Category: Reviews – Concerts

Colours rich and strange, from the SMP Ensemble

Posted on by Peter Mechen

SMP Ensemble presents: XPΩMATA – Colours

Music by Tristan Carter, Jack Hooker, Carol Shortis, Anton Killin, Iannis Xenakis (Greece), Pauline Oliveros (USA), Michael Norris, Ewan Clark, Robbie Ellis, Andrzej Nowicki

The SMP Ensemble

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace, Wellington

Saturday 9th April 2011

Continuing its work on behalf of classical music’s contemporary voices, the SMP Ensemble produced yet another absorbing and thought-provoking line-up of works from home and abroad with its program XPΩMATA – Colours. Without resorting to mega-anarchic practices, the group seems always to manage (via its own version of an incredible lightness of being) to blow invigorating gusts of fresh air through normal concert procedures and presentations, making each event a unique delight.

Darkness giving some of its space to candlelight set an expectant scene for the opening item, Tohoraha, by Tristan Carter. Away from the program note one might guess the players who had assembled and were delicately activating different acoustical properties of their instruments were concerned with representing either a subaqueous or a stratospheric state of being – these were sounds I reckoned to be outside of my direct biospherical experience! The coalescence of these sounds generated a micro-excitement which prepared the scene for something of a give-away conch-shell set of signals – very spectacular, if irrevocably conjuring up an oceanscape. A cursory knowledge of Te Reo Maori would have by this time alerted most people to an association of the piece with whales, and the connections readily translated into the idea of some kind of “dialogue among higher beings”, here, for all kinds of reasons, acoustical, environmental and emotional, a “transporting of the mind” experience, rich and strange, in any case for this listener.

Jack Hooker’s Field Murmur, ambiently titled, used electroacoustical means to evoke its world, arresting and splendid at the very beginning, as well as disconcerting, with something like a door or cupboard opening and shutting. I imagined animal or bird or even insect activity, though my carefully-constructed soundscape was peremptorily shut off by a revereberation-less halt to the sounds, which was presumably intended, as the effect was repeated with different kinds of evocations – it generated a kind of schizoid response to the medium as opposed to the message, the uncertainty of imminent closure creating its own set of tensions.

Carol Shortis’s The Riddle of Her Flight was a setting for soprano, piano and vibraphone of part of a poem by Mike Johnson. The music readily courted both pictorial and emotional responses, grumbling bass notes on Jonathan Berkahn’s piano at the beginning stimulating shafts of light from deft touches upon the vibraphone criss-crossing the soundscape. The sound of the soprano Olga Gryniewicz’s voice was perhaps siren-like, or maybe that of a wood-nymph’s, haunting and pleading. The singer emphasized the idea of “sanctuary”, aided and abetted by the instrumentalists, Takumi Motokawa’s vibraphone occasionally bowed as well as struck, producing lovely tintinabulations, and stimulating bell-like diction from the singer at the words “You must find the island”. At the end of a richly-extended lyrical episode, the final cadence following a culminating high note felt like a real homecoming. The music couldn’t help but repeatedly take my sensibilities to what seemed like “other realms” associated with Shakespearean fantasy, such as Prospero’s Island, or the Magic Wood of Oberon outside Athens.

Andrzej Nowicki was the clarinettist in tandem with his own pre-recorded playing of fragments from the same work, for composer Anton Killin’s absorbing Absence; Primes. The soloist listened at first to the recorded performance, then began a dialogue with the original, fascinatingly exploring the idea of feedback, discussion and even “second thoughts” regarding one’s own creative impulses. At first ruminative, Nowicki’s “live” clarinet-playing animated the textures, the discussion a “brightly-lit” affair until a brusque declamatory statement brought the dialogue to a sudden end.

The programme’s first “offshore” work was Yannis Xenakis’s Echange, in effect a bass clarinet concerto, bringing the first half of the concert to an end with plenty to engage the thoughts. The composer called the work “terrifying and mysterious”, and indeed, the single-note clarinet opening brings forth a disquieting subterraneous soundworld from trombone (Xenakis wanted a tuba, but…) and bassoon into which the cello oscillates and over the top of which the soloist exuberantly barks – perhaps a European manifestation of Alistair Te Ariki Campbell’s “gods of the middle world” flexing their might and muscle into a colour-change chord irreverently “curdled” by the soloist’s contribution. The clarinet ruminates deeply as its ambient surroundings ring changes of tempo, texture and articulation, creating memorable vignettes of incident – a wonderfully seismic “wobble-chord”  from the ensemble, and a “blues in the night” response from the soloist, very jazzy and lively playing, which, however develops into a kind of ritual of attempted domination on both sides, the impasse declared by implacable brass against whose black tones the soloist slashes and stabs. We fear for the safety of the music itself, at the point of dissolution the sound-world’s resonating voices asking questions we can only numbly acknowledge. A good place for the interval!

We were prepared even less for what was to follow – audience participation! – fortunately, humming was all that was required, the SMP ensemble members walking around the auditorium antiphonally encouraging us to add our unique vocal vibrations to Anton Killin’s realization of Lullaby for Daisy Pauline by the American composer Pauline Oliveros, one of the composer’s “Sonic Meditations” aimed at engendering a focus among listeners on “the intimate reality of sound”. Philosophically, Michael Norris’s work which followed, Blindsight, explored the antithesis of Oliveros’s shared ambient construct, describing his work in a context of fragile individual sensory reality. Norris’s work translated this “process of sensory faith” into a musical work involving strings and winds, with the piano as a kind of intermediary. The winds played chords using halftones, to which the piano and strings responded in a kind of instinctive manner, “feeling” their way towards a kind of kinship with the original sounds. The piano seemed then to take the lead, the winds responding to the instrument’s chords and patterning with characteristic sonorities (a kind of “opening up’ of an essential sound-nature for both groups, the winds sostenuto, the strings oscillating and flurrying melismatically. Whether growing in confidence or in desperation, the responses by both groups to the piano reached a fever-pitch of animation before sinking, exhausted. The piano maintained a dispassionate “devil’s advocate” kind of stance, allowing the winds to blow themselves out, leaving the strings fulminating amongst themselves, then relinquishing their voices with a last sotto-voce gesture – I was given the feeling of micro-processes continuing, after the overt activities had ceased…..

Reversing the program order, Robbie Ellis’s Maeve set recorded voice against solo piano, to the former’s disadvantage, unfortunately, the piano’s declamatory style in places obscuring the speaker’s tones (the loudspeaker would have been better-placed in front of the piano, eliminating the “competitive” aspect which seemed to be set up regarding the soundspace – a pity we were thus distracted, because the piano-part was gorgeous-sounding in places, Debussy-like in its focus and delicacy, while Leila Austin’s story, read by the author, would have filled out its place in the sound-tapestry in a much more balanced and contextual way – a further performance needed, I feel. Following this, Ewan Clark’s Reverie set parts of Alistair Te Ariki Campbell’s Elegy for soprano, clarinet and piano, Olga Gryniewicz’s clear and pure voice making the most of the vocal line’s beauties at “Sweetness to the root – may the tree climb high against the sun”, while Andrzej Nowicki’s clarinet-playing conjured up whole eternities of bird-song underpinned by Jonathan Berkahn’s rich and  resonant piano realization. A lovely performance of a beautiful work, capturing the lonely beauty and desolation of the poet’s evocations.

