I AM going to frame this review of German pianist Elizabeth Brauss’s excellent recital with a couple of whinges. Firstly, there should be an usher seated at the exit doors during the recital. No matter how quietly someone intends to leave during a performance, the doors close with a disruptive kick. This could be easily mitigated and yes, it matters.
Now to the review: Throughout the concert, I was struck by how thoughtful, how sophisticated Ms Brauss’s playing sounded. This was self-evident from the opening Concerto in D minor by Bach (after Marcello).
The Allegro and Presto movements bristled with crisp, razor-sharp articulation while the central Adagio was achingly poignant, played with such lyrical tenderness. Quite remarkable.
As was Mendelssohn’s Variations Sérieuses. I confess that I have never heard the piece before, but goodness me what a wonderfully cultured, superbly knitted theme and variations it is. A few observations: stand-out points included the driven question-and-answer chat – left-hand octaves, right-hand chords of the third variation and the crispest of crisp staccato canon in variation four.
The sixth variation seemed to leap with neurotic joy, the seventh incredibly fast and thrilling. The musical bleed into the fugal variation ten was so wonderfully judged and the ensuing contrapuntal dialogue so clear and distinct.
Ms Brauss’s final variation or coda made the musical hairs on the back of your head stand to attention. They were still there throughout the performance of Hindemith’s mesmerizing, gently radical In Einer Nacht. What a marriage of intellect and emotion this turned out to be. Indeed, the character pieces, so wonderfully threaded together, had echoes of the second-half Schumann.
Once again, we were treated to a performance of serious insight and engagement. The work dazzles with diverse influences from opera, jazz and Debussy, closing off with a terrific bow in appreciation of J S Bach.
Ms Brauss delivered a full calendar of emotion, from simple playfulness to the gently twisted or grotesque. Her interpretation was infused with genuine empathy, as eloquently expressed in her introduction to the work.
After the interval, we were treated to a Schumann masterpiece, Carnaval. As is well documented, this collection of miniatures recreates a musical masked ball with guests including the composer’s friends, characters from the commedia dell’arte and Schumann himself.
The playing was so in tune with both the technical and creative demands, the characterisation so
vivid, that it left nothing to be desired or needed. Like the recital itself, every gesture here seemed infused with meaning, the whole work bristling with vitality.
Which brings me to close with my second critical point: why the encore? To be sure, it was Schumann (Von fremden Ländern und Menchen); to be sure, the performance was utterly poignant, but it just wasn’t necessary.
Following the conclusion of Elizabeth Brauss’s wonderful Schumann Carnaval, all that was needed was the rapturous applause it clearly deserved and then to set off, in the words of Paul Simon, homeward bound.
Yorkshire Baroque Soloists at 50, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 25
IT hardly seems possible that Yorkshire Baroque Soloists has been in existence for half a century.
Founded by Peter and Yvonne Seymour, along with trumpeter John Wallace, who was a postgraduate student at University of York at the time, it has ploughed a steady, reliable furrow ever since, often alongside Yorkshire Bach Choir, which began life six years later.
This was a low-key celebration, partly because soprano Bethany Seymour had been under the weather, necessitating a late change of programme. Gone was a Bach solo cantata, replaced by a second Telemann trumpet concerto, thanks to the presence of the Danish trumpeter Niels Tilma, a dab hand on early trumpets.
There were also Bach concertos for violin and for harpsichord, along with two Handel arias and a cantata by Domenico Scarlatti.
In truth, it was a bit of a curate’s egg, good in parts. Hero of the evening was Tilma himself. In both Telemann pieces he was both lithe and accurate, playing a valveless clarino trumpet and making light of their high-lying lines.
Lucy Russell: “Confident account of Bach’s A minor Violin Concerto”
Telemann rests his soloist for most of his slow movements. The exception was the lovely Adagio at the start of his only designated concerto for trumpet. The other ‘concerto’ was in fact a Sonate de Concert with two violins in close attendance, providing lively dialogue.
