Tag: chamber music

Innovative, impressive concert by Brentano Quartet

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Chamber Music New Zealand

Renaissance pieces by Byrd and Gibbons (arranged for string quartet by Mark Steinberg): Haydn: String Quartet in D minor Op.103; Haydn: Chorale, Der Greis, Hob. XXVc:5 (arranged for string quartet by Mark Steinberg); Hartke: Night Songs for a Desert Flower; Beethoven: String Quartet no.15 in A minor Op. 132

Brentano String Quartet (Mark Steinberg and Serena Canin, violins, Misha Amory, viola, Nina Lee, cello)

Wellington Town Hall

Sunday, 12 June 2011, 5.00pm

The first surprise in this concert was that the quartet was to play arrangements of works for voices by Byrd and Gibbons. Never fear, this was no romantic send-up; the musicians played their instruments as if they were viols. The lack of vibrato and the method of bowing made them sound like authentic instruments of the composers’ time. As Mark Steinberg’s programme note pointed out, playing from a chest of viols was a pastime indulged in by Elizabethan friends, and vocal music must have often been played in this way in private homes.

The simpler, more austere plainchant-based Byrd works contrasted with the freer, inventive Fantasias of Gibbons. Their more active, dance-like quality was most enjoyable. It was delightful to hear these works in a ‘regular’ concert. They were tuneful, sprightly and thoughtful by turns.

An interesting facet was that Steinberg held his violin more like the usual way a treble viol is held, throughout the concert – but he gets a wondrous sound, in no way restricted or less than full.

The quartet as a whole makes a splendid sound. A quote form a review in 2010: “Their tones match perfectly, and they play seamlessly – handing off melodies to one another so that you can’t tell where one instrument stops and the next starts. They play as if listening to one heartbeat.” The most distinctive sound in the group was the viola, played by Misha Amory. His rich, bewitching sound had character and depth.

‘Der Greis’ (the old man), is a song that Haydn wrote late in his life. At the informative pre-concert talk by Kate Mead of Radio New Zealand Concert, we were told (also in the programme notes) that Haydn had recently had a line of the song printed on his visiting cards, saying that he was old and weak. The lines of the text were also printed at the end of the second movement of the Op. 103 quartet, hence their inclusion in tonight’s printed programme. Another symptom of his age was that he could not manage to write the more demanding first and last movements of the quartet, but we can feel very glad that he sent the two completed movements to his publisher, for they are inventive, and full of interesting and enjoyable music.

The slow movement of this quartet could be a Renaissance mass, played on the viola, while the menuetto featured agreeable contrasts, and both were played with gorgeous tone. The slow chorale that followed was magically still and quiet, with little decoration; instead it was spare and peaceful.

However, this is not the sombre music of an old man; it is mainly fresh and cheerful, like so much of Haydn’s music. These players found the essence of Haydn – robust and delicate by turns, with no nuance missed. Vibrato was used subtly. This was the complete ensemble, in every sense. It was a wonderfully satisfying performance of a thoroughly satisfying work of musical genius.

Hartke’s music is somewhat Messiaen-like. It is harmonically interesting and adventurous throughout, but always musical. While undoubtedly contemporary music, the piece was very accessible. It began with a very attractive high-pitched opening with flowing, intertwining lines. Indeed, much of the work was in the higher register for all the instruments.

The first movement, Madrigal (allegretto grazioso ed amoroso) used harmonics, first on the second violin contrasting with the low tones of the viola and cello. Later, there were harmonics on the viola, which had a wonderfully sweet tone, and on the other instruments. Here, as elsewhere, there was much sensitive playing.

The second movement was titled ‘Lament (mesto)’. The latter word means sad, sorrowful, dejected. It was a lament all right, beautifully played.

Next was ‘Intermezzo (lontano, dolcissimo)’ Lontano means distant, remote, as indeed desert flowers are for most of us. It began with a sublime cello solo. Nina Lee produced a lovely sound from her cello, not a deep and throaty sound, but one which blended beautifully with the other instruments.

Finally, there was ‘Réjouissance (allegro vivace)’, French for rejoicing. This was a technically demanding movement, with much use of ponticello (playing near the bridge) and col legno (playing with the wood of the bow – for which the musicians provided themselves with their second-best bows). These were not techniques for their own sake, but were part of the joyous dance that comprised most of the movement.

Despite the titles, the work was not excessively emotional in character, but delightfully attractive.

Beethoven’s late quartets are probably the mightiest in the whole chamber music repertoire. One of the first things I noticed was that the Brentano String Quartet are not afraid of pianissimo. The solemn opening of the first movement demonstrated their sensitive playing and their perfect ensemble. The viola particularly had a beautifully rich, intense sound in solo passages. But obviously all four are in great accord.

The second movement was played with clarity and distinction.

In the third movement, molto adagio, the music had reverential intensity – a quiet, still and slow chorale, austere yet rich, spare and ascetic yet monumental. There was little vibrato to relieve the direct message of this music in the Lydian mode, which made its long-drawn-out music harmonically interesting. Some phrases were almost sweet agony. It was sparingly impassioned; the players let the music speak for itself.

Despite the comparative brevity of the fourth movement march, there was a lot of contrast packed into it. A solo passage for violin was very impressive, revealing a very warm tone from Mark Steinberg.

The allegro appassionato finale was played with-energy plus, to make an exhilarating end to this marvellous work.

One does not always want an encore after something as magnificent as the Beethoven quartet, but on the other hand, the audience was eager not to let the musicians go. They gave us a Dvořák waltz, Op. 54, which was charming and lively.

We revelled in an impressive and satisfying concert.

