Concerts

With Voices of the World, Stroma has crafted a trance-inducing performance that comfortably meanders but never feels static.

Stroma’s incredibly varied group of players took the audience on a journey of non-western musical traditions on Thursday. We walked everywhere from the streets of Chicago to the Yunnan Province of Southwest China, often represented by field recordings of local vocalists accompanied by Stroma, or a specific and strange instrumental formation.

The opener, An Overture, immediately told the audience what they were in for. Beethoven interlaced with a selection of taonga pūoro (traditional Māori instruments) played by Rob Thorne made for a bewildering aural experience – in the best way possible. Moments of sheer musical excitement were cut through by tapping stones, or the bellow of a pūkāea (war trumpet).

The tone was set, and what followed was a collection of inspired, often sparse performances that allowed atmosphere to reign supreme. The performance of Anna Clyne’s A Wonderful Day was perhaps the most simplistic example of this. The vibraphone and bass clarinet perfectly moulded to the melody set by a repetitive recorded voice, which sounded raw, to authentically portray the windy streets of Chicago and transport us to them. At the other end of this simplicity was a performance of Julia Wolfe’s Reeling, an equally repetitive accompaniment of a French-Canadian singer. Much less tranquil, this piece had a profound pace and endowed the audience with the suspense of watching the flame on a fuse speed towards a stick of dynamite.

The set culminated with Luciano Berio’s Folk Songs sung by soprano Bianca Andrew; a truly grand finale. This global folk anthology featured 11 songs from Armenia, Italy, Azerbaijan, and many more. Andrew’s voice was a welcome addition, as it anchored a night of extreme variety.

Stroma explored a wide space while not pushing to make their music inaccessible to a real audience. It felt like an invitation, something we all took part in, rather than something we observed and would soon forget.

This was a stunning performance of a highly diverse programme, with great musicality from all performers and Uruguayan guest conductor Carlos Kalmar.

Mātauranga (Rerenga) was commissioned from Michael Norris for the NZSO's Landfall series, marking the first meetings between Māori and Pākehā when the Endeavour reached Aotearoa in 1769. Later this year the Government commemoration, Tuia – Encounters 250, reaches back further, to the earliest encounters between Māori and the land itself. The music evoked the mystery and danger of those early encounters and exploration by Māori and Pākehā alike. Clever use of taonga pūoro, live electronics, and sustained strings blended the different sounds and cultures into one to great effect.

In contrast, Mozart's Piano Concerto No.12 in A major, K.414 was very pretty and beautifully played by Steven Osborne and a much-reduced orchestra. Its markedly different tone, style, and melodious character served to accentuate the variety in this programme.

A striking arrangement on stage signalled another change of direction: strings only, separated by the double basses into two equal groups, facing each other, as required by the composer to represent a traditional tango orchestra. The stage was set for the tension and drama of stringed combat followed by peace and gentle, musical flow in the two movements of Osvaldo Golijov's Last Round.

Famous for being thought of as a war symphony (written in 1916), Carl Nielsen's Symphony No.4, Op.29 The Inextinguishable was described by the composer as a celebration of the will to live. Although the sounds of conflict throughout the music ultimately settle and resolve into glorious (and very loud) melody, we first hear machine guns and the screaming whistle of bombs, before not one but two artillery battles as twin sets of timpani fight it out.

Impeccable playing (particularly the strings) under the direction of the skilful and sensitive Kalmar, and the sheer variety of the programme, made a very memorable performance.

This concert featured the finest young singers and instrumentalists from around New Zealand, marking the National Youth Orchestra’s 60th and the New Zealand Youth Choir’s 40th anniversaries.

The concert began with two New Zealand pieces, one for choir and orchestra, one for choir alone. Both the other works were seldom performed compositions, one by Sibelius for orchestra alone, the other by Elgar for choir and orchestra. The adventurous programming and the outstanding talents of the young people made for an engaging concert.

Glen Downie, the NYO’s young composer-in-residence, composed light speckled droplet for the occasion. It was a delicate piece as its title suggests, but certainly not colourless. Of particular note were the shimmering strings and the unaccompanied wordless voices of the choir. It was a lovely beginning to the concert.

