Selected UK concert reviews 2005-2016

Selected UK Concert Reviews

Evan Dickerson

2016 UK concert reviews RPO / Dutoit @ Royal Festival Hall, London 29 March 2016 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/rpo-dutoit-royal-festival-hall-london-2

It can be a pleasurable experience to spend a day wondering the streets of Rome admiring its many ornate fountains, and with Ottorno Respighi as your guide it is hard to go wrong. Charles Dutoit certainly urged the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra to revel in the opulence of Respighi’s orchestration as the four fountain depictions progressed. The half-light textures of The Valle Giulia at Dawn were conveyed through some beautifully poised playing by the woodwinds, though the cello solo which announces the rising of the sun could have had a touch more prominence. The Triton Fountain in Early Morning proved at once brilliant and appropriately muscular in Dutoit’s handling of the score, and TheTrevi Fountain at Noon brought out the full glare of the Roman mid-day sun at the height of summer. Warmth of string tone realised across the crescendo that frames the fountain’s portrait was a notable and pleasing feature, all neatly underlined by the contribution of the Royal Festival Hall’s organ. However, it could be observed that both Respighi and Dutoit were apt to carve the fountain’s features with less care for delicacy and frothy effect than the fountain itself is known for. With the closing of the day at the Villa Medici fountain, the day’s end was closely observed and realised with attention to detail. Through careful choice of an even tempo and shading of individual instrumental contributions such as the French horn line that signals the setting sun, finally Dutoit brought about a sense of repose in the warm stillness of a sultry night.

Dvorák’s Cello Concerto calls for a firm grip on the music’s structure if the music is to achieve anything like a semblance of cohesion, but this nearly eluded Charles Dutoit for more than one reason. Under his direction the opening orchestral statements of the first movement seemed somewhat brusque, even impetuously raspy in some quarters, before settling somewhat uneasily upon the entry of soloist Gautier Capuçon. He brought a nobility to the solo line often enough, aided by his keenly applied vibrato, but on occasions this was on the verge of becoming an over-dominant and self-indulgent feature of Capuçon’s playing. Dutoit propelled the music onwards, not even losing a beat when his baton propelled back into the stalls, from where it was swiftly returned with Capuçon’s assistance. The central movement was coherent in its overall shape, though Capuçon meandered through the solo part and took delight in its inner details.

Elegance of orchestral playing marked out the final movement, though Dutoit again lost his baton – this time it landed in a first violinist’s lap – and Capuçon found a veritable lexicon of shadings for the repeats of his solo part, which injected interest into his realisation of the concerto as a whole. Overall, though, this performance was something of a curate’s egg: in parts it satisfied, in others it verged on becoming a sequence of interesting episodes that barely connected. Certainly, it wasn’t the equal of Pablo Casals’ 1937 interpretation with George Szell with which many of us grew up. Coincidentally, Capuçon’s encore was Casals’ own Song of the Birds, with the simplicity of its haunting refrain left to fly across the Royal Festival Hall with the greatest of ease.

The scores to Stravinsky’s great ballets are not the only scores to have become orchestral showpieces in their own right, but they are perhaps the most obvious examples of this transition from orchestral pit to centre stage attraction. Dutoit has an intimate knowledge of the original 1911 version of Petrushka, which has of late been less often performed than the later condensed revision Stravinsky penned. His advocacy of the score might have you think that he visualises it as the score to a widescreen Russian cinematic epic, such was the brightly lit and accentuated approach to which almost every instrumental detail was subjected. Woodwinds verged on the overly harsh; celeste and piano were deeply in the thick of it and

relished their parts, the brass proved sonorous and opulently toned for the most part, whilst the string tone for which the Royal Philharmonic is famed provided a firm foundation under Dutoit’s lively yet certain direction that filled out both characterisation and story at every turn. Stravinsky’s music however proved robust, resilient and as fresh as one could want, ensuring the evening ended on a high note.

Azoitei / Stan @ Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music, London 13 April 2016 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/azoitei-stan-dukes-hall-royal-academy-musiclondon With the 2016 Menuhin competition and centenary celebrations in full swing across several London venues, it is entirely appropriate that consideration of all things violin should include a celebration of Yehudi’s teacher George Enescu. Of course the relationship between the two great violinists went far beyond that of mere teacher-pupil, as Menuhin often put on public record. I had the opportunity to talk briefly with Menuhin in 1998 about Enescu and his music. Menuhin recalled with great passion and emotion that the three greatest musicians he “had the honour of knowing were Enescu, Bartok and Furtwängler – each unique in personality, understanding and vision, but in all of them music lived and poured out of them. To make music with them was unforgettable, but Enescu – oh, Enescu – that gentle, selfless man – had something that you will not ever find elsewhere as a performer and in his compositions.

From him I soaked in this special world of Romania and its music, but also the major repertoire as well, Brahms – whom as you know Enescu had known and played under, Mozart, Bach…”

A feeling of joyous celebration was established by violinist Remus Azoitei and pianist Eduard Stan with a confident performance of Brahms’ second sonata for piano and violin. The shortest of Brahms’ three sonatas for these instruments, it has long had the reputation of being the most difficult to bring off in concert due to the equality of the instruments that Brahms intended. Stan matched Azoitei with care in his attention to tonal balance and weight; the inherent qualities of the “Willemotte” Stradivarius violin being obvious yet unobtrusively showcased. The spirit of a vocalise was palpable in Azoitei’s playing, his sense of line and subtle variation of vibrato judiciously applied. This lent added interest to the music, and brought to mind the model of a superlative singer – not a far-fetched association since the sonata’s thematic material draws upon a few of Brahms’ contemporaneously written lieder. The middle movement found a near ideal course in its realisation of Brahms’ sun-dappled dual purpose andante tranquillo and contrasting scherzo.

Subtlety of expression was key here, in playing without artifice and awareness so that even the slightest of details can, and should, count for much. The closing movement found the duo focussed on gradually building a strongly articulated structure, yet never bombastic or out of character with the preceding movements. Only occasionally did one feel that some extra heft from Stan’s accompaniment might have been desirable. He brought grandeur of gesture to Brahms writing, but perhaps having the lid open on the short stick served to momentarily constrict the impact of his playing.

Menuhin recorded just one of Enescu’s works, the third sonata for piano and violin, with his sister Heb at the piano. “I could have recorded it with Enescu, of course,” he told me, “but we never found the time […] and I know other works too – the second sonata, Impressions d’enfance, Hora Unirii – but I never felt I could go public with them often. Enescu demands too much, you see”. The third sonata he described as being, “a look into the soul of Romania” as it captures the essential character of folk music in performance, evoking an instinctual fiddler and a host of other instrument timbres within the constraints of sonata form.

Azoitei and Stan brought their many years of collaboration in the performance of Enescu’s piano and violin oeuvre to bear in delivering a performance that appeared instinctual in its delivery, but actually made light work in its careful observance of Enescu’s intricately scored writing. Thus, the opening movement, marked Moderato malinconico, succeeded in fusing its form with the transformation of its thematic material, building the drama of its creation as it proceeded. The middle movement could be characterised as the embodiment of a rich tapestry of longing for the distant landscape of rural Romania. Indeed, Alfred Cortot thought it the image of a balmy night under the Romanian sky. Croaking frogs, a mixture of humour and mournful sighs inflected in the manner of a bitter-sweet doina, the gathering of a tempestuous storm and much else was vividly portrayed, as Azoitei and Stan met the many technical demands with panache and confidence of expression. The final movement, a lively rondo in all but name, leapt full of life from the

pages on the duo’s music stands. At its culmination the spirit of dance and joyful exuberance rightly bordered on excessive exhilaration, but without the players losing sight of tonal quality or loss of coordination in their phrasing.

Two Enescu pieces were played as encores and both, incidentally, are required semi-final pieces for this year’s Menuhin Competition. The first encore, Impromptu Concertant (1903), is required for the senior competition. At first glance this is a carefree morceau de salon, as would befit a work dating from Enescu’s years of study in Paris. The challenge though is to find cogency in its asymmetrical phrases, melodic intersections and sudden injection of its ecstatic middle section melody. The second encore, Ballade (18956), is required for the junior competition. Written in distinctly Brahmsian idiom, it is a fine test piece of any violinist’s ability to project luxuriant tone evenly across wide-arching phrases whilst displaying variety of intonation within the violin’s middle and upper registers. Before playing both encores, Azoitei joked with the audience that although they are a little older, perhaps they would make it to the finals. Suffice to say that Remus Azoitei and Eduard Stan provided object lessons in their understanding and playing of both pieces, having no fear of any competition.

Prom 2: Boris Godunov @ Royal Albert Hall, London 16 July 2016 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-2-boris-godunov-royal-albert-hall-london It is not often that we’d advocate the concert performance of an opera as preferable to a full staging, but to each rule there are exceptions. The presentation of Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov by Antonio Pappano and the cast of the Royal Opera House production, however, allowed the full focus to rest upon the rarely performed original and condensed 1869 score. Whilst there can be no doubt that Rimsky-Korsakov’s intervention did much to keep Mussorgsky’s music in public view through his refined orchestral elaborations of the source material, it is to the source one must return if the full impact of Mussorgsky’s powerfully original voice is to be understood and appreciated.

Accepted critical wisdom has it that Mussorgsky knew what he wanted from his singers – particularly tenors and basses, whether in choral or solo roles – but was less certain in his handling of orchestral forces.

It’s easy to agree with the first aspect of that assertion, but after hearing this admirable performance one would want to take issue with those who might deride Mussorgsky the orchestrator. It cannot be denied that his orchestration lacks polish at times, and this aspect was not shied away from by Pappano and the Royal Opera House orchestra. The rough edges that characterise the strings especially add considerably to the dramatic impact that Mussorgsky went to significant lengths to convey through the union of his own libretto and music. Nowhere was this more evident than in the brooding leitmotifs that accompany Boris’ pivotal monologues at key moments in the opera: his coronation, his reflections upon his fruitless reign and his death. There is balance and delicacy within the orchestration too, in the monastery scene between Pimen and Grigory for example, where it cannot be denied that a distinctive atmosphere was brought to the drama. Pappano unified it all, driving the drama forward to create a single tableau across two and a quarter hours (there was no interval), yet he allowed the music to linger and create its own insinuations of character and intent between scenes also.

With the action largely portrayed within the constraining limits of the apron stage between the orchestra and the Royal Albert Hall’s arena, the cast projected the drama with the sole assistance of Nicky Gillibrand’s costumes. For the most part the orchestral / vocal balance in the hall was, for once, near ideal – though the off-stage cathedral bells situated in the heights of the Gallery were apt to drown out everything that lay beneath.

With Bryn Terfel reprising his role debut as the tortured Tsar, the performance had at its core an artist fully in command of his artistic gifts. Terfel made Boris’ drama a very human one of vaulting ambition brought crashing down around him. Thus, his self-confidence upon coronation, his anguish at the news of the rising of Pretender Dmitry to his throne and the descent into a tortured death as the Simpleton lays bare the dishonest means by which Boris attained his throne were all realised with vocal ease and acting skill. If Terfel’s bass-baritone did not have the inky blackness of timbre that a Russian bass might bring to the title role, he found a range of vocal shadings that afforded his realisation of Boris plenty of nuance.

The opera’s other standout roles, Pimen and Varlaam, were superbly sung by Ain Anger and Andreii Goniukov respectively. Anger’s Pimen oozed noble resignation at his lot in life, whilst Goniukov’s Varlaam realised the only comic moments in tavern scene with a lightness of expression and delivery that got right to the heart of the character. Together the roles extensively rounded out the realisation that Mussorgsky innately had regarding the bass voice.

There was much of merit in the casting of other roles too. David Butt Philip’s Pretender Dmitry was firmly voiced and portrayed the role with a certain innocence, whilst John Graham-Hall’s Prince Shuisky articulated every intrigue to knowing effect with the clarity and care that befits such a character. Kostas

Smoriginas’s Shchelkalov was robust of voice and purpose too. The well-known rebuttal to Mussorgsky that the opera lacked a reasonably important female role proved well founded, but that did not stop Russian soprano Vlada Borovko making the most of her single scene as Boris’ daughter Xenia. It would certainly be welcome to hear her assume more extensive repertoire in future. Rebecca de Pont Davies and Clarissa Meek brought a delightful rusticity to their portrayal of the Inn Hostess and Xenia’s nurse respectively. The Prommers rightly greeted Ben Knight’s assured boy treble Fyodor (amplified to cope with the hall’s expansive size) with much enthusiasm.

Throughout Boris Godunov Mussorgsky is at his most personal and direct when giving voice to the people.

The Royal Opera Chorus, under the direction of their outgoing Director Renato Balsadonna, were thrilling in every emotionally-laden contribution, playing a part of equal weight to any leading solo part.This second Prom of the 2016 season set the bar high for the forthcoming operatic offerings in the coming weeks at the Royal Albert Hall.

PCM 1: Paul & Bjørg Lewis / Vertavo Quartet @ Cadogan Hall, London 18 July 2016

https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/pcm-1-paul-bjorg-lewis-vertavo-quartet-cadogan-halllondon

The first of the BBC Proms Chamber Music concerts, before a capacity audience at Cadogan Hall saw a pair of French works alongside a Mozart piano concerto performed in its chamber-scaled alternative scoring.

Husband and wife duo, pianist Paul Lewis and cellist Bjørg Lewis began proceedings with an intimate performance of Debussy’s cello sonata. The opening prologue movement was firmly introduced by Paul Lewis at the piano before Bjørg made a wistful entry on the cello. As the movement progressed it was often tender yet melancholy in tenor, with Bjørg’s playing often notable for its richness of tone. Debussy commented that the sonata, dating from 1915, represented an affirmation of French culture during a time of war and that its central idea was built around the character of Pierrot and his anger at the moon. The middle movement serenade ably conveyed this, as much through the tragi-comic sulking facial expressions pulled by Bjørg whilst she played as the commedia dell’arte inferences in Debussy’s writing. The animated finale found the duo produce spirited playing to articulate the music as if with a single voice. The warmth of the audience reception matched the embrace pianist and cellist gave one another after this most successful performance.

The centenary of Henri Dutilleux’ birth is marked at this year’s Proms with a focus on three of his orchestral works in Proms 32-34 (August 8-10). The Vertavo Quartet, of which Bjørg Lewis is the cellist, performed Dutilleux’s only string quartet Ainsi la nuit (1973-6) as a prelude to that celebration. Taking its inspiration from Van Gogh’s painting Starry Night, the single movement work lasting around 15 minutes presents seven brief yet unrelated movements which the composer viewed as “isolated fragments without real links”. The Vertavos clearly relished the opportunity to explore the cross-pollinating sound world of harmonies, colours and multifarious on-the-spot turns of tempo which fire off of one another between the four parts. They deployed their individual contributions with a lightness of touch that cast a veil over the seriousness of their endeavour in taking on one of the composer’s most searching chamber works.

Whether one was captivated momentarily by the glassy violin tones produced by Øyvor Volle and Annabelle Meare, the incisive warmth of violist Berit Cardas or the grounding calm often provided by Bjørg Lewis’ cello, the work’s swirling figurations barely settled until just before the final repeated chord at the work’s conclusion.

Mozart wrote his piano concerto no. 12 in A Major, K.414, with a view to encouraging as many performances as possible. To that end he scored the orchestration for full scale forces and a parallel version for piano and string quartet. Paul Lewis’s pianism throughout was decidedly clear yet never clinical, in a performance that was stylish and discretely detailed. The opening allegro was appropriately robust, even on this reduced scale, and of adroit tempo. Playing Mozart’s own cadenza, Paul Lewis assumed the spotlight momentarily with pianism of distinction. The middle movement Andante was consciously written in the style of Johann Christian, using a theme from an opera overture as the basis for its material. The Vertavos and Paul Lewis evoked the atmosphere with ease to showcase the marriage of Mozart and Bach to good effect. The closing Rondo was at once impetuous and genial, with Paul Lewis and the Vertavos producing playing that was nuanced and assured in equal measure.

Proms at… Old Royal Naval College, Greenwich, London 6 August 2016 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/proms-old-royal-naval-college-greenwich-london Accepted critical opinion has it that Rossini’s Petite Messe Solennelle is his last masterpiece. This view no doubt bolstered by those whose regret of the composer’s early abandonment of opera is tempered by a need to cling appreciatively to what little of substantive length came from his later years. Rossini himself called it the last of his mortal ‘péchés de vieillesse’ (sins of old age) as he wondered if he had indeed written a religious work at all, given that he was “born for opera buffo”. Normally one might assume that Rossini’s assertion was laden with irony, but regarding the Petite Messe Solennelle he could have knowingly been acknowledging the truth. The work could well be claimed as a sin against musical taste, as this first performance in the BBC Proms 122 year history laid bare its fundamental weaknesses of flawed structure and lack of any vestige of unifying stylistic approach.

Written in 1863 at the behest of the Count and Countess Pillet-Will for the consecration of their private chapel, the work was premiered the following year using the minimalist scoring of four part choir (12 singers including four soloists), two pianos and harmonium. Rossini reconsidered this and reduced the piano to a single instrument. Only later did he reluctantly orchestrate the accompaniment and sanction the need for larger choral forces. This BBC Proms performance within the neo-classical splendour of the Chapel at the Old Royal Navel College Greenwich did at least focus attention on an approximation of the setting and scale the work was conceived for, though the BBC Singers comprised eight sopranos and six altos, tenors and basses.

The highlights of this performance are easily conveyed, and they were most welcome given the context of this single work concert as a whole. The BBC Singers under chief conductor David Hill did much to enliven the choral elements within the work. They produced singing that had a cleanliness to their collective tonal blending from the opening Kyrie and throughout, a subtlety to their articulation of the intricately scored text in the Credo in particular, and thrillingly fulsome yet unforced sound was in evidence in forte passages.

Of the four soloists, soprano Elizabeth Watts proved the most consistently reliable of technique and even of tone throughout her range. Her emotional involvement was in evidence too in the Qui tollis peccata duet with mezzo soloist Kathryn Rudge and the lyrical soprano solo, O salutaris Hostia. Rudge proved a reliable mezzo soloist, bringing a fleeting touch of the operatic to her solo Agnus Dei in particular. If only the same could be said of the other soloists. Tenor Peter Auty’s rather throaty and forced tone verged more towards being appropriate for some opera buffo parody, but here in Rossini’s sinful late Mass he might just have escaped sounding totally miscast, as he would have been in another work. Bass James Platt varied his contributions between something vocally focussed and possessing a resonant, patrician quality to a more overtly backwardly placed operatic tone in fortissimo.

David Hill imposed order where he could to the eclectic melodic sweetmeats that teemed from Rossini’s muddled mind. But, try though he did, when the fault lies with the composer ultimately his efforts were to little avail. The Gloria refused to flow with any unity at all, mixing as it does aspects of high drama, opera seria and opera buffo during its meandering, disjointed course. If anything reminiscent of religious reflection was in evidence it was to be found in the Sanctus and Benedictus, and the closing Agnus Dei. Richard Pearce did what he could with the harmonium part, adding colour along the way. The lion’s share of the accompaniment fell to Iain Farrington at the piano and he proved fully up to producing the menacing, dramatic chords and ornamental support required of him. But despite enthusiastic applause at the end, it has to be said that reactions included “Rossini, what were you thinking?” A salutary reminder indeed that not every work from the pen of a great composer is a masterpiece, and that accepted critical wisdom should not always be taken at face value.

Prom 62: BBC SO / Young @ Royal Albert Hall, London 31 August 2016

https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-62-bbc-young-royal-albert-hall-london This enterprising Prom from the BBC Symphony Orchestra under Simone Young, making her Proms debut, had several things to recommend it. First, the repertoire ranged from an engaging world premiere of Bayan Northcott’s first orchestral work, via a delightful Mozart concerto and concluded with a rich Romantic score from Zemlinsky. Second, the soloists each brought something to their performances, though sadly the performances were not uniformly of the first order. Lastly, the BBC Symphony Orchestra gave committed playing under Simone Young’s efficient direction. Ultimately, though, it proved to be a concert of two uneven halves.

Bayan Northcott’s reputation as one of the most prominent music critics and writers on music in London over the past half century has perhaps overshadowed his work as a composer. The Concerto for Orchestra, recently completed and written over the past two years, is Northcott’s first work for full orchestra. Lasting barely 18 minutes, its three brief and linked movements displayed few qualms at taking on the large scale instrumental forces at his disposal. That said, Northcott’s own programme note for the work voiced his concern that the music was “that most stringent challenge to composers”, namely to write music that “fresh and personal” and that can be “widely understood by the concert public”. The opening Allegro con brio in sonata form was a feisty number that began with brightly prominent brass above brisk, tutti strings that displayed a keen ear at work, with a constant concern for the shifts in sonority and timbre that were achievable by the snatched instrumental motifs being variously juxtaposed across an increasingly wide instrumental soundscape. If the movement was lyrical at its heart, then it sounded at times as if it longed for some sound aesthetic from the past. The central Adagio found some beauty in its sense of stillness, before its atmosphere transformed through a densely scored soundscape to something that threatened to cloy, yet avoided doing so. This dissolved into the Allegro molto finale, which transformed a muted and deftly scored full orchestral sound into a nervous tutti that variously lumbered uneasily along interspersed with more rapidly scored elements of brilliance that gave prominence to the percussion. The work was enthusiastically greeted by the audience. Northcott himself was all smiles as he took his bows on the podium and thanked Simone Young and the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Certainly, this most exacting of critics gave little if anything away as to his true opinion of the performance.

Mozart’s fifth violin concerto, performed by the BBC Symphony Orchestra with reduced forces and the brass brought forward on stage to sit immediately behind the strings, was given with Baiba Skride as soloist. Her cantabile tone, drawn with ease from the ‘Yfrah Neaman’ Stradivarius was a prominent feature of the opening movement, which was aptly backed by the orchestral strings. Occasionally the balance between strings and horns was not ideal, as the brass phrases did get momentarily lost in tutti sections.

The suppleness of Skride’s playing of the exposed solo line in the middle movement was a delight to hear – at times her tone sounded almost autumnally burnished, whilst possessing total integrity across the range due to her assured bowing and judicious use of vibrato – factors that have long marked her out within the top flight of today’s violinists. Her cadenzas (in the first and second movements) were the Joachim time-worn standards, and though excellently played, perhaps left one wanting more of Baiba Skride’s own personality in these moments. The lively Rondo finale flowed effortlessly at first, before Skride the BBC Symphony and Simone Young delighted in the tangy ‘Turkish’ (in actuality, rather more Hungarian in flavour) exoticism of the melodic leaps, rhythmic emphases and col legno effects. Prommers were rewarded with an encore, for which Baiba Skride played a solo sonata movement by the rarely encountered Johann Paul von Westhoff.

If the first half was successful in performance terms, the second half – devoted entirely to Alexander Zemlinsky’s Lyric Symphony (1922-3) – raised significant doubts. Simone Young is experienced in performing large-scale late Romantic works, such as Schmidt’s Das Buch mit sieben Siegeln, and she certainly brought enough of the requisite sweep and grandeur to be evident from the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Listening to Zemlinsky’s song-symphony concerned with that moment of separation realised between two lovers, it’s tempting to dwell on the creative love triangle formed by Alma Werfel, Zemlinsky and Mahler, her two most famous lovers. In the quest for Alma’s heart, Gustav won out, as indeed he did if you consider the position Das Lied von der Erde enjoys in public’s appreciation when compared to Zemlinsky’s Lyric Symphony. In the seven alternating songs from one partner to another, baritone Christopher Maltman and soprano Siobhan Stagg, projected their heartfelt passions and despair towards the audience, and not each other. Perhaps that was one of the issues, with the soloists separated by Simone Young’s podium, the work failed to realise its emotional potential. Both Maltman and Stagg, seemed at various points to be over-parted in their roles too, with their words losing their intensity against the generous excesses of Zemlinsky’s broad orchestration. At their best though, in the final three songs, Maltman and Stagg echoed the orchestra’s long passages to speak eloquently of the emotion of loss. If, at its close, one might sense that Zemlinsky might have being speaking through the text’s own words to himself, ‘Let love melt into memory and pain into songs’, again there was a distant echo of a Mahlerian state of mind. Truly, it’s not always easy to pinpoint the moment when love is born, but we all know for certain the moment when love has died.

2015 UK concert reviews Prom 57: Chamber Orchestra of Europe / Haitink @ Royal Albert Hall, London 28 August 2015 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-57-chamber-orchestra-of-europe-haitinkroyal-albert-hall-london

This concert by the Chamber Orchestra of Europe under the baton of Bernard Haitink was replete with style and good taste which pleased, yet for all that it proved rather uninvolving in an emotional sense.

Schubert’s Overture in C major ‘In the Italian Style’, dating from 1817, wore the vestiges of its Rossinian inspiration lightly. Initially a touch ponderous, Haitink secured playing full of contrast and characterful contributions from the brass and woodwind sections. From my seat in the furthest reaches of the stalls only the percussion lacked something in terms of definition against the wider ensemble.

Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23 in A major, K488, featured the renowned Portuguese pianist Maria João Pires as soloist. The opening Allegro movement was ushered in with sensitively blended string tone produced with a lightness of touch. Maria João Pires proved an articulate soloist, who projected her part unobtrusively, after a career spent in the composer’s company. Occasionally the left hand momentarily dominated, but the playing of Mozart’s brief cadenza drew one into the intimacy of the experience.

No less a pianist that Clifford Curzon acknowledged that nothing displays a pianist’s quality like a Mozart slow movement, and so it proved in this performance. The Adagio, cast in the key of F sharp minor, was introduced by Maria João Pires with the utmost feeling. With the soloist often heard against the barest of accompaniments the poetry of João Pires’ artistry was readily apparent in, for example, the inflections of light and shade that she brought to the several series of repeated notes that pepper the music. In short, the movement managed to engage one emotionally with the music in a way that the rest of the concert almost but never quite achieved.

The closing movement, was carried along by its lively and bustling character from the start in a way that captured the ebb and flow. Haitink ensured that all was well paced whilst João Pires brought an entirely naturalistic touch and tone to bear out her words from the programme notes: “It’s the music that makes us

play. It’s not us who plays the music… I feel much more that the music takes us, teaches us.” Despite the Promenaders’ determined efforts to secure an encore from João Pires, none was forthcoming.

The second half of the concert featured Schubert’s Symphony No. 9 in C major. The opening movement opened with an amiable Andante and the transition to Andante ma non troppo was naturally handled under Haitink’s ever efficient baton. The second movement possessed its share of grit and bite in the Chamber Orchestra of Europe’s playing, building the sense of internal drama always shifting and developing. The Scherzo third movement carried a warmth of tone and carefully blended balance that allowed the many accents of instrumental colour to be readily appreciable. The joyful exuberance that imbues the Finale was readily forthcoming, with the boldness of its thematic ideas was not shied away from by Haitink. It was securely dispatched by the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, but the closing pages found the brass occasionally over-dominant against the massed strings.

Prom 67: John Wilson Orchestra / Wilson @ Royal Albert Hall, London 5 September 2015 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-67-john-wilson-orchestra-wilson-royalalbert-hall-london

John Wilson and his Orchestra brought music by Leonard Bernstein to the BBC Proms in 2012, with excerpts from On the Town and West Side Story. In this Prom, marking 25 years since Bernstein’s death, it was unsurprising that numbers from those scores also featured prominently, but it was much to Wilson’s credit that some lesser known items made it into the mix.

Immediately evident in this survey of Bernstein’s writing for stage and screen was his great instinct for a good tune, often daringly orchestrated; no wonder some studio executives and early critics thought his music “too avant-garde”. There is no denying that Bernstein, like Bernard Herrmann, Miklós Rózsa, or Franz Waxman, elevated music for screen and stage to high art status, but unlike those others he sought to do so on his own terms, as an expression of the American dream. Indeed, Americana was the leitmotif that ran through the concert.

Was the concert a dream to experience? If one were to believe the level of audience applause then it was undeniably so. However not every item was equally successful: some were marred by occasional lapses in playing quality from the orchestra, where some scrappiness of execution could have benefited from more attentive rehearsal, whilst others suffered in the vocal department at the hands of amplification and balance engineers who needed to finesse their input to ensure complete vocal clarity to suit the Royal Albert Hall’s cavernous acoustic.

The 1944 musical On the Town kicked things off, and New York, New York proved to be an irrepressible winner with confident vocals and a heady exuberance in the orchestral playing. Julian Ovenden was not quite so winning in his portrayal of Gabey in the reflective song Lonely Town; although possessing enough smoothness of character and pathos in his voice, the lyrics took a while to register fully. By the time Louise Dearman delivered a sassy and ever-so-suggestive I can cook, too some technical adjustments had been made to the amplification which benefitted things no end.

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, a musical written in 1976 to mark the bicentenary of the declaration of US independence, is not perhaps a work that comes readily to mind when thinking of Bernstein’s output, and the first selection John Wilson conducted from it showed just why this might be. The President Jefferson Sunday Luncheon Party March proved tough for the Maida Vale Singers to get their teeth around, and who on earth would want to experience a feast of pickled eels, ragu, spaghetti and ice cream set against the most emphatic of march tempos? I’d certainly forego another helping, but one could sense that Bernstein must have relished the absurdity of it as he put pen to paper. Lucy Schaufer brought real feeling to ‘Take Care of This House,’ arguably the heart of the whole musical, with her direct and touching use of the lyrics.

Scarlett Strallen had the requisite vocal warmth, sparkle and star quality required for A Little Bit in Love, from Wonderful Town, while Louise Dearman found another aspect to Eileen’s character though in A Hundred Ways to Lose a Man: the answer she suggested in any situation is to “throw your knowledge at him” and this advice was met with approving recognition by many women in the audience.

John Wilson and his orchestra came into their own with the lengthy symphonic suite Bernstein drew from his score for On the Waterfront; the performance, ever carefully paced, and exacting in its detailed execution captured the movie’s essence of lone heroism against a violent mass.

By contrast, much of the concert’s second half was of lighter and more crowd-pleasing fare. Candide’s overture ushered in a rather grand rumpus, though there might have been greater finesse amongst the

strings at various moments. Lucy Schaufer made a brave attempt through her quasi-operatic delivery and deliberately dodgy accents to be the Old Lady of middle-European extraction who is so easily assimilated.

Scarlett Strallen brought stage experience as Cunegonde to her performance of Glitter and Be Gay, for which Bernstein channelled the coloratura of Olympia from Offenbach’s Les contes d’Hoffmann. Given the humour with which it was sung and the quality of orchestral accompaniment in evidence it seems rather churlish to linger on momentary lapses in Strallen’s breathing.

West Side Story proved ever-popular with the coruscating rhythms of the rumble, before Julian Ovenden found just the right tone and approach in his delivery of Maria. Gee, Officer Krupke was at once replete with quick-fire repartee, wordplay and delicious irony as the quartet of Matthew Seadon-Young, Stuart Matthew Price, David Roberts and Jack North delighted in having a social disease.

Two relative rarities followed, first Island Magic from the 1952 one-act opera Trouble in Tahiti, perhaps the work’s only memorable aria. Again, Lucy Schaufer delighted in the characterisation that was afforded her in the description of the “terrible, awful movie” she had just seen. John Wilson’s orchestra caught the stifling exotic balmy atmosphere of the setting superbly. A not too dissimilar languidness was to be had in the song Dream with Me from Peter Pan, written in 1950. Full of simple charm and poise in the experienced hands of Scarlett Strallen, this brief delight left one wondering just why the music remained unperformed until 1975.

The finale of Candide, Make Our Garden Grow, is a gift for orchestra, chorus and ensemble that is guaranteed to prove a crowd-pleaser. The single encore, ‘America’ from West Side Story, was dispatched to equal effect.

Prom 72: BBC SO / Litton @ Royal Albert Hall, London 9 September 2015 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-72-bbc-so-litton-royal-albert-hall-london One glance at the programme for this concert told you that that it was never going to be a straight-forward affair, but the BBC Proms is often at its best when it seeks to do something rather different from the norm.

Carl Nielsen and Charles Ives make unusual bed-fellows, though not disagreeable ones. Add to the mix a selection of four American hymns and then preface the whole lot with Gordon Jacob’s brass-laden and ceremonial arrangement of The National Anthem, to mark the day on which Her Majesty became the United Kingdom’s longest reigning monarch, and there’s no doubt that many might wonder if this strange assemblage could be more memorable than the sum of its parts.

The National Anthem was predictably and suitably given with gusto by the assembled soprano, tenor and bass soloists, choirs and chorus, orchestra, all backed by the mighty Royal Albert Hall organ. Then, almost without a break, it was straight into almost an hour of Nielsen’s music, with two highly contrasting works.

The cantata Springtime on Funen (1921) finds Nielsen at his most delicate, atmospheric and resolutely tonal, rejoicing in the place and people of the Danish island of Funen. Although calling for large and varied forces, a lightness of touch in execution was evident throughout. The three soloists, soprano Malin Christensson, tenor Ben Johnson and bass-baritone Neal Davies all made telling contributions, though Johnson stood out not only for his pliancy of tone but his imaginative use of the text. The boys’ and girls’ choirs of Tiffin School brought childish innocence and a sense of fun to a work that drew its inspiration from the composer’s own happy childhood. The adult voices of the BBC Singers rounded out the tapestry to pleasing and uplifting effect, finding some humorous character in the rustic celebrations.

Nielsen’s violin concerto, written a decade before the cantata, is a work that throws aside the conventional concerto structure. Instead, it is individually formed of two distinct parts, each effectively containing a slow movement and then a faster one. Nielsen’s own experience as an orchestral violinist weighs heavily on the piece and he makes considerable demands of the soloist, who is pitched in from the start with the first of three intricately woven cadenzas. In this hugely enjoyable and approachable performance Henning Kraggerud proved a forthright soloist whose confident playing integrated ornamentation and burnished tone into a pleasing whole. The BBC Symphony Orchestra under Andrew Litton’s clear direction kept up the forward momentum during the first part, judging issues of instrumental balance keenly as the work proceeded. The second cadenza proved a fervent moment in which some lapses of tuning were heard, but they hardly distracted from the emotion of the moment.

As an encore Henning Kraggerud offered up one of his own compositions, a rather mournful and meandering postlude in B flat minor that relied heavily on double-stopping until its final few passages, when a flash of pure tone secured a memorable conclusion.

After the interval four American hymns were given as a ‘way in’ to Charles Ives’ daringly original fourth symphony. Heard in their pure form with Richard Pearce accompanying on the Royal Albert Hall organ, the Crouch End Festival Chorus sought to inflect the settings of In the sweet by and by (set by Joseph Webster), Ye Christian heralds, go proclaim (Charles Zeuner), Jesus, lover of my soul (Simeon Marsh) and Nearer, my God, to Thee (Lowell Mason) with both appropriate accent and a near reverential feeling.

Charles Ives was nothing if not his own man musically speaking, and no single work states the point more clearly than his fourth symphony. Beyond the four movement structure, virtually nothing can ready the unprepared listener for what unfolds before them. The opening Prelude is questioning in nature, drawing dissonant lines from across the large orchestral ensemble and chamber sized sub-ensemble positioned stage left, and here led with confidence by assistant conductor Fergus Macleod. The second movement

allegretto bears the title ‘Comedy’, and can even lead experienced listeners to a sense of bewilderment as it increasingly revels in its deliciously disjointed construction, layering and overlaying instrumental and vocal material to capture several experiences simultaneously. A prominent piano role was given sterling advocacy by William Wolfram, buried deep amongst the violas and second violins. In conclusion though the mayhem of Ives’ imagination was stilled, before the ensuing rather formal fugue made its impact felt as much through the contrast with the preceding movement as the richness of the string tone.

Ives, as ever, had the last laugh in taking the audience by surprise – the closing passages of diminuendo ending in a peremptory manner with just a bell left ringing in the air. The BBC Symphony Orchestra threw everything they had at this performance and Litton’s belief in the work spoke for itself, yet if the sparsely filled Royal Albert Hall audience responded with rather stunned applause only Charles Ives is to blame.

That said, it’s a truly life-affirming work that everyone should hear at least once in their lives.

Prom 73: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra / Bychkov @ Royal Albert Hall, London 10 September 2015 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-73-vienna-philharmonic-orchestra-bychkovroyal-albert-hall-london

The first of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra’s two concerts in this year’s BBC Proms season found them playing a pair of symphonies. Brahms’ third symphony – premiered by the orchestra in 1883 under the baton of Hans Richter – usefully prefaced a rarity of the repertoire, the second symphony by Franz Schmidt, which here received its premiere performance at the Proms.

Brahms’ third symphony is a work fully within the artistic DNA of both the Vienna Philharmonic and conductor Semyon Bychkov. The opening Allegro con brio lacked nothing in the warmth of tone which the Viennese massed strings and brass afforded the music, and the Andante was amiably paced, unfolding in an effortless manner, with some delightful instances of restrained playing along the way. The Poco allegretto third movement, one of the most poised orchestral movements imaginable, was possessed of a rather ruminative quality initially, and the trio section said much through the orchestra’s delicate execution of it. The closing Allegro movement was initially portentous of mighty utterances to come, and the performance was an incisive one if a little lacking in airy amiability at its close.

Franz Schmidt served as a cellist in the Vienna Philharmonic for over fifteen years during the era of Gustav Mahler’s period as music director. His symphonic works have been slow to gather an audience outside his native Austria and is often introduced as being reminiscent of Richard Strauss, Reger and Bruckner in spirit.

If, like myself, you often find Reger’s music rather dry and brittle, one need not have worried that Schmidt suffered a similar limitation. The symphony is robustly and unapologetically in the late-Romantic vein, though with a softer edge than one often finds in the symphonies of Wilhelm Fürtwangler, who was Schmidt’s junior by 12 years.

Schmidt’s second symphony in E flat major (1911-13) is cast in three movements and clearly nods its head to a certain Brucknerian expansiveness. The first movement is a lively affair with its tersely argued thematic material connected by serpentine linking sections for the strings, in which Bychkov clearly delighted.

Urgent and insistent fortissimi were forthrightly played by the massed string ensemble and given a generous bloom by the orchestra’s great phalanx of brass. The second movement is a set of nine variations based on a chorale-like tune initially played with some spirit by the woodwinds, before being passed over to the strings. Across the variations a variety of moods are immediately appreciable, such as the sardonic and restless character of the fifth, the delicacy of the flute added to the sixth, the scurrilous nature of the seventh, or most impressive of all, the culminating chiaroscuro found in the extended ninth variation. The slow third movement built its momentum gradually and inexorably from the subtle brass and woodwind laden initial thematic material, in which the bassoons added much individuality of character. As things progressed, Semyon Bychkov handled the evolving material with care and authority to achieve a culmination of majesty, leaving one in little doubt that Schmidt’s oeuvre is ripe for wider public appreciation.

As an encore, the Vienna Philharmonic offered up Nimrod from Elgar’s Enigma Variations. A world away from the sound-world of Schmidt, it was most gently coaxed by Bychkov and gave the audience a taste of the finesse that the orchestra most likely will bring to Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius in their next Prom under Sir Simon Rattle’s baton.

2014 UK concert reviews Proms Chamber Music 5: Schwanewilms/ Martineau @ Cadogan Hall, London 18 August 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/proms-chamber-music-5-schwanewilmsmartineaucadogan-hall-london

Anne Schwanewilms Anne Schwanewilms replaced an indisposed Alice Coote for this, the fifth Proms Chamber Music Concert in the 2014 season, and pianist Malcolm Martineau accompanied. The programme contrasted the delicate lyricism of Debussy’s Proses Lyriques with a selection of Richard Strauss’ lieder, which were for the most part no less demanding in their refinement from both artists. It was, however, when all is said and done an hour of song-making that was infuriating and brilliant if not quite in equal measure.

Debussy’s own particular sound world and aesthetic is one that thrives on attention to detail and the realisation of it in performance. All this Malcolm Martineau provided with his dextrous touch and feeling for the subtleties of line and timbre throughout the accompaniments. Indeed, his contribution was engaging because of its restrained and effortless style, all the more impressively realised considering the restrictions of timbre possible from a piano with its lid fully closed. That French is not Anne Schwanewilms’ native tounge was, alas, immediately apparent since her singing of Debussy’s own words had a somewhat approximate relationship with the actual text. She appeared throughout somewhat on edge; in the first song, De rêve, there were finely floated pianissimo vowels and other nuances that sometimes hit their mark, but at other times did not. The feeling of the individual songs moving in and out of focus according to Schwanewilms’ textual enunciation continued in De grève, where occasional over-emphases of vowels was caused due to her wanting to attack a note with a particular inference.

It would be a mistake however to remember Schwanewilms’ Debussy for purely negative reasons, since there were positive aspects. It is just that these were so few and far between as to prove infuriating. Why, for example, couldn’t the instinctive feeling for Gallic tone and inference that she brought to lines in the third song, De fleurs, be replicated elsewhere? One would be hard pressed even with a French singer to match the depth of inner desolation she found there, or in some lines from De soir, the set’s final song.

Schwanewilms’ mastery of breath control was continually in evidence and it aided her in producing restrained singing. De soir was imbued with moments of infectious joy from the start – picking up on the

impulsively impish tempo adopted by Martineau – but at its conclusion the song dissolved once again into a haze of tone and hushed timbre, albeit with some textual clarity.

The lieder by Richard Strauss were given with no less lightness of touch than the Debussy, but with infinitely greater confidence by Schwanewilms. She effortlessly brought out the depth of pain of a lover’s departure within Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden and contrasted it with the lingering thoughts of love within Traum durch die Dämmerung. Here, both her ability to convey the warm glow of waking from a dream of one’s love combined with the lingering subtleties of text echoed in the tempo of Martineau’s discretely ebbing accompaniment were contributing factors. Radiance of tone albeit within a restrained dynamic range met with a savouring of the emotion behind Klopstock’s text in Das Rosenband. With the difficulties of tempo proving no impediment for her Geduld fully demonstrated Schwanewilms’ abilities a protagonist within a private melodrama, drawing the audience into a world of a woman that shifts from hope via reluctant acceptance to utter desolation at the wish of her lover. Waldseligkeit was fully ecstatic, its most private emotional canvas laid before the audience with beauteous tone held under careful check.

An wholly appropriate note of sternness entered proceedings with Wer lieben will, muss leiden. Another Alsatian folk song, Ach was Kummer, Qual und Schmerzen, brought the recital to a close. The text, of a woman who dare not reveal what she feels for and about her lover, led to discreetly timed comic interplay and furtive glances between Schwanewilms and Martineau. Given the generous thanks they offered each other throughout the ensuing applause, there could be little doubt of the artistic esteem in which this regular partnership holds each other.

Prom 50: Czech Philharmonic Orchestra / Bělohlávek @ Royal Albert Hall, London 24 August 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-50-czech-philharmonic-orchestrabelohlavek-royal-albert-hall-london

The Czech Philharmonic Orchestra and their chief conductor Jiří Bělohlávek brought a programme to the Proms in which the mighty voices of Janáček and Dvořák held sway prior to a no less imposing Beethoven symphony.

The overture to Janáček’s last opera From the House of the Dead, written in 1927-8, is an unsurprisingly dark affair at heart but Jiří Bělohlávek ensured that the performance achieved a balance of timbres between the thick string unison often in evidence and the opposing woodwind lines. That the overture drew on sketches for an earlier abandoned violin concerto was clear in the prominent solo line, the feeling of a lone voice surviving within an oppressive environment evinced through the eloquent playing of leader Josef Špaček Jr. It was, however, the feeling of relentless oppression that left its indelible mark through the imposing contributions of the trumpets and percussion.

Dvořák’s cello concerto – once a rarity of its genre for the instrument – lightened the overall mood considerably. The opening Allegro might have opened with the mordant contribution of the orchestra’s bassoons but this quickly gave way to robust and ebullient playing from the strings as they seized upon the clutch of thematic ideas Dvořák employs. Alisa Weilerstein’s entry was at once richly Romantic in feel and with a succulent vibrato to her singing solo part she found depth in the nuanced details as she skilfully negotiated the many changes of mood and tempo to be of one accord with Bělohlávek’s orchestra. The Allegro ma non troppo middle movement brought elegance from the orchestra, where restraint of utterance in the brass and woodwind parts was a most effective support to Weilerstein’s plaintive solo.

Imposing orchestral tutti became more forthright still under Bělohlávek’s direction, but a course was steered that found qualities of grandeur and nobility as well as moments of hushed reverie within the whole movement. The Allegro moderato finale provided contrast with its appropriately rousing and

rhythmically incisive initial orchestral statements, produced with unassuming ease and authority by this crack band of Czech musicians. Weilerstein matched them at every turn with playing of élan that demonstrated once again just why she ranks amongst the foremost cellists performing today, and together the concerto was brought to a thrilling and absorbing conclusion. As a solo encore Weilerstein played the Sarabande from J. S. Bach’s C major Suite, BWV1009, with a refined simplicity of tone.

Beethoven’s seventh symphony was written following a visit to the Bohemian spa town of Teplitz in 181112, but contemporary reactions to the work were not of one mind: Weber pronounced it – and Beethoven – “ripe from the madhouse” due to the work’s obsessive repetitions, whilst Wagner thought one of its movements “the apotheosis of the dance”. Bělohlávek’s performance with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra veered rather more towards Weber’s opinion than Wagner’s in its overall conception from first to last, though occasionally some lighter elements were allowed to emerge. The opening movement was initially weighty; the string tone was built from the bottom upwards with the orchestra’s eight double basses and violins squeezing out the viola and cello parts. Elements of freshness entered that would not have been out of place in the Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony with the change to a vivace tempo, but the thickly accented tenor of things prevailed although both direction and execution were always a cut above that of a routine performance. Greater lightness of touch was to be enjoyed in the second movement, the orchestra displaying its abilities with confidence even in subdued passages. This was at heart a decidedly old school interpretation of the earlier 20th century rather than anything informed by performance practice from Beethoven’s time, as the final two movements made clear. The Allegro con brio final movement was relentlessly driven, and if any dance like inspiration lay behind Bělohlávek’s conception it was that of a furiant. Tensions were built and weighty tone maintained, though by this stage its monotony began to pall slightly and make the omission of the repeat rather welcome. It was a performance that was thunderously greeted in the hall and drew no less than three Czech encores in response. First came a precise and idiomatic performance of Dvořák’s A flat Slavonic Dance, op.46 no 3, followed by the Skočná from Smetana’s opera The Bartered Bride which once again saw the string section execute at speed with refinement. Oskar Nedbal’s fine Valse triste drew the evening to a close.

Prom 64: Berliner Philharmoniker / Rattle @ Royal Albert Hall, London 5 September 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-64-berliner-philharmoniker-rattle-royalalbert-hall-london

Sir Simon Rattle (Photo: Chris Christodoulou) The first of the Berliner Philharmoniker’s two concerts at this year’s BBC Proms was an early evening affair which saw the juxtaposition of two great Russian dance-inspired orchestral show-pieces, one its composer’s summation of his orchestral output and the other instrumental in establishing its author as amongst the most radical and innovative voices of the twentieth century. A predictably crowd-pleasing evening it might have been, but for an orchestra and conductor of this calibre it was a routine day at the office.

Sir Simon Rattle’s direction of the opening movement of Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances took the tempo marking of Non allegro at its word, yet he never dragged the phrasing or unduly slowed it. To a large extent Rattle’s involving and highly danceable conception was made more effective by the interplay of interestingly combined timbres – piano against strings and harp or acerbic woodwind comments alongside percussion, for example – all deployed with a knowing deftness of touch. The solo alto saxophone melody, once ground-breaking in an orchestral context, registered its full impact also. The middle movement, Tempo di valse, was from the start disturbing in its latent menace and reminded of Prokofievian excess, which was entirely appropriate. But despite the writing perhaps more terror could have been brought to the performance if only the trumpet and trombone players were taken more out of their comfort zone. The final movement was imbued with the spirit of an altogether more heady flight of fancy, whilst being the most symphonic of all the movements in some senses. Rattle judiciously steered a course towards the final climax that was thrillingly driven and passionate to warrant the exuberant reception it was awarded by the capacity audience.

For me at least, Stravinsky’s music for The Firebird proves itself to be so inventively replete with detail and incident that were it not conceived of as a ballet it might have been film music of the highest order. In any rate the music has become so divorced from its original purpose in the concert hall that it serves as a magnificent tapestry to take the listener on a private journey wherever he or she wishes. There was indeed much to marvel at in the way Rattle and his Berlin forces captured the shifting changes of mood and timbre within Stravinsky’s score, holding the music in restraint for much of the time to make the greatest impact with the tutti and fortissimo passages later on. Indeed, this was a performance that one could luxuriate in, as Rattle himself did since for sizeable periods he contented himself with merely urging in the entrances and allowing his musicians to take their own care with matters of phrasing. The ballet’s close however proved irresistible in its lure to draw one in and won me over to the performance’s merits with the plaintive Firebird theme proving as effective as ever, but being a master manipulator of audience reaction was always one of Stravinsky’s trump cards. The assembled crowd simultaneously raised the roof and, in the arena at least, tested the floor’s foundations with quite the wildest foot stamping heard for some time.

The reward was a single encore, the Intermezzo from Puccini’s Manon Lesault. This might have been a world away from Stravinsky, but the playing embodied initial tenderness in its chamber element and plushness of sound that did not neglect the drama within the music.

Pokupić/Vignoles @ Wigmore Hall, London 13 September 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/pokupicvignoles-wigmore-hall-london

Across town from the Last Night of the Proms, with the Wigmore Hall 2014-15 season under way for a week now, Croatian mezzo-soprano Renata Pokupić and her accompanist Roger Vignoles offered a programme that ranged from German language repertoire in the first half to English and French fare after the interval.

In the opening Hugo Wolf group, the prayer Gebet was stately in its tempo and imbued with an apt sense of reverence which accentuated Pokupić’s richly timbred lower vocal range. Begegnung provided an immediate contrast with its nervously-laden narrative of a lover’s encounter the morning after the night before, the emotional predicament being laid bare by Pokupić as much through her hand gestures as her feeling for the text. Wolf thought his setting of Das verlassene Mägdlein bore reasonable comparison with that of Schumann, which he held in the highest esteem. With Vignoles articulating the sparse accompaniment with unerring clarity and Pokupić bringing pin-point accuracy to her German diction it was impossible not to feel the sense of despair Mörike paints around the narrator, a love- forsaken servant girl. Erstes Liebeslied eines Mädchens found Pokupić fully acting the part of a girl taken aback by the first realisation of love’s impact, so much so that an emotional release of breath at the end was felt necessary.

In Gustav Mahler’s five Rückert Lieder an empathy for the texts was apparent, as in Ich atmet’ einen linden Duft, which succeeded in capturing that essential element of breathy gossamer lightness of tone. For all Vignoles’ subtle urgings of tempo and scene-painting of mood with the accompaniments, the Rückert Lieder overall only just fell short of really catching the unity of refined sensibility Mahler identified within this chosen poet. The occasional lapsed articulation of a consonant from Pokupić subtly took away from the intended beauty of Liebst du um Schönheit, whilst in Um Mitternacht the transitions of dramatic stress appeared somewhat forced in a way that marred the textual flow. These were minor and momentary

irritations and one felt with slightly more polishing these might have been ironed out: the proof of what might have been came with the final song Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen, which had rounded tone in Pokupić’s strong lower register and true identification with music and text in her phrasing, all neatly underlined by Roger Vignoles’ deeply felt and spacious accompaniment.

Gerald Finzi’s Let us garlands bring is a cycle of five songs to Shakespearian texts set between 1929 and 1942, when it was published as a seventieth birthday present for Ralph Vaughan Williams. The transition to singing in English was made to appear beguilingly simple by Renata Pokupić, but as any singer will tell you English is in fact one of the hardest languages to work with in song. Clarity of enunciation was for the most part again Pokupić’s trump card as she met the challenges of Shakespeare’s verse. Come away, death was delivered with a seriousness that never left the text moribund. Both artists delighted in the buoyant tempo and swift turns of phrase found in Who is Sylvia? A touch of the coquette entered into the performance of O mistress mine. However, perhaps the accompaniment became a touch too prominent in It was a lover and his lass to maintain ideal balance and a slight impulsiveness of voice production was felt in Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, albeit the final stanza being sung with an impressive other-worldly tone that wonderfully captured the deathly scene.

A selection of French chansons by Reynaldo Hahn rounded out the programme. A Chloris was nigh on perfect; if only the same could have been said for the realisation of François Coppée’s text in Mai, lost largely in blousy over-vocalisation. Quand je fus pris au pavillon brought matters back on course by succeeding in treading the fine line between pastiched innuendo and the indecency of the narrator being caught in the pavilion with a lover. A trio of texts by Paul Verlaine closed the selection. D’une prison caught the rapt and calm ambiance with ease, whilst L’heure exquise beguiled with its freely flowing and effortlessly floated tone. Fêtes galantes brought a touch of crowd-pleasing fun to end the evening with its tongue-in-cheek portrayal of baroque courtiers and their mandolin playing. A single encore followed, a refined reading of Brahms’ Kommt dir manchmal in den Sinn, mein süßes Lieb.

Royal Philharmonic Orchestra / Mandeal @ Cadogan Hall, London 23 September 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/royal-philharmonic-orchestra-mandeal-cadoganhall-london

Cristian Mandeal The honour of opening the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra’s 2014/2015 season at the Cadogan Hall fell to guest conductor Cristian Mandeal, a figure well-known from his work with the Hallé orchestra in Manchester over many seasons, but here making an all too rare London appearance. The performance of Beethoven’s Egmont Overture was full of dramatic portent from the outset with robust string tone, particularly in unison, and lively woodwind contributions particularly apparent, as was the edgy brass when called for. This was big-boned and muscular Beethoven, and in being so it found exuberance in the blasts of heroic fervour that readily conveyed the romantic inspiration Beethoven drew from Goethe’s creation.

Brahms’ Violin Concerto in D major followed, with Tianwa Yang as the soloist. The opening movement was carefully shaped by Mandeal who coaxed playing of textural balance from the orchestra, with a sweet warmth in the cellos that gave the string playing a particular sense of life. Upon entering the fray Tianwa Yang quickly established her presence through precision of attack, gainfully meeting the challenge of unifying the grand melodic gestures with the intricacies of passagework, often played with a graceful mezzo-piano tone that made one want to revel afresh in the concerto’s many details. Indeed, the playing of Joachim’s cadenza was an extension of this with the volleys of bowing and furious finger work being thrown off with dextrous ease before the final gathering of thematic material alongside a satisfying orchestral tutti.

Brahms might have thought that he penned “a feeble Adagio”, but under Cristian Mandeal’s direction the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra played it with sensitivity and feeling whilst making much of the contrasts offered by rubato along the way. Probing and intelligent, Mandeal found in the music an autumnal beauty drawn largely from the interplay of the woodwinds’ freely flowing tone. Against this accompaniment, which increasingly appeared conceived as a transition of brooding frustrations lightly veiled, Tianwa Yang

found apposite refinement in the restraint of her part. All the greater contrast was to be had then in the finale, which Cristian Mandeal whipped into a real firecracker of a performance, full of detail and incident whilst being elegant in its execution. With the final furlong in sight conductor, orchestra and soloist united as one to end as they had begun by bringing out the glorious and generous nature of Brahmsian weight and texture in the concerto’s writing.

If one was in any doubt that Tianwa Yang is an artist to listen out for in the future (and I wasn’t), those thoughts must have been confounded by her encore, Ysaye’s third sonata “Ballade”, dedicated to George Enescu. Within its complex monologue she found much of interest to say, with the tones and inferences drawn from her 1730 Guarneri del Gesu as varied in utterance and imaginatively yet cogently phrased as you could want.

