Wellington Youth Sinfonietta paves the way to orchestral careers

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Wellington Youth Sinfonietta conducted by Michael Vinten

Excerpts from Swan Lake (Tchaikovsky) – conducted by Vincent Hardaker; Cirrus (Natalie Hunt); Violin Concerto in D (Beethoven)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 11 November, 3.30pm

With this concert the Wellington Youth Sinfonietta marked 20 years years of age (or should it be next year? – it was founded in 1993. There is a tendency to follow the Roman numbering system which was to count the year of a birth or a beginning as year one, so that the completion of that first year is named as year two. The same counting oddity was widely remarked on at the Millennium).

Naturally, gaps in the wind sections have to be filled by guests; flutes and oboes were the only sections entirely taken by young players and they handled three of the four trumpets: the contrasts were by no means as marked as one might have expected.

The excerpts of Swan Lake ballet were conducted by assistant conductor Vincent Hardaker; the orchestra did very well, oboes and later, the flutes gaining confidence as the music went along. One of the phenomena was a tendency of the professionals to dominate proceedings, particular members of the percussion section, whose sounds are endemically prone to overstatement in this church, so that the careful if tentative playing by young students was a bit lost during passages where percussion and brass were involved.

The orchestra had commissioned a piece from Natalie Hunt, a graduate in arts of Victoria University and in music of the New Zealand School of Music; she was Composer-in-Residence for the NZSO National Youth Orchestra in 2009. Cirrus opened with flutes followed by other woodwinds in feathery, transparent suggestions of high cloud, later darkened oddly by dulling pizzicato on double basses; the atmospheric quality recovered with marimba and triangle. The main part of the piece soon became more compact and I could admire the distinction the composer brought to her writing for the full orchestra, the underpinning by bass instruments and the unadorned line spelt out by the brass, all of which displayed her sensitivity to the limitations of young players.. The earlier hint of darkness reappeared with the arrival of insistent drums that threatened a stormy cumulo-nimbus sky.

After the interval Blythe Press entered as soloist in Beethoven’s Violin Concerto, conducted, as was Cirrus, by Michael Vinten. The orchestra opened diffidently enough but their gathering confidence soon established a good foundation for the arrival of the soloist. A frequent problem was the players’ inclination to let rip wherever the marking fff appeared, to the detriment of the quieter passages. Though it was of course important to have professional support in the sections with only one or two young players, I was impressed by their often near indistinguishable contributions alongside the guest players of clarinet, bassoon, horns and trombones. Needless to say, Blythe Press’s performance was highly distinguished, always sensitive to tempos which tended to the slow side, but remained perfectly convincing. His presence clearly inspired the orchestra to playing that might have exceeded their own expectations.

This junior version of the Wellington Youth Orchestra provides an important stage for aspiring orchestral musicians, and their performances, heard in the right spirit, were here admirable.

 

Ludwig Treviranus returns to Upper Hutt for highly coloured recital of Beethoven and Mussorgsky

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Ludwig Treviranus (piano)

Beethoven: Piano Sonata in C, Op 2 No 3; Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition

Genesis Energy Theatre, Expressions Arts Centre, Upper Hutt

Saturday 10 November, 8pm

The name Ludwig Treviranus came to my notice when he played in his last high school years in the Hutt Valley, before moving to study music under Rae de Lisle at Auckland University. At that stage there was already a certain flair, a feeling for the dramatic in music, and they were the characteristics most clearly evident in the two pieces he played on this short return visit from Sydney where he is teaching this year. Last year he completed a doctorate at the State University of Florida in Tallahassee, guided by New Zealand pianist Read Gainsford.

The C major sonata of Beethoven’s first published set of piano sonatas has more pointers to the future, his own future, than to the past of Haydn and Mozart’s keyboard works; and it was the vivid contrasts in tempo and dynamics, between the crisp staccato phrases and sudden shifts to lyrical passages, even within a few bars, that marked his playing most strongly.

The second theme of the first movement was enlivened in these ways, particularly with its rippling, ornamented arpeggios; his approach made coherent the somewhat surprising cadenza that Beethoven gave himself near the end.

The brevity of the third movement is always a surprise, and Treviranus succeeded in delivering that surprise, at the same time convincing us of its rightness. The whole was not without minor trip-ups and rushes of notes that were a bit blurred; nothing detracted however from the fleetness, strength and insight of his performance.

It was a somewhat short recital: all over, including his pithy, fluent introductions, in an hour and a half. Nevertheless, there was time for him to make a lively impression on the large audience through his demeanour, his air of friendliness and of course his easy comments on the music and its context.

The second part was given to Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, which he told us he had learned in his final year at Florida. To bring the music more vividly to life he had arranged for images of the five extant paintings by Hartmann, which were the inspiration of the music, to be projected on a screen behind the piano; the other five pieces were illustrated by appropriate paintings by others, including Van Gogh’s study of straining oxen, for Bydlo.  If you search the Internet you will find a lot of partly speculative information about other possible sources among the very large retrospective Hartmann exhibition in Saint Petersburg in 1874, as well as rather more insightful writing about the composer and the painter and the aesthetic climate of Russia in the 1870s.

One measure of a performance of this work is the conviction brought to the varying accounts of the Promenade that appear between our viewing of the works on the gallery walls.  Generally, the viewer was led on a thoughtful walk around the exhibition, without haste; his emotions in the music reflecting what he sees there: the slightly sinister Gnomes (or Gnomus) and a colourful, animated scene at the Tuileries. Then came the primitiveness of the lumbering oxen of Bydlo (a Polish cart drawn by a cow writes one commentator, a symbol depicting the oppressed Polish people whose country lay divided under the domination of Russia and Prussia throughout the 19th century) with its heavy emphasis on the alternating chords, unchanging in pace as they fade away into the distance.

Treviranus commands a huge dynamic range, which was called for to depict the two Jews, Goldenberg and Schmuyle; and in the sudden plunge into the Catacombs, here with the pictorial background of three blurred figures against a half-lit wall; it was one of the most evocative episodes.

And he captured the grandeur and the occasional fall into triviality in the last two pieces, Baba Yaga and The Great Gate of Kiev: that image of Hartmann’s architectural conception, never built, shows graphically how far traditional Russian visual arts were from the classically derived styles that had ruled in western Europe, and Mussorgsky’s music too takes its inspiration from that of the Russian peasant, finally merging in spirit with the Promenade. In all, Treviranus‘s studied avoidance of any too elegant or polished performance could be heard to conform successfully with what we could see projected on the screen.

The pianist plans to return to Wellington next year; though he is very interested in teaching, I hope he can make time to enlarge and polish his repertoire, especially the fields he demonstrated so promisingly this evening.

