Made in New Zealand – Enchanted Islands

Posted on by Peter Mechen

MADE IN NEW ZEALAND – ENCHANTED ISLANDS

Music by Ross HARRIS, Anthony RITCHIE, Douglas LIBURN, Lyell CRESSWELL,
Gareth FARR, Chris GENDALL

Stephen de Pledge (piano)
Kirsten Morrell (soprano)
Tama Waipara (baritone)
Hamish McKeich (conductor)
The New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Wellington Town Hall

Friday 13th May 2011

In a real sense this concert epitomized what a “Made in New Zealand ” concert ought to be about – presenting its listeners with plenty of excitement, frustration, argument and satisfaction, putting life alongside art in fine style. Everybody will, of course, make up their own cocktail mix from the aforementioned ingredients when recalling the concert and its afterglow (some will add other things, while others will make do with less, or even with none of the above). But I thought there was a palpable buzz within the audience at the start (a peculiarly “Town Hall” phenomenon, it seems to me) followed by plenty of effervescent discussion at the interval in the wake of a first half of colourful composition and splendid music-making. Even at this stage of the proceedings there was excitement aplenty, all that one could wish of a contemporary music concert’s effect upon an audience.

As for the frustration, I’m sure there will be people, like myself, with their own list of favorite, neglected pieces of New Zealand music hoping for the same to be given an airing via these concerts – perhaps next year, or the year after? It could be that we listeners don’t drop enough hints to those who are the musicmongers that sort out the catch brought in by those trawling the creative currents in this particular ocean – maybe I need to tell twenty times the number of people I already do how much of a crime I think it is that some of our “founding symphonic documents” are unaccountably ignored by our orchestras year after year after year. If I mention David Farquhar’s First Symphony in particular (no public performance since its premiere in 1959!), I’m equally determined that I’ll be fair and report back to these pages any response, written or verbal, to my piece of opinionated partiality, so that others can have their say as well about what they might like to hear in subsequent “Made in New Zealand” concerts.

I mentioned argument as an ingredient of the occasion; and conversations at the concert’s end seemed to have a different tenor to those during the interval, largely thanks to Gareth Farr’s Sonnets, settings for two singers and orchestra of a number of Shakespeare’s eponymous poems. This work divided opinions I heard into not just two camps, but a number of sub-groups, with discussions freely flowing. For myself, I thought the piece didn’t work well within the normal concert-hall setting that was imposed upon it – as if the musicians were trying to perform something like Mahler’s Des Knaben Wunderhorn. Given that both singers (soprano Kirsten Morrell and baritone Tama Waipara) were “miked” because neither seemed to have the vocal “heft” to compete acoustically with the orchestra, I thought the concert’s organizers ought to have taken their cue accordingly and emphasized the piece’s rather more mainstream popular-music-genre. I would have liked the singers not only in their own performing-space away from the conductor and players (even perhaps individually separated for antiphonal/visual effect and spotlit with appropriate lighting), but also have them given properly-modulated microphones that would enable their voices to be actually HEARD. With the precedent in mind of last year’s “Made in New Zealand” concert with its spectacular, if somewhat ill-conceived, visual imagery accompanying most of the music, I would have imagined such a recreation to be perfectly possible this time round.

What’s ultimately most important, however, is the degree of satisfaction given by the music and the music-making – and despite these diverse ingredients, or perhaps because of them, the concert gave to us the feeling as though it had indeed satisfied by the end. It started with a wonderful wallop, courtesy of Ross Harris’s Fanfare for the Southern Cross, a work for brass ensemble whose sombre, almost Brucknerian opening blossomed spectacularly into a brilliant toccata-like display. The music seemed to scintillate like a comet crossing the night sky, before disappearing, much too quickly! – would that it were a prelude to a suite of movements, or something, so that our pleasure at the composer’s exuberant mastery of those radiant textures could be enjoyed for longer!

I took great pleasure also in Anthony Ritchie’s A Shakespeare Overture, a thirty year-old work from the composer’s student days receiving its first-ever performance (with revised touches). I found myself admiring the young Ritchie’s exuberant orchestral writing and sure sense of balance between passages of chamber-like delicacy and piquancy, often involving winds, which were set against more heavily-scored strings-and-brass episodes, occasionally rhythmically spiked with percussion. My notes contain phrases such as “colourful scoring”, “energizing percussion”, and “beautifully dovetailed motifs leading the ear onwards” – besides such detail, I had a sure sense of the piece being well-organized throughout, so that the orchestral forces at the end were able to unerringly build things towards a thrilling climax, a grand exposition of sounds. In all, I thought the piece a worthy addition to this country’s home-grown concert repertoire.

Has any performance of Lilburn’s Four Canzonas featured more beautiful string-playing than what we heard on this occasion? – I doubt it, even if I thought Hamish McKeich’s tempo for the Willow Song (Canzona No.2) a tad quick, Donald Armstrong’s lovely solo playing for me not quite “laden” enough with foreboding at this speed, as befits the work’s original inspiration.I was struck anew by how Sibelius-like the third Canzona sounded, like something out of the latter’s Rakastava, certainly Nordic, rather than Shakespearean in atmosphere. But these were certainly very beautiful performances.

With Lyell Cresswell’s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra (significantly, not entitled a “piano concerto”) the evening’s music-making lurched well-and-truly into relatively unknown territories, soundscapes of the heart and soul, it seemed, considering the circumstances under which the music was written. The work was commissioned by that generous patron of the local arts, Jack Richards, for pianist Stephen de Pledge to play at this concert, so that the performance was a world premiere. It seemed that Lyell Cresswell wanted more of a concertante than a concerto-like work, and this was shown in the extent to which the orchestra reflected and extended what the piano did, very much a concourse rather than a contest.

The work commemorates the memory of a friend of the composer, who actually died while the piece was being written, but whose terminal illness overshadowed the work’s entire conception. No wonder, then, at the extent to which both piano and orchestra gave voice during the work to harsh, jagged outpourings, in grief and anger at a friendship’s loss. Even so, Cresswell found plenty of scope for expression of episodes whose eerie beauty astonished the ear, by way of both recollection of times past and resigned reflection in the wake of death. The work’s seven movements had an intensely volatile quality, indicating parallel strands of feelings and instincts as likely to be in violent opposition as in an uneasy accord. I scribbled phrases like “jagged defiance” and “tolling pulses” while listening to the opening Funeral March, then “bird-song piano figurations” and “ethereal string ambiences” during Adagio 1. And I noted the savagery of the brass attack and the dominance of the heavy artillery throughout Scherzo 1, all the while marvelling at the compositional virtuosity of Cresswell’s writing for orchestra.

The work’s centre, Addolorato (meaning upset or distressed), was the work’s emotional core, expressing both quiet and violent grief by turns, while throughout the following movements variants of the relationship between head and heart were further explored – a characteristic contouring might feature the piano playing the visionary, creating a rapt, magical atmosphere more of the mind than of the world, echoed by Ligeti-like string chords before being splintered by vitriolic brass with toccata-like textures that curdle without warning into amazing air-raid siren-like sonorities. Some of the orchestral figurations might well have owed something to Messiaen’s similarly visionary sound-worlds, but in this case one felt the tones and textures were exploring a very real emotional context of their own. Again my scribblings attempted to capture aspects of this incredible set of soundscapes – “maniacal instrumental energies in a ferment”, or “brass cackle like hooting harridans”, or even “strings become swirling stinging bees”…..all of which hopefully serves to give the reader an idea of the range and scope of sounds created by the piano/orchestra combination. The final presto, though flung at the listener almost peremptorily was able to link briefly with the opening in the midst of its toccata-like tagging, indicating (as the program notes suggested) that from questions can come still more questions rather than answers.

