Wednesday 8 February 2017

Nelson International Chamber Music Festival # 3: Diversity in Music

Concerts on my third day covered an extraordinary range of different styles of music.

The afternoon concert included two contemporary works, and two Romantic masterpieces, and the evening was given over to the greatest of Baroque masters, J. S. Bach.

The afternoon concert opened with Andy Akiko's Kakakurenai ("Foreign Crimson"), originally written for steel pan and here re-arranged for marimbas and vibraphone, performed by Ian Rosenbaum and Naoto Segawa.  I got the distinct impression that this was written under the influence of the "minimalist" movement in music, as a small number of rhythmic patterns were repeated ad infinitum throughout almost the entire length of the piece, while contrasting melodies in apparently a completely different time signature were overlaid on top of the rhythmic patterns -- again ad infinitum.  The structural impulse behind this was fascinating, but as listening material I found it rather tedious after a couple of minutes.

Next up were cellist Rolf Gjelsten and pianist DĂ©nes Varjon in Beethoven's Cello Sonata No. 4, Op. 102 No. 1.  It's a classic example of late Beethoven, combining diverse and even conflicting elements within a single piece, and stretching the limits of accepted musical structure to the breaking point.  This performance captured that diversity in all the sections.  The anger in the allegro of the first movement rose to a real pitch of fury in the final pages, while the sense of questioning and seeking in the slow introduction of the second movement was movingly conveyed by both players -- it's not everyone who can make this music sound so tentative and unsure of itself.  Then, the faster second section broke out into a joyful game of tossing themes around and delighting in the sheer joy of Beethoven's vision.

Violist (and Festival co-artistic director) Gillian Ansell and Varjon followed with Schumann's Märchenbilder ("Fairy Tale Pictures") -- a real rarity in that this is one of the few Romantic works written for the viola.  The four movements carry no descriptive titles, but Ansell explained beforehand that Schumann's journals revealed his intentions.  The first two movements depict contrasting moments from the story of Rapunzel.  The love-laden first movement is notably simple and lyrical, with Ansell's viola sounding for all the world like a human voice singing.  Varjon's accompaniment was nicely scaled to keep in the background.  Both players relished the galloping rhythms of the second piece.  The third, inspired by the story of the evil imp Rumpelstiltskin, danced and chortled along in a vivid portrait of the character.  The final picture, Sleeping Beauty, was as gentle, serene, and restful as you could possibly want.

The final piece, Fire in the Belly by New Zealand composer Jack Body, was composed for NZTrio who performed it here.  It's a very energetic, highly-charged piece, but minimalism was again to the fore throughout half of the work.  This was particularly true of the violin whose part consisted of endless rapid rhythmic repetitions of one note.  Both violin and cello had to play notes whose pitch wavered between the true pitch and the high harmonics.  By the time the music finally shifted its ground and the enervating single-note repetitions ended, I had lost interest.  I admired the energy and involvement which NZTrio brought to their performance, but would not want to hear this one again.

Over lunch, I had an interesting conversation with two friends about contemporary music.  All of us had plainly had experiences which were bad ones in the past.  We also agreed that many contemporary composers today are again writing in a more approachable style, using the considerable untapped powers of melody, harmony, and rhythm.  The contemporary pieces I've heard this week have certainly ranged across the gamut.  I welcome the challenge of encountering varying voices in the music of our time, but sometimes have to reserve the right to say, "Thanks, but no thanks."   That, in any case, is precisely what I have always done with music of all ages, and why should today's music be  treated any differently?

The evening concert returned us to the Cathedral for an evening of "Bach by Candlelight".  The programme was a delightful assortment of arias from the master's church cantatas, along with several instrumental works.

The cantata arias are an interesting field of study, and I plainly have not studied them very much!  In the diverse group of four which we heard, I was not familiar with any.  All four were sung by a tenor voice.  One had an obbligato for two violins, two had obbligato for a single violin, and one had an obbligato played on cello which might well have been originally played on the viola da gamba.  Any or all of the four might have been adapted from some previous use -- a frequent habit with this composer.  None of the music seemed in any way to be related to the text at hand.  That is, there was no accord of mood between music and words, nor any particular symbolism in the music as far as I could detect.  A detailed study including numerology might turn up some thoughts, but they are not immediately apparent on the surface.

However, all of the music is fascinating and a treat to the ear.  I think of Bach's own words, that the only purpose of music was the glorification of God and the recreation of the soul.

Tenor Andrew Goodwin has a strong, clear voice which some might feel was a bit too stentorian for this kind of repertoire.  I found his singing near to ideal: flexible with clear tone across the entire range, immaculate diction, no excess of vibrato, and great precision in the runs and leaps.  The shifting instrumental ensembles accompanying him in each aria matched him in precision and clarity, although some purists again might be put off by the use of a too-modern string vibrato in Baroque music.  It didn't trouble me at all.  Kudos to Goodwin, and to the Festival, for going beyond the expected or well-known Bach in programming this selection of arias.

The instrumental selections were a bit more of a mixed bag.  Ian Rosenbaum appeared again with his marimba to give a transcription of the Suite No. 5 for solo cello.  I wonder why he didn't choose to create the sustained notes of the slow introduction movement by using rapidly repeated strikes on the bars of the marimba.  The single notes he did use fell silent quickly, leaving an uncomfortable gap before the next note in many cases.  Once he got into the faster dance movements of the suite, the transcription worked much better.  In any case, it was a real virtuoso workout for the artist!

Violinist Monique Lapins led the ensemble in the Concerto for Violin in A Minor, a repertoire favourite.  Her playing was most energetic throughout the first movement.  She then created a lovely sense of repose in the slow movement.  But the finale was treated to what can only be called a fire-eating performance, one that I know had my mouth falling open -- not because of the speed, but because of the intensity with which she leaned into the music.  It was an intensity fully matched by her colleagues and the concerto wound up to a thrilling conclusion.

That was the last piece before the intermission, and frankly I wish it had been the last piece at the end of the concert.  What we did end with was the Brandenburg Concerto No. 6.  This is the concerto that has as its leading voices two violas.  The accompanying ensemble, too, was pared right down to just five players including the harpsichord.  Gillian Ansell and Justine Cormack gave a lovely performance of the solo parts and the small ensemble matched them in every way.  It's just a question of the nature of the music.  Brandenburg No. 6 has a warm, lived-in kind of air to it, perhaps because the brighter, more energetic style of violin writing in its stablemates is in abeyance.  It always strikes me as being a musical portrait of warm fuzzies -- delightful and even comforting to listen to, as technically challenging as anything Bach wrote, but it just doesn't have the "fireworks" effect of many others pieces, like that A Minor Violin Concerto.  Maybe I'm getting too picky.

The whole day was a remarkable tour of many corners of the musical universe, and offered plenty of challenge to performers and audience alike at every turn.  That's what I call a great day at a festival!

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