Tag: violin

Accomplished duo play Brahms at St Andrew’s lunchtime concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Catherine Norton (piano) and Carolyn van Leuven (violin)

Brahms: Violin Sonata No 1 in G minor, Op 78
Scherzo from the F.A.E. Sonata (1853)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 17 February, 12:15 pm

The lunchtime concerts at St Andrew’s started last Wednesday; Middle C neglected it.

But I was delighted to be at this one, starting the year so splendidly with Brahms. Catherine Norton’s name is reasonably familiar in Wellington, and I realized that Carolyn van Leuven’s ought to have been, too, as her short biography revealed, though her origins are in Canterbury, with studies and work in Europe and America, that she has played with the NZSO. She is now working in Wellington.

It was clear from the start that this was a seriously rehearsed performance, with care over balance, each taking pains to offer space and attention to the other; the piano, even with the lid on the long stick, remained a perfect partner. Brahms offers plenty of warmth and lyricism in his violin sonatas: the warmth of the violin and discretion of the piano part. They handle bits of melodies from two of his songs, ‘Regenlied’ and ‘Nachklang’, which offer a sort of emotional basis to the music. Though it is hardly fair to expect listeners today to pick up themes from a quotation from a song in another language, the symbolism of rain and then of sun shine, the alternating feeling of sadness and peace were there; in the second poem rain mingles with tears and they are audible in the semi-quavers in the last movement.

But Brahms is always careful to avoid emotional references that are too bold and precise or too obvious. The rather secretive opening of the Adagio led perhaps to a slightly too emphatic piano passage: perhaps understanding the poetic reference would have helped the listener, but that is inadmissible. The finale, Allegro, however was both calmly paced and even, though quite assertive, clearly followed the detailed dynamic markings, bringing to an end what was a singularly polished and satisfying performance.

To play the Sonata before Brahms’s Scherzo contribution to the ‘FAE’ collaboration with Schumann and his pupil Dietrich – a gift to their violinist friend Joseph Joachim – tends to draw attention to the Scherzo’s surprising maturity, written 25 years earlier, when Brahms was 20. The confidence of the brisk opening phase with its clean staccato piano chords, followed by a broad, meditative section were splendidly captured by the players, as if Brahms was referring to the character of the other movements of the sonata for which he was not responsible. Yet the feeling almost of grandeur towards the end could have been felt as the conclusion of the work rather than just the third movement (Schumann was assigned to both the second and last movements). It’s strange that the entire sonata is not played much.

This was a recital that dramatically illustrated the value of, the gratitude we should feel for, the year-long series of Wednesday lunchtime concerts at St Andrew’s on The Terrace. For me at least, if I may for a moment reflect on my own relationship with them. In the mid 80s, I went regularly to the St Andrew’s lunchtime concerts, and pinned on various departmental notice boards details of forthcoming concerts, encouraging awareness of all the delights to be found there. They were probably a catalyst that led to my taking early retirement from the Public Service and devoting myself to both nature conservation and the preservation of historic buildings in Wellington, as well as to writing about music.

St Andrew’s, led by its minister, John Murray, was also important in dramatizing various civic issues such as the preservation of Wellington’s historic buildings. This was the time of building frenzy when council and developers were allies in the widespread destruction of scores of buildings that should simply have been valued and restored. The building boom culminated in the collapse of 1988; the bitter irony followed with many of them, many head offices, being vacated soon after by the companies that had built them, abandoning Wellington for Auckland and elsewhere.

One minor but precious one was 22 The Terrace, a very early building and near neighbour of the church, which survives thanks to the efforts of John Murray and others including the feisty ‘Save our City’ campaign.

The mid 80s (1986) also marked the first New Zealand International Festival of the Arts, with its important three-week-long series of lunchtime concerts at St Andrew’s. Those concerts drew together a great many leading New Zealand musicians, as well as a few from abroad, who were not the main focus of the big festival events. The lunchtime concerts, and for a couple of festivals, daily early evening concerts as well, continued to enrich the festival till, in the post-Chris Doig era, through the later 90s, its artistic standards declined, turning away from a focus on acknowledged classics in the performing arts.

With the devoted enterprise of Marjan van Waardenberg and the generous support of the church itself, St Andrew’s helps preserve much of Wellington’s important musical character.

Waikanae Music Society scholars through their paces in impressive concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Scholarship showcase

Waikanae Music Society Charitable Trust for Young Musicians

Gemma Lee, Rafaella Garlick-Grice and Maria Mo (piano)
Melanie Pinkney (violin)

Memorial Hall, Waikanae

Sunday 11 October, 2:30 pm

The Waikanae Music Society’s Charitable Trust for Young Musicians was formed in 2008 to help talented young musicians in their studies, mostly overseas.
It has been a considerable task to bring them together to help demonstrate to the citizens of Kapiti how worthwhile the project is proving to be. This concert has fully justified the effort.

It opened with Gemma Lee who has just returned from Britain where she was the first scholar in music education under the Pettman/Dare International Performance Scholarship scheme. (Dare? Can anyone translate? Is it “Dareyou” which appears in their email address? My efforts on the internet are fruitless). Pettman was earlier associated with the Royal Overseas League (ROSL) in providing scholarships for New Zealand young chamber music groups to tour in Britain, and Gemma had earlier studied and toured in Britain under the Pettman/ROSL.

The Pettman/Dare Scholarship gives musicians the chance to work in English musical organisations, including Opera North and the University of Leeds, together with New Zealand Opera and the University of Auckland.
Look at the website: Dareyou.org.uk/contact/projects/pettman-dare-scholarship-2015-open-for-applications/pettman/gemma-lee-dare-scholar-in-music-education-2015

She played Beethoven’s ‘Pastoral’ Sonata, in D, Op 28. It may not be one of his towering masterpieces, but in her hands it was immediately arresting and clearly the product of an intelligent and imaginative sensibility. The pace of the opening Allegro was gentle, swaying; she played the pairs of quavers in the first theme to make them and for that matter, every note, things of individual attention and interest; and her prolonged pauses at the scene changes were most effective. Her playing was clean and the staccato elegant.

I go on…. It was a performance that commanded attention and made you reassess the music not through any flamboyant spectacle but through her insights and illuminations.

