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Philharmonia 21 November 2024 (Susan Elkin reviews)

Philharmonia

Herbert Blomstedt

Leonidas Kavakos

Royal Festival Hall, Southbank Centre

21 November 2024

A concert in two very different halves began with much reduced forces and violinist Leonidas Kavakos leading an elegant chamber music account of Mozart’s fourth violin concerto in D K218. This is almost certainly how it would have been done in 1775 when it was written and conductors, in the modern sense, were unknown.

Kavakos relied heavily on the leader (Zsolt-Tihamer Visontay), catching his eye to coordinate entries when he turned to the audience to play his solo passages.  It was an affectionate, but crisp, account of a much-loved work with lots of lightness and attention to dynamics. The andante cantabile was played with commendable clarity and balance and highlighted Kavakos’s formidable technique in that simple but beautiful cadenza. The rondeau was sparky with the passage in which the soloist duets with the first violins delightfully warm.

And so after the interval to an orchestra so large (eight double basses, six percussionists, two harps, double brass and twice as many upper strings as formerly) it filled the stage. As the orchestra found their places the diminutive, white haired Herbert Blomstedt (97) was, without fuss, assisted by Visotay to his seat on the podium where he signalled decisively that he was ready, thanks, and needed no more help. I was reminded of seeing Otto Klemperer conduct late in life or of Daniel Barenboim at this year’s Proms. Some conductors have such charisma and authority that even when they can make only minimal gestures their very presence draws miracles from the orchestra and totally enraptures the audience.

Mahler’s Ninth Symphony (1909) is a gargantuan work in every sense and every single person on stage rose to the challenge. Blomstedt brought out all the elements of the strange, grieving sound world Mahler creates in the first movment with its clattery muted brass, and the repeated harp motif which gradually softens as the brass and other instruments enter. The mysterious flute and horn duet was a treat too.

In the second movement Blomstedt ensured (excellent bassoon work and very tight rhythms) that we were aware that this was much more than a jolly jape. When we got to the rondo-burleske I was struck yet again by what strange, wild, angry distressed music this is and how fiendishly difficult it must be to play, not to mention exhausting. This is a work which requires huge levels of stamina as we share with the composer his anguish and grief at the recent death of his daughter.

Then, as if that weren’t enough, they have to play the final movement in D flat (five flats). No wonder amateur orchestras rarely, if ever, tackle Mahler. It’s not for the faint-hearted. In this performance we got a stunning account of the chorale and the ending – which dies away, very slowly, to nothing was breathtakingly moving. Yes, Blomstedt was in fine form. Age is just a number.

‘Powerful play featuring four fine actors’ ★★★★

Kindliness is a powerful play which packs a lot of tension and includes a couple of narrative surprises. Daniel Chaves, playwright who has also produced this show and plays Malcolm, is evidently a man of many talents.

We first meet Malcolm and his presumed partner Mimi (Lucy Kean) who is rather irritatingly trying to distract him from his work. He’s an architect designing a bridge on his laptop. Then we see him with his wife, Amara (Fia Houston-Hamilton) and son, Little Thing (Victoria Chen) and realise that he’s two-timing.

But this much more than a three way love tussle. We’re in an unnamed – but totally plausible – place where two communities hostile to each other live on either side of a river. Malcolm’s idealistic view is that his bridge will enable the two sides to come together – a symbol of reconciliation. What actually happens is the diametric opposite.

And added into the mix is that Mimi, who is pregnant, is one of “them” although she has lived in the opposing community for a long time, while Amara, Malcolm and Little Thing are definitely “us” so, when the going gets rough, Malcolm has to choose. It’s a gripping exploration of exclusion, prejudice, war, peace and what makes a family – among other things.

All four actors are outstanding and very well directed by Jenny Eastop in the tiny crucible which is Baron’s Court Theatre. Chaves gives us smooth talking, guilt, anger, panic and a lot more. Houston- Hamilton is terrific as the rational, sensible Amara desperately worried about her child who has asthma. She evinces grown up, steely calm when the other adults are, with good reason, becoming hysterical.

Kean does a wonderful job first, of a flirty girl friend, later of a woman screaming in terror and ultimately a tranquil new mother. The Mimi she creates is a nuanced character. And Chen, who is suitably petite, is a completely believable child, charging about in excitement when not lying prone in illness.

