University Symphony Orchestra conductor John Stringer
WE are apt to forget that York has three full-size symphony orchestras: York Guildhall Orchestra and York Symphony Orchestra, of course, but also the university’s own orchestra, culled from throughout the campus. All are worthy of our attention.
The University Symphony Orchestra (USO) reminded us of its quality with this appearance under its regular conductor John Stringer.
It involved four northern European composers: Denmark’s Poul Ruders, Estonia’s Arvo Pärt and Finland’s Sibelius, before dipping southwards for Belgium’s Franck.
The Ruders was a UK premiere, despite being written as long ago as 1994: The Return Of The Light, music to accompany a ten-minute film on the Christmas gospel. It began with amorphous dissonance, until a drumbeat emerged and high strings evoked a chilly night.
Figments of a chorale floated into view and for the first time the announced sampled sounds on tape began to clarify, delivering watery sounds. Finally, woodwinds launched into a return of the chorale. One suspects this work is more successful as soundtrack than as a concert piece.
Pärt’s Greater Antiphons for strings is equally seasonal, based on the church’s Advent antiphons, or ‘O antiphons’ as they are known (since each of the seven – preludes to the Magnificat – opens with the exclamation ‘O’). They are brief but distinctive, if similar in general atmosphere to the Ruders.
After a gently rocking ‘O Adonai’, there was a bolder line in ‘O Root Of Jesse’ and some urgency in ‘O Key Of David’. ‘O Emmanuel’ was well worked, its major-chord lullaby becoming a fanfare before fading out.
Uncertain horns fuzzied the start of the Intermezzo in Sibelius’s Karelia Suite, although it firmed up when the string tremolos appeared. The Ballade was distinguished by fine string tutti and a sturdy cor anglais solo. The blending of the march’s two themes made a resplendent finish.
The lingering lethargy at the start of Franck’s Symphony in D minor was immediately dispelled by a vivid Allegro. Here was plenty of evidence, if any were needed, of what a fine body of violins the university boasts at the moment, always persuasive. They would also have been more shapely had contrasts been more marked, since in this relatively small hall everything tends to sound loud unless rigorously controlled.
Franck himself characterised the second half of the Allegretto as a scherzo, which makes the movement almost a scherzo and trio, but in reverse. The melancholy chromaticism of the opening was affecting but it was the violins’ pianissimo in the alleged scherzo that was absolutely magical.
The main theme in the finale needed more bite from the cellos who were a touch lightweight all evening. Not so the reply in the brass, who were in the forefront as the themes from earlier movements were recollected, resulting in an enormous climax as we reached a triumphant D major.
OCTANDRE is a piano quintet, with a double bass replacing the second violin. Think, in other words, of the instrumentation in Schubert’s ‘Trout’ quintet – which ended the programme here.
Before it, we heard works by Nicola LeFanu, her late husband David Lumsdaine and Christian Mason, who happens to be a co-artistic director of Octandre.
But before a note had been played, we were treated to an excerpt from Lumsdaine’s Soundscape 4: Butcher Birds Of Spirey Creek, a dawn chorus recorded in the Warrumbungles, a mountain range in his native New South Wales. Without risking a description, we can say that this remarkable bird has tonal instincts.
Next up was Mason’s Shadowy Fish (2020), which he subtitles ‘Hommage à Schubert’, although its title originates in a Pablo Neruda poem. In three sections, with the outer two labelled “mysterious” amongst other epithets, it is clearly a very personal reaction to the poetry of Schubert’s setting (actually by Christian Schubart), but without obvious relevance to the composer himself.
A viola interlude interrupts the angular motifs that jostle for attention at the start, and there is a viola solo near the close, which may mean that the instrument represents the trout. The plaintive slitherings in the middle – “slow, with a heavy heart” – against sforzando chords in the piano, might have been the fisherman’s moment of truth and the spaced high chords at the close offered the possibility of lament. But one struggled to detect much in the way of water, a mystery indeed.
