Tag: cello

Another hearing from wonderful cellist Khamidullin, at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Rustem Khamidullin (cello)

J.S. Bach: Suite no.3 in C for cello solo, BWV 1009
Gaspar Cassado: Suite for cello solo (1926)

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 15 June 2016, 12.15pm

Obviously many of the people in the large audience at St. Andrew’s – perhaps most – had heard this brilliant young cellist play with Orchestra Wellington last Saturday night (I did not), and were delighted at the chance to hear him playing solo.

This amazing young man has just turned 27, but has the accomplishment of a much more experienced performer.  His was a demanding programme carried off with great musicality, but no flashiness or histrionics.  He comes from Ufa in Bashkortostan in Russia.  I have to confess that I had heard of Ufa, but not Bashkortostan; Wikipedia reveals that Ufa is a city of over a million people.  Rustem is the son of a pianist mother, and his grandfather was a leading cellist.

In addition to Rustem’s playing last Saturday and today, he is to play at Paekakariki on Sunday, and we have another cellist, Johannes Moser playing the Lalo cello concerto with the NZSO on Friday.  For lovers of this magnificent and versatile instrument, it is a feast.  Today’s music was all based on dance forms.

The Bach Suite is a necessary, but difficult, part of the cellist’s repertoire.  Throughout, this cellist produced a fine tone, and his interpretation was varied and not at all routine.  While he had the score in front of him, he only looked at it in a couple of the later movements; most of the work was played from memory, while for much of the time Rustem’s eyes were cast upwards.

Within the beautifully phrased music there was much subtlety of dynamics.  Mostly, one was not aware of the difficulties, such was the fluency and elegance of Rustem’s playing, not only in the phrasing, but also in the double-stopping, and the rapid bow movements between strings.  It goes without saying that this winner of the Gisborne International Music Competition (2014) and of numerous European prizes had impeccable intonation.

The rendition we heard of the dance movements (prélude, allemande, courante, sarabande, bourrée I and II and gigue) had colour, variety, delicacy and panache.  The sarabande was distinguished by rich and soulful playing, whereas the two bourrée movements had a light, playful touch.  The gigue was fast, despite all the challenges it presents.  The loud passages set  the strings ringing.  This was exemplary cello playing.  Rustem expressed Bach’s wonderful music like a seasoned professional; very impressive.

Gaspar Cassado (1897-1966) was a name I did not know.  He was a Catalan cellist and composer.  His suite was played from memory.  Naturally, it was more romantic than Bach’s music, but also, being twentieth century, was more daring harmonically.  Passages in the opening movement, Preludio-Fantasia based on  Zarabanda (yes, the Spanish origin of the word ‘Sarbande’) were played very high on the finger-board; the piece used the cello to the extent of its possibilities.  It was not technique for technique’s sake, though.  Much of the music was soulful, and almost always the tone was exquisite, although I found the number of times the lower strings slashed the finger-board rather excessive.  The use of harmonics created, as usual, an ethereal sound, but with this player, the tone of these notes was superb.  The playing shared with the Bach its intensity and variety.

The second movement, Sardana, was based on a Catalan round dance of that name (Google shows pictures of it being danced in the open) began very high-pitched, and indeed was very dance-like.  Considerable variation followed.  Nuances abounded.  There was rapid passage-work alternating with soft, pensive, melodic lines.

The third movement, Intermezzo y Danza Finál, was ‘a Jota…a waltz-like dance originating in Aragón’.  A strong opening was followed by pizzicato, then rapid fingering all over the fingerboard.  This is a virtuoso piece indeed, but Rustem was right up with its demands, which were sometimes extremely great.  Despite the numerous technical issues, it was always music that emerged.

A most appreciative and attentive audience heard a phenomenon; someone who is in for a big career.  We were glad to have heard such an outstanding artist at a lunchtime concert.

 

Triumphant concert from Orchestra Wellington and Orpheus Choir: Beethoven and Haydn

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Orchestra Wellington, Orpheus Choir, conducted by Marc Taddei with Rusem Khamidullin (cello)

Haydn: Cello Concerto in C, Hob. VII-1
Beethoven: Symphony No 9 in D minor, Op 125 ‘Choral’ (soloists: Jenny Wollerman, Elisabeth Harris, Henry Choo, Warwick Fyfe)

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 11 June, 7:30 pm

First of all.
What’s happening to Wellington’s orchestra? In the last five or six years the orchestra, now known as Orchestra Wellington, has built a quite extraordinary record of successful concerts with pretty full houses, which seem to have gained their popularity through attractive prices; and imaginative thematic programmes, usually the entire series adhering to a common theme of some kind; plus the choice of soloists, whose concertos have often been related to the theme.

Ticket prices have been kept surprisingly low, vindicating the belief that any feared loss is more than compensated by the sheer number of seats sold; so as well as achieving a perhaps better financial result, there have often been sold-out concerts which must indicate that many non-regular concert goers have been enticed to come. And many of them are seduced by the power of great music.

I must also mention free programmes; such an intelligent policy, as it ensures people know about things like the number of movements (and so, when to clap), but more importantly offers a bit of basic information for newcomers to classical music. It is disturbing to note the numbers who turn away from programme sellers at other musical events when the price is mentioned: how absurd to waste all the effort and expense on a booklet that not very many read, when there is a glaring need to take every chance to enlarge musical knowledge in audiences that have been left ill-educated by our education system.

In 2015 and this year, a new policy has been adopted: selling the six-concert series, sight unseen in terms of programmes and soloists, for a really low price. This year, as information has been drip-fed, the season price has increased, to a level rather beyond the impecunious.
It works!

This year’s series is called Last Words, and the first five concerts include works written shortly before the composers’ deaths. Perhaps no more than five presented great orchestral works in their last years, though Franck, Bruckner, Rachmaninov, Prokofiev, Shostakovich would seem to be candidates (one can think of several who wrote beautiful piano, chamber or choral music or opera in their last years, but didn’t produce orchestral music that made it).

Haydn from cellist Khamidullin
The Russian cellist Rustem Khamidullin won first prize in the 2014 Gisborne International Music Competition; this concerto date was presumably part of the prize. He was born in Ufa in the Russian republic of Bashkortostan (Chaliapin, Nureyev, and the distinguished bass Ildar Abdrazakov were born there too); his name suggests Volga Tartar origin, the same ethnic origin as the eminent composer Gubaidulina.

Anyone who was inclined to think that the early Haydn concerto was just a filler, would have had a big surprise, as Khamidullin delivered a performance of the first of the two concertos, in C major, that carried us far from any predictable expectations. Haydn’s fame is not founded on his concertos, though there are four for violin, the famous trumpet one, several for other wind instruments, perhaps about 10 for keyboard, and the other cello concerto written about ten years after the first.

