Enterprising flute repertoire – Ingrid Culliford, with Kris Zuelicke

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Old St.Paul’s Lunchtime Concert Series

Ingrid Culliford (flute) / Kris Zuelicke (piano)

J.S.BACH – Sonata for Flute and Keyboard BWV 1020

MIRIAM HYDE – 3 Solos for Flute and Piano

ERNST BLOCH – Suite Modale

ROBERT MUCZYNSKI – Sonata for Flute and Piano Op.14

Old St.Paul’s Church, Thorndon

Tuesday August 28th, 2012

It was a pleasure to encounter Ingrid Culliford’s flute-playing in repertoire different to that which I’ve heard her perform in the past, nearly always with the Auckland contemporary music ensemble 175 East. And double the pleasure was had from hearing the instrument played with such a variety of tones and timbres, the four very different pieces on the program requiring and getting properly individualized responses from both musicians.

Old Johann Sebastian’s lovely G Minor Flute Sonata (licence-plate number BWV 1020), has apparently been appropriated by certain scholars on behalf of the great man’s son, Carl Philipp Emmanuel, appearing in its Doppelgänger guise as H.542.5 – does the decimal point indicate a somewhat equivocal scholarly stance? Whoever was responsible, the work itself was a delight as presented here, the performers giving us a winning mixture of momentum and suspended beauty. This was characterized in part by the instrumental combination – the piano tripping gaily along, and the flute a more liberated spirit, choosing occasionally to mirror the piano’s busy figurations, but in other places soar untrammelled above them.

Throughout the sonata, I couldn’t help admiring Ingrid Culliford’s refusal to be victimized by the composer’s almost total disregard for his soloist’s lungs. This wasn’t such an issue in the slow movement, both players having sufficient “lebensraum” to negotiate both long-breathed lyrical lines and other-worldly, ambient accompanying modulations. There was also a hint here and there of the “echo” element between the instruments, most beautifully realized. Perhaps the finale, more than the other movements, leaned towards the rather more volatile spirit of the son as opposed to the father – occasional spurts of energy either (depending upon one’s point of view) invigorated or destabilized the music’s flow, with the performance certainly bringing out the essential character of those impulses.

Next was a work by Australian composer Miriam Hyde (1913-2005), someone whose work sounds as if it’s worth getting to know more of – Hyde was primarily a pianist, and one who had something of a performing career upon that instrument, both in Australia and overseas. She composed in all genres, except for opera, her style finding certain affinities with that of English composers of the time, subject to the same kinds of influences and inclinations. She had little in common with avant-garde trends, writing about her music at one point, “I feel my music can be a refuge for what beauty and peace can still be omnipresent…the triumph of good over evil. I make no apologies for writing from the heart”.

We heard three pieces from her work 5 Solos for Flute and Piano, a collection which the composer put together from pieces composed over a number of years, from 1949 to 1968. The earliest, Marsh Birds, was included here, as were The Little Juggler (1956) and Wedding Morn (1957). First was Wedding Morn, the opening piano chords beautifully played by Kris Zuelicke, the stuff of dreams, the flute introducing a rather more earthy aspect, as if rousing the spirit from the dreams and insisting upon some engagement. The piano evoked church bells, their figurations becoming somewhat Lisztian in places, to which the flute responded with lyrical wonderment.

Playful and gigue-like, The Little Juggler readily evoked the mesmeric nature of the activity, as well as plenty of tumbling warmth and an abrupt (perhaps unscheduled!) ending. Finally, the warmly-nostalgic Marsh Birds seemed to take one’s sensibilities back to simpler times at the outset, the middle section suggesting the extent of distances travelled in both time and space, and the birds’ dialogues striking a piquant, “song for the ages” note, the music ending wistfully. Enchanting.

To different worlds, next, with Ernest Bloch’s Suite Modale – with this, as with the Miriam Hyde work, Ingrid Culliford told us a little about the composer and the music’s circumstances. If one was expecting intensities of the order of the same composer’s Schelomo for ‘Cello and Orchestra, one would perhaps be disappointed; but what one got instead was an attractively ritualistic set of meditations, the composer refracting a lifetime’s experiences (Bloch wrote this in 1956, three years before his death) in this gently-conceived journey filled with bygone impressions. Bloch touchingly dedicated this work to the flautist Elaine Schaffer, whose playing he knew and admired from recordings, though he never actually met her.

Each of the four movements reflect a specific mood, which I thought the performers drew we listeners into. First, there was a kind of meditation expressed in polyphonic terms between flute and piano, rhapsodic in feeling, but elegant in style. Then, the players dug into the second movement, bringing out contrapuntal textures, and heightening a sense of ritual and order. The Allegro giocoso evoked youthful energies, both immediate and more nostalgically-conceived, while the finale contrasted a melancholic opening sequence with an exhilarating contrapuntal whirl of activity, one which wound down through attractively melodic piano-and-flute interactions to a strongly-poised, inwardly peaceful ending.

There remained the Flute Sonata of a composer unknown to me, Robert Muczynski, born in Chicago in 1929, who trained as a pianist, and whose works mostly involve chamber ensembles and piano. This four-movement Sonata, neoclassical in spirit, had bags of personality, which the performers obviously relished throughout – a lively, even volatile opening movement with plenty of rhythmic syncopation and dynamic contrast, followed by a Scherzo whose L’Apprenti Sorcier-like galumphings alternated with gentler, more pastoral gaieties. The musicians then gave us, by way of contrast, some rapt, almost mesmeric textures of enchantment at the Andante’s beginning, which the piano then darkened with suggestions of the abyss beneath, indicating that not all is sweetness and light in this world of ours. These were sobering thoughts which the gaiety of the finale’s Allegro con moto thankfully put aside. True, some of the music’s edges were angular and elbow-sharp, but the ride was nevertheless an exhilarating one. Both musicians brought to these things loads of spirit and sensibility, expressed by turns with unerring judgement and fine feeling. A lovely concert.

 

 

 

 

 

NZSM Orchestra cover themsleves with glory in Debussy and Mahler

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Debussy: Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune;  Fantaisie for Piano and Orchestra (andante-allegro; lento e molto  espressivo; allegro molto)
Mahler:   Symphony no. 1 in D major (Introduction and allegro comodo; scherzo; à la pompes funèbres; molto appassionato)

New Zealand School of Music Orchestra, Kenneth Young (conductor); Jian Liu  (piano)

Wellington Town Hall

Wednesday, 22 August 2012 at 7.30pm,

It was a pity that a larger audience was not present to hear this brilliant and satisfying concert.  Aside from quite a number of guest players, especially for the Mahler symphony, the orchestra was made up of students (plus a few staff) of the New Zealand School of Music.  The use of the Town Hall was sponsored by the Wellington City Council, i.e. it was free – a splendid gesture, to encourage music-making by young people.

The first impression was of the beautifully designed flier and programme, reproducing art from the Viennese Secession, notably Gustav Klimt (though not acknowledged); art from the time and place of Mahler.  However, I’m not so keen on the fashion for printing white on black – it’s harder to read, especially in the subdued lighting of a concert hall.  Programme notes by Kenneth Young were excellent, describing music in a way that gives the audience a little background, and then points to listen for, rather than exhibiting erudition.

It being Debussy’s 150th birthday, the choice of the first two works was apt – and they were broadcast on Radio New Zealand Concert (though for some reason not the equally apt Mahler) for its special day for Debussy, the theme of which was ‘La Belle Epoch’.  They must have been exciting times, the late 19th century and early 20th century – the art, literature and music were all forging new pathways.

