Rewarding recital of 20th century British organ music Friday at St Paul’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Great Music 2011:  Music by William Mathias, Britten, MacMillan, Lennox
Berkeley, Kenneth Leighton and Howells

Richard Apperley (organ)

Cathedral of St Paul

Friday 15 July, 12.45pm

A programme of entirely British organ music comes as a bit of a surprise for it is normal to think of the repertoire as dominated by Germany and France.

The second surprise was how attractive and interesting the recital was, especially as it was entirely from the 20th century (though coming from one with no special familiarity with a great deal of British organ music of earlier periods, I suppose that might be a provocative remark).

That was due as much to the organist Richard Apperley who is assistant organist at the cathedral and whose familiarity with and command of this organ must be near unparalleled.

William Mathias’s Processional had already begun when I arrived and I was sorry not to hear it all; it was enlivened by the use of bright, sparkling stops, some with a tight reed quality; the impact was fresh, inoffensively diatonic, non-portentous, welcoming, speaking of a lively musical mind that was concerned to arrest and entertain the listener, and the last few bars did that with its surprising shift of tone. The skill and buoyancy of Apperley’s playing persuaded my organ-diffident companion that he should stay the course.

I’m not familiar with Britten’s organ music at all; yet, as with almost everything that composer wrote, this impressed. However, my unfamiliarity felt forgiven after I’d searched in the usual places to find out about this piece. An article in the Musical Times in 2004 remarks that Britten’s only organ piece known till recently was the Prelude and Fugue on a Theme of Vittoria, which Apperley played later. But then in 2003 three pieces were discovered, two of them incidental music for a 1938 play by Max Catto called They Walk Alone which ran for six months in the West End and later on Broadway. Britten had taken the score with him to New York in 1939 and left it there when he and Pears returned to Britain in 1942. It and other organ pieces were presumably left in the hands of Elizabeth Mayer, the German émigré in New York who maintained an artistic salon for émigré writers and with whom Britten and Pears stayed. Her collection was given after the war to the Britten-Pears Library at Aldeburgh, and evidently not thoroughly examined. The author of the Musical Times article, Timothy Bond, prompted the search for it and helped get the pieces published.

The Prelude to They walk alone had a sombre character, meditative and somehow comforting though without the slightest hint of self-reflection. The opening and closing of the swell box seemed to lend it a feeling of humanity, of breathing, or of rising and falling level of attention. The organist managed to suggest that he was playing a piece written by a real organist who knew how to draw idiomatic and intriguing sounds from the instrument; just as Apperley did.

The second piece by Britten, Prelude and Fugue on theme of Vittoria (Victoria in English, the theme from the motet Ecce Sacerdos Magnus) was rather more robust, at least in the Prelude which was a vigorous call to attention after which the fugue began quietly and became, not only more and more complex, as fugues do, but more and more extrovert and arresting, and complex. I have to confess to an obscure feeling of dislike for Britten in an abstract sense, on account of the person perhaps, but invariably, once the music starts, I am fascinated, drawn in, and it was the case here.

I’m not aware that Britten was anything of an organist, though a brilliant pianist, but this piece suggested an ear keenly attuned to the organ’s capacities, sensitively exploited by the player here.

There were also two pieces from Scottish composer James MacMillan: again, I had not encountered him as an organ composer. The first piece was entitled White Note Paraphrase. My ears did not allow me to believe that the piece was confined to playing the white notes. A remotely suggested, uneasy Scottish motif existed in an entirely different sphere from the accompanying series of single notes from an attenuated stop. As with all MacMillan’s music, there was a strong feeling of individuality and musical sense-of-purpose MacMillan’s second piece was Gaudeamus in loci pace, which again made use of two very distinct lines of thought and sound; a murmuring bass line below a sequence of rising silvery notes which at the end simply descended into silence. Both pieces prompted me to explore this area of a composer whose political attitudes I am responsive to.

Hyperion’s website tells me that Gaudeamus was written in 1998 to celebrate the golden jubilee of the re-foundation of a Benedictine Abbey in the diocese of Aberdeen; that it’s based on a plainchant melody sung as the introit on the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Lennox Berkeley was ten years older than Britten (incidentally, he was William Mathias’s teacher at the Royal Academy of Music). His Aria is one of three pieces for organ of 1966-68, entirely approachable, quietly lyrical, with what’s been described as a ‘bitter-sweet tunefulness’.

The least familiar name to me was Kenneth Leighton’s; raised in Yorkshire, he spent most of his life teaching in Edinburgh. His Paean was not of a particularly strident or clamorous kind, opening with bright tone clusters (in an attractive vein) it seemed to be designed in some complexity, for a great cathedral lit with gorgeous, kaleidoscopic stained glass. It struck me as a particularly interesting piece, individual in character and of genuine musical inspiration that this performance did full justice to.

The recital ended with the oldest music, the First Rhapsody by Herbert Howells in 1915, opening with a chorale-like theme in a slow crescendo, hinting at the presence of a grand melody which failed to materialise, eventually being somewhat smothered in dense harmonies, perhaps suggesting the impact of the First World War on the composer . But things clarify and lighten and the work ends in a calm, meditative mood, rather beautifully, and an awareness of the circumstances of its composition seemed, in hindsight, to give it more meaning.

So this was a recital that introduced me to an area of music with which I was largely unfamiliar but which held my attention and at many stages delighted me; I’m sure that a great deal of that impact was on account of the skill and musical taste of Richard Apperley.

