Tag: violin

Remembering David – a Farquhar tribute from the NZSM

Posted on by Peter Mechen

REMEMBERING DAVID
A concert of music by David Farquhar (1928-2007)

Presentation curated by Jack Body
Music performed by staff of
Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music
Jenny Wollerman (soprano) / Martin Riseley (violin)
Jane Curry (guitar) / Jian Liu (piano)

Works:
Sonatina for piano (1950) / Three PIeces for Violin and Piano (1967)
Eleven Pieces from Black, White and Coloured for piano (1999-2002)
Swan Songs for voice and guitar (1983)
Six Movements from Ring Round the Moon for violin and piano (1953 arr. 1992)

Adam Concert Room, Victoria University, Kelburn

Thursday 8th May

This extremely timely concert was organized by Jack Body as a tribute to one of his former teaching and composing colleagues, David Farquhar, on the seventh anniversary of the latter’s death.

Born in Cambridge in 1928, David Farquhar was one of a group of fledgling composers which included Larry Pruden, Edwin Carr, Dorothea Franchi and Robert Burch who studied composition with Douglas Lilburn at the renowned Cambridge Summer Music School during the late 1940s. Afterwards, on completing his degree in Wellington at Victoria University, Farquhar then took himself to England, joining Burch, Carr and Pruden for two years of further composition studies at the Guildhall School of Music in London under the tutelage of Benjamin Frankel.

Returning to New Zealand in 1953, Farquhar joined Professor Frederick Page’s Music Department at Victoria University, managing to balance teaching duties with composition, and producing at least one landmark piece of home-grown music along the way – the Dance Suite for small orchestra, “RIng Round the Moon” written to accompany a stage production by the New Zealand Players. Another work which achieved something of a public profile, albeit briefly, was the 1962 opera “A Unicorn For Christmas”, performed for Queen Elizabeth during a 1963 Royal Visit.

Of course, “Ring Round the Moon” in its various guises has captured people’s affections like none other of Farquhar’s works – I think partly because it doesn’t have any of the slight austerity that seems to me, rightly or wrongly, to be hung about the neck of much of the composer’s output. Even so, there’s so much more of Farquhar’s music which ought to be better-known, some of which we were able to hear performed in this concert.

Other pieces – the most shamefully-neglected of which I think is the First Symphony – await their turn in the scheme of things. Farquhar wasn’t a self-promoter of his music, unlike his contemporary, Ted Carr, though the music of both has entered that realm of curious neglect which composers Ross Harris and Jack Body touched upon in a radio interview prior to the Farquhar concert.

There’s grown up a kind of “lost generation” of New Zealand music, being the work of composers who came immediately after Douglas Lilburn, a list including, of course, David Farquhar, and (as Jack Body pointed out) that of HIS teacher, Ronald Tremain.  Yes, one or two works by these people did “cut through” the Sleeping-Beauty-like thicket and get themselves established – besides “Ring Round the Moon” one thinks of Larry Pruden’s “Harbour Nocturne” as a kind of “Kiwi classic”. And one remembers both Farquhar’s Third Symphony and Pruden’s String Trio being performed in Wellington, well, relatively recently.

But apart from these good deeds shining out like candlelight in a naughty world, the gloom that’s here overtaken the compositional output of people such as the aforementioned Ted Carr and Ronald Tremain, as well as that of Robert Burch and Dorothea Franchi, not to mention slightly later figures like John Rimmer and Kit Powell, has been pretty London-foggish. Another figure whom I’d include is Christchurch’s John Ritchie, whose music seems to get little more than parochial attention, when there are pieces by him which should be well established in our regular concert programs.

Perhaps, as Ross Harris seemed to me to suggest, this process of neglect has a kind of inevitability – like T.S. Eliot’s cat, “The Rum Tum Tugger”, who ” will do what he do do, and there’s no doing anything about it!” In which case, the same process obviously creates in time a kind of need to fill the void, which in turn propagates concerts like the present one – thanks, of course, here, to that “nurseryman extraordinaire”, Jack Body.

As well, there’s a current crop of performers who are ready, willing and certainly able to assist with whatever rehabilitation process is mooted, as was demonstrated to us in the Adam Concert Room on this occasion. After Jack Body’s welcoming speech, the concert proper began with a Sonatina for piano, dating from 1950, written by Farquhar after he’d left New Zealand to take up studies in the UK at Cambridge University. A note in the program told us the the work was published only in 2009 by Waiteata Music Press!

In this three-movement work, pianist Jian Liu revelled in the first part’s explorations of keyboard timbres – at first, brief phrases created a somewhat restless feeling, though the colourings held the angularities together. Then the music gravitated towards the lower piano registers, less agitated in effect, but deeper and slower, almost leviathan-like – not menacing, but sombre and sonorous, with upward irruptions of impulse keeping a kind of spatial awareness of things alive. These bright, glint-like sequences led to a quiet, enigmatic coda.

The second movement, marked Andante, I found almost ritual-like in its step-wise aspect, with an accompanying flourish, the latter following the melody as a train follows a bride’s dress – counterpointing voices played hide-and-seek, the pursuers then throwing their victims in the air to sparkle and scintillate before coming to earth and taking up the stepwise gait again, the flourish somehow detaching itself and leaving us with a piquant impression. The finale’s running, angular figurations were brilliantly activated by Liu, whose energies exuberantly realized the toccata-like middle section, and, after a breath-holding pause, signalled the end with a grand flourish.

