Berberis' World

Saturday, 20th February 2010, Royal Festival Hall.

“…inclusion of [The Eternal Gospel] this unwieldy yet absorbing hybrid of symphonic poem and cantata was welcome in view of its rarity… this setting of Jarosalv Vrchlick’s poem… has a fervency that came across strongly. It helped that Sofia Fomina was so eloquent in the lines allotted to the Angel, and if Adrian Thompson… was severely tested… his commitment was never in doubt. Neither was that of the London Philharmonic Choir, making for a gripping performance that was by some measure the highlight of the evening.”

Richard Whitehouse, Classical Source.“The Eternal Gospel was an unexpected success: no easy Bohemian lyricism here, either, but a blaze of ecstatic choral chant and terse instrumental motifs. The London Philharmonic Choir distinguished itself…”

Andrew Clark, FT.

“The London Philharmonic Choir brimmed with ardour…”

Geoff Brown, TimesOnline.

The positivity of these reviews is, in my opinion, generous, considering the breivity of the part played in this concert by the choir. It was very fortunate that we were on in the first half, because if I’d had to sit around for nearly 2 hours to sing for maybe 15 minues, I’d have been less than enthusiastic. As it was, this was not the most fun I’ve ever had in the Festival Hall.

The choral involvement in Eternal Gospel is minimal, as it is in Beethoven’s 9th, but the latter is almost the entirety of the final movement whereas, in the Janacek, it is spread throughout the piece, thus diluting (for me) its impact. There are two places where we got the chance to really let go, and neither seemed to do anything, or go anywhere.

Add to this unsatisfactory mix the Festival Hall’s organ and you have the ingredients for a short, and less than sweet, evening, about which there is very little more to say.

Saturday, 13th February 2010, Royal Festival Hall.

“The evening yielded two Pavans…  from which the aching lamentations of Poulenc’s Stabat Mater made for a highly original (and rarely heard) climax to the programme. The fantastic mix of textures and moods in this piece – angelic one moment, all grimacing gargoyles the next – lends it a slightly subversive tone and there’s something sensually Caravaggian about its pained chromaticism… purity is close to eroticism here and that’s something Nezet-Seguin appeared to have shared with the LPO Choir.”

Edward Seckerson, The Independent

We had such fun with this in rehearsal. My score was liberally decorated with cartoons and comments regarding the music (and its degree of cheesiness) and the text (and its degree of ridiculousness). However, when Neville said that ‘Poulenc’ was pronounced ‘Plank’, unbounded hilarity ensued.

Having said all that, I finally enjoyed singing this piece – having, for reasons already mentioned, not been hugely enamoured in the beginning – and it was a joy to work with Yannick Nezet-Seguin again. He’s adorable; enthusiastic, generous (and tactful) and I give not a fig about the alleged tendency towards ‘fly-catching’ that some have criticised.

It was unfortunate, then, that we were required to sing the choral version of Faure’s Pavane. This is a criminally over-used piece of music at best, the addition of lyrics simply compounding the crime. Twee and embarrassing.

Some of the LPC sops and alts were selected to perform the Debussy ‘Nocturnes’ and most of the rest of the LPC sat in the side stalls to listen. It was a lovely and ethereal climax to some gorgeous performances by the LPO.

During the rehearsal the last-minute sop sub Claire Booth seemed to rely very heavily on a pencil, which she wielded deftly with her left hand. We figured that her amazing voice actually emerged from the end of this magic pencil, which could explain the reviews. Professional singers should, ideally, not suffer from stage fright.

Saturday, 5th December 2009, Royal Festival Hall.

“Arthur Honegger’s ‘Christmas Cantata‘ is the jewel in this composer’s catalogue. Written at the very end of his life, it is a profound work, setting words from the Bible and various carols. Starting quietly and building in intensity until Honegger unleashes huge cries de monde this is tortured stuff but passionate and deeply felt. The work ends with a glorious chorus concluding with a large Amen and the organ returns with the music of the opening. Tonight we heard a performance of such intensity that one could well believe that all involved were so deeply caught up in the performance that they were left as breathless as the audience. It brought a superb ending… the best solo singing came from Ruxandra Donose and Andrew Staples, both of whom displayed a lovely sense of line, using vibrato as it should be used, as  an expressive devise (sic). [The London Philharmonic] Choir and Children’s Choir both gave excellent performances…”

Bob Briggs, Musicweb International.

“This concert brought many delights and surprises as well as consistently fine performances. […] Mendelssohn’s setting [of ‘Vom Himmel Hoch’] made a jubilant and lyrical opening to this refreshing collection of works. ‘The First Nowell‘ was Vaughan Williams’s final music and, indeed, he passed away before finishing it, leaving Roy Douglas (due to turn 102 a week after this concert) to complete the work… particularly lovely in ‘On Christmas night…’ the crowning glory being ‘The First Nowell’ itself. [‘Christen, atzet diesen Tag’] by Johann Sebastian Bach proved sublime, springy and exhilarating.

