Category Archives: Live Performance

Yuri Bashmet (viola) with W.A.Symphony Orchestra

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Yuri Bashmet (viola)
with W.A.Symphony Orchestra

 

Matthias Bamert, conductor

Perth Concert Hall

reviewed by Neville Cohn

Black-clad from head to toe, his angular features framed by long, jet-dark hair, Yuri Bashmet, eerily resembling the legendary violinist Paganini, cuts a striking, sombre figure.

He stands before a truncated W.A.Symphony Orchestra. It is a most singular sight – the WASO minus all its violins. It is as if the viola, that Cinderella of the strings section, must, for once, have no competition at all from its brighter-toned cousins, nothing to detract from its bleak majesty. In place of the absent violins are three keyboard instruments with Graeme Gilling at the piano, Cathie Travers seated at the celeste and Faith Maydwell playing the harpsichord.

Bashmet, as is well known, is a prince of the viola, a musical magician capable of making it sing in a way that few can emulate – or ever could. It comes alive in his hands. But in Alfred Schnittke’s Viola Concerto, its song is one of almost unrelieved sadness, even despair. The concerto is, in fact, one of the most sombre in the entire canon; for the most part it explores a world of emotional darkness where the chief sounds are cries of pain or anguish or regret.

But it is not always so. Every now and again, there is a brief departure from this claustrophobic gloom – a folksy little dance episode, a lilting snatch of waltz. But these vignettes do little to raise the pall that hangs over the work; they are overwhelmed by its pessimism. And even in the central allegro molto of the concerto, where then music is far busier than in the movements that flank it, the prevailing moods are those of urgency and panic, expressed in tone of astonishing power.

There’s a huge, sustained ovation at concerto’s end for a superbly probing performance; it is thoroughly deserved. Bashmet is a generous soloist; he insists on acknowledging conductor Matthias Bamert and orchestra for a job well done. He is particularly warm in his gestures to his fellow violists in the WASO. And after being presented with the obligatory bouquet of flowers, he gallantly tosses it to Sophie Kesoglidis in the viola section.

This is no run-of-the-mill concert for Kesoglidis; she is on study leave in Melbourne but makes the trip back to Perth just for the experience of playing in an orchestra that accompanies this most august exponent of the instrument.

Bashmet’s gallant gesture is a charming, light-hearted move which dissipates the gloom of what had gone before like the sun peeping over the rim of a black cloud.

Earlier, we heard the WASO in a transcription for orchestra by Stokowski (with whom Bamert had worked as a young conductor gaining valuable experience) of Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, BWV582. It unfolds with commendable style and taste; it is one of Stokowski’s less vulgar and violently coloured orchestrations and makes a fine curtain raiser. And after interval, Bamert presides over an account of Brahms’ Symphony No 4 paying as much attention to detail as conveying the grand sweep of the work.

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn


AUSTRALIAN CHAMBER ORCHESTRA

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ROMANTICS
PRAGUE CHAMBER ORCHESTRA

 

 

 

Perth Concert Hall/Octagon Theatre

 

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

 

 

As we’re often told in newspaper, radio and TV advertisements, the homegrown product is often superior in quality to the imported variety.

This was very much the case when considering the relative merits of the Australian Chamber Orchestra and the Prague Chamber Orchestra, both of which featured in the 2004 Perth International Arts Festival.

Consider the ACO. Listened to in the air-conditioned comfort of Perth Concert Hall, which made this splendidly refurbished venue and its near-perfect acoustics all the more welcoming after a savagely hot and humid day, the Australian Chamber Orchestra staked yet another claim – quite irrefutable in my view – to be recognised and acknowledged as the nation’s foremost chamber orchestra and a major player on the world stage.

From the cluster of microphones suspended above the ACO, it could be presumed that its performance was being recorded. I very much hope that this was the case because, in decades of listening to live performances, I cannot recall a more satisfying account of Haydn’s Symphony No 49, know as the Passione.

Not the least of the pleasures of listening to the ACO is the precision of its intonation. Tuning backstage before making its entrance, the ACO is invariably spot-on, pitch-wise. This, in turn, enhances one of the ACO’s other strong points which is the care it lavishes on phrase-shaping. And the uniformity of tonal sheen in string playing was yet another fine feature of the performance.

