Sunday 30 December 2018

National Ballet 2018-2019 # 3: The Nutcracker Still Dazzles

James Kudelka's beloved Nutcracker for the National Ballet of Canada remains what it has always been: a potent mix of dance, colour, theatricality, character, spectacle, comedy, and that mysterious alchemy -- or magic if you prefer -- that renders the whole much greater than the mere sum of its parts.

It would be difficult to imagine an entertainment more ideally suited to the wide age range, and ballet knowledge, of the audience.  It's a true "something for everyone" show.

Of course, the success of this production rests on two very firm foundations.  The first is the lush, richly-orchestrated score composed by Tchaikovsky.  Proof positive that creative artists are not the best critics of their own work is found in the fact that the composer felt he had gone completely off the boil with this one, and was just churning out mediocre stuff.

Well, Tchaikovsky certainly was prone to lengthy bouts of self-doubt and the misery it brings, but he couldn't have been more wrong about the music for Nutcracker.  The great glory of this production definitely begins with the splendid sound of the National Ballet's house orchestra in this beloved music.  From the sweeping string legatos in the snow scene and the grand pas de deux to the crisply chattering woodwinds in the divertissement, or the rich horn chording in the Christmas tree sequence, the musicians were on peak form throughout -- no mean achievement as they near the end of a run of nearly 30 performances spread over just 23 days.

The polish and execution of the dancers on stage is equally remarkable, given the length of the run, and the physical demands of so many performances -- often 2 per day for several days per week.  Nutcracker demonstrates in spades the depth of the company, with the five main roles distributed across a total of 26 dancers over the course of the run.

Although I bought my ticket months before any casting was announced, I got lucky and managed for once to see an entire cast of principals in roles where I had not previously seen them perform.  One of those was actually making a role debut this year.

And that's where I want to begin: with Jack Bertinshaw who appeared this year for the first time in the dual role of Peter, the stable boy who magically transforms into the Nutcracker Prince.  In what is, let's face it, a pretty slender storyline, this is one character who goes on a journey through multiple moods and emotions.  Technically, Bertinshaw's performance was impressive, from the dextrous folk-inspired choreography of the first scene to the soaring leaps in the grand pas de deux.  I liked the joyfulness of his work in the opening scene, too, and the heart-warming sense of love which he brought to his moments with the children after his transformation.  It will be interesting to watch him grow into this role, and see his handling of the relationship with the Sugar Plum Fairy in Act II develop more resonance over time.

Calley Skalnik performed the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy with a genuine sense of open-hearted welcome, and was technically impressive during her first solo for the lightness of foot which gave the impression that she might be gliding on air just a centimetre above the floor.  Her variation in the pas de deux was striking, too, for the crisp precision of her footwork.

Together, this pair created genuine magic and emotion in their magnificent pas de deux, the emotional climax of the show.

Donald Thom gave a more light-hearted, playful performance of the magician Uncle Nikolai than I have seen from some others, and that brilliance definitely bubbled over in the hilarious duet with the horse.  By way of contrast, he transitioned to a grander, more ceremonial presence as the Grand Duke Nikolai in Act II, differentiating the two characters more than other dancers have done.

Andreea Olteanu gave a vigorous performance as Baba, the nurse -- her dance with Peter a whirlwind of flying feet and skirts.

Alexandra MacDonald gave a regal, yet still light and airy performance as the Snow Queen, matched well by Ben Rudisin and Brendan Saye as her two Icicles.  Between the soaring music, one of Tchaikovsky's finest adagios, and the exquisite choreography lavished by James Kudelka on this unique pas de trois, this number always ranks as one of the most memorable moments of the performance.

Jordana Daumec gave a scintillating account of the virtuoso solo for a Bee, announcing the coming of spring, her intricate footwork a complete delight.

Even where the programme doesn't distinguish on the basis of who-dances-what-when, the smaller parts were all cast from strength, and beautifully danced too -- think of the vigour of the Spanish chocolate dance, the ineffable grace and poise of the Arabian coffee (another unique and gorgeous Kudelka inspiration), or the rumbustious waiters' dance with its numerous cartwheels across the dinner table.

The corps de ballet were, as ever, in splendid form in their major numbers, the glorious waltzes -- Snowflakes in Act I and Flowers (with Branches) in Act II.  The Waltz of the Snowflakes, a classic "white scene," puts significant demands on the corps for unity of mood, even as different groups of dancers glide hither and yon, at top speed, and apparently on collision course.  The performance on this occasion sparkled even more than the costumes.

I may only get back to it every 2 or 3 years, but this Nutcracker is endlessly rewarding and always reveals new aspects of itself every time I see it.

Monday 3 December 2018

Echo Chamber Toronto # 2: Transfiguring Dance and Music -- and More

Echo Chamber Toronto launched last April with a choreographer/dancer, another dancer, and a single violinist in a programme lasting 45 minutes.  It was a memorable evening, to put it mildly.

(You can read about it here if you missed it: Echo Chamber: A Stunning Synthesis of Music and Dance )

This week, artistic director Aaron Schwebel returned with his second outing, and upped the stakes considerably.  This second programme, Transfigured Night, presented a full evening of music, with six players, a singer, two choreographers, six dancers, a painter, and a video artist.  The result was every bit as memorable and striking as the previous show, albeit in different ways.

Bringing music and dance into a closer, more integrated relationship with each other is a challenging yet laudable objective -- especially in an age when far too much dance is performed to recorded music tracks.  The integration of painting and video art into the mix adds fascinating new dimensions to the experience.

This programme opened with Beethoven's String Quartet Op. 18 No. 1.  For this work, the four players of the Rosebud String Quartet sat in a square formation in one corner of the performing area, leaving an open space in the centre of the square as well as the remaining 3/4 of the space open for the dancers.  Choreographer Alysa Pires confined herself to two contrasting dance sequences, one for the second (slow) movement and one for the finale.

In the slow movement, she created a passionate, energetic duet with a definite modern vibe for Miyoko Koyasu and Felix Paquet.  Beginning inside the square, the two soon burst the limits and the dance erupted across the entire space.  Modern though it was, the dance had a sense of line, a lyrical quality which not only suited the beauty of the music, but also called the traditional polish of classical ballet to mind.

In the fourth movement, Pires herself danced in a more modern style, using an intriguing chain of unique hand and arm positions to express the opening theme of the rondo movement -- a chain which she then re-enacted in slightly varying forms with subsequent recurrals of that opening theme.  Here again, she made use of the space inside the quartet as opposed to the larger space outside in different portions of her dance.  Overall, this number had a perky, amusing quality which again matched well with the light-hearted staccato of Beethoven's music.

Next up was the final movement, Entrückung ("Rapture"), from Schoenberg's String Quartet No. 2.  Schoenberg broke new ground in this work by incorporating a singing voice (soprano), with a poem by Stefan George.  Soprano Lauren Eberwein also broke new ground, turning the poem into a dramatic scene in which she hand-painted on a prepared template on the floor as she sang.  The intensity of her performance was magnified by her involvement in this action.

The template was prepared by visual artist Paula Arciniega.  Two paintings which Arciniega created for the show were displayed on the walls throughout the performance.  After the intermission, they were joined by a third -- a continuing creation growing out of the template which Eberwein had used.

Eberwein returned after the intermission with two violas and two cellos for the solemnly luminous Gottes Tod by Hindemith.  The darker sound of the lower instruments matched well with the mezzo-like tone colour of Eberwein's voice in this shorter number.

The finale was also the largest piece: the original string sextet version of Verklärte Nacht by Schoenberg.  This lush post-romantic tone poem is more often heard in the later string orchestra arrangement; the original version brings both gains (clarity) and losses (weight of tone).  Choreographer Christopher Stowell aptly took the poem which inspired the music as a point of departure for his dance work.

Briefly, that poem tells of a woman who confesses by night to a man she loves that she is bearing a child who is not his child; the man then promises to accept and raise the child as if it were his own.

Stowell's choreography made a simple but highly significant alteration by looking into the future, and incorporating the unborn child as a third character.  The dance he created on his three performers lived in a clear classical framework, with an edgy, modern quality overlaid.  This was the one work in which a female dancer performed en pointe.

Jenna Savella danced the role of the woman with great passion and emotion, clearly living both the anguish of the opening scene and the acceptance of the final part.  Perhaps her finest moment came at the first great crisis of the music, the sudden forte tremolo at which both her lover and her son quickly exited, leaving her abandoned on the stage -- and abandonment was the sense which she projected with heartbreaking force at that moment.

Her partner, Ben Rudisin, maintained a more reserved air while still matching her in energy.  The choreography of their duets included many high-speed turns, lifts, and throws, which were executed with great verve -- especially allowing for the fairly small space in which they had to work.

Spencer Hack presented a most convincing portrayal of the child-to-come, right from his first teetering steps through his playful and happy dances to his amusing insertion between his mother and stepfather as the three slowly left the stage at the end.

