Richard Peters -in the Sai Kung Country Park

Light into Darkness, Darkness into Light

There are occasions where murky things become crystal clear, others where the truth is obscured behind dark clouds. When both become apparent during one evening, the mind sometimes has difficulty with comprehension.

The Northern Lights Hong Kong Philharmonic concert at the Cultural Centre was to be a Scandinavian sandwich of the great Sibelius 7th, followed by four of his Finnish songs and three of Grieg's Norwegians to be sung by soprano Inger Dam-Jensen, ending with Nielsen's 4th "Inextinguishable" symphony all performed under the expert guidance of the score-free Thomas Dausgaard (what a feat!). Unfortunately, despite a week of preparation, said soprano's voice succumbed to a cold leaving her free to watch hotel telly all evening.

Jean Sibelius, the fabulous famous Finn, put his 7th symphony together during the early 1920s. Having been born when Finland was a Russian Principality, Sibelius' romantic music eventually became the perfect accompaniment to stirring nationalist sentiment and pride (each year the 8th December, his birthday, is marked as the Day of Finnish Music –an occasion where the Finnish flag is flown). The 7th symphony, however, goes further, deeper than mere flag-waving, just as, in the obverse, the catchy 'Rule Britannia' cannot be said to sum up British national sentiment.

Perhaps the most obvious thing about the 7th symphony is that it is in one movement, or more precisely that the usual divisions between movements have been abandoned. The shackles of classical symphonic form (quick/slow/quick movements) could not contain his ideas. By writing in the key of C, considered passé at the time, Sibelius also demonstrated his compositional brilliance as it actually aided and fully enabled his themes and ideas. Wholeheartedly Wagnerian in form, as you can hear here at the clear dawn-like beginning, it was to be his last symphony: his subsequent symphonic efforts failed to fully realise his vision and perished in the flames of his dining room fireplace.

That he was a virtuoso violinist is apparent in his delivery of form for the strings, ensuring a construction of melody without effort, form without ostentation. In fact, he makes it all sound so easy.

The beautiful and much-loved symphony, despite all the perfected craftsmanship at his disposal, descends into a pessimistic conclusion. Did Sibelius mean to describe how our inevitable human darkness eventually overcomes us? This mature declaration is often compared with olympian scenery –the final all-encompassing view of the glorious mountain in evening light and thence into ultimate, sombre and quiet darkness back in that key of C.

Danish composer Carl Nielsen's Symphony No 4, however, is more optimistically labelled Inextinguishable! It premiered during the middle of the First World War, eight years before the Sibelius 7th. The acrobatic complexity pursues a relentless major/minor battle in which it is not hard to discern the struggle for life. Another one-movement symphony, Nielsen emphasised this struggle with the twin timpani (usually positioned like fortresses on either side of the orchestra) which fire devastating salvos at each other in the final section as can be heard in this section.

Interestingly, Nielsen's title refers not to the music, but to the inextinguishable nature of life itself. In a letter to his wife, Anne Marie, he wrote,

"I have an idea for a new composition, which has no programme but will express what we understand by the spirit of life or manifestations of life, that is: everything that moves, that wants to live ... just life and motion, though varied—very varied—yet connected, and as if constantly on the move, in one big movement or stream. I must have a word or a short title to express this; that will be enough. I cannot quite explain what I want, but what I want is good.

As a result, the symphony delves into all sorts of uncomfortable and moody regions, only fully and finally emerging at the end into the light, the light so dearly longed-for all over war-torn Europe. But is it the unwitting optimistic antithesis of Sibelius' 7th?

It would be wrong to say these two symphonies contrast each other. Although they are both single-movements symphonies, their ideas are completely different, the first composer embracing more Wagnerian sweeping structures, the second rejecting all that the Teutonic giant stood for.

