Critic’s Vault: Shipwrecked in Ireland

eX presents:, Music from "Shipwrecked", De Cabez, De Morales, De Victor, Byrd et al (Heresy Records, 2012) US | UK | DE

The Dublin Drag Orchestra, Music from "Motion of the Heart" & "Viva Frida!" Dowland, Lawes, Coperario, Ward et al. (Heresy Records, 2012) US | UK | DE

A musical journey with Francisco de Cuéllar

In 2009, a fascinating, even prescient production marrying theater to early music was mounted at Dublin's Royal Hopsital

Queen Elizabeth and Philip II are goofing around behind chairs to the left and right of the U-shaped stage before both break out in a dash through the marvelous Great Hall of the Royal Hospital Kilmainham in Dublin. What are Elizabeth and Philip doing in Dublin, and why is the former wearing ankle-high silver sneakers and a blue dress, and the latter waving a feather and making silly faces?

Abbey and Robert are actually eight years old, and they play their royal parts in “Shipwrecked”, a production of the early music ensemble eX which took place in the (truly) Great Hall of what is now the Irish Museum of Modern Art. The two are impossibly cute child actors who patiently sit through the long rehearsals—almost until midnight the day before the premiere – and they have quickly become the mascots of the production.

Later during the final rehearsal, Queen Elizabeth, who barely reaches up to Caitríona O’Leary’s belt, pipes the tune of Greensleeves in duet with O’Leary, which sounds absolutely adorable – and moderately musical. Then the little Queen gets her wig affixed while rummaging through her Hello Kitty bag and Philip II chats with Kate, the make-up artist, and crinkles his nose as her brush applies white powder to his face.

Shipwrecked is an early music jamboree, a soundtrack of the (literally) incredible journey of a Spanish captain of the Armada who strands in hostile 16th-century-Ireland, and is then chased, maltreated, and occasionally helped by murderous Englishmen and local savages until he – barely – makes it back to safety in the Spanish Netherlands. If only half of his account, a twenty-page letter, is true, Francisco de Cuellar is a mixture between Voltaire’s Candide and George McDonald Fraser’s Harry Flashman. Music directors Caitríona O’Leary (an expert researcher on – and performer of – early Irish music) and Lee Santana (lutist extraordinaire and Los Otros-founder) cobbled together the musical tapestry from lute books, 16th century Spanish composers, traditional songs, and improvisations.

Members of Los Otros, Sequentia, and the Harp Consort, fortified with Irish music experts, provided the music, breaking out into an early music jam session for the finale that had the pint-sized Queen and the King waving their hands in rhythmic excitement. Director Eric Fraad, meanwhile, had the performers – all in full costume – work out the semi-staged element of the performance which included actor Keith Dunphy, as one of three incarnations of Captain Francisco reading out (and sometimes shouting) excerpts of the actual letter, thus providing the story line upon which the pieces of music are hung.

The battle of the percussionists Mel Mercier and Francesco Turrisi and Steve Player*’s Renaissance tap-dance (a combination of brute force and Fred Astaire) rang in the conclusion of an early music spectacle that emerged, seemingly out of buzzing chaos just a few hours earlier, into something akin to perfection, delighting the 150 attendees who had found their way up to the Royal Hospital on a mild Dublin Sunday night. While the music was passionately played and the singers delighted – especially O’Leary’s early music soprano and genre-defying vocalist/guitarist Clara Sanabras – the costumes

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Critic’s Notebook: Barokksolistene and their Alehouse Sessions at the Konzerthaus

Bjarte Eike, Barokksolistene The Alehouse Sessions (Rubicon, 2017) US | UK | DE

Bjarte Eike, Barokksolistene The Image of Melancholie (BIS SACD, 2014) US | UK | DE

Jolly Musicke Till You Drop

Hip vibes at the Norwegian baroque hoedown

For the most part, the crowds pouring into the Konzerthaus on Thursday evening surged up the grand staircase straight into the Great Hall: Mahler’s Ninth, Rattle conducting! The high temple of music was calling. Those who took a turn a little further down the foyer, meanwhile, found considerably lighter fare waiting behind the doors of the Mozart-Saal. Nothing lowbrwo, mind you—Bjarte Eike and his Norwegian Barokksolistene are a superb early music outfit. But their motto (“It’s just old pop music”) already hints at the fact that the promised Alehouse Sessions probably aren't too darn serious.