The evocative opening of the first work by a single flute was magical.  The NZSM orchestra is well supplied with players of this instrument and also of the next to enter – the harps.  How many orchestras can boast four harpists?  Horns were next to introduce this delectable work, which I have not heard live for a very long time.  The wonderful, dreamy textures were played with great attention to dynamics.  The whole three works would have been challenging and worthwhile for students to play, since there are so many solo passages.  The pizzicato ending finished off a wonderful performance.  The first flute, Andreea Junc, received a special acknowledgement.

The second Debussy work was not a familiar one, but replete with the distinctive sounds of the composer’s unique writing.  Liquid sounds emanated from the piano; rich ones from the orchestra.  Here, there was full brass, whereas Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune used only horns.  Despite the strength of this section, balance was good throughout the work; the brass came into its own with vigour at the end of the first movement, especially the trumpets.

The calm and dreamy second movement owed some of its character to the use of mutes on the strings.  Tutti passages were quite romantic, and a prominent oboe part gave piquancy.  Jian Liu’s style on the piano was exactly right.  The allegro third movement introduced rumbustiousness in places., though in the main the music was lilting and dance-like,  Contrasts were ethereal, even ecstatic.  The piano for most of  the time was part of the texture of the music, not having concerto-style solo passages or distinctive themes.  But it was always played with beautiful tone – never louder than lovely.  The work ended with a rousing flourish.

A big orchestra assembled for the Mahler, and the leadership changed from Kate Oswin to Arna Morton. Mahler rarely uses the whole orchestra in tutti, but varies the textures superbly.  The symphony’s spine-tingling opening dawn with its sustained eight-octave note from all the instruments, followed by the birds awakening and the sun rising through the light mist, against off-stage trumpet calls was very effective.  The main melody that emerges from the Introduction is a typical Mahler melody, from his Songs of a Wayfarer cycle, blissful in mood.  This jubilant theme involves the entire orchestra.  All the delightful little solo interjections were in place; the lower strings were nuanced beautifully in their miniature phrases, below the sustained notes from a few second violins.  Bird calls abounded, and then horn-calls seemed to announce a hunt, while the cellos played another folksong; with a crash, we’re into the lively ending section of the movement, with its frenetic jollity.

The Scherzo appears to be a high spirited dance, but perhaps it has a macabre sub-text, despite some beautiful melodies in its middle section, which featured fine playing, especially from the woodwind section, notably cor anglais.   There was excellent playing from percussion, too – and tuba.

The funeral march based on a slow and minor key setting of the well-known French song ‘Frère Jacques’ begins as a double bass solo (for which the section leader, Louis van der Mespel received his own acknowledgement at the end), bizarre and gloomy, unlike anything else in ‘serious’ music.  On my record cover (yes, LP) David Hall says “the juxtaposition (as in the early T.S. Eliot poems) of the magically ideal with the crassly vulgar”.

After the double bass, the bassoon joins in, then the cellos, then tuba, creating a spooky gradual build-up, with gong and timpani (two sets) under-girding the whole  most effectively.   Oboes play their other-worldly theme against pizzicato strings; a gorgeous tapestry is created, accompanied by muted first violins, assisted by flutes.

The grotesque march dies away gently, which makes the noisy opening of the last movement all the more shocking.  Two sets of trumpets can make a lot of noise.  Outsize bangers for the bass drum and considerable use of the  gong all add to the shattering effect.  But there is wonderful melody, too, that flows out from the first violins against repeated pizzicato on cellos; trombones provided brilliant back-up. The moving effect is of reconciliation, exaltation, redemption.  There are hints of ‘Frère Jacques’ in the cello part, before a big climax from the brass.

Themes from the first movement return.  Lovely phrasing of a superbly played yearning, romantic melody featured dynamics to match.  There was real bite in the violas interruption of this soporific melody.  The exciting outburst at the end, in which the seven horns stood to play, was magnificent.  This orchestra and its conductor covered themselves with glory, and did Mahler’s great first symphony proud. Colour, rhythm, irony, beauty – they were all there, enhanced by Mahler’s singular orchestration. The use of the Town Hall added immeasurably to the quality of the performance.

 

Enchanting double bass recital with a little cello too, at Lower Hutt

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

J S Bach’s Sonata for Viola da gamba No 2 in D, BWV 1028;
Cello Concerto No 4, third movement (Goltermann);
Fauré: Elegie;
Bottesini: Fantasia on themes from La sonnambula

Alexander Gunchenko (double bass) and Kirsten Simpson (piano), and Daniel Gunchenko (cello)

St Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 22 August, 12.15pm

The double bass is among the orchestral instruments that has struggled to find a respected place in the solo sphere; a bit like the bassoon, its role is sometimes regarded as that of musical comedian.

Yet it’s had at least one famous practitioner, both a virtuoso and a composer (also a conductor who premiered Verdi’s Aida in Cairo), Giovanni Bottesini.

Alexander Gunchenko is one of the contingent of musicians from Ukraine and Russia who were recruited by the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra in the 1990s, and helped raise its standard so dramatically.

Gunchenko, who had only recently left the Tchaikovsky Conservatorium (presumably the one in Kiev) and had a short spell with the Ukraine National Chamber Orchestra, came to New Zealand in 1999. There he continued his studies at Canterbury University; and in 2007 joined the NZSO.

I gather he has been appearing for the Hutt Valley lunchtime concerts annually over the last few years, but this was my first hearing.

Music for the cello and its earlier predecessors can readily be transcribed for the double bass, and the recital began with a sonata for viola da gamba by J S Bach (No 2 in D, BWV1028). Though the bass (which is in fact a descendant of the viola da gamba family, and not a member of the violin family) is not as strongly projecting as the cello which replaced the viola da gamba during the late 17th and early 18th century, it had its own quieter and more mellow sound which has come to be appreciated again in recent times.

That made playing by the bass particularly attractive, for its quietness, once the ears were accustomed to it, gave the music a beauty and refinement that is actually Bach would have had in mind in writing these sonatas. (Accompaniment by a harpsichord would of course have been more appropriate, though Kirsten Simpson’s partnership was always sensitive to the bass’s sound).

The opening Adagio movement was a lovely, if momentarily nervous in intonation, way to engage the mind and accustom the ear. True, the piano did tend to weigh a bit heavily on the bass in the second, Allegro, movement, but the playing was so fluent and genial, enveloping us in its long, nicely expressed phrases, that any dynamic imbalance didn’t matter.

And the next slow movement, now in a slow triple time, was a further demonstration of the bass’s lyrical character, no matter that it was mostly in the low baritone range. Where the notes do go higher, however, it was even more beautifully mellow than a cello could ever be (and I learned and love the cello).

The next item was something a bit special: The young Gunchenko, the 11-year-old Daniel, a cellist who has just completed Grade 5 with, I imagine, rather high marks; his appearance was unadvertised, but a very engaging idea. I too encountered Georg Goltermann’s fourth cello concerto (his dates 1824 – 1898, almost exact contemporary with Bruckner) when I was a student but, somewhat older, I certainly wasn’t getting around the music as fluently as young Daniel did. There are probably good reasons why the name isn’t on everyone’s lips, but this taste of one of his concertos would have made the audience wonder about that. The third movement – the last I imagine – was a tarantella, fast and very rhythmic; the two musicians maintained its pace and togetherness admirably.

Alexander returned to play another cello classic, Fauré’s Élégie. Here, one could easily have been seduced into never wanting to hear it on the cello again, so discreet and, well, elegiac was this performance. The oneness of the two was clearly evident when the piano took over the melody and the bass simply kept it company in warm,  supportive accompanying figures.

