Stylish lunchtime lecture-recital of Mexican music the product 19th century burst of musical nationalism

I spent an hour chatting with English bass-baritone Pavlo Hunka yesterday about his massive Ukrainian Art Song Project, for an article due out on Thursday. At one point, Hunka said that the real measure of any country is its culture, so, if Ukraine ever wants to hold its head high internationally, it needs to showcase its indigenous artists.

It's an idea that goes back to the birth of nationalism in the mid-19th century. It's easy to forget that, until then, artists wrote for their patron: the king, queen, grand duke, archbishop, etc. People pledged their allegiance to a kingdom or principality or dukedom, not a nation.

With the rise of nations, artists tried hard to find nationalistic links, which included realising that they had to go out and catalogue the music of the people and use it in a way distinctly appropriate to that nation. (There's a dark side to fanatical nationalism, too, but let's not go there.)

The best known expressions of musical nationalism come from Europe. The music of Grieg, Sibelius, Dvorak and Bartok, to name just a few composers, is everywhere. But it's really just the tip of an iceberg that we neither see nor hear often enough.

Here is a nicely performed, entertaining snippet from Mexico, who we don't hear from often enough. This lunchtime concert at Trinity Wall Street was put together by pianist César Reyes, who moved to New York City to study in 2001, and founded a Latin American music festival there in 2008:

We really shouldn't look at classical music as "a kind of spa treatment for tired souls," writes Alex Ross

When I was introduced to Australian composer Christopher Gordon a bit more than a year ago, we ended up having a rueful laugh over how the bulk of new music doesn't travel beyond national boundaries, but audiences' aversion to new music transcends languages and cultures.

At a party on Saturday night, I ended up having several conversations with our guests about music and how so many people our age and younger are almost afraid of checking out art music of any kind, because they think they have to know a lot before they can set foot inside a concert venue.

This is a complex issue that stirs up a lot of debate among presenters, performers and promoters alike. 

Alex Ross -- always a reliable source of nicely considered argument -- laid out his own theory in Sunday's Guardian. He has written along similar lines before. In case you don't have time to read the whole article here, here is Ross's concluding paragraph, which says it all:

What must fall away is the notion of classical music as a reliable conduit for consoling beauty – a kind of spa treatment for tired souls. Such an attitude undercuts not only 20th-century composers but also the classics it purports to cherish. Imagine Beethoven's rage if he had been told that one day his music would be piped into railway stations to calm commuters and drive away delinquents. Listeners who become accustomed to Berg and Ligeti will find new dimensions in Mozart and Beethoven. So, too, will performers. For too long, we have placed the classical masters in a gilded cage. It is time to let them out.

Since Ann Southam's death on Thursday, I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about what her musical legacy will be -- and whether there really will be one once the people who knew her and loved her compositions are gone. It's not that Southam didn't have some great ideas and connect with great interpreters; it's that there may not ever have been a significant-enough audience for her music to ensure that it left a mark on these times.

As Ross mentions in his article, many listeners today are still not sure what to make of Benjamin Britten, whose music was pretty accessible, by 20th century standards.

Since Benjamin Britten's name comes up in Ross's article, I thought it might be fun to show what the Fuse Muse Ensemble did with his Suite No. 1 for Solo Cello. The music is still new-ish, audiences still don't necessarily "get" it, yet there are many ways in which it could be -- and is -- presented. Here are excerpts from the "Serenata" and "Bordone" movements:

Salon des oubliés: Theodor Kirchner a fine craftsman of small musical gems

I'm working on a personal performance project that has been leading me not to dusty shelves, but shelves squirreled away in rooms people have forgotten existed. So much of the music that has been forgotten is, frankly, forgettable.

But there are occasional surprises.

The biggest has been a German composer named Theodor Kirchner. He doesn't even figure in the latest editions of abridged new music reference books. I found this pithy entry in the 10th edition of the Oxford Companion to Music:

KIRCHNER, THEODOR (1823-1903). He was a German composer of the Schumann lineage. His songs and his piano works constitute his most notable contribution to the repertory.

