Category: Reviews – Concerts

Interesting interdisciplinary chamber music exploration led by violinist Jack Liebeck and friends

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Einstein’s Universe (Chamber Music New Zealand)

Jack Liebeck (violin) and Stephen De Pledge (piano) with Victoria Sayles (violin), Julia Joyce (viola) and Andrew Joyce (cello)

Beethoven: Violin Sonata in G, Op 30 no 3
Bloch: Three Nocturnes for piano trio (1924)
Brahms: Sonata movement (the FAE sonata) – Scherzo
Samuel Holloway: Matter
Brahms: Piano Quartet in C minor, Op 60

Wellington Town Hall

Tuesday 23 July, 8pm

This unusual conjunction of music and science derives from a meeting and consequent friendship between violinist Jack Liebeck and Professor Brian Foster, a distinguished physicist and fellow of the Royal Society.

Liebeck is interested in science and Foster in music (he is a capable amateur violinist) and their complementary interests led to their meeting in 2003; in 2005, the World Year of Physics, they dreamed up a concert-cum-lecture idea that involved the exploration of Einstein’s love of music and his performance gifts (violin and piano).

It caught on and Liebeck says it keeps being requested. With De Pledge, he did a tour of New Zealand in 2009. Strangely, though de Pledge gave a solo piano recital in the Town Hall, the pair played together only at Lower Hutt and Upper Hutt (I heard them at the Expressions Centre in Upper Hutt). And while Foster was also, apparently, in New Zealand in 2009, I am not aware that an Einstein concert performance was given here. Liebeck has also played with the Auckland Philharmonia.

The publicity surrounding this tour to ten centres, from Auckland to Invercargill, would suggest that Liebeck’s involvement with Einstein and science is a major element in his performing career. But I can see no mention of these in his website apart from his being Artistic Director of the Oxford May Music Festival, a festival of Music, Science and the Arts. On the other hand the website gives an illuminating picture of the range of music and places in which he plays. It suggests that it could be very rewarding to bring him back with one of the chamber ensembles that he works with or has created.

The major Einstein element was an hour-and-a-half illustrated talk before the concert by Professor Foster which, unfortunately, I could not get to. There Liebeck was on hand to play examples of the music that Einstein was thought to have loved and played: most importantly Bach and Mozart. The Einstein connection of the recital itself was rather more tenuous of course. We could be happy to accept Beethoven’s Op 30 No 3 as much loved by the physicist and it was a marvellous opening, displaying a finesse, subtlety in the infinite range of dynamics and articulations that both the players brought to it; an urgency combined with delicacy and restraint in the first movement, with delicious undulatings from the piano whisperings from the violin. The middle movement, the minuet, introduced a sombre tone, a charming waywardness that teased with a sense of being adrift.

The fact that members of the Royal Society of New Zealand had been given tickets meant the presence of many unfamiliar with chamber music – perhaps with classical music and its shape, generally; for applause broke out at the end of each movement. That was OK at the extrovert end of the first, but
the second ended in a spirit of ethereal breathlessness where I hoped for silence; we didn’t get that. Perhaps it’s a small price to pay for the possible awakening of a few unbelievers to The Way and The Truth.

Then came the Scherzo movement that Brahms contributed to a collaborative violin sonata written with Schumann and one of Schumann’s pupils, Albert Dietrich, in 1853. The 20-year-old young genius can clearly be heard. It blossomed at the hands of these two ultra-refined musicians who could bring so
much colour and timbral fascination to it: De Pledge produced sounds from the piano that even hinted at a glockenspiel.

A more direct link between the players and Einstein came with Bloch’s Three Nocturnes; he was President of the Ernest Bloch Society (Professor Foster is vice president of the Bloch Society). These pieces were played by De Pledge with Victoria Sayles on violin and Andrew Joyce on the cello, giving scrupulous attention to the markedly different character of each nocturne; the last was rather more boisterous than one might want when trying to sleep. I had not come across them before and they rather modified my earlier impression of Bloch’s musical character. They are so charming and, I imagine, so delightfully rewarding for the players that they deserve to be born in mind by piano trios looking for different repertoire.