Wanting to earn my keep as a critic, naturally enough, but struggling to offer any comment of sufficient worth in a critical sense about the piece, all I could think of saying was that the music did seem to me to begin to overwork the material towards the end – but then the composer would confound my reaction by producing yet another magical sonority which opened up a fresh vista of wonderment – and despite my occasional instinctive feeling of there having been enough said, I couldn’t bear the thought of any of those sounds being excised! I hope someone moves to have Stephen de Pledge record this work before too long, so that we can get to know it by hearing it often and gradually unlocking at least some of its secrets. I thought it a very great work indeed.

As for Gareth Farr’s Sonnets, somebody I spoke with briefly at the end of the concert said that the performance of the Farr work seemed to them a pale shadow of the music’s previous incarnation as The Holy Fire of Love, which on that occasion featured the vocal talents of Rima Te Wiata and Kristian Lavercombe. It would seem from the reviews I’ve read that these singer/actors projected the songs rather more successfully and theatrically than happened with the fatally straight-laced quasi-classical treatment accorded the words and music on Friday evening in the Wellington Town Hall. To me it seemed all so wrong-headedly presented, to the extent that to comment any further would, I think, be to do the composer and his music an injustice.

Finally in the concert, one of the country’s most exciting younger composers, Chris Gendall, was represented with a work that in a sense was a foil for the Lyell Cresswell concerto in the first half – this later work Gravitas was tough, uncompromising and unyielding, abstracting orchestral sounds and their meaning where the older composer sought direct, straight-from-the-shoulder emotional engagement from his audience with his instrumental tones. I thought that Gendall had written some kind of Etude for Orchestra here, an idea emphasized by the composer’s own note about the music, describing the relationship between a piece’s construction and its most audible elements. Less cerebrally-minded listeners, such as myself, would probably register and enjoy more readily the sharply visceral aspects of the music, its cutting-edge accents set against both deep-throated sonorities and troughs of pregnant silence, its obsessiveness with repeated notes and an interval of a third, and the feeling of these and other notes eventually breaking free of such hegemony and enjoying episodes such as “chaos of delight” pizzicati passages and volatile hide-and-seek scamperings across the orchestral blocks.

As with many a “tough” piece I’ve come to enjoy, it’s necessary to live with the music for a while and get used to the sharp edges – I hope Chris Gendall’s piece gets its chance to be heard rather more often than has been the case with other works I’ve mentioned from time to time, one of them (David Farquhar’s First Symphony) earlier in this review. Gravitas certainly played its part in helping to make the occasion one of the best and most interesting “Made in New Zealand” Concerts of recent years. All credit to conductor Hamish McKeich, to pianist Stephen de Pledge, and to the orchestral musicians, for giving us such magnificent playing throughout the evening.

Kapiti Chorale’s Homage to Haydn

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Haydn: Little Organ Mass 
Excerpts from The Creation and The Seasons
Pieces for Clockwork Organ

The Kapiti Chorale, Marie Brown (conductor), Peter Averi (organ), Janey MacKenzie (soprano), John Beaglehole (tenor), Roger Wilson (bass)

St. Paul’s Anglican Church, Paraparaumu

Saturday, 7 May 2011, 2.30pm

While Haydn is an extremely important composer (1732-1809) and wrote in a great variety of genres, an entire concert of his music, not being one of his oratorios or major masses, may appear a little too much of one man’s music in a single performance.

However, the insertion of the delightful Six little pieces for flute clock lessened the effect of sameness.

The Kapiti Chorale must be the best choir around, certainly of its size, for watching their conductor. The opening of the Little Organ Mass was exemplary from this point of view. Most of the singers appeared to have memorised the opening. However, the singers started a little flat in intonation, and this unfortunate characteristic recurred rather too often through the performance. Not seriously flat, but flat nonetheless, especially the soprano section. The church has a lively acoustic, which makes it difficult to hide any inaccuracies.

The indomitable Peter Averi, this year celebrating 65 years since he first began playing the organ for church services, accompanied throughout, as well as playing a solo work. However, even he could not make a digital organ sound like a pipe organ plus string quartet, the combination for which this Mass was written, either in volume or tone. The bass of this instrument seemed particularly dull.

However, there was good sound from the choir, especially from the women. It must be said that a choir composed primarily of seniors does not achieve the brilliance or firmness of tone compared with one having a greater proportion of members of younger years. That said, the choir does very well. The problem for many choirs, of being weak in tenor numbers (and therefore sound) is not totally redeemed by using women. This does not dispose of the problem, since the register and tone are so different. Nevertheless, they were not totally overcome by the other parts by any means.

This being a short Mass, there was not a lot of repetition of the words; the lovely Benedictus solo for soprano was the only movement with an extended setting. This was beautifully sung by Janey MacKenzie, with warm, assured tone and great clarity, light and shade, and graceful legato. The movement featured an attractive organ solo.

The choir entry sounded rather feeble after such a superb solo. While the forte and mezzo-forte singing was fine, the piano singing was poor; final s’s were all over the place. The altos had the most consistent good tone, but often they could not be heard.

Peter Averi was able to come into his own in the next item: Six little pieces for flute clock, a mechanism made for large clocks by one Joseph Niemecz, an inventor who was librarian at the Esterházy court in 1780. Since the original musical device would have been small, it was well within the capabilities of the digital organ.

The opening allegretto was played with detached notes (as were other movements), appropriately for this music. The second, entitled ‘Gossiping over Coffee’ was very realistic. The fourth, ‘The Quail’ featured high 2-foot sounds replicating the squeaky call of these birds quite delightfully. The last of the six, the March, seemed as amusing a send-up or joke as the other movements. The whole work was utterly charming, and given as good a performance as was possible: this, the digital organ could do, especially in the hands of someone like Peter Averi.

Fittingly, the following item was about birds – the Air from The Creation with the words opening ‘On mighty pens uplifted soars the eagle aloft’ (remember, the first writing pens were quills from birds), and continuing on to characterise the lark, the dove, and the nightingale. Haydn did the most enchanting word-painting in sound of these birds, as of the quail. Janey MacKenzie’s solo here showed that she could make the most of this feature. This, and all the choral items, was sung in English.

The chorus and trio from The Seasons echoed the creation of the world in its words about the plenty of the earth. I felt that the choir knew this music better than they did some of the Little Organ Mass. The three soloists were well-balanced, and their words very clear. Clear too, was Marie Brown’s conducting, and this piece was successful. Throughout the concert, rhythm and tempi were fine.

Further excerpts from The Creation made up the second half. It was good to have the printed words and not have to rely on their being always audible, especially in contrapuntal passages.

Roger Wilson began proceedings solemnly and portentously in declaring the creation of the heaven and the earth. The dramatic chorus that followed contains unison passages which, unfortunately, were not always in unanimity. However, the feeling of drama came over well.

John Beaglehole was thrilling in his first recitative, about the division of light from darkness. His aria was well sung, but there was insufficient phrasing or expression. The choir sang the following chorus very well. The demanding aria ‘The marvellous work’ was exquisitely rendered by Janey MacKenzie.

Roger Wilson was very characterful in the bass recitative and aria that followed, concerning the land and sea. His singing was expressive, clarity of words and pianissimo and especially his lower notes, admirable. The organ part depicted the foaming billows, the mountains, plains and brooks with glorious, and amusing, detail.

The well-known soprano solo ‘With verdure clad’, preceded by its recitative, was most enjoyable. The high notes were refined; the repeat tastefully and appropriately ornamented.

After a jubilant chorus, in which the sopranos sang very well, two bass recitatives and aria aroused amusement with their depiction of the creation of the lion, the tiger, and especially the ‘nimble stag’ with ‘his branching head’, suitably given a fugal treatment in the accompaniment. When it came to the flocks, Wilson made sure they bleated. As for the worm, its ‘sinuous trace’ was slowly revealed on the organ and in the bass’s voice, including what must surely be Roger Wilson’s lowest note.

He revealed also some lovely higher notes in the aria, which was sung with clarity and eloquence. Here, the music caused a smile as the phrase ‘By heavy beasts the ground is trod’ was portrayed.

