Haydn’s Last Words from organist Richard Apperley at St Paul’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Great Music 2011: Organ recital series

Haydn’s Seven last Words of Our Saviour on the Cross (Die sieben letzten Worte unseres Erlösers am Kreuze)

Richard Apperley (Assistant organist, Cathedral of St Paul)

Cathedral of St Paul

Friday 15 April 12.45

The great days of a flourishing market for transcriptions of symphonies and opera chunks for the organ, or the piano, might have passed, but there remains a lingering suspicion of the practice, and an almost automatic disposition to find them improper and tasteless.

But famous successful cases must make it dangerous and silly to denigrate them as a species.

Certainly, this was an example that called for open ears and a readiness to be delighted; for that is what I was.

There are several versions of the work that was written in 1786 to a commission from the Bishop of Cadiz for performance in the Grotto Santa Cueva near Cádiz. The original was for orchestra, and Haydn later arranged it as an oratorio with both solo and choral vocal forces, and there are reduced versions for string quartet and solo piano. There is some doubt about the authenticity of the string quartet version, which is the most commonly played. Incidentally there is a version on CD from Jordi Savall’s Le Concert des Nations recorded in 2006 at the church of Santa Cueva in Cádiz.

I don’t know which source Apperley used for his arrangement. It was not the longest version as the entire performance lasted only about 45 minutes; it can otherwise take over an hour.

It’s a work comprising an introduction and seven ‘sonatas’, plus (for the orchestral version) a postlude depicting an earthquake

The introduction and seven sonatas are as follows:

Introduzione, D minor, Maestoso ed Adagio 

Sonata I (‘Pater, dimitte illis, quia nesciunt, quid faciunt’; Father forgive them for they know not what they do), B flat, Largo  

Sonata II (‘Hodie mecum eris in Paradiso’; Today you will be with me in Paradise), C minor, Grave e cantabile, ending in C major

Sonata III (‘Mulier, ecce filius tuus’; Behold your son, behold your mother), E major, Grave

Sonata IV (‘Deus meus, Deus meus, utquid dereliquisti me’; My God, my God, why have you forsaken me), F minor, Largo

Sonata V (‘Sitio’; I thirst), A major, Adagio

Sonata VI (‘Consummatum est’; It is foinished’), G minor, Lento, ending in G major

Sonata VII (‘In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum’; Father into your hands I commit my spirit), E flat, Largo

And the original orchestral version had a final movement – an earthquake, not inappropriate after the devastating Lisbon earthquake of 30 years earlier.

Il terremoto, C minor, Presto e con tutta la forza

(For which I am indebted to Wikipedia)

Wikipedia also contains interesting material on the sources of the seven ‘Words’ under ‘Sayings of Jesus on the Cross’ and much other related scholarship, via links.

I have only been familiar with the string quartet version. This arrangement came as a surprise on account of the variety of colours that are available on a large organ and which Apperley applied with great skill and taste. The Introduction was immediately arresting, shifting from bold diapason pronouncements to lightly articulated passage in high registers. There was a clear Bachian quality, but that was always coloured by sounds possible only on a post-19th century organ distinctly influenced by Franck and Vierne and Reger and so on.

The first sonata was lit with beautiful high-lying melody in delicate, sensitive arrangement. The second is more serious in tone, yet there is light in the depiction of Paradise in thoughtful little phrases on celestial flute stops.

The surprising thing about the piece is the absence of any particularly tragic or gloomy episodes. Haydn’s view of the Crucifixion seems to be of an event that should have brought a new era of enlightenment and improvement in the behaviour of men and nations. And Haydn, for the sake of the music, could forget that nothing of the sort had happened.

The third sonata, ‘Mother, behold your son’ (misnamed in the programme leaflet) is depicted through soft, sustained chords, interrupted by short phrases, and underpinned by a beautiful melody. A far cry from the expression of this episode in the multiple settings of the Stabat Mater.

Even in the most heart-rending words, in the fourth sonata, the writing is dominated by ascending scales and arpeggios, suggesting hope. The fifth sonata displayed the most imaginative range of registrations, for which the cathedral organ seemed ideally designed. Though not regarded by the experts as the finest organ in the city, its clarity, brilliance and variety are always a source of delight, to me at least.

Most impressive was the way the organ captured the quite beautiful, subsiding, moving phrases with which the last sonata ends.

As if to denigrate the work, the fact that it is a series of adagios and largos is sometimes used against it, but tempo is only one of many elements in music, and the over-riding feeling of humanity, hope and sanguinity that infuse the whole work give it an emotional depth as well as a lightening of the spirit.

And this organ arrangement and Apperley’s playing really surprised me by the way all of that was so brilliantly and musically captured. The recital was simply a great delight. How sad that so few were there!

Orpheus Choir triumphs with the St Matthew Passion

Posted on by Peter Mechen

JS BACH – St. Matthew Passion

Paul McMahon – Evangelist; Michael Leighton-Jones – Jesus; Jenny Wollerman – soprano; Claire Barton – alto; Andrew Grenon – tenor; Daniel O’Connor – bass
Choristers of Wellington Cathedral of St.Paul; Orpheus Choir of Wellington
Douglas Mews – continuo / Robert Oliver – viola da gamba
Vector Wellington Orchestra
Michael Fulcher – conductor

Wellington Town Hall

Sunday, 10th April, 2011, 6.30pm

From a mere listener’s point of view I invariably approach the prospect of attending a performance of Bach’s most monumental undertaking with keen anticipation tempered by feelings of mild anxiety. The work always astonishes with its capacity (as observed by the redoubtable Professor Frederick Page, quoted in the program notes) to furnish “a glimpse into eternity”; though performances can sometimes suggest eternity in more uncomfortably temporal ways, more especially in church settings where the seating seems designed for the infliction of on-going penance upon listeners, ahead of repose and solace. I’m therefore happy to report that this was a performance whose beauties, energies and overall focus made for an enjoyable and involving musical experience throughout.

Michael Fulcher’s direction of the work’s ebb and flow seemed to me a key element – in his hands the music unfolded with a naturalness of utterance that enabled the music’s essential character at any given moment to shine forth to its advantage. There were two or three moments that I felt worked less well than they might, but in the overall scheme so much seemed right, that our engagement in what was being played and sung never faltered. The work’s very opening, ‘Komm, ihr Töchter’, was splendidly launched by both orchestra and choir, Fulcher’s lilting direction enlivening the lines and textures while encouraging from the musicians plenty of pointed phrasing, the sound-picture both focused and beautifully transparent. Only in the difficult Aria for Alto and Chorus ‘Ach! nun ist mein Jesus hin!’ that opens the second part did I catch a sense of things being slightly out-of-sync, the music’s different elements working hard to try and gell, the various dove-tailings of the lines a truly precarious business.

Above all, there’s a story being told by this music, and in this respect the performance delivered splendidly – I thought the Evangelist Paul McMahon excellent in his dramatic focus, so alive to the text’s possibilities and so fluent a technique as to do his interpretation full justice. The other soloists, including several from the body of the choir taking minor but still significant roles, played their part in realizing the drama and pathos of the story. Perhaps not as visceral and graphic as the exchanges in Bach’s other great Passion, that of St.John, these nevertheless came resoundingly alive throughout the recitatives, giving us a real sense of the work’s inexorable progress towards that mystical fusion of death and fulfillment that accompanies godly sacrifice in Christian and non-Christian cultures alike.