One element of Verklärte Nacht which unfortunately proved challenging was the incorporation of some beautiful video footage filmed by Alice Hong, and presented on large screens high on the backdrop walls.  The video presented beautiful images of nature, of the dancers' faces (filmed previously), and more, and began and ended with the shining moon so evocatively described in the original poem.  The problem here was the separation of height between the video screen and the stage floor.  It was basically impossible to watch both film and dance simultaneously.  Time and again I found the video yanking my focus away from the dancers, or (alternately) the dancers distracting me from the filmed images.  A perfect example of what is known in theatre parlance as "upstaging," this is too often the result from attempts to integrate video with live performance.

The musical performances throughout the evening were excellent, but reached an undoubted peak in the long and musically wide-ranging journey of this sextet.  Schoenberg's complex, densely written score was treated to a performance of utmost clarity and beauty of tone by the six players: violins Aaron Schwebel and Sheila Jaffé, violas Keith Hamm and Theresa Rudolph, and cellos Leana Rutt and Carmen Bruno.  Especially commendable was the quietness of the ending, the gentle sparkling figures of the final bars fading poetically towards silence.

Beyond any doubt, Echo Chamber Toronto has done it again.

Saturday 1 December 2018

K-W Symphony 2018-2019 # 1: A Double Triple or an Austrian Double

The Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony Orchestra opened their season, as usual, back in September, but I missed the first programme because I was in Europe.  So this is my first musical outing of the season!

The programme consisted largely of Beethoven and Mozart.  The Beethoven contribution was the least-performed of Beethoven's concerted works, the Triple Concerto in C Major for piano, violin, and cello with orchestra.  This work, so rare on concert programmes generally, here makes a welcome return appearance, having last been played by this orchestra as recently as 2012.  And I for one am not complaining -- I happen to be very fond of this piece.  

But I'm also very fond of Mozart's Overture to "Don Giovanni" and his "Linz" symphony, which rounded out the programme.  So this night had all the makings of a musical delight.

Guest conductor David Danzmayr won my heart right in the first 10 seconds of the evening by proving he could count.  Unlike every other conductor of every other live performance I have ever attended, he held the strict tempo through the two great rolling chords that proclaim Don Giovanni's downfall, including the rests between them.  The impact of that doom-laden opening absolutely depends on the proper length of those rests.

The remainder of the slow introduction marched along with an appropriate sense of menace, and when it came time for the allegro, Danzmayr chose the tempo with care to give a light-hearted, carefree feeling while not getting fast enough to blur the notes.  The tailored concert ending was used.

The concerto featured pianist Stewart Goodyear, as a pendant to his complete piano concerto cycle with this orchestra in the fall of 2015.  With him on the platform were two of the orchestra's section leaders, cellist John Helmers and concertmaster Bénédicte Lauzière.

Beethoven's approach to this unique work also was unique in giving the cello the lead on nearly every theme or melodic tag played by the soloists.  More than anything, this concerto represents the master in a genial, almost unbuttoned mood such as you will find in few of his major works.  The net effect of this piece is of a concerto for piano trio and orchestra, and the solo playing often reflects that -- with the three soloists playing together as a group almost in the manner of a baroque concerto.

So, the balance among the three is critically important, and was beautifully achieved.  Danzmayr kept the scale of the orchestral playing light too, so that the whole concerto came across with clarity and wit.  These qualities will elude those who try to treat it like the Emperor Concerto!  It's true that the outer movements get stretched out a little by accommodating the three soloists, but this was a fine performance and our interest was consistently sustained.  Particularly beautiful was the cello melody of the slow movement, and the elaboration of it from the violin and piano.

After the intermission, we heard a very unusual contemporary work, Within Her Arms, by Anna Clyne.  Written for a group of 15 solo string players, this work resumes a tradition of string writing that largely disappeared during the latter half of the twentieth century.  The idea of a work for a group of solo strings harks back to the Metamorphosen of Richard Strauss, while the tone colours and textures call to mind the string fantasias of Jacobean times and the Tallis Fantasia of Vaughan Williams.

But Clyne's work is really like none of those points of reference.  It's constructed (I use that word deliberately) out of several related melodic fragments, short, beautiful, and frequently repeated in close polyphony.  The result is a mostly quiet, sometimes-dense texture of chromatic collisions which occasionally land on a clearly diatonic chord.  In the final pages, the music opens up in a moment of glowing radiance, beautifully achieved on this occasion, before dwindling away again.  Although it was beautifully and expertly performed, I wouldn't particularly want to hear this piece again.  Of all instruments, the strings are among the best at performing sustained legato lines, and I felt that Clyne's choice to restrict her instruments to these little 4-note fragments short-changed both her abilities and her audience.

The concert concluded with Mozart's Symphony # 36 in C Major, K.425.  It's subtitled the "Linz" symphony for the best of reasons.  Mozart composed it when touring in that Austrian city in 1783.  Only a genius could be asked on Friday by an important patron to give a concert with a symphony on Tuesday, realize that he didn't have a score of any of his symphonies with him, and create an entirely new one -- including writing out the orchestral parts -- in 4 days!

Under Danzmayr's direction, the orchestra gave this work a crisp, energetic performance.  The energy wasn't so much a result of playing quickly, as of playing alertly.  Tempi, in fact, were all central to the tradition -- nothing hectic in this interpretation.  The slow introduction achieved pathos without portent, and the succeeding allegro remained bright, perky, and engaging.  The lilting 6/8 slow movement brought delectable playing in the oboe/bassoon duet as well as a light touch in the unusual appearance (in such a movement) of trumpets and timpani.  The minuet of the third movement was nicely balanced so that it remained emphatic (a definite plus) without becoming heavy or ponderous.  The finale sparkled and fizzed along, gaining weight at just the right moment in the coda.

Thursday 22 November 2018

National Ballet 2018-2019 # 2: Eye-Popping Double Bill

I have trouble imagining two dance works less like each other, and less suited to be yoked together in tandem, than Sir Frederick Ashton's The Dream and Guillaume Coté's Being and Nothingness.  I've seen both works before (although The Dream is so long ago that I remember virtually nothing of it), but I was definitely intrigued by the management's sheer chutzpah in programming these two wildly diverse works into a single evening.

The programme began with Being and Nothingness. This work began life several years ago as a solo, created by Coté for Greta Hodgkinson. After that version was performed in a mixed programme, with great success, Coté then expanded the work into a longer creation in seven overlapping parts or scenes, and this too was performed in a mixed programme in 2015.

In the longer version, the original bare stage is supplemented by a number of ordinary everyday objects: a door, a window, a bed, a sink (with water in it), a carpet, a chair, and a row of chairs in the upstage shadows. The longer version also makes use of a larger company of 22 dancers.

Seeing this work again, I found myself even more convinced that it didn't expand well and doesn't stand up well to repeated viewings. The beginning solo, actually a pas de deux for the dancer and a glaring lightbulb that flickers from time to time, is as gripping and thought-provoking as ever. We at this week's opening night performance were fortunate to see Greta Hodgkinson once again dancing this edgy, desperate choreography.

It's the remainder of the piece that doesn't do anything for me. The choreography eventually becomes all of a piece, with only the personnel changing. The arbitrary movements of the group of dancers sitting on the upstage chairs interfere with concentration on the foreground performers -- in a word, upstaging them. Only at the end when the ringing phone returns us to the bleak despair of the opening solo does the piece redeem itself in some measure.

The piano music by Philip Glass which accompanies this work is the most tedious, mind-numbing minimalism I've ever encountered in music -- and that's saying something.

Kudos to all the dancers, especially Hodgkinson, and to pianist Edward Connell for successfully getting through the work with skill and power. But it's time to retire this one for good.

Ashton's The Dream is a curious anachronism containing a vital theatrical experience. Drawn from Shakespeare's famous comedy A Midsummer Night's Dream, and choreographed to Mendelssohn's equally famous music for that play, the ballet is set in a Victorian theatrical forest with Victorian costumes. The choreography for the principal couple and the female corps de ballet is pure classical dance seen through a mid-20th-century lens, and among the finest and most beautiful of its kind -- as well as requiring immense skill from the dancers.

What still kicks this otherwise dated museum piece into vivid life is Ashton's memorably clumsy choreography for the two pairs of young lovers and the Athenian rustics. Drawing on the particularly British tradition of pantomime, Ashton created some of the funniest comic choreography ever in a number of his most famous ballets -- and this one is the shining star of the lot. It's easy to zero in on his historic requirement for a male dancer to dance on pointe (Bottom, when transformed into an ass). But Ashton's comedic sense went much farther than that, and created numerous memorable vignettes with the Athenian rustics, Puck, and the 4 lovers, as well as a spectacularly oafish solo dance for Bottom in the final sequence.

As the National Ballet is staging The Dream this season for the first time in 17 years, I've no doubt that the memories and traditions of the company's most senior members were heavily called upon to help their younger colleagues find all the grace and grotesquerie, all the beauty and buffoonery, in this unique soufflé of a ballet.

The lead cast which I saw in this performance were pretty much the people I would have chosen if I could have cast the piece myself. Jillian Vanstone made a splendidly graceful Titania, sounding additional notes of playfulness that some dancers might miss. Her infatuation with Bottom was both believable and humanly vulnerable. Harrison James presented a regal Oberon, his princely bearing disappearing only as he plotted his revenge on his queen.

Together, this pair created a sense of sheer wonder for the audience in the beautiful and challenging reconciliation pas de deux, set to Mendelssohn's gorgeous horn nocturne.

