For Mark Morris’ Edmonton Journal review of the Edmonton Opera production of Lilies (Les Feluettes) by Australian composer Kevin March and Canadian librettist Michel Marc Bouchard click here.
For Mark Morris’ Edmonton Journal review of the Edmonton Opera production of Lilies (Les Feluettes) by Australian composer Kevin March and Canadian librettist Michel Marc Bouchard click here.
Holy Trinity Anglican Church Sanctuary, 101 St. & 84 Ave. (Venue #16)
August 17, 2017
Canio: Andrea Pinna
Nedda: Cristina Weiheimer
Tonio: Bertrand Malo
Silvio: Ron Long
Beppe: Taylor Dean Fawcett
Conductor: Sara Brooks
Stage Directors: Glynis Price with Russell Farmer
August 19 – 5.00 pm*
August 20 – 7.00 pm
August 22 – 7.30 pm*
August 24 – 7.45 pm
August 26 – 7.30 pm
August 27 – 6.30 pm*
*with Dan Rowley as Canio
It’s great that there is a group which is now regularly presenting opera at the Edmonton Fringe. The Fringe is definitely not the place – or perhaps the mindset – for large-scale opera productions (even if they were affordable), but it definitely is the place for enterprising groups willing to fit their productions to the spirit of the Festival, and that’s exactly what Pop Goes the Opera! have done in their new production of Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci, which opened at Holy Trinity Anglican Church on Friday (August 17) and runs until August 27.
The opera, which Leoncavallo claimed was based on an incident in his childhood (a murder case heard by his father, a judge), was the composer’s 1892 response to the success of Mascagni’s revolutionary 1890 one-act opera, Cavalleria rusticana (which Pop Goes the Opera! presented at the Fringe last year). The two operas are, of course, regularly given as a double bill.
Both operas were in the new style of verismo, that eschewed the epic, historical, or sentimental subjects that had been the staples of Italian opera. No grand figures here – just slices of incidents in the lives (or supposed lives) of ordinary people, the kind of people who had rarely starred in Italian opera before. The action is swift and compressed, the colours bright, the emotions raw and essentially uncomplicated.
Pagliacci is set in a small village in Calabria, and is at its base a love-triangle story, but with a couple of twists. There is a third man involved in the love relationship – the deformed fool, Tonio – and the plot revolves around the visit of a commedia del’ arte group who have come into the village to present the Columbine story. That story – of Columbine, married to the clown figure Pagliaccio, but with her sights set on her lover – exactly matches the real situation, which ends in a double murder.
Art and reality get confused, and the villagers themselves – rather innocent souls – get increasingly confused between the two. There is a sense in the opera (among some wonderful and unforgettable music) that we, as “sophisticated” opera lovers, are spying on a more naive and simple world.
That world is usually seen in the hands of professional opera singers in large opera companies. But it is one of the strengths of this most enjoyable production that the parts are not taken by professional opera singers, but by members of the Edmonton community putting on their own show. None solely sing as their career: for example, Bertrand Malo, the Tonio, is an Alberta prosecutor, Cristina Weiheimer, the alto playing Nedda, is a business analyst with the Government of Alberta, while Francis Price, QC, singing here in the chorus but also supporting the production financially and as one of its producers, is a Chartered Arbitrator.
That does not, though, mean that they are entirely amateur in their music making, for almost all the soloists and the excellent chorus sing regularly in the Edmonton Opera Chorus, and Malo has taken minor roles with the company. So they all have experience, know exactly what they are doing, and clearly have enormous fun doing it.
The result gives an extra layer to the whole proceedings, that really works: not only are we seeing a play within a play, but these are set within another (real) local community who are playing the local community of the village. The set is simple, with a neat scaffolding arch creating a second level, and the church of the opera happily melds into the real church that the audience are in (to take the correspondence further, the Rector [vicar] of Holy Trinity Anglican Church appears as the priest in the opera). The dressing of the scaffolding set could have been more inventive, but the whole arrangement happily accommodates the villagers and the plot. The period is ostensibly updated to the present-day, but apart from a series of mimed comments on the use of cell-phones, the production is essentially and sensibly period-less.
The orchestra is cut down to flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, trumpet, and cello, with a piano playing the string parts. Again, this worked, the woodwind and brass providing the emotional colour, and the whole ensemble being large and accomplished enough to be effective, creating a chamber version of the opera. Sara Brooks, the conductor, kept the pace going except in the Columbine play-within-a-play, where the tempi were a little too slow to allow the comedy to emerge, or the tension to be built.
Central to this production was the Tonio of Bertrand Malo, and it was good to see him in a more extended role. He has a rich and expressive bass-baritone, and he played the role as a kind of evil mephistopheles, at times a stalker, at times a manipulator of the action. It was appropriate that he should say the last line (“The comedy is finished”) – these days it is usually given by Canio (the Pagliacci) – because Malo was, intentionally, the real outsider in the village, while pulling the strings.
Andrea Pinna is a kind of throw-back to an earlier age of Italian tenors: it is a huge and attractive voice, but one that has but one mode (loud), and I am sure that he himself would not claim to be the world’s best actor. But his stage presence is commanding, and a stand-up-and-sing style suits the part of Canio.
Cristina Weiheimer was more convincing as Columbine than as Nedda – for the later it felt as if she could have used a bit more stage direction and development of character. I wondered if she was under-rehearsed, and she may well develop that character as the run of performances continue. The other solo roles maintain the overall high standard, backed by the excellent chorus.
Those involved in the love-triangle are often played as if they are all young lovers (regardless of the actual age of the singers), caught in the passions of irresponsible youth. Here, one got the sense that they were in an older age bracket – their thirties, perhaps – and again this suited the work, as the feeling that none of them could claim the innocence of youth added a deeper dimension to the relationships.
What the entire cast does convey is their sheer joy and enthusiasm in presenting the opera. Pop Goes the Opera!’s Pagliacci is a really entertaining evening, a swift (75 minutes) of operatic enjoyment. Opera lovers will find that the cut-down version holds it own, and those who have never seen an opera will experience a theatrical and music evening without that pomp and circumstance that sometimes goes along with the genre.
The opera is sung in Italian, but there are excellent English translations projected onto a screen beside the stage (though these were obscured unnecessarily in the opening chorus, something I trust will be rectified). All in all, strongly recommended!
