He’s the daddy ! : Colin Currie DJs at Saffron Hall (Part I)

This reviews Colin Currie Group’s all-Steve-Reich concert at Saffron Hall (Part I)

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

23 June

This is Part I of a review of The Colin Currie Group’s all-Steve-Reich programme, with Synergy Vocals (in Part II), at Saffron Hall on Sunday 26 April at 7.30 p.m.

The review is in two Parts : Music for 18 Musicians (1974–1976) is here

Music for Pieces of Wood (1973)

The Colin Currie Group (@ColinCurrieGrp), led by Colin Currie (@colincurrieperc), opened the gig with a piece that echoed (though not literally) Saffron Hall’s (@SaffronHallSW’s) interior furnishing or appointment, Music for Pieces of Wood (1973).


By analogy, as each player joined in with a tock-tock sound, one felt that one could be listening to, and through, the line- and clause-breaks of John Milton’s verse in Paradise Lost, with its accentuated language of intonation : it was all there in these pitched instruments, and their cross-rhythms and overtones. (Colin Currie came in third, and there was a thudding, almost dully brutal quality to the timbre and pitch of his instrument, compared to those struck by his peers, and of whom we became less and less aware that they were beating different patterns.)

As we got used to the shape of the piece, we could hear the clear acclimatization of the fourth voice, and ourselves became acclimatized, as it began falling into rhythm (or step) with its neighbours, and speeding up its pace (this video may just confuse, but purports to let one visualize what happens with the various patterns). With all five players introduced and bedded in, and after a small crescendo (at 3 : 04 in the video), the iteration wound down, with beats dropping out, until we were back to the unceasing first two players.

Maybe we were just waiting, maybe expecting for Currie to join in again, but we could be more free this time around (if it was, exactly, another time around**), and just absorb the experience – at times, feeling as though we were trotting with the percussionists, or as though it was the cream of the fringe-effects of Ligeti’s Clocks and Clouds (composed the year before, in 1972).

At any rate, the effect was persuasive and impelling, one that must have been intense within the sound on stage. Its cessation, when the final iteration was through**, was met with a roar of approval.



Quartet (2009)

As the programme-notes told us, Quartet (2009) had been commissioned by the CC Group, but only first performed in 2014. They go on to quote Reich as calling it one of the more complex of his compositions.

It was the major work, in terms of length (but still as a balance to a bigger second half), but, as one might imagine, not a quartet in the sense of strings*** (although two instruments rely on them) :

Two concert grands, facing each other, and, likewise, two vibraphones, in a work marked Fast / Slow / Fast – a form that, as Reich comments, is not only played without pause, but is also one familiar throughout history (from publishers Boosey & Hawkes web-page for the work).


Fast turned out not to be all that fast, in a movement that was joyous, but restrained, and where the players laid easily on the beat. It was distinguished by the gorgeous tone of the instruments, and the use of accents and rubato. At one point, very near the end, we were brought down in scale to a softness of some subtlety, and then up to a dynamic high, before a pause brought in a four-beat close.


The slow movement that succeeded it had the feeling of being at night, but not in any way like that of Béla Bartók’s famous movements with an ‘inner’ shadow, and rather by of Reich moving on from what went before, using open chords (as well as discords, later) to give the sense of introductory material. From there, it moved with delicacy, and with the sense of sounds precisely being placed in the air (fully as much by the score as by the playing).

The central part employed the resonant qualities of these forces, making use of a jazzy riff, spread-chords (which had a querulous, questioning tone to them), and what were nearly chimes (but without overplaying any notion of Night). On, though, we went, with further discord that led to full-throttle reverberation, but it proved to be words such as ‘rubato’ and ‘restraint’ that characterized the moment on which we ended.


There, strangely, more words, by the same amount again, for Slow than for Fast… And here, maybe reflecting that the second Fast built upon – and ‘wrapped up’ up – what it followed, some short comments :

The movement had a quality that seemed to be of assured urbanity, maybe evoking a city like New York. It, too, left chords in the air, again not quite chimes (because they were unresolved in the bass-notes of the piano), and, as it approached the intensity of its conclusion, one was keenly aware of all the methods of, and need for, clear and close communications between Colin Currie and the three others.

As if Quartet's grand pianos weren't enough, Music for 18 Musicians, with @ColinCurrieGrp @SaffronHallSW, deployed two more, plus marimbas !
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 27, 2015

Part II of the review (Music for 18 Musicians (1974–1976)) is here



End-notes

* Which, if one studies recorded performances, can be seen to be signalled by a nod (as is the moment of dissipation down to two musicians), as here (at 9 : 36). (Or one can see performers, unlike these or those of the Colin Currie Group, using non-cylindrical, actual and rough pieces of wood.)

