Christopher’s Classics – 28 November 2020
Michael Houstoun
Reviewed by Tony Ryan

Michael Houstoun’s rather matter-of-fact stage manner belied the heart-melting projection of the opening bars of Bach’s keyboard Partita No. 4 in D. From that point on, Houstoun’s ability to convey the essence of Bach’s expressive range regardless of the outwardly restrictive forms of the movements of the Baroque suite, radiated from every phrase.

For once, in a live performance of a Bach keyboard work, it was that expressive ingredient that dominated Saturday night’s performance for me. In the livelier Courant and Gigue movements, the pianist’s exceptionally impressive textural clarity and technical dexterity were always at the service of the ‘heart’ of the music; and his intuition for contrasts of emotion and insights into the composer’s intellectual range emerged with a feeling of spontaneity and seeming inevitability. Michael Houstoun never used the power or dynamic possibilities of the modern concert grand piano to make a point or to emphasise his own perceptions of the music; he simply let the music speak for itself in a way that only a musician of his calibre can achieve.

But the wonders of the Partita that opened this programme hardly prepared us for the Chaconne which followed. Here again, we heard a performance of such naturalness and simplicity in its presentation that it’s difficult to know where to allocate the credit between Bach, Busoni and Houstoun. This Chaconne from Bach’s Partita No. 2 for solo violin has long been central to the repertoire of every violinist of note but, as Michael Houstoun points out in his very personal and helpful programme notes, Busoni’s transcription is equally beloved by pianists. 

If Houstoun’s performance of the fourth Partita transmitted the expressive, spiritual and intellectual essence of Bach, Busoni takes that a step further. The later composer doesn’t ‘intervene’ in Bach’s creation so much as simply reveal what he hears and feels in it himself. All of us, with the hindsight of all the music that we now know from beyond Bach’s time and place in history, inevitably hear his music differently and with wider resonances than his contemporaries. Busoni simply helps us to see further inside the extraordinary world of this astonishing masterpiece. If, again, the benefits of the modern concert grand were unknown to Bach, Busoni is able to use it to reveal more of the visionary qualities than the actual written notes imply; and Houstoun then adds, without overstatement, his own life-experience and perception in a way that brings us even closer to the marvels and spirituality of this piece.

For myself and many others, Michael Houstoun’s Beethoven has long been a peak of the life-enhancing experience that music and art can give us. But, if the Beethoven performances in this concert didn’t quite reach the heights of the Bach pieces in the first part of the programme, they remain significant interpretations of music that many of us have known as long as the player himself. 

As a listener, the Hammerklavier Sonata was one of my earliest attempts to get to grips with Beethoven’s less easily assimilated works. Its great Adagio Sostenuto struck me from the start as a vast landscape whose special beauties are highlighted by the rugged and misty terrain of its surrounding lower reaches. In singling out this movement from the rest of this biggest of Beethoven’s sonatas, Michael Houstoun highlighted these peaks even more, and I know from conversations with others in this audience, that, for them, this was the programme’s highlight. 

But personally, like the famous Waldstein Sonata that followed, I wondered if Houstoun’s deep immersion in Bach in recent years led to a performance that tried to ‘let the music speak for itself’ in the same way that made the Bach pieces so special. For me, the pianist’s approach to Beethoven’s dramatic contrasts of tempi and dynamics were less overt than I have become used to; this music seems to demand more input of the player’s personality in quite a different way than in Bach. Whereas Bach’s keyboards were far less capable of dynamic and expressive contrasts compared to Beethoven’s, especially by the time he wrote the Hammerklavier, the later composer is known to have made the fullest possible use, as both a player and a composer, of the rapidly developing range and capabilities of the piano.
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Even so, this was certainly a concert to treasure and remember.
Christopher’s Classics – 7 October 2020
NZTrio
Reviewed by Tony Ryan

If more evidence were needed to support NZTrio’s biographical catch-cry of being described as a “National Treasure” in the NZ Herald, this final concert in the 2020 Christopher’s Classics series in Christchurch confirmed that claim beyond question.  This was simply one of those concerts where the music-making had an honesty, a charisma and a sense of making every detail count towards the essence of each work’s expressive potential.

