A sight reading app for sore eyes

Picture the scene. You're taking your Grade 5 piano and the exam is going OK so far. You've played one baroque piece fairly monotonously, but probably well enough to pass. You've given the classical piano sonata movement a bit more flair but there were some quite nasty mistakes in the upper right hand. Then you've dashed off the final 20th century piece with an air of celebration totally missing from the first two pieces.

The pass or fail hangs in the balance, then – as it does after some frankly patchy scales and arpeggios. It's time for the bit we all hate – the sight reading. With piano for some reason sight reading is even worse, it being over two staves, and sure enough you're struggling early on and wanting to go back and correct things. How to improve this examination banana skin?

The answer, at long last, appears to have been found. Previously sight reading practice was restricted to a one minute glare at something on paper from the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music, followed by an attempt to get the two hands playing together in something you might call rhythm. But suddenly that sort of practice has become far more attractive due to a rather clever iPad app. You put the iPad on its side, on the piano music stand, cue up a piece of music according to your standard, set the metronome for the tempo you want to try and perform the music at – and then it counts you in.

Suddenly it all makes sense. The music disappears from the screen as you play it, which makes you think forward as a performer, a notion helped by the priceless Daniel Barenboim quote that "by definition, sight reading means playing bar one with your eyes while your brain is on bar five". The only disadvantage with this is not being able to go back at all and correct anything – naturally – but it means that over a few practice sessions that notion will probably be removed.

The man responsible for this innovation is Dr Christopher Wiltshire, who owns Wessar, the company releasing the app. Himself a former examiner, Wiltshire jokes that he initially developed the app to relieve the pain experienced by his colleagues in test conditions, but the benefits to pupils are obvious and immense, beyond the obvious short term gain of passing your exam.

Wessar will soon develop the app for other, 'single line' instruments, and can claim a comfortable victory with its first instrumental instalment. It's surprisingly involving, and sight reading – which was easily bottom of the class in the six exam 'movements' – moves strongly towards the top. It's an example of how music and technology can be used together for good – and those painful sight reading parts of the exam, which, as you may have guessed, was my own, could soon be consigned to the memory dump.

The Richest of 3-course Meals

For the second time, David McVicar's production of Richard Strauss's three act comedy Der Rosenkavalier comes to London and the ENO, bringing with it fantastically opulent sets, beautiful soprano singing and a grade one rogue in John Tomlinson. But what of the music itself, presented to London audiences for the first time a mere 99 years ago?

One thing is for certain - Der Rosenkavalier is one of the composer's most popular works, even when taking into account the symphonic poems. Its frequent use of the waltz is ironic, given the unrelated Strauss family and their unprecedented success with the form in 1860s Vienna, but here Richard works it very cleverly so that each use of the distinctive rhythmic form is incorporated into his own style.

For Der Rosenkavalier is musically rich, so rich that many people at last Saturday's first night were mentally exhausted by the time the three sopranos, Sarah Connelly, Sophie Bevan and Amanda Roocroft, floated in to the trio with which the opera closes. The reason for this is wholly down to Strauss, who fills his musical box of chocolates almost to saturation point. Often there will be two very different melodies going on at once, interweaving within the same range – so following them using the libretto proves very difficult as the similar voice types get tangled up. It's a mark of the composer's genius that he can work several tunes simultaneously without losing track of any of them, and even then if you were to remove the lines for voices altogether the writing for orchestra would suffice.

This, too, is rich, tapping in to the extravagance of the symphonic poems Don Juan and Till Eulenspiegel. But although Der Rosenkavalier is seen as a light, frothy comedy, and the treble rich music bears that out, there is a certain heaviness to it, the sort that comes from too much champagne or an overindulgence on the cherry brandy liquors. The horns – brilliantly played on this occasion by the members of the ENO orchestra – have a lot of the best tunes, as they do in the symphonic poems – but Strauss's very particular kind of orchestral colouring means they are brought through at the top of the pile.

