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Valedictions from the Tokyo Quartet

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Chamber Music New Zealand presents:

The Toyko Quartet – Farewell Tour

MOZART – String Quartet “Hoffmeister” K.499: BARTOK – String Quartet No.6

BRAHMS – String Quartet No.1 Op.51 No.1

Tokyo String Quartet

Town Hall, Wellington

Saturday 15th June 2013

Going to hear practically any concert is a kind of privilege for the listener – especially when one thinks about the “coming together” of the different things that contribute to a live performance. The “here-and-now” of it all has its own kind of spontaneously-charged electricity. Somehow, it doesn’t feel quite the same when listening to the same music played on a recording, and not even when the performers are the same as one has heard ‘”live”.

Having said this, there are concerts and concerts – and certain occasions do have a greater sense of “charge” than others, generated either in anticipation, or during the course of the performance, by the listener. One such occasion, on both counts, was the recent appearance in Wellington by the esteemed Tokyo Quartet, nearing the end of this, their “farewell” tour.

The group is disbanding after a 43-year-long career, one which has seen a number of changes of personnel, leaving one surviving original member to stay the course, violist Kazuhide Isomura. A second member of the group, violinist Kikuei Ikeda, joined the quartet just four years after their inauguration, which made him the next best thing an honorary foundation member – the other two quartet members, leader Martin Beaver and ‘cellist Clive Greensmith, joined the group in 2002 and 1999, respectively.

Despite the changes in personnel over the years, the group has maintained the highest standards of quartet-playing, winning critical acclaim for both their concertizing and their recordings, the latest (and, unfortunately, the last) of which features works by Dvorak and Smetana. Among previous recordings are integral sets of the Beethoven, Brahms and Bartok Quartets, along with single discs featuring a wide range of repertoire.

Here, tonight, it was Mozart, Bartok and Brahms whose music carried the Quartet’s valedictory sounds to us – I confess I would have preferred hearing some of their Beethoven to the Brahms – but that feeling wasn’t shared by people I spoke with after the concert. And it was interesting to experience the latter’s music in particular played by a group whose sounds were among the most refined and focused of any quartet’s I’d previously heard – interesting, because even with such advocacy I still found the Brahms quartet hard going, in particular the first two movements.

But ah! – the Mozart! The group’s playing reminded me a little of an account give by Artur Rubinstein of his hearing Sviatoslav Richter “live” for the first time: “It wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary (recalled Rubinstein)……then at some point I noticed my eyes growing moist, and tears began rolling down my cheeks”. That wasn’t exactly what happened to me, but the effect of the Quartet’s playing took a similar course – a little way into the first movement I realized that I had actually lost myself in the music.  I felt I had been drawn in by the composer’s “world in a grain of sand” way with what sounded like the simplest of means having the utmost effect.

This was the “Hoffmeister’ Quartet K.499, given its name in honour of the work’s publisher, Franz Anton Hoffmeister, a friend of the composer’s and a fellow Freemason. Hoffmeister wrote in an advertisement regarding the work that it was “composed with an ingenuity…..that one not infrequently finds wanting in other compositions”. That “ingenuity” expressed itself in graceful ease throughout the first movement, the players here able to turn the music’s phrases in such a way that sweetness and energy worked hand-in-glove, with nothing forced or contrived. Everything had such focus, such purposeful strength, including the quietest, most delicate moments, so that the music’s argument seemed like a living, pulsating discourse.

I liked the delicate whisper of the development’s beginning and the surges of energy that followed, the players again with unfailing elegance delineating the ebb and flow of things – the movement’s “false” ending was delightfully brought off, giving its proper conclusion a kind of augmented satisfaction. The minuet provided a richly-uphostered tonal contrast, throwing into amusing relief the canonical chicken-like “cheepings” of the trio: while the slow movement demonstrated the group’s skill at sustaining long-breathed cantabile lines, with the solo violin “taking off” like a skylark towards the end.

As for the finale, the players again demonstrated their ability to delicately touch in detail at high speed, the music anticipating at some points the young Beethoven’s similarly questioning figures in the finale of his first Op.18 quartet. I loved the cellist’s delicious playing of his elevator-like runs, his elfin energies very much of a piece with what the other players were doing. In fact, so evanescent was the players’ articulation in places that the effect was almost impressionistic, though the lines and trajectories never lost their focus – Mozart was always Mozart!

It was with Bartok’s music that the original Tokyo Quartet made its mark internationally, and this performance of the Sixth Quartet reaffirmed the group’s position as among the foremost interpreters of these works. Even if I hadn’t know about this previous association, I could have assumed, from its Mozart-playing, that the Quartet would have similar affinities with Bartok’s charged sensibilities and the resulting range of expression in this particular work.

What an extraordinary work this last quartet is! – Bartok’s idea of presenting a theme at the very outset and a variant of the same at the beginning of each subsequent movement gives the work an amazing multi-faceted quality. The theme and its variations knit the structure together, but conversely provide a springboard for explorations of staggering variety across the movements. In a sense it was an entirely appropriate work for the quartet to play by way of a “leave-taking” – and the players’ extraordinary poise and controlled energy brought out the composer’s sharply-focused distillation of both his sorrow and resignation in the face of the difficulties that beset his final years.

After the interval, it was Brahms, the group giving us the first of the composer’s three String Quartets. I was hoping that, in light of the lucid, sweet-toned textures conjured up in many places by the Tokyo Quartet throughout the first half, that this would be the group that would “convert” me to these works. Alas, I continued to struggle with what I thought were the composer’s over-wrought textures, especially throughout the first two movements. There were times I felt “hectored” by the unremitting onslaught of the figurations, and frustrated at the composer’s own muddying of his own thematic lines. The fault is obviously mine – as with the Austrian Emperor who was famously supposed to have told Mozart that there were “too many notes” in his new opera “Il Seraglio”. People I spoke with at the concert’s end were enchanted with the music and the quartet’s playing of it.

Amidst the opaqueness of the Brahmsian textures I did discern certain lovelinesses – the opening of the slow movement, for example, conjured up in my mind fairy-tale scenes from the German forests, that is, before the first violin’s line, to my ears, began to over-fill the textures. I did enjoy the third movement’s romantic sense of disquiet, the music’s movement, underpinned by repeated notes from the ‘cello, engendering a feeling of unease, perhaps even of flight – the players brought out all the music’s drawing-room grace and elegance, and the Trio’s waltz had a folkish air of simplicity, with attractive, ear-catching pizzicati at certain points, making the return to the opening’s unease all the more telling.