 

JS Bach and Mahler – worlds of sensibility from Inkinen and the NZSO

Posted on by admin

MAHLER 7 – Mysteries of the Night

JS BACH – Double Violin Concerto in D Minor

MAHLER – Symphony No.7

Vesa-Matti Leppänen and Pietari Inkinen (violins)

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Pietari Inkinen (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Saturday 10th November, 2012

Guest review by Ben Booker

There is something distinctly summery about Bach’s D-minor Concerto for Two Violins, and the fairly full audience suggested that this particular programme was not at all disagreeable to Wellingtonians following one of the city’s rare but sparkling summery days.

Bach’s music seems to have fallen into comparative orchestral disuse in recent times, so it was refreshing to hear it live, by a condensed edition of the NZSO. And what spectacle it provided! Such beauty! Such elegance!

While the very opening of the Vivace may not have been quite as metrically precise as rehearsed, the orchestra quickly showed itself to be a force not of accompaniment, but of thoughtful and involved musical collaboration with the soloists. Orchestral cohesion thereafter was remarkable, and despite the use of less rubato than many historically-informed performances (something this writer’s Romantic tastes have a weakness for around internal cadences!), the soloists’ micro-changes to tempo made such unity of movement impressive, especially in the absence of a conductor.

The regular conductor, of course, was playing first violin. Pietari Inkinen demonstrated an incredibly expressive tone quality – clear and bell-like, but with a certain hint of melancholy and loneliness that is quite impossible to adequately describe here. The usual concertmaster, Vesa-Matti Leppänen, was the other soloist, and the effortlessly broad sounds in his superb playing provided a great contrast with Inkinen, really demonstrating the contrapuntal and conversational design of the concerto.

The famous Largo ma non troppo was introduced by a wonderfully timeless piece of internal musical ponderment from Leppänen, and the entire movement demonstrated such a clarity of texture, such deep concentration upon the unfurling melodic lines, that at times, it seemed as if Bach’s harmony was just an exquisitely happy coincidence amongst the matchless counterpoint and dialogue of the two players and amongst the orchestra.

Following that, the bustling Allegro provided much in the way of contrast to the preceding movement, though I could not help but wish for a touch more industriousness and volatility in the orchestral parts. The soloists’ articulation and dialogue, again, was excellent, and both made wonderful use of vibrato; it was used sparingly – less as a general seasoning, and more as a special spice, which made its expressive effect enormously more powerful.

The orchestra certainly found this elusive industrious sound in then opening of Mahler’s Seventh Symphony, however. The brass, as throughout, was dark and clear, and the rather Enid Blytonesque sense of mischief and the unfamiliar was portrayed very well in the opening movement. During most of the movement, there was a sense of a solid sonic foundation, yet a more whimsical and explosive surface, which suited the music perfectly.

A common problem in performing Austro-German music of the later Romantic period is the temptation to lapse into ‘parade syndrome’ – where the music disintegrates into a passing parade of shallow effects. At times in the first movement, I was worried that this was about to occur, as there seemed to be a slight lack of hierarchy in the passagework: every passage was being treated as a very important section, and this was a little too much to digest easily.

Nevertheless, changes to momentum were handled well by conductor and orchestra, with sudden variations in colour and style bringing in other-worldly characters, leaving the listener only to wonder what might have happened had Mahler been a cinematic composer in the more recent past.

This all built up to a dreadfully thrilling climax before recapitulation. While I sometimes found Inkinen’s string-dominated textures a little too pretty for the music, there were excellent moments of brass interjections, including a very flatulent low F sharp from the tuba! A sense of despondency and internal struggle in the coda was captured well, making the slightly troubled march to conclude the movement all the more memorable.

The second movement began with a very expressive horn conversation, and Inkinen’s rock-solid tempos proved to be a real asset in this movement. The creepy eccentricities of the part writing were brought out hilariously well – isolated accents, portamento, sudden changes in dynamic, exaggerated entrances, and sarcastic ritenutos abounded, creating a personified atmosphere.  Creepy and unsettled strings really pulled the spooky Scherzo off well, its title not referring so much to a literal ‘joke’ than to the post-Beethovenian connotations of dark amusement and fright. The solos were all first rate, as they had been the entire evening – my favourite had to be Julia Joyce’s precarious and eerie additions on the viola, played with exaggerated vibrato and dynamic mastery.

The second Nachtmusik movement had its share of quiet scherzo-like mutterings, but offered a complete change of aural scenery, quite in concordance with the amoroso instruction! Tension was nicely regulated by the returns to pastoral F-major sections, and the guitar and mandolin offered a nice touch, played by Doug de Vries and Dylan Lardelli respectively. While the concluding interjections were slightly too active for the nocturnal feel, the very end was as magical a moment as any.

And then the Rondo finale brought a celebratory awakening! Majestic in most places rather than overly extroverted, I could not decide whether the wonderfully-timed crescendos back to the main tune were satiric or if they were eccentric; either way, it was amusing and interesting. The movement provided much in the way of pandemonium and industry, and was just a jolly good time. Tubular bells rang bravely and wonderfully loud, and the finale just roared. I cannot recall seeing Inkinen so completely involved and immersed in the music, and his second bouquet of flowers for the evening was richly deserved. Bravo, NZSO!

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Another view: from Peter Mechen

One would immediately think that the only possible reasons for coupling Bach’s Double Violin Concerto with Mahler’s Seventh Symphony are, firstly, that each work is an absolutely wonderful piece of music, and, secondly, that because they are so different each piece acts as a kind of foil for the other – two very different worlds of sensibility, there to enjoy in splendid isolation, but to appreciate all the more when juxtaposed in the course of a single evening.

Considering further, one could regard the bringing-together of these two works as an extension of philosophies, both of the individual composers and of their respective eras. Bach’s music belongs to that inexhaustibly rich world of the Baroque, a world of inclusion and great flexibility, of gathering-together, of elaboration and increased complexity and extension of new techniques of playing, and the development of new modes of expression such as opera.

Mahler’s music, in the form of his symphonies and song-cycles, has a similar philosophy of inclusion and great flexibility, of a gathering-together, of elaboration and increasing complexity, of enormous scale and great drama, qualities that one associates with the theatre more than the abstract world of instrumental music. Mahler once described his symphonic philosophy in the words “Symphony is like the world – it should contain everything.” In a sense it’s a very “baroque-like” attitude, and one responsible for that fantastic diversity one finds in the composer’s output.

