Category: Reviews – Concerts

Interesting if unorthodox Festival programme of music for organ and brass at St Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Festival 2018: Chamber Music Series

“Fields of Poppies”
Paul Rosoman (organ) and Monarch Brass Collective: Mike Kirgan, Mark Carter, Barrett Hocking (trumpets), David Bremner, Matthew Allison, Shannon Pittaway (trombones), Andrew Jarvis (tuba), Lenny Sakofsky (percussion)

Music by Schubert, Stanford, Widor, J C Kerll, Giovanni Gabrieli, Brahms, Mendelssohn, Bach, Vierne

Church of St Mary of the Angels

Tuesday 13 March, 6 pm

Having attended the previous chamber music concert in St Mary of the Angels which seemed to have an audience of only about 60 or 70, I was rather astonished to find that what was a predominantly organ recital was a full house (or should that be una chiesa piena?).

I have been heard to express a certain weariness at the four-year-long obsession with remembering the horrors of World War I; and the prospect of further intensification in November and perhaps long after, is perhaps not looked forward to.

Anyway, there were interesting features here: a chance to hear Maxwell Fernie’s organ played again after the church’s restoration and strengthening; the combining of organ and orchestral brass instruments, including a composer like Gabrieli; and a couple of French organ works from around the turn of the 2oth century (Widor and Vierne) – as a unredeemed francophile, I am susceptible.

The military setting was actually a very successful feature, with the crackling of a side drum (Sakofsky?) preceding the trumpet’s sounding of The Last Post (Michael Kirgan?): slow and poignant.

It was followed by an arrangement for organ and brass instruments by David Dobson of Schubert’s nonet for wind instruments, Eine kleine Trauermusik, written when he was 16 (already No 79 in the Deutsch catalogue!). I didn’t know it, but in this arrangement it certainly made a splendid sound in the church.

Stanford and Widor
Then came what I felt a less successful, and much longer work, the second organ sonata (in G minor, op 151) by Charles Villiers Stanford (the habitual use of his first names suggests that he’s still unknown to most people). Written in 1917 and dedicated to Widor (who was 7 years Stanford’s senior) and to France; its three movements depicted aspects of the war (Rheims, a solemn march and Verdun). However, its length was hardly justified by its portentousness and lack of any real humane feeling. Use of La Marseillaise was a feature but that hardly rescued it from its repetitiveness and distinctly second rating. However, the performance was bold and served to display both the organ’s clarity and colours, and the splendid acoustics of the church.

It was naturally a nice idea to follow the Stanford sonata with a Widor piece, also written during the war and actually composed for organ and the brass instruments engaged here. It displayed some of the same characteristics as the Stanford and one could sense an almost coming together of the two composers’ styles, from which Widor might have been the more disadvantaged. In spite of his famous toccata, Widor was not really a composer of flamboyant, heroic music.

The 16th and 17th centuries
Though the Thirty Years War (1628-48) set the German-speaking lands and some of their neighbours back a century in terms of cultural development (compare what was going on in 17th century France and England, even taking account of the Civil War; and look for Book Week star AC Grayling’s The Age of Genius: the Seventeenth Century), it seemed to have inspired music.

During and after the war music depicting battles was not uncommon; the example most familiar to me is by J C Kerll’s contemporary, Biber. Here, in Kerll’s ‘Imperial Battle’, brass was again as important as the organ in a piece that was processional and triumphant rather than reflecting the horrors of war. Yet the organ was adroitly integrated in the imperious clamour, and there was enough suggestion of a somewhat neglected Bach predecessor to make one curious about other Kerll compositions.

Then the brass players disappeared from the organ loft and reappeared making their way to the sanctuary where they played the following three works – by Giovanni Gabrieli, Brahms and Mendelssohn.

One expects to find prominent brass offerings in the splendid Venetian music of the Gabrieli, written to exploit with voices, organ and brass, the splendid acoustic of St Mark’s, Venice. Monarch Brass Collective chose one of the numerous pieces for brass in the Sacrae Sympnoniae, and the players’ impact with the Exultavit cor meum in Domino (C 53), in the even finer acoustics of the post-restoration church was very impressive.

Nineteenth century Germany
Brahms’s Geistliches Lied, Op 30, is an early work, written in 1856 but not performed till 1865. The programme notes remark that it was composed for chorus and organ, and so it was surprising to find it performed by the brass, without organ as far as I could tell from my restricted view of the organ loft. (I also had a restricted view of the screen suspended over the sanctuary showing Rosoman’s hands and feet at the organ, as well as the brass players and roaming around the splendid vaulting and stained glass. It was a good initiative.)

The brass ensemble remained in front of the altar to perform Mendelssohn’s second organ sonata; here I confess, I was perhaps even more surprised and perhaps a little disappointed to hear a brass arrangement of one of Mendelssohn’s six organ sonatas instead of the real thing. Not that I have ever been especially enamoured of his organ works, but I’m always ready to be invited to reconsider: not this time though. I was not the only one to find the lack of specific information in the programme a little confusing; here there was no mention of its rearrangement for brass, or details of its movements which allowed applause after each break between movements.

The arrangement for entirely different instruments rather obliterated Mendelssohn’s fingerprints, causing one to wonder whether it was indeed, Mendelssohn.

A Bach Chorale Prelude
For the following Bach piece, the brass collective, accompanied by the rattle of side drum, retreated again to the organ loft where they joined with the organ in the Chorale Prelude ‘Aus tiefer Not’ which was drawn from his cantata of the same name, BWV 38; the former is considered a more interesting piece, indeed, one of the most admired of his chorale preludes. The addition of brass was not as alienating from one’s awareness of Bach’s genius as it had been with Mendelssohn, and it came off well.

Finale in France
The concert ended with a piece by Vierne, also with a connection with war. 1921 marked the centenary of Napoleon’s death and this was a commission for the commemorative service at Notre Dame Cathedral. It was very appropriate for this concert, as it returned to the character of Widor’s piece in employing the same instrumental forces and adopting a comparable triumphant, celebratory character. Its finale was particularly effecting: as the brass died away the organ took up a great concluding fugue, and brass rejoined with a certain un-Viernish triumphalism and grandeur.

Though I have had several minor criticisms of the programme booklet and of the musical arrangements, the concert broadly achieved its aims in attracting a big audience to interesting and worthwhile music that would have been unfamiliar to most. And that’s always a good thing.

