The Week's Music...

New Zealand Listener, Volume 36, Issue 912, 1 February 1957, Page 26

The Week's Music...

by

SEBASTIAN

PERA can never be entirely successful in broadcast versions, and criticism of such versions is necessarily unfair. I propose to be unfair to The Rake’s Progress (by Stravinsky on Auden’s libretto), which I heard for the first time recently. Stravinsky has never had much fame as a tune-merchant, but the flagrantly unvocal vocal parts of this opera soon create real ennui in the listener; however brilliant the orchestration, these spiky leaping lines make for strain in the audience as well as the performers. The plot, with its typically operatic basis of fantasy, seems good and its presentation carries conviction, though the music often does not: but the chorus parts were much more human and could even convey emotion. For the performers (of the New York Metropolitan Opera) who negotiated the intricacies of the score, I have nothing but admiration; for Stravinsky the conductor, sympathy; and for Stravinsky the composer, no feeling at all. The National Orchestra continues to give its present series of studio recitals (YC links). Vincent Aspey exchanged his bow for a baton in one programme, and conducted a concert of lighter pieces with aplomb and neatness. The three Grainger pieces are always fresh, retaining their simple charms when many more, highly organised works may pall. Coates

fh and Coleridge-Taylor share some of the same advantages: and this, together with the Orchestra’s apparent enthusiasm, made the programme a bright and entertaining one. Distinctly less enthralling was another recital, with a well-planned programme that suffered from a pedestrian performance. Mozart’s "Impresario" Overture was fluffy at the edges, probably because of the sprinting speed it was given; Delius’s incidental music to Hassan began with an off-pitch cello and ended suddenly and unconvincingly, but was saved by some lovely woodwind solo work. The Piano Concerto in E Flat of Saint-Saens is an unfamiliar work, and I feel it should remain so, now that it has had this little outing. The first movement anticipates the Warsaw Concerto in many respects, the second is full of rather commonplace sentiment, and the finale, redolent of synthetic joy, rarely exceeds the ordinary. It seemed @ pity then that Alison Edgar’s undoubted talents as a pianist should be squandered on this concerto: and that her eloquent playing should redeem it so little. The recital concluded with a precise but undistinguished rendering of the Sylvia ballet music. Perhaps the Orchestra were a little tired; by the end of the programme, I was too.