NZSM Saxophone orchestra, quintet and quartet beguile at lunchtime

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music
Fugue in G minor “Great”, BWV 542 for saxophone quintet (J.S. Bach, arr N. Woods)
Cantilene  for saxophone quintet (Ida Gotkovsky)
PR Girl for saxophone quintet         (Andrew Tweed)
Saxophone Quartet (Alfred Desenclos)
Toccata and Fugue in G Minor(?) (D minor, BWV 565) (J.S.Bach, arr. Guy Lacour for saxophone orchestra)
Tango for saxophone orchestra (Stravinsky, arr. J van der Linden)
Slava! for saxophone orchestra (Bernstein, arr. J van der Linden)

 

Conductor: Simon Brew, Leader: Reuben Chin, Artistic direction: Debbie Rawson. 

 

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

 

Wednesday 25 May, 12.15pm

 

At the New Zealand School of Music, Deborah Rawson attracts a lot of students to the saxophone. And her success in getting skilled performers into the community, as well as in the periodic concerts given by students and others, such as her long-standing ensemble, Saxcess, is slowly bringing a realization of the place of the instrument(s) in the classical music sphere.

 

While the jazz world was almost entirely dominated by the alto and tenor saxes, with one or two notable exceptions like baritone player like Gerry Mulligan and sopranist Sidney Bechet, the classical genre has become more accustomed to the whole consort of saxes which, on the showing of this concert, numbers at least six.

 

No details of either the pieces (only composers’ names, not in order) or the players was available at the concert, which led to a guessing game, in which I scored poorly. I got marks only for Bach and Stravinsky; I obtained details later.

 

Two of the most successful pieces in the concert were Bach’s ‘Great’ fugue in G minor played by the quintet, and the Toccata and Fugue in D minor played by the orchestra. The latter, particularly, created a rich sound that did justice very interestingly to the character of the original. The fanfare elements in the Toccata were splendidly arresting while the differing ranks of instruments allowed the various fugal passages to be heard distinctly.

 

I thought it worked a little better than the Fugue, which was arranged for quintet (Reuben Chin – soprano, Emma Hayes-Smith – alto, Annelise Kreger – alto, Katherine Maciaszec – tenor, Geraint Scott – baritone). It was played fairly quickly which seemed to make it harder to achieve variety of colour; but I enjoyed the way the soprano soared above the others, and it was the one, like a soprano voice carrying an aria, that allowed touches of a humanizing rubato to surface. 

 

Ida Gotkovsky was born in 1933 and is Professor of Composition at the Paris Conservatoire. She has composed for all main genres, including many solo and chamber pieces for saxophone.

 

Her Cantilene for quintet opened in deliberate manner, led by alto then tenor in plaintive tones. A second phase developed a lighter character, with arresting ostinati from tenor and soprano saxes. I was safe to have guessed this as post-Messiaen French: I hadn’t heard of the composer.

 

Andrew Tweed’s PR Girl was introduced by fast didgeridoo sounds (so I suspected he might have been Australian, though I find he is a British saxophonist/composer, born 1963) on baritone sax, followed by lively, entertaining jazz strains, modulating to satisfying effect towards the end.

 

The major work of the concert was the saxophone quartet by Alfred Desenclos, a major figure in the saxophone world, played by the quintet members minus Annelise Kreger. Written by the 50-year-old Desenclos in 1962, it could have come from no other national school than that of Françaix and Poulenc  A website comment reads: “it is one of the very few really substantial sonatas in the saxophone repertoire… technical and artistic challenges abound.”

 

In three movements: Allegro non troppo, Andante poco largo, Allegro energico, it immediately created an air of expectation, as the introduction ended in a string of evanescent rising scales, and the movement continued in vivacious spirit. The second movement rose slowly from a somnolent state to a mood of peaceful dreaminess. The third movement set off with little fanfare motifs which accelerated in syncopated rhythms, and the four parts entered into a somewhat fugal episode which became quite excitable. But I was somewhat disconcerted as it approached its end to become aware of a certain tonal monotony in the patterns of the four instruments; would I have had a similar reaction to the music if it had been played by four stringed instruments? I don’t know.

 

Nevertheless, the performance brought it to life with a variety of thoughful expressive colourings and dynamic contrasts.

 

Then the saxophone orchestra emerged from the vestry: eleven of them: the quintet plus six non-students (David McGregor – sopranino, Debbie Rawson – soprano, Lauren Draper – alto, Hayden Sinclair – tenor, Will Hornabrook – tenor, Graham Hanify – bass), plus conductor Simon Brew.

 

Their first piece was Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor, BWV 565.  As I remarked at the beginning it was a very striking arrangement, replicating organ sounds most convincingly. I was impressed too by the conductor’s decisive guidance and his ability to hold a lively pulse, dramatic energy and to command excellent ensemble. It was followed by Tango by Stravinsky, one of the first pieces he wrote after arriving in the United States in 1940. It proved a colouful, effective piece that the orchestra played carefully, with some fine comic gestures.

 

Finally came a short party piece that seemed to come out of Sousa, Ibert and Chabrier. I was surprised, on getting the complete list of music, to find it was by Bernstein, called Slava!; the name Sousa had occurred to me at the time without imagining it to be American. 

 

All the players did a splendid job in all phases of the concert, in persuading us of the saxophones’ legitimacy as solo, chamber music and orchestral instrument.

 

Tasmin Little clothed, with naked violin, in diverting recital

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Naked Violin

Playing and talking about the violin: Luslawice Variations by Paul Petterson; Bach: Solo Violin Sonata No 1, BWV 1001 and Partita No 3, BWV 1006; Eugène Isaÿe: Sonata in D minor, Op 27 No 3 ‘Ballade’

Tasmin Little (violin)

Ilott Theatre

Sunday 22 May, 3pm

Tasmin Little is in New Zealand as one of the adjudicators for the Michael Hill International Violin Competition, but she has also played the Sibelius Concerto with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra and a solo concert in Christchurch in the place of a concert with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra since the earthquake damaged the Town Hall.

Her Naked Violin performances was arranged in Hamilton and Wellington through the chamber music societies in each city.

It is encouraging that eminent musicians such as Little are more often being invited to perform in contexts additional to the main purpose of their visit, in other places around the country. Too often in the past, players of international renown come to play a concerto with an orchestra, but no effort is made to set up solo recitals for them, even in the city in which they play.

Interviews on both National Radio and RNZ Concert during the past week revealed an engaging and sparkling personality and they may well have led to a full Ilott Theatre. Her routine involves no comedy one-liners or risqué gags – ‘Naked’ was clearly sufficient enticement.