The unaccompanied choir, conducted by director David Squire, performed a choral arrangement by Robert Wiremu of Waerenga-a-Hika, originally composed by Tuirina Wehi for guitar and kapa haka group to tell the story of the siege of Waerenga-a-Hika pa in 1865. In the choral version, the work utilises both kapa haka and European choral traditions. The performance was superb – dramatic, moving, and immaculate.

Sibelius’ The Oceanides for orchestra followed, depicting the expansive ocean and the nymphs that in Greek mythology were its guardians. While the strings struggled to depict the undulations of a peaceful ocean, the orchestra captured well the drama of a storm at sea.

The major work of the concert, Elgar’s The Music Makers for choir, orchestra, and solo mezzo soprano, is a heartfelt composition suggesting that each new generation of musicians and artists should be the “dreamers of dreams” to “renew our world.” Both choir and orchestra revelled in this work, easily negotiating the changes of mood, dynamics, and pace. Australian Catherine Carby contributed a rich but elegantly restrained solo voice.

A smaller than usual audience was perhaps because of the out of the ordinary scheduling on a Thursday evening. While it may have seemed odd to some of us in the audience, neither performers nor conductor were at all put off their stride.

A superbly played and highly evocative piece for strings opened this diverse programme. Christopher Blake's Angel at Ahipara easily brought to mind the scene in Robin Morrison's photograph of the statue at the cemetery in the Far North. Each of the seven movements, including The Angel brings joy, The Angel holds vigil at the grave, simply and beautifully brought their titles to life.

Collected strings gave way to the solo violin of Carolin Widmann in an extraordinary performance of Stravinsky's Violin Concerto in D major. A variety of techniques and musical styles give the lie to the uncertainty and trepidation that troubled Stravinsky while composing the concerto. His self doubt potentially releasing him from the constraints of the time, Stravinsky was able to stretch the bounds of what was thought possible. Widmann immersed herself in the work, and was joined in that space by the orchestra and the physically restrained conducting of American Fawzi Haimor. The musicality of Widmann's performance was so strong and so insightful, the orchestra's applause outlasted that of the audience.

The diversity of the programme – Blake's restrained Angel, succeeded by Stravinsky's strong Neoclassical Concerto, and the final piece of the evening, Tchaikovsky's Symphony No.1 in G minor, Winter Daydreams – tested the versatility of conductor and orchestra but, as we have come to expect, all the performers came through strongly. Haimor's earlier restraint was replaced with a joyous enthusiasm for Winter Daydreams and the orchestra responded with exuberance of their own. Like Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky was striving to produce something different. The smaller audience loved it.

It’s not very often you can say the backing band were invisible and mean it in a good way, but from the moment Alicia Olatuja walked on stage in a simple but elegant blue dress and gave us a smile, everybody but her disappeared. Her body language is sassy and purposeful and her voice seems fully formed.

Olatuja was oozing confidence after a few whirlwind years in which she caught the eye of musical producers. She performed as a soloist with the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir for former President Obama’s second inauguration. Since then, she has released three exceptionally well-received jazz albums, performed at all the best venues, and has constantly been on tour.

What makes her exceptional is her gift of re-interpreting songs we know (and love). I’m not going to make the mistake of calling her a jazz singer, as I can see in the distance a career on Broadway. It’s a powerful and emotive voice lacking only bass notes, but her middle and high range (she is, in fact, a mezzo-soprano) is just perfect for projecting to the back row of any auditorium. In fact, her voice borders on that of the late lamented Minnie Ripperton.

This is a well-balanced programme tonight with a repertoire from Sade, Joni Mitchell’s Cherokee Louise, a song I’m unfamiliar with, and a highlight for me: Djavan’s Portuguese language Serrado (Ao Vivo), with the perfect solo from pianist Robert Mitchell. The encore with just her guitarist, Tracy Chapman’s Everything Must Change, richly deserved the standing ovation.