Much more decisive because more vivid was LeFanu’s briefer Night Song With Frogs, originally a cimbalom solo, dating from 2004. With the strings now accompanied by harpsichord, the original score formed the basis of an improvisation, accompanied by an edited Lumsdaine tape of frogs on the Darling River.
Paradoxically, this sounded quite structured, with the strings flitting like insects around the frogs: motifs like little jigs, sometimes pizzicato, sometimes rapidly bowed, intrigued the ear and came close to blending with the tape, even elaborating upon it.
Lumsdaine’s solo cello piece Blue Upon Blue (1991) continued the theme of dawn and dark, since its title comes from a Buddhist poem about distant hills under evening clouds. The work is almost a duet: against an unpretentious though lyrical melody there is accompaniment of pizzicato and glissandos.
These come into the foreground along with rapid tremolos as the melody fades. It made a tricky combination, but was deftly handled by Corentin Chassard.
It cannot have been easy for the players, switching from the contemporary to the classical in Schubert’s ‘Trout’ quintet. Perhaps for that reason, this was not a particularly Viennese account, but also partly because the pianist, Joseph Houston, dominated most of the textures, more or less rigidly adhering to his own view of the score. There was little sense that he was responding to his colleagues.
Most of the melodic lines in the piano, although competently drawn, were a touch more forceful than would have been ideal for balance.
That said, there were compensating joys. After an edgy scherzo, the trio, taken at a more leisurely pace, was pleasingly smooth. The ‘trout’ theme itself was played without vibrato, a cute move, and the variations upon it strongly varied. Overall, the work would have benefited from a more relaxed approach that reflected Schubert’s own light-heartedness.
THE evening belonged to Schubert, but not altogether as you might have expected him.
With his irrepressible desire to push boundaries, baritone Roderick Williams – who is also a composer in his own right – has rewritten the piano accompaniment to Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin, for string quartet. It was an audacious move, which opened up new angles on this much-loved song-cycle.
There is no denying that there were minuses as well as pluses in this approach. Right from the start the piano’s percussiveness was absent. The mill-wheels barely rattled, the stones did not resound and the stream was at times barely a ripple compared to Schubert’s full-blown mill race: the piano does water better than strings.
And yet. There is no decay in string sound. So whenever Schubert put a separate melody alongside the singer’s line, the two voices were generally better balanced. There is also more physical drama in watching four string players in action than one pianist can deliver: the Carduccis certainly let you know when they need to be heard. The tone quality from each instrument is more variegated and thus at times easier to discern.
A few samples must suffice to demonstrate the subtlety of Williams’s orchestration. Where the piano repeats the music for each verse, Williams often writes something different. Thus in ‘Morning Greeting’ we had a touch of tremolo illustrating the little flowers shrinking from the sun, this a song in which voice and strings combined especially well. He had largely omitted the first violin at the start of ‘Thanksgiving to the Brook’, giving a darker texture.
In ‘Curiosity’ (No 6), the pauses between phrases were telling. The word ‘Ja’ here was forceful, but led into a prayerful final verse, where the sustaining power of the strings made the mood altogether more wistful.
Carducci Quartet
The following song, ‘Impatience’ benefited from very light strings, Mendelssohn-style, but the tempo was too fast to allow quite enough breadth on ‘Dein ist mein Herz’.
In the central verses of ‘Shower Of Tears’ (No 10), the legato lines of both voice and strings intermingled delightfully. At the end of ‘Mine!’, Williams stood for effect, where otherwise he remained seated on a piano stool; the quartet had lent urgency to the song.
Staccato strings heightened the vocal anger behind ‘The Huntsman’ (No 14) and, with resentment building, the dark atmosphere of ‘The Good Colour’ made it quite clear that the game was up for our lovelorn lad.
So Williams ended ‘The Wicked Colour’ boldly as the lad said farewell, after which viola and cello pizzicato alone opened ‘Dry Flowers’, typifying the empty moment. Yet that song finished in a blaze, each of the repetitions of the last stanza more intense. The dialogue between lad and (seductive) brook ended with a lovely postlude, before the touching final ‘goodnight’.
