Viktoria Mullova (violin), Monica Groop (mezzo-soprano), Jukka Rasilainen (bass-baritone) Orphei Drängar (male chorus) Philharmonia Orchestra, Essa-Pekka Salonen (conductor), Royal Festival Hall, London, 25.9.2011

Johannes Brahms: Violin Concerto in D, op. 77 (1878)
Jean Sibelius: Kullervo, op 7 (1892) 

Kullervo has always been considered something of an oddity. In some respects it is Sibelius’s choral symphony, since movements three and five are settings of lines from the epic poem Kalevala; in other respects it is a tone poem, because the remaining movements chronicle parts of Kullervo’s life. Although the first performance in 1892 was enthusiastically received, there were only four more performances in the composer’s lifetime; Sibelius withdrew it, and towards the end of his life intended revising the whole work, but in the event re-orchestrated only the final section of the third movement in 1957. Kullervo had to wait until 1971 for its first recording, by Paavo Bergland and the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra.
The composer was a mere 27; it was another six years before he tackled his First Symphony. Yet there is much in Kullervo to indicate where Sibelius was heading. Characteristically short woodwind phrases, passionate string melodies frequently in octaves, clarinets swooping and diving, strident hammer-blow tutti chords, plentiful atmospheric string tremolos and other effects, solid hymn-like brass passages, long pedal notes with slowly increasing tension – all these are here and much more besides. It’s a feast of dramatic orchestral colour! One might find the text, displayed by surtitles on this occasion, a little pedantic, but what is important here is that it is set with absolute conviction, and Finnish conviction at that. Sibelius was expressing intense pride in his native Finland, by means of a text (to which he was subsequently to return) in the Finnish language, at a time when the country was dominated by Russia, and Swedish was the official language. So the emergence of nationalist sentiment is crucially important in appreciating Kullervo, the story of a mythological character with magical powers who falls from grace, seduces a woman who turns out to be his sister, and eventually commits suicide.
Essa-Pekka Salonen is obviously on home territory with this score, and it was impossible not to be carried along with the performance from beginning to end. If he has occasionally been described as “cool” there was certainly no evidence of it here, and this was an absolutely terrific performance; the Philharmonia was faultless and the Orphei Drängar male chorus, flown in from Sweden, simply stunning. Monica Groop and Jukka Rasilainen, from Finland, had to stand with nothing to do for long periods but when their moments came, they too were well matched for their roles, despite vocal writing that is perhaps not the strongest aspect of the score. Rasilainen was particularly convincing in the moments of self-hate when he bemoans the shame he has brought on his whole family to the accompaniment of some wonderfully Sibelian crashing chords. Stirring stuff!
Prior to the main items on the agenda, Salonen made a heartfelt tribute to Kurt Sanderling, who was associated with the Philharmonia for many years. He dedicated the concert to the great conductor, describing Sanderling’s performances as being “the truth,” a sentiment which I heartily endorse; it was in this very hall some years ago that Sanderling first opened my eyes and ears to Mahler’s Ninth Symphony, in one of the most memorable, moving and thankfully unshowy performances I have ever experienced. It was entirely fitting that Salonen and the Philharmonia treated us to an extra item – Melisande’s death from Sibelius’s Pelleas and Melisande, in which we admired the beautiful piannisimo of the muted strings.
Viktoria Mullova’s reading of the Brahms concerto was absolutely note perfect, and her tone was gloriously warm or bright by turns. This was a consummately brilliant performance, the Philharmonia complimenting the soloist with sympathy and some totally appropriate Germanic solidity. If it didn’t quite raise the roof, I’m not quite sure why not, for all the right ingredients were there, and I wouldn’t like to give the impression this was less than highly enjoyable and, in the slow movement, touching. And, all in all, this was a fabulous evening and a great start to the Philharmonia’s new season. 

