Excellent singing from Choir of Christ’s College, Cambridge with minor non-musical shortcomings

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Howells: Requiem; and anthems by Tallis, Brahms, Harris, Stanford, Walton,
Vaughan Williams, Philip Ledger
Vierne: Organ Sonata in B flat minor

Choir of Christ’s College, Cambridge, conductors and organists Joe Ashmore and John Ellse

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Thursday 9 July 2015, 7pm

Considering the atrocious weather, it was a pleasant surprise to find a sizeable audience at the church; the main body of the church was well-filled, and more than a handful of people occupied the seats in the raised section at the back.

However, it was disappointing to find a poor substitute for a printed programme. The composers and titles were merely listed, with below a description of the choir’s role and activities.  The Director’s name and career details were given, but in fact he did not conduct or play the organ; the two who did both were not named in the programme.  Moreover, the brief document was as scant of font size as it was in information.

The conductors introduced items verbally, but without benefit of microphone or of sufficient volume, and spoke far too quickly to be understood by those of us who like to sit in the rear
section.  The front half of the audience laughed at comments from the conductors – what were they?  I gather that among the remarks were one pointing out that all the composers had an association with Cambridge University.

Gripes aside, it was an excellent concert, much appreciated by the audience.  It began with Tallis’s ‘Sancte Deus’, in which a lovely tone was produced, after a slightly husky start.  The choir, a mixed
one, has good balance.  There will be those who will say that ‘It’s not the same without boy trebles’.  Indeed, it is not the same.  It has a warmer, fuller tone, and less of the ‘hooty’ sound that the traditional English cathedral and chapel choir often has had.  There is an attractive range of dynamics and expression.  The choir includes one male alto, 11 women and 8 men.

Judging by the chord given for the next piece (most of the programme was sung unaccompanied), the choir was slightly flat at the end of the Tallis.  A couple of other pieces finished slightly sharp. However, these little aberrations did not really matter – the choir never sounded out of tune during the singing.

Brahms’s motet ‘Warum ist das Licht gegeben’ was typical of many of the composer’s choral pieces in that the tonality was not quickly established, and it took some time to find a ‘home’ key.  This makes for an interesting quality.  There was some unpleasant, strident tone from the tenors here.  The long and complex work contained some gorgeous cadences.  The choir’s German pronunciation was good, and Brahms’s unusual harmonies and suspensions were brought out splendidly.

‘Faire is the Heaven’ is a beautiful setting of words by Edmund Spenser (1552-99), the music composed by William Henry Harris (1883-1973).  I am familiar with this popular piece, but I have never heard it more effectively and sensitively sung.  The slightly less well-known ‘Bring us, O Lord’ was another attractive item from Harris.

Charles Villiers (not Villers, RNZ Concert please note!) Stanford wrote very much music for the Anglican Church, and this accompanied item, ‘For lo, I raise up’ (composed in 1914) was a rousing piece.  There was an elaborate organ accompaniment.  Words were clear, and the pianissimo from the choir was beautifully judged.  However, there were some undisciplined sounds from the men.  The style of the piece made me think of our English-born twentieth-century professors of music in New Zealand: Victor Galway and Vernon Griffiths; indeed, the latter studied at Cambridge and may well have been taught by Stanford.

The Stanford was followed by an organ solo from John Ellse.  The programme did not divulge what it was, and again, I could not hear the announcement clearly.  However, a choir member told me in the interval that it was Organ Sonata in B flat minor by Vierne; I had picked that it was one of the French school; its character was that of his mentors Franck and Widor, with a colourful range of registrations, melody and harmony.

The Requiem by Herbert Howells (1892-1983) began the second half of the concert.  It is a most delicate and affecting work, and was conducted by John Ellse.  The singing featured gorgeous mellow tone; quite a different style of singing from that of the Tallis work that began the concert.  Throughout the seven movements (some in Latin, some in English) there were fine solos (as elsewhere in the concert), especially from sopranos.  The effect here, and throughout the concert, was enhanced by the splendid acousticsof Sacred Heart Cathedral.

Walton’s ‘A Litany’ (Drop, drop slow tears), written when he was only 16, featured multi-tonality, which was managed well by the choir.  His other anthem ‘Set me as a seal’ had the conductor and organist swap places again, for the organ accompaniment to this exquisitely sung piece.  Vaughan Williams lovely ‘O taste and see’ used the organ only for the introduction.  The concert ended with ‘Loving shepherd of thy sheep’ by well-known former King’s College Choir music director Philip Ledger; a striking piece, also accompanied.

As an encore, the choir sang Parry’s grand and well-known ‘I was glad’, with its majestic organ part.  Again there was some coarse male tone.  I observed one of the bass singers who seemed to ‘holler’ when the music was loud, which was a shame when all others seemed to manage their breathing well, and maintained good tone throughout the dynamic range.

Some choristers, particularly men, held their music copies too low down to enable them to see the conductor readily.  This can also inhibit the vocal production fully reaching the audience.

The overall effect of the performance was very fine indeed, and that the choral tradition continues in good heart and good hands in Cambridge was proved beyond reasonable doubt.

 

 

Wit, theatricality and food for thought from Affetto, in Lower Hutt

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Chamber Music Hutt Valley presents:
AFFETTO – early music ensemble
“A Play Upon Words” – settings of texts with music of various kinds…..

Jane Tankersley (soprano), with Polly Sussex (viols, baroque ‘cello),
Rachael Griffiths-Hughes (harpsichord)
Philip Grifin (theorbo/baroque guitar),  Peter Reid (cornetto, baroque trumpet)

St.Mark’s Church, Woburn, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 8th July 2015

An unexpected “bonus” for me, during this enterprising and innovative concert by the early music ensemble Affetto in St.Mark’s Church, Woburn, came midway through – just before the interval, actually – when the ensemble played Henry Purcell’s rousing Lilliburlero. I hadn’t heard the tune for years (the last time was when I went to see Stanley Kubrick’s iconic 1975 film “Barry Lyndon” which used the melody as a rousing ceremonial marching tune). But I remembered it from much earlier days –  from the radio back in my childhood – when it was used as an advertising ditty, to the words, “Make your floors and furniture clean / always use Tanol Polishing Cream!” (see below)…….

I mention this as only one of the many (and varied) delights of the group’s presentation, all of which sprang to life with considerable élan for the enjoyment and pleasure of those of us who had braved the elements to get to the concert. Despite occasional bouts of ambient noise-background from a roof rattling from the southerly wind-gusts, the evening’s “ballads, songs and snatches” came across to us with plenty of feeling, colour and excitement.

Drawing from music written and well-known during the 17th Century, the programme featured a mixture of vocal and instrumental pieces, the choices designed to show how composers of that time were inspired by ideas stemming from the new art-form of opera, creating word-settings with considerable dramatic and theatrical emphasis to convey specific feelings or paint particular pictures or scenes.

The composers’ names were a mixture of the well-known – Henry Purcell, John Dowland, William Byrd, Jeremiah Clarke, John Blow and the great George Friedrich Handel – along with a number I’d never heard of – Diego Ortiz, Farbritio Caroso de Sermoneta, Andrea Falconieri, and Gaspar Sanz, plus one or two whose names were known to me but whose music I had little idea of – Tarquinio Merula, William Young, and Henry Eccles. And amidst all of “the old” was a “new” piece by New Zealand composer Janet Jennings, a setting of words spoken by Lady Macbeth (in Shakespeare’s “Scottish play”) with the title Exultation.