Michael Massey (piano)
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Edmonton
Saturday, July 22nd
The third biennial Alberta Pianofest wrapped up on Saturday at Holy Trinity Church, with a piano recital by one of Edmonton’s best known musicians, Michael Massey.
It completed an enlarged festival – nine main concerts, plus talks and a symposium – that took place, for the first time, entirely in Edmonton. The purpose of the festival is to bring high-quality piano playing to the city in the summer, but also to provide an educational opportunity for a dozen teenage pianists (aged from 12 to 18) to take part in an intensive summer workshop. Four of those young pianists preceded Massey’s recital in an unannounced but welcome prelude to the main part of the recital, showing off their skills in works by Chopin, Kabalevsky, and François Morel.
Michael Massey – who was inducted into the Alberta Order of Excellence last year – is now perhaps best known for his work as conductor of the Edmonton Youth Orchestra, but he has also been influential as a pianist. He initially joined the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra as a cellist, but after two years he became the ESO’s pianist, a position he continues to hold after some four decades. He has taught piano extensively, and indeed the artistic director of Alberta Pianofest, the pianist and now New York resident Jason Cutmore, was a pupil of his.
Massey’s recital on Saturday was notable for the type of music he decided to play. The tone was set by Brahms’ Intermezzo in A major Op.76 no. 6, in a contemplative performance that suited Massey’s general emotional feel – its mellowness was rather like Gandalf taking a break from the action to light a pipe of Old Toby and ruminating away.
That tone entirely suited the little suite of three pieces that make up John Ireland’s Green Ways, all inspired by literature. The first, ‘Cherry’, based on A. E. Houseman’s poem ‘Loveliest of Trees’ (perhaps best known in the vocal setting by George Butterworth), pictures rather dense cherry blossoms in an English pastoral style, that again has an introspective, ruminative element. ‘Cypus’ reflects Shakespeare (Twelfth Night’s “Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid”), and is a kind of slow movement in the suite, angular and painterly, and inconclusive in its ending. The final piece, after Thomas Nash’s ‘The Palm and May’ opens as if tone-painting fast-flowing streams, and then has a dance feel to it, as if garlands were being strewn: Massey built up to the ending with exactly the right pace and feel.
It was a pleasure to hear the Ireland, though it should perhaps be said that, attractive though Green Ways is, there is quite a body of the composer’s little-known piano music that is both finer and more challenging. Similarly, it was good to hear some works by the Russian composer (and contemporary of Rachmaninov), Nikolai Medtner, whose music Massey has long cherished, but this was also a mixed blessing.
Medtner did write some very fine music (notably the early Piano Quintet, and the first and third piano concertos), but he was also a composer who could get caught up in his own invention. So it was with the Sonata Reminiscenza Op. 38 no. 1 (one of the composer’s 12 piano sonatas). Its reminiscent tone fitted the pattern of the recital, and it is poetic in its opening, but it shows the composer’s weaknesses as well as his strengths. Its failing (as with quite a lot of Medtner) is that it simply does not have enough variety in the writing to sustain its length. It attempts to keep the listeners in the same sort of ruminative ecstasy throughout, with the song elements in the middle voices and a reliance on repeated patterns in the top and bottom of the range.
Much the same might be said of some of the ‘Fairy Tales’ he wrote throughout his life – little colourful pieces, essentially ballads. The Fairy Tale in B flat minor Op. 20 no. 1 and Fairy Tale in E flat major Op. 26 no. 1 were pleasant enough, richly textured, but the tales, alas, largely unmemorable. The Fairy Tale in F sharp minor Op. 35 no. 4, however, is much more expressive and highly charged, with a freer flow, and showed how effective Medtner can be – a fine way to end the festival. I can see how gratifying these pieces must be to play, but overall Massey’s selection here confirmed that while Medtner is well worth hearing once in a while, perhaps once in a while is the operative element – but all the more important to have the chance to hear it here.
The Alberta Pianofest Society plans to launch another venture this November – an annual chamber music festival. This is a much more crowded field already well served by the Edmonton Recital Society and the Edmonton Chamber Music Society – not to mention the Summer Solstice chamber music festival – and it will be interesting to see how the ‘Alberta Chamberfest’ adds to this. In the meantime, the Society is filling an important niche by bring its summer piano music festival to Edmonton. It deserves to establish a following in the years to come.
Rogers and Hammerstein Carousel
Festival Place, Sherwood Park
June 28 2017
Billy Bigelow: Justin Kautz
Julie Jordan: Krista Paton
Jigger Craigin: Nolan Kehler
Carrie Pipperidge: Brittany Rae
Enoch Snow: Ross Mortimer
Netti Fowler: Olivia Barnes
Director: Donna Fletcher
Conductor: Andrew St. Hilaire
There are no two ways about it: in 2017, Rogers and Hammerstein’s Carousel, which Opera Nuova presented on alternating nights with Janáček’s Cunning Little Vixen at Festival Place, Sherwood Park, from June 24th to 30th, is problematic.
For, whereas Janáček’s opera seems all too relevant today, Rogers and Hammerstein’s Broadway 1945 music does seem awfully dated. There is a paradox here: so many of the songs are (rightly) classics: ‘If I loved You’, ‘You’re a Queer One, Julie Jordan’, and that anthem of the British soccer terraces, ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’, to name but three, will be known to most readers of this, even if they don’t know the source.
The work introduced some musical innovations (the soliloquy, for example) that have become Broadway staples, and the overall tone of the songs and choruses – tuneful, tonal, with a large element of sentimentality that rose-tints the story – picked up on Rogers and Hammerstein’s earlier Oklahoma! (which Opera Nuova presented in 2015), and has largely defined the genre ever since.
So the attractiveness of the music is not in question – it’s that story that is the problem. It is almost a clinical study in dysfunctional relationships, and more pertinently what is known as ‘co-dependency’. The mill girl Julie Jordan is quite willing to give up herself and her job to the clearly ne’er-do-well fair-ground carousel barker Billy Bigelow, as she has a crush on his good looks and silken tongue. The result is almost inevitable: pregnancy, marriage, crime and domestic violence. Most notorious of all is the way that domestic violence is treated, with the horrible line, given completely uncritically in its context: “It’s possible for someone to hit you, hit you hard, and not hurt at all.” In other words, the very musical itself can become part of that dysfunction.
