Philharmonia Chamber Players [Maura Marinucci (clarinet), Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay (violin), Scott Dickinson (viola), Alexander Rolton (cello), Owen Nicolaou (double bass), Sarah Pennington (horn), Marceau Lefèvre (bassoon)
Beethoven Septet in E flat major Op.20 (1802)
Royal Festival Hall, London Thursday 20 March 2025 6pm
Reviewed by Ben Hogwood Picture (c) Marc Gascoigne
Beethoven’s six-movement Septet is, to all intents and purposes, a Serenade for seven instruments. As such it was perfectly timed in this early evening slot, the ideal piece with which to entertain a relaxed and healthily-sized crowd.
Clarinettist Maura Marinucci introduced the work, and her love of the piece was clearly shared by her Philharmonia Orchestra friends as they went about a performance that was by turns vigorous and lyrical.
Beethoven’s scoring was highly original in 1802, and it is easy to see why the piece proved so popular, with its abundance of good tunes and colourful textures. These were evident right from the opening, the bassoon and double bass giving a lovely heft to the lower end of the sound. They supported the winsome tunes, divided largely between Marinucci’s clarinet and the violin of Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay. Marinucci especially enjoyed the soft-hearted second movement, while Visontay had an increasingly virtuosic role to play, sometimes pushing ahead of the tempo in his eagerness but relishing Beethoven’s technical challenges.
The Minuet, with its impudent theme thumbing a nose at the audience, was nicely done, while the theme and variations forming the fourth movement were especially enjoyable, notably the first variation, assigned to the upper string trio, and the mischievous final variation and coda.
Above all this performance was a great deal of fun, the players enjoying sharing the tuneful material with their audience, an approach capped by a quickfire finale and dazzling cadenza from Visontay. Just as affecting, mind, was the hushed chorale from the winds preceding this moment.
Ultimately the music matched the weather, bringing the vitality of early spring to the Royal Festival Hall stage.
Philharmonia Chamber Players [Mark van de Wiel (clarinet, above), Eugene Lee, Fiona Cornall (violins), Scott Dickinson (viola), Karen Stephenson (cello)]
Gipps Rhapsody in E flat major (1942) Weber Clarinet Quintet in B flat major Op.34 (1811-15)
Royal Festival Hall, London Thursday 20 February 2025
Reviewed by Ben Hogwood Picture of Mark van de Wiel (c) Luca Migliore
This free concert in the Royal Festival Hall was a breath of fresh air. Bolstered by visitors, the auditorium was a heartening two-thirds full, the audience made up of families, tourists and workers seeking musical enlightenment. Yours truly fell into the latter category!
The Philharmonia Orchestra have played to this type of crowd for decades now, either by way of introduction to their evening concerts (like this one) or providing a standalone concert focusing on a particular composer (Music of Today) or instrument.
In this instance they covered all bases, with music for clarinet and string quartet introduced from the stage by principal clarinet Mark van de Wiel. The ensemble began with a relative rarity, Ruth Gipps’ Rhapsody in E flat major only coming in from the cold in recent years. Dedicated to her fellow RCM student and future husband, Robert Baker, it is an attractive piece with affection evident from its soft, pastorally inflected first statement. However Gipps’ folk-inspired variant on the opening theme steals the show, firstly heard on cello then subsequently joined by its companions, the clarinet finally singing eloquently over pizzicato strings.
In his talk Van de Wiel’s love of the piece was evident, before he introduced another sleeping giant, Weber’s Clarinet Quintet. Often sitting in the shade of its illustrious companions by Mozart and Brahms, this winsome piece – written for clarinettist Heinrich Baermann – demonstrates just how far the instrument had progressed in the two decades since Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto.
Van de Wiel demonstrated how his clarinet, with 17 keys, was at an advantage to that of Baermann’s ten, in theory reducing the difficulty. His modesty, however, was made clear in the virtuoso demands Weber still makes on the instrument, a fully-fledged soloist, with all manner of tricks up its sleeve.
To Weber’s credit this is not at the expense of musical quality or emotional impact, for although we enjoyed some flights of fancy in the first movement Allegro there was plenty of feeling in the dialogue between clarinet and string quartet. A tender, operatic second movement followed, then an airy and enjoyably mischievous Menuetto rather fast for dancing perhaps but charming all the same. Then came the brilliantly executed finale, living up to its Allegro giojoso marking as Van de Wiel mastered Weber’s increasingly athletic demands with flair and musicality.
