Category: Live performance

Stroma, with percussionist Claire Edwardes

Posted on by Alan Wells

STROMA presents Event Horizon

Stroma, conducted by Hamish McKeich, with Claire Edwardes (percussion)

Alison Isadora: Cornish Pasty / Gyorgy Ligeti: Continuum
Jeroen Speak: Musik fur witwen, jungfrauen und unschuldige
Gerard Brophy: Coil / Steven Mackey: Micro-concerto

Ilott Concert Chamber

Thursday, 1 August 2013

Stroma’s recent concert featured works by two expatriate New Zealand composers, Jeroen Speak and Alison Isadora, both past graduates of Victoria University.

Speak, based in England, is currently in the country with his partner, Dorothy Ker, who holds the 2013-14 Lilburn House residency (Ker’s own […and…11] is scheduled for performance by Stroma at its next concert on 1 September). This August concert, Event Horizon, was named after Speak’s mini-concerto for piano and three percussionists, which in its turn was inspired by the stark paintings of Wang pan Yuan, Taiwan’s “prince of loneliness”.  As it happened, due to an insufficiency of percussionists, the eponymous work disappeared over a different event horizon – like that surrounding a black hole. In its stead, we had another composition by Speak, Musik fur witwen, jungfrauen und unschuldige (“Music for widows, virgins and innocents”, 2005) which had previously been premiered by Stroma. This proved to be a music of quietly intense, fleeting gestures (punctuated by side-drum strokes played by harpist Ingrid Bauer and violist Peter Barber), that gradually developed a sense of direction as repeated phrases hinted at an emerging underlying pulse.

Speak’s enigmatic title was drawn from that of an earlier composition, developed from a chant by Abbess Hildegard. The name of Netherlands-based Alison Isadora’s Cornish Pasty (2010) was similarly opaque (the programme note described the food, but not the music). The piece began with a starburst of sound, with tremolandos from Emma Sayers’ piano, Nick Granville’s electric guitar, and Steve Bremner’s vibraphone, creating a moving sound-object, through which melodies emerged from Rueben Chin’s and Hayden Sinclair’s soprano and tenor saxophones. Almost unrelentingly dense (in marked contrast to the sparseness of Musik fur witwen…), this composition, too, had a sense of direction and satisfying shape, gradually slowing down and thinning out after some interjections from Dave Bremner’s trombone, evolving from a texture-based piece to a predominantly rhythm-based piece.

I thought I detected some similarities here with Dutch composer Louis Andriessen (whose Zilver was performed in 2010 by SMP Ensemble under visiting conductor Lucas Vis), and also with some elements of minimalism. Continuum (1968) might have been Gyorgy Ligeti’s study in minimalism. This pulsating texture of trills and tremolandos has been played in Wellington, in its original harpsichord version, by Donald Nicolson.  Stroma’s “stereo” arrangement for marimba and vibraphone (impeccably realised by Claire Edwardes and Thomas Gulborg) had the odd (and enchanting) effect, for me, of  being “music in the head” (like the South American difference-tone flutes, demonstrated by Alejandro Iglesias-Rossi). Also affecting – and surprising – were the sustained, singing tones that were elicited from these percussive instruments.

Featured star, Claire Edwardes, performed solo in fellow Australian Gerard Brophy’s 1996 Coil, its dynamic contrasts and short, lively phrases demanding virtuoso control of the vibraphone’s pedal for both sustain and staccato effects.

American Steve Mackey’s Micro-concerto (1999) saw Edwardes take up small, hand-held instruments (such as claves, guiro, and whistle) along with the more conventional drums and vibes, for a five movement concert piece with small ensemble. The fourth movement, a warm-toned duo for Edwardes’ marimba and Rowan Prior’s cello, was especially enjoyable. The more vernacular-friendly style of both Mackey and Brophy made for a satisfying balance with the adventurous works in the first half.

Stroma’s next concert (Sunday, 1 September, 4pm, VUW Hunter Council Chamber) will feature (along with the Dorothy Ker, and former NZ resident Gao Ping), the versatile bass-baritone (and actor) Nicholas Isherwood. Last here in 2009, he performed then Stockhausen’s Havona (with electronics), and Sciarrino’s Quaderno di Strada (with Stroma). Both compositions had the uncompromising severity of late works: one was, the other not (thankfully, Signor Sciarrino is still with us). On 1 September, in “Goddess and Storyteller”, Isherwood will be performing in two dramatic vocal works by Iannis Xenakis.

Nikolai Demidenko at Upper Hutt’s Classical Expressions

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Classical Expressions, Upper Hutt presents:
Nikolai Demidenko – Carnivals and Sonatas

SCHUMANN – Carnival Jest from Vienna (Faschinsschwank aus Wien) Op.26
Carnaval – Scenes mignonnes sur quatre notes Op.9
SCHUBERT – Sonata in A D.664 / Sonata in A Minor D.748

Nikolai Demidenko (piano)

Classical Expressions Upper Hutt

Monday 29th July 2013

It was an occasion which brought home to me the refreshing reality of live music-making as opposed to the ethos presented by presentations of the artist “on record”. I had not previously heard Nikolai Demidenko in the concert-hall (though he’s been to New Zealand before), encountering him only through recordings.

It wasn’t so much what I’d heard that surprised me, as what I imagined the artist would be like. Photographs of the pianist seemed to suggest some kind of wild, intense, volatile spirit, aloof, uncompromising and ultra-romantic in a kind of “Wuthering Heights” sense. And, of course, the music he seemed to carry a particular torch for – that of Nikolai Medtner’s – itself had a similar aura – enigmatic, exotic and slightly out of the mainstream.

So, I was preparing myself for the entrance of some kind of Dostoyevskian figure, when a dapper, bearded, bespectacled man walked quickly, even a little nervously, onto the platform and bowed courteously to his audience – he had a somewhat ruddy complexion and his hair was reddish-brown, or appeared so in the light. Surely – surely not? – was this my wild, uncompromising, romantic artist from the land of the endless steppes? How could this be? It wasn’t long before Demidenko’s actual playing restored some of my equanimity, conveying to me (in a way that his initial appearance certainly didn’t) plenty of the volatility, energy and grand manner that I was expecting.

