Showing posts with label Iain Farrington. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Iain Farrington. Show all posts

Sunday, 5 June 2016

Arensky CO/Kunhardt - Wagner, 2 June 2016


Oak Room, The Hospital Club, London

Siegfried-Idyll
Selection from Götterdämmerung (arr. Iain Farrington)

Arensky Chamber Orchestra
William Kunhardt (conductor)
 

Since its founding concert, held in another, rather different London club, the Arensky Chamber Orchestra has done things differently. That has not, I think, been for the sake of it, although novelty certainly does no harm in having one noticed, but because difference, by its essence, has perhaps helped it do things more ‘conventional’ ensembles might not, has perhaps helped it reach slightly different audiences, and perhaps also because different locations, not always concert halls, perhaps make one think about music differently.


Here, at the Hospital Club in Covent Garden, we heard Wagner’s Siegfried-Idyll, and towards its end were served with mushroom canapés. The ACO’s music director then introduced us to the music from Götterdämmerung by reading us to a story-book-like account of the action interspersed with musical examples from the orchestra. We were then treated with a cocktail, ‘Siegfried’s Fate’ – what a pity Hans von Wolzogen did not open a bar! – before hearing a skilfully made continuous selection from the grandest of all musical denouements.  
 

The Siegfried-Idyll was lovingly played. Kunhardt spoke of his own love for the music and added that it was a favourite of the players too; there was no difficulty in imagining that from the performance we heard. There was a considerable degree of rubato, especially to begin with, but it convinced. A chamber sound – one really heard the music as a string quartet at the opening – was very much what we heard; although it most certainly was, it rarely sounded ‘conducted’. It seems invidious to single anyone out, but I was especially taken by the contributions from the flautist and the first violist. String playing in particular, perhaps partly on account of the intimacy of the venue, came across in powerfully physical fashion; one could almost feel the contact of bow with string. This was a well-shaped performance throughout, not afraid to linger, yet without exaggeration.


It has perhaps not irrelevant to mention that Iain Farrington is Arranger-in-Residence (wonderful title!) to the Aurora Orchestra, for the ACO shows much of that ensemble’s enterprise. They certainly took to an arrangement from Götterdämmerung, which incorporated more of the action within its relatively brief span – I am afraid I cannot tell you how long – than I should have thought possible. It is in the nature of listeners to moan about what is or is not included in such selections; I shall try to resist that temptation, for Farrington even managed to give us a little of Hagen’s call to the Vassals, despite the greater part of his attentions having been devoted, perhaps not surprisingly, to the first act (and Prologue) and to the third. Taking us from the Prelude to the first act, through Dawn, with wonderful, grainy woodwind, we took in a little of Siegfried and Brünnhilde’s love duet before sailing down the Rhine. In this context, the affinity of this music with some of the material from the Siegfried-Idyll was striking. That little detour into the second act having been savoured, we heard Siegfried meeting the Rhinemaidens in the third, before spending more time on the final scenes. Siegfried’s death registered with properly tragic import, time almost yet not quite standing still: skilful conducting indeed here, as well as excellent solo playing! The Funeral March registered with due tragedy too, especial mention here being warranted by the ACO’s solo trumpeter and its percussionists. Gutrune’s scene – notoriously omitted by Wieland Wagner – was present, before a truncated Immolation Scene, which had the only really awkward arrangement-corner of the evening: no mean achievement at all. This was a most enjoyable and, yes, productively different evening. Now we can look forward to a new series of concerts starting in the autumn.

Saturday, 23 November 2013

Maxim Rysanov and friends - Bach, 20 November 2013


Hall One, Kings Place

Cello Suite no.3 in C major, BWV 1009
Cello Sonata in G major, BWV 1027 (performed on violin, viola, cello, and harpsichord)
Cello Suite no.6 in D major, BWV 1012 (performed on viola)
Cello Sonata in G minor, BWV 1009 (performed on violin, viola, cello, and harpsichord)

Maxim Rysanov (viola)
Alexander Sitkovetsky (violin)
Kristina Blaumane (cello)
Iain Farrington (harpsichord)

 
What an imaginative programme – and, moreover, what a finely-performed programme, from Maxim Rysanov and friends! Four of Bach’s cello works (or, if you must, viola da gamba for two of them): two solo, one, performed ‘straight’, one transcribed for viola, and two of those with keyboard performed as trio sonatas. My only gripe might have related to my unfashionable preference for the piano, but that is not in any sense a reflection upon Iain Farrington’s alert harpsichord continuo.