After explaining what she aimed to do she took us step by step through the first piece, named for the place of a Polish chamber music festival, by English composer Paul Patterson. By the time the performance arrived the themes that she’d laid out sounded like old favourites (almost). It was no doubt chosen for the range of violinist playing devices that it demands, from left hand pizzicato to spiccato and false harmonics through the length of each string.

Parts of two Bach solo violin pieces followed. Two movements each from the Sonata No 1 in G minor and the Partita No 2 in E minor. Her playing is personally undemonstrative; rather, its impact on the audience came from its obvious and straightforward urge to make contact musically with the audience, just as she had through her open and self-effacing dialogue with them.

In the middle of the programme Tasmin invited questions from the floor about anything relating to the violin, the music or to her own experiences and intentions. That resulted in some interesting questions, and answers, about ‘historically-informed’ performance, how Bach would find performances of his music today, the way the performer might alter what the composer had in mind, how she managed to achieve success as a performer. Her reply to the small girl’s question, what was ‘her favourite song’ when she was young, might not have meant a lot to her (a piece by Delius).

Her last piece was the third solo violin sonata by Eugène Isaÿe; though I’ve heard it played several times and admire many aspects, it still sounds more like a very elaborate cadenza which I expect to end with the awaited ‘cadence’ that allows the orchestra to re-enter the fray. However, the performance was, like all her other playing, marked by an unostentatious mastery and a musicality that drew attention simply to the musical qualities of the piece.

Aeolian Players play for mulled wine at Paekakariki

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Hotteterre: Suite no.3 for oboe and basso continuo, Op.5
Bach: Sonata for viola da gamba and harpsichord in G, BWV 1027
Telemann: Trio Sonata for oboe, viola da gamba and basso continuo in G minor
Forqueray: “La Sylva” and “Jupiter” from Pièces de Clavecin Bach: Trio Sonata, BWV 528
Buxtehude: Passacaglia from Sonata IV

Mulled Wine Concert
The Aeolian Players (Ariana Odermatt, harpsichord; Margaret Guldborg, cello; Calvin Scott, oboe; Peter Garrity, viola)

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday, 22 May 2011, 2.30pm

The Memorial Hall was not completely full, but there were probably over 100 people present to hear this concert of baroque music. Despite all the music being from the same era, there was considerable variety both in the music, and in the size of ensemble playing the various works.

Another matter of interest was the marvellous ‘Fishart’ exhibition on the walls. Many items were highly detailed illustrations of fish, some in the form of multiple small fish together making the shape of a whale’s tail, or a seahorse or other form. Others were punning assemblages of drawings and cogs in the various situations dogs might find themselves in (and indeed, most of the cogs were in doggy shapes), and other humorous art works made from found materials.

All this was the work of former Dominion cartoonist, Eric Heath. The wide scope of the exhibition and the skilled, colourful and accurate representations of fish were quite breathtaking.

The prelude of the first work on the programme immediately revealed what good acoustics the hall has for the oboe – and for the other instruments too. Unlike the case with other concerts I have attended at the Memorial Hall, this time the players were placed alongside the long wall on the sea side of the hall, the chairs for the audience being arranged in a semi-circle facing them. Hence it was much easier for the audience to see the performers than at previous concerts, when the musicians have been at the end of the hall. This siting seemed to improve the sound, also.

The five-movement suite was beautifully executed. There was robust cello playing, and plenty of contrast between the movements, with the lively Gigue ending a thoroughly committed performance.

In the Bach sonata, the viola was used in place of viola da gamba. The problem was that the superbly full, rich sound of the viola in Garrity’s hands was quite different from the sound of a viola da gamba, and did not fit well with the harpsichord sound, which was somewhat overwhelmed. Odermatt’s harpsichord playing was excellent. If here and elsewhere she sometimes lacked the flair of more mature harpsichord players, that may be something that will come in time. To be fair, these were mostly fully written parts as distinct from basso continuo parts. However, the Buxtehude Passacaglia at the end perhaps gave scope for more individual interpretation and variation, since the harpsichord part was endlessly repeated.

Telemann’s sonata employed all four instruments. Again, the oboe sound was mellifluous, while the viola sounded more baroque than it had in the Bach sonata. This was a delightful and most satisfying work.

It occurred to me, reading the details of the composers and the excellent programme notes, that we are fortunate that all these composers were long-lived; Bach the least so, since he died at 65; still a good life-span for his time. Hotteterre made it to 89. Thus there has been passed down to us a great body of compositions to enjoy. When we come to the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, there are the untimely early deaths of Mozart, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Chopin and Schumann who, though prolific, never survived to the ages of their baroque predecessors, and thus we do not know what they might have written as they matured.

An aim of Mary Gow, who promotes these Paekakariki concerts, is to provide performances with unusual combinations of instruments, and that was certainly true this time. The oboe-playing of Calvin Scott was quite superb. His phrasing, and that of the other players, was very good, although there was not always a feeling of complete ensemble. Inaccuracies of intonation were few and slight, in the Buxtehude work only.

Forqueray’s “La Sylva” piece was a very graceful and appealing item for solo harpsichord. “Jupiter” was played with the manuals coupled (hence much louder) alternating with use of the upper manual only. This was much faster than the other piece. The contrasting sections and use of the lower register of the harpsichord made it most interesting. These were delightfully varied and imaginative pieces.

Bach’s trio sonata is probably more familiar as played on the organ. Hearing it on four separate instruments, with their distinctive timbres was stimulating. After the very short, very slow opening adagio, there was a gutsy vivace, that nevertheless had refinement too. After a smooth andante, the allegro was exciting and very intricate in places. Again, I felt the viola had too much vibrato; the oboe once more was impressive.

All four performed in the Buxtehude also. There was fast interplay between oboe and viola, while the harpsichord played her bass line over and over (how did she know when to stop?)

The concert was relatively short, and none the worse for that, on a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon – and much appreciated by the audience.

Antoni Wit and cellist Hurtaud score in wonderful NZSO concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima (Penderecki); Cello Concerto No 2 in D (Haydn); Symphony No 3 in E flat ‘Eroica’ (Beethoven)

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Antoni Wit with cellist Sébastien Hurtaud

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Saturday 21 May, 8pm

Though Antoni Wit had recorded a couple of highly-praised CDs with the NZSO four years ago, he has never conducted a public concert with the orchestra. It is perhaps a timely moment to reflect on the number of performances that the orchestra has recorded with a number of distinguished conductors whose work has not been heard in public concerts. This has long seemed a strange policy, and a great pity.