César Franck’s Symphony in d minor is not as commonly heard as one might wish for, despite containing some excellent musical ideas and being of the boldest orchestration to make it a real crowd-pleaser.

Indeed, the last time I heard the work was with Cristian Mandeal conducting the Belgian National Orchestra in 2007 when the performance emphasized the more Germanic structural aspect of the work, and it was a thrilling occasion because of that, rather than the flexible elegance which is also found within it more often thought of as French in mood. This performance with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra succeeded in mediating between the symphony’s opposing aspects most effectively. Conducting from memory, as he had in the Beethoven, Mandeal conjured an imposing opening movement, ruminative in the broad brushwork of its structure and sustained in its intensity. With the orchestral tone built from the dark yet pliable double basses upwards through sonorous cellos and violas towards the sensuous yet forward violins the dramatic gift of Franck’s conception for a conductor with Mandeal’s unerring ear for transition and internal contrast, not to mention willingness to push dynamic levels in the successive climaxes of increasingly blistering intensity. This really was edge of the seat music making not for the faint-hearted, and in a larger hall with more warmth than hardness to its acoustic the effect could have proved more thrilling still. The middle movement might have initially appeared more Gallic in tone with the harp playing over pizzicato strings, but the music’s natural weight registered itself willingly as it progressed, deft handling of individual phrases and transitions of material moulded attentively into the whole under Mandeal’s baton. The closing movement’s summation and drawing together of much of the preceding material offered an opportunity for Cristian Mandeal to make one last push in favour of Franck’s lone symphony. This he did, drawing playing of uncommon warmth and vigour from the orchestra. The final ascent carried a sense of inevitability about it, at once momentous and gratifying, that made one hope that it would not be long before its like could be experienced again.

Frith Piano Quartet @ Wigmore Hall, London 5 October 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/frith-piano-quartet-wigmore-hall-london This hour-long morning concert by the Frith Piano Quartet featured two works written by youthful composers, sharing the key of B minor and both portents of the promise shown by their authors.

Belgian composer Guillaume Lekeu (1870-1894) remains the preserve of chamber music aficionados rather than being a household name, but there is no doubting that his music merits far wider appreciation. Of course, his premature death at the age of twenty-four ensured that the rich melodic gifts failed to reach their full maturity, but the most assured of his works point the way to a composer who wore his heart on his sleeve, which lends his music an appealing honesty. The Piano Quartet of 1893 is one of these works, even though it was left incomplete in two movements by Lekeu and the score was “touched up” by Vincent d’Indy in order to render it performable.

The first movement was gripping from its opening statements, the Frith Piano Quartet seizing upon the arresting nature of Lekeu’s grand initial tutti gesture which comes across almost as a paragraph begun part way through. The quartet’s phrasing was by turns imposing and pliant when needed with Benjamin Frith’s piano playing proving a near ideal foil to the exchanges of material brought to exciting and involving reality by the well-matched trio of Robert Heard, violin, Louise Williams, viola, and Richard Jenkinson, cello. The Frith Piano Quartet created an atmosphere of heady ebullience that was totally at one with the tone and tenor of Lekeu’s forthrightly scored music and they crowned the movement with playing of magnificent verve. The succeeding movement provided much in the way of contrast, its mood being darker and more inward looking with the interplay of instrumental voices being held back to suit the more subdued mood.

There was a spaciousness to the Friths’ articulation of their parts, with the strings often in stark contrast to chords of the piano accompaniment. If a feeling of melancholia had pervaded the movement, the ending provided more of a question mark than a full stop with the cello’s slightly accentuated pizzicato final notes which seemed to ask both players and audience which might have followed if only Lekeu had lived to complete the piece. This certainly whetted my desire to hear more Lekeu whenever possible in the concert hall and the Frith Piano Quartet should be congratulated on their sterling advocacy of this unjustly neglected composer.

Felix Mendelssohn, on the other hand, needs no introduction or special case to be made for him, yet it is still remarkable how fresh and alive even a piece of juvenilia such as his Piano Quartet no. 3, opus 3, written at the tender age of 16 can be made to sound. So much so that the Frith’s playing of the opening movement Allegro molto brought out with ease that this was music that carried the assurance and daring of youth in its every phrase, ranging as it did from moments of serenity to tempest-tossed exuberance, with the turns of tempo being adroitly and sensitively handled. The second movement Andante was possessed of an elegance that owed much to the careful maintenance of an even dynamic range throughout. The third movement was justifiably yearning and questing in its thematic material, with a sense of continual movement and investigation easily captured. Here perhaps at times the violin proved

momentarily a dominating element with its hard-edged tone, but in the closing movement the Frith Piano Quartet found unity of purpose and driving impetus to see their interpretation home, taking time along the way to integrate Mendelssohn’s delicately dancing passagework for each instrument neatly and pleasingly into the whole.

Anthony Marwood and Friends @ Wigmore Hall, London 7 October 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/anthony-marwood-friends-wigmore-hall-london String octets are rare, with only Shostakovich, Mendelssohn and Enescu having written examples that continue to be performed on anything like a regular basis. That rarity presents a problem for venues and promoters too, since chamber ensembles, section leaders drawn from orchestral ranks or a grouping assembled for specific performances are likely to be the only forces to take the pieces on with any seriousness. This concert opened violinist Anthony Marwood’s series at Wigmore Hall and saw him collaborating with violinist Isabelle van Keulen, violist Lawrence Power, cellist Richard Lester and the Heath Quartet to perform Mendelssohn and Enescu.

Mendelssohn occupied the first half, as more often than not he does when these two works are given in the same concert. A sense of tonal balance was immediately established and maintained throughout the work, with the first movement benefitting from the performers taking the ‘con fuoco’ marking at face value. The Andante brought a much needed sense of spacious refinement with its gently varied hues doing much to enthral the audience. The Scherzo found its much needed impetus easily in the hands of such accomplished players, although some violin entries could have been more clearly articulated. Any sense of nicety for nicety’s sake was rebuffed in the sense of purpose brought to the concluding Presto movement from its opening scurrilous gestures in the cello parts. Impassioned it certainly was, and as nearly bigboned orchestral in tone and substance as it could be to fulfil Mendelssohn’s wishes. Warmth of tone, depth of feeling and understanding and affection for the score were the over-riding sensations at the end of a highly satisfying performance.

Enescu’s octet is an altogether different and more complex undertaking for any group of musicians to come to terms with, both regarding the level of attention to detail required and understanding of its unique structure with the four movements being moulded into elements of a single huge sonata form, with the first movement as an exposition of no fewer than six main themes, the middle two movements as the development and the closing movement as the recapitulation. For this reason the selection of the initial tempo is a matter of key importance. The playing had definite drive and purpose to it, as they set off at a near ideal tempo, and proceeded to articulate Enescu’s web of thematic material with assurance. The second movement, marked Très fougueux or Very passionately, positively erupted with ruggedly articulated energy which added to the experience with its hell-for-leather attack on the music. Refinement played its part too before the movement set its course for a fortissimo conclusion that just stopped short of breaching the limits of comfort within the Wigmore Hall’s generous acoustic. A feeling of gossamer delicacy was evident throughout much of the third movement, whose muted initial pages seemed akin to the recitative for the more full-throated aria that follows from it. Isabelle van Keulen lent much in terms of inner feeling to the movement as a whole with her unassuming yet telling playing. The sense of inevitability often to be found at the start of the conclusion with the return of the opening theme momentarily lacked a little of its impact as the players could have given it a little more emphasis. However, they quickly grouped to articulate the thrust and parry of Enescu’s generously scored material, revelling in the long and sumptuous paragraphs. The performance was rightly greeted with long and enthusiastic applause.

Kavakos / Wang @ Barbican Hall, London 17 October 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/kavakos-wang-barbican-hall-london

It’s rather rare for all three of the Brahms sonatas to comprise a recital programme, but there is no logical reason why this should be the case. Brahms might have approached the genre with some trepidation, feeling the ghost of Beethoven at his shoulder as he wrote, but the results speak for themselves as some of the finest duo sonatas ever written and show Brahms at the peak of his creative powers.

The first sonata, written in 1878-9, found Leonidas Kavakos and Yuja Wang getting straight to the heart of things with a perfect tempo and mood established by Wang as she revelled in the fullness of the piano part’s chords, but finding discretion too when called for. Kavakos responded in kind by producing violin playing of sensitive awareness that often intimated moments of serious intent rather than stating them outright, which served to add interest to the shifting strands of dialogue between the two instruments. The closing movement began almost with a sense of impish casualness from both players and any sense of inner yearning was lightly worn. The carefree quality Kavakos and Wang found perhaps said as much about their innate knowledge of each other’s’ approach which was reflected in the balance of projection and timbre they both achieved.

The second sonata, written in 1886, found Brahms returning to the violin sonata with a sense of confidence, and this was brought out by Kavakos and Wang in their playing. The initial amiability that characterises the opening movement quickly gave way to a greater passion being expressed, its weighty and thick textures in the piano part being free of the stolidity that can often serve to do disservice to Brahms’ writing. Kavakos found an elegance and majesty in Brahms’ long phrases too, and also a determination in the accentuation violin’s final phrases that brought a pleasing shape to the music. The middle movement’s tempo marking of Andante tranquillo was taken quite literally by Yuja Wang but was all the more effective for that, and her introduction of the second subject displayed an innate awareness of Brahmsian feeling rare in a musician of her age.

The lingering feeling that Kavakos might have on occasion found greater robustness and core within the tone of his playing continued into the third sonata at times. The opening movement was light-hearted for much of the time, as it should be, and some grandeur did establish itself, but the second movement Adagio failed to grip as it should because the initial tempo was not maintained in the repeat. A much needed sense of light and shade was brought to the third movement as Yuja Wang explored the nuances of Brahms’

writing, whilst Leonidas Kavakos found variety in the tone of his violin. The sonata ended with the greatest of contrasts to the preceding material, its fourth movement appearing to be more Furioso than Presto agitato in its initial statements. That said, its sense of brooding tensions and the gathering of thematic material towards a conclusion replete with Brahmsian richness was never less than thrilling.

Three rather diverse encores followed, the first being a gripping and dynamically paced performance of Brahms’s Scherzo, extracted from the F.A.E. sonata written in partnership with Albert Dietrich and Robert Schumann for Joseph Joachim. The second was a keenly felt reading of the slow movement from Schumann’s A minor sonata, and the third was Dushkin’s arrangement of the Russian Dance from Stravinsky’s Petrushka, played with the spirit and verve which exemplify this duo at their best.

Boesch / Martineau @ Wigmore Hall, London 29 October 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/boesch-martineau-wigmore-hall-london Since first reviewing Florian Boesch in recital in 2007, I have consciously avoided hearing him sing again. It’s not that I found that experience a completely negative one – he does have several attributes of voice production that many singers can only dream of possessing – but I found his approach to the lieder recital as a whole rather off-putting, being too ‘in your face’. In fact, were he not a singer I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a thug for hire. Boesch is still delivering lieder with menaces and I remain to be convinced that he needs to go quite as far as he does in assaulting his public in the name of art.

The grouping of Liszt songs that opened the recital immediately set the tone for much, but not all, of what was to follow. An exactitude of word-pointing and phrasing marked Boesch’e approach to Heine’s text in Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam, matched by an entirely appropriate starkness in Malcolm Martineau’s playing of the accompaniment. Indeed, singer and pianist were of one mind throughout the evening – which for every reward it offered only served to highlight still further the lack of warmth that is one of the characteristics of Boesch’s singing. That said, he has a fine gift for narrative when he allows himself to not be so emotionally caught up in the angst of the music, as songs such as O lieb, so lang du lieben kannst! Illustrated. Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh’ covered the entire emotional range, Martineau making the pauses of the accompaniment add much to the peace found in Goethe’s text, whilst Boesch showed on one hand a fine gift for shading down his voice and then almost a total disregard for its tonal quality when barked out at fortissimo.

The selection of songs by Richard Strauss fared a little better, though when singing in more restrained voice there was a sense of detachment. It was impossible to deny the enthusiasm of a lover brought to Breit’ über mein Haupt or Boesch’s ability to hint at meaning when he felt like it, as with the nudging touch he gave to the ending of All’ mein Gedanken. Ruhe, meine Seele! and Allerseelen concluded the first half with singing of such masculinity and dominance – albeit with individual touches brought to the texts along the way – that one was quite glad for the interval’s opportunity for some gathering of thoughts and inner stillness.

Ten Schubert songs comprised the second half. Of these, Der Tod und das Mädchen was most strongly characterised in both its main aspects of innocence and menace – with little surprise as to which was the dominant of the two in Boesch’s interpretation. An die Musik was tossed away with the bare minimum of reverence, but rather that than an artifice-laden performance as given by many lesser musicians. There is no doubt that Florian Boesch recognises the unsettling darkness that stirs within many of Schubert’s lieder, exemplified by Nachtviolen, Abschied and Der Wanderer in this recital. Strophe aus ‘die Götter Griechenlands’ did little but leave me cold as the final notes were left hanging in the air and Florian Boesch offered a glacial stare over an enthusiastic reception from the audience.

Schubert’s An den Mond and Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh’ were offered as encores. Both possessed the qualities that had been markedly lacking for too much of the evening – emotional balance and a beautiful thread of voice well projected. One thing is for sure though, it will be some time before I feel the need for another aural pummelling from Florian Boesch.

Ensemble intercontemporain @ Wigmore Hall, London 11 November 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/ensemble-intercontemporain-wigmore-hall-london This concert by soloists of the Ensemble intercontemporain featured works of varying quality and approachability by three composers. Luigi Dallapiccola’s Due Studi (1946-7) for violin and piano offered the nearest thing that there was ever going to be in the programme to a beguiling point of entry for the listener. The initial Sarabande made a subtle nod to Bach with the clarity of the violin line that was projected with confidence by Hae-Sun Kang, against which pianist Hidéki Nagano created a countering atmosphere of tone with discretion. The subsequent Fanfara e fuga erupted from the two instruments by contrast, the piano part verging on the ascerbic, whilst the violin pursued a more jagged line.

Bruno Mantovani, director of the Paris Conservatoire, is no stranger to gripping the attention of his listeners from the very start of his compositions. This world premiere performance of Carnaval, scored for clarinet, cello and piano, proved no exception with its initial prolonged wailing clarinet statement projecting uncomfortably strongly against the grim grumblings of the sul-ponticello scraping produced by cellist Éric-Maria Couturier. Thereafter the pair often shadowed or commented on each other’s parts throughout the 35 minutes of the piece, which at times took tangents to little effect or interest before suddenly rediscovering a sense of purpose. Moods shimmered forth from the piano, sometimes beguiling, sometimes disturbing in their articulation, passing en-route the shadow of a Wagnerian utterance stripped bare of its weight and grandeur, maybe the merest snatch of tune for the clarinet which was not dwelt upon and more than once a chord that Schumann might have discarded was left exposed on the keyboard.

Matters inevitably became more trenchant, involved and self-absorbed heading towards a maelstrom of turbulence that with some predictability petered out to some thinly veneered piano chords. Perhaps the closing diminuendo proved most pleasing to the ear, and in turn helped secure a strong reception for this over-long essay of successive techniques, even though one was left in no doubt as to the skill of the musicians in their performance.

The emotional searching and angst within Schoenberg’s Pierrot lunaire almost came as light relief after the interval. That stated, the performance with soprano Salomé Haller proved rather more effective in plumbing the depths within the poems as the work progressed. Haller initially found herself almost literally sidelined by the ensemble, perched atop her high bar stool to stage right, with score and music stand acting as further anchors. By slow progression, she fashioned her own intimate stage by rotating the bar stool, and with impeccable diction fashioned a range of character from Schoenberg’s famous speech-song vocal line. Distain was found in Der kranke Mond, a wonderful playfulness marked out Der Dandy, a deliberateness was brought to her acting – vocal and physical – in Madonna, whereas Rote Messe, Galgenlied and Enthauptung seared with the heady mixture vitriol and near depravity that Schoenberg captured so assuredly in 1912. The Ensemble intercontemporain soloist were every bit as involved and involving as Haller in their ability to draw the audience into one of the twentieth century’s towering musical monuments.

Prégardien father and son / Gees @ Wigmore Hall, London 27 November 2014

https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/pregardien-father-son-gees-wigmore-hall-london There might be nothing new about more than one tenor sharing the concert platform, nor anything new about gifted parents sharing the stage with their children. It’s quite a rare thing however for a father and son tenor pairing, Christoph and Julian Prégardien, to prepare an innovative programme that largely constitutes arrangements for two voices of a healthy cross-section of the German lied canon. If one might have been tempted to think that Christoph was using his name to help promote Julian’s career, the evidence of the evening suggested that this was not the prime motivation, as Julian already has a wellestablished career. This recital, given to coincide with the release of an associated recording, featured the performers’ own arrangements and they largely played to their own performing strengths. Throughout it all, Michael Gees, Christoph Prégardien’s long-time recital accompanist, provided support with a lightness of touch that repeatedly brought to mind the refined artistry of Gerald Moore or Geoffrey Parsons.

Each half of the programme contained a pair of songs by Friedrich Silcher (1789-1860), once widely performed but now rather out of fashion, and a robust selection of songs by Schubert. These were prefaced in the first half by a quartet of songs by Mozart and a couple by Beethoven. Mozart’s ‘Sehnsucht nach dem Frühlinge’ served to immediately introduce and contrast the voices with the verse alternating between the singers: on the whole Christoph proved the deeper voice with a crispness of timbre, whilst Julian appeared the more ardent and ripe of tone, if at times a little impetuous. Their arrangement of ‘Abendempfindung’ had all the necessary flow at a moderate tempo, even though one sensed a judicious amount of playing with the tempo being done as things progressed to accommodate both singers. ‘Komm, liebe Zither, Komm’ proved a vehicle for Julian to work effectively with the narrative of the final two stanzas, whilst ‘An Chloe,’ sung by Julian, put across with ease the feeling of an ardent lover confessing details of his latest conquest to his father. Beethoven’s ‘Der Kuß’ also proved a young man’s song for Julian as he sought emphasis of the ecstasy he caused his lover in his use of the text. By contrast, Christoph sought through his solo performance of’ Neue Liebe, neues Leben’ to bring a lifetime’s experience of teasing out the nuance of text with apparently minimal effort. The second half began with a quartet of Brahms’ lieder, all of which, but most especially ‘Die Sonne scheint nicht mehr,’ were sung rather emphatically by the duo and perhaps a touch more subtlety might have been found in the texts.

The four songs by Silcher were somewhat coolly received by the audience, though there was little in the performances that should have prompted this reaction. Perhaps the reason lay more in the songs themselves, since ‘Ännchen von Tharau ‘was rather formal in its construction, though it allowed for some well match sensitivity to be evident in the singing. The impetus behind ‘Frisch gesungen’ (Sing merrily) was slightly lacking to make it match the expectation of the title, since an overtone of melancholy was present.

The duet version of’ O wie herbe ist das Scheiden’ gave the stage to one of Silcher’s folksong settings, of which he was an acknowledged master in his day, and together the Prégardien pair found a certain jewellike simplicity within it. The setting of ‘Loreley’, to Heine’s text, began acapella and following the gentlest introduction of the piano accompaniment proceeded to singing of innate feeling for the sentiments behind the words.

Of the thirteen Schubert songs included across the evening, some grabbed the limelight more than others.

Splitting the narrative of ‘Erlkönig’ between the two singers might have more readily brought out the character, but in doing so it sacrificed a little of the dramatic content due to minor instances of pitch control between the singers. ‘Die Nacht’ lingered in the mind long after the song had finished, whilst the theme of the sea and sea-faring ran through much of the rest of the selection. Together all three performers showed the requisite feeling for Schubertian line and dynamics, even if their re-worked

versions might have to try harder to dislodge the originals from the lieder aficionado consciousness on a longer term basis.

Chung / Kenner @ Royal Festival Hall, London 2 December 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/chung-kenner-royal-festival-hall-london

Since her enforced retirement in 2005 due to a hand injury and having spent much time teaching since then, could Kyung Wha Chung re-conquer the stage that launched her career in the West?

The concert opened with Mozart’s sonata in G minor, K. 379, rather an odd choice since, as with many of Mozart’s violin sonatas, it is a work that places a dominant focus on the pianist’s role. Kevin Kenner met the challenge with robust brio from the opening flourish, integrating the ornamentation into the overall structure with tasteful discretion. Kyung Wha Chung, however, initially appeared a touch more reserved as she played from the score. Despite some robustly articulated phrases, there were several which suffered from being poorly intonated or bowed in a manner that completed the line in a sadly abrupt way, particularly in the Allegro section. But then, even when Chung was a regular on the world violin circuit she was ever one to do things capriciously. In the final paragraphs of the movement a pleasing sense of tonal majesty was evident from Chung, which Kevin Kenner sought to match with the grandeur of his playing.

The interval between the two movements was marked by extended and full-throated audience coughing, which noticeably irritated Chung. Just as Chung was about to resume playing a child coughed repeatedly in the slip stalls, prompting Chung to suggest that the parent bring the child back to a concert when older.

Even if Chung was somewhat on edge at that moment, her interjection did nothing to calm the situation as shortly after this I witnessed a parent and two young children voluntarily exit the hall. Throughout the remainder of the concert Chung was to repeatedly fling glances towards where they had been sitting. The second movement did possess restraint in the crispness of Kenner’s playing and a certain filigree finesse in Chung’s playing of the violin part, finding meat on the bones of the variations of thematic material.

Prokofiev’s first violin sonata, written between 1938 and 1946, received an altogether more visceral performance which went some way to bring the concert to the level one had hoped might be achieved. The opening Andante assai was sombre, bare and uneasy, and Chung’a fearless attack and drive continued into the second movement, with its emphatic jarring jocularity. Thrilling if rather raspy depths of tone were evident here, quickly succeeded by some anxiously grasped mid-range utterances; at times near over-use of vibrato became a dominant feature but it merely added to the white hot drama of things that Kevin Kenner drove forward with inexorable dynamic force. A contemporary of Prokofiev’s piano ‘war sonatas’ the work might be – and it would be good to hear Kenner tackle those works in future – but rarely has the experience of watching a performance added so much to the experience: Chung’s sweeping bow arm articulations, controlled with absolute precision, meant she might just as well have been lobbing grenades over enemy lines every time she let forth another volley of yawps, screeches and yearning sighs.

An expressive depth of reflection for the state of humanity in a war-torn Europe forms the basis for the third movement Andante, and both performers proved alive to every nuance of meaning within the music.

The playing carried all the required gutsiness but within it also fleeting moments of elegance that spoke

almost of another time and place. Ultimately though it’s the violinist who feels this work’s personal drama the most, and Kyung Wha Chung did not shy away from ending the work as it had begun, with an uneasy and unnerving gasp of despair.

After the interval, Kyung Wha Chung took to the stage with what is still arguably the greatest challenge for a solo violinist: the Chaconne from Bach’s Partita number 2 in D minor. Given from memory, alone amongst the works on the programme to be performed thus, the piece’s full majesty gradually unfolded; whilst an impressive technical range was easy to admire, it was the sense of evolving architecture and form that Chung brought out that was most impressive. At its climax the cathedral of sound surrounding her had both elements of tonal richness and half-lit asides of delicacy within it. Fearless in the precision of her attack, but also with warmth in her vibrato-laden tone that reminded of many a yesteryear artist, Chung fashioned a convincing reading.

Franck’s Violin sonata in A major is a work Kyung Wha Chung has twice recorded, in 1980 with Radu Lupu and 1988 with Phillip Moll. This performance with Kevin Kenner got very much to the heart of the matter with the Romantic sensibility palpable from first to last in the opening movement’s meandering ardent phrases. Extremity of tempo choice for the second movement might have pushed things off course, were not Chung and Kenner fully up to the task in securing a thrilling reading that relied as much on the inner passagework as the main statements for its effectiveness. Dark deliberation imbued the third movement, prior to a return to outward ebullience in the finale. Flowers galore and standing ovations followed with some predictability, for what was a recital of somewhat mixed results.

Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra of London / Petrie @ Cadogan Hall, London 12 December 2014 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/philharmonic-chamber-orchestra-london-petriecadogan-hall-london Christmas concerts tend to fall into two groups, the overly saccharine kind that are quickly forgotten or those that maintain performance values of merit that last in the memory. This concert was definitely one of the latter kind.

Christopher Petrie’s Christmas Carol Fantasia was a set of arrangements for chamber orchestra of seven international carol tunes. Under Petrie’s unobtrusive direction the sequence gradually unfolded, taking the listener on a musical journey from Ukraine via Romania, Germany, France, Ireland, Wales and finally to England. There was atmospheric warmth of tone in the strings throughout, and further imaginative touches in the orchestration that ensured the contrasting characters of the melodies stood out. Particularly noteworthy were the effective combination of celeste, oboe and marimba in Silent Night and leader Tanya Sweiry’s solos in the Irish carol. A slight slip of intonation from the horns at the start of the Coventry Carol marred the enjoyable grouping, which presented its moments of joyous material with confident but nuanced playing.

The five vignettes that comprise Ravel’s Mother Goose Suite might have been written with children in mind, but they showcase the essence of his artistry as an orchestrator and, under the right direction, make plain the fact that music for children can simultaneously delight and have a lightly worn sophistication about it. Sleeping Beauty’s Pavane – little more than a paragraph of delicacy for flute, harp and strings – was played with charm. Little Tom’s Thumb had a lingering air of nostalgia with the melody captured in the unforced ambiance of the full string body. Little Ugly Girl, Empress of the Pagodas proved most appropriately a fantasy of exotic expression with its splashes of orchestral colour deployed with a lightness of touch and certain dramatic flair under Petrie’s attentive baton. The contrasting characters within Conversations of Beauty and the Beast were readily conveyed: the former enticing in her lilting femininity from the violins whilst the latter stammered out a sentence from the cellos and double basses.

In conclusion, The Fairy Garden was given with ensemble playing of finesse that captured the childish wonder Ravel intended.

Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto might be one of the great warhorses of the violin repertoire, but Remus Azoitei’s playing of it urged one to listen to it afresh and made me question how critic Eduard Hanslick could have ever thought it to be “music that stinks in the ear”. The opening Allegro moderato found Christopher Petrie propel the orchestra with much needed dynamic enthusiasm, securing tonal depth from his players. Remus Azoitei exuded authority with his initial entry and this was unwavering throughout. It is not that often though that one finds an artist shading down the solo line to give as intimate an account of Tchaikovsky’s score that found as much of interest in the intricacies of passagework rather than just revelling in the robust and grandiose passages. Indeed, Azoitei’s playing of the cadenza further proved the point he made that with phrasing and playing of innate musicality and intelligence Tchaikovsky’s concerto can still prove a work of great interest and imagination. The woodwind chorale that began the Canzonetta was played with depth of feeling and established an appropriate mood for the second movement. Remus Azoitei imbued his solo line with judicious use of vibrato to achieve a brightness of tone that was immaculately elegant and virtuosic in the best sense of the word. A greater sense of contrast was to be experienced in the closing movement, Allegro vivacissimo, in which its initial orchestral and solo interactions fizzed like newly opened champagne. With support from Petrie and the orchestra, succeeding passages drawn from Russian and peasant dances were gradually built by Azoitei towards an ebullient conclusion, all the more effective for having its emotions carefully controlled until the very final passages.

On this evidence, it’s surprising that Azoitei does not have a greater solo career, since he is an artist of individuality with much more to say than many of the more often encountered soloists. Hopefully it will not be long before that changes for the better, and certainly the enthusiastic reception his playing received reinforces the point.

As a solo encore Remus Azoitei offered The fiddler, the opening movement from Enescu’s Impressions d’Enfance. With the experience of an artist for whom Enescu’s music is second nature the specific blend of character portrait-painting of an old Romanian violinist and heart-on-sleeve feeling for his instinctual art was expressively and movingly conveyed.

2013 UK concert reviews Dariescu / RPO/Greenwood @ Royal Albert Hall, London 7 June 2013 Billed as the “Ode to Joy” concert in the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra’s The Great Classics series, this concert presented two of Beethoven’s most famous works to a near capacity filled Royal Albert Hall. Rather than being a total cause for joy, the evening turned out to be a concert of two halves.

With the first half devoted to the Emperor concerto, Andrew Greenwood led a rather efficient yet effective account of the opening movement. Alexandra Dariescu, making her debut at the Royal Albert Hall, played the solo part in a way that balanced the bravura grand gestures with the more inward looking passages, which demonstrated much in the way of musical intelligence. Overall, Dariescu tended towards a more lyrical reading of Beethoven’s score which showed care in its shaping and execution.

The second movement was given with a sense of tenderness by soloist and orchestra alike, with the latter exploiting the interplay of wind instrumentation that it contains. Therefore, it was more than a little unfortunate that in the Royal Albert Hall’s cavernous acoustic that some of the delicacy of Dariescu’s playing was lost. In the interval, this point did not go without comment by several in the audience around me. The final movement, however, found matters brought to a pleasing and rousing conclusion, with Dariescu meeting the challenge head on. If the enthusiastic audience reception was anything to go by, Alexandra Dariescu established that she is an artist to listen out for in the future.

Andrew Greenwood’s conducting of the Choral symphony started interestingly enough with a good choice of tempo that propelled things along winningly, but after only a little way into the opening movement the reading relaxed into something of a routine that espoused the obvious points that any other reasonable performance might have made. The second movement found much being made of the music’s inner workings, with some sense of character returning because of this. There were issues of balance however since the timpani player was apt to pounce rather too enthusiastically onto his drums. The third movement was arguably the most cogently formed of the four, suitably soft-edged in tone and pastoral in feel so as to recall some of the rusticity in Beethoven’s sixth symphony. Some depth of feeling was brought to the introduction of the fourth movement, although Simon Thorpe’s singing of Beethoven’s famous lines ‘O Freunde, nicht diese Töne! Sondern laßt uns angenehmere anstimmen, und freudenvollere‘ was slightly laboured and lacked the requisite impact. That comment, however, could not be levelled at the combined forces of the Royal and Guildford Choral Societies, who were forthright of tone and well trained. In the sections for solo quartet, tenor Christopher Turner was up to the task, whilst Louise Winter’s purposeful mezzo was often at risk of being overshadowed by Rachel Nicholls’ blustery soprano.

In the end then, overall, these were three star performances, whilst Alexandra Dariescu performed beyond this level.

Prom 1: BBCSO/Oramo @ Royal Albert Hall, London 12 July 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-1-bbcsooramo-royal-albert-hall-london

There was a spring in Sakari Oramo’s step as he strode towards the podium in the Royal Albert Hall to lead the BBC Symphony Orchestra as its new Chief Conductor for the first time on the opening night of the 2013 BBC Proms season. The evening’s programme was well constructed to introduce several leitmotifs that will be in evidence throughout the season: the world première of a new work, celebrations of Lutosławski and Britten’s centenary birthdays (orchestral excerpts from one of the latter’s operas making a nod to the unusually large helping of opera this year), a perennial crowd-pleaser and a large-scale choral work. As if to make up for the lack of Wood’s Fantasia on British Sea Songs as part of the Last Night in eight weeks’ time, the sea was present here courtesy of Britten and Vaughan Williams. All told then, the concert held out much to intrigue and impress.

Julian Anderson’s Harmony, a BBC commission written earlier this year, sets a text adapted from the 19thcentury mystical poet Richard Jefferies and aims to capture in a five-minute duration the essence of eternity. Forming an arc of sound that began and ended with carefully crafted pianissimi, the instrumental and choral forces alike were articulate in exposing the revelation of eternity’s grandeur, hinting at the expansive shifts of expressiveness that the human soul is capable of. Under Oramo’s direction the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus and the BBC Proms Youth Choir gave a confident performance that was warmly applauded by the composer from his seat in the stalls.

Benjamin Britten’s Four Sea Interludes from Peter Grimes were conducted by Oramo almost as an orchestral suite with only the minutest of breaks between each interlude. Together they created an impressive orchestral tableau whose drama was filled out by incidents of colourful interest in the writing, for the most part well realised. In Dawn, the ebb and flow of the morning tide found the brass fulsomely toned as the textural undercurrents bubbled along. Sunday morning, the second interlude, was a rather bright affair, benefiting perhaps from greater flamboyancy of gesture from Oramo than had hitherto been in evidence. Moonlight proceeded at a rather too deliberate tempo, though the tendency to exactitude returned at the expense of some feeling for the mood behind the notes. By contrast, the ensuing Storm almost became all-consuming in its tumult.

Rachmaninov and Lutosławski took Paganini’s 24th Caprice as their inspiration for the works that followed, and shared Stephen Hough as the soloist. Rachmaninov’s evergreen Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini found Hough alive to the nuance of the writing, delivering it with his inimitable crisp and clear touch. Together with the orchestra he realised a performance that spoke as much through its restraint as the ability to advocate a well-loved tune. The famous eighteenth variation was not over-blown, but tastefully integrated into the whole as it should be, before Hough proceeded to a pleasingly wry concluding solo statement. Lutosławski’s Variations almost seemed to pick up where Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody left off, with deliciously edgy woodwinds in the orchestra to accompany Hough’s masterful playing of the intricate solo part. The music moved from Lutosławski’s conception of a nineteenth century sound-world, to the filigree delicacy of his own style in 1941 with its slow tempo and atmosphere of calm beautifully realised, and lastly to the growing density of timbre of his later 1970s style which was thrown off with irony and acerbity.

Filling the second half, Vaughan Williams’ A Sea Symphony is exactly the kind of large choral work that is best served by the Proms within the Royal Albert Hall’s cavernous acoustic. The first movement opened with the choruses in suitably emphatic voice, before Roderick Williams’ focussed and rounded baritone made its telling contribution. Both Williams and Sally Matthews drew from their experience and skill as

song recitalists to draw out specific textual lines which helped make sense of Walt Whitman’s verses.

Matthews’ lyricism and opulently creamy tone made for a good vocal pairing in the soloists’ duo passages.

Much of the feeling for nocturnal atmosphere which had eluded Sakari Oramo earlier during the Britten Interludes was present in the symphony’s second movement. The low and deep sonorities of the orchestra were matched by the sotto voce chorus and meditative baritone solo. The third movement scherzo drew its surging energy from the text in a colourful and well-drilled performance from the choruses. It is arguable though that the final movement finds Vaughan Williams at his most adventurous as a composer, since the selected Whitman texts urge a change of course from the merely descriptive to more philosophical and inwardly questioning terrain. In the context of the concert, suggestive links were felt between Julian Anderson’s work and Vaughan Williams’ with references to the questing Soul in the vastness of Space and Time. In the performance, control and abandon at times both held sway amongst the forces to often thrilling effect. Hopefully, Sakari Oramo will explore Vaughan Williams further with the BBC Symphony Orchestra throughout his tenure with them.

Prom 9: BBCNOW/Søndergård @ Royal Albert Hall, London 18 July 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-9-bbc-national-orchestra-ofwalessondergard-royal-albert-hall-london Thomas Søndergård and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales offered a thrilling programme of Stenhammar, Szymanowski and Richard Strauss for their first BBC Prom in the 2013 season. Although Strauss’ Alpine Symphony is nowadays a well-known vehicle for an orchestra to show off its versatility, Szymanowski still remains under-appreciated despite the best efforts of several significant conductors and ensembles in recent years, whilst Stenhammar’s music can do with all the all the advocates it can get.

Taking a seat in the stalls, my only regret was that more people were not present. At least the back third of the arena was empty and large numbers of seats were vacant, so hopefully the radio and online audience made some compensation for this. This was certainly intelligent programming, since Stemhammar, a leading pianist of his day, once performed in Berlin under Strauss’ baton, whilst Szymanowski continued the exploration of Polish music throughout the Proms season.

Stenhammar wrote his symphonic overture Excelsior! in1896 at the age of 25 and the music is certainly possessed of youthful self-belief which mixes his Swedish roots with musical language of very Germanic late-Romantic heritage. Søndergård led a performance that was alive with nuance whilst being taught in structure from the overture’s dynamic and surging opening theme to its later more keenly accented material. If the emphasis was initially towards the top string lines, passion and contrast were to be added through the telling contributions of cellos and basses, piquant woodwinds and the brass whose parts largely brought the crux of this dramatic music to a head. Søndergård took care to layer the textures on top of one another to build an imposing body of sound which proved gripping stuff when in full flow. The conclusion found a beautifully brassy bloom echoing throughout the Royal Albert Hall.

The sound world of Szymanowski’s third symphony is rather different, though no less luxuriant. From its initial darkly hued passages, Szymanowski creates an imagined world of orientalism that carries the sensuousness of the night forth on a judicious mixture of lengthy string passages and skilfully mixed individual timbres: the combination of piano, trombone, triangle, drum and wordless chorus remains in the mind. Control and incisive detail met with languid tone before giving way with ease to thunderous acclamation from the orchestral and choral forces under Søndergård’s baton. For his part, Michael Weinius proved a tenor soloist with forthright tone and well supported if throaty voice, cutting a clear swathe through all but the most climactic of passages. If the impassioned ecstacy was forcefully rendered in this performance then the aftermath possessed enough to provide contrast where it was needed.

Thomas Søndergård led an energetic and bracing account of Strauss’ alpine tone poem. As was by now evident, he is a conductor that has a flair for the grand statement and big musical moments. His players might be more cognisant of the environs of Snowdonia, yet under Søndergård’s baton they proved unafraid of scaling Strauss’s Bavarian peaks in style and with a fair degree of confidence. This was a performance that painted the scene in primary colours for the most part, Sunrise flamingly bright and every trickle of water falling from the waterfall registered with ease. Full use was made of the Royal Albert Hall to accommodate a phalanx of off-stage trumpets in the gallery and rather cacophonous cowbells in two stalls doorways. Indeed, at times both the forward momentum of Søndergård’s interpretation and his enthusiasm to be fully involved in the broad sweep (his gestures, particularly the constant quiver in the left hand, are the antithesis of Strauss’ own meticulous conducting method) and some minutiae of interpretation meant that ideal balance and perspective was occasionally sacrificed. Being seated directly across from the Wagner tubas, trombones and trumpets had me pinned to the back of my seat with their full-on tutti playing, but the experience was certainly an exciting one when it came to finally reaching the summit and feeling the full force of the thunderstorm. Were it to have been a more rounded interpretation

of Strauss’ score though, the moments of uncertainty that the mountaineer experiences – Lost in thickets and undergrowth or Precarious moments, for example – would have been more tellingly integrated into the whole, an approach that Bernard Haitink demonstrated effortlessly last season with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. In the end though, Søndergård saw night return and brought the tone poem’s music full circle to complete the evening to a warm, enthusiastic reception.

Prom 17: BBC Philharmonic/Mena @ Royal Albert Hall, London 25 July 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-17-bbc-philharmonicmena-royal-albert-halllondon

The theme of music and dance in this year’s season was launched in emphatic style by Les Siècles and François-Xavier Roth in Prom 4 with their infectious survey of music for the French stage. The programme for the BBC Philharmonic’s dance-themed Prom focused on Spanish flavoured repertoire in the second half, playing to the strengths of Juanjo Mena, their Spanish-born chief conductor. The first half, however, was more varied with its pairing of a world premiere by John McCabe and Beethoven’s seventh symphony.

In his programme note, McCabe describes Joybox as “an entertainment piece” inspired by the multifarious patterns created by the noise of a Japanese ‘entertainment centre’. A brief look through the full score before the performance confirmed it as a precisely scored and highly rhythmic piece of seven minutes’ duration. Initially seemingly jazz influenced it proceeded through accented passages that tightened the textural palette gradually and explored full orchestral tutti briefly, if somewhat savagely, before relaxing into a decrescendo that found a solo drum tapping out the initial rhythmic figure by way of a conclusion.

Juanjo Mena’s direction was efficient and his reception for the composer during the applause was enthusiastic, as he lost no time in cutting a path through the Arena to the stalls seat that McCabe occupied.

Beethoven’s seventh symphony, regarded by Wagner as “the apotheosis of the dance”, was given a performance whose parts did not give satisfaction in the whole when reflected upon in its entirety. The first movement was overly weighty, with a somewhat broad tempo that smouldered slowly before fully catching light after a somewhat clumsy transition to the Vivace passage. The second movement was prone to have a piquant edge from its outset, before becoming overly serious in its overall outlook that risked sacrificing too much of the delicacy within its classical form and structure. The third movement Presto and concluding Allegro con brio were rather more successful, their clean lines, sprightly tempi and lithe textures coming alive more naturally under Juanjo Mena’s alert baton.

After the interval, Mena’s Manchurian forces sounded thoroughly at home with Falla’s witty and colourful inflections, which serve to give much in the way of interest to his sadly under-performed score for The Three-Corner Hat. Clara Mouriz proved peerless as a mezzo soloist in this repertoire, the only regret being that her contributions were all too brief. Hopefully in a future season she will be given the opportunity to showcase a more extensive selection of her native repertoire alongside Mena, with whom she is building on-going collaborations. The Antonio Márquez company danced the ballet in characterful fashion on a narrow stage apron between the orchestra and the Arena. At times their steps risked drowning out some of the music’s details, whilst drawing upon the somewhat anachronistic contrast of the tricorned elderly judge and the thoroughly simple mannered miller, danced by Márquez himself, or his irrepressible flirt of a wife to great comedic effect. In the end though, perhaps de Falla’s score deserved to be more centre stage than many might have perceived it to be on the night.

A lengthy solo danced introduction (improvised?) to Ravel’s Bolero almost found the music sidelined once again, yet once Mena took to the podium and began its slow pulsating ostinato Ravel began to assume his rightful place in proceedings. This might have been a Bolero danced to traditional flamenco styled choreography, but the dancer’s rhythms were often at odds with those propelled from the orchestra, which gradually lessened the music’s impact once again. Mena though seemed to be revelling in the moment, conducting with loose yet rhythmic verve that came as much from his shoulders as his wrists. A partial encore of Bolero gave the dancers further rein to impress before another unaccompanied company and solo displays. Perhaps unsurprisingly, these proved to be rather blatant clap traps which achieved their desired effect.

Prom 75: BBCSO/Alsop @ Royal Albert Hall, London 7 September 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/prom-75-bbcsoalsop-royal-albert-hall-london The Last Night of the Proms is a heady mix of tradition, innovation, starry soloists, popular bon-bons and obscure curios, serious music-making and fun. This year, the evening’s programme had a foot firmly planted on each side of the Atlantic, whilst taking time to make judicious nods to other European countries’ cultural contributions and the acknowledgement of anniversaries for Wagner, Verdi, Britten and George Lloyd.

In a programme over-stuffed with overtures and anthems of one kind or another, one might have taken routine music making as the default position, yet Marin Alsop was having none of it. From first to last, her direction was purposeful, attentive, caring and, above all, replete with musical finesse.

Anna Clyne, London born and US resident, exemplifies the transatlantic special relationship of the evening: her commissioned concert opener Masquerade was effective, being initially acerbic in the brass, swirling in the strings and quirky with its use of percussion. Germany’s principal representation came in the form of Wagner’s Die Meistersinger overture, in which the majestic sweep of the principal lines found warmth and cohesion in the BBC Symphony Orchestra’s string and brass sections.

By contrast, the third overture of the first half, Britten’s The Building of the House, was a somewhat terse and pungent affair. It benefited though from the solid contribution of the BBC Symphony Chorus. Their contribution also proved both uplifting and valedictory in a beautifully controlled performance of Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms, in which Iestyn Davies was a most sensitive and affecting soloist.

Restraint might not be the word that comes most readily to mind when considering Nigel Kennedy, but he effortlessly held the rapt attention of the capacity audience with his tastefully shaded solo line in Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending, and was fully deserving of the enthusiastic applause he received. Joyce DiDonato brought vocal brio to Massenet’s Cherubin, sustained and elegant simplicity of tonal projection to Handel’s Xerxes, and knowing control of her vocal fireworks in Rossini’s La donna del lago.

Marin Alsop did her mentor Leonard Bernstein a further favour in the second half with the overture from Candide, followed by a refulgent account of Make Our Garden Grow from the BBC Symphony Chorus.

Their account of Verdi’s ‘Va, pensiero’ from Nabucco – to this day the unofficial Italian national anthem – was tasteful rather than truly heartfelt. Joyce DiDonato sprinkled stardust over Harold Arlen’s Over the Rainbow, which she dedicated as an “anthem” to the gay community worldwide. Later, she brought some feeling to Richard Rodgers’ ‘You’ll never walk alone’ – no doubt keeping some football fans happy in the process – and the traditional ‘Londonderry Air’. In both she was joined by the massed audience to raise the roof for the first, but not the last time.

Nigel Kennedy returned to make his own inimitable contribution to the silver screen derived theme, with an arrangement of Vittorio Monti’s Csárdás. His loves of improvisation, jazz and world routes came to the fore alongside cheeky inclusions of Beethoven et al in this willful jamming session that found Alsop and the BBC Symphony Orchestra doing their best to follow his infectious associations. By this stage balloons were bobbing around the arena gleefully, party poppers going off at will and flags were waived joyously, drowning out the occasional curmudgeonly voice within earshot.

The season’s maritime theme was represented by Bantock’s well crafted and colourful curiosity The Sea Reivers, deftly dispatched, and George Lloyd’s HMS ‘Trinidad’ march, which bristled with a sea-salty tang, hornpipes, whistles and all. These replacements for Wood’s traditional sea shanties on the time-honoured programme were merely the final preludes to the true start of the end of term party. Arne’s Rule

Britannia was given large by all, DiDonato included, who was by now thoroughly in the crowd-pleasing party mood.

Alsop lost no time in thanking the audience for their contribution to Land of Hope and Glory – “sung like natives, but in a good way”, she claimed with a twinkle in her eye. In her speech, Marin Alsop rightly took care to mention the transforming power of music and urged other women follow the path to the podium, or wherever else their dreams may take them. Such heartfelt sentiments were easily transferred into music, first in Elgar’s exuberant orchestration of Parry’s Jerusalem and, finally, in Britten’s refined arrangement of the National Anthem. When all’s said and done, history has already written the date down as the first occasion a woman conducted the Last Night of the Proms, but those who were there will remember it as an enjoyable concert of fine music-making that did credit to all who took part. No doubt Richard Strauss’ 150th anniversary will be a mainstay of next season. Bring it on!

Menahem Pressler and Friends @ Wigmore Hall, London 9 September 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/menahem-pressler-friends-wigmore-hall-london

Menahem Pressler unassumingly took to the Wigmore Hall stage, greeted with rapturous applause. Having paused only for a quick glance at his illustrious colleagues, he began a reading of Mozart’s G minor piano quartet that was immediately refined yet confidently shaped. The opening movement was one of sensitivity, simplicity of line and warm, almost organic growth. The second movement formed the emotional core of the work as it should, and all four players had it positively palpitating with energy that spoke of feelings barely held in check. A somewhat discreet introduction from the keyboard was heightened by the cello before being given added depth by the remaining strings. By contrast the concluding Rondo movement was played with deft sparkle and lightness of touch, which allowed the key change near the movement’s conclusion to register its dark undercurrent fully.

Turina’s seldom-played A minor piano quartet is definitely a work that deserves to be more frequently heard, as this no holds barred performance readily demonstrated. The opening Lento was replete with a smoky Spanish tang, exuberant with the frisson of a matador going breathlessly into a fight. In this way the music laid out an atmospheric narrative. Particularly gripping were the unison strings against heard against the piano, then a brief cello solo backdropped by the trio, which preceded a punchy and emphatic ending.

Greater subtlety of textures filled the second movement, which was emphasised by the music’s seemingly mercurial changes of direction, mood and temperament. There was no doubting the players’ ability to throw it all off with beguiling ease. The last movement might have begun where the first one had finished; replete with solo passions and superbly articulated lines, the various threads were gathered together in a thrilling conclusion.

The second half was devoted to Schumann’s E flat piano quartet. If the opening movement was initially tentative and subdued as Schumann would have wished for, the music soon bloomed and showed unity of purpose and understanding on the part of all concerned. The second movement was nimble and crisp, carefully played yet never too much so as to become too studied a performance. A sense of luminosity also marked out the third movement, and the transitions between the music’s sections were dexterously handled. The final movement found the music’s various lines of thought masterfully presented, contrasted,

gathered and concluded with abandon by four instrumentalists playing as obviously for their own enjoyment as that of their audience.

The encore was a Schumann Albumblatt – dedicated from the stage by Pressler to a dear friend in the hall – delicately perfumed yet stirring at the same time. Interpretively the four were so on the button in terms of style and nuance that I hardly wanted the music to end. It will be a very long time indeed before I hear a better piano quartet play in concert.

Graffin/Désert @ Wigmore Hall, London 15 September 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/graffindesert-wigmore-hall-london

This Sunday morning coffee concert at Wigmore Hall contained four works, each written in the five year span between 1922 and 1927. At the recital’s centre stood George Enescu, who both personally and musically provided the link between the worlds of Ernst von Dohnányi and Maurice Ravel. Thus, in the space of an hour, Phillipe Graffin and Claire Désert took the listener on a journey from the rather old world folk-inspired timbres of Hungary and Romania to the distinctly modern world of Gallic chic, that mixed blues and jazz influences with a more classically orientated mindset.

Dohnányi’s Ruralia Hungarica, dating from 1924, was written very much in the parlando rubato manner.

Graffin explored the range of his instrument with expressive feeling, as he brought out the deep sighs, some wilful edgy stammerings and more connected thoughts of the single movement with ease. The accompaniment however maintained an even mezzo-forte throughout and in this there was some identification with the more artfully constructed upper range writing of the violin. As a whole the piece served as a useful prelude for listeners new to Enescu’s third violin sonata to the complexities of Enescu’s sound world.

From my previous experience of hearing Graffin play Enescu (Impressions d’Enfance rather than the third violin sonata), his approach has been to favour the spirit rather than the absolute letter of the score. With the sonata, dating from 1926, his approach seems not yet to have settled so that the work’s various facets showed real cohesion. The first movement showed him either to be almost too subtle of tone at times or too taken with a driven steely timbre. Désert proved, as ever, characterful in her playing.

The middle movement took the violin’s part to an edgy extreme, where harmonics approximated the sound Enescu’s carefully notated fingerings intended. At the movement’s centre is a violent change of emotions recalling a storm in a rural village and for Graffin brought out both intended and unintended links to sections of Enescu’s Impressions d’Enfance. The third movement continued in a rather over-anxious manner: by this stage Graffin’s tone was distinctly raspy, but the duo were able to rise to the passionate climax of the work’s conclusion. Overall though, despite Désert taking note of Enescu’s naming it a sonata for piano and violin – both instruments in equality – I remain to be convinced that they yet have the full

measure of Enescu’s musical conception, but with more time progress might yet be made towards a fine interpretation.

Graffin seemed at once more relaxed when on native ground, as it were, with Maurice Ravel’s 1922 Berceuse sur le nom de Gabriel Fauré. Fauré was the teacher of Ravel and Enescu – they were classmates at the Paris Conservatoire, and both in turn paid a musical tribute to their master. Graffin caught with ease the air of Gallic amiability that infuses Ravel’s writing, with the simplicity of the violin’s opening line discretely stated, before developing more exotic wholly Ravellian textures in both parts.

In 1937, with the ink still wet on the manuscript paper containing his violin sonata, Ravel dashed to Enescu’s Paris apartment for a play-through. Enescu obliged with the solo line as Ravel accompanied, closing the autograph after a single reading to repeat the work from memory. In this performance though, Graffin’s head remained buried in the score. That notwithstanding, an elegant lightness imbued the opening movement alongside some moments of seeming nervousness. The bluesy second movement captured the intended mood wonderfully, before the closing two movements linked together to form a stream of musical thought as compelling in its forceful argument as in its playing from a duo at last giving of their absolute best.

Rashidova/Chadwick @ Wigmore Hall, London 26 September 2013 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/rashidovachadwick-wigmore-hall-london

This lunchtime recital at Wigmore Hall served two purposes: it marked the venue debut of violinist Nazrin Rashidova and launched her recording with pianist Roderick Chadwick of duo repertoire by Leopold Godowsky, released on the Naxos label. Godowsky featured in the recital, but the programme was constructed to showcase several aspects of the two musicians’ art.

Mozart’s sonata in B flat, K. 378, had immediate fluidity of tempo in the opening movement and the instrumental balance somewhat favoured the keyboard, but Nazrin Rashidova made her mark too with tonal cohesion and an innate understanding of Mozartian style that was never overstated. The middle movement was suitably filled with cantabile violin lines, discretely sustained over the evenly figured piano accompaniment. The finale contrasted nicely, with dashing brio exhibited by both players keen to make emphases register where possible whilst maintaining an ambiance of bonhomie.

Five of Godowsky’s Twelve Impressions were selected for inclusion, with three at this point in the programme. Written in 1916 and dedicated to Fritz Kreisler and his wife, Godowsky’s pieces are unashamedly heart-on-sleeve Romantic stuff. The first, Largetto lamentoso, showed its emotional depth in the long vibrato-enhanced violin lines laid over rich, deep piano chords, its train of thought carefully built and masterfully handled in the concluding decrescendo. The second Impression, Profile (Chopin), had obvious links to Chopin’s waltzes. If the opening statement seemed initially a touch impetuous in Rashidova’s hands, it quickly settled to a romance of elegance that was played with deft flair. The ninth Impression followed, Valse Macabre, a waltz of an altogether more robust making, which found both artists turning inferences into downright declarations with assuredness.

Szymanowski’s Myths formed another significant element within the whole, but in rather unusual circumstances for a concert setting. The Fountain of Arethusa was separated from the later movements Dryads and Pan by the presence of two of Moritz Moszkowski’s Spanish Dances. There is no doubt that this created a greater sense of contrast between the individual items but for all the enjoyment of it I cannot help wondering if this is an approach I would like to encounter often. The Fountain of Arethusa found a barest thread of tone turn to a tumult of passions by Rashidova’s violin over the impression of dappled wateriness in Chadwick’s effortless handling of the piano part. Glacial harmonies too

emanated with ease from Rashidova’s incisive fingerwork which was matched by her no-holds-barred bowing, building the tension inexorably. The muted strings used within Dryads lent immediate atmosphere against the brilliance of Chadwick’s pianism. Pan was possessed of a compelling unity of purpose from both players: exactly intoned harmonics once more gave way to a reading that was at once threatening, thrilling and powerfully shaped without resorting to artifice.

The two Spanish Dances by Moritz Moszkowski brought differing characters to the recital stage. The second dance of the set displayed a rather middle-European face of passions held in close check, once the initial theme had been presented. The occasional virtuosic firework was launched by Rashidova when required, yet by now it was clear that she is at heart a serious violinist who has no mere reliance on showy display.

The fifth dance was again a bravura piece, more overtly Spanish of flavour. If momentarily absolute security of intonation escaped Rashidova, her playing, confidently supported by Chadwick, lacked nothing in spirit and panache. Together they handled the mercurial transitions of material with ease and maintained a robust sense of structure.

A final pairing of Godowsky’s Impressions completed the programme. The Tyrolean (Schuhplattler) was a lively clog dance, suitably mannered, somewhat four-square in form and hard-edged in the violin part, yet in a manner that suited the writing. The Wienerisch – in the Viennese manner – was gentle, elegant and filled with the insouciance of nineteenth-century café culture society. There’s no doubt that Godowsky’s music is of its time, but also no reason why it should not be hard more often today.

For the encore one might have expected more Godowsky, but instead it was Kreisler’s Caprice Viennois, aptly continuing the mood of the preceding Godowsky. Always a good digestif after a filling main course, the playing was expressive and tasteful before concluding with a final showy gesture filled with the confidence of artists who know fully what they are capable of. I hope to hear Nazrin Rashidova and Roderick Chadwick again in concert before too long.