It’s a long time since I last listened to Beethoven’s early trios, but with Op. 1, No. 3 in C minor, NZTrio reminded us that there is wonderful music in this composer’s other piano trios besides the perennial Archduke and Ghost examples. The three players seemed to have a totally natural rapport that enabled them to find so much variety of expression in this piece that it emerged as a true masterpiece.  Expressive phrasing from all three musicians engaged our attention throughout the performance. If pianist Somi Kim allowed herself just a little too much rubato and a degree of indulgent romanticism in her touch in the first movement, the more robustly classical approach from the two string players brought out the full impact of Beethoven’s innovative style.

All three players found the fullest imaginable range of humour, pathos and power as required in each of the four movements, and Kim’s easy and consummate technique came into its own, especially in the variations of the second movement and the prestissimo Finale.

Cellist Ashley Brown then introduced the second work on the programme after talking about celebrating the Beethoven anniversary in all of NZTrio’s 2020 concerts, and the group’s gratitude for being able to get back in front of live audiences after the months of restrictions. We in the audience couldn’t have agreed more.
The following two shorter works in the first half of the evening, along with the opening piece in the second half, were all new, or new to me and, I dare say, to the majority of the audience.

Greek-Canadian composer Christos Hatzis’s Old Photographs comes from a multi-movement work called Constantinople written for varying musical combinations. This piano trio movement proved a total delight. Ashley Brown’s spoken introduction mentioned the influence of South American, Piazzolla-like tangos, and that was certainly a recognisable connection when it occurred. But, after the four opening chords, right from the start, a certain Argentinian influence was evident. Those four opening chords need some comment because, as soon as Somi Kim played the first two, I knew what the next two would be, and I realised that they are identical, albeit in a different key and with different figuration, to the opening chord sequence (distinctive because of its use of a sharpened chord VII) of César Franck’s Prelude, Chorale and Fugue for piano, and I wondered if this was a deliberate reference on Hatzis’s part?

Irrespective of all that, this was hugely appealing music which, like a lot of recent avant-garde-resistant music, almost bordered on a derivative crossover style. However, the writing for the instruments is so inventive and so full of vitality, and when given a performance of such abandoned virtuosity and commitment as we got from NZTrio, it becomes totally convincing, genuinely exciting and absolutely stunning in its effect. Going to YouTube to hear it again the following day, I found that none of the performances quite matched the brilliance, spontaneity and flair of NZTrio. Their sun-drenched languor in the opening section led into a seductive and steamy tango which then morphed into a frenzied, almost delirious wild-dance before exhaustion brought back the indolence of the opening to close this extraordinarily hypnotic piece.    

I should also mention that an element of real glamour featured in the clothes worn by the players in this concert. Apart from the welcome move away from the more traditional and usually dreadfully uninspiring concert attire, the more colourful variants that appeared on stage for this concert seemed to genuinely enhance the colour and vitality of the music. Made for the group especially for this tour by New Zealand designer Liz Mitchell, the visual effect was extremely successful. While the two women’s dresses were beautifully effective, it was Ashley Brown’s long striped coat that made the biggest visual splash. For the Beethoven it almost took on a period costume connotation, but for the Hatzis it really came into its own, lending colour and exoticism to those same qualities in the music. 

The Hatzis piece was a very hard act to follow for a newly commissioned work by New Zealand composer Salina Fisher. After Old Photographs persuaded us to abandon ourselves to the easy pleasures of music that so readily appeals to our senses, Fisher’s Kintsugi demanded our more determined engagement and intellect. The piece was played with the same commitment and belief in the music as we’d just experienced and, while the sonorities, textures and structural cohesion of the piece were clear and well-crafted, this is music that needs repeated hearings to reveal its full expressive intent. The subtle use of Japanese scalic devices came through in several places and the composer’s ability to balance delicate sonorities against one another from each of the three instruments was impressively evident. I look forward to further opportunities to hear this piece.