And this was his only concert, which is being presented in five cities: but why only one programme? Penderecki’s Threnody is hardly a typical or useful representative of Polish orchestral music in the past century, and in any case, it has been played by the orchestra in recent years. There’s so much other rewarding Polish orchestral music; a concert featuring a Szymanowski symphony or violin concerto, symphonies and other works by Panufnik, Lutoslawski, Penderecki would have been a most interesting departure and Wit on the podium would ensure a good reception.

Nevertheless, Antoni Wit’s emergence in the Michael Fowler Centre was a very conspicuous success. There was a a full house, a not very frequent occurrence these days. And the reception given to the orchestra and conductor at the end of the ‘Eroica’ was almost ecstatic. The audience clearly recognizes a conductor with that special gift and whose virtues flow in part from his adherence to the old school of Central European conductors.

The first thing to be noticed after the interval, as the ‘Eroica’ began was the unusual rearrangement of the orchestra. In the first half, strings were in the normal pattern, rising pitch from right to left. But here, double basses were on the far left, cellos in the second violins’ usual place, while the latter were front right. Where I was sitting, facing cellos and basses, the sound was certainly wonderfully enriched from its foundation of low register instruments.

Wit’s gestures are expressive, using an interesting variety of hand movements, particularly of the left hand; but the real secret of the conductor’s magic is much less definable and those in the choir gallery might have had a more interesting visual experience, observing the face which is where most of a leader’s magic resides. The result was constantly arresting music with exciting and finely tuned dynamics that allowed details of the scoring such as clarinet adornments and the middle harmonies from second violins and violas more than usual clarity.

It was Robert Orr’s oboe whose plaintive beauty was most conspicuous in the Marcia funèbre, grave and dignified. It was here, in particular, that Wit created the most deeply-felt grandeur, which tempers the heroic and hopes for the betterment of society with the ever-present awareness of life’s transience and individual weaknesses that bedevil man’s greatest ambitions. A great performance can raise such feelings that lie quite outside any verbal description of the way in which it is achieved.

The ‘Eroica’ is not the sort of work whose later movements become less profound or more light-hearted. And this performance did no such thing. The pulsing force of the Scherzo, often driven from the bottom by powerful timpani and basses, carried on the argument while Wit recreated the great Finale , manicured every phrase with a tireless care for dynamics and moved from one variation to the next with astute tempo changes.

The concert had begun with the Threnody; a typical example of a 1960s composition at the then cutting edge. Basically, like so much of its genre, it mistakes the creation of a powerful emotional state through certain kinds of noise, for music. Unfortunately, the job of a composer of music is to transmute the emotion that might underlie a wish to create a work of art in sound into a fabric of melody and rhythm – music.

The dense tone clusters, better defined in the excellent programme note as ‘sound mass’, worked as intended, with brilliant impact by a conductor and orchestra that brought the piece compellingly to life.

The Haydn cello concerto generally seems to transcend what one is often led to believe about it: an attractive, somewhat light-weight piece. It’s rather more than that, and the beautiful performance by young French cellist Sébastien Hurtaud, limpidly lyrical, mellifluous, and of course singularly virtuosic, would have banished any tendency to dismiss it lightly. I heard some comment about the lack of baroque sound from the orchestra which, from other than eager young students out to demonstrate their critical acumen, is a bit tedious. It was comforting to hear the sensible comments of violinist Tasmin Little at her Naked Violin concert the following afternoon about period instrument practice.

In other words, this performance from a suitably reduced body of strings, and winds as prescribed in the score, was admirable, suiting perfectly music that Haydn had written for the baroque beauties of the 400-seat theatre at Esterháza. Hurtaud’s performance, while well gauged for the acoustic, suggested chamber music sensibility and on this showing, gets his results not through biting attack or conspicuous bravura. Even in the liveliest passages his playing is essentially legato, the notes seem to have no sharply delineated beginning, but rather a continuous song line.

The slow movement is one of the loveliest things that Haydn wrote, much anthologized in students’ albums. It seemed to be where Hurtaud’s soul really dwelt. Yet, in the Rondo finale, he revealed a wonderful energy and breathtaking agility in the handling of the more that usually elaborate and brilliant ornaments with which he so judiciously peppered his playing. The audience virtually demanded and encore and he played the finale from a Cello Suite by great Spanish cellist Gaspar Cassadó.

There was an air of great delight at the Interval after Hurtaud’s performances, just as there was prolonged applause after the ‘Eroica’, at the end of the evening.

Stravinsky from the Royal New Zealand Ballet

Posted on by Peter Mechen

STRAVINSKY SELECTION

ROYAL NEW ZEALAND BALLET

MILAGROS (after Stravinsky’s “Le Sacre du Printemps”) Choreography – Javier De Frutos

SATISFIED WITH GREAT SUCCESS (after Stravinsky’s “Scenes de ballet”) Choreography – Cameron McMillan

PETROUSHKA – (music by Stravinsky) Choreographer (after Michel Fokine)  Russell Kerr / Designer (after Alexandre Benois) Raymond Boyce

Royal New Zealand Ballet Company

Vector Wellington Orchestra

Marc Taddei, conductor.

St.James Theatre, Wellington

20-21 May 2011

Opportunities both gloriously taken and frustratingly unrealized – that was my immediate reaction to the Royal New Zealand Ballet’s “Stravinsky traversal” during which we saw and heard settings of the music for two of the composer’s ballets, (including the infamous Le Sacre du Printemps) and a full-scale production of Petroushka, both works among the most famous of their kind of all time. Allowing time for my feelings to settle somewhat before writing this review hasn’t greatly altered my reactions, though I’m wanting to point out that I thought the evening’s successes spectacular ones, and that the rest was never less than interesting and absorbing.

Heretical though it may seem to balletomanes, I tend to sympathize with Stravinsky’s reaction to choreographers and dancers who wanted the composer to write music and conduct his scores to suit their needs. The veteran choreographer Russell Kerr, in part of an interview printed in the program, related an incident involving the composer conducting a production of Petroushka in the United States in which Kerr was dancing. “I do not conduct for the dancers; they dance to my music!” the composer retorted, when asked to delay a section of his score to fit in with some stage business. If that attitude seems like the music is put first and foremost, its principle is a welcome corrective to a lot of choreography I’ve encountered which appears to take little notice of aspects of the music to which the dance steps are allegedly set.

I thought it interesting with this idea in mind to compare the opening item on the program with the full production of Petroushka which concluded the evening. The former was Milagros, a work which had been performed before by the Royal New Zealand ballet, on tour of the UK in 2004. It was impressive to read of Javier De Frutos’s award-winning status as a choreographer – certainly his movement scenario seemed brimful with ideas, and in places resulted in powerful and memorable theatrical imaging. Nevertheless, I thought his over-wrought modulations of the dance’s ebb and flow ran counter in many places to the primitive, rawly-focused nature of Stravinsky’s score (played, incidentally from a pianola roll made in the 1920s, one whose tempi had been supervised directly by the composer, and was here realized in a recording by player/pianist Rex Lawson).

