'Energetic and energizing' : At Lunch Two with Britten Sinfonia

This is a review of Britten Sinfonia's recital At Lunch Two on 14 February 2017

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2016 (20 to 27 October)
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14 February

This is a review of Britten Sinfonia with At Lunch Two at West Road Concert Hall, Cambridge, at 1.00 p.m. on Tuesday 14 February 2017

Programme :

1. Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) ~ Three Pieces for String Quartet (1914¹) [4 players]

2. Mark-Anthony Turnage (1960-) ~ Prayer for a great man (2010) [2 players]

3. Oliver Knussen (1952-) ~ Cantata for oboe and string trio (1977) [4 players]

4. Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) ~ Introduction and Allegro (1905) [7 players]

5. Turnage ~ Col (2016) [8 players]

6. Stravinsky ~ Concertino for String Quartet (1920) [4 players]



Stravinsky I ~ Three Pieces for String Quartet (1914¹)

1. Danse

2. Eccentrique

3. Cantique


(1) Vibrant tone-colour from Jacqueline Shave (1st violin) and vigorous pizzicato on cello (Caroline Dearnley) characterized the first impression of the work, with Miranda Dale (2nd violin) making lively interjections in the brief Danse. Even so, we hear that Stravinsky’s writing is of a contrasting nature, and – in the overall somewhat atrophied sounds of the opening bars of Eccentrique – is juxtaposing inertia and lyricism. Before, that is, the intense flowering of the development section, and a return to this quirky form of spikiness, and the opening material’s serving partly as punctuation, partly as an ending.

Last, sensitively rendered by the violinists and more mournful, Cantique resembles a less-uninformed version of Beethoven as processed in Strauss’ Metamorphosen : quicker, but a mutated theme. Again, the writing relies on a contrast between passages and their affective colouring, but evoking a memory that is rooted, not in nostalgia, but in grief.



Turnage I ~ Prayer for a great man (2010)

(2) Prayer is uplifted, and positive, if stoic – it is, as with the preceding work, a fascinating blend of sounds, those of cello and of the horn – Martin Owen – with all its connotations of the martial, the inward, and the rustic. As the short piece progressed, we were aware how Caroline Dearnley’s freely-flowing cello-line worked with the latter : in the string legato, melding tones, although there was a deliberate, gentle mismatch with the horn’s timbre. A final, muted, section perhaps seemed to speak of adieu, or farewell.



Knussen ~ Cantata for oboe and string trio (1977)

Before Oliver Knussen’s instrumental (3) Cantata, the statesman-like tone and appearance of Nicholas Daniel (later, in a post-concert workshop (with / for Jago Thornton’s prize-winning composition), maybe less so ?), who said that we could expect to hear some of the instruments in tempo, others playing ‘out of time’ : as he put it, Strict, but flexible – parenting, I suppose ?

Nicholas Daniel also told us that he favoured – over Knussen’s own account of the work – when Knussen had shared, with Sinfonia players, that it is ‘like a series of diary-entries’, but ones that are technically connected. Compared with other works, rehearsing this one had apparently been more intense, but also more rewarding, and, although Daniel says that he is usually hesitant to say the word ‘masterpiece’, he promised (not wrongly) that Cantata was one - and jewel like…


Characterizing – or trying, and failing, to characterize – the mood or feel of such diary-entries, when Knussen is deliberately being holistic with them, would not let his work be the centre-piece that it was of this superbly wrought and planned Sinfonia recital. Here, the incalculably strong overall effect of a moving entity, comprising people and a feeling of place, of being placed into the timeless eternity of Time :

As one would know from typically thoughtful Sinfonia programming, pairing how the Stravinsky ends with Turnage’s reaction to the passing of his father-in-law naturally fits with Knussen’s conception of Cantata - with all the changeability that we are aware of with, say, Bach’s portraits of the facets of the seeking of a soul in penitence [counter-tenor Robin Blaze with BWV 170, Vergnügte Ruh, beliebte Seelenlust], or Handel’s Un’alma inamorata, HWV 173 [Mhairi Lawson, with La Serenissima (LaSerenissimaUK)].

Or, of course, it could be Handel’s much more famous and beautiful da capo aria Lascia ch’io pianga [Almira / Il trionfo del tempo e del disinganno / Rinaldo], or Bach’s even more famous Erbarme dich, so beautiful where it comes in St Matthew Passion (BWV 244) : at such times, what is Time ?



Ravel ~ Introduction and Allegro(1905)

Maurice Ravel, though, has a radiance that is rarely outshone, and so we aptly heard next, in the familiar (4) Introduction and Allegro, his feeling for poesie and fantasie in the intensity of an imagined world : in the first harp solo, it became very clear that Ravel, in being commissioned to write this work to show off a new make of harp (pace Donald Macleod on Radio 3, that self-same day, with the evening repeat of Composer of the Week [#COTW]), is scoring in the spirit of writing for piano.

Further on, and starting with the delicacy of the cello (Caroline Dearnley), the other players (Miranda Dale and Clare Finnimore) joined her in pizzicato to accompany Jacqueline Shave's bowed violin, before another gorgeous, rapt harp solo from Lucy Wakeford. With the ensemble embodying faerie and fruitfulness, we came to the flowering and fecundity of the Allegro section – with the very lovely phrasing of Lucy Wakeford, who was given a well-earnt accolade by her fellow Sinfonia performers.



Turnage II (1960-) ~ Col (2016)

A tradition in music of The British Isles that goes back well before Elgar’s variations presents portraits in music (of a sort, Façade (1918-1923) is also one). Unfortunately, this is what Mark-Anthony Turnage does in (5) Col, in a piece that starts in open terms, but becomes first ruminative, and then – with or at the return of that initial material – becomes downright maudlin.

This is unlike the spirit of Ravel’s Tombeau de Couperin (1914-1917), Arvo Pärt in In memoriam Benjamin Britten (1977), or Stravinsky’s Epitaphium (Für das Grabmal des Prinzen Max Egon zu Fürstenberg) (1959), for flute, clarinet and piano, [or Double Canon ‘Raoul Dufy in Memoriam’ (1959)], and, rather, a requiem that is yet a birthday cake, but which serves as neither : though it is imperfect, one may be better hearing Colin Matthews the man, by watching Barrie Gavin’s Colin Matthews at 70 [seventy minutes or so of film about Colin Matthews, as screened at 2016’s Aldeburgh Festival of Arts and Music² (on which, see more, below)]…



Stravinsky II ~ Concertino for String Quartet

NB The programme-notes (by Jo Kirkbride) credit the (6) Concertino as dating to 1952 – having wondered about this, and then checked more authoritatively than on the Internet³ [Wikipedia®], the Concertino actually dates to 1920⁴, and its arrangement for small ensemble to 1952…

Given that L’histoire du soldat (The Soldier’s Tale) (1919) was from the year before 1920, it seems to endorse the comment above that one can hear hints of that work here. The Britten Sinfonia String Quartet plays the Concertino with aplomb : they happen, all, to be women, but the important point is that they are excellent musicians and communicators, and it is by their quality, not their gender, that one would commend their musicianship⁵.

