Tag: chamber music

Engaging “Klezmorim” at Ilott Theatre

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Chamber Music

KUGELTOV KLEZMER QUARTET

with Philip Green (clarinet)

Kugeltov Klezmer: Rebecca Struthers (violin) / Ross Harris (accordion) / Tui Clark (clarinet) / Malcolm Struthers (double bass)

Ilott Theatre, Wellington

Sunday 24th June, 2012

I felt in a bit of a quandary regarding this concert, torn as I was between feelings of unease through wanting someone else to do this review, and curiosity at experiencing some of this “klezmer” music for myself. I did do a little bit of exploratory research – not too much – so that I’d have a notion, however vague, of what I was about to hear. So, I found out that Klezmer music grew from the desire of Jewish communities to provide music at celebratory events, particularly at weddings (I read one droll remark from a commentator that there wasn’t much difference between a Jewish wedding and a burial except that the former had musicians (klezmorim) in attendance!). This music drew from a wide variety of sources, and (as time went on) assimilated elements from different cultures and diverse musical styles.

Interestingly, these “klezmorim”, itinerant Jewish troubadours, were at first regarded as little more than vagrants on the social ladder – in fact, the term “klezmer” was used for a long time as an insult, one akin to being called a criminal – though their usefulness on occasions that seemed to call for music became more and more valued. If one was a klezmer, one was an untrained musician, unable to read music but able to play by ear. As with jazz musicians in the West, the status of the klezmorim has considerably advanced to the extent of their being regarded as true artists, especially with a recent revival worldwide of the genre.

A glance through the programme notes for each of the items gave one a sense of the ease and fluidity with which the music has taken on aspects of different influences from various places, both East and West. Implied as well is the improvisatory element in performance, one which I imagine would enable performers of klezmer music to give personalized expression to their views of and concerns with things in their world.

Here, I didn’t pick up on any such threads of focus in the concert, other than the desire by the performers to present a number of attractive and enjoyable examples of the world of this music. What did come across throughout the afternoon were evocations of ritual, of gatherings of people, and of symbolic gestures. At the concert’s beginning Rebecca Struthers entered strumming the strings of her violin, followed by clarinettists Tui Clark and Phil Green, simulating a kind of processional whose mode was suggested repeatedly by various pieces in the concert. The program notes spoke of wedding ritual, which a number of pieces evoked , three of which were similarly entitled Kale Bazetsn (Seating the Bride), as did Firn di mekhutonim aheym (no translation, but the title suggesting the entry of the bridal couple’s parents).

In a number of instances the emotion of the music was palpable, such as Rebecca Struthers’ violinistic depiction of a near-hysterical bride in the first Kale Bazetsn, with Tui Clark’s clarinet chiming in for good measure, the grotesquerie of it all underlined by Ross Harris’s somewhat manic piece Narish (translated as “Silly”) being played as a kind of add-on (virtuoso playing from all concerned). Rather more dignified, though just as deeply-felt, was the sequence beginning with Vuhin gaitzu? (“Where are you going?) the flattened fifth at the piece’s beginning commented on by Ross Harris as being particularly mournful in effect, and compounded by the unison of violin and clarinet, whose timbres then by turns gave the upper reaches of the melody almost unbearable anguish, the rhythm weighted and infinitely patient in effect.

In the second “Seating of the Bride” item, Bazetsn di Kale, consisting of two transcriptions of traditional tunes by Jale Strom, the music was again a vehicle for displays of bridal weeping, the first, on Rebecca Struthers’ violin sweet and comely, the second on two clarinets raw and raucous – a more animated section toward the end featured skillful work by both clarinetists.

As with “normal” chamber music, as well as jazz, the sense of the musicians enjoying their collaboration was nicely unequivocal – in Sun, a piece adapted by a Polish Klezmer group and borrowed for this occasion, the asymmetrical 7/4 rhythm produced an interaction which had the feel of a “jam session”, the spontaneity of it all underlined by a sudden counting-call of “one-two-three-four!”, at which the piece jumped forwards excitedly, keeping the rhythmic angularity but at a faster pace. Phil Green used, I think, an alto saxophone in this piece, the timbre and colour contributing to the music’s distinctiveness.

At halftime I found myself musing on what I’d heard thus far, amongst other things in regard to the playing of Phil Green and Rebecca and Malcolm Struthers (the latter playing a double-bass), each sounding right into the idiom of this music. It struck me that these musicians were displaying executant skills they would rarely, if ever, be called upon to employ in their “other” musical lives involving membership of the NZSO (and, of course, Tui Clark, the other clarinetist, was no stranger to orchestral work as well). I couldn’t help reflecting how ironic it was that these musicians’ energies and impulses of vital and colorful music-making seemed so overlaid in a normal orchestral setting. It didn’t seem altogether right that these elements should be allowed to sink more-or-less below the closely-monitored oceanic surface of corporate music-making.

But these somewhat contentious thoughts were short-lived, as they were peripheral to the real business in hand – and the concert’s second half gave as much delight as did the first – beginning with the ‘serious fun” of Ross Harris’s own Vaygeshray, an adaptation of a movement from his Four Laments for Solo Clarinet, which I had heard premiered in 2010, and was here played in a two-clarinet version by Phil Green and Tui Clark. This was music coursing through veins as life-blood, and meeting all kinds of stimuli, bringing about both adulteration and purification – focused, and concentrated, and to the point.

It was an interesting foil for the dance that followed – Makonovetski’s Zhok, a traditional Roumanian dance (a “zhok” is a 3/4 dance, similar, we were told, to the Yiddish hora). Compared with the quiet circumspection of Ross Harris’s piece, this throbbed with a kind of dignified emotion, the dance coloured by a kind of “weeping” sound, with a cadenza-like episode for the first clarinet and some recitative-like interaction between the second clarinet and solo violin, before the return of the processional – again, a sense of ritual was predominant.

To mention all the pieces would be to write tiresomely for pages and pages, though there were things that couldn’t be passed over completely – the almost schizophrenic contrast between the madap Voglenish (Wandering) and the following Melancolia, for example. Both were written by Ross Harris, the first delightfully Keystone-Cops-like, with lovely “bending” and “curdling” of tones from both clarinet and violin, and finishing unexpectedly with a witty snipped-off ascending phrase from the violin; and the second a kind of “sad clown” portrait, the music and playing filled with bemusement and pathetic gesturing.

