Viola students of New Zealand School of Music on show at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music: viola students  – Alexa Thompson, Vincent Hardaker, Alice McIvor and John Roxburgh

Music by Carl Stamitz, Glinka, Hindemith, Walton

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 20 June, 12.15pm

This lunchtime recital was a showcase of four viola students, taught variously by Donald Maurice, Claudine Bigelow and Gillian Ansell.

Three of the four pieces were of parts of the whole. The first and second movements only of Carl Stamitz’s Concerto in D were enough, which was enough to exhibit the strength’s of Alexa Thompson, large tone, confident, relishing the big sound from her C string; inevitably there were minor intonation blemishes.

The younger Stamitz was a few years older than Mozart and echoes of his genius-contemporary, or rather, just the idiom of the period, were to be heard though, with piano accompaniments from Douglas Mews, the orchestral character was hard to gauge; the viola cadenzas however might have been envied by Mozart.  It’s melodious music but the memorableness of the latter’s melodies was hardly there.

Carl Stamitz’s music seems not to have been subject to modern cataloguing, judging by what I can find on the Internet; one site lists a viola concerto in D as his Opus 1 – this may be it.

Vincent Hardaker played just the third movement of a viola sonata by Glinka, said in the notes to sound thoroughly Russian. What impressed me however was the almost complete absence of Russian sound, either in melody or rhythm, and there was little to suggest that the composer was other than a talented student of Mozart and his lesser successors like Spohr, Ries or Hummel, for Glinka was a comfortably-off, cosmopolitan composer who was a popular figure in west European musical circles, though when he returned to Russia in the mid-1830s he was inspired to write his two great Russian operas. But his other music remained largely west European in character (pace Vladimir Putin).

Vincent was another confident, fluent player who treated the piece as a serious composition, from a composer quite at home in the classical/romantic style.

The third piece was by the most famous violist/composer of the 20th century – Hindemith. Trauermusik, which the programme note explained as the piece the composer wrote hurriedly for a London concert just after George V’s death in 1936. In four short sections, it starts with the orchestra (piano), and to begin with, sounds as if Hindemith was rather hoping that a main idea would come to him as he went along. Alice McIvor, a second year student like the two earlier players, found the right tone and her playing led to music that conveyed something of a spirit of real mourning emerge. More characteristic Hindemith sounds appear in the second movement in a  faster 3/8 tempo. She played carefully, warmly, overcoming the lack of orchestral support which was a more serious lack here than in the Stamitz. Nevertheless, Douglas Mews’s accompaniment was as well coloured and expressive here as it had been in the pieces from earlier eras.

The last piece was the Viola Concerto by Hindemith’s near-contemporary William Walton, written at Thomas Beecham’s suggestion for Lionel Tertis, the father of modern viola playing (at least in the English-speaking world). Surprisingly, Tertis totally failed to perceive its greatness and beauty and ‘rejected it by return of post’.

It’s one of Walton’s major works, his first to mark out his stature as a really important composer; and one of the relatively few really successful large-scale symphonic works, written largely in the ‘great tradition’ (to borrow literary critic F R Leavis’s term), to have come from the middle years of the 20th century. It was played by the NZSO with Nigel Kennedy in 1987 and with Tabea Zimmermann in 1995.

Two players shared the job; masters student John Roxburgh took the first two movements and Alice McIvor returned to play the last. Merely to contemplate a great work of this kind, in which the orchestral element is so important, shows considerable courage, even temerity, and I could not pretend to have had the sort of experience that I’d have had with a full-scale performance. But as far as was possible, the two violists gave it a brave and understanding exposure; and of course it was good to hear it live (for me live performance, unless grossly incompetent, is generally more satisfying than a recording), if from only two instead of 80-odd instruments; it’s 17 years since an orchestral performance here. (And so, it led to the plucking from my shelves of the splendid Kennedy/Previn/RPO recording which did sound a bit different).

It might not have been kind to have the two violists sharing the undertaking for I thought McIvor had the slight edge when it came to confidence and grasping the emotional essence of the music, but that might have been rather on account of the intrinsic character of the slow movement. But it was good to end this short concert with such a substantial piece, which did demonstrate the ambitious standards and the quality of both teachers and students at the New Zealand School of Music.

 

 

Fine exploratory recital of Shakespeare songs from Corby and Beardsworth

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

A feast of Shakespeare with Megan Corby (soprano) and Craig Beardsworth (baritone), who trade as ‘Voxbox’, with Catherine Norton (piano)

Old Saint Paul’s

Tuesday 19 June, 12.15pm

Here was a splendid recital by two polished and practised singers, grasping a theme that lends itself to a varied programme. Well, varied if I ignore the fact that the only non-English settings were by Strauss.

The songs were shared, roughly, alternately between the two, starting with Megan singing two early settings (except that the first, said to be anonymous 16th century, overlooked the fact that Othello, from which the Willow Song came, wasn’t written till about 1604).

However, Megan began as she would continue, singing without the score in front of her, in a bright, attractive voice, well articulated, with clear diction.

Two settings of several songs were offered. Craig’s first was ‘Orpheus with his Lute’ from Henry VIII (one of the last plays believed to be a collaboration with John Fletcher), set by Arthur Sullivan. His high opening note emerged in a remarkable falsetto, beautifully controlled, that increased in volume, and continued in phrases that demonstrated impressive discipline over tone colours and dynamics.

The same words reappeared later from Megan in a setting by American composer William Schuman, neither especially memorable nor unmelodious, but given a thoughtful performance.

‘Blow, blow, thou winter wind’ from As you like it also appeared in two settings: Thomas Arne’s of 1740 from Megan and Roger Quilter’s of around 1922 from Craig, an open-voice alternating with more conversational tones, ending with striking dramatic notes.