Khamidullin immediately established an atmosphere that was quite entrancing: refined, of the utmost delicacy, almost spiritual in character, which Taddei’s direction implanted with the orchestra in absolute sympathy with the soloist. His playing was fluid, indulged sometimes in ‘scoops’ (portamenti) that no one of any sensibility could have criticised, as they were in perfect accord with the musical canvas that he was painting. And though the occasional bravura flourishes were brilliant, they too were much more an aspect of the dreamy and graceful interpretation, not only of the Adagio, but also of the more extravert outer movements.

He delighted in producing a warm intimacy on his lower strings, alternating, in the Allegro molto last movement, with exciting staccato phrases, crisp and lyrical. It was a flawless performance, accompanied by a suitably pared-down orchestra whose playing had the same light-footed and finely-spun quality.

Without a great deal of urging, though his reception was exuberant, Khamidullin sat down and charged through the violin show-piece, Hora Staccato (Grigoraş Dinicu), as if it been written for his own instrument.

The Choral Symphony
Beethoven, and certain other composers, seem to attract the critical ear of many critics (that’s their job, sadly), in respect of use of authentic instruments, employing the ‘right numbers’ of orchestral players, delivering ornaments in keeping with the aesthetic tastes of the music’s era, and adhering to the speeds suggested by the composer (if these are credible), or by those musicologists currently in fashion, who allow themselves to pronounce on those things.

The first thing that struck me with this Choral Symphony, was its fervent, ebullient character, part of which was tempi. The first words in my notes, in fact, included, ‘fast’, ‘secure’, ‘excitement’, which represented my response to a feeling of huge exhilaration. Taddei did not have the score before him, and while that must not be regarded as clear evidence of absolute mastery or musical superiority, it often suggests that a conductor doesn’t want to find his eyes wandering needlessly away from the faces of the players and singers, with whom a conductor’s first priority should rest.

Orchestra Wellington is of course fortunate in being able to borrow players from the NZSO (in a few key positions in the basses, one or two winds and timpanist Larry Reese) and having a few former NZSO players in its ranks. But the orchestra’s manpower consists almost entirely of native Orchestra Wellington players.  Trumpets, horns, woodwinds made impacts that were exciting, there was clarity and warmth in the strings, and the entire orchestra sounded as if the speeds demanded were well within their abilities.

The contrasts between the big thematic statements and the more meditative, evolving passages in between were dramatically captured, the tension sustained, though the music was quieter and elegantly crisp.

The Scherzo, Molto vivace, held no terrors for the orchestra, as replica, 18th century timpani, with hard sticks, inspired the orchestra to ever more exertion, with triplet quavers and the impact of incessant dotted rhythms, through momentary accelerations. Here were repeated displays of beautiful woodwind playing, Merran Cooke’s oboe distinctively, that often determined the movement’s character.

The third movement is long and beautiful, and it was only here that I had slight misgivings about the pace; not that it was too quick, but whether it quite sustained the transfiguring spirituality that has to dominate it. But the second theme, in the hands of the strings, took firm hold and later, horns, soon proved that Taddei remained in command of the propulsion and momentum of the movement, drawing attention to Beethoven’s imaginative command of orchestration, in spite of total deafness by this time.

Singers enter for An die Freude
The half-hour long last movement opened with the overwhelming confidence of a bigger and more famous orchestra, hard timpani and a cacophony of wind instruments, soon followed by cellos and basses presaging the baritone’s recitative-like opening, ‘O Freunde, nicht diese Töne’. Any earlier wondering about the weight of the cellos and basses after their commanding pronouncements, dissipated at once; yet where the big theme, later to take charge as ‘Freude schöne Götterfunken…’, was announced by cellos and basses, all the hushed spirituality was there.

The baritone’s lone entry, calling things to order, is probably scary even for the most experienced singer, but Warwick Fyfe was firm and confident, as if the first notes were comfortably within his range, every word clear. As well as the timpani, the bass drum, on the left, also made a stunning impact. Finally the choir arrived, very large, and clearly responding to a command to ‘give it all they’ve got’; not only was the force of Schiller’s words thrilling, but somehow their numbers made the fortissimo singing, perhaps not nice in a small choir, totally arresting. The words were remarkably clear and delivered as if the future of mankind really was in their hands. It was one of those inspirational occasions when one dreams of imprisoning the world’s worst criminals and terrorists in a mighty concert hall to hear this, and watching their evil character fall away as the spiritual power of words and music delivered an ecstatic message that none could withstand (as long as the Alla marcia didn’t have the opposite effect).

The soloists for the fourth movement were placed behind the orchestra, at the front of the choir, a position that is sometimes felt to diminish their impact. I was sitting on the left (facing the orchestra) and so was not able to tell whether there was any problem in the body of the auditorium; but when the soloists entered with ‘Wem der grosse Wurf gelungen’, it came with a reassurance that their sounds were undiminished.

Tenor Henry Choo and Fyfe found themselves alone with their ‘Freude trinken alle Wesen’ (Schiller’s third stanza); a happy pairing. And after the Alla Marcia, tenor Henry Choo was conspicuous in his solo with words from the fourth stanza, ‘Froh, froh wie seine Sonne’.

Certain parts are intensely moving: the return of the first chorus after the long, 6/8, Alla marcia episode, and the descent to the hymn-like ‘Seid umschlungen, Millionen’ for tenor and bass soloists, with its octave parts.  The women’s voices alone provided one of the most glorious passages, both through their dynamic impulse and their expression of such passion through the words. And though neither soprano nor mezzo soloists, Jenny Wollerman and Elisabeth Harris, had the exposure that tenor and baritone enjoyed, their singing in the quartet was always vivid , spiritual in its message, in perfect accord and interestingly, a bit apart from the tenor and bass singing with them.

All soloists singing alone, particularly their last passage with ‘Freude, Tochter aus Elisium’, contributed a particular ecstatic emotion, The chief glory of the performance was the power and almost unbridled ecstasy of the choir, partly a result of its sheer size, even more, the conspicuous care taken with diction and admirably scrupulous ensemble. And that energy never diminished till the choir’s final pages, their fortissimo clamour finally taken up by the orchestra, which sustained it with total excitement right to the final spacious chords.

The applause was tumultuous and it encompassed everyone from Mark Taddei, through the orchestra, the choir and all the soloists.

