Tag: chamber music

Diverting and highly accomplished lunchtime guitar quartet concert at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand Guitar Quartet (Owen Moriarty, Tim Watanabe, Christopher Hill, Jane Curry)

Music by Paulo Bellinati, Manuel de Falla, J S Bach, Almer Imamovich, Rimsky-Korsakov, Inti-Illimani

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 7 August, 12:15 pm

Whether it was quasi-musical competition from construction work outside, or a quick assessment of the likely tastes of the audience, there were changes to the programme. We did not hear Craig Utting’s Onslow College Suite. (Lyell Cresswell hasn’t so honoured my old secondary school).

Baião de Gude by Paulo Bellinati finds a surprising number of entries through Google, with numerous You-Tube performances. However, live performance is the thing; it began with the most beguiling, whispered sounds that seemed hardly possible from guitars, but it was the chorus of four guitars, I suspect, that removed the more obvious articulation sounds that usually accompany a single guitar. Though melody seemed unnecessary in the context of the impressionist washes of colour and graphic patterns, what hints of melody there were, were clearly secondary to the swift, rushing effects that most characterized the piece.

In place of the Utting piece were three pieces by de Falla, from El amor brujo: ‘Cancion del amor dolido’ (Song of suffering love), ‘Danza del terror’ (obvious) and ‘Danza ritual del Fuego’ (Ritual fire dance), offered a wonderful display of the finesse and virtuosity of the quartet, its precision and its exact positioning of rhythmic patterns.  Though the ensemble was always something to admire, the line of each guitar was always audible too. Each was skilfully arranged from the orchestral original, by Owen Moriarty, and they came across in the most idiomatic, authentic manner.

The arrangement of Bach’s Third Brandenburg Concerto was just as successful, again sounding as if Bach was writing for guitars; for there seems indeed to be a disposition in much of Bach’s music for performance on the guitar (not to mention on almost any instrument you’d like); although later in the first movement an alternating 2-note motif became a bit persistent.   Owen Moriarty here played his 7-stringed guitar, which allows an extension of a fourth (I think) below the guitar’s bottom E string; its contribution was often conspicuous, in providing richer bass sonority. The second movement (there really isn’t a middle movement) was excellently fast, its rhythms and dynamics undulating elegantly, and the expectation of closure beautifully cultivated in a diminuendo.

Almar Imamovich is a Bosnian friend of both Owen and Jane stemming from their days at the University of Southern California; he arranged Sarajevo Nights, originally for flute and guitar, specifically for and dedicated to the New Zealand Guitar Quartet. Very lively, complex rhythmically, it seemed to hold no terrors for the quartet which brought it to life, whether or not it concealed reflections on the terrible experiences of the 1990s, with obvious affection and total conviction.

It was probably no surprise that Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol proved such a success in this arrangement by W Kanengiser for guitar quartet. The 7-string guitar, here in Jane’s hands, looked after the important harp parts in this colourful and tuneful work, capturing the essence of Spain without sentimentality, or any sort of expressionist excess; their perfect ensemble was exposed for all to hear. The cadenzas that suggest the guitar, were of course particularly effective, especially in the fourth
movement, Scena e canto Gitano.  And the excitement of the end of the last movement that is generated in the orchestral original was palpable.

There was an encore, of a Tarantella by Chilean composer Inti-Illimani, transcribed by Christopher Hill, offering another fine display of fleet fingering, syncopated rhythms and a melodious central section.

This mix of arrangements of well-loved music and attractive contemporary pieces specially composed for guitar quartet makes a very satisfactory concert programme, and offers a fine opportunity to enjoy this highly accomplished, world-class ensemble, a matter that I trust New Zealand audiences understand.

 

Schools chamber music contest: Auckland 3, Christchurch 3, Wellington 0, the rest 0; concern about exposure to music in schools

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Community Trust Schools Chamber Music Contest

Quartets (mainly excerpts) by George Crumb, Brahms, Marc Eychenne, Ravel, Bartók, Shostakovich and David Hamilton

Six finalists from Auckland and Christchurch

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday, 3 August 2013, 7pm

Shouts for Shostakovich!  Some superb playing by the Sollertinsky Trio from Auckland received deserved plaudits from the audience, who demanded a second stage appearance from the Trio (they didn’t get it) – this before they had been announced as winner.

The concert featured with the first of the six finalists, selected from the twelve groups which had been in the semi-finals, on the previous day.  It was a pity that the concert had to be held in the Michael Fowler Centre, since there was a fairly small audience. Publicity for the event had only reached me a week before, so I assume that apart from teachers and parents, not many people were aware of it.  This was an event of high quality, and deserved a larger audience.

A notable fact: Asian students (Chinese, with perhaps a few Koreans) outnumbered pakeha New Zealanders 19 to 7.  Numbers were more even in the semi-finals, which seems to me to illustrate how hard Asians are accustomed to working, in this case to bring their performances up to a high standard.

First up was Vox, of Auckland, made up of flute, cello and piano – and towards the end, several crotales, or small cymbals on a stand, that were played variously by the cellist and the flutist.  Theirs was a very adventurous work: Vox Balaenae for Three Masked Players, by George Crumb (b. 1929).  He has been described as “an explorer of unusual timbres, alternative forms of notation, and extended instrumental and vocal techniques”  (Wikipedia).  His whale music
reminded me of that by Gillian Whitehead, performed in Wellington a few years ago.  However, Crumb’s work was much more elaborate.

The composer’s instruction was for the performers to wear masks, to distance themselves, from their audience.  The range of techniques was wide, including using a prepared piano (paper, metal items), the pianist sounding the strings as well as playing the keys, the flutist singing into and over-blowing her instrument.  This was a tremendously difficult composition to perform, and the extended techniques involved considerable skill.  The cello was not left out – the instrument had scordatura tuning: i.e. the strings were tuned to different notes than normal.

Whale sounds there certainly were, in multiplicity.  Some sounds fell easily on the ear, others less so.  The instruments were all amplified; Wikipedia tells me that the piece was written for electric flute, electric cello, and amplified piano.