I scribbled lots of notes during the next item, the 1967 Three Pieces for Violin and Piano – however, the marking for the first movement, “Improvisando”, says it all, really. I was reminded here of my own youthful, awkwardly shy attempts to engage girls I fancied in conversation, by the piano’s fitful, broken fanfare-like figurations, to which the violin responded with edgy, distant held notes, frequently with harmonics and occasionally punctuating its iciness with impatient, dismissive gestures.

I’m not sure whether the second movement’s “Pizzicato” represented a kind of thawing-out of relations, but the pianist’s plucking of the strings in the piano’s body and activating the lowest ones with a timpanist’s stick seemed to accord more readily with the violinist’s pizzicato notes at first, the increased engagement continuing with the violinist’s fly-buzzing sonorities enjoying the pianist’s strumming of the instrument’s strings. The final piece, “Risoluto” had fanfares (violin) and strumming harps (piano) each player demonstrating a kind of determination suggested by the music’s title, the pianist at one point knocking on the instrument’s body with his knuckles, and the violinist amplifying the fanfare figures before skittishly delivering an abrupt payoff.

Then came the first of two exerpted brackets from a piano solo collection called “Black, White and Coloured” – a typical Farquhar-ish exploration of the different characteristics of music written using either white or black piano keys and their treble/bass/inverted combinations. The first “bracket” was dominated by song, realizations of Negro Spirituals and of songs by Gershwin amongst the items. While finding the idea interesting, I thought some of the pieces too skeletal and bloodless compared with the originals, especially the Negro Spirituals – had I not known the pieces’ origins, I wouldn’t have missed those bluesy intensities put across by various great singers I could recall in my memory, and perhaps given the composer more credit for his relative austerities.

Similarly in the second set I thought the idea worked better the more obscure the music – so while I thought the opening “Silver-grey moonlight” too simplistic in its treatment of Clair de lune, the famous folk-melody, some of the others worked well, though there seemed a reluctance on the composer’s part to do very much with the basic thematic material. I thought the most successful realizations in the second set were “Chorale Prelude” and “Clouds”, in particular, the latter, which brought from Farquhar’s sensitivity to detail some timeless, floating ambiences of beauty and nostalgia.

More successful – in fact, spell-binding in effect – was the song-cycle “Swan Songs”, a 1983 work for voice and guitar, performed here by soprano Jenny Wollerman and guitarist Jane Curry. Framing the cycle at its beginning, middle and end were quotations from Orlando Gibbons’ well-known madrigal “The Silver Swan”, hand-in-glove with traditional song, and texts from Carmina Burana as well as by the composer. On the face of things, a kind of hotchpotch, but in performance, a magical evocation of worlds within worlds, bringing together instances of creative impulses leapfrogging over centuries to make heartfelt connections, one I found delightful, piquant and extremely moving.

With sonorous and evocative guitar-playing from Jane Curry setting the scene, Orlando Gibbons’ evocation of beauty brought forth spoken exclamation at first from the singer, and then, briefly, melody. Together with limpid guitar notes  the singer continued through through a section of the traditional “Swan swam”, evoking stillness and grave beauty. The third section, “Anxieties and Hopes” used the composer’s own text, a setting urgent and anxious, with darting impulses and broken figurations, guitar and voice overlapping, breaking off for a sequence of soaring, impassioned beauty before returning to the previous agitated state of things.

Gibbons’ music returned as a kind of “quiet centre” of things, before the work took a somewhat bizarre turn, quoting the “roasted swan” text from Carmina Burana (also famously used by Carl Orff in you-know-which-work!) – a droll lament for the sweetness of times past, affectingly sung and played by Jenny Wollerman and Jane Curry. After a brief reprise of the singer’s call to the swan, over a guitar ostinato, Gibbons’ music made its concluding appearance, the singer arching the voice over a lovely guitar solo with the words “Farewell, joy……” – brief, and ambient, and beautiful.

Before the programme’s final music item, composer Ross Harris contributed a brief but moving reminiscence of David Farquhar, constructing an engaging picture of a colleague with a number of distinctive traits – a concise and ordered thinker and creative spirit, responsive to challenges, (fiercely competitive especially when playing tennis, which was a great love – in fact the end of tennis for Farquhar seemed to symbolize the end of life…..). Ross Harris talked about a composing legacy of finely crafted music, describing its composer as “ultimately modest”.

The evening’s final, appropriately-chosen item (how COULD it have been left out?) was the violin-and-piano transcription of “Ring Round the Moon”, an arrangement made by the composer for the concertmaster of the NZSO, Isador Saslav, in 1992. I remember, a goodly number of  years ago, introducing myself to David Farquhar as an “admirer” of the work, and the composer graciously acknowledging the gesture by way of seizing his then wife Raydia D’Elsa around the waist and dancing a few steps with her in front of me, explaining that they would dance their way through the music he composed at the time to “try it out”. I’m sure the composer would, had he been present, have relished the playing of violinist Martin Riesley and pianist Jian Liu, despite his well-documented frustration at what he considered the piece’s disproportionate popularity.

Somehow, the immediacy of the violin-and-piano textures brought this memory of our meeting back to me more readily than did any of the orchestral versions of the dances – everything came across as more flavoursome than I ever before remembered, the violin’s piquant re-echoings of the linking motif at the conclusions of some of the pieces, the crunchy harmonies of the Galop, the bar-room atmosphere of the Tango, complete with exhausted-on-their-feet couples, the contrariwise harmonies in the Trio of the Polka, and the alterations between instruments in the Two-Step, complete with the link-motif’s lovely “falling-down-the-slope” effect. To finish, the Finale was encored, the music in this performance as angular, chunky, exuberant and wonderful as ever.