 

Vibrant and wholehearted – Wellington Youth Orchestra and ‘cellist Matthias Balzat

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Youth Orchestra presents:

BEETHOVEN – Symphony No.1 in C Op.21
TCHAIKOVSKY – Pezzo Capriccioso for ‘cello and orchestra Op.62
ELGAR – Variations on an Original Theme “Enigma” Op.36

Matthias Balzat (‘cello)
Wellington Youth Orchestra
Andrew Joyce (conductor)

Cathedral of the Sacred Heart, Hill St., Wellington

Tuesday 10th May, 2016

A joy, right from the beginning, this concert, which featured bright-eyed and bushy-tailed orchestral playing from a talented ensemble of young musicians, squaring up to a couple of well-known classics and an engaging cello-and-orchestra concert rarity.

Under Andrew Joyce’s on-the-spot direction, the music in every instance took off, the Beethoven with bright-eyed and chirpy accents, the Tchaikovsky piece with bold, impassioned wing-beats, and the Elgar with gentle, early-morning ruminations developing into gestures with warmth and strength. In the case of each piece the music’s character was quickly established and consistently maintained, the players responding to their conductor’s clearly articulated beat and guidance regarding dynamics, accents and timing.

I thought the Beethoven Symphony was an inspired choice for these players, a work by a young composer eager to make his mark upon the world, and ready to challenge conventions and established rules right at the outset. Here we got strong, almost confrontational chording from the winds at the beginning – a kind of “are you listening?” statement, designed to break into idle concert chit-chat and grab people’s attention. I liked the big-bonedness of that opening, making the following allegro all the more disarming with its light touch and cheeky aspect, and contrasting with the insouciance of the winds’ delivery of the “second subject” (what dry old terms these are!).

We got the repeat as well, to my great delight, though Joyce and his players didn’t give the “surprise” chord at the beginning of the development too much emphasis, keeping it nonchalant and droll – a kind of “Well, what did you expect?” sort of statement. The recap. came across strongly and with textures beautifully blended, with some athletic counterpoints bouncing off the strings’ bows with great élan in places, nicely rounded off by festive touches from the brass.

A poised, and patiently built-up slow movement was beautifully weighted by conductor and players, with lovely colours from the winds in the development, and great ensemble work – then at the recapitulation the ‘cellos distinguished themselves with a beautifully-shaped counter-melody. At times the high string passage-work lost its sweetness, but such lapses were only momentary. The Menuetto (really, a scherzo!) skipped along energetically, with only a lack of synchronization between lower and upper strings troubling the occasional extended phrase. The winds again made a lovely contrast in the trio, though the strings struggled with the unanimity of some of their awkwardly syncopated replies.

The finale’s droll cat-and-mouse phrases created great expectation straight after the opening chord, with the violins then running away merrily at the allegro, a little TOO smartly in places ! However, in the development section things locked together well, with the dovetailing of the rushing, see-sawing passages nicely managed. No repeat this time, but the strings were obviously relishing the cut-and-thrust of their exchanges, and the all-together orchestral banter of the coda, with everything brought together for the final, triumphant chords. Overall, I thought it a most satisfying performance.

Tchaikovksy’s soulful, long-breathed world of heartfelt expression seemed a long way from Beethoven’s, at the outset of the second work on the programme, the Pezzo Capriccioso for ‘cello and orchestra. The passionately-sounded ‘cello line was addressed with great feeling and beautifully-modulated tones from soloist Matthias Balzat, whose performance overall was, to put it mildly, both brilliant and commanding. Throughout the piece’s lively middle section, the soloist’s bow danced upon the strings and the left hand literally flew over the instrument’s fingerboard, striking the notes rapidly and truly, and making a spectacular impression.

Matthias Balzat is already a veteran of a number of instrumental competitions, at which he’s achieved a great deal of success – a first prize in the 2014 National Concerto Competition, and a second prize in the 2015 Gisborne International Competition. He’s currently studying with James Tennant at Waikato University, and is obviously a young musician who’s worth watching out for.

After the interval we settled down to enjoy Elgar’s affectionately-wrought set of musical tributes to the people he felt closest to as a man and as a composer. The work is a straightforwardly conceived set of variations on a theme, the title “Enigma” being bestowed by the composer without explanation, as if there’s a hidden theme or a kind of link between the variations that has never been explained. The different variations are more individual allusions to certain shared experiences with the composer, rather than “character portraits” as such.

At the beginning the theme itself was beautifully shaped, tenderly and lyrically delivered, with a sonorous lower-string counterpoint brought out most soulfully towards the end. The first variation (CAE), depicting Elgar’s wife Alice, featured beautifully floated interchanges between strings and winds, with noble brass at the conclusion, a complete contrast to the repetitive figurations of a pianist friend (H.D.S-P.), steadily and mechanically completed. There was pleasure, too, at the wind-playing in R.B.T., clarinets and bassoons having great fun bringing wide-ranging tones and registers into play.

Andrew Joyce kept the driving rhythm of the following variation (W.M.B.) absolutely steady following its exciting attacca beginning, a completely different kettle of fish to the romantic charm of R.P.A., the strings rich and sonorous, the winds chatty and charming, if not quite always together. Ysobel allowed the solo viola a moment of glory, which was beautifully played, while the following Troyte highlighted the timpanist’s rhythmic skills just as tellingly in a wildly swirling episode – and how well and excitingly the strings “pinged” their entries in this piece, throwing the snarling brasses into splendid relief!

Some beautiful wind playing – charming conversation and gentle laughter – during W.N. gave us some relief from these previous storms and stress, before the music took us to the centrepiece of the variations, the much-loved Nimrod. Here, the composer recalled discussions with a friend on the beauty of Beethoven’s slow movements, the players respond to their conductor’s encouragements with patient, long-breathed playing, and together building towards something majestic and visionary. Afterwards, Dorabella brought out sensibilities back to earth with finely-judged wisps of exchange between winds and strings and another graceful viola solo.

Anything but graceful and finely drawn was G.R.S., the initials belonging to the owner of a bulldog whose favourite pastime of diving into the river to fetch a stick thrown by his master, was here set to music by Elgar. As in the earlier “Troyte” the string-playing pinged and crackled with precision under the conductor’s guidance.

String-playing of a vastly different sort was inspired by the immediately following B.G.N., a ‘cello solo, played here with fine intonation and warm tones, and then repeated by the entire ‘cello section, whose fine, ringing upper notes did the players (and very likely their conductor) great credit!

The especially enigmatic thirteenth variation, with its three asterisks in place of a name or initials, famously contains a quotation from Mendelssohn’s Overture “Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage” – after a winsome theme is tossed about by strings and winds, there’s a drum roll, a clarinet quoting the overture’s theme, and the lower instruments presenting the throbbing of ship’s engines. It all came together here with excellent focus on the detail and plenty of heft given the music’s pulsating power and implacable movement.

