Barbican Hall, 13 April 2016

Sakari Oramo has proved himself to be our finest living Elgar conductor. I say this without hesitation for while we have many fine Elgar conductors today, none brings the sense of vitality and complexity to the scores that he does.

The performance of the First Symphony at the Barbican was a good case in point. The opening was heroic, gently flowing without any hard edges, yet had a luminous quality which lifted the spirits from the opening bars. Sakari Oramo creates the most subtle fluctuations of dynamics and tempi to highlight inner voices and tensions which might otherwise go unnoticed. Solo playing was exceptional with the brass blazing into life without any sense of raw edges.

The clarity of the string figuration at the start of the second movement impressed, and Oramo drew our attention to Elgar’s closeness to Mahler rather than Brahms in these inner movements. There is a ferocity to the brass which Brahms would never have allowed but which looks forward to the turmoil of Elgar’s second symphony.

The clipped staccato opening to the final movement hinted at a world held in suspense before it is finally released, revisiting all of the former ideas but seeing them now through the eyes of wisdom.

A magnificent performance, with some exceptionally fine solo playing, not least from the two harps.

The evening had opened with Bax’s The Garden of Fand. Though not as well-known as Tintagel this is a fine romantic work which moves easily between the glistening sea and the earthbound dances. If the programmatic narrative leaves us a little bemused these days that does not affect the pleasure the work itself gives.

Brett Dean was the soloist in his own Viola Concerto. The two main movements have a brief, melancholic preamble before they launch into a dense score which is full of atmospheric detail. This is often effective but the sense of structure is difficult to follow and there is little to grasp melodically. Rhythms are frequently strong and powerful, with a full percussion section used throughout. The second movement opens quietly but soon builds to the ferocity of the first, though there is a fine extended solo passage for cor anglais at the end. The concerto was very well received.

Royal Festival Hall, London, 11 April 2016

This recital was billed as ‘A celebration of the Music of Max Reger’. Through a selection of Reger’s own compositions, the appreciative audience of around 400 were entertained and entranced by this young North American organist.

The first half of the evening was partly given over to Reger’s arrangements of Bach’s Chromatic Fantasia & Fugue in D minor, BWV 903, followed by his arrangements of four of Bach’s Two-part Inventions. These arrangements gave an interesting insight into Reger’s compositional world, particularly his desire to draw out individual lines and colours. I have to confess that I prefer my Bach to be ‘unspoiled’ and so although impressed by the scale and variety of the opening piece I was more drawn to the smaller scale, delicately registered first three Inventions. The fourth was rendered in bombastic style!

There followed two of Reger’s own large scale compositions, Chorale fantasia: Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme and the Introduction, passacaglia and fugue in E minor. Both of these works draw on the original thematic material to create immense structures with extremes of dynamic and colourful contrasting registrations. The sound world is neo-romantic with complex and often chromatic harmonies and shifting rhythms.

Although I can’t say this is my favourite music I was entranced by Isabelle Demers’ authoritative performances, her dexterous handling of this instrument and the fact that she seemed so at one with music and instrument. I was especially impressed to see this whole programme performed without a score in sight.

The RFH is very well suited to this music and there were moments when the exposed layout of the pipework produced some lovely more-than-stereo effects. As before it was a pleasure to see such a range of people in the audience – proof that quality organ performances can be popular.

Another very successful and enjoyable entry in this series. The final concert of the season in on 6^th June. The 2016-17 series has just been announced.

Stephen Page

Theatre Royal, Plymouth, 5-7 April 2016

Over the last three years WNO has been grouping its seasonal productions to give them some sort of internal integrity. Some of these have worked very well – I particularly enjoyed the Donizetti Tudor season which flowed like a sort of bel canto Ring cycle. Because of this, the idea of a Figaro cycle seemed an obvious choice. We have two major repertory works in The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro plus the excuse for a new commission to fill in the final chapter with Figaro Gets a Divorce. So far so good – and even better when the cycle was to be designed by Ralph Koltai throughout, which gave a visual integrity to the whole as well as being exceptionally successful at focusing our attention on the action and singers rather than the scenery.

What then was the problem? Three different directors who brought very different approaches not only to the characters, who after all remain the same throughout, but also to their dramatic style. Sam Brown appears to see The Barber of Seville as little more than an excuse for comedy, ignoring the possible psychological insights which Rossini draws on, to go instead for light comedy and sight gags. Why Almaviva is given a one-man-band in the first scene is beyond comprehension and this is only the first of many unfortunate choices – though I have to admit I loved the dogs. That the opera survives despite the weight of the comic invention is a tribute not just to the score but also to the singers. Nico Darmanin is a light but engaging Almaviva, and Claire Booth a florid Rosina who seems far too knowing (and scantily dressed) for her own good. Andrew Shore’s familiar Dr Bartolo added some weight to an otherwise rather facile concept and James Southall kept the orchestra moving with aplomb. There was no attempt to connect this with the following evening’s The Marriage of Figaro even though they are actually more closely linked in narrative than Figaro is with Divorce.

