Showing posts with label Haydn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Haydn. Show all posts

Monday, 13 February 2017

Seraphin Chamber Orchestra played in King's College Chapel, conducted by Joy Lisney

This reviews a concert given by Seraphin Chamber Orchestra, under Joy Lisney

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

12 February

This is a review of an inaugural concert given by Seraphin Chamber Orchestra in the chapel of King’s College on Sunday 12 February 2017 at 8.00 p.m., in a programme of works by Haydn and Tchaikovsky, and including a world premiere by Benjamin Graves, conducted by cellist Joy Lisney


Benjamin Graves (199?) (@BenjaminHGraves) ~ Three Folk Songs for String Orchestra (2017) (World premiere)

 It is almost inevitable with modern compositions that one either runs out of sections, and has to reappraise whether what seemed like a pause delineated any more than a long rest, or the piece ends, when one is expecting more… (It was the latter, but no matter.)

 I confess that this was my experience when Joy gave Benjamin Britten’s Suite for Cello No. 3 at Kings Place (@KingsPlace), a piece that I do not know well, and which one can hear and see Joy playing then here (on YouTube) :



The start of the work had aetherial, ancient tones, with subtle pulsings in the midst, and it felt that we were looking to ‘Max’ (Peter Maxwell Davies) with the use of layering, and of radiant and discordant elements. When we heard the leader with obbligato violin, alongside tremolo effects that shimmered, this was perhaps where the second Folk Song began :

At any rate, there was ‘a rise’, as of cavorting seals (it becomes hackneyed to talk too much about keening, but there was that about it). Probably the third of the Folk Songs began with rhythmicity, and ‘banjo-style’ cellos, and one appreciated the effect of divided first and second violins, and the move in and out of the minor, but all with a regal air. However, although we appeared to come to a sonority, the piece did not quite end on it, but with other-worldly qualities and effects.

 The element of surprise… caught the audience by surprise, but the skill and care of Seraphin Chamber Orchestra (@SeraphinCO) in this composition was easily recognizable, and heralded a full hour of accomplishment and finely conveyed emotion under Joy Lisney’s (@JoyLisney’s) baton (or, in what followed, direction from the cello).




Josef Haydn (1732-1809) ~ Concerto for Cello in D Major, Op. 101, Hob. VIIIb : 2

 1. Allegro moderato

 2. Adagio

 3. Allegro

 Not that one would expect the opening Allegro moderato to be disrespectful, but this was treating ‘Papa’ Haydn with initial reverential respect, against which we could accord and register the flourishes on oboes and horns. Then, Joy signalled a boost in the orchestra’s volume, and we gained a sense of the echoic nature of Haydn’s writing.

In Joy's approach to his solo melody-line and its ornamentation, its beauty was paramount, and we could then, as the movement developed, appreciate the crispness of Christopher Xuereb on bass. From Joy, this was a gracious performance, with her facility at the service of bringing freshness to the interpretation. At times, she would wait, as the rest of the ensemble had a tutti passage, and she could no doubt have been content at the very great competence of Seraphin Chamber Orchestra, with its balanced and fully confident sound. We could next movingly see her feeling her way, and, come the cadenza (which one guesses may have been Joy’s own, thematically-oriented one), there was a real quiet in the chapel of King’s College, before the orchestra joined her for the close : there was not showiness here, but an appropriate response to the mood and style of Haydn’s work.


The Adagio had an understated opening, and we then heard the plangency of the oboes. Joy herself was exercising restraint as to being expressive at this stage, and then a moment of sweetness came forth – taking the simplicity in the melody-line at face value, with its honesty and clarity. In the cadenza, there were singing notes, and colours that allowed the ensemble to come quietly back in : this is not the Concerto in which to wring every essence of the Adagio for feeling, but one where its content and purpose are to serve the faster movements.

