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minimalistme wrote this on April 9, 2011, at 9:24 am
- Bela Bartok: 44 Duos (excerpts)
- Katherine Hoover: Kokopeli
- Tigran Mansurjan: Lachrymae
- Ludwig van Beethoven: Serenade for Flute, Violin and Viola
Karen Batten (flutes), Martin Jaenecke (violin, soprano saxophone) and Victoria Jaenecke, (viola) at the Adam Concert Room
The Elios Ensemble’s Friday Lunchtime concert at the NZSM provided a delightful mix of sounds, in terms of both timbre and genre, with music ranging from an intense contemporary saxophone and viola duo to a musically-sedate Beethoven chamber work. The ensemble began with transcriptions of Bartok’s 44 Duos for violin, adding the three musicians’ rich variety of instruments into the mix, to greater or less success. While the combination of piccolo and violin worked well in the highly rhythmically intense settings in which it was deployed, the alto flute fared less well, particularly when paired with the soprano saxophone, which overpowered it at every turn. To my slight disappointment, I found that the version which sat best with me was the violin and viola combination, which probably just goes to show that Bartok wrote very carefully for his instruments.
Katherine Hoover’s solo flute piece Kokopeli can be described satisfactorily as “idiomatic”. The work is a single meandering melody line, and was played without any noticeable dynamic variance, so I’m just not quite sure what the point was. The other contemporary work on the programme, Lachrymae for soprano saxophone and viola, was much more satisfying, although it too possible suffered from a lack of dynamic variance. The work is dominated by the fierce, repetitive blasts from the saxophone, in a fairly low register, with which the viola eventually blends. For me, the special moments in this performance came when Martin Jaenecke was forced to take a breath, and the viola swelled to fill the space.
Beethoven’s Serenade Op. 25 was somewhat unexpected, although I suppose it probably should not have been. The work is an example of professional composition at its finest, in that it feels as if there is no way that Beethoven would have written such a work under his own steam, but he manages to put enough personal touches in to save face. The first two movements in particular are almost embarrassingly classical; in fact, I broke into silent laughter during the Minuetto, which included one section so trite that I’m convinced Beethoven must have intended it as a joke. Thankfully, there were moments in the Allegro molto and Andante con variazoni which reminded us of Beethoven’s ability to manipulate his audience’s expectations (in a rather more complex method than Haydnesque false endings). In fact, I imagine that there were some awkward pauses in the dinner party conversation without anybody realising quite why.
minimalistme wrote this on April 1, 2011, at 7:56 pm
The now-elderly German composer Hans Werner Henze is, somewhat inexplicably and distressingly, not a name regularly heard in New Zealand. Henze is the composer of a number of quite-popular (at least amongst those with slight modernist tendencies) symphonies and several opera, alongside a range of other assorted works.
Generally speaking, Henze’s symphonies take one of two broad formal plans, a plain three movement form or a single movement, through-composed form. The first symphony, originally composed in 1947, was subsequently revised for a smaller orchestra. In this post, I am trying to give a fairly thorough analysis of part of the third movement of this symphony. I would have attempted the whole work, but I started writing this first, and it may have got out of hand somewhat.
It is i n the third movement that Henze deploys possibly the symphony’s first instance of a clearly recognisable theme. Curiously, it is introduced (at least in the revised version) by the harp, which has a particularly substantial role in the movement. Opening on a single pitch class of Db, Henze uses an oscillating octave gesture to trigger movement in the rest of the orchestral, before launching into exposition with the sparsely accompanied harp. The theme is a cautious, conventional one, beginning with a simple but easily identifiable Db-Cb-Db-Ab pattern, after which follow two distinctive leaps, of a minor 9th and augmented 6th. Henze is relatively free with his melodic material throughout the movement, but it is these elements that unify the movement and act to shape many melodic contours. Closing off the introductory passage with a wild harp flourish, Henze immediately begins development, changin from triple to quadruple time and offsetting a clear statement of the theme from the viola with characteristic interjections of four rapid-fire notes in the reeds, horn and bass strings. The first violin takes up the theme as the music builds with the addition of fluttertongue flute and the viola begins a tremolo section, and as the violin part powers into the stratosphere the winds, joining with first horn, first trumpet, celeste, second violin and viola, take up a short, melodically descending, ‘chordal’ sequence, bringing the piece to an unresolved climax.
The next episode, returning to triple time, is a step back in orchestral weight, but a step up in violence, as the brass instruments engage in a punchy contrapuntal battle, variations of the theme hidden away in the maelstrom as the first trumpet seeks to overpower the others. Henze wipes the battle away as soon as the trumpet appears to have the upper hand, replacing it with a quietly animated clarinet dialogue, similarly based on the beginning of the theme. Although both of these episodes are related quite closely to the theme, the ways in which they are developed and placed amidst a framework of equally treated notes means that the theme is heard really only on the boundaries of aural perception. While listeners may not catch all of the direct thematic connections (particularly while hidden in thick counterpoint, as in the brass passage), the reuse of familiar intervals nonetheless creates an impression of safety, bridging the chasms between episodes.