The party piece was Bottesini’s Fantasia on themes from La sonnambula, a typical 19th century show-piece that gave audiences the comfort of well-known tunes clothed in unbelievably virtuosic playing. If it looks hard for a violinist to race about the fingerboard in such music, the same behaviour on a much longer fingerboard, with greater difficulty in hitting the exact note, including a lot of high harmonics, was a somewhat breathtaking exhibition.

 

 

Douglas Mews and Broadwood give Haydn his dues

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Haydn: Sonata in C, Hob.XVI:50 (allegro, adagio, allegro molto)

Andante with variations, in F minor, Hob.XVII:6

Sonata in E flat, Hob.XVI:52 (allegro, adagio, presto)

Douglas Mews, 1843 square Broadwood piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 22 August 2012, 12.15pm

It was intriguing to hear such a different piano; this instrument sounded like a cross between a harpsichord and a modern piano.  The three works performed were composed during the early 1790s, when Haydn made two lengthy visits to London.  The programme note described the pianos Haydn would have encountered in London as ‘fundamentally different [in] character to the Viennese pianos he was familiar with.’  It has a rather uneven timbre from bass to the top of its shorter keyboard, but this may be, at least in part, due to its age.  It has quite a range of dynamics compared with that of the harpsichord, but it is not comparable with the range available on the grand piano or upright piano (which had not been developed at the time this piano was made).

Douglas Mews’s programme note states that ‘The English sound was typified by a romantic ‘haze’, which undoubtedly had an effect on Haydn’s writing style’.

The sonata in C was a charming work; the variety of the variations and the modulations in the final movement made it an interesting one as well.  The second work encompassed a great range of dynamics, from delicacy through to the coda’s stormy mood.

In the second sonata, in E flat, I heard the resonance of the instrument more, and also the ‘hazy’ sound of the English piano referred to.  The sonata, to my ears, had more ‘body’ than did the previous one played.  It featured an emphatic first subject in the first movement, and winsome melody in the slow movement, with lilting variations upon it.  The finale was light and very capricious.  The prestidigitation required from Douglas Mews was formidable.

This was something different in the way of a piano recital: skilled playing of delightful music on a different instrument from the species usually encountered.

 

Strumming and fretting en masse at Old St.Paul’s – the N.Z.Guitar Quartet

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Old St.Paul’s Church -Lunchtime Concerts

New Zealand Guitar Quartet

(Owen Moriarty, Tim Wanatabe, Jane Curry and Chris Hill)

Old St.Paul’s Church, Thorndon

Tuesday 21st August 2012

Perhaps it would have all been double the pleasure at Old St. Paul’s for Frederic Chopin, who was reputed to have said “Nothing is more beautiful than a guitar – save, perhaps two!” – no less than the New Zealand Guitar Quartet was here to put the aphorism to the test. A quartet’s worth of guitar players certainly makes a lovely, rich sound, with plenty of opportunities for all of those individual voices, both leading and in the middle, to interact with one another and create such richly-woven tapestries, in fact, small orchestras of sound.

The concert’s venue – Old St.Paul’s – exerted its customary spell over the proceedings, the beauty of the surroundings making up for the lack of adequate sight-lines for any audience member sitting more than a dozen pews back. Some elevation for the performers (as was constructed not so long ago in St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace Church) would certainly help more people to SEE the musicians, and perhaps enhance the sound-projection (the latter, however, seems perfectly adequate for all but the most distant spectators). A few of the softer passages for solo guitar seemed very quiet, but the sound in tutti made, as I’ve already said, a pretty solid, if finely constituted, instrumental ensemble sound.

Attendance at these Old St.Paul’s lunchtime concerts of late (at least the ones I’ve been to) have been surprisingly good, considering (perhaps, because of! ) the inclement weather – and today’s concert was no exception (the attendance AND the weather!). There’s obviously a loyal following for the venture, for all the reasons I’ve mentioned, and in this case the music and the music-making would have contributed greatly to the delight of it all.

The ensemble describes itself in a program note bio as “exciting, dynamic and engaging” – and I’m happy to say that the concert certainly reflected these things. I’ve heard the group play before, and this time around found myself entirely caught up in what was going on, as if everybody’s focus was freshly sharpened and their energies centered right at the music’s heart. Take the opening item, for example, Luigi Boccherini’s Introduction et Fandango, a pleasant though fairly conventional evocation of Spain – or at least one might have previously thought so, until hearing the Quartet’s  full-blooded rendition of the Fandango, digging into the rhythms and accentuating the music’s light-and-dark contrasts. Boccherini? – really?

Jane Curry introduced the next item,a transcription by Owen Moriarty of Bach’s Third Brandenburg Concerto, drawing listeners’ attention to one of the players’ use of a 7-string guitar, the instrument making for a greater range and sonority. Whatever the difference, the reworking of the music (in true Baroque style) was a great success, the music’s bubbling energy carrying all before it in both the first and third movements (a pity the opportunity wasn’t taken in between these episodes for a bit of extempore “sounding” of things suggested both by what had just happened and what was to come, as sometimes happens in this music’s performance). But particularly in the last movement, the counterpoints joyously tumbled over one another in away that would probably have had old Sebastian Bach tapping his feet in approval.

New Zealand composer Craig Utting drew some of his inspiration from the Baroque world for part of a composition called Onslow Suite, using a kind of passacaglia-form underlining a kind of lyrical exchange. The music provides the contrast of a middle section that spontaneously modulates asymmetrically and somewhat remotely, before returning to the passagcaglia figurations with increased rapture, finishing with a final chord of benediction – a lovely work, originally written for two pianos, but here most satisfyingly reworked for guitars.

The group then turned its attention to a work by Andrew York, former player-member of the American Guitar Quartet, the group for whom the music was written. This was called Quiccan, a closely-knit etude for four guitars, allowing each player to explore melody, harmony, and accompaniment. The piece started jazzily, resembling the sounds of a distant festival, one redolent with Latin American rhythms and textures. A slower section allowed the players some breathing-space and a contrasted vantage-point, towards which the ensemble redirected its energies, with the help of some “percussive” effects -all very engaging and attractive. A sudden “break-off” point resulted in a chord whose single chime froze the gestural actions of the musicians and allowed the sounds to resonate briefly and depart – a kind of musical metaphor for human existence.

More familiar territories were the items by Manuel de Falla, to finish the program – two exerpts, arranged by Owen Moriarty, from Falla’s El amor brujo ballet, firstly, the Danza del Terror, plenty of repeated notes, driving rhythms and strutting flourishes, followed by the even better-known Danza ritual del fuego, a performance which brought out something of the music’s dark, primitive side at the beginning, and gave plenty of point to the cross-rhythmed accents in the piece’s middle section. Only at the end did I feel the need for a bit more abandonment on the part of the players, something slightly more animal and physical. I wonder, too, whether the emphasis on tuning the instruments is entirely appropriate during the course of these two pieces – to my way of thinking, far better to keep the impetus and atmosphere on-going between the two dances and let whatever pitch vagaries occur be part of the sweep and drive, of this primitive, elemental aspect of the music.

But, nevertheless, a great concert, nicely presented and vividly projected.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wellington’s Aria Contest remains an important event in vocal students’ calendar

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Wellington Regional Vocal Competitions Aria Final

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday, 19 August 2012, 7.30pm

Eight singers selected from earlier rounds sang an aria in each of the two halves of the  concert, and were judged by Roger Wilson, to decide the winner of the Dame Malvina Major Foundation Prize of $4,000, the runner-up, and other awards.