 Joy allowed the closing Allegro to luxuriate in the rich loveliness of the writing, with its feel of a rondo, and horn-calls. She was clearly working very well with the orchestra, whose rehearsals had been much publicized on Twitter (at @SeraphinCO), and enjoying the pleasure of this finale. Haydn briefly modulates to the minor, and Joy, either side of highly proficient runs, brought out some momentarily forceful bowing to match the atmosphere. A brief moment of hearing the oboes without the solo voice, and then the delightful and well-received conclusion of the work, full of energy and life.


Those who knew the work, and its demands, would have called Joy back more than twice in reacting to this work, but the applause was generous for what one judged the composition of the audience to be (and, likewise when the time came, the Tchaikovsky could have been acclaimed for longer, and the impressive quality of this playing in a notoriously demanding acoustic).




Pyotr Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) ~ Serenade for Strings, Op. 48 (1880)

 1. Pezzo in forma di sonatina : Andante non troppo — Allegro moderato

2. Valse : Moderato — Tempo di valse

3. Élégie : Larghetto elegiaco

4. Finale (Tema russo) : Andante — Allegro con spirito

 The opening statement was well paced, and had its necessary clarity, with Joy showing that it was not sufficient to play this music, but for it to speak and to unfold. There was some difficult cello-writing here, for example, but Seraphin Chamber Orchestra had assurance, and a good bass-line, as well as a clear string-sound : their conductor was confident, and appeared to be giving them confidence. With the reprise of the opening gestures, there was a good balance, which we were to notice further, as the Serenade continued.


The movement marked Valse seemed essentially carefree, but only mildly jaunty, and Joy made good use of ritardando for punctuation : with a work such as this, which we think that we know, but where we actually cannot place some parts of it, we need holding back, for our pleasure, in the familiar moments. Joy’s beating of time was gentle and leisurely.

 In the Élégie, she had the orchestra carefully present the initial material, and slowly using its measures for expressivity : for it is here, if anywhere in the Serenade, that Tchaikovsky is likely to feel unknown to us, and we need shape and structure most then, not for a conductor to let it drift.

 With the first violins against pizzicato strings, we began a gradual build, and then time to decelerate and to breathe. Again and again, Joy paced this movement, and brought us to a lovely hush, as of dying embers. Still aglow, the Larghetto was still being given due weight, and then gradually we came into a coda, with a pulse, and simple scales, to conclude.


The Finale (Tema russo) was in this same, quiet place, but more solemn, with Joy taking it steadily, and making us come again to this music, which was now familiar (in the way that our selective attention, or our listening that has been directed to what we know, the Élégie is relatively uncertain for us). Yes, we came into a little fizz and fireworks, but there was more to it than that, and Joy showed, again, that she had a sense of vision for this piece. After some luscious writing for her fellow cellists, we ended as we had begun, but with the theme’s statement now having greater poise and purpose…




Now reviewed here, the ensemble's second concert (as above), also in this venue


Just one thing that could possibly have different : especially last year, when concerts during Easter at King’s were held at the West end (and especially with period instruments), the work of a cold building on strings was noticeable. Just maybe, after the third movement of the Serenade for Strings, taking a chance to re-tune might have been worthwhile ?




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)
Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , ,

Saturday, 6 February 2016

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.




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.



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.)

Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)
Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

Dangerous Mozart pleases audiences

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2013
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

23 October



The Academy of Ancient Music’s (@AAMorchestra’s) concert at West Road Concert Hall in Cambridge (@WestRoadCH) fell into a half of early to mid-period Haydn (a concerto, then a symphony – Haydn was apparently unable to compose beyond 1802, but lived until 1809) and one of very early Mozart (symphony, concerto), opening in a stately Allegro moderato under violinist Alina Ibragimova’s direction in Haydn's Violin Concerto No. 1 in C Major Hob. VIIA : 1 (which the programme variously dates to (contents page) c. 1769 and (notes by Stephen Rose) the early 1760s).

Haydn, as with many a composer, sounds different when writing a concerto from a symphony, and this work reminded me of one of his Cello Concertos (No. 1 in C Major (Hob. VIIB : 1, which seems to be thought written between 1761 and 1765)) for its spacious character. At any rate, the notes tell us that Luigi Tomasini, leader of the orchestra at the Esterházy court, was the soloist for whom the concerto for violin was written, but it could have been written for Ibragimova, who made an imperious gesture in the opening phrase of her solo part, which then gave way to a sublime graciousness that pervaded the first movement.

