Knussen's Surprising Puzzles Prom 15

You can just bet that media reaction to Oliver Knussen's Prom 15 will be rabid. Why did he programme pieces that take 3 minutes to play and need 20 minutes to set up? But that's Ollie all over, having fun and confounding expectations. Quite possibly the same Pretty Plastic Pundits who think random applauding is clever will howl when Ollie gives them exactly the kind of concert where "rules" for clapping don't apply.

Much horror too, because Knussen programmed Stockhausen with Schumann. Again, this is no big deal - Simon Holt's a table of noises was the surprise hit of Prom 13,  where it unexpectedly won over an audience who'd come for Schumann and Strauss. Mixed programming is nothing new, unless you've spent the last 100 years under a rock. Henry Wood did it too.

So what's Ollie's point? Confounding assumptions = shaking up preconceptions.  First, no-one died  because they had to hear Stockhausen's Jubilee. It's joyous, celebratory, fill of "starburst" cadences, twinkling tracery and trumpets heard off stage like angels in the heavens. Dramatic and even benevolent, not "difficult" at all.  Jubilee is Stockhausen's tribute to the folk music of his native homeland, the star Sirius.

Then Harrison Birtwistle's Sonance Severance (2000), only three minutes long, but requires massed celli, basses and brass. Again, that's the point. Massed brass herald the first theme,winds and strings develop it and suddenly it snaps shut with a humorous bleat from single trumpet. A symphony compressed to its essence which lies hanging, hinting that more is yet to come. It was written for the reopening of Severance Hall in Cleveland, so the idea is perfectly cogent.

Sonance Severance connected Stockhausen's Jubilee with Colin Matthews's Violin Concerto (2009). I wasn't knocked sideways, though my companion was impressed, but so what? First reactions are first reactions. On rebroadcast I've grown to appreciate why I liked Leila Josefowicz's high, flowing legato so much. It's elusive, floating dream like, sognando, about the constant flux in the orchestra.  My partner was much taken by the alternations in the sections of the second movement.

Then, the culmination of the first part of this programme, with its sparkling stars, fairy violins and magic trumpets.  Luke Bedford's Outblaze the Sky (2006). Another tiny, six minute work that packs a punch many larger pieces cannot equal.  Exquisite  passages, shimmering on densely resonant background. Immediately I thought of Britten's Sea Interludes, though  it's certainly not like them, and they weren't on Bedford's mind when he wrote the piece. He was thinking in terms of poetic dream. He says "I imagined the piece to have a warmth and certain haziness, ....virtually every pitch is scored with glissandos, harmonics, flutter-tonguing, tremolandos and molto vibrato".

I loved the way Outblaze the Sky draws you into these mysterious undercurrents, then suddenly erupts in upward chords of illlumination. Waking towards the dawn? A flash of insight into some mystery? It doesn't matter, it's a beautiful piece of music and uplifting. (lots more on Luke Bedford on this site)

At first, it seemed odd to switch from this luminous mode to music about the mighty Rhine. Bernd Alois Zimmermann Rheinische Kirmestänze (1950) was paired with Robert Schumann's Symphony no 3 also known as the Rhenish, because it was inspired by the Rhine. "Only connect" Knussen seems to say. Knussen's programmes are often like intricate puzzles, with myriad cross-references that illuminate the works in new ways.

Both Zimmermann and Schumann loved the Rhine. Rivers are a powerful metaphor for creativity. In the case of the Rhine, it springs from the Alps, right through the heart of Germany. After the demonic Prom 4, no-one attentive shouldn't recognize what the Alps mean in terms of the Romantic imagination. (another intelligent undercurrent in this year's BBC Proms).

For Schumann, and for Zimmermann, the Rhine isn't simply a tourist trip, decorated by Rhinemaidens.  Both Zimmermann and Schumann were deeply intellectual, both prone to depression. Schumann tried to commit suicide by junping into the Rhine, Zimmermann, who grew up on its banks, was more successful.