From the same composer came the setting of ‘Take, o take those lily lips’ from Measure for Measure (perhaps more famous among music-lovers as the play Wagner’s early Das Liebesverbot was based on); and again Craig’s velvety voice found a fruitful role in it.

Megan sang the deeply moving dirge, ‘Fear no more the heat of the sun’ from Cymbeline, composed by Ian Higginson (to me unknown, though the Internet tells me he was born in Merseyside and works around the Midlands) , in tones that reflected the emotion, though the quite elegant setting didn’t, for me, match the power of the words (the greatest, best-known poetry is the hardest to set to music, for nothing can improve on the way the poet himself has used the rhythms and sounds of words to convey the intellectual and emotional force of beautiful poetry, which is why, many believe, Schubert set so many poems by poets of the second rank).

However, Gerald Finzi’s setting of that poem does approach it more nearly, and it appeared in the group of Finzi songs that Craig sang later. That group was a highlight of the recital, and that, probably the most striking performance, with the slow rise and fall of dynamics, and the piano’s contribution that somehow evoked the presence of death. And it must be recorded that Catherine Norton’s playing was far more than simply appropriate, sensitive and supportive.

Twelfth Night also yields some of the most poignant lyrics such as the concluding ‘When that I was a little, tiny boy’, ‘O Mistress mine’ and ‘Come away death’. The latter two, as well as ‘Who is Sylvia’ from Two gentlemen of Verona and ‘It was a lover and his lass’ from As you like it, were also in the beautiful Finzi group.

The latter song, from Megan, also appeared in a setting by Frederic Austin, a singer/organist/composer of the early 20th century.

It leaves the penultimate group, sung by Megan: Strauss’s Three songs of Ophelia (from Op 67) from Act IV, scene 5 of Hamlet, in which he conveys the girl’s growing madness, in tones that found acute expression of the unhinged mind.

She sang them most persuasively, from memory, in excellent German: ‘How should I your true love know’, ‘Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day’, and ‘They bore him barefaced on the bier’.

[And as I load this about 1.45pm, I listen to RNZ Concert broadcasting Patricia Wright, accompanied by Rosemary Barnes, singing these very songs, beautifully, though perhaps with not quite the degree of mental disorder that Corby brought to them].

The concert ended with the duet, ‘Sigh no more, ladies’ from Much ado about nothing (this one the basis of Berlioz’s Béatrice et Bénédict) by one Sally Albrecht (born in Ohio in 1954), in jolly, galloping 3/8 rhythm, befitting the servant Balthazar’s ditty that Benedict at once ridicules. The pair, inauthentically perhaps, but most agreeably, brought things to an end with a droll note of cheerful cynicism.

It was interesting to observe that hardly any of the plays that opera composers have drawn on were among these, mainly the comedies, that song composers are attracted to. So we got no Bellini, Thomas, Gounod, Verdi, Britten…

 

Work of young composers and young choreographers performed by top professionals

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Leaps and Sounds: music by composers from the NZSO’s Young Originals Todd Corporation Young Composers Award recordings, and dances by young choreographers

Musicboxgirls: music, Matthew Childs; choreography, Paul Mathews
Evocation: Max Wilkinson, Adriana Harper
No Limits: Christina Reid, Qi Huan
4 + 1: Corwin Newall, Dimitri Kleioris
Between Us: Tabea Squire, Loughlan Prior
Dreams of Power: Umar Zakaria, Sam Shapiro
Feral: Robbie Ellis, Jaered Glavin
[Inner]: Alex Taylor, Brendan Bradshaw
wind from Us: Umar Zakaria, Kohei Iwamoto

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Hamish McKeich; dancers from the Royal New Zealand Ballet

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday, 16 June 2012, 4.30pm

A free concert always packs ‘em in, and it was gratifying to see large numbers of children (particularly little girls) who had come along to this performance.

For sundry reasons, my notes about this concert are far from complete, therefore I am extremely grateful to Peter Coates for much of what follows.  His words are in quotation marks below.

What particularly struck me was how competently and fully all the composers used the symphony orchestra.  All nine pieces exhibited integrity, skill, and musical imagination.  There was much brilliant use of percussion instruments, and some unusual brass sounds.  The build-up to loud passages was always achieved with sensitivity and diversity.

The large orchestra was seated below the stage, several rows of seating having been removed.  The conductor therefore had an excellent view of both stage and orchestra.  Every piece was superbly played, the orchestra negotiating the variety of styles and instrumental demands with its accustomed professional ease.

We began with a very competent piece, ‘Musicboxgirls’ in quite a conventional, tonal musical style, which was an excellent vehicle for beautiful dancing from an all-female sextet, with a doll-like stiffness of movement to portray the theme of the title.

Other pieces  were more adventurous harmonically and stylistically. ‘Evocation’ lent itself to a classical style of dance, and put the lie, with its two men and one woman, to the still-prevalent idea that ‘real men don’t dance’ – as did other items on the programme.

“I must admit to being one of those people who likes to see a more theatrical approach to orchestral concerts, although it has to be done well to prevent the orchestra being submerged by the visual element.  I enjoyed the experiment very much, as obviously did the large family audience.  Since the dances were quite short, the programme would have been good material for young people experiencing the orchestra for the first time.

“Some of the orchestral backings were very sophisticated for such young composers.  I particularly like ‘No Limits’, which had a strong rhythmic background that the dancers obviously enjoyed.  It was danced to the ‘Tales of Greece Suite III Mighty Odysseus’ composed by Christina Reid and choreographed by Qi Huan; it certainly had my feet tapping.”  It was fast and rhythmic, with a dreamy middle section.