Bethany Seymour sang despite her troubles, although her coloratura lacked its customary clarity in ‘Let The Bright Seraphim’ (Samson). In the other Handel aria, ‘Eternal Source Of Light Divine’ from Ode For The Birthday Of Queen Anne, she duetted neatly with Tilma’s trumpet. Sad to say, her Italian diction in the concluding Scarlatti cantata let her down: this hall is notoriously unkind to ladies’ voices.
That left two concertos, the only works here not using trumpet. Lucy Russell, whose career as a violinist more or less began with this ensemble and has blossomed notably since, especially as leader of the Fitzwilliam Quartet, gave a confident account of Bach’s A minor Violin Concerto. With only five strings to support her, the bass line – of violone as well as cello – was generally too prominent. But the finale was still exciting.
Less imposing was the Harpsichord Concerto in A, with director Peter Seymour at the keyboard. The problem was a lack of immediacy, caused by having the entire ensemble – eight at its maximum – situated in the back half of the stage, so that there was a large gap between players and audience.
Some harpsichord detail was inevitably indistinct, especially in the hectic finale, although the opening movement travelled at a pleasing clip. Nevertheless, prophets should not be without honour in their own country and we may be extremely grateful to have had such a consistently proficient ensemble in our midst for so long.
Roderick Williams: “Such a perfectionist about diction”
Roderick Williams & Christopher Glynn, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 18
IT used to be said that a successful service in church was one where you came out feeling better about life because the sermon was so good. The feeling is similar when you go to a concert that fulfils every expectation and warms the soul. This was one of those rare occasions.
Christopher Glynn has commissioned new English translations of three of Schumann’s song cycles of 1840 from Jeremy Sams and has given York the honour of hearing their premieres.
Satisfyingly, it was a full house that greeted the first of these, Dichterliebe (A Poet’s Love). That was not all. Three other Schumann lieder prefaced the cycle. A further 16 followed the interval, including a Quilter cycle, all under the umbrella of “Tell Me The Truth About Love”. By any standards it was a feast.
For anyone who knew the Schumann cycle in the original German, the translation initially sounded wrong. No fault of Sams, but the original words kept floating to the surface of one’s memory. Yet in the end there was a gain; there had to be. Roderick Williams is such a perfectionist about diction that he clearly relished using his native tongue. It soon became infectious.
Presumably for copyright reasons, no translation was available. But just to take a single example, ‘Ich Grolle Nicht’. This began ‘I won’t complain, despite my pain’. Williams’s baritone positively dripped with irony, made possible by a translation that captured exactly what Heinrich Heine, the original poet, had in mind. The only disappointment was his decision not to take the optional high note in the penultimate phrase.
Throughout the cycle the flow of the words was hugely satisfying, matching the original syllable for syllable. Just occasionally, Sams failed to find enough syllables and had to resort to melisma (setting a syllable to more than one note). But this was unusual. This translation is a stylish achievement.
Christopher Glynn: “Extraordinary perceptions coming from his piano”
It almost goes without saying that Williams was totally inside the music. But he could not have done it without the equally extraordinary perceptions coming from Glynn’s piano, allied to an uncanny sense of timing. The postlude, larded with exquisite rubato, seemed to encapsulate all the feelings that had gone before, a perfect précis.
The second half was more free ranging. Four more lieder included three 19th century ladies, Clara Schumann, Fanny Mendelssohn and most notably Josephine Lang, whose harmonically gorgeous Abschied (Farewell) made a strong impact. All three deserve much more recital exposure.
Before them we heard Quilter’s Seven Elizabethan Lyrics and marvelled anew at his modern twist on old harmonies. ‘The Faithless Shepherdess’ was wonderfully crisp, while the setting of Ben Jonson’s ‘By A Fountainside’ was tenderly evocative. Williams is well suited to this cycle, which brings out the full compass of his baritone.
An Anglo-American group completed the evening, including Sophie Hannah’s witty The Pros And Cons and a nicely declamatory I Said To Love, the title song of Finzi’s Thomas Hardy cycle. William Bolcom’s Toothbrush Time was the natty encore. Williams and Glynn make a first-class pairing.
A ‘pre- recital’ featured four singers, all of whom showed promise, although none really made use of their words. They would do well to emulate Williams.
