Tag: choral

Dynamic, muscular and sonorous – Orpheus and Wellington Youth choirs tackle Verdi’s Requiem with Orchestra Wellington to stupendous effect

Posted on by Peter Mechen

VERDI – Requiem Mass

Antoinette O’Halloran (soprano)
Deborah Humble (mezzo-soprano)
Diego Torre (tenor)
James Clayton (baritone)

Orpheus Choir of Wellington
Wellington Youth Choir

Orchestra Wellington
Marc Taddei (conductor)

Michael Fowler Centre. Wellington

Saturday, September 8th, 2018

Choir(s) and Orchestra alike would have been more than gratified at the audience turnout for this concert – the ensuing atmosphere reminded me of the same combination’s brilliantly successful presentation of Orff’s “Carmina Burana” of a couple of years ago. Naturally, the performance ethos in this instance was somewhat more sombre, as befitted the subject matter, but the musicians’ commitment to the task of realising the sounds was in most places just as compelling.

I must admit to initial surprise at having a lineup of soloists predominantly from offshore, with the exception of adopted Wellingtonian James Clayton – surely we could have had at least one New Zealand-born singer in the ranks? I don’t for a moment condone the idea of any kind of local “quota” in these matters, as individual merit should always be a consideration – but it often seems to me that the attitude of organisations is “imported singers are better” – or maybe even “imported singers draw the crowds” – and in my view, it’s not necessarily the case.

Yes, I admit I am, perhaps unfairly, singling out one concert, here, as Orchestra Wellington is, in fact,  usually an exemplar in this regard, as witness the recent concerts involving soloists such as pianists Michael Houstoun and Jian Liu, violinists Amalia Hall and Wilma Smith, and singer Roger Wilson.  I simply, and not unreasonably, want to make a particular point, with this occasion being, on the face of things, fair game! I had no real qualms about any of the singing performances, but still feel that it would be good for august local musical organisations to consistently demonstrate robust support for local artists. Perhaps there was a circumstance that might have forced orchestra or choir to use mainly offshore soloists in this case, but I wasn’t made aware of it.

Away from such considerations, and focusing on the performance, I thought the stand-out vocal achievements of the evening were provided firstly by the choir itself, here made up of the combined Orpheus and Wellington Youth Choirs, and secondly the mezzo, Deborah Humble. The other soloists all, I thought, gradually “came into their own” as the performance went on, whereas for me, Humble “hit the ground running” with her first extended solo, “Liber scriptus proferetur”, giving her tones  apocalyptic foreboding, and “pinging” her notes with impressive accuracy. Then, in the following “Quid sum miser” her more cantabile qualities beautifully augmented the voices of both tenor and soprano. Her ability to blend with others was as much a delight as her solo singing, as with the soprano, Antoinette O’Halloran, in a sublime “Agnus Dei”, and then with tenor and baritone in a beseechful “Lux aeterna”, delivering a radiant final “lux aeterna, luceat eis Domine” over the tenor and baritone counterpointings at the end.

As a team the quartet of soloists worked well together, none obtruding in ensemble passages, but maintaining their individual lines, almost to a fault at times where I occasionally wanted a bit more “temperament” to match something of the choir’s fervour. I’m normally a great fan of baritone James Clayton’s, but here I thought his singing in places strangely inward-sounding, as if pondering his own mortality ahead of beseeching his Maker for mercy on behalf of all humankind. An example was his solemnly-intoned “Requiem aeternam” during the “Lux aeterna”, where I was expecting more apocalyptic-like pronouncements. True, his vocal manner was perfect for “Mors stupebit”, deep and solemn, but then seemed to lack sufficient “bite” at “Confutatis maledictis”, which really surprised me, as I’ve heard him “let fly” in the past with magisterial results.

I warmed to tenor Diego Torre as the evening went on, finding his voice a touch constricted-sounding at the outset, but with his tones better-focused and more open by the time he reached his important solo “Ingemisco tanquam reus”, with those achingly beautiful winds echoing and augmenting the vocal line. After the Lacrimosa’s great climax, he contributed sensitively to the ensemble in “Pie Jesu Domine”, and in the Offertorium, sang his “Hostias” with touching inner feeling, despite the accompanying horns being a shade too prominent to my ears (the only wayward balance I noticed in the entire performance…….).

Antoinette O’Halloran’s “big” sequence was, of course the “Libera me” which I thought she addressed with just the right degree of awe and urgency (“Tremens factus sum ego  et timeo”) and lyrical sweetness (“Requiem aeternam”). Earlier she had beautifully capped off the trio “Quid sum miser” with a lovely ascent at the concluding “cum vix justus sit securus”, but seemed to me not entirely comfortable with her intonation at a comparable place place in the “Recordare”. This apart, she contributed to a generally unified ensemble of soloists, at all times ably supported by conductor and players.

Throughout, the sheer presence of the massed voices, whether singing softly or powerfully, and across the whole dynamic spectrum, made for a gripping and visceral experience. Right from the beginning, the contrast between the opening murmurings of the words “Requiem aeternam”, and the sudden, galvanising effect of the basses’ entry at “Te decet hymnus” captured the writing’s unashamed volatility and theatricality, equally drawing us in as listeners to both the hushed and the open-throated declamations, and holding us in thrall throughout.

The deservedly celebrated “Dies Irae” sections had all the weight and “bite” from the voices that the words needed, with the soft singing (such as at “Quantus tremor est futurus”) putting across an awestruck quality which most appropriately ushered in the crushing onslaught of the “Tuba mirum”. At the section’s “other end” came the cortege-like trajectories of the Lacrymosa, building in weight and intensity to enormous proportions, superbly sung by the choir and pliably controlled by conductor Marc Taddei, as were both the vocal and the instrumental “Amens” at the end, beautifully summonsed from the silences before being allowed their full exhalation of breath.

What a contrast with the urgently launched, and excitably declaimed “Sanctus” – here dancing with delight, there shouting with fierce exultation, the singing by turns full-throated and delicate, concluding with a joyful “Hosanna in excelsis!”, the ascending syncopated brass accents as startling to the ears as ever!  Again, there was yet another complete change of expressive mode with the “Agnus Dei” (a different kind of celestial outpouring!) the two women superb, and the choir floating its myriad voices like stars in the Milky Way.

As for the “Libera me” (virtually a work in itself, of course), the choir played its part to perfection – awe-struck at its first entry, immediately following the soprano’s impassioned opening, then hurling itself once again into the maelstrom of “Dies Irae”, the basses wonderfully sepulchral in their after- mutterings of “Dies Irae, dies illa”, then joining with the rest of the voices in support of the soprano’s plea for mercy for departed souls. That done, the voices again took up their cudgels and hove to with a will into the fugue, their hushed tones as spine-tingling as their shouts of terror. The tremendous climax at “die illa tremenda” over, the voices whispered the final “Libera me’s” with an indescribably moving amalgam of fear, exhaustion, hope and faith at the work’s end – a stunning achievement!

As was that of the orchestral players in support of all described above, under the sure-footed direction of conductor Marc Taddei. The instrumental detailing, especially from the winds in their various accompaniments of the singers, was characterful and ear-catching at all times, the string-playing was by turns ethereal and sonorous, and the brass and percussion simply awesome in effect, the placement of the “Tuba Mirum” trumpets at various places in the auditorium opening up the vistas and filling our sensibilities with proper wonderment. I’ve heard more consciously doom-laden performances, with more apocalyptic “grunt” in places from singers and instrumentalists alike, but this was a dynamic, muscular rendition of a work which enabled its greatness to shine forth in splendid fashion.

 

 

Triumphant performances of choral masterpieces of Vivaldi and Handel

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Tudor Consort and The Chiesa Ensemble directed by Michael Stewart

Handel: Dixit Dominus HWV 232
Vivaldi: Gloria in D, RV 589

St Mary of the Angels

Saturday 1 September, 7:30 pm

Gloria
Vivaldi is believed to have composed three settings of the Gloria; one of them is lost, but the other, RV 588, is extant and sometimes performed. I think both are in the key of D. I can recall hearing it sung in Wellington, 15, 20 years ago. But I don’t have clear memory of it. I suspect it was at St John’s church on Willis Street. If anyone can help my memory I’d be glad to hear.

However, it’s the one we heard, to great delight, this evening that’s the glorious one.

It’s a real bonus that The Tudor Consort often engages a first class instrumental ensemble to accompany them, in accordance with the composers’ intentions for, much as I enjoy organ music it rarely sounds good accompanying choral works not scored specifically for organ. There was, of course, a continuo organ part, played on the William Drake pipe organ, from Victoria University, by Tom Chatterton. The Chiesa Ensemble consists of NZSO players and their professional talents enriched both the Vivaldi and Handel, with energy, refinement and sheer accuracy.

The Vivaldi opens with a strong orchestral introduction that immediately demands attention, and it was soon joined by the choir which inhabited, naturally, the space of the beautifully restored church. Here, Vivaldi’s typically bright, melodious music, in a joyous religious spirit fitting the obvious sense of the text.

In this acoustic its sound was a good fit for a work composed for a church of this size, the convent/orphanage where Vivaldi worked for much of his life, the Ospedale della pietà near the Piazza San Marco.

