Thursday, 27 July 2023

Rhapsody - a beautifully constructed programme from Huw Wiggin (saxophone) and Noriko Ogawa (piano)

Saxophonist Huw Wiggin is well known both as a soloist and as a member of the Ferio Saxophone Quartet (my reviews of their discs here, here and here). He also released Reflections back in 2018 (my review here), and he has now followed that up, this time joined by the pianist Noriko Ogawa. This new collection, Rhapsody, was another lockdown-conceived project, and Wiggin and Ogawa have come up with a fascinating programme. Commissions from three composers join works by Debussy and Coates, ending with an arrangement of Liszt. Claude Debussy’s (1862-1918) Rhapsodie pour orchestra et saxophone kicks off, in an arrangement by Vincent David (b.1974). In fact, Debussy never orchestrated the work himself, with that task falling to Jean Roger-Ducasse, and the work was not performed until the year after Debussy’s death. It was commissioned by Elise Hall, a wealthy patron and musician who had taken up the saxophone, who was keen to extend the repertoire for the instrument. Accepting the commission, Debussy struggled to complete the project, and as a result it perhaps lacks the coherence of some of his other works. Nevertheless, there is some gloriously mellifluous writing for the saxophone, as well as infectiously throbbing rhythms in the latter part of the piece. Ogawa’s ethereal opening on the piano sets things up for Wiggin’s sensuous rising out of the ether, and the tone of the two instruments is beautifully matched. In the livelier middle section, the music ripples and flows along, and Ogawa in particular drives things along with the throbbing left hand rhythms which linger as relaxed calm returns, before sudden hammering repeated piano notes herald rapid motion for both instruments.

Eric Coates’ (1886-1957) Saxo-Rhapsody was at the time a successful showpiece for the instrument, but is now seldom heard. It has a relaxed warmth that is immediately engaging, and Ogawa exploits this gentle warmth in the lengthy piano introduction, before Wiggin enters with the smooth melody over soft pulsing piano chords. In the slow, swaying rhythm, Wiggin demonstrates his phenomenal breath control, floating long high notes effortlessly. The livelier central section dances along, with surging piano climaxes and rapid virtuosity for the sax. Gently lapping waves conclude the work, with the sax perhaps sailing out to sea, with another beautifully controlled long final note from Wiggin.

 

So now to the new commissions. First up is Joseph Phibbs (b.1974), with Night Paths (Rhapsody for alto saxophone and piano). Rich sax melodies weave around the piano’s chiming and rippling. The questioning sax becomes slightly more insistent, and then the piano becomes more dominant in response, driving the rhythm forward into a faster section. This conversation continues, with the sax becoming more animated in turn. Then comes a more bluesy, introspective section, with the sax hanging in the air above subtle, dark piano chords, and then a brief virtuosic coda brings things to a rapid conclusion. Wiggin and Ogawa’s exchanges are engaging, once again matching tone and mood beautifully.

 

Iain Farrington’s (b.1977) Paganini Patterns draws on the familiar and widely explored theme from the 24th Caprice, but rather than going down the variation route he uses elements from the theme as more of an inspiration in this three movement piece for the soprano sax and piano. The opening movement is jauntily playful, with swinging exchanges between the instruments, whilst the middle movement moves into a more sensuous, cabaret-style mood, with hints of the theme in the melodic line and bluesy piano accompaniment. The final movement is a jazzy gallop, with the piano driving the rhythm beneath the freer expression from the sax. This is a joyful addition to the extensive Paganini-inspired catalogue, and a great showpiece for both players here.

 

Composer Jennifer Watson (b. 1984) is also a fellow saxophonist (performing with the Kaleidoscope Saxophone Quartet) who studied alongside Wiggin at Chetham’s and the RNCM. In Rhapsody on an Echo Chamber, for soprano saxophone and piano, she explores ideas of isolation across three connected movements with captivatingly introspective intensity. So in the first movement, the lyrical, flighty sax rises and falls like a butterfly above the moto perpetuo piano, although there is a sense of confinement, as if the butterfly can’t quite escape. Wiggin demonstrates his athletic articulation well here, before things slow to a more emphatic statement, leading into the second movement, with the saxophone now following the piano’s lead. As the piano relaxes into more lilting triplet figurations, the sax soars gently above, and once again, Wiggin’s smoothness of line is glorious. The piano’s triplets turn to trilling in an attempt to increase the intensity, but this doesn’t fully take hold, with butterfly effects on the sax returning, before the join into the final movement. Repeated piano notes set up a more rhythmically pulsing mood, and now the intensity does build, with the sax exploring both the higher (but never shrill from Wiggin) and lower registers of the instrument, over lush piano textures. Minimalist rippling figures lead to the conclusion, with a wind down to slow chords and a simple sax line, with Wiggin once again effortlessly controlling a long final note. This is the most successful for me of the three commissions, with coherent and developed use of the saxophone’s capabilities. 

