SCO/RCS Winds: Carmina Gadelica
Stevenson Hall, RCS, Glasgow 21/11/25
Side by Side (SCO Wind Soloists, RCS Wind Students)
Link: https://www.rcs.ac.uk/whats-on/fridays-at-one-scottish-chamber-orchestra-winds-side-by-side-2/
Almost exactly a year ago, I first experienced the music making/education phenomenon that is ‘Side-by-Side’, whereby wind players from the Scottish Chamber Orchestra perform side-by-side with the Wind Department students of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. A year ago, I caught the Queen’s Hall performance; this year it was the Stevenson Hall in the Conservatoire that I attended as part of the ‘Fridays at One’ series of concerts, on 21st November. As last year, there were elements of both déjà vu and novelty. Back in June, I caught the SCO Wind Soloists in Gartmore Village during their Summer Tour, in a programme which included Jay Capperauld’s ‘Carmina Gadelica’ for wind dectet. Friday’s programme concluded with a welcome second chance to hear the same piece. In Gartmore, the concert had opened with an arrangement by SCO principal flute Andrê Cebrián of the Scherzo from Mendelssohn’s incidental music for ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. Another stylish (but more substantial) Cebrián arrangement, of the overture and three arias from Mozart’s ‘Marriage of Figaro’, opened the Stevenson Hall concert. The novelty filling in the sandwich of wind goodies was Jonathan Dove’s ‘Figures in the Garden’, a 7-movement serenade for wind octet commissioned in 1991 by Glyndebourne to be performed in the garden as a prologue to performances of ‘The Marriage of Figaro’ during their Mozart Bicentenary celebrations that year. As in Gartmore, the recital was genially introduced by SCO sub-principal bassoonist, Alison Green. The musicians, comprising 6 SCO players and 8 RCS students (yes, more than a full dectet this year) played in various combinations to a gratifyingly full house.
Quirky, I know, but the Overture to ‘The Marriage of Figaro’ always reminds me of my favourite ‘Christmas’ movie, ‘Trading Places’, where it accompanies the opening titles, setting the same mood of subversive farcical mischief that it does in the opera. Andrê Cebrián’s arrangement for dectet (two each of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons and horns) caught this perfectly, and received crisp agile playing from the 5 students, no less than their SCO instrument partners. All parts had a turn at scurrying virtuosity in the spotlight and all met the challenges with an excellently balanced ensemble sound. Figaro’s suggestive opening aria, ‘Cinque, dieci, venti’ as he measures out the space for his and Susanna’s marital bed, had an arch charm with lovely solos for oboe, flute and horn. The oboe was favoured for Cherubino’s achingly hormonal ‘Voi che sapete’ from Act II. Delightful. Figaro’s rather cruel teasing of Cherubino, at the end of Act I, about the restrictive rigours of life in the army to which he is due to be banished, ‘Non più andrai’, was perfect for the forces of a quasi-military wind band, featured excellent solos for both hornists, and benefitted from lovely clarinet arpeggiation at the end. A super arrangement and a super concert-opener.
Jonathan Dove’s octet (sans flutes) ‘Figures in the Garden’ shifted our focus to Act IV of ‘The Marriage of Figaro’, a comedy of multiply mistaken identities set in the garden of the Count’s palace at nighttime. There are (at least to my ear) no direct quotations from the opera, but certainly melodic fragments (some from recitatives) are fashioned into a set of 7 quasi-minimalist pen-portraits. The first, ‘Dancing in the dark’, sets the scene, with a minuet-like triple-metre choreography of farcical partial concealment and a brief atmospheric slow chordal epilogue. ‘Susanna in the rain’ sounded more like swirling mists from the reeds with an arioso from a solo horn. ‘A conversation’ is a flashback to Act III, with the Countess and Susanna drafting a letter to the Count, inviting him to a set-up assignation (in the garden) with the intention of exposing his infidelity (‘Sull'aria ... che soave zeffiretto’), syncopated reeds with a 6/8 feel. ‘Barbarina alone’ uses two syncopated clarinets and groaning bassoons to portray her anxiety at having lost the pin from the letter, possibly jeopardising the overly-complicated plan. In ‘The Countess interrupts a quarrel’, a gorgeous clarinet arioso cuts through syncopated chattering from the other reeds, perhaps the revelations that silence the Count’s rage and prompt his contrition. The slow idyllic calm of ‘Voices in the garden’ can only mean the final reconciliation. With the finale, we get something not found in the opera, ‘Nocturne: Figaro and Susanna’, the tenderness of the newly-weds, alone at last. All in all, this was a persuasive outing for a piece of great charm that made skilful use of the distinctive timbres of the various wind instruments and shone some additional light on the familiar characters. A well-rewarded listen.
Another piece of déjà vu awaited me when I considered the second hearing of the Capperauld As had happened with the Caplet piece in last year’s ‘Side-by-Side’, when I got home and checked my review of the Carmina from Gartmore in June, I realised that there was literally nothing in my recent notes that was not stated in the earlier review. That is my excuse for shamelessly presenting the earlier review virtually verbatim (whilst secretly glad that my tastes remain consistent).
Back to the full dectet for Jay Capperauld’s ‘Carmina Gadelica’ (Gaelic Songs), which was composed this year as an SCO commission supported by a grant from the Vaughan Williams Foundation. I have written before:
As Associate Composer of the SCO, as well as a regular collaborator with Scotland’s other ensembles, Scottish audiences are never starved of Jay Capperauld’s music. Although his music regularly tackles profound and serious themes, there always seem to be a certain optimism and not a little wit in his unpretentious treatment of them.
‘Carmina Godelica’ is a case in point, named for a 19th century collection of the sung and spoken heritage of the Western Isles by Alexander Carmichael, whose authenticity has long been challenged. Rather than attempt a cultural replevin, Jay’s work is a 5-movement suite evoking 5 genres from the collection with new music that connects beyond its limitations with an ancient culture in an engaging, compelling, convincing and very moving way. To my ear as a fluent Irish speaker, the music seems to follow the natural speech rhythms of the Gaelic language. ‘Incantations’, with its short three-note phrases superseded by hocketing dotted rhythms and foot-stampimg, seems to connect to a mystic pagan past. Full use of the sonorities and timbres of the individual instruments grabbed my attention, not to say something deeper and more primal. ‘Waterfall of Psalms’ evoked the clarinet precentor’s chant being answered by cascading embellished responses from the others as the congregation. A plaintive oboe solo was particularly touching. ‘Waulking Songs’ was scherzo-like, with horns and bassoons setting up the rhythm, various solos chanting the verses and the ensemble dancing the chorus, a cheeky piccolo capering the coda in a virtual ‘cutty sark’. ‘Laments’ did what it said on the tin, the rhythm of a dirge set up by horns, bassoons and clarinet, two lines of two keening flutes twined around each other. Plaintive oboes wailed like seagulls. The ensuing tutti sounded like a pibroch, with ornamentation that would be called sean-nós (old-style) in Ireland. The ‘Fairy Songs’ finale bowled along in 9/8 or similar metre with the occasional hemiola, a piccolo finally calling a sudden halt to the mischief. A thoroughly satisfying piece that, for this reviewer at any rate, connected respectfully with an ancient culture very close to my heart and made it immediate, relevant and compelling. Full marks from me.