Monthly Archives: April 2003

Slava and Leonard Grigoryan (guitars)

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Slava and Leonard Grigoryan (guitars)

Octagon Theatre

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn

 

Classical guitarist Slava Grigoryan has visited Perth on a number of occasions, invariably performing with expressiveness and technical finesse. At the Octagon Theatre, he was joined by his younger brother Leonard in a
recital that would have tested the mettle of the most adept and experienced of musicians ­ and both came through with banners flying.

The brothers Grigoryan are not the only sibling guitar duo on the international concert circuit, of course. There are other, longer established, ensembles I have heard in the past. But what places the Grigoryan siblings in a special category of excellence is that, unlike other similarly constituted ensembles, there is nothing in the least mechanical about their co-ordination. More often than not, the strictly, indeed implacably, metronomic approach to rhythm favoured by some other guitar duos can all too easily sound rigid and emotionally cold. There was not a hint of this in the playing of Slava and Leonard. In fact, the subtle nuances of tempo that informed their playing mark them as musicians as much as virtuosos.

True, there was some tendency early in the evening in an extract from Mompou’s Variations on a Theme of Chopin for earnestness to take precedence over effervescence. But by the time the duo launched into Piazzolla’s Tango Suite, the guitarists were firing on all pistons. And despite some occasional loss of definition on the part of Leonard, the sizzling intensity brought to bear on the climaxes that dot the Deciso and Allegro movements made for rivetting listening. As well, ceaseless vigilance regarding precise intonation was another factor contributing to listening pleasure although in the slow movement, one felt a need for rather more imaginative treatment of the notes.

How refreshing for once to hear a guitar compilation so markedly off the beaten track instead of the more usual fare by Albeniz, Barrios and Sor. A case in point was two movements from Retrato by the Brazilian composer Radames Gnattali. The siblings were in stunningly agile form in rapid ensemble work, achieving a brilliance that swept all before it. Here, the brothers staked an irrefutable claim to be considered in international terms ­ and all the more notable when considering that the younger Grigoryan is still a teenager.

Violinist Paul Wright made a guest appearance in ensemble with the elder Grigoryan in extracts from Piazzolla’s Histoire du Tango in which both musicians succumbed to the Muse in a way that would surely have drawn approving nods from the composer had his shade hovered over the proceedings at a crowded Octagon. This was wonderfully evocative playing as guitar and violin explored the music’s contrasting moods of sultriness, passion and world-weariness.

Victor Sangiorgio (Piano)

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Victor Sangiorgio (Piano)

Conservatorium Auditorium

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn

 

Victor Sangiorgio’s piano recitals are tailor-made for concertgoers with adventurous tastes, listeners who are interested to hear music well off the beaten track. In this sense, the recital was vintage Sangiorgio who offered rarities such as a bracket of sonatas by Cimarosa, some only recently being played in public again after languishing in obscurity for centuries.

For most concertgoers, Cimarosa is inextricably and almost exclusively associated with his perennially popular opera Il Matrimonio Segreto and a little Sonata in G that young pianists are fond of playing at suburban eisteddfodau. Sangiorgio’s offering gave a more rounded view of the composer.

Fearless, nimble fingers made light of the first and fifth of this set of brief pieces, the fifth, in particular, a little miracle of prestidigitation that rivetted the attention, as pleasing in its way as a sonata in B flat that came across as an exquisitely stated essay in staccato touch.

Clementi’s opus 47 no 2 is a sonata on a much grander scale. Although without the stylistic originality and profundity that inform so much of the output of Clementi’s great rival Mozart, the former’s sonata certainly warrants an occasional airing ­ and Sangiorgio was the man for the job. This work is no pushover and Sangiorgio did it proud with powerful, confident fingers that took even the trickiest episodes in their stride and very convincingly conveyed the boldness and drama of the outer movements.

Bach’s great Partita in B flat was better-known fare with Sangiorgio
unbottling the joyful genie of its more vigorous dance movements to gratifying effect. This was an object lesson in what fine piano playing is all about in a recital that ought to have been required listening for every piano student aspiring to a concert career. It was a shame that there were numbers of empty seats at this important event. The Allemande was wonderfully fluent and the Sarabande almost beyond criticism, a model of cultivated musicianship with its quasi-extemporaneous quality evoked to the nth degree. This was the happiest harnessing of technique and emotion. Playing of this calibre ought to have been recorded for posterity.

Despite the authority with which they were presented, six extracts from Chick Corea’s Childrens’ Songs were a dull patch in an otherwise fascinating program. John Cage’s Dream, written, we were told, for famed choreographer Merce Cunningham, in 1948, has the character of a nocturne, a gentle offering with its hushed washes of pedalled sound bringing images of mist-shrouded vistas to mind. And Melbourne-based composer Stuart Greenbaum’s quaintly titled But I Want the Harmonica evolved gradually from quietness to stridency before decibel levels dropped again to bring the piece to a gentle close. Throughout, one heard a near-mesmeric simulation of a tolling bell.