Then there is the peculiar last third, where Billy Bigelow, having committed suicide, is given the opportunity to make amends by returning to earth for one day. However, not only does his violence flare up again as he hits his now-teenage daughter, but actually he doesn’t actually do anything that materially helps that daughter – Louise Bigelow would put the past behind her, one feels, whether he had come back or not. The theme of returning after suicide was much more effectively treated only two years later in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, starring Jimmy Stewart.
It doesn’t help that the musical framework is so appealing, and largely without a sense of awareness of the underlying dysfunction (the Hungarian novel on which the scenario is based is much darker). It is possible to present the dark side of the musical (by all accounts, the famous National Theatre 1992 production did just that), but that was not the approach of director Donna Fletcher in this Opera Nuova production.
Indeed, I was reminded of J. Kelly Nestruck’s Globe and Mail review of the 2015 Stratford production, which asked whether the director was deliberately trying to sabotage the musical by playing up its such insensitive features. For here was virtually nothing dark – on the contrary, it was played rather as if it was Oklahoma! with a bright cheerie chumminess (Sondheim described Oklahoma! as being about a picnic), even in Heaven, rather than descending into the abyss (Sondheim described Carousel as being about life and death).
This was reinforced by a very strong acting performance from Albertan Justin Kautz as Billy Bigelow when I saw the musical on June 28 (like most of Opera Nuova’s productions, the musical had been double-cast). He was almost frighteningly slick in his seductions, arrogantly self-confident, and his hesitations over committing murder seemed a question of self-preservation rather than of any moral scruple: his body-language expressed his up-tightness throughout the musical. Churlish in heaven, and still narcissistic back on earth, he thoroughly convinced me what a truly awful person Bigelow actually is, devoid of any redeeming features.
Not that any of this, I suspect, really mattered to the enthusiastic audience, and therein lay the problem with this production. For that cheeriness, that brightness, that melodiousness was engagingly expressed by all the company, very successfully, exactly as if this were Oklahoma! No undercurrents of strong sexual urges, or the equally strong sexual repressions inherent in the musical, here, but rather, let’s fall in love and get on with it (or be a bit jealous), and what do a few blows or a murder matter.
There were some fine individual performances, too: an even-keeled and well sung Julie Jordan from Krista Patton, and a particularly impressive and confident Carrie Pipperidge from soprano Britanny Rae, who had impressed earlier in one of the Festival’s vocal recitals (not to mention the Opera Nuova 2016 production of Bellini’s opera I Capuleti e i Montecchi). Mezzo-soprano Olivia Barnes was also impressive as Nettie, with a strong stage presence, fine vocal strengths, and the suggestion that she could have taken the role quite a lot further had the directorial approach been different.
Just as successful was the set by Terry Gunvordahl (who had also designed the 2015 Oklahoma!). The central building blocks were upright poles of the diameter of telegraph poles, but grouped into movable modules rather like the wooden construction of the trestles supporting a pier, or the poles a fishing boat might tie up to. These modules, when combined with such elements as fishing nets strung between them, or the sails of a three-masted ship at the back, were adaptable enough to effortlessly suggest the waterfront, Julie Jordan’s house, or the murder scene. Inventive, visually appealing, and a considerable contribution to the staging.
What was less effective was the amplification, which was far too loud (is this a reflection of a millennial age, risking deafness by having the volume of music in ear-buds turned up too high?). At times it was actually grating, and it did a disservice to Justin Kautz by emphasizing the tendency to the nasal in his voice. That it didn’t need to be turned up so high was shown by Krista Paton as Julie Jordan, who, in the second half at least, seemed to have the volume of her headset turned down a little compared to the rest. The result was to allow more of the orchestra, well conducted by Andrew St. Hilaire, to come across without detriment to the solo line.
So, overall, this Carousel was something of a mixture – enjoyable performances of enjoyable music that unwittingly made one question the piece itself. This was no fault of the performers, but I couldn’t help but feel there was a missed opportunity here.
Janáček : Příhody lišky Bystroušky (The Cunning Little Vixen)
Forester: Andrew Erasmus
Bystrouška (Sharp Ears the vixen): Irina Medvedeva
Forester’s wife: Meghan Goguen
Schoolmaster: Jeff Fang
Parson: Simon Chalifoux
Harašta (Poacher): Elliot Harder
Lapák the dog: Chelsea Kutyn
Zlatohřbítek (Gold-Spur the fox): Jillian Bonner
Conductor: Rosemary Thomson
Director: Brian Deedrick
Festival Place, Sherwood Park
June 29, 2017
Many years ago, I lived in a house near Oxford that backed onto the famous Wytham Woods, owned by the University and essentially, and deliberately, left untouched for centuries.
I got to know the forester quite well, and he told me that one day, just as dawn was breaking, he was walking along one of the wood’s paths with a young golden retriever he was still training. He turned a corner in the woods, with thick undergrowth on either side, and suddenly the inexperienced dog broke forward and dashed away in front of him.
Down the path, ambling along towards them, was a big old male badger. The forester did not have time to call the dog back before she had rushed towards that ancient denizen of animal wisdom and deep burrows. As the dog reached the badger, he lifted one huge powerful fore-paw, and with one swipe knocked the dog dead.
Then, instead of turning aside or back, the badger simply continued ambling down the path towards the forester. He stood, stock still, beside the path, and he told me that as the badger passed by him, only a foot or two away, the animal looked up at him, straight into his eyes, and held that look.
The forest said that in that moment he knew, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, what that look was about, what the badger was trying to tell him: “Sorry about that, but I really didn’t have much choice.”
Many years later, sitting outside on the deck of our house in the country near Wetaskiwin with a couple of friends on a sunny summer’s evening, there appeared on the short gravel driveway a pair of young, ruddy-brown fox cubs.
I knew the vixen had been denning under an old shed on my neighbour’s property, but I hadn’t seen the cubs before. What fun they were having, frolicking with each other, rolling over in the gravel, until they saw us sitting there watching. Then curiosity overtook play – they probably hadn’t seen humans before. Without any sign of fear, they tiptoed carefully further up the drive, coming to inspect us.
It was a magical moment, two so different types of creature who nonetheless shared the same natural space, both fascinated with each other. Then suddenly, out of nowhere from behind us, underneath one of our chairs, shot the diminutive all-black matriarch of the yard, the barn-cat Black Cat. She launched a blur of black fur straight at them, and the two poor cubs, taken completely by surprise, fell over themselves to race back to their den, chased by Black Cat until she was satisfied they had successfully been put to flight.
