Ask any classical musician who the greatest all-time composer of memorable melodies would be, and there's a good chance you'll hear the name "Franz Schubert" more often than any other. Ask for a runner-up and a fair number will throw in the name of "Antonin Dvořák."
It was therefore a lyrical inspiration on the part of the Festival to construct a pair of concerts on Tuesday entirely around the music of these two Romantic composers. It was also a highly popular move because all four of the main works appeared on the top lists of favourite pieces which were submitted two years ago by Festival audience members, and one of them was the most requested work after all the lists were collated (see below).
The afternoon concert opened with the delightful violin Sonatina, D.384 in D major by Schubert, played by violinist Moshe Hammer and pianist Peter Longworth. It's a relatively early work, written when the composer was 19 years old, and thus predating the often-monumental aspirations of the later Schubert. As the diminutive title suggests, a certain lightness of touch and a lyrical tone are needed more than any heavy-duty virtuosity, and Hammer and Longworth certainly got that atmosphere right!
I'd like to pass lightly over the next selection, but cannot do so. Like many nineteenth-century virtuosi, the German violinist August Wilhelmj arranged numerous works by other composers into versions which highlighted his virtuosity as a violinist at the expense of the original composer's own inspiration. What we got yesterday was a classic bad example -- an "arrangement" of Schubert's Ave Maria which turned Schubert's simple and understated piano accompaniment into rippling, rolling arpeggios and had the violin playing the melody in parallel octaves -- very difficult to tune accurately and excruciating to the ear when not exactly on the beam. I always enjoy hearing Moshe Hammer playing any of the great masterworks of the violin repertoire in that loving, almost caressing way he has. Hearing him play a travesty of this sort, alas, is like seeing a master painter create a reproduction of the Mona Lisa in garish colours on a black velvet ground with glitter highlights.
The afternoon concert opened with the delightful violin Sonatina, D.384 in D major by Schubert, played by violinist Moshe Hammer and pianist Peter Longworth. It's a relatively early work, written when the composer was 19 years old, and thus predating the often-monumental aspirations of the later Schubert. As the diminutive title suggests, a certain lightness of touch and a lyrical tone are needed more than any heavy-duty virtuosity, and Hammer and Longworth certainly got that atmosphere right!
I'd like to pass lightly over the next selection, but cannot do so. Like many nineteenth-century virtuosi, the German violinist August Wilhelmj arranged numerous works by other composers into versions which highlighted his virtuosity as a violinist at the expense of the original composer's own inspiration. What we got yesterday was a classic bad example -- an "arrangement" of Schubert's Ave Maria which turned Schubert's simple and understated piano accompaniment into rippling, rolling arpeggios and had the violin playing the melody in parallel octaves -- very difficult to tune accurately and excruciating to the ear when not exactly on the beam. I always enjoy hearing Moshe Hammer playing any of the great masterworks of the violin repertoire in that loving, almost caressing way he has. Hearing him play a travesty of this sort, alas, is like seeing a master painter create a reproduction of the Mona Lisa in garish colours on a black velvet ground with glitter highlights.
In fairness, I have to say that I even cringe at the "standard" version in which the Latin liturgical prayer is fitted, very awkwardly, to Schubert's music. For those interested, you should look up the original poem which Schubert did set (with no clumsy word repetitions), and listen to one of the many fine recordings. It may be an ear-opening experience for you!
No such qualms about the Piano Trio in E Minor, Op. 90 by Dvořák -- the famous "Dumky" Trio.
The musical form of the movements here found its parallel in the works of many composers writing in Slavic style. The slow, mournful or dramatic opening followed by the fast section of frenzied rejoicing echoes (or is echoed by) such diverse pieces as the Hungarian Dances of Brahms, the Hungarian Rhapsodies of Liszt, the Hungarian and Russian dances in Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, the kolo in Lehar's The Merry Widow, and Dvořák's own Slavonic Dances -- to name only a few examples.
What's so unique about this particular Trio is that the composer here completely abandoned the traditional sonata-form in favour of his own folk-rooted inspiration. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, this has become one of the most popular of all chamber works.