NZSM string players mark 10th anniversary of Lilburn’s death: ambient problems

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Remembering Lilburn: String quartet in E minor; String Trio; Violin Sonata

New Zealand School of Music Students and Staff: Martin Riseley, Jun He (violins), Donald Maurice (viola), Inbal Megiddo (cello), Jian Liu (piano)

Ilott Theatre, Wellington Town Hall

Friday, 10 June 2011

This year marks ten years since the death of leading New Zealand composer Douglas Lilburn. As part of commemorations, the School of Music arranged this concert to remember a long-serving former staff member of the Victoria University School of Music.

The quartet in E minor, published in 1946, includes plenty of virtuosic material; the players more than rose to the challenge – they played well, with facility and commitment, including the School of Music’s new cellist, Inbal Megiddo from Israel.

The quartet contains many felicities, yet endless repeated notes and phrases, and repeated rhythmic figures. Martin Riseley’s programme note says “…the Quartet carries a new kind of optimism, one rooted firmly in the past, quasi nostalgically, but which senses hope for what is to come.” What with the sombre nature of the work, the young children in the row behind me, the coughers and someone’s cellphone ringing loud and clear in my ear towards the end, I can’t say that I found this a major musical experience. A move to another seat improved things for the rest of the concert.

The trio, published a year earlier than the quartet, begins in a dour vein, progressing to sombre and even to mournful, despite the first movement marking of allegro non troppo. The programme note by Martin Riseley says “…the Trio carries the bitter presence of the unendurable loss of life from the war,…” There is more variety in the writing here than in the quartet. To my mind it is a
much more appealing and accomplished work. It develops to a charming mood, and its allegro finale has a delightfully optimistic ending.

The violin sonata is written in one movement with five contrasting sections. It is more animated and upbeat than the other two works. It is innovative and lively. Much of the writing is extremely taxing for both players, but they brought it off, through all the changes, splendidly. The peaceful ending finished the concert on a calm note.

Lilburn’s position as a composer, teacher and promoter of New Zealand composers and  compositions is admirable and unassailable. However, the music we heard in this short concert was not, in my opinion, among his greatest.


Olya Curtis and David Vine offer unfamiliar violin music at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Violin music by Fauré (Andante in B flat, Op 75), Schumann (Violin Sonata in A minor, Op 105) and Szymanowksi (Violin Sonata in D minor, Op 9)

Olya Curtis (violin) and David Vine (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 8 June, 12.15pm

Olya Curtis and David Vine make a good contribution to the chamber music scene in Wellington. For the past couple of years they have given us good performances of a field of music that, even more than solo piano recitals, is a neglected field.

 

You may have noticed the virtual invisibility of Fauré’s unfinished violin concerto (of which I’ve traced a couple of recordings in the Gramophone archive, first movement only, from 1979 and 2001, the latter by Philippe Graffin and the Ulster Orchestra). This being so, there is little point perhaps in dwelling on the fact that this piece published 20 years later, in 1898, was based on the slow movement of that concerto; neither is familiar. This piece is melodically slender, though agreeable and by no means trite. Given that it was thus something of a promotional exercise, it was a pity that the violin part was not quite as polished in intonation, or perhaps as refined in spirit as Fauré’s music invariably is.

 

Schumann’s first violin sonata is moderately well known and this was a rather splendid performance, that drove away any feeling that one might have contemplating the works of his last few years: that the level of inspiration had declined. For this is a fine work and it was played with much more confidence and assurance; the first movement displays in clear idiomatic terms the composer’s often denigrated talent for writing for strings; there were no important lapses in accuracy.

 

The second movement, Allegretto, was perfectly paced, the speed sufficient to maintain attention while affording the appropriate calm of a second movement, with nicely judged tempo changes. The last movement, Animato, was rather more than that: it was quite energetic, and blessed with a charming melody.

 

Szymanowski wrote his violin sonata aged about 22, when he was still under the influence of late romantics like Strauss and Scriabin. It leaves no doubt that the composer would become a distinctive voice, though not necessarily of music in a Polish idiom. If some of her intonation was iffy again, it was a very reasonable trade-off for an effort to exploit the drama and the extrovert character of the music. And anyway, some of the wayward approaches to the notes could well have been a deliberate attempt to demonstrate a freedom that one senses to be an essential aspect of this composer’s music. There was occasionally room to speculate on the balance between perfection and vitality. The sustained lasts note of the first movement drew attention through the violin’s varied articulation.

 

Szymanowski was a pianist rather than a violinist, yet the music presents as much challenge to the violinist as for pianist David Vine; the music led both down paths that demonstrated Szymanowski’s early command of the idioms, especially German, of the turn of the century, moving to increasing complexity and technical difficulty. Though perfection slightly eluded the violinist in the second movement, the two established a beautiful rapport through its peaceful, lyrical episodes. And in the Finale, through the excellent partnership between the two players, the level of energy and virtuosity brought this interesting piece to a highly satisfying conclusion.

 

 

 

 

Elixir of soprano, clarinet and piano

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Music by Dankworth, Spohr, Bartók, Vaughan Williams, Britten, Schubert, Liszt, Bliss, John McCabe, and Estonian Songs

Elixir: Kate Lineham (soprano), Rachel Thomson (piano), Moira Hurst (clarinet)

Sacred Heart Cathedral, Hill Street

Sunday 29 May 2011, 3pm

Despite the beautifully calm, sunny day, and the lack of advertising on Radio New Zealand concert earlier in the day, a good-sized audience came to hear this rather unusual ensemble perform a novel and varied programme.

However, the opening item was not a good start. The song ‘Thieving Boy’ sat too low in the voice for Kate Lineham. The lower notes did not come over to the audience in this venue.

That very morning I heard William Dart on Radio New Zealand Concert in his talk on Reynaldo Hahn, quote someone saying that classical singers should go to cabaret to learn how to deliver words. Lineham’s words when heard, were very clear.