Honegger’s ‘A Christmas Cantata‘ (from the end of his life, he died in 1955), for baritone, chorus, children’s choir and an orchestra of strings, winds and brass with organ… but no percussion, begins in the depths, the emerging ostinato reminding of the finale of his Symphonie liturgique (Symphony No.3), the children’s choir offering contrasting radiance and innocence. The change to optimism is magically achieved, the music dancing, lullabying, and reaching ecstasy and rapt transfiguration, ending quietly. It’s a great piece and was done proud here.”

Colin Anderson, The Classical Source.

Blimey, but this was LOUD. You know when people say they can’t hear themselves speak? Well, when the organ kicked in at the end of the Honegger we couldn’t hear ourselves sing, even though there were 150 of us and we were at full volume. It was almost pot luck as to what note you were singing unless you stuck a finger in your ear, which not only looks ridiculous but could result in the loss of the score if your folder was the type to fold right back on itself. Current models are designed with two strategically positioned straps: one to allow it to open so far and no further; the other to allow it to be held in one hand, weight of score permitting.

I was unimpressed with the Honegger to start with. Even now I can’t say I would rush to sing it again, but I’m glad I did the concert. The other pieces were less enjoyable, perhaps because I’d not done as much homework as I normally do; it’s easy to assume that smaller and/or more familiar works don’t require the extra-curricular attention but these did, and I know that this lack of attention to detail showed in my performance.

‘The First Nowell’ took on a darker dimension than its somewhat fluffy content betrayed when Vladimir pointed out the very bar at which Vaughan Williams died. After this, every time I sang it, I had a lump in my throat. The dreaded unaccompanied sop1/sop2/alt section, for all its problems in rehearsal, actually went very well after some last-minute cramming (and I do mean last minute… as in during the solo beforehand).

Mendelssohn’s ‘Vom Himmel Hoch’ is gorgeous when sung properly, with some wonderful crunches. However, it is one of those pieces that is best sung (dare I say it?) by a church choir, with boy trebles singing the soprano line. Then it shimmers, not unlike Whitacre’s ‘Lux Arumque’.

Bach’s ‘Christen atzet diesen Tag’ I didn’t like quite as much, even when sung by a professional choir. It has a soprano/boy soprano+bass duet which not only goes on twice as long as it ought to, but causes aural discomfort akin to listening to someone scraping their fingernails deliberately, tortuously slowly down a blackboard. Not one of his best.

So, all in all, a bit patchy, but ending on a exceedingly low note. If you’ve heard the Honegger, you’ll understand what I mean.

Saturday, 28th November 2009, Royal Festival Hall.

“It was an impressive performance from orchestra, choir and soloists alike. Of the soloists, Christopher Maltman was the star, his baritone voice comfortably accommodating both his natural tessitura and the low bass registers occasionally required of him. The orchestra wasn’t quite up to the exceptional standards of the first half, and the ensemble of the string section occasionally compromised the textures. In fairness though, this piece is a tough call for the strings, given that the audience can’t help but unconsciously compare their playing with the memory of so the quartet version […] No such qualms about the choir though. Both the precision of their ensemble and the expressivity of their singing elevated the entire performance. The result achieved something all too rare in among Haydn performances, a perfect combination of fidelity to the score and immediacy of expression.”

Gavin Dixon, musicweb.

“Haydn’s very different ‘Seven Last Words’ (given in its fullest version) proved equally compelling, the choir sharing the platform with the orchestra, the four soloists between the two, a performance of real integrity… aided by Jurowski’s excellent judgement and an outstanding response from all the performers.”

Colin Anderson, The Classical Source.

“Until recently, few conductors have investigated the austere beauties and sudden moments of disorienting anguish in the composer’s 1795 version [of Haydn’s Seven Last Words of Our Saviour on the Cross] for voices and orchestra. The unaccompanied choral announcements of the “words” according to the Gospels pierce the soul in their simplicity… Lisa Milne was the dedicated image of stoic grief; Ruxandra Donose and Andrew Kennedy had only to join the two natural horns to underline the word ‘Geist’ as Christ declares ‘Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit” to make stones weep. We thought we had reached the perfect haven as baritone Christopher Maltman summoned up bass resonance to have the last word. But no: an earthquake rips it all apart. Jurowski suddenly let his inward and sensitively phrasing London Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir give focused vent… Many of us will still be talking about it in years to come.”

David Nice, The Arts Desk.

I usually forsake the pleasure of sitting in for the first half of a 2-parter and use the time for last-minute cramming. This time, however, I decided to attend the performance of Schnittke’s Cello Concerto No.2 (1990), because I was curious.