Starting from a high level of excellence, Jacqueline Shave, Miranda Dale, Clare Finnimore and Caroline Dearnley keep on impressing...

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) February 14, 2017

In this work, as brought out here, the motivic elements underlie, but do not belie, its meditative qualities – the recapitulation that we heard was brimful of feeling, and tacitly contradicts a conception of Stravinsky as cool and unemotional. Just as did, one reflects, this string quartet with the Stravinsky piece(s) with which it / they opened a tribute to Louis #Andriessen at Milton Court last year (at The Barbican).


End-notes :

¹ Please see the note at the beginning of the section (below) for the second Stravinsky work for string quartet (and its dependent end-note⁴).

² One way in which the Festival is on a human scale is that, during the interval of a concert that had featured Matthews' work last year, one had the informality to address him on the stairs - to shake his hand, and briefly thank him.

@lucieskeaping @yorkearlymusic Kindly signing my York programme didn't give that impression - scary being on air at St Margaret's !#Coughs

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) January 1, 2017

Sadly, at some more 'protective' venues - unlike, for example, The National Centre for Early Music (NCEM / @yorkearlymusic) - one may not approach performers, even though they are just a small distance away (though not evident, stewards are there to prevent it) : those on stage have to be at a signing, or otherwise choose to come out into the foyer, for approaching them to be permitted.

³ In Roman Vlad's monograph entitled Stravinsky, pp. 79-81 (Oxford University Press, London (1978)).

⁴ With Three Pieces for String Quartet, it initially seemed that they were written in 1914, revised in 1918, but probably not published until 1922.

Roman Vlad (ibid, p. 50), after saying ‘Although very little known, these pieces are extremely significant as far as Stravinsky’s stylistic development and inner artistic motivation are concerned’, and then devoting several pages to them [in which, by analysing them, Vlad explains their importance to Stravinsky's and other composers' works], goes on to tell us (p. 54) :

Stravinsky himself was always greatly attached to [the Three Pieces], so much so that in 1917 he transcribed them for orchestra under the titles of ‘Danse’: ‘Excentrique’ : ‘Cantique’ [my emphasis] […].

⁵ On which point, initiatives such as Holly Tarquini's F-Rating (F-Rated (@F__Rating)) at Bath Film Festival (@BathFilm), or Cambridge's Reel Women (@ReelWomenUK), might take pause ? [Unless, of course, one claims that inclusion in a programme at the latter, or the former's Festival, is an absolute guarantee, per se, of outstanding quality.]


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

The last Prelude and Fugue, and onwards : Reich, Stravinsky, Schoenberg and Bach celebrate (with) Louis #Andriessen

A review of Britten Sinfonia at Milton Court for / with Louis #Andriessen (Part I)

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
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18 February

This is the first part of a review of a concert given by Britten Sinfonia under Andrew Gourlay (and with soprano Allison Bell), as part of a BBC Louis Andriessen festival at The Barbican Centre, presented by Tom Service at Milton Court on Saturday 13 February at 3.00 p.m.

Soprano Allison Bell sang in #Andriessen's Dances (1991), the only work in Part II of the concert (which is reviewed here)

Programme (Part I) :

1. Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) (arr. Louis Andriessen (1936-)) ~ Prelude No. 24

2. Bach (arr. Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971), compl. Andriessen) ~ Prelude and Fugue No. 24

3. Stravinksy ~ Three Pieces for String Quartet (1914)

4. Steve Reich (1936-) ~ Duet (1993)

5. Andriessen (arr. strings, Marijn van Prooijen) ~ Miserere (2007, arr. 2015)



It has to be said that, even with the benefit (and delight) of having heard Peter Donohoe (@PeterHDonohoe) play Book I of Das wohltemperierte Klavier entire (at The Stables at Wavendon, Milton Keynes (@StablesMK)), there are still pairs of Preludes and Fugues that one feels that one is less confident of knowing well¹ :

So it is that, although recordings of Book I abound (and are listened to, e.g. by Glenn Gould, András Schiff, Richard Egarr, Keith Jarrett, etc.), those Preludes and Fugues from around No. 19 onwards never quite get as much attention / exposure as they might, or should – from that personal perspective, therefore, hearing the original work first might have helped one listen out better for what first Andriessen, then Stravinsky, had done to Bach's structures and textures…



Bach (arr. string quartet, Andriessen) ~ Prelude No. 24 in B Minor, BWV 869, Das wohltemperierte Klavier (1722, arr. 2006)

1st violin, Jacqueline Shave ~ 2nd violin, Miranda Dale ~ Viola, Clare Finnimore ~ Cello, Caroline Dearnley

(1) In the part for cello, we apprehended serene, stately movement beneath that of the other strings, and, as we resumed da capo, there were moments of tenderness. When, later, the writing for cello could be perceived to have a step-wise character, the other string-parts had a fluidity to them, and there was an excitement to the music’s build and fall.



Bach (arr. strings, Stravinsky, compl. Andriessen) ~ Prelude and Fugue No. 24 (1722, arr. 1969)

(2) A little as when Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) played Mahler’s arrangement, for chamber string orchestra, of Schubert’s String Quartet No. 14 in D Minor (‘Death and The Maiden’), D. 810, there was not an impression of a much fuller sound, though it appeared capable of being more sweeping in its effect, and gave a ‘larger’ crescendo.

In this version, the sadness came out in the theme that Bach takes for a fugal subject : its intensity was not lessened by a group of instruments playing the long opening trill (the Prelude also contains trills). Its motifs, and the use of falling intervals against contrary motion in the other parts, are suggestive of mourning, and, as the culmination of Bach’s educational enterprise (we know that, in class, he used playing it through as one), it is almost necessarily far removed from the Prelude and Fugue in C Major, BWV 846, with which Book I begins.


As to the impression given, especially of the Fugue, by making the arrangement, one factor has been mentioned above (i.e. the relative unfamiliarity of items towards the end of Book I), but, even compared with Die Kunst der Fuge, BWV 1080 (which is still sometimes thought recondite), does this material seems harder to shape ?