The finale started with a searing unison, the Quartet then digging splendidly into the music’s forward-driving mood, occasionally bringing the opening unison’s figuration into the argument, but leavening the seriousness of it all with some lyrical song-bird harmonizing. The “turn for home” brought out even more trenchant energies and a forceful, unequivocal conclusion. Nevertheless, I was so pleased that the players felt sufficiently moved by the audience’s reception to offer a movement from a Haydn quartet as an encore – a Minuet from one of the “Apponyi” quartets (I think Op.74 No.1) – being, as the quartet leader Martin Beaver put it, “a return to where it all began” in string-quartet terms.

It seemed to me that here was quintessential quartet-playing – the music by turns called for great rhythmic character and energetic attack, followed by relaxed yet sharply-pointed detailing as the moods changed between main dance and trio, with an infinite variety of tones appropriate for each flicker of mood. As far as we in the audience were concerned, no better “goodbye” could have been spoken – a true privilege for the listener, indeed.

 

 

 

Beethoven from Houstoun – recycled with feeling

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Chamber Music New Zealand presents:

Michael Houstoun – Beethoven reCYCLE 2013

Beethoven: Sonata no.7 in D, Op.10 no.3

Sonata no.13 in E flat, Op.27 no.1 (Sonata quasi una Fantasia)

Sonata no.9 in E, Op.14 no.1

Sonata no.12 in A flat, Op.26

Sonata no.21 in C, Op.53 ‘Waldstein’

Michael Houstoun (piano)

Ilott Theatre

Friday 12 April 2013

 

Friday night’s opening concert of  Michael Houstoun’s Beethoven sonatas reCYCLE 2013 in Wellington brought home to me yet again that a live concert is one hundred times better than listening to recordings.

One of the marks of genius in musical composition is that the composers’ works can stand endless recycling; as Michael Houstoun has said, he learns more about Beethoven and more about himself through playing the works again, his first full cycle having been in 1993.

A handsome booklet containing excellent programme notes added to the value of the occasion, it is very useful to have the years of composition of the sonatas printed.  To sit in a pleasant, comfortable auditorium is a bonus.  The selection of the sonatas to be played in each concert, and their order in each programme, is itself a work of art.  Each concert is programmed towards the last sonata to be performed – a major, named work.  As Michael Houstoun said in a recent radio interview, his energy must be retained so that there is sufficient for that dramatic finale.

However, these factors fade into insignificance compared with the utter joy and musical satisfaction of hearing such powerful music performed by a superb pianist.  It is marvellous to us mere mortals how someone can memorise all that music, and be able to transmit his interpretation through his fingers.

The opening sonata, an early one, began with a fast movement played, as throughout, with great facility.  The piece’s classical characteristics were superimposed with Beethoven’s typical contrasting, dramatic dynamics.  The movement’s development was full of fire and sparkle, whereas the second movement (largo e mesto) was very soulful, featuring much rubato, stressing its sombre, even tragic mood.

Despite this being a relatively early work, there was much here that we think of as vintage Beethoven, and typical of his later mastery: tempestuousness, rapid contrasts in mood, quiet passages lovingly fingered.  The third movement minuet returned to a classical idiom; its light and bright trio is almost jolly.  The allegro fourth revealed a luminous and virtuoso mood and technique; an impressive and satisfying work played in an equally impressive and satisfying way.

It was with much delight that I heard the second of the five sonatas on the programme – one I learned many years ago.  Needless to say, I never accomplished the fast tempo in the allegro finale that Houstoun achieved, while what Joy Aberdein, who wrote the programme notes, called the ‘Hey Presto’ at the end, left me completely defeated.  Much shorter than the preceding sonata, its calm, logical opening does nothing to prepare its audience for the outbursts to follow.

It was delightful to hear and watch this sonata being played so well.  The adagio slow movement was indeed ‘con expressione’, full of feeling and philosophy, while the dynamic and dramatic final movement had the odd wrong note or two – who cares?

The less familiar no.9 combined delicacy and strength in its first movement, played very fast by Michael Houstoun, his fluency and facility taking my breath away.  Just occasionally a loud note made an unpleasant reverberation – probably the fault of the acoustic rather than of piano or pianist.  Otherwise, the piano always sounded good; it isn’t the case with all pianists or all pianos.

This sonata is lighter in character than the previous two, but was as much appreciated by the attentive audience that packed the Ilott.

After the interval, the twelfth sonata’s slow start led into a set of variations which not only demonstrated the wonderful interplay of voices that Beethoven created, but also the great attention to detail that typifies Houstoun’s mature playing – no note is wasted.  Each one speaks its part with clarity.  Revealed too, was the lovely variety of touch, dynamics and tempi that this pianist brings to bear.

I was almost never aware of the sustaining pedal; this is the way it should be.  The playing is crisp with never a hint of sloppiness.

The scherzo second movement was sparkling, almost like a folk dance.  What a contrast, then, to the funeral march third movement!  Its sombre, mournful mood is like that of one of Schubert’s darker, more solemn lieder.

There were cascades of ecstasy in the allegro finale.  It was almost jolly by comparison with the previous movement – somewhat like a Haydn allegro in feeling, with a quiet, rather abrupt ending.

The pièce de resistance of the recital was the well-known ‘Waldstein’ sonata, named for its dedicatee, Count Ferdinand von Waldstein, one of Beethoven’s many aristocratic friends and patrons.

The allegro con brio first movement was certainly that, with high-speed flourishes, especially at the end.  The playing was full of subtlety and variety.  Even though it now sounds like an old friend, how exciting it must have sounded to its first hearers!  Not that there was anything stale about this performance – far from it.

The short slow movement came as such a contrast to what we had just heard.  Like so much else of Beethoven’s music, it explores entirely new territory, in an entirely new way.  Its way of anticipating the rondo is spine-tingling.  The allegretto rondo follows on directly, with its energetic interplay, and then the prestissimo.  What a pace!  There was interesting use of the pedal in the quiet, contemplative passages with their arpeggio-like patterns in all manner of keys – this technique was in accodance with Beethoven’s instructions.