Kings Singers and Voices New Zealand combine for wonderful, eclectic concert for New Zealand Festival

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Festival 2018

King’s Singers (Patrick Dunachie and Timothy Wayne-Wright, counter-tenors; Julian Gregory, tenor; Christopher Bruerton and Christopher Gabbitas, baritones; Jonathan Howard, bass)
Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir conducted by Karen Grylls

Henry Ley: The Prayer of King Henry VI
Bob Chilcott: ‘We Are’; ‘High Flight’
Ludwig Senfl: Das G’läut zu Speyer
Orlandus Lassus: Dessus le marché d’Arras
Eric Whitacre: ‘The Stolen Child’
Saint-Saënes: Romance du soir
Schubert: Die Nacht
Leonie Holmes: ‘This Watershed Time’
Trad. (arr. Goff Richards): Lamorna
Trad. (arr. Bob Chilcott: ‘I Bought me a Cat’
Nico Muhly: ‘To Stand in this House’
The Party Bag: classic favourites and new works in close-harmony

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday, 10 March 2018, 7:30 pm

Surprisingly perhaps, The King’s Singers were full of praise for the Michael Fowler Centre as a venue for their type of singing.  They demonstrated what true projection is, both in speaking and singing.  The breadth of their repertoire was astonishing, the clarity, precision and warmth of their utterances, breathtaking.

This concert was part of a 50th anniversary tour; it was surprising to learn that it is 30 years since they visited Wellington, though they have visited other New Zealand cities much more recently.  I certainly remember their visit here in April 1972.  While the counter-tenors this time were sweeter and fuller in tone, I thought the  baritones and bass did not quite have the fullness or  warmth of tone of the original King’s Singers equivalents, one of whom I later had the privilege of singing under in the Orpheus Choir, for whom he conducted a Mozart concert in 1991.

Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir certainly lost nothing in comparison with the British (well, one is a New Zealander) imports.  Like The King’s Singers, they sang most of the music with scores in front of them (paper, not laptops like TKS), but both ensembles sang some of the repertoire from memory.

The Ley was the opening item.  Henry Ley (1887-1962) wrote a setting of an ancient prayer was written for the singers’ alma mater, King’s College, Cambridge  The prayer of King Henry VI, the college’s founder, was written in 1441.  This, and most of the programme, was sung with the audience in darkness, as indeed were also those parts of the stage not in use.  This was somewhat irritating if one wished to read the programme – not that it contained much detail about the music performed.  However, members of TKS, mainly bass Jonathan Howard, introduced items verbally, often in a lightly humorous fashion.

The first Bob Chilcott item followed, the two items being grouped under the heading ‘The Family’, i.e. the King’s family; composer Chilcott is a former member the King’s Singers.  Warm, clear consonants were a feature of the singing; these contribute much to the clarity of the words, which were by poet Maya Angelou.  ‘Voices’ sang in this item, which was commissioned for the KS 50th anniversary.  The programme blurb said ‘Celebrating their 50th anniversary in 2018, The King’s Singers are engaging the finest choirs across the globe to chart their journey through their music… This year also marks the 20th  anniversary of Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir’.

The next sequence, sung by TKS alone, after some welcoming and descriptive remarks, was headed ‘The Joy of the Renaissance’, and included Das G’läut zu Speyer by Ludwig Senfl (ca. 1486-1543).  The short piece was to do with the ringing of church bells, and was most effective, one voice to a part.  Lassus, or di Lasso if you prefer, set a suggestive song about a soldier and a young lady in the French town of Arras.  The King’s Singers invested it with liveliness.

Contemporary American composer Eric Whitacre is a prolific writer of choral music.  Under the heading ‘The Philosopher’ was the song ‘The Stolen Child’; here Voices New Zealand joined in again, conducted by Karen Grylls.  It was a setting of a poem by Irish poet W.B. Yeats.  This had been composed for the 40th anniversary of TKS.  The spooky words evoked spooky music   This was a longer piece than many of Whitacre’s choral compositions.  Quite a complex work, it employed evocative harmonies, and particularly beautiful counter-tenor tone.

‘The Beauty of the Romantic Era’ was represented by Saint-Saëns and Schubert; TKS on their own.  The former’s Romance du soir  It goes without saying that both French and German were impeccably pronounced.  These were part songs for four singers.  Clarity plus, superb phrasing, and wonderful tone were features.  Schubert’s Die Nacht was particularly lovely.

‘The Force of Nature’ was the heading given for the commissioned work from Auckland composer Leonie Holmes: ‘This Watershed Time’, which received its world premiere.  Composer and poet were both present; the latter’s name was not printed in the programme – she was Anne Powell of New Plymouth.  ‘Voices’ was also involved in this piece.  To start with, the latter’s contribution was mainly humming.  There  were numerous beautiful solos from TKS, including difficult intervals – lots of seconds.  Dynamic variation added interest.

There were flowing sequences, appropriately sounding like the water of the title.   Sustained low notes like drones were another feature. Often there was a mesmerising effect.  All was sung with confidence and accuracy.  I had the impression that the audience did not take too well to this music – there was much more coughing in this part of the performance than elsewhere.

The hall was briefly illuminated for the composer to take her bow, before darkness again took hold for ‘The Romance of Folksong’ section.  It consisted of two traditional items, the first being the hilarious ‘Lamorna’ and the second a thoroughly delightful arrangement of the American song ‘I bought me a cat’.  Both were jolly and presented with style and humour.  The harmony in these arrangements was impressive and enjoyable; singing intervals of a second to give more accurately the sound of duck, goose, pig etc. would not be easy, but was passed off with nonchalance.  The English words in this latter piece were clear and exquisitely enunciated.

The final piece before the interval was ‘High Flight’ by Bob Chilcott, performed along with ‘Voices’. It was another work written for the TKS 40th anniversary, and was originally performed with the King’s College chapel choir.  The poem by John Gillespie Magee, an Anglo-American pilot in the Canadian Air Force, was written only a few months before he died early in World War II.  I have sung these words in a setting by John Ritchie, part of his composition ‘Wings of the Morning’.  Chilcott’s setting could not have been more different.  Where the Ritchie was contemplative and soaring, this was fast, and incorporated a great range of the aural compass.

‘The Visionary’ was the title above American composer Nico Muhly’s ‘To Stand in this House’, a commission for this 50th anniversary.  The piece started with an ancient prayer – the same one that opened the evening’s programme.  Other authors with King’s College connections represented in the four-movement piece were Salman Rushdie, and English contemporary author Zadie Smith.  ‘Voices’ sang in this work also, though at first their participation was minor.

Part of the second movement involved selective wavering of some of the voices as a potent accompaniment.  Words were clear, for the most part.  The third movement I found a bit dull.  My other comments I cannot read because of the problems of writing in the dark!  The final movement engaged the choir less.  I found the piece to have excellent word setting, musically, but it was hard to pick up much of them.  This was a highly skilled work, and pleasant to listen to, but not easily absorbed in one hearing.

The final bracket, of more popular items, was sung by TKS alone, without scores.  ‘Ob la di, ob la da’ is a 1968 Beatles song.  The singers embroidered it with vocal sound effects, at which they are highly skilled.  It provided amusement and enjoyment.  Next was ‘I’ve got the world on a string’, a popular 1932 jazz song composed by Harold Arlen, with lyrics written by Ted Koehler.  Wonderful close harmony singing was to the fore.