University of York Symphony Orchestra (USO) Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, November 26
TICKETS were like gold dust for the USO’s latest foray under its permanent conductor John Stringer.
This is a popular group and its standards are high. The programme encompassed London as painted by Elgar and Paris as seen by Delius and Gershwin, with a couple of brief side-trips from Grainger in between.
Elgar’s concert overture Cockaigne (In London Town) is a series of vignettes of London life. He wanted to lift his spirits in 1901 after the disastrous initial response to The Dream Of Gerontius the previous year. As an establishment outsider, he also needed a way back into the musical mainstream. Cockaigne did the trick.
The violins were immediately bold in the vivacious opening melody but the change of mood to the more serious side of the Londoner was fluently done, even if things only quietened down fully when we glimpsed the lovers in the park. The military march rang out with majestic bravado underpinned by an especially zealous timpanist.
Although premiered the same year as Cockaigne, Delius’s Paris: The Song Of A Great City is quite a different animal, much more personal, indeed almost autobiographical. It started a little uncertainly here, before finding its way into a more shapely impressionism; the sinuous phrasing of the bass clarinet led the way.
The night air was warmed by the saltarello rhythm suggesting distant revels. But after the frenzy of bacchanalia leading to the march we reached an immense climax, which suited the orchestra’s mood perfectly. Thereafter the encompassing lull before the last great chord was serenely controlled.
Percy Grainger struck up a lasting friendship with Delius, so there was a personal link in his Dreamery, which – contrary to the Grainger image of relentless jollity – is a quiet daydream for strings alone. It dates from immediately after the First World War and is clearly nostalgic for calmer times. The orchestra’s fine body of violins were right at home here and all the strings enjoyed the composer’s delicate tapestry.
Equally brief but no less effective was Grainger’s arrangement of Ravel’s La Vallée des Cloches, from his piano suite ‘Miroirs’. Ravel had originally intended to orchestrate it himself. The opening section for tuned percussion was hypnotic. When the strings finally joined them, the violas made succulent use of their time in the spotlight.
We stayed in France for An American In Paris, Gershwin’s jocular parody of the archetypal Yank abroad, bold, brazen, and more than a little loud. He got off to a jaunty start, courtesy of the woodwinds, and the syncopation that followed was nicely edgy.
The sleaze quotient lifted with blues trumpet and tuba. Tempo changes were smoothly negotiated, as this American began to look and listen rather than impose himself. The ending was triumphant. It had all been a tasty travelogue.
Carducci String Quartet: “Nothing if not adventurous”
THE Carduccis, who are celebrating their 25th anniversary, are nothing if not adventurous.
Although they played Beethoven’s mighty Op 127 at the end of their programme for the British Music Society of York, they opened with Fanny Mendelssohn and Simon Rowland-Jones.
Felix Mendelssohn’s older sister was discouraged from composing even by members of her own family; it was not a “ladylike” activity. She was not to be deterred. But it took until the late 20th century for the quality of her works to receive proper recognition.
Fanny’s String Quartet in E flat, although written in 1834, was first published more than 150 years later, in 1988. Unusually, it opens with an enchanting slow movement of lyrical meanderings, which set the tone for the succeeding Allegretto. The Carduccis made one of their few false moves of the evening by opening this too fast for the fugal activity it contains, which had to be reined back.
A minor-key Romance, which moved briefly into the major, was unexpectedly edgy. The finale, Allegro molto vivace, was best suited to the Carduccis’ mood and enjoyed impeccable ensemble despite its furious tempo.
Simon Rowland-Jones’s Quartet No 7 was written for this group five years ago. It is subtitled Flock Of Knot (a knot is a small shore bird of the sandpiper family, should you be wondering). Its three inter-linked movements chart the sudden arrival, feeding procedures and equally startling departure of birds encountered during a winter stroll on Holkham Beach, Norfolk.
A babel of high-lying birdcalls, in rapid, tightly woven counterpoint, suddenly swoops low. The resultant calm is deceptive, growing ever more intense, although at a much slower pace; after a forceful climax, it fades into a cello solo that leads into the final, lively scherzo, which recalls elements of the opening. As the tessitura rises, it starts to fade into a concluding viola solo.
