No complaints

I’ll never complain about the cost of double bass strings again. We saw harpist Tegan Peemoeller with baritone Rohan Thatcher at the Artists Shed at Queanbeyan on Sunday. After the gig, she gave a Harp 101 lecture with harp lore, an introduction to the instrument and a few Q&As. As for the strings, a full set costs $1,000 to $2,000. They are the work of an afternoon to change (masters may get it down to 1 hour). The upper strings are changed every 3 months; the middle strings, every 6 months; the bass strings, every year. This is for a well maintained, professional player. Then there’s the set of tools to go in the purse (most harpists seem to be female) and the annual services. It’s an investment and not for the faint-hearted. Bass strings at $200 a set changed annually seems a doodle; as for guitar strings at $15 a set, baby-food.

But what of the sound? I hear classical guitar from the nylon strings, and techniques like damping and harmonics and finger plucking versus arm sweeps. Also the sound of piano in the lower registers. But something unique in the harp is enharmonics, which allows those wonderful sweeping glissandi that define the instrument. Tegan explained it’s possible given pedals setting multiple strings to the same pitch, eg, D flattened to Db on one string and C sharpened to C# on the next. This is a playing technique on harp, not just a tuning possibility. Genuinely interesting.

Tegan played a first set solo: various arrangements and compositions for the harp. Robert Maxwell's arrangement of Rimsky-Korsakov; was it another Respighi; an original tune by Jim Cotter for Leonard Rice called Kasuri, the Japanese dyed and woven fabric; two by Salzedo. I was fascinated by the technique: Tegan's high elbows and flowing style, her plucking that was sometimes sharp but richly varied to draw a range of tones. I noticed her sing finger seemed to play the tonic and she confirmed later that it's a key finger. Strange, because the little finger is at the lowest pitch, on both hands. Also, the thumb that swipes or plucks. I though I could see a common chordal shape in the hands, but Tegan said that's not really the case. Certainly, they create a range of forms to play scales and intervals.

Rohan came on for the second set and the first piece was my favourite for the concert: 4 of 9 English songs by Hindemith, modern with consonance and dissonance interspersed and Rohan's voice singing in English. The songs were On hearing the last rays of sunshine, Echo, Envoy and The wild flower song. Voice and harp are such beautiful instruments and so unusual to hear together. This was truly lovely and strangely out of time, or perhaps out of our time. Then some choices by Rohan, all poems put to music: John Ireland's The vagabond and George Butterworth's settings for two poems by AE Hausman. Then a final solo harp piece, an arrangements of favourite bits from several version of Robert Maxwell's Ebb tide. Here I noticed several lines that spoke of jazz: the first notes of Misty and other hints I heard but not couldn't name.

But what a wonderful, tuneful, soft and intimate sound is the harp. And it was just enhanced by the humanness of the voice. Small and intimate and dreamy. Lovely. Tegan Peemoeller (harp) performed with Rohan Thatcher (baritone) at the Artists Shed, Queanbeyan.

S.H.E.’s off to China

++ Publication embargoed to 14 Jan 2013 ++

I reckon S.H.E. is a perfect band name*. It stands for the Seven Harp Ensemble. S.H.E. is led by Alice Giles and comprises seven women. We saw them at the Artist’s Shed, Queanbeyan. They were off to China the next morning to perform on national TV for an expected audience on 80 million (!) and subsequently in the National Centre for the Performing Arts. The gig followed three days of rehearsal at the shed. Now, this is a group out of the now-reviewed and -reformulated ANU School of Music, and they were practising for a very significant international performance (with DFAT involvement) at a local galvanised-iron gallery in an industrial area in Qbn. Taking Canberra to the world for our 100th anniversary. Moving forward. But that’s another story.

A twangle** of harps has a distinct sound, and it’s actually not all a twangle to my ears. I variously heard ancient lyre tones and chromatic sweeps, acoustic guitar tones of gut and nylon strings, piano tones but without the percussive dynamics, techniques like harmonics and damping and variations of plucking styles, taps and hits as in Spanish guitar. S.H.E. played a varied repertoire sounding of China and Australia and Spain and the Baroque. I noticed how we were aware of arrangements. Harp is not the most common instrument. I guess the repertoire is limited and arrangements for it, especially for a larger ensemble, are also limited. So there were frequent mentions of arrangers and arrangements; two tunes were arranged by band members; there was discussion of two part and more complex arrangements; plus they performed four pieces commissioned for S.H.E. The commissioned pieces were by far my favourites. The concert started with a light, pop Chinese song, arranged by Tegan Peemoeller, and made popular in China through a Chinese soap opera. I didn’t see the big concert, and what they were performing was a secret, but my guess is that they performed this tune. There’s nothing like pleasing an audience of 80 million! It was uncomplicated, with a call and response melody and a mildly inquisitive air about it. Nice but unchallenging. Then the Pavane by Anonymous from the C16th: lovely and well known. Two movements from Handel’s Water music arranged by Ingrid Bauer: courtly and danceable. Then one of the original commissions, The Meaning of water by Andrew Schultz, with a melody that echoed from two harps. Then two preludes from Marcel Tournier, both sounding to me of pastoral romanticism and early C20th. Then my favourite for the night, an impressionistic piece by Larry Sitsky called Perpetuum mobile (Fantasia no.13). Then Ross Edwards’ moody, pensive Arafura arioso, an arrangement by RE for the ensemble of the second movement of his guitar concerto. Then a playful, toy-like piece, written for the ensemble by Martin Wesley-Smith and referencing Alice in Wonderland, called Alice in the garden of live flowers. Given that each harpist identified with a flower, I assume it also referenced Alice Giles in her own garden. At times, it sounded to me like a portable organ grinder, but it was more complex and bigger: cute and toyish with child-like openness and crossing into impressionism and rich in confusing polyrhythms. Nice! Then an arrangement by Australian-born Londoner, Tony Brenner of Ravel’s Alberado del gracioso and then the Malagueña, and to finish, an Australian folksong medley, arranged by Tegan Peemoeller, that just has to be on the program for their China visit.

