A Romanian Musical Adventure - Festival concert reviews 2005-6

Seen and Heard Concert Reviews A Romanian Musical Adventure – Reviews of the four Festival concerts 2005/6 Evan Dickerson

A Romanian Musical Adventure concert 1: Angela Rippon, narrator; London Schubert Players / Florin Totan, St. Peter’s Church, Notting Hill 10.12.2005 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2005/Jul-Dec05/romania1012.htm Marius Herea: Overture: Vlad, Prince of Wallachia – the real Dracula (World Premiere) Irina Odagescu: Youth everlasting and Life without End for narrator and orchestra, on a Romanian fairy tale (World Premiere) Luminita Spanu: Suite: Pictures from the Carpathians (UK Premiere) Doru Popovici: Princess Lupu’s Song; Wallachian Dance (UK Premiere)

Enescu’s many talents will, for some, be the extent of their knowledge of Romanian music.

This concert, from the small but significant festival “A Romanian Musical Adventure” organised by the pianist Anda Anastasescu brought public attention to a quartet of works by composers that merit wider public attention. The fact that the festival is the first dedicated to Romanian composers in London says much in itself about the work that has still to be done in unveiling the riches that this multi-faceted land has nurtured over the years. It is not before time that the wider world knows more of them.

In their own way each of the four works presented here contributes a comment upon Romania, her personalities, her geography, her folk stories and her natural musical forms.

Having said that one might expect much of the music to be imbued with a folk-lilt (all too often wrongly assumed to be gypsy originating), but with a few exceptions such an influence was noticeably absent from these works.

Instead Marius Herea (b. 1969) in his overture Vlad, Prince of Wallachia – the real Dracula made use of rich and dramatic orchestration to paint a vivid musical impression of Vlad Tepesh – a key figure from Romanian history. In choosing to portray Vlad’s well documented battle exploits against the Turks, which led to his death in 1476, Herea afforded opportunities for a stirring allegro maestoso for strings and winds (which also ends the work) to create an impression of the tragic hero. The Turks, by turns brought powerfully to life through galloping rhythms on insistent timpani and trumpet calls, put up strong opposition before Vlad’s forces gained the upper hand musically and dramatically. The performance, strongly conceived by Bucharest-based conductor Florin Totan, gave prominence to atmospheric brass contributions and readily drew images to mind.

By far the longest work, and indeed most unusual as regards to form, in the programme was the other world premiere: Youth everlasting and Life without End by Irina Odagescu (b.

1937). In common with Herea’s approach her music sought to illustrate the narrative of the fairy tale by Petre Ispirescu – here given in English translation and narrated by Angela Rippon with a consummately professional touch. The tale is of a young prince who leaves home to search for youth everlasting and life without end, accompanied by a magical horse, through the land of the giant woodpecker to a castle with three beautiful fairies, before wandering into the Vale of Tears, inducing a desire to return home only to find

desolation and old age. Although the music utilised a leitmotif technique to illustrate stages of the story – and at times forcefully so – it rather seemed the narrative that formed the ‘continuo’ part. Odagescu’s writing showed skill in characterizing the main characters and episodes in an appealing manner, though at times Totan’s direction might have benefited from a touch more urgency. Unsurprisingly given that she commented on the sad nature of the tale as a major factor that drew her to it, this is perhaps the work’s lasting impression, though it was unenjoyable because of that fact. Indeed, for it to be otherwise would have been counter to the spirit of the work.

Luminita Spanu (b. 1966) brought a suite of six pieces that conjured up images of the Carpathian Mountains – Romania’s imposing geographical spine - as inspired by poems by Stefan Iosif. The Darkness brought a most eerie impression of swirling mountain winds, captured on the edge of notes for the strings. Doina – the most naturally Romanian of musical forms expressing longing and sadness - brought out the very personal connection of the composer - now resident in London – with her homeland. Other miniature pictures – Little Shepherd’s Scherzo and Hermit’s Story – evoked with playful fun and a certain sense of whimsy the way that landscape has become interwoven with popular consciousness. The Evening Star brought the suite full circle in terms of closing the image at nightfall, again painting with broad stokes across the whole orchestra a powerful image of the eternal Carpathian scenery.