Light into darkness, darkness into light might have been a bit of an overly-simplistic title, but at the end of this concert, having sat through each of the titanic 20-minute symphonies I left feeling somewhat confused. Exactly where is humanity heading –are we rising or falling? The two intellectual perspectives encapsulated in each work are, I'm sure, not completely incompatible, but I'm not sure how the two symphonies would fare in the other order. Would we feel safer with darkness first and then light, or the other way round? Heaven forbid a featureless, grey blend!

Burnt Tibetans and Wizards

 

The 40th Hong Kong Arts Festival is, as many such festivals must be, a many-headed beast. Some of the greatest current superstar performers in music, such as Nigel Kennedy and Karita Mattila, suddenly appear on a stage before you, do their bit, bow a lot and then bugger off to their snug hotel rooms in order to be up and ready to catch the next-day’s flight to another gig in Shanghai, Seattle or Sydney. Some wonderful surprises have popped up, such as the renaissanced renaissance L’Arpeggiata (previously mentioned) and the Malian performers Tinariwen (who the Memsahib saw and very much enjoyed whilst I was away in Bangkok with an august body of singing gentlemen). And then there’s all the ballet, theatre, quartets, soloists, opera, Chinese opera and choralyness... phew!

 

Anyway, enough preamble. Last night’s concert dubiously entitled The Piano Wizard Hamelin was itself a chimerical beast. What I had assumed to be a piano concert was instead made up of piano concerto, piano solo and orchestra all on its own. [Incidentally, I’m not sure the epithet ‘wizard’ is entirely accurate in that a wizard is a conjurer of primal forces not of his own (e.g. of nature), whereas the 51-year old French Canadian Marc-André Hamelin appears to be quite the product of his own hard work –whether through concerts, recordings or compositions.]

Whoever produced this one (which may not have been part of the actual Arts Fest) had as many hats on, but I was somewhat befuddled by the staging arrangements:

• Fully blacked-tailed massed ranks of the Hong Kong Phil Orchestra, under mystical wavy direction of Shao-Chia Lü, plays Ravel’s La Valse (reasonably well, if a little reserved –see this YouTube of Bernstein getting carried away)
• Warm applause
• Stage hands emerge to move about the 1st violin stations and wheel in grand piano
• Warm applause as Hamelin sits down to play with the Phil the uninspiring César Franck Symphonic Variations –see this YouTube of said work performed in China
• Warm applause (my Mum's favourite composer, but I nearly fell asleep)
• Hamelin exits and audience, shruggingly supposing it’s the end of the 1st half, exit to nonchalantly mingle holding weak G&Ts and potter about the impersonal, vacuous and intolerably boring atrium at the Cultural Centre (who did commission that awful, massive scupture in the atrium?)
• Orwellian ‘bing-bong’ sounds to command audience to return to the auditorium
• Warm applause
• Hamelin re-enters through orchestra to play Richard Strauss’ amazing Burleske, full of invigorating and playful orchestral and piano constructions –wow! One of the best things I’ve hear in this venue by the HK Phil, nobly and masterfully accompanied by Hamelin and worth the entrance fee alone. Someone pay their timpanist James Bonos a few more dollars or leave him an open tab at the bar –each stroke and note of this difficult piece brilliantly performed! Here's more YouTube to give you some idea
• Very warm applause
• Hamelin re-enters and announces that his encore is a short prelude by Leonid Sabaneyev which he completes with effortless finesse. Here's YouTube of Hamelin's performance (with notation)
• Warm applause as Hamelin finally bows and exits (presumably back to foyer bar to finish)
• Stage hands re-emerge to shuffle the piano about, add celeste and re-arrange the strings for the grand finale…
• Shao-Chia Lü conducts the HK Phil through Lutosławski’s astonishing Concerto for Orchestra. Just the best and grandest thing they’ve ever performed –ever! (crossed-fingers, quibbs, no come-back) 5 -yes, that's 5 percussionists, 2 harpists, at least three rows of double basses... Here's a nice YouTube example of the spooky 3rd movement.
• Four curtain calls –except there’s no curtain
• Exit audience, some, it must be said, a bit sharpish –if not rudely so!

