Tag: chamber music

One-man Slovak cello ensemble featuring voice and rhythm at NZSM

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music: Jozef Lupták – improvisatory cellist

Bach: excerpts from Cello Suites nos 1 and 3
Improvisatory performances on Ernest Bloch’s Jewish Prayer, Threnos by John Tavener and O crux, meditation for solo cello by Vladimir Godár

Adam Concert Room, New Zealand School of Music, Kelburn campus

Friday 21 March, 7 pm

Cellist Jozef Lupták came to New Zealand primarily, I suppose, to play Dvořák’s Cello Concerto with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra; I see he also gave concerts at Rangiora, Dunedin, Rotorua. He was also enticed to visit the New Zealand School of Music to give a masterclass on Thursday and a short recital on Friday 21 March.

His recital started and ended with excerpts from Bach’s cello suites: first, no 3 in C and last, no 1 in G. He played with eyes shut, seeming to be transported as he launched into the Prelude, the cross-string passages driven with a hypnotic energy, with a sort of intensity in which he seemed to seek distinctness in every passage, sometimes at some cost to unity of feeling. Then he jumped to the Sarabande (not the Courante, as the programme had it. Luptak did speak before playing, but I did not hear or missed hearing what he might have said about the movements), dealing with it in an almost painful, exploratory way that meant the stretching and compressing of phrases, quite losing any hint of the movement’s dance origin. But  that was replaced by a transcendental spirit that would have been complete if the light in the Adam Concert Room had been more dim (and there was no reason for it to be so well lit as the player had very little recourse to his score or the audience to the programme notes).

The third movement, consequently, was the pair of Bourrées, which are found only in suites 3 and 4. Here was the return to the real world, though Luptak’s playing introduced a kind of waywardness, again giving individuality to every phrase, which somehow dramatized the shift to the minor key in Bourrrée II. Finally, the Gigue: heavy, emphatic double stopping really caught the spirit of the peasant dance in its earthiness.

Then came his three improvisations. They consisted of the subject piece either at the start or embedded some way in, which was then subjected to the kind of variation treatment that neither Bach, Brahms or Rachmaninov might have recognized. Their only similarity to their predecessors, whether fantasies,  ariations, cadenzas or occasionally improvisations, came through spectacular bravura and showy ornamentation.

Being unfamiliar with any of the three pieces, I felt a bit ill-equipped to follow their treatment in these highly individual improvisatory explorations, as the tunes had not been sufficiently embedded in my head to allow much grasp of the way they were being transformed.

But that reference was to some extent supplied but the voicings with which Luptak accompanied his playing, consisting of a sort of humming of the tunes in question, with the mouth slightly open; simultaneously, the player added a vocal rhythmic accompaniment of clicks and sibilant sounds.

All three pieces had clear and intense religious relevance. Though I found closest kinship, musically, to the pieces by Bloch (a characteristic Jewish Prayer) and Tavener (the moving Threnos, deriving from the composer’s long obsession with the Greek Orthodox liturgy); the third piece was by a fellow Slovak musician, Vladimir Godár, O, crux (‘O Cross …’), obviously inspired by the Catholic Latin liturgy.  All evolved as pregnant, deeply felt inspirations.

The music was diatonic enough, but exhibited, at first, through a series of heavy bow strokes, a violence and anguish that was powerful; later that was set aside by a lighter passage in a dotted, dancing rhythm; the improvisation led off with his rhythmic bouncing the wood of his bow on the strings, that suddenly became more frenetic.

And Lupták allowed his last tongue clickings, in the Godar piece, to lead into the Prelude of Bach’s Suite No 1. Its playing seemed to have been deeply infected by the anguish of what had gone before; and there was little change of tone in the following Sarabande in which all its latent variety and expressiveness was exploited; but the final Gigue, with its gaiety, brought a feeling of peace and satisfaction.

Lupták played two encores: a short improvisation called Six Months and then the brief opening passage of the Bourrée which presumably was from Suite No 4 (not, as he announced, from Suite No 6 which as a pair of Gavottes in that position).

(I have not been able to check what I thought were changes in the Bach movements that I’ve noted above; if any audience member cares to comment, I’d be grateful).

This was an unorthodox recital, only and hour and ten minutes long, but put together with a single-minded ingenuity and imagination and played with high energy and intensity of feeling.

 

Jonathan Berkahn and friends celebrate St Patrick’s Day + 2 with charm and wit

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

St Andrew’s: Lunchtime in Ireland

Jonathan Berkahn and friends (Bernard Wells – recorder, Janet Broome-Nicholson – percussion, Carol Shortis – piano, Ingrid Schoenfeld – piano, Michelle Velvin – harp)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 19 March, 12:15 pm

It was only a month earlier that Jonathan Berkahn was at St Andrew’s playing both the church’s organs, and one is used to his appearing more discreetly, accompanying choirs and small ensembles.

