for his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann.

Apperley gave clarity to the sonata’s distinct parts, displaying his own mastery of its challenges which encouraged the listener to hear them again in order to grasp better the sense of the counterpoint and strongly contrasted lines.

Finally the Chorale Partita, ‘Sei gegrüsset, Jesu gütig’, which was perhaps written very early, at Arnstadt where Bach worked between 1703 and 1706, that is, aged 17 to 21. It would explain the feeling I had as it was played, that its variation form – eleven of them – somewhat disguised an unsophisticated, apprentice composer. It was very listenable music, but the short, not organically connected variations sustained the attention only through their vivid contrasts, of mood, of registration, of tempo and all the multitude of devices available to a gifted young composer and a skilled player.

It is natural, of course, that in presenting the entire oeuvre of any composer, the masterpieces must take their place along with juvenilia and music that lacks strong character or inspiration. However, this does not detract from the importance of this brave adventure on which these two musicians have embarked.

 

Ambitious and satisfying concert from Wellington Chamber Orchestra

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Wellington Chamber Orchestra conducted Rachel Hyde with Helene Pohl (violin) and Rolf Gjelsten (cello)

Overture to Der Freischütz by Weber
Concerto for violin and cello in A minor, Op 102 by Brahms
Symphony No 3 in F, Op 90 by Brahms

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 29 March, 2:30 pm

One could argue that the first concert in Wellington Chamber Orchestra’s 2015 season was devoted to the very centre of the classical music repertoire: the blending and conjunction of the classical and romantic eras.

Orchestral performances between the hard surfaces of the typical church are not easy to bring off; and over the years I have often commented on the delicate matter of positioning timpani and brass so that their impact is not too distressing. Conductor Rachel Hyde arrayed the orchestra forward in the church, placing timpani at the side near the chamber organ, and the brass out from the sanctuary which tends to amplify the sound.

Nevertheless, in the gallery, where I sat in the first half of the concert, the four horns, at that stage exhibiting a degree of unsteadiness, were loud. The typical opera orchestra which, even in Germany, might not be as polished as one might imagine, is modified by being in a pit so that rough patches are obscured. Here, the splendid overture to Der Freischütz had to survive full exposure. It was taken fairly slowly which probably improved accuracy but, on the other hand, offered more time to perceive weaknesses. Its dramatic character, and its supernatural touches did not suffer through the slow tempo, and the surprisingly long pause before the attack of the Coda gave it real impact.

A great idea to programme Brahms’s not very often played Double Concerto, giving Helene Pohl and Rolf Gjelsten, first violin and cello in the New Zealand String Quartet, an opportunity to shine individually (they told me that they’d recently played the same piece with New Plymouth’s Civic Orchestra). I was still reeling from the performance of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto by Janine Jansen the previous evening; yet the utterly different Brahms concerto in the hands of two gifted chamber musicians created a most satisfactory experience. Perfection in the orchestral playing was neither expected nor delivered, but the whole, especially in the second movement’s lyrical passages, was no disappointment.

Performances by amateur orchestras can be an excellent way for those without wide or deep musical experience to make discoveries, and all three works in this programme might well have been overlooked by the professional orchestras, which tend to deprecate the old pattern of overture – concerto – symphony that used to be the staple orchestral pattern. Its abandonment now means that the novice concert-goer never hears the scores of wonderful overtures, both opera and stand-alone, that the tyro of my generation came to love.

Finally, the symphony – neither the more played first or fourth of Brahms – but perhaps the most sanguine of the four, came off better than the earlier pieces on the programme. That may have been partly the result of my moving downstairs to the back seats where the sound is filtered somewhat, kinder to amateurs. The brass sounded in better control, the essential beauty of the lyrical second movement was captured, and the strings produced an almost Wagnerian silkiness (hints of Siegfried’s Rhine Journey from Götterdämmerung), though tricky cross rhythms in the last movement sounded a bit awkward. The tempi were admirable, calm and unhurried, yet energetic where that was required.

