New Zealand conductor Gemma New is giving a series of concerts this week with the Orchester symphonique de Montréal (OSM). She will resume her program on Sunday combining a concerto for contemporary percussion by Nicole Lizée and The planets by Holst. The duty attended Thursday’s performance and we would like to see this musician again in more hospitable conditions.
Let’s move on to the major point: Gemma New deserves a renewed invitation from the OSM. She is an interesting musician, as much as Dalia Stasevka, and she threw herself body and soul into a program with a very strange composition, not to mention her grandiose performance of the Planets with an OSM in great form was sabotaged by a tiny fraction of the audience.
On our guard
It was almost a form of musical hazing to see Gemma New struggling with Blurr is the Color of My True Love’s Eyes by Nicole Lizée, an absurd half-hour work for various percussions, synthesizer and orchestra. We remember in similar circumstances Ludovic Morlot lost in 2013 in the Piano concerto by Walter Boudreau. With her ample, elegant and sharp gestures, Gemma New seems prepared for any eventuality, any change of heart.
In itself, the work is a kind of happening musical. It’s about someone’s eyes, but the theme could be “Domestic scenes in the cave during the creation of cave paintings in the Mesolithic era” and you wouldn’t see the difference at all.
Colin Currie, the solo percussionist, rushes from right to left and left to right of the stage with his iPad and a small thingy (the score) to change instruments. He must have prayed to the patron saint of technology before going on stage, because if his iPad broke we’d have a lot of fun.
But it’s not the fun that’s lacking. The instructions tell us that “various elements of surprise ensure that the listener always remains on his guard”. Needless to say: how could one fall asleep? It’s when Currie unrolls a roll of red duct tape while tapping his foot that we start to think that something is wrong in the cave. Perhaps a disagreement over the color chosen to draw the aurochs? Then we see the horn players rhythmically applauding the trombonists.
But that’s just an appetizer. While Currie is testing his xylophone some instrumentalists (the woodwinds) abandon their instruments to start bleating. On the right, the bleating is louder. We suspect the double basses. If the habit does not make the monk, certainly the instrument makes the sheep! There are crescendos, episodes of whistling. At the end, Brian Manker, the cellist steps forward and plays some rather inept notes while Curie taps the wood of his cello with a stick.
This story of eyes is both heartwarming and funny, while Colin Currie really deserved his check. It still takes a lot of imagination to invent all that and above all “dare”.
See you Sunday
Gemma New probably thought she could enjoy the moment in The planets by Holst. But that was without a group that had given itself the challenge of recognizing the end of each planet by being the first to applaud. It’s devastating, because there were a lot of students in the room this Thursday morning and they were in exemplary, wonderful behavior. Those next to me were the first to be ulcerated and sad to have seen “their” concert thus massacred, because obviously there was no longer an extinction of a note, no longer an atmosphere at the end of the piece which remained intact. As for Saturn, it is definitely the second of the two pizzicatos which was covered by a few individuals putting themselves on stage.
What a shame, because The planets by the OSM and Gemma New it is a moment of admirable music, with a terrifying Mars, a lyrical episode of Jupiter with a crescendo to die for. It is also a real joy to play the percussions (Uranus!), a perfect mastery of the rhythmic changes (Jupiter) and a Saturn of precious nobility that is never leaden.
That those who love The planets don’t hesitate to go and see there on Sunday.
The planets by the OSM and Gemma New is a moment of admirable music, with a terrifying Mars, a lyrical episode of Jupiter with a crescendo to die for