Old and young guns, pt.1

The concert was entitled 21+75 because it marked the recent birthdays of each artist. Andy Butler was the junior; Bernie McGann the senior. If this expresses the quality of jazz in Australia as it has been and as it will be, I can only be proud. These were two seriously satisfying sets, and I was not the only one who left in thrall.

Andy led a big band (and for one tune, an octet) performing a series of charts that he’s developed with sponsorship and mentoring from Steve Newcomb under an Australia Council program. I know the band is brought together for this performance, so I was mightily impressed by how easily the band took to the charts. They weren’t easy, with odd times and syncopated conversational passages back and forth between parts. There may have been a touch of hesitation from the horns but nothing at all from Mark on drums. I particularly noticed his solo, which was solid, even magisterial. And a mix on a decent PA made all the difference. You always hear the snakey reeds and the blasting trumpets, but the tuba can be lost with its bell pointing to the ceiling. Tonight it was here and proud and speaking with its own voice. There were solos all round, of course, but the excitement here is in the tone and the orchestration and composition. The first tune was as yet unnamed and I heard it in 7/4 but perhaps with 4/4 passages. Poco was a highly syncopated unyielding pattern over 16 with a buzzing bee swarm as resolution. I missed the third tune’s title, but it was sleazy and slow and arranged for octet. The big band returned for Ode to Skype, if I remember correctly, in triple time. Andy later told me he communicates with Steve (and his girlfriend) over Skype. The final tune was Tightrope. There as a lively buzz in the foyer after Andy’s concert: for the pride in achievement as well as for the beer line. This gig was joyously received and Andy was talking of other gigs. But how to do this with such a large outfit? We can only hope.

Andy Butler (piano, composer) led big band comprising John Mackey, Niels Rosendahl, Matt Handel, Tom Fell (saxes), Miroslav Bukovsky, Alex Raupach, Ax Long, Scott Temby (trumpets), Rob Lee, Valdis Thomann, Patrick Langdon (trombones), Peter McGovern (tuba), Max Alduca (bass) and Mark Sutton (drums)

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart

Effortless does not mean uninformed

I have tickets to Joe Chindamo at the Capital Jazz Project on Friday and after seeing Joe in a workshop at the Band Room this afternoon, I am counting the days. He didn’t play much, but what he did was intriguing and coloured. The main piece was Out of nowhere as a piano trio with students Max and Luke. This was generous and a performance rather than a demonstration, so we could hear the richly varied approaches, his satisfyingly structured lines, his gentleness and intriguing modern-classical harmony (he particularly likes Ravel, Prokofiev, Charles Ives and the American composers) and his capable plays on jazz harmony and mobile patterns. He played a little else, but as demonstrations: Bach’s Goldburg Variations to display repeating form with variations; Gershwins’s Our love is here to stay showing two melodic shapes in movement and in play; Beethoven’s famous first three notes of the Fifth Symphony as a simple but memorable pattern. And Joe has catholic tastes: he also spoke of bluegrass and playing Dolly Parton. I liked some memorable quotes: “Notice things all the time” while talking of learning away from an instrument. This was in the context of noticing bassoon lines and learning from hearing harmony at an orchestral concert. He was strong on listening. It reminds me of a favourite quote of mine: "In the final analysis, your stature as a jazz musician is determined not by how much you have practised, but by how well you have listened" (Jazzology, p.195). Then a preference for effortless playing: he prefers musicians who don’t grunt the C major chord (think Paul Desmond). When practising, it’s ïmportant to muck around intelligently” and this one that I really liked and that highlights the responsibility on the learner: “[It’s] important to have a good teacher, but much more important to be a good student.” He was wary of the view that jazz has to come from certain locations, observing that “No critics have ever seen a bad French film”. He pointed to variation as a key to interest and demonstrated the effectiveness of a C major chord finishing a free passage. He talked and demonstrated various ways to practising soloing. Against a chord structure, choose the 9th or 5th and sharpen or flatten it on seventh chords. This produced intriguing harmonies and was perhaps my favourite as a sound. Another was essentially voice leading. Move up by a semitone or tone for each chord and build solos on those notes. Vary in all sorts of ways: start from different notes; use two, three or four notes per bar. Build interesting lines; check that fast lines are interesting when slowed (don’t just run scales). Or more traditionally, play arpeggios, move patterns, more.

