At Lunch 3 : Flutter-notes, gong-sounds, and vigorous tremolo

This is a review of Britten Sinfonia in At Lunch 3 on 23 February 2016

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2016 (20 to 27 October)
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

23 February

This is a review of At Lunch 3, given by Britten Sinfonia at West Road Concert Hall, Cambridge, on Tuesday 23 February 2016 at 1.00 p.m.

Debussy ~ Syrinx (1913)

Flautist Emer McDonough commenced the recital with this familiar work, (1) Syrinx, in the manner of an impromptu. It had two sections at the beginning that end with very quiet notes, and, with the impression and / or feeling of a dream, her playing luxuriated in the lugubrious passages in the lower register.

Afterwards, she said a few words about what a privilege it had been to prepare, and to be performing, this programme with Clare Finnimore and Lucy Wakeford.


Programme :

1. Claude Debussy (1862-1918) ~ Syrinx

2. Toru Takemitsu (1930-1996) ~ And then I knew ‘twas Wind

3. Daníel Bjarnson (1979-) ~ Parallel

4. Franco Donatoni (1927-2000) ~ Marches

5. Debussy ~ Sonata for Flute, Viola and Harp



Takemitsu ~ And then I knew ‘twas Wind (1992)

McDonough (the Sinfonia’s principal flautist) was joined by Clare Finnimore (principal violist), and, on pedal-harp, Lucy Wakeford (principal harpist) for (2) this composition for trio, which opens with harp.

One could easily enough identify Schoenbergian elements of flutter-notes on flute and vigorous tremolo on viola, but they were only means to an end (as when the tuning-block was used to give a steel-guitar effect on harp), even if they ineluctably summoned up a form of repertoire :

Playing as equal instruments in And then I knew ‘twas Wind (although it seemed to be the harp that introduced material, or made comments), they were required to be meditative on a 6- or 7-note theme, employing a variety of timbres and textures : for example, with Lucy Wakeford, on harp, changing attack and her techniques, and from sharp to light in a few notes.

As with Ligeti’s Continuum (which we heard Maggie Cole play in At Lunch 2), there was a danger here, in this pervasive and intense sound, of noticing too much, and so not noticing enough : almost just as faint stars can be seen best not by looking directly at them, but by letting oneself become aware of their presence in the periphery of one’s vision… ?



Bjarnson ~ Parallel (2016)

Different elements of the trio were in and out of being at rest in section I of (3) Parallel, with the casing of the harp being used, and with a sharp attack employed on viola and flute. Tonal, lyrical passages emerged, but we moved out to be quiet again in conclusion.

Section II initially had moving patterns for Wakeford over a sort of drone from viola and flute, which turned into an elegy for flute. Next, section III came straight in, with much – and more integrated – liveliness : very short, but full of energy.

Section IV opened with gong-like ‘clangs’ (claps ?) on solo harp, which became an ostinato over which the flute entered and floated, and the viola dipped in and out. With four long notes, the viola-writing became more expansive, and a coda had it to the fore (with quiet harp and flute), but we finished with soft flute and harp.



Donatoni ~ Marches (‘Steps’) (1979)

Lucy Wakeford introduced (4) this piece, which she played with inventiveness, and which has both a distinct sound and sound-world – often troubled in tone, and, with its obsessive material, producing anxiety (in this listener, at least).

The rhythmicity of Marches (‘Steps’) had the power to unsettle / disquiet [again, a point of comparison with the Ligeti from At Lunch 2], and could be considered to be expressing the content of dreams (or neuroses) that we struggle to wake from. At any rate, it caused Wakeford to be called back for applause at her virtuoso rendition.



