Tag: vocal

NZSM voice students in diverse show-case at St Andrews

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Arias from opera; songs

New Zealand School of Music: Vocal students of Richard Greager, Jenny Wollerman, Margaret Medlyn, with Mark Dorrell (piano)

St. Andrew’s on The Terrace

2 October 2013, 12.15pm

A varied programme was provided, both in terms of the styles of voices, and of the composers whose music was sung.

The programme opened with a couple of duets (and one solo in between).  Tess Robinson and William McElwee sang a Handel duet from L’Allegro,  Il Penseroso ed Il Moderato, the first part of which I missed due to problems at the parking building.  The latter part seemed to suffer from some intonation wobbles, and not a lot of subtlety in dynamics, though otherwise it was a sound performance.

Mozart’s aria from Don Giovanni, ‘Batti, batti o bel Masetto’ was given a lively, apt and accurate interpretation by Olivia Sheat.  With the help of incomparable accompanist Mark Dorrell, the performance flowed beautifully.

Haydn was the composer of the next duet: ‘Graceful Consort’ from The Creation.  Hannah Jones’s attractive, agile and accurate soprano voice coped well, but Rory Sweeney’s voice was not sufficiently supported, the words were not very clear, and the tone was sometimes hard.

Donizetti was the composer of Hannah Jones’s solo: ‘Il barcaiolo’ from Nuits d’été à Pausilippe.  This song about the sea was sung with lovely unforced tone.

Bellini’s opera I Puritani is opened by an aria for Riccardo, the leader of the Puritan army: ‘Ah, per sempre’.  This was sung by Rory Sweeney, who this time had better tonal quality and clearer words.  The aria was well managed with a good range of dynamics – but surely a little facial expression is permitted,
and a little more sadness, as Riccardo hears his beloved being wed to another?

The next tenor was William McElwee, performing ‘Lunga da lei… De’ miei bollenti spiriti’ from Verdi’s La Traviata.  He has a bigger voice than does Sweeney, and it is more operatic in timbre.  He included plenty of facial expression and gesture in his performance.  He has a fine sense of the dramatic, and is a
very promising performer.

After such a number of operatic excerpts, it was refreshing to hear lieder: Wolf’s ‘Heiss mich nicht reden’, one of Goethe’s Mignon songs.  Olivia Sheat gave a beautifully controlled rendition with excellent words and dynamics, and employing subtle shades of tone, to make a moving presentation.

Mark Dorrell got a rest now; Esther Leefe (soprano) and Michelle Velvin (harp) performed A Birthday Hansel; a song cycle for high voice and harp set by Benjamin Britten to words by Robert Burns, some of which were amusing, the poems being in mixed English and Scottish dialects.  Although premiered by Peter Pears, it worked well for soprano.  Esther Leefe’s voice was beautifully produced, and the four songs were delightful and unusual, the presentation, charming.  Both musicians gave first-class performances.  I couldn’t catch a lot of the words – the harp was between me and the singer.  It was skilled playing and singing, sustained throughout ‘Birthday Song’, Wee Willie’, ‘My Hoggie’ and ‘Leezie
Lindsay’.

Staying with twentieth-century song, was Tess Robinson singing ‘The Seal Man’ by Rebecca Clarke.  I’m not aware of having heard this singer before, but I was struck by her strong, expressive voice.  Words were exceptionally well projected and clear.  She painted the picture of the seal man searching for a lover on land superbly well, as did Mark Dorrell in the accompaniment.

The only New Zealand composition on the programme was Anthony Ritchie’s ‘He moemoea’ (‘A dream’, recently sung at the Adam Concert Room by Isabella Moore).  Hannah Jones sang it with lovely resonance, and her words came over pretty well.

Tess Robinson returned to sing two Japanese songs – something I don’t recall ever hearing before.  By Yoshinao Nakada, they were ‘Ubagufuma’ and ‘Karasu’ from Muttsu no kodomo no uta.  She used the score (as did the duettists, earlier) – probably as much for the unfamiliar language as for the music.  Her singing was very eloquent, and her voice conveyed feelings well.

We moved into lighter vein now, with Rory Sweeney singing ‘If I loved you’ from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel.  It was a fine rendition, but there was insufficient feeling in the performance.

The final item was from William McElwee, singing ‘La fleur que tu m’avais jetée’, probably one of the most familiar of all tenor arias, from Bizet’s opera Carmen.  The tempo was a little too fast and unvarying – it could have done with some rubato. McElwee’s high notes were very fine, and his French language excellent.

Some of the programme notes, which were brief but informative, suffered from poor proof-reading in regard to grammar, others had tell-tale signs of being derived from the internet.

All the performances (aside from the songs with harp) were enhanced by having Mark Dorrell as the sensitive and capable accompanist.

 

The Fab Five explore neglected vocal territory at St Andrew’s lunchtime concert

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

The Fab Five vocal quartet (Lesley Graham, Linden Loader, Richard Greager, Roger Wilson and William McElwee) and pianist Mark Dorrell

Beethoven’s Fidelio: ‘Mir ist so wunderbar’
Haydn: Die Harmonie in der Ehe; Die Warnung; Der Greis
Brahms: An die Heimat; Der Abend; Fragen, Op 64
Wagner: Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg: ‘Selig wie die Sonne meines Glückes lacht…’

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 25 September, 12:15 pm

When you Google many 19th century composers and look at the list of their works, the casual browser is likely to be surprised at the number of vocal pieces that are not the usual Lieder or Mélodies or other classes of solo songs: there are collections of part-songs, songs for duet, quartet and other small ensembles, not to mention the cantatas and motets and other choral pieces. It is particularly true of Brahms.

This kind of song seems to be rather neglected today, and they are much less performed in main-stream concerts than are solo songs.

This short concert was a most striking evidence of the rewards that are awaiting the musician who ventures in that direction.

It may or may not have been an added enticement that the two groups of part-songs were book-ended by a couple of famous ensembles from German opera.  Those opening and closing pieces certainly had that effect on me.  Nevertheless, as soon as the jewel-like quartet from Fidelio gave way to the group of Haydn vocal quartets, any doubts about the latter’s charms vanished.

The quartet from Fidelio was a short but moving opening to the recital; ‘Mir is so wunderbar’ is an ensemble in canon in which each, Rocco and Jaquino, Fidelio and Marzelline contemplate their situation and futures. Lesley Graham, as Marzelline, opens in a charmingly tremulous voice followed by Linden Loader as an appropriately youthful Leonore (Fidelio); then Rocco sung by Roger Wilson, for a moment in a tenorial register and, by no means least in the quartet, Richard Greager’s less important role of Jaquino. It was all serenely supported by Mark Dorrell at the piano.