After quite a long introduction from the flute, the piano joined in.  Some of the plucking of strings was at the pianist’s full stretch, meaning a different sound from further up the strings.  There
was some lovely ‘straight’ playing from the flute before the cello entered, playing harmonics, followed by the piano making a tinny sound from the paper over the strings.  The crotales, played
with a mallet, gave a delightful sound.  For another whale-like sound, the cellist whistled tunes from the score (which was mainly written in graph form rather than standard notation.  Quiet passages for piano, crotales and flute were succeeded by the cello playing a rhapsodic melody, who then returned to harmonics while the flutist played the crotales; mesmerising.

The assurance and reassurance of the first movement of Brahms’s Trio Op.8 sounded strange after Crumb’s whales.  This was the only nineteenth century work on the programme.  The three players of Cl’Amour from Christchurch produced lovely tone, especially the violinist.  However, they were not heard to best advantage in this vast, mainly empty auditorium.  There were beautifully shaded dynamics, especially from the pianist, who hails from Columba College in Dunedin – one wonders how frequently the three could get together for practice.

This was a pretty full-on movement for all players, but the players had a good feeling for the shape and structure of the piece.

Another trio from Christchurch (Burnside High School) played Cantilène et Danse by Marc Eychenne, an Algerian-born French composer (b. 1933) of whom I had never heard.  The work was written in 1961.  Three extremely competent musicians (violin, alto saxophone and piano) made up Trio Étoile – an apt name, given the CMNZ starry logo.  Alice Morgan, the saxophonist, is also a pianist, I noted – her name appears in the listing of another ensemble that played in the semi-finals.  She distinguished herself by winning the KBB Music prize for her group – an award for the best group incorporating a wind instrument.  (The amazing Burnside High School had four ensembles in the semi-finals, the only school to have more than one.)

The violin began the piece, in a melody accompanied on piano.  The mellifluous tone of the saxophone soon entered, with a vaguely mournful melody.  When all three instruments were together the violin was somewhat overwhelmed by the more penetrating sounds of the piano and
the saxophone.  This music was quite demanding for each instrument – but not so much so as the Crumb work.

The pianist was very confident, hardly looking at his score. The second movement was fast and furious, especially for the pianist, with jokey outbursts from the saxophone.  While the violin needed a bigger sound, these were very confident performers.  The music had rather the character of early twentieth century expressionist French music.  There was plenty of interplay between the instruments.

Another Auckland piano trio, Mentalstorm from St. Cuthbert’s College, played the first movement of Ravel’s familiar Piano Trio in A minor, from 1914.  Their intonation was immaculate, and their playing cheerful and confident, though I found the piano part somewhat over-pedalled, especially at the beginning.  Nevertheless, these were sensitive musicians, with skill and admirable technique.  They made the many moods in the music come alive, with subtlety and delicacy, and
fine balance.

The penultimate performers were Elektra, from Burnside High School, with the third movement of Bartók’s Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion.  This involved a considerable number of instruments. Besides the two pianos, there were bass drum, cymbals, triangle, xylophone, and two side drums.  It was certainly electrifying music.  There was great co-ordination between the players.  The xylophone featured largely and delightfully.  The work incorporated Arab folk music collected by the composer, we were told by compère Kate Mead (considering the length of the programme, there was too much information in some of these introductions).  This was thoroughly enjoyable music, very ably performed.

The Sollertinsky Trio from Auckland were the last contestants to be heard. Written by Shostakovich in grief and mourning for his great friend after whom the ensemble named itself, who died in his forties, the trio was said by Kate Mead to mix glee and madness.  The players performed the second movement, Allegro con brio (“A frenzied dance that never finds a settling place” – Wikipedia) and last movement, Allegretto, which introduces a Jewish-style melody, also used in the composer’s Quartet no. 8.

The fast and furious second movement revealed a few intonation wobbles at the beginning, but its passionate nature was revealed with no holds barred.  Very soon the players proved that they are very skilled musicians.  Ray Ong (16, from Westlake Boys’ High School, Mathias Balzat (14, home-schooled) and Delvan Lin (14, from King’s College) seem to have technique and interpretation to burn.  In a radio interview with Eva Radich broadcast on Monday, they were asked how they were able to identify with such music, given their short experience of life and the music’s emotional
intensity.  Balzat answered “The more you listen to it, the more you understand it”.

What was astonishing was how the performers were able to reveal their understanding of this music.  At some points Balzat’s cello sobbed; all the players created wonderful subtleties of dynamics and phrasing.  The playing was always vigorous and confident, even in soft passages.  There was much playing well down the finger-board for the cellist, and use of harmonics.  It was notable how this young man frequently watched the violinist, and the pianist too, making for superb ensemble.  He seemed hardly to look at his score.  This was a factor that distinguished the trio from other finalists.

The fourth movement began with a pizzicato dance, in which the string players were very lively and accomplished.  There was no let-up in the music’s driving force.    Spiccato passages and the beautiful, soft pizzicato ending were absolutely together.

The bleakness of Shostakovich’s thoughts on the loss of his friend was clearly expressed. This performance was of professional standard, and the audience and the judges knew it; Sollertinsky Trio was awarded the winner’s prize.

While they were considering their decision, the winner of the New Zealand Music Award, Conspiratus from Diocesan School for Girls in Auckland, played their commissioned work Modus Vivendi by David Hamilton. This was a septet, with clarinet, bassoon, saxophone, trumpet, cello,
double bass and piano.  A spiky opening on trumpet with mute was accompanied by pizzicato cello and bass, in a syncopated rhythm.  The piece was very lively and rhythmic.  Jazz elements
featured in this thoroughly delightful work.

The players’ timing was absolutely spot on; the saxophone produced plenty of timbre and dynamic contrast, but all played splendidly.

In her brief remarks representing the judges (the others being Diedre Irons and Andrew Joyce) Bridget Douglas spoke of the maturity and technical accomplishment of the finalists.  There were two awards for composition; unfortunately neither work was performed in the concert.  I sat next to Senior winner William Swan and his father from Invercargill.  Apparently no group could be found to perform it.

The Junior winner (though the same age as William Swan and a year his senior at school) was Samuel Broome from Hastings.

The other award was the Marie Vandewart Memorial Award, in recognition of outstanding service and commitment to fostering the love of chamber music. This was won by Gillian Bibby of Wellington, a lifelong advocate, administrator and coach of chamber music. In her acceptance speech, Gillian referred to the alarming paucity of music in primary schools compared with a number of years ago, and the need to address that.  She postulated that wider education in music would be an instrument of world peace.

