John Cage Photographer

(Photo: Rex Rystedt)

I was interested to hear this week that John Cage had a keen interest in photography. Rex Rystedt got in touch with me about a copyright infringement on my part. I had used, without permission, his photograph (above) to illustrate a review of an all-Cage concert. Rystedt was very nice about it, no legal threats or anything like that, just a request for a credit. He then went on to tell me about the session.

The photograph was shot in Seattle for Cornish TBA Magazine in the mid-1980s. Rystedt had not heard of Cage, but says he was a joy to work with. Cage said that he was a photographer too, and that he and shot what he called "chance photography", which he described as "a monkey throwing a camera up in the air".

A cursory look round the internet yields very little, in fact nothing at all, about Cage's photography. His photographs may be included in the Cage Archive at Bard College, but again I've found no mention. If anybody out there has any information about Cage's photography, or even better some images, I'd be very interested to see them, and so would my very forgiving photographer contact.

BBCSO, Widmann, Bringuier play Dvorak, Saunders, Tchaikovsky

Dvorak, Saunders, Tchaikovsky: Carolin Widmann (violin), BBC Symphony Orchestra, Lionel Bringuier (conductor), Barbican, London, 10.2.12

Dvorak: Carnival Overture

Rebecca Saunders: Still (UK premiere)

Tchaikovsky: Symphony No.5 in E minor

The odds were stacked against Rebecca Saunders' Violin Concerto. She is a radical avantgardist, and traditional genres like the concerto are not her thing. Her music rarely has a sense of linear progression, let alone melody, she doesn't write virtuoso solo parts, and she has little experience of writing for symphony orchestra. The BBC and the Beethovenfest Bonn therefore took a brave step in commissioning the work.

Unsurprisingly, the word 'concerto' does not appear in the name of the finished piece, which instead goes by 'Still' a convoluted reference of Samuel Beckett. And despite the inauspicious nature of the commission, Saunders has played to her strengths, particularly her preoccupation with tone colour. The work was written for violinist Carolin Widmann, who has a complex and strident tone, not pretty as such, but focussed, incisive and always interesting. These qualities in Widmann's playing were clearly the seeds for the inspiration that led to this concerto. Saunders' solo part is ideal for Widmann. It has lots of abrasive, punchy sonorities, but also exploits the wide range of colours that Widmann is able to produce.

The orchestra's role is essentially reactive, in that all the musical ideas begin on the violin before being expanded by the ensemble. Klangfarbenmelodie is the basis of this approach, with individual pitches transferred from violin to orchestra, and then around the individual sections. But that's only the start, and Saunders extends the idea into timbral motifs which are developed and expanded as they move around the players. Her brass writing owes much to Varèse, although unlike him, she often begins dense chords quietly, especially when they have just come from the violin, before crescendoing to brutal climaxes. The percussion section has a very important part to play, and is similar in size and prominence to the woodwinds or the brass. Antiphonal truck suspension springs was one of the many sounds I heard for the first time from them this evening. And one other inspired piece of orchestration to mention – the button accordion. This appears in many of Saunders' works, but its role in these orchestral textures is particularly striking. When the accordion holds a high pianissimo cluster after the end of an orchestral tutti, it is as if live electronic sound manipulation is being used. A surprisingly innovative effect from a thoroughly traditional instrument.

The Concerto was framed by two 19^th century audience pleasers, which was a curious and unhelpful context for it, but nevermind. Lionel Bringuier is one of the many young conductors on the international circuit, and at 25 he's younger than most. Like many conductors in his age bracket, Bringuier's strength is the excitement and energy he brings to familiar works. Dvorak's Carnival Overture benefited more than Tchaikovsky's 5^th Symphony from this youthful exuberance. It was an excellent concert opener, and the energy in the outer sections was close to ideal. The string sound was a little brittle, and the transitions to and from the quiet central section were awkward, but otherwise this was an excellent performance.

The Tchaikovsky though need more subtly, and it didn't get it. Bringuier seemed to by trying to channel the spirit of Evgeny Mravinsky, to recreate those searing textures and continual surprises that made the great man's performances of the 5^th so special. But Bringuier is not Mravinsky and the BBC SO, fine as they are, are not the Leningrad Philharmonic. The louder music (all of which was very loud) fared better than the quieter sections. The reflective clarinet solo at the opening, for example, was just drab, as was most of the second movement.

