Tag: chamber music

An evening’s enjoyment of wonderful things in Lower Hutt

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Hutt Valley Chamber Music presents:
Vesa-Matti Leppänen (violin)
Julia Joyce (viola)
Andrew Joyce (‘cello)
Diedre Irons (piano)

HAYDN – String Trio in G Major Op.53 No.1
FRANCK – Sonata for Violin and Piano (1886)
BRAHMS – Piano Quartet in C Minor Op.60

Little Theatre, Lower Hutt

Monday 25th May, 2015

The programme devised for this concert certainly made the most of the music and the performers, as well as pleasing the audience no end – having works for variously two, three and four musicians provided plenty of variety, while the performances established and maintained levels of skill, intensity, beauty and enjoyment that would have graced a recital platform anywhere in the world.

On the face of things, hardest-working of the quartet of musicians was violinist Vesa-Matti Leppänen, usually concertmaster of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, but here as fully involved in duo, trio and quartet partnerships, his playing a common and unifying thread throughout the evening’s music.

And what colleagues he had! – two of his orchestral colleagues, both (like Vesa-Matti) leaders of their particular sections in the NZSO, violist Julia Joyce and ‘cellist Andrew Joyce (partners in real life, of course), and the incomparable Diedre Irons at the piano – all, incidentally, local musicians!

The Haydn Trio began with a variation movement, lovely, lilting phrases, the dance firmly, but also winningly characterized – the composer again and again showed his inventiveness in creating delightful discourses from such deceptively simple material, with each instrument getting its chance to cheekily counterpoint the basic, unprepossessing theme. Then in the second and final movement, the pace quickened to a scamper, punctuated by pauses and dynamic contrasts – now tender and touching, now brilliant and decorative, the trio’s teamwork exemplary.

A good thing I’ve never grown tired of hearing Cesar Franck’s deservedly well-loved Violin Sonata – because, despite its technical difficulties and emotional “stretches” it regularly comes up in recital programs. Here, for me, the most fascinating aspect of the performance was the interaction of what might have seemed like two temperamentally different musicians, charged by cosmic circumstance with bringing the work to life.

While admiring the elegance and skill of Vesa-Matti Leppänen’s violin playing on the occasions I’ve heard him demonstrate his art, I’ve always though of him as a cool, somewhat detached and “contained” player – different sorts of qualities one would expect of an ideal interpreter of this work. And now, here he was, about to perform it with a colleague whom I’ve long regarded as one of music’s greatest and warmest communicators, pianist Diedre Irons.

As it turned out, each player was a near-perfect “foil” for the other in this music – and in any case the composer’s history as a “young virtuoso lion” of the keyboard meant that the writing’s focus often swung towards the pianist – no mere “violin with accompaniment” with this work! This fusion of styles I thought enriched the performance, with whole episodes seemingly given over to each player’s strengths and beautifully weighted by both in overall terms.

What did delight me the most, however, was hearing the violinist respond to his partner’s red-blooded manner at appropriate places – so full measure was given to the exhilaration of the second movement’s concluding measures, as well as the “deeply-dug” recitatives and the inwardness of the introspections in the slow movement. And I loved Vesa-Matti’s “full-bow” treatment of the return of that movement’s “big tune” in the finale – which moment, of course, Diedre Irons’ playing magnificently orchestrated, before scampering back down the hills towards the more circumspect undulations of the opening, and the ritual of its final canonic dance.

All hands came upon deck for the evening’s final work, Brahms’ epic C Minor Piano Quartet. Though this was the third such work written by the composer, and with a later opus number than its companions, the three quartets were sketched out at the same time – the C Minor work reflects Brahms’ involvement with the Schumanns, Robert and Clara, from the time that Robert had been committed to the asylum.

Brahms took twenty years to work through his various and contradictory feelings regarding what the music was trying to express. Originally set in C#Minor, the work’s key was changed to C Minor, Brahms developing his feelings from those of a hopeless lover (C#Minor was E.T.A.Hoffman’s famous character Kreisler, one whose influence on Schumann was evident in his piano suite “Kreisleriana”), to heroism amid struggle (exemplified by Beethoven’s frequent use of C Minor). These two feelings make themselves known, cheek-to-jowl, right at the pieces’ beginning, with the piano’s octaves (forceful expression) and the string’s “dying fall” motif perhaps representing characters in the drama to follow.

Drama it certainly was here, in huge shovelfuls, with powerful outbursts of concerted energy having their say, before giving way to a beautifully-extended and lyrical second group, weaving the opening descending figure into the argument in both minor and major modes, as well as contrasting the tragic with the heroic. The players, together and separately, conjured up massive trenchant utterances in contrast to the tenderness they also found in more lyrical moments, a beautiful exchange between viola and violin causing the piano to sing with the utmost pleasure in response.

The piano leapt first into the scherzo’s fray before the others took the plunge – though the music seemed uncertain whether to exult or snarl in places, the group roller-coastered all of us up and over the movement’s formidable hill-crests in exhilarating style. And no sooner had we regained our breath than the loveliest ‘cello-playing one could imagine was upon our ears courtesy of Andrew Joyce, introducing the slow movement with sounds that fell as gratefully as sunbeams on previously storm-tossed flowers of the fields.

Vesa-Matti Leppänen’s violin then added to our pleasure with its own voice  extending the melody in duet with the ‘cello. Not to be left out, the viola deftly and mellifluously duetted with each of its string-partners, Julia Joyce’s tones as transparent as a violin’s in places, and as mellow and mysterious as a cello’s in others. And Diedre Irons surely and sweetly marked the  piano’s place in the movement’s “continuous melody” by a tenderly-phrased reprise of the melody as sensitive and atmospheric as any.

Urgency and anxiety drove the ensemble at the finale’s beginning, the piano’s “perpetuo mobile” breaking off only momentarily for some hymn-like chords from the strings which were picked up and swept away once again in the maelstrom of it all. The players caught the “throes” of the music at its heart, by turns skittish and impulsive, with the sinuous lines frequently losing their momentum and having to regroup their energies – what intensities were carried through by the drive of the piano figurations and the sonorous string utterances!

One felt at the end a kind of “haunted relief” in the music, besides some Brahmsian exultation – ironically, the kind of ambivalence that Schumann would have recognized, as befitted his own struggles with life and art. A great and moving performance, then, of stirring, deeply-etched music, part of a rich and variegated evening’s enjoyment of wonderful things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Auckland Ensemble in delightful programme at Waikanae, but need time to mature in ensemble and articulation

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Auckland Ensemble (Caroline Almonte, piano; Leo Phillips, violin; Serenity Thurlow, viola; Edith Salzmann, cello)
(Waikanae Music Society) 

Mozart: Piano quartet no.1 in G minor K.178 (allegro, andante, rondo allegro)
Brahms: Piano quartet no.3 in C minor, Op 60 (allegro non troppo, scherzo: allegro, andante, allegro comodo)
Schumann: Piano quartet in E flat major, Op.47 (sostenuto assai – allegro ma non troppo, scherzo: molto vivace – trio I – trio II, andante cantabile, vivace)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 17 May 2015, 2.30pm

An interesting and attractive programme did not, nevertheless, attract as large an audience as has attended many of the Society’s concerts.  Was it the welcome fine, sunny weather after so much rain recently that proved more enticing than sitting in a hall?