However, much of the time, as elsewhere in the programme, the clarinet was too loud, and it was a struggle to hear the voice because of it. For the second half of the programme, I removed to the cushion-less rear of the church, and found the sound and the balance much better. I have traditionally sat in this position at Sacred Heart, for enhanced seeing and hearing, but of late have been seduced by the beautiful new seat cushions. Sunday’s experience taught me that beauty is to be preferred over comfort – even if I could not now always hear the informal spoken introductions, which were sometimes far too long and discursive, and at times repeated what was in the programme notes.

Things picked up with the gorgeous Spohr songs. We do not hear enough of this composer who, although he lived longer, was a contemporary of Beethoven, and famous in his time. Presumably the clarinet of his day was a quieter instrument than today’s model; likewise the piano. Perhaps the latter’s lid could have been on the short stick rather than fully open. The acoustic of the church is very lively, but tends to amplify the instruments more than the voice. Nevertheless, the four songs from the composer’s Six German Songs were beautifully sung, but at times it seemed like an unsuccessful fight with the instruments.

The voice needs to be the pre-eminent part, because it is delivering the words and thus the meaning of the songs, and the basis for their interpretation. There were excellent programme notes, but it would have been an added bonus to have had the full texts of the poems.

The Three Hungarian Folk Songs from Csík were in fact piano pieces based on folk songs collected by the composer. These were delightful short pieces, played with taste and subtlety. In the third, Poco vivo, there was a loud section; which again, reverberated rather too much in this building.

Next up were Three Vocalises by Vaughan Williams, composed in the last year of his life. It is interesting to consider how to perform songs with no words, as Moira Hurst said in her introduction – what is being expressed? There was magnificent interweaving between voice and clarinet; the composition of these pieces was deft indeed. As with the Spohr, these were pieces I had not heard before, yet were well worth hearing. The balance seemed better in these items – and one was not having to try to hear words.

The final of the three, ‘Quasi menuetto’, contained bird-like passages; perhaps not unexpected from the composer of The Lark Ascending.

Britten’s Four Cabaret Songs to words by W.H. Auden I had heard before, a number of times. While it is only fair to point out that the other singers I have heard perform them live were older and more experienced, I did feel that though the songs are brilliant and the singing was lovely, with great facial characterisation, the je ne sais quoi of cabaret was missing. The venues of the former hearings may have been a little (but not much) more conducive to that atmosphere.

The well-known ‘Tell me the truth about love’ earned its own applause which was then provided for each song in the group), though I found it over-pedalled in the piano part; the piano should surely echo the sparkle of the voice.

I felt ‘Johnny’ needed even more vocal contrast between the excited and the doleful verses, not only a dynamic contrast. This factor improved as the song went along – perhaps that was deliberate, to gradually change and deepen the realisation that Johnny was not going to stay around. Lineham has a pretty voice, but it is not especially powerful, except at the top. Again, words were very clear – but is this voice really right for cabaret songs?

The accompaniments were beautifully handled. Since the clarinet was not involved, Moira Hurst revealed the variety of her wind instrument accomplishments by playing a whistle, acting as the station-master at the conclusion the last song, Calypso, which uses train noises. She dashed through the audience while blowing, wearing an appropriate peaked cap.

After interval, we were treated to what is probably the most famous song for this combination, Schubert’s lovely Der Hirt auf dem Felsen (The Shepherd on the Rock). The balance and ensemble seemed to be a lot better – or was it because of my new position towards the rear of the church? A few small intonation wobbles couldn’t detract from a very accomplished rendition of this extended song with its ravishing melodies for both singer and clarinet.

Liszt’s Petrarch sonnet no. 123 is a very contemplative piano piece, yet has a passionate middle section, and was played with feeling; the pianissimo ending was exquisite. Again, there was too much pedal for my taste, but otherwise the work was attractively played. The programme note told us that ‘…[the] poetry is essential to understanding the music’, so why was the sonnet not printed for the audience’s added understanding?

Sir Arthur Bliss was represented by Two Nursery Rhymes, settings of ‘The Ragwort’ and ‘The Dandelion’ by Frances Cornford. Featuring quirky clarinet and piano writing, these were fun. Apparently the clarinet was being a seagull in the first song, and, more obviously, a donkey in the second. These songs suited Lineham’s voice and style very well.

A group of Estonian songs were preceded by the story of how the trio obtained these songs; a piece of real New Zealand networking and ‘who knows whom’. They proved to be very pleasing songs, though again, the lower register of the voice employed in the first song could not be heard well. The second, The Singer’s Childhood began with a very lovely unaccompanied first verse; then the clarinet joined in. It was an attractive song, the singer expressing its nostalgia feelingly.

The final song, Shepherd’s Song, with piano and clarinet, was brief and touching.

The programme ended with Three Folk Songs by John McCabe. These were settings of traditional songs: ‘Johnny has gone for a soldier’, ‘Hush-a-ba birdie’ and ‘John Peel’. All three perfomed well in these attractive songs, that gave both clarinet and voice plenty of melody, with lively, even humorous writing.

For an encore, the trio performed very effectively Stephen Sondheim’s well-known ‘Send in the Clowns’, but again the low pitch of the opening mitigated against a thoroughly satisfying performance from the singer, though the instruments gave a fine rendition.

I was a little surprised that the singer used the sheet music for all her items (as did the pianist for her solos) even following an extensive tour for Chamber Music New Zealand, during which, presumably, much the same music was performed; communication between singer and audience was good, but would have been even better without that barrier between.

Nevertheless, this concert gave its audience an interesting programme of pleasing and mainly unfamiliar songs, and demonstrated that here we have three very competent musicians.