2012 UK concert reviews Dmitri Hvorostovsky opens the new season at Wigmore Hall Reviewed at Wigmore Hall, London on 8 September 2012 Rachmaninov, Child, thou art as beautiful as a flower, Op.8 no.2; Morning, Op.4 no.2; At the gate of the holy monastery; In my soul, Op.14 no.10; Night is sorrowful, Op.26 no.12; Do you remember the evening?; I am alone again, Op.26 no.9; How fair this spot (Zdes' khorosho), Op.21 no.7; The raising of Lazarus, Op.34 no.6; Lilacs (Siren'), Op.21 no.5; I await you, (Ja zhdu tebja) Op.14 no.1 Shostakovich, Michelangelo Suite on Verses by Buonarroti for bass and piano, Op.145 Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Baritone; Ivari Ilja, Piano https://bachtrack.com/review-wigmore-hall-hvorostovsky-ilja-rachmaninov-shostakovich Across town the Proms were sounding their final hurrah for another year, but Wigmore Hall opened their 2012/13 season with an altogether more serious repertoire of Rachmaninov and Shostakovich songs. As the well established partnership of baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky and pianist Ivari Ilja, whom I last heard together at Wigmore Hall in another all-Russian programme in 2010, walked onto the unusually gloomily-lit stage and reached for their sheet music, the auguries for what was to come seemed far from auspicious.

This was somewhat surprising, not least given that the duo have fairly recently released a CD of Rachmaninov songs, which no doubt this concert was in part aiming to promote.

Taken song by song, the 11 Rachmaninov songs which comprised the first half of the concert were pleasing enough, but as a group it was like being asked to digest one richly flavoured, meaty morsel after another in quick succession. It is possible, indeed tempting, to cite the prevailing sense of disillusion conveyed by the lyrics of romances such as “Within my heart”, “The night is mournful”, “I am alone again” and “I am waiting for you” as contributing to this. The diet became harder to stomach with the inclusion of the overly serious religious songs “By the gates of a holy temple” and “The raising of Lazarus”, whereas more of the inner contentment and joy of “How fair this spot” and “Lilacs” would have proved a welcome relief. It was a further pity then that Hvorostovsky’s approach did not seek to make more of his chosen repertoire. His famed vocal technique was secure as ever, his tone was constantly robust and his diction precise, but song delivery needs more than just those qualities. What was needed was for the passionate feeling behind the words to spring forth impulsively and not to remain caught between printed page and the singer’s intermittent eye contact with his audience. Only rarely did Hvorostovsky willingly keep the volume much below a mezzo-forte, notably in “Lilacs”, showing as with the recital two years ago that his innate urge for showmanship can run at odds with the requirements of an intimate recital acoustic such as Wigmore Hall, that allow inferences to have impact. An increasingly obvious tendency to aspirate when drawing breath further marred his natural ability to phrase with ease. On balance Ivari Ilja’s accompaniments were purposeful if a little lacking in delicacy, though in “By the gates of a holy temple”, for example, his playing neatly underlined the text’s sense of seething narrative.

An interval change of attire for Hvorostovsky from formal wear to open-necked black silk shirt for the performance of Shostakovich’s Suite on Verses of Michelangelo Buonarroti was not accompanied by any relaxation of his serious approach to the music. In contrast to the Rachmaninov, however, the seriousness added more than it detracted from the cycle, even though some extreme vocal declamation remained in evidence. Whereas I had last heard this cycle in its smoothed-out orchestral incarnation, what struck me this time was the sheer angularity of Shostakovich’s writing, most notably in the accompaniment. From the sparsity of the opening song, “Truth”, through to the elemental anguish of “Anger”, Ilja and Hvorostovsky identified with the granite-like quality of Shostakovich’s conception, inspired in no small part by Buonarroti the poet-sculptor. Ilja brought a distinctly chiselled approach to bear throughout “Creativity”, to echo the poetry’s narrative of a sculptor at work. Just as Michelangelo’s sculptures of slaves appear to emerge from their granite blocks semi-finished, here Hvorostovsky tellingly explored the sentiments of lingering

contemplation particularly apparent in the final three songs of the cycle, “Night”, “Death” and “Immortality”.

After lengthy enthusiastic applause, three encores were given – all Rachmaninov songs and, thankfully, sung without reference to a score. The sequence illustrated the added sense of fluency that the first half of the concert could have had. The first song, “In the silence of the secret night”, is a particular Hvorostovsky showpiece, with its held final note a crowd-pleaser that did not negate an instinctual feel for the song’s passion. If only it had all been performed this way – but at least the best was saved until last.

Helena Juntunen makes an impressive Wigmore Hall debut Reviewed at Wigmore Hall, London on 10 September 2012 Schumann, Herzeleid, Op.107 no.1; Myrthen: Aus den hebräischen Gesängen, Op.25 no.15; Singet nicht in Trauertönen; Song's from Goethe's Wilhelm Meister, Op.98a: no.5, Heiss mich nicht reden; Lieder Album für die Jugend, Op.79: no.23, Er ist's; Singet nicht in Trauertönen Strauss R. Ach Lieb, ich muss nun scheiden, Op.21 no.3; Lieder, Op.46: no.1 Ein Obdach gegen Sturm und Regen; Sechs Lieder: Mein Herz ist stumm, Op.19 no.6; Schlechtes Wetter, Op.69 no.5; Malven; Cäcilie, Op.27 no.2 Adès, Life Story Sibelius, Kaiutar (The Echo-Nymph), Op.72 no.4; Den första kyssen (The First Kiss), Op.37 no.1; Flickan kom ifrån sin älsklings möte (The girl comes from meeting her lover), Op.37 no.5; Bollspelet vid Trianon (Tennis at Trianon), Op.36 no.3; Var det en dröm (Was It a Dream?), Op.37 no.4 Helena Juntunen, Soprano; Eveliina Kytömäki, Piano https://bachtrack.com/recital-wigmore-hall-helena-juntunen-kytomaki My first encounter with the Finnish partnership of Helena Juntunen and her accompanist Eveliina Kytömäki was as participants in the 2007 Cardiff Singer of the World Competition. Back then, I noted how accomplished Helena Juntunen was as a recitalist, whilst Eveliina Kytömäki was an idiomatic and sympathetic pianist who brought out the feeling in all she played. Since then both artists have had flourishing international careers with Juntunen in particular being a frequent visitor to London, which no doubt contributed to my surprise that this concert was their Wigmore Hall debut.

For this concert they presented a varied selection of repertoire. Each composer’s works were delivered with individuality and flair, and Juntunen especially lacked nothing in her willingness to throw herself into the performance. Of the Schumann songs “Bid me not speak” was urgently delivered, as it should be, whilst allowing flashes of a floated top register expertly shaded down to be balanced alongside a solidly distinctive lower chest voice. The sense of a singer absent-mindedly observing and conveying a scene in “Heartbreak” was established with fragility of tone and underlined by Kytömäki’s achingly sympathetic accompaniment. The mood effortlessly changed to one of impetuous longing with “Spring is here”, giving opportunity for a sense of wonder to spread across Juntunen’s face and bring much-needed brightness to her interpretation of Mörike’s text. “From Hebrew melodies” and “Sing not in mournful tones” were given wide-ranging dramatic responses that were full of passion. Juntunen’s shimmering stream of glistening tone further underlined the point that she is a singer to watch in terms of her facial expressions, and not just one who vocally commands her audience’s attention.

The selection of six Richard Strauss songs that followed continued to demonstrate Juntunen’s strength in German-language repertoire. “Ah, my love, I must leave you now” found both performers conveying a unified view of desolation, which contrasted with the impetuousness inherent in “A shelter from the rain and the storm”. The difficulty for any singer in bringing out the character of someone much older than themselves as the narrator of a song was a major issue facing Juntunen in “My heart is silent”. This was a challenge met in more than convincing terms, though, with the thaw in vocal tone from icy coldness at the start to a quickly overriding warmth and glow demonstrating just what a winning interpreter Juntunen is when in full flow.

All the more pity, then, that it was at this moment that an exclamation from an audience member caused Juntunen to lose concentration and the artists ended the song slightly prematurely. For the record, there were also some interruptions during the Schumann group but those performances continued to their conclusions. The decision was rightly taken to break for the interval early and complete the Strauss songs afterwards. “Dreadful weather” found the duo caught in a Straussian storm, and not for the first time

Kytömäki perfectly caught the mood of the piano postlude. “Hollyhocks”, one of Strauss’ most personal songs, written for soprano Maria Jeritza, was poised and elegantly perfumed. “Cecily” lacked nothing in ardour and heartwarming feeling; at times this led to slight insecurity of vocal tone, but this only added to the credibility of delivery by Juntunen.

Thomas Adès’ Life Story, written in 1994, is a narrative that uses a Tennessee Williams text which explores the desperation of post-coital conversation between virtual strangers in hotel rooms the world over.

Helena Juntunen set the scene adroitly: her turning of the score’s pages was so nonchalant that she might have been flicking absently through some glossy gossip magazine. Assuming a mid-American accent, the story unfolded to take its weary course before the peril of falling asleep with a lit cigarette ends the work abruptly. Kytömäki caught the bluesy tone in the accompaniment perfectly, not overstating the mixture of trenchant passages and sardonic humour it contains.

A group of five songs by Sibelius concluded the evening in rousing fashion. Of these, the sense of foreboding in the accompaniment of “The first kiss” squarely matched the immediacy of Juntunen’s use of the text. “The girl came from her lover’s tryst” spanned the gamut of emotions from exultant joy to sheer desperation in Juntunen’s forthright interpretation. The playfulness that imbues the poetry and music of “Ball game at Trianon” was caught with ease in the performances, whilst “Did I just dream?” found Juntunen and Kytömäki in refulgent vein. A further Sibelius song, “Illalle”, was given as a much-welcomed encore. It is hoped that both artists are welcomed again to Wigmore Hall as soon as their schedules allow.

Kings Place Festival 2012: Chilingirian Quartet play Haydn Reviewed at Kings Place: Hall One, London on 14 September 2012 Haydn: String Quartet no. 57 in C major, Op.74 no.1, Hob III:72; String Quartet no. 56 in E flat major, Op.71 no.3, Hob III:71 Chilingirian Quartet https://bachtrack.com/review-kings-place-festival-2012-chilingirian-quartet-haydn For the first of two short concerts that the Chilingirian Quartet presented on the opening evening of the Kings Place Festival, they focused on two quartets by Joseph Haydn. Both were written in 1793 following a previous highly successful trip Haydn had made to England, and were intended to satisfy the demand of London audiences.

The String Quartet in C, Op. 74 no. 1 opened proceedings, with the pair of chords which begin the first movement (Adagio moderato) sounding admirably full-bodied. The succeeding theme and spirit of invention that inhabit the movement, indeed much of the quartet as a whole, found the musicians exploring the composer’s carefully crafted sinuous instrumental lines with much affection. A sense of light and shade was easily established and maintained. Some fiery moments were seized upon by lead violinist Levon Chilingirian and accentuated by his precision of tone. This was balanced by the intricate writing exposed by the illuminating playing of the other three instrumentalists.

Much in the way of subtlety marked out the playing of the second movement (Andantino), with the quartet appearing to take particular note of the grazioso (“graceful”) marking. In turn, each of the players made their presence felt, with Philip De Groote’s cello playing in particular being finely judged and unassumingly present. The third movement, a Minuet marked Allegro, was crisply articulated. This had the effect of showing the movement’s serious side before some warmth of feeling and humour also became apparent.

The Vivace finale is one of the most brilliant movements Haydn wrote for a string quartet. The players of the Chilingirian Quartet explored its plethora of motifs with gusto, making much of the near-rusticity of some passages, where some higher instrumental lines are played over a quasi-bagpipe drone by the cello.

Bringing the work to a close, a near orchestral sense of scale is demanded by Haydn in the final pages, which the Chilingirians duly delivered.

The String Quartet in E flat, Op. 71 no. 3 followed immediately, since the concert had no interval. The Vivace first movement had a great sense of playfulness in hands of the Chilingirian Quartet. The two recurring motifs of the falling third interval, shared apparently almost at will amongst the players, and the repeated rhythmic punctuation vied for prominence, though neither over-dominated proceedings. The second movement, marked Andante con moto, began with a feeling of warm nostalgia before minor-key variations added much in the way of interest. This was effortlessly continued with the subsequent majorkey variations that ensued. The Menuetto and Trio third movement was carried off at a sprightly tempo.

The light-hearted and jocular character of Haydn’s writing afforded each of the quartet’s musicians the opportunity to deftly excel in their pianissimo passages. It was only in the closing Vivace finale that I felt greater precision of execution in the bowing could have given extra brilliance to the rapid presto passages.

However, given the sense of joviality in evidence, this could be forgiven, as this in no way impeded the musical themes being gathered together to conclude truly con brio, with vigour and spirit.

Kings Place Festival 2012: The Chilingirian Quartet excel in Enescu and Haydn Reviewed at Kings Place: Hall One, London on 14 September 2012 Enescu, String Quartet no. 2 in G major, Op.22 no. 2 Haydn, String Quartet no. 55 in D major, Op.71 no.2, Hob III:70 Chilingirian Quartet https://bachtrack.com/review-kings-place-festival-2012-chilingirian-quartet-enescu-haydn The Chilingirian Quartet’s second concert at the Kings Place Festival followed barely twenty minutes after their preceding concert had concluded. Three factors were common between both events: the playing of two works without an interval, the presence of Joseph Haydn, and, most importantly, a uniformly high standard of musicianship. In all other senses however there were contrasts to be enjoyed, not least in the unusual pairing of Haydn’s String Quartet in D, Op. 71 no. 2, with the String Quartet no. 2 of the Romanian composer George Enescu.

During his lifetime it was largely as a world-famous violinist that George Enescu made his reputation alongside his activities as a teacher, conductor and pianist. In between these he was a prolific composer in practically all genres, with chamber music being especially prominent in his output. Enescu’s music is notable for its technical challenges for string players in particular, since the composer brought practical experience of playing every member of the string family to his writing. Recent years have seen an international resurgence of interest in Enescu’s music, with both recordings and performances becoming increasingly available. The Chilingirian Quartet recently added the second quartet to their repertoire, proving that after nearly 40 years of concert activity they retain a spirit of adventure to enquire, explore and discover. I had the opportunity to hear the Chilingirians’ first public performance of this work at the closing concert in June this year at the Enescu Society in London. It was immediately obvious that further performances in the intervening period have increased the Chilingirians’ confidence of approach to play the music with distinctive panache.

Written in 1951, four years before Enescu’s death, the quartet is in four movements. The first two movements evoke a state of calm meditation punctuated by some more anxious soul-searching. An almost nocturnal tranquillity and sense of nostalgia characterised the opening movement from the beginning, with the specifically Romanian feeling of “dor” – perhaps best understood as a kind of bittersweet longing – being particularly prominent. This was largely achieved by the musicians’ willingness to explore the hues and tones of Enescu’s melodic writing. As the movement progressed the music’s occasional folk influences were neatly underlined by a subtle ground line in the cello part before a march-like section smartly interjected proceedings.

For the second movement, which is seemingly set in the key of E major, the instruments are largely muted.

The Chilingirian players effectively and imaginatively explored themes across the collective instrumental ranges to highlight their rhythmic dexterity. In forming a tight texture of sound they maintained its subdued mood even as the dynamic climax was approached. The last two movements provided a marked contrast with their energy and vitality. The third movement is a scherzo; its broad interval leaps are a notable feature of Enescu’s writing. These were explored and delighted in alongside internal elements of greater subtlety, though the music’s almost hostile character largely held sway. The finale, a rondo of some complexity, is marked Con moto – Molto Moderato – Energico. With their forthright and purposeful attack, moulding of instrumental lines and overtly beautiful collective tone, the Chilingirian Quartet more than successfully met Enescu’s challenge to combine the contrasting internal moods within a convincingly coherent musical structure. It is to be hoped that the Chilingirian Quartet might now add Enescu’s more lengthy and difficult first string quartet to their repertoire.

The Chilingirian Quartet closed the concert with a return to the more familiar repertoire of Haydn, with a quartet whose four movements are equally weighted with regard to their seriousness and playfulness. The

Chilingirians brought much in the way of wit and flashes of youthful sparkle to their playing of the quartet’s opening Adagio movement. This was appropriately balanced by a sense of wisdom won through much experience, both on the part of Haydn and the players themselves. The cantabile element of the Adagio second movement was much in evidence in this performance, once again showcasing the ensemble’s skill in stylistically shaping and blending their individual parts. The brief, Allegretto minuet was dispatched with appropriately crisp articulation and briskness of tempo to bring some much needed light relief in terms of thematic ideas along the way. The Allegretto finale continued where the previous movement left off, with infectious enthusiasm being the order of the day, and thus concluded a most memorable concert.

Ignatz Waghalter: A lost Romantic worth rediscovering?

Reviewed at St John's Smith Square, London on 1 October 2012 Schumann Violin Sonata no. 1 in A minor, Op.105 Elgar, Sonata for violin and piano Waghalter, Violin Sonata in F minor, Op.5 Wieniawski, Faust Fantasy, Op.20

Irmina Trynkos, Violin; Giorgi Latsabidze, Piano https://bachtrack.com/review-sjss-trynkos-latsabidze-waghalter In terms of programming this recital at St John’s Smith Square offered something out of the ordinary. There are not that many concerts these days where the audience is faced with an item of core repertoire, followed by some semi-neglected repertoire by a mainstream composer, a work by a totally neglected composer, and then a final flurry of instrumental fireworks.

Schumann’s Violin Sonata no. 1 is a work replete with emotional contrasts. Taking the first movement’s indicative marking of “Mit leidenschaftlichem Ausdruck” (“with passionate expression”) at its word, violinist Irmina Trynkos and pianist Giorgi Latsabidze captured much of the ebb and flow within the music with reasonable effectiveness. The second movement Allegretto was for the most part imbued with appropriate serenity to bring out the apparent simplicity of Schumann’s writing. The closing movement was lively in character, as Schumann requires. Irmina Trynkos proved rather insistent on drawing bold solo lines that at times verged on sacrificing the quality of tone she drew from her instrument, whereas Giorgi Latsabidze provided rather more refined support in the accompanying role.

The feeling that a more satisfying overall performance might have been achieved if more attention had been paid to the details continued with the performance of Elgar’s Violin Sonata. Written in 1918, the sonata is one Elgar’s final compositions, along with the Cello Concerto. Unlike the concerto, the sonata has never really established itself as part of the core repertoire, though a number of decent recordings exist and just now several violinists have performances scheduled in their diaries. The appearance of Elgar in the context of a programme filled with continental European composers might at first seem strange, but this should not be so: the European influences on his music are many and several of his most famous works received early performances abroad.

The sonata’s bold opening movement rather continued where the closing thoughts of Schumann had ended, though with intended nobility almost sounding occasionally on the edge of neurotic obsessiveness, such was the unrelentingly gutsy nature of Trynkos’ playing. Alice, the composer’s wife, confided in her diary at the time of composition, “E. writing wonderful new music, different from anything else of his... wood magic. So elusive and delicate.” The remarks seem entirely apt regarding the second movement, with its entirely English sense of passion held very much in restraint. Much in the way of limpidity was brought to bear by Latsabidze in particular, matched for the most part by Trynkos. To my ears at least, the final movement would have benefited from greater variation of approach, even though a a sure grasp of Elgar’s overall form was keenly evident. Here, as elsewhere, the soloist’s pianissimo inferences needed to be more convincingly integrated alongside undoubtedly bravura statements.

Ignatz Waghalter (1881–1949) was a Polish–German composer who is all but forgotten by today’s concertgoers. In his day though he was also a well-respected opera conductor and counted musical luminaries such as Joachim and Puccini as supporters and friends. His Violin Sonata, an early work, received the Mendelssohn Prize in 1902. Together with a violin concerto and other smaller pieces, it features on a new CD on the Naxos label with performances by Trynkos and Latsabidze. The concert programme

declared Waghalter a “Lost Romantic” and Michael Hass’ programme note proclaimed him “one of the most unjustly forgotten musicians of pre-1933 Europe, inviting the question: how is it possible that this music went missing for a century?” The answer, certainly on the strength of this concert performance, appears clear. Waghalter’s stock-in-trade lyricism and gift for effectively and carefully crafting his music fell victim both to changes in taste and being overshadowed by the avant-gardes of serialism and atonality.

The sonata’s opening movement (Allegro appasionato) set the scene, seemingly with Bach-like references; the music’s lyricism was muted with a sultry edge that was effectively maintained within Trynkos’ violin line. The second movement is to all intents and purposes where any value lies in unearthing the sonata, with its interweaving of folk-derived thematic material and sustained cantilena. If in overall terms the more earthy side to the music stayed longer in the memory, it was due to the duo’s committed performances.

The closing movement proved initially of a fiery disposition, which was nearer Irmina Trynkos’ comfort zone as an artist than the more introspective moments that followed, though the score’s final paragraphs were undoubtedly tackled full-on.

So is Waghalter’s music worthy of more than an occasional performance for the sake of musical completeness? I remained undecided; the real reason lying somewhere between the composition itself and the performance itself. Therein lies the problem: one of the two needed to burn itself indelibly on the memory. It could be however that the sonata was not Waghalter’s finest work, despite its carefully crafted construction. Those curious to give his music a try might consider attending the performance of Waghalter’s violin concerto, the first since 1911, that will take place at Cadogan Hall in London on 14 November.

Wieniawski’s fantasy on Gounod’s Faustian operatic themes still retains its place in the repertoire, being as it is a ready vehicle for violinists to show off their technical prowess. The piano introduction, played with a gloomy sense of foreboding by Latsabidze, quickly proves somewhat misleading once the violin enters to treat the listener to veritable fireworks display of effects. Irmina Trynkos made much of the work’s internal contrasts, bringing out forthright drama in preference to sensuality.

Understandably enough, for their encore Irmina Trynkos and Giorgi Latsabidze returned to the music of Waghalter, playing a morceau de salon of moderate charm entitled Idyll. Consisting largely of a single sweeping gestural theme, played with assurance by both artists, it appeared almost to link the restrained nostalgia of Elgar to the plush opulence of Korngold.

Haydn, Hummel and Ravel performed with confidence by the BBC Symphony Orchestra Reviewed at Barbican Hall, London on 12 October 2012 Haydn Symphony no. 101 in D major "The Clock" Hummel, Piano Concerto in A minor, Op.85 Ravel L'Heure espagnole BBC Symphony Orchestra / Josep Pons, Conductor Stephen Hough, Piano Ruxandra Donose, Concepción / Jacques Imbrailo, Ramiro / Jean-Paul Fouchécourt, Torquemada / Julien Behr, Gonzalve https://bachtrack.com/review-bbc-so-ravel-pons-hough-haydn-hummel-ravel Josep Pons strode purposefully onto the Barbican stage to conduct the BBC Symphony Orchestra in a performance of Haydn’s “Clock” Symphony. The first movement opened by way of an Adagio laden with a suitable sense of portent, the layers of writing for the strings being clearly articulated to bring this out. The ensuing Presto section contrasted in its rather beefed-up vigour, perhaps a reflection as much of Haydn’s imaginative orchestration itself as Pons’ fastidious interpretation of it, but clearly this was a rather oldschool reading of Haydn rarely affected by any authentic movement practices. The second-movement Andante evidenced an awareness of musical form, though the regularity of the bass line that ticked away showed that in this case the mechanism which drove it was not quite Swiss engineered. The Minuet and Trio explored the internal variations of its material to great effect, with lively and subtly graded contributions from the woodwind section. The Vivace finale rounded things off neatly, being played with great style.

Hummel’s works are comparative rarities before the public today, but during his lifetime they enjoyed great popularity. A pupil of Mozart and a colleague of Haydn’s as concertmaster in the Esterházy court, he had a reputation as a keyboard virtuoso. This performance of the Piano Concerto in A minor, with Stephen Hough as soloist, allowed the inherent ornamentation to flow forth uninhibitedly. The first movement contrasted colourful orchestration of rather zippy potency with pianistic writing that mixed seriousness and flourish in equal measure. Stephen Hough took it all in his stride, playing from memory. If at times he sounded a touch hard pushed to maintain ideally clean articulation of his part, this was not a point one could level at him in the second movement. Here an air of near self-importance seemed present (more due to Hummel than Hough, it should be said); but more significantly any evidence that might be used to link Hummel as an influence on Chopin’s compositional style was heard to come to the fore. Restraint marked the Larghetto movement out as one of beauty in its orchestral writing also. The piano solo linking passage into the Rondo finale again established Hough’s fine sense of touch as the constantly attention worthy feature of the performance as a whole. Much of the movement found Hough embroiled in the ever more obsessive nature of the elaborations Hummel layers over his core material which includes two fugal sections alongside music of greater discretion.

The second half featured a semi-staged performance of Ravel’s opera L’heure espagnole, which mixes female sexual desire with other fascinations, namely mechanical clocks and a range of Spanish musical influences. To form the backdrop to the action, Josep Pons conducted a no-nonsense account of the score that was nevertheless sensitive and witty. The stage direction offered by Kenneth Richardson was somewhat problematic, not least with the in-clock entrances and exits requiring singers to crouch behind cardboard cutouts of Big Ben. It was better by far at times to close one’s eyes and imagine the interaction between the roles.

Ruxandra Donose might have portrayed the role of Concepción with greater overt sexiness in her acting, but the full impact of her sensuous mezzo-soprano meant that insinuation was often all that was required

to make men melt to her merest wish. Jean-Paul Fouchécourt made much of the brief high tenor role as Torquemada, acting the interaction to the full with character when the opportunity allowed. Jacques Imbrailo’s baritone was put to good service in the role of Ramiro the muleteer who impresses with his strength. Julien Behr, a young tenor from Lyon, is a singer we could do well to hear more from. The role of Gonzalve the poet offered some opportunity for his talents to emerge, even if a little too repetitious in the material at his disposal. David Wilson-Johnson’s Don Inigo Gomez was clearly voiced but played for laughs, albeit rather predictably. In overall terms, it must be said, that was the problem: predictability. Were the performance not bound by the concert setting and given the full imagination of adequate stage direction, greater subtlety could have easily been achieved. More of the one-line witticisms in the libretto would have registered fully and Ravel’s fanciful score would have been far better served.

Nash Ensemble/Ainsley @ Wigmore Hall, London 27 October 2012 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/nash-ensembleainsley-wigmore-hall-london

This concert, the second of nine in the Nash Ensemble’s ‘Dreamers of Dreams’ English music series, culminated in a visionary performance of Vaughan Williams’ On Wenlock Edge. Preceding,Britten’s Three Divertimenti for string quartet, a student composition from 1933-6, indicates the precocious nature of Britten’s gifts. In the opening March, the Nash’s performance emphasised the contrast of rigid form through their incisive playing with wit and playful jocularity. The Waltz was of more inspired by English pastoral idioms than anything Viennese, its delicacy coming through with many subtle inflections carefully captured. The Burlesque, by contrast, was feverishly accented despite the demanding tempo. There was much of a sense of inevitability that led the piece to its abrupt conclusion.

The music of Frank Bridge, Britten’s teacher, has undergone something of a reassessment over the past fifty years. The 1904 Romanze, marked Andante moderato, was rather stately in the piano introduction before a more passionate aspect was brought to bear in the sweeping violin part. The Cradle song, also marked Andante moderato, from 1910 appeared a somewhat nostalgic lullaby, though Marianne Thorsen took delight in exploring the writing for the violin’s lower register. The 1903 Serenade is also well-known in its salon orchestra format, but is no less charming as a duet. The duo brought out its inherent lyricism and playfulness through their nuanced playing.

Warlock’s The Fox found John Mark Ainsley drawing his vocal inflections from the text to grin sardonically, laugh and mock to complete an almost ghostly vision of the dusty stuffed fox in his glass case. Even if songs with string quartet accompaniment were not something of a rarity, Warlock’s settings would be hard to better. With lyrics drawn from anonymous sixteenth-century verses, Shakespeare and contemporary poets such as George Peele, the set is diverse to say the least. Chopcherry was dance-like and fresh in its appeal.

Of the Elizabethan settings My Lady is a Pretty One carried the greater sense of period influence on the writing, though both were performed and sung with clarity, and vocal effortlessness. Shakespeare’s Take, O take those lips away (from Measure for Measure) found an apt echo for the pain of the text in Ainsley’s world-weary vocal tone. Sleep brought the grouping to an apt conclusion, the song’s wrought tapestry of emotions finding rest with the words, ‘O let my joys have some abiding!’

A trio of Elgar violin and piano miniatures opened the second half. La Capricieuse, written in ABA form, proceeded with ease from its initial skittishness to a more rounded and measured lyricism. Only occasionally was the mood disturbed by Marianne Thorsen overplaying the solo part, impetuousness bringing out a touch of brashness. This could not be said though of the playing in Canto Popolare, which was openly vocal in its leanings and emotionally laden in its impact. Sospiri found Thorsen and Brown in true partnership, the broad languid phrases deployed with appropriate sense of scale.

All the performers came together for a performance of Vaughan Williams’ On Wenlock Edge. In the opening song John Mark Ainsley was pushed in his top register to maintain the floated timbre he found elsewhere, but much more in the way of a delicate perfume was found in From far, from eve and morning.

The dialogue within Is my team ploughing? was effortlessly projected in Ainsley’s contrasting vocal tones, whilst the Nash Emsemble provided a searching and heart-rending accompaniment. Oh, when I was in love with you provided a much needed contrast of levity, delivered with straight-forward simplicity. The narrative of Bredon Hill was exactly conveyed by Ainsley, ably partnered at every turn. The sense of emotional emptiness the song contained was developed in the concluding song, Clun. Taking in tumult and solitude the cycle was brought to a masterful conclusion where voice and instruments held equal sway.

Eugen Indjic has Schumann steal Chopin's thunder at Westminster Cathedral Hall Reviewed at Westminster Cathedral Hall, London on 18 November 2012 Chopin: Nocturne no. 13 in C minor, Op.48 no.1; Ballade no. 4 in F minor, Op.52; Mazurka in B flat minor, Op.24 no.4;Mazurka in B minor, Op.30 no.2; Mazurka in C sharp minor, Op.30 no.4; Mazurka in F sharp minor, Op.59 no.3; Scherzo no. 3 in C sharp minor, Op.39 Schumann: Davidsbündlertänze, Op.6 Liszt, Mephisto Waltz no. 1, "Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke", S 514 Eugen Indjic, Piano https://bachtrack.com/review-westminster-hall-chopin-society-eugen-indjic The past two seasons have seen the Chopin Society UK celebrate the composer’s bicentenary and its own 40th anniversary. The programme of monthly concerts that it puts on continues to feature a roster of wellknown artists alongside those that deserve to be better known. The Yugoslav-born French-American pianist Eugen Indjic falls into the latter category. This is despite an impressive international career begun in the 1960s that has seen him collaborate with artists of calibre such as Giuseppe Sinopoli, Valery Gergiev, Rafael Kubelik and Erich Leinsdorf. Emil Gilels called him “a unique and inspired artist”, whilst Arthur Rubinstein thought Indjic “a world-class pianist of rare musical and artistic perfection”. No wonder, then, that Westminster Cathedral Hall was filled to bursting point for his recital of Chopin, Schumann and Liszt.

The all-Chopin first half opened with the Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48 no. 1. Indjic’s approach was measured in tempo, balanced and clearly shaded, which allowed the music’s passion to emerge effectively. His performance of the Ballade no. 4 was marked out by an elegance of touch and phrasing that managed to effectively balance the grand overall sweep of musical argument with filigree details.

Indjic next presented four mazurkas as a representative sample of Chopin’s collective essay in the genre.

The B flat minor Mazurka Op. 24 no. 4 was aristocratic in tone and outward guise, though I missed a little in the way of communicative warmth. The Mazurka Op. 30 no. 2 continued with the spirit of slight detachment about it, though it was effortlessly shaded. The fourth piece from the same set highlighted Indjic’s abilities to explore thematic transitions to useful effect, though grandeur dominated due to the slight favouring of the left-hand part. The F sharp minor Mazurka Op. 59 no. 3, with the bare-obsessiveness of its repeated patterns, can seem a touch interminable – but Indjic brought just enough variation of tempo and nuance of shading to sustain interest.

By way of contrast, Indjic launched into the Scherzo no. 3’s volley of octaves with some relish. All the more pity, then, that the chorale section which should calm the tempest did not quite take hold as it might have done.

Schumann’s Davidsbündlertänze is a set of eighteen short untitled pieces that form a dialogue between the characters of the impetuous Florestan and the poetically lyrical Eusebius. The sense of dialogue came through strongly in Indjic’s playing, but the interpretation went deeper than that to distil an almost philosophical discourse on the nature of the human condition in sound. Two aspects of human character play themselves out in relation to one another, but if one sought any bias towards one or the other from Indjic then hardly any could be detected. As a performer he gave little away facially whilst playing and his technique and movement was pared to the essential, eliminating the superfluous to a large degree. There was obvious relish in the Florestan-centred pieces, such as the fourth one, “Ungeduldig” (“Impatiently”), which was played in a manner that can only be described as driven, or the tenth, “Balladenmäßig sehr rasch” (“Very brisk, in the style of a ballade”), which was fulsome in its tone and impelled forward with dexterity and purpose, yet not without grace. This contrasted with Eusebius’ movements, for example the dreamy second movement, “Innig” (“Intimate”), or the apt near-vocalise brought to the fourteenth

movement, “Zart und singend” (“Delicate and song-like”). Heard as whole sequence, Indjic’s approach never lost sight of the innate Romantic sensibility of Schumann’s writing.

Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz no. 1 concluded the programme. The cunning devilishness inherent in the details of nuance and form presented few issues for Indjic interpretively and, much to the audience’s delight, Lisztian excess left its lasting and – it must be said – slightly cheap impression. For me, however, Schumann was still very much preoccupying my thoughts.

Britten Sinfonia and Alice Coote celebrate Britten's birthday in style at Wigmore Hall Reviewed at Wigmore Hall, London on 22 November 2012 Purcell, Abdelazer, Z 570: suite (Rondeau); Let the Night Perish "Job's Curse", Z 191 (arr. Muhly); Dido and Aeneas, Z 626: Dido's Lament "When I am laid in earth" (arr. Stokowski) Tippett: Variations on an Elizabethan Theme "Sellinger's Round": Variation 2 "Lament" (A lament) Britten: Prelude and Fugue for 18 strings, Op.29 Purcell, Chacony in G minor, Z807 (arr. Britten) Tippett: Little Music Handel: Alcina, HWV 34: excerpts Britten: Phaedra, Op.93

Alice Coote, Mezzo-soprano / Britten Sinfonia / Jacqueline Shave, Violin, Director / Richard Hetherington, Conductor https://bachtrack.com/review-wigmore-hall-britten-birthday-2012 22 November 2012 would have been Benjamin Britten’s 99th birthday. Wigmore Hall marked the occasion with the first concert in a series of nine events in November and December. However, rather than focusing exclusively on Britten’s music, it built towards the climax that saw Britten’s angst-ridden late masterpiece Phaedra searingly performed.

Britten’s interest in the music of Henry Purcell is well know, but less so perhaps that of other English composers. Three works by Purcell opened the evening. The Rondeau from the Abdelazer suite was given a gutsy, full-toned yet acutely balanced performance by Britten Sinfonia, led with confidence by violinist Jacqueline Shave. Alice Coote took centre-stage for a performance of Job’s Curse, “Let the night perish”.

Naturally drawing from the mettle within her voice, Coote ranged from the near declamatory to a hushed rapture that was no less commanding. Composer Nico Muhly’s ornamentations were entirely his own, tasteful if a little predictable. Leopold Stokowski’s string ensemble arrangement of Dido’s Lament from the opera Dido and Aeneas is a rather plushly upholstered affair, a fact that Britten Sinfonia ably emphasised in their playing. The solo vocal line was largely shared between violin and cello parts, maintaining to an adequate degree the pathos felt in Purcell’s original conception. A further Purcell work was heard in the second half. Arranged by Britten for string ensemble, the Chacony in G minor was given a reading replete with liveliness of phrasing that benefited from an apt sense of light and shade within the playing, whilst proceeding to a thrilling fortissimo conclusion that was never marred by the slightest brashness of tone.

Michael Tippett was represented by two works. The first, “A Lament” from Divertimento on Sellinger’s Round, found the ensemble revelling in the tightly constructed close web of harmonies, emphasising their exploratory nature and exposing details of texture seemingly almost at will. The other work, Little Music for strings, from 1946, appeared in the second half. The opening prelude was dominant and full of force, which contrasted nicely with the fleetness of gesture in the ensuing second-movement fugue. The third movement, an air, very much caught the “espressivo” asked for in the tempo marking. The Vivace finale might have been initially hesitant, as Tippett intended, but it soon sprang into life, strongly driven by a sense of self-propulsion. Not for the first time in the evening did Britten Sinfonia evidence their skill in shaping and holding the diminuendoed final chords to telling effect.

Britten’s Prelude and Fugue, Op. 29, owed its place on the programme to having been premièred at Wigmore Hall, on 23 June 1945. The Prelude’s opening was brilliant, biting and bold. The Fugue, though, held more substantive interest with its sectionally constructed format that allowed a vibrancy to tone to

rush forth. Layerings, particularly those of cellos over the double basses, held sway, whilst elsewhere the ensemble was unafraid to dig deep within the rhythmic patterns Britten desires.

As a prelude to Phaedra were three arias from Handel’s opera Alcina, a work that has long been a Coote favourite. The link between the two works is evident in Britten’s scoring of Phaedra, which follows a Handelian model. “Mi lusinga il dolce affetto” appeared effortless for Coote to sing, but her artistry hides the effort made in singing, and her restrained portrayal was imbued with a quietness which commanded, always attentive to the textual subtleties. Further keenness of shading was evident in the refulgent lushness of “Verdi prati”. This contrasted well with the third aria, “Stà nell’Ircana”, which left forth fiery vocal flashes against the involved and swaggering accompaniment.

The performance of Britten’s Phaedra, then, promised much – and much was duly delivered. The scena, consisting of five parts, could have seemed rather disjointed, were it not held together by the strong sense of identity that Alice Coote brought to the woman behind Phaedra. Indeed, her portrayal became almost a psychological essay in music. Imperiousness marked out much of the Prologue, whilst the ensuing Recitative was more than amply reflective. Outrage took hold in the Presto to Hippolytus, and here again a steely aspect within Coote’s tone was particularly expressive. It found telling union with the gestures of face and arms which Coote used to hint at a far deeper anguish within.

A sense of self-reflection haunted the ensuing Recitative to Oenone, awareness too of Phaedra’s own adulterous passions. The anguish though could not be dispelled in the closing Adagio to Theseus, which combined nobility, fragility and humanity (as only Britten can) in the final moments of life. Britten Sinfonia was conducted (for Phaedra only) by Richard Hetherington, whose unerring sense of the dramatic took a scalpel to every instrumental sinew and laid it bare. Little wonder then, that at the end Alice Coote, Hetherington and the Sinfonia took a minute to return from Britten’s dark, imaginative recesses to the resounding applause that filled Wigmore Hall.

Alexandra Silocea dazzles with the LPO and Jurowski at Congress Theatre, Eastbourne Reviewed at Eastbourne Congress Theatre, Eastbourne on 9 December 2012 Brahms: Tragische Ouverture - Tragic Overture for Orchestra, Op.81 Mozart: Piano Concerto no. 17 in G major, K453 Bruckner: Symphony no. 1 in C minor, WAB 101

Alexandra Silocea, Piano / London Philharmonic Orchestra / Vladimir Jurowski, Conductor https://bachtrack.com/review-eastbourne-congress-theatre-lpo-silocea It is often interesting to hear performers one knows well in a different setting, and this concert was a case in point for me. The London Philharmonic Orchestra have performed often in Eastbourne since the 1930s and at the Congress Theatre for the past seventeen seasons, but this was my first visit to the venue. Based on this concert, I am hopeful that it will not be my last. The reading of Brahms’ Tragic Overture allowed ample opportunity to assess the acoustic, finding that it favoured a bright violin timbre, whilst allowing the lower strings to be resonant. Only occasionally did it sound a little boxy, but in a venue that is typical of 1970s theatre design my only thought was to hypothesise if putting the brass and timpani on a raised staging would have helped their excellently played contributions sound slightly less recessed within the overall sound spectrum. Vladimir Jurowski led an impressive performance that was full of dramatic insight and keen accentuation. The surging initial material was drawn with broody intent, to effectively contrast with the more genial warmth of later thematic ideas. The final pages found the seething tumult pared back with impressive control before the imposing closing tutti rang forth.

Alexandra Silocea, making her debut with the London Philharmonic, was the soloist in Mozart’s Piano Concerto no. 17 in G major. In recent seasons she has attracted considerable acclaim for a recording of Prokofiev’s sonatas and as a recitalist, all of which mark her as an artist to watch out for. Employing an orchestra of reduced size, the scene was set for a reading of some intimacy. The opening Allegro was introduced by the orchestra cleanly and crisply, aided somewhat by the stage layout that had the strings grouped on the left and winds and horns to stage right. From the start Silocea articulated the piano part with sensitivity that maintained an acutely tasteful sense of tone and scale. Oftentimes, such as in the cadenza, her left-hand touch was particularly notable as it gracefully underlined the melodic material that was imparted with delightful ease by her right hand. The two elements were unified in no small part by good judgement when it came to pedalling.

The transition of mood and feeling was effortlessly accomplished and the Andante second movement took on a sense of the autumnal that also had much in the way of refined introspection about it. The performance as a whole, though, also caught facets of bright bravura and fragility in the dialogue that naturally developed between soloist and oboe, bassoon and flute section leaders. The overall feeling of bonhomie continued into the Allegretto finale. Constructed as a set of five variations upon a march-like theme, an entirely unforced sense of growth and contrast was encouraged by Jurowski, who here allowed strings and winds to hold almost equal sway. Throughout it all, Alexandra Silocea again proved her Mozartian credentials with phrasing of supreme elegance.

Bruckner’s early symphonies are not heard that often in concert; that is, relative to performances of the later symphonies at least – and more is the pity. What’s more, I would hazard a guess that this was the first occasion at which the Eastbourne public has had to hear any Bruckner symphony for many a year. How would it be received?

The opening Allegro immediately announced Jurowski’s determination to advocate the work. Even if the dotted rhythms had a somewhat impetuous feel to them initially, the movement was sturdily constructed in terms of tone. Layers of sound were impressively built up, for example, with cellos underlining the horn

line. Throughout, it should be said, the brass could have had greater impact to make this a near ideal performance. It lacked nothing in terms of driving power, dynamic growth or attention to the density of musical construction that Bruckner masterfully constructs from his chosen material.

Restlessness took hold in the initial section of the slow movement, with apparently disconnected ideas presented. The contrasting middle section – a wonderfully judged Andante – registered its impact fully in the burnished tone of the strings, before the earlier Adagio material was reprised with some energy. The Scherzo was a rather powerful affair in Jurowski’s conception and it was forthrightly played without becoming overblown, as might had been the case were the tempo not so tightly controlled. The middlesection trio provided welcome elegance prior to a closing return to the dramatic fray. All of which effectively prefaced the solemn yet moving final movement, whose dark soundworld was replete with the requisite ebb and flow in the overall dynamic. As a renaissance architect might have done, Vladimir Jurowski oversaw the gradual realisation of a cathedral of sound that was of truly grand magnificence. The audience responded extremely enthusiastically, proving that challenging repertoire does not only merit being played to major-venue audiences.

2011 UK concert reviews Castrati: Forgotten Voices @ Purcell Room, London 11 April 2011 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/castrati-forgotten-voices-purcell-room-london

As a vocal type, castrati remain something of an enigma to the modern music enthusiast, since the only genuine castrato to be caught on record (over a century ago, when recording was in its infancy) is Alessandro Moreschi. Many countertenors from Alfred Deller to James Bowman, Andreas Scholl and Rene Jacobs have taken on the repertoire in concert on stage and on disc; the latest rising star countertenor to make his mark with it is Cenk Karaferya. Indeed, Karaferyas commitment to it goes further than just singing the repertoire, since in 2006 he founded the Broschi Ensemble, a London-based period instrument group that specialises in performance of the baroque and early classical music.

This recital was relatively short, with around seventy minutes of music played in total. Handel was given the greatest emphasis reflecting Cenks continuing collaboration with the Handel House Museum but compositions by Riccardo Broschi, Nicola Porpora and Antonio Vivaldi broadened the programmes appeal.

The Overture and Gigue from Handels The Alchemist kick-started the evening with a performance that was suitably intimate and expressive, with transparent string textures and balance in evidence from the Broschi Ensembles playing. Much of the same approach was to be felt in their playing of Handels Passacaille from the Trio Sonata Op. 5 no. 4: animated playing, even at the broader tempo that was encouraged by Steven Devine as a foil to the movements main musical argument. Brochis aria Ombre fedele anchio from the opera Idaspe immediately established a sense of shared understanding and purpose between Devine, the Ensemble and Karaferya. The tempo was spacious, but the vocal line evenly sustained and well supported whilst allowing ample opportunities for subtle shading to emphasise the expressiveness of the text.

Karaferya’s vocal palette warmed considerably in Dallondoso periglio, from Handels Giulio Cesare. The recitative was carefully enunciated, whilst the aria was sung with a fine sense of legato line and creamy tone. Jaime Akers theorbo playing lent the Ensemble a subtly-discernable tangy edge. Vivaldis aria Nel profondo from Orlando Furioso brought the first half to a close. Replete with ornamentation and dramatic involvement, it proved a highly effective showcase for Cenk Karaferyas keenly focussed and dextrous voice, possessing both brightness in the high register and a pleasing nuttiness in the bottom range.

Three arias were presented after the interval. Porporas Alto Giove from Poliferno was, again, perfectly scaled for the Purcell Rooms intimate acoustic, having at times an almost improvisatory feel to the performance. Five of the twelve movements from Handels Water Music provided an instrumental interlude, with lightness of touch and alert rhythms abounding in the Air and two Minuets. Steven Devine revelled in the intricate workings of the Bourree harpsichord part, whilst the Hornpipe gathered much appropriate weight from Geoff Irwins viola playing and Kate Aldridges neatly deployed double-bass. Se bramante, the last of the Handel offerings, from Serse, found Cenk Karaferya in swaggering, confident form, his voice had by now developed a rounded metallic ring to its tone. A bravura ending, however, was provided in the form of Gelido in ogni vena from Vivaldis opera Il Farnace. Here, everything came together: full sensitivity for the chilling text its words projected cleanly across an often sparing accompaniment; intelligent ornamentation; and confident vocal control allied to dramatic conviction in Cenk’s facial expressions and gestures. The obvious enthusiasm of the audience should provide sufficient encouragement for others to discover these performers, and when leaving the hall I overheard mention of possible recording plans. The future is full of promise for Cenk Karaferya and the Broschi Ensemble.

The Pollini Project @ Royal Festival Hall, London 25 May 2011 https://www.musicomh.com/classical/reviews-classical/the-pollini-project-royal-festival-hall-london

This concert was intended to be the last in The Pollini Project, a series of five concerts taking place in the Royal Festival Hall, but owing to earlier ill health the fourth concert will take place in June. In marked contrast to the sell-out crowds that Maurizio Pollini usually attracts in larger venues, relatively large numbers of empty seats even on the platform were to be seen at this concert. The reason probably was not too hard to guess at: the presence of two Stockhausen Klavierstke on the programme not only that, but placed at the very beginning of the concert. That Schumann and Chopin followed surely helped to draw a reasonable audience, but Pollini presented the challenge simultaneously to himself and those present to take Stockhausen seriously. And, one is bound to ask, if an artist of Pollini’s stature can tackle the music with the same rigour he approaches Schumann or Chopin, should we not listen just as attentively? Indeed, such an attitude might have revealed the unintended leitmotif of the evening an exploration of how composers, each a revolutionary in their time, approach the use of a repeated note or chord.

Stockhausen’s Klavierstke VII and IX might have divested themselves of some of the brashness that whipped public and critical sensibilities into a furore when new, but for all that their relative sparseness of material presents a challenge: to make coherence apparent when little is present. No. 7 appeared to draw its life from that fundamental of human existence: breath, the act of respiring, pausing, repeating the action again with slight variations of depth, tempo and dynamic to counter any lasting impression of random intention in the ordering of the notes. Pollini’s touch was aptly brittle and percussive. As a contrast, No. 9 drew its material from a series of repeated chords played on a decrescendo, emphasising skill in balance and separation of the voicing between the two hand parts, lingering to barely register muted latent sonorities.

Schumann’s Concert sans Orchestre, the little-played pre-cursor to the third sonata, indeed proved of near orchestral scale in Pollini’s realisation. With the meat of the work delivered in the sprawling opening Allegro, an impatient tempo was set and maintained to underline the flush of inspiration that must have first flowed from Schumann’s inspiration. However, the music was coherently shaped with and undeniable architectural sense and purpose, which unified the grand gesture with a closely-knit sense of internal argument that at times verged on the rhapsodic. The second movement a theme and four variations with passionato interlude mid-way through stands as one of the most neglected yet rewarding sets of variations Schumann wrote. Pollini extolled its virtues with finesse and consummate skill to place Schumann’s inventive writing centre-stage. The passionato passage, rather like the closing Presto movement, gained rather than lost through the Romantic intellectualism that Pollini brought to bear.

An association with Chopin’s music has been a constant reference point in Pollini’s career. The Prelude in C sharp minor was marked by an evenness of attack and subtle shading of the melodic line. The Barcarolle in F sharp carried a fluid narrative sense about it. Ballade no. 4 makes much of its repeated note motifs, played with witty and subtle variation on this occasion to contrast the sense of limpid vocalise with moments of Scarlatti-esque crispness. The rhythmic dexterity within the Berceuse in D flat seemed as fresh as the day it was written, whist the Scherzo no 2 was taken at full presto pelt, displaying in one and the same moment art for art’s sake from Chopin and Pollini. That Maurizio Pollini is ever a master who actively listens and cares for the sound he produces is a fact that would no doubt have pleased Chopin.

The postponed concert sees the Chopin exploration continue in the company of Debussy and Boulez’s Piano sonata no. 2, a work Pollini has long championed.

Schubert, Enescu & Dvořåk Schubert Notturno for piano trio D 897 Enescu Piano Quartet No.2 Op 30 Piano Quartet No.2 in E flat Schubert Ensemble William Howard (Piano) Simon Blendis (violin) Jane Salmon (cello) Douglas Paterson (viola) Wigmore Hall, 7 February 2011

http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents11/enescu.html The evening was framed by a short Schubert slow movement with a decorative piano part, and the far more extrovert Dvorak quartet, not one of his best but played with an uninhibited will. More interesting was the exposition of Dvorak's themes than their working out, which tended towards the formulaic, sometimes outstaying their welcome a little (cf. Mendelssohn's midde period Op 44/3 quartet, heard the previous night).

Both Schubert & Dvorak were well played by the always reliable Schubert Ensemble, but we all really came for the rarer Enescu. It was good to see a substantial house for this Enescu series, complementing the ongoing Enescu offerings in the Romanian Cultural Institute.

George Enescu's second piano quartet manages to unify terseness and lyricism in a condensed manner that typifies Enescu's late style, and is amongst the most personal of his works.

As Simon Blendis, the Schubert Ensemble's violinist, pointed out astutely before the performance, a few threads can be detected as constituents of the musical fabric, even if they cannot always be easily traced throughout the work: a folk-influenced main theme, maintenance of a certain Gallic lightness to much of the scoring, subtle re-working and transformation of the initial material.

Hard work had obviously been put in by all the players to understand Enescu's unuusually detailed requirements of dynamics and tempo variants. They played with admirable fluency, but this could not hide the fact that it is not easy listening and really demands several hearings. Among several aspects of their performance that stand out were the middle movement's calm opening section, contrasting with the more resonantly stated central section, which tactfully steered clear of any tonal harshness. The third movement coda stood out as a testament to Enescu's masterly skills of construction, repleat with ebb and flow of mood, power and internal driving force." The adventurous listener would do well to investigate either of the two available recordings (Naxos and cpo labels); the Schubert Ensemble will be putting theirs down later this month for release by Chandos later in the year.

2008 UK concert reviews Liszt, Années de Pèlerinage Books 1 and 2: Daniel Grimwood (piano). Wigmore Hall, London. 18.12.2008 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2009/Jan-Jun09/liszt1812.htm Daniel Grimwood’s near sell-out recital at Wigmore Hall is sure to remain an unforgettable experience for anyone who was there. Coinciding with the release of Grimwood’s recording of the complete Années de Pèlerinage, an urgent case was made for the critical reassessment of Liszt’s originality, not least in Grimwood’s own erudite programme note which highlighted the narrow portion of Liszt’s works regularly heard in concert. He pointed also to the long history of critical attacks on Liszt by his contemporaries and the derision that the ‘virtuoso glamour’ of his writing also attracted as being factors for Liszt remaining, even today, an often misunderstood figure.

In concert, it is most common for the first two books of the Années de Pèlerinage to be performed together. They make a good pair, as the first book, Suisse, deals largely with nature and natural imagery and the second book, Italie, with art and literature. The third book is somewhat removed in stylistic terms and overall theme, being a meditation on the nature of mortality.

Grimwood’s grasp of the music was complete; the hours of work one imagines he put into creating the right nuance for each of the individual miniatures in both books, whilst contributing to a coherent and satisfying whole, was evidentially well spent. No small factor in this was the fine 1851 Erard instrument he employed, on loan from the Barber Institute of Fine Arts in Birmingham. Grimwood’s notes sanguinely made clear that no one knows for sure exactly how Liszt’s own Erards sounded, but that his was a safe approximation with “every key having its own unique taste”. His playing eloquently bore this out through a rich bass register, a mellow middle and a crisp almost bell-like brilliance in evidence throughout the top octaves. Orage (Storm) from book one found the instrument stretched to its limit sonically – though this was due more to Liszt’s dense writing than any fault with Grimwood’s immaculate fingering or carefully judged pedalling.

Much was made of the overall contrast in tonal colour between the books: the first being rather darker and more emotional than the second, reflecting something of the raw power of nature and the refined elegance of Renaissance Italian thought as appropriate. Suisse was carried off within a broad palette of almost religious feeling and devotion, particularly evident in the opening movement, Chapelle de Guillaume Tell, which evokes a craggy mountain landscape. Barely pausing between movements, lightness of touch caught perfectly the shimmering water the Lac de Wallenstadt, before delightfully lilting readings of the Pastorale and Au Bord d’une Source. After Orage, Vallée d’Obermann – in every sense the emotional and musical heart of book one – found Grimwood plumbing its emotional depths with an interpretation that was spacious and reflective yet never dragging in tempo. Eclogue carried a limpid naturalness of phrasing; whilst Le Mal du Pays (Homesickness) was overwrought with feeling and passionate inner turmoils. Les cloches de Genève: Nocturne was truly reminiscent of a carillon through the sustained ringing tone of the instrument, which at its height approached the near-symphonic in scale.

Book two built inexorably towards Après une Lecture de Dante: Fantasia Quasi Sonata, but rather than being treated as a jewel set apart from its preludes, it found a role in complementing their various qualities. Bold brushstrokes painted Raphael’s picture of the Madonna, whilst Michelangelo’s Thinker was roughly chiselled in the music’s angular rhythms, something the forward tone of the instrument emphasised to useful effect. The Canzonetta del Salvator Rosa was thoroughly genial in outward appearance. Petrarch’s three sonnets were by turns brilliantly lit, yet clouded by an indistinct anxiety.

