THE SOUND OF COLOURS / MIKHAIL RUDY Piano Recital / Review

THE SOUND OF COLOURS

Mikhail Rudy Piano Recital

Yong Siew Toh Conservatory Concert Hall

Tuesday (17 March 2015)

This review was published in The Straits Times on 19 March 2015 with the title "A master in decline".

The Sound of Colours was a joint collaboration between Yong Siew Toh Conservatory and the Hong Kong Arts Festival with well-known Russian pianist Mikhail Rudy in a recital of programme music, essentially works of a descriptive nature that tell a story.  His concerts in Hong Kong were accompanied by film and moving images, but it was a straight forward piano recital without the frills here.

The first half was devoted to just one work, Stravinsky's ballet Petrushka arranged for piano solo, adapted by Rudy from the Russian composer's own version for 4 hands and Three Movements from Petrushka for 2 hands, a staple of piano competitions. Those who have heard his splendid recording of this edition on EMI Classics or attended his performance at the 1996 Singapore International Piano Festival will be alarmed by the stark diminution of his abilities.

Stooped in posture and appearing distinctly frail, he barely held the half-hour work together. True to the recital's title, he painted an almighty wash of sound in The Shrovetide Fair but much of this was achieved by over-pedalling and playing very fast. When it came to the familiar Russian Dance, his fingers were unable to keep up and there were missed notes aplenty. 

To his credit, Rudy was still able conjure the lush “old world” atmosphere for this busy piece and his memory mostly held up, even when the final sequence of dances at the Shrovetide Fair was a hurried and hashed job. Instead of the big glissando ending of the Three Movements, the quiet ending with Petrushka's ghost shaking his fist at his nemesis saw him regaining his composure for an eerily subdued close.

The second half of shorter pieces was better, but only just. Gluck's Melody from Orpheus in Giovanni Sgambati's famous transcription was distinguished by a singing tone over a lilting bass, and in the same key segued without a break into Mozart's Fantasy in D minor, where he took a somewhat epic view to this miniature masterpiece.

Appropriately stentorian were the opening chords of Liszt's transcription of Isolde's Liebestod from Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. Here Rudy found the right passionate sweep to depict opera's most poetic sexual meltdown.  In contrast, he accorded the requisite lightness of touch to two of Debussy's Études even if not all the notes were there,

The recital proper closed with Ravel's highly effective piano version of his La Valse. Like Petrushka, its multitudes of notes proved too much of a struggle for a clearly beleaguered Rudy. The secret of a successful La Valse is to make it appear careening off track while maintaining total control. In this case, the careening part was taken too literally, neither by choice nor design. This was a punch drunk impression of the piece rather than an interpretation.

For many in the audience, the encore segment was the best part. With the worst behind him, a more relaxed Rudy made real music in Tchaikovsky's Barcarolle (June) from The Seasons, an excellent swaggering Montagues and Capulets from Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet and Chopin's Nocturne in D flat major (Op.27 No.2), the last of which will remained a cherished memory of a once commanding artist in sad decline.    

A HONG KONG DIARY (20-22 February 2011) / Part I

Ever wondered why they call it Statue Square?

Sunday, 20 February 

Face it. When it comes to music, the Singapore Arts Festival cannot hold a candle to the Hong Kong Arts Festival. I have been a regular visitor to the SAR’s annual arts fest since 2000, catching class acts in music which will not see the light of day at the Esplanade. The year 2002 was Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov (the Moscow Bolshoi Opera, no less), 2004 was Beethoven’s Fidelio (Berlin Komische Oper), 2008 was Messiaen’s Vingt Regards sur l’enfant Jesus (Joanna MacGregor), and this year’s draw was Masaaki Suzuki’s Bach Collegium Japan with two evenings of Bach (including my first ever experience of St Matthew Passion). 

Did I mention Cecilia Bartoli? Having confirmed my flight tickets and hotel for three evenings, I found to my horror that the Italian mezzo’s gig on 22 Feb had been completely sold out! The official ticketing website had displayed “limited tickets”, which prompted my rash decision to book the flights, but that’s not the same as “no tickets”. Anyway hope springs eternal as I descended into the smoggy metropolis. My ritual first stops after checking in – a cut price set lunch followed by a CD shopping spree at HMV. The exchange rate is decent (1 SGD = 6 HKD), so why not? Having braved the Sunday throng at Central (it’s the day off for the domestic help), Bach awaited at City Hall Concert Hall.