For those people who’ve read to this point, my humble apologies for the lengthy review! – but I hope you’ll conclude from all of this that Jack Body’s and the musicians’ efforts on behalf of David Farquhar’s music were eminently worthwhile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Splendour and Strife from the Wellington Chamber Orchestra

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Wellington Chamber Orchestra presents:

BORODIN – Overture “Prince Igor” / BRUCH – Violin Concerto No.1 in G Minor
TCHAIKOVSKY – Symphony No.5 in E MInor Op.64

Simeon Broom (violin)
Rachel Hyde (conductor)

St Andrew’s on-the-Terrace, Wellington

Sunday 13th April

There’s something about Russian music which makes for a kind of instant combustion of attraction for the listener – it’s a combination of energy, colour, feeling and fantasy that intoxicates the senses, so that other, more abstract considerations seem irrelevant in the midst of all the excitement. And yet, when you force yourself to stop thinking “wow!” and concentrate on “how?” you find the music possesses its own logic of design and advances its own priorities with the kind of sure-footed certainty and vision that marks out great and distinctive art.

But there’s the case of this particular Russian composer whom I’m thinking about, where he was too preoccupied with his other interests and activities to actually get whole sections of his works properly completed –  what’s remarkable is that his music, as completed by his colleagues after his death, still possessed these aforementioned qualities in abundance, for goodness’s sakes! You’d be right in thinking that it’s Alexander Borodin (1833-1887) whom I’m referring to, though if you hadn’t glanced at the review’s heading you might have spared a thought for Modeste Musorgsky, another Russian composer for whom life even more seriously got in the way of music, with a number of compositions having to be “edited” after he died, a self-ravaged dipsomaniac.

One could say that the music of Borodin shares a lot of characteristics in common with that of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, fellow-composer-colleague, so that the effect of having the latter work on the former’s music for much of the time resembles the “rescue operation” activities of a kind of posthumous “alter ego”. But because Borodin’s music emerges from these rejuvenations sounding practically as much like Borodin as do the original, completed works, it suggests a uniquely-focused creative spirit was at work, one whose music with its distinctive harmonic and lyrical qualities has the mark of a genius.

So it is with the Overture to Borodin’s unfinished opera “Prince Igor” – both Rimsky-Korsakov and another composer-colleague, Alexander Glazunov completed the composer’s unfinished sketches of parts of the opera, with the latter taking on the job of reconstructing the Overture. Glazunov himself recorded that he composed the music “roughly according to Borodin’s plan”, using themes from other parts of the opera and from associated fragments. He modestly admitted that “a few bars at the very end were composed by me”, though, as with the rest of the reconstructions, the spirit of Borodin seems to shine out of every episode.

You could hear that distinctive voice immediately make its presence felt in the opening bars of the Overture which began the Wellington Chamber Orchestra’s first concert of the 2014 season. Conductor Rachel Hyde asked for and got a dark, rich sound from her players at the outset, the strings digging deep and the winds, though not perfectly in accord with their tuning, still bringing out that curious blend of splendor and plangency so characteristic of Russian music. I noticed that, for this concert, the brass and some of the percussion were brought out of the recessed altar area at the top of the steps, and into the more open performing-space, with a much more integrated, rounded-sound effect, to my untutored ears, than in previous orchestral concerts.

Though both winds and strings stumbled at the beginning of that trickily syncopated second subject melody, the playing brought out plenty of the music’s rhythmic excitement throughout – what a fine time the winds had with their “galloping” rhythms in places!  I liked, also, the antiphonal calls of the brass and the sheer “presence” of the tuba at crisis-points, sensationalist that I am!  As well, the horn solo was beautifully managed and the strings replied in kind with appropriate fervour. Despite the occasional spills one had a sense of conductor and players’ properly engaging with the music’s sheer physicality, a quality that’s needed for Russian music in particular to work its magic and properly stir the blood.

The orchestra has enjoyed collaborations with some pretty amazing concerto soloists over the years, and this concert continued in that tradition, with violinist Simeon Broom giving us the evergreen G Minor Concerto by Max Bruch, something of a “calling card” for virtuoso players. Broom has recently returned to New Zealand after ten years of study and performing in Europe to take up a place in the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra. On this showing he can certainly lay claim to considerable accomplishment as a soloist, bringing to the music here a wonderfully burnished tone and plenty of interpretative imagination – a momentary lapse of concentration during one of the double-stopped descents in the first movement a minor blip in the otherwise fluent performance flow.

I thought the orchestral support for Broom wholehearted and finely-wrought, Rachel Hyde getting on-the-spot attack from all sections and some lovely moments of collaboration with the solo violin line. Detailings such as the winds’ series of descending phrases counterpointing the solo line leading up to the “big” tutti gave particular pleasure.

The soloist’s eloquent playing of the cadenza was superbly capped off by the orchestra’s precise attack leading to the music’s gear-change into the slow movement. Broom’s lovely spinning-out of the lyrical lines here, though not absolutely note-perfect, created a lovely frisson of feeling and  and atmosphere, one which built inexorably towards the movement’s great and glorious outpouring of heart-on-sleeve emotion, a process in which conductor and orchestra played their part lyrical and nobly.

The finale was launched strongly and expectantly by the orchestra, a touch of less-than-perfect ensemble mattering not to the argument, and advanced beautifully by the soloist with some stunning upward runs. Rachel Hyde and the players held the big moments firmly and in focus, while at the same time keeping the ebb and flow of exchange with the solo instrument vibrant. The brief and exciting coda was thrown off by all concerned with great aplomb. Altogether this was a performance which gave considerable delight to we listeners.