Each of the soloists “entered” his or her roles in complete accord with the proceedings – soprano Jenny Wollerman, though over-tremulous of voice in places, brought her dramatic instincts marvellously to bear in episodes such as her recitative ‘Er hat uns allen wohl getan’ and aria ‘Aus Liebe’, whose sequence, together with some beautiful wind-playing at the beginning made a truly affecting impression. I was also much taken with the voice of the alto, Claire Barton, whose bright, slightly plangent tone-quality gave life and meaning to her utterances, despite some slightly ungainly moments in passagework here and there – obviously a voice to listen out for in years to come. Right from her opening recitative ‘Du Lieber Heiland du’, leading into the aria ‘Buß und Reu’, her tones struck the lines squarely and resonantly, to memorable effect, again supported by on-the-spot instrumental duetting and continuo playing (flutes and solo ‘cello).

Of the men, baritone Michael Leighton-Jones, long-time resident in Australia, made a welcome return to Wellington as a sonorous, dignified Jesus, never over-playing the drama (as befits the role’s god-like dignity of utterance), but often touching this listener with the resonant simplicity of his tones, emphasizing the text’s and music’s humanity and vulnerability. Promising performances came from his two younger colleagues, tenor Andrew Grenon, and bass Daniel O’Connor, each of whom had taxing arias to grapple with, and in both cases emerging with considerable credit. Despite the occasionally strained note, Grenon took to his recitative ‘O Schmerz!’ and aria ‘Ich will bei meinem Jesu wachen’ with real commitment, making something truly heartfelt out of ‘Er solo vor fremden Raub bezahlen’, and bringing real “point” to his interaction with the choir throughout both recitative and aria. I loved the vivid “plodding” quality of the accompaniment to Grenon’s recitative ‘Mein Jesus schweigt zu falschen Lügen stille’, the combination of organ and viola da gamba here and throughout the aria most affecting.

Daniel O’Connor did well negotiating Michael Fulcher’s urgent speeds during the bass aria Gerne will ich mich bequemen, after delivering a well-rounded and sonorous recitative ‘Der Heiland fällt vor seinem Vater nieder’; and again survived the bluster of a spanking pace for ‘Gebt mir meinem Jesum wieder!’
He demonstrated a fine feel for line during all of his recitatives, relishing the beautiful Vivaldi-like pictorial writing for both voice and instruments of ‘Am Abend, da es kühle war’ (a kind of Bachian ‘In the cool, cool,cool of the evening…’!), even if both soloist and orchestra struggled a bit with the ensuing aria ‘Mache ditch, mien Herze, rein’, trying to do justice to the syncopated figures and getting a just voice/instrumental balance. Of the solo voices from the choir, special mention needed to be made of Kieran Rayner’s true-toned Pontius Pilate, and Thomas Barker’s angst-ridden Peter, the disciple who denied his Master three times.

True-toned and eagerly responsive throughout, the Orpheus Choir sang like angels, whether divided into two antiphonal groups or en masse, completely at one with Michael Fulcher’s overall conception of the music. At first I thought the more dramatic choral interjections were going to lack sufficient urgency and bite, as with the choir’s contributions to the soprano and alto duet ‘So ist mein Jesus nun gefangen’, but the immediately subsequent ‘Sind Blitze, sind Donner’ had all the vehemence one could want, as did the accusatory cries of ‘Er ist des Todes schuldig!’ in response to Kieran Raynor’s vengeful High Priest. Elsewhere, the voices brought just the right amalgam of radiance and gravitas to the chorales, as exemplified by the wonderful ‘Wie wunderbarlich ist doch diese Strafe!’ in the “Jesus before Pilate” section of the work; and a winning tenderness to the exchanges with the soloists in the penultimate recitative ‘Nun ist der Herr zur Ruh gebracht’. It was fitting that, in tandem with the orchestra, the choir had the last say, delivering the words with the same focus, fervor and vocal splendor with which the same voices had begun the journey a couple of hours before. Contributing with bright, bell-like tones to the choral sonorities as well were the Choristers of Wellington Cathedral of St.Paul, dressed as for a church service, and contrasting as such with the secular severity of the main choir’s black attire.

Yet another bastion of the performance was the Vector Wellington Orchestra, its playing for Michael Fulcher unfailingly stylish and characterful, whether from the groupings of strings spread across two antiphonally-placed orchestras or among the various combination of winds whose tones enlivened many a texture along the way. Further interest was generated by fine solo continuo playing from both ‘cellist Paul Mitchell and viola da gamba specialist Robert Oliver (though the conductor’s rapid tempo for the bass aria ‘Komm, süßes Kreuz’ resulted in Robert Oliver’s viola da gamba accompaniment sounding uncharacteristically breathless). Organist Douglas Mews as well contributed unfailingly secure support in the continuo role. In sum, the performance was of a concerted splendour, with the music-making’s refulgent glow warming hearts and satisfying intellects alike – an achievement of which the Orpheus Choir and its various cohorts can, in my opinion, be justly proud.

Kapiti choir’s farewell to Guy Jansen: Serenade to Music

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Kapiti Chamber Choir’s Farewell to musical director Guy Jansen

Soloists: Janey MacKenzie, Linden Loader, Michael Gray, Roger Wilson and an orchestra, with Jonathan Berkahn – organ

Haydn: Te Deum; Bruckner: Ave Maria; Duruflé: ‘Kyrie’ from his Requiem; Debussy: ‘Dieu, qu’il la fait bon regarder’; Stravinsky: Pater Noster; Franz Biebl: Ave Maria; Vaughan Williams: Serenade to Music; Handel: three choruses from Messiah (‘Hallelujah’, ‘Worthy is the lamb’, ‘Amen’)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 10 April, 2.30pm

Guy Jansen took up the post of musical director of the Kapiti Chamber Choir after founding conductor Peter Godfrey retired in 2007. Now, having become chairman of the New Zealand Choral Federation and becoming more involved in educational activities, he was giving his last concert with the choir.

The hall, which is designed basically for indoor sports, with a high roof, presents difficulties for music, though the recent construction of a recessed stage for chamber groups has been an improvement, at least for those near the players. But it was of no use to a 40-voice choir,  raised on benches, and a 28-piece orchestra, all on the floor; and it wasn’t helped by a curtain that covered the recess, absorbing some of the sound.

The concert opened with Haydn’s Te Deum, employing the orchestra. It comes from late in Haydn’s career, the period of the last half dozen masses. Though it’s not the equal of the best of those masses, the effects of careful rehearsal were evident and it was an arresting start to the concert. Even though one was grateful for the presence of an orchestra instead of an organ, it was the vocal part that was generally more polished and energetic than the orchestra: the brass instruments were not entirely integrated either with the strings or the choir.

In Bruckner’s Ave Maria, an a cappella piece that opened with women’s voices alone, the choir was spread, in groups, out across the full width of the hall, illuminating parts very nicely, and it offered the singers perhaps a better opportunity to shine.