It was as though De Frutos was trying to do too much, blunting his moments of connection with the music’s rhythmic thrust with unfocused superfluous movement that, for me, didn’t match the tones and pulsations of what we were hearing. There were times when the archetypal impulses of the music reflected themselves all too tellingly on the stage (some of the interactions I found quite disturbing, in fact – a friend of mine at the interval used the word “misogynistic”, which feeling in places I agreed with, though the occasional savageries were gradually developed in both gender directions). But whatever rituals were being enacted (and some of the imagery was stunningly presented – the head-stacking, for example) I felt it was as if the choreographer had allowed too many echoes of previous settings (his fourth of this music, if the program note is to be believed) to blur the focus. Whatever the theme, setting or prevailing current, the music unequivocally gives all the clues – and these oft-swirling masses of bodies didn’t consistently and coherently hold my sensibilities in a tightly-concerted enough grip throughout.

There was no doubt as to the commitment of the dancers to the work, particularly in the individual characterizations and teamwork of Abigail Boyle and Brendan Bradshaw, with Lucy Balfour contributing an eye-catching solo, all of whom communicated plenty of energetic conviction, however equivocal the expressive results.I’ve heard and read enough opinions regarding the work and its performance to freely admit my own inadequacy of response. I only wish I could testify to my having more connection-points with what I saw.

After this (leaving aside the second work for the moment), I couldn’t help but feel the difference in both focus and intent coming from the stage with Petroushka, which took up the evening’s final performance segment. Suddenly here were dancers who seemed completely energized and driven by the music, just as if they were stunningly-realised visualizations of what Stravinsky’s themes, rhythms and textures were actually doing. In this case the choreography had been supervised by Russell Kerr, following the original dance-plan of Michel Fokine, but of course with the New Zealander’s “take”  on the proceedings. In fact Kerr had first choreographed and designed Petroushka with his colleague Raymond Boyce as long ago as 1964. What I found remarkable was the ability of each of the dancer to “personalize” his or her character on stage, even when acting in concert with others, so that the crowd scenes had a naturalistic quality in parallel with the stylishness of the dancing and movement. It was mightily impressive to look at, and astonishing to reflect on there being not a single trace of self-consciousness in evidence from any movement, gesture or expression.Normally the “character” parts in ballet steal the theatrical thunder, but Sir Jon Trimmer as the Charlatan was by no means acting and moving in a vacuum, in his engrossing portrayal of cynical enslavement of his performing puppets – his character and aura found ready responses from members of the company, as did the dysfunctional antics of his three marionette charges.

As with Russell Kerr’s performing lineage and its links to both Stravinsky and his inspirational impresario Serge Diaghilev, designer Raymond Boyce’s formative experiences were with comparable traditions. He studied at London’s Slade School of Fine Arts, where one of his tutors, Vladimir Polunin, had been a scenery-painter for Diaghilev’s Company, and from him Boyce learnt the Russian scenery-painting style. From 1959 to 1997 Boyce designed productions for the Royal New Zealand Ballet Company, working with the company’s founder, Poul Gnatt, during those early days. In this latest Petroushka the focus of the setting was very much on unity – while the painted sets projected a kind of artificiality very much of their time, the designs served to focus upon the illusory nature of the story-line, reminding one of Lady Macbeth’s reference to a “painted devil”. In only one place I thought more pro-active lighting might have advanced the story’s cause, which was the hallucinatory effect of the charlatan’s picture in Petroushka’s room – more aggressively-focused spot-lighting on the image and momentarily darkened surroundings would have heightened the nightmarish aspect of the moment and imparted some edge to the somewhat naive-art, two-dimensional comic-book reproduction.

Besides Sir Jon’s wonderfully disturbing Charlatan (some of his expressions the stuff of nightmares for susceptible sensibilities), the three principal dancers gave thoroughly absorbing portrayals of their roles, each straddling the worlds of reality and make-believe with disarming alacrity. Medhi Angot’s Petroushka caught all of the character’s awareness of his plight as a puppet with a human heart, conveying for us his tragic despair at his loss of love and life, before reappearing, ghost-like at the end, to tease our sensibilities. Both Tonia Looker as the Ballerina and Qi Huan as the Moor brought plenty of skilful motoric impulse to each of their characters, contrasting their somewhat cardboard cut-out personas with Petroushka’s more complex and vulnerable consciousness.

I’ve left until now my ruminations regarding the middle ballet Satisfied With Great Success because I found it something of a puzzle, as much for what wasn’t done as for what we saw. Firstly I think the expectation created by the advance descriptions of some kind of interaction between historic footage of the composer in New Zealand and live stage action would have, in the event, left some people nonplussed. Whether previous or subsequent performances of this work used more of this much-touted “50 year-old film footage” I’m not sure, but I thought the juxtapositioning between the film and the live performance lame in effect, to say the least. I’m presuming that the film’s (a) slow-motion quality and (b) reverse continuity and imaging (the composer walking backwards through an orchestra whose members were positioned as if in a mirror-image) was in aid of imparting some kind of dream-dance ritualization to the scenes thus caught – well,maybe.  As it turned out (and contrary to my expectations), the film sequences proved to be mere clip-ons, with little or no interactive relationship between the footage and what the ballet actually did – and so, what was the point of it all?

Here was part of a visual record of the twentieth century’s arguably most important composer conducting some of his music in New Zealand – why couldn’t the ballet sequences have played out their “deconstruction, visual imagery and complex relationships” (the choreographer Cameron McMillan’s own words) as a series of connective impulses acknowledging these visuals? – whether fast, slow, forwards, backwards or still-framed, recording a significant aspect of our musical past? As a tribute to Stravinsky what was shown was somewhat less than token, and as a depiction of the composer’s relevance to “today’s world of creation and performance”, well, the exercise for me was practically a non-starter.

Regarding the ballet itself, there were some lovely moments, both solo and concerted (I liked the diagonal lines of bodies moving in accord, as well as various manifestations of strong duo work) but I thought some of what was presented only intermittently in accord with Stravinsky’s music (Scenes de Ballet). An example was a glorious Copland-like orchestral outburst of intense emotion at one point, superbly delivered by Marc Taddei and the Wellington Orchestra – but for all the reaction on stage, the music may as well have not been there – as was the actual case with another episode, where the dancers stepped intriguingly through uncannily silent vistas. Even more than with Milagros I had difficulty discerning an overall choreographic focus to Satisfied with Great Success, and wondered what the composer might have thought of his title-quote applied to the work in hand.