KINDLINESS by Daniel Chaves

Part of VOILA Festival

At Barons Court Theatre

17 – 22 November 2024

Box Office https://www.voilafestival.co.uk/events/kindliness/

Directed by: Jenny Eastop (2024 Ovation Award Winner for Best Director and 3 Time Offie Nominee)

Written & Produced by: Daniel Chaves

Designed by: Jasmine Kint

First published by London Pub Theatres Magazine https://www.londonpubtheatres.com/review-kindliness-by-daniel-chaves-at-barons-court-theatre-17-22-november-2024

Hansel und Gretel

Englebert Humperdinck arr Derek Clark

Conductor: Johann Stuckenbruck

Director: Jack Furness

Susie Sainsbury Theatre. Royal Academy of Music

19 November 2024

 

Hansel und Gretel, as originally told by the Brothers Grimm is a terrifying tale of selfish, ruthless parents and cannibalism. So disturbing is it that when I was a child, my mother refused to read it to us or encourage us to read it because she said it was totally unsuitable for children. Adelheid Wette’s libretto for her brother, Englebert Humperdinck’s 1893 opera, tones down the horror somewhat but in this startlingly dark production, Jack Furness highlights the macabre as much as he can mainly though Gretel’s nightmares set to long orchestral interludes. It’s quite effective in places but the trigger warning is spot on. Don’t take anyone under 13.

The acoustic of the Susie Sainsbury Theatre and the position of the pit means that we hear every note and nuance of Humperdinck’s colourful score played impressively by Royal Academy Sinfonia. High spots included the overture, which introduces all the work’s threaded-through main melodies although I wish, as usual, that we were simply allowed to listen to it without pointless, distracting on-stage business with candles. Another good orchestra highlight comes when soprano Gertrud, the children’s mother (Zixin Tang – good) is angry and the lower strings are churning beneath her. And there’s a wonderful moment when the children are finally lost in the forest, the set opens out and the timp menacingly evokes their fear. Johann Stuckenbruck balances all these elements impeccably and, of course, the prayer sung, at the performance I saw by Erin O’Rourke as Gretel (who doesn’t look the part but sounds terrific) and Clover Kayne as a lively Hansel, was the tear-jerking, show stopping moment as it always is.

Alex Bower-Brown is strong as Peter, the children’s father – all good cheer and bottom notes –  and we get pleasing contributions from sopranos Charlotte Clapperton and Abigail Sinclair as Sandman and Dew Man respectively.

The real star of the show, however, is Zahid Siddiqui as the Witch. He glitters in a black lace dress and uses physical theatre, as well as his silky voice, to convey charismatic evil. It’s an outstanding performance and one is almost sorry when he finally disappears into the oven.

There is a double cast for this show and all these roles are sung by different performers on two of the four nights in the run.

Meanwhile we are left wondering about some of the directorial decisions – or at least this audience member was. Of course there’s a lot of emphasis on food – this family is starving, after all. The gingerbread house is connoted by a scarlet screen of perspex strips which descends to surround all three sides of the stage. The ensemble (pretty good) at one point stand silently behind it, presumably representing the children the witch has already eaten. There’s a hint that Gretel is growing up and that her father doesn’t like it which doesn’t seem to relate to anything else. And the happy ending doesn’t seem to fit in with all this darkness and horror.

Ultimately, though, it’s Humperdinck and the quality of the singing and playing which count. And this production delivers those with plenty of  promising, youthful aplomb.

I enjoyed The Dictionary of Lost Words (2020) so much that I pounced with glee on this “companion” novel, published earlier this year. It features some of the same characters and we’re still in Oxford.

Peggy Jones, who narrates, lives with her twin sister Maude, on a narrow boat on the canal and works in the Oxford University Press bindery where Maude, who is neuro-divergent and speaks mostly in echoes, has a remarkable talent for folding. Their much missed late mother, also a “bindery girl” was, we infer, in a relationship with Tilda a suffragist who remains a close “relation” to  Peggy and Maude and writes wonderfully graphic letters from Belgium when she goes off to be a VAD alongside Vera Brittain. Yes, this is a novel which quite often features real people. I enjoyed “meeting” Mr Horace Hart of Hart’s Rules fame too.

Once the war starts in 1914, most of the men and boys enlist. Then carnage in Belgium leads to the arrival of Belgian refugees as well as British casualties. Peggy volunteers to help at the hospitals in Oxford which is how she meets, and eventually falls in love with Bastiaan, a character who delights.

