"It's a free concert, at least it is for me!" said the Memsahib, beaming that her employment at the University provides such exciting perks. As a non-teaching-non-anything-really-Joe Publicky, I had to dig deep into my pocket to pay the exorbitant sum of Kč80 for the privilege – that's nearly £2.62/HK$31.36 in old money!
We thought we'd seen all there is to see at the Moravské Divadlo Olomouc (Moravian Theatre) on our last outing there to enjoy the classical 19th century warmth of Donizetti's Lucia de Lammermoor. That particular performance back in February had at first a touch of the am drams about it, but the mostly-septuagenarian audience appreciated a lively show that worked itself into a suitably Czech lather. But the Moravian Theatre has another excellent performance venue upstairs, the Reduta (redoubt in English) – a
concert hall that has obviously had some money spent on it in the last few years as it
is in tip-top condition for expertly produced quality concertyness. Proud Olomoucians in their
ill-fitting black or grey Sunday bests, in restrained flowing evening wear or all out in mismatching, bulging tops and skirts are right
to treat the venue with such respect.
This particular concert was to mark the occasion of the 440th anniversary of Palacký University. As part of the Olomouc Music Festival it comprised compositions of music professors at the University and proved an eye/ear-opener of the first degree. When one thinks of provincial towns (Olomouc is the Czech Republic’s 6th largest town) one cannot help but feel that the standards are necessarily lower, that the expectations are more gentle and that the quality of production understandably less – misconceptions one and all. What followed was a concert of intellectual stimulation as good as that served up anywhere and by anyone and my Kč80 proved well spent.
First up,
Concerto for two percussionists and orchestra – a lively two-movement piece by
the late Pavel Čotek (1922-2005). Témbry (Timbres), the first movement comprised
composery flouncing at a large collection of percussive instruments –vibraphones,
glocks, timpani, tubular bells and a host of cowbells, drums, cymbals and
triangles. The overall effect was, at first, of form over substance, of the
sort of excited arrangement that exercises a composer's mind at night (with enough free rein).
But then the patternization meted out by father and son percussionists, Ladislav Bilan Sr and
Ladislav Bilan Jr, created a stronger form than I supposed achievable. The
orchestral interventions and background added to overall weight and depth in much the same way
as the stretched canvas is necessary for painted artistic endeavors, no matter
how abstract. The second movement, Rytmy (Rhythms), perhaps carried the audience a little better,
using more familiar rhythmic structures, but its dénouement cleverly brought
the listener back to the staccato-esque 'pots and pans' beginning of the first movement. There
may have been one or two formal clichés throughout, but the performers, conductor Petr Vronský and Moravian Philharmonic pulled it
off with such panache that we were truly moved, more so at the appearance
within the affectionate applause of the composer’s frail widow.
All change,
please. From Vít Zouhar’s operatic pen came the next piece for the Moravian
Phil, Ritorni, a
modified form of a Philip Glass meets Vivaldi piece already premiered at other
festivals. This premiere was of an arrangement for strings and
harpsichord. Its gentle classically-resonant phrases flowed and repeated, flowed and
repeated: it would make great music for a TV advertisement of some sort –grandiose without being inhuman– maybe for a high street bank… But perhaps I
am unfair: it was, like the previous piece, accomplished and not without flair.
At least the composer’s programme notes were relatively restrained, descriptive
not prone to flowery hyperbole. Which is more than can be said for what
occurred after the interval.
Intermissions
usually involve the customary steam roll towards the bar, but this was the most
unusual experience in that, outside a supermarket checkout, this was the first
time I had seen Czechs form a queue – an orderly, first-come-first-served
queue in the old fashioned sense. For the locals the provision of alcohol is clearly worth
the queuing! Bypassing this gobsmacking novelty, we asked for two gin and
tonics, to be told there was no tonic. Well aware of the grave toilety dangers
of skulling interval beers, we opted for Fantas (haven’t had one in years) and
to later have one-or-two pivos for the cobbled road. It is customary at any
public venue to complain uproariously about the state of the gents, however,
the Memsahib’s retch-inducing visit to the ladies powder room proved that many
ladies are ladies in name only and the mellifluous lingering odours that
emanate from their unwashed nether-parts testifies to the most un-ladylike of
ablutional habits…
Marek Keprt, young(-ish) Olomoucan composer, pianist (see Youtube above) and teacher at the Department of Musicology at the Philosophical Faculty of the University, obviously trusted enough to be given free range in February and March of this year to come up with the four movement ČtverJho chořních dob that began the second half. And if you are given freedom then I suppose you should use it! Certainly Mr Keprt was unorthodox in his arrangement of the traditional orchestra and of instrument usage (noisy air blowing through brass, use of timpani sticks on open piano strings), of solo violins, violas and cellos glissily slippin’ and slidin’ about on their fretwork to find 'micro-intervals and minimalism’ and of a wailing soprano placed alone on the balcony all brought about a decidedly nonconformist, if not overall muddied, impression. But in truth it was not the interesting abstract music that bothered me so much as the programme notes thrown together by the man himself: “JasJho (BrightnessYoke). Jas jha (Brightness of the yoke)? Jho jasu (Yoke of brightness)? The perception of the brightness of the yoke (or the yoke of brightness?) Is suppressed, distorted, ever less conscious.” And so it goes on… simple questions and banal statements like so much teenagery philosophy – it’s just the sort of drivel that gets up my nose.
And so the
evening concluded with Jan Vičar who, through a Fullbright/CIES scholar-in
residency that enabled him to make his way through eight universities in the States, clearly
enjoys his time as Professor at the Department of Musicology if the
Philosophical Faculty here in Olomouc. Křik (Cry), his one-movement cantata from 1981
was written in anticipation of the birth of his first child and uses as libretto an
anti-modernist poem of the same name by renowned poet Jiří Žáček. Incorporating
an accomplished blend of orchestra, baritone and mixed choir, the end product became a
conflagration of such astonishing power, intensity and complexity that at its conclusion the 5 trumpeters shook hands in relief. It's just as well that this concert was formally recorded – gotta get me a copy!
Rapturous applause at the
end signified the recognition of music excellence, on the part of the
composers, the conductor and the musicians. Provincial music may have a bit of
a reputation, but that was certainly not in evidence on this night. Allowances
were neither requested nor required: this performance could have occurred in
the best venues of any of the major capital cities. With such a concert
Olomouc, one-time home to Mozart and Mahler, can rightly hold its baroque
musical head up!
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