The orchestra, to its credit, maintained both its tone quality and its balance in the superloud tuttis that Bringuier drew from them. It is great to hear the trombones playing as loud as they are capable of for a change, and the rest of the orchestra playing up to their dynamic rather than the other way round.

Bringuier's approach finally bore fruit in the last movement. Here he did approach the splendour and vigour of Mravinsky's high-octane performances. Tempos throughout the symphony had been on the fast side, and often excessively rigid too, but at the end of the last movement, that finally seemed like a virtue. The passage that leads up to the false ending about five minutes before the end really worked. Bringuier's interpretation up to here had seemed brash and unfeeling, but in these last few minutes, where the composer is battling the dark forces of fate, nothing else would have fitted the bill.

 

This concert was broadcast live of BBC Radio 3 and is available until Thursday 16 February at: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01bmp5z

Andreas Scholl sings Bach, Barbican 3 February 2012

Bach: Kammerorchesterbasel, Andreas Scholl (countertenor), Barbican, London, 3.2.12 (GDn)

Sinfonia from Cantata 'Ich steh met einem Fuss im Grab' BWV156

Cantata 'Ich habe genug' BWV83

Keyboard Concerto no.5 in F minor BWV1056

Cantata 'Gott soll allein mein Herze haben' BWV169

Most countertenors have their detractors. Singing falsetto really brings out the idiosyncrasies in a voice, and singers are routinely accused of sounding too girly, too aggressive, too nasal, or just too damn weird. Andreas Scholl is the exception. The purity of his voice and the sophistication of his interpretations seem to result in admiration from all quarters. He's not one to rest on his laurels though, and the programme he is currently touring with the Kammerorchesterbasel (in period instrument mode) is as a tough sing. It includes two Bach cantatas, a well known favourite, Ich habe genug, which pits him against fine recorded versions from almost every voice type, and the lesser-known Gott soll allein mein Herze haben, a long and emotionally involved work that would test the stamina of any singer.

The two halves of the programme each highlighted an instrumental soloist, initially in a solo work and then as obbligatist in a cantata. In the first half, the oboist Kerstin Kamp performed the Sinfonia from cantata BWV156 before accompanying Scholl in the glorious outer movements of Ich habe genug. Her performance was proficient but rarely excelled. The three-keyed Baroque oboe is a tricky instrument to tame. Intonation is a problem on many notes, sounding the upper register takes real effort, and it is very difficult to keep the tone even. Kamp clearly struggled, and nothing ever looked or sounded easy. The phrasing was elegant though, and the results were certainly musical, but tuning was a perpetual problem, and there was very little grace in her passage work.

Her duets with Scholl in Ich habe genug worked OK, but by this point the singer was clearly the centre of attention. The cantata, which I'm assuming he sang in Bach's alto arrangement, isn't ideal for his range and often goes lower than he is comfortable with (at least when in countertenor mode, a understand he has a fine baritone when required). The oboe, by contrast, struggled at the top, every time the music went into the upper register, so it was really only the mid-range music that showed the soloists at their best.

Up until the last cantata, the orchestra took the role of a backing band. The balance was generally good, but only because the strings were able to take the dynamics right down to virtually nothing when accompanying. As a result, when tutti codas ended movements, the orchestra seemed to appear out of nowhere to take the centre stage.

The instrumental soloist for the second half was Giorgio Paronuzzi, chamber organist in the continuo group (which also included lute, two cellos, double bass and bassoon) for three numbers and harpsichord soloist for the F minor concerto. Of all Bach's concertante harpsichord works, this concerto must be the one that is most often played on the piano, so it was refreshing to hear it on its original instrument for a change. Again, the balance was impressive, and although the strings often played almost impossibly quietly, they always seemed at the ideal level to support the solo instrument.

Paronuzzi sat more comfortably behind the organ than he did the harpsichord, and he played the concerto more as a continuo accompanist than a soloist. Runs and florid passages seemed to take him by surprise, as if he was processingfigured bass as he went on. On the plus side, this gave his performance an impressive sense of spontaneity, especially the ornaments. The reading was brisk, surprisingly so in the Largo. The pizzicato in the strings and staccato bass line from the soloist highlighted some ensemble problems in the orchestra, but nothing too serious.