This is not, however, a straightforward love story in the conventional sense. Rather, it’s a book about books, information, education, loss and inequality.  Peggy yearns to read the books she’s folding or stitching and like her mother before her she collects the discarded sections from work and brings them home so that the main room on her boat is lined with books or sections of them. Maude catalogues their boat library. Across the road from the bindery is Somerville College where privileged young women, like Gwen who becomes a good friend, are entitled to study. But Peggy, desperately hungry for learning, is barred – or is she? Could there be a way? I’ll spare you the spoilers.

There is a great deal to reflect on in this meaty, multi-layered novel. At the simplest level it’s immaculately and admirably researched although Pip Williams, who lives in Austrailia, has visited Oxford just three times. From her detailed account I learned a lot about traditional book making. As I often say, people who read fiction soak up extraneous information unconsciously. It’s a bonus side-effect that we greedy readers enjoy.

I also liked the way Williams weaves the futility of war in with the Suffragist movement and the frustration of someone in Peggy’s position. Even when the vote is granted to (some) women in 1918, she’s still excluded because she’s under 30 and not a householder. Williams paints the whole town/gown divide (which still exists) accurately too.

The characterisation is interesting. The librarian at Somerville Colleg is a case study in enlightened thinking and kindness. So, in a completely different way, is Mrs Stoddard, Peggy’s supervisor at the Bindery. She may be firm, and with a job to do, but she’s also empathetic. Then there’s Maude who depends on Peggy. Or is it the other way round? Maude is gradually revealed as being more capable and less needy than Peggy assumes and should, perhaps, be allowed a life of her own as witnessed by her intense friendship with the troubled Belgian, Lotte.

Then there’s the depiction of life on the canal – by coincidence this is the second book I’ve read in the last fortnight in which the main characters live on boats. (See last week’s Ashore by Penelope Fitzgerald). Here we get a strong sense of community with the family “next door” as close friends, worried about Jack who’s in France and lovingly looking after a very elderly mother. Pip Williams has a knack of making it all both human and humane.

At the heart of this enchanting and moving novel lies a homage to books. And that, of course, gets my vote.

Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves The Garden Against Time by Olivia Laing

 

 

 

Frank’s Closet

Stuart Wood

Directed by Sasha Regan

Arts Theatre

 

Star rating: 4.5

 

I first saw this revival of Stuart Wood’s wonderfully camp and warmly affectionate show earlier this year at Union Theatre. It has now matured into something quite special. It’s witty, poignant and bears all the hallmarks of Sasha Regan’s high-octane, muscular direction.

The plot gives us Frank (Andy Moss, outstanding performance) about to marry Alan but having cold feet as he packs up his costume collection, which is going to the V&A, with a mixture of pride, reluctance and a lot of nostalgia.

His imagination conjures up four Gaiety Girls, two of whom are men, whose choreography (Jo McShane in fine form) is fast, furious, funny and fabulous. Best of all though, is the summoning of a diva to give him, and us, a turn by seven iconic women of the stage and screen.

All these are played by Luke Farrgugia who is the real star of this entertaining show. Each appearance is almost literally a show stopper. He really does look and sound like Marie Lloyd, flirting with the audience, dropping double entendres and singing in a gloriously gravelly voice. As Julie Andrews – with some of the best comic timing I’ve seen in a long time – he’s in full soprano falsetto. His Judy Garland turn is sexily authoritative and quite poignant. It’s a showcase for a very versatile talent

The costumes are terrific too (designed by Indy Rivers). If I owned that stunning apricot velvet dress worn by Farrugia as Marie Lloyd, then I wouldn’t want to give it away either.

Stuart Wood’s songs are a joy too. Many are in 3|4 or 6|8 and trip along tunefully sounding completely authentic for the periods they represent. Anto Buckley leads a four piece band (keys, trumpet, trombone, percussion) which sits on stage. Wood’s writing for tombone is especially memorable and played, at the performance I saw, with humour and panache by Peter Crocker.

The show is framed by a solo singer in a sailor suit. Paul Toulson sings his yearning numbers well enough but as a device it doesn’t add much to the narrative and feels like a bolt-on.