Then she turned, and walked back slowly to us, so proud of herself.
Imagine both scenes, and then add music to describe all the emotions that words are so limited for – joy, awe, humour, play, surprise, sadness, curiosity, connection, magic, natural wonder – and you are getting somewhere near the miraculous magic that is Janáček’s The Cunning Little Vixen. What music it is, too, yearning, shifting, dancing, loving, all the time with the lilt and lift of how people actually speak. And the idiom is inimitable (and has never really been imitated) – you can recognize a piece is by Janáček in about three measures. Even more remarkable, this ultimately completely unsentimental peon to the magic of nature, to its inexorable unfolding of the circles of life and death, to the inextricability of the human place in that nature, was written when Janáček was 70.
It’s a daunting opera to put on, though, for it has a large cast, it needs really to be sung in Czech, and few Canadian musicians and singers are familiar with the very idiomatic style of the Czech composer. It is not normally an opera associated with young, post-undergraduate vocal forces, for those very reasons, so all the more kudos to Opera Nuova for not only presenting the work (almost certainly for the first time for most of the audience) as part of the 2017 Opera Nuova Opera & Music Theatre Festival, but also for making such a success of that presentation.
The Festival allows the young singers of the Opera Nuova training program, just starting, or about to start on, their professional careers, the opportunity for fully staged opera performance. This year there were 59 young singers from across Canada, and four main stage opera productions. These were all double-cast, to provide the widest opportunity for the participants, and I saw the Thursday July 29th performance of Cunning Little Vixen at Sherwood Park’s Festival Place. One of the advantages of the opera for a program like this, which traditionally has more women than men participants, is that, while there are important male roles, the majority of the animal roles are given to female voices (including the dog-fox whom the vixen marries).
There are, perhaps, two ways to approach Cunning Little Vixen (and I have seen both). The first is to emphasize the human qualities – the anthropomorphization – of the animals (and in the opera the animals can understand what the humans are saying, but not vice-versa). The second is to do the opposite, and emphasize animal movements and make them as realistic and as naturalistic as possible.
Brian Deedrick’s production rather combined both approaches. The chorus of the animals, birds, and insects of the woods were largely naturalistic (with some engagingly realistic movement from the uncredited squirrel). The result of this was to place them behind a kind of invisible barrier when the humans were involved, both spiritually and physically.
In contrast, the major animal characters, while still having some animal movements (the cockerel, hens, and Chelsea Kutyn’s Lapák the dog in particular), were primarily played as humans with animal characteristics (and in the case of Jillian Bonner’s Zlatohřbítek – Gold-Spur the fox – or Xuguang Zhang’s badger, almost entirely human). The result of this was to place them much more in the realm of humans, and if that divide was there between chorus and humans, to a certain extent it was also there between the chorus and those anthropomorphized animals (the badger was a good example). The colourful costumes – nine of which were designed by Leslie Frankish for Pacific Opera, and the rest designed and created by Stephanie Bahniuk – were similarly ambivalent, some seeming to veer towards a humanizing of the animals, some more obviously trying to recreate animals. All this had some unexpected consequences, discussed below.
That being said, overall the movement – and the consistency of movement within a large cast – was captivating, drawing the audience into a world that was fantastical and natural both at the same time, not the least because of the involvement of Citie Ballet in the extended orchestral passages that demand dance. They (very successfully) helped to train the movement of the singers, and there were three main Citie Ballet dancers taking roles in Kiera Keglowitsch’s choreography. Mingyi Liang as a tall willowy Blue Dragonfly (beautifully costumed) was the closest in the production to a pure spirit of nature, well supported by two midges (Jinah Kim and Lydia Redpath), though they looked much more like bees. That costume ambivalence was here, too, the Dragonfly more naturally magical, the midges more human in their skirts.
Deedrick emphasized the humour in the piece more than in any other production I have seen. Sometimes this was enormously entertaining, but at other times it was annoying, loud laughter from the audience appearing at inappropriate moments. Perhaps this was inevitable with a youthful cast, but the point of the humour in the opera is that it is only one part of the whole panoply of life that Janáček presents.
Commendably, Deedrick ensured that the Vixen’s death was completely unsentimental (no weepy handkerchiefs here). Janáček added her death himself – it’s not in the novel on which the opera is based – to make the point that death is part of the whole natural cycle of life.
In the end, though, I did rather miss the magical power of nature that infuses the work, in part because of the over-emphasis on the comedy, and in part because of the ambivalence in style and costume between animal and human. What was missing in the end was Janáček’s message that humans are just as much a part of that nature as the animals, birds and insects. Here, in spite of Andrew Erasmus’ final lines as the Forester, and perhaps inevitably in a world that is now so urbanized and so out of touch with the natural world, were two solitudes. Yet today surely this is the most important massage from Janáček’s opera.
I don’t want to give the impression that this production was therefore not enjoyable – just the opposite, as it was consistently engrossing. It very nearly, but just not quite, showed the full range of power and depth in this opera.
The cast were uniformly effective – and are to be congratulated on so coming to terms with the idiom. Even if their pronunciation was at times a little wayward, to have sung it in Czech was not only invaluable experience for them, but honoured the opera.
It’s a bit invidious to single out anyone from a young ensemble, but there were two outstanding performances from the cast I saw. The first was Andrew Erasmus as the Forester. He is a big man with a big baritone, and, one suspects, a big future. Winner of the People’s Choice Award at the 2016 Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions Western Canada District, he is about to study at the famed Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London.
His acting is still a little rough at the edges, but that rather suited the gruff but ultimately compassionate Forester – one well believed from Erasmus’ performance that the reason that he doesn’t kill the Vixen himself is that he can’t bring himself to do it. There is no doubting the quality of his voice – this was a convincingly sung performance, both in the woods and in the rather different side of him in the pub.
The role of the Vixen is indeed a difficult one. One the one hand she has to be young, bright-eyed and coquettish, on the other Janáček gives her vocal lines (as he does for almost all the major women roles in his operas) utterly different from those in, say, his contemporaries Puccini or Richard Strauss. There is very little call in Janáček operas for those soft floating high soprano notes that are endemic to Puccini and Strauss love scenes – instead, a kind of hard steel is needed in the upper register (reflecting that, however playful they might be, most of Janáček’s women do have a hard steel side to them).
