It was a great joy to be physically in the beautiful Holywell Room for this concert. Last year’s Zooming on a small screen was simply not the same. Another tangential delight was to be sealed in room with nothing but the splendid work of Ailish Tynan (soprano) and Libby Burgess (piano) on a day when the national news was ricocheting every few minutes and the Prime Minister had resigned by the end of the concert.

This year’s Oxford Lied Festival is themed under the heading Friendship in Song: an intimate art and four of this week’s concerts have links with Ralph Vaughan Williams, the 150th anniversary of whose birth fell earlier this month.

Vaughan Williams: Perspectives 3 opened with set of four songs by Hubert Parry, one of RVW’s teachers. Tynan is an outstanding communicator with whom every song tells a story – she acts very convincingly with her eyes, hands and body as well, obviously, as her voice. She brought, for example, vibrant excitement to the setting of Christina Rossetti’s My Heart is like a Singing Bird, contrasting, almost coy, contrasting lyrical calm to Shelley’s Good Night and lots of wit and cheeky looks in Shakespeare’s Crabbed Age and Youth.

Libby Burgess meanwhile duetting from the piano (I really am very glad the word “accompanist” seems to obsolescent) breathes the music almost as much as Tynan does. And it’s interesting to see her play the whole concert from an iPad with a Bluetooth pedal to turn the pages. I particularly liked her playing of the elegant rippling piano line in the last of four songs by Rebecca Clarke (worked with RVW) which followed the Parry.

Their performance of Stanford’s (he taught RVW too) setting of Keats’s La Belle Dame Sans Merci was a high spot. Tynan really made the descending minor arpeggios evocatively mysterious and then leaned on the dramatic contrast into the major key.

Four songs by Vaughan Williams – all settings of poems by his second wife, Ursula – were another pleasure. Tynan really made us notice the words “I shall remember firelight on your sleepy face” and I admired the wistful affection she found in Hands Eyes and Heart.

The concert ended with arrangements of four songs by Mr/Mrs/Ms Trad – another of RVW’s dearest friends. Of these I liked Britten’s setting of The Ash Grove best. The melody is very simple and familiar but the gradually thickening, busy counterpoint on piano is not and Burgess did it real justice.

Tynan, of course, is Irish and for the last song Tigaree Torun Orum arranged by Hughes, she used her native accent and a sung version of Irish blarney at top speed. It was funny and a fine piece of musical acting – culminating in an unexpected operatically dramatic top note so that the concert ended – literally – on a high.

I’m sure I wasn’t the only audience member who, after all that, was quite sorry to leave this musical oasis to face the reality of national events.

Susan Elkin

Nigel Wicken, the Conductor, is well-known locally for his love of bringing to light unfamiliar music. For the first half of the concert this was certainly the case but the second half was Beethoven’s Eroica, certainly not a rarity but attractive perhaps because it was such a seminal work for its time. It is also an enormous challenge for any orchestra.

The programme began with Mozart’s Overture to La Clemenza di Tito, an opera commissioned for the coronation of King Leopold of Bohemia. The opera was condemned by the Empress as ‘German rubbish’ and sank out of sight. This overture, however, was a stirring piece shot through with lovely Mozartian melodies. It began loudly and dramatically before giving way to a quieter theme given to oboe, flute and bassoon. There followed a series of descending scales from the strings, pierced by percussion and brass. A wonderful start that had the audience fully attentive.

Following this was a complete change of pace and mood with Mozart’s Funeral Music, written in response to the death of two lodge brothers at the Masonic Lodge he attended. The C minor key set the tone of the piece, written in the same period as The Magic Flute. After a slow and sombre opening, the woodwind section took over, responded to, in turn, by strings and brass. This call and response motif was used again by solo bassoon, responded to once again by the strings. The little known piece was sensitively conducted by Wicken bringing out its contrasts between light and shade.

A promising opening was followed by three little known Mozartian arias, two of which were written for other composers. Enter Eli Chapman, a young attractive soprano, whose expressive face helped us understand the Italian words of each piece: Alma Grande e nobil core, K578 was written for a comic opera by Cimarosa. Louise Villeneuve, a favourite of Mozart’s who cast her as Dorabella in his Cosi fan Tutte, was the original singer. Chapman moved easily from scorn to a desire for vengeance against a former lover. This was followed by a sadder song, Vado ma Dove? K583, where Chapman expertly showed us her confusion between doubt and hope for the torment heaped on her by her lover. Finally Un Moto di Gioia K579, written as an extra aria for Susanna in The Marriage of Figaro, captured the saucy Susanna’s charm and hope for the future of her love. In all three Eli Chapman showed an impressive range and intelligent communication with the audience.

Without an interval the second half followed: Beethoven’s Symphony No 3, op.55, known as the Eroica. Written initially as an homage to Napoleon – it was originally called Buonaparte – when Napoleon had himself crowned Emperor, the Republican Beethoven crossed out that name, so furiously that his pen broke. He renamed it Eroica which simply means Heroic, and with a viperish swipe at his fallen hero Napoleon, the byword says ‘in memory of a great man.’

