Showing posts with label BWV 1080. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BWV 1080. Show all posts

Tuesday 24 March 2015

Thomas Gould ~ Tom Coult ~ Glenn Gould* : Part I

This is a review of a concert by Britten Sinfonia at Saffron Hall on 22 March 2015

More views of or before Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


25 March (updated 5 May)

This is Part I (finally complete !) of a review of a concert given by Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) at Saffron Hall, Saffron Walden (@SaffronHallSW), on Sunday 22 March 2015 at 7.30 p.m. Part II is here

The programme was directed by Thomas Gould (@ThomasGouldVLN) in Locatelli and Bach (arr. Sitkovetsky), and conducted by Carlos del Cueto in works by Tom Coult (@tomcoult) and Hans Abrahamsen


Concerto Grosso in C Minor, Op. 1, No. 11 (published 1721) Pietro Locatelli (16951764)


1. Largo
2. Allemanda, Allegro
3. Sarabanda, Largo
4. Giga, Allegro


Locatelli’s all-string Concerto Grosso features tutti that scale down to writing for the traditional forces of a string quartet in which one was to find a link with Dmitry Sitkovetsky’s arrangement (from 1985) of Bach, Britten Sinfonia’s (@BrittenSinfonia’s) glowing performance of which occupied the second half of the concert at Saffron Hall (@SaffronHallSW). (In addition to Thomas Gould (associate leader, @ThomasGouldVLN), the quartet comprised Miranda Dale (violin), Clare Finnimore (viola) and Caroline Dearnley (cello).)

As first violin in that quartet, Gould was charming, and yet feeling, and the playing overall was nuanced, with a steady pulse from Finnimore and Dearnley, and good intonation. When we came back to full-string sections, the effect of the ensemble was being made aware of what Locatelli is doing, here, with our sense of time passing.

And, with a suspension led by Gould, he even lulls us into the tempo of the second movement (and, maybe, catches those not following the programme unawares ?), in the warmth of his scoring, and of the Sinfonia’s playing. There are calls, and responses, between the divided strings, and they felt quite natural, the articulation giving the music room to breathe. Gould, as leader, had strophic contributions to make, which were compelling and intelligent, along with lovely resonant ones from the double-basses (Stephen Williams and Roger Linley), in this Rondo-type Allegro.

A hesitancy about the Sarabanda allowed Gould to lead the players into giving us the depths of the music with great insight, as Locatelli once more brought down the scale to smaller groupings. This time, he gave us a trio (without viola), then expanded the texture, before reducing to a quartet, and back to a trio. His transitions, and how they were performed, felt despite being so Protean utterly assured.

In that second trio, Dearnley’s cello-tones provided yearning under-currents to Gould’s violin, whilst it lasted, for Locatelli's additive impulse was to bring Finnimore in, and then more and more strings. Very expressive writing for, and playing from, Gould resembled a cadenza, before the gesture of a cadence (no pun intended), and bows raised, brought the movement to a conclusion.

The closing Allegro was full of joy : it had a lively beat from the basses and four cellos (whose Caroline Dearnley could be seen, smiling at a felicity in Locatelli’s part for her). There was tremendous momentum in this Giga, and it was brought to us with such wit, grace and charm not to take us away from the tenderness of the preceding Largo, but to validate and reinforce it.

In essence, a piece of music as worthy, in its compactness and concision, of our attention as those of Vivaldi, yet they far more often receive it.



My Curves are not Mad (2015) Tom Coult (1988)


The exhibition of Henri Matisse’s cut-outs at Tate Modern (@tate) was massive in its influence and attraction, so no wonder that it reached out to composer Tom Coult (who quotes Matisse’s publication Jazz in the title)…


His work opens teasingly, with string-effects (however they may be notated) that felt like snatching, and something that was not quite howling, and to which were added notes given pizzicato. As it wound up, there was the realization that the textures started to stand out against the full string-sound, and that there were antiphonal elements, with writing for double groups of strings [as also utilized by Sitkovetsky, in arranging Bach, and by Locatelli (please see above)], as well as a low throb, or hum, from the double-basses.