 

To end their disc, there is a fun arrangement from Harrington of Franz Liszt’s (1811-1886) Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 in C sharp minor. In the stately opening, Wiggin immediately injects a cheeky sensuality, with Ogawa gently responding on the piano. Ogawa gives us bell-like filigree as the swirling dance picks up, and then with the shift into the major, they both take off like a bullet. Wiggin’s comic cartoon flourishes are great fun, and both players enjoy the increasing virtuosic requirements, with some incredibly tight, crazy chromatic scales before the final flourish. 

 

Overall, this is a beautifully constructed programme with delights new and old, from two musicians clearly in tune with each other and their repertoire. Highly recommended. 

Thursday, 13 July 2023

CD Review - The Stradgrass Sessions - Tessa Lark

Kentucky born violinist Tessa Lark’s debut CD Fantasy in 2019 (my review here) combined her classical and folk roots admirably, but she has taken this further into American folk styles with her latest disc, The Stradgrass Sessions. She coined the term ‘Stradgrass’ back in 2015, when she was lucky enough to have a Stradivarius on loan for a few years, and was experimenting with playing bluegrass on the instrument. Moving on some years, on this disc, she combines some of her own compositions with those of other contemporary American composers, and she adds Eugène Ysaÿe’s (1858-1931) Sonata for Solo Violin No. 5 into the mix, along with three of Béla Bartók’s (1881-1945) 44 Duets for Two Violins, here recast for violin and mandolin, played by Sierra Hull (b.1991). But proceedings begin with Lark’s own Jig and Pop, a wild, moto perpetuo piece, with driving, obsessive minimalist rhythms. Incredibly fast, it has a quieter central section which dies away to a thrum, and finally halts. Hints of the motif then get things going again. This clearly sets Lark’s stall out in terms of energy and virtuosity, and it is followed by Sierra Hull’s Chasin’ Skies, a funky, jazz-infused joyful piece, originally written by Hull just for the mandolin, but clearly a great collaboration for both here, with wild virtuosity from both players. Lark follows with two more of her own fiddle tunes, Le Soka and Cheese in the Wine. The former takes inspiration from the opening line of Ravel’s Violin Sonata No. 2, with Lark swinging a melodic line with panache, whereas the latter has more of connection to Irish fiddle style. She then joins with Edgar Meyer (b.1960) for Meyer’s Concert Duo for Violin and Bass. Its gently lilting opening contrasts with the initial darkness of the bass, before the pace picks up. There are shiny, ethereal harmonise, echo effects and use of canon between the instruments. Copland-esque chords contrast with the wilder, virtuosic displays from both instruments. The second movement dives straight into rapid, shifting rhythms in unison melodies. The violin then takes up a two bar ostinato, while the bass gives wild flourishes, then the process is reversed, the violin taking over the virtuosity. Towards the end there is a fascinatingly unexpected polytonal section, almost like the instruments are unravelling, before they rejoin for the driving finish. Ysaÿe’s Sonata also has two movements, opening with L’Aurore (Dawn), where wispy signs of life move into sliding double stops, then increasingly widely spread rippling arpeggios lead to the energy and brightness of a blazing sunrise. The Danse rustique that follows begins with spread chlorides bringing out a melody, highly technically challenging, and it is a while before the dance really gets going, via lots of rhapsodic, fleeting gestures, but when it does, crazy virtuosic wildness takes hold and drives to the finish. Lark’s Hysedelje calms things down with a distinctly Nordic feel (despite the fact that she made up the title, with no apparent meaning), and its swinging rhythm is playful, right to Lark’s final ‘whoop’ to finish. Another collaboration follows, this time with fiddler Michael Cleveland (b.1980), in Lazy Katie, a gloriously energetic ‘twin fiddling’ display, with tight harmonies and fast rhythmic lines, exuding joy from beginning to end. John Corigliano’s (b.1938) STOMP follows, a competition test piece written for the 2011 International Tchaikovsky Competition. Complete with an opening theatrical train horn, non standard tuning and bluesy slides, it has moments of sad lament, before the horn returns and leads into wild stomping and scratching. The blues slows, still with added stomping, before a fast, crazy finish. In the Bartók, we have thrumming rhythms from the mandolin and a twisting violin melody in No. 35, with ethereal glassy effects on the violin before the finish. No. 39 has pizzicato on the violin matching the plucked mandolin, although the two instruments’ different timbres add an extra dimension to the gently lilting and nagging repetitions. No. 45 is a rapid swirling dance, with incredibly nimble playing from Hull on the mandolin, despite being less prominent in the texture. The disc closes with something much more contemplative and actually very touching. Lark collaborates again, this time with pianist Jon Batiste (b.1986), with their rhapsodic arrangement of Stephen Foster’s (1826-1864) My Old Kentucky Home. After a bright, high piano opening and violin harmonics, the melody emerges almost spontaneously, and the resulting exploration is conversational, with rich, evocative chords on the piano, and fragments of melody creating the sense of distant memories. Batiste gives a luxurious jazzy solo, before Lark joins again with nostalgic melodic lines. After a disc so full of energy and show, this is a bravely intimate conclusion to a fabulous showcase of Lark’s diverse talents.