The only trouble with this densely packed music is listening to it for four hours – as the title of this post suggests, it is akin to eating the richest of three course meals in a fine hotel, and having chocolates afterwards. The head can only take so much – yet there is much to savour and recall at length afterwards. Moments such as when Sophie Bevan hits the high 'B' when the rose is presented to her – a floated note worth the evening's outing alone – or when Sarah Connolly and Amanda Roocroft declare their various passions in the opening act.

It's the first act this proves the most difficult where the movement of the plot is concerned, the story slow to catch fire, but the second act gathers pace and interest. The waltz scenes are delightful, helped by Tomlinson's ham-fisted dancing as the rogue, the Baron Ochs of Lerchenau, and the presentation of the rose itself from Connolly's Octavian to Bevan's Sophie is the most obviously, truly beautiful music here. For sure, Der Rosenkavalier is well worth seeing, but should come with a health warning of what musical overindulgence can bring. You'll be craving bread and water afterwards!

Prokofiev - Man of the People?

So runs the title of a two week festival dedicated to the composer and headed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, using the South Bank as its hub. The question posed is a pertinent one, as festival director Vladimir Jurowski looks in to Prokofiev;s output in fine detail, largely shunning the crowd pleasers in favour of some of the more supposedly 'difficult' corners of his published works.

Jurowski's point is a valid one, that the composer of Romeo and Juliet (recently encountered for the first time by viewers of The Apprentice!) has a lot more up his sleeve than the strongly melodic style we already know and love. Whether public exposure to works such as the Second Symphony or the music to Chout will change consciousness remains to be seen, but the attendance for the second of four orchestral concerts in the Royal Festival Hall indicated a keen interest.

Topping the bill for this work was the Sixth Symphony, of which more later, but first there was the relatively awkward lyricism of the Symphonic Song. This 15-minute work seemed to fall between forms, a lettercard rather than a postcard, one whose most attractive moments were sweet but also one whose section of conflict was more industrial and discordant. The final 'achievement' rang rather hollow as a result, but the feeling remained that this was a work Prokofiev needed to write to ease his transition from the avant-garde works of 1920s Paris to red blooded ballet scores such as Romeo & Juliet and Cinderella.

Formally the Fifth Piano Concerto was stranger still, cast in five movements and possessing some oddly oblique melodies, ones that shouldn't work – but which somehow remained in the head throughout the interval. The balance between piano and orchestra worked well here, with Steven Osborne an undemonstrative soloist while the barbed dialogue between piano, woodwind and percussion was at its height. The final Toccata summed things up succinctly, a helter-skelter dash to the finish that crashed in to a wall at the same time as the harmony reached G major. It was a strange but effective end, the sort of signing off Prokofiev does rather well, yet on this occasion it was one that puzzled and pleased the audience in equal measure.

After this slightly uncomfortable but strangely uplifting exuberance we entered a completely different emotional world for the Sixth Symphony, a work written in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. This is arguably Prokofiev's finest symphonic achievement, even with the carefree Classical and resilient Fifth symphonies taken into account.

The chilly disposition of the opening is slightly melted by a theme whose roots appear to be in chant, inviting parallels with Rachmaninov's almost obsessive use of the Dies Irae melody but making a strongly elegiac impression. Around this the colouring of brass and wind in particular are highly original, and the London Philharmonic trombones and tubas were superb, conveying their lines as if they were anguished cries of torment. The piano, too, lends a sharper edge to the music, adding extra punch to the rhythms.

Jurowski was rather cool in the first two movements, especially in the Largo second movement where some freedom with the tempo would have heightened the expression of what is already a powerful, fraught melody. The finale however carried maximum impact, its opening theme one of Prokofiev’s delightful flights of fancy but one that finally turns sour. When it did the full power of the orchestra could be unleashed, the impact a sudden slap in the face for the earlier forced jollity. In this single gesture, the culmination of a pot boiling over with repressed feeling, Prokofiev shows himself to be a man of the people indeed, expressing in full the torment felt in the immediate aftermath of war.