Skylar Campbell commanded all eyes as Puck whenever he was on the stage, emphasizing Ashton's unique port de bras and stances for this character to great comic effect.  Puck is a demanding role, calling for a great deal of energy -- indeed, the dancer should seem to be giving off sparks at every turn, and this Campbell did in spades.

Joe Chapman captured both sides of Bottom: the almost delicate precision of his dancing as the ass, and the incredibly clumsy hoop-te-do of his final dance when restored to human form.  In between, he also made much of his character moments, in particular his reaction to Titania's infatuation and his own befuddled memory of the night when he awoke in the morning.

Tanya Howard, Chelsy Meiss, Giorgio Galli, and Ben Rudisin were a splendid team of young lovers, exuding energy aplenty in their chase scenes, nailing the comic timing of Ashton's sudden pratfalls, and giving nuanced performances of the moment when Puck sends each of them to sleep.

The corps de ballet really shone in this piece, their lightly ethereal dancing in the opening sequence a particular delight.

The Dream is a rare and special kind of ballet, and I wouldn't want to see it done to death by being performed too often.  But I do hope that the National's management won't on that account set it aside for another seventeen years or more.

Wednesday 21 November 2018

National Ballet 2018-2019 # 1: Distilling the Epic

On the face of it, trying to adapt Leo Tolstoy's massive novel, Anna Karenina, into a single ballet seems almost as cockeyed an idea as the notion of adapting his even more massive War and Peace into a single opera.

Prokofiev successfully pulled off the opera, although sadly he did not live to see it staged.  I have to admit, though, that I approached the National Ballet's North American premiere of John Neumeier's full-length ballet of Anna with a bit of trepidation.

I need not have worried.  Neumeier is one choreographer who has completely mastered the art of telling a story, not through the external, visible action but through the internal, psychological lives of the characters.  In Anna Karenina, he has distilled the action of Tolstoy's sprawling, episodic book into a tightly-wound journey into the human soul, all expressed through powerfully dramatic movement which leaves the "prettiness" of classical ballet far behind in the dust.

And the gifted dancers of the National Ballet have pulled right along with him to dig deeply into that internal world of the souls of Tolstoy's diverse characters.

At three hours with one too-short intermission, Anna Karenina clocks in as the longest ballet in the National's repertoire.  But that's a misleading point, since there isn't really one single superfluous minute -- we're brought right down to the essentials throughout the piece.

Modern as Anna Karenina appears, it still requires the disciplined work of a large classical company to make this piece "go" -- and at that, a company thoroughly familiar and at home with modern styles as well as classical disciplines.  That description fits the National right down to the ground.

As in his Nijinsky, Neumeier has leaned heavily on a classical composer whose music fits the temper of the piece like a custom-made glove.  The score is assembled in large part from an assortment of the less well-known works of Tchaikovsky.  The fit isn't just in the fact that Tchaikovsky and Tolstoy were contemporaries.  It's even more a matter of Tchaikovsky's music managing to portray both the stylized elegance of the society and the claw-like forces of guilt which besiege those who don't live strictly according to its rules.  That description applies to Tchaikovsky, of course, with his life-long guilt over his homosexuality, but it also describes Anna Karenina.

Nowhere in this ballet is this more true than in the finale of Act One, where the concluding firestorm of Tchaikovsky's Manfred Symphony becomes the driving force behind the harrowing intensity of a pas de trois with Anna, her lover Vronsky, and her husband Karenin.  Neumeier even makes a strength out of Tchaikovsky's weakest moment in the symphony, taking advantage of the sudden and inexplicable interruption of a harmonium (chamber organ) to portray the scene of Kitty's wedding to Levin.

Alongside the Tchaikovsky excerpts, Neumeier has also employed some edgy modern works by Alfred Schnittke, and (far less expectedly) several songs by Cat Stevens.

The set, also designed by the choreographer, uses a white floor in front of a box of black curtains, and large rolling set pieces with doors on both sides and open ends -- allowing them to be used in almost infinite combinations and locations.  These are also painted stark, institutional white as is one of the several backdrops flown in and out for different scenes.  Costumes are modern.

The ballet opens with a small but significant shift for the character of Karenin -- instead of being a powerful bureaucrat, he appears as a campaigning politician.  This change gives the fullest motivation for him to have not just a picture-perfect life, but also a picture-perfect demeanour at all times.  As Karenin, Brendan Saye strutted and preened stylishly about the stage, always showing to advantage in front of the cheering crowds at the political rally and the omnipresent photographers.

Later, at home, he couldn't take off that public persona.  While Sonia Rodriguez matched him in polish at the rally, the raw edges of Anna's discontentment and loneliness dominated her dancing as soon as she was at home again.  And Saye's continued posing as Karenin made the reasons abundantly clear.

As the ballet progressed, Rodriguez grew more and more into the role, finding even greater inward depths of feeling to portray the slowly-growing despair of the woman.  A memorable performance.

Their young son, Seryozha, was played with aptly childlike innocence, playfulness, and abundant energy by Alexander Skinner, a new member of the corps de ballet.  The moments when Anna played happily with him on the floor were a delight.

Christopher Gerty brought sensuality and charm to his portrayal of Anna's philandering brother, Stiva.

Jenna Savella raged with equal parts power and abandon as his wife, Dolly, when she caught him with their children's governess.  Their quarrel scene was a high energy point in the first act.  Savella then gave a real feeling of force-in-stillness in the domestic scene where she returns to her children.

Meghan Pugh gave a brilliant, wide-ranging performance as Kitty, portraying the innocent excitement of the young girl and the overwrought desperation of the woman with verve and energy.

Naoya Ebe presented Vronsky as a cool, elegant man of the world, maintaining that polish even in the most energetic sequences with his fellow lacrosse players.  Only in the intensity of that pas de trois at the end of Act One did the air of sophistication drop away, revealing the raw emotions within.

The most coolly classical moment of the entire ballet was the romantic pas de deux for Anna and Vronsky at the opening of Act Two.  Set to the adagio cantabile from Tchaikovsky's Souvenir de Florence, this duet seemed like a beautifully-framed museum piece amid the more hard-edged intensity of so many other scenes.  

Skylar Campbell gave great depth and weight to the later scenes in his role as the empathetic Levin, and did sterling work with the complex choreography of his first scene.

That first scene for Levin, choreographed to Cat Stevens' Moonshadow, struck me as the weakest point of Neumeier's conception.  The scene description as given in the programme calls Levin an aristocratic landowner, and says he is dreaming of Kitty (Dolly's sister).  What we got was a man wearing a lumberjack shirt, driving a tractor, looking for all the world like a farm hand -- and dancing with such an edgy, near-frantic quality that the dream seemed more like a nightmare.  Especially when set against the gentle, almost meditative quality of the song, the choreography of this scene came across as a major miscalculation -- a rare weak spot in a ballet filled with tensile strength.

Early in the ballet, at the railway station, Anna witnesses the death of a Mushik (a railway worker). This dead man drags his own corpse away in a sack while bent double. He reappears at intervals as the personification of Fate, always slamming the sack loudly onto the floor as he appears and dragging it slowly across the stage, heedless of whatever else goes on around him -- a powerful reiteration of a powerful symbol. And for a real pit-of-the-stomach moment, it's hard to beat the penultimate scene where first Vronsky and then Karenin appear dressed in the Mushik's characteristic neon-orange jumpsuit.

What really stuck in the mind at the end of the entire performance was not so much the rapid and fatal denouement as that terribly intense pas de trois in Act One. Well, that, and the great intensity, power, and emotional descent into darkness of the title character. As Anna, Sonia Rodriguez owned the stage from first to last.

Anna Karenina is not, then, a perfect ballet, but it comes pretty damn close.  It's definitely a first-rate vehicle to show the strength and depth of the company.  I'm only sorry I didn't have the chance to see it twice.

Tuesday 6 November 2018

The Violin Ascending

Sunday night found me in the Music Hall of Middle Tennessee State University, listening to a senior student recital for violin (with piano or cello) given by Sarah Wilfong Joblin.

Conflict of Interest Alert:  Sarah Wilfong Joblin is my niece by marriage.  

The programme she presented gave a fascinating assortment of musical styles.  I was especially pleased that the empty, flashy virtuoso fireworks of the nineteenth century violin virtuosi were put on leave of absence for this recital.  

The evening opened with a truly challenging passacaglia for solo violin by Austrian composer Franz Biber, composed around 1676. This solo movement comes as a finale to his monumental set of Rosenkranz-Sonaten ("Rosary Sonatas" or "Mystery Sonatas).  It served as a prototype for many later efforts along similar lines, and is the direct ancestor of Bach's more celebrated violin chaconne in D minor.

The opening four notes outline the descending scale which lies at the foundation of the music.  These were played with an air of discovery.  As the work progressed, and the variations grew more and more elaborate, Wilfong Joblin allowed the tempo of the music to alternately relax and intensify, giving pleasing variety to what can otherwise be in danger of monotony.  Also noteworthy was her full, round tone when playing in Baroque style, without any vibrato.

The next work was The Lark Ascending, a long-time favourite of mine.  It's the true exemplar of composer Ralph Vaughan Williams' favourite technique of writing long, winding, improvisatory solos for a violin (or viola, in some cases), while the remaining orchestral players pause on a long-held chord as if listening raptly to the soloist.  

