A selection of arts and cultural events are reviewed by Irish Timeswriters.
Dublin Theatre Festival: Rank The Helix
SARA KEATING
Rank: 1, A relative position or degree of value in a graded group; 2, Strong and offensive in odour or flavour; 3, Robert Massey's new play for Fishamble: The New Play Company (and both of the above).
Unfolding over a single night in the Greater Dublin Area, Rank is a comic thriller that charts the misfortunes of a gambling taxi-man, Carl, as his morale hits rock-bottom and his debts bottom out (at a cool €30,000). However, his creditor, casino owner Jack Farrell, has some past history with Carl's father-in-law, George Kelly, that can be used to Carl's advantage. The conflict is a power-play, a vying for supremacy between the odious criminal and the virtuous convert. However, dominance - rank - is a constantly shifting position.
While this brief plot synopsis suggests that Massey's drama is a contemporary morality play, such pretensions are thoroughly shrugged off by the humour that pervades every aspect of the play. Even the heavy menace of Farrell's thuggish son and stooge, Frank - who, just for the record, wears a knuckle-duster as a belt buckle - becomes neutralised by Luke Griffin's hilariously boorish, permatanned performance. Griffin plays emotional vacuity with inspired physical gestures, which create a silent on-stage comedy to complement the one-liners of the louche playboy, Two-in-the-Bush, played by John Lynn (although this is not to suggest that the brilliant Lynn, all swagger and inflamed sexual desire, does not find physical expression for his character too).
Massey writes with idiomatic fluency, although the Mamet-like exchanges in the opening scene seem stilted rather than stylised.
Jim Culleton directs at a steady, always engaging pace. However, the interval break badly disrupts the dramatic tension of the 90-minute drama, ensuring that any darkness and self-reflection is even further subsumed by the comic tone.
Apart from some casually offensive misogyny - the women in Rank are either sick or dead or dying for a shag - this is an entertaining addition to the canon of contemporary Irish plays, even if it doesn't really have anything profound to say about the society that we live in. Until Sat, then at the Civic Theatre, Tallaght, from Oct 13 to 18
Piano Spectacular NCH, Dublin
MICHAEL DERVAN
It's all of 20 years since the first Dublin International Piano Competition took place, with GPA as title sponsor. The competition, now sponsored by Axa, is on a three-year cycle, so the eighth competition in May 2009 will also effectively be a 21st-birthday affair.
In the run-up to that occasion the competition presented a Piano Spectacular at the National Concert Hall, bringing together all seven previous first-prize winners for performances that also involved the artistic director, John O'Conor.
As if having all eight pianists on the same bill was not enough, the competition made sure this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for all concerned by following a first half of works for two pianos with a second half of pieces arranged for eight pianos, a stage-swamping mixture of Steinways, Kawais and a Yamaha.
O'Conor's chatty introductions set the tone. It was an occasion for fun, for technically well-groomed players to let their hair down in a range of pieces they're unlikely to play too often.
The first half paired Pavel Nersessian and Alexei Nabioulin in three movements from Rachmaninov's texturally elaborate Second Suite, Antti Siirala and Max Levinson in Lutoslawski's cheekily fanciful Variations on a theme of Paganini, Davide Franceschetti and John O'Conor in Milhaud's tuneful, bubbly Scaramouche, and Philippe Cassard and Romain Descharmes in the faux-Viennese swirl of Ravel's La valse.
Siirala and Levinson tossed Lutoslawski's filigree figuration around with enviable ease, but the palm went to the colour and warmth of the two Frenchmen in the gorgeous indulgences of the Ravel.
As an encore and appetite-whetter for the second half, all eight players crowded together on two pianos to clown their way through the comedy of the little-known Albert Lavignac's Galop Marche, which was originally written for just four players at one keyboard.
After the interval the performers deployed in a semi-circle and four tons of piano were pressed into service in Dukas's Sorcerer's Apprentice, a waltz by Moszkowski, Rossini's William Tell Overture, and a reworking of Rachmaninov's reworking of the Scherzo from Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's Dream music.
In the midst of all the clatter and strange echo effects that are part and parcel of the multiple-piano sound, a great time was had by all. The evening was rounded off in style with an amusingly up-scaled encore, announced as Tea for Eight.
The Magic Flute, Gleeson Theatre, Dublin
ANDREW JOHNSTONE
This production of The Magic Flute by the students of DIT Conservatory is a broadly mainstream take on Mozart's tall allegorical tale.
Director Karen Ryker's insights might not always be realised with the desired fluidity, but Nell Knudsen's cartoon-book yet sensible costumes and Baz Halpin's computerised scenery keep you watching.
On the opening night, the need for a lighter orchestral touch meant some trammelled recitatives and laboured instrumental articulation. That said, in the excellent acoustics of the refurbished theatre at DIT Kevin Street, conductor William Halpin kept his student band in optimal balance with the voices, allowing consistently intelligible English.