I hope that this performance will have won a few more friends for Brahms, for it was a worthy achievement by a non-professional ensemble. In all, in spite of the reservations mentioned, inevitable for such an orchestra which inevitably spends more rehearsal time on certain works than on others, this was a satisfying concert.

 

Spectacular NZSO concert with violinist Janine Jansen in the Tchaikovsky

Posted on by admin

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Daniel Blendulf with Janine Jansen (violin)

Liadov: The Enchanted Lake
Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto in D Major
Prokofiev: Symphony No.5 in B flat Major

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 28 March 7:30 pm

Liadov’s atmospheric painting The Enchanted Lake was a great choice to open an evening of wonderful music, rich with the delights of that fantastic orchestration which marks the pens of the Russian greats in an abundance matched by no other race. There was the opening mystery of the dark, rumbling bass entry, the dreamy lilting melodies that floated in and out from the woodwind, and the clear crystal notes from the harp falling like raindrops into the shimmering, surging waters of the strings. The orchestra crafted this work with wonderful artistry, culminating in dying phrases that simply evaporated into the hanging silence of the auditorium.  Superb.

Janine Jansen is an on-stage tour de force in every way. She proved a spectacular “soloist” but not because she attempted to grab the limelight; rather she shaped the score in a completely mutual conversation with the orchestral players, and whenever her part paused briefly you felt she couldn’t wait for the chance to engage again in the privilege of making music together. She captured the contrasting moods of the opening Allegro moderato to telling effect, and delivered the spiccato episode with masterful grace and clarity. You could have heard a pin drop in the central cadenza. The following flute re-entry was very special, as was the later bassoon countermelody to the solo line. She pulled off the coda at breakneck speed yet somehow with complete clarity – clearly she was excited to be playing this work, and she conveyed her delight without reservation.

The central Canzonetta: Andante opens with a wistful pianissimo phrase which comes and goes throughout, and Jansen presented each appearance with the freshness of first discovery. She and the orchestra wove in this movement a tapestry of wonderful melodic exchanges and a mood of gracious calm. This made all the more dramatic the catapult of sound that launches the Allegro vivacissimo finale. It was taken at incredible speed, yet again with total clarity in each rondo appearance. The stamp of Cossack boots thundered out, interspersed with beautifully languid playing from the woodwind in the contrasting melodic episodes. The whole concerto was performed with consummate musicianship, and the runaway freight train of the closing coda brought a stampede of audience appreciation – amply rewarded with an exquisite encore, an arrangement of Tchaikovsky’s Souvenir D’un Lieu Cher.

What could possibly follow this riveting Tchaikovsky? A Prokofiev reading that was positively mind blowing.  Blendulf made the most of the huge percussion, brass and string bodies right from the sweeping grandeur of the opening to the last dramatic chords of the finale. The massive demands of this score were embraced by the players with total commitment, huge passion, and the exemplary musicianship and technical mastery that mark all their work. Yet somehow they found an even higher notch than usual in this Prokofiev, emerging at the end with a clear glow of fulfilment on faces that should, by rights, have been etched with exhaustion after such a programme.

Daniel Blendulf’s conducting style was a pleasure to observe. His was an entirely unassuming manner, directing the orchestra with complete economy of gesture. He obviously recognised that no more was needed, given the wonderful resources and musicianship of the NZSO players, and their exemplary ensemble skills. They were the stars of the evening no less than the spectacular soloist, and he rightly called each section to its feet, giving the audience ample opportunity to express their appreciation for an amazing night’s music making. Bravo!

 

Acclaimed Guitarist Recital highlights venue shortcomings

Posted on by admin

New Zealand School of Music presents:

Matt Withers – Australian guitarist

Programme:
F.Tarrega – Recuedos de la Alhambra
I.Albeniz – Asturias
Blue Moon & Somewhere over the Rainbow
La Catedral – A.Barrios
Black Wattle Caprices – R.Edwards
Usher Waltz – N.Koshkin
Libre Tango, Verano Porteno, La Muerte Del Angel – A.Piazzolla
Three Irish Folk-Songs
Cuban Dance – J.Pernambuco

Adam Concert Room, NZSM Victoria University

Friday 20th March, 2015

Matt Withers is head of Guitar at the University of Canberra and a widely acclaimed performer who has picked up many awards in his relatively short career. He is currently touring New Zealand for the first time doing recitals and master classes, and this was a welcome opportunity to hear someone of this calibre whose reputation has gone before them.