It was a treat to hear this version, not least for the way it uncovered new vistas. It was sung in German and, of course, in lower keys than the original tenor. But Williams was immensely alive to Schubert’s nuances – and the Carduccis, to their credit, were with him every step of the way.
They had opened the evening with Schubert’s Tenth Quartet, D.87 in E flat, dating from November 1813, with pronounced shading, especially in the fast outer movements. Some of the accompaniment figures from the 16-year-old composer were a touch rudimentary, but his melodic gift was already blossoming here.
Bojan Čičić: “Three-line whip for any lover of the Baroque violin”
THE appearance of Bojan Čičić in this neck of woods is a three-line whip for any lover of the Baroque violin. He scoots all over Europe directing top-notch ensembles, but always seems to find time to fit York into his crammed schedule.
Here he was leading the Academy of Ancient Music (AAM) – a dozen strings and a harpsichord – in a Bach programme entitled Concerto Heaven: three concertos and an ouverture, providing the festival’s finale.
Bach’s ‘ouvertures’ are essentially suites; here, in No 3 in D major, an intro, an air and four dances. The dances were truly balletic and the final gigue had a comfortable lilt.
The concertos contained the real fireworks. The first, BWV1041 in A minor, was actually clean and unfussy – until its furious finale. Wonderfully vivacious, too, was the opening Allegro of the D minor Concerto, and its finish, after the solemnity of its slow movement, a real tonic.
But between these two we had a sensational account of BWV1042 in E major. Here Čičić elected to have merely five strings and harpsichord as accompaniment. There was a dazzling cadenza in the first movement, in which one could have sworn he was playing several instruments at once, so rapid the figurations and so distinctive the registers.
Yet equally mesmerising was the wistful Adagio, while his capricious episodes in the rondo-style finale were never less than tasty.
We should not forget that the AAM, now over half a century in being, offers consistently thrilling support which gives wings to Bojan’s flights of fancy. A wonderfully upbeat finish to the festival.
Fretwork: Marking 400th anniversary of Orlando Gibbons’s death
THIS year’s festival raced off the starting line in top gear with the six viols of Fretwork and mezzo soprano Helen Charlston. They focused entirely on the secular music of Orlando Gibbons, the 400th anniversary of whose untimely death at the age of 41 is being commemorated this year.
Gibbons is much better known these days for his sacred music, which is very much part of the backbone of cathedral repertory. His secular output is largely based on vocal techniques. The truth of this was underlined here by a single voice and viols doing duty for five unaccompanied voices in his madrigals – in accordance with the composer’s assertion on his title page in 1612, “apt for viols and voyces”.
Helen Charlston’s mezzo is so firmly centred that she is able to extend its resonance smoothly to either end of her range; there are no gear-changes. Furthermore, her diction is excellent. On this occasion, for my money, she was standing slightly behind the ‘sweet spot’ for voices in this arena and thus the consort was too far back as well. But the audience would not have guessed this from their close co-operation.
Melancholy was the dominant theme in much of the poetry set, no more so than in Sir Walter Raleigh’s What Is Our Life? Charlston spelt out the emotional force here, as in the lament by an anonymous writer Ne’er Let The Sunne, where lower viols provided eloquently darker colour. The counterpoint in each of these songs was sumptuous and all the clearer for its presentation in this rarer format.
Helen Charlston: “Mezzo so firmly centred that she is able to extend its resonance smoothly to either end of her range”. Picture: Julien Gazeau
Early music is making a point of getting living composers involved these days, with Nico Muhly filling the bill at this festival. His setting of words from Psalm 39, sandwiching the autopsy report of Orlando Gibbons, is more satisfying than that may sound. He describes it as a “ritualised memory piece” about Gibbons, writing it for five viols and four male voices.
The version here, however, was an authorised arrangement by Fretwork’s own Richard Boothby for mezzo soprano solo along with the viols. This makes sense not only as being more easy to perform, but also because Muhly’s setting owes a good deal to Gibbons’s own verse anthem to the same psalm, Behold, Thou Hast Made My Days As It Were A Span Long. Several later composers used the words “Lord, let me know mine end”, also from Psalm 39.
