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.
Martin Roscoe: “Let’s his fingers do the talking. They are certainly eloquent“
PIANISTS do not come much more deceptive than Martin Roscoe, who closed the British Music Society of York’s season with this recital of Schubert, Brahms and Liszt.
He goes against convention by using a score – no harm in that, especially if you consult it as little as he did. Having walked unassumingly to the keyboard, he plays without fuss or histrionics. In other words, he lets his fingers do the talking. They are certainly eloquent.
Although Schubert’s second set of impromptus, D.935, was not published until 11 years after his death, he had presented them as a foursome to his publisher (who, incredibly, rejected them). There is no suggestion that they are the movements of a sonata, but there is undeniably a feeling that they are related – for one thing, the first and fourth are in the same key, F minor. Certainly, I have never felt them to be so closely linked as they sounded here.
There was an understated elegance in Roscoe’s approach. He unfolded the opening Allegro moderato gently, melting smoothly from the minor to the major key and back again. There was a touch more emphasis in the second, marked Allegretto.
The ‘Rosamunde’ variations were beautifully contrasted: the three different voices in the second variation, for example, emerged with lovely clarity. The sense of impromptu, essentially improvisation, was kindled most keenly in the final dance, especially in the link to the return of the main theme.
The three Brahms intermezzi, Op 117, which are late, autumnal pieces, emerged as if they were the composer’s innermost thoughts, at once intimate and revealing. A lovely cantabile flow permeated the first, while it was the inner voices of the more sombre second that gleamed to the surface in turn. The syncopations of the third, which might have felt more restless, were not allowed to disrupt its serenity.
Petrarch’s Sonnet 104 finds the poet in a confused state over a burning love affair. Liszt’s reaction to it was first to set it as a song and then, more famously, to transcribe that into a piano piece, which appears in the Italian volume of his Years of Pilgrimage. Roscoe treated its harmonies tenderly, as if aware that the topic was sensitive, and it unfolded logically to its bitter-sweet close.
In both the remaining Liszt pieces, there must have been plenty of temptation to treat the piano as an orchestra; Liszt piles on the pressure relentlessly. Roscoe resisted. Isolde’s Love-Death, his transcription of the closing scene from Wagner’s Tristan Und Isolde, reached a passionate but controlled climax, with the lovers finally achieving satisfaction together after death.
Even more orchestral was St Francis’s triumphant walk on the waves, its rushing, stormy figurations not disrupting the relentless flow. Here we had the only out-and-out fortissimo of the evening. After that, a quiet Beethoven Bagatelle seemed the perfect antidote as encore. An evening of impeccable taste and considerable virtuosity.
John Stringer: “Moulded University of York Chamber Orchestra into a fine ensemble”
University of York Chamber Orchestra/John Stringer, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, February 23
THE big attraction of the evening was Mendelssohn’s Second Piano Concerto, but it was attractively preceded by Kaija Saariaho’s Terra Memoria and Britten’s song-cycle A Charm Of Lullabies, in the version orchestrated by Colin Matthews.
Despite this nicely varied menu, it was a slightly strange choice. The Saariaho is for string orchestra, which left wind and brass on the sidelines. No harm in that, except that the remaining pieces relegated the orchestra to an accompanying role, leaving it little chance to show its full colours. For John Stringer has moulded this orchestra into a fine ensemble – it deserved more exposure here.
Saariaho, who celebrates her 70th birthday in October, has lived in Paris for 40 years, although born in Helsinki. Her outlook is very much pan-European. Terra Memoria, which dates from 2007, is marked “for those departed”.
In under eight minutes, it articulates six different moods. Stealing on the ear as if already underway, it meanders gently, with snippets of solo violin: the string principals are a major feature of the piece.
It becomes a little angrier before calming into a plaintive, slithering motif in the upper strings. Still favouring upper voices, it then gets darker. Now laced with tremolo, it becomes more insistent as it gains in rhythmic momentum and reaches a tutti unison, a most effective climax.
Thereafter it slows into something more diffuse, echoing the opening. Although not specifically in a minor key, it has the feeling of one. The orchestra approached it tenderly, which made it even more engaging.
Time for another gripe. The printed programme fell a long way short of its usual standard here. The five songs of the Britten were neither numbered nor laid out properly, still less were there any texts, which is de rigueur for a solo vocal work. The concerto movements were not listed either.
This was especially unhelpful for the singer, Ellie Stamp. She was listed as a soprano, although the cycle is written for mezzo-soprano: Stamp’s lower range was not really strong enough, but when given the chance she showed plenty of heft above the stave.
Without the texts, however, it was not immediately obvious to the casual listener where she was, a task not made easier by Matthews running the first three and the last two songs together.