 

 

 

 

A Carry On in Krakow

Joe Facer

Directed by Sam Daltry

Bridge House Theatre Penge

 Star rating: 3.5

Two men are part of a stag weekend in Krakow. One, Leo (Michael Schenck) is at the station, clearly distressed and leaving the party early. The other, his old friend Greg (Joe Facer), who is dressed as Kate Bush and has followed him, is trying to get to the bottom of Leo’s reasons. There is a lot of joshing and mood changes in this two hander which eventually gets quite serious when we finally learn what is troubling Leo. He is a decent sort often teased as Saint Leo by Greg. He is running away from the possibility of deeply hurting another friend – enough said. No spoilers.

It’s a nuanced piece. Greg has problems of his own  but Facer, who also wrote the play, makes him pretty rounded and complex. He was worried that Leo was contemplating suicide or secretly gay and in denial – both wrong. But he is right that Leo is deeply troubled. These two actors work very well together and their dialogue feels completely natural.

There is a slight problem with Facer’s diction however. His northern accent is so strong that some of the word endings disappear and from the corner I sat in he was sometimes inaudible when he had his back to me in the Bridge House Theatre’s in-the-round set-up. The other mildly amusing issue is that we get a sound track with trains and it isn’t always possible to distinguish them from the real life trains which rumble regularly past the Bridge House which is almost next to  Penge West station.

On the whole though, this is a strong 60 minutes of quite hard hitting theatre.

Kleio Quartet
Levinsky Hall, Plymouth University
 09 November 2024

I have had the pleasure of seeing and hearing the Kleio Quartet before. Since then they have become
increasingly well-known and have won awards all over Europe as well as the UK. Recently they have
been chosen by Radio 3 to join the New Generation Artist programme .

This is no surprise. This all-female quartet, featuring Juliette Roos, Katherine Yoon, Yume Fujise and
Eliza Millett take on challenging works and this concert was no exception. As promised by Robert Taub at last
month’s concert, Bela Bartok is honoured throughout this season’s programme. Joining Bartok in this
programme were Henry Purcell and Maurice Ravel, whose work featured here would probably have been
the most familiar to the audience.

Purcell’s Fantasia No 4 in F major, No 6 in E major and No 7 in G major opened the programme. All
of these are relatively short works, with multiple movements and changes of pace and mood. The
togetherness of the musicians, their total concentration as they steer through those changes, show how
sensitively alert to their companions they are. Each section of the music itself has its own shape,
separating the sounds of the four instruments and then coming together in unison to mark an ending.
There are wonderful chromatic climbs, instruments interweaving cleverly and then coming together in
delicious closure in the pacier sections, with tender dwelling on the lengthier sounds in the slower ones.
The quartet’s balance of the instruments is superb, enhanced by their obvious enjoyment and empathy
with their fellow musicians.

Bartok’s String Quartet No 5 followed the Purcell. Not as strange a coupling as it may seem since both
composers, though centuries apart in time, feature counterpoint and moments of deliberate crunching
dissonance.

I have found that listening to Bartok requires enormous concentration and this pays off as it reveals so
much of his method, of the extraordinary swing between his background of Hungarian peasant songs
and rhythms and his broad understanding of Western European harmonies plus the brasher, jazz
influenced music of the United States.

The piece is tremendously testing for the four musicians, who rose to the challenge wonderfully, their
whole bodies responding to the strong bowing required and the changes of pace and mood. The
hobbledehoy peasant rhythms give way to wistful melodies; the scurrying speed of some sections,
climbing and falling, give way to urgent emphatic single notes. Concentration from the players, necessary
always of course, here shows in the alert tension of their bodies, the give and take between all four, as
the piece is taken over first by one instrument, then by another – each having its say. The result of this
give and take between the four is playful and the contrasts in the whole work are breathtaking and
memorable. The second movement, for instance, is atmospheric, mysterious, both sad and beautiful,
even other-worldly in mood and the fourth movement, also slow as opposed to the first, third and fifth,
which are full of those scurrying runs, is like a wander through a glade, darkened by trees, full of bird-like
twitters, animals listening with twitching ears and running to escape danger till we are returned to peace.
It is certainly because of the skill of the musicians themselves that I was drawn into a memorable
experience which will stay with me for a long time and which has created an interest and perhaps a
deeper understanding of Bartok as a composer.