Then a change of style, to a lovely arrangement of ‘My love is like a red, red rose’.  The Robert Burns poem was set by a number of his contemporaries, but the tune we know today was paired with it by Robert Archibald Smith, using the tune of ‘Low Down in the Broom’ in his Scottish Minstrel book in 1821.  The close harmony here made this touching song even more moving.  Solos in the verses added to the effect.  Here, it was remarkable to note the breath control of the singers.  Despite the ‘Party Bag’ the overall tone of the concert was serious.  Gone were the frilly, coloured shirts worn for the lighter second half of the programme by the 1972 King’s Singers!

Aspects of the singing throughout were the perfect vowel matching, the precision timing with no obvious conducting happening (in the case of TKS).  It goes without saying that intonation was spot-on.  Beautiful textures, suited to the style of particular pieces were a feature.  ‘Mellifluous’ is too weak a word to describe the sounds of both ensembles.  For there is more than one sound – a mark of good singing, in my view.  The sound produced for the first item, by Henry Ley, was very different from the sound heard in the Billy Joel item – but both were beautiful.

The last item was a Dave Dobbyn number, which the audience knew: ‘Slice of heaven’.  Finally the encore, from The King’s Singers and Voices New Zealand: a Billy Joel song, ‘And so it goes’.  The singing was gorgeous from the sextet, with Voices going ‘ooh-waah’ in the background in this lovely arrangement.  So ended a wonderful concert, in which vocal music was demonstrated at its highest level, all without instrumental accompaniment.

 

Largely successful Japanese chamber music concert at St Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Festival
Chamber Music Series

‘Distances’
Dylan Lardelli (conductor and guitar); Miyata-Yoshimura-Suzuki Trio(sho, koto, recorder); soloists from Ensemble Musikfabrik (Peter Veale – oboe, Hannah Weirich – violin, Makiko Goto – bass koto); Yuriko Sakamoto (shamisen)

Music by Chris Gendall, Dieter Mack, Keiko Harada, Kikuoka Kengyo, Rebecca Saunders, Dylan Lardelli, Samuel Holloway

St Mary of the Angels, Boulcott Street

Friday 9 March 2018, 6 pm

There are, inevitably, concerts where a critic feels out of his depth; music that is almost of the future, or from a sophisticated culture that one has little experience of. One often approaches them with trepidation, fearing that it will be music that is so remote in spirit and language from familiar Western music that one has no touchstone by which to assess it fairly, certainly with any sense of authority.

So it didn’t help when a young man came out after the stage had been arranged, seats and music stands, to tell us something about changes to the programme. He was on the right; I was seated on the far left; clearly he had little experience in projecting the voice, unamplified, into a big space and I caught about one word in 10.

However, it emerged that two items had been deleted – by Takemitsu  and a recorder fantasie by Telemann, and a couple of others had their order reversed.

What remained as a challenge was simply the style of much of the music from the Gagaku, ancient Japanese court music, from around the 8th century. Though I have heard this music in various contexts over the years, I don’t recall a concert where such refined and sophisticated examples dominated most of the programme. Unfortunately I was not at Chamber Music New Zealand’s concert by this Japanese trio in February 2016 (you’ll find the review by Peter Mechen in Middle C) which would have somewhat acclimatised me to the sounds here.

The remoteness of the music was compounded by the appearance of the word ‘extended’ in the programme note, a word that usually implies that the musicians are taking liberties with the traditional performance styles by exploiting extremes of pitch range or articulation to produce multiphonics (two or more notes simultaneously) on a wind instruments.

The SHO
One was launched unceremoniously into one of the most refined and attenuated pieces of the evening with an anonymous, traditional piece, Hyojo No Choshi (described as ‘an extremely elegant performance ritual’), played by Mayumi Miyata on the sho. It is a Japanese reed instrument where a bundle of reeds are tied together vertically, and held in front of the face. The sound might be compared to a very high reed stop on the organ, though it struck me that the bamboo reeds produced a hint of string sound as well.

The music evolved with extreme slowness, two or more notes sounding simultaneously – multiphonics, some a semitone apart thus producing what to most ears would be discords. The visual effect too was very striking: Mayumi Miyata in white stood behind the altar, freshly painted in white or similar colour under very bright light. Behind her was the beautifully carved reredos.

Two or three minutes were spent between most pieces to rearrange seats, music stands and to bring in or take out various instruments – the most conspicuous being the 13-stringed koto and the even bigger bass koto (I assume also having 13 strings), which could be likened to a lute, zither or cimbalom, though played by plucking rather than using mallets.

Gendall: music and joinery
Both were brought out next, played by Nanae Yoshimura and Makiko Goto. The piece was by Chris Gendall: Reverse Assembly, which the notes described as “a rather adorable internet-search translation of a type of interlocking Japanese joinery”. One had to assume that Gendall had managed to create a piece, regardless of its recondite inspiration, that measured up to the Gagaku aesthetic tradition. Four other players, including two New Zealanders: oboist Peter Veale and guitarist Dylan Lardelli, handled sho and recorder (Tosiya Suzuki) and violin (Hannah Weirich). While the six players indeed created an singular, alien sound, and the inspiration of Japanese joinery quite escaped me, I confess to falling under the spell – eventually.

Dieter Mack: a trio with koto
Next was a piece by German composer Dieter Mack, with a more familiar title: ‘Trio VII for oboe, violin and bass koto’ (commissioned by the German element in the group, Musikfabrik). My notes included words like ‘squeaks’ and ‘screeching’ (violin harmonics) but later my response to Veale’s alternating oboe and cor anglais, the emphatic, low notes on the kotoa, hints of melody, indicated a degree of curious appreciation.

Keiko Harada
The fourth piece was a quartet from a Japanese composer, Keiko Harada: a ‘quartet for sho, recorder, guitar and bass koto’ composed specifically for these players. Suzuki used three recorders: one, the biggest I’ve ever seen, standing more than two metres high with a long mouth-piece that extended, unlike the bassoon, to the top of the instrument; the other two, conventional. Clearly a most serious intention underlay the ensemble of sounds, often most arresting, occasionally evocative even if at the end my notes recorded a degree of mystification: I could only feel that its real secrets rather eluded me.

The shamisen arrives 
Kikuoka Kengyo’s Iso Chdori (Beach plover) brought out Yuriko Sakamoto’s shamisen, a mandolin shaped three-stringed instrument, with a very long neck with a febrile, delicate sound. The other plucked instrument, filling the lower register was the koto whose player, Yoshimura, also gave voice occasionally. This struck me as more evocative of a traditional Japanese idiom, with subtle, coherent tunes, derived from real musical impulse rather than an urge to experiment.

Glance back to Europe with Saunders
Next, a piece the composer Rebeca Saunders attributed to inspiration by lines from a poem by Samuel Beckett: To and Fro, for oboe and violin. Opening with slow warm notes on the G string, some multiphonics from the oboe. Though no Japanese instruments were employed, nor overt references to Japanese music, her obscure, perhaps pretentious inspiration could well have derived from an ultra-refined eastern culture; this listener felt that occasional arresting passages gave the music coherence in spite of the sense of Beckett’s words escaping him altogether.