Stravinksy ~ Three Pieces for String Quartet (1914²)

The quartet was made up exactly as for the first piece in the concert :
Jacqueline Shave and Miranda Dale, Clare Finnimore, and Caroline Dearnley

The work had no titles for the movements until 1928, when, alongside his Étude pour pianola, Stravinsky arranged them for orchestra (under the title Quatre études), and they became called, respectively, Danse, Eccentrique, and Cantique : the stridency of the first of these was characterized by vigorous pizzicato notes on cello (Dearnley), and an emphatic part for first violin (Shave), with occasional prominent strokes from second violin (Dale).

Stravinsky opened the second Piece by employing a heavily accented and slurred sound (as of his notion of an eccentric³ ?), but then there was an abrupt change of tone and mood, more extreme, in its rhythmic freedom and energy, than even much of Bartók’s writing for string quartet. When the initial material resumed, there was less jollity about it, and less slurring.

The last Piece was very different again – and one wonders what, in arranging it for large orchestra, Stravinsky might have changed. It began with a few gestures, which conjured to mind, perhaps, a waste space, before developing into what resembled a hymn (or someone praying).

Yet we were to keep reverting to those more stark gestures, as if to a distillation of his Le sacre du printemps (The Rite of Spring) from the previous year – and a work of whose influence on him Louis Andriessen was later to tell. Towards the end, the part for lead violin had a fugue-like subject, and, amidst these unlikely fragments, to the credit of the Sinfonia’s string-players (as well as of the composer), there was warmth.

Appreciative of a sensitive performance (and it could be that this felt like the first substantive piece ?), the audience at Milton Court called the players back for applause.



Reich ~ Duet (1993)

When they were leaving the concert-hall after the first part of the concert, one heard a couple of men talking in a way that showed that they did not realize that they had already heard Reich’s Duet.

Even for those who did not have the programme, as maybe they also did not, it was clear enough, not just because Tom Service (@tomservice), for the BBC (@BBCRadio3), had announced, and talked about the pieces in, the running-order of the Louis #Andriessen Immersion Day concert (through to the composer’s own Miserere) : for one thing, it was not as if it did not, in aural terms, resemble Steve Reich's style, but, for another, one imagines that (as with Music for 18 Musicians) he would have specified where on the stage, and so in visual terms, the duo should be – the familiar Sinfonia violinists Jacqueline Shave (leader) and Miranda Dale (principal second violin) had been facing each other across the performance-space.


This was a completely other sound-world from that of Stravinsky (as heard from 1914), with its use of echo / delay, i.e. in the person and playing of the performers, and sustained notes. Reich then added in patterning, in the form of rhythms from the double-bass (Roger Linley) and, for this piece, a third cellist (Rowena Calvert), deploying a flat bow to tap the strings.

For those who had been listening to Ligeti recently (because of Britten Sinfonia’s At Lunch 2), utterly different from the effect that he sought – open sounds, but with dissonance introduced, and the interaction of the parts of Reich’s duetting pair of violins, conspiring to throw the equilibrium off balance. With a light, open texture, the Sinfonia brought the work to a close.



Andriessen (arr. Marijn van Prooijen) ~ Miserere (2007, arr. 2015)

Interviewed by Tom Service, Louis Andriessen told us (wanting, as he said, to avoid giving us a lecture’s worth on it, as he had formally done elsewhere recently) that he had written Miserere for Amsterdam Sinfonietta as a requiem - as at, and for the fact of, their final concert : he had done so at a time when funding for the arts had been in the hands of people whom he described as ‘gangsters’, and this ensemble (and four others ?) had lost its grant.

However, another and happier aspect to its genesis, at the outset, had been a simple figure, written as a birthday present for his sister, and which #Andriessen said that even he could play on piano. The work had originally been written for string quartet, and Andriessen approved of the present arrangement (for string orchestra), which had been made by the Sinfonietta’s bassist, Marijn van Prooijen.


Alas, it had been intended that the review-notes, on which the comments that follow are based, would be amplified, with the piece (fresh) in one’s memory : nothing wrong with the intention as such, as an effort (as with Andriessen’s Dances, in the second half) to detach oneself from the activity of formulating immediate and specific responses, and, rather, making a comment on the overall impression⁴...

At first, the work fell into sections, with contrasts occurring between the sections. Then, as Andriessen had said to Service by way of an introduction to his composition, it becomes more ‘disquieting’, and less ‘conventional’, which we heard as the texture felt itself to be twisted (or tortured ?). When that feeling did subside, there was a quality of expansiveness to the writing, which was a little reminiscent of such moods in Copland (or Sibelius ?) – till, at the end, it had richness, as of Britten.


Part II of the concert is reviewed here



End-notes

¹ As, say, with a concert that includes complete Rachmaninov’s Preludes, Op. 23, nothing can alter the fact that some are celebrated (e.g. No. 5 in G Minor, marked Alla marcia), and so one less easily relates to their neighbours, heard in between.

² Although it was completed in 1914, it appears that it was not published until 1922 (and Stravinsky had revised it in 1918).

³ Assuming that Stravinsky did not conceive of that description after the fact, although Book II of Claude Debussy’s Préludes had first been performed in London in 1913, of which No. 6 (L. 123 / 6) is marked Dans le style et le mouvement d'un Cakewalk, and sub-titled (at the end of the piece) Général Lavine – eccentric.

⁴ If, of course, it had happened - whereas, it had then seemed natural, just after hearing Allison Bell (@bellAsoprano) sing, to write up notes for the second half.


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

At Lunch 1 : More than two centuries of the horn in chamber music

This review considers Britten Sinfonia’s At Lunch 1 programme, given in Cambridge

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
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6 December (Britten Sinfonia Tweet added, 22 December)

This review considers Britten Sinfonia’s programme for At Lunch 1, given at West Road Concert Hall, Cambridge, on Tuesday 1 December 2015 at 1.00 p.m.

At Lunch 1, heard at West Road Concert Hall (@WestRoadCH), was an intriguing piece of programming from Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) – past experience would lead one to expect no less ! It looked at the connections between, and influence or resonance of, Beethoven’s Horn Sonata* and Brahms’ so-called Sonatensatz (please see below), which was not published until 1906 (after his death) :

Regarding the origins of the latter, there is a lovely account (on the web-site of The Kennedy Center), of Brahms, at the age of twenty, meeting violinist Joseph Joachim (five years after hearing him perform Beethoven's Violin Concerto, Opus 61), Joachim spending time with him and effecting an introduction to Clara and Robert Schumann, and how the latter was to acclaim Brahms, and thereby make his name known, in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik (in an article called ‘New Paths’, which appeared in the edition dated 23 October 1853).