Concluding the generous program was a work by the group’s director, Andrzej Nowicki, appropriately entitled Unknown Realms, the ensemble (strings, organ, piano and winds) conducted by Karlo Margetic. We expected a kind of “road” piece, with much and greatly varied terrain covered, and weren’t disappointed. A nascent, almost tentative piano presence at first addresses only dark organ tones and subterranean bass clarinet sounds – forces of darkness holding sway, almost daring other, brighter impulses to ignite and energize the textures towards the light. The clarinets stimulate the strings’ awakening, the latter holding steadfastly to their notes as the drama unfolds, the clarinets having a “field day” both instigating and repelling various agitations, the organ joining in with weighty presence, provoking the conductor’s patience to breaking-point in the face of such concerted anarchies – a marvellously petulant “Will you stop it!” ejaculation from the podium restores order amid chaos. Great fun, nicely “placed” amid the trials and tribulations.

The group’s director, Andrzej Nowicki was warmly and ceremoniously farewelled by all at the concert’s conclusion, on the eve of overseas explorations – the best of all possible send-offs, one would think, via this musical feast from the SMP Ensemble.

Tudor Consort – Prophetic excellence at Lower Hutt

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Settings to music of prophetic writings throughout the ages

Music by Hildegard von Bingen, Orlando de Lassus, William Byrd, Gustav Holst, Alonso Lobo, Michael Praetorius, Alban Berg, Heinrich Schutz

The Tudor Consort, directed by Michael Stewart (Presented by Chamber Music Hutt Valley)

St.James Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday, 6th April, 2011

What an inspired idea for a concert! – fascinating to collect together a broad chronological range of composers’ responses to prophetic texts to register any commonalities and enjoy the differences. Not surprisingly, these factors were the two most readily prominent features of the concert, namely the power of the texts to elicit a heartfelt response from every composer, and the sharply varied flavour of each individual setting. The result was an evening replete with strongly heartfelt utterances, expressed with a variety of musical styles and modes – in other words, a “best of both worlds” occasion.

The concert couldn’t have begun more appropriately and strikingly than with Erin King’s beautiful singing of music by the twelfth-century composer, poet, visionary and abbess Hildegarde of Bingen. The otherwise excellent program note didn’t directly indicate that the text of the antiphon O pastor animarum was Hildegarde’s own, though it’s very likely part of her renowned “Symphonia armonie celestial revelationum”, her own collection of poetry and music which she assembled and herself enriched throughout her life.

But the work around which most of the concert’s program was constructed was Orlando de Lassus’s Prophetiae Sibyllarum, a visionary outpouring of highly personalized responses to texts that transported his creative sensibilities towards extraordinary flights of fancy. The texts, attributed to various mystic seers, were largely appropriated from antiquity by the early Christian Church, though it’s thought that Lassus himself wrote the words of the Prologue. The various settings were performed by the Consort in groups of two and three, and interspersed throughout the concert, creating interesting juxtapositionings with the work of twentieth-century composers such as Holst and Berg. Although these composers and others featured in the concert used texts from different sources, the shared intensities of both music and performance fused the varieties of eras and styles into what I felt to be a deeply satisfying whole.

Lassus’s settings featured a kind of chromatic restlessness in places, which, allied to marked flexibility of rhythm and pulse, readily created sound-worlds whose mystical realms seemed somewhat removed from ordinary experience, the texts truly sounding as if from remote times and places. I was reminded in places of Italian madrigals and their volatility of utterance, making for unexpected shifts of harmony, colour and rhythm by way of bringing the texts to life. Michael Stewart, director of the Consort, had introduced the composer and the music, characterizing Lassus’s work as “wonderfully weird” – and the group brought out the music’s varied intensities throughout each of the three groups of Prophetiae before the interval, with beautifully-judged gradations of sound and finely-honed intonation. In the Sybilla Europaea’s Virginis aeternum from the first group of Prophetiae after the resumption I thought the bass lines less well integrated with the whole – the rest soared and whispered across a stunningly varied sound-spectrum, the startling modulations and spooky “sotto voce” ambiences of the piece utterly spell-binding. And again, in the following Verax ipse Deus of the Sybilla Tyburtina the men’s voices again sounded to my ears a shade too nasal in effect, compared with the rest of the choir.

Amends were made with the beautifully-turned final group of Lassus’s Prophetiae, the two settings rather more conventional in effect, I thought, apart from occasional modulations which, though unexpected, we had by now come to expect! As a whole, the work was a perfect foil for the rest, William Byrd’s beautiful Ecce Virgo concipiet seeming like balm to our senses, coming as it did in the midst of all of Lassus’s convoluted chromaticisms. Holst’s Nunc Dimittis, too, seemed more “anchored” harmonically, though the overlapping eight-part opening created a frisson of expectation which built unerringly towards a real cathedral-style apotheosis at the final Gloria. And the Spanish composer Alonso Lobo’s Ave Maria had a gloriously rolling-sound kind of perpetual-motion character (the double choir creating something of an inexhaustible voices effect), all beautifully delivered.

In the second half of the concert we were able to enjoy contrasting settings (separated by three hundred years) of the German Advent Carol Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen, by Michael Praetorius and Alban Berg, the latter here eschewing his Second Viennese School associations for a more late-Romantic tonal setting. Praetorius’s essentially simple, straight-to-the-heart treatment of the words admirably set off Berg’s more extended and somewhat tortured, though still achingly beautiful setting. Concluding what I thought was an evening’s glorious singing was the Teutsch Magnificat of

Heinrich Schütz, set for double choir, and featuring at the outset richly-wrought antiphonal exchanges between the two groups. The composer cleverly varied the word-pointing in places, telescoping the word-pointing and creating a kind of word-excitement which bubbled out of and over the edges of the music – “singing for the joy of singing” was the phrase that came to my mind as I Iistened, caught up in the exuberance and beauty of it all – marvellous!

Voice students of NZSM in excellent recital at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music – Voice students, accompanied by Mark Dorrell

Emily Simcox, Angelique Macdonald, Simon Harnden, Isabella Moore, Thomas Barker, Amelia Ryman, Thomas O’Brien

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 6 April, 12.15pm

Second and third year voice students at the New Zealand School of Music, tutored by Richard Greager, Margaret Medlyn, Jenny Wollerman and Emily Mair, gave a varied and excellent demonstration of both their own talents and the quality of their teaching.

The recital was interestingly planned, starting with four arias from Mozart operas. The first two were from The Marriage of Figaro: Emily Simcox opened with ‘Voi che sapete’, an attractive, guileless performance, her voice displaying quite a ring, and a polished legato style; another soubrette role from Figaro – Barbarina’s ‘L’ho perduta, me meschina’, quite short but quite charming.