There is a lot more to his personal story, but he very much lived in the shadow of Schumann and Brahms. His music sounds a lot like his friends', but everything I've seen has been impeccably crafted to the point of being eyebrow-liftingly cunning, once you get past the gorgeous surface.

I'm hoping to have more to contribute on him in the future. But, I want to leave an example first -- not a piano piece or some Lieder, but a late C-minor piano quartet, performed earlier this year for a series called Brahms und Freunde organized by Télévision de la Suisse romande.

Here are violinist Erzsébet Barnacz, violist Frédéric Carrière, cellist Brigitte Fatton, Violoncelle and pianist Birgit Frenk-Spilliaert (for the programme, they paired this quartet with Brahms' Op. 60, which is also in C-minor):

I Furiosi have a very, very lucky guest at the hapsichord as the Empire Strikes Baroque tonight

I get a giggle out of the titles I Fudiosi Baroque Ensemble gives its concert programmes. Tonight's outing is called Empire Strikes Baroque. The next one, in January, is My Big Fat Baroque Wedding.

Less funny is not knowing what they're going to perform. One has to go to one of their concerts knowing that these are experienced and very, very capable musicians who all share a deep musicological curiosity that's as sharp as their wit. Think of it as a musical pot luck by blue-ribboned chefs.

Tonight's concert is at the Church of St. Mary Magdalene, not at the group's usual venue. For details, click here.

The star guest tonight is Montreal harpsichord master Olivier Fortin, who is particularly happy to be able to make it.

I saw him in the audience at a concert earlier this week and stopped to say hi. Bright eyed, smiling, animated, he seemed his normal self, which is no small miracle.

He and his partner were in a car crash in France just a few months ago. Fortin had severe head trauma and doctors had to induce a coma. The doctors had to remove a lot of blood from his cranium and, apparently, were quite sure that Fortin would not emerge from the ordeal quite the same.

Well, he did -- except for having lost hearing in his right ear. He told me that there was so much blood in his ear that it destroyed the cochlea, the part of the ear that captures sound. That's it. His brain and hands work perfectly, he said, beaming.

If nothing else, tonight's a great opportunity to see this lucky, talented man do what he does best.

Here is Fortin (at the red harpsichord) performing Jean-Philippe Rameau's La Cupis with Skip Sempé, followed by Fortin and his Montreal ensemble, Masques, in Amsterdam early this year performing Anthony Holborne's exquisite Image of Melancholy:

Review: These muses are missing their masquey mojo

My print review of Toronto Masque Theatre's Masque of the Muses in today's Star is missing online, so here it is:

Marie-Nathalie Lacoursière dances while Teri Dunn sings La Muse de l'opéra by Louis-Nicolas Clérambault in Toronto Masque Theatre's Masque of the Muses. Photo: Tara McMullen

Masque of the Muses
**1/2 (out of 4)
Toronto Masque Theatre. To Nov. 27. Winchester Street Theatre, 80 Winchester St. 416-410-4561 (www.torontomasquetheatre.com)

For the past seven years, Toronto violinist and singer Larry Beckwith and his merry band of musical accomplices at Toronto Masque Theatre have been mixing things up a bit.

They opened their 2010-11 season at the Winchester Street Theatre on Thursday night with a show called The Masque of the Muses. This compilation of poetry, instrumental pieces and song is less of a masque than a salon. Better yet, call it a pan-historical tableau vivant with accompaniment.

Even though the evening timed out at a snappy, intermission-free 80 minutes, it felt long. The performances weren’t bad; they lacked the party energy that is the essence of masque.

When Beckwith founded the group, he reached back to the original English masque genre, mixing 17th century singing, dancing, spoken word and instrumental revelry that would eventually be distilled into opera. 

The original masques – most lost in the sands of time -- were grand variety shows for aristocratic audiences who were probably just as interested in food, drink and catching up on the latest juicy gossip with fellow guests as they were in the entertainment.

Toronto Masque Theatre devoted its first seasons to going through the semi-operas Henry Purcell left behind, doing a fine job of balancing the theatre, music and movement into entertaining, low-budget productions.

Beckwith has commissioned new work along the way, too, creatively reaching out to the 21st century as he follows the spirit of the past.