Tasmin Little clothed, with naked violin, in diverting recital

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Naked Violin

Playing and talking about the violin: Luslawice Variations by Paul Petterson; Bach: Solo Violin Sonata No 1, BWV 1001 and Partita No 3, BWV 1006; Eugène Isaÿe: Sonata in D minor, Op 27 No 3 ‘Ballade’

Tasmin Little (violin)

Ilott Theatre

Sunday 22 May, 3pm

Tasmin Little is in New Zealand as one of the adjudicators for the Michael Hill International Violin Competition, but she has also played the Sibelius Concerto with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra and a solo concert in Christchurch in the place of a concert with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra since the earthquake damaged the Town Hall.

Her Naked Violin performances was arranged in Hamilton and Wellington through the chamber music societies in each city.

It is encouraging that eminent musicians such as Little are more often being invited to perform in contexts additional to the main purpose of their visit, in other places around the country. Too often in the past, players of international renown come to play a concerto with an orchestra, but no effort is made to set up solo recitals for them, even in the city in which they play.

Interviews on both National Radio and RNZ Concert during the past week revealed an engaging and sparkling personality and they may well have led to a full Ilott Theatre. Her routine involves no comedy one-liners or risqué gags – ‘Naked’ was clearly sufficient enticement.

After explaining what she aimed to do she took us step by step through the first piece, named for the place of a Polish chamber music festival, by English composer Paul Patterson. By the time the performance arrived the themes that she’d laid out sounded like old favourites (almost). It was no doubt chosen for the range of violinist playing devices that it demands, from left hand pizzicato to spiccato and false harmonics through the length of each string.

Parts of two Bach solo violin pieces followed. Two movements each from the Sonata No 1 in G minor and the Partita No 2 in E minor. Her playing is personally undemonstrative; rather, its impact on the audience came from its obvious and straightforward urge to make contact musically with the audience, just as she had through her open and self-effacing dialogue with them.

In the middle of the programme Tasmin invited questions from the floor about anything relating to the violin, the music or to her own experiences and intentions. That resulted in some interesting questions, and answers, about ‘historically-informed’ performance, how Bach would find performances of his music today, the way the performer might alter what the composer had in mind, how she managed to achieve success as a performer. Her reply to the small girl’s question, what was ‘her favourite song’ when she was young, might not have meant a lot to her (a piece by Delius).

Her last piece was the third solo violin sonata by Eugène Isaÿe; though I’ve heard it played several times and admire many aspects, it still sounds more like a very elaborate cadenza which I expect to end with the awaited ‘cadence’ that allows the orchestra to re-enter the fray. However, the performance was, like all her other playing, marked by an unostentatious mastery and a musicality that drew attention simply to the musical qualities of the piece.

Aeolian Players play for mulled wine at Paekakariki

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Hotteterre: Suite no.3 for oboe and basso continuo, Op.5
Bach: Sonata for viola da gamba and harpsichord in G, BWV 1027
Telemann: Trio Sonata for oboe, viola da gamba and basso continuo in G minor
Forqueray: “La Sylva” and “Jupiter” from Pièces de Clavecin Bach: Trio Sonata, BWV 528
Buxtehude: Passacaglia from Sonata IV

Mulled Wine Concert
The Aeolian Players (Ariana Odermatt, harpsichord; Margaret Guldborg, cello; Calvin Scott, oboe; Peter Garrity, viola)

Paekakariki Memorial Hall

Sunday, 22 May 2011, 2.30pm

The Memorial Hall was not completely full, but there were probably over 100 people present to hear this concert of baroque music. Despite all the music being from the same era, there was considerable variety both in the music, and in the size of ensemble playing the various works.

Another matter of interest was the marvellous ‘Fishart’ exhibition on the walls. Many items were highly detailed illustrations of fish, some in the form of multiple small fish together making the shape of a whale’s tail, or a seahorse or other form. Others were punning assemblages of drawings and cogs in the various situations dogs might find themselves in (and indeed, most of the cogs were in doggy shapes), and other humorous art works made from found materials.

All this was the work of former Dominion cartoonist, Eric Heath. The wide scope of the exhibition and the skilled, colourful and accurate representations of fish were quite breathtaking.

The prelude of the first work on the programme immediately revealed what good acoustics the hall has for the oboe – and for the other instruments too. Unlike the case with other concerts I have attended at the Memorial Hall, this time the players were placed alongside the long wall on the sea side of the hall, the chairs for the audience being arranged in a semi-circle facing them. Hence it was much easier for the audience to see the performers than at previous concerts, when the musicians have been at the end of the hall. This siting seemed to improve the sound, also.

The five-movement suite was beautifully executed. There was robust cello playing, and plenty of contrast between the movements, with the lively Gigue ending a thoroughly committed performance.

In the Bach sonata, the viola was used in place of viola da gamba. The problem was that the superbly full, rich sound of the viola in Garrity’s hands was quite different from the sound of a viola da gamba, and did not fit well with the harpsichord sound, which was somewhat overwhelmed. Odermatt’s harpsichord playing was excellent. If here and elsewhere she sometimes lacked the flair of more mature harpsichord players, that may be something that will come in time. To be fair, these were mostly fully written parts as distinct from basso continuo parts. However, the Buxtehude Passacaglia at the end perhaps gave scope for more individual interpretation and variation, since the harpsichord part was endlessly repeated.

Telemann’s sonata employed all four instruments. Again, the oboe sound was mellifluous, while the viola sounded more baroque than it had in the Bach sonata. This was a delightful and most satisfying work.

It occurred to me, reading the details of the composers and the excellent programme notes, that we are fortunate that all these composers were long-lived; Bach the least so, since he died at 65; still a good life-span for his time. Hotteterre made it to 89. Thus there has been passed down to us a great body of compositions to enjoy. When we come to the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, there are the untimely early deaths of Mozart, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Chopin and Schumann who, though prolific, never survived to the ages of their baroque predecessors, and thus we do not know what they might have written as they matured.

