Guernsey Camerata - Serenade Concert Review

‘Serenade’, a performance given to honour or express love for someone; a theme that wove its way through the whole of Guernsey Camerata's An Evening Serenade concert (generously sponsored by BWCI Group), from the opening drama of Schubert's Overture to Rosamunde to the final, wistful string glissando in Robert Farnon's Portrait of a Flirt.

Franz Schubert's Overture to 'Rosamunde' has outlived the play it was originally written to accompany. Deceptively simple, the overture takes the play's orchestral motifs and repeatedly layers them around each other; gradually building a whirling sense of sound, skilfully directed by conductor Murray Stewart.

Following the drama of Rosamunde a calm air of gentility settled upon St. James as the first confident notes of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp K299 rung out. The combination of Fionna Traver’s flute and Elizabeth Scorah's harp gave the impression of an exquisite music box being opened up on stage. The atmosphere moved from gentle enjoyment to rapt fascination in the final moments of the piece, as harp and flute embarked on an unaccompanied duet, creating a completely entrancing soundscape.

The delicate ambience created by Travers and Scorah was continued as Ravel's Pavane pour une infante defunte opened with a poised and sustained tenor horn solo, followed by soft, ethereal sways from the oboe. The bass section held the pace well, with perfectly controlled pizzicato interludes. There was little danger of this becoming, as Ravel described one slow performance of his work, a 'Dead Pavane for a Princess'.

The world premiere of Suite Guernesiaise by John Crossley-Hayes formed the centre piece of the evening. Crossley-Hayes wrote the suite in 1942, while teacher-in-charge of Vauvert School, to reflect his love of Guernsey and in remembrance of happier times. The original scores rested in a cupboard until Crossley-Hayes’s death in 2003, when the suite was rediscovered by his daughter, Ildiko Hayes, who dedicated herself to ensuring that her father’s work was performed. Ildiko Hayes and other family members were present at this first performance of Suite Guernesiaise, the culmination of 67 years work by both father and daughter.

Similar in style to Percy Grainger, an impression of Guernsey was tangible throughout Suite Guernesiaise. The first movement introduced Guernsey from the sea with surging orchestral swells, while the second movement focused on Guernsey's pastoral life, with wonderfully stirring solos from the lead cello and bassoon. The final movement took the form of a cheerful march, perhaps in contrast to the martial environment Crossley-Hayes found himself living in.

The contemplative air of the first half was returned to with Aux étoiles by Henri Duparc. A symphonic poem written in 1874, Aux etoiles is one of Duparc's few surviving works. A mournful note from the tenor horn opened the piece, the orchestra gradually joining in to set a pulsing base for Orchestra Leader, Nicholas Miller's, eerily captivating violin to rise from.

Fauré's 'Dolly' Suite is familiar to many and it was to the Camerata's credit that the Suite sounded fresh again. Written originally as a series of piano duets and dedicated to Debussy's second wife, Helene Bardac ('Dolly'), the suite includes popular movements such as the Berceuse (Listen with Mother) and the invigorating fiesta of Le pas espagnol. The theme of serenade was again present, particularly in the beautiful Tendresse as the horn and oboe engaged in a soft exchange, accompanied by swathes of music that appeared to be massaged into life under Stewart's direction.

After the calm, reflective music of the preceding pieces Robert Farnon's Portrait of a Flirt came as something of a shock. Filled with sweeping string crescendos and jabbing notes from muted trumpets this was akin to being swept around the dance floor by Fred and Ginger. This was mischievous, impish music that demanded spot on precision from the Orchestra and tight control from Stewart as the piece shifted from langourous sashays to quick two-steps.

As the last echoes of the Flirt gadded out of St. James one was left not simply serenaded, but also aware of the unique power of live music to deliver intense and intimate moments, such as the harp and flute duet during the Concerto for Flute and Harp K299 or Duparc's Aux étoiles. To borrow from Shakespeare;

“Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.”
Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice (Act V, Scene I)

The Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society: A Feast of Music Concert Review

The Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society's A Feast of Music (generously sponsored by HSBC Private Bank) was a concert of vivid, emotional music that captured the audience from the first roll of the timpani marking the start of Dvorak's Te Deum. The Te Deum, written in 1892 to mark the 400th anniversary of Columbus's landing in the New World, is a wonderfully evocative work. A sense of Columbus's journey was immediately apparent, as the power of the Orchestra and Choir built wave upon wave of music, giving the audience a feeling of being surrounded by movement, carefully marshalled by conductor Helen Grand. Beyond the mere physicality of the journey one also gained a sense of the joy and trepidation felt by the sailors, as the initial celebratory mood of the Te Deum was undercut with painfully poignant, yearning solos from soprano Helen Groves and baritone Colin Campbell. The choir was key in supporting this, with skilful controlled, tentative, almost ominous singing during the Aeterae fac and Dignare Domine.

Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor came next. This is music the Pied Piper would have played (if he played violin). Soloist Laura Samuel's playing was as delicate and beguiling as a spider floating by on a single thread. Soloist and orchestra moved seamlessly under the direction of Jean Owen, playing a game of call and reply as the central motifs were tossed between them. There came a point when I was no longer sure where the violin stopped and Ms. Samuel began; she was utterly engaged with the music. The standing ovation at the end was much deserved.