Maria Mo played Ravel’s Le tombeau de Couperin. This too was a performance full of little revelations and awakenings. The Prélude light in spirit, no hint of lament while the Fugue suggested a contemplative mood, the steady pace becoming almost monotonous, but slight hesitancy at each successive entry signalled its strange, enigmatic character. I liked her playing of the Rigaudon with its drifting, pensive middle section.

The Menuet neatly imitated through ornaments the fancy steps of the baroque dancers and in the dynamic Toccata there was full scope for her fluency and virtuosity that captured the essence of Ravel’s huge talent as piano composer. The orchestral version is all very well, but it’s the original piano version that really matters. Maria’s overseas studies were at the Conservatorium of the Vienna Private University (Konservatorium Wien Privatuniversität), which, oddly, is fully funded by the City of Vienna.

Maria remained on the stage as violinist Melanie Pinkney came out to play, first Rachmaninov’s Vocalise and then the Scherzo tarantella by Wieniawski. The Vocalise found her slightly insecure, not intonation-wise, but just in the general feel of her playing. The notes are not hard to find, but the long lyrical lines are not so easy to keep under perfect discipline.

The more flamboyant Wieniawski piece was technically harder but lay more comfortably once all fingering and demanding bow control were mastered; it can seem like flying on automatic pilot, Nevertheless the calmer middle section gave a fresh view into her ability to handle the more lyrical music. Still only 13, and as I’m alleged to have said about her last year (at a Wellington concert), she’s to be considered something of a prodigy.

Rafaella Garlick-Grice is somewhat older. She grew up on the Kapiti coast, took her doctorate at Waikato University and now teaches what is known as ‘collaborative piano’ courses at Victoria University. Her task was to negotiate Schumann’s Fantasiastücke, its starkly contrasting moods and technical challenges that speak through Schumann’s imaginary creations Eusebius and Florestan, polar opposites in mood. There were genial and hesitant episodes, heavy and violent movements, some unremittingly passionate, and it ends in the hands of the dreamy Eusebius, quietly, at rest. Schumann is hard, it often lies awkwardly under the hands, and the odd slip was just noticeable towards the end, but it was a delightful performance of one of the most fascinating smaller masterpieces in the piano literature.

Then at the end Melanie returned to play the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto. Perhaps her violin’s tone was a little to edgy for the piece, lacking warmth at the top (as it perhaps was in the Rachmaninov), but along with the rhythmically supportive accompaniment by Maria Mo, she maintained her control in terms of intonation and shape even if the ultimate polish, naturally, still eludes her. She carries the cadenza off with great confidence, swinging it splendidly back to the ‘orchestral’ body of the movement.

These might have been students still refining their skills and talents, but the combination of interesting music and some very remarkable playing made this a most enjoyable concert.

Beethoven and bravura violin music from Valerie Rigg and Mary Barber at Old St Paul’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Lunchtime concert at Old Saint Paul’s

Valerie Rigg – violin and Mary Barber – piano

Kreisler: Praeludium and Allegro in the style of Pugnani
Beethoven: Violin Sonata No 10 in G, Op 96
Wieniawski: Polonaise brilliante, Op 4

Old Saint Paul’s

Tuesday 15 September, 12:15 pm

I had no knowledge of the programme till I arrived on this sunny, breezy morning, at Old Saint Paul’s, now famous as one of the most beautiful buildings in New Zealand. So that in spite of sightline problems here and there, and acoustic oddities with some sounds, the pleasures to be found just to be there are great. The stained glass creations, among almost an entire suite of stained glass, of Saints Catherine and Cecilia (her, the patron saint of music) side by side on the north wall on my left, can afford comfort for any catastrophe (and I speak not of religious belief or sensibilities).

But here we had a brave violinist taking on a couple of terrifying, virtuoso violin pieces. The performance began with that feeling of tension and suspense that accompanies watching a high-wire act, as Valerie Rigg started the Kreisler. But the thrill of an exciting performance vanished suddenly as conspicuous signs of serious insecurity in intonation and articulation in the playing were obvious, which really continued throughout. The cause I couldn’t guess, but I thought it unlikely that her musical skills had just deserted her.

At the end she went off and Mary Barber spoke about the character of the Beethoven sonata that was to follow and, as Valerie returned, remarked casually that she’d had to replace a string. Ah! What a pity she hadn’t stopped as soon as the trouble emerged and changed the string then!

So the Beethoven went well, with new confidence, even sound, good intonation. There was a nice feeling of rapport between the two players, whose common approach was restrained and modest. It’s always good to observe the pianist in a sonata duet, and both to see and hear the way the pianist, without becoming subservient, watches expressive gestures, careful hesitations by the violinist and matches them sensitively, which enriched the sanguinity and sanity of the long, warmly melodious first movement.

As Mary Barber had observed, the slow movement suggests an exploratory frame of mind with descending arpeggios or scale passages that seemed to be drawing some kind of message from the music but not perhaps arriving.  That’s probably a good way to describe a movement that is not superficially engaging, as the melodies are not among Beethoven’s most memorable. Yet the performance held the attention and the composer’s gifts in creating bewitching music from unspectacular material proved themselves, as well as the perceptiveness of the players. And it’s not as if  it’s a short movement. There’s a tantalising suspense on the enchanting last page that leads to a dark key change, from E flat to the Scherzo and Trio in G minor, which was well expressed.

This is a vigorous but not specially witty movement, though obviously more vigorously characterful than the Adagio. It’s also quite short. The vivid Scherzo is followed by a more lyrical, swaying melody in the Trio section which almost suggests a mazurka.

I had forgotten how attractive the last movement of this last of Beethoven’s violin sonatas was. And the players delighted me, really enhancing the feelings I had at having my memories so splendidly refreshed. On top of the pleasure expressed in the body of the movement, the tempo change in the Coda brought an excitement to the conclusion that was very satisfyingly prolonged.