Other speeches were from Roger King, new chairman of Chamber Music New Zealand, Chris Finlayson, Minister for Arts, Culture and Heritage, and Kerry Prendergast, representing sponsor the New Zealand Community Trust.

While the winning group well deserved their prize, music was the winner overall, with around 1700 musicians taking part in the regional contests (15 of them).

 

Stroma, with percussionist Claire Edwardes

Posted on by Alan Wells

STROMA presents Event Horizon

Stroma, conducted by Hamish McKeich, with Claire Edwardes (percussion)

Alison Isadora: Cornish Pasty / Gyorgy Ligeti: Continuum
Jeroen Speak: Musik fur witwen, jungfrauen und unschuldige
Gerard Brophy: Coil / Steven Mackey: Micro-concerto

Ilott Concert Chamber

Thursday, 1 August 2013

Stroma’s recent concert featured works by two expatriate New Zealand composers, Jeroen Speak and Alison Isadora, both past graduates of Victoria University.

Speak, based in England, is currently in the country with his partner, Dorothy Ker, who holds the 2013-14 Lilburn House residency (Ker’s own […and…11] is scheduled for performance by Stroma at its next concert on 1 September). This August concert, Event Horizon, was named after Speak’s mini-concerto for piano and three percussionists, which in its turn was inspired by the stark paintings of Wang pan Yuan, Taiwan’s “prince of loneliness”.  As it happened, due to an insufficiency of percussionists, the eponymous work disappeared over a different event horizon – like that surrounding a black hole. In its stead, we had another composition by Speak, Musik fur witwen, jungfrauen und unschuldige (“Music for widows, virgins and innocents”, 2005) which had previously been premiered by Stroma. This proved to be a music of quietly intense, fleeting gestures (punctuated by side-drum strokes played by harpist Ingrid Bauer and violist Peter Barber), that gradually developed a sense of direction as repeated phrases hinted at an emerging underlying pulse.

Speak’s enigmatic title was drawn from that of an earlier composition, developed from a chant by Abbess Hildegard. The name of Netherlands-based Alison Isadora’s Cornish Pasty (2010) was similarly opaque (the programme note described the food, but not the music). The piece began with a starburst of sound, with tremolandos from Emma Sayers’ piano, Nick Granville’s electric guitar, and Steve Bremner’s vibraphone, creating a moving sound-object, through which melodies emerged from Rueben Chin’s and Hayden Sinclair’s soprano and tenor saxophones. Almost unrelentingly dense (in marked contrast to the sparseness of Musik fur witwen…), this composition, too, had a sense of direction and satisfying shape, gradually slowing down and thinning out after some interjections from Dave Bremner’s trombone, evolving from a texture-based piece to a predominantly rhythm-based piece.

I thought I detected some similarities here with Dutch composer Louis Andriessen (whose Zilver was performed in 2010 by SMP Ensemble under visiting conductor Lucas Vis), and also with some elements of minimalism. Continuum (1968) might have been Gyorgy Ligeti’s study in minimalism. This pulsating texture of trills and tremolandos has been played in Wellington, in its original harpsichord version, by Donald Nicolson.  Stroma’s “stereo” arrangement for marimba and vibraphone (impeccably realised by Claire Edwardes and Thomas Gulborg) had the odd (and enchanting) effect, for me, of  being “music in the head” (like the South American difference-tone flutes, demonstrated by Alejandro Iglesias-Rossi). Also affecting – and surprising – were the sustained, singing tones that were elicited from these percussive instruments.

Featured star, Claire Edwardes, performed solo in fellow Australian Gerard Brophy’s 1996 Coil, its dynamic contrasts and short, lively phrases demanding virtuoso control of the vibraphone’s pedal for both sustain and staccato effects.

American Steve Mackey’s Micro-concerto (1999) saw Edwardes take up small, hand-held instruments (such as claves, guiro, and whistle) along with the more conventional drums and vibes, for a five movement concert piece with small ensemble. The fourth movement, a warm-toned duo for Edwardes’ marimba and Rowan Prior’s cello, was especially enjoyable. The more vernacular-friendly style of both Mackey and Brophy made for a satisfying balance with the adventurous works in the first half.

Stroma’s next concert (Sunday, 1 September, 4pm, VUW Hunter Council Chamber) will feature (along with the Dorothy Ker, and former NZ resident Gao Ping), the versatile bass-baritone (and actor) Nicholas Isherwood. Last here in 2009, he performed then Stockhausen’s Havona (with electronics), and Sciarrino’s Quaderno di Strada (with Stroma). Both compositions had the uncompromising severity of late works: one was, the other not (thankfully, Signor Sciarrino is still with us). On 1 September, in “Goddess and Storyteller”, Isherwood will be performing in two dramatic vocal works by Iannis Xenakis.

Inaugural Wellington recital by accomplished violin and piano duo

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Music for violin and piano
Pärt: Fratres (1977) for violin and piano
Fauré: Andante Op.75
Elgar: Sonata for violin and piano Op.82 (Allegro; Romance; Allegro non troppo)

Simeon Broom (violin) and Rachel Church (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 31 July 2013, 12.15pm

These two young performers were newcomers to the St Andrew’s scene, but they have played together for years, in New Zealand, Germany and the United Kingdom, and have recently returned from overseas.

Their opening item is well-known, but perhaps not in this arrangement.  The piece is technically demanding for the violinist, while the pianist repeats the theme in chords, mainly.  The violinist plays many variations upon it, some of them stratospheric.  The variations are vigorous and interesting if not, to my mind, profound.

Nevertheless, the musicians conjured up many delightful moods and effects, especially when the melody was played on violin harmonics, with the piano pianissimo, at the end.

Fauré’s Andante was not a work I knew, and was in a completely different aesthetic from the 1970s Pärt work.  It has warm-toned, human-related melody – or certainly had the way these two played it. If Pärt’s mood was somewhat depressing, Fauré’s soaring melodies soon overcame that.  It is a tribute to the violinist’s skill that he made this work sound utterly uplifting in character.  At the same time, it demonstrated the composer’s “dislike of all pretension” as the excellent programme notes stated.

Elgar’s Sonata is a substantial work, infrequently heard.  The opening movement featured wonderful changes of expression, the instruments variously extravert, winsome, and brilliant.  The moods veered from cheerful to romantic; wistful to excitable.  All of this was well managed by the performers.