Debussy ~ Sonata for Flute, Viola and Harp (1915)

1. Pastorale : Lento, dolce rubato
2. Interlude : Tempo di Minuetto
3. Finale : Allegro moderato ma risoluto


Clare Finnimore spoke briefly to introduce the (5) Sonata, and what it has meant to her in her time since she first played it (at music college ?). The opening Pastorale, as well as having, at the start, some well-known music in the vein of a Berceuse (to which some wish to go to sleep), had a real exuberance to it, and a fond feeling in the part for flute, which helped create an apparently care-free mood.

So we heard McDonough, with ‘jaunty’ writing for viola, and supported by the harp. At this point, the tone of the viola became full of earnestness, and, in its phrased line, perhaps we were reminded of a moment in Debussy's String Quartet (in G Minor, Op. 10) before the drowsy sensations accompanying the opening material recurred ?


The Interlude* will also be known to many outside of its context in the Sonata, and it represented a movement when the forces of the trio were in interchange : we heard the theme on the harp, then, when Finnimore’s viola joined in, glissandi, and material passing back and forth with the flute. When we heard the theme stated at the end, it was low on Emer McDonough’s instrument.


In the Finale, we had pizzicato writing and vigorous figures on the harp. There was much about this movement that was tempestuous and serious, as Finnimore had mentioned, with stern accents for viola. However, they fell away, and there was almost a touch of the comic, as Debussy eased off, closing in a different vein.


As, for its length, the work ‘claimed rank’ even on the Takemitsu, it was understandable that the Debussy received much applause : in a way, it was the work around which the whole programme had been built, and so, in bringing it full circle to Debussy, the acclaim was for all the moods that these principals of Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) had given us in this hour-long recital.


End-notes

* The word comes from mediaeval Latin interludium, from inter- ‘between’ + ludus ‘play’.


If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here


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

Catrin Finch at The Corn Exchange, Cambridge

This reviews European Union Chamber Orchestra with Catrin Finch / Fiona Slominska

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

6 February

This review is from a concert given by The European Union Chamber Orchestra and with soloists Catrin Finch and Fiona Slominska, at The Corn Exchange, Cambridge, on Friday 5 February at 7.30 p.m.

Great pre-concert talk by @CatrinFinch @heffersbookshop before last night's @EUCO1 concert. Fantastic evening! pic.twitter.com/MQTdDy5qgL

— Camb Corn Exchange (@CambridgeCornEx) February 6, 2016

A nice talk by @CatrinFinch, with humour, candour and someone who really just knew, at five, what she wanted to be ! https://t.co/FuCq0NWDZC

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 6, 2016

After the talk that Catrin Finch gave, which was in the basement of Heffer’s bookshop in Cambridge (with Ambrose Miller (Managing Director of The European Union Chamber Orchestra (EUCO / @EUCO1)), the first piece on the programme at The Corn Exchange (@CambridgeCornEx) was Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 (in G Major, BWV 1048).

For understandable reasons (because none of the other pieces required harpsichord¹), EUCO had omitted it from the ensemble. However, although the contribution that it makes to the continuo is perhaps subtle at times, it is still important in this third Brandenburg, otherwise Bach would have scored the work for just ten strings (we had nine, in the event, with just two cellos).

From the point of view of just being able to omit that instrument, only Brandenburg Concerto No. 4 might really have succeeded (and here, with very different scoring, would just have created a surfeit of recorder-players !). As it was, particularly at the tempo at which the first movement was taken, hearing the harpsichord amongst the strings, as Bach intended, would have enriched the texture, and opened up the scope for more-nuanced intonation.



Concerto for Flute and Harp in C Major, K. 299 ~ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791)

1. Allegro
2. Andantino
3. Allegro


Note on the cadenzas :
As would have been usual, we do not have any written-out cadenzas provided by Mozart (even if it was asserted that they did not survive). The usual choice is those by German pianist and composer Carl Reinecke, but André Previn (as well as various soloists) have written ones of their own.