This was just to touch on the discussion. But Out of nowhere said it all. I’m looking forward to Joe’s full band playing Friday for a full dose. Joe Chindamo (piano) ran a workshop for students at the ANU School of Music. Max Alduca (bass) and Luke Keanan-Brown (drums) sat in for one tune.

Not playing, chatting

Thanks to Brian Stewart of Cyberhalides for the pics

I like a writers’ festival but to be in one, on a panel, with illustrious co-panellists and not a few illustrious writers in the audience is a blast.

This was Conversations about Jazz at the Canberra Jazz Project. The CJP has a words and music theme this year, so a few jazz poets appear in the program (Alan Browne and spoken-word artist Miles Merrill) and this panel session. I represented the local, community stream, and the professionals were Sydney writers Jasmine Crittenden and John Shand and broadcaster-writer Andrew Ford. The session was convened by Melbourne writer and editor, Miriam Zolin. Now these are significant names in the jazz writing scene and I was chuffed to appear with them. The session passed with great speed, and some interesting points were raised about writing, criticism, the purpose and nature of reviewing, the benefits of writing about music, responses to reviewing, even the writer as parasitic on the performer. Also issues about jazz itself: the size of the community, the knowledge of jazz players and their expressiveness (or lack of it). And the state of publishing in Australia and the opportunities for jazz writers. There were a few questions at the end. I particularly liked one from Alex Raupach about the permanence of writing against the ephemeral nature of performance. Now that’s one that leaves your mind in a philosophical twist. Andrew quoted from Orwell - “[g]ood prose is like a window pane” (from the essay Why I write / George Orwell) meaning that the writer is of no consequence in the review. OK, agreed. I find these discussions intriguing (and perhaps unfinalisable: modern dialectics would argue the writer can’t be removed from the writing). FWIW, CJ takes a simple and practical approach. If interested, read my Instructions to authors. I seek to promote a community, widen popular interests, record some local history, assist performers and promote Canberra’s and Australia’s presence in the world jazz scene. And still allow the author some time for work and other interests. None-the-less, I could have easily chatted for hours more. Great fun.

Colour against the dark, part 2

It’s only a small room so they could hardly fit on stage, but the sound of Alex Raupach’s Dectet was lush with the tuba and various horns and the soprano voice performing sometimes as a singing voice and otherwise wordlessly as another instrument. This sound just has to remind you of Miles in the ‘50s. The tonality and harmonies and voice movements may be influenced by Gil Evans (the ballad was spot on) but the music was contemporary. The one non-original was a piece by drummer John Hollenbeck. It sat minimally against an insistent and heavy drum pattern then grew into melody and withdrew again to melodic minimalism. The last (as yet untitled) tune of the night seemed to be similarly contemporary with perhaps cacophony replacing minimalism. An earlier tune was cabaret-zany music as a setting for lyrics in Franglais by Liverpool poet Neil Innes. Andy’s Drag was more slow and bluesy and ripe for solos. Matt was his normal stunningly fluid and expressive self; Alex impressed me with some very purposeful solos on trumpet and muted trumpet and flugelhorn. Andy’s style was hard and abrasive and exploratory with single-note lines in a hard-bop style and formed an interesting contrast to Tate’s gentler tone in the previous set. I hadn’t heard Valdis for some time and I luxuriated in his solo of essential lines portrayed with richly satisfying tone. The tones of Ben and Tom and especially Peter’s tuba was essential for the lush performance. I was surprised by Ben on flute at one stage, when I thought I was hearing voice. Mark added rhythmic grunt and lots of percussive colour and Rohan sounded strong and beautifully tuneful on bass. But this was essentially a group performance in a way that smaller formats aren’t. It was lush and rich and satisfying and it must have been lots of work to orchestrate. There were some minor lapses in intonation, but nothing a little practice or regular performance wouldn’t fix. This was part 2 of a concert that confirmed the quality of our local jazz product (while it lasts). I enjoyed it, but more, I was truly impressed.