The final bracket of pieces featured some virtuso playing from all concerned, the rapid-fire Breaza ca pe Arges (the names of two towns in Roumania) demanding energy and agility from both clarinets, a short, sharp and exciting Hora-Staccato-like Rukhelleh, and a full-on, closely-meshed piece Loz’n Gang (translated as “To set off”) requiring great precision and poise, and finishing with a quiet disappearing phrase. The audience was, however, merciless in its appreciation, and demanded an encore, which was forthcoming. Its title I didn’t get, but it certainly turned out to be a whirling dervish of a dance, driven by modulatory swerves from the accordion in places, and winding up with a satisfyingly concerted flourish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sergey Malov and Michael Houstoun – capturing the ebb and flow

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Chamber Music Hutt Valley presents:

SERGEY MALOV (violin/viola) and MICHAEL HOUSTOUN (piano)

SCHUBERT – Sonata in A Minor “Arpeggione” D.821 / JS BACH – Violincello Suite No.3 in C Major

SCHUMANN – Violon Sonata No.1 in A MInor Op.105 / PAGANINI – “La Campanella” (finale of Violin Concerto No.2)

Little Theatre, Lower Hutt

Friday 22nd June 2012

Rarely does a concert begin more poetically than when Schubert’s music is involved – or so it always seems at the time. The opening exchanges between piano and, in this case, viola, of the intriguingly-named “Arpeggione” Sonata brought their own resonance and warmth to the somewhat ungrateful acoustic of the Lower Hutt Little Theatre, thanks to both pianist Michael Houstoun’s and violist Sergey Malov’s lyrical, deeply-felt playing.

Schubert’s “Arpeggione” Sonata was so-called because of the music’s original commission for the so-named six-stringed instrument, one rather like a viola da gamba but fretted like a guitar. Its repertoire is today nearly always played on either a viola or ‘cello, though I have heard of moves afoot to reintroduce the beast for our interest and, hopefully, pleasure.

In particular, Malov’s viola sound had that quality shared by the playing of all great instrumentalists, at once a rich, mellow quality, but one that would sharpen its focus at moments along the musical line, indicating the strength of the thought behind the music-making. And no better a chamber-music partner here, than Michael Houstoun, whose sensitive, yet equally-focused playing seemed a perfect mirror for Malov’s intensities.

What struck me in particular was the intimacy of the musical discourse in places, the readiness of both players to draw their listeners in – but never self-consciously. One always felt the sensation of a composer’s thoughts and dreams flooding the places we were taken, a full gamut of expression, with nothing denied the chance to have its say. My notes are filled with comments such as “so spontaneous-sounding” and “wondrous flexibility of phrasing”, folllowed by “dreaming and introspective” and “communicating sheer enjoyment” – all impressions that defy analysis, but were foremost for me in the concert’s experience.

Following the Schubert, the Bartok Solo Violin Sonata was scheduled, but to our surprise Sergey Malov re-entered still carrying his viola. He asked the audience’s pardon, but said that he thought, after consultation with Michael Houstoun, that the hall’s sound with such a near-capacity audience would not serve the Bartok well, and so he proposed to play for us instead one of JS Bach’s solo ‘Cello Suites on his viola. Having enjoyed the Schubert, I was glad to have more of the viola’s attractively mellow voice, and agreeably pleased to hear how eloquently the instrument in Malov’s hands traversed the figurations of one of these works – in fact the Third Suite in C Major.

This was music-making which underlined the idea that, in Baroque music, the instrumental timbres and colours for different works seemed to matter far less than the player’s basic musicianship in bringing these things to life. At no point did I find myself thinking, “Oh, that comes off better on the ‘cello”, due to such care regarding note-values and overall phrasing being taken throughout by the player. Not that the approach was a literal “cross every “t” and dot every “i”, as Malov’s playing had a strongly-projected sense of freedom and spontaneity with whatever he did. Predominantly rhythmic movements were deliciously and pliably pointed (I enjoyed the occasional ambiguity of the music’s propulsion in the third movement), and Malov relished the near-strident “pulling the cat’s tail” couple of notes which Bach uses to induce tension during the last of the movements.

For the second half we moved slightly upwards in our listening, to the violin – Malov gave us Schumann’s First Sonata in A minor, a lovely performance from both violinist and pianist, rich, dark, agitated and unquiet throughout the ever-striving opening. Schumann writes such passionate melodies that often remain open-ended, heightening the longing for fulfillment, a super-sensitivity, but expressed in an entirely human way. Again I was taken with Michael Houstoun’s sensitive playing, ever alive to what his partner was doing and acting and reacting accordingly.

Though there’s lyrical warmth aplenty throughout certain moments, other episodes In Schumann’s chamber music can sound somewhat dour, with near-obessive repetition risking monotony. Such wasn’t the case here, as violinist and pianist brought so much light and shade to their voicing and interactive phrasings. And they brought out all the Allegretto second movement’s whimsical qualities, taking time to allow the brief German forest-echo sequence some resonance, before the opening’s reprise. The finale, though serious and purposeful, was kept nimble and buoyant, the dialogues between violin and piano beautiful synchronized, with the players bringing out singing lines in the midst of great energies.

The programme’s final listed item was Paganini’s “La Campanella”, taken from the finale of the composer’s Second Violin Concerto. This was a kind of extra-musical treat, with the composer most obviously out to entertain, delight, astonish, stupefy and generally gobsmack his audiences by requiring all kinds of instrumental pyrotechnics from his soloist. Occasionally there was some music, the famous theme, no less! – but it tended to be forgotten amid the breathholding double-stopped harmonics, the left-handed pizzicati, and the double-stopped legato phrasings ascending and descending. Michael Houstoun orchestrated his part wonderfully in places, but generally provided a solid foundation for Malov’s (and Paganini’s) violinistic flights of fancy.

After these heady entertainments, Sergey Malov seemed to rethink in part his decision to not attempt the Bartok Sonata, because as an encore he played part of the work, which, after the technical coruscations of the Paganini, actually fell more gratefully that one might have expected on our ears. I think this was perhaps because he had by this time “played in” both himself and his audience, to the point where he felt he could give us anything – our listening had been ‘fine-tuned” most satisfactorily, or so it seemed.