Maurice Duruflé’s Requiem has become popular in recent decades, and it gave the choir the double opportunity – to demonstrate its skill in quasi-plainchant and in a 20th century French idiom; rather restrained at the start, the singers became more lively as it moved along.

One of Debussy’s three unaccompanied choral songs, ‘Dieu, qu’il la fait bon regarder’, might have seemed an odd choice, but it was Guy Jansen’s obvious aim to demonstrate his choir’s versatility. With careful French pronunciation, and conducted by Bridget O’Shanassy, the singing nevertheless showed quite understandable signs of intonation shakiness at certain moments, such was the choir’s conspicuous exposure in this difficult piece.

There was no let-up from the challenging music with Stravinsky’s Pater noster, a coldly powerful piece delivered without much dynamic variation; it had the character of chant in spite of its somewhat stark harmonies.

The conductor introduced the Ave Maria by Franz Biebl, an Austrian-born American composer, as his only composition to have found favour. Its melodic character was clear and the solo parts, beautifully sung by all three – soprano, tenor and bass (Janey MacKenzie, Michael Gray and Roger Wilson) – gave it interesting variety.

If there was some diffidence in the performances in the first half, Vaughan Williams’s Serenade to Music which opened the second, was a more striking demonstration of what they could do. The orchestra opened with very encouraging confidence and good ensemble, and the choir (the piece was originally for sixteen solo voices, but we heard the composer’s arrangement for four soloists and choir) sounded well rehearsed and filled with affection. Here, the soloists were occasionally a bit stretched, but all four, now including mezzo Linden Loader who sang the phrase from ‘Music! Hark!…’ comfortably with special warmth, were individually striking as well as integrating beautifully with the choir and the orchestra. The charming violin solo was beautifully handled by Sharon Callaghan.

The three choruses from Messiah were also vigorous and well sung, particularly the ‘Allelujah’ in which the audience was invited to join. As Guy Jansen stepped aside after long applause, baritone Rodney Macann came forward to sing a spiritual, unaccompanied apart from some gentle intoning from the choir, ostensibly a spontaneous gesture. It brought a very appropriate occasion to a nice conclusion.

Colours rich and strange, from the SMP Ensemble

Posted on by Peter Mechen

SMP Ensemble presents: XPΩMATA – Colours

Music by Tristan Carter, Jack Hooker, Carol Shortis, Anton Killin, Iannis Xenakis (Greece), Pauline Oliveros (USA), Michael Norris, Ewan Clark, Robbie Ellis, Andrzej Nowicki

The SMP Ensemble

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

Saturday 9th April 2011

Continuing its work on behalf of classical music’s contemporary voices, the SMP Ensemble produced yet another absorbing and thought-provoking line-up of works from home and abroad with its program XPΩMATA – Colours. Without resorting to mega-anarchic practices, the group seems always to manage (via its own version of an incredible lightness of being) to blow invigorating gusts of fresh air through normal concert procedures and presentations, making each event a unique delight.

Darkness giving some of its space to candlelight set an expectant scene for the opening item, Tohoraha, by Tristan Carter. Away from the program note one might guess the players who had assembled and were delicately activating different acoustical properties of their instruments were concerned with representing either a subaqueous or a stratospheric state of being – these were sounds I reckoned to be outside of my direct biospherical experience! The coalescence of these sounds generated a micro-excitement which prepared the scene for something of a give-away conch-shell set of signals – very spectacular, if irrevocably conjuring up an oceanscape. A cursory knowledge of Te Reo Maori would have by this time alerted most people to an association of the piece with whales, and the connections readily translated into the idea of some kind of “dialogue among higher beings”, here, for all kinds of reasons, acoustical, environmental and emotional, a “transporting of the mind” experience, rich and strange, in any case for this listener.

Jack Hooker’s Field Murmur, ambiently titled, used electroacoustical means to evoke its world, arresting and splendid at the very beginning, as well as disconcerting, with something like a door or cupboard opening and shutting. I imagined animal or bird or even insect activity, though my carefully-constructed soundscape was peremptorily shut off by a revereberation-less halt to the sounds, which was presumably intended, as the effect was repeated with different kinds of evocations – it generated a kind of schizoid response to the medium as opposed to the message, the uncertainty of imminent closure creating its own set of tensions.

Carol Shortis’s The Riddle of Her Flight was a setting for soprano, piano and vibraphone of part of a poem by Mike Johnson. The music readily courted both pictorial and emotional responses, grumbling bass notes on Jonathan Berkahn’s piano at the beginning stimulating shafts of light from deft touches upon the vibraphone criss-crossing the soundscape. The sound of the soprano Olga Gryniewicz’s voice was perhaps siren-like, or maybe that of a wood-nymph’s, haunting and pleading. The singer emphasized the idea of “sanctuary”, aided and abetted by the instrumentalists, Takumi Motokawa’s vibraphone occasionally bowed as well as struck, producing lovely tintinabulations, and stimulating bell-like diction from the singer at the words “You must find the island”. At the end of a richly-extended lyrical episode, the final cadence following a culminating high note felt like a real homecoming. The music couldn’t help but repeatedly take my sensibilities to what seemed like “other realms” associated with Shakespearean fantasy, such as Prospero’s Island, or the Magic Wood of Oberon outside Athens.

Andrzej Nowicki was the clarinettist in tandem with his own pre-recorded playing of fragments from the same work, for composer Anton Killin’s absorbing Absence; Primes. The soloist listened at first to the recorded performance, then began a dialogue with the original, fascinatingly exploring the idea of feedback, discussion and even “second thoughts” regarding one’s own creative impulses. At first ruminative, Nowicki’s “live” clarinet-playing animated the textures, the discussion a “brightly-lit” affair until a brusque declamatory statement brought the dialogue to a sudden end.

The programme’s first “offshore” work was Yannis Xenakis’s Echange, in effect a bass clarinet concerto, bringing the first half of the concert to an end with plenty to engage the thoughts. The composer called the work “terrifying and mysterious”, and indeed, the single-note clarinet opening brings forth a disquieting subterraneous soundworld from trombone (Xenakis wanted a tuba, but…) and bassoon into which the cello oscillates and over the top of which the soloist exuberantly barks – perhaps a European manifestation of Alistair Te Ariki Campbell’s “gods of the middle world” flexing their might and muscle into a colour-change chord irreverently “curdled” by the soloist’s contribution. The clarinet ruminates deeply as its ambient surroundings ring changes of tempo, texture and articulation, creating memorable vignettes of incident – a wonderfully seismic “wobble-chord”  from the ensemble, and a “blues in the night” response from the soloist, very jazzy and lively playing, which, however develops into a kind of ritual of attempted domination on both sides, the impasse declared by implacable brass against whose black tones the soloist slashes and stabs. We fear for the safety of the music itself, at the point of dissolution the sound-world’s resonating voices asking questions we can only numbly acknowledge. A good place for the interval!