What seemed like sterner business was afforded by the Tchaikovsky E Minor Symphony after the interval, a work whose considerable technical and interpretative demands were bravely, if not altogether easefully, tackled by the musicians. I thought the two middle movements the most successful, each featuring some skillful solo playing and some nicely dove-tailed ensemble, as well as tremendous surgings of tone and energy when required. The outer movements each had their moments, but each I felt lacked that last ounce of energy and edge in certain other places which would have suitably invigorated the music’s overall impact.

But details such as the slow movement’s tricky horn solo, and the clarinet figurations in support were beautifully done, as was a lovely “afterglow” effect at the movement’s very end, thanks to some hushed string-playing and (again) some lovely clarinet work. And in the third-movement Waltz I loved the horns’ eerie stopped tones and the wonderfully balletic string “scurryings” and other “Nutcracker-like” gestures from the winds, so characterful and colourful.

The Symphony began well, with those dark, suggestive clarinet tones so characteristic of the composer, and some deep and sonorous lower-strings support – however, despite Rachel Hyde’s suitably “energized” tempo for the allegro, the wind players seemed to let their figurations coagulate, slowing the music’s pulse down in places, to the point of dragging. Away from the step-wise rhythm, things were more animated, the strings’ marvellously expressive tune sung fervently and the brass chiming in and tightening things up when they could. But the overall pulse of the movement for me simply lacked enough underlying forward momentum to make the music work – a question not necessarily of tempo, but as much to do with accent and phrasing, and of things being kept alive and purposeful.

The “attacca” into the last movement was, however, just the job! – and, indeed, the whole of the introduction had both girth and momentum, the conductor holding things together splendidly, though the succeeding Allegro energico’s stuttering figurations and syncopated entries led a few players momentarily astray. Brass and timpani made the most of their big “motto theme” statements, pushinging the rest of the orchestra through the vortex-moments of the development section. Matters concerning ensemble did come to a head with the reprise of those stutterings and syncopations (an extended sequence, this time!), where, in the midst of the ensuing dislocations, Rachel Hyde had to very properly stop the players and start again, most resolutely at the flash-point of the troubles! But the players grasped the nettle and made the sequence work the second time through, so honour was restored.

While the symphony didn’t consistently “fire” it had its worthwhile moments – and the playing from all concerned in the other two items did both the music and the musicians proud.

 

 

Italian Embassy sponsors fine recital by violin and piano duo

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

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

Adam Concert Room, New Zealand School of Music

Wednesday, 20 November 2013, 7:30 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Violinist Blythe Press delivers fine Artist Diploma recital at the New Zealand School of Music

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Artist Diploma Recital

Mozart: Violin Concerto no.4 in D, K.218 (first movement, allegro)
Tchaikovsky: Sérénade mélancolique, Op.26
Wieniawski: Polonaise de Concert in D, Op.4
Sibelius: Violin Concerto in D minor, Op.47

Blythe Press (violin) with Emma Sayers (piano)

Hunter Council Chamber, Victoria University

Sunday 22 September, 12.30pm

It seemed an odd time for a recital, but perhaps the timing was dependent upon those grading the performance.  A mere handful of people attended apart from staff and students of the School of Music.  A lack of publicity was probably as much
responsible as was the awkward timing.

Nevertheless, those who heard Blythe Press and Emma Sayers were well rewarded, by fine playing and an interesting and wide-ranging programme, all played from memory.  While the programme of the recent soprano recital I reviewed was also performed from memory, I do think it is harder for instrumentalists: longer works, so many notes, and no words to hang them from.  The sound in the Chamber was excellent – clear and sympathetic, and resonant without being reverberant, such that the piano was played with the lid fully up, but it never became too loud for the soloist.

I was interested in Blythe Press’s style of holding the instrument; he holds it quite high, the scroll usually being significantly higher than the chin rest.  It reminded me of Francis Rosner, an early member of the then National Orchestra, who was German.  Perhaps this is a central European style?   Blythe Press studied for five years in Graz, Austria.

Mozart’s violin concertos are all quite lovely, but the fourth is particularly delightful.  My ancient Menuhin recording is still a firm favourite.  Blythe Press made a strong start, with warm tone. There were a few slight intonation inaccuracies, but there was no doubt about the skill of the playing.  The cadenza was approached gently, but later became challenging, with double-stopping and fast bowing across all the strings.  It was an enjoyable performance.

The piece by Tchaikovsky could hardly have been more different.  The nineteenth-century style of lyricism was well conveyed.  There was big tone from the lower strings in the early part of the work, which then became more animated and exciting.  Press obtained a great variety of tone from his instrument, and communicated the contrasting emotions extremely well.  As the programme note stated, it was “lyrical and haunting”.

Wieniawski was a noted virtuoso violinist himself, and his compositions are of the same ilk.  It is quite often played, demonstrating the performers’ range of technical skills – but it is not without tuneful, rhythmic and lively qualities.  Again, there were one or two pitch wobbles, but Press had the piece well under his bow and fingers.  Harmonics were used regularly, in the midst of phrases normally fingered, and the melodies leapt swiftly round the fingerboard.  Press’s playing certainly brought out the poetry as well s the bravado.  What a wild dance this was!

The pièce de resistance was Sibelius’s violin concerto, an absolute favourite of mine.  It was more strange to hear the orchestra replaced by a piano in this work than in the Mozart, since of course Sibelius employs a much bigger orchestra and a wider range of instruments and therefore the textures are much thicker.