Before the interval came the work commissioned by Chamber Music New Zealand from the current Mozart Fellow at Otago University, Samuel Holloway. It was a piano quartet, with Victoria Sayles taking her husband’s place on the violin, plus Julia and Andrew Joyce. Jack Liebeck acted as conductor through the music whose textures were so insubstantial and the rhythms hard to define.

It picked up the theme of the programme: Matter; taking seriously the task of finding a way of simulating in music the atomic particle structure of matter, through the use of what a decade or more ago would have been referred to rudely as ‘plinck-plonk’ music: such thoughts were dispelled very quickly. It’s largely atonal, widely spaced, staccato note sequences, mainly subdued in dynamics, with not much (any?) melodic invention. Yet the effect was strangely beguiling and even though not much happened in the sense of recognizable development or cyclical evolution, it created suspense that was so emotionally coherent that it was possible to gage intuitively how and when it would end, some time before it did. Though I do not actively pursue music of this character, I found it curiously engaging, partly as a result of the thoroughly studied, sensitive and engrossing performance.

After the interval we returned to standard repertoire. Brahms wrote three piano quartets; this was not the familiar and best-loved of them perhaps (that’s the G minor, Op 25), but written about 20 years later. (The core players returned: Liebeck and De Pledge, Julia and Andrew Joyce). The third quartet, also in a minor key, C minor, is more typically sombre and is not, till the gorgeous Andante third movement, furnished with the immediate melodic delights that the first quartet enjoys.

The Scherzo second movement doesn’t shift from the minor tonality even though its rhythm is energetic. The texture becomes symphonic, some might use the word dense, but the performance was always marked by the clean playing in an ideal acoustic. It’s the third movement that makes an unorthodox tonal shift from C minor to E major (not the relative major which would be E flat), so making the move to a sunnier landscape, with its quite rapturous melody, more dramatic. Brahms knew he had a ‘trouvaille’ and the players knew it too.

The last movement, in which musicologists have spotted borrowings and references of several kinds, returns to a degree of complexity which some might ascribe to a melodically barren moment.  Indeed, it gave Brahms a great deal of trouble, shown in one aspect in his reference to Goethe’s Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werthers). Because that reference seems to me quite pregnant, let me quote
a few lines from a website: www.youtube.com/watch?v=snJjPMdBZzY.

“A letter from Brahms, sent with the manuscript to Theodor Billroth includes the following enigmatic comment: ‘the quartet has communicated itself to me only in the strangest ways…For instance, the illustration to the last chapter of the man in the blue frock and yellow waistcoat.’ This refers, somewhat obliquely, to Goethe’s Werther, which Brahms admired. Meanwhile, he remained deeply dissatisfied with the work, and wrote to his publisher Fritz Simrock, ‘you may attach a picture on the title page, i.e.
a head with the pistol before it’.” Last month, in Germany, I picked up a copy of Werther which has always been seen as a key literary impulse of the Romantic movement. Inter alia, it has been blamed as the original driver of copy-cat suicides.

So there were several reasons for my listening with great interest to the music and its scrupulous and illuminating performance, and a delight in the entire concert.

 

 

 

 

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.

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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Enterprising take on the year’s anniversaries with Wellington Chamber Orchestra

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Wellington Chamber Orchestra conducted by Michael Vinten

Overture: Oberto (Verdi)
Requiem on the anniversary of Verdi’s death (Puccini)
Plymouth Town – ballet music (Britten)
Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten  (Pärt)
Hommage à Wagner: Liszt’s Venice: music for Wagner’s death (arranged by Michael Vinten)
Symphony in C (Wagner)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 7 July, 2.30pm

2013 is the two hundredth anniversary of the births of Verdi and Wagner and the centenary of Britten’s. Here was an ingenious concert that included pieces from the early years of each composer as well as music written to mark the deaths of the three.

