Saturday 23 June 2018

Thanks For the Music, Peter: An Appreciation

This month marks the end of Peter Oundjian's tenure as Music Director of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.  It's been a 14-year period of steady growth and development for both the orchestra and its leader.  I have no hesitation in saying that Oundjian is leaving the orchestra in better shape than any of the five other music directors who have led the TSO during my concert-going career.

The most striking development by far has been the notable improvement in the orchestra's string sections.  The strings always had a good firm sound above the mezzopiano level, but the lower dynamic levels have now become much clearer and cleaner  as well, while keeping a silky sheen on the sound.  Articulation and phrasing now stand comparison with the finest.  It's not surprising that Oundjian, himself a violinist, should have paid so much attention to the string personnel and the results have been all gain.

Other great strengths have emerged.  The horn section now sounds finer than they ever have in my recollection.  There's no more need for the hoary trumpet, trombone, and timpani jokes about never being able to play quietly -- they all do, and they do it very well indeed.  

One way to chart the progress and development that's occurred in Oundjian's leadership of the orchestra is through his multiple performances of Beethoven's majestic Ninth  Symphony, dotted at regular intervals through his tenure (there's a final one coming up next week).  Over the years, his reading has grown from a somewhat tentative, workmanlike performance into a complete vision of the symphony, clearly individual in approach but not to the point of becoming merely idiosyncratic.  

This brings up another key point.  All my life, I have had a strong fondness for the great choral masterpieces with orchestra.  Not since Sir Andrew Davis has the Toronto Symphony had a music director who possessed such skill and finesse in leading large choral forces along with the orchestra.  In this connection I think of such beauties as the Sea Symphony of Vaughan Williams, The Dream of Gerontius by Elgar, the German Requiem of Brahms, and a rousing Carmina Burana -- as well as the Beethoven.  Above all of them stood Oundjian's towering interpretations of the Mahler Second and Eighth Symphonies, by far the most successful live performances of those works which I have heard.

More central in importance is the orchestra's repertoire when playing on its own, and here there has been a quantum improvement in the representation of contemporary music.  Such events as the annual New Creations Festival and the orchestra's Canada Mosaic project for Canada 150 have opened doors for a wide spectrum of Canadian composers, as well as introducing Canadian musicians and audiences to music from composers in other countries.

There's also been a greater diversity in the repertoire from earlier centuries.  While there's been no shortage of the central composers like Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, and Mahler, music by such less-heard composers as Bruckner, Shostakovich, and Vaughan Williams has been better represented than in most of my lifetime -- good thing, too, as I love all of them, and Vaughan Williams most of all.

Among Peter's orchestral performances, there were many that stand out in my memory. I've heard the orchestra play Rachmaninoff's Symphonic Dances three times under Oundjian's direction, and his reading remains the most hair-raising version of the work I have ever heard. We heard a magisterial Brahms Concerto # 1 and a haunting Lied von der Erde of Mahler. The strings gave a heart-tugging reading of the Tallis Fantasia by Vaughan Williams. The sweeping panorama of the Mahler Third was engrossing, right across its 1-hour-45-minute span. The rare original version of Bruckner's monumental Eighth was a must-hear highlight for me this year.

Nor was this tenure simply marked by fine performances. Oundjian has also displayed a real flair for innovative and unusual programming. As an example, consider the multi-year Decades Project, in which music composed in a single decade of the twentieth century was assembled into concert programmes that highlighted the great diversity of musical styles being used -- one example being a 1900-1910 programme which brought together Webern, Elgar, and Stravinsky. And then there was the sea-themed programme from the same decade which combined Debussy's La Mer with the Sea Symphony of Vaughan Williams.

More than any other conductor in my lifetime, Peter Oundjian has raised the Toronto Symphony Orchestra's international profile, through touring and recordings.  Audiences in other centres and on other continents have been greatly impressed, and rightly so, by the orchestra's proficiency in challenging repertoire off the beaten track, with such works as Shostakovich's Eleventh and the Symphonic Dances leading the charge.

As for recordings, the orchestra produced a notable series of live concert recordings on the orchestra's own label, some of which won plaudits far from home.  Recordings of the Vaughan Williams Fourth and Fifth symphonies received high praise in the pages of the renowned English journal, Gramophone.  Personal favourites of mine in this series were the Shostakovich Seventh and Eleventh, and the pairing of Symphonic Dances with The Rite of Spring. There then followed a recent series of three recordings for one of the world's finest record labels, Chandos Records.  The last of these, just released, featured the rarely-performed Vaughan Williams Piano Concerto, alongside more of that master's most beguiling music.