I’m a huge fan of artists willing to take a chance. So early in her career, Olatuja chose to find composers who have something unusual to say rather than spout Hallmark lovey-dovey lyrics. Some of the themes border on the uncomfortable, with childhood violence, staying in broken relationships, or body image issues.

Thanks to her most recent album Intuition: Songs from the Minds of Women, Olatuja has tapped into a rich vein of material that is well worth pursuing. How wonderful that she shared many of the song’s origins with us tonight. Long may she prosper.

The Wellington Jazz Festival serves as a major conduit to discovering new acts to fall in love with. Tonight, we fell head over heels in aroha.

Ghost-Note is an example of a new act, though two of its personnel, Robert Searight and Nate Worth, both drummers, have appeared in New Zealand before as part of the Snarky Puppy group. In 2017 I wrote that Snarky Puppy felt like a band painting by numbers. If I felt that band was really a limp hot dog, then Ghost-Note is a rottweiler on steroids.

With two sax/flute players, Sylvester Onyejiaka and Jonathan Mones, percussionist Robert Searight, drummer Nate Werth, bass player Dwayne Thomas Jr (dressed in a luminous orange jumpsuit), two keyboard players Xavier Taplin and Vaughn Henry, and lead guitarist Peter Knudsen, we were treated to one of the best shows in Wellington in many a year.

With world-class musicians who have played with Prince, Toto, Herbie Hancock, Justin Timberlake, and countless others, you know you are watching music royalty.

Ghost-Note started as they meant to go on; with a rhythmic groove that makes it impossible to sit still, each number drenched in funk from a band truly in sync with each other.

With so much music to contend with, I’m loath to class them simply as a funk band. There were echoes of dub reggae (all that was missing was the waft of some ganja), Earth, Wind & Fire (my favourite part), a James Brown-inspired encore, Stanley Clarke, George Duke, Afrobeat, Herbie Mann, the timbales of Tito Puente, George Clinton, and even a reference to Average White Band’s Pick up the Pieces. Best you just call them world-music ambassadors.

Everybody would have a section they liked most. Mine was the interplay on six different keyboards. Or was it eight? But choosing that would take away the drive between bass and drum and percussion. Others would fancy the sax and flute partners or the funky guitar licks.

Now, go out and purchase their two albums and share them with friends who missed this wonderful show.

I was lucky enough to interview Sol3 Mio’s baritone Moses Mackay before seeing this concert. Those 15 minutes we spent on the phone gave me a glimpse into the cheek, charm, and charisma I’d be in for. Already a fan of their outstanding musicianship, I was still totally unprepared for just how good Back to Basics would be.

The theme of the concert is intimacy: instead of Sol3 Mio’s usual arena tours, they’ve chosen venues where they can truly go back to basics. This means no orchestra, no stage lighting, and no microphones (most of the time). Of course, Sol3 Mio is more than capable of filling the Michael Fowler Centre without mics, but amplifying those gorgeous voices is always a good thing in my books.

At times accompanied by virtuosic pianist Lorelle McNougton and at others with Moses on guitar, the group sings a wide-ranging repertoire. From Pene and Amitai Pati’s exceptional, ovation-worthy Nessun Dorma through Moses’ stunning Old Man River to the trio’s hilarious Banana Boat Song, this concert offers something for everyone. Audience interaction is an entertaining bonus, especially when the unwitting Moana is roped into singing Yellow Bird with the boys and treated to Pene’s tongue-in-cheek rendition of Somethin’ Stupid.

Back to Basics works because Sol3 Mio doesn’t need a spectacle to blow an audience away; they are spectacular all on their own. I’m not just talking about Pene’s irresistible bongo playing here. I’m talking about the infectious humour, vibrant personalities, and immeasurable talent of the trio, both as individuals and as a collective. Sol3 Mio brings joy. By the end of the night after a whopping 30-minute encore, cheeks hurt from smiling, bellies hurt from laughing, and we’re uplifted and awed by the presence of such musical mastery. If you’re ever given the opportunity to be serenaded by Sol3 Mio (and that’s exactly what it will feel like – a private concert just for you), seize it immediately.

