Waltraud Meier & Joseph Breinl

After something of a silence I return, boldly reaching into the deeper blogosphere.

Fortunate enough to be part of this year's official blogging team for the Edinburgh International Festival, my first assignment has been posted here. I saw mezzo-soprano Waltraud Meier (dressed in splendid pink) singing Lieder at the Usher Hall, accompanied by Joseph Breinl on piano.  It was all jolly good fun.

In all, I will be seeing seven concerts at the EIF this year (some assigned, others of my own volition). The International Festival has long been my favourite of the patchwork of festivals going on in Edinburgh each summer. Look out for the reviews to see why.

Dracula: the Music and Film

Children of the night. What music they make.



Bela, Philip and friends (photo credit: widdowquinn)

Unassuming and droll, Philip Glass surely ranks amongst the Pleasantest Composers Ever to Have Lived. His enormous commercial success and widespread appeal has more to do with his complete lack of pretension than any surrender of integrity. This was the third time I have seen him perform live. The success of Dracula was more variable than that of the similarly presented Koyaanisqatsi (at last year's Edinburgh International Festival), but to see Glass amble onstage and applaud him starry-eyed is always a pleasing experience. I'm a fan.

This performance at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall (another in their recurring Minimal series) featured the Kronos Quartet alongside the man himself and Michael Riesman (a Philip Glass stalwart since forever), both on keyboards. They performed Glass' 1998 score, accompanying a screening of the 1931 Tod Browning film. Bela Lugosi's flickering image loomed over the auditorium and the music see-sawed ominously. The combination works well, with the drawing room elegance of the string quartet adding momentum and a little extra menace to the film. (It featured no score originally, being such an early talkie.)

To my usually more purist mind, the film benefits from this extra drive. Despite its cultural impact and abundance of iconic images, Dracula does not entirely convince as a whole. Its faults also caused the performance in Glasgow to sag occasionally. Chiefly, for much of the second part of the film, the characters stand stiffly in a parlour and talk – "I'll be waiting for you in the library," and so on. The early sound recording is thin and at times became inaudible beneath the rich Kronos sound. The score suddenly seemed too busy or unnecessary, fighting a one-sided battle against weedy dialogue and exposition.

Much stronger, both in the film and consequently in the concert hall, are the purely visual sequences – for instance Renfield's coach ride and arrival at Castle Dracula, and Dracula's bedroom attacks. The Gothic romanticism of Dracula is given the setting it craves and Browning, Lugosi and Glass all work at their best. The music brings renewed life to the film at these moments and the effect is exciting; Glass also does well not to obscure the best and most famous speech in the film, as Count Dracula makes his first appearance.

And so the success of the live performance worked in tandem with that of the film. It flourished when the emphasis was on atmosphere, and it was frustrated by staginess. The musicians certainly played solidly throughout, and when the scurrying music ran well beyond the final frame, we were given time to focus on the music alone. It was one of the highlights of the evening. The film being rather brief, I wished that there could have been more besides. But of course, I always wish to see more of the pleasant Mr Glass.

Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 – SCO

Discovery, surprise and cornicing

Gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh.

How exciting to hear Beethoven's Choral Symphony live for the first time. I was already very familiar with the piece, I reckoned. I have studied it and listened to it many times (sometimes on big headphones). I confidently informed my fellow Beethoven-goer that it would be “long and awesome”. I stand by that, but I could not really predict anything besides. The Scottish Chamber Orchestra's final Edinburgh concert of their 2011/12 season was a first for me, unleashing the Ninth in the Usher Hall and revealing much more than I had expected.

The pairing was a selection of six movements from Beethoven's The Ruins of Athens. It proved a suitable hors d’oeuvre, not least because of its famous Turkish March, foreshadowing that unexpected ‘Turkish’ interlude in the symphony’s finale. Beyond that, the bass-rich chorus and sensitive woodwind writing gave the SCO (under conductor John Storgårds) a chance to impress with its beautifully balanced sound. In particular, I was rather taken with the March and Chorus which finished the selection. It could be Haydn at first, for its Classical poise. But as the orchestral music unfurled, we were treated to the sort of gleaming, unbuttoned, Pastoral loveliness which characterizes the third movement of the Ninth.