Fiona Slominska :

http://www.maneffa77.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/Fiona/biography.html

The introductory bars of the Allegro, with two horns and two oboes, had poise and grandeur. Flute and harp were co-introduced, and were sharing thematic material², and with the flute seeming to give answers or replies to the harp – on occasion, the latter’s part seemed to be that of beautifying the role of the flute. However, at many others, it also had significant chords and closures, and Catrin Finch was obviously into the work from the start, feeling the way in relation to and working with her fellow soloist Fiona Slominska’s playing, and, as the movement proceeded, there were was greater interplay between the instrumentalists. In the cadenza, before a close per tutti, the flute gave the impression of wanting to say something, but of failing, in the end, to do so.


Andantino is an unusual marking, in that it can ambiguously mean a little slower or a little faster than Andante. With its opening, for strings, it similarly seemed more than a distant relative to Mozartian theme familiar from elsewhere. The version of the theme that we heard on the flute was passed to the harp, which now had more scope to be eloquently expressive, and there was a synergy with Slominska, as we saw Finch carefully listening to what the flute was doing, and which then caused the synergy to work even more closely :

If we were to want to ascribe moods or characters to the soloists’ parts, that of the flute weightily feels something emotional, and has a sympathetic response from the harp. The cadenza began in a standard way, but again with the sense of the flute searching, and, in that search, of becoming even more of a duo with the harp. In the refinement at the end of the movement, the motif from the cadenza continues to be shared between them, but in the company of the strings.

Catrin Finch

Away from this feeling of intimacy (not uncommon with Mozart’s slow, inner movements) was the effect of the almost boisterous and rather ‘straight’ opening to the Allegro, complete, at points, with horns and oboes. For a while, harp was to the fore, before passing over to flute, when Catrin Finch could be seen, with her head cocked, listening to Slominska’s intonation and interpretation, in and out of passages with orchestra : the more that one tries to write about musical performance, the more that one finds oneself watching the communication involved in how soloists and other fellow musicians seek to hear and align themselves with what is being played. Briefly, harp and the two oboes were the most prominent players, and with matter that, when handed to the flute and supported by the harp, formulates the concerto’s path ahead.

In that, Finch had definite and clear statements to make (at one moment, with forceful repetitions), and one was in no doubt about her energy or her enjoyment of her role in the work : she imbued it with the spirit of making utterances, but all the while heeding the flute as a commentator who could influence the direction of her own playing. Come the cadenza - with Slominska holding the note that leads into it, as the ensemble expectantly withdraws - the instruments were as equals, and, when Finch broke off with the melody, it oscillated between them before they played together. In lively and positive mood, the Concerto completed with cadences and two full final chords, and to much appreciation for harpist Catrin Finch, and flautist Fiona Slominska.


* * * * *



Danse sacrée et danse profane³, L. 103 ~ Claude Debussy (1862-1918)

Beforehand, after the intervening interval, Catrin Finch needed to check being in tune, with scales and swirls. To the first dance’s relatively sombre opening (the Danses sacrée), she brought lightness of touch from the harp, and a definite feeling that she was in command : in that sound, one could almost sense what it had been, hearing Marisa Robles play, that had captivated a girl of five with the wish to be able to conjure such sounds into existence. When the strings played pizzicati, her tone was authoritative, and the restatement of the theme was made with restraint.

The tone and theme of Danse profane, begun by the harp and then in relaxed synchrony with the strings, are arguably more familiar. As it developed, Finch brought to it playing that was first luminous, but, soon after, deliberately resembled brittleness. When Debussy started anew with his material, she gave us an evocation of a rêverie, and then a mood that seemed decisive, which, when it led to one of action, was marked by tautness. A glissando, and a few quiet touches, brought the piece to a finish.

Catrin Finch ~ www.catrinfinch.com

Catrin Finch was again greeted with much enthusiasm for her thoughtful playing, and some flowers from the wings.


After the Debussy, we heard Haydn’s Symphony No. 55 in E Flat Major (Hob. I:55), with the finale of his better-known and recently performed Symphony No. 49 (in F Minor, La passione (Hob. I:49)), as an encore.