Edith Salzmann, formerly cello teacher at Canterbury University, is now teaching the instrument at the University of Auckland, where violist Serenity Thurlow is also teaching.  Leo Phillips (UK) is a visiting tutor at the same university, and Caroline Almonte (Australia) is giving master-classes there.

The Mozart work is quite a well-known one, but despite the first movement being played slower than I have heard it before, it seemed to find the Ensemble less than cohesive as a group, especially in the tone department, in the first movement. The viola tone disappointed, and for my taste, there was excessive slurring of the melody line on the violin; I would expect a crisper articulation for Mozart, and fewer intonation wobbles.  Pianist Caroline Almonte’s playing was delightful, and beautifully articulated. The andante featured some fine playing, and the lively allegro movement demonstrated more uniformity of tone, therefore blend.  However, it also revealed some of the same faults of articulation and intonation as the first movement, and in the latter part of the movement all three stringed instruments were slightly under the note at times.

The Brahms work I was not particularly familiar with.  A fiery opening led to a more tranquil section, soon disturbed by more vehemence, to be followed by more tranquility.  In this work the viola tone was stronger and warmer.  Certainly, this is a Romantic work, while the Mozart is Classical, implying a different approach.  The cello pitch disappointed periodically. The scherzo of the second movement was full of verve and dynamic changes, to the point of sometimes being abrasive.  The beautiful andante with its wonderful opening cello solo with soft piano accompaniment sang like a mellifluous song.  It puzzles me why Brahms never wrote a cello concerto.  He is reputed to have said, on hearing Dvořàk’s cello concerto ‘If I’d known a cello concerto could be like this, I would have written one’, or words to that effect.  Yet both this and the wonderful cello solo in his second piano concerto seem to cry out for being part of a concerto. 

Later, the piano takes up the theme; this was played in a delightfully delicate manner, then was joined by the cello with a lovely depth of tone and expression, to be followed by the other strings.  The movement seems to express nostalgia and deep feeling. The allegro finale introduces a violin solo with piano accompaniment.  Again there were intonation glitches – not major, to be sure.  The other strings join in boisterously, before a chorale-like passage, the melody and harmony gently spelt out over a rippling piano accompaniment, before the excitement returns.  Reiteration of the cello theme from the previous movement, including on the piano, and variations thereon gave interest and variety to this movement.

Schumann’s marvellous piano quartet has special significance for me, so I was greatly looking forward to a live performance of it.  After a spooky, sotto voce chord, we are immediately into the four-chord theme that dominates the movement, in both solemn and jocund moods.  (Did Sibelius consciously or unconsciously base the opening of his famous soulful hymn-like theme in Finlandia on this tune?)  The pianissimo on the piano was both chilling and thrilling. 

The Schumann work found the ensemble much better blended.  The scherzo and its two trios were joyous, and skilfully played.  As the programme note put it, “nimble with a sense of urgency.” The andante features a sublime melody on viola and violin, later tellingly repeated on the cello.  For this movement, the cello had to re-tune her bottom string from C to B-flat, and then tune it back to C for the vivace finale, which was a brisk and busy movement.

This was a wonderful programme, but I was disappointed in its execution.  It seems that this group of players have not had enough time together to ‘jell’; their situation is very different from established quartets such as the New Zealand String Quartet, where blended tone is marked.  My remarks about intonation perhaps need to be seen in light of the temperature.  Unusually for this hall, I found myself cold after the first work, and had to add a garment earlier discarded.  The heaters were put on in the interval, and this improved matters; they were not left on for the last work, but this was not necessary.  It may have been that the players’ fingers were cold, and that this affected intonation and articulation.

When the members of the ensemble took their bows, Caroline Almonte gestured to the piano, revealing her delight in playing on the Society’s Fazioli grand piano.

 

NZTrio’s fascinating collaboration with three young composers in a range of their and other contemporary works

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Chamber Music New Zealand in New Zealand Music Month
collaboration with SOUNZ (Centre for New Zealand Music) and NZTrio

Conlon Nancarrow: Sonatina (piano)
Ravel: Pièce en forme de habanera (cello and piano)
Webern: Four Pieces, Op 7 (violin and piano)
Alex Taylor: burlesques mécaniques (piano trio)
Ligeti: Cello Sonata
Ravel: Sonata for violin and cello (movements 1 and 2)
Claire Cowan: ultra violet (piano trio)
Salvatore Sciarrino: Capriccio No 2 (violin)
Ligeti: Cordes à vide (piano)
Webern: Three Little Pieces, Op 11 (violin and piano)
Karlo Margetić: Lightbox (piano trio)

NZTrio (Sarah Watkins – piano, Justine Cormack – violin, Ashley Brown – cello)

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 9 May, 4 pm

As a contribution to New Zealand Music Month, Chamber Music New Zealand, together with SOUNZ, developed a concert programme for NZTrio that would give the job of selecting the works to three young composers. So each selected three or four pieces, including one of their own, and at the start of each bracket, one of the members of the NZTrio read a short apologia by the composer, sketching his or her philosophy of composition.

At the end of this review you will find an appendix containing the words from the three composers who have curated this concert.

Alex Taylor’s choice
Alex Taylor introduced his choice, referring to his belief that music should challenge, disturb and cause discomfort rather than simply enjoyment; certainly an objective that seems common enough among composers of the modern era. (are you too an old fogie puzzled by the use of the word ‘groove’ which Taylor used, that one has heard in a pop music context, unenlightened?) Nancarrow was famous as a composer who came to feel that it was an advantage to remove an ‘interpreter’ from process of bringing his music to listeners, composing on to piano rolls for the player piano, and it is those that I am familiar with. But I had not come across this Sonatina, an early work, said to be the last he wrote for performance on an ordinary piano, prepared later for the player piano. It exhibited the characteristic sounds of his later pure player piano compositions. His very recognisable style suggests to me a dehumanised, dissonant Scarlatti, Ives-indebted, jazz-inflected, sometimes amusing. However, none of its technical challenges bothered Sarah Watkins.

The only mainstream composer represented in the concert was Ravel – twice (pace Webern, only eight years younger, but separated spiritually from him by a half century). The decisions on the programme were of course a collaboration between the three composers, as is noted in the appendix. Ravel’s Pièce en forme de habanera, originally entitled Vocalise-étude en forme…, was here played by cello and piano (in April I heard a visiting flutist play it) where Ashley Brown took care with its lyrical characteristics as well its bravura flights. In the light of Taylor’s manifesto, was it a surprise to find this charming, perhaps ironic piece among his choices?

Webern’s two pieces together, were probably of shorter duration than most of the other single pieces. One can listen to (though not come to grips with) his entire oeuvrein a few hours, and these, for violin and piano, were typical of his highly economical, compressed utterances, violin and piano often inhabiting separate domains though in whole-hearted accord and commitment.