Back to the evening’s “Great Successes” – the overall conception and realization of Petroushka, the amazing sonic impact of that  pianola recording of Le Sacre du Printemps, the few glimpses we got on film of Stravinsky here in New Zealand, the musical direction of Marc Taddei and the playing of the Wellington Orchestra for the second and third ballets (a few brass “blips” here and there in Petroushka notwithstanding), and the chance to experience at first hand something of the excitement and commitment of those early ventures into ballet production via the presence and efforts of Russell Kerr and Raymond Boyce – for me THIS was the most telling manifestation of (I quote the program notes once again) “the relationship between past and present through 21st century eyes”. For that alone, thank you, Royal New Zealand Ballet.

Anniversaries of 2011

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The year 2011 is not quite as rich in musical anniversaries as was 2010, but delving a little deeper and more obscurely, there are a number of interesting ones.

The reason they are of interest is the way in which, at least for those with a certain sort of mental condition, they lead one to follow paths that look curious, that ring bells of recognition in a lateral sense.

The following, starting in the Renaissance, might lead you to follow up by reading or by seeking out recordings that will enrich the depth and range of your cultural equipment. We include a number of non-musical anniversaries, perhaps guided by personal interests in other spheres.

We begin in 1511 with the publication of Erasmus’s In Praise of Folly. (1511)

Then in 1561, again in the realm of thinkers/writers – seminonacentennial (450th) of the birth of the English philosopher and scientist Francis Bacon (1561-1626), one of the claimants, by the weird race of Shakespeare-deniers, as author of the plays and poems.

1611 saw the death of great Spanish Renaissance polyphonic composer Tomás Luis de Victoria (born in 1548).

It was the year of publication of a collection of keyboard music by Bull, Byrd and Gibbons called Parthenia.

It was also the year of the publication of the King James Bible, the year’s most famous event in the English-speaking world, and arguably the most powerful influence on English prose style.

1661

In 1661 we encounter the first musical anniversaries with the death of Louis Couperin, not quite as gifted as his nephew François Couperin (who was born in 1668).

Georg Böhm was born in 1661.

Opera was flourishing by now. Cavalli was the most important figure around 1661 – his Ercole amante premiered in 1662.

But his lesser contemporary, Cesti, produced his La Dori in Florence in 1661.

1711

A very important opera premiere took place in 1711: Handel’s Rinaldo, his first in London.

William Boyce was born in 1711: the greatest English composer, with Arne, of the 18th century.

And the slightly less known Jean-Joseph Cassanea de Mondonville, violinist and opera composer.

David Hume, Scottish philosopher and historian was also born in 1711.

1761

1761 saw the start of Haydn’s career, with his appointment in this year to the Esterhazy court.

The last phase of Gluck’s career, his association with librettist Calzabigi, was about to start, though this year he produced his famous ballet, Don Juan. His first reform opera, Orfeo ed Euridice, came in 1762.

However, another Armida was premiered in 1761 – by Tommaso Traetta, one of the most important composers of the period. (Gluck’s Armide was not till 1777, in Paris)

Artaserse – not the one by Arne of 1762 that has recently become famous – but by J C Bach, was first performed in Turin.

Novelist Samuel Richardson (Pamela) died in 1761.

1811

1811 yields a fairly interesting collection with the birth of Liszt and of Ambroise Thomas, whose Hamlet has been seen recently in the Metropolitan Opera HD in cinemas. (Hamlet was staged in 1868).

Ferdinand Hiller was born. Perhaps he’s more famous for Reger’s ‘Hiller Variations’ for orchestra.

Rossini’s second opera, L’equivoco stravagante, was produced in Bologna.

And Weber’s Abu Hassan. in Munich.

Novelist William Thackeray was born in 1811.

And so was poet, music critic and Romanticist par excellence Théophile Gautier (Berlioz set his poems in his Les nuits d’été).

1861

1861 just misses important births on either side – Mahler, Albeniz, Delius, Debussy.

There were three lesser figures:

Charles Loeffler, violinist and composer, born in Alsace in 1861.

Marco Bossi was born at Lake Garda, one of the chief Italian composers seeking to revive non-operatic music after a century of opera domination of Italy.

And Anton Arensky, born at Novgorod, and much influenced by Tchaikovsky, best known for a fine Piano Trio and Variations on a Theme of Tchaikovsky.

Notable operas seem scarce in 1861, though there are important ones on either side such as Ballo in maschera, Faust, La forza del destino.

However, Offenbach was riding high; he produced five operas-bouffes in the year, including M. Choufleuri restera chez lui and Le pont des soupirs.

1861 was the year of Melba’s birth.

Brahms wrote his Op 24 (Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Handel), and the two piano quartets, Opp 25 and 26.

Literature:

Great Expectations was published 1861 and poetess Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Robert’s wife), born in 1806, died.

1911

1911 saw most famously, the death of Mahler.

It was also the year of the births of Menotti, Armenian-American composer Hovhaness and film composer Bernard Hermann.

Also, for francophile organ-afficionados – the brilliant French composer/organist Jehan-Ariste Alain was born; he was killed in the war in 1940.

That links major interests for this reviewer. Please forgive this quote from Wikipedia:

“Alain became a dispatch rider in the Eighth Motorised Armour Division of the French Army. On 20 June 1940, he was assigned to reconnoitre the German advance on the eastern side of Saumur, and encountered a group of German soldiers at Le Petit-Puy. Coming around a curve, and hearing the approaching tread of the Germans, he abandoned his motorcycle and engaged the enemy troops with his carbine, killing 16 of them before being killed himself. He was posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre for his bravery, and according to [musicologist] Nicolas Slonimsky was buried, by the Germans, with full military honours.”

Jehan was the brother of distinguished organist Marie-Claire Alain. He received musical tributes from admiring contemporaries Dutilleux and Duruflé.

1911 is famous for the premieres of Der Rosenkavalier and the ballert Petrushka.

There were a few other opera centenaries: Saint-Saëns’s Déjanire, Ravel’s L’heure Espagnole, Debussy’s Le martyre de Saint Sébastien, Mascagni’s Isabeau, Zandonai’s Conchita, Wolf-Ferrari’s The Jewels of the Madonna. Most are awaiting modern revivals.

There were three significant deaths in 1911.

I encountered the Lithuanian composer, Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis, on a visit to Vilnius ten years ago, and was quite impressed by his music. He was born in 1875; he was also an important painter whose works can be seen in the M. K. Čiurlionis National Art Museum in Kaunas. He was a ’synesthete’; that is, he perceived colors and music simultaneously. Many of his paintings bear the names of musical pieces: sonatas, fugues, and preludes.

The notable organ organist and composer Félix-Alexandre Guilmant, born in 1837, died in 1911.