Happily both pieces have been recorded as part of a new album forthcoming from the quintet on Signum Classics, where they will team this repertoire with Anna Clyne’s Strange Loops. If the performances match these live accounts, they will constitute a fine document from one of Britain’s very best clarinettists. As though to confirm this, the assembled throng left wreathed in smiles.
Melodramma giocoso in Two Acts – music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Felice Romani (revised by the composer)
Sung in Italian with English surtitles
Il Cavaliere di Belfiore – Joshua Hopkins (baritone), Il Barone di Kelbar – Henry Waddington (bass-baritone), La Marchesa del Poggio – Christine Rice (mezzo-soprano), Giulietta di Kelbar – Maddison Leonard (soprano), Edoardo di Sanval – Oliver Sewell (tenor), La Rocca – Grant Doyle (baritone), Il Conte Ivrea – Robert Murray (tenor), Delmonte – James Micklethwaite (tenor), Servant – Daniel Vening (bass)
Christopher Alden (director), Charles Edwards (sets), Sue Willmington (costumes), Ben Pickersgill (lighting), Illuminos (Matt and Rob Vale) (video), Tim Claydon (choreographer)
Garsington Opera Chorus, Philharmonia Orchestra / Chris Hopkins
Garsington Opera, Wormsley Monday 1 July 2024
review by Richard Whitehouse Photos by (c) Julian Guidera and Richard Hubert Smith (as marked)
Garsington Opera has a laudable track-record in presenting rarities or supposed ‘also-rans’ to best advantage, with this new production of Un giorno di regno no exception. Verdi’s second opera fell flat on its premiere at La Scala in September 1840, though the death of his wife and both of his children over the previous two years meant his heart was simply not in the writing of a comic opera: one of several extenuating circumstances that included a dearth of suitable singers for the main roles plus the demonstrably backward-looking nature of the work itself.
All credit to Christopher Alden for creating a production which, whatever its modishness of appearance, is rarely less then relevant and always entertaining. Verdi’s hurried refashioning of a 22-year-old libretto – concerning real-life impersonation of King Stanislaus prior to his briefly regaining the Polish crown in 1733 – was never likely to thrill the Milanese audience, but it does provide a lively context for this sequence of increasingly inane goings-on such as respond well to being situated in an authoritarian state swamped by ‘fake news’ and political one-upmanship. Just occasionally the deluge of video imagery threatens to overwhelm what is being enacted on stage but, overall, what can seem a needlessly involved and diffuse plot is, if not simplified, thrown into sharper focus so as to maintain the interest of those present.
In so doing, Alden is abetted by the faux-stylishness of Charles Edwards’s sets and the no less eye-catching costumes of Sue Willmington – their combined effect enhanced by the dextrous lighting of Ben Pickersgill and a video component from the Illuminos duo that adds greatly to the effect of immersive decadence. Nor is the choreography of Tim Claydon found wanting in its physicality and convincing use of all available stage-space, not least those gangways in the auditorium that function briefly if vividly as its extension for certain highpoints of the action.
Madison Leonard in Un giorno di regno Garsington Opera
opens Garsington 29.06.24
photo credit: Richard Hubert Smith
An opera production is arguably only as good as its singers, and the present cast could hardly be bettered. As the false king Belfiore, Joshua Hopkins brings style and suavity to a role that could easily become insipid – and with his ‘Freddie Mercury’ cameo carried off to perfection. Teasing out the cowardliness behind his thuggery, Henry Waddington is ideally cast as Kelbar and Grant Doyle hardly less so as the scheming La Rocca – his ‘sparring partner’ made literal during their uproarious breakfast confrontation. Oliver Sewell overcame initial unsteadiness to deliver an Edoardo of resolve and eloquence, with Robert Murray the stealthily insinuating Ivrea. Neither female role leaves anything to be desired – Madison Leonard vulnerable for all her minx-like persona; Christine Rice stealing the show as the Marchesa whose solo spots are the opera’s likely highlights. James Micklethwaite and Daniel Vening both acquit themselves ably, while Garsington Opera Chorus evidently enjoys its collective function as those ‘people in black’ who variously comment on the action then intervene often forcibly when necessary.