In general, despite the added intensity of the title song, the orchestra was a little too heavy in its accompaniment, with a preponderance of low tone provided by three double basses – at least one too many. Stamp has a good sound and a pleasing personality, but she was not best served here.
John Smith – he might be encouraged to use his middle name, if he has one – was the fluent soloist in the Mendelssohn. He graduated from this department last summer. He frowns a lot, no doubt in pursuit of expression, but otherwise is free of histrionics in what is a free-wheeling technique. The runs in the opening Allegro were admirably clear and he discovered plenty of drama in its development section.
He was inclined to over-romanticise the slow movement, which slowed almost to a halt, but when he increased the tone here it was out of scale with what had preceded it. His best was kept till last. His staccato touch in the finale was excellent; he maintained an exciting pace, injecting sforzandos without mannerisms, and the orchestra caught his enthusiasm.
THE piano trio called Perpetuo brought Mozart and Mendelssohn to the British Music Society of York’s table, framing a piece by Cheryl Frances-Hoad written in 2005.
The Mozart was run-of-the-mill, the Mendelssohn invigorating, but Frances-Hoad’s ten-minute offering contained much more than its brief length might imply.
My Fleeting Angel was inspired by a Sylvia Plath short story, The Wishing Box, which deals with a married couple’s contrasting dreams. I confess that the story it purported to tell – music cannot describe, only evoke – passed me by, but made no difference to its pleasing effect.
It opened with string harmonics, which did not bode well, but the whirling piano soon shook the others into rhythmic life and all three continued in tight harness. The excitement eventually slowed right down, although the sense of a tonal centre continued.
The concluding Allegretto eleganza delivered an extended wind-up to an abrupt ending. It was a tantalising conclusion, begging the question “What next?”, but none the worse for that.
Cellist Cara Berridge
Mendelssohn’s First Piano Trio, Op 49 in D minor, written in 1839, was acclaimed by Schumann, no less, as “the master trio of our age”. It got off to an expressive start, although Cara Berridge might have made a little more of the cello’s sweeping theme. But all was forgiven in a recapitulation of immense excitement.
Apart from the passionate conversation at its centre, the song-like slow movement made a gentle contrast, with Libby Burgess’s piano setting the tone. It ended in a heavenly hush.
After a neat and light scherzo, which disappeared into the heavens – another trademark Mendelssohn touch – the violin of Jamie Campbell really came into its own in the spirited finale. With the piano cascading up and down, there was still time for a moment to draw in the listener when the strings resorted to pizzicato against the keyboard’s staccato. Best of all, balance remained excellent despite all the exuberance.
Mozart’s G major trio, K.496 of 1786 had not provided the best of starts. The opening Allegro was clear but uninvolving, with more than a touch of caution, and the slow movement was more languid than liquid. There was a certain amount of drama in the final set of variations. But Frances-Hoad livened things up and Mendelssohn did the rest.
Christopher Glynn: Put together the University of York Song Day. Picture: Gerard Collett
University of York Song Day, National Centre for Early Music & Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, York, February 19
IT fell to Christopher Glynn to put together this year’s University Song Day. He was an excellent choice.
He is of course well known in Yorkshire for his fine stewardship of the Ryedale Festival. But it was also good to have a full-time accompanist of his calibre presiding. His intelligent, always distinctive contributions from the keyboard were the linchpin of the day.
It was in three parts. At lunchtime, A Shakespeare Songbook attracted the talents of soprano Rowan Pierce and tenor Ed Lyon. In the afternoon, outstanding mezzo-soprano Kathryn Rudge offered advice to five university students in a masterclass.
In the evening, now transplanted to the Lyons, Pierce and Rudge were joined by up-and-coming soprano Siân Dicker in a programme of Richard Strauss lieder stretching over nearly 80 years of his life.
Shakespeare has almost certainly inspired more musical settings than any other poet. Most are taken from the plays, although the sonnets account for a fair number. Here we dipped into five plays and two sonnets, with Shakespeare In Love to start and finish. There were several unexpected delights.
Soprano Rowan Pierce: “Sinister and sprightly in Tippett’s Songs For Ariel”
Arne’s setting of When Daisies Pied (from Love’s Labours Lost) with echoing cuckoo, daintily given by Pierce, was beautifully enhanced by Glynn’s ornamentation. His pacing of the prelude to Haydn’s She Never Told Her Love (Twelfth Night) was tellingly spacious.
Sylvia’s Charms (Two Gentlemen Of Verona), as imagined by Schubert, were boldly extolled by Lyon, before he turned to Julius Harrison’s much less-known setting of Oberon’s I Know A Bank (A Midsummer Night’s Dream), which was complemented by the fairies’ invocation from the same play, You Spotted Snakes, given by Pierce. Both singers proved Harrison an adept watercolourist.