And so to the composer’s self-portrait, E.D.U., being Alice Elgar’s abbreviated name for her husband – Joyce and his players hit their stride at a fast clip, galloping towards the first big orchestral climax with gusto, one which came with tremendous impact. Everything, including the reprise of Alice’s music in her variation, was kept moving – and if there was more ferment than finesse throughout the last few pages, the excitement and sense of the music’s arrival was overwhelming in its power and splendour. I felt that, at this point, those aspects of the performance were given priority here, and rightly so.

It all made, I thought, for a splendid concert-going experience, thanks to the repertoire, and the totally committed performances – certainly one that anybody who enjoyed skilled, vibrant and whole-hearted music-making would have similarly enjoyed.

An introductory feast – Inbal Megiddo and Jian Liu

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Chamber Music presents:
Inbal Megiddo (‘cello) and Jian Liu (piano)

BEETHOVEN – 12 Variations on Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen from Mozart’s “Die Zauberflöte”
MENDELSSOHN – Song Without Words Op.109
RACHMANINOV -Vocalise
LAURENCE SHERR – Sonata for ‘Cello and Piano Mir zaynen dol (“We are here”)
BRAHMS – Sonata in D Major “Regenlied” Op.78
DE FALLA – Suite Populaire Espagnole (arr.Maréchal)
ROSSINI / CASTELNUOVO-TEDESCO – Largo ad Factotum from “Il Barbiere di Siviglia”

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace,

Sunday 1st May, 2016

I didn’t hear all of the introductory talk given before the concert by Jewish-American composer Laurence Sherr regarding his ‘Cello Sonata Mir zaynen dol, but what I heard was sufficient to convey the context and motivational force of the music, composed in 2014 and here given its Australasian premiere. It certainly added a unique dimension to this, the first of the Wellington Chamber Music Concert Series for 2016.

‘Cellist Inbal Megiddo and pianist Jian Liu, both in sparkling form, played a first-half programme which led most gently up to Sherr’s work, to the threshold of a world dominated by persecution and suffering, with only the music of Rachmaninov casting any shades or strains of angst over the proceedings.

The rest was grace, lyricism, wit and high spirits, tempered by some mid-course agitations in Mendelssohn’s Song Without Words piece, and the aforementioned sorrowful aspect of the Rachmaninov Vocalise, given here in an anonymous arrangement.

First was Beethoven’s homage to Mozart’s “Magic Flute” opera in the form of a set of variations on the opening of the aria Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen, sung by the simple birdcatcher, Papageno. Here were poised, beautifully “sprung” phrasings from the piano and beguiling voicings from the ‘cello, the conversation between the instruments an eavesdropper’s delight. Each musician relished the many guises of the contrapuntal lines of the later variations, from energetic (No. 8) through ritualistic (No.9) rapt (No.10) and almost sacramental (No.11) to the ebullient dance-like finale, where rapid fingerwork and occasional modulatory swerves from both soloists added to the excitement and pleasure, as did a Waldstein-like flourish near the end from the piano.

Mendelssohn’s posthumously-published Song Without Words presented a lilting water-borne aspect supporting the song of a lover serenading his sweetheart in between each indolent oar-stroke. Perhaps the wake of a passing paddle steamer momentarily ruffled the undulating surfaces of the water-course and rocked the boat, both mid-course, and towards the piece’s end – but peace and decorum was restored at the conclusion, characterized by a beautiful ascending ‘cello figure.

Megiddo and Liu drove intensely into the opening measures of Rachmaninov’s Vocalise, keeping their phrases tightly-focused and allowing little relaxation – but then, their quieter, slightly less “clenched” way with the opening’s reiterated phrases allowed us some much-needed breathing-space with which to prepare for the oncoming waves of songful emotion. Though the pair did vary these intensities throughout the work, I felt more than usually “drained” by the music at the end of this performance, and wasn’t sure that I didn’t feel cheated, deprived of my usual Rachmaninovian nostalgia-trip and being given something tougher and more dry-eyed instead, even if some would have thought this was most probably to the music’s advantage.

Perhaps it was part of a subconscious “preparation” by the musicians to deal adequately with the demands of Laurence Sherr’s work, the Sonata for ‘Cello and Piano Mir zaynen dol. (“We are here”). Dedicated to the composer’s father, the work’s subtitle underlines its raison d’etre – to pay homage to those who survived the dreadful rigours of the Holocaust, and who have kept alive and passed on their traditions and memories to younger people, as a real end enduring record of “identity, resistance and survival”.

The composer came on to the platform with the musicians to help demonstrate an aspect of the Sonata’s final movement, which was the intertwining of the main themes of two of the “source songs” for the work as a whole, one a Marching Song, the other a Youth Hymn, thus bringing together old and young. This reflected the use of two other songs, one in each of the previous movements,  which symbolized the determination of individuals in ghettos, concentration camps and refugee groups to survive and tell their tales, as well as those of the lost voices, to keep alive their memory.

March rhythms and prayerful melodies by turns thus dominated the work, the first movement taking its cue from a song Yid, du partizaner (“Jew, you Partisan”) set to a Russian melody, piano and ‘cello each bringing their own stirring energies and singing tones to the rallying-calls, while a more exotic, middle-eastern-sounding lyrical section added to the flavour of the music.

By contrast, the second movement drew from both cantor-like lyrical lines, using Kel (El) mole rachamim, a Jewish prayer for the deceased, and later from a lullaby Wiegala, written by a Therensianstadt concentration camp prisoner. Both were presented with rapt focus by Jian Liu and Inbal Megiddo – at the outset long-breathed piano chords and “strummed harp” sonorities  provided the basis for the ‘cello’s prayerful melodic outpourings, leading to more dynamic interactions between the instruments. Then, in the “lullaby” section the mood became less declamatory and more personal, a beautiful cantabile ‘cello melody expressing an individual voice’s faith in and hope for a better life.

The interval gave us the space we needed to reflect upon these evocations before the concert’s second half called us back to an equally varied, if rather less emotionally fraught presentation, one that seemed extremely generous in terms of playing-time. With music by Brahms, de Falla and a remarkable piece of tongue-in-cheek homage from a twentieth-century composer to one of the nineteenth-century “greats”, the performers certainly drew from diverse sources to give us a rich and rollicking experience.

Brahms led the way, with Megiddo and Liu opting for the composer’s own arrangement for ‘cello of his Op.78 Violin Sonata, rather than one of the “proper” sonatas for the instrument. Though there were places, particularly the double-stopped opening of the second movement, during which I thought the ‘cello sounded a shade too guttural for the material, I thought the arrangement was well worth a hearing, even if my allegiance to the “original” remained unshaken. Despite the occasional high-lying melodic strand which sounded a shade uncomfortable, ‘cellist Megiddo brought her considerable expressive qualities to the music with great effect, bringing off moments like the distant “hunting call” sequences which close the Adagio movement to heart-stopping perfection.