Lardelli conducts Lardelli 
Dylan Lardelli’s composition, Holding, involved five players with Lardelli conducting; they were arrayed from the left: sho, oboe, koto, violin and bass recorder. Their impact was to create a generally convincing coalescing of European and Japanese cultures; in this instance Lardelli’s words contrasting sound and silence, intimacy and distance, light and shadow did reflect something of the music’s spirit.

The summing up, by Holloway
Finally, six players; sho, recorder, oboe, guitar, shamisen and bass koto performed Samuel Holloway’s Japonisme, a comment, reflection on European approaches to Japanese culture, including ‘appropriation and misrepresentation’, involving what seemed a deeply ingested understanding of the complex processes of cultural integration experiments.

In spite of a frequent sense of being out of my depth, of failing to be sufficiently familiar with the spiritual nuances of Japanese music, this was a most interesting and largely successful attempt in cross-cultural creativity.

 

 

Remarkable integration of musical cultures in spite of documentation and presentation shortcomings

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Festival
‘Te Ao Hou; This New World’

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

Works by Rob Thorne, Selina Fisher, Gillian Whitehead, Gareth Farr

St. Mary of the Angels Church

Tuesday, 6 March 2018, 6pm

Of the skill manifest in this unusual concert there can be no doubt.  Regarding the audience’s involvement there are regrets: there were no notes about individual works in the brief three pages in the composite programme booklet; most of the information was about the players.  No spoken introductions were given, and no explanation of the taonga pūoro, as Richard Nunns gave at a Festival concert years ago.  I am sure this was to maintain a spiritual, non-material atmosphere, which was enhanced by the attractive greenery on the platform, that included an ponga..  (Wikipedia has an excellent article on taonga pūoro, with photographs.)

I beg leave for a little special pleading: I had had eye-drops administered at hospital a couple of hours prior to the concert, which in the dim lighting made it impossible to identify most of the instruments employed, and added to the confusion caused by there not being apparent breaks between works and thus no opportunity for the audience to applaud until the end of the concert.

The effect was of a continuous work, although individual styles could be detected.  It seemed that possible pauses were filled with improvisations by Rob Thorne on a great variety of instruments.

The programme gave the opening item as Rob Thorne’s ‘Improvisations for Taonga Pūoro’; it seems that these were interspersed throughout the concert, that began with the audience being greeted by extensive sounding of the conch shell and by a member of the flute family of taonga pūoro, the one into which the players blow into the middle of the instrument.  (There may have been others that I didn’t pick.  Most of this could not be seen from where I was seated.  This was a problem later, too, as the performances took place rather to the right of the platform; I was seated left.)

What was amply demonstrated already was the variety of tones and pitches that could be played; the conch shell particularly was hugely variable in pitch and timbre.

Poetry in English was read: Te Ao Hou; This New World.  Next came loud and emphatic Maori chants, from the rear of the church.  The instrument faded away and then returned.  The sounds varied from that of a cow bellowing to quieter tones like a French horn being stopped by the hand.  Squeaks, whistles and quieter notes were produced, and then one became aware that Helene Pohl and Monique Lapins were slowly approaching the platform from different sides, making notes on their instruments very similar in sound to the quieter notes of the conch.  They were soon followed by Gillian Ansell and Rolf Gjelsten.

This was a remarkable feature of the concert: how the strings could imitate the sounds of taonga pūoro, whether loud or soft, strident or sweet.  Throughout, the string players did not employ vibrato; the effect of this technique would have been foreign to the sound-world featured.

The more formal part of the programme began with Salina Fisher’s Tōrino: Echoes on pūtōrino improvisations by Rob Thorne, premiered by NZSQ in 2016.  Notes interweaving sounded like karakia and other chants put together.  Bird songs were another feature, as were mournful tones.  The use of drone notes in the bass were effective, yet gave a sameness to some of the music.  Slurring between pitches was an interesting technique.

Among the taonga pūoro used was a long wooden wind instrument with a trumpet-like sound.  Dynamics varied, and the sound was focused   The instruments played a variety of pure notes, presumably pitched with the mouth, as with the natural brass trumpet.  The strings played repetitive notes, and then they were joined by another instrument, not so long, with less focused tone.  This was followed by a higher pitched instrument, then by the conch shell, playing solo.  Its doleful sounds were followed by whistled bird sounds from two different small instruments.

A stick tapping on a small wooden box contributed complex rhythms, and the strings joined in, making a sound almost identical to that of the conch shell.  The same happened with the violins making an almost identical sound to the whistle-like flutes.

Scoop web-site has this to say about Rob Thorne’s Tomokanga: ‘This was music that segued seamlessly between the various composers, imbued with the same sort of shimmering luminosity and glistening iridescence as a rain forest after thunderstorm. The interweaving of disparate sonorities created limpid, mesmerizing, and hypnotic motifs that lingered on the margins of the transcendental.’

Then came another repeat work from 2016: Dame Gillian Whitehead’s Poroporoaki.  An effective technique used in her work was the strings playing spiccato.

Gareth Farr’s He Poroporoaki followed, beginning with Helene Pohl playing little finger cymbals most effectively.  A tiny flute played, while the cello sounded a drone below varied string harmonies and lovely sonorities.  This work had more elements of European classical music in it than did the other pieces in the programme.  It includes the tune of the song we know in English as ‘Now is the Hour’.  (The Google note under Promethean Editions says the piece, written for Gallipoli commemorations in 2008, is a ‘deconstructed Now is the Hour’, significant of course for soldiers departing to war, and the families and friends on the wharf to see them off).  Rob Thorne was kept busy swapping between instruments: conch, flute, hammer on wood, whistles.  Gillian Ansell tapped the stones while Thorne was busy.

The final work was Gillian Whitehead’s Puhake ki te Rangi.  It was written in 2006.  It was amazing to hear Rob Thorne producing a variety of tones from the same instrument.

It was  remarkable concert that nevertheless left some in the a good-sized audience confused as to whether the concert was actually over at the end, since it was not easy to trace where we were in the programme at any point, and because the performance ended earlier than expected.  The quality of performance was astonishingly good.

 

 

Polished Australian string quartet at St Mary of the Angels Festival series

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Festival

‘Romance and Revolution’
Orava Quartet (Daniel Kowalik, violin; David Dalseno, violin; Thomas Chawner, viola; Karol Kowalik, cello)

Haydn: String Quartet no.2 in E flat, Op.33, ‘The Joke’
Shostakovich: String Quartet no.8 in C minor, Op.10
Mendelssohn: String Quartet no.2 in A minor, Op.13

St. Mary of the Angels Church

Thursday, 1 March 2018, 6pm

The series of chamber music concerts in the Festival are all being held at St. Mary of the Angels Church.  They are all listed in one programme booklet – which means not much detail is provided for each; for example brief programme notes, no enumeration or tempi markings for the movements.  Brief introductions were given by one of the players.  The concert was being recorded by RNZ Concert.  It was pleasing to see the church almost packed, with a very attentive audience for this Australian ensemble on their first visit to New Zealand.  However, it couldn’t e said to be the most comfortable venue in Wellington, especially if one has forgotten to take a cushion!