This baroque watering hole promised Henry Purcell, English shanties, dance, ballads, and traditional tunes. You’d need to have known your Purcell pretty well, though, to pick him out from the charming tangle of virtuosity, comedy, and kitsch. The dramatically—even theatrically—conceived program, about ten years old now, cheerfully plops Purcell’s "Virgin Queen" next to a sea shanty with a Bach riff rising suddenly from the hand harmonica. Bass, percussion, and guitar solos are handled the way they’d be in a jazz club.

The result is less "classical" than when Berlin’s Lautten Compagney tackles similar material, and not as relentlessly dramatized as comparable projects from Ireland’s Heresy Records. It’s just a bunch of cool old dads in mildly hipster=casual carb, noticeably graying hair, beers in hand, having fun with the music and goofing around a good deal. Who could possibly be curmudgeon enough to hold that against them—even if the slow-motion fight scene staged at the end finally tipped this early-baroque hoedown definitively into slapstick territory. Well, if clap-alongs and audience participation were not your thing, then you might have felt a sense of mild vicarious embarrassement. As it was, everyone got the right turn at the Konzerthaus; the crowd in the reasonably well-filled Mozart-Saal positivley lapped it up and responded with enthusiasm to everything that was on offer. So much so, Barokksolistene could almost have forgone the plants in the audience, that goated the audience into the right responses.

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A (Very!) Fine Messiah From Václav Luks and Collegium 1704

G.F.Handel Messiah Luks/Collegium 1704 Semenzato, Schachtner, Adam, Stražanac Accent, 2019> US | UK | DE

G.F.Handel Messiah McCreesh/Gabrieli Consort Röschmann, Gritton, Fink, Daniels, Davies Archiv, 1997 US | UK | DE

G.F.Handel Messiah Bernius/Stuttgart BO Sampson Taylor, Hulett, Harvey Carus, SACD, 2009 US | UK | DE

To say that there is no dearth of recordings of Handel’s Messiah is putting it mildly. Even granting that every generation needs its interpretations of the classics, there is a glut. On the downside, not all of them are very good. On the upside, choice is a beautiful thing and there is bound to be a recording out there for each taste. The recording at hand might be an interpretation for a listener who has heard Handel’s masterpiece one too many times and needs a deliberately fresh take. While Václav Luks and his Collegium (Vocale) 1704 are not yet international household names (though well on their way there), they certainly are a first-class ensemble, up there with the best and most famous… and they have a knack for finding and working with good and excellent singers. So, the fact that the recording features a quartet of unknown soloists does not make this release less promising.

And indeed the singers are very fine; not all of them impressive but all devoid of mannerisms or any ostentatious modi. Bass Krešimir Stražanac hasn’t the most sophisticated bass voice – it’s a little nasal, just a little barrely – but he certainly doesn’t spoil the party. Giulia Semenzato’s soprano is clear, clean and accurate… more like an operatic Mozart soprano than a baroque specialist, although these two fachs very much overlap in reality. Alto/Countertenor Benno Schachtner is a delight; in the duet with Semenzato (“He shall feed his flock like a shepherd”) his voice rings out with artless, unfussy beauty and his “He was despised” is touchingly natural, becoming a highlight of this recording. Tenor Krystian Adam remains a wee indistinct throughout because he blends nicely into the proceedings and never sounds strained or trying too hard. He might be unfairly overlooked: “Thy rebuke hath broken His heart”, for example, is exemplary for unaffected-yet-dramatic singing and very impressive in its subtle ways. The chorus is well drilled, usually easy to understand, and with five singers to a part offers thrilling energy and depth – for example in “Surely, He hath borne our griefs…” (Sound clip)

In Luks’ hands, the famous bits stand-out for being taken in various, slightly unusual ways: “For unto us a child is born” is not just fast which, for its own sake, could be tedious, but communicates splendid excitement and a tangible sense of joy. They sail right through the Halleluja, too. If you come straight from Malcolm Sargent, it must seem flippant but it has ripping, infectious energy to it. The opening of Part II, “Behold the Lamb of God” and the subsequent “He was despised”, makes René Jacobs and his Freiburgers seem positively glacial. (Sound clips) It’s one of Jacobs’ more extreme moments, granted, taking four and half minutes where well under three is HIP-standard. And while Jacobs can certainly please our every inner speed demon – he switches gears sometimes mid-number to press on like there is no tomorrow – there’s a generally heavier touch to the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra while the Collegium 1704 seems to be blown along on a light cloud. Breezy. Too breezy, for some. But after an initial double-take here or there, on repeat listening no part felt like it was being brushed over; what remains is just the impression of a good quick and steady pulse.