In some ways, I think that Peter Oundjian's most important legacy is the success of his initiatives to put younger bums on seats in Roy Thomson Hall.  Among the major arts organizations in Toronto, the TSO has led the way in the drive to engage and involve younger audiences rather than depending overmuch on the established old-timers such as myself.  The profusion of twenty- and thirty-somethings you now see in the audience at every concert augurs well for the orchestra's long-term health and prosperity.

In spite of all the diverse repertoire, tours, recordings, and programming initiatives, I'll always think of Peter Oundjian in the context of his stage announcements. It's become common practice for him to step to the front of the stage before the concert, and give a quick talk about what's coming up. These talks are always delivered with a humorous flair, as for instance when he was introducing Webern's Five Pieces and said that he had to make sure the talk wasn't longer than the work! I particularly value his sense of deep emotional commitment to the music he presents, which is clearly audible in these pre-concert chats. Traditionalists will grumble, but Oundjian's little talks add a layer of personality to the concert experience which is both valuable and enjoyable in its own right. In effect, he makes it easy for the audience to think of him as both an artist and a friend.

As with his predecessor from the 1970s and 1980s, Sir Andrew Davis, I will definitely look forward to Peter Oundjian returning as a guest conductor for many more rewarding musical experiences during the years to come.

Thanks for the music, Peter.

Toronto Symphony 2017-2018 # 8: A Heart-Tugging Finale

On Wednesday night, I attended the last Toronto Symphony concert which I will hear conducted by Music Director Peter Oundjian before his 14-year tenure of the position comes to an end.

It was a night that began with the closing of a circle, and ended with one of the most emotion-laden farewells in all of music.

The programme opened with Mozart's Piano Concerto in G Major, K.453 (# 17), with Emanuel Ax as the distinguished soloist.  A note which I saw (I think) on the TSO website pointed out how Ax has appeared so often with the TSO (the first time back in 1976) that he should be considered an honorary Torontonian.  In his pre-concert speech, Peter Oundjian paid tribute to the closing of the circle when he informed the audience that this was the final concert of his tenure with an instrumental soloist, and his very first instrumental soloist as TSO Music Director back in 2004 had been -- you guessed it -- Emanuel Ax.

This was a treasurable Mozart performance, both orchestra and soloist delivering a light-hearted yet crisp account of the sunny first movement.  The contrast in the slow movement, with its unusual chromatic lines, brought more sense of light and shade, and a suitable degree of pathos.  The lively theme and variations finale, which reminds many of us of Papageno's music in The Magic Flute, launched with a firmer, bolder sound than we had yet heard (and why not?  Papageno is a rather boisterous character).  The mysterious slow minor variation brought a sense of introspection before the ebullient final variations and coda.  If this whole final movement was weightier than the first two, it still remained well within reasonable limits, not trying to become Beethoven instead of Mozart, and this was in good measure due to Ax's careful control of dynamics.   

The major work was the Symphony # 9 by Gustav Mahler, the composer's final completed work.  At first glance this appears to be a conventional four-movement symphony, but a second look puts that idea out of court.  The symphony opens and closes with two massive slow movements, and the two middle movements then function as a pair of intermezzi.  Particularly unusual is the long, slow finale, a movement so dominated by the sound of the strings that it almost begins to sound like Bruckner -- and, in particular, more than a little like the Bruckner of that composer's unfinished Ninth.

Oundjian has led the orchestra in many memorable Mahler performances, and demonstrated clearly his affinity with and understanding of the style.  In many ways, the Ninth is the most elusive of the Mahler's symphonies -- perhaps also the least typical -- and the challenges here are unlike any of his other works except Das Lied von der Erde.

Balancing the constantly shifting small ensembles through much of the first movement is totally essential to the music having its proper impact.  Long passages are like chamber music, except that the chamber ensemble's makeup keeps changing every few bars.  Oundjian kept the dynamics running smoothly and levelly at each shift, except where changes were required, and thus avoided what can sometimes seem like distracting bumps in the road.  Overall, the flowing tempo he adopted for this movement avoided any suggestion of dragging -- it's quite long enough without that!  The frenetic buildup in the centre of the movement developed a wild feeling of uncontained revelry-without-joy which perfectly prepared the way for the catastrophic collapse into darkness and the thunderous recurrence of the work's opening, mit höchster Gewalt (with utmost force) -- like the messenger of Death personified, and that's exactly how the orchestra played it.