Christopher Gunning

Morton Feldman, James Weeks, Andrew Hamilton;
Endymion, EXAUDI, James Weeks (conductor), Purcell Room, London, 21.09.2011 (CG)

Morton Feldman: Only (1947)
James Weeks: Inscription (world premiere) (1973)
Morton Feldman: Voices and Cello
Andrew Hamilton: Right and Wrong (world premiere)
Morton Feldman: Clarinet and String Quartet (1983)

The second of two concerts given the heading “Music for People” by the excellent Endymion Ensemble, and the terrific vocal group, EXAUDI, concentrated on works by the proudly American composer Morton Feldman (1926-1987) with two British works by younger British composers sandwiched between.
Feldman is considered to occupy an important place in American music, and is often associated with John Cage in pioneering an approach to music that has little to do with music of the past. He was one of the first to employ indeterminate techniques, in which rhythms and/or pitches are interpreted freely by the performers; consequently some of his scores employ graphics rather than conventional notation systems. He found inspiration among artists such as Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko, and the abstract expressionist painters in general, while it was the music of Anton Webern which made a profound effect and set him on his revolutionary course. Feldman’s later music was fully notated, and some works are extremely long; we had samples of those tonight, though not his String quartet no 2 which lasts for six hours!
To start the concert the delightful Juliet Fraser sang Only with a haunting tone and perfectly sure intonation. This is a very short setting of the Rilke poem, composed when Feldman was only 21, and is largely in the Dorian mode with some telling ‘foreign’ notes. Without a break we were thrust into James Weeks’ Inscription, for two female and two male singers, and string quartet. It is a setting of a text by Fernando Pessoa, “all work is futile, and futile is all work.” Weeks employs high register clusters to good effect, and there is some fine writing for both singers and instrumentalists, but unfortunately it rather outstays its welcome for those not fully attuned to music which hardly develops over a long period, and it became somewhat tiring.
Feldman’s Voices and Cello, with two female voices and a lone cello, is one of Feldman’s more static pieces, employing clusters and chromatic movement – delicate, soft and strange, it almost stops several times. It was beautifully performed, although in this, and some other pieces, one would have preferred a more spacial acoustic than the Purcell Room offers.
Andrew Hamilton’s Right and Wrong was something of a blessed relief after so much quietly static music. A setting of a text from The Untroubled Mind by Agnes Martin, this is exciting, dynamic music, and complex in an effective way. One admired not only the composer’s considerable skill, but also the extraordinary virtuosity of the Exaudi singers and Endymion players, for whom this piece is a brilliant showcase.
Following the interval we were back in Feldman territory with his late Clarinet and String Quartet. At over forty minutes, this is one of his substantial works, and it’s also an exercise in maintaining a consistent atmosphere over a long span. Devotees find enormous depths in this and other late works; dissonant clusters and highly repetitive short phrases (there is no melody as such) continue ad infinitum, and sympathetic souls lose themselves in the quietly hypnotic quality of it all. I’m afraid my reaction is slightly different. For me this was close to torture, and possibly the most tedious listening experience I have ever subjected myself to. I counted the spotlights on the ceiling, the planks of wood on the platform, the number of seats per row, praying that it would end. I mused that it was the Ennaudi of “serious” music (will someone please explain the success of Ennaudi?) and longed for something dramatic or at least interesting to happen. Nevertheless, no blame should be ascribed to the wonderfully sensitive clarinetist (Mark van de Wiel) or the lovely quartet from Endymion; their devotion to the music was obvious, and maintaining the required level of concentration and precision cannot be easy.
Is Feldman’s music vitally important, or no more than a curious backwater? I know what I think, but there remain plenty who would sharply disagree, and at least Endymion and Exaudi should be congratulated on bringing his work to our attention again, and, perhaps even more importantly, commissioning and performing the new works heard over these two concerts.

Christopher Gunning

Arvo Pärt, Joanna Bailie, Philip Venables;  Endymion, EXAUDI, Simon Wall (tenor), James Weeks (conductor), Purcell Room, London, 18.09.2011 (CG) 

Arvo Pärt: Fratres (version for string quartet) (1977, rearranged later)
Joanna Bailie: Artificial Environment No.6 (World premiere)
Arvo Pärt: Wallfahrtslied (Pilgrim's Song) version for tenor/baritone & string quartet (1984/2001)
Philip Venables: numbers 76-80: Tristan und Isolde (World premiere)
Arvo Pärt: Summa (version for string quartet) (1977/1991)
Arvo Pärt: Stabat mater (1985)