Alex Raupach (trumpet, flugelhorn) led a dectet with Rachael Thoms (vocals), Matt Handel (alto, tenor), Tom Fell (tenor, baritone sax), Ben Sutcliffe (tenor, flute), Valdis Thomann (trombone), Peter McGoven (tuba), Andy Butler (piano), Rohan Dasika (bass), Mark Sutton (drums).

Colour against the dark, part 1

It was a double bill at the Loft: Rohan Moore’s Songbird Project followed by the Alex Raupach Dectet. By the end, I was stunned by the invention, creativity and sheer hard work to get together such a complex program. I find every jazz session in Canberra at the moment is tinged with emotion – dread or sadness at loss or even anger. It’s all related to the Music School changes, of course. So it wasn’t surprising that I left feeling it’s downhill from here. Someone mentioned there will be no teachers, at least no specialist teachers of instrumental studies (an hour a week with someone outside the school just doesn’t count in this context) and the joke in witty reply was that this is the perfect teacher/student ratio: infinite, ie, no students, no teachers. Black humour abounds. But black sets off colour, so how was the concert? Intelligent, mostly original, varied and skilled. What we love in jazz. But these were two very different bands.

Songbird Project is a quartet in standard guise: tenor, piano, bass, drums. Rohan Moore leads from drums and composed all but the first tune, Nunu by Avishai Cohen. Given that Rohan’s a drummer, I wasn’t surprised by rhythmic games and oddly timed hits and polyrhythms and varying time signatures but I also found some decently satisfying melody that repeated neatly and arrangements that fit well with the band. This was not head/solo/solo/head. Piano and sax got a number of solos with the band, but pianist Tate also played alone in the middle or to start a tune, playing wide ranging stylistic variations, dropping into stride or diminished substitutions. I am generally taken by piano, but Tate is clearly a name to watch, huddled and beanie-clad and stylistically catholic. Max took a supportive role in this outing, but his one solo was delightfully softly-toned and playing nicely with rising and falling lines. I still think of Miles in terms of his stay in NYC (because of FB updates and some subsequent chats). I enjoyed what I thought were ‘70s influences in his playing: deliberate melody, varying intervals over extended ranges, long flourishes, occasional cut tone. Rohan was outspoken in solos and harsh in one tune dedicated to the ANU (a metal tune called Fury). This is emotionally tender ground. But there was also lyricism in a ballad dedicated to lost love (If we ever meet again), lively rollicking attractiveness (Misconception) and feathery lightness contrasting with syncopated hits (Marion’s rooftop). This was some skilful playing, but what I most took from it was maturity in composition and arrangement in a contemporary style. The band’s name sounds more like girl folk duos to my ears, but this was serious and skilled contemporary jazz. The Songbird Project was led by Rohan Moore (drums) with Tate Sheridan (piano), Miles O’Connell (tenor) and Max Alduca (bass).

This time Texas

It was almost like a jazz variety show when Niels Rosendahl presented his Farewell Concert. There was an audience of family and friends and not just the local jazz students and tragics. There was a good representation of audio and recording engineers and photographers were well represented. Niels, as host, chatted with the audience and invited a string of musician colleagues to stage to perform a varied mix of styles and tonalities. Then to top it off, there was a party in the foyer afterwards. But this was not lightweight performance. These are top players around town and our best are very good. First up was Niels’ organ trio with Luke Sweeting and Gary France with that particular ‘50s tonality that can be a bit woofy but which swings hard and funky when it’s in good hands. They were variously joined by three trumpets (locals Dan McLean and Ben Marston and Melbourne visitor Matt Tubman) and Raf Jerjen sat in after a few tunes. Ben played a gloriously melodic solo on Stella by starlight (trumpeters do) that highlighted to me the difference from prolific tenor madness. But then Dan and Matt indulged in trumpet mania with Dizzy’s classic brass hit, Night in Tunisia. Niels played Moon River for a friend in NYC and Luke performed a piano solo, while reading a chart from his mobile, that had Brenton and I astonished by its brilliantly perverse logic. (Luke later told us he just ignored the chart for a bit – so much for our ears). Both Raf and Gary had their solos too. Raf was newly back from NYC with a new commitment to rhythm above all and Gary is long out of the US but always with involvement and huge joy in his playing. I hadn’t realised that Gary studied at the very school that Niels is attending for his Masters program – University of North Texas School of Music: 1,500 students; 25 bands; a small town of jazzers. Back to the concert. Luke swapped to grand piano, groups grew and shrank, styles changed through various bop-influences and movie musicals then even on to the blues when Fiona Boyes came on stage. Niels has been expanding his palette into the blues and its conventions by touring with our internationally-recognised Fiona. Fiona led a Mississippi blues duo with Niels from acoustic guitar, vocals and kick box and an electric guitar blues. Then a return to jazz conventions and the influences and Coltrane and John Mackey and then a touch of evocative vocals and playful vocalese from Rachael Thoms. Then the party.