The piece is in eleven sections, each distinct in character, tempo, composed for varying combinations of choir and soloists.  And the choir, from which very fine solo voices were drawn handled it with affecting subtlety. The second section, ‘Et in terra pax…’ opened quietly with men’s voices, then women’s, plangent, in increasing volume. They seemed to rejoice in its subtle harmonies, with voices so perfectly balanced.

The soloists proved a special delight; first, sopranos Anna van der Leij and Anna Sedcole, in ‘Laudamus te’, their youthful-sounding voices, precise and pure, blending quite charmingly.

Vivaldi’s notion of religious figures is such as to delight even the non-believer: the simple piety of the Gratias, and then the solo aria from Amanda Barclay, introduced beautifully by oboes and basso continuo with its conspicuous organ part.

The triple time, dance-like chorus, ‘Domine fili’, brought another colourful musical element to the piece, again an inducement to belief. And then a lovely cello solo from Eleanor Carter(?) introduced the more subdued ‘Dominus Deus’, with the rich mezzo voice of Megan Hurnard. The fourth soloist was mezzo Eleanor McGechie, singing ‘Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris’ with elegant string accompaniment, again in triple time though in a minor key.

The joyous music that began the Gloria returns for the brief penultimate chorus, ‘Quoniam tu solus Sanctus’ before the only distinctly contrapuntal movement: the ‘Cum Sancto Spiritu’ which sustained the celebratory spirit to the end, with the entire orchestra, including Mark Carter’s brilliant trumpet.

The whole performance, of one of the most delightful of ‘religious’ works, was sung with idiomatic style, energy, even exhilaration; all of which reinforces the feeling that the 18th century, as well as being the Age of Enlightenment, managed to find the right balance between rational thinking and religious ritual, which found their finest expression in that age before the emergence of the Romantic era.

Dixit Dominus
It seemed almost too much to believe that another, possibly even greater, religious choral work was to follow, with Handel’s Dixit Dominus, written less than a decade earlier. It was interesting to read the programme’s remark that parts are a bit bloodthirsty for modern sensibilities (but they only conform to the narrative in a book I’m currently reading, The Darkening Age by Catherine Nixey, dealing with the torture and murder of non-believers, and the destruction of classical literature, sculpture, art and buildings by the early, and also not-so-early Christians).

However, in the 18th century, ways were found to rejoice in religious ritual and belief in a not so conspicuously cruel, intolerant manner; and this work is one of the most spectacular exemplars.

It’s a more complex work than the Vivaldi, even though Handel was only 22 while Vivaldi was about 37. There’s greater richness and dramatic variety, more contrapuntal extravagance, and the programme did well to quote Robbins Landon remark that it is ‘of staggering technical difficulty’.

Like the Vivaldi, it opens with a string orchestral introduction; and the choir spits out the words ‘Dixit Dominus’ insistently, leaving no room for doubt and the choral part is at once more emphatic, varied, through inter-weaving parts.

Again, the second part,’Virgam virtutis’, opened more calmly, with alto Andrea Cochrane and a solo cello accompaniment, her voice almost prayerful. The soprano aria ‘Tecum principatus’, after a calm orchestral introduction, was sung by Amanda Barclay, comfortable rather than brilliant, though she dealt easily with ornaments.

Then the ‘Iuravit Dominus’ opened and closed with energetic, staccato passage warning of God’s inflexibility, and the more dense and rapid-fire staccato ‘Tu es sacerdos’ that spelled out the priest’s commitments, with fast, challenging, staccato again. The same rapid music accompanied the ‘Dominus a dextris tuis’, now with five soloists: Anna van der Leij, Anna Sedcole, Anna Cochrane, John Beaglehole and Matthew Painter; a very singular and challenging movement that again drew attention to the choir’s skill and taste, and the same talents, plus commanding leadership and interpretive gifts of conductor Michael Stewart. The movement ends with one of the most individual passages, the stammering ‘conquassabit’ which was entertaining.

Van der Leij and Sedcole took solo parts again in the ‘De torrent in via bibet’, more peaceful and comforting than much of what had gone before, with striking dissonances making a singular impact; it slowly and almost magically, fades away. Finally, the last chorus, ‘Gloria Patri et filio’, was a last opportunity to demonstrate the fruits of, I imagine, extended and scrupulous rehearsal, with its fast contrapuntal, virtuosic singing that went on and on, showing no signs of exhaustion.

These were triumphant performances of two works that need to be heard, live, regularly, just to remind us of the genius of both composers as well as to illustrate the fertile environment in which they worked. Finally, right till the end, there was scarcely any sign, in the choir’s performance, of the music’s challenging difficulties.

 

Admirable exploration of challenging Purcell and gorgeous Fauré from Nota Bene

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Nota Bene, the Chiesa Ensemble and Tom Chatterton (organ), directed by Peter Walls

Fauré: Requiem
Puccini: Requiem
Purcell: ‘O sing unto the Lord’; Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary; ‘Rejoice in the Lord Alway’

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Sunday 8 July, 3 pm

Looking back through Middle C’s archive, I was a little surprised to discover that Nota Bene was founded as far back as 2004; we have reviewed 18 of their concerts since our beginning in 2008. It was founded by Christine Argyle, and has been under the direction of several others since, including, quite often, Peter Walls.

Concerts are usually constructed round a theme, and the theme here was death and the celebration of death. Such a theme lends itself to a huge variety of approaches and differences of style dictated by history. The juxtaposition of funeral music by Purcell and that of Puccini and Fauré might have seemed eccentric; but that merely means that the rewards for finding and thinking up connections between disparate things are so much more intriguing. It might encourage making judgements too, and I think the second half, largely dominated by the Fauré Requiem, was the more successful.

It is hard to say whether one should be more admiring of performances of music that are delivered with ease, where all the circumstances come together happily, than of music that is intrinsically challenging, the idiom and style harder to come to terms with; is being tackled by voices few of which are professional, and perhaps in a space, the Catholic basilica, in which every little flaw, lack of balance and ensemble weakness can be heard.

It is hard to say whether one should be more admiring of performances of music that are delivered with ease, where all the circumstances come together happily, than of music that is intrinsically challenging, the idiom, technical demands and style harder to come to terms with.

Purcell: O Sing unto the Lord 
The latter environment affected the three anthems by Purcell. O Sing unto the Lord is described as a “relatively late work” – 1688: he was an elderly 29 years old! And it’s one of his literally hundreds of choral works; making Purcell’s achievement more comparable to Schubert’s or Mozart’s, also dead by age 35, than to any other composer.

Its elaborate orchestral introduction was most impressive, not perhaps as an exercise in authentic Baroque musical performance, but certainly for its beautiful warmth and period feeling, and sheer opulence, placing him clearly in a position equal to the finest Continental composers of his time.

I had intended to get to the pre-concert talk but a family matters intervened. My own reading of the usual sources (e.g. notes to a Hyperion recording) indicate that the prominent bass voice and the scoring for a large string orchestra suggest a special occasion. The same source remarks that “Although the writing is overtly celebratory, behind it is the deliciously wistful quality”, and this indeed was the character of the performance.

After a long and fairly elaborate orchestral prelude, the imposing, solo bass episode, sung by Daniel O’Connor, unusually rotund and well projected, was a striking start to the anthem proper. Then the body of the choir entered with ‘Alleluia’, in contrasting triple time. After another orchestral section, the choir created markedly distinct contrapuntal lines in their singing of the rest of the first verse. It is clearly hard to capture properly, in spite of the triplet rhythm one might have expected to carry it confidently along. A charming duet between soprano and alto, ‘The Lord is great’, created another atmosphere in this constantly varying music. And a more subdued choral dialogue followed in the next verse, ‘O worship the Lord’. The formal variety continued with alternating phrases between O’Connor and the body of the choir in the final section.

I’m sure that it’s easier to achieve a smooth, well integrated performance from a larger choir; and one might have wished that performance by a small choir, probably more like what was available to Purcell, would produce more refinement and sensitive shading of articulation and harmonies; a big challenge that wasn’t quite met.

This rather overlong consideration has found its way into my description mainly on account of the remarkable fecundity and inventiveness of Purcell’s work. Nor did the following anthems present fewer hurdles or complexities to unravel.

Funeral Sentences for Queen Mary
Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary of 1695 (less than a year before his own funeral) was of course less ‘celebratory’; here again the challenges of this sophisticated music were audible, but the choir, sounding thin, faced with the task of creating a regal lament of high seriousness, really struggled.

My memory of first hearing this piece was at a concert maybe 20 years ago by a Victoria University choir, probably conducted by the then Professor Peter Walls in the Adam Concert Room, which impressed me, imprinting it in the memory; there, I may have been moved, uncritically, having no earlier performance to compare. Here I couldn’t help feeling the absence of a richer, more opulent ensemble, and that a rather larger choir was needed, or at least one that had been able to achieve more perfect ensemble through persistence and devotion, more rehearsal than an amateur choir can be expected to get. Perhaps it would have been better if the whole choir had sung certain passages for single voices.

However, here was the opportunity for the horns to shine and for the support of the organ to be heard, but I have to say that the long instrumental postlude cried out for the greater spiritual impact that sombre brass instruments might have provided. Nevertheless, there was sufficient musical power in this careful and faithful performance to be moved by the greatness of the music.

