The second of John O'Conor's National Concert Hall recitals covering the complete piano sonatas of Beethoven reached number seven in numerical sequence on Monday.
Beethoven - Sonata in E flat Op 7. Sonatas Op 10
The early landmark of the Pathétique Sonata is still to be reached and, with O'Conor pursuing a chronological survey by opus number, the 19th century is still the far side of that.
The performances of Monday's four sonatas showed O'Conor's familiar virtues as a sober Beethovenian. His tempo choices are persuasive, even when they stray outside the norm - as, for instance, in the opening movement of the strangely elusive Sonata in E flat, Op. 7, where his briskness honoured the composer's marking of Allegro molto e con brio in a way few performers dare.
Both his swift pacing of fast movements and his easy flow in slow ones are helped by a style of presentation in which the thinking appears to be strongly linear, but without showing any particular interest in the tensions of counterpoint.
In spite of its energy and occasional thrusting gestures, O'Conor's is actually quite a smooth approach to Beethoven.
He shows a fondness for the reassurance of periodicity which sometimes causes him to downplay the music's elements of surprise, and he carefully eschews the stark chiaroscuro with which many players approach Beethoven's dynamic markings.
This week, it was as if he wanted to instil in his listeners a sense of wonder at how the spirit of Beethoven can be so thoroughly encapsulated in music which can still be convincingly presented from the perspectives of the 18th century. - Michael Dervan
Sarah McLachlan, The Point, Dublin
Just what is Sarah McLachlan on about? Having upgraded this concert from the intimacy of the Olympia to the gargantuan Point, it's a question that barely troubles her effusive audience. But, sifting through McLachlan's soothing folk-pop, it isn't hard to find bitter little pills beneath the sugar.
The impossibly nice Canadian offers no clarification however. "I actually don't know what these songs mean," she shrugs demurely.
The soft, velvety and largely unremarkable texture of McLachlan's astonishingly popular songs tends to attract the usual slew of jargon and acronyms - AOR, MOR, unit-shifter - while posters make her look like she's advertising a designer fragrance.
Appearances can be deceptive, however. The night may begin with the sweet caress of Fallen, but beneath its treacly melody McLachlan describes "the bitter taste of losing everything".
It's a theme she rarely abandons. Adia, her first crowd pleaser, watches as "we all falter" before Perfect Girl asks for "time to falter". Like Norah Jones and Dido, the music is obscenely pleasant, as soothing as a hot bath of camomile tea. But listen carefully. Things are gonna hurt like hell. We have nothing left to give. The days are filled with fear, uncertainty and defeat.
Maybe this is why the ebullient hollering approval of her fans can seem so ill-fitting. Building a Mystery, all shimmering organ and chiming guitars, sounds so insipid it makes Shania Twain look edgy. Getting excited about it is almost inappropriate, like squealing at a scented candle.
Yet McLachlan, one suspects, makes "cute" her camouflage. "Your love is better than ice-cream," she sings later. "Your love is better than chocolate."Who knows what she means? But you trail away from her concert full of wonder. Is Angel actually about suicide? And would your love be better than chocolate ice-cream? - Peter Crawley