There was some stunning playing here and I imagine Niels can only continue his development with this sojourn. It was a friendly night and chatty to finish off, but as I walked home I wondered if Niels will ever wish to return to the future desert that will be Canberra music.

Niels Rosendahl (tenor) led a several bands and several visitors at his farewell concert: Luke Sweeting (organ, piano), Gary France (drums), Rafael Jerjen (bass), Dan McLean (trumpet), Ben Marston (trumpet), Matt Tubman (trumpet), Fiona Boyes (guitar, vocals), Rachael Thoms (vocals).

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart

Strobe no warning

Live dangerously. Strobe light. No warning. So we joked in the car as we drove home. Megan and I had just seen two short plays, God and Pool (no water) performed by the Everyman Theatre Company. This is local theatre, performed in a small space, the Courtyard Theatre, for a small audience, and thank God/s that this theatre exists. It’s a place for experimentation, challenge, humour, even if it does have its rough edges. The two plays were quite different, but the commitment and thought was evident.

God is an early Woody Allen play. It starts with playwrite Hepatitis and slave/actor Diabetes planning how to win a drama competition. Then through interactions with audience from Gunghalin and a quest to the King and the arrival of Zeus as the veritable deus ex machina to the accidental murder of the doll-God. It’s obviously corny and jokey but also sited in its relationship to Ancient Greece and it even deals with some meaty issues of courage and protection and perhaps adulthood in metaphor. The cast did a great job with lots of energy, slapstick presence, audience proximity and mock involvement and some minor props. I wondered how the script had changed for the original (was a phone call to Woody Allen in the original? Northborne Avenue and Gunghalin certainly weren’t). Nice to see a fellow workmate on stage, too, but it’s not the first time. God was written by Woody Allen, directed by Duncan Driver and performed by Jarrad West (Diabetes), Duncan Ley (Hepatitis), Wayne Shephard (Trichinosis), Euan Bowen (King and a Fate), Amy Tinycray Dunham (another fate), Zach Drury (guard). Three others (who came from the audience) are not mentioned in the brochure, Steph Roberts (Diabetes’ girlfriend) and an unnamed other.

Pool (no water) is a weightier production dealing with jealously, success, schadenfreude and such. Four unsuccessful artists visit a fifth who had been part of the team years back, but in now rich and successful amd owns a pool. They party and, later in the night, go to recreate their skinny-dipping exploits, but, in the dark, the successful woman dives into an emptied pool and is seriously injured. The four photographically record her time in hospital and recovery over several months while enjoying the wealthy lifestyle, then destroy the photos after the successful one turns them into a sellable exhibition. The successful one derides the failures and they end happy in suburban life, presumably accepting their artistic failure. The characters and carry on are not likeable or attractive. You can understand the frustration and subsequent pleasure in misfortune but, of course, you don’t admire it. There’s an awareness of failure by these four. It’s not conscious, but spelt out in drugs and sex as they delude themselves. Drugs and sex thus strobes and Hendrix, and skinny-dipping thus (discrete) nudity. This was performed with lots of energy, with four actors playing fives parts, with considerable drama and evident innocence. I was satisfied with the plot finale of settling to family and suburbia although I was uncomfortable that it came so suddenly after the successful one’s climax speech. But the presentation was involving and the theme was challenging. Pool (no water) was written by Mark Ravenhill, directed by Duncan Levy and the cast was was Jarrad West, Steph Roberts, Amy Dunham and Zach Raffan.