It was a gentle outing, as harp concerts are. It actually got quite loud but it never felt like it, and at other times I was straining to hear the harps over the air conditioning. (This was subsequently reported as the day of the highest average temperature on record for Australia. Another case of moving forward, this time towards +5 degrees). It was a very female outing, as the uptake of harp seems to be gendered. It was also a well attended event (but bigger to follow), which only enlivened the mysterious air of secrecy around what they were playing on TV. Now that’s not something I’ve encountered in a concert before. Everyone loves a thriller, and I guess this was a harpist equivalent. Strange and a touch otherworldly, gentle and varied, this was a memorable and unique event. S.H.E. gave a well-attended concert at the Artists’ Shed in Queanbeyan before their visit to China to perform on Beijing TV’s Spring Festival Global Gala and at the Chinese National Centre for the Performing Arts. S.H.E. (=Seven Harp Ensemble) is led by Alice Giles with Genevieve Lang, Hilary Manning, Ingrid Bauer, Lucy O’Shea, Tegan Peemoeller and Laura Taranta.

*I once had a perfect band name like this and it was similarly gendered. M.E.N.S. (Mike, Eric, Nitya, Scott appearing as M.E.N.S.). A name like this is a rare opportunity.

**Collective pronoun for harps from Wikipedia; a sharp ringing sound as from a plucked string

Quattrocento > Cinquecento

Carlo Crivelli. Madonna and child c.1482-1483. Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, legacy of Guglielmo Lochis 1866

I love the art of the quattrocento/cinquecento from Italy. I saw tons of it when I lived in Italy for a few years so I was happy to attend the National Gallery’s blockbuster exhibition, Renaissance, but I didn’t expect to be thrilled. But I was. It was a nice small exhibition with just a few works that I recognised, but it I thoroughly enjoyed watching the changes from Mediaeval to Rennaissance and was stunned by how 100 years-or-so was all it took to move from odd perspective and flat surfaces and glowing-eggshell skin tones to the realism and humanism of Northern Italy around 1550. I learnt lots because the change was so concentrated and so obvious. Megan and I walked around with a “shared adult” audio tour and it was a great choice. The descriptions were informative (despite some questionnable Italian pronunciation) and the shared audio made for a strangely intimate but social visit.

Giovanni Bellini. Madonna and Child (Alzano Madonna) c.1488. Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, bequest of Giovanni Morelli 1891








Sandro Botticelli. Christ the Redeemer c.1495-1505. Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, bequest of Giovanni Morelli 1891








Titian. Madonna and Child in a landscape c.1507. Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, legacy of Guglielmo Lochis 1866






Giovan Battista Moroni. Portrait of a child of the house of Redetti c.1570. Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, legacy of Guglielmo Lochis 1866







After the first few rooms, I chose the Carlo Crivelli Madonna and child as my favourite with its glowing tempera skin and its luscious and suggestive peaches (I later discovered these were apples, to my disappointment) and the two landscapes (one rich and on the side of Heaven, one dry) and the symbolic cucumber (!) (=Jonah in the whale, ie, Resurrection) and cherry (=sweetness, ie, joy of Heaven) and carnation (= ardent love, ie, Mary). But then we were stunned by several wonderfully authentic portraits (Lazzaro Bastiani's Portrait of the philosopher Lucio Crasso; Andrea Solario's Ecce homo; Lorenzo Lotto's Portrait of a young man). We loved Raphael’s well-balanced Saint Sebastian, I enjoyed Titian’s soft Madonna and child in a landscape and was intrigued by the cartoon-like Botticelli Christ the redeemer. Then a few more portraits from the late-Renaissance (Altobello Melone’s Portrait of a gentleman [Cesare Borgia?]; Lorenzo Lotto’s Portrait of Lucina Brembati). Then the stunning change to the Northern Italian realism of the Renaissance (Giovan Moroni’s Portrait of a child of the house of Redetti; and Moroni’s Portrait of an old man seated and his paired portrait, Portrait of the nobleman Bernardo Spini and Portrait of the noblewoman Pace Rivola Spini). It was fascinating and quite a stunning little exhibit. We loved it. But that was not all.