He began, at first none too commandingly, with Robert Schumann’s Carnival Jest in Vienna (Faschingsschwank aus Wien), ever-so-slightly smudging the treacherous opening flourishes; but his playing soon settled – his tones deepened and his focus sharpened. In between the fanfare-like reprises of the opening were beautifully-contrasted interludes, one of which was a delicious “strutting” rhythm, which eventually built up to a defiant quote of the opening of La Marseillaise (the song had been banned by the Austrian censor) – Demidenko hurled the tune forth with the greatest of gusto.

The suite of movements has plenty of variety; and Demidenko gave us essences of each one in turn – the fanciful dream-world of the Romanze was followed by the gaily-spirited, repetitive “skip” of the Scherzino, with its alternations of playfulness and pageantry. Then came the darker purpose of the Intermezzo, all swirling agitation at the outset, but with the pianist superbly delineating the individual currents so as to allow the embedded melody to sing forth – great playing!

After this the finale’s opening exploded with energy, causing Demidenko’s fingers to momentarily “jump the rails” (it all added to the excitement!) – it was, like Sviatoslav Richter’s playing on his famous “live” Italian recording of the piece, extremely forceful, “free-wheeling pianism” as one might put it, but exactly what the music itself suggested – Schumann at his most exuberant.

There was more of the same kind of excitement and enthusiasm throughout Demidenko’s playing of Carnaval, that fantastical procession of characters, both make-believe and from among the composer’s own friends and colleagues. Demidenko’s view of this “portrait-gallery” was as absorbing as any I’ve heard, right from the beginning, with his grand and rhetorical Préambule, and – playing for maximum contrast – fascinatingly halting and nervous Pierrot, leading to a teasing, mercurial (if none too accurately-played) Arlequin!

To go through the work and give Demidenko credit for every single moment of illumination of Schumann’s wonderful writing would tax the reader’s patience to excess – nevertheless, one must make mention of the pianist’s ghostly evocation of the rarely-played Sphinxes, a brief kind of “appendix” to the Coquette/Replique sequences, which Schumann didn’t intend to be performed, even if luminaries such as Rachmaninov, Cortot, Horowitz and Gieseking chose to include it in their recordings, for our delight.

Usually it’s the final section of the work, the Davidsbundler putting the Philistines to flight, which guarantees plenty of keyboard thrills – but Demidenko cut loose earlier with Paganini, Schumann’s tribute to the violinist’s overwhelming presence and virtuosity – a veritable onslaught, with cascades of notes, leaving us all open-mouthed with astonishment! The Davidsbundler triumph at the end thus had a slightly less “death-and-glory” and more ritualistic aspect to its energies, as much a summing-up as an actual coup de grace stroke, the piano tones properly rich and satisfying.

In the second half, Schubert’s A Major Sonata D.664 was balm to the senses after Schumann’s invigorations! Here was another side of Demidenko’s pianism, one of lyrical poetry, the player bringing out both the music’s weight and its weightlessness, the contrasts bound together with the same ease of flow. Schubert was able to bear us away upon the wings of whatever mood he chose to explore, sometimes setting tranquility and anxiety cheek-by-jowl, as in the first movement’s sounding of bass figurations beneath the filigree treble ones at the recapitulation, and the second movement’s melancholy darkening after the rich loveliness of the opening.

Demidenko brought out the “bigness” rather than the drawing-room aspect of the finale, contrasting the prettiness of the opening theme with great rolling colonnades of sound serving as flourishes between the lyrical moments – these purposeful energies dominated the central section of the movement, and playfully vied with the melodic impulses right at the end – an approach which arrested and held, rather than stretched out one’s attention, right to the final chords.

In some ways the previous work’s antithesis, the A Minor Sonata D.784 which followed began as it meant to go on, with furrowed brow and grim forward motion, then plunging into agitated figurations involving cascading octaves and heart-stopping sforzandi tremolandos.

Demidenko preferred urgency to portentousness throughout, but wonderfully controlled all of the different dynamic levels of the various statements, so that each had a slightly different “weight” of character. In places I thought he pushed the music too fast, as with the arrival of the resplendent fanfares at the climax of the development, where the effect was a shade brusque rather than truly climactic – but the agitato element was certainly maintained, if at the expense of some of the music’s “haunted” stillness.

The pianist gave us an exquisitely-voiced melodic line at the slow movement’s beginning, before allowing the shadow of the twisted chromatic figure to darken the ambience and hold it in thrall. I liked the heartfelt surge of feeling mid-movement, as well as the lyrical response, the opening theme taking flight as it were, trying to escape those chromatic growlings in the bass – all very exploratory and wonderful!

As for the finale, under Demidenko’s fingers it became a whirling dervish of a movement, weaving together strands of panic, nervousness, determination and wide-eyed exhilaration – the pianist got plenty of glint in some of his flourishes and a real “ring” on the tone of his topmost notes, making up for some occasional fumbling of the syncopation in the midst of the excitement. The music’s second subject was a poor, consoling thing, easily swept away on the recurring tide, its uneasy calm already “spooked” by the music’s sudden irruptions of desperation, which die as quickly as they appear.

After the return of the wretched, consoling theme the music erupted for the last time, with extra weight and emphasis, perhaps the most desultory ending of any of the composer’s sonatas for piano. What strife, what trouble, and what grim resolve! Fortunately Demidenko redeemed our troubled spirits with a couple of encores, firstly a Chopin Nocturne, giving its melody a deliciously wayward trajectory, and then a stirring piece by Medtner – whose music the pianist has magnificently and resolutely championed over the years. The music sounded like it was a first cousin to one of the Rachmaninov Etude-Tableaux – and Demidenko’s playing of it brought the house down.

Il Corsaro a delight and a triumph

Posted on by admin

Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music presents:

Il Corsaro

An opera in three acts by Giuseppe Verdi, based on Lord Byron’s poem, The Corsaire.

Presented by students of the New Zealand School of Music:

Cast: Thomas Atkins (Corrado) / Isabella Moore (Gulnara)
Christian Thurston (Pasha Seid) / Elisabeth Harris (Medora)
James Henare  (Giovanni) / William McElwee (Pirate/Aga Selimo)
Declan Cudd (Pirate/Eunuch) / Jack Blomfield (Lord Byron)
Imogen Thirlwall (Caroline Lamb)
Voice Students of Te Kōkī  NZ School of Music

Conductor: Kenneth Young
Director: Sara Brodie
Assistant Director : Frances Moore
Orchestra of Te Kōkī  New Zealand School of Music

Opera House Wellington,

26th July 2013.

