Views And Reviews: Špacek And Houstoun
...To my delight, although a generation apart, Špacek and Houstoun blended like brothers, sounding as though they’d been an item for donkeys’ years. Both were of modest demeanour, and both spurned the extravagant gestures I’ve come to regard, rightly or wrongly, as the hallmark of shallow virtuosity.,,
Paul Serotsky enjoys a stream of sublime music-making.
Josef Špacek (violin) and Michael Houstoun (piano)
The Old Library, Whangarei, Northland, New Zealand, 9 July 2010
Bach – Chaconne, from Partita No. 2, BWV 1004
Mozart – Sonata No. 22, K305
Farr – Wakatipu
Ysa˙e – Sonata, Op. 27 No. 3
Prokofiev – Sonata No. 1, Op. 80
Smetana – From My Homeland
I have an instinctive mistrust of “performing competitions”. Every time some young lion rides into town on the back of a competition win, I suffer a worrisome whiff of “over-hype”. But, regardless of any reservations I might have regarding the way they work, I can’t deny that these competitions are astonishingly effective career-boosters. As if to prove the point, when Whangarei Music Society said the magic words, “Winner of the 2009 Michael Hill Violin Competition”, there was a metaphorical bright purple flash, and a pile of “SOLD OUT” notices materialised from an equally metaphorical puff of purple smoke.
Happily, on this occasion my mistrust was completely groundless. For, although still studying (under Itzhak Perlman), the 23-year-old Czech violinist, Josef Špacek, already has a formidable C.V., a substantial cake on which the Hill Competition win is but the icing. What’s more, his touring partner is none other than Michael Houstoun, and I couldn’t imagine the doyen of Aotearoa’s pianists saddling himself with any fly-by-night whiz-kid, even if he had been involved throughout the said competition (which, of course, he HAD been).
To my delight, although a generation apart, Špacek and Houstoun blended like brothers, sounding as though they’d been an item for donkeys’ years. Both were of modest demeanour, and both spurned the extravagant gestures I’ve come to regard, rightly or wrongly, as the hallmark of shallow virtuosity. Indeed, in his manner Houstoun bore an uncanny resemblance to Arthur Rubinstein who, as I recall from the one memorable occasion I saw him in the flesh, moved nary a muscle that didn’t directly contribute to the end-product.
Likewise Špacek, although by no means devoid of facial and bodily expression, clearly felt no compulsion to act as though wracked with the agony of unbearably intense artistic creativity. Any subliminally lingering doubts I might have had were soon swept aside by a stream of sublime music-making – this was a real “night to remember”.
Admittedly, Špacek did play two virtuoso warhorses of the sort that often “grace” artists’ demo. CDs. However, he evidently intended “the” Chaconne (from Bach’s Partita No. 2, BWV 1004) and Ysa˙e’s scintillating showpiece of a sonata, his op. 27 no. 3, not as opportunities simply to show off, but as object lessons – instead of milking them for every last drop of virtuoso potential, Špacek milked them for every last drop of MUSIC. The Bach was especially captivating; Špacek relieved it of the overcooked “monumental” quality that seems to have been fashionable for far too long, instead bringing to the grave theme a translucent quality that neatly complemented the more athletic variations.
Specially-composed competition test pieces are, by definition, designed to be technically challenging. Such pieces are also often taken on tour by the competition winner – whereas, generally speaking, it’d be better if they were left behind. Kiwi composer Gareth Farr wrote a test piece to put the 2009 Michael Hill competition’s 18 semi-finalists through their paces.
These semi-finals took place in Queenstown, which sits on the shore of Wakatipu, the lake that gave Farr’s work its title. I must admit that I sensed little of the Maori legend that inspired the music, but was mightily pleased that this particular test piece – a compact, immaculately-executed and wholly entertaining exploration of the violin’s capabilities – was an absorbing exception to the general rule.
The real meat of the programme came courtesy of Mozart’s Sonata in A, K305 and Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 1, op. 80. You’d be hard-pressed to find two more strongly contrasted works. The Mozart veers between playful and poised, with the accent on “playful”. The latter-day air of reverence that surrounds Mozart’s name seems to compel performers to make his music, above all else, sound poised and refined – or maybe the latter compels the former?
Whatever the pecking order of the chicken and the egg, Špacek and Houstoun were having none of it. Houstoun’s crystalline articulation formed the perfect foil for Špacek's filigree fiddling, and at play, which here meant most of the time, the pair of them were as cute as a barrel of monkeys.
Prokofiev’s sonata, on the other hand, is a grim work, lurching between extremes of pitch-black gloom and toe-curlingly vicious vivacity, amid which wanders a counter-subject, one of those incomparably exquisite lyrics for which Prokofiev is justly famous. The former extreme was chillingly conveyed, primarily by Houstoun’s baleful balancing of the bass, whilst the latter sprang from the splenetic sparks struck by Špacek's hacking bow. Impressive, yes, but still more impressive was their treatment of that unfortunate counter-subject, which came across as drifting in a daze, buffeted by the surrounding, ominously eruptive ocean.
The Czech Nationalist composers’ integration of their country’s astonishingly vital folk-culture with classical forms is one of the seven wonders of the musical world. If so – and even if not! – I think it’s fair to say that any Czech musician worth his salt would choose to finish on some tasty “home cooking”. Špacek, clearly worth his salt, chose Smetana’s From My Homeland, and regaled us with a heartfelt, spirited, and of course thoroughly idiomatic reading of this undemanding but joyful music.
The audience loved it all, and expressed their gratitude with a storm of clapping, cheering, stamping and whistling – I don’t go for whistling myself, but here it was blatantly obvious that this was no disapprobation. Significantly, for an encore Špacek forewent the final virtuosic assault that’s fairly typical of a “winner’s tour”, in favour of a muted, wistful farewell, a gesture that recalled Beecham’s famous “lollipops”. Thus it was that the enraptured audience dispersed into the chill night, warmed by the glow of Schumann’s tender Abendlied – or “Evening Song”.
Links:
http://www.michaelhillinternationalviolincompetition.com/