Wednesday, 12 July 2023

Dove's Mansfield Park positively fizzes with Waterperry Opera in Marylebone

Alasdair Middleton (Libretto), after Jane Austen (1775-1817)
Rebecca Meltzer (Director)
Ashley Beauchamp (Musical Director)
George Ireland (Pianist)









Flora MacDonald (Fanny Price)
Phil Wilcox (Sir Thomas Bertram)
Emily Gray (Lady Bertram)
Milo Harries (Edmund Bertram)
Charlotte Hoather (Maria Bertram)
Sarah Anne Champion (Julia Bertram)
Eleanor Garside (Aunt Norris)
Robin Bailey (Henry Crawford)
Eleanor Sanderson-Nash (Mary Crawford)
Lawrence Thackeray (Mr Rushworth)

5pm, Saturday 8 July 2023


Mansfield Park
(from 2022) © Robert Workman
‘Everything gallops along at a great pace … Dove’s driving music adds to this sense of forward momentum, as do the chorally announced chapters’.

‘The choreography definitely deserves a mention – no moment is wasted, so whilst formally dancing in another scene, the cast also deliver multiple weaving lines of contrasting emotions, no mean feat. It is further testament to the strength of the cast … that they blend these lines perfectly, no one singer dominating’. 

‘Dove conjures up a remarkable variety of moods, switching from silent movie comedy capers to subtle hints of classical pastiche, as well as minimalist rocking between major and minor at moments of high emotion’.

‘With a uniformly strong cast and glorious singing resounding in the church’s warm acoustic, this was a joyous outing for a consistently entertaining and cleverly constructed chamber opera’.  

Read my full review on Bachtrack here.







Monday, 10 July 2023

Flying Dutchman becomes chillingly contemporary in OperaUpClose treatment

Glyn Maxwell (Libretto)
Laura Bowler (Composer/Orchestrator)
Tim Burke (Musical Director)
Neill Brinkworth (Lighting Designer)
Matthew Fairclough (Sound Designer)






Neil Balfour (Broadcaster)
Philippa Boyle (Starlight)
Timothy Dawkins (Captain Dee)
Carolyn Holt (Mari & Helm)
Pauls Putnins (Mariner)


Friday 7 July, 2023

Wagner, Richard (1813-1883): Der fliegende Holländer (The Flying Dutchman)

Philippa Boyle (Starlight) & the Manchester Camerata
© Alex Brenner
'The production was originally conceived pre-pandemic, yet it has even greater resonance in current times, with the rhetoric about stopping “small boats” and making refugees more and more unwelcome seemingly rachetting up on a daily basis'.

'It was the power and intensity of the acting, led by Pauls Putnins as the Mariner and Philippa Boyle as Starlight, that drew one in and propelled the evening above concert performance'. 