What's wanted here is a gentle, soft-edged legato in even the most complicated passagework of the solo part, allowing the audience to feel that a lark is truly singing for them.  Wilfong Joblin's tone and bowing completely captured that feeling, as well as giving again the sense of music newly discovered -- no mean feat after lengthy rehearsing.  She came as close as anyone can to accurately tuning the fiendish high double-stops.  Pianist Richard Blumenthal played the piano part with such subtlety and finesse that I didn't miss the orchestra.

The third piece came from a composer known to me by name only, William Grant Still, long known as the "dean of African-American composers."  His Suite for Violin and Piano of 1943 came from near the midpoint of his long composing career.  The second movement, which we heard on this occasion, has also been published in an arrangement for string orchestra under the title Mother and Child.

Wilfong Joblin played in this work with an aptly singing, almost coaxing tone colour, reflecting that title.  The themes and harmonies had something of the flavour of the American spirituals.  Long lyrical lines unfolded easily and naturally from both violin and piano.

For a change of pace, the next work (Limerock) was a traditional Irish jig, here arranged for violin and cello by Mark O'Connor and Edgar Meyer.  Cellist Amber Den Exter joined the violinist in a rousing, toe-tapping performance of this lively musical treat.

The major work on the programme was the concluding Violin Sonata No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 35 by Norwegian master Edvard Grieg.  This sonata was by far the most dramatic music we heard all night, and right from the outset, with its surging waves of violin sound, the drama and fire were there.  Grieg calls for a good deal of flexibility in dynamics throughout this movement, and all the moments of crescendo and diminuendo were well judged.  The coda built up from its quiet opening to a powerful conclusion, the final 4-chord cadence played by both violin and piano with terrific intensity.

The lyrical opening of the second movement was another delightful moment from pianist Blumenthal, simply played and beautifully shaped.  Soaring violin lines soon joined in to carry the melody.  The faster central section brought more energetic, yet still light, playing, marked by Wilfong Joblin's crisp pizzicato chords.  Throughout the movement, the folk-dance inspiration of the composer was clearly present.

The finale opened quietly but soon built to bigger tone, with the violin cleanly capturing the odd off-beat rhythm of the main theme.  Balance, too, remained clear at all times as the piano part reached the weightiest keyboard writing heard yet in this recital.  Well-judged doses of rubato and dynamic gradations helped to avoid monotony in a movement which depends, to a dangerous extent, on two simple melodic figures.  The concluding pages, a prestissimo coda (that means "played at breakneck speed") built up to a rousing, powerful finish.

Overall, and with no regard to family relationships, a rewarding performance of an unusual yet always intriguing programme of violin music.

A Modern Quartet

Wow -- it's been almost three whole months since I last sat down to attend and review a live arts performance -- how did I ever survive that long?

With this week's presentation, which I attended twice, at Place des Arts in Montreal, a new artistic company enters my list of subjects.  Gauthier Dance is a modern dance company with its home base in the Theaterhaus in Stuttgart, Germany, under the leadership of the Canadian artistic director, Eric Gauthier.  One of the sixteen dancers in the group just "happens" to have a prior connection to me and a prior presence in this blog.

Conflict of Interest Alert:  Robert Stephen is my nephew.

So now everyone can understand why I just "happened" to travel down to Montreal to see a European modern dance company in performance!  My regular readers will recall that Robert left the National Ballet of Canada (after 14 years) at the end of the last season to pursue this new and challenging artistic track.

The programme presented in Montreal was a unique, eclectic collection of four very different dance works from five very different choreographers.  The range of stylistic and artistic approaches challenged the dancers of the company in unexpected and diverse ways, all the while providing an intriguing experience for the near capacity and enthusiastic audience.

The first item of the evening, Beating, choreographed by Montreal-born Virginie Brunelle, was an intriguing fusion of lyrical, almost balletic movement and tableaux, with edgier, high-speed, angular movements.

The title, by the way, refers to the beating of human hearts, and particularly to those moments when two human hearts begin to beat together as one.  Brunelle has found a very broad range of ways to visually capture the approaches, the retreats, the coming together and the breaking apart, of human relationships.

Much of the energy of this dance arose from the rapid shifting and changing of roles among the eight dancers.  A pair would briefly form a couple, interact for a few moments, and then as quickly race apart and into other configurations with other dancers.

In a sense, the multi-section work became almost like a "dance symphony" with each "movement" having its own discrete tempo, rhythm, and style.  Especially remarkable was the middle section in which dancers formed a half-circle, standing still, and snapping their shoulders forward and backward to create a striking visual counterpart of the heartbeat-like rhythm of the score.  Two by two, the dancers would dash into the centre for a time of interaction, then dash out to be replaced by the next couple.

The brief coda of this symphony of movement was the stillness of the final tableau as the crowd dispersed, leaving a sole couple coming slowly together into an embrace as the lights faded out.

The second work on the programme was definitely "out there" by comparison with the others.  We Like Horses is an example of the highly-charged, socially and politically conscious Tanztheater which has grown and developed in Germany in recent decades.  German choreographer Helena Waldmann chooses to present strongly political works which merge dance and theatre, and which she describes as "political choreographies."  We Love Horses is her first work for this company, and is intended as a strong commentary on the written and unwritten laws which we willingly allow to hedge us in on all sides in our societies.

In this work, one member of the company stands tall on "shoes" which effectively mimic the configuration and length of a horse's lower legs.  The other five wear outsized buttock falsies, clearly visible on the outsides of their costumes, and tall nodding plumes which suggest horse's headdress.  The tall-shod woman, dressed in a black costume which strongly suggests a dominatrix, cracks a long whip and the other five, kneeling facing her, all begin madly twerking in time with the rhythmically charged electronic score composed by jayrope.  Each time the whip cracks, the dancers fling themselves into more frenzied efforts.  As the piece proceeds, the whip holder retreats upstage and simply watches, while the five dancers begin to enforce behaviour upon each other.    

At first blush, this almost sounds too kinky for words, but that wasn't the impact for me at all.  In fact, I found myself thinking of this more general reality: examine a bully closely, and you'll usually find a person who was bullied.  The behaviour of the dancers towards each other followed that principle closely, as well as clearly showing how we in society enforce behavioural norms on each other almost as much as we let the laws do it for us.  I definitely admired the sheer amount of energy which the five "horses" expended throughout the work, and the skill with which the chief whip balanced on those tall stilt-shoes.

If Waldmann's piece had a weakness, it was the difficulty of wrapping it up.  I guessed, rightly, that a final whipcrack would be followed by a swift blackout.  But once the woman with the whip had retired upstage, there seemed no particular reason why the turning point in the action -- the sudden snap with which one of the "horses" rebelled -- should come when it did.  It could just as easily have been two minutes earlier (some people were probably hoping) or five minutes later.  The motivation for the timing of that final vignette of civil disobedience and violence was not clear.

Another strong contrast followed with the third work, Infant Spirit, created by Marco Goecke with a score drawn from the American music group, Antony and the Johnsons.  Goecke's work is a solo, inspired by his formative years growing up in Wuppertal, Germany, and particularly by the key role of the famous choreographer Pina Bausch, a key founder of the Tanztheater style, in inspiring his development as a dancer and choreographer.

Rosario Guerra gave a powerful performance of this energetic solo number, bringing ample amounts of edgy drive to the choreography.  One key aspect of Goecke's style here is the focus on the hands, which often move a great deal, and very quickly at that, while the rest of the body remains largely still for varying amounts of time.  Another signature of his style is the strong contrast between the sadly lyrical singing on the soundtrack and the movement of the dancer which becomes vehement almost to the point of violence.

I was intrigued to see that, at later stops in the tour, this solo was to be danced by Sandra Bourdais.  I definitely would have welcomed an opportunity to see a different dancer bring her own stamp to the role, since I have never had the experience of seeing any role pass from a dancer of one gender to a dancer of another gender.  

The final work on the programme was a tribute to another great leader in the world of modern dance: Louise Lecavalier, famed for the explosive energy she brought to her decades of work with the Montreal troupe, La La La Human Steps.

And explosive energy was exactly what we got with Electric Life, co-choreographed by Eric Gauthier and Andonis Foniadakis.  This piece displayed as much speed and wild abandonment as the other three works put together.  The energy of the dance was underscored by a series of light bars, standing vertically or carried in any position, which glowed brilliantly in different colours or strobed rapidly.

On the first night I saw the piece, I was sitting in the front half of the theatre and I found those flashing lights were a bit hard to take -- enough so that I periodically had to close my eyes.  On the second occasion, I sat almost at the back of the house and the lights were less obtrusive, being farther away as well as below my eye level.  It's by no means the first time in a live performance where I felt that the technical foobaz were interfering with, rather than supporting and helping, the performers.

The signature of this work, and its most memorable aspect, were the sudden bursts of motion, including numerous leaps -- both horizontal and vertical -- which appeared to defy the laws of gravity.  Another memorable moment came when the dancers turned the light bars towards themselves, giving an intriguing new twist to the stroboscopic stop-motion effect.

Overall, I felt that this last work was the one which came closest to being a disconnected series of effects -- and I think the lights played a role in making it seem so.