Some were fairly obvious, others obscure and interesting, if not great works.

Those in the habit of listening to Radio New Zealand Concert after midnight will have become familiar with a disc of Verdi overtures which I’m sure I’ve heard half a dozen times over the years. (Much less interesting is their attachment to overtures by Marschner). The all-night programme seems to be drawn to certain discs and I have always enjoyed this one.

Oberto was the first opera that Verdi completed and was performed, at La Scala indeed! It reveals Verdi as a bold melodist and orchestrator, in the style of the day which was heavily influenced by Bellini. It’s interesting as demonstrating the accepted and expected approach of the day that made no virtue of ‘originality’ but merely sought to display talent in finding memorable, dramatic music that fitted the story and maintained the attention of those paying for their seats: today that’s considered tawdry commercialism in some quarters.

It was a fine way to start, as there was little that a sub-professional orchestra could not play adequately. Gusto and good sense compensated for some rough edges and the usual problem of modulating the volume of brass instruments.

I had never come across the little Requiem that Puccini wrote in 1905 to mark the fourth anniversary of Verdi’s death. It was a bit hard to discern the composer of Madama Butterfly of just the year before. It was composed for choir, solo viola and organ but this was an arrangement for orchestra. It was thoughtfully played but didn’t leave much of a mark. I’ve listened to You-Tube performances, both employing a choir, which I confess I found a little more engaging that the orchestral version.

More interesting was a very early work by Britten, a ballet score entitled Plymouth Town, the story hinting a similar topic in Bernstein’s ballet Fancy Free and the musical, On the Town, though the scenario involved a bit of violence in the middle that Britten handled with a mixture of inventiveness and inexperience. Largely based on the evolution of the sea-shanty A-roving, the first few minutes, working well with cellos and bassoon did not strike me as offering music that cried out to be danced, but it became more ballabile in the course of its 20 minutes duration. There were later passages that offered flute, clarinet and timpani some attention, and there were well controlled pianissimo string and woodwind passages marking a restoration of peace.  Given that Britten was writing for the stage, where other senses could be engaged, it was hardly surprising that the music alone seemed a bit long.

Then came the piece that had opened the NZSO concert two days before: Arvo Pärt’s moving Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten. Tubular bells were unobtainable and the part was played at the piano; the piano, played to produce the purest sonority sounded most appropriate.  Of course, the performance lacked a little of the sense of breathless grief that can be achieved, but the final note of the ‘tubular bell’ lingered longer in the air than seemed possible.

After the interval Wagner had the floor. It began with Vinten’s quite Wagnerian-sounding orchestration/precis (shall we say) of a couple of Liszt’s late piano pieces prompted by Wagner’s death in 1883. One was entitled Hommage à Wagner and the other, Am Grabe Richard Wagners, which Liszt had partly orchestrated. There were hints of Götterdämmerung and Parsifal; not a bad experiment in musical manipulation, and well played by the orchestra.

Finally, the most impressive work on the programme, Wagner’s symphony, written aged 19 and played in Leipzig to an encouraging reception. As the programme notes pointed out, its models were Beethoven and Weber (interestingly, Weber’s two early symphonies, both also in C major, were written when he too was 19 and 20).  Though ten years before Schumann’s symphonic ventures, it seemed to me that he and Wagner had both been similarly influenced by Weber, particularly in the scherzo, third movement. Furthermore, Wagner’s symphony was performed in Leipzig where Schumann lived in 1832, studying with Friedrich Wieck; did he hear Wagner’s work?

It’s a most impressive early work that deserves occasional outings with major orchestras, and the Wellington Chamber Orchestra made a very creditable fist of it, as they did with most of this very interesting programme.

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.