We were prepared even less for what was to follow – audience participation! – fortunately, humming was all that was required, the SMP ensemble members walking around the auditorium antiphonally encouraging us to add our unique vocal vibrations to Anton Killin’s realization of Lullaby for Daisy Pauline by the American composer Pauline Oliveros, one of the composer’s “Sonic Meditations” aimed at engendering a focus among listeners on “the intimate reality of sound”. Philosophically, Michael Norris’s work which followed, Blindsight, explored the antithesis of Oliveros’s shared ambient construct, describing his work in a context of fragile individual sensory reality. Norris’s work translated this “process of sensory faith” into a musical work involving strings and winds, with the piano as a kind of intermediary. The winds played chords using halftones, to which the piano and strings responded in a kind of instinctive manner, “feeling” their way towards a kind of kinship with the original sounds. The piano seemed then to take the lead, the winds responding to the instrument’s chords and patterning with characteristic sonorities (a kind of “opening up’ of an essential sound-nature for both groups, the winds sostenuto, the strings oscillating and flurrying melismatically. Whether growing in confidence or in desperation, the responses by both groups to the piano reached a fever-pitch of animation before sinking, exhausted. The piano maintained a dispassionate “devil’s advocate” kind of stance, allowing the winds to blow themselves out, leaving the strings fulminating amongst themselves, then relinquishing their voices with a last sotto-voce gesture – I was given the feeling of micro-processes continuing, after the overt activities had ceased…..

Reversing the program order, Robbie Ellis’s Maeve set recorded voice against solo piano, to the former’s disadvantage, unfortunately, the piano’s declamatory style in places obscuring the speaker’s tones (the loudspeaker would have been better-placed in front of the piano, eliminating the “competitive” aspect which seemed to be set up regarding the soundspace – a pity we were thus distracted, because the piano-part was gorgeous-sounding in places, Debussy-like in its focus and delicacy, while Leila Austin’s story, read by the author, would have filled out its place in the sound-tapestry in a much more balanced and contextual way – a further performance needed, I feel. Following this, Ewan Clark’s Reverie set parts of Alistair Te Ariki Campbell’s Elegy for soprano, clarinet and piano, Olga Gryniewicz’s clear and pure voice making the most of the vocal line’s beauties at “Sweetness to the root – may the tree climb high against the sun”, while Andrzej Nowicki’s clarinet-playing conjured up whole eternities of bird-song underpinned by Jonathan Berkahn’s rich and  resonant piano realization. A lovely performance of a beautiful work, capturing the lonely beauty and desolation of the poet’s evocations.

Concluding the generous program was a work by the group’s director, Andrzej Nowicki, appropriately entitled Unknown Realms, the ensemble (strings, organ, piano and winds) conducted by Karlo Margetic. We expected a kind of “road” piece, with much and greatly varied terrain covered, and weren’t disappointed. A nascent, almost tentative piano presence at first addresses only dark organ tones and subterranean bass clarinet sounds – forces of darkness holding sway, almost daring other, brighter impulses to ignite and energize the textures towards the light. The clarinets stimulate the strings’ awakening, the latter holding steadfastly to their notes as the drama unfolds, the clarinets having a “field day” both instigating and repelling various agitations, the organ joining in with weighty presence, provoking the conductor’s patience to breaking-point in the face of such concerted anarchies – a marvellously petulant “Will you stop it!” ejaculation from the podium restores order amid chaos. Great fun, nicely “placed” amid the trials and tribulations.

The group’s director, Andrzej Nowicki was warmly and ceremoniously farewelled by all at the concert’s conclusion, on the eve of overseas explorations – the best of all possible send-offs, one would think, via this musical feast from the SMP Ensemble.

Tudor Consort – Prophetic excellence at Lower Hutt

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Settings to music of prophetic writings throughout the ages

Music by Hildegard von Bingen, Orlando de Lassus, William Byrd, Gustav Holst, Alonso Lobo, Michael Praetorius, Alban Berg, Heinrich Schutz

The Tudor Consort, directed by Michael Stewart (Presented by Chamber Music Hutt Valley)

St.James Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday, 6th April, 2011

What an inspired idea for a concert! – fascinating to collect together a broad chronological range of composers’ responses to prophetic texts to register any commonalities and enjoy the differences. Not surprisingly, these factors were the two most readily prominent features of the concert, namely the power of the texts to elicit a heartfelt response from every composer, and the sharply varied flavour of each individual setting. The result was an evening replete with strongly heartfelt utterances, expressed with a variety of musical styles and modes – in other words, a “best of both worlds” occasion.

The concert couldn’t have begun more appropriately and strikingly than with Erin King’s beautiful singing of music by the twelfth-century composer, poet, visionary and abbess Hildegarde of Bingen. The otherwise excellent program note didn’t directly indicate that the text of the antiphon O pastor animarum was Hildegarde’s own, though it’s very likely part of her renowned “Symphonia armonie celestial revelationum”, her own collection of poetry and music which she assembled and herself enriched throughout her life.

But the work around which most of the concert’s program was constructed was Orlando de Lassus’s Prophetiae Sibyllarum, a visionary outpouring of highly personalized responses to texts that transported his creative sensibilities towards extraordinary flights of fancy. The texts, attributed to various mystic seers, were largely appropriated from antiquity by the early Christian Church, though it’s thought that Lassus himself wrote the words of the Prologue. The various settings were performed by the Consort in groups of two and three, and interspersed throughout the concert, creating interesting juxtapositionings with the work of twentieth-century composers such as Holst and Berg. Although these composers and others featured in the concert used texts from different sources, the shared intensities of both music and performance fused the varieties of eras and styles into what I felt to be a deeply satisfying whole.

Lassus’s settings featured a kind of chromatic restlessness in places, which, allied to marked flexibility of rhythm and pulse, readily created sound-worlds whose mystical realms seemed somewhat removed from ordinary experience, the texts truly sounding as if from remote times and places. I was reminded in places of Italian madrigals and their volatility of utterance, making for unexpected shifts of harmony, colour and rhythm by way of bringing the texts to life. Michael Stewart, director of the Consort, had introduced the composer and the music, characterizing Lassus’s work as “wonderfully weird” – and the group brought out the music’s varied intensities throughout each of the three groups of Prophetiae before the interval, with beautifully-judged gradations of sound and finely-honed intonation. In the Sybilla Europaea’s Virginis aeternum from the first group of Prophetiae after the resumption I thought the bass lines less well integrated with the whole – the rest soared and whispered across a stunningly varied sound-spectrum, the startling modulations and spooky “sotto voce” ambiences of the piece utterly spell-binding. And again, in the following Verax ipse Deus of the Sybilla Tyburtina the men’s voices again sounded to my ears a shade too nasal in effect, compared with the rest of the choir.

Amends were made with the beautifully-turned final group of Lassus’s Prophetiae, the two settings rather more conventional in effect, I thought, apart from occasional modulations which, though unexpected, we had by now come to expect! As a whole, the work was a perfect foil for the rest, William Byrd’s beautiful Ecce Virgo concipiet seeming like balm to our senses, coming as it did in the midst of all of Lassus’s convoluted chromaticisms. Holst’s Nunc Dimittis, too, seemed more “anchored” harmonically, though the overlapping eight-part opening created a frisson of expectation which built unerringly towards a real cathedral-style apotheosis at the final Gloria. And the Spanish composer Alonso Lobo’s Ave Maria had a gloriously rolling-sound kind of perpetual-motion character (the double choir creating something of an inexhaustible voices effect), all beautifully delivered.