With Jacobs being a much more dramatic, downright operatic account with a far stronger interpretative stance, it might not actually make for the best comparison. Frieder Bernius’ fine, slightly matter-of-fact (sound clips) Messiah on Carus is a more similar take: strait-laced, similar tempi, good singing, no-nonsense. Both present a good modern HIP standard; neither outright demand to replace your reference versions, whatever those may be. (A little trivium: In the ten years between those two recordings, the aforementioned Schachtner had made it from choir member for Bernius to soloist with Luks.) The sound on the Accent recording is brighter and more transparent than that of the Bernius SACDs, and the more prominent harpsichord (Joan Boronat Sanz) adds welcome texture. (Bernius uses a positif organ.) You won’t notice that this is a live recording until the enthusiastic roar and applause erupts at the end – but it explains why the chorus is set a little further at the back in this recording than, say, Jacobs’ studio effort.

9/9

(Originally on ClassicsToday)

Critic’s Notebook: Early Music Days Resonanzen Open with Jordi Savall and Les Musiciennes du Concert des Nations

Also reviewed for Die Presse: Jordi Savall im Konzerthaus: Zeitreise in die Ära des Langeweile-Vivaldis

A. Vivaldi Le quattro stagioni R.Alessandrini, concerto italiano (naïve, 2002/2006) US | UK | DE

A. Vivaldi Le quattro stagioni Alfia Bakieva J.Savall, Les Musiciennes... (Alia Vox, 2024) US | UK | DE

A. Vivaldi + Bach L'estro armonico + Transcriptions R.Alessandrini, concerto italiano (naïve, 2022) US | UK | DE

A. Vivaldi La Viola Da Gamba in Concerto (incl. RV 544) J.Savall, Le Concert des Nations (Alia Vox, 2006) US | UK | DE

The Resonanzen Opening Goes Awry

Jordi Savall and his ensemble of musicians make boredom in Vivaldi respectable again

Last season, Jordi Savall and his wonderful band, the Concert des Nations, presented the first (albeit none-too-successful) Beethoven symphony cycle on period instruments in the history of the Konzerthaus. Now they opened this year's early music festival "Resonanzen" — themed "Les femmes" — with a pure Vivaldi program culminating in the Four Seasons.

The orchestra and conductor have earned considerable trust with decades of impressive quality - and they desere our benefit of the doubt. Accordingly, one might say of the first half — with two concertos from the L'estro armonico collection (both later arranged by Bach) and the Double Concerto for Violin (Alfia Bakieva) and Cello (Bianca Riesner) RV 544 — that everything sounded very elegant, delicate, and chamber-music-like. Consistently witty in the cello. Rounder, calmer than the typically explosive, punchy interpretations of their Italian colleague-ensembles. Very refined and relaxed, both on the part of the orchestra with it's familiar warm sound and on the part of the solo violinist. All that, one might say.

On the other hand, one might also point out that the troupe also sounded somewhat lost in the Great Hall; that the sound was muffled, that Bakieva wouldn't or couldn't project, that she displayed a certain flexibility of intonation, and remained (not uncharming, admittedly) a murmuring part of the ensemble rather than pushing to the foreground. The Concerto for Four Violins (but without Bakieva), RV 580, went a bit better — but was still more blancmange than spiced-up gingerbread.

At intermission, there was still hope, even expectation, that Bakieva would take off her hotel mute (at least that's how it had sounded thus far) for the Four Seasons, at least. And that she would show why Savall is so enthusiastic about her ("the only violinist who has ever convinced him in this piece"). No, this enthusiasm remained difficult to fathom, in this concert. (Maybe it is different on disc; see reordings on the left). Arguably, the enthusiasm might stem from the intended, bold pianissimos and gutsy, forcedly quiet passages that Currentzis's former concertmaster undulged in. But, alas, these were unintentionally ungainly, imprecise, hesitant, very unsteady.

For all the prancing physical engagement and the forced smile, it was too often off-key and crooked and scratchy — and, at least on this Saturday evening, not really competent. The standards in this work are simply higher. The orchestra trickled along, without biting (intended) dissonances or the characterful playing that can and must bring this so often — almost too often — heard work to life. It was like a time-travel to the era of boring Vivaldi; as if — just one example — Rinaldo Alessandrini and Concerto Italiano's Seasons had never existed. The (certainly subsidy- and marketing-friendly) all-female version of the orchestra didn't help either.