As for Michael Houstoun – what technique!  What musicality!  What a treat!  Yet it is but part one of a seven-part treat.  It was an astonishing start, with five sonatas in one concert – two hours of piano playing, and the very demanding long last movement of the Waldstein to finish with.

So much variety!   The concert demonstrated the brilliance of Beethoven and the brilliance of Houstoun.  At the end, the audience, perhaps the quietest and most attentive I have ever experienced, rose to its feet in appreciation of both.

Young musicians’ mid-winter warm-up with Mozart and Rachmaninov

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Youth Orchestra Winter Concert

RACHMANINOV – Symphony No.3 in A MInor Op.44

MOZART – Requiem (arr. Maunder)

Amelia Ryman (soprano) / Alison Hodge (contralto)

Cameron Barclay (tenor) / Matthew Landreth (bass)

Wellington Youth Choir (Katie Macfarlane – Music Director)

Wellington Youth Orchestra

Hamish McKeich (conductor)

Wellington Town Hall,

Sunday 12th August, 2012

Aside from the circumstance of this being the THIRD Mozart Requiem performance offered the Wellington concert-going public this year so far (after all, it’s only August!), I thought the program of this concert by its own lights adventurous and challenging. And, regarding the combination of Mozart and Rachmaninov, a well-known French saying – “Vive la différence” can easily put it in an acceptable context.

Looking at things more closely than mere concert listings, one then discovers that, unlike with the first Mozart Requiem performance of the year by the Bach Choir of Wellington, this latest performance did feature an orchestra, and not merely an organ accompaniment. And unlike both of the previous performances (the second one being by the Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir and the Vector Wellington Orchestra), the recent one explored some different musical territories, using an edition prepared in 1986 by the scholar Richard Maunder, which largely dispensed with the attempts of Mozart’s pupil, Franz Süssmayr, to finish the work, uncompleted at the composer’s death.

Maunder’s version, completed in 1986, retains some of Süssmayr’s completions of Mozart’s sketches, but abandons what he feels are the non-Mozart parts, such as the Sanctus and Benedictus. Maunder does retain the Agnus Dei, feeling that the influence of Mozart did guide Süssmayr here more directly. But he recasts the work’s two final movements differently – Lux Aeterna and Cum Sanctis – drawing from material earlier in the Requiem. 

Like others before and since, Maunder considered Süssmayr’s work generally unworthy of Mozart’s, though many music-lovers down the years have had far more cause to thank than revile the unfortunate “johnny-on-the-spot”, given the sheer impossibility of his task. Poor Süssmayr wasn’t exactly a favourite of Mozart’s, either, the composer, in a letter to his wife Constanze, referring to his erstwhile pupil as a “blockhead”, and likening his native intelligence to that of “a duck in a thunderstorm” – but then Mozart was often almost pathologically unkind towards people he considered his inferiors.

From the singers’ point of view (as well as from that of this audience member), the dropping of both the Sanctus and Benedictus might well seem unfortunate, irrespective of considerations of greater “authenticity”. Still, both the on-going conjecture and the various attempts to render the work nearer to what the composer might have “wanted” have kept the music well away from any kind of museum mothballing. In essence, it’s very much a “living classic”, and likely to remain that way, considering that some of the work’s secrets can never be actually told – merely guessed at.

As regards the actual concert, I’ve run ahead of things, here, as the evening began with music from quite a different world. This was the Rachmaninov Third Symphony, a stern test, I would have thought, for a youth orchestra to tackle. Rachmaninov wrote this work late in his composing career, and filled its pages with contrasting and conflicting impulses and emotions. In places, the sounds and themes nostalgically evoke the Imperial Russia of the composer’s boyhood, of Tchaikovsky and Rimsky-Korsakov, particularly the latter composer – Rachmaninov shared some of his older compatriot’s fondness for quasi-oriental themes and orchestral colorings. In other places the music snaps at the heels of contemporary trends, with enough rhythmic and timbral “bite” to suggest Bartok, Prokofiev and Stravinsky.

There are the familiar Rachmaninov trademarks, among them the well-known plainchant “Dies Irae” theme, which pulsates like an electric current through much of the composer’s music (contributing not a little to its deep, prevailing melancholy, and undoubtedly influencing Stravinsky’s famous description of his compatriot as “six feet of Russian gloom”), the brilliance of the orchestration, and the heartfelt beauty of the themes, so candidly and unashamedly expressive. It seems incredible when listening to this work to imagine anybody writing of its effect – “a chewing-over of something that had little importance to start with….” which is what one New York critic wrote after the premiere in 1936. Another, a tad more sympathetically, wrote “Rachmaninov builds palaces with his music in which nobody wants to live any more…”.

Fortunately for those of us in the audience at this concert, conductor Hamish McKeich and his young players (their numbers judiciously augmented by a handful of NZSO members, probably some of the students’ tutors) seemed to pay no heed to such agenda-driven comments, and instead plunged into and appeared to revel in what the music had to offer – a whole-hearted, sharply-etched lyricism, expressed through a brilliant and wide-ranging orchestral palette. Both conductor and orchestra leader Arna Morton seemed to me inspirational by dint of gesture and physical involvement with the music, each readily able to delineate the work’s every mood and movement and show the rest of the players the way.

Arna Morton’s solo playing was nicely turned, as were some of the many wind solos throughout the work – the horn solo at the slow movement’s beginning actually sounded rather “Russian” with an engaging “fruitiness” of tone. Then first the flute and afterwards clarinet (from where I was sitting I couldn’t actually see the soloists) made a lovely job of the third movement’s solo lines leading to the whiplash conclusion of the symphony; while, of the other instruments, Dorothy Raphael’s timpani made something resplendent of the brief but impactful crescendo at the climax of the central movement’s scherzando section.