Casella’s Toccata is no-man’s-land for any but the best equipped of pianists. Here, staying power, notational accuracy at high speed, controlled rhythmic underpinning and an iron nerve are crucial performance requirements. On all counts, Sangiorgio came through with banners flying.

Copyright 2003 Neville Cohn


Diana Doherty (oboe)

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Diana Doherty (oboe)

W.A.Symphony Orchestra

Perth Concert Hall

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

It seemed an odd choice for a series called The Great Classics. Written three years ago, Graham Koehne’s Inflight Entertainment – a concerto for oboe and orchestra – hardly qualifies for status as a classic in the sens of remaining relevant beyond its own era; it is barely out of its wrappings. And whether Inflight Entertainment is worthy of the adjective ‘great’, in the sense of being of more importance than others of its kind, is debatable.
In the sense of providing a pleasant diversion, however, Koehne’s concerto lives up to its name in that it is consistently entertaining.

Also beyond debate is Diana Doherty’s astonishing command of the oboe. There are not many musicians here – or anywhere else for that matter – who could rise so magnificently to the occasion as Doherty. She provided phenomenal and irrefutable evidence that she has tamed this most treacherous of wind instruments that does her bidding in a way that places her well to the forefront of masters of the oboe.

A ferociously taxing cadenza, during which Doherty performed the near-impossible by playing chords as opposed to single notes on the oboe, left one in little doubt that her physical command of the instrument places her in a category of excellence shared by Holliger and Indermuhle. Praise doesn’t get much higher than this.

At the conclusion of this marathon concerto (which would have left most other oboists out of puff long before the end of the work), Doherty, in response to rapturous applause, played as encore Blues for D.D., an unaccompanied piece by Jeffrey Agrell. Her performance here, as in the
concerto, was a tour de force.

Even if Koehne’s concerto doesn’t really meet the criteria for inclusion in the Great Classics series, it was certainly worth an airing. It would be an exaggeration to say that its melodies imprint themselves indelibly on the mind. Instead, they tend to riffle the circumference of the consciousness. Much of it is couched in gently stated, pastoral sequences, rather like slightly down-market Vaughan Williams – and would, I felt, have served admirably as background music for one or other TV series set in rolling English meadowland. And there’s much in the first movement that has an American big band a la Gershwin feel to it.

Making his Perth debut, conductor Federico Cortese demonstrated the skill and musicality that have won him golden opinions worldwide. Under his direction, the overture to Rossini’s The Siege of Corinth flashed into life. Cortese did wonders in securing from the first violins rapid, high-register passagework that was a model of its kind for clarity and tonal sheen. Throughout the overture (given its first performance by the WASO in 45 years), there was impeccable chording from the brass and woodwind choirs – and the care with which Cortese coaxed tonal light and shade from his forces yielded substantial listening dividends. And Rossini’s trademark extended crescendo in the overture’s closing moments brought the piece to an end with a bang.

Cortese’s conducting of excerpts from Berlioz’s Romeo and Juliet (not least in the opening pages where the WASO played as if their lives depended on it) left one with the impression that this was score close to the heart of the conductor. I specially admired Cortese’s treatment of the Love Scene, drawing orchestral responses in near-faultless taste from the WASO while maintaining a sense of onward momentum at slow speed, a very real feat of musicianship. Throughout, the WASO was very much on its collective toes; it did wodners, too, in the Queen Mab scherzo; it was model of fragile textures at high speed. Bravo!

Copyright 2003 Neville Cohn


Pei-Jee Ng (cello)

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Pei-Jee Ng (cello)

W.A.Symphony Orchestra
Federico Cortese, conductor

Perth Concert Hall

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn

 

Like some musical Julius Caesar, Syndey-born cellist Pei-Jee Ng came, played and conquered at the Concert Hall. If his account of Haydn’s Concerto in D is any pointer to the future, this lean and lanky teenager is on a fast track to the stars. Over many years attending concerts, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve listened to this Haydn concerto. Ng’s interpretation places him well to the fore of those I’ve heard over the decades, not only for his remarkable physical command of the instrument (which is a major achievement in itself) but his ability to reveal the passionate demon that, for much of the work, lurks behind the printed note.

In performance, especially when his bowing arm is fully extended, Ng strikingly resembles the celebrated portrait by Augustus John of Madame Suggia, that greatest of Portuguese cellists of an earlier era. But there’s far more to Pei-Jee Ng’s presentation than an attitudinal likeness to Suggia. This was no casual reading of the notes. On the contrary, one felt, throughout, a total identification with the score.

pei

For much of the outer movements, Ng’s playing was the quintessence of ardour. From first note to last, this youthful musician drew the listener ineluctably into Haydn’s sound and mood world, drawing from his instrument the sort of tonal colouring that critics dream about but seldom encounter in reality. I was no less impressed by Ng’s ability to mine the score for every ounce of meaning but always within the bounds of taste and stylistic integrity. And his phrase-shaping was as natural and meaningful as the breathing of a great singer. Ferociously difficult cadenzas were essayed as if they had been written for him.