Tenor recitative and aria followed, telling of the creation of humankind. The captivating ‘In native worth and honour clad’ was sung very competently, but there was a lack character to it, despite some graceful expression and attractive tone.

A final recitative from the bass led to the triumphant chorus ‘Achieved is the glorious work’, sung splendidly by the choir, with the organ at full blast.

The audience greeted this with enthusiasm; the choir should be pleased with its efforts, despite my reservations.

Royal New Zealand Ballet puts Stravinsky in the limelight

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Of the various anniversaries this year (Liszt’s and Ambroise Thomas’s 200th birthdays, Menotti’s centenary, Mahler’s death in 1911, premiere of Der Rosenkavalier, the King James Bible, poet and music critic Théophile Gautier’s bicentenary, and much else*) the premiere of Stravinsky’s Petrushka deserves note. (see performance details in ‘Coming Events’).

It was his second ballet for Diaghilev – the first was The Firebird in 1910 – and the first in which, it is generally accepted, Stravinsky evidenced a real individuality. It was premiered on 13 June 1911 at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. The Rite of Spring followed in May 1913, at the newly built Théâtre des Champs-Élysées (not on the Champs-Élysées); and it was that of course, via the riot and accompanying scandal, that made Stravinsky the most famous living composer (well, almost).

The Royal New Zealand Ballet is presenting a triple bill of Stravinsky ballets in their May/June season which opens in Wellington on the week-end 20-22 May. It then progresses through Auckland, Napier, finishing in Invercargill on 9 June. The damage to Christchurch’s Theatre Royal means the loss of those earlier-planned performances.

The three ballets:

Satisfied with Great Success – Scènes de ballet

The three ballets include two of the great three. Missing is The Firebird; in its place, as it were, is a little rarity which is disguised behind the title ‘Satisfied with Great Success’. The ballet in question is an abstract work simply entitled Scènes de ballet. It was commissioned by Billy Rose for a Broadway revue called The Seven Lively Arts, premiered at the Ziegfeld Theatre on 7 December 1944. It was choreographed by Anton Dolin who, with Alicia Markova, danced the leading roles. .

Rose used only parts of the score that Stravinsky composed. After the preview in Philadelphia, Rose famously telegraphed Stravinsky as follows:

“YOUR MUSIC GREAT SUCCESS STOP COULD BE SENSATIONAL SUCCESS IF YOU WOULD AUTHORISE ROBERT RUSSELL BENNETT RETOUCH ORCHESTRATION STOP BENNETT ORCHESTRATES EVEN THE WORKS OF COLE PORTER.” To which Stravinsky replied: “SATISFIED WITH GREAT SUCCESS.”

Of a trumpet tune in the Pas de deux, Lawrence Morton writes: “Remove from it the marks of genius, make it four-square, give it a Cole Porter lyric, and you have a genuine pop-tune.”

Three later choreographers have been involved with the music: Frederick Ashton choreographed it afresh for Sadler’s Wells Ballet, premiered on 11 February 1948 at Covent Garden. It was the first performance of all the music Stravinsky has written. There, it was very much a showcase for Margot Fonteyn and Michael Somes.

The next production was to choreography by John Taras, who was ballet master at New York City Ballet, in the context of a now famous Stravinsky Festival following the composer’s death in 1971, premiered on 22 June 1972 in the New York State Theatre in the Lincoln Centre. , and Christopher Wheeldon provided new choreography for the School of American Ballet by New York City Ballet, premiered on 19 May 1999..

The music is open to limitless interpretations as it was conceived by Stravinsky without plot or any concept apart from ideas about certain dancers representing certain instruments. He wrote: The parts [eleven of them] follow each other as in a sonata or a symphony in contrasts or similarities”. It was conceived for two principals and a corps de ballet of four boys and two girls.

Here we have a (at least) fourth version, by expatriate New Zealander Cameron McMillan (no relation of course to the great choreographer Kenneth MacMillan).

According to the promotion, “the ballet unfolds in a series of electrically-charged scenes played out before 50-year-old film footage of Stravinsky in New Zealand”. But the sound will not be there as the accompanying soundtrack is apparently not good. The Wellington Orchestra will perform.

Stravinsky’s famous tour to New Zealand in 1961, at which he conducted just one concert, in Wellington, is one of the high points in the orchestra’s and New Zealand’s cultural history. With him was his associate/amanuensis/conductor/musicologist, Robert Craft. Craft conducted the first half, comprising the suite, Pulcinella, the Symphony in Three Movements and Apollon Musagète. Stravinsky conducted in the second half, two sections from The Firebird – the Lullaby and Finale (I was there).

Joy Tonks’s history of the NZSO records the remark Stravinsky made later to NZBS (before the name changed from NZ Broadcasting Service to Corporation) Head of Music Malcolm Rickard: ‘Why was I given only one programme to play with this fine orchestra?” “Because, Maestro”, said Rickard, “that was all you were prepared to do”.

“But I didn’t know they are so good”, Stravinksy replied and looked reproachful.

However, The Firebird is not one of the ballets in the RNZB’s current season.

Petrushka

The evening begins however with Petrushka. (The common spelling, Pétrouchka, is the French version. As such it should have an acute accent on the ‘é’). Petrushka is the exact English transliteration of the Russian (Петрушка).

Wikipedia records the following comments about its reception in Paris and elsewhere: “While the production was generally a success, some members of the audience were taken aback by music that was brittle, caustic, and at times even grotesque. One critic approached Diaghilev after a dress rehearsal and said, “And it was to hear this that you invited us?” Diaghilev succinctly replied, “Exactly”. When Diaghilev and his company traveled to Vienna in 1913, the Vienna Philharmonic initially refused to play the score, deriding Petrushka as ‘schmutzige Musik’ (“dirty music”): a foretaste of Hitler’s treatment of much contemporary art and music as ’Entartete Kunst’ – ‘degenerate art’.

Sir Jon Trimmer performs the role of Puppet Master, but, in the words of the publicity, the person pulling the strings behind the scenes in Russell Kerr who has a 52-year relationship with the company – in other words he started during the company’s first decade of existence; and he first prepared Petrushka for the then New Zealand Ballet in 1964, having worked with the London Festival Ballet where he learned the repertoire alongside the masters who created the ballets of Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes. Petrushka was one of them.

Kerr and other dancers from London Festival Ballet were thus able to ensure that the choreography was faithful to the 1911 original. His role now is the same.

Milagros – The Rite of Spring

Le sacre du printemps – The Rite of Spring – was the ballet, and the music itself, that really made Stravinsky the most famous composer of his day, a position he retained throughout his life, though it is fair to say that his place in 20th century music has altered in the last forty years with the emergence of certain younger composers of comparable stature (Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Hindemith, Berg, Messiaen, Britten, Martinů, Lutoslawski…) and the reappraisal of others such as Schoenberg, Rachmaninov, Sibelius and Richard Strauss.

Here the company is reviving its 2003 production of their own commissioning of an account of the ballet by Venezualan dancer and choreographer Javier de Frutos, called Milagros, which employs a rare piano roll version of the score performed by Stravinsky himself.

According to dance commentator Anne-Marie Daly-Peoples writing in 2005, “De Frutos has brought accolades to the Royal New Zealand Ballet. Milagros was first staged by the company in 2003 recently earning itself a Laurence Olivier Award nomination for Best New Dance Production and Best Choreography (Modern) at Britain’s Critic’s Circle Dance Awards.

“Wherever Milagros may be performed, no doubt they will be aware that it was created for the Royal New Zealand Ballet Company. That is its legacy, performed for the first time here in Wellington.”

Versions by other choreographers are to be expected since Nijinsky’s original choreography was not properly preserved and has been reconstructed by various hands since. One of the least happy was that used in Disney’s Fantasia where the music was re-ordered and changed and, according to Stravinsky, execrably played. He felt that the animations, on the other hand, had understood the work.