Then came the Wieniawski which, now, raised no misgivings in me as I knew that Valerie Rigg’s instrument, as well as she herself, were fully able to manage the pyrotechnics. In the event, they played his Polonaise Brilliante at a slightly calmer pace, none of the hectic speed and flamboyance that a dedicated violin virtuoso might adopt. In fact, it was at the more stately, processional sort of speed which is the way the dance must be performed (watchers of the last act of Eugene Onegin will know about that). So the dangers were sensibly minimized really to the music’s benefit. Sure there was the occasional minor missed mark in the wide-spaced arpeggios, and in the inescapable bravura flourishes, and the last section didn’t go perfectly, but in general, intonation, double-stopping, and in fact, the essential spirit of the music were convincingly present.

 

Cathedrals and landscapes – delight and awe with the NZSO

Posted on by Peter Mechen

The New Zealand Symphony Orchestra presents:
CATHEDRAL OF SOUND
Sibelius and Bruckner

SIBELIUS – Violin Concerto in D Minor  Op.47
BRUCKNER – Symphony No.8 in C Minor (original version)

Baiba Skride (violin)
Simone Young AM (conductor)
New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Friday 28th August, 2015

Sibelius and Bruckner on the same programme? – bracing cocktails of icy spring water, followed by restorative draughts of schnapps, or, perhaps, aromatic coffee? (that is, to say, their musical equivalents!)……..an intriguing prospect, one that didn’t arise the last time Simone Young was in New Zealand to conduct Bruckner with the NZSO. Paired with his mighty Fifth Symphony on that occasion was the music of Mozart, Bruckner’s fellow-countryman. The choice of the two composers seemed impeccable, logical and simple.

This time the works were Sibelius’s Violin Concerto and Bruckner’s even more imposing Eighth Symphony – and what was more, Simone Young was to present the original version of the Bruckner, the first time it had been given in this country. Interestingly enough, each of the two works, for all their inherent differences, had birthing difficulties, both undergoing extensive revisions at the hands of their respective composers, though under vastly different circumstances.

Sibelius’s original work was performed, none too successfully, and then withdrawn by the composer, who altered the work greatly, in particular simplifying the difficulties of the solo part. A year later, the work was freshly performed, and was received with enthusiasm, this revised score being the one which is used by performers to this day. (Incidentally, the original version – fascinating to listen to – has been recorded on the BIS label.)

In Bruckner’s case, the composer’s agony began even before his new work was performed – after finishing the symphony in 1887 he was downcast at the response to the score from the same conductor, Hermann Levi, who had achieved such a success with the composer’s Seventh Symphony. Declaring in a note to the composer that he found the music “impossible”, Levi suggested “a reworking” of the piece, and Bruckner, ever willing to comply, spent until 1890 revising the work, which, however, had to wait a further two years before its first performance in Vienna, in 1892.

If never the popular success that was its predecessor, the Eighth Symphony in its revised form is today frequently performed, though a handful of conductors (Young is one of them) have insisted on championing the original version. The differences are too numerous to discuss in a review of this size, though there are instantly noticeable features which demarcate the two editions – the ending of the first movement (blazing in the original, but deathly hushed in the revised version), the trio section of the scherzo (no harps in the original version, and with whole sections of the music recomposed in the revision), and the slow movement’s great climax (six cymbal crashes in the original version, reduced to a single stroke in the revision) – and so on.

Asked in interview why she preferred Bruckner’s original versions of his symphonies (she has recorded them all with her Hamburg Orchestra, to great acclaim), Young talked about these first attempts as “honest visions of a complex and very introverted man, whose first versions of the works were monumental structures, which some musicians of the time felt were impossible to cope with.” She also recounted the response of present-day players in different places to these original works, their enthusiasm and excitement regarding the challenges of being pushed out to extremes, particularly in this symphony, taking the opportunity to praise the NZSO’s work in rehearsal in these respects as well.

So we were set to witness great things, not the least when violinist Baiba Skride stepped out onto the platform to play the Sibelius with Simone Young, in front of the NZSO. I had heard the violinist a few years before, playing Tchaikovsky with the orchestra, and remembered a distinctive “way” she had with the concerto on that occasion – and so it was, in a different manner, with the Sibelius. She began the work in a rapt, inward way, her tone incredibly sweet and magically ‘floated”, her line with little of the nervous intensities or throbbing anxieties that we usually hear – instead, this seemed to be the voice of a soul communing with nature. A brief double-stopping intonation “edge” apart, her playing was free and pure, the touch as light as air, and the orchestral support (a lovely viola solo) properly restrained, dark and richly detailed.

Throughout the movement soloist and orchestra “played off” one another most engagingly, from moments of supporting songful utterances, to exhilarating hide-and-seek impulses, the violin dancing like a wood-sprite through the orchestral tree-trunks, laughter sounding amid the occasional baleful snarlings from darker places. The slow movement beautifully poeticized these soundscapes at the outset, except I found the horns became too insistent in places, the conductor’s bringing-out of the “middle textures” too much of a good thing, submerging the soloist’s heartfelt lines and overbalancing the textures. Still, the violinist was able to recapture the serenity of the music over the final pages, which were beautifully sounded.

More appropriate was conductor Young’s bringing out of those same middle voices in the polonaise-like finale, including the timpani, whose crisply-articulated figures added to the music’s exuberance – the soloist also really “dug in” here, giving the music a kind of “dancing on an ice-floe” character, while the orchestra’s nature-sounds literally buzzed and rumbled all about her – I loved the muted horns’ feisty “buzzings”, in particular! And what great blazing-up of orchestral weight there was mid-movement! – as if all nature was joining in the dance! I particularly enjoyed Baiba Skride’s crystalline upward runs, the final note of each ascending impulse “pinged” with such exuberance and joy!

While Skride didn’t perhaps “command” her instrument with the absolute totality of a Janine Jansen (whom we had heard earlier in the year), I thought her performance no less committed to the music and as fully attuned to its particular character in a pleasingly individual way. The music and playing certainly cleared our musical sinuses in preparation for the copious draughts of symphonic argument that were to follow, courtesy of Anton Bruckner and his greatest symphony.

Having lived for some time with Simone Young’s Hamburg recording of this piece in its original form, I knew something of what to expect from her – she had spoken in her interview of a previous era of Bruckner interpretations featuring “heavier, more laden performances”, and how she had worked to energize and lighten those textures in her own readings. Such was the case here – with every phrase, one sensed the music moving in a purposeful, far-sighted, and clearly-focused manner, intently set upon goals which would take the time they needed to be achieved, and no more. One noticed throughout the first movement the perfectly-graded dynamics, the ebb and flow of impulse and the sense of some vast scheme unfolding as it should.