The exerpt from the sonata had a furtive, “pursued” aspect at the start, with the violinist having to jump back and forth between registers in places. When muted, the strings took on an even more shadowy, haunted character, a compelling world of sound thrown into relief by the soulful, pleading mute-removed lines which vie with the scampering music at the end. By the time he had finished we all wished he had in fact played the whole Bartok work after all – in retrospect, at the end of the concert would have been an ideal place because of that “playing-in” phenomenon which would have worked similar wonders with any demanding piece of modern or near-contemporary music.

So – a wonderful concert, one I will enjoy for ages to come, long after those actual sounds have died away. How marvellous to have heard a string player of such calibre, and with a pianist who brought his customary focus and beautifully appointed technical finish to a partnership of equals.

Interesting and admirable piano trios from NZSO players at St Mark’s Lower Hutt

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Schubert: Piano Trio in B flat, Op.99, D.898, first movement, (allegro moderato)
Shostakovich: Piano Trio no.2 in E minor, 3rd and 4th movements (largo-allegretto)

Anne Loeser, violin, Sally Pollard, cello, Rachel Thomson, piano

St. Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday, 20 June, 12.15pm

A superb concert by professional musicians, with an interesting programme greeted the large number of people in St. Mark’s Church.  This was the group’s first performance together; let’s hope that there will be many more.  The string players both perform with the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, while Rachel Thomson plays chamber music with other ensembles, accompanies singers, and provides orchestral piano when required by the NZSO.

One of the features was the perfect balance between the instruments; the church’s excellent acoustics enhanced the sound from the instruments, which all produced beautiful timbre.

The attractive Schubert movement was given a dynamic performance, with lovely singing tone on piano as well as on the other instruments, and exquisite shading.  The alternating benign and stormy moods in the development section of the movement were nuanced superbly.

There was fine contrast between the legato passages and those of separated notes.  There were occasional slight intonation lapses, but that is all they were.  This was Schubert at his most serene – but that serenity was frequently interrupted by other moods.

After the warm applause, Rachel Thomson spoke some words describing this movement, and also the two Shostakovich movements that followed.

Although the composer wrote 15 string quartets, he wrote only two piano trios; this one dates from 1944.  The largo is in the form of a passacaglia, and is the centre-piece of the entire work.  In places it is like an impassioned lament (written as it was after, and possibly also during the siege of Leningrad, where the composer lived and worked, although he was evacuated out of the city some time after the siege by Nazi forces began).

The third movement begins with slow, deep chords on the piano, then the violin joins in with a solemn, not to say sad, rejoinder.  The dark quality is even more enhanced when the cello enters. There is almost unbearable sadness at times, and sometimes an eerie quality.

The work goes straight into the last movement’s intriguing pizzicato dances, with a repetitive theme that I’ll try to render: daaah-de-dah-dah-dah-dah, first stated on the piano, in unison octaves.  The whole movement is strongly emotional, yet brittle and anxious, full of frenetic energy and agitation, above incessant beats on the piano, like a drum.  Melodies are sometimes the same between the players; sometimes the instruments seem to go their separate ways for a time.

There is ponticello on the strings, before they break into a strong reiteration of the theme, and of the secondary melody, incorporating harmonics on the strings.  The close brings back the solemn piano chords from the third movement, with harmonics again on the strings, as well as strumming.  Then the work simply ends, almost in mid-air.

These were fine, skilled musicians who made the most of the music and brought out the heart of the composers’ intentions.  Their performances were much appreciated by the audience.

 

Viola students of New Zealand School of Music on show at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music: viola students  – Alexa Thompson, Vincent Hardaker, Alice McIvor and John Roxburgh

Music by Carl Stamitz, Glinka, Hindemith, Walton

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 20 June, 12.15pm

This lunchtime recital was a showcase of four viola students, taught variously by Donald Maurice, Claudine Bigelow and Gillian Ansell.

Three of the four pieces were of parts of the whole. The first and second movements only of Carl Stamitz’s Concerto in D were enough, which was enough to exhibit the strength’s of Alexa Thompson, large tone, confident, relishing the big sound from her C string; inevitably there were minor intonation blemishes.

The younger Stamitz was a few years older than Mozart and echoes of his genius-contemporary, or rather, just the idiom of the period, were to be heard though, with piano accompaniments from Douglas Mews, the orchestral character was hard to gauge; the viola cadenzas however might have been envied by Mozart.  It’s melodious music but the memorableness of the latter’s melodies was hardly there.

Carl Stamitz’s music seems not to have been subject to modern cataloguing, judging by what I can find on the Internet; one site lists a viola concerto in D as his Opus 1 – this may be it.

Vincent Hardaker played just the third movement of a viola sonata by Glinka, said in the notes to sound thoroughly Russian. What impressed me however was the almost complete absence of Russian sound, either in melody or rhythm, and there was little to suggest that the composer was other than a talented student of Mozart and his lesser successors like Spohr, Ries or Hummel, for Glinka was a comfortably-off, cosmopolitan composer who was a popular figure in west European musical circles, though when he returned to Russia in the mid-1830s he was inspired to write his two great Russian operas. But his other music remained largely west European in character (pace Vladimir Putin).

Vincent was another confident, fluent player who treated the piece as a serious composition, from a composer quite at home in the classical/romantic style.

The third piece was by the most famous violist/composer of the 20th century – Hindemith. Trauermusik, which the programme note explained as the piece the composer wrote hurriedly for a London concert just after George V’s death in 1936. In four short sections, it starts with the orchestra (piano), and to begin with, sounds as if Hindemith was rather hoping that a main idea would come to him as he went along. Alice McIvor, a second year student like the two earlier players, found the right tone and her playing led to music that conveyed something of a spirit of real mourning emerge. More characteristic Hindemith sounds appear in the second movement in a  faster 3/8 tempo. She played carefully, warmly, overcoming the lack of orchestral support which was a more serious lack here than in the Stamitz. Nevertheless, Douglas Mews’s accompaniment was as well coloured and expressive here as it had been in the pieces from earlier eras.