Two short pieces by Doru Popovici (b. 1932) closed the concert in most assured fashion. Princess Lupu’s Song, somewhat of an elegy in character, and cast for string orchestra was given with a richness of tone that had occasionally eluded the performance of Spanu’s work. The Wallachian Dance carried a real bounce to it and amply reflected the modern, yet absolutely tonal, view of dance motifs drawn from the south-eastern Romanian region.

In her programme note Anastasescu comments that “the need to cherish one’s roots… becomes an emotional charge for people like myself” and encourages “others to survey the country’s musical legacies.” I can only urge you most strongly to continue the adventure that the remaining concerts hold out for London audiences, and the music making is entirely respectable too.

A Romanian Musical Adventure concert 2: Anda Anastasescu, piano, Wigmore Hall, London. 30.12.2005 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/romania3012.htm Constantin Silvestri (1913-1969): Piano sonata, Op.19 No.2 ‘Quasi una fantasia’ (1940 – UK Premiere) Beethoven: Piano sonata, Op.31 No.2 ‘The Tempest’ Silvestri: Chants nostalgiques, Op.27 No.1 (1944 – UK Premiere) George Enescu (1881-1955): Suite, Op.10 ‘Des cloches sonores’ (1903 – UK Premiere) Chopin: Grandes Valses Brillantes Op.34 No.3 and No.1; Valse Op. posth in E minor; Scherzo No. 1 in B minor, Op.20

This latest concert in London’s ongoing Romanian Musical Adventure Festival had at its core three over-riding characteristics: emotion, contrast and integrity. All three can be applied with ease to the music of Constantin Silvestri, best known and remembered as an inspirational conductor, whose compositions Anda Anastasescu has done much to bring

before a wider public.

If ever music were to be taken as a reflection of its creator and his condition, Silvestri’s two movement piano sonata would have to be cited as a prime example. The work, of startling maturity and insight into the piano as an instrument, was penned at a time of great difficulty for Silvestri: constantly in and out of sanatoria, struggling to make a living as an opera répetiteur in Bucharest. As Anastasescu aptly pointed out in her programme note, the first movement begins with an introvert ‘parlando’ then becoming increasingly lyrical, then hectically exhilarating before achieving a calm of sorts.

However, Anastasescu’s performance left us in no doubt that Silvestri never achieved a true calmness of spirit at this time.

As if to continue this impression the second movement’s waltz-rondo is also cast in fragile forms, at once disjointed through the struggle of emotions it contains: fear, and ghost-like self-doubt being the most dominant, as well as the most confidently portrayed in Silvesti’s writing. The ever enigmatic coda hung through Anastasescu’s playing like a fine mist in the air at the end. Still and far from a place of inner stability, the work astutely avoids a specific key, though not through use of bi- or poly-tonal techniques that Silvestri often employed.

During his lifetime Silvestri often felt his compositions to be misunderstood, often facing the criticism that they were not sufficiently of traditional Romanian origin. The composer Anatol Vieru, once a Silvestri pupil, has passionately countered that argument – and Silvestri remains a composer of absolute originality.

Such a view is only strengthened when encountering Silvestri’s Chants nostalgiques. Cast in three sections – Pensiero, Espressivo and Misterioso – and subtitled ‘Studies in dynamics’ the work’s many-layered internal contrasts spring from a mix of influences, some Romanian, others seemingly more cosmopolitan – Debussy perhaps being the strongest. Written at a time when conducting was gaining the upper hand over composition for him, the piece shows more than a hint of melancholy combined with a deeply reflective and articulate voice sure of it’s ability to articulate creative concerns.