Well, we were well-and-truly taken upon a journey, one whose many and varied stages were simply too numerous and wide-ranging to catalogue in full, and therefore requiring a certain “highlighting” selection process from me, the hapless critic! That said, it was the variety of presentation which struck me most forcibly and memorably throughout the evening – and a friend whom I’d taken with me to the concert agreed that it was all “rich and strange and ever-changing”!

Central to the enterprise was soprano Jayne Tankersley, well-known to Wellington audiences for her voice’s brilliance and beauty in repertoire such as Monteverdi’s Vespers and his sets of madrigals, as well as Faure’s Requiem. Here she seemed just as truly in her element as a performer, displaying similar qualities of total involvement in the music and engagement with the various texts.

Whether conveying the implaccable arrival of the Day of Judgement with stentorian tones (Awake, awake, O England!), the sweetness and despair of a lover’s sorrow in the guitar-accompanied Dowland song I saw my Lady weep, or the fury and scorn of a drunkard’s wife in Henry Eccles’ Drunken Dialogue (sung as a riotous duet with Philip Grifin), her voice “carried” all of the different qualities needed to make words and music come alive in each case. Only in Henry Purcell’s Bess of Bedlam was the singer’s impact blunted by too far-back a placement on the platform.

So she was able to convey a good deal of Queen Dido’s tragic stature in the character’s final aria from Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas, the lament forward-moving, dignified and graceful as befits a monarch – some might have felt the performance perhaps a shade TOO forward-moving. But, a few minutes afterwards, she was duetting with cornettist Peter Reid in a rendition of happier music from Purcell, “Sound the Trumpet” from Come Ye Sons of Art – originally for two counter-tenors, the arrangement of voice and cornetto worked splendidly, the “other voice” effectively worked into an instrumental rendition.

An additional delight were the instruments on display by dint of their sounds as well as their appearance – we heard a range of tones and timbres throughout the evening which were far removed from the relatively manicured sounds made by their modern equivalents. I’ve already mentioned the cornetto, a straight, clarinet-length conical-shaped horn, whose notes were made by a combination of finger-holes and lip-pressure (its sound in my mind forever associated with music accompanying performances of Elizabethan drama, Shakespeare first and foremost of them).

Peter Reid also sported a “baroque trumpet”, another instrument relying on lip-pressure exerted by the player, splendid in effect but obviously treacherous to try and play accurately! We enjoyed a cobbled-together assemblage called the “English Trumpet Suite”, including a couple of Baroque “pops” such as the Trumpet Voluntary (long attributed to Purcell, but more recently to Jeremiah Clarke, as The Prince of Denmark’s March), as well as Handel’s stirring “La Rejouissance” from his Royal Fireworks Music. Thrills and spills there were aplenty, but it was a throughly invigorating listening experience.

If the other instruments were less “prominent” it was because their function was largely to support the continuo (figured bass) part of each item, though in some of the instrumental pieces prominence in some sequences was allowed instruments like the harpsichord, the bass viol and the baroque guitar. Philip Grifin, the guitarist, also played the theorbo, a kind of “extended” lute (the instrument was actually made in this country), its extended bass notes needing a fretboard of considerable (and even alarming!) length, the player having to bear in mind the risk of unexpectedly decapitating any of his fellow-musicians who wandered too close during excitable moments!

Together with Polly Sussex’s bass viol and baroque ‘cello, and Rachael Griffiths-Hughes’ harpsichord, the musicians brought their innate grace, charm and vigour to things like the Ciaconna L’Eroica (whose composer, Andrea Falconieri, I’d never head of) with its fascinatingly interlocking lines, and in their interactions with the voice throughout parts of Purcell’s Of All the Instruments – incidentally, I wonder if Jayne Tankersley knows John Bartlett’s Sweete Birdes deprive us never, an “entertainment” for soprano voice and lute that would have “sat” beautifully in this programme…….

A brief word concerning the one piece of contemporary music in the programme, written for the group by Waikato-based Janet Jennings – a work for soprano and ensemble exploring the character of Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth. The group performed the opening movement of this five-part work, one depicting Lady Macbeth’s ruthless determination to make her husband King of Scotland. The music’s ceremonial, cornetto-led opening cleverly took our sensibilities back in time, before reflecting the character’s murderous, determined intent with haunting, close-knit harmonies and convolted chromatic lines for both singer and the ensemble, the music chillingly underlining the strength of the text’s concluding statement “We’ll not fail”. On this evidence, what a compelling entertainment the whole work promised to be!

During the interval we were invited to “inspect the goods” at closer quarters, and so had a lovely time examining the intricacies of the theory and the simplicities of the cornet and baroque trumpet, the experience giving more girth to our appreciate of the sounds wrought for us by this talented ensemble. Afterwards, we felt pleased and delighted that the wishes of the group, as expressed in the accompanying notes – to create “a very entertaining program of lively, poignant, and uplifting music” – had been so satisfyingly realized.

P.S. Appendix 1. (I had to search for this, to make sure my memory wasn’t playing me false…….!)

 Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XLVIII, 3 March 1913, Page 2

“Wise grocers everywhere stock TANOL – the polish of polishers!
It makes bright homes, happy wives,  and contented husbands. 
Order a tin today! – Liquid 1s, Paste 6d “

 

 

 

The Apprentice, La Mer, Ibert’s flute concerto and an enchanting francophone premiere from National Youth Orchestra

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

NZSO National Youth Orchestra conducted by José Luis Gomez with solo flute, Bridget Douglas

Dukas: L’apprenti sorcier
Ibert: Flute concerto
Salina Fisher: Rainphase
Debussy: La mer

Michael Fowler Centre

Thursday 2 July 2015, 6:30 pm

The National Youth Orchestra has generally played a major symphony in the second part of its main annual outing (and this is its 56th year). They’ve included Mahler’s First and Seventh, Tchaikovsky’s Fourth and Fifth, Shostakovich’s Tenth, Rachmaninov’s Second, Brahms’s First and Second, as well as Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra, Also sprach Zarathustra, many taxing concertos and other large and challenging works. Back in 2007, they played La Mer (I’ve only looked back a dozen years); and they played it again here.

This concert was conducted by José Luis Gomez, a young Venezuela-born, Sistema-inspired musician who has already made an impact in North and South America as well as in major European cities (Hamburg, Frankfurt, Liverpool, Stuttgart, Madrid…) in both opera and orchestral performance. Though he appears not yet to have worked in France, his programme was almost wholly devoted to French music (one can easily argue that a young composer like Selina Fisher, is essentially a disciple of the Debussyish, French tradition) which calls generally for a different and in some ways more difficult aesthetic approach to music.

New Zealand’s musical future is in good hands with the continued flourishing of this orchestra (and let’s not forget the youth orchestras in all the major cities of New Zealand), with major support from the Adam Foundation over seventeen years, as well as from the NZSO itself.

L’apprenti sorcier
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is not really a true representative of Dukas the composer. (I elaborate some thoughts about the contrasts between the classicists and the impressionists and the place of Dukas in the aesthetic quarrels of the period at the end of this review).

But Dukas was a skilled orchestrator and a gifted composer nevertheless.
It’s a brilliant composition, fully deserving its real popularity. The woodwinds’ opening was careful and wonderfully refined, and the strings, given their full orchestral complement (16, 14, 12, etc, -approximately) produced a warmly confident chorus, solo flute emerged with a big romantic vibrato and bassoons too came out of the shadows that usually envelop them.