** The programme-notes tell us that the time-signature tightens, each time, from 6 / 4, to 4 / 4, to 3 / 4, but maybe even the trained ear prefers to get lost in the changing impressions : as mentioned above, this video purports to let one visualize what happens with the various patterns...

*** Publishers Boosey & Hawkes' web-page for the work, giving Reich’s Composer’s Notes, has him observe : Quartet, when mentioned in the context of concert music, is generally assumed to mean string quartet.


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

He’s the daddy ! : Colin Currie DJs at Saffron Hall (Part II)

This reviews Colin Currie Group’s all-Steve-Reich concert at Saffron Hall (Part II)

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

27 April

This is Part II of a review of The Colin Currie Group’s all-Steve-Reich programme, with Synergy Vocals, at Saffron Hall on Sunday 26 April at 7.30 p.m.

The review is in two Parts : Part I is reviewed here

Music for 18 Musicians (1974–1976)

Impressionistically, let us start where (after a beautiful first half) we ended the night at Saffron Hall (@SaffronHallSW), with the huge feat that is Music for 18 Musicians, and which only commenced after a sacred silence :

Hive of activity on stage setting up for @ColinCurrieGrp music for 18 musicians & yes there are 4 grand pianos! pic.twitter.com/SIAQ2jf8nO
— Saffron Hall (@SaffronHallSW) April 26, 2015

This was music heard as it really should be, live, not as we might know it, say, from YouTube (@YouTube), Spotify®, our own collection of physical recordings, or from the Live In Concert programme, on week days on Radio 3 (@BBCRadio3)…

Though orchestral concerts may still be their own type of monumental enterprise, which usually guarantee that we will hear, for example, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3 more or less as we know it, those things will not bear comparison with what is outside the everyday – the stuff of what is, say, uniquely best at Aldeburgh Festival (@aldeburghmusic) [e.g. Gerard McBurney's A Pierre Dream at The Maltings, Snape], in Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival (@HCMFUK), or in a jazz-gig that is devastatingly in the moment**.

What had Colin Currie (@colincurrieperc), with Colin Currie Group (@ColinCurrieGp) and Synergy Vocals (@vocalsynergy) wanted to bring us in Music for 18 Musicians ? One cannot usefully summarize this work, but best feel for its over-arching structure, behind the sensation of pulses within pulses, patterns within patterns :

Probably, Reich predominantly does not wish us to be in wonder per se – as might seem to be what Michael Nyman’s** music expects of us – or, as with that of Philip Glass**, to be mesmerized ? No, something else, here – part of which is to do with, in purely visual terms, how the percussionists, as well as some of the singers and pianists, moved around the Saffron stage, and gave us sounds that cohered, coalesced, metamorphosed, and fragmented***.

As one example, how the playing of the large, bright-golden shakers (which were also shaped as if to resemble ice-cream cornets) was passed, baton style, to pianist Huw Watkins (@WatkinsHuw) : Watkins started shaking a second set in tandem with, but more quietly than, the percussionist whom he was relieving, and then the latter, between shakes, deftly dropped out, to be free to play another part, and which gave Watkins variety from the piano riff that he seemed to have been repeating.

Or likewise, on marimbas, the fact that someone else in the ensemble, who, on another of the concert grands, had been doubling up (with bass-textures), slipped into the pattern of first the right-hand pair of beaters of the person from whom she was taking over, and then both, so that he could walk around her – and away, to his next role. Even more so, say, than when (in a move that, too, mimics dance in a larger-scale orchestral setting) an entry can be seen to have been given to the second desk of violins, but just so that the first desk can come in with the key entry, or counter-response, this appearance of instrumentalists in sympathy / synergy with each other was almost balletic : Seeing is hearing.

For words such as sympathetic (for co-resonating strings, etc.), concord, consonance and harmony are all, not without reason, integrated into the language of music and musicality : as was joyously noted, during this performance, When I lose faith in what humanity is, or exists for, moments of this kind tell me.