Here, Jonathan was more centre stage, wielding his piano accordion, though he was also at the piano keyboard sometimes, stage left, and handling a recorder. As well as playing, he demonstrated a talent as compere and musicologist as he spoke interestingly, in a witty manner about the music and its composers.

We were expecting Irish stuff; if not of the River Dance variety, then at least sentimental popular songs and reels. That hope was fulfilled right towards the end, especially as he was joined in a groups of jigs and reels by Bernard Wells on the flute and Janet Broome-Nicholson on a slim drum, perhaps a kind of frame drum. Berkahn broke ranks there with a recorder to his lips and then moved to the piano to pick up an accompaniment, tentatively at first, in a lively reel.

But it began, perhaps noting Radio NZ Concert’s ‘Composers of the Week’ by Cynthia Morahan featuring Irish composers, particularly William Vincent Wallace (Maritana) and Charles Villiers Stanford, with one who is a well-known Irish composer.

John Field was a genuine Irish composer who was apprenticed to and soon exploited by Clementi in London and then taken to Russia where he spent the best part of his increasingly extravagant and feckless life. With Ingrid Schoenfeld, Berkahn played one of Liszt’s arrangements (four hands) of Field’s many Nocturnes (a form which he invented, and was made famous of course by Chopin).

I can’t resist reproducing a comment (found in Wikipedia) by Liszt about Field’s Nocturnes:
“None have quite attained to these vague eolian harmonies, these half-formed sighs floating through the air, softly lamenting and dissolved in delicious melancholy. Nobody has even attempted this peculiar style, and especially none of those who heard Field play himself, or rather who heard him dream his music in moments when he entirely abandoned himself to his inspiration.”

Was a bit like that.

Then came a surprise: Geminiani. He became an important figure as violinist in London musical circles, but also spent two periods in Dublin.
The real surprise was Berkahn’s appearing with his accordion to play Geminiani’s first Violin Sonata (Op 1, No 1), which Geminiani had arranged for the harpsichord. That move often seems to give licence to later musicians to play fast and loose with such a piece, arranging it for any old instrument. It sounded as if Geminiani really had the accordion in mind all along; yet was hard to conceal its Corelli-Handel influence.

A rarity for one not steeped in Irish music was a set of short pieces by Turlough O’Carolan, an early 18th century musician who became blind, but composed lots of melodies that survived through the ages. They were ineffably, charmingly Irish in flavour especially as played on Michelle Velvin’s Irish harp with Berkahn at the piano.

Composer/arranger/pianist Carol Shortis then contributed a couple of traditional Irish songs: she sang them with an unaffected, easy voice, that did nostalgia in the most charming manner, accompanying herself at the piano. They were sweet, intrinsically sentimental, without a scrap of maudlin.

There was an above-average sized audience which gave off an air of real enjoyment at the music and its artless performers.

 

Two woodwinds, two strings, in varied concert from Nikau Trio plus

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Nikau Trio (Karen Batten – flute, Madeline Sakovfsky – oboe, Margaret Guldborg – cello) plus Konstanze Artmann – violin

Telemann: Quartet for flute, oboe, violin and continuo
Honegger: Trios contrepoints
Hovhaness: Suite for English horn and bassoon (cello)
Martinů: Duo No 1 for violin and cello

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 20 November, 12:15 pm

There is a belief in chamber music circles that you stage groups involving wind instruments or singers at your peril. A strange notion that suggests that the same sort of closed mind operates within some groups of classical music lovers that they scorn in those fixated by pop music who won’t open their ears to classical music.

I was present when the Wellington Chamber Music Society started its Sunday afternoon series in 1983. One of their aims was to get performances of music for larger groups than the standard string quartet, as well as promising young groups and of music written for all kinds of instruments, but quite importantly for wind instruments; among the early concerts were Mozart’s three wonderful wind serenades which are still too rarely played. These concerts proved a brilliant initiative and were, and continue to be, highly successful.

Well, there was quite a large audience at St Andrew’s to hear this delightful group which I missed hearing at the Futuna Chapel a couple of weeks ago.

These instruments sound warm and brilliant in this resonant acoustic. I last heard them around this time last year when they played a more traditional programme of Bach, Vivaldi, Haydn and Beethoven. This time greater adventurousness paid off with music mainly of the 20th century. However, they opened with a quartet by Telemann evidently composed for these very instruments; though not much of Telemann can be charged with undue profundity, his renaissance has been accomplished through an awakening to the rewards that come from happy, polished and avowedly entertaining music that has been composed with serious intent.

The quartet delighted by its fertile and fluent melodic facility, and the players took every opportunity to exploit all the piquancy and the scope given to the characteristics of each instrument, especially in often delicious harmonic duetting. Though allegro and vivace markings seem to offer Telemann his best opportunities, the moderato middle part of the second movement had extended passages for the oboe’s lower register as well as charming duet with the flute.