Hong Kong or Manila?

Someday I’ll get to hear all the 200 and more Bach cantatas, but at this time I’m happy to tick off those I’ve heard in concert or on disc, like some obsessed trainspotter. The Bach Collegium Japan is a period performance group with a small band (two per part) and a choir of not more than 20. I’ve heard their recordings, and they are as good if not better than the best in UK and Germany. It’s the light, lithe sound of their playing (as with others like Gardiner) that appeal to me most, rather than those dreary and heavy orchestral versions (no names mentioned) of less enlightened decades past. 

Sporting a distinct silver mane, Masaaki Suzuki looks like some guru from the Zen temple of baroque. He conducts without a baton, looking clear and precise in his directions. I’d like to sing under him sometime. The soloists – soprano Hana Blazikova, countertenor Robin Blaze, tenor Gerd Turk and bass Peter Kooij – sing from within the choral ranks. They’re all very good, and the all-Japanese choir responds with a crispness and fervour that is hard to dislike. Close your eyes, and one thinks they are Germans.

They performed three cantatas, No.72 Alles nur nach Gottes willen (Everything according to God’s will), No.159 Sehet, wir gehn hinauf gen Jerusalem (See, we are going up to Jerusalem) and possibly the most famous one of them all, No.147 Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben (Heart and Mouth and Deed and Life). I don’t go to church services so often these days, but if choirs perform a cantata in place of some overlong sermon, I might be persuaded to change my mind. 

Besides the wonderful music, the words and their meanings come through very vividly. The message is not the usual popular feel good “God loves yer” (in those inane American-styled pop songs) but rather the burden of bearing the cross that Christians face, and the vigorous statement of true faith. There was an additional number, Alles mit Gott (All things with God, BWV.1127:1-3), an extended aria discovered as recently as 2005. Soprano Blazikova sang it with great beauty. Her voice is light and penetrating, and the string accompaniment ever so sensitive. 

For the final cantata, the trumpet came in for a burst of festive colour, and there was that gasp of recognition from the audience when the chorale of Woll mir, dass ich Jesum habe arrived. That’s the same music as Jesu bleibet meine Freude, or what us English speakers say Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. A lovely way to close a lovely evening.

As safe as the banks of HK.

A HONG KONG DIARY (20-22 February 2011) / Part II

The spanking new I Square Shopping Centre

on Nathan Road, Tsim Sha Tsui.

Monday, 21 February

I make it a point to visit a different Hong Kong museum every time I come. The HK Heritage Museum is located in Shatin, in the New Territories, but nowhere is very far when you have such an efficient mass transit rail system. A massive hangar-like edifice greets you as one exits the Che Kung Temple station. It is huge, given the many different exhibits about HK culture, art and social life it exhibits. The offerings today include design, poster art, Chinese brush painting (the Chao Shao An school), Tibetan artefacts and Tang Dynasty figures (the Tsui collection), history and life in the New Territories and the Cantonese opera phenomenon (with a collection of legendary singer Yu Kai’s costumes). It is easy to get lost in two hours of wandering around here.

A Tang dynasty horse at the HK Heritage Museum.

Back in town, I approach the box office of the Cultural Centre in a hope of return tickets for the Bartoli concert. As luck would have it, they’ve got just one ticket, the very last one – at the princely sum of HKD 1280 - and I grabbed it like an Ethiopian meeting a breadroll. After lunch with my favourite Hong Kong aunt, another CD shopping spree, this time at Ladies Market and its smattering of delightfully uncoordinated shops, loaded like some musical Alladin’s cave, And of course, there is always Shun Cheong Records and its latest array of temptations. I succumb gratefully. Back at the hotel, I’ve discovered that my good friends at the Chopin Society of Hong Kong had also trawled for Bartoli returns, and netted a biggie too. Instead of a big fat nought, I now have two tickets!

They really love the arts in HK.

A typical scene at City Hall Concert Hall.