Bass Simon Harnden sang Sarastro’s aria, ‘O Isis und Osiris’. He has a naturally attractive low voice though at this stage his voice seems invested with little colour and his German pronunciation was iffy.

Then Isabella Moore finished the Mozart group with Fiordiligi’s ‘Come scoglio’ from Così fan tutte; she too will learn how to colour her singing more interestingly, but her strong voice projected well, her breath control was good and she handled the large intervals skillfully.

Then came two arias that show how interest in exploring neglected areas of the opera repertoire has grown in recent years; arias from Ambroise Thomas’s best-known operas, Hamlet and Mignon, were chosen by the next two singers. Thomas Barker, baritone, sang Hamlet’s (non-Shakespearean) apostrophe to wine, ‘O vin, dissipe la tristesse’, offering appropriate gestures, and singing with an attractive swagger. From Mignon, Emily Simcox sang the gavotte (which used to be found in most piano albums) that Thomas wrote when a contralto sang Frédéric as a trouser role: ‘Me voici dans son boudoir’. Speaking of which, Mark Dorrell’s piano accompaniments, in this, and throughout, were admirable in their lively and dramatic support.

The programme then passed to the next generation of French opera composers – to Massenet. Amelia Ryman, as Manon, sang quite movingly the sentimental farewell to the little table where she and Des Grieux have lived; we are beguiled by her charming fickleness.

A less familiar opera is Hérodiade – the story of Salome, though her aria ‘Il est doux, il est bon’ is familiar. It depicts Salome very differently from the Oscar Wilde-Strauss version of 25 years later: something approaching love between John the Baptist and Salome who tries to intercede and even seeks to be killed alongside John. Isabella Moore used her strong, sometimes rather too big, voice to great effect.

Thomas O’Brien’s voice is soft and he sang Fauré’s ‘Après un rêve’ with nicely controlled dynamics and expressive gestures.

There followed two German pieces: Angelique Macdonald returned to sing what is known as Marietta’s Lied from Korngold’s Die tote Stadt, with a voice of considerable delicacy and tonal purity. And Thomas Barker capped his fine performance of the Hamlet aria with the song to the Evening Star from Tannhäuser ; his tone is even, he knows how to control it without pushing to gain louder of higher notes. One of Elgar’s Sea Pictures was chosen by Emily Simcox – ‘In Haven’ – a moment of calm in the otherwise restless cycle; she captured it well with phrasing that was flowing and legato.

Three English songs, by Thomas Quilter, ended the programme. Amelia Ryman who had sung the Manon aria with such clarity, brought that care with diction to ‘Come away Death’ from Twelfth Night; Thomas O’Brien sang ‘Go, lovely Rose’ and then Shelley’s ‘Love’s Philosophy’; the first, restrained, delicate if not very strong, the second evincing the same sweetness of tone, and more liveliness.

The recital was not interrupted by singers’ commentaries on their pieces (each singer had written short notes in the programme) or pauses between each performance, and so audience interest was maintained very well; it was one of the most enjoyable student voice recitals I’ve heard in a long time.

A litany of Requiems from Nota Bene at St Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Herbert Howells: Requiem; Albinoni: Adagio; Schütz: Two choral pieces; Pearsall: ‘Lay a Garland’; Lukáš: Requiem Aeternam; Sam Piper: ‘Kyrie’; Jan Sandström: ‘Sanctus’; Barber: ‘Agnus Dei’; David Hamilton: Lux Aeterna; Fauré: ‘Pie Jesu’ from Requiem in D; Tavener: Song for Athene

Nota Bene Chamber Choir, conducted by Peter de Blois, with Lara Denby (soprano, in Fauré’s ‘Pie Jesu’) and Douglas Mews (organ, in Albinoni and Fauré)

St. Mary of the Angels Church, Boulcott Street

Sunday, 3 April, 2.30pm

In its seven years of existence, Nota Bene has found a particular spot in the large choral firmament that is Wellington: that of a mixed chamber choir with a wide and varied repertoire, singing in a variety of venues. It is marked by accuracy, finesse and elegance.

The sung works on this programme were all Requiems, movements from Requiems, or choral songs which speak of death. That is not to say that the music was entirely doleful or sombre in character.

Herbert Howells’s Requiem began the first half, followed by several other items. In the second half there were 7 movements: Requiem, ‘Kyrie’, ‘Sanctus’, ‘Agnus Dei’, ‘Lux Aeterna’, ‘Pie Jesu’, ‘Alleluia’, by a variety of composers. The major choral Requiems in the repertoire are not consistent as to the movements of which they are made up; the movements chosen for this concert made up a reasonable summary, although there was no ‘Libera Me’ movement. Perhaps the selection was most like that of Fauré in his Requiem of 1887.

While the printed programme gave the dates for some of the compositions, the dates for the composers were not given, which was a pity. With so many composers’ works being performed, it would have been interesting to compare the styles and settings from different periods.

The opening of the Howells, ‘O Saviour of the world’ was serene and lovely; it set the tone for the entire concert. Choral tone and blend could not be faulted. Unlike the case with many choirs, this choir has men’s voices as good and as reliable as the women’s.

This work featured soloists Gillian Bruce (soprano), Maaike Christie-Beekman (mezzo), Patrick Geddes and John Fraser (tenors) and Simon Christie (baritone), all of whom sang confidently and well. The last-named was familiar to Wellington audiences a number of years ago, as a student and after, singing solo, and performing particularly well in humorous operatic roles. I recall him as an amusing Papageno in a university production of Mozart’s Magic Flute.

The second movement of the Howells was Psalm 23. Here, there were strong and accurate unison passages interspersed with the part-setting.

‘Requiem aeternam’ (1) followed. It was peaceful and very beautiful. Next was Psalm 121 ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills’. This featured Christie in a fine bass solo. There was glorious light and shade throughout the movement, from excellent phrasing and well-controlled dynamic variation.

The second ‘Requiem aeternam’ was intensely solemn. Notable was the good forte sound, in this sympathetic acoustic. The final movement was ‘I heard a voice from heaven’ (from the Book of Revelation). It was indeed a heavenly sound, yet with a mourning, wailing aspect to it.

The whole effect of the work was understated mourning, alternating with peace and comfort afforded by the words of Scripture. The music was certainly twentieth century, but gentle and contemplative, discords serving the purport of the words rather than being there for their own sake.

This work was followed by the famous Albinoni Adagio (not by him at all, but by his 20th-century biographer, Remo Giazotto, according to the programme note). It was appropriately solemn to go with the Requiems, given interesting registration and sensitively played by Douglas Mews, with more phrasing than one usually hears it given. But it is a pretty hackneyed piece to play in a concert like this. I imagine its purpose was to give the singers a rest.

Two German settings by Heinrich (the usual form of his name, though the ‘Henrich’ in the programme is another form) Schütz gave the choir an opportunity to sing baroque music in very good German. The quiet passages were exquisitely controlled, while the tone was rich for the most part, although in the second piece, ‘Selig sind die Toten’, the tenor tone was variable, and not always attractive.

