Tag: vocal

Encore visit to counter-tenor Xiao Ma, with Stephen Diaz and Gao Ping (piano), at Te Papa

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Songs, arias by Handel, Chausson, Britten, Mahler, Ravel, Dvořák, Chopin, Rossini, Mozart, Maori songs sung as duets, the music arranged by Ashley Heenan

Xiao Ma and Stephen Diaz (counter-tenors), Gao Ping (piano)

Soundings Theatre, Te Papa

Saturday 18 February, 4pm

I attended this one-hour recital with a friend, with whom I had just had afternoon tea in the 4th floor café at Te Papa.  She insisted that we should queue for Xiao Ma at 3.30pm; in fact, we went earlier, and soon a huge queue built up.  The doors weren’t opened until nearly 4pm, and people poured in till the theatre was absolutely full.

Mere Boynton welcomed the audience and introduced the performers, including a good plug for the opera Hōhepa, to be premiered in the Arts Festival, in which Stephen Diaz will appear, following his just-completed stunning turn of acting and singing in Handel’s Alcina, at Opera in a Days Bay Garden.

He opened the programme with an aria he sang, as Ruggiero, in that opera: ‘Verdi Prati’.  He looked rather nervous, but soon warmed up.  He has a way to go, to being a fully-fledged singer, still being young, but has some of the vital attributes, such as his exquisite control in the quiet passages.

What struck me straight away, and right through the recital, was the astonishing pianism of Gao Ping.  Here is a pianist who caresses the keys rather than hitting them.  It was pleasing to watch him, too.

Next came Xiao Ma, to sing two Handel arias that he sang in his concert on Wednesday night at St. Mary of the Angels: ‘Ombra mai fu’ from Serse, and ‘Lascia ch’io pianga’ from Rinaldo.  There is a drier sound in this theatre; St. Mary of the Angels church suited him better.  Here, I could hear his breathing quite frequently, which I could not the other night.  This is not to denigrate his superb breath control, especially notable in the second aria.  Both singer and accompanist incorporated decorations in the da capo repeat.

Chausson’s Le colibri (The humming-bird) has always been a favourite of mine, from a splendid rendition by Gérard Souzay on a recording I was given many years ago.  The song (and his subsequent items) was given a spoken introduction by Stephen Diaz.  It was beautifully and sensitively sung.

His next song was ‘I know a bank’ from Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  This aria is perhaps a little too austere to be sung as a solo divorced from the opera context and setting, despite the rather over-done gestures from the singer.  However, it was competently sung, and the accompaniment was a model of supportive expression.

Xiao Ma returned to sing ‘Oft denk ich’ from Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder.   I don’t think he had quite the sense of foreboding required for these songs, and to my taste it was sung a little too fast.

A song I did not know was ‘Le réveil de la mariée’ from Five Greek songs by Ravel; it proved to be a lively song, rather like a Greek dance.

After that came the sublime Dvořák song known in English as ‘Songs my mother taught me’, from Gypsy Melodies.  Xiao Ma sang it in Czech, just one of the seven languages he sang in.  This was an exquisitely sung piece, fulfilling the expectations of all of us who love this song; the accompaniment, my notes say, was ‘out of this world’.  The totality was an ecstatic experience, to which the audience responded very enthusiastically.

Another item unfamiliar to me was ‘The wish’ from Poland Melodies by Chopin.  Sung in Polish it was very bright and lively, with lovely flourishes.

Stephen Diaz returned to sing an aria from Rossini’s Semiramide: ‘In si Barbara’.  Here, the tone was a trifle inconsistent.  This was typical Rossini stuff, with a repetitive accompaniment.  It was florid and powerful, high in the soloist’s voice – it really got the audience going in response.

Xiao Ma followed with the well-known ‘Voi, che sapete’ from Le Nozze di Figaro by Mozart.  The singer showed great breath control in this item, and gave a very accomplished performance.

His final aria was another famous one: ‘Una voce poco fa’ from Il barbiere di Siviglia by Rossini.  Xiao Ma extracted maximum humour from the aria, to the audience’s delight, with facial expression and vocal colouring.  It was a characterful performance with plenty of variety of dynamics and vocal agility.  The trills employed were quite brilliant, sending the audience into ecstasies.

There followed three Maori songs, sung as a duet by the two singers.  The arrangements were by Ashley Heenan, and were very lovely; they derive from April 1966, when Heenan arranged five songs especially for a New Zealand youth music concert with orchestra, choir and soloists put on by the government for the Queen Mother, on her visit.  Two sopranos sang the songs then, some of them with choir; one of the duet was Donna Awatere, later famous in spheres other than music.

The richness of Stephen Diaz’s voice came through in these songs.  Both singers use their resonators superbly, being heard even in very quiet passages, without having to open their mouths wide.  Although Xiao Ma took the higher part, Diaz had to sing quite high also.

The first song was the well-known Hine e Hine.  In the second song, about the sound of the locust, Poi kihikihi, both singers used their tenor voices, to great effect.  In the third, Tahi nei taru kino, the singers varied their voices a great deal.  A unison section hardly sounded that, due to the very different timbres of the voices.

As encore, Mozart’s ‘Soave sia il vento’ from Cosi fan Tutte was sung; while beautifully rendered, the lack of a bass to sing the third part of the trio detracted from the performance somewhat.  The harmony was very fine.

A second encore was an attractive Chinese song.  For this, Gao Ping did not need a score.

A thoroughly enjoyable concert was greeted warmly by the audience, with a partial standing ovation.  We do not hear singers in live concerts enough, compared with some years ago; this concert (admittedly, free) showed there is an enthusiasm for such performances.  Soundings Theatre holds approximately 300 people; hopefully this success will encourage Te Papa and other promoters to put on more such recitals.

 

Exceptional recital from Chinese counter-tenor, Xiao Ma

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Music at St. Mary of the Angels

Xiao Ma (counter tenor)

Baroque instrumental ensemble (Gregory Squire, violin, Anne Loeser, viola, Robert Oliver, viola da gamba, Erin Helyard, harpsichord)

Vivaldi:  ‘Nisi Dominus’ (verses 1 & 9);  Trio Sonata in G minor, Op.1 no.1; ‘Sposa son disprezza’ (from Bajazet); Trio Sonata in D minor Op.1 no.12 (‘La Follia’); ‘Gloria Patri’ (from the psalm Domine ad adiuvandum me festina RV 593); ‘Agitata da due venti’ (from Griselda)
Handel:     Trio Sonata in D major Op.5 no.2
Riccardo Broschi (c1698-1756)     ‘Son qual nave ch’agitata’ (from Ataserse)
Handel:   ‘Ombra mai fu’ (from Serse);  Trio Sonata in G major Op.5 no.4;  ‘Lascia ch’io pianga’ (from Rinaldo); ‘Vivi, Tiranno’ (from Rodelinda)

St. Mary of the Angels church

Wednesday, 15 February 2012, 7.30 pm

Counter-tenors have come a long way since Alfred Deller revived the voice in the 1940s – not to demean that gentleman’s superb singing.  Xiao Ma’s voice is probably the most beautiful counter-tenor I have heard live – and I have heard some very good ones.  This voice has a bright, sweet tone, and is never strained.  It is well rounded, with huge variety.  There was a tendency at times, particularly in the first item, for the singer to lower his head, which sometimes covered the tone.  Raising the shoulders, as he also did from time to time, can affect the tone also.

Xiao Ma’s is a very flexible voice, and his execution of runs and other ornamentation was quite amazing; he was very skilled in the florid music of the Nisi Dominus.  He and the instrumentalists conveyed Vivaldi’s magnificent music in all its glory.  The short but effective ‘Amen’ verse 9 was repeated at the end of the concert, as an encore.

The first trio sonata of five movements was notable particularly for the lambent tone of the viola.  The expertise of these players is such that one could easily imagine oneself in an eighteenth century ducal court.  Vivaldi’s striking contrasts between the movements, as in the more famous Four Seasons concertos, were given full play.

The aria ‘Sposa son disprezza’ is from an opera entitled Bajazet, whose music was compiled rather than composed by Vivaldi.  Perhaps by this time Xiao Ma felt more comfortable with the venue and the audience; certainly his singing was even better in this item.  The representation of a scorned wife was given strongly, yet expressively.

