Author Archives: flutietoot

Madame Butterfly – Opera Australia

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Tuesday 25th September

Seeing an opera at the Sydney Opera House has to be pretty up there on the music to-do list, and the second night of Opera Australia’s Madame Butterfly on Tuesday attested to this. It seemed that the location and Puccini’s music were a winning combination for seasoned opera-goers and tourists alike.

In this production, the set was most certainly the star. Wooden floorboards surrounded by a shallow pool of water, with Japanese-screen walls looked on the outset to be a rather simple set-up. However, these elements interacted to give a greater meaning to many of the opera’s bigger themes. The screens opened and closed, allowing the house to be sometimes open and free, sometimes prison-like and closed off. Light seemed constantly to come from outside, as if the world beyond was a much brighter place. At the end of the first act and in Butterfly’s dream in the second, the back wall was lifted away completely to reveal an open sky of stars, in these moments the butterfly was temporarily released from her cocoon.

Similarly, the simple prop of a long stretch of silk was used to great effect in both these scenes. Butterfly herself proffers it, content to be Pinkerton’s property as long as she can be bound to him forever. It is similarly ironic that it is with this same piece of silk that she ties her knees in her final moments.

Hiromi Omura was impressive as Madame Butterfly – a role that is almost constantly in the spotlight. She handled herself with effortless geisha-like grace, although at moments it seemed that she was forcing a smile when more considered emotions were indicated by the text and music. Her voice carried well in the space, although at times seemed rather light compared with Dominica Matthew’s in the role of Suzuki. These two women carried the show without a doubt, blending beautifully in their duet as they covered the house with flowers in the second act. There cannot have been many dry eyes once Butterfly realised the hopelessness of her situation.

James Egglestone (Pinkerton), Graeme Macfarlane (Goro) and Michael Lewis (Sharpless) all performed with energy and musical conviciton, Macfarlane in particular lent his character a highly appropriate awkwardness. However, several of the minor characters (Malcolm Ede as Prince Yamadori and Nicole Car as Kate Pinkerton) were both one-dimensional and rather quiet, even at close quarters.

A Spectacular Return – Act 1 – Melbourne Symphony Orchestra

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Friday 10th August

The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra’s return to their newly refurbished home at Hamer Hall was grand to say the least. With a packed house and a sense of celebration, the opening night concert showcased the hall and its new acoustics through a diversity of music and creative ideas.

Rather unusual though it is for an orchestral concert to begin with a solo work, let alone one by a living Australian composer, Ross Edwards Water Spirit Song for solo cello was indeed an inspired choice to highlight Hamer Hall’s stunning acoustics. David Berlin played with sensitivity and flair, though possibly a little erratically at times, and each detail of the cello’s meandering line was clearly audible.

Thomas Ades’s Polaris which followed tested the hall at the other end of the sound spectrum, comprising a full orchestra with brass positioned strategically around the balconies. The effect was stunning, as orchestra and hall alike coped effortlessly with the timberal variety of this ambitious work. Conductor Markus Stenz’s understanding of Ades and his music was clear, and he demanded energy of the orchestra throughout. While the visuals created by video artist Tal Rosner were beautiful in their own right, they were a little superfluous to the music on such an occasion, adding an additional level of clutter when none was needed.

Finally, Gustav Mahler’s mighty Symphony No. 3, together with mezzo-soprano Petra Lang, solo posthorn and two choirs, took its place as showpiece of the evening. This is a stunning work, but also one on a colossal scale, and may have pushed the concert out a little too far for some audience members. Nevertheless, Mahler does save his most poignant until the end. While the opening movement would indeed be hard to surpass in terms of majesty and length, the fourth and fifth movements with choir and solo voice were at once stunningly dramatic and perfectly blended. The sixth and final movement, which could easily have dragged, instead lifted to a new level, with Stenz and the orchestra thoughtfully caressing each and every note.

The Barber of Seville – Opera Australia

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Possibly the best-known of Rossini’s operas, The Barber of Seville is nothing if not tongue in cheek. Luckily, for the opening night of Opera Australia’s season on the April 30th, it was clear that in this respect all were speaking exactly the same language.

The delightful leading cast eagerly embracing the eccentric personalities of their characters, with the male leads particularly impressive. Every time Jose Carbo took the stage as Figaro, his swagger, cheek and sheer enjoyment of the role lifted the already high energy levels. His and Count Almaviva’s (John Longmuir) duet in the opening scene was a highlight, as were Dr. Bartolo’s (Andrew Moran) constant imitations of the voice and gesture of other characters. While Rosina’s (Sian Pendry) two solo arias sounded somewhat breathy, her voice rang out wonderfully in duets and trios, and her fandango dancing was a show-stealer.