I don’t know when the next performance of Bach’s St Matthew Passion will come again, so I had better make good this one. All ears, I allowed Bach’s musical evangelism to regale me with his vision of apostle Matthew’s account of Jesus’ passion. The opening chorus Komm, ihr Töchter (Come, you daughters) is serious rather than joyous, and one meant to reaffirm one’s faith and convert the unbeliever. “This was how Jesus died for your sins”, and the story unfolded through tenor Gerd Turk’s Evangelist (Narrator). Bass Peter Kooij’s Jesus, dark and rich in stature, was a sympathetic presence. The series of recitatives and arias followed, punctuated by the choruses and chorales, each making a comment on each turn of history. For me, the chorales are the heart and soul of the Passion. The familiar strains of the chorale, first heard as Erkenne mich, mein Huter (Recognise me, my guardian), and repeated another four times, each returning with ever resounding reassurance.

Again Masaaki Suzuki’s direction was authoritative, with two orchestral groups and two choirs on either flanks, and an assortment of keyboards (two chamber organs and a harpsichord) in the middle. In those days, such forces were supposed to be massive. I am overwhelmed by the show of evangelistic vigour, but the moment to die for was the sublime Erbarme dich (Have mercy) sung by countertenor Robin Blaze with Ryo Terakado’s violin obbligato. Has Bach written a more beautiful and beseeching melody? Probably not. Sixty-eight numbers and three and a half hours later (the concert ended at 11 pm), I am as bright as a lark and not complaining of a sore back. A hearty late night steak dinner supper at Sik Heung Yuen Café (on Saigon Street, off Nathan Road) in Jordan is further reward.

I'm not a vegetarian. Nobody's perfect.

A HONG KONG DIARY (20-22 February 2011) / Part III

Tuesday, 22 February

I have a lunch appointment with Dr Anabella Freris of the Chopin Society of Hong Kong, but it was more bargain CD hunting in Central before that. Naxos CDs are the cheapest when you buy them in Hong Kong. At HKD 45-49 (just about eight dollars and below) per disc, its about half the price of that you find in Singapore. 

My favourite little shop is Percival Records (35 Wing Kut Street), another thoroughly disorganised (but in a neat way) hole in a wall tucked in a tiny alley filled with pushcart stalls and shops. Run by a family, establishments like this in Singapore have long gone the way of the dodo. Remember the friendly Sing Music in Lucky Plaza? I have patronised Percival Records since 1990, when it was distinctly musty but had the cheapest classical discs in town. It is still very competitive (compared with the behemoths of HMV, HK Records and Music Warehouse), and credit cards are now accepted. No guilt in blowing a thousand dollars (HK currency) here.

If HK and Singapore are competing on the subject of which is the more vibrant city, the former still leads. Lunch at IFC at a bistro overlooking Kowloon’s new skyline (soon to resemble Manhattan’s after the height restriction was removed) was a case in point. Everthing seemed so “happening”, a buzz which I’ve never felt at home. Maybe I’m biased, as I have yet to have lunch at the Marina Bay Sands.

Trying to look optimistic in making a sale.

Now what do I do with that extra Cecilia Bartoli ticket? Fortunately the concert is fully sold out. I approached the Arts Festival Counter, and the girl says: leave the ticket with us, and we’ll let you know tomorrow if its been sold. Tomorrow? And with no guarantee of a sale? No thanks. I try my luck and stand in front of the booth, in the hope that some poor desperate soul might want to part with HKD 1280 right now. The irony is striking. Two days ago, I was that desperate soul in search of a single spare ticket. Now I’m a different desperate soul trying to recoup the expense of that ticket.

A Brit looks interested but he buys from a young Hongkonger who has a spare HKD 300 ticket. At any rate, he does not have the cash, only plastic. A PRC sniffs around, complains its too expensive, and then says he’ll try and get a complimentary ticket from the sponsors HSBC. “Good luck to you, and sod off!” I thought. Just as I was about to be resigned to having the singular most expensive ticket (HKD 2360) in the house, a Frenchman pops up to the counter and inquires. I step forward and “voila!” a swap is effected, your money for my ticket. And he does not attempt to bargain me down. He didn't appear that desperate either. Didn't I say that all Frenchman were classy?

