Category Archives: Live Performance

Guitar Dreaming: Australian Music for Guitar (and Beyond)

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WAAPA staff and students

Spectrum Project Space, Beaufort Street, Northbridge

September 2009

reviewed by Stuart Hille

l to r: Sidney Brien, Brendan Biddiss, Courtney Hilton

photo: Jacqueline Auty
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The actual space of Spectrum Project Space, for a concert audience, is very small, completely unadorned and has an ambience which relies wholly on the mood the listener brings.  It is much akin to ‘burrows’, still found in Manhattan, where groups cluster  to hear aleatoric music performances, and where listeners are encouraged to move around the players as if taking part in a sonic, glyptic exercise.  However, when one has no option but to find (and I impress ‘find’) seating, as on this occasion, the dynamics and sense of freedom change.  The players might be within half a meter of the first row of listeners but a barrier is drawn nonetheless.  And that barrier affords the ear to pick up all sorts of surrounding sounds – the desirable and not so desirable: the cars  outside, strings not quite in tune, musical lines which start but then break, musical shapes which are either rounded or lack definition…whatever the sound, when we’re seated we hear it more acutely.

This concert, titled ‘Guitar Dreaming’ (and, I hope judiciously, I’m not going to discuss the word choice) contained many promising features and a portion of disappointments.  It also had a couple of surprises, one of which was the realisation of how quickly guitars can lose their tuning, assuming they are correctly tuned to begin the performance (which wasn’t always the case on the night).  This was made even more potent by the limited space of the auditorium.  String tuning is a notorious problem in any concert.  I think it was John Exton who once summed up the inherent difficulty: “There’s only thing worse than two violins, and that’s three violins”.  Violins only have four strings whereas guitars have six, so whenever like instruments are multiplied it is essential to maintain vigilance in tuning.  Then there is the additional problem of intuiting how long it should take to tune or re-tune on stage, before the audience begins to shuffle with impatience.  What’s the solution?  I don’t know, but I observe professionals, like Jonathan Paget (the principal force behind this concert), are able to tune up much faster and more accurately than students.  Perhaps tuning should be made more of a rigorous exercise within the guitar pupil’s panoply of technical armour.

Another surprising aspect of the concert was the choice of the opening item.  Not that there is necessarily anything wrong with an introspective style to raise the curtain, so to speak, nor was there anything seriously amiss with Melissa Branson’s sensitive reading of a reasonably proportioned composition, titled ‘Distant Mirages’, by Jeremy Poole-Johnson.  However, given the features of the space, including a perceived hesitation getting the concert started, a more robust and confidently styled lead-off might have made a better choice.

But perhaps one of the most frustrating aspects of the concert was unwittingly exposed by Thea Rossen (a UWA percussion student) in her decision to perform ‘Marimba Dances’ (1 and 2) by Ross Edwards.  This music plays to the gallery like few others.  Quite frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear its Madagascan strains pumping through the speakers of an elevator one day!  Aurally judged, it has strong   similarities to his ‘Laikan’, written some three years prior for the ‘Fires of London’ (under the direction of Peter Maxwell-Davies), except in these ‘dances’, notably the first, things have been trimmed down to the tonal bones.  So of all the works Rossen could have chosen, including something by a UWA student composer, it was disheartening to find her making this her prime option.  Additionally, with recorded performances by, for example, no lesser an artist as Evelyn Glennie, she faced the uneviable task of attempting to shed new light on a latter day warhorse.  Rossen’s reading was proficient and tidy, although somewhat over-stylised in gesture.  But no matter how neat the performance, one became overwhelmed by a sense of a wasted opportunity for some young composer.  And there is a lesson here for student percussionists: ‘hot off the press’ writing by contemporary composers, with something interesting to say, may not become their bread-and-butter  but will provide some of the most fulfilling experiences they will have.  A performer shouldn’t be turning his/her back on this at such a young age.

Similar to Edward’s ‘Marimba Dances’, Westlake’s ‘Six Fishes’, at least judging by the three ‘fish’ performed, flamboyantly declared its quasi-tonal affiliations.  However, Westlake is more cloying in his choice of gestures, and more ostentatious in style and rhythm.  Also, despite what many might assume, and despite an apparent subjection to linearity, this music reveals little sense of processive harmony, particularly long-range harmonic relationships.  Consequently, the ‘Plectrum Alpha’ (Jonathan Paget, Brendan Biddiss, Melissa Branson and Claire Bonner) could have been partially forgiven if their performance had been somewhat lacklustre.  And yet, as is – depressingly – so often the case, they showed good rapport and a relaxed, comfortable approach.  The tuning was good and the eye contact was excellent.