Accompanist was Mark Dorrell – and what a splendid job he did!  Sixteen arias to be accompanied on a piano and in an acoustic that does not lend itself easily to sensitive accompaniment, but this was impeccable playing.  It seems that never did he need to ask Gerald Moore’s question ‘Am I too loud?’  He received well-deserved applause from the audience at the end of the evening.

The audience was somewhat sparse – about 50 people, excluding the performers.  More advertising would probably pay for itself; indeed, some advertising, such as on Radio New Zealand Concert’s ‘Live Diary’ is free.

The arias chosen were more varied than is sometimes the case; only one was repeated.  Italian arias dominated, naturally, but there were four in the French language, two in English, and one each in Russian and German.  Rossini was the most popular composers, but otherwise, the spread was quite wide.

Richard Greager was compère for the evening, and provided knowledgeable introductory comments on each of the operas represented, and the situation in the plot in which the aria to be sung occurred.

The first of the singers was Angélique MacDonald, singing ‘Regnava nel silenzio’ from Lucia di Lammermoor by Donizetti.  This difficult aria and Lucia’s dramatic role were well characterised, but I found the voice rather metallic at times, and pitch a little suspect here and there.  St. Andrew’s Church has a lively acoustic and is relatively small as a venue, so these things are more obvious.  Her coloratura runs were executed well, and her presentation was in appropriate style.

Next up was Isabella Moore.  She is possessed of a full, rich voice, and apparently easy production.  Her notes are true, and they develop plenty of volume when required, but as well as being dramatic, she sang expressively, in very good French, ‘Il est doux, il est bon’ from a Massenet opera that is not well-known: Herodiade.  My reaction was ‘Wow!’

Now to the first of the male singers: baritone Julien Van Mallaerts.  His ‘Onegin’s Aria’ from Tchaikowsky’s Eugene Onegin was sung most beautifully, in Russian.  He conveyed the character of Onegin superbly well, with good phrasing and most expressive characterisation.

Christie Cook followed, with ‘Printemps qui commence’ from Samson et Dalila by Saint-Saëns.  The top notes of this soprano’s singing were quite lovely; initially, the low notes were not so good, but this changed.  She used her resonators well, particularly here, in the more nasal language that is French, a language that she had mastered effectively.  Her rich voice and excellent shaping of the aria made for a clear and telling performance.

Now to a tenor: Thomas Atkins, who sang a lesser-known aria by Cilea: ‘E la solita storia’, from L’Arlesiana.  Atkins’s voice has developed a more Italianate quality since I last heard him sing (not long ago).  His Federico produced superb tone and phrasing, with quiet and thoughtful sections well expressed.  Excellent control and use of his resonators were features.

One of the interesting features of the final contest is the variety of voices to be heard.  Amelia Ryman is a lyric soprano with a very true voice which she uses expressively.  Her high notes were magical, in ‘Willow Song’ from The Ballad of Baby Doe by Douglas Moore.  I knew nothing about composer or opera, but my Dictionary of Opera and Operetta (by James Anderson) tells me that the composer lived from 1893 to 1969, and composed a number of operas, of  which The Ballad of Baby Doe “was one of the most successful of all American operas”; it was first performed in 1956, only a few years before the first performance of Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the other English language opera from which we heard an excerpt.  These were much the most modern of the arias performed, this one a folk ballad rather than an aria in the usual sense.  Amelia put it over with confidence and freshness.

I wondered if Cameron Barclay’s voice became a little tired towards the end of his aria ‘Il mio tesoro’ from Mozart’s Don Giovanni, after all the earlier rounds and classes in the Hutt Valley Competitions, climaxing in this aria contest.  Otherwise, he sang superbly.   The tenor aria of Don Ottavio suited him well, his pleasing voice sounding particularly good on high notes.  He demonstrated admirable variation of dynamics, and excellent runs.

Last in this half was Bianca Andrew, mezzo-soprano.  She chose ‘I know a bank’ from the Britten opera mentioned.  This was a contrast in styles from much else that was offered.  The character Bianca portrayed was Puck.  The introductory music on the piano was utterly appropriate to the character.  Her words were very clear, but this was a slow aria compared with most we heard – a contrast to her second choice, later.  She made an impressive job of this piece, and her facial expressions and gestures carried the character with them, while her singing was strong and full-bodied,  but with variety as well.

Angélique MacDonald’s aria that opened the second half of the concert, ‘Una voce poco fa’ from The Barber of Seville by Rossini, was another number with coloratura acrobatics, similarly to her aria in the first half.  Perhaps a contrast of style, such as other singers chose to present, would have been advantageous.  Slight flatness of some notes occurred again, but her coloratura passages were good.  I thought her facial expressions a little overdone, and the rendition somewhat too confident and cheeky in presentation.

Isabella Moore’s ‘Tacea la notte placida’ from Il Trovatore by Verdi was a difficult aria which the singer managed well, with a wealth of expression.  Her vibrant tones were just right for the dramatic heroine of this opera.

Rossini and his Barber returned, with Julien Van Mellaerts singing the aria that is probably the most well-known in all opera: ‘Largo al factotum’.  The baritone sang this with great style – and very fast!  His linguistic and vocal facility were remarkable, and his characterisation and acting of the role were excellent after his off-stage beginning, and entrance singing.

In ‘Cruda sorte’ from Rossini’s L’Italiana in Algeri, Christie Cook made a strong  impression.  Her beginning was very powerful; at first her intonation was a little off-centre, but improved.  She had a vocal quality befitting the character of  Isabella, and her top notes were excellent .

Thomas Atkins presented ‘Pourquoi me reveiller?’ from Werther by Massenet, in a very appropriate style for French opera..  His tender notes were wonderful.  My note says “Move over, Pavarotti”!

Amelia Ryman’s clear, agile voice again delivered the words very clearly, in ‘Ach, ich liebte’ from Die Entfürung aus dem Serail by Mozart.  The characterisation was very touching.

Cameron Barclay gave us ‘Je crois entendre encore’ from The Pearl Fishers by Bizet.  The high tessitura in this aria seemed to hold no fears; the tenor’s singing was very fine, and his breath control was splendid.

The only repeat of the evening was Bianca Andrew singing ‘Una voce poco fa’ from The Barber of Seville by Rossini, but at a lower pitch than that adopted by Angélique MacDonald (Rossini cast the role of Rosina for a mezzo).  She introduced it herself, speaking through the extended orchestral introduction (in this case, piano), to give the background to her character’s position.  The aria received a naturalistic presentation, with a certain amount of movement and posing, her voice being a thoroughly integrated part of the performance – and it was in fine form.  She was telling us the story, not showing us how beautifully she could sing.

At the end of proceedings, Angela Gorton spoke on behalf of the Dame Malvina Major Foundation, and adjudicator Roger Wilson spoke of the high level of performance we heard, and the interesting range of music.

Then there was the important business of awards: Julien Van Mallaerts won the Jenny Wollerman Award for the best rendition of a song or aria sung in French; the Robin Dumbell Memorial Cup for the young entrant with the most potential was won by Thomas Atkins; the Rokfire Cup for the most outstanding competitor (i.e. through all the vocal classes that qualified) was Bianca Andrew; the runner-up to the Dame Malvina Major Foundation Aria was Christie Cook, who also took the New Zealand Opera Society prize.  The winner of the Dame Malvina Major Foundation Aria and of the Rosina Buckman Memorial Cup was Isabella Moore.