Timothy Dawkins (Captain Dee) & Philippa Boyle (Starlight)
© Alex Brenner
'Latvian bass-baritone Putnins delivered the Mariner with steely eyes and intense facial expression, matched by his assured yet anguished tone, gripping attention throughout'. 



'Boyle’s Starlight was equally captivating, and her powerful soprano up close was something to behold'.

'Music Director Tim Burke and all the Manchester Camerata players were incredibly tight, and their doubling as chorus was effective and impressively effortless, with players switching back and forth from voice to instrument phrase by phrase at some points'. 


Read my full review on Bachtrack here.

Monday, 3 July 2023

CD Review - Matthew Coleridge: Requiem - The Choir of Royal Holloway

Matthew Coleridge wrote his Requiem in 2014/15, and it has now received its second recording, this time with Rupert Gough directing The Choir of Royal Holloway, with Southern Sinfonia. Soloists are cellist Maxim Calver, Soprano Karin Dahlberg and bass baritone Andrew Thompson, with Simon Earl on organ. This is definitely a Requiem of comfort and peaceful resolution, rather than torment or anguish – there is no Dies Irae, for a start. The musical language is melodic and lyrical, with warm writing for the choral forces throughout. Yet what stops this becoming cloying is Coleridge’s writing for the solo cello, and also for the soprano soloist. It is the cello that provides the voice of lament, and then ultimately comfort, and the different registers of the instrument are exploited well, with the cello’s ‘Byzantine’ scales contrasted with the choral plainsong and low drone in the Offertory, and the plaintive, high registers entwined with the soprano solo in the Lacrimosa (with hints of Górecki’s Third Symphony here). Calver on cello is confident and assured throughout the instrument’s range, and his tone is richly warm. This is well matched by Dahlberg’s rounded tone, and Coleridge makes full use of range here too, with the soprano line started richly low in the Pie Jesu before rising to a tender duet with the cello. The choir are impressive throughout here, with clarity of tone in all voice parts, but with a particularly radiant tenor section and soaring high sopranos, exploited to the full in the Introit, with the sopranos ringing out at the top of the texture at ‘Exaudi’. Thompson delivers a suitably pleading solo at ‘Hostias’ in the Offertory. Organ is used sparingly and Earl ensures that even at the climaxes it never overpowers the texture. The strings are equally supportive, providing throbbing underpinning, as well as moments of mood change, lifting proceedings with delicate fluttering towards the end of the Lacrimosa, for example. Moments of drama are few, and the use of the steady, funereal drum in the Kyrie is effective, but never builds to anything too severe. The Rex Tremendae has the most dramatic music, with a slow build of tension up to the desperate cries of ‘Salve me’, but these are soon forgotten when the consoling Agnus Dei arrives. The Requiem is joined on this latest disc by assorted choral works by Coleridge, and one instrumental piece. The latter, And There Was Light, was written for strings and solo cello with the current recording in mind, and it consists of an open, warm solo cello part with gentle string underpinning. As with the Requiem, there is little rhythmic drive here, but the solo line is lyrical and warmly performed here by Calver. Of the choral pieces here, it is the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis that stand out, as there is greater sense of rhythmic movement than in any of the other works on offer here. The organ (here played by George Nicholls) gives an energetic opening to the Magnificat, and its rocking, oscillating rhythms give a sense of propulsion perhaps lacking in some of the other pieces. The Glorias are rich and fulsome, with the Royal Holloway sopranos souring beautifully at the top of the Amen. My Beloved Spake hints at passion in the repetitions of ‘come’, the choral textures are indeed sensuous, and Olivia Earl’s alto solo is equally sumptuous, followed by Thompson’s contrasting but tender solo, but I’m not sure true ecstasy is reached here. The Stabat Mater is soulful, with low voices moving slowly at the start, and again sparing use of organ, once again leading to a conclusion of solace and comfort. The choir deliver some particularly top notch singing with clear and bright tone in Coleridge’s Abendlied setting. Soprano and cello (Dahlberg & Calver) return for And I Saw a New Heaven, with now familiar open and lyrical lines for both, over soft organ pedals, slowly meandering towards a soft conclusion with delicate choral backing to finish.
 The disc is full of strong performances from the choir, soloists and instrumentalists, and it serves as an excellent showcase for Coleridge's strong choral writing.