Antoni Wit and cellist Hurtaud score in wonderful NZSO concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

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

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

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Saturday 21 May, 8pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stravinsky from the Royal New Zealand Ballet

Posted on by Peter Mechen

STRAVINSKY SELECTION

ROYAL NEW ZEALAND BALLET

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

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

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

Royal New Zealand Ballet Company

Vector Wellington Orchestra

Marc Taddei, conductor.

St.James Theatre, Wellington

20-21 May 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anniversaries of 2011

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1661

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

Georg Böhm was born in 1661.

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

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

1711

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

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

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

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

1761

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

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

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

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

Novelist Samuel Richardson (Pamela) died in 1761.

1811

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

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

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

And Weber’s Abu Hassan. in Munich.

Novelist William Thackeray was born in 1811.

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

1861

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

There were three lesser figures:

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

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

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

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

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

1861 was the year of Melba’s birth.

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

Literature:

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

1911

1911 saw most famously, the death of Mahler.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were three significant deaths in 1911.

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

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

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

1961

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

Ernest Hemingway, born in 1899, died in 1961.

Shostakovich’s Tenth Symphony was premiered.

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

Waikanae presents Michael Endres, German pianist

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

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

Waikanae Music Society: Michael Endres (piano)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 15 May 2011, 2.30pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brilliant Shostakovich from violinist Riseley and NZSM Orchestra

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

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

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

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Saturday 14 May 2011, 7.30pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

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

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

St. Mary of the Angels Church

Saturday, 14 May 2011, 7pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Great Music 2011: Organ of St Paul’s Cathedral

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

Michael Fulcher (organ)

Cathedral of Saint Paul, Wellington

Friday 13 May 12.45pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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