Andrew Johnstoneat the Irish premiere of Paul McCartney's newsest work and Michael Dervanhears the Irish Baroque Orchestra.
IBO/Huggett
National Gallery, Dublin
Sunday's Italian Diasporaprogramme from the Irish Baroque Orchestra at the National Gallery extended itself beyond music by Italian composers. Yes, the familiar great names of Corelli and Vivaldi were there, as well as the worthy but less well-known Francesco Geminiani (who worked in Ireland, and is actually buried in Dublin), and the altogether more obscure Lorenzo Zavateri.
But Handel was also featured (he worked for a while in Italy, and he didn't escape the all-pervasive influence of Corelli), as was that rare Dutch genius, Count Unico Wilhelm van Wassenaer (1692-1766), whose six Concerti Armoniciwere first attributed to the violinist Carlo Ricciotti, and later to Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, before their rightful authorship was definitively established less than three decades ago.
It was a richly rewarding programme. Rich is certainly an apt description for the concertos of Wassenaer - intricate, highly inventive pieces which can fully hold their own in the most distinguished of 18th-century company.
The Irish Baroque Orchestra was in fine form under its artistic director, violinist Monica Huggett. Corelli's Concerto in B flat, Op. 6 No. 11, was delightful not just for the characteristic intertwining of the violins, but also for the incisive sculpting of the bass lines, carried off with a exceptional musical alertness.
The two concertos by Wassenaer came across as a kind of fulfilment of the enterprise which Corelli had launched, and Corelli was celebrated also through Geminiani, who was represented by his reworking of Corelli's most famous violin sonata, La Folia, as a concerto grosso.
Huggett was a real dynamo as the soloist in the Corelli and also in Vivaldi's Violin Concerto in D, RV208 ( Il Grosso Mogul), where her delivery of the extraordinarily extravagant writing brought cheers of approval from the audience.
MICHAEL DERVAN
Dublin County Choir/Block
NCH, Dublin
Paul McCartneyEcce cor meum; Orff CarminaBurana.
Both pieces had Latin titles, both were of a good hour's duration, and both worked the chorus long and hard. But there all similarities ended.
Whereas Carl Orff's Carmina Burana cuts through swathes of medieval verse with severe and ritualistic efficiency, Paul McCartney's latest vocal-orchestral essay daubs conventional texts over a struggle for musical coherence.
This Irish première of Ecce cor meum(Behold my heart) symptomised the Dublin County Choir's instinct for choral vogue.
Since they introduced it to Ireland in 2003, Karl Jenkins's The Armed Manhas steadily conquered the national repertoire.
Whether or not McCartney's work will do the same remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: its sprawling eclecticism calls for uncommonly cogent delivery.
Wordless choral melismas vaguely reminiscent of Handel jostle with string sostenutos, ceremonial trumpeting, and the occasional appealing tune and internal rhyme of a latter-day Beatles number.
In the last of the four main movements, a flamboyant solo organ part (assigned on this occasion to a precautionary electronic keyboard) helps generate a dramatic and quite thrilling denouement.
It was here that conductor Colin Block obtained coalescent resonances that his dedicated choral forces equalled at the best moments of Carmina Burana. Elsewhere in that work, some of his attacks and tempos seemed unexpected.
Having bravely tackled several multi-part challenges in Ecce cor meum, the discreetly amplified boys' voices of John Dexter Harmony made more solid unison contributions in the Orff.
Soprano Sylvia O'Brien, who had handled McCartney's muted solo part with dignified understatement, approached Orff's climactic Dulcissimewith some reserve, having disclosed silvery and gorgeous tones in Stetit puella.
In response to the risqué subject matter of Carmina, spruce baritone Ciarán Judge ranged from coaxing exoticism to buffoonery, and tenor Eugene O'Hagan squawked his grotesque swan-song in a simulated shower of feathers.
ANDREW JOHNSTONE