The phrasing was done with subtlety and complete smoothness, which is not always the case with counter-tenors.  The instrumental accompaniment was utterly sympathetic.

The second Vivaldi trio sonata was based on the well-known ‘La Follia’ melody.  This version began rather more austerely than Corelli’s famous Concerto Grosso, though the variations lacked nothing in rapidity.  A variation with solo first violin accompanied by pizzicato on the other strings was charming, while a very quiet one that gradually sped up and got louder was dramatic.  A graceful siciliana movement restored calm after its stormy predecessor.

These players are in total accord.

The aria ‘Agitata da due venti’ employed extremely florid writing for voice and instruments, but all was accomplished without a hitch.  Vivaldi’s very descriptive music of a ship tossed by the winds as the billows roared made for vocal gymnastics from the singer and appropriate writing for the instruments.  A couple of times the singer had to drop to his low register, but this was negotiated apparently effortlessly, which is not always the case with counter-tenors; no graunchy gear-change here!

After the interval, the concert changed to (mainly) Handel, and his Italian operas.  First, though, was a Handel trio sonata.  In seven movements, this delightful work incorporated movements (e.g. Musette) unknown in the Vivaldi works we heard.

The first musette movement featured an intriguing intoning of low notes by the viola da gamba.  The other strings followed in the allegro with an unaccompanied duet, which gave a refreshing change of timbre.  The march was typical of Handel’s writing in this form (Royal Fireworks music, etc.)  It wasn’t hard to visualise a stately dance with ladies curtseying in long dresses and fascinating headgear.

More storm and stress came in the aria by Broschi.  Another ship on stormy seas reminded one of the very real dangers of being at sea before accurate charts, radar and radio were available (nevertheless, we still have ships hitting ‘reefs hidden beneath the waves’).  This aria demonstrated the singer’s huge range, and how accurately he can negotiate the vocal gymnastics asked of him by Broschi.

Now to something very familiar: Handel’s recitative and the lovely aria from Serse: ‘Ombra mai fu’.  The accompaniment was superb, as was the purity of the opening notes of the sublime aria.  The music floated, yet was purposeful.

The trio sonata that followed comprised five movements, on of which one, Passacaille, was quite long, with a great deal of development.  Ending on a minuet marked allegro moderato, the work seemed to finish rather lamely after the riches that preceded its final movement.

The well-known ‘Lascia ch’io pianga’ from Rinaldo was introduced on harpsichord only, very effectively.  This gorgeous aria was sung simply and ravishingly.  The singer varied the repeat sections, in authentic baroque style.  The performance was quite lovely, and was repeated at the end, as an encore, with more trills. As the evening wore on, Xiao Ma increasingly used gesture while singing – but it was not excessive.

The concert ended in more lively style, however, with ‘Vivi, tiranno’ from Rodelinda, with more florid phrases, enabling Xiao Ma to demonstrate his consummate skill.

The singer’s breathing was imperceptible; he had excellent control, and performed many long runs in one breath.  The top of his voice has a glorious sound.

This was a well thought-out programme; not only did it intersperse appropriate instrumental music with the vocal, but contrasting sonatas of Handel with those of Vivaldi introduced us to delightful but little-known music.  The instruments were by turns mellow and incisive, but always musical.  All played with skill, sensitivity and attention to baroque style and detail.  There were just a few moments when intonation briefly went awry.

St. Mary of the Angels was a very suitable venue in which to perform baroque music; it being the nearest thing we have in Wellington to a baroque church.

While it was good to have a printed programme giving the words of the arias etc. in both the original languages (Latin and Italian) and English, notes about the works from which they were taken would have been useful.

A good-sized audience heard this remarkable recital.   A distraction for those of us on the right-hand side of the church was the constant clicking of cameras while Ma was singing.  No doubt the photos were official, but this is not a usual feature (in fact, normally a prohibited one) of classical concerts.

This was an exceptional concert; I think Handel would have been delighted, and probably Vivaldi too.  Xiao Ma sings again on Friday in Masterton, having already performed in Akaroa, Auckland and Christchurch, and performs this Saturday at 4pm, at Soundings Theatre, Te Papa.  On Sunday he sings twice in the Hamilton Gardens Arts Festival.

 

Tribute to Kurt Sanderling from ICA Classics

Posted on by Peter Mechen

KURT SANDERLING (1912-2011)  – a great maestro

BRUCKNER – Symphony No.3 in D Minor (CD)

Kurt Sanderling (conductor) / BBC Northern Symphony Orchestra

(recorded Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 1978 – the disc also includes an interview with Kurt Sanderling)

CD ICAC 5005

SCHUMANN – Symphony No.4 in D Minor / MAHLER – Das Lied von der Erde (DVD)

Kurt Sanderling (conductor) / BBC Philharmonic Orchestra

Soloists: Carolyn Watkinson (mezzo-soprano) / John Mitchinson (tenor)

(recorded Royal Albert Hall, London, 1988

DVD ICAD 5042

Available from ICA Classics at www.icartists.co.uk/classics

Kurt Sanderling, who died last year in Berlin at the age of 98, was a name known to me from my formative days of record-collecting, through his 1950s recording made with the Leningrad Phllharmonic of Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony – one of those early cotton-stitched white-and-yellow panelled Deutsche Grammophon LP covers with the composer’s facsimile autograph scribbled across the central vertical yellow panel (all very tasteful and esoteric, obviously aimed at the “discerning” record buyer of the time).

Sanderling worked with the legendary Yevgeny Mravinsky as assistant conductor of the Leningrad orchestra for eighteen years, from 1942 until 1960, when he took on the task of rebuilding the Berlin Symphony Orchestra, returning to the country he had left in 1936 because of his Jewish ancestry. As well, he became for a number of years conductor-in-chief of the Dresden Staatskapelle. But it wasn’t until 1970 that he first conducted in the UK, developing a relationship with the Philharmonia Orchestra after he deputized at a concert for an indisposed Otto Klemperer, and then in 1975 appearing for the first time with the then BBC Northern Symphony Orchestra (later renamed the BBC Philharmonic). He conducted the latter group often, making his Proms debut with them in 1982 with Mahler’s Ninth Symphony.

In 1981 Sanderling made his only visit to New Zealand, conducting the NZSO on a couple of occasions, most notably in Brahms and Shostakovich, of which I saw and heard the former concert (I wish I’d heard the Shostakovich as well, which drew forth clusters of superlatives from the local critics).  I well remember the imposing, authoritative figure on the podium in the Town Hall, head held high, magisterial glances and flowing gestures holding the players in thrall and producing from them glorious sounds throughout the Brahms First Symphony. Interestingly, it was Sanderling’s ability to get first-rate sounds out of orchestras not quite in the top rank that was a significant feature of several of the many tributes I read after his death – and my memory of the NZSO concert he conducted certainly confirmed that judgement.

Now, thanks to the new audio and audiovisual ICA Classics label (go visit the label’s website at www.icartists.co.uk/classics to get an idea of the riches being made available) two previously unreleased “live” recordings of Sanderling’s work as a conductor have appeared, an audio-only of Bruckner’s Third Symphony and a DVD of Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde, both with the BBC Philharmonic. I’d not previously encountered any of the conductor’s Bruckner, but had heard the 1981 BBC Mahler Ninth with the same orchestra – so I was delighted upon hearing both of the new recordings that Sanderling seemed as much at home with those big, rolling Brucknerian symphonic paragraphs as Das Lied’s more overtly varied, coloristic and volatile Mahlerian outpourings.

I began my listening with Bruckner, a performance of the Third Symphony recorded in Newcastle-upon-Tyne in April 1978 (presented here on ICAC 5005) at which time Sanderling had been a guest conductor with the orchestra over three seasons. The interpretation is strongly-etched, both energetic and supple, suggesting that the rapport between conductor and players was a well-established one. There’s a Klemperer-like strength and grain to the tones and textures, a straightforwardness to the big, Brucknerian rhetorical gestures, such as the declamatory unison which caps the symphony’s very first crescendo. Sanderling keeps it all moving, as if obeying some kind of primordial pulse beneath the music’s surface, the steadiness having a cumulative, organic effect entirely avoiding any kind of rigidity.

