Until I attended a performance of Some Kind of Beautiful, I had thought of its author Belinda Dunbar exclusively in terms of her role as deputy general manager of His Majesty’s Theatre, a busy and efficient person in arts administration.
On a Saturday evening performance at Downstairs at the Maj, I encountered a very different incarnation of Dunbar: playwright.
Some Kind of Beautiful is a slice of life that has about it a refreshing sense of reality. Nothing jars in Act 1; its repartee had the ring of truth. It could all well have happened.
It’s not a scene of unalloyed domestic bliss. Initially, we hear Kate (Julia Jenkins) in a monologue mulling over what’s recently transpired. Paul, her partner, much loved, adored even, has succumbed to a particularly nasty cancer. She’s young, rather inexperienced and clearly devastated by the passing of an adored, fulfilling partner years her senior. The household, in the process of being dismantled, is a clutter of half-filled packing cartons – books, ornaments, a miscellany of domestic detritus.
Her meditation is abruptly and unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of two women one of whom delivers a brutally frank revelation. Paul was still legally married to her at the time of his death, after an illness through which Kate had nursed him lovingly. As Barbara (Helen Searle) brings Kate cruelly up to date, speaking of some aspects of Paul that reveal him as a not entirely attractive person, we find that he hadn’t bothered, hadn’t cared – or simply ‘forgot’- to tell Kate about his married state.
He’d never bothered to dissolve the marriage formally and – a thoughtless man – he’d never updated a will drawn up years earlier in which the prime beneficiary is his charmless wife. And although they haven’t had anything to do with one another for years, the will is no less valid than on the day it was drawn up. Of course, there’s nothing in it for Kate who only came on the scene much later.
Bitterness and withering anger are widow Barbara’s close companions through most of Act 1. Flinty, insensitive and full of anger, she holds forth with an unending stream of vindictiveness and like some beer-fuelled youth with a souped-up car, goes roaring through the lives of others causing terrible damage to innocent bystanders on the way.
In the midst of all this, her daughter, Destiny (Maree Cole), wise beyond her years – and certainly more rational and considerate than her incandescently angry mother – tries to ameliorate the bitterness of her hate. Sensing the injustice towards Julia, Maree tries to reason with her mother to give Julia (who is an innocent party) a break.
A secret, carefully kept for years, emerges with the force of a cyclone. Paul may have fathered Destiny but Barbara is not her biological mother but the offspring of another woman casually impregnated by Paul who, for all his attractiveness to women, is an arch-poep, an uber-idiot who probably thought as deeply about the consequences of his tomcat behaviour as having another tinny (probably paid for by someone else).
There are no weak links in this cast; each makes a thoroughly worthwhile contribution to the performance, no less so than in Act 2 where the writing tends to discursiveness and the narrative line, so sure and logical in Act 1, weakens.
Invisible to the audience behind his sheet music on the grand piano positioned to a corner on the stage, Tim Cunniffe is a discreet presence; the songs he has written for the actors fit seamlessly into the action. There is no jarring effect at all.
Soloists: Sara Macliver (soprano), Catherine Jones (cello), Leanne Sullivan (baroque trumpet).
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.
Mozart: Piano Concertos K466 in D minor; K595 in B flat major
Prokofiev: Piano Concertos No 2 in G minor; No 3 in C major
Beethoven: Piano Trio in B flat major, opus 97 (Archduke)
Brahms: Piano Trio in B major, opus 8
Ravel: Piano Trio in A minor
Mendelssohn: Piano Trio in D minor, opus 49
During the early years of the 20th century, recitals given by Polish pianist Ignaz Paderewski drew immense audiences. No musician since Liszt was as widely known as this striking figure with his immense shock of red hair and powerful stage presence. He was the equivalent of today’s rock stars. He earned a ton of money and was lionised wherever he went.
This was the triumph of spin over substance, the elevation of a second-rater to demi-god-like status.
It could never happen now. In Paderewski’s day, there was nothing like the avalanches of music recordings (most of them of fine quality) that now routinely flood on to the market. So there were far fewer opportunities in Paderewski’s day for concertgoers to assess his worth in relation to recordings by other, far worthier, musicians. He got away with musical murder then. He could never do so now.