On to the nineteenth century now, and Robert Lucas de Pearsall’s quite lovely ‘Lay a Garland’. This madrigal sets words of Shakespeare, and is a favourite of Professor Peter Godfrey, who was in the audience; the National Youth Choir have frequently sung it. (Both Peter de Blois and this choir’s founder, Christine Argyle, are former members, as doubtless are other choir members). Here, Simon Christie’s voice was a little too dominant in the basses. Otherwise, the performance was superb.

The second half commenced with ‘Requiem Aeternam’ by contemporary Czech composer Zdeněk Lukáš. Both this setting and the ‘Kyrie’ that followed were sung by the National Youth Choir on its visit overseas in 1999. The contrasting textures here gave drama and impact, as did the exceedingly quiet ending. The vertical chords employing tonic and dominant were interspersed with close harmonies, and unison passages for one part only. It all made for a most attractive and interesting choral work.

Sam Piper, a former member of the National Youth Choir, wrote his ‘Requiem Aeternam’ for that choir. Nota Bene gave a very satisfying performance of a skilled piece of writing. There was plenty of dynamic contrast, which gave variety to the repetition of musical figures.

‘Sanctus’ by Sandström featured movement from intervals of thirds to seconds, creating a strong effect, and was executed with precision and finesse. It was a short but impressive work.

The prospect of the warhorse that is Barber’s Adagio was mitigated by its being the choral version ‘Agnus Dei’. I have heard this sung in concert quite recently; nevertheless, this was a superb performance. The interweaving lines became quite mesmeric.

Probably New Zealand’s most prolific choral composer, David Hamilton’s work has a sure touch, and is always very effective. The Lux aeterna begins with humming in parts. This had a shimmering quality. After the words are sung, there is a whispered invocation of ‘Lux aeterna’ from the tenors to end.

Fauré’s evocative and well-known ‘Pie Jesu’ from his Requiem was sung by young 17-year-old Lara Denby with organ accompaniment. It was a very accomplished rendition. The voice had sufficient volume, and a lovely quality; vowels were beautifully formed. There was particularly warm and prolonged applause for this item, partly because the performance of the Howells at the start of the concert was dedicated to the memory of her father, who died in December, and was a member of the choir.

The final item, John Tavener’s Song for Athene, is a work of subtly changing harmonies from the upper parts, while the basses sustain a single vowel through most of the piece. There appeared to be additional words that were not printed; these were sufficiently clear to be heard without seeing them. The ethereal and contemplative qualities of the music were fully realised.

Beginning the previous evening, there are at least six choral concerts in a period of two weeks in and around Wellington – is that not too many for the local audiences to take in? Nevertheless, this excellent concert was well-attended and deservedly, warmly received.

Leading Hungarian pianist Endre Hegedűs celebrates Liszt bicentenary to benefit Christchurch

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Liszt Bicentennial 2011:  Au bord d’une source; Mephisto Waltz No 1; Sonetto di Patrarca; Les jeux d’eau à la villa d’Este; Hungarian Rhapsody No 14; Norma – réminiscences; Wolfram’s song to the Evening Star from Tannhäuser; Transcription of the Overture to Tannhäuser

Endre Hegedűs – piano. Sponsored by the Hungarian Embassy in Canberra and the Honorary Consul-General in Wellington, to mark the current Hungarian Presidency of the European Union.

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Friday 1 April, 7pm

The tour of New Zealand by this established Hungarian pianist had been organized some time before the February earthquake in Christchurch, but when the pianist heard about its devastation, he generously decided to give all proceeds from his five New Zealand concerts to help the victims.

I had not heard of Hegedűs, but that is no reason to imagine that he has little to offer.

I did not respond to all his playing but there was more than enough that I found interesting, perceptive and moving, and almost all showing arresting bravura and accuracy. In fact, though not among the top twenty perhaps, his international reputation is clearly thoroughly established.

The recital began with Au bord d’une source, from the First year – Switzerland – of the Years of Pilgrimage, uttered with splashy runs in scintillating tempi that shifted and slackened poetically towards the ends of phrases; the impression was of great clarity. Liszt is almost the last composer about whom it is safe or sensible to attempt to lay down standards or to claim to have a definitive interpretation in one’s head, and this piece introduced me to a lot that was individual and which only rarely sounded routine rather than the result of an individual conception.

The first Mephisto Waltz is one of Liszt’s most remarkable pieces: feverish, demonic, erotic and in the hands of a master, very exciting; and that was how this performance emerged. The three Petrarch sonnets are drawn from songs which are among Liszt’s loveliest and which are coming to be heard as important in the canon of romantic lieder, or in this case, quite closely related to the French art-song or mélodie. The piano version is gloriously rhapsodic and I’m sure there are those who seriously doubt that all the heated romantic passion is good for one’s moral health. So far I have maintained good health through a life-time of exposure to such pestilences. I enjoyed this performance immensely.

The fountains at the Villa d’Este which I recall seeing before being acquainted with Liszt’s guide-book entry, are beautifully portrayed in this piece from the Third year, Italy, of Years of Pilgrimage. It is possible to hear this as a succession of impressionistic scales and decorated arpeggios that evades the need for conventional musical substance; but bear in mind that the essence of bel canto, of which Norma is a great example, is its use of such ornamentation to express emotion. It makes its impact in much the same way as did the confessed French impressionists fifty years later. Again, water, whether flowing, churning, jetted or as storm-tossed seas, are among the most often used and evocative inspirations of the romantic imagination in all the arts, and Hegedüs was not wrong in his generous application of effects that created vivid visual impressions, working openly on the emotions.

The first half ended with the flamboyant 14th Hungarian Rhapsody. It has other manifestations, as Hungarian Rhapsody No 1 for orchestra (which, coincidentally, you’d have heard the next morning, about 9am Saturday, on RNZ Concert), and a later version for piano duet (also No 1 in that series) and for piano and orchestra, called the Hungarian Fantasia).

Hegedűs worked through its ever-changing moods, pushing them often to their limits, starting with quite formidable weight on the opening chords, then investing the big first theme with a quite individual rhythm, and taking quite open delight in what have come to be the despised ‘gypsy’ tunes as distinct from the ‘true Hungarian’ melodies that Bartok sought out and recorded later. The performance gathered itself up with increasing flamboyance and reckless disregard for the hard acoustic of the church and the survival of the piano; so that it increased in speed and loudness in a way that may well have driven off some who could hear it only as brazen exhibitionism.

The second half was devoted to transcriptions and reminiscences from opera. The first rode luxuriantly on the long, and richly lyrical lines of Bellini’s tunes in Norma. Its first impact was to draw attention to Bellini’s genius in that sphere; Liszt’s generosity of spirit towards other composers and musicians was constant throughout his life. While his transcriptions of operas and symphonic works were indeed vehicles for his own playing, they were just as much to honour and to popularize the operas themselves. Not that Norma needed any promotion in the early 1840s after its enormous success on the stage in 1831. The Norma reminiscences nevertheless, run the risk of smothering the rich melodies with needless embellishment and becoming something rather different.