This New Zealand premiere marked the 200th anniversary of Verdi’s birth,  and was the first of four performances to be staged with two sets of vocal principals on alternate dates. This opening night presented Thomas Atkins as the swashbuckling pirate Corrado, Elisabeth Harris as his lady love Medora, Christian Thurston as the ruthless Pasha Seid, and Isabella Moore as the queen of his harem Gulnara.

Il Corsaro was completed in 1848, towards the end of Verdi’s early period of operatic writing, and follows Byron’s plot quite faithfully. This is a somewhat unlikely romantic tale, requiring a suspension of disbelief akin to the plots of Gilbert and Sullivan, and it is peopled by similar colourful larger-than-life characters.

The standout performers this night were undoubtedly Thomas Atkins and Isabella Moore, who portrayed their roles of piratical raider and romantic heroine most convincingly.  Each showed wonderfully assured vocal and dramatic skills, and they could comfortably project their voices out into the auditorium, never being overshadowed by the orchestra.

This was conducted by Kenneth Young, who drew from the instrumentalists an excellent performance of a varied and demanding score, conveyed with technical mastery and musical assurance.

The costumes were designed and executed with similar exuberance, as was the stage set. The male and female choruses did an excellent job, with the male group providing a particularly impressive opening scene to the work.

All these elements enhanced the strong impression that the student participants were enjoying themselves hugely – their enthusiasm carried the audience along in the colourful, dramatic sweep of the action, in a way that is so essential to a successful performance.

All the soloists showed sound vocal skills, but those of Corrado and Gulnara were exceptional and were greatly enhanced by their vocal confidence and acting abilities. There were very few wobbly nerves to be seen amongst the cast, revealed only occasionally by the odd loss of intonation.

This performance was definitely nudging its way confidently into the realms of a professional production. It was a great shame that the auditorium was not particularly full, since it was a most entertaining night out, and a most encouraging display of the youthful skills which the New Zealand School of Music is fostering.

 

Peter Mechen reviewed the following evening’s performance, featuring an alternative cast of principal singers:

Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music presents:

Il Corsaro

An opera in three acts by Giuseppe Verdi, based on Lord Byron’s poem, The Corsaire.

Presented by students of the New Zealand School of Music:

Cast: Oliver Sewell (Corrado) / Christina Orgias(Gulnara)
Frederick Jones (Pasha Seid) /Daniela-Rosa Cepeda(Medora)
James Henare  (Giovanni) / William McElwee (Pirate/Aga Selimo)
Declan Cudd (Pirate/Eunuch) / Jack Blomfield (Lord Byron)
Imogen Thirwell (Caroline Lamb)

Voice Students of Te Kōkī  NZ School of Music

Conductor: Kenneth Young
Director: Sara Brodie
Assistant Director : Frances Moore
Orchestra of Te Kōkī  New Zealand School of Music

Opera House Wellington,
27th July 2013.

Giuseppe Verdi’s operas are reckoned to fall generally into three stages of development – rather like Beethoven’s music, in fact. The opera Il Corsaro, completed in 1848, comes towards the end of the composer’s “early” operatic body of work, but after better-known works such as Nabucco (1842), Ernani (1844) and (most surprisingly) Macbeth (1847). It ‘s such an enterprising choice of repertoire for this, the 200th composer-birth-anniversary – but given its actual lineage, why is Il Corsaro so little-known?

Verdi had read Lord Byron’s poem The Corsaire in 1844, subsequently contracting his librettist, Piave, to adapt Byron’s verses for the stage. The composer then got involved in a kind of squabble with one of his publishers, and the upshot was that he seemed to lose interest in Il Corsaro, despite at an earlier stage calling it “beautiful, passionate and apt for music”. Uncharacteristically, he publicly distanced himself from the opera’s first performances, a circumstance which has contributed to the work’s subsequent neglect. We’ve lost the composer’s on-going thoughts and attitudes towards the work’s early presentation history, as ought to have been expressed in various pieces of correspondence or performance-inspired alterations to the score.

A pity, because the work sits on the border of Verdi’s movement towards a “middle-period” style, with lyrical elements playing an increasing part in his strongly-energised dramatic expression, one that sweeps both along with irresistible force. Despite the story’s obvious gaucheries I soon found myself caught up in it all, thanks as much to the across-the-board commitment of the cast and production team as to the composer’s directly engaging way with character, situation, plot and denouement.

It was an inspired idea of director Sara Brodie’s to give us the poet, Byron, at the very beginning, his creative persona visibly interacting with the music of the prelude (incredibly whiplash playing from the student orchestra under Ken Young’s direction – marvellous!) By the time the Corsaire’s ship entered and the pirates disembarked it was possible to imagine that the poet had dreamed and imagined us as well, a transfixed, captive audience!

From then on, the swashbuckling and rollicking yarn really took hold – the opening chorus sequences, much of them unaccompanied, had both energy and clarity, making up with focused, well-varied emphases, what was slightly lacking in girth and punch. I thought both Tony de Goldi’s powerfully unfussy set designs (I loved the sky-curtain seemingly drawn open by the ship’s prow, at the beginning!), and Hannah Rodgers’ lighting choices beautifully enhanced this and all of the following scenarios. Daphne Eriksen’s costumes further enlivened the colorful action throughout every sequence, and sat nicely upon each character.

Oliver Sewell made a strong impression right from the start as Corrado, Il Corsaro himself, the fine ring to his voice suggesting the ability to lead and command. As Medora, Corrado’s lover, Daniela-Rosa Cepeda conveyed a lovely fragility, both visually and vocally, shaping her  melismatic irruptions nicely and actually making them mean something in emotional and dramatic import. The lovers’ farewell duet was built both tenderly and then excitingly towards the cannon-shot – a great moment, the poignancy of parting all the more dramatic as a result – convincingly done.

However “mad, bad and dangerous to know” Byron’s sometimes mistress Caroline Lamb thought him, her reaction to the poet’s verses was here portrayed as something bordering upon hysterical mirth – her timely removal over the poet’s shoulder allowed the opera to proceed! – however, her giggling was echoed by the women of Pasha Seid’s harem as they congregated, focusing their attentions upon Gulnara, the Pasha’s favorite odalisque.