The second movement begins as the last of Mahler's Ländler movements: a rustic country dance in 3/4 time that moves somewhat slower than a waltz.  Here again the tempo flowed nicely, still allowing the rustic flavour of the low strings to come out clearly.  While a significant tempo shift is required for the two episodes embedded in the movement, I felt that in both cases Oundjian overplayed his hand and got a bit too fast.  Nonetheless, he certainly managed the major tempo changes very neatly.  And after all, "too fast" is a purely subjective judgement.  The perky final notes for piccolo and contrabassoon aptly suggested a stylish thumbing of the nose.

The third movement, titled Rondo-Burleske, is a definite scherzo, with (as the title suggests) a hefty dose of the mordant irony so common in Mahler's works.  The performance here was both fast and raucous (highly desirable), until the centrepiece -- the sudden slowing of the tempo while a solo trumpet plays a sweet melody above a light string accompaniment.  Soon after comes the fast parody of that melody on a biting E-flat clarinet, a moment reminiscent of the same instrument's use to distort the idée fixe in the final movement of the Symphonie fantastique of Berlioz.  Both trumpet and clarinet solos were played just as they should be, the trumpet gentle and caressing, the clarinet a sardonic shriek.  From there, the scherzo thunderously resumed, and Oundjian whipped up a huge wave of excitement in the final pages, accelerating more and more into the concluding presto bars.  The final staccato chord rocketed off the stage into the hall, leaving a breathtaking silence in its wake.

In the long final adagio, Oundjian moved on at a faster tempo than many interpreters (yet still within reasonable limits) that gave the music an extra edge of sweep and passion.  If indeed this is the farewell to life that some commentators claim, then the tone of this performance came close to the idea of being happy to have lived, and happy to let go.  There was an almost ethereal, certainly an otherworldly quality, to the woodwind episodes with their unusual and oft-varied instrumentation.

The drawn-out final coda, two pages of music taking six minutes to play, was slowed right down and given with a heart-aching intensity that held the entire audience in communal stillness.  I know I was holding my breath as the final note faded into silence, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one.

After so many fine Mahler performances with this orchestra, among the highlights of his tenure, I felt that this beautiful performance was the perfect note (pun intended) to wrap up my personal relationship as audience with Oundjian's music-making.

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The next post is an essay containing my own personal appreciation and assessment of Maestro Peter Oundjian's 14-year tenure with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.

Monday 18 June 2018

National Ballet 2017-2018 # 6: Light-Hearted, Poignant, and Crazy

The National Ballet is winding up its season with a mixed programme that is certainly seasonally appropriate: two light, amusing ballets flanking a much more serious and thought-provoking work.  In performance, this was also an unusually satisfying mixed programme, with all three works striking me as valuable, enjoyable, and well worth the time.

The show began with a company premiere, Paz de la Jolla by young American choreographer Justin Peck.  This artist's career has shot off like a rocket, and with this piece it's not hard to understand why.  Peck grew up in San Diego, and has created a balletic ode to beach life which goes perfectly hand-in-hand with the Sinfonietta La Jolla by Bohuslav Martinu.  The music has a lightweight, sunny, vibe which is rare with Martinu (to put it mildly) but is totally suited to this dancer's ode to Southern California.

The keynote here is the playful character of Peck's choreography.  Rapid movements and steps give the dancing a delightful feeling of ease (although many of the movements are actually complex) and simultaneous energy.  The brightly coloured costumes create a beach-like feeling without slavishly imitating contemporary beach "fashion".

The ballet features a male-female couple and a solo female dancer.  The lead couple, Emma Hawes and Brendan Saye, enacted a nuanced relationship of two people getting closer and edging away before moving together again.  The female solo is the most challenging and complex role, the choreography for her reminding me strongly of Balanchine's Rubies.  Jillian Vanstone totally owned the stage in this role.  These three soloists are supported by a group of 15 other dancers consisting of 6 men and 9 women.  Note the gender imbalance and the odd number of female dancers -- right off the bat, it appears as if Peck is slyly thumbing his nose at the symmetry so beloved of classical ballet practice.