Even if one is occasionally reminded that we aren’t listening to the Vienna Philharmonic or the Amsterdam Concertgebouw, there’s a far more cherishable sense of experiencing music-making that doesn’t deliver a glib or mechanical phrase. There are one or two momentary ensemble glitches – the strings have a less-than unanimous moment at the beginning of the development section, for example – but the playing is every bit as good as one might expect from a live concert, and the brass in particular are, in my opinion, superb.

Between the movements the microphones are left on, allowing the audience atmosphere to register and preserving a “live” continuity throughout the work. Again, there’s a beautiful unhurriedness about the playing in the slow movement, suggesting, in between evocations of elemental grandeur, long-breathed natural undulations doing their thing and encouraging the listener to connect with the music’s ebb and flow. What one realizes at the movement’s end is how Sanderling has build up the tensions and concentrated feelings of the sounds right throughout, investing the last few pages with a truly valedictory feeling, the horns’ held notes at the end the stuff of planets and stars – this is conducting and playing that feels to me as though it properly “owns” the music.

The scherzo’s pointed urgencies are put across with plenty of stamping girth, the earthiness of the playing carrying over into the trio, putting the countryman in dancing clothes and holding his rough edges temporarily in check. There’s an even greater contrast at the finale’s beginning, where we get playing of dangerous whirling exuberance, whose energies gradually give way to the insinuations of the ländler, one decorated by a chorale-like theme on the brass (Bruckner described this episode once as “life’s gaiety standing side-by-side with death”). Sanderling gets the orchestra to play the unsettling, syncopated second subject theme with tremendous power and agitation, as he does the recapitulation of the opening, with its chromatic variants that sound so like the final pages of Wagner’s Götterdämmerung, when the River Rhine overflows its banks. Everything – the reprise of the Ländler, its interruption by the jagged syncopations, the magnificent lead-back to the symphony’s opening theme (triumphantly in the major key, with the brass again playing their hearts out) has a compelling inevitability. The audience’s applause is thunderous – and rightly so!

Abruptly, we are taken to an interview with Sanderling at the symphony’s end, a fascinating ten-minute picture of a musician whose authority and clear-sightedness comes across in his speech as unequivocally as his music-making. He speaks of his early years in Germany, his early experiences as a repetiteur at the Berlin State Opera, of his admiration for Otto Klemperer during those times, of his having to leave because of his Jewish ancestry, and his departure for Russia, leading to his first conducting experiences and his subsequent collaboration with Evgeny Mravinsky in Leningrad. He talks about Haydn and Shostakovich and Mahler, and has interesting things to say about all three, including the latter’s “triumvirate” of musical farewells. Interviewer Piers Burton-Page chooses his questions well and allows Sanderling plenty of room to give his answers sufficient breadth and depth.

ICA scores equally well with the Sanderling DVD presentation, which, in addition to Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde, features the Schumann Fourth Symphony from the same Proms concert, in July 1988 (incidentally, more than ten years after the Bruckner CD performance). Watching Sanderling at work confirms what one heard on the Bruckner CD, the conductor’s confidence and authority inspiring powerful and committed playing from his orchestra players, though not in a martinet-like way, as was the style of his great mentor at Leningrad, Mravinsky. Like his own hero, Klemperer, Sanderling at work looks formidable, but he’s also animated and expressive in places, giving as much the impression of coaxing what he wants from his players as imposing on them a determined will.

The Schumann Symphony leaps from the players’ instruments with a will – not surprisingly, there’s a Klemperer-like steadiness about it all, a dark, brooding introduction and a powerful, clearly-articulated allegro, the music’s exuberance breaking out in the movement’s coda to exhilarating effect. I liked Sanderling’s underlining of the continuities between the movements, each luftpause enough to gather both breath and strength before the music plunges into a new episode without lack of continuity. Sanderling gives his players time and space to float the slow movement’s phrases across the bar-lines to wondrously lyrical effect, the trio graced by some sensitive solo playing from the orchestra’s leader. I liked the players’ pointing of the Scherzo rhythms – plenty of tonal “girth” in this dance, set against the trio’s graceful and gossamer difference, the latter leading to the finale’s grandly ritualistic introduction, filled with strength and inevitability. Though lacking the last ounce of physical excitement, the cumulative effect of Sanderling’s direction invests the work’s ending with thrilling power and purpose.

As for Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde, it’s a performance that reaches out and grasps the music’s greatness, with everybody, soloists, orchestra and conductor completely caught up in the intensities generated through the composer’s fusion of music with his chosen texts. Both soloists are wonderful, tenor John Mitchinson a winning combination of philosopher, poet and inebriate, and Baroque specialist mezzo Carolyn Watkinson giving us a touchingly vulnerable view of the world’s beauties and disappointments. She’s perhaps a shade dry-eyed and distant in the closing stages of the “Abschied”, an approach that rivets one’s attention without overtly tugging at the heartstrings. Also, to my ears, she occasionally phrases ever-so-fractionally under the note, though never in a way that gives rise to serious alarm – what’s of paramount importance is her whole-heartedness, her investing of each phrase with meaning and involvement. Sanderling and the orchestral players support their singers with both solo and ensembles lines of great beauty and sharply-wrought focus, making every description of time, place and emotion a meaningful one. The camera-work is excellent, as it was throughout the Schumann symphony, balancing the overall with the specific to great effect, and giving a sense of everybody’s contributions to things which truly reflects the nature of a concerted effort on behalf of the music.

One comes from both experiences of Sanderling’s work here, audio and visual, with a sense of having encountered greatness. For most people music exists as sound rather than on the printed page, making the performer an essential component of that combination which produces great performance art. Sanderling and his musicians deliver the music’s greatness in all cases, to splendid and satisfying effect. I, for one, am now anxious to explore more of ICA’s issues, on both DVD and CD – this, for me, couldn’t have been a better introduction to the company’s catalogues.

Website: www.icartists.co.uk/classics

Standard continues to rise at New Zealand Opera School at Whanganui

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Great Opera Moments 2012

New Zealand Opera School, Final concert

Royal Wanganui Opera House

Friday 13 January, 7.30pm

The 18th New Zealand Opera School at Whanganui has most of the things going for it that make some of the great music festival of Europe such lasting attractions: all it needs is a real festival to give it context.  Excellent music is performed by many talented and some highly polished musicians, in an old theatre that has been taken care of over the decades, in a city that was one of the earliest to be settled by Europeans, which has been spared too much latter-day growth that is usually accompanied by philistine destruction of what previous generations created; and yet it has developed an attractive, traditional main commercial street with plenty of cafes and restaurants, even at least one excellent little book shop.

And there are things to do during the day: one of the best provincial art galleries in New Zealand and an excellent museum; the river that till recently supplied minor shipping facilities, with a real paddle steamer that runs regular trips upstream or offers a river road with interesting Maori sites including the village of Jerusalem. A few miles north-west is the well-preserved homestead at Bushy Park with its fine native forest reserve.

This concert is almost always the first event of the year in my calendar, and it has always been a highlight for me – I think I have been to every one since it started.

In recent years the final concert has taken the form of a series of scenes cobbled together by finding linking elements in the various arias and ensembles that participants have sung.

Once again, Sara Brodie was on hand to make as much theatrical sense as possible out of hugely disparate operatic elements.  This time the theme was the opera school itself: with most of the 24 singers on stage, watching, being coached, dealing with the odd misunderstanding or dispute, as comedy elements in which the school’s director, Donald Trott, played an occasional role.

Recent schools have also succeeded in making their presence felt in the city through the work of the local volunteers and sponsors of Wanganui Opera Week (WOW), which present many concerts and recitals during the ten days, at Wanganui Collegiate School (where the school takes place) and elsewhere in the city.

After the traditional karakia, the ensemble took the stage with the Westphalia Chorale from Bernstein’s Candide. This itself presented an impressive display of the way a disparate collection of voices can be assembled in a chorus that could grace many a professional opera performance, individual voices audible, but in a way that heightened the impact and attractiveness. All the work of chorus master Michael Vinten.

Candide supplied the first solo item – Dr Pangloss’s sanguine assurance, ‘Best of all possible worlds’, sung by the one singer in suit and tie, Kieran Rayner: his assurance, clear diction and stylishness matched his attire.