In pieces from this period, we almost have, in sonata form, the same delight as in the da capo aria, of being reminded music from earlier on, and hearing it anew in its thematic context (although the programme notes tell me that this is more like a Baroque ritornello) : the effect was, at any rate, of somehow simultaneously slowing down and accelerating our sense of progression under Ibragimova’s direction, and she appeared not to be using written-out cadenzas, but gently meditating on the foregoing material.

In the slow movement, Ibragimova was given a full chance to demonstrate her singing string-tone, and the strings had a clockwork-like pizzicato, reminiscent of Vivaldi (those concertos), and brilliantly executed. Exploiting the purity of the upper register of her instrument, and using a lovely piano contrast, Haydn and she charmed us in this Adagio, and prepared us for the Presto finale, which, seemingly with a cognate theme to that of the first movement, had a pleasing sense of inevitability as it worked its way through to a sonorous close.

That same quality of togetherness, under the directorship from the violin of Pavlo Beznosiuk, marked the opening theme of Haydn’s Symphony No. 45 in F Sharp Major, to which the account attaches that it was his protest on behalf of the court musicians at the prospect, in late 1772, of the court at Esterházy staying there beyond the usual October till December. There are momentary bars of repose from that theme’s demands, but they are only momentary, and they built up a sense of longing.

We were then brought, in the long Adagio, to what seemed the emotional heart of the piece, with its well-captured reflective mood seeming to evoke a place for cognition, and subtle horn tones that enhanced this impression. In the shorter Menuet and Trio, a falling four-note motif was evident, which again gave an emotional pull to the music, as it moved towards the finale, marked Presto – Adagio.

The sonority that marked the first tempo was gradually waning in that of the second, since, in pairs, the instrumentalists were leaving the stage (say, second horn with principal oboe), enacting what happened at the first performance, until just Tomasini and Haydn were left : Haydn has a reputation both for his sense of humour (his ‘Surprise’ symphony, for example, or that string quartet that always catches me out), and for having influence with his royal master, but one does not know what risk he had been taking. AAM took none, only prisoners for its sensitive playing.


After the interval, a work of teenage years by Mozart (from 1770), was paired with one of his later - but still early - violin concertos, proving that we are wrong to match one of these concerto works with a later symphony. Hearing the Symphony No. 1 in G Major was not just an educational exercise, but helped reveal the building-blocks from which, more seamlessly, the composer was to construct his more mature style, such as a four-note motif in which the next note went up, then back, then down.

Listening to the thought-out playing of these two movements, again under the direction of Beznosiuk, there were hints of what was to come in the concerto, with a gesture of a heavily accented note on the strings, and then repeated notes. It came across wonderfully as a different sound-world already from that of ‘Papa’ Haydn, though written at the same time as his works.

  • Alina Ibragimova : a mixture of total abandonment and total control that is in no way contradictory (The Times)


I thought that I knew Mozart’s co-called Turkish concerto, the Concerto for Violin No. 5 in A Major (1775, when Mozart was but 19, Haydn 43) but this interpretation caused me to experience it anew. After the preceding symphony, as I have said, I was better placed to spot the use of pairs of falling notes, noticing the structural elements, but finding how the music is much more than them, and it does not hurt to know that they are there.

At times bending towards the music-stand, and seeming usually to be in motion between the divided first and second violins, there was a physical feeling of freedom in Ibragimova and her flowing dress that matched her musical inventiveness, and the impression that the orchestra had really warmed to her leadership and performance. In the Adagio, an initial geniality of mood gave way to a sense of things becoming fluid, but, concurrently, of time standing still, as if the music were flowing directly from Mozart’s own bow.