Then Haydn. Die Harmonie in der Ehe at once lifted the spirit, not a moment’s feeling that here were a few things that have been justifiably overlooked over the last century (at least). First, the sparkling, refreshing piano part from Dorrell, and then the whole quartet singing as one, yet with the character of every voice clearly delineated. The sprightly fast quavers never slackened for a moment, and the light-hearted revelling in simple pleasures could not have been better expressed.

The next two took quite different courses: Die Warnung, a semi-serious warning, in a mock, martial vein, against dangers that can emerge from unexpected quarters; and Der Greis (The Old Man), conveying a contented melancholy, reflecting on fading strength and physical attributes, and welcoming the imminence of death, in slow, legato phases, with all four singing in heart-warming balance and lovely ensemble.

The Brahms quartets came from his Op 64, written in the year 1864. In the first song, An die Heimat, the piano at first commanded attention with a rising triadic chords in quaver triplets. The sound of Brahms is always unmistakable, though it is another thing to carry it off with such naturalness and affection. How well they four captured the spirit of rather simple and improbable contentment in the pleasures of home. In the middle, there were beautiful solo episodes from Richard Greager and Linden Loader.

In Der Abend, the piano laid out a ghostly fabric, a triple rhythm sounding the first two beats of the bar, leading briefly to a charming duet between Richard Greager and Roger Wilson, resonant and comfortable, allowing Schiller’s symbolic handling of the approach of welcome death to be conveyed as if they singers really believed it. It’s a rather common subject in German Romanic poetry.

Spirits rose in the final song, Fragen – Questions. It led off in lively triple time, 6/8 I suppose, and soon floated  up to some sort of ecstatic high with the piano contributing to the joyfulness of being in love.

The Meistersinger von Nürnberg quintet arises in the scene of Act III in which Sachs has been helping Walther to shape his Prize Song, also at hand are Eva who will be Walther’s ‘prize’, and Sachs’s apprentice David and his love Magdalene who is Eva’s nurse, or maid.

The coming together represents many facets of human goodness: love, generosity of spirit, self-sacrifice, selfless renunciation of futile hopes, the power of music to elevate behaviour which involves the principal theme of the opera: the reconciliation of tradition with creativity in art. We find all these embodied in Sachs’s own nature and behaviour.

I always find this music too short and so it was here; the use of piano was no handicap, in fact Dorrell’s performance  made if sound as if Wagner had written it primarily for the piano. Here, the fifth voice, David, was provided by current NZSM voice student, tenor William McElwee, making a good impression in the piece where even small parts are to be distinguished.  So there were splendid opportunities for all five to be heard, though it was the Sachs of Wilson, the Walther of Greager and the Eva of Graham who were in the main beams of light. It brought a delightful recital to an all too early end.

 

Impressive final recital as Isabella Moore prepares for study abroad

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

‘Vivere per Amare’ (Live to Love) – final recital for Postgrad. Diploma in Voice
Arias, Lieder and Songs

Isabella Moore (soprano), Bruce Greenfield (piano)

Adam Concert Room, New Zealand School of Music

Friday 20 September 2013, 6.15pm

A massive thunderstorm, such as we seldom get in Wellington, prevented me from arriving at the recital in time; hail and heavy rain meant I had to stop en route because I simply could not see the surface of the road.  However, it was well worthwhile persisting with the journey.  Isabella Moore has an impressive voice of wide range, an imposing platform persona, and is accomplished across a variety of composers, genres and periods.  She certainly showed us what she can do.

My colleague Lindis Taylor was also at the recital, and has given me some comments on the items I missed: “‘Porgi amor’ had quite careful scene setting before Isabella entered, with Greenfield’s piano introduction.  She entered slowly from the rear, letting her face reveal her emotions as the introductory music continued.  Her voice is not the typical creamy, Kiri-like soprano but quite hard and bright, yet it was fully expressive of her sadness.

“She sang the Ritchie songs with considerable tonal variety, giving each a distinct character.”

The first song I heard properly (as opposed to through the door from the foyer) was Richard Strauss’s Freundliche Vision, Op.48 no.1, the second Strauss lied. What first struck me was the power of Moore’s voice, her clear German language (and this was true also of French, Italian, English and Russian) and her good voice production.  Her climaxes were exciting and her soft passages tender.
Here is another excellent Samoan Strauss singer, like Aivale Cole.

It is perhaps a moot point whether the singer should modify her volume to the size of the room in which she is performing, or whether, for the benefit of those grading her diploma recital, she should show what she is capable of in terms of power and volume.  Certainly I found some of the singing too loud for the acoustic, but it was a case of power, not forcing or shouting.  I believe I have noted in a previous review that Isabella Moore uses her resonators so well; tone production is beautiful, and resonant, without a huge effort (apparently), and without a wide open mouth.  Her low notes are full of emotion, often well into the mezzo-soprano range, and her high notes are controlled.

Wagner followed: two of the Wesendonck lieder: ‘Der Engel’ and ‘Schmerzen’.  It was impressive to consider the variety of songs performed in the concert, and the sheer amount of work required to memorise them and master their performance.
Moore coped well with this demanding repertoire, though it would be pushing her voice to perform Wagner in an opera house at this stage of her career.  Both consonants and vowels were beautifully made and the powerful declamations were all in place.

After the first of two short intervals, we heard an aria by Jules Massenet: ‘Pleurez, pleurez mes yeux’ from Le Cid.  Here, as elsewhere, Bruce Greenfield’s tasteful and highly musical accompaniment was a joy.  Moore’s communication of the emotion of the piece with the audience was splendid, partly through her excellent enunciation, and her observation of the contrasts in the words.

Liszt’s song ‘Oh, quand je dors’ was convincingly performed.  I’ve always been told that singers should not exhibit teeth; that the teeth inhibit the production of tone and its full expression. However, while we saw quite a lot of incisors etc. in this song
particularly, I did not notice any effect on the quality of the sound.  The song could have sustained even more feeling and emotion.

Berlioz wrote wonderfully romantic works, and was rather ahead of his time in his invention, orchestration and word-setting. Near the top of the list is Les nuits d’été (Summer nights), and from this song cycle (usually with orchestra) Isabella Moore sang ‘Le spectre de la rose’, a setting of a poem by Gautier.  There was no strain in the voice, even on a high crescendo – but this fine song will grow more magnificent as the singer matures.