The richly lyrical moments were what this orchestra did best – the opening soulful “motto” theme, and the movement’s luscious tunes, the second movement’s richly and exotically-wrought archways, and the finale’s dying fall, the melodies and their inspiration spent. In these this orchestra gave its all, bringing a natural, youthful ardor to the shape and intensity of those yearning lines. And the  ceremonial episodes, such as the finale’s opening, had great exuberance, a similar sense of “playing-out” and letting things “sound”. Somewhat predictably, the players found the many treacherous “scherzando” passages in the work difficult, fraught with syncopations and difficult rhythmic dovetailings, as though the bar-lines were booby-trapped and waiting to pounce. To their credit, conductor and players kept going through the squalls, celebrating the triumphs and thrills along the way as readily as coping with the spills – at the end of the day the performance’s overall effect did enough of the work justice for conductor and orchestra to be pleased with its achievement.

Orchestrally, the Mozart was more uniformly impressive, perhaps even too much so in relation to the choir and soloists, whose relative backward placement seemed to put them at a dynamic disadvantage. Of the soloists, soprano Amelia Ryman shone brightly, her lines clear and silvery and always a delight. The others lacked her projection, and sometimes had to force their tone to be heard, stationed as they were just at the foot of the choir. It’s always seemed to me that composers intended soloists’ voices to stand out, rather than be given a “solo voice from the choir” kind of balance; and here for most of the time alto, tenor and bass needed all the help they could get, not necessarily an enthusiastic student orchestra anxious to demonstrate what they could do, to accompany them.

Throughout, both the general playing and detailing of individual instrumental lines from the orchestra was of a high standard – a sonorous trombone solo at “Tuba mirum”, majestic strings at “Rex Tremendae”, and secure brass and strings throughout the final “Cum Sanctis” fugue. The choir sang truly, beautifully and accurately, even if there were times when those voices didn’t manage to get across the weight of tone required to properly dominate the sound-picture, such as in the aforementioned fugue. To fill a Town Hall with sound, after all, takes some doing. I would have actually like the soloists closer, so that I could have more readily enjoyed Amelia Ryman’s singing, and got a better sense of the voices of the other three. For each of them, mellifluous moments of singing alternated with sequences where they seemed to struggle to be heard against the orchestra. Tenor Cameron Barclay made the most consistent impression, though his voice seemed not to have quite the same command and attack that was evident when he sang in the Beethoven Missa Solemnis, earlier in the year.

Still, very great credit is due to these young singers and players for what they achieved, and to their “guiding hand” on the night, conductor Hamish McKeich, who was able to bring the different elements together and preside over their fruitful interaction. The efforts he and others inspired made for an enjoyable and heartening evening’s concert.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NZSO plays benefit concert for Anna van der Zee and her family

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Players of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Hamish McKeich with Samuel Jacobs – French horn

Overture: The Magic Flute (Mozart); Horn Concerto No 4 in E flat (Mozart); Symphony No 5 in C minor (Beethoven)

Church of Saint Mary of the Angels

Saturday 14 July, 7.30pm

This benefit concert was presented to give a little help to Anna van der Zee, a first violinist in the NZSO, and her family (Christiaan, a violist, and their daughter) who had lost everything, including musical instruments, in a house fire two weeks before. It was hosted by the church, as explained by the parish priest, Father Barry Scannell, because of Anna’s contribution to the performance of live music there.

Anna has been much heard in chamber music concerts and as soloist with the Wellington Chamber Orchestra over recent years; both she and Christiaan played in the Tasman String Quartet.

The concert itself was introduced by principal cellist Andrew Joyce who described the immediate response by Anna’s colleagues to the tragedy, suggesting a benefit concert. The news had clearly moved large numbers of people and by 7.20 there were no seats left in the church and people were directed to the choir gallery above the west door; and scores stood along the side aisles.

Around sixty NZSO players were able to participate, including the recently appointed principal horn player, Samuel Jacobs, who took the spectacular solo part in Mozart’s Fourth Horn Concerto in E flat.

Nothing less than the greatest music would do to mark the occasion.
The concert began with the Overture to The Magic Flute, and ended with a triumphant performance of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

Adventurous and rewarding recital by Richard Mapp and Donald Maurice

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Boris Pigovat: Prayer and Botticelli’s Magnificat (world premiere)
Georges Enescu: Sonata in the Romanian Folk Character (transcription by Donald Maurice)

Donald Maurice (viola) and Richard Mapp (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 4 July, 12.15pm

Students at New Zealand schools of music, and those at the school in Wellington in particular are fortunate in working in an environment that both encourages original composition and its performance, and encourages the exploration of not so new music.

Obviously, that is not at the expense of furnishing students’ memories with the great music of the past, though many will have come from secondary schools where exposure to very much of the wealth of music of earlier times has been patchy.

Certain of the teachers at the school have developed a reputation for unearthing music of unfamiliar composers as well as unfamiliar music of quite famous composers.

Donald Maurice has been prominent among them. Apart from being a leading figure in the international viola scene – he inspired the hosting of the International Viola Congress in Wellington a decade or so ago, for example – he has done very significant work in promoting the work of certain composers.

He published his own completion of Bartók’s unfinished viola concerto. With his colleagues in the New Zealand String Quartet he has committed to CD all 17 of Alfred Hill’s string quartets. And a couple of years ago, Maurice conducted the Wellington Chamber Orchestra in a concert of music by Bartók, Gary Goldschneider (a Romanian-inspired piece), Alfred Hill (one of his symphonies), Enescu and Pigovat (In Arentinian Style).

Mapp’s career has followed a more traditional, pianist’s path in terms of repertoire, returning to New Zealand after a lengthy career around Europe; and now lending his talents generously to accompany a great variety of musicians, students as well as distinguished professionals, in wide-ranging repertory; his much praised CD of piano music by Granados also indicates an exploratory disposition.

So this was another case of discovery. Maurice made a mark in 2011 with his recording with the Vector Wellington Orchestra, under Marc Taddei, of The Holocaust Requiem by Boris Pigovat; that followed the orchestra’s concert in 2008, with the first performance of Requiem outside Europe, as well as Prayer (which was played at the present recital), a piece for viola and harp, and a string quartet.

The Requiem was performed again, in September 2011, by Kenneth Young conducting the New Zealand School of Music Orchestra with Maurice playing viola.

Clearly he is attracted to the Israeli composer whose Prayer and Botticelli’s Magnificat he played at this concert.