The evening drew to a close with William Walton's Belshazzar's Feast. This is a piece that demands an immediate statement of intent from a reviewer; it is not music one can be equivocal about. It was wonderful, magnificent and grandiose! Cinematic in its scope, it had me gripped from the first chilling, and terrifyingly hard, unaccompanied bass and tenor entries. Baritone soloist Colin Campbell returned to the stage to lead us through this biblical tale of shock and awe, with a stern and forceful delivery. The passages describing Belshazzar's Babylon alone would have made this performance memorable. The abrupt phrasing from the choir jostling with spiky, itchy playing from the orchestra not only gave a vivid sense of a proud, bustling city, but also managed to convey a dark mood of contempt from the singers. This sense of drama was carried by the choir throughout the piece; their clear and emotional singing giving meaning to the text. When the spectral hand appeared to give its terminal message there was a clear, musical contrast between the lavish earlier singing of Praise ye the gods of gold and the brief, discordant, line "Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting".

I was unsure of the concert's title at first. Belshazzar's feast was probably not a party you'd be sorry to miss and I couldn't see how the title applied to the other works. But by the end of the evening it was clear that all the pieces had such presence and emotional impact that it was as satisfying to listen to as working your way through any biblical feast.

McEwan

As with most intense relationships I can remember where and when I’ve encountered Ian McEwan’swork. Amsterdam, a park in Bournemouth, summer 2005. The Comfort of Strangers, Mile End, spring 2006. Enduring Love, my parent’s house, Boxing Day 2006. On Chesil Beach, on a plane between Gatwick and Guernsey, spring 2007.

During his career two clichés have been attached to McEwan’s work. First, all his plots turn on one traumatic event that upsets the comfortable, middle class lives of his characters. Secondly, his work is marked by a dark taste for the macabre.

The first cliché seems to miss the point of Ian McEwan. McEwan is a chronicler of middle class life. Almost all of his books focus on middle class, English life. The interest comes from what happensafter that life is disturbed, be it through a missing child, a ballooning accident or a simple miscommunication. While the event which sets the plot in motion is often shockingly memorable, it is the rest of the story that matters: how the characters rationalise and respond to the incident.

The second accusation - that McEwan has a marked taste for the macabre - is perhaps closer to the mark. Certainly McEwan’s early writing is frequently disturbing. Events during The Cement Garden and The Comfort of Strangers are profoundly unsettling. However, during his career McEwan has refined this sense of darkness, using it more sparingly, so that it now serves as an icy rapier to tear through the façade protecting middle class lives.

What makes McEwan’s writing particularly captivating for me is his depiction of place and his sharp character observations. The walk through the country in Amsterdam, or the cooking of dinner inSaturday are so vivid you feel you could have experienced them yourself. The panic when a child is lost in A Child in Time is tangible, while slow collapse of a relationship in On Chesil Beach is agony to read.

McEwan has a deft understanding of English life and that is perhaps why his work tends to fix itself in your mind.

Defeat: Why They Lost Iraq

I’ve just finished Defeat: Why They Lost Iraq, by Jonathan Steele; a truly disturbing and thought provoking book. Jonathan Steele writes for the Guardian and while he writes in a very accessible style it all felt a bit right-on at first. But the facts and accounts he gathers steadily pile up into a pretty damning case. It also gave me a much clearer understanding of recent Iraqi history and politics, while also opening my eyes to the affect of Western policies.

While I’m on the subject, Kim Sengupta’s article ‘Leaving Baghdad ’ provides a very grim, but, in my view, an utterly essential account of life in Baghdad during 2006.

Guernsey Camerata - Musical Menagerie Concert Review

Half a dozen cuddly cats, a smattering organutans and a legion of teddy bears of all shape and hue crowded into St. James together with their human companions to hear the Guernsey Cameratas’ Musical Menagerie.

The conductor, Richard Dickins, introduced the concert with great gusto and enthusiasm; whipping up an air of excitement before even the first string was struck.

A stirring drum roll announced the start of Rossini’s La Gazza Ladra (The Thieving Magpie). Querulous passages from the violins alternated with powerful surges of brass, ploughing all before it. A childlike giggle in my left lug hole let me know the concert was on the right tracks.

Volunteers were called upon from the audience to help conduct choruses of cats and dogs in Leroy Anderson’s The Waltzing Cat. St. James was filled with the barks and meows of the audience while the violins lead the waltz on stage, mimicking a cat’s song in a wonderfully lush and musical way.

As the last yelp died away the action moved from cats to elephants, with Gilbert Vinter’s The Playful Pachyderm. Jean Owen on bassoon captured the feel and movement of an elephant. It may be difficult to imagine an elephant skipping, but Jean bought the image to life as the pachyderm splashed through puddles and indulged in all sorts of elephantine naughtiness, backed by an orchestra swelling with the joy de vie of a 1930s film score.