In what followed, where we had violins and violas, alone and separated, we became quite clear why there was a conductor, for, rhythmically, this was a vivid music of juxtaposition, giving rise to an extreme sensation of floating. Already, by now, reminiscent of Ligeti, the use of string-tapping put one somewhat in mind of his Clocks and Clouds, but in a whole other place, which was fragmentary, as well as free and pure. We were led to a very still experience of what was, maybe, movement, melting, growth…

Then Coult brought us back to the feel from earlier on, and to the throb, and the hum : this time, the treatment of the thematic material was in longer, lower note-divisions, with upper adornments and accompaniments. An initial impression of concord gave gradually way to one of dissolution, almost perhaps disintegration ? At this point, very earnestly and sincerely, the theme appeared to be picked out, alongside the low strings of the basses, and with nascency in the use of harmonics.

Fleetingly, in what had gone before, Coult seemed to allude to Copland (in the last setting in Appalachian Spring, ‘Simple Gifts’), but now, bringing out the simple harmony of it, the quotation seemed patent, heralding a huge suspension, with the feel of some sort of call of the wild. Coult left the harmonies unresolved, and, returning to prior motifs, gestures and fragments, evoked hunting-calls, before reducing to, and ending on, one instrument, one string.


The work was received with enthusiasm, as was Coult to the stage, who, in turn, acclaimed conductor and players, before taking bows himself.

This had been an accomplished piece of writing, co-commissioned with donations to the Sinfonia’s campaign Musically Gifted, and it fitted well with its early-eighteenth century antecedent in Locatelli as much the skill and style of these musicians to make this seem right, though not to take away from Coult’s approach to composition. In his programme-note, he had credited his appreciation of that of Matisse himself, erecting invisible, objective structures, and modestly left us to make what we would, uninfluenced, of his art and sound, though we were in no doubt how well the Sinfonia responded to the opportunity to play his piece (now for the third time in performance).

As one looked afterwards at his write-up in the programme, and (via Twitter (@twitter) at his web-site (at www.tomcoult.com), it was evident that this is already an experienced British composer, one in whom to be much interested.


Double Concerto for violin, piano and strings (2011) Hans Abrahamsen (1925)


1. Sehr langsam und ausdrucksvoll [Very slow and [if distributive, very] expressive]
2. Schnell und unruhig [Quick and restless]
3. Langsam und melancholisch [Slow and melancholic]
4. Lebhaft und zitternd [Lively and trembling]


Befitting the marking [sehr ?] ausdrucksvoll, the strings built in intensity, then we heard Alasdair Beatson on piano : we might already have noticed the beater that he had on the top of the instrument, resting, waiting to be deployed, and then when we had already seen and heard it we were aware of him reaching, deep under the lid, for a low note to set resonating… The movement proper then began, with patterns that alternated between him and, on solo violin, Thomas Gould. We then moved, following piano-leaps in octaves, to extremely high and very quiet touches from Gould, echoed in the top keys of the piano, and that was where the movement ended.

At the start of the faster, second one, Beatson had to reach under again, this time to modify notes played with one hand with the other. Next, came chords on the piano, with violin cadenzas the chords were redolent of Messiaen’s sound-world, and, before a caesura, the composer dwelt on rhythms and patterns. Afterwards, a jazzy riff from Gould gave way to muted piano sounds, and then manual ‘twanging’ of its strings. As the movement grew louder, with a bell-like fervour, the double-basses brought out dragging effects, before we reduced to Caroline Dearnley on cello, and the close.

The marking Langsam und melancholisch was hardly untrue, with the movement beginning with the soloists Beatson playing a repeated note, to which, at an interval, Gould added. All of this was setting up an entry from the ensemble, complete with plangent, open piano-chords, and a telling contribution from Gould, before descending gestures that evoked Arvo Pärt (in Fratres). Next, a string-group meditated alone quietly, and, when the piano came in, with further descending gestures, the violin part supported it.