The slow movement was serious, yet included bouncy figures, vaguely reminiscent of parts  of the composer’s well-loved Enigma Variations.  As a violinist himself, Elgar had an inside knowledge of how to write for the instrument.  There were interesting modulations in both parts, and a rather grandiose section before a quiet ending.

The finale conveyed a pastoral scene in its opening, then became energetic and thoughtful by turns.  All was most beautifully executed, with finely controlled dynamics. There were many enchanting melodic figures and passages.

It was pleasing to see a good-sized audience attend the concert, and enjoying such accomplished playing of a programme of comparative rarities.  Simeon Broom has recently joined the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, and so we can perhaps look forward to hearing these two fine musicians some more.

Interesting interdisciplinary chamber music exploration led by violinist Jack Liebeck and friends

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Einstein’s Universe (Chamber Music New Zealand)

Jack Liebeck (violin) and Stephen De Pledge (piano) with Victoria Sayles (violin), Julia Joyce (viola) and Andrew Joyce (cello)

Beethoven: Violin Sonata in G, Op 30 no 3
Bloch: Three Nocturnes for piano trio (1924)
Brahms: Sonata movement (the FAE sonata) – Scherzo
Samuel Holloway: Matter
Brahms: Piano Quartet in C minor, Op 60

Wellington Town Hall

Tuesday 23 July, 8pm

This unusual conjunction of music and science derives from a meeting and consequent friendship between violinist Jack Liebeck and Professor Brian Foster, a distinguished physicist and fellow of the Royal Society.

Liebeck is interested in science and Foster in music (he is a capable amateur violinist) and their complementary interests led to their meeting in 2003; in 2005, the World Year of Physics, they dreamed up a concert-cum-lecture idea that involved the exploration of Einstein’s love of music and his performance gifts (violin and piano).

It caught on and Liebeck says it keeps being requested. With De Pledge, he did a tour of New Zealand in 2009. Strangely, though de Pledge gave a solo piano recital in the Town Hall, the pair played together only at Lower Hutt and Upper Hutt (I heard them at the Expressions Centre in Upper Hutt). And while Foster was also, apparently, in New Zealand in 2009, I am not aware that an Einstein concert performance was given here. Liebeck has also played with the Auckland Philharmonia.

The publicity surrounding this tour to ten centres, from Auckland to Invercargill, would suggest that Liebeck’s involvement with Einstein and science is a major element in his performing career. But I can see no mention of these in his website apart from his being Artistic Director of the Oxford May Music Festival, a festival of Music, Science and the Arts. On the other hand the website gives an illuminating picture of the range of music and places in which he plays. It suggests that it could be very rewarding to bring him back with one of the chamber ensembles that he works with or has created.

The major Einstein element was an hour-and-a-half illustrated talk before the concert by Professor Foster which, unfortunately, I could not get to. There Liebeck was on hand to play examples of the music that Einstein was thought to have loved and played: most importantly Bach and Mozart. The Einstein connection of the recital itself was rather more tenuous of course. We could be happy to accept Beethoven’s Op 30 No 3 as much loved by the physicist and it was a marvellous opening, displaying a finesse, subtlety in the infinite range of dynamics and articulations that both the players brought to it; an urgency combined with delicacy and restraint in the first movement, with delicious undulatings from the piano whisperings from the violin. The middle movement, the minuet, introduced a sombre tone, a charming waywardness that teased with a sense of being adrift.

The fact that members of the Royal Society of New Zealand had been given tickets meant the presence of many unfamiliar with chamber music – perhaps with classical music and its shape, generally; for applause broke out at the end of each movement. That was OK at the extrovert end of the first, but
the second ended in a spirit of ethereal breathlessness where I hoped for silence; we didn’t get that. Perhaps it’s a small price to pay for the possible awakening of a few unbelievers to The Way and The Truth.

Then came the Scherzo movement that Brahms contributed to a collaborative violin sonata written with Schumann and one of Schumann’s pupils, Albert Dietrich, in 1853. The 20-year-old young genius can clearly be heard. It blossomed at the hands of these two ultra-refined musicians who could bring so
much colour and timbral fascination to it: De Pledge produced sounds from the piano that even hinted at a glockenspiel.

A more direct link between the players and Einstein came with Bloch’s Three Nocturnes; he was President of the Ernest Bloch Society (Professor Foster is vice president of the Bloch Society). These pieces were played by De Pledge with Victoria Sayles on violin and Andrew Joyce on the cello, giving scrupulous attention to the markedly different character of each nocturne; the last was rather more boisterous than one might want when trying to sleep. I had not come across them before and they rather modified my earlier impression of Bloch’s musical character. They are so charming and, I imagine, so delightfully rewarding for the players that they deserve to be born in mind by piano trios looking for different repertoire.

Before the interval came the work commissioned by Chamber Music New Zealand from the current Mozart Fellow at Otago University, Samuel Holloway. It was a piano quartet, with Victoria Sayles taking her husband’s place on the violin, plus Julia and Andrew Joyce. Jack Liebeck acted as conductor through the music whose textures were so insubstantial and the rhythms hard to define.

It picked up the theme of the programme: Matter; taking seriously the task of finding a way of simulating in music the atomic particle structure of matter, through the use of what a decade or more ago would have been referred to rudely as ‘plinck-plonk’ music: such thoughts were dispelled very quickly. It’s largely atonal, widely spaced, staccato note sequences, mainly subdued in dynamics, with not much (any?) melodic invention. Yet the effect was strangely beguiling and even though not much happened in the sense of recognizable development or cyclical evolution, it created suspense that was so emotionally coherent that it was possible to gage intuitively how and when it would end, some time before it did. Though I do not actively pursue music of this character, I found it curiously engaging, partly as a result of the thoroughly studied, sensitive and engrossing performance.

After the interval we returned to standard repertoire. Brahms wrote three piano quartets; this was not the familiar and best-loved of them perhaps (that’s the G minor, Op 25), but written about 20 years later. (The core players returned: Liebeck and De Pledge, Julia and Andrew Joyce). The third quartet, also in a minor key, C minor, is more typically sombre and is not, till the gorgeous Andante third movement, furnished with the immediate melodic delights that the first quartet enjoys.