The last piece was the Viola Concerto by Hindemith’s near-contemporary William Walton, written at Thomas Beecham’s suggestion for Lionel Tertis, the father of modern viola playing (at least in the English-speaking world). Surprisingly, Tertis totally failed to perceive its greatness and beauty and ‘rejected it by return of post’.

It’s one of Walton’s major works, his first to mark out his stature as a really important composer; and one of the relatively few really successful large-scale symphonic works, written largely in the ‘great tradition’ (to borrow literary critic F R Leavis’s term), to have come from the middle years of the 20th century. It was played by the NZSO with Nigel Kennedy in 1987 and with Tabea Zimmermann in 1995.

Two players shared the job; masters student John Roxburgh took the first two movements and Alice McIvor returned to play the last. Merely to contemplate a great work of this kind, in which the orchestral element is so important, shows considerable courage, even temerity, and I could not pretend to have had the sort of experience that I’d have had with a full-scale performance. But as far as was possible, the two violists gave it a brave and understanding exposure; and of course it was good to hear it live (for me live performance, unless grossly incompetent, is generally more satisfying than a recording), if from only two instead of 80-odd instruments; it’s 17 years since an orchestral performance here. (And so, it led to the plucking from my shelves of the splendid Kennedy/Previn/RPO recording which did sound a bit different).

It might not have been kind to have the two violists sharing the undertaking for I thought McIvor had the slight edge when it came to confidence and grasping the emotional essence of the music, but that might have been rather on account of the intrinsic character of the slow movement. But it was good to end this short concert with such a substantial piece, which did demonstrate the ambitious standards and the quality of both teachers and students at the New Zealand School of Music.

 

 

Michael Hill competition winner Malov, plus Houstoun and Brown form superb team

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Sergey Malov (violin), Ashley Brown (cello), Michael Houstoun (piano)
(Michael Hill Violin Competition and Chamber Music New Zealand)

John Psathas: Gyftiko
Beethoven: Piano Trio no.5 in D Op.70 no.1 ‘Ghost’
Ysaÿe: Sonata no.4 for solo violin
Franck: Violin Sonata in A

Wellington Town Hall

Wednesday, 13 June 2012, 7.30pm

The 17-centre tour, of which this concert was a part, was included in the awards Malov received as winner of the Michael Hill Violin Competition last year.  It provides a welcome opportunity for the rest of New Zealand to hear his talents in person; only those in Queenstown and Auckland heard them in 2011.

Prior to the concert, Ashley Brown interviewed Malov in the Town Hall’s Green Room, during which he paid tribute to the organisation and arrangements for the competition, which he enjoyed, not least the experience of staying with host families in both centres. He admitted that he was just inside the age limit for the competition, so had more experience than other competitors, and had already won other competitions.

He paid tribute, too, to Michael Houstoun, whom he described as a national treasure, and as a person so experienced in chamber music that he could be very flexible, and as well as offering suggestions, could adopt ‘my sometimes crazy ideas’.

He spoke of his other instruments, the viola and the violoncello da spalla.  Malov also explained the Psathas work (for solo violin), which he said he enjoyed playing.  The title meant ‘gypsy’, and the work was improvisatory and non-classical, written especially for the violin competition.  He described it as wild, without clichés.  In a radio interview, he said that it was not appropriate to play it with a beautiful sound all the time.

It began with left-hand pizzicato interspersing the bowed lines.  The technical demands and violin techniques included the use of harmonics, double-stopping and very fast passages.  The gypsy fiddler was never far away.  Malov was very much on top of the work, and gave a riveting performance.

Beethoven’s ‘Ghost’ Trio received its nickname from a member of the public at the first performance, in reference to passages in the second movement.  Malov described it as joyous and wild, and shocking in its key changes, so not all is calm and beautiful. It is one of Beethoven’s most compelling and involving works of chamber music.  A composer-contemporary of Beethoven’s called it ‘… of great power and originality”.

The opening unison passage revealed the beautiful tone from both stringed instruments.  Then, typical of Beethoven, we were straight into the soul of the work.  There were impressive dynamic contrasts, portraying changes of mood.  The development of the first movement (allegro vivace con brio) and its themes was full of subtlety, but also drive.  Each iteration of the noble theme was exquisitely played. Phrasing was completely in accord between the performers.

The largo assai et expressivo second movement features the slow, spooky build-up that is the origin of the trio’s nickname.  Low grumblings on the piano and slow, quiet notes on the strings seem to hint that drama is to come.  There is a gradual increase in tempo and volume.  However, though the intensity increases, there is still no release from the slowly building tension.  It is almost anguish that is expressed before slow chords bring the end of the movement.

The finale is not explosive, but a good-humoured lively presto.  It is like a jolly conversation between three equals.  The music becomes very busy, but remains lyrical.  There are many fast passages for piano, brought off with immaculate accuracy, sensitivity and imperturbability by Houstoun.  The numerous climaxes are always followed by gentle episodes before the end is reached – was Beethoven teasing us with false endings?

Ysaÿe was the most noted  violinist of his time (1858-1931).  He had superlative skill, and a vast reputation.  He took up conducting in later life, and composition; he was known as the pioneer of twentieth century violin playing, and composed in a number of genres, but principally for the violin.

His solo sonata no.4 was inspired by Bach solo sonatas, and this is very apparent in every movement: Allemanda, Sarabande and Finale.  While the opening was not particularly Bach-like, the movement soon proceeded into a style echoing the great baroque composer, with chords and simple progressions.  This apparent simplicity was deceptive; looking at all the hand positions needed by the violinist to play the music (which he did without a score), one appreciated the technical difficulties.  The movement  ended in unison.

The second movement opened with pizzicato, then a lengthy passage of double-stopping unfolded as two melodies played against each other.  Ethereal harmonics and pizzicato towards the end gave the dance-like movement a delicate quality.

The final movement was fast and virtuosic, and again very reminiscent of J.S. Bach.  It was almost a perpetuum mobile for much of its length.  A couple (but only a couple) of notes were not quite on the spot, in this demanding work.  Despite the tempo, Malov had great variety of timbre and dynamics through a great range of pitch (greater than Bach would have employed).

Franck dedicated his sonata, written late in his life, to Ysaÿe.  Both were Belgian-born.  The opening movement (allegretto) featured very lyrical playing, with nuance and a great range of tonal colours.