Prayer is a slow, elegiac piece written during the composition of the Requiem, and breathing the same air; it too seems perfectly conceived for the viola which took charge of the emotional flavour of the piece, even though the piano’s role, when I could turn my attention away from the beauty and intensity of Maurice’s playing, was an essential participant, and handled with the utmost sensitivity by Mapp. Inevitably, I suppose, I also detected the accents of Ernest Bloch, particularly in the piece’s later phases.

Botticelli’s Magnificat was almost the work of another composer entirely, inspired by the famous painting in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, placing the Medici family in a religious context. It is coloured in light tones, treating the two instruments in somewhat unusual ways, in which the piano is accorded greater prominence much of the time; it carried an open, clear melody while the viola played a sustained single note, a pedal, though in the treble register; however, the viola soon picked it up and elaborated it.

If our experience of Pigovat had been moulded so far by that Requiem and the Prayer, here was a more gracious, gregarious and peaceful fellow, though no less able to express emotion. It was a spirit that both players had no difficulty in communicating.

The sonata by Enescu was an even more interesting discovery (for me). An arrangement by Maurice of Enescu’s third violin sonata in A minor (Op 25), titled ‘dans le caractère populaire roumain’, as is the transcription. He has played it in the United States and Australia, as well as previously in New Zealand.

It struck me that one could approach it from one of two quite different standpoints: one, as a misalliance between generally lively folk music and its enforced conformity with formal classical composition styles; two, as offering a useful and imaginative model for the reassertion of the most common source of inspiration for serious composers over the centuries – popular music which is assimilated into interesting formal structures, as with the last movements of the third Razumovsky Quartet or Brahms’s Piano Quartet Op 25, or Smetana’s Ma Vlast.

I incline to the latter view, hearing it as arising from the same source as his two wonderful Romanian Rhapsodies, only here employing more refined resources. It starts with themes that are distinctly gypsyish in both instruments, with the piano often assuming a rather more important role to begin with, divertingly decorative against the viola which is confined for a while to sustained bowings that are in the nature of pedals.

The note about the second movement suggested a sinister mood, darkness, but I did not sense nocturnal terrors or the presence of anything supernatural, though the piano was given to darting about unpredictably. The third movement too was characterised in the notes in highly fanciful terms, and again my fears were not realised, but the character of the music and the highly accomplished playing convinced me that their pains with its performance had been justified and that more of Enescu’s music deserves a regular place in concert programmes.

Old Saint Paul’s lunchtime concerts

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Here is the just released list of Tuesday lunchtime concerts at Old St Paul’s.

May 29        Paul Rosoman – organ
June 5          NZSM Guitars
June 12        David Trott – organ
June 19        Megan Corby –  VoxBox vocal group
June 26        TBA
July 3          Capital Harmony Chorus
July 10        City Jazz
July 17        Carolyn Mills – Harp
July 24        Duo Tapas – guitar and violin
July 31        NZSM Woodwind
August 7    Valerie Rigg & Richard Mapp – violin & piano
August 14    Klezmer Rebs – Eastern Europe vocal group
August 21    NZ Guitar Quartet
August 28    Ktistina Zuelicke & Ingrid Cuilliford – piano/flute
September 4    Richard Apperley – organ
September 11    TBA
September 18    Judy Orgias & Janey Mackenzie – vocal duo
September 25    NZSM Saxophone choir

I Musici: highly accomplished performances of mainly light-weight music

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand International Arts Festival and Chamber Music New Zealand

Serenata Italiana

Rossini: Sonata a quattro no.1 in G  and Une Larme
Donizetti: Allegro in C
Paganini: Il Carnevale di Venezia
Marco Enrico Bossi: Tre Intermezzi Goldoniani Op.127
Respighi: Aria per strumenti ad arco
Luis Bacalov: Concerto Grosso for I Musici’s 60th anniversary
Nino Rota: Concerto per archi

I Musici di Roma (Antonio Anselmi, violin; Ettore Pellegrino, violin; Pasquale Pellegrino, violin; Claudio Buccarella, violin; Gianluca Apostoli, violin; Antonio de Secondi, violin; Massimo Paris, viola; Silvio Di Rocco, viola; Vito Paternoster, cello; Pietro Bosna, cello; Roberto Bambioli, bass; Francesco Buccarella, keyboard)

Michael Fowler Centre

Tuesday 28 February 2012, 7.30pm

I Musici is famed for its recordings, particularly a recording of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons made early in the group’s career, which helped to create the great popularity of these concertos.

The musicians are aided by the fine instruments they play.  There was one Amati violin, two Guaneri, and a Storioni cello.  Most of the violins and the two violas were made in the seventeenth century; both cellos were from the 18th century.

For a group such as this to be celebrating its 60th year is a considerable achievement.  Of course, none of the original members are still part of I Musici, but it has maintained its place in the musical pantheon throughout all these years.  This is the group’s first visit to New Zealand.  A nice touch of welcome was the generous flower arrangement in the colours of the Italian flag.

The concert might have been better to have been held in the Town Hall, but apparently there was another Festival event going on there.  Patrons were seated only in the downstairs of the Michael Fowler Centre, apart from a few rows in the centre block upstairs seating dignitaries, such as the Ambassador for Italy.  Even then, there were empty seats downstairs.   Some confusion was caused to patrons near me because numbers have disappeared from the seats.

The programme commenced with a familiar Sonata, in three movements.  Apparently written when Rossini was only 12 years old, this work was played by a slightly smaller group than the full ensemble.  The opening sound from I Musici was a little too brittle at times for romantic music, but it soon settled down into an open, bright sound (as the leader, Antonio Anselmi described it in a radio interview).  The group’s magnificent cohesion, despite no conductor at the front, is remarkable, as is the players’ precision, noteworthy in their pizzicato as much as in their bowing.

The three-part moderato first movement, with the same theme for first and third, was a pleasant introduction to the concert.  The slow movement had, despite its tempo designation of andantino, much sprightly music.  A few times only, there was not total uniformity of intonation.  The final movement, allegro, fairly skipped along.

Another short Rossini work followed: Une Larme [The Tear]: theme and variations for cello and strings.  The soloist, Pietro Bosna, has a superb command of his instrument.  The harpsichord was used in this item, plus the additional violin and viola joined the band.  The harpsichord sound did not come through well, from its placement at the back of the right-hand side of the stage, behind the cellos and bass.  The lower tones especially could not be heard – and I was sitting only about a dozen rows back from the stage, in the centre block.