He described his varied programme as “a round-the-world tour”, and it opened appropriately with two well loved Spanish classics from Tarrega and Albeniz. He immediately put his own stamp on these familiar works by an amazingly delicate touch and sensitivity of interpretation, calling frequently on rubato and the power of the pregnant pause before resolving a phrase or section. He marked Tarrega’s move from minor to major mode with a very creative brightening that highlighted the shift most effectively. These were both very romantic readings, quite devoid of any Iberian brashness.

So too were Almeida’s two settings of Blue Moon and Rainbow – delicate, laid back, almost hinting at the louche, caressing every single note. My heart leapt with joy to see Barrios’ La Catedral on the programme – one of my favourite pieces –     and it too was presented with great tenderness and lightness of touch.

The Black Wattle Caprices by Australian composer Edwards (who apparently lives in Black Wattle Bay in Sydney) were indeed capricious, leaping from one idea to another with, to my ear, no clear idea of a destination or overarching concept. But Withers is a strong supporter of Australian composers, and he clearly engaged with these works, playing them with very obvious enthusiasm.

Throughout the first half, however, I had been disappointed, and frankly baffled, by the apparent shortcomings of Matt Withers’ technique. In many pianissimo passages there had been missing notes, or even clusters of notes entirely missing, and phrases that he was not able to project even to where I was sitting only 3-4 metres distant. This despite his modern lattice-built instrument which provides greater projection than traditional designs.

It was very odd, and could hardly be attributed to nerves in so experienced a recitalist. Something was clearly not right, but it was not until a brief conversation I had in the interval that the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. I had been listening to an artist who was, literally, not warmed up. While I sat comfortably in the room in a winter jersey, scarf and jacket on this southerly Wellington night, the conditions played havoc with the performance. There are two basic requirements for a successful technical performance: a relatively high radiant temperature for the hands (essential for high speed dexterity), and a lowish air temperature (for keeping a clear head and sharp concentration). If the air temperature is raised to a level sufficient for high speed dexterity, concentration is seriously impaired. Likewise a low air temperature makes that same dexterity physiologically impossible.

At the time the Victoria School of Music was designed in the 1980s, these parameters were clearly presented to the authorities. They were at that time the Ministry of Works, who oversaw all design, construction, and funding approvals for universities. The architects proposed wall mounted radiators, which had a long history of meeting the required parameters for optimum musical performance. This proposal was completely at odds with current government policy which was to use gas (usually air) heating, but the evidence was sufficiently compelling to convince the ministry, and an exception was allowed.

This system has since been removed from the Adam Concert Room, depriving players of the most basic environmental conditions for a competent performance. I now realised that what I had observed in the first half of the programme was the classic situation of a player who was too cold. By the last pair of items things were improving, and they continued to come right throughout the second half. This is such a familiar situation (ask anyone who has played, shivering, in provincial wooden churches for the local music society!) that the penny should have dropped sooner. The other serious difficulty with cold venues is that they do not address the fundamental physics of musical instruments, which must be sufficiently warm to speak properly and in tune.

The second half of the programme opened with Koshkin’s Waltz, which expresses the chaotic torrent of fearful and anxious thoughts besieging the unfortunate Usher of Edgar Alan Poe’s story. The interlude of lightning and thunder came across with power and urgency, before the beautifully crafted and poignant collapse into final silence as Usher’s house disappeared into the enveloping marsh.

The Piazzolla bracket comprised a very attractive group of pieces where Withers captured the contrasting moods with delightful whimsy, be they lively, or gently evocative and reminiscent. Likewise the Irish songs, very simply and effectively set by British guitarist Steve Marsh, were beautifully rendered, full of longing, and played with great affection.

With Pernambuco’s energetic Cuban Dance, Matt Withers offered a vigorous and enthusiastic finale to a very interesting and varied programme. The audience were most appreciative, and they were rewarded by a lovely rendering of Stanley Meyers’ wistful Cavatina as an encore.