William Steinberg – The Disciplined Maestro Conductor

William Steinberg is one of the understated conductors of the 20th century,, known principally nowadays for an outstanding version of The Planets he recorded with the Boston Symphony Orchestra for Deutsche Grammophon in 1970. Of the non-English interpretations of the piece it stands as a remarkable achievement, and his understanding of the music and orchestration almost without parallel.

So it comes as a welcome change to be talking about the conductor's other achievements, with a substantial body of recorded work for EMI that has just been remastered and released in a box of 20 CDs, much of it made available for the first time. It explores Steinberg's relationship with another American orchestra, the Pittsburgh Symphony, begun in the early 1950s and maintained for nigh on 20 years.

The revealing booklet note, penned by Mark Kluge, reveals Steinberg as a relatively introverted soul, yet one who had the ultimate respect of his orchestra, as they regularly played their hearts out for him and formed a strong reputation of their own. Steinberg gained a reputation as someone who concentrated on the music alone, which sounds an obvious point to make, but where a lot of conductors of that time sought to impose their own personalities on the music, it is a value that Steinberg should communicate the music in a very human way.

As a result his Beethoven speaks very directly, and is helped on this set by recordings that are impressively clear despite their age of almost 60 years. The Eroica is lean and muscular, the Eighth is performed with a smile and the Violin Concerto and Emperor match their soloists Nathan Milstein and Rudolf Firkusny respectively. Milstein's sweet tone is an ideal complement to the orchestra’s earthy sound in concertos from Tchaikovsky, Dvorak and Glazunov, while the forthright Firkusny teams up for a magisterial account of Brahms' First Piano Concerto.

Two of Steinberg's favourite composers, the Richards Strauss and Wagner, are well represented, the former by sparkling renditions of Don Juan and Till Eulenspiegel, the latter in a disc of finely judged operatic excerpts. Earlier recordings of classical works also feature, with early 1950s Schubert, Haydn and Mozart performed in a 'big band' style that nevertheless allows plenty of room for grace. Mahler's daughter expressed her preference for Steinberg's account of the First Symphony over Bruno Walter – and here we get to find out why, with an exuberant reading full of lust for life, the composer's sense of the outdoors fully realised.

Steinberg, as is evident from his Planets recording, held great affinity with English music, and tucked away in this set are unusual recordings of Vaughan Williams' Five Tudor Portraits and the Tallis Fantasia, not to mention an account of Elgar's Enigma Variations. Another composer Steinberg went against the grain to champion was Paul Hindemith, and though his best recordings remain for DG the version of the Mathis der Maler symphony here is a treat. Bloch's punchy Concerto Grosso no.1 and Toch’s experimental Third Symphony are other standout points.

It is completely fitting, then, that a conductor respected by Arturo Toscanini, Wilhelm Furtwangler and Leonard Bernstein should finally get his own chance to shine, proper recognition at last for one of the 20th century's finest and most reverential conductors.

Under the fence - ten lesser known lights of 2011

By now it's saturation time in the album of the year polls, with every music website and magazine putting out a top 10, top 50, top 100 even – and quite rightly so. It always makes you realise just how much music there is out there – and thankfully, in the case of this year, an incredible amount of good quality music. I wanted to take the chance to highlight some records – both pop and classical – that I feel have missed out on the jamboree for one reason or another. So here, from all genres, are 10 albums that have made an impact on my musical life for one reason or another in 2011.

No single song captured the mood of the riots and student demonstrations better than British Sea Power's 'Who's In Control'. "I wish protesting was sexy on a Saturday night!" hollers Yan Scott Wilkinson – well soon it was, in Trafalgar Square no less. But this three minute piece of latent anger was followed by some truly wonderful songs on British Sea Power’s fourth album 'Valhalla Dancehall', with the melting centre of 'Georgie Ray', the breezy 'Living Is So Easy' and the moody landscape of 'We Are Sound' all memorable moments on an emotionally powerful album.