At its centre, we learn of Gibbons’s convulsions, where the viols are hesitant, fragmented and stuttering. But its climax lay at “Hear my prayer, O Lord”, with the voice pleading repeatedly against sparse accompaniment.
Earlier we had heard the top three viols alone, and then all five punctuating the voice, often quite rhythmically. Muhly uses ornamentation, rather than out-and-out counterpoint to highlight the text, and eventually repeats the opening words in his postlude. While its aura is more Jacobean than modern, it is still a touching evocation of a great talent.
The most fulfilling of the purely viol pieces in the programme was Go From My Window, a set of variations that pits the two bass viols virtually in competition with one another. Equally exciting was the vivid Pavan and galliard in six parts, while two of Gibbons’s three five-part In Nomines underlined the fertility of his imagination. Fretwork is a tautly interlinked ensemble that breathes as one – exactly what this repertory demands.
Pablo Zapico: “Showed how Spain and Italy first took the guitar seriously”
Pablo Zapico, National Centre for Early Music, St Margaret’s Church, Walmgate, York, July 5
THERE are times, usually when listening to early music, when you have the feeling of drinking at the very fountainhead of a musical type. One such rarity came with the appearance of Pablo Zapico and his Baroque guitar.
He showed us how Spain and Italy first took the guitar seriously, with a sweeping survey of 17th century composers, notably Gaspar Sanz and Santiago de Murcia in Spain and Francesco Corbetta leading the Italian pack.
The origins of the guitar lie in the vihuela de mano, a waisted, plucked-string instrument, known in Italy as the viola de mano. Both were tuned exactly like a lute. Their heyday was the 16th century, but by the start of the 17th they had been superseded by the five-course Spanish guitar on display here, with a simplified form of notation.
The most remarkable feature of its predominant style was the strumming effect used alongside pure melody. In the hands of an expert like Zapico this can sound like two instruments being played at once, whereas he can switch between the two in the flash of an eye.
In five whimsical Preludios we sampled the improvisational possibilities with this instrument, often quite chromatic and all the time infused with headstrong Mediterranean temperament. In similar style, we had a volatile Jacaras by Sanz with high and low contrasts that sounded as if right out of the flamenco tradition.
In La Jotta, by de Murcia, based on a Baroque dance, there was a dominant tune heavily syncopated. The best was kept till last. In Sanz’s Canarios, based on a style originating in the Canaries, there were cross-rhythms galore, delivered with extreme rapidity. It was utterly breathtaking.
Zapico is a master of his craft.
The Tallis Scholars: “Intimacy that larger groups struggle to emulate”
The Tallis Scholars, York Minster, July 5
WITH Spanish music assuming some importance at this year’s festival, it was appropriate that Peter Phillips and the Tallis Scholars began and ended their Glorious Creatures event with Sebastián de Vivanco, who was an almost exact contemporary of Victoria and was born, like him, in Avila.
In between, they focused on Renaissance music about the beauties of nature, with a couple of sidetracks into the newer world of Nico Muhly.
Perhaps the most distinctive feature of this ensemble is its small size, here a mere ten voices. This enables an intimacy that larger groups struggle to emulate. It also puts a premium on the contribution of individual singers, especially the four sopranos, who are double the number of each of the lower parts.
Before the interval, the soprano contribution was typically clean but also a touch too heavy for an ideal blend. After the interval, however, there was a change and the top line became more relaxed and less anxious.
Vivanco’s setting of Sicut Lilium (‘Like the Lily’) from the Song of Songs was positively luscious, bordering on the erotic, whereas in Palestrina’s version of the same text, written a generation earlier and given here by an octet, textures were sparer and more delicately fragrant. Both were marvels of their kind.
At the centre of the programme was Lassus’s Missa Vinum Bonum, preceded by its eponymous motet, which leans so heavily on the fruit of the vine that it dabbles with giddiness (no fault of the choir).