In seeking background about Hegedűs, I came across an entry in Wikipedia that revealed his name among those whose recordings had been misappropriated in the Joyce Hatto scam a few years ago and which was exposed shortly after her death in 2006. Many of the alleged Hatto recordings appear in a fascinating list together with the apparent sources of each recorded performance. Several of Hegedűs’s are there, including opera transcriptions. Many of the Hatto forgeries were in fact performances by distinguished pianists like Ashkenazy, Hamelin, Bronfman, Marshev, Collard, Ingrid Haebler …. Hegedűs was in good company.

I have not found reviews of the ‘Hatto’ recordings traced to Hegedűs, but it would be interesting to see how critics heard them. The Norma reminiscences are not in the list.

There followed the transcriptions of Wolfram’s aria ‘O du mein lieber Abendstern’ and the overture from Tannhäuser. The Evening Star was poetically played with quiet chords though Liszt found it hard to bring it to a restrained conclusion. The overture soon succumbed to the temptation to grandiloquence and flamboyant rhetoric, somewhat unrelenting, and I had to confess to being rather overwhelmed by playing that became simply too reckless and loud, though never careless. It may have worked in a large auditorium well upholstered with a couple of thousand people; hardly in this space.

Hegedűs introduced each piece in words that were often difficult to catch but there was enough to reveal an engaging personality with a nice sense of humour; a pervasive love of his instrument and of Liszt’s music.

In all, Hegedűs’s brought to Liszt’s music an authentic romantic spirit that was poetic, as well as capable of grandeur and excess; and the chance to hear some of the rarely played opera transcriptions was a real bonus.

‘NZTrio’ at Paekakariki’s Mulled Wine concerts

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

 

Piano Trio in F sharp minor, Hob XV:26 (Haydn), Intaglio (Chris Gendall), Grooveboxes from Swing Shift (Kenji Bunch), Piano Trio in A minor, Op 50 (Tchaikovsky)

The New Zealand Trio (‘NZTrio’): Justine Cormack – violin, Ashley Brown – cello, Sarah Watkins – piano

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday 27 March 2.30pm (and also, in part, at the Lower Hutt Little Theatre, Monday 28 March)

The Mulled Wine concert series at Paekakariki has become an interesting and singular event in the pattern of music in the Greater Wellington region. Some of the concerts are indeed to be found repeated elsewhere in the region; some are not. The NZ Trio’s concert could have been heard again the following evening at Lower Hutt and I took myself there in order to get a different aural experience and to listen again to the pieces new to me. (I happen to live in a suburb roughly equidistant from Paekakariki, Lower Hutt and Wellington city).

I believe that this was the first visit by the NZ Trio at this series. They would have been charmed by the setting, both by the traditional small-town hall and it location by the sea. The dramatic variety of microclimates visited on the south-west corner of the North Island was dramatically played out too.

Just an hour or so after a phenomenal downpour that cause floods in the Porirua basin, here it was pleasant and partly sunny. Kapiti was moored offshore and the sound of the waves on the eroding beach were sometimes synchronised with the rhythms of the music. I’m sure the players would have been impressed at the enterprise and friendliness of the series organizers, led by Mary Gow, not to mention the mulled wine afterwards.

The players were seated about half way along the western wall with their backs to the sea, and so on the same level as the audience, so there were sight-line difficulties of some.

That placing may have contributed to the way the acoustic amplified the players’ sounds; as well as being too loud, it had the effect of somewhat flattening dynamic nuances.

All three musicians are bachelor graduates of the University of Canterbury and they have all done post-graduate study in the United States. The trio has been around since 2002 and it’s pre-eminent in its field here as well as having built up an impressive reputation overseas. Their present schedule shows over 30 concerts here and abroad this year.

They played two ‘classical’ pieces, one of Haydn’s 40-odd trios, and the only one that Tchaikovsky wrote; plus two shorter contemporary pieces.

No one claims to know all of Haydn’s music, and I hadn’t heard this one in F sharp minor (Hoboken catalogue number XV:26) before. It overflows with drama, colour and variety, making up for a certain lack of charm and memorable tunes. My only misgiving was that the players hadn’t quite got the measure of the hall, which probably affected the Haydn more than the other pieces. Nevertheless, Haydn would have enjoyed the robust and determined force of the performance, even in the more soulful slow movement.

Tchaikovsky’s only piano trio more than occupied all the second half. It’s so full of rapturous and voluptuous melody that it’s easy to understand how certain more ascetic listeners and critics might have considered it sentimental or saccharine; perhaps some still do. Not only did the trio exploit all its overflowing romantic qualities to the full, but they invested it with a facsimile of a full orchestral sound.  Sure, the volume control was still set too high, but it was a flawless performance of surpassing brilliance and power, that surely calls for a recording ASAP.

In between, before the interval, came two contemporary pieces, one of New Zealand, the other from the United States.

The first, by Wellington-based Chris Gendall, was called Intaglio – a term familiar to print-makers. A composition of the experimental kind, free of conventional melody, but rich in non-musical techniques and intriguing relationships between the instruments. It was to hear this piece again that I went to Lower Hutt the following evening. Though the theatre is reputed to have a difficult acoustic, it accommodated the trio’s performance more comfortably in the Haydn, and gave me a clear hearing of Chris Gendall’s piece; though I still failed to recognize any relationship between the musical character and the ‘intaglio’ printmaking process. If, as the composer writes, it refers rather to the process of its composition, its use seems a pointless gesture for the listener. However, a second hearing, as so often, offered a sort of recognition experience, even the seeming random, widely spaced piano hits. And I listened to it with some enjoyment.

It was followed by a part of a New York inspired piece called Swing Shift, capturing in relentless rap rhythms that would serve for break dancers, the nocturnal life of a city that never sleeps.I loved its energy and the powerhouse performance by all three players, employing engaging jazz pulse generated by what the notes describe as a DJ’s ‘beat box’ or ‘groove box’, of the nature of which this audience member is blissfully ignorant.

Possibly, the trio is mildly irritated with my pedantry in preferring to spell out their name. I never abbreviate the name of my country (or any other country) in anything I write. I have always been guided by what today might be becoming old-fashioned printers’ style, as is found in printers’ ‘style books’, such as of the former New Zealand Government Printing Office and The New York Times; they are generally very clear:“Don’t abbreviate!”. Acronyms are permissible when universally used, at least by your particular readership, like NZSO for us.Even stronger is my dislike of calling New Zealanders Kiwis and things pertaining to New Zealand, Kiwi. I find it demeaning, and as an editor I have always taken the liberty of eliminating ‘Kiwi’ from others’ copy.

 

NZSO’s first subscription concert fills the MFC

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Apotheosis: Lilburn: Processional Fanfare, Beethoven: Emperor Concerto (no.5, Op.73), Mahler: Symphony no.4

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra: Pietari Inkinen (conductor); Saleem Abboud Ashkar (piano); Anna Leese (soprano)

Michael Fowler Centre

Friday, 25 March, 6.30pm

The title ‘Apotheosis’ may seem dramatic, but as Peter Walls pointed out at the pre-concert talk, the two major works were lofty to the extent of being other-worldly.