So did Norwegian composer Johan Svendsen (born in 1840).

1961

Percy Grainger (born in 1882) died 1961. So did Thomas Beecham (born 1869).

Ernest Hemingway, born in 1899, died in 1961.

Shostakovich’s Tenth Symphony was premiered.

The only opera I can see premiered that year was Hindemith’s The Long Christmas Dinner, based on a short story by Thornton Wilder, written in English; but it had its premiere in Mannheim in German translation in 1961. It was performed some years ago by the then Wellington Conservatorium of Music.

Waikanae presents Michael Endres, German pianist

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Schubert: Four Impromptus, Op.90
Gareth Farr: Sepuluh Jari
Liszt: Sonata in B minor
Gottschalk: Bamboula, Souvenir de Puerto Rico, Souvenir d’Andalousie

Waikanae Music Society: Michael Endres (piano)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 15 May 2011, 2.30pm

A large audience greeted Michael Endres, a German pianist who is Professor of Piano at the University of Canterbury in Christchurch. He presented a varied and ambitious programme of quite lengthy works, including one by Gareth Farr, dating from 1996.

It was a delight to have the Schubert Impromptus on the programme. Rhythm was strongly emphasised, and there was never too much pedal. Endres had great dynamic control. Altogether, it was hard to imagine these pieces being played better, among contemporary pianists. Endres’s formidable technique was always at the service of the music. He does not move excessively at the keyboard, thus there is not the distraction one occasionally sees.

The first impromptu was like a plaintive song, as are so many in Schubert’s great songs: the ‘Wanderer’ songs, and Winterreise song cycle. Alongside this was a march-like quality, and then a dance-like second section. It was played with great delicacy, yet firmness.

The second had a totally different character – very fast and virtuosic. There were gentle episodes, but a fast and furious ending, while the well-known third was a joy to hear. The fourth, also familiar, was played probably faster than usual, but did not lose its lyricism or contrasts.

Rushing forward 170 years, we were confronted with Gareth Farr’s humorous and distinctive Toccata Sepuluh Jari (the title means ten fingers), which he attributes to J.S. Bach, quoting an imagined letter from the master, from the Island of Bali. As the programme note states, the ‘piano is partly used as a percussion instrument’, which most Balinese instruments are. However, it is important to note that percussion is not always loud. This was an inspired piece, and very musical and playable – by someone as skilled as Endres. It was very demanding and incessant, but an impressive piece of writing and playing. It was both melodic and dramatic, and occasionally even explosive.

Liszt’s monumental sonata is a tour-de-force to play from memory, being close to 30 minutes long. There is much dynamic contrast, even at the beginning. In places, the work is almost orchestral, while in others, delicately melodic, and yet others, blatantly theatrical, especially the ending. It features a motif repeated in various forms throughout the work, interesting rhythmic patterns and cross-rhythms; these are quite magical in places. The mood changes frequently; sometimes contemplative, at other almost aggressive, all based on a limited amount of musical material.

Endres brought variety and subtlety to this mighty sonata, which gave Waikanae’s new Fazioli piano a good workout, showing off its delicacy of timbre as well as its capacity for triple forte playing. Only once was I aware of a note failing to meet the challenge. Liszt was extremely well served.

For something completely different, Endres played Gottschalk’s three pieces. The sparkling Latin-American rhythms appropriately received much less sustaining pedal than did the previous two works.

The first began in a minor key, with an attractive, tender melody. The lyrical middle section was followed by a rousing ending. The second piece (sub-titled ‘Marche de Gibaros’, or March of the Peasants) had much charm as well as delightful rhythms. The final piece was full of fire – a virtuosic ending with powerful bravura. I must admit to thinking that pieces like this are designed to show off the skills of the performer rather than give vent to real musical expression (American Gottschalk was a virtuoso pianist). Nevertheless, Endres gave a persuasive reading as well as fulfilling all the technical demands.

An utterly charming encore, played in the top register of the piano was a piece that sounded like a musical box. After many beautiful arabesques, the mechanism gradually wound down, and then had a final flourish. It was Boîte à Musique, by Pierre Sancan, a French composer who died in 2008 (born 1916).

Michael Endres is a formidable yet refined pianist, and fully deserved the enthusiastic applause with which he was greeted after his encore.

Brilliant Shostakovich from violinist Riseley and NZSM Orchestra

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music Orchestra conducted by Kenneth Young with Martin Riseley (violin)

Romeo and Juliet Fantasy-Overture (Tchaikovsky); From Peter Grimes – Passacaglia and Four Sea Interludes (Britten); Violin Concerto No 1, Op 99 (Shostakovich)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 14 May 2011, 7.30pm

In the past year the School of Music seems to have made a distinct move towards offering the city a lot more music in the public sphere. Once upon a time, performances by students and staff were held mainly in the Adam Concert Room in the furthest reaches of Victoria University’s Kelburn campus; and those by the Conservatorium of Music of Massey University were at one stage in the former Fever Hospital at the back of Newtown and later at the main campus at the top of Taranaki Street. Neither was within easy reach.

One of the benefits of the merger of the two schools (and the benefits are not very conspicuous) is a wider range of performance opportunities mow happening downtown. For the full range see the school’s website called Dawn Chorus (http://www.nzsm.ac.nz/events/).

Occasionally, as on Saturday evening, we get a full-scale orchestral concert of the sort offered by one of our professional orchestras. Later in the year there will probably be another major orchestral concert in the Wellington Town Hall, with a performance by the winner of the school’s concerto competition, which takes place in the Adam Concert Room next Wednesday, 25 May.

This began with the Romeo and Juliet overture. Under the energetic baton of Kenneth Young it was a highly energetic performance, often given to extreme dynamic experiences that in the limited space and hard acoustic of the church was a bit too audible. The opening phase was not remarkable but the arrival of the dramatic Allegro Giusto phase marking the feud between the two families, allowed the orchestra to display its emotional energy and the following exciting, syncopated passage from around bar 140 created a special frisson as if brass and the racing quavers in the strings were not quite together.

Though it is fair to record that some of the brilliance of the brass – specifically horns and trumpets – may have been enhanced by guest players from the NZSO and the Wellington Orchestra, the overall impact flowed from student players who comprised all the players in most sections. The quite thrilling climax in the scene that perhaps depicts Tybalt’s death, was the real thing, with Fraser Bremner impressive on timpani. No less moving were the long passages of affecting lyrical melody representing the lovers.