An aim of Mary Gow, who promotes these Paekakariki concerts, is to provide performances with unusual combinations of instruments, and that was certainly true this time. The oboe-playing of Calvin Scott was quite superb. His phrasing, and that of the other players, was very good, although there was not always a feeling of complete ensemble. Inaccuracies of intonation were few and slight, in the Buxtehude work only.

Forqueray’s “La Sylva” piece was a very graceful and appealing item for solo harpsichord. “Jupiter” was played with the manuals coupled (hence much louder) alternating with use of the upper manual only. This was much faster than the other piece. The contrasting sections and use of the lower register of the harpsichord made it most interesting. These were delightfully varied and imaginative pieces.

Bach’s trio sonata is probably more familiar as played on the organ. Hearing it on four separate instruments, with their distinctive timbres was stimulating. After the very short, very slow opening adagio, there was a gutsy vivace, that nevertheless had refinement too. After a smooth andante, the allegro was exciting and very intricate in places. Again, I felt the viola had too much vibrato; the oboe once more was impressive.

All four performed in the Buxtehude also. There was fast interplay between oboe and viola, while the harpsichord played her bass line over and over (how did she know when to stop?)

The concert was relatively short, and none the worse for that, on a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon – and much appreciated by the audience.

Puertas String Quartet in Hunter Council room recital

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Haydn: Quartet in G, Op.77 no.2
Zemlinsky: Quartet no.4, Op.25
Keith Statham: Romance no.1
Beethoven: Quartet in E flat, Op.127

Puertas Quartet (Tom Norris and Ellie Fagg, violins; Julia McCarthy, viola; Andrew Joyce, cello)

Hunter Council Chamber, Victoria University

Thursday 5 May, 7.30pm

Despite the clash with the Hutt Valley Chamber Music Society concert and the fact that the concert was not advertised in that day’s Dominion Post Arts Supplement, a good-sized audience greeted this English-New Zealand string quartet. The audience was seated facing the east window in the Council chamber rather than north or west, as I have experienced before, so no-one was seated in the east gallery. Whether this had any acoustic effect I do not know, but certainly the sound was first-class.

The four young musicians served up a meaty programme; perhaps the dessert was the delightful Romance.

The Puertas players have not been together for very long (I think ‘worked together in different guises over the past 15 years’ in the printed programme must be a mistake for ‘past five years’).

Tom Norris is co-principal second violin with the London Symphony Orchestra, with which his wife Ellie Fagg is trialling as a violinist. Andrew Joyce was recently appointed principal cello with the NZSO and his wife Julia McCarthy is on trial for that orchestra’s principal viola position.  They are graduates of the Royal College of Music and the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, and have regularly performed with London orchestras. They formed their quartet in 2009. As a result of reaching the semi-finals of the international Bordeaux String Quartet Competition in 2009, they have performed on board a luxury cruise ship, and around the United Kingdom.

One commentator has said that Haydn ‘packed all his experience and skill into this, his last complete string quartet’. Certainly it is full of charm as well as skill. The first movement begins slowly, then becomes a bright and vigorous allegro. They were very much in accord with each other – blended tone, absolute accuracy of timing and nuances, understanding of a mutual approach to the music.

A presto minuet followed, with a slower, even romantic chorale-like trio, where the first violin melody was accompanied by the others. Ellie Fagg, who was first violinist for this work, exhibited a beautiful warm tone here.

The third movement andante began with first violin and cello only, playing a stately dance. This was very resonant, but delicacy was there when required. The first variation had the second violin playing the melody, with the first violin adding decoration, the viola and cello adding the harmony, then following up with the melody carried sonorously below. Further variations followed. The fourth movement was a delightful fast and light-hearted piece, revealing Haydn’s humour.

It was played with verve, unanimity and commitment. The constant fast passage work was always together and bang in tune. Through the whole concert I noticed perhaps two bung notes.

Prior to the Zemlinsky quartet, cellist Andrew Joyce spoke to the audience, explaining a little about the composer and the work. He remarked that it was amazing to think that Zemlinsky was composing at the same time as Brahms (initially), and Mahler, since his musical language was so different from both. He prefigured Schoenberg, whom he taught (and Schoenberg married Zemlinsky’s sister). Joyce said that the composer’s best music was in his quartets.

This quartet was written in 1936; the composers dates are 1871-1942. So it is not surprising that there are hints of Schoenberg here. Joyce explained the structure of the work: a suite of three pairs of movements, rather than the standard quartet structure.

The adagio first section, Praeludium, opened with a chorale which turned into a funeral oration. This was followed by Burleske (vivace) which featured impressive, rapid pizzicato on first violin, this time played by Tom Norris (the previous movement gave the cello plenty of pizzicato). Later, the second violin took it up, echoing the first violin. Spicato followed.

The next pair (second movement) started with an Adagietto, at first in unison. This had a sombre feel, morphing into wistful, tender longing. The second part, an allegretto Intermezzo was a theme and variations, that ended with rapid phrases. Its partner, a slow Barcarole, featured unusual harmonies and a Hungarian feel to the melodies. The first violin part was dominant. A lovely tone was created in a section with muted viola. A beautiful cello solo was rich and reverberant, full of expressive timbres, that reached anguish. Here, at times, all the instruments were muted except the cello, which served to deepen the anguish. Disturbing emotions were expressed. The last few pages were of this extensive and expressive section were fast and furious. The finale was frantic, vigorous and dissonant.

Zemlinsky is little heard of today; perhaps the fact that I found his music didn’t move me as does that of Mahler or Brahms has something to do with it. Nevertheless, this difficult music was not merely competently played, but inspiringly performed. A commentator has said that Zemlinsky did not compromise truth for the sake of beauty.

After the interval, a short Romance by Keith Statham an English-born New Zealand resident and friend of the quartet members was played, introduced with remarks from Andrew Joyce. Ellie Fagg led the quartet again. There were whiffs of Mendelssohn, Dvořák, Tchaikovsky, and especially Elgar and the English composers. This was a simple romantic piece, but with rich harmonies. It was played smoothly, with plenty of subtlety; a charming work.