The last piece on the programme was by far the best. Parnouzzi left the stage as a soloist at the end of the concerto and then immediately returned as part of the continuo group to play the chamber organ. In fact, as soon as he sat down the spotlight returned to him, as the first movement of Gott soll allein mein Herze haben is a Sinfonia with a prominent organ solo. He made a much more impressive job of this movement, much freer and more lyrical. Similarly, the rest of the orchestra suddenly found their stride in this cantata. In all the preceding works, the strings had given reserved and dispassionate readings of their accompanying textures. But now everybody on the stage suddenly seemed to find their enthusiasm. Andreas Scholl can always be relied upon to give emotional and involving interpretations, but for this last cantata, everybody on the stage seemed equally committed.

Almost all of the cantata's seven movements involve the soloist, and it is a long cantata too, making this a real test of stamina. But Scholl was unfazed. His control he exercises over his tone is extraordinary, and despite the evident technical challenges, the overriding impression was always of sheer beauty and elegance. The tessatura of this cantata regularly allowed him to show off that crystal clear top register of his, and the the poetry of the libretto sounded all the more elegant for his precise articulation.

The cantata ends with a chorale, which was a bit tricky given that the orchestra hadn't brought a choir with them from Switzerland. The solution? The players sang it instead. The results were 'congregational' at best, and this would have been a poor way to end the show, had it not been for a spirited encore, Schlage doch BWV53, complete with glockenspiel, and a last few minutes to enjoy Andreas Scholl singing at his very best.

Wolfgang Rihm at 60, London Sinfonietta, Queen Elizabeth Hall, 24 January 2012

Rihm: Ricercare – music in memoriam Luigi Nono

Rebecca Saunders: Quartet

Jorg Widmann: Dubairische Tanze

Rihm: Nach-Schrift

Rihm: Will Sound More Again

Wolfgang Rihm has packed a lot into his first 60 years. Both the quantity and the consistent quality of his music mark him out as one of today's greatest living composers. He certainly deserves the international tributes that will be marking his birthday year. He's not much of a traveller though, and it is rare for him to leave his native Karlseruhe, which may explain why he didn't join us this evening.

The concert was a bit of a mixed bag. The sheer scale of Rihm's output makes it difficult to frame any single concert as a survey. But the London Sinfonietta have done a good job over the years to introduce British audiences to his latest works. This evening's programme was in the same spirit, with four UK premieres from the man himself and two pieces from his most distinguished pupils, Rebecca Saunders and Jorg Widmann.

The Ricercare with which the concert opened is one of four pieces Rihm wrote in the wake of the death of Luigi Nono. At first appearances, the two composers would seem to share very little, but Rihm obviously thinks otherwise. This piece, for a bass-heavy ensemble including bass clarinet, contrabassoon and contrabass trombone, inhabits an aesthetic somewhere between those of the two composers. It takes the abrupt, impulsive gestures that Nono used to punctuate his serial textures, but tones them done to the more civilised level at which Rihm works. It progresses by fits and starts, often with silences between the gestures, more a Nono trait that one we might associate with Rihm. It's not his greatest work by any means, but it was certainly interesting to hear the composer in a more reflective mood than pervades his more famous scores.

Rebecca Saunders deserves far more exposure in her native country than she has so far received. She may have brought this relative neglect on herself though by adopting a thoroughly German aesthetic, one which fits very comfortably into a portrait concert for her former teacher. The title Quartet doesn't tell us much, apart perhaps to imply that relationships between four instruments are to be explored. She picks the unlikely combination of piano, double bass, accordion and bass clarinet. So, as in the first piece, the textures are decidedly bass-heavy. But Saunders has a trick up her sleeve – she understands the range of extended techniques that are available on the accordion (in this case a button bayan-type instrument), and she is able to continuously vary the textures through her imaginative writing for it. The combination of clarinet and accordion turns out to be productive, as does the combination of plucked bass and plucked piano strings. As the piece progresses, the piano becomes more civilised, settling into a repeated chord sequence, while the bass becomes more wayward, repeatedly detuning the strings to move closer and closer to unpitched noise. The piece went on five minutes longer than its material justified, but that's hardly unusual in new music.

A considerably less satisfying offering was made by Jorg Widmann, whose Dubairische Tanze was designed as a send up of the oom-pah music of his native Bavaria. So there was plenty of woodwind and brass melodies with over-the-top percussion, all made dissonant to make sure the audience was aware of the composer's self parody. It was awful, just awful. Embarrassingly unfunny and, unlike Saunders' score, which only overstayed its welcome by five minutes, this one seemed to go on for ever. Are the London Sinfonietta trying to sabotage Widmann's stratospheric international career? Or maybe they just want to demonstrate that all those stereotypes about the Germans and their sense of humour are actually true.

