Christopher's Classics - 28 July 2022: Levansa Trio 

Andrew Beer  – Violin; Lev Sivkov – Cello; Sarah Watkins – Piano

Reviewed by Tony Ryan

I remember, in my teens, the beginnings of my voyage of discovery of classical music – the appearance on radio (often a commercial station) of a piece that knocked me sideways, a recording played by a teacher while he sat marking more important subjects than music, a school visit to a recital by a visiting pianist or chamber group, and so on. Random selections of LPs from the thread-bare record bins in Timaru department stores also resulted in first encounters with many wonders.

Gradually the frequency of new discoveries diminished until those special encounters have now become rare. But last night’s inspiring performance of Georgy Sviridov’s Piano Trio in A Minor (1946/1955) was one such occasion. The three players of the Levansa Trio projected the music’s drama, colour and expression with such open-hearted commitment that it was the perfect introduction to this music. Back home I quickly found a superb recent recording online which I have now added to my collection (it’s playing as I write) but, fine as that recording is, it cannot compare to the experience of last night’s Levansa performance.

A few particularly distinctive moments deserve mention:
The exceptionally beautiful final section of the first movement Elegy was simply breathtaking, especially in the way that the musicians on stage found every last drop of its heart-lifting expressiveness. Then the energetic Scherzo began with virtuosic energy leading to a sweeping ending of overwhelming and unstoppable impetus. The following, exquisitely beautiful Funeral March, mixed tragedy with a degree of wistful romanticism and, in the fervently passionate and technically brilliant hands of the Levansa Trio, the final Idyll brought a sense of peace in the face of darkness – acceptance rather than regret. 

The Sviridov work ended this concert except for an encore – one of English composer Frank Bridge’s delightful miniatures for Piano Trio – and, while this was played with all the flair and joyousness of the whole programme, I couldn’t help thinking that I would have preferred to leave the hall with Sviridov lingering in my mind’s ear. Encores are rare in Christchurch, as we carefully ration our applause, but the enthusiasm of this concert’s audience demanded an exception.

The programme began with Beethoven’s first published work, the Piano Trio in E flat Major (1795) and, although we heard the same work played by another group in last year’s Christopher’s Classics series, the Levansa Trio’s performance had so much more of the “sunshine, humour and joy” that pianist Sarah Watkins mentioned in her brief welcome at the end of the piece. If I didn’t know that this trio was by Beethoven, I would have sworn it was by Haydn, especially in this vibrant and infectious performance. It certainly showed the influence of Beethoven’s illustrious teacher more than in his more innovative first three piano sonatas written around the same time, or the first string quartets of just a couple of years later.   

Bohuslav Martinů’s three-movement Piano Trio No. 2 in D Minor was another less familiar piece and, like Sviridov’s trio, it brought a degree of welcome revelation. I’ll be looking to hear this again soon too, especially for its brilliantly energetic and spectacular final Allegro, played here with such risk-taking abandon and vitality.
New Zealand composer Claire Cowan’s 2015 Ultraviolet proved an engaging opening to the second part of the concert. Its rhythmic liveliness and ear-catching harmonic shifts never allowed our attention to wander. The piano’s predominantly minimalistic character is nicely juxtaposed against the more evocative string contributions, although both the violin and cello parts are unable to resist occasional enticements to join the hypnotic rhythms led by the piano. Ultraviolet is a well-crafted and appealing work – a concisely structured piece whose repetitive rhythmic motifs never outstay their welcome.

But now – I can’t resist listening to that extraordinary Sviridov trio just one(?) more time . . .

Christopher's Classics - 17 July 2022: The Morton Trio 

Arna Morton – Violin; Alexander Morton – Horn; Liam Wooding – Piano

Reviewed by Tony Ryan

Three years ago we heard The Morton Trio in Brahms’ famous (and authentic) Horn Trio in a notably inspired performance. In this concert we heard another Brahms Trio which, while the composer never imagined it in this form, sounded just as authentic in an equally idiomatic performance.

Brahms’ B Major Trio was written for the standard piano trio combination of violin, cello and piano. For this concert, violinist Arna Morton transcribed the cello part for her horn-player husband, and I couldn’t help feeling that if Brahms heard Alex Morton’s gloriously soaring opening phrase, he would willingly have stipulated the horn as a valid alternative, just as he stipulated cello or viola as valid alternatives in his Horn Trio of fourteen years later. Brahms also set a further precedent when he stipulated the viola as an equally valid option in his two clarinet sonatas.
Apart from the realisation that this transcription puts the horn, for much of the first three movements, into the rather awkward key of F sharp major, I was also aware of a couple of other consequences. Most noticeable was the proportion of time that the horn is required to play in its lowest register. But the player was equally at home in all registers of his instrument. In Brahms’ actual Horn Trio, apart from a single pedal note near the end, the horn never descends into its bass clef range.