In the second half of the concert we were able to enjoy contrasting settings (separated by three hundred years) of the German Advent Carol Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen, by Michael Praetorius and Alban Berg, the latter here eschewing his Second Viennese School associations for a more late-Romantic tonal setting. Praetorius’s essentially simple, straight-to-the-heart treatment of the words admirably set off Berg’s more extended and somewhat tortured, though still achingly beautiful setting. Concluding what I thought was an evening’s glorious singing was the Teutsch Magnificat of

Heinrich Schütz, set for double choir, and featuring at the outset richly-wrought antiphonal exchanges between the two groups. The composer cleverly varied the word-pointing in places, telescoping the word-pointing and creating a kind of word-excitement which bubbled out of and over the edges of the music – “singing for the joy of singing” was the phrase that came to my mind as I Iistened, caught up in the exuberance and beauty of it all – marvellous!

Voice students of NZSM in excellent recital at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music – Voice students, accompanied by Mark Dorrell

Emily Simcox, Angelique Macdonald, Simon Harnden, Isabella Moore, Thomas Barker, Amelia Ryman, Thomas O’Brien

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 6 April, 12.15pm

Second and third year voice students at the New Zealand School of Music, tutored by Richard Greager, Margaret Medlyn, Jenny Wollerman and Emily Mair, gave a varied and excellent demonstration of both their own talents and the quality of their teaching.

The recital was interestingly planned, starting with four arias from Mozart operas. The first two were from The Marriage of Figaro: Emily Simcox opened with ‘Voi che sapete’, an attractive, guileless performance, her voice displaying quite a ring, and a polished legato style; another soubrette role from Figaro – Barbarina’s ‘L’ho perduta, me meschina’, quite short but quite charming.

Bass Simon Harnden sang Sarastro’s aria, ‘O Isis und Osiris’. He has a naturally attractive low voice though at this stage his voice seems invested with little colour and his German pronunciation was iffy.

Then Isabella Moore finished the Mozart group with Fiordiligi’s ‘Come scoglio’ from Così fan tutte; she too will learn how to colour her singing more interestingly, but her strong voice projected well, her breath control was good and she handled the large intervals skillfully.

Then came two arias that show how interest in exploring neglected areas of the opera repertoire has grown in recent years; arias from Ambroise Thomas’s best-known operas, Hamlet and Mignon, were chosen by the next two singers. Thomas Barker, baritone, sang Hamlet’s (non-Shakespearean) apostrophe to wine, ‘O vin, dissipe la tristesse’, offering appropriate gestures, and singing with an attractive swagger. From Mignon, Emily Simcox sang the gavotte (which used to be found in most piano albums) that Thomas wrote when a contralto sang Frédéric as a trouser role: ‘Me voici dans son boudoir’. Speaking of which, Mark Dorrell’s piano accompaniments, in this, and throughout, were admirable in their lively and dramatic support.

The programme then passed to the next generation of French opera composers – to Massenet. Amelia Ryman, as Manon, sang quite movingly the sentimental farewell to the little table where she and Des Grieux have lived; we are beguiled by her charming fickleness.

A less familiar opera is Hérodiade – the story of Salome, though her aria ‘Il est doux, il est bon’ is familiar. It depicts Salome very differently from the Oscar Wilde-Strauss version of 25 years later: something approaching love between John the Baptist and Salome who tries to intercede and even seeks to be killed alongside John. Isabella Moore used her strong, sometimes rather too big, voice to great effect.

Thomas O’Brien’s voice is soft and he sang Fauré’s ‘Après un rêve’ with nicely controlled dynamics and expressive gestures.

There followed two German pieces: Angelique Macdonald returned to sing what is known as Marietta’s Lied from Korngold’s Die tote Stadt, with a voice of considerable delicacy and tonal purity. And Thomas Barker capped his fine performance of the Hamlet aria with the song to the Evening Star from Tannhäuser ; his tone is even, he knows how to control it without pushing to gain louder of higher notes. One of Elgar’s Sea Pictures was chosen by Emily Simcox – ‘In Haven’ – a moment of calm in the otherwise restless cycle; she captured it well with phrasing that was flowing and legato.

Three English songs, by Thomas Quilter, ended the programme. Amelia Ryman who had sung the Manon aria with such clarity, brought that care with diction to ‘Come away Death’ from Twelfth Night; Thomas O’Brien sang ‘Go, lovely Rose’ and then Shelley’s ‘Love’s Philosophy’; the first, restrained, delicate if not very strong, the second evincing the same sweetness of tone, and more liveliness.

The recital was not interrupted by singers’ commentaries on their pieces (each singer had written short notes in the programme) or pauses between each performance, and so audience interest was maintained very well; it was one of the most enjoyable student voice recitals I’ve heard in a long time.

A litany of Requiems from Nota Bene at St Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Herbert Howells: Requiem; Albinoni: Adagio; Schütz: Two choral pieces; Pearsall: ‘Lay a Garland’; Lukáš: Requiem Aeternam; Sam Piper: ‘Kyrie’; Jan Sandström: ‘Sanctus’; Barber: ‘Agnus Dei’; David Hamilton: Lux Aeterna; Fauré: ‘Pie Jesu’ from Requiem in D; Tavener: Song for Athene

Nota Bene Chamber Choir, conducted by Peter de Blois, with Lara Denby (soprano, in Fauré’s ‘Pie Jesu’) and Douglas Mews (organ, in Albinoni and Fauré)

St. Mary of the Angels Church, Boulcott Street

Sunday, 3 April, 2.30pm

In its seven years of existence, Nota Bene has found a particular spot in the large choral firmament that is Wellington: that of a mixed chamber choir with a wide and varied repertoire, singing in a variety of venues. It is marked by accuracy, finesse and elegance.

The sung works on this programme were all Requiems, movements from Requiems, or choral songs which speak of death. That is not to say that the music was entirely doleful or sombre in character.

Herbert Howells’s Requiem began the first half, followed by several other items. In the second half there were 7 movements: Requiem, ‘Kyrie’, ‘Sanctus’, ‘Agnus Dei’, ‘Lux Aeterna’, ‘Pie Jesu’, ‘Alleluia’, by a variety of composers. The major choral Requiems in the repertoire are not consistent as to the movements of which they are made up; the movements chosen for this concert made up a reasonable summary, although there was no ‘Libera Me’ movement. Perhaps the selection was most like that of Fauré in his Requiem of 1887.

While the printed programme gave the dates for some of the compositions, the dates for the composers were not given, which was a pity. With so many composers’ works being performed, it would have been interesting to compare the styles and settings from different periods.

The opening of the Howells, ‘O Saviour of the world’ was serene and lovely; it set the tone for the entire concert. Choral tone and blend could not be faulted. Unlike the case with many choirs, this choir has men’s voices as good and as reliable as the women’s.

This work featured soloists Gillian Bruce (soprano), Maaike Christie-Beekman (mezzo), Patrick Geddes and John Fraser (tenors) and Simon Christie (baritone), all of whom sang confidently and well. The last-named was familiar to Wellington audiences a number of years ago, as a student and after, singing solo, and performing particularly well in humorous operatic roles. I recall him as an amusing Papageno in a university production of Mozart’s Magic Flute.

The second movement of the Howells was Psalm 23. Here, there were strong and accurate unison passages interspersed with the part-setting.