Christina Orgias as Gulnara began extremely well, making an eloquent lament for her native land, demonstrating vocal command and fearlessly attacking her high note at the end of the aria. Frederick Jones as Pasha Seid produced true and accurate tones, and as the evening progressed, seemed to increasingly warm his voice to the task, relishing both his “hundred virgins” and his “vengeance” arias. I did think there could have been more tension and dynamism in his and Gulnara’s exchanges, when he accused her of wanting to help his enemy, Corrado, whom he had captured earlier, to escape – in these Verdian situations subtleties often need to be cast aside by performers in favour of full-blooded theatrical flow.

All the while, conductor Ken Young ensured the orchestral support for the singers was right up with the play, both in vigorous passages and in places like the lovely “sighing” effect accompanying Corrado’s lament for Medora from his prisoner’s cell. Later in the same scene the orchestra raged splendidly throughout the storm (pre-echoes of Rigoletto) that accompanied Gulnara’s killing of the sleeping Pasha Seid, the lighting kicking in brilliantly at that point for a properly hallucinatory effect.

As for the final scene, I found myself abandoning my notes and surrendering to the tide of spectacle, sound and emotion the performers were able to generate. Neither Byron nor Verdi chose a “boy-gets-girl-at-the end” scenario – Byron has the unfortunate Medora, Corrado’s lover, dead from grief before his return, whereupon he  spurns his liberator, Gulnara, who has travelled with him, and exiles himself from his island home. Verdi’s scenario has Medora die of exhausted grief when Corrado arrives with Gulnara, whereupon the remorse-laden pirate abandons the former odalisque and throws himself into the sea in true, united-in-death verismo style.

It all seemed in such accord with similar operatic irruptions of passion and cut-and-thrust – and from the same composer! So, very great credit to all concerned for a splendid realization of a hugely entertaining and surprisingly well-crafted work.

This was a critical edition of the score prepared by Verdi scholar Professor Elizabeth Hudson, Director of Te Kōkī  New Zealand School of Music, and I imagine she would have been gratified at having her work staged and delivered with such creative flair and unswerving performance commitment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Big C from Circa Theatre

Posted on by admin

Circa Theatre presents:
C – a musical

Lyrics and book by Paul Jenden
Music by Gareth Farr
Director Paul Jenden

Cast
Danny Mulheron   Me
Jackie Clarke       The Voice Inside My Head
Jane Waddell       Mum
Louis Solino         Carcinoma
Sue Alexander     Pianist

Performance reviewed  – Wednesday 24th July

 At Circa Theatre to 3rd August 2013

This remarkable production follows Paul Jenden’s own journey from his diagnosis with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukaemia, through the rigours of treatment, and on to an eventual state of remission.

You might well wonder how such a subject could possibly be the stuff of a lively and entertaining stage show – doubts initially shared by Jenden himself, who writes in the programme: “When I was throwing up in a hospital bed I couldn’t have imagined that this group of amazing artists would join together to turn my illness into an inspiring show, let alone that Circa would get behind us and put it on stage. It’s a show for everyone, people with cancer, people who know people with cancer and especially those who just want a good night out.” And the musical was indeed a good night out, and an extraordinary way to explore such a subject, despite its threatening  backdrop from which none can feel immune.

Gareth Farr puts the work into “a nameless genre of ‘play with songs and poems’ ”, and says it has proved to be his favourite stage project to date, with music more akin to what he writes for classical ensembles, and particularly operatic voice and solo piano. The music is in the form of two simultaneous song cycles – the moody and dark journey to an imagined and metaphorical Venice, where he is most experimental with the musical language; and the ‘voice inside my head’ songs – which are a little closer to the fun bouncy music Paul Jenden and he have revelled in in the past.

The tuneful lyrics, so seductively presented by Jackie Clarke, punctuate a distinctly quirky script where Danny Mulheron plays the central anchorman, the cancer patient. This is no journey of  morbid introspection, yet it graphically explores the assault on the mind and self that such a disease hurls at the protagonist – much worse than the disease itself in his view.

The play is roughly chronological, and dramatically charts the surprises that confront the “victim” at every turn. The surprises of his own psychological reactions, self expectations, highs and lows, and those of friends, relatives and sundry bystanders who, of course, know best how he should tackle this monster. It is all filtered masterfully through a script that engages his earlier memories of watching Mum succumb slowly to C, and his astonishment at the courage and optimism he discovers in fellow patients.

Also winding through the music, poems and dialogue is the mute but incredibly expressive figure of Carcinoma aka Cassanova – a macabre Venetian figure who comes and goes in many different Carnival guises, shown in an astonishing array of costumes designed by Jenden himself. Sue Alexander’s masterful skills at the piano were a real asset to the production, but unfortunately the voices were over-amplified to the detriment of some scenes. A small adjustment there would be welcome.

Bouquets to the cast and production team for an excellent show, and particularly to Circa for taking this musical on board. It is a totally unexpected take on a subject that is largely taboo in the stage world, but it succeeds with flying colours. Make sure you see it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NZSM students get the wind up

Posted on by admin

St. Andrews on the Terrace Lunchtime Concert:

New Zealand School of Music Wind Students

Wednesday 24th July 2013

This concert featured students from the N.Z. School of Music’s Woodwind Department, which is headed by Deborah Rawson, longtime backbone of so much creative wind and saxophone activity in Wellington. The recital was presented by four highly competent and musical students who amply demonstrated that they are blossoming under Deborah’s oversight.

The programme opened with clarinetist David McGregor and pianist Kirsten Simpson playing two Romances from R. Schumann’s Op.94. The Nicht Schnell item showed sensitive cantabile phrasing, and a good dynamic range, though the forte climaxes were actually too assertive for the romantic mood of this piece. The Einfach innig  was equally competent and musical, but the central section needed cleaner enunciation of the sharply syncopated clarinet rhythms that compete so dramatically with the piano.

David’s Three Pieces for unaccompanied clarinet by Stravinsky captured their varied moods and textures very effectively. The third frenetic, dance-like movement was delivered with exceptional facility and panache, but it would have been even more striking if given some variation in the unrelieved forte dynamic.

Next Ashleigh Mowbray played three contrasting pieces from the Six Metamorphoses after Ovid written for unaccompanied oboe by Benjamin Britten. Her rendition of Pan beautifully captured a reed pipe timbre, but would have been even more haunting with a wider dynamic range. The imagery of Phaeton rushing across the sky in Apollo’s chariot was easy to appreciate from Ashleigh’s ebullient delivery in the second piece, where her technical competence was clearly showcased. The final lamentation of Niobe was particularly sensitive in its phrasing, though again it would have been enhanced even more by a wider dynamic range.