Photo by Carlos Suarez, courtesy Konzerthaus

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Critic’s Notebook: Concentus Musicus and the Arnold Schoenberg Choir in Seasonal Bach

Also published in Die Presse: Feiern mit dem Concentus: Bach im Musikverein

J.S.Bach Christmas Oratorio N.Harnoncourt, Concentus, ASC (DHM, 2007) US | UK | DE

J.S.Bach Christmas Oratorio J.v.Veldhoven, Nederlandse Bachvereniging (Challenge, 2003gg) US | UK | DE

Bach and a Message for Contemplation

Stefan Gottfried is not Nikolaus Harnoncourt, but that's OK

In the winter of 2006/2007, Nikolaus Harnoncourt led and recorded the Christmas Oratorio in the Golden Hall with Concentus Musicus, the Arnold Schoenberg Choir, and an incomparable line-up of singers (Christine Schäfer, Bernarda Fink, Werner Güra, Christian Gerhaher, Gerald Finley).

On Saturday evening, in that very same hall, Stefan Gottfried conducted the same forces in the first two of the six cantatas that make up the oratorio. Had Werner Güra not fallen ill, one of those original soloists would even have been back.

Anyone who’s carried either the recording or the memory of it in their inner ear and compared the two would not have failed to notice that the twenty-year-old interpretation sounded fresher, brisker, more spontaneous: colourful, warm, heartfelt, yet crisp.

It would have been a pity to let such an—admittedly unfair—comparison keep one from appreciating the beautiful things offered here. Must everything always be a chase for superlatives, for “events”, for the sensational? Must every concert be earth-shattering? Must we, just because a performance may not eclipse everything previously heard, immediately grumble and go excavating for tiny blemishes to justify our disappointment? “Aha! The continuo organ wasn’t always in rhythm. There—those trumpets squeaked. An oboe was flat. Or the stand-in evangelist sounded heraldic rather than urgent or particularly text-attuned. And the soprano’s mordents and trills were more of a wobbled vibrato.” Can’t something simply be good?

Yes. It can, and it should. Especially in this reflective season, when one might consider not letting the best become the enemy of the good. Why not, then, delight in the Arnold Schoenberg Choir, in sensational shape, singing their choruses and chorales with precision, point, and an impressive dynamic span: “Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light!” — what a radiant line, that alone. Or take Olivia Vermeulen’s tenderly delivered “Schlafe, mein Liebster”. Or, in the Advent cantata of the first half, “Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland”: the delicately sustained recitative “Siehe, ich stehe vor der Tür”, sung by bass Manuel Walser. Or again the choir, in the instructive chorale “Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele, und vergiss all Not und Qual” from Wachet! Betet! Betet! Wachet!

And then there was the Concentus itself, playing with commitment and good spirit — even if the exuberant timpanist, alternately whispering and metaphorically (and literally) hitting the big drum, almost stole the show in the first cantata, which proclaims to us the joyful news of Christ’s birth. In short: It was beautiful.

Concentus Musicus Wien

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Critic’s Notebook: Golden Apple Sauce — and a larger-than-life serving of Jakub Orliński

Also published in Die Presse: Hier rockt der Elvis der Alten Musik: Orliński im Konzerthaus

Jakub Józef Orliński Beyond Il Pomo d'Oro (Erato, 2024) US | UK | DE

Jakub Józef Orliński Anima Aeterna Il Pomo d'Oro (Erato, 2021) US | UK | DE

The Elvis of Early Music

In his Konzerthaus show, the Polish countertenor did his thing while the band enabled him.

Ten musicians in black, in a dimmed Great Hall, began to send the haunting sounds of Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea into the semi-darkness of Vienna’s Konzerthaus. The sell-out crowd, well younger than average (possibly padded with some incentivized tickets?), perked its ears as the members of Il Pomo d’Oro dug into their historical instruments.

And then Jakub Józef Orliński strode onstage, in a getup that looked halfway like a black garment bag and which I would swear was at least in part self-designed. Under better light one later noticed: the musicians of Il Pomo d’Oro are dressed the same way. It’s all part of the staging (though that might be overstating it)… the dramaturgically woven show titled Beyond, conceived by Orliński and musicologist Yannis François. Aptly timed to go with the newly released album of the same name (Warner; meanwhile vinyl-lovers beware: the LP-version contains considerably less music than the CD).