Even Lucia Popp, whose voice had that remarkable girl-like purity when she wanted it to, doesn’t quite pull it off in Mackerras’ famous Decca recording of the opera. She ends up sounded a little too matronly. The most successful is perhaps Hana Böhmová in Neumann’s first Czech recording in mono from 1958 (still the most satisfying overall recording).
I’m not going to claim that Irina Medvedeva is a Lucia Popp or a Hana Böhmová, but she was awfully good in the role in Festival Place, on a number of counts. First her charismatic acting was utterly convincing – winsome, sharp-eared, full of the joy of life and with a little sardonic humour, but intense when needed. Second, she has that steely upper range, while still managing to sound young, and (like Erasmus) the sense of a confident command of the idiom. Third, with her Russian background, her Czech came more naturally than for many in the cast.
I have long thought (and I am not the only one) that Janáček essentially fell in love with his vixen (hence the wonderful meditation on old age at the end), and seeing Medvedeva’s performance, well can well understand why. Both these two young Canadian singers are well worth keeping an eye on, and I look forward to hearing them again.
The weakest link was the orchestra (Rosemary Thompson’s conducting, however, sounded just exactly right in pacing and in support for the singers). This wasn’t entirely their fault: the idiom is a very difficult if one has never encountered it before, and the reduced orchestration – essentially one instrument to a part – not only left the players very exposed, but inevitably could not recreate the depth of orchestral sound that is such an important element of Janáček’s style. Nonetheless, they pulled it off, in a production that was a considerable achievement for all involved, and a definite feather in Opera Nuova’s cap.
Last, but not least, a mention for the very effective set by Terry Gunvordhahl, well supported by lighting designed by Stephanie Bahniuk. The set uses a number of mobile units based on tall upright poles, and capable of a multiplicity of arrangements, especially when accompanied by screens of other wooden elements flown in.
It made for a very effective wood for all the animals, morphed very naturally into the farm yard, and yet was versatile enough to set up the pub. What was even more remarkable is that it was the same set as used in Opera Nuova’s Carousel (and I will be writing about it in my review of the musical), yet never once looked like it.
Summer Solstice Chamber Music Festival
Convocation Hall, University of Alberta
June 21-25, 2017
Krzysztof Jablonski (piano)
Debussy: Children’s Corner
Ravel: Jeux d’eau, Gaspard de la Nuit
Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition
Convocation Hall, University of Alberta
Kelly-Marie Murphy: Dark Energy
Mendelssohn: String Quartet No. 2 in A minor, Op. 13
Beethoven: String Quartet No. 14 in C sharp minor, Op. 131
Convocation Hall, University of Alberta
Robert Uchida (violin)
Timothy Chooi (violin)
Marcin Swoboda (viola)
Brian Yoon (cello)
Patricia Tao (piano)
Vitali: Chaconne for Violin and Piano
Alexina Louie: Bringing the Tiger Down from the Mountain II
Grieg: Sonata No. 3 for Violin and Piano in C minor, Op. 45
Schumann: Piano Quintet in E flat major, Op. 44
Convocation Hall, University of Alberta
The Summer Solstice Music Festival, presented by the Edmonton Chamber Music Society, celebrated its 10th anniversary this year. The Festival used to concentrate almost exclusively on local musicians, but last year changed its format, bringing in a leading pianist (Charles Richard-Hamelin), and featuring one of the world’s great string quartets (the Fine Arts), alongside concerts by Edmonton’s most distinguished musicians.
This year, then, had quite an act to follow, and the Festival stuck to the new formula. The Polish-Canadian pianist Krzysztof Jablonski gave a major recital, while the Festival closed with a concert by more local musicians from Alberta and British Columbia. In between, the featured quartet was, in many ways, the antithesis of the Fine Arts, for in contrast to that venerable institution, the Attacca represent the millennial generation of highly accomplished younger string quartets.
Outside the main concerts, the Festival continued its tradition of encouraging young local musicians in pre-concert recitals, and in outreach and masterclass events spread across the city, from Callingwood Farmers’ Market to the CBC Centre Stage in the City Mall. However, it is perhaps worth pointing out that, in terms of chamber music, this was a strings and piano festival (including the young performers) with not a wind instrument in sight, except for the large Solstice Festival banner showing a cartoon clarinetist. This (apart from a couple of vocal recitals) was true of last year’s festival, too; perhaps the Festival might consider a little wind leaven in the future.
The Attacca Quartet was formed at the Julliard in 2003, though only two of the original members remain. All the current members are in their early 30s, but already the quartet has achieved a considerable reputation. They have recorded the complete string quartet works of John Adams, played all 68 of the Haydn string quartets, and are currently engaged in a complete cycle of the Beethoven quartets, paired with works by contemporary composers inspired by Beethoven. Their repertoire is happily eclectic, including contemporary string quartet repertoire and cross-overs from other genres, as one might expect from millennials.
As their name suggests (attacca, the Italian for attack, means to move to the next section or movement instantly, without pausing), the Quartet’s chief characteristic is exuberant energy. At the same time, they are wonderfully disciplined and homogeneous, their technique exemplified by the way they can, in absolute unison, glide into the first note of a phrase as if conjuring it up from some ghostly ether.
While it is perhaps invidious to pick out any of the players, nonetheless the quartet is built on the marvellous playing of the first violin, Amy Schroeder – what gorgeous tone, for example, in both the second and the final movement of the Mendelssohn String Quartet No. 2 in A minor, Op. 13 that they played at Convocation Hall on June 23. The emotional lodestone of the Quartet, however, seems to be cellist Andrew Yee, who wears those emotions all through his body language as well as through his bow. There were some really effective little touches in his playing – as in the little shivering phrases in that Mendelssohn, which made the whole ambiance of the piece seem fresh and new. This was a very effective performance, constantly illuminating the work.
The Quartet had preceded it with a Canadian work, for the Festival was keen to include Canadian music to reflect Canada’s 150th anniversary. They chose Ottawa-based Kelly-Marie Murphy’s Dark Matter, inspired by the astronomical concept first postulated by Einstein. It was written in 2007 for the Banff International String Quartet competition, and it did rather sound like a competition piece. While never offending, it never really excited either, apart from the fairly obvious elements designed to show a string quartet’s worth. It’s in two halves, the first starting with hushed music suitable for a space movie sound-track and continuing in rather a cinematographic fashion, the second being much more rhythmic and energetic. I couldn’t help feeling that there had to be more arresting Canadian pieces to play – perhaps the far more striking and adventurous String Quartet No.3 (also written for Banff) by the Edmonton-born Juno-winning composer Vivian Fung, which I know is in the Attacca’s repertoire.