The text quickly falls back on the wedding at Cana, where Christ changed water into wine, as justification for a good drink or two.
The mass itself makes copious use of the motet’s music, so it too is infused with jolliness. Ofcourse Lassus quickly inserts a penitent ‘Christe’ into the Kyrie – at least it was here – but there was plenty of syncopation in the Gloria, deftly handled, and after a vivid Resurrection the Credo accelerated dizzily towards its Amen.
Some of that spirit percolated into a crazy Hosanna In Excelsis. Naturally there was a modicum of remorse in the Agnus Dei, but it was about as terse as could be imagined. The liturgy has rarely been so earthy.
On either side of Lassus we had music of Muhly. There was something appropriate about his Marrow (2017), which sets the first eight verses of Psalm 63. Preceding the “marrow and fatness” we had “in a barren and dry land where no water is”, evocative of the present drought. Sure enough, Muhly conjures a heat-haze here.
His A Glorious Creature (2023) similarly sets musings on the sun by Thomas Traherne. Using all ten voices individually, Muhly makes expansive use of ‘the sun’, reflecting its extent and influence.
Thinning down its centre for grains of dust and sand, he then broadens out with Traherne’s linking of the sun with the soul. Here the choir revelled in the immense impact of the text, melding superbly.
Later we enjoyed settings of Descendi In Hortum Meum (I Went Down Into My Garden) by De Rore, Dunstable and Palestrina. The earliest, and the most telling here, was the Dunstable, which with the solo voices of alto Caroline Trevor and the tenors Steven Harrold and Tom Castle was an oasis of tender intimacy.
There remained a magnificent Magnificat Octavi Toni by Vivanco, made all the more spiritual by its plainsong interjections. But Spanish vitalidad kept bursting through. We were brought back down to our knees by the encore, Purcell’s incomparable Hear My Prayer.
Reviews by Martin Dreyer
York Early Music Festival continues until July 11. For full details and tickets, go to: ncem.co.uk.
Reviews by Martin Dreyer
York Early Music Festival continues until July 11. For full details and tickets, go to: ncem.co.uk.
THE concert opened with the student-led chamber choir Animas singing Messiaen’s O Sacrum Convivium. And very good it was too.
The singing was pretty much pitch perfect and the balance was impressive. The choir captured the contemplative, sacred mood of this devotional work well; the soprano Alleluia near the close had a wonderful stillness.
The performance of Fauré’s Cantique de Jean Racine, with its luxurious, quite intense choral wring with organ accompaniment, reminded me of the later Requiem. The tenors were impressive, always a good thing, and the performance left a ‘happy ever after’ glow.
The part-singing in Elgar’s My Love Dwelt In A Northern Land was confident and clean, with fine tenor and soprano contributions. John Seymour’s I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes is an unashamedly sugary-sweet setting and no less enjoyable for that.
It has to be said that Samuel Wesley’s Blessed Be The God And Father was, to use a cricketing term, a “poor shot selection”. Not even the sweetest of solos and earnest commitment from the choir could redeem this ridiculous piece of music.
Anyway, from the ridiculous to the sublime in the form of Rachmaninoff’s Bogoróditse Devo. The performance was richly rewarding with impressive dynamic range and contrasts.
Vox opened their set with Katie Laing’s Sea Shanty Mashup. This was an impressive work and an impressive performance to go with it. The stand-out sea shanty was the arrangement of the Cornish folk group Fisherman’s Friends’ Keep Hauling. Goodness me this was moving, but it is a deeply moving song.
Not for the first time, I would question the term “arrangement”, which doesn’t adequately embrace the creativity expressed in Ms Laing’s Mashup.
To be honest, I was genuinely nervous about any arrangement of Paul Simon’s masterly Sound Of Silence. I mean, it’s just perfect. But Ms Laing’s version was respectful, touching and impressive.
Another notable “arranger” was Milo Morrod, whose reworking of Runaway and Sh-boom stood out as being notably creative. A fine singer too.