As a result of meeting the Schumanns, as well as fellow composer Albert Dietrich, Brahms contributed a Scherzo** to a collaborative violin sonata, in honour of Joachim, and which was then presented to him : Dietrich wrote the first movement, and Schumann the second-movement Intermezzo and finale. This Scherzo is the Sonatensatz (which may sound grand in German, but just means a movement from a sonata).


1. Beethoven ~ Horn Sonata*, Opus 17 (1800)
2. Edward Nesbit (1986-) ~ Lifesize Gods (2015)
3. Brahms (1833-1897) ~ Sonatensatz (1853)
4. Huw Watkins (1976-) ~ Horn Trio (2008)


First, though, the Sinfonia’s principal pianist Huw Watkins and guest artist Richard Watkins on horn played (1) the Beethoven Horn Sonata*, Opus 17 (1800), after the latter had introduced it*** and, as we inevitably had an unvoiced query, answering it by telling us that they are no relation (though they first met through his having played with Huw’s brother ?).


Solo horn commences the sonata, which, in its opening, has strophic writing for the piano, with and around which the horn-player can then be both lyrical as well as declamatory (supported by the pianist). The writing of the Allegro moderato briefly gives us a moment of sadness, but Richard Watkins also brought out the score's considerable subtlety, and we could appreciate how the use of structure in the piece poses no obstacles to our appreciation of the instrument**, but is facilitative of its sound and of our embracing it.

The very short Poco adagio has the effect, in the minor key, of more explicitly using the form of call and response, from the horn to the piano, and of so serving as a transition to the Rondo finale, marked Allegro molto, and which is characterized by lively triplets in the piano part, to performing which Huw Watkins brought great delicacy (as to the whole).

The mood and expressiveness of the movement do vary up and down, but, if a little ponderously, it builds to a climax, and then – on the verge of seeking harmonic resolution – the players are faced with the hesitancy with which Beethoven’s writing presents them. Needless to say, they enacted the emotion of this delay to perfection, and could then bring the work to its due conclusion.

If one had more time and concentration, novels such as this one would follow up Cambridge English graduate and novelist Ali Smith's excellent The Accidental

Edward Nesbit introduced his work (2) Lifesize Gods (2015), newly commissioned by the Sinfonia in conjunction with Wigmore Hall, and (as he no doubt was to do at Wigmore Hall (@wigmore_hall) - please see below) confirmed the programme-notes in telling us that the title refers to Ali Smith’s novel How to be both, and her character Francesco del Cossa’s himself being commissioned (to make a fresco), but without adding more context – one guesses that one has to refer to the novel. He said that the first movement was very short, had been worked on this time last year, and used repetitions of bars, chords, or even notes, whereas the second had been through-composed.

Listen to the pre-concert talk w/ @EdNesbit recorded prior to London perf of his new work (apols for buzzing sound) https://t.co/iZlflkUAl2

— Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) December 22, 2015

In that opening section, one was aware of a sense that, amongst these repetitions, there was a trapped space between the aetherial writing for violin (the Sinfonia’s leader, Jacqueline Shave) and that, of a ‘light’ and disembodied character, for horn (Richard Watkins). As it developed, there were further contrasts, and momentum built, but it did not break free long. In the violin part, though, there came an impression of an air, or of a gig, and the direction became less restrained, even fantasy like, as the back of the movement felt to be broken open. Nonetheless, hesitation, and the recurrence of the repetitive elements, led us to an end.

Members of @BrittenSinfonia are warming up in the studio before performing @EdNesbit's Lifesized Gods live #NYNM pic.twitter.com/xIDMpZjhYs

— In Tune BBC Radio 3 (@BBCInTune) January 4, 2016

The second movement definitely felt inspired by dance, and there were to be reminders, first of Stravinsky, and then of Messiaen. Also, the motif of call and answer that had been part of the Beethoven sonata, as well as Nesbit's using, at one point, a massive suspension of the sound of the horn over quite staccato piano and a light pizzicato : grasping a sense of the whole, or of its structure, proved fairly difficult, however, and not conducive of attempting to take more notes. Lifesize Gods was well received, and Nesbit took a bow.

Come (3) the Brahms, and, despite a description of it as good fun – and harmless (by William Murdoch, quoted on the web-site of The Kennedy Center), those who know and love his writing for chamber combinations such as violin and piano, or cello and piano, will concur with the Center, in going on to say that, although written when Brahms was still very young, the music bears his characteristic qualities : rich harmonic vocabulary, insistent rhythmic vitality, a sure sense of motivic growth and full textures.


As Sinfonia leader Jacqueline Shave joined Huw Watkins as duo partner, one largely decided just to relish the Brahmsian flavour, so no note was made beyond :

* Vibrant, and at his spirited best

* Was this completed by Brahms elsewhere ?


Continuing with this attitude, one abandoned the idea of making review-notes for Huw Watkins’ striking (4) Horn Trio (2008), and fully engaged with the work, and later, to sum up the experience, simply Tweeted :

A terrific conclusion to @BrittenSinfonia's At Lunch 1 : @WatkinsHuw, performing his Horn Trio with Jacqueline Shave and Richard Watkins !

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) December 1, 2015

In his Horn Trio, @BrittenSinfonia's @WatkinsHuw gave us moments of true unease on Tuesday - in a work that breaks out, to symphonic effect.

— THE AGENT APSLEY (@THEAGENTAPSLEY) December 3, 2015

End-notes

* Apparently (according to Wikipedia®), the score bears the title Sonata for Piano with Horn or Violoncello (Sonate pour le Forte-Piano avec un Cor ou Violoncelle), and thus listing the keyboard instrument first…

** Brahms’ contribution to the sonata, whose manuscript score had been kept by Joachim, was not released for publication until just before Joachim died, and the complete sonata was only published in 1935 (although Schumann had incorporated his part in it into his Violin Sonata No. 3).</

*** History has never stood in the way of a good story about Beethoven’s score being unready for a first performance (e.g. what was famously reported by Ignaz van Seyfried, about the solo part’s incompleteness, when the composer played his own Piano Concerto No. 3 (in C Minor, Op. 37), and he had the job of turning what pages there were).

Whatever may be true, of exactly when (and in what way) the sonata for horn virtuoso Giovanni Punto came to be written (and, so, whether calls for an encore were compromised by Beethoven’s having only written out the cello part, not his own), we may never know. However, it is maybe just as much part of a myth as the one about Mozart (not borne out by autograph scores), and perpetuated by Amadeus (1984) in its way, that his compositions were written straight out perfectly.


