Music speaks

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Four Winds Festival

For the first time since I’ve been going to the Four Winds Easter festival, the forecast threatened rain. The weather goddesses were kind: they justified the forecast, but only delivered seven drops and and that was in two instalments.

What a feast of a festival! Two days of music, four concerts a day. Seven very well known composers, four premieres, at least four commissioned pieces. Aboriginal dancers, Japanese drums, brass, strings, piano, percussion, classical accordion, harp, wine glass, conch-shell, voice. Two standing ovations. An appeal for donations for people in Tathra who lost homes in bushfires a few week ago, just a few kilometres down the road which harvested $30000, to be matched by the Four Winds Foundation.

On Saturday morning the amphitheatre filled slowly. The lagoon behind the sound shell rippled in a light breeze. A moorhen paraded through the yellow waterlilies on the far edge. A dragonfly darted across in front of the stage.

At 10 am the leader of the local Taiko drum group beat the summons to seats on one of the big drums, sticks and arms whirling.

An Aboriginal Elder welcomed us to country, walking through the tiers of the amphitheatre carrying an abalone shell containing fungus from the women’s place, Gulaga, for the smoking ceremony. Children from Bermagui school sang Aborginal songs after a week of music with two Aboriginal singers, Candice Lorrae and Kristel Kickett, as part of the Four Winds education program.

Djaadjawan Dancers, a group of Aboriginal women, ages ranging from 6 to 60, danced a traditional welcome, a whale dance, and a special dance created for the festival. They were dressed in blue, arms and feet painted with white ochre, a wide plaited belt dangling with shells, headbands of feathers, accompanied by boomerang clapping sticks and energetic beating of Japanese drums by the local Stonewave Taiko drummers.

After that stupendous opening, so many more highlights.

David Leha (stage name Radical Son), an Aboriginal man born at Wallaga, the aboriginal community quite close to the Four Winds site, had such presence as I have never felt before. He sang mainly in language, a powerful voice and a powerful statement of self. I knew straight away this would be one of my favourites. Nothing I could find on the Internet matched what I heard from the soundshell.

A strong contrast to this was Breath Dance, one of the world premieres, part of the Composing for the future with James Crabbe campaign. composed for harpist Alice Giles by Timothy Geller, a piece for harp and wine glass. Recorded wind from Antarctica was part of this music, created when Giles set her harp beside a frozen sea near Davis Station and recorded the sound.

More Aboriginal song, this time from Jessie Lloyd’s Mission Songs Project. She’s been collecting songs sung on the missions, set up around Australia in the 19th century, usually by clergy, to “house, protect, and Christianise” Aboriginal people. The songs express the indigenous experience of hunger, exploitation and displacement, and the spirit that can survive these things. The voices of the singers were rich and harmonised in that wonderful way of voices that set up a vibration.

The song cycle ‘Ayre’ by Argentine-Israeli-Russian composer, Osvaldo Golijov, draws on traditional Arabic, Christian and Jewish cultures, with contemporary South American rhythms. It gave soprano Emma Pearson incredible vocal scope and brought the first day to a rousing end. The photo shows only part of her instrumental backing – it also included double bass, flute, clarinet, conch shell, classical and hyper-accordion, percussion and ronroco.

As we left the parking area for the sound shell on Sunday, voices soared up through the amphitheatre to greet us. One of the benefits of pathological early arrival is the chance to encounter artists in rehearsal. On this occasion it was the five singers of the Song Company, who introduced Day 2 with an hour of 16th century music, sitting around the table quaffing and chatting in Latin (translated for those without fluency) and merging their voices to “find the communal pulse” (“tactus” in Latin).

Guy Noble, the MC, was inspired to introduce the next concert in plainsong, one of his more successful acts of clowning.

Arvo Pärt’s Fratres provided an elixir of calm as each slow note lead to the next with absolute clarity: Bach’s Cello suite, refigured for guitar, was stately: Magnar Am’s Gratia for harp and strings turned grace, gratitude, graciousness and receiving love into music: Pēteris Vasks’ cello concerto Presence “took over your mind smoothly and led it gently”. This segment was contemplative, until a return to the energy of the 15th Century, where clapping became an instrument in songs found buried in Sydney University library and resurrected here.

I can’t possibly begin to do justice to, or even mention, everything in this astonishingly varied and rich festival. It provided enough music to sustain for months. But, given my passion for eucalypts, I have to mention Damian Barbeler’s Visiting eucalyptus, commissioned by a couple from Tathra so they could watch the process of composition. Unfortunately they couldn’t be at its premiere because of the aftermath of the fires a few weekends ago. It was played by a ten-piece ensemble.

The finale was a wildly dramatic piece, The three dancers, by Australian composer Elena Kats-Chernin, inspired by a Picasso depiction of a love triangle.

Thank you, James Crabb, and musicians, and volunteers, for creating a marvellous festival.

If you want to see the scope of the festival and what I’ve left out, here’s the program.

“Northern lights”

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“Northern Lights”, Moruya Anglican Church, stained glass windows, Three Piece Suite

On the day Tathra burned I drove 30 kilometres through high wind, flying branches and swirling leaves. I didn’t know that just to the south people’s lives were being overturned, and their mementoes turned to ash. There was thickness in the air, but people were saying “Sea mist” when in fact it was smoke. I was doing what we do all the time. Going about my pleasures oblivious to the agony of others.

My pleasure on this occasion was music, the Three Piece Suite (Rachel Westwood, violin; Valmai Coggins, viola; and Deborah Coogan, cello), joined on this occasion by tenor David Hamilton. The venue was Moruya Anglican Church, a much humbler building than All Saints, Bodalla. It too has a meditation maze, this one shaped by the mowing of grass.