Onwards to the Ninth itself, and I was struck by how the music can retain so many hidden corners. It remains surprising and fresh. Maybe that is natural, given there is so much of it and its range is vast. But also it is often wild and unexpected, right from the strangely unanchored opening notes. The tremulous and snaking coda to the first movement still raises hairs; the kettledrums in the Scherzo still prompt a laugh. Its huge and twisting depth resists familiarity. It is a characteristic which brought to my mind other supposedly familiar ‘greatest’ works of art. I am surprised yet by the Ninth, just as I am surprised yet by Citizen Kane, The White Album, Guernica.

Of course, live performance sheds the brightest light on these hidden corners. For instance, that third movement loveliness I have mentioned. The clarinets and horns played together, and I was transported to somewhere quite above the Usher Hall’s cornicing. Why had I not noticed that sound before? Again, the balance and proportion of the SCO brought the music into focus. The sound was crisp and clear. The only surprise which seemed to jar came with the dancing C major fortissimo near the start of the Scherzo (let’s not get into bar numbers), when the strings’ pedal seemed to drown out the whirling woodwind chorus.

The Ode to Joy finale could barely fail to miss; by this point, sheer elation carried us along. More surprises here, with startling shifts and turns – much of the movement borders on the eccentric. I had tremendous fun. The SCO Chorus and the soloists were spirited, particularly the commanding young bass Jan Martiník. The orchestra's energy never seemed to let up, and the frenzied last few bars were ecstatically received. Ears ringing with joy, I left beaming. I had discovered so much in this piece I knew so well.

Minimal Extreme

Going through to Glasgow for Einstein and dazzling Flux

For the past couple of years, Glasgow's Concert Halls have been hosting weekend-long festivals celebrating Minimalism in music, from visionary 1960s beginnings to current manifestations. Among the attractive features of these weekends are the inexpensive hour-long concerts in the afternoon. These are imaginatively programmed and feature top performing artists, and I decided to make the trip across for two of the latest. This time the festival came with a qualifier: Minimal Extreme. I had a preparatory pint.

David Lang: genial

The first concert was devoted to an interesting composer with whom I was unfamiliar, David Lang (in attendance and providing a short and genial introduction). It began with two pieces in differing moods. Ark Luggage, for soprano and string quartet, received its premiere. It lists ninety-two things Noah may have brought on the Ark, as proposed by Peter Greenaway. The Smith Quartet and Else Torp were crystalline in the gently oscillating piece, which came across as a curious but pleasing vignette. Then came Pierced, a pounding concerto for piano, cello (amplified here) and percussion, with the tremulous Smith Quartet alongside. It is an ominous and thrilling piece.

The main course was The Little Match Girl Passion, Lang's Pulitzer Prize-winning choral work based on a mixture of Hans Christian Andersen's story and Bach's St Matthew Passion. Performed beautifully by four singers from Theatre of Voices, with sparse percussion, it is static and haunting. I only felt restless when the concert overran by nearly half an hour, after a late start and a fair amount of stagehand fuss throughout. I sadly forwent my inter-concert gin.

On to the second concert, another predominantly vocal offering but a rather different affair. Titled “Glass/Flux”, we reached back into Minimalism's earliest years. The five Kneeplays from Philip Glass' seminal opera Einstein on the Beach were interspersed with pieces by the composers from the Fluxus group. In the 1960s, this varied collective of artists and musicians developed forms of conceptual art and 'event' performance, extending the work of John Cage.

The rarely heard selections here were dazzling, masterfully performed by Ars Nova under the direction of Paul Hillier. The pieces favour simplicity and blur distinctions between art forms. La Monte Young's Composition 1960 #7 was in progress as we entered the hall, the singers quietly humming a perfect fifth, marked in the score “to be held for a long time”. This established a mood of hushed continuum; we moved from piece to piece largely without applause.

The Fluxus offerings were playful, Dadaistic and often fiendishly difficult. In Dick Higgins' Hank and Mary, four singers recited “Hank shot Mary dead”, each repeating every word a different number of times. It created a scattered and hilarious cascade, a kind of exploded cantus firmus. Meanwhile, Paul Hillier's solo performance of Genesis by Emmett Williams played a clever trick with broken word sounds, intoned whilst he extinguished a dozen candles in turn. Both pieces could not help but break the audience's stillness: there was spontaneous applause at their close.

The Kneeplays are choral tours de force. Glass involves the singers in complex counting patterns with added violin and fragments of poetry. Ars Nova, Hillier and violinist Jonathan Morton were again impressive and a joy to watch. How I wish I could see the revived Einstein on the Beach on its current world tour. The inspired presentation here, mingled with Fluxus, was exciting and something I would love to have shared – another success for the Glasgow's Minimal series. Philip Glass will be at the next instalment in person, and my ticket is already booked.