The Masque of the Muses looked good on paper: An actor declaims poetry drawn from the stories of the nine muses from Greek antiquity as the gathered musicians and dancer provide entertaining segues in front of  images projected on a big screen.

The bits and pieces were fine, too.

Actor Derek Boyes was poised and polished in his readings. Soprano Teri Dunn brought an uncommon warmth and expressiveness to three vocal pieces – “Mon bien-aimé siffle si bien” (My Beloved Whistles So Well) by 20th century French composer Jacques Ibert, an aria from George Frideric Handel’s Parnasso in festa (Party on Parnassus) and the long dramatic vocal monologue La Muse de l’opéra (The Opera Muse) by Handel contemporary Louis-Nicolas Clérambault.

Flute player Alison Melville drew impressively from her vast repertoire and great technical skill, while the other four members of the ensemble – Larry Beckwith and Kathleen Kajioka on violin, cellist Margaret Gay and keyboard player Noam Krieger – were okay.

Even dancer Marie-Nathalie Lacoursière, blending her own ideas with Baroque dance practice, rarely set a foot wrong.

Gabriel Cropley’s lighting always provided the right focus and mood.

But these ingredients didn’t coalesce into a sense of occasion that transcended the individual performances. Perhaps the subject of the muses was too diffuse to generate a focused presentation. Also, there were times when the music begged for more instruments in the ensemble.

Here’s hoping that the group will recover their masquey mojo in time for the next production.

+++

Here are the first five minutes of La Muse de l'opéra ou Les Caractères lyriques by a group that hasn't identified itself  (Teri Dunn is much more pleasant to listen to):

Canadian composer Ann Southam brought an engagingly quiet life force to the piano keyboard

I was very sad yesterday to learn of the death of Canadian composer Ann Southam. She would have turned 74 on Feb. 4.

There is no other new Canadian composition that has affected me as much as Pond Life, the suite she wrote for pianist Christina Petrowska Quilico three years ago (the photo shows Southam, left, with Quilico, in May, 2009).

I found out last spring that Southam was not well, and intended to see if I could sit down and have a nice long chat with her -- but I procrastinated, much to my regret, because her long career as a composer, which began in the early 1960s had, 30 years later, culminated in a simplicity of language and architecture that spoke eloquently of someone who had found the key to balance in life.

She experimented with electro-acoustic music and serialism, but found her real compositional voice in something no less intellectual, but easier for any listener to grasp. She also taught at the Royal Conservatory of Music for many years.

I'm sure that the many pieces she wrote for modern dance companies (especially Toronto Dance Theatre and Danny Grossman) were part of the process of literally grounding her imagination.

I found an interesting quote from a 2008 copy of Musicworks magazine, which contains an interview with pianist Eve Egoyan (another champion of Southam's work). It speaks directly to the sense of lively engagement in the composer's music:

". . . there is a close connection between composing for or playing the piano and other forms of work done by hand, such as weaving, that reflect the nature of traditional women's work - repetitive, life-sustaining, requiring time and patience. But through it all, runs a thread of questioning . . . ."

The more I see, hear and experience, the more I have realised that questioning is a state of being in the world that we often undervalue these days.

Musically, Southam's questioning takes the form of ever-repeating musical motifs that, over time and small changes, coalesce into answers.

Here is Quilico playing "Commotion Creek" from Southam's Pond Life suite at the Glenn Gould Studio:

ADDENDUM

I thought I'd paste in the official obituary that the Canadian Music Centre sent out on Nov. 26, to fill in Southam's biography a bit:

Ann Southam’s award-winning innovative compositions of new music have been performed in Canada, the USA, throughout Europe, Australia and New Zealand.  In addition to her international presence she was also dedicated to inspiring students in local communities through many “composer-in-the-classroom” programs in elementary and high schools. Ann was one of Canada’s first prominent women composers. She was on the vanguard of a generation that profoundly and positively changed the landscape and social mechanics of contemporary Canadian music. Ann was an avowed feminist proudly incorporating this in her music. 

