Rattle's big night

Rattle and the LSO.
Photo: Doug Peters/PA

THIS IS RATTLE. The posters greet you at the main entrance, on the programme cover, everywhere around the Barbican. And the first sound that meets your ears is of children singing. The foyer is crammed with opening-night concert-goers gazing up at a choir of primary-school kids on the balcony showing off their musical skills to the manner born. It's a great way to start the big night that marks the opening of Sir Simon Rattle's long-awaited return to Britain as music director (yes, music director, not chief conductor) of the London Symphony Orchestra. Explore their website to read about the plans for innovative digital work, outreach, British music focuses, streaming, filming and even some rather fine concerts. These are going to be exciting times, or so one might hope.

"This is music, this is what we believe.

Music is for everybody, music is a right.

It's the air we breathe, the water we drink." 

--- Sir Simon Rattle

Rattle has been on the TV, on the airwaves, in the newspapers. He only has to sneeze for it to make the headlines, it seems. Having a household name at the head of the LSO can only be a good thing for musical life here. And his chosen opening night programme was something that probably no other conductor could get away with and end up still speaking to the management: a musical marathon of five works by British composers, four of them alive and kicking hard, two of them present to take their bows, and among them names of the type that in other settings sometimes strike fear and paralysis into the hearts of potential attendees. Not so here: the crowd, if occasionally bemused and unquestionably challenged, at worst read its programmes and at best positively lapped up the craggy music by Helen Grime, Thomas Adès, Harrison Birtwistle and Oliver Knussen before relaxing into the sunlit garden of Elgar's Enigma Variations. If there was champagne for the musical soul of London, food for thought was never far away.

The first half could scarcely have been better chosen. First was a new work commissioned by the Barbican for the LSO, a five-minute piece by Grime named 'Fanfare' - but 'Overture' might have been better, since it seems to contain the seeds of much more than its moniker suggests. Vivid string syncopations and starbursts of percussion made celebratory noises, but the wide-ranging imagination in terms of forces mingling - whether punchy musical motifs or glitter-rich orchestration - suggested there is plenty to build on and possibly expand.

The young Simon Rattle, portrait by Norman Perryman

Adès's Asyla is 20 years old: a tried and tested piece of diamond-hewn musical ammunition, premiered by Rattle in Birmingham back in the day, and since then played all over the world. That probably gives it 'modern classic' status, but it only becomes more startling on repeated hearing. Its swirling dreamscapes, its visionary, passacaglia-like slow movement, the simultaneous unfolding of extraordinary ideas one on top of another, the adopting of club music techniques (the programme includes a story from Adès about how writing this passage landed him in hospital with a suspected heart attack) - all of this sounds more original, fresher and more bizarre every time around. The piece can sparkle a little bit more than it did last night, perhaps - I've heard tenser, tauter accounts - but placing it centre stage was absolutely the right thing to do.

Christian Tetzlaff was the soloist for Birtwistle's Violin Concerto of 2009-10, which shows the doyen of British composers in relatively mellow mode. While the orchestration has a dark, cave-like spaciousness and resonance, or sometimes moves like a leviathan in the deep (the tuba writing helps), Tetzlaff was caramel-toned over the top, a poet amid a mass that sometimes comprehends, other times discusses, and often serves to offset the eloquent tenderness of his thoughts. It's a collaborative concerto, essentially: wind players emerge from the ranks to set up solo spots alongside the violinist one at a time, and Tetzlaff did all he could to spur them into playful musical discussion. The octogenarian composer, who today somewhat resembles a comfortable, shuffly polar bear, took his bow to a respectful ovation.

Oliver Knussen's Symphony No.3 is a short three-movement work of sensitive, moody, atonal architecture, begun when the composer was all of 21 in the early 1970s, and completed in 1979. Rattle tackled it with enormous affection, shaping and pacing it splendidly. If it proved one big chew too many for a single evening, probably few would have admitted it yesterday; we could reflect, instead, on why it is that when there are so many fine pieces of modern British music in existence, we can wait years for them to return, then get three at once (London buses, etc...).