Wikipedia has a good account of the origins, transformations both musically and choreographically, of the Rite. We quote:

“Stravinsky made two arrangements of The Rite of Spring for player piano. In late 1915, the Aeolian Company in London asked for permission to issue both the Rite and Petrushka on piano roll, and by early 1918 the composer had made several sketches to be used in the more complex passages. Owing to the war, the work of transcribing the rolls dragged on, and only the Rite was ever issued by Aeolian on standard pianola rolls, and this not until late 1921, by which time Stravinsky had completed a far more comprehensive re-composition of the work for the Pleyela, the brand of player piano manufactured by Pleyel in Paris.

“The Pleyela/pianola master rolls were not recorded using a “recording piano” played by a performer in real time, but were instead true “pianola” rolls, cut mechanically/graphically, free from any constraints imposed by the ability of the player. Musicologist William Malloch observed that on these rolls the final section is at a considerably faster tempo, relative to the rest of the composition, than in the generally used orchestral score.

“Malloch opines—based upon this evidence, the composer’s revisions of the orchestral score, and a limited number of very early phonographic recordings of performances—that Stravinsky originally intended the faster tempo, but found that significant numbers of orchestral players at the time were simply unable to manage the rhythmic complexity of the section at that tempo, and accordingly revised the tempo markings. The Benjamin Zander recording [with the Boston Symphony Orchestra] includes both the pianola version, and the orchestral Rite with the faster tempo restored to the final section. A low-fidelity recording is available.”

Even before the orchestral score was finished Stravinsky wrote a four hands version which he and Debussy played. It was in this form that the ballet was first published, the full orchestral score not being published till 1921.

All in all, the Royal New Zealand Ballet looks set to present an extremely interesting programme that both honours the composer and presents imaginative versions of two supreme masterpieces, plus a revival of the less familiar Scènes de Ballet.

*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


Puertas String Quartet in Hunter Council room recital

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Haydn: Quartet in G, Op.77 no.2
Zemlinsky: Quartet no.4, Op.25
Keith Statham: Romance no.1
Beethoven: Quartet in E flat, Op.127

Puertas Quartet (Tom Norris and Ellie Fagg, violins; Julia McCarthy, viola; Andrew Joyce, cello)

Hunter Council Chamber, Victoria University

Thursday 5 May, 7.30pm

Despite the clash with the Hutt Valley Chamber Music Society concert and the fact that the concert was not advertised in that day’s Dominion Post Arts Supplement, a good-sized audience greeted this English-New Zealand string quartet. The audience was seated facing the east window in the Council chamber rather than north or west, as I have experienced before, so no-one was seated in the east gallery. Whether this had any acoustic effect I do not know, but certainly the sound was first-class.

The four young musicians served up a meaty programme; perhaps the dessert was the delightful Romance.

The Puertas players have not been together for very long (I think ‘worked together in different guises over the past 15 years’ in the printed programme must be a mistake for ‘past five years’).

Tom Norris is co-principal second violin with the London Symphony Orchestra, with which his wife Ellie Fagg is trialling as a violinist. Andrew Joyce was recently appointed principal cello with the NZSO and his wife Julia McCarthy is on trial for that orchestra’s principal viola position.  They are graduates of the Royal College of Music and the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, and have regularly performed with London orchestras. They formed their quartet in 2009. As a result of reaching the semi-finals of the international Bordeaux String Quartet Competition in 2009, they have performed on board a luxury cruise ship, and around the United Kingdom.

One commentator has said that Haydn ‘packed all his experience and skill into this, his last complete string quartet’. Certainly it is full of charm as well as skill. The first movement begins slowly, then becomes a bright and vigorous allegro. They were very much in accord with each other – blended tone, absolute accuracy of timing and nuances, understanding of a mutual approach to the music.

A presto minuet followed, with a slower, even romantic chorale-like trio, where the first violin melody was accompanied by the others. Ellie Fagg, who was first violinist for this work, exhibited a beautiful warm tone here.

The third movement andante began with first violin and cello only, playing a stately dance. This was very resonant, but delicacy was there when required. The first variation had the second violin playing the melody, with the first violin adding decoration, the viola and cello adding the harmony, then following up with the melody carried sonorously below. Further variations followed. The fourth movement was a delightful fast and light-hearted piece, revealing Haydn’s humour.

It was played with verve, unanimity and commitment. The constant fast passage work was always together and bang in tune. Through the whole concert I noticed perhaps two bung notes.

Prior to the Zemlinsky quartet, cellist Andrew Joyce spoke to the audience, explaining a little about the composer and the work. He remarked that it was amazing to think that Zemlinsky was composing at the same time as Brahms (initially), and Mahler, since his musical language was so different from both. He prefigured Schoenberg, whom he taught (and Schoenberg married Zemlinsky’s sister). Joyce said that the composer’s best music was in his quartets.

This quartet was written in 1936; the composers dates are 1871-1942. So it is not surprising that there are hints of Schoenberg here. Joyce explained the structure of the work: a suite of three pairs of movements, rather than the standard quartet structure.

The adagio first section, Praeludium, opened with a chorale which turned into a funeral oration. This was followed by Burleske (vivace) which featured impressive, rapid pizzicato on first violin, this time played by Tom Norris (the previous movement gave the cello plenty of pizzicato). Later, the second violin took it up, echoing the first violin. Spicato followed.

The next pair (second movement) started with an Adagietto, at first in unison. This had a sombre feel, morphing into wistful, tender longing. The second part, an allegretto Intermezzo was a theme and variations, that ended with rapid phrases. Its partner, a slow Barcarole, featured unusual harmonies and a Hungarian feel to the melodies. The first violin part was dominant. A lovely tone was created in a section with muted viola. A beautiful cello solo was rich and reverberant, full of expressive timbres, that reached anguish. Here, at times, all the instruments were muted except the cello, which served to deepen the anguish. Disturbing emotions were expressed. The last few pages were of this extensive and expressive section were fast and furious. The finale was frantic, vigorous and dissonant.

Zemlinsky is little heard of today; perhaps the fact that I found his music didn’t move me as does that of Mahler or Brahms has something to do with it. Nevertheless, this difficult music was not merely competently played, but inspiringly performed. A commentator has said that Zemlinsky did not compromise truth for the sake of beauty.

After the interval, a short Romance by Keith Statham an English-born New Zealand resident and friend of the quartet members was played, introduced with remarks from Andrew Joyce. Ellie Fagg led the quartet again. There were whiffs of Mendelssohn, Dvořák, Tchaikovsky, and especially Elgar and the English composers. This was a simple romantic piece, but with rich harmonies. It was played smoothly, with plenty of subtlety; a charming work.

Beethoven was represented by his late quartet, Op.127. The allegro started strongly, and continued with much rhythmic emphasis. The players made a big sound, more so than in the other works. The sombre adagio featured a fine violin solo from leader Tom Norris; in effect, a decorated chorale. Then we were into bouncy rhythms with intertwining parts between the two violins and accompaniment from the lower instruments. This was all done with grace, warm tone and faultless rhythm and intonation. More solo work allowed the first violinist to shine. This was a beautiful movement.

The scherzo began with a lilting opening, but soon livened up. The sheer variety and inventiveness of Beethoven (who by this time was stone deaf) is at its most astonishing in these late quartets. The movement juxtaposes passion with dance-like passages, but always there is energy and forward drive.

The finale consists of impassioned fervour interspersed with anxious restlessness. There are so many different episodes in this movement; it is innovative and brilliant.

This was ‘one out of the box’ as a chamber music concert. All the players executed their work with great attention to detail and dynamics. They are exceedingly proficient, considering the comparatively short time that they have been a quartet. The audience showed its warm appreciation for this ambitious programme and its performance.

I did think that the beauty of the female players’ full-length, sleeveless turquoise dresses was not echoed in the men’s attire; despite their having turquoise handkerchiefs poking out of their top pockets, the open-necked business shirts were too informal in contrast with the ladies’ look. Maybe turquoise bow-ties would have been more appropriate, or a different style of shirt, or jacket. One of the men had smart cuff-links – hardly designed to go with an open-necked shirt!