The allegro second movement begins with the deeper, more sonorous notes of the violin, sometimes sounding like a viola.  There is much prestidigitation for the pianist.

This work is not a favourite of mine; I have heard it too often, so that it no longer speaks to me, nor sounds inspired.  But Malov and Houstoun invested it with a degree of charm and depth.  Gentle passages were very light, yet well controlled.

The recitative of the third movement opened in questioning mode, and gradually worked towards a reply in the fantasia part of that movement, with its slow start then strong theme.

Finally came the allegretto poco mosso, with its return to the theme of the first movement, varied and elaborated in canon between the instruments.  There’s no doubt that Malov and Houstoun played the sonata superbly well.

For an encore, Malov came back with his viola, which he played in a solo Capriccio by Vieuxtemps, another Belgian, who was responsible for getting Ysaÿe started on his career.  It was pleasing to hear the different instrument, which sounded sombre after the sweetness of Malov’s violin.  The piece featured chords and double-stopping.

To say that Malov is a sensitive, imaginative and immensely accomplished violinist is perhaps not the most remarkable thing.  What is remarkable is the way in which he, Michael Houstoun and Ashley Brown formed a superb team.  Three programmes are being performed on this tour, which is unusual for a visiting artist; in three centres the Beethoven trio is scheduled.

Malov’s playing was marked by purity and sweetness of tone, in addition to his complete command of the instrument, and apparent enthusiasm for his art.  He should have an eminent career.  There was unanimity among the people I spoke to after the concert as to the enjoyable programme and the high standard of playing we had been treated to by Sergey Malov and Michael Houstoun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Revolutionary Beethoven from the NZSQ

Posted on by Peter Mechen

NEW ZEALAND STRING QUARTET

BEETHOVEN – “Revolution” – The Middle Quartets

String Quartets Op.59 No.3 in C Major “Razumovsky”

Op.74 in E-flat “Harp” / Op.95 in F Minor “Serioso”

New Zealand String Quartet :  Helene Pohl, Douglas Beilman (violins)

Gillian Ansell (viola) / Rolf Gjelsten (‘cello)

Genesis Energy Theatre, Classical Expressions, Upper Hutt

Monday, 11th June 2012

This was the second in a two-concert presentation by the New Zealand String Quartet of what are popularly thought of as Beethoven’s “middle period” string quartets. The first concert had featured the opening two of the set of three “Razumovsky” Quartets Op.59, which the group had taken to various venues around the country – as they had done earlier in the year with the Op.18 “Early” Quartets. This time round we got the third “Razumovsky”, followed by Op.74 “the Harp”, and Op.95, the “Serioso” quartets – riches indeed!

The printed program for the concert didn’t on this occasion carry the NZSQ’s own defining subtitle “Revolution” for their “middle quartets” traversal, which was surprising – the name certainly suited aspects of each of the works we heard, and especially so throughout these rigorously-conceived, and utterly absorbing readings. True to form, the NZSQ seemed to leave none of Beethoven’s compositional stones unturned throughout its search for the essence of this music’s greatness.

Of course, this isn’t the first time the quartet has played these works, though it’s been over ten years since their previous Beethoven “project” in which they played the whole cycle – they recorded just two of the “Razumovsky” Quartets shortly afterwards, but unfortunately there have been no more. Perhaps this current undertaking, again featuring all of the Beethovens, will inspire a further round of recordings (at the very least Op.130, please, with both of its finales!) – one would imagine concertgoers in the wake of these performances up and down the land wanting to relive the excitements and pleasures of such vital and inspired music-making!

So, my task in the course of this review is to try and come to grips with just what is it that made this quartet’s playing for me so distinctive and compelling in these works. By what alchemic means could these players, over the space of three very different Beethoven quartets, so readily take themselves and their listeners into what seemed like the pulsing heart of both the music and its composer?

In the first place, nothing got in the way of those sounds for us – at the outset, the clarity and corresponding lack of resonance in the theatre might have disconcerted at first, but then increasingly delighted one’s sensibilities as the music proceeded.. And the stage’s empty, though evocatively-lit spaces reminded one of photographs of 1950s and 60s Bayreuth productions by Wieland Wagner – creating a similarly timeless and open backdrop against which music and performance could speak their own truths without distraction.

The opening sounds of the “Harp” Quartet Op.74 provided another clue – the hymn-like harmonies were voiced by the players with attractively grainy tones, drawing attention to the separate voices as much as to to their blended sound. Here, and throughout the slow movement, the melodic lines had a “throaty” quality, the players’ sounds never bland or expressing beauty for its own sakes’, but always characterful. I liked how, in the second movement, the melodic lines were “sung’ by everyone in a democratic spirit, the differently-voiced impulses, as before, both blending and maintaining their individuality.

Beethoven’s well-known dictum of the idea counting more than its execution often came into play, with the players spiralling their whirling individual and concerted lines in the first movement with tremendous verve, their articulation appropriately vertiginous, more dangerous- than clean-sounding in two or three places.

Then again in the scherzo, the chunkiness of the players’ rhythm contrasted tellingly with the furious pace in the trio sections, the effect properly exhilarating, and giving the music a driven, possessed quality. By contrast, the final variation movement brought from the players both good-humoured interactions (jog-trot and cantering sequences) and solo singing (some duskily attractive viola tones), and a growing physical excitement which overflowed from the bubbling textures and raced the music to a nicely abrupt ending.

Op. 95 in F Minor, the “Serioso” followed, a work regarded by its composer as “one for connoisseurs…..never to be performed in public”. Though Beethoven presumably meant what he said at the time, modern listeners can readily enjoy the composer’s “experiment” as a precursor of the quartets that were to follow – still, the work remains a tough nut to crack in performance, packing a great deal into a condensed framework.

The NZSQ engaged with the work’s terse, energetic opening on a thrillingly visceral level, without ever suggesting mere virtuosic display – pin-point concerted attack, great explosions of energised tones, trenchant growlings from the lower instruments – all served to throw into relief the discourse’s somewhat anxious and unsettled lyrical episodes. Just as focused, here, and satisfyingly contrasted, was the group’s playing of the slow movement, with its spacious, exploratory fugal episodes, and solemn ‘cello-led processionals to and from sequences of great beauty.