 

Could someone please help make sense of all that movement? Don’t get me wrong, this was an excellent concert, but, surely, Hamelin could have made better use of the 1st half by necking a few pints in the foyer and then rolling onto the stage for the 2nd –after all, the biggest superstars always appear last on the bill.

Could someone also explain why so many fidgety little children were in the concert hall? What on earth they made of it all, I'm not sure. Perhaps they were the fruit of the HK Philharmonic's mighty loins come to see whether they really do play in an orchestra? Or maybe it was too-good a discount for kindergarten and primary school parents to ignore? Or maybe the HK public thought the word wizard in the title meant that through a puff of smoke a man in a funny long black robe and a sorting hat would materialise and make a succession of furry creatures disappear whilst hammering out Yankee Doodle Dandy?

We arrived in good time before the concert and decided to wander tourist-like around the ole Star Ferry environs. Ee, by-‘eck! The eternal view; ships in the harbour silently slipping past the backdrop of the eternal day that is neon Hong Kong Island, hundreds of visitors taking thousands of photos –it is the Hong Kong experience, the joyful memories that confirm happiness and fulfilment for millions.

Set back from the harbour frontage, however, was a candlelit vigil for Tibet in remembrance of 53 years of resistance to totalitarianism. A quiet, moving and quite sobering collection of images of people that have immolated themselves to protest the Han occupation of Tibetan lands, it served to show me that young Hong Kong people are not all self-serving rich kids intent on stocking up on quick-return shares or buying their next polished growling Mercedes. That a small bunch of well-meaning people should consider the fate of 26 Tibetan martyrs is testament to the growing conscience in Asia’s World City. Perhaps chanting Buddhist prayers and scripture may seem a futile, even insignificant gesture to you, but it carries a fearless idea –that some here believe that other people matter and are willing to be counted doing so.

Indeed, as if to unwittingly prove the point, plainly visible on the fringes of this small event were plain-clothed security, three from People's Republic of China and on the other side one from the Special Administrative Region of Hong Kong (the bored Chinese were clearly not that bothered by the whole thing and were more keen on having a quick ciggy, the lone HK operative just looked a little confused and angry, probably because of them!). Presumably, no-one from the Tibetan Autonomous Region was able to be present.

Viva Tibet! Viva Hong Kong! Viva live music!

Karita Mattila, Lieder and 1881

In some concerts it is immediately obvious from the first note that you are in the hands of professionals; that you are about to hear musical precision, understand intellectual excellence, fine artistic nuances. Such was Karita Mattila's recital in the lied tradition last night at the Cultural Centre.

Accompanied by fellow Fin, Ville Matvejeff, the much celebrated opera star poured out the delicacies and exigencies of lieder from Brahms, Debussy, Richard Strauss and Alban Berg from within a sparkly shimmer of an silvery evening gown. Each piece performed with such mastery, the audience instantly responded with great admiration and warmth. Indeed, no-one clapped between the pieces in the cycles (unusual for an HK audience) and only one phone went off during the entire performance -must be something of a record!

 

 

I thought the opening songs from Alban Berg, taken from the Jugendlieder (such as this one), were challenging -the Shoenberg-esque atonal influences forming an incredible, meandering, early 20th-century landscape through which I thought the Hong Kong audience might not have easily travelled thereby becoming alienated. They were, instead, enraptured by Karita's scandinavian hand upon the tiller and Matvejeff's fearless support.

 

The Debussy, Brahms and Strauss were, perhaps, a little more to the liking of the mixed audience -I was sat next to two well-behaved school chaps who had obviously been given tickets as part of the 40th Hong Kong Arts Fest's outreach to the next generation. Not sure what they made of it, but they were back in the 2nd half for more from the Finnish soprano. Perhaps they were waiting for her to get her gear off as she did portraying Salome in New York in 2004 (now available on DVD!).

