Review: Andrei Gavrilov with the Bristol Ensemble (18-5-14)

When I first heard that the great Russian pianist Andrei Gavrilov was going to play the two hardest piano concerti ever written in one single concert, I was fascinated. Later on, when I heard that he would attempt the monumental feat without a conductor I was utterly shocked at the thought of such a concert. I was really looking forward to this concert, and I can say that I’ve never quite seen anything like it.

The Russian master Andrei Gavrilov

The Bristol Ensemble conducted by the pianist himself and led by violinist Roger Huckle started the evening of Russian music off by playing Mussorgsky’s “Night on a bare mountain” with flaming bravado and true Sturm und Drang. The technicalities of the piece were well executed by the orchestra, and the piece was conducted most extraordinarily by Gavrilov, demonstrating his overflowing musicality and passion. His freedom in leadership and his total dedication to the mood and atmosphere of the music was captivating to watch and created an instant bond with the audience, creating a thoroughly enjoyable experience.  Perhaps a minor drawback was the lack of power from the string section, but I can almost certainly say that this was due to the hall or to the amount of players (4 desks of first violins).

Then Tchaikovsky’s first piano concerto commenced, with its loud brass figure at the beginning followed by punching and then lyrical strings. Gavrilov started, and filled the hall with his sound, playing musically and virtuosically. The music all seemed to flow naturally, with the piano cadenzas captivating the audience and prompting me to the edge of my seat. This was a sophisticated yet zesty performance, with a flawless third movement and a lyrical and rich second movement.

However, Gavrilov’s sound was too aggressive and eager, probably due to the rather timid piano and the lack of a lid. At times, the attack was too much, and the sound drowned itself out, not allowing a full sound to be produced and blurring some faster passages. I can see why Gavrilov would do this, as the piano had to be heard amidst the orchestra and its fiery playing. In spite of this, I do feel that the sound could have been more moderate. 

Having said this, I would much prefer this to be played with Gavrilov’s ebullient sense of performance and musicality however loudly and roughly, than with a shyer and less passionate approach.

Following this captivating display came the outstanding performance of Rachmaninov’s third piano concerto. This was tamer, with a less vigorous approach, which I personally preferred. The first movement was taken at a perhaps faster tempo than usual, which created a brilliant effect and allowed the piece to flow much more easily. The second movement was rapturous, and Gavrilov’s conducting really took the Bristol Ensemble to another level. This swiftly progressed to the vivacious third movement, which was euphorically performed with an incredible musical and technical prowess from Gavrilov. The orchestra adhered to Gavrilov’s musical decisions wonderfully, and performed on a different level than usual. This was also done in the Tchaikovsky. Solos were handled very well, and Roger Huckle led accurately and coherently from the front desk of the first violins, assuming an instrumental role in the performance. The lack of conductor somehow brought the orchestra and the soloist together, creating an essentially intimate affair which led to a musically enthralling performance. 

The whole piece finished fantastically with Gavrilov creating an explosion of sound and playing brilliantly. He captured the essence of the music and was able to transmit that to the audience, even if it meant snapping a string at the end and leaving the piano rather traumatised!

After a standing ovation from the audience and persistent clapping, Gavrilov returned to the stage and performed an exciting encore (Prokofiev?) in a dramatic, but musically sincere way. This adventurous and essentially fun piece finished the evening with a clear message: Gavrilov was enjoying himself, and with his novel but rousing conducting technique and his gobsmacking virtuosity he was able to make the audience enjoy themselves in this unforgettable concert.

Historically Informed Performance I: Tuning

I'm sorry guys, but it's difficult for me to avoid the elephant in the room any longer. Today is the day I shed light on my period performance tastes.

As any musician friend of mine will be able to tell you, I am ardently pro-HIP (historically informed performance) to the end. On this massive series of why I believe that it is the correct and should be the standard way to play any sort of music, I will give you all my reasons and allow you to make a historically informed decision.