I shuffled on, together with those of a like mind (and there were many), we muttered until the lights went down, listened to the obligatory warning to switch off all mobile phones and watches with alarms (intoned by the disembodied voice of Sir Ian McKellan but, sadly, oft ignored, and especially important this evening as the performance was being recorded) and we all finally went quiet. The soloist strode on with his ‘cello and took his seat front and centre, followed by Maestro Jurowski, all in black (as were the rest of us).

It cannot be said that I’m not open to new ideas. It could, however, be said that my auditory pathways are perhaps not hard-wired to appreciate certain musical genres. In my opinion, what followed was 35 minutes of… well, noise. At one point towards the end of the performance, the man at the piano slammed his forearms down on as many keys as his forearms could hit. This summed up the piece for me. The only other thing I remember was that the ‘cellist’s bow was losing strings in the same way that our cat sheds fur. I cannot recall one note, and I’d have been much better off (following two 50+ hour weeks) having a 30 minute catnap given what was to happen after the interval.

After the interval, we had to congregate in the wings from where the orchestra/conductor/soloists emerge. We’d been there a while before I realised I didn’t have my reading glasses with me. Beginning to panic, I asked Angela if I had time to go back to the dressing room and get them. Yes, she said.

And she was right. Just as long as you don’t mind going on stage gasping for breath, your heart pounding, your blood pressure and pulse sky-high, and your throat painfully constricted. Having gotten lost both on my way to and from the dressing room, I had to mime for about 5 minutes when my voice went completely, and anything above a whisper risked bringing on a violent coughing fit. And, despite actually knowing the piece well enough not to have to stare at the score every 5 seconds, I was staring at the score every 5 seconds and seemed to have forgotten everything Vladimir had told us about phrasing, dynamics, tone, volume etc. etc.

Suddenly encountering Maestro Jurowski around a corner as we made our way towards the stage was somewhat disconcerting – I think I managed a smile – but it did serve as a reminder that even geniuses can behave as oddly as us mere mortals. And get things wrong; the professional orchestra had to stay behind to patch whilst we amateurs were allowed to go home. At least they didn’t have to patch the Schnittke. Mind you, who would notice a wrong note or two? Not me.

Sunday, 22nd November 2009, Royal Albert Hall.

Strauss – Also Sprach Zarathustra; Wagner – Ride of the Valkyries; Sousa – Liberty Bell; Handel – Zadok the Priest; Brahms – Hungarian Dance No. 5; Offenbach – Barcarolle; Mussorgsky – Great Gate of Kiev; Bizet – Pearl Fishers Duet; Gershwin – Rhapsody in Blue; Elgar – Pomp and Circumstances March No. 1; Orff – O Fortuna; Bizet –Toreador’s Song; Verdi – Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves; Verdi – La donna e mobile; Rossini – Galop from William Tell Overture; Strauss – Blue Danube Waltz; Parry – Jerusalem; Arne – Rule Britannia; Puccini – Nessun Dorma; Tchaikovsky – 1812 Overture; Offenbach – Can Can; Elgar – Land of Hope and Glory.

Roll up! Roll up! Hear the themes from Monty Python and the Lone Ranger! Drool over the shiny horns of the gorgeous Welsh Guards! Be dazzled and/or blinded by the amazing laser light show! Sing along with all the stuff you’ve heard at the party conferences whilst waving a flimsy paper flag! Choke on the endless clouds of dry ice! Try to spot the choir play ‘Pass the Pastilles’ under cover of darkness! Marvel at the skill of the 12 year old pianist whilst wondering just how much bloody longer Rhapsody in Blue can continue! Flinch at the sound of cannons at the end of the 1812, even though you know it’s coming!

A Raymond Gubbay ‘Classical Spectacular’ is Last Night of the Proms for those who cannot possibly stand up for that long. And this, before anyone takes offence, includes myself. (Since joining the LPC, I’ve already missed out on 2 Proms concerts – Dr Who and Evolution! – but there’s a pretty good chance that we’ll be invited to do more, but ClassSpec is the closest I’ve come thus far.) I’d estimate the average age of the audience at between 55 and 70 (as evinced by the preponderance of grey- and white-haired individuals) and there are always special mentions for those celebrating a significant birthday (nonogenarians are not uncommon) or anniversary, as well as anyone reckless enough to propose in public. How can you say no in front of five and a half thousand people?

The usual stuff was on offer – which goes some way to explaining the brevity of the only rehearsal – except for Barcarolle by Offenbach (twee in extremis) and Toreador’s Song (I must find a translation of this, as we were repeatedly scowled at by the soloist for reasons that were unclear). Belting out Land of Hope and Glory several times is always fun, as is being able to sing loud enough to hit the high notes at the end of Rule Britannia.

Classical Spectaculars make money for the LPC, in the same way that Michael Caine makes films like ‘Muppet Christmas Carol’. They come around twice a year (March and November) and there are 3 concerts each time (Friday evening and Sunday afternoon and evening) and we are all expected to do one or more of them. I did all 3 the first time round, before realising why most people only do 2. The dry ice may ruin your voice, but not before the repetition drives you insane.