Clarinetist Patrick Hayes and pianist Kirsten Simpson then presented Debussy’s Premier Rhapsody, and the Movement 3 lullaby from Tedesco’s Sonata Op.128. Both items demonstrated a very competent technique, clear rhythms, and sensitive melodic playing. The varied moods were captured with a good dynamic range, though the tone of some lyrical lines did become forced and piercing when delivered forte at the top of the register. It would be great for both clarinetists in today’s recital to track down recordings by the great New Zealand clarinetist Jack McCaw, whose rich warmth of tone was never comprised in even the strongest forte sections. His playing was totally free of any forced, edgy timbre, no matter what the dynamic or register.

The final two works featured Reuben Chin on alto sax with pianist Kirsten Simpson. They opened with the Andantino from Henri Tomasi’s Ballade for Saxophone and Orchestra. The modal tonalities of the outer sections were enhanced by very sensitive dynamics, perfectly tailored to a beautiful conclusion. The final work, Desinvolte from Ida Gotkovsky’s Brilliance, was a complete contrast. The musicians’ wide dynamic range and complete technical mastery captured the wonderfully puckish mood and exuberant rhythms of the piece, and provided an exhilarating finish to an excellent concert. Kirsten Simpson’s musical talents and technical skill were a great asset to this recital – one where the lusty health of the Woodwind Department was amply demonstrated.

It was a concert that deserved a better audience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chamber classics from the Te Kōkī Trio

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Wellington Chamber Music Trust

Beethoven: Piano Trio in B flat, Op.97 ‘Archduke’ (allegro moderato; scherzo: allegro; andante cantabile ma pero con moto; allegro moderato – presto)

Tchaikovsky: Trio in A minor, Op.50 (pezzo elegiaco; tema con variazione; variazione finale e coda)

Te Kōkī Trio (Martin Riseley, violin; Inbal Meggido, cello; Jian Liu, piano)

Ilott Theatre

Sunday, 21 July 2013

Music hath charms, but this was a bit more powerful than mere charm.  The last Wellington Chamber Music concert to be held in the Ilott Theatre for at least two-and-a-half years while the Wellington Town Hall undergoes earthquake strengthening ended – with an earthquake, just as patrons were leaving the building.  There was a sizeable audience to hear this programme.  I’m sure that they felt a little sad to have to leave this lovely auditorium with its comfortable, raked seating and good acoustics.

It was a strenuous programme.  In my view the Archduke is the most wonderful music in the entire piano trio repertoire.  Beethoven’s endless invention, changes of mood and of key, leave one breathless.  Mozart, with all his genius, could not have dreamt of music like this in his wildest dreams.

I always enjoy hearing Jian Liu play; he is a consummate pianist, and knows the difference between mp, mf, and f – as indeed do his esteemed colleagues; there were great dynamic contrasts.  I loved his phrasing, too, in the solo piano opening.  The nostalgic feelings in the first movement were well conveyed.

The second movement started with a duet between the strings.  It was a very spirited scherzo, and featured gorgeous sonority from the cello.  The strange solo cello notes, followed by those on the violin, that come in several times in the latter part of the movement were not made sufficiently mysterious for me.

Jian Liu’s opening of the slow movement was perfect.  His subtlety in the variation that followed the opening was exquisite.  The next variation, for strings, is more of a light-hearted affair, and does not call for the same degree of emotional delicacy; thus appropriate vigour was the prescription.  However, this led to a soulful variation, beautifully played, with much tenderness of tone from all three instruments.

A melancholy, simple variation had all three instruments in a perfect pianissimo, the cello tone particularly being heart-rendingly direct and gentle.  Just as everything seems to die away, we are into a glorious last variation, then the rambunctious finale with its explosive good humour ends the work in triumph.   A few slips and a little patch where the players were not quite together, could not mar a fine performance.

The Tchaikovsky work had me wondering if chronological order was the best for this concert, and whether it would have been better to end with the stronger work.  However, by the end I was persuaded that Tchaikovsky’s Trio made a worthy finish.

The elegiac first movement of the next work was emotion-laden, as Tchaikovsky mourned the untimely death of his friend and mentor Nikolay Rubinstein.  Following the elegy, the music was full-on.  After the energy calmed down, a slow lyricism and a return to the opening themes had both strings playing very eloquently, with splendid tone.

After this, I noticed that a hum had started up in the theatre, whether from the air-conditioning system, I do not know.  While it was not very loud, it was more than just audible, and thus was annoying.

The piano statement at the beginning of the second movement reminded one of the similar pattern to the slow movement of the Beethoven work.  There was plenty in the variations to delight, for example, a piano solo with pizzicato accompaniment.  This was followed by a fugal section that soon went off the rails – very seductively.  Both Martin Riseley and Inbal Meggido exhibited strong playing.

A charming frisky variation opened by cello and piano was dance-like.  It could be a symphonic movement, or even a movement in a ballet.  The next variation was very emphatic, especially from the piano, before becoming more technically difficult, with fugal passages that this time were more strict, and very vigorous.

The third movement opened quietly, with a contemplative theme.  Each player had interesting individual parts to contribute.  A jolly passage from the piano was again dance-like.  A modicum of rubato from Jian Liu added to the interest and the musicality of the performance; the strings joined in the jollity.

A lovely violin restatement of the theme from the first movement preceded a piano variation that ended the finale proper.  The coda then took off, the theme being familiar to those who listen to St. Paul Sunday on Radio New Zealand Concert.  This extended coda was full of bravura passages for all instruments.

It was a difficult programme, with not much let-up for any of the players, and was greatly appreciated by the audience – there was even a well-deserved bravo or two.

The Royal NZ Ballet’s Swan Lake – classic and freshly-minted

Posted on by Peter Mechen

The Royal New Zealand Ballet presents:

the Vodafone Season of –

TCHAIKOVSKY: Swan Lake – Ballet in Four Acts

Cast: Gillian Murphy as Odette / Karel Cruz as Siegfried

Paul Matthews as Baron von Rothbart / Rory Fairweather-Neylan as The Jester

Laura Jones as The Queen Mother / Sir Jon Trimmer as Wolfgang

Royal New Zealand Ballet Company

New Zealand School of Dance

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra / Conductor: Nigel Gaynor

Choreography: Russell Kerr

Design: Kristian Frederickson

Lighting: John Buswell

St James Theatre, Wellington

Thursday 18th July 2013

This was opening night of the season, and I had not seen a performance of Swan Lake in the theatre for many years – so I was, one might say, on this occasion, energized, expectant and attuned. It was a special occasion in a much wider sense as well – sixty years ago Danish emigre Poul Gnatt, who had been a principal with the Royal Danish Ballet, set up the present New Zealand Company, and actually staged Act Two of Swan Lake in that first season of 1953. So this 2013 Swan Lake was fittingly the Company’s sixtieth anniversary production.