Nikau Trio: flute, oboe and cello, at Old St Paul’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Boismortier, Joseph Bodin de (1689-1755): Trio in A minor (allegro, adagio, allegro)
Schubert: Adagio from Octet in F major, Op. 166
Beethoven: Duo no. 2 in F major (allegro, larghetto, allegro moderato)
Bach: Trio sonata in G major (adagio, allegro ma non presto, adagio e piano, presto)
Haydn: Trio no.3 in G major (spiritoso, andante, allegro)

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

Old St. Paul’s,Mulgrave Stree

Tuesday, 12 July, 12.15 pm

A well-attended lunchtime concert on Tuesday heard a surprisingly comprehensive programme for an unusual combination of instruments. It began with a composer I had never heard of, who, according to the programme note, ‘wrote mainly instrumental and vocal music deliberately in a style that would please the listener and ensure his own wealth and success.’

Certainly it was attractive music. The first movement commenced with the flute and oboe doubling parts. This led to a lively and tuneful allegro. The adagio was perhaps a typical baroque slow movement, featuring delicious chords and suspensions. The final movement was fast and quite demanding, especially on the flutist. This work proved the Nikau Trio to be a very pleasing combination, each player having beautiful tone.

Next came one of Schubert’s gorgeous slow movements. At first, it featured oboe, with the others playing sotto voce. But as it progressed, there was not a lot of dynamic variation. As in some of Schubert’s orchestral works, there were rather too many repeats, and the movement outstays its welcome. However, there was a lovely flute and oboe passage, the cello entering at the end, as a kind of fulfilment of promise.

What followed was a duo for oboe and cello ostensibly, yet doubtfully, by Beethoven. (No such duos appear in the list of works by Beethoven in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians.) Nevertheless, it was a thoroughly delightful piece. There was more variation of dynamics and expression in this work. The larghetto, entitled Aria, was in a minor key, while the allegro moderato final movement, Rondo, contained a lovely rubato with all the players absolutely together; as elsewhere, ensemble was immaculate.

The trio sonata was Bach at his contrapuntal best, weaving the parts into and through each other. The solo oboe passages, with the other players accompanying, were particularly fine. The final presto movement was pretty exacting, such was its speed.

The final work by good ol’ cheerful Papa Haydn was a splendid way to end the concert, with a final allegro that demonstrated his humour and sense of fun. The master used the instruments imaginatively, producing a jolly result. I couldn’t help thinking, though, that the more mellow sound of the wooden flute would blend better with the other two instruments and with the admirable acoustic of the wooden church interior.

The fluidity of the flute, the piquancy of the oboe and the majestic smoothness of the cello made for great enjoyment of this rare admixture.

A programme of two baroque works, two classical and one early Romantic work was quite an achievement, but perhaps the introduction of one modern piece might have been good, as a contrast. The printed programme notes were brief but informative; it is a pity that those for both Beethoven and Bach were marred by misrelated clauses.

Presumably the building work going on in the grounds of Old St. Paul’s was being done for the historic church, so surely the intermittent hammering could have been stopped the for the duration of the concert?

Bow at St.Andrews – tightening the strings….

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Bow String Ensemble

Musical Director – Rachel Hyde

Concertmaster – Kathryn Maloney

GRIEG – Two Elegiac Melodies Op.34  / GORECKI – Three Pieces in the Old Style

TCHAIKOVSKY – Serenade in C Major for Strings Op.48

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace, Wellington

Sunday, 10th July, 2011

This concert was the Bow String Ensemble’s second outing, following its inaugural concert last October, also at St.Andrew’s. On that occasion the new ensemble made an admirable job of the concert’s first half, but, given the rehearsal time available to amateur players, simply couldn’t do justice to what was practically a full-length program. The result resembled what I thought was very much a concert of two halves, disconcertingly so when setting one against the other. Happily, this time round, a less ambitious, though still demanding program produced a far more consistent and satisfying overall result for all concerned.

Being an ex-percussionist rather than a string player myself, I find a certain fascination, even mystique about string playing, all to do with the sound produced by ensembles. Some of the notes and phrases produced by this group in places during the course of the concert were of “sit-up-and-take-notice” quality – and not always in passages where one would expect a mellifluous sound as a certainty. All the “sections” of the ensemble had wonderful moments, places where the tones had unanimity of focus and the phrases either “flowed like oil” or tugged at the heartstrings.

That there was also, especially in the larger work of the concert, the Tchaikovsky Serenade, a rawness of intonation and a few out-of-sync passages could be easily put down to lack of rehearsal time. But, unlike the struggle experienced by the ensemble last year to make the Dvorak Serenade properly “speak”, I felt that, for all the occasional roughnesses we were given a performance of the Tchaikovsky that truly captured the music’s heart. It was more than getting the notes right – I thought the players’ tones conveyed the character of parts of the score so well and whole-heartedly in places, as to suggest that, with more rehearsal time, the group’s potential to realize performances of comparable through-quality would result, to everybody’s enhanced satisfaction.

As with last year’s performance of the “Holberg” Suite, Grieg’s music proved an excellent concert-opener, on this occasion with the Two Elegiac Melodies Op.34. Easily dismissed as “lighter” fare, they’re actually as characteristically heartfelt and richly-layered as any music by the composer, and reward the detailed, sensitively-nuanced playing encouraged by Rachel Hyde with a most attractive and readily-grasped lyricism – they are, of course, transcriptions for strings of two songs by the composer, “Spring” and “Heart Wounds”.

I thought the ensemble’s tones at the outset had a grainy, nostalgic quality, tightly held, with dynamics controlled beautifully throughout, giving the feeling of every note having been “considered”, so that the accompaniments “told” as appropriately as did the leading lines – I also liked the unmoulded sounds made by some of the notes when “leaned into” – they had a marked visceral impact which contrasted well with the “other-worldliness” of some of the more hushed passages. “Heart Wounds” seemed more inward a piece than “Spring”, one that I suspect is more difficult to “sing” because of its chromatically-inflected melody line. This is music which sounds appropriately “cold”, with flecks of sunlight in places like the tiny ‘cello counterpoint, accompanying the melody’s turning to the major key, and clouding over again when the violas introduce the tune’s second-time though. Focusing upon these nicely-realised detailings may seem as if this review might be losing sight of the forest for the trees – but they’re part of what made the performances of this music by the ensemble resonate in the memory long after the last sounds had died away.