Stepping in at the eleventh hour (for an indisposed Tobias Ringborg), Chris Hopkins directed with verve and real sense of musical continuity – not least when Verdi (seemingly for the only time in his career) made recourse to ‘recitativo secco’ which here furthers the action without impeding its progress. Otherwise, the Philharmonia Orchestra despatches with relish a score which, for all that this lacks the sophistication and urbanity of Rossini’s or Donizetti’s mature comedies, crackles with energy along with an engaging personality for which it has not yet had its due.
Members of the Garsington Opera chorus in Un giorno di regno – opens Garsington 29.06.24
photo credit: Richard Hubert Smith
Although a lesser opera in the Verdi canon, Un giorno di regno met with modest success even in his lifetime and its later revivals were well received. Thanks to this Garsington production, his ‘King for a Day’ finds itself more than able to enjoy a timely 15 minutes in the spotlight.
Frank Dupree (piano, above), Philharmonia Orchestra / Santtu-Matias Rouvali (below)
Glinka Capriccio brillante (Spanish Overture no.1 ‘Jota Aragonese’) (1845) Kapustin Piano Concerto no.5 Op.72 (1993) Borodin Symphony no.2 in B minor (1869 – 1876) Rimsky-Korsakov Capriccio Espagnol Op.34 (1887)
Royal Festival Hall, London Thursday 7 March 2024 (7.30pm)
Reviewed by Ben Hogwood Pictures (c) Raphael Steckelbach (Frank Dupree), Sisi Burn (Santtu-Matias Rouvali)
After this orchestral spectacular, I can confidently say that the Royal Festival Hall is free of cobwebs!
This most appealing program from the Philharmonia Orchestra was a cosmopolitan collection of works with roots in Russia, in the symphonic tradition (Borodin), delivering postcards from Spain (Glinka and Rimsky-Korsakov) or bringing in music from even further across the Atlantic (Kapustin).
The work with the farthest reach took top billing, thanks to the advocacy and breathtaking pianism of Frank Dupree. Making his debut with the Philharmonia, the soloist seized the opportunity to share his love of the music of Nikolai Kapustin, a composer he has championed on record in the past three years.
To call Kapustin ‘eclectic’ would be an understatement, but the label fits his unusual gift for looking outwards from classical music to jazz, boogie-woogie, Latin and even rock. To his credit none of those stylistic references sound hackneyed, and although the single-movement Piano Concerto no.5 is written out on paper it has a fresh, improvisatory quality that Dupree and the Philharmonia fair lifted off the page.
There were fun and games in this performance, harnessing elements of Gershwin, Milhaud and Shostakovich’s jazz writing, but ultimately channelling a style all of Kapustin’s own. Dupree shared the many musical jokes with the audience, while the Philharmonia percussion section – drum kit, bongos, castanets, everything but the kitchen sink! – was on hot form, Santtu-Matias Rouvali conducting with relish. The slow music explored more tender asides, evoking Harlem nights or even poolside in a hotter climate, while the fast music found Dupree exhibiting deceptive virtuosity as he navigated riffs and syncopations aplenty.
Even this wasn’t quite the highpoint, for there followed a high-spirited encore, Dupree leaning into the piano to thrum the strings in an atmospheric introduction to rhythmic high jinks, the percussion section – including Rouvali – out front to joust playfully with the soloist. It brought the house down.
With such a crowd-pleasing concerto, it was to the Philharmonia and Rouvali’s enormous credit that the rest of the program did not suffer, thanks to sparkling performances of music by three of the ‘mighty handful’ from late 19th century Russia.
Glinka’s clever interpolation of Spanish themes into his own Romantic language was brilliantly conveyed, a colourful account where Rouvali’s tempo had just the right ebb and flow. It is easy to forget this music is as old as 1845, and while the influences of Berlioz and Mendelssohn were still relatively fresh there was plenty of swagger in the dancing rhythms, the percussion again enhancing the brassy swagger of the closing pages.
Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol was even more successful, a treasure chest of melodies opened with evident enthusiasm by Rouvali, whose rapid tempo changes did occasionally leave the string section needing to make up ground. Cadenzas for violin (orchestra leader Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay), flute (Samuel Coles), clarinet (Mark van de Wiel) and harp (Heidi Krutzen) were superbly executed, Rimsky’s mini ‘concerto for orchestra’ revealed in glorious technicolour.