 

 

Capital Choir – joys and travails through Solstice and Winter

Posted on by Peter Mechen

The Capital Choir presents:
Sing the Measure of Solstice and Winter

BEETHOVEN – Mass in C
A Selection of New Zealand Songs
Felicia Edgecombe (director) / Belinda Behle (piano)

Soloists (Beethoven):
Belinda Behle (soprano) / Ruth Armishaw (alto)
Chris Berentson (tenor) / Rhys Cocker (bass)

Janet Gibbs (organ)

Sacred Heart Cathedral, Hill Street,

Sunday 7th July 2013

There’s such a lot of pleasure to be had in singing, and especially if one is musical but doesn’t perhaps command any experience or great expertise on an instrument other than the voice.

And for people like myself who can hear music and enjoy it but would seriously baulk at the thought of making individually-exposed sounds themeslves, there’s safety in numbers in the shape and form of membership of a choir.

Recalling my own short-lived but enjoyable experience as a choir member, I’m sure I would have liked singing with this group in repertoire such as we heard throughout the first half of this concert – a collection of songs, some of them written by the choir’s own director, Felicia Edgecombe, and in one instance with the words written by another choir member, author and poet, Rachel McAlpine.

These were, for the most part, simply-conceived songs, featuring a good deal of strong, well-focused unison sounds, with some differentiation between men’s and women’s voices and enough angularities in the lines (plus the occasional harmony) to pose sufficient of a challenge.

I fancy I would also have appreciated the focused, but always flexible direction of the group’s director, Felicia Edgecombe, being made to feel secure and well-rounded in matters of breathing and phrasing by following her visual example.

And as an intensely private pianist myself, I particularly relished the songs’ piano accompaniments, each sounding so beautifully modulated and flexibly phrased (oh, to be able to play like that!) by Belinda Behle – whose name I couldn’t at first see anywhere in the program relating to the first half of the concert, but whose identity was revealed when I saw she was the soprano soloist in the Beethoven Mass as well! – she is, I believe, the choir’s regular accompanist.

I imagine it would have been a source of pride to have sung those items written especially for the choir by Felicia Edgecombe – the “Nation Prayer”, a kind of New Zealand ballad, a lovely setting of a gorgeous Gerard Manly Hopkins poem, complete with a final, affirming “Praise Him!”, and a setting of a poem “Once in a While” by Brian Turner, which featured the choir’s bass voices steadfastly holding their line throughout the first part.

Most interesting of these was, I thought, the setting of Rachel McAlpine’s lines throughout a work entitled “World”, words which the poet herself read before the performance. With bells pealing at the start, the women launched into the setting splendidly, then supported the men’s verse following – perhaps the voices didn’t quite have the “oomph” necessary to bring off the climax of the last verse, though the subsequent upward modulation seemed to give the choir more “heart”, and strengthen everybody’s resolve.

Part of the fascination of singing in a choir was, I remember, marvelling at the confidence and skill with which any soloists present would deliver their lines – so exposed, and yet so focused and purposeful. In this respect the Beethoven Mass would have been a real treat – four very different voices, beginning Beethoven’s “Kyrie” confidently, and shaping their lines throughout the “Gloria” with plenty of musicality.

In general, this was a performance of the Beethoven work by the choir that started strongly, but seemed to lose its choral focus as the work progressed. Throughout the Kyrie and Gloria, my notes contain comments such as “Women very strong – hold their lines well” and “Enthusiastic – a little strained, but nicely shaped” – and at one point where the accompanying organ unaccountably stopped, towards the end of the Gloria, the choir continued as if its life depended the outcome, holding its tone firm and its ensemble truly (I understand the organist was taken ill, hence the momentary lapse).

However, from the Credo on, the performance seemed in places under-parted – in particular, the men were often tentative-sounding, though lack of weight of numbers certainly contributed to the weak, non-upholstered body of choral sound in places.

By dint of having the most resplendent-sounding solo voices the alto Ruth Armishaw and bass Rhys Cocker were able to fill out their tones with ample variation of intensity and colour. Though plainer and more subdued by comparison the sweet-toned soprano of Belinda Behle and Chris Berentson’s true-voiced tenor managed to maintain their respective lines and hold their own in ensemble passages, achieving an attractive blend in places. And towards the end of the Gloria,in that typically Beethovenian build-up of tensions, the singers seemed inspired, led by the soprano, keeping their lines steadfastly to the end.

