Platinum Consort OAE Christmas Oratorio Kings Place 19 December 2013

Bach: Christmas Oratorio: Parts I, III, V, VI

Platinum Consort, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment

Scott Inglis-Kidger, cond

Kings Place, London 19 December 2013

In a season dominated by Messiahs, spare a thought for the Christmas Oratorio. Were it not for Handel’s perennial singalong, Bach’s masterpiece would have far higher visibility on our Christmas programmes – and it certainly does on the continent. But this evening, the Platinum Consort and the OAE made an impressive effort to redress the balance. The results were festive, lively, imaginative, and, above all, joyous from beginning to end.

The Oxbridge chapel choir culture benefits the wider musical scene in this country in all sorts of subtle and indirect ways, but in recent years, a more direct channel for the talents they foster has been established, in the form of professional chamber choirs made up of their recent alumni. Platinum Consort is one such ensemble, established in Cambridge in 2004. When it comes to Bach, they’re competing with the best, and a few concessions need to be made for the performers’ age and level of experience. Even so, this is an impressive choir, one with a distinct identity and a clear passion for the music. The over-riding emotion in Bach’s Christmas Oratorio is joy; it’s an exuberating an up-front work, and that’s exactly how these young singers presented it. The choruses that open the first and sixth parts demonstrated this perfectly. Sure, there were slight ensemble problems here, but any lack of unity in execution contrasted a firm unit of intent. The singing was clear, focussed and committed - there was never any suggestion that they were just going through the motions.

Working with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment was a mixed blessing for the singers. The OAE fielded a small ensemble, two violins on each desk but otherwise one to a part, but even in these small numbers the players dominated, if not in volume, then in experience and stylistic authority. The theorbo in the continuo was a particularly nice touch, and it is a credit to the exceptional Kings Place acoustic that he could always be heard. There were plenty of other fine things to hear from the orchestra too. The obbligatos from flautist Lisa Beznosiuk and leader Margaret Faultless were ideal. The fruity bassoon (Andrew Watts) was a real treat. And the trumpet section was led by the unparalleled David Blackadder, who stole the show every time he picked up his instrument – but how could he not?

Conductor Scott Inglis-Kidger, a co-founder of the choir, seemed to be aware that he could take the orchestra’s high standard of performance as read, and so focussed most of his attentions on the choir. He led diligently, ensuring the music breathed with the singers and was always carefully shaped. There was plenty of emotion here, and occasionally too much, especially in the chorales, which often seemed over-milked.

Soloists were drawn from the choir, and many of the young singers proved to be remarkably talented. The role of the Evangelist was taken by Benjamin Clark, a tenor who is surely destined for greatness. He sings with all the authority that the role demands, his tone focussed but rich, his diction ideal, and his sensitivity to music’s stylistic demands beyond question. Most of the other singers got a recitative and aria, and there were no weak links. Countertenor Raffaelle Pè deserves a mention. He sings with a sophistication that belies his age, his performance filled with nuance and shading far in advance of any of his colleagues. But, as I understand it, he is already on the fast track to an operatic career, and so probably doesn’t need any further promotion from me. One other name to look out for, though, is Eloise Irving. Her soprano voice is at the other end of the spectrum, pure and clear, with remarkable versatility and agility. She had one or two intonation problems on the faster runs, but overall, her solos were among the most satisfying of the evening.

An impressive performance then, of Bach’s underperformed (or so it seems in London) masterpiece. The singers demonstrated impressive skills, both as an ensemble and as soloists. If they were outclassed by the orchestra, there’s no great shame in that, given that the OAE is one of the world’s great period instrument ensembles. In fact, the programme suggested that further collaborations are planned. If the result is further performances like this, that can only be a good thing.

András Schiff, 48 Book 2, Wigmore Hall 18.12.13

Bach: Well tempered clavier book II

András Schiff, piano

Wigmore Hall 18 December 2013

András Schiff picked up the 48 more or less where he left off with the first book at the end of November. Now, as then, he gave a focussed but flowing account, balancing his habitually detached touch against the legato impulse in his voice leading. Extremes, both of tempo and dynamic, were avoided (as was the sustain pedal), and contrast between the movements was achieved through subtle gradations of touch and tone. This time, though, it didn’t all add up, at least in a significant minority of the movements. And, as it turned out, the (relative) failures proved far more revealing than the outright successes.

Schiff clearly takes risks in live performance: even just the atmosphere that his playing generates demonstrates that. And usually it all comes together, the gambles pay off, and balance is achieved between the independent and concurrent forces seemingly given free rein, until Bach’s cadential formulas intervene and bring everything back into line. On several occasions this evening, though, that didn’t quite happen, and suddenly all the workings in Schiff’s delicate equations were laid bare.