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

Russian Connections - and our connections to musical life and musicality

This is a review of a recital given by cellist Joy Lisney at Kings Place, London

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2015 (3 to 13 September)
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30 November

This is a review of a recital given under the title Russian Connections by cellist Joy Lisney with her father, pianist James Lisney, a debut for both in Hall One at Kings Place, London, on Monday 30 November 2015 at 7.30 p.m.

Igor Stravinsky (in collaboration with Gregor Piatigorsky) ~ Suite Italienne (1933) (an arrangement, for cello and piano, of numbers from his ballet-score Pulcinella (1920))


In the Introduzione, one straightaway realized what, sometimes, is the great and overt immediacy of Joy Lisney’s playing, and the richness of the interpretative means open to her in furtherance of that aim. Apart from this untamed opening, which was fiery in its own right, and no longer merely pleasant pastoral fare, lifted from Pergolesi, it could also just be the way in which she gave us that prominent held note (in the Serenata), or the muscularity, spontaneity, or sheer inventiveness with which she performed the third-movement Aria. Come the next movement, and her emotional dialogue with the work had her letting rip, giving the Tarantella full throttle.

Predictably (despite a listing of five movements in the programme-notes, but with a dance predicated on wild abandon, even madness), no one had counted that there had only been four, so James (@jameslisney) and Joy Lisney (@JoyLisney) had to wait for keen applause to subside¹ before we could hear that Stravinksy does not intend the suite to end on that high-point, but with a Minuetto e Finale. Here, just as some sculptors say that they find the form within the block of stone, Joy seemed to be sensing the music within the instrument.

So, she responded to a definite pulse in the piano part, to which her part adds pizzicato notes, and energy was released as and into figuration, passion and the unplanned (though one reference that Joy and James had clearly picked up, in preparation for the event, was a little toreador mention). This was very good communication and listening, with James clearly watching for cues of Joy starting a phrase or coming off at the end of a long, bowed note, and fitting in with the inspirational nuances of the moment, and necessarily the piece was well received at Kings Place.


Benjamin Britten (dedicated to, and first performed by**, Mstislav Rostropovich) ~ Suite for Cello No. 3, Opus 87 (1971)

Joy Lisney gave us a few comments before presenting us with this most challenging, and assuredly insufficiently well-known, work for solo cello by Britten. She mentioned the Rostropovich connection, which is a fascinating fact of life to be reminded of, at the personal level between composers and muscians (and at the time of so much political distrust), how one is aware of more than one voice at some points, and, in this respect, how one could hear that Britten had been influenced by Bach’s Suites for Unaccompanied Cello (BWV 1007–1012).


The suite is in nine parts, but performed without a pause, with – for being sure of the work’s progress – all that that entails. In the opening, marked Introduzione : Lento, one was quite aware of the intense theorbo-like resonance that Joy achieved (i.e. that instrument’s long, open bass-strings), and how this had the effect of rooting it in a ground-bass : not unlike with an undisclosed jazz standard (where one might not quite be able to put one’s finger on it, but know that one hears something 'in disguise'), Joy had also said that Britten has written variations on themes, but that he only clearly gives them to us at the end².


Along with listening out for Bach’s voice, this description informed one’s listening, and, from the first, had one trying to assimilate often fragmentary elements of tonality and melody. In the Marcia : Allegro, perhaps there seemed to be a little hint of Shostakovich (and, later, Bartók ?), and the tone-quality of a pizzicato gesture that, in octaves, now resembled the fretted strings of a theorbo / lute, as it chimed alongside another line of music. Soon, in the Canto : Con moto, it was more like that of a guitar (or a plucked lyre), and Britten sounds to be in dialogue with Bach's Suite No. 1 (BWV 1007).

Probably having already reached Dialogo : Allegretto (via the Barcarolla : Lento), it certainly seemed a just description of what could be experienced – the competing demands of the poles of the player’s physical athleticism around the strings, and the expressiveness of the instrument and the texture of the composition. In the rapt space of Hall One, and at a crux where the material was ceasing to be difficult (and to become more open), one could see that Joy was self-aware as a performer, and fully alive in the act of being one, as she asserted what she found in this suite.


As one can safely state, without the need to give many more examples, Joy demonstrated in the concert-hall both the very great expressive possibilities in this work, and the variety of means through which she could give rise to them. (Likewise, one is trying here to outline the scope of a work that is best, as on the night, heard live – which, of course, is just as true of the Bach suites. That said, it assisted a little to have noticed the words Moto perpetuo earlier, and, knowing that one was hearing one, be able to place roughly where one was.)

More explicitly than earlier (what Britten had written had been more like hints at parts before), we heard the very lowest register openly talking to the top string, and then addressing an even higher, fluting / piping one. This progress towards integration of disparate voices not only put one in mind of the extreme fragmentation of musical lines in some of Bach’s writing for solo violin, but also indicated the sense of cohesion that presumably gives the performer the conviction to propel this piece across a fully felt trajectory to its conclusion.

Reminiscent of summative or restorative concluding movements in Bach’s writing for solo cello, there was a soaring, folk-dance quality to the final Passacaglia : Lento solenne (which, again, reminded fleetingly of Bartók). In the event, Britten ended not with rejoicing, but throaty, breathed, very quiet utterances, and one long sostenuto. After a long time of reflective appreciation, the audience burst into applause for this highly impressive playing.

.@JoyLisney 's Russian Connections concert last night was amazing! My hands hurt from clapping so much! @KingsPlace is a cool venue too!

— George Schwiening (@GSchwiening) December 1, 2015

* * * * *

At the end of the recital (but relevant to mention now), it was intended as a compliment to Joy’s playing and to James’ and her choice of repertoire to say that it had been a very varied programme – except that even a definite form of spoken words can bear a range of meanings in a recipient’s mind. Or the fact that some might say so, but one could validly interpret that they were thereby imputing something negative³, without being direct ?


Completed in November 1901, the main work in the second half was written 70 years earlier than that with which we had concluded the first, and so the two short arrangements (by Piatigorsky again) of Tchaikovsky that preceded quietly helped bridge the gap with something as different as the Britten (which were Valse Sentimentale and None but the Lonely Heart (Op. 51, No. 6. (1882), and Op. 6, No. 6 (1869), respectively)) – suffice to say, long, lyrical lines, and a sense of yearning.