I would have thundered as loudly as I could at the beginning of the Credo, had I been singing – I felt tempted to join in anyway, as there didn’t seem enough power in those voices at this point. It was left to our soloists to “focus” the music, which they did at “Et incarnatus est” – again both bass and alto shone during their respective solos, at  “Et resurrexit” and “Et in Spiritum Sanctum”  How amazingly like the Missa Solemnis  this music is in places – obviously a kind of preliminary run on the composer’s part!

I don’t think I would have liked to sing the Sanctus, much – all that chromatic writing! But I did wonder as to whether there had been sufficient rehearsal though these sequences, because they sounded to me as though they were being sight-read, here. Again, the soloists came to the rescue in the “Benedictus”, Ruth Armishaw in particular a tower of strength, despite the briefest of stumbling over an ending to “In Nomine Domine” – and, the final lines of the ensemble were simply heavenly!

The choir rallied itself for the final Agnus Dei, achieving the “cry of anguish” at the beginning,and establishing a coherent sense of ebb and flow through to the end. For me, the music had a wonderful kind of dark “Gothic” feeling about it in places, which the choir was able to sustain, and which the soloists were able to work their contrasting “Dona nobis pacem” passages against to good effect.

So – a mixed bag, with the warm, heartfelt choral singing throughout the first half and the work of the soloists during the Beethoven Mass the most notable features. Even the undernourished choral singing during parts of the Mass didn’t for me negate the work’s glory, so, all-in-all, I was grateful to have heard it done, this “little brother” of the great Missa Solemnis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Magnificent Nordic programme from NZSO, Vänskä and Currie

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Osmo Vänskä with Colin Currie (percussion soloist)

Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten (Pärt)
Percussion Concerto ‘Sieidi’ (Kalevi Aho)
Symphony No 5, Op 50 (Nielsen)

Michael Fowler Centre

Friday 5 July, 6.30pm

Osmo Vänskä’s name first came to my notice as conductor of the Lahti Symphony Orchestra in a series of Sibelius symphonies that returned to the composer’s original versions. Even though the consensus was generally that Sibelius’s further thoughts were best, there were interesting revelations; in any case, the performances were acknowledged as powerful and highly motivated.

Though in his conversation with Eva Radich on Radio New Zealand Concert’s Upbeat, Vänskä hinted at the way he has been rather confined to the Nordic repertoire, it was no bad thing for us to experience this splendid programme; just a shame that Wellington audiences seem to be overlooking the meaning of the increasingly empty boast of being the Cultural Capital: there were far too many empty seats.

Wellington heard the first of the four performances of this wonderful concert (the orchestra goes on to Christchurch, Hamilton and Auckland), and it proved to be a landmark, both for the astonishing percussion concerto by Kalevi Aho and the electrifying performance of Nielsen’s Fifth Symphony. Many of us consider Nielsen to be a symphonist in almost the same class as Sibelius, and this Finnish conductor clearly believed in the music’s stature and importance.

While Nielsen avoided referring to a ‘programme’ behind this symphony, it is generally felt that the horrors of the First World War – it was written between 1920 and 1922 – are the unspoken sub-text. Robert Layton, for example, remarks of the end of the first movement that the conflict eventually subsides leaving “a desolate clarinet mourning the terrible cost of the triumph [surely a most unfortunate word to apply to any aspect of the war, especially the Versailles treaty, pregnant with the seeds of another war]”; and an “evocation of the terrible conflict from which Europe had just emerged”.

Violence is audible in many parts, particularly in the role of the insistent automatic-weapon-like rattle of the snare drum in the first movement.