My other observation involves phrasing. Whereas, in that soaring opening phrase, Brahms requires the cellist to play each note with a separate bow as legato as possible, the horn achieves the same effect in a single arching phrase. Later in the work, there were a very few times when the need for a breath caused the occasional phrase ending to be ‘dropped’ slightly but, despite my usual aversion to inauthentic arrangements, Alex Morton and his fellow players gave us a very satisfying and convincing performance that needed no excuse, even if it meant that the horn was always dominant in a way that the cello isn’t. Even so, violinist Arna Morton brought the same tonal intensity to her playing that we’d already witnessed in the programme’s opening Sonata movement, and pianist Liam Wooding’s intuitive feel for imaginative phrasing and tonal colour in response to his colleagues’ music-making was consistently beguiling.

Brahms’ Scherzo from the so-called F.A.E. Violin Sonata, written the year before the Trio, was the perfect opening to this generous and appealing programme. The movement’s catchy melodic and rhythmic qualities enabled both Arna Morton and Liam Wooding to establish their credentials as soloists of real personality, with an ability to easily project the essential character and expression of the music to the listener.

Schumann’s Adagio & Allegro for Horn and Piano may not be among the composer’s greatest music, but in a live performance of such flair and character, it proved another excellent choice in this very well-planned programme.
The first of the two Brahms major works ended part one of the concert. Arna Morton’s opening statement of the G Major Violin Sonata was simply exquisite in its touching and under-stated expressiveness. Brahms’ first Violin Sonata is truly magical, with all three movements demonstrating the composer’s deeply expressive Romanticism at its best, and providing the players with infinite opportunities to find its many instances of heart-felt revelation. Both players were able to bring something fresh to this music and, although Arna Morton tended to play for the moment, relishing the music’s every inspiration, Liam Wooding’s ability to convey a sense of each movement’s structure and direction made their collaboration complementary.

The Morton Trio called their programme Metamorphosis, clearly a reference to the transcription of the Brahms B Major Trio around which the concert was planned, and its also worth mentioning the very engagingly written programme notes in the printed programme – personal and unpretentious without any of the academic austerity that we’re too often patronised with.  
     
One final observation – for the second half of the concert, and for the first time in my experience, the venue’s acoustic screens were lowered around the upper walls of both stage and auditorium. This had no detrimental effect on the opulence and tonal variety of the instrumental sound, but the reverberation time was certainly reduced. Perhaps this feature could have a more beneficial effect on spoken-word events, but I think The Piano’s undamped wood panelling is more helpful and dynamic for unamplified music performances.
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Repertoire for the combination of violin, horn and piano is certainly rather limited, but I hope the members of The Morton Trio will put their thinking caps on and return to Christopher’s Classics in the not-too-distant future, especially when their music-making is as consistently captivating as in this concert.
Christopher's Classics - 28 June: NZ Chamber Soloists
Lara Hall (violin), James Tennant (cello), Katherine Austin (piano)
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Reviewed by Tony Ryan 

Apart from the Poco adagio from Dvořák’s F Minor Piano Trio played movingly by NZ Chamber Soloists as an encore in memory of the late Christopher Marshall, there was nothing familiar on this programme; nothing to grasp as a pivot from which to reach out into four works which most of us are not acquainted with.

For me the highlight was certainly Jenny McLeod’s Dark Bright Night, a short movement full of contrasts, with passages of exuberant joyousness giving way to dance-like episodes and moments of wistful nostalgia. This work was commissioned by NZ Chamber Soloists as part of their 7 x 7 project to commission seven NZ women composers to each write a seven-minute piece for piano trio. Jenny McLeod’s Dark Bright Night was the one piece in this concert that I look forward to hearing again, and it bodes well for a fascinating project that I also look forward to hearing when complete.