Dante, not unlike Liszt himself, remained a colossus in his context yet one endowed with humanity. The

elemental ascent Grimwood made of the music’s craggy rock face at once seemed to bring the evening full circle and create links with the opening of book one, the pianist visibly delighting in exposing the many layers of texture the music contains. In summation though Grimwood’s greatest achievement was to place the genius of Liszt above his own, considerable though his is as a true master of the keyboard.

Tchaikovsky and Johann Strauss: Kiev Music Theatre Orchestra; Alexei Baklan (conductor). Cadogan Hall, London. 12.12.08 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jul-Dec08/kiev1212.htm This was billed as “a celebration concert for Christmas”, so forgive me for starting with a slight gripe, the lack of printed programmes. Quite why this was so, I do not know. Maybe the promoters thought that the selection of musical evergreens that largely constituted the programme -selections from The Nutcracker, Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake in the first half; and a pot-pourri of overtures, polkas and waltzes in the second - would be known to audiences, and indeed they were, but some were overheard to wonder exactly which musical morsel was which.

That out of the way, let’s get to what really matters – the music-making. The Kiev Music Theatre Orchestra is one that places gusto and enthusiasm before precision and absolute cleanliness of execution, but there is no doubt they have been well drilled by their charismatic and indulgent conductor Alexei Baklan. The string tone was by and large full, yet not over-ripe – only the basses could have been stronger – and that not for all of the time. Some lovely phrasing was in evidence from the violas and cellos in particular, and when given their moments to shine in the spotlight – as almost every section of the orchestra did so at some stage – they came into their own. Woodwinds hailed forth with earthy bassoons and brightly characterful oboe and clarinet lines. The brass were largely resplendent and hardly ever over-pushed in terms of their tonal quality. Timpani were larger than life, with the chief percussionist frequently seeming in a high spirits party mood. Maybe a slight regret was had that a synthesised keyboard was used for the harp and glockenspiel parts when required, but overall that worked reasonably well. Many in the audience were left visibly toe-tapping to the infectious rhythms of the music.

Along the way there were a couple of surprises, the most notable of which being a performance of Leopold Mozart’s “Toy” symphony at the start of the second half. Baklan found himself demoted from the podium to the triangle, an oboist became a percussionist… and all played up the comic confusion of the event. It is Christmas, after all, so why not?

However, I left wondering if Alexei Baklan and his orchestra had sold themselves short on this occasion.

Maybe next time they could offer us a more serious programme, and one preferably including a Ukrainian composition or two from the likes of Volodimir Podgorny, Vitaly Gubarenko or Grigory Tsitsaluk whose music is all too little performed outside their country. That would really help establish Ukraine more widely on the international musical map, and not before time.

Beethoven, Prokofiev, Schumann, Debussy and Rachmaninoff: Martyna Jatkauskaite (piano). Wigmore Hall, London. 30.11.08 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jul-Dec08/jatkauskaite3011.htm This recital marked Lithuanian pianist Martyna Jatkauskaite’s Wigmore Hall debut, awarded as part of her first prize in the 2007 Jacques Samuel Intercollegiate Piano competition. Her burgeoning career, not least in her home country, is currently balanced by post-graduate study at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London.

If the over-riding impression she created across the works of all five composers she played was one of strength of tone, physical power and integrity of conception, then it says much for her well defined technique and ability to stamp authority on practically every statement she makes at the keyboard.

Beethoven’s 32 variations in C minor, WoO 80, is a work not without its problems of structure,which the composer himself admitted. Jatkauskaite rose unhesitatingly to the technical challenges the piece posed, as she did throughout the evening, and made much of the opportunities to produce rich and robust fortissimo playing, leaving one in no doubt that she sees Beethoven as a composer struggling with form and his own creative instincts.

As a composer, Prokofiev could be tongue-in-cheek when the mood took him, but Sarcasms, as the name suggests, delves deep into the most caustic recesses of his character. Martyna Jatkauskaite brought these out by pouncing on the angular rhythms within the five movements and highlighting the contrasts between the characters inherent in each, for example, the first came across as neo-romantic, whilst the second mixed neurosis with the distant perfume of Debussy in its more introvert moments. Throughout however, there was solidity in the bass register which gave the music no lack of gravitas or emotion.

Schumann’s Etudes Symphoniques – ever a challenge of form and integration of structure for pianists – closed the first half. The sequence of étude variations was powerfully and persuasively shaped to emphasise the drama within the work’s complex structure. There was an ever-present sense of adventure in the playing-off of more lyrical moments against the strongly articulated chordal writing upon which so much depends when making the most of the music.

Three movements from Debussy’s Images Book I provided an opportunity for more relaxed playing at the start of the second half. Reflets dans l’eau nevertheless was laden with emotional meaning in its power to suggest something approaching the sexual. Hommage à Rameau found Jatkauskaite negotiating the intricacies of Debussy’s sarabande-like adopted style with relative ease, whilst Mouvement explored rhythmic interplay in a hypnotic sense that was not dissimilar to Ravel’s Bolero.

All this though was in many ways but a prelude to Rachmaninoff’s second piano sonata, which concluded the recital. Little doubt was left throughout the three movements that Jatkauskaite carries with her an innate understanding of the work, and possesses the technical and musical ability effectively to link the emphatic first movement and ever increasing power of the finale via the reservation that is to be found in the middle movement. For me, this formed the work’s core in an emotional sense, out of which the grand passions of the conclusion were allowed to grow. Careful never to push the piano past its limits or to effect an unmusical tone, Jatkauskaite’s performance was at once showy yet unassuming and characterised by powerful music making yet never losing a sense of overall control.

Martyna Jatkauskaite, I suspect, will be a pianist well worth following in the future.

Britten, Hindemith, Schumann: Simone van der Giessen (viola), Amy de Sybel (piano). Royal Festival Hall, London. 11.11.2008 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jul-Dec08/giessen1111.htm This short concert was given as a precursor to the Philharmonia Orchestra’s evening concert as part of their Martin Musical Scholarship Award-Winners’ recital programme, Simone van der Giessen being the featured recipient. Currently a student at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, her extensive performance experience includes being the violist for the Navarra String Quartet.

Britten’s Lachrymae, a series of variations on a song by Dowland, began with some smoky textures in both viola and the piano parts, before picking up richness of string tone against the piano background in the second variation. The third was notable for the clarity and articulation of the viola’s pizzicato before proceeding to a contrasting nuance of muted bowed playing. Thereafter, the piano established itself as a dominant force once again, Amy de Sybel revelling in the richly romantic writing Britten requires her to play, before insightful playing from both musicians brought the work to a rousing, yet not overly rushed conclusion.

Hindemith’s Viola sonata in F was the centre-piece of the concert. Playing the three movements almost as one, the composer’s multiple gifts as a performer – not least as perhaps the leading violist of his day – were readily apparent in the challenges placed before both artists in the youthful enthusiasm of the music, which displays clear debts Brahms and Bruckner. The opening is dominated by chordal writing in the piano, which Amy de Sybel dispatched with authority and fluency of phrasing, which was echoed largely in the viola part also. Much of the movement saw some imaginative exploration of shadings of tone, though equality between the two instruments was found as the music progressed. Variations dominate much of the material in the last two movements and the intricacies were explored by both artists in some sensitively nuanced playing.

Schumann’s Fantasiestüke completed the programme. The performance took a wide emotional range from romantic melancholia in the first movement to a certain skittishness in the second movement and constrained passions dominating the closing movement. Simone van der Giessen’s playing carried extra freedom about it now the score had been dispensed with, particularly notable was her shaping of the second movement’s long sinewy phrases. As earlier in the programme, Amy de Sybel came truly into her own as a pianist to watch as well as listen to when the “mit Feuer” element of the last movement was exploited to produce a memorable bravura finale.

Bach, Vivaldi, Pachebel: Remus Azoitei (violin /director); Yuri Kalnits (violin); London Musical Arts Ensemble. St Martin-in-the-Fields, London. 6.11.2008 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jul-Dec08/remus0611.htm Any concert dominated by Bach violin concertos needs to bring out the wit and invention in the composer’s writing to sustain interest within an idiom that never strays too far beyond the formal boundaries explored by the composer. This concert achieved precisely this.

An overall sense of balance was given to the proceedings through having the Bach and Vivaldi concertos for two violins, in D minor and A minor respectively, begin and end the programme. The Bach was notable for the blending of the solo lines with Yuri Kalnits producing a slightly brighter tone than the rich sonority of Remus Azoitei’s playing. The merest indication of tempo at the start of each movement and encouragement of subtle dynamic emphases from the chamber ensemble sufficed for the direction that Azoitei offered: but it was all that was needed, given their clearly projected instrumental lines.

Some contrast between minor and major keys was offered in the two Bach concertos for solo violin - in A minor and E major - the latter being particularly notable for the neatly accentuated first movement, the warmth of the bass-line offered by the five string double-bass in the second movement and the fine shading of the finale. Throughout, a sense of the continuous heartbeat that permeates Bach's writing was clearly perceptible.

As filler items in the second half, buoyant readings of Pachelbel's Canon and Gigue and Bach's Air on the G string were offered by the London Musical Arts Ensemble.

The zenith of the evening was reached in Remus Azoitei's playing of Bach's Chaconne for solo violin. The lengthy monologue found in his hands, structure finely balanced with controlled emotion to draw out much of the music's intricate content, thus making sense of the piece as a whole. With music clearly of second nature to him, Azoitei's playing had an improvisatory feel about it which allowed a rich palette of tonal inflections to emerge. By itself, this made the concert a memorable experience.

Viktoria Mullova – Artist in Focus … Portrait Concert September 27, 2008 Southbank Centre, London – Queen Elizabeth Hall http://www.classicalsource.com/db_control/db_concert_review.php?id=6318 Bach Partita in E, BWV1006 – Prelude Bartók Duos for Violin and Cello [transcribed Matthew Barley from 44 Duos for Two Violins] Weather Report Pursuit of the Woman [arr. Barley] John Lewis/Bratsch Django [arr. Barley] The Hollies The Air That I Breathe [arr. Barley] Colin Matthews Duo for Violin and Marimba Trainer Knots Bratsch Er Nemo Klanz [arr. Barley] Viktoria Mullova (violin), Matthew Barley (cello) Paul Clarvis & Sam Walton (percussion), Paul Griffiths (guitar), Julian Joseph & Fraser Trainer (piano) and Pete Whyman (clarinet & saxophone) Viktoria Mullova has made a reputation as an artist of quality by demonstrating that the music she plays can be thought of afresh rather than simply trotted out once more in a tired fashion. Her approach encompasses a willingness to string her Stradivarius with natural gut when playing baroque music or, as this concert demonstrated, to bring works together in innovative combinations.

Beginning with the 'Prelude' to Bach's Partita in E, Mullova played with fine technique to produce good tone, particularly in the middle and lower registers; only occasionally did she push towards the top. Her reading was thoughtful and emphasised the repetitive nature of Bach’s writing.

Matthew Barley, Mullova’s husband, then proceeded to introduce the first group of arrangements from Bartók’s 44 Duos for two violins, re-scored for violin and cello. The opening Rutherian dance was rather imbalanced in favour of the cello, despite the vibrato-free playing. Others were rather more jocular or forthright in mood. Purists might not have agreed with Barley’s transcriptions, but for audiences unfamiliar with the repertoire, the separation of two normally closely-scored lines could have helped in grasping the inner workings of these short musical snatches. Another set of four transcriptions followed, capturing elements of melancholy and rhythmic humour.

Around the Bartók came arrangements of popular numbers. Weather Report’s "The Pursuit of the Woman with the Feathered Hat” and The Hollies’ “The Air that I Breathe”, given in a version for violin, piano and percussion. With rhythmical repetition at the core of the works, opportunities for expression beyond the basic were limited, though Mullova managed to give an arioso feel to the solo line in “The Air that I Breathe”. Julian Joseph brought a sense of freedom to the piano part, from which Paul Clarvis took his cue for improvised percussion contributions.

Barley’s arrangement for quintet (added cello and marimba) of John Lewis’s jazz standard “Django” was at its best when at its most subtle. Colin Matthews’s Duo for violin and marimba continued the now wellestablished theme of rhythmic obsessiveness within the programmed works. Here Mullova sharpened her attack to suitably partner Sam Walton’s incisive playing.

Post-interval two works were on the programme. Fraser Trainer’s 2003 work Knots, based on a psychological treatise by R. D. Laing of the same title, is in his words a “three-movement violin concerto backed by a six-person ensemble”. Here, balance issues meant that Paul Griffiths’s guitar-playing failed to

come across with much impact, whilst Paul Whyman’s alternation between clarinet and saxophone provided only momentary colouring – although his playing was imaginative.

Barley’s final contribution was an arrangement of “Er Nemo Klanz” by the Paris-based gypsy group Bratsch.

Why he thought that splicing two pentatonic Bartók dances into the middle added anything, since they were so obviously at odds with the surrounding material, is a mystery. I suspect that, as with the concert as a whole, difference was the entire point. And there could be no denying the obvious musicianship or technical skill that all brought to the evening.

Razumovsky Trust Gala: featuring Ida Haendel (violin) and other artists. Wigmore Hall, London. 24. 6.2008. http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jan-Jun08/razumovsky2406.htm A rare London appearance by Ida Haendel seemed too interesting to miss. Long ago she earned my respect as the last surviving prominent pupil of George Enescu and the bearer of a unique musical heritage. There is also no denying that Miss Haendel was, and still is, an irrepressible and idiosyncratic force of nature. But, alas, I fear her biography went a little too far in stating “…at 70 she still has much to offer” when referring to the current quality of her playing.

Throughout a seemingly innocuous programme of Corelli, Sarasate, and Saint-Saens, Ida Haendel was frequently challenged by intonation and phrasing, even at the too stately tempi adopted by the accompanist Olga Sitkovetsky, whose playing also suffered as a result.

The second half included unprogrammed performances by Guro Kleven Hagen of Wieniawski’s Polonaise in D major, winner of the Ida Haendel Scholarship from the Razumovsky Trust, and David Cohen playing Schubert’s Arpeggione sonata. These performances at least , raised the overall standard of the evening, as did the playing in Vivaldi’s concerto for four violins in B minor.

Earlier in the concert Anna-Liisa Bezrodny performed Grieg’s third violin sonata and Ravel’s Tzigane with Olga Sitkovetsky. Though both works presented little technical challenge they did show a sizeable musical understanding. Bezrodny is an artist worth noting for the future.

Richard Lewis Award Winners’ Recital: various singers and accompanists. Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music, London. 12. 6.2008. http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jan-Jun08/lewis1206.htm This year’s Richard Lewis Award Winners’ recital featured no less than three baritones, who shared the Award in 2007, each of a different vocal type from the others. They were accompanied by three pianists who have already started to achieve some success in their field and each pairing was represented by a short yet varied programme.

Korean bass-baritone Kong-Seok Choi started with Schubert’s An die Leier and Gruppe aus dem Tartarus, both of which displayed impressive vocal tone and strong characterisation of the piano part from James Baillieu. Verdi’s Ella giammia m’amo from Don Carlo usefully explored the nuances of his lower range with a well placed sense of intimacy in the recitative before opening up the voice fully for the aria. Dong Soo Shin’s San-A, a song centred on longing for the mountainous countryside of Korea, did indeed find Kong-Seok Choi very much on home territory. He sang with such expressive freedom that it made me wish audiences had more opportunity to hear Korean song than we do. A great contrast was to be had in Rossini’s Miei rampolli femminini from La Cenerentola, which brought characteristics of pomposity and selfparody effortlessly to the fore.

British baritone Gerard Collett opened with a group of four Schubert lieder: Sprache de Liebe, Im Abendrot, Nachtviolen and Nachtstück. Throughout, he showed restraint in interpretation, an airy lightness of timbre and fine attention to the texts as well as careful attention to the internal dynamics of each lied. Most immediately pleasing was the sense of narrative he brought to Nachtstück, following the gloomy and pensive introduction, most atmospherically played by Robin Davis. Poulenc’s Le bestiaire was delivered from a high stool, as if narrating a series of miniature tales. The oddity of Apollinaire’s poetry, captured effortlessly in Poulenc’s writing, was relayed with dry wit by both performers. Three songs in English by Frank Bridge closed the programme, with expressive passions felt in the setting of James Joyce’s Goldenhair, before the tenderness of thought in Where she lies asleep and the vocal richness exhibited in Love went a-riding.

David Butt Philip’s recital began with a group of four Brahms lieder. An ein Veilchen made good use of a vibrant upper register, although something about his posture seemed initially a bit tight, thereby affecting the tone elsewhere. An die Mond had a natural and sure sense of phrasing. Excellent English diction was also on offer in three songs, one each by Howells, Jeffreys and Dilys Elwyn-Edwards. The first benefited from the consummate touch of Simon Lane’s accompaniment; the second from the sense of poigniancy communicated in the words. Rossini’s Largo al factotum might be a baritone ‘standard’, but it needed more swagger and freedom to come really alive over the rather choppy playing of the accompaniment.

For me, the singer who satisfied most across the duration of his programme was Gerard Collett, though all performers do the Royal Academy of Music credit.

Chopin and Suk: Ingrid Fliter (piano) / BBC Symphony Orchestra / Jiři Bělohlávek (conductor). Barbican Hall, London. 21. 5.2008 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jan-Jun08/bbcso2105.htm The indisposition of Piotr Anderszewski led to Ingrid Fliter taking to the stage to play Chopin’s second piano concerto in place of Szymanowski’s Symphonie concertante, which was originally advertised. The evening however retained a mixture of poetic lyricism and profundity with Suk’s Asrael Symphony forming the second half. Between them the two works displayed music’s ability to enchant and grapple with weighty philosophical questions.

Chopin’s second concerto is obviously a work for which Fliter feels an affinity, this performance being squeezed in between others in Dornbirn, Austria and Milan. Bělohlávek urged a rhythmically alert orchestral opening, to which Ingrid Fliter responded with a grand gesture, however as the movement went on her performance emphasised the delicate internal passagework of the concerto in the crispness of her fingering and articulation more than the bold outward statements. She showed keen awareness of balance, and her approach played off well against the predominantly light yet broad-brushed approach from the orchestra. The middle-movement larghetto proved to be the emotional centre of the performance, even though initially it seemed as if the tempo might drag proceedings down somewhat. However intent on emphasising the dreamy quality within Chopin’s solo and orchestral writing Fliter and Bělohlávek were, their restraint was broken by a delightfully nuanced bassoon solo. The final movement brought questions of tonal weight to mind about Fliter’s performance. Her left hand in particular shaded the reading less than is often the case, not that there is anything intrinsically wrong in this, as it can, and did, lend a deftness to her poetic playing, even if it failed to fully register against Bělohlávek’s enthusiastically produced orchestral tuttis.

I have no qualms whatsoever about the performance of Josef Suk’s mighty Asrael Symphony. All too rarely performed, the work is a deeply personal family affair that grapples with mighty questions and poses substantial interpretational problems. Written in response to the sudden deaths of Suk’s father-in-law Antonin Dvořák and his daughter Otylka, aged just 27, its five movements traverse the issues of the fight between Life and Death, ponder the meaning and implications of loss, reflect on the hollowness of Death’s victory, remember the beauty of those who have died, and conclude with perhaps the greatest philosophical question of them all: what is the point of living? Of course, Suk used the process of writing to work through his feelings and arrive at his own conclusions. To experience the work can be cathartic, as its message is ultimately one of hope springing from the depths of despair.

Aside from these weighty questions the conductor has to balance form and structure to maintain the work’s cohesiveness. Conceived in two parts, the first three movements broadly stemmed from the aftermath of Dvořák’s death and the last two were scored after Otylka’s death. Bělohlávek secured all this with a sureness of grip that made the performance a fascinating experience, built fundamentally from an architectural overview: having a desolate scherzo at its centre, the movement is flanked by two slow movements, which in turn are buttressed by faster, more dramatic ones. Clearly the BBC forces had been put through their paces in rehearsal and responded with playing of forthright directness, as befits music that demands such emotion to be evident.

A few observations about the playing might suffice in drawing out its quality: the opening movement’s infusion with the cold, dispassionate appearance of Death for example – brilliantly evoked by the hollowness of the cellos – before plunging headlong into an miasmic orchestral melée signifying the cruel wrenching of life from his victims. Here, as in the second movement, the Straussian influence on Suk’s orchestration – for which he was often vilified – was totally apparent. Indeed such opulence aids understanding of the programme behind the music, to my way of thinking. With a solitary trumpet permeating much of the second movement’s texture, there was contrast aplenty to be had with the bittersweet tone of the violins, made all the more effective by judicious handling of both tempo and dynamic by

Bělohlávek throughout the grim pizzicato fugato section. The vivace third movement emphasised the protracted and savage dance of death over life, taunting and haunting simultaneously in the use of woodwinds, with each instrumental line twisting its predecessor ever more cruelly out of shape. Only the sweet Dvořákesque dance provided an intentional counterpoint. The tenderness of Suk’s portrait of Otylka which forms the fourth movement was given a reflective glow of fondness in the violin tone especially. The closing maelstrom of a movement was pitched into at a full and unrelenting pelt from the first timpani strokes. If the movement is purgative, it not so much heals the anguish caused by suffering but reconciles one with loss. Brooding basses and gloriously toned masses of blaring brass gave way to ethereal upper strings and that universal signifier of ultimate optimism, the C major chord, hushed and reverently played.

Just as the music demonstrated events that spurred on the making of Suk the composer, this scandalously ill-attended performance left no doubt that Bělohlávek and his forces can be musicians of the first rank when the occasion demands it of them.

The broadcast on Radio 3 (Friday 23 May 2008, 7.00pm) should not be missed.

Bach, Beethoven, Schumann, Enescu, Bartók and Prokofiev: works for violin and piano. Valeriy Sokolov (violin) / Eric Ferrand N’Kaoua (piano). Wigmore Hall. 13. 5.2008 Bach: Chaconne from Partita No. 2 in D minor for solo violin BWV1004 Beethoven: Romance in F Op. 50 arr. violin and piano Schumann/Kreisler: Fantasy in C Op. 131 Enescu: Violin Sonata No. 3 in A minor Op. 25 ‘dans le caractère populaire roumain’ Bartók: Night time in Transylvania Prokofiev: Violin Sonata No. 2 in D Op. 94a http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2008/Jan-Jun08/sokolov1305.htm This is just the sort of programme, featuring standard repertoire alongside some more adventurous choices, to show what a violin and piano duo is really made of, and accordingly, I relished the prospect of this recital for some time beforehand. Some audience members I encountered in the foyer expressed some disquiet about it. The consensus seemed to be that it lacked shape or overall unity. My view is that it is as perfectly possible to have a successful evening of contrasts – as here, with a German first half played off against a mainly Romanian and Russian second – as one might get from a programme that expounding a sense of inner logicand progression.

Bach’s lengthy solo Chaconne taxes violinists on several levels: maturity and maintenance of tone to name but two. Sokolov found security in the latter with clean bowing even if his playing at times did sound rather more like a competition entry exercise than springing from the spontaneity that comes with confidence and experience. The Beethoven Romance was rather piano led, though the violin seemed a little on dry side for my taste; I would have preferred a greater degree of tonal variation within it to bring it more fully to life. That said, there was little doubting Sokolov’s purpose towards the music in his playing.

Schumann’s Fantasy in C exists in the repertoire almost entirely because of Fritz Kreisler. Suitably imbued with a romantic touch and feeling for the rich melodic vein that runs through the piece, Sokolov brought touches of individuality to his reading so indicating the artistic direction is which he is heading.

Enescu’s third violin sonata, ‘dans le caractère populaire roumain’, along with much else of the composer’s output, has seen a resurgence in popularity with performers in recent years. The growing catalogue of available recordings has done something to raise awareness of the work amongst the public, yet it is arguably in live performance that its intricacy and technical mastery in the writing for both parts can be best appreciated. Alas, Valeriy Sokolov and Eric Ferrand N’Kaoua fell some way short of producing a memorable performance. Their problems began with a misunderstanding of Enescu’s intentions in the work : a situation echoed in Gerald Larner’s programme notes which would have you think that the work is almost entirely a sequence of rustic dances. This misconstruing was most clearly heard in the slow movement’s evocation of the night, taking carefully scored notation and interpreting it in a rather slipshod manner, which to me indicated that the work had not been fully internalised as yet. Eric Ferrand N’Kaoua maintained a steadier tempo than on his recording with Gilles Apap, but still remained wanting in terms of presenting the of which often forms the all-important foil to the violin part. However given Sokolov’s age, it might be a bit much to have expected anything more from him at this stage. He’d do well to persist with the work though and not be afraid to really explore the tonal nuances that Enescu calls for, the lack of which left his performance sounding rather bland.

Bartók’s piece Night time in Transylvania proved an atmospheric vignette in the aftermath of Enescu’s mighty sonata, still imbued with much atmosphere indicative of a nocturnal countryside scene.

Prokofiev’s second sonata began almost without a clear goal in mind as to what Sokolov and Ferrand N’Kaoua wanted to say about the piece; though eventually enough forward momentum was gathered to make the first movement moderato gel together winningly. The second movement scherzo picked up the

pace, and with it a good deal of internal interest between the parts. At their best the two players are provocative, just not often or consistently enough in my view. The andante proved the point once more with loose ensemble, though thankfully the closing allegro con brio was bright toned and amply lyrical.

Ronald Stevenson at 80 Festival curated by Murray McLachlan at St John's Smith Square - London 11-13 April 2008 The Artsong Collective: ‘Songs of Innocence’ Moira Harris (soprano), Phillida Bannister (contralto), Wills Morgan (tenor), Paul Keohone (baritone), Richard Black (piano) 11 April 2008 Introduction – baritone The Shepherd – soprano The Ecchoing Green – tenor The Lamb – soprano The Little Black Boy – tenor The Blossom – soprano The Chimney Sweeper – contralto The Little Boy Lost – tenor The Little Boy Found – baritone Laughing Song – soprano Cradle Song – contralto The Divine Image – quartet Holy Thursday – tenor Night – soprano Infant Joy – contralto and tenor Spring – baritone Nurse’s song – soprano and contralto A dream – soprano Introduction to the chorale – piano On Another’s Sorrow – acapella quartet http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents08/Stevnsn08consolidated.html To begin at the beginning - well, near it anyhow - seems right when celebrating any anniversary.

Particularly so when celebrating the life and work of Ronald Stevenson (B. 6 March 1928) cultural polymath: composer, master pianist, broadcaster, author, scholar and poet [pictured 2001].

Started in Stevenson’s early teens and completed in 1965 the hour long cycle Songs of Innocence was not performed in its entirety until 1998. Even then no specification of particular vocal ranges was made for the songs of the cycle, so this performance offered one possible allocation of material to voice.

And poetry is all important for Ronald Stevenson. His writing reflects an acute awareness that poetry is best savoured when read aloud or sung. Naturalness of tempo and inflection of the vocal lines also mark out his respect for the texts. Often flowing vocal lines are backed by richly luxuriant piano accompaniments that owe much to Stevenson’s own pianistic skill and also seem to offer subtle debts towards Grainger and Britten. Central to innocence is childhood, so Blake’s poems on the subject form a recurrent theme, to which Stevenson responded with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Songs of Innocence stands as central to the twentieth century’s flowering of English song, and did much to show his own youthful potential. Alas, and it is a very much regretted, of the singers only Paul Keohone and Moira Harris seemed totally on form. Keohone’s security and richness of tone and Harris’s expressiveness with words both largely eluded Phillida Bannister and Wills Morgan, who both struggled to remain on pitch

throughout their contributions. Richard Black’s contribution exceeded that of mere accompanist to weave the songs into a coherent whole through deftness of touch, richness of tone and unassuming delight in pianistic nuance or subtle tempo changes to vary the mood.

A pity then that much of the promise in Stevenson’s music was under-realised by this performance.

However, since no recording is yet available, one with soloists fully up to Stevenson’s demands would seem desirable.

The three concerts that started the first full day of the Stevenson festival gave listeners the opportunity to hear some of the influences upon Stevenson’s music – Busoni and Grainger formed central parts of this, but so too did the words of poets such as Hugh MacDairmid and William Soutar.

Young Artists’ Piano Recital, including transcriptions of Liszt & others, also music by Alkan and works by Stevenson Sam Liu, Yeon-Seok and Jesse Beaumont of Trinity College of Music.

Three prize winning piano students from Trinity College of Music began proceedings. Yoon-Seok Shin was suitably full of the joys of spring in the world premiere of Sam Liu’s transcription of Walton’s Façade tangopasodoble, before delivering crisply articulated accounts of Stevenson’s arrangement of Charpentier’s Louise romance. Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream wedding march arranged by Liszt predictably owed more to the latter than the former. A welcome return to upbeat lightness of touch in the form of Kapustin’s Sonatina op. 100 completed the programme.

The second pianist, Sam Liu, revelled in the chordal richness of Bach-Stevenson’s Komm, süsser Tod, and concentrating on the structure of Busoni’s Sonatina Seconda, before delivering Liszt’s arrangement of Wagner’s Liebestod in a manner that underlined the slow but sure burn of the music’s emotional drama.

Jesse Beaumont’s programme concentrated on Liszt, with Transcendental studies 4, 5 and 6 forming the bulk of his offering. The fifth was the most convincing as a whole, owing much to his lightness of touch.

Rimsky-Korsakov’s bumblebee was perfunctuarily swatted down on the keyboard after a manic flight, before the combined spectres of Alkan, Chopin and Rimsky-Korsakov were efficiently called forth in Stevenson’s atmospheric Etudette.

Busoni - ‘Fantasia Contrappuntistica’ Allan Schiller, John Humphreys (pianos) Allan Schiller and John Humphries, long time piano partners, offered the festival’s most extensive offering from Busoni, the Fantasia Contrappuntistica. In contrast with the last time I heard the work given by a single pianist, this account was texturally light and spacious.

Together they coordinated well and delivered much that showed an awareness of Bach before moving the piece into the realm of pure Busonian fantasy, with its constant streams of emotion overrunning one another. A moving experience.

Grainger - Lincolnshire Posy/Fantasy on Porgy and Bess Penelope Thwaites and John Lavender (pianos) Penelope Thwaites and John Lavender took up the cause of Grainger, with four pieces from the Lincolnshire Posy. Mixing jauntiness with the refined rustic mood that Grainger caught so well in his writing they made their enjoyment of playing the work palpable. Grainger’s Fantasy on Porgy and Bess continued in much the same vein, with its juxtaposition of the musical numbers showing a keen sense of wit and imagination at work.

The Artsong Collective: Recital 2 The second of the Artsong Collective recitals had examples of songs by Stephen Foster, Coleridge-Taylor, van Dieren, and Francis George Scott at its core. They are, we were told all songs that Ronald Stevenson loves, even if their performance was textually indistinct. Of the three Stevenson cycles presented, the most successful by far in performance terms was Hills of Home, settings of Robert Louis Stevenson. Although Ronald Stevenson was effusive in his praise of Scots poets following the recital, the words of MacDairmid and others made little impact in either English or Scots.

Chopin & Enescu http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents08/BoracChopin%20Enescu.html Chopin: Twelve Etudes, op. 10 Enescu: Suite Nr. 2 D major, op. 10 Chopin: Twelve Etudes, op. 25 Enescu: Romanian Rhapsody Nr. 1, op. 11/1 (arranged for piano by the composer) Luiza Borac (piano) Romanian Cultural Institute, London, 3 April 2008.

If Enescu and Chopin share anything it is the precociousness of their musical talents, composition not being the least of them.

But it might be argued precociousness promises little when it lacks heart and soul within its foundation. Fortunately both composers wanted for nothing in this respect either. For this and much more Luiza Borac is to be thanked, as the concert repeatedly showed the depth of feeling and instinctual musicality that is brought to her performances.

The striking originality of Chopin’s opus 10 etudes was hard to ignore: each a mini manifesto for breaking the mould of what the form could become, rather than merely accepting tradition. The reference of Liszt as dedicatee – another revolutionary of piano forms and technique - seems to underline the point.

Luiza Borac in her recital for the Enescu Society of London launched into the C minor allegro (no. 1) with arresting aplomb. Her integrity of interpretation was, if anything, deepened in the more reflective of the etudes. The second etude brought out the evenness of her fingering against nuanced chords, whilst the third etude sustained and built the dynamism of its phrases naturally and the sixth possessed acutely judged shadings. The eighth benefited from careful exploration of the piano’s bell-like upper register and the ninth found Borac reigning in its emotion through contrast with nobility of tone in the left hand part.

The eleventh poured fourth with the unforced beauty of a sun-dappled stream, the allusion thereby revealing much in the way of the music’s integral beauty. In overall terms, much contrast was to be relished in the remaining etudes: the fourth found much of the attack evident in the first, the fifth had more than a flash of quick-fire brilliance about it, the tenth showed Chopin’s most Romantic face, and the twelfth closed the set full of swagger, yet pleasingly devoid of arrogance, that allowed Borac’s formidable technique to be fully enjoyed.

Enescu’s second piano suite, written in 1901 when he was barely twenty, is a work cast in four movements.

The opening Toccata immediately announces both the majestic nature of Enescu’s conception and the ferocious demands made upon the pianist, and Luiza Borac met them head on. Swept along under its own impetus, the music gives a unique take on a Baroque model to show Enescu’s knowledge of form but his ability to be daringly different within its confines. Luiza’s playing drew a fine line through that delicate balance to beguile and impress. The Sarabande is more nuanced and was enhanced greatly by effortless clarity found in Luiza Borac’s playing. By contrast the Pavane, though still audibly under the influence of Fauré, adds a distant hint something Chopinesque to Enescu’s musical palette, translating the delicacy of a rose’s perfume into lingering melody. The closing Bourrée was altogether more lively, and rightly so. Its imposing left hand chords, a favoured feature in Enescu’s piano writing, gave due substance to the performance, particularly during the climactic closing minutes.

As Chopin’s second set of twelve etudes were played by Luiza Borac a recurring notion occurred: these are works in some ways more conventional than their predecessors, as they are more directly concerned with the standard technical problems covered by etudes. There are leaps in the fourth, thirds in no. 6, sixths in

no. 8, and octaves in nos. 9 and 10. Routine though formed no part of Luiza Borac’s playing and raised these ’exercise pieces’ to the realm Chopin intended them for.

Enescu’s own arrangement of the orchestral First Romanian Rhapsody presents severe challenges for any pianist’s musicality. Contrasts of tone and tempo call for acute judgement of what works best for a single.

The last time I encountered the work in concert the result was a somewhat hackneyed and hurried traversal Luiza Borac chose to avoid over-playing the piece in terms of volume or unduly forcing the tempo changes. The intricate combination of dances and songs that form the rhapsody can after all provide much in the way of excitement by themselves. Careful shading of the various elements contributed tellingly to Borac’s success.

Two encores: Enescu providing the first with the evocative scene that is the third piano suite’s final movement “Carillon Nocturne”. Over an open sustaining pedal chords ring out atmospherically to movingly conjure the sound of bells echoing across a mountainous landscape. Liszt’s transcription of a Schubert lied concluded the evening, still delicately atmospheric after more than two hours of intense playing.

2007 UK concert reviews Asasello Quartet & Jill Crossland Haydn - String Quartet in D, Op.76/5 Jarrell - Zeitfragmente Kurtág - 12 Microludes – Hommage à Mihály András, Op.13 Brahms - Piano Quintet in F minor, Op.34 Asasello Quartet Rostislav Kojevnikov & Barbara Kuster (violins), Justyna Sliwa (viola) & Andreas Mueller (cello) Jill Crossland (piano) Wigmore Hall, London, November 16, 2007 http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents/AsasellosCrossland.html This concert marked the Asasello Quartet’s Wigmore Hall debut, and it was a shame that not more of an audience turned out for it. One of the most notable features about the Asasello’s attitude to music making and programming is their deliberate employment of contrast – be it in terms of period of composition, style, duration of work to give but three aspects in evidence here.

Their playing of the Haydn quartet was lithe and alert, forward looking rather than stuck in the musty past of tradition. That is not to suggest they did not reference aspects which could be thought of as traditional, particularly in the lingering largo movement, which they played with rapt inwardly singing tone and warmth. The presto finale, however, brought things hurtling towards the present day in terms of approach once more with its almost driven tempo.

Michael Jarrell’s piece purports to be concerned with the synthesis of time past, present and future by representing the three facets simultaneously. If the work’s no holes barred jarring start seemed a little dated (the device of beginning this way has been employed too often in the last half century) no doubt this was unintended by the composer. The work's duration was at once long – too long in some passages – yet in other senses mercifully short, since it proved almost instantly forgettable. Technicality had the upper hand over lasting musicality, and it was only towards the end when certain musical ideas were revisited and imposed upon others that Jarrell’s timely ambitions began to make some sense. The Asasellos tackled it all with unwavering commitment.

Given the context, Kurtág’s Microludes were not only mercifully brief but also generously witty. No sooner had each wispful musical thought been born then it died, succeeded by another in the sequence. The Asasello quartet played them from memory and obviously enjoyed doing so, revelling in the momentary beauty of the music.

Joined by British pianist Jill Crossland, the programme ended with perhaps the piano quintet to end all piano quintets in terms of demand and duration. Brahms asks much from his players throughout the nigh on forty minute duration of the piece – the pianist plays almost constantly and the quartet has much to do in the way of coordination amongst themselves and with the pianist. The results here were full bodied and suitably Brahmsian in warmth of tone and sensible tempi chosen throughout to bring out affection for the music. The spontaneous generosity that all the musicians showed in their playing said much not only for their individual accomplishments but also for their rapport together.

May we hear more of the Asasello Quartet soon please!

Tchaikovsky, Mozart, J Strauss II, R Strauss: Hilary Hahn, violin / Philharmonia Orchestra / Juraj Valcuha, conductor. Royal Festival Hall, London. 13.12.2007 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/valcuha1312.htm A concert does not need a coherent thread running through it, but the programme of this one seemed so diverse that I left wishing a theme might have been discernable. Conducting his London premiere, Slovakian Juraj Valcuha – hitherto active largely as assistant music director and guest conducting with a variety of Continental orchestras after studying in St Petersburg and Paris – gave a somewhat mixed impression of his abilities.

Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet fantasy overture, a work of youthful passion and emotion if ever one existed, was left sorely divided between the emotional and gestural extremes of Valcuha’s approach. Most at ease in the extrovert passages, for which the Philharmonia responded with obvious passion, he did not wholly succeed in thinking through the drama of the music to link it convincingly with the interspersed introverted passages. At such times the orchestra seemed marginally uncertain, and perhaps more pointed direction would have helped them then: the violins in the lovers’ duet were distinctly bland. The overture’s ending however was anything but, as the imbalance between brass and the rest of the orchestra threatened to topple the musical structure entirely.

Mozart’s third violin concerto was, on the whole, more successful. Valcuha displayed greater restraint where it was needed and a clear technique became evident in the process. The first movement was occasionally heavily accented, and Hilary Hahn’s tasteful solo playing sought to counter this to some extent, particularly through her extended cadenza. Soloist, conductor and orchestra were more of one mind in the second and third movements. The second movement carried well sustained shading of instrumental lines, whilst the closing movement was lightly sprung with delicate pizzicati from the orchestral strings. Hahn was thankful for the quality of the orchestral playing and as generous in acknowledgement of her colleagues as she was delighted by her own performance.

With the change of repertoire to Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus overture and the Kaiserwaltz, the Philharmonia rediscovered their ability to play at full volume; yet for all the palpable enthusiasm of his players Valcuha appeared an all or (near) nothing conductor in terms of his outward gestures. The waltz was to be a recurring concern, taken still further in the suite from Richard Strauss’ Der Rosenkavalier that concluded the concert. If a large degree of the filigree beauty of Richard Strauss’ music – during the Presentation of the Rose, for example - seemed passed over, enough of the music’s own beauty shone through to be moving. Little could be said against Valcuha’s instinct for making the most of crowd-pleasing moments. In this respect, Johann won out over Richard, though the “Baron Ochs” waltz conclusion to the suite proved most involving.

The orchestra gave Valcuha warm applause at the end: a sign perhaps that they recognise more potential in him than I have conveyed, and orchestral musicians are no fools when assessing the merits of their conductors. I am grateful that the Philharmonia continues to offer its podium to younger conductors, since without such opportunities there can be no rising through the ranks of those seeking to make a career, whatever their abilities or aspirations. With experience before reputable orchestras ahead of him, no doubt Juraj Valcuha will focus his approach to music making over the coming years. Only time will tell how far he continues to develop as a musician.

R Strauss and Mahler, Lieder: Anne Schwanewilms (soprano), Roger Vignoles (piano). Wigmore Hall, London. 5.12.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/wigmore0512.htm A few audience members and critics were seen to discretely leave this recital at the interval. The reasons why they did so one might only guess at.

Anne Schwanewilms perhaps does not have to widest range of any soprano before the public, or employ a particularly expansive palette of tonal colours in her singing. Nor does she does not act like a diva from the moment she makes her entrance. It might even be claimed that she does not impose herself upon the music she sings very much in performance, leading to labelling her style as uninvolved at best or uncaring at worst. Some might suggest that her breathing and dynamic range is too consciously controlled or restrained; even that she is over-fussy with her diction, all of which can lead to some slight yet unusual emphases within the performance.

But if we think this, are we not missing the point? The attentive listener will know that lieder singing is an art of patience. It does not reward, as opera can do, with immediacy using emotional arias supported by sumptuous orchestration to achieve its effect. Rather, it rewards in the intimate detail that unites singer with accompanist and text with melody. And detail can be scarcely less rewarding in its emotional impact, as the experience of any great lieder recital will demonstrate.

Schwanewilms is a great singer, and especially noteworthy when heard in recital, particularly when partnered by an artist of Roger Vignoles’ calibre. Not only do they both know her repertoire, it is palpable that they care deeply for it and respect its traditions of performance. Richard Strauss is a particular shared interest for both of them, and they have plenty to offer in performance: clarity of tone and projection, sound narrative judgement in employing the text, matched with an unerring sense for the appropriate mood and tempo for individual items. For his part, Vignoles’ no less experienced accompaniments, expressively amplified the shifts of mood with unerring accuracy. That individual songs stood with the others on the programme to create sequences of thought or narration around discrete themes, offered a further mark of distinctiveness.

This, one might hope, could be achieved by any singer with any composer’s work, but Schwanewilms and Strauss unite to achieve noteworthy results by any standard. The three sequences of Strauss lieder conjured forth their own small worlds. First came night time to set the scene for thoughts of fervent love and the pain of parting (Traum durch die Dämmerung; Schlagende Herzen; Du mienes Herzens Krönelein; Ach Lieb, ich muß nun scheiden). Night once more prefaced tales of restraint and ethereal rapture (Die Nacht; Geduld; Allerseelen). The final sequence found a trio of Dehmel settings (Leises Lied; Weigenliedchen; Waldseligkeit), set against the Drei Lieder der Ophelia, to contrast the optimism of nature and love with the obsession of love and loss. I have to mark out Geduld for the gradual building of the narrative and its dramatic presence, and the entirely appropriate rapture found in Waldseligkeit.

Two short sequences from Mahler’s Das Knaben Wunderhorn came after the first and second Strauss sets.

Schwanewilms’ way with Mahler is distinctive for having much the same taste and knowledge of her own abilities and interpretive strengths that was heard in the Strauss. With due care for scale of interpretation and dynamic, finding the perfect vocal size to comfortably fill the hall, the songs were not over-burdened with unnecessary angst. Rather, where this was present in the text, it was subtly hinted at; so that it carried its intended meaning. Through light and shade of voice and piano, much was achieved to dispel the impression of Mahler as a self-berating composer consumed by his emotional shortcomings. Wit and humour was had in plentiful amounts during Um schlimme Kinder artig zu machen. But Aus! Aus! had humour of a more surface variety, before an abject farewell was bid in Nicht wiedersehen!

Fortunately, Schwanewilms delighted in singing in “this special, hallowed hall” so much that she “had to

sing� Strauss’ Wiegenlied as an encore. Schwanewilms and Vignoles did almost nothing with the music other than let it be, but in so doing they provided all that could ever be asked for.

Sibelius: Ben Heppner (tenor), Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra / Esa-Pekka Salonen (conductor) Barbican Hall, London, 13.11.07. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/heppner1011.htm Much of what one hopes for in a world class concert was to be found throughout the duration of this event; why then did I come away from it feeling a little deflated by the experience? Hardly any technical fault could be ascribed to the Los Angeles players, who were not overly taxed by the programme. But maybe this was the problem: that it all seemed too assured and too easily achievable for them.

The sixth symphony which began the concert is one of Sibelius’ most challenging for the conductor. Not only do questions of tempo inter-relationships have to be adequately resolved, but the instrumental voices – particularly amongst the strings - have to be carefully balanced. Salonen coped better with the latter than the former, since he drove the work on relentlessly. This was more effective in the ebullient third movement than elsewhere. However, the fourth movement left me wishing for greater variety of tone from the orchestra than was forthcoming.

A selection of seven songs were performed with new orchestrations commissioned by the orchestra from composer John Estacio specifically to feature Ben Heppner as soloist. He delivered all with much vitality of phrasing, even if his tone occasionally exposed rawness due possibly to recent over-use. His contribution however was enthusiastically received. I wish I had had similar feelings about Estacio’s orchestrations, which seemed consciously to steer away from Sibelius’ own models for orchestral song. Both Heppner and Estacio were heard at their finest in Soluppgang and Var det en dröm?, when orchestral restraint found a suitable partner in the strong narrative sense created by the text.

The fifth symphony, played in its 1919 revision, found Salonen on happier ground than in the sixth.

Although from the start, a certain aloofness between conductor and music could be detected, Salonen proved more willing in the fifth's opening movement than in the previous symphony to draw the music’s various ideas organically from one another. Even so, some of the playing verged on the brusque, brought about by Salonen’s preference for precision when more generosity of feeling might have done Sibelius greater favours. The closing movement emphasised still further a deliberate streak in both playing and composition. The abrupt orchestral blows that close the work lent some credence to Salonen’s overall approach, but perhaps too little too late.

Ironically the encore, the Death of Melisande from Sibelius' Pelleas and Melisande, was full of tender feeling and inflection from the upper strings particularly. Salonen conducted sans baton, and in the process let slip precious emotion. If only this had happened earlier.

J.S. Bach: Goldberg Variations. Simone Dinnerstein (piano). Wigmore Hall, London. 23.10.2007. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/dinnerstein2310.htm Simone Dinnerstein’s recently released recording of the Goldberg Variations has been drawing a very favourable press (for example, see Musicweb’s review). This concert performance, also Dinnerstein’s London debut, pulled in a packed house.

Simone Dinnerstein is a pianist of remarkable technical accomplishment, who evidentially has steered her career slowly but surely to date. The Bach recording was made 18 months ago but the fact that the same work should occupy much of her present recital schedule seems as much coincidence as promotional exercise. Having come to the concert without having heard the recording though. I was prepared for anything to happen.

Almost immediately it became clear that this was not going to be a traversal of the Goldberg that would keep a Bach purist happy. The opening Aria emphasised its simplicity of structure through a broad tempo that sagged ever slower as it progressed. It would take some feat of musicianship and intellect to recover from that point. Recovery was achieved to a point later on, but at a cost.

Many of the ensuing thirty variations were taken somewhat slower than is the norm: the fourth seemed overly parsimonious in its approach, the fifth showed occasional imbalance between the left and right hands, the eighteenth was on the verge of plodding yet the twenty-second was robustly fingered – even if the tone was uninspiring. To leave the picture at this would be to gain only half an impression of Dinnerstein’s performance however. While momentarily suspect pedalling and occasional indistinct voicing of passages took away from the experience also, in the more upbeat variations Dinnerstein leapt on accents to bring Bach’s music vitally to life. Variation thirteen was brisk yet carefree and twenty and twenty-two almost brash by comparison with much else in Dinnerstein’s conception.

For me, that is where the problem lay: with Dinnerstein’s overall conception of the work. She failed to make wholly logical sense of the sequencing of the contrasts within the overall framework. Only occasionally – variation twenty-three, for example – did a component part suggest an emotion greater than itself, in this case the emotion was bitterness. To arrive at the Aria da capo which ends the work should surely be to sense that one has come full circle. For that to happen however, more components need to contribute towards the whole. None of this should suggest that Simone Dinnerstein had not thought through her approach: she had. Merely, it points out the challenge that Bach still poses to a pianist even of some talent. That challenge, like the music itself, is everlasting.

Dong Jun Wang (baritone) James Baillieu (piano) Richard Lewis / Jean Shanks Award Prize Winner’s Recital.

Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music London. 25 September 2007

http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents/DongJunWang.html Chinese baritone Dong Jun Wang won the prestigious Richard Lewis /Jean Shanks Award at the Royal Academy of Music in 2006, which enabled him to continue his postgraduate studies under Glenville Hargreaves and become a member of Royal Academy Opera, for whom he has already appeared in Tchaikovsky’s Iolanta.

This recital took in a broad range of repertoire and languages. Whilst this allows a singer to show his versatility, care must be taken in programming to avoid diluting the vocal and interpretive strengths at his disposal through the inclusion of choices that do not do the artist full justice. Both Handel’s “Arm, arm ye brave” (Judas Maccabaeus) and Gluck’s “O del mio dolce ardor” (Paride ed Elena) proved useful in fully warming up the voice, even if linguistic fluency did not come quite so readily. The Gluck was the more effective for Dong Jun Wang’s keenly felt employment of a legato line in the ardour-filled aria. Mozart’s “Hai giá vinta la causa” (Le nozze de Figaro) was given with greater facial expression and involvement that started to get a little underneath the skin of Count Almaviva’s character.

Quite a contrast was to be had with the jump to Ravel’s Don Quichotte á Dulcinée, sung with a creditable accent. Here, as elsewhere in the programme, Dong Jun Wang’s interpretation was complemented by the nuanced touch of James Baillieu’s accompaniment. Although the “Chanson épique” allowed Dong Jun Wang to fully use the resonant top range of his voice, the partnership between pianist and singer was best displayed in “Chanson à boire”. Two further repertoire leaps were made in the first half: to Schubert and then Tchaikovsky. “Der Doppelganger” is a tough challenge for any artist, such are its demands for vocal sureness combined with interpretation that must convey the sensation of terror at the second it dawns in the singer’s mind. In this, and “Der Atlas”, which followed both singer and pianist gave an indication of avenues they could continue to pursue, though at present the lieder are works in progress. Tchaikovsky’s “Don Juan’s Serenade” was much more Dong Jun Wang’s kind of piece: richly dramatic, he savoured the Russian text and showed that he could be a baritone to serve this repertoire well in the future.

It was perhaps a missed opportunity, given his careful and considered stage preparation hitherto in the concert, that Rossini’s “Largo al factotum” did not avail itself of the possibility for off-stage singing at the start of the second half to increase the impact of his entrance. That said the delivery was tasteful and mindful of textual details, although James Baillieu rather had the upper hand with wit in this performance.

Bellini’s “Or dove fuggo io mai” from I Puritani showed the care of both performers in establishing care for bel canto scale and line. A strong upper range from Dong Jun Wang was now in evidence, and to fine effect too.

The distinct contrast made by two of A Tang’s Chinese songs helped focus things vocally more in a mood of solitude, in which respect Dong Jun Wang’s expressive facial gestures also proved beneficial. Verdi’s “O Carlo, ascolta” from Don Carlo closed the programme with an assured account of the recitative. That the aria grew from in terms of scale with ease demonstrated the natural flexibility of Dong Jun Wang’s voice.

Be it accompanied by piano or full orchestra, what he lacked was much sense of impending doom for Posa that the text should convey.

At this early stage in their careers both artists have several things to recommend them. Time, hard work and experience will surely only deepen their approach and appreciation of the music they interpret.

Clara Mouriz & Joseph Middleton Haydn : Arianna a Naxos, Cantata Hob.xxvib:2 Grieg : Sechs Lieder Op.48 Rossini : Canzonetta Spagnuola; Addio di Rossini Rachmaninov : Songs Op.8 Montsalvatge : Cinco canciones negras Wigmore Hall, 5 July 2007 http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents/Mouriz.htm Having reviewed these artists in a largely identical recital around a year ago, I had a fair idea of what to expect. Committed singing and nuance of line from both performers in Haydn, a near ideal sense of scale brought to Rossini, apt darkness of vocal colour in Rachmaninov and idiomatic interpretations of Montsalvatge.

If anything the intervening period between these two recitals has seen Clara Mouriz deepen her approach to recital performance. Once, highly mobile gestures were repeatedly employed by Mouriz to bring out aspects of the texts. This has been replaced by the more pointed subtlety of reliance upon her voice to express the inner nuances of the words themselves. Although both approaches indicate a certain stage presence, there is little doubt that greater artistic authority is maintained in the long run through careful vocal use to amplify the composers' wishes. This takes self knowledge and confidence in ones abilities, but these are both qualities Clara Mouriz shows in abundance. The contribution of unassuming and beautifully phrased musicianship that Joseph Middleton brought to the accompanist’s role must impart confidence to a singer in no small measure also.

In some respects it was the set of six Grieg songs that proved the highlight of the recital. Despite serious advocacy from artists such as Soile Isokoski and Barbara Bonney in recent years, Grieg's songs remain somewhat neglected in the wider public consciousness.

Mouriz and Middleton proved to be unafraid of their illustrious elders and provided a coherent reading of the songs that was imbued with vitality. Both performers brought out the shifting moods of individual songs to clear effect, without neglecting to demonstrate Grieg's clear debt to the heady atmosphere of Austro-German Romanticism. Replete with images of nature, dreams, love and longing, the link between Bayreuth and Norway appeared remarkably immediate.

Rather unusually for a Spanish singer, Mouriz's German diction is clear and adds to the enjoyment of her art. Her ability to float lines with ease at the top of the vocal range, and treat them not merely as showy extensions, but as fully integrated with the rest of her robust and characterful voice indicates potential areas of repertoire which might yet be profitably explored. More Grieg, certainly, but Loewe, Richard Strauss or certain Pfitzner songs could be worth investigating. Exciting times are ahead for this talented musical partnership.

Launch of The Enescu Society: Remus Azoitei (violin); Eduard Stan (piano). Romanian Cultural Institute, London. 21.06.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/enescu2106.htm The Romanian Cultural Institute in London has launched The Enescu Society, a major initiative to promote the legacy of Romania’s greatest musician, George Enescu, within the United Kingdom.

The Enescu Society was officially launched by its Patron, HRH Princess Margarita of Romania, accompanied by her husband HSH Prince Radu of Hohenzollern-Veringen. Cristian Mandeal, the Society’s President and chief conductor of the George Enescu Philharmonic Orchestra in Bucharest also attended, as did Anton Niculescu, State Secretary, Romanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Horia-Roman Patapievici, President of the Romanian Cultural Institute. With Gabriela Massaci, Director of the Romanian Cultural Institute in London, they each offered short addresses that set Enescu in the contexts of personal and wider cultural importance.

The centre piece of the evening was a concert given by violinist Remus Azoitei, Artistic Director of the Enescu Society, and the pianist Eduard Stan, here making his London debut. Two works by Enescu formed the programme, the "Torso" sonata in A Minor, dating from 1911, and Impressions d'enfance, op. 28, which dates from 1940. Between them these two works offer a snapshot of Enescu’s early influences and mature compositional style.

The “Torso” sonata, so named because it consists of a single all-encompassing movement, is a work borne out of the spirit of Brahms and Wagner. Both composers were great influences on the young Enescu; during his lifetime was to play under the former’s baton in Vienna and memorise all of the latter’s mighty Ring cycle. Yet for these great Romantic influences, which Remus Azoitei and Eduard Stan acknowledged in the magisterial sweep and architecture of their playing, they also found room to accommodate touches that showed Enescu’s individuality.