All was peremptorily cast aside by the scherzo’s impatient calls for attention, the composer allowing no let-up of intensity, and the players complying with interest. And my notes record as well the group’s wonderfully organic lurching into the somewhat stricken waltz-theme of the finale, and the feel of those bows biting into the strings throughout those storm-beset scrubbings which erupted from the music’s textures.

Of course, Beethoven trumps all of these things with an almost maniacally-conceived coda, whose on-the-face-of-things incongruity has exercised many a critical mind and pen over the years, and which had here a properly quixotic effect on many listeners. I wondered whether the composer was, consciously or otherwise, simply following the dictum of life being a tragedy to the heart and a comedy to the intellect – whatever the case, the NZSQ presented the music’s volte-face with all the gusto and energy that it required.

After a welcome luftpause we all awaited the third of the Op.59 Razumovsky Quartets, with those wonderfully unresolved chordings at the beginning, which the group here recreated as a kind of frozen sound-world of unfulfilled impulses – the stillness made the sudden spark of momentum all the more telling, again, like tragedy turned to comedy, or stasis suddenly galvanised as pure energy, underlined by the players’ full-bodied but sharp-edged responses to the music.

The sheer exuberance of the Allegro Vivace of this movement fully vindicated another aspect of the Quartet’s performances which I’ve appreciated so much over the years, the physical choreography of having three of the quartet players standing while playing (except, of course, the ‘cellist, though he rarely sits perfectly still, having to cover a good deal of physical instrumental “ground”). Being able to express the music with one’s whole body (in a sense, “making the Word Flesh”, so to speak) must have some effect upon the sound that body produces. And, for me, the visual effect is that the music is choreographed in an abstracted but still meaningful and relevant way, almost another form of reading music, if you like (perhaps that’s why, being a non-scorereader, I like it so much).

Lovely pizzicato notes from the ‘cello began the slow movement, helping project the sombre mood, one which the composer so engagingly drew back to allow the sunlight in for those few measures of major-key relief. And though the ‘cello took us by the hand and gently returned us to those darker realms once again, the memory of the sunlight kept returning, one which the solo violin stretched towards so eloquently – and oh! – those encircling pizzicato notes from the ‘cello, which kept the music on its orbit, despite the occasional irruption, so soft and inwardly resonant!

An “old-fashioned” Minuet charmed us with its grace and elegance, though the players then seemed to relish all the more the Trio’s angular fanfares with their off-the-beat accents. With the dance ended, the ‘cello took the lead in the direction of what appeared at first to be a twilight zone, but whose unsmiling mask couldn’t hold in check for more than a few measures such a joyous eruption of energy and movement as to sweep away all previous darkness and trouble.

It was a finale in which we heard “laughter holding both his sides” as a manifestation of creative heroism, the players lining up with the composer in pushing themselves to the edges of abandonment with the proverbial skin-and-hair flying, and we in the audience right on the edges of our seats. And that was, finally, the pudding’s proof – that we were all bundled up and transported by the same energy-source as were these musicians into realms of delight and awareness of the importance of certain things.

So – something special and memorable, here, its essence worth trying to convey in words, however much this writer is conscious of falling short of doing. But as much as I can imagine any composer’s spirit being caught in performance, this was a concert of music-making which, in its potent mix of skilful execution and vivid characterisation, for me did just that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martin Rummel, cello and Stephen de Pledge, piano in highly successful programme for Wellington Chamber Music

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Beethoven: Cello Sonata in C, Op 102 No 1; Schnittke: Sonata No 1 for cello and piano; Stravinsky: Suite Italienne; Shostakovich: Cello Sonata in D minor, Op 40

Ilott Theatre, Town Hall

Sunday 10 June 3pm

It sounded as if De Pledge and Rummel had decided to keep the best till last – the best rehearsed, that is. The second, third and fourth items were excellent.

Beethoven’s C major sonata is unusually short (about 15 minutes) and has an unusual shape; the cello opens alone, presenting a sad, descending motif that, as the piano joined, became a sharing of intimacies between the two; it had real charm. But as that passage drew to a close and the much more forthright Allegro vivace took over, there was an uncomfortable disconnect between cello and piano, the latter seeming unaware of the imbalance that resulted from its impact. Often the two instruments echo each other, at other times the two are almost at odds and care has to be taken to assure a unity of feeling, rather than what I felt to be the piano tending to assert its primacy.

Perhaps the lid should be down, but in the later pieces where the balance was perfectly measured, De Pledge showed that he could get quiet and sympathetic sounds with the lid on the long stick.

Added to that was an occasional smudge or missed note in the piano.

The second movement, particularly the final section, another Allegro vivace, was affected in the same way, with the piano dominating, making too much, for example, of the sudden fortissimo chords that recur. Though, in a spirit of fairness, I wondered whether the cellist should be sharing the blame, I concluded eventually that the cello was following the composer’s intentions scrupulously.

Having gone on at undue length about the first quarter hour, I must now exclaim about the excellence of the rest of the afternoon. I have not been completely won over to Schnittke’s poly-stylistic vein, but the first cello sonata suggests the styles of different eras in a coherent, integral way. Again, the cello makes its entry alone, somewhat anguished, which the piano soon picks up. The two instruments seemed in warm accord, hearing each other with complete understanding; I enjoyed the rhapsodic cello passage with discreet punctuations by the piano.

The stark dynamic contrasts between cello and piano in the second, Presto, movement were splendidly pronounced; the piano often had a more commanding role here, too, but the sense of a carefully prepared approach was always evident. So it was with the cello’s upward, singing line in the concluding Largo and the piano’s exquisite pianissimo phrases. In their hands, the last movement was a most interesting, engaging experience.

Martin Rummel entertained the audience with some piquant anecdotes about Stravinsky, making comparisons with between the written language employed by him and Prokofiev; I forget the pretext, but the matter was interesting, even amusing: Prokofiev abbreviated to the point of eliminating all vowels while Stravinsky’s language was always meticulous.

The Stravinsky suite, drawn from his ballet Pulcinella, could have been originally written for these players and indeed, one could feel that the music of Pergolesi’s contemporaries which was then thought to be by the latter, was Stravinsky’s natural idiom. Here again, balance between the two instruments was admirable, and they conveyed in a fluent, warm manner, the dancing spirit that imbued most of the pieces, even through the unruly rhythms of the Tarantella. Stravinsky was never a composer to follow tradition slavishly and in the Minuet the players stretched normal expectations in a way that was both cavalier and sentimental.