The Company first presented the full ballet in 1985, but in 1996 choreographer Russell Kerr, together with designer Kristian Frederickson, staged a new production, revived for this present season’s celebrations. Happily this “aging, arthritic choreographer” (as Kerr described himself) was able to join the performers on stage for a curtain call at the end, and receive due acclaim from the audience.

The evening’s program as well contained a message dedicating the Wellington performances of this production to the memory of Richard Campion (1923-2013), the founder of the New Zealand Players in the 1950s, and an original trustee of the Ballet Company. All in all, the event carried an impressive assemblage of history and achievement over the Company’s years of existence.

I have to register some surprise and disappointment that more New Zealand-born dancers weren’t used, in both principal and supporting roles, on such an occasion as this. As was also the case with the Opera Company’s recent “Butterfly”, I was left wondering to what extent our own home-based artistic institutions make as a priority the development of our own performers, and, following on from this, our own particular home-grown performance character and standards.

To my mind there’s something lost as well as gained by all too readily “going global” and using off-shore performers as a matter of course (and my concern extends to the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s recruitment trends as well) – can we afford long-term to so markedly take the “New Zealand” out of our performance makeup? I don’t mean to sound isolationist, or anything like that – it’s all a matter of degree – but I think it’s important to have some regular access to what our own performers can offer over a range of artistic endeavors, in tandem with rather than supplanted by artists from overseas.

But back to the performance in hand, and to the immediate joy of having the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra in the pit at the St.James. Right at the beginning, I was struck by the wind playing – beginning with the oboe, and continuing with the clarinet, those plaintive instrumental sounds sparked off a welling-up of emotion, one which overwhelms me no matter how often I hear this music – all of it with the curtain still down in the theatre, the raw feeling of the scenario laid bare in pure sound for us to experience for ourselves.

Of course, the “orchestra pit” scale of the band isn’t to be compared with what one hears in the concert-hall or on record, so that the instrumental agitations have rather more of a sharply-focused than an epic quality. But the playing got from the orchestra by Nigel Gaynor made for some sublime sounds.

When the curtain opened on the beginning of Act One, I was transfixed by a feeling of then-and-now, akin to what I felt when watching the Company’s stunning revival of Russell Kerr’s and Raymond Boyce’s production of “Petrushka” a couple of years ago – here, part of me immediately became a small boy once more, taken to a place of youthful enchantment, an exquisitely-detailed and beautifully-lit forest glade.

Siegfried was danced this evening by Karel Cruz, originally from Cuba, and currently a principal dancer with Pacific Northwest Ballet in the USA. Very tall and possessing both incredible grace and astounding cat-like reflexes, he was able to command the stage in the time-honoured manner, though without diminishing the presence or impact of any of the other characters. I thought this “giving to others” quality seemed to come from the complete easefulness and naturalness which he exuded as the Prince.

This allowed the character roles, such as Rory Fairweather-Neylan’s enthusiastic and amusingly gauche Jester, and Sir Jon Trimmer’s affably urbane Wolfgang (the Prince’s tutor) plenty of “leavening-room”, heightening the contrast with the story’s darker, more serious aspect. Yet another dimension, that of the Royal Court, was splendidly highlighted by Laura Jones’s dignified Queen Mother, her character using both the entrance music and regalia in a totally convincing manner. This splendor was thrillingly caught in the mighty Polonaise, whose strains seemed to set the whole theatre dancing – Siegfried and the men matched the music’s energies as characterfully as did the Pas de Trois dancers a sequence or two earlier, expressing the scoring’s exquisite delicacies.

Act Two seemed to be upon us before we knew what was happening, introducing us to the lakeside, the swans and their enchanter, Baron Von Rothbart. But what a wonderfully-contrived entrance of the swans! – perfectly mirroring the composer’s cunningly-written canonical figurations. From their first encounter I thought that Gillian Murphy’s Odette made the perfect foil for Karel Cruz’s Siegfried. Supported by orchestral and solo instrumental playing to die for, both principals seemed to dance right into one another’s characters, registering the tensions and impasses of their situation as much as their yieldings and intertwinings. The cygnets then charmed us with their twinkling synchronizations – I enjoyed the gradual burgeoning of their movements throughout, delicacy eventually becoming overlaid with vigour and “attitude”. And Odette’s final solo of the Act, slow, sensual and tremulous, wrung out oceans of feeling with each movement – a superb performance.

Von Rothbart at the lakeside I confess I couldn’t quite “get”. I thought Paul Matthews danced the role with plenty of energy and focus, though I felt that neither his costume nor the staging throughout this sequence greatly supported what he was trying to convey – especially in a post-Harry Potter world a somewhat drab owl costume isn’t in itself going to help generate any great malevolence or a properly-telling sense of a sinister “creature of the night”. I would have thought something more lurid – either more striking makeup, or a kind of infernal colouring worn underneath the owl’s feathers – would have helped the dancer suggest a force more baleful and dangerous than the “bad-tempered scoutmaster in drag” kind of cameo evoked by the unfortunate bird regalia.

One had, in fact, only to compare, by way of contrast, the same dancer’s properly menacing portrayal of the Baron in Act Three, dressed as a nobleman, and accompanying his daughter to Prince Siegfried’s ball, to get a sense of what could have been suggested at the lakeside as well. Add to this Gillian Murphy’s particularly bright and sharp-edged depiction of the daughter, Odile – made to look like Odette, to deceive Siegfried – and there was evil personified most satisfyingly, by both father and daughter.

Earlier, the third act had burst into life richly and resplendently, the colours of both decor and costumes a burnished gold, befitting the family’s obvious importance. Odile’s and Von Rothbart’s entrance galvanized the party just before the Spanish Dance, throwing the Prince into confusion at the girl’s likeness to Odette. Of the national dances the one I thought came off best was the Neapolitean Dance – we heard some terrific trumpet playing from the pit and enjoyed some spirited dancing from Adrianna Harper and Mehdi Angot.