I loved Ted Jenkins’s funky arrangement of Tom Misch’s Disco Yes, particularly the electric bass guitar imitation. So too, Vox’s arrangement of Fleet Foxes’ Mykonos, with the pizzicato ‘chirping’ accompaniment signing the song off.
But the “coolest a cappella group at the University of York”, nah, that accolade goes to the student-led gospel choir, Zamar. Dressed in majestic purple cassocks, swishing in time to the beat of the music, they were on a musical mission.
They opened their set with an energetic arrangement of the soul classic Ain’t No Mountain High Enough (Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell), originally sung by Diana Ross. And for a bonus point, used in the closing scene in the first, and best, Bridget Jones film.
Whatever Zamar sang filled the whole auditorium with a bouncing, infectious joy. Eva Cassidy’s How Can I Keep From Singing was quite delightful, as were Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Any Dream Will Do and Go Go Go Joseph arrangements.
Stephen Schwartz’s Wicked’s For Good has an instinctively engaging, albeit sugary tune. But what it lacks in originality was transcended by this full-on, infectious performance.
The set closed with a remarkable, inclusive version of Steven Taylor’s Hallelujah You’re Worthy. The audience were invited to join in the fun. Well, naturally, I didn’t, but what appeared to be the whole of the audience, however, did. They were in on the act. Standing up, jiving, arm rolls, the lot. It was like a Holy, cleansed version of the gothic, irreverent classic musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show, without suspenders or lipstick. Just great fun.
The finale brought the three choirs together in Olivia Ryan’s arrangement of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way. They got on famously.
And that was that: great songs, impressive arrangements, talented and creative musiciansand singers. Who could ask for anything more.
The 24 & Manchester Baroque, J S Bach’s Mass in B minor, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, March 28
TOWARDS the end of his life, Bach arranged his Mass in B minor in four sections, one of which, the Sanctus, was premiered on Christmas Day, 1724. So we are entitled to consider that we are now celebrating its 300th anniversary.
We may conveniently ignore the fact that two smaller passages – the Crucifixus (1714) and the Qui Tollis (1723) – were borrowed from earlier works and other parts were added in the 1730s.
Nevertheless, it brings some Lutheran imagination and sparkle to the very centre of the Roman Catholicism of the Dresden court, for which it may well have been intended. There was plenty of sparkle, too, in this account masterminded by Robert Hollingworth, which brought together University of York’s crack chamber choir, The 24 – here expanded to 35 – with the period chamber orchestra Manchester Baroque. It was deservedly a sell-out.
No performance with Hollingworth in charge would be complete without a quirk or two: it is tied into his DNA and can be part of his charm. Two obvious ones occurred in the Credo, where in place of multiple voices in a reverential pianissimo for the ‘Crucifixus’, he gave us the four soloists trying to sound like madrigalists, doubtless in the hope of making a bigger splash when full chorus plunged in at ‘Et resurrexit’.
A little later, he deprived the basses of their famous ‘Et iterum’ passage and assigned it to his soloist, with a consequent loss of excitement.
With one exception, Hollingworth had all the arias and duets sung from deep stage right, well over to the side, rather than centred in front of the choir. Immediacy was lessened. Distractingly, soloists had to emerge from behind the choir whenever required.
These aberrations aside, there was a great deal to admire. Before the interval, the choir sang without scores, which meant their attention to Hollingworth in the Kyrie and Gloria was total.
Even afterwards, when scores appeared intermittently, many singers barely consulted them, an impressive feat of memory that kept the choruses crisp. The choir remained seated for a prayerful ‘Qui tollis peccata’, a nice touch, the next best thing to kneeling.
It would be churlish to offer any criticism of Hannah Davey, the soprano soloist who stepped in at the eleventh hour. She was particularly effective in duet, notably with tenor Matthew Long in ‘Domine Deus’, alongside graceful obbligato flutes.
He blended well with the oboes and bassoon in ‘Et in spiritum sanctum’, making his voice part of the instrumental texture, and kept his tone nicely straight in the ‘Benedictus’.