Structure, it turns out, is a subsidiary concern. That’s probably not such a surprise, as he usually seems to be living in the moment. A fugue, for example, will start out with a slow and deliberate statement of the theme, and then rapidly accelerate into the development. The ending eventually imposes order, as if by some external force. In some of the fugues this evening, the ending seemed almost arbitrary. Schiff was so involved in the counterpoint that it seemed he wanted to continue uninterrupted for another ten minutes, yet Bach was calling time after just two or three. That sense of over-arching unity, that held together the two-hour span of the First Book in November, was revealed here to be the result more of his continual concentration and focus than on any specific structuring of the music.

Counterpoint is one of the most interesting features of Schiff’s Bach. He often brings in new voices as if they’re from a completely different work. In some of the preludes, we’ll hear a running semiquaver line in the left hand, over which a new melodic idea is introduced in the right. But the tone, dynamic, and even tempo of the two will be completely separate. Then, by some undisclosed magic, they will swiftly but deftly merge them into a contrapuntal synthesis. Occasionally this evening that didn’t happen, and Schiff found himself playing in two different styles and at two different speeds. The only solution was to abandon both and abruptly switch to a new texture, often at the expense of a split-second hesitation. The effect was like listening to a recording and suddenly coming across a bad edit between takes.

Admittedly, these episodes were few, and in a performance that lasted almost three hours, the sheer quantity of perfectly executed music made them a marginal concern. But in Schiff’s traversal of the First Book, a greater consistency was maintained, allowing him to keep the secrets of his musical magic concealed. So what is different this time round? A charitable view might have it that Schiff is simply taking greater risks with this Second Book, a less charitable one that his punishing recital schedule this last month (he has been giving these Bach marathons in Brussels, Frankfurt and Berlin as well as London throughout December), is beginning to take its toll.

Or perhaps Schiff is saving his interpretive energies for the weekend. His next appearance will be at the Wigmore Hall on Saturday, a recital of the Diabelli and Goldberg variations organised to mark his 60^th birthday. No doubt the temptation then will be to play it safe, but it’s unlikely Schiff will succumb. He’s a habitual risk-taker, so expect the unexpected.

Bach Partitas András Schiff Wigmore Hall 26.11.13

After the solemn ritual of András Schiff's 48 Book 1 on Saturday, this evening's Bach Partita cycle seemed a more playful affair. The lighter textures allowed him to demonstrate better the fine nuances of his graceful technique. The freer structure gave him more space to pace and structure according to his own, very narrative approach. And the wider stylistic variety between the works, and between the movements, meant that contrasts between colours, textures and moods, all expertly conveyed, could be articulated at all levels of the music.

There were many similarities as well, of course. Like Saturday's two-hour marathon, this too was an incredible feat of stamina and technical precision. This time we got an interval, but the concert ran to almost three hours, and Schiff never dropped a beat. The interpretive insights of his performance are what sticks in the memory, so much so that it is easy to forget the sheer technical precision and keen artistic focus upon which they were all based. And again he performed everything from memory, and with a fluid, supple touch that made it look like the music was coming out of him as naturally as breathing. The interpretations he gives are distinctive and accomplished, but they're founded on a pianism that very few of his colleagues could even approach.

Schiff performed the Partitas in the order 5, 3, 1, 2, 4, 6. This gave a key structure similar to that of the 48 performance, with the key centre gradually rising through the works. Performing the Partitas in this order gives the key sequence: G, a, Bb, c, D, e. But, unlike on Saturday, the focus this evening was almost always on the movement at hand. Within the Partitas, the movements followed on closely from one to another, but this seemed intended more to highlight the contrast from one to the next than to create any sense of large-scale structure.

The faster dance movements found Schiff at his most playful. Here, the Übung aspect of the music really shone through, not in challenging his technique, of course, but rather in demonstrating its many facets. The hand crossing passages were delivered with real panache, but a sense of independence governed the relationship between the two, even when with the left hand on the left and the right hand on the right. Schiff finds both clarity and sophistication in every texture Bach presents. So simple, two-part passages are given with different colouring in each hand, for example a rich lyrical melody in the right over a pizzicato rhythmic bass in the left. But even when Schiff uses staccato articulation and louder dynamics to pick out bass lines or inner parts, the round, richness of his tone prevents anything from ever sounding harsh. The final movements of the First and Second Partitas, the first a Gigue, the second a Capriccio, were real highlights, and while both are well-known, Schiff was always able to inject an element of unpredictability into the music.

That, in no small part, was a result of his interesting rubato, a feature of almost every movement. Schiff seems to treat this music as a story to be told, with gradual tempo changes intensifying the mood as phrases develop, and sudden downward tempo shifts switching the mood from one phrase to the next. Many of the faster movements will begin at a brisk pace, and then, as the passage work and runs get underway, he will gradually increase the speed even further. For the listener, it feels like a dangerous game, but Schiff is always in control, and when a new statement of the theme or some countertheme comes in, he will suddenly drop the tempo and move to a cooler tone colour.