It can hardly be coincidental that Rowland-Jones is a viola player himself, having been a founder member of the Chilingirian Quartet. Autobiography aside, the piece is beautifully structured and constantly intriguing; it earned the Carduccis’ keenest attention.
We must be forever indebted to Prince Nikolai Golitzïn for commissioning the first three of Beethoven’s five late quartets. The first of these – and the only one to be published during the composer’s lifetime – was Op 127 in E flat major, and was given by the Carduccis as if their lives depended on it.
The opening chordal motif, twice repeated, was bold and rich and led into an Allegro of intoxicating momentum. The second variation in the Adagio was almost jaunty, but elsewhere its atmosphere was reverential, including wonderful dialogue between leader and cello and a pianissimo coda that evoked the former’s sweetest tone.
In the Scherzando, rhythms were incredibly crisp, reaching a peak of nervous electricity in its Presto section. Similarly, accents were supremely resolute in the finale, which reached a spellbinding vision of heavenly bliss in the coda before a dazzling finish. This was Beethoven playing of world class.
Leon McCawley: “No-one wanted to break the extraordinary spell he generated”
NO-ONE needs a second prompt when it comes to Leon McCawley. His success at the Leeds International Piano Competition, where he was runner-up in 1993, endeared him to northern audiences. Sure enough, there was a virtually full house for this generous recital, which included sonatas by Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert.
Yet there were more than a few times during the first half of the evening when his adrenalin seemed to take over from his judgement. That was not the case in the second half, which he devoted to Schubert’s last sonata, D.960 in B flat major.
Athletes and performers alike talk about being “in the zone”. For some, it has become something of a Holy Grail, desirable but unattainable. In other words, it is but rarely reached. McCawley found it here. He played the Schubert like a man possessed, not running amok, quite the opposite. The audience sensed it early on and kept incredibly quiet, even between movements. No-one wanted to break the extraordinary spell he generated.
In what is possibly the quietest of Schubert’s first movements, McCawley sustained a magical serenity, having taken longer than usual to start, poised over the keys but waiting. When the distant trills arrived, they carried not menace so much as weight, like a distant rumble of thunder without any rain.
Although Schubert’s multiple key-changes can easily disrupt the flow, they were not allowed to here, seeming perfectly and smoothly logical. A little acceleration here, deceleration there, which might have sounded pretentious, were all of a piece with McCawley’s intensity. This slackened not a whit in the Andante, which was deeply thoughtful and ended with the same serenity we had heard earlier.
The scherzo was fiery but light, with crisp inner voices. Gravity returned in the trio but evaporated with the scherzo’s return and peaceful conclusion. The finale was inevitably more extrovert, and even briefly stormy, but the scale was always intimate, as if secrets were being shared rather than trumpeted around the hall.
By now McCawley had the audience in the palm of his hand and could have got away with almost anything. But he kept faith with our intelligence and resisted the temptation to over-explain. It was possible to believe that this was exactly how Schubert intended it to be. Certainly it was a performance never to be forgotten.
He had opened with a brusque account of Bach’s Italian Concerto, BWV 971, which was accurate but had a scrambled feel, particularly in the final Presto. Beethoven’s E minor sonata, Op 90 was in retrospect the warm-up for the Schubert to come, shapely and with a great deal of surface feeling, but not quite penetrating to the innermost depths.
Mozart’s F major sonata, K.332 began with a pleasing clarity and ended with wit and finesse, while its central Adagio fluctuated tenderly between major and minor. But the Schubert was something else altogether.
Gould Piano Trio: Lucy Gould, Richard Lester and Benjamin Frith, right
NOT many ensembles undertake Tchaikovsky’s only piano trio. Its wide-ranging scope and the difficulties it presents, particularly to a pianist, put it outside many groups’ field of vision.
The Goulds, however, are not easily intimidated. They have recorded it, and preceded it here with Fanny Hensel (née Mendelssohn, Felix’s elder sister) and our own Judith Weir.
Tchaikovsky was pretty cut up by the death of his great friend Nikolai Rubinstein, the pianist who co-founded what became the Moscow Conservatory and also premiered Balakirev’s notorious Islamey.