Rayner returned in the second half to sing another aria from the English language repertoire: Billy Budd’s tragic acceptance of his fate in Britten’s opera, that gained its pathos with a voice of great naturalness and expressiveness; there is particular quality in his upper register.

The first of two numbers from Mozart’s Der Schauspieldirektor (The Impresario) was the trio between the two vying divas (Amina Edris and Imogen Thirlwall) and their impresario, Oliver Sewell. It’s a piece that seems to presage the flamboyant later style of Rossini and Donizetti, and they carried it off with real conviction.

Amina and Imogen returned later for two arias from the later era: ‘Ah, non credea…’ and ‘Ah! Non giunge’ from La Sonnambula. The first lacked a little of the brilliance that was more evident in the more familiar show-piece, ‘Ah! Non giunge’.

After the Mozart trio came two arias by Handel. The first, ‘Tornami a vagheggiar’ from Alcina (shortly to be produced by Opera in a Days Bay Garden in Wellington), became famous in Sutherland’s performance, and soprano Ella Smith showed a good understanding of the Handelian style. Baritone Anthony Schneider then sang from Orlando, ‘Sorge infausta’, with a sturdy, attractive voice; my ear was caught in this by the delightfully fluent playing of his accompanist, Somi Kim.

The highlight among the three Handel offerings however was from the remarkable counter-tenor, Stephen Diaz, who made such an impact in 2011. Now he sang, towards the end of the concert, from Serse (one of New Zealand Opera’s last year), ‘Se bramate d’amar’, His performance was again commanding in its presentation and overwhelming in the sheer beauty of the voice and the artistry that he has developed; no little contribution came from David Kelly’s accompaniment that was always agile, alert and tasteful.

Claire Filer moved the scene forward by round 130 years to Gounod’s Faust, in the trouser role of Siébel: ‘Faites-lui les aveux’, making play with the flowers that have been the victim of Méphistophélès’s curse.

Bellini’s I Puritani provided a splendid vehicle for what proved to be one of the most imposing voices of the evening – Moses Mackay. His performance of ‘Ah! Per sempre’ was arresting and his Italian had both real flair and clarity.

Amelia Ryman came on stage to sing Elvira’s great aria, ‘Mi tradi’ from Don Giovanni, swinging crutches. It was not till later that I could relax my efforts to ascribe them to some arcane interpretation, being told that she had suffered an accident, yet was determined to carry on. That proved thoroughly justified; her intonation is precise and she sings with great assurance.

Emma Newman also sang Mozart – the Countess’s ‘Porgi amor’ from The Marriage of Figaro. Here, her props – a bed roll and orange kit bag – did not really explain themselves to me; if her dynamics were not very interesting, her singing was well projected, accurate and emotionally involved.

Other Mozart offerings came from Isabella Moore, Elizabeth Mandeno,  and Emma Fraser. Isabella’s aria was from the other principal soprano in Don Giovanni, Donna Anna’s ‘Or sai chi l’onore’ which she got inside emphatically, if without great subtlety.

Elizabeth Mandeno opened the second part – Act II – with the one well-known (and ‘startlingly beautiful’ in the words of one writer) aria from the unfinished opera Zaïde: ‘Ruhe sanft mein holdes Leben’, given its modern popularity by Kiri Te Kanawa. It is Zaide’s first aria, sung to the sleeping Gomatz, the newly captured slave of a sultan. Elizabeth’s voice captured (ha ha) the rapturous emotion with a ringing, rather beautiful voice, and her light turquoise chiffon dress suggested the sensuality of a sultan’s harem.

Emma Fraser sang the last solo item in the concert, ‘Ach, ich liebte’ from Die Entführung aus dem Serail. Her striking, insistent delivery captured Constanze’s determination to remain true to her betrothed most persuasively.

There were several Verdi pieces too.

The first, from Tavis Gravatt was Fiesco’s lament for his dead daughter in the Prologue to Simon Boccanegra, ‘Il lacerato spirito’. Tavis, in a dark cloak, presented it dramatically, capturing rather well the complex character of Simon’s antagonist.

Act I ended with the famous chorus from Nabucco, ‘Va, pensiero’, another chance to relish the emotional punch that the 24 voices delivered.

Amitai Pati’s baritonal tenor, rich and polished, invested Alfredo’s Act II aria, ‘Dei miei bollenti spiriti’, from La Traviata, with a mixture of the untroubled rapture he feels with a touch of unease; his Italian sounded like a native, both distinct and unaffected.

Another sample of less familiar Verdi came from Bryony Williams, singing ‘Ernani, Ernani, involami’ (from the eponymous opera) the recitative is followed by a charming waltz-rhythm aria, which was both emphatic and pretty; although her voice projects almost too strongly, her diction was not as clear as it might have been.

And the final Verdi item was Azucena’s ‘Stride la vampa’ from Il Trovatore, sung by the impressive Elisha Fai-Hulton, with a voice that is firmly placed and true, making vivid dramatic sense of the extraordinary tale she tells.

Returning to items in the first part of the concert, two Puccini arias paved the way to one of the best known pieces from Menotti’s The Consul.

In Mimi’s aria in Act III of La Bohème, ‘Donde lieta’, Bernice Austin, her voice occasionally lacking control at the top, caught much of the pathos and anguish that Mimi expresses.

Angelique MacDonald’s aria was Liu’s simple, poignant declaration of her faithful love for Calaf, in Turandot; clothed in pure white, she displayed a voice that was polished and carefully managed, though it thinned a little at the top; her soft notes were particularly affecting.

Menotti is more often represented by Monica’s aria in The Medium; but here, Christina Orgias sang ‘To this we’ve come’ from The Consul, one of the crisis points in the chilling story of bureaucratic indifference. The demands in intensity and emotional extremity she handled well (even if Menotti extends the experience a little excessively), following the meaning with her intelligent variation of dynamics and colour.

Another American work, much less familiar, was chosen by Bridget Costello: the 1956 opera, The Ballad of Baby Doe, by Douglas Moore. Her voice is not large, but she delineated her complex emotions in the letter scene with mature  insight, rather successfully.

Nineteenth century opera occupied the rest of the programme.

The famous tenor aria, ‘Je crois entendre encore’, sung by Nadir in The Pearl Fishers was delivered by Oliver Sewell, lying on his back. That may have led to a slight nasal quality and to his voice thinning at the top, but it was an attractive and understanding performance.

Tom Atkins sang ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ from L’elisir d’amore; a promising tenor, though perhaps he didn’t quite capture its show-stopper character by overdoing the expressive intensity; for Nemorino, it represents a moment of wonderment, as he hardly dares to believe what he sees.

Also from the bel canto era was Rossini’s most famous female aria, ‘Una voce poco fa’ (The Barber of Seville), which Bianca Andrew sang with the help of a particularly witty accompaniment by Bruce Greenfield. (In addition to the pianists mentioned in the text, others contributed admirably: Iola Shelley, Greg Neil, Travis Baker, Grace Francis and Flavio Villani). Here was a very attractive mezzo voice that struck just the right balance between superb self-confidence and lovable charm. Hers is a voice that is even right across its range, and capable of varied colour, timbre and dynamics.

The concert ended as it had begun, with ensemble pieces from Candide: ‘Universal good’, and finally a further appearance by Amitai Pati and Emma Fraser as Candide and Cunegonde respectively, singing the classic cop-out finale, in ‘Make our garden grow’, instead of a more cynical and ethically realistic denouement.

In the circumstances, it was a heart-warming way to end a splendidly devised, produced and executed concert.

Tutors at the school were Professor Paul Farringdon (this was his seventh appearance), Margaret Medlyn, Barry Mora, Richard Greager, with Italian language tutor Luca Manghi and performance assistant Kararaina Walker.

Yet a tinge of sadness lingers, that so many gifted and accomplished singers (not to mention musicians in every other sphere) emerge from our universities and academies, to face such limited opportunities in professional music in their own country, let alone the rest of the world, faced with the utterly inadequate acknowledgement and support from the only realistic source of funding for the major performing arts – the Government.

