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James Bay United Church
January 3, 2020
Another New Year, another January, another viola recital.
Or so it would seem: three of the last four years in Victoria have begun, at least for this music-lover, with recitals featuring the viola.
Not that this is in any way a complaint; by my lights one viola recital per year is in no wise too much — if anything, it is too little.
Nor is this because there is a huge amount of music for the viola; outside the orchestra, and leaving aside one or two notable exceptions such as Mozart's "Kegelstat" Trio and Sinfonia Concertante, and Berlioz's "Harold in Italy" (Mozart himself played the viola, Paganini, for whom the Berlioz was written, is chiefly remembered as a violinist, but he also played the viola and guitar and composed for both instruments), the viola's main rôle until the early twentieth century was providing the tenor voice in string quartets.
Which, given that, inter alia, both Beethoven and Dvořák played the viola professionally early in their lives, might be considered just a little strange.
So, what happened to change matters?
In two words: Lionel Tertis.
In 1900 Tertis was appointed Professor of Viola at the Royal Academy of Music and proceeded to encourage his composing colleagues to write for his instrument. Hence the great swelling of English music for the viola which occurred in the first half of the twentieth century.
And so we come to Rebecca Clarke, whose wonderful sonata for viola and piano closed Friday's programme. A professional violist herself — and presumably, therefore, needing no encouragement to compose for her own instrument — she wrote the sonata for the 1919 Coolidge competition, in which it tied for first prize. Although she resided in the USA from 1939 onwards, Clarke was actually born and brought up in England and had studied the viola at the RAM — under Tertis.
Perhaps the work's opening has just a hint of Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending, but soon Clarke's own personality shows itself in music of considerable power and beauty.
Rae Gallimore and Barry Tan played the first movement, marked impetuoso, with a passion that swept all before it. There were lyrical episodes, the second subject in particular being conveyed with charm and elegance, but the overall impression was rhapsodic and, indeed, impetuous.
The second movement is marked vivace and the performance certainly lived up to it, from the bouncy muted pizzicato of the opening to the delightful ending.
The finale, which opens in contemplative mood and builds to a succession of climaxes with rapidfire tremolandos from the viola, was once again played impeccably, the pair clearly both believing in and having the measure of the music.
An outstanding performance of a still-too-little-known masterpiece which, perhaps surprisingly, also conveyed the music's essential Englishness.
This was an interesting recital from several perspectives; alongside the music for viola and piano, we also heard each of the pair perform separately, as well as hearing a brand-new composition.
Gallimore kicked off the evening with the first and last movements of Bach's last Suite for Solo Cello; as she pointed out, violists are used to having to borrow music originally written for other instruments.
There is ample precedent for this and it is hard to imagine that Bach — who, let us not forget, converted a concerto for four violins by Vivaldi into one for four keyboards — would have been anything other than enthusiastic.
And I would also imagine that he would have appreciated the performance itself: the prelude, taken at a flowing tempo, displaying Gallimore's excellent tone (and, seated, as I was, about four feet from her, any blemishes would have been immediately apparent); the finale, despite its rather deliberate tempo, was nonetheless not lacking in rhythmic verve. I should very much like to hear her play one of the suites in its entirety.
Tan chose as his solo outing Clara Schumann's Op.20, a set of variations on a theme by her husband, Robert; to be precise, the theme is from the fourth of his Bunte Blätter, Op.99, which was also used by Brahms in his Op.9 set of variations, written in direct response to hearing Clara play hers.
Although the variations tend, on the whole, to leave the theme fairly intact while changing the accompaniment, this, again, is not without ample precedent (I offer, as full and complete justification, the slow movement of Haydn's "Emperor" quartet).
Tan gave a most impressive performance, from the somewhat sombre opening statement of the theme, to the final variation in which there seems to be some light at the end of the tunnel. Along the way the performance had moments of considerable poetry and beauty, as well as an anguish which seems almost to anticipate the devastating effect that Robert's final illness, which began the following year, would have; among other things, it would put an end to Clara's composing career, these variations constituting one of her last works.
Boris Li is still in high school, yet his Salish Sea for viola and piano displayed a musical maturity beyond his years. The work is distinctly tonal in nature; it is also in 5/4 time, which both Li and the players handled with aplomb. While there were hints of other composers, nothing in the music sounded derivative per se.
Once again Gallimore and Tan gave the music a superb performance, its turbulence gradually giving way to a calmness by the close. Li, who certainly knows when enough is enough (would that many an older composer did) seemed appropriately pleased with the performance, I shall be watching for more of his music in the future.
Elizabeth Raum's Rhapsody is a 2011 revision of a 1982 work originally entitled Reverie. Either title, it seems to me, would be apt, and the performance, like the music itself, was most engaging.
This was not only a highly enjoyable and satisfying recital, it was also a marvellous reward for those of us prepared to venture out on a filthy night to hear it.
At least one listener is hoping that Gallimore and Tan will revisit Victoria, hopefully soon.
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