When strings came back up to full, with Gould to the fore, he handed over to Beatson, bringing us measured bell-tones, then muted piano-notes, alongside the orchestra. As the strings took time, the piano gave occasional inputs, and, once we had reduced in intensity to bring Gould momentarily to prominence, we closed, first with him, then with Dearnley and Beatson, and, finally, the string-principals.

The last movement seemed to want to establish a squeaky role for the violin, in the mould of being zitternd, with writing for Beatson, by now, notable by its absence. Throughout, the fact when we know the ‘big’ double-concerto works of having two soloists had focused one on the contrastingly narrow compass of the piece : although the stated markings imply that the transient moods are where we are to dwell on, it tended to draw attention to technique, especially the virtuoso elements in the violin-writing.

Later, Gould’s role was giving us what resembled, by look and sound, violinistic gestures, whereas that of Beatson was to allude to peals of bells. The piece concluded unshowily, almost as an antithesis to how many concertos have ended… and felt as if might have been written for these soloists / players, this conductor, this occasion…


A caveat : Yet, by contrast with the end of Part II of the concert, our being held off from responding by hands and bows kept raised somehow made one’s responses abate, and feel that one’s insight had diminished, or was perhaps less secure. Yes, however well played it had been on the concert stage, the concerto had been what it was, and the hesitation seemed to over-plead for it :

No shorter than the newer work that preceded it, and with a place established in the repertoire, nonetheless this double concerto now felt a little more like a sweetmeat (although, just before the interval, not inappropriately ?). Maybe the programme-note had always suggested that the composer has a depth of feeling, but did the extended gesture of delay overemphasize it (or even make it feel gimmicky ?).




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Sunday 22 March 2015

Thomas Gould ~ Tom Coult ~ Glenn Gould* : Part II

This is a review of a concert by Britten Sinfonia at Saffron Hall on 22 March 2015

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


22 March (24 March, image added)

This is Part II of a review of a concert given by Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) at Saffron Hall, Saffron Walden (@SaffronHallSW), on Sunday 22 March 2015 at 7.30 p.m. Part I is here

The programme was directed by Thomas Gould (@ThomasGouldVLN) in Locatelli and Bach (arr. Sitkovetsky), and conducted by Carlos del Cueto in works by Tom Coult (@tomcoult) and Hans Abrahamsen



Known as The Goldberg Variations***, BWV 988 - Johann Sebastian Bach (16851750), arranged by Dmitry Sitkovetsky* (1954)


Dmitry Sitkovetsky, conductor and violinist, is the uncle of British violinist Alexander Sitkovetsky (born in Moscow)

In 32 further paragraphs, an attempt to characterize Sitkovestsky’s arrangement and the performance, whose principal players, other than Thomas Gould himself (TG, associate leader of the Sinfonia), were (in order around the stage), Caroline Dearnley (CD, principal cello), Stephen Williams (SW, principal double-bass), Clare Finnimore (CF, principal viola), and Miranda Dale (MD, principal second violin) :

1. The aria à 5 for the principals too early to say what Sitkovetsky has done ?

2. A cleanly executed bass-line, and, with orchestration as clear as Schoenberg’s of Brahms, this is going to be a pleasure !

3. Listening to the separation of the lines across the various string-groups…

4. A longer treatment of this variation, with a feel of a duet with TG, after CD has initially been to the fore (and in a style of voice that is reminiscent of the Cello Suites, BWV 10071012), and then with SW and MD joining in

5. Beautiful bass-lines, plus perfect tutti

6. Fun with fast writing for CD, playing with TG, who then duets with MD

7. A sensation as of swooning, to which touches from the double-basses are added, and then back as we were, before further slight touches, this time within the texture

8. The ambience passes to TG and CD again (and BWV 10071012 ?), with sympathetic accents from the former on what the latter is playing

9. An alternation between Lightly skating and Straight

10. A trio of TG, CD and MD, and with a gracious tone from him

11. We are passed from the desk of cellos to other desks, to bring out the line

12. CD duets with CF, with CD’s part, at first, complicated, till the complication moves to CF, and then TG enters, with a brief duet with CF