 

A variety of carols in a variety of guises at St Andrew’s

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Joy to the world: a selection of Christmas music

Robyn Jaquiery (piano), Clarissa Dunn (soprano), Ryan Smith (accordion?), Paul Rosoman (organ), Andrew Weir (trumpet), Ariana Odermatt (piano), Karyn Andreassend (soprano), Tre-Belle (Karyn Andreassend, Jennifer Little, soprano, Jess Segal, mezzo soprano)

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday, 14 December 2011, 12.15pm

Unfortunately, I missed the first item on the programme, hence the question mark above, which is based on the biographical information in the concert programme.  That item was a traditional French song, Le Sommeil de l’enfant Jesus.

Rhapsodie sur des Noëls, an organ piece by Eugene Gigout (1844-1925) was played by Paul Rosoman on the main organ, in the gallery.  The piece featured variations on the Christmas carol we know as O Come all ye Faithful (Adeste Fidelis); it was very effective.

The next item was given in the programme as Gloria in excelsis deo (the Latin words of the refrain) by Handel, but known to us as the traditional French carol; in English, ‘Angels from the realms of glory’.  It was performed in the gallery by Paul Rosoman and Andrew Weir.  I did not find the arrangement appealing; the complicated variations on trumpet and organ with percussion made me wish for the sung version.

Clarissa Dunn announced the items (many of which involved colleagues of hers at Radio New Zealand), but they needed to be made more loudly and slowly in a large and resonant building like this.  So often we have young musicians performing well in this splendid venue, but they have not taken the care to think how their speaking must be projected for everyone to hear.  It does not require shouting, but maintaining the voice at an appropriate level, and slowing down, rather than speaking to the front few rows only.  The printed programme thanked Clarissa for programme notes, and they may have been better in that form, rather than spoken.

Her singing of ‘He shall feed his flock’ from Handel’s Messiah was lovely; the piano accompaniment was not.  Ariana Odermatt is a harpsichord specialist, and I assume was intending to play in a style that would be appropriate for that instrument, without sustaining pedal.  But the accompaniment was written for small orchestra, not harpsichord alone.  Playing on the baroque chamber organ in the church might have been more appropriate.  The piano is not authentic for this music anyway, so why play it as if it is?  The result was ugly.

The same applied to the next item, also from Messiah: ‘Rejoice greatly’, sung with great clarity by Karyn Adnreassend.  It was a fine performance from the singer, with clarity, clear words, and florid passages executed admirably, though there were a few occasions of dubious intonation.

The piano accompaniment was better.  However, I consider that if one is playing the piano, surely it should be played in a way that is idiomatic for that instrument, not in a way that is idiomatic for another instrument.  Yes, use authentic style but not to the point where ugliness distracts from the music.

I was interested to note at the next evening’s Opera Society concert, that Amber Rainey accompanied Handel and Mozart using the pedal judiciously; the result was tasteful, musical, and appropriate to the grand piano.

Clarissa Dunn followed with a beautifully sung Maria Wiegenlied (lullaby) by Max Reger, accompanied on the piano by Paul Rosoman.  Here, the accompaniment was written for the piano; it matched the voice well.

Rosoman played the symphony from Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, employing the gorgeous flute stops on the small organ.  It, too, was written for orchestra, but the versatility of the organ substituted well.  It was well played, and most enjoyable – what a delicious piece of music!  However, something needs to be done about the creaking organ stool!  Maybe it needs to be screwed up more tightly, or perhaps it requires oiling.  Certainly, it needs some attention.

This was followed by a traditional Catalan carol ‘El cant dels ocells (song of the birds; no note as to who arranged it), performed by Odermatt and Dunn.  Here the piano was played using the pedal.  It was an attractive song, sung with flair and expression.

Brahms’s organ music has never appealed to me particularly – perhaps the piano is more his forte.  Yet Rosoman made a good job of his chorale prelude ‘Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen’, on the main organ.  The piece was short and sweet.

Next came that saccharine number O Holy Night by Adolphe Adam, (1803-1856, famous also for the score of the ballet Giselle).  This was performed by the vocal trio Tre-Belle, with Ariana Odermatt on the piano.  The trio sang without scores, and their voices matched well.  However, one singer consistently turned her back on part of the audience, to face her colleagues.  Those people would not have heard her. The piano sounded wooden, with not enough change of emphasis or phrasing.  It might have sounded better, in accompanying three voices rather than just one, with the lid open.

The concert, which was rather long, ended in jolly fashion with the carol Joy to the World. The music is allegedly by Handel, but in this case it was sung (with audience joining in), in an arrangement by John Rutter, with Andrew Weir on trumpet in two of the three verses, and Paul Rosoman playing the main organ.

Brilliant French programme with Anne Sophie von Otter and Wellington Orchestra at Town Hall

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune (Debussy); Songs from Chants d’Auvergne (Canteloube); Symphonie fantastique (Berlioz)

Anne Sophie von Otter  with the Vector Wellington Orchestra under Marc Taddei

Town Hall

Friday 18 November, 7.30pm

A full Town Hall auditorium and a stage crowded with a great orchestra of some 85 players, put me in mind of the Town Hall concerts that an NZSO of 30 years ago could sell out.

An entirely French programme was the perfect response to the Wellington Orchestra’s encounter with the wonderful Swedish mezzo who has indeed cultivated a special gift in the language and music of France.

As Marc Taddei remarked, the programme included two works that were landmarks not just for French music but for the whole world of classical music. Debussy’s Faune is now widely considered to herald the dawn of modern music, perhaps of more importance than the adventures of Schoenberg into atonality and serialism. And 60 years earlier it was Berlioz’s Fantastic Symphony that pushed wide open the doors to Romanticism that Beethoven had unlocked.

Taddei opened Debussy’s enchanting work with the most discreet movements of his baton, preparing visually for Karen Batten’s ethereal, seductive flute sounds; and though such refinement characterized much of the playing by other instruments, particularly Matthew Ross’s solo violin, and Moira Hurst’s clarinet, the performance was not without more robust passages that spoke of the more earthy, physical quality of love described in Mallarmé’s poem. But its dream-like effects were sustained in an almost faultless canvas of sound.

Anne Sophie von Otter sang seven of the collection of songs from the region known as the Auvergne the name which is today given to one of France’s 22 regions, occupying the main part of the Massif Central. Canteloube was born in the département of Ardèche which lies on the southeast side of the region. I travelled through it 20 years ago on a train called the Le Cévenol (which I see has now become a ‘tourist’ journey), through Vichy and Clermont-Ferrand and south through winding, forested river gorges, through enchanting landscapes with a hundred tunnels and bridges and ancient villages.

Another composer who celebrated its music was Vincent d’Indy whose Symphony on a French Mountain Air or Symphonie Cévenole was also an early love of mine;  D’Indy had a summer residence in Ardèche.

Canteloube compiled five books of folk-songs totalling 32 altogether. I discovered them in the early 70s through the land-mark recording by Netania Davrath; it seems that Véronique Gens is the only later singer to have recorded them all.

Singing in the Auvergnat dialect – related to Provençal and Catalan, von Otter invested these idiosyncratic songs with the great variety of emotions and gestures that they evoke. She was discriminating however with things like vibrato and the affectations of ordinary classical performance; notes were prolonged for comic or sentimental effect; the fourth song, Lou boussu, plagued with switching rhythms and tempi, depicted a girl’s heartless rejection of a hunchback’s advances, with careless gusto.

There was a rare graciousness, almost grandeur, in the performance of Passo pel prat, the voice rising ecstatically, her body and arms swaying to the rhythm. Similar gestures served a comic purpose in the last song, Lou coucut.

The orchestral accompaniments were equally diverting, witty, rumbustious, here a squally clarinet, there rude blasts on horns, a sentimental cor anglais.  Conspicuous too were the piano forays of the piano – from the singer’s regular accompanist, Bengt Forsberg, that seemed to have a special flavour inspired by his intimate musical relationship.

The endless applause prompted an encore – by Benny Andersson (ABBA) – not too far removed in essence from the songs she’d just sung.

And yes: though these songs are quite enchanting, it was a pity not to have heard her, in addition, in some French art song – Debussy, Duparc, Fauré, Berlioz’s Nuits d’été…

The second half was devoted to the 50 minutes of the Symphonie Fantastique, which Taddei dedicated to the departing General Manager Diana Marsh. It opened with the Largo, breathed suspensefully by velvety strings, gaining speed till the main Allegro movement arrives, introducing the  Idée fixe which is, of course, much more than just a ‘principal theme’.