The following evening we were in a different world. This was one of the finest Figaro’s  I can recall with everything falling magnificently into place, genuine ensemble playing and some of the most stylish Mozartian singing I have heard in a long time. Add to this Jeremy Sams’ witty and fluid translation, in an acoustic where every word can be heard, and it was no wonder it was all so impressive. Tobias Richter’s production seemed deceptively simple, keeping the setting within its historic period and making no attempt to be relevant or conceptual except through the interplay of the characters. In this he was highly successful and helped by Ralph Koltai’s set with its hints of below-stairs redecoration and the fading gilt of the aristocracy. Mark Stone’s Almaviva is at the heart of the evening as everything depends on his whims, which are calculated and dangerous. Elizabeth Watts’ Countess is magnificent, her two arias heartfelt and devastating in their sense of claustrophobia and despair. Anna Devin and David Stout proved to be an intelligent pair of servants as Susannah and Figaro, though they never move out of their sphere of influence. But there were no weak links in an evening of consummate artistry. I very much hope this production survives and is repeated – it certainly deserves it.

Figaro Gets a Divorce was commissioned by WNO from Elena Langer with a text by David Pountney who also directed. The score is digestible on a first hearing and has the advantage of allowing the text to be easily followed. I enjoyed much of her writing, in particular the bridge passages between scenes. There are obvious leanings towards Berg in the orchestration, with the use of accordion and percussion, while the musical line itself is post-modern enough not to upset by constant discord. Justin Brown created beautiful washes of sound from the pit, with many atmospheric moments. However there are few passages of extended melody to involve us in individual characters. Only the Countess –Elizabeth Watts, again in splendid form – and the Major, Alan Oke, have any introspective passages, while Susanna, Marie Arnet, has two cabaret songs. These cabaret songs are the closest we get to any real musical development as the Major picks up the themes and uses them as he plots the downfall of the family.

Mark Stone was again the Count, though now addicted to gambling and eventually a broken man. Figaro and Susanna do not get a divorce, though they come close to it. David Pountney’s production moves smoothly but his text frequently plods. After the wit of Jeremy Sams the previous evening it was difficult to believe that much of the text for Divorce got past the first draft. Opera for generations has been based on poetry – a setting where the words really mattered. Too often in Divorce the text was mundane to the point of discomfort, or lacked any hint of the emotional state of the character. At the interval I overheard someone say How can a work be stressful, unpleasant and boring all at the same time. We need to care about these characters. In Figaro we did; in Divorce we didn’t.

Is there a case for a Figaro cycle? Yes, I think there is. Is this the way to do it? Unfortunately not on this showing – though WNO can revive the Figaro any time they want to!

Wednesday 6 April, Marlowe Theatre Canterbury.

Can there be a happier musician than Tasmin Little? Appearing to enjoy every note she played, she smiled her way right through Mendelssohn’s violin concerto, finding tremendous warmth and lyricism in it as she went. Little is a very unshowy player too. Dressed in a simple flame coloured dress, she simply stood and played the piece, occasionally leaning in, beaming with delight, towards Kazuki Yamada on the podium or Philharmonia leader, Bradley Creswick. It was a performance completely free of flamboyant histrionics, so all the focus was on her masterly playing – the beautifully controlled cross string work and double stopping in the first movement, a good example. Then she gently teased every possible bit of melodious charm out of the lilting 3/4 Andante, each harmonic perfectly placed.

The diminutive, youthful looking (he’s actually 37) Yamada had already opened the evening with a spirited account of Beethoven’s Overture Leonore 3. He’s an unfussy performer too, but totally on top of the orchestra from which he drew a pleasing, incisive balance between the flute and strings in the slow passages.

One of the secrets of a good performance of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony is not to start too slowly because you need enough momentum to build the tension through the long introductory passage. This, Yamada brought off with aplomb, coaxing strange but engagingly menacing growls from the clarinet before he eventually let rip with full strings and all that tuneful Tchaikovian fervour.