Honegger has always seemed to me the odd-one-out among the famous ‘Six’ of the 1920s: Swiss, while the rest were French, not given nearly so much to musical wit or unorthodoxy or, for example, Milhaud’s prodigious output and exoticism.

But he shared the desire to avoid the complexity of impressionism and the expressionism that embraced atonality. These three ‘contrapuntal’ pieces of 1922 hardly suggested baroque counterpoint, but their straightforward style and clarity made attractive listening. The three pieces called in turn for two, three and finally all four players, involving changes to cor anglais in the second and in the third, both cor anglais and piccolo.  The players readily found the most engaging means to convey this honest and unpretentious music, typified in a certain gruffness produced by the cello that seemed perfectly in tune with the elusive charm of this piece.

Alan Hovhaness was one many composers who continued through the mid and late 20th century to compose using traditional means and were long neglected by the avant-garde establishment through those years; his name is even absent from some musical dictionaries (though not from Wikipedia).  His background – Scottish and Armenian – often led to music that has more than a hint of the Balkans, or should that read the Caucasus? For there was an engaging melancholy often associated with that region in this three movement suite for cor anglais (or ‘English horn’ in the title) and bassoon, here played by the cello.

Though the cellist played the notes with considerable feeling, making clear her sensitivity to the style and spirit of Hovhaness’s piece, knowing that it was conceived for bassoon did make me aware that the
composer had intended a different sound which might have been even more beguiling. The last movement, in a mazurka-like triple rhythm in particular seemed to invite a second reed instrument.

Finally, the trio made a concession to the presence of two stringed instruments, entirely neglecting the pair of woodwinds that had tended to lead the way in the other three pieces. I am very fond of Martinů, but this didn’t much remind me of the pieces I know, mainly the symphonies, the opera The Greek Passion, and a variety of other chamber works, one of the most recent being the delightful Trio for Flute, Cello and Piano. This first of two duos for violin and cello was written in 1927 when he was in Paris and had come under the influence of Stravinsky and the expressionist movement. This piece is melodically robust, even muscular, not just pretty, revealing touches of both Stravinsky and Bartok, though not so much, I felt, of contemporary French composers; it struck me as a rather substantial
work, not to be dismissed on account of its unassuming title, ‘Duo’. The two instruments have equal roles, and indulge in a great deal of taxing and musically elaborate counterpoint, sharing of motifs tossed back and forth which the two players brought off with a admirable commitment and persuasiveness.

I suspect that a slightly unfamiliar group such as this would have found it much more difficult before the days of Google and Wikipedia to put together a programme such as they managed here. And in employing such resources, they also bring to life for listeners in remote parts of the world music that
we’d otherwise be unaware of, and the poorer for that.

 

Italian Embassy sponsors fine recital by violin and piano duo

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Tartiniana
Works for violin and piano by Corelli, Dallapiccola, Paganini, Pärt and Rossini
Duo Gazzana: Natascia Gazzana (violin) and Raffaella Gazzana (piano)

Adam Concert Room, New Zealand School of Music

Wednesday, 20 November 2013, 7:30 pm

A free concert of this standard is a rare event, so it was disappointing that there was not a larger audience to hear the duo perform – or to partake of the excellent pre-concert refreshments provided by the Italian Embassy, who sponsored the hour-long concert.

That said, we do have a plethora of concerts at this time of year, and we do have very fine violinists locally, including Martin Riseley, who introduced the performers and their programme.

Apart from Pärt (no pun intended) the composers were, appropriately, all Italian masters.  We heard some of the foremost names in Italian music history, plus Dallapiccola, whose dates were 1904-1975.   His composition Tartiniana seconda of 1956, listed in Wikipedia as being for violin and orchestra but in Grove for violin, pianoforte or orchestra, gave the title of the concert.

Corelli opened the programme, with his well-known Sonata Op.5 no.12 – ‘La Follia’; a set of variations on what was a well-known tune at the time, and which has been subsequently set by many composers.  The playing of pianist Rafaella was very fine in tone and with clean execution; these were features of her violinist sister’s playing in the main, though sometimes I found the tone a little harsh in the upper register in this piece.  This may have been partly due to reflection off the varnished floor.  The increasingly brilliant and complex variations were expertly handled.  It was a very accomplished performance.

The Dallapiccola work began with the mute on the violin, and much double-stopping (as indeed there was in the Corelli).  The pastoral first movement was followed by a sparkling second movement (Bourée) with notes all over the place in both parts, the violin sans mute.  The third movement featured bird sounds, and was delightfully and skilfully played.  The final movement was a complete contrast, with long brushstrokes on chords, at first for the violin unaccompanied.  After this episode, the mute was added for a gentle, meditative section, followed by the piano alone.  The unumuted violin returned for a slow passage, followed by more slashing chords.  It was a commanding performance of difficult music.