Plectrum Alpha’s second appearance, later in the concert, was in a performance of a composition by one their own: Claire Bonner’s ‘Hope Cottage’.  One was grateful for the spoken introduction by the composer (an excellent prelude to any performance, the sustained practise of which in this concert is to be commended) and the sincerity of her sentiments.  However, this music needs to be considered, at best, to be a draft because it is painfully, stylistically ambiguous, rhythmically unadventurous and, most importantly, shows little grasp of quartet thinking.

Yet one can’t honestly lay the blame for these compositional weaknesses at the feet of the composer.  The genuineness of the expression was enough to tell the informed listener she did her best with the creative technical tools at her disposal.  One can say, however, that the hardware –  (in this case) modern counterpoint, functional harmony, rhythmic/motivic variation, and style studies – need to be more carefully introduced and developed so they become part of her consciousness.  Intuitive dabbling is fine, laudable, and can yield very interesting results, but a satisfying artistic product is only possible when intuition and learned discipline or skill are hand in hand.

And after listening to the works of the other student composers on the program – Gareth Koch, Chris Kotchie and Jeremy Poole-Johnson – these same observations, generally, held true.  Clearly though, each writer focussed on different aspects – according to his personality.  Kotchie’s ‘Autumn’ (where, by the way, the instrument should have better tuned) nicely established a background mood but the painting on the canvas had disconcerting textural breaks and a barely identifiable harmonic discourse.  But again,  as we found in Bonner’s work, the sentiment was earnest and for that, one was grateful.  It was the lack of craftsmanship that was the central problem.  With the right inculcation, I’m sure he will emerge as an interesting creator.  Koch’s “Walls of Jerusalem” needed a strong, decisive stroke to be suddenly hurtled, Jackson Pollock style, across its wary and insular landscape.  A more confident approach by the performer, Claire Bonner, might have helped on this occasion.  But the composition, from its early stages of creation, needed better overseeing so the ideas could be reorganised and shaped with a greater sense of purpose.  As mentioned, Poole-Johnson’s sense of climax placement gave his writing some dynamic balance but the weaving of individual strands, upon which the climaxes rely, required a stronger knowledge of linear development (pitch and rhythm) so the listener’s aural perception could find a convincing musical discourse.

The other more established composers on the program – Philip Houghton and Richard Charlton – were presented, on the whole, with with adequate proficiency and stylistic insight.  If the listener had problems grasping the unity of composition + performance they laid mostly within the compositions.  One of these, probably the most important because of its potential for negative influence on student composers, was the use of colouristic gesture without any sort of context.

The guitar, so it seems, has the ability to produce many such ornaments but problems wade in when the composer breaks the line for no reason other than to insert a gesture.  If he wants the gesture to have  raison d’etre then he needs to make this aurally perceptible.  In other words: it should be heard to develop in an interesting way.  Otherwise, he should use the gesture as a splash of colour and nothing more (exactly like an eighteenth century ornament).  Houghton, arguably, more controlled in this respect but there were some passages, nevertheless, such as in his ‘Brolga’ (performed by Jonathan Paget and Craig Lake), where lines, disagreeably modal/tonal as they were, were supplanted by gestures.  The result, nicely highlighted by the excellence of the performance, was colour on colour…and the listener is left wondering: “What happened to that line I heard?  Where did it go?”.

Charlton’s ‘Legend of Fire’, well executed by Courtney Hilton, highlighted the same polarisation, except here it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between what was line and what was ornament.  A less than decisive performance by the ‘Plectrum Ensemble’ and percussionist Thea Rossen of two movements from Charlton’s ‘Three Distractions’ was sufficient enough to convey the notion that the compositional writing was very odd.  At odds with itself, is perhaps more accurate.  One appreciates the circumstances under which it was written, and the difficulties scouring the Australian ‘contemporary’ repertoire to find something tailored to fit the ensemble.  But this wasn’t the answer.  Moreover, given the fact that there were nine guitarists, the texture was far less rich than it could have been, had the composer thought more in terms of counterpoint.

So if the answer wasn’t ‘Three Distractions’ then, to me, the obvious choice would have been to get one the student composers to come up with a closing fanfare.  Perhaps a semi-aleatoric concept?  In fact, guided improvisation with adequate rehearsal, so to speak, could have created something quite magical.  All the players have talent, rapport and, one assumes, imagination, so why not harvest and combine these qualities?  All it would have required was a composer’s bright idea and a willingness to experiment, and, of course, a solid background in improvisation.  And this causes one to note a few final thoughts.