Sergei Rachmaninov ~ Sonata for Cello and Piano in G Minor (1901), Opus 19 :

1. Lento - Allegro moderato
2. Allegro scherzando
3. Andante
4. Allegro mosso


The opening Lento of the Sonata for Cello and Piano is exploratory, elegiac, and one heard that Joy was both giving an awareness of the music reaching, and saying that it cannot, on the scale of the whole, yet be felt to be reaching too far. Particularly here for piano, under James Lisney’s adept hands, Rachmaninov’s writing felt very typical of his Piano Concerto No. 2, so it fits well to find that he was composing it at this time (between autumn 1900 and April 1901, his Opus 18, in C Minor) : in terms of chordal progression, and the way in which the cello part develops, one already gets the sense that its voice is more modest, or at least that it feels more difficult for it to be as exposed as the piano part.

Though excellently weaving their roles together, James reflected standing, as if in orchestral terms, more in relation to an ensemble and to tutti passages, with the cello having the work of finding the most fleeting, innermost tenderness, and of giving a real emotional turmoil, especially in freer passages. When Rachmaninov intimated nearing the movement’s end, still he gave us more gradations of feeling, and led us, not yet into a coda, but to James giving us the principal theme on piano. In this way, and in service of the form of the composition, the duo had brought us to where the sonata felt more relaxed, and with a little glimpse of serenity, before a coda that – when it came – held off.


At the start of a movement marked Allegro scherzando, we heard the electricity of the raw, vital bass-line, with Joy expressionistically sawing the note, and, again with a hint of serenity in the midst of what else Rachmaninov is about here (including echoing the cello in a rumble on the piano) : there is tension to be found in this C Minor scherzando, amidst a part for cello that Joy gave a vocal character, and with one for piano that seemed both near and attentive.

In the year of this sonata, Rachmaninov also wrote his Prelude in G Minor (which, with nine others (as No. 5), was published as his Ten Preludes (1903), Opus 23), and one again has a sense of those kindred works. Moving away from the tension in the writing, he sets the cello off onto a statement, but soon enough brings it back to where it was : throughout the movement, Joy kept us gripped with the sensation that, in musical terms, she could help us glimpse whatever it might be to which the work was pointing, whether regret, yearning, or loss. In this way, Rachmaninov felt quite Schumannesque, alluding to what parts of the surface of the work want (at this stage) to deny.


The Andante has us hear the piano alone first (again, in Rachmaninov’s familiar idiom), and which is then above the cello-line when it enters – whose endeavour, under Joy’s hands, was building the beauty of the given theme, although there continue to be moments when we hear piano solo. If there is a sense of being on a scale where the music is reaching to be elsewhere, restraint is still being exercised, but we had a gradual feeling that the mood was easier, and more restorative, as the parts meshed and engaged with each other :

Partly that impression comes from their greater interchangeability as to which was in the higher register. Although the piano is placed briefly above the cello near the end of the movement (following, together and separately, some quietly insightful keyboard writing), it ultimately ends with them on a soft par, but with the final notes from piano solo.


In talking about the opening movement (above), it was mentioned that the composition of this sonata was contemporaneous with that of Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 (in C Minor), which is famous not least both through his status as a concert pianist⁵ and its place in the soundtrack to David Lean’s Brief Encounter (1945) : it is worth saying that it was not used for nothing by Lean, so to remind us that Rachmaninov makes it easy for us to build (our own) narratives around getting to such exuberance as we are to find in the closing Allegro.

Having kept us waiting (even if the very opening of the sonata is a subtle foreshadowing ?), what he presents us with here is the biggest melody in the piece (along with, in the light of it, the cello’s continuing apparent path of adaptation of its part to its circumstance). James had some coy downwards arpeggios preparatory to, and then providing contrast to, Joy’s searching in and exploring the lusciousness of this material – and then, of a sudden, Rachmaninov signals a change, with a decisive gesture from the cello, and with marching rhythms written just for the piano.

With an earnest tone set, and as the cello voice begins some gentle arpeggios, one senses that it is still in need of, and responding to, a form of encouragement, and it becomes further in accord with the piano-writing : in the growing self-realization, vigour develops, and Rachmaninov, rhythmically and in energetic terms, creates feelings of being on the verge of ending, and so of resolving what is happening with the theme.

From the piano first, a few reflective notes end up being all that the cello requires in order to lead to and address the full implications of the main theme, but, having done so, there is a need for a few quieter moments, as of breathing and mentally working through feelings. After the cello has joined in with a soaring peal, and the march-like figure has recurred, we revisited that more tranquil status, but the certainty and enthusiasm of the conclusion was secured now – as was the very great applause with which this performance was received, with a number of people in the audience standing to show their approval !

The compellingly framed performance of the sonata closed this debut evening at Kings Place, full of energy, invention and passion.


End-notes

¹ Also, having heard this happen before, when they gave this work another time (and Joy approached it as a less adventuresome performer than now), it almost deserves the health warning : when the piece sounds as if it is over, hold back, as it does not conclude there !

² Joy has talked on her blog more about the Russian Connections tour, and the repertoire, the composers, and other connections. The first performance was at The Maltings, Snape, on 21 December 1974.

³ In terms of a ‘traditional’ way of putting concerts together, maybe so, but it is not for nothing that some value the approach of ensembles such as Britten Sinfonia (@BrittenSinfonia) : at lunch-time the following day in Cambridge (at West Road Concert Hall (@WestRoadCH)), for the first of this season’s one-hour At Lunch series, three members of the Sinfonia gave us Beethoven (from 1800), a new commission (by Edward Nesbit), Brahms (from 1853), and a work (from 2008) by the orchestra’s principal pianist Huw Watkins (@WatkinsHuw).

⁴ If we consider that Britten was established as a composer by 1935 at the latest, and since Rachmaninov lived until 28 March 1943 (and, probably not helpfully to his survival, was working to the last), the men do actually have a significant overlap to their composing lives.

⁵ Although they have wrongly and for too many decades been disregarded – along with many of his works – he had toured with that work, his third concerto (in D Minor, Opus 30), and the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Opus 43.