In the Rondeau finale, she gave us ‘slapped’ notes in the strings that would not have been out of place in Bartók’s middle quartets (which, of course, she plays, but I do not know about techniques contemporary to Haydn), and a barbarity and a rawness of tone in the Turkish theme that made it feel fresh and new. In the true nature of such a movement, we also had a sense of play in not knowing where we were at an end, with its familiar unflashy ending, but the audience was in no doubt about how this piece was received :

Ibragimova came back for an encore, which I am told by AAM’s Michael Garvey, its chief executive, was the slow movement of Haydn’s Symphony No. 6 in D Major (nicknamed ‘Le Matin’), which not only had a note of leave-taking about it, but also a phrase of wildly abundant expression from our soloist, only matched by the reception from those around me.

Garvey tells me that, after three performances in Italy, AAM is at a new venue for it in London, Milton Court Concert Hall, and then off for a fortnight to tour Australia. A good chance for many others to hear this nicely put-together programme !




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)
Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Friday, 23 August 2013

I knew Don Pasquale as a Cambridge restaurant

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2013
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)

12 August

* Contains spoilers *

I went to that restaurant for the first time with a friend long since lost - the Varsity Handbook of the time said, deliberately cruelly, that it was about as Italian as Watney's (itself rather an anachronism).

By utter contrast, Donizetti's Don P., relayed live from Glyndebourne (a place that my rather more well-heeled friend would know - I know that he knows), was not anything like a tepid ale, but magnificent, piece and production.



With what little I know of opera buffa, principally from a Haydn caper (with another man led into a delusion, that time that he had been transported to the moon), I was expecting something...



Here, the craziness was introduced step by step into the action proper, though signalled by the doctor (Dr Malatesta*) climbing in and out of secret passages during the overture - he could, equally, have been a behavioural scientist, and the others rats in his Skinner box, because he knew their world better than they did, and, more or less, pulled all the strings. (A rocking-horse soon after carried by the Don onto the part of the set that represented his (adult) nephew's bedroom hints at absurdity - no one knows the true meaning of Dada (as in Dadaism), but it is the French term for such a creature.)



I say, more or less, because de Niese (as Norina) is his essential collaborator, and she really throws herself into it, more assiduous than even Malatesta 'to teach Pasquale a lesson' ! Echoes, in that objective, of The Madness of King George (1994), Twelfth Night, or even the framing-device of The Taming of the Shrew. Notions of moral worth and not having a swollen head, which give us the term shrink (from head-shrink). (The oysters referred to above (and all that they imply) appear when Pasquale flips a hinged painting over, hiding a contemplative skull as memento mori, showing where his libido is now seeking to lead him.)

Malatesta is as focused on ends not means as Norina is, hence her not being averse to taking a bubble-bath whilst he is around, or to his getting into it... Surely not in the libretto, but pointing up what's in it for him in all this !

Likewise, Pasquale's retainer cum nurse, who is both clearly jealous when Norina in disguise comes on the scene (or curious when Malatesta shuts her out), and part of the notion that what is 'wrong with' him is his miserly and stiff-necked attitude. As Pasquale, Alessandro Corbelli showed his experience, and brought out the comedy both of his folly before 'marrying', and when his 'wife' has revealed himself in her true colours : de Niese wonderfully went to town, and Corbelli was her perfect foil.


Malatesta, creeping around the place at night like some over-sized Borrower, has been mentioned above, and this is where the stage's potential first became apparent - he would slip through one aperture, and, as the scenes moved right to left, appear somewhere else. All creating a pretty creepy, almost delusional feeling, of someone unseen on manoeuvres when one is unawares, and a very convincing (and two-faced) portrayal from Nikolay Borchev - according to one person leaving a comment on the Glyndebourne web-site, Malatesta is supposed to be 'the moral fulcrum of the tale', not a 'self interested puppet master', but, equally, de Niese was 'miscast'.

I cannot see myself ever researching this matter far enough to know what the plain text says about Malatesta, but, quite apart from anything else, Borchev sang well, and my recollection is clear enough that, unless passages have been deleted, interpolated or simply added, morality only seemed the doctor's part in the sense of Shakespearean 'problem' plays, such as All's Well That Ends Well or Measure for Measure.