Though there were occasional partings of the ways in ensemble, the conductor inspired enthusiasm and energy that overcame all; the brass was emphatically present in the chaotic climax as the apprentice loses control of the situation, to complete an exciting performance of this popular piece.

Ibert’s Flute Concerto
The orchestra was then thinned out to chamber size for the fastidious but animated flute concerto by Ibert, who was one of several French composers born around the 1890s who did not join Les Six (who have been celebrated this week as RNZ Concert’s ‘Composers of the Week’).

Though I suppose it would be nice for a soloist with the orchestra to be a current or recent player with them, the selection of NZSO principal flute Bridget Douglas, who moved through comparable paths in New Zealand, beginning in Dunedin, was inspired; at the time she might have been a member of the Youth Orchestra, she was probably studying on scholarships overseas. However both her demeanour and performance display an exuberant youthfulness.

Her acumen clearly elevated the orchestra’s performance in what is certainly one of the most familiar and successful flute concertos. The playing hardly touched the ground in the first movement, capturing what can only be described as the quintessential sound of French flute music, leading the orchestra in high risk-taking exploits (remember this is the composer of the vivacious Divertissement). In the sharply contrasted, sombre, legato Andante, the light seemed to have dimmed, exposing the orchestra’s, and the soloist’s, expressive talents as they explored Ibert’s command of a more thoughtful strain of 1930s French music, absorbing both the neo-classical and the satirical, flippant character that post-first world war music had acquired.

The start of the boisterous and memorable third movement proved a bit tough for the horns, but they were vindicated later. Its jazzy rhythms, decorated with the most hair-raising flute passages are interrupted twice with pensive episodes, allowing breathing space, and for unexpectedly lyrical playing from the flute, often in charming duet or trio with other wind instruments or the strings.

Salina Fisher’s commission
The tradition of commissioning a piece from a young composer has become established. This year the composer, has, as violinist, been an orchestra member since 2010 and was concertmaster in 2012/13; she is the orchestra’s Composer-in-residence this year and has won composition prizes at the New Zealand School of Music and the NZSO’s Young Composer’s Award in 2013 and 2014. Her music has been played by several overseas soloists and chamber ensembles.

The array of percussionists signalled a more than average interest in the strange and exotic sounds available these days from that department. As well as bowing on the edges of the xylophone, the most magical effects, sort of disembodied flute sound, came from Rachel Thomas bowing on crotales; and episodes of bouncing bows on strings and bows brushing tonelessly across stringed instruments, in large, synchronised, circular movements. It was as entertaining for the eyes as for the ears.

I was impressed by the composer’s notes that elaborated, not on the wearisome explanations like: ‘exploring of extended techniques that might enrich the experience of hearing the contrabassoon with its reeds removed, underwater’, but a description of the source of the sound – here rain falling – arising from actual events; for example, she writes: “the variation in sound and movement of raindrops depending on the material upon which they fall, and the texture created when these countless individual timbres and rhythms happen all at once”.

There were rather enchanting melodic fragments, rising and falling scales played softly on the two harps. But as well as these singular devices for the depiction of rain falling, there were blocks of brass in warm harmony, which in the end contributed to a remarkably attractive sonorous chorus in an exciting
crescendo.

La Mer
I was intrigued, considering the watery nature of the previous composition, at the choice of La Mer as the big, symphonic work on the programme. I’m assured that neither was programmed to complement the other: pure serendipity. Though not at all a symphony, it is of near symphonic length and has three movements (like the Paris and Prague symphonies of Mozart, if you care).

This too uses a big orchestra, three trumpets as well as two cornets, three bassoons and a contrabassoon, again the two harps and an array of percussion including glockenspiel, all used with purpose and sensitivity. At every hearing of this masterpiece I gain a little more clarity about its melodic and rhythmic content, how the fleeting, fugitive gestures and arabesques, relate and contribute to the bewildering tapestry. In the first movement, the orchestra captured the dim awareness of dawn with the woodwinds countering the threatening sounds of timpani and bass drum, and though there were momentary slips, the growing illumination that the performance created, the brightening glow of the horns midway in the movement, was marvellous.

The Jeux de vagues, sometimes referred to as a Scherzo, to me a misnomer, has the role of an at times playful, at times calm, symphonic middle movement; it brings the full light of day, not in an obvious, brash way, but through the fluency of flutes, always to be remarked, over bassoons and cor anglais, suggesting a friendly sea. The third part, Dialogue du vent et de la mer, opened with very enthusiastic timpani and brass, but the gorgeous, swaying tune and the vivid evocation of conflicting forces were magnificently rendered.

It’s not just that this music might mean/should mean something special to one who has lived all his life close to some of the biggest seas in the world; as one of the first really major works of the 20th century, it marks for me a more important and influential development than the intellectually driven inventions of Schoenberg and co was to do a few years later; and at least as significant as The Rite of Spring.

Naturally, much of the audience at such concerts comprises family and friends of the players, but they could not have so filled the MFC, showing that growing numbers of ordinary music lovers are realising that if the music is your primary interest, rather than a social event, as much delight and revelation is created in a Youth Orchestra performance of this calibre as with the NZSO itself.

 

Reflections on Dukas and Debussy:

Above, I touched on the place of Dukas, between César Franck and Debussy and the intermediate composers like Fauré and Chausson.

After the 1880’s, Debussy picked up the sense that composers like those and others had been hinting at in previous decades. Influenced by impressionist painting and symbolist poetry, he believed music was about nuances, colours and emotions, story-telling and scene painting; organically evolving melodic ideas and rhapsodic shapes.

Dukas was born into the era of Debussy (he was four years Debussy’s junior) but, while they were good friends, Dukas adhered to the model of César Franck and the more classical, Teutonic, tradition, and he was a passionate Wagnerian; while Debussy, very consciously a ‘French’ composer, had come to reject both Franck and Wagner. But their totally opposite views did not seem to affect the happy friendship between the two.

And although Debussy wanted no school of Debussyistes and didn’t much like Ravel who was his passionate admirer, Roger Nichols remarks in his New Grove article: “a list of 20th century composers influenced by Debussy is practically a list of 20th century composers, tout court”.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is not truly representative of Dukas the composer. True, it was written four years after Debussy’s Prélude à l’après midi d’un faune, about the same time as Nocturnes, but while
the finger-prints of a brilliant orchestrator can be heard, there is as much Strauss as Chausson in it, and a lively imagination is needed to ascribe much to Debussy.

The programme note relates a Messiaen anecdote that suggests The Apprentice was intended as mockery of the Strauss’s symphonic poems, particularly Till Eulenspiegel, that were sweeping Europe at the time, but it is hard to believe that Dukas would have expended all that effort creating such a masterly and highly sophisticated score merely as a put-down of Strauss. My reading of Dukas’s personality and nature don’t suggest that sort of behaviour; after all he remained a good friend of Debussy even though Dukas was a traditionalist, a Wagnerian, and thus not too distant from Strauss’s musical values.

A commentator writes, for example: “While Debussy was forging esoteric links with symbolist poetry, Dukas had the effrontery to compose a symphony in plain C major!” The symphony is a close relative of Franck’s Symphony in D minor; Dukas wrote it in the same year, 1897, as The Apprentice. As for Dukas’s great piano sonata in E minor, it sounds like a fine piano work that Franck never wrote (and as a passionné of the latter, I expect that to be read as great admiration).

Anyway, as one of the disappearing generation who actually saw (and heard), very young, an early screening of the Disney film, Fantasia, in which Stokowski conducted the music along with the marvellous animated version of the Goethe story, the music has been embedded in me for a long time.

