Corinthian Singers of Adelaide. St John’s Anglican Church. 23 Sep 2018
This was my first Corinthian Singers concert and I now wonder why it took so long. This community choir is a gem, and Anniversaries displayed the breadth of their talents despite the last throes of winter ills conspiring to make the task a little bit harder.
The church has a warm acoustic that suits languorous harmonised melody lines but the longish reverberation time is a little less forgiving for rapid staccato singing. This contrast was evident from the start in the performance of Danny Elfman’s Alice’s Theme from Alice in Wonderland. The first two stanzas were beautifully clear and articulated but the up-tempo third stanza became blurred and less satisfying. Les fleurs et les arbres suffered similarly, but Calme des Nuits, both by Saint-Saëns, was precise with near perfect French pronunciation. Bravo!
The concert comprised some eighteen songs sung variously in English, French, Latin and Russian, and they all had a tenuous connection to an anniversary of some sort: anniversary of the death or birth of the composer or lyricist, or, amusingly and exceedingly tenuously, an obscure anniversary celebrating the time since the composer started to learn the piano! Musical Director Alistair Knight revelled in the humour of such contrivances but this did not distract him from the main game, which was to let eleven (not twelve?) voices and organist/pianist Peter Kelsall bring both secular and religious music to life. And that he did.
The programme mostly comprised songs from the mid-1800s onwards, including one composed by Knight himself – a setting of the hymn Ubi Caritas. It was contrasted with an abridged setting of the same hymn by contemporary Norwegian composer Ola Gjeilo (who is perhaps best known for his composition Dreamweaver for choir, piano, and strings). The juxtaposition was a high point of the concert.
Many songs on the programme were sung unaccompanied, and the highlight was the hymn Mother of God incessantly in prayer composed by Rachmaninoff. Impressively, it was sung in Russian and the audience was suitably in awe.
This was an almost perfect way to spend seventy-five minutes on a Sunday afternoon.
Kym Clayton
When: 23 Sep
Where: St John’s Anglican Church
Bookings: Closed
Master Series 6. Adelaide Symphony Orchestra. Adelaide Festival Theatre. 21 Sep 2018
The programming for the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra’s Master Series 6 – A Time for Heroes – lives up to its name and is an eclectic mix of evocative warring themes and militaristic machismo.
Guest conductor Mark Wigglesworth is right at home with the score and conducts Beethoven’s Symphony No.3 (Eroica) from memory. His interpretation is expansive and acutely empathetic to the Beethoven’s desire to express both the nobility of man contrasted with base self-indulgence and hubris.
The concert begins with Mars, the Bringer of War from Holst’s The Planets suite. The piece needs no introduction and Wigglesworth imbues it with uncommon menace by exaggerating the contrast between various instruments and strongly articulating the early rhythmic pulse.
This is the perfect introduction for Walton’s Henry V suite. Its five sections are accompanied by dramatic recitations from Shakespeare’s historical drama Henry V by accomplished actor Mark Leonard Winter. His performance of the famously stirring St Crispin's Day speech is a highlight and one felt the hair on the back of one’s neck stir when he ardently exclaimed “And gentlemen in England now a-bed/ Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here/ And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks/ That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.” Winter is uneven in his performance (nerves?) and not every speech rises to the same heights as St Crispin. However, it matters not at all and the audience shower him with applause fit for a king.
But, Beethoven wins the day, and Wigglesworth ensures the audience leave humming its glorious melodies.
Kym Clayton
When: 21 Sep
Where: Festival Theatre
Bookings: Closed
Musica Viva. Adelaide Town Hall. 23 Aug 2018
Ray Chen is to the violin what Franz Liszt was to the piano. He is technically accomplished (almost frighteningly so), mesmerising to watch, astonishing to listen to, provocative, good looking with piercing eyes, and is a consummate performer and communicator. He’s the complete package and his fan base runs from the young to those in their ‘sere and yellow’.
Chen strode onto the Adelaide Town Hall with almost the swagger of arrogant youth. With the 1715 ‘Joachim’ Stradivarius violin firmly clutched in hand and accomplished French pianist Julien Quentin at his side, Chen cut a fine figure. Sharply dressed in an Armani suit (one of his sponsors no less), glistening patent leather black shoes, Nehru-collared crisp white shirt and edgy coiffure, Chen’s physical appearance proclaimed he was here on business and with something to say.
And say it he did.
The programme encompassed Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No 1 in D, Grieg’s Violin Sonata No 2 in G, De Falla’s Suite Populaire Espagnole (arranged for piano and violin by Paul Kochanski), Monti’s Csárdás and Hindson’s Violin Sonata No 1 (which is receiving its world première on this Musica Viva tour.)
Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No.1 is a sonata for violin and piano – they are partners in a dialogue in which dominance and leadership switches backwards and forwards between the two instruments. On many occasions Chen allows the violin to almost imperceptibly emerge from the piano’s line (as if he were playing the piano’s part) to lead the conversation and, with a knowing smile from Chen, Quentin instinctively allows the focus to shift to the violin.