After the interval the trio returned to the stage wearing different, but no less effective, examples of Liz Mitchell’s designs and, as expected, began to tune. Seeming to tire of the string players’ fussiness over their tuning, pianist Somi Kim began to riff. Violinist Amalia Hall soon joined in and, eventually, after further tuning over the riff, so did Ashley Brown, and thus Dinuk Wijeratne’s Love Triangle began. Again, I couldn’t resist checking it out on YouTube where I found the Gryphon Trio’s world premiere video of the piece, and I have to say that NZTrio’s way with this unusual opening, as with the whole piece, was notably more effective and convincing.

Love Triangle is another work by a Canadian composer; this time Sri Lankan-Canadian. And again, the influence of wider cultural styles plays a significant part. It was another particularly appealing piece, although its longer duration made it less of a sugar-hit than the Hatzis movement. NZTrio made the most of its dynamic and textural variety, and especially its rhythmic elements which they played with a naturalness and ease that belied its complexity. 
To end the programme, Ravel’s gorgeous Piano Trio in A minor could not have received a more convincing and idiomatic performance. The work’s exotic and colourful Spanish-Basque-French-Impressionist mix and Ravel’s magician-like mastery of instrumental effects and technical wizardry were all presented to consummate effect by NZTrio. 

Parts of this work rely on absolute perfection of intonation, ensemble and timbral unity. All of these factors were comprehensively mastered by the players, not to mention their awe-inspiring technical prowess which was always totally at the service of the music.
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Although not everything in the 2020 season of Christopher’s Classics went fully to plan in this unusual year, the series still managed six excellent concerts with only one replacement, a couple of reschedules and, of course, two or three with limited numbers and social distancing. Although I missed one of the concerts because of the rescheduling, I have no hesitation in choosing NZTrio’s concert as the year’s highlight of the series. This was music-making of the highest calibre, long to be remembered. 
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Christopher’s Classics – 3 September 2020
Aroha Quartet with Robert Orr
Reviewed by Tony Ryan
Comparisons may be odious, but as someone who attends so many live concerts, I can’t help referring to my most memorable musical encounters as benchmarks in the search for similarly uplifting experiences. So, while this concert from the Aroha String Quartet with oboist Robert Orr may not have equalled the best of those we have heard in the Christopher’s Classics series in recent times, there was still much to enjoy.
Inevitably, Beethoven’s great Rasumovsky Quartet Op. 59, No. 1 in F Major stood out as the glorious centrepiece of the programme. The Aroha Quartet made the most of all the effects and beauties of the four movements, with many telling contrasts of dynamics and articulation impressively communicated. If their polished ensemble and internal balance didn’t quite match those of the New Zealand String Quartet, whom we’ve twice heard playing Beethoven in this series recently, the Aroha’s greater sense of spontaneity and flair were notable features of their performance. The expressive slow movement in particular had a committed and effective emotional clout. These players’ approach to the faster movements tended towards the cheerful rather than the more unsettled intensity that some groups find in this music, but such a masterpiece has many facets and it’s always gratifying to discover a new perspective in a long-familiar work.
The programme was bookended by two works which featured the principal oboist of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra. I well remember Robert Orr’s first appearances with the NZSO where his contributions on Cor Anglais brought some very classy solo playing which was symptomatic of the orchestra’s development as it rose to its current international reputation. In that orchestral context Robert Orr’s playing still retains an easy and natural sense of phrasing and expression and, while that was also evident in this concert, the repertoire for oboe is less grateful in the chamber context.
Benjamin Britten’s early Phantasy Quartet for Oboe and Strings is an appealing movement and, although it may not be among the composer’s greatest works, some very well-known pieces followed in a very few years. The string writing here reminded me very much of the instrumental character of his opera Albert Herring of fifteen years later, but the oboe part seemed uncharacteristic of Britten’s later, confident and highly memorable melodic flair. Almost inevitably, the oboe takes on a more soloistic role in combination with three string instruments, but all four musicians brought commitment and character to the rather lightweight nature of this music.
I’m not going to pretend that I got much out of Alex Taylor’s Refrain for String Quartet on a first hearing. However, listening to it again today on YouTube, from a slightly earlier incarnation of the Aroha Quartet, it seems to assume a more structural and expressive logic. Even during the concert, the music’s wide range of articulation and effects was very obvious, from extremes of range and dynamics to harmonics, multiple stops, sul ponticello and much else; a second hearing makes all this seem much more integrated into the expressive fabric of the piece. Even so, this is music for the inner circle of musically informed aficionados; not ‘music for the people’ in the way that the majority of composers, past and present, intended their works. It’s easy enough to search out dismissive contemporary reviews of music we now consider to be masterpieces, but those are very much the exception. Let’s not forget that almost every great composer from the past was popular and considerably feted in their own lifetimes; witness the funeral processions of Beethoven and Verdi as (perhaps extreme) examples. For my own part, repeated listenings to Refrain for String Quartet certainly brings greater understanding and appreciation, but I remain unmoved.
To end the programme, Robert Orr re-joined the full quartet for Sir Arthur Bliss’s 1927 Quintet for Oboe and Strings. The programme notes mention Richard Strauss, Stravinsky, Schönberg and Korngold as audible influences on this music, but all I could hear was Delius. And, like Delius, although this style evidently strikes a decisive chord with the English psyche, it seems to me that it loses most of its appeal and relevance the further it travels from the shores of Dear Old Blighty. Performance-wise, again, the oboe takes on the role of soloist among the five players, but Bliss’s oboe writing also includes a significant amount of doubling with the first violin. Generally, it all came across as lively or nostalgic by turns in another committed performance from these accomplished musicians.