In thinking about these things, I fished out my copy of Roger Nichols’ Debussy Remembered which trapped me for a while; there were not many pertinent bits of letters from Dukas relating to Debussy apart from evidence of great warmth and mutual respect and affection. But it’s the sort of book that engrosses you with all sorts of interesting people, events and ideas.

 

 

Te Koki Trio at Waikanae balances Schubert’s E flat trio with trios by Psathas and Fanny Mendelssohn

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Waikanae Music Society

Fanny Mendelssohn: Piano trio in D minor, Op.11
John Psathas: Three Island Songs
Schubert: Piano trio no.2 in E flat, D.929

Te Koki Trio (Martin Riseley, violin; Inbal Megiddo, cello; Jian Liu, piano)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 28 June 2015, 2.30pm

It was excellent to find a work of Fanny Mendelssohn’s on the programme – so often neglected in comparison with her famous brother, and someone who could well have gone on to greater things had she not died at only 42.  The Chamber Music New Zealand 2015 brochure informs me that the Te Koki Trio will play works by Clara Schumann and Gillian Whitehead this year also, playing in 9 regional centres, and Wellington.

The gentle, lyrical opening of the trio from the violin with the other instruments accompanying, was followed by the piano taking over the lead.  Then a wistful cello melody is interspersed with other figures, taking turns.  Rapid arpeggio and scale passages from the piano were tastefully and beautifully played by Jian Liu.  The first movement had a fiery ending.

The second movement was most expressive, with a rather sad theme.  A duet between the two strings followed, accompanied by piano.  There were rich phrases from the cello, and light and airy ones from the piano, then rising passion for both, before a quiet conclusion.  The short song of the third movement began on piano; ‘a charming Song Without Words’, said the programme note.

The finale started with an extended piano solo and after interesting themes, ended in spirited fashion.  The work proved Fanny Mendelssohn to be a worthy composer.

John Psathas is one of New Zealand’s most noted composers, currently.  The title of his work, though referring to the Greek islands of his ancestry, recalls A Song of Islands, a work of Douglas Lilburn’s, from 1946.

It started with the strings in unison, over a repeated rhythmic pattern on the piano, the dynamics ebbing and swelling.  The strings were played alternately with bow and pizzicato, then the music changed to quite a jazzy yet soulful mode.  The second song featured pizzicato cello, perhaps remembering the Greek bouzouki.  Quiet violin and piano accompanied, before all joined in a little later in a robust, angular passage that slowly faded on cello and piano, before a return to the pizzicato cello against slow violin and piano, as at the opening.

The third song had a loud, insistent rhythm at the start.  There was much repetition, and another very rhythmic pattern at the end. These were fine, lively pieces – with a character completely different from our opening work.

After the interval a very substantial chamber trio by Schubert.  This was a familiar work, but the Te Koki Trio gave it a freshness.  After the opening salvo, the lovely first theme rippled deliciously from the instruments; its development likewise.  The shimmering piano accompaniment was delightfully and thoughtfully played by Jian Liu, accompanying this and the following theme.

The second movement opened with a fabulous melody from the cello, against a slow walking accompaniment from the other two instruments.  Then it was the piano’s turn to take the tune with the strings accompanying.  Schubert’s treatment of his themes demonstrates his amazing genius in the field of chamber music.  Marvellous final cadences simply but poignantly echoed the opening notes of the main theme.

The scherzo and trio movement revealed that the playing was not flawless, but the few flaws did little to detract from the effect of the fine music.  The rumbustious trio was followed by the return of the scherzo theme.  The writing is taut yet very melodic, and puts the instruments in equal partnership.

There was yet more melody in the finale.  A joyful, even triumphant mood featured modulation, touches of humour and even pathos.  The return of the andante’s theme was accompanied by cascades on the piano and pizzicato from the violin, unexpected twists and turns, stops and restarts.  Schubert does take quite a long while to end many of his works!  Nevertheless, this was a masterful performance of a magnificent work.

As an encore, the trio played the lively second movement (Pantoum) from Ravel’s Piano Trio, composed in 1914.

As usual, there was a healthy-sized audience, although not as many people as I have seen there in the recent past.

 

 

Wellington Chamber Orchestra rounds on Beethoven with Mozart

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Chamber Orchestra presents
MOZART – Ouvertüre “Die Entführung aus dem Serail”
Symphony No.38 “Prague”
BEETHOVEN – Piano Concerto No.3 in C Minor

Diedre Irons (piano)
Chris van der Zee (conductor)
Wellington Chamber Orchcestra

St Andrew’s on-the-Terrace, Wellington

Sunday 28th June 2015

This concert got off to one of the most thrilling beginnings of any I’ve seen this year, with a no-holds-barred explosion of percussion erupting and pinning back our ears during the first few bars of Mozart’s famous Il Seraglio Overture, also known by its German title of Die Entführung aus dem Serail.

Played with great precision and plenty of verve, the “Turkish” instruments (bass drum, triangle and cymbals) here simply saturated the airwaves with scintillating noise, as the composer intended. The opera having being set in a Turkish harem, Mozart was giving the public the exotic kinds of sounds that would have been expected from a work with such associations.

The orchestra’s more conventional sections also did their bit to enhance the music’s energy, colour, and high spirits. Conductor and orchestra brought off the contrasts between the music’s “soft and loud” sections with considerable skill throughout. The central “wistful Andante” was played with great tenderness and nicely-pointed oboe phrases, helping to make the return of the “Janissary” (the Turkish element) just as exciting and colourful as before. Altogether the performance was a great success, drawing enthusiastic and committed playing from the orchestra.

More serious business was then addressed by the musicians in the form of Beethoven’s C Minor Piano Concerto, the composer’s third such work. Very properly the programme’s notes referred to Beethoven’s admiration for one of Mozart’s piano concerti in a similar key, K.491, and how this regard was reflected by the similarities of Beethoven’s work to that of the older composer.

I was pleased to also read a reference in the programme to the recordings of these concerti made in 2003 and 2004 by the soloist, Diedre Irons, with the Christchurch Symphony conducted by Marc Taddei, for Trust Records. Available as individual discs or as a set from Trust Records, PO Box 10-143, Wellington, 6143 – or via e-mail at info@trustcds.com, the performances are well worth anybody’s investigation.

Nobody who knew the recordings would have expected anything less than what Diedre Irons gave us that afternoon – a sonorous, well-rounded realization of the solo part, as naturally “integrated” with the orchestra’s contribution as any intelligent conversation between two people, serious of purpose to begin with (first movement), then long-breathed and lyrical of expression over the middle movement’s vistas, before playfully interweaving strands of philosophic utterance with moments of rude vigour and determination throughout the finale, “comedy of a sardonic sort” as the programme-note writer so well put it.

Conductor Chris van der Zee supported his soloist with all the intent he and the orchestra could muster, holding the textures of the instrumental sections together and achieving sonorous and coherent balances – the wind soloists, in particular clarinet, bassoon and flute, had sensitive and eloquent moments of interplay with the piano, and the timpanist was a tower of rhythmic strength and support whenever called upon. The opening tutti set the scene for the grandest possible entry from the soloist, and we in the audience weren’t disappointed.

A by-product of the orchestra’s very forward placement in the church, to the front of the “chancel” area, meant that the piano was placed so far forward as to render the soloist invisible to everybody sitting upstairs in the organ gallery save those in the first row of seats. Being one of those people held up by unexpected traffic, I found myself upstairs, and without a “view” of the keyboard. Fortunately, my experience at the London “Proms”, where one often found oneself standing for the entire concert, was helpful at this point, taking as I did a vantage point to the side and remaining on my feet so I could see the pianist.