The Rachmaninov songs featured hugely expressive and demanding accompaniments, as befitted their composer, a top international pianist.  The first song, ‘Oh, never sing to me again’ was a setting of words by Pushkin.  This is a very dramatic song, and hearing it in Russian added to the effect.  The others were ‘Before my window, Lilacs‘, and In Spring Waters.  In these, found the sustained high volume too much. Yet Moore proved again that she can do delicacy too, notably in the second song.

To opera next, and Bellini’s ‘Casta diva’ from Norma.  As elsewhere, Bruce Greenfield was a one-man orchestra.  It was a very lovely rendering, but I’m not sure that bel canto is Moore’s ‘thing’. However, Lindis Taylor said “I was pretty impressed by her Norma performance which was clearly intended to be the show-piece and it was. The way she dramatically shifted gear for the cabaletta, from the pure sacred utterance, and then the prayer specifically asking for the return of her lover. And her ensuring that we understood the meaning of the words as distinct from aiming simply to astonish us with her vocal histrionics; they were certainly impressive.  The whole thing certainly made a dramatic impact.”  There were a few inaccuracies, but apart from that, Moore demonstrated the flexibility of her voice.

In the lighthearted final item, Flanders and Swann’s ‘A word in my ear’ Greenfield was the miming fellow-comedian.  This item included a ‘Farewell’, then just as the audience (and the adjudicating lecturers!) thought it was over, we were stopped, and the song became ‘I’m tone deaf’, a hilarious travesty of a singer – but hard to manage to sing out of tune, after all that training and practice!

A pity after putting so much work into a sizeable printed programme, to have it marred by mistakes, words missed out, and howlers, such as Strauss ‘paved the way for his predecessors’, and the muddling of Salzburg and Vienna, and their respective roles in Mozart’s career. A glance at an atlas could have cleared this up, and passing the notes to someone else to read through would, hopefully, have got rid of the mistakes.  Apparently people recall the opera by Massenet by the one aria, yet in the next line “it seems to have been forgotten”!

Worse than these was perhaps the use of the translations. I looked up the relevant website that was the source of most of them, out of curiosity (using the names of the translators to get to it).  It stated, over the name of Bard Suverkrop “Copying of the text (cut and paste) not permitted” and that the web address and name of the author should be given when public use was made of the translations.  We had the names, but… was copyright permission obtained?  If it was, this should be shown.  If not, the law has been broken.

 

A rare, delightful Lieder recital from two seasoned musicians at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

A recital of favourite Lieder by Schubert and Brahms

Roger Wilson (baritone) and Martin Ryman (piano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 18 September 2013, 12.15pm

Here were two seasoned musicians, in contrast to the many recitals at St. Andrew’s from emerging performers.  It was a delight to hear lieder; in Wellington we all too seldom have an opportunity.

The two opening Schubert items were well-known: “Der Wanderer an den Mond” and “Auf dem Wasser zu singen”.  It was a delight to have both German words and translations printed; even though Roger Wilson’s German pronunciation is impeccable and his projection of the words first-class, it underlined the fact that the meanings of the songs and the extent of the composer’s brilliant word-setting cannot be fully appreciated unless the hearers understand the words’ sense.

There was some slight variability in intonation in these songs and elsewhere, and also the odd occasion, particularly in a couple of songs, where the performers were not quite in synch. Nevertheless, it was great to hear these wonderful songs
live.  “Ganymed” is less well known; as a longer song, it allowed for more development and expressiveness, which it received.  Again, there were clear words, and caressing of beautiful phrases.

A break for the singer was provided by Mendelssohn’s: Song Without Words, Op.19 no.1. The flowing quality of this piece echoed that of the songs.  Ryman played with finesse in this acoustic,
which is sometimes difficult for the piano.

Next came “Der Wanderer”, which was performed with considerable sensitivity to the words – a feeling of isolation was the pre-eminent mood.  Schubert’s superlative setting of poetry was
most notable here, but also in the following “Fischerweise”, a more joyful song.  In the first verse, the piano was a little too loud for the light tone Roger Wilson adopted.

We turned now to Brahms. “Wir melodien zieht es mir” immediately demonstrated the difference of this composer’s writing from that of Schubert.  The breadth of melodies and wider expressive scope distinguishes Brahms from the more intimate songs of Schubert that we had heard so far.  The setting of “Sapphische Ode” was perhaps a little low for Wilson’s voice.  Though sung with tenderness, we couldn’t get its full impact when the lowest notes could not be fully delivered.

Another piano solo was Brahms’s Intermezzo in A Op.118 no.2. Well-loved indeed, as the programme note stated – I heard it played on Radio New Zealand Concert only the previous night – it was given a fine interpretation, bringing out its nostalgic quality, the pianist caressing the piano to reveal beautiful sounds.

Schubert’s “Prometheus”, setting words by Goethe, is a ‘dramatic monologue’ with various sections, each of a different character, rather than a lied.  It has a grandiose opening, and depicts Prometheus’s defiance against Zeus.  The truculence of the words in many of the verses was eminently portrayed in the music, and in the performance; quite unlike most Schubert songs.

The recital ended with the delightful “Die Taubenpost”.  As Schubert’s last song, its travelling theme has perhaps additional significance.  The gorgeous accompaniment, with its continuous momentum, was impeccably played.  The song made a lovely ending to the concert.

 

Fancies and realities from Orchestra Wellington

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Orchestra Wellington presents
LA DONNA IDEALE

BEETHOVEN – Leonore Overture No.1 Op.138
Symphony No.8 in F Major Op.93
LUCIANO BERIO – Folk Songs
JULIET PALMER – Three Pop Songs “Solid Gold”

Madeleine Pierard (soprano)
Marc Taddei (conductor)
Orchestra Wellington

The Opera House, Wellington,

Sunday, 8th September, 2013

Restricted as to performing venues on account of the capital’s various earthquake-generated strengthening projects, Orchestra Wellington triumphantly made good in the Opera House on Sunday afternoon with its most recent concert, La Donna Ideale, whatever difficulties might have arisen from having to make music in relatively unfamiliar spaces.

By covering the pit and extending the floor area of the stage to well out in front of the proscenium arch the organisers had given the musicians a surprisingly immediate acoustic for its audience to enjoy. Though a smallish orchestra, the sounds in the purely orchestral items packed plenty of punch, with clear (almost too clear) detailing – the string passages which began the Leonore Overture No.1 had great intensity, but moments of less-than-uniform intonation, a glitch which receded as the players “found” one another.