Christopher’s Classics – 27 August 2020
Tennant-Austin Duo plays Beethoven, Psathas and Chopin
Reviewed by Patrick Shepherd

​As the lifeblood slowly starts to trickle back into our cultural scene, the proclamation on the programme that, “The busiest lives deserve beautiful music,” had even more meaning for a city starved of live music for nearly six months. In the strange times that we find ourselves, this concert was like pouring water onto the parched earth. James Tennant and Katherine Austin were the ideal tonic we all needed to reconnect to the music we love so much, even if we were all socially distancing, seated well apart. It was also a fitting acknowledgement to the years of generous sponsorship that Christopher and Jilly Marshall have given to the Arts, helping chamber music thrive in the region. The Duo’s rendition of the third movement of Rachmaninov’s Cello Sonata as an encore was a moving and heartfelt tribute to two people who have been so passionate and magnanimous in their support in bringing top players to play for us. 
The programme was a delight, all linked with Austin’s lively commentary, but Tennant chipped in on occasion, too. Like this engaging pair of fine musicians, Beethoven’s Cello Sonata no.3 in A major is more of an equal partnership – certainly more so than his earlier offerings – and as the threads unwound from the simple opening melodic statement  the Duo worked hard at maintaining those equal voices. I loved how they tackled Beethoven’s quirky rhythmic stresses, delicate without labouring the point but then breaking out with sudden flourishes, and Austin’s fine filigree in the ornamentation here was spot on. It all came together in the sustained opening of the third movement, Tennant bringing an airy simplicity which soon revved up into the bristling quick finish. Austin was careful to ensure that Beethoven’s sometimes heavily-scored bass notes never encroached on the cello line. The pair made sure that this never rested, the relentless drive and energy pushing it on, each player getting plenty of opportunities to relish the expressive rhapsodic bridges that link the sections. It is worthy of mention that for both this and the later Chopin, Tennant played flawlessly entirely from memory.
Call me biased but I was always going to be hanging out for John Psathas’ Halo. Having not seen him in ages I was sad to hear the backstory of this work (the decline and death of his mother) but so delighted to hear what was a profound piece of writing. The first movement (Red Halo) had strong meditative elements, heightened by electronic augmentation and the players created a wonderfully warm sense of space, while always keeping that sense of pulse somewhere in the mix, that trademark that pervades much of Psathas’ work. Tennant made the most of the sonorous cello line in the second movement (Stacia) while Austin provided the minimalist rhythmic framework, that rippling ostinato helping create so many subtle textures that I found myself not discriminating between the two players at all. Of course, no Psathas work would be complete without the intense busy that he lives his life by, and the third movement (Angelus) was all of that and more. The Duo never let up in this emotionally-charged and exciting piece, one of the most glorious effects coming with Tennant shimmering away on tremolandi while Austin provided a backdrop of dissonant chords. The Duo brought the whole thing to a powerful and chaotic climax but the mesmeric aftermath was a thing of real beauty and resolution.
Occupying the second half, Chopin’s painfully autobiographical Cello Sonata in G minor just kept raising the bar. While the cello certainly has plenty to do, it is the piano that provides the fulcrum for the work, yet Austin made sure that, again, the partnership was an equal one, handling the arabesques and curlicues (Chopin, I daresay unable to resist the temptation to allow himself the chance to shine) with aplomb while never shining an undue shadow over Tennant. In the slow movement the Duo provided an excellent contrast between the scherzo and more expansive Allegro con brio, always with a keen ear for the darker colours to come through. Rather like the Beethoven, the third movement – a simple melodic exposition with the directness of one of the composer’s nocturnes or preludes – was notable for superfine and sensitive playing and I scrambled to get my ideas down towards the end as I had simply gone off into a daydream, momentarily forgetting I had a job to do! Maintaining their focus and stamina, the Duo delivered a stunningly good final Allegro, the technical demands coming thick and fast but dispatched with the ease and brilliance that shone through in what was a first class evening.