One noticed Taddei had dispensed with music stand and score, a step that meant far more than the fact of having the entire 230 pages (of my miniature score) by heart: it soon became clear that it was allowing him to attend, without his eyes distracted by the notes on the pages, to communicating with every player and creating a performance of sustained beauty at one end and utterly unbridled passion or ferocity at the other. Again it was possible to admire much instrumental playing, particularly cor anglais, horns, and the inflated numbers in certain areas: the two tubas, and two harps, the two timpanists on each set of drums (yet the timpani was often played with the utmost quiet).

One might have imagined that the orchestra had been inflated by many NZSO players; but in reality they were few. So it was possible to record admiration at the polish and integrity of the strings, and to admire the beauty and ensemble of the wind sections. The tubular bells under the balcony on the left produced a magic, remote sound with their Dies Irae, while the cornets lent a distinct anti-classical character to the music of the fourth and fifth movements.

The waltz movement, Un bal, went rather fast; I have always felt that this movement should suggest a phantasmagoric, dream ball rather than a Straussian one; something was lost. The first movement and the Scène aux champs were beautifully paced, a terrifying Marche au supplice. As for the Witches’ Sabbath I was overwhelmed by the frenzy that Taddei mustered from his totally engaged players who still had the capacity to double their speed across the final page even though Berlioz only marks it ‘animando un poco’. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded.

If there was a price to pay in terms of precision and finesse for the sometimes almost reckless speeds and the intense emotion generated at many stages of this performance, it was entirely worth that price.

Perhaps for the first time, here was a performance that recalled for me the astonishment and excitement I felt when I first heard the work in my teens.

End of Year recitals from School of Music

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

New Zealand School of Music Post-graduate Student Recitals: Tabea Squire (violin), Imogen Thirlwall (soprano), Kieran Rayner (baritone)

Adam Concert Room, Victoria University of Wellington

Friday, 31 October, 3 and 4 November 2011

What these recitals demonstrated was the very high standard of musicians emerging from university today.  All have had performance experience (once much harder to obtain than now), and have emerged fully rounded recitalists.

It is sad that few members of the public attended the violin recital compared with those at the vocalists’; singers have more glamour and appeal, obviously.

Tabea Squire played the Ciaconna from Bach’s Partita no.2 for solo violin, and Poème by Ernest Chausson, the latter accompanied by Emma Sayers.  This was an extremely demanding programme.  The technical demands were great, including for the pianist, since the Chausson work had the piano playing a reduction from the orchestral score.

The violinist has a natural, non-distracting stance when playing (unlike that of a certain recent overseas soloist with the NZSO).  After a bold start to the Bach she exhibited her excellent technique, and great attention to detail.  A few minor intonation wobbles did not detract from a fine performance.  The tone was sometimes a little raw (her violinist father told me she was playing a new violin), most of which can probably be put down to the Adam Concert Room’s acoustics.  Nevertheless, her volume was appropriate and on the whole the sound she made was pleasing.

Runs were very clean, and the techniques of multiple stopping and using the bow across all the strings in succession were taxing but very well done.  This was a very skilled, accomplished performance, especially for someone with rather small hands.

Programme notes were good, apart from a few typos.; the works were played from memory.

The Chausson work also had a sturdy start.  The double-stopping was excellent, but there were a few fluffs.  It was unfortunate that the sustaining pedal on the piano made noises not required by the score.

Sometimes the pitch was slightly under the note, particularly towards the end; the work did not come off as well as did the Bach.  Although parts sounded poetic, overall the performance was not quite poetical or ethereal enough.  However, the ending was beautifully done.

Imogen Thirlwall gave her recital four days later.  Unfortunately I got there late, missing the first four items, (Mozart, Britten, Schoenberg) thanks to a vehicle parked over the end of my drive preventing me from catching the train I intended to be on.  Printed programmes had run out by the time I arrived, but I had access to a neighbour’s copy, especially after he left at the first of two short intervals.  Approximately 30 people were present.  Much of the programme was unfamiliar to me: demanding works by Schoenberg and Barber, for example.  Mark Dorrell accompanied well, but sometimes a little too heavily for my taste.

The printed programme was impressive, with a considerable body of notes, and a list of sources at the end.  What was even more impressive was the fact that the excellent translations from French, Italian, German and Spanish were all by the singer herself.  The other languages in her recital were Latin, English and Russian – a grand line-up.

However, more proof-reading would probably have picked up numbers of errors such as misspellings, words and letters left out, and punctuation mistakes.  Worst perhaps, was the misspelling on the back cover of names of those she wished to thank.  There were a few oddities in the otherwise thorough programme notes, such as regarding Mozart’s Exsultate Jubilate ‘Even though it  was written with a castrato singer in mind, this is often performed by sopranos’!  (Who sings it the other times?); Homer’s Odyssey being a novel; being in the Romantic period, and Turina’s and Bellini’s compositions having ‘received… success’ (‘met with’ would convey the meaning better, or ‘received acclaim’, and be more grammatically accurate).

These niggles aside, a fine recital was what the audience received.  Imogen Thirlwall conveyed drama in both face and voice, but not to excess.  After very satisfactory performances of the two Schoenberg song I heard, we were we treated to a very fine performance of ‘No word from Tom’, from Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress.

Thirlwall was thoroughly on top of her programme.  In the two Rachmaninov songs that followed, she produced considerable volume when required, but never too much for the size of the room.   These items gave Mark Dorrell a lot of hard work.  The singer has lovely tone at the bottom of her voice (unlike some sopranos).

We then turned to opera: a recitative and aria from Bellini’s La sonnambula.  Perhaps the volume was a little high in the recitative, but the execution of this and the aria was  accomplished, and the florid sections were beautifully performed.

A Poulenc song was admirably sung.  Turina followed.  I noticed here too much repetition of the opening phrase in the notes: “Turina was a Spanish composer”.  Substitute ‘Poulenc’ and ‘French’, ‘Rachmaninov’ and ‘Russian’, etc.  But the style of singing was utterly appropriate for the Spanish composer – more expansive, and with more use of portamento.  Thirlwall uses her resonators outstandingly well.

After another brief interval we were treated to ‘Quando men vo’ from Puccini’s La Bohème.  This was a very classy rendition.

A Debussy song with words by Verlaine was fun and expressive, followed by a cabaret song by Schoenberg sung with character and appropriate tone.  The final song was Natural Selection by Jake Heggie, sung with terrific style and panache.

Kieran Rayner had his turn the following day, and a sizeable audience heard him.  His printed programme featured woodland scenes in colour on the front and back, and inside the front cover, portraits of the ten composers whose works he would sing.  As well, there were a couple of photos of the singer, one of the accompanist, and two taken from productions of the operas (in one case a film production) from which he sang.  Rayner had arranged his programme under a series of headings, such as ‘Mischief and Misdirection’; ‘Reminiscence and Regret’.

Unfortunately (from my point of view), the recital was to commence half-an-hour later than had originally been advertised, meaning that I missed the second half, due to another engagement.  Thus I did not hear Mozart, Ravel (Don Quichotte à Dulcinée), Donizetti (I imagine the excerpt from L’Elisir d’Amore would have suited this singer well), Tchaikovsky (from The Queen of Spades), Finzi, Britten, and Rossini.  This delay was occasioned by the fact that the poor examiners needed a rest in their long day of hearing singers’ recitals.

I had not heard Rayner in this venue before; the acoustic here certainly amplifies the voice compared with that at St. Andrew’s on The Terrace.  Rayner was accompanied here by Bruce Greenfield.  As always, the latter judges the acoustic exactly right.

The opening aria, from Orlando by Handel, was very florid, but sung with assurance.  The low notes were very good, and the articulation splendid.

Next came a nice conceit: excerpts from Mendelssohn’s Elijah presented by a character Rayner called James Leveson-Gower (he couldn’t know that in England this name is pronounced Lewson-Gore), as if part of a television series “The Bible Alive”, this episode being entitled “Elijah’s Road to Redemption”.  Rayner assumed spectacles and notes to introduce each aria separately as his character.  These interspersed acted elements were effective, and demonstrated the singer’s acting skill.