Though it is cast in two movements, each divided into several sections, a strong unity of musical subject matter binds the whole so that the audience is gripped for its entire 35 minutes or so. The symphony emerges as a very distinctive and memorable work in almost any hands, but there was a powerful, arresting atmosphere here, from the very start, with the music seeming to emerge from nowhere as violas rock across a minor third; it announced Vänskä’s intimate understanding and command.

Familiarity with the work creates a tense feeling of anticipation, awaiting the entry of the terrifying snare drum, played by Lenny Sakofsky.  Even though the drum was placed in the middle of the orchestra (where I couldn’t see it) rather than in a soloist’s position at the front, its arrival and its growing, almost overwhelming, force came as something of a shock which mere familiarity with recorded versions cannot quite prepare you for. That staccato attack is not confined to the drum however, and the driving staccato characterizes all other sections of the orchestra.

And it’s not till the last few pages that a sunny rising motif arrives to lead to the beautiful, perhaps more characteristic sound of the lyrical Nielsen with which the second part, Adagio non troppo, begins. If the tempo marking might suggest less of the drama and dynamism of the first movement, that was not the way it happened; though the conflict of the first movement was resolved, there was no loss of momentum or intensity and it proved an entirely convincing sequel.

We’d been prepared for the character of Vänskä’s performance by the two works in the first half: scrupulous, detailed attention to dynamics and to the balance between individual instruments and orchestral sections, but above all, enormous energy and rhythmic impulse.

The concert opened with Arvo Pärt’s Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten. It’s a piece that I have long promoted to family and friends who might need persuading of the existence of classical music that is irresistible: simple, spiritual and profoundly moving.  However, while I am usually most reluctant to parade comparative remarks about performances, I was unable to ignore the sounds of the recording by the Bergen Philharmonic under Neemi Järvi that is engraved in my head. This playing rather lacked the same clarity and deep spirituality. But its place as a prelude to the massive works to follow was intelligent and should awaken those hearing it for the first time to music other than Fratres and Spiegel im Spiegel by this singular Estonian composer.

The percussion concerto, Sieidi, by Kalevi Aho was jointly commissioned by the London Philharmonic and Gothenburg Symphony orchestras and the Luostoclassic Festival which, the programme notes did not tell you, is in Finnish Lapland (An amazing place; look at: www.bachtrack.com/about/luostoclassic‎).

It might be tempting to denigrate Kalevi Aho’s work as largely a virtuosic showcase for Currie, and to wonder about its musical substance; would it prove to be slight if the huge score were to be reduced to a solo piano version? But that is the equivalent of analyzing the artistic value of a painting by turning it into naked black and white.

While there were moments early on when such thoughts cropped up, admiration and persuasion soon supervened. As well as being mesmerized by Currie’s astonishing prowess, the orchestral episodes that offered the equivalent of the Promenade in Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, allowing Currie to move comfortably from one instrument or set to the next, were opportunities for lyrical, reflective and often simply beautiful music. Even as the soloist was in full flight, the orchestral composer was very conspicuous, in complementary developments that were exquisitely attuned to the character of the particular solo percussion passages.

The music evolved, metamorphosed, maintaining the listener’s attention through its varying moods and along its diverting paths. There is of course, no problem with the concerto’s form, formal anarchy has reigned in all styles of music for at least a century. It’s not divided into the traditional three or four movements, and the musical ideas are not handled in traditional ways: sonata form, rondo, or the theme and variations form, though that could be a way of considering it, where motifs are treated successively by each of the percussion instruments or groups of instruments, as well as the orchestra itself.

There were novelties among Currie’s battery of instruments: African hand-drums, and a five-octave marimba, which I had not seen before, and vibraphone. Three other orchestral percussionists participate, their positions prescribed by the composer – in the middle of the orchestra and on either side. The orchestral percussion makes its impact from the very start, as the hand-hit djembe is accompanied by quite stunning timpani and bass drum.

The deliberate visual effect is intended to reflect the shape of the music as attention on soloist Colin Currie moves from right to left and, after reaching the giant tam-tam on the left, begins a return in the other direction with the music generally exploring sounds that sounded distinct from those heard on the up-journey.