The audience had a most entertaining evening, hearing singing of a very high standard.  Some singers have greater natural gifts than others – and then it is what the singers do with those gifts that is important.  All showed signs of having received excellent teaching in languages as well as voice, and should feel well pleased with their efforts.

 

 

Remarkable Big Sing National Finale a brilliant success at every level

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Big Sing – National Finale 2012
Organised by the New Zealand Choral Federation

Eighteen competing and four guest choirs, evening compered by Christine Argyle

Wellington Town Hall

Saturday 18 August, 6.30pm

Twenty-two choirs, including four ‘guest choirs’ which are not eligible for an award, from 16 schools came to Wellington for the annual singing jamboree known as The Big Sing, managed by the New Zealand Choral Federation.  The festival began in 1988 when it was separated from the then Westpac Schools Music Contest which included chamber music groups as well as singers.

The latest figures showed that 148 schools, 235 choirs, and 8,440 singers registered to take part this year  nationwide.

The Wellington regional festival had been held on 6 and 7 June in which 33 choirs sang (compared with 36 each from Christchurch and Auckland). Of those 33, five were selected for the Finale: Chilton Saint James School – Seraphim Choir, Tawa College – Twilight Tones, Wellington College – Wellington College Chorale, Wellington East Girls’ College – Cantala, Wellington Girls’ College – Teal Voices.

Wellington choirs won no Golds; three of them won Silver awards, two, Bronze

The choirs to attend the Finale were chosen through an arcane process at the end of the regional festivals that had taken place in June.  They sang to each other and to their friends a families for three days till the three adjudicators had decided which of their pieces should be heard at the Final concert, when august people such as music critics might safely attend.

It’s a mighty production, actually starting around midday Saturday, when the ‘Massed Flash Choir’ sang and made a lot of noise in Civic Square. And the New Zealand Secondary Students Choir was on hand to astonish the drifters-by. Their programme included: Toia Mai (Paraire Tomoana)
Rytmus (Ivan Hrušovský)
Geistliches Lied (Johannes Brahms)
‘Mitten wir im Leben sind’ (Felix Mendelssohn)
Nemesi (John Psathas, commissioned for the 2011-12 NZSSC)
Hamba Lulu (traditional Zulu wedding song arranged by Mike Brewer)
‘Tofa Mai Feleni’ (Trad. Samoan, arr. Steven Rapana)

As the audience entered, most of the choirs were already there or coming in, and they performed in a variety of apparently spontaneous ways. The compere was Christine Argyle, announcer (presenter) on Radio New Zealand Concert. She described what the procedures were and how the organisers had reached this point. Her delivery and comments were useful, interesting and clear yet matched the gaiety of the evening excellently.

I could make certain general remarks about the music and its performance.

The thing feeds on itself. Year by year, the choirs observe the presentation ideas and stunts that proved successful and learn from them, so that few choirs confine themselves merely to singing the piece of music. There is a great variety in costumes, in members’ dispositions on the stage, their actions, hand and facial gestures, in extraneous and intraneous noises and sound effects.

Sometimes one can tell, after a while, how the organisers have been guided in deciding on the order of items: the strongest first or in the middle? grouped together so that contrasts are not too stark? a stunner at the end of the first half to encourage reckless drinks-buying at the Interval?

Those chosen for the Finale was dominated as much as ever by the schools that have become famous for their music, and a couple of them gained places for two choirs: Burnside High in Christchurch, Wellington East Girls’, Tawa, Marlborough Girls’ and Rangitoto colleges, and the two Westlake High schools on the North Shore; and among the private schools, St Cuthbert’s, Chilton St James, King’s College.

The choir that eventually won Platinum sang first: Bel Canto from Burnside High School, with the Gloria from a Mass by Hungarian composer György Orbán. A moderately big choir of tall girls, they are conducted by Sue Densem and also rehearse with a student conductor; they sang a conspicuously bright, non-pious movement with a brisk enthusiasm, sparkling with staccato and easy syncopation, at once setting the tone and a very high standard for the rest of the concert.

Nga Manu tioriori O Kapiti, a girls’ choir (a Reserve Guest choir) from Kapiti College sang ‘I am not yours’ by prominent New Zealand choral composer David Childs. (I heard a Kapiti College Choir sing it in 2009). The chair of the judges panel James Tibbles, in his witty overview at the end, remarked how David Hamilton seemed to have been supplanted as leading New Zealand choral composer by David Childs. Bridget O’Shanassy conducted. However, I thought it a somewhat limp, clichéd piece (ghosts of A Lloyd Webber?) which hardly encouraged the choir to demonstrate their real abilities.

All the King’s Men from the obvious college, is a new choir formed this year; they are conducted by King’s organist and choirmaster Nicholas Forbes. The choir won a Silver award with David Griffiths (only Davids need apply as New Zealand composers) setting of Curnow’s Wild Iron, a poem of short, staccato phrases that did not lend itself to easy delivery, but was handled with skill and intelligence.

From that unique musical by John Kander, Cabaret (Christopher Isherwood, stories, via John van Druten, play), Kristin School’s girls’ choir Euphony sang, with great resourcefulness and wit, ‘Don’t tell Mama’. They sat on low benches and took up changing dispositions, with splendid little vignettes, to create a brilliantly funny rendering, which won them laughter, on top of the shouts and screams (which are almost unvaryingly de rigueur). Cheryl Clarke’s jazz accompaniment was a vital ingredient; with at least some credit to conductor David Squire, it got them a Gold.

Macleans College Choir, Howick sang a Mendelssohn song, In Grünen. It could not have been a greater contrast; though a perfectly unobtrusive song, the experienced hands of their conductor Terence Maskill showed in the way they coped with its demands: in tonally variety, subtlety, in exploring its simple, Romantic era sentiment with integrity and vivacity, all of which they carried off with plain honesty. The judges agreed with my assessment of Gold.

Marist Stella, a guest girls’ choir from Marist College in Auckland, conducted by Rostislava Pankova-Karadjov, tackled Louis Armstrong’s last charts success, in 1968, ‘What a Wonderful World’, with open and unaffected sentimentality. Not the way Armstrong would have played it but, with their undulating tempi, care and feeling, he’d have loved them for it.

Mandate, another pun-title choir from Otago Boys’ High School, sang another comic scena ‘Kiss the Girl’ which I’ve heard sung at an earlier Big Sing. They have made the Finale several times since 1996 and have been conducted by Karen Knudson since 1998. It’s a barbershop number, tackled with manly confidence by this 35-or-so choir, with odd accompanying sound effects and discreet witty gestures. The crowd loved it and the judges too: Silver.

Christine calmed audience alarm by disclosing that SOS means ‘Sisters of Soul’. The auditioned girls’ choir of 38 members from Rangitoto College was founded in 1992 by Jillian Rowe, and they have reached the Finale most years since then. Under Karen Roberts they sang Beau Soir, an arrangement of a Debussy song that one might have had difficulty attributing. This short, not very remarkable song, in very fair French, had attributes similar to Macleans College Choir’s Mendelssohn; the virtue of unpretentiousness and plain, attractive musicality. It too won them a Silver.

Another Rangitoto College choir, The Fundamentals (how pervasive is the widespread fashion among pop bands for taking abstract nouns as their names), also sang Mendelssohn, in German: three poems by Heine together entitled Tragödie. Curiously enough, I heard them sung recently at a Bach Choir concert: this performance captured them with a little more youthful enthusiasm. The choice of these songs involved more than fundamentals, and their polish, dynamic variety and tonal precision, singing unaccompanied, were well handled by conductor, Jonathan Palmer. They demonstrated elegant expressive gestures which I thought might have gained them better than Bronze.

