Kenneth Woods- a view from the podium

 2 slots have opened up in the Emerging Artist program at the Rose City International Conductor’s Workshop. Applications taken on a first-come, first-served basis.

Dear Colleagues We are just a couple of weeks away from the beginning of the 2009 Rose City International Conductor’s Workshop in Portland, Oregon. We’re looking forward to a great week, with repertoire ranging from Verdi’s Aida to Debussy’s L’apres midi d’un faune, with Mozart’s Gran Partita, the Fourth Piano Concerto of Beethoven and an anniversary immersion in Haydn’s Symphony no. 99. Our regular faculty- myself, David Hoose from Boston University, and the new Music Director of the Fairfax Symphony, Christopher Zimmerman, are joined by the Rose City Chamber Orchestra and a team of top flight professional soloists. There is a wealth of information about the workshop on our website. http://www.rosecityworkshop.org/Within the last few days, we’ve had a couple of cancellations, so at this time, there are 2 openings in the Emerging Artists’ program. Interested conductors should email the workshop office at admin@rosecityworkshop.org  or contact me directly. Please consider passing on this information to students, friends and colleagues that you think might benefit from the experience.

Many thanks

Kenneth Woods, director

Rose City International Conductor’s Workshop 

 

 From the Surrey Advertiser (Print Edition)

As they approach their fortieth anniversary, the Surrey Mozart Players are going from strength to strength, presenting ever more adventurous programmes, and last Saturday at Holy Trinity Church was no exception.

Under their charismatic conductor, Kenneth Woods, they opened their programme with Beethoven’s Leonore Overture no. 2. This is considerably bolder than the more frequently played Leonore No 3, and Woods’ interpretation bore this out. The dramatic trumpet call was quite elaborate, if, in the splendid Holy Trinity acoustic, not distant enough. The wind and percussion between them bolstered an exciting performance.

Alberto Ginastera’s Harp Concerto conveys the atmosphere of the composer’s native Argentina. It is a large scale piece, with a huge orchestra— too big for Holy Trinity even with the scaling down of the percussion section. This colorful piece found the orchestra on top form, with wonderful interjections from the wind instruments and percussion.

Solo harpist Victoria Davies gave a sensitive performance and shone particularly in the central slow movement and the striking cadenza that follows it. Significantly these were the places where the orchestra was at its quietest: the composer never got around to re-scoring the concerto before his death.

By the time Schumann revisited the score of his 4^th Symphony in 1851,he was already showing signs of his illness. As Kenneth Woods explained, these disturbances were borne out in the music, in the incessant repetition, the dramatic contrasts and the trombones coming in on a dissonant note at key moments in both the outer movements.

The performance reflected this frenzied mood in many ways, from the imposing opening with its constant return, to the continuous “A” that boomed out in the composer’s head, to a crisp, forward moving interpretation of the opening movement. A strongly archaic feel pervaded the slow movement, with some fine violin playing in the central trio (this music was quoted again in the third movement) and there was a robust mood in the Scherzo. Woods caught the mood of the link to the finale wonderfully, and the Finale itself was thrilling.

Shelagh Goodwin, Surrey Advertiser, June 26, 2009

I was recently at a rehearsal of an outstanding conservatory-level orchestra. Strange noises were coming from the contrabassoon. The conductor stopped to try to address the issue- the obvious problem was that it was shockingly out of tune- it sounded like a geriatric bass with emphysema or an accordian with a leak. After a few attempts the contra player informed him that the contra was “broken” but that they’d have it fixed before the next rehearsal.

After the rehearsal, the conductor checked with the bassoon professor. “Is the contra fixed?” he asked.

“It wasn’t broken- she just wasn’t blowing hard enough into it.”

Even as this little vignette played out, on the other side of the room, the clarinet instructor and one of the students were dismantling and re-assembling the bass clarinet, which was also “broken.” I missed the noises that led to that diagnosis, but I know it is a brand new, ,top of the line bass clarinet.

In fact, I would say that in my long experience as a conductor, any time a work calls for a doubling instrument- bass or e-flat clarinet, cor anglais, contra bassoon, etc, there is a high likelihood that moments into the rehearsal, the novel device will be declared “broken.” I did a performance of the Walton Viola Concerto, which has a very, very, very important bass clarinet part a few years back that must have gone through 8 bass clarinets. Every time we came to the bass clarinet solo, the player would honk out a few strange noises, then declare it “broken.” On the day of the concert, a final bass clarinet was couriered across the city, but I had decided that the chap simply didn’t play bass clarinet. I nearly passed out when he actually played most of the notes in is solo in the concert (and only in the concert- the only time the thing was not “broken.”)

I don’t think I’ve ever, ever, ever had to stop a rehearsal because an oboe, B-b clarinet or bassoon was “broken.” 

Any time I’m doing New World Symphony or Vaughn Williams 5 or anything like that with a big cor anglais solo, I’m always asked to pinpoint the minute in the rehearsal when we will be playing the famous solo. When the moment arrives, I’ve all too often heard a couple humorous sqwaulks before the thing was declared….. “broken.”

What is it about woodwind instruments- can “broken”- ness only be determined in an orchestra rehearsal. Do these things actually make good sounds in the practice room, only to explode once taken to rehearsal? Or….. Is it a point of pride for some never to touch a bass clarinet outside of rehearsal? I’ve started to think that the reason the cor player wants to know when they’re rehearsing the solo is so that they know they can safely leave the thing in the case until 8:35, so there’s no chance whatsoever they’ll discover it’s “broken” until 8:36.  

And how exactly does a musical instrument get “broken?” A key sticks, a note doesn’t close- this I can understand. But a whole instrument is “broken?” Why was it not broken 10 minutes before the rehearsal (because it was in the case??????) If I had a huge solo and discovered my axe was “broken” and would only make duck noises 10 minutes before rehearsal, I would not be asking the conductor what time he was rehearsing my piece- I’d run out of the building and call the personnel manager I’d been in a terrible accident and wouldn’t be at rehearsal, then I’d hide. No, that’s not a suggestion…..

Don’t get me wrong, things break - I get this. I still don’t understand why a bass clarinet is 60% likely to be “broken” while a clarinet is only .000003% likely to be broken- some mysteries are not meant to be solved. But if you only discover your axe is “broken” in rehearsal, I must conclude you only play your instrument in rehearsal, which is bound to make me a little nervous about that big solo you’ve got in the slow movement…..

