Wrap-up

This Canberra International Music Festival was a blast for Megan and me. It’s a different experience to be so involved: more work, more time consuming, a busy house, but also more satisfying and more informed. We billeted James Eccles (viola) for the full festival and Graeme Jennings (violin) for the last weekend. We chatted music and heard strings at breakfast and were close to practising habits. We drove Graeme and Clare Tunney (cello) and others so chatted more. We knew of rehearsals and attended a few and these were interesting in a very different way from the performances. We heard tell of people and challenges and the inevitable minor foibles. We never tasted the soup. The density of contact and concerts taught us of composers and styles and musical history.

I blogged and attended more than I’d ever expected to, so the Festival took on shape and the creativity of Chris Latham’s (Artistic Director) event became more evident: Canberra the city, its role in democracy, its design and designers, Walter Burley Griffin and Marion Mahoney Griffin, who appeared in a delightful and informative conceit. All this in the year of Canberra’s 100th anniversary and the C100 festivities. The gathering of professional players for the Canberra Camerata Chamber Orchestra and the Song Company and Roland Peelman and the New Zealand and choral and ANU and other local connections. The internationals that thrill with their presence but also mingle and share learning back and forth: Pieter Wispelway (cello) and Paul Dresher (composer, US/California) and his Double Duo and Gavin Bryars (composer, UK). The interleaving of works from the baroque and Bach to minimalism and the modern. The setting of history (Great War, fin de siecle) that was influential at the time of Canberra’s founding. It’s a rich tapestry and this festival explored it with considerable musical and historical intellect. Being a part and attending more than a few concerts lets you appreciate all these themes. Of course, this takes time and maybe that’s why so many attendees were obviously retired.

Looking back, I found little that was disappointing and this actually surprises me. Perhaps worst was the Canberra Times coverage which was almost derisory. For such a high quality and intelligent event, I expected more coverage. Chris Latham had claimed Jesus’ Blood as perhaps the most important composition of the century (he’s always enthusiastic) yet I don’t remember a review. The Sculthorpe premiere got a very limited space as part of one article reviewing 3 concerts. It may not be run with the budget and renown of more famous festivals, but it is clearly run with intelligence and creativity that I reckon would vie with the best. CIMF2013 was a hugely successful event and Chris and the others who were involved can be duly proud. So should be Canberra and Australia.

And now to party

After the period-piece Albert Hall, the final CIMF concert at Llewellyn seemed so big. It was. It was also a big social event. It’s the end of a fabulously successful and challenging festival. Volunteers and attendees and musos were tired but elated. Everyone was invited back for drinks after, but I imagine it’s the musos who are colleagues at a distance who particularly enjoy the knees up. They have done 10 days of many performances with limited rehearsals. It’s a hard slog, but a worthy one.

The final event visited UK and US and linked their democratic institutions to the nascent Canberra. Marion appeared again. Walter appeared to read the words of Lincoln later in the night. We were reminded of Britain’s parliamentary traditions and the US’s federation and written constitution, and how both are represented in our Washminster mix. Perhaps we could say that Australia is an early postmodern democracy, being as mixed as it is.

First music was Vaughan Williams’ Serenade to music, written mid-Century. This was an orchestra with numerous voices singing an ode to music but with the common sadness of the period of post Great War and Depression and end of Empire and the intellectual Communist challenge and incipient fascism and the rest. Some great singing here, although only snippets. The comparison of ~10 singers as solo voices was interesting, even if each singer just got a phrase of two. Then Elgar’s Cello Concerto. Pieter Wispelway returned with Roland Peelman conducting. There was some impressive playing here: virtuoso solo cello passages leading to explosive responses by the full orchestra, then back to the quieter solo instrument. Wispelway is all passion and character. There’s obvious huge technique but to my ears he privileged expression. So he should. Quite wonderful.

The second half, the US half, was my preference. First was Aaron Copland’s Lincoln Portrait with our fantasy Walter Burley Griffin reading quotes from Lincoln. Everyone knows some of these; I didn’t know all. They were embedded with introductory lines about his place of birth and similar. What a glorious piece of clear democratic rhapsody. “Fellow, citizens, we cannot escape history” or “That government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish for the Earth”. Lofty thinking. I was wondering how comfortable he would be with the modern US. As they say of history, this is a different world. To finish, John Adams’ Dharma at Big Sur. It’s quite the antithesis to the romanticism of Elgar. This is mysterious and environmental and rambling with the cello like a character in the bush as night. All expressive virtuoso playing against clicks and squeals and pizzicato and swells and occasional dissonance. Pieter seemed to lighten up after this, speaking to the audience, and replaying the 2nd movement. He admitted being uncomfortable with the first take (although impressive). This second take was much stronger and was a pleasing end to the concert and the festival.