Elsewhere, Megiddo and Liu worked “hand in glove” with the Sonata’s many delights, giving us a whole-hearted and deeply-felt impression of connection with the music, such as the agitations of the finale’s opening and the nostalgic references to the slow movement’s material along the way to the work’s autumnal, almost regretful conclusion. After these deeply-considered outpourings, what a change to be taken to a sun-drenched, more sharply-etched world of volatile emotion and exotic colorings, in the form of Manuel de Falla’s Suite Populaire Espagnole, the composer’s own suite for violin and piano re-arranged by French ‘cellist Maurice Maréchal. With plenty of “snap” and colour  from Jian Liu’s piano, and pulsating feeling from Inbal Megiddo’s ‘cello, these pictures were made to drench our sensibilities with flavours of far-away places and times devised of magic.

I confess I didn’t really see the Castelnuovo-Tedesco arrangement of Rossini’s Largo ad Factotum from his “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” coming – which probably added to its outrageous impact! Originally conceived for violinist Jasha Heifetz as an out-and-out showpiece, and devised by him in collaboration with his friend Castelnuovo-Tedesco, the work was also arranged for ‘cello and piano by the famed virtuoso Gregor Piatigorsky –  it didn’t say so in the programme, but it’s possibly the one that was used by Megiddo and Liu here, though a somewhat tart comment was made regarding a ‘cello version which was “stripped of many of the virtuosic elements”. Whomever it was who “reclaimed” these aspects of the work certainly did a good job – here was brilliance, energy, gaiety, wit, charm and coquetry, rolled into an irresistible package. Dare one say Rossini would have loved it? Whatever the case, he certainly would have admired the sheer élan of Megiddo’s and Liu’s playing, as did we in the audience.

Inbal Megiddo and friends stage fifth Cellophonia at School of Music

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand School of Music Te Koki
Cellophonia Concert

David Popper: Requiem
Handel, arr. Claude Kenneson: Adagio and Allegro from Organ Concerto in G minor, Op.4 no 3
Elgar: Salut d’amour, Op.12, arr. Kenneson
Kreisler: Liebesleid, arr. Kenneson
Piazzola: Libertango, arr. Alvin Ware

Adam Concert Room, Victoria University of Wellington

Saturday, 20 February 2016, 6.30pm

Cellophonia consists of a day of rehearsals for cellists, followed by a concert. This was the fifth such event. While organised by the New Zealand School of Music at Victoria University of Wellington, it includes mature cellists from amateur orchestras as well as students of various ages. Tutors were Inbal Megiddo (cello soloist and NZSM Senior Lecturer) and Andrew Joyce (Principal Cellist of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra). There was no printed programme; I am grateful to Brigid O’Meeghan for supplying the details.

There were other highly experienced, indeed expert, cellists participating. I saw Rolf Gjelsten, Brigid O’Meeghan and Lucy Gijsbers; there may have been other top-line cellists also.

A good-sized audience heard the short programme (approx. 40 minutes) from the 23 cellists, of whom between one-half and two-thirds were female.

Before the concert commenced, Inbal Megiddo paid tribute to the late Wellington cellist and luthier, Ian Lyons, who died suddenly, recently. The first item, written for multiple cellos and piano (Jian Liu), appropriately, was dedicated to his memory. The work was suitably sombre. There was strong tone from Megiddo and Joyce against a background of the other cellos. Soon the piano joined in. The music was solemn, even portentous; the players created a big sound, playing without a conductor, but carefully following the two tutors’ head, bow and eye signals. However, I sometimes found the volume too much in this rather small auditorium.

The piano made a considerable contrast, with its higher pitch and different timbre. This was an effective work, and being written for this instrumentation, made a greater musical impression than did the arrangements that followed.

Some rearrangement of the players took place for the Handel piece. Two groupings of two cellists each provided the concerto effect: Megiddo and Joyce; Gijsbers and another young woman whom I have seen and heard before. They played more-or-less alternate concerto sections of the score.

Not every other player was in tune all the time, but all made a solid contribution. The allegro in particular sounded odd after the familiarity of the organ original. The playing was a little too insistent, with the harmonic variation being rather swamped. However, there were lovely solo, duet and quartet passages from the four leaders.

The Elgar piece was not sufficiently ingratiating, with all that low grumbling below the solo part, played by Megiddo and Joyce. Others got a chance to carry parts of the melody, but the playing of the remainder of the band was insufficiently delicate. The polished wooden floor is responsible for a lot of this sound; the cello, unlike nearly all other instruments, has direct contact with the floor.

The two cello tutors swapped places for the Fritz Kreisler piece. Joyce’s playing of the melody was mellow and gorgeous, and the accompaniment was nicely varied with not so much deep grumbling here. Some harmonies were pitched above the melody, which made for variety.

Astor Piazzolla’s brief tango “Libertango’ was played by some of the group with great aplomb; by others more cautiously. It ended with a great flourish.

I am sure that those of the players who are not under regular tuition at NZSM would have got a lot out of their day’s workshop; the final concert was by no means a compromise of quality, with its variety of pieces.

 

Rich and entertaining fare from student cellists at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music: Concert Week

Cello students: Jordan Renaud, Tierney Baron, Caitlin Morris, Lavinnia Rae, Olivia Wilding, Elena Morgan, Rebecca Warnes, Bethany Angus
Directed by Inbal Megiddo

Bach’s Cello Suite No 5 in C minor – Praeludium, played by Lavinnia Rae
Bach’s Cello Suite No 6 in D – Sarabande
Barber: Adagio for strings
Piazzolla: Libertango
Rossini: Overture to The Barber of Seville

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Monday 5 September, 12:15 pm

Eight cello students from Victoria University’s school of music, led by head of cello, Inbal Megiddo, delivered a highly diverting concert, the first in the school’s end of year showcase which is taking place between Monday and Thursday this week.

The advertised programme was amended by the addition of a solo performance by one of their number, Lavinnia Rae. Hers was another piece from Bach’s Cello Suites: the Praeludium from the fifth suite in C minor.

I forgot to ask, and I couldn’t observe, whether Lavinnia had followed Bach’s instruction for playing that one, that the A string be tuned down a tone, to G. I assume it was, as that allows the top note, A flat, in certain chords in the key of C minor to be played on the “A” string, when it would otherwise have to be played on the D string, which is taken to play a lower note in chords. It also has the effect of slightly decreasing the brightness of that string.

Her playing was warm and confident, with an energising bite to those chords in the first part of the Praeludium. Her rhythm was fluid and flexible, creating a nice rhapsodic quality in its first section. Quite soon Bach presents a bit of a surprise with a shift to a 3/8, gigue-like, rhythm, its energy rising and falling, and becoming increasingly lively as it approaches the end with its sudden shift into C major. A lovely performance.