Everyman Theatre Company performs the repertoire (Richard III was mentioned) as well as these lesser known works. This was quirky and intelligent and relevant theatre and that’s how I like it.

Art in every line

Pic by Gary Taylor

David Braid quoted* this line from Joseph Conrad: “[a] work that aspires, however humbly, to the status of art should carry its justification in every line”. I’d read this before I heard David play at the Grammar Gallery and it came back to me in spades as I was listening to his playing on the night. This music was infused with consistent thought throughout. These were no head-solo-head arrangements, and occasional left hard chords, right hand melody, weren’t too obvious. These tunes were built and performed like classical pieces, where phrases lead to following phrases and they all build to a complex structure. So it’s not surprising that I heard this more as classical in style.

David talks in another article of Mozart as a creative awakener for his development, but I heard Chopin and Ravel and twentieth century in his playing, as well as Keith Jarrett and, perhaps more unexpectedly, Chick Corea. It’s amusing that his encore was introduced with a tongue-in-cheek apology to any who came to hear a mainstream jazz pianist. “What is jazz” is the topic of another essay of David’s, so I won’t get into that, but he ended with a masterful take on Yesterdays ably performed in a string of jazz styles (partly in homage to Oscar Peterson, who was a neighbour of his in Toronto) and then a supremely sparse, emoted take on a ballad by Ella Fitzgerald and Joe Pass (was it Wait till you see him?). But the rest of the concert was original compositions in David’s solo piano style. One longer tune, Resolute Bay, was inspired by Glenn Gould and the film The Idea of North and time spent alone in the arctic winter and was long and structured. Another was a take on a Chinese folk tune where the piano was prepared with bamboo chopsticks lodged between strings to mimic the tones of Chinese instruments. To my (Western) ears, this was wonderfully successful. Apparently David has a following in China, performing in fabulous new concert halls in unknown cities of tens of millions. He performed another piece on prepared piano with left hand playing all the world like thuddy and buzzing percussion. I was not the only one dumbfounded by the effectiveness and virtuosity. I couldn’t believe there was no loop machine or other electronics, but there was none. He showed me after how it was done (a pretty standard arpeggiated ostinato in the left hand sounding against well lodged chopsticks). I’ve wondered in the past about piano preparation, but this was genuinely valid stuff. I’m a convert. Another piece blended R&B and Chopin and was written when David mused on Chopin nocturnes after seeing the film Ray about Ray Charles. Suffice to say, these are catholic tastes and diverse skills, so what matter “what is jazz”? David’s music was entrancing and informed and intimate and refreshingly different. David Braid performed at the Canberra Grammar School Gallery and joins a string of Canadian performers who have recently visited Canberra.

*How a Polish sailor turned British novelist helped me find a voice as a jazz improviser, by David Braid, in Canadian musician magazine, Autumn 2010, http://www.davidbraid.com/conrad.php, viewed 24 July 2012

The second of two colours

Just a short report on Casey Golden and his trio who I caught for one set just after Amarcord. I reported just a few weeks back on Dave Rodriquez performing with this trio: Casey and Bill Williams and Ed Rodrigues. This night, I heard Bill and Ed as eminently similar in style to when they were performing with Dave: powerful in restraint, emotional, communicative, virtuosic. But to my ears, Casey sounded different here. He performed a few standards – Nardis and Fee Fi Fo Fum and another – and two originals in the set I heard. This was a trio that moved the feel and interpretation constantly, always listening, wick lit but unexploded. Not loud but intense. I heard Casey as more modern here, rather than contemporary and soundscapey as he was with Dave. This was right hand lines and left hand chords, moving dissonances and some sharp, unexpected rhythmic jolts in melody. Bill was all ears, heavily syncopating, openly resting and occasionally swinging. Ed was forever in rhythmic counterpoint with ever changing tones and patterns and snares released and recovered and the thinnest of cymbals and rivets in his bass drum. I’ve watched these guys and they continue to startle. It’s no surprise that they perform at Sydney’s 505. They deserve it. This is wonderfully fluent expression and restlessly motile. Casey Golden (piano) led a trio with Bill Williams (bass) and Ed Rodrigues (drums) at the Loft.