“Another highlight was the last work, ‘wind from Us’, a lively, comic work centred around four young men who enjoyed a very masculine dance, meeting up with a young classical dancer, Yang Liu, who eventually joined in with the male dancers’ boisterous efforts.  This young dancer had a delightful comic touch that really made the simple story very effective.

“In this case the colourful costuming complemented the story, though this was not  always the case with the other dances.  Comedy of this kind is very enjoyable to see, and its choreographer Kohei Iwamoto is to be congratulated for his efforts.  I also enjoyed the swinging coloured wigs in the dance ‘Feral’, a set of primitive movements that thoroughly complemented the story.

“All in all an excellent night’s entertainment thoroughly enjoyed by the large audience.  The young composers and choreographers are to be congratulated for their efforts.  Congratulations to the NZSO for giving them the opportunity to put on such a professional show.”

Such a varied and interesting marriage of sound and movement should have won many converts for ballet, but especially for contemporary orchestral music.  The composers, choreographers, dancers and orchestra received the applause they all richly deserved.

 

 

Michael Hill competition winner Malov, plus Houstoun and Brown form superb team

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Sergey Malov (violin), Ashley Brown (cello), Michael Houstoun (piano)
(Michael Hill Violin Competition and Chamber Music New Zealand)

John Psathas: Gyftiko
Beethoven: Piano Trio no.5 in D Op.70 no.1 ‘Ghost’
Ysaÿe: Sonata no.4 for solo violin
Franck: Violin Sonata in A

Wellington Town Hall

Wednesday, 13 June 2012, 7.30pm

The 17-centre tour, of which this concert was a part, was included in the awards Malov received as winner of the Michael Hill Violin Competition last year.  It provides a welcome opportunity for the rest of New Zealand to hear his talents in person; only those in Queenstown and Auckland heard them in 2011.

Prior to the concert, Ashley Brown interviewed Malov in the Town Hall’s Green Room, during which he paid tribute to the organisation and arrangements for the competition, which he enjoyed, not least the experience of staying with host families in both centres. He admitted that he was just inside the age limit for the competition, so had more experience than other competitors, and had already won other competitions.

He paid tribute, too, to Michael Houstoun, whom he described as a national treasure, and as a person so experienced in chamber music that he could be very flexible, and as well as offering suggestions, could adopt ‘my sometimes crazy ideas’.

He spoke of his other instruments, the viola and the violoncello da spalla.  Malov also explained the Psathas work (for solo violin), which he said he enjoyed playing.  The title meant ‘gypsy’, and the work was improvisatory and non-classical, written especially for the violin competition.  He described it as wild, without clichés.  In a radio interview, he said that it was not appropriate to play it with a beautiful sound all the time.

It began with left-hand pizzicato interspersing the bowed lines.  The technical demands and violin techniques included the use of harmonics, double-stopping and very fast passages.  The gypsy fiddler was never far away.  Malov was very much on top of the work, and gave a riveting performance.

Beethoven’s ‘Ghost’ Trio received its nickname from a member of the public at the first performance, in reference to passages in the second movement.  Malov described it as joyous and wild, and shocking in its key changes, so not all is calm and beautiful. It is one of Beethoven’s most compelling and involving works of chamber music.  A composer-contemporary of Beethoven’s called it ‘… of great power and originality”.

The opening unison passage revealed the beautiful tone from both stringed instruments.  Then, typical of Beethoven, we were straight into the soul of the work.  There were impressive dynamic contrasts, portraying changes of mood.  The development of the first movement (allegro vivace con brio) and its themes was full of subtlety, but also drive.  Each iteration of the noble theme was exquisitely played. Phrasing was completely in accord between the performers.

The largo assai et expressivo second movement features the slow, spooky build-up that is the origin of the trio’s nickname.  Low grumblings on the piano and slow, quiet notes on the strings seem to hint that drama is to come.  There is a gradual increase in tempo and volume.  However, though the intensity increases, there is still no release from the slowly building tension.  It is almost anguish that is expressed before slow chords bring the end of the movement.

The finale is not explosive, but a good-humoured lively presto.  It is like a jolly conversation between three equals.  The music becomes very busy, but remains lyrical.  There are many fast passages for piano, brought off with immaculate accuracy, sensitivity and imperturbability by Houstoun.  The numerous climaxes are always followed by gentle episodes before the end is reached – was Beethoven teasing us with false endings?

Ysaÿe was the most noted  violinist of his time (1858-1931).  He had superlative skill, and a vast reputation.  He took up conducting in later life, and composition; he was known as the pioneer of twentieth century violin playing, and composed in a number of genres, but principally for the violin.

His solo sonata no.4 was inspired by Bach solo sonatas, and this is very apparent in every movement: Allemanda, Sarabande and Finale.  While the opening was not particularly Bach-like, the movement soon proceeded into a style echoing the great baroque composer, with chords and simple progressions.  This apparent simplicity was deceptive; looking at all the hand positions needed by the violinist to play the music (which he did without a score), one appreciated the technical difficulties.  The movement  ended in unison.

The second movement opened with pizzicato, then a lengthy passage of double-stopping unfolded as two melodies played against each other.  Ethereal harmonics and pizzicato towards the end gave the dance-like movement a delicate quality.

The final movement was fast and virtuosic, and again very reminiscent of J.S. Bach.  It was almost a perpetuum mobile for much of its length.  A couple (but only a couple) of notes were not quite on the spot, in this demanding work.  Despite the tempo, Malov had great variety of timbre and dynamics through a great range of pitch (greater than Bach would have employed).

Franck dedicated his sonata, written late in his life, to Ysaÿe.  Both were Belgian-born.  The opening movement (allegretto) featured very lyrical playing, with nuance and a great range of tonal colours.

The allegro second movement begins with the deeper, more sonorous notes of the violin, sometimes sounding like a viola.  There is much prestidigitation for the pianist.