Audacious though the sonata is, nothing in the violin and piano duo repertoire compares to ‘Impressions d'enfance.’ Outwardly this sequence of ten short scenes might be taken as Enescu’s fond glances back to moments of his youth, but Azoitei and Stan made it clear that their understanding of the work contains insights of greater depth. They realise that Enescu wrote the piece as a man of advancing years who is still lively of mind. Enescu recalls his youth with startling vividness in the vignettes of the suite - they include, among others, a portrait of an old beggar along with invocations of a stream at the bottom of a garden, the refrain of a touching lullaby, or the vision of moonlight through a window. For all the glances back though, Enescu brings to bear the forward pull of destiny: the realisation that life must end. This comes through subtly at first in the interplay between a caged bird and usurping cuckoo. The last three scenes bring forth the howling wind echoing down a chimney, a gathering nocturnal storm followed by a climactic sunrise that bursts forth with unstoppable energy.

Through painstaking study of the score Azoitei and Stan judiciously found a balance between the major elements of the work, making their points with the subtlety afforded by many years of performing the music together. Only Enescu, I feel, knew the music better than they do. Given the myriad of theme references between the music’s sections and the technical difficulties both players are required to meet – extremes of fingering, bowing as well as dynamic gradation and negotiation of amazingly precise metronome markings – in lesser hands the work can become little more than a collection of parts and effects. What made this duo stand apart from that was the quality of near improvisation they found in many passages, the Lullaby, Cricket and the ferocious Wind in the chimney, not to mention their total commitment to Enescu’s wishes.

For a violinist who had music at the core of his very being, there could hardly be a more fitting encore than the solo “Fiddler”, which begins Impressions d'enfance. For this repeat hearing Remus Azoitei injected his

playing with greater feeling to express with profundity the art that conceals art. Enescu for all his grand compositional statements remained a man true to the values of his beloved homeland; no passage in his writing amplifies this more clearly.

Full to capacity of one hundred guests, which counted a healthy mix of the Romanian diaspora in London and interested locals among them, 1 Belgrave Square is set to become a chamber concert venue with much to recommend it. Starting in October, the first Thursday of every month will feature a concert given as part of the new Society’s activities. Artists such as Adrian Brendel, Sherban Lupu, Luiza Borac and Mihaela Ursuleasa are scheduled to appear, presenting Enescu’s works alongside those of other composers.

Mozart and Prokofiev: Lise de la Salle (piano) Wigmore Hall, London. 3.6.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/wigmore0306.htm The transition from child prodigy to prodigiously talented mature artist eludes many, but on evidence of this recital Lise de la Salle has made the journey with assurance. For once it seems that the music world hype surrounding artists could and should be believed.

Her Sunday morning Wigmore Hall debut was a strictly standing room only affair. The mix of Mozart and Prokofiev – carefully mirroring the contents of her latest recording – no doubt attracted many, including a smattering of prominent pianists to be seen in the audience.

Mozart’s A minor Rondo, K. 511, revealed de la Salle’s encouragement of a richly sonorous bass register against which the right hand registered its part with often mercurial fluidity. Often one hears pianists described as poets of the keyboard: it is an appropriate description in this case as de la Salle took care to maintain the work’s seemingly simple structure throughout her playing.

A measure of surface simplicity is present in “Ah vous dirai-je, maman”, upon which Mozart created twelve widely differing variations. Lise de la Salle effectively juxtaposed this with playing of some sophistication to offer a largely stylish interpretation that took in aspects of helter-skelter childishness, poignant reflection, and other flights of fancy which culminated in an exuberant final flourish. Even though Lise de la Salle exhibits passion in her playing which is welcome to hear, there were moments at which this threatened to over-dominate proceedings. Thankfully she just about pulled back from the brink each time to maintain the integrity of her reading, which benefited from judiciously judged tempo changes across the variations as a whole.

Given her lively Mozart playing, there were high hopes for the remaining Prokofiev items: 7 Pieces from Romeo and Juliet, op.75, and the D minor Toccata, op.11. Romeo and Juliet is a work I have only previously encountered in its orchestral version, wherein nuances of instrumental colouring, scale and textural juxtaposition play crucial roles. Such things ask a lot of any pianist if they are to be brought off convincingly on the wide but more intimate palette of a single instrument. As with the Mozart variations, insecurity of fingering more than attack crept in as a result of de la Salle’s heady abandon in meeting Prokofiev’s multifarious demands head-on.

The portrait of Juliet was a mixture of delicacy and airy space which allowed for a degree of reflection to emerge and beguiling mystery, which Prokofiev uses to indicate what might first have attracted Romeo’s attention. The Minuet was grandly imposing in its formality. During the joviality of the Masks, de la Salle relished the forthright textural juxtapositions in the writing. She compensated with feeling for the intended mood during moments when she sounded technically stretched. The Montagues and Capulets fought a terse encounter, fully of high drama and passions simmering barely beneath the surface. Mercutio was presented in a somewhat nervy portrait, although he was equally given to idle occupation, expressed through the music’s calmer passages. The Dance of the Girls with Lilies was a graceful affair, which contrasted most effectively with the lovers’ farewell. The delicacy of its opening passages led to an increasingly potent atmosphere, which aptly conveys the emotions inherent in Prokofiev’s writing. A telling aspect to de la Salle’s poetry was felt at the very end of the bitter-sweet conclusion: the final notes hung in the air fading softly to nothing, saying volumes about love and loss.

The Toccata in D minor is no less demanding and called for technical dexterity, precision of fingering and pedalling and a willingness to go with Prokofiev’s musical excesses. All of this Lise de la Salle proved more than willing to do, relishing the often disparate juxtapositions of register employed. The encore, a Rachmaninov prelude, gave her further material with similar requirements to enjoy, delighting the hugely appreciative audience in the process.

Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Schumann: Tamsin Waley-Cohen (violin) / Royal Philharmonic Orchestra / José Serebrier (conductor). Cadogan Hall, London. 22.5.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/serebrier2205.htm It should never be forgotten that Beethoven’s Egmont overture was written to accompany a drama by Goethe. Although heard most often separately from the play, the overture is nevertheless inherently dramatic. This is something José Serebrier clearly bears very much in mind, as his conducting of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra on this occasion amply demonstrated.

Such a spirited opening raised hopes that something other than the routine might transpire within Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto. Such hopes were only partially fulfilled, as Tamsin Waley-Cohen’s account of the solo part can best be described as a work in progress. She was clearly most at ease in the middle movement, giving her line there with a greater degree of musical confidence and technical assurance that was to found in the taxing outer movements. Having impressed me before in Bruch’s concerto, the different scale of projection required for Tchaikovsky’s work, together with its specific tonal shadings within the part, have to be fully mastered. But for a violinist of barely 21 years old, there is still time for her to let the work take shape.

From the audience’s angle it can be tempting to concentrate more on the solo part of a concerto, but the orchestral parts can often be just as interesting. Whether it was in his choice of slightly slower than usual tempi- they were never over-consciously deliberate – or his precise attention to the balancing of orchestral sonorities, though never at the expense of the music’s grand sweep and ability to gather passionate steam when needed in outer movements, José Serebrier showed that being a practicing composer can help deliver a fresh approach to even the best known repertoire. The Royal Philharmonic sounded to have enjoyed the experience also, with practically all orchestral departments making notable contributions along the way.

The issue at the centre of Schumann’s fourth symphony is one of form rather than nuance of sonority, though of course that plays a major role – particularly between the two versions of the work that exist.

Sticking to the later version, with its thicker textures, Serebrier encouraged a reading that was full of vitality. Having the major themes reoccur in a variety of guises across the movements can often pose problems for conductors regarding the choice of precise tempi and the interrelationship of moods as a consequence. There was none of that confusion here though as Serebrier’s experience paid dividends. He made Schumann’s tricky transitions into particular points of interest and used them to effectively unify the work’s overall structure. Appropriately, passions grew inexorably towards the final movement climax, which surged with full bodied vigour in the brass particularly.

A final reflection is worth mention: Scottish audiences have long appreciated the quality of José Serebrier’s musicality, but for the London public this was the first opportunity for a number of years. Hopefully more concerts will be forthcoming down south before too long.

Janácek, Mozart, Tartini, Ysaÿe and Beethoven: Hilary Hahn (violin) and Valentina Lisitsa (piano). Wigmore Hall, London. 12.5.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/hahn1205.htm There can be little doubt that this recital was destined to place Hilary Hahn’s much praised talents as a violinist centre-stage at Wigmore Hall, with a programme of five demanding and diverse sonatas.

Janacek’s sonata of 1914 is in some respects a strange choice to open a bravura programme with, as for much of its duration the work steadfastly refuses to be pinned down in terms of mood. Hilary Hahn and Valentina Lisitsa conveyed much of the work’s inner restlessness effectively by contrasting bold statements in the first movement with playing of more conventional lyricism later on. The second movement conjoured effortlessly the impression of a wide panoramic view across a sun-dappled landscape, whereas the third was inflected with rustic dance qualities that made it spring to life.

As a work, Mozart’s sonata in A, K.305, by contrast offers other demands to its performers. An early work, it largely relies upon purity of tone from the violinist across its two brief movements. Coupled with this comes the requirement for sensitivity with dynamic nuance in the piano part, which was amply present in Valentina Lisitsa’s playing. The second movement in particular, with its closely constructed argument of theme and variations was especially effective, as a discreetly specific ambiance was found for each facet of the writing.

Tartini’s sonata in G minor, “The Devil’s Trill”, had Hilary Hahn’s technical assurance well to the fore in this performance. However, for those willing to listen past the required display of virtuosic technique, there was much in the way of musical interpretation to enjoy also. The first movement was marked by Hahn’s willingness to slowly build the grandeur of her statements, whereas the second movement had piquant moments of rhythmic inflection. The closing movement, which contains the infamous trill, saw it integrated into the whole, following as a logical progression from all that had gone before. The grand andante which opens the movement led to a deliciously forward-moving allegro, dispatched with much elegance of phrasing, with the crowning trill finding much precision and authority in Hahn’s playing.

Rather like Janacek’s sonata, Ysaÿe’s second solo sonata – dedicated to Thibaud – acts as a kind of meditation on different moods. Darkly coloured, it moves from obsession and melancholia to shadowy dances and an invocation of the Furies. Each was carefully explored by Hahn in a reading that, like the Tartini, showed as much care for the shaping of the piece as its technical dispatch. Her instrument projected brightly lit tone in the upper register with ease, which was linked to a rich mid-range and a slightly other-worldly lower range. All of which brought home the impression that Ysaÿe’s sonata still makes for a slightly unusual virtuoso calling-card. Underneath its outer layer of melancholia though lie ties to earlier composers: Bach and Gluck. Hahn made their presence felt within the overall structure by inference rather than overt statement, which said much for her understanding of Ysaÿe’s intentions.

Beethoven’s sonata in A, op.47, “Kreutzer”, brought the programme to a conclusion. If one thought that Hahn might be flagging after the preceding demanding items, she showed that she still had more to give.

With emphatic determination she and Valentina Lisitsa set about delivering a large-scaled reading of the work. The first movement had a grandeur of sweep to its long lines that was particularly apt. If the second movement found a little clarity of fingering and definition required in the piano part, it was a relatively minor desire compared to the imposing contribution made during the closing movement.

70th birthday recital by Grace Bumbry (mezzo) / Alexander Schmalcz (piano). Wigmore Hall, London.

9.05.07 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/bumbry0905.htm A milestone birthday for anyone is indeed worthy of being marked. But performers oftentimes find that the cruel gift of age is to slowly take away from the talent and facility that comes so readily with youth. I am not one to set out to be unkind to any performer who has the motivation to take to a world stage and celebrate their seventieth birthday in public. The fact that Grace Bumbry had the wherewithal to do so was in itself enough to earn significant deference and respect as the evening began.

The demanding two hour programme might have taxed a singer half Grace Bumbry’s age, given its mix of several languages and covering lieder by composers including Handel, Schubert, Schumann, Mozart, Berlioz, Wagner, Rachmaninov and de Falla. Suffice it to say throughout the concert Ms. Bumbry willed the music to pour forth. This much was never in question. The fact that the performances told a far different story in terms of quality cannot be denied, even if significant allowances for age and decline of vocal powers are made. Words can be cruel, and none could be more cutting that those starting the first Rachmaninov song: “Sing no more to me…” By some irony this was the most credibly shaped and beautifully sung of any item given during the concert.

Alexander Schmalcz accompanied with restraint throughout most of the programme, in sensitive response no doubt to Grace Bumbry’s vocal condition. An inexplicable hiatus of tempo change marred an otherwise reasonable stab at Wagner’s ‘Träume’ by Grace Bumbry; why it occurred still puzzles me. Only in the final de Falla items did he let out true forte tone to give a more impassioned account of himself.

Be all this as it may, it is better by far that Grace Bumbry be remembered as the great mezzo-soprano she was in her prime: full of drama, passion and vocal conviction borne of the certainty that great things could be achieved. The wild adulation with which the audience repaid her efforts on this occasion was at least in part acknowledgment of the many notable achievements in a career that has spanned almost fifty years. As I write this, the glorious strains of her Amneris ring loudly in my ears and bring much emotion to my heart.

For that will I ever be grateful.

Angela Gheorghiu in concert with London Symphony Orchestra / Ion Marin (conductor). Barbican Hall, London. 8.05.2007. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/gheorghiu0805.htm This was an evening that had everything: star appeal, glamour, style including two dress changes, entertainment, ovations – oh, and music. But was one to expect anything else? No, for Angela Gheorghiu and Ion Marin have made the evening of opera arias interspersed with a few extras such a well-worn routine in recent years that the state of affairs was entirely predictable. Don’t get me wrong: there was nothing to fault per se in a perfectly pleasant concert such as this. But even a diehard supporter should admit that this was a relatively easy day at the office for both diva and conductor, though skill and artistry were still to be expected.

Verdi’s overture to Nabucco got proceedings under way with a mix of foreboding and full bodied brass and luxuriantly upholstered string crescendi. Evidently the London Symphony Orchestra was intent on providing quality playing for the evening. They responded with rhythmic incisiveness to Marin’s swashbucklingly efficient conducting, which drew much in the way of contrast from the major themes of the overture.

Gheorghiu’s entry was eagerly awaited. Her graceful and elegant procession to the stage in a backless black and white full-length dress was perfectly poised. Giordani’s 'Caro mio ben', a standard arie antiche, requires and received legato lines that were carefully placed, if with occasional vocal covering, but nonetheless Gheorghiu graded her tone finely against a sensitively handled accompaniment. Handel’s 'Lascia ch'io pianga' saw more of the same, even if Marin was almost wont to usher in the era of massive full orchestral Handel playing all over again. But the shaping of orchestral lines did have style that added to the appeal. Almost as soon as she had arrived, Gheorghiu was off, waving relatively restrainedly to the audience as she went.

The Intermezzo from Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana provided the brief first orchestral interlude of the evening, showing fine homogeneity of string tone in the LSO and languorous wind solos in a reading that was, for once, not over-played.

Leoncavallo’s 'Stridono lassu' from I Pagliacci marked Gheorghiu’s return and a clear move to continue with the mood of lyric romance for the most of the remaining concert, albeit in this case with some pointed darker vocal tones playing off against her naturally radiant persona. Puccini’s 'Ch'il bel sogno di doretta...' from La Rondine, an opera Gheorghiu has championed in recent years, ended the brief first half by capturing something of the breathless blush of love the music intends. Exeunt omnes, to adulation, met with less restrained waving from Gheorghiu.

The interval was taken by Gheorghiu as the cue for the first change of dress, into another full-length number, this time white and pink with silver hip-height highlights. Puccini largely dominated the advertised programme of the second half, which started with 'In quelle trine morbide' from Manon Lescaut.

Gheorghiu’s generosity for making sure all corners of the hall were addressed was such that she spread her interpretation across the Barbican’s wide expanse. A pity, though, that when really called for, her vocal projection did not often find enough scale to suit and really fill the hall. Some compensation however was in her growing commitment to interpretation and getting inside the emotions of the music. Bizet’s 'Habanera' from Carmen provided a little shot of pepper at this stage in the evening’s menu of delicacies. With her hips swaying gently to the music’s infectious rhythm, one sensed that like every true diva / temptress Gheorghiu is indeed not a woman to be trifled with, and like Carmen, she’s taken on at your peril. Further adulation, and flamboyant kisses to the audience followed, but it was all part of having a

crowd where you want them.

The evening’s most substantial musical offering came next: Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet overture, thus injecting some urgency and not a little drama into the romance related theme. Ion Marin drew passionate playing from most quarters of the LSO and revelled particularly in the emotion of the lovers’ tender embrace, and the furious fights that followed. Such was his commitment in conducting that he almost looked like a noble fighter himself parrying every orchestral onslaught, to prove a victor in the end. But a twenty-minute overture at this stage in proceedings could signal but one thing: a dress change for Angela.

What a change it was too, flowing brilliant red silk to contrast with her luxuriant black hair. The final Puccini of 'O mio babbino caro' from Gianni Schicchi and 'Un bel di vedremo' from Madama Butterfly saw Gheorghiu at her most touching. Yet, for all the beauty of her tone, there was something wanting again in terms of power behind it. Mind you, charged by the Tchaikovsky, Marin did not hold back the accompaniments overmuch. Frenetic adulation followed, predictably, and a modestly sized bunch of pale cream roses was duly presented.

There followed, at a leisurely pace, three encores. The first a true Gheorghiu standard, George Grigoriu’s ‘Muzica’ from his operetta Valurile Dunarii, is as an appropriate song of thanks to the fortune that music can bring as any Romanian diva can hope to find. The second encore, I could have danced all night, lightened the tone somewhat. The LSO however showed their pedigree in accompaniment and their willingness to diversify the idiom also. The last encore, Lara’s ‘Granada’, had Marin the matador turning in immaculately timed toe tapping before ushering in the final Olé!

So, despite the lack of much musical depth and substance, and in spite of any desire I might have had to take a critical scalpel to the finer aspects of word pointing and textual interpretation, did I actually enjoy it?

Yes, I have to admit I did.

---

Medtner, Schumann, Ravel and Ginastera: Mihaela Ursuleasa (piano). Queen Elizabeth Hall, London.

18.04.2007. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/ursuleasa1804.htm Mihaela Ursuleasa possesses many qualities that make her musicality amongst the younger generation of pianists particularly appreciable. Her phrasing is considered without ever sounding stolid or calculated, her choice of tempo is in general terms judicious, and she has a technique that can do much with the music chosen. The programme provided interest and showed a sense of adventure on Ursuleasa’s part by including relatively unknown works - and composers, even – alongside the better known. However, that all, except the Ravel, firmly occupied the territory of Romanticism meant that not much was to be had in the way of variation of feel throughout the programme. Nor was a totally rounded impression to be had of Ursuleasa’s abilities as a result.

Medtner’s ‘Sonata-Reminiscenza’ in A minor, op. 38, is largely reflective in character, and Ursuleasa succeeded in bringing out the closely knit structure of its single movement. Tonal variety had much to do with the performance’s success, demonstrating along the way an intimate appreciation for the particular sound that is often called for when playing works of the Russian school.

Schumann’s ‘Phantasiestücke,’ op. 12, presents a series of brief sound-pictures of which Ursuleasa largely allowed each an individual presence. The seriousness of her approach rather took away from some of Schumann’s humour, though with care for shaping each episode this was all that could be found wanting.

Particularly touching was her playing of the final “Ende vom Lied”, which was very much in the spirit of a song without words.

The challenges of Ravel’s ‘Gaspard de la nuit’ seem to both be relished and feared by pianists, even today.

With technique arguably emphasised at the expense of interpretation in some emerging artists, Ursuleasa held both in equal sway. Her understanding of Ravel’s particular sound was well formed, capturing with care the subtle gradations to he heard within both ‘Ondine’ and ‘Le gibet.’ To my ear, particularly successful was her ability to sustain a long expressive line, thereby allowing the music some room to breathe. Only ‘Scarbo’ left me with a tiny doubt about Ursuleasa in this repertoire. Whilst her playing was fully committed, the result did not quite leave one conscious that a seriously fearsome event had just transpired.

Ginastera’s Piano Sonata No. 1, op. 22, is another work that demands a formidable technique from the performer. Along her traversal of the score Ursuleasa captured much of the work’s inherent energy and jazziness, an aspect she clearly relishes. The strong fingering required in the first movement’s marcato sections makes the full contrast with the second movement’s misterioso, which is further emphasised by changes in tempo a vital impression was gained of the composer. With feverish dance-like elements dominating the work’s second half a strong conclusion was attained for the recital as a whole.

Mozart, Schubert, Kilpinen, Britten and Sibelius: Soile Isokoski (soprano) and Marita Viitasalo (piano).

Wigmore Hall, London. 11.04.07 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/isokoski1104.htm We live in an age blessed with some truly great singers and Soile Isokoski is amongst the very finest of them. Now, let me expand upon that statement. This concert was, amazingly, my first live encounter with Isokoski’s art, though I needed little encouragement to go when a friend whose opinion I trust suggested that I should. The programme satisfied a need for standard repertoire whilst acknowledging the important place that music from her native Finland has in Isokoski’s career.

Mozart’s songs are, to my mind, an under-performed area of his output on the whole. Whilst great singers of yesteryear including Teresa Stich-Randall and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf gave them their due, some singers for whom they are well suited barely acknowledge the presence of these jewels. Isokoski, however, recognizes their value as a vehicle for bringing a voice gradually to optimum form at the start of a recital.

But more than this, she embraced the opportunity to shape each of the trio she sang with loving care for form and shading of line. It would be thus for the entire concert, too. An Chloe brought out the warmth of her mid range with the subtle inflections of repeated phrases. Abendempfindung possessed much in the way of drama, which was underlined by Marita Viitasalo’s lively accompaniment. Un moto di gioia lightened the tone somewhat, with Isokoski relishing the fun to be had in this skittish caprice.

The quartet of Schubert songs that followed extended the high level of intelligence Isokoski and Viitasalo displayed in terms of programming and execution. Viitasalo held one’s attention with the depth of tone she gave to Im Frühling’s introduction, and later with the simplicity of her linking passages between verses, contrasting still further with a distinct change of mood that reflected the tone of Schulze’s text. Isokoski was at one with her accompanist’s approach; she displayed care for the song’s structure with her use of carefully scaled dynamics, brought home by her sensitive delivery of the closing reflective repeat. Heiβ mich nicht reden and Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt made for a suitable pairing in terms of their compositional tone, with Schubert in a serious mood. Yet the songs were never forced beyond natural limits or made into something they are not, but with subtlety of approach the two artists made their point. Ellens Gesang III, Schubert’s famous setting of ‘Ave Maria,’ saw the Wigmore Hall stage and the cupola which crowns it transformed to a place of stilled reverence by Isokoski’s nuanced use of text, imparted with vocal shimmer.

Four songs by Yrjö Kilpinen (1852-1959) formed the first of the evening’s forays into Finnish repertoire.

Having been hailed as a successor to Hugo Wolf in the 1930’s, Kilpinen is today largely an unknown composer. If his songs – going by those presented here – are permeated with a veiled nocturnal melodrama, they are nonetheless lyrically rewarding in their writing for the voice. Illalla and Rannalta showed a liking for upward octave motifs in the piano part to emphasise points of suffocating emotion. Compositionally, Maassa marjani makaavi, written in 1948-50, proved to be more ambitious, with momentary nods towards a Brahmsian soundworld. Isokoski’s richly matured soprano floated Kilpinen’s long crescendos with ease over the demanding emotional turbulence of the accompaniment. Kilpinen’s cause could scarcely have been better served.

The intricate text of Auden’s On this Island too offers rich rewards for performers in Britten’s masterly setting. Although not their native repertoire, Isokoski and Viitasalo brought the fruits of their long-standing collaboration and understanding of each other’s abilities to bear, so that all was sympathetic and carried assured in performance. Some might have slightly wanted for less accented English than Isokoski produced, but to my mind her accent actually helped make Isokoski’s Island an individual and captivating one.

Remember that Peter Pears, for one, left his imprint on Britten’s music in part as a result of his distinctive enunciation. With piano and voice intricately intertwined to create individual tonal pictures across each of the five songs in the cycle, a distinct atmosphere was found for each. The almost neo-baroque vocal figures that end Let florid music praise! allowed for confidence in shaded passages to be felt, supported by

Isokoski’s enviable technique. If the tempo of Now the leaves are falling fast worked against textual clarity for a brief moment, the song was musically delivered to show awareness of its widely arched crescendo.

The Nocturne carried nobility in its phrasing and its long lines were delivered with an authority that has escaped a few native singers in my hearing over the years. As it is, plenty brought chatterish charaterisation in which relative maturity of voice and person were equally telling.

The culmination of the recital was a selection of five Sibelius songs. That Isokoski is a storyteller for whom the tale is paramount became uniquely apparent. Kaiutar highlighted the distinct placing of the voice required for this repertoire and across successive songs Isokoski and Viitasalo recalled Finland with neatly understated affection. Nowhere more so than in Under stradens granar, which is to all intents a musical saga in miniature, with its angularly atmospheric evocation of fir trees, lakes and mysterious water sprites.

Sibelius’s Var det en dröm? – Did I just dream? – must surely have brought the question to the minds of many in the audience as they left this packed recital, such was the quality and integrity of the evening from both artists. For those not fortunate enough to be there, it should be added that BBC Radio 3 recorded the recital for future broadcast, the date of which is still to be confirmed.

Petr Eben, Brahms and Dvořák: Cédric Tiberghien (piano) / BBC Symphony Orchestra / Jiří Bĕlohlávek (conductor). Barbican Hall, London. 26.03.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/eben2603.htm

Petr Eben’s “Vox clamantis” is a work from the late 1960s that wears its age relatively lightly. Unlike some compositions from that time it still sounds an approachable and relevant piece of music. There are discernable links to other voices of the period, notably Shostakovich in his most Soviet vein, with the uniform manner of treating orchestral strings. With textures built in blocks of sound rather than an interweaving of distinct instrumental lines, the work carried a rather solid air about it, above which three solo trumpets proclaimed in unison with some urgency of tone. Encompassing elements that gave a quasiliturgical feel to proceedingsat times – the use of tubular bells, for example – only the presence of a recorded voice twice declaiming the words of the Prophet in Hebrew now seems a little incongruous as a device.

The performance of Brahms’ mighty first piano concerto could be described as a work in progress, as it never really established a truly Brahmsian sense of sonority and scale that was maintained throughout the work. The BBC Symphony Orchestra sounded rather uncertain in their accompaniment at times, which is strange because these forces have just recorded the work together. Try as Jiří Bĕlohlávek did to keep the orchestra focussed and on course, it was co-ordination with Cédric Tiberghien’s playing of the solo part that proved most problematic. He varied between an imposing and full voiced approach and something more introverted and slender of scale. The cadenza however was luxuriantly fingered and possessed of some unity of purpose. In overall terms though, Cédric Tiberghien’s conception of the work, to my ears at least, could do with further reflection. Being a young artist, there is time enough for this to happen.

Dvořák’s fifth symphony on the other hand, gave ample opportunity for the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Jiří Bĕlohlávek to show themselves in near best light. Imbued with a plein air spirit, the opening Allegro was exhuberant and buoyant in its rhythmic interaction, with the balance of sonorities being carefully considered too. Bold lyricism in the playing was given extra presence through shading and surging, highly involving tone. The second and third movements showed Jiří Bĕlohlávek at his most extemporary, to bring out the qualities of momentary darkness that invade Dvořák’s writing periodically. Lower strings and woodwind though, were effective in contributing contradictory if not wholly competing areas of attention.

The fourth movement rounded things off with unbridled passion, which showed to some extent, the composer’s operatic experience in the handling of thematic material within an orchestral setting. All in all a thoroughly satisfying reading, that showed how much there is still to be commonly acknowledged in Dvořák’s symphonic writing.

Schubert, Wolf, Brahms and Schumann, Lieder: Florian Boesch (baritone), Malcolm Martineau (piano) Wigmore Hall, London. 22.03.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/boesch2203.htm Of itself, Florian Boesch’s baritone voice has several fine qualities that any singer could profit from possessing: imposing tone allied to a strong technique, a richness of sonority that is most notable in the lower register and expressive abilities with the use of text. This much was made quickly in evidence during his recital at Wigmore Hall. Indeed the programme provided the ideal material to get a full impression of his abilities in his native repertoire, given that this was my first encounter with Boesch’s art.

A distinctive and clean-cut figure on stage, Boesch opened with five songs by Schubert. Der Schiffer announced that his style of Schubert singing is reminiscent of Hans Hotter’s in a few key respects, being manly and solidly founded in the bass-baritone aspect of his voice, but with some elements of tenderness also present. The sheer sense of scale he brought to the reading at times verged on making the song more than Schubert might have intended. Auf dem See was given with a pared down vocal tone in the first stanza of Goethe’s poem, though later the impact of Boesch’s delivery was underlined by Martineau’s accentuated accompaniment. Der Fischer and Fischerweise brought further emphases of vocal and pianistic inflection that ran in parallel with gestural emphases of the text. An die Leier concluded the group in a rather ‘butch’ reading, whose purpose neatly brought out the paradox in Schubert’s writing: that his Beidermeier exterior often hides a more serious layer beneath. But I question whether Schubert was ever as dogmatically serious as Boesch made him sound here.

Nine Wolf songs followed in much the same vein, with Boesch so readily projecting ample tone into the hall that Martineau was forced to scale up the body of the accompaniment at times to maintain a reasonable balance. That said, Verschwiegene Liebe was sung with careful shading of scale and tone, proving that Florian Boesch can float a convincing line when the music demands it. Phänomen and Der Schäfer also proved effective in the establishment and maintenance of appropriate moods. Anakreons Grab was marginally less so, as perhaps not enough suggestion was made through tonal difference of the passage of time between the four seasons. Goethe’s text gives each significance, albeit through the presence of a single word apiece in the final stanza. Heimweh ranged in mood from detachment through to an insistent involvement apparent in strongly pressed vocal tone. Der Freund brought the first half to an end with a performance verging on near-Wagnerian proportions.

With the second half comprising of Brahms songs and Schumann’s Liederkreis, at least the repertoire seemed a more natural fit for Boesch’s style of interpretation. When he did allow himself rare moments of simple delivery, devoid of bodily twists, turns, and extreme gestures to the audience, his singing carried more authority and integrity. A real legato line was produced in Brahms’ Dein blaues Auge that captured the spirit of reflection inherent in Klaus Groth’s text. Likewise in Schumann’s cycle, the most effective songs were those in which Boesch let the composer’s carefully considered thoughts take the limelight. Anfangs wollt’ ish fast verzangen had simplicity in its brevity. That alone made me question why with the closing song’s mention of “Liebeshauch” (the breath of love) the bass-baritone range was resorted to such ferocity, rather than being given a lightness of timbre, even if sung at a full fortissimo.

To realise that the composer may well have considered aspect of interpretation in setting a text to music, and that all a singer need do is stand there and sing it is to realise just what a tough proposition being a lieder singer really is. Florian Boesch’s recital highlighted this thought for me, and I value hearing him for that. Opera might ultimately prove a wiser path for him to pursue given his large-scale dramatic delivery and demeanour, though I could well imagine he will vocally outgrow the Mozart opera repertoire he has largely sung to date. Weber, Schrecker or Wagner, to name but three, could be well served by him if this experience is anything to go by.

Bach, Goldberg Variations: Olli Mustonen (piano). Queen Elizabeth Hall, London 01.03.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/mustonen0103.htm The programme note to Olli Mustonen’s recital starts with a quotation from Mustonen himself on Bach’s Goldberg Variations: “It is as if the listener is being invited to witness the miracle of creation itself… myriads of life forms born out of a single beginning … governed by the timeless and immutable laws of nature… living evidence of the overwhelming wisdom, love and force of life radiating from their omnipotent creator.” I can scarcely disagree with his words; I just wish his playing backed them up.

Mustonen has seemingly never taken the easy path with his music making. When I first heard him around a dozen years ago he played Beethoven as if it was a cross between late Liszt and Scriabin. I had hoped that time might have had a calming effect, but apparently not. Before I cast him as an enfant terrible – and one seemingly without a distasteful persona I should add – who staunchly refuses to grow up, the influence that composing and increasingly conducting have on his piano playing should be borne in mind. Composers can hear the work of others with distinctive ears, as it were, which is all very well; the problem is that this does not always make for comfortable interpretations for an audience to endure.

Acceptance of a modern Steinway sound in Bach I find no problem; frankly, if it was good enough for Glenn Gould then it is good enough for me, though I am equally willing to accept a period instrument viewpoint also. I do have problems however when the full-on sound of the modern instrument is used as unimaginatively as Mustonen did throughout his sight-read seventy minute, all repeats observed, traversal of the score. The opening Aria, in itself a slightly clumsy motif but one made great by the variations Bach takes it through, showed up some key areas of vulnerability: imbalance of presence between the hands with the right over-dominating in several trills and phrases torn apart into statements lacking in any fluidity or gentle heartbeat that should at least indicate the beginning of an eternal creation.

The ensuing sequence of variations and canons left me asking what exactly the purpose of the concert was.

It showed by turns some needlessly prestissimo playing, repeats given with exactly the same uncaring pace and weight as their first appearance, a propensity for angularity of rhythm and jarring accents within the overall line, use of dynamic extremes seemingly for their own ends and, perhaps most annoying of all, notes that were clipped of their true values even when the music was allowed some degree of introspection. The work’s structure was shabby at best, so little substance did Mustonen draw from the variations and the canons in terms of their form. Who or what was more important: Bach or Mustonen, the music or the self-conscious display of pretentious arm waving and furious brow mopping taking place on stage?

If towards the end of the variations some evenness of playing did finally allow Bach to emerge robustly voiced, it was too little, too late. The Aria da capo carried neither conviction of intent nor the sense of inevitability that it should. On reflection after the event, and with idiosyncrasies of the performance apart, I could just about see that Mustonen might have intended this as a reading fit for a post-modern, sterile world, such as his compositions can inhabit. Surely then the futility of this music – and therefore the performance – is all the more starkly drawn. There is no place for any spiritually yearning omnipotent creator under such a circumstance: Bach as music with meaning becomes pointless, being rendered merely as sequences of notes.

Oftentimes I am tempted to think that over-exposure to a favoured recording can run the risk of deadening the ear to the merits of a live experience when it happens. Equally, though, the greatest recordings are useful in bringing to mind the respect that composers and their works deserve to be treated with. Not for a very long time in the aftermath of a concert have I sought their restorative influence with such urgency.

The Rosenblatt Recital Series: Nicole Cabell (soprano), Simon Lepper (piano) and Gemma Rosefield (cello).

St John’s, Smith Square. London. 21.02.07 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/cabell2102.htm Mozart Quando avran mai fine... Padre, germani, addio Idomeneo Puccini Quando me'n vo La Bohème; Ch'il bel sogno di Doretta La Rondine Liszt Es muss ein wunderbares sein; Die Lorelei; Enfant, si j'étais roi Gounod Je veux vivre Roméo et Juliette Bernstein Dream with me (with Gemma Rosefield cello); Jupiter has seven moons; I hate music; I'm a person too I hate music Moore Darkling I listen Bolcom Amor Weill What good would the moon be? Street Scene Forrest/Wright And this is my beloved Kismet This recital by Nicole Cabell, the 2005 Winner of the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World competition, might reasonably have been expected to draw attention to the musical assets that secured Cabell the coveted trophy nearly two years ago. The intervening period has seen her take part in auspicious debuts at the Proms, the Royal Opera and several other international venues. Absolute success was not, however, totally within her grasp on this occasion.

Having an image and reputation that seeks to spread the notion of Cabell as a diva in the making, one might have thought that she would have the sultry and seductive method of delivery sewn up by now. With an orchestra perhaps she has – her newly released Decca CD should reveal that – but in recital, where the voice is more exposed against a piano accompaniment, Cabell faced a few obstacles.

Her Mozart opener suffered from shortness of breath and inconsistent passagework in the voice, perhaps a sign that either she had not fully warmed up in preparation or that the hall’s acoustic, never wholly flattering to singers, left her ill at ease. Quando me'n vo displayed a sameness of tonal delivery, needing more variety to really bring it off. At least with Ch'il bel sogno di Doretta there were signs that she looked more at ease, which benefited the delivery too.

The trio of Liszt songs I had not expected to be her thing, but they were the most convincing interpretations of the evening. Es muss ein wunderbares sein brought out her lower register and was given with much poise. Die Lorelei was aided by subtle inflective gestures that underlined her vocal wordpointing and if Enfant, si j'étais roi could have ideally done with more care for diction, it nonetheless carried much conviction behind the sentiment.

Gounod’s Je veux vivre closed the first half, but it was not the crowd-pleaser it might have been. Cabell’s shortness of phrasing was exposed by the piano accompaniment, again her diction left much to be desired – why sing in a language if you can’t pronounce it decently? – and her lower register seemed ill-prepared in the haste of her delivery.

The Bernstein sequence that opened the second half found her largely in declamatory voice throughout I hate music and I'm a person too. The music however calls for more impetuousness of youth than this glamorous divaette brought to it. Some reasonable attempt at a floated line was made in Dream with me, sung to Gemma Rosefield’s richly toned cello accompaniment. Moore’s song went for little, seemingly marred again by diction and breathing. Finally in Bolcom’s Amor some acknowledgement and use of the stage space around Cabell was acknowledged. Weill’s Street Scene number proved stilted instead of flowing as it should, but then Simon Lepper’s accompaniment provided scant support for Cabell. And this is my beloved on the other hand did flow and was winningly sung.

The two encores, Summertime – a Cabell favourite – and O mio babbino caro, perhaps lacked a little in terms of contrasting moods but were effective crowd-pleasers under Cabell’s now shimmering tones.

When she won the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World competition, Nicole Cabell was touted as “the complete package”. When I review this year’s competitors in June I’ll be looking for more depth and variety than was in evidence here. It could just be, however, that she’s a singer more comfortable with orchestral backing.

There is nothing wrong in that of course, but on this showing the recital format does not wholly favour her.

The Book of Madrigals: Leipzig, town of Music and In lighter mood: amarcord, Wigmore Hall, London.

26.01.07. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jan-Jun07/amarcord2601.htm It is not often these days that a professional a capella vocal sextet comes along, even rarer that such groups are of amarcord’s quality. Admittedly, I went to the concert following a tip-off about the group, but I was scarcely prepared for the sheer musicality and jewel-like clarity of their singing.

Founded in 1992, amarcord are all former members of the St Thomas’s Boys Choir in Leipzig, and this being the group’s UK Wigmore Hall debut they gave a flavour of the breadth of their repertoire. Introducing numbers from the stage – with a good deal of humour along the way – they served a first half of nineteen bite-size madrigals in English, German, French, Italian and Spanish with near impeccable linguistic fluency.

Indeed, the only minor regret might have been that some pieces of longer duration were not present to vary the offering. For an English audience perhaps the works by Dowland, Morley and Weelkes were easiest to grasp, but also what joys there are to be had in works by the likes of Juan Vasquez and Thoinot Arbeau. amarcord does them a great service by bringing their music before the public.

Qualities that mark out amarcord’s approach to music making are easily identifiable. Chief among them is the tonal balance of the sextet and awareness of vocal nuance within their singing. If, from the start, the excellence of two singers in particular – first tenor Wolfram Lattke and second bass Holger Krause – was apparent due to their distinctive timbres and subtly drawn musicality, the rest of the group formed a barely less favourable impression as the evening progressed. Wolfram Lattke’s high tenor possessed near countertenor clarity, when combined with keen facial gestures his ability to convey much of the humour or seriousness behind the texts proved beneficial to the performances. Second tenor, Martin Lattke, Wolfram’s brother, possessed a much dryer tone, somewhat akin to the traditional English tenor, brought a different shading to his part, which third tenor Dietrich Barth complemented unassumingly. Baritone Frank Ozimek filled the middle range with lightness of touch, perhaps too lightly at times, given the relative weights of both the tenor and bass parts. Daniel Knauft, the first bass, brought a dry wit and wisdom to proceedings.

Stylistically, the programme of the second half was more varied than that of the first. Keen to show that Leipzig is a city not just associated with Johann Sebastian Bach, five works by composers broadened the musical landscape. Schumann’s Die Minnesänger is not one of his stronger compositions, even when heard alongside works by the less well known Carl Steinacker or Carl Friedrich Zöllner. The former afforded opportunities for discrete word-pointing mixed with delicate harmonic touches to capture the spirit of a moonlit night, whereas the latter’s piece was more concerned with satiating the bodily needs of good food and wine. Just as in the piece by Mendelssohn that followed, one sensed that amarcord are indeed bon viveurs who are at home and relaxed in each others company.

The short song cycle, unseen blue, written for them by Bernd Franke proved to be an uneven composition.

With the four songs providing contrasting rather than unifying material it never really hung together as a work. Ranging from the melancholy via a pastiche of Bernstein’s lighter style to the highly canonical, amarcord nonetheless made the most of its individual parts.

More entertaining were the songs chosen for the “In Lighter Mood” section. A jazzed-up vocalise version of Fugue in C minor from the Well-Tempered Clavier stated things off, before moving into Lullaby of Birdland, a Finnish song about the secrets of reindeer and that barbershop standard, Drybones. All were performed with wit and feeling to round off a most satisfying evening. Hopefully it will not be long before amarcord sing in the UK again.

BBC Proms 2007 reviews Prom 68, Bartók, Kodály, Ligeti and Enescu: Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra / Daniel Barenboim (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London. 4.9.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/prom68.htm For their second Prom of the season the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and Daniel Barenboim explored music that you would not expect them to play often, and with results that were somewhat unexpected too.

The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra did perform Bartók’s Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta under Boulez in London’s Royal Festival Hall a few years back, but one wonders how many times they have since, if one puts the current tour aside. I suspect not many as the reading sounded too safe and generalised. The first movement’s opening is one of restraint – not, I feel, a natural Barenboim characteristic – and he shaped the music perhaps too loosely general terms until it became more effusive in character. Although percussion parts and harp solo lines carried presence, the string tone was too typically Viennese: plump and lush. The application of rubato simply made it sound closer to Richard Strauss than Bartók – a very strange effect. Some elements of the shadowy fugue came through effectively in the second movement, though again this could have benefited from starker characterisation. The third movement’s harrowing nocturnal visions were suitably unsettling and the hectored finale was at times in danger of running away with itself slightly, yet it never quite did so enough to really capitalise on the intense build up of emotional energy that the music creates. When all is said and done my concert diary entry from the Boulez performance reveals the inclusion of more that was lacking here.

Kodály’s Dances of Galánta draws on folk music found around the plains north of the Danube for its inspiration, and is as a result ever lively of tempo and in its musical shifts and shadings. Greater definition to the overall orchestral body than was evident in the Bartók meant that whilst the fluid and florid clarinet theme of the first dance was enjoyable the performance as a whole sounded almost too well bred. How strange it seemed to find the quality of the VPOs famous string tone very nearly a disadvantage in performance.

The layers of tone, gesture and rhythm that build Ligeti’s Atmosphères carry an in-built resonance of the other-worldly about them, which is arguably what drew Stanley Kubrick to use the work in 2001: A space odyssey. At once static and suggestive of movement, the piece is disorientating for the listener at first, and only part way through does it start to hang together. Barenboim’s direction focussed on technicalities and maintaining tempo whilst the players proved that modern works are wholly within their reach when the occasion demands. After all, it’s not as if there is a work that is technically beyond their superior instrumental abilities. Quite what the wild-haired Ligeti would have made of the straight-laced way in which the frock coated Viennese quietly set about brushing the strings of a lidless concert grand is anyone’s guess. I suspect he’d have welcomed the unusual sight with an inward chuckle, and no less appreciated the care for precise instrumental sonority they showed in their performance.

In the context of this concert, Enescu’s links with Vienna should be noted: he graduated with distinction as a violinist from the Conservatory at the age of 10 and played in Viennese ensembles under Brahms’ baton.

Given the earlier Kodály Dances an interesting counterpoint might have been provided by Enescu’s Third Orchestral Suite, “Villageoise”. What we did hear however, the Romanian Rhapsody no. 1, showed less imagination of programming and did nothing to advance before the public the mature output of this “subtle, complex and deeply serious composer”, as Calum MacDonald put it in his programme note. The rhapsody is something of a youthful indiscretion, being completed before Enescu was 20; thankfully it is not as omnipresent in concert programmes as it once was. With Barenboim giving entry cues those in the balcony could hardly have missed the Vienna Philharmonic turned in a syrupy reading that lacked rhythmic bite early on, and stumbling into many pitfalls of predictability along the way that make the piece both hackneyed and a genuine clap trap.

The enthusiastic applause was rewarded with two encores from the VPOs native repertoire: Johann Strauss’ Annen-Polka and Eljen a Magyar. If the latter rounded the circle of Transylvanian inferences and connections in this concert, the former ‘featured’ a severe slip of string ensemble coordination. I never thought I would hear that from the Vienna Philharmonic – and particularly not in a Strauss polka!

Prom 48: Shostakovich, Bernstein, Latin American sequence including Revueltas and Ginastera. Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela / Gustavo Dudamel (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London. 19.

8.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/prom48.htm Wow! I doubt there has ever been a Prom like this one in the 111-year history of these concerts. What’s more, the only possibility of seeing and hearing its like again is if the Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela and their music director Gustavo Dudamel return in a future season.

Having burst upon the classical music world a few years ago, very much in tandem with the meteoric ascent of Gustavo Dudamel another of today’s baton-wielding wunderkind, to quote another critic, the Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela "realises almost any argument imaginable about the life changing power of music to heal social ills. " All the musicians, Dudamel included, know how far music has brought them and convey this through seriousness of approach, hard work and a sense of fun. The orchestra acts as the beacon for a larger project that involves over 250,000 young Venezuelans directly with playing classical music. The aims are laudable and their achievements are noteworthy. To date, the orchestra appears on a pair of CDs conducted by Dudamel for Deutsche Grammophon, the most highbrow of old-school record companies.

But highbrow company and even highbrow music, such as Shostakovich’s tenth symphony, need not indicate any stuffiness of approach. In taking on one of Shostakovich’s most personal statements – in political and emotional terms – both Gustavo Dudamel and the Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra set themselves quite a challenge.

The opening movement was launched with gritty determination, keenly argued in its general conception under Dudamel’s anxious baton. And, yet, here is the point: as much through weight of numbers as quality of playing the orchestra made its presence felt across the wide and tortuous arching span that the music creates. The sound was far from what a Russian orchestra would (hopefully) produce, tending more towards the standardised tone of any decent European or American ensemble. In its own terms this says much for the orchestra’s achievements, but for Shostakovich it lacked individuality. Therefore the feeling of the composer’s personal voice which other conductors more readily succeed in securing was largely lost here. The brutal second movement Allegro – possibly a portrait of Stalin – could have done with less finesse and more brutishness from the very start. Yes, Dudamel secured the requisite feeling towards the end, but the terror is the total experience of this music and not the conclusion of it.

As a consequence of his political environment, Shostakovich’s private emotions can seem to emphasise personal solitude or even emptiness all the more. Nowhere is this more apparent than the third movement of the tenth symphony, with its repeated us of his DSCH musical monogram. Its token gestures of happiness, which continue into the last movement also, mask the reality as Shostakovich felt it. Contrast this point with the too frequent feeling that the Simón Bolivar Youth Orchestra were largely playing too freely for Dudamel and then the realisation that the music was misunderstood by the orchestra sinks in.

One might only wonder how they might have played for a more experienced conductor, rather than under one of their peers.

The Symphonic Dances from Bernstein’s West Side Story, however, saw the orchestra on a more certain footing with regard to tone and texture in their playing. Given a no holds barred Prologue, the dances were a keen mixture of romantic longing (in Somewhere and the Finale), whilst elsewhere urgency was Dudamel’s watchword as he drew playing that relished the rhythms and textures of Bernstein’s writing.

The Mambo, ‘Cool’ Fugue stood out in this respect. The series of three Latin American dances which followed caught much in the way of authentic flavour – exhibited in the directly emotional playing of the

orchestra – but as music each work varied little from another except in beat, dynamic emphasis and duration. The tonal palettes employed by Moncayo, Márquez and Ginastera gave little to distinguish their composer’s identities. Nonetheless each was rapturously received by an audience eager for more.

Encores inevitably followed. With the lights abruptly dimmed the orchestra hastily donned jackets of the Venezuelan national colours before launching into a sequence of upbeat dances including a reprise of Bernstein’s Rumble with the massed shouts given real feeling this time. For many players the final clap trap of the evening was sealed when the double basses started twirling and the all bopped to the music’s infectious beat.

A state of near hysteria set in amongst the audience too and for some, the Last Night will go off like a damp squib after this. But was I the only one who felt strangely dissatisfied even a short time afterwards?

Having carefully not penned my views too soon after all the high jinks, I think back in vain to recall much in the way of lasting and profound music-making.

Prom 42, Sibelius: Soloists / Dominante choir / Lahti Symphony Orchestra / Osmo Vänskä (conductor).

Royal Albert Hall, London. 15.8.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/prom42.htm The Tempest – complete incidental music Songs with orchestra: Höstkväll, Op. 38 No. 1 sol. Juntunen Hertig Magnus Op. 57 No. 6 sol. Juntunen Arioso, Op. 3 sol. Juntunen Demanten på marssnön, Op. 36 No. 6 sol. Paasikivi Den första kyssen, Op. 37 No. 1 sol. Paasikivi Flickan kom ifrån sin älsklings möte, Op. 37 No. 5 sol. Paasikivi Autrefois (Scène pastorale), Op. 96b sol. Juntunen & Paasikivi

Symphony No. 7 in C major Helena Juntunen soprano; Lilli Paasikivi mezzo-soprano; Juha Hostikka tenor; Petri Lehto tenor; Ville Rusanen baritone Some ‘celebratory’ concerts fall well short of the mark in terms of atmosphere, but not this one. Jean Sibelius could hardly have asked for more to mark the fiftieth anniversary of his death. There was a very elemental feeling to the concert, with the weather playing a large part in proceedings. Rain tapped gently on the roof to leave a contribution from this year’s British summer (I use the word in its loosest sense!) on the “isle full of noises, rich and strange” that was the Royal Albert Hall. Best known as a composer of sagas than incidental music to stage plays, Sibelius nonetheless approached The Tempest with dedication and imagination, willingly collaborating with the production team of a Copenhagen staging in 1926. For all his experience and imagination though, the score’s all but total neglect can perhaps be best explained by two factors: difficulties in working with the play in a staged performance and some surprising omissions in the musical material.

As incidental music goes, Sibelius treads close to overstepping the mark of impinging upon the drama, with his inclusion of sung items then, conversely, he steers clear of including material one would think central to such a score. Nowhere is Prospero explicitly mentioned or portrayed, though he is hinted at. What there is conveys a mass of other portraits, colourful scenes and incidental asides that have the ability to just about hold their own as music if one knows the play's plot well enough to make the mental connections. Osmo Vänskä’s spirited direction seemed entirely appropriate for the occasion though, neatly drawing playing of sensitivity from his Lahti orchestra. If the music did not seem fully in their fingers – the violins almost came unstuck once or twice as Sibelius called for contrasting lines with other instrumental sections - their performance lacked little in commitment and freshness. Such qualities have helped the orchestra make their mark under Vänskä’s baton in recent years. The Dominante choir contributed their parts atmospherically, and even though the solo parts favoured Lilli Paasikivi’s Ariel, all created a distinct timbre that found its place effortlessly within The Tempest’s self-contained world.

A feeling of organic growth is also central to Sibelius’s seventh symphony, which in some respects owes something to Schoenberg whose Chamber Symphony, no 1, op. 9 prompted Sibelius into exploring the single-movement form. Conciseness is also an essential quality of the work in more ways than one. Osmo Vänskä’s reading, integrated the work's contrasting elements to form a view that realised the point that the symphony does not so much grow towards a conclusion as have the conclusion borne from its entirety.

Music’s time based nature lends it this possibility in contrast to, say, the visual arts. With playing of greater assurance than in The Tempest, the Lahti orchestra showed the whole range of their capabilities here with their care for individual voices and textures, frequently dispatched with a near skittish exuberance.

Particularly impressive were the muted brass lines heard against pizzicato violins and violas. For the Lahti

group the heart of their Sibelian sound came from the mid-strings, with violas and cellos offering particularly distinctive tonal palette in response to Vänskä’s pointed, no-nonsense conducting.

In between the two works, came seven orchestrated songs, a trio apiece given to soprano Helena Juntunen and mezzo-soprano Lilli Paasikivi, before they collaborated in a duet. Juntunen’s youthfully ardent tone offered more in the way of personal response to Sibelius’s romance-filled vocal lines. Even so, each of her songs was given a context of atmosphere – autumnal night, moonlit, or crisp winter – that was adroitly touched in by the Lahti players and Vänskä. Paasikivi lacked for nothing her accompaniments either, her stately tone favouring some songs more than others. I felt she caught more of the mother’s questioning than the daughter’s anguish in Flickan kom ifrån sin älsklings mote, for example. The pastoral duet though was a delight, replete with nature references in the orchestration, and, like much else in the concert, was possessed of an acute sense of dynamic and rhythmic flow. A most enjoyable and uplifting evening.

Prom 33, Britten and Mahler: BBC Philharmonic / Gianandrea Noseda (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London. 7.8.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/prom33.htm The combination of Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem and Cooke’s completion of Mahler’s 10th symphony could have been a powerful one, and it was in part. But as an encompassing evening of music reflecting on the nature of grief and death there was something lacking in the absolute gravitas of the event.

The Sinfonia da Requiem is a work seemingly consumed with obsessive grief. From the first strokes upon the timpani, its mood is set – varying slightly to lighten the emotion to one of loss or remembrance. For Britten, who clearly felt the loss of his parents deeply, the more he explored these emotions the harder it became to see any escape from them. If bleakness is the pervading tone for the work’s first movement – something that Noseda relentlessly pressed home – the second movement seemed dreadfully close of becoming a parody of grief. Whether it was Noseda’s wildly flamboyant gestures that induced this feeling or the resultant occasional looseness of the orchestral playing was hard to know. Whatever the case, his swift beat was relentless in its drive with the overdone gestures echoing the music’s emotionally precarious state. It was hard to ignore the Mahlerian elements within the work too, clearly showing the influence of one composer upon another: brass lines winding their way across the stage space or the upper strings recalling Mahler in their occasionally abrasive tone. The closing movement, Requiem aeternam, was calm though scarcely less obsessive in its overall concept. Beneath its surface the torments established earlier continue, barely concealed. Resolution and rest are two qualities that never seem truly achieved in Noseda’s conception of the work, rightly picking up on Britten’s intentions. However, what resolution there is comes at a price. This, Britten might be saying, is an essential consequence of what it is to be human.

Mahler gives alternative thoughts on much the same theme in each of his symphonies. The tenth, as completed principally by Deryck Cooke aided by Berthold Goldschmidt, Colin Matthews and David Matthews (who was there, score in hand), charts a path from the dark world inhabited by its predecessor to eventual valediction through the enduring power of love. Poignantly, the uncompleted work was written at a time when Mahler was confronting both his own mortality and the infidelity of his wife Alma – she was having an affair with Walter Gropius, whom she was to marry some years later.

Questions of form, structure and musical balance are crucial to the potential success of any performance and the conductor should address them all with sound judgement. Noseda’s approach here showed some consideration for each, but was ultimately weakened by a killer instinct for precision in his execution. Broad tempi in the outer movements might have suggested much of the despair within the music, but often details within the playing told another story.