Bella Voce, from Marlborough Girls’ College, directed by Robin Randall, has done well over the years. They sang, with gestures that were not really integrated in the performance, the spiritual ‘Aint no grave can hold my body down’. It’s a well-schooled choir but they gained only Bronze. Here too it was useful to bear in mind that the judges’ decisions are based, not on the evening’s performances, but on their singing in the previous two days.

Burnside’s auditioned mixed choir, Senior Chorale, also under Sue Densem, sang the gently sentimental, a cappella, Earth Song. It might not be an especially arresting song but it made an impact through their slow, quiet, restrained approach, with exquisite dynamic and tone control. But there was real integrity here and they made quite an impression. I was not surprised at their Gold award.

The first half ended with The Seraphim Choir, the premier auditioned choir from Lower Hutt’s Chilton St James School, singing another disguised Debussy song, Nuits d’étoiles. Again in quite good French, conducted by Ella Buchanan Hanify and accompanied by Hugh McMillan, the song is hardly a masterpiece, but it is a good choice to offer judges of taste and refinement, who properly awarded Silver.

Wellington Girls’ College opened the second half; their Teal Voices (teal, the school colour) sang ‘Like a Rainbow’ which involved many repetitions of those words. Though he’s a prolific American choral composer of some renown, Bob Chilcott’s song seemed to do the choir few favours, though the performance, guided by Nicola Sutherland and Michael Fletcher employing small groups or individual voices attractively, was imaginative enough. A Bronze.

Viva Camerata from Wairarapa’s Rathkeale and St Matthew’s Collegiate, a guest choir, sang another comedy number, The Driving Lesson. The choir, conducted by Kiewiet van Deventer and accompanied by Adam Gordon, enacted the little skit effectively if without great flair, but its slender, somewhat obvious wit needed more adult skills than a teenage group is likely to command.

Saint Cuthbert’s in Auckland also entertained the crowd with ‘Johnny said No’; their auditioned choir. Saints Alive, under the direction of Megan Flint, with light and deft singing and discreet, comic gestures, carried it off in a certain droll style, which gained them a Silver award.

A mixed choir, Twilight Tones, an auditioned choir within Tawa College’s main choir, the Dawn Chorus, sang ‘Give me Jesus’. Alongside so many choirs exhibiting flair in both singing, histrionics and comic talents, something special is needed in presenting a traditional religious song. The singing, under Isaac Stone, was technically fine, under good, unostentatious control, but something was needed to lift it from the merely very good.

Saint Kentigern College from Auckland sent a large guest choir, Menasing (get it?). It’s unauditioned, in its first year. Their party piece was a highly effective performance, guided by Lachlan Craig and involving bass and drums, plus piano, as well as comic sound effects, of ‘I’ll fly away’. It elicited stentorian teenage shrieks as bassist took his instrument under his arm, like a guitar.

Con Brio is no stranger to the Big Sing. From Villa Maria College in Christchurch, they included a double-ended drum to accompany, otherwise a cappella, the Xhosa song, Dubula. Their party piece was to launch by throwing off their jerseys. But they also captured the African sound brilliantly. The fact that their conductor, Rosemary Turnbull, stood aside to some effect, might have prompted the remark by Tibbles about the conductor as sometimes surplus to requirements.

Wellington College Chorale, an auditioned choir, sang Toki Toki, a Malaysian song arranged by their conductor Katie Macfarlane. Bearing ethnic relationships in mind, it revealed a quality that could have been Polynesian, and it gave the performance an air of idiomatic ease. They judged their movements carefully and achieved a performance that was vocally skilled and visually effective, gaining a Silver award.

Cantala, from up the hill at Wellington East Girls’ College which had been in the news with its triumphant recent international tour also won (only) a Silver. Dressed in one of the prettiest of all the costumes, their droll song, Bitte Betti, was enacted with refinement and restraint but through that achieved a performance that both revealed some fine individual voices and excellent ensemble singing, not to mention the skilful direction of Brent Stewart.

David Squire conducts Westlake Boys’ High School choir, Voicemale, of round 50 boys. They sang ‘Embraceable You’ from Gershwin’s Girl Crazy, a fairly short song, but more than enough to prove splendid balance of the parts and ensemble, all in a perfectly gauged style, gaining them a Silver award.

Placed at the end of the concert was another choir with a punning conflation of a name, Choralation, from a conflation of Westlake Boys’ and Girls’ High Schools. In the previous three years they gained the Platinum Awards and this year had to settle for Gold. They did that under Rowan Johnston with the Gloria from Bob Chilcott’s Little Jazz Mass, which called for guitar, bass and drums as well as sparkling supported in by their pianist.

The Big Sing does not end there, but continued with snippets of a video of the lunchtime spectacles and speeches; the most insightful came from the chairman of the adjudicators’ panel, James Tibbles, hinting at the need to explore a greater variety of New Zealand composers, and of getting more representation of Maori music and singing which are distinctly absent, though glancing at the choirs appearing at the regional sessions, it looks as if choirs with a larger Maori element simply don’t quite achieve the level demanded. (I wonder whether, as in so many aspects of the way in which Maori prefer to follow paths in education and the arts that tends to view their own culture on terms equal to the rest of the world, their music achievements are disadvantaged by disregarding the importance of the universal world of classical music).

Thus the award for the performance of a song with Maori text went to Saints Alive from St Cuthbert’s, from a not very large field.

The Minister for Culture and Heritage Chris Finlayson spoke and handed out the awards, which have been mentioned in the remarks about each choir. His admiration for the entire fabric of the festival reflected what is certainly felt by all involved, that it is probably remarkable at an international level for qualities like collegiality and generosity, for the huge variety of musical styles and cultures that flourish, and that the size of the country makes possible the staging of an event of this kind that reaches such a wide and disparate range of communities.

It’s also necessary to recognise the extraordinary feat of organization by teachers and choral federation workers throughout the country in regional and national phases of the Big Sing festival.

It ended with all 750 or so, shoulder-to-shoulder on the choir stalls in massed singing of two South African songs, just rehearsed, conducted by Andrew Withington, conductor of the NZSSC. And organist Thomas Gaynor, a couple of days before leaving to take up a scholarship at the Eastman School of Music in New York State, accompanied the massed singing, by choirs and audience, of the National Anthem.

 

Dancing in the Cathedral – Mozart and Bruckner from Simone Young and the NZSO

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Cathedrals of Sound – New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

MOZART – Symphony No.36 in C Major K.425 “Linz”

BRUCKNER – Symphony No.5 in B-flat

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Simone Young (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Friday 17th August, 2012

“A Bruckner Symphony is never just another concert” declared conductor Simone Young, interviewed a few days before her scheduled pair of performances of the Austrian composer’s Fifth Symphony, in Wellington and in Auckland. Not only did she mean that, more especially in this Southern Pacific area of the globe, performances of these symphonies are fewer and further between than in some other parts of the world. It was also an affirmation by a musician who’s already a great interpreter of these works, of their special character, part of which incorporates the power within the music to transform a normal concert experience into something uniquely special and truly memorable. And those qualities were precisely what we got from Bruckner, Simone Young and the NZSO  in Wellington’s Michael Fowler Centre on Friday night.