In her spoken introduction to the concert conductor Rachel Hyde had described the three Gorecki pieces as being “lovely, but with some really scrunchy sounds in places” – and so it proved, with the last of the trio of pieces transforming an elegiac beginning into a bell-like threnody, some claustrophobic harmonies providing the crunchy bits as promised, relished by musicians and audience alike, as the sounds alternated between outward brazenness and inwardly-sounded echoes. The first two pieces were nicely differentiated, firstly an oscillating, ritual-like processional not unlike parts of the famous Symphony No.3 (“Symphony of Sorrowful Songs”); and then a cheerful folk-dance, very out-of-doors in feeling, richly textured with dynamics that dipped, swooped and soared – the ensemble seemed to take to the different moods of the music like a duck to water.

So the Tchaikovsky Serenade was splendidly prepared for by these goings-on, and the grand, dignified opening – so ceremonial and heart-on-sleeve at one and the same time – didn’t disappoint. The tones may have been close to raw in places as the players again “leaned into” their bowings, but the result was appropriately heartfelt, especially throughout the questioning repetitions leading up to the allegro. The playing brought out the music’s Italianate quality, Rachel Hyde’s tempi and general control perfectly gauged to allow the ‘cellos time to make something of their counterpoints, and the violins and violas elbow-room for their chromatic back-and-forth figurations. The Mozartean exchanges kept their rhythmic poise,though intonation suffered in the exposed dovetailing as the music turned for home just after the pizzicati colorings – the players were much happier with all this the second time round in a lower key (C as opposed to G), a sense of real enjoyment coming though, reflected in the “juiciness” of the playing of the opening’s reprise at the end.

The Waltz, one of Tchaikovsky’s most well-known, was by turns forthright and yielding, again with that attractive “Italianate” quality so well caught by the violins in thirds, though the minor-key episode that followed sounded relatively scrappy – fortunately, amends were made by the warmth of  the major-key recap., the violas having a fine time with their counterpoint (it must be such a joy to play this work!), and the coda brought off most enchantingly by all – the pizzicati ending got a special burst of delighted applause!

I loved the Elegie all over again in this performance – a beautifully “caught” opening, the tones coloured and weighted to perfection, and the last phrase “dug into” most satisfyingly – the following pizzicato sounded a bit “muddy” at first, then cleared, and the violins started the melody confidently, seemed to “lose their nerve” momentarily at the first rallentando, but then pick up again in support of the ‘cellos. Throughout I thought the performance poised, open and nicely charged with feeling – Tchaikovsky’s candidly-open “weeping” towards the end brought out some less-than-ingratiating tones, though the players recovered for the coda, giving us a most atmospheric, “Russian-sounding” final chord.

Straight into the finale, then, songful at the beginning, and with energy and bite to the dance at the allegro (the second violins couldn’t match the confidence of the firsts in the opening exchanges, but the pizzicati leading to the second subject were full of life and bounce!). Though the ‘cellos sounded a little unhappy with their theme, they then dug into the development with gusto, Hyde and the players keeping the momentum going splendidly, the up-and-down scales rocketing with energy just before the grand return to the work’s opening. Most deservedly, conductor and orchestra got a great ovation from the “in-the-round” audience, Hyde inviting comments at the end and getting one or two bravely-delivered contributions!

A quick word regarding Rachel Hyde’s invitation to children present to move around during the performance of the music – while laudable in theory I did find the audience movement distracting during the playing, and wondered whether other people also found that it actually “took” from the concert’s musical ambience – one can be warmly welcoming of children at concerts by way of dispelling a lot of the usual “stuffiness” that people associate with classical music performance, but as this wasn’t anywhere presented as a “young audience” event, I didn’t think that offering people carte blanche of movement was entirely appropriate. Perhaps I’m the one being overly stuffy, now, but I still feel that somewhere there’s middle ground with all of this that can strike a balance at concerts between enjoyment and respect, constraint and comfort – and not just for youthful concertgoers!

Splendid Russian concert from Pinchas Steinberg conducting NZSO with Simon Trpčeski

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Pinchas Steinberg and Simon Trpčeski (piano)

Night on Bald Mountain (Mussorgsky); Piano Concerto No 3 in C minor, Op 26 (Prokofiev); Symphony No 4 in F minor, Op 36 (Tchaikovsky)

Michael Fowler Centre

Friday 8 July, 6.30pm

I sat one seat away from a couple who, at the end of the symphony, sat stony-faced, and I mean with countenances sculpted from the finest granite: arms folded, so that any suggestion of an agreeable emotion, in sympathy with the storm of applause, and even a few shouts, was out of the question.

I suppose there are still a few people who came across some of the writers of the puritan school of severity and joylessness, and have themselves never listened with normal ears; people who dismissed Tchaikovsky as contemptible for having written music that is widely loved: the church of “if it’s popular, it can’t be good”.

If you detect a note of irritation in my reaction, you’d be right. For I happen to be one who thinks the two finest symphonists of the 19th century, after Beethoven, are Brahms and Tchaikovsky, closely followed by Schubert, Bruckner and Dvořák, and then Schumann, and you-add-the-rest. Anyway, this was a simply stunning performance.

Steinberg may not be a household name like Abbado or Barenboim, Gergiev, Rattle or Haitink, but he’s got a pretty respectable pedigree in opera and orchestral music with major orchestras and opera companies.