Rimsky wrote the Capriccio while orchestrating his friend Borodin’s opera Prince Igor – and it was his own Symphony no.2 that was in theory the most ‘sober’ of the night’s four works. We reckoned without a powerful performance from Rouvali and his charges, however, making the most of a work bursting with melodic ideas that should be heard much more often in the concert hall. The first of these ideas sets the tone for the symphony, a stern utterance with strings digging in and brass solemnly intoning their thoughts. Once heard the melody sticks in the listener’s mind, dominating the first movement where symphonic arguments were tautly exchanged.
There was room for lightness, however, in the quickfire scherzo and jubilant finale. These movements were bisected by an emotive third movement of deeper Russian origin, its theme lovingly delivered by cellos but finding plangent brass (the wonderful horn section led by Ben Hulme) and superb woodwind solos to complement. Rouvali relished the chance to dust off this relative symphonic outcast as part of a thrilling, memorable concert. The smiles on the faces of the Royal Festival Hall concertgoers as they filed into the open air said it all.
Mark van de Wiel (clarinet, above), Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay (violin), Karen Stephenson (cello), Tom Poster (piano)
Messiaen Quatuor pour le fin du temps (Quartet for the End of Time) (1941)
Royal Festival Hall, London Thursday 7 March 2024 (6pm)
Reviewed by Ben Hogwood Pictures (c) Guy Wigmore (Mark van de Wiel, Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay), Marina Vidor (Karen Stephenson), Elena Urioste (Tom Poster)
The Philharmonia Orchestra’s long-running Music of Today series continued with an opportunity to experience Olivier Messiaen’s 1941 masterpiece. Given its first performance in a German prisoner-of-war camp (in what is now Zgorzelec, Poland), the Quatuor pour la fin du temps – Quartet for the End of Time – was very much a product of circumstances.
The composer, in one of his rare forays into chamber music, had just three instruments available to him, plus himself at the piano. He thrived on the restrictions, using the New Testament book of Revelation as his stimulus to create an eight-movement piece that if anything has grown in stature and relevance with every passing year.
Tonight’s venue may have been a great deal more spacious than the cramped conditions of the premiere, but the quartet here lacked nothing in close-up intimacy, the sizeable audience leaning forward in their seats to engage with the music. Initially it was the piano of Tom Poster (below) that provided a strong foundation, his spacious chords catching the chill of the dawn air in Liturgie de cristal as the other three instruments circled with attractive birdsong, the music awakening softly.
The Vocalise, pour l’Ange qui annonce la fin du temps (Vocalise, for the Angel who announces the end of time) provided a firm reality check, though here too its dramatic lines were clear and spacious rather than combative, the players continuing to find an inner serenity through Messiaen’s writing. Violinist Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay and cellist Karen Stephenson thrived on these long melodic phrases, derived from plainchant.
The emotive centre of this performance was undoubtedly the solo for clarinet, Abîme des oiseaux (Abyss of birds), an incredibly moving soliloquy played with exceptional technique by Mark van de Wiel. Some of the notes started with barely audible attack while others were at the outer limits of his volume in a performance of incredible poise and control. Standing while the other musicians sat, he also let the silences between notes speak as loudly as the phrases themselves, so that even the persistent coughing of the audience was rendered into silence.
The delicate Intermède broughout out the dance elements of Messiaen’s writing, before Stephenson (above) and Poster gave a thoughtful, meditative Louange à l’Éternité de Jésus (Praise to the eternity of Jesus), beautifully played and appropriately reverent. This ensured a vivid contrast with the following Danse de la fureur, pour les sept trompettes (Dance of fury, for the seven trumpets), where the four instruments played their angular melodies with commendable precision.
Fouillis d’arcs-en-ciel, pour l’Ange qui annonce la fin du temps (Tangle of rainbows, for the Angel who announces the end of time) found Visontay (below) to the fore in the audio balance, van de Wiel slightly backward in the mix, before Visontay and Poster led us to the end itself with a radiant Louange à l’Immortalité de Jésus (Praise to the immortality of Jesus). This remarkable piece of music continues to carry a strong impact, and as the two instruments strained at the edge of audibility, Visontay reaching the highest pitch, the sense of arrival was all-consuming.
They put the seal on a memorable performance, one of the more emotive ‘rush hour’ concerts you could wish to hear, and one whose impact was felt far beyond that evening’s orchestral concert.
You can listen to a recording of Quatuor pour le fin du temps below, with Mark van de Wiel and Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay joined by cellist Mats Lidström and pianist Min-Jung Kym on the Psalmus label:
Meanwhile you can find more information on further concerts at the Philharmonia website
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