Michael Head is another underestimated song composer, as heard in Pierce’s account of How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps (Merchant Of Venice), where pianissimo drew in the listener and the piano twinkled with golden sheen.
Lyon brought terrific gusto to Quilter’s setting of Blow, Blow Thou Winter Wind (As You Like It), which happened to coincide with snow falling outside, visible through a window of St Margaret’s. We felt the poetry’s chill.
This was signal for a calmer interlude, the duet from Handel’s L’Allegro, As Steals The Morn, which adapts words from The Tempest; it was affectionately delivered. Pierce was both sinister and sprightly in Tippett’s Songs For Ariel, uncovering much of their magic. Similarly, Lyon plumbed the Clown’s infinite sadness in Come Away, Death (Twelfth Night), which was tightly controlled by voice and piano alike.
Tenor Ed Lyon: “Plumbed the Clown’s infinite sadness in Come Away, Death”. Picture: Gerard Collett
Roxanna Panufnik has set three Shakespeare sonnets. Mine Eye treats the words of Sonnet XXIV with utmost care, as did Pierce here. The world premiere of Kim Porter’s duet-setting of Sonnet CXVI made a worthy and equally pleasing companion to it, gentle at its heart, with trickling piano, before building to a triumphal finish.
Both singers relished the challenge of Vaughan Williams’s Fear No More The Heat O’ The Sun (Cymbeline), taking a lead from Glynn’s ever-astute handling of the keyboard. The event was a welcome – and powerful – reminder of the rich treasury that is English song.
Devoted as it was entirely to the songs of Richard Strauss, the evening was almost too much of a good thing. Strauss was virtually besotted with the soprano voice in all its guises – he even married a diva – so the presence here of two sopranos and a mezzo was ideal. They exhibited a contrast in styles which added to the excitement.
Here, more than ever, Christopher Glynn was called upon to exercise his skills to the utmost. He never faltered. Indeed, the powerful, scented aromas that these songs generated owed a huge amount to the colours in his palette.
At every step of the way he simplified the singers’ task. Rowan Pierce opened the evening with the six-year-old Strauss’s cute Weihnachtslied (Christmas Carol), before a peppy, vivid Begegnung (Meeting) and a not quite dreamy enough account of Rote Rosen (Red Roses).
Mezzo-soprano Kathryn Rudge: “Capturing the nervous essence of young love”
Later there was a lovely transition in Schlechtes Wetter (Filthy Weather), where voice and piano together melted into the waltz, leaving behind the bad mood of wind and rain and conjuring the dance in their place.
Kathryn Rudge began with three songs from Op 10, composed in 1894 and his first to be published. She entered straight into the mood of Zueignung (Dedication), giving its powerful melody a strong line. She never let our attention wander after that either.
Glynn brought bold colourings to Nichts (Nothing), which she amplified, before a wonderfully contemplative Die Nacht (Night), calm, hovering, treasuring the moment. It was a gem.
She later returned with Schlagende Herzen (Beating hearts), capturing the nervous essence of young love with its repeated ‘kling-klangs’. There was no doubt about the depth of her feeling in Sehnsucht (Yearning), and her approach to the final word, Paradise, at the end of Das Rosenband (Rose Garland) was exquisite, once again making time stand still.
These were the work of a singer in her prime, one who knows exactly how to hold an audience in thrall. Spellbinding stuff, the voice beautifully focused throughout its range, right to the very top.
Sian Dicker: “At her best when she did not have to restrain her inner Brunnhilde”. Picture: Benjamin Ealovega
Sián Dicker’s opening set came from Op 27, composed in 1894. She was at her best when she did not have to restrain her inner Brunnhilde. Ruhe Meine Seele (Rest My Soul) exploded into distress before neatly calming down.
Anticipated ecstasy bubbled through Heimliche Aufforderung (Secret Invitation), before her most controlled singing of the evening in Morgen! (Tomorrow), in which she took inspiration from Glynn’s gently modulated prelude (echoed in his postlude).
She was also given the honour of performing the Four Last Songs, which Strauss wrote in 1948, a year before his death. In Frühling (Spring) she developed terrific resonance at its heart but also revealed a recurring tendency to widen her vibrato when she pushed the tone too hard.
The urgency at the start of the last stanza on Beim Schlafengehen (Going To Sleep) was well judged but it needed to be followed by greater inwardness, the kind she found at the end of the final song. All the while, Glynn was achieving little miracles at the keyboard, larks trilling in the twilight, for example, before another eloquent postlude.
The three singers signed off with the trio from the end of Der Rosenkavalier, Hab’ mir’s Gelobt (I Made A Vow), when the Marschallin bows out, leaving Octavian and Sophie to each other. It was beautifully, even touchingly, done and crystalised the heady perfumes that all four musicians had concocted throughout the evening.
