MiV Home
University Centre Auditorium
November 20, 2022
The music of Johannes Brahms and I have long had a somewhat complicated relationship. Even music critics have their likes and dislikes.
On the one hand, there are several works — most notably the Op.10 Ballades, the Symphony No.3, the (first two) violin sonatas, the clarinet trio — which I rank among my favourite pieces of music ever written and of each of which I have rather more recordings than would seem, to the objective observer, to be strictly necessary.
On the other hand, the majority of his output, paradoxically, I find it hard to get enthused over in prospect, yet rarely fail to enjoy in hearing.
On the third hand (don't ask) there is a handful of works which I should be perfectly happy never to have to sit through again. Actually handful is probably an exaggeration: I can only readily bring one to mind: the Piano Quintet.
All of which is by way of background to the Tragic Overture, Op.81, which generally falls between the latter two stools: certainly I rarely have any sense of keen anticipation at the prospect of hearing it and, alas, more often than not, the actuality tends to undermine my second hand, as many conductors would seem to think that "tragic" is a synonym for "tedious" or, perhaps even worse, "bland", and thus even the actuality disappoints.
Imagine, then, my surprise and delight as Yariv Aloni and the latest incarnation of the Greater Victoria Youth Orchestra confounded all my expectations in their opening concert of the 2022-23 season, with a performance if the overture that gripped from its first note to its dramatic conclusion.
The opening was turbulent and the players produced an appropriately full sound, heralding what was to prove to be one of the most coherent and cohesive performances it has ever been my privilege to witness.
Yes, there were moments of slightly dubious intonation and shaky ensemble, but they were "far and few" and besides, as I must have mentioned innumerable times in the past, I would far rather a committed, intense performance with the occasional wobble, than a technically perfect yet emotionally empty one.
Remarkably, this was a high, rather than the anticipated low, point of the afternoon.
Which is why, in defiance of my expectations, I felt I had to lead this review with it, rather than put it at the end. Bravo! indeed.
"I was never a quick writer".
So claimed Joseph Haydn, who, nevertheless, in his seventy-seven years composed some eighty-three string quartets, twenty-one string trios, twenty-eight concertos, forty-three divertimentos, 126 baryton trios, forty-one piano trios, sixty-one piano sonatas (alas, seven are lost), fourteen masses, thirty-two pieces for musical clock, thirteen operas and much more besides — the works list in Rosemary Hughes's monograph on the composer occupies thirty-three pages.
One can only imagine what Haydn might have achieved if he had been a "quick writer".
And then, of course, there are the symphonies. Over the course of three-and-a-half decades he took the form from the so-called "Italian" overture, formalised by Alessandro Scarlatti, to its mature four-movement format which even Beethoven was not too proud to use. Not for nothing is Haydn called the "Father of the Symphony". (Although, as Peter Gammond has observed, in sharp contrast with the usual way of things, nobody can say who the mother was.)
Haydn wrote 107 symphonies, 104 in the "canon", two which have been reconstructed (by — who else? — the indefatigable H.C. Robbins Landon) and one which is lost.
And it was with a splendid performance of the last of them, the final of the dozen "London" symphonies, which alone among them also bears that sobriquet, that Aloni and the orchestra opened Sunday's concert.
The opening was firm and declamatory, the end of the slow introduction pregnant with possibilities, smoothly transitioning into a rhythmically vital allegro underlining the inevitability of the progress of the music.
Aloni's tempo for the slow movement — Robbins Landon writes of it as a "perfect example of Viennese grace, warmth and craftsmanship" in which "Haydn was aiming for the grandeur that comes with absolute formal simplicity" — was, as throughout the symphony, perfectly judged. Despite the occasional technical infelicity, his orchestra responded marvellously.
The minuet was lively but not over-fast, robust and majestic, the lilting trio was most affectionately handled.
The "London's" finale is a worthy culmination of Haydn's symphonic oeuvre and from the wonderfully earthy drone with which it opens to the majestic final chords, with some superbly trenchant string playing along the way, this performance did not disappoint.
Considering that it is now one of the world's most popular operas (even my mother, no operaphile she, possessed a complete recording) Bizet's Carmen received some particularly bad press when first performed in 1875. "Take the Spanish airs and mine out of the score, and there remains nothing to Bizet's credit but the sauce that masks the fish" was Charles Gounod's verdict; for Léon Escudier "the composer has made up his mind to show us how learned he is, with the result that he is often dull and obscure".
But surely the most unkindest cut of all came from one Oscar Comettant, who described it as an "inferno of ridiculous and uninteresting corruption".
Hardly suitable, one might imagine, for a "family-friendly" afteroon.
Yet the performance of the suites compiled posthumously by Bizet's friend Ernest Guiraud — to be precise, we heard the first suite in its entirety plus half of the second, neither of which actually follows the chronology of the opera itself — was an unalloyed pleasure, at least for one listener; and, judging by the audience's response, I was not alone.
The opening prélude featured dramatic tremolando strings, the Aragonaise was wonderfully atmospheric, with an excellent oboe contribution from Kiara Hosie. The intermezzo featured excellent harp from the ever-reliable Josh Layne, flute from Eva Bradávková, clarinet from Camilo Aybar, and and impressive pizzicato close. There was more fine wind playing from bassoonists Devin Hawthorne, Holly Edquist and Elijah Lyons in Les Dragons d'Alcala — in fact the winds generally were excellent here. Perhaps Les Toréadors contains the most familiar music and here it was exuberant yet never out of control.
Having said that, the Habanera is probably in contention for familiarity and here it was beautifully served by the sultry swaying of the strings and the mellifluous trumpet of Mark Barr, who was also very fine, along with his colleagues bass trombonist Amaya Sydoir and tuba player Scott Gordon, in the ensuing Chanson du Toréador.
For the final Danse Bohème Aloni shrewdly adopted a distinctly steady tempo at the outset, which allowed him to gradually but inexorably pile on the pressure and close the afternoon with a truly exciting flourish.
Every year after the first GVYO concert of the season, I find myself expressing the same sentiment, but, in truth, how could I do otherwise? For every year, despite an annual turnover of around thirty percent, the orchestra maintains its high standards. Due, I suspect, in equal measure to Aloni's ability to inspire his young players and to their enthusiasm and dedication.
In the almost three decades that I have been attending their concerts, I don't believe the Greater Victoria Youth Orchestra have disappointed me even once.
MiV Home