The third Purcell anthem, the well-known Bell Anthem, ‘Rejoice in the Lord Alway’, ended the first half. Such a different and obviously less deeply felt piece again employed solo voices quite extensively in the verse sections: Virginia Earle, Paddy Geddes and Shawn Condon; their contributions were agreeable and significant, even though a certain tentativeness again suggested inadequate rehearsal.

Two Requiems
It was interesting if not revelatory to hear Puccini’s truncated part of the Requiem – the opening section, Requiem aeternam, written in 1905 for the 4th anniversary of Verdi’s death. In a suitably pious tone, with organ joining the orchestral accompaniment, there were, naturally, distinctive traces of the operatic Puccini. The choir seemed better attuned to it than they had been to the Purcell works.

Then Fauré’s Requiem.  The rich opening chords from the orchestra presaged a performance that was faithful to Fauré’s original conception, and thoroughly suited the church’s acoustic (it was premiered in Fauré’s own church, the great Madeleine in the middle of Paris); it included the church’s main organ too, sustaining a prolonged pedal note in the Introit under the pianissimo full choir.  There was much to admire and genuinely to enjoy; consoling men’s voices singing the repeat of the words ‘Requiem aeternam’ were lovely. And the unaccompanied soprano moments in the following Kyrie touched the emotions.

The benefits of a fine orchestra were very clear in the opening of the Offertorium, and later, before the calming entry of sombre voices; and the tremulous solo from baritone Daniel O’Connor, with ‘Hostias’, followed by the reprise of the first passage’s choral writing, sung in exemplary ensemble, created a rich and satisfying statement.

In the magically spiritual Sanctus Anna van der Zee’s violin solo soared over particularly lovely high voices, momentarily disturbed by the dramatic men’s voices in the concluding ‘Hosanna in excelsis’, an episode that offered a very special emotional commentary.

The organ introduces the solo soprano (Daisy Venables) voice in the Pie Jesu, which was a particularly successful episode that in no way calls for larger forces than were available here.

Men, tenors only I think, sang the first section of the calm Agnus Dei, followed by the full choir repeating the first passage, gently becoming more intense.  One of the most arresting yet magical episodes, one that came off very well was the change of gear for the final lines, ‘Requiem aeternam’, switching back to the home key of D minor.

Baritone O’Connor enjoyed another lyrical solo episode opening the Libera me; and though we are told that Fauré avoided the punitive ‘Dies Irae’ which is intrinsic in the normal Requiem setting, a brief statement of it appeared, with horns at hand, in the latter stage of the Libera me.

And no matter how familiar the In paradisum has become, it too, with a more conspicuous organ accompaniment and the high soprano voices by themselves, worked its magic, certainly on me, and I’m sure on the entire audience.

While the Purcell pieces had presented certain difficulties, whatever challenges the Fauré offered were handled with the deepest sensitivity, quietude and conviction.

 

Liturgical music, dramatic and meditative in splendid Orpheus Choir concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Orpheus Choir and the Orchestra of the New Zealand School of Music, conducted by Brent Stewart and Kenneth Young
Jenny Wollerman (soprano) and James Clayton (baritone)

Giovanni Gabrieli: Canzon Duo Decimi a 10 (#3)
Duruflé: Requiem
Leonie Holmes: Frond
Dvořák: Te Deum

Wellington Cathedral of Saint Paul

Saturday 26 May, 7:30 pm

The Orpheus Choir made a striking decision to perform two great choral works that are not often heard – one that is well-enough known but not so often heard (the Duruflé) and Dvořák’s Te Deum which I had not heard before. It’s one of those pieces that you are sure you’ve heard at some time, but turns out to be quite unfamiliar.

Gabrieli and Dvořák
However, the concert began with something else that was not revealed in the programme booklet: it was a surprise, simply to see the dozen brass virtuosi from the NZSM orchestra file on. We were in for something special: Giovanni Gabrieli’s Canzon Duo Decimi a 10 (#3) from the book of Symphoniae Sacrae of 1597. They set the aural scene brilliantly.

Two conductors were involved. Kenneth Young conducted the Gabrieli, the piece by Leonie Holmes and the Duruflé, while the choir’s conductor, Brent Stewart conducted the Dvořák.

The choral part began with the Dvořák. It struck me at once as a pretty unconventional liturgical work, far more histrionic and secular in feel than most music of the genre. Things like the last movement of Beethoven’s Choral Symphony, or perhaps the operatic character of Verdi’s Requiem offer some idea of its nature. The timpani opening was stunning, might I even say spectacular and it was obvious that accompaniment by a full orchestra was indispensable; I listened to the university orchestra with real admiration from the very start.

Jenny Wollerman’s voice was an obvious choice among Wellington sopranos: large, clear and attractive, able to cut through orchestral sounds, though it was interesting that the orchestral writing was generally considerate of the soprano’s performance. Was it an alto flute that emerged in the middle of the first part? The flamboyant character of the music came to a great climax at the end of the first chorus and the baritone part takes over without a pause, with fresh brass fanfares.

James Clayton’s voice and presentation was every bit as vivid and appropriate as Wollerman’s had been and he managed to maintain the operatic-cum-oratorio character of the music. I kept reflecting that it was remarkable that Dvořák, in spite of the confusion about the text he was to set for the Columbus 400th anniversary immediately on his arrival in New York, had judged the sort of music that would be fit for the occasion, as he wrote it while still at home in Bohemia.

Some writings about the Te Deum seem to suggest that it was tossed off as an obligation, a last minute substitution for a text that didn’t arrive in time.  It was melodically and rhythmically strong, with plenty of excitement, for though an American school of composition hadn’t emerged (and that was part of the reason for Dvořák‘s invitation), there was plenty of evidence of a taste for the big-boned, noisy, extravert music on a huge scale (read about the reception of Johann Strauss II in Boston in 1872).

A fresh surprise strikes at the start of the third movement which is entirely sung by the chorus, and another flamboyant triple time rhythm takes over, though it soon quietens with the more prayerful words, ‘Et laudamus nomen tuum in saeculum, et in saeculum saeculi’.

If one sometimes wonders how much close attention the composer pays to the meaning of the hymn, one example struck me, the words sung by the choir: ‘Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri’ in the fourth part, as the soprano continues to be closely and impressively integrated in the increasingly frantic, exciting music that Dvořák delivers repeating ‘Alleluia’ numerous times. The work proves to be a singular combination of the expostulatory and triumphant punctuated here and there by some affecting contemplative passages.

Leonie Holmes
The first half ended with a piece written in 2004 by Leonie Holmes: Frond (which turned out to be, not a depiction of the mid-17th century uprising against Louis XIV, in France – La Fronde – but a portrayal of fern fronds). It failed to evoke any forest or botanical imagery for me, but I still found it an attractive piece which helped restore my belief in the value of contemporary music, after exposure the previous evening to some of the Stroma/Bianca Andrew/Alex Ross concert, some about a century old – long enough to have taken root in the affections of a tolerant listener had they been inspired by real ‘musical’ impulses. Holmes’s composition was evocative and her imaginative use of the orchestra and the musical motifs she employed made it a cleansing and spiritually restorative piece.

Duruflé
The continuation of that musical spirit came with the lovely Requiem of Duruflé. In my own record of Duruflé performances I had to go back to 2014 to find the last hearing in Wellington: from Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir under Karen Grylls, when it was coupled, as it so often is, with the Fauré.

If the Fauré and Duruflé requiems are congenial companions, the Dvořák had offered no clue as to its companion’s character, and it created a vividly different musical experience. The pace of its opening phase was of peace and consolation, though not conspicuously religiose (Go on! Look it up!).

It’s a work that is often accompanied by organ, and while that is a legitimate version, and though I enjoy organ music I am almost always more delighted with orchestral colour and variety where that’s what the composer wanted. In the opening phase cellos and basses and soon the uneasy brass and heavy timpani made me grateful that the choir had managed a deal with the NZSM Orchestra. And it made me wonder whether ways could be found to engage the orchestra for other major choral performances that find the cost of professional players out of reach but which would benefit hugely from the lively, excellent playing we heard from the university orchestra.

The striking feature of the singing was its subtlety and its subdued vitality, in something of a contrast to the Dvořák. The opening Introit set the tone and was in complete contrast: calm, tranquil, reverent, but the Kyrie involved a more clamorous plea for mercy in a short central section. Soloists do not get exposure here and we waited through several minutes of the Domine Jesu Christe, through a quiet organ passage and a plangeant soprano part that builds to a tutti outburst before baritone James Clayton enters with ‘Hostias et preces’, amid tremolo strings and a much more disturbing atmosphere. It doesn’t last long and the soprano-led plea for God’s restoration settles the atmosphere.

A comparable atmosphere of exultation builds slowly in the Sanctus, opening with rippling accompaniment on (I think) organ flute stops. The words ‘Hosanna in excelsis’ start quietly but are repeated, crescendo till they climax with massive timpani, and fades into near silence.

Soprano Jenny Wollerman emerged for her first and only solo passage in the Pie Jesu, again with open, confident, adagio lines, gradually rising and falling dynamically. Women’s voices led the way in the following Agnus dei, appropriately slow-paced and pleading, the words uttered with extraordinary slowness. Bassoons have some rewarding passages, e.g almost surrounding the voices in the Lux eternum as they dwell long on the same note.