The Attacca closed their Convocation Hall concert with a performance of one of the most complex of Beethoven’s late works, his String Quartet No. 14 in C sharp minor, Op. 131. Interestingly, this was the work that featured centrally in the critically-acclaimed 2012 Yaron Zilberman movie A Late Quartet, and the Attacca’s second violin, Keiko Tokunaga, worked on that film, coaching actor Philip Seymour Hoffman.
It was a fine performance, played with reverence and affection, but it didn’t quite have the impact that they had achieved with the Mendelssohn. Perhaps significantly, they were at the most effective in the presto, where their youthful brio and energy enlivened the music. Otherwise they weren’t really intense enough, and I did wonder whether this most difficult of music to interpret simply does need the life-wisdom of long experience, the kind of area where the Fine Arts, for example, has always excelled.
The day before (June 22) they had given the Festival’s traditional concert in the relaxed and informal surroundings of the Yellowhead Brewery, complete with beer on tap and excellent pub food. The Attacca obviously thrive in this kind of setting. They opened with John Adams, all energy, and they gloried in the first movement of Haydn’s Op.76 No.5 (they played the minuetto as an encore at Convocation Hall) – this is music they clearly love. In the second half (which I alas, couldn’t stay for) they played one of their party pieces, an arrangement of Star Wars music. And they gave the audience a splash of contemporary music in the first half.
That contemporary music suggested that the quartet prefer music with a largely tonal base, strong rhythmic activity, and a touch of minimalism (all of which, of course, characterize the music of John Adams). They premiered a new work (there were no program notes, so I don’t know its title, other than it contained the words dreams) by first-violin Amy Schroeder, written the week before, that had more than a nod to Michael Nyman, a fluent and attractive work apart from the ending, which seemed to rather peter out. A piece by cellist Andrew Yee evolved into rather a beautiful passage that appeared to be based on (or inspired by) Mahler. Michael Ippollito’s Smoke Rings (in the version for quartet) is initially built on a pulsing repeated note that returns at the end – an atmospheric, almost visual work, that was quite striking. The Attaca described the music of the Pulitzer Prize-winning American Caroline Shaw as a ‘game-changer’ – highly debatable, inventive and attractive though her music is (and her cross-over into popular music is hardly a new idea). Valencia (named after the orange), with its minimalist elements and rhythms and glissandi, entirely suited the Attacca.
It was an enterprising move for the Solstice Festival to bring in this quartet, especially as many of the audience had probably never heard of them. It worked, bringing a real enthusiasm to the core of the festival.
The Festival opened with a recital by the Polish-Canadian pianist Krzysztof Jablonski, and for me this was rather the odd concert out. For a start, it had no Canadian content (which, in the context of the Festival, was a pity), and even though the program consisted of four of the masterpieces of the repertoire – and visually picturesque ones at that – there was something inherently predictable about the playing. Jablonski’s technique is not in question (all the works included bell passages, and in all four cases these were wonderfully played), but these were very laid-back, undemonstrative performances played from memory, Jablonski contemplating the inner working of the piano rather than the audience.
That might have worked for some repertoire, but not for this. Debussy’s Children’s Corner missed its playfulness, and even the elephant was a very shambling one. There was really no subtlety of touch in the Ravel (Jeux d’eau and Gaspard de la Nuit), and Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition really only came to vigorous life in the louder and bigger passages, and in the ‘Great Gate at Kiev’, where one could sense the antecedents of Prokofiev’s piano writing.
The closing concert featured a clutch of more local musicians. The young and up-and-coming Canadian violinist Timothy Chooi played that arch-Romantic piece masquerading as a Baroque composition, Vitali’s Chaconne, and the third Grieg Violin Sonata (in C minor, Op.45). Some may remember his appearance with his older brother Nikki in an ESO concert in 2013. I wrote then: “has not (yet) achieved the same depth of violin colour [as his brother], but his virtues showed…: rock steady technique … the kind of virtuosic playing that delights audiences”. That violin colour has definitely deepened since then (a kind of lovely burnished walnut in the opening of the Grieg); just occasionally his technique faltered in the Grieg, where perhaps pianist Patricia Tao could have afforded to let the music breath a little more, but then one remembered he is still studying. Like his bother, he is a violinist to watch.
Cellist Brian Yoon, who joined the ESO this February, gave a rather haunting short work by one of Canada’s best composers, Alexina Louie, Bringing the Tiger Down from the Mountain II for cello and piano. The title is derived from a Tai-Chi position, and it is a virtuoso work, including sensa misura elements (no bar lines, so the cellist can choose the shape) and double-stop glissandi. It is mostly wistful, but breaks out into more rhythmic energy, largely lyrical (at times using step-like progressions in the solo line like constellations in the sky), and the performance by Yoon and Tao was a convincing one.
The concert closed with the ESO’s concertmaster, Robert Uchida, and the Assistant Principal Viola of the Calgary Philharmonic, Marcin Swoboda, joining Chooi, Tao, and Yoon, for what was a scintillating performance of Schumann’s Piano Quintet in E flat major, Op. 44. The colours of the string player were remarkably matched, and one would have thought they had been playing for years together, instead of being grouped jut for this festival.
Chooi had suggested to the audience that it was a very varied concert, and on paper, maybe. But what was interesting was how much the pieces – apart from the Louie – had in common. They were all essentially salon works, a particular kind of 19th-Century Romanticism, and the concert conjured up those wonderful heavy velvet curtains, the deep colours of rich wall-paper, the ornate oil lamps with their tall glass chimneys, of the mid-19th Century urban salon. With such a passionate and convincing performance of the Schumann, this was a rousing way to end a most enjoyable Festival.