Grieg’s Violin Sonata No 2 is a relatively early work (written before his Piano Concerto) and brims with Norwegian folk melodies and rhythms. Grieg once admitted that the composition struggles with the constraints of the classical sonata form, but the result is nonetheless pleasing. It was written during his honeymoon (!) which may explain the almost ecstatic joy of the melody driven allegro animato third movement, and Chen and Quentin’s outgoing and expressive performance allows its inherent fun to reach out to the enthusiastic audience.
This effervescent affirmation of life also features in Hindson’s Violin Sonata No 1. Hindson attended the concert and spoke briefly from the stage about the composition explaining why he gave it the soubriquet ‘Dark Matter’. He explains that the piece was written during the final days of his father’s life and as he reflects on life itself he reasons that the value of a person’s life can be measured not in absolute terms but by the impact that it has had on others and the world around. It is the same way that dark matter pervades our universe and is unseen, except for the lasting effect it has on other things. And so the sonata explores these imponderables. It begins with a serenely contemplative first movement that is introspective and almost reminiscent of a Brahmsian lullaby, except that it develops and as the layers are slowly peeled away something quite deep and ethereal is revealed. Meditation is shattered by the final and second movement which features enormous leaps, extreme shifts from the very softest sounds to forte explosions, waves of rolling chordal accompaniment on the piano, and savage pizzicato on the violin. It is as if the very fabric of space-time is being torn asunder. The composition was commissioned with Chen and Quentin in mind to give its première, and they may very well have claimed it for themselves and laid the standard for years to come.
The second half of the program features de Falla’s Suite Populaire Espagnole, in which Chen and Quentin’s playing almost mimics the human voice at time. Chen is almost haughty in the Canción and Jota movements, with flourishes of his bow and flashing eyes raging at his environment. It is as if he is fighting against being transported by the music to some other place. Throughout Quentin was the consummate partner who augments and refines the overfall soundscape.
Chen and Quentin thrill the audience with their own arrangement of Vittoria Monti’s ever popular Csárdás. It includs foot stamps and emulations of bird twittering! Chen and Quentin have the large audience clapping along (almost in time!) and finally exploding into euphoric applause at the end.
Wonderful stuff!
Bravo Chen, bravo Quentin, and bravo Musica Viva!
Kym Clayton
When: 23 Aug
Where: Adelaide Town Hall
Bookings: Closed
Master Series 5. Adelaide Symphony Orchestra. Adelaide Town Hall. 17 Aug 2018
Maestro Nicholas Carter commented from the conductor’s podium that it is gratifying to again see such a large audience in the Town Hall. He should not have been surprised. After all, despite the bitter wintry winds racing down King William Street outside, the cosy interior of the beautiful Town Hall is playing host to a warming program of Fauré, Rachmaninov and, the jewel of the evening, an Australian première of Sir James MacMillan’s Saxophone Concerto featuring the uber-talented world-class saxophonist Amy Dixon, but more on that later.
The Adelaide Symphony Orchestra’s performance of Pelléas et Mélisande Suite by Gabriel Fauré is lush and greatly enhanced by Carter swapping the placement of the violas and cellos. The beautiful Sicilienne movement washes seamlessly over us with Geoffrey Collins on flute and Suzanne Handel on harp affording crystal clarity to the melody, which is matched by the woodwind in the melancholic molto adagio fourth and final movement.
Sir James MacMillan’s Saxophone Concerto is a fifteen-minute concentrated cornucopia of Scottish and Gaelic musical traditions, but despite the immense interest that is inherent in it, to one’s ear it only just holds together. Scored for string orchestra and solo saxophone, each movement is over – almost abruptly – before it really has a chance to develop, and there are few connections between them. That said, each movement is absorbing in its own right, and variously feature traditional Scottish dance rhythms and the drone effect of bagpipes. The second and most satisfying movement is an exploration of Gaelic psalm singing in which the cantor (solo saxophonist) ‘sings’ a line and the assembly (string orchestra) joins in at their own time. Aurally the effect is almost like a canon in which the repetitions rapidly blend and suffuse the space in broad and pastoral tones. The composition comprises many difficult passages, especially in the third and final movement, and Dixon demonstrates her world class talent and exceptional breathing control and articulation.
The audience are generous with their applause and Carter fittingly allows Dixon to take the second and third bows by herself. She offers an encore which is an astonishing excerpt of coloratura proportions from the concerto that, curiously, was more effective as a solo piece than it was with orchestral accompaniment.
The concert concludes with a fine reading of Rachmaninov’s Symphony No.3. Rachmaninov’s compositions are typified by their expansive melodies and rich orchestration, but this symphony is a little less generous in that regard, and, arguably, is his best. In it Rachmaninov seems to unshackle himself from what is usually expected of Russian symphonic music. There is less gravitas and deep introspection in favour of lightness and freshness with immediate and uncomplicated development of musical ideas.