The contributor of the first bracket, Alex Taylor, offered his burlesques mécaniques, the longest of the four pieces, involving the whole Trio for the first time. It comprised ten pretty short pieces that the composer described in his notes as ‘ a rather extroverted collection of grotesque miniatures … dances … mechanised, electrified…’. They were identified by names that were sometimes pertinent, sometimes difficult to recognise, titles that were not all that common in ordinary musical literature, like ‘a spanner’, ‘tumbledry’, ‘anglegrinder’, ‘scaffold’, but the main title had warned us. The writing for the instruments was hectic, though there were ‘stuck’ moments, a series of spaced piano chords; the character of the three instruments became important elements in the portrayal of each piece.

Claire Cowan’s bracket
Ligeti’s Cello Sonata was Claire Cowan’s first piece, which I’d heard only once before, in Wellington: it’s a fairly accessible, tonal work, drawing fleetingly on folk music, written before his escape from Hungary in 1956 to find refuge(?) with the Darmstadt/Stockhausen school. For many, like me, music written by composers who had comparable experiences, sometimes induces the feeling that some of the constraints of Soviet hegemony were not all bad, obliging young composers to master their craft based on the old masters and on popular music, as all composers had in previous eras. In any case, this was a fine, energetic, indeed virtuosic performance by Brown and Watkins.

The second Ravel work was the first two movements of the less familiar Sonata for Violin and Cello, written in the early 1920s, coloured to some extent by the prevailing return to aspects of the classical style.  Ravel’s music is almost always welcoming, full of delights and intelligent pleasures.

Claire Cowan’s own piece, commissioned by CMNZ, ultra violet (our young composers seem to have an e e cummings proclivity; is it a sort of mock humble demeanour?), written for the full Trio, plays with the phenomenon of ultra-violet light, beyond the normal range of light frequencies visible to humans, but ‘seeable’ by various creatures including the ‘most lusciously hued crustacean in the world’, the mantis shrimp. She extends this to the realm of sound, ‘navigating a musical landscape … on a journey to create and discover colours beyond the edges of our visible spectrum’. And so, the music made use of harmonics, very high, very quiet, but comforting, with strains of beauty, hinting at the sounds of contemporary minimalists of the Baltic rather than American kind.

Karlo Margetić’s contribution
Sicily-born Salvatore Sciarrino’s Capriccio No 2 for solo violin, dedicated to Salvatore Accardo, was Karlo Margetić’s first choice. It began with harmonics, very high, very fast, very detailed, hinting at the natural world with magical bird-like sounds: a startling performance by Justine Cormack.

Margetić’s second offering was Ligeti’s Cordes à vide, the second study from his first book of piano Études dating from his post-communist period, bringing the concert full-circle, back to Nancarrow’s influence. Though for piano, the title means ‘Open strings’. Ostensibly inspired by Nancarrow’s polyrhythms and African music, those features were so integrated in the music that its impact was as a piece that pursued its own inevitable evolution in an interesting organic manner.

The second Webern of the afternoon was his Three Little Pieces for cello and piano, Op 11. Characteristically, a lot of silence between cautious, economical though evocative notes offered by the two instruments, cello muted. Though the second piece, ‘Sehrbewegt’, began at least, exhibiting a sort of normal, agitated energy for 20 seconds or so before retreating to the composer’s customary notational frugality. In spite of this admirably sympathetic performance.

My life with Webern began when I saw, 60 years ago on the back corridor notice-board of what is now called the Hunter building (housing both the entire arts and law faculties) of Victoria University College (let me be accurate), what I took to be a misspelling of Carl Maria von…’s name in a notice about a Thursday lunchtime concert in the Music Department. In the intervening decades, his constricted emotional palette and what I feel as pretentiously minute expressiveness has never much touched me.

Finally Margetić’s own music, Lightbox, a word of which I have had to ask the meaning. I liked it, from the violin and cello opening, soon joined by the piano: a busy, varied story with touches of familiar, idiomatic harmonies and evolutionary processes; they helped to keep grounded a listener who needs one foot on firm familiar ground allowing the other to shuffle confusedly through an unmapped landscape. The composer’s remarks about the ill-assorted nature of the instruments of a piano trio were illustrated in occasional surprising outbursts by the piano, separating it from the generally happy duetting of violin and cello. The result was indeed, in the composer’s own words, ‘an unexpected and strangely beautiful assemblage’.

Jack Body
Next day, Jack Body died; he was an unparalleled inspiration to composers, musicians, music lovers and the arts world in general throughout New Zealand and in many exotic places. No student composer not only in Wellington, but also throughout New Zealand can have been untouched by his manifold talents, his example, openness, humanity and generosity. Though I was never close to him, whenever we met, I felt that his very own sympathetic nature, his warmth, induced feelings in me of greater generosity and tolerance, certainly of affection towards him. I never detected the slightest antipathy that might have existed for one who had sometimes expressed misgivings about aspects of the direction and character of contemporary music.

 

Appendix:

An overview describing the concepts adopted by the three composers, from Alex, Karlo and Claire:
“While this programme may look eclectic and forbidding on paper, in practice it draws together a range of threads that connect the three New Zealand composers. We have built an overall framework rich with contemporary resonances, within which each New Zealand work has its own mini-programme and narrative arc. We have tried to pack the concert full of energy and stimulation for any audience.
“We have decided against choosing standard repertoire piano trio works, most of which have only a tangential relevance to New Zealand composition in the twenty-first century. Instead we have broken up the trio into solos and duos, building up the ensemble for each third of the programme.. This approach provides textural relief between the ensemble pieces and helps to build continuity through each section of the programme.  The shorter accompanying pieces create dialogue and draw focus towards the longer (New Zealand) works.
“All of the composers we have chosen are highly individual but linked by a strong concern with colour and texture. Within this there are two general stylistic themes: continuations of the modernist tradition (Webern, Nancarrow, Ligeti, Sciarrino, Taylor, Margetić); and concern with older forms, especially dance forms and folk music (Ravel, Nancarrow, Ligeti, Taylor, Cowan). Two pieces in particular accommodate both of these ideas – Nancarrow’s Sonatina, with its echoes of hyperkinetic Jazz idioms (Art Tatum?) and foreshadowing of Ligeti’s etudes, and Ligeti’s Cello Sonata, taking traditional folk melodies as a springboard for discursive play.”  

 

Here are the texts of the short introductions from each of the three composers read by members of the trio before they played the works each had chosen:

Alex Taylor says::
Artistic expression in today’s world is not simply about beauty and emotion. It is not an easy way to pass the time. It’s about the discursive and the disturbing, the ephemeral and the offensive. I go to a concert to be jolted out of my everyday perspective. That’s what we’ve attempted to do in creating this programme. To give you a jolt. But also to give you a platform for exploration. To find your own way through. To get you started, here are a few threads to pull on.
First, modern vs. postmodern: there’s an interesting dialogue here between the desire to create something new and the desire to repurpose something old. Composing is a dialogue with tradition, but also a dialogue that leads outside of that tradition. Engage with the familiar and the unfamiliar.
Second, groove vs. gesture: some of these pieces rely on a groove to drive them forward. Some deliberately resist grooving, treating music as a collection of finely sculpted objects rather than a continuous rolling landscape. Some take the idea of groove or gesture and altogether confound it.
Third, straight vs. camp: although there’s some profound, deep music here, it’s also an opportunity for play, superficiality, artifice and irony. Perhaps not everything is what it appears to be.
So rather than asking you to sit back and relax, I’d encourage you all to lean forward and draw your own connections through this very special programme.  