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart

Alembic

They started with mediaeval singing and it was exquisite. Amarcord are a male vocal a cappella quintet from Leipzig. They formed from the St Thomas’ church boys choir and it shows.

The opening songs were short but sounded just what I’d expect. Deeply beautiful: exquisite and distilled (as in alembic) are words that came to mind when they started. The harmonies were perfect and so pure and I noticed the individual voices formed notes that swelled and decayed and merged so well with others so drew no attention to themselves. This was a fluid whole that mutated with glorious tones. Eminently suited to a cathedral acoustic. But these guys are showmen, too. They shared introductions to their songs and they were consistently on love and sex and even animals and love and sex. (Mmm, the boys are out of the cathedral now). They stood with arms at their sides, crooning and bellowing and clucking and humming with strongly-formed tones and mobile faces and a semi-circle formality, but there was cleverness in the somewhat corny presentation and commentary. I noticed this especially when they moved on, after the first set, to the 20th century and more complex harmonies and longer tunes, then further to a set of folk songs to finish the night. There was predictable Teutonic protocol but also a neatly structured show and a performance that was detailed, precise and pure. The jokey references I’d heard to a Boy Band of the a cappella set fitted perfectly well. There was humour and presentation and seductiveness along with the wonderful craft and musical precision. This is the new classical of sexy CD covers and pop-awareness. The finale on a mix of Skippy the bush kangaroo and barbeque was a nice alternative to more plebeian choices, and framed the show with humour. But back to the tones. I hadn’t unexpected such beauty from a male singing group. I put it down to the floating high tones, for the feel was anything but deep, despite the lineup of two basses, one baritone and two tenors. The tenors were high, even counter-tenor high. One bass billowed below but the general impression was of sweet and light. For me, this was unexpected and a pure delight. And getting back to the music. The group may have formed out of a church, but this was carnal. Here are some English translations of titles: Hassler Dancing and leaping; Gesulado When we part; Hassler I’m all a fluster; Anonymous When I drink claret. Then after the break, some more modern music: Schubert, Shumann, Marschner and Elgar on love and nature and Greek anthologies and Dvorak with love songs and Grieg with childrens’ songs. I particularly enjoyed the longer work by Cras (1925) called To the mountains with its modern harmonies. Then various folksongs from Cuba and Ghana and others and eventually Skippy… Great show. I was delighted and I was not alone.

Amarcord are named after Fellini’s wonderous recollection of childhood and comprises Wolfram Lattke (tenor), Martin Lattke (tenor), Frank Ozimek (baritone), Daniel Knauft (bass) and Holger Krause (bass). They were presented at the Llewellyn Hall by Musica Viva and were only delayed a few minutes by the alarm and evacuation and firemen.

Silent, steadfast, forebearing

When David Reedy introduced Mozart’s Magic Flute, performed by the Canberra Opera Workshop, he noted that there should be no photos or videos for rights issues. It’s a bugbear of mine, but the intrusion of corporate power is increasingly common and often unwarranted these days. I took no pics, for the sake of the company, but where is the copyright in this performance? Mozart died ages back so there can’t be copyright on his music (unless someone has rearranged and claims control). There may be extant copyright on the English lyrics, but neither rearrangement or lyrics are recorded by photography. There’s copyright on the stage design and costumes, but that’s presumably local and I've found local performers welcome local recognition. These are community events and there’s no benefit in copyright for them. Now, I’ve had my rave, and for the company, I took no pics, but who suffers? We all do, including the performers.