The opening movement exposed some initial thin violin tone when under pressure, though this was complemented by some ethereal playing from the violas – arguably the most secure of all the BBC Philharmonic’s string sections. The collective brass brought some majesty to proceedings, against which the fluctuating tempo that Noseda encouraged, rather underplayed the neurotic sea of emotions which Mahler had sought to expound through his wry observance of echt-Viennese orchestration.

The second movement, the first of the work's two scherzos, was bold and upbeat, playing on a jovial Ländler. Its lightness however was not without a hint or two of sarcastic asides, neatly interpolated by the woodwinds to further unsettle the listener.

The brief third movement – Purgatorio – provides a kind of preludial structural importance to the work’s second half in Mahler’s conception, but did not convey quite enough purgatorial feeling. Another scherzo comes as the fourth movement, to mirror the second in structural terms, except that the contrast it presents could hardly be greater: gone is all humour: impending death is omnipresent. A certain amount of élan in the playing however brought home the raw emotional power of nearly every utterance.

The final movement closes the circle of emotions in an unexpected way by moving to feelings of forgiveness and love, though not without acknowledging that these things should be seen as a consequence of all that went before them. The hollow bass drum which so rudely interrupted the poised flute and viola lines in this performance made the point. Serenity is re-established afterwards – albeit too briefly perhaps – and Noseda pushed through the final gradual ascent towards forgiveness too relentlessly for it to be fully effective in hitting the mark.

Due to this, and the sum of much that preceded it, the performance was routine rather than revelatory and unfulfilling where it should have left feelings of elation in its wake.

Prom 22: Fauré, Berlioz, Bizet: Anne Sofie von Otter (mezzo-soprano) / Les Musiciens du LouvreGrenoble / Marc Minkowski (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London. 29.7.2007 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2007/Jul-Dec07/prom22.htm If it was not for the highlighting of Shakespeare as a season theme this year and having an overdue Proms premiere of a work best known in more truncated form, I wonder what reasons could be found for programming excerpts from Fauré’s Shylock and almost the complete incidental music of Bizet’s L'Arlésienne?

The potential problem in performance is that they were written as incidental music to plays, so without the plot to carry each one along it becomes little more than a stand-alone sequence. Incidental music can hold its own, providing it is of sufficiently strong calibre; but by definition the music is intended to play a second fiddle role in proceedings. Whilst both Fauré and Bizet are evidently concerned with orchestral colour in their works, they produce tunes of momentary interest that are – with a couple of exceptions from Bizet – short lived in the memory.

Les Musiciens du Louvre-Grenoble under Marc Minkowski’s enthusiastic direction produced characterful readings of both scores. Even if there was little sense of anything ‘sporadically operatic’ in Fauré’s work, partly down to a rather uniform quality in the string sound, for much of the duration more was made of Bizet’s demands. The tale of rural love and intrigue mixed rustic charm in the overture before notable tenderness in an Act II melodrama scored for harp, side drum and piccolo accompanied by a wordless choral part. Act II’s closing scene was once again imposing and jolly by turns. Act III, however, contains Bizet’s most famous music in the whole score. Despite being wholly rum-ti-tum in character the closing scene’s famous march dominates proceedings and ensured a rousing conclusion.

Berlioz’s Les nuits d'été, often performed though it is, stood out for its integrity of composition in this concert. This performance was also the highlight of the evening. Marc Minkowski clearly relished the textures in Berlioz’s orchestration and urged them to be clearly heard, even if his tempos tended towards the slower side of what can sometimes be experienced.

Now in her early fifties, Anne Sophie von Otter brought a palpable amount of wisdom and life experience to bear in her singing of Theophile Gautier’s poems. In a cycle so concerned with hope briefly realised, loneliness, desolation only to end up with the enchantment of love von Otter’s tone shifted to suit each text as appropriate to the mood it conveyed. As much was achieved through careful word pointing as reliance on vocal beauty. Her voice might not float a high lying passage quite as easily as once it did and the area of vocal strength is in the mid-range rather than the extremes, but with self-knowledge von Otter skilfully circumnavigated any minor obstacles.

Orchestrally, everything was securely played, except perhaps the bass line of Villanelle, which could have used a little more projection. Minkowski’s broad tempo for Le spectre de la rose and the care for articulation of individual instrumental lines indicated a performance beyond the ordinary, which much like von Otter’s singing, left much suggested in its wake. The lament of Sur les lagunes brought a gradual decline to grief as orchestra and soloist combined to tell this tale of loss and its pain effectively. Absence brought a moment of hope yet it was quickly dashed by the moonlight of the ensuing cemetery scene, the latter stages of which were imbued with mysteriously rapt passion. Intoxication and exotic nuances flashed across the cycle’s final song, L’île inconnue, to beguile and uplift heart and spirit with every passing bar.

Hallé at the Proms R. Strauss: Macbeth Britten: Les Illuminations Nielsen: Symphony No.4, 'The Inextinguishable' Joan Rodgers soprano Hallé / Mark Elder conductor Royal Albert Hall 27 July 2007 http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents/Proms07Halle.html The tone poem Macbeth is relatively unfamiliar music by Richard Strauss. It predates works such as Don Juan and was the composer’s first essay in the tone poem genre, begun at the age of 22. This is a work that at times displays the inexperience of the composer but this in no way should be held as the reason for the work’s relative obscurity.

Macbeth has elements that point to Strauss’s later stage and orchestral directions. It was therefore appropriate that Elder’s reading was informed by his understanding of later works and the Straussian idiom in general. The interpretation clearly drew out the musical lines used to paint the characters of Shakespeare’s drama, and some have done so with greater emphasis on the rough edges and fatal flaws which control the destiny of the Macbeths.

Elder could be said to be Romantic in some respects, though the music never fell to syrupy mush, which would be totally misplaced. This is music that has become more embedded in the Hallé’s fingertips since their 2005 recording of it, and they performed it with relish for the rich sonorities of Strauss’ orchestration.

Britten’s Les Illuminations replaced Our Hunting Fathers at short notice due to the indisposition of soprano Lisa Milne. Joan Rodgers took her place as soloist and offered a performance that emphasised a luxuriant side to her tone, even if this came at the expense of rather individualised word-pointing such as one gets from other Britten interpreters. Orchestrally, things were a little scrappy at times, showing the brief rehearsal time the work had in all probability been given.

Scrappy playing was not a quality in the Hallé’s performance of Nielsen’s fourth symphony, 'The Inextinguishable'. Nielsen is always referred to as a symphonist. Not having heard a symphony by him for many years in concert I had high hopes for this performance. (I had been disappointed by Maskerade when staged at Covent Garden a couple of seasons ago.) Mark Elder’s attraction to the work was immediately apparent given that it allows opportunities for every department of the orchestra to have its place in the spotlight.

But if the composer envisaged the work as an organic whole – certainly a view of it that Elder tried to encourage – to my ears it sounded too episodic as the focus of the musical content moved around the orchestra with little in the way of formal structure to maintain an integrated whole. This, for a symphonist’s most convincing work in the genre is something less than might be desired. Consequently, despite the fine playing and dedication of the Hallé musicians the work proved to be something of a let down. What then are Nielsen’s genuinely strong compositions?

2006 UK concert reviews Brahms, de Falla, Franck, Sarasate: Leticia Moreno (violin) and Simon Crawford-Phillips (piano), Wigmore Hall, London, 8.1.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/moreno0801.htm Johannes Brahms: Scherzo in C minor, from the ‘FAE sonata’ (1853) Johannes Brahms: Violin Sonata No. 2 in A Op. 100 (1886) Manuel de Falla (arr. Pawel Kochanski): Suite populaire espagnole for violin & piano (1914) César Franck: Violin Sonata in A (1886) Pablo Sarasate: Carmen Fantasy Op. 25 (1883) Funny, the conversations you overhear before a concert: “Can she play?”

“Don’t know, never heard her, but have you seen her picture?”

Pause - two men look at a picture in the programme “So the dress shouldn’t disappoint then” …

Leticia Moreno strode purposefully onto the stage bearing, at the age of 20, an already enviable reputation before her that collaborations with Rostropovich, Kremer, Vengerov and numerous orchestras among others have contributed to.

The ‘FAE sonata’ is a strange work. It was written for Joachim with one movement apiece by Schumann, Dietrich and Brahms, whose closing scherzo is the only part to still enjoy at intermittent concert outings today and displays the composer’s youthful highly strung emotional state. The performance was an edgy one, never settling; but that wasn’t totally down to the writing. Moreno tried valiantly to make much of the interchanges of voice that the music allowed for against the rather insistent tone of Crawford-Phillips’ accompaniment. Balance, both physically and musically extreme, entered into things too – Moreno being keen to try and steer things her way proved highly mobile, though later she was more at ease in lyrical moments, and this was reflected in her playing.

Brahms’ second violin sonata displays a greater maturity in the writing, being less prone to internal exaggeration for its own sake than the preceding FAE scherzo. From the simplicity with which the opening statement was delivered, the Allegro amabile grew with an appropriate sense of feeling and warmth.

Emphases, though brief, were strongly drawn from the woody mid-range of the 1679 Guarneri instrument Moreno played. The Andante tranquillo’s sotto voce opening lent a touch of mystery before the intervention of fleet-footed waltzes and violin asides that carried a whispered lyricism about them. A pity that pizzicato passages were slightly lost against the almost unvarying mezzo-forte dynamic of the accompaniment. To close, the Allegretto grazioso gained character from the lower and mid ranges of Moreno’s expressive instrument and the imagination with which wistful, almost casual, remarks contrasted with passages of raised voice.

The Suite populaire espagnole takes its material in equal measure from folk sources, and the twin imaginations of de Falla and Kochanski. Cast in six brief movements Moreno gave glimpses of Spain that she carries in her blood. These ranged from a slyly given opening that also featured greater insistence and brightness of tone. The second miniature, Nana, was more obviously folk-originating and had a vocal sincerity of feeling expressed though its simple delivery, where the pure bell-like accompaniment also contributed atmospherically. Canción was stronger in its expression of contrasts and harmonic alterations. Polo brought to mind a bullfight – the piano’s stamping line as the beast raging against the matador’s cape of the violinist’s more elegant soaring line. Asturiana returned almost to the repose of Nana, but with a greater touch of sorrow about it in the violin’s colouring. The closing Jota proved a

lively dance that was an up-tempo showpiece for both performers, bringing both together whilst presenting contrasting material: pianistic exuberance combined with violinistic nobility and touching simple tone.

Franck’s great sonata – like the Brahms that went earlier – has long been a staple of the repertoire for any violinist, but it is also a work that makes significant demands on the accompanist, and any performance will stand or fall based on the partnership that both form. The opening movement ranged from a nonchalant purity of tone to steer a heady course through the ensuing shifting harmonies and tempo changes, though perhaps the piano part could have been slightly less forceful at times. This contrasted with a more selfquestioning second movement that sought to exploit differences in tonal colouring between a rougher lower register and a crystalline top. Forthright passions were unleashed by Moreno and CrawfordPhillips in the third movement, with carefully shaded asides lending fragility to her statements of the main theme before seeing a full return to passion once again. This connected confidently with an intelligently phrased finale in which the piano led proudly, the violin complementing though retaining a slight detachment before bursting into a triumphant ending. A complete performance? Not quite, though with many key ingredients available to them, it won’t be long before one develops.

Since Moreno has been described as “Spain’s great hope for the violin after Sarasate” it was appropriate that the recital should conclude with one of his works. To start, the Act Three/Four entr’acte displayed dedication to purpose, and picked up where de Falla’s Polo left off, complete with double stops and intricate harmonics. In the Habanera one sensed Carmen’s teasing self but also a certain hardness of heart as pizzicato and simultaneously bowed notes were fearlessly dispatched. The Chanson et Mélodrame cut a swathe of passionate precision in the playing, whilst the Seguidilla was given sprightly, though with a heart of fire. This linked seamlessly to a Chanson bohème that was taken at full tilt from first to last in a dual display of no holes barred bravura playing, even if as earlier in the programme, this led to occasional sacrifices of precision or tone, and in this case a near destruction of the music itself.

Leticia Moreno’s name is one we will be hearing much more of very soon – not least because she has several Naxos recordings lined up - but her playing displays real passion, that if anything outweighs its polish right now. The violin world needs artists like Moreno who step outside the safety zone to dig deeper – even if the results don’t always quite hit the mark.

Oh, and she looked great in the dress too (a tight and moody purple number with a high front split and black edging at the back), in case you wondered.

W.A. Mozart: Eine kleine Nachtmusik; Exsultate, jubilate; Symphony No.29, Eliana Pretorian, soprano, Orchestra of St John's, John Lubbock, conductor, Cadogan Hall, London, 19.01.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/osj1901.htm This concert, the first of a series by the OSJ at the Cadogan Hall over the coming months, presented an hour's worth of music uninterrupted by an interval. The 7pm start time and interval-less format meant it was likely to attract an audience that still wanted to get home at a reasonable time after a day at the office.

Another feature of the series is the engagement of up-and-coming soloists, and this concert provided my first opportunity to document the qualities of soprano Eliana Pretorian.

With Mozart's birthday fast approaching the Orchestra of St John's got its celebration in early, with three of Wolfgang's most evergreen compositions. There may be those that would carp about unadventurous programming, or state rhetorically "do we need to hear those works again?" What can emerge from the experience of revisiting works like this live rather than on recording is a new freshness, possibly an interpretation with things of its own to say. Most of all though Mozart was a gift to humanity - timeless in relevance to audiences - and in performance terms his music offers its own subtle but distinct rewards for musicians.

John Lubbock's view of Mozart was clearly established with his reading of Eine kleine Nachtmusik. The music was given natural pacing that appeared governed by an unanxious internal breath. The Allegro was perhaps a touch unduly dominated by the violins, though later movements, particularly the Menuetto and Rondo, displayed this tendency rather less as the bass line made its presence felt to a greater extent.

Mozart’s Exsultate, jubilate is an ideal vehicle for any soprano wishing to give free and open rein to various aspects of what her voice can do. Legato singing in contrast with sections at faster tempi, expressiveness of tone and feeling for words can all be displayed alongside a wide variety of dynamic shadings and sense of vocal range. Eliana Pretorian demonstrated this, and much more, with her singing. Particularly impressive was the variety of shadings of vocal timbre employed to express the text: a slightly smoky mezzoish tinge to much of the opening section contrasted with a steady purity in the middle ‘Fulget amica dies’, before leading to a rightly joyful ‘Alleluja’.

Vocal ‘basics’ of strong technique, breath control and stage presence leave the impression of an artist already with some confidence, even if the very top of the voice appears less finished than the lower and mid range. This however is of minor consequence when meeting intelligence of interpretation and feeling for the composer. A voice is ever a work in progress, and Pretorian, I am sure, will build on her natural gifts over the coming years as she continues her studies at the Benjamin Britten Opera School at the Royal College of Music. Londoners may have heard her before (Kathleen Ferrier awards, etc.) but they should take every opportunity to hear Pretorian early on, as she undoubtedly will be much in demand internationally as the years advance. Her previous collaborations with Lubbock and the OSJ further lent to the feeling of easy confidence and mutual musical understanding evident on-stage.

Symphony 29 closed the concert with a reading that displayed to a greater degree than before Lubbock’s care over orchestral sonority. With the addition of woodwind and horns greater contrasts, both tonal and spatial, were brought to proceedings as the reading sought to display a certain grandeur that was not beyond the means of an essentially chamber-scaled rendition. Retaining the earlier spirited tendency in his reading Lubbock showed Mozart as a master jeweller in instrumental counterpoints of the minuet, before rousingly bringing things to a conclusion in a delightfully up-tempo Allegro con spirtito finale.

However, after the event it is Eliana Pretorian’s interpretation that stays most clearly with me as a fine start to my 2006 Mozart birthday celebrations.

Wagner, Dvořák and Brahms: Isabelle Faust (violin) / London Philharmonic Orchestra / Jiří Bělohlávek.

QEH, 22.2.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/lpo2202.htm Wagner: Tristan und Isolde (Prelude and ‘Liebestod’) Dvořák: Violin Concerto in A minor, Op.53 Brahms: Symphony No.1 in C minor, Op.68 Sometimes you don't get what you'd expect in a concert and sometimes you don't get what you'd like.

Such was the case here. Wagner's Tristan Act I Prelude and 'Liebestod' began the evening, and given that orchestra and conductor had received glowing reviews for their performance of the complete opera at Glyndebourne a couple of years back, I hoped for much. In the event, the Prelude proved rather unwilling to take flight from its first emotionally laden chords. Jiří Bělohlávek rather overemphasised the rests near the beginning, so they verged on becoming breaks, to the detriment of overall musical, dramatic and emotional momentum. Only comparatively late on, did the Prelude really spring to life, but it might have done so earlier had the strings been antiphonally positioned on the stage to emphasise the orchestral details. When in its stride the orchestral tone was full, even if the violins held sway over the valiant sawing of the cellos and basses.

The ‘Liebestod’ (as Liszt misnamed Isolde’s ending to Act III) proved rather more immediate in terms of energy and emotion than the Prelude had been. However, those expecting a glorious soprano line were disappointed as the solo part was passed rather impressionistically between the instrumental sections.

While this was totally ineffective in terms of compensating for the missing voice, it did at least allow some often drowned out orchestral details to be heard. But I’d have it done with the voice any day, in preference.

The Dvořák violin concerto found Jiří Bělohlávek very much on home territory, and his reading of it proved fluent bringing out the true idiom through careful orchestral shaping. Isabelle Faust produced a cleanly articulated yet steely tone from her 1704 ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Stradavari, which on the whole failed to show any reason for the name, or indeed display much outward love by Faust for the work itself. Workmanlike opening solo gambits led to exchanges of a more appropriate conversational nature, during which Bělohlávek allowed woodwinds (flute and oboe), and later the brass (trumpet) contributions to come through unforced. Faust played the middle movement adagio, often considered the emotional heart of the piece, was more sensitively and her phrasing was helped along nicely by Bělohlávek’s superb pacing. A nice touch was the hint of eternal longing that came into the closing reverie. With a final movement in lighter vein, and of punchier tempo, two Czech dances of contrasting character were brought into play in a manner akin to that which the composer employs in his Slavonic Dances. Faust’s part maintained linear purity, although it was increasingly punctuated with an insistent streak that contrasted with the orchestra's full-bodied tone.

Brahms’ oft-quoted remark about his first symphony, “My symphony is long and not exactly amiable”, has only ever seemed partly accurate to me. While it is undouctedly long and is for the most part prone to revelling in a dense, insular and even angst-ridden (or dour) sound world, ultimately it emerges at its journey’s end in a blaze of glory. This is a massive, self-propelling and self - supporting structure.

Bělohlávek’s reading was muscular and used the lower strings more effectively than elsewhere in the programme, to form a sure foundation. For all this, the upper strings and woodwinds had no less of a contribution to make. In the final movement particularly. contrasts of tempi were handle adequately (though not as a carefully as with some conductors) to bring the most out of the thematic material. Some points of orchestration were well handled however – violin pizzicato repetitions, for example (again, in the last movement) – to show the underlying intent in the writing. Here though, as in the Wagner, the lack of antiphonal strings had a detrimental effect and as a whole the symphony proved only moderately

satisfying. With a little more thought towards stage management more of the music’s drama might have been forthcoming.

Brahms throws down a significant gauntlet for any conductor and orchestra in this symphony and meeting its challenge is still something not to be taken lightly. Though Bělohlåvek and the LPO were certainly serious about the work, it was a pity that none of their performances in this concert were out-and-out successes, despite many elements of interest throughout. Such is the mercurial nature of live musicmaking.

Duel: Paganini versus Lafont; Peter Sheppard Skærved and Christine Sohn (violins) / Academy Chamber Ensemble. Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music London. 27.2.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/duel2702.htm Lafont (1781-1839): Variations on the Invocation from Spontini’s ‘La Vestale’ Paganini (1782-1840): Le Streghe Rodolphe Kreutzer (1766-1831): Sinfonia Concertante no 1 in F The first evening event in the week long ‘Paganini in London’ Festival at the Royal Academy of Music, was, as Peter Sheppard Skærved pointed out at the start of the evening something of a ‘creative lie’. The violin duel between Paganini and the Frenchman Charles Philippe Lafont actually took place at La Scala, Milan in 1816. It consisted (as in this concert) of one work written by the soloist and a concertante work brought by Lafont for the occasion.

This is probably where the historical event and this concert reached the limit of what they have in common, as the concert offered more than was on the official programme. Each half of it began with a Paganini divertimento for violin and small ensemble – one Scottish, one English in flavour – that could not have lent themselves better to commemorating Paganini’s 1831 visit.

Peter Sheppard Skærved laid down the gauntlet as Lafont, though playing on Paganini’s 1743 Guarneri del Gesù “Il Cannone” ; on loan from the city of Genoa for the Festival, and to be played by Maxim Vengerov in the final concert. Befitting the style of the period, Lafont’s solo work began in concert with the orchestra after which it developed lyricism and a body of subtlety that suited the violin well (ironically given it is Paganini’s instrument being used.) The section with pizzicato accompaniment came across with great vitality, contrasting effectively with more reflective variations (played piano) and the particularly gregarious final rousing variation. “Il Cannone” showed itself to be an instrument of warmth and tonal allure, though not perhaps as resonant as some might have expected or desired. It's an extremely fine and treasured instrument nonetheless, with much to offer in the right hands.

Paganini’s solo riposte was his own Le Streghe, a work that has held its place in the repertoire not only because of its composer, but also owing to its tunefulness and inventively powerful dramatic sense.

Skærved directed the ensemble with passion and his gestures displayed that it can be difficult to separate instrumental playing entirely from the activity of conducting. Often, he felt the need to ‘bow’ his beat against an invisible string, but even so the ensemble sections responded with immediacy and equal passion to the task. Christine Sohn took Paganini’s part in her stride easily, dispatching the fearsome solo with beauty of tone, technical security and with flicks of decorative fancy that showed the specific regard in which Paganini held the upper hand over Lafont.

Interspersing both works were readings and sundry ‘heckles’ from contemporary press reports and the like about Paganini. All were given most excellently by ladies positioned throughout the audience and added an amusing atmosphere to the proceedings. One commented of Paganini, that he was “a producer of squealing melody upon filthy catgut”, and another pilloried his concert fees – breaking down the amounts to how much he earned for playing a quaver, or for that matter, a bar’s rest!

The duel came to a head when Kreutzer’s Sinfonia Concertante was played. Paganini and Lafont shared the two solo roles, though Paganini refused the one offered him – no doubt to wrong foot his ‘opponent’. The contest saw Skærved this time as Paganini with Sohn taking Lafont’s part. And as befits an evening of supreme violin art, two of the centrepieces from the Academy’s collection were used as the solo instruments: a 1699 Stradavari (Skærved) and another by Vuillaume (whom Paganini knew in Paris and with whom he may possibly have collaborated) was played by Sohn.

Of the Kreutzer work itself, the opening - Allegro moderato - saw both soloists accompanied by the orchestra before launching into their separate solos, often inspired by the colouring or phrasing of the ensemble – horns and woodwinds being prominent over largely unison and tightly controlled strings.

The middle movement – Adagio – saw Lafont make the first solo move, though Paganini was quick to follow. Here, one heard perhaps why Paganini thought Lafont not inferior to himself with regard to technique, discounting the fact that Lafont's was the finer instrument. So it proved here, with little between the protagonists, but with Sohn consistently pulling a more refined and creamy tone from the Vuillaume. The conversational nature of this movement further underlined the recognition / respect conceivably possible between two artists at that moment. Recognition was evidently not whole-hearted however, as Paganini trounced Lafont and soon packed him off to Paris (ostensibly to recover his favourite bow!)

Like the duel itself, the work ended in a display of virtuosic fireworks from both players, supported generously by excellent ensemble playing throughout. The evening showed off not only the talents of both soloists and the Academy Chamber Ensemble, but brought Lafont's name from the shadow of his Italian compatriot for at least one evening. In a different age, the publice much might have remembered of him better. Such is the capriciousness of fame…

Talking of caprices (and specifically Paganini's), a lunchtime event saw the playing of many more, some in unusual forms, along with new compositions in the genre. A highlight was the arrangement of Paganini’s caprice number 6 by George Enescu, with the violin part played as originally written alongside a delicate impressionistic piano accompaniment. This was its first modern performance since Enescu recorded it with Menuhin in 1934. Other pieces included similar arrangements by Schumann, for flute by Jules Herman, and guitar by Hvartchilkov. All of them showed the continuing power that these works, once thought unplayable, still hold for composers and performers today.

Schnittke and Granados: Tanya Gabrielian (piano). Purcell Room.

Wagner, Sibelius and Bartók: Vadim Repin (violin) / Philharmonia Orchestra / Charles Dutoit (conductor). Queen Elizabeth Hall, London. 28.2.2006 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/dutoit2802.htm Tanya Gabrielian: Schnittke: Piano Sonata No. 2 Granados: Goyescas 'Los Majos Enamorados': Quejas ó la maja y el rusieñor, El amor y la muerte, Epilogo (Serenata del Espectro) Vadim Repin / Philharmonia Orchestra / Charles Dutoit: Wagner: Overture, The Flying Dutchman Sibelius: Violin Concerto Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra As has become common practice now, the Philharmonia prefaced their orchestral concert with a free instrumental recital by a recipient of the orchestra’s Martin Musical Scholarship Fund in the adjoining Purcell Room. The recital programme (though presenting two works by composers inhabiting vastly different sound worlds to those in the orchestral concert) nonetheless established a coherent theme for the evening: presentiment, meditations on imminent peril or death, and ultimately, life affirmation.

The willowy figure of 23 year old Tanya Gabrielian walking gracefully on stage in a full length flowing dress could not have left one more unprepared for the prolonged outpouring of dark and angished emotion that followed her entrance. Schnittke’s Piano Sonata No. 2 was written shortly after his first near-fatal heart attack, and the work addresses his feelings about the experience, revisited within each of three movements.

The opening Moderato begins with the feeling of tears, or perhaps, to read Gabrielian’s expressive facial gestures, that indefinable point at which laughter becomes crying. The music unfolded within a sense of self-contained form represented by fluid writing, and led to a point of self crisis, expressed by extreme angularity of writing and strength of playing. The pianistic challenges presented in making the whole thing hang together, along with the physical playing of it, are considerable: in bringing it off so confidently across the entire technical spectrum Gabrielian really showed her mettle.

The Lento was delicate at first, but falsely so, and showed both a certain foreboding and the possibility of happiness left unfulfilled. The futility of hopefulness is given sparse peckings of notes with which to express itself, yet even this was angst-ridden in Gabrielian’s interpretation. The closing Allegro moderato brought a return to angular discord once more amid fleeting moments of jazziness. Here, Gabrielian made the unmusical become musical by her attentive phrasing and responsive touch. And therein lay an irony. The music pursued an ever more mechanistic path, as if to display the dehumanising of the composer or player; who seemed to become one with the music's dissolving in on itself before a pounding repeated bass note imposed itself on the movement. A short pastel-shot chorale then served as a contrast – a view of the afterlife perhaps– and this towering work (given a performance of alarmingly assured stature) came to a close.

The selections from Granados’ Goyescas affirmed Gabrielian's great gift for producing sustained melodic lines inflected with passion. 'Quejas ó la maja y el rusieñor ' showed a wistful lyricism, somewhat sad and delicate, particularly towards the ending. The music represents a woman who opens her heart to a nightingale, and generates emotions akin to those in Schnittke’s Lento, even though the means of presentation could hardly be more different. Granados ‘Love and Death’ became a vision of stillness to

Gabrielian, before giving way to emotions of unrest and longing, that turn fully to passion before sinking finally to nothingness. Once again, the parallels with Schnittke's thoughts were made only too clearly through playing of faultless control and telling expressiveness.

The Epilogue (Serenade of Death) was characterised by vivid clarity, the skeletal feeling the of music and its subject captured by 'bare-boned' syncopation, within which an uneasy melody of glowering menace flashed periodically. Sarcasm and death, eternal nothingness after the memory of tempting melody, were all that was left to us.

After such a high quality and emotional journey at the recital, the prospect of an orchestral concert that I had looked forward to since the last time Dutoit conducted the Philharmonia in October 2005 (Review) was very welcome. I was extremely impressed in October and had even suggested that the Philharmonia might consider Dutoit as a potential chief conductor in waiting. How different things can be from one concert to the next however, for this one was largely disappointing.

Though Dutoit has some experience with Wagner, he has never struck me as ‘natural’ in this music. On this showing the ever dapper conductor has never felt the Dutchman overture's lash of salt water, or if he has, he had promptly forgotten it on his way to the podium. The modern conductor's jet-setting lifestyle may not have helped of course, but Wagner's billowing basses sank without trace here, the brass were left marooned due to ill-coordinated stage placing and the timpani (also oddly placed in the stage's far recesses) were too quiet to make any impact.

A controversial account of the Sibelius Violin Concerto came after this minor squall and it verged on the point of being anti-Sibelian in character. Dutoit, again unusually restrained in terms of both dynamic or impetus, presented a lyrical and romantic view of the first movement against which Vadim Repin’s account of the solo line was full of idiosyncrasy. With the following Adagio di molto almost devoid of forward momentum, the grand statements for soloist and orchestra that the movement contains, seemed falsely pushed in the context, and Repin’s solo playing broke musical phrases away from the composer's markings. The finale had more of the requisite bounce, but it lacked much in the way of orchestral presence. Held under an artificially tight rein, the movement, and ultimately the whole work, failed to deliver its expected ‘disturbingly dark hue’ (Wendy Thompson’s programme notes.)

Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra should have taken the journey from feelings of darkness, via death in the Elegia, through to a brilliant affirmation of life. Things began more promisingly with greater orchestral cohesion and presence and Dutoit even managed to bring off passably well the episode where orchestral parts are used like solo instruments, though not always with total conviction. The final movement saw the completion of the evening’s thematic arch realised ineffectively: where the music should build in tension to a point where it can hardly contain itself any longer, and burst out as and irresistible force, could prevent it, what little tension there was gathered power far too late. Early hopes were dashed and only traces of dejection where their legacy.

The evening as a whole remains notable for Tanya Gabrielian’s contribution: she is a pianist with the promise of a formidable future. A masterclass with Pierre-Laurent Aimard awaits her in the next few days in which the subject is Bartók’s Out of Doors suite. With her standards set extremely high already and with the drive to extend her capabilities still further, Tanya Gabrielian is surely an artist to look out for.

Paganini in London: La Crema di Cremona, Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music London. 3.3.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/cremona0303.htm JS Bach - Chaconne, arr. for cello by Colin Carr Colin Carr, cello (‘Marquis de Corberon’ Stradivarius, 1726) Franck - Sonata for violin and piano Maurice Hasson, violin (Guadagnini c.1753); Nicola Eimer, piano Tchaikovsky - Souvenir de Florence op 70 Clio Gould, violin (‘Rutson’ Stradivarius, 1694) Dominika Rosiek, violin (‘Kustendyke’ Stradivarius, 1699) Paul Silverthorne, viola (Antonio and Girolamo Amati, 1620)Yuko Inoue, viola (‘Archinto’ Stradivarius, 1696) Louisa Tuck, cello (‘Segelman’ Stradivarius, 1692) Jonathan Deakin, cello (Rogeri, c. 1690) This concert showcased the cream of Cremonese instruments held in the Royal Academy of Music’s collection, along with playing of uneven quality and impact throughout the evening.

Although the programme did not feature any Paganini compositions, Colin Carr began it with apologies to Bach and violinists, and also in a self-confessed “devil may care attitude” that he felt appropriate to Paganini's spirit. Carr's own arrangement of the violin Chaconne took some time to sit easily anywhere on the cello, despite the fact that the Stradivarius instrument was possessed of a rich mid tonal range and a graceful, bright and unforced top register. Carr noted in the programme that “the extra resonance of the cello is wonderful for the ground bass of the Chaconne”, and I would not disagree regarding the “extra nobility” brought to the work by the transposition: where I do disagree is with regard to loss of brilliance.

There was plenty of mellowness even in the merest whisper of tone drawn from the ‘Marquis de Corberon’, which transformed itself into a deeply resonant and pliant line that readily caught inflections of light and shade.

Maurice Hasson and Nicola Eimer made a somewhat ill-matched pairing for the mighty Franck sonata. With little obvious feeling for the work, Hasson set into it with a supple enough line that impressed more by tone than phrasing. But - perhaps too often, as the work progressed - he resorted to extremes, finding a stillness (albeit rarely) within the sonata’s pages, or more often a piercing intensity achieved by the use of bowing that gave the notes such edge that they might have been razor slashes across the music. By contrast, the piano playing of Nicola Eimer was finely delivered to present a much more unified (and indeed unifying) influence on the work. With sensitivity to both phrasing and tonal projection, not to mention effort in coordinating the often fearsome parts, Eimer somehow managed to capture a significant portion of the sonata’s power, even if this was not all it might have been.

Tchaikovsky came to the rescue of the evening however after the interval, with a work that at least projected some Italian warmth, if not actually from Cremona itself. The first movement set off at a fair pace under Clio Gould’s leadership and she was also expressive in using vibrato to good effect. With violins, violas and cellos working in pairs and also independently of each other, clear answering phrases and lines were established, passing motifs between instruments with freedom. The sextet as a whole displayed a collective brightness of tone and a good standard of unison playing. The first viola announced a mellow tone whilst the first cello had a pleasing richness about it.

The second movement was notable for the weighting of individual tones and the building of textures. An intimate feeling pervaded the exchanges between first violin and second cello, and later the second cello provided an effective ground upon which a multi-faceted yet stately discussion between all the sextet's could take place. This contrasted later, with a theme of some nervousness, that developed into waves of

swelling passion played with fine pizzicato by the second violin and violas, prior to the cellos' entry which was announced with some ardour. The movement provided the most typically Tchaikovsikian opportunities for heart-on-sleeve playing, which the sextet latched on to with abandon.

In further contrast, the third movement provided opportunities for collective introspection, though the playing was spirited if intentionally somewhat disjointed. This led into passages of playful energy and vivaciousness, which, though suddenly broken in mood as the group remembered former introspective moments, was re-established to winning effect.

The last movement opened in a mood similar to that of a country dance quickly picking up energy and enthusiasm through the lyricism of the individual parts. The culmination was a rich and confident solidity in ensemble playing that brought intensity of expression and elation to the close of the evening.

Paganini in London: Maxim Vengerov Violin Masterclass, Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music London.

4.3.2006. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/vengerov0403.htm Why review a masterclass? I think that it’s a valid exercise from many points of view: to record the technical and interpretational insights of the eminent teacher, to observe up-and-coming talents in action, and capture something of the spirit of mutual discovery that can come into events of this type. Naturally this review will differ a little from most, and in terms of form I will look at each masterclass in turn giving my observations on the initial playthrough of the work, followed by a summary of Vengerov’s own extensive comments that accompanied passages receiving in-depth attention.

Maxim Vengerov’s reputation as ‘the modern-day Paganini’ ensured that it was standing room only for this, his first masterclass at the Royal Academy of Music since his appointment as Professor of Violin. Naturally the reception for him was a warm, but of greater importance was the welcome he gave each of the students and the enthusiasm he showed for their playing. At 31, and fresh from a sabbatical year studying improvisation and tango dancing, Vengerov is still very much in touch with the mindset of a student hungry for knowledge and support.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) – Violin sonata no.3 in D minor (1st movement)Hasmik Avdalyan, violin; Sten Lassmann, piano Hasmik Avdalyan and Sten Lassmann launched into the movement fearlessly – perhaps the tension was increased by being the first in front of Vengerov – but I felt the forward drive overcooked in the movement from the beginning. Vibrato was mixed with a purity of tone to shape the work in an excessive way, and the evident tonal roughness that also came through displayed a passion on the edge. Although certain of the notes, there was some uncertainty in the high register, where subtlety of phrasing also played a subordinate role to merely keeping the solo line on track.

Vengerov seized on the players not appearing wholly together as an integrated unit: making music together as friends, but where mistakes are made then they also are made in partnership. In bringing these two musical halves together Vengerov sought support for each player from the other (through conscious and sub-conscious generosity in their playing) to add colours to the tone rather than extend the use of solely one tonal impression.

In getting Avdalyan and Lassmann to “speak the same language” Vengerov urged simplicity of playing – as a single line, and demonstrated this using his resonant baritone voice rather than his violin. The piano part also came in for attention, showing the total musicality of Vengerov as a performer too. Perhaps the greatest points made, focussed on Brahms as a strategic composer, that is to say indentifying which themes are of most importance in the writing, and realising too that there is much of importance that remains unplayed by either part.

Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847) – Violin concerto (1st movement) Thomas Gould, violin; John Reid, piano Tenseness came into Gould’s playing of the Mendelssohn, to the point that it often became rushed and emotionally all on the same level. With covered notes in the mid-range and a little lacking in internal shading, his playing seemed lacking in pliancy of expression. When pushed into forte there appeared little left in reserve to give the impression that still more was possible, and this music needs that. The cadenza was a self-conscious affair in part, and there were intonation problems momentarily after the piano’s reentry. From where I sat, it seemed reasonable that with some attention to stance and the feet in general some of these problems might be improved upon.

Vengerov sought to increase the flexibility of playing and to make the harmony have greater colour and texture, drawing the analogy with the brushwork of a painter. The point being that the contrast between themes in D major and D minor should be noticeable: in the initial performance the D major theme had carried a sense of suffering that was needless. The sense of timelessness within the music was also addressed, along with the soloist having to create the impression of playing before actually doing so, at the very start of the movement. Later on, entries were looked at and a gentler view was encouraged – the soloist must not scare the audience, yet he must get under the skin of the music to be at the service of the composer. To this end, even bow distribution is required, thus allowing the last notes in a phrase to also vibrate fully.

Parallels were drawn with the opening movement of the Sibelius concerto, which is cast in one mood like the Mendelssohn, making changes of mood in mid-movement unnecessary. At times, Vengerov felt the passagework to be played as if in an examination, and he encouraged a more obvious externalisation of feeling about the passages in order to increase their communicative strength. Likewise, transitions might be played down so as not to detract from the more interesting themes within the work – in this respect transitions were likened to taking a car, a bus or a plane; whatever the chosen transport it only serves to get one from a to b.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) – Violin concerto (1st movement) Anthony Sabberton, violin; Daniel Swain, piano Temporary unevenness of phrasing marred Sabberon’s otherwise confident opening, but things soon settled into a clean performance that steered clear of excessive vibrato in the main. A slight tendency to rush was evident, but this was compensated by a highly coloured solo line that displayed both evenness and lightness of touch against statements of some strength. On the whole it seemed to me a polished performance technically, both tonally and with regard to many facets of interpretation.

Beethoven for Vengerov is a composer of intertwining personalities, and as a result there were many ways he could envisage exploring this movement; but he felt that the most effective was through knowing the composer and cooperating with the orchestra. In this respect one should almost let the entry go for nothing (being just a dominant) and note that in thinking of nothing here, the more beautiful music later would have greater effect as a result. As in the earlier Mendelssohn masterclass he questioned the placing of emphasis upon transitions, rather than exploring the conflicts that the music contains. For example, the second subject shows an awareness of time, indicated by the timpani at the very start, alongside wanting to put a stop to its progression.

Nuances and feelings play their parts too. As the music progresses it sometimes feels as if it wants to give up, and that even Beethoven, a man of irrepressible energy, grows tired. To get the feeling here, Vengerov suggested that when learning the part, a violinist might play the accompaniment while singing the solo part, and then attempt transferring that feeling into playing afterwards.

The development section saw attention focus on the music's suggestion of plans being made, but not yet realised. Here, taking time with phrasing is of great assistance in bringing out the strengths and weaknesses, the desire to give up yet also not wanting to. The soloist takes on the quality of a philosopher, questing within himself, as opposed to a magician at the movement's beginning.

Henri Wieniawski (1835-1880) – Polonaise in D Naoko Miyamoto, violin; John Reid, piano If the opening was overly snatched by Miyamoto, with passagework throughout also showing signs of attention slightly lacking, this was offset by a first subject delivered with some strength, effectively utilising the smoky mid range quality of her instrument to contrast with the hard metallic sound of its upper register. An increase in confidence as the piece progressed, was noticeable. From the audience’s viewpoint, the benefit of finally hearing a complete work (rather than wishing as I did that the preceding sonata and

concertos could have been continued through their remaining movements) was considerable.

With this Wieniawski, Vengerov encouraged Miyamoto initially to loosen up both hands and bring a sense of fun into the playing: happiness, pride and bourgeois feeling all play a part here. In painting the scene of a grand ball where the violinist is a guest introduced to the Royal hostess, Vengerov imagined the doors to the salon flung open with a flourish at the start. He praised Miyamoto’s “wonderful tone” yet urged her to take more time - thus establishing the mood for the audience whilst allowing herself to be a part of the action. How does one greet a queen? With forward momentum and a spring in the step, yet slightly reserved in demeanour. This music must describe this.

As the music progresses another individual is introduced, and the violinist describes this character: a rotund arrogant man with a pipe (Vengerov here acted the part whilst Miyamoto played the passage) and in seeking to make this character believable the tone should be round like the gentleman himself. Next come a squabbling couple - the wife though somewhat tired attends the ball out of duty, the husband full of beans and excited about meeting the hostess – and here the soloist observes the psychology of their interactions: at first the wife gets no response to her pleas to go home, then grudging acknowledgement, then rage from her infuriated husband.

The main theme returns and the social round continues. Coaches arrive to begin taking the quests home (evident in the rhythm of the accompaniment), yet inside the dancing carries on, with the violinist providing a participatory role in this; to reflect this, the music should float and flow. At the close, thoughts are taken suddenly back to Poland in the character of the music.

In drawing the afternoon to a close Vengerov urged all present to look at music with different eyes (and presumably, listen to it with open ears too) so that whether we were players or audience, we remained open to “new messages from the composer”. “Music,” he said “is a sharing experience when we gather together to take pleasure in it.” His belief in this idea is, I feel, immutable – and his attitude towards the masterclass experience reflected this. Only later was I fully aware as to how selfless his approach had been: the events on stage remained personal between the musicians and Vengerov, yet witnessing them had extended my appreciation of the practicing violinists’ world.

Wagner, Siegfried Idyll; Wesendonck-Lieder; Brahms, Symphony No.2: Eva Johansson, soprano / Royal Philharmonic Orchestra / Nicholas Michalakis, conductor, Cadogan Hall, 29.3.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/wagner2903.htm To be honest, it was the programme that attracted me to this concert, rather than the orchestra, soloist (whom I knew about from other reviews) or the conductor (whom I did not know anything about). What a joy to have three works so consumed in the expression of emotions; what a pity that it was exactly this quality that was more often than not found lacking.

Conducting the programme from memory, Michalakis launched the full orchestral version of Wagner’s Siegfried Idyll in a state of stasis, through the choice of an unreasonably slow tempo, and from this the music proved unwilling to move. Where there should have been momentum and feeling for the inflection of instrumental lines, there was precious little to be had. That said, the orchestral sound was nicely homogenized, though the violins dominated somewhat. At forte the sound acquired a brusqueness that was somewhat unwelcome, and it might have been avoided with more careful orchestral control.

Woodwind and brass textures were atmospherically given, where they were allowed sufficient space to emerge through the full orchestral body, but this in no way compensated for the lacking ebb and flow in the interpretation itself.

Similar afflictions plagued the reading of the Wesendonck-Lieder. Far from being fruits borne of Wagner’s love affair with Mathilde Wesendonck, and conveying the passions contained in her curiously amateurish poems, they were given too literally. Slowness of tempo dragged out Der Engel and Träume, which in itself might have been more acceptable had Eva Johansson’s soprano conveyed any feeling for, or much meaning in, the text. Her biography makes something of her singing Strauss’ Elektra, and it sounded as if she had just completed the arduous role before walking on stage to deliver this Wagner performance. The voice had size (somewhat intermittently) and was placed very much in the throat, which impeded her clarity of diction and ability to float the line when required. Stehe still! was over-snatched vocally and also displayed a hardness of edge in the voice when under pressure. Im Treibhaus was given far from in a hothouse atmosphere, with over-carefulness being the dominant feature, resulting in broken phrases and inaccurate emphasis of the text so as to destroy the meaning. Given that soloist and conductor have worked together before little sense of musical understanding or unity of vision was apparent.

Brahms’ second symphony at least opened with a greater sense of drama, displaying excellent heft and hue in the lower strings, with some pleasing integration of brass and woodwind lines too. This did not prevent an occasional brashness making itself felt. The second movement’s seething emotion was left ill-realized by Michalakis through an inexplicable slackening of tempo during key passages after which little could be done to recover the situation. The third movement showed some element of grazioso in the playing with well-phrased woodwinds over pizzicato cellos, but there was little feeling in the playing. The closing movement was given somewhat indistinctly, with sonorities often not well-focussed and instrumental lines cut about through poor judgement of transitional tempi. With tension in the music lacking by being held back too much at the movement’s start, when the orchestra broke forth en masse their surges proved too late to register their full impact, impressive in themselves though they were.

For the third time in under a month I found myself at a concert in which Wagner or Brahms were poorly served by the presiding conductor. Given that the two previous concerts featured conductors of greater name and reputation than Nicholas Michalakis you can read into it what you will about the state of conducting today, and with it why I am not alone in worrying about the dying art of musical interpretation amongst many who occupy podiums today.

As an afterthought, I read that singer, conductor and orchestra might soon record Elektra together. We have had in recent years several fine recordings, is another really needed? This concert does not make me look forward to it, should the recording take place.

Bruch and Mendelssohn: Tamsin Waley-Cohen, violin, Orchestra of St John's / John Lubbock, conductor, Cadogan Hall, 6.4.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/osj0604.htm Tamsin Waley-Cohen first came to my attention in the 2005 Royal College of Music String Player of the Year concert, and I was impressed with her playing, so it came as a welcome opportunity to hear her again in the more expansive context of Bruch’s first violin concerto.

Her reading seemingly began in media res with the first solo statements hinting at glimpses of the eternal that Bruch extends to great effect as the work continues. If early on there was a slight tendency for some phrases not to be given their full due, this was quickly overcome as confidence and passionate advocacy of the solo line took hold. With playing that emphasized inherent musicality over the display of virtuoso technique for its own sake Waley-Cohen proved a persuasive and enchanting soloist. Particularly pleasing was her willingness to inflect the part with shadings of piano playing without making the effect seem anything other than natural. In respect of the tone Waley-Cohen produced, this was possessed of an unforced singing quality that was notable in the higher register, which contrasted well with the rich chest voice of her instrument’s lower ranges. The second movement was memorable for the direct simplicity of her playing and phrasing, whilst the third movement was imbued with a rousing bite to the phrasing.

In a work so well known as this it can, alas, be commonplace for audiences to encounter performances built around the soloist, whilst the orchestra runs routinely through the motions. Such a state of affairs was clearly anathema to the Orchestra of St John’s under John Lubbock’s direction, it being from the first unfailingly vital and full of orchestral sonorities that proved as worthy of attention as Waley-Cohen’s playing of the solo part. Brass and woodwind lines were distinctive for the character they added to the rich unity of tone found in the strings. John Lubbock’s guidance allowed individual sections the space to shape their own phrases whilst never losing sight of the overall architectural plan of the concerto. With an opening tempo sensibly chosen, linked to the broad-breathed central movement gave way to a finale that was infectiously caught rhythmic drive.

Lubbock’s direction of Mendelssohn’s Italian symphony continued in the same vein as the closing movement of the concerto, emphasizing the vivace – the wonder of the young composer at the glories of Italy – in the writing with notable contributions from oboes, clarinets and brass departments. Relative weight was brought to bear in the string playing that proved most effective. The andante con moto was given with impressive unison playing underlined not too forcefully by the brass, and in the movement’s steady long lines readily brought to mind the regularity of a pilgrim’s march said to have inspired it. The character of the third movement was noticeably more Germanic, and this was caught in the expressive horn motifs that punctuate the writing, giving it a certain matter-of-fact quality. To close, Lubbock most delightfully allowed fine woodwind lines to emerge with vibrancy from the full orchestral texture. That this is a young composer’s joyous work was undeniable, and how wonderful that a concert billed as “full of the joys of Spring” left one feeling uplifted now that the long winter nights are finally past us.

Mozart; Beethoven, Prokofiev and Shostakovich: Maxim Vengerov, violin; Lilya Zilberstein, piano, Barbican, London, 11.05.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/vengerov1105.htm This concert, broadcast live on BBC Radio 3, formed part of the Great Performers series that is held at the Barbican. I only point this out to draw attention to the fact that indeed two great performers did take part in this recital. Maxim Vengerov needs no introduction as perhaps the leading violinist before the public today, but Lilya Zilberstein has performed more on the continent than in London since bursting onto the scene some twenty years ago.

In some ways the short Mozart Adagio, K.261 (arr. Rostal) which opened the programme set in train the tenor of performance style for the evening as a whole. Of late I have noticed a tendency with Vengerov’s performances to choose a notably slow tempo, and even to favour relative slowness when urgency might be called upon. There is nothing wrong with this of course unless it detracts from the structure of the work or causes a sacrifice of tonal quality: mercifully, the latter rarely is felt in Vengerov’s playing. If only that might be said of more violinists these days. Given with simplicity of line and generosity of tone Mozart’s Adagio carried more than a hint of thoughtful fantasy in the playing too.

Beethoven’s four movement sonata in C minor, op.30 no.2 followed. The opening Allegro con brio, taken at a slightly more deliberate tempo than is commonly heard, nonetheless possessed strength and tempest in the playing of both artists. If momentarily Zilberstein’s piano seemed initially dominant in proceedings this was not overly so throughout as contrasts of articulation were given their due place in the musical argument. The second movement proved notable in that the cantabile of Vengerov’s violin line was given a certain grandeur by Zilberstein, which in turn contrasted effectively with the slight naivety of the melodic material. The feeling of naivety was carried forward into the Scherzo and Trio which possesses a Haydnesque quality. Simplicity of rhythmic articulation gave way in due course to both players’ willingness to play with emphases and dynamic articulation where the music allowed opportunities to do so. The Allegro finale started with a sense of foreboding, before leading to a middle passage that was suitably skittish yet broadly conceived before leading to a truly quick fire coda.

Prokofiev’s sonata No.1 in F minor, op.80 began the second half, and it could be said to pick up the initial mood of Beethoven’s final movement: eeriness, wonderfully realized by Vengerov at the close of the first movement. The second movement showed a unity of vision and purpose between Zilberstein and Vengerov in their ability to match strength with fury, with and occasional hectoring quality being felt in Vengerov’s tone. The Andante was memorable for Zilberstein’s contribution in bringing the piano part into equality with the violin. Without this the central characteristic of Prokofiev’s music – the willingness to push form and function to their limits – which is found in the final movement would not have made so much sense within the overall structure of the work. Passion and control were held in a precarious balance that both artists explored through their playing rather than merely exploited for effect; ultimately however it was control that dominated in the end.

Ten preludes by Shostakovich (arr. Tziganov) closed the all-Russian second half. They are miniatures in duration but not of substance or compositional quality with regard to the possibilities they offer any imaginative violinist. That Vengerov for his part brought out in each finely graded qualities that ranged from the Chopinesque to a mordent polka via an interrupted amorous lilt, wry wit, questioning richness, a sense of limbo and finally an unabashed bravura clap trap proved testimony to his ability to make such brief pieces carry impact by getting inside them and realising the importance of every note. Zilberstein proved equal to Vengerov, and further underlined just how adept she is in giving each piece its own distinct character. Individually and as a duo partnership Vengerov and Zilberstein have qualities that are hard to beat.

Wagner, ‘Good Friday Music’ from Parsifal; Szymanowski, Stabat Mater; Brahms, Ein deutsches Requiem.

Soloists, The Bach Choir, Philharmonia Orchestra / David Hill. Westminster Cathedral, 31.05.06. (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/bach_choir3105.htm Carolyn Sampson, soprano Anna Burford, mezzo-soprano Grant Doyle, baritone Westminster Cathedral provided a visually dramatic backdrop for this concert, of that there is little doubt, but along with it comes the building’s notorious acoustic. Some judicious decisions with regard to repertoire, tempi and dynamics are needed to get the building working with rather than against the music, as all these performances showed.

The ‘Good Friday Music’ from Parsifal began the programme, and had as its over-riding characteristic, far broader tempi than are usual in performance but necessary as a means to avoiding unduly muddied textures. These still occurred occasionally, and on the whole the orchestral tone lacked much bite and substance, particularly in the mid-strings. Such problems can regularly affect orchestras performing outside their normal venues, and as a result only the extremes of range could be clearly distinguished here, with percussion putting some much needed rhythmic bite into the performance. Woodwind lines fared better both in terms of clarity and characterful expression whilst the brass sounded as if from another realm; one suspects because of being recessed away from the openness of the nave.

A highly idiomatic reading of the Stabat Mater highlighted the growing interest in Szymanowski’s music.

Cast in six movements, the work was an apposite choice for the venue because the orientally influenced interior of the Cathedral found a similar spirit in Szymanowski’s writing. From the start a purity of upper instrumental lines was notable, which was effortlessly built upon by the contributions of Carolyn Sampson and The Bach Choir. Anna Burford did well to negotiate the alto line, which lay uneasily for her at times, also blending most sensitively with Sampson in duet. The choir occasionally swamped Grant Doyle’s line even though he projected valiantly, given the troublesome acoustic. During the fourth movement, the acoustic took its toll once again on the intricacies of Szymanowski’s choral writing and this was much to be regretted. In the finale, amongst the composer’s most inspired passages, little could take away anything from the sheer beauty of the chorally accompanied solo lines. Sampson’s sensuously soaring phrasing urged the choir and orchestra on, to a fervently realised climax.

Brahms’ German Requiem on the other hand, found itself at the mercy of interpretative decisions that did it few favours. David Hill’s choice of tempi showed little willingness on the whole, to move beyond the predictably ponderous, neither did he succeed in galvanising his forces except in moments of climax when they met the challenge with some urgency. Carefully shaded singing - no matter how beautiful in itselfunfortunately manifested itself far too often as one languorous episode after another within the succeeding movements; the very thing to which detractors of Brahms’ music delight in drawing attention even though such accusations are unjustified. But Carolyn Sampson and Grant Doyle both provided contributions of worth, carefully phrased and articulated by Sampson especially. It was a shame that so much else was lost to the audience for so much to the work’s duration. The Szymanowski certainly merits another performance by these forces before long, preferably in a more favourable venue.

Bartók, String Quartets 1-3. Belcea Quartet. Wigmore Hall, London. 03.06.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/belcea0306.htm Central to the Bartók Festival currently under way at Wigmore Hall is the Belcea Quartet’s first UK performance of the quartet cycle, given across two concerts. The six works, which comment on the quartet as a compositional form are also arguably Bartók’s most valuable legacy. That they should feature amongst the Belcea’s final contributions as Wigmore Hall’s resident string quartet was particularly apt and the sense of anticipation was palpable amongst the packed audience.

String quartet no. 1 (1908-9) begins the cycle in expansive fashion and pays a variety of compositional debts along the way. The imprint of Bach can be sensed through extensive employment of counterpoint alongside late romantic references such as Reger and Strauss. Even Debussy joins the fray momentarily. All of these influences however do not disguise the fact that Bartók’s own compositional voice is already on the move. The dirge-like Lento opening movement was atmospherically projected by the Belceas with notably acerbic instrumental lines at times. The second movement was given with a sense of inner drive and purpose possessed of not a little deliberate tonal roughness that made perfect contextual sense. The final movement, once again assuming an overtly brusque character, derived from folk-inspired tunes. Here, the brusqueness was particularly thrilling in performance, although never over-emphasised and so all the more effective.

