New Zealand School of Music Orchestra at St. Andrew’s on the Terrace conducted by Ken Young with Diedre Irons, piano

There are two other concerts I had planned on writing about before getting to this one – but that was before actually going to the concert, which was really an amazing experience (at least in the second half). Robert Schumann is one of the biggest names of Romantic composition, but his reputation frankly exceeds the quality of his music; indeed, I’m sure I have spent considerably more time reading his music criticism than actually listening to his music. This Piano Concerto is in all honesty a deplorable piece of music, a vehicle for his wife’s virtuosity that never approaches the depth to which the word ‘concerto’ aspires. The first movement, the Fantasie to which the rest of the work was attached, is a shapeless, formless, emotionless, tuneless, too-long wretch with a pathetic coda affixed to patch over the utter lack of direction. The following Intermezzo is no better; it is not until the final Allegro vivace that the players have so much as a theme to get their teeth into* – in fact, they get two rather fine themes, although one is really only toyed with. It would be extremely unfair to judge any of the performers on the basis of this ‘concerto’, for although the balance of sound from the orchestra was rather lovely and intimate in the relatively small setting of St. Andrew’s, but this is simply shallow salon music (albeit for richly talented performers).

How wonderful then, and how much of a vindication for twentieth century composition that Schumann’s miserable work should be followed by an utterly spectacular performance of Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 11, surely the finest, most vital performance of a symphony I have been privileged to witness since the NZSO’s rendition of Rachmaninov’s Symphony No. 1 (with the hyper-energetic Alexander Lazarev). Some of Shostakovich’s work possibly suffers a little from taking it out of its historical context, but this symphony really flourishes, allowing the listener to get right into the composer’s headspace. The faux-patriotic sentiment of the melodies lifted from revolutionary songs is stripped away to leave an hour of sheer, abject terror. Shostakovich opens with a long passage focusing on strings and harp that is beautiful in isolation, but alarmingly tense at the same time. A jeering brass interjection breaks the flow temporarily, but cannot relieve the general anxiety.

The second movement is simply astonishing – wailings from the strings and brass that gather in intensity and cut straight to the heart. In classic Shostakovich style it isn’t until the xylophone is brought in that the work becomes truly horrifying. The xylophone is truly Shostakovich’s death rattle, driving the closing portion of the invasion section of the “Leningrad” Symphony and appearing to spine-chilling effect in the On the Watch movement of Symphony No. 14. Even in the music’s brief returns to the theme of the first movement there is little relief. In the third movement the audience hears a similar journey to that of the first; the strings play a sweet, yet ominous theme, growly slowly in intensity, gnawing into the mind, and once again everything breaks down in an orgy of agony. Shostakovich’s ‘vulgar’ side (much abhorred – and underestimated – by critics) comes straight to the fore of the beginning of the final movement with a violent, oppressively loud introduction dominated by some wonderfully clear brass playing. After a brief lull the onslaught continues, Shostakovich placing all his fear and horror of tyranny onto the page. One can’t help feeling shattered by the finish, wrung out by the ferocity and emotional intensity of the music. Amazing.

*yes, I realise this blog is subtitled “What do you mean, you don’t like Stockhausen”, but Stockhausen’s work has far more thematic flesh on it than Schumann’s, even if it isn’t all melodic. Schumann has nothing.

• Traditional, arranged by Carol Shortis: Polskie Kwiaty
• Simon Eastwood: Jericho: Walls Will Fall
• Henryk Górecki: Three Pieces in Olden Style
• Witold Lutoslawski: Melodie Ludowe
• Krzysztof Penderecki: Allegro Moderato from Sextet
• Henryk Górecki: Totus Tuus
• Karol Szymanowski: Rymy Dzieciece  – Children’s Rhymes Op. 49
• Karlo Margetic: Hommage  à W.L.
• Carol Shortis: Tesknota (Yearning)

