Reviews

Leonard and  Tinney at the Boyle Arts Festival is reviewed by Michael Dervan and Acrobat at the Galway Arts Festival is reviewed by Michael Seaver

Leonard , Tinney

Boyle Arts Festival

Michael Dervan

Kreutzer sonata - Beethoven. Marche Miniature Viennoise, Liebesleid, Schön Rosmarin - Kreisler. Nocturne - Copland. Tzigane - Ravel

Friday's violin and piano recital by Catherine Leonard and Hugh Tinney at the Church of Ireland in Boyle brought the largest audience of any concert I've attended there, as well as the most enthusiastic response.

Although Leonard, below, and Tinney have been playing as a duo for a number of years, this was my first opportunity to hear them together. Musically, they have interestingly distinctive temperaments. Leonard gives the impression of being an instinctive player; Tinney's responses seem more calculated. She seems the more likely to engage in a flight of fancy, he to be guided by precept and established practice.

Both are players of good taste and sound judgment. Beethoven's Kreutzer sonata was handled as a partnership among equals, and Tinney, playing on a small Kawai grand, produced a tone that was full but not overpowering at the same time as managing to keep the instrument from sounding unduly stressed. The dialogue of the outer movements was urgent and exciting, the central set of variations rich and poignant.

Leonard's approach to Kreisler is the opposite of the oversugared, swooningly sentimental manner that's often encountered. This music tugs at the heart strings with such deftness that there's no more need for the performer to add another layer than there is for a sugared almond to be dipped in honey. Kreisler's wit stands better revealed by this approach, and the music loses nothing in effectiveness.

Tinney occasionally sounded overly loud in the Kreisler, but he was back on form in the blues-imbued melancholy of Copland's Nocturne and in the florid passagework of Ravel's Tzigane. Leonard and Tinney played Tzigane with what seemed like a real awareness that this is actually the most sophisticated of faux-gypsy music rather than the real thing, an elaborate fabrication by a composer who delighted in artifice.

This is not to suggest the audience was in any way short-changed. Leonard's husky-toned, impassioned delivery was characterful and arresting, and Tinney's handling of the often florid piano writing was well matched. Tzigane is a piece that can easily seem in performance to take a good idea too far. On this occasion it sounded just right.

Acrobat

Galway Arts Festival

Michael Seaver

The circus came to Galway, but not as we know it. Acrobat belongs to the New Circus movement, which has rejected the traditional format in favour of theatricality. And Acrobat - the company as opposed to the piece - seem to believe that if you are going to reject tradition you may as well go all the way.

The look is certainly pre-spandex, and the edges are rough. There is no make-up or sequins as three bedraggled, long-bearded men and two women joy-ride their way through acrobatic sequences, trapeze stunts and balances.

Away in a corner a lone musician switches between electric guitars and follows the action, marking the high points. There is no rolling drum during balances, nor a cymbal crash at the end, but the principle is the same, with loud music marking the end of tricks. Nor are there fireworks - but there is a lone Halloween "sparkler" that takes centre stage to the sound of air slowly escaping a balloon. And if you want circus animals there is always the sound of cows mooing on the soundtrack.

The muck-savagery that takes place doesn't disguise the skill and artistry in this highly choreographed show. Nothing is left to chance, and the hour of action demands huge concentration from the performers. Some of the stunts are breathtaking: a man falls asleep on a loosely hung rope and turns from side to side to find a more comfortable position, a stunning trapeze duet by the two female performers - there is no programme to identify the cast - in which they seem to dangle by their toenails, and the naked man making a small red scarf disappear (you had to be there).

In some subtle way Acrobat turns the mirror around on us. Circus audiences want to see what is weird and outside their understanding of normal, but the score's whining extracts from Australian daytime television on self-betterment and mundane suburban matters realigns the indicators as to what is ordinary. By spurning appeals to our gaze or our approval through applause, Acrobat leaves that question with us.