The wind gusting outside the venue lent verisimilitude to the stormy, wintry first movement with its bleak opening, and orchestral ostinato sounding like snow falling.  The cadenza was a fabulous piece of playing: strong, sustained and seductive.  Press rose magnificently to the many technical demands.

The second movement was not blithe, but bliss.  I adore the climactic discords and their resolution that feature in this movement.  The emotional tension and passion are incomparable.  It is also very lyrical, and was played with smooth, rich tone, but those climaxes were given full weight.  It was strange that this movement was not given any attention in the programme notes.

The third movement had great vigour, yet fine definition of the notes.  Plenty of variety and nuance were bestowed on it, despite the technical difficulty.  It was a fine performance from Blythe Press, and from Emma Sayers too, having to represent an orchestra in such a long work.
All praise to her for her highly musical part in proceedings.

 

Two masterpieces of the violin repertoire at Old St Paul’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Valerie Rigg (violin) and Mary Barber (piano)

Beethoven: Violin Sonata No 1 in D, Op 12 No 1
Brahms: Violin Sonata No 2 in A, Op 100
Sarasate: Malagueña 

Old Saint Paul’s, Mulgrave Street

Tuesday 13 August, 12:15 pm

Wellington’s music scene is generously endowed with musicians young and old who are prepared to give their time and devote some effort to enriching the lives of those disposed to be enriched by good music, music that had stood the test of time (which I think is the best way of defining the meaning of ‘classical’).

Though, as the education system no longer regards the furnishing of young minds and souls with music of this kind, as one of the most important functions, those who can tell the difference between the lasting and the ephemeral are disappearing.

I recently came across a quote that is pertinent: “Few people mind saying they have a bad memory but no one admits to having bad taste.” Guess that’s a bit meaningless to most of the educational and political establishment.

Valerie Rigg and Mary Barber know, however, and the few score who come to sit under the beautiful gothic timber arches of this most beautiful of New Zealand churches probably know why they’re there too.

In the past Valerie Rigg has explored some of the less familiar masterpieces of the repertoire such as violin sonatas by Janáček and Prokofiev. This week she and Mary Barber chose to get back to the very heartland of the violin repertoire, with Beethoven and Brahms, as well as a classic of the ‘encore’ variety by Spanish virtuoso Sarasate.

The first movement of Beethoven’s first violin sonata seems designed to provide the violinist with plenty of arresting, exhortatory pronouncements, much given to scales and arpeggios, and Rigg entered its spirit wholeheartedly. In the slow movement, an Andante and not an Adagio, in Theme and Variations form, the violinist’s playing matched the wide range of expressive variety, and the charming episodes for the piano were handled gracefully by Mary Barber. A similar spirited and confident tone brought the last happy, lyrical movement to life, with little sign of declining facility on the part of the violinist.

In Brahms second violin sonata there was a tendency for the violin to drive a bit hard though it never risked overwhelming the pianist’s part, which itself is so rewarding.  What was always clear was the
enjoyment felt by both players, perfectly self-effacing in their exploring the gentleness and modesty of the music.  What touched me particularly was the readiness of this retired, fine professional violinist to maintain her facility in the challenging music she tackles, and to perform freely in these enterprising
concerts for the edification of the faithful audiences. Many of her orchestral colleagues retire from their posts and abandon music almost entirely.

The players explored sensitively a certain hesitant air in the second movement, punctuated by sudden impulsive Vivace moments, which created a feeling of simplicity and affection; and again in the Allegretto last movement, a contemplative approach at the beginning was never quite banished. Even though there were blemishes in the piano part, rather more than one might have expected, the technical assurance and spirit of the violin carried it to happy conclusion.

The recital ended with the Malagueña of Sarasate, not one of the dances of huge energy from Andalusia, but one rather irregular in rhythm, though it does permit touches of flamboyance. So it began, decorously, but I had a 1pm date and had to leave after a minute or so.

The major pieces in the programme had been enough to make the journey worthwhile, and I look forward to Valerie Rigg’s next recital with whichever of her repertoire of pianists she invites to join her.

 

Inaugural Wellington recital by accomplished violin and piano duo

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

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

Simeon Broom (violin) and Rachel Church (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 31 July 2013, 12.15pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scholarly and musical – Sergey Malov plays Bach

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Bach on 13 strings

Bach: Chromatic Fantasy for solo viola, BWV 903

Suite no.4 in E flat, BWV 1010

Partita no.1 for solo violin, BWV 1002

Suite no.3 in C for solo cello, BWV 1009

Sergey Malov, viola, violoncello da spalla, violin

Expressions, Upper Hutt

Friday, 7 June 2013, 7.30pm

One might think that a recital composed entirely of unaccompanied Bach would not reveal the versatility of the performer.  In fact, it did.  The other thought is that it would pall for the audience.  Although I heard remarks afterwards from some audience members that they missed piano accompaniment, I don’t think this was a general reaction.

However, I don’t believe I have been to a completely solo violin recital before, nor one devoted entirely to one composer.  However, by using three different instruments, Malov was able to introduce variety to the programme.  (A member of the audience provided accompaniment by tapping his/her foot constantly.)

Sergey Malov, here for the Michael Hill International Violin Competition as the winner of the last competition in 2011, and to tour for Chamber Music New Zealand, is a consummate string player.  He disarmed his audience with a few well-chosen remarks (including about the cool hall, which was certainly noticeable to the audience, and must have been worse for him, given his less-than-full-concert garb and his need to keep his instruments and his fingers warm).

The opening work was a tour de force in itself, its virtuosic writing for viola full of variety and difficulties, appearing not to trouble Malov.  However, he is one of those highly competent and talented individuals who has to take on additional challenges.  Therefore he commissioned a reproduction violoncello da spalla (on the shoulder) to be made for him, the instrument having been revived in recent years in Belgium.