The only disappointment with this evening of music was the printed programme. There were no programme notes, which mattered particularly for the Zemlinsky work; no listing of the movements, and even the dates when the composers flourished were not printed.

Alexa Still and Diedre Irons – irresistible duo

Posted on by Peter Mechen

ALEXA STILL (flute) and DIEDRE IRONS (piano)

Chamber Music Hutt Valley

Music by POULENC, BOYD, PROKOFIEV and BORNE (flute and piano)

DICK and MARAIS (flute solo)

CHOPIN (piano solo)

Little Theatre, Lower Hutt

Thursday 5th May 2011

Mistakenly thinking the concert was being held in nearby St.James’ Church, I wasted several precious minutes retracing steps and re-aligning my destination, finally being led by the sound of Alexa Still’s silvery flute tones to the entranceway of Lower Hutt’s Little Theatre. I thus missed the opening Allegro malinconico part of Poulenc’s Sonata for flute and piano, but was charmed, by way of compensation, both by the friendliness of my reception at the door, and the full, rich and impassioned playing from both Alexa Still and Diedre Irons which continued throughout the Cantilena second movement.

In the past I hadn’t much liked visiting this venue on account of what I thought I remembered was a dry, boxy acoustic, but these musicians were managing to fill the ambiences with plenty of rich, golden tones as to make the spaces seem positively resonant. Alexa Still’s tonal mastery was evident throughout Poulenc’s kaleidoscopic changes of focus and emphasis throughout the finale – the music’s character cheeky, heroic, profound and mock-serious by turns, requiring stellar command of control and reserves of energy! With pianist Diedre Irons displaying her characteristic ebullience and quicksilver reflexes, both players brought out the music’s constant flux in mood and manner, delivering to we listeners a veritable chaos of charm and delight right to the end.

Alexa Still introduced the flute items, interesting us with her remarks about the music and her experience of playing the works previously – she obviously has an extremely wide repertoire and musical sympathies to match, judging by the range and scope of this concert. A piece by American composer Anne Boyd was next, Goldfish through Summer Rain, a work which uses exotic colors and pointilistic techniques. The piano caught the effect of raindrops, while the long, languid lines of the flute made the perfect foil for the piano, creating something of the same floating effect as in Debussy’s Afternoon of a Faun. I thought the whole work imbued with a kind of longing for a world of beauty, wishful of bringing into creative being an order of things – what a friend of mine would describe as “very Zen”!

Prokofiev’s Sonata I knew in a version for violin and piano, so I was surprised and delighted to find a familiar piece of music in what was for me a new and exciting guise – in fact its original form! – and sounding here as though it thoroughly belonged to the flute-and-piano repertoire. Like many great composers, Prokofiev wrote music whose identity with its creator is evident within a couple of bars’ hearing, no matter how unfamiliar. Straightaway there’s that characteristic astringent flavour to the melody and its harmony, and an accompanying volatility of textures and dynamics which “spikes” the composer’s best work. Something of a neoclassicist as well as a revolutionary, Prokofiev drew these elements beautifully together in works such as this sonata – we so enjoyed the first movement’s clean-cut melodic contourings and their beautifully-crafted symmetries, elements of the music to which both Still and Irons brought their capacities for articulating volatile detail within a larger framework, returning us richly and surely to the opening mood at the movement’s end.

The quirky Scherzo “bucking-broncoed” our imaginations most energetically, the performance putting plenty of élan and glint into the vertiginous figurations, before  pulling everything momentarily to order for a lovely, somewhat melancholy trio section, one which the composer nevertheless keeps on its toes with occasional skyrocketting irrruptions. Still and Irons had a fine time with the “big tune” at its return, tossing its angularities about with fine style, before dispatching the music at the end with a deft gesture wrought of magic. After this the slow movement amply demonstrated Prokofiev’s way of conjuring melody and feeling from grey matter –  beautiful in places but essentially austere, a feeling which the jolly, heavy-footed dance that opened the finale was able to rescue us from most thankfully. As well as plenty of lusty energy, Still and Irons brought granite-like strength to the “building-blocks” episodes, and just the right amount of circumspection to the movement’s lyrical centre, before seamlessly reinvigorating the figurations with the energies needed to lead the music back into the dance – a heart-warming performance.

We were warned by Alexa Still, before playing the first item after the interval, for flute solo, that she might be making some strange sounds, and these were entirely on purpose! The work was one I’d heard her play at a previously concert, Fish are Jumping, for flute alone, by the American flutist and composer Robert Dick. This was a languid, lazy and bluesy piece, not, as one might expect, a variation on Gershwin’s Summertime tune but a realization equally as atmospheric, with flourishes of energy in places. Still’s technical facility astonished, here – her uncanny ability to play “chords” (two notes simultaneously, with what sounded like accompanying overtones) made for a distinctly exotic and unworldly impression, making the whole a kind of “transport of delight” to the enchantment of other realms. A comparable distancing, in time, was achieved by Still with Marin Marais’ Le Folies d’Espagne, with the inestimable help of a wooden mouthpiece, to achieve a more authentic timbre for this piece – a sombre theme at the outset, but with variations that had a wider range of expression that I expected from this composer.I’d always thought of Marais as a kind of French equivalent to John Dowland, he of the “semper Dowland, semper dolens” reputation – as the French say, l’air ne fait pas la chanson…..

Came pianist Diedre Irons’ turn for a solo, and she gave us Chopin’s F Minor Fantasy, her playing exhibiting that alchemic mixture of clear-sighted discipline and far-flung and fantastical imagination, so that we, as the composer intended, appear to be witnessing a spontaneous creation of the spirit, the music both taking and being taken throughout fanciful realms. The pianist’s mastery of rubato married strength and spontaneity in a wonderfully osmotic way; and the strength of her playing negated the venue’s tendency to dryness, instead filling the vistas with surges of tone and proper “glint” at the tops of the figurations. Regarding the piece’s freedom I’ve always tended to regard the Fantasy as a kind of subconscious homage on Chopin’s part to Liszt, his colleague/rival, with the brilliance of some of the piano writing balanced by the almost Faustian character of some of the darker episodes, only with more equivocal treatment in places of the virtuoso keyboard writing – the music occasionally stopping as if to listen to its own voice, in places. I thought the piece’s essential character captured here so well in this respect, so that, in Diedre Irons’ hands Chopin was still always Chopin.

After this, I’m afraid, the gaucheries of Francois Borne’s Fantasy on themes from Bizet’s “Carmen” sounded more than embarrassingly hollow, though both musicians characteristically gave it their all – perhaps if we had taken up Alexa Still’s invitation to us to “sing along with the bits you recognize”, the work could have had at least some point. This all sounds very snobbish on my part, but I’m aware of there being a number of brilliantly-constructed, rather more “organically” conceived fantasy-like “reminiscences” of Bizet’s eponymous opera, written for various instruments – if this is the flute’s only representative relating to the work, then it’s a pity Still herself hasn’t thought about bringing her musical intelligence and virtuosic skills to producing something for her instrument making use of those glorious tunes that hangs together more convincingly than this – all that spectacular fingering and tonguing, all those beautiful tones (maybe if Sarasate had played the flute…….).

An encore written by Ravel – a Habanera, but not from Rapsodie Espagnole – was sufficient balm for the senses, in the wake of the previous item’s lurid horrors – here we had worlds of evocative gesture and tonal ravishment from both instruments over a few short minutes, a display of mastery, all in all, on the part of composer and musicians alike. It was a heart-warming way to conclude a brilliant musical evening.

Graduate string students from New Zealand School of Music at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Caprices Nos 16 and 20 by Paganini – played by Irina Andreeva (viola)
Scherzo (by Brahms) from the FAE Sonata; and the third movement from Brahms’s Violin Sonata No 3 in D minor, Op 108 – played by Joanna Lee (violin) and Jian Liu (piano)
Violin Sonata No 8 in G, Op 30 No 3 by Beethoven – played by Jun He (violin) and Jian Liu (piano)

St Andrew’s on the Terrace

Wednesday 4 May, 12.15pm

The St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts are in the midst of their series of performances by students at the New Zealand School of Music.