I couldn’t help noticing an interesting textural similarity between a few bars of McLeod’s work and the opening of the other piece on the programme by a woman composer, where the piano plays a unison phrase a couple of octaves apart; a distinctive and ear-catching technique. But there any similarity with Rebecca Clarke’s 1921 Piano Trio in E flat minor ends. While McLeod’s Dark Bright Night was full of characterful invention and individuality, Clarke’s Trio was pleasant and engaging without projecting any distinctively personal ‘voice’. Pianist Katherine Austin talked about the piece’s ‘English countryside’ atmosphere and its sense of loss after the war. I failed to hear any real English countryside reference in this music and, although there are moments of evident despair in Rebecca Clarke’s musical vocabulary, its general style seems rather derived from her contemporaries such as Bridge and Stanford; and there is also a definite influence of Ravel (did I hear an almost direct quote in the first movement, from Ravel’s String Quartet?), when impressionist harmonies and timbres rise to the surface before reverting back to more traditional tonal sonorities. 

Chinese-American composer Bright Sheng’s Four Movements for Piano Trio (1990) certainly demonstrated his Chinese background with some exquisitely refined sonorities – at times some of the strings’ delicate harmonics sounded so like a Chinese flute that the effect was quite uncanny. The range of string sonorities contributed significantly to the Chinese influence and even the piano played its part, with the player occasionally reaching inside and plucking the strings. On a first hearing these pieces had a certain novelty value, although I can’t say that I’m particularly eager to hear them again.

NZ Chamber Soloists’ programme had originally listed a work by another Chinese composer, Gao Ping, whose music has made a much more significant impact on me in the past than the Four Movements by Bright Sheng. But Gao Ping’s work was one of the casualties of a change of programme announced after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine at the end of February. The other casualty was Shostakovich’s Piano Trio No. 1 which might well have provided the linchpin that this concert needed as a reference-point for so much unfamiliar fare. Although not heard as often as his Trio No. 2, it’s a work of considerable appeal and youthful confidence; full of the same quirky originality found in the composer’s First Symphony which launched him to prominence as a nineteen-year-old. 

In his introduction to Arno Babajanian’s Piano Trio in F sharp minor (1952) as the replacement for the Shostakovich Trio, cellist James Tennant drew our attention to the reason for the change as “events made certain works unsuitable”. In the event Babajanian’s Piano Trio proved an agreeable enough substitution. I particularly enjoyed the vitality and tunefulness of the final movement but, overall, this music emerges as watered-down Khachaturian, never quite daring to match that composer’s willingness to share his emotions openly and honestly in a way that makes his ballets and concertos so memorable and exciting.
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NZ Chamber Soloists played this work, as they did all the music on the programme, with their usual technical brilliance and commitment. But it was a programme that took no prisoners and needed that central, resonant choice of repertoire to ground us for so much that was unfamiliar.

Christopher's Classics - 2 June: NZ String Quartet

Reviewed by Tony Ryan 

If cultured refinement, tonal blend, superior technical polish and a carefully controlled expressive palette are your criteria for musical perfection, then the New Zealand String Quartet will easily fulfil your requirements. But, for me, as often with this ensemble, something more is needed.

I’ve attended numerous NZSQ performances over the years – Beethoven, Bartók, Dvořák, Farr and so many others – but the one that sticks most firmly in my memory is the quartet’s contribution, some fifteen-or-so years ago, to a theatrical adaption of Tolstoy’s The Kreutzer Sonata when their performance of Janáček’s quartet of that name was presented in an extraordinary out-of-the-comfort-zone presentation with all four musicians, even cellist Rolf Gjelsten, playing as they moved energetically around the stage area in a performance of riveting vitality and expressive abandon.

These days, the quartet has settled on a concert formula that prioritises the more restrained attributes that I’ve listed above, supported by a carefully crafted stage tableau of elegant salon-style evening dress, and with the cellist on a raised platform to match the standing positions of the other three players.

To be fair, there was one component of this programme that I found notably more engaging and inspiring. William Walton’s Quartet in A minor (1946) is, as Rolf Gjelsten told us, not often heard. He also talked about its more Romantic spirit compared to Walton’s cinematic and other music of the 1940s. However, the lively second movement struck me for its similarity of spirit to the agitato and con malizia (with malice) sections of the composer’s First Symphony of ten years earlier. And here NZSQ played with the sort of unrestrained attack that I missed in other parts of the programme, and they also demonstrated their ability to match and respond to one another’s spontaneity with an intuitive vitality of expression that, although impressively disciplined, came across as less carefully controlled than elsewhere. 

Caution was also discarded in the equally energetic final movement. Here we were very much in the world of Belshazzar’s Feast (1931) with hints of that cantata’s passages of rollicking debauchery and heedless joie-de-vivre in the face of heavenly judgement, and the NZQS’s performance proved an uplifting end to the concert.