This, however, was decorative stuff compared with Siegfried’s and Odile’s pas de deux – Gillian Murphy’s freedom and fluidity of movement was incredible, her Odile bringing into bold relief the previous Act’s “imprisoned” state of being suffered by Odette. And all the while Karel Cruz’s Siegfried was captivated, so directly and intensely focused upon his strange new partner. What I thought was the tiniest of forward stumbles right at the end of her concluding solo, from the super-confident Odile, didn’t detract from a fine, tautly-drawn performance. The “real” Odette, on the wrong side of the window and trying to warn Siegfried, was here danced skillfully and plaintively by an unnamed dancer.

Like many symphonic finales, Swan Lake’s final Act goes for broad brush-strokes, with well-worn but effective storybook themes, this one suggesting a kind of “redemption through love” scenario, which in slightly varied forms has served the ballet’s purpose well over the years. Some judiciously-applied mist concealed Odette along with her grief at apparently being betrayed by Siegfried, as the act opened. Again, the beauty of the wind-playing which opened the slow,affecting dance of grief added to the pathos of it all.

As the darkness gathered the lovers decided upon their fate, bringing the vengeful Von Rothbart into the open – back in his owl form he again seemed far less menacing, but the music, via some truly splendid climaxes led the way through the lovers’ sacrificing of their own lives in the waters of the lake and the evil sorcerer’s death – we were left with a striking diagonal array of ex-swans in a “farewell flotilla”, saluting the liberated spirits of the drowned lovers, as the curtain slowly fell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Variable winds at St.Andrew’s over lunchtime

Posted on by admin

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace Lunchtime Concerts presents:

 Mozart Serenades  for Wind Octet  K 375 in Eb, and K388 in C minor 

Peter Dykes,  Merran Cooke , Oboes
David McGregor,  Hayden Sinclair, Clarinets
Preman Tilson, Penny Miles, Bassoons
Peter Sharman, Heather Thompson, Horns
St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace

Wednesday 17th July 2013

This lunchtime programme was a rare opportunity to hear live performances of these wonderful wind ensembles from Mozart’s pen. They were presented with the assurance one would expect from such seasoned musicians, who clearly revelled in the chance to present these works. K 375 was first composed in 1781 for wind sextet (without oboes) and performed outdoors in several Salzburg locations on the evening of a lady’s name day. It was common practice for itinerant musicians to perform street music around the city on such occasions, be they festivals for saints’ days or those of prominent citizens. The following year Mozart rewrote the work for octet, possibly hoping it might be played by the Emperor’s wind band.

The group amply captured the festive exuberance of this musical genre, but the tempo selected for the opening movement of K.375 was a little too hurried: the fast-moving scales for various pairs of winds call for crispness and clarity, but at this speed I doubt the promenading burghers would have been able to appreciate them against the hubbub of street festivities. The following movement would have benefitted from more dynamic contrast, particularly between the Menuetto and Trio, as would the Adagio where Mozart’s signature melodies were not really allowed to speak clearly enough through the rich accompanying textures. The arpeggio passages from the 2nd Horn were, however, the exception, with Heather Thompson projecting them beautifully.

The Finale set off at a hectic pace, again at the cost of musical clarity and dynamic contrast. The over-bright acoustics of the renovated St. Andrews space make this a real challenge for groups this size, and perhaps their approach was simply to perform like the original street musicians who had to capture the attention of listeners in a noisy outdoor environment.

The K388 octet was also presented with total competence and technical mastery but again the  tempi and dynamics selected did not do full justice to this somewhat more solemn work. This Serenade showcases Mozart’s woodwind writing at its breathtaking best, but its magical subtleties were often obscured by lack of dynamic contrast or a sensitive balance between melody and accompaniment. The bassoon variation in the final Allegro was played with spine tingling clarity of line and rhythm by Preman Tilson, but it was a real struggle to pick it out from the group sound. We are exceptionally fortunate to hear musicians of this calibre, but it is sad to hear them swallowed up in a one-size-fits-all approach to dynamics and balance.

That said, it was a  privilege to attend this concert, given that these busy musicians have so many calls on their time and talents. Their enthusiasm and pleasure in the works was infectious, and this was unreservedly conveyed to the audience. One was just left hankering for enough rehearsal time for this group’s wonderful talents to do full justice to two of the finest works in the wind repertoire.

Mellifluous flute and piano at St.Andrew’s

Posted on by Peter Mechen

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace Lunchtime Concerts presents:

THE TWENTIETH-CENTURY FLUTE WORLD

Music by Georges Hüe, Sigfrid Klarg-Elert, Ian Clarke, Robert Aitken, Alfredo Casella

Hannah Sassman (flute) / Robyn Jaquiery (piano)

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace

Wednesday, 10th July, 2013

A thoroughly invigorating music-listening experience! – most appropriately for a middle-of-the-day concert, this had an engaging “borne-on-air” quality, as much to do with the playing of two consummate artists as with the instruments and repertoire.

Hannah Sassman plays flute with both the NZSO and Orchestra Wellington as a freelance musician, and teaches the instrument to a number of advanced students. She’s currently a music librarian with RNZ Concert, and recently completed her Master of Music degree at the University of Colorado in Boulder, USA.

Her partner today at the piano, Robyn Jacquiery, is a well-known and highly-regarded accompanist, working with solo singers, instrumentalists and choirs.

Their combination here brought an assemblage of generally little-known repertoire to life for us, beginning with a Fantasie by French composer Georges Hüe, a contemporary of Gounod and Franck, and a winner of the Prix de Rome.

Known during his lifetime mainly for his operas and choral works, Hüe wrote this Fantasie in response to a commission by the Paris Conservatoire’s professor of flute, Adolphe Hennebains, to whom the piece is also dedicated.  Originally for flute and piano (which latter part was subsequently orchestrated, according to my researches) it’s a delicate and charming work, with that unique kind of bitter-sweet amalgam of “French Catholic” sentiment and late-romantic astringency that, to my ears haunts French fin-de-siecle music.

As engaging a communicator when talking about the music as when playing it, Hannah Sassman gave us just enough “background” to each piece in a way that nicely complemented the program notes. And with her playing of such things as Karg-Elert’s Chaconne for solo flute, she demonstrated how, in the hands of a gifted performer, music can indeed take up where words leave off – the Chaconne ranged from evocations of meditative calm to episodes of impulsive excitability.