Beginning with the Bach work, this particular performance was a treat indeed, one of the violinists being the orchestra’s Music Director, Pietari Inkinen, here in partnership with his Concertmaster and fellow-Finn, Vesa-Matti Leppänen. Any suggestion of gimmickry in having one’s Music Director step into a soloist’s role in front of his or her own orchestra was here blown away by the sheer quality of the playing. What I noticed immediately was the sweetness of Inkinen’s tone as a violinist, quite different a sound to the more austere, grainier tones of his concertmaster, a difference which made for a fascinating dialogue between the two.

In terms of bowing and articulation they were a well-matched pair, with Vesa-Matti a trifle stronger and with more control when it came to keeping the bow on the strings for held notes in the midst of frenetic passages – undoubtedly one of the factors contributing to the difference in tone-quality between the two. But in most other respects they seemed to think and move as one in pursuit of the same ends, so that their separate characters met at the point of musical exchange – what one could call a creative partnership, here producing something unique and satisfying.

For the first two movements the focus seemed to be firmly upon the soloists, especially during the divine slow movement, where the “echoed” exchanges between their voices resulted in a truly affecting intensification of beauty, and the precisely “terraced” dynamics built up sequences of the figurations into beautifully-arched structures at once pure in their serenity and suffused with surrounding ambient feeling.

The finale brought the orchestra more obviously into the picture, the playing dynamic, detailed and sharply-etched; and sounding like a true partnership with the soloists rather than mere accompanying – the figurations were given terrific emphasis and point in places, and the lines seemed to really “speak” to one another and be responded to in a wonderful three-way interchange that had me on the edge of my seat throughout.

My “benchmark” for this concerto has always been the Oistrakhs, pere and fils, in a recorded performance that has come to sound increasingly romantic over the years with the rise of “authentic” string-playing. There’s a gorgeousness about it all which still melts my heart on the occasion of every “listen”, but apart from some unashamedly saturated string-tones in the finale, the orchestra does tend to stay in the background, seemingly to leave the two stellar soloists to “get on with it”, and be content with some dutiful accompanying. This NZSO partnership made more of things than that, to our great delight.

After a short interval we were back in the hall for Mahler’s Seventh Symphony, the latest in what one hopes will prove to be a complete traversal of the composer’s works by these particular forces. With memories of last year’s stellar NZSO/Inkinen performance of the Sixth Symphony continuing to resonate in our memories, this performance from the orchestra of one of the most complex and enigmatic of Mahler’s works was awaited with great excitement.

My most recent “live” experience of the symphony was in this same Michael Fowler Centre in 2009, when guest conductor Paul Daniel led the NZSO National Youth Orchestra through an almost scarily vivid performance of the work. The young players (as is usually the case with the NYO ) rose magnificently to the occasion, coping even with the conductor’s almost manic tempi throughout much of the finale. There was certainly no chance of the work “sprawling” with such a high-octane approach, even if one felt that there was more light-and-shade in some of the music’s places than was realised.

That light-and-shade was given full dues on this occasion by Pietari Inkinen and his players, as part of taking their not-quite-capacity-audience on a fantastical and far-flung symphonic journey. As is well-known, Mahler had enormous trouble with this work’s first movement, getting inspiration for its main idea only after the two middle “Nightpiece” movements had been completed, and while being rowed across a lake on his way home, his imagination stirred by the rhythm of the oars in the water. What the composer came up with could be clearly heard in the work’s portentous opening bars, the euphonium solo most expressively played here by David Bremner (“Here nature roars” as Mahler told his wife, Alma). – incidentally, Mahler specified a “tenor horn” here, which, perhaps for reasons of unavailability, wasn’t used.

After the opening, Inkinen encouraged more momentum but avoided rushing things, allowing the music time and space in which to move – and even when feelings of urgency irrupted and the march began to flail and grimace, those distinctive Leviathan-like steps whose downward lurch recurs throughout the movement served as steadying ballast, keeping feelings of panic at bay.

Here one could register Mahler’s increasingly “unmoulded” orchestral style, instruments and instrumental blocks not so much “blended” as contrasted, as the composer increasingly sought to express a sense of life’s disillusionment and dissolution. But this was a journey of startling contrasts – and how beautifully conductor and players led us into the lyrical mid-movement interlude, harp glissandi drawing back a magic curtain of nostalgia and dream-like imaginings. And then, how disturbingly the radiant climax plunged downward into darkness! – taking everything right back to the leviathan’s lair, the tread as portentous and as baleful as at the work’s opening.

From here until the movement’s end there were further irruptions of energy, regretful backward glances at happier times and a no-nonsense concluding march, Inkinen and the players risking orchestral poise in rightly stressing the music’s somewhat manic excitement and desperation. And if not every instrumental detailing was perfectly dovetailed with its neighbour, what mattered far more was the real sense conveyed of great territories traversed and different emotions registered and explored.

The first of the two Nachtmusik movements was ushered in by beautiful horn-playing, and some initial instrumental flurries, before falling in with a dark and richly mysterious processional, its “tempo giusto” allowing sufficient momentum as well as room for things to blossom. By contrast, the Scherzo evoked a volatile set of impulses, its sinuous, half-lit world poised between mockery and unease, spectral lines alternating with moments of rumbustious glee, its spookiness creating a kind of “All Hallows’ Eve” for orchestra – great fun! As for the second Nachtmusik movement , it featured the evening’s most beautiful and heartwarming orchestral playing, the detailing from solo instruments (violin, mandolin, horn, harp) simply exquisite in places – and the ending of the movement was nothing short of celestial in its effect.

And so to the finale, a movement which continues to divide critical opinion and polarize interpretation – as befits a Symphony subtitled “Song of the NIght”, the last movement is thought of by some as a return to day, especially in the wake of those two “Nachtstücke”, and the spooky Scherzo. However, the music’s extreme volatility is interpreted by others as suggesting that the day is the real culprit regarding life, that the music’s colour, energy and celebration turns into something over-wrought and oppressive, something that, by the end of the movement, has turned into a kind of nightmare of its own, a portrayal of the sickness of the society in which Mahler lived at the time, and a precursor of the horrors of the century to come. In my view, one pays one’s money and one takes from the music what one wants to take.

When I heard the NYO’s performance with Paul Daniel I thought the finale on the edge of being a madcap scramble, the players having little or no space to do more than get their fingers around the notes. While I would still prefer to hear the greater amplitude and richer detailing that Inkinen and the NZSO gave us, I think more of Daniels’ approach now, having heard other recordings; and in fact wish that I could go back and hear and enjoy the performance again. How fascinating to have had two recent “live” experiences of this work, and each strongly and differently characterized!