Lau

Discovering dazzling folk music

Something of a folkie-newbie, I was not previously familiar with Lau. A trio of accordion, guitar and fiddle, they play music blistering and fresh. I saw them last night at the beautiful Queen’s Hall, supported by MacMaster/Hay, whose combination of electric harp and percussion delivered some interesting sounds.

With Lau onstage, the atmosphere was inviting. There is little precious or staid about this folk group. Amid the music, banter and asides on whisky and East Anglia engaged the crowd, with nods to concerts and collaborations past and future. The band is generous with wit and chemistry, with accordionist Martin Green the willing and splendidly outfitted target of jibes from Aidan O’Rourke (fiddle) and Kris Drever (guitar and vocals).

Splendidly outfitted folk (photo credit: The Queen's Hall)

Their playing dazzles. The musicianship is of a type I find simply mind-boggling: intuitive, telepathic, ferociously skilled. Rooting the music solidly, hallmarks of folk are present and correct. There are strong unison melodies, knotty battles between complex and simple times (between the note-torrent and the bang-bang-bang), and devious changes and tacets.

All of this is tackled effortlessly by the band, frequently at breakneck speed. But the music is never showy; it is organic and has space to breathe. There are gorgeous moments, notably the soaring new island-inspired track Torsa and vocal pieces Evergreen and Ghosts. When it comes, the rush of complexity grows naturally from simple motifs. At one magical point, all three play a rocking, quiet arpeggiated figure together; then, from its elegance springs a virtuosic whirl.

The end of the night brought a glowing display of Lau’s skill. A fine rendition of Lal Waterson’s Midnight Feast faded to quietness, with a chance for each member of the band to shine in turn. Before long, the intensity built up once more and we were carried into a rollicking finale, the band yet again embracing inspired, unexpected turns in the music with power and joy. The crowd were rapturous and I left excited by discovery.

Wild Beasts

Hooting and howling

"Good Northern voice," my Northern companion noted, as Hayden Thorpe explained how the romanticism of Edinburgh blew his mind. Voices are key to the Wild Beasts sound. The two frontmen are wondrous singers; Thorpe's falsetto and Tom Fleming's baritone are perfectly matched and bring each song to life. At the Liquid Room last night, they were both on fine form.


Mind-blowing romanticism

Clean, echoing guitar sounds and snapping drums add a from-across-the-chasm atmosphere. It has real impact live and there is no need for deviation or trickery here. The performances are straight, faithful to the recorded originals, and almost always spot on. This Is Our Lot, His Grinning Skull and Reach a Bit Further were all centrepieces and captured the band at their best: hitting an irresistible groove and then taking flight with vocals laced with surprise.

Earlier, Bed of Nails and We Still Got the Taste Dancin' on Our Tongues made a sizeable one-two opening punch. The latter, referencing The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, is a personal favourite and was taken at a spirited gallop. The euphoric mood increased with The Devil's Crayon, as the room was filled with dancing energy. This was a little punctured by The Fun Powder Plot, which was taken at a slower pace than expected and came across a little sluggish. No matter, as the best was to come.

"We fookin' love you guys!" yelled a correct man. He was rewarded, alongside the rest of us, with a chiming Hooting & Howling. As an encore, Lion's Share and an excitable All the King's Men got the crowd singing along. Both Thorpe and Fleming were enjoying themselves, immersed. One only feels they need shirts which are rather less shit, especially next to supercool guitarist Ben Little. End Come Too Soon calmed us down. A wash of sound slowly consumed the song and the band hid from view, re-emerging for the finale. Wonderful stuff.

Lykke Li

Drums and mist in Glasgow, from Sweden

Lykke Li performed at the O₂ ABC at the weekend. I went along, eager to see the Swedish chanteuse move her hips. I have lately much enjoyed her second album, Wounded Rhymes, which is clattering and tender.

The show was originally scheduled for April, but she injured her back in Marks and Spencer beforehand (dropping raspberries everywhere) and it was postponed. So anticipation was high and I had a great evening. Her set was disappointingly short, lasting just over an hour, but the music was at times tremendous.

Lykke Li proves her back is now fine.

Support beforehand was provided by First Aid Kit, two Swedish sisters backed by a long-haired dude with a cool jumper and a beard. Their powerful (loud) singing drives folky, campfire music that is reasonably good but in all rather too earnest. The cumulative impression I had was that their matching dresses were probably homemade.