Le Boeuf Sur Le Toit by Darius Milhaud gave the orchestra an opportunity to display their technical brilliance. Assured, off beat playing gave this piece a great jazzy feel, while techniques such as col legno (the bouncing of the backs of the strings’ bows against the string) made this a fascinating performance.

After a short break for juice and biscuits we returned to join in hunt with Haydn’s La Chasse. The horns announced the arrival of the hunt with a grand, regal fanfare and the strings powered forward, galloping after the prey. The orchestra played tightly together, with a stately precision; the music gradually falling away to a single flute as the hunt rode off into the distance.

Richard Dickins was joined on the podium by another two young volunteers to help conduct Ernest Bucalossi’s Grasshoppers’ Dance. The orchestra followed Dickins instruction to ‘keep it light’. Delicate violins were joined by a stabbing flute, while the scratching tones of the guiro kept time throughout.

Next came the piece I suspect many of my stuffed companions had been waiting for; the Teddy Bears’ Picnic by John W Bratton. As the first notes sounded the hall erupted in a mass of bouncing fur. Beneath the music you could hear throughout the hall an insistent muttering of the words to the song, as the beat of the timpani led us all marching down to the woods.

Once we had all calmed down we were treated to several movements from Debussy’s Children’s Corner. Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum was intended as a fun piano finger exercise and had a floating, melodic air: the flutes and oboes bubbling up through the languorous tones of the strings. The Serenade à la Poupée was opened by the violins with poised, music box pizzicato, a magical mood which alternated with expansive and moving playing from the lower strings. The series finished with the Cakewalk. The sheer funk of the Cakewalk, with its leering trumpets and rolling lower strings formed a stark contrast to the preceding numbers.

The Cakewalk warmed the audience up for the final piece; Henry Mancini’s The Pink Panther. The podium was packed with young guest conductors invited from the audience by Richard Dickens, while others hit the dance floor. This was seriously jazzy stuff, with the wonderful surge of the orchestra pierced by spiked trumpets, the riff of an electric guitar and that iconic motif from the double bass.

A well chosen programme, performed with great skill and made accessible through Richard Dickins’s enthusiastic interaction with the audience. We left St. James in time for tea followed by some rather excited little teddy bears.

Guernsey Camerata - Sacred & Profane Concert Review: Saturday 16 September 2006

An atmosphere of excited anticipation crackled through St. James as the audience waited for Camerata Voci to open Camerata’s Summer Concert, Sacred & Profane with a performance of Tallis’s Spem in Alium.

Camerata Voci, a choir formed especially for the performance, assembled in the balcony. 8 choirs, 40 parts and 45 singers, split into two groups stood on opposite sides of the balcony. The unaccompanied piece started with a single voice, perfectly in pitch, the sound then moving seamlessly from choir to choir, rising to an awe inspiring volume as the choirs united. The effortlessly assured performance belies the many hours of preparation led by trainer James Henderson that must have gone into mastering the piece.

The sacred theme continued with Debussy’s Danses Sacrées et Profane. These two pieces revolved around a solo harp, played with mesmerising precision by Elizabeth Scorah. Elizabeth was well supported by the orchestra, whose playing was tightly together. The partnership between harp and orchestra was particularly effective when first violinist Nick Miller lead a twisting dance with the harp, as the tone of the piece fell from the rarefied sacred to the more pastoral profane.

Having arrived in the domain of the profane the orchestra turned its attention to Haydn’s Military Symphony. A work of sharp contrasts, there was a continual interplay between light, delicate passages played by the woodwind and the power of the whole orchestra in full flight.

Camerata Voci opened the second half with Faure’s Cantique de Jean Racine. This piece depends on tight ensemble work as the ebb and flow of the voice parts work to create a sense of yearning. One voice breaking ranks would destroy the illusion of a whole. A small group of lower strings joined the harp to accompany Camerata Voci, adding a further dimension to a performance which achieved a blissful sense of depth. The orchestra completed the concert with two very different pieces.

The Birds by Ottorino Respighi is a fascinating work. Each movement depicts a bird and is based on the style of Renaissance or Baroque composers. A proud and firm Preludio gave way to nervous, energetic strings, interjected with bird calls from the wood wind; as if the audience had walked from a fine Italian palace into the surrounding forest. An extremely evocative work, The Birds included many memorable passages, such as Tom Livermore’s oboe as the melancholic dove and the sharp staccato strings conveying the bustling energy of the hen.

Dmitry Kabalevsky’s Suite: The Comedians formed a raucous end to the concert. Written in 1938 for a children’s puppet play this set of 10 movements is wonderfully colourful and shot through with the essence of Russia’s frozen steppes. The Pantomime movement, with its wonderful, lumbering strength in the lower strings gave the sense of Soviet Ivan powering forward.

Sacred & Profane deserves to pass into local lore. From the perfectly refined high-wire act of Spem in Alium to the cracking Galop encore this was a concert where both orchestra and choir became much more than the sum of their parts. The conductor, Ron Corp, was central to maintaining the tight coherence of the musicians. His enthusiastic introductions to each piece and clear emotional involvement as he conducted drew the audience further into music that was often deeply moving, whether sacred or profane.