Of course I could have merely settled back in my seat and enjoyed the sound of Diedre Irons’ playing – but she’s one of those pianists who communicates such a great deal with deportment, expression and gesture at the keyboard, so that the experience of “hearing” her live seems incomplete unless these things can be observed. What comes across is a kind of totality, which in a broadcast or recording of music is left to the imagination to supply – the expressions, the gesturings, the physical means used to create the musical sounds. Here, from my somewhat “birds-eye” view I saw the performance’s world and was drawn into its absorbing plethora of attitudes, moods and feelings.

After the interval I could resume my seat (a few leanings-forward in places notwithstanding) and enjoy the rather more contained aspect of a well-known classical symphony, in this case Mozart’s work known as the “Prague”, Symphony No.38 in D major K.504. In the space of three movements only, Mozart treats us to one of the happiest and most festive of his large-scale symphonic works, the nickname “Prague” referring to the success the symphony experienced when performed in that city. The orchestra, here, though seemingly reluctant in places throughout the opening to really “attack” the opening notes of their phrases and thus establish a strong rhythm, seemed to move up a notch in the first movement’s development section, hitting their stride with confidence, getting sonorous support from the horns, and making sure the “payoff” points of the work came across well (the timpani again strong and reliable at such times).

Better-focused overall was the slow movement, kept moving nicely and lightly by the conductor, and registering the often markedly-detailed dynamics – the winds as an ensemble did particularly well, here, I thought, the oboes especially doing a lovely “middle textures” job of it. The music generated oceans of warmth and poise by turns, thanks to the sensitivity and style of the playing.

Just as enjoyable was the finale, the opening eager and bustling, the players seemingly “onto it” – a lovely, chattering aspect from the winds brought theatrical characters to our minds and accompanying smiles to our faces as the different personalities came and went. The music’s sometimes abrupt dynamic shifts were exuberantly sounded, all the sections dovetailing their parts then “breaking out” with great élan. I thought the strings played with much more confidence, here, adroitly crisscrossing their lines and building the lines towards places where the horns could underline the music’s festive aspect with plenty of spirit.

So, the concert ended as it had begun – with Mozart’s music completing the circle, the playing rounding the afternoon’s music-making off with a good deal of panache and some well-deserved accompanying audience enjoyment.

Defences overwhelmed by seductive songs from Nota Bene under Julian Raphael

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Nota Bene: Untold Stories

Music from New England and New Zealand by Brendan Taaffe, Don Jamison and Julian Raphael

Directed by Julian Raphael, with guest musicians

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 27 June, 8 pm

Nota Bene, founded over ten years ago by Christine Argyle, has always been a slightly unorthodox choir, perhaps ‘eclectic’ and ‘adventurous’ might be better words: they often veer towards the not-so-heavy repertoire whether jazz, quasi-pop, art songs, Renaissance polyphony, folk or “World” music, with special attention to New Zealand composers, and not averse to a touch of religiose sentiment. It’s also a choir whose performances are marked by enthusiasm, fun and sparkling precision in their ensemble and diction. All of which is vividly demonstrated in their CD, NB: accents – celebrating 10 years which includes a few seriously beautiful, mainstream classical tracks. It’s been hard to extract from the CD player in my car for many months: the music is wonderful and it’s a real chance to be spellbound by the choice of music and its immaculate performances.

Background to the concert was to be found, not so much in the programme leaflet, but in the choir’s website. Julian Raphael has become well known in Wellington through his work with several choirs, and with schools. Brendan Taaffe has visited twice, holding workshops, but Don Jamison might be known only through his songs. The latter two live in Vermont, and their songs are notated using a system (and in a style) known as ‘shape-note’.

It’s defined: “Shape-note singing, a musical practice and tradition of social singing from music books printed in shape notes. Shape notes are a variant system of Western musical notation whereby the note heads are printed in distinct shapes to indicate their scale degree and solmization syllable (fa, sol, la, etc.)”; and “Shape notes are a music notation designed to facilitate congregational and community singing. The notation, introduced in 1801, became a popular teaching device in American singing schools”.

The character of performance is described in another website: “It has a distinctive sound: modal, open chords, octave doubling, unusual harmonies. It is usually sung at full volume in an exuberant outpouring of sound and feeling.”

The four shape-note pieces by Jamison (Owen Sound, Cabin Hill, Jackson Heights, Kingdom) were four-part settings of adaptations of Psalms, vaguely hymnal in a southern Baptist accent. That said, the music was most agreeable, often syncopated or swinging easily; the singing, almost all without the scores in front of them, exemplary. The songs’ superficial simplicity conceals an essential musicality and integrity of spirit.

The bracket of songs by Brendan Taaffe was a little more varied in their style and range of influences. Agawa Bay revealed an influence of Renaissance polyphony, in a brisk tempo; in Wester Caputh men’s voices sang the opening passage, a touching melody that thinned attractively as women joined. Superior was a tender, nostalgic song, in a slow tempo without any hint of syncopation, and Greenwood Lake, in slow triple time, peppered with quavers, with words that suggested a more religious awareness.

The last item in the first half was a boisterous, get-up-and-move gospel song from North Carolina, ‘Better Day a-Coming’, joyous and energetic, and here conductor Raphael threw himself into the spirit with broad arm gestures, encouraging swinging and clapping, not only from the choir but also from the audience, most of whom followed with some gusto.

Part 2 was Julian Raphael’s own: a group of songs to words by Frances Knight and music by him.  He explained that the songs, Untold Stories, were conceived during a summer holiday in France and worked over by the pair when they returned to Canterbury (England) – a ‘delightful process of collaborative song-writing’, he says.

These were accompanied by a small ensemble of Nick Granville – guitar, John Rae – percussion, Sarah Hopkins – mallets, that is marimba, and Umar Zakaria – bass, as well as Raphael himself at the piano from time to time.

The first song, Our Song, began with a long instrumental introduction, and the voices entered without fanfare; it was repetitious, in an evolving manner, carrying echoes of southern African music (Raphael has spent time in Zimbabwe and is a student of Shona culture and music; the home of a great hit in the 1950s, Skokiaan, one of the most infectious dance party numbers in my late teens, a hit by Bill Haley and Louis Armstrong, somewhat bastardised by Bert Kaempfert and James Last. There are a couple of LPs in my crowded shelves).

Having been seduced by the above experience 60 years ago, this music still has a hold on me and so, in their different ways, I enjoyed the swing and energy of all the rest of the programme: Shine me on my Way, My Heart, Disappeared and Touch the Sky. There were other influences too, the American south again, Latin American (in Disappeared: infectious, poignant, very appealing), the Balkans. And three soloists from the choir came forward to sing lyrics in most of them (Jeltsje Keiser, John Chote and Marian Willberg).

To send us home in great spirits, the choir repeated ‘Better day a-coming’. As promised by Raphael, the music – really the entire programme – proved hard to resist, eminently singable, the stuff to overcome the most diffident audience and, I’m sure, music that breaks down the rigidity of teenage taste in high school students.  Nota Bene might give the impression of an unpretentious choir, but it’s one of the best trained and most joyous in the city.

 

An impressive, major programme in the series of Bach’s complete organ music at St Paul’s Cathedral

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

The Bach Project:
Programme 13 of the complete organ works of J.S. Bach, throughout 2015

Richard Apperley, Michael Stewart, organ

Wellington Cathedral of St. Paul

Friday, 26 June 2015, 6.00pm

The programme this time was in the early evening, rather than lunchtime, enabling a good-sized audience to attend.  The items were chosen for the recital by ballot, and it was interesting to see a mixture of well-known and lesser known works appearing.