With all the bad news came the need to seek out some fun - and for riotous off the wall japes and capers, Mungolian Jet Set's 'Schlungs' proved hard to beat. The spectres of George Clinton and Sly & The Family Stone hang over this album, but the two Norwegians Pål 'Strangefruit' Nyhus and Knut Sævik add their own quirks and musical touches, ensuring happiness, wackiness and an abundance of good tunes are the order of the day. We Are The Shining has a classic house beat, but it's the mischievous Moon Jocks 'n' Prog Rocks that really wins the day. Cosmic, maaaan.
Daedelus' 'Bespoke' was pretty far out, too. Imagine Prince's Purple Rain diffused through a musical prism and you get the uncommonly emotional 'In Tatters', a beautiful and moving slow song on an album brimful of energy and invention. On the other, more energetic side of things you get the blissful 'Tailor-Made' and the frankly remarkable 'What Can You Do', standing left of field with a talent for beat making that has clearly been stepped up a notch. A record high on life.

It's been a good year to be cosmic as it goes, and Mickey Moonlight occupied a space that was pretty out there with his recent album release 'Mickey Moonlight And The Time Axis Manipulation Corporation'. The title says it all really - but the communal singing of 'This Son Is Coming Up' and the deep house of 'Close To Everything - both featuring the superb George Lewis Jr - bring an added dash of soul.

With very little fanfare Bibio has now notched up four extremely fine albums, and he is fast becoming an integral part of the Warp stable. 'Mind Bokeh' was occasionally a mind bender, but made intelligent use of acoustic instruments among its electronic chatter. It also boasted a fine piece of funk in 'K is for Kelson' - imagine the theme to Starsky and Hutch processed for a modern dancefloor! It showed a sense of humour among the clever beats.

Two artists who showed great ambition in their new albums this year were M83 and Tori Amos, and their efforts went largely unrewarded in the polls. As a coincidence I interviewed them both for musicOMH.com this year, and was left in awe of their musical scope and ambition. Anthony Gonzalez wrote much of M83's Hurry Up, We're Dreaming in the Mojave desert, completing a mind bending opus of space and pure euphoria as he remembered his youth. Not only that, but with 'Midnight City' he had the year's best track bar none. Amos, on the other hand, took a leap into the unknown to take on classical music at its own game. That she produced a 75-minute song cycle with hardly a dip in emotional intensity says exactly how much she took from discovering the music of Schubert in particular. The lyrics and story may be relatively tricky to keep hold of, but the music is enchanting and winsome. A modern take on Winterreise that is not found wanting – with more to come in this sphere, hopefully.

While we're on classical, a word on Hindemith, who still suffers an almost constant state of neglect in the face of some highly attractive music. Lawrence Power completed his series of the works for viola for Hyperion this year, and the works for Hindemith's principal instrument and orchestra were revealed in their full glory with rich colours and harmonies, bittersweet melodies and excellent performances. Definitely one to seek out.

Meanwhile the thoughtful folk of the Eloquence label have delved around for a large supply of previously unavailable Holst recordings, originally made by Decca. These are invaluable historical documents, including performances by Sir Peter Pears and Benjamin Britten (the Humbert Wolfe settings, some of which are truly odd!), a unique take on The Planets from Bernard Herrmann, the leading version of Holst's bewitching opera 'Savitri' and some wonderful choral songs, conducted by the composer's daughter Imogen. Four discs, at a tenner each - well worth investing in one or two at the very least, to discover more of a composer far more cosmopolitan than your average English composer.

Back to pop for the last two in the list - and Wolf Gang's 'Suego Faults' reveals itself to be a highly inventive piece of rock looking towards David Byrne and the Velvet Undergrond for inspiration. The sheer confidence of these songs is infectious, and singer Max McElligott delivers them with a swagger that brings MGMT to mind, the music not afraid to take some risks.