And what a splendid sound the orchestra made! If Simone Young was right, then the NZSO’s recent excursions into Wagner’s music with the recently-departed Music Director Pietari Inkinen were here paying off most satisfyingly. Though not producing quite as “rounded” a sound-fabric as one might hear on recordings from Vienna or Berlin or Amsterdam from the great resident orchestras in those places, the players seemed to be committing every fibre of their being to delivering what their conductor wanted – a warm, rich, but always transparent sound, through which plethora of tones all the instruments could “speak”. In any performance of any Bruckner symphony the brass need to be out-and-out heroes – and so it was here, with two full rows of players (including a group playing those beautiful instruments we know as “Wagner-tubas”) making sounds which brought all the magnificence of Bruckner’s scoring to glorious life for our wide-eared and open-mouthed pleasure.

So it was that the first movement mightily ran its course, Young never making overmuch of any great upheaval, nor lingering too fulsomely upon any contrastingly lyrical sequence, but keeping the underlying pulse of the giant organism throbbing (despite dropping her baton at one point in the excitement!) – in this way, the sudden outburst at the movement’s end (which Bruckner later excised, and over which circumstance the otherwise excellent programme note was misleading) seemed like a naturally-expressed on-going expression of defiance, a “serving of intent” for what was to follow. Of course, straight away, this was the scherzo, perhaps Bruckner’s mightiest among other titanic utterances, a true “gods at play” display of divine exuberance. This was the movement which “led me into” the work in my student days, and which never fails to stir the blood most satisfying.

Bruckner later thought better of some of his bolder harmonic shifts in his rewriting, and of the exuberant extent of his hammering ostinati patterns, some of which he cut from the scherzo’s main body. But he also reworked most of the trio section (I heretically confess to a sneaking preference for the harps the composer added to the later version of this sequence – first loves are not easily let go! – though I appreciate that the use of those celestial tones at this point detracts from their heart-easing impact upon the slow movement’s yearnings….) which here represented a kind of unveiling of a statue of great beauty, its impact far-reaching and profoundly moving in an austere, even visionary way, amid the madness of the cosmic dance. Afterwards, what joy and abandonment there was, when the dance returned, with brass and timpani hurling their tones back and forth among the mountaintops.

But this was mere play compared with what followed – the symphony’s slow movement, the composer’s most heartfelt utterance to date in his creative career, more so, even, than his lament at Richard Wagner’s passing in the slow movement of the Seventh Symphony. Bruckner’s original conception has his own sensibilities on the rack in places, aspiring, hesitating, crying out, falling back and beseeching, before finally risking all and bringing his very being’s fibre into prominence in the grandest possible way (underlined by six mighty cymbal crashes!). Though his revision of the movement is tidier and less discursive, its spontaneously-wrought essence isn’t by comparison nearly as flavorsome, its relatively cumulative course more abstract than truly heartfelt – though, undoubtedly (as with all great music) there’s a “take from it what you will” dynamic very much for the picking of any listener.

Here, with Simone Young and the intrepid band, the music’s course unfolded as organically as any set of common impulses harnessed to a purpose – I was lost in admiration of the brass’s playing, and absolutely in thrall to the composer’s juxtaposing of the horns with the Wagner tubas, having it laid out before my eyes, so to speak – and with the rest of the orchestra as eager participants in the ritual of sound, creating the “cathedral” alluded to in the concert’s publicity. From Vesa-Matti Leppänen’s occasional solo violin strands, through individual and ensembles wind utterances, richly-wrought string passages and noble brass chorales to tumultuous tutti passages with everybody playing their hearts out, the performance made its way to the music’s summit, before basking in the afterglow of the journey’s achievement, during which a trio of horns (and later the Wagner tubas) exchanged long-breathed phrases by way of bringing forth one of the most sublime codas known to symphonic music of any era – such a privilege to be able to sit in the hall with those musicians during that special moment in time and listen to this music being realized so beautifully.

However, this wasn’t an “unfinished” symphony – and the finale burst in, carrying all before it, the timpani sounding off like gunshots in response to the opening brass fanfares. In many ways this is the most demanding movement of the symphony as it’s so discursive and wide-ranging – heroic, romantic, pastoral, anguished, tender, ruminative, in fact every mood jostling for a place in the scheme of things. Simone Young gave the different strands enough leeway to be able to express their concerns while keeping the music’s momentum firmly set upon the symphony’s great concluding peroration, asking for and receiving full-blooded responses from the players right through to the work’s final shouts of homecoming and fulfillment. At the end the audience’s reception accorded conductor and orchestra whole-hearted and richly-deserved acclaim and appreciation.

The NZSO is repeatedly proving itself as an orchestra which delivers what’s required for such big occasions – and now that Young has left Hamburg to pursue a freelance conducting career, we wish her continued success, while hoping that she includes this country as a regular port of call, particularly as there are several more Bruckner Symphonies whose first editions await their premieres in this particular part of the world. She and the NZSO would on Friday evening have certainly put a girdle around the earth along which the composer’s shade, from his resting-place in Austria, would have danced in joy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Duo Tapas: violin and guitar play winning St Andrew’s lunchtime concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Duo Tapas (Rupa Maitra – violin, Owen Moriarty – guitar)

Vivaldi: Sonata in A minor, Op 2 No 12, RV 32
Mark O’Connor: pieces from Strings and Threads Suite
Arvo Pärt: Spiegel im Spiegel, arr, Moriarty
William Squire: Tarantella in D minor, Op 23, arr Moriarty

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 5 August, 12:15 pm

Duo Tapas is a fairly visible little ensemble on the Wellington music scene; but it pays not to take them for granted, as playing much the same repertoire, with minor variations in their frequent concerts. It could be because I haven’t heard a couple of their recent concerts that this programme was entirely new to me.

