Looking aggressively, not

Classical percussion concerts are surprisingly delightful things. I got to one this evening by the Australian Youth Orchestra Percussion Ensemble. I’m always amazed that these batterers learn the keyboard, and wonder what it is that groups marimba or vibraphone with the far more earthy skinned drums. I assume it’s just that they are hit. Piano strings are also hit, and pianos are also described as percussion instruments, but they are not hit with a stick or a mallet and they are not played by percussionists. I was amused the description of his art by one of the percussion tutors: “hitting, bowing, scraping … or just looking at something aggressively”. It’s not at all true - lots of percussion is soft and detailed and we heard drums voiced with the gentlest of taps tonight – but it fits the image and it’s amusing. They seemed to joke aggressively too, or at least frequently. Is aggression a characteristic of percussionists? From the looks and sound of them, it was very far from my impression. So how was the performance?

I’d use words like light, sweet and even discursive to describe this performance. There was some groove but not much was intense or danceable. The first tune was probably the strongest groove. This was Ritmica no. 5 (1930), Afro-Cuban music by Cuban composer Amadeo Roldan. Early, it was delightful with a quiet but busy interplay of multiple instruments - bongos, cowbells, toms, a range of Cuban percussion - but then, several times, it came to a stop with insistent unison quarter note hits from the deep toms. I heard this like African jungle drums, talking drums, a complex interplay of simple patterns. The next tune was Canticle no.1 (1940) by Lou Harrison, a student of Schoenberg and collaborator of John Cage. This was introduced as intricate through the overlapping of simple rhythms. I heard is as intellectual, less bodily, with a clear influence from gamellans and again with a structure in several parts with stops and starts. Third was an original compostion, tagged as an improvisation but pre-composed by the performers, Rhapsody on a theme (2012). I missed some details, but the process went something like this: the students were provided with a 4-bar theme around Christmas and asked to develop a 212-bar (?) part. They then put them together and perhaps edited their parts and performed. It was busy and conflicting at times, but I enjoyed the movement between lashings of contrasting sounds, even if the piece lacked obvious structure. But huge congratulations to tutors and students for the creativity of it all. Improvisation is not a feature of the classical field and a task like this that breaks the reticence is a great exercise. The fourth tune was the longest and most complex: Gavin Bryars’ At Portage and Main (2009). Bryars is a jazz bassist, as well as a composer and student of John Cage, and you can hear the bassist approach in some of the chordal segments. This was performed on 3 marimbas, 2 vibes and various drums and cymbals. The intersection of Portage and Main in Winnipeg is supposedly the coldest and windiest corner in North America. I heard mystical rather than cold, although it could have been snow, and only once thought of a possible wind, but it was a lovely, lyrical and lengthy piece featuring the dull thuds of the tuned marimba and the ringing, metallic vibes against downy kick drum and toms and swelling cymbals. Portage and Main must be a quiet corner but it informed some attractive music. The concert ended with a very short Roldan piece, much like the first, Ritmica no.6 (1930).

So, this percussion concert was anything but aggressive. Yes, they used mallets and sticks and the like, and they hit things, but this was detailed and delicate and only once or twice letting go to forte. Quite unexpected for we new initiates.

Beyond the wait

After a quick dinner, the Llewellyn audience for the Australian Youth Orchestra’s second concert was unexpectedly reduced, although there were no doubt plenty of virtual listeners to the ABC FM live broadcast. This concert was again orchestral, this time with just three works, but consistently modern and exploratory.

The Alexander Orchestra opened with a work by the AYO Music Camp resident composer, Iain Grandage’s Out of time (2004). This was joyous and full with immense sound. Iain was interviewed after the work and spoke of it as filmic and “celebrating the music of the orchestra”. I particularly liked his intention to “write things that performers like playing”. This was clearly like that. Big and satisfying.

The Nelson Cooke Chamber Orchestra followed with a modern Swedish piece, Anders Eliasson’s Ein schneller blick … ein kurzes auscheinen (= A quick glimpse … a brief appearance, 2003). This work was meditative and slow and of a limited tonal palette. I liked the livelier final movement with cellos and basses playing off each other in contrary motion and otherwise.

The final work was the one that most interested me in this session. The Bishop Orchestra performed Shostakovitch’s Symphony no. 10 (1953). On the outside, I’d not expect to like this. It’s brooding, it’s steady and even with quaver melodies, it tells stories with regularity and tone. I wondered if this was a modern romanticism. It’s also long, lasting a full hour, but this was an hour that I hardly noticed passing. That was a hint to me. This is like Russian literature: huge with dense complexity and epic breadth that speaks deceptively easily of the human condition: like Tolstoy or Dostoievsky. It’s anchored in the time after Stalin’s death and follows Shostakovich’s denunciation and withdrawal from symphonic composition. The themes are large and the concerns and emotions are deep. People who live in the sun don’t write music like this. Great composition performed with commitment and ardour.