It brought out the orchestra’s enthusiasm, although they had done their best to be inspired with playing the preceding symphony : read around it only a little, though, and no one seems to consider it other than highly conservative in approach, etc. Failing a better choice from Haydn's many other symphonies, we might (despite issues of balance) have been better ending with the Debussy… ?


End-notes

¹ That said, a soloist may commonly play an instrument (such as a piano) that will not appear in the rest of the concert, quite apart from some members of the orchestra.

² Did the principal theme seem to resemble one from Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Orchestra in G Major, K. 313 ?

³ The piece itself, consisting of two movements (respectively, the sacred and profane), is relatively straightforward (or so familiar as to seem so ?). However, sometimes the separate titles get confused, as Danses sacrée et profane, which means not only that it appears that more than one dance is being referred to as both sacred and profane at the same time, but also, for anyone who knows about adjectival agreement in French, some scratching of the head as to why this is not in the plural throughout, i.e. Danses sacrées et profanes.

(For those who prefer, there appears to be this alternative title : Deux danses pour Harpe (ou Harpe chromatique ou piano) avec accompagnement d'orchestre d'instruments à cordes.)


If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here

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

Tamara Stefanovich is in love with Scarlatti (and Bartók)

An account of when Tamara Stefanovich re-created Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

23 June

An account of when Tamara Stefanovich re-created Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh

You could see it in her face (which I saw in profile) as she read the scores and came to passages that engaged and enchanted her. (She played the Debussy beautifully in the programme that she was repeating from Béla Bartók’s recital in Aldeburgh, and even gave an encore of his prelude Footprints in the snow, but the look wasn’t there.) There was a definite smile, and there was the sort of reaction as if she were studying details of a lover’s face and suddenly finding a new expression, or a new way of the light catching it.

According to the quotation from Diderot that Richard Sennett had read at his lecture two days earlier, if it had not betrayed immersion in the communion between the composer’s score (between her and that of these three male composers), making faces during a performance would have been a bad approach to playing. As for me, I liked it, seeing her light up, sometimes even surprised (at a score that she also played yesterday), because she was obviously so much at one with what she was playing.

With Bartók, I noticed that she relished passages with cross-rhythms, the more declamatory statements of a theme (as towards the end of the Romanian Folk Dances of 1915), and also had a fondness for the fay and fantastic, the swaying movement or the outlandish gesture.

I was paying less attention at the outset of the recital, which had three Scarlatti sonatas that I do not recall hearing before – not, then, so much good for Bartók in his choice (and, I gather, he had made an edition), as shame on us in this century (and the last) that we still play just relatively few. Nonetheless, it was clear that Stefanovich was delighted at the articulation of a new theme, and how the music developed in certain places.

With regard to the way that the programme itself built up, Bartók had made a selection that worked well. For example, his Three Burlesques (started in 1908) could have been written in the knowledge of Debussy’s Pour le piano (finished in 1901), and Bartók might, for that reason (or because he anyway thought that they would lead well into the other composer’s world*), have placed them where he did.

Likewise, the Allegro barbaro had space, before and after, just to be itself, not throwing the other pieces into relief, but providing a contrast. Stefanovich made this programme her own, seeming quite at home with it: playing the composers with equal conviction, and giving us the subtlest dynamic variations, after the liveliness of the opening Prélude, in Pour le piano. Debussy himself then seemed especially sure of the bewitching power his themes in the second and third pieces (Sarabande and Toccata).

Happening to speak to Tamara Stefanovich briefly later, I clarified with her whether she had seen her remit to recreate Bartók’s performance. She told me that, although she had listened to recordings of his playing and had noted how he varied his adherence to time, she had not set out to imitate him, but to interpret the music as herself in the light of what she had heard.