The Haydn Quartet immediately demonstrated what a good sound is created in this church.  The playing was spacious, yet incisive.  As with most of this composer’s creations, the music was mellifluous and cheerful.  The first movement is marked allegro moderato, the second scherzo: allegro, the third largo, and the fourth rondo: presto.  The keys are interestingly varied, as are the time signatures.

The second movement was full of contrasts; it was Haydn’s first foray into replacing a minuet with a scherzo.  There were some quirky little surprise phrases that presaged the joke at the end of the work, and changes of tempo.  The third movement was more serious; a feature was the rich tone from the cello.  Throughout, the quartet players were spot-on with timing and ensemble.  All sat to play, in contrast to the New Zealand String Quartet.

The final movement was light and bright.  The audience did not succumb to Haydn’s joke by clapping in the wrong places, but delighted in his series of joyful ‘endings’.

Shostakovich used his initials DSCH as the motif for much of his 8th Quartet: D, E flat, C, H (the latter the German name for the note B; the name B is reserved for B flat).  He had already used this motto in the 7th symphony.  There are elements taken from other earlier works.  The movements are continuous, but the five comprise: largo, allegro molto, allegretto, largo and a final largo.  It was written ‘in memory of the victims of fascism and war’, following his visit to the devastated city of Dresden, home of much German culture.  The autobiographical nature of the music was said to be because he didn’t expect anyone to write his biography.

The doleful opening was followed by mournful tones, performed with much subtlety and feeling.  Then the rushing allegro takes over.  The viola was flat out, playing nevertheless with strong, rich tone.  There followed the elaboration of several short themes, insistent in nature.  The slower movements that followed brought out all the variety in the work – pathos, mourning, anger, resignation.  The two largo movements were solemn in their lamentation and surrender.   Rich, sombre harmonies and changes of key embellished the complex, soulful writing.

In his ravishing second Quartet, written when he was only 18 years old Mendelssohn quotes from Beethoven. It is dedicated to his great predecessor.  This is a particular favourite of mine, right from its heartfelt adagio opening theme with its rich, romantic harmony.  After this slow, thoughtful mood the music came alive,  changing to a spirited, animated allegro vivace.  The blend of the players’ sound was superb.  Then there was a return to more contemplative passages.  The adagio theme returns throughout the work.

The adagio non lento second movement opens slowly and beautifully; gorgeous harmonies are embellished with suspensions.  A calm and peaceful mood pervades, although it is interrupted by a passionate interlude before the Quartet’s adagio theme returns in all its sincerity.  All is beautifully played.

The Intermezzo third movement is marked allegretto con moto – allegro di molto.  The jaunty yet nostalgic first melody is played by the first violin with pizzicato accompaniment from the other instruments.  The following section is fast and frolicsome, reminiscent of his Midsummer Night’s Dream music – though that was written a few years later.  The music was scampering and light-spirited.  Then a return to the opening of he movement before a gracious and grave coda, with short elements from what had gone before.

The finale opened in stormy fashion, with rapid passages following reminiscences of earlier music, much changed in mood, to one of urgency and even portentousness, all at a fast tempo (presto).   Some recollections are slower, and in a minor key; others are fugal, while others are grand, interspersed with a quiet sequence recalling  earlier moods, and the opening theme of the Quartet.

It completed a most rewarding and satisfying early evening of chamber music from a highly polished and accomplished group of performers.

 

Berkahn shows how you can have fun with Bach

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts

Jonathan Berkahn and friends: Bernard Wells (guitar, whistle, piano); Megan Ward (fiddle, viola); Karla Norton (Fiddle); Emily Griffiths (fiddle); Tom Stonehouse (bodhran)

The Daughters of Invention: music based on the thematic material of Bach’s Two-part Inventions
Jonathan Sebastien Berkahn: movements from a suite: Allemande, Courante, Gavotte
 J S Bach: Two-part Inventions 1 in C BWV 772, 2 in C minor BWV 773, 3 in D BWV 774, 10 in G BWV 781, 11 in G minor BWV 782, 12 in A BWV 783, 13 in A minor BWV 784
Berkahn‘s Digressions on each of the Bach inventions

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 28 February, 12:15 pm

This was one of those concerts that looked enigmatic from the outside, and I wondered whether it was going to deserve a review – not that I’ve ever failed to be greatly entertained by all my previous encounters with the multi-talented Berkahn.

The secret here was to take several of Bach’s Two-part Inventions and respond to what Berkahn takes to be Bach’s suggestion, taking them as starting point to turn “their thematic material to wholly un-Bachian ends, in genres mostly derived from the Irish traditional music I play with friends every Tuesday night at the Welsh Dragon”; in Berkahn’s words.

They began with three of Berkahn’s typical Bach suite movements, such as found in the keyboard Partitas and suites for orchestra, violin, cello and keyboard. An allemande, courante and gavotte; they were played by Berkahn and his cellist son Samuel. They were not bad imitations of the real thing, charming and very agreeable.

Then came seven of the Funfzehn Inventionen as they are called on the facsimile title page (in the Fraktur font) found in my Dover edition of Bach’s keyboard music. Designed as exercises for Bach’s eldest son Wilhelm Friedemann, these ‘Inventios’, as Bach calls them, are very approachable, not necessarily impossible for the amateur, melodically attractive.

They do not often feature in ordinary keyboard recital programmes, and I have to confess to being rather delighted at their charm and plain musical interest, and I certainly admired their performance. Berkahn’s approach was lively, fully aware of whatever shafts of wit might be found and I find that I wrote the words ‘exemplary playing’ with respect to the first two. And No 3 enjoyed a gentle triple metre.

Bach’s advertisement suggested that with dedication to these studies the conscientious student could acquire “a strong foretaste of composition”. And that was clearly enough to give Berkahn licence for his delightful elaborations. His first Digression made use of the ideas in both the first and second Inventions which he combined nicely, sounding comfortably idiomatic. The other players were employed in varying combinations: in the first, Berkahn played his own piano accordion and Bernard Wells the guitar; the three violins (he pointed up his intended folk-style by calling them fiddles) joined one by one. It all sounded perfectly natural and not all that distant from what Bach might have done if his purpose had been more light-hearted.

Wells gave a nice folkish colour to the third Digression with his whistle and Tom Stonehouse contributed his bodhran – a percussion instrument. In the 11th Digression, entitled ‘waltz’, instruments changed hands again with Wells at the piano, Megan Ward changed to viola, and Berkahn again played the piano accordion. Hardly a Johann Strauss copy, it moved gently, evolving in a most natural way. No 10 followed, merging into a jig, with Ward now borrowing the whistle, to create a nice Irish feeling.