The Scherzo second movement doesn’t shift from the minor tonality even though its rhythm is energetic. The texture becomes symphonic, some might use the word dense, but the performance was always marked by the clean playing in an ideal acoustic. It’s the third movement that makes an unorthodox tonal shift from C minor to E major (not the relative major which would be E flat), so making the move to a sunnier landscape, with its quite rapturous melody, more dramatic. Brahms knew he had a ‘trouvaille’ and the players knew it too.

The last movement, in which musicologists have spotted borrowings and references of several kinds, returns to a degree of complexity which some might ascribe to a melodically barren moment.  Indeed, it gave Brahms a great deal of trouble, shown in one aspect in his reference to Goethe’s Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werthers). Because that reference seems to me quite pregnant, let me quote
a few lines from a website: www.youtube.com/watch?v=snJjPMdBZzY.

“A letter from Brahms, sent with the manuscript to Theodor Billroth includes the following enigmatic comment: ‘the quartet has communicated itself to me only in the strangest ways…For instance, the illustration to the last chapter of the man in the blue frock and yellow waistcoat.’ This refers, somewhat obliquely, to Goethe’s Werther, which Brahms admired. Meanwhile, he remained deeply dissatisfied with the work, and wrote to his publisher Fritz Simrock, ‘you may attach a picture on the title page, i.e.
a head with the pistol before it’.” Last month, in Germany, I picked up a copy of Werther which has always been seen as a key literary impulse of the Romantic movement. Inter alia, it has been blamed as the original driver of copy-cat suicides.

So there were several reasons for my listening with great interest to the music and its scrupulous and illuminating performance, and a delight in the entire concert.

 

 

 

 

Chamber classics from the Te Kōkī Trio

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Wellington Chamber Music Trust

Beethoven: Piano Trio in B flat, Op.97 ‘Archduke’ (allegro moderato; scherzo: allegro; andante cantabile ma pero con moto; allegro moderato – presto)

Tchaikovsky: Trio in A minor, Op.50 (pezzo elegiaco; tema con variazione; variazione finale e coda)

Te Kōkī Trio (Martin Riseley, violin; Inbal Meggido, cello; Jian Liu, piano)

Ilott Theatre

Sunday, 21 July 2013

Music hath charms, but this was a bit more powerful than mere charm.  The last Wellington Chamber Music concert to be held in the Ilott Theatre for at least two-and-a-half years while the Wellington Town Hall undergoes earthquake strengthening ended – with an earthquake, just as patrons were leaving the building.  There was a sizeable audience to hear this programme.  I’m sure that they felt a little sad to have to leave this lovely auditorium with its comfortable, raked seating and good acoustics.

It was a strenuous programme.  In my view the Archduke is the most wonderful music in the entire piano trio repertoire.  Beethoven’s endless invention, changes of mood and of key, leave one breathless.  Mozart, with all his genius, could not have dreamt of music like this in his wildest dreams.

I always enjoy hearing Jian Liu play; he is a consummate pianist, and knows the difference between mp, mf, and f – as indeed do his esteemed colleagues; there were great dynamic contrasts.  I loved his phrasing, too, in the solo piano opening.  The nostalgic feelings in the first movement were well conveyed.

The second movement started with a duet between the strings.  It was a very spirited scherzo, and featured gorgeous sonority from the cello.  The strange solo cello notes, followed by those on the violin, that come in several times in the latter part of the movement were not made sufficiently mysterious for me.

Jian Liu’s opening of the slow movement was perfect.  His subtlety in the variation that followed the opening was exquisite.  The next variation, for strings, is more of a light-hearted affair, and does not call for the same degree of emotional delicacy; thus appropriate vigour was the prescription.  However, this led to a soulful variation, beautifully played, with much tenderness of tone from all three instruments.

A melancholy, simple variation had all three instruments in a perfect pianissimo, the cello tone particularly being heart-rendingly direct and gentle.  Just as everything seems to die away, we are into a glorious last variation, then the rambunctious finale with its explosive good humour ends the work in triumph.   A few slips and a little patch where the players were not quite together, could not mar a fine performance.

The Tchaikovsky work had me wondering if chronological order was the best for this concert, and whether it would have been better to end with the stronger work.  However, by the end I was persuaded that Tchaikovsky’s Trio made a worthy finish.

The elegiac first movement of the next work was emotion-laden, as Tchaikovsky mourned the untimely death of his friend and mentor Nikolay Rubinstein.  Following the elegy, the music was full-on.  After the energy calmed down, a slow lyricism and a return to the opening themes had both strings playing very eloquently, with splendid tone.

After this, I noticed that a hum had started up in the theatre, whether from the air-conditioning system, I do not know.  While it was not very loud, it was more than just audible, and thus was annoying.

The piano statement at the beginning of the second movement reminded one of the similar pattern to the slow movement of the Beethoven work.  There was plenty in the variations to delight, for example, a piano solo with pizzicato accompaniment.  This was followed by a fugal section that soon went off the rails – very seductively.  Both Martin Riseley and Inbal Meggido exhibited strong playing.

A charming frisky variation opened by cello and piano was dance-like.  It could be a symphonic movement, or even a movement in a ballet.  The next variation was very emphatic, especially from the piano, before becoming more technically difficult, with fugal passages that this time were more strict, and very vigorous.

The third movement opened quietly, with a contemplative theme.  Each player had interesting individual parts to contribute.  A jolly passage from the piano was again dance-like.  A modicum of rubato from Jian Liu added to the interest and the musicality of the performance; the strings joined in the jollity.

A lovely violin restatement of the theme from the first movement preceded a piano variation that ended the finale proper.  The coda then took off, the theme being familiar to those who listen to St. Paul Sunday on Radio New Zealand Concert.  This extended coda was full of bravura passages for all instruments.

It was a difficult programme, with not much let-up for any of the players, and was greatly appreciated by the audience – there was even a well-deserved bravo or two.

Mellifluous flute and piano at St.Andrew’s

Posted on by Peter Mechen

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace Lunchtime Concerts presents:

THE TWENTIETH-CENTURY FLUTE WORLD

Music by Georges Hüe, Sigfrid Klarg-Elert, Ian Clarke, Robert Aitken, Alfredo Casella

Hannah Sassman (flute) / Robyn Jaquiery (piano)

St.Andrew’s on-the-Terrace

Wednesday, 10th July, 2013

A thoroughly invigorating music-listening experience! – most appropriately for a middle-of-the-day concert, this had an engaging “borne-on-air” quality, as much to do with the playing of two consummate artists as with the instruments and repertoire.