 
The C major Cello Suite was performed first, by Kristina Blaumane. Her tempi were well-considered; even if I initially thought the Courante a little on the fast side, I was soon persuaded. The performance was certainly not rigid. Rubato was applied, yet never in exaggerated fashion; moreover, there was a nice lilt to Bach’s rhythms. Each dance was well characterised, leading to a properly climactic yet never uncharacteristic Gigue, in which Blaumane dug deep into her strings. Hers was a rich tone, applied sensitively throughout.  

 
The cello and piano (or, if you prefer, gamba and harpsichord) sonata, BWV 1027, followed. My ears took a minute or two to adjust to the new sound world of violin, viola, cello, and harpsichord, but I was swiftly won over. Interestingly, it was Rysanov’s viola, though not in any sense performed in allegedly ‘period’ style, which offered the most audible link with the older viola da gamba. Rysanov is, of course, an excellent violis, but more importantly, an excellent musician. I had the sense, rightly or wrongly, that these performances were somehow ‘his’ – and I for one was grateful for that. The opening Adagio was courtly in character, though it was here that textural busyness most stood out: more, I suspect, of needing time to adjust to the new forces than anything else, though I did wonder whether the harpsichord contribution might have been a little more restrained. A lively yet sturdy second movement ensued, properly based upon a sound understanding of rhythm and harmonic rhythm. The opening of the Andante I was a little less sure about: Dmitri Sitkovetsky’s violin tone was oddly low on vibrato, making for a glassy impression. Fortunately, it thawed, though we might still have benefited from a little less parsimony in that respect. The finale offered a wonderful display of contrapuntal ingenuity, putting me in mind of that to the Sixth Brandenburg Concerto.

 
Rysanov opened the second half with the D major suite, albeit for viola. His was a much easier platform manner than Blaumane’s; indeed, the way he launched into the opening Prélude could not help but take an audience with him. He offered a similar lilt and rubato to the cellist, but with a more brilliant – though certainly never glossy – tone, which again also managed to evoke in the best way resonances of older instruments: history refracted, considered, rather than misunderstood as antiquarianism. (Do the purveyors of so-called ‘Historically Informed Performance’ realise how little they know of the complexity of the philosophy of history? A little Hegel, Marx, and Croce, let alone more recent writing, should be sent their way forthwith.) It was interesting, if perhaps not surprising, to hear just how different Bach’s music sounded on viola, perhaps as distant here from the cello as from the violin, yet quite how readily it was born anew, the first Gavotte being the only case – though I am not entirely sure why – when I was less convinced by the adaptation. Rysanov offered such an array of character, whether with respect to different note values or to different dances, that the choice of instrument seemed beside the point. Repeated sections were never merely ‘repeated’, yet the difference – that word again – never sounded as if it were for its own sake, as exhibitionism; it was built rather upon solid musical understanding, at times drawing one in to moments of quite breathtaking intimacy. There was wit too, the Courante definitely making me smile at its suavity. The closing Gigue, even with an occasional intonational slip, proved wonderfully captivating, indeed almost Bartók-like in its always-musical excitement.

 
My ears had no problems then in adjusting back to the trio sonata set-up for the Sonata, BWV 1029, which sounded as if it had always been conceived for such forces. Its opening Vivace was imbued with an irresistible sense of life, likewise the closing Allegro, most definitely a finale in spirit. The intervening Adagio was again slightly the victim of Sitkovetsky’s odd withdrawal of vibrato. (It is not as if that were how he played the rest of the time.) Nor was I terribly enthusiastic about Farrington’s re-employment of the lute stop. But those were ultimately minor points, given a performance in which all concerned communicated Bach’s musical argument with such sympathy.



Saturday, 6 October 2012

Christ lag in Todesbanden/Der Kaiser von Atlantis, English Touring Opera, 5 October 2012

Linbury Studio Theatre
 
Bach – Christ lag in Todesbanden, BWV 4 (arr. Iain Farrington)
Ullmann – Der Kaiser von Atlantis

Emperor Überall – Richard Mosley-Evans
Death – Robert Winslade Anderson
Loudspeaker – Callum Thorpe
Maiden – Paula Sides
Harlequin – Jeffrey Stewart
Drummer – Katie Bray
Soldier – Rupert Charlesworth

James Conway (director)
Neil Irish (designs)
Guy Hoare (lighting)

Aurora Orchestra
Peter Selwyn (conductor)
 

Not for the first time, the heroic efforts of English Touring Opera have put to shame the larger, wealthier opera companies. Whereas ENO has elected to garner minor headlines by launching a silly campaign to encourage audience members to wear jeans and trainers, and from the 2012 productions I have seen on the main stage at Covent Garden, but one, Rusalka, has proved artistically first-rate, not only is ETO offering an autumn season composed of three twentieth-century operas – Albert Herring, The Emperor of Atlantis, and The Lighthouse – in the present production, it has risen impressively to the challenge.  