Some of the ways in which Henze employs the central motif are shown in the first two score excerpts in the photo album on the right. In the brass example, (a) shows a chromatically altered version of beginning of the theme, with the initial oscillation using only a semitone. (b) is an extremely obscure variation, showing an inverted retrograde form with an addition transforming the oscillation from a mordent into a cambiata figure. (c) is easily the most prominent instance, particularly given its position on the surface of the texture, using an inverted motif that can be heard either forwards or backwards. (d), or at least its fourth-leap, is quite audible, as a chromatically altered motif in the same spirit as (a).
The second example, of the clarinet and bass clarinet parts, shows an even greater degree of fragmentation in places, although it also features one particularly strong thematic variation. One technique Henze uses to reinforce the impression of the theme while simultaneously obscuring its exact nature is evident in the almost-imitative nature of the counterpoint in this excerpt, where (c) is an inversion of (a), and (f) is an inversion of (d). (a), (b), (c) and (e) are all registrally displaced instances of the main motif with an omitted (but clearly implied) note. (d) and (f) are similarly tangentially recognisable – they switch around the final two notes of the main motif. Of all of these examples, (d) is perhaps the clearest instance of the theme, because unlike the others, it is subsequently confirmed by the presence of the completion of the theme at (g), obscured only by registral displacement in the final three notes and the compression of the final interval from an augmented to a major 6th. Such clear statements of the motif act almost as if to give the music a misleading sense of tonal movement which helps to shape the movement as a whole.
Henze’s next move is an effective reprise of the brass section, again stepping up the volume, and creating a sense of even greater agitation than before by reducing the silences between phrases and adding in staccato string gestures in semiquavers. The clarinets’ melody arrives again, transferred to the flute and alto flute. The first phrase of this is inverted, and then Henze begins again with the first few notes before going into a second passage with a sense of extemporisation. As this second passage progresses, Henze changes the focus of the staccato strings to the theme, making an almost complete, registrally compressed rendition. Another reprise of the brass passage follows, closing off the section with parallel downward runs in the brass and similar movement in the strings. Before this phrase the strings have another version of the main motif (see gallery) which, together with the addition of a prominent piano figure, adds intensity leading up to the climax with its chromatic variation.
minimalistme wrote this on April 1, 2011, at 10:10 am
http://www.slate.com/id/2289681/
OH NO! Please settle down Britney! You’re rocking the boat so hard! Why, that “flute which is probably a synthesiser” pretty much makes you John Cage!
minimalistme wrote this on March 27, 2011, at 10:59 pm
So I think I’ve definitely got my favourite method of playing harp harmonics now. I’m sure I can’t be the only person using these, but they don’t seem to be a "conventional" part of the harping technique.
The problem: dull, stale harmonic onsets
The solution: press the string with the fleshy part of the left-hand thumb as in a left-hand harmonic (well, to be honest I play left-hand harmonics on both hands, but ignore me!), pluck the string with the right hand index nail.
The outcome: gorgeous, strong harmonics, suitable for occasions with a little bit of preparation time and not-too-quick movement (as the thumb requires careful positioning).
minimalistme wrote this on March 17, 2011, at 9:32 am
NBR New Zealand Opera at the St. James Theatre, 16 March (further performances 18 and 19 March)
There are any number of reasons for people to go see Handel’s Xerxes before its Wellington run finishes. For a start, there’s Xerxes himself, sung breathtakingly well by countertenor Tobias Cole. In the more familiar Classical and Romantic opera repertoire, there aren’t so many operas where the male lead puts the female lead to shame for coloratura, but this is what Xerxes’ unashamedly florid part achieves, particularly in his last ‘big’ aria Cruel Furies, a complex morass of notes punctuated by increasingly desperate pleas that pushes at the boundaries of “baroque” refinement. I felt too, that there was a great deal of depth to the dramatic side of Xerxes’ character. Initially harmlessly batty, he seems to be transformed by love, but the audience can never be completely certain what exactly he has transformed into.
A second reason is the baroque orchestra, the Lautten Compagney accompanying the opera who are, to put it bluntly, sensational. Although Handel doesn’t give them much material to work with in the overtures, their accompaniments are always fresh, and the most distinguished part of many of the arias. They balanced particularly well with the pair of countertenors, who with somewhat lighter voices than the regular operatic contingent might have struggled with a bastardised orchestra. Anyhow, who wouldn’t want to hear a theorbo in action?
A third really great reason? If you’re under 25, tickets are $27 (including booking fee) before the show. I imagine it might be busier Friday and Saturday. But we got seated in gold. Otherwise known as $151.50 tickets.
So, any criticism? Kristin Darragh was disappointing, particularly early on, singing from upstage, where she was barely audible. And, um, that would be it. The second countertenor, Arsamene, played more of a lyric role than Xerxes, with an equally impressive voice that wasn’t deployed so much. His duet with Tiffany Speight’s Romilda was deliciously fiery. So fiery in fact, that it didn’t make a great deal of sense in the story. Perhaps a number self-plagiarised by Handel?
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