And so it went: entertaining playing, with evident enjoyment by all the participants and casual, droll comments from Berkahn; it built to a finale – the Digression on No 12 in the happy key of A major, turning into a reel. All joined in, including cellist Samuel Berkahn. Hereabouts in my notes I wrote ‘these inventions are such fun’; not the sort of insightful, penetrating remark proper music critics should make.

Concerts involving Jonathan Berkahn (in this case a relative of his named Johann Sebastien Berkahn) are generally likely to have an unorthodox or surprising aspect as well as being fun. This one was all of that.

 

Memorable musical and emotional experience from Jordi Savall, Hespèrion XXI and Tembembe Ensamble Continuo

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Festival 2018

Hespèrion XXI and Tembembe Ensamble Continuo
Folias Antiguas y Criollas: From the Ancient World to the New World
Directed by Jordi Savall

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 24 February, 7:30 pm

I always find it interesting, and indeed relevant, to look back to find when international musicians were in New Zealand previously. My own reviews for The Evening Post, and then The Dominion Post record Jordi Savall’s coming to the then New Zealand International Arts Festival in both 1996 (when they gave concerts in both the Town Hall and St Mary of the Angels) and 2000, which was the last time we saw Savall’s wife, Montserrat Figueras. She was to have come again with Jordi’s ensemble for Chamber Music New Zealand in November 2008, but could not. She died in 2011.

I have also seen a media reference to them at WOMAD 2012 in New Plymouth.

The 2008 programme created a broad exploration of Medieval and Renaissance music, mainly across the Mediterranean region from Morocco and Spain to Sarajevo, Alexandria, Jerusalem, Istanbul and Iran, with glances at France and England.

Their programmes today still often encompass comparably wide regions; but for us the focus was narrower, if more in-depth. On Saturday, it was the pervasive influence of a simple tune or bass figure (which can, according to taste, be called a ground bass or basso continuo), ‘La Folía’. This the concert’s title, Folías Antiguas y Criollas: From the Ancient World to the New World.

Savall’s Programme essays
Savall’s own programme note points to the significance of the ‘dialogue’ between medieval and Renaissance European music and the music of Spain that was deeply influenced after it travelled following Columbus to the New World, by ancient oral traditions of pre-Colomban as well as African cultures.

So I must first express admiration for Jordi Savall’s essays in the programme book, and to repeat what I write frequently, lamenting the charging for programmes. From observation, fewer than half of the audience had programmes, declining them when the price of $10 was mentioned. It is a seriously misguided policy to devote time and expense to preparing programmes, and then to charge so much, or even to change at all, so that many turn away from the programme sellers; especially where they contain significant and fascinating information, that might just help educate an audience and help them put in context what they are hearing. Our audiences are left poorly educated enough in our school system that any chance to broaden horizons and deepen knowledge should be grasped.

Universality of La Folía
The programme’s main theme was the phenomenon of the Folía, and the first bracket was devoted to ancient examples of it. They were almost all in the form of variations or ‘diferencias’ on the basic theme or bass line that is La Folía (or Follia in other languages).

Savall identifies the importance of two particular ancient cultures that were important in assimilating and integrating Iberian music. They were the cultures of the Llanero and Huasteco oral traditions, together with Mestizo folk music derived from African cultures. The Llanero is the grassland region of eastern Colombia and western Venezuela; the remnant of Huasteco speakers are mainly in the state of San Lius Potosi north of Mexico City and some in Veracruz.

What struck me very particularly was the affinity of music from very different cultures that nevertheless had common roots, or that had merely been influenced by different cultural traditions: it all stimulated enjoyment of the interesting and attractive connections and contrasts; for me, and I had to observe in most of the sold-out auditorium.

The first piece, La Spagna by Diego Ortiz who lived through most of the 16th century, gave us a clear basis by which to compare other treatments of the folia and other Portuguese, Spanish and (mainly) Mexican music of the 1500 to mid-1800 period. Over those years La Folía might be regarded as a kind of symbol of the evolution of popular earlier music into more sophisticated, court and ecclesiastic music from the 16th century. And the theme was brought emphatically into ‘classical music’ by Lully, Alessandro Scarlatti, Marais, Corelli, Geminiani, Vivaldi, Bach and much later in Rachmaninov’s Variations on a Theme of Corelli.

There followed a couple of ‘folía’ improvisations, the second of them the famous but anonymous Folías Rodrigo Martinez where percussionist David Mayoral’s drum arrived and an apparently unidentified female musician played castanets.

The players and their instruments
I should comment here that while the players were listed with some details of the instruments they played, it would have been interesting (and for me at least, necessary in writing this) to have known who was who on stage along with their holding up the instrument or instruments they played. Photos of the many unfamiliar Mexican and Central American – Huasteco and Llanera – instruments would have been good value in a $10 programme.

Savall himself, seated on the far left, played treble and bass viols with extraordinary subtlety and virtuosity, contributing the most important melodic and emotional element of the performances; his direction of his ensembles colleagues seemed almost casual, though in fact precise and energising. For ensembles they were: five named as of Hespèrion XXI, and six of the Mexican Tembembe Ensamble Continuo.

Savall’s own group consisted of the notable traditional harpist Andrew Lawrence King, seated centre whose contribution was important as was David Mayoral with a variety of percussion; Xavier Diaz-Latorre played guitar and theorbo and Xavier Puertas the violone, or large viol, which I might have called a bass viol had that name not been taken by Savall’s own somewhat smaller ‘bass viol’.

Tembembe Ensamble Continuo comprised three instrumentalists, two singers (Ada Coronel and Zenen Zeferino) who also played, respectively the vihuela and jarana jarocha, both guitar-like instruments; and a dancer (Donaji Esparza).

The three instrumentalists: Leopoldo Novoa played marimbol (‘a plucked box musical instrument of the Caribbean’ {Wikipedia} held between the lower legs) and two kinds of Huasteco guitars, a Llanera harp and a ‘quijada de caballo’, literally a horse’s jaw; Enrique Barona commanded a huapanguera, the large guitar-like instrument of the Huasteco region of Veracruz, a jarana jarocha and mosquito, other varieties of Veracruz guitars, maracas and others; and Ulises Martinez played the violin and sang.

However, all of this variety went for little as there was no attempt to identify the instruments and their sounds.

The composers and their evolution
While several pieces were by anonymous composers, named composers included – 16th century Antonio de Cabezon, Pedro Guerrero and the Italian, Antonio Valente, whose improvisatory ‘Gallarda napolitana’ incorporated some satirical New Zealand references from Zenen Zeferino, which some of the audience obviously caught, but I missed: I couldn’t share the laughter.