Bravos for the second of Freddy Kempf’s Beethoven concerto concerts with the NZSO

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
Freddy Kempf’s Beethoven

Beethoven: Egmont Overture, Op.84
Piano Concerto no.4 in G, Op.58
Piano Concerto no.5 in E flat, Op.73 (Emperor)

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, conductor and piano soloist, Freddy Kempf

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday, 14 March 2015, 7:30 pm

You can’t beat Beethoven on a good day – and this was a very good day, with star performer Freddy Kempf as conductor and piano soloist.  It was the second concert in a series of two in which Kempf has played and conducted all Beethoven’s piano concertos was greeted by a full Michael Fowler Centre.

The Egmont overture I have not heard live for a long time, and it was a most welcome opener for the concert.  Very full and poetic programme notes, author unacknowledged, gave the story of Goethe’s drama for which the composer wrote 10 pieces of music in all, in 1809.  While the text is dramatic, the overture can be heard as absolute music, without knowledge of Goethe’s play about the Flemish Count fighting for independence from the Spanish occupation in the 16th century.

The incisive start immediately created a mood, and the full sonority from the strings grabbed attention.  The timpani had a good workout here; Beethoven was apparently particularly fond of the tuned kettle-drums.  The music was noble, yet passionate.

Kempf conducted the overture without a score, and the smaller orchestra for Beethoven’s period was arranged with the second violins to Kempf’s right, with violas next, and the cellos next to the first violins.  (So Julia and Andrew Joyce got to sit next to each other.)  Kempf’s energetic conducting, to be followed by both conducting and playing two concertos, constituted a major physical workout, quite apart from performing all the music from memory.

There was plenty of sound from the players, especially as it reached my ears in the back row upstairs.  This position was excellent acoustically, and much better than the stalls for seeing the whole orchestra.

Kempf came on for the Piano Concerto no. 4 carrying a baton, but apart from the first time he stood to conduct the orchestra, he did not use it – indeed, his having to stand rapidly and then seat himself quickly to continue the piano part made it almost impossible to use the stick.

The first movement, allegro moderato, got off to a good tempo, but not too fast, the revolutionary (for the period) opening on the piano immediately demonstrating the great clarity and broad dynamic range employed by Freddy Kempf, despite this being, as the programme note stated, the quietest of Beethoven’s concertos. The andante con moto slow movement featured wonderful contrasts between strong orchestral passages and the delicacy of the piano phrases.  The playing of the cadenza, Beethoven’s own, was quite brilliant.

The final movement, rondo, is a jolly romp – cheerful and tuneful.  It was taken a shade faster than I am used to, but not excessively so.  There was great precision from the orchestra while the piano’s lyrical episodes interspersed beautifully.

Some people in the audience found Kempf’s getting up to conduct the orchestra then quickly seating himself again to play passages, to be a distraction, but I did not.  The flow of the music was never interrupted.  At any rate, the audience was very attentive.  I believe that in my exalted perch I heard the bass sounds better than one does on the ground floor; I heard the cellos and double basses very well, while seeing the entire orchestra added to the interest.

The ‘Emperor’ concerto was not titled thus by Beethoven.  Misnamed as it might be, given the composer’s abhorrence of Napoleon’s excesses, it nevertheless stands as royalty among piano concertos.  Concerto no.5 features the majesty and the melody of a supreme work of musical genius.  However, the greater use of brass and timpani than in the previous concerto confirmed a certain military presence, as does the somewhat swaggering opening.

Intensity and superb articulation were features of the playing, particularly on the part of Freddy Kempf.  Perhaps the pace of the opening allegro lost the work a little of its grandeur, but tasteful rubati
soon banished the thought.  It was an exciting performance, the noble melodies and the delicious detail, clear and sonorous as they were, provided almost ecstatic listening.  The great attention to phrasing, and Beethoven’s marvellous use of syncopation kept both orchestra and audience on their toes, while Kempf’s playing continued to have extraordinary clarity – never the slightest blurring.