Then all cellists emerged, along with Megiddo, to play the Sarabande from the sixth suite (which also has its peculiarities, being written for an instrument with five strings, somewhere called a ‘viola pomposa’, which has an additional, higher, E string). The impact of a symphony of cellists playing in a somewhat harmonised version of the music created an entirely different effect, Italianate perhaps, a big warm study in baroque chordal expressiveness.

Samuel Barber’s Adagio is much more familiar in a variety of guises; here, Megiddo parked her cello and picked up a baton to conduct it. The players with the leading high parts were very secure and created a movingly elegiac spirit that probably few other ensembles could match in this chameleon-like music.

The admirably varied and imaginative programme then treated Piazzolla’s bandoneon-dominated Libertango to the civilising (is that what I mean?) effect of a phalanx of cellos, with Megiddo resuming a seat in the midst of her students. They began with a gentle tapping on the belly of some of the instruments, and then the music proceeded to demonstrate how Piazzolla would have scored it if he’d been born of Argentinian blood in, say, Vienna with the local Philharmonic at his disposal. In fact, the transition from bandoneon to cellos is not sonically such as leap, given players of talent and stylistic acuity. The playing was hair-raising in some respects, especially the handling of the accompanying figures in the bass, and there was challenge enough, in fingering and rhythms, in the upper parts too.

The last item was the greatest leap from one genre to another. For a piece as familiar as the overture to The Barber of Seville to be deprived of its brass and woodwinds, and to ask big, warm-hearted instruments like cellos to indulge in its brilliant and flashy emotional effects made for an experience that was almost bizarre and had me smiling even more than Rossini usually does. In fact there were moments of near satire and pure comedy; and in the accelerandi and crescendi, which so delighted this incomparable composer, the joke seemed to be on the players and the result was downright hilarious.

So this was one of the most entertaining concerts I’ve been to for a while.

Admirable cello and piano lunchtime concert by Inbal Megiddo and Diedre Irons

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Lunchtime at Adam Concert Room
(New Zealand School of Music)

Inbal Megiddo (cello) and Diedre Irons (piano)

Beethoven: Cello Sonata No 4 in C, Op 102 No 1
Brahms: Cello Sonata No 2 in F minor, Op 99

Adam Concert Room, Victoria University

Friday 18 September, 12:10 pm

In earlier days the university’s lunchtime concerts were on Thursdays, both when I was a student a century ago and when I started reviewing for the Evening Post in the 1980s. It was more convenient for me as for many years Fridays have been proscribed and I have rarely managed to get to them.

The chance to hear cello sonatas by Beethoven and Brahms was too hard to resist however, and I made a momentous alteration to my life to be there.

In his sonata in C, Beethoven takes his usual liberties with the conventional forms that had guided his predecessors. It is unusual in its shape: just two movements, each with a slow introduction leading to an Allegro vivace, each of seven to eight minutes duration. Yet both the Allegro sections, though short, follow reasonably normal sonata form.

Inbal Megiddo opened gently, finding the sort of nasal quality of the D rather than the A string (not that I could see her bowing), which matched the thoughtful character of the melody with its unusual octave leap in the middle; and the two players at once announced themselves as strikingly sympathetic, both with the music and each other: though the piano lid was on the long stick, the cello’s voice was always equal to whatever the piano was doing.

The Andante is only about 3 minutes long and so never suggested a merely brief first movement, establishing its own, perfectly congenial coherence, and it fell silent at just the right moment. The contrast, as the main part of the movement began, was perhaps a little too assertive, rather than simply sanguine. It too is quite short.

The prelude to second movement, Adagio, can be recognised early as a sort of variation on the main theme of the Andante, with its rising octave interval and its improvisatory feeling. The Allegro vivace then begins playfully and it character was illuminated with great confidence and conviction by both instruments. Beethoven’s teasing wit is never far away. There are the odd pauses and the precipitate ending, into all of which both pianist and cellist entered wholeheartedly.

The Brahms sonata in some ways shows greater respect for the classical tradition, even though adopting a more lyrical and romantic tone. And the duo seemed to relish the chance to dig into the big romantic melodies and the denser, almost orchestral textures. Brahms seemed to take pleasure in the warm and deep bass notes – pedal notes – from the cello: one wonders whether those moments hark back to his father’s sounds as double bassist with the Hamburg opera orchestra. The cello’s pizzicato passages in the Adagio were deliberate, even a bit inert, but the general rhapsodic feeling produced a lovely performance.

In the third movement, Allegro passionato, acting as a Scherzo I suppose, Megiddo’s forceful and energetic style set the tone, somewhat at the expense of the beautiful; the beautiful was confined to the middle section which did indeed offer a heart-felt respite. The last movement is one of those rich, Brahmsian creations, where, as I noted above, orchestral sound is close by. The playing by both, obviously in wonderful sympathy with the composer’s aesthetic, fulfilled every Brahms-lover’s expectations.

I was pleased to see a good audience in the Adam Concert Room.

A few years ago, this venue presented serious accessibility problems, with virtually no parking weekdays and infrequent buses. Bus timetables during term-time are now good (non-term-time, still hopeless). I travelled by train and bus from Tawa to Kelburn Parade in about 35 minutes.

So it’s a concert venue that deserves the attention of all serious music lovers with a bit of flexible time at midday.

 

 

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Fine cello and piano lunchtime recital at St Mark’s, Lower Hutt

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Haydn: Cello concerto no. 1 in C Hob. VIIb:1 (1st movement)
Haydn: Piano sonata Hob. XVI: 48 (1st  movement; Andante con espressione)
Prokofiev: Sonata for cello & piano

Lucy Gijsbers, cello, Andrew Atkins (piano)

St. Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday, 12 August 2015, 12.15pm

The concert was dedicated by the performers to the memory of noted Wellington luthier Ian Lyons, who died suddenly, recently.

These are two first-class musicians who play so well in combination.  Pianist Atkins did well trying to be an orchestra in the opening work, while Lucy Gijsbers’s playing was quite lovely and of professional standard.  She gained a most warm and attractive tone from her instrument in all parts of its wide range.  Those flying, flexible fingers made the most of every note.

Her cello almost talked to the audience.  It is to be hoped that Lucy Gijsbers gets a chance to play this work with an orchestra.  Her variety of tone was impressive, and the double-stopping in various places through the work was expertly executed; the cadenza was brilliant.

The piano could have done with more tonal and dynamic variation, and more careful phrasing.  A few wrong notes were excusable in the context.