If I had one criticism, it would not have been with the artist, the choice of lieder, the accompaniment or even the eye-blinding showy one-piece dresses, but rather with the venue. The Cultural Centre is best-suited for big orchestral and choral events -there's even a dirty great organ at the back of the hall! But I would have preferred to hear these songs in the intimacy of a much smaller room, as lieder is wont. One can only suppose that such is Mattila's international operatic fame she must always be brought to such a large hall in order to meet demand.

 

As wonderful as this evening had been, it ended on very high notes indeed with Strauss's Frühlingsfeier (utilizing Heine's poem The Rite of Spring), where Karita's enthralling near-hysterical full throttle finale of "Adonis! Adonis!" teetered on the edge of insanity and could so easily have descended into bizarre spectacle.

 

 

Our evening's entertainment, however, began a little earlier with a little light dinner at The Parlour restaurant at Hullett House. Found within 1881 Heritage, the ex-marine police headquarters, first constructed in 1884 and now turned (at no small expense by those cheeky chappies Cheung Kong Holdings) into Tsim Sha Tsui's finest entertainment complex, the meal, ambiance, music, service and even the website were all excellent. And that got us to finking...

 

 

The Memsahib and meself've bin togevva naah for nigh-on a quarter sentry, cor-blimey! This might just be the place to host a do to celebrate such an event. Keep your eyes open and your ears peeled for more news nearer the time.

 

2 Starry Days -Blush, l'Arpeggiata and Michelle Yeoh!

Well, as weeks go this one is pretty good. Pop, renaissance music and a star-bejewelled film premiere. I'll try to be brief...

Thursday 2nd February

Pop!

It's been a long time since I went to see a pop star (whatever one of those is). I don't know if Kylie the Minogue or a Madonna are real pop stars or whether the title 'King of Pop' should have ever been applied to the late Michael 'I-just-wish-I-could-understand-my-father' Jackson. For me, 'pop' denotes etherial childhood memories of such musical luminaries as the Bay City Rollers and Gary Glitter, but any search through a catalogue of such artistes talentueux now sees them listed under the headings 'Glam' or 'Pervert' (quelle est la différence?). Maybe the identification of 'pop' back in thum days lay more with bizarre titles and lyrics –can someone tell me what Suzi Quattro meant by Can the Can or the point Noddy Holder was on about when he sang the following,

Gudbuy T'Jane, gudbuy T'Jane,

She's a dark horse see if she can.

Gudbuy T'Jane, gudbuy T'Jane,

Painted up like a fancy young man.

'Pop', therefore...surely, must refer to POP-ular –meaning that someone actually likes the stuff (note my powers of deduction). The title of 'Supreme Pop Group', however, must eventually be applied to those Norsk-Dansk types who formed Aqua and famously got rich on Barbie Girl proving along the way that there's no such thing as a bad multi-platinum record!

Blush are a relatively new all-girl 'pop' outfit from this part of Asia. With eye-catching token Filippina, Chinese, Korean, Indian and Japanese, they've been wowing the crowds hither and thither and are promoted well enough to be hitting the big time supporting more established acts such as B.o.B, Far*East Movement, Black Eyed Peas and Justin Bieber –whoever they are. 

The girls and their entourage turned up in front of the un-cool educational edifice of KGV School to serenade da kids during lunchtime –no, that's wrong: to 'whoop' them into a pop-fuelled, teenage frenzy! And this they duly did judging from the numbers of rubbery day-glow wrist bangles and signed posters greedily grasped by the sweaty and impressionable 11- and 12-year olds after the show. I think the industry term for this sort of activity is, 'establishing a fan base'

No matter who you are, a KGV School audience is fickle –even Mozart himself would have to compete with Pokemon card tournaments, boys football on the field, Minecraft computer worlds and nonchalantly half-nibbled chicken legs. They got through... eventually... when the man on the mixing desk pumped up the volume.