We were introduced to this instrument in the Suite no.4, so I spent much of the time in that item listening to the instrument rather than to the music per se.  I have not been able to discover the tuning that Malov used for the five-stringed instrument (hence Bach on 13 strings) that he employed for the two Bach Suites. An article in Grove indicates that it may have been C-G-D-A-e (i.e. e in the treble clef), which equates to a standard cello tuning plus an additional string tuned to e.  There is strong indication that some, maybe all, of Bach’s Suites for cello were written for the da spalla instrument, which is a much more ancient instrument than the modern cello.  With a strap over one shoulder and round the back of the neck,  and having the instrument’s back against the player’s body, looked slightly ungainly, being played with a baroque bow – as compared with the guitar,, which is held in a similar position, but is plucked.

I found the timbre of the lower strings somewhat odd, and not a particularly musical sound.  The higher strings did not have this peculiar timbre.  The instrument has nothing like the resonance or warmth of the violoncello we are familiar with, and I have to say that I prefer the Suites on the latter instrument – but of course this is what I am accustomed to.

The Suite was exquisitely played with skill and expression, the tempi and rhythm suitable to each dance movement.  It was followed, after the interval, by Partita no.1,  played on the violin.  Similar to a Suite, Partita, being an Italian term, names the movements dance movements by the Italian names.  The subtlety and nuance in the playing were remarkable, but it was vibrant too.  The Corrente particularly was incredibly virtuosic, as indeed was the Tempo di Borea (Bourrée).  It was fascinating to watch Malov’s long, lithe fingers in action.

The final work, Suite no.3, was again played on the violoncello da spalla.  This one is more familiar than the no.4, and was delightful to hear.  Lively melodies take the listener through the six movements.  The Bourrée was so sprightly I rather wished that there were dancers on stage to put the music into movement.  A friend in the audience told me she had once seen such a performance in a house concert.  Malov made the music dance with very rhythmic playing and variations of timbre, with frequent lifts between notes; the music lived and spoke.

To have the performer play three different instruments, and therefore use three different fingerings in one concert was astonishing.  It was certainly not only a technical achievement; this was an evening of great music-making.

 

 

 

Martin Riseley (violin) and Jian Liu (piano) – elegance plus outrageous virtuosity

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music presents:

Martin Riseley (violin) and Jian Liu (piano)

FRANCK – Violin Sonata in A Major / DEBUSSY – The Girl with the Flaxen Hair

SARASATE – Introduction and Tarantella Op.43 / PAGANINI – Moto Perpetuo

WIENIAWSKI – Scherzo-Tarantelle Op.16

Adam Concert Room, NZSM Kelburn Campus

Victoria University

Friday 5th April

The present recital, featuring violinist Martin Riseley and pianist Jian Liu, was one of a series of concerts organized this year by the New Zealand School of Music.

Martin Riseley has on at least one previous occasion given me short-term lockjaw in the open position, when he played the 24 Caprices of Niccolo Paganini at a concert I attended in Wellington a little over three years ago. Playing those works in a single performance span and making a success of the undertaking demonstrated at the time that the violinist was a virtuoso-musician of considerable stature.

This time round, Riseley again wowed us with his brilliance and quicksilver reflexes, though the “relentless virtuosity” of Paganini and a later generation of virtuoso performer-composers represented by Sarasate and Wieniawski was confined to the recital’s second half. Not that the opening part of the concert gave the musicians any great relaxation, though the demands were of a slightly “removed” order of musicianship – this was the well-known Sonata in A major by Cesar Franck, inhabiting what Robert Schumann might have called “different realms” of expression.

I found Martin Riseley’s programme notes fascinating, as much for conveying his attitudes towards and history of playing the Franck work, as for giving me certain insights into some of the different technical aspects of playing both sections of the recital. I was interested that he mentioned as his “ideal” the recording of the Franck Sonata made by the Russian pair David Oistrakh and Sviatoslav Richter, as that performance has always been a great favorite of mine as well.

So it was with much anticipation that I settled down to await the beginning of the Franck, aware as I was of the playing and interpretative skills of not only Riseley, but pianist Jian Liu, whom I had heard and enjoyed a number of times in recital.

I thought the work’s opening beautifully voiced, having a growing focus from the first notes which flowered nicely at the first real climax. The passagework of both musicians had a lovely velvet touch in places, but had sinew and muscle in others when strength was required – the players’ detailing suggested depths as well as half-lights. Each musician nicely “wreathed” the other’s playing – still, I felt the music and its intensities slightly held back throughout, each player doubtless aware of the terrain still to be traversed.

Jian Liu’s clarity of fingerwork at the scherzo’s beginning actually reminded me more of Saint-Saens than Franck – he brought out the music’s athleticism, rather than what I think of as its erotically suggestive Wagnerian undercurrents. But both pianist and violinist beautifully integrated the “quiet centre” of the piece into the music’s pulsing, maintaining a “charged” quality throughout, and giving the growing dramatic rhetoric of the recitatives full force. The violinist splendidly brought out the soaring theme at the height of the agitations, contrasting it beautifully with its more reflective self in the quieter moments. The coda was properly hushed and expectant at the start, gathering energy and thrust and featuring the instruments really “digging into” the music, though again, the articulation was so very precise, the feeling was for me more abstracted than truly suggestive and passionate.