Next was a movement from one of the same composer’s piano sonatas.  Now we had variation of touch and tone, subtlety and variety of dynamics.  Andrew Atkins gave full expression to a delightful work.  He reminded me in appearance of a young pianist I heard years ago in Turku, Finland.  However, he did not repeat that gentleman’s extravagant gestures, but the quality of his playing was equivalent.

Of course, Haydn would probably be surprised to hear the modern piano, with its greater variety of tonal colours.

The cello returned for the Prokofiev sonata.  It opens with gorgeous deep notes on the cello, then the piano follows with dramatic chords, after which the mood lightens somewhat: strumming on the cello, and lighter piano writing; the instruments balanced well.  Musical ideas were worked out in a most satisfying way, with the two players in great accord.  Lucy Gijsbers seldom looked at the music score in front of her, such was her mastery of the music.  There were impressive pianissimos, along with tenderness of expression.

The second movement opened with simple piano chords, and pizzicato on the cello. Spiky rhythms featured, with notes darting here and there.  Then the music became lyrical; the warmth of cello tone conveyed the lyrical character well.  The music turned playful again, the cello played harmonics, then there was a pizzicato final flourish.

The third movement opened in dance-like character, then became more dramatic – surely a Russian dance.  A return to flowing lines on the cello followed, and illustrated Lucy Gijsbers’s command of her instrument, in all its wondrous variety of charm and drama.  Prokofiev certainly gave full rein to all the possibilities of the cello, possibilities which this player fully rose to.  The piano part was also very demanding, and Atkins met those demands.

I see that, under the name Duo Cecilia, these two musicians played in a lunchtime concert at St. Andrew’s on The Terrace in March this year.  My colleague Frances Robinson had some words to say about the piano swamping the cello in parts of the Prokofiev work (the only one to appear in both programmes), and the need to be sure of the acoustics in which one is playing.  I was surprised at the piano lid being on the long stick at St. Mark’s, but for the most part this was not a problem in this
less resonant venue – and perhaps the earlier experience has caused the players to judge more carefully the acoustics in which they are performing.

This was a highly skilled recital from two fine musicians.  They gave full measure, and the audience heartily appreciated what they had heard.

 

Miranda Wilson – bringing it back home from Idaho

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Miranda Wilson (‘cello)
Jovanni-Rey de Pedro (piano)

Solo and chamber works
by Pärt, Ginastera, Bloch, Norton and Beethoven

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

Friday, July 17th, 2015

Trying to think of an appropriate heading for the review of this concert presented me with something of a challenge (as I find words do in general). After wrestling inconsequentially  with a number of thoughts, I finally hit upon the idea of celebrating what seemed to me a particularly distinctive Trans-Pacific connection through music, one which had happily resulted in this concert being presented here in Wellington for our very great pleasure.

The “Idaho” link in this case involved both Wellington-born ‘cellist Miranda Wilson, and her musical collaborator for this concert, Filipino-American pianist Jovanni-Rey de Pedro. Both are Assistant Professors of their respective instruments at the University of Idaho, situated mid-state in a city rather wonderfully called Moscow (well, why should the Russians get ALL of the fun?)

I last heard Miranda Wilson perform with the Tasman String Quartet here in Wellington goodness knows how long ago – previously I had heard her as a soloist, playing part of one of the Bach ‘Cello Suites. I remember on that occasion being struck by her “classic cellist” appearance (even though there’s probably no such thing!), a Suggia-like presence (there’s a famous portrait of the latter) and an intense concentration which came across in her playing via a direct and beautifully-focused sound.

Here she was heard both as a soloist and collaborator, bringing those same qualities of presence, focus and intensity to her playing throughout. She was certainly matched in most of these respects when performing with her colleague, pianist Jovanni-Rey de Pedro, even if I found myself somewhat distracted at the concert’s very beginning by the pianists’s constant activating of a computer-screen, presumably taking the place of a printed score, throughout the opening of Arvo Pärt’s haunting Spiegel im Spiegel (“Mirror in the mirror”).

This is a work whose raison d’être involves exchange and enrichment through collaboration –– the combination of instruments beautifully activated the silent spaces, the sound sound waves set a-rippling with piano arpeggios, the vistas widened by the ‘cello’s two-note phrases and deepened with occasional piano bass notes. Once Jovanni-Rey de Pedro had gotten through the opening measures, he kept his left hand largely away from the screen and down at the keyboard, to my great relief – yes, I know, it says very little for my powers of concentration on the music, but nevertheless I couldn’t help being diverted by it in situ!

However, once the composer’s “mirror images” had cast their spell, and the music run its course, Miranda Wilson graciously welcomed us to the concert and introduced her pianist colleague to us. The duo then undertook Ernest Bloch’s “Prayer”, one of three movements from his 1924 work From Jewish Life.

As one might expect from the composer of that wonderfully passionate work Schelomo (also for solo ‘cello, together with orchestra), the music has what Bloch described as the “Hebrew spirit…..the complex, ardent, agitated soul” found in the pages of the Bible, with all its “sorrow….grandeur (and) sensuality”.  All of that was here in spades from both players, ‘cello and piano by turns flamboyantly rhapsodizing, and gently musing, each taking the lead, then acting in accord, right up to the work’s final, generously-held note.

Jovanni-Rey de Pedro then played for us Alberto Ginastera’s flamboyant and exciting Op.22 Piano Sonata. This music was a “discovery” for me, as I had known only Ginastera’s Ballet Suites “Estancia” And “Panambi”, the former a kind of Argentinan version of Copland’s “Rodeo”, the latter owing something of its energies and exoticism to Manuel de Falla. But the Piano Sonata, though bringing to mind in places Ravel’s “Scarbo” from Gaspard de la Nuit, impressed most of all on my mind the idea that its composer knew well the rhythms and movements of his native land, whether driving, forceful and exciting, or gentle and insinuating.

The first movement’s two contrasting ideas were here delivered so characterfully – firstly the high-impact, funkily driven, sharp-contrast sequences of the opening, followed by more lyrically-centred passages, still buoyed along by the  toe-tapping rhythms, but here working a kind of “other-side -of-the-coin” magic with the material. Jovanni-Rey put it all across with tremendous volatility of expression – a mode that in the second movement “went underground”, its “misterioso” marking making for somewhat “Latin Gothic” effects at the beginning, everything bursting out only momentarily from a kind of “organ toccata” texture. The pianist’s exemplary control of dynamics throughout made for an eerily agitated effect, the playing’s obvious brilliance placed at the service of the music’s enigmatic character.

Again, what a contrast with the slow movement! – here, laden, arpeggiated figures loomed out of the mists and disappeared again as mysteriously as they formed. In Jovanni-Rey’s hands it all resembled a bluesy dream-sequence to begin with, the swirling notes then coalescing into bigger, Rachmaninovian statements before retreating into the half-lit ambiences once again, intent upon consolidating gained territories. As for the finale, it seemed like there was a force of nature at work, an overwhelming, fiery pianistic display from this young man, with toccata-like figurations showering sparks in all directions – so very exhilarating!