Is it just that you ain’t blowin’ hard enough?

Friday night I conducted Orchestra of the Swan in a program of

Mozart- Symphony no. 13

Haydn- Cello Concerto in C Major (Nick Stringfellow, cello)

Mendelssohn- Songs Without Words

Haydn- Symphony no. 34 (“The Farewell”)

I had the makings of a lengthy and thoughtful blog post about this concert swirling in my head for hours after the concert, but I was too physically tired to type, even though I couldn’t sleep. Coming off a nasty flu in the week, and still struggling with my throat, it’s been a tough, tough week physically.

So, most of that post is going to end up in the ether.

Let me just say, fearlessly stating the obvious (but perhaps not yet obvious enough)  that Haydn 45 is an astonishing, stunning, mind blowing, heart-wrending, fist-clenching, breath-holding super masterpiece. For all those suckers out there who still think of Haydn’s music as the essence of servile gentility, and of classical music in general of being the cozy sound track of the upper middle classes, and of chamber orchestra being the slightly more well-mannered cousin of the symphony orchestra, I wish you could have been there.

This was Haydn played by a small orchestra of committed virtuosos absolutely playing like they were on fire. No Bartok or Stravnisky work could have brought out more energy or physicality. We had foot stamping, we had grunting, we had snorting. The first movement had the sort of apocalyptic drive one associates with a good Beethoven 5, but the Haydn is more experimental and therefore, perhaps, more dramatic. (We worked wonders with the long delayed second theme- it took up a huge chunk of our rehearsal time to achieve it, though.) That slow movement flirted with sublime madness- some of those modulations must be among the most strangely beautiful and beautifully strange moments in all music. Fortunately, the finale didn’t lapse into camp- I’d hoped that it would feel like an honest meditation on silence and mortality, and it felt that way. Can I just say, for the record, (completely breaking my “glass houses” rule) how juvenile and annoying I found Daniel Barenboim’s mugging in the New Year’s Day performance this piece with the VPP in January. Haydn deserved to be taken seriously, especially when billions are watching.

Somehow with Haydn, too many people spray paint a veneer of safe on top of everything he does. The Strum und Drang bits are played as quaint relics of a musical fad for dramatic music instead of as real dramatic music. The jokes are robbed of their bite, and therefore, their humor. The sad stuff is tamed and gentrified. What can’t we just forget all those assumptions, and play what he wrote- let the wild music be wild, the funny music be funny? I suppose period bands have the great advantage here because they can rip into their instruments with total abandon and still sound “of  Haydn’s time” where a modern instrument pushed too hard will start to sound Bartok-ish if one isn’t incredibly disciplined. Still, only one period band I know really rips the strings off in Haydn (Concentus Musicus Wien, under Harnoncourt, who aren’t afraid to push the old instruments to their limits).

Anyway, wish you could have been there. Actual stomping onstage from the players. In Haydn. I felt like I was back in my rock band days…..

I can’t really say a big enough thank you to everyone who weighed in with their ideas on the program order for my upcoming Helix Ensemble concert.

I had my first rehearsal with the band yesterday, and talked to the orchestra about about the issue, and interestingly, a couple of issues came up that didn’t in all the comments so far. First of all, the orchestra has arranged for Philip to speak to the audience and had hoped for him to be able to meet audience members at the intermission after they’d heard his piece.

Secondly, I was reminded as I walked in the door that the horn parts to the Haydn are in C alto, which means the guys are up in dog-whistle range for most of the piece. They weren’t so sure they wanted to do it last on the program, lest they be too tired. On the other hand, they weren’t so sure they wanted to do it first on the program as they might not be loosened up. Doing it in the middle was possibly not good either, as the pieces on either side might suffer. Basically, horn players don’t like playing that high at any point in a concert.

Well, the guys foolishly played really, really well, so we were able to entrust that they’d cope with whatever we chose to do. Philip’s piece is the shortest, so can’t fill a half by itself, and two pieces plus a chat is too long for a half. The Haydn is also the most demanding on the audience- there is a bit of mischief in every other bar. It should really go last, as the most modern work we’re doing.

So, we finally decided on

Beethoven- Symphony no. 4

Introduction to Sym no. 2 with Philip Sawyers, orchestra demonstrations

Intermission

Sawyers- Symphony no. 2

Haydn- Symphony no 60, It Distratto

IIt’s going to be a great show. The Haydn is pure genius from beginning to end- certainly the wittiest piece of music ever written, but also astoundingly beautiful in places. People won’t know what hit them.

We read Philip’s piece straight through- it has a real sense of arc to it. It’s incredibly dense contrapuntally, so most of the rehearsal was a matter of sorting out the shaping of the individual lines and clarifying some balances. Great stuff, and powerful. A real symphony.

The Beethoven’s not a bad piece, either….

Okay, I’m taking a survey, so please respond via comments.

I have the following (wonderful) program coming up in a couple of weeks. In chronological order

Haydn- Symphony no. 60 “In Distratto”

Beethoven- Symphony no. 4

Sawyers- Symphony no 2

The question is- what order would you like to see us present this program in? My original thought was

Haydn

Sawyers

Beethoven

Then I got to thinking that Andras Schiff is right- Haydn is too sophisticated for people to take in when they’re still digesting dinner. Better to start wtih something they know.

Beethoven

Sawyers

Haydn

But, why not finish with the new piece? Philip’s symphony is thrilling music- deeply crafted but also something that will really grab, involved and move the audience. Could be

Beethoven

Haydn

Sawyers

Or, wake everyone up with the new piece, which is the loudest, and work our way back through history?

Sawyers

Beethoven

Haydn

What do you think??? Let’s try to get more than the usual 2 pity comments I get from my mates who know how depressed I get when nobody responds to these things. Make your voice heard, planet earth…

K

“You can only analyze music from beginning to end, because the listener can’t know what they haven’t heard.”

Those words were spoken by my friend David Hoose at the RCICW a few years ago. At first, I thought “that can’t be entirely right,” but as the years go by, I can see more and more that he’s right. I might add this post script

“Or hear what isn’t in the score.”

So, let’s analyze a classical symphony. I’ll tell you which one later.

It begins with an explosion of violent energy- no slow introduction here. The first violins range across octaves with a disjunct theme, underpinned by relentless churning eighth notes in the violas, cellos and basses and syncopations in the seconds. At this temp (Allegro assai), the combination of syncopations and eights creates incredible tension, as the combined effect feels anything but stable. The only sense of stability comes from the phrase structure, which, at first, is predictably four-square.