This work is not a favourite of mine; I have heard it too often, so that it no longer speaks to me, nor sounds inspired.  But Malov and Houstoun invested it with a degree of charm and depth.  Gentle passages were very light, yet well controlled.

The recitative of the third movement opened in questioning mode, and gradually worked towards a reply in the fantasia part of that movement, with its slow start then strong theme.

Finally came the allegretto poco mosso, with its return to the theme of the first movement, varied and elaborated in canon between the instruments.  There’s no doubt that Malov and Houstoun played the sonata superbly well.

For an encore, Malov came back with his viola, which he played in a solo Capriccio by Vieuxtemps, another Belgian, who was responsible for getting Ysaÿe started on his career.  It was pleasing to hear the different instrument, which sounded sombre after the sweetness of Malov’s violin.  The piece featured chords and double-stopping.

To say that Malov is a sensitive, imaginative and immensely accomplished violinist is perhaps not the most remarkable thing.  What is remarkable is the way in which he, Michael Houstoun and Ashley Brown formed a superb team.  Three programmes are being performed on this tour, which is unusual for a visiting artist; in three centres the Beethoven trio is scheduled.

Malov’s playing was marked by purity and sweetness of tone, in addition to his complete command of the instrument, and apparent enthusiasm for his art.  He should have an eminent career.  There was unanimity among the people I spoke to after the concert as to the enjoyable programme and the high standard of playing we had been treated to by Sergey Malov and Michael Houstoun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Superb, well-attended recital of rare Lieder at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Brahms: Zigeunerlieder (Gypsy Songs) Op.103
Schumann: Spanisches Liederspiel (Spanish Songs) Op.74

Lesley Graham (soprano), Linden Loader (mezzo-soprano), Richard Greager(tenor), Roger Wilson (bass), Mark Dorrell (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 13 June 2012, 12.15pm

The large audience could consider itself fortunate in having these singers of professional standing performing at a free lunch-hour concert.  Obviously the singers enjoy singing this ensemble repertoire, so seldom heard, and equally obviously, put a lot of work into it.  Such was the popularity of this concert, the pile of printed programmes ran out.

In essence, both sets of songs comprised romantic love-songs, but in differing moods.  Brahms’s songs were German translations from Hungarian poems by Hugo Conrat, and are more often sung in solo format, but we were informed by the programme notes that the vocal quartet version was written first.

The songs involved much word-painting, well-observed by the singers, and by Mark Dorrell’s immaculate accompaniments, which interpreted the buoyant feelings of the songs as joyously or soulfully as did the words of the singers, which were marked by unified pronunciation and projection of the words as well as by the quality of the sound.

The songs were delightful, though quite stretching in their vocal range.  However, these performers had them well under their belts.

The second-last song of the eight, ‘Kommt dir manchmal in den Sinn’ was a regretful song, especially solemn in the solo passages for tenor.

Schumann’s songs were German translations by Emanuel Geibel, from Spanish poems.  These songs were for a succession of different combinations of voices.

The first titled ‘Erste Begugnung’ or ‘First Meeting’ was for soprano and alto. (It was good to have German, Spanish and English versions of the titles in the printed programme.) It is always en enjoyable experience to hear Lesley Graham and Linden Loader sing duets; their voices match and blend amazingly well, and adorned this beautiful song about plucking flowers from a rose-bush.

The next song was for tenor and bass.  These two voices do not have the same matching quality, but it was a gorgeous rendition of ‘Intermezzo’, nevertheless.

‘Love’s Sorrow’ followed, for the two female voices.  It was sung very expressively; one felt swept into the touching sorrow conveyed by the singers.

‘In der Nacht’ for soprano and tenor featured a beautiful opening from Lesley Graham.  When the tenor entered, he carried on the mood and tone perfectly.  This was a quiet song, but carried well.

‘The secret is out’ was a complete change of mood – back to something like the joyful, dancing rhythms of the Brahms songs.  All four singers were in utter unanimity.  And all four are teachers of singing; their students are fortunate indeed.  The poem had the interesting words “Love, money and sorrow are, I think, the most difficult to conceal… the cheeks reveal what lies secretly in the heart.”

‘Melancholy’, a solo for Linden Loader, was heartfelt and beautifully expressed.

A short but appealing tenor solo, ‘Confession’, followed.  Along with the other songs, this was typical Romantic era stuff, concerned with longing, and unrequited or unfulfilled love.

‘Botschaft’, or ‘Message’ was next, sung by the two women.  This song was more complex musically, with the parts crossing and diverging.  It was a charming expression of the delight of flowers.

A hearty final number, ‘I am loved’, had all four voices expatiating on the evil tongues that whisper about the love the writer experiences.  The wicked tongues could be heard in the marvellous accompaniment of this characterful song, as well as in the words.  The ending was quite superb.

Illustrations and a humorous biographical note (obviously by Roger Wilson) set a nice touch to the printed programme.

What ensemble these singers have!  Perfect timing, intonation, unanimity and attractive, expressive voices.  It is a crying shame that Radio New Zealand Concert no longer do studio broadcasts; this programme deserved to be heard by a wider audience.

 

Revolutionary Beethoven from the NZSQ

Posted on by Peter Mechen

NEW ZEALAND STRING QUARTET

BEETHOVEN – “Revolution” – The Middle Quartets

String Quartets Op.59 No.3 in C Major “Razumovsky”

Op.74 in E-flat “Harp” / Op.95 in F Minor “Serioso”

New Zealand String Quartet :  Helene Pohl, Douglas Beilman (violins)

Gillian Ansell (viola) / Rolf Gjelsten (‘cello)

Genesis Energy Theatre, Classical Expressions, Upper Hutt

Monday, 11th June 2012

This was the second in a two-concert presentation by the New Zealand String Quartet of what are popularly thought of as Beethoven’s “middle period” string quartets. The first concert had featured the opening two of the set of three “Razumovsky” Quartets Op.59, which the group had taken to various venues around the country – as they had done earlier in the year with the Op.18 “Early” Quartets. This time round we got the third “Razumovsky”, followed by Op.74 “the Harp”, and Op.95, the “Serioso” quartets – riches indeed!