It's also intriguing to think that while the idiom of this music was fully current by 1973, that was almost a half-century ago - yet the basic style of what's thought of today as mainstream British modern music has not changed much. The finest voices within it are individual and distinctive, and produce occasional masterpieces. But now, one could reasonably contend, isn't it time to move on?

Settling into Elgar's Enigma Variations after all of this was like stepping out of a deep lake onto dry land. The sense of gravity is transformed. Your breathing changes. You know where your feet are. Rattle's account of the variations homed in on the affection of the composer for his "friends pictured within" - and he coaxed the LSO strings into some Seidel-esque marvels on the G string in "RPA", a hush to end all hushes at the start of "Nimrod", an elusive, butterflyish, cherishable delicacy in "Dorabella" and a moment of anguish for "***" on her long sea voyage - for everybody, there must be one that got away. The finale was a giant musical bear-hug. The orchestra, playing its many socks off for its new boss, blossomed and shone; and the hall, too, was full of friends - friends of music and art and joy. If anything represents hope in Brexit Island today, it's the return of Rattle.

And there's that elephant stalking the corners of the room. The ambition expressed in the Barbican last night is vast: new initiative will follow new initiative and even the new hall was spoken of as a budding reality - though a lot of money still has to be found through donors and sponsorship to make it happen. Nobody said what many of us are thinking: how on earth are we going to manage any of this after Brexit?

What will happen to the LSO's large contingent of European players? What will happen to international touring if we end up with visas, customs and tariffs even to travel a couple of hours to Paris or Amsterdam? How can we continue to attract the world's greatest soloists if the pound plummets still further and our fees can't remain even slightly competitive on the world stage? Would Sir Simon have come back at all if he'd known Brexit was going to happen? (They asked him this on the TV news. He said it would have "given me pause".) It's possible, of course, that our civil servants, working behind the scenes, can avert a worst-case, crash-out Brexit, but there's scant sign of competence, understanding or realism among the front-bench politicians who seem hell-bent on driving us smack into the cliff-face, determined to sacrifice everything of the public good to a public opinion formed on the basis of proven lies.

Welcome home, Sir Simon.


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Out now: Zimerman's first solo album since 1994

It's out. And it was worth the wait. Pianophiles have hung on for a new album from Krystian Zimerman since 1994, when his Debussy Preludes won a Gramophone award. Concertos, yes; a rather wonderful piano sonata by Grazyna Bacewicz along with her piano quintets, yes; but all alone, no. Finally here it is: Schubert's A major Sonata D959 and B flat major Sonata D960.

These are unlike any other interpretations of these works that I've heard: he makes them entirely his own, and they scrub up like buried treasure after a bath. Yet with such eloquent phrasing, you feel Schubert himself is speaking to you directly, with something urgent, profound and life-affirming to communicate. If you only listen to one thing this week, make sure it's this. Incidentally, if you're a vinyl nut, this album will soon be available on LP as well.

Here's one Spotify extract...this is the Andante from the B flat major Sonata.

Back in May, into my in-box popped a message from DG: could I go and see Krystian, interview him and write the booklet notes? ("Er, let me have a think and get back to you..." said I, or not exactly...). Here are two little tasters of the resulting text, in which he talks about his view of the sonatas and the genesis of this project. Lots more inside the CD booklet. 

JD: How would you characterise these sonatas?

KrZ: I think they contribute significantly to our view of Schubert’s greatness. He switches into a different gear, daring radically new ideas in harmony and polyphony. Compared to his earlier sonatas, they could almost be by another composer.

The slow movements of the D959 and D960 sonatas are maybe the saddest music I know: the major keys are even sadder than the minor, because this is complete resignation, complete acceptance, perhaps thinking of leaving this planet and ending life. The middle of the A major’s slow movement is revolutionary. It’s a milestone in music: a tremendous tempest where all hell breaks loose. You feel it almost foreshadows Wagner, because it looks incredibly into the future. Yet both sonatas have scherzos that are full of humour, and gorgeous last movements in which Schubert integrates so beautifully the singing character of the cantilena.