Trumpets open In Libera me, and Clayton filled the air with foreboding at ‘Tremens factus sum ego…’ with only passing reference to the day of wrath, ‘Dies illa, dies irae’, a fine chance to hear the baritone’s rich and powerful expression. Duruflé picks up Fauré’s precedent with his final In paradisum; based on Gregorian chant, it might not have the popular appeal of the latter, but it captures a sustained kind of rapture, and invests the work with an innocent, guileless conclusion that passes over any expectation of doctrinaire belief.

It was a most interesting and satisfying concert of two very beautiful but different works that those who think they are allergic to choral music should be exposed to. Happily, the cathedral was very nearly full, and applause was prolonged.

Unusual but timely concert by Supertonic, dynamic mixture of the musical, the political, the sexual

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Supertonic conducted by Isaac Stone

‘Shakespeare’s Sister: celebrating the music of women who created art in the shadows of men’
Music by Hildegard, Clara Schumann, Alma Mahler, Fanny Mendelssohn, Amy Beach, Francesca Caccini and Lili Boulanger, and two New Zealanders: Dorothy Buchanan and Rosa Elliott (who, at age 20, was the ‘featured composer’)

Pipitea Marae, Thorndon Quay

Sunday 20 May 6:30 pm

Middle C has reviewed two previous concerts by Supertonic (both by Rosemary Collier), in 2015, and she was impressed (where have we been in the meantime?). They were in different venues, the Sacred Heart Cathedral and the New Zealand Portrait Gallery. This time they gave me my first experience in the Pipitea Marae, which I’m ashamed to confess I’d never been in; a building of normal construction, with impressive Maori mural and ceiling decoration.

The concert was very well organised, with enough people at the door to take tickets and give seat numbers and generally manage. The seating on either side of a centre aisle was turned to face inwards by about 15 degrees. A congenial feeling.

One of the first impressions as the music began, was the splendid acoustics of the large whare, allowing distinct parts of the choir on the one hand and the choir singing homogeneously on the other to be heard as a finely balanced ensemble. Enhanced I imagine by the high vaulted ceiling and walls which were probably plastered and so a bit more absorbent than concrete, stone or timber.

The singers were ranged in four rows at increasing heights; the piano to the left and to the rear left, the ‘Concert host’, Clarissa Dunn, and a microphone. After the choir had entered, a chant arose at the back and the nine women’s voices came slowly to the front singing Hildegard von Bingen’s ‘Quem ergo femina’. The fine ensemble augured well.

This is the moment to remark admiringly on the paper-work. A nicely printed programme on glossy paper, with a woman in profile who has just released a bird – a swallow, a symbol? Inside, notes on the choir, on host Clarissa Dunn and the ‘featured artist’, the 20-year-old Canterbury University student composer, Rosa Elliott. All the composers’ names and the titles of the pieces were listed and on a separate page, original words and translations of all the songs in foreign languages.

There was a distinct air of professionalism about the entire presentation, not least the evidence of excellent, thorough rehearsal by Isaac Stone, a gifted young conductor who has a very impressive and interesting record both as musician and leader in musical and social areas, especially in the Maori sphere.

One thing we could probably not reasonably expect was to encounter music that we knew – though I speak only for myself.

Clarissa Dunn’s introduction
An unexpected element, but one that was illuminating was Clarissa’s quoting an essay by Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, on the importance of a space for creative work; it related to Dorothy Buchanan’s cycle. The essay presents an “argument for both a literal and figurative space for women writers within a literary tradition dominated by men” in the words of Wikipedia.

One hears often about the importance of having a private place in which to compose. Some such composing sanctuaries are famous, like Mahler’s two lake-side hideaways, at Steinberg-am-Attersee and Maianigg on the Wörthersee in Carinthia, or Ravel’s house in the country, Le Belvédère, at Montfort-l’Amaury. The same applies to women but it is harder for them to find such space.

Clara Schumann’s composing was not forbidden but after Robert died she composed no more and devoted herself to performance and the promotion of Robert’s music. The choir sang Drei gemischte Chöre (3 mixed choruses). They were sung with flawless ensemble, purity of tone and clarity of diction.

American composer Amy Beach’s music is heard more these days than a few years ago. She was, like Clara Schumann, both composer and pianist and her husband wanted her to concentrate on composing rather than performance. Again, the a cappella Three Choral Responses were accomplished works if not particularly original, showing little sign of absorbing composition trends of around the turn of the century.

Alma, Lili and Francesca
Then three singers from the choir sang songs by Alma Mahler, Lilli Boulanger and Francesca Caccini. Samantha Kelley sang the first, Die stille Stadt, with a very agreeable voice, and pianist Matthew Oliver, who was occasionally hesitant.

Lili Boulanger was the first woman to win the Prix de Rome at the Paris Conservatoire and though no barriers were put across her musical career, she died aged 24, 100 years ago. (She is one of this year’s important anniversaries; the others: Debussy’s death 100 years ago, Bernstein’s birth 100 years ago, Gounod’s birth 200 years ago, Rossini’s death 150 years ago*). Reflets, set to a poem of Maurice Maeterlinck, sounded an altogether more inspired composition, with an interesting, even adventurous piano accompaniment; Natalie Williams’s voice was well attuned to the music if occasionally insecure.

A duet from three centuries earlier, Aure Volanti by Francesca Caccini was sung by sopranos Natalie Moreno and Sophie Youngs; there were clear marks here of a fine composer, whose father was also a leading composer who composed one of the first operas in 1602. Women composers were not all that rare at the time; slightly later, Barbara Strozzi was famous and she has re-emerged. This performance handled the weaving voices and Isaac Stone’s piano accompaniment in a charming, authentic manner.

Fanny, Felix’s sister
Felix Mendelssohn’s sister Fanny (Hensel her married name) was also a gifted pianist and composer, whose musical inclinations and gifts were rather discouraged by Felix. Her settings of three of Eichendorff’s poems, Gartenlieder, appealed to me as much as anything in the concert; the writing was fluent and there was plenty of melodic charm and character, far from clichéd. I enjoyed the varied expressive qualities that were well conveyed in the choral performance.

The next group of pieces by Dorothy Buchanan was a curious composition: for flute (Liz Langam) and wordless women’s voices, a small cycle called Five Vignettes of Women. They were marked, Virginia (Woolf), Olivia (Spencer-Bower), Robin (Hyde), Fanny Buss and Katherine (Mansfield). The Virginia Woolf song was the link with the introductory reference to Woolf’s essay, A Room of One’s Own. The set was interestingly varied in style and mood and the different instruments produced some novel impressions. The whole struck me as very engaging work, admittedly with a not very important vocal element, but enough to justify its inclusion here.

Rosa Elliott’s Songs for Sisters
Featured artist was 20-year-old composer Rosa Elliott who set three of great 19th century novelist George Eliot’s (real name Mary Ann Evans) poems: Songs for Sisters.

Conductor Isaac Stone is quoted in a SOUNZ website saying that he fastened on her to compose for the choir because of her “incredible way with haunting melodies, matched perfectly with choral colours”. They involved violinist Vivian Stephens, pianist Matthew Oliver and Samantha Kelley using castanets. The first song, O Bird, coloured with hushed breathing, employed an undefined bird-call that later imitated a vocal motif from the choir. I lost track of the breaks between the three songs; however, the unusual combination of vocal effects, occasional distinct words, the melodic attractiveness, Stephens’ excellent violin contribution offered lively variety. The castanets marked the Spanish character of the third song, Ojala, in which the choir could be detected chanting the name. By the end I was won over by the unusual character of this trio of songs, their confident, surprisingly grounded feeling. I think they have a life.

The concert ended with a, for me, puzzling, enigmatic song: Quiet by (I suppose) a young woman called Milck. I confess to looking it up on Google. It’s a song protesting sexual violence in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein scandals, frankly bluesy in style, but more importantly, arresting in both its music and its message. She writes that it is part of “a massive movement of women and survivors speaking out against sexual assault, I find myself in awe and moved to my core”.  I caught words of intimate advice to vulnerable girls; it was, I guess, a timely insertion for the choir whose purpose here was to dramatise efforts to empower women and demand changed behaviour on the part of men, and sexual exploitation is as evil as depriving women of the wherewithall to create music.

An interesting and poignant way to end the concert which had virtues and strengths at many levels, social and musical.

*Composer Anniversaries
This sort of thing interests me. I was half aware of several other composers who were born or died in these or similar years. There’s Arrigo Boito (Verdi’s librettist for Otello and Falstaff and also the composer of Mephistophele), and Hubert Parry both of whom died in 1918. Then I came upon a contribution to the topic from a kindred spirit who writes a column in the French Opéra Magazine, Renaud Machart. He wrote about Lili Boulanger, naturally, and he also noted the successor and in some ways Offenbach’s rival in the post Franco-Prussian war period (1870 – 1880): Charles Lecocq (1832-1918). His best known pieces were La fille de Madame Angot and Le petit Duc. And very tongue-in-cheek, Machart  also pointed to one Procida Bucalossi (1832-1918), a British/Italian composer of light music; with that background, he naturally wrote a successful operetta for London in neither language, entitled Les Manteaux Noirs (The Black Cloaks).