After a summer of sorrow, he wrote his only piano trio over the Christmas period 1881-2, To The Memory Of A Great Artist. It reflects both the composer’s grief and the personality and prowess of Rubinstein.
The Gould’s success with the piece, played after the interval, depended to a great extent on the supreme control of its pianist, Benjamin Frith. His extremely rapid arpeggios in the opening movement, for example, were tastefully suppressed, so that balance with the strings was never under threat, and he kept his greatest intensity for the big climax after the central Adagio of this huge movement, from which the ensemble subsided gracefully.
The theme and 12 variations of the second movement, some of which are quite short, represent Rubinstein’s mercurial charm and incidents in his life, although Tchaikovsky is not specific about the details. So they require a chameleon-like response from the players. The Goulds were more than equal to the task, flashing between moods as to the manner born.
After the early repetitions of the folksong-style theme – sweetly eloquent in Lucy Gould’s violin, richly autumnal in Richard Lester’s cello – the two strings combined in tasty duet before Frith brilliantly evoked a musical box in Variation 6.
The succeeding waltz was sheer delight, while the Fugue was notable for the clarity of its individual voices. Frith really came into his own in the mazurka, where he evoked Chopin. The five-minute cut authorised by Tchaikovsky made the final variation and coda much more persuasive than if given complete.
Although going hell for leather, the players remained keenly aware of each other’s roles, while the closing funeral march, echoing the very opening of the work, was a tear-jerker. The work had sounded far better than this listener had thought possible. Indeed, I bought the disc.
Fanny Mendelssohn has only in recent years begun to be recognised for the superb composer she was, having languished far too long in her brother’s shadow. Her Piano Trio in D minor was written in 1846, the year before her death, although not published till 1850. So she never heard it, in public at least.
The work opened the evening. At once it was clear that the players were listening and responding to each other in the pleasing Allegro, and there was an equally charming lightness of touch in the gentle Andante. The 3rd movement, Lied, with its piano prologue, reached a surprisingly emphatic climax. In the finale, the Goulds again allowed the music to speak for itself – not as easy as it sounds – and this time its climax was beautifully prepared.
Judith Weir’s Trio – the first of two so far – dates from 1998 and is a beguiling piece. Although not programmatic, it is inspired by locations. The Venice of Schubert’s solo song Gondelfahrer (Barcarole) lies behind its opening, and it was easy to sense the bells of St Mark’s and the lights twinkling on the water, although the gondolier seemed to be making heavy weather of his paddling.
Scurrying strings with piano interjections marked the opening of the scherzo, with fiercer, lower timbres in its more accented trio, the two eventually coming into collision like satellites swerving off course.
African energies had been the inspiration here. Darting melodic snippets, looking for an alliance, resulted from her vision of deserted Hebridean beaches in the finale. This is spacious writing, gloriously uncluttered, and the Goulds revelled in it: music to hear and hear again, especially when played with such love.
Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: “May take pride from her flying of the family flag”. Picture: John Davis
THERE are seven siblings in the prodigious Kanneh-Mason family, all of them musicians. I have heard only three of them, so I shall resist the temptation to make comparisons. But pianist Jeneba is No. 3 in the line-up and she is right up there.
A mixed bag that began with Bach and progressed through to Liszt at his most demanding opened the British Music Society of York’s 101st season.
She made a confident start in Bach’s C sharp major Prelude & Fugue, inner voices nicely differentiated, and changed mood immediately for Debussy’s three Estampes, written nearly two centuries later. There was graduated distancing of the magical bells in ‘Pagodes’, an insistent strum of habanera amid the fireworks in Granada, and very persistent, immaculately steady rain as backdrop to the child’s reverie.
Six years earlier than the Debussy, in 1897, Scriabin completed his Second Piano Sonata, in G sharp minor, subtitled ‘Sonate-fantasie’. It is a dark work, which was reflected in Kanneh-Mason’s strong left hand.
She delivered a grand, chorale-like sweep in the outer edges of the Andante, with remarkable variation in touch in between. The busy inner figurations of the presto held no terrors for her as she sustained a brilliantly menacing evocation of stormy seas.