Claire Cowan says:
I chose Ravel and Ligeti to stand shoulder to shoulder with my new work to represent my continued inspiration and fascination with colour. Ravel, the masterful French colourist; and Ligeti, whose solo cello work showcases the cello’s versatility beautifully (and I suppose I am biased, being a cellist myself). It reminds me of the Bach solo cello suites in its clarity of gesture and emphasis on melodic lines. It just goes to show – composers can have fun adopting other composer’s sensibilities; challenging expectations while at the same time also being true to themselves. Ultimately I think we write what we need to write, for ourselves..my composition is both my craft, my survival and my therapy!

Karlo Margetić says::
In some ways, the works that precede my piece form an exposition of its basic building blocks. All are transparent in texture, and simultaneously manage to be elegant and completely unrelenting in their approach. I’m quite drawn to music that has this continuous, unrelenting quality, from the cycles of fifths that form the bulk of Ligeti’s Etude, to the minutely varied repetitions in Sciarrino’s Caprice that make it feel as if time has been suspended. Writing Lightbox was like getting lost inside a maze designed by M.C. Escher, complete with impossibilities, improbabilities and optical illusions. I hope you will all enjoy being lost in it too.

 

An unusual trio throws fresh, sometimes questionable light on a variety of chamber pieces

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Trio Amistad (Rebecca Steel – flute, Simon Brew – saxophones, Jane Curry – guitar)
(Wellington Chamber Music)

François de Fossa: Trio No 1 in A, Op 18
Piazzolla: Histoire du Tango – Café and Bordello
Sergio Assad: Winter impressions for Trio
Bach: Trio Sonata VI, BWV 530 (arranged Eric Dussault)
Debussy: Petite Suite (arr. Timothy Kain)
Falla: La vida breve – Danse espagnole (arr. Owen Moriarty)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 3 May, 2:30 pm

This, just incidentally, was the third recital involving a flute within a month – see Middle C of 1 and 29 April.

The Trio by the amateur and rather obscure 19th century French composer, François de Fossa, was written originally for violin, guitar and cello (reflecting the widespread interest in the guitar in the first half of the 19th century).

I had not heard of De Fossa and have been interested to find him, of course, through Google, significant in the guitar world, responsible for bringing Boccherini’s guitar quartets to notice, arranging Haydn quartets for guitar duo, translating a guitar method from Spanish.

Since Fossa himself had arranged for the guitar, music written for other instruments, I guess there can be little objection to musicians today arranging his. The thing that struck one at once however was the dramatically different sound produced by the tenor sax, and by the end of the concert the question remained; it was the most problematic of the six pieces they played.

The original would certainly have held together sonically and the flute substitutes easily enough for the violin, but the timbre of the saxophone seemed to contribute a quality that was rather too prominent. One can understand the hesitancy of classical composers, since the invention of the saxophones, to embrace them as fully legitimate members of the family. Even without knowing its history, one can sense that the saxophone is of another time; though I wonder whether, if it had not been taken up so completely by the world of big band jazz, it would sound more comfortable in classical music.
In its style the trio shows echoes of Haydn (the occasional amusing, deliberate miss-step) or Boccherini, or perhaps George Onslow; it was very agreeable, and it was played with charm.

In the two pieces they played from Piazzolla’s Histoire du tango, Simon Brew picked up his alto sax, again, not an instrument Piazzolla had envisaged, but here it fitted the sound world with a perfect authenticity (and it made me wonder whether the alto might have made all the difference to the Fossa piece). They began with the second piece, Café 1930, which is charming and gay; there was more evidence of the true roots of the tango in the first part of the suite, Bordello 1900, as you’d expect, and the players rejoiced in the syncopated rhythms and captivating melodic shapes.

Brazilian composer Sergio Assad (using the tenor sax again, in place of the as-scored, viola) wrote his Winter Impressions in 1996. I would have doubted the existence of much of a winter in the area around São Paulo, and Jane Curry’s guitar was the only one of the trio whose music hinted at The Frozen Garden – the first movement. The flute in the second movement contributed a dreamy tune, and the distinct lines for all three instruments created a most delightful musical pattern. The last movement, Fire Place, created an air of charming sociability, with animated talk punctuated by meditative pauses. Assad struck me as a natural, gifted composer with his own voice in music that had arisen because it had to be composed and not to fulfill academic assignments or important commissions.

The 6th of Bach’s Trio Sonatas, written for his oldest son Wilhelm Friedmann, was reportedly pieced together from parts of his other works, which is the reason for their sounding familiar, though I could not name or place them. Music long familiar has a habit of sounding more substantial and, of course, memorable, and so did this. The first movement was a successful wedding of flute and alto sax, each echoing the other. As I had with the Piazzolla, I found the alto a more comfortable companion with its colleagues here, and its soft, rather beautiful tones in the Lento, middle movement, held the music together in an organic manner. It was a most successful adaptation, colourfully played.

Debussy’s Petite Suite for piano duet has been much arranged, for orchestra and a variety of chamber ensembles, which would seem to give permission for virtually anything. Here Rebecca Steel’s flute seemed utterly natural, taking, as was explained, the piano primo part while the saxophone took the secondo (bass) part, much duetting in 6ths. The effect here was for the guitar to be placed rather inconspicuously, simply accompaniment; though there was a charming duet between flute and guitar in the Menuet. Nevertheless, though I am unhappy about most amplification, it’s often necessary for the guitar and might have been useful here.

The Spanish Dance from Manuel de Falla’s La vida breve ended the programme, and here again I felt the alto sax might have been a better choice than the tenor in the mix with two lighter instruments; in its top register however, it was fine; the guitar had more prominence which was most welcome; and the piece brought this charming concert a delightful finish.

 

Delightful, varied recital by Ingrid Culliford and Kris Zuelicke at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

St Andrew’s Lunchtime concerts

Ingrid Culliford (flute), Kris Zuelicke (piano)

Ernest Bloch: Suite modale for flute and piano
John Ritchie: The Snow Goose
Miriam Hyde: The Little Juggler and The Evening under the Hill 
Anne Boyd:  Goldfish through Summer Rain
Carl Vine: Sonata for Flute and Piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 29 April, 12:15 pm

A flute recital that contained no big composer names might not have seemed particularly enticing. And in some ways it wasn’t, there was nothing that really demanded being embedded in the memory or prompted a visit to Parsons (whoops!) to look for a CD of a particular piece.

What made it interesting (for me at least) was the theme of Australia, no doubt bearing in mind a centenary that is absorbing a lot of media space just now. In the 1980s and 90s when I used to make frequent trips to Sydney and Melbourne I used to browse the CD bins at the Australian Music Centre in The Rocks, Sydney and all the well-stocked music stores that proliferated in those civilised times. And I became familiar with the music of most of the leading Australian composers. I was often disconcerted to find so much new music across the Tasman that was interesting and engaging, still able to withstand the pressures of the avant-garde that many composers in New Zealand were striving to emulate.