Second work up was a revival of The Man in Black, one of the strongest works ever created by James Kudelka (former Artistic Director of the company).  Not only strong, this is also one of the most unusual, innovative, or just plain "out there" dance works I've ever seen.  

The music, all recorded, consists of six songs laid down by Johnny Cash near the end of his career, all covers of songs previously written and recorded by other artists.  The six songs encompass a wide range of musical styles, but the theme of endings, or farewells, or death runs through all of them.  The dance styles are similarly diverse, and owe nothing to the classical ballet tradition.  Such styles as step dancing, square dancing, line dancing, and swing are the ingredients here.

Kudelka's choreographic vision led him to dress the four dancers (three men, one woman) in western gear, finishing off with cowboy boots.  Those boots become the defining characteristic of the work, since they beat out a remorseless rhythmic tattoo in several of the dances -- notably the first two.

The real hallmark of this ballet is the unified motion of the ensemble of dancers, who spend much of the work linked together in chains, in groups, in pairs and threes, all moving in unison towards whatever goal or destination you may care to imagine.  The few solo passages that do occur are always closely connected with or related to the movements of the other dancers.  The result is uncommonly thoughtful, truly poignant, and touches in me a deep, universal vein of sadness and loss that far transcends any personal event.

Although, I've seen this work staged three times now, this performance notably outweighed the previous ones in connecting with that emotional depth and inwardness.  This was due to the intensely human, heartfelt performances of the cast (Jonathan Renna, Jenna Savella, Piotr Stanczyk, and Robert Stephen).  Throughout the six songs, the feeling that the dancers were totally in tune and in sync with each other was unmistakable.  I was especially impressed by the edgy, abandoned, frenetic quality of Savella's work in the Sam Hall segment.

The concluding work was Alexander Ekman's Cacti, previously staged in 2016.  By turns absurd, farcical, fantastic, and bizarre, this piece simultaneously showcases the virtuosity of the company while madly satirizing the more extreme forms of modern dance and skewering the pomposity and prolixity of some modern dance critics.

(None of this satire, of course, applies to me!)

Cacti uses an ensemble of 16 dancers (8 men, 8 women) who in turn use 16 white-topped riser platforms as their set -- crawling over them, kneeling on them, standing on them, lifting them up to create hiding places, and ultimately piling them up in a huge heap upstage.  And yes, they do use 16 cacti as props.  The choreography demands a fantastic level of energy from these dancers, not just in moving their feet, but in rolling around, gymnastic flips, kneeling hand-dancing, clapping, shouting, laughing -- you name it, they get to do it.

The first part of the piece uses a purpose-composed score of fragmentary music for the string quartet, with many glissandi, high harmonics, and other purposely weird sounds, all played while the four players wander slowly around the stage.  These are interspersed with brief fragments of the presto final movement from Schubert's Death and the Maiden quartet.  Later on, the full orchestra joins in with a more nearly complete orchestrated version of the same movement.

The satire gets heavily underlined with the voice-over of a critic, using long strings of 20-dollar words that add up precious little coherent meaning.  And, in case you missed the comedic tone, the deal gets sealed in the second half with a pas de deux in which the two dancers maintain a running, stream-of-consciousness commentary explaining their bizarre actions and movements.  At the end, the critic's voice returns in the most absurd vignette of all -- two minutes of "Okay, I've decided -- this is the end....  This is the end....  This has to be ending now....  Is this it?  Yes, okay.  Yes, this has to be the end."  And so on.

There's only one way to do a piece like this, and today's cast of 16 appropriately put the pedal to the metal and gave it full measure.  All of the chanting, clapping, laughing, and so on, came shooting right out at the audience with a definite in-your-face quality.  Chelsey Meiss and Ben Rudisin totally caught the "crazy factor" in the outrageous movements of the duet sequence.  A hilarious comic excursion to end an uncommonly rewarding mixed programme of dance.

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Footnote (An Appreciation)

Those of my readers who follow my dance reviews regularly have certainly seen my frequent invocation of the "Conflict of Interest Alert" whenever I was reviewing the work of my nephew, Robert Stephen.

I have decidedly mixed feelings in penning this final review of his career with the National Ballet of Canada.  Although there's still a company tour to Europe coming up, this will be the last time I will see him dance with the National Ballet -- which has been his artistic home for 14 seasons.