Excerpts from Peter Grimes followed: the Four Sea Interludes, but also, to begin, the Passacaglia from Act 2. Most striking early on was the fine viola solo – I presume, John Roxburgh – over timpani, pizzicato cellos and basses. It captured, as intended, the uneasy and menacing mood of the opera, and even though not as immediately arresting as the other four pieces, deserves to be treated in this way. Throughout the other pieces violas and cellos often had further strong contributions; the whole ‘suite’ was most impressive, even though in the final section, Storm, the confusion of sound may have been carried a little further than the score provided.

The most awaited event was the performance of Shostakovich’s First Violin Concerto, which seems not to have reached the ranks of much performed masterpieces of the 20th century: it’s not as familiar as the Sibelius, Elgar, the two Prokofievs, Berg, Bartok, Barber, Khachaturian, Korngold… (But perhaps that’s personal experience). If you’re into this sort of thing, Google the 50 best known violin concertos from 20th century: interesting, as it usually stimulates exploration.

The performance was a privilege. For such a big work, the orchestral forces are quite modest. Horns the only brass, apart from a brief tuba entry later. Written after the Zhdanov denunciation in 1947 of ‘formalism’ and other evils, it was not performed till 1955, after Stalin’s death in 1953. So the concerto has all the signs of Shostakovich’s fears of reprisals or worse, even though Shostakovich, with Oistrakh, had made modifications to it in the interim.

The opening movement departs strongly from the normal sanguinity of a first movement: Nocturne, which makes no mark in terms of melody, but tells the audience straight away that the composer is serious, that what he’s saying is important and he wants to make an impact emotionally through its sombre, painful beauty. The orchestra had the necessary weight and Riseley’s playing was a balance between tonal beauty and tough-minded rigour.

The Shostakovich of the sardonic Fifth Symphony emerged in the Scherzo, with dark brilliance. An even bleaker movement follows with the Pasacaglia, opening in chilling spirit with elephantine timpani, cellos and basses, soon joined by horns. The violin’s entry here brings a sudden lightening of mood though bass instruments don’t allow you to ignore the realities out there. It dies away, slowly leading a tortured path to the remarkable cadenza which demands all the virtuosity available to Oistrakh, for whom it was written, but also handles the variety of emotions that the earlier movements have explored. It leads straight into the Burlesca in which Shostakovich seems to be exploiting his familiar vein of false jollity with its brash orchestral colouring and wind interjections. The entire work was splendidly guided by Kenneth Young, maintaining a steady pulse, hitting the exciting tempo increase in the Coda, and keeping orchestral balance successfully in this sometimes difficult acoustic.

This was a remarkably feat, great credit to soloist, conductor and orchestra.

Risurrezione from a new arts trust at St Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

La Musica – Sacra I
Böhm: Præludium, Fugue and Postlude J.S. Bach: ‘Komm süsses kreuz’ Biber: Crucifixion, Resurrection and Assumption sonatas Bruhns: ‘Mein herz ist bereit’ Buxtehude: ‘Singet dem herrn’
Krieger: ‘Ihr Christen, freuet euch’

The Historical Arts Trust: Gregory Squire (baroque violin), Pepe Becker (soprano), David Morriss (bass), Robert Oliver (viola da gamba), Douglas Mews (harpsichord and chamber organ)

St. Mary of the Angels Church

Saturday, 14 May 2011, 7pm

The Historical Arts Trust (THAT) is a new organisation, launched at the end of llast month, presenting four concerts this year under the title ‘La Musica’ (though despite that, and this concert’s title ‘Risurrezione’, the music was all German and Austrian, not Italian), in succession to the Musica Sacra concert series organised by Robert Oliver over the last ten years. Only two of the items, both vocal, could be considered well-known. As the name implies, the Trust intends to promote historical dance and other art forms, not only music.

The performers were all well-seasoned at their crafts – experts, in fact – and all have been busy lately in other performances. The novel feature of this concert was the fact that Gregory Squire had no fewer than four fiddles with him, given four different tunings. Heinrich Ignaz Franz Biber von Bibern (ennobled for his services to music) was a 17th century composer who delighted in employing scordatura; i.e. the re-tuning of the violin. This was not in order to give the violinist a headache, in having to play the notes on the page in different places on the fingerboard from usual. The technique of tuning the strings differently, and in different arrangements, alters the sound markedly.

The three of Biber’s sonatas played in this performance each employed a different tuning. The remaining works Squire played in, in a very busy evening for him, used the standard tuning, hence the fourth violin. Biber is not often heard – although I have an LP from the early 1980s with Peter Walls’s Baroque Players playing a piece of his, and as I write this review, RNZ Concert is broadcasting ‘Chamber Music from Lincoln Center’, in which a Biber violin sonata is being performed, one in which the violin imitates animals and birds. Biber was considered a violin virtuoso in his day; Gregory Squire can’t be far behind.

Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians says of Biber’s use of this technique: “Bringing some of the strings closer together in pitch makes possible or simplifies the production of the most resonant intervals and chords… The result is a smoother, more easily flowing, richer-sounding polyphony than is possible with conventional tuning. … Mystery Sonata no.11… was planned for a highly resonant performance in octaves, each octave stopped across two strings by one finger.” The audience experienced these effects.

The programme opened with Douglas Mews playing the harpsichord in the Böhm work. This, one of two items on the programme once attributed to J.S. Bach, was no rote reproduction of the notes on the page, nor ‘fork on a bird-cage’ sound. It was an attractive work, sensitively performed.

Bach genuinely composed the next item, ‘Komm, süsses kreuz’, a bass aria from St. Matthew Passion. David Morriss sang, with continuo of viola da gamba and organ. While the recitative lacked a little in ensemble and tone, the aria developed well. It was sung with feeling and evenness of tone throughout its quite wide range. I found the organ, using flutes only, a little light behind the voice and viola da gamba.

Next came the first of the Biber sonatas – ‘The Crucifixion’ Sonata X. The harpsichord accompaniment was not very audible, but perhaps it was sufficient for a continuo part. This was very skilled violin playing. The sonata became fast, and was rhythmically exciting. The difficulties of playing while reading notes different from the usual for the various strings were certainly not obvious. The sonata featured double-stopping, and its ending was fast and furious, featuring the earthquake that followed Christ’s crucifixion in a most evocative manner.

Gottfried Henrich Stötzel is now credited with the composition of the well-known aria long attributed to Bach: ‘Bist du bei mir’. (All the composers in the concert except Stötzel and Krieger were B’s.) Soprano Pepe Becker sang it, with organ and viola da gamba continuo. It was sung simply, in a straightforward manner, quite beautifully. Here again, I found the organ a little quiet in the continuo, compared with the sound of the viola da gamba.

