The Tenor

There are days when central London is inexplicably quiet. I mean 'quiet' relatively and in the sense of 'less bodies pushing along the pavements'. (Unfortunately, the wail of sirens and roar of traffic continues unabated com rain, shine or bank holiday.) Today is one such day and as a result, the atmosphere in the lunchtime concert is one of peaceful intimacy./ There is much to be said for a Full House (see Friday’s blog: http://eartotheflagstones.blogspot.com/2010/09/full-house.html ) but if I am honest, today’s is far preferable. The 150 people in the audience have come specially and why wouldn’t they? Whether they’re here for the lustre of Nick Pritchard’s tenor voice, or lust for Nick Pritchard himself, there is any number of incentives to be here.

Early in the proceedings, I wonder whether I ought to offer a drink of water to a lady in the side-aisle seats who, eyes closed, looks ready to swoon – I then realise she is not ill exactl so much as quite carried away by “Dies Bildris ist bezaubernd schon” from Mozart’s ‘Die Zauberflote’. Presumably, she knows more about singing than I do. Yes, I have a confession to make and there is no time like the present, I am not a singer, nor have I ever aspired to be one. My Christmas carol renditions are ‘throaty’ at best and not in a husky, sexy, Dusty Springfield sort of way. Thank goodness then, that Ear to the Flagstones is not a review of these concerts as much as a commentary. With all technical respect to Nick, I’ve no idea whether he is ‘just’ good or actually very good (thought by the end of the first item on the programme, I’m beginning to suspect the latter). I will therefore, apply the same measure of standard which I use with wine – who cares whether it is regarded a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ bottle with a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ nose and from a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ vintage? Does it taste any good?! I’m not sure how Mr Pritchard tastes, but he sounds rather lovely and is sensitively accompanied by Andrew Saunders at the piano contributing to a gentle and enjoyable programme.

Pleased with my assessment, as the pair embark upon the final song in Finzi’s “Oh Fair to See”, I read the biographies in the printed programme and am pleased to note that, contrary to popular belief, I must in fact be something of an unsung genius when it come to the recognition of vocal talent. It turns out that both Nick and Andrew come highly recommended, thank goodness, this could have been most embarrassing!

As “Since we loved” draws to a gentle close, the last consonant is rendered inaudible by enthusiastic applause and the interpretation of Finzi’s conclusion is left to the imagination of the audience.

“My love, my quee …..”

Nick Pritchard will appear in the role of Count Almaviva in rossini’s “The Barber of Seville” at Oxford’s Sheldonian Theatre in February 2011.

Full House

Full House

The “Full house!” whispered to me by the steward on the door as I sneak in to today’s concert a few minutes late is self evident. The nave at St Martin’s is bursting with concert-goers (and a few casual passers by who look somewhat bewildered at where they’ve found themselves). I never get tired of surveying the audience here. There are the regulars who claim the front five or six pews as early as 12.30pm for the 1.00. A minority prefer the anonymity of the back rows or side aisles where, eyes closed they can soak up all, or sometimes just a work or two from the programme. One or two clients of the Connection at St Martin’s are just such regulars though today, their side-aisle boxes are shared with anoraked tourists and be-suited business men.

Then there are the ‘first-timers’, tourists and locals. Retired parties of ladies, popping down to London for the day with matching shoes and handbags, to take in some “Culcha”, visiting business people with an hour to spare between meetings, tourists laden with backpacks and money belts and trying to work out which coin is £1 for a donation. The church is full of London’s finest: workers, slackers, un-waged, retired, nose-parkers, busy-bodies, quiet connoisseurs, know-it-alls and wide-eyed innocents, the worldly and the world-weary and they all listen beneath the “arching Baroque splendour”, a gathering of honest diversity.

I cut off these thoughts before they drift too far in the direction of the superfluous.

A full lunchtime contingent is seldom a quiet or still audience. The creak of 18^th century pews, raincoat rustle and flick of programmes is a background murmour to which one either grows accustomed or which, on occasion, is enough to drive you mad. In such circumstances, it is best to slep discreetly out the side doors before the urge to leap up on a pew and shout “QUIET! PEASANTS!” becomes too strong. Ironically of course, no amount of caution in sneaking will stop you actually contributing to the noise from which you are beating a hasty and irritated escape. That is however, what it is all about, a free concert, open to everyone in the Church of the Open Door. That doesn’t stop it being annoying sometimes.

The majority of the time however, The Atmosphere is something of which I have become increasingly fond (and not a little proud).