For me the concert’s venue recalled my first-ever orchestral encounter in a similar kind of space – the Palmerston North Opera House in 1969.  Maestro Piero Gamba conducted the then NZBC Symphony Orchestra in an evening of music-making that rocked my socks off, especially with Ravel’s La Valse as a rousing finale. Here, the fireworks at the concert’s end were Beethoven’s, Marc Taddei leading a performance of the composer’s Eighth Symphony that emphasised the music’s dash, drive and excitement, though somewhat at the expense of wit, charm and good humour.

It was Beethoven’s music also which led this latest concert off. Here was a further instalment in a survey by the orchestra of the various Leonora Overtures written by the composer for his opera “Fidelio” – the composer wanted “Leonora” as his opera’s title, but Beethoven was persuaded eventually to make the change, as at least three other composers had previously used that name for their operatic settings of the story.

Leonore No.1 was thought for many years to be the original version of the overture  – but recent research has established it was written after the other versions, specifically for a Prague production of the opera in 1808 which apparently never actually took place (hence the Overture’s somewhat “academic” high opus numbering). Though not as overtly theatrical in its layout as the other “Leonora” overtures, the music still has a pleasing and satisfying overall shape – a sombre introduction, giving way to determined energies followed by lyrical yearnings, the whole completed by a surging, all-conquering conclusion.

Having the players, specifically the strings, brought foward of the proscenium arch made for a more-than-usually analytical sound-picture, sharply-focused, but lacking the bloom of the Town Hall’s ampler ambience. However, the smallish number of strings survived the sound-spotlight with considerable credit, a couple of previously-mentioned ensemble and intonation inconsistencies aside, during the slow, recitative-like opening passages.

Once the allegro got under way the full orchestra’s extra weight and immediacy of sound was thrilling to experience, the music’s syncopations and energies here, and at the conclusion of the work, done with verve and dash. Conductor Marc Taddei managed the music’s contrasts beautifully, the horns and other winds giving great pleasure with their handling of the famous yearning theme sung in the opera by the imprisoned Florestan.

The following work on the programme indirectly gave the concert its overall title, “La  Donna Ideale”, which was the title of the sixth of a collection of eleven Folk-Songs composed and/or transcribed from other sources by avant-garde Italian composer Luciano Berio. Of course, Beethoven’s eponymous heroine celebrated in the concert’s opening music had already ticked the requisite boxes suggested by the title!

Berio wrote these songs for the celebrated singer Cathy Berberian, whom he was married to for a number of years. Today’s singer was our own Madeleine Pierard, resplendently pregnant, and as engaging in voice and platform manner as ever. I could imagine Berberian’s voice having a bit more “edge” and feistiness in places compared with what we heard, but not any more charm, wit and heartfelt directness which Madeleine Pierard gave to us so generously.

The singer’s focused diction enabled us to hear every word of the two American songs which opened the set, and her fully-vocalised engagement with the changing moods of the others brought each one to life. From song to song one marvelled at the differences
of ambience and energy and the range of emotion.

Particularly telling were the contrasts across the final sequence of four songs, the eerie, almost spectral quality of the singer’s “bleached” tones in Motetu de tristura, the out-of-doors chirpiness of Malurous qu’o unno fenno, the folksy, tongue-in-cheek exchanges between singer and solo ‘cello in Lo fiolaire, and the verve and energy of the concluding Azerbaijan Love Song – it sound as though those people in the final song were playing for keeps!

Supporting and matching Pierard’s artistry was the quality of the orchestral playing throughout, both in ensemble and across the many solo lines, making the whole a heart-warming experience.

What a contrast with the world evoked by ex-pat Toronto-based Kiwi composer Juliet Palmer – unlike the often more rarified, prescribed work of many of her contemporaries, her Solid Gold presentation drew directly from mainstream culture, namely, those of pop lyrics associated with music.

Juliet Palmer used only the texts of various pop songs to gather the shards of material she needed to make into a kind of distillation of impulses concerning  love – the composer declared her aim to “unearth the heart of the love song”.  A lot of the time the singer was using the word I – beginning with “I am, I said” which was about the closest to a direct quote from an actual song – but elsewhere it sounded as though Palmer was actually reassembling  the sounds of the words. Other reconstructions brought forth phrases beginning with such words  as “I wanna be” –  according to the composer, echoing a 1984 hit song “I wanna know what love is”.

As she was inspired by pop music’s “distinct sound world” her own music here mostly courted pastiche, (I scribbled the phrase “Disney-like accompaniment” at one point) primarily a kind of springboard for those deconstructed/reconstructed lyrics to bounce along before taking and relishing their brief individual moments of glory. But there were also abnormalities and angularities in places, diverting horn glissandi notes during the work’s introduction and a clustered, Ligeti-like accompaniment to the words “I am” and their subsequent development, sharp Stravinsky-like chords  contributing to the faint underbelly of edginess in certain places in the work.

Enjoyable, but intriguing – and sung by Madeleine Pierard with a richly-wrought relish that brought to mind Noel Coward’s comment  regarding “the potency of cheap music”.

After this we pleasurably anticipated a different kind of delight – the rich, robust humour of Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony. It’s always seemed to me a work of enormous verve and assurance, one which appears to confidently sum up a whole cosmos of symphonic achievement on the part of its composer. Though outwardly it appears something of a classical “throwback”, the music constantly confounds expectation and is filled with dramatic surprises and rhythmic angularities.

Alas, in this performance, the “rich, robust humour” was a sometimes thing. Brilliantly though the orchestra played the work, I thought Marc Taddei’s frantic pacing of the music took away some of the work’s capacity to delight and confound as Beethoven probably intended. For every sequence that impressed with its near-breathless brilliance, there were two which caused me to lament the over-riding impression of excessive haste  – with such deliciously-contrived humour and droll charm to be savoured, I’m at a loss to understand why these things seemed to be put to the metronomic sword.

To be entirely fair, the parts of the work which I thought did come off well were certainly exciting to listen to – the first movement development evoked a kind of tense game of chase between groups of instruments, the horns in particular bringing out their accents tellingly at one point, though the crescendo leading to the reprise had little chance to register at such a pace. And the finale, too, had its best moments mid-movement, the music’s driving force giving an extra vertiginous quality to the “giant’s footfalls” and their hair-raising harmonic lurches.