Interpretatively, Inkinen’s was a riskier approach in its way than Daniels’ was, because of the music’s far-flung, episodic nature, but for me it worked – and this could be attributed to both the conductor’s overall grasp of where each detail fitted into the whole, and to the concentration and skill of his players in maintaining their playing-focus over such long spans. I thought the concert in overall terms a triumph for everybody concerned, and heartily recommend to people in both Auckland and in Christchurch that they make a priority out getting themselves to hear it when the concert comes to them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Polish organist with German baroque and French romantic at St Peter’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Organ works by Buxtehude, J.S. Bach and Guilmant

Gedymin Grubba

St. Peter’s Anglican Church, Willis Street

Sunday, 4 November 2012, 3pm

When Polish organist Gedymin Grubba was here almost exactly two years ago, he played the relatively small baroque-style organ at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church.   How very different to play on the much larger, recently-restored William Hill organ at St. Peter’s!  Despite that, most of this programme was from the baroque era.

This time, more of the music was familiar to me, but I find some of the remarks I made in my review of that recital still apply.

The opening work was one of my favourites: J.S. Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E flat major, BWV 552.  It has a thrilling opening, and episodes of different character in both movements.  The Fugue is known in English as the ‘St. Anne’ because the  first theme resembles the St. Anne hymn tune used for ‘O God, our help in ages past’, a hymn that would have been unknown to Bach.  Walter Emery, in the Preface to my Novello edition of the music states ‘…the subject was a commonplace…’ and quotes the titles of contemporary fugues with similar themes.  ‘I record these resemblances as curiosities…’  Grubba chose a bold registration for this, but I found it had rather a buzzy overlay.

Rather than agreeing with the remark in my previous review, that the organist played “with an appropriately detached technique for this period of music”, I found this time the amount of lift, or detachment between notes and chords, too much – particularly in the fugue.  It broke up the line of the theme; the “singers” had to breathe far too often.  Maintaining a more legato line for the theme would have made the detached quavers in the final section of the fugue even more dramatic.

I would have liked a different registration for the fugue, rather than the same stops as were used for the prelude; this would have given more clarity to the parts.  It was also very slow for a chorale style of theme and its development – it became rather ponderous.

The Buxtehude chorale prelude Nun bitten wir den Heiligen Geist used flutes to accompany the melody on a reed stop (I think!), and this was very effective, but again, I found there were too many lifts in the melody line, to the extent that it became irritating. The line of the chorale melody was not always maintained, and the rhythm was jerky at times.  There needs to be phrasing, as in a sung or danced piece of music.  It is appropriate to separate repeated notes, but the first of the notes needs a little more time value than was often given here, otherwise the music sounds breathless, and the style interferes with the musical line.

Buxtehude’s Passacaglia in D minor found the pedal rather loud.  Yes, that is where the Passacaglia theme is to be found, as a ground bass, but I think we would still have heard it if played a little more lightly.  Again, to me the lifts were too long.  There is a style of playing baroque organ music where the notes are played more-or-less staccato, but these lifts were longer than that, and came every few notes through much (not all) of the music.

The Bach Prelude in B minor was not one I knew.   The 8ft., 4ft., 2ft. registration was most attractive, and the pedal part had a good sound.  In this piece there was more continuity – more legato playing.

The third in a group of three chorale preludes by Bach on Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr’ received a delicious registration, the 2ft. stop being used for the upper part, and a very contrasting registration for the left hand.  I enjoyed this piece very much; there was a lovely contrast between the three parts, yet the balance was maintained.

The last of the baroque items was Bach’s wonderful Fantasia in G minor, another of my favourites.  The dancing semi-quavers of the first section were very fast, so that they were not always distinct from each other, while the middle section, marked Grave was too fast and bouncy, losing its grave grandeur.  Again, too many separated notes spoiled the musical line.  The first chord in each couplet was not given enough value – and the buzzy sound returned with the registration used.  The final section, with its demi-semi-quaver triplets was beautifully played, with a lovely, registration.

The final work was the Scherzo from Guilmant’s Organ Symphony no.5, also played in a very detached manner, though there was phrasing, too.  The work contains some attractive melodies, but the scherzo rhythm was rather lost at times because of the nature of the playing.

As an encore, Grubba played from memory a showy march of his own composition, on full organ with reeds.

The printed programme listed the composers (with dates) and the titles and other details of the works, but there were no programme notes; additional proofreading would have been advantageous for both the titles of works and the notes about the performer.

 

 

Gospel Truth – great singing from Gale Force Gospel Choir

Posted on by Peter Mechen

COLOURS OF FUTUNA – Concert Series

Gale Force Gospel Choir

Carol Shortis (conductor)

Futuna Chapel,

Friend St., Karori

Sunday 4th November, 2012

In a world where hype of all kinds relating to every sphere of activity seems to be piped into our houses with our drinking water, it’s refreshing (ha!) to encounter publicity for an event that turns out to be nothing but gospel truth – announcing this concert by the Gale Force Gospel Choir at Karori’s Futuna Chapel, the blurb read, “……a non-stop blast of foot-stompin’ mad-clappin’ gospel classics that will have you joining in before you know it..” Exactly so, and in the interests of maximum impact I could dramatize further by announcing that I was “throwing down my cyper-pen because that was all that needed to be said!”.

However, such was the pleasure afforded by this  cheek-by-jowl experience, It’s entirely fitting that I relive a few impressions in order to bask in the resonance of the occasion a little more, and perhaps encourage those who didn’t attend to seek out any subsequent occasions at which this group is performing and get similarly caught up with it all.

One of the things that gave the concert real distinction was the venue. Futuna Chapel, situated in Karori, was known to me from times past in an entirely different context, as a place of worship and spiritual retreat. My own experience was a “once-been-there-never forgotten” three-day residence while a callow, 1960s schoolboy, at what I thought at the time was this (still) magnificent place. The chapel, designed by the architect John Scott, and acclaimed in its day and since, has fortunately survived the ravages of time and greed intact, and is now available for our pleasure as a concert venue. The building enjoys protection as a Category 1 Historic Site, but the once-beautiful surroundings, which incorporated a good deal of native bush, have unfortunately been taken over and, for me, besmirched by “development” of the usual rapacious kind we’ve unfortunately come to expect these days. One gets an impression of individual housing units mercilessly jammed together for what imagines would have been maximum financial return for the developers.

Inside the chapel one is fortunately able to leave behind any such temporal preoccupations, and allow oneself to be transported into another world, in which light and colour play an integral part. I thought that the space seemed one in which almost any chamber-like performance of anything would bloom, through taking on the air, space and light of the ambience. Its character seemed at once abstract and personable, austere and warm. We could as well have gathered waiting for a string quartet to emerge to give us a performance of Bach’s “The Art of Fugue”, or for an actor to take the stage and read to us TS Eliot’s Four Quartets, as much as welcome the performers of the Gospel Songs we were expecting.