A slow, solemn introduction from the cello, with a few chords on the keyboard began the work.  An eloquent, rich cello solo followed, but the accompaniment from the other players was not particularly distinguished.  The music then developed into a fast-paced virtuoso piece, splendidly played with wonderful tone and technique from the soloist; the piece ended in gaiety.

Donizetti’s Allegro in C, like the first Rossini work, dates from his extreme youth.  It evinced a very operatic opening, as though it were the introduction to an aria or an  operatic story.  The theme was quite lovely, followed by decorations to its melody.  The tone of the orchestra had largely settled down by now.  This work, though brief, had more substance to it than had the preceding pieces.

Paganini followed; the piece is a theme and variations for violin and strings, with Antonion Anselmi playing the virtuosic solo part.  There was more than a passing physical resemblance between Anselmi and Paganini as depicted in the photograph (of a painting) on the page of the programme.

The theme is perhaps rather a trite one; in English, the jolly tune ‘My hat, it has three corners’, but apparently in Italy it is a Neapolitan song ‘O mamma, mamma cara’.   As the programme note said, Paganini ‘varies it using pretty much every technique known to a violinist.’

One would expect such a work to be flamboyant, utilising a range of astonishing effects, and indeed it was.  There was little for the other players to do while Anselmi went through the variations that employed a huge amount of double-stopping, glissandi, left and right hand pizzicato in the same phrases, octaves, and so on.  Certainly the playing had flair and confidence, but also humour, and bird-like sounds – all demonstrating astonishing technique.  It was a performance, indeed.

After the interval, the strings (without harpsichord) played Bossi’s Tre Intermezzi Goldoniani, written between 1901 and 1905..  Each of the three movements was quite short, and incorporated more light and shade than most of the previous pieces in the programme.  The opening ‘Gagliarda’ was lively and tuneful, while the ‘Serenatina’ featured much pizzicato, then a violin duo followed by a violin solo with a wistful theme, over more pizzicato.  Finally there was ‘Burlesca’.  It began with more of a dance feel to it than had the other two movements.

More well-known is Ottorino Respighi.  The Aria per strumenti ad arco was written at the end of his student days, presumably before 1905.  Its nostalgic opening theme had rich harmony; the players produced a lush sound.  The music ebbed and flowed, and became very romantic.  It was more sombre and not as frothy as some of the music earlier in the concert, and therefore was more satisfying.

We then came to the meat of the programme: Luis Bacalov’s work written especially for this anniversary year of I Musici.  The harpsichord was used in this three-movement work.   The leader introduced the music, and then there were sturdy, gutsy chords in a firm, march-like sequence.  Anselmi played flights of fancy above, while strong rhythms continued in the accompaniment.  Some of these airborne fancies were worthy of Paganini.  The cellos got their own little cadenza at the end of the movement.

The andante had a medieval-sounding solemn opening, then the solo violin turned it into a romantic passage.  Steady pizzicato from the bass underpinned all.  There were echoes of baroque music in the steady beat, the cadences, and the use of the harpsichord.  Albinoni was in there somewhere, and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

It was certainly an appropriate work for this group’s anniversary.  There were lovely and elegant touches for the soloist, and for viola, the later having some fine solo passages, but basically the music was fairly straightforward, with touches of a film score about it.

The allegro finale had a brilliant yet folksy opening from Anselmi, a splendid cadenza, then another echo of Albinoni in a similar march tempo to that used in the opening of the work.  Some harmonic innovation arrived, but there was much repetition.  However, it was not minimalism, because there was constant variation too, but in a narrow span, like some of the Paganini music we heard in the first half.

The item on the programme that provided the most satisfaction was the Concerto per archi by Nino Rota, written for I Musici in 1964-65.  The opening of the Preludio first movement featured multiple layers of music, not mere accompaniment to solos, creating a most pleasing effect.  The movement developed in a turbulent mood.

The scherzo second movement had a quicker pace and a lighter mood.  All was most beautifully played, with astonishing precision.  A solo from the leader in the middle of the movement was one of many interesting features of the work.  The music modulated between keys, yet it was a cohesive whole.  This was great idiomatic writing for strings.  It was undoubtedly twentieth century music, but was neither harsh nor repetitive.  It reminded me at times of Benjamin Britten’s music.

The lilting opening of the third movement ‘Aria’ seemed uncertain as to its home key; the music had a questioning feel about it.  Another solo passage was replied to by the cello, but the uncertainty remained.  Things became more passionate, but the range remained fairly narrow.  Then more urgency led to the quiet, gradual arrival of assurance in the solo lines, though the music remained sombre until the end.  This movement also had shades of Britten about it.

By contrast, the Finale had a lively start, with strong rhythms and repetitive phrases, which reached fever pitch.  This was truly the most interesting work of the evening.

Applause was rewarded by a movement from the ‘Winter’ concerto of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, played at a crisp, energetic pace, to the delight of the audience.

Overall, the programme seemed excessively light and frothy for a Festival presentation.  I was tempted to think that the programme was somewhat patronising: pops for the culture-starved Antipodeans?  Rota redeemed it from such considerations.   However, it must also be said that most of the music on the programme was unfamiliar, and interesting as unknown compositions of known composers.

There is no doubt about the accomplishments of I Musici.  The question is rather about the programme: was it appropriate for an International Festival of the Arts?  Or for Chamber Music New Zealand for that matter  although it was certainly suitable for an Italian ensemble of this size and composition.  The programme will be repeated at nine other centres around the country.

 

 

Brilliant French programme with Anne Sophie von Otter and Wellington Orchestra at Town Hall

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune (Debussy); Songs from Chants d’Auvergne (Canteloube); Symphonie fantastique (Berlioz)

Anne Sophie von Otter  with the Vector Wellington Orchestra under Marc Taddei

Town Hall

Friday 18 November, 7.30pm

A full Town Hall auditorium and a stage crowded with a great orchestra of some 85 players, put me in mind of the Town Hall concerts that an NZSO of 30 years ago could sell out.

An entirely French programme was the perfect response to the Wellington Orchestra’s encounter with the wonderful Swedish mezzo who has indeed cultivated a special gift in the language and music of France.