This is the Canberra Day weekend and a time of many festivals. I have just discovered there’s a new and youthfully energetic and iconoclastic one in Civic called YouAreHere. The Multicultural Festival was on recently and Enlighten is on now. The National Folk Festival comes up at Easter. All the big events at the national instituions get listed in these programs, like Handwritten at the National Library and Renassance. I was remiss in not writing up Handwritten when we saw it a few weeks ago. It was a display of several manuscripts (Virgil, Dante, Bibles, books of hours), letters with signatures from immensely famous people (Macchiavelli, Erasmus, Michelangelo…), several famed music manuscripts (Handel, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart…). We missed a concert of Beethoven’s 5th piano concerto for four hands (the manuscript was on display in Handwritten) because we had a conflict with Renaissance but unexpectedly there was also music at the National Gallery. I just caught one short set: Tegan Peemoeller on harp with Katie Cole doubling on soprano and violin. Tegan was admirably calm and professional in accompaniment. Katie was dramatic in performance and daring on both voice and violin. This was music of the era (or close enough) and expressed with that mostly unwavering pre-classical voice. We recognised Bach’s Song of love and a modern popular interloper, Balfe’s I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls. There was also a recorder ensemble and Tobias Cole singing with Tegan, but we missed them.

Renaissance was an exhibition of Italian art of the Mediaeval and Renaissance periods on loan from the Accademia Carrara in Bergamo at the National Gallery of Australia. Handwritten was an exhibition of letters and manuscripts on loan from the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin at the National Library of Australia. Tegan Peemoeller (harp) performed with Katie Cole (soprano, violin). What a wonderfully rich life we can live these days in the West (if we choose to do so, of course). And this is not even NYC!

PS, These pics are borrowed from the National Gallery's exhibition website with permission - thanks to NGA

NGA's excellent Renaissance website

Singing of sleep and inevitably of love

I am not surprised by volume in soprano voices - they even tower over orchestras - but I was surprised by the volume of Tegan Peemoeller’s harp when she played with the soprano Katherine Warren.

This concert restarted the so-pleasant lunchtime series for 2012 that I’ve discovered at St Alban’s Church in Woden. It’s a small chapel in the round, with a timber ceiling that directs the sound and carpeted floor and brick to give it some control, but even so the volume took me back. Then I noticed the similarity in tone to a classical guitar and the piano-like range, down to 3 octaves below middle-C (that’s double bass range). I spoke to Tegan after. The higher octaves are nylon strung, and the lower ones are variously gut and steel round-wound synthetic, so that low G she played was not the same tone. We also discussed tuning. Pity the poor harpist: subject to heat and humidity and lights, each string requiring individual tuning, all 7 octaves or so (~84 strings; the open strings are the piano’s white notes, and pedals sharpen or flatten for the full chromatic scale). The harp was loud but also gentle despite the twang of the pluck. And it was perfectly lovely with the high, pure singing of Katherine’s soprano. These were songs – they performed 11 in one set – and the songs were both short and distilled. They have a story but I didn’t easily catch the lyrics, so the voice becomes abstracted as pure intervals, twilling vibratos and swelling crescendos. The pair played a popular tune, Dream a little dream of me, and I found the earthiness and groove was missing to my ears. Classical performers don’t have the same sense as jazz or pop players about where to place the beat. I didn’t catch the words much either, but then they are trivial and sentimental so perhaps it’s not much loss. But the classical songs were a delight: richly structured melody; easy but effective harmonies; clarity of purpose; and a sense of timing that worked for the style. A song by Fauré recounted sailors leaving on ships and their wives in tears and you could hear the rolling of the seas in the rising and falling arpeggios in 3/4 and the bereft wives in the slow voice line above. These songs were prepared for a Sleep & Dreams concert, but most songs are love songs under the cover. Handel’s Oh sleep don’t you leave me was the starter, then a pair on the same poem, Come sleep. My guess is these were both mid-20th century. There were lullabies, including Brahm’s famous one, and another easily identifiable tune in I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls. There was one particularly touching lullaby where an escaping soldier, left with a discarded baby, sings the child to sleep. This is clear and calm and pensive melodies and quite lovely. Tegan Peemoeller (harp) performed songs with Katherine Warren (soprano) at St Albans Church.

Ever more harps

I knew Canberra was a centre for the harp, and that the ANU School of Music was the epicentre. So I was not too surprised when I found harps playing today at the ANU's Park Stage at Floriade, rather than jazz. Tegan Peemoeller and Meriel Owen played a varied program of popular tunes (eg, Bali High, Danny Boy) along with some more lengthy tunes, presumably from the classical harp repertoire. The sounds were beautiful and sharp and pure, despite incongruous interruptions from burbling bikes and diesel double-declutching on nearby Parkes Way. A mild and mesmeric, and quite entrancing, respite from financial woes and business busy-ness.