The middle movements seemed to me far less happy with so much detailing being made to rush by at speed – the Allegretto scherzando movement lost some of its droll contrasts between delicacy and girth, while the canonic passages between winds and strings had little chance to properly register at such a tempo. Similarly, the Tempo di Menuetto sounded too businesslike and regimented here, as if all the dancers had personal trainers as their partners, keeping things up to speed. And the delicious triplet accompaniments for the horns and winds in the Trio went almost for nothing for me, despite the wonderfully alert playing.

One person’s meat, they say – but even so, a thing of beauty is surely to be savoured and not merely efficiently despatched. There were enough good things about the symphony’s performance here to divert the harshest critic, if only momentarily – but I felt that, if more time had been given for notes, phrases and paragraphs to properly “own” and relish their allotted spaces, a good performance of the work would have become a great one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stroma – the Elemental and the Fabulous

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Stroma New Music Ensemble presents:
GODDESS AND STORYTELLER

Music by IANNIS XENAKIS, GAO PING, and DOROTHY KER

Nicholas Isherwood (bass baritone)
Thomas Guldborg (percussion)
Hamish McKeich (conductor)
Stroma New Music Ensemble

Hunter Council Chamber,
Victoria University of Wellington

Sunday 1st September 2013

Well, we can’t say we weren’t warned (those of us who read the program note before the concert, that is….)….short of resorting to an official rubber-stamped, or publicly-broadcast Government Health Warning, the accompanying note did made it quite clear regarding the salient characteristics of the two items written by Greek-born, French-naturalised composer Iannis Xenakis which framed this extraordinary Stroma concert: “….these works are unprecedented in their raw power and violence”.

Both pieces were late additions by the composer to an opera inspired by the classical Greek story known as The Oresteia (a work by Aeschylus, about Orestes, the son of Clytemnestera and Agamemnon, and the series of tragic events involving these characters). The first of these additional pieces was called Kassandra, and featured a series of dialogues between the Prophetess of the same name who had forseen these tragedies, and a chorus. The second, titled La Déesse Athena (The Goddess Athena) took the form of an accompanied monologue of declamation, the text a series of directives by the Goddess to the people of Athens to establish courts of law.

Despite each piece having a “stand-and-deliver” appearance on the part of the musicians that one might associate more with the concert platform than the stage, both made the kind of visceral impact one would expect from raw, graphic theatrical depictions of brutal violence and conflict. The theatricality of each piece was underscored by the remarkable vocal virtuosity of American bass-baritone Nicholas Isherwood, required to sing throughout both works alternating (sometimes rapidly) between baritonal and falsetto pitches. It was, one might say, a vocal tour de force.

In the first piece, the two differently-pitched voices represented both Kassandra, the Prophetess, and her exchanges with the chorus of elders. The singer’s voice was amplified (in both pieces), which for me contributed to the immediate “all-pervasiveness” of the sounds –  in Kassandra,  biting, dramatic exchanges between the prophetess and the chorus. Solo percussionist (Thomas Guldborg) activated both drums and wood-blocks, advancing both the declamatory style of the exchanges and remorselessly driving the trajectories of the narrative forward as the prophetess graphically described how Agamemnon would be murdered by his wife and her lover. As well, the singer occasionally activated a kind of psaltery, the sounds imitating an ancient Greek lyre (actually, the instrument was described as an Indian siter).

Just as engaging/harrowing was the second of Xenaxis’s pieces, La Déesse Athena, which concluded the concert – if anything, it was even more blistering an experience than was Kassandra, with the resources of a chamber ensemble put to immediate and confrontational effect. Everything was shrill and hard-edged, with the singer frequently changing from falsetto to baritonal pitch and back again, underlining Athena’s dualistic, male/female nature, and emphasising the implacable, all-encompassing nature of the directives.

From the stark, harrowing pterodactyl-imagined cries of the opening winds, through to the piece’s end, the intensities never really let up, the exchanges between the singer’s dual-voiced utterances and the raw insistence of the ensemble groups expressing sounds of the most elemental and uncompromising kind. Not for nothing was Xenakis quoted by the programme notes as saying that he felt he was born too late, and had nothing to do in the twentieth century – these sounds seemed at once ancient and anarchic, a kind of screaming and moaning from the underbelly of human existence. The archaic Greek texts of both pieces “placed” to an extent the composer’s creative focus, but the classical or pre-classical “statues” referred to in the excellent notes, and here given voice seemed to me, to “speak, sing and scream” to all ages.

The only thing that perhaps could have further advanced these sensational, no-holds-barred performances was to have performed them in a properly theatrical setting. As it was, the presentations were as confrontational and uncompromising as I think they could have been in normal concert surroundings – and, in a sense, the “neutrality” of the concert situation enabled we listeners to focus purely and directly upon the music, to memorable effect.

Thankfully, both Gao Ping’s and Dorothy Ker’s pieces inhabited somewhat different, less harrowing realms, although each had its own distinctive way with sonority and with its organisation of material. I thought Gao Ping’s work was the more overtly discursive and exploratory, as befitted the composer’s title for the piece – Shuo Shu Ren – The Storyteller. Naturally enough, as well as the stories themselves, the storyteller’s own personality and distinctive way of putting across his material were here presented, for our great delight.

One could extrapolate the scenario’s different elements from the sounds – the first section of the music strongly redolent of a “Once upon a time….”, with jaunty, angular winds setting the trajectories at the beginning, but giving way to a whole inventory of textural and rhythmic variations, the lines and timbres engaging us with the idea of a kind of “exposition” of characters, situations and contexts at the conclusion of the work’s first section.

Something of the composer’s idea of myth blending with reality seemed to haunt the wistful, remote opening of the second section, like impulses of a cold memory being stroked and brought back to a state of warmth. Lovely cello-playing by Rowan Prior helped give the sequence a Holst-like austerity, augmented in places with oriental-flavoured intervals and harmonies. The music then re-established its narrative flow, with many imaginative and interactive touches, incorporating both the storyteller’s entrancement and the listener’s rapture.  These interactions brought about a two-note figure of resolution, almost a shout of triumph and fulfilment, brought back by the solo ‘cello to the meditative realms .

A third section gave the wind players plenty of scope to galvanise the narrative and “flesh out” the protagonists – from birdsong beginnings, the figurations grew in animation and girth, underpinned by strings and harp.The kaleidoscopic texture-changes kept the pace keen and listener-sensibilities guessing, culminating in alarm-sounding squeals(winds), acamperings (strings) and flourishes (harp) – very exciting!

The epilogue began with dreamy responses to a perky oboe, strings and winds drifting their lines into harmonies which dovetailed into a cadential trill, then delicately sounded again, to gorgeous, somewhat disembodied effect, with notes sounding across silences and dissolving into them. We readily experienced the composer’s idea of the storyteller dispersing fragments “ephemeral as light”.