13. The mood that Sitkovetsky accesses is triumphant, but the tone and intensity ease off and back again, bringing out the detail in Bach’s writing

* 14. A scoring for obbligato violin (TG) and a small group (the violas and cellos)

15. A sense of energy, and Sitkovetsky identifies the tension, not least in the skittish cello-writing

16. Sparingly deploying the violas, against the brightness of the violins, then reducing to forces of TG’s heart-wrenching violin (with CD and CF), before going back up to full strength (minus double-basses), and back to trio mode and are we not a little reminded of how BWV 1080 (Die Kunst der Fuge) seemingly ends mid air ?

17. An opening of flourishes, with first violins, cellos and double-basses, then to MD, across the stage from TG, and adding in CF and CD an excitement to this, with the rare use of the basses

18. A variation for quartet, closing with a big smile from CD to TG

19. Restraint, and restrained elegance, which quietly come down

20. Pizzicato, played pp, to accompany the violas the proverbial pin did not make its drop heard

21. With a pulse from the double-basses, a notion of tumbling, and with fast writing, alternating between TG and CF

* 22. The sadness is in the cellos, but moves to CD playing with CF, and with colour from TG blended in

23. A sprightly variation, with tremulous / trilling string-dazzle

24. TG opens, links with CD, who passes to MD, and with colour from SW

25. The mood of dance, with a pulse of basses, and Sitkovetsky brings out the writing through the second violins, and with further trills, but not dazzlingly this time

* 26. CF (joined by the violas), to which CD (and the rest of the desk) adds, is heard under TG, playing feelingly, and with a slightly jazzily inflected tone as the section recurs first, one is beyond grief, and then, the second time, TG renders it very finely and tenderly

27. A stately treatment, moving to fast writing for CD, then for CF

28. CF alternates with MD, joined by SW, and then their desks alternate, with the strength of both double-basses, until we end with TG and CF

29. The variation has a clear quality of sheen to its opening section, but it becomes somewhat spiky, with TG playing against pizzicato strings, before the sheen reverts (for a while)

30. CD was clearly enjoying the cello gestures at the start, and it then went back and forth from TG to CD to MD to CF

31. Low and slowly paced bass-notes grounded a sense of unity, and, in the tutti, the ensemble as a whole became softer, fractionally quieter

32. To close, we had the quartet of TG, CD, CF, MD (later joined, in the under-texture, by SW), and, as Gould played molto espressivo, there were beauty, and pathos, and tears in this aria


Inevitably, there have to be a few more words than the 32 paragraphs…

No one quite felt free to applaud afterwards, such was the impact of this tremendous performance and in no way restrained by the performers.

For, in her programme-notes, Jo Kirkbride had written ‘As the listener is led back, after Variation 30, to the Aria once more, its simplicity shines anew, basking in the reflection of all that has come in between’. Yet, although we had probably been there countless times before, with different performers and versions (Keith Jarrett’s recording, for ECM, on harpsichord had accompanied the journey to the venue), nothing felt quite like this :

The pride at our Britten Sinfonia, with this insightful performance, and our pleasure in the players whom we have not only followed down the years, but also come to know and to trust their judgement and intuition.


Two jazzers, one Bach


And, as Kirkbride says, this arrangement has been lovingly and painstakingly done, which was originally for the 300th anniversary of Bach’s birth, but we can always say that this was for his 330th (his birthday was 21 March, after all) !


In the first half, were works by Locatelli and by composers now alive, Tom Coult and Hans Abrahamsen : reviewed here (as Part I)


End-notes

* Sitkovetsky dedicated his arrangement to Glenn Gould (no relation ?).

** As it stands, the account given is of this one work, in the second half of the concert the rest of the review is a work in progress...

*** Printed, in 1641, as Clavier Ubung bestehend in einer ARIA mit verschiedenen Verænderungen vors Clavicimbal mit 2 Manualen




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)

Tuesday 29 April 2014

Did Hewitt succeed – or did The Art of Fatigue intervene ?