The cast have reached a variety of rungs on the operatic ladder, from first-year college studies up to burgeoning professional careers. Some have a background in musicals. For Kris Kendellen, the considerable role of Papageno is a first taste of opera solo. David Scott is stylish as Second Priest, Ross Scanlon entertaining as Monostatos, and Clare Treacey lithesome as Papagena.
Contributing wider experience of classical opera are John-Owen Miley-Read, who looks and sounds the part as Sarastro, and Ian Whyte, who, as the Second Man in Armour, was regrettably swamped by the First, Richard Vernon, a recent convert to the tenor register.
In the pivotal role of Tamino, Peter O'Donohue intimated an affinity still stronger for the concert platform than for the theatre. At first, this seemed true also of the Queen of the Night, Katy Kelly, but her assured Act Two aria catalysed a gripping dramatic moment.
The conservatory's trademark early-blooming voice is as evident from the Genii (Sarah Dolan, Anne Murray and Jennifer Hughes) as from the Ladies (Deboragh Abbott, Kate Allen and Chloe Hinton).
Quite properly, though, the star is Aoife O'Sullivan, whose charm and prowess as Pamina mark her out as an artist of high promise. Also tomorrow
Steve Winwood, Tripod, Dublin
SIOBHÁN LONG
What is it in a voice? While the rest of the body succumbs to the ravages of time, the voice can seemingly remain impervious to its coruscating intrusions. Steve Winwood might have entered his seventh decade this year, but his voice is still that of the angelic ingénue who first played with Spencer Davis at the ripe age of 14 back in 1962.
It's been 10 years since Winwood last played in Ireland, and judging by the punters' welcome, he's been badly missed. With a back-catalogue that encompasses milestone moments in rock'n'roll, rhythm and blues and jazz, from the Spencer Davis Group to Blind Faith and Traffic, not to mention his highly eclectic solo career, any Winwood set list risks disappointment through unavoidable sins of omission.
Backed by a drum-tight band, Winwood cleaved to his beloved Hammond B3 organ (complete with bass pedals that had him engaged in an almost subterranean pirouette at times) for a pair of tentative openers, including the Spencer Davis Group's I'm A Man. After that, though, this musical Dorian Gray temporarily yielded his keyboards to saxophone and flute genius Paul Booth, wielding his guitar with the zeal of a man possessed.
Once the fire was lit, the temperature rose inexorably, from the funked-up Can't Find My Way Home, The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, Light Up or Leave Me Alone and, finally, Dear Mr Fantasy (all by Traffic), to a juiced-up version of Gimme Some Lovin' (Spencer Davis Group) and Blind Faith's Can't Find My Way Home. Generously interspersed with songs from his latest solo collection, Nine Lives, this selection showed one consummate musician at play in the fields of rhythm and words. Gorgeously honed couplets from Fly traded space with the grinding insistence of Hungry Man - ample evidence, if it were needed, that Winwood is not headed for retirement any time soon.A magnificent reminder of what musical genius sounds like.
Clein, RTÉ NSO, NCH, Dublin
MICHAEL DERVAN
The evening began with a minute's silence for the late Bernadette Greevy, who died on September 26th. It was one of the quietest minutes I've ever experienced in the National Concert Hall with a full audience present. For a while after the music-making started it seemed as if the Vienna-based Norwegian conductor, Arild Remmereit, might be a musician who is rather too intent on dotting every i and crossing every t.
At the opening of Sibelius's Karelia Suite his concern with detail was extreme, every rustle and shift of string tremolo clearly delineated. But it quickly became clear he wasn't going to get bogged down in the abstractions of point-making. His finely tuned responses functioned on the larger scale of things, too. He got the big picture, he placed the important elements with accuracy, and he paid attention to the emotional impact of the whole. The effect in the early Sibelius was to convey the three movements of the suite with a sense of real substance, without in any way undermining the immediate tunefulness which has made the music so popular.
Bartók's Concerto for Orchestra was also given with both big-boned conviction and considerable refinement, in spite of the fact that some of the heavier brass passages became too coarse. The playfulness of the second movement Giuoco delle coppie was well caught, the central Elegia reached moments of full-blooded expression, and the colourful mockery at the heart of the Intermezzo interrotto was nicely judged.
Natalie Clein, the soloist in the Elgar Cello Concerto, had to leave the stage before the performance because of a bow problem. The disruption didn't seem to have an impact in any way on the gorgeousness of her tone or the full-on emotionalism with which she approached the work. It's an approach with a high listener appeal (witness the response over more than four decades to the recording by Jacqueline du Pré).
This was a performance with an abundance of moments to cherish, although it would have to be said that the musical continuity of the piece was diminished in the process of highlighting them.
A Midsummer Night's Dream, NCH, Dublin
MICHAEL DERVAN
This first collaboration between the Irish Chamber Orchestra (ICO) and Storytellers Theatre Company was a three-stop tour of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which ended in Dublin.