An even more interesting-looking assemblage of players trooped out for Dorothy Ker’s work (…and…11), continuing a kind of mushrooming of numbers effect with each succeeding item. Where Gao Ping’s descriptions of his music drew largely upon his childhood memories, Ker’s less overtly personalised language in her programme-note focused intently upon metaphor and imagery describing what she called in her music a “wave-like morphology”, and the resulting “cycles of accumulation and decay” stemming from her use of the word “and” in the piece’s title.

More concentrated, terser and in a sense “tougher” a work than Gao Ping’s, (…and…11)  held our interest in a more immediate, less hypnotic sense, rather as I remembered old radio serials of decective stories used to do, with music soundtracks generating as much imagined expectation and incident as did the voices. I liked Dorothy Ker’s use of a repeated kind of what I immediately thought of as a “radio chord” whose focal-points repeatedly interacted with instrumental incident – percussion rumbles, scintillations, breath-sounds and mutterings, rock-bottom brass sonorities – sequences to create, in the composer’s words, “anticipation, followed by a release energy”.

As with Gao Ping’s work, the sonorities led the ear ever onwards through these sequences – disparate sounds included slashing pizzicati, with strings stinging the fingerboards, chords eerily made by breath-sounds in tandem with deep brass,and recitative-like solos from flute, clarinet and trombone. And the concluding episode was entrancingly done, the dance all-too-briefly suggested before leaving the outcomes to the realms of our imagination.

One was left, at the concert’s end, marvelling at the range and scope of the Stroma musicians’ skills under Hamish McKeich’s clear-sighted direction, bringing into being such a far-flung range of musical realisations with terrific aplomb and conviction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contemplations of life and death from disparate times and nations

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Orchestra Wellington conducted by Marc Taddei

Beethoven: Leonore Overture No 2, Op 72
Mussorgsky: Songs and Dances of Death with Jonathan Lemalu – bass-baritone
John Psathas and Warren Maxwell (vocals and guitar): Pounamu, a ‘concerto’ for voice, guitars and orchestra

Wellington Town Hall

Sunday 28 July, 4pm

In 2008 Warren Maxwell, frontman of Little Bushman, collaborated with John Psathas and the Auckland Philharmonia in a concert entitled Little Bushman meet the APO; and in the following year, the NZSO also staged the Little Bushmen collaboration, again with Psathas, and on a film score, The Strength of Water.

Psathas approached Maxwell again suggesting the idea of a collaboration that would become Pounamu. It was performed with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra in May 2011 and later that year the contemporary music ensemble Stroma took it on in a reduction from the original score for full orchestra. The orchestral original has awaited a performance in Wellington and it found a place filling the second half of a concert by Orchestra Wellington.

It was understandable that not all of the orchestra’s usual audience showed up although it was by no means a poor house. Judging by the style of the acclamation from a significant section of the audience a good representation of the followers of Trinity Roots/Little Bushman was on hand.

What Wellington heard was an expansion of the original, heard in Auckland; a sixth part was composed for this revival. Maxwell described the work in his programme notes as well as in an engaging interview with Eva Radich on Radio New Zealand Concert’s Upbeat programme in the preceding week. In six sections, it contemplates shortcomings of our society, neglect of disadvantaged groups such as the homeless and unemployed, the elderly, those with hard-to-manage addictions and so on: those on the outskirts of the community (as he puts it).

In his unmistakable, hushed and breathy voice, often in an alto, falsetto register, accompanying himself on regular or bass guitar, he sang/delivered in sprechgesang, sometimes addressing us, sometimes third parties, sometimes the universe. In ‘Grandma’s Tears’ we heard a recording of thoughts and memories of his grandmother(?) in her 90s.

In light of the normal practice of reproducing the words in full, often in the original and in English of liturgical works and songs, it was a pity not to have printed at least the essentials of what he spoke (which was done with the four Songs and Dances of Death).

It was not entirely clear from either the notes or what he told Eva Radich, how much of the music was conceived by him and how much was originated by Psathas; or was Psathas’s contribution largely orchestration?

It was moving, poignant, capturing the nature of the  words and subject matter; just occasionally, and more, I thought, in the closing phase, it suggested a film score, a shade too elaborate and sophisticated, and expressing less sincerity as it did so. It was long – some 35 minutes – but did not outlast its interest, and the eventual impression was of a partnership between equals even though the idioms themselves – the symphonic and the Maori-tinted rock/popular worlds – might have been very far apart.

The other vocal work on the programme was astutely chosen, for it touched on certain of the same human concerns, four poems by a friend of Mussorgsky’s, one Golenishchev-Kutuzov. Mussorgsky, like Psathas/Maxwell, set them in music that often, at least in the first song, approached Sprechgesang, singing without apparent strict notation, though the voice seems to find telling pitches which I’m sure could be notated if one were disposed to try.

Though my first hearing of these songs was from an LP I bought at a sale in the 1950s, purely on exploratory impulse, sung by Jennie Tourel, with the Bernstein at the piano, which has remained a sort of bench-mark, there is no doubt that a dark bass-baritone delivers them with more immediacy and realism.

There could hardly have been a more powerfully sympathetic singer than Jonathan Lemalu, of these dark though not really despairing songs, for Death is depicted mainly as friend, offering peace in place of suffering. Lemalu’s Russian sounded as if he were singing in his first language and his entire demeanour and vocal quality expressed their sombre but richly musical quality with utter conviction.

And the orchestration by Shostakovich gave them wonderfully appropriate, almost too particular accompaniment, leaving little to the imagination. Under Taddei the orchestra did them vivid and detailed justice.

Finally, the first work on the programme was one of the four overtures that Beethoven wrote for the various incarnations of his troubled opera, Leonore/Fidelio.

Just to refresh memories, No 2 was probably the first written, and was the one played at the opera’s first production in 1805; No 3 was a modified version of it which was played at the revival in 1806; in the latter, the trumpet call was moved from near the end in No 2, to nearer the middle of the piece. No 1 was found among Beethoven’s papers after his death (and carries the posthumous opus number 138), perhaps intended for a performance in Prague that did not eventuate; possibly, judging by the abrupt ending, it was unfinished. The Fidelio Overture was written for the revised version of the opera produced in 1814, less than half the length of either Nos 2 or 3.