Martha McLorinan’s mezzo tone admirably suited the ‘Qui sedes’ and she showed a lovely restraint in the moving ‘Agnus Dei’ with full violins in support. Frederick Long was the reliable bass in ‘Quoniam tu solus’.
Hollingworth’s tempos tended towards the brisk, which his choir seemed to relish. So too did the tireless orchestra, whose woodwinds positively danced their way through ‘Et resurrexit’. It typified the joyous aura of the evening.
THERE cannot be many full-time students of mathematics and philosophy in this country who are capable of the solo role in any violin concerto, let alone the Sibelius, which is one of the most demanding in the repertoire.
One such is a final-year undergraduate at the University of York, Anna Lezdkan. Her appearance was the centrepiece of an evening that included shorter works by Wagner and Richard Strauss after a modern Icelandic introduction.
Born in St Petersburg, Lezdkan has lived in this country since early childhood and had all her training here. She exhibited extreme calm under duress and despatched the testing cadenza early in the first movement with considerable panache, which compensated for some lapses in intonation in the upper regions.
Her eloquence in the slow movement was partially masked by orchestral accompaniment that tended to be heavy-handed, especially in the horns. But she managed its tricky double-stopping without difficulty.
The finale was a rumbustious affair, if undeniably exciting, tinged with gypsy colourings. But the rondo’s main theme emerged with clarity and Lezdkan dug into her octave swoops courageously. It was clear that she was well inside this score, despite the shortcomings noted above.
The evening had opened curiously with Clockworking, a work originally for string trio and tape but worked into an orchestral version in 2019 by María Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir. Its seven minutes began mysteriously, slow and hushed, and gradually assumed rhythmic identity as clockwork shapes and snippets of melody appeared. Its climax was abruptly curtailed by a sudden diminuendo at the finish, as if the mechanism had developed a gremlin.
The Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde got off to an uneasy start, but the prelude as a whole built impressively into a long crescendo that was propelled by the main melody rising in the cellos. This in turn inspired the violins into a sumptuously swelling blend in the Love-death (Liebestod) itself, eventually subsiding beautifully with Isolde’s ardour.
John Stringer allowed the orchestra to let its hair down paradoxically at the close with Richard Strauss’s Festliches Präludium (Festive Prelude). It was composed for huge orchestra in 1913 for the commissioning of the new organ at the Vienna Konzerthaus. It presented here as good as argument as any for this orchestra to play in the Central Hall rather than the confines of the Lyons.
At its heart, unsurprisingly, lies the organ and William Campbell cannot be blamed for pulling out all the stops at the start, over an extended pedal bass. Thereafter he achieved a welcome blend, as wind and brass engaged in vivid dialogue, until they united in a splendid chorale against much exciting activity in the strings. There was no need to agonise over detail: the wall of sound was breathtaking.
British Music Society of York presents Maxwell String Quartet, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, 7/3/2025
WHENEVER you programme a work as colossal as Beethoven’s Op 132, which lies at the very heart of his late string quartets, the problem is what to put with it.
The Maxwells opened with an eclectic mix of the old, the traditional and the contemporary, spotlighting the Beethoven after the interval.
In a nod to their Scottish roots, the players offered arrangements of two sets of traditional Gaelic psalms, as found in the Presbyterian churches of the Western Isles. These were intriguing in their closeness to Scottish dance, evoking the exciting rhythms of the ceilidh. One set would probably have been enough, however, given the similarities between the two.
Additionally, there is always the danger, when transcribing vocal music for instruments of dehumanising it, since words and melody need to speak together. This was particularly evident in the transcription of Byrd’s profound motet Ave Verum Corpus, where the nuances the composer attaches to the words were simply not present, making it literally disembodied.
The choice of motet was strange, in that the contemporary work here, the First String Quartet (Aloysius) by Edmund Finnis, dating from 2018, has five movements avowedly centred around Byrd’s setting of the prayer Christe, Qui Lux Es. It would have seemed logical to play this rather than Ave Verum by way of introduction.