Federico Cortese took the WASO through an accompaniment fit for royalty – to which Ng responded with princely authority.

As curtain raiser we heard the Pulcinella Suite. It has always seemed to me a gross impertinence on the part of Stravinsky to set down his name on the score as if he, and no other, had been the author of the charming, often haunting, melodies and rhythms that make this such an appealing work. Nearly all the credit should go to the Pergolesi and some of his contemporaries from whose pens streamed the delights that Stravinsky stole – yes, stole (it is not too harsh a word for this) – and re-cast with trademark dissonances and some clever use of instrumental colouring. Surely, this absurdity, indeed dishonesty, should not be tolerated; Pergolesi’s name should be at least as prominent (more so, preferably) as Stravinsky’s on the score and in the program.. Cortese was impressively prepared for the work; under his guidance it flashed into delightful life. Robert Gladstones made an excellent contribution on horn – and oboist Joel Marangella was in exemplary form, too.

This was the WASO’s first performance of the work in 17 years. It deserves to be heard more frequently.


Copyright 2003 Neville Cohn

University Wind Orchestra Neil Coy (conductor)

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University Wind Orchestra

 

Neil Coy (conductor)

Conservatorium Auditorium

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

Although Berlioz’s Grande Symphonie Funebre et Triomphale enjoyed huge success during the composer’s lifetime, it is very seldom encountered in concert halls these days. At least in part, this would be due to the demands of its instrumentation (which includes half a dozen trumpets, a small army of clarinets as well as a battery of percussion to keep five or six musicians very busy). So it was with more than usual interest that I listened to Berlioz’s epic played by an orchestra drawn from the student bodies of the Conservatorium of Music and the School of Music at the University of Western Australia.

In the lead-up to the most important work of the evening, we heard other music inspired by the fervour of nationalism, when revolt was in the air and more than a few heroes (and a number of scoundrels) rushed to man the barricades at various European centres.

There were three Revolutionary Marches by Smetana (originally for solo piano but here presented in orchestrations by Vaclav Nelhybel). Like a good deal of music written in a state of patriotic fervour, it’s strong on flourish but low on musical worth. (the genre exemplified at its worst in Shostakovich’s hideous and embarrassingly over-the-top Leningrad Symphony). Also on the bill was Wagner’s Trauersinfonie. Based on themes from Weber’s opera Euryanthe, it was written for a torchlight procession to the family crypt of the Webers where the composer was to be reburied in his native Germany after being exhumed from his English grave (he had died on a visit to London). Wagner delivered the grave-side eulogy.

Here, Neil Coy coaxed a most commendable response from his young charges, especially in relation to quality of tone and maintaining a sense of onward momentum at slow speed which represented a feat of fine musicianship.

Here – and throughout the evening – Coy did wonders in maintaining acceptable decibel levels in a venue notorious for its over-bright acoustic. It is all too easy in a hall such as this to lose control of this crucial factor – and it says much, then, for Coy’s handling of the score in a way that allowed the sheer drama of the writing to come across without causing irreversible damage to the audience’s eardrums.

An added frisson to the listening experience was the announcement that Bruce Thompson, the scheduled trombone soloist in the second movement of the Berlioz work, was not on the premises. In fact, he was far from the premises – he was at his more usual post at the Concert Hall until the WASO had completed its performance of Stravinsky’s Pulcinella Suite.

Would Robinson get to the Conservatorium Auditorium in time? Would the traffic lights be kind to him as he roared through the night on his motorcycle? In the event, the symphony got under way with only minimal delay. And, I’m happy to report that Thompson’s account of this tricky and demanding solo revealed little sense of stress as he breathed life and meaning into an instrumental line that had originally been written in a completely different context for voice (for Berlioz’s opera Les Francs-juges that he never got round to completing) and lifted holus bolus for the symphony.

It is nearly impossible to listen to this grandest of orchestral threnodies without picturing Berlioz conducting the work as orchestra, coffins of fallen patriots on the way to re-interment, soldiery and various political bigwigs marched slowly across Paris, with Berlioz walking all the way backwards. That must have been more challenging than rubbing one’s tummy at the same time as patting one’s head. Moreover, the route was so long that some of the movements were repeated no less than half a dozen times.

The Conservatorium performance, by contrast, was a much tamer affair with all the instrumentalists sedately seated. And conductor Neil Coy, despite occasional weakenings of concentration among his young players, did wonders in setting realistic tempi, maintaining a fluent sense of onward momentum and – most importantly – allowing the immense drama of the writing to register.

This fascinating program provided one of the year’s most engrossing listening experiences.

©2003