Another clear star of the production was the set, employing puppetry and false perspective to great effect in the opening scene. Dr. Bartolo’s house, the centre of the action for the remainder of the narrative, was decked out in the colourful style of the 1930s, and provided enough doors, rooms and confined spaces to emphasise the sheer absurdity of cramming the cast into them!

Mention must also be made of the excellent chorus, some of whom had the audience in fits of laughter as Dr. Bartolo’s comic patients. While the closing chorus of Act 1 needs a little tidying up rhythmically, the overall effect was polished and guaranteed to tickle the humours of the audience.

Get in quickly, this year’s Barber of Seville deserves to be a full house every night!

Musical Silence

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A reflection on the article ‘Silent Music’ by Andrew Kania[1]

The question of whether a ‘silent’ piece can be considered as music is central to Andrew Kania recent journal article Silent Music. In an attempt to draw the line as to where music ends and only sound remains, the author first argues for the importance of silence within music, then moves on to consider John Cage’s famous 4’33” alongside other less well-known candidates for a silent piece.

While Kania’s analytical description of “measured”, “quasi-measured” and “unmeasured” silences seems logical in theory, I find it hard as a performer to draw even such sketchy lines between them.[2] Pauses within a movement of a symphony are indeed measured, but measured at the discretion of the conductor or performer’s musical inclination. By contrast, the ‘unmeasured’ pauses that frame works are at times as integral to the performance as those that are internal. In 2010 I played in a concert of Mahler’s 4th Symphony conducted by Simone Young. From the very first rehearsal, she warned us that the final pause would be held for a while, much longer than the final note (a morendo in the double basses) would sound. Ms Young’s goal in this, I believe, was to make the audience question where the sound ended and the silence actually began. Did Mahler intend such a long pause? Is this a measured or an unmeasured silence? I think that most performers, if asked to describe the duration of such a silence, would say only that it was what felt right.

The subsequent discussion of totally ‘silent music’ presents difficulties from many angles. Kania argues that “4′33″ is not a piece of music, since Cage intended the sounds audible at its performances not to be listened to under traditional musical concepts”[3]. Can this intention fundamentally separate music and non-music when the composer cannot be sure of what the audience is actually listening to? In our society, we generally expect to listen to or for something, and I feel that in the absence of musical sound we are much more likely to listen to ambient noise than to attempt to focus solely on the silence of a performer (in the Mahler, the audience were listening for the double bass note even if it no longer existed). Even if the audience of Kania’s Composition 2009 #3 were instructed to focus on the ‘music’ of the silence, I wonder whether some of their attention might not be taken up still with ambient noise.

[1] Andrew Kania, “Silent Music,” The Journal of Aesthetics and art Criticism 68 (2010): 343-353, accessed March 24, 2012, DOI: 10.1111/j.1540-6245.2010.01429.x.

[2] Ibid., 343.

[3] Ibid., 348.

Emperor Concerto – Melbourne Symphony Orchestra

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Friday 20th April

Melbourne Symphony Orchestra – Piano/Director: Olli Mustonen

It’s one thing (and by far taxing enough) to play two Beethoven piano concertos over the course of a single concert. Then add directing from the piano, and having one’s own work for symphony orchestra played in between, and you have Finnish renaissance man Olli Mustonen.

Far less well-known than its Emperor cousin, Beeethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1 is nevertheless a gem. Mustonen approached it with enthusiasm and zeal, leaping out of the piano stool at every opportunity to drive the orchestra on. That said, it was certainly when seated that the best magic was woven, with the daring, ever so flirtatious cadenza to the first movement being particularly impressive. The orchestra were not afraid to feel the pesante weight of the rondo as the piano danced brilliantly over the top.

Mustonen’s own piece – Jehkin Iivana – was given its Australian premiere with no less enthusiasm. Drawing on Finnish history and folklore, the music wove together fragments of kantele song ( a plucked string instrument using modal tuning, here reproduced by the flutes), church hymn-like melodies, and soundscape sections reminiscent of Finland’s winter wilderness. Despite its atonality, the work’s lilting melodies and constantly shifting texture invited the ear with its contemplative expanse.

In his return to the piano stool, Mustonen confirmed that it is here that his talent and musicality are at their best. The sparkling slow movement of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5, soaring over the already mesmerised audience,  was without a doubt highlight of the evening.