Hannah Sassman plays flute with both the NZSO and Orchestra Wellington as a freelance musician, and teaches the instrument to a number of advanced students. She’s currently a music librarian with RNZ Concert, and recently completed her Master of Music degree at the University of Colorado in Boulder, USA.

Her partner today at the piano, Robyn Jacquiery, is a well-known and highly-regarded accompanist, working with solo singers, instrumentalists and choirs.

Their combination here brought an assemblage of generally little-known repertoire to life for us, beginning with a Fantasie by French composer Georges Hüe, a contemporary of Gounod and Franck, and a winner of the Prix de Rome.

Known during his lifetime mainly for his operas and choral works, Hüe wrote this Fantasie in response to a commission by the Paris Conservatoire’s professor of flute, Adolphe Hennebains, to whom the piece is also dedicated.  Originally for flute and piano (which latter part was subsequently orchestrated, according to my researches) it’s a delicate and charming work, with that unique kind of bitter-sweet amalgam of “French Catholic” sentiment and late-romantic astringency that, to my ears haunts French fin-de-siecle music.

As engaging a communicator when talking about the music as when playing it, Hannah Sassman gave us just enough “background” to each piece in a way that nicely complemented the program notes. And with her playing of such things as Karg-Elert’s Chaconne for solo flute, she demonstrated how, in the hands of a gifted performer, music can indeed take up where words leave off – the Chaconne ranged from evocations of meditative calm to episodes of impulsive excitability.

The most recently-written works on the program were Ian Clarke’s Hypnosis and Sunday Morning, pieces which stemmed from the composer’s work in rock groups in the 1990s, the latter piece suggesting to Clarke a connection with Lionel Ritchie’s “Easy like Sunday Morning”, and giving the work a title. Hannah Sassman demonstrated for us some of the special “flute techniques” used by the pieces – things like slides and “timbral trills”.

More esoteric, perhaps, was Canadian composer Robert Aitken’s Icicle, written in 1977, a piece using microtonal techniques and nuances. Parallel to the rigorous intellectual aspects of all of this was the piece’s wonderful atmosphere, its figurations and the instrument’s timbre readily suggesting birdsong.

Music by Italian composer Alfredo Casella concluded the programme – an attractively written Sicilienne et Burlesque dating from 1914, lots of fun to listen to, and obviously, judging from the spirited nature of today’s performance, to play.

I enjoyed the music’s ritual-like opening, with its suggestions of both chant and folk-song, the piano’s graceful, rhythmic progressions creating different ambiences for the flute’s peregrinations.  The time-honoured progression from slow to fast worked brilliantly here, with the energetic Burlesque – in places intense and dark-browed, but in others lightened by an attractive insouciance. Both players handled the many changes of time and tempo with considerable aplomb – we listeners found ourselves caught up in the music’s trajectories, and enjoyed the excitement both musicians generated at the finish. Splendid!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beauty and truth from Amici at Waikanae

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Waikanae Music Society 35th Anniversary Concert

Amici Ensemble (Donald Armstrong, Cristina Vaszilcsin, violins; Julia Joyce, Andrew Thomson, violas; Rowan Prior, Andrew Joyce, cellos; Hiroshi Ikematsu, double bass; Kirsten Simpson, piano)

Mozart: Grande Sestetto Concertante in E flat, K.364 (allegro maestoso, andante, presto)

Christopher Blake: Māramatanga (Rangiātea, McNaught, Sisyphus)

R. Strauss: Metamorphosen

Waikanae Memorial Hall

7 July 2013

The Waikanae Music Society has formed a laudable habit of commissioning a new work to celebrate each of its fifth-ending anniversaries.  Jack Body and Kenneth Young have both had commissions; this time it was the turn of Christopher Blake.  Most laudable, too, is the length of time for which its committee members have served; President Helen Guthrie has been on the committee for 29 years!

The programme began with Mozart, the work not under its original title Sinfonia Concertante or in its familiar setting for violin, viola and orchestra, but for string sextet of two violins, two violas, cello and bass.  Directed from the first violin desk by Donald Armstrong, convenor of the group, it certainly sounded different in this combination.  The arrangement by an unknown hand was extremely skilled, giving melodies to all the instruments that in the full version were for violin and viola.

As Armstrong suggested in his opening remarks, the original work would have been played, under its original title Sinfonia Concertante, by a small orchestra in a venue much smaller than those typically used today.  I still missed the broader background sound of an orchestra, despite the superb solos; notably the excellent double bass solo from Hiroshi Ikematsu in the first movement, and the viola solo from Julia Joyce in the andante movement.

The beauty of form and melody were to the fore, as always with Mozart.  There were so many charming touches, some unexpected.  Each movement was full of transforming character.  Slight aberrations of intonation were perhaps more obvious in this configuration than they would be in that for which the music was originally written.

The programme note stated that Christopher Blake’s music for piano quintet was about the enlightenment of religious faith.  This was seen in the Maori context, the opening movement being named for the church at Otaki.  The second movement was named after a comet, and the third based on the philosophy of Camus, and on the Greek character condemned to push a rock uphill, forever.  The link between Maori and the Greek gods is surprisingly topical, given the recent repeat performance of John Psathas’s Orpheus in Rarohenga, and a very fine current exhibition at Pataka in Porirua, of Marian Maguire’s wonderful etchings and lithographs linking Maori and Greek characters, Titkowaru’s Dilemma.

The work began with strummed cello, becoming gradually louder.  The other strings joined in, some pizzicato with strings deliberately hitting the finger board.  The piano entered, and the movement became a string quartet with shimmering piano in the background.  The piano followed up with a sombre, intoned melody while the strings played pizzicato again.  The movement ended as it began, with the cello.

The opening unison of the second movement perhaps suggested the open night sky; its crescendo sounded like a planet rising.  Other-worldly sounds continued.  Interlocution from the piano built up to passionate outbursts, then a mellow, muted section followed.  Meanderings by all the instruments ended the movement.