Marc Taddei said he has long wanted to double bill Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony and Bruckner’s Symphony No. 8. They are the last symphonies of both composers, completed a century apart. Mozart’s work is a transition point between the more formal classical and romantic periods of music. Bruckner’s work is a culmination of the romantic style where emotion is given full play.

The huge differences in style were well displayed in this concert. If Mozart and Bruckner could have had a conversation, Mozart might well have said to Bruckner, “Less is more, Anton”. Bruckner might have retorted “Loosen up, man.”

The visible difference lay in the size of the orchestras. There were 39 players for Mozart, including four brass, five woodwind, and four double basses. The 83 for Bruckner included 15 brass, 12 woodwind, and six double basses.

Orchestra Wellington’s opening of the Mozart was magical: stirring chords using all resources followed by delicate string melodies. I would say that nothing in the concert was better than the orchestra’s playing of this first movement. It was played with precision, lyricism, well-judged transitions between themes and dynamics, and good drive and rhythm. The Mozart was a total delight: elegant, exuberant, and joyful.

Joy was not apparent in Bruckner. Rather the colours were dark and the mood dramatic and intense. Tempestuous climaxes arose and subsided over and over. I particularly enjoyed the dying end of the first movement, the insistent urgency of the second movement, the aching but robust sweetness of some of the third movement, and the sense that Bruckner reached some degree of resolution of momentous emotions in the finale.

Special mention is needed of the timpanist for drama, the horn players for emotion and volume, and the lower strings for strength and mellow sweetness. And of Mark Taddei for his ambitious programming and for eliciting inspired performances.

A robust little piece of Beethoven got this performance started. The Coriolan Overture, Op.62 tells a little-known story in a familiar tongue. Conventional form and interplay of themes made this an ideal warm-up for the main show.

Denis Kozhukhin, a dazzling young Russian musician, played a truly stunning rendition of Robert Schumann's Piano Concerto in A minor, Op.54. It's hard for the amateur or non-playing audience to understand how such an apparently solid piece of furniture (whether upright or grand) can be persuaded, coaxed, managed, flattered, and ultimately mastered to produce such a remarkable range of tone, volume, and feeling as we heard from Kozhuhkin. Matching a high-quality player with a high-quality composition always helps, and Schumann's Piano Concerto was beautifully complemented by Kozhuhkin's expert playing. Frequent exchanges of voice between piano and orchestra, equally skilfully matched and balanced, brought a lovely sense of narrative and fluidity. Once again, the combination of the NZSO's expertise and flair delivered us a really wonderful experience.

Hearts might sink when the programme notes say something is a composer's “least performed” piece, but it would be a miracle if every ear and every individual taste was satisfied by every programme. Two of the lesser-known concertos by Sibelius, numbers six and seven, made for a demanding second half.

Both are relatively short, very dense, complex pieces of a little over 20 minutes each. The Sixth Symphony is in four movements, each of which finish rather suddenly and seem almost unresolved. The Seventh is even more unusual, being only one movement in total. Søndergård is something of a Sibelius specialist and brought his interpretation to the stage where an extremely focused and sensitive performance from the orchestra gave it life. Søndergård's conducting of the Sibelius was remarkable, but it was Kozhukhin's brilliant playing we talked about in the car on the way home.

“My Concerto has had a brilliant and decisive – failure. At the conclusion three pairs of hands were brought together very slowly, whereupon a perfectly distinct hissing from all sides forbade any such demonstration”. So wrote Brahms after an early performance of his Piano Concerto No 1 in D Minor. The concerto has gone on to be an often-performed great favourite of the piano concerto repertoire. Joyce Yang as soloist and the NZSO amply demonstrated why to a capacity audience.

The first movement provides tremendous contrasts of majestic and lyrical themes, the second restrained reflectiveness, and the third urgent drive and rollicking momentum. Joyce Yang played with great commitment and intensity throughout, summoning simplicity and elegiac sweetness and thundering strength in turn, always with exquisite phrasing and within a wonderful partnership with the orchestra created by Brahms and Maestro de Waart.