It must have felt like a sort of black apotheosis in Christchurch a month ago; at this concert, money was collected for the Red Cross earthquake relief fund, and subtle red and black striped lighting was projected onto the back of the stage, behind the musicians.

While graduation from university is not usually quite an apotheosis, nevertheless it was good to hear Lilburn’s Processional Fanfare, originally written for organ and trumpets for the final congregation of the University of New Zealand (which comprised the Auckland, Victoria and Canterbury University Colleges, and Otago University: allowed the more prestigious name because it was the first in the country, but left out of the programme note). It has been used since then for Victoria University’s graduation ceremonies.

Although orchestrated by the composer after the ceremonies moved to the Michael Fowler Centre, the three trumpets were still very prominent, making a great sound. A solo from concertmaster Leppänen was notable, and the play on Gaudeamus igitur, the Latin song traditionally sung at graduations was brilliantly achieved by the composer. The performance was what an overture should be – a well-played, interesting introduction to a concert, that whets the appetite for more.

Beethoven’s mighty ‘Emperor’ concerto must be one of the most well-known works in the piano concerto repertoire, but that doesn’t make it in any way a tedious experience to hear it again; like other works of its calibre it can stand numerous hearings. There is always more to hear, especially at the hands of different soloists.

And what a soloist this was! A tall, handsome young man, with a hairstyle reminiscent of that shown in portraits of Robert Schumann, he appeared the epitome of the romantic pianist. However, there were no histrionic gestures, but a superb technique, exquisite delicacy, and close attention to all the subtleties of Beethoven’s magnificent score.

While Ashkar’s pianissimos were graceful, delicate and very quiet, at times in the first movement the orchestra was sometimes too restrained in comparison with the piano; Beethoven’s writing seldom gives extended passages to the piano alone, but usually has the two forces working together.

Beethoven’s inventiveness within the classical form always astonishes, as does his power. This pianist was equal to all the challenges.

The adagio’s wonderful muted opening on strings always ‘sends’ me, and it could not have been in better hands. The pizzicato cello sound, then the delicate piano entry stirred with their great finesse, yet nobility. The singing second subject was a delight.

There was some slight lack of cohesion at the transition from adagio to the rondo finale, where the tempo slows down and then changes, without a break.

The finale had a robust start but despite his beautiful piano technique, I found the pianist pedalled the runs more than I would have liked. However, there was nothing flashy about his playing, and no unnecessary bravura. The fast passages were certainly very fast, but Ashkar produced an attractive liquid sound.

The brass seemed rather weak in this movement, but overall the orchestra was in excellent form. Tumultuous applause, including from the members of the orchestra greeted the Palestinian pianist’s remarkable artistry.

Mahler’s symphonies are a major undertaking, not least because of their length. At 55 minutes, this was one of his shorter efforts. It was a challenge the orchestra lived up to.

As Peter Walls explained in his talk, there are songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, the set of German folk poems published in 1806, in each of the four movements, not only in the final one. He paid tribute to Pietari Inkinen, whom he described as a genius in his excellent understanding and interpretation of Bruckner and Mahler.

After the wonderful opening of sleigh bells and flutes, the superb orchestration brings in the cellos and oboes, providing gentle moments. There was plenty of light and shade here, and as elsewhere, some of the string playing was magical.

Mahler’s delightful juxtaposition of timbres features again and again in this symphony.

The second movement was strong yet measured. Very fine solo passages from woodwind and brass gave emphasis to the music. This movement is notable for the scordatura tuning of the concertmaster’s violin, which makes a harsher and more ominous sound, introducing a devilish character to the solo, ably played by Leppänen.

Anna Leese was greeted with applause when she entered between the second and third movements. It made quite a long time for her to sit, unmoving, demurely, before she got to sing.

The third movement, Ruhewoll (peacefully) opens with an almost dream-like adagio song for cellos and violas alternating with oboe, cor anglais and French horn. This sublime music, with its pizzicato ground from the basses (that returns later, more ominously in the brass section) is a great introduction to the heaven depicted in the fourth movement. The violins join in, and then the wind band.

The gentle and folksy is interspersed with dramatic and even foreboding music later, and then a repetition of an anguished, upwards-rising theme already heard intervenes, prior to the initial theme on cellos and violas returning, altered. Mahler surely has his heart on his sleeve here.

There is a great outburst at the end of the movement, and then a peaceful ending.

Enchanting and at times almost mystical orchestration accompanied the song, interspersed with more violent outbursts accompanying the narrative about Herod the butcher killing the lamb, and St. Luke slaughtering the ox. The emphasis on food in the poem no doubt reflects the undernourished poverty of many in medieval Europe, thus the idea that heaven must be a place with food aplenty.

Anna Leese wore a white dress – perhaps symbolising the childish innocence she would sing about. It was good to hear a younger person sing this movement – too many recordings feature much older singers, who are too mature to sing about a child’s view of heaven, the subject of the song on which the movement is based.

The words of the song were printed in both German and English – but the people responsible for the lighting didn’t think to put the lights up to enable them to be read until about two-thirds of the way through.

Leese’s singing was clear yet rich, although not particularly characterful. Nevertheless, it was a most enjoyable interpretation. Some consonants could have been clearer. The lines towards the end about St. Cecilia and her relations making excellent court musicians were quite lovely, and could be applied to the singer herself.

At the end, Inkinen maintained the mood by holding his baton high for some time after the last, very quiet notes had faded away. The enthusiastic applause resulted in bows not only for the singer and the conductor, but for the oboist Robert Orr, violinist Vesa-Matti Leppänen, and horn player Edward Allen, who contributed much throughout the symphony.

An almost capacity audience was mainly very attentive through the long work, although the middle movements made one wonder about the number of people who don’t know to use handkerchiefs or sleeves when coughing, and insisted on adding percussive elements that Mahler did not score.

Excellent programme notes by Frances Moore aided understanding of the music of this memorable concert, although the programme’s cover, depicting cavalry in early nineteenth-century uniforms, was inappropriate. Beethoven hated the Napoleonic War, and certainly did not dedicate his concerto to the self-proclaimed ‘Emperor’.

Eggner Trio wins all hearts

Posted on by Peter Mechen

The Eggner Trio

Chamber Music New Zealand Kaleidoscopes Concert Season 2011

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN – Piano Trio in B-flat Op.11 “Gassenhauer”

IAN MUNRO – Tales of Old Russia

ANTONIN DVORAK – Piano Trio No.3 in F Minor Op.65

Georg Eggner (violin) / Florian Eggner (‘cello) / Christoph Eggner (piano)

Wellington Town Hall

Thursday, 24th March 2011

CMNZ’s 2011 Season couldn’t have gotten off to a better start with the return of the inspirational Eggner Trio from Vienna, being no less than the third visit by the Trio to New Zealand. Good also to read in the program a message of support from Carolyn and Peter Diessl, the latter in his role as Honorary Consul-General for Austria in this country, and as a major supporter of the arts in New Zealand – a kind of connection-making process that other organizations such as the NZSO could pursue more readily on certain occasions (I’m thinking of the orchestra’s Sibelius Festival last year, when there was not one iota of outside Scandinavian “presence” in this country acknowledged or referred to – by contrast, CMNZ was able to place this concert in a wider cultural context with a simple act of acknowledgement). Even closer to home in a sense was Chief Executive of Chamber Music New Zealand Euan Murdoch’s mid-concert spoken message of support from all associated with the organization to the citizens and chamber music-lovers of Christchurch, in the wake of the recent devastation experienced by that city.