It is very significant that Zimmerman's Rheinische Kirmestänze was first written almost exactly 100 years after Schumann's suicide attempt, for Zimmermann knew Schumann's music very well. The Rheinische Kirmestänze are most definitely not quaint or folksy. The war had just ended, Germany was occupied, and the trauma of Nazism and the Holocaust hung heavily , especially on a left liberal like Zimmermann.  Zimmermann uses references to kitsch  like brass bands but completely undercuts any sense of gemütlich by smearing the certainties with strange cross-rhythmic distortion. Though they're lively, these Rheinische dances are haunted.. (lots more on Zimmermann on this site, use "search")

Then Knussen springs another surprise! So far in this Proms season,. all the Schumann so far (except for Manfred with Petrenko, Prom 4) has been indifferently performed at best, especially disappointing in this Schumann year. Then, Knussen, with his reputation made in new music, goes and conducts the finest Schumann performance of all! This worked for me because it accessed the wilder aspects of late Schumann, which I don't think we've really begun to appreciate.

Wonderfully alert, energetic playing from the  BBC Symphony Orchestra, the top BBC orchestra by far.  This was a joy to hear - listen to the repeat broadcast online, it beats many better known versions. Again, it's inspired by Knussen's feel for musical puzzles. Listen to the final part of the last movement, the Lebhaft (derived from Leben). A similar apotheosis to the final upthrust in Bedford's Outblaze the Sky and Birtwistle's Sonance Severance!  "New" and "old" are silly labels. The sooner people listen "as music", the more they'll get from it.  If only Schumann, who adored cryptic musical puzzles, could have heard Knussen's Prom.

Outstanding Beethoven Järvi Prom 14

When it comes to Beethoven's Fifth, I turn to jelly. It's so wonderful that even school  bands sound good. So when an outstanding performance comes up, I melt in ecstasy.

Paavo Järvi brought the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen to BBC Prom 14. Another historic occasion, for Järvi's Beethoven cycle breaks new ground. This orchestra ia superb, reflecting the modern European trend towards specialist virtuoso ensembles. Traditional city-based orchestras can fossilize, but orchestras as "elite units" keep fresh.

What a vivid sound the DKB give Järvi! Such sharpness of attack, such energy, such brightness.  Gone the accretions of performance tradition which may or may not reflect Beethoven. Instead, the music feels like it's flying straight off the manuscript, clean and vigorous. It "lives". You half expect the composer to turn up and take a bow.

The period instrument ethos definitely helps. Natural horns may not be as sophisticated as late 19th century improvements, but they're brighter, more human in many ways. Textures are lighter, but they move. When Beethoven could still hear, that's what he might have heard.

Authentic in itself means nothing, though. Järvi and his orchestra make their Beethoven 5 sound right because they access the spirit of the symphony. This is Beethoven in full flow, glorying in the joy of creation.. What freedom, what clarity!  200 years after it was written, it's still  AUDACIOUS.

After hearing the Fifth,  listening again to Järvi and the orchestra do Beethoven 1 enhances the experience. It connects to the 5th, so brave, so assertive. And then, Hilary Hahn plays the Violin Concerto in D major. She's on the DKB vibe, too, wonderful.

And as a bonus, an encore!  The Allegretto Scherzando from Beethoven 8. 

But listen to the broadcast online, on demand and all over the world until next week. Highly recommended.Get the recording,too, though it's not quite the same.

Best Prom so far in an illustrious season. My next best was Petrenko Schumann, Rachmaninov and Tchaikovsky, Prom 4. So far this season only 3 duds of sixteen (two I haven't written about and one stinker coming up I won't listen to).

Gweneth Ann Jeffers and Mark Stone

Gweneth Ann Jeffers and Mark Stone star in Verdi La forza del destino  at Opera Holland Park. Word has got round that this will be an above average performance, so the few seats left last week have disappeared.

Regular readers on this site will know how highly I rate young singers. I've been following Gweneth Ann Jeffers and Mark Stone. Good luck to them both!  They've both got potential and deserve support.

Please read here about Jeffers singing Messiaen Harawi and Poemes pour mi. Singing Messiaen is a brave speciality. Messiaen's style is unique. A voice with great range and expressive colour is needed, but above all an intuitive feel for the wayward alien quality of Messiaen's music. Jeffers has genuine musical intelligence, which is very special. In comparison, other things are almost "easy". She has a vivid personality, too, and a solid background in musicianship to build on.  Lots of experience, too. Read more about her HERE. 