As if Quartet's grand pianos weren't enough, Music for 18 Musicians, with @ColinCurrieGrp @SaffronHallSW, deployed two more, plus marimbas !
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 27, 2015

With any concert, of course, even if only through a video (where one cannot choose what to see), one can enhance one’s understanding of the sound that is being made (when, where, and how, and by what means), and can learn to view one’s way into what is being heard, e.g. which instrument / player is contributing a tone or effect. Just as, here, one could identify, from the movement of her lips, the high soprano (credited as Joanna Forbes L’Estrange) from the four seated and loosely microphoned singers – all of whom, at times, came to resemble wordless angel-voices… (Or, from the distribution of the parts in other repertoire, isolate the singers with exquisite vocal-colour in Stile Antico, maybe, or The Sixteen.)


All was in keeping with the poetic formality of the lay-out of the stage (no doubt specified in the score (as since confirmed by buying the recording pictured)), with two ranks of sopranos looking at each other across a paired violinist and cellist, who faced twin clarinettists (on B flat and bass instruments). Far back, two twinned grand pianos, and forward of which, in the intervening space, several pairs of likewise twinned marimbas, a golden vibraphone centrally, and, behind it, two facing xylophones. All with feedback monitors, and with a sound engineer at the back of the auditorium, who later confirmed that, when he detects interference fringes, or the xylophone is played with attack near the end of the work, he can bring up the sound a little to give those things emphasis.

Adding or taking away layers, we saw the care with which Colin Currie curated the performance, clearly signalling each change of section (as, on a smaller scale and amongst nods and other gestures, we saw the principal clarinettist doing, by raising the bell of his instrument, seeming to mark the number of iterations) : it felt as though Currie oversaw it, and maybe had licence (from Reich or his score), to vary the emphasis of each section, given by its duration.

Afterwards, no wonder that those eighteen people linked hands : to us, they were linked in our hearts and souls already, and this was their triumph, that they had communicated something so special, and in all its fullness – we were full of magic, and of admiration for Reich’s, and their, conception of this work.

hi @ColinCurrieGrp thank you for an amazing concert @SaffronHallSW tonight. Honestly felt like a profound experience. pic.twitter.com/V7b9VTnSNU
— David Sheppard (@artpod) April 26, 2015

Part I of the review (Music for Pieces of Wood (1973) and Quartet (2009)) is here



End-notes

* Let alone one such as Jan Garbarek’s one-set Barbican Hall concert at the time of the Dresden album (2010 ?)…

** One has to suggest that there is little more than a superficial relationship between any of these actually quite different and differentiated composers, or, indeed, between most of those who are thought of as together as writing minimalist compositions.

*** Fragmentation – fragmented, only by us, so that, in the repetitions (or near-repetitions), we could focus on what the cello contributed, or some other instrumental, or human, voice.


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

Soprano and conductor : Barbara Hannigan at Saffron Hall (Part I)

This is a review of Britten Sinfonia with conductor / soloist Barbara Hannigan

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

9 May (updated / completed in draft 12 May)

This is a review (in progress) of a concert given at Saffron Hall (@SaffronHallSW) by Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia), conducted by – and with soprano solos from – Barbara Hannigan, on Saturday 9 May at 7.30 p.m.

In this concert, the two halves had a strange symmetry : an overture (by Mozart), timed at five minutes, an aria lasting nine minutes, and two works for full orchestra of twenty-four minutes, which yield prime factors of 2, 3 and 5…


Part I :

* Mozart ~ Overture to Idomeneo

* Stravinsky ~ Excerpt from The Rake’s Progress (Act 1, Scene 3 : Anne’s scene)

* Haydn ~ Symphony No. 49 in F Minor (nicknamed La Passione)


We began excitingly with Mozart, in the overture to Idomeneo, where – right from the opening – conductor Barbara Hannigan gave us a sense of delayed gratification by using suspension, holding back on the grandeur that we were to come to, complete with a Mozartian trill. Those who know Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia), and its principal bassoonist Sarah Burnett, will not have been surprised at how effortlessly she contributed to the texture, and when her playing came effortlessly forward for a little solo passage, which caught the mood nicely.

All in all, Hannigan brought out an explosive quality in Mozart, but also a brittleness, not least in the restatement of the opening material, when we had shrill tones from the twin flutes (and we were to hear quite a bit more, and fully as skilfully, from Claire Wickes and Sarah O’Flynn). In the closing cadences, and for full effect, Hannigan held back, but also, with arm aloft, allowed the Sinfonia, polished as ever, to step straight into the operatic excerpt that followed, and make it all of a piece* :

This provided, amidst the woodwind sonorities and Sarah Burnett’s beautiful presence and tone-quality, a pleasant sudden welcome into Stravinsky’s asiatically influenced sound-world – and a moment of contrast before Hannigan entered as soloist in this libretto (co-written by Auden with Chester Kallman). Charged words, which, as Hannigan utters them, seek a status both for her as Anne, and – inter-relatedly – for her relations with Tom (absent, but whom she feels obliged to contemplate and address).