She selected three from the 24 Negro Melodies composed in 1905 by the London-born Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, whose father hailed from Sierra Leone. For decades he was known almost solely by The Song Of Hiawatha, but at long last his other music (where is Hiawatha now?) is beginning to see the light of day again, not least through the ardent championship of the Kanneh-Mason family.
A defiant minor-key chorale, trombone-like, defined ‘At the Dawn of Day’ and there was more than a touch of plantation blues about ‘The Stones Are Very Hard’. Chopinesque harmonies infused the stately ‘Take Nabandji’. These were fleeting impressions only. Similarly understated was his Second Impromptu in B minor, inflected with sadness.
There was nothing in the least diffident, however, about her Liszt. The beautiful restraint of the introduction to Vallée d’Obermann only served to accentuate the orchestral tone she poured into its second half. A youthful boldness in her strongly-etched melody lines – allied, it almost goes without saying, to a formidable technique – made this an unalloyed joy.
If there was a touch too much rubato in the Second Hungarian Rhapsody, it certainly captured the spirit of the dance it enshrines. Jeneba may take pride from her flying of the family flag.
Day 1 of York Chamber Music Festival, St Saviourgate Unitarian Chapel and National Centre for Early Music, York, September 16
WITH five concerts packed into three days, the festival opened on Friday lunchtime with founder, artistic director and cellist Tim Lowe partnered by pianist Alasdair Beatson, in the welcoming acoustic of the St Saviourgate Unitarian Chapel. Cello sonatas by Beethoven and Richard Strauss framed three sketches by Ernest Bloch.
Although his Op 102 No 1 in C major is theoretically speaking in five sections, Beethoven’s Fourth Cello Sonata is built entirely on four small motifs that occur in its opening two bars, heard on unaccompanied cello, a masterpiece of imaginative development. It should be played without a break, the single bar of pause at the end of the first Allegro vivace being integral to the whole.
It opened wistfully here, with tender dialogue, but Lowe brought a fiery approach to that first Allegro and Beatson was quick to reinforce it. There was a persistent restlessness, with an underlying anger in its staccato passages. Lowe did take a break after this, but only the one.
There was a brief calm in the Adagio, before a reminder of the opening. Then we were catapulted into a bouncy, cheerful finale, with crackerjack interjections stoking up the tension towards an emphatic ending. It all benefited immensely from the duo’s clear-sighted view of the terrain.
The three pieces which make up Bloch’s From Jewish Life (1924) made a pleasing palate-cleanser before the second main course. Predominantly in minor keys, they evoke the composer’s passion for his heritage. ‘Jewish Song’ came across as a lament here, while ‘Supplication’ was darker and more urgent. The closing ‘Prayer’ had major-key glints among the minor chords and ended on the dominant – what the Americans call a half-close – and offered hope, if with a question mark.
So to Richard Strauss, whose only Cello Sonata was completed in 1883 while he was still a teenager. There was excellent dialogue here at the start, even if it sounded as if it had come from the pen of Mendelssohn at first and then Schumann.
The acceleration in the coda was finely handled. The Andante had the feel of a funeral march, with long yearning lines; it ended with two pizzicato chords that really struck home. The finale came as an antidote, cheery and highly rhythmic, with one descending theme that reappeared in various guises. Lowe and Beatson make a good team, well matched.
The evening, at the National Centre for Early Music, featured a Haydn string quartet, a Sibelius string trio movement and a Brahms string sextet. Jonathan Stone took the leader’s chair for Haydn’s Op 76 No 2 in D minor (‘Fifths’) and brought to the opening movement a fieriness that sounded like a hangover from the Sturm und Drang (storm and stress) movement of the 1770s. It was all the better for that.
His passagework as the decorations of the Andante developed was finely judged. The pianissimo in the trio amid the crudity of the Witches’ Minuet in canon made a nice touch. Haydn’s markings in the folk-influenced finale were obeyed to the letter. This was Haydn played straight, unfussy, direct and extremely neat.