The first Paganini piece, Cantabile e valzer, was the only one played from memory by the violinist.  The smooth and romantic tone of this piece was engaging, and quite different from the style of playing employed for the baroque Corelli.  The variety of timbres, techniques and dynamics made for a charming and appealing performance.  Here, as elsewhere, the occasional violin note was not quite on pitch.

Fratres by Arvo Pärt is much played in many settings and arrangements – too much, to my mind.  However, I have to admit that this was a masterly performance.  The vigorous introduction had the violinist playing all over the strings before the calm passages commenced, with the violin part initially on harmonics.  The violin then embarked on a series of variations, while the piano continued with the theme.  Just when the music became soporific, it broke into loud chords from both instruments.  Harmonics followed deliciously, and the piece ended with light tapping of the strings with the bow.  The piece’s variety was eminently well demonstrated.

Rossini’s Fantasia per violino e pianoforte (originally written for clarinet and piano) became dance-like after a short introduction, Natascia Gazzana almost dancing along with the music.  Then there was a brilliant piano-only section, followed by more variation for both instruments.  A sombre section ensued, then more solo piano led to  flourishing and bright concluding passages that I found somewhat too elongated.

Paganini again: his Sonata in La Maggiore.  A loud, declamatory opening was succeeded by a very melodic section. like a Mendelssohn song.  Variations upon this tune included many techniques: left-hand pizzicato at speed, for example, then very fast finger-work, with the piano simply playing a few chords, then the bow frantically rushing over all the strings, followed by another section of left-hand pizzicato and bowing, to end this astonishing display, and the concert.

The duo featured almost impeccable playing and musicianship, and the players’ absolute rapport, mutual sympathy and timing were impressive.  It was good to hear such first-class performers.

 

Delights from Emma Sayers and NZSO principal violin and horn, in ‘Piano Plus’

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Piano Plus at St Andrew’s: Concert No 3

Mozart: Violin Sonata in G, K 379
Brahms: Horn Trio in E flat, Op 40

Vesa-Mati Leppänen – violin; Samuel Jacobs – horn; Emma Sayers – piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Thursday 14 November, 5:30 pm

The third of these enterprising concerts which have been mounted to help in the church’s rebuilding programme: the project is in its third stage which involves new public facilities to make the church a more attractive place for all kinds of social and cultural activities: a green room, reception area, toilets, meeting space, disability access and other amenities.

This evening was the centre-piece of the series in some ways: it fell in the middle of the five concerts and it involved three players; and it was the longest concert so far, containing a Mozart violin sonata and Brahms’s horn trio.

Mozart’s violin sonata in G major has somehow escaped me till now. To refresh my memory, I listened to the only CD recording I had of it but it hardly came to life or overflowed with charm.

So I was delighted to discover how an affectionate and committed performance, and of course a live performance compared with a mere recording, could so transform it. Its shape is a little unusual: an introductory Adagio leading to an Allegro in the minor key and then an extended Theme and Variations. The opening Adagio could in some ways have been a separate movement: it lasts about 5 minutes. The piano opens with four rolling, broken chords holding the floor for nearly a minute; before the violin had sounded a note I was quite enchanted, but the violin’s entry completed my delight to find what utterly charming and gracious piece it promised to be.

There was an urgency and a certain emphatic quality about the following Allegro, which moves to G minor, a sombre key for Mozart. In spite of the remark in the programme about Mozart moving away from the character of violin sonatas at the time, which was basically a piano sonata with violin accompaniment. That may have been so, but the piano still seemed to have the more interesting things to do, and Emma Sayers knew how to enrich her part, certainly every bit the equal of the violin in lending the music its allure.

The second, and last, movement is a Theme and Variations, basically orthodox yet original on account of their speaking from a lively imagination rather than a perfunctory set of predictable variations. Here again the piano tended to lead; in fact the first variation was for the piano alone. Later variations were delicate, decorated, the one instrument echoing the other; the fourth variation shifted again to G minor, very quietly, becoming imaginative and elaborate, and in the fifth the piano again led as the violin accompanied with pizzicato. And then the main theme returned, exposing both players again to more balanced musical contributions.

To provide an entrée to another era of music, Emma sought our indulgence by anticipating the expected demand for an encore at the end by playing it here, before Brahms’s horn trio. It was his Intermezzo in A, Op 118, No 2.

Brahms’s Horn Trio is rightly accorded an honoured place in the chamber music repertoire. It was chosen, as Emma explained, both because of its stature but also because Samuel Jacobs’s predecessor as the NZSO’s principal horn was Edward Allen who had loved and played the piece many times.

Its success as a composition lies in the balance and harmonic compatibility achieved between, in particular, the violin and horn, and in this performance it rested on the accord and beauty of tone that those two instruments achieved. The programme notes remarked on Brahms’s preference that it be played on a natural horn – without valves – though here Jacobs used a modern instrument.