Read about Mark Stone's recording of George Butterworth Songs, which was well researched. Stone Records is a good quality independent enterprise, which I have a lot of respect for. (They do Messiaen, too.)  The main focus of Mark Stone's career, though, is mainstream opera. He's appeared several times at the Royal Opera House. He has a well balanced warm voice and the stage presence to go with it.  Read more about him HERE. (photo credit Robert Workman)

Zany! Simon Holt Prom 13

Prom 13 gives Simon Holt's a table of noises (lower case) the high profile coverage it  deserves. Highly acclaimed at its 2008 premiere, a table of noises is an anti-percuussion concerto, almost a "miniature" compared with pieces like James Macmillan's Veni, veni Emmanuel, another Colin Currie speciality.

The "table" refers to the table at which his disabled great uncle worked, all tools readily to hand, meticulously organized. It's a metaphor for the music. It's strictly defined but the very confinement generates inventiveness.

Holt uses simple means for maximum effect. Colin Currie plays a variety of small instruments, played in groups of three. Around him, a brass and woodwind orchestra making equally down to earth sound - is there a tin whistle in the mix? or a squeak toy? Doesn't really matter, the overall impact is down to earth, and jaunty.

Holt's great uncle Ash was a taxidermist who stuffed birds and small countryside animals. There's something surreal about taxidermy. It brings the woodland to the parlour. You can't be decorous with a dead badger in the living room, staring at you thru glass eyes, lifelike but immobile. Like Simon Holt, I too knew a taxidermist (game birds only). It's fiddly, messy work and quite unnatural, but strangely fascinating.

I loved a table of noises. It feels to me like a kind of grave but vivacious dance, maybe a ritual, maybe a celebration in some place or time very different from now. Clog dancing, even, and I thought of third world  musicians who do wonders with simple materials like sticks and barrels. That's a compliment to Holt, because it shows his innate feel for what makes good music. 
 
Those sharp, clattering noises carefully spaced out with silences, those odd rhythmic progressions. Hammers and chisels in a workshop, clattering away. It is so much fun! Currently there's a fashion for saying new music and emotion can't go together. That's irrational. as all music has emotion. Emotion just means different things to different people. a table of noises proves that meticulously well constructed, innovative music can be vigorously free and passionate.


How much fun it was to hear a table of noises together with Richard Strauss Till Eulenspeigel. Both irrepressible, idiosyncrasic creatures that do their own thing, regardless of what the world might think. Performance wise, the best part of this Prom was definitely the latter. BBC NOW under Thierry Fischer aren't the most dynamic of BBC orchestras, so it was probably too much of a stretch  expect them to pull off a concert that ranged from Cherubini to Holt. Holt is their composer-in-residence, which is good though as that expands them. Hopefully when a table of noises is recorded, it will be with a specialist contemporary orchestra. Then we'll really gasp !  This is a work that will last.

Read more about Simon Holt HERE, and also labels on the right, which lead to other pieces he's written, like Centauromachy and Witness to a Snow Miracle.  photo credit (read the commentary, which is important)


Listen to the broadcast HERE  until next Monday.

Into the Little Hill George Benjamin Linbury 2010

Very loosely based on the fairy tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, George Benjamin's Into the Little Hill, now at the Linbury Studio at the Royal Opera House, depicts a conformist community that rats on the piper who rids them of vermin. So he takes their children into a "liitle hill". The one act opera is disturbing because it treats the story as nightmare.

Into the Little Hill operates on many different levels at once. There's a politcial element. The mob violently demand the extermination of all rats, and the Minister sells his principles for votes. There's a suggestion that the rats aren't rats but other humans. As the Child says, they wear clothes and carry suitcases - an echo of the Holocaust? There's social commentary, and the spectre of child abduction, all the more disturbing as the father is implicated.

Nightmares are powerful because they reveal themselves through portents, subliminally working on the subconcious. This is a work that defies classification. Quite likely Benjamin and his librettist Martin Crimp can't explain its full portent, because it operates on the unconscious, on a subliminal level which cold logic cannot reach. That's why it's endlessly intriguing. Perhaps the way to get into Into the Little Hill is to let your intuition lead you.

The Minister's Child appears to her mother in a chink of light."Come home" says the mother. No, says the child, "Our home is under the earth. With the angel under the earth."  What can that mean, no-one knows. But as the child says "The deeper we burrow, the brighter his music burns".  "Can't you see?" cries the child. The child sees, because it doesn't carry the millstone of received wisdom.