All of this at a time when the compositions of George Enescu are establishing themselves before the public too. As a nod to the great master of Romanian music at the end of the year marking the fiftieth anniversary of his death, Anastasescu offered the second of his piano suites, a work of some precociousness for a student aged just 22.

Submitted anonymously for a competition it won Enescu the Pleyel prize of a baby grand piano. The work’s four movements – Toccata, Sarabande, Pavane and Bourrée – display not only his awareness of forms that would remain central to his creative persona, but also diffuse through the movements something from his homeland: the Pavanne’s trilled theme (marked quasi flute) in its doina-like spirit or the Bourrée’s distinctly folk-like appearance rather than anything French in character. However there are fleeting scents of Fauré to be had, not to mention Wagner under whose temperamental compositional influence Enescu fell early on. So too there might appear briefly a wistful glimpse of Chopin – whose music would end the present concert.

Anastasescu characterised Enescu’s long lines vividly throughout, allowing his love of a strong and resonant bass often against a bell like treble register to sing magnificently.

Indeed, her approach to Enescu’s suite succinctly encapsulates her qualities as an artist: precision balanced by exuberance, intelligence in preference to outward showiness and fidelity to the spirit of the composer.

If a contrast can be seen as complementary, then in that light must be taken the Beethoven and Chopin works. With some shrewd programming Anastasescu subtly made the point that for the Silvestri and Enescu pieces to be best understood, they should be heard against mainstream repertoire. Beethoven’s sonata The Tempest heightened the emotional rollercoaster started by Silvestri’s sonata. Whilst Anastasescu’s performance might not have taken the work completely to the point of wild abstraction that some pianists find, hers was a coherent view of tumult fused with careful sonority and unstoppable lyric episodes.

Ultimately, the closing Allegretto brought some resolution.

The Chopin waltzes contrasted neatly with Silvestri’s use of waltz rhythms in his sonata, and extended too the set of forms employed by Enescu. Op.34 No.3 is often likened to cats’ paws on a keyboard: so, Anastasescu’s kitten was fleet of foot and crisply articulate. The scherzo with which she ended the evening was carefully drawn with a lightness of touch. By this stage no doubt many in the audience had turned their thoughts to that supreme Chopin interpreter, and Romanian performer-composer, Dinu Lipatti – who along with Clara Haskil, Radu Lupu, Valentin Gheorghiu, Andrei Vieru and, from younger generations, Luisa Borac and Mihaela Ursuleasa form a line of great Romanian pianists. Not for the first time before London audiences Anda Anastasescu was heard to be their equal in vision and artistic integrity.

A Romanian Musical Adventure concert 3: Chamber music by Silvestri, Bentoiu, Enescu and Ciortea at the Romanian Cultural Institute, 1 Belgrave Square, London, 26.01.2006. http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/romania2601.htm Constantin Silvestri (1913-1969): String Quartet (1944 - UK premiere) Maistor Quartet: Vlad Maistorovici (violin I), Lukas Medlan (violin II), Vanessa McNaught (viola), Andrei Simion (cello) Pascal Bentoiu (1927- ): String Quartet Op 27, (1980 - UK premiere) Sitkovetsky Quartet: Alexander Sitkovetsky (violin I), Diana Galvydyte (violin II), Daniel Palmizio (viola), Oliver Coates (cello) George Enescu (1881-1955): Aria and Scherzino for solo violin and string quintet (1909 - UK premiere) Vlad Maistorovici (violin) and Piano Quintet Tudor Ciortea (1903-1981): Piano Quintet in C sharp minor (1957 - UK premiere) Piano Quintet: Anda Anastasescu (piano), Poitr Jordan (violin I), Jessica Boyd (violin II), Ailbhe Smyth (viola), Nikolay Ginov (cello)

The image of a questing, musical adventurer could not be more apt for a Festival that has proven a real ear-opener over recent months. This latest concert, featuring four powerful and highly contrasting chamber works, took the audience on a journey of discovery in the company of composers whose voices show individuality demanding of wider attention. The personal impact they made was to inspire an internal journey of emotions, reflections and associations that left in its wake a greater realisation of the many influences and contrasts that have played upon and influenced the direction of Romanian musical culture.

