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St. Mary's Anglican Church
August 24, 2016
"When a man is not disposed to hear music, there is not a more disagreeable sound in harmony than that of a violin."
Sir Richard Steele was writing in 1710 in The Tatler, the magazine which he had co-founded in the previous year.
Fortunately, the audience gathered in the chapel of St. Mary's on a hot summer's night clearly was "disposed to hear music" and I venture to suggest that the sound provided by the Sombrio Duo and pianist Derek Stanyer was as far from disagreeable as one could imagine.
Furthermore, describing their programme as eclectic would be a serious understatement: of the seven works played (either completely or in part) I had only heard two before and could only claim familiarity with one of them.
The evening opened with the sound of two violins unaccompanied, in Rheinhold Glière's Two Violin Duos Op.49. Tyson Doknjas and Kathryn Wiebe began the evening in fine form, with excellent tone, intonation and ensemble. The first of the duos was sweetly ardent and featured some lush harmonies, the second was lively with a considerable bounce.
Arvo Pärt's Fratres is one of his earliest works in his new, "tintinnabuli" style and exists in some eighteen differently-scored versions.
That for violin and piano, played here by Doknjas and Derek Stanyer with great conviction, is one of the best-known. It contains rather more notes than one might expect from this composer — the opening seemed to be an exercise in arpeggiation — and I confess that it appeals to me rather less than his sparser music.
Eugène Ysaÿe is best-remembered today as a great virtuoso of his instrument and it was for Ysaÿe's wedding that César Franck wrote his violin sonata. Ysaÿe's music is rather less well-known, but there are signs that it is attracting a whole new generation of musicians (Victoria has witnessed performances of at least two of his solo violin sonatas in recent years).
It was gratifying, then, that the duo chose Ysaÿe's Amitié to close the first half of their programme.
The lyrical opening had something of the flavour of Franck's sonata, without ever slavishly imitating it, but was arguably more rhapsodic, full of trills and arpeggios. Later, in the quicker music, the two violinists each seemed to be vying to play scales faster than the other, yet the result was always musical.
After the interval, the duo returned clutching baroque bows and (I think) violins. I don't believe I have ever witnessed this switching between two quite different styles of playing in recital before.
But Doknjas and Wiebe made it seem easy. The short Sonata for Two Violins Op.6 No.3 by Jean-Marie Léclair was a real treat: a brief, hymn-like slow introduction led to a spirited and smiling allegro; the adagio, with its occasional hints of Vivaldi (almost two decades Léclair's senior) featured some charming interplay between the two; and the finale tripped merrily along, with some finely-observed dynamics.
The more I hear of history's most prolific composer, the more I realise that there is more to Georg Philip Telemann than mere prolificity.
His Suite for Two Violins, "Gulliver's Travels", was an absolute delight and ventured rather further in Dean Swift's fantasy than most readers: after an outgoing and bold introduction, he not only presents us with a Lilliputsche Chaconne, which was suitably delicate and even fiddly (ouch!), but also a Brobdingnagische Gigue, in heavy-footed triple time. And I wonder how many in the audience had ever read of the flying island of Laputa (portrayed in an amusing andante) or the Land of the Houyhnhnms and the Yahoos (intelligent talking horses and debased humans beings respectively)? I won't say that Telemann made reading Gulliver redundant, but the sheer inventiveness of the music, not to mention the excellent playing, were both particularly memorable
Wiebe and Stanyer brought us dramatically into the twentieth century with Louange à L'immortalité de Jésus, the final, meditative movement of his extraordinary Quatuor pour la fin du temps, surely the only masterpiece ever composed in an internment camp.
They gave an intensely concentrated performance, in which time seemed to stand still, which I am certain was the composer's intention.
Finally we heard the Suite for Two Violins and Piano by Moritz Moszkowski, a composer highly-regarded during his lifetime (1854-1925) but largely forgotten today. Yet his reputation was such that when, late in life, he was ill and in debt, a benefit concert was organised at Carnegie Hall, which featured musicians such as Ossip Gabrilowitsch, Percy Grainger, Josef Lhévinne, Elly Ney, Wilhelm Backhaus and Harold Bauer. Paderewski, who sent apologies for his absence by telegram, once said that "after Chopin, Moszkowski best understands how to write for the piano".
Moszkowski might be better remembered today had he been a little less modest: when asked for an autobiography, he wrote in reply: "I should be happy to send you my piano concerto but for two reasons: first, it is worthless; second, it is most convenient (the score being 400 pages long) for making my piano stool higher when I am engaged in studying better works."
More performances of his music, especially ones as well-played and committed as this one, might also help to raise his status. Although his idiom was, even for its time, somewhat old-fashioned, the suite was nevertheless well made and melodic. Doknjas, Wiebe and Stanyer played it to the hilt; I particularly enjoyed the charming second movement — more a Brahmsian intermezzo than a scherzo, the cantabile slow movement, given a very natural performance, allowing the music to speak for itself and quite lovely in its closing bars, and the jaunty final with its jolly coda.
A wonderful programme, exceptionally well played.
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