The recitatives and arias were sung with plenty of feeling and expression; words were very clear, and Rayner used consonants very well.  Mainly, the singing was good, but occasionally there was unattractive tone, the voice nearly cracking.  Perhaps these bass arias were at times too low for the baritone range.  Overall, it was a splendid performance.  In addition to the ‘television’ introductions, there were ample notes and the titles were printed, along with a description of the stage of the story into which the arias fitted.

Next up was a taxing ‘Journey Through Grief and Love’: Lieder Eines Fahrenden Gesellen by Gustav Mahler.  Again, notes about the composer and the song-cycle, and a complete translation of the words, provided ample apparatus to assist the listener.

I felt that most of these songs needed a slightly more restrained tone: they are poems of woeful contemplation.  The third song required a more declamatory style, which suited this singer better; the song was quite fast.  The fourth song, ‘Die zwei blauen Augen’ was a little too raw – the voice was sounding just a little tired.

There is a considerable range in these songs; perhaps it was too great for Rayner.  Nevertheless, it was accurate singing, with success particularly in his higher register, which is very fine.  Bruce Greenfield’s accompaniments were just superb.  It was with regret that I dragged myself away; I am sure the second half, particularly the more humorous or light-hearted items, would have been sung very well.

 

 

Superb recital from NZSM voice students at Upper Hutt

Posted on by Rosemary Collier

Arias from opera; songs

New Zealand School of Music: Vocal students of Richard Greager, Jenny Wollerman and Flora Edwards, with Mark Dorrell (piano)

Rotary Foyer, Expressions Arts and Entertainment Centre, Upper Hutt

Tuesday 18 October 2011, 2pm

This was the last of a monthly series of free concerts given by performance students from the New Zealand School of Music, that began in March.  It attracted a full house, there being over 100 people present.  All the singers presented their items with poise and confidence, and most were formally dressed.  Up to the last four items, all except three were from opera.

The foyer has a fine acoustic, and both pianist and singers seemed able to perform well there.  There is a café sharing the space, and this meant a certain amount of chatter and clatter, not to mention delicious aromas.  However, it was never very loud, nor was there constant noise, so on balance, it made a pleasant, somewhat informal venue – more literally chamber music than is usually the case.

Due to road-works near the venue and the resulting traffic jam, and also the paucity of parking in the daytime, I missed the first two items, unfortunately.  They were Handel’s ‘Ombrai mai fu’ from Xerxes, sung by Thomas Atkins, and ‘Che faro senza Euridice’ from Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, performed by Emily Simcox.  These two arias would have made a pleasingly familiar start to the concert.

Thomas Barker gave a spirited introduction to his Mozart aria ‘Non piu andrai’ from Le Nozze di Figaro, sang it in like vein, and acted it out with bravado.  The same composer’s ‘Il mio tesoro’ from Don Giovanni was performed by Thomas Atkins.  While he had plenty of force, he also had a lovely tone, and skilled negotiation of the florid passages.

Angelique Macdonald sang Gabriel Fauré’s song Clair de lune, which she introduced.  Her French language was very good, but her voice was rather shrill at the top, for this acoustic, while it might be fine in an opera house.

Smetana’s ‘O jaký žal’ from The Bartered Bride was next, sung by Amelia Ryman.  This singer has a powerful voice, but it was beautifully controlled.  She gave a very dramatic performance of the aria.

Thomas O’Brien performed ‘Kuda, kuda’ from Eugene Onegin by Tchaikovsky.  His Russian language sounded good, and the aria was competently sung, but the voice needs to grow somewhat in size to sing this aria as it deserves.  The top of the range was a little insecure, but the singer paid great attention to detail.

Still in Russia were two songs by Rachmaninov, sung by Angelique Macdonald.  The printed programme gave the English translations of the titles: ‘Before my window’ and ‘How fair [is?] this place’.  There were some fine, soft top notes, and the singer varied her voice attractively.  She put these songs over disarmingly.  However, her breathing was noisy at times.

Verdi was represented by the well-known ‘Questa o quella’ from Rigoletto, sung by Thomas Atkins.  This really suited the singer’s voice, which has developed since I heard him some months ago.  He has a ringing top, and his production of the words was excellent.  This was a most satisfying performance.

Angelique Macdonald sang again, this time a famous aria from Turandot by Puccini: ‘Signore ascolta’, which she introduced.  This is her forte – in more than one sense.  It was a very good rendition, but she needs a little more mellowness and warmth in the voice.

It was pleasing to hear a New Zealand song: a poem of James K. Baxter’s simply titled Song by the composer, Anthony Ritchie.  It was thoughtfully sung by Amelia Ryman.  The words were very clear indeed, the tone was gorgeous, and all in all it was an absolutely lovely realisation of a skilled composition.

Cole Porter’s song Miss Otis Regrets brought a laugh from the audience at the end, but Emily Simcox sang it too ‘straight’.  She has a beautiful, natural voice, but there was insufficient expression, and she made the song seem almost routine.  Words were clear, but I think a lady in society would say ‘today’, not ‘tiday’.  The song cried out for more vocal and facial expression.

Schönberg (Claude-Michel, not Arnold) was the composer of the popular Les Miserables, from which Thomas Barker sang ‘Stars’, with flair and aplomb.  It was a strong and impassioned performance, in which he used his voice appropriately for the style of music.  He was undoubtedly more flamboyant than the other performers, but has a good voice to go with it.

The concert ended less successfully, with a trio (Ryman, Macdonald and O’Brien) from Mozart’s Mass in C minor, K.427: ‘Quoniam tu solus sanctus’.  While most of the items performed would have been written for orchestra, somehow it didn’t seem to matter that a piano was used in the solos, but it did in the Mass excerpt.  O’Brien’s voice not being as strong as those of the women, meant the trio was not well balanced, and coming at the end of a recital of secular songs and arias, it did not fit well.

Nevertheless, overall this was a superb recital, demonstrating the talents and skills of the students, and the excellence of the teaching they receive.

 

 

Stimulating Bach – and others – from the Wellington Baroque Ensemble

Posted on by Peter Mechen

CAFFEINE AND CONTROVERSY

Music by Vivaldi, Handel, Hellendaal and J.S.Bach

Amelia Ryman (soprano) / James Adams (tenor) / Roger Wilson (baritone)

Anna Newth (flute)

Wellington Baroque Ensemble

Martin Ryman (director)

Gregory Squire (leader)

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

Saturday 1st October, 2011

As they say in the classics (and these pieces of music were themselves, for the most part “classics”), a happy occasion, brought about by skilled performances and innovative presentation of some extremely felicitous music – the reception given to the performers, both singers and instrumentalists, bore out the evening’s enjoyment and pleasure.

In the “old days” this event might have been styled merely as a “Baroque Concert”, from which the prospective listener would take what she or he would – very likely featuring Vivaldi, Handel and J.S.Bach, as here (though Pieter Hellendaal’s name would almost certainly have caused head-scratching among the punters). However, there’s a new presentation spirit coursing through the veins of classical music promoters these days, and the epithet “Caffeine and Controversy” seemed to promise the kind of titillation one might get from any reputable (or disreputable) “show and tell” publication.

I’m all for this kind of thing, with the proviso that the flash doesn’t get in the way of the substance, and is thus kept obligatory – in other words, at the end of the day it’s the music that is seen to provide the real thrills, rather than the accoutrements (unlike the case with many performances of opera one witnesses in this day and age, either filmed or “live”, well-and-truly subverted by ego-ridden directors).

Not that the first half of this concert had much to do with anything other than the music that was being played, to one’s relief – although Handel was certainly something of a controversial figure, Vivaldi was rather less so (despite what might seem to male sensibilities the latter’s good fortune in working at a so-called orphanage for young women), but around and about the Dutch-born, English-domiciled Pieter Hellendaal (whom I had never heard of, to my shame) there seemed nary a trace of trouble or scandal.