Perhaps the most interesting sounds emerged in the Scherzo where after the emphatic staccato from the piano, which Emma Sayers produced with velvety tone rather than mere loudness, the vitality of the outer sections offer the horn its chance to return to its origins as hunting horn, though there’s still more lyrical music than brassy hunting calls. The Trio of the Scherzo follows a full close, and offers a striking contrast to the encompassing boisterousness, with charming melody that gave each player scope to explore rhapsodically.

The loveliest duetting by violin and horn is in the Adagio mesto, which we are invited to hear as sad. Here it was simply thoughtful or contemplative rather than an elegy for Brahms’s recently dead mother; the playing was expressive and lovingly spun out. It is possible to find the finale, Allegro con brio, a bit predictable with the horn running along with its sequences of rising fourths; piano and violin seem to be in control of the melodic ideas, but after a while my ear was being caught mainly by horn and piano. Nevertheless, for all the superb playing by Leppänen and Jacobs I found increasing pleasure in Sayers’s performance which was endlessly arresting and delightful.

 

A partnership going places – Inbal Megiddo and Jian Liu

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St. Andrews on the Terrace, Wellington, presents
Piano Plus – A Week of Concerts

Beethoven: Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 4 in C major, Op.102, no.1
Ross Harris: ‘Sunt lacrimae rerum’
Manuel de Falla: Suite Populaire Espagnole, arr. Maurice Marechal
Serge Rachmaninoff: Melody in E from Morceaux de fantaisies, Op.3 No.3
Rossini-Castelnuovo Tedesco, arr. Piatigorsky: Figaro from “The Barber of Seville”

Jian Liu, piano
Inbal Megiddo, cello

Wednesday 13 November

Wellington music lovers are very much the beneficiaries of the recent appointments of artists Inbal Megiddo and Jian Liu to teaching positions at the New Zealand School of Music. Each is an exceptional musician and instrumentalist, and this varied programme offered an opportunity to share their command of a wide range of musical and national styles.

The two movements of Beethoven’s sonata punctuate deeply expressive slow periods with vigorous Allegri interventions. In the poetic Andante and Adagio sections the cello had a wonderfully rich, sweet tone and beautiful phrasing, supported most sympathetically by the piano. The contrasting Allegri  were wonderfully spirited and dramatic, and fully exploited the wide dynamic range of the score. But during impassioned forte periods there were, unfortunately, times when the piano was simply too loud, obscuring the equally important cello role. The use of the long, rather than short stick on the concert grand piano made this an almost predictable hazard, but for most of the time Jian Liu kept the situation firmly under control.

Ross Harris’s brief ‘Sunt lacrimae rerum’ was composed for Inbal and Jian in 2013. Its title derives from Aenaes’ lament on the Trojan War “There are tears in things, and mortality touches the mind”. The outer parts of the score are a moving meditation on the frailty of human existence, with spare, atonal idioms that proved surprisingly effective in expressing this musical stream of consciousness. They encompass a central scherzo-like section of agitated, angry sentiment that was, however, less convincing. But that was certainly not the case in the arresting pianissimo harmonics from the cello that closed this affecting work, beautifully realised by the duo.

Falla’s Suite Populaire Espagnole comprises six movements based on popular songs from all over Spain. They alternate moods of vigorous, spirited excitement, at times almost wild, with sombre meditative tunes like the central Nana lullaby with its Moorish overtones in the cadences. The final Polo is full of the anger and resentment of the scorned lover, and the full range of all these contrasting sentiments was most convincingly explored by the duo.

The tiny Rachmaninoff Morceau  is a beautiful Melody where the cellist gave full voice to her wonderful, rich cantabile and expressive phrasing, and was most sympathetically supported by the piano.

The final arrangement of Rossini’s Figaro aria from “The Barber of Seville” was an unashamed show-off piece for the cellist. While not particularly successful as a piece of music, as an astute act of programming it ended the recital with great enthusiasm and gusto at a breathless gallop, and the audience was rightly thrilled.

 

Schubert’s “Trout” engaging despite wayward balances

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Schubert: Quintet in A, Op.114 “The Trout”

Violin – Yid-ee Goh / Viola  –  Konstanze Artmann / Cello  – Jane Young
Bass   – Paul Altomari / Piano  – Rachel Thomson

St. Andrew’s on the Terrace

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Schubert’s Trout Quintet is not often heard live in Wellington, yet it would have to be one of the best loved works of classical chamber music. The good turnout for this concert reflected that, which would have been rewarding for the ensemble, who were highly polished and technically well in command of the score. The work was written by the young Schubert, aged only 22, as a thank you gift to the wealthy amateur cellist Sylvester Paumgartner, who sponsored weekly summer musical salons at Steyr in the Austrian Alps. Schubert had soon become the centre of attention there in the summer of 1819, and the work was composed after his return to Vienna.

The score exudes the carefree delight of friends gathered to make music in a relaxed salon environment, and St. Andrew’s offers Wellington a very sympathetic setting for such a situation.