To begin the program conductor Carol Shortis brought different sections of her choir into the space antiphonally, making for a “surround” effect which enclosed us in a continually-changing sea of sound-hues, caused by the different harmonic strands keeping on the move until the altar-steps were reached. The choir’s singing of Way By and By while congregating on these steps, plus the backdrop of colour as the sun activated the stained-glass windows made a wonderful show of sight and sound.

All of the songs were taught to the group by Auckland composer and arranger Tony Backhouse, whose deployment of the rhythms and harmonic strands among parts of the group made for ear-catching effects in places. Carol Shortis welcomed us to the concert before setting the following I’m Glad to be in the Service, a song with real Gospel swing, one whose beautifully-harmonised control was allied to the kind of spontaneous outpouring of energy which made it sound as though its performers were truly imbued with the “spirit”, and , at the song’s end, unwilling to let go. An old slave-song Steal Away was no less heartfelt, the first unison note flowering into closely-knit harmonies, and opening into an almost militant middle section with the words “My Lord, He calls me on the Thunder”. Only slight lapses of tuning towards the softly-sung ending served to demonstrate to us the difficulty of some of this repertoire.

 

Keep so busy praisin’ my Jesus was begin by the men’s voices, the women lifting the song harmonically upwards to exciting effect, with plenty of dynamic variation in places like “If I don’t praise Him the rock’s gonna cry out!”. I’ve been in the Storm too long was another slave song, this one harmonically adventurous to the point of discomfiture in places, with disconcerting key-shifts capturing some of the raw desperation of the slaves’ plight. Some relief was afforded us with Ezekiel saw a Wheel, the tenors enjoying their downward glissandi on the word “Wheel”, and also with the following Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho, a song which dynamically ranged from opening whispers to great maestoso-like utterances, and a spectacular chromatic descent on the final “down”.

 

The catchy “ba-dum – ba-dum” rhythms of That’s All Right  used an arrangement by Stephen Taberner, a Melbourne-based Kiwi choirleader, one which nicely varied the “dynamics” of interaction between the different voices. More wayward was Nobody’s Fault But Mine, the concert’s final listed item, and one that featured three solo voices from the choir, the first of which was particularly outstanding, confident, true-toned and stylish! To our delight, we were treated to a brief reprise of this first voice at the end, a solo line answered by the full choir. In between times there were lines, counter-lines, clapping and minimalist-like repetitions, the rhythmic and melodic patternings of which seemed to move everybody’s spirit as one – then, to finish the concert Carol Shortis taught us, the audience, some of the patterns of the very first song, Way BY and By, so we could then join in with the choir’s encore – it was a great way to finish the concert and sent us all babbling happily out into the sunlight, thoroughly energized by what we’d heard – Gospel truth!

 

Futuna Chapel and Alliance Française inspire an attractive French women’s choir

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

‘Beau Soir’: a programme of French and New Zealand music and poems

L’Alliance Française Women’s Choir: Voix de femmes, Janey MacKenzie (piano and voice), Madeleine Dean (poetry reading), Brigid O’Meeghan (cello), Julie Coulson (piano and choir), Marie Brown (conductor)

Futuna Chapel, Karori

Friday 2 November 2012, 6.30pm

O Futuna!  But this concert was not Orff in any sense of the word.  Despite comparatively little publicity that I was aware of, the chapel, its coloured glass radiating beautifully onto the concrete walls as the sun shone intermittently, was full.  The choir of 14 singers (unnamed), and others, gratified the audience with a varied range of music.

A variety of French music was to be expected; the introduction of a couple of New Zealand compositions was an added bonus.

The concert, the choir’s second only since its formation, began with Fauré; first a hymn, Maria, Mater gratiae, which was followed by a short mass: Messe des pêcheurs de Villerville.  This was written, so Marie Brown told us in one of her clear and excellent introductions, with André Messager, Fauré’s friend and former pupil, with whom he collaborated on other works.  They wrote it to raise money for a charitable purpose, while on holiday in 1881.  It appears that there were several versions of this mass, which is titled Messe basse in Grove.  The first version calls for a harmonium, while the last is set for organ accompaniment, without the movements by Messager.  Perhaps the electronic organ in the chapel is not functional; the accompaniment we heard was on digital piano.

The choir made a very good sound and produced a pure tone, but the acoustic at Futuna shows up even slight lapses of intonation, of which there were a number in the hymn; the mass fared better.  The words were very clear and precise – although a little more care is needed in the pronunciation of the back ‘e’, as in ‘Christe eleison’.

There was a beautiful blend of voices, especially in the lower-pitched sections.  Unison sections were unanimous.  The ‘O salutaris’ movement was particularly beautiful, and there was a nice variety of styles between the movements, both in their composition and in how they were performed.

A Baudelaire poem was recited next: Élévation.  The English translation was printed, with that of the other poem, on a separate sheet.  It was read deliciously by Madeleine Dean, who stepped in at very short notice when the original reader became ill.  The translation guided non-speakers of French through beautiful English to the idea of the elevated soul soaring above the sorrows and pollutants of life.

Two Debussy songs followed.  The French words of one and the translations of both were printed in the main programme.  However, 8 point font is really too small to read in the semi-dark; it would have been preferable to have had a full A4 programme, as some Wellington choirs customarily do, rather than half that size, especially when the type of paper used did not show up that size of print well.

The songs are normally solo songs: Beau soir, with words by P. Bourget, and Nuit d’étoiles, words by Banville.  However, they were sung very effectively by the choir,  with perfect intonation.  The ending of the first song, in close harmony, was quite beautiful. Debussy’s use of language is just superb, and the fabulous accompaniments plus the gentle dynamics from the choir demonstrated what a wonderful composer he was.  He knew how to write for choirs, though he is not generally thought of as a choral composer.  The lower voices produced superb tone, while the sopranos were generally good, but occasionally shrill in this acoustic.

Marie Brown said some interesting words about the history of the chapel, then Madeleine Dean read the poem Le cynge by René-François Sully-Prudhomme.  Again, it was a very fine reading, the image of the swan’s characteristics and movements exquisitely described and his environment evoked.  It was appropriately followed by Brigid O’Meeghan playing the very well-known cello solo of the same name from Saint-Saëns’s Carnival of the Animals, accompanied by Julie Coulson.  It was a sonorous and lovely performance.

Berlioz was the next French composer, with two of the gorgeous songs from Nuits d’été: ‘Villanelle’ and ‘Le spectre de la rose’.  I have to confess that, though I have loved these songs for years, I don’t recall previously reading the translated words carefully.  By the prominent French poet Théophile Gautier (the title inspired by Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream), the poems are full of almost self-indulgent expressions of love.  Janey MacKenzie sang them, accompanied by Julie Coulson.  Although they were Berlioz’s own settings for piano (as opposed to his full orchestra version) I have to say that the digital piano did not provide enough timbre or resonance for these luscious songs.