With the encirclement of the limited space of the venue, the critic was confronted with having to make some firm decisions.  Where the student composers need to focus attention has been discussed already: coming to grips with essential technical aspects in the learning of their craft, but not losing sincerity or naturalness.  In a sense, both the young performers and the young composers need also to have a greater awareness of the hierarchical nature of music and which of these hierarchies they wish to project in either performance or composition.  Few will either have or develop the in-built, intuitive feel for hierarchy displayed by Jonathan Paget, their instrumental teacher at ECU, but they can learn, through linear analysis, to shape their statements more persuasively.  Such questions as: ‘Where is the principal climax? What and where are the subsidiary

climaxes leading to it – on the same hierarchical level? What is process? What is closure? How does this affect tempo and the use of rubato?’, need to be asked and resolved, and always done so on the same hierarchy.

Many touring professional performers, be they pianists or violinists or guitarists or whatever, present renditions that are (increasingly) digital masterstrokes, but, because of a confusion of hierarchies, their readings remain in the shallower waters of interpretation.  Now is the time for student composers and performers (remembering that finesse is as much a part of composition as it is of performance) to recognise and avoid this duality – digital expertise/illustrative unity – before they, too, become part of the roundabout.

Petite Messe Solennelle (Rossini)

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Conservatorium Chorale

Music Auditorium, WAAPA

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn

 

After enormously industrious years during which he churned out opera after opera (many of them masterpieces), Rossini devoted nearly all the rest of his life to laziness. As time ticked by, he began to worry how he’d be received at the gates of heaven. Would the shameless old wizard be ushered in with ceremony or turned away to a less than attractive eternity elsewhere? So he devised a sacred choral work that he hoped would be his entry ticket to celestial bliss. But, Rossini being Rossini, he couldn’t resist the temptation to send up the Mass – and a good deal of Petite Messe Solennelle is firmly tongue in cheek. It most certainly is not small and a good deal of it is anything but solemn. Most importantly for posterity which couldn’t care tuppence whether Rossini got into heaven or not, it’s full of good musical things.

 

A rare airing of the work on Thursday drew a full house to hear it to the

accompaniment of piano and harmonium – but one wondered why the second piano called for in the score was not used bearing in mind that such an instrument was already there onstage.

 

It is no small challenge to direct a work of this nature with a choir consisting of students from first through to final years, many with voices still very much in the process of development. Under these circumstances, the general quality of ensemble, despite occasional raggedness, was encouragingly disciplined with quality of corporate tone, for the most part, commendable. Certainly, momentum was very well maintained throughout.

 

Rossini’s Mass is peppered with solos and the standard of some of these was less than one might have wished. But two contributions stood out for their general excellence. Ryan Sharp – not to be confused with the racing driver of the same name – produced at all times a stream of finely shaped, warmly mellow tone. This is a voice that holds great promise.

 

As is often said, good things are worth waiting for – and this was most certainly the case here with the concluding Agnus Dei which was memorable for a frankly thrilling performance by Bernadette Lucanus. Clearly the beneficiary of the most skilled training, the musicianship she brought to bear on her solo, in which she clothed each note in beautifully refulgent tone, was one of the high points of the evening.

 

Micheal McCarthy, who works tirelessly in the cause of choral music, presided over events with distinction.

 

Lavish laurels to David Wickham whose musicality and musicianship at the piano deserve the highest praise. Stylistically, tonally and expressively it was musicmaking at a very high standard. And at the wheezing harmonium, Stewart Smith was no less on form, his solo near the conclusion of the Mass a model of its kind.


Piers Lane (piano) with W.A.Symphony Orchestra

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Perth Concert Hall                                           

and in recital at

Government House Ballroom

reviewed by Neville Cohn

 

In one of the most compelling performances from the W.A.Symphony Orchestra this year, it became again abundantly clear that when the right person is on the conductor’s podium, the orchestra is capable of formidable feats. With Czech-born Jakub Hrusa presiding over events, the WASO strings were wonderfully on their mettle in the overture to Smetana’s The Bartered Bride. Absolute clarity, accuracy at high speed and buoyant momentum brought this listener to the edge of his seat. Later, we heard Piers Lane in top form as he brought infallible fingers and unflagging energy to what came across as unusually macho Mozart.