So I started with a bitter taste in my mouth. The work is big and long and it was well done and opera is a strange thing. This was in English, so it was easier to follow than my previous experience with supertitles for Die Zauberflöte and I enjoyed that. I enjoyed the daggy Papageno, Christopher McNee, with his stooping gait and I particularly liked the singing of tenor Tamino, David Smith. Also the choral segments which there were few but they were big and rich. I (quietly) sang along to the Papageno/a duo and wished that the Queen of the night, soprano Stephanie McAlister, could have sung with her own voice from centre stage. She had a great, imposing presence with a wonderful costume (that I can’t show you here!) but she’d lost her singing voice and was replaced by an off-stage live soprano (I don’t have her name but who did an admirable job), but the lip-synching and dislocation of the voice was unfortunate. The same had happened with one of the two armed guards (again, wonderfully presented, but I can’t show you here). I’ve been untouched, but I’m told it’s a winter of the flu. You couldn’t help but enjoy the overt performance of Leon Kavcic as Monostatos. And the bunches of women – firstly the three ladies then the three spirits – that were mystical and essential. I know nothing of opera, so this is presuamably trite, but Papageno and perhaps the Prince often sounded to me like Gilbert and Sullivan. But then this doesn’t seem unlikely. So, I can only admire a local company that will take on major works like this. It’s not the Australian Opera, but it’s decent and local and community. A worthy achievement and congratulations.

Timely folk

The late 19th/early 20th Century was a time of great change and a time when many composers were inspired by folk music. I caught the Capital Voices choir singing some of these works at the monthly St Albans concert yesterday. Oliver Raymond led the choir and introduced the works: by Kodaly, Hindemith, Milhaud, Vaughan Williams, arranger Hugh Roberton and Samuel Barber, and, to finish, a quirky English weather report sung as Anglican chant. Asanka was there and told me after of a Hungarian-Australian workmate who laughed off Bartok's music being rooted in Hungarian folk songs as too cerebral and changed beyond recognition. It’s quite true that folk is simple and local and fine music is sophisticated and cosmopolitan. But I still enjoyed the compositions. I caught melody sounding as far back as Mediaeval and even shanties; I struggled to follow English poetry of Shakespeare and Rilke; I even struggled to recognise the language in some French chansons. This was often very difficult choral music (Asanka used the word “fiendish”), with complex rhythms and closely moving harmonic textures and chromaticism and dissonance. The choir was challenged and the tunes weren’t always clear, especially earlier ones, but I could understand. Later songs seemed more straightforward and the choir was sharper and warmed up by then. These songs were also in English, which I expect made things easier. The Vaughan Williams Elizabethan love songs were sweet and To be sung on the water by Samuel Barber was quite beautiful. It’s not a large choir and the space was small, so I could hear individual voices. This time, I particularly enjoyed the male voices that seemed to sit so rich and resonant in the mix. It’s irrelevant, but it amuses me that choirs often suggest to me that sexual politics are futile, given that all the voices are so different and yet so necessary. Then to finish, the weather report. It was a strange thing, as weather reports from other countries are, even when they’re not sung (how often do we get mention of the Azores). A nicely fantastical finish to a demanding and interesting choral performance.

Oliver Raymond led the Capital Voices choir at St Albans singing European, British and American compositions of the late 19th/early 20th century.

Ahoy! Bands

Both Davidia and String Effect were supported by a nice little trio on keys, bass and drums: Gordon (aka Gordo) Porth and the Pacific Showband. They impressed me mightily with their support. This was concentrated reading, staged stops and starts, harmony lines against voice, surprisingly effective keyboard parts and I only noticed one toyish synth tone. The band performed other nights as a ballroom dance band. I also caught Gordon playing a few other gigs. One was a staged musical murder mystery trivia quiz where he played snippets of songs for the audience to guess at. The other was a popular but only moderately well-attended classical piano concert entitled From Bach to Billy Joel. Gordon is a perfectly competent classical pianist and played a range of short tunes from JS Bach, Mozart, Schumann, Chopin, Grieg, Debussy, Gershwin, Morricone and a rag to finish off from Billy Joel. It was a touch of class although interrupted by cocktail shaking and phones ringing and even chatter, but it was a nice change. I met bassist David and drummer Adam later in a bar and commended them on their reading. Nothing difficult: Adam said it was much easier than the Schoenberg and Mahler he normally plays (!). David’s bass was wonderfully precise and I liked that he knew all the right riffs and fills for the pop tunes they supported: no faking here. The Pacific Showband comprised Gordon Porth (keyboards) with David Fiore (bass) and Adam Mamula (drums).