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La Bretagna all'Italiana - or La Serenissima in Cambridge (Part II)

A review of La Serenissima's concert, performing with Mhairi Lawson at Trinity College, Cambridge

More views of - or before - Cambridge Film Festival 2014 (28 August to 7 September)
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17 November

This is the companion-piece to an (over)lengthy review of a Cambridge Early Music concert given by La Serenissima, with soprano Mhairi Lawson, in the chapel of Trinity College, Cambridge, on Monday 13 October

Italians in Britain, Brits/Scots writing Italian style with stellar soprano #MhairiLawson tonight @CambsEarlyMusic http://t.co/xyeugGINA4
— La Serenissima(@LaSerenissimaUK) October 13, 2014

Second half

Programme

5. Due Canzoni da Battello ~ Anon. (c. 1730)

6. Sonata in B Flat for harpsichord, HWV 434 ~ George Frederic Handel (1685–1759)

7. Sonata VIII for violin and continuo in G ~ Giovanni Stefano Carbonelli (1699 / 1700–1773)

8. Un’alma inamorata, HWV 173 ~ Handel


The two further (5) Canzoni began with one that, as a pastoral lute-song (Al prato e al cale o ninfe), would not sound out of place transmuted in Igor Stravinsky’s ballet Pulcinella* (1920), not least since named composers in John Walsh’s three volumes do, Adrian Chandler’s notes tell us, include Giovanni Pergolesi. It was succeeded by No stè a condanarme, which was much more dramatic, with high notes and an emotional quality that suited Mhairi’s vibrato-less soprano voice.


In the introduction, from the stage, to (6) Handel’s Sonata in B Flat for harpsichord, we were advised to listen out for the piece’s elements of toccata, with improvisatory scales, and promised an eventual return to B Flat Major, as well as music that sounds like that from Rinaldo.

The Prelude felt exploratory of scales and tonality, but with ‘mellow’ moments, and nothing too outré. By contrast, the Allegro was passionate, at the pace of ‘The Arrival of The Queen of Sheba’ (from Handel’s oratorio Solomon) and using repeated notes, yet with a feeling of elegance, albeit of a restrained character.

The Aria con Variazioni presented as beautifully refined, with confident, clear articulation from Robert Howarth, and space left for the variations to breathe between times – one of which (almost in anticipation of Schumann’s Kinderszenen) seemed to have the quality of a nursery-rhyme.

This was engaging solo music-making, in confirmation of which, as Adrian sat at the side of the chapel (to be out of the way), his head could be seen, irresistibly dancing away to it : as the set of variations built up from an apparent pleasing simplicity, it challenged us, and, when it came to the last variation, the richness of both manuals made a highly satisfying conclusion.


If the ‘Manchester’ sonata** in the first half had been a winning combination of dedicated scholarship, musicianship and compositional skill, no less so was the (7) Sonata by Carbonelli – to whom, as Adrian observed, the passage of time has not been kind.

Maybe this was despite – or because of ? – the assimilation into life in Canterbury, under the name of John Stephen Carbonell, of which Adrian told us, and of Carbonell's business, latterly and by royal appointment, of importing wine ? In any event, we were made aware that, in this Sonata numbered VIII from the set of Sonate da Camera, we would spot connections with what is also the eighth of Corelli’s Concerti Grossi, Op. 6, and its Siciliana :

The opening tune of the Largo section of the first movement had an ‘easy’ quality to it, and, in combination with held notes for cello, gave rise to the effect of a drone (whence the reminder of Corelli and of shepherds with bagpipes). A modulating Andante section took us back to the Largo, and it was full of sweetness, as well as multiple stopping and sweeps across Adrian’s instrument.

Here, he ensured that his playing was serving Carbonelli’s music, and that, where it had character and made a statement, there was virtuosity with ego : the Allgero was musical enjoyment itself, and took its own shape, and ventured from being grand to urbane and back again, as well as taking time to be thoughtful, but finally expressive. If not the birds from the trees, in this piece made immediate that we did not know before, then Adrian’s approach to the closing Allegro – Largo was guaranteed to charm us, with slurs, bowing and accents performed to perfection.

And, as Carbonelli also knew that we could not have too much of a good thing, he brought back, in restrained form, that winning tune from the sonata’s opening. The piece delighted the audience, and was met with very keen applause.


Dating to the first decade of the eighteenth century, and, as Adrian said, now in the form recitative – aria, recitative – aria, recitative – aria, this (8) operatic recitativo demonstrated the clarity of Mhairi’s diction and the depth of her voice. In the first aria, at times we had a prominent accompaniment, at others obbligato violin, at others yet intermediate instrumental material – Handel’s vocal writing is superb, and alternated with the violin-led passages, which were performed with assurance and grace.

The second aria was marked by a good melody, full of variety and in which one could see where more mature Handel would come from, with a nicely judged balance between rhythm and harmony. Here, the violin acted as a second voice, an echo to the chirpy good-humour of Mhairi’s delivery, in a part whose tessitura she handled with ease – and with an agreeably falling figure in the harpsichord part, which then migrated to the violin. The aria ended simply, with violin.

The finale, by contrast, was in ‘summing-up’ style, the text full of sententiae, and the feeling unalloyed. A delight to see all the musicians listening to, and communicating with, each other – right up to the close !


End-notes

* That said, either scholarship has moved on since The Agent first heard a recording, or Wikipedia® is being fertile in telling the tale, because the latter asserts that Diaghilev not only connived at Stravinsky basing his composition on Pergolesi, but urged it, even providing further scores of what was thought to be Pergolesi’s music.

Since (as the mid-1980s told us) Stravinsky did not acknowledge his sources, which then still appeared to be in Pergolesi, it seemed that he was disguising his plagiarism. Yet, if he did not reveal his sources, it follows that it is relatively unimportant (to Pulcinella and the various Suites made from it) whether the attributions in them were correct.


** By chance, since writing that first part of the review, the Central Library in Manchester has been visited, where staff in the Henry Watson Library confirmed that Adrian Chandler is personally known to them as a visitor…

And on the day of writing (10 November), though not with Adrian playing, Radio 3’s (@BBCRadio3blog’s) programme ‘In Tune’ is about to celebrate both the fact and history of the sonatas’ discovery and the music itself : 'listening again' (at 7:05 to 19:29), a week on, violinist Lucy Russell (accompanied by Peter Seymour) is, sadly, not a patch on Adrian's performance for musicality or expressiveness.


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A musical Academy in Cambridge - other than the Academy of Ancient Music...

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1 July (updated 4 July)

This review is of some highlights of Britten Sinfonia’s (@BrittenSinfonia’s) / Britten Sinfonia Academy’s lunchtime concert at West Road Concert Hall (@WestRoadCH), Cambridge, on Tuesday 1 July (At Lunch 5)


Strix, Philip Cashian’s difficult new piece for chamber orchestra, premiered at West Road Concert Hall in Cambridge this lunchtime, with five members of Britten Sinfonia supporting, encouraging and (in the person of violinist Alexandra Reid) directing the twenty-four-strong force of its Britten Sinfonia Academy : Cashian himself, briefly spoken to afterwards to thank him for his piece, thought that they had played it pretty well.