 

I’ve not before heard the Piano Concerto K482 (or any other by Mozart for that matter) given such virile treatment. It is one of Mozart’s most brutally demanding piano scores – and Lane, firing on all musical pistons, was more than up to the challenge. This was as far from the Dresden-china-delicate, tinkle-finger school of Mozart piano playing as one could imagine. This was heroic, robust stuff that in less than assured hands might well have sounded grotesquely inappropriate. It’s a measure of Lane’s superlative musicality and musicianship that he brought it off in so triumphant a way. And the peekaboo insouciance that informed the finale was a delicious contrast to what had gone before. Bravo!

 

Woodwind and brass choirs were quite rightly given special acknowledgement at concerto’s end.

 

An account of Dvorak’s Noonday Witch was less uniformly satisfying; it lacked the  energy and precision that had informed the Smetana performance. However, in Janacek’s Taras Bulba, which Hrusa conducted from memory (as was the Dvorak work), the initiative was retrieved in a way that ensured that the inherent turbulence of the score was evoked to splendid effect. Anguish, terror and horror are the emotional building blocks of the score and how effectively Hrusa and the WASO brought that home to the listener as one massive climax after the other was hurled into the auditorium.

 

On Sunday, Piers Lane came to Government House Ballroom. Whether in so hackneyed a piece as Mendelssohn’s Bee’s Wedding or enchanting the ear with a series of waltzes by Schubert – how rarely these little gems figure in recitals these days – Lane was at the top of his game with flawless fingerwork and an intuitive grasp of style.

 

Brahms’ gigantic Sonata in F minor is not for timid pianists. It requires fearless fingers, great feats of memorisation and endurance to stay the course – and on all three counts Lane was beyond reproach. In the opening allegro maestoso, he negotiated ferociously difficult chordal leaps with majestic aplomb – and in the sonata’s more introspective moments, he mined the music for all its intimate subtleties. Lane did wonders, too, in navigating a sure way through the goblinesque moments of the scherzo.

 

Apart from the ubiquitous Bee’s Wedding, the second of the group of Mendelssohn Songs Without Words was lovingly fashioned, with a warm-toned legato line to staccato accompaniment. It was one of the gems of the afternoon.

 

Of a bracket of Chopin Nocturnes, I particularly admired opus 15 no 1 in F; the melancholy beauty of its outer sections was impeccably essayed – and in the central episode Lane did wonders with its churning figurations. In the Nocturne in D flat from opus 27, which is some of Chopin’s most deeply probing music, Lane responded with an answering depth of feeling and the sort of cantabile tone that would surely have tempted even the grumpiest bird from a twig.

 

Not the least of the pleasures of this recital was Lane’s linking commentary at which he is so inordinately skilled. He is one of the very few musicians who does this sort of thing very well unlike so many others whose progress to the microphone is observed with a sinking feeling.

 

Lane romped through Schulz-Evler’s excruciatingly difficult take on Strauss’ Blue Danube and then brought the house down with Dudley Moore’s riotously funny Beethoven spoof played on the Ballroom’s magnificent new Fazioli grand piano.

 

Present at this packed-out and noisily appreciative recital were Mr Fazioli, head of the famous Italian piano-building family – and the Governor of Western Australia and Mrs Michael who cut the bright yellow ribbon wrapped around the piano before the recital began. 

 

By any standards, this Fazioli instrument is a magnificent piano and just the sort that’s needed for the increasingly frequent concerts given at this venue. It was altogether appropriate that the honour of ‘christening’ the piano was given to Lane, one of our most cherished musicians.


CONCERT0 PARADISO

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 Presented by Festival Baroque Australia

                                                Perth Town Hall

  reviewed by Stuart Hille                                              

Soloists: Sara Macliver (soprano), Catherine Jones (cello), Leanne Sullivan (baroque trumpet).

 

Sara Macliver

Sara Macliver

With:  Julia Fredersdorff (violin), Giulia Panzeri (violin), Katherine Corecig (viola), Sophie Walker (cello), Tommie Andersson (theorbo), Stewart Smith (continuo).

 

 

photo credit-  Frances Andrijch

 

 

To preface this critique of the Concerto Paradiso I’d like to draw upon an anecdote of an occasion during which I presented a pre-performance talk to one of the ABC’s ‘Mostly Mozart’ concerts.  I wished to stress to the audience, Mozart’s uniqueness by comparing his Symphony no.38 (‘Prague’) to an orchestral suite by one of his contemporaries: Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf, both of which we had heard in the previous concert.  The suite was a benign, orderly affair and displayed the utmost in practicality or workmanship.  It certainly wasn’t remarkable.  Dittersdorf’s was a fashion-conscious, hermetically sealed world.  A few seconds later, the ‘Prague’ began and immediately, as I recounted to the audience, the heavens suddenly opened and rays of genius pierced the mediocrity.