Into the Little Hill operates like a half-remembered dream, flotsam flowing out of the unconscious, to be processed in the listener's mind. Rats invade the town, eating  grain and concrete, destroying the foundations of social order, Later, the children disappear into the bowels of the earth. "We're burrowing" sings the child, "streams of hot metal, ribbons of magnesium, particles of light".

A "man with no eyes, no nose, no ears" materializes in the Minister's little daughter's bedroom. He invades the sanctuary, mysteriously, disturbingly. He is powerful because he can breach all defences, even the Minister's office.  "With music I can reach right in /march slaves to the factory/ or patiently unravel the clouds"  Sinister as he is, he's morally neutral - "The choice is yours" he says to the Minister.

The whole opera pivots on ideas of dissimulation, concealment, crawling into dark recesses. Nothing is safe. So the music here is cloaked in disguise. You hear something eerie, or harps or bells. Sure enough, there's a cimbalom right in the heart of the orchestra. You hear something tense, tinny and shrill: it's a banjo, and conventional strings being played like banjos, strings plucked high up the shaft, not bowed. Much emphasis on low-toned instruments like bass flute and bass clarinet, whose sensuous, seductive themes weave through the piece like a narcotic night-blooming flower.

Susan Bickley and Claire Booth sing. The parts aren't defined, as such. Their voices interchange, with each other and with the "voices" in the orchestra, adding to the unsettling, dream like effect. Bickley and Booth are the foremost interpreters on modern music in this country. They are superb. Good as the recording on Nimbus is, the singers there don't come close to Bickley and Booth, who have lived with the piece regularly for some time.

Their expertise matters, because this singing has to be approached with an almost intuitive understanding of how the vocal parts interact with the music. Both are attuned to the inner logic of the piece, so the ever-changing balance flows seamlessly. Although the text is conversational, the syntax is surreal. At several points, Booth has to "sing" at such a high pitch she's almost inaudible. It takes physical effort. She braces herself, so as not to strain her voice beyond the limits. Humans might not hear such pitches, but rats can.

The staging, by The Opera Group (director, John Fulljames), fits the music and the semi-narrative. The Man with no Face operates through musi : the London Sinfonietta play on stage, behind a gauze curtain, vaguely visible behind the action, very much part of the concept as the orchestra is so important in this opera. The stage is dominated by a huge circular frame. "I can make rats drop from the rim of the world" says the man with no eyes. "But the world, says the minister, is round". "The world – says the man – is the shape my music makes it."

The floor is scattered with black, soft objects. When I attended the performance at Aldeburgh in June, I was close enough to touch and smell the acrid stench of rubber.  It's a striking extra dimension. By the time the production reached London the smell was al most gone. It was less oppressive, but gone too was the extra element of menace..Like music, smell can't be seen but it operates on the mind.

Into the Little Hill was preceded by Luciano Berio's Recital 1, It's a tour de force, testing a singer's full range. It's a stream of consciousness monologue. Susan Bickley was magnificent., singing for nearly 45 minutes. Snatches of Lieder and Opera rise to the surface, receding as her mind moves on to other things. It's tragic, for the singer is desolate, looking back on a lifetime of loneliness.

Since Berio wrote it for Cathy Berberian long after their marriage ended, it's bitterweet, but also strangely affectionate.The interplay between singer and orchestra reflects the interplay between composer and muse. Many in-jokes, such as when Bickley sings "A composer is socially embarrassing when he tries to speak". But that's the whole point, for Berio speaks through the orchestration, The piece is an elaborate puzzle-game, tightly scored with intricate key changes and modulations.

Berio plays with illusion. At one stage, members of the orchestra emerge to share space with Bickley. They start to play, but the sounds are grotesquely distorted. Then they exchange instruments. What do these musicians normally play? This was the London Sinfonietta, Britain's best contemporary music orchestra, an ensemble of virtuosi. Berio is having a laugh, for the rest of the piece is so sophisticated that bad players would be completely lost.

Bickley leans towards the audience, trying to get them to respond to her directly. I very nearly did. Berio and Berberfian would have been thrilled, for part of the concept behind this piece is the relationship between illusion and reality. "Isn't all life theatre?", declaims Bickley, with a diva-like sweep of her arms.