The slow movement, adagio un poco mosso, is such a remarkable song of quiet assurance, especially where the upper strings play as the piano gives the soft theme while the lower strings do pizzicato – just sublime.

Only occasionally the ensemble strayed just a little.  Otherwise, orchestra and piano were unanimous, even in those passages where Kempf was too busy at the piano to do any more conducting than moving his body in time, to keep everything together.

The rondo: allegro ma non troppo finale relieved us from the emotion of the adagio.  At the end, enthusiastic applause broke out, many audience members rose to their feet, and the orchestral players applauded much more than is usual for them.  The audience’s ovation went on many times longer than normal.  Mercifully, we were spared an encore; that would have removed the mood of elation created by the concerto.

Even for those of us who go to many concerts, this was a very significant musical experience.  Bravo, as my neighbor shouted several times.

 

 

 

 

Pianist Nicola Melville’s visit home with a diverting entertainment and a tribute to her teacher

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Chamber Music Hutt Valley
Nicola Melville – piano

Chopin: Nocturne in B, Op 62 No 1
Schubert: Sixteen German Dances, D 783
Debussy: Estampes (Pagodes, La soirée dans Grenade, Jardin sous la pluie)
In memory of Judith Clark:
      Gareth Farr: Gem
      Ross Harris: In Memory
Eve de Castro-Robinson: Chat
Jacob TV: The Body of Your Dreams for piano and boom box
William Albright: Dream Rags – Sleepwalkers Shuffle and The Nightmare Fantasy Rag – A Night on Rag Mountain

Little Theatre, Lower Hutt

Thursday 5 March, 7:30 pm

The first recital in the 2015 series from Chamber Music Hutt Valley presented former Wellington pianist Nicola Melville. Nicola was raised in Tawa and took her bachelor’s degree at Victoria University and later studied at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York. She now teaches in Minnesota.

Last month I heard her in a concert at the Adam Chamber Music Festival in Nelson where she played several of the pieces we heard at Lower Hutt (see my review posted on 8 February).

The theme, or rationale, of the recital was Nicola’s affection for her piano lecturer at Victoria University, the late Judith Clark who had a profound influence on a generation or two of Victoria students. Three of the pieces were commissioned by Nicola from composers who’d had contacts with Judith, others were pieces that she’d played under Judith’s tutorship.

Nicola is a splendid representative of the increasingly common kind of musician who’s determined to communicate, unpretentiously, occasionally self-deprecating, and who wants her own fairly obvious love of her job to be shared by her audience. Speaking of which, while there were quite a few young people and of her composers (Farr and Harris) in the audience, the number of ordinary citizens could have been larger

Nicola changed the order of pieces in the programme, and the Chopin item was changed from the advertised Mazurkas to the not-so-familiar Nocturne in B, Op 62/1, which she had played while a student of Judith Clark. It’s an interesting piece with a somewhat tentative, arpeggiated opening soon followed by a gentle melody. It was nocturnal and lyrical apart from sudden break-aways, with sprints up and down the keyboard.

Schubert’s sixteen German dances revealed several that were familiar as individual pieces that crop up in student tutor collections. The early ones were simpler, more closely connected with the soil, with heavy-footed peasants and they became more sophisticated, calling for more elaborate, exhibitionist playing (and dancing). Though no doubt all would be classed at Ländler, the triple-time forerunner of the waltz, they display much variety and Nicola’s treatment was playful, light-hearted, brusque, energetic, some moving to the minor key towards the end: not always perfect but played with gusto and delight in the flourishes, ornaments, and unpretentiousness that is both Schubert and Melville.

Debussy’s three Estampes capture his flair for putting a sophisticated European stamp on traditional music from other places. Most marked in Pagodes where the characteristics of the gamelan can be heard, though hardly such as a Balinese or Javanese might recognise. Then Grenade (the Spanish city, which the French spell with an ‘e’, to confuse it with the Caribbean island), with a slightly jazzy episode; and finally in a French garden under the rain. Some hammering notes suggested a pretty heavy downpour, but more general were dancing flurries of pluvious notes.