I mention this occasion for two reasons.  The first of these relates to the fact that nearly all the items on the Concerto Paradiso program were, it their own ways, equivalents of Dittersdorf’s orchestral suite: innocuous, verging on a trifle dull but always very functional.  Each composer had clear command of figured bass and contrapunctus – all a composer really needed in the era of the baroque.  But there was one work – a Handel aria from ‘Alcina’ – that, like Mozart’s ‘Prague’ symphony, transported the listener to an entirely different world.  It’s akin, I imagine, to casting a spell: we lean forward because we strain to catch every musical strand, we watch carefully in order not to miss a gesture, and our listening suddenly becomes far more acute and sensitive.  And we then realise that the baroque period, like the classical, was hugely populated by functional and capable writers; but in every generation, or its equivalent, a creative beacon illuminates the minds of people, not simply entertains them.  

 

 

The second reason relates to the way in which the performers respond to such an occurrence.  Their reaction, it would seem, is entirely instinctive.  In Handel’s aria, the featured soloists – Sara Macliver and Catherine Jones – answered in a fashion that was quite breath-taking in its sensitivity, poise and accuracy.  Moreover, the small accompanying ensemble (including the omnipresent Stewart Smith) demonstrated beautifully balanced rapport.  They picked up and embellished any small melodic gestures in an attempt to nurture the music even more.  This rendition had the imprint of class and lambency.  Macliver’s ability to just ‘touch’ high notes (the placement of which, I should add, lifts this piece out of the ordinary) was most gratifying because it seemed effortless.

Initially, one questioned the need for a solo cello but as soon as the rendition began, the reasoning became apparent.  The cello has the capacity to not only combine with the soprano voice but also to extend its range.  Again, this shows Handel thinking beyond rigid, set definitions used by his contemporaries.  The piece isn’t a duet but an aria which is allowed to blossom in its registral breadth.

Catherine Jones was the very essence of baroque utilitarianism throughout the concert: at one moment she would become soloist (most notably in Vivaldi’s ‘Sonata no.6 in Bflat RV47’…a disappointing composition) and at another she would immediately join the accompanying ensemble.  One assumes this was a common baroque practice.  Requiring the musician to be as versatile as possible makes abundant financial and artistic sense.

Jones performs on a loaned Gagliano cello (1770) which has a richly honeyed and mellow timbre.  In fact it is so creamy in tone that its voice can easily become obscured by other instruments.  Indeed, there were a couple of areas in Leonardo Leo’s ‘Cello Concerto in Dminor’ when, despite the soloist’s obvious rapport with the instrument and her technical skill with baroque performance, her sound became engulfed by the general texture (which was very modest).  Even the Perth Town Hall’s nicely balanced but ‘shiny’ acoustics couldn’t ameliorate a situation that is the result of an instrument that ‘speaks’ uniquely.  This Gagliano cello is a true solo instrument in that it doesn’t like to share attention.

Having said that, it should be added quickly that Jones has all the indicators of considerable prominence.  Her bowing is decisive, and her pitch and dynamic control are solid and reliable.  Clearly, as her biographical details indicate, she has chosen the ‘niche’ of baroque performance.  Her style and approach will become more rounded and her digital skill better sublimated as she continues to mature as an artist in this field.  Given the nature of the instrument she plays, and taking into consideration her prowess, one feels she could be better assessed in a performance of one of the Bach solo cello suites.  These works test a player’s artistry and skill at the ultimate level.

 

 

 

Another soloist featured on the program was baroque trumpeter Leanne Sullivan.  A baroque trumpet is a natural (valveless) instrument used in period performance.  One couldn’t tell whether Sullivan performed on a totally natural trumpet or on one of the slightly vented instruments.  Whatever the case, she demonstrated, with only a couple of minor exceptions, fine ‘lip’ control (natural trumpets, reliant solely on the harmonic series, need to be literally ‘lipped’ into tune on certain partials). 