The teamwork of the members of Gauthier Dance throughout the evening was truly remarkable.  Unanimity was expressed through fearless leaps and throws, rapid stops and turns, dancers (apparently) slamming against each other as they halted in mid-step, and more.  The sheer fiery energy which this company brought to its work made this programme memorable indeed.

Sunday 12 August 2018

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 17: Grand Finale and My Top Ten

The great wrap-up for the 2018 Festival was once again supplied by the National Academy Orchestra from Hamilton ON, under the direction of Boris Brott.  As with the National Youth Orchestra which we heard back at the beginning of the Festival, this is a training institute with extensive classes and seminars geared to preparing for careers as orchestral musicians.  Unlike the National Youth Orchestra, the auditioned participants in the National Academy have already graduated with degrees, and are entering the professional music world.

The concert consisted of four works: a suite from West Side Story (in tribute to the 100th anniversary of the birth of Leonard Bernstein), four selections from the film Star Wars by John Williams, George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue with John Novacek as piano soloist, and the famous Pictures at an Exhibition by Modest Mussorgsky, in the classic orchestration by Maurice Ravel.  It's actually the second complete set of Pictures at this year's Festival, since Stewart Goodyear performed the original piano text last week during my absence.

Rant For the Day:  And that's where I'm going to start, with this masterpiece which is in danger of becoming overworked to the point of being mere cliché.  I hope not, because the Pictures really are a masterly collection of miniature tone poems -- whether in the original version for solo piano or in the Ravel orchestration.  They just get performed so damned often these days that I am finally becoming heartily sick and tired of the things.  If orchestras must go on performing the work, maybe they could give us all a change of scene by using one of the several other orchestrations which have been made -- just for a bit of variety.  Just a bit?  Please???  Rant over.

No complaints from me for the rest of the programme, though -- even if we did hear a West Side Story collection just last night!  The Gershwin Rhapsody is a firm favourite of mine, which -- in sharp contrast to the Mussorgsky -- I have never before heard played live in a large orchestra ensemble.

Okay, on to the performances.

The orchestra hit the ground running with a vigorous performance of the suite from West Side Story, a medley of the kind in which each section comes to an end on a suspension or transitional chord to lead into the next.  Even with the all-too-short nature of some of the snippets, Brott and the orchestra characterized each melody firmly before moving on.

The four selections from Star Wars were an unplanned late addition to the programme.  These pieces went to the opposite extreme, taking short pieces of film score and redeveloping them for far too long.  But again, the playing was firm and clear.  The brass and winds dominated the texture appropriately in the Imperial March while the strings delivered sweeping legato in Leia's Theme.

A short pause while the stage was re-set in the scariest configuration I've ever seen -- with the beautiful grand piano poised a bare 10 centimetres from the front edge and the drop into Row AA of the audience seating.  "Please, let the stage crew set the brakes to extra firm," was what I was thinking, after having seen the extraordinary vigour of John Novacek's playing throughout the week.

The Rhapsody in Blue began with a gorgeous rendition of the famous clarinet slide and just went from strength to strength.  Novacek delivered a rousing, even rowdy, performance of the solo part with stunning accuracy, and the orchestra matched him for sheer energy and crisp attack.  The work was beautifully shaped by Brott, and the buildup to the final chords was as powerful as anyone could ask.

After the intermission, the Pictures at an Exhibition really gave the orchestra's members a chance to shine in solo bits, as Ravel's masterly orchestration includes many unusual and effective instrumentation choices.

As Boris Brott's National Academy always includes a conductor among the young musicians, this young conductor (name not given in the programme) took the podium to conduct the opening four sections of the score -- and did so very effectively.  He also brought an interesting detail of conducting style to my attention.  The unnamed young conductor led the orchestra with the conventional orchestral manner of placing the strong first beat of a bar at the top end of a rising sweep of the baton.  The vast majority of orchestral conductors use this style.  Boris Brott, however, does not.  Throughout the concert, he began each bar with a downward sweep, leading the orchestra with the conventional 3-beat and 4-beat patterns more often used by public school teachers and choral directors.

(Yes, I know that the strong beat is called a "downbeat" and yes, it's confusing as hell when orchestral conductors deliver the "downbeat" by swinging the baton up, but that's what they do!)

The opening Promenade set the scene at a brisk but not unreasonable speed.  The lurching broken rhythms of Gnomus remained sharp and clean.  The pulsing rhythm underlying The Old Castle was played more gently than usual, reinforcing the note of pathos in the solo saxophone melody.  Bydlo featured a tuba solo with a warm, almost furry sound, appropriately representing the oxen drawing the huge wagon.  Chattering woodwinds were a delight in the Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks.  Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuyle brought a crisp, precise rendering of the muted trumpet line.  Lugubrious low brasses mourned deeply in the Catacombs.  The bassoon solo at the still centre of The Hut on Chicken's Claws created an appropriately creepy feeling for the gloomy forest home of the witch Baba Yaga.

The suite concluded with a mighty upwards rush into the Great Gate of Kiev, and here the dynamic gradations were finely controlled by Brott so that the music still had somewhere to grow right up to the final overwhelming pages (it is, by the way, extremely difficult to achieve that gradation in the original piano score).

The Festival, then, wrapped up with a spectacular performance of a resplendent orchestral work, and it made a worthy conclusion to three and a half weeks of wonderful music.

* * * * * * * * * *

My Top Ten

Out of all of the dozens of concerts I attended, I've picked these ten performances as my top ten memorable moments of the Festival.  Why?  Because each one had something special about it.  Because each one pushed my buttons in some unique way.  Because I can and I want to.  Because... oh, well -- just because!

# 10:
  The complete and intriguing traversal of all 6 solo cello suites by Bach, spread across three days with two suites each from Cameron Crozman, Rachel Mercer, and Rolf Gjelsten.

# 9:
  The excellent "teaser" performance of the first movement (only) of Schubert's Grand Duo Sonata by the Bergmann Duo.  ("Please, sir, I want some more.")

# 8:
  A fascinating selection of six Schubert lieder chosen for their evocative use of the pianissimo, sung by Leslie Fagan and accompanied by Leopoldo Erice.

# 7:
  Polished and beautifully-sung performances of two Bach Lutheran Masses and one motet by the Elora Singers under the direction of Mark Vuorinen.

# 6:
  The stunning presentation of two Chopin piano concertos, in chamber versions, with Charles Richard-Hamelin as the poetic yet still dynamic soloist.

# 5:
  The National Youth Orchestra under conductor Johnathan Darlington in a thoughtful and truly moving rare live traversal of A Pastoral Symphony by Vaughan Williams.

# 4:  The vivid contrasts between powerful energy and serene stillness in the Schubert String Quintet with the Tiberius Quartet and Bryan Cheng.

# 3: The dramatic intensity and power, in word and music, of the opening night commission, Sounding Thunder: The Song of Francis Pegahmagabow.

# 2:  The spacious, subtle, and ultimately gripping performance of the Brahms Clarinet Trio with Jim Campbell and the Cheng²Duo.

And my top pick for most memorable, most exciting, most "it" performance of the 2018 Festival:

(drumroll, please!)

# 1:  The earth-shaking, rousing, folk-dance-gone-gigantic performance of Dvorak's Piano Quintet No. 2 by John Novacek and the Tiberius Quartet.

I'm already anticipating the next great Festival season, the 40th anniversary, in 2020!

Saturday 11 August 2018

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 16: From Monumental to Mambo

The last full 3-concert day, on Friday, also handed the audience the widest possible diversity of musical styles.

The day began with the monumental.  If there's any greater monument of polyphonic ingenuity and skill than J. S. Bach's Musikalisches Opfer ("Musical Offering"), I have yet to encounter it.  Faced with a tortuous melody, propounded (according to tradition) by Frederick the Great of Prussia, Bach composed a lengthy series of canons which treat the melody at different intervals.  The various and ingenious versions include a crab canon (where the second part plays the theme in reverse order), a mirror canon (the second voice in the same order but with all intervals inverted), and a table canon (the second voice reversed and inverted).  In addition, there are two ricercars, one in 3 parts and one in no less than 6 parts, and a beautiful 4-movement trio sonata for two violins and continuo.

Except for the sonata, there's no definitive instrumentation specified.  For this performance, the Canadian Guitar Quartet joined forces with violinist Tibor Molnár and flautist Suzanne Shulman, in an arrangement prepared by Quartet member Louis Trépanier.  This arrangement was itself a work of considerable skill (and effort), redistributing both continuo and melodic voices among the guitarists, and dividing the labour so that all took their turns at each aspect of the work.  In all, he had to copy considerably more than 20,000 notes into the appropriate spots in the six separate parts.

The game was definitely worth the candle.  The gentle, soft-edged tone of four classical guitars lifted some of the daunting aura of technical wizardry that hangs over the Musical Offering, supplementing it with a pleasing, harmonious atmosphere that was also carried into the violin and flute parts.  The total sound picture was much less edgy than one would expect with a traditional harpsichord continuo, and the various canons gained musical interest to augment the skill involved.  Nowhere was this more true than in the concluding 6-voice ricercar, where the complexity of the music never for a second obscured any of the individual lines.  All of which left the audience free to enjoy the technical skill and heartfelt musicality of the playing from all concerned.  A truly rewarding hour of fine music.