It was a very impressive and thoughtful recital of seventy minutes without a break (I imagine that a break would not have been feasible on the original occasion, with a schoolful of girls to be settled in the church hall). My only doubt was, when it was not – as it no longer exists – the church hall in which Bartók played, what point there was in having the recreation recital in somewhere not ideal.

In fact, the Yamaha grand piano dwarfed the stage, leaving little room, on one side, for the wonted upright, and, on the other, the performer: I simply do not know how authentic such a black beast would have been to a performance in a town in the 1920s. I suspect that Bartók’s music may have proved a bigger beast, because it was my perception that the piano went out of tune.


An addendum :

I have since belatedly read the entry for these events (Stefanovich had given the recital, at the same place, the day before, after the lecture by Malcolm Gillies about Bartók's visits to Britain), and I need to say that there had been a reason, although a slightly tenuous one, for using the church hall in Aldeburgh (rather than a room better fitted to the quality of both the playing and the programme). It turns out that this hall had been the former chapel of Belstead Girls' School, and had been re-errected for the parish as its church hall.

However, although Bartók's programme for the recital is known (in his lecture, I am fairly sure that Mr Gillies had not - whether he had one - displayed an original printed document that set it out), and also that Bartók had been invited to play at the school itself. The performance was mainly for the benefit of the girls (although others could pay to be admitted : Mr Gillies showed the document that advertised the concert, which specified no programme, only five shillings for a reserved seat, otherwise two and six).

The venue remains unknown : the advertising does not give it, and, although Mr Gillies had the chance to interview a pupil (part of which he shared with us), it appears that doing so did not shed light on the question. So it may may have been the chapel, now serving as the church hall, but it may not...


End-notes :

* I come back to what I wrote about Colin Matthews and his orchestrations, feeling again that – just as it does a hand – the Debussy fitted its instrument like a glove.

If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here

What Bruno Bettelheim has to tell us about all sorts of stories

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2012
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

23 April

Some people (no names mentioned!) are quite dogmatic about what BB postulated about fairy tales:

It's a bit like being a strict Freudian* and - as Arthur Koestler expressed it in Bricks to Babel (1980) - filtering out everything that is inconsistent with your adopted (to be pretentious) Weltanschauung, so BB (probably quitely kicking and screaming, from what little I know of him) becomes the new God.

Thus adherents say that He Has Spoken, and henceforth Fairy Stories shall be hallowed, imbued with dark meanings, and with the purpose of helping us manage our difficult inner feelings by projecting them onto a story (no quibbles, no refund).

I think of this from hearing Debussy's familiar (though thankfully off the air for a while) L'Après-Midi d'une Faune (1894), and a decent explanation - for once - of its roots in Mallarmé's poem of 1865. It requires little invention to imagine sexual sublimation (of writer, reader or listener, though, for me, the lattermost remains a stretch, as does finding the text behind other works of Claude's): the faun can safely do - or dream of doing - what we can conveniently enjoy in him, and deny as being our desire.

Which brings us to yesterday's screening, accompanied by Neil Brand and Mark Kermode (why else was everyone there?) in The Dodge Brothers, of The Ghost that Never Returns (1929), the penultimate event in the 15th British Silent Film Festival, which was hosted by the Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge, this year.

More to come...



End-notes

* Woody Allen's passing quip is my favourite, which goes something like During my time in therapy, my analyst retired - as he was a strict Freudian, it was only six sessions later that I realized.


If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here

Colin Matthews or Does the world need more orchestrations?

More views of - or after - Cambridge Film Festival 2011
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

3 February

I wonder what Colin Matthews would say if I commissioned another composer to orchestrate one of his very fine string quartets¹...