To preface Viktor Ullmann’s opera with Bach’s Christ lag in Todesbanden was a brilliant idea. (There was also a pre-performance rendition of a newly commissioned song-cycle by Helen Chadwick, Towards an Unkown Port, which I was unable to attend.) Bach’s cantata was arranged for the same chamber forces as the Ullmann, Iain Farrington’s arrangement showing both sensitivity to the score and an imagination that at times seemed to pay occasional homage to the Bach arrangements of Webern and Berio. (Was that a touch of flutter-tonguing I heard early on?) Harlequin and Death observe the performance, presented chillingly by four soloists – Katie Bray, Rupert Charlesworth, Paula Sides, and Callum Thorpe – with suitcases ready for the journey ahead. Though sung in German, Harlequin offers a rough and ready flash card translation, which at times he uses to incite Death, waiting with his scythe. This may be an Easter Day cantata, based of course upon Luther’s chorale, itself based upon eleventh-century plainsong, but it is hardly Bach at his most jubilant. Christ lies in bonds of death and though we progress towards a final ‘Alleluia’ – this from 1724, Bach’s first version for the final stanza having been lost – via, amongst other wondrous writing, it is sin, the wait for judgement and, above all, especially in a contest such as this, the stretto contest between life and death, that linger longest and most profoundly in the mind. Each of the soloists was excellent, as indeed was the Aurora Orchestra, the plangent beauty of Charlesworth’s tenor perhaps particularly worthy of praise.
 

Der Kaiser von Atlantis, or  to give it its full title, Der Kaiser von Atlantis, oder Die Tod-Verweigerung (‘The Emperor of Atlantis, or Death’s Denial’), followed on immediately. How does one listen ‘objectively’ even upon hearing the subtitle, given that one knows this was a Theresienstadt opera? One does not, of course, and it would be unreasonable to expect anyone to do so.  A Schoenberg pupil, on his teacher’s recommendation, Ullmann was made a founder member of the committee for the Society of Private Musical Performances. Having been taken to Theresientadt in 1942, he wrote this opera with librettist Peter Kien the following year, though it only went so far as dress rehearsal, before being realised for the thinly disguised satire that it was. Ullmann, Kien, and many of their colleagues would be transported to Auschwitz in October 1944, to be murdered there.
 

Yet Ullmann’s opera is not of mere historical interest; he was an established composer for quite some time before the Second World War, and it shows. ‘Eclectic’ would perhaps give the wrong impression of the score, since it does not dart around willy-nilly; however, it certainly draws upon elements of tonal Schoenbergian writing and more popular idioms, often bringing Weill to mind. Death’s withdrawal of his labour disturbs the Emperor Überall – here, in spite of the opera being sung in English, the name was wisely not translated, adding definite national resonance – in his campaign of total war. (Yes, that very phrase is uttered.) The non-death of the soldier and girl in the third scene echoes, questions, subverts the struggle between life and death in the Bach cantata. Eventually, the Emperor accedes to Death’s demand that he be the first to die in return for the freedom for others to die again. It is perhaps only in this fourth scene that the music lingers a little too long, but even that arguably has its dramatic point, given the Emperor’s reluctance to die. The final ‘rejoicing’ is set to a lightly modernist elaboration of, irony of ironies, Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott.   


Once again, the orchestra, expertly directed by Peter Selwyn, was on excellent form. James Conway’s direction was typically impressive throughout, each character well prepared for his or her actions within this almost surreally terrifying setting, the sets of Neil Irish and Guy Hoare’s lighting playing their part here too. One had a sense if not of the conditions of Theresienstadt – how could one? – then of how modest means can create something far and beyond what one might expect, of the defiance and, clichéd though it may sound, hope that artistic solidarity may confer in the darkest of circumstances. Especially noteworthy amongst the cast were, once again, Charlesworth as the Soldier, also Callum Thorpe’s intelligently presented Loudspeaker, informing the Emperor of the war’s progress, and Paula Sides’s attractively voiced Maiden. Richard Mosley-Evans wavered somewhat as the Emperor, but the whole performance remained far more than the sum of its parts.
 

The production will also be seen in Cambridge, Exeter, Tunbridge Wells, Harrogate, Aldeburgh, Malvern, and Buxton. Click here for further details from the ETO website.