Looking back to 1868, as well as Rossini’s death, Swedish composer Berwald died. And François Couperin was born in 1768, 250 years ago.

Impressive and stylish performance of Bach’s great Mass in B minor celebrates choir’s 50 years

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Celebrating 50 years: The Bach Choir of Wellington, conducted by Peter Walls

Bach: Mass in B minor

With Nicola Holt (soprano), Maaike Christie-Beekman (alto), Lachlan Craig (tenor), Simon Christie (bass), Douglas Mews (organ) and the Chiesa Ensemble

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Sunday, 13 May 2018, 3.00pm

A handsome A4-size printed programme with a good size of typeface greeted the almost capacity audience at the concert.  Inside was a potted history of the choir, and good programme notes, credited to the internet source, plus entire libretto of the Mass, with English translations.

This work, one of the pinnacles of the choral repertoire, is Bach’s only Mass, though made up partly of a number of earlier pieces, written independently.  It is fraught with difficulties for all participants.  Scholarship has waxed and waned somewhat over the 50 years of the Bach Choir’s life, as to the ‘correct’ techniques for singing and playing this baroque repertoire.  However, with baroque expert Peter Walls at the helm, the style was consistent and the performance was vigorous and stylish.

A large part of the success of the performance was due to the Chiesa Ensemble.  This orchestral ensemble was made up of professional players from the NZSO and Orchestra Wellington, 21 in number.  Their playing was always good, and often brilliant.  The team of soloists was also very fine, and thoroughly in tune with the demanding requirements of their roles.

The 50-strong choir acquitted itself well, for the most part.  It began in fine form with the Kyrie clearly enunciated – ‘k’ is a difficult consonant to get over when singing, but there was no doubt about it here.  It only took a moment for me to think ‘Now we’re in for a good time’.  Excellent bassoon playing soon made itself felt (Robert Weeks, David Angus), conversely, as so often with amateur choirs, the tenors were somewhat weak at this stage.

However, above all, the sheer majesty and complexity of Bach’s contrapuntal writing is mind-blowing.  Confidence and accuracy built up after a bit, and soon the singing became as resplendent in its grandeur as was the score.  Christe eleison is a duet for soprano and alto.  The voices of the two women matched amazingly well, while the accompanying string-playing was notably fine.  Here and elsewhere during solos the choir got to sit down – the men at the rear of the sanctuary, the women on seats along the sides of the church.  They moved quickly and unobtrusively in and out of position each time, as the soloists in turn moved in and out of their respective positions.

The repeat of the Kyrie began with basses, making a solid sound, though they were not as flexible as the women’s voices.  This section was more harmonically interesting than the first iteration.

The Gloria featured a wonderful brass opening section; the trumpets of Mark Carter, Barrett Hocking and Toby Pringle sounded splendid in this responsive acoustic.  The movement was taken quite fast.  Lilting passages helped to convey the meaning of the words, such as ‘…on earth peace to men of goodwill’.  Continuously florid passages were handled superbly well by the choir.  The trumpets celebrated with great élan.

Next came the beautiful solo aria: Laudamus te.  It was sung at a faster pace than I have heard it before, but all the florid twists were beautifully negotiated.  Accompaniment from strings and organ was splendid.  Though not playing baroque era instruments or modern copies, the strings played in baroque style.  The chorus’s Gratias agimus tibi was magnificently sung, with trumpets and timpani (Laurence Reese) again to the fore.

Then soprano and tenor soloists sang the lovely duet Domine Deus, with a gorgeous flute obbligato (Kirstin Eade, Nancy Luther).   Lachlan Craig proved to have a very pleasant voice, while the flute playing was wonderful; the whole effect was most uplifting.  The choir returned for Qui tollis, which appropriately employed a lower pitch, and subdued and even anguished tones.  The musical lines conveyed this, while contemplatinh Christ’s redemption of man’s sin.  Significantly, the final chord resolved back into a major key.

There followed a solo for alto, Qui sedes ad dextram.  Maaike Christie-Beekman’s words were very clear.  Every run and turn was beautifully executed.  Bass Simon Christie followed with Quonism tu solus sanctus.  He sang this difficult aria most competently, with conviction.  The choir returned to sing the final chorus in this movement, and in this half of the performance: Cum Sancto Spiritu, in very lively and joyful fashion, with a brisk pace.  It was rhythmically strong, and tenors acquitted themselves well here, however the sopranos were not fully in agreement on the top note.  The final ‘Amen’ was sung with an emphatic flourish.

After the interval came the Credo.  It had a calm opening.  The choir’s intonation was a little rusty after their break, in Credo in unum deum.  It took a little time to get back into full fettle.  The two women soloists excelled in Et in unum Dominum.  They had a delightful orchestral accompaniment, featuring particularly the sumptuous oboes of Stacey Dixon and Louise Cox.  This was one of the finest moments of the afternoon.

The chorus Et incarnatus est began with smooth, reassuring music, but soon changed at the Crucifixus.  The intervals and chords employed expressed suffering and anguish, only to be abruptly overtaken by Et resurrexit’s joy and jubilation.  There were so many strands in the chorus’s line Cujus regni non erit finis – perhaps depicting the many souls in heaven.  The chorus contribution was very grand.

Simon Christie sang the splendid bass aria Et in Spiritum Sanctum, with lovely back-up from oboes and bassoons.  Perhaps a bigger voice would have made more impact, but Christie sang with great clarity and accuracy, and pleasing timbre.  Confiteor unum baptisma had a flowing style, but the choir sounded a little uncertain in places, and also in Et expecto resurrectionem.

Bach gave the Sanctus a rousing and imposing character, unlike the text’s treatment in numerous other masses.  At the beginning it was treated harmonically rather than contrapuntally; it had the weight of majesty about it.  As it proceeded, the music became more florid; Pleni sunt coeli haa a fugal setting, very fast.   An exultant Osanna ended the movement.

Benedictus was sung by the solo tenor accompanied by a gorgeous flute and continuo.  It was very gracefully sung.  The choir did not start together in the repeat Osanna, and the singers were almost overwhelmed by the brilliant trumpets and organ (mainly, Douglas Mews played a quiet nd tasteful continuo).

The Agnus Dei  was an aria for alto, and was sung exquisitely by Maaike Christie-Beekman with marvellous strings accompanying.  The final chorus Dona nobis pacem had grandeur about it; the jubilant Amen ended the concert with the choir still singing very well.  It takes stamina to last the distance; all performers and especially Peter Walls, had it in spades.  The audience applauded with great enthusiasm.  Well done, all, but especially J.S. Bach.

 

 

Fabulous students choir fully prepared for Hong Kong choral festival in July

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand Secondary Students Choir in Concert directed by Andrew Withington and Rachel Alexander

Accompanied by Brent Stewart (piano) and percussionists, with Elizabeth Andrew (soprano) and other soloists from the choir

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Saturday, 28 April 2018, 7.30pm

A rather damp, cool evening after days of beautiful, calm weather did not daunt family, friends and supporters of the choir; the church was packed.

The 55-member choir proved to be in great form, and well-trained in a diversity of choral music.  Their interpretations were always adapted to the style and age of music being performed.  Diverse tone and approach were sensitively observed.  I found myself writing down ‘men’ and ‘women’ for items where part of the choir only was singing; it was not easy to think that these were all teenagers still at school, such was their accomplishment.

Singing 19 diverse items in 9 different languages would be a major challenge for any choir; that this choir did it with aplomb after a week’s workshop in Wellington was astonishing.  The choir only meets during school vacations, not weekly like most adult choirs.  Even more surprising to mere adults is the fact that most items were sung without the musical scores, i.e. from memory.

The programme began with ‘Kanaval’ by Sydney Guillaume of Haiti, and was sung with great vigour and commitment in the Haitian Creole language, accompanied by various percussion instruments, and clapping at times.  It was a confident, joyful and effervescent performance, from memory.

The second item was conducted by assistant director and vocal consultant, Rachel Alexander.  It was ‘Prelude’ by Norwegian-American composer Ola Gjello, sung in Latin.  It featured chanting against long held notes, almost drones, held by other parts of the choir.  The piece consisted of ‘Exsultate’ and ‘Alleluia’.  Part of the text was sung by the female voices, later rejoined by the men.  There were blocs of pentatonic harmony.

The rearranged double choir then sang, with harpsichord, ‘Magnificat’ by Pachelbel; with soloists from the choir.  It was notable for the bright vocal sound and was one of the few items for which the choir required the printed scores.

It was followed by the beautiful ‘Lacrimosa’ from Mozart’s Requiem, in yet another formation, accompanied by the fluent piano of Brent Stewart, assistant director and accompanist.  A lovely subdued tone issued from the choir; a magnificent fortissimo was produced when required.

David Childs is a New Zealand composer; his ‘Salve Regina’ (in Latin) was sung unaccompanied and from memory.  A quite gorgeous, varied and attractive piece this; it had luscious harmonic clusters and a solo.  All the singing was very fine.  Again, dynamics were varied and beautifully controlled.