I find the repeats absolutely necessary. In D960 the low trill in the left hand occurs fortissimo only at the end of the exposition, in the first-time bars, and it’s completely different from the other three times we hear it. But also, when you return to the beginning it sounds transformed after you’ve heard the whole exposition. The movement is long, but I have tried to choose a tempo that is always fluid, with plenty of breathing.

...

JD: The recording venue was the Kashiwazaki City Performing Arts Centre, Japan. Kashiwazaki is the location of a gigantic nuclear power station. After a terrible earthquake there in 2007, you gave a fundraising recital for the town – and to thank you they later offered you a week’s use of this hall?

KrZ: Yes, I am extremely grateful to the town of Kashiwazaki and its mayor, Mr Hiroshi Aida. The hall was built after the original Performing Arts Centre was destroyed in the earthquake, and is designed by a student of the great acoustician Yasuhisa Toyota. I thought it was among the best acoustics I had encountered and I thought I would love to record there. In Toyota’s halls, every note is clear, yet each is in a cushion of warm surroundings. For example, playing in Suntory Hall feels like flying – the piano opens up and you can do incredible things because you are so inspired by this acoustic.

...We arrived to record the Schubert… in three metres of snow. The staff were unbelievably generous, providing heating, food and four people to run everything smoothly, even when we worked until 2am. I am also very grateful to my excellent sound engineer, Rainer Maillard, who agreed to continue working that late. We recorded everything using 32-bit technology, perhaps for the first time on Deutsche Grammophon.

The snow was so deep that one night we had to shovel our way out. But inside, it was another world and I was able to spend five days completely immersed in Schubert.


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Something for the weekend: Paris with Jonas

Jonas Kaufmann's new album of French arias, entitled simply L'Opéra, is out next week. Being JDCMB readers, dear friends, you are probably going to like it, so here is Sony's beautifully made trailer, narrated by the man himself.

He strikes a fine balance between known and unfamiliar repertoire, with the presentation on the video informal but informative, classy but unpretentious. He's accompanied by the magnificent Orchestra of the Bavarian State Opera from his home town of Munich, conducted by Bertrand de Billy. Ludovic Tézier joins him for the Pearl Fishers duet and Sonya Yoncheva for scenes from Massenet's Manon that even blissed out my cat, Ricki, not thus far noted for his appreciation of anything other than supremely refined playing of Mozart piano sonatas.

The album also includes dark-hued accounts of Massenet's 'Pourquoi me réveiller' from Werther and the Flower Song from Bizet's Carmen, but culminates in the glory of Berlioz's Les Troyens, performed with multifarious colour and vast, mature, refined authority. We hope you love it as much as we did.

Release date is 15 September and there's more info here.

To the Conway Hall be true

As the capital's concert series gear up for the new season, here is a spotlight on an undersung yet extraordinarily valuable venue in central London. Still, you might not know about it unless you'd been lucky enough - as I was - to have been taken there every Sunday night right through your childhood and adolescence to hear and learn the chamber music repertoire.

My father was a regular at the Conway Hall's South Place Sunday Concerts and I went along from the age of about 8, mesmerised by hearing great live music at close quarters and contemplating the mysterious quote above the proscenium arch, 'To Thine Own Self Be True' (it's from Hamlet). A while ago the London Chamber Music Society moved its Sunday concerts to Kings Place and Conway Hall started its own. The first concert for 2017-18 is this Sunday, 10 September, 6.30pm: the Tippett Quartet and pianist Emma Abbate play a delectable programme of Haydn's String Quartet Op.103 and the piano quintets of Schumann and Dvorák.

I'm not sure I'd be here now without those Sunday concerts' influence. So I got together with the pianist Simon Callaghan, who's in charge of the programming, and asked him what it's like to run them.