The programme note told us of Finnis’s “versatile compositional voice”, a claim not borne out by this work. It is perfectly pleasing in an intimate way, largely slow-moving and ruminative, as if Finnis is searching out a way forward. It opens lyrically and then becomes wispy, if still transparent. The third movement, although pianissimo, is a little quicker, but like its predecessors was played virtually without vibrato.
Byrd’s hymn is treated like a chorale, its melody largely on the leader’s lowest string, before a finale that finally features some genuine counterpoint. Although largely restrained, its acceleration into the abrupt final cadence hints at what might have been. The Maxwells approached it respectfully, if ultimately without much obvious affection.
They brought admirable clarity to the Beethoven, unveiling its dramatic power by ramping up the tension in the highly chromatic first movement. The relative violence of the scherzo was tempered by a gentler trio in which the viola’s solo was notable.
In the Molto Adagio, which is arguably Beethoven’s most personal statement in any of his quartets, each solemn phrase of the chorale was tenderly introduced; although extremely extended, it seemed not a moment too long, so riveting was the detail.
The succeeding march came as sweet relief, before a searing first violin cadenza into the finale. Here the Maxwells threw caution to the winds, with accents stronger than ever and acceleration into the coda that took the breath away. This was theatre on a Shakespearean level.
Fenella Humphreys, violin, Martin Roscoe, piano, Ben Goldscheider, horn, and Jess Dandy, contralto
THIS was two recitals in one. It began and ended with three instrumental works, one each from Robert and Clara Schumann at the start, with the Brahms Horn Trio to finish.
In between we had a song recital from contralto Jess Dandy, with Martin Roscoe as her ‘collaborative pianist’ (we are no longer allowed to speak of accompanists, such is the woke world we live in). Indeed, he was omnipresent and vivid throughout the evening.
Ben Goldscheider’s horn was in pretty good form for Robert’s Adagio and Allegro, Op 70, if not quite at the peak he reached later. One top note even went astray, but he bounced back quickly. His legato was marvellously smooth in the Adagio. One had to smile at the ducking and diving between him and Roscoe in the Allegro, which maintained a tactically immaculate blend.
Less extrovert were the Three Romances, Op 20 for violin and piano by Clara. Fenella Humphreys wisely kept her violin intimate in the opening Andante in D flat major but without compromising her naturally rich tone. The ebb and flow with Roscoe in the finale was a delight. Clara may not have been as persuasive a melodist as her husband, but she knew how to balance these instruments.
Goldscheider was back to join Humphreys for the Horn Trio in E flat at the close. He despatched it with the panache of the super-confident. But Humphreys matched him stride for stride and their balance in the opening movement’s dialogue was impeccable. Goldscheider found a lovely pianissimo for the return of the first theme.
A smoothly elegiac trio allied to a perky scherzo prepared us for penetrating the Adagio’s darker moments. But the rondo was altogether light-hearted, gambolling through its episodes with gay abandon.
Roscoe was the mastermind behind this trio’s cohesion. The best was certainly kept until last. Jess Dandy is a fine talent and as a true contralto she is a rare bird, one to be carefully nurtured.
She is not quite the finished article, however. It took her until her very last song, Schumann’s Requiem, the last of his Op 90 settings, to produce a real pianissimo. Until that point, she had stuck to a stolid mezzo forte or more with little variation in tone. It was as if she had been casting around for a focus.
With a little more confidence she could stop worrying about delivering a beautiful sound – she already has that – and concentrate on interpreting the poetry (but not by shaking her head for emphasis as much as she does).
There was still a great deal to enjoy in what she offered. She glowed at the top of Clara’s setting of Heine’s Ich stand in dunkeln Träumen (I Stood Darkly Dreaming) over Roscoe’s richly flowing accompaniment and found a nicely contemplative mood for Robert’s Stille Tränen (Silent Tears), which was complemented by an exquisite postlude.
She and Humphreys (now on viola) had blended well in Brahms’s Two Songs Op 90, where they and Roscoe negotiated the tempo-changes with pleasing dexterity.