This was a spacious, stentorian performance, opening with huge dramatic chords, nothing like the relatively polite chords one can hear on some recordings; and later, Taddei created great, suspenseful pauses between arresting scene changes. The blazing, victorious trumpet leading to the finale made a marvellous impact, played from the back of the gallery by Chris Clark.

Though Taddei held tempi under effective tension throughout, all that changed in the last stretta bars in which the orchestra hurled themselves, chocks away, into the peroration that proclaimed Florestan’s rescue.

The orchestra’s adventurous programme was entirely vindicated.

 

Young Musicians enliven lunchtime at St.Andrew’s

Posted on by admin

New Zealand School of Music presents:
Young Musicians’ Concert

St. Andrews on the Terrace

Wednesday, 3rd July 2013

This concert featured members of the N.Z. School of Music Young Musicians Programme, which provides opportunities for gifted young people to work with the cream of New Zealand performers, composers and music educators, as well as overseas visitors, faculty staff and gifted post-graduate NZSM students. Seven performers contributed to a well rounded programme which demonstrated that there is no shortage of well trained, able younger musicians coming up the ranks.

Firstly Harry Di Somma sang Brahms’ Leibestreu and Schubert’s An Sylvia, in a sensitive, musical presentation, with promising cantabile, good dynamics and phrasing, and sound intonation. His love of the works was obvious from his face, but he needs to release his whole body to express more fully the feelings he wants to convey.

Next Sophie Smith sang Brahms’ An Ein Veilchen in a remarkably well rounded, mature voice with a sure cantabile, good dynamic control and artistic phrasing. Her overall musicianship, mature voice and accomplished singing quite belied the petite figure that stood before us in her school tunic, and I believe we will see her go far with her talents.

Nino Raphael then sang Schumann’s Im Walde and Purcell’s Music for a While in a warm expressive performance with a quality of vocal timbre, phrasing and dynamics that supported a sure cantabile line throughout. He has yet to develop strength at the outer limits of his range, but he has plentiful talents to build on.

The singers were accompanied at the piano by John Broadbent, whose sure technical support and musicianship greatly enhanced the three partnerships. His crafting and balance of piano dynamics  with each voice was exemplary, easily the best piano ensemble work I have heard in the challenging acoustics that musicians must now grapple with since alterations were completed at St.Andrews.

John Tan was the first of the instrumental students, playing a Scarlatti Sonata and two piano works by Albeniz. It was a musical, expressive performance supported by a thoroughly competent technique. He can well afford to rely upon it, and need not have succumbed to the nerves that caused him to rush in the technically demanding final section of the Malaguena.

Next was an arrangement of Erroll Garner’s classic ballad Misty in a charming, sensitive rendition by guitarist Amber Madriaga. It was a perfect gem but was very difficult to hear back in the hall. Amber needs to project her lovely sound much more when playing in spaces this size.

Pianist Prin Keerasuntonpong followed with Granados’ Quejas o la Maja y el Ruisenor. He amply captured the shifting moods of its rich melodies and textures and demonstrated the skill and sensitivity that have doubtless earned him the scholarship he has secured to the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.

The final performer was Jamie Garrick, a fourth year guitar student at NZSM. He played Mertz’ Romanze from Bardenklange, and the Introduction and Caprice from Regondi’s Op.23. His sure technique supported musical phrasing and dynamics. However, a somewhat aimless approach did little to clarify the musical form of the Introduction, though this improved with the clearer melodic writing of the Caprice section.

Overall this was a thoroughly enjoyable concert that amply demonstrated the talents of New Zealand’s younger musicians.  It deserved a better audience.

(550 words)

Tremendous panache from performers in Verdi’s epic Requiem

Posted on by admin

VERDI – REQUIEM MASS

Lisa Harper-Brown (soprano), Margaret Medlyn (mezzo), Rosario La Spina (tenor), Jud Arthur (bass)

Orpheus Choir and City Choir Dunedin

NZSO conducted by Pietari Inkinen

Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington

Saturday 29th June.

Verdi’s Requiem was presented last Saturday evening with tremendous panache by a huge group of musicians who all seemed to revel in the privilege of performing this epic work. Their enthusiasm was palpable, in a way that communicated itself to the audience and created a gala atmosphere that was further enhanced by the wonderful lighting of the rich timber work in the dome . The huge range of dynamic and dramatic possibilities, and the riveting contrasts crafted by Verdi were brought out by Inkinen’s direction in every movement of the score.

A great deal has been written about the dramatic and operatic style of the Requiem by those who question whether such overt dramatism is appropriate for a work that contemplates death. But the score makes it clear that Verdi saw much more than contemplation in the gamut of emotions facing a dying human being. He threw his formidable talent at the challenge of expressing a whole range of feelings with no holds barred, and this was a performance that did that intention proud. The musicians barely whispered the breathless plea of the opening Requiem aeterna,  yet  repeatedly unleashed a shrieking terror of divine wrath in the recurring Dies irae. The contemplative numbers were sensitively crafted by the singers in solos and ensembles alike, and they were supported by some breathtaking obligati from the woodwind principals, the first bassoon being the standout example.

There were very few moments that were less than satisfactory. Lisa Harper-Brown embraced the huge demands of the solo soprano score with complete technical mastery and projected clearly over the strongest orchestral and choral passages. Margaret Medlyn’s musicianship was, as always, eminently sensitive and convincing, but there were times when the pitch and timbre of her voice could not quite float through the orchestration provided for the mezzo solos. Jud Arthur likewise needed more power and definition than his voice could find to sound strong and satisfying in some numbers. Rosario La Spina could soar effortlessly over the combined choir and orchestra, but was sometimes too dominant in the tenor voice of ensemble numbers. Margaret Medlyn and Jud Arthur were both sometimes difficult to hear within the solo ensemble when it was set against the massed choirs and full orchestral resources.

Inkinen was apparently conducting the Requiem for the first time on this NZSO tour. But his beat was always clear and sure and only once, in the Sanctus, did he set off at a tempo which left the disparate choral and orchestral strands struggling to mesh their rhythm. His control of the vast dynamic range and huge dramatic contrasts demanded by the score was truly impressive, and it was clear that even the most distant chorister responded to such clear, emphatic leadership. The orchestra was in splendid form, and the strings and wind had no trouble holding their own with Verdi’s fullest orchestration for brass and percussion.

The performance built inexorably to a riveting climax that was capped off with thunderous applause from the packed auditorium. The glowing faces and excited comments that buzzed in the lobbies afterwards expressed the enormous enthusiasm of the audience, and the sense of being privileged to experience such a powerful work so magnificently presented. Judging by the turnout on Saturday, the NZSO should take these reactions to heart, and more often consider the great masses and requiems of such as Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven etc. when preparing future programmes.