He conducted Tchaikovsky’s F minor symphony, without the score, with a searing conviction, whether through the most breathless pianissimo or the most ferocious and tempestuous climaxes. A powerful opening gambit was to be expected in the first movement, but it was followed by a thrillingly slowly paced waltz episode, where the orchestra was guided in serenely lyrical music that might have been misplaced from any other composer’s slow movement. Then it was the control of slow crescendos and slow accelerations (and their reverse) that contributed to the tension and the brilliance of the landscapes revealed from the mountain-tops.

If there were moments when I was slightly worried by the hush or the stillness of some passages, their importance was soon revealed through their contrast with the storming victories that followed. Steinberg’s secret was to invest familiar music with a revelatory freshness.

No conductor is needed to produce the many rapturous individual solo performances by oboe or clarinet, flute, horns or bassoons, or even perhaps by the beautiful playing of cellos at the beginning of the Andantino, but a Steinberg was definitely required to bring about the transitions and the evolutionary passages, and the whole structural grandeur and excitement that held the audience transfixed throughout (perhaps that was my neighbours’ problem).

Then there was that remarkable Scherzo: pizzicato strings, whose dynamics undulated voluptuously, and as phrases passed two or three notes at a time through all the five strings sections. The pizzicato parts were separated by a Trio of the most exquisitely refined woodwind and brass playing, finding colours and subtleties that were fascinating, hardly imagined.

It was the last movement where all Steinberg’s genius was consummated; the rhetorical eruptions, driven by the sweeping left arm, built through the energy that he inspired in the players to a coda of ferocious pace and white-hot emotion.

Mussorgsky

The concert had got off to a splendid start with a devilishly thrilling account of Rimsky-Korsakov’s version of Mussorgsky’s witches’ Sabbath. It was polished, biting and for those predisposed towards the supernatural, exciting or terrifying. The sudden shifts, in the opening fanfares, from one orchestral chorus to another were at once vividly contrasted and seamlessly joined. The strings glowed with a dark velvet refulgence.

Nothing was as rapturous as the way the orchestra dimmed and quietly left the mountaintops at the end.

Macedonian pianist

Then the concerto, with Macedonian pianist Simon Trpčeski.

A local weekly described his country as being only 20 years old.

In case that evokes the image of a land rising from the ocean back in 1991, a word of encouragement: this was the Greek kingdom over which Alexander the Great ruled in the 4th century BC, when his conquests spread Greek influence as far east as India. Slavs settled in its northern region from about the 7th century and it was an independent Slav kingdom in the late 10th century AD. It was conquered by the Ottoman Turks in 1355, and when they were finally driven out in 1913 it was divided between Serbia, Bulgaria and Greece. The Slav northern part became part of Yugoslavia from 1918 and it was a republic of the Federal Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia after the Second World War.

It gained complete independence in 1991. There is inexplicable tension with Greece over the name since it is also the name of the Greek province immediately to the south with its capital Salonica.

Prokofiev’s Concerto No 3

The music. I was a bit disappointed that the most familiar of Prokofiev’s piano concertos was chosen for Trpčeski’s one concert (to be repeated in Napier, Hamilton and Auckland). He did write five of them, all worth hearing; what about a less-known Rachmaninov (1st or 4th), or the intriguing Scriabin concerto, and much other Russian piano music?

That said, the 3rd is highly entertaining: the first movement opens encouragingly, the orchestra playing a droll waiting game, for the piano’s entry which is without fuss, acting the part of an instrument of the orchestra rather than the flashy hero who holds himself apart. The remarkable thing was that, through Trpčeski’s modesty and refinement, the piano’s presence had a much greater impact, and actually charmed us through the constant varying weight of contrasting phrases; it all enraptured the audience from the start.

What surprised me however, half way through the opening Allegro, was a feeling of uninvolvement, that the tension, the temperature, had dropped below the level of full commitment. Yet Steinberg was undoubtedly creating a colourful canvas with finely wrought dynamics and rubato, even though some of it seemed to lie at the surface of musical experience.

The second movement kept me involved more steadily, with a piano part that took on more a life of its own; the sudden outbursts at speed, the hugely vigorous episode in triple time that just as suddenly subsides, with its several retreats to quiet lyrical passages. All the quirkiness of Prokofiev’s score, with shimmering lights, ever-changing rhythms, some motoric, some lyrical, were exposed. In the last climactic build-up there was a fleeting impression of faltering synchronism, but Beecham’s injunction was followed: all finished together.

Prokofiev seems to delight in throwing off balance an audience’s preconceptions of the character of the three movements of a concerto. The simplistic fast – slow – fast pattern has been long banished and myriad contrasts are found within each movement, by much more obtuse, unorthodox means. Nevertheless, pianist and conductor brought about a level of delight and musical fascination that was rare, again with its treading water episodes allowing time to reflect.

After his third return to the platform following great applause, the pianist took a page from a music stand near him and concert master Vesa-Matti Leppänen and principal cello Andrew Joyce brought their seats forward to surround the pianist who then told us that they were to play a trio arrangement of a Macedonian folk dance. They carried it off brilliantly, digging into the characteristic rhythms that one encounters in all the southern Slav countries. The audience was even more vociferous.

Remarkable lunchtime recital by young pianist

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Hannah-Elizabeth Teoh – piano

Bach: Partita No 6 in E minor; Beethoven: Sonata in E, Op 109; Fauré: Theme and Variations in C sharp minor, Op 73

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 6 July 12.15pm

The young pianist Hannah-Elizabeth Teoh comes from Wanganui and has been a student of Judith Clark in Wellington for five years. I had not heard her play before: her performances were insightful and remarkable.