Beethoven was represented by his late quartet, Op.127. The allegro started strongly, and continued with much rhythmic emphasis. The players made a big sound, more so than in the other works. The sombre adagio featured a fine violin solo from leader Tom Norris; in effect, a decorated chorale. Then we were into bouncy rhythms with intertwining parts between the two violins and accompaniment from the lower instruments. This was all done with grace, warm tone and faultless rhythm and intonation. More solo work allowed the first violinist to shine. This was a beautiful movement.

The scherzo began with a lilting opening, but soon livened up. The sheer variety and inventiveness of Beethoven (who by this time was stone deaf) is at its most astonishing in these late quartets. The movement juxtaposes passion with dance-like passages, but always there is energy and forward drive.

The finale consists of impassioned fervour interspersed with anxious restlessness. There are so many different episodes in this movement; it is innovative and brilliant.

This was ‘one out of the box’ as a chamber music concert. All the players executed their work with great attention to detail and dynamics. They are exceedingly proficient, considering the comparatively short time that they have been a quartet. The audience showed its warm appreciation for this ambitious programme and its performance.

I did think that the beauty of the female players’ full-length, sleeveless turquoise dresses was not echoed in the men’s attire; despite their having turquoise handkerchiefs poking out of their top pockets, the open-necked business shirts were too informal in contrast with the ladies’ look. Maybe turquoise bow-ties would have been more appropriate, or a different style of shirt, or jacket. One of the men had smart cuff-links – hardly designed to go with an open-necked shirt!

The only disappointment with this evening of music was the printed programme. There were no programme notes, which mattered particularly for the Zemlinsky work; no listing of the movements, and even the dates when the composers flourished were not printed.

Alexa Still and Diedre Irons – irresistible duo

Posted on by Peter Mechen

ALEXA STILL (flute) and DIEDRE IRONS (piano)

Chamber Music Hutt Valley

Music by POULENC, BOYD, PROKOFIEV and BORNE (flute and piano)

DICK and MARAIS (flute solo)

CHOPIN (piano solo)

Little Theatre, Lower Hutt

Thursday 5th May 2011

Mistakenly thinking the concert was being held in nearby St.James’ Church, I wasted several precious minutes retracing steps and re-aligning my destination, finally being led by the sound of Alexa Still’s silvery flute tones to the entranceway of Lower Hutt’s Little Theatre. I thus missed the opening Allegro malinconico part of Poulenc’s Sonata for flute and piano, but was charmed, by way of compensation, both by the friendliness of my reception at the door, and the full, rich and impassioned playing from both Alexa Still and Diedre Irons which continued throughout the Cantilena second movement.

In the past I hadn’t much liked visiting this venue on account of what I thought I remembered was a dry, boxy acoustic, but these musicians were managing to fill the ambiences with plenty of rich, golden tones as to make the spaces seem positively resonant. Alexa Still’s tonal mastery was evident throughout Poulenc’s kaleidoscopic changes of focus and emphasis throughout the finale – the music’s character cheeky, heroic, profound and mock-serious by turns, requiring stellar command of control and reserves of energy! With pianist Diedre Irons displaying her characteristic ebullience and quicksilver reflexes, both players brought out the music’s constant flux in mood and manner, delivering to we listeners a veritable chaos of charm and delight right to the end.

Alexa Still introduced the flute items, interesting us with her remarks about the music and her experience of playing the works previously – she obviously has an extremely wide repertoire and musical sympathies to match, judging by the range and scope of this concert. A piece by American composer Anne Boyd was next, Goldfish through Summer Rain, a work which uses exotic colors and pointilistic techniques. The piano caught the effect of raindrops, while the long, languid lines of the flute made the perfect foil for the piano, creating something of the same floating effect as in Debussy’s Afternoon of a Faun. I thought the whole work imbued with a kind of longing for a world of beauty, wishful of bringing into creative being an order of things – what a friend of mine would describe as “very Zen”!

Prokofiev’s Sonata I knew in a version for violin and piano, so I was surprised and delighted to find a familiar piece of music in what was for me a new and exciting guise – in fact its original form! – and sounding here as though it thoroughly belonged to the flute-and-piano repertoire. Like many great composers, Prokofiev wrote music whose identity with its creator is evident within a couple of bars’ hearing, no matter how unfamiliar. Straightaway there’s that characteristic astringent flavour to the melody and its harmony, and an accompanying volatility of textures and dynamics which “spikes” the composer’s best work. Something of a neoclassicist as well as a revolutionary, Prokofiev drew these elements beautifully together in works such as this sonata – we so enjoyed the first movement’s clean-cut melodic contourings and their beautifully-crafted symmetries, elements of the music to which both Still and Irons brought their capacities for articulating volatile detail within a larger framework, returning us richly and surely to the opening mood at the movement’s end.

The quirky Scherzo “bucking-broncoed” our imaginations most energetically, the performance putting plenty of élan and glint into the vertiginous figurations, before  pulling everything momentarily to order for a lovely, somewhat melancholy trio section, one which the composer nevertheless keeps on its toes with occasional skyrocketting irrruptions. Still and Irons had a fine time with the “big tune” at its return, tossing its angularities about with fine style, before dispatching the music at the end with a deft gesture wrought of magic. After this the slow movement amply demonstrated Prokofiev’s way of conjuring melody and feeling from grey matter –  beautiful in places but essentially austere, a feeling which the jolly, heavy-footed dance that opened the finale was able to rescue us from most thankfully. As well as plenty of lusty energy, Still and Irons brought granite-like strength to the “building-blocks” episodes, and just the right amount of circumspection to the movement’s lyrical centre, before seamlessly reinvigorating the figurations with the energies needed to lead the music back into the dance – a heart-warming performance.