As everybody knows, the trio consists of a group of brothers whose upbringing obviously laid the foundations for developing an enviable musical rapport – right from the first few phrases of the opening work on the program one got a sense of total engagement from the participants with both music and their interaction. On the face of things, communication seemed all to flow towards the violinist, Georg Eggner, with both brothers, ‘cellist Florian (his John Belushi-style spectacles bringing a touch of visual free-wheeling glamour to the music-making) and pianist Christoph, readily making eye-contact with their seemingly more circumspect violinist brother. However, proof of the pudding, as my grandmother used to say, was in the eating – and the trio’s demonstration of individual impulse brought together in a unified flow brilliantly exemplified that particular joy of interactive music-making which can make chamber music so rewarding an experience. Any performing group worth its salt can, of course, do this – but the Eggners were equally adept at drawing its audience into the world of the music. We seemed not merely bystanders, but participants in the ebb and flow of things.

All of this has been said before far more eloquently by others at other times and in other places – but I truly felt that this was music-making that didn’t get much better, anywhere. The Beethoven work which began the program was new to me, but it hummed and crackled with it’s composer’s characteristic fingerprints from the outset – an assertive unison statement at the beginning, a remote-key second-subject, at once hushed and full-bodied, a development section whose ideas shouldered and pushed one another about, and a wonderful “false ending” whose forthright final-chord cadence suddenly and unexpectedly turned upon itself and continued for a few more bars – a sequence delightfully brought off by the players. A beautifully-expressed Adagio (magical sounds from each of the instruments both in turn and together) was balanced by a theme-and-variations finale during which the composer’s “popular song” idea came to the fore in varying combinations, ranging in mood from the lyricism of duetting violin and viola, to the rumbustious stamping dance of all three instruments.

I had heard of Ian Munro as a concert pianist, but not as a composer; and was intrigued to discover the extent of his creative activities in this respect. His Piano Trio Tales of Old Russia suggests a fascination with narrative and drama, besides the exotic element which makes Russian art in general so attractive world-wide. Two of the three tales which particularly inspired Munro’s work are well-known – Vassilisa and the Baba Yaga, and the Snow Maiden, both partly by dint of association with other composers and their music. The third, Death and the Soldier, is an oft-repeated theme in European folk-literature, of the “wise fool” whose native cunning outwits the forces of darkness. Having witnessed the Eggner Trio’s capacities for characterization and narrative throughout the Beethoven work, I wasn’t surprised to find the musicians relishing the opportunities for evoking that sense of “a long time ago far away from here” in each of the tales. In particular, the macabre death-dance of the last story was launched with splendidly-controlled menace and ever-growing unease, reminiscent in places of Shostakovich’s “Leningrad” Symphony. The sentimental waltz towards the piece’s conclusion marked the defeat of the devils and a triumph of well-being, the musical laughter of the story’s audience at the end as much from relief as pleasure in entertainment.

The work was a perfect foil for the Dvorak Trio which took up the concert’s second part – if the Eggners had thus far shown they could convey energetic high spirits and humor, the trio proved equally capable of addressing the Czech composer’s passionate outpourings, generating full-blooded responses to the music’s every mood. I thought the group’s fusion of energy and expression utterly compelling throughout, with phrase-ends by turns adroitly tailored to succeeding episodes, or pointing the contrasts for proper musical effect. Just occasionally the violinist reached the highest note of a striving phrase less than cleanly (noticeable against the otherwise technically impeccable playing throughout), though somehow it all added to the expressiveness of the music’s wanting to bring about something worthwhile. After digging into the trenchant moods of the first two movements the Eggners relished the Adagio’s tender moments, though remaining responsive to the osmotic thrustings of swirling energy released by the music in places. The finale returned to the earlier movements’ excitement, a wistful second subject along the way providing some necessary respite before the players brought all the strands together for a noble and rousing finish.

I didn’t catch the name of the film composer who wrote the wildly unbuttoned romp of a piece the Eggners gave us as an encore – it was straight out of a Keystone Cops-type thriller, beginning with a delicious horror-chord, and erupting with high-energy velocities, a brief swooning ‘cello theme allowing us but  a breath or two’s respite before whirling everything back into a vortex of abandonment and sudden oblivion. But it was, though, of a piece with the rest of the concert regarding the group’s all-embracing way with everything that was played, and as such sent us all out into the night simmering with pleasure.

Profane Bach at St Paul’s Lutheran Church

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

J. S. Bach: Harpsichord Concerto in A major, BWV 1055; Violin Concerto in A minor, BWV 1041;  Coffee Cantata, BWV 211

Douglas Mews (harpsichord), Kate Goodbehere (violin), Rowena Simpson (soprano), John Beaglehole (tenor), David Morriss (bass), instrumentalists on baroque instruments

St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, King Street, Newtown

Sunday, 20 March 2011, 5pm

Bach’s birthday is being celebrated at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in King Street, Newtown. Last Sunday there was a concert of concertos and a secular cantata; next Sunday there is more Bach, also at 5pm. Bach was born on 21 March 1685, so this was his 326th anniversary.

Bach’s secular cantatas are not heard very often, in this country at least, so it was refreshing to hear the humorous Coffee Cantata performed, and especially by such able musicians as these. It showed, in the composer’s birthday week, that he was not only a sombre composer for the Lutheran Church.

Approximately 40 people heard a fine concert of the master’s music. The printed programme gave the words in German and their English translation for the cantata; unfortunately it left out the names of two instrumentalists – Penelope Evison, baroque transverse flute, and Richard Hardie, baroque double bass (last heard in 2010 year with the visiting Wallfisch Band).

Throughout the concert various combinations of players accompanied the instrumental soloists, and vocalists.

The harpsichord concerto was familiar, though from less authentic recorded versions. Perhaps they were more like ‘bark’ to this concert’s Bach.

The allegro first movement was light and bright, with plenty of air in it; there were a few tuning aberrations near the beginning. The larghetto second movement was very slow and delicate, while the third, another allegro (ma non tanto) again had intonation wobbles near the beginning. Douglas Mews’s playing was always lively and very fine; it was almost non-stop playing for him.

The violin concerto was very well played, with soloist Kate Goodbehere always on top of the requirements. It, too, was familiar – cheerful, satisfying music. As well as many fine moments for the soloist, there were some wonderful phrases for the cellist, Emma Goodbehere. After an allegro and andante, there was a sprightly allegro assai to end.

