Kammer Ensemble

First of all, let me pay homage to one of Sydney's finest and most interesting buildings, in the University of Sydney's Conservatorium of Music. Apart from the remnants, artefacts, images and tales of times past that grace the foyers (the result of a dig that unlocked an unexpected, time-capsuled treasure-trove beneath the modern city), its still-young recital halls are already hallowed and, to my ear at least, acoustically perfect.

Kammer Ensemble needs no introduction, I expect, to lovers of chamber music but, for those who fall into the category of, say occasional, if adoring, fans, Andrew Ford has already described their performance as brilliant; Graeme Skinner (SMH) as compelling 'music that seems to flow effortlessly'. Hear, hear! That was precisely my aural, aesthetic and emotional experience, listening to their latest, very contemporary, challenging programme, in Recital Hall East.

Still young after these four years, Kammer is supported by Musica Viva and comprises musicians individually revered, which not only augurs well for the collective potential, but which is fully-realised. It's gratifying to know, too, that Kammer goes quite some way to filling a cultural void, in the Illawarra: as ensemble-in-residence at Wollongong University and its own conservatorium. When one considers local girl made good Elena Kats-Chernin also features prominently in that milieu, the greater 'gong might well be seen as something of a bastion for contemporary classical.

Kammer is also, significantly, a member of the New Music Network, an important initiative that seeks to and succeeds in 'bringing together Australia’s leading exponents of contemporary art music and improvisation', Kammer being a cogent case-in-point. With this particular programme, KE easily meets those criteria: a concert comprised entirely of music from the so-called second avant-garde.

To get down to brass tacks, the evening commenced with Chilean-born Daniel Rojas' Danzas Amorosas. Indeed, given that this arrangement was for an octet, it qualified as a world premiere. Commissioned specifically for Kammer by Father Arthur Bridge (a laudable, Blacktown-based patron of the arts), of ArsMusica Australis and, incidentally, can be found on Kammer's Gate Of Water disc.

It's a compact, succinct, elegant and eloquent work that times out at well under twenty minutes. As the name implies, it is all about the dance of love, in all its turbulent glory. Like the rest of the programme, the piece is not a little influenced by folk motifs; in this case Latin-American and Afro-Hispanic, from both indigenous and popular traditions. As such, it is unsurprising to perceive references to salsa, tango and, especially, more esoteric Peruvian music, all of which are prominent in the composer's research.

Rojas achieves the near impossible in, somehow, retaining the earthy, primal roots of the music, while swathing it in sophisticated orchestration. Kammer is intimately complicit, insofar as putting across an impassioned and vigourous, yet rigourous, performance: there would seem to be a profound empathy between composer and orchestra.

Despite these predominant qualities, the work opens with a deceptive fragility (achieved in no small degree, as I recall, through the thoroughly astonishing technique and finesse of John Lewis, on clarinets), but soon evolves into a highly rhythmical movement, involving some boom, crash operatic piano, from the equally wondrous Stephanie McCallum.

Flautist Lisa Osmialowski has a starring role, on piccolo, one of those instruments which, in the right hands (such as hers) easily transcends its own humility. In this context, its innate delicacy was subverted dramatically, veritably screaming forth, in a fit of veritable pique, or passion, or both: after all, in the most exciting and intellectually confounding romantic moments, physically, emotionally and musically, they can be inseparable.

Other halting moments come from Daniel Yeadon plucked and bowed 'cello, as well as cascading violin from Catalan Ungarau and Airena Nakamura.

All-in-all, dances of love, written and arranged lovingly; played fleetfootedly (although some sort of reference to wings might be more evocative). It effects an intriguing synthesis of the rustic and worldly, ethereal and visceral, notional and material; not merely in a counterpointed, but integrated, fused way.

The second and final work before interval was by Osvaldo Golijov; entitled, with narrative prowess, The Dreams & Prayers of Isaac The Blind, after the great and revered Kabbalist rabbi of Provence, who goes back about eight centuries. A thirty-plus minute opus, it introduced a klezmer flavour to the evening. Apropos of the subject, with which Golijov's obsession is patent, there are darker, more mystical tonalities and implications afoot here; hints, allusions, cinematic sensibilities. Golijov's apparent aim has been to surpass what is actually notated, but suggesting other things. Musical messages seem to be coded, for the listener to then decode; perhaps each in his or her own way. It makes for a dramatic, moving, utterly compelling work of profound intensity and beauty. Whatever the solo merits of a pared-down (almost halved, to quartet & clarinet) Kammer in playing it, its greatest strength here, methinks, is the collective, corporate, communal one: the effect is far greater than the sum of its parts, in a similar way, I suppose, to that in which the devout might conceive God. The composer has put it into sublime prose poetry: 'four souls dissolve their individuality into single, higher organisms, called string quartets'.

But don't get to thinking it's remote or intellectual; it is lofty, certainly, but in the most accessible possible way, albeit a meditative one. The prelude and first movement are prayerful and powerful, if somewhat divergent in theme, with the holiest of Jewish liturgical resonances. It embodies a dreamlike quality, not unlike the experience of a peaceful Shabbat. Kammer magically imbues it with the requisite reverence and soulfulness: Nicole Forysth's viola seems to have particular, inspired affinity with the objectives and highest hopes of the composer (among others, to evoke the aural ideal of blindness, such that we rely solely, and purely, 'on our ability to sing and hear' and 'power to build castles of sound in our memories'), while Andrew Wilson's 'cello brings all the warmth, colour and inflection for which his instrument's timbre is renowned and adored.