As Marc Taddei remarked, the programme included two works that were landmarks not just for French music but for the whole world of classical music. Debussy’s Faune is now widely considered to herald the dawn of modern music, perhaps of more importance than the adventures of Schoenberg into atonality and serialism. And 60 years earlier it was Berlioz’s Fantastic Symphony that pushed wide open the doors to Romanticism that Beethoven had unlocked.

Taddei opened Debussy’s enchanting work with the most discreet movements of his baton, preparing visually for Karen Batten’s ethereal, seductive flute sounds; and though such refinement characterized much of the playing by other instruments, particularly Matthew Ross’s solo violin, and Moira Hurst’s clarinet, the performance was not without more robust passages that spoke of the more earthy, physical quality of love described in Mallarmé’s poem. But its dream-like effects were sustained in an almost faultless canvas of sound.

Anne Sophie von Otter sang seven of the collection of songs from the region known as the Auvergne the name which is today given to one of France’s 22 regions, occupying the main part of the Massif Central. Canteloube was born in the département of Ardèche which lies on the southeast side of the region. I travelled through it 20 years ago on a train called the Le Cévenol (which I see has now become a ‘tourist’ journey), through Vichy and Clermont-Ferrand and south through winding, forested river gorges, through enchanting landscapes with a hundred tunnels and bridges and ancient villages.

Another composer who celebrated its music was Vincent d’Indy whose Symphony on a French Mountain Air or Symphonie Cévenole was also an early love of mine;  D’Indy had a summer residence in Ardèche.

Canteloube compiled five books of folk-songs totalling 32 altogether. I discovered them in the early 70s through the land-mark recording by Netania Davrath; it seems that Véronique Gens is the only later singer to have recorded them all.

Singing in the Auvergnat dialect – related to Provençal and Catalan, von Otter invested these idiosyncratic songs with the great variety of emotions and gestures that they evoke. She was discriminating however with things like vibrato and the affectations of ordinary classical performance; notes were prolonged for comic or sentimental effect; the fourth song, Lou boussu, plagued with switching rhythms and tempi, depicted a girl’s heartless rejection of a hunchback’s advances, with careless gusto.

There was a rare graciousness, almost grandeur, in the performance of Passo pel prat, the voice rising ecstatically, her body and arms swaying to the rhythm. Similar gestures served a comic purpose in the last song, Lou coucut.

The orchestral accompaniments were equally diverting, witty, rumbustious, here a squally clarinet, there rude blasts on horns, a sentimental cor anglais.  Conspicuous too were the piano forays of the piano – from the singer’s regular accompanist, Bengt Forsberg, that seemed to have a special flavour inspired by his intimate musical relationship.

The endless applause prompted an encore – by Benny Andersson (ABBA) – not too far removed in essence from the songs she’d just sung.

And yes: though these songs are quite enchanting, it was a pity not to have heard her, in addition, in some French art song – Debussy, Duparc, Fauré, Berlioz’s Nuits d’été…

The second half was devoted to the 50 minutes of the Symphonie Fantastique, which Taddei dedicated to the departing General Manager Diana Marsh. It opened with the Largo, breathed suspensefully by velvety strings, gaining speed till the main Allegro movement arrives, introducing the  Idée fixe which is, of course, much more than just a ‘principal theme’.

One noticed Taddei had dispensed with music stand and score, a step that meant far more than the fact of having the entire 230 pages (of my miniature score) by heart: it soon became clear that it was allowing him to attend, without his eyes distracted by the notes on the pages, to communicating with every player and creating a performance of sustained beauty at one end and utterly unbridled passion or ferocity at the other. Again it was possible to admire much instrumental playing, particularly cor anglais, horns, and the inflated numbers in certain areas: the two tubas, and two harps, the two timpanists on each set of drums (yet the timpani was often played with the utmost quiet).

One might have imagined that the orchestra had been inflated by many NZSO players; but in reality they were few. So it was possible to record admiration at the polish and integrity of the strings, and to admire the beauty and ensemble of the wind sections. The tubular bells under the balcony on the left produced a magic, remote sound with their Dies Irae, while the cornets lent a distinct anti-classical character to the music of the fourth and fifth movements.

The waltz movement, Un bal, went rather fast; I have always felt that this movement should suggest a phantasmagoric, dream ball rather than a Straussian one; something was lost. The first movement and the Scène aux champs were beautifully paced, a terrifying Marche au supplice. As for the Witches’ Sabbath I was overwhelmed by the frenzy that Taddei mustered from his totally engaged players who still had the capacity to double their speed across the final page even though Berlioz only marks it ‘animando un poco’. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded.

If there was a price to pay in terms of precision and finesse for the sometimes almost reckless speeds and the intense emotion generated at many stages of this performance, it was entirely worth that price.

Perhaps for the first time, here was a performance that recalled for me the astonishment and excitement I felt when I first heard the work in my teens.

Felix the Quartet’s inspiring concert at Waikanae

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

‘Beethoven Inspirations’:
Beethoven: String Quartet in C minor, Op.18 no.4
John Psathas: A Cool Wind
Beethoven: String Quartet in F, Op.59 no.1

Waikanae Music Society: Felix the Quartet: Vesa-Matti Leppänen (violin), Rebecca Struthers (violin), Andrew Thomson (viola), Rowan Prior (cello)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

24 July 2011, 2.30pm

The usual substantial audience defied the weather, and came to hear Felix the Quartet, made up of prominent members of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra. There was a change to the programme: the music for the work by Esa-Pekka Salonen is somehow lost in transit, Leppänen explained, and so John Psathas’s piece was substituted. It and the Beethoven Op 59 no.1 Quartet were played recently by the Felix players in Wellington Chamber Music’s Sunday afternoon series; I refer you to Lindis Taylor’s review of that concert of 26 June, on this website.

Right from the dark opening of the Op.18 quartet, it was striking how beautifully balanced the Felix players were. No one instrument dominated; all were in perfect ensemble. However, it was interesting to note the difference in tone between the first and second violins. Every nicety of dynamics and ornamentation was observed, but this was lively playing that was constantly forward-moving.

The purposeful and optimistic first movement was followed by a scherzo which consisted of plenty of conversation between the instruments, as did the next movement. Though using a classical form, Beethoven’s minuet and trio are unlike anything Haydn or Mozart would have written; besides the chromaticism (which Mozart might well have employed) there is frequent use of syncopation.