Then a few speeches to finish it all off, and all that’s left is to party.

Marion’s very many children

The theme of this year’s Canberra International Music Festival is Canberra, in its 100th birthday year, and the renowned Walter Burley Griffin and wife and partner is planning, Marion Mahoney Griffin. Marion, or her dramatic alter-ego, introduced he concert, Marion’s child by explaining that, although she had no children, she’s proud of their creation, Canberra, and she thinks of all its inhabitants as her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren… I’ve now seen Walter once and Marion twice, and it’s obviously fabulous (as in fables) but also a delightful pretense. For today, there were very many of her great,great grandchildren on stage doing a wonderful job of singing the song of Canberra, for virtually all the compositions had a Canberra theme.

Firstly, Sally Greenaway’s Auróra Musis Amica: fanfare for Canberra. It’s hard for a fanfare not to stir the emotions and the senses and this one did it with aplomb. I was smiling at the beauty of the dawn soundscape to start then lifted by the fanfare and let down gently by the final bars of colour. A wonderful, short piece of considerable success performed by the Combined Grammar Schools Orchestra. Next was Earth song by Frank Ticheli performed by the choirs of Canberra combined Grammar schools and Burgmann School. These are young voices: not powerful but sweet and pure and high, with just the start of male depth. Lovely sounds. Then Canberra by Stephen Leek sung by the Woden Valley Youth Choir (all girls) accompanied by piano. This comprised two pieces: Where to build a city and Canberra Anthem. This was story-telling in music. Amusing chatter led to discussion of Where to build the city (this was an issue just over 100 years back). They ended with the decision “Canberra / the meeting place of ancient times / Where, where where, where / There”. An effective piece of story telling. Then another by Stephen Leek called Landmarks. This sang of Murrumbidgee flows, Lake Ginninderra and The Brindabellas in three movements that was ancient and expansive and spoke to Aboriginal awareness with glockenspiel providing structure, bass drums providing thunder, congas providing rhythm interspersed with harmonised vocal lines in eight note melodies.

Then the big forces were arrayed for two works by Karl Jenkins. I’d arrived earlier to find many schoolkids in uniform on Sunday, mostly eating sausage sandwiches, not expecting a massed kids performance. This is a wonderful little music hall with a large stage and it was packed. About 200 players, including Canberra Camerata and Song Company for the professional guidance, and a raft of school choirs and orchestral players. Chris Latham introduced Karl Jenkins as a Mozart of music for youth”. I could only concur. These were not massively difficult pieces, but they were serious and interesting. Chris had also added words about Canberra in place of most of the nonsense phonemes of the original, so ti was also historically educative. I wondered what the Sydney-siders of the Song Company thought as they sang of Canberra as the Shimmering City, and I felt uncomfortable with the “great city” reference later, but these were very satisfying and even engrossing works done with surprising maturity. The first was The Shimmering city, a major work in 100-or-so movements including the fabulous voices of Susannah Lawergren, Anna Fraser (sopranos) and Tobias Cole (counter-tenor) with Riley Lee (Shakuhachi) and Ji Won Kim (solo violin) with Woden Valley Youth Choir, Canberra Girls Grammar and Canberra Grammar School Combined Choirs and Orchestra and Radford College Choir and Orchestra, and Burgmann College Choir conducted by Chris Latham. The second was shorter, the Song of the Limestone Plains, with introductory voices then claps for the birthday of Canberra the choir then shakuhachi and brass and more, all against what seemed to me to be a cut-time outback groove. Very nice stuff.

In the wings

Wagner was on that evening, but we were booked for dinner, so we dropped in on the rehearsal in the afternoon at the Llewellyn. We’d expected to sit in the stalls, but the security guard pointed to the stage door, so, well, so be it. We took seats next to Steinways, listened to four blaring horns that were pointing directly at us, struggled to hear some vocals, watching occasional performers slink in when late, or sneak out to the toilets. It was an amusing hour or so, and interesting for the involvement and odd balance and immersion that is the experience of someone amongst an orchestra. We heard the orchestra practising Good Friday and the Grail music from Parsifal. Just a few pics.