Then there was the presence of women composers who emerged much earlier in Australia than here; significant women composers began to appear in Australia by the 1920s, starting with Margaret Sutherland, and then Miriam Hyde (born two years before Lilburn), Peggy Glanville-Hicks …

Miriam Hyde’s The Little Juggler, of 1956, and Evening under the Hill were played at this concert. The first, a happy, uncomplicated piece in fairly traditional style, seemed to reflect an English character, brushed by the influence of French flute composers like Françaix or Pierné. The second, from a set of five pieces of 1936, did not especially evoke evening, but was a charming impressionistic piece nevertheless.

However, the recital began with Ernest Bloch’s Suite modale, in four movements, mainly contemplative in character; even the last two movements marked Allegro giocoso – a subdued joy perhaps – and Allegro deciso maintained a meditative and slightly sombre spirit in spite of fluttering scalic passages that rose and fell. Its fine performance by a gifted, versatile flutist and a pianist whose role was both distinctive and accommodating of the characteristics of the flute promised a recital of considerable interest and pleasure.

It was good to be reminded that the flute need not be restricted to music that’s light and airy but that it can express more pensive moods, allowing more basic musical qualities to emerge from music of substance.

That was followed by an attractive narrative piece by John Ritchie, The Snow Goose, which was a  sentimental and hugely popular post-WW2 children’s and young person’s story of bravery involving a goose repaying its rescue and nursing by the hero in helping evacuate thousands of British troops from Dunkirk in 1940. Sensitive playing of melodic shapes and occasional sunlit flights suggested elements of the story.

An Australian composer of the next generation after Hyde, Anne Boyd, wrote a piece inspired by a poem in the form of a haiku, Goldfish through Summer Rain, in which the flute could well be heard adopting the character of the Japanese shakuhachi, and unsurprisingly, reminded me of Takemitsu.

The recital ended with a flute sonata by Carl Vine, born in 1954, one of Australia’s leading male composers. He has described himself as ‘radically tonal’ and that is indeed a way to describe his energetic, melodic, muscular first piano concerto and his Choral Symphony which I have on CD and have just been refreshing my memory with. As I listened to this flute sonata I scribbled words about the first movement, Fast, like ‘not afraid to write big attractive tunes’ and ‘accessible music’, not words that quite a few younger New Zealand composers would feel comfortable with.

The middle movement, entitled Slow, showed the gentle Vine, rhapsodic in character. Predictably, the last movement is ‘Very Fast’ (Real composers of course would have applied proper musical terms in an appropriate foreign language like Vivace, Lento and Molto vivace). I was amused at the composer’s teasing, long-anticipated closing cadences, sort of mocking the common, endless perorations of some of the great 19th century composers.

Anyway, it proved a splendidly unconventional way to end a flute recital, a complete turn away from flutish composition of the classical era, of the French school founded by Taffanel, or of misty dreaminess of early 20th century English music.  The Vine was a bit special, but the earlier music in the programme, some of which might have been characterized by my last sentence, was varied, expanding our flute horizons, and highly enjoyable in the context devised by the players.

 

New Zealand String Quartet in challenging music including pieces by Ross Harris

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Wellington Chamber Music Trust in association with Chamber Music New Zealand

J.S. Bach: Goldberg Variations BWV 988, Aria and Variations nos. 1, 2, 13
Ross Harris: Variation 25 (String Quartet no. 4)
Mozart: String Quartet no.22 in B flat, K.589
Ross Harris: Piano Quintet (2013)
Shostakovich: String Quartet no.9 in D flat Op.117

New Zealand String Quartet (Helene Pohl, Douglas Beilman, violins; Gillian Ansell, viola; Rolf Gjelsten, cello), Stephen de Pledge (piano)

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday, 26 April 2015, 3.00pm

The pre-concert talk from Ross Harris made it clear that this concert was something a little different: he was invited by Chamber Music New Zealand’s former Chief Executive, Euan Murdoch, to curate the concert.  That is, he got to choose the works, to include his own, and to give the pre-concert talk and introduce each item – and write some of the notes in the printed programme.  He has written a number of works now specifically for the New Zealand String Quartet (NZSQ); it is gratifying to see New Zealand composers writing in this genre.

He began by saying that he was not promoting Schoenberg and Stockhausen, as he fancied might be expected of him, but Mozart and Shostakovich, even though theirs were tonal compositions and his own were not.

The full church (though the gallery was not open) heard him explain that in 2007 he had heard the New Zealand String Quartet play a new quartet version of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, originally written for keyboard, and that inspired him to write his own variation on Variation 25, regarded as the heart of the entire work.

First, we heard the Aria and three of the variations played on piano.  The Aria was played in a very understated way – so much so that some notes almost disappeared.  However, it was an appropriate way to begin the performance.  The presence of a carpet square under the piano was gratefully observed; thus the sometimes over-loud and clattering sound of this piano on the varnished floor was absent, and there was no problem at any point with balance when later it was played with the strings.

Variation 1 sparkled, while the limpid, pastoral quality of Variation 2 made a gorgeous contrast.  Variation 13 was sublimely calm and peaceful.  A little judicious use of the sustaining pedal was observed, but it never obtruded.

The quartet came onto the platform quietly and without applause, to perform Ross Harris’s Variation.  It was good to see Douglas Beilman back in action; he had damaged a finger, and was replaced by Donald Armstrong at last Sunday’s chamber music concert in Waikanae.  The Harris work began with a wonderful evocation of Bach, the music being almost mesmerising, and containing striking counterpoint – but different from Bach’s.   Following this, the music worked up to a more agitated mood.  That ended, there was a return to the languid mood, but under it, the cello played pizzicato.  The music became less tonal, and the instruments appeared to go their own way.

Regarding the Mozart quartet, Ross Harris said that he had got to know this (and the Shostakovich quartet) through hearing the NZSQ playing them.  He stressed the complexity in Mozart’s writing and its modernity despite being written in the eighteenth century.  He urged the audience to ‘Listen as though you haven’t heard it before”.  It was a quartet with which I was largely unfamiliar, so it was not difficult to do that.

The allegro first movement had serene episodes, but also plenty of variety, while the larghetto that followed featured a very beautiful cello theme.  The first violin took it up, sounding absolutely sumptuous, but the cello continued to have much of interest to do; as the programme note explained, King Friedrich Wilhelm II of Prussia, who had commissioned the work, was a competent cellist.  The soulful slow movement was full of lovely melodies, harmonies and cadences.

The Minuet and Trio began in bright, even jolly fashion.  I was particularly aware of complex interweaving of the parts, all played with flair and unanimity.  The New Zealand String Quartet really is a national treasure.  The lively and energetic allegro assai last movement had the players putting over the spirited message clearly, as the cheerful themes were tossed from one instrument to another, giving a thoroughly enjoyable, integrated performance.  In this venue, or at least from my seat near the front, every note could be heard.