This one featured three – a violist and two violinists, accompanied by Jian Liu, the school’s piano faculty member for the next two years. He studied with Claude Frank at Yale where he is completing a doctorate in musical arts. As well as teaching and accompanying students, he will shortly give concerts of his own.

The Paganini Caprices on a viola was certainly a surprise to the ears; Irina Andreeva (also a DMA student) has been inspired by the voila versions of the Caprices that William Primrose created (Primrose, after Lionel Tertis, was the father of the modern awakening to the viola as a solo instrument). No 16 lay for long stretches on the C string, allowing no suggestion of its violin origin. I am highly attracted to the viola and so the two Caprices, offering strong contrast, were most diverting, even if, especially in No 20, a bit flawed in intonation and articulation. But Andreeva’s warm musicality and rhythmic vitality compensated for some lack of light and shade.

Joanna Lee comes here after study at McGill in Montreal where she has been specializing in Brahms. So it was no surprise to hear such confident and polished performances of these two pieces from opposite ends of Brahms’s career.

The FAE Sonata (‘Frei aber einsam’ – free but alone, intended as a tribute to violinist Joseph Joachim) was a 1853 collaboration between Brahms aged 20, Schumann just before his mental collapse and the forgotten Albert Dietrich, who wrote the sonata’s long first movement. Schumann wrote the slow movement and the Finale. The Scherzo is from Brahms, already so characteristic, and Joanna Lee played it with a firmness and maturity that indeed demonstrated an intuitive instinct for Brahms.

There was time for only one of the two movements scheduled from the (four movements of the) third violin sonata – the scherzo – Un poco presto e con sentimento. However, it is a substantial piece and was a highly convincing demonstration of a major talent. Again the two players found a singular rapport, with careful placing of emphatic notes and violin chords, all its impulsiveness managed in flawless ensemble.

The third of Beethoven’s Op 30 set of violin sonatas is the shortest of the three and was a delightful choice for a lunchtime concert. As well as again showcasing an admirable piano part, it gave violinist Jun He the opportunity to explore the very distinct moods of this sonata: calm sanguinity in the first movement, joyfulness in the last, but a menuetto in the middle that is profoundly meditative and lyrical, heart-easing (to use an old-fashioned expression).

Jun He is another recent arrival at the School of Music, originally from China, having studied at various universities and academies; she is here to complete a doctorate in musical arts. She took great care with dynamics and exercised beautiful control of the discreet ornaments, with the two instruments in perfect sympathy. Though given no invitation by the music for display or histrionics, the two players created a poised, modest, warm-hearted partnership. There can be few so un-dancing minuets as this; eager dancers would have been stilled by the beauty of the music and, in this instance, its performance.

The last movement was simple joy, the violin articulated so softly, with exquisite ppp sounds from the piano, which even at the odd fortissimo never clouded the violin or generated any percussiveness. And the witty modulation to E flat near the end dramatically altered the colouring.

Though this was the only ‘entire’ piece in the programme the whole could be enjoyed at a level far above the average ‘student’ performance.

NZSQ and Wollerman reveal beauties in Schoenberg, and others

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand String Quartet and Jenny Wollerman (soprano)

Beethoven: String Quartet in A, Op 18 No 5; Schoenberg: String Quartet No 2 in F sharp minor, Op 10; Smetana: String Quartet No 1 in E minor ‘From my life’

Wellington Town Hall

Tuesday 3 May 7.30pm

I suspect that few musical performances in Wellington have done as much, as quickly, as this to overturn long-held attitudes about a composer. Often without really putting it to the test, many ordinary music lovers have accepted that, apart from Verklärte Nacht, Schoenberg’s music was and has remained cacophonous and unlistenable. The composer himself complained quite early that the problem was poor performance: nothing difficult about his music!

All that was needed then was the phantom arrival of a New Zealand String Quartet and a Jenny Wollerman to illuminate what Schoenberg had created; for no one I spoke to at the interval did not exclaim at the transformational performance by both string quartet and soprano.

Even though for perhaps many, this might have been a first hearing, and the splintered character of the lyricism and the unpredictability of the music from minute to minute and still surprise, there was an unmistakable feeling that real music was present, of beauty and natural human impulse.

If this concert had been heard through radio or recording, it might not have had the effect it did, for the impact of watching these players, so profoundly engrossed and so whole-heartedly enraptured in their performance, was a most persuasive aspect. One felt as if each player relished opportunities to sing, to prove that they were playing genuine music, not some intellectual contrivance, even though the shapes of the songs were unusual. The first movement is simply a restless, soulful meditation of great beauty; the mood overall not very different from the nocturnal strangeness of Verklärte Nacht. After moving passages from first violin, then viola, Rolf Gjelsten seemed transported as he played cello phrases that expressed alternating grief and resolve.

The second movement changes the mood entirely, skittering violin over abrupt cello notes, with its use of the German folk song ‘Ach, du lieber Augustin’, mocked and tortured. Perhaps it was the only way for the composer to handle the traumatic loss of his wife to his painting teacher, though we must not imagine the music to be any kind of direct account of that. The playing was remarkable in its quixotic, kaleidoscopic impulsiveness, and the notes of the song are broken, dissected. Another frenzied passage closed the movement,

What disconcerted its first Viennese audiences lay in the next two movements – the arrival of a soprano to sing two poems – how outrageous for a voice to invade the sacred world of chamber music! It’s a setting of Stefan George, a poet who is compared to the French Parnassiens and symbolists. (One noticed that the programme notes observed the poet’s Cummings-like capital letters fetish in the German texts: nouns not capitalized).

The first, Litanei, with lines like “… Grant some peace to my faltering steps … extinguish all hope, send out [better perhaps, ‘dispatch’] your light …Kill the longing, close the wounds…”. Jenny Wollerman’s voice proved a quite exquisite vehicle for the poem and its music taxing a voice with its fragments of melody that are determined to give no comfort; projected strongly, accurately, with emotional intensity. Though the score was before her, she appeared to have every word and every note utterly secure.

The last movement used the poem Entrückung (approximately ‘rapture’) and it expressed that, in the uneasy quiet of the opening, depending heavily on the cello, curling and twisting in preparation for the voice’s entry. In the movement’s ten minutes or so, there was time for the listener to begin to find melody in the spectral cirrus, and with the compelling performances by all five, we were left with a sense of music of the greatest beauty.

Though I’ve paid much attention to the Schoenberg, the other pieces were played with no less power, subtlety, and beauty of tone and expression.

The happiest of Beethoven’s first published set of quartets opened with an almost droll, whimsical air, an ethereal dance, set among scintillating flashes from Helene Pohl’s brilliant violin, all brought to its senses with some sombre phrases from the cello. The Menuetto was a particularly sensuous Viennese affair, its swaying rhythm set charmingly against the warm romantic tune of the Trio. The Andante cantabile with its variations and sometimes fugal passages found Beethoven and the players in a jovial mood, smiles flickering across their faces, responding to comic effects. The movement ends with a sudden subsiding to a minor tonality that stilled the audience utterly – apart from a solitary cough – in the pause before the Finale.

The Schoenberg was followed by Smetana’s autobiographical piece: a life that allowed much variety, Gillian Ansell’s viola played a significant role at many points, passionate and rich in the opening movement. She underpinned the dance in the second, along with particular rhythmic energy from Beilman’s violin; they relished the almost saccharine sentiment of the third movement, without embarrassment.

There was a somewhat smaller audience than usual at this very fine concert. Are our chamber music audiences still subject to the blinkered attitudes that Schoenberg faced in Vienna a century ago?