We were warned by Alexa Still, before playing the first item after the interval, for flute solo, that she might be making some strange sounds, and these were entirely on purpose! The work was one I’d heard her play at a previously concert, Fish are Jumping, for flute alone, by the American flutist and composer Robert Dick. This was a languid, lazy and bluesy piece, not, as one might expect, a variation on Gershwin’s Summertime tune but a realization equally as atmospheric, with flourishes of energy in places. Still’s technical facility astonished, here – her uncanny ability to play “chords” (two notes simultaneously, with what sounded like accompanying overtones) made for a distinctly exotic and unworldly impression, making the whole a kind of “transport of delight” to the enchantment of other realms. A comparable distancing, in time, was achieved by Still with Marin Marais’ Le Folies d’Espagne, with the inestimable help of a wooden mouthpiece, to achieve a more authentic timbre for this piece – a sombre theme at the outset, but with variations that had a wider range of expression that I expected from this composer.I’d always thought of Marais as a kind of French equivalent to John Dowland, he of the “semper Dowland, semper dolens” reputation – as the French say, l’air ne fait pas la chanson…..

Came pianist Diedre Irons’ turn for a solo, and she gave us Chopin’s F Minor Fantasy, her playing exhibiting that alchemic mixture of clear-sighted discipline and far-flung and fantastical imagination, so that we, as the composer intended, appear to be witnessing a spontaneous creation of the spirit, the music both taking and being taken throughout fanciful realms. The pianist’s mastery of rubato married strength and spontaneity in a wonderfully osmotic way; and the strength of her playing negated the venue’s tendency to dryness, instead filling the vistas with surges of tone and proper “glint” at the tops of the figurations. Regarding the piece’s freedom I’ve always tended to regard the Fantasy as a kind of subconscious homage on Chopin’s part to Liszt, his colleague/rival, with the brilliance of some of the piano writing balanced by the almost Faustian character of some of the darker episodes, only with more equivocal treatment in places of the virtuoso keyboard writing – the music occasionally stopping as if to listen to its own voice, in places. I thought the piece’s essential character captured here so well in this respect, so that, in Diedre Irons’ hands Chopin was still always Chopin.

After this, I’m afraid, the gaucheries of Francois Borne’s Fantasy on themes from Bizet’s “Carmen” sounded more than embarrassingly hollow, though both musicians characteristically gave it their all – perhaps if we had taken up Alexa Still’s invitation to us to “sing along with the bits you recognize”, the work could have had at least some point. This all sounds very snobbish on my part, but I’m aware of there being a number of brilliantly-constructed, rather more “organically” conceived fantasy-like “reminiscences” of Bizet’s eponymous opera, written for various instruments – if this is the flute’s only representative relating to the work, then it’s a pity Still herself hasn’t thought about bringing her musical intelligence and virtuosic skills to producing something for her instrument making use of those glorious tunes that hangs together more convincingly than this – all that spectacular fingering and tonguing, all those beautiful tones (maybe if Sarasate had played the flute…….).

An encore written by Ravel – a Habanera, but not from Rapsodie Espagnole – was sufficient balm for the senses, in the wake of the previous item’s lurid horrors – here we had worlds of evocative gesture and tonal ravishment from both instruments over a few short minutes, a display of mastery, all in all, on the part of composer and musicians alike. It was a heart-warming way to conclude a brilliant musical evening.

Graduate string students from New Zealand School of Music at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Caprices Nos 16 and 20 by Paganini – played by Irina Andreeva (viola)
Scherzo (by Brahms) from the FAE Sonata; and the third movement from Brahms’s Violin Sonata No 3 in D minor, Op 108 – played by Joanna Lee (violin) and Jian Liu (piano)
Violin Sonata No 8 in G, Op 30 No 3 by Beethoven – played by Jun He (violin) and Jian Liu (piano)

St Andrew’s on the Terrace

Wednesday 4 May, 12.15pm

The St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts are in the midst of their series of performances by students at the New Zealand School of Music.

This one featured three – a violist and two violinists, accompanied by Jian Liu, the school’s piano faculty member for the next two years. He studied with Claude Frank at Yale where he is completing a doctorate in musical arts. As well as teaching and accompanying students, he will shortly give concerts of his own.

The Paganini Caprices on a viola was certainly a surprise to the ears; Irina Andreeva (also a DMA student) has been inspired by the voila versions of the Caprices that William Primrose created (Primrose, after Lionel Tertis, was the father of the modern awakening to the viola as a solo instrument). No 16 lay for long stretches on the C string, allowing no suggestion of its violin origin. I am highly attracted to the viola and so the two Caprices, offering strong contrast, were most diverting, even if, especially in No 20, a bit flawed in intonation and articulation. But Andreeva’s warm musicality and rhythmic vitality compensated for some lack of light and shade.

Joanna Lee comes here after study at McGill in Montreal where she has been specializing in Brahms. So it was no surprise to hear such confident and polished performances of these two pieces from opposite ends of Brahms’s career.

The FAE Sonata (‘Frei aber einsam’ – free but alone, intended as a tribute to violinist Joseph Joachim) was a 1853 collaboration between Brahms aged 20, Schumann just before his mental collapse and the forgotten Albert Dietrich, who wrote the sonata’s long first movement. Schumann wrote the slow movement and the Finale. The Scherzo is from Brahms, already so characteristic, and Joanna Lee played it with a firmness and maturity that indeed demonstrated an intuitive instinct for Brahms.

There was time for only one of the two movements scheduled from the (four movements of the) third violin sonata – the scherzo – Un poco presto e con sentimento. However, it is a substantial piece and was a highly convincing demonstration of a major talent. Again the two players found a singular rapport, with careful placing of emphatic notes and violin chords, all its impulsiveness managed in flawless ensemble.