The opening bars of Haydn’s String Quartet Op. 20, No. 4 that began the evening immediately established NZQS’s penchant for mellow, blended sonorities and elegant phrasing. The surface sheen on the sound detracted to an extent from the classical grittiness of the music. I sensed little zingarese in the third movement and, overall, the contrasting expressive points of one of Haydn’s more deeply serious quartets were somewhat evened out.
Among Shostakovich’s fifteen string quartets, No. 2 in A Major is one of those half-dozen-or-so that I am most familiar with and which I listen to most often. And, while it was the work on the programme that I was most eagerly anticipating, the performance didn’t quite live up to expectations. Although I was glad of the opportunity to hear it performed live for the first time, and while I admired NZQS’s committed and involved performance, in the end it was the Walton quartet that emerged as this concert’s most welcome revelation.
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The New Zealand String Quartet is possibly the most regular ensemble to feature in the Christopher’s Classics series. I know that the group was a favourite of Christopher Marshall who died in April, so it was appropriate that NZSQ dedicated this concert to him, and reminded us all of how much we owe to a man who has enriched our lives with his support of New Zealand musicians for twenty-seven years. Long may the series continue under the guidance of the dedicated organisers whose loyalty and commitment Christopher inspired.

Christopher's Classics - 5 May: Darroch/Cowan Duo
Hannah Darroch (flute); Steve Cowan (guitar)

Reviewed by Tony Ryan 

Towards the end of this concert, flautist* Hannah Darroch thanked us for “taking a risk” by attending an unfamiliar instrumental pairing of unfamiliar music. In the event it was a risk worth taking, with such a variety of musical styles, resonances and technical dexterity that, dare I say surprisingly, an hour-and-a-half of flute and guitar unfailingly held our attention and never wore thin in terms of what I had feared could be a certain uniformity of texture and timbre. In fact, the range of both of those aspects of both the music and its performance was a kaleidoscope of colourful diversity.

If the opening work on the programme, Argentinian composer Osvaldo Golijov’s Fish Tale (1998), remained my personal highlight of the evening, it had the beneficial effect of fully engaging us with the inventiveness of the works that followed. But Fish Tale was a delight! The players’ printed notes gave us some initial guidance as to the music’s surface programme, but its expressive content was more deeply convincing. The “sounds of an African thumb piano”, and the wind, and the tornado, were all clearly audible, but these superficial encounters were simply the ‘hooks’ on which the composer hung a wide range of emotional associations, ending with a soulful waltz of exceptional beauty and wistfulness. Throughout this piece, the variety of colours and techniques required by Golijov’s seemingly endless musical and imaginative invention was fully realised by the two players. The composer used so much timbral contrast – flutter-tonguing, note bending, percussive sounds, harmonics, and so much more –  that I wondered if there were any other possibilities until some of the works that followed introduced us to guitar strums above the fret-board, and did I hear a few vocal effects in Katherine Hoover’s Canyon Echoes (1991) with its references to indigenous Apache culture, and Robert Beaser’s Mountain Songs (1985)?

Four pieces written in the 1980s by another Argentinian, Astor Piazzolla, came closest to anything really familiar on the programme. The two Tango Études for solo flute struck me as less characteristic of what I know by this composer, but the Campero for solo guitar and Café 1930 for flute and guitar conveyed that distinctive nostalgia, almost as if the musicians are playing for themselves – expressing their own private feelings – rather than for an audience. This bracket made me aware of the predominantly intimate and subtly nuanced nature of so much of the music chosen by these two musicians; there were certainly extended moments of extrovert virtuosity and technical brilliance, but the overall impression as I left the concert-hall was one of introspection, at times almost melancholy. 
I first became aware of the music of U.S. composer Joan Tower in 1999 when I heard a recording of her Concerto for Orchestra. Always on the lookout for new works that seem to have something special to say, I quicky went out and bought the recording on an album entitled Fanfares for the Uncommon Woman which also contains five very effective pieces with that title. Her Snow Dreams (1983) for flute and guitar, although played evocatively by Hannah Darroch and Steve Cowan, didn’t have quite the same enlightening effect, but it’s certainly a piece I’d like to hear again in light of my admiration for this composer.