I've been a regular subscriber to the ballet since before Robbie was born, and that won't change.  But I must acknowledge the critical role that his career has played in making my dance criticism possible.  I have no ballet background, and little technical knowledge of this unique and demanding art form; I just know what I like.  Whenever Robbie has been dancing, I've always become more focused on the details what was happening, more alert and aware of everything that occurs in all aspects of the performance.

I've also enjoyed our many fascinating post-show conversations, in which we have exchanged our views on the various works the company has staged -- often agreeing, sometimes disagreeing, but always leaving me with significant new insights into the art of the ballet.

In the fall, Robert Stephen will be relocating to Germany to join a modern dance company in Stuttgart, Gauthier Dance.  It's a great, exciting opportunity for personal and professional growth for him, but I know that his artistry, his dancing, will be very much missed in Toronto.

By his colleagues and friends in the National Ballet of Canada company.

By his many enthusiastic fans in the audience.

And, most definitely, by me.  

Festival of the Sound 2018 # 2: Loving Those Nineties!

For the second time in as many months, I've had the special joy and privilege of listening to a piano performance full of life and high spirits -- given by an artist who's just turned his ninetieth birthday.

The final pre-season piano concert organized by the Festival featured one of the most familiar faces to regular Festival goers, Gene di Novi.  

I've used the tag "jazz" with a broad catch-all sense for this post.  Anyone who's heard Gene perform live knows that he mixes jazz, blues, swing, big band, and more into a totally delightful confection.  He has the most remarkable light touch on the keys, a gentle, almost coaxing singing voice, and a sense of style all his own.

Best of all is his performance of a set where he keeps riffing quietly on the piano after finishing a song, while he tells the audience a story to set up the next number.  He spins his yarns with an amusing variety of vocal tones, and some equally laugh-inducing facial expressions.  Then, he finishes the tale, and with a neat little magic modulation is off into the next melody.  The stories are as much fun as the music itself, since he's played in his time with many of the "greats" of the last century, and has a memory well-stocked with delightful anecdotes about those legendary names.

For this afternoon event, Gene put together a programme of music related to several major cities -- Paris, New York, and Los Angeles among them.  He gave us film songs, club staples, and some relative rarities, all played with his signature jazzy vibe and easy-going approach to rhythm.  As, for instance, in songs where he switched mid-song from 3 beat to 4 beat rhythm, and then switched back again later on.

Along the road, he also told stories about such well-known names as Lena Horne, Edith Piaf, and Benny… -- "you can guess the last name for yourselves" -- to name only a few.

The most awesome aspect of the performance was the fact that he went through an entire nonstop hour of music totally by memory, without a chart in sight anywhere -- just a hand-written list of song titles lying on the piano.  I mean, I'm only in my sixties, and sometimes I have trouble remembering names, words, or where I was planning to go when I got into the car and started driving.

From start to finish, an hour of sheer delight for all the audience.

The strawberry social afterwards, with shortcake and prosecco, didn't do any harm either.

By the way, in case you're wondering, here's a link to the review of the other ninetysomething youngster I heard performing in May:  At Long, Long Last

If there's one thing these remarkable nonagenarian artists prove, it's the value for a long life of devoting yourself to doing something you passionately love doing.

P. S. I've always wanted to use the word "nonagenarian" in a sentence.

Saturday 9 June 2018

Toronto Symphony 2017-2018 # 7: Back to the Beginning

If it wasn't the very first Toronto Symphony concert I ever attended as a youngster, it was certainly one of the first.  It would have been somewhere around 1968 or so that I sat down in the cheap seats in Massey Hall and heard for the first time Dvorak's Symphony # 8.  Last night, I heard it live again -- for the first time in half a century.  Talk about returning to your roots.

The concert, under guest conductor Thomas Dausgaard, featured a feast of Romantic music, all well known repertoire staples, and all played with immense passion and energy -- the only way to go with these masterpieces from the height of the Romantic era.

The programme opened with a Wagner selection, the one which Sir Donald Tovey once described as "the Prelude-and-Liebestod monstrosity."  I have to agree.  Just because you can attach the final ten minutes of Tristan und Isolde onto the end note of the opera's Vorspiel (prelude) doesn't mean you should.  But musicians have been doing it for over a century and they're not likely to stop any time soon, so this rant will undoubtedly fall on deaf ears.  In any case, I feel more deprived by having to listen to the Liebestod without having an Isolde on hand to sing those exquisite final pages.