Born in Winnipeg, Manitoba in 1937, Ann Southam lived most of her life in Toronto and studied music at the University of Toronto and the Royal Conservatory of Music.  Following her studies she embarked on a teaching and composing career, collaborating with modern dance companies and choreographers including The Toronto Dance Theatre, Danny Grossman, Dancemakers, Patricia Beatty, Christopher House and Rachel Browne.  Ann has an impressive catalogue of compositions ranging from her early electroacoustic writing to works for string quartets, orchestra and piano. In collaborating with Christina Petrowska-Quilico and Eve Egoyan for piano, Ann was recognized for her award-winning works for piano recorded on the CMC Centrediscs label.

Ann was an Associate Composer and a dedicated supporter and friend of the Canadian Music Centre. The CMC archival recording collection The Ann Southam Digital Audio Archive was named in her honour. Ann received the CMC/CLC  Friends of Canadian Music Award in 2002, was a member of the Canadian League of Composers, founding member of the Association of Canadian Women Composers and in 2010 Ann Southam was named a Member of the Order of Canada.

Hansel & Gretel such a terrifying introduction into the world of opera that I've never been able to forget it

The first live opera my mother took me to was Humperdinck's 1892 chestnut, Hansel & Gretel. I don't think she realised how emotionally terrifying it was to a 7-year-old. The sweet music that the kids sing heightens the distance between how they lean on each other for support and the terror they experience in their impoverished home. It's no surprise they are willing to endure the mysteries of the dark wood and the wonders of the gingerbread house to get away from their grim daily reality.

Would we ever run out of food at home? Could a witch capture me to make a little Johnny Wellington if I strayed too far from home? Could I have done anything to help Hansel & Gretel?

Even though I'm now a middle-aged adult, I still get a funny, sick feeling in my gut whenever I think about it or hear the music again.

On the other hand, Hansel & Gretel engaged me in a way that The Nutcracker never did. It was my way of knowing that adding music to a story could make it even more potent, both in the moment and in memory.

It's on my mind again beecause the University of Toronto's Faculty of Music presents the first of four performances of Hansel & Gretel tonight at 7:30 p.m., at the MacMillan Theatre. Always-reliable Michael Patrick Albano directs. Canadian Opera Company Chorusmaster Sandra Horst conducts the all-student orchestra and cast.

Tickets are a reasonable $15 or $25 at the Edward Johnson Bldg box office (416-978-3744)

Here are Alice Coote and Christine Schafer in the opening scene in a Metropolitan Opera production from two years ago, followed by the late, lamented Anna Russell chewing the vocal scenery in the Witch's Song, complete with the Valkyrie quotation, from a mid-1950s animated film of the opera:

Self-taught conductor confidently leads sparkling Paris performance of The Marriage of Figaro

If you feel like taking a fun opera break, you should check out the free, high-definition streaming of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro on medici.tv. The free streaming is available to Dec. 31.

The Nov. 3 performance, from the Bastille opera house, is gorgeously staged (by Giorgio Strehler), beautifully sung, and crisply led by Opéra national de Paris music director Philippe Jordan. (The final performance of this run is tonight, but the production returns with a different conductor and cast next May and June.)

This is three hours of operatic magic.

One of the world's finest young opera conductors, 35-year-old Jordan did not go to school to learn his conducting skills -- he studied in his native Switzerland to become a piano teacher. Granted, his father is a respected conductor, so he had a head start. But, still, he reminds us that, with so much to do with the performing arts, school is only one part of a much bigger practical picture.

+++

Jordan can have a bit of an unusual podium style sometimes -- but it's the results that count. He's pretty funny in this overture to Carmen from Glyndebourne in 2002:

One more flash Hallelujah Chorus, this time in Philadelphia

It's Hallelujah Chorus day! This one is from the old Wanamaker's department store in Philadelphia -- now a Macy's. The store's most famous fixture is a grand organ, one of the largest ever made, and still played regularly during prime shopping hours.

This flash Hallelujah Chorus is a bit less focused than the one in Wellang -- but at least it has the combined power of 650 voices, organized by Opera Company of Philadelphia:

Hallelujah in a flash takes Welland food court by surprise

Patrons of the Welland Seaway Mall never saw it coming. Chorus Niagara, with the help of director Robert Coopera, did an excellent rendition of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah a couple of weeks ago. Thanks to Luisa for pointing me toward this.

Would you like some fries with that?