For a number of reasons the appearance of Australian-born Young excited considerable interest – women conductors of orchestras are still very much the exception rather than the norm (though we’ve come some distance, I think, from the once-prevailing attitude voiced by former NZSO conductor-in-chief Franz-Paul Decker, who was once famously quoted as finding women conductors “aesthetically unpleasing”!). Young is, moreover, perhaps the most highly-regarded woman conductor in Europe, with a particularly high profile in Germany, working as she does out of the Hamburg State Opera, and as music Director of the Hamburg Philharmonic.

She’s something of a controversial figure as well, having been “at odds” with a former employer, Australian Opera, over her budgeting demands during her tenure as the company’s artistic director, resulting in her contract not being renewed after only a couple of seasons. As it turned out Australia’s loss was Europe’s gain, as her dual appointments in Hamburg followed soon after – musical director of both the city’s opera and the Philharmonic Orchestra, posts she took up in 2005. Her native country had, by then moved to make some amends for her peremptory dismissal from the Opera, appointing her a Member of the Order of Australia in 2004.

2012 is an important year for her – besides having made her debut with the NZSO, she is bringing to Brisbane the Hamburg Opera and Ballet and the Philharmonic, performing a concert version of Das Rheingold (she is a seasoned Wagnerian with several Ring Cycles to her credit, including a complete recording) and the Mahler “Resurrection” Symphony. New Zealanders who might feel aggrieved that the “Hamburg Invasion” doesn’t include these shores might consider that neither does the venture include Sydney or Melbourne, Queensland wanting “exclusive rights” to the venture – now, why does that have a familiar ring?

With all of these things in mind, expectations were pirouetting on points among the audience awaiting the conductor’s entry to begin the Wellington concert. Diminutive, but authoritative, Young took the podium, and, dispensing with a baton, launched into the concert’s first offering, the Mozart “Linz” Symphony K.425.  Of course, the geographic links with Bruckner (Linz was the latter’s birth-place) made the choice a happy and appropriate one, though there were other possibilities of programming – one being the Fifth Symphony of yet another Austrian composer, Schubert, whom Bruckner is often linked with regarding his symphonic method. I would have been as happy with either.

Thanks to my formative listening experience with the Mozart “Linz” symphony I can’t, even after all these years, get Bruno Walter’s voice on his famous rehearsal recording of this work, out of my head through that opening – “Bahnn – off! Ba-bahnn – off! Ba-bahnn – off! ….” and so on (Walter’s orchestra was having trouble with the note values!). There seemed no such problem, here, the sounds focused, crisp and precise, yet with a warmth (no didactic vibrato-less “authentic” strictures, thank goodness!) and, indeed a glow about the textures throughout the slow introduction, which informed the lovely easeful beginning to the allegro, and made a wonderful contrast with the more bumptious and high-spirited energies to follow.

It was Mozart-playing that reminded me at times of Benjamin Britten’s recordings of some of the symphonies – the same marriage of lyricism and strength, informed by an attention to detail which enriches the music’s context rather than distracts from the flow. Young conducted, it seemed, with every fibre of her being, her fingertips expressing and conveying a kind of whole-body energy which mirrored what the music was doing (as she did later in the evening with the Bruckner), her feet dancing and her knees launching the rest of her body upwards to characterize the “lift” required by the music’s rhythms.

The orchestral playing, though not without some brass “blurps” at two or three cardinal points throughout the slow movement (the players settling in more as the work progressed), produced sounds that seemed an expression of Young’s will, the strings and winds getting a lovely colour, either when “playing out” or with the more softly-lit sequences in the movement’s middle section. As for the bright, vigorous, but still elegant Minuet, Young literally led the opening dance to the audience’s delight, and then got beautifully contrasted characterizations from the winds in the Trio.

The finale again married grace and strength, the players’ articulation clear and crisp at speed, even if Young’s direction slightly “squeezed” the rhythm of the concluding downward arpeggiated figure each time, as if stressing the music’s urgency. Throughout, we enjoyed the prominence accorded the timpani, Laurence Reece encouraged to make the notes tell with just the right amount of emphasis, enhancing both the work’s texture and rhythmic character.

Back from an interval – during which it seemed the conductor’s red shoes (prominent during all those dance steps) were discussed as enthusiastically as her music-making – we settled down to behold the splendors of the Bruckner Symphony. And what splendors they were, in Young’s hands (aided by a baton for this music – doubtless due to a bigger orchestra and music with some rhythmic complexity). The rapt opening of the work recalled Russian conductor Vasily Petrenko’s way with the opening of the “Leningrad” Symphony, almost exactly a year ago in this same hall with the same players – utter concentration upon sounds whose genesis here seemed deeply elemental, like a giant slumberer’s distantly-wrought heartbeat, with those deep pizzicato notes beautifully and sensitively coloured by the upper strings’ arc-lines. What a beginning to a symphony!

During the “Listener” interview previously quoted Young stated that she thought an older school of conductors’ way with Bruckner’s music had contributed to public perception of the works being “overlong”, and that she saw the symphonies as being more direct, theatrical and emotional than they were often played. So, here, the massive brass statements which answered the quiet opening were given with plenty of declamatory force, the playing nicely poised amid pauses for the utmost effect (a magnificent brass response, here, from the orchestra) – and the allegro which followed was swiftly and urgently propelled. Young handled the transitions throughout the numerous changes of tempo in the first movement with the utmost flexibility, moulding the ends of episodes into the silences with beautifully-judged luftpauses. She also seemed ever-ready to allow the music to dance, so that the monumental, cathedral-like aspect of the work was less dominant than is usually the case.

Such was the concentration and energy of the music-making from all concerned that each of the first three movements seemed to be taken on the wing of a single breath. The sometimes problematic opening to the Adagio, with its awkward three-against-two rhythms, here flowed as mellifluously as could be, the music’s innate restlessness perfectly expressed, and the oboe solo’s emotional outpouring simple and direct. The strings’ luscious second-subject theme grew lovely, upward-reaching tendrils of sound, then joined with the brass unforgettably in a snowcapped climactic moment that filled the ensuing silence with magic. And towards the end, with the brass golden and confident, the sound-surges evoked by Young and her players created out of the spaces around us whole mountains and valleys into which the tapestried ambiences etched lonely impulses of wind tones and softly-thrummed silences.

After this came the scherzo, with its outlandish stop-go aspect, and rhythmic sequences alternating between demonic energy and heavy-footed rustic bonhomie, Young and the players (especially the brass) revelling in the quick-fire alternations. If not all of the brass detailing was entirely accurate, what was far more important was capturing the music’s quirkiness and volatility, the textures here in constant and spontaneous effervescence, in places laughter “holding both its sides”, while in others, such as throughout the trio, rustic charm prevailed, the detailing from winds and brass again treasurable (a lovely gurgling upward arpeggio from the clarinet at one point, and beautiful chording from the horns towards the end).

The opening of the finale (a similar hush to that of the symphony’s beginning) was almost spoilt by unfortunate audience coughing – as, earlier in the evening, a flurry of late audience arrivals had interrupted the Mozart Symphony’s slow movement. Fortunately the clarinet’s perky octave jumps (a precursor of the fugue to come) seemed to refocus the attention of the coughers, so that we could all concentrate on the Beethoven-like reintroduction of themes from the symphony’s earlier movements, prior to the fugue’s hugely dramatic first entry-proper. In Young’s hands, as she promised, the music was more lithe and muscular than leviathan-like, making for engaging, closely-worked arguments between voices, and advancing the music’s progress towards a promised climax or sense of fruition.