She gave the sort of performance of Bach that utterly vindicates the playing of Bach on the piano, for every movement had a character and a spirituality that she had the sensibility to enrich by her command of dynamics and timbre, through an ability to sustain or cut short each note that the harpsichord cannot achieve.

The sixth partita is the longest of them and perhaps the most serious and inward. The opening Toccata is the longest of the movements, and it was here, at once, that her mature view of the music became clear: its series of broken chords that called the listener to attention, the steady, deliberate pace, and the surprise presented by the arrival of a fugue after a couple of minutes, which she played with a certain magisterial ceremony. There was nice weight in her left hand that gave the fugue clarity as the theme moved into the bass, and touches of rhetoric towards its end were spacious and beguilingly decorated.

The Allemande had an easy fluidity and the Corrente offered evidence of thorough assimilation, with delicious touches of light staccato with fluent scales and ornaments, each phase ending on the major triad. It runs into the Air, no simple, pensive melody but seemingly a series of hesitant questions that are not answered.

Then there was the elaborate, discursive Sarabande, which can challenge a young player whose worldly experience is limited. Here, it was her address at the piano that caught my attention, something in her posture that spoke of a real inwardness in which all sense of a disciplined tempo or rhythm became irrelevant in a large-scale fantasia-like movement. The following Gavotte was a total contrast, where its spirited rhythm was the immediate heart of the music.

It was the Gigue that struck me as unusual, so strong was the pulse of the double-dotted rhythm, perhaps a shade too slow, that it scarcely maintained the feel of the dance. Elegant, lively musical intelligence replaced jollity, and her reading was perfectly persuasive.

To be presented next with Beethoven’s Op 109 in a mere lunchtime concert might have seemed an excess of riches. But it’s a nice contrast, in a sanguine, major key that seems to portray in the first two movements at least, a restlessness that prevents any idea from holding the stage more than a few moments. An optimism seems constantly striving to emerge, though remarkably at odds with the deafness, financial, medical and other problems that afflicted Beethoven in his last years.

Teoh’s playing, always insightful, did not allow the sudden changes of mood, from the Vivace to the Adagio, to weigh too heavily. The airy flourishes in the first movement sounded as if the hammers scarcely touched the strings; and the way she varied the weight of notes in each new and modified version of the tunes was hardly the playing of a student. There were feathery, fairy-like phrases that rose and fell, then sensitively varied weight on particular notes and phrases, all reflecting a combination of careful study, technical fluency and simple intuition about the emotional and spiritual sense of the piece.

The second movement, Prestissimo, is very fast, volatile, echoing much of the disrupted spirit of the first, though it too avoided suggesting the sort of disorder that some performances seem to produce. Her dynamics again often depended on judicious emphases on bass notes and phrases. If there were slips my ears neglected them.

The Theme and variations of the peaceful Andante demonstrated Teoh’s precise sense of the right pace, a buoyant walking pace, and the right degree of change from one variation to another. She achieved a spirituality that never approached sentimentality or melancholy. The whole was somewhat astonishing in a student of her experience.

The third piece in the admirable programme was an impressive Theme and Variations by Fauré, unknown to me, written in 1895 (he was 50) as a Conservatoire examination piece. Schumann seemed the closest in style and spirit, but I suspect I may not have done well in a blind test to identify the composer. There are eleven variations in all, grouped so as to create something in the nature of a three or four movement suite or sonata. Such a plan ensured that the work had a shape that listeners could fasten on to, and the rest was the job of the pianist who dramatized the moods, the light and shade, holding the attention, thus ensuring that many would be inspired to drop into Parsons before going back to work, to explore more of the Fauré that might be unfamiliar.

She waited a long time for applause to subside and then said she’d play three short pieces by Scriabin. Here was yet another field in which she seems to be instinctively at home, with a composer who doesn’t get the attention he deserves.

She played the Mazurka Op 3 No 6 and two preludes, Op 22 No 2 and Op 11 No 23.

Gounod’s Saint Cecilia Mass in lovely performance by Capital Choir

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Capital Choir conducted by Felicia Edgecombe

Gounod’s Messe-solennelle-Sainte-Cécile, and a miscellany of choral songs

Central Baptist Church, Boulcott Street

Tuesday 5 July 7.30pm

I’d only heard about this performance of the most famous of Gounod’s masses a few days earlier and was at once animated by the prospect. Though previous experiences of the choir hardly led me to expect them to tackle a reasonably large-scale liturgical work of this kind, I was excited in anticipation and my hopes were well met.

The concert was dedicated as a benefit for a Christchurch choir with which Capital Choir had made contact – the South Brighton Choral Society, two of their members had been flown to attend the concert, they spoke about their situation  and they returned with a cheque for the balance of the takings. The Christchurch choir is the main choir of the city’s astern suburbs, which have suffered the worst damage from the earthquakes.

Capital Choir is an all-comers’ choir of around 60 voices, mostly sopranos; if there are some voices that would hardly survive in a small ensemble, the skill of their conductor, Felicia Edgecombe, lay in creating a most impressive, homogeneous sound that was balanced and generally in tune.

While I waited for the Gounod, the choir entered singing chant-like the words ‘Viva la musica’, and the first half consisted of a handful of light items: Franck’s Panis angelicus, two songs by conductor Edgecombe and three popular songs – The Girl from Ipanema, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square and When the Saint go Marching in. They were sung with energy and evident enjoyment and it was clear that great pains had been taken to achieve first-rate ensemble, and to created an effect that was warm and opulent; the more problematic male voices, fewer, as usual, in number, were nicely integrated. Vocal production seemed always unforced; what was missing in the last group perhaps was a little of that elusive ability to swing.

They were ably accompanied by the choir’s pianist Belinda Maclean.