‘Requiem aeternam’ (1) followed. It was peaceful and very beautiful. Next was Psalm 121 ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills’. This featured Christie in a fine bass solo. There was glorious light and shade throughout the movement, from excellent phrasing and well-controlled dynamic variation.

The second ‘Requiem aeternam’ was intensely solemn. Notable was the good forte sound, in this sympathetic acoustic. The final movement was ‘I heard a voice from heaven’ (from the Book of Revelation). It was indeed a heavenly sound, yet with a mourning, wailing aspect to it.

The whole effect of the work was understated mourning, alternating with peace and comfort afforded by the words of Scripture. The music was certainly twentieth century, but gentle and contemplative, discords serving the purport of the words rather than being there for their own sake.

This work was followed by the famous Albinoni Adagio (not by him at all, but by his 20th-century biographer, Remo Giazotto, according to the programme note). It was appropriately solemn to go with the Requiems, given interesting registration and sensitively played by Douglas Mews, with more phrasing than one usually hears it given. But it is a pretty hackneyed piece to play in a concert like this. I imagine its purpose was to give the singers a rest.

Two German settings by Heinrich (the usual form of his name, though the ‘Henrich’ in the programme is another form) Schütz gave the choir an opportunity to sing baroque music in very good German. The quiet passages were exquisitely controlled, while the tone was rich for the most part, although in the second piece, ‘Selig sind die Toten’, the tenor tone was variable, and not always attractive.

On to the nineteenth century now, and Robert Lucas de Pearsall’s quite lovely ‘Lay a Garland’. This madrigal sets words of Shakespeare, and is a favourite of Professor Peter Godfrey, who was in the audience; the National Youth Choir have frequently sung it. (Both Peter de Blois and this choir’s founder, Christine Argyle, are former members, as doubtless are other choir members). Here, Simon Christie’s voice was a little too dominant in the basses. Otherwise, the performance was superb.

The second half commenced with ‘Requiem Aeternam’ by contemporary Czech composer Zdeněk Lukáš. Both this setting and the ‘Kyrie’ that followed were sung by the National Youth Choir on its visit overseas in 1999. The contrasting textures here gave drama and impact, as did the exceedingly quiet ending. The vertical chords employing tonic and dominant were interspersed with close harmonies, and unison passages for one part only. It all made for a most attractive and interesting choral work.

Sam Piper, a former member of the National Youth Choir, wrote his ‘Requiem Aeternam’ for that choir. Nota Bene gave a very satisfying performance of a skilled piece of writing. There was plenty of dynamic contrast, which gave variety to the repetition of musical figures.

‘Sanctus’ by Sandström featured movement from intervals of thirds to seconds, creating a strong effect, and was executed with precision and finesse. It was a short but impressive work.

The prospect of the warhorse that is Barber’s Adagio was mitigated by its being the choral version ‘Agnus Dei’. I have heard this sung in concert quite recently; nevertheless, this was a superb performance. The interweaving lines became quite mesmeric.

Probably New Zealand’s most prolific choral composer, David Hamilton’s work has a sure touch, and is always very effective. The Lux aeterna begins with humming in parts. This had a shimmering quality. After the words are sung, there is a whispered invocation of ‘Lux aeterna’ from the tenors to end.

Fauré’s evocative and well-known ‘Pie Jesu’ from his Requiem was sung by young 17-year-old Lara Denby with organ accompaniment. It was a very accomplished rendition. The voice had sufficient volume, and a lovely quality; vowels were beautifully formed. There was particularly warm and prolonged applause for this item, partly because the performance of the Howells at the start of the concert was dedicated to the memory of her father, who died in December, and was a member of the choir.

The final item, John Tavener’s Song for Athene, is a work of subtly changing harmonies from the upper parts, while the basses sustain a single vowel through most of the piece. There appeared to be additional words that were not printed; these were sufficiently clear to be heard without seeing them. The ethereal and contemplative qualities of the music were fully realised.

Beginning the previous evening, there are at least six choral concerts in a period of two weeks in and around Wellington – is that not too many for the local audiences to take in? Nevertheless, this excellent concert was well-attended and deservedly, warmly received.

Leading Hungarian pianist Endre Hegedűs celebrates Liszt bicentenary to benefit Christchurch

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Liszt Bicentennial 2011:  Au bord d’une source; Mephisto Waltz No 1; Sonetto di Patrarca; Les jeux d’eau à la villa d’Este; Hungarian Rhapsody No 14; Norma – réminiscences; Wolfram’s song to the Evening Star from Tannhäuser; Transcription of the Overture to Tannhäuser

Endre Hegedűs – piano. Sponsored by the Hungarian Embassy in Canberra and the Honorary Consul-General in Wellington, to mark the current Hungarian Presidency of the European Union.

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Friday 1 April, 7pm

The tour of New Zealand by this established Hungarian pianist had been organized some time before the February earthquake in Christchurch, but when the pianist heard about its devastation, he generously decided to give all proceeds from his five New Zealand concerts to help the victims.

I had not heard of Hegedűs, but that is no reason to imagine that he has little to offer.

I did not respond to all his playing but there was more than enough that I found interesting, perceptive and moving, and almost all showing arresting bravura and accuracy. In fact, though not among the top twenty perhaps, his international reputation is clearly thoroughly established.

The recital began with Au bord d’une source, from the First year – Switzerland – of the Years of Pilgrimage, uttered with splashy runs in scintillating tempi that shifted and slackened poetically towards the ends of phrases; the impression was of great clarity. Liszt is almost the last composer about whom it is safe or sensible to attempt to lay down standards or to claim to have a definitive interpretation in one’s head, and this piece introduced me to a lot that was individual and which only rarely sounded routine rather than the result of an individual conception.

The first Mephisto Waltz is one of Liszt’s most remarkable pieces: feverish, demonic, erotic and in the hands of a master, very exciting; and that was how this performance emerged. The three Petrarch sonnets are drawn from songs which are among Liszt’s loveliest and which are coming to be heard as important in the canon of romantic lieder, or in this case, quite closely related to the French art-song or mélodie. The piano version is gloriously rhapsodic and I’m sure there are those who seriously doubt that all the heated romantic passion is good for one’s moral health. So far I have maintained good health through a life-time of exposure to such pestilences. I enjoyed this performance immensely.

The fountains at the Villa d’Este which I recall seeing before being acquainted with Liszt’s guide-book entry, are beautifully portrayed in this piece from the Third year, Italy, of Years of Pilgrimage. It is possible to hear this as a succession of impressionistic scales and decorated arpeggios that evades the need for conventional musical substance; but bear in mind that the essence of bel canto, of which Norma is a great example, is its use of such ornamentation to express emotion. It makes its impact in much the same way as did the confessed French impressionists fifty years later. Again, water, whether flowing, churning, jetted or as storm-tossed seas, are among the most often used and evocative inspirations of the romantic imagination in all the arts, and Hegedüs was not wrong in his generous application of effects that created vivid visual impressions, working openly on the emotions.

The first half ended with the flamboyant 14th Hungarian Rhapsody. It has other manifestations, as Hungarian Rhapsody No 1 for orchestra (which, coincidentally, you’d have heard the next morning, about 9am Saturday, on RNZ Concert), and a later version for piano duet (also No 1 in that series) and for piano and orchestra, called the Hungarian Fantasia).