It is an extended work and makes huge demands of the entire orchestra, particularly the percussionists. I would be surprised if this performance could be heard as inferior to the premiere performance by the London Philharmonic Orchestra under Vänskä. In fact, his agreeing to come to conduct the NZSO in the piece speaks volumes about the orchestra’s international reputation. Obviously, Vänskä would have agreed to conduct this massive programme only in the confident knowledge of the NZSO’s capacities.

While it might be tempting to offer a reserved view about its musical value, I did not share some opinions that it was a bit too long; in spite of the burden of being heard as a virtuosic exercise, there is real music here, of colour, spectacle, huge variety and sustained power; and I was in no hurry for it to end. All of this could hardly have been more vividly, brilliantly brought to life than from the hands of Currie, Vänskä and the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra.

 

Young Musicians enliven lunchtime at St.Andrew’s

Posted on by admin

New Zealand School of Music presents:
Young Musicians’ Concert

St. Andrews on the Terrace

Wednesday, 3rd July 2013

This concert featured members of the N.Z. School of Music Young Musicians Programme, which provides opportunities for gifted young people to work with the cream of New Zealand performers, composers and music educators, as well as overseas visitors, faculty staff and gifted post-graduate NZSM students. Seven performers contributed to a well rounded programme which demonstrated that there is no shortage of well trained, able younger musicians coming up the ranks.

Firstly Harry Di Somma sang Brahms’ Leibestreu and Schubert’s An Sylvia, in a sensitive, musical presentation, with promising cantabile, good dynamics and phrasing, and sound intonation. His love of the works was obvious from his face, but he needs to release his whole body to express more fully the feelings he wants to convey.

Next Sophie Smith sang Brahms’ An Ein Veilchen in a remarkably well rounded, mature voice with a sure cantabile, good dynamic control and artistic phrasing. Her overall musicianship, mature voice and accomplished singing quite belied the petite figure that stood before us in her school tunic, and I believe we will see her go far with her talents.

Nino Raphael then sang Schumann’s Im Walde and Purcell’s Music for a While in a warm expressive performance with a quality of vocal timbre, phrasing and dynamics that supported a sure cantabile line throughout. He has yet to develop strength at the outer limits of his range, but he has plentiful talents to build on.

The singers were accompanied at the piano by John Broadbent, whose sure technical support and musicianship greatly enhanced the three partnerships. His crafting and balance of piano dynamics  with each voice was exemplary, easily the best piano ensemble work I have heard in the challenging acoustics that musicians must now grapple with since alterations were completed at St.Andrews.

John Tan was the first of the instrumental students, playing a Scarlatti Sonata and two piano works by Albeniz. It was a musical, expressive performance supported by a thoroughly competent technique. He can well afford to rely upon it, and need not have succumbed to the nerves that caused him to rush in the technically demanding final section of the Malaguena.

Next was an arrangement of Erroll Garner’s classic ballad Misty in a charming, sensitive rendition by guitarist Amber Madriaga. It was a perfect gem but was very difficult to hear back in the hall. Amber needs to project her lovely sound much more when playing in spaces this size.

Pianist Prin Keerasuntonpong followed with Granados’ Quejas o la Maja y el Ruisenor. He amply captured the shifting moods of its rich melodies and textures and demonstrated the skill and sensitivity that have doubtless earned him the scholarship he has secured to the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.

The final performer was Jamie Garrick, a fourth year guitar student at NZSM. He played Mertz’ Romanze from Bardenklange, and the Introduction and Caprice from Regondi’s Op.23. His sure technique supported musical phrasing and dynamics. However, a somewhat aimless approach did little to clarify the musical form of the Introduction, though this improved with the clearer melodic writing of the Caprice section.

Overall this was a thoroughly enjoyable concert that amply demonstrated the talents of New Zealand’s younger musicians.  It deserved a better audience.

