Wednesday’s bout of overheated Spoleto-hopping netted two prime events — let’s begin with Chamber the Program IX, where it turned out to be proven classics all the way.First up was J.S. Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, one of the pinnacles of Baroque orchestral writing; musicians never tire of playing the six glorious Brandenburgs … nor listeners of hearing them. It was done here with chamber-sized forces: only two violins (Daniel Philips and Yoon Kwon), flute (Tara Helen O’Connor), viola (Geoff Nuttall — I had no idea he plays viola, too!), cello (Alisa Weilerstein), double bass (Ed Allman) and Pedja Musijevic (harpsichord). Maybe I should’ve listed Pedja first, ’cause the No. 5 is often called a “harpsichord concerto,” due to its ornate and beastly difficult keyboard part (including a spectacular solo cadenza in the first movement).
But this one’s also a classic concerto grosso for violin and flute. To use Baroque terms, O’Connor and her husband (Philips) formed the “concertante” (soloists) duo, with the “ripieno” (orchestral) and “continuo” (bass line plus harpsichord) falling to the limited remaining forces (you usually hear this music from a bigger ensemble). But, within the confines of Memminger Auditorium, our mini-orchestra sounded just fine – crisp and incisive; one hardly missed the juicier orchestral sound that you get in most concert outings or recordings. The old master was very well-served.
Only two works today — but substantial ones. Antonin Dvorak’s meaty String quartet in G Major, Op. 106, polished off the program, courtesy of the St. Lawrence String Quartet. Written just after Dvorak returned home to his native Bohemia after two homesick years in America, this number is a glutton’s feast of Dvorak’s unique “native” style: he rarely used actual folk-tunes, but the ones he wrote sure sound like the genuine article.
Each of the four movements delighted — thanks to Dvorak’s patented easy melodic flow, cunning major-minor shifts and sweet harmonic pangs that pluck even the hardest heartstrings. Some of the sweetest moments for me came in the third (scherzo) movement, with its rolling sense of momentum and feeling of graceful dance. Oh — and did you know that Dvorak had a thing for trains? At least so said Geoff Nuttall (now back on violin), in his introduction to the piece. He even had his colleagues demonstrate the gently chugging passage that he hears as “train music.”
Later that afternoon, a happy churchfull at St. Matthew’s got treated to a very special vocal recital featuring two of the brightest stars from this year’s production of Amistad: soprano Mary Elizabeth Williams (Goddess of the Waters) and Gregg Baker (Cinque, the rebel leader). While their program was supposed to be top-secret, rumors had already flown the coop that the music of George Gershwin was in store — and they turned out to be true. We heard a wonderful selection of songs from Gershwin’s early tin pan alley days, plus a choice selection of arias and duets from (what else?) Porgy and Bess.
Baker is a HUGE man (all muscle), with a seismic-grade bass-baritone voice that just about rattled the windows … but it served very nicely in soft and tender moments, too — as in his sensitive renditions of songs like ‘Embraceable You’ and ‘Love is Here to Stay.’ He was the perfect partner in the P&B duets like ‘Bess, You is my Woman Now,’ and solo arias like “I got Plenty o’ Nuttin’ and ‘A Woman is a Sometime Thing.’
Williams has an equally impressive instrument — with solid, silken tone from the mezzo range on up into the vocal stratosphere. And she knows how to pack it full to overflowing with sweet seductiveness and shattering emotion. She melted us with classic Gershwin tunes like ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ and ‘The Man I Love.’ She also shone in P&B’s ‘Summertime’ — and the keening heartbreak of ‘My Man’s Gone Now’ had quite a few of us reaching for our hankies. The sheer volume and plummy richness of their full-voiced duet moments left many spines all a-tingle.
And then it was home to confirm in writing the day’s rich musical wonders.
More Chamber Pleasures — and a Special Intermezzo Treat
Wednesday’s bout of overheated Spoleto-hopping netted two prime events — let’s begin with Chamber the Program IX, where it turned out to be proven classics all the way.First up was J.S. Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, one of the pinnacles of Baroque orchestral writing; musicians never tire of playing the six glorious Brandenburgs … nor listeners of hearing them. It was done here with chamber-sized forces: only two violins (Daniel Philips and Yoon Kwon), flute (Tara Helen O’Connor), viola (Geoff Nuttall — I had no idea he plays viola, too!), cello (Alisa Weilerstein), double bass (Ed Allman) and Pedja Musijevic (harpsichord). Maybe I should’ve listed Pedja first, ’cause the No. 5 is often called a “harpsichord concerto,” due to its ornate and beastly difficult keyboard part (including a spectacular solo cadenza in the first movement).
But this one’s also a classic concerto grosso for violin and flute. To use Baroque terms, O’Connor and her husband (Philips) formed the “concertante” (soloists) duo, with the “ripieno” (orchestral) and “continuo” (bass line plus harpsichord) falling to the limited remaining forces (you usually hear this music from a bigger ensemble). But, within the confines of Memminger Auditorium, our mini-orchestra sounded just fine – crisp and incisive; one hardly missed the juicier orchestral sound that you get in most concert outings or recordings. The old master was very well-served.
Only two works today — but substantial ones. Antonin Dvorak’s meaty String quartet in G Major, Op. 106, polished off the program, courtesy of the St. Lawrence String Quartet. Written just after Dvorak returned home to his native Bohemia after two homesick years in America, this number is a glutton’s feast of Dvorak’s unique “native” style: he rarely used actual folk-tunes, but the ones he wrote sure sound like the genuine article.
Each of the four movements delighted — thanks to Dvorak’s patented easy melodic flow, cunning major-minor shifts and sweet harmonic pangs that pluck even the hardest heartstrings. Some of the sweetest moments for me came in the third (scherzo) movement, with its rolling sense of momentum and feeling of graceful dance. Oh — and did you know that Dvorak had a thing for trains? At least so said Geoff Nuttall (now back on violin), in his introduction to the piece. He even had his colleagues demonstrate the gently chugging passage that he hears as “train music.”
Later that afternoon, a happy churchfull at St. Matthew’s got treated to a very special vocal recital featuring two of the brightest stars from this year’s production of Amistad: soprano Mary Elizabeth Williams (Goddess of the Waters) and Gregg Baker (Cinque, the rebel leader). While their program was supposed to be top-secret, rumors had already flown the coop that the music of George Gershwin was in store — and they turned out to be true. We heard a wonderful selection of songs from Gershwin’s early tin pan alley days, plus a choice selection of arias and duets from (what else?) Porgy and Bess.
Baker is a HUGE man (all muscle), with a seismic-grade bass-baritone voice that just about rattled the windows … but it served very nicely in soft and tender moments, too — as in his sensitive renditions of songs like ‘Embraceable You’ and ‘Love is Here to Stay.’ He was the perfect partner in the P&B duets like ‘Bess, You is my Woman Now,’ and solo arias like “I got Plenty o’ Nuttin’ and ‘A Woman is a Sometime Thing.’
Williams has an equally impressive instrument — with solid, silken tone from the mezzo range on up into the vocal stratosphere. And she knows how to pack it full to overflowing with sweet seductiveness and shattering emotion. She melted us with classic Gershwin tunes like ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ and ‘The Man I Love.’ She also shone in P&B’s ‘Summertime’ — and the keening heartbreak of ‘My Man’s Gone Now’ had quite a few of us reaching for our hankies. The sheer volume and plummy richness of their full-voiced duet moments left many spines all a-tingle.
And then it was home to confirm in writing the day’s rich musical wonders.