Dausgaard and the orchestra played the music beautifully, capturing the swelling, orgasmic quality at the heart of Wagner's most radical inspiration.

The orchestra was then joined by violin soloist Vadim Gluzman for the Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35 by Tchaikovsky.  This was a big-boned performance, the soloist playing throughout the work with a broad, bold tone that was entirely apt.  But don't mistake "broad" and "bold" as pseudonyms for "raw" or "rough"!  The violin sound remained sweet and clear at all times.  Not only that, but the notes registered clearly throughout the work, even in the wildest acrobatics of the finale.  An impressive performance.

Dausgaard and the orchestra played with great fervour in the first movement, and with equally notable restraint in the slow movement.  If the tempo of the finale was a touch too hell-for-leather for my liking, it was undeniably well played by everyone -- and the resulting standing ovation and five calls for the soloist were absolutely merited.

After the intermission, on to the Dvorak Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Op. 88.  This symphony has always fascinated me for its unusual and innovative approach to structure and orchestration.  The composer spoke of working out his ideas in new ways, but that's rather modest -- every movement of this symphony brings unique tactics to the presentation, development, and combination of its themes.  And every movement has a startling interjection or interruption which seems to live outside the structure of the remainder of the movement.  As well, Dvorak here came up with some intriguing, even quirky, tone colours by combining instruments in unexpected ways -- for instance, a high quiet line in the violins combined with a flute playing very low down in its register (only one of many examples).

Dausgaard led the orchestra in a performance which emphasized the huge dramatic contrasts found throughout this score.  Dynamics were taken right to the wall in both loud and soft passages.  Such moments as the tragic eruption in the slow movement or the sudden fast coda in the third movement registered as startling, indeed almost shocking, in a performance of this intensity.

More than any other work of Dvorak's, this symphony highlights the contributions of the woodwind players, and the TSO's wind sections covered themselves with glory from start to finish.  I've never before noticed just how much this emphasis on the winds parallels Mahler's characteristic woodwind writing (Mahler's first symphony was finished the year before Dvorak 8).

Given the intensity heard elsewhere, the third movement (a graceful, light-footed waltz) here became a most necessary relaxation point before the buildup through the final movement.  The unexpected fast coda in duple time took on a playful atmosphere which was truly beguiling.

The dramatic contrasts became larger still in the finale, a kind of theme-and-variations in two different tempi.  The sudden leap from the slower tempo of the first variation to the fast second one shot off like fireworks and the weird chromatic flourishes from the horns came across both clearly and cleanly -- a tricky balancing issue at that point.  The flute solo in the next variation was both aristocratic and acrobatic.  Dausgaard then rolled full steam ahead through the last two bizarre tempo changes in the coda, and brought the symphony to a rousing conclusion.

Thomas Dausgaard first conducted the Toronto Symphony Orchestra in 2004, and has been back as a guest conductor in virtually every season since then.  His concerts have given me many wonderful musical memories (especially his Mahler Tenth and the Nielsen Third and Fifth Symphonies a few years back), and this fine performance certainly joins the list.

Thursday 7 June 2018

National Ballet of Canada 2017-2018 # 5: A Dance of Genius

In a stunning world premiere last weekend, the National Ballet of Canada set before the public a production which can fairly be described as a work of genius -- about genius.

Frame by Frame unites the choreography of Guillaume Coté and the staging of Robert Lepage into a remarkable tribute to Canada's genius of film animation, Norman McLaren. Befitting the subject, this performance breaks rules and bends genres on all sides, resulting in an entirely new form of dance theatre. You can hardly even call Frame by Frame a "ballet", although ballet lies at its heart in more ways than one.

The result is a complex tapestry in which segments of dance illustrating key events in McLaren's life and career are interwoven with more abstract segments inspired by -- or re-enacting -- scenes from some of his films. Other scenes feature actual projections of the films themselves on either a backdrop or a front scrim. With one brief exception, the recorded music tracks throughout the performance all derive from the assorted McLaren films.

These diverse elements certainly don't break down into such neat compartments during the actual presentation -- they flow smoothly into and out of and around each other in a way that words can only dimly convey. Dealing with choreography first is purely a matter of my authorial convenience.