The faith of one homeless man

“Jesus’ blood never failed me / yeah, never failed me / yeah Jesus’ blood never failed me / yeah, just one thing I know / for he loves me so”. Gavin Bryars conducted his own composition of Jesus’ blood. It wasn’t the only thing he performed, but it was the notable and controversial piece. The concert was called Jesus blood. This was the concert from hell for organisation – every festival must have one of these – but the music was quite otherwise. Firstly, the last, Jesus blood. It was performed by an orchestra with choir; the stage was full at the Albert Hall. It runs for 40 minutes in this full version. The 26 seconds of a homeless man singing this line is repeated, endlessly. Gavin was generous with his introduction and explanations. He’d recorded it twice, in London in the ‘70s when members of a major orchestra refused to have their names on the CD cover as it might ruin their careers. Then again in NYC in the ‘90s when brass from another famed orchestra rang to confirm the spelling of their names. The second was with Tom Waits as a second vocal. Always good for sales. But he also said he treats music with respect, first seeking to do no evil. That was sensible and the result, of Jesus Blood and the rest, was both beautiful and respectful. JB’s orchestra grows, slowly, almost imperceptibly, behind this repeated voice. Everyone asks, quizically, what you thought. Plenty have problems with it. I found my mind wondering a few times. But the effect is powerfully emotional. It brings tears to your eyes. Especially when the xylophone rings then comes to a steady 1-2-3-4- beat. Or when the tubular bells ring through. Especially when the voices come in behind the rough singing. They are supremely touching. Then it fades, the orchestra finishing with the palest of violin notes. Technically it’s 12 bars of 3/4 time (split 8-4) repeated and developed; the orchestra rests of bar 12. Emotionally, it’s a stunner.

The rest was as good but very different. Jesus’ blood was actually the last piece performed. First was a small string group with two guitars and the Song Company voices interweaving in Laude. These are five short pieces with a mediaeval style, two or three voices interweaving over varied orchestration, one with jazz pizz double bass, another with tweeting viola and other strings. But the voices took it for me. A full sounding soprano with counter-teror, or a pure soprano with tenor and baritone, or whatever. Such glorious voices with mingled melody lines. Bliss. Then more vocal bliss. I’m stuck on the singers. This time, Susannah Lawergren, one sole soprano, pure of voice and raising to the stratosphere. Then percussion from Synergy, playing Bryar’s One last bar, then Joe can sing, and Synergy and two pianists playing Percy Grainger’s Blithe bells.

Great composition, fabulous voices, touching simplicity, even jazz bass and Gavin as stand-up comedian covering for some breaks in the program. He seems an amusing Brit. If you meet him, ask him the one about the cricked neck and the celebratory scotch. Another success.

Gavin Bryars (bass, composition) was one composer-in-residence at the CIMF. His group performed his Laude, Adnan songbook, One last bar then Joe can sing and Jesus’ Blood as well as Percy Grainger’s Blithe bells. The Song Company, Synergy Percussion, Roland Peelman and other helped out.

Channelling Joni and ‘Runner

“Make me feel good, rock and roll band / I’m you’re biggest fan / California coming home”. So sang Joni Mitchell. Paul Dresher performed at the Albert Hall and he did some things differently. They say they do things differently in California, the home of hippies and Hollywood and Silicon Valley. It also gave us Ronald Reagan and it’s also broke. Jazz looks to civilisation and lives in its undercurrents, in NYC and Berlin. California channels the fresh and new, at least to our generation. So Paul Dresher presented his Double Duo in concert with compositions relating to our sense of the passage of time and to fuel drag racing. Paul himself performed on electric guitar (Strat) so the R’n’R reference has some validity. He also performed on Quadrachord, a five-stringed instrument of 160-inch scale which he bowed. So here’s the new and the quirky together. I didn’t particularly warm to the use of either instrument. Paul doesn’t attempt Steve Vai although he does solo, but the distorted tones were lacking in overtones and seemed to just fatten the mix and get lost in it. It might work better with studio processing. Similarly, the Quadrachord didn’t seem to provide a whole lot more than repeating sequenced arpeggio-like harmonics, although there was an intervening sound each cycle that was maybe a double stop. I was thinking it must have cost a bomb to transport. So much for the R’n’R and the quirky Californian aspects.