The printed program for the concert didn’t on this occasion carry the NZSQ’s own defining subtitle “Revolution” for their “middle quartets” traversal, which was surprising – the name certainly suited aspects of each of the works we heard, and especially so throughout these rigorously-conceived, and utterly absorbing readings. True to form, the NZSQ seemed to leave none of Beethoven’s compositional stones unturned throughout its search for the essence of this music’s greatness.

Of course, this isn’t the first time the quartet has played these works, though it’s been over ten years since their previous Beethoven “project” in which they played the whole cycle – they recorded just two of the “Razumovsky” Quartets shortly afterwards, but unfortunately there have been no more. Perhaps this current undertaking, again featuring all of the Beethovens, will inspire a further round of recordings (at the very least Op.130, please, with both of its finales!) – one would imagine concertgoers in the wake of these performances up and down the land wanting to relive the excitements and pleasures of such vital and inspired music-making!

So, my task in the course of this review is to try and come to grips with just what is it that made this quartet’s playing for me so distinctive and compelling in these works. By what alchemic means could these players, over the space of three very different Beethoven quartets, so readily take themselves and their listeners into what seemed like the pulsing heart of both the music and its composer?

In the first place, nothing got in the way of those sounds for us – at the outset, the clarity and corresponding lack of resonance in the theatre might have disconcerted at first, but then increasingly delighted one’s sensibilities as the music proceeded.. And the stage’s empty, though evocatively-lit spaces reminded one of photographs of 1950s and 60s Bayreuth productions by Wieland Wagner – creating a similarly timeless and open backdrop against which music and performance could speak their own truths without distraction.

The opening sounds of the “Harp” Quartet Op.74 provided another clue – the hymn-like harmonies were voiced by the players with attractively grainy tones, drawing attention to the separate voices as much as to to their blended sound. Here, and throughout the slow movement, the melodic lines had a “throaty” quality, the players’ sounds never bland or expressing beauty for its own sakes’, but always characterful. I liked how, in the second movement, the melodic lines were “sung’ by everyone in a democratic spirit, the differently-voiced impulses, as before, both blending and maintaining their individuality.

Beethoven’s well-known dictum of the idea counting more than its execution often came into play, with the players spiralling their whirling individual and concerted lines in the first movement with tremendous verve, their articulation appropriately vertiginous, more dangerous- than clean-sounding in two or three places.

Then again in the scherzo, the chunkiness of the players’ rhythm contrasted tellingly with the furious pace in the trio sections, the effect properly exhilarating, and giving the music a driven, possessed quality. By contrast, the final variation movement brought from the players both good-humoured interactions (jog-trot and cantering sequences) and solo singing (some duskily attractive viola tones), and a growing physical excitement which overflowed from the bubbling textures and raced the music to a nicely abrupt ending.

Op. 95 in F Minor, the “Serioso” followed, a work regarded by its composer as “one for connoisseurs…..never to be performed in public”. Though Beethoven presumably meant what he said at the time, modern listeners can readily enjoy the composer’s “experiment” as a precursor of the quartets that were to follow – still, the work remains a tough nut to crack in performance, packing a great deal into a condensed framework.

The NZSQ engaged with the work’s terse, energetic opening on a thrillingly visceral level, without ever suggesting mere virtuosic display – pin-point concerted attack, great explosions of energised tones, trenchant growlings from the lower instruments – all served to throw into relief the discourse’s somewhat anxious and unsettled lyrical episodes. Just as focused, here, and satisfyingly contrasted, was the group’s playing of the slow movement, with its spacious, exploratory fugal episodes, and solemn ‘cello-led processionals to and from sequences of great beauty.

All was peremptorily cast aside by the scherzo’s impatient calls for attention, the composer allowing no let-up of intensity, and the players complying with interest. And my notes record as well the group’s wonderfully organic lurching into the somewhat stricken waltz-theme of the finale, and the feel of those bows biting into the strings throughout those storm-beset scrubbings which erupted from the music’s textures.

Of course, Beethoven trumps all of these things with an almost maniacally-conceived coda, whose on-the-face-of-things incongruity has exercised many a critical mind and pen over the years, and which had here a properly quixotic effect on many listeners. I wondered whether the composer was, consciously or otherwise, simply following the dictum of life being a tragedy to the heart and a comedy to the intellect – whatever the case, the NZSQ presented the music’s volte-face with all the gusto and energy that it required.

After a welcome luftpause we all awaited the third of the Op.59 Razumovsky Quartets, with those wonderfully unresolved chordings at the beginning, which the group here recreated as a kind of frozen sound-world of unfulfilled impulses – the stillness made the sudden spark of momentum all the more telling, again, like tragedy turned to comedy, or stasis suddenly galvanised as pure energy, underlined by the players’ full-bodied but sharp-edged responses to the music.

The sheer exuberance of the Allegro Vivace of this movement fully vindicated another aspect of the Quartet’s performances which I’ve appreciated so much over the years, the physical choreography of having three of the quartet players standing while playing (except, of course, the ‘cellist, though he rarely sits perfectly still, having to cover a good deal of physical instrumental “ground”). Being able to express the music with one’s whole body (in a sense, “making the Word Flesh”, so to speak) must have some effect upon the sound that body produces. And, for me, the visual effect is that the music is choreographed in an abstracted but still meaningful and relevant way, almost another form of reading music, if you like (perhaps that’s why, being a non-scorereader, I like it so much).