By the end of the concert I was becoming aware of a certain ‘sameness’ in the timbre of the standard flute but, throughout the programme, monotony was avoided by Hannah Darroch’s (and the composers’) use of piccolo and alto flute for several of the pieces. No such alternatives were needed from Steve Cowan on guitar as he demonstrated an infinite variety of articulation and changing colours on his instrument. Both musicians proved themselves to be masters of their respective instruments and also masters of a consistent musical communication that made the “risk” very worthwhile.
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*Although in her notes and spoken comments Darroch used the French-derived term ‘flutist’, most commonly used in North America, I personally prefer the Italian-derived ‘flautist’ that became the fully accepted English term for a flute-player during the nineteenth century.

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Christopher’s Classics 2022 - 21 April: NZTrio
Amalia Hall (violin), Ashley Brown (cello) and Somi Kim (piano) 

Reviewed by Tony Ryan 

Schumann’s Sech Stücke in Kanonischer Form (Six Pieces in Canonic Form) are slight in content and comparatively little-known, but in the hands of NZTrio the two movements that opened this programme were pure delight. The way in which the players allowed the music to flow with detailed, but seemingly intuitive spontaneity, was simply exquisite. Every phrase was lovingly caressed as one player handed the lead to another in turn, setting the tone for the superlative music-making that we enjoyed throughout the whole concert.

The première of Michael Norris’s newly commissioned Horizon Fields was far less easy to assimilate on a first hearing. Norris frequently uses works of art for inspiration and, in this case, Antony Gormley’s installation Horizon Field Hamburg was the composer’s stimulus. Fortunately, before this concert I took the trouble to watch some of the videos of this artwork on YouTube. I did wonder how such a work, featuring an enormous lacquer-coated steel platform suspended seven metres above the ground could be represented in music; but there it was – instantly and recognisably embodied in sound! Gormley’s piece is interactive, allowing viewers to walk on it and to experience the vibrations and movements of others walking/sitting/standing on the platform. In Michael Norris’s conception it was almost as if the players were responding involuntarily to one another’s ‘movements’; for example, a flourish from the piano would trigger a shimmer on one of the string instruments which was then echoed by the other as a ripple-effect. I overheard a comment that the music seemed like little more than a series of sound-effects, but familiarity with Gormley’s original artwork certainly makes the music far more logical and meaningful. However, that makes me wonder if the visual aspect of Gormley’s work is an essential adjunct to fully appreciating Norris’s music. The composer has, after all, retained the essence of Gormley’s title, and the length of the piece, despite its wide variety of novel effects and techniques, would certainly have worn a little thin if I hadn’t prepared myself so fully. It’s worth commenting that, in one of the videos I watched, a group of people were moving in unison on the platform with rhythmic, repetitive, and apparently choreographed movements, and I couldn’t help wishing that something of that more rhythmic quality could also have been represented in Norris’s work. Even so, NZTrio gave a performance that demonstrated total commitment to and affinity with the music. Their flair, collaboration and expressive skills certainly made the very most of this new work. 

The first part of the programme ended with a three-movement Trio written in 1998 by Nikolai Kapustin (1937-2020). Considerable technical and stylistic demands were very much in evidence throughout this work, but the vitality of its effervescent jazz style made for very enjoyable listening. If the listening was easier here, the playing certainly wasn’t. The virtuosity demonstrated by NZTrio in Kapustin’s Trio was simply astonishing. Once again, their affinity and commitment were convincingly communicated and, in comparison to the previous works, the change in stylistic body language, particularly from cellist Ashley Brown, was infectious. And NZTrio seemed to have dressed for this work – the sophistication and elegance of the two women’s clothes required only cigarette holders and champagne glasses to complete the visual picture in support of the composer’s inventive take on 1920s American jazz styles.
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Then, a change in dress to match Ashley Brown’s already more colourful apparel seemed to bring added flamboyance to part two of the programme which was devoted to Beethoven’s great Archduke Trio; and what an extraordinary difference this exceptional performance was compared to another interpretation we heard last year by another ensemble. Whereas last year I commented that “tranquillity and refinement seemed to be prioritised over projecting the work’s inherent passionate expressiveness”, in this performance we experienced Beethoven’s inspiration with total conviction, considerable risk-taking and inspired abandon. But polish and precision are never absent when the three members of NZTrio are so intuitively attuned to one another. If the letter of this great score was always followed, it was enhanced by a spirit of genuine insight with notably expressive phrasing and all the shades of dynamics between the written fortes and the pianos. The whispered playing by the strings in the pizzicato section of the first movement’s development, accompanied by the subtlest of dancing pianissimo trills from the piano, was breathtakingly magical; and the timing of the transition from the adagio ending of the third movement to the dancing allegro of the finale was so perfectly judged that the entire fourth movement had an exceptionally uplifting effect.