Tudor Consort sings Victoria’s Tenebrae Responsories

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Music for Holy Week

The Tudor Consort directed by Michael Stewart

Tenebrae Responsories by Tomás Luis de Victoria with plainchant interludes from Pange Lingua by Venantius Fortunatus; De Profundis by Pizzetti; Three Motets, Op 110 (Brahms); Crucifixus à 8 by Lotti

Cathedral of St Paul

Good Friday, 22 April, 9pm

When I starting writing reviews for The Evening Post in 1987, I was not particularly au fait with very much liturgical music and even less with its technical vocabulary, having not been brought up in a religious family. Coming to grips with the significance of parts of the liturgy like the Tenebrae responories and their use in the church was interesting….

Let me assume that fewer today, even the nominally Catholic, are very familiar with some of the more arcane areas of the liturgy.

Holy Week is the busiest period in the calendar of the Christian church, and the commemoration of the events surrounding Christ’s crucifixion supplied the church with the opportunity for an extensive and complex variety of rituals most of which involved, from the earliest times, the speaking, chanting or singing of texts from the Bible; at Easter, that was mainly from the Gospels. And the events in the story provide for the expression of emotions of every kind, of betrayal, persecution, grief, experience of death both by the victim and by others, and the mysteries of the resurrection. The ceremonies that evolved very early to symbolize and represent the story involved extinguishing candles in gathering darkness (though there was no enactment of that in this concert), accompanied by chant and, from the 16th century, polyphonic choral singing of some of the most richly and emotionally charged compositions in the western musical tradition.

The best, straightforward account of the Tenebrae is from the New Grove Dictionary of Music: I paraphrase: the combined offices of Matins and Lauds on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday of Holy Week. The service is marked by the extinction of 15 candles, one after each psalm. At the end of the canticle Benedictus Dominus all the candles are extinguished and what follows is said or sung in darkness – ‘in tenebris’. The musically significant parts of the ceremony are the first three of the nine ‘lessons’ of the Matins, taken from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, and the responsories that follow each.

The Responsories are just that – responses to each of the readings of lessons at Matins (the equivalent after readings at Mass is the Gradual). It was in the late 16th century that polyphonic settings of the Tenebrae responses became common. Out of the full 27 responsories to the Tenebrae ceremonies, Victoria set 18 of them and just six of those were sung on Friday evening. Each response consists of two parts – the respond and the verse – and the distinction in this performance in terms of voices used and the more hortatory character of the settings, was dramatically rendered.

The choir, positioned between choir stalls and sanctuary, while the audience occupied the choir stalls and seats between, sang with remarkable musical, though less verbal clarity: consonants were often allowed to pass unattended. But the deeply contemplative and grieving mood was wonderfully sustained and the singers grasped every expressive opportunity. In ‘Unus ex discipulis’, dealing with the betrayal by Judas, the descending lines and the highly charged singing described the event and its impact far better than any explicit expression of condemnation or outrage could.

Interspersed between parts of the Responsories and other pieces, were plainchants from the 6th century ‘sequence hymn’ by Venantius Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers, Pange lingua gloriosi proelium certaminis. They are chanted during the Adoration of the Cross on Good Friday and so were actually more exactly appropriate to performance on the evening of Good Friday than the Tenebrae Responsories themselves.

This concert included from Pange lingua, the ‘Crux fidelis’, ‘De parentis protoplasti’, ‘Hoc opus nostrae’, ‘Quando venit ergo sacri’, ‘Sola digni tu fuisti’ and ‘Aequa patri filioque’. Long stretches of plainsong I sometimes find tedious, but these were quite brief and, in any case, sung so exquisitely, shared between male and female voices and then together, that they were highly satisfying intercepts.

In addition to the selections from the Tenebrae Responsories and punctuating plainsong from the Pange Lingua, was one of the most remarkable pieces of modern polyphony reflecting the Renaissance style: The De Profundis of Pizzetti. (Pizzetti, 1880 – 1968, 20 years or so younger than his more famous operatic contemporaries, wrote mainly orchestral and vocal music, though he did have some operatic success, for example with his setting of T S Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral – Assassinio nella cattedralae).

De Profundis, composed in 1937, is drawn from Psalm 130. It emerged as a religious expression of great integrity, bearing essential marks of 16th century liturgical music, but with harmonies and colours clearly post-Brahms, and recognizably of 20th century sensibility, and handling of voices. It was a superb performance; one of those that will drive me to explore more of Pizzetti’s music (though I did see Assassinio nella cattedrale in Rome a few years ago).

Then there was the group of three motets of Brahms, late works. The first and third could be compared with the Pizzetti motet, composed lineally in flowing counterpoint, while the second, ’Ach, arme Welt’, had a clear German chorale character, with vertical harmonies. The choir’s adroit stylistic shift was a further mark of its versatility. 

Another composer was called in to end the concert. Antonio Lotti, who lived from 1667 to 1740, about a hundred years after Victoria, continued to compose in the Renaissance style. Music had changed very considerably from the time of Victoria. As well as writing liturgical music (he was maestro di cappella at St Mark’s Venice), he wrote some 24 operas (though only eight survive) and he spent two years as opera composer for the Elector of Saxony, Friedrich Augustus I at Dresden.

The Crucifixus for eight voices from a Credo in F is a famous and popular piece; in turn it comes from his Missa Sancti Christophori, which was written while Lotti was at Dresden.

For this final piece, the choir was spread out across the full width of the sanctuary; it lived up to its promise, melodically interesting with women’s voices in long descending lines against varied accompaniment by male voices. Though the mass itself is written with instrumental accompaniment, in this section only a continuo line remains, and that was of course dropped from the performance, no doubt making the maintenance of pitch rather more difficult.

It brought a thoroughly enrapturing concert to an end, neatly affording a view of the high Renaissance from a beautiful, backward-looking work of the Baroque period. Once more, this superb, world-class choir which is far more than simply an ‘early music’ ensemble, delivered performances of warmth, precision, wide-ranging expressiveness, beauty and impressive ensemble.

Rewarding concert of choral works by two French organ composers

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Bach Choir of Wellington conducted by Stephen Rowley

The Seven Last Words of Christ and Toccata No 3 in G by Théodore Dubois; Messe Solennelle in C sharp minor, Op 16 , Naïades from Pièces de fantaisie, Op 55 No 4 and Berceuse from 24 Pièces en style libre, Op 31 by Louis Vierne

Organists: Douglas Mews, Christopher Hainsworth and Emmanuel Godinez
Bryony Williams (soprano), Thomas Atkins (tenor), Kieran Rayner (baritone)

Church of St Mary of the Angels

Sunday 17 April, 7pm

Two days after Richard Apperley had played Haydn’s account of the Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross on St Paul’s Cathedral organ, an choral version of the story by Théodore Dubois was sung in St Mary of the Angels. If Haydn’s version saw the New Testament story as offering hope and spiritual renewal for mankind, Dubois’s account of Les sept paroles du Christ, only 70 years later, seemed to remove it from the divine world to a bourgeois world where spiritual ideas and emotions are filtered through a style of music more reminiscent of the theatre and drawing room.

That is not to say that in the eight movements (an Introduction and the seven verses that were compiled in early Christian times from various Gospel sources), there were not episodes in which the composer captured the sense and the emotions of the words and the meaning behind them. ‘Mulier (woman or mother), ecce filius tuus’, is the equivalent of the medieval poem Stabat Mater, set by many composers, and part of which used as the following gloss, there was, through baritone, tenor and soprano soloists, an affecting representation of grief in descending phrases. It was perhaps a pity that the two male singers had voices that were rather similar in timbre so that it was often only when singing at the extremes of their registers that I was absolutely certain who was singing.

All three voices, of current students or recent graduates of the New Zealand School of Music, were bright, splendidly produced and fitted the roles they depicted admirably.

And in the fourth Word, ‘My God, why have you forsaken me?’, perhaps the most challenging theologically, the feeling may not have been utterly despairing and uncomprehending, but its intensity created a small tour de force. It so happened I heard Stainer’s setting of these words in his Crucifixion on RNZ Concert on Wednesday morning (as I was finishing this review). And though I find the work pretty glutinous and religiose, Stainer captured the words with simple honesty.