Carter has shown us time and time again that he can see the ‘big picture’. In expansive works such as the Symphony No 3 he sets a dynamical and metrical blueprint for the entire composition rather than planning each movement separately. This leads to balance and a unity that is satisfying, and the mood changes that are inherent in Rachmaninov’s style come across more profoundly and convincingly - they coax, they don’t scream.
Bravo Carter, bravo Adelaide Symphony.
Kym Clayton
When: 17 Aug
Where: Adelaide Town Hall
Bookings: Closed
Australian Tour. Live in the Park at Bonython Park. 11 Aug 2018
In his Modern Times song, Spirit over the Water, Bob Dylan wrote:
“You think I'm over the hill // You think I'm past my prime // Let me see what you got
We can have a whoppin' good time.”
And so it came to pass on a wicked Adelaide winter’s night that 6,000 people hunkered down beneath the domes of the most magnificent performance marquee imaginable and joined that old man for a whoppin’ good time.
Well, “whoppin” may not have been the word for it.
As in every Dylan concert, it was an idiosyncratic affair. Haunting, in a strange way.
Everyone knew it would not be like any other Dylan concert because, for most audience members, it was not their first Dylan concert. And there had never been anything predicable or average in any of the previous concerts. Everyone was lured back full of curiosity as to who and what this touring incarnation of the modern god poet would deliver this time, this possibly and probably his last time, now he is going on 78.
Dylan was 24 when first he performed in Adelaide, already worshipped as a genius poet and a powerful symbol of the 60s protest movements. Barefooted, he attended a press conference, showing a contempt bordering on ennui. “Impertinent…boorish” said the media.
When he performed with his “greasy-haired band" at the packed-out Palais Royal, he gazed distractedly offstage as he dutifully pleased the avid folkies fans with his familiar hit songs. They loved every word. It was all about the words.
But in the second part of that performance, he threw traditional folk music to the wind, amped up the volume and introduced his latest style, “folk rock”.
I was there, reviewing for the Adelaide University newspaper, On Dit, under my undergraduate sobriquet, Justine.
“Clutching his electric guitar, he shouted his poetry over the thunderous rock band, bounding around the stage to the beat of the music,” I wrote.
“He was like a child with a new toy. He didn’t quite know what to do next. He harmonised with another guitarist, danced a little, tried another number on the piano, danced a little more.”
Older audience members walked out. “Bring on the go-go girls,” some jeered as they stomped up the aisle.
The true believers stayed entranced - just as they stay entranced today.
He has toned it down these days. Jazzy and percussive and rocking but not so raucous. Perhaps wise to the aural damage of the industry, his 8-piece band, most of them rather elegant in loose silvery suits and black fedoras, had the volume beautifully balanced.
The stage in that magnificent tent of tents had the effect of a towering backdrop of verticals, which towards the end delivered a magnificent effect of rustic wooden pales. Most significantly, it was all about lights and more lights. Lamps around the stage illuminated band members. Giant old-style theatre floodlights dangled down lighting as part of the backdrop. Spot lights shone from the back across the stage and out to the audience. Dylan, seated or standing behind a grand piano, was shaded, his huge Harpo Marx mop of fuzzy curls glowing amber in the back lights.
Occasionally, when he stood to hammer closing notes on numbers, one glimpsed a little more of his face. Familiar, wrinkled, still handsome. But he seemed nestled among his family of musicians on the stage, not one to stand out, let alone have his image projected onto video screens. For some in the audience, this was an issue. Dylan tours incessantly and has rules which travel with him. No big screens. No cameras. There is a strange need for privacy from this very public figure. It is all part of the mystique which has kept us all in his thrall these many long years.
He has not lost the magic.
His wonderful raspy voice remains strong and clear, that unmistakable timbre, that edge, that whining sound we know and love. The band pumped out the tempos and the voice carried the tunes, if not the words. Most of the famous Nobel Prize-winning poetry was indecipherable, just Dylanesque sounds. Sometimes a familiar phrase would emerge and the crowd would cheer. It was hard to find the old songs because Dylan reworks them and reimagines them and, like an eternal Chinese whisper, they grow further from the original until they are something else.
But oh, how he surprised us with such a sweet and loving rendition of today’s version of Don’t Think Twice Babe, It’s All Right. Tenderness itself.
Among the songs were Blowin in the Wind, Ballad of a Thin man, and It ain’t me Babe.
They came and came for almost two hours, a little bit of harmonica, a lot of piano, a lot of voice and stamina. Dylan spoke occasionally to other musicians but he neither touched a guitar nor addressed the audience.
It didn’t matter.
The people were just glad to be there, in the same place and breathing the same air as that extraordinary man of our times.
Samela Harris
When: 11 Aug
Where: Bonython Park
Bookings: Closed
Photo Supplied by Samela Harris - 1966, On Dit magazine