By the time the Mass began I was well prepared, as a result of their singing of the near contemporaneous Panis Angelicus, for a performance that would vocally beguile the ears. The Kyrie indeed did that, reassuring me of the choir’s ability to do justice; the soloists were the next question, and the opening page of the Gloria set me at rest for the soprano solo was taken most capably by erstwhile pianist Belinda Maclean whose accompanying duties in the Mass were taken over by Rosemary Russell. (Naturally one missed the orchestra, especially in the instrumental Offertorium, so essentially an orchestral interlude, but the ears soon accept the situation. Nevertheless, it is worth noting that Gounod had scored it for a large orchestra – as well as double woodwinds, it calls for four bassoons and four horns, pairs of trumpets as well as cornets, organ with pedals, and six harps). Baritone Rhys Cocker took a very attractive ‘Domine Deus’ section of the Gloria, followed at the ‘Qui Tollis’ by tenor Chris Berentson whose voice sounded rather tight at first but soon relaxed, notably in his solo at the opening of the Sanctus.

The Credo is the longest section and the one that has been subject to a certain scorn, ‘swaggering’ for one writer, but which seems to me simply a fulsome statement of the composer’s at-that-stage anyway, touching and unclouded belief. The big tune is splendid and the confidence of its performance was infectious.

At the ‘Et incarnatus’, the three soloists take over alone, soon alternating with the choir: here, they did not quite achieve the expected hushed, mystical atmosphere that is called for, though at ‘Crucifixus’ a dramatic quality emerged; then one of the few moments of unsteadiness came with the ‘Crucifixus’. But vigour and confidence recovered fully at ‘Et resurrexit’, which even achieved a certain grandeur.

One has got somewhat used to the Sanctus anthologized by sopranos – notable Kiri – but the tenor is more authentic in a liturgical context, and as I said above, Chris Berentson dealt with it comfortably. It’s a lovely movement, majestic without bombast, and the choir performed it with considerable warmth and emotional variety: well rehearsed.

The Benedictus was the final opportunity for the soprano; with a voice somewhat tremulous, whether incidental or intended, Belinda Maclean’s singing was far from inappropriate at this stage of the mass.

Throughout most of this early work (well, he was about 35 but had not yet made a great mark as composer), Gounod maintains a dignity and authentic expressive power, but in the Agnus Dei he seems to succumb to something that weakens the spiritual atmosphere, breaking up the normal rhythm of the words so as to diminish their sacred import; there is something routine about the melody that takes charge in this movement. As well as the choir continued to sing, they hardly overcame the diminished dignity with which the composer’s first masterpiece concludes. At least it is not prolonged and ends without undue flamboyance.

During much of the 20th century it became fashionable to deprecate Gounod’s works that had been so popular in the mid-19th century, especially, after some of the facts of his life and his character became widely known. In recent decades the balance has been largely restored, not only for  the best of his liturgical works, but more especially the ‘other’ operas such as Sapho, Le médecin malgré lui, Mireille,

The Saint Cecilia Mass had made a real popular impact at its premiere in the great church of St Eustache in November 1855 only six months after the premiere there of Berlioz’s Te Deum. In some parts of Europe, Munich for example, the mass was more esteemed than any of the operas, and it was certainly the composition, preceding Faust by about four years, that brought him emphatically to the attention of the general public.

A quote by his (non-believer) friend (for the most part) Saint-Saëns is interesting:

“The appearance of the Saint Cecilia Mass caused something of a stir. Its simplicity, its grandeur, its serene luminosity rose over the musical world like a dawn, and embarrassed many people… Rays of light emanated in floods from the Mass.”

Concours de la Chanson: second year of splendid initiative

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

French singing competition

Songs by Angelillo et Hamel, Satie, Brel, Berlioz, Duparc, Debussy, Poulenc, Fauré, Delibes

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday, 3 July 2011, 8pm

The commitment of the Alliance Française Wellington to providing a competition for singers continues; the first competition last year gave a platform for some splendid singing of French chanson and mélodie, and Sunday night’s final continued that.

There were fewer finalists in the Chanson Moderne section this year than last year, and of the four, two chose to sings songs by Jacques Brel.

First, we heard Estere Dalton sing Je veux te dire une chanson, by Angelillo et Hamel. Dalton is a confident singer who used a microphone, and was accompanied by Andrew Bruce on the piano. She sang with an Edith Piaf-type voice and delivery. The song included unusual tonalities, nevertheless I thought her intonation suspect at times. My searches on the internet have failed to uncover whether this is one composer or two, however I did discover that the first name is spelt as above, and not as on the printed programme.

Erik Satie’s cabaret song La diva de l’Empire was sung by Angelique McDonald, accompanied by Jonathan Berkahn on piano, but without microphone. This was an attractive voice, but projection was uneven between lower and upper registers. Some gesture was used, but as with the previous singer, it did not appear to have much point.

Daniela-Rosa Young (who, for the second year running, suffered incorrect printing of her name in the first half of the programme), sang Jacques Brel’s Ne me quitte pas most effectively. Her close use of the microphone was just right for this music. She had the style for this song, and created the atmosphere of French nostalgia and regret (despite the title of Edith Piaf’s famous song) right from the beginning. Her words were very good, and she used them, her breath and her face as part of the expression of the music. Sometimes she was sotto voce, at others full voice. A good voice it was, and she was given a very sympathetic accompaniment by Julie Coulson.

The last singer in this section was Kieran Rayner, now quite an experienced singer in a variety of styles. Jacques Brel was his composer of choice also, with the song Amsterdam. He was accompanied on the piano accordion by Jonathan Berkahn, to give that authentic Paris sound. However, either Berkahn was too quiet, or Rayner (with microphone) was too loud; certainly the balance was not right. Some gesture, stamping in time and a beautiful unaccompanied introductory passage all helped to give atmosphere, as did the singer’s spoken introduction to the piece, which was a confident communication compared with those of some of the other singers. I found it a little tiring to be harangued at the volume Rayner chose, but there was no doubt about his commitment to the song.