I’ve rarely heard the exquisite horn solo in the Andante Cantabile played quite so evocatively and Yamada really milked the melody from the point when the rest of the orchestra picks it up. Then came a sparky rendering of the Valse with lots of enjoyable attention to detail. It was especially fine when it reached the symphony’s recurrent motif at the end of the movement, pre-figuring the opening of the finale in which Yamada found lush grandiloquence, although his emphasis on the arpeggios in the brass was not always to my taste. I think the Philharmonia’s string sound has really developed in recent years. It is now, almost always, impressively rich and coherent.

Susan Elkin

Barbican Hall, Saturday 26 March 2016

Sir John Eliot Gardiner asks a lot of his musicians – and equally so of his audience. The singers perform without scores and the many solo instrumentalists perform from memory. The effect is one of immediacy and intense dramatic impact. When this is united with the immaculate beauty of line, the intimacy of so many of the solo arias, and the rapport of all concerned, the impact is frequently overwhelming. I can’t recall a St Matthew Passion where the words have seemed quite so important, driving the text and insisting we follow the narrative. There was never a moment when we simply relaxed into beautiful singing, though that itself was never in doubt.

In the programme note John Eliot Gardiner makes a strong case for his approach, which avoids the pitfalls of a ‘staged’ event and the often sterile impact of a concert. Instead we have soloists who move easily about the stage to find their place to address us directly. They make eye contact with the instrumentalists and with the audience. In the final choruses, both Evangelist and Christus join the chorus, and throughout, the solo voices have come out of the chorus and returned to it.

There is a sense that the music really is more important than those who are performing it, though I doubt we could find a finer performance anywhere today.

Mark Padmore brings an urgency to the Evangelist which involves us throughout and is finely contrasted to Stephan Loges humane Christus. Trinity Boys Choirs may not have a lot to do – they rightly left the stage for much of the time – but their surprisingly continental sound brings unexpected authority to their choruses. The sudden changes in dynamic make for a thrilling choral sound from the Monteverdi Choir, and the English Baroque Soloists are just that – a collection of expert individual players who come together to be more than the sum of their parts.

There was a standing ovation at the end. I’m not normally keen on this type of emotional outburst but on this occasion it was certainly justified.

English National Ballet and English National Ballet School have, in recent years, developed an interesting way of offering a real experience of classical ballet to children as young as three. Students from ENBS dance an abridged version of an ENB show – carefully choreographed for young dancers by George Williamson with Dramaturgy by Adam Peck. A narrator – in this case Saskia Portway – is woven into the action to make the story absolutely clear to the audience. Having opened at Peacock Theatre in London, My First Sleeping Beauty tours until the end of May. It provides valuable experience for young performers at the very beginning of their careers and lots of opportunities for families to experience ballet, possibly for the first time.

Tchaikovsky’s lush melodious score is well enough played by City of Prague Philharmonic conducted by Gavin Sutherland and Daryl Griffith although it must be much harder to dance in sync when you’re working to a recording without a conductor to watch – and some of the cuts are a bit abrupt. The young dancers do well in general although their youth shows occasionally in a strained wobble or two. Especially enjoyable are the set pieces by the benign fairies in the first act, the prince’s show piece dance in the enchanted wood and the series of dances by the fairy tale characters with a particularly witty contribution by two dancers as a pair of cats. And at the end Aurora and the Prince are suitably appealing and impressive in their final romantic pas de deux. The company of 25 – ENBS students are recruited from all over the world – rotate the principal and corps de ballet roles and no one is named in the programme other than as a member of the ensemble.

I have, as with previous shows in this series, some reservations about the narration. Saskia Portway, who co-wrote her own script, plays the older Aurora looking back on her youth sometimes wandering through the action and sometimes standing to the side. Her voice is warm although it sometimes strays dangerously close to the sanctimonious sugariness of Vanessa Redgrave in the TV series Call the Midwife. Moreover she struggles to be heard when the music is rising to one of Tchaikovsky’s magnificent dramatic crescendi. It is more effective at quieter moments when she speaks in rhythm with the music. Why though, at points when the dance makes it completely clear what is happening do we need words at all? When the Queen is counting, for example, it really doesn’t need to be spelt out by a narrator.

On the whole, though, the “My First” concept works. I saw My First Sleeping Beauty with hundreds of children and almost every one of them was totally engrossed for the full 90 minutes and that’s a terrific achievement for cast and creators. I regret though that the vast majority of them are little girls. Why on earth don’t people take boys to ballet as well?

Susan Elkin

Mote Hall, Maidstone, 19 March 2016

In his introduction Brian Wright noted that the concert was book-ended by Adagios. While this was technically true the difference between the two could hardly have been greater. The evening opened with the lush warmth of Barber’s Adagio for Strings which brought richness without ever becoming over romantic. Precise intonation was a harbinger of excellence to come.