Under the hands (and feet) of two organists who play here regularly, the music of Bach did not suffer  (with one or two minor exceptions) from the muddied sound I’ve heard from some organists when playing Bach in this venue.

The first offering was Toccata, Adagio and Fugue in C, BWV 564.  This is a well-known work, with much variety, including pedal solo.  Variations in the tempo by Richard Apperley, who played the first five items, made the work interesting, and a far cry from those who play Bach mechanistically.  Very satisfying registrations were employed.

The Adagio is a favourite movement of mine, and although Apperley took it a little faster than I’ve sometimes heard it, it was none the worse for that, except for some of the turns, which lost a degree of clarity.  Conversely, the Grave latter part of the second movement was slower than I have heard it, and thereby much improved.  The detached fingering in the final movement made the fugue theme at its various entries much more apparent.

Now to a shorter work: ‘Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme’, BWV 645.  This gorgeous chorale prelude from the Schübler Chorales, with its running accompaniment on flute stops and the melody on a low reed was quite delightful.  Bach’s suiting of the pitch and length of the notes to the words of the chorale on which the piece is based makes this much more than music only.

The famous, and oft-arranged, Toccata and Fugue in D minor was not top of the selection, as Michael Stewart said he expected it to be.  The grandeur of this work, and its increasing complexity, were fully realised by Richard Apperley.  He did not change registrations by swapping manuals during movements, as many do; thus he preserved Baroque practice.  The brilliant ending was almost as dramatic as the opening.

I have many fine recordings of organ music, but the sound does not compare with the ambience and extra dimensions of hearing the music on an organ in a cathedral or other large buildings, where the organ has been designed and built for the space and acoustic.

We needed a gentle rest after that!  Sure enough, another chorale prelude between the larger works ensued: ‘Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier’, BWV 538.  The programme note included ‘I would wager that there aren’t many young organists who haven’t learned to play this!’  Young or not, it was the first piece of Bach I learned on the organ.  It has an utterly charming opening, and like all of its genre, it relies on phrasing, or breathing, of the lines of the chorale on which it is based.  Sure enough, it was all there, as Maxwell Fernie taught me.

The chords of the accompaniment set off the melody line so well, although I found Apperley’s registration of the accompaniment a little too quiet against the stop chosen for the melody.

Another toccata and fugue, this one the so-called ‘Dorian’, BWV 538.  I was less familiar with it than with the rest of the programme.  According to the programme note, there is not much relationship to the Dorian mode at all. (A little slip in the programme note: the work would have been composed in Weimar, not Leipzig, if between 1708 and 1717.)  It is a very grand and complex work – almost convoluted.

At interval, there was a choice of mulled wine or a non-alcoholic hot drink, plus cake to be had – a welcome offering on a cold night.

Michael Stewart played the second half, beginning with Fantasia and Fugue in G minor, BWV 542.  It boasts a portentous opening, described in the notes as ‘one of the most arresting openings of any piece in the organ repertoire’.  The harmonic shifts in this work are quite amazing, and exciting.  In the fugue, held notes with much going on underneath, made for drama and interest.

Next was Sonata in E flat, BWV 535.  One of the six charming Trio Sonatas, this was played using flutes for the opening, and for accompanying the melodies played on reeds.  These melodies sounded rather
like chorales.  In the final section, allegro, there was pleasing staccato on the pedals, against a running
accompaniment.

Pièce d’Orgue, otherwise Fantasia in G, BWV 572, was the ‘unforeseen winner’ of the poll of the audience.  Here I felt that the very resonant acoustic told against the fast tempo of the semi-quavers of the first section, très vitement.  The ‘grave’ second section was full, rich, imposing and forward-moving.  The lentement final section hardly seemed slow, with its demi-semi-quavers.  It is a marvellous work.

Finally, Passacaglia in C minor, BWV 582.  It was a tour de force.  Its theme and 21 variations were carried off with clarity; the difficult work was played superbly.

It is rare to hear an organ recital of this length (two hours), entirely of Bach’s music, and consistently played with equal accomplishment by two different organists.  Above all, this recital demonstrated the huge range of forms, styles and moods in Bach’s diverse and brilliant oeuvre.  The excellent programme notes by the two protagonists added to the value and enjoyment of the concert.

 

 

Unmissable violin sonata programme from APO’s Canadian concertmaster and Sarah Watkins

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Andrew Beer (violin) and Sarah Watkins (piano)
(Wellington Chamber Music)

Beethoven: Violin Sonata in G, Op 30 No 3
Lilburn: Violin Sonata (1950)
Good: ‘And Dreams Rush Forth to Greet the Distance’
Bartok: Two Rhapsodies
Ravel: Sonata in A for violin and piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 21 June, 3 pm

The violinist’s name would have been new to Wellingtonians – the recently appointed Concertmaster of the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra; the pianist however, is very well known. But the audience was disappointing: see comments in my Coda.

I think this programme, entirely of worthwhile, interesting works, but containing only one familiar, major work, might have seemed missable to non-subscribers, unless driven by Lilburn-loyalty or special love of Bartok, and who would be paying $40 for a seat.

Beethoven
In the event, it was an excellent concert. The performance of Beethoven’s Op 30 No 3 was strong, spirited and with striking emphasis on rhythmic elements and the engaging melodies; the two players sounded as if they’d been playing together for years. The middle movement, a sort of minuet, adhered perfectly to its marking, ‘molto moderato e grazioso’, and piano and violin conversed equably, animatedly, tossing ideas to and fro. As the notes pointed out, there is playfulness in the last movement, as the two seemed to push each other a little, and drew attention to themselves with misleading expectations, and untimely modulations. All these features increase the pleasure to be found in a piece of music and one of Beethoven’s gifts was his ability to tease and mislead the audience while creating a masterpiece. All this was here in the performance.

Lilburn
This Lilburn violin sonata in B minor was actually his third. It was written in 1950 for Frederick Page (pianist and head of the music department of Victoria University College) and violinist Ruth Pearl, after Lilburn had become a lecturer at the university; they premiered it at the university and then played it again three months later in Wigmore Hall in London.

The others two sonatas, in C and E flat, were written in 1943; they were first performed, respectively, by Maurice Clare (violin) and Noel Newson (piano), and by Vivien Dixon (violin) and Anthea Harley Slack (piano).

Probably my first live hearing of the present one was at a Mulled Wine concert at Paekakariki in 2011, when Sarah Watkins accompanied Donald Armstrong. There’s an Atoll recording of both the E flat and the present one, issued in 2011, featuring Elizabeth Holowell (violin) and Dean Sky-Lucas (piano). Atoll ACD 941. It was reviewed that year in Middle C by my colleague Peter Mechen.

Andrew Beer’s comments in the programme notes about Lilburn, from a newcomer’s standpoint, are interesting. In his remarks I get a hint of surprise at what might be seen as a sort of obsession with finding a New Zealand voice, as if the job of a creative artist were to interpret or reflect his own land rather than simply to write attractive, listenable music. Such an idea, which is still current, would have puzzled Bach, Mozart, Brahms, Strauss, Prokofiev (among many others). “Telling our own stories” has become a tedious, clichéd justification for supporting New Zealand artists in all fields. There are far more important reasons.

