I confess I am still pretty mystified by the name of that gorgeous French orchestral ensemble that performed at the Manoel Theatre.
Ostinato as a musical term is one that describes a persistent repetition of a musical phrase. It also conjures up rather amusing images of Balaam's Ass and other mulish stories that certainly do no justice to the unflagging excellence displayed by the ensemble under the direction of Jean-Luc Tingaud throughout a most enjoyable performance of four pieces the underlying hallmark of which was scintillating and colourful orchestration. All four works were performed with maximum attention to detail while Tingaud's direction was always refreshing and crisp, full of expression and with never a dull moment.
The French Horn is not a top favourite solo instrument and concertos written for it are few and far between. The horn though when played with flair has an air of unworldly almost apocalyptic splendour that is unbeatable. I first fell in love with the horn when I first heard the Brahms Horn Trio many years ago and then there was no stopping me. Its quirkiness is a byword and its performance in an orchestra does sometimes have some very peculiar results. Etienne Cutajar's formidable bio confirms if not underlines the rarity of virtuoso horn-players. His playing is magical and immensely expressive.
Every emotive nuance that is capable of being produced by the instrument is flawlessly executed with an inimitable style which rendered the Richard Strauss Horn Concerto no 2 unforgettable. Backed by typical Straussian orchestral cascades reminiscent of those neo-classic ones in Die Rosenkavalier, this joyous and exuberant work full of fanfares and intense climaxes was sheer delight which owed a lot to it being performed not only flawlessly but with such panache.
I cannot for the life of me understand why the six movements of Maurice Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin were listed in the programme when they pertain to the piano version. The orchestral version consists of only four. It is quite extraordinary how Ravel orchestrated his piano works so magnificently but in such a way that both versions remain as great and as iconic as each other.
Ma Mere l'Oye immediately springs to mind here while such is the utter genius of Ravel that the piano version and the orchestral version of the infinitely moving Pavane pour une Infante Defunte both have pathos and Velasquez's colours in equal measure.
The orchestral version of Tombeau is like an ever changing embroidery full of scintillating colour and yet bound together in the rhythms of the medieval dances that reached their apogee in Bach's great suites and partitas. The orchestrated movements are the Prelude, Forlane, Menuet and Rigaudon of which the last, Rigaudon, remains my primus inter pares because of that plaintive melody by the oboe that is tantalisingly truncated when the music returns to the initial theme to resolve in a glittering finale, leaving such an air of mystery.
If there was piece that was ostinato in the true sense of the word it was the allegro from Albert Roussel's Concert pour Petit Orchestre. This was very intense music all the way through its rather densely orchestrated three movements. If Ravel's textures are like exquisite embroideries in petit point then Roussel's are like Flemish tapestries. There was an air of melancholia that pervaded the work which was performed with great sensitivity. I will not forget that rivetingly beautiful solo flute in the andante in a hurry.
What a treat to have a live performance of Poulenc's Sinfonietta again within less than a month of it being performed by the Rotterdam Ensemble. This relatively rare work is an orchestral dream full of sinuous melodic lines and elusive rhythms that carry the listener into a realm of almost childlike fantasy. It was pity that the barrages of the firework festival had to add its own discordant percussion to the score however it did not mar the intrinsic beauty of it especially when it was performed with such Gallic charm as required by this most Gallic of 20th century composers.