The most recently-written works on the program were Ian Clarke’s Hypnosis and Sunday Morning, pieces which stemmed from the composer’s work in rock groups in the 1990s, the latter piece suggesting to Clarke a connection with Lionel Ritchie’s “Easy like Sunday Morning”, and giving the work a title. Hannah Sassman demonstrated for us some of the special “flute techniques” used by the pieces – things like slides and “timbral trills”.

More esoteric, perhaps, was Canadian composer Robert Aitken’s Icicle, written in 1977, a piece using microtonal techniques and nuances. Parallel to the rigorous intellectual aspects of all of this was the piece’s wonderful atmosphere, its figurations and the instrument’s timbre readily suggesting birdsong.

Music by Italian composer Alfredo Casella concluded the programme – an attractively written Sicilienne et Burlesque dating from 1914, lots of fun to listen to, and obviously, judging from the spirited nature of today’s performance, to play.

I enjoyed the music’s ritual-like opening, with its suggestions of both chant and folk-song, the piano’s graceful, rhythmic progressions creating different ambiences for the flute’s peregrinations.  The time-honoured progression from slow to fast worked brilliantly here, with the energetic Burlesque – in places intense and dark-browed, but in others lightened by an attractive insouciance. Both players handled the many changes of time and tempo with considerable aplomb – we listeners found ourselves caught up in the music’s trajectories, and enjoyed the excitement both musicians generated at the finish. Splendid!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beauty and truth from Amici at Waikanae

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Waikanae Music Society 35th Anniversary Concert

Amici Ensemble (Donald Armstrong, Cristina Vaszilcsin, violins; Julia Joyce, Andrew Thomson, violas; Rowan Prior, Andrew Joyce, cellos; Hiroshi Ikematsu, double bass; Kirsten Simpson, piano)

Mozart: Grande Sestetto Concertante in E flat, K.364 (allegro maestoso, andante, presto)

Christopher Blake: Māramatanga (Rangiātea, McNaught, Sisyphus)

R. Strauss: Metamorphosen

Waikanae Memorial Hall

7 July 2013

The Waikanae Music Society has formed a laudable habit of commissioning a new work to celebrate each of its fifth-ending anniversaries.  Jack Body and Kenneth Young have both had commissions; this time it was the turn of Christopher Blake.  Most laudable, too, is the length of time for which its committee members have served; President Helen Guthrie has been on the committee for 29 years!

The programme began with Mozart, the work not under its original title Sinfonia Concertante or in its familiar setting for violin, viola and orchestra, but for string sextet of two violins, two violas, cello and bass.  Directed from the first violin desk by Donald Armstrong, convenor of the group, it certainly sounded different in this combination.  The arrangement by an unknown hand was extremely skilled, giving melodies to all the instruments that in the full version were for violin and viola.

As Armstrong suggested in his opening remarks, the original work would have been played, under its original title Sinfonia Concertante, by a small orchestra in a venue much smaller than those typically used today.  I still missed the broader background sound of an orchestra, despite the superb solos; notably the excellent double bass solo from Hiroshi Ikematsu in the first movement, and the viola solo from Julia Joyce in the andante movement.

The beauty of form and melody were to the fore, as always with Mozart.  There were so many charming touches, some unexpected.  Each movement was full of transforming character.  Slight aberrations of intonation were perhaps more obvious in this configuration than they would be in that for which the music was originally written.

The programme note stated that Christopher Blake’s music for piano quintet was about the enlightenment of religious faith.  This was seen in the Maori context, the opening movement being named for the church at Otaki.  The second movement was named after a comet, and the third based on the philosophy of Camus, and on the Greek character condemned to push a rock uphill, forever.  The link between Maori and the Greek gods is surprisingly topical, given the recent repeat performance of John Psathas’s Orpheus in Rarohenga, and a very fine current exhibition at Pataka in Porirua, of Marian Maguire’s wonderful etchings and lithographs linking Maori and Greek characters, Titkowaru’s Dilemma.

The work began with strummed cello, becoming gradually louder.  The other strings joined in, some pizzicato with strings deliberately hitting the finger board.  The piano entered, and the movement became a string quartet with shimmering piano in the background.  The piano followed up with a sombre, intoned melody while the strings played pizzicato again.  The movement ended as it began, with the cello.

The opening unison of the second movement perhaps suggested the open night sky; its crescendo sounded like a planet rising.  Other-worldly sounds continued.  Interlocution from the piano built up to passionate outbursts, then a mellow, muted section followed.  Meanderings by all the instruments ended the movement.

The third movement, reflecting the bleak philosophy of Frenchman Albert Camus had a gloomy tone, overall.  In places it was confused and hectic, with elements of a different, more positive attitude in a skipping piano part.  After this, the rapidly repeated, almost tremolando phrases of the strings had a pessimistic slant, and their angular melodies brought a dismal mood that the piano then joined in.  There were some gorgeous harmonies for the strings, before a declamatory ending.

Māramatanga means enlightenment; this exploration of some of its aspects certainly justified another hearing, at which one would hope to be further enlightened by and about the music.

Metamorphosen is usually played by 23 strings, but this version for seven strings is apparently based on Strauss’s original sketches.  His mourning for the destruction of so many symbols of German culture during World War II is amply heard in the music; one hopes that he also looked to a metamorphosis from that shocking state to a better one.  He certainly had good reason to be gloomy, as he saw the destruction around him.

The music brought forth beautiful playing from each individual in the group.  The cadences, progressions and harmonies had highly emotional effects.  The work grows gradually and almost imperceptibly with a wonderful build-up of tension and gorgeous tone.  After a time it took on a more optimistic aspect, in the midst of restless searching, the while clothed in romantic beauty.

As compared with the Mozart work, Strauss made considerable use of a variety of dynamics, and depth of sound.  This was a powerful performance.  A beautiful viola solo with quiet accompaniment had me wondering – is it describing resignation or resolution?  The firm, even at times harsh passage that followed suggested rejection, not acceptance.

A return to more peaceful pastures was mellow, but turned to poignancy – and perhaps resignation at last.

A fine concert illustrated why it is that the Amici are frequent visitors to the Waikanae Music Society.  Their tackling of such a varied programme always had the ring of truth.