The second afternoon concert was a recital of piano music, involving multiple artists, and was simply titled, Great Melodies for Piano.  The concert opened with the Bergmann Duo playing Marcel Bergmann's arrangement for 2 pianos of the andante movement from Mozart's Piano Concerto in C Major, K.467.  Yes, that one -- the movement that rocketed to fame after being used as soundtrack in the 1967 Swedish film Elvira Madigan.  Indeed, the reference is still nearly ubiquitous, and the concerto is often identified in many quarters as the "Elvira Madigan Concerto."  Bergmann's unusual arrangement broke the solo and orchestral parts into smaller units, and then shared them out between the two pianos.  With light touch, selective use of the pedals, and the gentlest of pulsing accompaniments, the Duo spun out a beautiful and evocative performance of this evergreen staple.

Speaking of "staples," Silvie Cheng next played a pair of night pieces which are ingrained in the minds of music lovers everywhere.  First she gave a reading of Chopin's Nocturne in E Flat Major, Op. 9, No. 2 which covered a wider range of tone than some pianists allow themselves in this work, rising to emphatic (but not over-loud) climaxes which seemed both inevitable and justifiable.  She then followed with a haunting Clair de lune of Debussy, drawing together flowing lines and delicate arpeggios into sheer musical magic.  In the process, she made me forget all about the dozens of times I'd heard these pieces played by conservatory students.

John Novacek then shifted the tone dramatically (said so himself, too: "Well, that was different, wasn't it?") with Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag and the much later Solace: A Mexican Serenade.  Both of these well-known tunes he played with gusto and an innate sense of ragtime style.  He then followed on with two rags of his own, Schenectady and Intoxication, in which his furious cascades of notes poured in torrents across the stage -- while still remaining completely clear to the ear.

The evening concert was the last one for the season to feature the Festival's artists, and followed a kind of "anthology" format often used here for weekend events.  But don't confuse "anthology" with "lightweight"!  The programme opened -- opened -- with the famous Mad Scene from Lucia di Lammermoor by Gaetano Donizetti.  Leslie Fagan tossed off a phenomenal performance as easily as if she were singing "Happy Birthday", no mean feat when you consider that she was hitting the stage cold.  And it was a performance -- gestures, facial expressions, movement, all helped to tell the story behind the singing.  She was ably supported by Lucia's "duet partner," Suzanne Shulmann on flute, with Elizabeth Bergmann providing the piano accompaniment.

An instrumental ensemble then took the stage to play the evocative adagio movement from the Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquín Rodrigo.  Julien Bisaillon played the complex yet still lyrical solo part with simple, affecting lyricism.

The first half ended with a suite of six excerpts from Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story, played with verve and exceptional clarity by the Bergmann Duo, and with singing in I Feel Pretty, Somewhere, and Tonight by Leslie Fagan and Koszika.  Although the singing was beautiful (Somewhere bringing tears to my eyes as usual), the real highlights of this suite were the sharp-edged, crisply rhythmic playing of the Bergmanns in Mambo and -- especially -- in America.

After the intermission, there followed a series of varied more-or-less popular song from different composers, different countries, and different parts of the 20th century, with shifting ensembles at almost every single number.  We heard from guitarists, strings, winds, singers (Koszika again demonstrating her unique and communicative style), and so on.  The culmination of the programme was Graham Campbell's large ensemble arrangement of Astor Piazzolla's famous Libertango.  All good fun, all great music, and all helping to bring the Festival closer towards its rousing conclusion on Saturday night.

Friday 10 August 2018

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 15: Cutting Loose and Going Large

Thursday at the Festival brought us a series of concerts in which many "rules" were broken: rules about who plays what, how it's played, and what music or instruments "fit" into a classical chamber music festival. The result? Some great performances, some awesome music, and a whole lot of fun for performers and audiences alike.

This kind of rule-breaking has been a key part of the game at this Festival for all of the 25 years I've been coming here. It's one of the main ingredients that makes "the Sound" so rewarding!

Mind you, you would never have guessed what was in store from the prosaic titles given to the three concerts. The first one was simply called The Sonata -- a title offering a wealth of possibilities.

The Cheng²Duo opened with Beethoven's Sonata No. 4 for Cello and Piano, Op.102, No. 1. Like much of late Beethoven, this work follows an unusual plan: two movements, each beginning with a lengthy slow section and then leaping into a contrasting faster tempo. It thus requires a wide range of dynamics and playing styles. The Chengs began each movement with beautiful legato playing, much of it in the gentler end of the dynamic range, and then fired instantly up to full throttle energy, with crisp articulation to match, in the faster sections.

Jim Campbell then took the stage with pianist John Novacek in a little-known but intriguing and delightful Clarinet Sonata by Leonard Bernstein. This music affirmed Bernstein's lifelong promotion of melody as a key element of music, and equally displayed the rhythmic quirkiness so characteristic of the composer's music. Campbell said, rightly, that anticipations of West Side Story were to be heard, but more than that -- a couple of passages with some unique 9-beat rhythms pointed the way forward to Bernstein's monumental Mass of 1970, almost 30 years after this work. Well worth hearing more often.

The major offering was the famous Sonata in A Major by César Franck, in an arrangement for flute and piano by Jean-Pierre Rampal. As flautist Suzanne Shulman rightly pointed out, every musician wants to be able to play this magnificent work (originally for violin) -- in her case, not least because so much of the flute repertoire centres on the Baroque and Classical periods.

Shulman and Novacek treated this Romantic masterwork to a beautifully-shaped performance, with all the diverse elements of Franck's musical personality given their due. The substitution of flute for violin creates a whole new feeling in the work, with both Shulman and Novacek emphasizing the sense of wistful nostalgia in the opening pages and other quiet passages. While the entire sonata was impressive, I was especially taken with the sheer power of Shulman's playing in the closing pages -- not least because she sacrificed nothing of the legato line or the beauty of tone in building up the music's full-blooded romanticism.

The second concert of the day brought a diverse and intriguing recital from the Canadian Guitar Quartet, making a welcome return visit. This ensemble of four classical guitarists must, of necessity, play many transcriptions of works written for other instruments. It was ironic that one of the two pieces on the programme composed for guitars, Hans Brüderl's Octopus, still had to be transcribed since it was originally written for two guitar quartets. That work and Renaud Côté-Giguère's Fille de cuivre were both pleasing to the ear and made for intriguing listening, as did the transcriptions of chamber works by Ravel and Poulenc. It was fascinating to watch the nimble, flying fingers at close quarters, and particularly to see how the melodic parts passed rapidly from one guitar to another with no loss of the through line.

At the end, the quartet were joined by Jim Campbell and Suzanne Shulman for a lively performance of Saint-Saëns' Tarantelle, Op. 6. As the name suggests, this is a showpiece of virtuosity for the two wind players, but with the transcription of the piano part for guitars it became a showpiece for all six players. As an encore, the six then played Ständchen by Schubert, one of the most beautiful and heart-tugging of all that master's lieder.

The evening concert was a rip-roaring conflation of Slavonic, Hungarian, Roma, Rumanian, and Transylvanian folk music elements which absolutely resisted fitting under a single catchy title. Pity -- because the concert was much more diverse and exciting than suggested by the prosaic title in the programme of Haydn, Brahms and Dvořák.

Much of the music we heard was rooted in the ancient Roma tradition of the lassu-friss' -- a slow, mournful dance contrasted with a wildly energetic one, all in duple time. You can find music of this sort scattered all over the Romantic musical map -- think of the Hungarian Rhapsodies of Liszt, the Hungarian Dances of Brahms, the Dumky Trio of Dvořák, and the Hungarian and Russian dances in Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, for starters.

The evening concert began with the famous "Gypsy Rondo" Piano Trio in G Major by Haydn, performed by violinist Tibor Molnár and the Cheng²Duo. The entire work was played in a brisk, bright interpretation which suited the character of the music ideally. If the lively finale was perhaps a notch or two slower than sometimes heard, that was all gain as the notes all had time to register fully, and the rapid passagework remained under firm control from all three players. Certainly there was no lack of excitement.

Next up, the Tiberius Quartet were joined by Transylvanian singer Koszika for two traditional songs, in which the mournful side of the equation dominated. Koszika's pure, clean vocal tone remained undistorted by her hand mic, and one didn't need the songs to draw from her powerful performance a sense of the deep sadness underlying these ancient tunes.
The Quartet then added a sizable bonus, not listed in the programme. Who better than a string quartet from Rumania to perform the Rumanian Dances by Bela Bartok? Definitely memorable!

The first half wrapped up with a selection of five of the Hungarian Dances by Brahms, with each dance performed by different forces: the Tiberius String Quartet, the Canadian Guitar Quartet, the Cheng²Duo, the Bergmann Duo, all had a hand in the fun. Each set of performers brought their own personal spin to the lassu-friss' tradition which informs so much of this music.