They began with Rudolph Buttman’s arrangement of one of Vivaldi’s violin sonatas, the last of the set published as Opus 2. The programme listed the movements as Preludio, Allemande, Grave and Capriccio. Other sources offer different movement titles: Preludio, Capriccio, Grave, Corrente; or Preludio – Largo, Capriccio – Presto, Grave, Allemanda – Allegro. Of course I did not discover these variations till I explored the internet later; no doubt they reflected the liberties publishers felt able to take in the 18th century.

I wondered during the performance about the appropriateness of the titles, and had jotted a puzzled note that the last movement hardly sounded ‘capricious’ – rather, just brisk.

Never mind.
The duo were absolutely justified in taking up this successful arrangement of one of Vivaldi’s many lovely pieces, more than usually melodious, sounding as if he had the guitar very much in mind when he cast the continuo lines (for cello and harpsichord).

Mark O’Connor is an American composer, now in his early 60s, who has devoted himself to listenable, rather infectious music. The title refers, obviously, to the stringed instrument and the threads connecting the thirteen little movements in the suite, a sort of history of United States popular music, offering examples of many styles of music from Irish reels and sailors’ songs of the 16th century to recent times. They played ten of them. I had counted only eight when they ended, which was probably the result of failing to notice a pause and change of style. There was a convincing sense of anticipation with Off to Sea, as the sails picked up the wind; the last piece, Sweet Suzanne was the longest, most bravura and arresting: a colourful and entertaining collection.

Arvo Part’s Spiegel im Spiegel is nearly as popular as his Fratres: hypnotic, a masterpiece of simplicity. The translation for violin and guitar involved retuning the bottom E string of the guitar to a low F, to deal with the repeated anchor. Rupa Maitra played it with just discreet vibrato and a riveting stillness. Again, a very convincing transformation.

Finally, there was a piece by William Squire, a name that was once, perhaps still, very familiar to cello students. He edited a series of albums of varying difficulty: I still have two of them, as well, to my surprise, as the Tarantella in D minor, played here. It didn’t make a deep impression on me sixty-odd years ago, but this version worked very well, though I could not argue that the duo had unearthed a masterpiece. Nevertheless, the character of the two instruments, the players’ rapport and the way in which their musical instincts combined might have brought the most unpromising composition to life.

Don’t hesitate to get along to their next concert, wherever it might be.

 

Unmissable violin sonata programme from APO’s Canadian concertmaster and Sarah Watkins

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Andrew Beer (violin) and Sarah Watkins (piano)
(Wellington Chamber Music)

Beethoven: Violin Sonata in G, Op 30 No 3
Lilburn: Violin Sonata (1950)
Good: ‘And Dreams Rush Forth to Greet the Distance’
Bartok: Two Rhapsodies
Ravel: Sonata in A for violin and piano

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Sunday 21 June, 3 pm

The violinist’s name would have been new to Wellingtonians – the recently appointed Concertmaster of the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra; the pianist however, is very well known. But the audience was disappointing: see comments in my Coda.

I think this programme, entirely of worthwhile, interesting works, but containing only one familiar, major work, might have seemed missable to non-subscribers, unless driven by Lilburn-loyalty or special love of Bartok, and who would be paying $40 for a seat.

Beethoven
In the event, it was an excellent concert. The performance of Beethoven’s Op 30 No 3 was strong, spirited and with striking emphasis on rhythmic elements and the engaging melodies; the two players sounded as if they’d been playing together for years. The middle movement, a sort of minuet, adhered perfectly to its marking, ‘molto moderato e grazioso’, and piano and violin conversed equably, animatedly, tossing ideas to and fro. As the notes pointed out, there is playfulness in the last movement, as the two seemed to push each other a little, and drew attention to themselves with misleading expectations, and untimely modulations. All these features increase the pleasure to be found in a piece of music and one of Beethoven’s gifts was his ability to tease and mislead the audience while creating a masterpiece. All this was here in the performance.

Lilburn
This Lilburn violin sonata in B minor was actually his third. It was written in 1950 for Frederick Page (pianist and head of the music department of Victoria University College) and violinist Ruth Pearl, after Lilburn had become a lecturer at the university; they premiered it at the university and then played it again three months later in Wigmore Hall in London.

The others two sonatas, in C and E flat, were written in 1943; they were first performed, respectively, by Maurice Clare (violin) and Noel Newson (piano), and by Vivien Dixon (violin) and Anthea Harley Slack (piano).

Probably my first live hearing of the present one was at a Mulled Wine concert at Paekakariki in 2011, when Sarah Watkins accompanied Donald Armstrong. There’s an Atoll recording of both the E flat and the present one, issued in 2011, featuring Elizabeth Holowell (violin) and Dean Sky-Lucas (piano). Atoll ACD 941. It was reviewed that year in Middle C by my colleague Peter Mechen.

Andrew Beer’s comments in the programme notes about Lilburn, from a newcomer’s standpoint, are interesting. In his remarks I get a hint of surprise at what might be seen as a sort of obsession with finding a New Zealand voice, as if the job of a creative artist were to interpret or reflect his own land rather than simply to write attractive, listenable music. Such an idea, which is still current, would have puzzled Bach, Mozart, Brahms, Strauss, Prokofiev (among many others). “Telling our own stories” has become a tedious, clichéd justification for supporting New Zealand artists in all fields. There are far more important reasons.

Worrying about expressing and echoing one’s own country has been an aberration that started with the growth of nationalism in the mid 19th century, which has distorted attitudes in so many areas and fuelled the political hatreds that have dogged the world ever since.

However, Lilburn was simply a man of his times, in that matter.

Fortunately, by the time he was 35, Lilburn was writing music that exuded more self-confidence and less seeking for a New Zealand voice, and this sonata is a good example. It is now his own voice, mature, individual, yet echoing the sounds of his immediate predecessors, like Vaughan Williams, tonal and lyrical, though by no means conservative or sentimental. It has also absorbed the character of European music of the time, the tough-minded mid-century; there are moments of dissonance.

It is unusual in being in once movement, with five sections alternating between Molto moderato and Allegro. The performance establishes a searching quality which finds more confidence in the first Allegro section, with both instruments sharing a dance-like episode. The emotional undulations made the second Allegro sound like a concluding phase, but the repeat of Tempo I quickly justified itself.