Please note, although I said that I think HIP is the correct way of performing music, I would like to stress that that doesn't mean I condemn non-HIP performance, or that I can't appreciate or enjoy a non-HIP performance. In fact, there are many fine non-HIP performances out there, and of course it is your choice to choose which performance practice you like. (I even have some in my CD shelf...don't tell anybody.)

So in this first instalment of this series I would like to talk about the fundamental concept upon which the auditory experience of music relies on: tuning. 

It is common knowledge that today's standardised frequency for the note A (A4 specifically) is 440Hz (Hertz meaning vibrations per second). Well, mostly, but I'll get on to that later.

It is also of fairly common knowledge that period performance practice uses the standardised tuning of A=415Hz. But why? How can the definition of a note change through time, and how do we even know?

In fact, how do we even go about standardising the scientific value of a totally relative and intrinsically subjective concept that is "A"? The answer is, we don't. It is important to establish that A has never been the same. It has always changed from period to period and from region to region. 

But how do we know? In fact, period organs, period flutes, trumpets, horns and other non-tunable instruments can give us a pretty close idea.

The frequency of A differed greatly among the different regions of the western world in the baroque period. It can be safely said that pitch was higher in the north of what is now Germany than in the south, that pitch in Venice was higher that in Rome, and that pitch in France was a totally changeable concept dependant entirely upon the type of music being performed (to be expected from the French, obviously). 

Actually, this clears up a lot of issues. For example, have a look at this excerpt from on of Monteverdi's (Venice) operas:

This is meant to be sung by a soprano. Now, an operatic soprano of nowadays might find this uncomfortable, at is is so surprisingly low. But, if we perform it taking into account the date and period where it was written, it would be easier to perform as the music would sound a semitone higher, according to our ears. 

So how is this important?

Well, there are many examples like those we've just seen from baroque Italy, France and others, so that's a reason.

Another reason this is important, is that music is perceived differently depending on it's pitch. For me, Bach's Mass in B minor actually played in what is to day a B would sound weird.
It is also important for period instrument makers, but fundamentally, it is important for us, the listeners, as we should - in my opinion - hear music as the composer and contemporary audiences heard it.

Piece of the day: 7 Trio pieces for 3 Trautoniums by Paul Hindemith

Firstly, I have to apologise to everybody for not posting for a while. Rest assured I am back and ready to carry on writing.

Onto our subject for today. I must admit I was pretty shocked when I heard these pieces. 

Paul Hindemith - 7 Trio Pieces for 3 Trautoniums (Courtesy of ollavogala)

These seven barely-minute-long pieces written by Paul Hindemith in 1931 are a fantastically rounded set of rarities. They are written in an almost textbook expressionist style, but they never quite leave tonality, always charmingly resolving to a lovely triad at the end. This perfectly matches how the Nazis viewed him as a degenerate atonal artist, but the secretly hoped that he would continue to write in his early tonal style and become an iconic mainstream German composer.

Piece number five is a particular favourite of mine, with its undecided key of G major/minor at the beginning and its quirky style, it makes for a fun (or funny) listen. And number six, for its beautiful middle section and the ethereal sound that it makes. And number seven. And number two. 

In fact I couldn't decide which one I like the most. I honestly love all of them!

But what is most outstanding of these three pieces is the instrument that they were written for. This bizarre electronic creature is called a "Trautonium". It was invented by Friedrich Trautwein in around 1929 and was developed by Oskar Sala until his death. Hindemith took a particular fancy to this instrument, composing various works on it including a Trautonium concerto with strings.

This strange looking instrument has a vague whiff of electric chair about it, methinks

The instrument works by pressing a suspended wire down to a board, thus allowing the flow of electricity to pass and to create a note (or something like that!). There is also a mixer attached to some later models, allowing for sound effect and other possibilities. The expressive capabilities of this instrument are massive, as the player can produce vibrato and control dynamics. However the most important detail is that the player can control the "colours" ("Farben") of the sound, producing a wide variety of sounds that can sound rich, wiry, dense or light. 

Hindemith used all of these fantastic features when writing these pieces. For me, they show a machine-like and industrialised black-and-white world of the early thirties. I like that.

Enjoy!