The opening Allegro vivace is announced with a dramatic tutti chord, followed by the first subject beautifully set for the violin. The movement was not far advanced however, before the imbalance between the instruments started to prove profoundly frustrating. From the balcony where I sat, the violin and piano were heavily dominating, the viola and cello recessive, and the bass at times barely discernable. The statement of the magical second subject seemed far too aggressive from the piano, and the inner voices simply did not provide the clarity of rhythmic locomotion with which Schubert underpinned and energized it. This quintet is largely an intricate conversation between equal voices, but the cello needed to be heard more, and the bass to provide a much more audible, secure foundation. The viola adopted all too effectively the Cinderella epithet sometimes applied to this instrument, when in fact its part, and that of the cello, are undoubtedly written to be heard and appreciated.

The same frustrations dogged the following Andante where the dominance of the violin and piano continued. Since this work was written for a salon situation in the early nineteenth century, the use of a modern concert grand can put the pianist on the back foot from bar one. So it requires careful adjustment if the sound is not to be overly bright, and risk overshadowing the deceptively simple but powerful inner rhythms and melodic lines. Closing the piano lid would have helped, as would some preliminary sound tests in the auditorium. The exuberant Presto and delicate Trio that follow were better balanced and came into their own much more successfully.

In the next Andantino Theme and Variations, Schubert invites each player to caress and elaborate the wonderful Trout theme from his lied, which was a particular favourite of his patron Paumgartner. The violin gave a loving opening statement of the beautiful melody, though he was not given the support from the lower strings that could have lifted it to another plane. Unfortunately the busy and energetic variation that followed was launched from the piano at a level that smothered the rich and throaty counter-statement of the theme given to the bass, and in the following viola variation one again struggled to make out its theme through the volume of piano and violin. The cellist played the final variation very poetically, but needed more sympathetic support from the other players. My distinct impression of this movement was that there had been far too little concentration on establishing how each player was to act out their role within the ensemble as a whole, and how each role could be most musically enhanced by the supporting textures. The simple but exquisite theme is developed by Schubert in extraordinarily complex and subtle ways, yet it felt as though the ensemble was walking across a carpet of fantastic autumn colours without noticing what was underfoot.

In the straightforward and vigorous Allegro giusto Finale the balance was much better, though the piano was still often far too loud in forte passages. But the movement was played with a convincing gusto, and it was clear from the final applause that the audience had really appreciated the opportunity to hear a live performance of this much-loved work. It was good to know that the group would play the work again at St. Ninian’s Church in Karori two days later..

My colleague Rosemary Collier comments: From my seat three rows from the front downstairs, the imbalance was not so marked – there was more of  a salon-like distance between me and the performers, and it was probably an advantage not to be above the level of the piano.  Nevertheless, I did find that cello, bass and viola seemed to be somewhat in the background aurally, especially the latter two instruments.

Aroha Quartet fills the Futuna Chapel with impressionist and colouful music

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Aroha Quartet (Haihong Liu and Blythe Press – violins, Zhongxian Jin – viola, Robert Ibell – cello)

Shostakovich: Two Pieces for String Quartet
The White Haired Girl by Yan Jinxuan, arranged for string quartet by Zhu Jian’er and Shi Yongkang
Debussy: String Quartet in G minor

Futuna Chapel, Friend Street, Karori

Sunday 3 November, 2pm

Prefatory note: The Aroha Quartet leave in December for their second tour to China where they will play in the spectacular new Xinghai Concert Hall in Guangzhou, and to Zhongshan. They will have with them works from six countries including China and New Zealand.

This initiative, the Sunday concert series at the Futuna Chapel, to make good use of an architectural gem that was saved from the attentions of developer/vandals a decade ago, began last year and shows every sign of survival and even flourishing. The disposition of seating is perhaps not ideal, and one’s normal expectation of the shape of a church needs a little adjustment: which part is the nave and which a transept or alcove? Seats/pews are placed at right-angles with the ‘sanctuary’ at the place of convergence. A slab-like ‘altar’ occupies most of the raised sanctuary which means musicians sit at floor level with impaired visibility from back rows.

But the sounds, which are actually the main thing in music after all, are clear and full.

The players had set us a little test. We all listened sympathetically to the first piece in the programme: the Chinese string quartet arrangement, presumably. My notes commented on the fact that even in the period of the Second World War as the Japanese were steadily devastating and slaughtering both soldiers and hundreds of thousands of civilian people, there was little outward sign of a distinctive Chinese flavour, let alone anguish, in the rather gentle music; and the first episode ended with a long warm note on the viola.