At the slow movement’s beginning the gestures had a truly Shakespearean eloquence, grand and declamatory, but with real “quality” in the silences. Both musicians were able to fine down their tones from those very public utterances to more private musings. Franck introduces his themes so touchingly in this movement, and Liu’s liquid keyboard tones and Riseley’s beautifully-floated lines meant that the first “suggestive” theme and later the more declamatory “unveiling” theme both had a kind of “borne along” quality, very intense, but beautifully integrated into the flow.

After this I was a little disconcerted by the finale as played here, the instruments (especially the piano), bent upon contrast instead of pursuing a continuance of “coming-out” from the previous movement’s thrall – in fact the first paragraph was simply too brightly and bouncily played for me after what had gone before. However, the contrasting episodes were voiced beautifully and sensitively by both musicians, even if I wanted the piano tones to have more “tumbling body-warmth” in places. When the slow movement’s theme was reintroduced, I thought the piano figurations which built up towards the violin’s impassioned entries too skitterish, and needing more weight of tone to match those incredible “drenched” violin tones.

Still, a committed performance can win over the most curmudgeonly listener, and thus it proved here – I found myself applauding as wholeheartedly as anybody in the Adam Concert Room when the music was all over. Perhaps in response to our enthusiastic reception the players decided to spontaneously add another item to the program, that of an arrangement for violin and piano of Debussy’s Prelude for solo piano, La fille aux cheveux de lin. This was simply gorgeous, the musicians giving the music absolute security of intonation throughout, and allowing the notes themselves to express their “quality” within the overall shape of things – the piece’s interpretation thus came from the actual “sounds” of the notes, added to which were episodes of haunting harmonics in the middle section, and dead-in-tune double-stopping towards the end.

From here on in the program there were fireworks aplenty, with the very occasional moment of repose or circumspection grudgingly allowed the musicians (well, the violinist, really!), such as the very opening to Pablo de Sarasate’s Introduction and Tarantella. Even so, there were difficulties aplenty here, such as frequent high-wire harmonics capping a whole series of finely-wrought archways of melody. But the Tarantella, when it began, astonished us all, bristling with virtuoso displays, the wonderful alternating (and then together!) left-hand/right-hand pizzicati a visual as well as an aural delight, as were the three-octave leaps along the instrument’s top string. The dance’s reprise was a breathtaking gallop, notes flying in all directions as would pebbles scatter from beneath a horse’s hooves.

More wizardry came with the Paganini Moto Perpetuo. The music resembled a rushing fusillade of notes in places, though Riseley’s playing retained sufficient poise to be able to bring out the music’s dynamic variation, and get an attractive “ebb and flow” aspect. Less gratefully written was the work by Henryk Wieniawski, in which the violinist has to constantly “reach” for the top note in the melodic line, making for more effortful results than in the other two virtuoso pieces. Yet the violinist was still able to bring out the gorgeousness of the writing with the main tune’s reprise. Throughout these pieces Jian Liu was a reliable and rock-steady support-partner, his presence the launching-pad from which Martin Riseley’s violin was able to sing, soar and scintillate to great and thrilling effect throughout the concert.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Duo mosaica – violin and guitar – in first-class recital to end St Mark’s series

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Francis-Paul Demillac: Petite Suite Medievale
Piazzolla: Café 30, from Histoire du Tango
Ravel: Pièce en forme de habanera
Monti: Csárdás
Cheryl Grice: Mi Alma
Martin Jaenecke: Shade and Light; The Many Shades of Me

Duo Mosaica: Cheryl Grice, guitar, Martin Jaenecke, violin and saxophone

St. Mark’s Church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday, 31 October 2012, 12.15pm

This was the last for this year of the Hutt City lunchtime concert series.  Since early June, numerous worthwhile concerts have taken place, and the organisers are to be commended for their efforts in putting the series together.

Both the performers in the duo migrated to New Zealand – one from England; one from Germany – to teach in Nelson.  They now contribute to the musical life of Wellington, with frequent returns to Nelson for Jaenecke, who has also toured for Chamber Music New Zealand.

The varied programme was introduced by the performers – using a microphone, I’m glad to say.  The fashion for spoken introductions is fine with me as long as what is said is cogent, well-thought-out, brief and audible – as today.  Too often it is none, or only some of these things, in which case it is a waste of time, and annoying to the audience.  The dynamics and tempo of speech needs to be increased (in the first feature) and decreased (in the second) depending on the size and acoustics of the venue.  It is amazing the number of people who do not realise that in an auditorium they need to speak more slowly and loudly than in a mere room; instead, they speak as if to a small group of friends in their living room.

Speaking of dynamics; the red and black combo of the performers’ outfits added to the brightness of the event.

The duo began with an absolutely gorgeous work by Francis-Paul Demillac, a composer I had not heard of before.  The acoustic seemed to allow both instruments to speak clearly – coupled, of course, with the musicians’ impeccable techniques.

The suite opened with a calm and peaceful ‘Sicilienne’, followed by a short, lively and bouncy ‘Sonnerie’.  Next was ‘Après une page de Ronsard’ (A une jeune morte), which was much more contemplative, as suited the subject.  The final movement was entitled ‘Ronde’; a sprightly dance, with the guitar using a variety of techniques.

Piazzolla is famous for his tangoes; this one was most appealing music, more thoughtful than I imagined it would be, but full of diversity too.  These two performers are so accustomed to playing together (Martin said it was ten years) that what they produce is a unified whole, with great tone from both of them.

Ravel’s ‘Habanera’ is well-known.  Originally it was written for voice and guitar, as a vocalise – a wordless melody with accompaniment.  The players performed a transcription from Ravel’s own version for cello and piano.  The piece seemed to have less flair than usual – perhaps it was a little slow.

