Geoff Brown
Listening to the Australian Chamber Orchestra is like taking a swig of a vitamin drink. Suddenly: pow! The music certainly feels stronger, muscled, hot from the gym. Handel’s rippling biceps were amazing in the tenth of his Op 6 concerti grossi, this motley concert’s opening shot. Gone were the springing mannerisms of period instrument groups. This was a different sound entirely: robust, contemporary, skipping rhythms, adrenalin rushing along with the notes. And players enough to tumble off the stage.
But were Richard Tognetti’s superb musicians administering an overdose? It felt a little that way during Bach’s A minor Violin Concerto, BWV 1041. Tognetti’s lead violin surged ever onwards, as bright and winding as the Yellow Brick Road. Yet I missed individual inflections. Bach doesn’t need only forward drive; he needs delicacy too. This was Bach speeding on the super highway, gorgeous scenery passing by in a blur.
Haydn brought back the glow. With his quirks and verve he’s the perfect classical composer for these players, and they gave the oddities of Symphony No 64 a lithe beauty and a dry wit well worth Papa’s approval.
But were Richard Tognetti’s superb musicians administering an overdose? It felt a little that way during Bach’s A minor Violin Concerto, BWV 1041. Tognetti’s lead violin surged ever onwards, as bright and winding as the Yellow Brick Road. Yet I missed individual inflections. Bach doesn’t need only forward drive; he needs delicacy too. This was Bach speeding on the super highway, gorgeous scenery passing by in a blur.
The ACO’s revenge was one of Bach’s more lingering sacred cantatas, Ich habe genug. No speeding possible here. No falling asleep either, with the tenor Mark Padmore feelingly micro-managing each syllable, and Katy Bircher’s limpid solo flute. Yet fidgets were possible during the circling repeats of the central aria Schlummert ein: perhaps the price paid for those first testosterone fireworks. I felt fired up, but with nowhere to go, except the foyer.
And then Roger Smalley – once a key player in British new music, who dropped off our radar in the 1970s after emigrating to Australia. Strung Out, for 13 solo strings, found the ACO alternately contemplating and jiggling material not of enormous interest.
Haydn brought back the glow. With his quirks and verve he’s the perfect classical composer for these players, and they gave the oddities of Symphony No 64 a lithe beauty and a dry wit well worth Papa’s approval.
But what would be the response of the fastidious Ravel to his String Quartet finale, souped up for massed strings? No matter. We loved it: this was the perfect encore for a wayward concert from a group that seems forever vital and young. If that’s what Australia does for you, I’m also emigrating.
1 comment:
It looks like the ACO makes British music critics want to be Australian. In The Guardian, Erica Jeal wrote "Let's ask about what we settle for from music-making in the UK - why do so few of our ensembles present their music with this kind of ear-grabbing vigour?" And here in The Times, Geoff Brown says "If that’s what Australia does for you, I’m also emigrating."
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