But there is something else strange and menacing about this opening. It is in a most unusual key- F# minor. The appearance of that key signature tells us that this is not going to be an ordinary work- F# minor is a key that usually only appears in works of high drama, of existential crisis.

The exposition is essentially mono-thematic. The opening melody gradually morphs and evolves into something else, but we never get a clear cut sense transition to a new section or key area or a new theme, instead only the sense of departure, as the evolution of the material gradually makes the theme less and less recognizable, and the general impression more uneasy. Alongside this process of thematic evolution is a progressive breakdown of predictability in the phrase structure. While the first half of the exposition is entirely built of four bar phrases, the second section begins in the middle of a four-bar phrase and has phrases of 4, 5,1, 6, 4, 2, 4,5 and 4 bars. No two consecutive phrases are the same length.

At the end of the exposition, the music simply disintegrates- all of that energy simply evaporates into thin air, leaving nothing but a question mark.

The development starts with a reprise of the opening, now in A major instead of F# minor. Will we see more of A major in this piece? The fact that he underlines this event with a fortissimo (a rarity in classical works and the first in the symphony) seems to point to importance of this particular harmonic turn. As with the exposition, the composer initially creates an impression of familiarity and stability- most of what we hear we have heard before, just in a different key or sequence.

Of course, surprise awaits. Somehow, the tonality works its way back to F#, but this time cadencing very strongly on F # major, a key even rarer and more rarified than F# minor. This arrival precipitates a crisis, as the music collapses again into silence. After a moment’s hesitation, a surprise- we lurch back from the edge of the tonal abyss to the cozy confines of D major and a brand new theme. It is only at this moment that we fully understand the genius of the mono-thematic exposition. The composer has saved this contrasting theme until 2/3rs of the way through the piece.

It is elegant music, and reassuring in the way it restores a sense of order, with perfectly proportioned four bar phrases. Predictable, comfortable and comforting until the theme traps itself in a sequence and extends itself into a 6 bar phrase. In a moment, all that stability disintegrates yet again, as the music drifts off into silence. Again, the music has disintegrated. The silent chasm  opens before us for longer than before, then, again, into the silence comes the furious anger of the opening. We’ve reached the recap.

On the next page is an adagio in 3/8. It is in the key of A major- that fortissimo at the beginning of the first movement development was no accident. Again, the opening of the movement seems orderly and benign- all four bar phrases, all simple harmonies. Little can we imagine from this opening that ahead of us lies one of the most mysterious and haunting movements in all symphonic music. Sequences carry us off into oblivion. Again and again we experience this sense of disintegration. This is true music of twilight, heightened by the use of muted strings, which gives the sound of the orchestra an even more nocturnal color.

Next, a Menuet. Genial enough, except it is in F# major, a strange, exotic key. It has a disquietingly, dislocated glow- as if one is experiencing life in a heightened and altered state, or perhaps watching the ordinary events of a far-away world. Again and again, there are strange harmonic shocks, and interesting thematic references to the slow movement that just preceded, particularly the third-beat ties across the bar lines in long sequence. The trio is even more otherworldly- it begins with a generic horn call, but a horn call from another plane of reality. The composer had to order a special set of F# horn crooks from the local blacksmith in order to make possible this color. It is a sound no audience would ever have heard before- ultimately formulaic material, set in a completely unfamiliar tonal context.

At last, we reach the Finale. So far we’ve had three movements that are alternately stormy, disquieting, strange, angry, contradictory and in which nothing turns out to be what we thought it would be. Music of serene simplicity leads from pleasant country gardens into malevolent forests. Genial dances seem to come to us from another world, as though we watch skeletons dancing. The logic of sonata form is torn to shreds as the 2^nd theme is held back until the end of the development. By this point in the work, we’ve come to expect the unexpected, so the composer must know that to shock us one more time, he must come up with a twist of unprecedented daring.

The F# minor Presto takes us back to the Sturm und Drang world of the opening movement. It’s terse, fiery, dramatic and virtuosic. Without a single wasted bar, the music drives forward with relentless, dispassionate focus. The only surprise seems to be that there is no real surprise- the entire exposition and development unfold on intense form, but more or less as expected, and the recap is telegraphed and terse, but logical. Is there to be nothing more? Is the final surprise the lack of a final surprise?

Finally, the moment arrives. The music cadences on the dominant, ending squarely on C#, and once again collapses into silence. After a moment of reflection we hear music of sublime consolation, once again in A major. Once we’ve heard the full expanse of the theme, we begin to get variations- first is a witty dialogue for 1^st oboe and 2^nd horn. When they finish, there is a brief silence, and the two players leave the stage.

Strange as the piece has been, nothing has prepared us for such a coup-de-theatre as this.  Next, the remaining winds, oboe 2, bassoon and horn 1 get their moment of glory. Then they leave. Gradually, the entire orchestra departs in silence, leaving only two solo violinists, who bring the work to an enigmatic close, not in F # minor, nor in A major, but in that most enigmatic and otherworldly of all keys, F # major.

You may have guessed early in this post that the work in question is Haydn’s Symphony no. 45. You may also be aware that there is a quaint story attached to this work. You may not realize that this story was not known in the early years after the works’ completion. The reason I’ve written this long post as I have is that every program note I’ve ever seen about this work begins with reference to that quaint story, which treats the enigmatic ending as a harmless joke, and the previous four movements an innocent prelude. We’re told the first movement isn’t really tragic and angry, just playfully so. The Adagio is described only in terms of its genteel opening, and not its disorienting interior. The bizarre key of the Menuet becomes an insignificant by-product of the overall scheme of the piece.

Perhaps I risk repeating myself if I refer to my post about Schumann from the other day. Popular misconceptions, whether that Schumann’s orchestration is second rate or Haydn’s music is harmless, can lead to serious loss of meaning in the music, because it lures us into skipping  over trying to figure out what the music is from the score and instead, we contextualize and water down the notation. We don’t bother to ask hard question, to wrestle with the music as a listener- reading from beginning to end. When the silence precedes this symphony is shattered by an outburst of F# minor, we don’t know about the theatrics to come. We shouldn’t.