O mia Cecilia! Whatever you have heard on disc or seen on TV, Cecilia Bartoli is exactly that plus some more. Larger than life and donning a stunning red gown, she looks every bit the diva, artist and entertainer all rolled up in one. The programme was straight forward – Italian and French songs accompanied by Sergio Ciomei’s piano. No opera, just art songs from the pens of Rossini, Bellini and Donizetti. Love lost and found, flora and fauna, and the pleasures of a simple peasant life, were all encompassed in these numbers. Bartoli sounded fresh and each song sparkled with life. Her vividness of articulation, which ranged from the most quiet and intimate of moments to full-blooded roars, was just as impressive.

From bel canto to can belto, Bartoli has the full measure of every number. From Donizetti’s tender Amore e morte (Love and death), which certainly must have influenced the most melancholy of Chopin’s Nocturnes, to the presti-ululation of Rossini’s tarantella La Danza, equal satisfaction was to be had. She was equally at home in French, with songs by Rossini, Bizet and Viardot. There was an insectoid song, Bizet’s La coccinelle (The Ladybird), where her buzzing nasal imitations brought out guffaws from an otherwise staid and respectful audience. Closing with Maria Malibran’s drummer-boy inspired Rataplan, she brought the house down. Three encores, by de Curtis, Montsalvatge and Handel’s Laschio la spina, were the icing on the cake.

Will Cecilia Bartoli ever come to Singapore? We’ll have to persuade the powers that be that a proven act such as this is worth presenting, alongside all those new collaborations which are hit or miss at best. While Singapore waits, HKD 1280 was more than well spent.

In Hong Kong, the sky's the limit.

HONG KONG ARTS FESTIVAL: Simone Osborne Lieder Recital

Hong Kong Arts Festival 2010 

SIMON OSBORNE Lieder Recital 

with Andrea Grant, Piano 

Hong Kong City Hall Theatre 

Thursday (11 March 2010)

One big difference between the annual arts festivals in Hong Kong and Singapore is that the former has not neglected the charms and pleasures afforded in a simple and straight-forward musical event. For all the newfangled trans-disciplinary collaborations and experiments that take centrestage in the Singapore Arts Festival, sometimes simpler is better. The Lieder recital by young Canadian soprano Simone Osborne was a case in point.

Within a compact 50 minutes without an interval, the utterly personable soprano gave a no-nonsense display of her credentials (including the Marilyn Horne prize in 2008), in songs by Franz Liszt (in French), Robert Schumann and Richard Strauss. She possesses a bigger voice than her slightly-more-than-petite built suggest, and able to transcend high registers easily without loss of control. A number of the Liszt chansons, notably Enfant, si jetais roi (Child, if I were king), have substantial piano parts filled with rumbling octaves and chords, but these were no impediment to her projection of words. Her dramatic capabilities also served well Comment, disaient-ils (How then?) and the best-known love song Oh! Quands je dors (Oh! When I sleep), had both cantabile and passion in equal measure, peaking in a rapturous climax.

The Schumann group was also varied and well-chosen, centred mostly on love (what else?); Ständchen (Serenade) with its spirited and rhythmic lines, the fresh awakening of love in Er ist’s (Spring lets its blue ribbon), and the flutter of excitement in Aufträge (Messages), complete with playful coquettish gestures. If there was one lied that summed up her mastery, that would be Stille Tränen (Silent Tears), where a finely worked crescendo swept its listeners off their collective feet. Andrea Grant (below) was the sensitive piano accompanist throughout, helping create the right mood for the music to reign.

Richard Strauss completed the evening’s fare with four lieder. Allerseelen (All Soul’s Day) was both touching and sentimental, a communion with the departed. The familiar Zueignung (Dedication) was taken at a comfortably moderate pace, allowing one to properly savour its paean of thanksgiving. A wide range of emotions were expressed in Ich wollt ein Sträusslein binden (I would have made a bouquet), complemented by the ecstatic joy in the final song Cäcilie, closing the recital on a real high.

With the serious stuff over, Osborne offered four generous encores, bringing the capacity-filled house down with The Girl in 14G (Kristin Chenoweth) and A Word On My Ear (Flanders & Swann), being equally conversant in both American and British musical theatre. For opera lovers, there was O mio babbino caro from Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi and specially for the predominantly Chinese audience, Mo-li-hua. Even if the pronunciation was approximate, it was nevertheless a good effort well deserving the plaudits she received. One hopes to hear more from this fine soprano.