Hegedűs worked through its ever-changing moods, pushing them often to their limits, starting with quite formidable weight on the opening chords, then investing the big first theme with a quite individual rhythm, and taking quite open delight in what have come to be the despised ‘gypsy’ tunes as distinct from the ‘true Hungarian’ melodies that Bartok sought out and recorded later. The performance gathered itself up with increasing flamboyance and reckless disregard for the hard acoustic of the church and the survival of the piano; so that it increased in speed and loudness in a way that may well have driven off some who could hear it only as brazen exhibitionism.

The second half was devoted to transcriptions and reminiscences from opera. The first rode luxuriantly on the long, and richly lyrical lines of Bellini’s tunes in Norma. Its first impact was to draw attention to Bellini’s genius in that sphere; Liszt’s generosity of spirit towards other composers and musicians was constant throughout his life. While his transcriptions of operas and symphonic works were indeed vehicles for his own playing, they were just as much to honour and to popularize the operas themselves. Not that Norma needed any promotion in the early 1840s after its enormous success on the stage in 1831. The Norma reminiscences nevertheless, run the risk of smothering the rich melodies with needless embellishment and becoming something rather different.

In seeking background about Hegedűs, I came across an entry in Wikipedia that revealed his name among those whose recordings had been misappropriated in the Joyce Hatto scam a few years ago and which was exposed shortly after her death in 2006. Many of the alleged Hatto recordings appear in a fascinating list together with the apparent sources of each recorded performance. Several of Hegedűs’s are there, including opera transcriptions. Many of the Hatto forgeries were in fact performances by distinguished pianists like Ashkenazy, Hamelin, Bronfman, Marshev, Collard, Ingrid Haebler …. Hegedűs was in good company.

I have not found reviews of the ‘Hatto’ recordings traced to Hegedűs, but it would be interesting to see how critics heard them. The Norma reminiscences are not in the list.

There followed the transcriptions of Wolfram’s aria ‘O du mein lieber Abendstern’ and the overture from Tannhäuser. The Evening Star was poetically played with quiet chords though Liszt found it hard to bring it to a restrained conclusion. The overture soon succumbed to the temptation to grandiloquence and flamboyant rhetoric, somewhat unrelenting, and I had to confess to being rather overwhelmed by playing that became simply too reckless and loud, though never careless. It may have worked in a large auditorium well upholstered with a couple of thousand people; hardly in this space.

Hegedűs introduced each piece in words that were often difficult to catch but there was enough to reveal an engaging personality with a nice sense of humour; a pervasive love of his instrument and of Liszt’s music.

In all, Hegedűs’s brought to Liszt’s music an authentic romantic spirit that was poetic, as well as capable of grandeur and excess; and the chance to hear some of the rarely played opera transcriptions was a real bonus.

‘NZTrio’ at Paekakariki’s Mulled Wine concerts

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

 

Piano Trio in F sharp minor, Hob XV:26 (Haydn), Intaglio (Chris Gendall), Grooveboxes from Swing Shift (Kenji Bunch), Piano Trio in A minor, Op 50 (Tchaikovsky)

The New Zealand Trio (‘NZTrio’): Justine Cormack – violin, Ashley Brown – cello, Sarah Watkins – piano

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday 27 March 2.30pm (and also, in part, at the Lower Hutt Little Theatre, Monday 28 March)

The Mulled Wine concert series at Paekakariki has become an interesting and singular event in the pattern of music in the Greater Wellington region. Some of the concerts are indeed to be found repeated elsewhere in the region; some are not. The NZ Trio’s concert could have been heard again the following evening at Lower Hutt and I took myself there in order to get a different aural experience and to listen again to the pieces new to me. (I happen to live in a suburb roughly equidistant from Paekakariki, Lower Hutt and Wellington city).

I believe that this was the first visit by the NZ Trio at this series. They would have been charmed by the setting, both by the traditional small-town hall and it location by the sea. The dramatic variety of microclimates visited on the south-west corner of the North Island was dramatically played out too.

Just an hour or so after a phenomenal downpour that cause floods in the Porirua basin, here it was pleasant and partly sunny. Kapiti was moored offshore and the sound of the waves on the eroding beach were sometimes synchronised with the rhythms of the music. I’m sure the players would have been impressed at the enterprise and friendliness of the series organizers, led by Mary Gow, not to mention the mulled wine afterwards.

The players were seated about half way along the western wall with their backs to the sea, and so on the same level as the audience, so there were sight-line difficulties of some.

That placing may have contributed to the way the acoustic amplified the players’ sounds; as well as being too loud, it had the effect of somewhat flattening dynamic nuances.

All three musicians are bachelor graduates of the University of Canterbury and they have all done post-graduate study in the United States. The trio has been around since 2002 and it’s pre-eminent in its field here as well as having built up an impressive reputation overseas. Their present schedule shows over 30 concerts here and abroad this year.

They played two ‘classical’ pieces, one of Haydn’s 40-odd trios, and the only one that Tchaikovsky wrote; plus two shorter contemporary pieces.

No one claims to know all of Haydn’s music, and I hadn’t heard this one in F sharp minor (Hoboken catalogue number XV:26) before. It overflows with drama, colour and variety, making up for a certain lack of charm and memorable tunes. My only misgiving was that the players hadn’t quite got the measure of the hall, which probably affected the Haydn more than the other pieces. Nevertheless, Haydn would have enjoyed the robust and determined force of the performance, even in the more soulful slow movement.

Tchaikovsky’s only piano trio more than occupied all the second half. It’s so full of rapturous and voluptuous melody that it’s easy to understand how certain more ascetic listeners and critics might have considered it sentimental or saccharine; perhaps some still do. Not only did the trio exploit all its overflowing romantic qualities to the full, but they invested it with a facsimile of a full orchestral sound.  Sure, the volume control was still set too high, but it was a flawless performance of surpassing brilliance and power, that surely calls for a recording ASAP.

In between, before the interval, came two contemporary pieces, one of New Zealand, the other from the United States.

The first, by Wellington-based Chris Gendall, was called Intaglio – a term familiar to print-makers. A composition of the experimental kind, free of conventional melody, but rich in non-musical techniques and intriguing relationships between the instruments. It was to hear this piece again that I went to Lower Hutt the following evening. Though the theatre is reputed to have a difficult acoustic, it accommodated the trio’s performance more comfortably in the Haydn, and gave me a clear hearing of Chris Gendall’s piece; though I still failed to recognize any relationship between the musical character and the ‘intaglio’ printmaking process. If, as the composer writes, it refers rather to the process of its composition, its use seems a pointless gesture for the listener. However, a second hearing, as so often, offered a sort of recognition experience, even the seeming random, widely spaced piano hits. And I listened to it with some enjoyment.

It was followed by a part of a New York inspired piece called Swing Shift, capturing in relentless rap rhythms that would serve for break dancers, the nocturnal life of a city that never sleeps.I loved its energy and the powerhouse performance by all three players, employing engaging jazz pulse generated by what the notes describe as a DJ’s ‘beat box’ or ‘groove box’, of the nature of which this audience member is blissfully ignorant.