This was the first of two concerts by the enterprising Endymion Ensemble, and the equally adventurous vocal group, EXAUDI, under the heading "Music for People." Why the title, you may ask? Is there music composed for non-human animals? For gods and angels, yes, but surely all composers write for people...so the explanation has to be to do with the style of music performed here, which in different ways conforms to the "new simplicity" promulgated by certain minimalists, and the later works of the Estonian composer, Arvo Pärt in particular - although Pärt himself doesn’t consider himself to be a minimalist, and dislikes being labeled at all.  
You either love or hate this approach to music, but I'll come back to that later. For now we only need to know that Pärt came to his later style of composing after using various contemporary styles and having grown dissatisfied with the complexity of them. It is the absolute opposite of, and a reaction against, anything descended from Shoenberg's atonal or twelve-note methods which had ruled the roost in most contemporary circles for so long, and had alienated many music lovers. The opening work, Fratres, is a case in point. It exists in umpteen different versions for various ensembles, perhaps the best known being one for string orchestra, and structurally it consists of several episodes separated by a very simple repeating rhythmic leitmotif. In tonight’s version for string quartet, the second violinist is required to play a perfect fifth drone throughout, and after the opening leitmotif, the other players weave their parts in harmonics. These were not quite secure in tonight’s performance, but never mind, things became far more confident as the piece progressed into more normal registers and the episodes became more expressive. But you have to use words like “expressive” rather carefully. The piece never changes dramatically, but flows along at the same tempo with the same rate of movement. It is sad, modal, and altogether bleak; fans revel in its quiet peacefulness. 

In Joanna Bailie’s Artificial Environment No.6, the quartet was joined by two singers from EXAUDI, and a prepared tape. It was a little difficult to make sense of the somewhat pretentious programme note, but we were prepared for motorway noises and birdsong, and heard both very clearly, the roar or drone of the former frequently dominating the proceedings. A spoken text appeared and disappeared, and notes from the tape were picked up by the two singers and the string quartet. What we ended up with was a collage of effects separated by periods of silence; effective in its way of creating a rather mesmeric sound picture, but lacking a strong musical idea.

Pärt’s Wallfahrtslied (Pilgrim's Song) is a setting for tenor (or baritone) and string quartet of Psalm 121. It’s main oddity is that the Psalm is intoned on one of two notes, while the quartet provides all the musical interest. Endymion and Simon Wall performed beautifully; and you either find enormous spirituality in the work or, dare I say, find it frankly somewhat boring after a while. 

Numbers 76-80: Tristan und Isolde, by Philip Venables, began in a striking fashion with the quartet bashing out perfect fifths fortissimo; as the piece develops the excellent EXAUDI singers spoke most of Simon Howard’s strangely exciting if rather baffling poem. There’s genuine wit here, and pathos, and really terrifically flamboyant writing for the instrumentalists. What a thrilling moment there was when the singers suddenly burst into song rather than the spoken word! This composer is gaining a great reputation for original and sometimes quite brutally exhilarating music, and it’s well worth watching out for him.

Pärt’s Summa was originally composed in 1978 as a setting for voices and organ of the Credo (“We believe in one God”) and later rearranged for string quartet stripped of its text. Admirer’s love the timelessness and mystery of the haunting modal harmonies; I was struck by its similarities to aspects of Vaughan Williams’s work, especially in its modality, though it has to be said that VW would never have continued in precisely the same vein for so long, and it is the very lack of dramatic direction which gives this music its special “spiritual” quality.

And so to the major work of the evening - Pärt’s Stabat Mater. In this work, Pärt’s allegiance to the Russian Orthodox Church becomes particularly apparent; also, some of the music seems to hark back to something akin to Gregorian chant. It is scored for violin, viola and cello, with two female and one male singer. There was no doubting the sincerity and effectiveness of the performance and Pärt’s own pilgrims, clearly in evidence in the audience, must have been deeply moved by it. As for me, I needed to clear out my ears with some healthily human dissonant Bartok afterwards. There’s so much I can take of music in a single key with little contrast or light relief, and this was just too much.

Christopher Gunning