Guillaume Coté has used a vivid assortment of modern dance ingredients and movements in staging this multi-layered dance theatre work. Much of the choreography is lively, vivid, energetic, even bouncy, and great fun to watch. This piece does not shirk the opportunity to create humour and to evoke laughter in the audience.

Good examples included the summer cottage scene, the scene of the creation of Begone Dull Care with guest artist Wellesley Robertson as a wildly energetic Oscar Peterson at a pseudo-piano desk, and the re-enactment of Neighbours with Dylan Tedaldi and Skylar Campbell as the two erstwhile friends turned psychotic killers. In Neighbours and A Chairy Tale, Coté has created excellent choreographic equivalents for the more conventional movements of the original film actors, while still conveying the extraordinary energy of the film.

On a partly reflective, but also partly comic level, was the early scene in which the Sadler's Wells Ballet was performing Swan Lake -- the night at which McLaren (Jack Bertinshaw) met Guy Glover, the man who would be his life partner right up until his death 50 years later (Félix Paquet). The two men wove their way on stage around the dancers portraying the Prince and the Swan, symbolising the key role that ballet would continue to play in their lives. An uncommonly thoughtful and thought-provoking conception.

All of this dancing, remember, is only a part of what we saw. Director/designer Robert Lepage and his colleagues at Ex Machina studios created an extraordinary and diverse range of stagings and technical effects to highlight the story and to aid in recreating the imaginative and unique atmospheres of McLaren's films.

Dancers in black under black lights manipulated the energetic chair in A Chairy Tale and bars of lights in another fascinating sequence which I couldn't identify by name. Filmed backdrops supported Neighbours and the cottage scene. The rolling desk-turned-piano became almost like another character in Begone Dull Care. The Swan Lake sequence was staged facing away from us, complete with "footlights" and a row of "audience" facing us from the back of the stage.

The emotional climax of the entire work came in the penultimate scene, a re-creation of McLaren's inspired ballet film, Pas de Deux. Heather Ogden and Harrison James danced with all of the fluid motion which is so much a part of the original film. Not having watched the film for many years, I can't say if Coté used any of Ludmila Chiriaeff's original choreography, but the spirit of the dance was unquestionably right on target.

It was Lepage's contribution which made this scene utterly magical. Using cameras and computers, the team was able to recreate in live motion the stunning multiple images which make that film such an extraordinarily beautiful work of art. Combined with the haunting soundtrack of strings, harp, and pan flute, this scene was so breathtaking that I didn't want it to end -- ever.

Except for one minor detail. Frame by Frame is staged without an intermission, and by this time we were nearing the two-hour mark and I was finding the prolonged sit a little onerous. But I absolutely forgot all about my aching fundament during that heart-tugging Pas de Deux.

I can readily imagine that Frame by Frame will be controversial in some quarters. Ballet traditionalists may balk at the incorporation of so much technological wizardry. Film purists may object to the re-imagining or shortened versions of McLaren's inspirations.

My response is simple: the complainers missed the boat. McLaren was a lifelong lover of the ballet, often spoke of his films in balletic terms, and made three ballet films using live dancers. Best to let McLaren address the issue in his own words: "Film is a form of dance."

Whether this work points the way to the future of ballet is too soon to tell. That we will only know in retrospect, years later. In a world where more and more creative artists are bursting the traditional boundaries of their art to fuse with other artistic disciplines, this work is absolutely on point (pun intended). It's also a great, entertaining, and beautiful artistic creation in its own right, thanks to the three foundations on which it stands.  Frame by Frame is a winner.

Friday 1 June 2018

Fire and Passion

Once again, I am breaking my own self-appointed mandate of live performance reviews to review a new recording. There's no justification, other than to say that I've been following the career of the musicians involved -- the Cheng²Duo -- for some years now with considerable interest.

Violonchelo del fuego ("Cello of Fire") is the eye-catching title of this new release from the German label Audite. The cover photos underline the Spanish pedigree of the music we'll be hearing.

Unlike the Duo's initial recording, this one contains only one work originally written for the ensemble of cello and piano. It matters not, for the music is all performed with as much fire and passion as if it were specifically composed with these instruments in mind. This new release also includes works for solo piano and solo cello, another innovation on record for these fine Canadian artists.

This Spanish recital constitutes a whirlwind tour through the great Spanish/Catalan music renaissance during the first half of the last century. It might be called a "Greatest Spanish Hits" compilation, but only in part since some of the works definitely live at the rarely-heard edges of the repertoire. As well, there is one work -- the final one on the CD -- which is something of an odd number since it is only Spanish by virtue of the nationality of its composer, certainly not in any stylistic way.