An evocative flute made an appearance in ‘Hine Ma Tov’, a Jewish hymn based on Psalm 133 (in Hebrew) by American Neil Ginsberg.  Delicious harmonies were present in the piece.  As elsewhere, the singers were spot-on together at the opening of the work and at cadences.  The male voices were more prominent in this item; the female voices were inclined to be a little strident at times.

‘Stemming’, by Swedish composer Hugo Alfvén (1872-1960) was in the Danish language, another unaccompanied item sung without scores.  It was followed by an Austrian folksong for tenors and basses: ‘Buana, geht’s tanzn’ performed with percussion accompaniment.  The voices were good and strong, the words clear; it was a polished performance.

The higher voices had their turn, with a song in English: ‘Bring me little water Sylvi’, by African-American Huddie Ledbetter (1888-1949), whose song ‘Goodnight Irene’ was all the rage when I was very young.  The rendition involved humming and clapping (“body percussion”).  The voices produced a pleasing silky tone.

The last item in the first half of the concert was ‘Unclouded day’, by American Rev. J.K. Alwood, arranged by Shawn Kirchner.  This gospel song featured counterpoint, fugue – and blue-grass musical style, making it an interesting item, sung unaccompanied by the full choir.

After the break (needed after the time sitting on those backless forms!) we had two items by the Puanaki whanau of Christchurch: both action songs accompanied by guitars.  ‘Pakipaki’ was first, and was most effective, the choir believable as a bunch of Maori warriors.  The second, ‘Te Mura o Te Ahi’, (The flame of the fire) was loud and exciting.  At first the choir was chanting rather than singing, then their utterances turned to dense harmony.  The whole was very rousing.

Still in Te Reo, the choir sang a waiata – the well-known ‘Hine e hine’ by Te Rangi Pai, unaccompanied, in an arrangement by Andrew Withington.  It was a most beautiful arrangement – I must say more so than another I heard recently.  This one was not pitched too high, so sounded more authentic and more mellow and lyrical.  Pronunciation was clear and accurate.

Two compositions by prolific American choral composer Eric Whitacre followed.  ‘The Seal Lullaby’ was accompanied by clear, flowing lines on the piano.  An enchanting piece, much of it was wordless, with the singers making ‘oo-oo’ sounds.  Certainly a soothing lullaby.

Then came ‘Cloudburst’, a much more extended piece.  It’s dramatic – but you can’t go away humming it.  There are many different vocal sounds, and many kinds of body percussion, plus piano.  Those words that are used are Spanish.  The sounds of rain, both gentle and stormy, were produced in various ways.  One of the most striking is thumb-clicking, which sounds exactly like big drops falling on wet ground.  A drum added thunder.

There are swarms of notes, words against humming, and some solo sections.  This difficult work was performed confidently and strongly; these singers are at a standard almost unbelievable for secondary school students.  This was a virtuoso performance.  I have heard the work once before, in Wellington Cathedral of St. Paul, where the ample resonance lost it the precision we had here.  The choir had sung this and some of the other items in a concert in Palmerston North in January.

The most appealing piece in the whole programme was ‘Spring Rain’ by contemporary Latvian composer Ëriks Ešenvalds, commissioned last year by the New Zealand Youth Choir and the New Zealand Secondary Schools Choir.  It was in English with guitar (Carson Taare) and a fine soprano soloist, Elizabeth Andrew, from Dunedin.  However, I did not find that her words were as clear as those of the choir.  As throughout the concert, rhythm, timing, intonation, consistent vowels and dynamics were all virtually faultless.  Everything was thoroughly musical.  This song could cause a tear or two well up by its sheer beauty, as rendered by this choir.

Now for something completely different…  a medley of songs from My Fair Lady, sung in harmony with piano.  A Cockney accent was used to effect where required, and the songs were sung with relish.  I thought ‘I’ve grown accustomed to her face’ was a little too legato for its character.  However, the rollicking arrangement by Andy Beck (USA) was a lot of fun.

The concert ended with another item in te reo, this time the well-known old cicada song ‘A Te Tarakihi’ by Ngati Maniopoto and Alfred Hill, arranged by Brent Stewart.  With a drum soloist, it was stirring stuff, though I thought, not only because scores were used, that it was not quite as thoroughly rehearsed as other items.  Finally a Samoan sequence arranged by Stephen Rapana: ‘Maia soma e/Malie Tagifa’.  Clapping and movement preceded the singing, which was conducted by a choir member (presumably Samoan).  Drum, action, change from standing to sitting and back to standing were all part of the performance.

Standing too for the audience – a standing ovation for this fabulous choir, who astonished mere adults with their skill, memory, and multi-lingual performance.  Bravo!  The choir is to travel to Hong Kong in July for an international choral festival and then to Shanghai; fund-raising is under way.

 

 

Nota Bene at Sacred Heart Cathedral: an enjoyable concert by a very accomplished choir

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Nota Bene, directed by Shawn Condon

Love’s illusions: Songs of Romance, Passion, Vanity and Loss

Sacred Heart Cathedral

Sunday, 22 April 2018, 3.00pm

An imaginative concert full of delightful songs beautifully sung, it attracted  a moderate audience.  The diversity and careful planning of the programme was let down, in my view, by being broken up by too much applause.  Since it was divided into five Parts, it would have been sensible to have asked the audience to keep applause to the end of each Part.  As it was, almost every song was applauded.  The conductor spoke to the audience at the beginning, but his utterance was too fast and too quiet to be heard in the rear section of this quite large church.

The first Part was entitled ‘Innocence’.  It began with ‘Aftonen’ by Swedish composer Hugo Alfvén (1872-1960).  In the case of this and all other songs not in English, a translation of the text was given in the printed programme, as were composers’ and poets’ names and dates, plus brief but excellent programme notes. The 20-strong choir sang this gentle evening song unaccompanied (as was most of the programme) with splendidly pure tone.  The serene landscape was depicted most effectively.  Close harmony and humming were notable features beautifully executed.

Next up were songs by Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924).  Conjecture is perhaps pointless, but mine is that if Elgar (whose dates are close to those of Stanford) had not come along when he did, we would esteem Stanford much more highly.  Although well-known for his music for the Anglican Church, Stanford wrote much secular music too.

Three songs from his set of Six Elizabethan Pastorals were performed.  They were in almost a folksong idiom.  Notable was the clear English pronunciation of the words by the choir, here and throughout the concert, aided by the generous acoustic of the high-ceilinged church.  This despite the floor being totally carpeted.  The bright idiom of these songs brought a transformation from the quiet, calm, meditative Alfvén piece.  The second song (no.3 in the set), ‘Diaphenia’ contained lively, interesting melody.  ‘Farewell my joy’ was another Stanford song.  I found the music served the words by Mary Coleridge supremely well.

Part II was entitled ‘Devotion’, and opened with ‘Amor de mi Alma’ by Spanish sixteenth-century poet Garcilaso de la Vega, set by a composer unknown to me, Z. Randall Stroope, a contemporary American.  There were tricky minor key intervals and harmonies to be negotiated (successfully) in this quite complex writing.  The closing lines were particularly lovely, setting the words translated as “ Were it necessary for you I would die, and for you I die.”

We moved to more familiar territory (words-wise) with Philip Sidney’s ‘My true love has my heart’, set by Eugene Butler, another contemporary American composer.  It was accompanied on the piano by Shawn Condon, and sung by the women of the choir; it was a delight.  It was followed by Gerald Finzi’s beautiful setting of Robert Bridges’ ‘ My spirit sang all day’ – which I consequently had on the brain for the rest of the day.  The composer’s great interest in literature as well as music equipped him to set the words so well.

‘Go lovely rose’ followed; a setting by Chris Moore, another contemporary American, was for men only, and was unaccompanied, like the Butler song.  The last item in this Part was ‘A boy and a girl’ by renowned American choral composer Eric Whitacre.  The full choir sang this piece, featuring much close harmony.  Quite long, it seemed to me somewhat ponderous at times.

Sustained humming was gorgeous.

Part III bore the heading ‘Vanity’, and began with that other doyen of American choral music, Morten Lauridsen – settings of Les Chansons des Roses, and Dirait-on, poems by Rilke.  (I empathised with the words of the first, translated as ‘Against whom, rose, have you assumed these thorns?’, since a few days earlier a rose thorn had pricked my right thumb, causing it to swell and go black right from the base to the upper knuckle.)

Again, pronunciation was excellent.  Lauridsen has favourite intervals in my experience, and here they were, in this admirable song.  The second song (accompanied) I have heard before; it was a very fine setting.

After the interval, a smaller group sang two songs by Parry.  The composer died in 1918, thus his music being programmed by Tudor Consort recently, and by this choir.  They were the opening item in Parrt IV, ‘Affection’.  The blend in this smaller group of voices was not always satisfactory.  The second song, ‘If I had but two little wings’ fared better – it was more cohesive.  Both were attractive items.

Next was Sibelius.  Shades of Mendelssohn hovered round a song fn German for the full choir.  It had variety and composer and singers made good use of the words.  We remained in Finland with a traditional melody from the Swedish-speaking island of Åland with modern words – and vocal effects, all well executed.