Literally from bar one, this meticulous attention to moulding the various instrumental lines, and the resulting quality of harmonic tissue, yielded listening dividends of the most satisfying sort, not least in relation to beautifully realised tonal light and shade that added significantly to the tension generated in the opening Adagio. And how splendidly the second movement took off with its bracing attack and follow-through that did not so much attract the attention as seize it.

Horns and oboes were unfailingly stylish in the third movement. And in the finale, the joie de vivre with which these youthful players embraced the music, offered at an
unfaltering pace, thoroughly warranted the gales of applause that greeted its conclusion.

As always, Richard Tognetti kept the performance on track with the utmost economy of gesture. Certainly, with this intense focus on the minutiae of presentation together with an ability to present the ‘big picture’, as it were, yielded phenomenal listening dividends. And for this critic, in the presence of such musical distinction, there was little to do other than to sit back while acknowledging artistry of the highest order.

Emma-Jane Murphy, who has had a long association as principal cellist with the ACO, made a rare appearance as soloist in Tchaikowsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme.

In the accommodating acoustics of the Concert Hall, the Prague Chamber Orchestra, playing in ensemble with the Australian Intervarsity Choral Societies Association and four vocal soloists, seldom sounded less than adequate in Dvorak’s Stabat Mater. But in the far more unforgiving, dry acoustic of the Octagon Theatre, the PCO fared significantly less well.

Because of an acoustic that robbed string tone of much of its bloom (an effect made the more obvious when listened to from as close to the stage as the fourth row), small lapses in intonation and ensemble became glaringly obvious. And with little lift to the phrase as well as a tendency to clip phrase ends made this all-Mozart program a less than satisfying listening experience.

Prague, of course, was the city which, more than two hundred years ago, hosted the world premiere of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. So there had been an added frisson of anticipation as the PCO launched into this curtain-raiser. Sadly, the players’ presentation of the overture faltered on a number of grounds, not least due to an unwanted raspiness as bows bit strings.

At a performance, only days earlier of Messiaen’s dauntingly complex Harawi, there was a phenomenal display of musicianship and musicality on the part of French pianist Cedric Tiberghien. He faced another great challenge in Mozart’s Piano Concerto in A, K414, a challenge fully risen to only from the beginning of the cadenza of the slow movement.

Although, up to that point, he had brought notational accuracy and clarity to the piano part, Tiberghien’s playing on this occasion lacked that elusive X factor, difficult to define but instantly recognisable when it manifests itself, that had made his Messiaen offering such magical listening.

Trills were not quite evenly spun, the opening Allegro’s mood of blithness was not compellingly evoked, there was more than a little bass-register humming along on the part of the soloist – and that dreaded acoustic again ensured that some of the gloss was removed from the tone Tiberghien generated at the keyboard of a Steinway which would surely have sounded more satisfying in a more acoustically sympathetic environment.

But, after his retrieval of the initiative towards the close of the Andante, Tiberghien gave us playing that, notwithstanding extraneous features over which he could have had no control, was stylistically convincing and commendably expressive.

Listening to Mozart’s Symphony No 40 in G minor from the rear of the hall was a happier experience compared to what had earlier been heard from close up. The Octagon’s acoustical dryness sounded less ferocious from that vantage point. But one longed for rather more elegance to the shaping and tapering of phrases and a more uniform tonal sheen, especially on the part of the higher strings in the slow movement. Certainly, more might have been made of the serene and melancholy theme that makes this one of Mozart’s most beguiling essays in tranquillity. There was robust treatment of the minuet and the woodwinds (which had sounded unattractively blurred from close up in the Don Giovanni overture) came up trumps in the trio section of the minuet. And in the finale, the grittiness of string sound worked to the advantage of the performance, enhanced by strong, even fierce, rhythmic emphases.

© 2004

Artemis Quartet Perth

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Artemis Quartet

 

Perth Concert Hall

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

Insofar as Australian composer Brett Dean’s Eclipse for string quartet is concerned, it was a case of information overload.