If, after you’ve really experienced the piece from beginning to end, you still choose to think of the work as a study in geniality, that’s find. If you find the ending humorous in a naïve way, that’s your prerogative. On the other hand, if you’ve experience a symphony in which disintegration seems to be waiting around every corner, a Finale in which the orchestra itself seems to disintegrate seems to be much more than a simple plea to start summer vacation.

UPCOMING CONCERT

Friday 19 June 2009, 8pm
Civic Hall, Stratford-upon-Avon
Shakespeare Summer Proms
Orchestra of the Swan
Haydn’s Farewell

Mozart- Symphony no 13 in F, K112

Haydn- Cello Concerto in C Major

     Nick Stringfellow, cello  

Mendelssohn- Songs Without Words

Haydn- Symphony no. 45, “Farewell”

I’m very excited to be making my first appearance with the wonderful ensemble Orchestra of the Swan this week at their exciting new summer festival, the Shakespeare Summer Proms. Orchestra of the Swan are fast becoming recognized as one of the more exciting and innovative orchestras in the UK, and have been featured on a number of TV shows within the last year. They have an exceptionally strong record for commissioning new works, and their Spring Sounds Festival is now one of the hottest tickets in the region.

I’m so excited to be conducting music so close to my heart. I love all Haydn, but as a cellist, the two concertos are pieces I’ve loved and lived with for many, many years. They’re a joy to play, but I’m happy this time to leave the cello duties to the orchestra’s principal cellist, the up and coming virtuoso Nick Stringfellow.And the Farewell? Well, we’ve all had our experiences with it, but I’ve found and learned so much working on it this time that we’ll need a separate blog post. For now, let me just tell you that you don’t want to miss it…

Should be a great show, do join us.

Tickets- £11.50 to £21.50
Box Office 01789 207100

A nice review from Newburyport Arts Journal of Ensemble Epomeo’s June 6 performance at the Newburyport Chamber Music Festival-

…It’s hard to believe anyone felt less than sigh-and-snuggle-before-rolling-over-and-lighting-up-a-smoke satisfied after the Trio Epomeo’s June 6 performance for the Newburyport Chamber Music Festival. Except, perhaps, for the Schnittke fans, who, once they got a taste of the Moderato section of the Russian composer’s String started growling for the Adagio — a kind of musical blood lust…… The Newburyport performance, the penultimate stop of Trio Epomeo’s three-country, two-continent tour, had been conceived as musical tapas, of sorts, giving the audience a taster’s menu, a variety of works to sample, a selection of moods and colors, rather than complete works. But, even within this context, the emphasis was on the modern, and the mood tilted toward darker hues: Hans Krasa’s chilling “Tanz,” which opens with a waltz and ends with oblivion; Alan Hovhaness’ ethereal, otherworldly Trio, the musical manifestation of a deep, mournful sadness that seems to exist on a cellular level; Gideon Klein’s “Based on a Moravian Theme,” a concise and unforgettable emotional musical rollercoaster; and, finally, closing the first half of the performance with Schnittke’s alternately lulling and jolting crash-bang String Trio.Within this context, the Beethoven seems a little out of place historically, musically and even geographically, given that the work presented had an eastern Europe perspective — even the encore, a Kodaly Intermezzo. At the same time, it was comforting, steadying, closing with Beethoven, a lovely piece — lyrical, expressive, an incredible vehicle for exploring possibilities of the instruments. And, again, when you encounter such inspired playing —wonderfully executed and, at times, absolutely breathtaking performances by players at the top of their game, up close and personal— all this talk about the what’s what of the program becomes mere sport. So, again, within this context, the decision to go Ludwig becomes a fielder’s choice.

It was a magical evening — seriously under-attended, but magical. The trio, which came together last year at the Festivale d’alla Musica da Camera d’Ischia in Italy to explore the possibilities of just one piece (the Schnittke Trio, natch) and discovered that they clicked musically, sounded like they had been playing together forever. The performance space (the Carriage House, a marvelous listening room fashioned out of an 19th-century out-building on the Lord Timothy Dexter Estate by NCMF patrons Julia Farwell Clay and Walter Clay) is a delight, as was the after-party — the social aspect, the schmooze, has been an important part of festival since its inception. There was plenty of food and wine and a chance to chat up musicians. We heard stories about Wallis’ recent tour of North Korea, of all places. Or the time when he and Wood, who worked together during a musical interlude in Arkansas, wandered into a rock and roll club. Wallis kind of hung back, but Woods, who performed in a rock band back in his Indiana University days, jammed with the band, playing guitar behind his head, a la Jimi Hendrix. But the best news we got, before the last of the wine had been poured, was that trio plans to record the Schnittke. Stay tuned.

Read the whole thing here.

FYI- The review mentions low-attendance. NPCMF tells me that they sold all the tickets available for the event, and all the chairs were full, but I don think we could have made room fo 50% more without making the room feel uncomfortable.

I knew it was going to be a busy summer, but having driven straight from my last trio concert to Logan and from Heathrow to my first SMP rehearsal, I guess I was expecting the day after the SMP program to offer the promise of a bit of peace and quiet, but I awoke today to the prospect of conducting three big and diverse programs between this coming Friday and Tuesday. This is my way of warning readers not to expect much blogging for the next few weeks.

That said, I do want to share a few thoughts from yesterday’s concert while they’re still fresh in my mind. Happily, while we did not end up packing the joint, we did manage to draw a respectable and enthusiastic audience.

It was my first time conducting the Ginastera Harp concerto, a wild and wonderful piece. Being a rental, I only had my first look at the score on Tuesday, but it only took about ten seconds to predict that the balance between soloist and orchestra would be a problem (I’m sure it is almost always a problem with this piece). It’s richly colored with percussion, but the percussion dynamics are consistently over-written, but beyond that, Ginastera made the fatal mistake of writing orchestral dynamics in parallel with the solo part- in other words, often when the lone harp plays forte, so to do all the strings and winds. It’s not a fair fight.

These are generic issues in this piece that every set of performers would face. Unique to this situation was the advantage of a young soloist, Victoria Davies, with a powerful and robust sound, and the disadvantage of a concert venue with a beautiful but extremely resonant acoustic that I knew would favor the percussion.  The day before the concert, Victoria faced a major disappointment when her harp fell over and cracked, rendering it un-useable. Fortunately, she still had her old instrument, and by the time of her arrival at rehearsal had completely adjusted and showed up cool as a cucumber. The replacement instrument had a somewhat smaller sound than the damaged one, but no harp can compete with a snare drum if both play forte.