The major work, after intermission and a glorious sunset on the outside deck, was the Piano Quintet, Op. 81 by Dvořák -- one of that master's weightiest chamber works. Unusually, it contains only one sonata-form movement, and that's the finale.  Even that movement is "short-circuited" by leaping very quickly from the brief development section to the second main theme by way of recapitulation, and as quickly from there into the coda.  The first two movements are definitely dumky, in the lassu-friss' tradition, while the third is a rapid Furiant in 3/4 time that flies by in one beat to a bar.

The Tiberius Quartet wrapped up their extremely busy evening with the capable partnership of pianist John Novacek. If you're going to play a work like this, with such strong folk roots, there's a lot to be said for setting aside musicianly polish and finish in favour of sheer gutsy powerhouse playing, especially in the louder and more rapid passages, and that's what we got. You just knew that this wasn't a sophisticated drawing room rendition when you saw Novacek repeatedly flying up into the air above the stool to get more leverage behind his arms, and stamping his foot down on the pedal at the loudest chords -- especially the three final ones!

The Tiberius Quartet, themselves no slouches at this kind of high-octane playing, responded in kind and the result must surely be one of the wildest performances ever of this work. "Wild," however, doesn't mean "undisciplined" -- listening to the quiet, slow passages of the first and second movements or the trio of the third made that crystal-clear.  My favourite moment of the whole evening was the beautiful playing at the relaxation into the quiet reminiscent coda of the finale, a kind of personal reflection or meditation which Dvořák used in several of his late works.

The last two days have been such a feast of major masterpieces which I haven't heard live for years -- the Brahms Clarinet Trio, the Schubert String Quintet, and now this Dvořák. I feel very lucky to have enjoyed it all.

Thursday 9 August 2018

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 14: All Over the Map

Wednesday of Week Three brought a tremendous diversity of musical styles, represented by a selection of composers covering seven different countries in all.  Hence my title.

The afternoon opened with a recital of music for piano duo and two pianos, performed by the wife-and-husband Bergmann Duo from British Columbia.

They began with the splendid opening movement of the Grand Duo sonata in C major for piano duo (i.e. for 4 hands at 1 piano).  In introducing it, Marcel Bergmann commented that the complete work would have taken up nearly the entire programme (true).  That didn't stop me from wishing to hear it all anyway, and by the time the concert was done I wished doubly that they had done so.

Their playing in the Grand Duo embodied the best techniques of piano duet performance, a light touch and crisp articulation which ensure that all the musical ideas come out clearly without the sound becoming overwhelming.

Once the Bergmanns moved to 2 pianos, the sound did indeed become overwhelming, with their selection of works calling for far too much fortissimo playing from both pianists.  Technically, the performances were a stunning tour de force, but musically left something to be desired.  

A good example was Gershwin's symphonic poem, An American in Paris.  Many of us know and love this music in its orchestral form, treasuring its piquant orchestration and perky, jazzy tone.  Alas, in this 2-piano transcription, the chromatic harmonies become harsh and unappealing, and the heavy-weight playing only served to emphasize the harshness.

Ravel's transcription of the tone poem, Nuages, by Debussy (the first of his Trois Nocturnes), at least offered better odds but here again the playing was simply too heavy.  The original work is written to be played very quietly -- judging by recordings I know, the music rarely if ever rises above a piano dynamic marking.  In this performance, the dark clouds of sound kept threatening to turn into a major thunderstorm.

On the other hand, we all got a good laugh out of the sudden intrusion of two unexpected guests into the Bergmanns' encore, and the ensuing shenanigans.

The second concert couldn't have offered a greater contrast, as the Cheng²Duo performed a selection of four works by four different Russian composers.  I've heard them play all these works before, so in this article I will simply focus in on two notable areas of difference from the last occasion.

(You can read that previous review here:  The Moscow Sound)

First up was the Pezzo Capriccioso by Tchaikovsky.  Here, I felt that the faster sections had become more playful, with less tension, than at the previous hearing.  Suddenly the title fitted the music better than I had remembered.  The other noteworthy difference was in the Cello Sonata by Shostakovich.  Here, we experienced a markedly deeper, more intense descent into the brooding melancholy of the slower pages -- an intensity that brought this piece fully into line with the darkest, most powerful moments in such later works as the first Violin Concerto or the Tenth Symphony.  The Cheng²Duo's interpretation here has gained definite stature and power with time.

Which is not to say that the Rachmaninov Vocalise or Prokofiev Cello Sonata were in any way also-rans, just that differences in those works were less noticeable.  The entire recital was as polished and as accomplished as we've come to expect from these artists.

The evening concert featured a programme which they can play for me in heaven, and all of the performances ranked at that standard too.

The Bergmann Duo led off with the overture to The Magic Flute by Mozart, in the arrangement for two pianos by Ferrucio Busoni.  Was this really the same duo that had almost pounded the pianos into the floor in the afternoon?  The playing was light, delicate, fantastic -- just the style demanded by this brilliantly sparkling music.  Busoni's arrangement was excellent, sticking very close to the Mozartean original with only a few little pianistic flourishes added.  A delightful curtain-raiser in every way.

Next we heard the Cheng²Duo with Jim Campbell on clarinet in Brahms' autumnal Clarinet Trio in A Minor, Op. 114. Of the three late Brahms masterpieces with clarinet, this trio remains my firm personal favourite, although the Clarinet Quintet ranks as one of the most-requested and most-performed works at the Festival.

Where the younger Brahms laid out his music with broad strokes and vivid colours, the older composer favoured a subtler style, with little details lightly touched in and more gradual tonal shadings. And subtlety was the keynote of this performance. Silvie Cheng on piano anchored the ensemble without ever overwhelming it, playing Brahms with an almost Mozartean lightness of touch. Bryan Cheng on cello traded musical lines with Jim Campbell with beautiful fluency and unity of mood.

Then, in the finale, the unexpected mood shift found all three bouncing through the lively dance-like music with a real burst of energy, while still maintaining that balance and unity. This would most definitely have been a performance to live with on record.

The concert concluded with the all-too-rare String Quintet in C Minor, D.956 by Schubert. This work is one of three late Schubert works which signpost the road not taken, since almost no other composers ever followed Schubert's lead in his instrumentation of this quintet, the Trout Quintet, or the Octet. As a footnote, it's worth recalling that Brahms did cast his first quintet essay as a string quintet with 2 cellos before recomposing it as a sonata for 2 pianos (Op. 34b), and then at last as the famous Piano Quintet in F Minor, Op. 34a.

This Quintet is Schubert's final completed chamber work. At its heart is the unearthly beauty of the adagio second movement, one of the very few true adagios Schubert composed. So slowly does time move in eternity that this long-breathed, serene musical stillness, which can easily last for 3 or 4 minutes, occupies a mere 6 lines of score.

This quintet, unlike all other string quintets of Brahms, Mozart, Dvorak and the rest, adds a second cello instead of a second viola -- giving the music a rich, dark warmth of tone.  More than this, the Quintet brims over with some of the most obstinately memorable earworms Schubert ever composed -- memorable, but in a completely different, almost otherworldly mode compared to the rustic-folk inspiration of the Trout.  The only other work to which I can distantly compare it is the String Quartet No. 2 by Anton Arensky, a memorial tribute to Tchaikovsky which uses violin, viola, and 2 cellos.

It's been a long time since I heard this magnificent Schubert masterpiece in live concert, and the Tiberius Quartet joined with cellist Bryan Cheng in a performance that fully transported us into those other worlds which Schubert envisaged.

The gentleness of playing in the first movement was exemplary, with the first appearance of the singing second theme on the 2 cellos a highlight.

The stillness and calm in the second movement had me holding my breath in for fear of breaking the spell -- exactly the needed effect on the audience.  Then the vehement interlude erupted with a bold savagery that maximized the contrast.  The lead-back to the serene opening unfolded with a perfect sense of inevitability.  Then the reprise of that heavenly stillness was touched in with the lightest of tone by the gentle arabesques of Cheng and violinist Tibor Molnár.

In the scherzo, the earthy folk-dance hit us with a force that suggested a dance of giants.  That's largely a result of the 9-part writing, with double stops in every instrument except the first violin, and with the cellos playing heavily on open strings.  I've always felt that this movement as much as the scherzo of the Great C Major Symphony (#9) points the way forward to the gigantic scherzo movements of Bruckner, and here the players generated an almost Brucknerian power and force in the music.  Then, again with a huge contrast, the quiet trio looked backwards to the serenity and quiet of the first two movements.

The finale, allegretto, is punctuated by frequently repeated staccato upbeat notes that lead off each rendition of the main theme.  The effect is again not unlike a folk dance, and in this performance each upbeat was marked by an ever-so-slight hesitation in the rhythm before the downbeat landed with especial emphasis -- this underlined the folk-like character of the music.  The players built the movement along a clear line leading up to the furious coda, in which the music keeps getting faster and faster -- piu allegro followed a few lines later by piu presto -- and ripped the final notes off with great élan.  A spectacular ending to a truly rewarding concert.

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 13: Classics on the Home Stretch

As we headed into the final week of this year's Festival, two of the Tuesday programmes consisted of a selection of some of the central classics of the chamber repertoire, played by some artists of notable stature and musicality.

The exception was the first afternoon concert, a collection of diverse music played by "Two Bass Hit," a duo consisting of well-known jazz bass player Dave Young and classical bass player Joel Quarrington, with piano support from John Novacek.