Watching them strutting their funky stuff in the full light of day, I warmed to their act –actually, they were quite good, even if I am slightly positively-prejudiced: I taught the delightful Alisha Bushrani a few times over the years and it was really enjoyable to see her doing well (all teachers say that sort of drivel, but it's true). We had a brief chat later on that day: their recent push onto the bigger stages of the world means there's now a chance for them to do even greater things –which I am not at liberty to divulge. You heard it (that is, nothing at all) here first, folks... 

Renaissance Classical!

You might image that all that teeny-bopping perspiration was enough for one day, but I was bored during a holiday afternoon last week and bought a load of concert tickets for the 40th Hong Kong Arts Festival. I wasn't too sure about this particular concert, but it was promoted well and, after all, it's hard to go wrong with music from the renaissance. So in the evening, off me and the Memsahib did trot to the City Hall.

Music from the Renaissance this may well have been, but not like wot I has hearded before. I have listened to Monteverdi's Toccata from Orfeo oh I don't know how many times, often performed with a prim, over-inflated pomposity that would have stretched the corn of cornyness even during the renaissance, but this concert held an improvised and exciting novelty which at times made me wonder whether I was listening to completely new music. L'Arpeggiata brought the renaissance alive –not as museum-pieces, but as the excited breath of a dancer holding your hands as you both speedily twirl around the dancefloor: I could scarcely stay in my seat! The marked difference between the rather polite unflappable concertyness of most classical music performances and these Neopolitan and Italian emotion-filled expressions of life could not be more marked.

The wonderful Lucilla Galeazzi had us all eating out of her hands, such was her capacity to engage –just listen to this Youtube clip. It wasn't all jiggery-pokery and some of the more reflective pieces were mournful and truly Italianate, such as can be demonstrated here.

But you can't win 'em all, as the sleepy soul in the seat in front of us ably demonstrated, awakening only at the conclusion of each piece to join the chorus of clapping. I guess when you're tired then you're tired, but unnerving thoughts about the state of my sanity would enter my mind if I'd paid good money to sit in a room with hundreds of other people to leave two hours later with only the barest recollection about what I was doing there and why everyone around me was applauding...

Friday 3rd February

Film!

We all like being the first one to see a movie. I responded lightning-quick to an email from Amnesty International inviting me to see the Asian premiere of The Lady, Luc Besson's new film about the rise of Aung San Suu Kyi from Oxford Academic's wife to famous stateswoman promoting Burmese democracy upon the world stage. As such, we received Wonka-like Golden Tickets in the mail to the screening at the Grand Cinema in the vast, meandering Elements mall that overlooks Hong Kong harbour.

This is primarily a love story about a married couple, perhaps an unfashionable topic for some –no seedy sex, no devastating dénouements, no unfaithful connivances or earthquake-like betrayals, no Hugh Grant, just the tenderness of a marriage that is threatened and finally overwhelmed by power-hungry generals, the painful needs of a poor country and, eventually, terminal illness. I cried.

Quite simply, Michelle Yeoh is Aung San Suu Kyi, long speeches in Burmese language notwithstanding. A tough role for anybody, particularly when the actress must portray vulnerability and strength, assailability and determination, she crafted a believable character who's endearing morality is miles above that of her opponents. That Suu, as she is tenderly called, survived at all is testament to the work of many others as well as to her resilience. But survive she does receiving a Nobel Peace Prize along the way largely because her husband, played by the great David Thewlis, tirelessly fought for her submission to the Norwegian Nobel Committee.