The second work of the concert was a youthful one by Richard Strauss, Serenade for Winds in E flat major. It was good to see the NZSO’s excellent wind section profiled, though the work itself, while charming, was not the most riveting vehicle for doing so.

Maestro de Waart declared his love for Elgar’s music in the printed programme, and Elgar’s Enigma Variations was lovingly and gloriously delivered. Elgar composed the variations to provide musical images of himself and his wife, and 12 of his friends. The work has an engaging generosity of spirit and sunny optimism. He summons up a friend who produces cheerfully terrible piano playing, a friend’s daughter with a stutter, a beginner string player, a genteel lady, his publisher and long-term encourager whom he depicts with great warmth, and so on. This very English work is always stirring and the audience and orchestra will have gone away in very good humour, probably humming an Enigma theme.

This first performance by Orchestra Wellington in 2019 was intense, crazy, and fun. Fantastic Symphonies comprised two works by Berlioz, Symphonie Fantastique and Lélio, the first a five-movement symphony, the second characterised in the programme as a monodrama or melologue, with a dramatic narrator, two vocal soloists, and choir.

In 1830, Berlioz wrote the symphony to describe his feelings of anguished, unrequited love for an Irish Shakespearean actress. It tells of a musician haunted by a woman, in an agony of longing, failing to kill himself with an opium overdose but experiencing instead a psychedelic nightmare about being executed for her murder and about a ghoulish celebration of his death. Lélio describes the musician returning to living, still struggling with his passion but seeking a different purpose, recommitting himself to music and composing a fantasia on Shakespeare’s Tempest.

In his introduction, Taddei disparagingly and amusingly spoke of Berlioz’s music being fuelled by puppy love and opium addiction. This set the scene for the performance of Lélio. I am sure Berlioz did not find humour in his situation, but Andrew Laing as narrator chose to deliver an over-the-top performance of histrionic romanticism, which appropriately picked up the 21st-century cynicism of Taddei’s earlier comments.

Both works were wonderfully performed. Of particular note were the crispness of the symphony’s first movement, the lilting waltz and harps in the second Ball movement, the duet between cor anglais and off-stage oboe in the third movement, plaintive violas, mournful clarinet, lovely sonorities produced by six double basses and four bassoons, the drama of huge brass and percussion contributions, some beautiful ethereal singing from the Orpheus Choir, and the tender and romantic singing of tenor soloist, Declan Cudd.

By the way, Berlioz eventually married the actress. He spoke no English, she no French, it is said. The marriage did not last. What a surprise!

For many of us, discovering our talent at 21 would be lucky. But there is something about the highly capable end of the creative spectrum that means you can be considered a latecomer in your twenties. (Blame Mozart?) Anna Clyne is one of those, really only taking up composition when she was 21 years old.

We heard three movements from her Abstractions, each written in response to an artwork in the collection of the Baltimore Museum of Art. It would be interesting to know why we didn't hear the full five movements. What we heard was a highly engaging and unusual depiction of the emotions roused in the composer on viewing the pictures, rather than an attempt to portray the image itself in music. Such a personal account feels rare but genuine.

Berlioz’s La Mort de Cléopâtre (The Death of Cleopatra) was considered so innovative that it has only become widely known in the last 40 years. Again a tale of personal emotion, but this time the composer is telling Cleopatra’s story. Cleopatra was sung by American mezzo soprano Susan Graham and she gave a very fine performance.

Gustav Holst’s The Planets is a popular piece, a strong influence on some of the more widely recognised film music of the 20th century (think Star Wars.) Well-known works are sometimes hard to make into memorable occasions but, under maestro de Waart’s direction, the live performance was so much more exciting, delicate, enthusiastic, evocative, and engaging than a recording we might all be more familiar with.

It was not hard to see the picture Holst described in the music. Every planet had its own distinctive character conveyed through the orchestration and the performance. The absolute standout element was the women of Voices New Zealand Chamber Choir fading, exquisitely, to nothing, at the end of the known universe.

Pluto was not discovered until 1930 so we can only wonder how the smallest, most distant one-time planet would have sounded to Holst.