Reviews

Irish Timeswriters review a selection of events in the arts

OTC/Barber of Seville, Solstice Arts Centre, Navan

Opera Theatre Company's new Barber of Seville had its first night in one of Ireland's newest arts venues, the Solstice Arts Centre in Navan, which opened its doors in May 2006.

The auditorium in the Solstice is anything but the archetypal black box favoured by the designers of so many of Ireland's arts centres.

The space is asymmetrical, the seating is layered and angled in interesting ways, and the acoustic, if this performance is anything to judge by, is excellent for opera.

The OTC production seats the small instrumental ensemble on the right of the stage, on which designer David Craig has placed a giant guitar case which opens, clam-like, to reveal the interior of Bartolo's house. The guitar theme is followed through in the serenading, with Figaro actually playing guitar, and in Rosina's music lesson. And there's an amusing touch in having the case close slowly over the singers at the end of Act I.

The costumes are fully in period, and director Bill Bankes-Jones treats the piece as a lively, sometimes hyperactive romp. The excesses of Martin Higgins's Bartolo take things rather too far (though his larking about did spark some belly laughs), and the camped- up Count Almaviva of Niall Morris also strays into unproductive territory. Morris's singing tilts dangerously close to operatic parody, which rather undermines his stature as an ardent lover, and both singers are vocally and musically at their best when at their most restrained.

Owen Gilhooly's suitably manipulative Figaro finds a far more satisfying balance between energy and musical style, and Doreen Curran's reserved and poisedRosina, if anything, is even more stylish as the object of the Count's affections. Gerard O'Connor is typically blustery as her avaricious and infatuated guardian Basilio, and Mary O'Sullivan bustles effectively as his maid Bertha.

Conductor Roy Laughlin paces the music effectively, even if some of the patter is too fast to work in English. Aided by the Solstice acoustic, he secures some of the most effective chamber ensemble as orchestra sounds I've heard at an OTC production. MICHAEL DERVAN

On tour until March 8th

Petcu-Colan, Kimura, Hugh Lane Gallery, Dublin
Ronan Guilfoyle - Sonata for Solo Violin; Sonata for Violin and Piano No 2.

Composer Ronan Guilfoyle's creative niche lies along the border between jazz and classical, what he himself has called "in-the-cracks" music.

The fusion he achieves between the two styles is often discreet rather than overt. This subtlety is more refined in the two pieces presented here than in some others I've heard by him, sounding as though the influence of jazz was intricately embedded in the background - as part of the creative process - but then not necessarily manifest in the foreground where it reaches the listener.

For example, the first of five short movements in the 2007 Sonata for Solo Violin is styled "Jauntily Rhythmic" and trips along with a funky, pacey character derived from a jazzy ostinato.

Likewise, the finale - "Étude-Rondo" - is imbued with a funky energy as the soloist works through torrid passagework and a big concluding climax.

But in the slower second and fourth movements, whatever jazz elements may have informed Guilfoyle's thinking are not for easy detection if at all. What you hear is thoughtful, free-moving music arrived at via the mystery of creative distillation.

The "Lento, Grave" movement features a beautiful long-spun melody and occasional, delicately placed accompanying figures both plucked and bowed. In the quiet second movement the soloist whistles softly in unison with the violin.

The Sonata for Violin and Piano No. 2, here receiving its first performance, also keeps its jazz provenance out of the spotlight for much of the time. In his printed introduction, Guilfoyle talks of conversation between the instruments, something he achieves with repeats and echoes in a first movement featuring quotations from Messiaen. After a set of theme and variations, the sonata concludes with an openly jazzy accent in a high-speed disentanglement of four close-clustered notes.

Giving great credence to these mature, well-crafted works was violinist Ioana Petcu-Colan who made light work of any technical challenges and otherwise played with a persuasive sense of belief. She found a thread of continuity between the five movements of the solo sonata which was intense and expressive.

Joining her for the Sonata No. 2 was pianist Izumi Kimura who, though occasionally a little over-rich, nicely complemented Petcu-Colan and could always produce a good jazz feel in those places where the score demanded it. MICHAEL DUNGAN

Fleurine, Sugar Club, Dublin

The much-heralded Dutch singer Fleurine does nice very well. No, seriously; onstage, her easy charm and a personal warmth are impossible not to respond to. But as a singer? That's another story.

She has a small voice of no great distinctiveness. It shows strain once it starts to approach the top of her register, the intonation is decidedly iffy at times and the phrasing is sometimes unsteady for someone with her considerable experience. It's no barrier to being a great singer: the world of jazz has known quite a few with less vocal equipment than she can call on. But they can seize on a song's story and its emotions, make them their own and persuade the audience to participate in the illusion.

That didn't happen here, at least as far as one can judge; much of her repertoire was sung in Brazilian Portuguese, a language that is, personally, a closed book. But in those songs she sang in English, several of them her translations from the original, and the sole French song, Michel Legrand's Chanson de Delphine, there was little or no sense that the material had been internalised and then persuasively acted out.

Maybe she had an off night, but at least her accompanying group was a pleasure. In Freddie Bryant, she had an acoustic guitarist with considerable facility and feel for the idiom, although he was far less convincing on his rare venture into straight 4/4. There was also a superb percussionist, Gilad, and a solid bassist in Doug Weiss.

Most of all, there was her husband, pianist Brad Mehldau. Wonderfully sensitive as an accompanist, he somewhat simplified his solo style to suit the context, all but eliminating the jousting of right hand and left hand that can be so exhilarating a part of what he can do. He produced a succession of happily swinging excursions that did much to burnish the music and, as ever, remains a class act. So, respect. RAY COMISKEY

Archie Chen (piano), NCH John Field Room, Dublin

Scarlatti - 2 Sonatas. Mozart - Sonata in B flat K281. Schumann - Fantasy in C Op 17. Chopin - Polonaise in A flat Op 53 (Heroic). Kevin O'Connell - New Work. Liszt - Hungarian Rhapsody No 2.

American pianist Archie Chen is a graduate of Indiana University who's currently studying under John O'Conor at the Royal Irish Academy of Music.

His NCH John Field Room recital included a number of pianistic warhorses, but also found room for a substantial piece by Kevin O'Connell, who currently teaches composition at the RIAM.

Chen is clearly a performer with an appetite for the big challenge. His choice of romantic repertoire by Schumann, Chopin and Liszt guaranteed a heavy workout, and the sonatas by Scarlatti and Mozart with which he opened offered technical and musical challenges of an altogether different cast.

On this occasion Chen seems to have bitten off rather more than he could comfortably chew. The sense of risk was at times excitingly high, but the failure to stay centred on a suitable path led to an amount of musical bruising.

The grand gesture, whether of gorgeously full tone or daring velocity, seems to be at the heart of Chen's approach to romantic repertoire. The eagerness with which he launched himself into the most daunting of challenges suggests a fiery temperament, and the necessary elements of technique are there to support it. The failures on this occasion related to consistency of delivery and accuracy of memory.

The 18th-century sonatas were delivered cleanly but with a lack of poise.

Chen's colouristic skills are considerable, and they were heard to best advantage in the premiere of Kevin O'Connell's Céimeanna, the steps of the title being intended to cover pre-compositional issues as well as steps "as related to the dance-like character of much of the piece".

The relatively calm mulling over of ideas with which the piece begins is gradually transformed into storminess, and here Chen seemed to ride the intensity and aggression of the gestures with the style of a master. MICHAEL DERVAN