So ended a long but invigourating pair of concerts. It speaks well for the Camp and its attendees. The music was an intelligent and broadminded view of music of the last century with one baroque teaser. The playing was wonderfully capable, always presented seriously and with considerable verve. The hammering feet of applause from these young musicians was full of youthful enthusiasm and involvement. This was a lengthy and satisfying first outing and I’m looking forward to much more over the coming week.

The Alexander Orchestra performed Iain Grandage’s Out of time with William Conway conducting. Nelson Cooke Chamber Orchestra played Anders Eliasson’s Ein schneller blick … ein kurzes auscheinen (= A quick glimpse … a brief appearance) with director Mats Zetterqvist. The Bishop Orchestra ended the concert with Shostakovitch’s Symphony no. 10 conducted by Christopher Seaman.

Eagerly awaited

I’ve been awaiting the return of the Australian Youth Orchestra since their last National Music Camp here in Canberra two years back. We’ve only experienced day 1 of the free concert series, but we were not disappointed: two concerts, both generous in time and variety, both intriguing and energetic and with a fascinating and, at least for me, obscure repertoire. And always that energy and passion and joy that the AYO is drenched in. This year I was more aware of just how young are some of these performers. The AYO takes musicians from 14 to 30 years of age, so there are seriously young players amongst developed students and semi-professionals. And the size of this undertaking is impressive. At one time, the AYO reported using 81 rooms. The day 1 concerts were orchestral: each featuring two large symphony orchestras and a chamber orchestra. The music camp has 250 young musicians as well as programs for music admin, music journalism and more. It’s an impressive undertaking and apparently internationally renowned. So what did we hear?

Concert 1 was called Orchestral Passions Concert 1. We can excuse the dismal title because the music was great. The Nelson Cooke Chamber Orchestra started it off with a piece of dignified baroque, CPE Bach’s Symphony no.1 in C major (1773). This is music of the era: at times delicate, sometimes bumble-bee busy with rolling waves of scalar lines, a slower, pre-romantic middle movement, and a third movement that sounded sometimes tragic before a return to rolling scalar lines. Lovely! The next piece was Barber’s Adagio for strings (1936). It’s not a favourite of mine, although maybe I could come at it as part of a bigger work (it was written for that). I find the strings too unrelenting and mewling and the feel too sentimental. I could see myself appreciating it just after a War-To-End-All-Wars, but I’m just not sad enough. The chamber orchestra has 30 players and visiting European Mats Zetterqvist as director.

The Bishop Orchestra followed with Elgar’s In the South (1903/4). It’s lush and attractive and rollicking and bouncing. Everyone loved the huge, fat, sweet tuba that easily overwhelmed 8 string basses, and otherwise it was exhilarating, pastoral, grandiose and sometimes muscular. I heard propellers and jack hammers, but later realised the work was written before flight. It’s from the turn of the 20th century and clearly speaks to Victorian England, although apparently its musical references are to Italy. It’s a 20th Century work, but only just: on the border of a new world and evoking a time that’s about to disappear. Nicely done and very attractive and indelibly conservative.

The Alexander Orchestra finished this concert. First was Stravinsky’s Four etudes for orchestra (1928). It surprises me how some earlier works sound more modern than other later works. This developed, exploratory, yearning for new sounds and experiences. It starts with a quizzical march, then proceeds to tonal variations, lots of crescendos and devilishly difficult syncopations, frequent silence and sparse, jagged melodies that have one note played here, another there, and dissonant harmonies and counterpoint that still flabbergast a modern audience. I had great respect for the players here: this must have been a difficult chart. But it was so well done and a favourite. Then to finish, James MacMillan’s Confession of Isobel Gowdie (1990). Apparently it was an instant hit when premiered at the London Proms about 20 years back. This is a musical depiction of the torture and execution of Isobel Gowdie, a Scot who was tried for witchcraft in 1662. It was big and dramatic and emotional (strangely, I thought I heard bagpipes at one time!) with crescendos and sudden, massive dynamic changes. I was fascinated by an early passage of slides on the strings: strange and unearthly and very effective. Wonderful, new and dramatic, and unexpected.

Just the start, we thought, as we went off for a quick dinner. This was impressive playing and the repertoire was looking to be varied, modern and exploratory. And there’s lots more to come. The Nelson Cooke Chamber Orchestra performed CPE Bach’s Symphony no.1 in C major and Barber’s Adagio for strings and was directed by Mats Zetterqvist. The Bishop Orchestra performed Elgar’s In the South with Christopher Seaman conducting. The Alexander Orchestra performed Stravinsky’s Four etudes for orchestra and James MacMillan’s Confession of Isobel Gowdie with William Conway conducting.

Pollards or sands?