In the printed program, there was a perfectly satisfactory explanatory note about the work, the writing of which had been triggered by Dean’s outrage at government treatment of the Tampa refugees. Then Chris Sears dealt with the work at some length in his pre-concert talk in the foyer of the Concert Hall.

So, when Volker Jacobsen, violist of the visiting Artemis Quartet, took to the microphone just before the performance of Eclipse, to tell us about the work all over again, covering much the same ground as before, it must have tested the restraint of many members of the audience, including some concert anarchists who, here and throughout the evening, clapped loudly at inappropriate moments.

For all the talk about the genesis of, and the background to, Dean’s Eclipse (not, incidentally, to be confused with another new work – Ellipse – which is being performed currently by the W.A.Ballet Company at His Majesty’s Theatre), the acid test for the piece is whether its musical merits can stand up to close scrutiny in their own right – whether those coming to Eclipse without knowing WHY it was written, will still find it a satisfying listening experience. And after giving it the closest attention at its first performance in Perth, I would have to say that it leaves a most positive impression as a stand-alone work. It’s written by a composer who clearly has a very real understanding of the potential of string instruments. (Dean, incidentally, was for some time a violist with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra.)

With its plethora of memorable ideas and moods that veer from the elegiac to a barely contained hysteria, Eclipse irresistibly calls Schoenberg’s Transfigured Night to mind.

The Artemis Quartet is the last word in ensemble excellence; the sonorities it generates are, at their most substantial, reminiscent of those of a fine chamber organ. Its essaying of Beethoven’s Grosse Fuge, that most lofty of contrapuntal Everests, was staggeringly fine.

Lesser ensembles cope as best they can, endeavour to play the notes correctly and leave it at that. These efforts are usually as unsatisfying for players as listeners. But when – and this is happens only very rarely – the work is tackled by four musicians who not only have the physical skill to steer an accurate way through the notes but also the ability to break through its intellectual barriers and pierce to the heart of the music, the result can be overwhelming – and this was very much the case here in a reading that, at climaxes, bordered on the ecstatic.

Not the least of the pleasures of this performance was the quality of corporate tone which, at its most substantial and glowing, seemed almost palpable. It would have been worth attending this Musica Viva performance if only to hear this stunning account of Beethoven’s Grosse Fuge for which one was, in the best sense, prepared by the Artemis musicians’ quite splendid reading of opus 130.

Copyright 2004 Neville Cohn


Wood Llama Bar, Subiaco

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Wood

 

Llama Bar, Subiaco

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

Musica Viva’s Menage concert series, designed to tempt young adults to taste the delights of chamber music, is an experiment that has begun to work. At earlier events, this did not seem to be the case with audiences consisting almost exclusively of regular concertgoers. But at a jam-packed Llama Bar in Subiaco’s Rokeby Road ­ it would have been difficult to swing a canary there, let alone the proverbial cat – most of the faces of those gathered were new to me. More significantly, they were prepared to stand, without complaint, throughout the performance and did the musicians the courtesy of listening to them in engrossed silence. And if the cheers that broke out after each item are any guide, there’s little doubt that, insofar as the audience was concerned, wood was pressing all the right buttons.

Wood is a recently formed ensemble made up of four cellists and a percussionist.

Seated on a dais set up against a corner of the venue, amid a little forest of microphones recording the performance for later broadcast by ABC-FM, wood offered an eclectic selection that ranged from the works of Bartok, Estonian composer Arvo Part and minimalism master Steve Reich to arrangements of pieces by Sting, Nitin Sawnhey and members of wood, such as Melanie Robinson’s Sink.

Here, she contributed vocals that irresistibly called to mind the idiosyncratic articulation of Edith Sitwell in William Walton’s Façade. Iain Grandage’s Asp included an engaging tango episode a la Piazzolla ­ and later in the evening we heard what sounded a tongue-in-cheek send-up of an Hungarian czardas.

The meatiest fare was offered in the first half which included a bracket of arrangements of Bartok, notably two of his dances in Bulgarian rhythm with gutsy, emphatic rhythmic underpinning and a grainy, at times raspy, tone quality that suited these earthy, folksy items very well.