When Sullivan had the opportunity, as she did in Torelli’s ‘Concerto in D’ and Cazzati’s ‘Sonata a 5 op.35 no.11’, to display her developing skills, she so clearly relished the moment.  Hers is the sound which most readily evokes the grandeur and restraint of the baroque.  Sullivan also showed her talent to blend with the voice (Sara Macliver) in Scarlatti’s ‘Mio Tesoro per te moro’ and ‘Rompe Sprezza’.  Together, the two soloists displayed superlative concord, based on finely judged dynamic balance.  Moreover, their interpretation was further enhanced by a lovely reciprocity with the continuo, cello and theorbo (Tommie Andersson).  The final section was a true Alessandro Scarlatti quirk: so brief as to be finished before the mind has registered it has begun!

Mentioning the theorbo, one feels some regret the program couldn’t accommodate a work featuring lute solo.  The theorbo (a large lute with a doubling of strings) is an accompanying instrument which, as Andersson sensitively revealed, serves its purpose beautifully in the gentle baroque fabric.  But, given Andersson’s expertise, it seemed a pity not to be able to hear him as a featured solo artist.  On this occasion that wasn’t to be but both Andersson and Smith, as they showed so consistently throughout the concert, gave every item solid and ever-sensitive harmonic bedrock. 

Similarly, the other (primarily) accompanying instrumentalists show staunch harmonic support and neatly crafted interweaving.  However, Julia Fredersdorff and Giulia Panzeri (violins) appeared to be particularly absorbed by constant tuning.  One can hardly complain because their intention was purely musically based.  Nevertheless, I can’t recall another concert where there was so much tuning up of strings prior to movements being preformed, baroque or otherwise.  The custom almost became an addiction and soon included violist Katherine Corecig, cellist Sophie Walker and Andersson on the theorbo.  This causes one to wonder if there is any clear evidence that feverish tuning was a common practice during the period.  My guess would be that no such proof exists and that the procedure is more a result of our modern day preoccupation with precision.  Even Ms Macliver felt it necessary to make a short aside to the audience to this effect.  She was, after all, waiting for the frenetic buzz of tuning and re-tuning to be resolved, as was the audience, so she could begin singing!   

 

 

 

Indeed, Macliver, after such a superb account of the Handel aria, deserved more than one of the bouquets handed out after the encore.  As much as it was to every one of the musician’s credit, it was her gentle unfolding of the music that lifted this concert into a sphere above most.  This program showed how the creative thinking of one genius can not only affect music history but it can also influence an entire concert’s complexion when placed in the context of his contemporaries.

Stuart Hille 2009.

 

 

 


W.A.Youth Orchestra

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Perth Concert Hall

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn

 

I came to the Concert Hall on Saturday evening wondering to what effect the W.A. Youth Orchestra would engage with Stravinsky’s Rite of  Spring. This is one of the 20th century’s most complex and demanding scores, a work that even the most experienced of fulltime, professional orchestral players needs to approach with caution. It is a score that constantly challenges the players. Its rhythmic complexities are like a musical minefield; there is danger at every turn. And there can be no passengers in a work such as this. Total concentration is essential to avoid this musical enterprise from finishing on the rocks.

 

A one-hundred-strong WAYO (with more than fifty of its players aged 19 years or more) came through this protracted ordeal with banners flying high.

 

Performances like this don’t just happen. There would have been a gruelling preparation for this performance, with the WAYO musicians fronting up to rehearsals that ran from 10am to 4pm from the Monday to the Friday preceding the performance as well as during Saturday morning at the Concert Hall. There would also have had to be intensive preliminary study of the score and dedicated supervision by tutors to come up with a result as meaningful as this.

 

All this investment of time and skill paid handsome musical dividends.

 

Tze Law Chan presided over events, taking his young charges through a reading that most effectively evoked the powerfully atavistic nature of Stravinsky’s barrier-breaking score. Incidentally, at its first performance in Paris, the work (to choreography by Nijinsky) so infuriated the audience that the gendarmes had to be called to cope with the riot and fistfights that broke out in the theatre. Stravinsky was bundled into a hansom cab to distance himself from members of the audience who might have wanted to assault him – or worse.

 

There was also a performance of Beethoven’s Emperor concerto with Thomas Hecht as soloist. Apart from trivialising the keyboard flourishes in the opening moments of this most loved of piano concertos, the presentation was most impressive. Here was a reading that took up an interpretative position at the emotional epicentre of the concerto. Not the least of the pleasures of this account was the extraordinary range of tone colours that Hecht brought to his performance, so bringing freshness to familiar notes.

 

Hecht is blessed with near-infallible fingers; the slowly ascending trills in the slow movement were faultlessly spun. Throughout, wonderfully flexible wrists and an unflagging pace added to the overall impact of the performance. It was a tour de force to which the WAYO players responded with a consistently meaningful accompaniment.