Christopher’s Classics – 20 August 2020
The NZ String Quartet plays Beethoven Late Quartets
Reviewed by Tony Ryan

​Beethoven’s late quartets are the bane of my life!
It seems that knowing and loving all of Beethoven’s symphonies, concertos and piano sonatas, and even the earlier string quartets, is no guarantee that these last five works in the quartet genre will easily give up their secrets. I don’t think there is any music that I’ve spent so much time and effort trying to bend into submission – they just keep playing extremely hard-to-get. Occasional live encounters along with countless playings of the many recorded versions on my shelves, from the Quartetto Italiano and the Alban Berg Quartet’s two recordings, to the Lindsay, Belcea, Tokyo and Takáks Quartets, still return frustratingly little reward. No scores come down from my bookcase as often as these highly esteemed works, and stories of Stravinsky’s uncomprehending wonder at the genius that could create such artistic perfection or Edward Dusinberre’s wonderfully enthusiastic recent book Beethoven for a Later Age have served merely to increase my vexation rather than to open any doors of appreciation.
But then . . .
Yesterday afternoon, during the New Zealand String Quartet’s programme which included two of these late masterpieces, came a hint of revelation. Towards the end of the programme, as we reached the final Molto adagio of the slow movement of Opus 132 in A Minor, with its marking of “Mit innigster Empfindung” (with the most deeply felt expression), something about cellist Rolf Gjelsten’s way with those darkly expressive low open Cs, combined with the higher strings’ almost airless tone quality, touched a chord. Then, for the first time, the following brief Alla marcia no longer seemed out of place as it always has, and the final Allegro appassionato at last opened its heart.  
Today I’m slow to sit down to start this review. Do I dare try to replicate the experience by listening to one of my recordings? Until this point, I resist. . . . But now I give in to the hope that I’ve broken through that haughty wall of resistance. I start with that immense Heiliger Dankgesang (Holy Song of Thanks) movement . . . and there it still is – that heart-felt, slow-motion elation that twice gives way to a more commonplace expression of joy before finally reaching that last Molto adagio sense of overwhelming thankfulness.
Earlier in the afternoon’s programme I’d looked around the audience, socially distanced in alternate rows with empty seats between couples or individuals in recognition of the current strangeness of the world, and wondered if others were already part of these works’ inner circle. A solitary man further along my row moved a hand and knee in response to the bitingly discordant accents of Opus 135’s Finale; later, two rows in front, a woman’s head moved with the pulse of the players on stage. At the concert’s end, a few individuals of varying ages stood, as if to applaud the fulfilling experience of reliving their already consummated intimacy with this music. 
When a live musical performance really ‘works’, I don’t find myself devising the words to describe it in a review as I’m listening. But in the first half of this programme I made mental notes of the players’ polished ensemble, unity of style and eloquent, if sometimes too restrained, expression. This seemed particularly evident in the alternative Finale of Opus 130, where the relaxed tempo lacked the urgency that it ideally wanted. 
But today, all that seems of little significance in the context of a concert that brought such unexpected revelation and makes me impatient for the next opportunity for a live encounter with these works. 