6 November at the ACR

• Traditional, arranged by Carol Shortis: Polskie Kwiaty
• Krysztof Penderecki: 3 miniature per clarinetto e pianoforte
• Grazyna Bacewicz: Quintet for Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon and Horn
• Henryk Górecki: Piano Sonata No. 1
• Anton Killin: Podróze
• Aleksander Tansman: Sonatine for Bassoon and Piano
• Aleksander Tansman: Studio from Pièces brèves pour guitare and Canzonetta from Trois pièces pour guitare
• Andrzej Nowicki: Abstand und Nähe

7 November at St Andrew’s on the Terrace

• Traditional, arranged by Carol Shortis: Polskie Kwiaty
• Simon Dickson: Jericho: Walls Will Fall
• Henryk Górecki: Piano Sonata No. 1
• Henryk Górecki: Three Pieces in Olden Style
• Witold Lutoslawski: Melodie Ludowe
• Anton Killin: Podróze
• Henryk Górecki: Totus Tuus
• Karlo Margetic: Hommage  à W.L.
• Carol Shortis: Tesknota (Yearning)

SMP’s final concert series for 2009 was certainly an ambitious undertaking – three concerts featuring seventeen pieces by eleven composers. Each concert opened with a rendition of the Polish folk song Polskie Kwiaty. Jonathan Berkahn’s accordion offered both a connection to folk traditions and a keen timbre that echoed the song’s sentiments and matched well to Olga Gryniewicz’s voice. Her replacement in the second concert by countertenor Laurie Fleming due to family reasons could not be considered particularly successful – Fleming’s voice felt far too light for the arrangement – but this failed to prevent the Polish segments of the audience vocally endorsing each performance. Polskie Kwiaty was also an element in two of the commissioned works – Carol Shortis’ Tesknota and, to a lesser extent, Anton Killin’s Podróze.

Simon Eastwood’s work for trumpet, horn and trombone reflecting upon the Solidarity movement felt less successful. Jericho consists of a series of disjunct miniatures, with few discernable connections. Although it makes use of several appealing musical ideas and brass techniques, but none of these are explored in any detail, but are abruptly dropped in moving to the next section of music. Possibly some of these section changes could have been masked by the use of a slightly larger ensemble and a longer time frame, avoiding the necessity of an uncomfortable silence for the performers to change their mutes. The lengths of the miniatures also creates a rather unnatural, unresolved ending, that feels out of kilter with the messages of the work. Jericho shows defiance in spades, but not much hope.

The music of Henryk Górecki proved an integral part of all three programmes. The utterly unpretentious Three Pieces in Olden Style are amongst Górecki’s best known work and the SMP String Ensemble performed them with appropriate crispness. Only in the third of the pieces is there any hint of the angst that pervades much of the composer’s work; the first two pieces are based on simple folk-like melodies that might come from any country in Europe. These pieces could not be any more different from the Piano Sonata No. 1. This is a proto-minimalist work, foreshadowing Górecki’s later output. The first movement throws out melodic fragments from a thick – and violent – chordal texture before an abrupt departure into a sparse, quiet interlude. When the original texture returns it still possesses the latent fury of the opening, but with more positive undertones. The middle movement is an extreme contrast – a stagnant monophonic theme and subsequent harmonisation. Unfortunately, this does not in itself make a particularly effective piece of music – the movement feels as if it has been thrown in to justify the ‘sonata’ title. The third movement returns to the spirit of the first, although this time it is the chords that seem to be spat out of the melody; Laurel Hungerford experienced some difficulties with this movement during both performances, but still did a great job of harnessing the work’s energy. Totus Tuus simply does not measure up to either of these works. Although the sounds are attractive, they are simply repeated too often, rendering the music almost lifeless. In the first performance there also seemed to be some issues of balance with the choir – which felt a little bottom-heavy – although these cleared up on the 7th.

Witold Lutoslawski’s Melodie Ludowe are hardly the  most exciting part of his output; one cannot help wondering whether the time of both the composer and the string ensemble could have been put to better use. Karlo Margetic’s homage to Witold Lutoslawski has everything that Melodie Ludowe does not; Hommage  à W.L. uses a variety of interesting sounds arranged within a clear structure. The overall tripartite form is delineated by woodblock interludes, while sectional changes within these parts are dictated by the conductor. Particularly effective were the use of bowed cymbal in the first part, which really sang at times, and the densely packed second part. There were some aethetic similarities between Margetic’s work and the Allegro Moderato from Penderecki’s Sextet. Although the music is hardly boneshattering, Penderecki does not flinch from some quite complex instrumental interactions that provide a superb sonic soup. The miniatures performed in the second concert provided a further stripped down iteration of the composer’s style that showcased the skills of Andrzej Nowicki to marvellous effect.