Traditional images of the music of Spain often evoke such comparisons as the strumming and plucking of guitars, the stamping of flamenco dancers' feet, and the clacking of castanets. To capture this feeling on instruments such as cello and piano requires the most precise pedalling and playing of staccato (on piano) and pizzicato (on cello), combined with rapid articulation, plenty of freedom of rhythm, and sudden, sharp dynamic contrasts. But these composers also included many pages of melting lyrical beauty, where the needs shift to sustained legato and careful shaping of phrases.

In all these respects and others, Silvie Cheng (piano) and Bryan Cheng (cello) have entirely captured the voices of these composers, and they've done so with energy, verve, and spirit.

From the very first notes of the opening number, the Intermezzo from the opera Goyescas by Enrique Granados, it's plain that we're in a very different musical world from the one which the Cheng²Duo's previous recording explored. Later in the recording, we encounter Granados again in an arrangement of perhaps his best-known composition, the Andaluza, fifth movement of his twelve Spanish Dances for piano. This is one work where I noted especially the difference in colour of the whole as the melody was taken by the cello in a position in the centre of the harmony, where it originally appeared on the top. This gave the entire dance a more autumnal feeling.

Isaac Albeniz, the most redoubtable of all Spanish composers for the piano, appears for only one work here, but it's a delight: the Malaguena from his suite Espana. This work calls for a lighter texture and colour, and the Duo deliver, finding a real sense of fantasy in this beautiful number.

The music of Manuel de Falla is generously represented. The first Spanish Dance from his opera La vida breve opens with an energetic presentation of the main theme. The central slower section brings the most forceful bass notes on piano, again with matching powerhouse pizzicato playing on the cello. The return of the main theme is decorated in this arrangement with additional virtuosic flourishes, all played with great flair and verve.

Equally powerful, if anything even more vivid and dramatic, is the famous Ritual Fire Dance from de Falla's ballet El amor brujo.  Especially impressive here is the very wide dynamic range of the playing as the music leaps instantly from the very quiet throbbing rhythm to a full-throated fortissimo.

For a microcosm of the entire musical world of this record, turn to de Falla's Seven Popular Spanish Songs. From the fleet-footed Seguidilla murciana and Jota to the languorous Asturiana and the serene beauty of Nana, the Cheng²Duo capture all the diverse moods of this masterly cycle. In such a performance, one scarcely misses the words. The passionate Polo, with its stabbing chords on the piano and leaping cello line is a highlight of the entire album.

Silvie Cheng plays Turina's Exaltacion with distinction, the dream-like opening giving place to a vigorous treatment of the main theme and a lighter, more fantastic tone for the central section.  It's a pity that room wasn't found to include the other two Fantastic Dances, as these pieces are not heard on record nearly often enough.

Bryan Cheng presents a rare and significant Suite for solo cello by cellist/composer Gaspar Cassadó , a work which not only deserves but demands wider currency. Three movements, each inspired by different traditional dance forms, call for the widest range of tone colours and moods, and this thoughtful performance truly captures that diversity.

Another Cassadó rarity follows, Requiebros ("Flirtations" or "Compliments") for cello and piano -- another dance, this time somewhat more popular in character, and played by the Duo with panache.  For a more detailed look at this music by Cassadó, go to my rare music blog: Cello Beauties From Spain

The final selection is the odd number, the famous Zigeunerweisen by Pablo de Sarasate, one of the staples of the violin repertoire. The central-European gypsy atmosphere of this piece contrasts oddly with the authentic voices of Spain heard in the rest of the album. What's most striking here is the absolute clarity and precision of Bryan Cheng's virtuoso fireworks on the cello, since the notes are much farther apart than on a violin and the cellist's hand has to race back and forth twice as quickly along the fingerboard!

Taken as a whole, this new recording presents a distinguished survey of that proud and magnificent Spanish musical renaissance of the early twentieth century. Silvie and Bryan Cheng fill every selection with the fire and passion which are so essential to this music.

Audite's recording team has captured all the precision and energy of the playing with great clarity, set against a nicely resonant backdrop. A word of warning though: turn your volume down before you play this recording -- it has been transferred at a very high level.  The album includes detailed and informative programme notes in German, English, and French.