Francisco Correa de Arauxo and Gaspar Sanz lived mainly in the 17th century (Sanz featured memorably, for me, in the 2014 Festival recitals by distinguished guitarist Hopkinson Smith). The female dancer Donaji Esparza, appeared during Sanz’s La petenera. She brought a simple though striking grace to the performance. In her earlier offerings, her approach was simply complementary to the music, with clear though unostentatious footwork; but her later contributions displayed a more impressive Zapeteado style that involved her feet becoming percussive instruments: virtuosic and energetic, though still without egotism. However, it would be a mistake to have expected a flamenco character in her performance.

Santiago de Murcia lived mainly in the 18th century. He represented the Huasteco culture of Mexico, with the famous El Cielito Lindo (not to be confused with the hugely popular mid-20th century song of the same name that’s almost become Mexico’s national anthem). It was in Santiago’s enchanting Cielito Lindo that Zenen Zeferino first appeared, his large commanding voice (amplified indeed but its vigorous character was clear enough); he was joined by Ada Coronel, flowers in her hair, a perfect complementary presence who proved just as vivid and confident a performer as Zeferino.

The second half began with El balajú jarocho, music of the Huasteco culture (Moncayo’s famous Huapango is of the same source, the Vera Cruz province) and was one of several expressing particular joy.

Towards the end
The penultimate bracket consisted of 18th century composer (contemporary with Vivaldi and Bach) Antonio Martin y Coll’s Diferencias sobre las folías, perhaps ‘variations based on Las folias’ which might have completely summed up the history of La folía; they varied in tempo and mood enormously, almost encompassing the whole range of human emotions:  Jordi Savall on bass viol, and step by step, Andrew Laurence King’s harp, Mayoral’s drum; castanets, other percussion and the great variety of guitar-variants from the two ensembles.

And at the end, the final Jarabe loco (jarocha) by Antonio Valente; Huasteco music again. The title apparently means ‘crazy syrup’), and the subtitle is ‘Gallarda napolitana’ (Neapolitan galliard? There’s a Savall CD that includes it entitled: ‘Renaisance Music for the Court of the Kings of Spain’). There was a hypnotic sobriety about it.

One doesn’t look for especial musical complexity or sophistication (in a Teutonic sense) in an exploration of the diverting and extremely lively musical culture that has always characterised the Mediterranean world, and in the cultures across the Atlantic that developed from it with a multitude of indigenous influences. Just profound musical delight in styles that are both largely foreign to northern Europe but which supply us with an indispensable counter-balance of musical delight, emotional exhilaration, and rhythmic and melodic energy.

The audience erupted ecstatically at the end.

Jordi Savall is 76 and looks and performs as if 20 years younger. Let’s hope he brings us another of his diverting programmes very soon.

Most accomplished performances of piano trios by Psathas and Brahms

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Glow-worm Trio
Laura Barton, violin; Daniel Smith, cello; Liam Wooding, piano

John Psathas: Island Songs
Brahms: Piano Trio No 2 in C, Op 87

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 21 February 2018, 12.15 pm

An ambitious chamber music programme by an enterprising and highly skilled trio was attended by a larger-than-usual audience, confounding the fears of organiser Marjan van Waardenberg, who thought the weather would put people off.  But no; by 12.15 it was just a normal Wellington windy day, with sunshine.

There were no programme notes, but two members of the trio briefly introduced the items, in turn.  However, it would have been an advantage to have been told the tempo markings for the movements.  And the opus number was incorrect; the Brahms’s trio, No 2, is Op.87, not 78 as shown in the printed programme.

These omissions aside, the performance was outstanding, with confident, fluent, relaxed players who were thoroughly in command, and at the end were given an enthusiastic and prolonged response by the audience.

Psathas
The Psathas work’s opening was slow and somewhat menacing in character, with short, detached notes from the strings, and continuous ripples on the piano, gradually rising to a crescendo, then dying back again.   There were pizzicato passages for the strings.  An increase in excitement followed, that fell away at the end.

The second movement started tentatively, with the cello playing entirely pizzicato.  Difficult cross-rhythms abounded, but were dealt with calmly by these accomplished musicians.

The final movement was forthright and insistent, but with considerable variation in dynamics, which made it interesting.  The work was written in 1999, originally for strings and clarinet.  The composer later arranged it for  piano and strings, for the Ogen Trio.

Brahms
Brahms’s Trio in C major is almost symphonic at times; a grand, confident work.  Its melodious opening (allegro moderato) was given beautiful, lyrical playing.  There was lovely control of tone and dynamics.  The music built to an affirmative, full-bodied close.

The andante con moto slow movement had a wistful yet gutsy character.  After various perambulations, the theme returned, this time sotto voce.  It was followed by an explosion into the theme, fortissimo.  A new, contemplative, quiet theme followed, shared by the instruments.  Finally there is a return to the opening theme.  All was played with sensitivity and panache as appropriate.

The third movement (scherzo: presto) had scampering figures on all instruments, and the most sumptuous lyricism.  The finale (allegro giocoso) was robust, syncopated, joyous, lilting.  These characteristics alternated with bold statements.   We heard gorgeous cello tone.  To end, there was a return to the opening theme of the trio.

The pianist used an i-pad (or similar) for the Brahms score, but relied on the page-turner to press the button rather than using a foot pedal.

A most creditable and accomplished performance was given by these players; two New Zealanders and an Australian, fellow-students at the Australian Academy of Music.

 

Michael Houstoun memorably opens Waikanae’s chamber music recital series

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Waikanae Music Society
Michael Houstoun (piano)

Bach: English Suite No 2 in A minor, BWV 807
Chopin: Four Ballades (Opp. 23, 38, 47, 52)
Mozart: Sonata No 8 in A minor, K 310

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 18 February, 2:30 pm

This is the season of series launches. The Waikanae Music Society, in contrast to certain other comparable chamber music groups, is in good shape, thanks to an immediately attractive programme of eight concerts, with no patronisingly-popular concerts that fail to touch those likely to be interested in real chamber music; plus an enticing ticketing policy that makes it cheap to subscribe and to attend most concerts.

And that’s compounded by a big population of older people, many of whom seem to be cultivated and musically inclined. The proof of their success lay in the huge audience – I’d guess around 600 – which was of course in substantial part because of Michael Houstoun.

To recruit Houstoun to launch the series was a very good move (and the society chair Germana Nicklin presented flowers and life membership of the society to patrons Sir Rodney and Lady Gillian Dean, in particular, for their help with this concert). It was Houstoun’s 15th recital for the society, and he marked that by playing the same Mozart sonata that he’d played at his first one in 1987: the A minor, K 310.

Bach English Suite
But the concert began with Bach’s English Suite No 2 in A minor (chosen to chime with the key of the Mozart?). Houstoun’s Bach sounded immediately comfortable in the acoustic of the big auditorium and he exploited fully the Fazioli piano’s warmth. Considering its minor key, it was full of positive energy and in complete sympathy with piano rather than harpsichord; Houstoun didn’t subject his playing unduly to the harpsichord’s subtle dynamic boundaries which can obviously be relaxed on the piano. The sparkling Prelude was perfectly conceived.