Saturday, June 17th, Robertson-Wesley United Church
Tsimshian traditional, arranged by Sir Ernest MacMillan
Three Songs from the West Coast
Ken Nichols Letters from Home
Ben Moore Dear Theo
Chris Donleavy (tenor)
Michael Eusebio (tenor)
Ross Mortimer (tenor)
Brittany Rae (soprano)
Francis Armstrong (piano)
Julian Evenshen (cello)
Marie Krejcar (violin)
Christie Park (violin)
Jenna Sabolsky (viola)
For reasons that will become clear, this is less a review than a kind of personal column. For Opera Nuovo’s recital of song cycles at Robertson-Wesley United Church on Saturday June 9th was so interesting, and so uniformly entertaining, that it deserved more than just a mention.
Opera Nuova, of course, is the Edmonton-based company that, every summer from May through June, operates a training program, admired across Canada, for young singers just starting on – or about to start on – an operatic career (59 of them this year).
As part of that program, Opera Nuova puts on a series of events in a Summer Musical Theatre Festival, where the participants in the program have the opportunity to perform. This year there have been a series of song recitals deliberately reflecting the diversity of Canadian immigration for Canada’s 150th anniversary, and two main-stage productions (Gilbert & Sullivan’s Patience, and Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin), with two more still to come: Janáček’s The Cunning Little Vixen, and Rogers and Hammerstein’s Carousel (June 23-30, at Festival Place, Sherwood Park).
Saturday’s concert was titled ‘Letters Home’, and was built around a new song-cycle of the same name by Manitoban composer Ken Nichols, who celebrated his 80th birthday last year – the song cycle was commissioned to celebrate that anniversary, and was premiered in Brandon last July.
That’s where the personal column comes in, for I wrote the words for this song cycle – some 30 years ago. I had met Ken when we were both taking part in the Banff Centre’s Music Theatre program (we wrote a one-act opera together there), and he had taken me down to the area around Picher Creek in Southern Alberta where he grew up.
It is, for those of you who don’t know it, one of the most beautiful places in Canada – the rolling undulations of the Rocky Mountain foothills, with the massive mountains slicing up perpendicular so close on the west, the flat endlessness of the prairies to the east, Waterton National Park and Montana to the South, and the Oldman River winding through it. It’s so beautiful that Edward, Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII) bought a ranch there in 1919 (and regularly visited it before selling it in 1962).
It was, and still is, ranching country – cattle ranching, and Nichols’ relatives told me stories of how, when sent to move some cattle from one place to another, he was so often forgetful, as he was usually daydreaming up some music. He himself told me ranching stories, of, for example, riding alone over a ridge, and looking down and seeing grizzlies and their cubs romping among the stubby little trees, or sitting as a boy listening when an Elder from the nearby indigenous reservation called by.
I loved the country, and, new to Canada, I was fascinated in particular by the history of the early immigrants – of whom the Southern Alberta ranchers were among the very first. While at Banff, I read as much as I could find, from historians to original accounts. I drew on this – or rather, I was inspired by this – for the set of prose poems for Ken Nichols that are the text of his song cycle. I handed them over, and then promptly forgot about them, and he said them aside, as it turned out, for three decades.
It’s a very strange thing, hearing settings of your words from 30 years ago. I can’t remember virtually any of the actual words of the many operas and texts for composers I have written over the years – it’s a blank area for me, though I can always remember the general feel of a piece, the ethos, and often the structure. And I couldn’t remember a single word from this one.
So in writing about it here, I am writing as if a stranger to my own past. The basic premise is simple: a series of letters written to home by very differing immigrants starting out life in southern Alberta at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century. There’s a wife of a pioneer who has taken possession of, and is breaking, his section – she has joined him, and is appalled at the pioneer living conditions and the mud and turf hut that is their first home. There’s an Italian immigrant, writing to his mother to tell her to stop asking him to return, as for him this new land is the land of opportunity. There’s the rancher’s wife, rich enough to order her dresses from fashionable city couturiers. There’s an RCMP officer, who came out west with the force, and is now about to retire from it. And, in a duet, there is a homesteader couple, singing with thanksgiving of their new life.
These have been hauntingly set by Nichols, for soprano and tenor with a string quartet and piano (in the Brandon premiere Nichols added a double bass), and in a generally tonal idiom. The solo lines are based on patterns of speech, dramatic, almost operatic when needed. The sophisticated and evocative writing for the instrumental forces is in darker minor keys, with shades of modal scales. I was reminded of the similar combination of human and natural environment, and similar forces, in Vaughan Williams’ On Wenlock Edge and Warlock’s The Curlew. Letters Home comes out of the same general tradition, a kind of Prairie equivalent, with at times something of the austerity of both those earlier cycles.
Particularly arresting – and beautiful – is the duet between the two homesteaders that ends the cycle. The performance was semi-staged rather effectively by Opera Nuova’s Directing Intern, Martin Galba, with suitable items regularly emerging from a central travelling trunk, a reminder of immigration itself, the journeys across the sea, and the fleeting nature of human existence. It was also well sung by tenor Ross Mortimer and especially soprano Brittany Rae, whose natural acting utilized both voice and stage presence.
To rediscover my words after 30 years (I was abroad, alas, for the Brandon premiere) in such wonderful settings was more than I could possibly have expected. Thank you, Ken, and thank you Opera Nuova.
In this I am, of course, biased, but for the rest of the concert I can put on my critic’s hat. It opened with Three Songs from the West Coast, arranged by the father of Canadian composition, Sir Ernest MacMillan. In 1927 he travelled to the West Coast with the folklorist Marius Barbeau, and transcribed over 70 traditional songs of the Tsimshian People. He arranged three of the songs for high voice and piano, which some will know from the Jon Vickers recording – the vocal lines are entirely Tsimshian, as MacMillan didn’t change a note of his transcriptions, merely adding the piano accompaniment.
The three songs – the first the celebration of a new chief’s first dance, the second a lullaby, the third in which the singer chastises idle gossipers – are, for me, some of the most memorable Canadian music ever written. But these days, of course, there is a contentious aspect to them, as the question of appropriation raises its head. Opera Nuova came up with the perfect solution, which was to sing the songs in their original language, and not in the English translation that Vickers largely uses. This respected both the origins of the songs (and the songs themselves), and they were very effectively sung by Chris Donlevy, whose strong, slightly dark toned tenor suited them admirably – and somehow he managed to create the aural effect that he was singing in the outdoors, which again entirely worked.
MacMillan himself wrote of these songs, in his rather reticent 1920s language, that “if my arrangements do no more than bring to the attention of our musical public music of an interesting type which would probably not be otherwise heard, they will not be entirely abortive.”