Another Finnish song initiated Part V ‘Mystery and Tenderness’ ; ‘A mermaid’s song’ by Juha Holma.  I think, from reading the biography of the conductor printed in the programme, that Holma is a personal acquaintance of the conductor, who is completing a PhD at a Finnish university.  The piece used vocal effects, including whispering.  While well performed, the song did not appeal to me.  Whitacre’s ‘The Seal Lullaby’, with piano accompaniment, was a pleasing song with a rocking rhythm, particularly in the piano part..

A concession to New Zealand came in David Hamilton’s arrangement of ‘Hine e hine’.  The melody was at a very high pitch– surely many notes higher than the original, and for me the arrangement spoiled the beautiful simplicity of the song, though the parts weaving below the high melody were interestingly written.  The singing sounded strained at times.

Lastly, Part VI – Longing.  First up was a song by a Japanese composer of note: Toru Takemitsu, entitled ‘Shima e’ (To the Island).

Personally, I don’t enjoy the custom of some choirs of singing ‘pops’ at the end of a programme.  I want to go away with something uplifting and beautiful in my head.  ‘Ev’ry time we say goodbye’ by Cole Porter and ‘Both sides now’ by Joni Mitchell are first-rate songs of their genre and were  impeccably sung, the latter by only six voices with piano, but…  Again I felt the simplicity of the second song had been lost by too-clever changes of key.  Daisy Venables was the more than adequate soprano soloist.

Finally, an appropriate song for Wellington: ‘Winds’ by Mia Makaroff, another contemporary Finnish composer; much of her writing (she composed both words and music) is in English.  This was a fine piece of choral writing.  Like the rest of the programme, it was very well sung.

Shawn Condon directed clearly and undemonstratively.  The choir appeared to sing just as well in the items he accompanied on the piano.  An American now working in Wellington, he is about to take over as Artistic Director of the Bach Choir of Wellington.  The choir’s skill in singing in so many different languages was admirable, as was the variety of tone colour and dynamics.

As usual at a Sacred Heart concert, I heard complaints about the uncomfortable forms that are the seating.  Yes, cushions have made a difference, but the design (if one can use that word in such a case) of the seating makes them very hard on the back.  Pews they are not.  Another reason for not applauding between every song – it makes the concert unnecessarily long.

Nevertheless, this was an enjoyable concert by a very accomplished band of singers.

 

Kapiti and Palmerston North choirs in rewarding performance of Dvořák’s Stabat Mater

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Kapiti Chamber Choir and Renaissance Singers, Palmerston North, with orchestra, conducted by Eric Sidoti
Soloists: Barbara Paterson (soprano), Ellen Barrett (contralto0, Jamie Young (tenor), Simon Christie (bass)

Dvořák: Stabat Mater

St Paul’s Church, Paraparaumu

Sunday 15 April, 2:30 pm

This seems to be the Dvořák year in Wellington, as two days earlier I had heard players from Orchestra Wellington perform two of his chamber works – the String Quintet No 2 and the Serenade for wind instruments, cello and bass. Orchestra Wellington is featuring five of Dvořák’s symphonies in their 2018 season; and RNZ Concert are playing them all this week! Most welcome as we tend to hear little other than the New World Symphony (No 9) and the cello concerto from our orchestras; and from chamber music groups only the familiar American string quartet and the (admittedly gorgeous) mature (No 2 in each case) piano quartet and piano quintet.

The combination of a good local choir and visitors from Palmerston North ensured at least one thing, that the volume of sound was appropriate to the demands of the music. Dvořák’s Stabat Mater is a major choral work, written in the era of great popularity of large choirs and large-scale choral music, a period when over-blown compositions, sometimes inspired more by religious compulsion than musical inspiration, were produced in response to popular demand. This piece cannot be classed with such works, as Dvořák matches his religious convictions with committed, deeply felt music.

Inevitably, amateur choral skills are usually greater than amateur orchestral abilities, and that might have been evident in the orchestral introduction, but it was a small price to pay for the plain advantage of having an orchestra instead of a piano or organ to support a major choral work composed for choir and orchestra. Yet the opening choral passage led by strings, caught the grieving tone sensitively with its descending phrases; though later on balances between strings, woodwinds and brass proved more difficult.

The soloists generally managed their parts well, though in the early stages tenor Jamie Young sounded somewhat stretched; and while soprano Barbara Paterson settled well into some of her later more extended singing, her first entry lacked a certain warmth in its higher register. But she had happier experiences in both vii, ‘Virgo virginium’ and viii, ‘Fac, ut portem Christi mortem’. Bass Simon Christie sounded comfortable right from the start and his contributions always sounded particularly appropriate. Contralto Ellen Barrett, who emerged in part ii, where soloists sang without the choir, sounded as if she believed in her texts and her voice blended warmly with the other soloists.

In ii, for the four soloists (and in later sections that entailed soloists without choir) they grew into their distinct roles, generally supported by well-modulated orchestral accompaniment; these were certainly among the more persuasive, satisfying sections.

The choir returned for iii, the ‘Eia, Mater, fons amoris…’ with its hypnotic repetition of one of the music’s moving, dotted motifs, and it was good to hear Christie again, now with the choir in ‘Fac, ut ardeat cor meum’ (iv).

The tone of the piece changes at section v, as the choir sings a less grieving, consolatory episode in swaying triple time; but I was surprised at the rather excessive sforzando ‘poenas’. Nevertheless, it emerged as a moment of respite from the pervasive sorrowful tone till that point.

The tenor alone sings the steady-paced vi, ‘Fac me vere’ (repeated with choir a great many times) showing more comfortable control of the carefully distinct words in those verses. The choir on its own produced effective, emphatic phrases, with which Young joined.

The choir, again on its own, delivered a restrained and rather charming ‘Virgo virginum’, with bare strings supporting the slow, wide-spaced melody. Then in the only section for duet, Paterson and Young wove their lines together, thoroughly integrated now (in spite of the soprano having to utter lots of multi-syllables). Barnett got her solo turn in the penultimate section, now with sensitive orchestral support, though the composer needn’t have burdened her with such heavy brass; I enjoyed the second verse of this section particularly: ‘Fac me plagis’ with its supportive oboe and other winds.

The last section is in the nature of a lamenting funeral march, with choir shifting abruptly from mf to ff, and finally the familiar theme from the first section returns to bring a more peaceful, even enlivening, mood to its conclusion. So in spite of the hard to deny shortcomings intrinsic to an amateur choir and orchestra, this was a persuasive and satisfying performance that’s a credit to conductor Sidoti and his soloists and of course all the singers and instrumentalists.

Returning to Dvořák performance again; there are so many of his works that ought to be better known, apart from the last two or three symphonies; there are violin and piano concertos, unjustly neglected; there’s the lovely string Serenade; all 16 Slavonic Dances and the Slavonic Rhapsodies, the sparkling Scherzo Capriccioso and bagatelles that include a harmonium part and a variety of other chamber music; five symphonic poems; a Requiem and a Te Deum, and so on….

Rachmaninov’s Vespers richly resound with Inspirare and Mark Stamper at St.Mary of the Angels

Posted on by Peter Mechen

RACHMANINOV – All Night Vigil (Vespers)

Maaike Christie-Beekmann (alto soloist)
Chris McRae (tenor/priest)
Ben Kubiak (bass/deacon)

Inspirare
Lisa Harper-Brown (vocal and language coach)

Mark Stamper (director)

St.Mary of the Angels Church
Boulcott St., Wellington

Saturday, 7th April

Rachmaninov’s somewhat cumbersome title for this work (The Most Important Hymns of the “All Night Vigil”) though literally accurate, epitomises the composer’s characteristic self-effacing attitude to all of his musical undertakings. Fortunately for its deserved popularity, the piece has come to be commonly known as the “Vespers”, pure and simple (in the manner of Monteverdi’s similarly-titled work), however incorrect as a description – in fact Rachmaninov’s work contains settings of hymns from both Vespers and Matins in the Russian Orthodox Divine Service for the Feast of the Resurrection.

Matters of nomenclature apart (and far more importantly), this work provides a listening experience which touches on a number of fronts – aesthetic, visceral, emotional and devotional are words which come instantly to mind – and whose qualities leave little room or option for anything other than through-and-through involvement, especially in a live performance of this quality. I couldn’t help thinking of a similar kind of transportation of delight and wonderment I’d experienced in this same church with the aforementioned “Vespers” of Monteverdi, when performed in 2010 by home-grown forces, authentic instruments and all! Here, my feeling were replicated by a wondrous evocation of devotional intensity from a set of forces recreating a vastly different time and place, if with similarly mesmerising spiritual and emotional force.

For those who think of Rachmaninov’s music as consisting almost wholly of late-romantic throwback gestures belonging to and lamenting the passing of a bygone era, this work would come as a something of a surprise, indicating the extent of the composer’s intrinsic feeling for far older traditions than those of the nineteenth century. In fact the composer’s musical identification with the tradition gives a clue to the individuality of his work as a whole, its aspect of “continuous melody”, the sinuous nature of his themes, and their fervour and volatility. All of these characteristics can be found here interwoven with the actual traditional chant melodies used by the composer in the work, but in a way that results in a seamless exchange between tradition and originality.