The Badke Quartet rehearsing in the Conway Hall.
(I remember that lamp from when I was a kid...)

JD: Simon, how did you come to be running the concert series at the Conway Hall?

SC: In May 2008 I met Giles Enders who was then the manager of Conway Hall at an English music event at the Royal College of Music. We chatted and I became very interested in this historic place I had never heard about, and its potential as a first-rate concert venue! I visited the following week and the idea of me taking over as Director of Music was born. I won't lie and say it's been easy - it was a steep learning curve - but I've enjoyed every minute, especially the opportunity to hear wonderful chamber music every week and get to know lots of world-class musicians.

JD: Please give us a few vital statistics about the hall?

SC: The hall seats just over 400 people and is cherished for its wonderful acoustic, no doubt enhanced by the mainly wooden fittings throughout. Players of all instruments love experiencing the warm, intimate atmosphere and it is particularly suited to small chamber ensembles. The music can be enjoyed from any part of the hall but I particularly enjoy the centre of the balcony where the full 'bloom' of the sound can be absorbed!

The London Mozart Players and Howard Shelley. Photo: Tonmy Lam

JD: I’ve been going to the Conway Hall most of my life, as my father used to take me to the Sunday evening series. What does the place mean to you? What is it that inspires such loyalty in its audience?

SC: I think the 'down to earth' atmosphere coupled with the consistent high quality of the music making is what inspires such loyalty in our audience. Added to this is the variety of repertoire on offer, which draws a healthy number of new audience members each week. Since the first time I went there in 2008, I have grown ever fonder of the whole place and particularly the main hall, where every member of the audience can see the words 'To Thine Own Self Be True' above the stage throughout the performance, adding a contemplative element to the experience of the music.

JD: When you’re dealing with an audience who love their Beethoven quartets but might not be so open to unusual pieces, how do you handle the balance between pleasing them and attracting new people with other repertoire?

SC: This is a issue I'm not sure I will ever get to the bottom of! Our audience come from very varied backgrounds and while there is indeed a good number of people who come every week, our more adventurous programmes tend to attract lots of new people, which is great. I've also spoken to lots of our regulars recently who have developed quite an appetite for a greater variety of repertoire, so we are getting there. Contemporary music performance is something that traditionally was very common at Conway Hall, so I'm keen to do more of this, and perhaps even to commission some new works.

A Valentine's Day concert...

JD: What are the chief challenges you’re facing with this series at the moment? How would you like it to develop from here?

SC: The exciting developments and growth in our series in the last couple of years have left me greedy for more. My main challenge now is to make sure more and more people get to know about Conway Hall and especially the wonderful musical events that happen there. I speak to people almost every week who have recently discovered it and wish they had done so years ago.  It usually only takes one or two concerts for people to become hooked!

JD: Please can you point out a few highlights of the new season?

SC: It's very tricky to choose! Every concert has a real 'raison d'être'. We have our usual offering of string quartets and piano trios of course, but we're straying a little off the beaten track with a violin and guitar recital, and pre-concert performances featuring repertoire for harp and double bass, and even electric guitar. Balancing the programme we start and end the autumn series with two great piano quintets and two great clarinet quintets. There really is something for everyone.

JD: What would you say to encourage newcomers to attend a concert at the Conway Hall?

SC: I would pass on to them the comments that I've heard from many newcomers. They love the hall and its acoustic, of course, but what is special about Conway Hall is the atmosphere.  We are not stuffy, not overly formal, we just want to create the best ambience for everyone to enjoy the music and bring the audience and performers as close to each other as possible. Everyone in the audience has a chance to chat to everyone else if they so wish over a drink in the interval, and I know many long friendships that have been born through a mutual love of music and attending concerts at Conway Hall.

Crying Quietly: is anyone listening?

In this guest post for JDCMB, the 18-year-old composer and writer Jack Pepper, from Surrey, makes an impassioned plea to stop the closure of Dorking's Performing Arts Library. 

Crying Quietly: is anyone listening?