After a short interval, we heard the classical items. These were French mélodie written in the nineteenth century or since. All were attractive songs, some familiar and some not, but all worth hearing.

The only singer in the finals of both sections was Daniela-Rosa Young, who sang Berlioz’s L’Île Inconnue. While her announcement was a little too quiet, her fine voice was well-produced, and her French enunciation and pronunciation were good. Gestures were rather meaningless, but she did put the meaning into the music and the words to an extent. Julie Coulson was her excellent accompanist, and to all the other singers except one.

Isabella Moore sang the gorgeous L’invitation au voyage by Henri Duparc. It was pleasing to hear her include in her introduction the name of the poet: Baudelaire, and an explanation of the meaning of the poem. Her voice is smooth and she gave good delivery of the words, but there was not enough variation in dynamics in her performance. Although she explained that the word ‘luxury’ featured in the poem, her voice did not convey that feeling when it came.

Bianca Andrew, who was the winner of the chanson section last year, performed De Soir, the fourth song in Debussy’s Proses Lyrique; the composer wrote the poem. Andrew gave a confident, fluent, indeed enthusiastic introduction which sounded spontaneous. She used both words and music well to characterise the meaning of the song. Some meaningful head movements conveyed more than vague hand gestures would have. There was good variety of tone; this was an excellent performance, including Julie Coulson’s playing of a very busy accompaniment.

Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant (My cadaver is as soft as a glove) sounds a pretty macabre title – but then, Poulenc was given to irony and wit. Imogen Thirlwall’s rich, mature voice, after a good spoken introduction, led us into the song, which she invested with meaning. This was a consummate performance.

Next was Bridget Costello with C, a 1943 song setting a poem by Aragon. After a rather formal introduction. which was nevertheless done well, Costello revealed a strong voice with quite a lot of natural vibrato. This was not a particularly demanding song, but it was well sung.

Thomas Atkins followed, with Adieu by Fauré. After a good introduction, Atkins sang most appealingly. He has a lovely voice, and varied it more than did some of the other contestants, doing something with every note and syllable. His French was admirable, but the song was rather a short one.

A song by Delibes followed: Les filles de Cadix, sung by Rose Blake. This was a saucy song. Rose Blake put over both her humorous introduction and the song in a confident, self-possessed manner accompanied by Claire ? Her lively rendition incorporated quite a lot of gesture (meaningful this time). Blake had a pleasing tone; her voice was strong and well produced. The whole was performed with considerable aplomb.

The last performer was Fredi Jones, who sang Fauré’s charming Aprés un Rêve. Following a very good introduction, his singing demonstrated a very effective use of the language, and a light voice, reminiscent of the late great Gérard Souzay. Although he started very well, I felt that further on he could have varied the voice a little more, and lingered more over the ornaments in the melody; they seemed rushed.

There was a good selection of songs from a cross-section of composers. All the songs presented some difficulties. All the contestants had a good command of French pronunciation, and put the words over well.

The prizes offered were the same for each category, i.e. a first, a second and a third prize in each. The first prizes were $2000, plus a master-class at the Conservatoire Musique de Nouvelle Calédonie; second, $500 and one term of free French lessons at the Alliance Française; third, $250 and one term of free lessons at the Alliance. There were a number of sponsors for the Concours, including the French Embassy; the Ambassador spoke briefly at the prize-giving part of the evening.

Judges were experienced New Zealand singer Catherine Pierard, and M. Bruno Zanchetta, Deputy Director of the Conservatoire de Musique de Nouvelle-Calédonie, whose first words were to praise the excellence of Julie Coulson as accompanist.

The placings were: Chanson: 1st Kieran Rayner, 2nd Daniela-Rosa Young, 3rd Estere Dalton; Mélodie: 1st Bianca Andrew, 2nd Rose Blake, 3rd Fredi Jones.

First of a fine series of French symphonic organ works, from Douglas Mews

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

L’Orgue symphonique: French organ music in the symphonic tradition

César Franck: Pièce symphonique, Lento and Sortie from ‘L’organiste’; Chorale No 2 in B minor; Pastorale from ‘Six pièces’; Cantabile and Pièce héroique from ‘Trois pièces’

Douglas Mews at the organ of the
Church of Saint Mary of the Angels

Sunday 3 July, 2.30pm

In a celebration of the legacy of the church’s great organist Maxwell Fernie, Saint Mary’s is presenting three recitals by three organists of French symphonic organ music. This was the first, devoted to the founder of a tradition that set a new path for organ music which continues to
the present day.

It arose through the arrival of a composer whose instincts led him away from the emphasis on opera in the France of the early 19th century, to the rediscovery of the choral music of the Renaissance and Bach and of the German symphonic tradition.

The other contributor to the blossoming of organ music and its performance from around 1850 was the advent of the great organ builder Cavaillé-Coll: Franck was appointed principal organist at the Marais church of Saint-Jean-Saint-François in 1853 where Cavaillé-Coll’s new organ astonished and delighted him. That church is now the Cathédrale-Sainte-Croix-des-Armeniens, and its website records that it houses two organs by Cavaillé-Coll, one of them built in 1844 – certainly the one that Franck played. I have heard chamber music and vocal concerts there but have not heard the organ. 

The programme notes say that he earlier encountered a Cavaillé-Coll organ in the church of Notre Dame de Lorette; that was certainly his first organist post, but it is not clear that the church had a Cavaillé-Coll organ; that church’s website makes no mention of one. In 1858 he became principal organist at the new church of Sainte-Clotilde with its magnificent Cavaillé-Coll instrument and remained there the rest of his life. 