It was that pillar of the music establishment of the Western World, Johann Sebastian “Mighty Bach” (as Dylan Thomas once called him) who provided the “ginger” which enlivened the concert’s second half, in the form of the well-known “Coffee Cantata”. This work was possibly a semi-autobiographical treatise on the part of the composer about interactions between older and younger generations, the catalyst here being (in Bach’s case) a contemporary craze for coffee-drinking. Bach’s librettist was Christian Friedrich Henrici (better known as Picander, the author of many of the composer’s texts, including those for the St Matthew Passion and the Christmas Oratorio), though it’s thought that Bach himself added the words for the work’s final trio – sentiments which any parent will empathize with in a general sense!

So, a well-constructed program began with Vivaldi’s “Goldfinch” concerto for flute and strings – Anna Newth was a skilled and long-breathed soloist, coping with some of the composer’s more demanding extended utterances with flying colours, and readily conveying both pictorial and stylistic aspects of the work. Though her musical interaction with the group was splendid throughout, I was distracted by her placement slightly “away” from the half-circle of musicians so that the ‘cellist (the excellent Katrin Eickhorst-Squire) had to constantly turn around in her seat to make contact with her (if she’d stood in the middle, out the front, there would have been no problem). I found also that both harpsichord and viola, though beautifully played by Martin Ryman and Leoni Wittchow, respectively, seemed to take the concept of “tasteful accompaniment” to extremes, so that they were in danger of being inaudible at times – though a concerto, I wanted the supporting lines to have their proper say, as well!

Each of three singers then gave us a well-known aria from Handel’s different oratorios. Amelia Ryman’s bright, agile, soubrette-like voice readily and characterfully conveyed a young girl’s excitement at her impending marriage, with “Oh, had I Jubal’s lyre” from “Joshua”. A telling contrast was made by James Adams’ heartfelt and true-toned “Waft her, Angels, through the skies”, the diction beautiful and the phrasings naturally and easefully unfolded (a slight shortness of breath at “forever reign” forgiven amid the rapt loveliness of the reprise).

Roger Wilson seemed in excellent voice throughout his clarion-like traversal of “Revenge, Timotheus cries” from “Alexander’s Feast”, the singer particularly relishing the horrors of the “Furies” with their reptilian hairstyles. Perhaps the coloratura figurations of “and the sparkles” creaked and groaned a little, first time through (they flowed more easily during the reprise), but the energy and excitement carried the day. As for the ghostly middle section, Wilson’s sepulchral tones conjured up real pathos at the evocation of the ghosts of unburied warriors haunting the plain on which their remains still lay. Appropriately grey, sombre string-playing most vividly underlined the scenario.

Vivaldi’s Op.3 No.4 Concerto for four violins enabled us to enjoy the contrasting tones of the instrumentalists, each projecting a differently-characterised kind of sound, though often playing in pairs, an antiphonally delightful effect. Again, I thought the harpsichord sound self-effacing to a fault, beautifully played though everything was, minimizing a dimension of baroque interaction which I’m certain the composer would have wanted to be heard.

Pieter Hellendaal’s Op.3 No.2 Concerto Grosso made quite a dramatic effect, dark and stormy at the beginning, setting a grave, strong-chorded opening against an energetic allegro. I enjoyed the bird-song carolling during the Affettuoso; and if the Presto had a slightly shaky beginning here, its reprise after a “mirror-image” episode had a more confident trajectory. The concluding “Borea”, a sturdy, but still lively dance in what sounded like 4/4 time cooled the passions and most tastefully restored equilibriums.

I liked the way the second half’s beginning was activated, with the musicians moving to the side of the platform and tuning up somewhat curmudgeonly, as both stage and auditorium got their respective selves prepared for the music’s commencement. Before we realized what was happening, James Adams (a kind of servant/retainer) was admonishing us to be silent, duly announcing the arrival of the master, Herr Schlendrian “growling like a honey-bear”, and his charmingly willful daughter, Lieschen. Roger Wilson’s Herr Schlendrian (translated variously as “Humbug” and “Jogtrot”) grumped away entertainingly, with wonderful ‘cello-and double-bass (Malcolm Struthers) playing in tow, while Amelia Ryman’s Lieschen was enchanting of both voice and manner, deliciously aggravating her father’s obvious frustrations. Despite a slight stumble at one point in the reprise, Ryman’s forthright and open singing of “Haute noch” was for me one of the evening’s many highlights.

Costumes and staging helped bring Bach’s and Picander’s mini-drama to life – Steven Anthony Wilding’s direction brought out the best of each of the singers’ obvious theatrical gifts, despite one or two places where the music’s distinctly undramatic progressions caused a hiatus or two – conversely the trio’s coming together for the final cadence had a slightly hair-raising “just-made-it” quality.

But these were minor quibbles when set against the whole – a rattlingly good evening’s musical entertainment, with great credit to all concerned.

 

 

 

 

 

Delightful American songs from Megan Corby and Craig Beardsworth at the Hutt

Posted on by Lindis Taylor

American songs by Copland, Barber, Ives, and William Schuman, Richard Hundley, Paul Bowles, Richard Hageman and Jason Robert Brown

Craig Beardsworth (baritone) and Megan Corby (soprano); Hugh McMillan (piano)

St Mark’s church, Lower Hutt

Wednesday 14 September, 12.15pm

It’s a few years since I heard either of these singers in a solo recital of any kind. This lunchtime concert was such an enterprising and attractive event that I felt real regret that the audience was so small, though not very different from the audiences that usually come. The real sadness is the failure of the Lower Hutt City Council to save the Laing’s Road Methodist Church where these concerts used to be held, usually attracting more people.

Introducing the concert, Craig Beardsworth sort-of apologized to those who might have expected a recital of American music to present names like Porter, Rodgers, Kern and Gershwin. But unapologetically, he made it clear that some sort of distinction was to be seen between American ‘songs’ and commercial Broadway music, just as there is between Schubert and Schumann, and the world of the West End musical and the Beatles.

By no means undervaluing the lighter varieties of music, I thought the two proved their case very well.

They took turns, generally singing songs that matched the sexes. They were well prepared, their presentations polished and accompanied by gestures that did much to bring the mini-dramas to life, as well as to entertain. Speaking of accompaniment, Hugh McMillan handled the wide variety of styles, from the country rhythms of Paul Bowles’s Lonesome Man to the complexities of Charles Ives, with skill and a distinguished facility with the style and character of each.

American accents were employed judiciously, hardly audible in many songs, but full-blown elsewhere, as in Beardsworth’s arresting performances of ‘The Dodger’, ‘Lonesome Man’ and ‘The Greatest Man’.

Megan Corby opened with an aria, ‘Laurie’s song’, from Copland’s opera The Tender Land, easing us into American song through a work with clear European sources, yet flavoured with Jerome Kern and Irving Berlin. Richard Hundley was a name new to me; his two songs, ‘Sweet Suffolk Owl’ and ‘Come ready and see me’ revealed a composer, thanks to Corby, with an ear for notes that were just right for the words. Her Barber songs – ‘The Monk and his cat’ and ‘The Crucifixion’ – presented a composer less committed to a popular style, more in tune with the art song of France or England, yet with American contours. She sang them with real polish.

I realised from what was said about Paul Bowles that my education had been neglected (most of his life he acted as a sort of one-man American cultural out-post in Tangier by the sound of it), and the four songs, evenly shared by the two singers, richly tuneful, not the least hackneyed or sentimental, were among the most enjoyable of the concert. In ‘Sugar in the cane’ Megan, southern twang and all, showed her impatience with the constraints of her condition; while in ‘Do not go, my love’ by Richard Hageman, her anguish at her looming loss was real. Her final song, the 1996 setting by Jason Robert Brown of ‘The Flagmaker’, touching a War of Independence tragedy, was both poignant and dramatic.

Craig’s share of the partnership began strikingly with two of Copland’s familiar folk song arrangements: ‘The Dodger’ and ‘At the River’ – the first satirical and mocking, a bit outrageous, the second rotundly pious, also mocking. Perhaps his biggest challenge was with the three Ives songs, with which he used his interesting voice to great effect. The studied way he put down the score, to start in a quasi-lecturing way, to narrate his tale of ‘The Greatest Man’  was the mark of a highly accomplished performer; there and in ‘The Circus Band’, the voice and the droll, evocative gestures seem to call for him to have much more exposure.

It was a admirable recital that deserves to be enjoyed in other parts of the metropolis.