But did I like the music? Immensely. This was minimalism, repeated arpeggios and sequences that mutate over time, square structures of four with melody over, brilliant dissonance and consonance switching back and forth, stubborn contradictory polyrhythms, dense clouds of percussion that regularly float over, dull repetition and deep groove with obtuse melody and clashing harmony and splashes of colour from bell-like percussion. It’s a world of dull repetition and enlivening contrast. I frequently remember a murder and chase street scene from Bladerunner as a picture of a possible future: huge diversity of people and clothes and cultures under constant rain and huge neon signs and police in flying cars descending next to Asian street hawker kiosks. To some degree dystopian; to some degree diverse and exciting. I picture both California and minimalism as somewhat like this. I can doubt the mind-numbing repetition of the fours and triplets and two chords and the rest, but I tap my feet with this music and thrill with the incongruity of it all, the unexpectedness of melody and harmony, and especially the rhythms that clash and contradict but are sustained, wondering all along that it holds together and speaks to me. There’s even a sense of soloing here, from distorted guitar or clarinet or expecially from the violins, but it’s written, not improvised.

It’s not surprising that this was one of the smaller audiences at a CIMF concert. It’s new music, although minimalism is not too new now. I’d picked it. Megan’s normally a listener to Bach and Beethoven but she liked it too, suggesting it’s better live. Maybe. It grows and mutates like a living thing and that probably works better live. This was another concert with a Quiros St connection. Our no.2 billet is Graeme Jennings. He knew these players in SF but had never played with them until he played a solo part in Cage Machine on this date. This was a great gig. I felt satisfied and excited and intellectually requited. There’s great tradition in “fine” music and I love it, but this is music for our time and I’m pleased to see it’s so well grounded. Great gig.

The Double Duo is led by Paul Dresher (electric guitar, quadrachord, composer) with Karen Bentley Pollick (violin), Lisa Moore (keyboard) and Joel Davel (percussion) with guests Graeme Jennings (violin) and Robert Spring (clarinet, bass clarinet).

War and Canberra

Chris Latham led the Canberra Camerata Chamber Orchestra for a performance of the Mahler Symphony no.9 at the National Museum and they did a great job. It’s only a little orchestra and there were times I missed big strings for the sprawling expanses, but how well did they do with what they had? The various winds were there and spot on: flute, trumpet, oboe and others that felt just right, spelling out the lamenting lines with precision and empathy. The strings were just a quartet with the addition of bass. They weren’t big and suffered for that, but they were clear and the lines were evident, so that the intellectual construction was clear. Perhaps the violins suffered most from the lack on numbers, but they smaller and less space-filling. The cello and especially the bass seemed to be nicely present. The orchestra was filled out with piano, accordion and percussion. Piano and especially accordion seem unusual for a symphony. Perhaps Mahler wrote for them, or maybe they were included in the arrangement to provide some body or to complete some parts. Both are instruments that play chords, so each can take the place of several single note instruments, strings or others. That said, I could hear the accordion easily enough, but the piano was kept well back. I only remember noticing it a few times. But despite the smaller scale, this was an immense success. I wallowed in some trumpet parts and gloried in flute and oboe, was excited by percussion and empathised with strings and cello. This is a long and contorted work: about 90 minutes in 4 movements. The program spoke of Mahler’s awareness of death, farewell to love and pleasure. It was certainly a sombre work, and perhaps a premonition of WW1 to follow only years later. The program also suggests that Mahler had faith in an afterlife, but this sounded to me a secular lament. It would be a strange faith that speaks quite so mournfully, even hopelessly. The context of the work was set for us by Marion Mahoney-Griffin, or at least by her alterego. I’d not been quite so comfortable with her husband, Walter’s, appearance the other day before the Sculthorpe piece, but I’m warming to the pretense. This was an excellent touch, setting the context of WW1, the losses and the associated delays in development of Canberra; more specifically, how the planned civic centre at the base of Mt Ainslie became a memorial to the WW1 dead and how the lake was delayed 50 years and how the railway didn’t appear at all. All very relevant and informative. So, set in the context of turn-of-the-century Europe and Griffin Canberra, this work was clarified, if it remained turgid and even indecisive at times. I enjoyed much of the middle parts and even the slow development and denouement, but the endless end had me chuckling quietly to myself. The concert was entitled the last Romantic symphony. The mistakenly described war-to-end-all-wars saw to the end of all that. So, long and even ponderous it may have been, but it was also touching and speaks to its era. Chris and the orchestra did the work proud. Wonderful.

Just a few final words about the venue. It’s a strange acoustic with hard surfaces in strange shapes. Before the concert I clapped and heard a single slap-back. It’s very live, and that’s good for a smaller outfit like this, making it bigger than it sounds. As with many such institutions, it had a noticeable aircon hum that appeared several times during the performance. I was talking to their local sound man, and they seem to have digital 64-track capability on hand. So it’s a unique acoustic environment as well as being a unique visual space.