The Lento from Sibelius’s unfinished String Trio in G minor is a lot more effective than its title might suggest. It was given a passionate, strongly accented reading by Tristan Gurney, Scott Dickinson and Marie Bitlloch, violin, viola and cello respectively. Its intensity rarely slackened, putting it on a par with Barber’s Adagio in that respect. Even when it turned to the major key it was hardly calmer – except at the very end where the chording was detached and very quiet.
Dickinson played Huw Watkins’s Absence eloquently after the interval, a brief reminder of what we are mourning. Then all the strings gathered for this festival launched into Brahms’s First Sextet, Op 18 in B flat. The opening was as burnished and autumnal as one could possibly wish, reaching a peak with the beautiful enunciation of its second theme by Bitlloch, here playing first cello.
The pizzicato in the coda was especially fine. The lower voices were to the fore in the ground-bass Andante, a throw-back to earlier times typical of the composer. As if in homage, the top four voices played with virtually no vibrato, sounding like viols.
The second half of the sextet was not quite so persuasive. The scherzo’s tempo was brisk enough and it moved smoothly into the trio. There was plenty of bonhomie, too, in the Rondo, even if its bursts of energy sounded a little routine. It was all tastefully done, however, and one had to marvel at how closely these musicians interacted.
Review byMartin Dreyer
Jonathan Stone: “Violin leading the way”
REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on York Chamber Music Festival, Day Two
Day Two of York Chamber Music Festival, St Saviourgate Unitarian Chapel and Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, September 17
THE second day focused around Alasdair Beatson, a pianist at the top of his game. His satisfying solo recital at lunchtime in the Unitarian Chapel drew on lighter works by Schubert, Ravel and Schumann.
Schubert wrote dances copiously for Viennese society and foremost among his over 130 waltzes are the Valses Nobles and the Valses Sentimentales (his own French titles). They are charmingly distinct and larded with cheery tunes.
In the first-named set, D.969 (1827), Beatson was brisk and bubbly in turn, taking care to accent the second beat when what we really had was a mazurka. Notable among them was the high-lying No 4, which twinkled star-like, and a majestic No 9 in A minor. All that was lacking was that final touch of Viennoiserie.
Ravel avowedly based his own Valses Nobles et Sentimentales (1911) around Schubert’s models. They emerged with unexpected clarity, despite occasional fierce cross-rhythms and the busy fin de siècle atmosphere of No 4, which seemed to presage La Valse in its piano duet version. Beatson toned down opportunities for rubato.
Faschingsschwank Aus Wien (Carnival Jest From Vienna) was the ripest fruit to emerge from Schumann’s winter in that city (1838-9). He described it as a romantic showpiece, but it is essentially a fantasia in five unbroken movements. Beatson opened with immense panache, but found a touching lightness for the minor-key Romance that follows.
He smoothly negotiated the Scherzino’s witty key-changes and made an extended song of the succeeding Intermezzo.
The finale, which Schumann added after his return to Leipzig, is marked vivacissimo and is a serious test of any player’s virtuosity. But it proved no hurdle for Beatson’s lithe technique.
He was back less than six hours later at the Lyons Concert Hall, this time in a supporting role. Solo pianists rarely make equally good accompanists; Beatson is the exception that proves the rule. He was unfailingly witty and alert in piano quartets by Beethoven and Dvořák, which followed a string sextet by Boccherini.
There was more than a hint of menace in the slow opening of Beethoven’s E flat quartet, Op 16, itself a transcription from a quintet for piano and winds, its piano part unaltered. But it was quickly dispelled in the Allegro.
A sense of mystery briefly returned in the development section. But good humour returned in the coda, not least when Beethoven seemed to take a ‘wrong turn’. Beatson milked the ensuing break – a potential cadenza – for a fraction longer than marked. It was hilarious.
The two minor-key episodes in the slow rondo were soulful indeed, before a quietly meditative coda. Beatson was the epitome of delicacy here. The final rondo was a romp with a touch of hunting-field drama at its centre.
Dvorak’s Second Piano Quartet, Op 87 in E flat, is a supremely confident work. With Jonathan Stone’s violin leading the way, the Allegro’s development section became highly theatrical, presaging a huge climax just before the end.