In our brief tutti rehearsal we had to get everyone comfortable with their own parts and the continuity of a complex piece, while also adjusting everyone’s dynamics to allow for a good balance. That is a huge challenge for the musicians, because they have so much information to take in just playing their own parts, getting used to the reverberant space and the accompanying time delays, watching me, getting the solo part in their ears and sorting out tuning and articulation on the fly. To have to change virtually every dynamic on the page while still keeping a sense of variety and drama is no small task. In spite of the best of intentions, throughout the rehearsal our dynamics kept creeping back up to those printed again and again. The conductor’s job in such a situation is also a complex one, and it is important to balance a sensitivity to the challenges facing the musicians with a larger focus on the artistic goals. Sometimes, when time is short, one has to be a bit, well, short as well, because we have to make sure nobody is content to settle for having our soloist participate only as a silent movie star- interesting to watch, but offering nothing for the ears. Creeping up is understandable but not acceptable.

Ginastera knew of the balance problems and toyed with a revision for many years, but never got round to it. It’s a pity, because the issues could be easily resolved without any loss of color or energy. If the piece were in the public domain, I would be tempted to by a set of parts and fix the dynamics for future performances, but since it is rental, each orchestra will have to sort it out when it shows up in their library when it appears a couple of weeks before the concert.

Happily I can report that the orchestra more than rose to the occasion, both in terms of the precision with which they followed, and with their attention to balance. Victoria played very well, and didn’t fall into any of the traps typical of young soloists.

The experience of Beethoven’s Leonore 2 will stay with me as well- what a fascinating window into his genius. In many ways, the creation of Leonore 3 was driven by the spirit of compromise with the audiences of the day and with the need for the piece to serve rather than overpower the work to follow. In doing so, I think he had to let go of some beautiful and powerful ideas, and there are moments unique to Leonore 2 which are overwhelmingly powerful and dramatic.The lesson is that Beethoven could undertake a re-composition for reasons as shallow as taste and function, give up some ideas he must have loved, and still come up with a greater work. It is a lesson all artists should learn from- when we get the chance to return to something, whether to re-learn a piece or re-work a piece, we can always make it better, even if we are forced to do so for unpleasant reasons.

Schumann’s final version of the D minor symphony is also proof positive of a genius’ power to make the good better. As I’ve worked through the two versions of the symphony in preparation for this concert, I’ve been struck again and again by the fact that the most dramatic changes (and improvements) are to the transitions between sections and movements. Schumann conception of this piece is truly revolutionary- he seemed intent on taking the Beethovenian concept of a symphony unified by certain profoundly interwoven ideas, gestures and themes (perfected in Beethoven’s 5^th) to a higher level. To do, he could not simply be content to create thematic cross-relations using cyclical form, he had to make profound changes to symphonic form, in particular to sonata form. In 1841 he nearly succeeded, finding ways of creating forward drama over four movements by essentially abandoning the role of the recapitulation in re-establishing order and stability. However, the transitions were more too awkward and kept the symphony from really hanging together as a unit.

When I spoke to the audience I suggested to them that this focus on unity and transition underlines how amazingly integrated the symphony is. At its heart is the ositinato- an introduction where almost all the melodic material unfolds as straight 8^th notes is followed by a sonata allegro where almost all the melody material is in straight 16^th notes. There is a quality of obsession that seems to run through the work.

Anyway, I was really happy with how the orchestra played, and can’t wait to do the piece again- I feel like I’ve learned so much about the work this time around, more than last time. I have also really begun to feel like our focus on Schumann is now beginning to pay dividends for the orchestra, not only in terms of how they play this music, but in terms of how we play all our repertoire.

Afterwards, I got quite a few comments from audience members who said that they had no idea Schumann’s music could be so exciting. Nothing could make me happier, but I’ve already made a few pages of notes for next time around after listening to the very good recording (I’d post it here, but there was an annoying electronic noise that makes it unusuable except for study purposes). Once you knowm and have proven that a piece can be thrilling, the interest becomes in finding out just how far you can go with that knowledge.

For nearly 130 years, there has been only one choice of edition of the final version of Schumann 4- the “Collected Works” edition of 1882, prepared by Clara Schumann, long available in a variety of reprint editions. The score is part of a Dover publication of all four symphonies, sold at the princely price of 18 bucks (the real problem with the Dover score is the lack of bar numbers).

Recently, however, Breitkopf and Hartel have published a new Urtext edition of the Schumann symphonies, edited by Joachim Draeheim. The 1851 version of the D minor symphony was released in 1999, but is only now beginning to become known.

My transformative experience of working through all the major orchestral works of Schumann with the SMP has convinced me that I desperately want to record the four symphonies, so in advance of our performance of the D minor, I purchased my own set of parts of the new Urtext, which I could bow and mark meticulously in advance of rehearsal, as well as the Draeheim score. The decision to go with the Urtext edition over the available reprints seemed like an easy one at the time- while more expensive than the reprint, the difference was not huge, and it seemed wise to invest in the best available materials. Since I already owned a well tested Dover, the decision to fork out 80 bucks for the Urtext score was not quite as easy, but I didn’t want to be working for a score that was inferior to the parts on the players’ stands.

The set of parts I received directly from Breitkopf came with a small and disappointing surprise- the first violin parts were printed on smaller paper stock than the rest of the set. Inserted was a note explaining that in 2005 (FIVE YEARS AGO), Breitkopf had decided on an update to their publishing practices, adopting larger stock, but that they would continue to sell parts on the old stock until they were gone. It seems a cruel irony that the first fiddles would be stuck with the smallest parts when they have the most notes. Given the fact that the purchase of a complete set is a significant investment, and that the printing costs are a tiny fraction of the publisher’s expense, this seems a bit of greediness on Breitkopf’s part. It looks sloppy and amateurish to send a beautiful set of parts where one section’s music is clearly printed to a different standard than that of the rest of the orchestra.

That gripe aside, the parts are well printed and clearly easier to read than the reprint I used last time around. My only other major complaint about the layout of the parts is the fact there is a page turn between the 2^nd and 3^rd movements, which are played attacca. The end of the Romaze is the most peaceful and serene moment in the symphony- Schumann meant that moment of delicate repose to be shattered by the opening of the Scherzo, not by the rustle of 30 page turns. Especially since the 2055 edition marks a second printing, this problem should have been fixed based on feedback from the first performance.