The second movement echoes down through ages, generations, memories pained and pleasurable, speaking loudly and proudly in the Yiddisher lingua franca of klezmer. There are those who would easily recognise the tune, with familiarity, nostalgia, sadness and gladness, as reminiscent of a traditional dance.

Finally, the sacred question posed in the first movement is answered, if you will, in a haunting finale, finely approached and fastidiously realised by Kammer. Or ought that be the other way 'round? In any event, it was a wonderful note on which to end and imbibe a glass of wine, in recumbent readiness for what was to follow.

Cleveland critic David Rosenberg supercedes any homage I can pay to the work as a whole. 'We hear the essence of Golijov's art in this mesmerizing 1994 score: roots planted deeply in Hebraic tradition; dramatic instincts that surprise and move; an astonishing ear for instrumental sonorities and interplay. The work tells its tale in whispers and wails, the clarinet assuming a klezmer personality of stirring and sorrowful poetry.' I can only but affirm such, with an enthusiastic 'hear, hear!' and vouch for Kammer's mastery of Golijov's instrumental offspring.

Vox Balaenae, or Voice of the Whale, is by George Crumb and isn't quite new, having been composed in '71, for the New York Camerata. It is a rather spare orchestration, as one might expect, for (amplified) flute, 'cello and piano, as well as the odd vocal and whistle. Easily the most out there piece of the evening, it was inspired by an actual recording of a humpback singing. One rather eccentric component of the work is the composer's insistence (it's virtually scored) that performers don masks, the object being to dehumanise the prodigious forces of nature. The composer's other, more gentle 'suggestion' is that the work be performed under deep blue lighting. Personally, I find both of these elements a rather gimmicky affectation, more at home in the realm of pop. This isn't pretension: it's not because I feel classical should be 'above' other musical forms. It's just that, in an attempt to avert the fundamental distraction of visible players, if anything, more attention is brought to bear. It seems, to me, deeply self-indulgent; an unworthy conceit. A better suggestion, on the composer's behalf, might be that the audience closes its eyes. Having said that, in terms of programming, it does present an interesting parallel with Golijov's musings on blindness.

Without a doubt, Crumb's work is bold, challenging and for fascistic purists and narrow-minded skeptics of contemporary classical, dishes up just about everything they love to hate. This provocation in itself, for mine, holds merit.

The work can be, and is, broken down into three essential sections. The first sees the flutist (as 'now' nomenclature would have it), in this case the very considerable Osmialowski, breathing, blowing and singing into her instrument, creating surreal and spellbinding effects. While, to my ears, not particularly like any whalesong I've heard, it is, at least, a clear, cohesive, credible, metaphorical evocation. Keen ears might also discern a nod to Richard Strauss' Also Sprach Zarathustra toward the end. In a sense, the nature of the flute and preconceptions of what it can and can't do is entirely subverted which, again, in itself, is worth the price of admission. The other surprise is in how aggressive, at times, the piece is, therein forcing the listener to question prevalent and preferred unidimensional anthropomorphic prejudices of whales as benign creatures.

The opening succumbs to Sea-Theme, which introduces the still radical, if by no means unknown, spectre of strummed, plucked and otherwise interfered with piano strings, confidently executed by McCallum. Dark, pregnant with anticipation, poignant, haunting in a manner verging on menacing and allegorical of epochs leading up to the emergence of man, the Kammer trio plays out every nuance, the meticulous interplay, mutual respect and empathy between the three mesmerising. Cello is very much to the fore, if in the most understated of ways.

Sea-Nocturne sees the piece out and one of the points of interest is a set of antique cymbals, with the honours shared by Os & cellist Wilson. In mood, it hovers and suggests timelessness, in sync with its allusion to the coincidence, relativity and perpetuity of the fabric of space, or monstrous depths of the ocean. It fades, almost imperceptibly, into veritable eternity, just as we may, if climate change science is on the money.

There are shadows, echoes, textures and colours in Pulitzer-winner Crumb's minor, or not so minor, masterpiece all its own and one can't readily call to mind too many ensembles that would have the requisite conflation of courage and competencies to do this submarine dream justice. Kammer can.

The final work returned to the quill of Golijov, with his Lullaby & Doina. No, not doona, doina; a form found in the klezmer canon. This succinct seven-and-a-half-minute piece recalls the larger ensemble, comprising flute, clarinet, contrabass, violins, viola and 'cello. Built upon a Yiddish lullaby commissioned by film director Sally Potter, it gets into its stride with a characteristically stirring gypsy rubato, a staple timekeeping, or time-thieving 'trick' of romantic music, which gathers momentum and threatens to genre-jump. It's all the more exciting for it ('twas practically all I could do to remain relatively motionless in my seat), played with exceptional conviction and authenticity and depth of feeling by the Kammerists.

Yes, Kammer can. Kammer did. And, with any luck, Kammer will again.

New Music Network presents
KAMMER ENSEMBLE

Venue: Recital Hall East, Sydney Conservatorium, Sydney
Date: Saturday 26 June 2010
Time: 7.30pm
Tickets: Adult $30 / Conc and Under 30 $20
Bookings: 02 8256 2222 | at the door