Lovely pizzicato notes from the ‘cello began the slow movement, helping project the sombre mood, one which the composer so engagingly drew back to allow the sunlight in for those few measures of major-key relief. And though the ‘cello took us by the hand and gently returned us to those darker realms once again, the memory of the sunlight kept returning, one which the solo violin stretched towards so eloquently – and oh! – those encircling pizzicato notes from the ‘cello, which kept the music on its orbit, despite the occasional irruption, so soft and inwardly resonant!

An “old-fashioned” Minuet charmed us with its grace and elegance, though the players then seemed to relish all the more the Trio’s angular fanfares with their off-the-beat accents. With the dance ended, the ‘cello took the lead in the direction of what appeared at first to be a twilight zone, but whose unsmiling mask couldn’t hold in check for more than a few measures such a joyous eruption of energy and movement as to sweep away all previous darkness and trouble.

It was a finale in which we heard “laughter holding both his sides” as a manifestation of creative heroism, the players lining up with the composer in pushing themselves to the edges of abandonment with the proverbial skin-and-hair flying, and we in the audience right on the edges of our seats. And that was, finally, the pudding’s proof – that we were all bundled up and transported by the same energy-source as were these musicians into realms of delight and awareness of the importance of certain things.

So – something special and memorable, here, its essence worth trying to convey in words, however much this writer is conscious of falling short of doing. But as much as I can imagine any composer’s spirit being caught in performance, this was a concert of music-making which, in its potent mix of skilful execution and vivid characterisation, for me did just that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martin Rummel, cello and Stephen de Pledge, piano in highly successful programme for Wellington Chamber Music

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Beethoven: Cello Sonata in C, Op 102 No 1; Schnittke: Sonata No 1 for cello and piano; Stravinsky: Suite Italienne; Shostakovich: Cello Sonata in D minor, Op 40

Ilott Theatre, Town Hall

Sunday 10 June 3pm

It sounded as if De Pledge and Rummel had decided to keep the best till last – the best rehearsed, that is. The second, third and fourth items were excellent.

Beethoven’s C major sonata is unusually short (about 15 minutes) and has an unusual shape; the cello opens alone, presenting a sad, descending motif that, as the piano joined, became a sharing of intimacies between the two; it had real charm. But as that passage drew to a close and the much more forthright Allegro vivace took over, there was an uncomfortable disconnect between cello and piano, the latter seeming unaware of the imbalance that resulted from its impact. Often the two instruments echo each other, at other times the two are almost at odds and care has to be taken to assure a unity of feeling, rather than what I felt to be the piano tending to assert its primacy.

Perhaps the lid should be down, but in the later pieces where the balance was perfectly measured, De Pledge showed that he could get quiet and sympathetic sounds with the lid on the long stick.

Added to that was an occasional smudge or missed note in the piano.

The second movement, particularly the final section, another Allegro vivace, was affected in the same way, with the piano dominating, making too much, for example, of the sudden fortissimo chords that recur. Though, in a spirit of fairness, I wondered whether the cellist should be sharing the blame, I concluded eventually that the cello was following the composer’s intentions scrupulously.

Having gone on at undue length about the first quarter hour, I must now exclaim about the excellence of the rest of the afternoon. I have not been completely won over to Schnittke’s poly-stylistic vein, but the first cello sonata suggests the styles of different eras in a coherent, integral way. Again, the cello makes its entry alone, somewhat anguished, which the piano soon picks up. The two instruments seemed in warm accord, hearing each other with complete understanding; I enjoyed the rhapsodic cello passage with discreet punctuations by the piano.

The stark dynamic contrasts between cello and piano in the second, Presto, movement were splendidly pronounced; the piano often had a more commanding role here, too, but the sense of a carefully prepared approach was always evident. So it was with the cello’s upward, singing line in the concluding Largo and the piano’s exquisite pianissimo phrases. In their hands, the last movement was a most interesting, engaging experience.

Martin Rummel entertained the audience with some piquant anecdotes about Stravinsky, making comparisons with between the written language employed by him and Prokofiev; I forget the pretext, but the matter was interesting, even amusing: Prokofiev abbreviated to the point of eliminating all vowels while Stravinsky’s language was always meticulous.

The Stravinsky suite, drawn from his ballet Pulcinella, could have been originally written for these players and indeed, one could feel that the music of Pergolesi’s contemporaries which was then thought to be by the latter, was Stravinsky’s natural idiom. Here again, balance between the two instruments was admirable, and they conveyed in a fluent, warm manner, the dancing spirit that imbued most of the pieces, even through the unruly rhythms of the Tarantella. Stravinsky was never a composer to follow tradition slavishly and in the Minuet the players stretched normal expectations in a way that was both cavalier and sentimental.

Shostakovich’s cello sonata, from the early 1930s, is one of his best known chamber works, well-furnished with melody as well as with its constantly interesting developments and the opportunities that Rummel and De Pledge grasped to make the most of the great variety of articulation and expressive devices that Shostakovich provides. The vivid and lively scherzo-style second movement came off particularly well, enriched by the combination of a traditional framework in an idiom that could not have existed before the advent of Stravinsky and Prokofiev. It rather overshadowed the following Largo. In the finale, both instruments had their moments of supremacy but the running was pretty evenly balanced, with marcato cello passages giving way to careering scales in the piano.

So ended a splendid programme in which the only 19th century piece emerged as rather less successful and memorable than the three works from the 20th century.