Even this programme opened with a classic, although I could gladly have dispensed with it -- the slow movement of Bach's Concerto in D Minor for 2 Violins. The arranger, in order to make the piece work on two double basses, shoved the piano part down into the cellar as well, resulting in dense, congested sound with too many overtones clogging the ears.

The rest of the programme, from 20th century jazz and popular composers, worked much better, and we had ample opportunity to admire the skill of these 2 quite different experts on the same instrument. A little gimmicky, perhaps, but still entertaining and intriguing.

The second afternoon concert began with the Tiberius Quartet giving a spirited performance of a String Quartet in D Minor by Haydn. In previous years I have noted the dramatic intensity of this ensemble's playing, but here they adopted a much lighter, crisper sound -- indeed, the violins were playing for long stretches with their sordines which certainly changed the tone colour as well as the volume level. As always with Haydn, a delight.

Horn player Gabriel Radford then took the stage with pianist Philip Chiu for a selection of three short pieces by Schumann. These arrangements allowed Radford to demonstrate a good range of horn tone, from a silky piano to a robust and earthy forte.

Chiu then returned with violinist Jonathan Crow to perform the Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Op.108 by Brahms. Even in this late work, Brahms still leaned towards heavy-duty piano writing, albeit not as often as in his younger, more extravagant days. Chiu demonstrated mastery of the idiom by lightening both touch and pedalling, so that balance with his string colleague was never the least affected, even in the louder passages. Crow's presentation of the violin part covered the entire range, from the con sentimento of the brief third movement to the agitato of the finale. On any count, a spectacular performance of a challenging masterwork.

The Tuesday evening concert opened with this Festival's second performance of the well-loved Arpeggione Sonata by Schubert. This time, it was given by pianist John Novacek with Joel Quarrington performing the solo part on the double bass. (Hey, it gets played on all the other stringed instruments, not to mention the flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, and bassoon, so why not?). Once you adjust your ears to the unexpectedly low pitch, the adaptation works well. Quarrington coaxed some beautiful lyrical tone out of his instrument on the higher passages, and definitely caught the playful, bouncing character of the themes in the first and third movements.

This was followed by another evergreen Festival standard, the Clarinet Quintet in A Major by Mozart, played by the Tiberius Quartet and James Campbell. I was impressed by the lightness of tone here from all concerned, as much so as in the Haydn work this afternoon. The meditative air of the larghetto was as moving as the theme and variations of the finale were jovial. The penultimate slow variation took on an appropriately autumnal air (as August slides by), and the final coda then wrapped the work up with an aristocratic flourish.

The evening ended with the Horn Trio in E-flat Major, Op. 40 by Brahms. I'm definitely fond of this work, but from recordings. This first live hearing persuaded me that it is perilously close to being unworkable in a live performance. The difficulty, simply put, is that the French horn is an instrument with a peculiarly intense sound. Ever had the experience of listening to some horn-heavy music on cheap speakers and hear the speaker cases begin buzzing? Anyone who's ever transferred a recording of horn music knows that the horn, at certain pitches, can drive the meters right over the top of the red zone. I don't know why.

In this particular case, Jonathan Crow on violin kept getting swamped by Gabriel Radford's horn tone and Philip Chiu's piano -- and it certainly didn't seem to be a case of either Radford or Chiu playing too loudly. All three performed with skill and finesse, and the tone was lovely, but I kept getting reminded of a singer struggling to be heard over a Mahlerian symphony orchestra at full throttle. My seat in the hall is barely 20 feet from the spot where Jonathan Crow was playing, so I have to assume that this balance issue is a built-in problem of the music. It's unfortunate, because the horn repertoire isn't so large that we can afford to do without any of it.

Wednesday 1 August 2018

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 12: Voices of Beauty and Light

Tuesday of Week 2 at the Festival brought a real feast of singing, with some other intriguing chamber music works layered in between the choral and vocal highlights.

As a singer of many years standing, with a voice that has evolved into an instrument magnificently suited to the shower in the morning, I was intrigued by the two wildly different sets of technical difficulties for voice that were showcased.

The first afternoon concert began with a group of six Lieder by Schubert, sung by soprano Leslie Fagan and accompanied on piano by Leopoldo Erice.

This group of assorted songs from different periods of Schubert's life were carefully chosen to illustrate the uses and colours of the pianissimo, for both singer and accompanist.  Let's face it, almost anyone can trumpet out notes at high volume (see above re: shower), while any year-old toddler can bang the daylights out of a piano -- and most of them do.  

But singing and playing quietly, while maintaining line and tone and diction and phrasing is a very different kettle of fish altogether.  I've heard more than a few pianists and singers in my time who couldn't do it to save their souls.

The sympathy and innate communication between Fagan and Erice was remarkable enough, but it was the sheer beauty of sound from both that took these performances to another level altogether.  The gently-spun quiet notes from Fagan were perfectly matched and partnered by the feather-light pianissimo from Erice.

Not that we heard only quietness.  But the intense emotional drive of Gretchen am Spinnrade, for instance, only pointed up all the more the dramatic power when the singer falls back again to the despairing quietness in which the song begins.

The same was true, for very different reasons, in the hymn-like ode, An die Musik, or (again in yet another way) in the closing bars of Du bist die Ruh'.  

Just for the record, the other three songs (also beautifully performed) were Ganymed, Erlafsee, and Frühlingsglaube.

After that mini-recital, the Lafayette String Quartet came on with a powerful performance of the Quartet # 8 in B-flat Major, Op. 168, D.112, also by Schubert.  It was composed in 1814 when he was just 17 years old, but in this work he clearly partnered his innate lyricism with a dramatic drive that foreshadows the great final quartets of a decade later.

The Lafayette performance captured both the lyricism and the drive, in bold, sometimes brash, sound which suited this earlier work.

In the second concert, Leo Erice returned with the second instalment of his 3-year project to perform and then record the last three piano sonatas of Beethoven.  This year he played the Sonata # 30 in E Major, Op. 109.  Erice's thoughtful interpretation highlighted equally the dramatic fury of the prestissimo scherzo and the unique worlds of each of the six variations in the finale.  In this performance, the link between the first two movements was so clearly drawn that the effect was of a two-movement work, with the wilful structure of the first offset by the clear variation form of the last.

Next, the Penderecki String Quartet took the stage to play the Quartet # 1 in G Minor, Op. 27 by Edvard Grieg.  Although this performance had both power and purity to commend it, I remained unconvinced that the composer really hit the target with this one.  For my money, the first movement in particular suffers from a wayward structure that simply refuses to cohere.  The most rewarding passages were the ones where the signature sounds of Norwegian folk music, including the open-fifth drone typical of the Hardanger fiddle, crept into the work.  So while the work built to an exciting and dynamic ending, and was beautifully played throughout, I could gladly have passed on it in favour of something more rewarding.

In the evening, the 22-voice Elora Singers presented a programme of Bach with an 8-member instrumental ensemble, under their interim music director, Mark Vuorinen.

The programme, performed without intermission, consisted of two of the "short" masses, the Mass in G Major, BWV 236, and the Mass in G Minor, BWV 235, separated by the motet, Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied, BWV 225.  

Unlike the monumental Mass in B Minor, these short or "Lutheran" masses set only the Kyrie and the Gloria, since those were the only parts of the ancient Latin liturgy commonly used in the Lutheran service in Bach's day.  But, like the full setting in B minor, these remain "cantata masses", with the major text of the Gloria broken into five or six separate and contrasted movements in each.  The plan is similar in each case: a choral Kyrie and choral Gloria in excelsis, then a chain of solo movements for different voices to cover the middle sections, and the return of the choir to sing the concluding Cum sancto spiritu.

This skilled professional choir made light of the difficulties and traps in Bach's complex polyphony, singing with both precision and passion throughout.  The soloists, not credited by name, performed the challenging arias with equal skill and with beautiful tone colour from all four.  

The motet, Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied, is one of a group of six similar works of varying sizes.  When I was a youngster and could negotiate Bach's complex vocal lines with some degree of success, a choir I sang in performed one of these, and did so unaccompanied.  The main memory I have of that performance is the need to stop twice between movements and use a note from the organ to get the choir back on pitch.  

We've learned a lot since then, including the now-irrefutable evidence that the motets were never meant to be sung unaccompanied, but were designed to be sung with continuo accompaniment.  The continuo group of cello, double bass, and chamber organ provided all the security needed to keep pitch problems at bay, and the singing again was magnificent.  This time, a solo quartet of four voices took on a semi-chorus role, singing antiphonally with the main group in one number.  This different team of voices again were not credited by name.  A pity, as they also sang with fine tone and good unity of ensemble.

Throughout the evening, Vuorinen conducted with certainty and precise beat, and with only one little interpretive mannerism that I found strange.  As each movement came to an end, he would slow down considerably, and then articulate the sound with a clear break before the final note.  This would be fine, except that it caused a break in the word being sung by the choir, eg. "elei…" "...son" or "A..." "...men", with a slight pause in between the syllables.  Not disruptive, but definitely odd.

Nonetheless, an excellent performance of some relatively rare Bach, with the vocal gymnastics adding on the second part of this little textbook of vocal technique after the intense quiet passages of the Schubert Lieder in the afternoon.