Christchurch audiences are rather economical with their applause and, while no encore would have added anything to this concert, NZTrio need to know that our response was internally rapturous, if less outwardly demonstrative than they deserved. And thank you Christopher’s Classics for regularly bringing this ‘National Treasure’ to our concert stage
Christopher’s Classics 2022 - 1 April
Will King (baritone) and David Codd (piano)

Reviewed by Tony Ryan 

Wellington fog, rather than Covid-19, caused a glitch in the opening of the 2022 season of Christopher’s Classics, delaying the concert by twenty-four hours until the musicians could travel. The Christopher’s Classics series is a real Christchurch treasure and tonight’s programme was especially notable for being the 2022 season’s annual concert to feature a rising star in honour of Christopher Marshall, the series’ founder and driving force. 
New Zealand baritone Will King and pianist David Codd presented a recital that was, by any standard, an astonishing achievement overall. The twenty-six-year-old singer regaled us with twenty-seven songs (more if you count Britten’s Songs and Proverbs separately) with such variety of expression, total affinity with everything on the programme, and entirely from memory!

Francis Poulenc’s 1957 song cycle Le Travail du Peintre, which embodies responses to the works of seven twentieth century painters, could hardly be described as a gentle warm-up at the start of a recital, but Will King and David Codd came on stage and launched into the first song Pablo Picasso with an uplifting vitality that was maintained right to the end of their recital of French and English songs. In this first set, King demonstrated his fluent and easy legato and an ability to communicate the detail of the text rather than the generalised expression that young singers can often rely on. As yet, the voice itself can’t be pinned down as being, say, ‘dark’ or ‘rich’ or ‘light’, with different registers changing in tonal quality, partly as a result of the singer’s expression, partly because of a still developing technique.

With the lid of the grand piano fully raised (thankfully), David Codd immediately established himself as an equal partner in the duo, fully justifying his self-description as a ‘collaborative’ pianist, as opposed to ‘accompanist’. And, while it’s the singer in such a partnership that more easily demands our focus, the musical input of both performers was very evident throughout the evening. Codd’s ability to underline and share in King’s expressive variety with contrasts of light and shade and colour, made for very engaging and convincing music-making.

Benjamin Britten’s Songs and Proverbs of William Blake are not for the faint-hearted from both the audience and performers’ point-of-view. Written for the great Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau in 1965, few singers have managed to come close to his classic recording with the composer at the piano. That such a young singer could carry it off so convincingly as Will King did, is remarkable to say the least. In his spoken introduction to the cycle, King professed it to be his favourite song cycle “of all time”, and then went on to demonstrate such a fluid and natural-sounding interpretation that it made me want to hear him do it all over again. His Tyger may not have darted quite as furtively through the forest as Fischer-Dieskau’s, nor did his Fly dance as elusively, or his Sun-flower burst so spontaneously into bloom, but he faced the late baritone’s challenge with such youthful, almost naïve, self-assurance that the whole cycle came to life in a way that I simply had not expected. I look forward to hearing Will King explore this work again as his artistry matures. 

In the Britten, David Codd complemented King’s interpretation to the full without quite matching the composer’s own improvisatory quality and rhythmic ambiguity; and he also seemed to miss Britten’s way of making that final F Major chord sound surprising, beautiful, and even witty.

The second part of the programme comprised, in the singer’s words, “lighter” fare, and, while Roger Quilter’s early cycle To Julia (1905) fell pleasingly enough on the ear with its easy harmonic language and unchallenging expressive style, it failed, unlike the Poulenc and Britten works, to provide anything truly memorable to take away from this recital. King made the most of the six songs’ pretty, if ephemeral, melodies, but this music doesn’t manage to enhance Robert Herrick’s poems to any notable degree.

Ravel’s Two Hebrew Songs brought a return to something much more original, and Will King projected the eastern melodic and stylistic features idiomatically and effectively, even if a certain sameness of expression was now beginning to creep in as the voice tired a little.

If Gerald Finzi’s Let Us Garlands Bring delves more deeply into Shakespeare’s texts, with engaging harmonic invention and expressive contrasts, than Quilter’s settings do into Herrick’s, this final group of songs on tonight’s programme have an almost drawing-room sophistication and restraint that, for me, doesn’t match Shakespeare’s more down-to-earth contexts. Even so, Will King and David Codd maintained our engagement with their forthright and communicative stage presence and we left the concert hall well satisfied, even if it was the Poulenc and Britten works that provided the most memorable takeaway fare.