More frustrating than the parts was the full score. Again, it is beautifully engraved, and infinitely easier to read than the Dover, where the print is tiny and cramped. Draeheim’s preface is a nice introduction to the history of the piece and the publication history of the 2 versions (1841 and 51). It is only in the last sentence of the Preface that Draeheim lets us know of the inadequacy of this score “This edition is based on the first edition of the second version, which was overseen by Schumann and is virtually free of errors.”

It is not unusual or inappropriate for an Urtext to be based on a first edition when it is the best available source- the first two Beethoven symphonies must be based on published editions because the autographs are not available. However, the critical notes of the Breitkopf and Barenreiter editions of those works are extremely extensive. The Critical Notes of this edition are less than half a page in length. More than half of that length is a simple list of the 3 sources (the first edition score, the first edition parts and the autograph). There is no detailed comparison of the differences between the autograph and published score, and no context provided explaining why the published score is preferred. There are essentially no notes or editorial advisories in the body of the text. He also offers no discussion of the differences between the first edition and the Collected Works edition edited by Clara. Are there differences? Did they originate with Clara or Robert?

I have collected several of the Breitkopf Urtext scores of the Beethoven symphonies, and in many cases these represent the best available scholarship (superior even to the Del Mar/Barenreiter edition). Draeheim may have done his homework on this edition, but he seems more than grudging time comes to share his knowledge of the texts with the conductor. Given the outstanding quality of other Breikopf scores, this one must rate as a very expensive disappointment. Given that Draeheim offers us no reason (other than cosmetic ones) to prefer this score, I would recommend my colleagues continue to use the Dover score with the Urtext parts (hopefully they will be lucky enough to get the new printing of the first violin parts).

There are a couple of wrong notes in the new edition not in the old one. The 2^nd flute is missing the accidental on c# in bar 203, and the clarinets are missing the natural on their bar 707. Of course, we’re all human and a new engraving will always have mistakes, but these are quite obvious and should have been corrected before the 2^nd printing.

Before purchasing these parts I did ask a few friends and legendary library guru Clint Nieweg if any reviews or evaluations were available of this new edition. At the time, none were, so I thought it might be good to make available our experience. If other conductors or librarians have worked with this edition (or the other Breitkopf Urtext Schumann editions), please, please share your experience via comment.

If you have used the Urtext parts to any of the other Schumann symphonies, I would be very, very glad for your feedback before purchasing the other sets, as would my colleagues, I’m sure.

I have to say that, exhausted as I was coming to rehearsal from Heathrow after my flight back from Boston, I could hardly hide my glee as the SMP and I read the first movement of Schumann 4 on Monday night. It went so well, I almost complimented them, but that’s bad luck (for instance, the most important thing advice I can offer any conductor is never to praise or criticize a horn player until after the concert). We’ll save compliments for a safer hour (although I know several will read this before rehearsal tonight).

My glee is due to the fact that with more than half our Schumann exploration now behind us, I could really feel that first rehearsal was proof positive that we have accomplished something together in terms of learning the grammar of Schumann’s music language. Having just done another Schumann symphony with a fine orchestra who have done almost nothing by Bobby S in recent memory, it really hit home how much I had had to explain and ask for with the other band, and how much the SMP were doing right off.

So what is the key playing Schumann well?

It’s depressingly simple- play it like the great music it is. All the complete and total condescending and inane crap we’ve all heard about Schumann’s orchestration, sanity and supposed weaknesses as a composer means that most musicians, completely without malice, read his music with terribly low expectations. They disregard dynamics and tempi, and don’t throw themselves into the music as they would if it was Beethoven or Brahms. Not long ago I did a Schumann work with a guest timpanist, nice guy, who asked me about possible note changes saying “well, we all know Schumann was pretty careless with timpani notes.” WTF?!?!?!??!?! The result is grey and grim playing and tedious rehearsals, all of which reinforces those same sad, wrong preconceptions. Last night the SMP ripped into the piece as if they fully expected it to be great, and why shouldn’t they? Our last 2 Bobby S symphonies left the audiences screaming and hollering.

So, the secret to being a Schumann specialist is to trust him and take what he wrote seriously. No secret insight is required. Likewise, I remember vividly studying Bloch’s  Schelomo with Parry Karp, who is in my opinion, the world expert on Bloch’s string music. I was so excited to find out the “secret handshake” of Bloch playing, which turned out to be playing exactly what the dead guy wrote in the score. The results were stunning! Depressingly, many teachers seem to think that holding out the notion that somehow they are the keepers of secret knowledge not in the score is often the norm. They put power over their students ahead of teaching the truth of the music.

I mentioned yesterday that we are playing the first Leonore Overture (no. 2) on the same concert, giving us a chance to juxtapose two pieces that were famously revised. The original version of Schumann 4 has come back into fashion in the last 15 years, and has been recorded many times. It’s quite interesting, but as so happens with Schumann, the re-emergence of this version has been used as a new hammer with which to beat the reputation of the great Bobby S.

Anytime a piece exists in more than one version there are bound to be things in the original that, on their own, are cooler than in the revision. Usually, when they disappear in the revision it is because they caused problems for the piece as a whole- perhaps they overpowered what was to come, or revealed too much of where the music needed to go, or brought the form to a halt. For instance, Leonore 2 is full of things that are extremely cool but demand incredible concentration from the audience- like the vast silences after the ff chords in the introduction. I think one night with a coughing, shuffling audience probably convinced Beethoven that he needed to fill those gaps, but in the concert hall or on recording, the effect can be stunning. Also, the piece was too dramatic and complete to serve as a prelude to the opera which followed it.

That said, I find it remarkable how much better the revised version of Schumann 4 is- not because I expected Bobby to botch the re-write, but because the new, trendy view seems to be so solidly that the original is in some ways better (this started with Brahms, who was also badly wrong about the Violin Concerto- many of the misjudgements about Bobby come from his 3 closest soulmates, Joachim, Clara and Brahms, all of whom were too close to his final illness and badly misjudged the work of his later years).

The fact is that the revision is much more coherent, powerful, focused and lucid. The transitions all work better, the counterpoint is stronger, the sense of direction more compelling. I last did this piece on my final concert with the Grande Ronde Symphony. It’s placement on a momentous night of my life tells you something of how much I love it, but I still long considered it a slightly lesser work than the 2^nd and 3^rd symphonies. Now I’m not so sure- like Brahms, it’s almost impossible to pick the best Schumann symphony. The D minor is intentionally slight in some ways (he considered calling it Symphonic Fantasy), but somehow it’s structural tautness means that the whole is far more than the sum of the parts. Where the 2^nd is truly epic, the 4^th moves ahead with almost cinematic alacrity, which meant the cumulative energy of the symphony is titanicly explosive.