When Lykke Li arrived, the onstage presence changed completely. Wearing black and continuously shrouded by dry ice, Lykke and her band were predominantly backlit by stark white lights. They were Nordic spectres, emerging from the mist to thundering music at the start; Lykke snaked her way to the front, smashing a cymbal with her hand along the way. As she sang opener Love Out of Lust, her fragile voice floated amid the band’s large, throbbing sound. It was bewitching.

The sound was big indeed, frequently percussive and pounding. Two drummers gave terrific force to the climactic moments, which were many (I'm Good, I'm Gone came second, but would have made a cracking finale), and their beats dominated the evening’s music. Lykke herself often got in on the action with her own sticks. She moves well too, swaying in a gossamer dress and punching her arms outwards. I Follow Rivers got us dancing with her, and it was fun.

My phone's approximation of the stage that night.

The mood was calmed by the stripped-down I Know Places. Her voice is not particularly strong, but with the band’s muscle returning for power ballad Sadness Is a Blessing (one of my favourites from the album), she gave a soulful performance. The delivery was straight, and it was a great moment.

However, after this slower section of the show, the momentum did not pick up again as it should have with the next song, Little Bit. Lykke encouraged us to sing along, but she was vague, dropping out unexpectedly of what is already a light track. She began to get impatient with us and looked uncomfortable. I worried.

Fears were banished by the final few songs. The stage was bathed in red light, the crowd got louder, and Lykke put on a cape. Rave-like beats took us into a rocking Rich Kids Blues. Then, Youth Knows No Pain provided the highlight of the night. The drums were back and it was loud and exciting. And it came with a miraculous twist: suddenly, the backing switched to Kanye West’s Power. Its repeated chant demanded participation, whilst Lykke continued to sing Youth Knows No Pain above. It was clever, unexpected and worked incredibly well.

With final song Get Some, Lykke’s dancing hit a peak. She may have earlier worried about the crowd, but we were sent out into the street elated, still hearing the drums and seeing her sway.

Tindersticks, Janelle Monáe and the intercostal clavicle

A new blog, an inaugural post. Return here loyally, regularly, but infrequently for a variety of words.

Welcome. I begin with the news that I happily won a competition to review shows at the Usher Hall for STV Local (Edinburgh West). My first assignment was on Tindersticks on Sunday (free tickets, good seats, much enjoyed); I hope to do more. Tindersticks performed Claire Denis film scores, of which they have composed six. My review is now on the STV Local website, and has been well received by my aunt.

Having not written anything substantial since c. 2005, I felt rather out of practice in putting finger to key. The review, now birthed, niggles already with bits to be improved, but I am pleased to have got this far.

My entry for the competition (copied below) was carefully composed over several lunchtimes and submitted last week. It was a review of Janelle Monáe's February concert at the O₂ ABC in Glasgow.

The android is malfunctioning. Her once-pristine pompadour has exploded and points raggedly in every direction. Embracing the New York punk of tonight’s final song, Come Alive, Janelle Monáe leaps and jerks, letting off steam after an impeccable set comprising sharply choreographed, futuristic soul and funk. 

Her first full-length album, The ArchAndroid, was critically lauded last year, but Monáe’s live performances have generated the greater buzz. Capped by her recent Glastonbury appearance, audiences have been entranced by her dancing, stage presence and phenomenal voice. Unleashing this thrashing encore on an exultant Glasgow crowd, she casts that same spell.

The experience is intoxicating. Before we start, Monáe’s image gazes down from a large video screen. She declares herself the arch-android and, introducing the opening song, reminds us there is “only one commandment: Dance or Die”. It’s an instruction impossible not to follow as we are treated to energetic numbers such as Faster and Cold War and showered with ticker tape.

Perhaps Monáe could engage more directly with the crowd, and the show seems rather short, but it is easy to forgive as you dance. The band is remarkable – tight, fun, never flagging for a second. Guitarist Kellindo Parker draws particular attention (he looks like Snoop Dogg, but plays like Prince).

But Janelle is centre stage, and her talent beguiles. Careering through Tightrope’s stuttering lyrics, she emulates her idol James Brown, magically skimming along the stage on one foot as the Godfather of Soul’s image lights the screen behind. During the slow-building Mushrooms & Roses, she paints as she sings. And from a powerful, virtuosic rendition of Charlie Chaplin’s Smile (accompanied by Parker alone) to the full-throttle finale, her voice is perfect.

The robotic theatrics excite, but we leave exhilarated by the intense human gift behind it all. She is poised for stardom.