In my review of that Paekakariki concert I described the sonata as “an impressive, vigorous, tightly-argued work that should have become one of the leading chamber pieces of the New Zealand repertoire.” That still stands.

The rest of the programme
The Lilburn was followed by a shorter piece by Canadian composer Scott Good, a competition piece. The notes reproduce the composer’s own views of the requirements of such a piece: very interesting and well-judged. It gave plenty of scope for virtuosity, drew on contemporary compositional trends, and it certainly, as stipulated, held the attention of an audience. Nor did it seem to think for a minute of attempting to find a ‘Canadian voice’. It simply expressed a confidence in its ability to find melody and treatments that would sound interesting. The performance delivered on all those counts, with the pianist as wholly involved in the idiom as the violinist himself.

After the interval, Bartok’s Two Rhapsodies, quite substantial pieces. Both were played with an aim of making civilized, lyrical (up to a point) music from peasant material that was unsophisticated even if complex in its own way. The first is considerably more conventional and ‘westernised’ than the second, which seems closer to its folk origins, more driven, avoiding any risk of charming the listener, with the piano in percussive mode and the violin, untypically harsh in places. One of my scribbled notes remarked that it was undoubtedly the most formidable piece on the programme, but perhaps, given that, it was over-long.

The programme ended with Ravel’s Violin Sonata, again, not one of his most familiar or engaging; somewhat severe with tunes that might be described as gestures rather than the real thing. So it’s one of those works that one has heard several times, but only the jazz-inflected second movement, is really familiar. Nevertheless, the performance extracted all its virtues, both of melody and structure – the element that allows melody to take a firm grip and holds the attention.

Coda
There have been a lot of opinions and argument about the functions of the critic, from at least the time of Plato, and no doubt in earlier civilisations. Over the years I’ve been tackled for making comments that are alleged to be outside the purview of a critic, perhaps touching on the political context of a composer’s work, his private life, the players’ circumstances, the question of state support for the arts, availability and cost of venues, the condition of music education, value judgements touching the various genres of music, and on and on… all matters of great importance in my opinion.

This is preliminary to an observation about the audience size.

The weather was cold; the venue, since last year after the closure indefinite (?) of the Town Hall, not perhaps ideal for reasons that I need not spell out, though acoustically and in seating comfort, very good. That leaves the programme; and here we find an awareness hiatus between some performers and some promoters who agree to a programme, and an average audience, about what appeals on the one hand, and what, on the other, looks a bit esoteric, worthy but not emotionally compelling.

Till last year I was on the committee of the Wellington Chamber Music Society (as it was) almost from the beginning of these Sunday concerts in 1983, and so have attended a great many of them. The number of subscribers in the Sunday series has declined steadily over many years, and so there is not a large, paid-up contingent who will come anyway, having paid for all the concerts. I can’t remember a smaller audience for a Wellington Chamber Music concert; yet they continue to be a vital element in Wellington’s music scene.

This is just one of the many musical and other organisations that is suffering from the Town Hall’s closure. Christchurch has resolved to restore its Town Hall for twice the cost of the estimate for ours. What’s the matter with our Council?

 

Triumphant farewell to Inkinen with a neglected Sibelius masterpiece and standing ovation

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

NZSO Inkinen Festival

Beethoven: Violin Concerto in D Op.61

Sibelius: Lemminkäinen Suite, Op.22

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Pietari Inkinen, with Karen Gomyo (violin)

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday, 13 June 2015, 7.30pm

In an interesting pre-concert talk, attended by a large number of people, David Gilling (co-sub-principal second violin in the NZSO) talked about the unusual introduction to Beethoven’s great violin concerto, particularly focusing on the opening motif from the timpani, and how the rhythm is taken up by the other instruments throughout the work’s first movement.   Incidentally, Gilling gave the lie to the story in the programme notes that the performer of the premiere, Clement, interrupted the work to play his own sonata, with the violin upside down!

The soloist was originally to have been Hilary Hahn, who played with the orchestra throughout its 2010 European tour, but she is now pregnant.  The replacement, Karen Gomyo, plays a Stradivarius violin, and would play cadenzas by the famous violinist of former times, Russian-American Nathan Milstein.

The Michael Fowler Centre was well-filled, including the choir stalls – in fact, I could see very few empty seats.

After the timpani notes opened the concerto, and the delicious woodwind that followed, the answer came in a lovely mellow melody when the strings entered. Inkinen kept things moving forward, and made the listener aware of the structure of the work.

Subsequently, Karen Gomyo’s violin entered, with the beautiful rising phrase that simply grew the musical expression, rather than declaring ‘Here am I!’  She made considerable contrasts in tone and dynamics.  However, after a while I found these contrasts a little too much. Nevertheless, there was beauty of tone and great feeling for the music. The first movement cadenza was very fine – and very demanding.

Despite the smaller orchestra for this work than for the Sibelius, one could feel its power, though sometimes the solo did not stand out sufficiently from it.  However, this is partly a matter of taste; after the concert I heard approval in the words ‘intimate’ and ‘integrated’ from audience members.  Having recently heard a description of a Stradivarius compared with a more modern violin, I wonder if a large hall is not the most congenial venue for such an instrument.

The wonderfully peaceful opening of the second movement brought a rich sound from the orchestra.  Again, I found the soloist’s style rather too mannered for my taste, but I admired greatly her bowing and phrasing.  With the lilting solo was magical pizzicato from the orchestra.  The short cadenza seemed to have less to do with Beethoven than did that in the first movement.

The third movement followed without a break, straight into the jolly dance-like theme of the rondo.  It gave much opportunity for interplay between soloist and orchestra, and a chance for warm and sonorous tones on both sides.  It is less profound than the earlier movements, and featured another dazzling cadenza.  Notable was the distinctive bassoon sound.  The ending was not quite together, but overall, this was an enjoyable performance.

We entered a completely different sound-world with the Sibelius suite – an appropriate work for Pietari Inkinen’s last Wellington concert as Music Director.  He now becomes Honorary Conductor, while his energies will be expended on appointments in Japan and Europe. Since he is also a violinist, a violin concerto was also an apt programme choice.