Looking round the hall at the interval, the audience was pretty meagre, especially considering the stature of the composer it was celebrating. One problem may have been overkill – the BBC SO put on a very good Rihm day a year or two ago at the Barbican, which may have satisfied the curiosity of most. And speaking of the Barbican, I hear that the Kronos Quartet were playing Black Angels there tonight, presumably swallowing up a considerable proportion of the new music audience. After 20 minutes of that Widmann score, I wished I'd gone to the Barbican myself.

Fortunately, the concert turned a corner in the second half. The last two works on the programme were both classic Rihm: pieces for chamber orchestra sized ensemble, each a part of one of his ongoing cycles, and each fabulously constructed. This is what the composer does best, works for medium sized ensemble, structured as a single movement, but otherwise inscrutable in terms of their internal form. Nach-Schrift was the best work on the programme by a wide margin. The piece is for ensemble and a pianist, who is described as a soloist although he really provides more of an obbligato over the top of the orchestral textures. And what fascinating textures they are! Ideas and harmonies constantly appear, some clearly new, some adapted from earlier music. But the sheer sense of life in this music, and its continuous invention, set it apart from the work of most composers writing today.

The performances this evening were all good, and the players managed to convey that sense of life and energy which is the composer's currency. Andrew Zolinsky was a proficient soloist/obbligatist in Nach-Schrift. Conductor Thierry Fischer is little known in the capital for his work with new music, but his clear, incisive baton technique is exactly what these scores need. There were a few small ensemble problems here and there, the two percussionists set at opposite sides of the stage in the first piece didn't always quite synch with the ensemble for instance, but in general the many technical challenges of these scores were well handled.

The last piece, Will Sound More Again, came as a surprise, as it showed us Rihm's rarely encountered lighter side. This too is a piece of small orchestra, which runs at a fairly continuous tempo for about 20 minutes. But there are all sorts of flourishes and light touches, from the bizarre saxophone duet at the beginning to the accordion being parodied by the percussion near the end. All of which goes to show, despite evidence to the contrary earlier on, that perhaps the Germans do have a sense of humour after all.

Endymion play Brahms at Kings Place 20 January 2012

Brahms: String Quintets 1&2, Clarinet Quintet

The clear, analytic acoustic at Kings Place ought to be ideal for unpicking the tightly-voiced counterpoint in Brahms' String Quintets. Sadly, this performance didn't have the precision or the detail to make the most of it. The First Quintet is in most need of help in this respect. All five instruments are playing virtually throughout, and Brahms often chooses textures where everything meets in the middle, with the violins in their lowest register and the cello playing high. Admittedly, it is difficult to know what to do with this music, but clarity of texture is clearly a virtue worth striving for, be it through varying the dynamics in the ensemble or exaggerating the phrasing.

But the biggest problem in this evening's performance was tuning. Every player was guilty of poor intonation moments at one point or another, but the main offender was the first violin. Perhaps she was just having a bad day and the tuning in the rest of the ensemble was suffering accordingly. Many of the first violin solos ran into trouble as they entered the upper register, and the first and second violins were often seriously out of tune with each other.

Balance was another issue, albeit a lesser one. The composer must share some blame for this, especially in his writing for the cello. Why does he only use one cello in this music when he has already learned from his Sextets that two cellos offer the ideal balance? Whatever the reason, he is clearly expecting the single cellist to do more work than any of her colleagues. That didn't happen, so the results were seriously viola-heavy.

The Second Quintet fared better. Compositionally, the work is more accomplished and thematically more interesting. More significantly though, it is also scored more imaginatively, with groups of players often dropping out to leave smaller ensembles. This led to marked improvements in both the intonation and the balance, and some of those crucial details at last started to shine through.

The Clarinet Quintet was better still, although problems still remained. Anthony Pay gave a surprisingly modest rendition of the clarinet part, often hiding the bell of his instrument between his knees, presumably to reduce the volume and brilliance of his tone. Most ensembles treat the work as a concertante setup, with the clarinet as soloist. But this evening the first violin remained the centre of attention, and the clarinet often blended frustratingly into the string textures. He too had tuning problems and spent much of the first movement fiddling with his mouthpiece to stop the instrument blowing sharp.