The programme’s second half opened up an entirely different world of expression, in the form of Bloch’s Third Suite for solo ‘cello. One of three written towards the end of the composer’s life, the music obviously owes a structural debt to Bach, while using twentieth-century harmonies and figurations. Miranda Wilson’s playing allowed plenty of both lyrical expression and rhythmic poise throughout each of the five movements, demonstrating, for example, in the opening Allegro deciso, a lovely “encircling” quality, rhythm taking its turn with line amid touches of volatility and occasional ascents to beautifully-breathed stratospheric places.

But throughout the work, the performance seemed to me to “light from within” the music’s different characters, from the first Andante’s quizzical processional, through the leaping jocularities of the Allegro and the visionary yearnings of the second Andante, to the ritualized “song-and-dance” of the concluding Allegro giocoso movement. The player certainly deserved the sustained applause which followed the Suite’s final movement, brought off here with élan and confidence.

Next, Christopher Norton’s Eastern Preludes and Pacific Preludes, somewhat tongue-in-cheek arrangements of various melodies from different countries, provided a good deal of surface entertainment, especially in Jovann-Rey’s polished renditions. For those familiar with each of the “originals” and their individual geographical contexts there could well have been as many amusing incongruities of style identifiable as there were to Australasian ears in the “Waltzing Matilda” and “Pokarekare Ana” versions – the spirit of Fats Waller seemed to bubble up from within the cracks between the keys during parts of the former, while one was reminded of the wicked sense of fun brought to bear in similar arrangements to that of “Pokarekare” by the late, lamented Larry Pruden.

Appropriately, both musicians featured in the concert’s final item, Beethoven’s Variations on Mozart’s “Bei Männern, welch Liebe fühlen” from The Magic Flute. Beginning with that warmest and richest of musical sounds, the E-flat chord, an exposition-like opening gave way to a more decorated variant with running accompaniments, the pace hotting up in the succeeding variation to edge-of-seat excitement, before the composer dropped a few anchors to get the music’s bearings thus far on the journey. Into the minor mode we were then taken by a wistful piano and a dark-browed ‘cello, the instruments simply being themselves, both played with all the character the musicians could muster.

The piece’s youthful composer obviously being out to show us what he could do, a skipping, syncopated figuration was occasionally made to pick up its skirts and run, to everybody’s bemusement. That established, the musicians relished the melody’s long-breathed cavatina-like treatment, ‘cello joining the piano, and both players treating the lines with that amalgam of freedom and responsibility which indicates true interpretative judgement, as much when to hold as when to let go. The latter moment came with the final variation, a playfully-launched waltz turning into a minor-key display of high spirits, each musician relishing the unbuttoned expression required by the composer – a brief luftpause made the brilliant final flourish go off like a glowing firework.

We loved the music and the duo’s playing of it – very great credit to them both, individually and as a partnership.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The strings of the School of Music take turn with wonderful Bach programme for St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music Showcase Week at St Andrew’s

The string players in an all-Bach programme

Violin sonata No 1 in G minor, BWV 1001 – Adagio played by Katie-Lee Taylor
           Fugue played by Matt Cook
Cello suite No 2 in D minor, BWV 1008 – Prelude played by Olivia Wilding
Violin Partita No 3 in E, BWV 1006, Loure and Gavotte en rondeau – played by Grace Stainthorpe
Brandenburg Concerto No 3 in G, BWV 1048 played by the above students plus 15 others

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Thursday 28 May, 12:15 pm

This was the last of the four concerts devoted to student players from the university School of Music.  Perhaps in future years we’ll also have concerts from woodwind and brass players, and singers, even organists and harpsichordists and percussionists; but these four have shown that it’s possible to attract good audiences more than just once a week. The limitation is no doubt the level of energy that the unpaid concert manager Marjan van Waardenberg can call up, and the availability of the church. (And it also should be pointed out that all musicians perform unpaid at the lunchtime concerts).

The first half hour of the concert was taken up with individual violinists and a cellist playing movements from Bach’s unaccompanied suites and sonatas.

Violinists Katie-Lee Taylor and Matt Cook began playing, in turn, the first two movements, Adagio
and Fugue, from the first violin sonata, in G minor. It was an admirable performance of the Adagio, with all the signs of careful tutorial guidance and music intuition on Taylor’s part, scrupulous attention to dynamics and the shaping or ornaments. There was interesting variety of tone and an organic feeling of life as if the music was breathing.

While she had played with the score before her, Matt Cook played from memory and paid a small price for that in the middle of what is certainly a difficult and complex fugue; so his courage and demeanour were to be admired in his recovery and persistence, though the experience somewhat affected the freedom and elasticity of his playing for a little while. The audience applauded him warmly.

Another minor key piece was the choice of Olivia Wilding – the Prelude from the second cello suite in D minor. Her handling of the bow created a lovely tone, mellow (at one point I craned my head to see whether she had put a mute on) and varied in dynamics, and she allowed herself attractive freedom in her tempi. She used a score.

Grace Stainthorpe ended the solo section of the concert with the Loure and the most popular movement from the violin sonatas and suites, the Gavotte en rondeau, from the third partita. Bravely, she dispensed with the score, with only a minor glitch during the Gavotte. Her playing was careful, and like the others, showed fastidious attention to its phrasing and rhythms, though I thought she might have exploited her opportunities for emphatic bowing occasionally.

There was a lot of stage rearrangement to accommodate the full ensemble – the five cellos (though six were named in the programme) arrayed at the front while violins flanked the violas in the middle of the back row.

While a couple of programmes in this series taxed their audiences (and themselves) by playing unfamiliar music, the strings made no apologies for playing great music, most of which was pretty well known by the average lunchtime-concert-goer. Few works are more loved than the Brandenburg concertos, and No 3 might well be at the top. The music might have almost played itself, but there was no missing the special affection that the players managed to convey in their buoyant, spirited performance. Professor Donald Maurice conducted and he introduced the concerto briefly to draw attention to the Calvinist environment of Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen where Bach composed this and much other instrumental music. There was no choir or organ, but a musical Prince who valued Bach who wrote little other than instrumental music for the court.

Maurice noted that the non-existent middle, slow movement was to be supplied by a cadenza played by the orchestra leader, Laura Barton and it was indeed a chance for another excellent solo presentation, involving a splendid crescendo.  Much of the liveliness and warmth of the performance was inspired by Maurice’s expansive, richly expressive conducting, with plenty of cues; whether it did or not for the players, it contributed a fine visual element that the audience enjoyed, and applauded enthusiastically.