Quite – and the same might be said of Opera Nuova’s revival of them, a celebration of an indigenous Canadian music joining hands with the classical tradition – the kind of bridge the world could sure use now.
The final work in the concert was equally intriguing, and was by a composer I had not come across before. American Ben Moore was born in 1960, and is primarily a composer of vocal music (there are two operas). His Dear Theo is a brilliant conception: a setting of a judicious choice of Van Gogh’s revealing letters to his brother Theo (it also exists in a version for chorus).
Fascinating, too, was the portrait of the painter that emerges, from his fears, to his pride in what he is painting, from his thoughts on children, to the poignant ending (“I must leave a souvenir”). In works of this kind the music really comes second to the words, but here the settings achieve exactly what they set out to do, giving the singer a wide range of sometimes dramatic emotion, and it was very convincingly sung by tenor Michael Eusebio – not the least in his excellent diction, allowing us to hear those remarkable writings.
The entire concert was clearly greatly appreciated by the audience – and rightly so, for this was just what a festival should be doing: introducing three works, all fascinating in their own ways, that the audience would probably never otherwise hear, and doing so in style.
Performances on Friday June 16 and Saturday June 17 of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana marked the final concert of Bill Eddins’ 12-year tenure as Music Director of the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra.
The ESO was joined by a whole raft of choirs – creating a chorus of well over 200 – and Orff’s most popular work was preceded by evocative compositions by two former composers-in-residence with the orchestra, Robert Rival’s Northwest Passage Variations and Estacio’s new Trumpet Concerto.
You can read Mark Morris’ full review in the Edmonton Journal here.
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
BEETHOVEN: Overture from Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus (“The Creatures of Prometheus”), Opus 43
BEETHOVEN: Romance for Violin No. 2 in F major, Opus 50 (Eric Buchmann, violin)
BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 8 in F major, Opus 93
BEETHOVEN: Romance cantabile in E minor
Elizabeth Koch (flute), Matthew Howatt (bassoon), Bill Eddins (piano)
BEETHOVEN: Concerto for Piano, Violin and Cello in C major, Opus 56 “Triple”
Robert Uchida (flute), Rafael Hoekman (cello) Bill Eddins (piano)
The Edmonton Symphony Orchestra’s “Immortal Beethoven” concert on Wednesday, May 17, featured, as the title suggests, an all-Beethoven program. Two days earlier, Metro Cinema (at the historic Garneau Theatre) had partnered with the ESO to co-present the film “Immortal Beloved” in anticipation of this concert.
The works on the program were certainly some of the less commonly played works, mainly from Beethoven’s middle period. The program began with the Overture from The Creatures of Prometheus, Beethoven’s only complete ballet. Beethoven isn’t a composer who comes to mind when one thinks of ballet, but the work had been relatively well-performed during the composer’s lifetime.
The concert featured many ESO members as soloists, beginning with associate concertmaster Eric Buchmann with Romance for Violin No. 2. The delicacy and youthful phrasing of the Romance shine in Buchmann’s performance. While the piece is largely free of the angst which we could come to associate with Beethoven, the dynamic and mood contrasts in the piece could have been more dramatic, particularly in the arpeggiated sections.
While Beethoven’s middle period is often nicknamed his “heroic” period, these selections present a more light-hearted, humorous side of the composer. His Eighth Symphony quickly followed his Seventh, but bears little resemblance to its famous predecessor. At the time of its premiere, the Eighth was met with confusion by audiences. According to his student Carl Czerny, Beethoven’s response to the lukewarm reaction of audiences as compared to the popularity of the Seventh was because the Eighth “is so much better”.
The orchestra delivered on the charming aspect of Classicism. However, the transformations of the first theme, the unusual harmonies, and the strange silences of the first movement weren’t given the special treatment needed to bring them to light. In the middle of the movement, the building harmonic and dynamic intensity leads towards the resolution with the forte-fortissimo (fff) restatement of the first theme in the bassoons, cellos, and basses; however, it was not quite punctuating enough to truly resolve the tension.
The second movement, rather than being a traditional slow movement, is a quaint Scherzo. The incessant rhythmic ticking of the winds, captured wonderfully in this performance, is a reference to his friend Johann Nepomuk Maelzel, who had invented the metronome. The third movement, a minuet and trio, is a nod to Mozart and Haydn; Beethoven had generally used the faster Scherzo form in the third movements of his previous symphonies. The minuet featured lyrical and sensuous lines, with the accompanying trio showcasing delicate chamber music playing. The finale is a showcase of Beethoven’s humour, with the out of key C-sharp (in the key of F major) punctuating the music, until it brings the movement to the unlikely key of F sharp minor. The drama of this C sharp is lost within the texture, making the resolution sound too easy. The extended, spirited coda, which reinforces the tonic F major with out-of-proportion exuberance, brought the symphony to a close.
The second half of the program began with Romance cantabile in E minor, showcasing more of the ESO musicians’ expressive and delicate playing as soloists: Elizabeth Koch (principal flute), Matt Howatt (acting principal bassoon), and Bill Eddins. The concert concluded with the rarely performed Triple Concerto, featuring concertmaster Robert Uchida, principal cellist Rafael Hoekman, and Bill Eddins on piano. With the soloists’ entrances in the first movement, it was clear that this would be a melodious, gentle rendering of the Concerto.
As with any piano trio, the balance of the instruments was an issue; both Uchida and Eddins are certainly team players, but Hoekman, in the lower registers especially, struggled to be heard in the large hall. The Largo showcases the trio’s heartfelt playing, with a seamless transition into the lively, joyous finale. The audience was glad to hear the energy from these soloists, and they were met with a standing ovation.
The Winspear was nearly fully packed for this concert. It was refreshing to see such a large turnout, especially given that it was a Wednesday. Groups of schoolchildren in attendance received special recognition from Bill Eddins; hopefully, these young children will be supporting classical music in their futures.
Friday May 12 (repeated Saturday May 13)
Simone Porter (violin)
Alexander Prior (conductor)
Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto
Langgaard: Symphony No. 4 “Fall of the Leaf”
Sibelius: Symphony No. 7
To read Mark Morris’ review in the Edmonton Journal of the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra’s concert on Friday May 12 – Alexander Prior’s last concert with the ESO before taking up his position as their Chief Conductor this September – featuring the marvellous young American violinist Simone Porter, click here.