After the interval there was the première of Ross Harris’s Piano Quintet.  In his preliminary remarks, the composer told us that the opening was characterised by “Japanese opaqueness” followed by “bite” and then “gradual energy”.  He exhorted us to “listen to it as though it were written 200 years ago”!

The moods developed as he had said.  Since this was a piano quintet, the string players sat rather than standing as they do normally, so that they were on the same level as the pianist, Rolf Gjelsten eschewing his usual platform to raise his stool up.

There were some interesting passages from the piano, while at other times it seemed almost superfluous to the argument.  The strings made use of harmonics, which added to the Japanese flavour.  I found it hard to get into the appropriate listening mood; after the Mozart, the piece seemed inchoate.  The music became bleak for a long spell, then an energetic rhythm picked up, becoming briefly wild, with outbursts from the piano.  A soulful passage followed, then a high cello melody before the work ended in indecision.

Shostakovich’s ninth string quartet was prefaced by more remarks; Ross Harris said that it was the transformation of the Russian composer’s themes that he found interesting, and that it was this composer, along with Mozart, who had inspired him.

The five movements were played continuously, but had their own characters. The first, moderato con moto, had clear-cut motifs and strong harmonies.  The adagio was sombre, yet colours came to mind through its moving parts.  The use of mutes was part of this effect.  Next was an allegretto polka.  Despite the jollity, shifting tonalities gave an ominous tinge to the dance.

Although the quartet was written in 1962, I couldn’t help thinking, while listening to the solemn music of the second adagio, that the Second World War was still raging – and in a sense it still was in the Soviet Union, with its state totalitarianism in the name of communism.  The removal of mutes and the
introduction of pizzicato explosions in the second violin part and then on the viola led to agonising cries from the first violin, against a drone from violin two and viola.  Then there was total excitement for the fifth movement – or was it chaos?  This was followed by a slow dance, prior to a return to frenzy, with much vehemence from the cello.

These fine musicians put over as good account of this quartet as one could wish for – but I find the work dour and depressing despite the brilliance of both writing and execution.

It was satisfying to have such  varied programme, incorporating piano, quartet and piano quartet.

 

Outstanding programme by New Zealand String Quartet at Waikanae

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Waikanae Music Society

Mozart: String quartet no.20 in D, K.499 “Hoffmeister”
Shostakovich: String quartet no.3 in F, Op. 73
Dvořák: String quartet no.14 in A flat, Op.105

New Zealand String Quartet (Helene Pohl and Donald Armstrong, violins; Gillian Ansell, viola; Rolf Gjelsten, cello)

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 19 April 2015, 2.30pm

Since Gillian, Helene and now Douglas have all suffered hand injuries, is Rolf Gjelsten next – or does it simply prove that the cello is much the safest instrument to play?   The audience at Waikanae was fortunate that the substitute for Douglas Beilman was such a fine chamber musician as Donald
Armstrong.

Gillian Ansell introduced the first work as being both sublime and light-hearted, and so it proved.  The superb balance of the team was apparent right from the outset.  Their strong, confident playing was yet subject to great variation of dynamics.  The quick allegretto first movement showered over one in a rain of beautiful notes and cadences.  To mix the meteorological metaphor: the mood was uplifting and sunny, like the day.

The minuet and trio contained delightful phrases, almost seeming to be impulsive in their gaiety, while the adagio third movement epitomised peace – surely an appropriate theme for this week.  Its solemnity betrayed the fact that it was full of fresh ideas; mellowness and serenity typified the mood.  Apart from a few unison notes that were not utterly united, one could not fault the beautiful playing.

The allegro finale’s surprise opening led to a jolly outpouring of delicious phrases, harmonies and running passages.  To see the smiles of the performers as they took their bows to the audience gave the strong impression that they enjoyed themselves too.

Shostakovich’s quartet no.3 was not one with which I was familiar.  Helene Pohl introduced it, making a contrast between the composer’s necessary recitation, as a student, of the happiness brought by Joseph Stalin and her own required recitation of allegiance to the US flag, when she was young. The exemplary
programme notes stated that the quartet was written in 1946 as a ‘war quartet’ and gave the descriptions that the composer had original given to the movements.  All this made it an appropriate work for the week leading up to Anzac Day, and contributed hugely to the audience’s understanding of the music.

The first movement (allegretto) opens with a dance of apparent innocence and joy.  It was tuneful, with interesting harmonic twists (‘Calm unawareness of the future cataclysm’).  There followed passages in a high tessitura, that became frenetic, perhaps as a precursor of what was to come.  They were followed by a cheeky ending.

The moderato con moto second movement was very different (‘Rumblings of unrest and anticipation’), being ominous and even excruciating in tone.  Repetitive passages could be depicting troops marching.  Some phrases made me think of dead flowers, which amplified the sombre mood of foreboding.

Movement three (allegro non troppo; ‘The forces of war unleashed’) was indeed as described.  There was relentless pursuit and counter-attack.  A sombre yet frenetic viola solo accompanied by the other strings playing pizzicato was remarkable.  Such skilled quartet writing!  It soon led to an abrupt ending.

The adagio (‘Homage to the dead’) fourth movement was written during a visit by Shostakovich to his home city of Leningrad, the scene of so much devastation and death so recently before.  A desolate
opening led to intense and emotional feelings of despondency and hopelessness.  Its outpourings at so much grieving, so much that the people had to cope with were tremendously powerful.

The final movement (moderato, ‘The eternal question: Why?  And for what?’) incorporated, Helene told us, Jewish music, with its characteristic ‘laughter through tears’.  Thus the jaunty section at the beginning (though the programme notes described it as ‘a wry, spectral melody’.  It was hardly jollity that was being described, and the mood soon reverted to one of bitterness and mourning, only to have the jaunty melody and rhythm return. Again, it does not last, and a quite tragic passage ends the movement and the quartet.

This was a remarkable performance; ‘searing’ as someone said to me.  It completely enveloped the audience; it was a singular triumph.

After the interval – some Dvořák to cheer us up!  The opening was a quiet adagio ma non troppo, in a mood of repose, and even sadness,  but we were soon into a delightful allegro appassionata, the melodies, harmonies and their accompaniment reminiscent of some of the composer’s other chamber music.  Energy drove all forward to a brisk ending.

The lyrical second movement (molto vivace) was like a quick dance, followed by a slower, more heart-felt melody.  It ended with a soon-to-be-unison note.

Lento e molto cantabile was soulful, with gorgeous inter-weaving harmonies, to be followed by quite a spooky theme.  A return to more passionate tones led to quite a calm close.  The allegro non tanto finale was a fast dance.  The vigorous playing led to a few wonky notes from the musicians, who must have surely been tired by now, with such a challenging programme behind them.

The large audience was privileged to hear fine performances in an outstanding programme of contrasts, and all showed their warm appreciation.