Worrying about expressing and echoing one’s own country has been an aberration that started with the growth of nationalism in the mid 19th century, which has distorted attitudes in so many areas and fuelled the political hatreds that have dogged the world ever since.

However, Lilburn was simply a man of his times, in that matter.

Fortunately, by the time he was 35, Lilburn was writing music that exuded more self-confidence and less seeking for a New Zealand voice, and this sonata is a good example. It is now his own voice, mature, individual, yet echoing the sounds of his immediate predecessors, like Vaughan Williams, tonal and lyrical, though by no means conservative or sentimental. It has also absorbed the character of European music of the time, the tough-minded mid-century; there are moments of dissonance.

It is unusual in being in once movement, with five sections alternating between Molto moderato and Allegro. The performance establishes a searching quality which finds more confidence in the first Allegro section, with both instruments sharing a dance-like episode. The emotional undulations made the second Allegro sound like a concluding phase, but the repeat of Tempo I quickly justified itself.

In my review of that Paekakariki concert I described the sonata as “an impressive, vigorous, tightly-argued work that should have become one of the leading chamber pieces of the New Zealand repertoire.” That still stands.

The rest of the programme
The Lilburn was followed by a shorter piece by Canadian composer Scott Good, a competition piece. The notes reproduce the composer’s own views of the requirements of such a piece: very interesting and well-judged. It gave plenty of scope for virtuosity, drew on contemporary compositional trends, and it certainly, as stipulated, held the attention of an audience. Nor did it seem to think for a minute of attempting to find a ‘Canadian voice’. It simply expressed a confidence in its ability to find melody and treatments that would sound interesting. The performance delivered on all those counts, with the pianist as wholly involved in the idiom as the violinist himself.

After the interval, Bartok’s Two Rhapsodies, quite substantial pieces. Both were played with an aim of making civilized, lyrical (up to a point) music from peasant material that was unsophisticated even if complex in its own way. The first is considerably more conventional and ‘westernised’ than the second, which seems closer to its folk origins, more driven, avoiding any risk of charming the listener, with the piano in percussive mode and the violin, untypically harsh in places. One of my scribbled notes remarked that it was undoubtedly the most formidable piece on the programme, but perhaps, given that, it was over-long.

The programme ended with Ravel’s Violin Sonata, again, not one of his most familiar or engaging; somewhat severe with tunes that might be described as gestures rather than the real thing. So it’s one of those works that one has heard several times, but only the jazz-inflected second movement, is really familiar. Nevertheless, the performance extracted all its virtues, both of melody and structure – the element that allows melody to take a firm grip and holds the attention.

Coda
There have been a lot of opinions and argument about the functions of the critic, from at least the time of Plato, and no doubt in earlier civilisations. Over the years I’ve been tackled for making comments that are alleged to be outside the purview of a critic, perhaps touching on the political context of a composer’s work, his private life, the players’ circumstances, the question of state support for the arts, availability and cost of venues, the condition of music education, value judgements touching the various genres of music, and on and on… all matters of great importance in my opinion.

This is preliminary to an observation about the audience size.

The weather was cold; the venue, since last year after the closure indefinite (?) of the Town Hall, not perhaps ideal for reasons that I need not spell out, though acoustically and in seating comfort, very good. That leaves the programme; and here we find an awareness hiatus between some performers and some promoters who agree to a programme, and an average audience, about what appeals on the one hand, and what, on the other, looks a bit esoteric, worthy but not emotionally compelling.

Till last year I was on the committee of the Wellington Chamber Music Society (as it was) almost from the beginning of these Sunday concerts in 1983, and so have attended a great many of them. The number of subscribers in the Sunday series has declined steadily over many years, and so there is not a large, paid-up contingent who will come anyway, having paid for all the concerts. I can’t remember a smaller audience for a Wellington Chamber Music concert; yet they continue to be a vital element in Wellington’s music scene.

This is just one of the many musical and other organisations that is suffering from the Town Hall’s closure. Christchurch has resolved to restore its Town Hall for twice the cost of the estimate for ours. What’s the matter with our Council?

 

Excellent opera recital with Friends of New Zealand Opera

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Friends of New Zealand Opera: a Winter Concert

Arias and duets from opera and musicals

Kristin Darragh (contralto), Barbara Graham (soprano), Kate Lineham (soprano) Warwick Fyfe (baritone), Bruce Greenfield (piano)

Hunter Council Chamber, Victoria University

Sunday, 21 June 2015, 4pm

Approximately 120 people came to hear a star-studded line-up of opera singers present a delightful programme of mainly well-known arias and duets.  Unfortunately, Australian baritone Warwick Fyfe was suffering from a severe throat infection (after travelling here from Australia on Qantas – how often I have heard about this happening to people!), and thus his contribution was limited.  For example, the first three items were to be from Lohengrin, but these had to be cut.  However, Kristin Darragh sang Erde’s aria ‘Weiche Wotan’ from Das Rheingold with great dignity, spirit and sonority.  Warwick Fyfe managed Wotan’s interjections; despite illness, his voice sounded strong, rich and very
expressive.

Kristin Darragh’s voice is so resonant that you could think it was amplified – which it certainly wasn’t.  She has an apparently easy delivery and a relaxed pose.  Despite all the carpet, the Hunter Council Chamber proved to be a good space for singers – an oblong box with a high, wooden ceiling.  I have heard many concerts there, but seldom vocalists, so it was quite an ear-opener.

Stuart Maunder’s introductions were brief and to the point.  The somewhat slimmed-down programme was given some additional substance by Maunder’s brief interviews with Warwick Fyfe and Kristin Darragh, the former introducing a considerable amount of humour.

Next up was Barbara Graham, singing Dvořák’s ‘Song to the Moon’ from Rusalka.  This simple yet gorgeous aria was sung beautifully.  I don’t know the Czech language, but it sounded pretty good, and clearly enunciated.  Barbara Graham has plenty of power when required.  This thought led me to notice that the piano lid was up for the singers, i.e. on the long stick.  This is not possible in some venues or for some voices.

Warwick Fyfe explained that with his ‘bug’ he was more comfortable in the lower register, that he less often used these days.  Therefore he sang the wonderful ‘O Isis and Osiris’ from The Magic
Flute.  The deep notes were full of tone, and if the singer had a little difficulty with breathing, it did not
seriously detract from Sarastro’s firm and satisfying aria.

Kate Lineham was on next, presenting ‘Porgi Amor’, as the Countess in The Marriage of Figaro.  She projected the lady’s sadness at the philandering of her husband, in both her voice and her interpretation, involving a little acting. Her voice has more vibrato than some, but mostly it was well under control although it did threaten to send some top notes off pitch.

Warwick Fyfe then surprised the audience by singing Papageno’s duet with Papagena: ‘Pa, pa, pa’.  This was in a higher register than his earlier aria, but he managed it well.  Barbara Graham acted out the role delightfully, not neglecting to sing it splendidly.

Throughout, that one-man orchestra, Bruce Greenfield, played the accompaniments with flair and dexterity, amply contributing to the mood and atmosphere of each piece.

Puccini was represented by the ‘Flower duet’ from Madama Butterfly, sung by Darragh and Lineham.  The two strong voices were well matched.  The former continued with the ‘Seguidilla’ from Carmen.  She seemed right at home in this spirited aria, and sang powerfully, with much varying of tone to give expression to the mood and words.