But then a second part continued with spiky, pizzicato, satirical sounding, like a polka. Ah!!! I know this – it’s Shostakovich; they are playing his Two Pieces for String Quartet first.  The first piece is the elegy that Katerina was to sing in the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, lamenting her boring life; it came to the stage in 1934 with an infamous sequel. Though I’ve seen the opera three times over the years, I didn’t recognize it.  The second piece, a Polka from the 1930 ballet, The Age of Gold, composed before the evils of Stalinism had reveled themselves; it is a satire of the decadence of capitalism and Western politics. Shostakovich made the arrangement in 1931 for the Vuillaume Quartet (Vuillaume was a most famous, 19th century French luthier); long before Shostakovich had written his first string quartet.

So we came to The White Haired Girl. Haihong Liu introduced it and Robert Ibell took us through the musical motifs that mark the various episodes: a tale of a poor young girl, persecuted by the cruel landlord but eventually rescued by the Red Army which was fighting the Japanese invaders.

The White-Haired Girl (Bái Máo Nǚ) is a Chinese opera and ballet, the music by Yan Jinxuan; later it was adapted to ‘Beijing Opera’ and for a film. The first opera performance was in 1945; the film was made in 1950; the first Beijing Opera performance was in 1958 and the first ballet performance by Shanghai Dance Academy, in 1965.

I should really not have mistaken the first piece in the concert. We have reviewed it previously. Peter Mechen wrote a review of a performance at St Andrew’s in October 2010 and I reviewed one in June 2012 at Paekakariki. Accordingly, it was no surprise that the quartet handled it confidently, making no apology for its distinct European musical characteristics, while weaving the Chinese elements colourfully and idiomatically. The musical narrative is based on motifs representing episodes of the story: the north wind, the red ribbon, day turning to night, joining the Eighth Route Army (against the Japanese invaders) and so on. Unlike the typical western classical string quartet, the individual instruments seemed to be expected to draw attention to themselves without ostentation, and it allowed viola and cello, especially, to shine. Certain effects lent themselves predictably to a film sound-track: marked dynamic contrasts, tremolo effects for moments of alarm or terror, sudden fortissimo chords depicting violence.

Though it might sound a bit unsophisticated to some western ears, its success within the idiom and musical culture of China was clear, as was the comfortable manner of its performance.

At their Mulled Wine concert at Paekakariki last year the Aroha Quartet also played the Debussy quartet.  I would be less than honest if I pretended to claim that their performance here was better or worse than last year’s: I don’t remember as well as that. This was simply extremely comfortable and idiomatic, sounding at once spontaneous and thoroughly ingested.

Their dextrous dynamics always reflected the sense of the music; in the second movement long-breathed, summery violin strokes alternated with the lively rhythms generated by pizzicato. They players understood what Debussy meant by Andantino, doucement: it was almost breathless, quite still, with a beguiling melody launched on the viola and passed on to the others in turn, and became a kind of recitative, flowing absent-mindedly, without bar lines.

The fourth movement began very quietly, rather more modéré than that word might suggest, but it simply increased the delight as the mood livened a couple of minutes later, becoming warm and opulent.

 

String students from the School of Music gain public performance experience

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Undergraduate string students of the New Zealand School of Music:

Music by Bach, Beethoven and Shostakovich

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 23 October, 12:15 pm  

Even when great music is not played by top musicians with immaculate technical skill, it can be warmly delightful.

Regulars who enjoy Wellington’s various free (or nearly free) lunchtime concerts are not simply those who can’t tell the difference between the good and nearly good. They just love the music. This was one of the occasions when almost all the playing was both technically accomplished and, more importantly, played with love and understanding.

Caitlin Morris opened with the Prelude to Bach’s First Cello Suite. Her playing tended to lengthening of certain notes to a slightly exaggerated degree, but her handling of dynamics was careful and sensitive to the inner spirit of the music.

Violist Aidan Verity played an adaptation for her instrument of the Allemande and Courante from the Fourth Cello Suite, in E flat. Not quite as well mastered (there was a wee stumble in passing from the one movement to the next which clearly affected her confidence), she made a convincing case for the work’s performance on the viola, and her programme note points to a recent scholarly view that Bach may have been writing for the slightly smaller violoncello da spalla.

Most impressive, perhaps of the three solo performances was Julian Baker’s playing of Sarabande and Gigue from Bach’s solo Violin Partita in D minor. The Sarabande was spacious and well paced though some of the rhythmic ornaments might not have been handled with perfect elegance, but the Gigue was confident and fast, impressing with the confidence with which it maintained its speed, and managing very well the ticklish decorative rhythms.

The two other items involved more than one player. Beethoven’s Romances are not, I suspect, as familiar today as once they were. (My early acquaintance with the F major Romance, Op 50, may not have been typical. I indulge a reminiscence…  In my upper sixth year (now year 13) year I had an August holiday job with the late and lamented Wellington Competitions (1970s R.I.P.), part assistant stage managing and part assisting the adjudicator in the gallery of the old, upstairs Concert Chamber of the pre-rearranged Town Hall. He was John Longmire, minor English composer and pianist, and friend and biographer of John Ireland. This Romance was performed more than once by competing violinists and I was in love with it.  Anyway…)

Violinist Alina Junc and pianist Choong Park did a charming job with it, occasional slips in the violin’s handling of ornaments and intonation notwithstanding. The pianist maintained her partnership in sympathy with the violin; it was not altogether clear to me why the slightly enigmatic end missed its mark, but let me hope that this performance might encourage its resuscitation in general affection.