 

 

First-class performances from Sydney Conservatorium violin and piano duo for IRMT

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Institute of Registered Music Teachers

Lilburn: Sonata for violin and piano (1950)
Franck: Sonata for violin and piano in A
Ravel: Tzigane

Goetz Richter (violin), Jeanell Carrigan (piano), from Sydney Conservatorium of Music

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 15 April 2015, 12.15pm

These two performers are currently giving master classes in various New Zealand cities, under the auspices of the IRMT; their Wellington master class with ensembles made up of students from the New Zealand School of Music at Victoria University followed the recital.  This may have accounted in part for the excellent attendance.

If Richter and Carrigan are anything to go by, students at the Sydney Conservatorium have the advantage of first-class performers as their teachers.  No biographical notes were given in the printed programme, which was a pity.

The programme comprised one sonata (Lilburn’s) with which I was not familiar, another sonata which I think borders on the ‘warhorse’ description, plus a shorter work that is also close to that category. There are so many sonatas by the great composers that we don’t hear regularly.

Excellent programme notes by Dianne James of the Auckland Branch of IRMT enhanced the
understanding and enjoyment of the works considerably.  Well-written and insightful, they were a
model of their genre.

It was interesting to note that Lilburn wrote his sonata for Ruth Pearl and Frederick Page – two of the most prominent names in music-making in Wellington in the 1950s and 1960s.   The five sections of
the sonata (molto moderato – allegro – tempo primo, largamente – allegro – tempo primo, tranquillamente) were played continuously, as conceived.  The variety of tempi, themes, tessitura and rhythms made this a most enjoyable work.

A very strong attack on the sombre opening was striking, and the whole piece was beautifully played.  I find a lot of similarity in much of Lilburn’s music, especially in rhythmic motifs, but this work did not share that trait, and its range was much greater than that of some of his music.  This was an authoritative and accomplished performance of fine music.

César Franck’s sonata received a splendid interpretation.  A description in the programme notes read ‘Clear evidence of this improvisatory style can be heard in most of Franck’s late works, where much of a work’s thematic material can be traced from germinal ideas present in the opening bars.’  Therein lies its problem for me.  The incessant repetition of the opening motif throughout the four lengthy movements (allegretto ben moderato – allegro – recitative-fantasia: ben moderato – molto lento – allegretto poco mosso) I find tedious, even though the modulations and variations are beautiful in themselves.

‘Succinct’ is not a word to apply to Franck.  Certainly the character of the sonata varies enormously with each movement, and I have to admit that in the hands of Richter and Carrigan, new delights appeared.  The music was played with supreme mastery and subtlety by both performers, with considerable technical difficulties to deal with, particularly in the final movement.

Ravel described his piece as ‘a virtuoso showpiece’, and thus this oft-played piece was, in the hands of Goetz Richter, and later those of Jeanell Carrigan.  Richter gave it more of a gypsy sound and feel than I’ve heard others do.  Exciting music it certainly is.

We heard two very able and experienced musicians, and though the programme was not completely to my taste, I came away knowing I had heard good music well played.

 

Flutist makes sparkling Wellington premiere at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Gabriella Kopias (flute) and Richard Mapp (piano)

Music by Doppler, Debussy, Takemitsu, Fauré, Rachmaninov; Chaminade, Piaf and Ravel

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 1 April, 12:15 pm

It’s not clear what has brought Gabriella Kopias to Wellington, but it was whispered to me that she would rather like to stay here. That would be lovely, not because there is any lack of excellent flutists in town, but another of the quality of Kopias (pronounced Kópyas, I expect) could hardly be any sort of embarras de richesses.

She was born in Szeged in Hungary in 1975, graduated with distinction from both the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest and the Arts University in Graz, Austria and now makes her home in Vienna. While she has had some orchestral experience, including with the Vienna State Opera Orchestra, she seems to have made a career as a flute soloist; and also as a cantatrice: she ended her recital, leaving her flute aside and singing Piaf’s La vie en rose, with a very creditable Piaffian timbre and style. She also exhibits as a painter.

Gabriella chose a diverting and varied programme, starting with the Fantaisie pastorale hongroise by Polish/Hungarian, flutist-composer Albert Franz Doppler, who was born in Lemberg (when part of Austria in the 18th century), Lwow when in Poland after WWI (though the population from the 16th century was predominantly Polish and Jewish), and now Lviv, after the total expulsion of the Polish population (‘ethnic cleansing’) after 1945, when it was taken by the USSR to be part of Ukraine. Doppler was a close contemporary of Franck, Lalo, Johann Strauss II, Bruckner).

He wrote successful operas and instrumental pieces, the most famous of which is this Fantaisie. She played this delightful war-horse from memory, accompanied with verve and discretion by Richard Mapp; in three distinct parts, each illustrating a different aspect of Hungary’s musical character, finally a csardas, all full of lively melody and rhythm.

Debussy’s Syrinx seems to be most commonly played solo flute piece, so its place was to be expected, and most welcome.

Toru Takemitsu may still be the best known Japanese classical composer, it was the chance for Richard Mapp to be heard alone; Rain Tree reveals itself in a magical palette that derives from Debussy impressionism and the mysticism of the Buddhist or Shinto world. It seems to evolve but there is also the strong sense of remaining still.

Fauré’s Fantaisie (Andantino and Allegro) is one of those pieces, the Allegro at least, that’s familiar, attractive, but whose composer I hadn’t logged in the memory; one of the many pieces inspired by the great French flute player and protagonist, Paul Taffanel. The piano’s contribution was a very significant element in the performance, lending the first section, Andantino, more interest than it gets sometimes;
and the flute’s contribution was beguiling, fast and brilliant. The two were, as everywhere in the recital, in delightful balance, in support of each other but never invading the other’s space. (I missed the point of Gabriella’s comment, introducing the piece, about Cinderella, and quoting the words put in her mouth in the current Walt Disney film, ‘Have courage and be kind’).

I wondered whether in her next piece she would return to the platform without her flute, to sing Rachmaninov’s Vocalise, which is its original idea of course. But she played the flute, showing how adaptable this evergreen gem is.

Cécile Chaminade, in her long life (born before Puccini and died during the second World War), acquired a sort of palm court reputation in her lifetime and later, but she’s much more than that: her genius was for geniality, charm, sticking to melody and tonality through the turbulence of atonality and avant-gardism. In any case this Concertino, originally for flute and orchestra, Op 107, which was also dedicated to Paul Taffanel, gave clear indications of a capacity for those gifts to find expression in an extended piece that was carefully balanced, ending with an accelerating flourish. Again this well-matched duo proved splendid advocates for unpretentious music that is clearly surviving the years.

Then Gabriella really did leave her flute behind and picked up the microphone to sing Piaf, as I noted above. How many would accept that the definition of ‘classical’ extends far beyond the ranks of those composers whose names are followed by brackets showing dates of birth and death?

Finally, an encore listed in the programme: Ravel’s Habanera, or rather, the Vocalise-étude en forme de habanera, is a song for deep voice and piano. In arrangements for a great variety of instruments it’s been called Pièce en forme de habanera. As does Rachmaninov’s Vocalise, it sits happily for almost any instruments, and this was a most attractive way to end this introduction to a musician whom I hope we will hear again.