The work was written at a time when sacred choral music was enjoying something of a renaissance in Russia – in fact a “New Russian School” of choral composers, including Kastalsky, Gretchaninoff and Chesnokov, inspired by the enthusiasm of the pedagogue and musicologist Stepan Smolensky, had created a new native style of orthodox church-inspired music. The latter had also been Rachmaninov’s tutor at the Moscow Conservatory, and was responsible for introducing him to the beauties of ancient Russian liturgical chant, which inspired the composer to dedicate his Vespers to the memory of Smolensky after completing the work in 1915.

Nine of the fifteen movements in the work are based on actual chant melodies, Rachmaninov drawing from three ancient chant traditions – “Znammemy” (the oldest form), Kiev School and Greek School. For the remaining six, the composer created what he called “conscious counterfeits”, original material based on the style of the existing chants. The text is in “Church Slavonic”, which is the Orthodox Church’s liturgical language. Incredibly the work was finished in the space of two weeks, and performed in 1915 as a benefit concert for war relief. According to my sources, it was performed on a number of further occasions that year, due to its initial success.

Having not heard the work “live” previously, I had recourse to recordings to prepare for this concert, principally to one I’d owned for a number of years, and generally regarded as a “classic” – this was the 1965 Melodiya recording featuring the USSR State Academic Russian Choir directed by Alexander Sveshnikov.  I wondered whether playing my LP repeatedly by way of familiarising myself with the work was going to do my reaction to Wellington’s Inspirare Choir any favours, especially as the Russian recorded performance had several instantly impressive qualities – a marked fervour of utterance expressed by way of an incredible dynamic range and a certain direct “raw” vocal quality which sounded like no other choir I’d heard, along with the deepest and richest sonority I could have imagined, thanks to those incredible Russian bass voices!

Rachmaninov himself made particular reference to these bass sonorities, replying to concerns expressed by the work’s first conductor, Nikolai Danilin, who reportedly told the composer that “such (bass) voices were rare as asparagus at Christmas” – to which Rachmaninov replied that he knew the voices of his countrymen, and that such basses could be found. This exchange was prompted by the fifth of the composer’s settings, one frequently occurring in European church music and known as “Nunc Dimittis”, and here concluding with a slow downward scale finishing on a low pianissimo B-flat. In fact the Inspirare basses at St.Mary’s on Saturday evening gave a creditable account of themselves in this passage, reaching the cavernous depths asked for by the composer, and holding onto their tones tenaciously, if without quite the resonance commanded by my recording’s Russian basses.

For the rest, I thought the performance by the Inspirare choir and the three solo singers truly magnificent, expressing the work’s breadth and depth with a beauty and solidarity of tone that itself paid ample tribute to the quality of the voices involved and the all-embracing direction of Mark Stamper. This was a performance which gave due attention to the ritualistic quality and context of the settings, using two solo voices in turn (deacon and priest) to begin the sequence, and tubular bells to introduce almost every one of the individual movements. And we in the audience were made to feel we shared the same similarly-lit spaces as the voices, which further enhanced the capacities of the performance to draw us into the music.

Besides the sonorous bass voice of Ben Kubiak as the deacon, and  the wondrously plangent tones of tenor Chris McRae, both of whom made various contributions at other places during the work, alto Maaike Christie-Beekman brought to her solos in “Blagoslovi, dushe moya, Gospoda” (Bless the Lord, O My Soul) unwavering, worshipful and warmly-projected tones, confidently mediating the exchanges between the beautiful, wind-blown voices of the women and the deep, almost oceanic undulations from the men.

As for the choir itself, from the very first surge of fervent impulse immediately after the beautifully floated opening “Amin”, with “Priidite Poklonimsya tsarevi nashemu Bogu” (Come, let us worship God, our King), we were drawn into a sense of worshipful communion with the voices, the ebb and flow of their tones gorgeously expressed and finely controlled by Mark Stamper. In the third hymn “Blazhen Muzh” (Blessed in the Man), I loved the growing intensities of the repeated trio of Alleluias, and the radiance of “Slava Otsu I Synu I Svyatomu Dukhu” (Glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit) burst out most tellingly at the piece’s climax.

We heard the choir’s basses to telling effect in “Svete tikhyi” (Gladsome Radiance), the hymn introduced by Ben Kubiak’s bass solo, and beginning with high tenor voices, followed by the women, a lovely “layered” effect. The basses then initiated a stunningly low organ-pedal-like note, which then rose to mingle with the other voices  as the solo tenor burst forth fervently with “Poyem Otsa, Syna, I Svyatago Dukha” (We praise the Father, Son and Holy Spirit), Chris McRae’s vibrant timbres having to my ears a touch of authenticity in the context of this work. And how resonantly the choir’s voices held the slowly-devolving lines of the final “Tem zhe mir Tya slavit” (Hence the world glorifies Thee), with the basses making every ounce of breath tell.

Rachmaninov wanted the “Nunc Dimittis” from this work (No.5 – “Nyne Otpushchayeshi”) sung at his own funeral, professing it to be his favourite number from the work. After the tubular bells preluded the hymn, the women’s voices setting up a rocking motion, over which the tenor sang his plaintive melody, in places impassionedly, and to profoundly engaging effect. The basses then began a kind of canonic sequence at “Yezhe yesi utogoval” (Thou hast prepared) which gradually lit up all sections of the choir. After this, the sopranos then beautifully sounded an exposed “Svyet vodtkroveniye” (A light to shine upon…”) before returning, with the rest of the voices, to the rocking motion, and accompanying the tenor throughout his final sequence, the basses making their famous descent to a low B-flat, some actually completing the journey! In experiencing a performance such as this one could hear why Rachmaninov prized the work so much – most sadly his wish to have the work performed at his funeral was unable to be realised.

Sometimes separately performed, the “Ave Maria” (“Bogoroditse Devo, raduisya”) was here floated beautifully into being, the women’s voices effortlessly orbiting in different contrapuntal directions before the rest of the choir opened the choral floodgates and saturated the church with sound. A joyful bell phrase introduced “Slava v vysnikh Bogu” (Glory Be to God), the sopranos decorating the mezzo’s melody with bell-like entries of their own, the sounds gathering into a kind of cascade which dissolved as quickly as it formed, leaving rapt, prayer-like utterances mingling with the ensuing silences.

In the following “Khvalite imya Gospodne” (Praise the Name of the Lord”) I enjoyed the impression of listening to the voices of the Cherubim and Seraphim on high, as below, on earth, the faithful (the remainder of the choir) lift up their hearts with strong, definite statements, punctuating their utterances with Alleluias, the whole concluded by a peaceful, beautifully-rounded and long-breathed cadence. Rather more complex and narrative a structure was “Blagosloven yesi, Gospodi” (Blessed be the Lord), the text an annotated account of Mary Magdalene (unnamed) discovering Jesus’ tomb opened and inhabited by an angel on the first Easter Sunday morning, the music free and spontaneous-sounding, and the performance of both the tenor soloist and the choir filled with voiced wonderment and joy.

“Voskreseniye Khristovo videvshe” (Hymn of the Resurrection) was imbued with a sense of fresh hope, alternated with wonderment and fierce exultation, the performance giving us an abundance of varied intensities, the voices for the most part energetic and thrusting, while in places thoughtful and tremulous. Even more compelling was the following “Velichit dusha moya Gospoda” (Magnificat), which was a miracle of light-and-shade in its performance – the lower voices began the famous prayer  slowly and meditatively, after which the soprano voices here beautifully lifted their tones to the skies describing the “Cherubim and Seraphim-like exultations” with dance-like figurations, enchanting in their effect. Throughout the hymn, these angelic voices alternated with more earth-bound tones, heaven thus seeming to bestow approval to mankind through the Virgin’s prayer – the sequence ended with heavenly voices joining those on earth in quiet, worshipful rapture.

How rich and varied was the “Slavoslovive velikoye” (Gloria in Excelsis) here, with the lower women’s voices beginning the chanting and the soprano voices floating in over the top. The men’s voices continued the prayer at “Sedyai odesnuyu Otsa” (Thou who sits at the right hand of the Father), before the women’s voices took up the chant again after the “Amen”, reaching a lovely point of hiatus at “Budi, Gospodi, milost Tvoya na nas” (Let Thy mercy, O Lord, be upon us), and becoming almost recitative-like over the mesmerising repetitions of “Svyatyi” (Holy), which continued to the end.

Three short hymns brought the work to a close, the first an intense, richly-wrought outpouring, “Dnes spasenye miru” (The Day of Salvation), followed by a questioning bell sequence that seemed to require an answer from the voices! This came with “Voskres iz groba” (Thou didst rise), a serene outpouring of faith and confidence, the singing like a great exhalation of breath, truly depicting the text’s affirming statement “Thou hast given peace to the Universe”, a world drawn by the sopranos’ soaring, steadily-held line and the basses’ deep, rock-bottom tones. Finally,  heralded by an imposing extended bass solo from Ben Kubiak, the women’s voices appropriately took the lead for “Vzbrannoy Voyevode”  (O victorious leader), a Hymn to the Mother of God, the mezzo lines rich and energetic, and the sopranos gleaming, as throughout, richly upholstered by the lower voices, and concluding the whole work with a joyous outpouring of mellifluous tones and tingling energy.

Very, very great credit to all concerned with the venture, to Mark Stamper and his Inspirare singers and cohorts – what a work, and what a performance!