(550 words)

Quintessential winds at Old St.Paul’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Old St. Paul’s Lunchtime Concerts presents:
Quintessential

Ibert: Trois Pièces Brèves

Gounod: Andante Cantabile, from Petite Symphonie (arr. Tilson)

Nielsen: Quintet, Op.43

Shostakovich: Polka, from The Golden Age

Quintessential – Karen Batten (flute), Madeline Sakofsky (oboe), Moira Hurst (clarinet), Preman Tilson (bassoon), Heather Thompson (French horn)

Old St. Paul’s, Thorndon

Tuesday 2 July, 2013

To be able to hear music of such interesting variety and high standard at a free concert is a privilege indeed.

The Ibert pieces were a great way to start.  They were quirky Ibert at full play, in the opening dance-like Allegro.  There were many fast runs for the smaller instruments, and leaping intervals for the bassoon.  The Andante began as a duet for clarinet and flute, with charming interweaving of lines and timbres, the other instruments joining in at the end.

The finale was marked Assez lent – Allegro scherzando (fine mixture of Romance languages there!)  It was piquant, cheerful and sprightly, again in dance-like rhythm and tempo.  It included a notable oboe solo, followed by a clarinet one.  There were jolly little figures on bassoon, and plenty of support from the horn.

The Andante Cantabile from Gounod’s Petite Symphonie was arranged for the wind group by bassoonist Preman Tilson. This work gave the horn an opportunity to play out, in its solo passages.  The arrangement made a charming and delightful piece, and the players performed with wonderful ensemble.

The major work, Nielsen’s Quintet, is a wonderful composition, and the introduction by Karen Batten, explaining the events depicted and the variations on a chorale in the last movement were very helpful.  The first movement, Allegro ben moderato, depicted a character (the composer?) in the countryside.  There was lots of activity for everyone, fragments of melody and other delicious passages.  The Minuet second movement had the character in the city, and so the music was much busier, with a recurring theme; the Trio section perhaps depicted a party.

The third movement, titled Praeludium (though it was at the end!) consisted of an Adagio, Theme and Variations 1-11.  The plangent Adagio was said to depict a storm in the forest, but it was a very tame storm compared with what we recently experienced!  The composer finds a church to shelter in, and sits at the harmonium, improvising a chorale upon which the variations are made.  The programme behind the variations: they depict the five players for whom Nielsen wrote the piece – people he knew well.

The first variation was for horn and bassoon – an unusual combination.  All five played the next, a flute solo soaring above the others’ musical lines.  No. 3 featured oboe; this variation changed the character of the chorale utterly.  The fourth variation was fast, with all five playing in triplets.  Number 5 featured the clarinet, with a burping bassoon for accompaniment.  No.6 had all five playing a gentle piece, sounding like a heavenly choir singing, with pleasing effect.

The seventh variation was a bassoon solo, in which the composer used the entire register of the instrument.  All played together again, in a minor tonality, in the eighth variation; the music had a rather Eastern sound.  Number 9 was for horn only; Heather Thompson achieved distant, alpenhorn-style sounds.  No. ten had all five  players interlocking with graceful phrases, and changes of key.

The final variation was spiky, with everyone asserting their own phrases.  The tempo quickened, then the splendid chorale was played again.  At this point the bassoon had to insert an extension tube into the top of his instrument, to get the notes at the end, since they were off the instrument’s range.

This wonderful, inventive and cheerful work converted me to Nielsen, of whom I have not been much of a fan to date.

The final work, to send us out in cheerful mood, was the Polka from Shostakovich’s ballet The Golden Age.  It was appropriately characterful and active for such a style of dance, not to say amusing.  Marvellous discords and lumbering rhythms were just some of the ways in which the humorous dance was created.

I noticed after the concert that there was a cor anglais on the platform; I had failed to notice in which work it was used, but I suspect it was in the Ibert.  With both pitches of clarinet in use, that made a total of seven instruments – much wind indeed, for a windy day.