Nimble Tread

Treasure Trove

Juilliard has done us all a remarkable favour and has digitized its manuscript collection.  It can be accessed here.  Goodbye free time...

Delinquent

It feels as though it's been an eternity since my last post, and I feel bad about it, so I've made a half-year's resolution to resume a more diligent practice.  I've just come back from a few days in Western Scotland where the bucolic charm of Arran has put me in a fiddly sort of mood.  I've been amusing myself with a couple of jigs and a very pretty and sad tune called Neil Gow's Lament to the Death of His Second Wife, which you can hear played by the inimitable Buddy MacMaster courtesy of YouTube. 
Things are beginning to taper off on the local front, but the offerings remain plentiful, and I've enjoyed some top-notch concerts over the past few weeks.  I had a nice back-to-back experience on the 16th and 17th with violinist Hayley Wolfe at the Chelsea Festival and cellist Guy Johnston  at the Wigmore.  Hayley's terrific,  and, with ace accompanist Tadashi Imai, she played Elgar's sweet Three Pieces Op. 4, Prokofieff's terrifying Violin Sonata in F minor Op. 80, and Sarasate's virtuosic Caprice Basque, which was made to look about as difficult as sharpening a pencil.  Johnston played Rachmaninoff's Cello Sonata in G minor Op. 19 and two tunes by Frank Bridge, Spring Song and Scherzo, all of which were delivered with his usual aplomb.  Two tough acts to follow, but Argentinian pianist Ingrid Fliter gave it a shot.  It missed.  Not by much, mind you, but still a bit to the right.  She's won the Gilmore Artist Award, but I'm guessing it wasn't with Beethoven's piano sonatas.  I needed some cheering up after that, and was fortunate to get it in short order.  The next night, to be precise, and in the form of Don Giovanni at Covent Garden.  Anna Netrebko, whose form is not too shabby itself, was back as Donna Anna after pulling out of the first two performances with an infection of some sort.  She joined Erwin Schrott as the Don, Ana Maria Martinez as Donna Elvira, and Kyle Ketelson as Leporello to put together a great performance.  Schrott was particularly good, and oozed the louche charisma that's necessary in creating a convincing Don.  As for Netrebko, well, there's been no shortage of ink spilled in describing her various attributes, and most what's been said is true.  I've heard her live a few times now, and I find that the most captivating thing about her is her voice, which is incredibly beautiful and secure.  She can also act, which is always nice, and is probably a few dance lessons away from being what the musical theatre calls a triple threat. 
Speaking of dancing, Simon Trpceski was at the Wigmore on the 25th playing a smattering of Chopin waltzes, polonaises, and mazurkas as well as two movements from Liszt's Soirees de Vienne.   The Macedonian pianist is one of my favourites, and I make a point of seeing him every chance I get.  He has a fantastic touch, which can be taught, and an amazing ear, which can't.   The performance was recorded for Radio 3, and will be re-broadcast at 2:00 on June 30th.  Of course, you can always have a listen here if you prefer immediate gratification.
Another of my favourite pianists, Manny Ax, is in town tonight to join soprano Emma Bell and actor/Star Trek captain Patrick Stewart in an evening of Richard Strauss pieces, which the concert's promo copy is sure to mention includes a rare performance of his melodrama Enoch Arden.   Should be fun, but I won't be there.  I need a night off.  Tomorrow it's back to business at Covent Garden where Renée Fleming and company will be singing a concert production of Massenet's Thaïs.   Last night, so if you're into that sort of thing, you best get on it!

Scoreless

I remain perplexed by people who rake an eye over study scores during live concerts.  I can understand the temptation if the music being played is new or seldom-recorded, but why bother toting along a sheaf of notation to a concert of Beethoven sonatas?  That’s what I was going to ask the two men seated next to me at Paul Lewis' concert the other night, but gentility got the better of me and I held my tongue.  Aside from the fact that all the page turning makes an awful racket, the presence of scores in the audience can be very distracting to the performer.  I'm reminded of what Charles Rosen once said about the stress he felt when he saw someone in the audience flipping pages in the music.  The person was reading a different edition than the one Rosen had used to prepare, which meant that the music was divided differently on the page.  Accordingly, every time the person turned a leaf, Rosen was struck by the thought that he had made a mistake in his playing. 
Before recordings were widely available, bringing scores to concerts was a different matter: more didactic than critical.  But now, when careful study can be done very easily at home, the only reason I can think of for the layman to bring a score to a concert is to look for a performer's deviations from the original text (which assumes the text being referenced is in fact true to the original, which is unlikely).  Viewed in a charitable light, this can be interpreted as a listener seeking out novel interpretations, but more often than not it boils down to looking for mistakes.  Ultimately, people are free to do as they please, and all I can do is hope that I end up sitting next to someone who's come to listen rather than read along.

High Voigtage

It's terrific to see Deborah Voigt back in London, particularly as it looked like she was going to avoid the city like the plague -- or complex carbohydrates -- for a long time.  The American soprano was at the Barbican last night, singing a blend of Mozart, Verdi, Strauss, Respighi, Beach, and Bernstein as a prelude to her appearance next year in Covent Garden's production of Ariadne auf Naxos.  As was well publicized three years ago, Voigt was scratched from the role of Ariadne when she and a little black dress failed to see eye to eye, resulting in suffering all around: audiences didn't get to hear her sing, and Voigt suffered undue embarrassment.  Scandal aside, however, Voigt's remained relatively unknown on these shores, and the Barbican Hall was less than half full last night.  Not surprisingly to those of use who know her, she sang terrifically, showcasing her huge voice with songs like Strauss' Lied der Frauen and balancing that out with her dolce talents as seen in Respighi's Contrasto and, my favourite of the evening, Beach's Ah, Love, but a day.  Voigt's personality is like catnip, and by the time she slid next to pianist Brian Zeger to bring home Irving Berlin's I Love a Piano, the audience was completely won over.
I left the Hall in a fine mood, and as it was still light outside I watched four seagulls divebomb a heron over the Barbican fountains.  The heron sat perched unperturbed atop the Girls' School roof while the gulls, insane with territorial greed, squawked and swooped through the purpling sky.  The birds raised such a commotion that people couldn't help but take notice, and the crowd quickly sided with the heron, shouting cries of abuse at the seagulls and complementing the graceful bird on his good sense and peaceful ways.  The heron hadn't moved from his aerie by the time I left, but the gulls had lost interest and flown away.  I imagine he drifted down to the water before too long, happy to have shed his detractors, and looking forward to a nice evening of doing the things he likes just the way he thinks they ought to be done.