The second one worked better in this building, being mainly lower in pitch.  The higher notes tended to become shrill here.  Berlioz’s sublime music needs perhaps more sensuous treatment from the singer as well as from the instrument, but nevertheless it was most ably performed.  It was a high note on which to end the French section of the programme.

Now to Nouvelle-Zélande: first, to Craig Utting, in Monument, a setting of a poem by Alistair Te Ariki Campbell, about the sort of weather we’ve had over these few days.  The piece began with the choir singing in unison, then dividing into parts.  The music had a grand and surging effect, as befitted a storm, before subsiding to a gentler choral sound, even as we could hear the northerly wind whistling around the chapel, and making its roof creak and groan.

Also about weather, but in a totally different style was Arlen and Koehler’s Stormy Weather.  Its bluesy rhythm and harmonies were amply projected, and the tone at the finish was delectable.

David Childs, formerly a church musician in Nelson and Christchurch but now resident in the United States, blended the New Zealand and French interests of the programme, with his Les Béatitudes.  An effective work, it incorporated interesting choral writing.  The French language was set extremely well.  One could have assumed the composer to be French if the programme had not told us differently.

The final item was John Rutter’s setting of A Gaelic Blessing.  This piece sounded a little less secure than did the rest of the programme, at the beginning, and there were a few less than unanimous endings to phrases towards the end.

Overall, it was a most enjoyable programme presented by very competent performers, who delivered the interesting music and readings with excellent French pronunciation.

 

Duo mosaica – violin and guitar – in first-class recital to end St Mark’s series

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Francis-Paul Demillac: Petite Suite Medievale
Piazzolla: Café 30, from Histoire du Tango
Ravel: Pièce en forme de habanera
Monti: Csárdás
Cheryl Grice: Mi Alma
Martin Jaenecke: Shade and Light; The Many Shades of Me

Duo Mosaica: Cheryl Grice, guitar, Martin Jaenecke, violin and saxophone

St. Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday, 31 October 2012, 12.15pm

This was the last for this year of the Hutt City lunchtime concert series.  Since early June, numerous worthwhile concerts have taken place, and the organisers are to be commended for their efforts in putting the series together.

Both the performers in the duo migrated to New Zealand – one from England; one from Germany – to teach in Nelson.  They now contribute to the musical life of Wellington, with frequent returns to Nelson for Jaenecke, who has also toured for Chamber Music New Zealand.

The varied programme was introduced by the performers – using a microphone, I’m glad to say.  The fashion for spoken introductions is fine with me as long as what is said is cogent, well-thought-out, brief and audible – as today.  Too often it is none, or only some of these things, in which case it is a waste of time, and annoying to the audience.  The dynamics and tempo of speech needs to be increased (in the first feature) and decreased (in the second) depending on the size and acoustics of the venue.  It is amazing the number of people who do not realise that in an auditorium they need to speak more slowly and loudly than in a mere room; instead, they speak as if to a small group of friends in their living room.

Speaking of dynamics; the red and black combo of the performers’ outfits added to the brightness of the event.

The duo began with an absolutely gorgeous work by Francis-Paul Demillac, a composer I had not heard of before.  The acoustic seemed to allow both instruments to speak clearly – coupled, of course, with the musicians’ impeccable techniques.

The suite opened with a calm and peaceful ‘Sicilienne’, followed by a short, lively and bouncy ‘Sonnerie’.  Next was ‘Après une page de Ronsard’ (A une jeune morte), which was much more contemplative, as suited the subject.  The final movement was entitled ‘Ronde’; a sprightly dance, with the guitar using a variety of techniques.

Piazzolla is famous for his tangoes; this one was most appealing music, more thoughtful than I imagined it would be, but full of diversity too.  These two performers are so accustomed to playing together (Martin said it was ten years) that what they produce is a unified whole, with great tone from both of them.

Ravel’s ‘Habanera’ is well-known.  Originally it was written for voice and guitar, as a vocalise – a wordless melody with accompaniment.  The players performed a transcription from Ravel’s own version for cello and piano.  The piece seemed to have less flair than usual – perhaps it was a little slow.

Cheryl Grice had to retune her guitar several times to ccommodate the requirements of the composers; I noticed that she had a cunning device (presumably electronic) attached to the top of her guitar’s fingerboard, above the tuning pegs, that she consults.  I imagine it tells her when she has precisely tuned to the required pitch.

Vittorio Monti’s famous piece has been played by all manner of instruments, but was originally written for violin.  This item was played with plenty of life – and it was obvious from the facial expressions of both performers that Martin varied things a little as the mood took him, to liven the piece up.

Then we came to the duo’s own compositions.  Cheryl said that hers was the first she had ever written, and she wrote it in 5 days.  ‘Mi Alma’ means ‘My Soul’ (why do pieces by English speakers so often get titled in another language?), and used harmonics extensively.  A gentle opening was wistful, even regretful at times, but led to more forceful passages.  It was played superbly, and ended with gentle harmonics again.

Martin’s two pieces were for guitar and saxophone; he played the soprano saxophone with aplomb.  As he said, this was a demanding combination in terms of dynamics.   After an introduction on guitar, there was a haunting, rising melody for the saxophone; after discords, the music was brought to a beautiful resolution, before darting off onto sunny slopes for the ‘Light’ part of the piece.  Altogether very attractive music.

The second piece portrayed shades of the composer’s character – introverted, extraverted, angry etc.  Parts were improvised, as he humorously explained in his introduction.  Both instruments had solo passages, the saxophone revealing its variety of tones and ability to be brazen but also subtle, though not quite as subtle as the guitar.  The piece became exciting and vigorous, then sank into a reverie, with a delicious ending.

These are two first-class musicians who play so well in combination.

 

Clarinet trio repeats its Lower Hutt programme at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Bruch: Two movements from Eight Pieces, Op 83; Mozart: Trio for clarinet, viola and piano, K 498; Schumann: Märchenerzählungen, Op 132

Tim Workman – clarinet, Victoria Jaenecke – viola, David Vine – piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 31 October, 12.15pm

A review, by Rosemary Collier, of this ensemble with this programme, at St Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt, on 3 October, has just been belatedly posted on the website, the result of an oversight. It will be found at that date.

I did not hear the Lower Hutt concert, but greatly enjoyed this repeat concert, now in a different acoustic and using a different piano.  None of the shortcomings mentioned in the earlier review seemed evident here at St Andrew’s.