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2014
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


29 April

This is a review of a concert performance, given at the Faculty of Music's concert hall in West Road in Cambridge (@WestRoadCH) and in conjunction with CRASSH (The Centre for Research in the Arts, Social Sciences and Humanities), of Bach's The Art of Fugue by pianist Angela Hewitt

It was clear from what Angela Hewitt said in what was billed as a Symposium yesterday* that she has approached Bach’s The Art of Fugue (Die Kunst der Fuge, BWV 1080) as a problem, which therefore implied that it needed to be solved**.

The nature of the problem being that she thought that, without adjustment in playing (she did not name anyone’s recordings), it can sound (or does sound) boring, a word that she must have used at least half-a-dozen times to describe a straight way of playing a passage as written, as against what she preferred (and which she then demonstrated).

In fact, the problem described may only exist because of attempting a performance, from start to seemingly unintentional finish***, in one go : if one did not try such a thing (as it is no more self-evidently desirable than with Book I or II of The Well-Tempered Clavier (Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, BWV 846–893)), would there be a problem ? A recording is one thing, and one accepts its limitations – unless the quality of the recording itself deteriorates, it is invariably the same. Yet there are not a few who like that feature of a recorded symphony or concerto – and, knowing one recording of a work, are disappointed when a concert sounds different.

That accepted, certain things had emerged from, or been confirmed by, the Symposium (and by clarifying a point with Butt that had arisen in an answer to a question at the end) :

1. We do not even know for sure (because programmes for, for example, the concerts of the Collegium Musicum, in Leipzig, do not survive) whether Bach ever gave wider performances of either Book of the Well-tempered than those reported to have taken place in a teaching context : as Butt agreed, he may have done, but we do not have documentary proof. What we do know is that, after his death, they were not published for another fifty years, around the beginning of the nineteenth century.

2. We do know, however, that the mighty achievement of writing the Mass in B Minor (BWV 232), another two hours or so of glorious music, did not lead to the opportunity for Bach to hear it realized – indeed, we do not seem to know for sure why he wrote it, although scholars have speculated about that question, as well as identifying earlier music that he adapted to the task and revised for the purpose.

3. There is accordingly a pattern of lengthy works, all of which were assembled over the years (as was the case with both Books of the Well-tempered), and part of the answer about why Bach wrote / revised them lies in this : he died at the age of 65 (in 1750), and must have been all too aware, throughout the preceding decade, of that principle of putting his house in order.

Coming back to performance, both knowledge of life-time performances (which we know definitely in some cases, such as the two Passions) and Bach’s expectations about how The Art of Fugue and the Mass in B Minor might be received in the future (and the debt that we seem to owe to Mendelssohn that we still have the latter), we probably know even less in the latter case than in the former, but the obstacles to mounting a concert rendition of one work (whether with a huge choir, or a voice to a part) are different.

With The Art of Fugue, if one sticks to one keyboard instrument, whether clavichord / harpsichord, organ, or piano (or even fortepiano, one supposes), the obstacles are different, and they came to the fore in seeking to proselytize about this work in events either side of the weekend – different from those if one arranges it, as, say, wind quintet Calefax’s saxophinist Raaf Hekkema did with his group, for an ensemble, and different from if one breaks the work with an interval.

In Cambridge, in this same venue, Richard Egarr (director of the Academy of Ancient Music) has certainly played a Book of the Well-tempered (on the harpsichord) in an evening’s performance, and also a selection of three of the six Partitas (BWV 825–830) in a lunchtime concert, but maybe not with much of a pause between the first and second sets of twelve Preludes and Fugues.

Can it be argued that inherently, if one wants, as here, to perform The Art of Fugue on a piano, there must be no break ? If, as Hewitt suggested, one is proselytizing, which one was not solely doing****, the needs of those new to this work – whatever the overview(s) have given to them – do not obviously require a very lengthy period of uninterrupted fugal and canonic writing.