Possibly, the trio is mildly irritated with my pedantry in preferring to spell out their name. I never abbreviate the name of my country (or any other country) in anything I write. I have always been guided by what today might be becoming old-fashioned printers’ style, as is found in printers’ ‘style books’, such as of the former New Zealand Government Printing Office and The New York Times; they are generally very clear:“Don’t abbreviate!”. Acronyms are permissible when universally used, at least by your particular readership, like NZSO for us.Even stronger is my dislike of calling New Zealanders Kiwis and things pertaining to New Zealand, Kiwi. I find it demeaning, and as an editor I have always taken the liberty of eliminating ‘Kiwi’ from others’ copy.

 

NZSO’s first subscription concert fills the MFC

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Apotheosis: Lilburn: Processional Fanfare, Beethoven: Emperor Concerto (no.5, Op.73), Mahler: Symphony no.4

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra: Pietari Inkinen (conductor); Saleem Abboud Ashkar (piano); Anna Leese (soprano)

Michael Fowler Centre

Friday, 25 March, 6.30pm

The title ‘Apotheosis’ may seem dramatic, but as Peter Walls pointed out at the pre-concert talk, the two major works were lofty to the extent of being other-worldly.

It must have felt like a sort of black apotheosis in Christchurch a month ago; at this concert, money was collected for the Red Cross earthquake relief fund, and subtle red and black striped lighting was projected onto the back of the stage, behind the musicians.

While graduation from university is not usually quite an apotheosis, nevertheless it was good to hear Lilburn’s Processional Fanfare, originally written for organ and trumpets for the final congregation of the University of New Zealand (which comprised the Auckland, Victoria and Canterbury University Colleges, and Otago University: allowed the more prestigious name because it was the first in the country, but left out of the programme note). It has been used since then for Victoria University’s graduation ceremonies.

Although orchestrated by the composer after the ceremonies moved to the Michael Fowler Centre, the three trumpets were still very prominent, making a great sound. A solo from concertmaster Leppänen was notable, and the play on Gaudeamus igitur, the Latin song traditionally sung at graduations was brilliantly achieved by the composer. The performance was what an overture should be – a well-played, interesting introduction to a concert, that whets the appetite for more.

Beethoven’s mighty ‘Emperor’ concerto must be one of the most well-known works in the piano concerto repertoire, but that doesn’t make it in any way a tedious experience to hear it again; like other works of its calibre it can stand numerous hearings. There is always more to hear, especially at the hands of different soloists.

And what a soloist this was! A tall, handsome young man, with a hairstyle reminiscent of that shown in portraits of Robert Schumann, he appeared the epitome of the romantic pianist. However, there were no histrionic gestures, but a superb technique, exquisite delicacy, and close attention to all the subtleties of Beethoven’s magnificent score.

While Ashkar’s pianissimos were graceful, delicate and very quiet, at times in the first movement the orchestra was sometimes too restrained in comparison with the piano; Beethoven’s writing seldom gives extended passages to the piano alone, but usually has the two forces working together.

Beethoven’s inventiveness within the classical form always astonishes, as does his power. This pianist was equal to all the challenges.

The adagio’s wonderful muted opening on strings always ‘sends’ me, and it could not have been in better hands. The pizzicato cello sound, then the delicate piano entry stirred with their great finesse, yet nobility. The singing second subject was a delight.

There was some slight lack of cohesion at the transition from adagio to the rondo finale, where the tempo slows down and then changes, without a break.

The finale had a robust start but despite his beautiful piano technique, I found the pianist pedalled the runs more than I would have liked. However, there was nothing flashy about his playing, and no unnecessary bravura. The fast passages were certainly very fast, but Ashkar produced an attractive liquid sound.

The brass seemed rather weak in this movement, but overall the orchestra was in excellent form. Tumultuous applause, including from the members of the orchestra greeted the Palestinian pianist’s remarkable artistry.

Mahler’s symphonies are a major undertaking, not least because of their length. At 55 minutes, this was one of his shorter efforts. It was a challenge the orchestra lived up to.

As Peter Walls explained in his talk, there are songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, the set of German folk poems published in 1806, in each of the four movements, not only in the final one. He paid tribute to Pietari Inkinen, whom he described as a genius in his excellent understanding and interpretation of Bruckner and Mahler.

After the wonderful opening of sleigh bells and flutes, the superb orchestration brings in the cellos and oboes, providing gentle moments. There was plenty of light and shade here, and as elsewhere, some of the string playing was magical.

Mahler’s delightful juxtaposition of timbres features again and again in this symphony.

The second movement was strong yet measured. Very fine solo passages from woodwind and brass gave emphasis to the music. This movement is notable for the scordatura tuning of the concertmaster’s violin, which makes a harsher and more ominous sound, introducing a devilish character to the solo, ably played by Leppänen.

Anna Leese was greeted with applause when she entered between the second and third movements. It made quite a long time for her to sit, unmoving, demurely, before she got to sing.

The third movement, Ruhewoll (peacefully) opens with an almost dream-like adagio song for cellos and violas alternating with oboe, cor anglais and French horn. This sublime music, with its pizzicato ground from the basses (that returns later, more ominously in the brass section) is a great introduction to the heaven depicted in the fourth movement. The violins join in, and then the wind band.

The gentle and folksy is interspersed with dramatic and even foreboding music later, and then a repetition of an anguished, upwards-rising theme already heard intervenes, prior to the initial theme on cellos and violas returning, altered. Mahler surely has his heart on his sleeve here.

There is a great outburst at the end of the movement, and then a peaceful ending.

Enchanting and at times almost mystical orchestration accompanied the song, interspersed with more violent outbursts accompanying the narrative about Herod the butcher killing the lamb, and St. Luke slaughtering the ox. The emphasis on food in the poem no doubt reflects the undernourished poverty of many in medieval Europe, thus the idea that heaven must be a place with food aplenty.

Anna Leese wore a white dress – perhaps symbolising the childish innocence she would sing about. It was good to hear a younger person sing this movement – too many recordings feature much older singers, who are too mature to sing about a child’s view of heaven, the subject of the song on which the movement is based.

The words of the song were printed in both German and English – but the people responsible for the lighting didn’t think to put the lights up to enable them to be read until about two-thirds of the way through.

Leese’s singing was clear yet rich, although not particularly characterful. Nevertheless, it was a most enjoyable interpretation. Some consonants could have been clearer. The lines towards the end about St. Cecilia and her relations making excellent court musicians were quite lovely, and could be applied to the singer herself.

At the end, Inkinen maintained the mood by holding his baton high for some time after the last, very quiet notes had faded away. The enthusiastic applause resulted in bows not only for the singer and the conductor, but for the oboist Robert Orr, violinist Vesa-Matti Leppänen, and horn player Edward Allen, who contributed much throughout the symphony.

An almost capacity audience was mainly very attentive through the long work, although the middle movements made one wonder about the number of people who don’t know to use handkerchiefs or sleeves when coughing, and insisted on adding percussive elements that Mahler did not score.

Excellent programme notes by Frances Moore aided understanding of the music of this memorable concert, although the programme’s cover, depicting cavalry in early nineteenth-century uniforms, was inappropriate. Beethoven hated the Napoleonic War, and certainly did not dedicate his concerto to the self-proclaimed ‘Emperor’.