Michelle Yeoh is perhaps best known for her nature role in martial arts epic Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and as the feisty Chinese Bond Girl in Tomorrow Never Dies. She arrived with Luc Besson and his beautiful current (and third) wife Virginie Silla –a good producer in her own right: there then took place a photographic orgasm, the flash and video lights of every camera in the room erupting to capture the moment without knowing quite what it was they were trying to capture. The usual speeches over, all Golden Ticket holders (the unbearably stylish, the duffel coated worthies and the mundane) poured past the barriers and A.I. yellow t-shirted ushers into each of the cinema houses. As we sat waiting, the same celebrated trio arrived to deliver another pep-talk. Michelle looked the most nervous and inclined the audience to go with the emotions of the film –excellent advice! Go and see this film. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Film over, the stars once again popped in to each cinema to wave and receive warm applause. Miss Yeoh knew several audience members and stopped for kisses and kind words. On our way out a nicely dressed couple stood near the exit –Luc and Virginie. With a handshake I congratulated him on the film and asked whether it was shot in Thailand. He said that the first few minutes and the forested footage and landscape were shot in Myanmar within about a week –that was all the time they were given to get essential footage. (Some of that, such as the massive, iconic, golden Schwedagon Pagoda, must have also been digitized for backgrounds.) He went on to add that most of it was filmed in Thailand. I added that I was moved by the film which he was quite glad to hear: another fan was still crying next to them.

A good end to the week hob-nobbing with the stars (sorry I wasn't brief at all). I should, of course, now conclude with a quippy sign-off such as, I suppose even stars are real people, but I just can't. The point to be made now is that this Amnesty event highlighted the plight of an entire people under brutal dictatorship (what other kind is there?). Although things may seem to be improving, there's still a question mark about what will happen next –it could all go tits-up with recent positive gains all reversed. Please take a look at the Amnesty site. Why not drop them a bob or two: Myanmar Amnesty International.

Catrin Aur -Il soprano più sublime supremo di Hong Kong

 

Well, there it was –we were a little tired after a hard week and a splendid big lunch with our good friends, the Zobrists, and the chances of making it all the way to Wanchai for a 8pm concert was about 50-50. I'm so glad we made the effort.

Being associated with the Hong Kong Welsh Male Voice Choir often entails being connected, either directly or otherwise, with some sort of Welsh-themed event. Some of these are good: Catrin Aur's concert at the Academy of Perfoming Arts was truly excellent. Her stage presence, intense musicality and sparkling professionalism shone as much as the three spectacular changes of dress during the performance. It's not just that she was good, she was unforgettable.

The Welsh soprano's naturally masterful command of belle canto Italian operatic arias was a joy (as this YouTube link indicates). The audience were spellbound by her exquisite performances of some of the best-known romantic period opera soprano arias by Rossini, Donizetti, Verdi, Puccini, Bellini –a joyous sampling! These are obviously her forte, allowing her full rein over the emotions and story-telling within each piece. Her memorable first act finale from Adriana Lecouvreur, an opera I've not come across, was Cilea's Io son l'umile ancella, and her Casta Diva from Bellini's Norma was quite simply the best I've heard: immense feminine strength and heart-breaking vulnerability.

Catrin Aur's brief introduction to her encore, O mio babbino caro, in her excellent and endearing West Welsh accent brought a personal touch to the evening. In the end the Hong Kong audience just didn't want to leave. It must sometimes be a difficult thing to dip your toes into an unknown sea, but Catrin jumped in, much to our delight. She next returns to London to perform Verdi's Aida at the Albert Hall. Top banana!

The City Chamber Orchestra of Hong Kong did fairly well altogether, but appeared to lack confidence in places. I can only expect them to improve with more concerts like this under their belt. Gareth Jones, the conductor, did his best to hold them together, but they wandered at times. Would it be unkind to suggest that perhaps they need more time to practice?

This is my first visit to the HK Jockey Club Amphitheatre. Completed in 2010, the converted amphitheatre is a splendid acoustic venue –every breath and note clearly defined. If Catrin Aur at the Opera sets the standard, I will have to go to more concerts there in 2012.