For one is also preaching to the converted, who have come not to be persuaded so much, but to appreciate an interpretation, and not to wish to find fault, with global or specific matters. Having said which, Hewitt used (as she previously had) the word ‘swing’ to describe her approach to Contrapunctus 2, and, in full, the effect was more that of Jacques Loussier than of Johann Sebastian – with which one could cope as an aberrational belief that adding (accentuating ?) syncopation is the only way to play this part of the whole, although it seemed rather unlikely.

This performance at eight o’clock to-night ended at a quarter to ten (it had been preceded by a short version of the overview, for those who missed the Symposium) : by the time that Hewitt came to play the four Canons, which she had placed before the final Contrapunctus (and in her own order), she was, regrettably, very clearly flagging, because there were slips and stumbles in her playing.

That said, Hewitt did not let herself be put off, even by a significantly askew sequence of notes in the right hand that jolted one into full attention. Yet the test of endurance, of ninety minutes of playing, that she was making of herself must put the viability of the endeavour in doubt, for she really seemed to need the support of the front edge of the piano when she took applause :

That objection is not answered by Hewitt building up stamina yet further, but by stopping to question the purpose of playing through without a break. As the ancients said, but for a different reason, Cui bono ?

Here, it is the law of diminishing returns that tends to apply, because, if the audience can tell that the performer is tiring (and Hewitt, understandably not wanting the tensions of a page-turner, nonetheless seemed let down by her technological solution*****), he or she gets their sympathy for the feat attempted, if not their patience and toleration for the faults. Here, they were not just slips, but places where Hewitt sounded lost as she played what she read.

The opening of Contrapunctus 7 seemed wholly undigested (before its resemblance to fugues around 5 to 7 in Book I became apparent), whereas, in Contrapunctus 3 and 12, it felt as though the performance was suddenly on the hoof : in performance, Egarr has given notice, with his very expressive face, that something in Bach’s score has pulled him up, but not that it is any more than a pleasant surprise, rather than conveying musical uncertainty as to where it is going next.

At the end of the work, something seemed really awry. It eventually became clear, after the event, that the part had been reached where, in the MS, the music runs out without the Contrapunctus otherwise concluding. Before that, it had been clear enough when Hewitt started the first of the Canons, yet, in between, there somehow seemed to be too much material to account for four Canons and the closing Contrapunctus******.

As Bach’s end that is not an ending was awaited, one Canon or Contrapunctus finished in a way that other members of the audience could be heard saying had sounded like an attempt to improvise a conclusion in Bach’s style – whatever happened, it seemed out of place, and was perhaps the result of the technological aid.

Until we reached the Canons, and passing over the question of Contrapunctus 2, Hewitt seemed on course to manage what she had set herself. Necessarily, one did not always agree with her other choices. However, the whole concert could have been so much better but for the feeling that she was weary (and that two glasses of water had proved insufficient), and that the sense of the weariness (and the mistakes attributable to it) was passing itself over, to disrupt one’s own concentration.

A noble enterprise to perform The Art of Fugue straight through – but can one believe that even Bach required it ?


End-notes

* In fact, an introduction to the work and interview with Hewitt by Bach scholar John Butt, followed by Hewitt’s overview, with examples.

** And even revealed that she had initially been using a swear-word to refer to it, surely The Fart of Fugue, or The Art of Fuck (although she did not actually say what).

*** Then closing with the Chorale Prelude that Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach added to his father’s work when it was published under his direction, Vor deinen Thron tret’ich hiermit (BWV 668).

**** Some of us have known recordings of this work for more than thirty years (even if, in the light of the Symposium, it can be understood that a recording such as that on Deutsche Grammophon's Archiv label, by Kenneth Gilbert, is of the work before Bach’s revision for the press).

***** In the Symposium, it was all too clear from what Hewitt said that she temperamentally could not have tolerated a person turning for her, and she said that the complete score, with her markings, was on her iPad®, with a pedal to change pages.

****** Unless, maybe, Hewitt had actually announced that, in departing from the order given in the programme, the Canons would come after Contrapunctus 12, and thus Contrapunctus 13 and 14 followed them (and with an arithmetical error in thinking that the part before the Canons had been Contrapunctus 13.




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)