About half way through the second movement he finally achieved his aim, and the conclusion of the Clarinet Quintet was ultimately the most satisfying part of the concert. But the whole experience goes to show that the fine acoustic at Kings Place can be a mixed blessing. If the performance had taken place at, say the Purcell Room, the players would have gotten away with a lot more. But here every intonation problem was painfully obvious, and even with the best will in the world became very difficult to ignore.

Prokofiev LPO Jurowski Osborne Festival Hall 18 Jan 12

Prokofiev: Steven Osborne (piano), London Philharmonic Orchestra, Vladimir Jurowski (conductor), Royal Festival Hall, London, 18.1.12 (Gdn)

Prokofiev: Symphonic Song Op.57

Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No.5

Prokofiev: Symphony No.6 in E flat minor

Some are of the opinion that the neglected works of famous composers remain so for good reason. Vladimir Jurowski has other ideas. The programme he has drawn up for this short Prokofiev festival is astonishing for the fact that almost every work in the eight or so concerts dedicated to the composer is real rarity. But his logic is impeccable. Prokofiev lived an interesting life in interesting times, and the works of his that are famous often owe their prestige to the events that inspired them. But that leaves some big gaps in the biography, gaps that these lesser-known works help to address.

If Prokofiev's later works tend to be neglected, the main reason must surely be their air of Soviet propaganda. But then, many earlier works are unfairly neglected too, and the overt Modernism of Prokofiev's 1920s Paris period can be just as off-putting as his more politically suspect later offerings. The programme this evening demonstrated just how complicated the situation in fact is. The two works in the first half, the Symphonic Song Op.57 and the Fifth Piano Concerto, are both transitional. Both were written in the early 30s, before Prokofiev had returned to the Soviet Union for good. But he was already preparing to do so and was writing music that would hopefully ingratiate him with the Russian people and the Soviet authorities alike.

Symphonic Song is musically flawed but is well worth hearing for the stylistic transition that the composer is attempting to affect. He is moving away from the fashionable Parisian Modernism that had occupied him for the previous decade and trying to align himself instead with the recent 'developments' further East. But the Modernism, particularly in the form of harsh, brass-led dissonance, refuses to go away. That may be why the structure of the work is so confused – it is never quite sure what sort of narrative and what level of resolution it is aiming for.

Jurowski presented the piece warts and all, and made no concessions to its problematic orchestration and form. That was a shame; with a little more patience and understanding from the podium it could have worked much better. The orchestral tuttis tend to be quite muddy, but there is obviously some interesting chord voicing going on here. Some small adjustments to the balance might have made Prokofiev's intentions clearer. Similarly, the transitions between disparate sections cried out for a more theatrical approach, for the new tempos and textures to be announced rather than just begun. But a better piece of music, even a better piece from Prokofiev, would have done all this without interpretive help, so blame should be laid squarely at the door of the composer.

The Fifth Piano Concerto is another curiosity. It works better, perhaps because of Prokofiev's ability always to write interesting music when it is for the piano. Steven Osborne is a game soloist, and a brave one to take on this rarity. He has real flair for Prokofiev's fireworks, for the glissandos and the fast staccato passages where every chord is huge but momentary. Osborne, like Jurowski, presents the music clearly and energetically, and never imposes excessive sentiment. Balance between the piano and orchestra was a slight problem, with Prokofiev often writing heavier orchestral accompaniments than the solo line can justify. But Jurowski had obviously put a lot of thought into addressing the problem. The string section was reduced, and woodwind soloists disappeared into the texture as soon as they were finished. A louder pianist would have helped, but would a louder pianist have given us the poised, insightful interpretation we got from Steven Osborne?

The excellent programme note (by Simon Morrison) mentions that Prokofiev often structured his music around the narrative 'darkness-conflict-achievement', raising the intriguing possibility that Jurowski had organised the concert's programme around a similar sequence. Certainly, of the three works, the symphony in the second half constituted the 'achievement'. For those, like me, who struggle to see any value in the music of Prokofiev's later years, the Sixth Symphony is a wakeup call. The composer's mastery, both of orchestration and of large-scale symphonic form, is evident throughout. And the orchestra were on top form, with the brass and percussion putting in particularly visceral performances. Jurowski articulated the shape and drama of the work with efficiency and passion. It might have been nice if he had done something to make the final chords sound less melodramatic, but as he had already demonstrated in the first half, he isn't in the business of making excuses for Prokofiev's music.