Biber returned in the form of ‘The Resurrection’ Sonata XI. The effect of the re-tuning was more obvious here than in the first sonata performed. There was a marked contrast between the mellow lower strings and the more strident upper strings. The slow, discreet organ accompaniment consisted of seldom-changing chords, i.e. long pedal points (not literally; the small chamber organ is played with the performer standing.)

The viola da gamba begins the second movement with a chorale melody, on which the violin then plays variations, interspersed with repetitions of the chorale (Easter hymn ‘Surrexit Christus hodie’) itself, in octaves, possible because of the re-tuning (see note from Grove, above). Again there was very intricate work for the violin, which was expertly executed. A surprise towards the end was all the performers (except the very occupied violinist) singing the chorale. In the final iteration of the chorale there were delightful key modulations.

Bruhns’s cantata Mein herz ist bereit for bass, violin and continuo was very varied in the treatment of the words, though I thought David Morriss’s pronunciation of ‘bereit’ a little strange. However, this was a piece making great demands on the singer, to which he rose admirably. The words in the first verse which translate as “I will sing and give praise” were very ornate; the composer certainly had a very competent singer in mind. The next verse began “Awake, my glory:. Indeed, anyone would have to wake with the amount of sound declaimed rapidly in one’s ear! The bass’s sound filled the church (which is more than the audience did).

The third verse, “I will praise thee, O Lord, among the people”, featured a lovely violin part (presumably with standard tuning). The final voice, “Be thou exalted, O God”, was followed by very decorated “Amen’; the whole well sung by Morriss. In this work, I felt the balance was better between the instruments. The work was notable for great sound, rhythm and accuracy. The organ came into its own, but was never too much for the other performers.

After the interval came a work by Buxtehude, that Danish-German composer beloved of organists: Singet dem Herrn. Pepe Becker sang, with violin and continuo. The joyous first verse was preceded by a lovely violin introduction. The voice part began low in the register, which we don’t associate with Pepe Becker; she revealed a fine, rich tone. From there, soon there were florid phrases in the upper register, skilfully managed, as always, while the violin part was very exciting.

Then there was a slower calmer pace with lilting passages in the second verse to the words “The Lord declared his salvation”. More vocal gymnastics followed, leading to a lively final verse.

The third Biber piece was ‘The Assumption of Mary into Heaven’ Sonata XIV. Gregory Squire used yet another of his four violins. A wonderful, full-toned opening with the continuo revealed a very rhythmic dance-like piece in ¾ time, lots of finger-work for the violinist, incorporating left-hand and right-hand pizzicato and a ground bass from the viola da gamba, also incorporating a pizzicato section, and variations for violin and organ over the ground. After a slow beginning, more and more rapid ornamentation gave this item the ‘wow’ factor.

Finally, a cantata from little-known Johann Philipp Krieger (1649-1725), only a few of whose many works survive: ‘Ihr Christen, freuet euch’. This time, both singers were involved, with violin and continuo. Some verses were solo, while others were duets.

In the fourth verse, David Morriss’s excellent low notes were rich. Violin obbligato passages were ecstatic, especially in the instrumental interlude between verses 4 and 5, the former being a delightful duet. The fifth and final verse featured great purity of the harmonies and melodic lines, and decoration of the latter on the violin and viola da gamba during the pause after the vocal lines, and before and during the Amen, which brought this charming work to a conclusion.

Concert-goers were presented with an attractively produced printed programme. I’m not sure why this concert was timed to start so early; perhaps there were logistical reasons. As someone who lives some way out of town, I find it a challenge to the stomach to have to rush to a concert in the city that commences before 8pm.

It was a great evening of highly professional performances of difficult and mostly rare baroque music, with a couple of more familiar arias thrown in.

Michael Fulcher’s farewell with organ recital at St Paul’s Cathedral

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Great Music 2011: Organ of St Paul’s Cathedral

Franck: Chorale No 1; Jongen: Chant de mai; Henri Mulet: Carillon-Sortie; Vivaldi (arr. Bach): Concerto in A minor, BWV593; Vierne: Carillon de Westminster

Michael Fulcher (organ)

Cathedral of Saint Paul, Wellington

Friday 13 May 12.45pm

Michael Fulcher is moving on after seven years as Organist and Director of Music at the Anglican Cathedral. He is returning to Brisbane to take up the position of Organist at St John’s Cathedral, where he started as a choir boy.

Such an occasion might have called up a few war-horses like the Widor Toccata, Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor or one of the Sorties by Lefébure-Wely. But the audience’s taste was flattered by less familiar, yet just as interesting music,

It opened with the first of Franck’s Chorales, one of the three that were his last compositions in the year of his death. Fulcher drew attention to the use of a new rank of stops in the Swell organ, the Vox humana, which he used for the second theme of the Choral, varied by opening and closing the Swell box. It was a gift of the National Carillonist, Timothy Hurd.

The performance was distinguished by his careful increasing of the richness of registrations, through what are basically variations on two related themes. Much of Franck’s organ music doesn’t reveal all its secrets at once, yet this performance more than suggested the rewards that come with familiarity.

Belgian composer Joseph Jongen was born in Liège, like Franck, and organ pieces form an interesting part of his output. His little piece¸ Chant de mai, was subtle in expression, and its performance maintained a clarity that allowed the later emergence of a romantic melody on the pedals to be enjoyed.

There was just one departure from the Franco-Belgian organ school: Bach’s arrangement of one of Vivaldi’s concertos for two violins, which became BWV 593. It was handled with a discretion proper to music of the period, on predominantly diapason stops, not too highly coloured, and Bach’s adaptation plus Fulcher’s comprehensive mastery of this organ offered all the evidence needed for its value in the Baroque repertoire.

Two carillons completed the programme. The first, Carillon-Sortie, by the somewhat obscure composer Henri Mulet, proved energetic, with many voices tending to tumble over each other in canon. It was a striking vehicle through which Fulcher’s virtuosity at the instrument could be heard without empty display. The last piece was the familiar Carillon de Westminster by Louis Vierne – based of course on the famous chimes. Its rather unvarying attachment to that theme hardly enhances its enjoyment by other than listeners of rudimentary experience in this kind of music in spite of its sophisticated harmonies and careful counterpoint. Nevertheless, it made for an arresting conclusion to this farewell recital.

In response to quite heart-felt applause from a largish audience, we had an encore in the form of a, for me, unknown piece by Jean Langlais (another blind organist) called Pasticcio from Ten Organ Pieces: almost comical sounds in dancing, dotted rhythms, that created towards the end, real or illusory echo effects. From what I have heard of Langlais in the past, I had not expected that he might have been given to such an overtly entertaining showpiece.

Michael Fulcher has made a major contribution to music in Wellington, both through his Cathedral activities, and as musical director of the Orpheus Choir, and he will be greatly missed. There is general interest in the selection of his successor.