Most stupidly, many critics (following Brahms misguided lead) seem to think that the orchestration of the revision is inferior to that of the original. Both versions are beautifully orchestrated, but the revision is clearly better. Schumann wanted a bigger, more robust sound, and he got what he wanted. Schumann was an early Romantic composer- orchestration had not yet attained the status of almost a separate art that it would once Wagner arrived, but his imagination is astonishing. Remember, we just did the Konzerstucke for 4 Horns last month, which, considering the valve horn was a brand new invention, is quite simply the most creative and effective writing for horn quartet in musical history. The 4^th is full of great orchestral moments, particularly his compelling dramatic use of the trombones at the key moments of the piece, as well as the wonderful colors in the Romanze, particularly the mixture of solo cello and oboe, and the beautiful violin solo in the b section. Karajan got it- he made a point in his recordings of all the Schumann symphonies not to re-touch anything. The results speak for themselves.

Too often, though, the audience doesn’t get to hear what a good conductor can see on the page because conductor and orchestra approach Bobby’s orchestration with scandalously low expectations, and they get what they were after. When we play a Mahler symphony or a Strauss tone poem (or even a Beethoven overture, whose orchestral writing is far more problematic), we expect the orchestration to be great, and that translates into a kind of hyper-energized playing that brings the musical content vividly to life. Schumann deserves the same treatment, and now SMP seem to get that- they’re playing it with the swagger that comes from knowing that the audience is going to go berserk for it. Fun.

Surrey Mozart Players

Saturday, June 13 2009

Holy Trinity Church

Guildford

Beethoven- Leonore Overture no. 2

Ginasterra- Harp Concerto

Victoria Davies, harp

Schumann- Symphony no. 4 in D minor (final version)

What can I say- citizens of Guildford, get off your butts and come to this concert.

SMP generally pack our regular venue (the Electric Theatre), but the last time we played at the gorgeous Holy Trinity Church in downtown Guildford we had a somewhat pitiful audience in spite of a great program. Not surprising, then, that ticket sales are a little slow so far this week. I know the seats are more comfortable at the Electric, the toilets are bigger and the bar is first rate, but Holy Trinity has absolutely fab acoustics, and there will be wine at the interval.

It is, in my opinion (!), a rather stupendous and interesting program. Book-ending the concert are two works that are examples of their creators penchants for revision. Leonore no. 2 is the first (gotta like that- none of the numbers are correct. Leonore 2 is first, Leonore 3 2^nd, Leonore 1 thrid but never performed in LvB’s lifetime and Fidelio 4th) of the four overtures he wrote for his opera Fidelio, while Schumann 4, the 2^nd   and 5^th of his four and a half symphonies (he called the Overture, Scherzo and Finale a “symphonette”) is the result of a significant reworking of the original version of the symphony from about a decade earlier. (In Schumann’s case, the 1^st Symphony did come first, but the 2^nd was the 3^rd, the 3^rd was the fourth and the 4^th the second and the fifth).

Of course, Leonore no. 3 is Beethoven’s most popular overture, and possibly the most perfect overture in the literature. A flawlessly constructed dramatic tone poem it tells the entire story of the opera so well that it slightly makes the opera superfluous. I’ve long since lost track of how many times I’ve played, conducted and heard it. Leonore no. 2, on the other hand, I’ve heard in performance only once- a bizarrely disengaged and directionless performance by one of the great London orchestras under a well-known youngish American conductor. However, I’d looked at the score many times, and in spite of that spectacularly unsuccessful hearing, I’ve been anxious to do the piece for many years.

Last night, we read it for the first time. It is, quite simply, staggering music. Awe inspiringly ambitious.  What more perfect reminder could one have of the fact that most of what you read about music (including, I fear, most of what you find at Vftp) is worthless crap, than the fact that his piece is often held up as a “failure.” The piece was only a failure as an overture to an opera- it is even grander and more complex than Leonore 3, and simply was too big, too dramatic, to daring to serve as a good opener and lead in to the first scene of the opera. It is a tone poem, not an overture.

In many ways, it is a more experimental work than Leonore 3, and it is certainly harder. Leonore 3 is more taut- notice that Beethoven significantly tightens everything up, from the very first bars of the piece, which he cuts in the revision. In addition to clarifying some orchestral textures, and simplifying some technical and rhythmic difficulties, Beethoven also seems to have re-thought some aspects of performance. The coda of Leonore 3 is marked Presto. The coda of Leonore 2 starts with the same scurrying eighth notes, but Beethoven saves the Presto for later (and doesn’t really tell us how to get there). It does beg the question- if Beethoven thought that music worked better at Presto, should one do all of it Presto regardless of what he wrote.

It is interesting- should we take into account a composers thoughts in a revision when performing an earlier version of a work? I heard a performance this year of Mahler’s Totenfeier, the original version of the first movement of the 2^nd Symphony. A quick look through Totenfeier and the 1^st mvt of the 2^nd reveals that the later version is marked in a great more detail. The opening is essentially the same music, but in the later version there are many more dynamic and articulation marks than in the original. In the development of the later version Mahler writes many tempo modifications that are missing from Totenfeier. This performance incorporated nothing from the final version, and the result was maddeningly static and monotonous. Surely Mahler the conductor had realized that things needed to move ahead or hold back in certain places, and had realized that the players needed more specific phrasing instructions. I suppose I could be being too uptight because I know the final version so well, but I thought the attempt to pretend that there was nothing more to know about Todtenfeier than what was in that score was naïve and clumsy, but worse yet, boring.

Anyway, although there are definite improvements of detail in Leonore 3, Leonore 2 is in some ways even more dramatic, daring and explosive, and I think the audience will be blown away. It’s a little more challenging structurally for the conductor because Beethoven stretches the material much further, but it’s fun.

Thoughts on Schumann 4 to follow, I hope….

It is a fact of life that most organizations think of programming largely in terms of marketing. While almost all musical organizations have some desire to do interesting things, there is always a certain amount of pressure to focus on “getting an audience,” which usually equates to conservative programming.