The involvement of the ICO immediately and correctly suggests the incidental music by Mendelssohn and also identifies the need for a cut-down version. The teenage Mendelssohn's magical overture was not written for theatrical use, and the adult composer's genuine incidental music was written for a production celebrating a royal birthday, with no stinting on orchestral resources.
Orlando Jopling's arrangement for the ICO was at times understandably gaunt, but it was delivered with spirit. Jopling conducted in the guise of the young composer, with paper at the ready and making jottings of the inspiration of the moment.
That inspiration, which is so clearly of the 19th century (the overture has been called "a seminal work of German romanticism"), sat rather oddly with Liam Halligan and Lawrence Evans's high-energy production, with frequent running entries down the aisles of the hall, an over-use of grunty, thrusty groins, and some extraordinary gurning and gyrations from the Puck of Brian Bennett.
In spite of the emphasis on animation and the colourful costumes (much day-glo colouring) by Sinéad Cuthbert, the evening was slow enough to warm, though by the time it reached the play within a play, the production was delivering hit after hit. However, as a case for the viability of Mendelssohn's music in a contemporary production, the evening was less than convincing.
Mary Coughlan, The Academy, Dublin
SIOBHÁN LONG
MARY COUGHLAN is back on the road with a new album, fuelled by that trademark ballsy persona that was eye-popping 25 years ago but is growing more than a little jaded these days.
Predictably, her new repertoire, signposted by The House of Ill Repute, is a brazen and brassy affair, ostensibly charting the vagaries of a populace engaged in the fine art of sexual economics.
Hearing these tales in three dimensions, though, makes a distinctly one-dimensional impression.
Leaden, heavy-handed lyrics (Pornography), barren and bald-faced bluster (The Whore of Babylon) and an irritatingly adolescent desire to shock (Bad) do little more than reinforce the brittleness which she has exposed over the past few years.
Despite Coughlan's seemingly impenetrable hardness, though, there lurks beneath the veil of contempt a frightened child who is still searching for her own voice.
Playing hardball with those singular vocal chinks of hers, she succeeds in soaring high on Ancient Rain, but squanders her range and potential depth in a series of ill-chosen postcards from the edge, from Long John Baldry's A Thrill's A Thrill to Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart, all bereft of any emotional investment.
Torch songs are the stuff of life for singers such as Mary Coughlan and, sure enough, she tackled Cole Porter's Laziest Girl in Town with some style, and made all her own a surprisingly rocking reading of the Etta James classic, I Would Rather Go Blind (Than to See You Walking Away From Me).
Ultimately, Coughlan rarely managed to lose herself in the songs, always coming up for air before she'd reached even the slightest hint of emotional depth.
Even the a cappella Antarctica was little more than too much information masquerading as emotional honesty.
With a highly competent band, she occasionally triumphed in the more spacious places where keyboards and double bass were her parachute.
With some truly excruciating backing vocals from a guy called Jamie (more a stray cat than a blues brother), this was a night of creaking floorboards rather than soaring skylines.
Joseph Kubera (piano) Unitarian Church, Dublin
MICHAEL DERVAN
Benedict Schlepper-Connolly - Ekstase IV. Michael Byron - Dreamers of Pearl.
American composer Michael Byron's Dreamers of Pearl (2004-5) is a large-scale piano piece that operates in a world of remarkable constraint. Although, at more than 50 minutes, it plays for as long as Beethoven's Diabelli Variations, it spends most of its time in two-part counterpoint.
The obsessive, nagging lines move with a jagged rhythmic disjunction, and the whole sounds as if its energy is being consumed by balancing a process that might at any moment collapse through disequilibrium.
The titles of its three movements - Enchanting the Stars, A Bird Revealing the Unknown to the Sky and It is the Night and Dawn of Constellations Irradiated - are apparently not to be taken in any programmatic way. And yet the music can be heard as a kind of landscape traversal.
Byron, who was once identified as a minimalist, shirks repetition but indulges in processes that yield outcomes rich in self-similarity.
Moment by moment the music can be likened to the observation of one leaf or tree or bush after another, everything always the same yet always different.
The biggest differences, of course, are between the three movements, both in levels of energy and colouring. The drive is highest in the dry textures of the outer movements, the second is haloed by pedal effects and even goes so far as introducing actual chords.
This fascinating piece has a staunch and patiently sensitive advocate in Joseph Kubera, who, in this Ergodos-promoted concert at the Unitarian Church on St Stephen's Green, successfully, as it were, kept all the necessary balls in the air.
The concert opened with Ekstase IV, by Ergodos's own Benedict Schlepper-Connolly, a work which also works in two voices, a perpetually rocking perfect fifth, with a second line that roams spikily above and below it. There may well be a viable piece to be written in this manner. On this occasion, however, Ekstase IV did not seem to be it.