NZ Trio at Wellington City Gallery – beautiful assemblages

Posted on by Peter Mechen

NZ Trio presents ART3

JOAQUIN TURINA – Piano Trio No.2 in B Minor Op.76

ALEX TAYLOR – burlesques méchaniques (2012) KARLO MARGETIC – Lightbox (2012)

ANTONIN DVORAK – Piano Trio No.4 in A Minor “Dumky”

NZ Trio

(Justine Cormack – violin / Ashley Brown – ‘cello

Sarah Watkins – piano)

City Gallery, Wellington

Civic Square

Wednesday 31st October 2012

An inspired choice of venue! – Wellington’s City Gallery is a place that has flexible space enough to play host to chamber music and instrumental performances whose ambiences then take on added dimensions due to their surroundings.

In this case, the performers were Justine Cormack, Sarah Watkins and Ashley Brown of the NZ Trio. On the program were works by Turina and Dvorak, but, significantly with two new compositions by New Zealand composers Alex Taylor and Karlo Margetic. These were not world, but Wellington premieres – Alex Taylor’s burlesque mécaniques was given its first public performance in Akaroa earlier in the month by the NZ Trio, and Karlo Margetic’s Lightbox in July in Auckland, by the same musicians.

Each of the new works seemed like “hot property” especially in the hands of the original performers, and in such close proximity to their world premieres. A different, but no less telling kind of proximity, gave the music’s edge and point greater and bolder relief – on the wall immediately behind the performance platform was artist John Reynolds’ painting Numbering Waves, part of the “Kermadec” exhibition currently on show at the Gallery.

This particular work (commented on as “inspirational” by Justine Cormack during her spoken introduction to the concert) made considerable play with our senses as we listened, a kind of creative enhancement of our experience of four very different pieces of music. And, of course it seemed to evolve as a world for us with each succeeding item, as well as with the changing light over time.

Beginning the concert was a piece I thought of as “high class teashop music” with an Iberian flavour, a Piano Trio by Joaquin Turina. A flowing sigh began the piece, something from the exotic distance but nevertheless engaging, followed by a flowing, Schumannesque melody, the playing taking us from light to light, shade to shade along the way. The second subject made me think of childhood holidays, nostalgic memories of innocent excitement conjured up by the sounds made by these splendid musicians. I was wanting more when the movement seemed to end somewhat abruptly!

Ghostly scampering began the second movement, here put across with plenty of élan, strings and piano nicely cross-rhythmed, then joining momentarily for a biting unison climax – again the salon-like feeling informed a languid interlude and a beautifully-flowing aftermath – gorgeous playing. The third movement’s opening found ‘cellist Ashley Brown steady on the high-wire, in a very violin-sounding register, the opening lento giving way to a variety of episodes throughout, characterful and quixotic, the musicians unlocking and opening every mood for our delight.

Alex Taylor’s piece, burlesques mécaniques was described by the composer as “a rather extroverted collection of grotesque miniatures, whose characters are not people or animals but dances”. Rather like a updated and extremely kinetic “Pictures at an Exhibition” in effect, the piece’s ten sections explored a kind of rhythmic dysfunctionality, whose expression, as the composer suggested, tended to confound rather than conform to the dance element. So the rhythms were often in conflict, and the piano played almost a devil’s advocate, often disruptive role in the proceedings.

The Prologue, which opened the piece, began as the whole intended to go on, the piano abrupt and volatile, the violin spectral, and the ‘cello relievedly holding onto a single note – interestingly, this state of things was reiterated in amplified form in the tenth and final section, which features a violent, confrontational opening, out of which the ‘cello emerged again holding an ambient note, while violin and piano fought a do-or-die battle for supremacy. No wonder that, at the end, pianist Sarah Watkins told us that the work was “wonderfully invigorating to play!”

As well as rhythmic desynchronization, the piece also explored a vast range of instrumental timbres – my notes were filled with descriptive exclamations regarding ear-catching timbres, “strangulated ‘cello tones”, “disjointed, pointillistic violin jabbings”, “piano a flash of colour across a page”, “melting, Dali-esque notes from strings”, and “growling cello voice”. The figurations, too, contributed to the pieces’ different characters, the violin’s and ‘cello’s cross-purposed rhythms in the fourth piece “A Spanner” (guess what rhythms!), and a “toccata trapped in a tunnel” aspect of the following “tumbledry” both extremely well-etched for effect.

And the last movement but one “Chain” even briefly took on humanoid characteristics, with the piano arpeggiating exploratory figures and the strings holding their notes, the effect like breathing or perhaps a heartbeat, certainly a pulse of some kind – for the composer an “alternative, interior world”, and for the uninitiated listener, a case perhaps of “where there’s life, there’s hope”?

So, here was engaging, and in places challenging music – I found it good that all of those individual ear-tickling moments were incorporated within clearly-defined sections giving the first-time listener both sequence and shape for the work as a whole, in fact making a virtue of the stop-go aspect of the piece. With Karlo Margetic’s work Lightbox, the challenges for the listener were different, as the music seemed longer-breathed and more deeply-layered, despite the irruptions and volatilities having a similar kind of timbral and colouristic flair to those of the previous piece.

Perhaps a clue to the music’s individual character was the composer’s statement in the program comparing a piano trio to a “transparent interplay of lines”, suggesting creative impulses and imaginings wrought in longish spans, and having outcomes that reflect these long-term evolutions. Lightbox had a number of these kinds of sequences, such as the gently rocking rhythms at the piece’s very beginning, with figurations turning in on themselves as if reconstituting on the spot, or so it seemed. Another was the piano’s ambient interlude-like sequence, perhaps two-thirds way-through, the sounds gently kaleidoscoping in a slow dance, an mood replicated later by the strings in Aeolian-harp-like mode, an almost ritualistic interaction of the three lines, the composer’s “strangely beautiful assemblage”.

But embedded in these beauties were tensions, the strings near the start finding ever-increasing “edge” in opposing counterpointed figures, before buzzing like angry bees when dive-bombing the piano’s slow, ceremonial dance. Warmth turned to spectral chill as the players resorted to col legno-like gestures, gradually tightening their figurations to breaking-point and dissolution in a sea of piano ambience. Someone made a remark at one point that a youthful audience member at the Auckland performance of this work had exclaimed that the music reminded him of transformers (toys which can change their appearance and character by swiveling and inverting different constituent parts) – and this “out of the mouths of babes” aspect of the remark certainly hit the spot in that particular aspect.

In both works the players of the NZ Trio made the notes sound like “their” music, with committed playing by turns trenchant and lyrical, sharply-focused and delicate. What a joy it must be for composers whose works enjoy such advocacy!