As if to give us a little light relief Paul Beniston joined the orchestra as the soloist in Arutiunian’s Trumpet Concerto. I have to admit that in all my years as a music critic this was the first time I had heard the work and it certainly sparkles with a mischievous intensity. While there are hints of Shostakovich in the astringency of much of the writing it also has the romantic washes of sound and colour we associate with Rimsky-Korsakov or Khachaturian. It is not afraid of melody either, and so lies easy on the ear even at a first hearing. Paul Beniston was obviously enjoying himself and his enthusiasm was catching not only for the audience but the soloists in the orchestra, with some particularly fine solo passages for clarinet.

Mahler’s Ninth Symphony is an Everest for the finest orchestras in the world. For Maidstone to tackle it may seem like foolishness but the attempt paid off with many passages of splendid authority. If the opening of the first movement seemed tentative, the first climax galvanised the large forces and brought a thrilling intensity which set a mark for the rest of the performance. The brass produced the raw power Mahler calls for, the first trumpet piercing the hall with its ringing steel. The hushed intimacy of the many bridge passages impressed as the structure gradually unfolded.

The rustic opening of the second movement seemed unusually slow but gathered in pace as the score progressed. Balance in this movement was cleaner than it had been in the first and there was a crispness to the sound which added to the impact. The woodwind rasped its way through the third movement as the score moves towards a chaos which is not easy on the listener but an essential part of the journey. The movement built to a splendid climactic crisis before the gentler pace of the final Adagio. Here we found warmth and steadfastness with a courage to endure. The acid world of shrieking wind and brass are gone and in the magical final pages we sense a striving for a conclusion which remains ever elusive – it recalls the end of Das Lied von der Erde, a fade into oblivion.

Brian Wright was either inspired or close to insane putting the work in this year’s programme but in the event proved that, for all the challenges, it was worth the effort. Players may have been stretched to the limit yet proved themselves more than capable of overcoming the rigours of Mahler’s writing to produce a memorable and moving performance.

Hanover Band, Richard Cooke

Canterbury Cathedral, 12 March 2016

It is always a treat to hear Messiah and, personally I never tire of it – from the crisp rhythms of the Overture to that wonderful top A from the sopranos, nine bars before the end, which somehow encapsulates the wonder of the whole piece. And this performance pushed most of the buttons.

It’s slightly incongruous to hear it sung by big forces accompanied by the original instruments of the Hanover Band. It’s arguably a contradiction. Nonetheless it’s a pleasure to hear those slender 18^th century trombones, positioned next to the altos for Glory to God. The enjoyable clean, dry sound of the old timpani is quite different from the rumbling resonance of their modern descendants. And of course the trumpet, slightly understated in this performance and quieter than a 21^st century one, dramatically underpins The Trumpet Shall Sound.

Visually, Canterbury is probably the most iconically atmospheric building in the country. But it isn’t a concert hall. Even with the huge and very competent Canterbury Choral Society on a steeply tiered seating west of the rood screen there is still an acoustic problem. Tenor, Jamie MacDougall began Comfort Ye carefully under tempo but it was still fuzzy even from row F where I was sitting.

The lofty acoustic seems to be kinder to higher registers than lower ones. Alexander Chance, counter-tenor, gave a very sensitive, performance with total clarity and perfect diction especially in the 6/8 lilt of O thou that tellest glad tidings to Sion and in his searingly moving I Know That My Redeemer Liveth. Chance, the son of counter-tenor Michael Chance, is a recent graduate from New College College Oxford where he was a choral scholar so he’s still very young. I’m sure we shall hear more of him. There was also elegant work from soprano Jessica Leary who sings with a smile in her voice.

Rather disappointing, however, was bass Barnaby Rea. Apart from acoustically caused vocal muddiness, his intonation was sometimes doubtful. He seemed, moreover, to be reading every note from his copy as if rehearsing an unfamiliar work, so there was very little audience eye contact.

The choir, however, like the orchestra, does an excellent job. A member of Canterbury Choral Society told me recently that they have to sing crowd-pleasing Messiah more often than some members would like and that other good, but less popular works get fewer outings. Well, I understand her frustration but it works in the choir’s favour too. Because they clearly know Messiah so well they sing it with terrific confidence, panache with plenty of very professional focus on the conductor. There’s none of that heads-buried-in-copies which bedevils so many amateur choirs. And that enables Richard Cooke to coax an exceptionally coherent sound from them.

I’m now looking forward to CCS’s Verdi Requiem with Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in June.