At first, it wasn’t immediately obvious why there is such hype (and apparently there is) around Orliński. The voice seems rather small, doesn’t carry particularly well in the large hall, and sounds somewhat – if not unpleasantly – mealy. The generously applied “accent vibrato” recalls (late) Dominique Visse. Yet already the lyrical passages – of which there would be many during the uninterrupted ninety-minute arc – have real intensity. That small voice-business dissipated quickly, it turned out: as he warmed up, moving from Caccini via Frescobaldi to Strozzi, Cavalli, and Netti (rare, obscure bits and pieces, almost all of them), Orliński inched toward full form.

Still, things came properly alive only about an hour into the show when lutenist Miguel Rincón whipped out his Renaissance guitar and all but rocked the hall. The singing briefly became secondary, even though Orliński, on vocal break or not, made sure always to be the gravitational center of the room.

That the individual Renaissance rarities had been stitched together into a storyline is something you more or less had to have been told while the pervasive tone of despair in these pieces hardly lends itself to vivid dramaturgy. Good, then, that Orliński eventually spiced things up – strolling through the aisles while singing (which produced some delightful acoustic effects), playing the lovesick old woman in “Quanto più la donna invecchi” with comedy bordering on slapstick, or shaking his hips to wild cadenzas in the encores. The fans adored it; they lapped it up: roaring enthusiasm in a full house. That he also benefited considerably from outstanding musicians – above all cornett, harp, violins, and viola – should not go unmentioned.


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Critic’s Notebook: Heavenly Secular Cantatas from the Vienna Academy Orchestra, Martin Haselböck, and The Supremes

Also published in Die Presse: Musikverein: So himmlisch tönen weltliche Kantaten

Johann Sebastian Bach Cantata BWV 214 "Tönet, ihr Pauken! Erschallet, Trompeten!" et al Sampson, Danz, Padmore, Kooy P.Herreweghe / Collegium Vocale Gent (Harmonia Mundi, 2005) US | UK | DE

Johann Sebastian Bach Cantata BWV 134a "Die Zeit, die Tag und Jahre macht" et al Danz, Ullmann H.Rilling, Gächinger Kantorei, Bach-Collegium Stuttgart (Hänssler Classic, 2000) US | UK | DE

Johann Sebastian Bach Cantata BWV 206 "Schleicht, Spielende Wellen, Und Murmelt Gelinde" et al Larsson, von Magnus, Prégardien, Mertens T.Koopman / Amsterdam BO&C (Erato/Challenge, 1997, 2004) US | UK | DE

Celebratory Bach to Die For

A slice of Bach-heaven on earth, courtesy of the Orchester Wiener Akademie and their soul-stirred singers.

The Orchester Wiener Akademie is a bit like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates: you never know what you’re going to get. Sometimes you bite into a bit of a turd. But on Sunday morning in the Musikverein, the hand that reached in pulled out a truffle of the highest order – everything that makes the OWA glorious when it’s in top form. It began with the program. The sounds that filled the Golden Hall were, at first, familiar: the Christmas Oratorio. Fair enough for the first Sunday of Advent, especially in a world that can’t seem to tell Advent and Christmas apart anymore.

But – thankfully – it wasn’t the Oratorio. It was the secular cantata BWV 214, Tönet ihr Pauken! Erschallet, Trompeten! – the birthday serenade for Maria Josepha, whose best bits Bach later upcycled into his Christmas cycle. (“Upcycling” is exactly what we’d call that common Baroque practice today – all the more since Bach only ever parodied from worldly works upwards to sacred ones, never the other way round.) Alongside came Die Zeit, die Tag und Jahre Macht, BWV 134a, and another grand secular cantata, Schleicht, spielende Wellen, BWV 206 – in which four rivers, the Danube included, butter up Elector Friedrich August II. (Its cheerful relief that the Vistula is no longer clogged with body parts offers a vivid glimpse into 17th-century daily reality.)

Magnificent works all, and in magnificent scoring. And what a band! Beyond the aforementioned brilliantly buoyant natural trumpets, the melting flute trio, the ever-superb solo oboe, the cello, and strings playing with real intent, there was an eight-singer team (doubling as chorus) that made the heart leap. To single out individuals feels downright caddish – and yet: the round-toned tenderness Stefan Zenkl that showed ; the way Daniel Johannsen (who can breathe life into any text to make the soul smile) and Reginald Mobley (even with a smaller but lively voice) let the duet “Es streiten, es siegen” flow and dance; how Miriam Feuersinger sang her Bellona with intimate intensity – it was delight, pure and simple.

And so the music streamed along joyfully, steered with blissful sureness by Martin Haselböck, fully in his element.

Photocredit: Amar Mehmedinovic

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