The second quartet (1915-17) is one of the bleakest pieces of chamber music in existence, perhaps even the bleakest. Born out of frustrations at being a virtual prisoner because of the war, Bartók pitches the audience into a world of despair and then proceeds to tighten tension still further. The Belceas’ performance carried an entirely appropriate rawness at its core, which combined effectively with attacking bite to the entries. However, awareness of the subtle sonorities often at work did not escape them, particularly in the second movement where this was exploited to give the impression of distracted thoughts conveyed through the music. These thoughts persisted with playful interaction and alternated with an almost mechanical rhythmic presence on occasion. The third movement Lento came across as a nocturnal scene calculated to disturb, with the musical lines tossing and turning restlessly. Little hope of daybreak presents itself. Compositionally, Schoenberg’s expressionistic language seems not far removed and the rest that Bartók impatiently craved remains unrealised. That the Belcea quartet’s performance realised this to such a staggering degree left, in its wake, a real sense of exhilaration at the level of music making they achieve.

String quartet no. 3 (1927) is the most compact of the entire cycle, lasting a mere 17 minutes and is the first that is wholly mature Bartók in its language. The willingness to explore dissonance is an integral element, as it is in the fourth quartet, and such opportunities were enthusiastically grasped by the Belcea quartet. The wide variety of effects called for were delivered with a sense of fun too and interspersed the brief backward glances to romanticism: many of the slides appeared as wry laughs aimed at the sound world that Bartók had previously explored. Violence – almost percussive in character – mingles with lyricism to call for great dynamic control in playing that was realised with some effusiveness. The work’s coda indicates that questions remain within Bartók’s mind: can a state of rest be reached? No: compositional ideas persist which indicate a drive forward to the fourth quartet. Drive that is matched by the Belceas in performance and increases the desire for their next concert all the more. A week can be a long time in music too.

Bartók, Piano music. Pierre-Laurent Aimard and Tamara Stefanovich, pianos; Colin Currie and Sam Walton, percussion. Wigmore Hall, London. 09.06.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/aimard0906.htm Seven pieces from Mikrokosmos (P-LA and TS duet) Fourteen Bagatelles, op.6, nos 8-14 (TS) Sonata (TS) Three studies, op.18 (P-LA) Four dirges, op.9a (P-LA) Out of Doors suite, Sz. 89 (P-LA) Sonata for two pianos and percussion Bartók’s association with the piano was a long and involved one, both as a composer and a performer. That this concert presented the essential threads of a debate that occupied his creativity goes some way to explain why this was an unmissable one within the context of Wigmore Hall’s Bartók Festival.

Bartók’s debate centred around the question “What kind of instrument is a piano?” Is it a sustainer of harmony and melodic line, as many have tried to make it, or is it more naturally disposed towards a percussive style of playing? Bartók was not the first to observe that the piano is in effect a percussion instrument by dint of the fact that hammers hit strings as a direct consequence of fingers hitting keys. He was however the first composer to explore the debate so widely and there is little doubt his own experiences as a performer lent his contributions added importance.

The seven short pieces selected from Mikrokosmos made an eloquent case for the instrument’s lyrical abilities, with Aimard and Stefanovich effectively exploiting qualities that ranged from lilting tempi via unrest – in unison and over a sustained ground – to harmonic intricacies overlaid with rhythmic variations.

That the last piece also displayed some wit in the writing and its ability to look back to Romantic styles placed Bartók’s understanding of the instrument in some kind of context.

The selected Bagatelles were played as a joined sequence by Tamara Stefanovich. They formed a telling contrast in that the writing was notable for its sparseness, no.8 seeming cut short and disjointed in character. Later items explored the instruments ability to project repeated notes in a cymbal-like manner, rhythmic angularities or quickfire virtuosity as an end in itself. Stefanovich approached all with an assured touch and cast each in a subtly different mould.

Her playing of the sonata demonstrated that for her the work could be seen as an extension of the Bagatelles in terms of intention at least. In the first movement she emphasised the bass orientation of the writing out of which grew themes of rhythmic complexity that were themselves exercises in gradually built sonorities. Stefanovich’s ear for nuance and sense of timing in articulating such refined qualities proved very acute, particularly when difficult dischords were required. By contrast, the attack and bold phrasing she brought to the last movement proved no less effective.

Pierre-Laurent Aimard, ever a pianist of insight and ruthless fidelity to the score, brought his powers of musical dissection to the Three Studies, Four Dirges and the Out of Doors suite. If the first two might be thought less important works than the last Aimard showed that they were not to be found wanting when it came to containing powerful and diverse thoughts. The second study was akin to Debussy, although penned by a Hungarian. The third study no sooner had ideas than dissolved them into nothing. The dirges, as one might reasonably expect, displayed sparse melancholia, organic textures that grew unforced from the bass within a uniform mezzo-forte and an approach to texture that utilised blocks of sound as opposed to superimposed lines.

In the Out of Doors suite Bartók exploits the opportunity to make the piano take on the characteristics of

other instruments. The drums and pipes of the first movement danced vigorously under Aimard’s incisive fingers. Some delight was taken in the unevenness of tempo possible within the second movement, and the opportunity to overlay textures in the third movement was not missed. This led most effectively to The night’s music, movement four, with its delicately pedalled dischords to form something approaching a musical dream state, though a distinctly uneasy one. The final movement was given by Aimard as a demonstration of fine hammer control – spiky, alert and devoid of anything extraneous to the music’s idiom.

There could be no more natural a conclusion for this concert than a performance of Bartók’s Sonata for two pianos and percussion. That the composer wished all four players to assume equal importance in the work is known, and so it was here. From a slowly grown introduction emerged a sense of unity within the playing characterised by a natural flow to the rhythmic progression of the opening movement. Differences and similarities of timbre between the pianos and percussion and some exploration of dynamic extremes were felt particularly in the second movement. For much of the time here Currie and Walton appeared to take a subtle lead, with Aimard and Stefanovich left to approximate percussive effects. The final movement however throws the debate wide open with obvious percussive elements to the piano writing. The final gesture given by both pianists is unapologetically a pianistic flourish rather than a percussive one. Perhaps it indicates that even after such a lengthy internal debate Bartók could not deny the role of romantically derived virtuosity for the pianist. For that you need lyricism above all else.

Clara Mouriz (mezzo) and Joseph Middleton (piano). Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music, London.

14.06.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/mouriz1406.htm Haydn: Arianna a Naxos Vivaldi:Armatae Face et Angulibus (Judith Triumphans) Sposa, son Disprezzata (Bajazet) Mozart: Parto, ma tu ben mio (La Clemenza di Tito) Rossini: Cruda Sorte! (L’Italiana in Algeri),Canzonetta Spagnuola,Addio di Rossini Rachmaninov:3 songs from op.8 Montsalvatge:Cinco Canciones Negras The programme for the recital seemed perfectly reasonable: a few lesser known items, some mezzo repertoire ‘standards’ and a selection of Spanish items. The last in particular one might expect to feature strongly given that Mouriz is Spanish born. She graduated in 2002 from the Escuela Superior de Canto in Madrid and from the Royal Academy of Music Opera in 2005, having studied with Noelle Barker. This concert celebrated her winning of the Richard Lewis/Jean Shanks Award in 2004.

In many respects it asks a lot of a singer to open a recital with Haydn’s Arianna a Naxos. The work’s four distinct sections each require the capturing of a different mood: glorious and radiant with a fully alive voice at the opening, reflection, commanding forcefulness and desolation. That Mouriz found each in her performance was the first indication that her talent is beyond the ordinary. So strongly conceived was her embodiment of the character that at times Arianna felt on the verge of becoming a stage work, but Mouriz has no need for a stage to project drama. The wonder in her face and eyes conveyed as much as the biting attack she brought to the recitative or the emptiness plumbed a mere quarter hour into her singing, when many singers might just be getting into their stride. The final aria took emotions and notes to the edge sometimes with use of the chest voice that had real excitement about it.

Vivaldi’s Armatae Face et Angulibus continued to show Mouriz in fighting mood as she invoked the Furies with relish and urgency. Her technique proved more than up to the task of bringing off Vivaldi’s difficult prestissimo runs without sacrificing characterisation to do so. Sposa, son Disprezzata provided a distinct change of mood, calling for reflection, showing a softer side to Mouriz’ lyrical mezzo. That due time was taken by Middleton with the sensitive accompaniment emphasised that Mouriz’s breath control would have to serve her well in the aria’s long-held lines. Variations of emphasis and inflections of voice were placed on words (‘mia speranza’ – my hope) or phrases, ‘cieli che feci mai?’ - ‘Heavens, what have I done?’ to telling effect.

Mozart’s Parto, ma tu ben mio signalled the move into widely known mezzo territory, and with it Mouriz reinforced the demand for attention with a strongly announced reading given depth by her luxuriantly bronzed vocal timbre. ‘Guardami’ – look at me – first a demand, then a vulnerable request. To not respond would have been bordering on the insulting given that bars later real intimacy was established and maintained between audience and performer.

Rossini straddled the interval with the choice and ordering of repertoire suiting the purpose of well. Cruda Sorte! hands a singer with Mouriz’ musical sense of line and abilities in characterisation opportunities on a plate to ensure a rapturous reception afterwards, and she never failed to exploit them. That she toyed with the audience through her glances and half smiles as the subtle playing with rhythms betrayed her operatic experience once more. Expressive contrasts were brought to the Canzonetta Spagnuola and Addio di Rossini: in the former, the sadness given to the words was notable; the latter cast the simplicity of regret with feeling for subtle nuances of text.

Linguistically at least the Rachmaninov songs took Mouriz out of her comfort zone, though this hardly fazed her ability to project the meaning behind the words. Requiring, and receiving, a markedly different vocal timbre through a slight change in the placing of the voice the songs came to life. Not for the first time in the evening was her fondness of exploring the edge of notes across a held diminuendo exhibited, or her willingness to find tenderness in words. However the last of the songs, with a flavouring that recalled Mussorgsky, suited her best with its inward seriousness.

Montsalvatge took Mouriz firmly back to territory she knows well. Mouriz brought a world-weary look on life to these five songs to create a heady atmosphere. If her delivery brought to mind the world of a night club sing in part, Mouriz was certainly a quality one as she drew out her lyrics emphatically and painting the texts’ imagery with broad gestures. The closing Canto negro, arguably Montsalvatge’s best known song, danced with rhythmic enjoyment.

As I re-read the above I am conscious of several things. My lack of mention of Joseph Middleton’s accompaniment, for one. His ability to alight on the specific inflections in the piano line to support Mouriz and create backgrounds of presence with confidence should be noted: the urgency he brought to Montsalvatge’s Chévere or his clarity of line throughout the Haydn were good examples of this.

Secondly, what is there that I could say that is critical of Mouriz? Occasionally vowels were not ideally placed, or suffered from slight overemphasis. Her performances are so consistently dramatised with actions that after a while some might wish for a change of approach, or a break from it at very least.

However, on the whole I would rather have her sense of involvement and generous personality than the complete opposite: it makes her as exciting a performer to watch as to hear.

Lastly, it would have been all too easy to fall into some critical trap whereby I compared and contrasted Clara Mouriz to other great mezzos in the repertoire she sang. Yes, she strayed onto territory claimed once by many others, as all singers must at some stage in their careers. That she showed respect to tradition and individuality enough to make the music her own is all that needs be said for her intelligence. I did not hear ‘the next Berganza, Horne or Baltsa’, but Clara Mouriz – and her artistic ascent is only just beginning.

Royal College of Music String Player of the Year 2006. Wigmore Hall, London. 18.06.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/rcm1806.htm The Harpham String Quartet: S Barber: String quartet, op.11 Kokila Gillett, violin and Alexander Boyd, piano: JS Bach: Largo from Sonata for violin solo no.3 WA Mozart: Allegro con spirito from Sonata for piano and violin no.18, K.301 C Debussy: Allegro vivo from Sonata for violin and piano in G R Shchedrin: In the style of Albeniz Nils Klöfver, guitar: L Brouwer: Sonata for guitar solo Minat Lyons, cello and Madeleine Mattar, piano: C Debussy: Cello sonata S Rachmaninov: Vocalise Anna Cashell, violin and Elena Nalimova, piano: R Schumann: Violin Sonata no.1, op.105 K Szymanovski: Nocturne and Tarantella, op.28 Having reviewed the RCM String Player of the Year concert in 2005, I thought that I knew the formula. But no; a different year, a different format. With fewer players vying for the prize this year the event took on the definite feel of a showcase rather than a competition.

The afternoon began with an all too rare performance of Barber’s String Quartet by the Harpham string quartet, recently named RCM Quartet of the Year. The opening Molto Allegro e Appassionato carried a driven energy about it that emphasised the unison writing and notable contributions from the lower string lines. The second movement, Adagio, is rarely performed in this form, being far better known in its Adagio for Strings orchestral incarnation, completed at the request of Toscanini. The sparser textures however lent the individual lines an extra poignancy due to the harmonious and unforced blending of each sonority into the whole. The brief third movement appeared akin to a coda, with its fluctuating power initially indicating that a tussle for direction shaped by the precedents of mood set by the first movements was in progress.

Momentary repose though gave way to a final flourish of strength and passion. The Harpham Quartet’s performance left no doubt that this is a work that is scandalously under-performed.

The competition element got underway with a quartet of performances from violinist Kokila Gillett. An audacious beginning was held in prospect with the Largo from Bach’s third sonata for solo violin, but for me the mystery of the piece was not totally captured. This does not take away from the bright tone that Gillett projected, or that she succeeded in unifying the phrasing remarkably well over the broad tempo.

The Mozart Allegro con spirito was strongly announced thoroughly clearly articulated rhythms, though the movement also possessed a strong dialogue between violin and piano.

It was with the Debussy however that Gillett’s performance really began to come alive, perhaps indicating a greater level of comfort with the music or perhaps the hall. Showing rich tone in the lower range, Gillett included flashes from the top register with ease at speed, though she seemed equally unafraid of holding the movement’s long lines so as to juxtapose the contemplative with powerful passions that distantly recalled Spanish influences. This created an easy link to the Shchedrin, which has as one of its main concerns the display of extreme effects drawn from the idiom of Albinez. That Gillett explored many of the tonal and rhythmical complexities set for her showed the possible direction she could follow. Here, at her

best, she demonstrated that she can be an exciting player to listen to, even if that excitement does not yet extend across all her repertoire.

That Nils Klöfver chose to pin his hopes on becoming the String Player of the Year on a single piece struck me as rather odd: was he perhaps putting himself at a disadvantage? With several pieces one has providing the variety within them allows it – the opportunity to show a greater palette of moods and means of expression. But then, as with Gillett – for me at least – the first two pieces counted for little, does more actually count for more in a competition situation? This is just one of such questions that surface on such occasions.

Klöfver’s choice, however, was a shrewd one, for Brouwer’s solo guitar sonata has contrast enough within its three movements. The first allowed for a sparseness and simplicity of texture to make itself amply heard, much of the writing being akin to inferences of statements rather than the statements themselves.

The second movement was formed of a stronger rhythmically alertness, which Klöfver projected without ever resorting to hardness of tone. The baroque inferences that entered the third movement helped to show the not quite direct view of the guitar’s heritage taken by Brouwer in his writing. A performance notable for its sensitivity to line.

Minat Lyons, however, took sensitivity for idiom and line in her playing to a completely new level in this competition. Debussy’s short and tense cello sonata tested her mettle with its long solo lines, which in fairness were richly prolonged by her accompanist Madeleine Mattar. In basing the sonata loosely around the puppet character Pierrot, Debussy assigns much of the character to the cello, leaving the piano to become the backcloth to the show. Playful pizzicato was on display from Lyons and this effectively interspersed the mellifluously bowed line also present. Some measure of the tragedy felt as Pierrot had his strings cut came through in Lyon’s bold slicing gestures, leaving little doubt about the finality of Debussy’s musical statement. Rachmaninov gave Lyons the opportunity to show what she could do with a finely paced cello line. The upper mid range was particularly rich and well focussed, projecting much of the romance in the writing. Final mention must go to the exhuberant performance of Mattar, whose playing found a pleasing balance with Lyons’.

Anna Cashell’s chosen pieces by Schumann and Szymanovski allowed her free reign to explore the wilder side of the violin repertoire. As adjudicator Philip Sheppard was to point out, Schumann’s volatile nature is encapsulated in this work. I found the inner turmoil it contains a touch slow to take full flight, but when it did it was justly forthrightly given. Emotion knew few bounds for both the composer and Cashell in her searching reading.

Szymanovski in the Nocturne demands dynamic control of an extreme level against a piano accompaniment that conveys the brooding atmosphere of night in spades. That both performers managed to restrain themselves sufficiently after the exhuberance of the Schumann saws much for their chameleon like ability to alter with the mood. No sooner had they successfully established this new colour Szymanovski tested the ability further by pitching them both headlong into the Tarantella. Their playing ripped along it at a blistering tempo – as it should – but rarely neglected nuances of tonal colouring. With a sense of real danger in the playing this was edge of the seat stuff. Both players delighted in the dance-like rhythms and tightened the emotional screws tighter until the very end. A true ‘claptrap,’ in the original and best sense, if ever there was one.

No surprises perhaps that Philip Sheppard named Anna Cashell as the Royal College of Music String Player of the Year 2006. For the sheer musicality of her interpretations I would single out Minat Lyons – a fine young cellist with an exceptionally rich and nuanced tone at her disposal. It was indeed a close run thing, with all players notable in one respect or another and every one a credit to the quality of string teaching at the Royal College of Music.

Enescu, Chabrier, Khachaturian, Elgar: RCM Sinfonietta / Leonard Schreiber, violin / Neil Thomson, conductor. RCM Concert Hall, London. 29.06.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/rcm2906.htm Enescu: Romanian Rhapsody in A major, op.11 no 1 Chabrier: Habanera Khachaturian: Violin Concerto Elgar: Symphony no 1 in A flat major, op.55 This concert marked Neil Thomson’s last appearance as Head of Conducting at the Royal College of Music.

Alongside his work as an orchestral trainer and pedagogue of some repute he has also built up a sizeable international career. Romania has been a frequent destination for Thomson both for conducting and musicological activities in recent years; opening the present concert with Enescu’s first Romanian Rhapsody signalled the importance of Romanian music and music-making for him.

Enescu’s rhapsodies, and the first one in particular, can suffer from hackneyed routine in interpretation.

Indeed, it was this in part that made Enescu grow to loathe the two early works that overshadowed his later more adventurous and challenging compositions. Thankfully, recent years have seen some wider acknowledgements of Enescu’s true value as a composer and performances of the rhapsodies are not as common as they once were. Thomson’s reading of the first rhapsody could never be called dull; he encouraged playing that whirred, wheezed, crashed and banged with abandon though the piece’s sequence of genuine folk and folk-inspired melodies. In some performances the strings can overly dominate proceedings; Thomson however rightly found much of interest and colour within the interplay of the scoring for winds and brass.

Chabrier’s brief Habanera provided a much needed interlude within the concert’s first half. Given with some delicacy and care for the subtle textures given to the flute and clarinet lines in particular it showed tender lyricism to a greater extent than other items in programme would allow for.

Khachaturian’s Violin Concerto announced itself with punchily articulated rhythms that left no doubt that this was to become a big-boned and imposing interpretation. Leonard Schreiber, as soloist, was at one with Thomson’s approach. Schreiber’s tone carried a roughness about it that might have been out of place in other works, but here helped to give his performance edge and directness. The lengthy first movement cadenza was given with wry sardonic humour that brought David Oistrakh, the work’s dedicatee, to mind.

The middle movement Andante sostenuto was notable for the maintenance of such broad-breathed cantabile playing from the orchestra’s strings in unison. Thomson’s exploitation of dynamic extremes at times took forte playing to the limit of what the hall’s tricky acoustic could take without resorting to outand-out brashness. The third movement displayed tempered lyricism and wit in equal measure, more memorable however was Thomson’s masterly handling of the transition from D minor to D major to reach a most emphatic conclusion.

I have never thought Elgar the most natural of symphonists, indeed it is worth noting that Elgar himself took some time to come to terms with his compositions in the genre. Thomson launched the opening movement by adopting a broad tempo that amply brought out the ‘nobilmente’ inherent in scoring. The RCM Sinfonietta played with impressively integrated and surging tone that carried a majestic sweep to the line. That the orchestra had been well drilled was only too evident, as was the fact that their playing fell squarely within accepted Elgarian tradition. The second movement was taken at a brisk striding pace with the brass, tuba in particular, and timpani coming well to the fore when required. That the third movement adopts a different technique in the writing from the other movements was noticeable in Thomson’s interpretation. Cast very much in the mould of luxuriant and bold slowly evolving phrasing, as opposed to the quick succession of unrelated ideas found elsewhere, the RCM Sinfonietta again announced their

natural Elgarian abilities. The closing movement had a grandeur about it that bespoke confidence in the playing.

Throughout the programme Thomson showed a tendency towards flamboyancy of gesture, to the point of bringing to mind Stokowski or Bernstein. On this of all occasions his enthusiasm could certainly be understood and it rubbed off onto the RCM Sinfonietta in no small measure. The close of the season sees some orchestras turn in faceless performances, but he RCM Sinfonietta produce playing of vitality to rival any professional orchestra. That Thomson will be sorely missed at the RCM goes without saying – but I hope he will be invited back on a regular basis. On the basis of this concert, those occasions should not be missed.

Mostly Mozart Festival: Caldara, Gluck and Mozart http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/mozart2707.htm Soloists / The Sixteen / The Symphony of Harmony and Invention / Harry Christophers (conductor). Barbican Hall, London. 27.07.2006 (ED) Caldara Crucifixus Gluck Orfeo, Act II Scene 1 (complete) and Ballo, Che puro ciel and Chorus from Act II Scene 2 Mozart Venite populi Mozart Mass in C minor Sally Matthews, soprano Sarah Connolly, mezzo soprano Matthew Beale, tenor Jonathan Arnold, bass

This concert in the Barbican’s Mostly Mozart Festival focussed on Mozart in Vienna. Caldara and Gluck served to set the scene and give Wolfgang’s two works some context.

Caldara’s Crucifixus is a gift for The Sixteen: intricate of design, complex of inner structure, yet in performance it needs the appearance of simplicity. Assigning a single voice to each of the 16 parts over a chamber organ accompaniment, the work was intimate despite its scale. Most notable in the composition itself was the sense of unity of vocal handling and expression that Caldara aimed at, something Mozart would radically depart from.

The extracts from Gluck’s Orfeo emphasised the nature of stage drama as conveyed through opera when performed with energy and zest. As would become apparent later in the programme, these were elements that influenced Mozart’s writing of church music. Sarah Connolly sang firmly, if at times a little under-powered to fully compete with the orchestra and chorus. Harry Christophers directed with his typically no-nonsense approach.

Mozart’s Venite populi showed to a certain extent the influence of Caldara in the unity of handling that the material was subject to, but altogether larger in scale and ambition was the Mass in C minor. In this work Mozart left his mark on the direction of Viennese church choral writing forever, as he imbued the parts with individuality unlike any composer before him. Christophers’ performance left no dynamic emphasis unemphasised or nuance of textural colouring unexplored. Not for nothing is The Sixteen’s orchestra aptly named The Symphony of Harmony and Invention one felt, if their performances are always this investigative in nature. Surprisingly for the near operatic nature of the solo soprano parts Sally Matthews and Sarah Connolly gave them with simplicity of emotion, although always careful with the music itself. Their voices contrasted well with each other, Matthews’ bright soprano perhaps more willing to catch the limelight, but Connolly hardly less incisive. The rather smaller men’s parts were contributed with confidence by Matthew Beale and Jonathan Arnold. All in all this was as uplifting and invigorating account of Mozart’s great unfinished Mass as one might wish to hear.

Mostly Mozart Festival: The arias that time forgot.

Soloists / Academy of Ancient Music / Paul Daniel (conductor). Barbican Hall, London. 28.07.2006 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/mozart2807.htm Geraldine McGreevy soprano; Amanda Roocroft soprano; Sarah Tynan soprano Andrew Kennedy tenor Christopher Purves bass; Mark Stone bass This penultimate concert in the Barbican’s Mostly Mozart Festival, must have answered the prayers of music lovers that have long tired of hearing the same works over and over again. Unless one has recordings of Wolfgang’s concert arias on the shelves at home there’s a chance that most, possibly all, the items on the programme for this fully packed evening would have seemed relatively ‘new’ territory to explore. As Paul Daniel pointed out in his introduction to the evening, it is not that the music constitutes substandard Mozart – far from it – but that it is music he wrote on a daily basis for singers he admired that perhaps accounts for its relative obscurity nowadays. These insertion arias were often written to order for specific vocal gifts and they can often be perceived today in much the same way a symphony by Furtwängler or Klemperer is: worthy if a touch dull. This concert showed how misplaced that judgemental assessment can be.

The concert presented twenty arias, over a third of the insertion arias Mozart wrote. A number of ensemble pieces broke up the sequence of solo numbers and helped to show the variety of Mozart’s writing. They illustrated the need Mozart felt to turn his hand to Italian opera on his travels around the courts of Europe despite being a composer steeped in the Austro-German tradition. Despite this though it was clearly apparent that in these items Mozart often sowed the seeds for characters he would perfect in his own complete stage works. The seducing aristocrat, buffoon husband, innocent servant girl and wronged husband all put in cameo appearances. Two wholly Mozartian unfinished operatic projects were represented to good effect: Lo sposo deluso, a buffo farce, and L’oca del Cairo (The Cairo Goose), which Daniel accurately if humorously termed something of ‘an operatic turkey’.

The selection of singers was of absolute importance to the success of the concert. The three sopranos illustrated the degree of nuance Mozart even at a precociously early age required from the vocal range.

Geraldine McGreevy brought dramatic impetus to bear in her singing of Vado, ma dove, one of the most well known of Mozart’s insertion arias. Rich and evenly produced tone was the predominant feature of Amanda Roocroft’s contributions. One sensed that her voice is one that finds form more in the singing of Mozart than when subjected to the demands of other composers. Coloratura brilliance was all Sarah Tynan’s domain, and hers was the single most consistent contribution of the evening.

Often filling the shoes of Aloysia Lange, arguably Mozart’s favourite soprano and one of superior skill, Tynan rose to the occasion in giving an account of Vorrei spiegarvi that possessed poise that was unafraid to yield to the despair the text contains. Beautifully shaped legato singing with a thread of voice found its twin in an elegiac oboe solo. Most impressive.

Andrew Kennedy showed his abilities at comic acting, conveying ignorance and stupidity with ease in Con ossequio, con rispetto. Christopher Purves seemed destined to spend the evening veering between the buffo and the petty aristocrat, both of which he was vocally at home with. Mark Stone, whom I had not previously thought of as terribly charismatic in terms of stage presence (it could be that I had not seen him in entirely suitable roles), left his mark with Rivolgete a lui lo sguardo.

Composed as an alternative aria for Guglielmo in Cosí, it’s a coarse and insinuating number – and no wonder it was dropped in the end by Mozart himself – but Stone served it well in his wry humorous touches that took away some of its edge.

The final word though was Mozart’s, in a German aria that conveyed with very personal passion something of his thoughts on being a composer forced by circumstance to write outside his natural environment for the pleasure of others. Language, music, being and identity become inseparable in the world of opera, lest any performer or audience ever forget it.

Paul Daniel directed the Academy of Ancient Music from the keyboard and appeared to enjoy the experience immensely. Certainly he brought out much wonder in the arias themselves through sensitive accompaniment of all the singers. The AAM’s playing was finely graded and responsive to each item, if occasionally one might have liked a more intuitive inflection to individual lines. That no doubt would come with repeated playing of this music. There’s no doubt that given the general

standard of advocacy even Wolfgang’s lesser vocal compositions deserve greater attention than they often receive.

Mendelssohn, Schumann, Dvořák and Wolf: Magdalena Kožená (mezzo-soprano) / Malcolm Martineau (piano). Wigmore Hall, London. 21.9.2006 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/kozena2109.htm For a number of seasons now the partnership of Magdalena Kožená and Malcolm Martineau has been a major attraction of lovers of art song. Each recital is highly anticipated because of the insight that both artists bring to the event. Kožená, in particular, profits from her very wide repertoire, and nowhere is this more evident than in her song recitals. This recital might not have cast the net as wide as on some previous occasions, but it was imbued with a sense of imagination that was felt as much in the programming as in the interpretation.

The recital began with five songs by Felix Mendelssohn. His songs, along with those by his sister Fanny, deserve more of a public hearing than they often get. Martineau and Kožená though did them full justice, drawing out with subtlety the lapping waters of the lagoon in Venetianisches Gondellied, for example. The atmosphere mixed readily with evident longing and passion in Kožená’s interpretation of the words and did much to bring the evening’s recurrent motif of love’s emotions to life. Neue Liebe created an effective contrast in tempo and tone, yet maintained the theme. Nachtlied, a song that seeks to link nightly solitude with the passion of lovers’ togetherness, was searchingly given by Kožená, lingering sensuously to emphasise meaning with the half-lights that piano markings can afford an alert interpreter. If introspection characterised much of her reading in that song, it was dashed with the wide-eyed childish sense of wonder that she brought to Hexenlied.

As Hexenlied showed, Kožená’s voice can seemingly at once be possessed of youthfulness and a certain maturity gained through self awareness of her own gifts and abilities. Schumann’s setting of Adelbert von Chamisso’s poetry cycle Frauenlieben und –leben is a work that requires of its interpreter the ability to chart a woman’s life from innocent youth to knowing maturity in the space of some twenty minutes. Kožená achieved this by drawing out the cycle’s progression through varying her tone and lighting on specific words to telling effect in each song. Many do this, but that she also made one feel that she too suffered the psychological disintegration of Chamisso’s subject made her interpretation a significant one.

The reading achieved that rare thing of publicly sharing private emotions without sacrificing their intensely personal nature. Evenly shimmering mezzo-piano tone inflected the passions of youth of the first song, the second stanza of which was shaded down still further: she felt a love so strong she almost dare not reveal it. Joy was rightly at the heart of her open declaration of love in the second song. The third song gave brief voice to the words of her lover – “I am forever yours” – those words alone were given with such formality as to make one know the gentleman feels an altogether different love from that of his besotted lover. A rite of passage – marriage – is marked in the next song, and with it duty enters the frame for the woman, but it is a duty that quickly turns to desperation as the relationship sours. Emptiness and hopelessness pervade the final three songs, in a sequence that brought out the humiliation of pleading for a return to happier times and the desolation of final rejection. Schumann’s mastery is in matching his accompaniments so exactly to the moods the texts infer for each song, to the extent that one might almost hear the piano as the woman’s all-butwordless love in the cycle. As the man exerts the true power and influence that leaves the woman desolate in the poems, so Martineau shadowed Kožená’s every inflection to leave his own trace of comments on the unfolding drama. Nowhere was this more strongly felt than in the eerie postlude, which Schumann uses to give us all cause to reflect on how the human condition is affected by love’s turbulent passage.

I understand Kožená’s desire to promote Czech music, but I do not share her enthusiasm for Dvořák’s Gypsy Songs. The set of seven songs is perhaps amongst the weakest of the composer’s better known works. Although the vocal part does present occasional challenges, the real weakness is in the piano accompaniment, as it hardly ever sounds a natural fit with the words it accompanies. Only the fourth song – Songs my mother taught me, co-incidentally the most famous of the set – seems to rise at all above the half way decent in terms of overall achievement. All that said, Martineau made a brave stab at drawing something coherent from Dvořák’s awkward writing. Kožená used the songs to raise folk poetry to a level higher than its original calling, showing off the rich depth of her mezzo tones and lingeringly floated vowels in combination with an emotional range that captured solitude and dramatic urgency with equal ease.

A small selection of Hugo Wolf’s Mörike lieder closed the programme. Zum neuen Jahr gave Kožená’s upper register an extended airing, and was effective for the freshness that it brought at that moment in the evening. Elfenlied had a fair share of impetuousness about it, with Kožená relishing the fun inherent in both music and text. Momentary reverence was brought to Schlafendes Jesuskind in her deep and resonantly projected tone, before launching headlong into Abschied. Having nothing fear from any critic in the world (at least I would hope that is the case), Kožená nonetheless delighted in the opportunity to give any dissenters a firm kicking for their views, illustrating the text vividly through singing that explored the very edge of the written notes. Martineau joined in the fun with a superbly poised and exuberant Viennese waltz accompaniment.

Two encores were given: I dreamt last night that we were dead, by Dvořák, and When I was on my Mother’s lap, by Erwin Schulhoff. The latter in particular afforded a glimpse of still wider vocal territory that Kožená excels in.

Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky and Bizet/Shchedrin: Leonidas Kavakos (violin) / London Philharmonic Orchestra / Vladimir Jurowski (conductor). Queen Elizabeth Hall, London. 27.09.2006 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/jurowski2709.htm This concert had a peculiar programme in some respects, with a warhorse concerto placed between two ballet suites that made heavy use of thematic material appropriated from diverse sources by their composers.

Stravinsky’s Pulcinella suite draws largely upon Pergolesi for its material, in addition to a variety of other composers. The ballet was to have seen the collaboration of Stravinsky, Diaghilev and Picasso to bring the work to fruition, but much the most interesting aspect is how Stravinsky reworked his sources. Jurowski led the London Philharmonic forces through the suites sequence of numbers in a respectful yet unemotional manner, thus drawing attention cleanly to Stravinsky’s own coolness of approach. Favouring on the whole crisp and brisk rhythms Jurowski occasionally allowed a skittish sense of humour to break through (in the scherzino) but a clear sense of instrumental colouring (in the minuetto particularly) was notable.

Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto has long been a work that I thought could hold no more surprises for me, so often is it performed. How wrong could I be? Jurowski and Kavakos seemed on a mission to breathe fresh life into the old warhorse. The tempo of the opening movement was decidedly upbeat and not at all relaxed or stodgily Romantic in the bad sense. Jurowski particularly kept the movement propelling forward, drawing contrasts of tonal body and quality where he could. Kavakos matched the intention, making the line flow, reduce in tension perhaps when asked for, yet it never ground to a halt as other interpreters can cause it to do. One had to admire also the contrast of tone brought to his inflections of phrase: razor sharp top range countering a viola-like depth at the bottom with a mellow middle territory. The chief delight to be had though was in the fact that Kavakos explored the solo line with the utmost delicacy and that the cadenza was afforded some relative space to unwind. The middle movement brought a keen sense of interplay between Kavakos and the orchestra that usefully exploited the notion of foreground and background spaces having roles to play within music. The finale, Allegro vivacissimo, lived up to the marking, and sought in no small measure to mirror the effect of the first movement. With Kavakos and Jurowski darting the music first this way then that the originality of Tchaikovsky’s writing was heard with fresh ears.

Rodion Shchedrin was by no means as respectful to Bizet’s Carmen as Stravinsky was towards Pergolesi. In fact, depending on your point of view, Shchedrin’s outlandish addition of a whole panoply of percussion instruments to the best Spanish music ever written by a Frenchman can be nothing short of sheer poor taste. If well brought off, however, it can also prove a scintillating showcase for the percussion department of any world-class orchestra. Alas, this performance proved something of a damp squib, falling somewhere in between the two extremes. The main factor contributing to this was not the percussion playing, but rather Jurowski’s awkward tempo choices and desire to break up the flow of Shchedrin’s colourful construction. A pity though, because even without dancers or choreography this is one work that can dance all by itself given the right handling. I once heard a superb performance in Bucharest conducted by Cristian Mandeal. It is worth noting that Mandeal is due to conduct the work with the Hallé in Manchester in March 2007. Those with a taste for Shchedrin’s antics could well find the experience an exciting one.

Hahn, R. Strauss, Orthel and Wolf: Cora Burggraaf (mezzo-soprano) and Gary Matthewman (piano).

Wigmore Hall, London. 8.10.06 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/burggraaf0810.htm The pre-concert announcement that “Cora has recently changed from being a soprano to a mezzosoprano” underlined the ability a voice possesses to change over time. Unique amongst all instruments, the voice is ever susceptible to fluctuations of form, range, tonal nuance and ability to colour the notes it produces, with performance quality affected by any number of variable physical, emotional and environmental factors. This is what, for me, makes the art of singing something I never tire of exploring and made this recital in particular so interesting to hear.

What, one might ask, is the difference between a soprano and a mezzo-soprano? I would venture there are two answers: the technical and the interpretive. Technicalities limit ones understanding more or less to a question of vocal range, whereas interpretation opens up the issue to include use of text, inference of meaning and expressive feeling. That one might indeed convey different meanings by the individual colouring of specific vocal ranges could be said to be a question of nuance.

This hour long recital had plenty of nuance about it in some respects and rather little in others. What was refreshing from this young Dutch singer was her choice of repertoire, mixing standard song recital fare alongside less often heard material.

Five chansons by Reynaldo Hahn began the programme, and if the prevailing emotion they contained was largely one of hot-headedness there was also no shortage of opportunities afforded Burggraaf to bring out subtleties of text. Tyndaris possessed ethereally floated words – “Viens!” – one really believed that Burggraaf wanted to carry you away in her rapture. Infidélité was all evenness of dynamic until the final couplet – when the infidelity of the singer’s lover was hinted at with two words and painfully fragile look. À Chloris and Le printemps shared the feeling of exuberance in the writing and performance, the former showing off Burggraaf’s ability to establish and maintain a lingering perfumed atmosphere with her singing whilst maintaining purity of tone. Le printemps left one very aware of Burggraaf’s strength at the upper end of her range, still reaching into soprano territory, and it could be produced with biting attack that verged on being too loud at times. More was the pity, as when used with greater subtlety the voice was no less worthy of attention.

Three of Richard Strauss’ Mädchenblumen followed; settings of poems by Felix Dahn that transfer images nubile females to floral forms. Kornblumen, sung at a high pitch, reinforced Burggraaf’s keen ear for the use of text to create lingering vocal perfumes. Mohnblumen was beautifully controlled until the final lines – “she would spring up into a full blaze and go up in flames” – as simultaneously her carefully wrought interpretation did when the vocal dynamic was extended too far, too fast. By now my strong feeling was that she is not a mezzo-soprano in the conventional sense at least: a soprano capable of drama with an occasional lower reach. What does one call such a singer? A soprano-mezzo, perhaps. One might use the term to indicate an ability to cover the majority of both ranges, which Burggraaf does to some extent at least. In this case, however, I’d use it to indicate the area of dominance that still prevails in her voice. That it may be a voice on the move to a lower vocal range in time might be undeniable, but for now, whilst the top still comes with ease and volume it would be madness to overlook the possibilities such vocal conditions afford a singer.

Step forward Léon Orthel with two settings of Rainer Maria Rilke poems to illustrate my point and also to prove the subtly that often goes into the partnership of a song recital. Über am Klavier – Piano practice – is seemingly innocent, showing a young girl’s boredom at the keyboard through careful setting of the poem’s opening broken snatches of text. Frustration gradually mixed with desire for other pastimes, but such wishes were not to be fulfilled. Gary Matthewman’s accompaniment, hitherto well pointed and fluently executed, came into its own by imaginatively illustrating the text’s “cut and dried etude” as a vehicle for creating boredom. The masterstroke came though in blurring the song’s ending with the start of Die Entführung – The abduction. By doing so the two songs became one, a mini psycho-drama. The bored girl falls prey to a malicious, unexpected threat and is carried off in a stormy moonlit night by her assailant. Urgency was evident as the act was underway, - the piano becoming the crowd in pursuit that never stands a chance - before leading to hollowness of tone as hopes of safety subside and cold matter-of-factness indicate the strange unionising culmination shared between girl and abductor, “I-am-with-you-I-am-here”… Such expressive possibilities it held out at all dynamics and across the vocal range, this was vocal theatre that had no need for a stage, and well realised by the partnership too.

Hugo Wolf’s lieder require really strong gifts in terms of word pointing to make performance remotely successful, and if this is done with subtlety the results can leave all the greater impression. Gary Matthewman gave strongly articulated accounts of the accompaniments to all the songs; whilst Burggraaf gave all too brief glimpses of true mezzo tones in her voice. Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt occupied an appropriately empty place with her reading, and Matthewman hinted at it too. Kennst du das Land, on the other hand, too strongly emphasised extremes to be really effective. The piano part started tentatively – more so than is ideal – only to be pulled back still further at every repeat of “Kennst du es wohl?” In counteracting things Burggraaf shot too far in the other direction, her final repeated “Dahin! Dahin!” verged on simple declamation rather than conveying intended nervous urgency.

The same characteristics found their way into Richard Strauss’s Allerseelen. Morgen was rather better judged in terms of overall pacing and vocal placement. Cäcilie lacked a touch of vocal glow, but no enthusiasm on the part of either performer. Was I “borne on light to blessed heights”, as Heinrich Hart’s poem says? Not quite. For that to happen perhaps Burggraaf has to settle her voice more, let it establish its own path and then control it with greater assurance in the service of the music she performs. When things go well though, there’s no doubt that Burggraaf and Matthewman form a most interesting partnership.

This concert was recorded by BBC Radio 3 for broadcast on 7 November: the Orthel songs in particular are worth tuning in for.

Haydn, Mozart and Tchaikovsky: Baiba Skride (violin); Isabelle van Keulen (viola)/ London Philharmonic Orchestra / Vladimir Jurowski (conductor). Queen Elizabeth Hall, London. 01.11.06 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/lpo0111.htm Haydn Symphony 49 in F minor, “La Passione” Mozart Sinfonia Concertante in E flat, K.364 Tchaikovsky Symphony 1 in G minor, “Winter Daydreams” This concert saw Vladimir Jurowski leading the London Philharmonic Orchestra through a challenging programme of three works, each of which centred on a specific compositional problem.

In some ways Haydn’s “La Passione” symphony is very much a private work, not often enough enjoying public performance – indeed, this was the first time the LPO found it on their music stands – when one considers the merits of the piece. True, it might be Haydn at his most sombre, setting the work almost entirely in F minor and opening with an adagio rather than an allegro movement. Jurowski began the movement at such a slow tempo that it was momentarily touch-and-go whether Haydn’s musical argument would be coherently sustained, but thanks to a sure sense of musical transition coming from Jurowski, the music developed sensitively in terms of line, texture and scale. The second movement continued to bring assured direction from Jurowski, who often allowed the players their own space with the music, but also pounced relentlessly on major emphases thus bringing extra drama to bear on the writing. Careful balancing of sonorities marked out the third movement, with horns, harpsichord continuo and woodwinds registering with understated ease against the often pizzicato deployment of strings. The closing Presto saw a galvanising of thoughts and ideas through urgency of playing that was strongly articulated but never unmusical in its execution.

Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola explores the nature of instrumental range, and how two players can both complement and contrast with one another. Baiba Skride, a violinist whose recordings to date have highly impressed me, was a sympathetic collaborator alongside Isabelle van Keulen. Both sought to bring nuances to their individual solo lines, to show with some subtlety the variations that Mozart draws from the instruments in the first movement. The surface simplicity of the solo writing was enhanced with dexterity and taste by Skride and van Keulen in the second movement, which began almost melancholically on the violin, only to have the shading of passages extended by the viola’s contribution. Inevitably though, just as in the first movement cadenza, a point of equality and seriousness was reached in their interaction that brought profundity to proceedings. The restrained orchestral scene-setting for the foreground activity of the soloists supported the overall mood with clarity and precision. The closing Presto changes the overall mood entirely and is launched in playful vein, with fluidity and unity of purpose binding both soloists parts together. Whilst virtuosity was undeniably on display from all involved, it was refreshingly utilised in Mozart’s service rather than being an end in itself, which can all too often be the case.

Having recently heard a live recording of Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony, the opportunity to hear its audacious predecessor was much to be welcomed. Subtitled “Winter Daydreams” Tchaikovsky explores the nature of form, casting the symphony as an extended tone poem across four thematically related movements. Jurowski’s conception of the work mixed heart-on-sleeve emotion with deeper drama and a clearly thought through sense of structure. The opening Adagio tranquillo must have been the least tranquillo movement one could imagine, such was the strength of gesture and rightly nervous edge that was fostered in the playing. Jurowski’s gift was to make one aware that things of drama might yet happen without fully revealing what they could be. The Adagio cantabile showed with effortless charm the outer emotion of Tchaikovsky, a quality that pervades all his orchestral writing. Rather than giving focus to individual instrumental lines, the trio of oboe, clarinet and bassoon came to the fore over delicately muted strings. The Scherzo carried an element of indifference to begin with, though even this came to make musical sense as Jurowski contrasted this later in the movement with more purposeful direction, thus giving the music variation and flavour, bring out Tchaikovsky’s nod of admiration in Mendelssohn’s direction along the way. The final movement begins ‘Andante lugubre’ and brings to mind the image of a foggy landscape. The sense of premonition from the first movement was present too in Jurowski’s reading, but this was contrasted with the certainty and ebullience he found in the ensuing Allegro maestoso section. Counterpoint plays a large part in the structural relationships, and Jurowski clearly relished this element before leading his forces into a magisterial account youthful musical idealism. Tchaikovsky’s picture postcard scoring of Moscow’s snow covered boulevards was vividly realised with confidence and panache.

The concert was recorded, and one can hope that any – indeed, why not all – of the performances might be released soon on the LPO record label, such was the quality of playing and interest created by Jurowski’s intelligence of interpretation.

Transcendent – The music of Helmut Lachenmann Noriko Kawai (piano) / RCM Symphony Orchestra / Pierre-André Valade. Royal College of Music, London. 17.11.2006 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/lachenmann1711.htm Helmut Lachenmann’s seventieth birthday went almost unmarked in this country last year. To make amends, the Royal College of Music and the London Sinfonietta have been collaborating on a week long festival dedicated to his music. Indeed, what better place might there be to perform the music of one who has long challenged the accepted notions and conventions of his medium, than a conservatoire.

Lachenmann has spent over forty years confronting audiences to demand that they rethink how they listen when hearing his music. Both works in this concert hold key places in his oeuvre to date and demonstrate his techniques writ large for full orchestra. For anyone approaching Lachenmann for the first time large scale forces could well be advantageous given that the musical results, although intricate, are not so minute as to be easily missed providing one listens attentively, with open ears and a willingness to form associations along the way.

Ausklang, a piano concerto of around 50 minutes’ duration, dates from 1984-5. As with much of Lachenmann’s output, it seeks to subvert melody and replace harmony by confronting the listener with sounds free from boundaries. But, perhaps, there is the problem – no sound is ever free from overtones and individual resonances – and it is on these factors that much of Lachenmann’s music depends. Structure too presents its own contradictions in that the work is written ostensibly as single movement or span, but sub-sections can be discerned within it. That they can be described with approximation using standard symphonic-concerto terms to indicate a scherzo, trio section, a cadenza of a single note and finale summation at least helps the listener to get some grasp on the piece.

Thinking of the techniques Lachenmann employs brings to mind the work of two painters prominent in 1960s Germany: Anselm Kiefer and Georg Baselitz. The linking of time and place is not coincidental: Lachenmann formed his creative path in the same political milieu that determined all to overthrow conventions. Kiefer is well known for physically inflicting his canvasses to cause them deliberate harm – painting with a pickaxe or blowtorch to scar or sear his pieces. Baselitz’s works are often dark in colour and hung upside down to deliberately disorientate the viewer. Lachenmann’s musical versions see instrumentalists redefine how their instruments are played and consequently new sounds are brought into being. The soloist plays not just the keyboard, but is asked to hit parts of the instrument casing with a hammer whilst holding down keys or to run fingernails along the front of the keys to produce resonances; violinists play the scroll of the instrument with a bow for the same reason.

A B-flat triad pervades the score, though often illusive in its pure form, and the pianist presents it in a wide variety of manners and situations as the work progresses. Its presence is central to the manner in which Lachenmann dares his audience to change the way they hear. Gone are musical ideas as sequential developments, here they appear isolated from each other or in direct and simultaneous competition. With the piano as the agent of idea generation set to the fore on stage, the orchestra is utilised as a massive prism for the refraction, reconstitution and gathering of off-shoot soundassociations from the soloist. This forces the act of listening to become more than anything else spatially sensitive, as Lachenmann radically alters ones sense of musical perspective. Key moments found instruments seated further back relayed though speakers to appear in the foreground, as opposed to where one knew them to physically be.

Listening in three dimensions seems at first strange, but how else might one draw together relevant associations between instruments placed at the front and back, or left and right of the stage. The experience might yet have had more impact if the seating was at the same level as the stage, thus enabling a more realistic impression of height-sound relationships to be gained. The strings were seated some feet lower than the raised percussion and brass. With associations often made between the groups, the indistinctness of their spatial relationship lost a little of the impact that could have been made.

Precision rather than emotion was the key to this successful performance, and Noriko Kawai brought plenty of the former to her part along with strength of attack when needed. Given the opportunity to

give the Steinway a good hammering (literally), a pity that she did it so timidly – one might have thought that given Lachenmann’s willingness to push boundaries he would have urged at least one really hard hit, but no. This was a reading of a work which has its introspective moments and in performance they carried the greater impact because of their inherent restraint. The RCM Orchestra under Pierre-André Valade met Lachenmann’s many demands head-on with unbounded enthusiasm.

After the 50-minute interval, came the UK premiere of Kontrakadenz, a 20-minute work for orchestra dating from 1970-1. If anything the work instantly showed a starker aesthetic than Ausklang. Taking its cue from the sound of a ping-pong ball bouncing, with the bounces becoming successively quicker as they progress, rhythm was all-important. Pitch was all but non-existent, as Lachenmann’s concern was precise control over the seemingly random. Balls bounced somewhere within the orchestra, metal discs spun on tables and, at one point, two metal tubs filled with water sloshed back and forth to establish a rhythmic pattern in various guises, all ‘played’ by ‘ad hoc’ orchestral players. Radios whirred in and out of reception gave some distinctness in this context to a normally indistinct sound.

Conventional instruments picked up on patterns and atmospheres to elaborate on, mutate or ignore them almost at will.

The performance showed up a certain brutalism in the music. Instrumental figurations often seemed initially unlikely in their association - bows against the edge of cymbals combined with strongly hit percussion and rasping bassoons, for example - yet they held momentary interest before dissolving into another combination. Elements of spatial juxtaposition noted in Ausklang were as prominent.

Valade once urged the orchestra to a fearsome climax that was at the edge of being comfortable for the hall, to contrast with the essential quietness of the work’s driving concept. The opportunity for a second performance immediately afterwards was taken, but was it such a wise idea? With the shock of the new replaced to some extent by the inevitably less immediate predictability of what was to happen, the ability to accurately hear the minutiae of inner resonances so central to Lachenmann’s work might have been diminished slightly.

No matter how hard one tries to overthrow convention, the results often remain bound by it: concerts with audiences sat in tidy rows showing their appreciation through applause. This concert was no different. Even if those present had succeeded in thinking outside normal musical parameters something as radical must yet happen before collective ingenuity is brought to expressions of understanding or approval. But that may never happen; and, one might think, more is the pity if it does not.

Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky: Piano Trios. Maxim Vengerov (violin), Lilya Zilberstein (piano) and Alisa Weilerstein (cello). Barbican Hall, London. 28.11.2006 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/vengerov2811.htm Shostakovich: Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor, op. 67 Tchaikovsky: Piano Trio in A minor, op. 50 One only has to see Vengerov’s name on the programme of a concert to expect virtuosic musical displays from the dazzling fiddler. How refreshing, therefore, that he did not deliver vanity virtuosity, but integrated his undoubted gifts with those of his fellow performers in this concert.

Shostakovich’s second piano trio is comparatively brief in length and asks for equality of status amongst the players, but not initially as one might expect. The opening andante’s gradually increasing tempo allowed Alisa Weilerstein’s cello playing to be heard with distinction against the contributions of Vengerov and Zilberstein. All three explored tonal range and harmonics to indicate at a state of growing passion in the music, but Vengerov gave the lead in indicating that tonal purity was not to be a key attribute of the performance, and rightly so. The second movement was taken with jaunty roughness by all three players – Vengerov’s sheer attack making Zilberstein’s piano playing seem a little skittish in the interplay that was had with Weilerstein’s sarcastic cello. The movement’s end saw the piano lead all towards a driven conclusion. Drama marked out the third movement Largo, with the piano again setting the tone, this time through sombre repeated chords. As if to lighten the mood – which Shostakovich possibly did not entirely intend – subtle cross-rhythms came out in the playing as it continued, with much wry humour also.

Tchaikovsky’s mighty piano trio in A lasts for nigh-on fifty minutes, and is longer than any of his symphonies. Its sprawling form is set in two vast movements, the second of which being a set of twelve variations. The final of these could almost be a movement in itself, given its internal twists of melodic line and self-sufficiency of material.

The first movement saw a much more standard battle for supremacy emerge than Shostakovich allowed for in his trio. The unison playing of the strings, although notable, was overshadowed by the dominant part of the piano. Under this influence the music attained an almost self-propelling forward motion that was not beyond highlighting elements of momentary brightness or introversion.

To form a contrast the second movement variations were launched as a dialogue against a background of piano accompaniment. The second variation showed much passion in Weilerstein’s cello playing that had a lot to recommend it. The brisk scherzo that followed was delicately fingered by all. The sixth variation stood out again for the tonal quality of Weilerstein’s playing, but bad luck was to befall her in the eighth variation when a string broke without warning and forced a brief pause in proceedings. The string replaced, the variation resumed with confidence that suitably enhanced the dogmatic and hectoring tone of the music. The ninth variation was a shifty lament seemingly only a thought away from Debussy at times. Cautious upbeat moods and a violin lead prefaced the openly virtuosic final variation that showed the composer’s enthusiasm, but to be truly successful could probably do with being shorter than it is. Nevertheless, if one wanted a trio to show off the virtuoso talents of three superb musicians then one could hardly ask for a better vehicle. Vengerov and Zilberstein are an established partnership, but Alisa Weilerstein makes a fine addition to their team. She is without a doubt a musician to listen out for.

Britten, Vaughan Williams and Honegger: Soloists / London Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir / New London Children’s Choir / Ronald Corp and Vladimir Jurowski (conductors). Queen Elizabeth Hall, London 10.12.06 (ED)

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/carols1012.htm Britten A Ceremony of Carols Britten Double Concerto for violin and viola Vaughan Williams Fantasia on Christmas Carols Honegger Christmas Cantata Rachel Masters (harp) New London Children's Choir Anthony Michaels-Moore (baritone) Pieter Schoeman (violin) Alexander Zemtsov (viola) London Philharmonic Choir This was the thinking person’s Christmas concert – and how nice it is to get at least one a year to counteract all the predictable seasonal fare that is trotted out time after time.

Britten’s A Ceremony of Carols was the best known work on the programme, and Ronald Corp led a generally well mannered performance by the New London Children’s Choir. If they had momentary problems in sustaining some long-held lines, they attacked the more upbeat aspects of the work with delectation – to the extent of sounding a touch pushed towards the end of Wolcum Yole! The lower voices were on the whole stronger of presence than the upper parts, yet all sang with a careful ear for their place within the whole and often found much fun in the interplay of parts. Adam lay ibounden was full of energy in its cross-rhythms, almost too much so in fact as the text verged on becoming unintelligible. Rachel Masters, LPO’s principal harpist, provided a finely graded account of the crystalline solo interlude, which articulated much in the way of a wintery atmosphere.

The only non-seasonal item on the programme was Britten’s youthful double concerto, a work noticeably modelled on Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante. Cast within three distinct sections of a unified form the concerto displayed elements of interest, without being wholly within the established Britten idiom. He was, after all, still a student at the Royal College of Music when the work was written. Much of the first two sections had the feeling of a rural rhapsody about them. The soloists, both LPO principals, took brief opportunities to play individual lines and showcase their separate talents. More often than not though Britten requires both to play in unison, the extent of which more than anything else shows his immaturity as a composer. The orchestration however showed greater confidence on the part of Britten, with the brass and timpani in particular proving particularly imposing. The finale had its own ferocious character, thus making it very distinct from the rest of the work. Jurowski sought to emphasise the dynamic relationships between the various elements, often drawing formidable attack from his forces, to thrilling effect.

Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia has established itself over the years within the repertoire of amateur choral societies. It is more rarely performed, however, by professional forces. Mixing wordless singing with text and a prominent part for solo baritone, securely taken by Anthony Michaels-Moore, the work shows Vaughan-Williams’ ability to integrate carol tunes into his overall design. Including the now familiar Sussex carol, which Jurowski particularly relished in performance, and a Somerset carol, Vaughan-Williams brought some lesser-known tunes to light. The performance was rich in atmosphere, heightened by careful control of the orchestral and choral forces.

Honegger’s Christmas Cantata is a real rarity by any standards. It saw the massed forces of the evening – children’s and adult choirs, baritone soloist and orchestra – take to the stage for the culmination of proceedings. If the work’s musical character is on the whole somewhat subdued – very much in line with Honegger’s overall aesthetic – the message of the work’s multi-lingual text is one of hope and peace. Dedication was brought to the performance, with fine orchestral and choral contributions, but I cannot help feeling that the work will forever be a curiosity rather than a truly popular part of the repertoire. Even so, the opportunity to hear such works is welcome and adds to the overall variety of one’s concert-going life.

Merry Christmas, one and all!

BBC Proms 2006 reviews Prom 11: Janácek, Mozart and Dvorák Till Fellner and Paul Lewis (pianos) / BBC NOW / Richard Hickox (cond.) Royal Albert Hall. 22.07.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/prom11_2207.htm Janáček: The Cunning Little Vixen Suite (ed. Mackerras) Mozart: Concerto in E flat major for two pianos, K 365 Dvořák: Symphony No 7 On paper this concert might appear a reasonable one. Take two Czech works and place a Mozart concert in between to feature the talents of two sought-after soloists. Two things, though, ensured that this plan did not translate ideally into practice: the choice of the repertoire or decisions regarding the performances themselves.

The suite from Janáček’s cartoon-inspired opera The Cunning Little Vixen did not get things off to the best start. Exactly why it was programmed remains a mystery. Drawing extensively upon Act 1 of the opera for its material, the two movement suite was presented at a uniformly andante tempo, giving too little variation to enliven proceedings. Charles Mackerras, in restoring the composer’s intended orchestration to the music, might have intended thereby to restore atmosphere, but was more successful in creating a sombre – even sour sounding – torso. In the context of the whole opera the music would have made more sense too, but it did not stand well in its ‘untimely ripped’ state. Be that as it may, Hickox laboured hard to draw playing above the ordinary from the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, in this his penultimate concert as the Principal Conductor. Only in the final minutes did the Vixen finally show some life with her escape to freedom, made to a rousing brass romp.

Reduced orchestral forces accompanied pianists Till Fellner and Paul Lewis in the Mozart concerto. Pairing up two Brendel protégés was a good idea and even if, as here, it was their first time playing together in public the performance might still have been a winning one providing they were equally familiar with the music. The intervention of printed scores however showed that perhaps they were equally unfamiliar with it. The opening orchestral flourish was hardly imposing; perhaps minds were still on the Janáček. Fellner was clinical in his approach, if a touch rushed at the start - the tendency that lessened as he progressed.

Lewis, in taking the second piano part, seemed oddly subdued and not his usual stylish self. Their playing of Mozart’s brief first movement cadenza did find a measure of the light and shade within the writing. The extent to which the orchestra takes a back seat in the work was evident in the middle movement, though their contributions varied between the inspirationally grand and the svelte of scale. Lewis and Fellner commented with understated knowingness upon each others’ playing. A generally crisp closing rondo brought the pair to the emotional high point that is the second cadenza. Here more than elsewhere robust partnership is called for, but it was only partially forthcoming. Other players have given more to the music.

No matter; it went down well with the arena crowd. The special intimacy they have with the platform could account for that.

Intimacy is not a requirement for Dvořák’s seventh symphony. The brooding hulk of a work captures the tussle between outward lyricism and darkly drawn drama in the composer’s writing. It is notable as well that Dvořák’s concern is rather deeper than the reconciliation of these two styles: it is a fight for supremacy which the dramatic instinct eventually wins. Hickox took a spacious view of the opening movement, laying bare the foreboding qualities from the start, so that their long term dominance came to seem almost inevitable. Strongly voiced lines from brass and winds alike marked out the robust and occasionally intentional punctuative quality found in the first movement. Emotional romance turned in a short-lived appearance at the start of the second movement before being transformed with aggressive force in an instant. Indeed, the orchestra really got into their stride at moments such as this, the music carrying them

along. A certain oscillation of mood dominates the scherzo to create structural questions that need careful handling by the conductor. Hickox seemed a touch unsure at times exactly in which direction to take it, a performance choice perhaps not entirely unreasonable, given the music itself. Greater certainty though would have imparted more clarity to individual entries: the winds at times seemed altogether too tentative. The movement’s closing pages found momentum to dispel the preceding Bohemianism and build in waves of strength and link almost without a break to the allegro finale, which was powerful in its driven dominance.

Prom 14: Haydn, Benjamin, Brahms. Pierre-Laurent Aimard (piano) / BBC Symphony Orchestra / David Robertson (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, London. 24.07.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/prom14_2407.htm Haydn : Symphony No. 94 ('Surprise') George Benjamin :Dance Figures (UK premiere) Brahms : Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor Ending his first season as the BBC Symphony Orchestra's Principal Guest Conductor, David Robertson presented an eclectic trio of works to a sweltering Royal Albert Hall.

Haydn’s 94th Symphony was efficiently lyrical under Robertson’s direction, as he sought to emphasise the internal contrasts within each movement through clear articulation from all orchestral departments. If a touch of predictability crept in just before the second movement’s initial surprise, maybe it says more for the extent to which it is anticipated than this performance per se. Subsequent surprises were energetically given, ensuring that the work was not just a one-hit wonder. Urgently alive rhythms pulsated through the closing Allegro molto, tastefully making much of the writing for lower strings.

Rather unusually, a full orchestral score of George Benjamin’s ‘Dance Figures’ was provided for press use in addition to the programme. Of this work Benjamin has said, “the fundamental thing is that it’s dance music, nine short movements that have clear statements; quiet and delicate with three rumbustious movements and the sixth is extremely noisy. Everybody in the orchestra has a spotlight at some point.”

This underlines two factors always present in his music, technical command of the forces and harmony as a central concern. It moved seamlessly from haze-like textures though a swaying legato section of disintegration to elements that were strident in brass. Solos for an elegiac oboe or soulful viola countered heavy tutti cross-rhythms. Some sections make audible reference to Stravinsky, mixing The Rite of Spring with Petrushka and, later, quasi-Mahlerian passages played at much refracted tempi. A watery string canon diluted its movement’s material before the massed orchestra brought about a congested and decisively abrupt ending. Robertson, clearly relishing the precision with which the large forces were utilised, gave a suitably to the point performance. The BBC SO showed their renowned facility for working on new scores once more.

During the performance I tried to imagine how this diverse set of compact scenes might be choreographed; a programme photograph shows a graceful pose from the Brussels staging in May this year. Although it’s hard to think of a performance space in the UK that would suitably accommodate the dancer(s) and the large orchestra this shouldn’t stop brave companies from trying. It will be, I feel, like most of Benjamin’s work, something that will grow in stature with time and I look forward to revisiting it.

Brahms’ first piano concerto is so much a repertoire work that it is hard to believe that this has not always the case. Pierre-Laurent Aimard’s performance however emphasised qualities within the work that many might have found difficult to accept when it was newly written. Aimard’s incisive ability to re-present a work one thought one knew never fails to stimulate and delight. Veering between the decidedly large of scale and intimate, his reading was considered yet impulsive. Passages of inner calm in the first movement were punctuated by furiously given flourishes, and at these times in particular Aimard maintained close visual contact with the orchestra. The middle movement saw emotion held on a tighter rein to bring out the half-lights of an ever lyrical and subtle adagio. But might it have been too controlled? Barely a moment to reflect on that though, as he launched headlong into the bouncing final rondo. Here as much as elsewhere was one aware that Aimard provided but one half of a discussion in sound. For his part, Robertson encouraged and received playing full of individuality and elegance tempered by underlying powerful forces.

Musically this concert was enthralling, but it is sad to note that extra-musical intrusions took away from the experience at times. A crash of falling glasses barely seconds before Haydn’s first surprise stole the moment slightly. Aimard himself, in common with a number of top flight pianists, provided a vocal line at times in many of the concertos big moments; such was his involvement with the piece. Worst of all though was an Arena Promenader ‘conducting’ and even shouting out during the Brahms second movement. Such antics one might just forgive on the last night, but the reputed respect Promenaders show music at other times needs to be carefully guarded to protect the enjoyment of all.

Prom 26, Royal Albert Hall, 2 August 2006 http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/reviews/liveevents/Prom26_06.htm Prokofiev Classical Symphony Britten Les illuminations Elgar/Payne Pomp and Circumstance March No. 6 (world premiere) J.S. Bach , orch. A. Davis Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor Shostakovich Concerto for Piano, Trumpet & Strings (Piano Concerto No. 1) Nicole Cabell soprano Evgeny Kissin piano Sergei Nakariakov trumpet BBC Symphony Orchestra Sir Andrew Davis conductor Looking through the programme at the menu before memade me feel feeling a bit peckish as I took my seat in the Royal Albert Hall for this Prom. Only at the Proms is one still likely be faced with such a concoction, not unlike how it was in Sir Henry's days.

Given the ingredients, the chefs in the Proms planning kitchen must have known that this tutti-frutti musical soufflé – so typical of the type they love to foist on hungry audiences – would either rise on the night or fall spectacularly. That the Elgar/Payne was a relatively late ingredient to be added into the pot already containing three big name soloists, a ‘house' orchestra and a Proms favourite conductor - obviously had no ill effect; the hall was filled to near bursting point.

Thinking seriously, there was a barely discernible connection between the quintet of works played here.

Each was born out of a seemingly unlikely pairing: Prokofiev with the spirit of Haydn, Britten with the poetry of Rimbaud, Elgar rescued by Anthony Payne, Bach orchestrated by Andrew Davis and Shostakovich's bringing together of a piano and trumpet as concerto soloists.

Davis offered a crisp and tasteful reading of the Prokofiev symphony. The wind lines were emphasised in the opening movement, before a carefully graded larghetto that brought out the ebb and flow in the orchestration rather subtly. The gavotte possessed a certain and confident swagger, even if the tempo choice for the delicately handled diminuendo seemed a touch artificial at first. A finale full of rippling pulse, outward enthusiasm and fun rounded the performance off.

Clarity of line and texture was of central importance in Davis ' approach to Britten's Les Illuminations. Stage layout lent a spatial dimension to the performance as key lines constantly played against each other, commenting back and forth, across the stage. Nicole Cabell is a promoter's dream of a singer: young and glamorous with an effortless and flexible lyric soprano voice. She's already highly accomplished at working an audience too. The work feels as if it's been in her repertoire for some time: her singing was assured, if a touch small scale for the expanse of the Royal Albert Hall, but it did carry some pleasing variation of tonal colour with it. Her Achilles Heel though at times was the French text: her desire to float the line mellifluously sometimes took preference to clarity of the text. That notwithstanding, Cabell is a singer who one hopes will be allowed to progress in her art rather than being railroaded into doing too much too soon.

Elgar's sixth Pomp and Circumstance March, as completed by Anthony Payne, displayed much awareness of the original composer's style, but anyone who expected something in the mould of the preceding marches might well have been disappointed. From a sombre, dark opening a confident striding tempo emerged that led down a richly coloured path to a broader section that flowed in a somewhat relaxed manner, before once again picking up tempo. Exuberance was notable both in the orchestration and playing with recurring dependence on fleeting wind gestures and brass flourishes to add requisite colour to the fleshed-out score.

A moment of homage from Payne to Elgar was made by the inclusion of reference to the first March in the

closing passages – no doubt with one eye to endearing the completion to the assembled audience, which responded with strong approva. Davis and the BBCSO reminded all of their sterling Elgarian credentials.

The orchestration of Bach by conductors is of course not unknown, and given the nature of the preceding item the inclusion of Davis' elaboration of Johann Sebastian's organ Passacaglia and Fugue , its programming in this concert might be more reasonable than in some other contexts. Whereas Payne stayed close to the spirit of Elgar, Davis showed himself more willing to explore a wider territory in tandem with Bach. The opening focussed more on creating the texture than the structure of the passacaglia, with material passed around the orchestra in a quasi-Debussian impressionistic manner. The fugue emerged from the overlayering of textures to create some depth that did bring out inner microstructures in Davis ' orchestration. In the end though the extended reliance upon strings in octaves and brass left the feeling of too much predictability. Was it perhaps too sweet for its own good?

Strange as it might be to finish a banquet with a main course, that's what happened. From the start this was an extended work for piano with trumpet and orchestra coming along for the ride. Even Shostakovich felt a bit of an afterthought at times. Like a celebrity chef, Kissin paraded his ego and divided opinions with the results of his labours. Passages were either beaten into submission or left somewhat undercooked, showing some indifference whatever he did to the score itself. Sergei Nakariakov contributed with sensitivity seated in Kissin's shadow, a position from which he stood almost no chance of making a real impact. Davis , despite some hairy moments of coordination with Kissin, led a generally astute account of the all too minimalist orchestral score. Perhaps with Shostakovich one might get away with more than with other composers, but even so this was not entirely to my taste. I left wanting a very different dish from that I had been offered and musing on what it must be like to be Evgeny Kissin. The unpredictable line between genius and madness is extraordinarily thin and in pianistic circles it's a line that he defines.

Prom 28: Ravel, Szymanowski and Berlioz: Piotr Anderszewski (piano) / Royal Scottish National Orchestra / Stéphane Denève (conductor). Royal Albert Hall, 04.08.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/prom28_0408.htm When you consider how extensive the Proms remit has become it is only a matter of time until a questionable concert is encountered. This concert was one such, but in this instance ‘questionable’ should be interpreted as ‘open to question’, as the concert was something of a curate’s egg.

I have not the slightest dispute with the piano playing of Piotr Anderszewski, particularly in the music of Szymanowski, whose music he interprets with such unassuming naturalness as to disarm the listener regarding the problematic facets of the writing. The Symphonie-Concertante, also the composer’s Symphony No. 4 in all but name, poses many questions of approach for the soloist. Szymanowski wrote the piece so that he could perform the solo part and earn some much needed cash in his final years. The part for the most part weaves itself into the accompanying orchestral textures, but seems strangely reticent to display much in the way of virtuoso material or technique. The work seems neither concerto nor symphony in short, but the title as given is apposite given the prominent, if short, solo roles assigned throughout the orchestra. These were given with much sense of atmosphere and place within the overall by the structure by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra players. Stéphane Denève largely succeeded in unifying the work’s connected movements into a logical structure.

The preceding work on the programme, Ravel’s Mother Goose suite, was perhaps marginally less successful for Denève. Somewhat anonymous and stiff in his conducting style – has no one told him that you can flex your wrists when conducting? – he projected little obvious attachment to the piece. This gave the orchestra relatively little to work with, aside from some none-too-badly chosen tempi. Clearly projected wind lines caught the ear most easily until in the final pages Denève shaped a convincingly full-toned climax. Wasn’t it all too little, too late though?

Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique rounded off the concert and it is a work that should give any orchestra an opportunity to shine and a conductor a chance to show interpretive imagination, if he or she has any. Denève does indeed show signs of thinking outside accepted practice – the layout of his orchestra points to that, with antiphonal violins and double basses placed to the left, not the right. Overall though his interpretation had me leaving the hall scratching my head at what he thought he was doing. He conducted from memory – nothing wrong with that – but singularly failed to bring much flexibility to the music. If you know the ebb and flow that can be brought to this score by a conductor such as Sir Colin Davis, imagine the antithesis to it, and you will have something like Denève’s approach. Worse still, this work, subtitled “Episodes in the Life of an Artist” was too episodic, the internal structure of movements often on the verge of collapse. It is tempting to read something of Berlioz’s personal heartache over the actress Harriet Smithson into the work, but this was stretching the point too far, even for the so-inclined listener.

Numerous cues were either not given or mistimed so entries failed to register their full impact. That said, the Royal Scottish National Orchestra strived valiantly to save something of the performance with playing of fluency and nuance in the ball-scene second movement. The third movement described a countryside scene rather than dragging one headlong through the fields and flowers, as it should. The doubts I had earlier regarding Denève’s ability to create a suitable climax in the Ravel were as nothing however to the abject disappointment confirmed after his March to the Scaffold and Dream of a Sabbath Night. The orchestra played with gusto at times, but where was the terror, when did the nightmarish fantasies kick in?

They were nowhere to be heard – the off-stage oboe sounded too much on stage and the Dies Irae bells were all too sanely played. Even the percussion with seemingly several men to a drum were all to tame: volume of sound does not equate to passion or tension – ever.

I know the French traditionally looked down on Berlioz, but I hoped those days were long gone. Sadly, it appears not, at least where Denève is concerned. But that begs the more important question: why

programme such a well known and popular work if something good cannot be done with it? At the end of his first season as the Royal Scottish National Orchestra’s Chief Conductor there is hopefully some reason for them to want to keep him in post, though quite what that reason is has me stumped right now. I’d need to hear the orchestra and Denève again, and in different repertoire, prior to elaborating further in that regard.

Prom 35: Harvey, Mozart, Schumann: Stephen Kovacevich (piano) / BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra / Ilan Volkov (conductor). Royal Albert Hall. 09.08.2006 (ED) Jonathan Harvey …towards a pure land (London premiere) Mozart Piano Concerto No.25 in C major, K503 Schumann Symphony No. 3 in E flat major ('Rhenish') http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/prom35_0808.htm It seems my luck of late to have attended Proms that were rather mixed bags either in terms of programming or execution, and this one was no different.

Jonathan Harvey’s … towards a pure land, the first of three commissions for the BBC SSO and Ilan Volkov, is an abstract construction of some seventeen minutes duration.

The composer’s own programme note for … towards a pure land proved of too little help in meaningfully outlining the ideas behind the score and betrayed the workings of a confused mind: “The centre itself is not solid, rather it is an emptiness, an empty presence. There is sound but only insubstantial pitch. In the surrounding music, the tempos are often fluid, the ideas are fleeting: things arise, then cease, in an unending flow. To grasp them and fix them would be to distort them falsely. A Pure Land is a state of mind beyond suffering, where there is no grasping […] The environment is completely pure, clean, and very beautiful […] gardens filled with heavenly flowers, bathing pools and exquisite jewels covering the ground which make it completely pure and smooth.”

Given current world events with yet another serious crisis unfolding daily, the timing could hardly be more suited for a work that reflected upon present human direction and projected some aspiration to a state beyond trouble and suffering. But surely Harvey’s words were no more than verbal posturing to mask a lack of substance? With precious little fluidity in evidence the work sat in its own state of stasis, seemingly arising from nothing – to which it would eventually return – and presented as its compositional centre piece fragmentary shard-like phrases overlaid upon each other. The development of musical ideas was limited by trying to make much out of too little. He was hampered still further by largely removing variations of dynamic gradation – much of the work stuck at a constant ppp or mf – which succeeded in dehumanising the music, making it mere sound. This ‘pure land’ could conceivably be post-apocalyptic vision from the aftermath of a big bang, where humanity and emotion have little place in the prevailing atmosphere. Beauty and purity as I understand the concepts bore almost no relation to the formless fabric that was presented and any sense of thoughtful or enquiring mysticism was arguably several worlds away.

The BBC SSO played with precision under their chief conductor, whose to-the-point direction was noteworthy for its economy of gesture and dedication in the face of adversity. The Proms audience, many of whom around me also searched in vain for much meaningful substance, gave the work a polite if none too enthusiastic reception.

Mozart and Schumann on the other hand are two composers who recognised that it is the presence of human emotion that makes music the moving art form it can be. The Mozart concerto was launched into crisply enough by soloist and orchestra, although as things progressed it became clear this was not a performance that would plumb the inner depths of Mozart’s longest and most daring of piano concertos.

Perhaps it was a question of balance that prevented deeper exploration in the first movement: the orchestra was seemingly always on the verge of swamping Kovacevich’s delicately phrased playing. His own first movement cadenza did not help either, being limited in imagination, repetitive in the upper register and a touch too extended to be really effective. It was however dispatched with feeling for Mozartian line and scale. The second movement brought a measure of profundity though never without a humorous edge to it. Freedom of mood and expression held sway across the third movement, with the orchestra-soloist balance being more carefully handled. Such dramatic moments as are given to the piano part were well integrated into the whole, being framed by orchestral march motifs that lent proceedings a rather formal

air. In the final analysis there is no escaping the fact that Mozart wrote the work as a self-consciously virtuoso platform for his own skills. Kovacevich and Volkov succeeded in largely playing down empty virtuosity in favour of approaching something both more subtle and fulfilling.

Schumann’s third symphony presents both a massive five-movement arch structure and a rare moment of unalloyed happiness in the troubled composer’s life. That Volkov had clear ideas about the balancing of the work’s formal structure was clear, that he propelled it with the requisite energy from the fist movement’s opening bars was less so. This took its toll slightly on the required sense of organic development that should be present early on, and despite getting an impressive depth of tone from his players enough transparency in the texture infused the music with a light and airy feeling. The second movement scherzo was full of suitably rustic character and although rhythmic emphases were made a judiciously chosen basic tempo was stuck to. Sensitivity in balancing the orchestral forces is of concern in the third movement, in combination with the judgement of a tricky tempo indication. Schumann indicated ‘not fast’, which in my view Volkov rightly took to mean ‘not slow’, thereby giving the music sufficient inner movement. The need making the correct judgement is made all the clearer by the ensuing contrast of character in the fourth movement, Schumann’s solemn evocation of Cologne’s gothic cathedral. Volkov urged brass to give their lines forthrightly into the cavernous space of the Royal Albert Hall to bring architectural vision in the mind’s eye most effectively to life. Processions, fanfares and richly overlaid passages of grand sonority all played their part. The final movement felt as if it might almost misfire like a damp squib, given a few moments of unsure intonation at the start, but with sure progress the final pages were embarked upon. The work’s irrepressible climax was realised with just about enough passion to make a satisfactory conclusion to the piece and largely banish memories of the mediocrity with which the concert began.

Jonathan Harvey (Proms Composer Portrait: featuring performances by RAM graduate students) Vers - for piano solo Run Before Lightning - for flute and piano ( UK premiere) The Riot - for flute/piccolo, bass clarinet and piano Melissa Doecke (flute/piccolo) Andrew Harper (bass clarinet) Mary Callanan (piano) http://www.musicalpointers.co.uk/articles/generaltopics/COmposerPortraitJonathanHarvey.htm There are times when one cannot get to see or hear every live event that perhaps one should. Life's many demands have a habit of getting in the way. Alas, they did for me with the recent Proms Composer Portrait that focussed on Jonathan Harvey, in advance of the world premiere of …towards a pure land *, performed by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra under Ilan Volkov, and reviewed for Seen&Heard.

Who knows, had I heard the Portrait before the premiere the work might have made at least a little sense.

With the wonders of BBC Radio 3 Listen Again I am at last getting around to doing my homework on Harvey and here are my impressions.

Harvey 's opening remarks that …towards a pure land will become one panel in a triptych of commissions for Volkov and his orchestra is interesting. The Prom programme for the new work not did make this clear.

Nor did it elaborate on the fact that the three will deal with aspects of Buddhist purification for mind, body and speech. The last, scheduled for 2008, will feature electronics - one of Harvey 's long term media of interest. In speculating on the connection between electronics and the transcendental he cites the “spectrum between noise and pitch [and the point] where tone seeps in.” Quite how it will manifest itself in practice has yet to be heard.

Vers , a work written for solo piano in 2000 on the occasion of Pierre Boulez's 75 th birthday Performed for the Portrait by RAM graduate student Mary Callanan, she emphasised something rather wistful in Harvey's writing to begin with, aided by clear articulation of the upper register. As Harvey himself commented, the piece proceeds very much on instinct, although guided in some sense by alliance to Boulez's.

Discussion concerning the use of specific timbres leads Harvey to comment that he uses a mixture of what he knows and arrives at through experimentation. Much of this can be sensed in the next work performed.

Running before lightning , Harvey comments, comes from vivid dream atop a cliff in a raging storm, mixing a sense of liberation despite danger along with exhilaration. The flute brings in the element of breathe with the piano's chasing canon providing volcanic activity. Surging piano contrasts by almost merging with the start of flute line before a period of unrest – a certain anticipation is there too – the energy within the parts winds up and with it the tension between the two instruments. A feeling of safety rather than danger is made apparent momentarily, but danger is but a swift twist away in the flute line. Like Harvey 's dream itself, the performance required and received in the expert hands of both players a fearless interpretation.

Eerily-blown elements in the flute part gave an evocative sense of disorientation to the listening experience, thus creating a link with the music's dream source. The sudden ending leaves the listener hanging, wondering about what exactly comes next.

Discussion over the meaning of ‘spectralism', which he defines as “having broadly a sense of colour and acoustical spectrum”, the use of which as increased since Debussy as a means of transforming the harmonic series within the construction. Harvey admits that a larger scale can make such transformations easier for a listener to follow.

The Riot (1993), a work of “colour and high jinx�, to quote Harvey , closes the Portrait. Influences evident are drawn from jazz, swing music and boogie-woogie. Other layers are present: descending fifths in cyclic harmonies lead to echoes of Mozart, Bach and Scriabin as does Stravinsky at the start.

Feelings of the other composers do come through although they don't overly dominate proceedings. Harvey maintains his own voice by being able to mix the sounds and influences he is consciously working with. The exuberant performance conveyed a sense of fun that was very much implicit within the writing. Although in Part one of the work things feel sometimes about to spin out of control all three performers hold the work firmly within their grasp. Part two explores more some unconventional sonorities resulting from overblowing the instruments rather openly and effectively fuses them with obvious underlying jazz rhythms.

Two questions remain. Is this music I would willing revisit? I think not: although the spectral influence in itself is interesting when heard in microcosm, over a more expansive period it tends not to hold my attention. That in no way is a comment on the quality of the performances given as a part of this Composer Portrait. They were as dedicated and incisive as it might be possible to hear. Certainly the close microphoning of the individual voices brought out each nuance of colour and expression. Have I learnt more of Harvey in general? Undoubtedly yes, and for that reason I found the Portrait most interesting and useful. But it was the highly professional performances that brought Harvey 's themes to life with remarkable ease for anyone approaching the composer for the first time The next composer portrait focuses on another spectralist, Magnus Lindberg.

Prom 40: Mozart. Lawrence Power (viola) / UBS Verbier Festival Chamber Orchestra / Maxim Vengerov (violin/conductor), Royal Albert Hall, 13.08.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/prom40_1308.htm Mozart Violin Concerto No. 2 in D major, K211 Sinfonia Concertante in E flat major, K364 Violin Concerto No. 4 in D major, K218 Symphony No. 29 in A major, K201 In acting as director/soloist and conductor there was no doubt that Maxim Vengerov would leave his stamp right across this concert, but although there was an element of showmanship to his presentation, Mozart retained a place of importance throughout proceedings. One might think that being in its 112 th season the Proms would have heard every major work by Mozart at least once by now, but not so. The second violin concerto received its first Proms performance at this concert, although the palpable sense of anticipation had more to with Vengerov’s presence.

Vengerov established the direction of each concerto as much with a glance and a nod to the orchestra as any standard conducting beat. The second concerto set in train also the impression of jewel-setting that these readings were to have. The orchestra, being well trained, was able to attend to the details of the overall setting with minimal fuss when Vengerov’s attention turned to setting his solo line before the audience with all the sparkle possessed of any brilliant diamond line. The concertos second movement showed variation of approach in emphasising the many half-lights and shades possessed by the orchestral and solo parts. The rondo finale gave way in due course to Vengerov’s own cadenza – absolutely virtuosic in its exploitation of double stopping – at the very end though Mozart re-established his rightful position in the work.

The fourth violin concerto - also in D major and dating from 1775 - brought a certain muscularity in the orchestra’s performance with the relative weightiness of tone they showed. This time Vengerov’s cadenza explored the lower tonal reaches effectively, before bringing simplicity of line to bear in the second movement. If occasionally soloist-orchestra balance was found wanting, it was a minimal deficiency in overall terms. That said, in some respects Vengerov’s performance was a quixotic one: sometimes very aware of his loving audience and at others almost insular and private to and for himself. His reading of the third movement illustrated clearly the latter tendency, with the lingering solo part teasing out links within the orchestral material.

If Lawrence Power was awestruck at sharing the platform with Vengerov he didn’t show it; the two have, after all, been regular partners in Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante. Often taking a sultry line in the first movement as a means of finding effective contrast with Vengerov’s bright-toned violin Power established a convivial conversational feeling in his tone. The cadenzas (Mozart’s own this time) had the soloists well matched in mood and temperament, backed by the unassumingly sure context of the orchestra. The final movement was given with some exuberance, although was not devoid of feeling for the music’s inner weighty implications. Power and Vengerov are due to record the work in the not too distant future: that could well be a disc to look out for.

The Symphony saw Vengerov as conductor, a role he clearly relishes and displays some natural aptitude for, if this concert was anything to go by. Admittedly he did not stray too far from the beaten path in his choice of tempi, but he did show some inventiveness in encouraging a relatively strong-boned performance. Restraint, stateliness of tone, textural variation, balance and thoughtful placing of diminuendos all contributed to a reading full of life.

The programme commented on the ‘special relationship’ Vengerov shares with this orchestra, and it’s

certainly much in evidence. Their willingness to follow the general direction he imparts does achieve some pleasing results. It is worth noting that the UBS Verbier Festival Chamber Orchestra and Maxim Vengerov are booked to appear at the Barbican in the 2006/7 season, performing all five Mozart concertos in a single evening. Quite some undertaking, but no doubt attractive to many a Vengerov fan.

Prom 43: Schumann, Beethoven, Mendelssohn. Christian Tetzlaff (violin) / BBC Symphony Orchestra / Jirí Belohlávek (conductor), Royal Albert Hall, 15.08.2006 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/prom43_1508.htm Schumann: Manfred - Overture Beethoven: Violin Concerto in D major Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 3 in A minor, 'Scottish' This was an interesting Prom, the centre-piece and highlight of which was Tetzlaff's performance of Beethoven's concerto, but the other items were no less involving in their own way. Jirí Belohlávek and the BBC Symphony Orchestra have occasionally been criticized for their lacklustre performances, but no such remarks could be leveled at their reading of Schumann's Manfred overture. With the music built in waves of emotion and a sense of inner flow much in evidence Belohlávek led an energetically propelled reading that brought out much of the romance of Manfred that Schumann suggests in his writing.

Those that have heard Tetzlaff's recording of the Beethoven concerto with the Zurich Tonhalle Orchestra and David Zinman will know much of what went into this performance. That Tetzlaff continues to plough his own distinctive path with this concerto was self-evident and there was no mistaking his shaping role in proceedings. He placed two sides of Beethoven's character firmly on display, the roughly impassioned against the calmly lyrical, and made much out of exploiting every inherent contrast. In overall terms his is a lithe reading of the work, very much at odds with the grander style expounded by performers of yesteryear. That he doesn't show much regard for the history of performance style hardly mattered in some respects though, as his own performance threw up a series of burning questions. Where was the balance of attention in the performance: with Beethoven or Tetzlaff? Did the solo part need to be quite so roughly projected at times? What do you, the listener, think of this approach to Beethoven?

Indeed, one could almost hear Tetzlaff thinking 'how much can I get away with here?' as he plays. Nothing illustrated this more than Tetzlaff's choice of cadenza - a reworking for violin of Beethoven's original written for the concerto in its piano incarnation. Largely accompanied throughout by timpani - played with hard sticks - the cadenza itself had a rather military feeling about it. All in all, very different from the more usual time honoured insertion by Joachim, but arresting in its originality and fitted well into the framework of the music at the time.

With a rather reduced orchestral scale being employed by Belohlávek the second movement emphasized the calm at the centre of a storm. Any emotionally erratic elements were momentarily banished as both Belohlávek and Tetzlaff brought tonal quality and nuance to the fore. The beauty of his filigree solo line over pizzicato orchestral string playing illustrated this nicely. If only Tetzlaff was willing to relax more often then Belohlávek and his players might have seemed more comfortable with their accompanying role in general. Tetzlaff's style fits easier with Zinman's well-established Beethoven aesthetic than Belohlávek's, which in moments of grandeur showed some nostalgia for a more traditionalist approach.

Tetzlaff's own improvised link to the third movement provided yet another touch of originality in this performance. At once he showed a willingness to push the music hard again - almost too hard? - and came close to derailing it on occasions. With yet another rough-edged cadenza in evidence there was not a bland note to be heard.

Hardly anyone who heard it could have been left without an opinion about the performance such was its own sense of inner justification and strength. In response to Tetzlaff's questions I have one of my own: is his a reading to live with? My own feeling is that it's not, given that I prefer something a little more stable of emotion in the work, but for sheer excitement value his is a reading that takes some beating. The arena audience in particular gave Tetzlaff a wild reception at the works close, and were rewarded with a tender reading of the Andante from JS Bach's second sonata for solo violin in A minor, BWV 1003.

Jirí Belohlávek and the BBC Symphony Orchestra assumed the spotlight again with their performance of Mendelssohn's third symphony. Belohlávek conceived the work on a large canvas from the first; almost bringing to mind a Brucknerian sense of scale and sonority, with emphasis placed upon brass and timpani lines throughout. In fact, timpanist John Chimes made excellent pivotal contributions to all three works in the programme; it was quite a night for him. Contrasts of mood and scenery were usefully lighted upon by Belohlávek: the elemental thrust of the first movement was followed by a delightfully light and airy youthful scherzo. Passages of grandeur were brought out in the brass writing of the third movement, thus effectively providing a foil to the openly folk-influenced passages that kick off the fourth movement. In the end though a feeling of landscape and place had a positive effect on the reading as a whole, which mixed dynamic variation effortlessly into the scene to form a broad and satisfying reading.

PROM 47: Shostakovich, Schnittke, Tchaikovsky, Yuri Bashmet (viola) / London Symphony Orchestra / Valery Gergiev (conductor), Royal Albert Hall, 18.08.06 (ED) http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jul-Dec06/prom47_1808.htm Shostakovich: The Golden Age - excerpts Schnittke: Viola Concerto Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 in B minor, 'PathĂŠtique' To open his long weekend residency at the Royal Albert Hall Valery Gergiev presented with the LSO excerpts from Shostakovich's The Golden Age, a work that sought to fuse lip service to decadent Western musical forms with an acceptable socialist aesthetic. A hard task for anyone to fulfill, and although Shostakovich gave it his best the work was a flop when first performed. With distance from its time of creation, however, it has become easier to identify the work as central to a specific thread within Shostakovich's writing. It quickly became apparent that Shostakovich's often quirky sense of humour comes as second nature to Gergiev - although this was countered in his conducting by launching into the selected items with a couple of dances taken at hair-raisingly driven tempi. Soft jazziness imbued much else of the remaining five numbers: the soprano saxophone nicely to the fore in Dance of the Diva and the most sensitive of foxtrots that was possessed of some very evident tongue-in-cheek playing. Smiles all round were in evidence at composers sly take on 'Tea for Two' in the Entr'acte before an uproarious Cancan brought the set to a close.

Alfred Schnittke's viola concerto received its third Proms performance with Yuri Bashmet, the work's dedicatee, as soloist. On the two previous occasions (1989 and 1996) I was in the Arena crowd and the work left such a strong impression that the other works on the programme seemed but afterthoughts. The works sense of foreboding is obvious from the start - appropriate as it happens, Schnittke was to suffer a heart attack just days after completing the score. The solo line, on this occasion played with poignant hollowness by Bashmet, set its path in motion over sparse, unemotional strings. Gergiev's unleashing of the full orchestral body, however, left one in no doubt of the dark humour the work contains also, monstrous in scale though it might be. Dance episodes, very echt-classical, were brutally given despite the tender dynamic that was often requested by Schnittke; something of a paradox indeed. In some senses the leading voice of the work passes from soloist to orchestra as the work progresses, but Gergiev held back his plan of the overall direction until the last moment. In this respect at least, one could sense some connection with Shostakovich, as we've just heard a composer with an equally quick and dark wit.

Parallel paths of psychedelic fantasy were in fact established within this reading, each as bizarre and farfetched as the other. For all Gergiev's whipped up formalism in the final section, it is nonetheless the viola's coda that proves to be the work's true emotional kernel and representative of the composer's condition.

With Bashmet giving lyrical snatches of line it almost appeared as some kind of remission from the increasingly dour and oppressive atmosphere all around. Such moves by Bashmet though were rebuffed with intentionally matter-of-fact and perfunctory orchestral playing which could do little to banish the now long-established mood of unease within the music. Gergiev's lengthy pause to hold silence before the outbreak of applause at the work's close only seemed to heighten the feelings of tension that this concerto can leave in its wake.

Back in 1989, Gergiev was scheduled to conduct the Schnittke concerto, but his indisposal led to a substitution of conductor and final work in the programme: the work chosen to replace Act III of Sleeping Beauty was Tchaikovsky's 'PathĂŠtique' symphony. On that occasion it was fairly unimpressively performed, but with Gergiev on the podium I had high hopes things would be different. I was not to be disappointed. It was a performance, for me at least, that brought home the qualities that make Gergiev such an in demand and exciting figure for the musicians he conducts, as well as the public. Many attending a concert could find an attraction in his 'remote and rugged' figure (as I have heard him described), his nervous almost manic energy on the podium or his knowledge of what he wants or demands from his players. But watch him

carefully: the right hand has an edgy twitch that never rests; the left giving the beat, but with it also so much energy and freedom to his players. It is a far from straightforward mix to pull off, but Gergiev makes it appear so simple. I doubt if there's anything tangible one could identify at the heart of this phenomenon, it's more likely based on two qualities that elude most conductors all their lives: musicality and respect.

Proof that both run with ease between the LSO and Gergiev was only too evident here. Gergiev's resolutely unhackneyed tempi must have come as a breath of fresh air to players and audience alike who were after something different from a tired and predictable play-through of the score. Within the overall framework Gergiev seemingly allowed the players to shape much of their own parts: murmured strings at the opening, the careful viola phrasing of the second movement, precise yet restrained articulation in the woodwinds during the third movement before an exuberant repeat, or warmth despite despair in the final movement were all instances of this. But Gergiev realized that such freedom was only fully effective when controlled, and the ultimate control was to be the work's unremitting downward emotional spiral. Carefully calculated it was directed with a near improvisatory touch by Gergiev that was both disarming and deadly in its results. Unsurprisingly, the LSO players were as one in praising their Principal Conductor Designate for his efforts, but they too deserve a large measure of credit. Only when I was at the very brink of desolation did I realize it and was barely the wiser for how I had arrived there. The journey home was a solitary reflection on that journey: equally dark yet uplifting in the wonder at what had taken place.

2005 UK concert reviews Ligeti Quartets & Études String Quartet No.1 (Metamorphoses nocturnes) Etudes for Solo Piano: No.7: Galamb borong No.8: Fém No.3: Touches bloquées No.4: Fanfares No.5: Arc-en-ciel No.6: Automne à Varsovie String Quartet No.2 Etudes for Solo Piano: No.12: Entrelacs No.10: Der Zauberlehrling No.11: En suspens No.1: Désordre No.2: Cordes vides No.13: L'escalier du diable Keller Quartet [András Keller & János Pilz (violins); Zoltán Gál (viola) & Judit Szabó (cello)] Pierre-Laurent Aimard (piano) May 18, 2005 Wigmore Hall, London http://www.classicalsource.com/db_control/db_concert_review.php?id=2587 Ligeti's music need not be that problematic for listeners, providing that the right 'way in' to his soundworld is available. This concert hit the spot admirably, with performers able to reconcile the apparently contradictory nature of this neither tonal nor atonal music. With a quartet preceding six piano studies in each half, it required dedicated listening to make sense of the whole. For anyone coming to Ligeti for the first time perhaps it was only at the end of the evening that things fell into place.

Whether one took the concert piece by piece, or at a wider level, the key to it all was alertness of association. The First String Quartet's distinct debt is to Bartók’s middle quartets, while the Second adheres to dense counterpoint and complex colour or texture. Although performances are not the sole preserve of Hungarian quartets, the Keller delivered an impassioned account of each works, though not without intimacy where needed. The musicians’ tone captured the sideways nod to Bartók and then a non-specific Hungary-Romanian Transylvania that is central to each piece, whilst demonstrating the individuality of Ligeti's compositional voice through his inherent contradictions.

Density of sound and the use of extremes in dynamics, range, technique, evocations of time and place and emotions spanning rage to ambivalence all play their part in the creation of sound-structures that pit the human against the mechanical – be it functioning or caught in the act of breaking down. The skill of the Keller’s interpretations was in forming a unified whole out of such disparate material, but also knowing when not to.

Across the Études similar concerns are at work, but many long shadows are cast, not least by Chopin's and Debussy's compositions in the genre with the techniques of Scarlatti and Schumann. Satie, Liszt, Nancarrow or Hungarian and Balinese flavours (even the sculptures of Constantin Brancuşi) infuse and form the basis of individual studies.

If Aimard's contribution was the stronger of the evening, it was due to his experience of the compositional influences and willingness to rummage around between the notes and ask questions of the music and himself as performer. Composed as 'books', Ligeti’s Études can be played individually, as here, and Aimard's juxtaposition of earlier pieces against later encouraged a sense of adventure rather than progress.

Not to mention the realisation that these works "grow from simplicity to great complexity, behaving like growing organisms [‌] displaying high virtuosity as a response to my own inadequate piano technique" (Ligeti). Aimard's formidable wit, intellect, and technical armoury were put at the total disposal of his keenly ordered sequences. The inescapable explosion that is 'L'escalier du diable' crowned events, and left even those who know Ligeti well with new revelations.

Haydn’s Creation Saariaho Terrestre [UK premiere]; Lichtbogen for nine instruments and live electronics Mario Caroli (flute) / Members of the Philharmonia Orchestra / André de Ridder Haydn Die Schöpfung (The Creation) [Sung in German] Ruth Ziesak (soprano); Helge Rønning (tenor); Christian Gerhaher (baritone) /Philharmonia Voices / Philharmonia Orchestra / András Schiff June 07, 2005 Royal Festival Hall, London http://www.classicalsource.com/db_control/db_concert_review.php?id=2636 Prefacing Haydn’s eternally youthful oratorio was one of the Philharmonia Orchestra’s regular “Music of Today” concerts. On paper at least one could see the suitability of the two works by Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho. Terrestre has been described as “a bewitching flute concerto, inspired by the flight and songs of birds”. Lichtbogen combines instruments and electronics to create an evocation of the Northern Lights.

André de Ridder stood in for the advertised Ilan Volkov, and conducted with commitment. Mario Caroli took the solo flute part in his stride, vocalisations, rasping whistles and all. Indeed, if at times the music did not suggest flight then his posture did in its darting and craning. Perhaps Saariaho’s use of electronics to create “extended techniques” for performers had some interest, particularly in the amplification of quiet passages to help the listener get ‘inside’ the work, but it had little lasting impact on the memory or emotions With Haydn, and particularly in the case of “The Creation”, the playfulness and wit that the 65-year-old composer imbued the work with proves entirely infectious time after time. Not that long ago I read of a conductor remarking that all one needed do with Haydn was to set the correct tempo and the rest would fall into place. On the surface at least this performance might have proved the point: András Schiff’s tempos were for the most part sprung and moved things along efficiently enough. His brief note of admiration for Otto Klemperer in the programme in no way reflected his own interpretative style.

What was lacking however was a sense of real individuality in the playing or conducting. The witty imagination in the orchestration often went for nothing early on, though as the performance progressed, things improved, particularly in the recitatives.

Schiff’s generalist approach to conducting meant cues were missed or late in coming, and he often tried to be everywhere at once to the detriment of dynamics, voicing and phrasing, though the brass had a nice weight.

Being a performance on the lean and lithe side, the contribution of Philharmonia Voices was felt through judicious word-pointing rather that strength and vocal weight. Each soloist made telling contributions. Ruth Ziesak was radiant at the beginning of Part Two and in her duet in Part Three. Christian Gerhaher was a sensitive partner and showed imagination with the text through varied and powerful delivery, relishing the recitatives especially. By comparison Helge Rønning seemed a little lacking in presence, though his voice is serviceable enough.

In the final analysis, then, a performance that could be said to have little technically wrong with it, but one that lacked that requisite essential ingredient: imagination and individuality.

Robert Hugill Premieres Mundy Vox Patris Coelestis [Parts 1 and 2] Kodály Sonata for Unaccompanied Cello [1st movement] Hugill Motets from Tempus per Annum (1: Ad te levavi. 2: Populus Sion) [World premiere] Bach Cello Suite in D minor [Prelude, Allemande, Sarabande] Hugill Motets from Tempus per Annum (3: Gaudete. 4: Rorate Coeli) [world premiere] Britten Cello Suite No.3 [final movement] Hugill Collect for Choir and Cello [world premiere] Sheppard In Manus Tuas Tye I will exalt thee; Deliver us, O Lord Tallis If ye love me Hugill The Testament of Dr Cranmer [world premiere] http://www.classicalsource.com/db_control/db_concert_review.php?id=2691 Jonathan Cottle (cello) / The Eight:Fifteen Vocal Ensemble / Malcolm Cottle July 01, 2005 St Giles Cripplegate, London I had more than a few doubts about this concert prior to the event. With at least four strands weaving through it – early English a cappella music, contemporary works by Robert Hugill, texts in Latin and English, and solo cello music – it was hard to envisage how these might be reconciled in performance. That point in itself made me intrigued from the start.

As Hugill himself assembled the programme to mark his fiftieth birthday, I suspected a reasoning behind it might not be readily apparent, and so it transpired. Perhaps a half-century spent is sufficient reason to reflect on what has shaped and directed a composer (in this case) and to point to future directions. Hugill’s work is informed by a love of liturgical texts and forms, evident from a singer’s viewpoint in addition to a composer’s insight.

How appropriate then that the warm acoustic of St Giles Cripplegate should enhance the proceedings, with the Eight:Fifteen Vocal Ensemble giving its first public concert. With two voices to each of four parts these performances were intimate and telling in the works of early English composers; Latin and English alike handled with skill and responsive to Malcolm Cottle’s sensitive direction.

Against this backdrop the solo cello works were keenly characterised: the Kodály impassioned, the Bach round-toned, along with the Britten that too suggested more than the notes themselves convey. Jonathan Cottle proved to be admirably sensitive, and used the rich tone of his instrument well, aided by the sympathetic acoustic.

Turning to Robert Hugill’s compositions, they fitted admirably into the overall scheme of the evening as well as showing a greatly musical mind at work. Demonstrating links with the early English composers works performed here in terms of form or language a distinct yet subtle statement was made. The motets in particular stuck me as immediate in their apparent simplicity and ideal material for vocal ensembles (even quartets) for regular performance within the church year.

The second half of the concert brought all strands of the concert neatly together. Hugill’s Collect for Choir and Cello was in its solo string part reminiscent of Britten in its confident declaration of the theme, then elaborated within the vocal parts. As elsewhere in Hugill’s works, it succeeded though boldness of line and clarity of structure that worked with the text. The major work of the evening, Hugill’s cantata “The Testament of Dr. Cranmer” is dependent upon texts, both Latin and English at times sung simultaneously, for its inspiration and argument. The singular act by Cranmer of renouncing his recantation in the moments approaching his death is indeed moving and Hugill has drawn richly upon available accounts of the event. I appreciated how Hugill did not consciously seek to dramatise the episode, letting words speak for

themselves rather than being imposed upon. Indeed the overlaying of Latin and English was handled with skill. Perhaps at times repetition seemed a touch heavily laden, but then following as it did the directness of Thomas Tallis this impression might well not have been left by performance in other contexts.

Having reflected that this event showed internal contrast, qualities of performance and musicality and wide-ranging inspirations that draw on a broad church, as it were, the present and future is hopeful.

Hopeful that traditional musical forms such as the motet, collect and cantata will thrive as long as composers and vocal ensembles continue to recognise their worth, and in doing so enhance the contemporary musical landscape. A greater challenge, I fear, will be Hugill’s projected oratorio centred on Cranmer, as the audience for such a form is all but non-existent. But then, I would rather such an enterprising work were performed with conviction in St Giles Cripplegate than not at all in any conventional concert hall.

Zurich Tonhalle Orchestra Wagner The Flying Dutchman – Overture Beethoven Piano Concerto No.3 in C minor, Op.37 Strauss Also sprach Zarathustra, Op.30 Emanuel Ax (piano) / Tonhalle Orchestra, Zurich / David Zinman August 29, 2005 Royal Albert Hall, London http://www.classicalsource.com/db_control/db_prom_review.php?id=2822 The Swiss have long held efficiency and precision as watchwords of their character. In musical terms the Tonhalle Orchestra, Zurich under its chief conductor David Zinman has taken these qualities to heart, too, as has been documented by distinctive recorded cycles of Beethoven, Schumann and Richard Strauss.

To start, the overture to Wagner’s “The Flying Dutchman” which provided evidence of the orchestra’s quality across all departments – biting brass and timpani, surging strings, that brought the seascape vividly to life, and slightly tart woodwinds that only in tutti passages became slightly swamped. Zinman’s reading was typically forthright and compelling.

A marked contrast followed with the minor-key emotions of Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto. Zinman and the Tonhalle having just released a recording of the work (with Yefim Bronfman) might reasonably have been expected to produce an assured reading, and to an extent they did, demonstrating cohesion in the outer movements. Due gravitas was given in the expansive opening that turned to more intimate playing as things progressed.

The middle movement, in many ways the heart of the piece, proved problematic. Emanuel Ax’s solo introduction came across uncertainly and with snatched-at phrasing that transferred to the orchestra, from which point it never fully recovered. The final movement, however, displayed jewel-like Mozartian precision, particularly notable being the interplay between clarinet and bassoon that almost relegated the piano part to accompaniment. As was the case in the first movement, the cadenzas scored by Beethoven and dating from 1808, graphically illustrate how different his soundworld had become since completing the concerto some eight years earlier. Ax appeared more in his element in the more demonstrative moments, though produced delicacy too when required.

Richard Strauss’s mighty tone poem Also sprach Zarathustra, freely adapted after Nietzsche, is a gargantuan beast characterising man’s journey of ascent in self-awareness towards the 'superman', was altogether of a more urgent quality. Keen to delve deep beyond the now infamous 'Sunrise' (and "2001") opening in which the Royal Albert Hall organ blasted forth after some rather wheezy opening moments, Zinman plunged headlong into the work.

The orchestra responded with precision augmented by a degree of exuberance that gave the work a muchneeded questing quality and epitomised that Nature and her believers are central to Man’s evolutionary awareness. Strauss carefully poises this contrast between Nature and Man as he revels in the notable Wagnerian references that Nietzsche’s source allowed him to build upon. The Zurich Tonhalle brought out these aspects without undue highlighting, preferring to give coherence to the whole. Telling contributions from brass and organ were balanced by supple, almost Viennese-style violin solos and characterful woodwinds. Strauss’s final statement – the reappearance of Nature, despite Man’s greater awareness – was poignantly given.

William Walton’s Crown Imperial, written for the 1937 coronation, was given as an encore.

Royal Concertgebouw – 1 Mahler Symphony No.6 in A minor Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra / Mariss Jansons September 01, 2005 Royal Albert Hall, London http://www.classicalsource.com/db_control/db_prom_review.php?id=2842 Mahler is not the great composer many take him to be; rather, he’s an average one, promoted beyond his merits. Already I anticipate there are some disconcerted readers out there, but I strongly urge you to look at his works in relation to those of Bruckner, and then you should know why, providing you really listen to the music. Rather than compose to instil the certainties of religion, like Bruckner, Mahler chose the path of instilling his self-doubts in ever more distracted and destructive terms. He raised the psyche to the level of pre-eminence above life’s greater imponderable questions of faith, and in so doing created musical neurosis for its own sake. His search became for why things are as they are, rather than acknowledgement that there are things beyond man’s comprehension. Largely, this desire for explanation of our own condition is what has drawn modern audiences to Mahler’s works, and led many – not least performers – to become obsessed by the man, the music almost becoming a pathway to identification with him. Is it that the act of listening to his music could be taken as a voluntary act of catharsis in today’s troubled world?

Of the later symphonies it is the Sixth, seen in totality, which starts to give serious credence to this view of the man and his work. It is a highly problematic piece for audience and performers alike. Mahler vacillated over the order of the two central movements leaving things unsettled at his death, as with the inclusion of two or three decisive hammer blows in the final movement. The direction a conductor chooses is likely to impact greatly on finding any meaning the work contains – be it trite or profound. Ultimately the work is of an absolute and bleak destruction, utterly unavoidable, gloriously grand though the scoring may be.

It’s difficult to think of a work that places you so immediately at the core of its soundworld as does this symphony. The opening theme, given demonstratively, proclaimed a vision and execution that spoke of long experience in this music, as well as exceptionally integrated balances, even under the duress that Mahler imposes. Such quality is required: solid building and flexibility from the double basses and cellos upward and solo woodwinds and brass (notably trombones) with the ability to cut through the stringy mass with ease. The percussive battery fulfilled its purpose admirably.

In choosing to place the Andante moderato second, Jansons matched Mahler’s choice when conducting the work (for all his uncertainty for publication) and made the drama of the symphony hang together more.

There is greater logic in moving from the scherzo as the third movement to the massively troubling finale, than if one starts from the more remote Andante, an interlude with an almost dream-like release from troubles harking back to memories of long ago, and anticipated in the first movement, and rudely interrupted by off-stage cowbells, as if we find ourselves faced with an Austrian mountain range out of nowhere. The scene-painting is vivid, the contrast incongruous, and ultimately one that fails to make a lasting impact. Where some might be tempted to treat Mahler’s effects too cheaply in performance, Jansons instead took them all at face value. The result was perhaps the best one could hope for. The first movement concluded with renewed marching vigour; the work’s inevitability set in place.

The scherzo forms a curious mixture of black inner recesses and self-doubting, projected largely though fluctuating time-signatures and the unearthly sound of glockenspiel and oboe against the dense lower strings. Pacing and voicing of individual parts here played a vital role, with forthright contributions from the percussion, and Jansons steering a line on the edge of nervousness and certainty at what is yet to come.

The symphony’s major-minor concerns come to a head in the final movement, greatly influencing the path along which Mahler takes us. From the three-note brooding opening, via a brief mountainside reminiscence, which in another setting might usefully lighten the mood, Mahler’s grip on destruction is absolute: indeed this might almost be his re-telling of Berlioz’s ‘March to the Scaffold’, for it is there that we find ourselves at the end. But unlike Berlioz the journey is not opium-induced, it is all too real and personal, the three great hammer blows marking crises of faith.

I started by stating that many have searched for meaning in this work. What Jansons gave was a thrilling interpretation, graphically portrayed; I could not help but be drawn into it. Left standing on the trapdoor with a rope (formed by the trombones and tuba) around my neck, I began to wonder if I had cheated death. Of course not. The trap swings open, and I am left hanging, emotionally drained. Mahler takes you to a place that nothing would induce you to visit willingly. In the company of the Royal Concertgebouw and Jansons it became an experience shaded by passion and admiration, yet after the event self-disgust at the feelings inspired. It was a strangely macabre elation felt on leaving the hall – where lesser interpretations have left me unmoved, to be taken on this journey was an honour.