We all liked the piano man, Ged (pronounced with a soft G as in Jed) Scott. He was another musical Englishman (lots of English entertainers on this cruise). This was standard piano bar performance with a decent voice, a rack of tunes and a facility with the chord charts. The piano bar repertoire touches on jazz but doesn’t always match the fake books. I was surprised that he didn’t know of a favourite of the jazz repertoire, Alone together, but he played numerous other standards, latins, soft country, modern songs and the like, and managed plenty of other requests. I was relieved when he limited his take on American pie to the first verse repeated (as he said, almost no-one knows any more, anyway), and I was truly impressed by his obvious knowledge of the Italian language when he sang several Neapolitan songs. I liked his slightly detached English presence and his nicely stretched high notes. And his new wife, Nectar, sat in for a capable rendition of Whitney Houston one evening. We spent most nights with a cocktail and Ged before dinner.

I counted at least three grand pianos and noted that at least Ged’s was a Yamaha. Garnette performed solo piano in the atrium each evening on another. She’s a performer with a huge repertoire (2,000+) that she could reel off with ease. I was also impressed when we had a chat with her while she was performing. That’s a professional muso for you. But I was still surprised to hear Wayne Shorter’s Footprints, but then I noticed one of the off-duty bassists had requested it and I saw the Real Books 6th edition vols 1&2 ready to do duty. She told me she also sings piano-(wo-)man sets and she did a set with drummer Adam late in the cruise where they both sang and harmonised.

The other performers were more in rock tradition: a duo, a pop-rock quartet and a DJ but I only touched on this scene. The Fidelity Brothers were a duo playing the soft-rock covers like Margaritaville (appropriate given the propensity for cocktails on ships) and Heart of gold. Southern Comfort was a quartet of vocals, guitar, bass and drums playing a range of popular covers. They had a decent vocalist with a surprising range of vocal tones and a decent guitarist. They were both nice bands despite the requisite repertoire of popular often-classic rock. There was a DJ called DJ Moo but I didn’t catch him spinning disks in the Attic.

Ahoy! Features

One feature artist in the theatre was Davidia, a capable singer of an uncertain age (two divorces, two children) and a cougar act. She’d been introduced variously as “the queen of the high Cs” and a performer who sang it all, from the ‘50s to today. Megan and I dreaded that a singer may ignore song before the rock era but we were pleasantly surprised to hear of her operatic background and to hear a few snippets of the Magic flute and Nessun dorma along with Bohemian rhapsody and the pop repertoire. Davidia was quite an odd but amusing mix of full-ranged voice, loving mother (we saw pics of her two kids), voluptuous single with lively patter and sultry entertainer. I really liked her show.

Another feature act was a crazy, straight man-funny man classical husband-and-wife pairing called String Fever. Like Davidia, these were trained performers from the fine music tradition but their act was anything but. The zany one was Brenton, the violinist husband; the straight one was Jackie, the cellist wife. Now, these were decent players. I enjoyed their competence, their sense of rhythm and melody and countermelody, her sense of cello as accompanist, their correct intonation and strident playing and their harmonised singing. Apparently they’d played together under the famed George Martin as conductor at the Opera House for a show called All you need is the Beatles. I later heard that they played in the Melbourne Philharmonic Orchestra and I’d believe it. But this show was anything but staid. They did dedications to Andre de Roo/Rieu, snippets of 30 Beatles tunes, a piano/vocal take on Elton John (“that’s when I fell in love with him” Jackie said in humourous despair) and finished on features from Beethoven’s Song of Joy in English. All whacky and over the top, but clean fun and nicely done, with arranged backing from Gordo/n and his Showband. Maybe my mind was becoming soft from cruising by this time, but it’s good humoured, Aussie-entertaining and I enjoyed it. String Fever are Brenton Edgecombe (violin) and Jacqueline Edgecombe (cello).

Davidia

String Fever