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.

Pities of Poland

It is with respect and some shared sadness that I write about the performance of Henryk Gorecki’s …songs are sung… last night in the foyer of the National Museum. The request that the audience not applaud was indicative of the gravity of the event. Gorecki wrote this piece in memory of Poland’s World War 2 experiences and the aftermath, then held it back for many years before finally allowing it to be premiered by the Kronos Quartet. This performance was claimed as a “premiere performance … for string orchestra”, presumably for this arrangement. The Polish Ambassador set the scene by reminding us, if necessary, of the harrowing contemporary history of Poland, the memory of the Katyn massacre and the recent loss of a large number of the political class travelling to memorialise that event. So this was not a performance to be treated lightly. It wasn’t: a quiet and respectful audience, candles, heavy and deeply moving music.

The piece is in five movements lasting about 45 minutes. A goodly number of strings (I judge by the number of double basses: there were four) and a string quartet. I didn’t particularly notice the quartet in physical layout or in the music (other than a key cello part at the start of the fifth movement). I notice the program says the quartet included Max McBride on bass. I didn’t see Max but he may have been there. Bass would make it an unusual string quartet and no parallel to Kronos. The musicians performed in silhouette with candles, and I was down the back and had eyes closed most of the time. You couldn’t listen to this concert with your eyes. The music was often contemplative with long notes on deep bass and cellos. There was a hint of leavening at times, with simple and pleasant major lines, but they inevitably fell to a flattened note at the end for minor key sadness. Each hopeful line cut off after the shortest of possibilities. Brooding music, telling of people who know their losses and are pained by them. Not a music of ignorance, but of occasional hope being promptly and reliably trampled and low volumes speaking of self-preservation in a hostile environment. But it was surprisingly not music of resignation, more of the recognition of horror and of survival. Both profound and memorable.

Coincidence. I was listening to Radio National as I arrived at the National Museum. An Iraqi was comparing Iraq to Poland, saying they had similar, tragic experiences due to their geography, both being located between power blocks where armies pass through. I’m an unrestrained rationalist, but I admit to the unnerving coincidence.

Gorecki’s …songs are sung… was performed by the Canberra Camerata with the NZ String Quartet.