Following Anda Anastasescu's piano recital that revealed the direct and involving solo compositional voice of Constantin Silvestri, came one of his string quartets that shows Silvestri at work on a higher plane of complexity. The path it follows takes one on a seldom charted journey away from the comforts of a city-based civilisation into the wilds of a

mountain climb through the Carpathians, where each instrument contributes tellingly to what one sees, hears, feels and experiences.

Silvestri’s inventive manner of deploying the quartet’s forces results in two elements of the first movement being played off one against another: con passione and agitato e molto espressivo. To the former Vlad Maistorovici brought more than a hint of the Dispirato! with which Silvestri also marked the movement, his playing having an incisive directness in the chamber context that I have noted in solo performances on previous occasions. The heart on sleeve passion that dominates Silvestri’s compositional view is heard tellingly elsewhere in the quartet too. After a second movement of some refinement, in which the marking Brilliante giocoso was fully exploited, the third movement, Nostalgico, the viola effectively created the impression of a composer looking within himself and questioning his artistic motivations and means to realise ambitions. That Silvestri held ambitions, both as a composer and performer, is beyond doubt – and nowhere is this more clearly expressed than the final movement: Con virtuosità, ma leggiero. As a conductor he held that his goal was to get an orchestra to play with chamber-like or solo precision, and this movement often placed the first violin against the trio, as if trying to give voice to Silvestri’s inner vision. That a string orchestra version of the work also exists, perhaps also goes some way towards substantiating Silvestri’s belief in it, and one feels that an assured outing for larger forces is long overdue to further advance the composer’s cause.

Bentoiu’s quartet took our musical adventurer to the veritable cliff-top of consciousness in that the work concerns itself with the processes and structures of thought as articulated in sound. The three movement structure captured a sense of thought, counter-thought, consequence and reaction throughout, even though the listener is left to speculate on what might be the exact stimuli for what is heard. The closest one comes is an identification of the emotions at work, which take in the full range from almost nonchalant elements at the start to a powerful Energico at the close of the first movement, with separate instruments taking different strains of the thought process. The middle movement – Quasi presto – was passionate in its urgings, expressed through disturbed chord configurations, as if they were the inner one-sided reaction to an argument. The closing Lento brought a resolution of sorts in which solo and quartet pizzicato playing of some strength was in evidence. With solo cello passages of some distinction and nobility, a poignancy was revealed in Bentoiu’s writing, most ably articulated in Oliver Coates’ playing.

Enescu’s Aria and Scherzino came across as a nostalgic look towards Parisian culture, although rather from a foreigner’s viewpoint. Composed when Enescu was just 17 for a competition, it shows an unnaturally high assimilation of authentic French sonority alongside a sure deployment of technical factors that were stipulated in the competitors’ entry rules. As the violinist Sherban Lupu has commented, “although it is cast in a baroque style, nonetheless the Enescian blend of chromatic progression and generous melodic line are present.” The brief Aria reveals colour qualities in the soloist, whereas the longer – though still compact – Scherzino delivers virtuosic opportunities using spiccato and double stopping. Maistorovici’s solo playing confidently brought out both elements in a performance that was immediate and emotional, notably benefiting from his willingness to dig the bow into the strings to secure power, emotion and drive rather than beauty of tone.

It proved most gripping, and for a few spellbound moments the passage of time was stilled in this reverie.