The third of Beethoven’s Op 30 set of violin sonatas is the shortest of the three and was a delightful choice for a lunchtime concert. As well as again showcasing an admirable piano part, it gave violinist Jun He the opportunity to explore the very distinct moods of this sonata: calm sanguinity in the first movement, joyfulness in the last, but a menuetto in the middle that is profoundly meditative and lyrical, heart-easing (to use an old-fashioned expression).

Jun He is another recent arrival at the School of Music, originally from China, having studied at various universities and academies; she is here to complete a doctorate in musical arts. She took great care with dynamics and exercised beautiful control of the discreet ornaments, with the two instruments in perfect sympathy. Though given no invitation by the music for display or histrionics, the two players created a poised, modest, warm-hearted partnership. There can be few so un-dancing minuets as this; eager dancers would have been stilled by the beauty of the music and, in this instance, its performance.

The last movement was simple joy, the violin articulated so softly, with exquisite ppp sounds from the piano, which even at the odd fortissimo never clouded the violin or generated any percussiveness. And the witty modulation to E flat near the end dramatically altered the colouring.

Though this was the only ‘entire’ piece in the programme the whole could be enjoyed at a level far above the average ‘student’ performance.

NZSQ and Wollerman reveal beauties in Schoenberg, and others

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand String Quartet and Jenny Wollerman (soprano)

Beethoven: String Quartet in A, Op 18 No 5; Schoenberg: String Quartet No 2 in F sharp minor, Op 10; Smetana: String Quartet No 1 in E minor ‘From my life’

Wellington Town Hall

Tuesday 3 May 7.30pm

I suspect that few musical performances in Wellington have done as much, as quickly, as this to overturn long-held attitudes about a composer. Often without really putting it to the test, many ordinary music lovers have accepted that, apart from Verklärte Nacht, Schoenberg’s music was and has remained cacophonous and unlistenable. The composer himself complained quite early that the problem was poor performance: nothing difficult about his music!

All that was needed then was the phantom arrival of a New Zealand String Quartet and a Jenny Wollerman to illuminate what Schoenberg had created; for no one I spoke to at the interval did not exclaim at the transformational performance by both string quartet and soprano.

Even though for perhaps many, this might have been a first hearing, and the splintered character of the lyricism and the unpredictability of the music from minute to minute and still surprise, there was an unmistakable feeling that real music was present, of beauty and natural human impulse.

If this concert had been heard through radio or recording, it might not have had the effect it did, for the impact of watching these players, so profoundly engrossed and so whole-heartedly enraptured in their performance, was a most persuasive aspect. One felt as if each player relished opportunities to sing, to prove that they were playing genuine music, not some intellectual contrivance, even though the shapes of the songs were unusual. The first movement is simply a restless, soulful meditation of great beauty; the mood overall not very different from the nocturnal strangeness of Verklärte Nacht. After moving passages from first violin, then viola, Rolf Gjelsten seemed transported as he played cello phrases that expressed alternating grief and resolve.

The second movement changes the mood entirely, skittering violin over abrupt cello notes, with its use of the German folk song ‘Ach, du lieber Augustin’, mocked and tortured. Perhaps it was the only way for the composer to handle the traumatic loss of his wife to his painting teacher, though we must not imagine the music to be any kind of direct account of that. The playing was remarkable in its quixotic, kaleidoscopic impulsiveness, and the notes of the song are broken, dissected. Another frenzied passage closed the movement,

What disconcerted its first Viennese audiences lay in the next two movements – the arrival of a soprano to sing two poems – how outrageous for a voice to invade the sacred world of chamber music! It’s a setting of Stefan George, a poet who is compared to the French Parnassiens and symbolists. (One noticed that the programme notes observed the poet’s Cummings-like capital letters fetish in the German texts: nouns not capitalized).

The first, Litanei, with lines like “… Grant some peace to my faltering steps … extinguish all hope, send out [better perhaps, ‘dispatch’] your light …Kill the longing, close the wounds…”. Jenny Wollerman’s voice proved a quite exquisite vehicle for the poem and its music taxing a voice with its fragments of melody that are determined to give no comfort; projected strongly, accurately, with emotional intensity. Though the score was before her, she appeared to have every word and every note utterly secure.

The last movement used the poem Entrückung (approximately ‘rapture’) and it expressed that, in the uneasy quiet of the opening, depending heavily on the cello, curling and twisting in preparation for the voice’s entry. In the movement’s ten minutes or so, there was time for the listener to begin to find melody in the spectral cirrus, and with the compelling performances by all five, we were left with a sense of music of the greatest beauty.

Though I’ve paid much attention to the Schoenberg, the other pieces were played with no less power, subtlety, and beauty of tone and expression.

The happiest of Beethoven’s first published set of quartets opened with an almost droll, whimsical air, an ethereal dance, set among scintillating flashes from Helene Pohl’s brilliant violin, all brought to its senses with some sombre phrases from the cello. The Menuetto was a particularly sensuous Viennese affair, its swaying rhythm set charmingly against the warm romantic tune of the Trio. The Andante cantabile with its variations and sometimes fugal passages found Beethoven and the players in a jovial mood, smiles flickering across their faces, responding to comic effects. The movement ends with a sudden subsiding to a minor tonality that stilled the audience utterly – apart from a solitary cough – in the pause before the Finale.

The Schoenberg was followed by Smetana’s autobiographical piece: a life that allowed much variety, Gillian Ansell’s viola played a significant role at many points, passionate and rich in the opening movement. She underpinned the dance in the second, along with particular rhythmic energy from Beilman’s violin; they relished the almost saccharine sentiment of the third movement, without embarrassment.

There was a somewhat smaller audience than usual at this very fine concert. Are our chamber music audiences still subject to the blinkered attitudes that Schoenberg faced in Vienna a century ago?