That came, of course, with those mighty closing brass chorales, which capped off the mountain ranges of music running like a spinal cord through the structures. My first reaction there was to crave a more overtly “grand” manner than Young was directing – she drove the orchestra straight into those mighty statements while keeping the music’s underlying pulse beating, risking a “more of the same” feeling rather than creating an overwhelming sense of arrival and resolution. But what her approach did do was, in the long run, elevate the status of the whole of the finale to that of a truly cosmic dance, the rhythmic drive working hand-in-glove with the “cathedrals of sound” – so that, in the midst of these mighty structures right at the end, we still felt like dancing with the music.

So – it was music-making of one’s dreams from orchestra and conductor, suitably acclaimed by a delighted audience at the end – how long will it be before we can invite Simone Young back again to make more music?

 

 

 

 

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

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Youth Orchestra Winter Concert

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

MOZART – Requiem (arr. Maunder)

Amelia Ryman (soprano) / Alison Hodge (contralto)

Cameron Barclay (tenor) / Matthew Landreth (bass)

Wellington Youth Choir (Katie Macfarlane – Music Director)

Wellington Youth Orchestra

Hamish McKeich (conductor)

Wellington Town Hall,

Sunday 12th August, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blistering Brahms, diaphanous Dutilleux and monumental Mozart, from Amici and Diedre Irons

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Chamber Music

Amici Ensemble with Diedre Irons (piano)

MOZART – Piano Quartet in G MInor K.478

DUTILLEUX – String Quartet “Ainsi la Nuit” (Thus the Night)

BRAHMS – Piano Quintet in F Minor Op.34

Ilott Theatre, Wellington

Sunday, 12th August, 2012

Blame Captain Haddock of the “Tintin” books for my “Blistering Brahms” heading – the other descriptions are more conventional, but no less heartfelt on my part. For this was a magnificent concert, a memorable marriage of great music and music-making, very much a “gentlemen of England now abed.…” scenario if ever there was one, for we lucky people in the audience.

With Mozart in his “G Minor mood” there was drama and dark purpose right from the concert’s beginning, with the composer’s K.478 Piano Quartet. The expression on Diedre Irons’ face, ready to plunge into the opening bars with her ensemble colleagues spoke volumes, really. The musicians relished it all, the major/minor mirrorings of the opening phrases, the piquant asymmetries of the lyrical contrasts and the richly unexpected modulations of the development – all contributed tellingly to a powerful, all-pervading ambivalence of mood throughout the opening movement.

Violinist Donald Armstrong led the ensemble with a will, his tone perhaps a little raw in places, but the sound indicative of the intensity of feeling he was investing with the notes. Mozart’s usual dictum “It should flow like oil” was here augmented with episodes of intense, knife-edged focus. Diedre Irons’ piano took the lead with the development, as always with her playing the tones coloured and inflected with what seemed like a Shakespearean kind of eloquence. In reply, the strings’ long-breathed lines were gorgeous, filled with intense feeling.

The operatic Andante sang out here, melody and counter melody drawing forth lines and accompaniments of great strength, the music never sentimentalized (a beautiful contribution from Julia Joyce’s viola at one point). The finale’s opening seemed a long way from the tragedy of the opening movement’s utterances. We heard such supple, beautifully-placed dovetailing at quite a cracking pace, everything made to “bubble” and generate high spirits, though with some lurches into a darker minor mood in places – the composer obviously saying, “Just to let you know that….” with these sequences.

After these antiquarian tragicomedies, the following work, a String Quartet from 1976 by Henri Dutilleux subtitled Ainsi la nuit (Thus the night)  brought a new earth to view. Donald Amstrong spoke before the work’s performance about its “organized disorganization”, a statement which seemed to characterize most aptly the sonorities and figurations that we encountered throughout. The opening sequences certainly suggested the Nocturne of the title, with haunting repetitions, punctuated by what might be characterized as owl-cries or distant ship-horns at sea. The ambiences seemed layered, so that as skins of texture were discarded others seemed firmly fixed in place underneath. After this, the Miroir d’espace that was Movement Two irrupted with sharp impulses, before the sounds widened spectrally between a haunting violin line and  a near-subterranean cello, creating a yawning vista between, flecked with instrumental incident.

Each of two sections that follow were subtitled Litanies, the first closely-worked and claustrophobic, concerted passages interspersed with instrumental “adventures”, while the second sounded a kind of siren’s song, with elements of a lament, a sort of chromatic welling up from the depths and gathering strands of sharp focus together. I thought the players’ characterizations of these many and widely-contrasted sound-impulses vivid and compelling. Just as focused was the playing in Constellations, rhythmic, spiky and volatile, as if part of the cosmos was in ferment, the music expressing that “disorganized organization” Donald Armstrong talked about.

Such were the mesmeric qualities of the sounds, I found myself drifting into the music quite non-analytically at some points, losing my overview of things in impulses of delight, and then having to regretfully resist further blandishments. Even so, the last two sections of the work remain indissoluble in my mind, the music’s ambient world establishing such a sense of organic flow at this stage in the piece, the divisions were subsumed and everything became as one, a veritable “memory footprint” established by those sounds, one which haunts me even as I write this.

As if these whole-world-entities weren’t enough, after the interval we were given the full high-romantic gamut of emotion, refracted through the Brahmsian end of things. The composer’s great Piano Quintet had to claw its way through two separate gestations – firstly for strings alone, then for two pianos – before emerging in its finished form. I found the comments made by friends of the composer regarding each of these “tryouts” interesting – violinist Joseph Joachim found that the strings-alone version “lacked charm”, and the great conductor Hermann Levi told Brahms that he had turned “a monotonous work for two pianos” into a masterpiece of chamber music. Brahms destroyed the strings-only work, but the two-piano version still exists as the Sonata Op.34b.

What the Piano Quintet version of the music gives us is the work’s structural strength expressed in a “best-of-both-worlds” garb – and these were the musicians to do the music’s strength, colour and lyricism justice. The sombre opening was played in a way that hinted at the turbulence to come – a big, quasi-orchestral sound that reflected the word of the piano concertos, with Diedre Irons’ playing underpinning the grandeur of the music’s range and scope. The give-and-take between instruments had a satisfyingly full-blooded quality – only once did I find the playing of the strings too insistent, a repeated-note sequence towards the end of the development which dominated rather than accompanied the piano’s material. Conversely, I found the ‘cello occasionally not forthright enough in such company, though Rowan Prior’s counterpointing was invariably beautifully voiced and phrased.

Throughout the work the musicians never let the intensity flag, the slow movement enshrining the most passionate lyricism (a beautiful unison from violinist Cristina Vaszilcsin and Julia Joyce shining out at one point, and a plumbing of the depths from Rowan Prior’s ‘cello at another), with everybody else similarly “playing out” and realizing the emotional potentialities of the music. And, what could have been merely high spirits in the scherzo had a supercharged, “possessed” quality – no half-measures! I loved the players’ engagement with it all, the fugal sections swirling up into the festive, swaggering theme, making a great dramatic contrast with the reprise of the opening, after the trio.

What mattered more than the less-than-ideally-pure string intonations at the finale’s beginning was the mood the players evoked, portents of impending tragedy, to which the ‘cello and piano then moved swiftly and hauntedly. With Brahms moving from light to darkness through different sequences the music’s roller-coaster ride was exhilarating, rhythmic poise turning almost without warning to pursuit on occasions. The playing simply kept up its extraordinarily vivid and physical effect right to the end, where the 6/8 Presto whirled our sensibilities away, flinging the music’s last few notes out into oblivion. It was, I thought, afterwards, the kind of music-making that makes life worth living.