 

 

 

Remarkable performance of a noble work: Mozart’s Requiem

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Mozart Requiem by candlelight

Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir, Vector Wellington Orchestra, Morag Atchison (soprano), Bianca Andrew (mezzo-soprano), Bonaventure Allan-Moetaua (tenor), Shane Lowrencev (bass), Douglas Mews (organ), conducted by Karen Grylls

St. Paul’s Cathedral, Hill Street

Wednesday, 6 June 2012, 7.30pm

Hearing a performance of Mozart’s great Requiem, (completed by his pupil Süssmayr) is always an event; it seems a pity that this presentation came so soon after the Bach Choir’s performance of the same work (see Middle C review by Peter Mechen, on 31 March).  Bianca Andrew was the mezzo-soprano on that occasion also.

Prior to the performance, there was a talk by Peter Walls.  He traced the history of the myths around the work’s composition, Mozart’s premonitions of death, and of the various hands that contributed to the completion of the work, at the request of Mozart’s widow, Constanze.

Peter Walls had a timeline of when each event occurred, and a table showing which composer ‘had a go’ at which sections of the work.  He concluded that for well-argued reasons, Süssmayr’s was the most satisfactory completion, although the latter apparently lacked confidence in counterpoint (he was only 21), and in writing for trumpets and timpani, and ignored some of Mozart’s writing.

Some other notes from the talk are worth recording: the work incorporates elements of opera, drama, and rhetorical ideas.  The work is both ceremonial and personal.  The instruments accompany the choir; they do not have much scope for ‘doing their own thing’.  The orchestration is spare, being for strings, organ, basset horns and bassoons, plus brass and timpani.  The basset horns give a plangent, reflective sound.  Some of the writing echoes Handel, and also plainchant, not to mention the material that Mozart was working on at the time of commencing the Requiem: the operas La Clemenza di Tito and Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute).

It was gratifying to see a ‘Sold Out’ sign in the Cathedral foyer, but not so pleasing to see that numbers of the reserved seats remained unoccupied, and that several rows at the front, not reserved, were largely empty, with no-one ushering people into them.

What struck me first about the choir was its comparatively small size; six to each part made for a well-balanced choral sound, but initially I considered the choir too small for this work.  It is the size of the choir (men and boys in his case) used by Mozart for his 1789 arrangement of Handel’s Messiah.

With the orchestra, notably the brass, in front of the choir, the sound at first was too quiet and not focused – it didn’t speak out.  After the mournful opening orchestral phrase, the basses’ entry in the Introit was strong; the tenors’ less so.  By the Dies Irae opening of the Sequenz, the sound was being projected better, and I realised that rehearsals would have taken place in an empty cathedral; the sound would have carried well compared with the performance, when several hundred bodies were soaking up the wavelengths.

Peter Walls suggested that the first movement, Introit, with its walking , might be seen as journey towards death.

The fugal Kyrie was taken fast, as was the Dies Irae.  The organ was employed for almost the entire work, but while it obviously provided a continuo basis to the texture, it was seldom heard through the other instruments.

Apart from a short earlier passage from soprano Morag Atchison, the soloists came into their own in the Tuba Mirum.  Both tenor and bass proved to have exciting voices, though that of bass Shane Lowrencev from Melbourne was not particularly rich, and good projection.  Bianca Andrew sounded fine; Atchison’s voice had a little too much vibrato for my taste, but her tone and accuracy were very good.  All put over the words clearly and accurately.

It might  have been useful to leave a gap in the printed programme between the various parts of the Sequenz, to assist the audience to find their places, since following the words gives infinitely more meaning to Mozart’s word-painting.  However, the concert was advertised as being by candlelight, in which case the printed words would not have been of much use.  In the event, the lights were not lowered until after the start of the Benedictus.  Whether this was deliberate or simply forgotten earlier, I do not know; certainly the choir had their mini-torches on their music folders lit from the beginning.

The Rex Tremendae section started in thrilling fashion from the men of the choir, while the women’s Salva Me was beautifully done.

Recordare began with the basset horns giving a wonderful almost spooky sound, followed by the soloists’ parts intertwining appealingly.  Confutatis again featured marvellous contrast between the male voices and the ethereal women’s voices.  All was delineated carefully, with just the right tone.  Indeed, attention to detail and variation of vocal tone were common denominators through most of the concert.

How wonderful the Latin language is to sing, especially when set by a genius like Mozart!  All those pure vowels!  It hardly needs to be said that in this choir everyone makes the vowels in exactly the same way.

The orchestra, too, was unified.  The strings made their anguished sounds here and in the Lacrimosa.  The players were in good form throughout the performance, although there was not the bite that an orchestra of Mozart’s time would have had, with narrower bore brass instruments, and smaller timpani.

The Offertorium provides contrasts between the legato words against the running strings accompaniment.  The music reflects the words so well that there is a case for having surtitles, as the Tudor Consort did at a concert not so long ago, so that the audience can really tie words and music together, and learn why the composer set the words as he did.  The soloists sang splendidly in this section

Then comes the Hostias; my favourite part of the whole work.  This is heavenly and sublime, with wonderfully gentle clashes and contrasts, before the rapid repeat of ‘quam olim Abrahae promisisti’.

The Sanctus (the first of the three movements thought to be written entirely by Süssmayr) was sung in robust fashion.  Then the beautiful melody of the Benedictus, sung first by the mezzo-soprano, enchanted.  It was well executed, the wonderful chromatic phrase having full impact.

The poignant, even anguished Agnus Dei exploited dynamic contrasts to the full.  The setting of the words ‘luceat eis’ never fails to move, the whole being quite thrilling.  The basset horns and bassoons underlie the pleading tone, while the chords of ‘sempiternam’ give a positive cadence to the ending.  The Communio ‘Lux aeterna’ creates an exciting build-up to the repeat of the fugue from the beginning of the work.  The powerful, intricate polyphony of ‘cum sanctis tuis’ is the dramatic ending.