The recital began with three early pieces from a large collection, L’organiste. Pièce symphonique, was an extrovert piece in very four-square military tempo in its outer parts  in which Mews used
suitably brash stops, contrasted with a gentle middle section. The Lento movement and the Sortie were offered no more than hints of the great organ works that were to follow, though Mews’s imaginative registrations made the most of them.

The second of the three Chorales written in his last year was the most important work of the recital. The chorales do not enjoy the strong melodic character of some of his music, and their success depends greatly on the colours that the organist can create from the combinations of stops that he can contrive; Mews familiarity with Maxwell Fernie’s in-some-ways idiosyncratic masterpiece allowed him to move from one phase to the next, from the boisterous to the pastoral to the heroic, with dynamics and colourings that were always immaculate.

The Pastorale of almost 30 years earlier is one of the most familiar of his works – I think my LP including a performance by Jeanne Demessieux was one of the first organ discs I bought aged about 20: I am chastened by Mews’s reference to its being in an ‘easy-listening’ style. Nevertheless, it wears well, especially in such an affectionate, subtle performance.

The ‘Three Pieces’ were written for the inauguration in 1878 of the Cavaillé-Coll organ at the Trocadero (across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower, built ten years later). The Cantabile enjoys a vivid melody on loud reed stops that, like most of Franck’s tunes, ranges over a quite narrow compass. The last item was the Pièce héroique, played with splendid vitality and timbale colour, the raucous pedal stops perhaps a little indiscreet but perhaps intended mocking and undoubtedly arresting. 

As a totally inappropriate aside, it stuck me as odd that in Mews’s well-recorded, 2010  CD in Priory Record’s Great Australasian Organs series, he included no French music in a programme that in itself I find less than interesting, and which to me hardly displays the Wellington Town Hall Organ in the sort of important repertoire that does either player or organ proper justice.

Wellington Chamber Orchestra with Emma Sayers in Mozart

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Debussy: Petite Suite (‘En bateau’, ‘Cortège’, ‘Minuet’, and ‘Ballet’)
Mozart: Piano concerto no.25 in C, K.503 (allegro maestoso; andante; allegretto)
Brahms: Symphony no.2, Op.73 (allegro non troppo; adagio non troppo; allegretto grazioso
(quasi andantino); allegro con spirito) 

Wellington Chamber Orchestra, Emma Sayers (piano), conducted by Kenneth Young

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday, 3 July 2011,2.30pm

Another ambitious programme from Wellington’s major amateur orchestra was this time conducted by a leading and very experienced musician. His encouraging attitude was very apparent, and the orchestra responded well. Although this orchestra is named a chamber orchestra, it more often these days plays works for symphony orchestra, as in this programme.

Debussy’s Petite Suite, originally written for piano in the late 1880s, was arranged for full orchestra by Henri Busser (1872-1973). This delightful work is in four movements, each with music clearly illustrative of its title, the rocking of the boat in the first movement being the most obvious. The marching band in the second reminds the audience that it is a procession (only in English is the word cortège used solely for a funeral procession), while after the lovely minuet, the ballet is of an extremely energetic kind.

The first movement featured interesting and enchanting interplay between harp and flutes, in which a young harpist revealed a high level of competence. Throughout, the music was tuneful, joyous, varied, and unveiled the splendid orchestration. The brass finally got to contribute in the bouncy final movement. The playing was not faultless, but the band gave a good account of this attractive work.

The Mozart piano concerto called for a smaller orchestra, there being no harp, no clarinets, only one flute and fewer strings.

Emma Sayers played strongly, but with plenty of subtlety and light and shade, and a fine, light touch, appropriate for Mozart. At all times she played with clarity, as befits this composer.
The cadenza for the first movement was written by conductor and composer Kenneth Young. He made very appealing use of Mozart’s themes. This cadenza was not showy for the sake of it, but did incorporate some un-Mozartean harmonies to betray its recent origin.
After it, Young gave Sayers an appreciative smile.

In the andante there was much exposed playing for winds. The horns did not always come out of this successfully – a difficult instrument indeed (and presumably even more difficult if the musicians had been playing the valve-less horns of Mozart’s time). The sound was often rather heavy for the rest of the orchestra to compete with. The flute played frequently in concert with the oboes, making a most attractive sound.

While it is good to see children in the audience at an orchestral concert (no doubt they were family members of the players), it is a pity their carers think it necessary to give them sweets with noisy wrappers to rustle when the orchestra is playing something as delicate as the andante in Mozart’s concerto, thus interfering with audience members’ enjoyment.

The winds were able to let fly in the last movement, and they acquitted themselves well.

The final work in this appealing programme was a massive one. Perhaps this great symphony was a little too difficult for the orchestra. Intonation problems struck at the beginning: unfortunately the opening was not the horns’ best moment; later they had some better ones. There were four horns,
three trombones, and tuba. In the louder part of the second movement, and elsewhere, this brass choir was rather too noisy for the rest of the orchestra. The solo oboe theme in the third movement was beautifully played, as was the whole of that movement.

Trombones also had moments of difficulty, but they and the tuba came into their own in the last section of the last movement; they had plenty of power in the fortissimo passages. However, this venue is not really large enough to take the sound of a symphony orchestra playing at that level with modern brass instruments.

All of that said, the work developed well, and the extra strings contributed to a mainly admirable sonority in that department. Details and themes came through well, and syncopation at the end of the first movement and in the second movement was crisp and clear.

It was good to see and hear an amateur orchestra alive and well, and playing fine music. Obviously this was not a performance at professional level, but it was creditable nonetheless. Aberrations of intonation were the main problem; dynamics, themes, rhythm were all well observed, and the concert represented a considerable achievement.