The third movement, reflecting the bleak philosophy of Frenchman Albert Camus had a gloomy tone, overall.  In places it was confused and hectic, with elements of a different, more positive attitude in a skipping piano part.  After this, the rapidly repeated, almost tremolando phrases of the strings had a pessimistic slant, and their angular melodies brought a dismal mood that the piano then joined in.  There were some gorgeous harmonies for the strings, before a declamatory ending.

Māramatanga means enlightenment; this exploration of some of its aspects certainly justified another hearing, at which one would hope to be further enlightened by and about the music.

Metamorphosen is usually played by 23 strings, but this version for seven strings is apparently based on Strauss’s original sketches.  His mourning for the destruction of so many symbols of German culture during World War II is amply heard in the music; one hopes that he also looked to a metamorphosis from that shocking state to a better one.  He certainly had good reason to be gloomy, as he saw the destruction around him.

The music brought forth beautiful playing from each individual in the group.  The cadences, progressions and harmonies had highly emotional effects.  The work grows gradually and almost imperceptibly with a wonderful build-up of tension and gorgeous tone.  After a time it took on a more optimistic aspect, in the midst of restless searching, the while clothed in romantic beauty.

As compared with the Mozart work, Strauss made considerable use of a variety of dynamics, and depth of sound.  This was a powerful performance.  A beautiful viola solo with quiet accompaniment had me wondering – is it describing resignation or resolution?  The firm, even at times harsh passage that followed suggested rejection, not acceptance.

A return to more peaceful pastures was mellow, but turned to poignancy – and perhaps resignation at last.

A fine concert illustrated why it is that the Amici are frequent visitors to the Waikanae Music Society.  Their tackling of such a varied programme always had the ring of truth.

 

 

Old and new, far and near, from the New Zealand String Quartet

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Wellington Chamber Music Trust

Brahms: String quartet in A minor Op.51 no.2 (allegro non troppo; andante moderato; quasi minuetto, moderato – allegretto vivace; finale – allegro non assai – piu vivace)

Ross Harris: String quartet no.5 (Songs from Childhood)

Dvořák: String quartet no.12 in F, Op.96 ‘The American’ (allegro ma non troppo; lento; molto vivace; vivace ma non troppo)

New Zealand String Quartet

Ilott Theatre

Sunday, 23 June 2013

It was good to see ‘our own’ quartet back in the Sunday afternoon series, after an absence of several years.  Particularly, it was pleasing to see that Helene Pohl was able to play with all the fingers of her left hand, having now fully recovered from her accident in February.

As usual, members of the Quartet introduced the items in an informative manner, illustrating themes and passages on their instruments, especially prior to the opening work.  The thought emerged that perhaps Brahms’s self-criticism that caused the destruction of many of his works may not be something to be deplored; the sublime music of this quartet (one of the NZSQ’s favourites, said Rolf Gjelsten) is beyond compare, and something to be treasured.

Although Romantic, this quartet is not pure romanticism.  There is much attention to form and structure.  The long first movement is full of various shades of emotion and thought, sunny and serious by turns.

The slow movement is rich and sombre, with a wistful lilt.  As the programme note had it, it is like “a quiet conversation between the four instruments.”  This was particularly the case in its third section.  The third movement is very lyrical as well as dance-like, featuring both slow and fast dances.  Its long lines kept the music moving forward.

The finale was in great contrast to the earlier movements.  Despite its energy, it didn’t have as much to say as the earlier ones.  The entire work was played with flair and sensitivity.

Again, some explanation before the next item, this time from its composer, Ross Harris.  He questioned whether we remember childhood, or is it something we make up as memory?

He warned us that the players were not playing out of tune – the work commenced with some playing micro-tuned notes, against harmonics.  Later, a tui melody emerged, that developed into a canon.  Sometimes each instrument was doing different things from its fellows.  There was considerable use of the ponticello technique (bowing close to, or on the bridge; pont=bridge).  The music became somewhat frantic towards the end, and while much of the time it was true that ‘The use of continually shifting metre and micro-tuning imbue the work with a dreamlike floating quality, both fragile and illusive [elusive?]” as the composer’s programme note had it, it was not all like this – some passages were chunky, although others were ghostly, with little fragments of harmonics interspersed with pizzicato.

It was an intriguing work, one I would wish to hear again, to fully appreciate.  I heard generally appreciative comments afterwards.

Dvořák’s ‘American’ string quartet is one of my favourite works.  As the programme note said, “There is a sense of joy…”; I find this with all this composer’s music.  Even where, in the second movement, there is a sense of yearning for his home country, it is not an anxious or angry yearning.

The interweaving of the parts, especially in the passages of the first movement using the pentatonic scale – beginning with the beautiful opening on viola – was wonderful to hear.  The movement was played with fervour and empathy, and more dynamic contrast than I have sometimes heard in this work.

The slow movement was magically lovely, while the third, employing bird song (vide the Ross Harris work) was most enjoyable.  The finale also made use of the pentatonic scale.  It was thoughtful and melodic, but spirited to the end.

A new work, and two of the most brilliant from the late Romantic era made up a gorgeous programme, played with the intelligence, sublime finesse, perfect balance, and the musicality that we have come to expect from Helene Pohl, Douglas Beilman, Gillian Ansell and Rolf Gjelsten.

 

Valedictions from the Tokyo Quartet

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Chamber Music New Zealand presents:

The Toyko Quartet – Farewell Tour

MOZART – String Quartet “Hoffmeister” K.499: BARTOK – String Quartet No.6

BRAHMS – String Quartet No.1 Op.51 No.1

Tokyo String Quartet

Town Hall, Wellington

Saturday 15th June 2013

Going to hear practically any concert is a kind of privilege for the listener – especially when one thinks about the “coming together” of the different things that contribute to a live performance. The “here-and-now” of it all has its own kind of spontaneously-charged electricity. Somehow, it doesn’t feel quite the same when listening to the same music played on a recording, and not even when the performers are the same as one has heard ‘”live”.

Having said this, there are concerts and concerts – and certain occasions do have a greater sense of “charge” than others, generated either in anticipation, or during the course of the performance, by the listener. One such occasion, on both counts, was the recent appearance in Wellington by the esteemed Tokyo Quartet, nearing the end of this, their “farewell” tour.