The full review with pix is in Opera Today

Applause or otherwise?

At the Proms, some people clap between movements. Oddly that's a sign of success, proof that the Proms are reaching people who might not normally attend classical music concerts. Most people are used to pop, where almost nothing lasts more than 3 minutes, so the idea of a long recitative is alien. At any pause, they clap. I'm not going to shush or complain. Better that people should come, listen and experience. If they make a "mistake" it's not the end of the earth.

The real mistake is assuming that applause means any one thing. There's a lot more to applause than appreciation.  Sometimes it's sheer bewilderment. People need something to do when they're bored, which is why they smoke or check their phones constantly (as if the world will collapse because you've missed a call). So they clap when there's a gap. But applause interrupts the flow of a performance. The more interruptions, the more disjointed the performance. So more applause to combat ennui. A vicious cycle.

Because classical music carries connotations of class, it's a status symbol. If you can afford fancy seats, ergo, you're "cultured". Music becomes a consumer item you "own" because you've paid for it.  Some applause (and booing) has more to do with the patron having something to prove to the world. For some people, they themselves are the only show in town, so they think the world cares whether they show approval or not. It doesn't.

 "Let us remember that we exist for the music, not the other way round"


Reverse snobs are even worse. It's one thing for people to clap spontaneously, and innocently. But to actually advocate random clapping?  That's boorish.  It encourages people "not" to listen. It encourages instant conclusions instead of mature reflection. And it's intrusive and disrespectful to others.

Reverse snobs set out to destroy.  What is so wrong about music that it has to be brought down ? Why is wrong to simply listen and enjoy ? Why introduce TV Game Show values ? Although music is heard in public, each person is listening in a private way, processing what they hear into their souls.  Perhaps it's the Eternal Troll thing, "what I can't do, no-one else should".

Beware Pretty Plastic Pundits. Since they don't care about music or listen, they need to push the random applause idea in order to have something to say. Filling space, without substance.

But performance exists on its own terms. Performers have put thought into what they do, and they deserve respect, whether or not Seat 22 Row H likes it or not. Performers enjoy applause - everyone does - but when applause happens willy-nilly it's not appreciation but mechanical reaction. Better sincere clapping than ritual clapping and worst of all show-off clapping for its own sake.

Unthinking applause isn't a sin. It's wonderful when people respond to things sincerely. But inappropriate clapping is not a good idea. Bad habits turn into false "traditions" and become harder to eradicate.

It's pointless to suggest rules because these get in the way, adding unnecessary extra stress. The real purpose of performance is to listen. Sounds simple, doesn't it? But lots goes on in the mind while you're listening. So maybe the only "rule" is to listen, to engage fully with the performance even if it's a new experience. Respect for the music, and respect for others in the audience, who might be trying to listen without distraction. Applause becomes irrelevant when you're really listening. So think before clapping and listen instead. It's not that difficult.

Incidentally it's a fallacy that applause was acceptable in the past. Western music springs from two main cources : religious music and popular entertainment. Did people applaud and carry on with Schutz or Bach ? Of course not.

What the cyclist tells me

The man who became the legend of the Flying Dutchman came from the coastal village of Terneuzen, on the southern bank of the Westerschelde.  Now there's  a 6.6km tunnel there, the longest in the Netherlands,  The things you learn from cycling magazines (thank you Cycling Weekly). Cyclists aren't neanderthal, unlike some other sports fans. Comes from being European-minded, I guess.

Coming up this week: Schumann, Oliver Knussen, Luke Bedford, Simon Holt and more on Hubert Parry too.

Doci Papiaçám di Macau

Doci Papiaçám di Macau, "The sweet dialect of Macau".This is a famous Portuguese song, but the language isn't Portuguese, but Macanese Patuá (patois). By the time Macau was officially established in 1557, Portuguese seamen had been trading with Asia for over 50 years. Three generations already, since from the start the "Portuguese" abroad became mixed race, multilingual hybrids. Portuguese can't recognize Patuá because it retains medieval expressions, quite alien to modern use, but following Malay and Chinese grammar, spiced with words from India and Japan.  A goldmine for archaeologists of language. Such specialisms exist: Graciete Batalha researched the dialect extensively in the 1970's.