All this happens in the slow movements too, and it is here that Schiff's approach to tempo, timbre and articulation really pay off. The Aria and Air movements in these works are dominated by graceful and free melodies, all played out over skilfully constructed harmonies and bass lines. Schiff always allows the melody to lead, his tempos elastic but never capricious. Rubato shapes the lines, but he always avoids sentimentality. He accelerates into rising arcs, and pulls back into cadences. Yet nothing here is sentimental or predictable, and although continually changing, his tempos always relate to an underlying pace and an intuitive sense of proportion and structure: Exquisite beauty achieved through the perfect combination of freedom and form.

The Sixteen Harry Christophers Kings Place 15 May 2013

Bach: Motet “Komm, Jesu, komm!”

Bach: Mass in G BWV 236

Bach: Motet: “Furchte dich nicht”

Bach: Mass in A BWV 234

The Sixteen, Harry Christophers (conductor), Kings Place, 15 May 2013

Bach’s Motets and smaller Masses are the odd ones out. Unlike his more numerous cantatas and his more famous passions, they do not help the listener to follow their structure through the alternation of arias and chorales. Nor do they fit easily into the forms of Protestant worship that characterise most of Bach’s other religious works. All of which makes programming them tricky. But Harry Christophers has come up with an effective format, a two-part concert in which each half begins with a Motet and is followed by a Mass. The choice of works on this evening’s programme fits the format particularly well, the Motet “Komm, Jesu, komm!” a bracing opener and the Mass in A a work with an appropriately monumental conclusion to end. And the differences between these two works and the other Motet, “Furchte dich nicht” and the other Mass, in G BWV 229, are sufficient to make for a satisfyingly diverse evening of music.

Hall One at Kings Place has a resonant venue but it’s hardly a church, and so a lot of this music can sound recontextualised simply by the acoustic. The hall affords the music a warmth, but never obscures the detail. In this context, The Sixteen sounds more like a group of soloists (which, of course, it is) than a homogeneous choir. The individual voices always come through, which both aids the counterpoint and instils a sense of humanity in the music, with the musical personality of each singer contributing something to the whole. Christophers fielded eight singers, divided into two choirs in the Motets and singing two to a part in the Masses. Given the calibre of vocal talent on display here, it was little surprise that both the choral singing and the vocal solos were all excellent. Many of the details that the exceptional acoustic allowed us to hear demonstrated just how fine the choral singing was. The top notes from the sopranos (Grace Davidson and Julia Doyle) for example, not a quality that Bach’s music usually shows off, were delicately placed and beautifully controlled in their timbre. Balance between the sections was always good, and diction was admirably clear throughout. The vocal solos in the Masses were also impressive. No weak links to speak of among the soloists, but the finest individual performance of the evening was from bass Ben Davies in the Domine Deus of the Mass in A. His voice is commanding without being overpowering. He has a distinctive tone and clear diction, and he is able to project admirably without exceeding the bounds of the Baroque aesthetic. Definitely a name to look out for.

Is it written in stone that the Orchestra of the Sixteen should be a period instrument band? Would the choir’s eminence in Renaissance repertoire be compromised if they were to be heard with modern instruments in Baroque and Classical music? I only ask because the orchestra this evening was not the equal of the choir. The instrumentalists played well as individuals (for the most part, there were a few ropey solos) but the group didn’t really gel as an ensemble. The wide range of timbres available to period instruments, especially the strings, requires a real unity of intent for the ensemble to cohere. I’d hesitate to call this group a scratch band, but they clearly don’t play together very often. Perhaps, under the circumstances, a modern instrument group would meet the challenges better – in the Masses that is, the continuo group (theorbo, chamber organ, violone and cello) was ideal in the Motets.

Christophers’ readings of these works balanced smooth legato flow with just enough accentuation to give the music shape. His tempos are generally fast, but never rigid, and the vocal phrases are always elegantly shaped. Christophers has a rare ability to make Bach’s music sound intuitive, and always more emotional than intellectual. The way he handles final cadences is particularly effective, slowing down at just the right moment in the cadential preparation so that the final chords seem at one with the preceding music, yet unquestionably conclusive.

This was a performance to a high standard, and as such invites comparison with the very best. Christophers’ approach to the Motets resembles Gardiners, but Gardiner has the upper hand in terms of the elegance, grace and precision of his (larger?) choir. On the other hand, Christophers seeks a more monumental sound with this music, more reverential and more flowing. The problems of intonation and ensemble in Christophers’ orchestra, although minor, are the difference between this and the superior orchestral accompaniments on Masaaki Suzuki’s recordings. But then, it’s always unfair to compare a live performance with a commercial recording. Leaflets in the foyer on the way out invited contributions towards a new commercial recording of this repertoire. One incentive to donate is that we will then be able to compare like with like. There is certainly a huge amount of musical potential in these readings, and Christophers has some original ideas that could make their recordings genuinely distinctive. If the orchestra gets the chance to sort out the problems with their ensemble between now and then, these could prove to be very fine recordings indeed.