There were mysteries with the Sibelius – not only from the mysterious atmosphere created through much of it, but also the fact that what was marked in the programme notes as the second movement, the well-known Swan of Tuonela, frequently played as a stand-alone piece, was played third, and what was marked as the third movement, Lemminkäinen in Tuonela followed the first movement.

The opening featured brass, followed by remote-sounding strings and woodwind in this  large orchestra.  Strong cellos were a characteristic, there was a sprightly woodwind dance, and brass had plenty of interesting contributions.  Energy built up, and after a passage for the front desk players, there was a fluttering from all the strings, but nevertheless strong rhythmic drive.  Mysterious sounds from drums and double basses boded evil; the remaining strings put much vigour into their playing, before quietude descended to close the movement, Lemminkäinen and the Maidens of Saari.

The second movement, as noted above, was not as in the programme.  Lemminkäinen in Tuonela began with low tremolo from the cellos, then low woodwind was added, followed by the other strings.  This gave a very spooky effect.  Suddenly, the music burst into a typical Sibelius massive cadence, repeated. Beautiful woodwind solos were part of a continual air of mystery – or is it ‘northern-ness’?  A huge crescendo with everyone playing did not dispel the tragic mood; a cello solo against pizzicato ended the movement.

The Swan of Tuonela is a solemn, even sad piece, with solo cello perhaps epitomising the hero, Lemminkäinen.  Most wonderful, though, were the extended passages depicting the swan, painted in gorgeous tones by the cor anglais (Michael Austin).  Lush sounds from the violas came into prominence, before harp and brass added to the other-worldly atmosphere; the phrases were beautifully spun.

The final movement, Lemminkäinen’s Return, found the mood cheerful, even dance-like, after a busy opening.  Jubilation broke out, before a triumphant ending as the hero returns to life, thanks to his mother’s stitchery, after being killed earlier.

The triumph was echoed by Inkinen afterwards, as he stood the soloists and section leaders.  A bouquet and colourful streamers from the side blocks of seating upstairs, a standing ovation and cheers marked the end of his eight years as Music Director of the orchestra.

Coughing interrupted some of the quiet moments of the Suite.  One may not be able to prevent the impulse to cough, but it should be possible to prevent broadcasting it to over 2000 other people.

Another complaint – time was, in the recent past, when we were allowed to read the programme through the concert.  But now the lighting is too dim, and the typeface is unhelpful too.

 

 

The strings of the School of Music take turn with wonderful Bach programme for St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

New Zealand School of Music Showcase Week at St Andrew’s

The string players in an all-Bach programme

Violin sonata No 1 in G minor, BWV 1001 – Adagio played by Katie-Lee Taylor
           Fugue played by Matt Cook
Cello suite No 2 in D minor, BWV 1008 – Prelude played by Olivia Wilding
Violin Partita No 3 in E, BWV 1006, Loure and Gavotte en rondeau – played by Grace Stainthorpe
Brandenburg Concerto No 3 in G, BWV 1048 played by the above students plus 15 others

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Thursday 28 May, 12:15 pm

This was the last of the four concerts devoted to student players from the university School of Music.  Perhaps in future years we’ll also have concerts from woodwind and brass players, and singers, even organists and harpsichordists and percussionists; but these four have shown that it’s possible to attract good audiences more than just once a week. The limitation is no doubt the level of energy that the unpaid concert manager Marjan van Waardenberg can call up, and the availability of the church. (And it also should be pointed out that all musicians perform unpaid at the lunchtime concerts).

The first half hour of the concert was taken up with individual violinists and a cellist playing movements from Bach’s unaccompanied suites and sonatas.

Violinists Katie-Lee Taylor and Matt Cook began playing, in turn, the first two movements, Adagio
and Fugue, from the first violin sonata, in G minor. It was an admirable performance of the Adagio, with all the signs of careful tutorial guidance and music intuition on Taylor’s part, scrupulous attention to dynamics and the shaping or ornaments. There was interesting variety of tone and an organic feeling of life as if the music was breathing.

While she had played with the score before her, Matt Cook played from memory and paid a small price for that in the middle of what is certainly a difficult and complex fugue; so his courage and demeanour were to be admired in his recovery and persistence, though the experience somewhat affected the freedom and elasticity of his playing for a little while. The audience applauded him warmly.

Another minor key piece was the choice of Olivia Wilding – the Prelude from the second cello suite in D minor. Her handling of the bow created a lovely tone, mellow (at one point I craned my head to see whether she had put a mute on) and varied in dynamics, and she allowed herself attractive freedom in her tempi. She used a score.

Grace Stainthorpe ended the solo section of the concert with the Loure and the most popular movement from the violin sonatas and suites, the Gavotte en rondeau, from the third partita. Bravely, she dispensed with the score, with only a minor glitch during the Gavotte. Her playing was careful, and like the others, showed fastidious attention to its phrasing and rhythms, though I thought she might have exploited her opportunities for emphatic bowing occasionally.

There was a lot of stage rearrangement to accommodate the full ensemble – the five cellos (though six were named in the programme) arrayed at the front while violins flanked the violas in the middle of the back row.

While a couple of programmes in this series taxed their audiences (and themselves) by playing unfamiliar music, the strings made no apologies for playing great music, most of which was pretty well known by the average lunchtime-concert-goer. Few works are more loved than the Brandenburg concertos, and No 3 might well be at the top. The music might have almost played itself, but there was no missing the special affection that the players managed to convey in their buoyant, spirited performance. Professor Donald Maurice conducted and he introduced the concerto briefly to draw attention to the Calvinist environment of Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen where Bach composed this and much other instrumental music. There was no choir or organ, but a musical Prince who valued Bach who wrote little other than instrumental music for the court.

Maurice noted that the non-existent middle, slow movement was to be supplied by a cadenza played by the orchestra leader, Laura Barton and it was indeed a chance for another excellent solo presentation, involving a splendid crescendo.  Much of the liveliness and warmth of the performance was inspired by Maurice’s expansive, richly expressive conducting, with plenty of cues; whether it did or not for the players, it contributed a fine visual element that the audience enjoyed, and applauded enthusiastically.