Cheryl Grice had to retune her guitar several times to ccommodate the requirements of the composers; I noticed that she had a cunning device (presumably electronic) attached to the top of her guitar’s fingerboard, above the tuning pegs, that she consults.  I imagine it tells her when she has precisely tuned to the required pitch.

Vittorio Monti’s famous piece has been played by all manner of instruments, but was originally written for violin.  This item was played with plenty of life – and it was obvious from the facial expressions of both performers that Martin varied things a little as the mood took him, to liven the piece up.

Then we came to the duo’s own compositions.  Cheryl said that hers was the first she had ever written, and she wrote it in 5 days.  ‘Mi Alma’ means ‘My Soul’ (why do pieces by English speakers so often get titled in another language?), and used harmonics extensively.  A gentle opening was wistful, even regretful at times, but led to more forceful passages.  It was played superbly, and ended with gentle harmonics again.

Martin’s two pieces were for guitar and saxophone; he played the soprano saxophone with aplomb.  As he said, this was a demanding combination in terms of dynamics.   After an introduction on guitar, there was a haunting, rising melody for the saxophone; after discords, the music was brought to a beautiful resolution, before darting off onto sunny slopes for the ‘Light’ part of the piece.  Altogether very attractive music.

The second piece portrayed shades of the composer’s character – introverted, extraverted, angry etc.  Parts were improvised, as he humorously explained in his introduction.  Both instruments had solo passages, the saxophone revealing its variety of tones and ability to be brazen but also subtle, though not quite as subtle as the guitar.  The piece became exciting and vigorous, then sank into a reverie, with a delicious ending.

These are two first-class musicians who play so well in combination.

 

Five violinists and a cellist at student recital at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

String Students of the New Zealand School of Music

Brahms: Sonata no.1 for violin and piano in G major, Op.78
Mozart: Violin Concerto no.5, K.219; 3rd movement
Bach: Sonata no.1 in G minor, BWV 1001: Fuga; Sonata no.2 in A minor, BWV 1003; Andante
Bloch: ‘Prayer’ from Jewish Life,  Suite no.1
Mendelssohn: Violin Concerto in E minor, Op.64, 3rd movement

Annabel Drummond, Lydia Harris, Julian Baker, Hester Bell Jordan, Kate Oswin (violins), Alexandra Partridge (cello), Rafaelle Garlick-Grice, Matthew Oswin (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 17 October 2012, 12.15pm

The lunch-time concert was more than usually dramatic, with an earthquake occurring while Julian Baker was playing his Bach, but he carried right on, and showed no sign of discomposure.

First on the programme, though, was Annabel Drummond, a first-year student, playing the Brahms movement.  This is a long movement, marked vivace ma non troppo.  There were a few slight intonation glitches, but the expressive playing and superb tone Annabel gained from her instrument made these of no significance.  The sparkling piano part complemented the mellow, lyrical violin part, and had the limelight itself at times.

The gently melancholy character of the sonata, particularly the funeral march section (which belied the tempo marking) was conveyed beautifully, while the more rapid sections were fine too, despite a very brief lapse into harsh tone from the violin.  A splendid technique contributed to a wonderful performance in which Brahms’s work was played with feeling.

Lydia Harris gave us the third movement of Mozart’s concerto nicknamed ‘Turkish’.  Her violin had a strong sound, and she played with clarity, but not the sweetness of tone of the previous player, some stridency, even abrasiveness at times, on the upper strings, and not enough delicacy.  The intonation was occasionally awry.  There was too much pedal used in the piano part for Mozart.  The whole movement was, to my mind, played a trifle too fast, though it was not without character.

Next up was J.S. Bach, in the capable hands of Julian Baker, who played the unaccompanied fugue from memory.  His spoken introduction was good, and very clear.  The difficult music was executed very competently on the whole, despite a number of lapses in the double-stopping.  For a first-year student, this was very fine Bach playing; he had the audience totally absorbed (well, some of us lost concentration briefly, but not the performer) with idiomatic Bach, and a rich tone.

A cello followed, by way of variety.  Ernest Bloch’s piece was a shorter work than others on the programme, but of considerable interest.  Playing from memory, Alexandra Partridge proved to be a confident cellist, and one able to produce a lovely sonorous tone from her instrument.  There was plenty of subtlety and a range of dynamics in her performance; the excellent empathy between cellist and pianist was noticeable.

Hester Bell Jordan, playing the Bach Andante, seemed rather tentative.  Maybe it was nerves, but her tone was not consistent.  While there was care with the baroque style of phrasing away the second of each pair of notes, the performance came over as rather hesitant, with insufficient flow.  Certainly, the amount of double-stopping made this a difficult piece to bring off.

The last performer was Kate Oswin, whose brother Matthew accompanied her in the piano reduction of the orchestral score of the third movement of Mendelssohn’s violin concerto, probably the most frequently performed of any violin concerto.  It was a challenging role for both players, the violinist playing from memory, not made easier by being played a little faster than the marking might suggest.  The violin part was well under Kate’s fingers.  However, she does not have a big sound, and the piano sometimes had too much volume in comparison.

I felt the performance was a little too glib.  All the notes were there, but there was a lack of expression or dynamic alteration – indeed, the tempo made it more difficult to convey feeling and nuance.  It felt a little like a race of technical brilliance, rather than music.  There is no doubt that this 3rd-year student was more advanced technically than the first year students – but musically?  It needed to be more winsome.

A couple of people remarked to me how lucky we are to have these lunch-hour concerts (free, with opportunity for koha), in which we hear superb music from accomplished musicians.  I strongly echo that.