Nephew Ernesto, played by Alek Schrader, did seem to have been miscast by contrast, because, for me, his voice needed to be blended with that of other singers, but otherwise seemed reedy and exposed when he had a solo line. As to Donizetti's music, de Niese seemed to have a fine sense for delivering recitative, and the harmonies created with four voices were quite enchanting.


End-notes

* The name appears literally to mean 'bad in the head', but we need not worry, because Donizetti is drawing on figures from the Commedia dell'Arte.




Unless stated otherwise, all films reviewed were screened at Festival Central (Arts Picturehouse, Cambridge)
Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Thursday, 1 March 2012

The Great Composers: the stories that amuse us, but do not edify them or us

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

2 March

Announcing Beethoven's Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 3, they almost invariably tell you this story about the premiere:

A pupil of his was asked to turn the pages, but was aghast that there was almost nothing written on them.


Are we ever told who the pupil is? I don't recall it, if so. So from whose account, save the pupil's, would we know that this happened (or is there a claim that Beethoven confirmed the story)? Could the audience itself possibly have known, by looking at the manuscript paper?

More importantly, how does it help us to approach the work and listening to the solo part to know that, if the story is to be believed, Beethoven had allegedly gone before an audience to play it without having written it out? Even if he had, aren't all of Concertos Nos 3 to 5, at least, in the established repertoire?

So does this account, if it tells us anything, inform us more about our own prejudices and pre-suppositions than about whether Beethoven was so behind with things that he had failed to get something down on time? After all, improvised cadenzas were the stuff of Haydn's day, and of Mozart's, and we love that story of how the latter supposedly wrote a trio whilst playing skittles:

How rare - or common - would it have been for Mozart to play a solo part that he had not committed to paper? Can we even have that notion in our mind when this story about Beethoven is trotted before us once more? It almost compels us to feel that he - in the slang idiom - was 'chancing it', was 'winging it', when maybe he was doing nothing of the sort that was unusual.

You could very well look at the prompt cards that experienced and very professional after-dinner speakers use, and maybe the key-words would say nothing to you, but wouldn't you judge the quality of the preparation evidenced in the speech by hearing it, not by looking at cards that are not meant to mean anything except to the person holding them?

So - and I truly think so - this account of the premiere of that concerto just needs dumping. Unless we know how the performance was received by that contemporary audience - and whether its members detected shortcomings that could be laid at the door of poor groundwork - so what, frankly? And, in any case we value Beethoven for the works that he left us, not for his vices or virtues as a soloist whose efforts, in that domain, we will never hear...


Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , ,

Thursday, 2 February 2012

All sorts of echoes

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

3 February

To-night, I listened - live - to three pieces for (or incorporating) a piano trio (The Sitkovestsky Trio), the first (Haydn’s Klavertrio No. 43 in C major, Hob. XV/27) and last (Franck’s Piano Quintet in F minor, M. 7) of which reminded me of other things.

Regarding one, I have a hypothesis to make, whereas the other gives rise to an observation:


In a motif in the opening movement of the Haydn (marked Allegro), and in a certain quality in the string writing, I could hear Schumann’s Piano Quintet in E flat major*, Op. 44, and I should be surprised not only if this work of the former were not known to the latter, but also, if so, to learn that the reminiscence is not a deliberate one.

For this, I must search for some evidence.


Regarding the Franck, this was not a work that I knew – because, as far as I recall, I have only heard the familiar works: the Symphony in D minor and the Sonata for Violin and Piano in A major** – and yet I heard themes, especially in the outer movements (marked Molto moderato and Allegro non troppo), that seemed to emanate from those of the symphony, and the power of the tutti was such as to remind one of orchestral forces.

But which came first...?



End-notes

* In full (according to the work quoted below), the Quintet for Pianoforte and Strings.

** At any rate, it appears that the Schumann was influential on Franck in writing his quintet, but that needs further looking into:

Talking of the finale of Schumann's piano quintet***, J. A. Fuller-Maitland writes (in Schumann's Concerted Chamber Music (Oxford University Press, London, 1929) 'we are irresistibly reminded of a chime of bells, an effect that must have been in César Franck's mind when he wrote the ending of his violin sonata.


Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , ,
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)