After the interval came Dvorak’s “Dumky” Trio, a work whose wonderfully layered intensities seemed perfectly in accord with what had gone before it in the concert, music with both vigour and lyricism, heartfelt utterance and gaiety, practically a whole world’s contrasting emotions knitted together in a whole. ‘Cellist Ashley Brown introduced the piece, his playing underlining as eloquently as his words the music’s near-tragic yearning at the opening, ‘cello and piano direct and full-throated in their outpourings, the former then singing as one with the violin before veering sharply into a complete contrast of character with a vigorous dance-rhythm, a precursor of the frequent mood-swings that permeate this attractive work.

I came away from this concert with renewed appreciation of the Trio’s compelling and wholehearted response to everything the group performs, and of the skills, energies and sensitivities the three players readily convey to their audiences – a wonderful occasion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Varied programme to mark Taliban murder of a Jewish/American journalist

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

A programme of works for cello and double bass, by Jewish and Israeli composers, plus Bach, Rossini and the Klezmer Trio for cello, viola and bass by Ross Harris; in memory of Daniel Pearl, American Jewish journalist murdered by the Taliban

Inbal Megiddo (cello), Paul Altomari (double bass), Donald Maurice (viola)

Myers Hall, Wellington Jewish Community Centre, Webb St.

Sunday, 28 October, 3pm

The Internet gives the following explanation of the occasion for this concert.  “Daniel Pearl World Music Days was created in response to the 2002 kidnapping and murder of Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl at the hands of extremists in Karachi, Pakistan. Danny’s family and friends came together to work towards a more humane world, forming the Daniel Pearl Foundation. The mission of the Foundation is to promote cross-cultural understanding through journalism, music, and innovative communications.

“Danny was a talented musician who joined musical groups in every community in which he lived, leaving behind a long trail of musician-friends spanning the entire world. Commemorating Danny’s October 10th birthday, World Music Days uses the universal language of music to encourage fellowship across cultures and build a platform for “Harmony for Humanity.”

First on this intriguing programme, after a brief speech introducing World Music Days,  was Kaddish (prayer of mourning) by Joachim Stutschewsky, a twentieth-century Israeli composer.  Naturally, it was a rather sad piece (for solo cello) – intense, strong, and even abrasive at times.  A repeated motif in a minor key was somewhat modal in character; it subsided into a regretful mood.

Next was a piece based on a song for peace, also for unaccompanied cello.  Unfortunately, Inbal Meggido’s spoken introductions were too quiet and too fast to be readily heard and understood.  Lament by Hannah Levy was written for Meggido by the contemporary Israeli composer.  Its very strong opening was like cries of pain, and was very eloquently played.  The music utilised a very wide span of the cello’s enormous range, from deep bass to high treble.  A wide compass of techniques was employed too, from biting the bow stridently into the strings to lightly skipping over them.  The work described deep sorrow rather than ‘mere’ melancholy.  At times it expressed wailing, but came to a brief calm towards the end.

We now moved to something familiar: Bach’s Suite no.1 in G major for solo cello.  The suites are the cellist’s Bible – or should we say Old Testament in this case?  The Prelude made a promising beginning, although I found the slurring between bass notes to the higher notes in the chords are little too much.  The tempos may have had something to do with it; the movement was taken somewhat faster than one often hears it.

A very lithe and supple Allemande followed, exhibiting lovely tone.  Some notes were touched very lightly; the effect was most pleasing.  The Courante was brisk and lively, but every note was present.  The slow dance that originated in Spanish America, the Sarabande, was thoughtful, rich and deep, demonstrating the cello’s sonorous capabilities to the full, while the following Minuets were animated,                                             yet played with plenty of feeling and beautiful phrasing.

The Gigue that ended the Suite included considerable contrasts in the fast dance.  These dancers were energetic and got around all over the place.

After the interval, Donald Maurice joined his viola to the cello in Beethoven’s curiously named ‘Eyeglass’ duo.  It was thus named, Maurice told us in an excellent introduction, for the bespectacled musician friends of Beethoven to whom the piece was dedicated.  In imitation, both players donned ‘eyeglasses’.

The duo consisted of an allegro followed by minuet and trio.  The work featured delightful interweavings, evocative of a conversation between the two dedicatees.  There was body in the playing and variety of tone.  Beethoven introduced some fun into his writing – pizzicato passages followed by glissandi.  The allegro was a difficult movement, resulting in some slight inaccuracies of intonation.

The minuet had echoes of the theme of the allegro, but then modulated in novel ways.  The conversations became more serious and complex, and were completed with an unexpected ending.

Yet another unfamiliar work: Rossini’s Duo for cello and double bass (titled simply ‘Duetto’ in Grove), in which Meggido was joined by her husband Paul Altomari, principal double bass player in the Vector Wellington Orchestra, who gave a good introduction to the work, which remained published until 1968.  One so seldom hears a double bass as soloist or duoist, that it was interesting to hear that the sound was not only deeper but also less direct than that of the cello.

The work featured some operatic-style themes, but overall it was not great music, though quite a work-out for the performers, especially for the bass player.  In the second movement, the bass played pizzicato while the cello had a strong melody; the third movement, loud at first, appeared to be a set of extraverted variations upon a dance-like theme.  A bright presto ended this jolly item.

Continuing the operatic theme, the players next gave us Georg Goltermann’s Souvenirs de Bellini.  Goltermann lived from 1824 to 1898.  The double bass played a rather dull accompaniment while the cello delivered operatic melodies – Meggido had a lot of playing to do before the double bass reversed things, playing its own melody, with the cello playing the accompanying passages.  Then the roles were reversed again: the cello played virtuosic passages, seemingly several parts at once.

The final piece was Klezmer Trio for viola, cello and double bass, by Wellington composer Ross Harris, who was present at the concert.  Wikipedia has this to say about Klezmer: “The genre has its origins in Eastern Europe. In the United States the genre morphed considerably as Yiddish-speaking Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, who arrived between 1880 and 1924… met and assimilated American jazz.”

The instrumentation we heard is not listed in the Wikipedia article – but like all folk-based music, klezmer can evolve, especially when in the hands of composers who take it up and write around its melodies, styles and traditions.

The work opened with pizzicato from the two lower instruments and a melody on viola.  There was much off-beat rhythm; at one stage Altomari alternately hit the strings and played pizzicato on them.  A winsome melody from the cello intervened, then it was back to the viola, with the rhythm sustained by the double bass.  A change of key ensued; the interaction between cello and viola had a very Middle Eastern sound to me.

Some of the melodies were quite rhapsodic, their portamento technique assisting in the resulting sound being quite different from those of Western classical music.  The music returned to a very rhythmic, dancing sequence, then all the instruments knitted together for an exciting syncopated ending.

This was indeed an interesting and varied programme, mainly of unexplored music.