The entire concert was performed from the choir gallery which proved most congenial in terms of sound projection, detail and balance. Solo voices seemed less subject to any undue reverberation, and the choir’s first entry after short verses from tenor and baritone, was surprisingly powerful; I suspect that both the supportive acoustic and the entire ambience stimulated the Bach Choir to perform at a level of distinction that it has been regaining steadily under the leadership of Stephen Rowley in the past couple of years.

Dubois’s work consists of the ‘Words’, sung generally by one of the soloists, followed by an enlargement of the verse with appropriate liturgical texts, all in Latin and sung by the chorus and/or the soloists. The organ, in Christopher Hainsworth’s hands, added very importantly to the interest and liveliness of the whole work.

The first half of the concert was in Hainsworth’s hands for, as President of the Dubois Society, he had grasped an appropriate opportunity to advocate for him. The society is dedicated to the revival of attention to this neglected composer, as much in France as other countries. He had chosen his exhibit for the court very well. It is interesting to recall that Dubois had been director of the Paris Conservatoire during the time that Ravel was being repeatedly failed for the Prix de Rome, though he actually resigned just before Ravel’s last (unsuccessful) attempt.

He played Dubois’s most familiar organ piece, his Toccata in G, having warned us not to imagine that Dubois had merely imitated Widor: Dubois’s toccata came first. It was a splendid display, employing the organ’s brilliant capacities with a sure instinct for effective registrations.

After the interval there were another two organ solos – by the concert’s ‘other’ composer, Louis Vierne. Thirty years younger than Dubois, Vierne’s music is far removed from the theatre-dominated music of his predecessor: impressionism and fastidiousness are the hallmarks. Douglas Mews played the much anthologized Naïades, aqueous and luminous; and then the Berceuse from Op 31 was played by Emmanuel Godinez, still at secondary school – St Patrick’s College, who was last year’s Maxwell Fernie Trust scholar. His performance of this quiet piece was of course no spectacle, but sensitive and poetic.

Vierne’s Messe Solennelle, written around 1900, was accompanied at the organ by Douglas Mews; it does not include the ‘Credo’. Again, the organ’s part was distinctive and refined, but not without dramatic moments, in which some of the more colourful, occasionally ‘peasant’ registrations, lent interest to a work whose refinement and subtlety might otherwise have deprived it of variety and drama. The choir’s performance was again remarkably confident and robust, though when necessary, as in the ‘Benedictus’ and in the undemonstrative ‘Agnus Dei’, the singing was of a delicacy and calm that brought the concert to a moving conclusion.

If Dubois’s life was fairly untroubled, Vierne’s was a tale of loss and misfortune. He was born near blind; he was deeply distressed by a divorce from his wife; his brother and son were killed in the First World War; he injured a leg in a street accident which took a long time to mend, and he had to relearn his pedal technique at the organ. And though he held the presitigous post of organist at Notre Dame Cathedral, the organ was in a state of serious disrepair through most of his time. And the story of his death during his 1750th recital in the cathedral rests among the strange semi-myths of music.

His recital was to end with two improvisations on submitted themes; he read the first theme in Braille, then selected the stops he would use; he suddenly pitched forward, and fell off the bench as his foot hit the low E pedal of the organ. He lost consciousness as the single note echoed throughout the church, and the story goes that the congregation only realised something was wrong as the note continued to sound. The latter is apocryphal however as his friend Maurice Duruflé was beside him at the time. But he had thus fulfilled his oft-stated lifelong dream – to die at the console of the great organ of Notre-Dame.

Wellington Chamber Orchestra interprets Michael Vinten’s orchestral disinterments

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Wellington Chamber Orchestra conducted by Michael Vinten with Linden Loader (mezzo soprano) and Roger Wilson (baritone)

Sibelius: Scaramouche Suite, Op 71 (re-arranged by Michael Vinten); Mahler: Nine early songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn (orchestrated by Michael Vinten); Schubert: Symphony No 10, (completed and orchestrated by Michael Vinten from D 936a and 708a)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 17 April, 2.30pm

This will go down as one of the most unusual concerts of the year. An orchestral concert entirely of works completed and/or orchestrated by the conductor. Few would claim all three exercises to have been an unmitigated success, but all three had singular virtues and elements of great interest.

In terms of musical content I suppose that the Mahler songs should rank high – they should recommend themselves to singers everywhere. There are not so many Mahler songs that the addition of another group, juvenilia to be sure, would not be welcomed. In any case, most were very attractive compositions.

Then the Schubert Symphony: I was curious to discover, first of all, whether the material Vinten drew on had not already been edited, completed, orchestrated. And of course it has been, as I discovered courtesy of Wikipedia when I started to write this review. It has been orchestrated by one Brian Newbould, performed and recorded; but as a three movement work, not in the four movements that Vinten created using a Scherzo movement from another incomplete symphonic piece (D 708a). Newbould had concluded that the finale, Rondo, was marked ‘Scherzo’ because it combined the functions of a scherzo and a finale.

Vinten, on the other hand, was presumably not convinced that the word ‘Scherzo’ at the top of the first page of the Rondo pertained to that movement, and surmised perhaps that it indicated where a Scherzo would go.

The Scherzo movement from D 708a did, however, fit admirably in the sequence following the Andante movement, both in D major. On the other hand, you don’t have to look for a suitable movement in the same key. In Schubert’s time it was not the rule that each movement in a multi-movement work should be in the same key: look at any number of symphonies and concertos from the classical period on.

However, the exercise was very convincing. One could be picky about the instrumentation chosen by Vinten; sometimes textures sounded a bit too fussy, sometimes a woodwind combination sounded unSchubertian; there is any number of permutations possible. But the general result sounded like a symphony, and there was possibly some virtue in Vinten’s inclination to vary his instrumentation more than Schubert typically did, for it overcame Schubert’s tendency to repeats themes in virtually unchanged dress many times during a long movement.

The second theme of the first movement sounded like the real thing, as did the somber theme of the second movement, imaginatively developed and engagingly orchestrated.

Vinten scored for double winds (including trumpets and horns) and three trombones; one must add that some of the woodwind playing was less than lovely and the strings had moments of uncertainty, but generally the orchestra handled the work well; timpanist Alec Carlisle was well-placed (forward of the chamber organ) and his playing was admirable.

The Mahler songs, as Roger Wilson explained, contained ideas that occurred in later symphonies and songs. Des Knaben Wunderhorn was an extraordinary treasure-trove for the German Romantic movement in both literature and music. As a student, I understood there were doubts about the ‘folk’ authenticity of these songs and ballads ‘collected’ by Arnim and Brentano, but they certainly had greater integrity than McPherson’s Ossian of forty years earlier. They were the usual mixture of quasi-tragic, touches of the risqué, the impact of military service and war, death… Few composers have actually captured the irony, drollerie, cruelty, mindless carelessness of some of the behaviour illustrated in these folk poems, as well as Mahler. Roger Wilson and Linden Loader sang them with a vigour, sensitivity, insouciance that exhibited their emotion and their character vividly and often with humour. The orchestrations were very much in Mahler’s style, with piquant use of instruments such as bassoon, horn, trumpet. Characteristic was Selbstgefühl, with its use of horn and woodwinds, a portrait of a selfish, self-pitying fool: hints of the music of Baron Ochs (though the influence would of course have been in the other direction), sung by Wilson.

Less persuasive was Vinten’s arrangement of music Sibelius had written for a Danish play about the comic/nasty commedia dell’ arte figure Scaramouche. (whom you’ll be familiar with from the Milhaud suite). Quite varied in mood, it was easy to hear it as effective incidental music in the theatre, and some of it was quirky and unusual. There was a nice waltz and a slightly dry love scene, all good for twenty minutes of diversion. Vinten had succeeded in distinguishing and giving some life to the characters on the play, and we could indeed sense and smell them.