Tim Lowe’s moving cello set the tone at the start of the slow movement, Stone emulating him in the minor section. Sarah-Jane Bradley’s watchful viola provided the harmonic meat in the sandwich.
Encouraged by Beatson’s impish piano, the waltz that followed was close to flippant, smiles on all the players’ faces, until the finale’s jollity took us into the heart of Bohemia (where it was written).
Boccherini was the father of the string sextet, but is rarely appreciated as such, so it was salutary to hear his Op 23 No 5 in F minor at the start of the evening. Tristan Gurney was in the leader’s chair here and duetted charmingly with his violin colleague Jonathan Stone in an opening movement that was light and lively, even if the cello roles at this point were mainly perfunctory. There was plenty of rhythmic interest in the minuet.
Pathos only really arrived with the mournful Grave assai, which was surprisingly chromatic. Constantly shifting groupings in the finale revealed the composer at his best and were smoothly negotiated. It was a neat historical sidelight. But the day had been Beatson’s.
Flashback: Yorchestra holiday orchestra members at rehearsals at the Sir Jack Lyon Concert Hall, University of York, in August 2014
YORCHESTRA will celebrate its 30th anniversary of running holiday orchestras for young musicians in and around York in late-August and September.
Yorchestra was founded in 1992 by the late Lizzy Edmondson, otherwise known as author Elizabeth Pewsey. On a visit to Cambridge, she had encountered one such holiday orchestra that had been running since coronation year, 1953.
On the train back north, it suddenly dawned on her that York would benefit from something similar. Gathering friends and fellow parents at the Minster School, they organised the first session there for 27 players.
Lizzy’s vision went much wider, however. She wanted all schoolchildren in the area to benefit, with courses every school holiday that included music for smaller groups – chamber music – not covered by other children’s orchestras.
Within five years, the senior orchestra had won a first prize at the European Festival of Music for Young People in Belgium, a feat repeated two years later.
Since then, Yorchestra has gone from strength to strength, proving that Lizzy’s vision was no mere flash in the pan. It has expanded its activities to include five orchestras at different levels of achievement.
All five will be celebrating Yorchestra’s 30th anniversary at the course from August 30 to September 2, in the well-appointed facilities at the Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, or the lovely setting of Heslington Church.
Maestro, the senior orchestra, includes players who are Grade 6 to 8 level and above, and suits budding musicians and experienced players alike, who benefit from working with seasoned professional tutors.
The maestro course will run for the full four days, culminating in a concert on the final evening, September 2. Past repertory has included the Symphonic Dances from West Side Story and Shostakovich’s Festive Overture.
Mezzo, the second orchestra, covers Grade 3 to 5 students, who play arrangements of music from assorted periods in a variety of styles, such as Vaughan Williams’s Fantasia on Greensleeves and Dukas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Members enjoy quality time in the company of top-notch tutors and the upcoming course will run for three days from August 31, leading to involvement in the September 2 concert.
The junior of the main orchestras, Primo, is for students aged eight or older of Grade 1 or 2 standard with at least six months’ playing experience. Its role is to give first timers the chance to discover the joy of playing in groups; recorder players are welcome too.
This summer’s Primo course will be for one day only, August 30, and will end with a concert for family and friends later in the afternoon. As with Mezzo, the course will take place in Heslington Church.
Two starter groups complement the main orchestras, one for string players, Young Strings, known colloquially as “YoYo”; the other for wind and brass, Young Winds, alias “YoBlow”. These are ideal for youngsters beginning to find their way around their instruments, keen to benefit from small private and group sessions.
Each course will be held over two mornings, YoYo on August 30 and 31; YoBlow on September 1 and 2, both at the Lyons. Informal concerts will follow the second sessions.
Applications are open for all courses. The deadline is August 6, but if payment is received by July 22, an “early bird” discount will apply and first-time applicant will be given an even larger discount. Please note, no-one should be put off on grounds of cost; Yorchestra has a bursary fund to help anyone otherwise unable to take part.
“Any musical children should be encouraged to join, have a lot of fun and meet new musical friends,” says Martin Dreyer, Yorchestra’s chairman of trustees. “The anniversary celebrations promise something extra-special.”
For more information on applications, head to: yorchestra.org.