Today’s artists, the Scotney Ensemble (an Octet from the Royal Academy of Music) perform Schubert’s Octet. It is an interesting choice of programme for this particular concert series. First, at a little over 50 minutes in duration, it is rather longer than the specified 45 minute concert length though the majority of the 400-odd audience members are content to sit with only sporadic burst of fidgeting, coughing and programme crackling. The ensemble themselves however are less stalwart and their performance wavers, frequently losing intensity and thread through the six movements. Unfortunate intonation from the upper strings serves to wake those listeners becoming too complacent with the altogether loose concept of ensemble. They are not bad players, in fact there are moments of true loveliness however, these unfortunately come from individual instruments rather than from the group as a whole. As they eventually embark upon the dramatic tremolo opening bars of the final Allegro, I find myself thinking of a fresh-faced cellist swaggering into a quartet rehearsal many years ago in First Year at University. Confident in my grasp of Shostakovich’s ninth string quartet I was astounded to realise by the end of the session that learning the notes in my part, even being able to play them quite well, was only the very beginning of a rehearsal process which would take months before we felt truly ready to perform. I remember learning over that time to play with my three compatriots as one, to feel the expression of the viola line in my own body and instrument and above all, to hear the whole and not the many parts. From back here in Row P, it seems pretty obvious that we are listening to the music, not the musics of eight players. Members of the Scotney Ensemble however, are still at a point where each part wandered only for a time hand in hand with the others.

Not that anyone seems to mind in the least. There is an air of the Proms about the place and several enthusiasts insist on clapping vigorously between movements. Unperturbed by the frowning silence and stern looks of other patrons, they continue to show their appreciation – something even a snob like me is all for. One particularly beautiful turn of phrase from the horn player has me wanting to call out “BRAVO!” and raise an un-caring eyebrow to the disapproving glances. It was a lovely phrase and probably the most memorable part of the whole concert.

After rapturous applause (they are an enthusiastic and supportive bunch) I cornered a lovely retired couple from West Hampstead to ask them what they thought. They explained that they come regularly and always enjoy the programmes (they had nothing but praise for Monday’s Hindemith!) and said they just liked to watch experts at work. After a lovely conversation, I retire to write up my notes and reflect on my close-mindedness. What are a few bung notes and ill-timed entries between friends if 400 people enjoyed it and one couple will come back, again and again?

Therefore let me finish by saying “Bravo!” to the applauders who defy convention in favour of appreciation and to the performers who have performed and the audience who have enjoyed. “Bravo”.

Michael L. Roberts

Michael L Roberts is a composer, performer and poet and St Martin-in-the-Fields is delighted to host the premiere and CD launch of his Avocatus Suite as part of our New Music Series. Between sessions in the studio, Michael took time out to talk to In the Pipeline.
ITP: Michael, thank you so much for taking the time out to have a quick chat with us. It may be the first time we’ve had the pleasure of chatting with a (and I hope we’ve got the term right) bona fide ‘Jazz Cat’. I hope you don’t mind if we dive right in and ask, should we be expecting something ‘a bit jazzy’ from your concert on Tuesday 28 September?

MLR: Jazz cat... I like..!

Well, in terms of certain structural and harmonic elements of the suite, my language as a composer is always born out of my experiences as an all-round musician. All composers, whichever genre they consider themselves immersed in, are improvisers until they put pen to paper, however, the stylistic approach of the Avocatus Suite is not ‘jazzy’ in any way.

ITP: In that case, maybe we’ll drop the ‘cat’ and stick to ‘Michael’! So what will we hear?

MLR: Avocatus is written for solo soprano voice and piano within the spirit and tradition of the European Classical/Romantic Art Songs and Song Cycles.  As a jazz musician, influence from the likes of Debussy, Ravel, Shostakovich, and Rachmaninov is, of course, ever-present, but it was a combination of hearing Debussy’s beautiful work of art the song cycle Songs of Bilitis and Strauss’ epic Four Last Songs back-to-back one evening that first inspired me to venture into similar territory. As is always the case with great music, the more you listen the more you learn! Upon hearing the Four Last Songs that night I considered again the thematic reasoning behind their creation – themes of death and journey’s end that, in Romantic terms, would ordinarily be treated with a sense of bravado and defiance but, in this case, are almost caressed with a sense of calm and gentle acceptance.
Having endured a sustained and cathartic life threatening illness in 2003, I’m all too familiar with the necessary elements of calm acceptance and quiet contemplation, and my poetry writing over the last seven years has more often than not reflected my imagining of life’s experiences and imagery.

ITP: So we will hear not only your musical voice but also the voice of Michael the poet?

MLR: Yes. The text of the Avocatus Suite Part 1 is a somewhat mythological reading of my experiences during that time of illness inspired stylistically by the likes of Pablo Neruda, Octavia Paz, Gabriel Garcia Lorca and the expressive freedom of the Beat Poets.  I crafted a musical language around the text that I had written over 7 years in moleskin notebooks and on scraps of paper here and there. It represents an almost reverse journey to that presented in Strauss’ work.  Rather than depicting the slow descent into death I begin with a death, sending the soul, as protagonist, on a journey through an afterlife of imagined trials and landscapes.

ITP: How did these two voices develop into your artistic voice from the towering influences you’ve cited?

MLR: Musically, I would say that the compositional and stylistic language of those great names mentioned above has always been a part of my creative consciousness, just as prominently as, say, the language of such jazz luminaries as Bill Evans, Keith Jarrett, Herbie Hancock, John Coltrane etc. It’s always a case of channelling those influences and creating your own soundscape that, while remaining true to that which came before it, speaks honestly out of your own centre and provides a creative definition of who you are and what myths you live by!

ITP: You’ll be performing alongside soprano Elisabeth Toye. Was she also involved in any way in the creative process?