Save Surrey’s Performing Arts Library

Jack Pepper

Jack Pepper

This year, Surrey County Council needs to make savings of more than £100m, and as a result Dorking’s Performing Arts Library – which holds a plethora of scores, books, play scripts, libretti and records - is potentially facing the chop. For the sake of music, musicians, education, and our country’s heritage, we must not let this cultural goldmine close.

We hear a lot of grumbling nowadays. ‘Austerity’ is a familiar word, and it seems impossible to check a Facebook feed or an online journal without someone writing about what in their opinion is a ‘national disgrace’. But this blog is not political – the Surrey Performing Arts Library has faced closure in the past – and I do not seek to condemn one political party or endorse another. Instead, I’d like to shift the focus back to music.

That’s what the Surrey Performing Arts Library does so well. With countless orchestral and choral sets, miniature scores, valuable music history books and records, this building is far more than an efficiency saving. It is a cultural treasure-trove, and for musicians like me it is invaluable. Before a rehearsal up in London, I can rent a score and save hundreds of pounds a month. Equally, I can purchase a music history book for £1 that you could only find for £30 anywhere else. 

This library opens music to all. After a visit today, I have emerged with the writings of Wanda Landowska, the scores for Bach’s English and French Suites, an encyclopaedia of rock and pop music, and countless other volumes. I am hugely excited at the thought of the new discoveries that such books present; pieces of music I have yet to hear, composers I have yet to discover, and new areas of interest that are yet to open up. The books I have come away with today will no doubt inspire many a future composition of mine by exposing me to new ideas and possibilities. All for less than £20.

Some people may argue that this is just a library. But I argue that a library is far more than a building with some books; it is a symbol of our willingness to invest in education, culture and accessibility to the arts for all. Some too often see libraries and cultural centres as soft targets; because they don’t attract thousands of visitors a year, nor grab the national headlines frequently, they are too often side-lined. But they provide a vital service, and one that can hardly be measured in monetary terms. 

Libraries such as this open up music to all. Who doesn’t get a thrill from listening to a symphony? Who doesn’t recognise the power of a song that, despite having forgotten the names and faces of their closest relatives, triggers something in the mind of a Dementia-sufferer that allows them to recall the lyrics? The treasures discovered at a library stay with you for life. Libraries give inspiration to composers like me, and motivation to explore the breadth of what music has to offer. The treasures of our past are only accessible through such resources.

But it means even more than this. To protect this library, and countless others like it, means protecting not just our musical past, but also our musical future. Not only does the Performing Arts Library preserve the works and ideas of past musicians, but in making them available to today’s community, the Library also ensures that the work of the future is secure. Libraries such as this are an indication of our country’s willingness to invest in its own heritage, education, and in both its past and future. It is a statement of intent. So much more than ‘just a library’.

It would be careless to so flippantly discard such a vital national resource. Choosing to protect the Surrey Performing Arts Library is a choice to protect our community’s culture; a choice to allow young musicians like me to continue to access the best resources that will give us every opportunity to advance our musicianship; a choice to prove that we love the music we write so frequently about. It is precisely this love of music – not political character-assassination – that should make you sign the survey below today. 

When you have the choice to protect the music and education you value – you wouldn’t be reading this blog if you felt otherwise – then please take it. We must have this discussion because what it at stake is so much more than politics, or a mere building. This is a choice to defend the music that gives us all so much pleasure. This is a choice to make this music accessible to all.

Jack Pepper

PLEASE FILL IN THE SURVEY HERE:

https://www.surreysays.co.uk/libraries-service/38ff7ab4/

Jack is an 18-year-old composer and writer from Surrey, who will soon start studying Music at Oxford University. Having written a fanfare for the Royal Opera House in 2016, he has since composed for Classic FM’S 25^th birthday, in association with the Royal Philharmonic Society. The Royal Liverpool Philharmonic are performing this commission in October 2017. As a writer has appeared on the Gramophone and RPS blogs, and as a reviewer for Opera Today.