I didn’t expect to return so soon, but this week it was dinner at the Pantry and Liam Budge, Caleb Wearne and Andy Campbell were performing under the heavily pollarded planes. The Pantry is a busy hub in a strangely quiet lane at the moment. It’s obviously January in Canberra, with pollies out of town and bureaucrats at the coast: this particular lane can be a busy hive, but not these evenings. Liam’s is a brooding voice with a pensive presence, wallowing in mellow takes on the great ballads like Body and soul and Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square, so perfect for this setting. Andy and Caleb fitted with a stylish accompaniment: smooth, sleek, but also interesting with lyrical solos and clear, ringing tones. But it was not all ballads. They could also be livelier but still subtly swinging with Night and day, a bit tongue in cheek with Fly me to the moon (who could take that one seriously?), playful with the great witty standards like Ain’t misbehavin’ and Gee babe ain’t I good to you and my favourite of the night, Love for sale. This is the great standards repertoire done with the humour and style of the era they were written for: suitable accompaniment for some boutique beers and great local wines. The sand at the coast may be enticing but I prefer this.

Liam Budge (vocals), Caleb Wearne (bass) and Andy Campbell (guitar) performed at the Urban Pantry in Manuka.

Under pollarded planes

Pollarding is a type of heavy pruning used in Europe to limit tree size in urban environments. I ran across jazz under the pollarded Planes last night in Manuka. Caleb Wearne, Sally Greenaway and Natalie Magee were playing Jazz on the Manuka Lawns at the Urban Pantry. It was nice, relaxed jazz on a calm and warm evening: very pleasant given a decent beer. All three are old friends of CJ, of course, capable and well-trained performers. Caleb’s hands and solos were finely wrought; Sally’s solos were broad and cinematic; Natalie’s singing was intially uncomplicated but I thought she’d dropped into a more detailed style when we passed by later in the evening after dinner. We were only at the Lawns for pre-dinner drinks, but I expect the musical style would have continued into the night. They played standards and latins including some of the more interesting melodies: All of me, April in Paris, Bye bye blackbird, Dancing cheek to cheek, Dindi, East of the Sun west of the Moon. Natalie’s repertoire starting at A, I guess.

You learn something new every day, like pollarding. I knew they were Plane trees at Manuka with their mottled trunks but I’d always wondered about the heavy pruning they underwent. Also new to me was Jazz on the Manuka Lawns, outside Urban Pantry. It’s in its second year with light jazz 6-9pm each Friday evening through Spring and Summer.

MAD

Cartoon by Jon Kudelka from The Australian, 13 Sep 2011 (published with Jon's permission)

The acronym for the Museum of Australian Democracy is actually MoAD and it’s obvious why. But I’ll use MAD temporarily given MoAD is displaying the Behind the Lines exhibition of Australian political cartoons. BtL is an annual event and I’d seen two previous incarnations at the Museum of Australia (MOA). It’s an unusual exhibition because it’s mirthful and accompanied by frequent chuckles and even belly laughs. It’s also mercifully short, so this is one for anyone. The themes were obvious enough: Julia, Tony, Kevin, animal exports, refugee imports, climate change. I found it interesting that I could guess the source for some cartoons, especially the Daily Telegraph and the West Australian but also occasionally the Australian. Here are some favourites: a mediaeval recounting of carbon disaster / First dog on the Moon (Andrew Marlton) in Crikey; the Devil complaining that “the place hasn’t been the same since we transitioned from fossil fuel to solar” / Philip Somerville in Nexus; a woman wailing over the Tomb of the Unknown Cow / Dean Alston in West Australian; Abbott consoling the homeless man over “Gillard’s class war” / John Spooner in The Age; Gillard’s big picture as a severely undeveloped whttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifork in progress / Bill Leak in The Australian. But my vote goes to the cutting simplicity of Gillard turning out the Light(-house) on the Hill because it’s attracting boat people / Jon Kudelka in The Australian. (Thanks to Jon for his permission to publish the cartoon).

View Behind the Lines and vote for your favourite

BtL didn’t take long so we wondered around Old Parliament House. It’s a sparse but fascinating visit, especially if you remember significant events and the building on TV. We sat in Senate and House seats (I was particularly amused to see the MPs’ benches had inkwells), marvelled at the tiny offices (the Secretary of PM&C shared his small office with the stationery cupboard!) and visited the various party rooms and the PM’s suite, but the most interesting was a session in the actual Cabinet room where we played at being ministers and argued over whether to bring the troops home in 1941. Megan and I knew what happened and we approved of the decision (Curtin brought the troops home from Europe/Africa against the wishes of Churchill and Roosevelt and they soon defeated the Japanese on the Kokoda Track) but it was news for some others and a lively debate ensued. I certainly don’t envy our pollies who have to make decisions of this magnitude and complexity. We should thank our lucky stars that they get it as right as they do. MOAD is a small and relaxed museum but the building has history oozing from its walls.

The annual Behind the Lines exhibition of Australian political cartoons was held at the Museum of Australian Democracy in the Old Parliament House.