 

Quintessential music-making from the Brodskys

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Chamber Music New Zealand 2015 presents:
THE BRODSKY QUARTET

Music by Purcell, Britten, Bartok and Beethoven

PURCELL – Chaconne in G Minor (arr.Britten)
BRITTEN – Poeme (2nd Mvt. of String Quartet in F Major 1928)
BARTOK – String Quartet No.5 SZ 102
BEETHOVEN – String Quartet in C-sharp Minor Op.131

Daniel Rowland, Ian Belton (violins)
Paul Cassidy (viola), Jacqueline Thomas (‘cello)

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Thursday, 26th March 2015

Reading about the Brodsky Quartet brings much pleasure and a few surprises: the group was formed thirty-five years ago in Manchester, and was named after Adolf Brodsky, the great nineteenth-century Russian violinist notable for premiering Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in 1881, and whose career eventually took him to Manchester, in England, where he became Principal of the Royal Manchester College of Music. Two of the original Quartet are still with the group, Ian Belton and Jacqueline Thomas – Paul Cassidy joined in 1982 and Daniel Rowland in 2007.

This is the Quartet’s third visit to this country – the group was here in 1994 for the International Festival of the Arts that year, and in 1998 toured the country with Chamber Music New Zealand. After seventeen years it was high time that the group returned – and as a result of hearing this concert I find myself hoping that I won’t have to wait for another seventeen years before encountering these remarkable musicians performing live again.

In this concert the group for me ticked the boxes which defined a well-rounded concert experience for chamber music enthusiasts – two string quartet classics, each with aspects in common, though from different centuries, were presented, along with two lesser-known, but utterly distinctive pieces, again composed in completely separate times, but linked by certain circumstances. It was programming whose connections offset the wide range of differences of the various pieces in term of style and language.

The first “pairing” came with the two opening works on the programme – first was Purcell’s Chaconne in G Minor, played in an arrangement for quartet by one of the composer’s most recent and famous devotees, Benjamin Britten. A Chaconne is a French courtly dance in which the basic harmonic pattern of the piece supports any number of melodic variations, giving rise to wonderful invention on the part of various composers who’ve written examples for various instruments.

The Purcell was followed by – indeed, actually linked to the second work on the programme, with we in the audience so completely spellbound by the music and playing to even think of applauding after the first piece – it was a magical moment when Britten’s music simply grew out of the silence that followed the Purcell. This work was a movement from an early Quartet in F Major by Britten, the material reworked by the composer into one of three Poemes for String Quartet – this movement is marked Andante. I thought it an absolutely stunning piece – a magical sound-world, not unlike the kinds of ambiences the composer created in some of his choral works to create atmosphere, such as the falling snow effect in “A Boy Was Born” – there were equally beautiful equivalents here. The music in fact gave the impression of being refracted through a dream, thanks in part to a wonderfully other-world-like ostinato figure, from the second violin.

The Brodsky Quartet’s leader Daniel Rowland, talked about the relationship between these two works, calling Purcell’s work “contemporary” in its freedom of expression, and emphasizing the inspiration the music must have been to Britten (who as a conductor made a recording of the work). The playing of the Purcell seemed timeless in its effect – because it comes into the category of “early music” the players were sparing with their vibrato in the manner that’s become accepted “period practice”, but were otherwise very free and subtle with the treatment of Purcell’s theme – very forthright voicing in places, making for great tensions, but with some magical soft playing towards the end of the piece, the final few bars creating a hypnotic effect that carried through the silences and into the beginning of the Britten which followed.

By contrast the Bartok which was next on the programme was less concerned with creating atmosphere, and much more about expressing essential elements of a distinctive musical language, strong rhythmic character, closely-worked harmonic and contrapuntal voices and cliff-face contrasts of mood and expression. The very opening of the work goes from terse unisons from groups of instruments to stamping rhythms, and then to a chromatic, somewhat eerie section played in canon – Bartok gives the listener these three contrasting ideas boldly and directly, then works them together in a full-on, abrasive way!

It seems to me that these works have a Beethoven-like quality in that they don’t employ any “padding” – the ideas are delivered straight-from-the shoulder, and in less-than-comfortable ways, making for the sort of effect that contemporaries of Beethoven used to complain about with his later music. Bartok is as wide-ranging as Beethoven, though in that he gives the listener plenty of contrast, both within single movements and in the individual movements’ differing character. In this quartet, the second and fourth movements have elements of the “night music” sounds that Bartok became known for. And in this quartet’s case in between these two movements Bartok wrote a scherzo movement as humourful and bucolic as any Beethoven wrote in a similar vein, one called “Alla bulgarese” – in the Bulgarian style. You could hear the folk-tune flavorings in the snappy rhythmic figurations – wonderful energies, at one and the same time music from the soil, yet given a kind of timeless, universal quality – which I think is a mark of greatness.

I couldn’t help thinking that same thought while going through the incredible journey that Beethoven took us in his Op.131 Quartet which finished the programme. It’s always seemed odd to me that people both contemporaneous with and in the years immediately after Beethoven simply couldn’t fathom his late music. I know there are music-lovers who still have difficulty with coming to grips with some of the works, like the Grosse Fugue and the Hammerklavier Sonata, but the general reaction even to these works is that they are masterpieces and their language is accessible. Bartok is a kind of modern-day equivalent, though perhaps not a contemporaneous one – there’s music which has been written since Bartok which is more likely to draw forth responses similar to what Beethoven’s music got from some of his contemporaries – such as fellow composer Carl Maria von Weber’s opinion upon hearing Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony that the latter was “fit for the madhouse”. There’s no doubt Bartok makes you work at listening – but, of course, if you’re fully engaged, Beethoven makes you work as well!

To my ears the Brodskys were lyrical and expansive in appropriate places, but dealt with the music’s more vigorous sections in a fairly straight, no-nonsense and unrhetorical way – whereas other groups of late I’ve heard tend to emphasize the composer’s “angular” quality. Basically I thought they didn’t make a “meal” out of anything, except that I did find the leader in the first movement had a tendency to slide between some of his notes in places that gave a slight sentimental air to the music which it didn’t need – the other thing is that if only one person in a group is doing that there’s a discrepancy of phrasing, of texture, of unanimity in places – he only indulged occasionally, and he “tightened” his phrasing as the performance moved through its different sequences. As for the group as a whole, I thought, their playing had a purposeful grip of the music which simply never let go – and even though the dotted rhythms of the finale were occasionally hurried, and their “snap” glossed over ever so slightly, the performance’s overall drive carried the music irresistibly forward.

During this performance of the Beethoven, I think the expression “in thrall” would have best described the audience response – as the work unfolded, with movement after movement following without a break, there was engendered a growing sense of undertaking a journey, far-flung, rich and strange, encountering all kinds of quixotic encounters and occasional difficulties and well as moments of deep and rich reflection. The effect at its conclusion was that we “snapped out of it” and reacted as if waking from a wonderful dream, but a very immediate and visceral dream. The Quartet players never overdid any aspect of the music, but kept it tailored to a greater purpose, the result being a cumulative effect of the kind which kept the music playing in my head long after the actual concert sounds had ceased. In sum, I thought, as stated above using different words, that the Brodskys gave us a quintessential chamber music experience.