In the cantata, the cellists swapped places; Julien Hainsworth took on the quite demanding role for that instrument.

After an opening recitative from the tenor, the first aria was sung by bass David Morriss. It was very good, Morriss varying the voice a lot. Top and bottom registers were best; the middle tended to be thrown away. Morriss, as the father, then sang a recitative with his coffee-addicted daughter (sound familiar?), sung by Rowena Simpson. With her hair in little pigtails, Simpson sang very expressively, and with some acting out by expression, gesture and movement, the dispute between the two was brought alive. This recitative was accompanied by cello and harpsichord only.

The daughter, Liesgen, then sang an aria extolling the virtues of coffee and her fondness for it, accompanied by cello, harpsichord and the excellent flute playing of Penelope Evison.

Two recitatives for the pair were next, with the father trying to introduce sanctions which would persuade the young woman to abandon coffee. Only when he thought to threaten that his daughter would not have a husband unless she gave up coffee did she say she would give it up.

However, her delightful aria revealed that she wanted a husband very much. With two violins, viola, cello, bass and harpsichord, this was sensitively sung with beautiful phrasing. Both singer and violins made the stresses appropriate to baroque music.

The tenor returned as narrator for a recitative in which he told of the father looking for a husband for his daughter. The latter managed to make it known that only a suitor who promised and contracted to allow her coffee whenever she wanted it would be considered. This part was acted out most humorously by Simpson, indicating men in the audience whom she was ostensibly considering (with suitable responses in some cases); Beaglehole entered into this miming also. Douglas Mews changed registration on the harpsichord at suitable moments, and the flute returned to give mellifluous poignancy to the story.

A small coffee table with the appropriate appurtenances was brought in and out at fitting moments in the dialogues.

The final movement had all three singers, and the orchestra, recounting how mothers and grandmothers drank coffee, so who could blame the daughters?

The music and story were thoroughly entertaining – a lively presentation, and fine singing and playing.

Brahms piano trio and Czech duos at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Breaking free from the Chamber – van der Zee, Mitchell and Mapp

St.Andrew’s on The Terrace Season of Concerts 2011

Janáček – Sonata for Violin and Piano
Martinů – Sonata No.2 for ‘Cello and Piano
Brahms – Piano Trio No.2 in C Minor

Anna van der Zee (violin) / Paul Mitchell (‘cello) / Richard Mapp (piano)

St.Andrew’s on The Terrace, Wellington

Sunday 20th March 2011, 3pm

Many of my most memorable musical experiences come from unexpected encounters with either unfamiliar compositions or stunningly good performances. In Wellington, these days, one expects at most concerts certain levels of musical understanding and technical accomplishment, but that still leaves plenty of stratospheric spaces for performances which take the listener to those out-of-the-ordinary heights that can’t help but enlarge and enrich one’s view of existence in general. This was a concert with many such moments.

I don’t wish to give the idea that these musicians normally don’t impress with their playing, though I have to say that in ‘cellist Paul Mitchell’s case I thought his work on this occasion exceeded in overall terms of accomplishment anything I’d previously heard him do. I’d heard Anna van deer Zee’s work previously as a member of the Tasman String Quartet, and remember enjoying her musicality in that context, somewhat removed from the realm of a virtuoso violin sonata, as here. As for Richard Mapp, I’ve always had the highest regard for his piano-playing in different settings, be it collaborative or soloistic – which is not to say that I’m never surprised and delighted by what he’s able to achieve out of the blue, as it were.

But this, I thought, was a special concert, one in which the musicians infused their material with oceans of appropriate character – fiery energy and deep concentration (Janáček and Martinů) and robust strength and romantic warmth (Brahms). And what a stunning opening to the concert it was, with the Janáček Sonata’s fiery, volatile declamations hurled at us by both violinist and pianist, only for the music to revert to the most confessional and intimate utterances without warning – such tenderness sitting alongside blazing statements and searing lines! I thought the playing simply terrific, encompassing both strength and vulnerability, handling the composer’s characteristic sudden switches into contrasting moods with great aplomb. Van deer Zee and Mapp caught the second movement’s folksy lyricism, swapping melodic lines with wonderful dexterity and, in van deer Zee’s case, beautifully true intonation.

The scherzo-like third movement set an invigorating “stomping” character at the opening against a more heartfelt trio section (these players characterized everything so vividly), while the finale’s epic treatment of tragedy cast the instruments almost as protagonists in places – the violin occasionally savaging the piano’s more long-breathed music with brutal interjections, the music in between time creating a mood of desperate and uncertain yearning for peace and harmony, constantly under threat. The players achieved an intense, heartbreaking flow of feeling at one point, but one which the echoing of the movement’s opening quickly dissolved, as if waking us from a dream and returning us to a harsher reality.

Martinů ‘s second “Cello Sonata, written in the United States after the composer had fled the Nazi invasion of Europe, is a kind of “New World” chamber sonata, containing numerous echoes of his Czech heritage. The first movement has a slightly “haunted” quality, folkish lines punctuated by episodes of great agitation, with textures for both instruments richly wrought. Mitchell and Mapp played into each other’s hands throughout quite masterfully, the focus of the ‘cello line matching and mirroring the piano writing to perfection. Together these musicians made something special out of the funeral-like Largo, recreating a whole world of sorrow and disquiet, galvanized by some virtuoso playing from the pianist leading to a most heartfelt and desperate entry from the ‘cellist – fantastic playing, completely “inside’ the music. The finale’s opening, combatative exchanges between string pizzicati with “attitude” and jagged piano writing, never let up, fusing lyricism with rhythmic energies, the players readily capturing a sense of “flight”, of desperate movement towards a kind of freedom in sadness and anger.

After these heart-on-sleeve utterances, the Brahms Piano Trio seemed at first a model of classical decorum – as well, the composer’s writing (strings often in unison) tended in the opening movement to play down the inherent warmth of this instrumental combination, so that we got an athletic, sinewy sound, focused and lean-textured. Occasionally I found the piano a shade overpowering in this movement, and wondered whether the player or the acoustic was to blame. This wasn’t so pronounced in the subsequent movements, the slow movement’s songful variations bringing the players’ tones together in a beautifully balanced outpouring of melody. The Scherzo’s wonderfully delicate, slightly “spooky” opening tones were beautifully realized, the warmer, more relaxed second subject was given plenty of character by the players, rising to something approaching heroic utterance at its climax, and switching to a Mendelssohnian feeling at the return of the opening, much relished by the musicians.

Hugo Wolf once complained of Brahms, “he can’t exult” – a judgement that this music surely and triumphantly denies. The musicians captured the flow of things right from the start, enjoying the occasional chromaticisms and contrasting them with a more chunky and bucolic character in other places. Richard Mapp’s playing I found terrific, establishing the kind of momentum which swept everything before it, his fellow-players matching the excitement right to the music’s joyous conclusion. Altogether, the concert gave us music-making of a high order, reminding us all over again (if needed) of the depth of talent to be found among our local musicians – such wealth, and at the disposal of our pleasure.