In rehearsal, at West Road, under Alexandra Reid's direction
(by kind permission of Britten Sinfonia)

One could soon see why it was paired, for a slightly smaller group, with the opening movement (Marche introduction) of Stravinsky’s Danses Concertantes (from 1942) : the Stravinsky had been played beautifully, in a lively and sometimes spiky way, and with a cheeky ending, and Cashian’s work, of around twelve minutes, started in its orchestrational and rhythmic spirit, with a prominent triangle-note that led quickly to a pizzicato section, and to the unbowed cellos and double-basses coming to the fore, an exciting sound against the background of their fellow strings.

The next section melded oboe, flute and clarinet, forging a cry that echoed the roots in a compositional workshop that Cashian had held with the Academy players in the modern gallery-space of Cambridge’s Fitzwilliam Museum (@FitzMuseum_UK), and which had resulted in the young players’ responses to Graham Sutherland’s bird-based painting La Petite Afrique III (1955)*, whose writing Cashian took away and used in Strix : bassoonist Katherine Worster, in one of three interviews that Reid conducted with Academy instrumentalists during stage-movements, told us about how this process had worked, and how it had seemed strange to encounter what Cashian brought back to the group, after he had composed the piece away from them.

This cry, as it emerged, continued with the pizzicati lower strings, but with the intensifying use of syncopation, a prominent aspect of the piece, and one which placed demands not only on the players to keep count in bars of differing time-signature, but also on percussionist Tim Gunnell, who here, as at other times, had to provide a clear, regular beating : the feel was of the Stravinsky, who had been better known since Le Sacre du printemps (The Rite of Spring) for his approach to rhythm and metre (a ballet that the programme-notes reference in relation to Walt Disney and Fantasia (1940)), and even of the jazz vibe that he used around this time**.

A pleasant nod in Igor’s direction, but the tock-tock that Gunnell then brought forth was taking us on, elsewhere – to the more irregular measures beloved of Sir Michael Tippett, with Claire Cormie now switched from flute to piccolo, and with the piano’s percussive quality ably laced into the mix by Alex Little (whose excellent technique had been evident earlier in an excerpt from Schubert’s famous Piano Quintet in A Major (D. 667)). With wood-blocks and high piccolo to the fore at the top of the sound, Little’s part shifted to a motivic role, with the rest of the ensemble delivering nicely jerky cross-rhythms, into which the angularity of bass-drum entered in.

The metrical nature of this composition, and of its emphasis on on the element of percussion, was by now evident. Cashian now, three times at least (but just for a fraction each time), gave us a momentary hiatus in the very impressive ensemble of professional and younger musicians : the percussive beating, which had returned, and the prominently and excellently played trombone (from Katherine Surridge), alongside Sinfonia’s Paul Archibald on muted trumpet, thrillingly halted, allowing us, perhaps, an unimpeded heartbeat.

Once more, triangle sounded, heralding a slowing – probably physiologically, as well as emotionally, for players and listeners alike… Again, we had Cormie’s flute, paired with Thomas Mullock on oboe, and with a feeling of suspension soon added by Little, and by Imogen Ridge (a Britten Sinfonia Academy Associate) on harp. Again, the sensation of a heart a-beating, before a transition to a different constellation of oboe, harp and trumpet. Maybe we sensed that we were nearly through, but the return of the pizzicato section, double-basses and cellos up front, clinched it : with a variation in the pattern of tones from the wood-blocks, the piece came to a sudden end.

And to very appreciative applause for this energetic and enlightening partnership, between older and newer, in an adventure in music !



Other highlights :

* Claire Cormie performing confidently centre stage as flute soloist, ringed by cellists, in Bachianas Brasileras No. 5, a well-worn path (comprising, in short sonata form, an Ária followed by a Dança) - not least as performed by Sir James Galway on his album Annie's Song (for which he made his own arrangement, for flute instead of soprano voice) - but sounding fresh, and with Caroline Dearnley's lead with the pizzicato (who is no doubt an inspiration to the seven younger cellists (not all playing full-size instruents as yet))

* Alexandra Reid's interview, both with Cormie, and with Joseph Cowie, who had just played double-bass in the extract from Schubert's unusually scored Piano Quintet (please see above) - it was a delight to hear Joe saying how playing a chamber piece had taught him that the visual cues between players are as important, if not more so, than what one hears one's fellow musicians doing : for the listener in the hall, watching that communication (be it nods to come in, or smiles at some lovely moment) is a valuable part of concert-going, just as seeing the bright joy that illuminates even, say, Dearnley's face (as a well-established member of the Sinfonia) at passages or turns of phrase that are clearly favourites (please see below)

In rehearsal, in advance of the concert at West Road
(by kind permission of Britten Sinfonia)

* A good choice of opener, the Coriolan Overture of Beethoven (Op. 62, from 1807) gave one the chance to observe Sinfonia and Academy players working together in solid repertoire as an ensemble - as well as hearing the piece not for massed forces or in the context of the all-too-frequent overture / concerto / symphony type of programme, but leading into some chamber pieces

* If any of the Academy's string-players were able to hear Britten Sinfonia's programme with Patricia Kopatchinskaja (as director and violin soloist, in Cambridge on 3 March 2014), they would have been able to feed into their gestation of Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances (from 1915) for this concert not only her 'unstraight' performance, but also her enthusiasm and passion for this music : needless to say, the suite was played with less of Kopatchinskaja's wildness, but movingly, with energy and delight (which one could see in Dearnley's smile), and with Reid's patent encouragement as director***

* Finally nailing that little tune, which marks the hours / divisions between segments of Radio 3's (@BBCRadio3's) Through the Night (and is only played marginally more frequently than Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2 In F Minor (Op. 21) (which one can reckon on hearing, during this sequence of broadcasting only, at least once per week !)), as the opening of the last movement, the Madrigal - Nocturne, from Darius Milhaud's suite of film music (along with that of Honegger and Désormières) for La cheminée du roi René**** (1939)




End-notes

* With a strong resonance in Francis Bacon’s architectural approach to, in particular, his later work.

** As exemplified by his Tango, for solo piano, from 1940 (or, more simmeringly, in his Ebony Concerto, written for clarinettist / band-leader Benny Goodman in 1945).

*** It may be scored so, rather than being Reid's doing, but one could several times see three other violinists near her taking a phrase in turn, after her lead, in the solo part.

**** Which the programme-note translates, as if unambiguously, as 'chimney', although the word means 'fireplace', when used within a property...


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