The three pieces written to honour Judith Clark followed the interval: Gareth Farr’s a rather gentle, intimate piece that suggested Debussy, but also no doubt, Lilburn; Ross Harris’s Gem was a reflective piece that expressed a sadness and poignancy, in which I found myself contemplating its structure, its thematic ideas and their development, without much success.

Eve de Castro-Robinson’s Chat was a contrast: spiky and lively, capturing the sort of penetrating, alert conversations one could have with Judith Clark, perceptive, careful, aware of a possible differing opinion.

A piece by Dutch composer Jacob ter Veldhuis who calls himself Jacob TV in the States, called The Body of your Dreams: a satire on the consumer society, the obsession with thinness and fitness, advertising, the piano accompanying a recording of a TV advert for a miracle weight-loss programme. The cajoling, dissembling American voice and the piano fitted together well; it was funny and though musically unimportant I guess, it used music as a permissible and seductive vehicle for ridicule and satire. Nicola’s own enjoyment fed that of the audience.

Finally a composer with whom Nicola had studied, William Albright, whose interest in ragtime may well have sparked or at least coincided with Nicola’s own, and her flair with the Scott Joplin idiom. The two pieces called Dream Rags were punchy, rhythmically emphatic;  Nicola showed herself very much at home with them, certainly an update on the turn-of-the-century originals with harmonies and fractured phrases that might have alarmed Joplin. But there was no alarm in the Little Theatre: a general delight in this and in the entire concert.

 

Ecstatic applause for Freddy Kempf’s first three Beethoven concertos with the NZSO

Posted on by admin

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra with Freddy Kempf, Piano/Conductor

Beethoven:
Piano Concerto No. 1 in C major, Op.15
Piano Concerto No. 2 in B flat major, Op.19
Piano Concerto No. 3 in C minor, Op.37

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 28 February, 7:30 pm

The NZSO undertook this programme with significantly pruned string resources, making a nod towards  the size  of orchestra Beethoven would have performed these works with himself. The balance and sympathy between the sections was, as always, exemplary and the concert was marked throughout by superb solo playing from wind and brass principals alike, and the impeccable string work that audiences never fail to hear from the NZSO.

Born in London in 1977,  Freddy Kempf made his first solo appearance with the RPO at the age of eight. In the intervening thirty years he has forged a reputation as an outstanding musician who performs to a punishing schedule all over the world.  His formidable dexterity at the keyboard encompassed the composer’s demands with complete aplomb and accomplishment, yet it was Beethoven’s  contemplative writing where, for me, Kempf’s talents most sang. He shaped the opening bars of the first concerto with great delicacy, which made the following tutti outburst a contrasting tour de force that was quite riveting. Likewise the Largo second movement opened with great tenderness that blossomed into a conversation of complete understanding with the orchestra. The Rondo finale was taken at breakneck speed, but both piano and orchestra imbued it with playful lightness, delicacy and clarity.

The pinnacle of the second concerto was again the beautiful central Adagio movement, whose melodic nuances were expressed with exquisite artistry in both phrasing and dynamic. The Rondo finale burst into life with its puckish syncopated rhythms almost gleeful in their exuberance. Despite the breakneck
tempo there was not the slightest loss of clarity or precision from either keyboard or orchestra.

The third concerto was likewise highlighted by the beautifully crafted melodies of the central Largo,
imbued with a clear sympathy of vision between solo and orchestra. The Rondo finale took off at an attractive bouncing tempo that concluded by catapulting headlong into a bold and hectic coda.

Despite the quality of the music, however, and moments of sublime stillness in Kempf’s slow movements, the performance was marred overall for me by the constant intrusiveness of Kempf’s conducting. In theory he was “conducting from the keyboard” as Beethoven was in the habit of doing. But in practice he was constantly leaping up and down between seated and upright, and sometimes
playing high speed runs with one hand while waving the other about in the air.

Nevertheless, the climax of the Final of No 3 brought ecstatic applause from the large audience, many of whom got to their feet. Kempf rightly acknowledged the various section leaders  and instrumental groups, all of whom had contributed so outstandingly to the music making.