As it happens, the recording I’ve chosen today goes on to that Opus 135 Quartet in F Major which opened the NZSQ’s programme; and there it is again – the secrets revealed; well, at least in part. With any truly great music, its mysteries are drip-fed, and so I look forward to the discoveries that are surely still to come from these works, and I thank the New Zealand String Quartet for pointing me towards the first real chink in the door. 
Christopher’s Classics 2020 – 9 July 2020 
NZ String Quartet
Reviewed by Tony Ryan
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We’re back in a real concert hall at last thanks to Christopher’s Classics and the New Zealand String Quartet!
Although many of us have been exploring online concerts and enjoying some very imaginative virtual performances, there’s nothing like being together in an actual performance venue with the musicians playing just a few metres in front of us.
As the quartet’s cellist Rolf Gjelsten said before the group’s first piece, “We’re lucky to be in this country. Most of our colleagues in other parts of the world are still unable to rehearse or perform together” . . . and certainly not in the presence of a live audience.
Christopher’s Classics’ 2020 season started back in early March with the first of a planned series of Beethoven-themed concerts and, surprisingly, only one of these has been replaced (by tonight’s concert) and another postponed until later in the year.
And it’s still Beethoven year, so the New Zealand String Quartet’s programme featured three of his quartets; and we’re to get three more from them in another Christopher’s Classics concert scheduled for 20 August.
Tonight’s concert began with one of the early quartets: Op. 18, No. 2. Despite the ‘early’ designation, it’s already the work of a very experienced composer who, by the time of its composition in 1899, had many distinguished works to his credit, not the least of which are ten of the piano sonatas including the famous Pathétique.
This G Major Quartet still shows the influence of Haydn, but with many signs of the innovations and originality that would develop considerably in Beethoven’s later works. The NZSQ gave us a performance full of animation and poise, with a beautifully co-ordinated approach to phrasing, dynamics and articulation. But therein lies a problem – I never quite felt that the players conveyed a sense of spontaneity; everything emerged as carefully rehearsed and strictly controlled. Any sense of the-inspiration-of-the-moment seemed just out of reach. The three upper strings also restricted themselves to a very subtle degree of vibrato, which often limited the firmness and fullness of tone that I felt was needed. Considerable animation was visually present in faces and body language, but somehow failed to fully permeate into the actual sound.
The same problem characterised the following E-flat Major ‘Harp’ Quartet, where even the delightfully ebullient Presto movement seemed just a little too held-in-check. An occasional slight imperfection in intonation was perhaps also a symptom of so many weeks of being unable to work together in the way that such a group relies on in order to achieve its maximum unity of ensemble. 
The E Minor ‘Rasumovsky’ Quartet contains a greater element of virtuosity and required the musicians to allow themselves more abandon and panache but, even here, they never permitted themselves to take any real risks, giving priority to unity of ensemble, balance and polish.
That unity, balance and polish was vividly effective in all three works and the clear sense of animated involvement of all three musicians was extremely impressive, but when I compare this to the best of the many chamber music performances that have emanated from this stage, I just wished for a degree more spontaneity and the excitement that can come from risks taken in the inspiration of the moment.
Christopher’s Classics 2020 – 12 March 2020
Michael Endres – Piano
Reviewed by Tony Ryan

Beethoven year has begun! . . . and begun in the most spectacular and original way in this first concert of Christchurch’s 2020 Christopher’s Classics season.