 

Spectacular NZSO concert with violinist Janine Jansen in the Tchaikovsky

Posted on by admin

New Zealand Symphony Orchestra conducted by Daniel Blendulf with Janine Jansen (violin)

Liadov: The Enchanted Lake
Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto in D Major
Prokofiev: Symphony No.5 in B flat Major

Michael Fowler Centre

Saturday 28 March 7:30 pm

Liadov’s atmospheric painting The Enchanted Lake was a great choice to open an evening of wonderful music, rich with the delights of that fantastic orchestration which marks the pens of the Russian greats in an abundance matched by no other race. There was the opening mystery of the dark, rumbling bass entry, the dreamy lilting melodies that floated in and out from the woodwind, and the clear crystal notes from the harp falling like raindrops into the shimmering, surging waters of the strings. The orchestra crafted this work with wonderful artistry, culminating in dying phrases that simply evaporated into the hanging silence of the auditorium.  Superb.

Janine Jansen is an on-stage tour de force in every way. She proved a spectacular “soloist” but not because she attempted to grab the limelight; rather she shaped the score in a completely mutual conversation with the orchestral players, and whenever her part paused briefly you felt she couldn’t wait for the chance to engage again in the privilege of making music together. She captured the contrasting moods of the opening Allegro moderato to telling effect, and delivered the spiccato episode with masterful grace and clarity. You could have heard a pin drop in the central cadenza. The following flute re-entry was very special, as was the later bassoon countermelody to the solo line. She pulled off the coda at breakneck speed yet somehow with complete clarity – clearly she was excited to be playing this work, and she conveyed her delight without reservation.

The central Canzonetta: Andante opens with a wistful pianissimo phrase which comes and goes throughout, and Jansen presented each appearance with the freshness of first discovery. She and the orchestra wove in this movement a tapestry of wonderful melodic exchanges and a mood of gracious calm. This made all the more dramatic the catapult of sound that launches the Allegro vivacissimo finale. It was taken at incredible speed, yet again with total clarity in each rondo appearance. The stamp of Cossack boots thundered out, interspersed with beautifully languid playing from the woodwind in the contrasting melodic episodes. The whole concerto was performed with consummate musicianship, and the runaway freight train of the closing coda brought a stampede of audience appreciation – amply rewarded with an exquisite encore, an arrangement of Tchaikovsky’s Souvenir D’un Lieu Cher.

What could possibly follow this riveting Tchaikovsky? A Prokofiev reading that was positively mind blowing.  Blendulf made the most of the huge percussion, brass and string bodies right from the sweeping grandeur of the opening to the last dramatic chords of the finale. The massive demands of this score were embraced by the players with total commitment, huge passion, and the exemplary musicianship and technical mastery that mark all their work. Yet somehow they found an even higher notch than usual in this Prokofiev, emerging at the end with a clear glow of fulfilment on faces that should, by rights, have been etched with exhaustion after such a programme.

Daniel Blendulf’s conducting style was a pleasure to observe. His was an entirely unassuming manner, directing the orchestra with complete economy of gesture. He obviously recognised that no more was needed, given the wonderful resources and musicianship of the NZSO players, and their exemplary ensemble skills. They were the stars of the evening no less than the spectacular soloist, and he rightly called each section to its feet, giving the audience ample opportunity to express their appreciation for an amazing night’s music making. Bravo!

 

Violin and harp in enchanting lunchtime concert at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Tabea Squire (violin) and Ingrid Bauer (harp)

Massenet: Meditation from Thaïs
Saint-Saëns: Fantaisie for violin and harp, Op 124
Mozart/Dittersdorf/Eberl/Thomas: Air with Variations and Rondo Pastorale for solo harp
Pärt: Spiegel im Spiegel

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 25 February, 12:15 pm

The harp seems to be asserting itself at present. Though it’s been a pretty standard orchestral instrument since the early 19th century, and a much loved solo instrument both in its many ethnic forms as well as in its larger, more sophisticated character, there doesn’t seem to be a very large body of chamber music involving it.

This recital may well have been inspired in part by the presence of Helen Webby’s harp at the Adam Chamber Music festival in Nelson in January-February. For both the Massenet and the Saint-Saëns were heard there. The transcription for the harp of the Meditation from Thaïs was played in Nelson by Helene Pohl, leader of the New Zealand String Quartet, and Helen Webby. It is particularly beguiling, and while there might have been a difference in the level of experience and sophistication between the performances in Nelson and here, Tabea brought a big romantic sound to her playing, while the harp seemed to be a perfect medium for such a quintessentially emotional piece, a more natural partner than a piano perhaps.

Saint-Saëns was drawn to the harp, I suspect by the same factors that drew both Debussy and Ravel to it, respectively, in the Danse sacrée et danse profane and the Introduction et Allegro. This Fantaisie was played in Nelson by the first violinist of the Ying Quartet, Ayano Ninomiya and Helen Webby; it is hardly in the same class as the pieces by his younger colleagues, yet there is enchantment and variety in its four fairly distinct sections; it lies beautifully for the two instruments and both explored its interesting emotional states with sensitivity.

The next piece was a real curiosity, put together by 19th century Welsh harpist, John Thomas, from pieces by Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf, Anton Eberl and most importantly, Mozart. The process was clearly one that would be abhorred by today’s scholars and many musicians schooled in doctrines of historical authenticity, but if the test is simply the agreeableness of the result, condemnation would be hard to justify.

In any case, the first part, the Air with Variations, offered the harpist scope for a variety of diverting techniques, strongly contrasting dynamics and what seemed to be a muted passage. The second part, the Rondo Pastorale, was the last movement of Mozart’s great Divertimento in E flat for string trio, K 563: one of his most beautiful compositions. Here was pure enchantment; it’s hard to imagine that Mozart would have disapproved of such an enchanting adaptation , so beautifully played.

The last item was one which, like a lot of Arvo Pärt’s music, seems to invite adaptation for different instruments: his Spiegel im Spiegel, which may be the equal of his Fratres in popularity and affection. As with her other introductions, Tabea Squire spoke with careful precision and sensitivity about its basically simple character, a study in triads in various inversions and keys, at each stage of which the home key seemed to be imminent but elusive. The violin carried long sustained notes while the harp suggested that here was the sound that Pärt had really been searching for.