As an encore, following prolonged, enthusiastic applause, Karen Grylls conducted the choir in an exquisite performance of Mozart’s motet ‘Ave Verum’, also written near the end of his life, but harmonic in structure, rather than contrapuntal.  It was the perfect conclusion to a remarkable evening of hearing one of the noblest works of the choral repertoire.

 

Megan Ward launches 2012 Hutt lunchtime series with Bach on viola

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Megan Ward – viola, B Mus honours student at New Zealand School of Music

Bach’s Cello Suite No 5 in C minor, transcribed for viola

St Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 6 June, 12.15pm

The long-standing series of lunchtime concerts at Lower Hutt has started; they run through till the end of October.

Bach instructed players of his fifth cello suite to tune the A string down a whole tone, to G, so the score shows notes that would be played on the A string a tone higher than they actually sound. The viola is tuned exactly an octave higher than the cello, so A is also the viola’s highest string.

The suite normally lasts about 25 minutes, but Megan Ward used the balance of the three-quarters of an hour to talk about the work and to pause after each movement to comment on the next. Thus there was clapping after each movement, which would have been conventional at the time of composition. That convention matched Megan’s approach to the playing which she explained was to follow aspects of baroque practice, though not slavishly. I don’t think she played on gut strings, but she did draw attention to the baroque bow, its convex shape, which produces different sounds at its heel and toe from those at the middle.

And she reminded us that all movements but the opening Praeludium had their origins in dances, but that most had moved some distance from being suitable for dancing.

Megan also drew attention to her use of ornamentation, an essential element in baroque performance. The effect, evident from the beginning of the Praeludium, was of playing that was more fluctuating, more suggesting the unevenness of human breath, in tone and dynamics; these characteristics also led the player to greater freedom of tempo, responding to the shapes of phrases as well as the hints implicit in her ornamentation.

She invited us to hear the next movement, Allemande, as song rather than dance, and the combination of a very slow pace (I’d guess around crotchet = 40 rather than the more common 55 or 60) and fluctuating rhythms left that in no doubt. It was also an opportunity to notice the generous acoustic qualities of this high-gabled church that enhanced the sustained lyrical quality of the movement.  Her ornaments sounded as if written down by Bach himself.

The Courante ran a bit faster than I expected, and Megan’s baroque interpretation meant a certain irregularity, even jerkiness, of rhythm, but there was no loss of beauty in her tone and clean articulation.

Many movements of the cello suites have attracted film makers over the years; the Sarabande gained some fame among connoisseurs when it was used on the sound-track of Ingmar Berman’s last film, Saraband. Megan approached it scrupulously, slowly, exploring its melancholy character, in a tempo that was almost too unvarying; she used no ornamentation, but she varied her dynamics artfully.

The two Gavottes offered a lively contrast, in the first, perhaps over-emphasing the first beat in the bar and passing up some of the phrasing details. The second Gavotte involved much fast fingerwork, very accomplished, but lacked the last degree of clarity.

It was a bit like her speech which was inclined to be too fast and not always clear.

Introducing the final movement, Gigue, she set our minds at rest by saying she was not striving for authenticity above all, but just to have a good time, and that was clear from the tumbling, fun-loving variety that avoided monotony.

She filled the last few minutes with an equally accomplished performance of the Sarabande from the second suite.

Not only does Megan Ward show impressive talent as a violist, but she has also a talent for talking intelligently and interestingly about things.

 

Flute, oboe and cello give delightful lunchtime recital at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Bach: Sonata in G major, BWV 1039
Beethoven: Variations on ‘La ci darem la mano’
Ginastera: Duo for flute and oboe
Haydn: Trio no.3 in G major

Nikau Trio (Karen Batten, flute; Madeline Sakofsky, oboe; Margaret Guldborg, cello)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 6 June 2012, 12.15pm

Another day of atrocious weather in Wellington, nevertheless the audience was of a reasonable size at this delightful concert.

Despite using modern instruments, the trio managed to make an almost baroque sound in the Bach sonata – quite gorgeous. The slow-fast-slow-fast movements all had their appeal, particularly the third, adagio e piano, which had a pastoral quality. The players were notable for their absolute accuracy and very good cohesion.

Beethoven made an arrangement of Mozart’s well-known aria from his opera Don Giovanni that might have amazed the original composer, with its inventive variety.  Though Beethoven’s original combination of instruments was not what we heard, it has been performed by numbers of different combinations of three instruments.

The theme was stated in a lovely pianissimo, followed by the dance-like first variation with its dotted rhythm.  The second variation featured flowing cello quavers as accompaniment to the other two players, in mellifluous harmony.

The variations were successively fast and slow; in all, the writing for the instruments was delightfully interwoven.  One in a minor key developed the theme in interesting harmonic ways.  Then there was a variation in syncopated time.  The ingeniousness of Beethoven’s ways of varying the theme was astonishing.  Some sounded quite modern, with stresses on passing notes, and humorous treatments, such as in the last variation, with its mock-serious ending.

This trio’s spot-on ensemble was notable again in the Ginastera work in three movements: Sonata, Pastorale (serene but with a plaintive quality), and Fuga (a dance-like movement; sprightly, with a jokey ending).  A leading Latin American composer, Ginastera died as recently as 1983.  He incorporated folk melodies in his neo-classical music such as here.

Haydn’s trio was originally written for two flutes and cello, but lost nothing in its arrangement for this combination.  One of Haydn’s ‘London’ trios, this was thoroughly charming in what Karen Batten described as ‘a sunny key’.  The Spiritoso first movement was indeed spirited, but also lilting and tuneful.  The Andante that followed was more serious; the players were in beautiful accord.  The Allegro finale was cheerful, exploiting the instruments brilliantly, revealing the range and variety of timbre of each instrument.

The entire recital was one of wholly engaging and enlivening music.