Buciumeana, that gentle, minuet-like dance from Rumania, made its point despite the maddeningly intrusive humming of air conditioners. As well, the performance suffered from uncertain intonation, a problem that reared its head on and off through the evening due, I dare say, if only in part, to the combined effect on cello strings of body heat in an enclosed space and shafts of cold air when the bar doors were opened. Pitch was insecure, too, in a movement from Reich’s Electric Counterpoint.

Throughout, one was given the impression that wood has something worthwhile to say in musical terms, not least in Part’s Fratres which seems set to become the Estonian equivalent of Barber’s Adagio so far as popularity with audiences is concerned, an eerie-sounding, slowly unfolding processional that, once heard, haunts the mind. Like the best of Bach, Fratres works its magic even in the most unlikely transcriptions and this version by wood certainly gripped the attention with its rich, dark sonorities although, again, there were waverings of pitch. Sting’s A Thousand Years was given memorable treatment, ushered in by Genevieve Wilkins’ silken touch on wind chimes and pianissimo mallet-tappings on a cymbal.

There was a pleasant informality about the proceedings, with an anticipatory buzz of conversation before the concert got under way. As well, there were Musica Viva tickets and fine wine as raffle prizes and musicians taking turns to say a few words about the works on offer. And the Llama Bar’s pleasant ambience was enhanced by a good deal of mirror space and many lit candles in little glasses.

This was far and away the most successful of Musica Viva’s Menage concert series, purpose-presented to tempt young adults to sample the delights of chamber music. It’s an experiment that’s working well.

Neville Cohn Copyright 2004


Solo Voices at PIAF

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Solo Voices at PIAF

Various venues

reviewed by Neville Cohn 

In many years of attending the Perth Festival, I cannot readily recall hearing so many voices of high quality as during PIAF 2004.

 

Highest profile sing this year was baritone Bryn Terfel who presented a recital devoted to vocal miniatures, most of which originated in the British Isles. As well, there were three songs by Aaron Copland.

 

 

 

Terfel is built like a rugby forward and he has a voice of similar size. It’s a phenomenal instrument, beautifully trained in a way that allows him complete control of the medium, leaving him free to focus on interpretative considerations.

Terfel’s account at Perth Concert Hall of Vaughan Williams’ Songs of Travel was an enchanting listening experience with phrase after immaculately turned phrase expressed via a stream of sound which, from first note to last, was most beautifully coloured in tonal terms. Disappointingly, the piano accompaniment by Anders Kilstrom was far too soft. Instead of providing a fine keyboard foil to the vocal line, the sound of the piano frequently all but disappeared when pitted against Terfel’s singing at its most robust. And at its gentlest, it touched the ear as lightly as a dandelion seed floating across the Concert Hall.

For those who think of Bryn Terfel exclusively in terms of his more heroic opera roles and his ability to blast a way through even the most formidably loud of orchestras, this journey through some of music’s most delicate sonic landscapes might well have proved revelatory. And the overall effect of Terfel’s singing after interval was greatly enhanced by a much more satisfying response from Kilstrom who upped the decibel levels at the keyboard in a way that made for a far more equitable distribution of sound. And, as always, Terfel’s genial stage manner broke the ice instantly.

I especially admired his treatment of four songs by Tosti, not least La Serenata with its ardently expressed vocal line to Kilstrom’s rippling accompaniment.

There were also many rewards at a performance of Dvorak’s Stabat Mater in which vocal soloists and a large choir performed in ensemble with the Prague Chamber Orchestra.

I have not heard tenor Aldo di Toro to better advantage; the intensity of his quasi-operatic treatment of the part sounded here entirely suitable and augurs well for a career as an oepra singer. And mezzo soprano Fiona Campbell was radiant both visually and vocally; her concluding solo – Let me be Guarded – before Quando Corpus brings the work to a close, was deeply affecting. One cannot too highly praise the singing, too, of the Australian Intervarsity Choral Societies Association which filled the choir stalls to overflowing. Here was a choir that sounded trained to the nth degree, certainly insofar as fine tonal light and shade are concerned.

Soprano Gweneth-Ann Jeffers was an important figure in PIAF’s Wigmore Chamber Music series, in exceptional form in Messiaen’s Songs of Love and Death (with Cedric Tiberghien an inspired piano partner) and impressive in Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder.

Copyright Neville Cohn 2004