This Symphony is an extraordinary work, breaking away totally from the musical traditions of the past with their melodies of music for its own sake and painting a new canvas which conjures up powerful images. With this work the Romantic Age is heralded with works that tell stories or suggest pictures in the listener’s mind. It is in every way a ground-breaking work, even to its length, a mighty forty-five minutes.

The first movement opened with crashing chords and hurrying strings rushing to a crescendo. There was a sense of urgency, interspersed by lovely tunes. The Orchestra of St Mary’s, around sixty musicians, made a vast noise in the decent-sized auditorium of St John’s Hall. Wicken controlled the fever with wonderful contrasts in volume. It is hard work for the strings but, except for one slight moment towards the end of the movement as they belted towards the climax, there was no raggedness in their ensemble playing. Wicken kept the whole thing together extremely well, with clarity and precision in his conducting. This movement succeeded in suggesting the hero off to war in all his pomp, glory and rash pride.

The tragic second movement, where one imagines the death and loss in battle of the hero’s companions, started with sighing strings – again a slightly ragged first two bars – and the sweet plaintive voice of the oboe. This instrument, with its ability to cut through most sound, was very busy indeed in this movement and was played with competence. The middle part of the movement rose to an optimistic climax before returning to the mournful opening theme with the oboe again, adding texture to the strings as they wound to a close.

The third movement arrived as an up-tempo explosion of joy and optimism with its lovely distinctive falling notes, dropping to quiet before the double basses made a firm statement, picked up by strings and finally the whole orchestra. Later it was the French horns that led with a triumphant tune, answered by the soprano woodwind section and building, always building, to a fantastic crescendo. Then once again those magical downward drops brought the whole movement to a conclusion.

The final movement began with tiptoing strings and an answering explosion from the rest of the orchestra. It felt like a heroic parade. Staccato notes and swift arpeggios followed against a background of quieter strings. Here the stuttering rhythm sounded as if our hero was on prancing horseback, marshalling the troops. The pretty tune that surfaced now and again was borrowed from Beethoven’s ballet, The Creatures of Prometheus. [Prometheus, the bringer of light to his own creations – Mankind – is of course another Hero who was horribly punished by Zeus for creating beings in the image of the Gods by being hung from a cliff-top where, every day, an eagle came and ate his liver. All this, of course, Prometheus, an immortal, suffered without complaint, as a true Hero does.] Back to the final movement where the lighter rhythms and themes continued until the tempo reduced dramatically and built to a solemn and heroic finale. The final climax was beautifully controlled, ratchetting up the sound gradually, until flutes and bassoons working in octaves heralded the return to a faster final series of blasting chords. Breath-taking!
Of course, however familiar this Symphony is through listening to it on CD or radio, there is just nothing to beat the excitement of a live orchestra. Watching the frenzy of the strings, the total concentration on all the faces of the musicians, the body language of the conductor all adds to the atmosphere. All concerned should give themselves a pat on the back and let’s hope for more from this fine orchestra.

Jeni Whittaker

Plymouth University are lucky indeed to have the very talented Robert Taub as the Music Director of the University’s Arts Institute. He is not just a wonderful, expressive pianist who enters so deeply into the spirit of the music that each piece he renders becomes very much his own, but also an extremely knowledgeable man about the lives and works of the composers, what has influenced them and how they in turn have influenced others. Not surprisingly he has performed in major venues all over the world, from New York’s Carnegie Hall to Hong Kong’s Cultural Centre.

The evening began with a talk from Taub himself, in which he demonstrated the themes of the three works he was undertaking and what brought them into being. These small tasters of phrases and moods gave the good-sized audience a flavour of what was to come and whetted our appetite for more.

No sooner was the talk over than there was a bomb scare. Security escorted us all out firstly into the wet blustery night and secondly into, I suppose, a drama studio, while the police investigated. Though we were all pretty sure this was a hoax, nowadays no one can take a risk. I felt very sorry for Taub, who was bundled out with the rest of us. It says something for his control over his subject matter that, once we were allowed back in, forty-five minutes later, after a brief pause where he focused and gathered himself he began with no noticeable problem. Very soon we all followed him, mind and heart, into a musical world where there was no outside disturbance.

The concert opened with Beethoven’s Sonata in C minor, Opus 13, known as the Pathetique. Like his majestic Eroica Symphony, which I was lucky enough to review a couple of weeks ago, the Pathetique is another ground-breaker, both works instantly popular and both leading into the new territory of Romanticism.

The first movement is full of dramatic contrasts between those huge crashing chords that are left to die to silence and the melody that follows, the portentous slow opening out of which a speedier conversation between a rumbling bass and a run-away treble, like question and answer, come to a dramatic pause to allow a thought-provoking repetition of the first theme – and then we’re off again, until the tentative question is asked again and we rattle to a stop. Taub was not rigid about the timing, giving moments expression by tiny alterations in speed and allowing slightly longer pauses than some would to emphasise the theatricality of this famous movement.