Momentarily (and most like his ‘appropriations’), Stravinsky seems to echo Copland’s incidental music for Quiet City (typically known as reduced in a discrete composition for trumpet, cor anglais and string orchestra). This, just before, and to devastating effect, we were brought to the point of Hannigan’s voice alone, and with the pivotal words thou art a colder moon, where Anne’s mood, and convictions, change : which (we surely know, even without knowing the piece as a whole) are likely to threaten her future.

The strings become active again, with an evocation of the night, and – as Hannigan gave us I go, I go to him, whose repeated words both stressed determination, and making resolute a hesitant spirit – a gentle parp from the brass. By the time of the closing sentiments, we had the full effect of the massed desks of woodwind and brass at the rear (twelve players in an orchestra of around two score), and, as Hannigan meditated on the words that self-reinforcingly locked Anne into her course of action, there was an invocation of earlier settings about the unconditionality of love, such as John Hilton’s of ‘If it be love’. Even as we had these words, the scene concluded with a vigorous up-beat :

Love cannot falter, cannot desert.
It will not alter a loving heart
It cannot alter an ever loving heart



Haydn’s Symphony No. 49 in F Minor is not only, if not much performed, at least recently much broadcast on Radio 3 (@BBCRadio3), and one, of all works in a minor key, to wear it relatively easily, albeit starting with a slow movement :

1. Adagio
2. Allegro di molto
3. Menuet e Trio
4. Finale : Presto


That said, and even including a live transmission by this line-up earlier in the week, it is a work that can easily sound safely repeatable, almost homogeneously generic**. Not so at Saffron Hall on Saturday night !


The first movement, described by Jo Kirkbride in her programme-notes as in the style of sonata di chiesa, was characterized in Hannigan’s interpretation as quiet and inward, with a refreshingly sparing use of accents. When the horns came in, gloriously, the watchword was still restraint, and, by breathing with the music (as if with the flow of an aria) and being true to the calling of the heart, she had us wanting more, with a yearning for how the music next unfolded.

As yet, the central performer – literally, in the form of Maggie Cole (at the harpsichord keyboard), facing forward from within the ensemble – had not figured, but, when she made her entry, its unforced naturalness, and the way in which Hannigan was responsive to the tone and style of Cole’s cadences, brought us to the point where – though still deliberately kept a little separate from the full underlying feeling – we were feelingly aware of its closeness, and ready when the lovely sonorities of woodwind and brass came through.

This is one of those pieces where, ideally subtly altered (as with a da capo aria – working with whose form is not, of course, an inessential part of Hannigan’s métier), the material comes back, again and again : did we feel elegance, which maybe subsumed desire (needing to stay hidden), and, next, that feelings have come to a point of being tempted to believe in themselves ? Perhaps, for such words are, at best, indications of what the best of music will sometimes only hint at. What one can state, though, is that Cole’s playing evoked the beauty of the ensemble-writing, through her contributions to the texture.


Right from the opening gesture of the Allegro di molto, Hannigan made a feature of the cross-accents that came prior to the rich, full sound of the orchestra at large, and – making a link to the preceding Mozart – the lightness and brightness of the writing : all of this, necessarily, had been set up by the careful handling of the Adagio. For, many versions of this symphony turn it into terrace dynamics, but Hannigan showed us a more complex angularity in the score, and it worked so well just to see, and catch, string-entries, made very slightly ahead of each other, by divided first and second violins.

This is another movement that goes around and around, but one that allowed Cole, once again, to enter in a way that was essential to the whole, letting us sense ‘the opening up’ of the Allegro, more and more. Thus, Cole first brought to the harpsichord part subtle variations in her attack, and, at other times, an impression that it was aswirl (but mixed in with a woodwind and brass that were more measured), and then fed that latter sensation into the sharpness with which we revisited earlier matter.


With a superbly rendered bassoon-line from Burnett, Barbara Hanningan set the Menuet’s sustained notes in the realm of stateliness, but with Cole then emphasizing the tender detail in the continuo writing. In this movement, what was particularly noticeable was that, in passing from woodwind to strings, there was no loss in transmission : not just that we heard a smooth transfer of the material, but that the line within the music was part of the communication, or itself, in some way, was the communication.