Patuá has been dying out since the 1950's when most Macanese emigrated abroad. But there've been many efforts to preserve it because it's so unusual. It's naturally melodic: like Chinese it's a tonal language, where tenses are expressed by slightly different tones. Words are doubled up for emphasis, and rhythms adapted for elaboration.  Europeans used to disparage its "sing song" nature, but for me that's a strength. Someone really should set Macanese verse to music that capitalizes on its exotic nature.

There are lots of poems, stories and plays in Macanese to choose from. Also tapes of native speakers, so you can hear the way the language moves. The song above is a light hearted lark by Henrique Senna Fernandes, the best known poet in the dialect. Sorry, I can't translate! But the text refers to Macau culture and specialities. FOOD! Enjoy the video, too, with local scenes. Lots more on Macau on this site, please explore. I might also do a recipe for some of the foods mentioned - already posts on balichoa and minchee, the ultimate Macau soulfoods.

Unga casa macaísta vôs olá
Têm carinho na pobréza
Si têm gente batê pórta pôde entrá
Vêm comê cô nos na mêsa
Genti pobre, genti rico sâ gostá
Cativá tudo visita
Ma qui seza unga casita
têm su chiste cô alegria
tudo óra, tudo dia.

Mêsa cô toália bordado
Vaso di fûla na châm
Pisunto china bafado
Têm galinha, têm capám.
Porco balchám tamarinho
Vaca chaucháu maragoso:
Unga caneca cô vinho
Quanto bebinga sábrôso
Unga casa macaísta fazê vista
Sâ fazê vista unga casa macaísta

Siara-siara sabe abrí su coraçám
Lôgo ri pa tudo genti
Na janela sã cherá mangericám
fazê vôs ficá contente.
Tem biscoito cô ôbrêa na fontám
Camalénga feto dóci
Chá-co-sucri dóci-dóci
Tudo óra têm na mesa
Quim querê fazê fineza.

George Benjamin Into the Little Hill Linbury ROH

George Benjamin's Into the Little Hill  is back at the Linbury Studio Theare at the Royal Opera House.  It is a work that defies classification. Quite likely Benjamin and his librettist Martin Crimp can't explain its full portent, because it operates on the unconscious, on a subliminal level which cold logic cannot reach. That's why it's endlessly intriguing. Perhaps the way to get into Into the Little Hill is to let your intuition lead you.

The Minister's Child appears to her mother in a chink of light."Come home" says the mother. No, says the child, "Our home is under the earth. With the angel under the earth"  What can that mean, no-one knows. But as the child says "The deeper we burrow, the brighter his music burns" "Can't you see?" cries the child. The child sees, because it doesn't carry the millstone of  received wisdom.

So far I've seen Into the Little Hill three times, each time more rewarding. It marks a change in Benjamin's style. Formerly he obsessed about refining details to pointillist perfection. Now he's eschewed micromanagement for something much more organic - instinct.  Into the Little Hill seems to spring from deep within his psyche. Yet the details are there, too, more integrated into the flow. This time, sitting up close, I picked up things I'd missed before, like sounds so high pitched human ears almost can't hear, but rats can. Claire Booth sometimes "sings" without using her physical voice. And grasps her tummy protectively so the effort of using her lungs and muscles so strenuously doesn't strain someone who can probably hear already, within her womb.

Into the Little Hill is a masterpiece. And now, What's on Stage is doing a £15 offer. In fact I might go again

As usual, this is just a taster because I'll write a more formal, extended piece in Opera Today. In the meantime, read about the Aldeburgh performance in June.

Guess who's coming to dinner ? Don Giovanni Glyndebourne

Guess who's coming to dinner ? Be careful who you invite. They might just turn up!  Don Giovanni from Glyndebourne on Medici TV tonight Or was, at the time I posted this - suddenly there's a new notice "not available for viewing from UK" perhaps this is because the BBC is showing it at Xmas. But Medici says the film will be available "on demand" at some stage.

Please let me know what it's like especially those who've seen it live. Filmed versions of opera are always different from the real thing because what you're seeing is the view of the auteur, in this case Peter Maniura. A good film director enhances the experience, a bad one kills it. Film and live aren't necessarily the same.

But listen to that amazing playing from the Orchestra of The Age of Enlightenment.  Please see what I wrote about the performance at Glyndebourne..