Ravel’s String Quartet, written in 1903, ended the evening’s programme, after the interval. A total
contrast to the first two pieces, we are instantly immersed in the image of a lush sunny meadow, full of
burgeoning flowers. The mood is idyllic as the baton of peaceful beauty passes from one instrument to
another, with similar melodic phrasing. Even the occasional ripple of unrest that stirs the mood does not
last long for each instrument in turn insists on imposing peace against the stirring of unrest that the other
three project. Strokes of the bows become longer and deeper as the dream takes hold. In this piece,
whereas with the Bartok a fierce concentration among the players dominated, the player’s faces reflect
the beauty of the phrases they have been given. The second movement features plucked notes against
beautiful melodies which lead into a slow and dreamy third movement, gradually speeding up until it ends
with a flourish. Finally the last movement begins with a sombre viola against tremolos from all three of
the others. This movement is more restless, full of delightful little hiccupping phrases that interrupt the
flow and ending with a lumpy uneven rhythm that perhaps mimics the ecstatic uneven running of a small
child, exploring the natural world around him.

To be there at this concert with these young talented players was a truly wonderful experience. I loved
the way they finished each movement with a slow or fast (depending on the pace of the previous
movement)  flourish of their bows. This enabled the audience to remain in the mood they had just
created. Go and see this quartet if you possibly can. They are clearly destined for a great future.

Nuremberg Symphony Orchestra

Jonathan Darlington (conductor)

Federico Colli (piano)

Cadogan Hall

14 November 2024

Part of Cadogan Hall’s  Zurich International Orchestra Series, this concert presented three glorious nineteenth century masterpieces played by a German orchestra with a British conductor and Italian soloist so the spirit of European internationalism was alive and well.

And the atmosphere was festive. Nuremberg Symphony Orchestra favours a formal entrance and taking a bow before they sit down unlike most British Orchestras which tend to drift on piecemeal and then do last minute snippets of practice on stage while they wait. That party spirit was further enhanced by Colli’s witty choice of encore (Mozart’s delightful 12 Variations on Ah! Vous Dirai-je Maman aka Twinkle Twinkle Little Star) and the orchestra’s final end-of-concert bon-bon: an orchestral arrangement of Elgar’s Salut D’Amour with a gorgeously nostalgic solo from leader, Anna Reszniak. Marvellous, by the way, to hear a German orchestra affectionately playing Elgar. Sir Edward had many German friends and was heartbroken when war broke out in 1914.

The concert began with Weber’s Overture to Der Freischutz. It’s a jolly piece of many parts and moods and this performance was distinguished by some fine horn playing and lots of interestingly exaggerated dramatic contrasts. Darlington is an excitable conductor, often shaking all over in rhythm, his thick white hair bouncing but it gets him the results he wants.

Then came Grieg’s famous piano concerto played by Federico Colli, an exceptionally charismatic pianist to watch, on an instrument – sensibly – already in position from the start of the concert. It’s quite a challenge to make a hoary old warhorse of this sort sound fresh and arresting but this performance rose to it in spades. Colli played the first movement cadenza with sparkling originality including unusual stresses and very fluid rubato which created a stunned stillness, as everyone present (including the players) listened so actively you could feel it in the air. Colli is a visible listener too as we saw at the beautifully played opening to the adagio before his own melody cuts across the legato strings. The end of the adagio was lovely too – it leads ataca into the Allegro third movement but Colli and Darlington carefully let the sound linger in the air before the mood change. Colli played all those chirpy contrasts in the last movement with weight and colour too especially when we reached the grandiloquent conclusion.

And so to Brahms 4, arguably his finest symphony, which came after the interval. The opening allegro abounded with Brahmsian melodic warmth and some incisve pizzicato. Darlington is very good at coaxing exceptional richness from lower strings. He also did well with the delicate lyricism of the adagio making sure we heard the counterpoint in the strings which often slips past unnoticed.

The third movement, a scherzo in all but name, was delivered with all the lively joy it requires, with triangle and piccolo prominent. The principal bassoon (Jappe Dendievel), whose part is quite prominent was almost dancing. It’s infectiously uplifiting to see professional players evidently enjoying – really enjoying – their work.

I once heard the late Antony Hopkins (the musicologist, not the actor), a great educator, leading a concert hall full of children through this symphony. The opening chords in the final movement, he suggested with mild irreverence, might be saying B-R-A-H-M-S-Spells-Brahms. And I’ve never been able to listen to it since without thinking of that. (It works. Try it.) The Nuremberg Symphony Orchestra and Darlington probably weren’t intoning Hopkins in their heads but played it with verve.