OAE: The Glory of Venice, QEH 13 Jan 2012

The Glory of Venice: Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, Julia Doyle (soprano), Daniel Auchincloss (tenor), Robert Howarth (director), Queen Elizabeth Hall

Music by Giovanni Gabrieli, Giovani B. Fontana, Claudio Monteverdi and Marini.

These are exciting times for fans of Renaissance music. As the OAE players demonstrated this evening, many of the eras more recalcitrant instruments have finally been tamed. It is now possible, provided you are in the company of a world-class ensemble like this one, to hear instruments like the tenor cornett and the dulcian played in tune, in time, and perfectly balanced with the rest of the ensemble. A few decades ago this would have seemed an impossible aspiration, and these kinds of instruments would have been excluded if at all possible, simply for the mess they would otherwise make of the performance.

But just because they are being played well, that doesn't mean they have lost their exotic air. The tone of the cornett is course but penetrating. In this evening’s concert, it was often used to double the soprano voice (of Julia Doyle). They're like chalk and cheese really, but the timbres complement each. The dulcian on the other hand may be beyond redemption. The instrument is an ancestor of the bassoon and is, if anything, even more uncouth than its successor. But again, having the chance to hear it played accurately gave a rare opportunity to asses its musical merits, slim as they turned out to be.

The concert was a celebration of the work of Giovanni Gabrieli, the Venetian master of the generation preceding Monteverdi. Gabrieli's date of birth is not known, so marking the anniversaries of his date of death, which is certain, seems all the more appropriate. This year is the 400^th anniversary, and the OAE got in quick with their celebration, the year not yet two weeks old.

The programme contextualised Gabrieli's music by presenting it alongside that of his contemporaries. Curiously, none of his contemporaries, at least not the ones heard here, wrote the sort of music he did. Almost all of the Gabrieli works were large, predominantly instrumental Canzonas, while the intervening works, from composers like Fontana, Grandi and Marini, were more modest, chamber sized affairs. Gabrieli was clearly at the end of a line in Venetian music, with the following generation moving decisively from Renaissance polyphony to a more declamatory Baroque style. This was demonstrated with a later work from Monteverdi, which sounded like it was centuries younger. A sonata for three violins by Gabrieli was included to show that he was aware of this trend, but I wasn't convinced that he had any plans to change his ways.

The ensemble was made up of two singers, two cornetts, one tenor cornett, six sackbutts (astonishingly five of whom were female) and dulcian, with theorbo and chamber organ continuo. It would be inaccurate to describe the singers as soloists; they seemed rather to have an equal status to the instrumentalists. I don't know what the conventions at St Mark's were at the time, but the result tonight was a very instrument-heavy mix. There were one or two solos for the singers, and both acquitted themselves well. Tenor Daniel Auchincloss is a name to look out for. His voice has an agility and sweetness you would associate with a good countertenor, but there is richness there too, and plenty of power at the bottom. Soprano Julia Doyle has the right voice for this early repertoire, and she is able to maintain musical interest even in the absence of vibrato or extreme dynamics. She struggles a little with the top notes though, and having the cornetts double her does little to help because they struggle up there as well.

The continuo group of theorbo and chamber organ was modest but audible. Some excellent theorbo playing here actually, and it is great to get a chance to appreciate an instrument that is all too often seen but not heard. Directing from the organ, Robert Howarth was a jack of all trades. He spent most of the concert playing the bass with his left hand while conducting with his right. But he also doubled as the theorbo player's page turner when required.

Of all the performers this evening, it was the sackbutt players that impressed me most. I had been sceptical of the idea of hearing Gabrieli in the QEH, where the acoustic is dead even by concert hall standards, let alone in comparison to St Mark's Basilica. But it turned out to be a blessing, especially from the point of view of the sackbutts. None of the players had to overblow to make themselves heard, and at moderate dynamics, the instrument has a very pleasing tone indeed. If I've one criticism, it would be that the ensemble was a little top heavy, and there would have been scope to hear more bass sackbutt. The penultimate piece, La Zorzi, was written for, or at least played by, two cornetts and one bass sackbutt, but even here the bass line was virtually inaudible. Better balance though in the final number, Gabrieli's Exultet iam angelica turba, a celebratory motet for which all the musicians were enlisted. The balance here was ideal, as was the instrumentation, which I'm sure was interpretive to a certain extent. Here again the two vocalists took ensemble roles, balancing the vocal timbres with the more exotic instrumental sounds. The result was euphonious and satisfyingly complex, a timely reminder of why Gabrieli's music continues to be celebrated and performed, even 400 years after his death.