Karol Szymanowski, although a prominent part of Polish compositional history, never made a significant impact in the wider world; his music lacks the distinctive style that propelled Czech and Russian nationalists to prominence. The Children’s Rhymes written for his niece might be a very personal compositional statement, but they largely lacked the most important trait of the genre – that any child or parent might ever want to sing them. Perhaps Szymanowski was simply well ahead of his time in this one area, or perhaps a Polish upbringing is even further from the New Zealand experience than one might imagine, but a children’s song really ought to have an attractive melody. Olga Gryniewicz sang better than the music deserved.

Alexander Tansman provided three works of varying quality for the second programme. The Sonatine for Bassoon and Piano is an attractive work that manages to be energetic without Studio betrays its faults in its title; while it may function perfectly well as an etude for study, the absence of textural or rhythmic variation makes it unsuitable as concert piece, particularly as the somewhat fractured performance revealed an apparent host of technical difficulties for little aural reward. While the Canzonetta was played with more surety and expression, it did much less than the Sonatine to make a case for the composer’s abilities. Grazyna Bacewicz’s wind quintet proved an accessible, yet oftentimes intriguing piece of music. In particular that “Air”, which played with both the musical and literal meanings of the title in the swirling interludes of the flute, oboe and clarinet.

It tends to be quite difficult to consider a piece of New Zealand anecdotal/radiophonic music without thinking of John Cousins, but although Podróze displays many of the signs it manages to move beyond these. The use of unnervingly loud bangs at sectional points is one link, but these tend to be used as part of dramatic events rather than as changes in focus. Podróze is electroacoustic music for an audience not necessarily very familiar with the genre. Unlike in Cousins’ work (and that of his protégés), the narrative takes a linear form, and many of the sound choices are obvious emphases of various elements of the journey – particularly things like water noises. Other sounds, like the long, barely heightening drumroll near the beginning might be assigned several meanings. The gamelan interlude, however, really needs an explanation of some kind.

Andrzej Nowicki’s piece Abstand und Nähe, originally written for gamelan and bassoon, survives the transfer to marimba and bassoon remarkably well. Unsurprisingly, the marimba writing is hardly idiomatic, which leaves the audience to consider the missing elements, but it is still an engaging work. Carol Shortis’ Tesknota, which finished the 1st and 3rd concerts, is an entirely different kettle of fish. Much of its material originates from Polskie Kwaity and a second traditional song, but the string parts appear to reference Górecki’s style. The choir sings a complex array of murmured fragments, while soprano and countertenor bear the pieced together verses. The second performance (with better balance between the soloists) was utterly intoxicating between the unchecked power of the folksong and the churning background noise.

The fourth piece, inspired by the !Xhosa language (no prize for guessing which sounds will feature), provided probably the highlight of the concert, as the only piece to really use the surround sound environment to great effectiveness. Material seemed to originate from a single source, but rather than subsequently flooding the room in noise from all speakers the composer chose to bounce his clicking sounds around the room, creating sounds that were actually directed, rather than part of a uniform mass. This also allowed the work to be energetic without being overbearing, and gave the interesting range of sound-types within the ‘click’ family time to breathe.

Nine television screens provided the focus for the evening’s final work, playing one piece of film together, but in varying states of disrepair – three of the televisions lacked colour. The film consisted of long stretches of nearly static footage – although at some points the epilepsy warning signs on the doors were well-advised; the accompanying soundtrack consisted entirely of drones. The two fit together, to be sure, but they didn’t do a whole lot else. Simultaneously with  this concert, British phonographer Chris Watsson played a soundscape in the Adam Art Galley. On the strength of the last ten minutes, it was hardly inspiring, although obviously technically superb.