Tudor Ciortea’s Piano Quintet was the evening’s most formidable composition, lasting well over half an hour. Cast in four involved movements, it betrayed variously elements of French schooling (Ciortea studied under Dukas), as well as many folklore influences ranging from Romanian through Slav, Byzantine, and the Oriental – and all being left as impressions

in the history of Romania’s musical culture due to her unique geographical location and past. This process of absorption and assimilation in order to produce something individual, is a characteristic that so often sets Romanian musical though apart even within the Danube basin: music is history in Romania to a unique extent.

The opening Larghetto, of sonata form in majestic vein, once again turned the listener towards images of nature with intricately captured rural motifs at play especially in the piano part. The cello part, superbly played, often made one think heroic thoughts – to the extent that it became the embodiment of our musical adventurer striding over magnificent mountain ranges. The second movement offered contrast in the form of dance motifs most melancholically given to the viola, before the piano once again took the lead in the long and emotional introduction to the third movement, an adagietto cast as a lied in A-B-A-B form.

With motifs passed freely between players both here and in the final Vivace Rondo, sensitivity to nuance and awareness of the many stylistic influences was needed to bring out Ciortea’s complex compositional intentions fully.

This is music that demands as much (if not more) natural instinctive reaction in the playing as learned skill. If this performance didn’t quite have that in ideal proportions it was for no fault of trying. How one wished that a second performance might have been possible: then no doubt things would have been more assured. However, the chance to hear this music at all is something rare indeed, even in Romania, so any slight imperfections or lack in shadings mattered little; the opportunity to expand ones musical awareness was the important thing.

The final concert of the Festival (Purcell Room, 18 February) brings the adventure to a close with a trip to the theatre: the Theatre of the Absurd.

A Romanian Musical Adventure concert 4: Chamber music by Saint-Saens, Anatol Vieru and George Enescu. Soloists / London Schubert Players / Hu Kun (conductor); Purcell Room, London. 18.2.2006 http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2006/Jan-Jun06/romania1802.htm Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921): Septet for trumpet, piano and strings in E flat, Op.65 (1881) Ciprian Ilie (trumpet), Anda Anastasescu (piano) and London Schubert Players strings Anatol Vieru (1926-1998): Clarinet Quintet (1957 – UK Premiere) Nicholas Carpenter (clarinet) and London Schubert Players strings Anatol Vieru: Eratosthenes' Sieve for violin, viola, cello, clarinet & piano (1969 – UK Premiere) Andrei Vieru, (piano), Nicholas Carpenter (clarinet) and London Schubert Players strings George Enescu (1881-1955): Octet for strings in C (1900) London Schubert Players strings / Hu Kun (conductor) Since November 2005, the Romanian Musical Adventure Festival has taken in an impressive array of composers whose works that are all but unknown in this country. Each programme has grown in depth, spirit of inquiry and quality of execution – and this final concert proved no exception.

Anatol Vieru has a reputation as a progressive musical voice in Romania and much of his work has attracted a strong following on the Continent. The clarinet quintet, a “work of youth” according to the composer, at first might appear akin to a suite by being cast in four

rather descriptively titled movements – Nocturne, Burlesque, Serenade and Humoresque.

However there is much in it that points towards a goal only achieved in later works in terms of structure, tone or compositional technique. In this sense Vieru may be said to have been writing ahead of himself, let alone many of his contemporaries. Schnittke, for example, made known his indebtedness to Vieru’s Eratosthenes' Sieve for much of his own understanding of serial techniques.

The performance of the clarinet quintet benefited greatly from the passionate advocacy of Nicholas Carpenter, principal clarinettist of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. He variously brought to the work, repose, growing insistence of tone and agitation as required, though each emotion was projected with feeling. The string quartet backed this with a strong sense of inquiry that brought much of the writing for Vieru’s constantly shifting instrumental groupings out clearly through an overlaying of instrumental lines and the passing of thematic material between players. In this respect the Serenade was noteworthy, whereas the preceding Burlesque veered towards a carnival atmosphere – and a slightly surreal one at that.