‘A Cool Wind’ was inspired, the composer says, by the Armenian instrument: the duduk. Described as nasal (among other features), it appealed to Psathas as a voice-like instrument. This quality was present, although there was not a particularly nasal sound in the quartet. There was, however, much close harmony – and disharmony. Considerable use is made of modal tonalities. The piece included effective solos for all the instruments, the others providing a drone, or to harmonise – often with piquant effect.

The piece has an elegiac sound, but is not deeply mournful. It maintains tension, due to the harmonies and intervals used. The piece ends on a sad little melody on the second violin.

There is no doubt that the pièce de resistance in the concert was the Beethoven Op. 59 no.1 quartet – and I heard numbers of people around me expressing the same opinion. It seems streets ahead of the Op. 18 quartets in its themes, depth of feeling, musical language, and variety of expression.

Its opening with a lovely cello solo is innovative, to be followed by the first violin’s repetition of the theme. The contemplative mood is sustained through much of the spacious grandeur of the movement. As it develops, melodies are woven and twisted, exchanged and multiplied.

The scherzo second movement, unlike any preceding scherzo, involves much conversation between the instruments. It is tuneful, enormously varied, stimulating, exciting and innovative.

The third movement opens with a great chorale, played with sweetness, subtlety and perfect ensemble. This adagio movement has considerable intensity, contrast, and emotional impact.

The lively and varied finale on a Russian theme, carries on from the previous movement without a break, and ends with a very extended coda; typically, Beethoven seems to be about to bring things to a conclusion when another idea occurs, and off we go again.

The playing of this magnificent work was wonderfully vibrant, yet mellow. Perhaps it was sometimes a little restrained, not plumbing the emotional heights or depths, but this may have been due, at least in part, to the acoustics of the hall.

This was an inspiring and satisfying concert, appreciated by an enthusiastic audience.

Enchanting concert by Antipodes Trio at Waikanae

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Antipodes Trio (Christobel Lin – violin, Nicholas Hancox – viola, David Requiro – cello)

Dohnanyi: Serenade in C, Op 10; Lilburn: String Trio; Handel/Halvorsen: Passacaglia in G minor on a Theme by Handel (from Harpsichord Suite HWV 432); Schubert: String Trio in B flat, D 471; Beethoven: String Trio in C minor, Op 9 No 3

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 13 March 2.30pm

One of the reasons for going to this concert was the patriotic impulse to hear a Wellington musician who’s making good in Europe. Nicholas Hancox took his B Mus (Hons) at Victoria University and has now completed a master’s at the University of Michigan. Learning never ends: he has moved to Munich for post-graduate work at the Hochschule (Academy) für Musik und Theater. The group’s violinist Christobel Lin is from Auckland and studies four hours away by train, in Vienna. Their cellist derives from a New York connection; he’s appeared as a soloist with the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington and the Tokyo Philharmonic, and is now artist-in-residence at the University of Puget Sound in Washington State.

The subsidiary reason for going to Waikanae, really just a big bonus, was the pleasure of going all the way by train which discharges you about 100 metres from the hall. Even without a Gold Card, the journey would be so infinitely more enjoyable than sitting behind a car wheel: the commuter queues on the roads north leave me incredulous.

Finally: the concert. They confess that their ensemble is not of long standing, but I needed to be told that as it would not have occurred to me. Individually they play with great accomplishment; it may well be perceived that the cellist has a slight edge in terms of finesse in articulation and tonal variety, but the excellence of their musical togetherness kept me from observing significant differences in their levels of artistic attainment. Critics often make a display of perceiving such niceties; the truth is that only the players themselves and perhaps their tutors can really notice the almost imperceptible nuances.

The string trio is a much less common creature than either the string quartet or the piano trio and its repertoire is much smaller. Two of Beethoven’s early opus numbers comprise string trios, usually seen as rehearsals for his graduation to the string quartet; we heard the third of the Opus 9 group. With its C minor key, it has the outward signs of seriousness and it was the second movement where both the music’s quality and the players’ understanding became evident, taking their time through its spaciousness and imposing, slow tempo. That was the last piece in the programme.

The concert had begun with Dohnanyi’s now rather familiar Serenade (it was played in the recent Chamber Music Festival at Nelson), written with an ear touched by the Beethoven model (his Serenade, Op 8, in D and the Serenade for flute, violin and viola, Op 25, which the Elios Ensemble played two days later in the St Andrew’s season of concerts ).

The Dohnanyi was handled with vivacity, with striking attention to the detail of dynamics even to the detailing of individual notes. that could be compared not unfavourably with its performance by the Hermitage Trio in Nelson. The serenade form here seems to be shorthand for a series of short movements that avoid the sonata form’s succession of themes and their development and elaborate recapitulations. There was no time to become impatient of slender ideas, no matter how charming. Interest was maintained through sharply contrasted movements: a Romanza that took us on a light-hearted journey, diverting through the varying roles given to the three instruments and their playing techniques: each had its turn in the limelight. A Theme and Variations had ever-changing tempi, and allusions to the most serious devices employed by serious classical music.

Lilburn’s string trio from the mid 40s, when he was about 30, is a fairly insubstantial piece. Any kind of criticism of Lilburn is comprehensively outlawed in this country, but I have to confess to finding this piece so generally uneventful, the melodic fragments insipid and so tentatively handled that it is hard for me to say much apart from remarking its sympathetic and idiomatic performance.

After the interval, the trio played the Passacaglia for violin and viola that Norwegian composer Halvorsen based on theme of Handel (the Harpsichord Suite No 7, HWV432). A tune that lends itself to variations, it is treated with little reference to its origin, handled with imagination and variety in the sequence of variations that such a theme often invites. Being something of a virtuoso showpiece (though it is rather more than that) it was just one occasion that I was highly impressed by the performances by Lin and Hancox. Both combined bravura and artistry, nowhere better displayed than in a beautiful, breathless, pianissimo passage played at the octave. It was as satisfying an experience as anything else in the programme.

The remaining piece was the single movement String Trio in B flat, D 471, by Schubert. A simple utterance based on charming themes, it gains its place more through that melodic simplicity than through any interesting evolution and development. The players had all the musical resources to make it a wholly enchanting performance.