There are six movements (counting the two bourrées as one); the elegant calm of the Allemande quieted the emotion that the fluid Prelude had established. The varied dance-derived movements might suggest greater distinctness than actually emerges in these, and in most of Bach’s suites. The Courante returns to a mood of sparkling cheerfulness and the Sarabande, in very slow, chaconne-like triple time, sometimes a hard-to-discern rhythm; it’s by far the longest movement.

The last two (three) movements are based on livelier dances. Houstoun’s Bourée I seemed to climb cheerfully up the hill, and then relaxed coming down, at a gentle pace. The Gigue was far from a boisterous peasant romp, but flowed evenly and stayed within the dynamic limits already set.

Chopin Ballades
Chopin’s four Ballades make a thoroughly rewarding package, and the performances by Houstoun the instinctive Chopinist, never sounded simply like a hundred other more routine accounts. There were discreet tempo (No 1 started uncommonly slowly) and dynamic shifts that always seemed just what the composer might have had in mind. (Incidentally, Houstoun clearly intended them to be listened to in pairs, with no applause between Nos 1 and 2, as he remained seated, hands poised for the next: the message didn’t seem to penetrate the audience for clapping again separated Nos 3 and 4. These things are not recondite affectations; they are sought by the performer and the audience should watch body language).

I can never hear No 1 now without recalling the diverting account by amateur pianist-cum-ex-Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger (Play it again), of his year-long struggle to master it. Houstoun certainly made it sound rather easier than Rusbridger found it, but its mighty challenges were still, very evident.

Though they can hardly be heard as four parts of an integrated suite, with their very different spirits and narratives (Chopin apparently had narrative backgrounds, but never revealed them) it is rewarding to hear them all together; after all, Chopin chose to use the same word to describe all four. So No 2, in F major, is more sanguine and less tortured than parts of No 1, though its sudden shocks never fail to surprise no matter how many times you’ve been there. Long pauses were an interesting, very telling aspect of Houstoun’s performance.

Nos 3 adopts an easy triple rhythm, never quite a waltz: subdued, with less drama, though with a turbulent left hand that created a feeling of unease. And No 4, after its hesitant opening, led to an uneasy passage with its complex left hand underlay; Houstoun evoked its spirit of uncertainty, embroidered with insight and sympathy. Typically, after a long pause and a prolonged episode of indecision, it hurls itself into a short, tumultuous finale.

This was the end of the concert and Houstoun played an encore: a less familiar Chopin Nocturne, Op 15 No 1.

Mozart’s sonata K310
But the second half of the concert had begun with Mozart’s A minor sonata, one of the great ones which, in a 1950s performance by Walter Gieseking, introduced me in my late teens properly to Mozart’s sonatas. It entranced me (and yes, you can now find it on YouTube!). I have to get used to the reading of the opening bar with an acciaccatura (if I have the term right) rather than an appoggiatura, which seems to be the convention today; Houstoun’s account was considered and absorbing, appropriate to its description Allegro maestoso. In the slow movement, Houstoun’s occasional stretching and slight swaying of the rhythm accorded with the description ‘cantabile con espressione’, even though it might have seemed somewhat unMozartian. Such touches contributed to a performance of one of only a couple of Mozart’s sonatas in a minor key, as masterful, authoritative and beautifully poetic, fleshing out a recital that very obviously fully rewarded the large audience which almost entirely stood in admiration at the end.

 

Masterly playing of Bach’s first sonata and partita from Martin Riseley

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts
Martin Riseley (violin)

J S Bach: Solo Violin Sonata No 1 in G minor, BWV 1001
and Partita No 1 in B minor, BWV 1002

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 14 February, 12:15 pm

It takes other professional and voluntary organisations a long time to organise a few concerts drawing mainly on New Zealand musicians. But impresario extraordinaire Marjan van Waardenberg probably spends a good deal of the summer, putting together something approaching 50 concerts – one a week – at St Andrew’s; perhaps more than all the other chamber music organisers in Greater Wellington combined. They have become an important institution in Wellington’s musical life, providing a down-town venue for students at Victoria University’s school of music as well as a way for established musicians to remain in the public eye.

I gather she has concerts pretty well finalised for the whole year.

As well as offering surprisingly accomplished student performances, we also get to hear top-class professionals in music that is often overlooked by the mainstream promoters.

Bach’s six solo violin works are a case; we hear the cello suites from time to time, and certain of the keyboard suites and partitas but the violin sonatas and partitas, apart from familiar ones like the 3rd partita, seem neglected.

Martin Riseley is Associate Professor and head of strings in the university school of music; in addition he has recently reconnected with Christchurch where he began his tertiary violin studies in the 1980s, becoming Concert Master of the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra.

Both the first and second violin sonatas and partitas are in minor keys which indeed seem to lend them a more solemn, less sunny aspect. But as with most music that has less immediate appeal, they all reveal their beauties and musical strengths, slowly, after a few hearings, and I guess my tally is far more than that.

The opening Adagio of the G minor sonata really set the tone of Riseley’s performance, not revealing much lyrical, legato character, but rather his care with detailed articulation that captured its intensely elegiac tone. Fugue is the title of the second movement; on the violin it is a counter-intuitive process, but his playing showed how clearly its fugal character can be heard as well as its strong rhythmic character. The third movement, Siciliana, is laid out to present marked contrasts between phrases on the G string and those on the high strings, which Riseley handled in an easy swaying rhythm. And he drove through the Presto finale, leaning on the first beat of the bar in clean, energetic playing.

Partita No 1, is fundamentally in four movements, but it becomes eight as each is followed by a ‘Double’, or a variation, though it’s sometimes hard to identify aspects of the basic theme since the Doubles dwell on the bass line of the movement itself. So this Partita is about twice the length of the Sonata. The first movement is an Allemanda (Bach uses French and Italian terms seemingly randomly) is marked by double dotted motifs, that explore the violin’s full range, and its complexity always strikes one as particularly profound; its ‘Double’ is brisker and more legato and flowing in style. The Corrente is faster, in triple time, and more sanguine than the first movement, but the real quick movement of the suite is its Double, that Riseley played brilliantly at almost twice the speed of the Corrente itself.

The slow movement is the grave, triple time Sarabanda with routine double stopping that sometimes seems de trop; the following Double is again quicker, more sanguine and flowing. Then comes the last movement, marked Tempo di bourée, a movement that is probably more familiar than most of the others. And its Double is in a flowing rhythm that doesn’t seek to startle, and Riseley handled its long-breathed lines unostentatiously, not attempting to mitigate the pervasive B minor tonality that has generally cast its sombre mood over the whole work.

Martin Riseley’s masterly playing has whetted our appetite to hear all six sonatas and partitas. I wondered to Marjan afterwards whether this was the first of three St Andrew’s recitals for Riseley to play all these great works; she thought not, for now, but agreed it should be done.