• Paula-Therese King: Anna Bolena’s Mercurial Waters
• Johannes Contag: Flock of Starlings with Crows and Dog (equal 2nd prize)
• Blair Clarke: Green and Gold Keys
• Tabea Squire: He Matai: I – Patupaiarehe; II – The Conch (equal 3rd prize and performance prize)
• Carol Shortis: Perfume
• Amanda Creiglow: Experiments in Unity
• Christine White: Dark
• Karlo Margetic: Svitac (1st prize)
• Justin Firefly Clarke: Te Rakau o Nga Patupaiarehe (equal 2nd prize)
• Jonathan Crehan: Utopian Reverie (equal 3rd prize)
• Andrzej Nowicki and Richard Robertshawe: Concertino 5b (performance prize)

Hearing that a Theremin was going to make an appearance was an extra incentive – as if one were necessary! – to show up to Composers’ Competition. Seeing Paula King walk out in period dress before blindfolding herself was utterly surreal. I was less enthusiastic about the music itself, a duet between the Theremin and a pedal controlled fixed media part. While the concept – a depiction of the last thoughts of Anne Boleyn – was certainly a strong one, the fixed media let it down badly. What might have succeeded with a live string quartet, or even a recording of a string quartet, was never going to work with MIDI sounds. Perhaps King was attempting to make a contrast between the ‘innocence’ of Boleyn and the great farce that surrounded her. Perhaps the real issues with the work were firstly the restrictions that the fixed media part (particularly with MIDI sounds) imposed upon the Theremin part, locking it into essentially a tonal frame and defying the instrument’s possibilities for experimental work and secondly the absence of timbral variation that the medium also required.

Johannes Contag‘s work made little pretence of being anything other than what it said on the box. Written for a wind ensemble of three flutes, four clarinets (the starlings), two saxophones (crows) and a bassoon (dog), the piece used cellular construction to build up from a quiet beginning featuring a single flute to a frenetic and rhythmically dense texture, before the intervention of the dog/bassoon. Starlings is amiable and unassuming, a pleasant but unchallenging thing to experience. Blair Clarke’s work was the competition’s only concession to jazz, which must have sorely disappointed composer-in-residence John Rae. Even the programme note acknowledged that it wasn’t really a composition as such – he describes it as a series of exercises. As a result, there were several short sections, each focussing on one type of sound, but never really doing anything with them.

Tabea promised me that she entering a harp piece when we talked about the Competition earlier in the year, so it was a little disappointing to discover that she had, in fact, entered a piece for viola and piano, He Matai. The first part – Patupaiarehe – of her composition is quite barren – featuring a ditonic phrase that alternates between the two instruments. The Conch turns the dial up; the instruments hurtle along with great energy, programmatically representing New Zealand’s historical conflict. Overall it is a highly listenable work, drawing influence from some of the less abstract corners of 20th century classical.

Perfume, for bass clarinet, temple block, marimba, vibraphone and unpitched percussion is a series of nine miniatures that explores many of the possibilities of Shortis’ instrumentation. Separated by interludes from the temple block, each miniature explores a single technique for each instrument to represent various fragrances. The bass clarinettist, who provides almost all of the work’s melodic interest, deals with keyslaps and ‘plucking’, while around him the percussionists deal in subtle rhythmic effects. Perfume is a marvellously subtle composition, radiating with sensuality; the various timbres of the temple bowl combine with beautifully crafted bass clarinet lines to create an attractive exoticism that accurately portrays the subject matter.

Amanda Creiglow’s piece was first performed at a Composers’ Workshop,, where it seemed a little underdone, but the performance was much improved this time around. Written for the unusual combination of four violas, it explores the interaction of subtly different timbres through collisions and unifications of pitch and rhythm. The choice to approach the piece more from an aural than musical angle limits it somewhat, but there are certainly moments of beauty anyhow. Dark was the only fixed media item in the concert and a very impressive advertisement for the sonic arts major. The work uses the sounds of various machines in a chocolate factory awash in a sea of feedback. White subverts her sound-sources by playing down onsets, letting the sounds fall back into granular textures; Dark is certainly more chocolate than factory.