Brio’s fantastic lunchtime explorations

Posted on by Peter Mechen

Brio Vocal Ensemble Presents:
FANTASIEREISEN  (Fantastic Journeys)

WAGNER – Excerpts from “Das Rheingold”

3 Wesendonck-Lieder

R.STRAUSS – 2 Movements from Five Piano Pieces Op.3

2 Songs: – “Leises Lied” and “Zueignung”

MOZART – Excerpts from “Die Zauberflöte”

Brio: Janey MacKenzie (soprano), Catherine Leining (soprano), Jody Orgias (mezzo-soprano), Mark Bobb (tenor), Justin Pearce (bass)

Special guest appearance – Roger Wilson (bass)

Jonathan Berkahn (piano)

St.Andrew’s-on-the-Terrace, Wellington

Wednesday 19th June, 2013

Fantasiereisen is not, of course, the word for a German bakery, but instead, the title chosen for the most recent of Vocal Ensemble Brio’s enterprising programmes. Presented at St.Andrew’s as part of the Lunchtime Concert Series, it featured music by Wagner, R. Strauss and Mozart, a kind of kaleidoscopic collection of operatic, vocal and instrumental works given this wonderful title (in English, this time) Fantastic Journeys. One or two rough moments put aside, I thought the presentation a great success.

It all began with part of the opening scene from Wagner’s Das Rheingold, here sung (and acted) in concert-hall style, with piano accompaniment (the music truncated here and there, but still allowing us to savour the episode’s principal themes or leitmotifs, as the composer styled them). So, Jonathan Berkahn’s skilled playing unfolded for us the themes associated with nature and with the River Rhine, before the trio of Rhinemaidens burst in on the scene, sung by Catherine Leining, Janey MacKenzie and Jody Orgias. The three sported in the river’s sparkling waters before being suddenly accosted by a dwarf, Alberich, sung here by Justin Pearce.

Of the watery trio of Maidens (I keep thinking about comedienne Anna Russell’s brilliant description of the three as “a sort of aquatic Andrews Sisters”), I thought Janey MacKenzie’s voice stood out when singing solo, her tones, easeful, resplendent and siren-like. When together as a threesome, each voice worked beautifully, their collective energies and impulses well-drilled, and their tones steady and mellifluous. Opposite them, Justin Pearce’s lust-crazed Alberich, though a bit papery-toned in places, was dramatically convincing – he made good use of both voice and “face” when conveying his bitter disappointment at failing to make a capture of any one of the three sisters.

In fact I was enjoying the performance so much, that the excerpt’s abrupt conclusion at that point, just before the appearance of the sun’s rays which light up the Rhinemaidens’ gold, came as an aural shock! Still, I kept my composure, and resolutely avoided causing a scene by jumping to my feet and blustering “But…but…but you can’t stop NOW!….). I did so want to hear the Rhinemaidens’ cries of “Rheingold! Rheingold!”, and especially as everybody seemed to be really getting into their parts and enjoying themselves at this juncture. I suppose, realistically, it had to stop somewhere – but one did feel, particularly at that point, as though one had been from the music “untimely ripp’d!”.

I had to be content with something completely different to follow, two movements from Richard Strauss’s Five Pieces for Piano, here played winningly by Jonathan Berkahn. First was a lovely, song-like Andante, and afterwards an “Allegro-vivace” hunting-song. The latter was music that seemed to want to take its listeners on plenty of wide-ranging adventures, including, by the sounds of things, a couple of tumbles! – all fine, and nobody hurt, save for a few bruises!

Two songs by Richard Strauss followed, both sung by Janey MacKenzie. The first, Lieses Lied, (Gentle Song) was delicately essayed by both voice and piano, the singer readily negotiating the song’s high tessitura, and with only a moment of strain at the top of an ascent, near the end – the rest was a delight. As for the well-known Zueignung (Dedication), the great rolling phrases were beautifully arched, and expansively negotiated, as was the final verse’s climactic high note, thrillingly attacked and attained.

I couldn’t help but feel for Jody Orgias, singing three of Wagner’s Wesendonck-Lieder in the wake of the resonances of Margaret Medlyn’s stunning performance of the whole set just recently – her feeling for the music was evident, but I felt the songs needed more, here, lacking the ambient Tristan-esque charge that both orchestra and a more focused vocal outpouring was able to generate at that NZSM concert. I thought the singer was elsewhere able to display her abilities far more readily in the operatic excerpts, where her unfailing sense of the stage and of how words and situations interact was evident. The Magic Flute excerpts which concluded the concert found her, I thought, much more at ease.

Throughout the concert Jonathan Berkahn’s piano playing had given us considerable pleasure thus far – unfortunately his somewhat untidy playing of an unfinished Mozart sonata-movement made a less-than-positive impression. The intention was partly to demonstrate an instance of the composer’s occasional forays into uncharacteristically stormier territories – but even when stormy and stressful Mozart’s music requires a kind of elegance and sense of proportion (it’s part of what makes his music so terribly difficult to get right, and especially on a modern piano, where the music’s figurations and textures are often made to sound ungainly).

Happily the Magic Flute exerpts seemed to right these very few wrongs, and provide a suitably fantastic, as well as heart-warming finish to the presentation. For the first exerpt, which was the duet “Bei Mannern”, featuring Papageno, the bird-catcher, and Pamina, the captive princess, bass Roger Wilson stepped into the breach to replace an ailing performer at short notice, partnering Janey MacKenzie, the give-and-take between the two remarkable throughout, even if I felt the piece’s basic tempo was too quick to allow the singers time to properly “round off” their phrase-ends – Pamina’s lovely arching line right at the end, for example, here sounding a shade fettered, and wanting just a little more freedom.

Finally came the “padlocked mouth” quintet, with Justin Pearce reclaiming the character of Papageno and enjoying his “Hm-hm-hm-hm”s, and tenor Mark Bobb giving us a small-voiced but elegant Tamino (the prince in pursuit of Pamina – perhaps it was his eagerness which contributed to the men’s music being rushed ever so slightly) –  still, the voices blended nicely in the ensembles, nowhere more beautifully than in the “Three Boys” sequences (surely some of the most sublime music written by anybody!) sung by both the trio of women and the Tamino/Papageno duo, before the final “Lebt wohl” exchanges at the end.

All in all, a pleasure to report that these journeyings through fantastic lands were well worth the making.