Presumably, to be consistent, Matthews would just have to go along with it, for, if he did not, what I heard on Radio 3 in mid-December would seem to be hypocrisy :

For the concert, in the Afternoon Performance slot, featured what the web-page describes as 'exquisite versions' of six of Debussy's preludes (three in each half), including such prominent ones as 'The Girl with the Flaxen Hair' ('La fille aux cheveux de lin') in the first part, and 'The Submerged Cathedral' ('La cathédrale engloutie') in the second. (Whether 'versions' is a choice of word that came from Matthews, I do not know.)

Now, I must have been very busy with what I was doing - and I was at work on something - or even asleep in my wakefulness, because, although I heard the concept announced (and marvelled, later, when told that all 24 preludes had been given the same treatment²), I failed to identify either piece that I have named (and I couldn't have missed them both). All that I actually registered was an inundation rather akin to that which did for the cathedral - it all sounded like some murky seascape, and did not sound unlike Debussy in that regard, but I cannot say that it added, for me, in a helpful to what Debussy wrote in 1910 :

Oh, the audience at City Halls in Glasgow seemed appreciative enough, but I do wonder what they had gained from the experience. For I cannot honestly say that, even in an exercise to challenge the too familiar³, these preludes are calling out to be listened to in a different way. (And, for that matter, maybe The Planets didn't need Matthews to produce a Pluto - although I believe that, since he wrote it, it is no longer deemed a planet.)

As it is, Mussorgsky's piano suite Pictures at an Exhibition may stand as part of the virtuoso repertoire (though one hardly ever hears it broadcast) and, I would equally argue, was in no need of embellishment, that ever-present arrangement by Maurice Ravel (in which, admittedly, 'The Great Gate of Kiev' is very powerful and stirring)⁴ is what many people probably only ever hear, and miss out on the beauties of the original suite.

Mussorgsky wrote it in 1874 as a tribute to his artist friend Viktor Hartmann. Without what Ravel did (and Henry Wood apparently withdrew his own orchestration, made in 1915, because he thought Ravel's version superior), many people would not know of this work, but do they ever, in fact, hear it, if they never come to a knowledge of the piano original ?⁵

Well, none of us chooses what he or she is remembered by - the successful writer, who had something like forty West End hits to his name, is thought of as having written Winnie-the-Pooh, after all.


Postlude³ :

He does the opposite of Colin Matthews in symphonic arrangements of Debussy, and one feels that one hears more in Gould's piano than from an orchestra - as against 'La fille aux cheveux de lin' and @the_halle / Mark Elder, closing yesterday's @BBCInTune ?https://t.co/4i4tFQQNAL

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) March 22, 2018

Or Symphony No. 6, in F Major, Op. 68 :https://t.co/hwHuNPEs4K https://t.co/y5rb8bmTYu

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) March 22, 2018

End-notes

¹ As, having heard it played live, Mahler rather pointlessly seems to have done with Schubert's String Quartet No. 14 in D minor (amongst other works) - he does not take liberties, thankfully, but what is gained by having more instruments to produce the sound, when that is not what the quartet, in my view, is about ?

(According to Michael Kennedy's book about Mahler, that arrangement, although one of two made in Hamburg, rankled with the orchestra in Vienna when he took up the baton, because they were viewed as complicit in what he had done with the likes of Beethoven and Schubert in these arrangements. I believe that some reckoned that Beethoven had known well enough how to orchestrate his Symphony No. 9, without an extra little beefing up here and there.)


² The Radio 3 web-page says that they were 'orchestrated for the Hallé Orchestra between 2001 and 2007.

³ And, to chip away the veneer on Beethoven's Symphony No. 6, I found Liszt's piano transcription very rewarding. His other such works, including the concert paraphrases, similarly endear themselves to me.

⁴ And there are at least twenty others, including one by Vladimir Ashkenazy (in 1982) that takes issue with what Ravel did (in 1922, commissioned by Serge Koussevitzky).

⁵ Even Night on a Bare Mountain is usually in the edition by Rimsky-Korsakov, and, for Fantasia (1940), Stokowski orchestrated it afresh.


If you want to Tweet, Tweet away here