Karlo Margetic’s Svitac, inspired by childhood memories of glow-worms,  features a virtuoso clarinet part accompanied by upright piano. Svitac opens with microtonal fluctuations in a breathy, barely pitched note, creating a curious, flickering atmosphere. The quietness of the opening allows keystrokes to feature extensively. As the clarinet works toward the upper registers both cit and the piano grow stronger; the piano appears to function not as a duet partner as such, but as part of the inner workings of the clarinet. Karlo is a stunning composer, and this is an amazing piece of music.

The slightly bizarre coincidence of having two works in the same concert about patupaiarehe doesn’t diminish the strength of either work, although it is interesting that the two pieces work in very similar ways. Like Tabea’s piece, Te Rakau o Nga Patupaiarehe consists of two sections, the first quite barren, full of harmonics that enshroud a solo violoncello line, the second much faster, formed from contrapuntal lines and motivic interjections that accelerate and intensify toward a high energy state. While I could do without the first part, which is inventive in moments but very hard for the performers to render accurately, the second part might as well be Osvaldo Golijov in (I think) 13/8.

Jonathan Crehan used a prepared piano in a completely non-ironic way, which in itself made his piece somewhat of a rarity. Bone shattering piano combined with violin scrapings to create a disturbing sound-world in places, but these effects were not used consistently enough, coming in only to break up an otherwise fairly directionless piece of music. At these jarring moments Crehan had something rather interesting, but they never seemed to lead anywhere. A recording of Andrzej Nowicki and Richard Robertshawe’s Concertino 5b can be found at the SMP website, but is no match for the real thing in naked aggression and tongue-in-cheek performance. Robertshawe processes Nowicki’s clarinet bangs and shrieks into some quite incredible noises, all while dressed in a labcoat (and Nowicki in some horrible blue pyjamas).

Not that anybody listens to me, this is how I would have awarded prizes:

• Performance Prizes: Anna Bolena’s Mercurial Waters and Concertino 5b
• Third Prizes: Perfume and I – Patupaiarehe; II – The Conch
• Second Prizes: Te Rakau o Nga Patupaiarehe and Dark
• First Prize: Svitac

Conducted by Kenneth Young, Clarinet: Andrzej Nowicki

One always has to prepare to be a little disappointed by student orchestral compositions, because of the time restrictions placed upon them. This was certainly true of Simon Dickson’s piece in the preceding NZSM orchestra concert, but the same could not be said for Ben Woods’ work. True, it could have gone on forever, but at any point Constant Sphere could have ended and still felt perfect. The work moves with immense, noble slowness; every point both static and inexorably pulling on to the next. Woods’ concept of “a shiny ball… rotating in changing light” is an exquisite one; one cannot help but think of the example of our own earth – always spinning, yet always changing. In Constant Sphere as on Earth, it is the little details that make the whole special; I particularly enjoyed the part with the trumpet , just audible inside the texture, playing a constant pitch with subtly changing rhythm, twisting time around it.

Little need be said about Johann Strauss – indeed, the less said the better. The first item from Die Fledermaus was sung competently by all concerned, although there were points toward the end of the opening solo when the orchestra was a little overwhelming. “Cinque… dieci” is a much more proficient piece (even if it lacks the Strauss’ gratuitous final high note – which is completely inappropriate at the beginning of an opera); Olga Gryniewicz sang with great confidence and considerable success.

Usually one sees Andrzej Nowicki playing some esoteric creation of one of the composition students; here he displayed his mastery of classical tradition. Weber is a hugely underplayed composer, at least in comparison to Beethoven, and the Clarinet Concerto No. 2 is a very fine work. The first two movements shun outwardly virtuosic technique and the glorious yet irrelevant tuttis of later Romantic works. Instead the clarinet plays a glorious, almost unceasing melodic line that undergoes some vivid transformations. The third movement has more technical passages, but the performer is still subservient to the music; this might be risky for a performer out to get all the applause they could muster, but of course the mark of an amazing musician is their ability to ability to produce amazing music. Andrzej Nowicki is certainly an amazing musician.