And, if we truly heard, there was the care with which the performance was heightened by maintaining us, through the well-executed precision of the Sinfonia players, slightly apart from what might have been (and all too often is) simply overt and immediate in the sound and emotion of this work. Almost inevitably, Maggie Cole’s voiced keyboard-playing continued to be integral to the experience, with a sense that one note was speaking to, and informed by, the next – just as with communication of musical lines within the orchestra, but at a level beyond even phrasing, or shaping, to why each note was there, had to be there***.

When we came into the Trio section, Cole approached her part with a quality as of recitative, with the whole movement very balanced : elements of ebb and flow in the continuo were carefully juxtaposed with the rest of the ensemble, and we had an overall sense of both a pulse within the music, and of its gracefulness.


Although the Finale had been described rather differently by Tom Redmond, hosting the Radio 3 live broadcast, Hannigan imbued the Presto with what sounded like impatience, but tempered by tutti that were determined to present themselves as much more matter of fact (again, that sort of face saving from earlier ?). Amidst all of which, we had snatches of the real feeling, beneath the nerve-laden energy : this playing and conducting of Haydn came across, unlike what had been heard broadcast, as having understood the work anew.

Indeed, one had little desire to watch what Hannigan was doing – as, with some conducting, one can be drawn into thinking important – so much as to be aware of what was brought forth from the instrumentalists, and also of the gradations, inflexions and tone-colours given (not least by Maggie Cole) to this familiar score. Whether it was using the power in the sustained oboe and bassoon notes, or having clearly worked with Cole to make the continuo role a living and emergent one, this was the insightful conclusion of three works that had spoken to each other (as is by no means unusual to find in Britten Sinfonia’s concerts) :

In fact, such was the engagement with the meaning of the work (rather than its mere form) that being at the end actually came almost as a surprise, as well as a welcome time to be able to show one’s appreciation.


A concluding part of the review, in a separate posting, to come…



End-notes

* Respected by the audience at this point, by not starting to applaud, whereas it sadly was not after the second Mozart overture, which obliged Hannigan to take a bow, and go off stage, when one sensed that, in this same way, she had wanted to show us something by linking it, mood for mood, with one of his concert arias (from later in that decade) :

-> Fair enough that there is a role for setting off the applause, but it must also be in sustaining it until - not much beyond - that bow.

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) May 9, 2015

** Of course, being in the auditorium would have made some difference, but that performance just did not have a spark of the especial kind that would have one picture oneself there to hear it : actually, it gave one trepidation about what one might hear four days later…

*** Somewhere, there is a link (to come) to the masterclass, with The Doric Quartet, that Murray Perahia gave for CRASSH in Cambridge (@CRASSHlive, the Centre for Research in the Arts, Social Sciences and Humanities), where he talked about how one chord relates to the next in Beethoven's writing for string quartet : for the moment, this blog posting must suffice.


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

An incomplete account, by Tweet, of Arcangelo's Monteverdi (Greenberg ?)

Responding, in Tweets, to Arcangelo's concert at Saffron Hall on 19 April

More views of – or before – Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
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20 April

A little response, by Tweet, to the worlds within the programme that Arcangelo (@ArcangeloTeam) brought to Saffron Hall (@SaffronHallSW) on Sunday 19 April at 7.30 p.m.

On a technical, performance level, there is so much being said

At @yorkearlymusic, @ArcangeloTeam @SaffronHallSW ? Great wonder in these suspensions, dissonances, closes, bounded / unbounded emotions !
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 20, 2015

Palettes of textures, sound-worlds, vocal contrasts are givens, but @ArcangeloTeam runs the gamut from infectious joy to affect-less lulls !
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 20, 2015

Concerts as places where we can learn to listen – to living music

Not talking above its head, with techniques, theorbos, Jonathan Cohen helped an audience at @SaffronHallSW listen to @ArcangeloTeam better.
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 20, 2015

The English word 'madrigals' could just sound like 'a drag' - but *madrigale*, with a gesture and gusto, soars, sings - as @ArcangeloTeam !
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 20, 2015

Why this music matters to us

Monteverdi's music matters, @SaffronHallSW, as communicated by, and within, @ArcangeloTeam, because its humanity is our own - our joys, pain
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 20, 2015

With male @ArcangeloTeam singers on the @SaffronHallSW balcony, it made head sense (San Marco), but only 'sound sense' later Context is all
— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) April 22, 2015

More Twittering to come...


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

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)
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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 (1695–1764)


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 ?).


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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

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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 (1685–1750), 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 1007–1012), 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 1007–1012 ?), 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


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