Another change from the printed programme took us into the world of the musical, beginning with My Fair Lady, from which Kate Lineham sang ‘Words, words!  I’m so sick of words’.  This was an apt rendition, with rich top notes.  This was followed by a song written for the musical Thoroughly Modern Millie, but excised from the show: ‘The girl in [flat] 14G’.  Barbara Graham sang and gestured with great spirit and glee a song that included a spoof on opera (heard from the flat below) and on Ella Fitzgerald popular numbers (heard from the flat above).  This was a very demanding item, and Barbara Graham produced great acting and singing.

Then Warwick Fyfe sang Australian Jack O’Hagan’s ‘Road to ‘Gundagai’, followed by Kristin Darragh’s ‘Maybe this time’, from Cabaret.  Liza Minelli she ain’t, but it was a good performance.  However, it does upset me  little to hear a fine operatic voice used so brashly.

‘Chanson Espagnole’ by Debussy, based on a Delibes song, was the penultimate offering, from Kate and Barbara.  The latter’s flexible and versatile acting and singing of this florid song was most commendable, and she matched well with Kate’s admirable performance.

Finally, from Saint-Saëns’s Samson and Delilah, Kristin Darragh sang with lovely, rich contralto tone a stirring aria in which Delilah prays for John the Baptist to fall in love with her.

This brought to a conclusion an excellent late afternoon’s entertainment, which despite difficulties, show-cased splendidly the artistry of two international opera singers, two fine local singers and one outstanding accompanist.

 

Orchestra Wellington in irresistible, largely Russian programme plus multi-cultural esoterica

Posted on by Lindis Taylor
Orchestra Wellington conducted by Marc Taddei

Leila Adu: Blessings as Rain Fall (vocal part sung by composer)
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No 3 in C, Op 26, with Michael Houstoun – piano
Tchaikovsky: Symphony No 2 in C minor, ‘Little Russian’

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 20 June, 7:30 pm

Not content with the inevitable attraction of the complete Tchaikovsky symphony cycle, plus one of the most exciting piano concertos of the 20th century, Taddei added an indefinable something whose appeal might have been in any of a dozen varied musical or artistic realms. A vocal piece by a young composer, Leila Adu, of mixed New Zealand and Ghanaian birth, with its roots in those places as well as in the Buddhist spiritual, metaphysical world, but also casting an astute eye towards ‘world music’, whatever that momentarily fashionable term means, that has supplanted the non-PC word ‘folk music’.

Set to a poem by Tibetan Buddhist lama Kalu Rinpoche, it was chosen by Adu in part because it doesn’t mention a deity and so should be open to people of any religion (or perhaps none).

After some introductory remarks by Nigel Collins, in preparation for later broadcast of its recording by Radio New Zealand Concert, he welcomed acting Concertmaster Stephanie Rolfe (I suppose, substituting for Matthew Ross); then Taddei and composer-singer Adu came on stage. She stands pretty motionless, expressionless, yet seeming totally self-possessed and confident.  I’m sure her demeanour persuaded most of the audience that we were going to hear something unusual and significant, and there’s no doubt about the forces of personality and character that work in her favour in any role she chooses to adopt.

Her voice arrived first and for a moment seemed to dominate the orchestra, even though it appeared not to be amplified: it’s an engaging voice that switches several times into a surprising falsetto which was presumably to reflect the spirituality of the words. After a little while, the shape of the piece emerged: limited amount of melodic material, mostly consisting of descending scales in a rhythm that might be described as part-time jazzy, related more to the idiom of the mid-century American musical than to jazz itself. The words sometimes sounded as if being forced into existing musical patterns.

The text was a series of six nine-line stanzas, and the music varied somewhat from one to another but its style hardly varied. In the early stages the oboe defined the mood, but there were dark accompaniments from tuba, trombones and bassoon, and flashes of light from flutes and xylophone; towards the end a sense of contentment and fulfilment seemed to take over, reflected in her face enlivened at first by subtle and then more open smiles. The final (seventh) stanza involved an emotional shift, expressing through the music, more joy, more singing in the upper register, brighter colours in the orchestra.

One had the feeling in the end, trying to weigh the music, assess its value, characterise it, that given its base in Buddhist philosophy and morality, the standards that are applied to western music were irrelevant. That it’s not meant to be judged as we might judge a sonata or an opera, but perhaps rather, a madrigal or a protest song, where the message or the spirit is more important than the artistic clothing in which it’s dressed.

The colour of the air seemed to change when Nigel Collins reappeared to talk briefly with Marc Taddei about Prokofiev and his concerto during the rearrangement of the stage for the piano’s arrival. No 3 is the best known and most popular of Prokofiev’s five; in fact, it’s the only one in the traditional three-movement shape. All five are being played at this year’s Proms in London next month, by the London Symphony Orchestra under Valery Gergiev. Sold out evidently.

In truth, the opening revealed a little shakiness, but very soon pianist and orchestra found accord and a driving, repetitious energy rapidly took charge. It was interesting to have a fundamentally non-flamboyant pianist, much concerned with the metaphysical, at the keyboard for it allowed the essential quality of the music to emerge rather than having to search for it through a haze of glitter and bravura.

Though things got a little out of sync for a moment in the second movement, the tricky alternating beats of piano and orchestra continued to be high entertainment. It falls away and suddenly becomes the Allegro ma non troppo, finale, in which the bassoon starts nine minutes of scrupulous wit and deft rhythms, the piano leading a calm section adorned with flighty flute figures, as Prokofiev continued to draw on his famous trove of tunes that he hoarded against a drying up of melodic inspiration. Such a one survives scores of repetitions that lead to an impetuous rush as orchestra and piano experience multiple climaxes, piled one on the other.

Tchaikovsky’s second symphony, like the first, emerges as a wonder: why is it not often played, as it’s such an attractive work. My first awakening to it was in the mid 1950s through the splendid World Record Club which all music lovers (when that naturally meant ‘classical’ music) joined and built up their LP collections at tolerable prices for generally excellent performances. Of course, I still have, and have just played, that ‘Little Russian’, by Giulini and the Philharmonia Orchestra. Tchaikovsky uses several Ukrainian folk tunes, which gives the symphony its name: ‘Little Russia’ was Russia’s name for its often put-upon fellow Slav neighbour to the south (not that that country has always behaved very prudently).

During the interval I had moved from a seat about seven rows from the front to row T, where the orchestral balance was better. Everything sounded great now, even though one’s ears do adjust to acoustic weaknesses and the imagination makes good. The orchestral strings, now at only two players less in each section than the NZSO, are at the level of most good city orchestras in Germany and it’s a real shame that they are not funded adequately to offer more employment and to give more concerts around Greater Wellington and in the provincial towns of the southern North Island, and Blenheim and Nelson.

The horns, especially principal Shadley van Wyk, delivered well in the several important horn passages, and the two bassoons (Tilson a former NZSO player) were distinguished, as were winds as a whole. But principal credit goes to Marc Taddei who conducted, as he frequently does, from memory; the buoyancy and warmth of the playing was simply a delight, with magical quiet passages, allowing an excellent launch-pad for crescendos. The timpani too, sounding with subtlety, in the decrescendo leading to the end of the Andante marziale, second movement.

The Scherzo was charmingly lit from above, by woodwinds: piccolo and flute prominent; all sounded well disciplined through the dancing final section. The finale opens with a splendid fanfare-like, attention-grabbing call to attention which subsides with fine timpani again and quiet strings and winds to a leisurely promenade. And the end comes with a slow acceleration, and the repetitions, with subtle instrumental changes, of the Ukrainian folk tunes by which Tchaikovsky builds excitement through the final pages. The applause was enthusiastic and quite prolonged.