I was, as I always am, early, and this time, as it usually does, early paid dividends. It gave me time to scrutinise the stained glass windows. To my left were the usual saints, but to my right a memorial window that represented our landscape: at the top the coastline – mountains, sea and dunes and a couple of rosellas in flight; in the middle, a lagoon – swans flying above, bulrushes, white flowers on reedy stalks, waterlilies, and the iridescent blue of a pair of moorhens; on the sandy edge with subtle shadows, wood-ducks; and beneath them brown birds with white throats and white chests and a band of running postman. The caption is Consider the birds and the lilies of the field. That was delight enough, but the next window across, above the caption The sower went forth to sow, featured a man on a tractor. I liked this church.

However, the post is supposed to be about music, not contemporary stained glass windows with local themes.

It was ironic that a program of music from the lands of the Northern Lights should be played in 37.5° heat. The program notes detailed different stories accounting for the Lights display. In Finland a fox is running so fast that his tail causes sparks that rise into the sky. In Scotland they are called Merry Dancers or Nimble Men.

Yes, I am avoiding the musical bit, because what can words say about music? And even more what can an unmusical person say about music?

The first half was lively: a Polka medley, a Swedish medley (the title of one piece was translated as “aspirational bogan”), a couple of pieces by Elgar, and a piece from an unpublished string trio by Erkki Malartin. At this point a light tenor voice began singing at the back of the church, and moved down the aisle: David Hamilton, dressed in kilt, sporran, shoes with straps winding up his calf over knee-high cream socks, singing Scottish folksongs of love and loyalty, including Loch Lomond and Charlie is my darling. The second half was more difficult because it was completely unfamiliar: String trio in C minor by Herman Berens. The concert ended with another bracket of songs, this time by Robbie Burns, with the help of a Bodhrán (supplied by Opera Australia orchestra) and a tin whistle. I first encountered a bodhrán many years ago, played by an Irishman at music days I used to go to in the bush way out beyond Nerrigundah.

It occurred to me as I was driving home that I like my music virtuoso and perhaps a bit overdone. This performance was subtle, understated, rather than dramatic. It also occurred to me that the acoustics at All Saints Bodalla might have had a lot to do with the sense of energy I felt was missing from this one..

By now the wind had dropped, but not before fire had destroyed sixty-nine houses in Tathra.

Music at All Saints Bodalla

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All Saints Bodalla, Chamber Philharmonia Cologne

On one of those rare mornings when everything falls into place (including this time finding an easy way to change my name on my birth certificate) I spot an advertisement for music very close to home.

That’s the night my friend’s sleeping over. She’s keen, so I buy the tickets, and we drive off into low 7 pm sun that makes the road ahead disappear in its blaze. We settle in All Saints under the neo-Gothic (?) arches, on wider seats than Warsaw cathedrals provide.

What a treat we’re in for. The music is familiar, but played with a verve and enthusiasm that renews it. Although we are listening to the Chamber Philharmonia Cologne, the performers are international: two Germans, a Finn, a Pole who lives in Queensland, a French woman, and two Australians, playing three violins, a viola, a double bass, a cello and a flute. The players are obviously enjoying themselves: the interaction between them, both musical and personal, is lively.

I’m no music critic, but I suspect what we hear are virtuoso performances. Michal Rosiak, flautist and MC, demonstrates Polish humour and mischief as he introduces the members of the group, and then he pours an endless stream of breath through that silver flute creating the song of Vivaldi’s goldfinch. Sergey Didorenko’s fingers fly over the strings of his violin at a speed that looks impossible. The flute was my favourite performance – until the rich tones of Christoph Jahn’s cello playing Tchaikovsky filled the church and my heart.

We drove home though cooling air under a full moon replete with sound.

Latin spirit

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Bandaluzia, Four Winds, José Carbó, Latin Spirit, Rasa Duende

When I was in Warsaw, one of the things I missed was performances at Four Winds, a wonderful site near Bermagui, with a soundshell and a pavilion in a bushland setting. The Four Winds Easter offering is Latin spirit, music with a Latin American flavour, with workshops in flamenco, tango and Latin rhythm in the weeks leading up to the fiesta. I pack my lunch and my low folding chair and arrive in time to watch the preparations: arranging the stage, testing sound levels, and preliminary performer chat.

The first set is a surprise: a meeting of Hindustani music and flamenco, played by Rasa Duende on tabla, sarod and flamenco guitar.

Three men sit,

Between reflecting pool and lagoon.

They talk, companionably,

Their voices tabla, sarod, flamenco guitar,

Eyes and subtle nods conduct their improvising.

Orange flags balloon behind them,

My arm hairs rise in gentle breeze.

Sun warms the skins of drum and sarod.

A pause, and they converse again

Attuned.

After a break, for champagne, oysters, empanadas and ice cream (none of which I sample), the second set …

… featuring a flamenco dancer. She sits on stage with her Bandaluzia musicians – a percussionist with an instrument that looks like a speaker box, which he sits on nonchalantly, and two flamenco guitarists – frilled in red flamenco garb, clicking her fingers till it’s time to dance. Which she does with grace and vigorous snicking of flamenco heels. She changes into sleek black with a white bolero for her second dance.

Then there’s a final set, starring Opera Australia baritone José Carbó, accompanied by a group consisting of piano accordion, (played by James Crabb who is also the current artistic director of Four Winds), pianist, violinist, guitar, and double bass. My last encounter with an accordion was in the old town square in Warsaw, where it was played by a man with a fierce face and a bristling moustache.

The afternoon of music ends with a festive sunset over the water as I drive home into darkness and silence.

 

For the movie see a separate post.