After many years as a music director, who knows that if you don’t have an audience you don’t have an orchestra, I’ve had to face the simple mathematical truth that, more often than not, Beethoven sells more tickets than Schumann, and Schumann sells more tickets than Haydn, and Haydn sells more tickets than Bartok. With most of my groups, we can predict with some accuracy what percentage our audience will tail off from 100% by having one, two or three relatively unfamiliar pieces on a concert.

However, the problem with this outlook is that it only focuses on the experience and reactions of the audience up to the moment they enter the hall. Conservative programming is programming designed to get the public to come, but is it programming that gets them to come back?

Of course, there is a false dichotomy, which everyone is aware of- it is very, very possible to construct a creative, interesting and unique program that the audience will enjoy. The problem is getting them in the door to experience it.

Fair enough, but I think one of the fundamental weaknesses of modern classical institutions is that we have settled for a passive and passionless relationship with our audiences.

Several times this year, I’ve been deeply struck that when you are able to do something that really challenges the audience, they come away from the experience more engaged and MORE PASSIONATE about the orchestra or the ensemble then they would have been for just another predictably bland concert.

Along these lines, it was very encouraging to get to meet so many audience members after the Ensemble Epomeo concert at the Newburyport Chamber Music Festival. Our program was certainly challenging

Krasa- Tanec for Trio

Hovhanness- String Trio (1963)

Klein- Variations on a Moravian Theme (from Trio 1944)

Schnittke- String Trio

Beethoven- Trio in C minor op 9 no 3

(Encore- Kodaly- Intermezzo)

We’d been warned it was a conservative crowd, but from the level of energy in the room at the recession, you’d have thought we were playing for a new music festival audience. People were engaged, fired up, talking about what the pieces meant, about what they had experienced. As often happens, we had people literally jump out of their chairs in spots of the Schnittke. After a first half that mostly dealt with dire questions of life and death, the Beethoven could also be heard as the ferocious, imposing and revelatory work it is, not as something safe and mild-mannered.

The same thing happened with the SMP recently did Ives 3 and Shostakovich Chamber Symphony alongside Schumann and Mozart for our usually conservative Guildford audience, or, for that matter, when we did the Fifth Prokofiev concerto. In both instances, attendance was off a bit from our usual sell-outs, but I think more people talked to their friends about those concerts than would have if we had had just done Mozart. It’s another form of math- if 75% of your public show up for the wacky program, but 90% of them tell their friends about the experience isn’t that going to be better in the long run than if the hall is 100% full, but only 20% of the audience remembers the evening as anything other than nice, or mention it to anyone else?

Of course, we’ve got to get people in the door- sometimes that means working harder, sometimes it means making conservative programs and just doing a great job. When I started at OES, the idea of the orchestra doing one new piece a season was anathema. It took some time and a few well-chose bits of more accessible 20^th c faire before we could begin to consider a commission, but by the time I left, we were doing them regularly, and patrons were FUNDING them. How cool is that?

I had one of those memorable 20 second conversations today after our Exeter performance on the Aliento Chamber Music series. Before the Schnittke, I had mentioned to the audience that the piece was written around the time of his first stroke, and that  the first movement does seem like a terrifying struggle for survival. After the concert a woman greeted me and said she had cried through the whole piece. Her daughter had a stroke last year, and when she began to get well enough to communicate, she told he mother in some detail about what it felt like and how terrifying it was. The woman said that throughout the piece, she kept thinking of her daughter’s stroke and couldn’t escape the parallels. “It sounded just like what she went throug.” She said it was terrifying from beginning to end, that she cried through the whole thing, and at the end, she felt somehow better, even a bit healed.

Wouldn’t you rather that than an under-rehearsed hack-through of the Trout?

Well, I’m on my way back to Philly after a busy two days in New York with Ensemble Epomeo. We enjoyed our chat with Carl at WKCR- it was fun but challenging in the studio. They have a larger space for recording ensembles, but had we been in there, it would have been just about impossible to carry on a conversation with Carl between the pieces. Instead, we were in the booth with him, sort of tucked around the edges of the console. Byron and David were both more or less behind me, and we had to use the same mics for talking and playing, which felt odd, but I’m told sounded fine on air. If we can get permission, we’ll make the show available as a podcast on the E² website.

WKCR has a wonderfully daring programming philosophy, a refreshing change from the mild-mannered banalities that most public radio stations feel overwhelming market pressure to stick to. After our two hours of live, mostly contemporary chamber music they were doing an hour of avante jazz. This meant we could present a pretty intense and thoughtful program with confidence, focusing on the most radical and experimental parts of our repertoire. We were also able to curate the morning with some recordings of related pieces on CD- bits of Bartok (the final Mesto from the 6^th quartet as a cousin to the twilight world of the Schnittke) and the Beethoven op 95 Quartet in comparison with the Op 9 no 3 String Trio.

Our private concert in the evening was fun- I always enjoy house concerts where the audience is there for the music, and this house is one where that is always the case. Of course, we’re learning a lot from doing this program over and over. It really makes me painfully aware of what a pity it is that most concerts only get done once.

Of all the pieces we’re doing on the tour, it is the Schnittke that we’ve lived with the longest, but I’m still making discoveries in every rehearsal, and my thoughts about the meaning of the piece continue to evolve. Schnittke seems to have become almost completely unfashionable among critics and most composers since his death, but fashion is the word. Fashions and trends are amusing phenomena, but whether a piece is in or out with the taste-setters of the day has nothing to do with its status as a work of art. When you can live with a piece like this and continue find new layers of meaning, new relationships between musical ideas, new intersections of process and content there’s no room to be snooty. It’s genius.

Just one example- there is a peculiarly iconic chord progression that occurs several times in the piece. It goes from a major triad up a half step to a minor triad, which means the two chords share the same third. Schnittke has a way of setting this progression as though it is a moment when we step back from the line of the drama and contemplate what has happened. What is interesting now is that we’re finding more and more ways in which this progression doesn’t just stand apart as a sort of incantation, but is knitted into the piece in countless other ways which aren’t immediately perceptible. Sometimes it is presented horizontally, other times he layers the two chords on top of each other. It also turns out that the progression itself shares it’s musical DNA with the main theme of the work, something that’s a bit hard to hear, but clear on the page if you look for it.

We’ve got another concert tonight, doing a slightly shortened and lightened version of our tour program, and we have to finish preparing our children’s program- the first kids concert is tomorrow and I still have some notes to learn in Hansel and Gretel.