One might fleetingly be tempted to think of Eratosthenes' Sieve as being surreal, but this would be slightly misplaced. It is musical Theatre of the Absurd and has much outward humour that masks an inner seriousness of intention. Indeed it is difficult to think of a work that conveys such a complex mathematical basis (the music presents sequences of prime number multiples) as accessibly as here, with a number corresponding to a mood, a given style of playing, or the playing of musical quotations and vocal contributions. Thus, as a result, a Mozart string trio rubs shoulders with Beethoven’s Moonlight sonata, Sarasate and Bach, each played to leave the air of a simultaneous disjointed practice session – or at least organised chaos – during which the players comment (‘shhh!’, ‘zzzz’, or with frustrated coughs) – upon each other and the music itself to form a self-critical performance.

Momentary enthusiasm for playing and virtuosity gives way to intentional half-heartedness.

The effect is like hearing a string trio play with a sinking ship beneath it: the music must go on despite impeding peril. Brief spoken quotations from Ionescu’s play ‘The Chairs’ further aided the sense of futility, irritation and even boredom with the task at hand. Yet, Vieru chose his material with care to deliver function through dysfunctional music played by deliberately ‘dysfunctional’ musicians.

The performance was one of insightful integrity of execution, mixed with much enjoyment of the experience. Andrei Vieru’s own contribution was of unassuming brilliance; his part was delivered with all the seriousness and apparent simplicity for which his Bach playing is rightly famous. The whole ensemble became player-personalities with temperaments and moods and each offered contributions to bring smiles, amazement and disbelief at the proceedings from the audience in reaction.

The Saint-Saens with which the programme opened, seemed a world away in terms of style and compositional intention, yet his septet showed as keen a preoccupation with instrumental sonority as Vieru’s two works and Enescu’s string octet. By adding a trumpet to the piano sextet formation, Saint-Saens increases the opportunities for contrasting and blending textures in a unique way. The four movements – Preambule, Menuet, Intermède and Gavotte et Final – each took on their own character in this performance which featured fine solo playing from Ciprian Ilie. The unison playing and tonal blending was notable in the first movement, as was the sense of nostalgia inherent in the second, with more than a hint towards Enescu’s ‘Legend’ for trumpet and piano in terms of mood. The gradual combining of instrumental forces dominated the third movement, as did the exuberance found in the Gavotte.

Enescu’s great string octet seeks in its own way, to explore similar veins of concern, whilst – like Vieru's works – covering deeper levels of interest with construction and technique. The individuality shown in this mature work from a composer just 19 years old is astonishing in its grasp of structure, being a double layered sonata form within and across the four movements. Hu Kun, conducting with Enescu’s own baton, brought clarity of line and spaciousness to the first movement, then revelled in the highly complex contrapuntal fugal scoring of the second movement that acts as a massive developmental section together with the exquisitely nuanced third movement. The waltz ending, simultaneously French and Enescian, showed powerful thoughts held under purposeful restraint through magnificently projected playing which allowed individual voices to integrate seamlessly into the whole.

Enescu’s defining place in musical history is that he appeared as a composer of original personal integrity, with few direct compositional precedents, forging his own path whilst providing inspiration for others both at the time and long after his passing.

The most heartfelt thanks that I can give this concert (and the Festival as a whole) is that it spurred a parallel journey of rediscovery and re-evaluation to complement new discoveries.

Composers and works I had previously known (such as Vieru’s second symphony, revisited during the past few days) led to an awareness of riches still to be discovered and acknowledged by Western musicologists, alongside the the huge variety that awaits the willing listener or player. I would welcome further exploration of the contexts of Romanian music as much as hearing composers of such individuality in greater depth, or more examples drawn from other musical forms such as art song. For me, this is a journey that has only just begun, and I am spurred onwards by the words that the ensemble utter as they exit the stage to conclude Eratosthenes' Sieve, ‘etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…’ This is an adventure that must be continued.