Shostakovich’s cello sonata, from the early 1930s, is one of his best known chamber works, well-furnished with melody as well as with its constantly interesting developments and the opportunities that Rummel and De Pledge grasped to make the most of the great variety of articulation and expressive devices that Shostakovich provides. The vivid and lively scherzo-style second movement came off particularly well, enriched by the combination of a traditional framework in an idiom that could not have existed before the advent of Stravinsky and Prokofiev. It rather overshadowed the following Largo. In the finale, both instruments had their moments of supremacy but the running was pretty evenly balanced, with marcato cello passages giving way to careering scales in the piano.

So ended a splendid programme in which the only 19th century piece emerged as rather less successful and memorable than the three works from the 20th century.

 

 

 

Megan Ward launches 2012 Hutt lunchtime series with Bach on viola

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Megan Ward – viola, B Mus honours student at New Zealand School of Music

Bach’s Cello Suite No 5 in C minor, transcribed for viola

St Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 6 June, 12.15pm

The long-standing series of lunchtime concerts at Lower Hutt has started; they run through till the end of October.

Bach instructed players of his fifth cello suite to tune the A string down a whole tone, to G, so the score shows notes that would be played on the A string a tone higher than they actually sound. The viola is tuned exactly an octave higher than the cello, so A is also the viola’s highest string.

The suite normally lasts about 25 minutes, but Megan Ward used the balance of the three-quarters of an hour to talk about the work and to pause after each movement to comment on the next. Thus there was clapping after each movement, which would have been conventional at the time of composition. That convention matched Megan’s approach to the playing which she explained was to follow aspects of baroque practice, though not slavishly. I don’t think she played on gut strings, but she did draw attention to the baroque bow, its convex shape, which produces different sounds at its heel and toe from those at the middle.

And she reminded us that all movements but the opening Praeludium had their origins in dances, but that most had moved some distance from being suitable for dancing.

Megan also drew attention to her use of ornamentation, an essential element in baroque performance. The effect, evident from the beginning of the Praeludium, was of playing that was more fluctuating, more suggesting the unevenness of human breath, in tone and dynamics; these characteristics also led the player to greater freedom of tempo, responding to the shapes of phrases as well as the hints implicit in her ornamentation.

She invited us to hear the next movement, Allemande, as song rather than dance, and the combination of a very slow pace (I’d guess around crotchet = 40 rather than the more common 55 or 60) and fluctuating rhythms left that in no doubt. It was also an opportunity to notice the generous acoustic qualities of this high-gabled church that enhanced the sustained lyrical quality of the movement.  Her ornaments sounded as if written down by Bach himself.

The Courante ran a bit faster than I expected, and Megan’s baroque interpretation meant a certain irregularity, even jerkiness, of rhythm, but there was no loss of beauty in her tone and clean articulation.

Many movements of the cello suites have attracted film makers over the years; the Sarabande gained some fame among connoisseurs when it was used on the sound-track of Ingmar Berman’s last film, Saraband. Megan approached it scrupulously, slowly, exploring its melancholy character, in a tempo that was almost too unvarying; she used no ornamentation, but she varied her dynamics artfully.

The two Gavottes offered a lively contrast, in the first, perhaps over-emphasing the first beat in the bar and passing up some of the phrasing details. The second Gavotte involved much fast fingerwork, very accomplished, but lacked the last degree of clarity.

It was a bit like her speech which was inclined to be too fast and not always clear.

Introducing the final movement, Gigue, she set our minds at rest by saying she was not striving for authenticity above all, but just to have a good time, and that was clear from the tumbling, fun-loving variety that avoided monotony.

She filled the last few minutes with an equally accomplished performance of the Sarabande from the second suite.

Not only does Megan Ward show impressive talent as a violist, but she has also a talent for talking intelligently and interestingly about things.

 

Flute, oboe and cello give delightful lunchtime recital at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Bach: Sonata in G major, BWV 1039
Beethoven: Variations on ‘La ci darem la mano’
Ginastera: Duo for flute and oboe
Haydn: Trio no.3 in G major

Nikau Trio (Karen Batten, flute; Madeline Sakofsky, oboe; Margaret Guldborg, cello)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 6 June 2012, 12.15pm

Another day of atrocious weather in Wellington, nevertheless the audience was of a reasonable size at this delightful concert.

Despite using modern instruments, the trio managed to make an almost baroque sound in the Bach sonata – quite gorgeous. The slow-fast-slow-fast movements all had their appeal, particularly the third, adagio e piano, which had a pastoral quality. The players were notable for their absolute accuracy and very good cohesion.

Beethoven made an arrangement of Mozart’s well-known aria from his opera Don Giovanni that might have amazed the original composer, with its inventive variety.  Though Beethoven’s original combination of instruments was not what we heard, it has been performed by numbers of different combinations of three instruments.

The theme was stated in a lovely pianissimo, followed by the dance-like first variation with its dotted rhythm.  The second variation featured flowing cello quavers as accompaniment to the other two players, in mellifluous harmony.

The variations were successively fast and slow; in all, the writing for the instruments was delightfully interwoven.  One in a minor key developed the theme in interesting harmonic ways.  Then there was a variation in syncopated time.  The ingeniousness of Beethoven’s ways of varying the theme was astonishing.  Some sounded quite modern, with stresses on passing notes, and humorous treatments, such as in the last variation, with its mock-serious ending.

This trio’s spot-on ensemble was notable again in the Ginastera work in three movements: Sonata, Pastorale (serene but with a plaintive quality), and Fuga (a dance-like movement; sprightly, with a jokey ending).  A leading Latin American composer, Ginastera died as recently as 1983.  He incorporated folk melodies in his neo-classical music such as here.

Haydn’s trio was originally written for two flutes and cello, but lost nothing in its arrangement for this combination.  One of Haydn’s ‘London’ trios, this was thoroughly charming in what Karen Batten described as ‘a sunny key’.  The Spiritoso first movement was indeed spirited, but also lilting and tuneful.  The Andante that followed was more serious; the players were in beautiful accord.  The Allegro finale was cheerful, exploiting the instruments brilliantly, revealing the range and variety of timbre of each instrument.