MLR: Elisabeth and I had taught in adjacent practice rooms at Wellington College in Berkshire for a few years and, upon deciding to embark on this project, there was no doubt in my mind that hers would be the voice to interpret my compositional efforts.  She possesses an ideal balance of beauty and gravitas that I felt lent itself to the subject matter.

I presented the first of my songs to her for her appraisal and she sight read the handwritten manuscript with an expressive and impassioned tone. As a result I quickly set about writing more and more and the suite was born! Her contribution was very much centred around the contours of her voice and how I could make adjustments to provide the best vehicle for her to express the sentiment of the given lyric.  It is certainly true that the work would not have gained so much momentum compositionally for me had it not been for her very strong and assured first time readings of each song.  They really made me want to hear more!!

ITP: One fascinating aspect of the New Music Series at St Martin’s is to hear new music in a historic setting. How do you think St Martin’s long musical history will contribute to Avocatus in performance?

MLR: As a musician, there are few greater privileges in life than to see your compositions realised in a historical setting that so many truly great Masters have graced before you and there is no doubt in my mind that my suite will benefit considerably from having its premiere performance, and indeed Record Launch through the ‘Notabene’ Label,  at so prestigious a venue as St Martin-in-the-Fields. The New Music Series is a wonderful example of a supportive initiative that serves the continued development and enjoyment of music in the best possible way and I’m delighted to be a part of it!

ITP: And we feel genuinely privileged to be a part of the unveiling of this extraordinary new work. Thank you.

What: Michael L. Roberts’ Avocatus Suite – premiere and CD launch.

When: Tuesday 28 September, 1.00pm

Where: St Martin-in-the-Fields – Free Entry.

Liszt and Chopin

Yesterday morning as I arrived at work I stepped gingerly between the inert lumps of mildewed duvet, last week’s Metro and cardboard. Understandably there was a bellow when my boot wavered uncertainly over what could have been a section of paving and then came down heavily on a hand. Apologising profusely, I fumbled about for my keys while trying not to add insult to injury by spilling the piping hot contents of my coffee cup over the sleepers. The owner of the crushed fingers peered blearily up at me from under a mop of blond hair.

“Good morning.”

Startled, I dropped my keys in his lap and stumbling to retrieve them, stood on his ankle.

“Ouch!”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s perfectly alright. It was time to wake up anyway.”

He grinned crookedly at me.

“What’s on the programme today?”

“I beg your pardon?!” (I’ve never actually said “I beg your pardon” to anyone in my life, but you know those occasions when it’s really the only phrase which captures the essence of surprise.)

“The Lunchtime Concert, anything interesting?”

He sat up, leaning his back against the door jam and awaiting my response with frank interest.

“Well I, erm, yes. I mean, well, I think it is a pianist.”

He smiled again, patiently, as if encouraging a cute but slightly slow child.

“Her name is Jessica I think, but what’s the programme, you know, what will she play?”

“Oh right, oh, the programme …” I trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Well I can’t remember, I think it’s some Liszt and Debussy.”

He nodded sagely.

“They go in for Liszt a lot here, Liszt and Chopin. Anyone’d think no one else had written for the piano.”

“Indeed.”

“Easier than yesterday’s though, you know, Janacek and Hindemith and whatnot.”

I started guiltily, had he read the blog? Immediately defensive “Well there’s nothing wrong with a bit of variety, it is nice to have a change!”

At 1pm Jessica Zhu performed a very accomplished programme which did in fact feature Debussy’s ‘Images’ from Book 1 and Liszt’s ‘Verdi: Rigoletto Transcription” . I searched the 300 strong audience for a shock of blond hair but couldn’t find his among the faces of visitors, foreigners, locals, grandparents, music-lovers, students, professionals and children. He was nowhere to be seen.

Sweet Chilli Sauce and Hindemith

In the back row, there is a man snoring in double time which only adds to the complexity of Paul Hindemith's "Kleine Kammermusik" (Little Chamber Music) for Wind Quintet.

A friend from music school once dropped a jar of Mr Wong's Genuine Sweet Chilli Suace on the floor of our house in the dank depths of the 'student district'. The jar's contents seeped accross the linoleum of the floor collection in its tide the various flotsom and jetsom native to student kitchens everywhere. Startled, my friend looked down and said, "Goodness, its just like Hindemith. A little too much of a good thing with lots of sharps bits and a trace of egg."

Which is hardly fair.

The Albion Quintet (whose name recently changed to the Osiris Quintet when its members discovered the Albion Ensemble featuring Philippa Davies) however, gave a truly valient and accomplished performance contending not only with the "challenging" nature of Hindemith and the other composers of the programme's (Ligetti and Janacek - evidently a gentle walk in a soundscape park on a sunny Sunday afternoon was what they had in mind) reputations, but with the persistent buzz of a Westminster city Council sponsored concrete cutter, a lady in row R wiht a persistant cough and of course, our friend snoring in the back. Yet they managed to hold a dedicated (if subdued) audience of about 150 until the final, impressive notes.


But that's just one opinion.

I'll be back tomorrow with my ear to the flagstones at St Martin's.