A 4-CD pack devoted to performances by laureates of the 2008 Sydney International Piano Competition demonstrates unequivocally why Paderewski (and a host of other early 20th century pianists) would never have stood a chance in a contest where the least accomplished SIPC competitor would have been vastly more convincing than Paderewski whose accomplishments included a stint as prime minister of Poland.
Perhaps the greatest factor contributing to the ever-rising professional standards of pianists – and other instrumentalists and singers – around the world is the flood of fine recordings that have come onto the market. Inevitably, the many fine performances enshrined on compact discs is have raised expectations by listeners who would certainly not be conned nowadays compared to the state of affairs that pertained when Paderewski would routinely be received like musical royalty wherever he went.
Listen to Konstantin Shamray in Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No 2 in G minor. The skill with which he conveys the poetic, dreamlike nature of the piano part that ushers in and closes the first movement is that of an arrived master. And midway, he is no less convincing in evoking the essence of Prokofiev’s starkly abrupt, striding measures. I listened in wonder to the virtuosic brilliance with which he steers a sure way through the musical minefield that is the scherzo.
And in Prokofiev’s much better-known Piano Concerto No 3 in C, Ran Dank sounds perfectly suited to its challenges, especially the opening andante-allegro where his playing oscillates between nimble, filigree-delicacy to virile poundings. Dank rises wonderfully to the challenges of the theme and variations. Here, Dank is invariably positioned at the emotional epicentre of the writing. The playing radiates joie de vivre. Dank is no less persuasive in the finale where there is a joyful coming-to-grips with the score.
There’s an abundance of chamber music here with Charlie Albright a particularly bright musical star in Beethoven’s Archduke Trio with Dimity Hall (violin) and Julian Smiles (cello).
This generous, 4-CD pack includes two Mozart concertos as well as chamber works by Brahms, Mendelssohn and Ravel.
Like the tuba and the double bass, the bassoon could be thought of as one of the cinderellas of music. Instruments such as these have been the butt of innumerable jokes but, played by master musicians, they are capable of an astonishing range of emotion and tone colouring. Years ago, I had the good fortune to attend a recital by Ludwig Streicher that near-legendary master of the double bass. His mastery of that intractable instrument was revelatory.
And like the tuba and the double bass, the repertoire available to the bassoonist is sadly thin. Of the six sonatas on this CD, only one was originally for the bassoon. All the others are transcriptions of sonatas composed for other instruments.
In the opening cantabile in Telemann’s Sonata in E minor, the bassoon produces a flawless ribbon of sound – and in the following allegro, Matthew Wilkie is impressively agile on the instrument and magically adept in tone colouring, although recorded sound has a shade too much echo. In the recitative-arioso, the trio’s corporate tone is everything one could have wished for, although the concluding vivace might have been rather more controlled. Here, there’s some evidence of strain at high speed.
Fans of the flute repertoire could well experience as sense of déjà vu on listening to an arrangement for bassoon of Bach’s much loved Sonata in B minor for flute and harpsichord. How beautifully the first movement unfolds. The concluding presto has been the graveyard of more than a few musical reputations. It is unforgivingly difficult music that requires an iron nerve and a cool head to bring off successfully. It’s triumphantly achieved here. Bravo!
In the opening triste movement of Telemann’s Sonata in F minor, the bassoon seduces the ear with gorgeously dark-hued tone. This is the only sonata on this disc that was originally conceived as a work for bassoon.
In C.P.E.Bach’s fearsomely exposed Sonata in D minor, Wilkie emerges at the end of the ordeal with honour not only intact but enhanced, especially because being unaccompanied, the slightest flaw can become embarrassingly apparent. I particularly liked the skill with which the teasing, insouciant nature of the second movement is conveyed – and there is musicality of the highest order in the concluding allegro.
Wilkie has the incomparable advantage of ensemble partners of exceptional merit. Neal Peres Da Costa at the harpsichord and Kees Boersma on double bass are masters of their art. They and Wilkie bring the stamp of high distinction to this compilation.
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.
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