Finally another confident band, the Texans Okkervil River - whose music invites comparisons with Arcade Fire through its poise, energy and drive. In this year's I Am Very Far they have created something powerful and invigorating, writing energetic songs that still have that wonderful folky edge to set them apart, with Will Sheff's vocals for individuality.

So there you are - hope there's something to tickle your fancy in that little lot. 2011 has been a very strong year for music beneath the surface, and let's hope 2012 does the same or even better!

Une rare émotion

It's been a particularly good week for French song at the Wigmore Hall.

First up were Véronique Gens and Susan Manoff with a delectable lunchtime concert of Massenet, Gounod and Hahn. Then two days later Bernarda Fink introduced us to the song cycles of Ravel in a fascinating and rather exotic concert titled 'Une rare émotion', framing them in perspective with works from Debussy and Saint-Saëns.
Attending both concerts showed how the song, like several forms of classical music, made huge advances in style under Debussy and Ravel, becoming more concentrated in expression and more elusive in harmony. Both showed great imagination and flair in their settings, and Fink did really well to resist the temptation to 'over program' her recital. Less in length was definitely more in execution.

The objective of Fink's recital was to show Ravel's genius as a song-setter, but also to show how the French song was developing to include instruments alongside the piano. There was an attractive flute line for Saint-Saëns' Une flute invisible and a cello accompaniment for Massenet's Elegie, an excerpt from his opera Manon. More instructive still were Ravel's Chanson madécasses, where flute and cello offered colourful counterpoint in reaction to the text, which at times had the Wigmore audience scratching their collective heads with its obliqueness.

The Cinq mélodies populaires grecques showed an uncommon concentration of expression, operating as all Ravel does with each note of the utmost importance, none wasted. Only Shéhérazade was found a little wanting, because it is better known in its orchestral version. Adam Walker helpfully supplied the flute line, but Fink was the star, with a vibrant and colourful rendition of Asie, bringing the tale of 1,001 Arabian Nights to life.

Ironically in this recital the two Debussy cycles upstaged those of his contemporary and some-time rival, due perhaps to their naturally unfolding performances and easier structure for a live audience. The opening piano salvo in the first song of Chansons de Bilitis, La flûte de Pan, immediately set the scene, the ears keen to hear Fink's first words. In Trois mélodies de Paul Verlaine the air hung thick with the atmosphere of each song – the piano's florid arpeggios conjuring the sea in La mer est plus belle and the shading from accompanist Christopher Glynn exquisite in L'échelonnement des haies, depicting the busy hedgerows. Verlaine's verse and Debussy's music seemed tailor made for each other, the harmonic style relatively ambiguous but the vocal lines beautifully wrought.

It is perhaps inevitable that Massenet should suffer in comparison with these wonderful examples, but Gens showed in her concert how a little simplicity can go a long way. The composer was given quite a hard time in the booklet notes for setting 'second rate verse', and then for not doing enough with the piano part. A bit harsh, maybe – but given these performances it was much harder to find fault. The oscillating arpeggios of La mort de cigale were a case in point, delivered with a real freshness of voice, while Nuit d'Espagne was enjoyably playful.

The Gounod selection she performed was noticeably more accomplished in terms of verse, form and melody, with the Sérénade the single highlight of these two concerts. Gens sang it beautifully; controlling the 'coloratura' refrains with incredible poise, helped by the natural accompaniment from Susan Manoff.

Interestingly Reynaldo Hahn, a contemporary of Debussy and Ravel, made considerable impact in his song settings, making the poet Victor Hugo cry on one occasion when his rivals did not. Gens was the ideal guide to a composer who penned her recital's most dramatic song, the chilling Trois jours de vendange, which took a turn for the dark side half way through. It was a dramatic moment that suggested there is much more to be made in the discovery of French song. True, Debussy and Ravel may be the acknowledged masters, but there was more than enough here to suggest further investigations will be rewarded.