The group is disbanding after a 43-year-long career, one which has seen a number of changes of personnel, leaving one surviving original member to stay the course, violist Kazuhide Isomura. A second member of the group, violinist Kikuei Ikeda, joined the quartet just four years after their inauguration, which made him the next best thing an honorary foundation member – the other two quartet members, leader Martin Beaver and ‘cellist Clive Greensmith, joined the group in 2002 and 1999, respectively.

Despite the changes in personnel over the years, the group has maintained the highest standards of quartet-playing, winning critical acclaim for both their concertizing and their recordings, the latest (and, unfortunately, the last) of which features works by Dvorak and Smetana. Among previous recordings are integral sets of the Beethoven, Brahms and Bartok Quartets, along with single discs featuring a wide range of repertoire.

Here, tonight, it was Mozart, Bartok and Brahms whose music carried the Quartet’s valedictory sounds to us – I confess I would have preferred hearing some of their Beethoven to the Brahms – but that feeling wasn’t shared by people I spoke with after the concert. And it was interesting to experience the latter’s music in particular played by a group whose sounds were among the most refined and focused of any quartet’s I’d previously heard – interesting, because even with such advocacy I still found the Brahms quartet hard going, in particular the first two movements.

But ah! – the Mozart! The group’s playing reminded me a little of an account give by Artur Rubinstein of his hearing Sviatoslav Richter “live” for the first time: “It wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary (recalled Rubinstein)……then at some point I noticed my eyes growing moist, and tears began rolling down my cheeks”. That wasn’t exactly what happened to me, but the effect of the Quartet’s playing took a similar course – a little way into the first movement I realized that I had actually lost myself in the music.  I felt I had been drawn in by the composer’s “world in a grain of sand” way with what sounded like the simplest of means having the utmost effect.

This was the “Hoffmeister’ Quartet K.499, given its name in honour of the work’s publisher, Franz Anton Hoffmeister, a friend of the composer’s and a fellow Freemason. Hoffmeister wrote in an advertisement regarding the work that it was “composed with an ingenuity…..that one not infrequently finds wanting in other compositions”. That “ingenuity” expressed itself in graceful ease throughout the first movement, the players here able to turn the music’s phrases in such a way that sweetness and energy worked hand-in-glove, with nothing forced or contrived. Everything had such focus, such purposeful strength, including the quietest, most delicate moments, so that the music’s argument seemed like a living, pulsating discourse.

I liked the delicate whisper of the development’s beginning and the surges of energy that followed, the players again with unfailing elegance delineating the ebb and flow of things – the movement’s “false” ending was delightfully brought off, giving its proper conclusion a kind of augmented satisfaction. The minuet provided a richly-uphostered tonal contrast, throwing into amusing relief the canonical chicken-like “cheepings” of the trio: while the slow movement demonstrated the group’s skill at sustaining long-breathed cantabile lines, with the solo violin “taking off” like a skylark towards the end.

As for the finale, the players again demonstrated their ability to delicately touch in detail at high speed, the music anticipating at some points the young Beethoven’s similarly questioning figures in the finale of his first Op.18 quartet. I loved the cellist’s delicious playing of his elevator-like runs, his elfin energies very much of a piece with what the other players were doing. In fact, so evanescent was the players’ articulation in places that the effect was almost impressionistic, though the lines and trajectories never lost their focus – Mozart was always Mozart!

It was with Bartok’s music that the original Tokyo Quartet made its mark internationally, and this performance of the Sixth Quartet reaffirmed the group’s position as among the foremost interpreters of these works. Even if I hadn’t know about this previous association, I could have assumed, from its Mozart-playing, that the Quartet would have similar affinities with Bartok’s charged sensibilities and the resulting range of expression in this particular work.

What an extraordinary work this last quartet is! – Bartok’s idea of presenting a theme at the very outset and a variant of the same at the beginning of each subsequent movement gives the work an amazing multi-faceted quality. The theme and its variations knit the structure together, but conversely provide a springboard for explorations of staggering variety across the movements. In a sense it was an entirely appropriate work for the quartet to play by way of a “leave-taking” – and the players’ extraordinary poise and controlled energy brought out the composer’s sharply-focused distillation of both his sorrow and resignation in the face of the difficulties that beset his final years.

After the interval, it was Brahms, the group giving us the first of the composer’s three String Quartets. I was hoping that, in light of the lucid, sweet-toned textures conjured up in many places by the Tokyo Quartet throughout the first half, that this would be the group that would “convert” me to these works. Alas, I continued to struggle with what I thought were the composer’s over-wrought textures, especially throughout the first two movements. There were times I felt “hectored” by the unremitting onslaught of the figurations, and frustrated at the composer’s own muddying of his own thematic lines. The fault is obviously mine – as with the Austrian Emperor who was famously supposed to have told Mozart that there were “too many notes” in his new opera “Il Seraglio”. People I spoke with at the concert’s end were enchanted with the music and the quartet’s playing of it.

Amidst the opaqueness of the Brahmsian textures I did discern certain lovelinesses – the opening of the slow movement, for example, conjured up in my mind fairy-tale scenes from the German forests, that is, before the first violin’s line, to my ears, began to over-fill the textures. I did enjoy the third movement’s romantic sense of disquiet, the music’s movement, underpinned by repeated notes from the ‘cello, engendering a feeling of unease, perhaps even of flight – the players brought out all the music’s drawing-room grace and elegance, and the Trio’s waltz had a folkish air of simplicity, with attractive, ear-catching pizzicati at certain points, making the return to the opening’s unease all the more telling.

The finale started with a searing unison, the Quartet then digging splendidly into the music’s forward-driving mood, occasionally bringing the opening unison’s figuration into the argument, but leavening the seriousness of it all with some lyrical song-bird harmonizing. The “turn for home” brought out even more trenchant energies and a forceful, unequivocal conclusion. Nevertheless, I was so pleased that the players felt sufficiently moved by the audience’s reception to offer a movement from a Haydn quartet as an encore – a Minuet from one of the “Apponyi” quartets (I think Op.74 No.1) – being, as the quartet leader Martin Beaver put it, “a return to where it all began” in string-quartet terms.

It seemed to me that here was quintessential quartet-playing – the music by turns called for great rhythmic character and energetic attack, followed by relaxed yet sharply-pointed detailing as the moods changed between main dance and trio, with an infinite variety of tones appropriate for each flicker of mood. As far as we in the audience were concerned, no better “goodbye” could have been spoken – a true privilege for the listener, indeed.