Night on Bare Mountain is probably the best known tone poem by any composer apart from the first bars of Also Sprach Zarathustra. The NZSM orchestra played enthusiastically and with great clarity; playing the  opening sections in particular every bit as viciously as Mussorgsky can have intended. The two choruses from Die Fledermaus were another example of facile music sung spectacularly well, with Ken Young judging the tempi perfectly. The 1919 version of the Firebird Suite is played less often than the subsequent revision; it is short enough to tack nicely on to the end of a concert like this. Although the playing itself was nicely polished, the balance of the piece did not seem to be quite right, with the strings all but disappearing. In the first movement in particular there seemed to be something of a hole in the sound, dominated by brass and percussion.

Soloist: Ben Morrison (violin); Conductor: Ken Young

This New Zealand School of Music concert at St Andrews on the Terrace opened with a piece by NZSM graduate student Simon Dickson, written for the Jenny McLeod Composition Award (or something along those lines). With this work, Dickson aimed to capture two of his compositional styles – that with which he wrote earlier in his studies at the NZSM, and that with which he writes today. Although conceptually interesting, this does rather run the risk of disguising the composer’s talents, by forcing him to write using an abandoned – and presumably, to the composer’s mind, inferior – style, to say nothing of the difficulties in marrying the two styles.

As it happened, Dickson did largely succeed in creating a largely unified work. While the structural joints were audible, the atmospheres of the sections were quite similar. The functional atonality of the opening and closing sections was vaguely disquieting but unchallenging, perhaps because there were few individual lines to follow. Here and there were some deft touches, particularly with what was probably intended to be the piece’s climax, where after an initial violent surge the orchestral bass dropped out, leaving exposed notes hanging in the air, as well as Dickson’s reveal toward the end of some of thhe inner workings of the piece, putting the pedal instruments on display. Unfortunately, as usual with such young composers’ orchestral awards, the work really could have done with a much larger span of time to justify the structural decisions made. maybe someday music administrators will work out that student composers’ work is more important than the repertoire works on the programme. Obviously, this wasn’t Shostakovich 1 – but if it had been, nobody would have known.

Ben Morrison, concert-master of the NZSO NYO, is an extremely accomplished violinist, and the Tchaikovsky concerto is certainly one of the most important Romantic violin concertos, so it was no surprise that this performance was, overall, a success. The NZSM orchestra’s playing felt a little stodgy in the opening, but rapidly improved, as they traversed the tutti sections with admirable energy. Morrison’s playing was refined and strong throughout, and there was a remarkable sense of cohesion between orchestra and soloist, during the first movement’s oscillations in and out of quasi-cadenza passages. The chief fault of the work itself lies in these sections, which give the first movement a sense of completion on its own merits, which disrupts the balance of the work as a whole, but this was handled convincingly enough.

The Vaughan Williams, which was on the whole played spectacularly well, is a curious artefact. It seems perverse that such a work, blatantly a ‘war symphony’ of the most brutal variety, could get a free pass from the same English critics who savaged the war symphonies of Shostakovich – and how foolish they look now, with the vast depths of expression and meaning of those works exposed alongside their blatant musical genius! Vaughan Williams’ Sixth is a splendidly constructed work – if only in its central movements. The first movement strives toward violence and spontaneity, but really only succeeds in incoherence, with the relationships between the varied ideas never being satisfyingly explored. While the movement has energy in spades, much of it is wasted.

The next movements share the same violent approach as the first, but are much more directed. The second movement is particularly notable for its climax, in which, after brutally working its way to a sustained level of raw power, there is a sudden drop in dynamic that leaves energy humming through the air. The final movement is in complete contrast to the rest of the work, especially the first movement. It uses a single, gentle theme throughout, at an unflinchingly soft dynamic, obviously – though Mr. Vaughan Williams apparently enjoyed denying this – intending to cause audiences to reflect upon the destructiveness of war. Unfortunately, the soft dynamic leaves very little space for actual expression – or at least this was how the orchestra performed it – so it served largely to leave phrases unshaped.