The Gryphon Trio, long-time friends of this Festival, gave the "Dumky" Trio a barnstorming interpretation of extremes. Tempo contrasts, dynamic contrasts, degrees of attack on entries were all pushed to the very limit in each of the six movements. It was hair-raising, intense, powerful, even frantic at times, and equally dark and melancholic at others. While this made for a very exciting concert experience, I'm not so sure it would be an interpretation I would want to live with in a recording. One of the issues was balance. There were times when the violin part vanished under the heavyweight playing of the cello and piano.
The evening contrast began with the Gryphon Trio again, this time in Schubert's peerless Piano Trio in B-Flat Major, D.898. Here the Gryphons brought us on a magical journey into a totally different world. The four movements of this trio are filled with long singing melodic lines, and the three players now matched Schubert's music with the most lyrical of sound qualities. The simplicity of the Andante movement, the rustic jollity of the Scherzo made perfect foils to the vigorous opening and the dancing rondo finale. As pianist Jamie Parker so aptly observed, Schubert is always either singing or dancing -- and the Gryphon performance of this work proved his point in spades. This was definitely a performance to treasure.
As was Dvořák's String Quartet No. 12 in F Major, Op. 96 (nicknamed "The American"), which we now heard played by the New Zealand Quartet. I've commented in previous years on the special air of this ensemble's performances, which I attribute to the closeness that comes from the quartet playing while standing up (with the cellist seated on a riser at eye level with his colleagues). It's a kind of intensity or inwardness combined with an unusual degree of unity among the players which is hard to describe, but not hard to feel.
The striking quality of this work is its sunny, open-hearted atmosphere, which depends in no small measure on the use of pentatonic scales at the foundation of many of the themes. The more that the performers can attune their music-making to this quality, the more convincing this quartet will become. The New Zealand Quartet did indeed embody that friendly, outgoing feeling into their playing, and -- sure sign of a great performance -- the entire work passed far too quickly for my liking. I particularly enjoyed the slow movement, where you can discern the family likeness of the theme to the slow movement of the famous New World Symphony, composed the year before. But equally, the players avoided any attempt to load the music down with the greater weight of pathos and nostalgia which the symphony generates.
And which was the most popular work requested by the Festival audiences of two years back? It was the "American" Quartet!
What a delightful day of music from two of the greatest masters of melody the music world has ever known!
The evening contrast began with the Gryphon Trio again, this time in Schubert's peerless Piano Trio in B-Flat Major, D.898. Here the Gryphons brought us on a magical journey into a totally different world. The four movements of this trio are filled with long singing melodic lines, and the three players now matched Schubert's music with the most lyrical of sound qualities. The simplicity of the Andante movement, the rustic jollity of the Scherzo made perfect foils to the vigorous opening and the dancing rondo finale. As pianist Jamie Parker so aptly observed, Schubert is always either singing or dancing -- and the Gryphon performance of this work proved his point in spades. This was definitely a performance to treasure.
As was Dvořák's String Quartet No. 12 in F Major, Op. 96 (nicknamed "The American"), which we now heard played by the New Zealand Quartet. I've commented in previous years on the special air of this ensemble's performances, which I attribute to the closeness that comes from the quartet playing while standing up (with the cellist seated on a riser at eye level with his colleagues). It's a kind of intensity or inwardness combined with an unusual degree of unity among the players which is hard to describe, but not hard to feel.
The striking quality of this work is its sunny, open-hearted atmosphere, which depends in no small measure on the use of pentatonic scales at the foundation of many of the themes. The more that the performers can attune their music-making to this quality, the more convincing this quartet will become. The New Zealand Quartet did indeed embody that friendly, outgoing feeling into their playing, and -- sure sign of a great performance -- the entire work passed far too quickly for my liking. I particularly enjoyed the slow movement, where you can discern the family likeness of the theme to the slow movement of the famous New World Symphony, composed the year before. But equally, the players avoided any attempt to load the music down with the greater weight of pathos and nostalgia which the symphony generates.
And which was the most popular work requested by the Festival audiences of two years back? It was the "American" Quartet!
What a delightful day of music from two of the greatest masters of melody the music world has ever known!
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