The last movement, Allegretto, of Shostakovich’s Piano Trio, Op 67, was played by Junc and Park together with cellist Xialing. As other performers had done, Alina spoke helpfully about the piece before starting with the staccato and pizzicato gestures, sensitively and confidently.  It became a highly impressive demonstration of the three players’ grasp of the work’s background and inspiration, the lamenting Slavic melody becoming a powerful climax expressing pain and grief.  The audience were in no doubt that they were hearing a performance of great conviction and power, and the trio were loudly applauded.

 

Fine artistry and insight by Duo Cecilia, cello and piano duo

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Duo Cecilia (Lucy Gijsbers – cello and Andrew Atkins – piano)

Beethoven: Seven Variations on ‘Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen’ from The Magic Flute
Rachmaninov: Cello Sonata, Op 19, Third movement – Andante
Paul Ben-Haim: Canzona
Schumann: Fantasiestücke, Op 73
Debussy: Cello Sonata

St Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 16 October, 12:15 pm

Lucy Gijsbers is in her master’s year and Andrew Atkins the third year of his B Mus at the New Zealand School of Music. Both have already distinguished themselves in competition and academic achievement. Lucy has played as soloist with orchestras as well as being principal cello in both the NZSM and the National Youth orchestras.

Each took turns introducing the pieces they played: both needed to be more aware of the need to properly project their voices. But they had little to learn about projecting the music they played. Their launching the recital with Beethoven’s delightful variations on ‘Bei Männern’ was a coup, as it offered the audience the chance to hear both their mastery of the notes, as well as expressive niceties. The opening was a display of darting, varied dynamics, changing with delightful aplomb from bar to bar.

The duo created the impression of playing the parts, each entirely engrossed in their own view of the music and what they were doing with it. Yet when I paid attention to the combined sound, the ensemble was excellent, listening to each other and responding to each other’s accents and turns of phrase; nothing uniformly bland.

The slow 6th variation revealed the players’ beautifully controlled tone with restrained vibrato, and the last variation announced the imminent ending by giving special emphasis to principal phrases.

On 4 October in the Adam Concert Room of the New Zealand School of Music I heard Inbal Megiddo and Jian Liu give an illuminating performance of Rachmaninov’s Cello Sonata. These players played the slow movement of it. To focus on a single movement is often a quite different experience: it opens with a long, seductive piano introduction, a beautiful melody, intensely meditative; Rachmaninov gives quite a lot of solo playing to the piano and that, far from seeming to obscure the cello’s significance, drew
increased attention to its more sparingly expressed contributions. Gijsber’s playing was exquisite.

Paul Ben-Haim was a leading Israeli composer of the earlier 20th century. The single movement, which I think Atkins said (both he and Lucy spoke too quietly) came from a cello concerto, which is listed in an internet site as having been written in 1962. It speaks in a coherent tonal language, though its character struck me as having emerged from the climate of the second half of the 20th century, as well as containing well integrated marks of Middle Eastern sounds. I’m not aware of hearing Ben-Haim’s music before and this induces me to explore.

Schumann’s three Fantasy Pieces, Op 73 are among the most played cello pieces; if played as they were here, by musicians who approach them with liveliness and without any sense of having to justify over-familiar music. They are delightful, spontaneous pieces, far from easy to bring off. Most effective were the charming narrative sense of the first movement, Zart und mit Ausdrück, and the third movement Rasch und mit Feuer which opened with almost frightening attack, typical Schumannesque impulsiveness with a calmer middle section where the cello called attention with her well-chosen stresses on certain notes at the top of phrases. The piano’s role was distinguished throughout the recital but seemed to rise to special heights in the formidable accompaniments of these pieces.

A couple of weeks earlier I’d heard Andrew Joyce and Diedre Irons play Debussy’s Cello Sonata in a Wellington Chamber Music concert and here it was again. Debussy told somebody that he was dissatisfied with the work, his second to last as he struggled with cancer during the First World War, but I doubt whether many of today’s listeners find it unsatisfying. It’s short and compressed and unsentimental; and while it’s a work that could hardly have been written a decade earlier, it does not pay direct attention to the radical innovations that the Schoenbergs and Stravinskys were introducing. These young players approached it as if they’d been living with it for years in their technical mastery and ease with the musical idiom, but judging by the spontaneity and freshness of the performance, it sounded as if they’d just discovered it.

Once again, here was evidence of the wealth of wonderful music-making to be enjoyed for free (or nearly) in many parts of greater Wellington.