The second movement feels more peaceful and expansive and has an exploratory feel to it as right hand and then left hand explore a more wistful mood before harmoniously slotting together. Only the three chords at the end form a question – which is instantly answered by the immediate beginning of the third movement with its assertive new theme where the bass plays counterpoint to the right hand’s melody. Soon this breaks into a joyful scampering up and down the keyboard before settling back into the main theme. There are subtle changes in pace towards the end of the movement, giving it a more querulous tone, before defiantly heading for the finish with a last flourish.

Robert Schumann’s Davidsbundlertanze, Opus 6 was the next offering. Written, as Taub explained in his informative opening talk, as a love -offering to Clara Wieck, the sixteen-year old daughter of his piano teacher. The eighteen pieces that make up the work reflect his feelings for Clara and his hope to marry her, stymied by her father who for two years opposed the union, though finally – reflected in the last piece of the long work – they did marry. The keys of the pieces reflect Schumann’s long agitation over his teacher’s continued opposition. I will quote here from the programme notes, written by Taub himself, which explain this much more clearly than I could: Schumann identified the key of C major, for obvious reasons with Clara, but only two pieces of the work ‘- the crucial ninth and eighteenth – end in that key’… ‘The first eight pieces yearn restlessly for C major [Clara], but the C major which is attained at the end of the ninth piece’ is not strong. The tenth piece onwards move further and further away from the goal of Clara until , finally, in the last piece – the eighteenth – C major is established and the long wait is over. ‘The quiet ending with its repeated slow Cs is moving and satisfying, the longed-for goal at last peacefully attained.’

For me, the first eight pieces were full of moments of delight and joy as he thinks of his love. Contemplative moods with repeating phrases contrast with characteristically playful arpeggios or sudden explosions of joy like games of hide and seek between the left and right hands. These felt charmingly youthful, with impatience and doubt clouding the waters at times before hope takes over again. The teasing and the running away, with occasional tender melodies in between, of this opening grouping felt like a courtship. Then comes the second grouping, with many of the moods as before but more question and answer, more doubt and impatience, until the final tune which starts deceptively simply with a beautiful melody in the right hand which feeds into a phrase joined by the left. Beautiful deep bass notes end the piece like a prayer.

After an interval where we were treated to glasses of champagne since this was an inaugural concert we returned to finish the programme with Chopin’s Sonata in B minor, Opus 58, the last of only three sonatas that Chopin wrote.

The first movement opens majestically, less melodic and grander than most people’s idea of Chopin. A friend, a very good pianist who played Chopin almost exclusively, used to say that the composer was incapable of writing a wrong note in his exquisite melodies. Here we had a different view of Chopin as assertive chords gave way to running arpeggios and then melted into a beautiful melody, broken up by more assertive chords. As with the Schumann and Beethoven, the whole range of the piano keyboard is used from top to bottom, breaking now and again into a distinctive melody. This movement is full of mood changes and sudden changes of tempo, which was perhaps Taub’s particular sympathetic interpretation of the piece.

The second movement starts like a helter skelter, with fast runs managed assiduously by Taub’s long clever fingers, giving way to a slow meditative tune using occasional distinctive octaves in both hands. The piece winds up with fast runs underpinned by firm base notes.
The third movement starts with commanding chords and pauses where we hear the end of the notes vibrating. There follows a slow and magisterial tune with a deceptively simple syncopation between the bass and the melody in the right hand. The whole movement felt contemplative as it moves to a variation of the previous melody which has a rhythm like the movement of a peaceful sea. It was a long slow movement of remarkable beauty, ending on two chords – the first unresolved, moving slowly to a resolution. Gorgeous!

The fourth movement starts with huge climbing chords which break into an urgent series of runs full of sudden trips and more runs and sudden little melodic tunes, but always, always that sense of urgency, like a river running down to the sea. This gives way to a dominant tune in the right hand against a tempestuous bass followed by scales running up and down which end, with enormous precision, in a series of huge magnificent chords.

As if that weren’t enough in a concert of such virtuosity we were treated finally to two short transcriptions of other people’s work by Liszt. The first was a transcription of an attractive Schubert song and the second of Paganini’s La Campanella – a wonderfully showy piece where the right hand, at the far top end of the keyboard, mimics the bells of the title against the catchy tune carried by the left hand. The extraordinary high register of the piece gives it a kind of ethereal otherworldliness, like birds singing high in the topmost branches – a thing of extraordinary luminous beauty – which breaks into commanding chords answered by those high notes again after which both hands chase down the whole length of the piano and back up again in a stunning finale.

Thank you Robert Taub and the University of Plymouth for an extraordinary delightful evening.

Jeni Whittaker

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