Irish Times writers review a selection of events from the world of arts.
Antti Siirala (piano). Killruddery House, Bray
Beethoven - 3 Sonatas Op 10
Chopin - Polonaise-fantaisie
Szymanowski - Variations on a Polish theme Op 10
Anyone who recalls the progress of Antti Siirala through the various stages of the 2003 AXA Dublin International Piano Competition can hardly fail to remember the young Finn's refreshing approach to programme planning.
The individuality of taste he showed on the way to winning the competition was on display again at the opening concert of the IIB Music in Great Irish Houses festival at Killruddery House on Thursday.
The balance of his programme was most unusual. The first half was given over to Beethoven's Op. 10, three sonatas published in 1798 when the composer was 27, which are nowdays more often played separately than as a set.
The one genuinely out-of-the-way piece on offer was another Op. 10, the early and rather virtuosically overblown Variations on a Polish theme, Op. 10, written in 1904 by the 22-year-old Karol Szymanowski, then already well on the way to establishing his reputation as the most important Polish composer to emerge after Chopin. Siirala paired the work with the Polonaise-fantaisie by Chopin.
The young Finn is an unfailingly intelligent player with a fully musical control of the keyboard. He seems immune to the recklessness of speed and volume that tempts many a young virtuoso into effects of cheap exaggeration. His approach is sober, balanced, finely nuanced.
His command of sonority is remarkable, rather like that of an actor with a voice so beautiful that every demand of a script, no matter how extreme, can be met without the beauty sounding compromised.
The choice of the three Beethoven sonatas gave him ample opportunity to highlight the contrasts of character between as well as within the pieces, from the impetuous opening snaps of the first, and the skittish finale of the second, to the laden, theatrical drama of the slow movement of the third.
There were moments of exquisite detailing, especially at the lower end of the dynamic spectrum, in the magical shimmer of his pianissimos, the softness taken to a point where it seemed almost too delicate to sustain.
Yet, strangely, he didn't always manage to keep the music on a firm trajectory. He borrowed little moments of time, as it were, to prepare the colour and shape of a chord, pausing ever so briefly, but still long enough to slacken the sense of momentum.
The bigger paragraphs of Chopin's Polonaise-fantaisie, the music's surging warmth as well as its finely-spun filigree, were delivered with an altogether more natural and idiomatic feel. And the florid pile-ups of the Szymanowski were handled with the sort of virtuosic savoir-faire which resolved all the pitfalls while at the same allowing the listener full awareness of the extravagance of the demands being made on the performer. - Michael Dervan
Lúnasa, National Concert Hall, Dublin
Their nerves were showing in stoney-faced concentration. Kevin Crawford might well be Lúnasa's trump card in the Johnny Carson stakes, but his affable banter couldn't hide the edginess of Trevor Hutchinson and Paul Meehan's bass and guitar lines.
Solo traditional concerts in the National Concert Hall are hardly 10 a penny, and Lúnasa's bold decision to go it alone in this forbidding venue paid off in spades - even if they never quite managed to reach the stratospheric heights they so often occupy in more informal gig settings.
Their latest album, Sé, provided the backbone of their set, and gave them ample excuse to flex their collective muscle with athletic ease on a fine gathering of tunes, many of them self-composed. Cillian Vallely's piping is now almost architectural in its structure, his highly disciplined style offering an ideal scaffold to bolster the more fluid melody lines of Seán Smyth's ever-magnificent fiddle and whistle, and Kevin Crawford's flute and whistle.
Absent Friends was a canny snapshot of contemporary writing, Crawford's title tune ebbing and flowing with an unforced ease as it segued into Diarmuid Moynihan's Ivory Lady.
Lúnasa's raison d'être has become more clearly defined over the past 18 months. While the rhythm section of Hutchinson's double bass and Paul Meehan's guitar (who gamely filled the void left by the recent departure of Donogh Hennessy) have always played a defining role in the band's sound, these days they're more comfortable pushing the envelope further, with each instrument embarking on bold diversions of Hendrix-like proportions on their rousing closer, The Ashplant.
The jousting of fiddle and flute continues to build a fire in Lúnasa's belly, but these days, Smyth's virtuosity is even more palpable than ever, particularly when he flew solo on the reel, Dr Gilbert.
Joined at intervals by Alan Kelly on piano accordion (or the "stomach Steinway" as Crawford wryly christened it), Conor Brady on electric guitar and Pat Fitzpatrick on piano, Lúnasa stood four-square behind a style that's evolved to the point where they could surely patent it, such is its distinctiveness. The Concert Hall would seem the ideal venue to accommodate such grand musical vision, and yet it seemed that they couldn't quite loosen all the fetters that tethered them to terrestrial plains. They're still in a company of one, though, when it comes to casting a completely new light on the tradition. - Siobhán Long