As we enter the auditorium, The Piano’s splendid Steinway sits provocatively alone on the empty stage surrounded by newly and beautifully wood-panelled walls. Enter Michael Endres upstage right and, for the next ninety minutes that emptiness is filled with wonders.

Endres’ performance links all three works on the first part of the programme so that they continue from one to the next without a break: Haydn–Schoenberg–Beethoven. Haydn’s 1790 Six Easy Variations in C Major are full of whimsy and classical perfection, and the pianist makes the most of their improvisatory variety and boundless imagination with such poise and vitality that they make a delightful start to this recital. The pause between the final variation and the first of Schoenberg’s Six Little Piano Pieces of 1911 is no different from that between each of Haydn’s Variations. The first Schoenberg piece seems almost like the next variation until a few notes in, at which point Haydn’s tonal organisation is replaced by Schoenberg’s atonal “complete liberation from form, symbols, cohesion and logic”. Each of these miniatures averages less than a minute, and their contrast with one another is as comprehensive as each of Haydn’s Variations but with none of the classical composer’s motivic unity or tonal relationship.

Then, with a similarly pre-emptive pause, we’re suddenly in the throes of Beethoven’s great Sonata in F minor, Appassionata and somehow, from the outset, its revolutionary spirit seems even more defiant than Schoenberg’s. If Beethoven rebelled against the musical constrictions (as he saw them) of his teacher, Haydn, he did so with such inner conviction, truth and genuineness that Schoenberg’s atonal initiatives seem contrived by comparison, especially when we consider that he was writing his great Romantic manifesto, Gurrelieder, at exactly the same time. 

Both Michael Endres’ programme and his method of presentation were clearly designed to emphasise the colossal genius of Beethoven and how, 250 years after his birth, he continues to tower over all those around him. Intriguing and engaging as both the other two works are, in this recital they merely served to highlight the mighty creative inspiration of a true masterwork. And Michael Endres gave us a performance full of power and conviction with technical risk-taking that rendered any slight inaccuracies irrelevant.

I sometimes feel that the impetus of this sonata’s first movement is lost if the Andante is taken too slowly; it can often seem disconnected and indulgent. But Michael Endres treated it more as a ‘con moto’ link between the two outer movements, giving the whole work a cohesive unity that made it all the more powerful. And the sense of passionate abandon as the final movement raced to its fervent conclusion had a spirit of inevitability that made this performance one which I’m sure those present will long remember.  
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And if all that wasn’t enough, the second part of the programme brought us a very rare treat. Franz Liszt wasn’t the first to arrange Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony for piano, but Liszt’s version is so convincing as an effective piano work that it leaves all others in its wake. Even more than in the Appassionata Sonata, Michael Endres brought the power and grandeur of the music fully to life. It’s no wonder that several audience members chose to move back a few rows before the onslaught of the symphony.

​For me, the performance revived awareness of so many harmonic delights which I’d lost track of in my familiarity with the orchestral original. The end of the second movement in particular revealed Beethoven’s seemingly endless ability to find new expressive ideas in his thematic material; and the Finale came up like a restored painting as the notes and harmonies took precedence over texture and timbre. Both Liszt’s arrangement and Endres’ performance gave new life to a long familiar work and, consequently, my appreciation of one of Beethoven’s greatest creations has been enhanced enormously.  Michael Endres wisely omitted the exposition repeats in both the first and last movements; even so, his reserves of stamina were easily as impressive as his musicianship – a truly stunning start to this Beethoven anniversary year. So much for “dead white guys”; this one’s music lives on with as much relevance and expressive power as the day it was written.