The entire recital was one of wholly engaging and enlivening music.

 

STROMA – Percussion/Action in small but compelling doses

Posted on by Peter Mechen

STROMA – Soundbytes III

Works by Beat Furrer, Manuela Meier, Andrew Ford and Toru Takemitsu

Lenny Sakofsky / Jeremy Fitzsimmons / Bruce McKinnon (percussion)

Adam Auditorium, City Gallery, Wellington

Saturday 2nd June 2012

Stroma’s 2012 concert formats are taking in both larger, standardized happenings called “Headliners”, which feature well-known performers and works by established composers, and briefer, concentrated concerts of less than an hour’s duration called “Soundbytes” – the group’s publicity referred to these events as “aural degustations”, a term which had me reaching for my dictionary, illiterate peasant that I am, to be summarily enlightened – and yes, these in this “Soundbyte” under consideration, were tasty sound-snacks indeed!

New to me, though open since 2009 (where has this reviewer been, of late?) was the venue, a space called the “Adam Auditorium” located on the ground floor of the Wellington City Gallery. I loved being in the space, and thought the acoustic and ambience served the music-making well, marrying sound and sight with pleasing directness. Because of the pronounced auditorium “rake” almost everybody in the audience could clearly see what the players were doing to conjure up their panoply of sounds, giving the concert something of a specific gestural, or even choreographic, element.

Being a determined advocate for the audio-only listening experience, I’m surprised to find myself stressing this aspect of the presentation, though the relative novelty (when compared to one’s normal concert-going experiences) of encountering percussion ensembles means that one is more than usually interested in what is actually happening on the concert platform. Our three percussionists on this occasion didn’t disappoint, with plenty of variety of sound and movement served up for our delight by way of whirling us through four very distinctive musical experiences in an all-too-brief concert.

Actually, I thought the brevity of this “Soundbyte” experience had the positive effect of leaving us with appetites sharpened for more, which the “degustation” definition certainly implies. I confess to not really coming to grips with the first of the items, however, finding Beat Furrer’s sound-world a mystery, one which gently repulsed any kind of construct or attitude I strove to place around the sounds I heard along the way (I was pleased to read in the program afterwards of the composer’s “predilection for refinement and restraint”, qualities I found in the music almost to a fault!).

Not that I was overly worried about indulging myself in enjoyment of the sounds, but afterwards wondered how I could convey something of the experience of Beat Furrer’s Music for Mallets in words – it felt as if a patient, gradually unfolding soundscape grew from the first few minutes of the work, with sudden impulses of tone precursors of more frequent irruptions of energy which enlivened the textures somewhat, even if the music’s pulsing spent a lot of the work “underground”. A freer, more volatile episode followed, rapid glissandi and other figurations, staking out the land, though the sense of something restrained, evanescent and mysterious remained, embedded in the music’s character, and making a lasting impression.

By contrast, Stroma administrator Manuela Meier’s 2012 work Cada bristled with movement and impulse, throughout, the antiphonal exchanges between the two percussionists a delight to the senses. Again, the seating configuration allowing us to really “get involved” with the players’ physical gesturing and form a relationship between different sounds’ cause and effect. The composer treated us to a plethora of timbres and colours and what seemed to our “insectified” ears like a stunning range of dynamics, from the whisperings of wood against a smooth metal edge to the harsh complaints of friction-making textured metal surfaces worked upon by the same hard sticks. It all had the feeling of some kind of inner reality, akin to the flowing of blood, impulsings of a nervous system or an intelligence network processing sensory responses. This was the piece’s first-ever performance in public.

Andrew Ford’s Composition in blue, grey and pink for solo percussionist gave Lenny Sakofsky a chance to demonstrate his considerable performance skills. Taken from a larger work for flute and percussion and arranged as a stand-alone movement, it places the performer at a kind of drum-kit arrangement as if in control of the flight-deck of an enormous flying machine. Content-wise, the piece is extremely theatrical in its soliloquy-like structure, completely in accordance with a certain improvisatory air (intended by the composer, who leaves certain decisions to the player, such as the choice of drumsticks, and the dynamics throughout).

The opening episode is almost like a jumble of thoughts, as if emotion is trying to sort out an order of saying or a coherent overall shape – so we get fast and chatty sequences, but within a fragmented discourse. Slow and sinister follows, a different view of the material, or else a change in its ambient surroundings, contrasting with a sequence of brittle scintillations, whose short, questioning coda concludes with a final flourish. Both sounds and the player’s choreography of performance were totally absorbing, with never a void moment.

One doesn’t have to be a camp follower of percussion concerts to encounter the music of Toru Takemitsu, as this same work, Rain Tree, was heard during a concert given by the NZSO Soloists in March of this year (the same concert which featured Shchedrin’s entertaining, reworked and re-orchestrated take on Bizet’s Carmen). On that occasion I remember the music being somewhat marred by excessively-projected lighting of each instrumentalist – the systematic spotlighting was meant to synchronize with the music, but for me it was all too visually “loud”, and thus proved a fatal distraction. Significantly, Takemitsu himself is on record as having supervised a performance of his work with similar lighting, but then commenting afterwards that he found the effect “too distracting”.

Here, most thankfully, there were no such lighting manipulations, the musical impulses allowed to speak for themselves throughout the piece. Again, the characteristics of the auditorium enabled us to connect directly with the three players and their instrumental gesturings – Takemitsu’s title for the piece, Rain Tree refers to a tree described in a novel by Japanese author Kenzaburo Oe The Ingenious Rain Tree, one which, because of the thickness of its foliage “stores” water from rain and continues to water the ground long after the rain itself has ceased. The work reflects this process, the raindrops depicted by use of the crotales (antique cymbals) build up towards a cascade, with the marimbas alternating the whole while, and the vibraphone providing a kind of underlying foundation. Some of these were gorgeous sounds, both when isolated (the crotales) and when interactive – the marimbas woody and solidly ambient, the vibraphone all air and water.

The evening’s music and its performance, along with the venue and its warmly attractive ambience, all came together beautifully to make this Stroma concert yet another one to remember with great pleasure.