Gustav Holst as seen in Dalston

Gustav Holst is still an undervalued contributor to English classical music. The Planets remains, quite rightly, one of the 20th century's most popular scores, strongly descriptive and illustrative of how it was possible to incorporate English flavoured folk tunes and some of Stravinsky's more acerbic approaches to harmony and orchestration.

Yet many of Holst's orchestral and vocal works languish relatively unheard, despite a rich discography that includes special performances from the likes of Benjamin Britten, Sir Adrian Boult, Yehudi Menuhin and Richard Hickox. Some of these have been made available again on the Eloquence label, which I shall be covering on this site shortly, and there is a fine documentary now available from Tony Palmer, which was broadcast on BBC4 in April and now available on DVD.

Now Grimeborn, the enterprising two-week chamber opera festival, should be applauded for bringing two of Holst's intriguing small scale stage works in from the sidelines. The charming Arcola Theatre in Dalston proved an ideal sized venue on Saturday night for performances of Savitri and The Wandering Scholar, with Daisy Evans' direction making the most of a space incorporating its audience on three of the four sides, the stage in the middle, in front of the small orchestra pit.

The first half brought us the story of one of Holst's unusual Sanskrit-themed works. This is the Hindu legend from the Mahabharata, where Savitri, the widow of Satyavan, appeals to Yama, the lord of death, for his return. The opera is meant to be performed outside, but here in the early evening the light was just right for Evans to successfully evoke that feeling.

Savitri lasts half an hour and is a taut, deeply felt utterance, the music tense throughout. The plot itself was not always easy to follow in this performance, with some words missed as the singers had to turn around on stage, but the emotion was clearly there from Jenny Stafford's pleas in the title role. Edward Ballard as Death was impressive, too, starting the opera with a folk-inflected melodic line that reminded us just how well Holst could write for unaccompanied voice, while Alex Berman had the measure of the ill-fated Satyavan. The chorus sang in a style predating the wordless music at the end of Neptune in The Planets.

The music was striking throughout, in fact, with Holst choosing a chamber orchestra of 16 to accompany his three vocalists. The instrumental colours were beautifully realised, especially the lean single double bass line that gave a feeling of foreboding whenever it was left on its own, and some of the more graceful wind writing up top was well played too by the members of The Little Opera Company. All three vocalists were fine, and Stafford's closing vocalise mirrored Death's opening, giving an essential bit of hope at the end of a pretty dark story. Colourful costumes helped lighten the mood, too, and Evans' use of two expressive sprites hanging on Death’s every word lent a ghoulish edge.

This proved chalk to the cheese of the second half, which was The Wandering Scholar, Holst's last stage work from 1932 and as English as they come. Here was a precursor to the Carry On films, in the shape of a full figured soprano (Stafford, again) gamely fighting off the affections of a lecherous priest (insert) while the Wandering Scholar himself, an open-faced Nick Scott, gradually took centre stage as he revealed the couple’s supposed misdemeanours. There was a lot of slapstick humour here, and Evans did a great job updating the story for the present day. The dog, hilariously played by (insert), read an edition of Nuts while waiting for the opera to start, scratching himself where he shouldn't, while Stafford, having hidden various props in the audience at the sudden appearance of her husband, commendably kept a straight face as he, Louis (Edward Ballard) hilariously tried to get them back.

Again the music was colourful, vulgar at times, and Imogen Holst's observation that the priest in her father’s opera 'would be short and clammy, would roll gently from side to side as he walks, and that there will be grease stains on his cassock' was totally borne out by the excellent (insert). The tunes were good, the script funny, and, as in the first half, there was next to no musical padding, another observation on the part of Imogen of her father’s ability to keep his music straight and to the point.

A thoroughly invigorating evening, then, with a nicely paired double bill that showed off the talents of those on stage, as well as the ability of Holst to write with flair and originality. Chamber opera established itself in the 20th century, and Holst was certainly one of its first exponents.