ASTRA 2010

6 pm, Saturday 19 June, 6 pm, Sunday 20 June ELEVENTH HOUR THEATRE Fitzroy,

Jerzy Kozlowski bass piano

new song cycles: Michael Bertram at 75, Lawrence Whiffin at 80

Michael Bertram UNDERGROUND SONGS (2008) first performance

Everyone Sang (Siegfried Sassoon) Trail all your pikes ( Anne Finch) He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven ( W.B.Yeats) I saw a peacock with a fiery tail (Anon. 17thC)

Lawrence Whiffin PIANO SONATA NO.1 (1961/2006)

I. Allegro molto II. Andante – Theme and Variations

I N T E R V A L

Lawrence Whiffin TIME STEALS SOFTER (2009) poems by George Genovese first performance

Time Steals Softer (I) Walking Patriots Two Lives A Poet's Office Medi-Whinge 2004 Time Steals Softer (II)

UNDERGROUND SONGS / TIME STEALS SOFTER …

Sets of songs provoke a special relation between music and poetry – the choice and the order of poems has a formative influence on the trajectory and characters of the music that enters into their space. In the two new song cycles of this concert another influence is at work as well: the voice of the singer himself. Jerzy Kozlowski’s singing has become a well-known part of Astra programs over a long time and a wide terrain, from mediaeval music and Monteverdi to Reger (Eichendorrf), Busoni (Faust), Elisabeth Lutyens (Auden) and Helen Gifford (Shakespeare). Specifically, his two previous Astra solo recitals performing the late song-cycles of Shostakovich (Michelangelo and Dostoyevsky) made a remarkable impression for the possibilities of the medium of bass voice and piano, and stimulated both Michael Bertram and Lawrence Whiffin to compose new sets of songs particularly for him.

Michael Bertram’s choice of texts comes from Poems on the Underground, a program that has run in London since the early 1980’s, whereby six poems are chosen for display in tube train carriages for each season of the year, thus ‘performing’ for several million travellers each day. The four celebrated poems of these songs offer widely differing voices and forms of continuity for musical consideration, from the strophic opening of Sassoon to the trick phrasing of the final poem, whose ambiguous grammar allows differing readings across lines. Michael Bertram’s long musical background began as a fulltime chorister at Lichfield Cathedral between the ages of eight and thirteen, continuing from 1952 in with piano studies in Perth and later with Roy Shepherd in Melbourne. After performing and broadcasting as a solo pianist for some years, he studied composition with Felix Werder and Peter Tahourdin, and since the 1970s has produced music performed among others by Keith Humble, Margaret Haggart and Michael Kieran Harvey. His previous vocal works have included a song cycle after Rupert Brooke and Robert Graves, settings of Hopkins and Rossetti, a Mass premiered by the Astra Choir in 2005, and a chamber opera after Ionesco’s Le Roi se Meurt .

Lawrence Whiffin’s cycle Time Steals Softer departs from the traditional shorter lyric forms of Schubert or Schoenberg, embracing larger bodies of words in a process of collaboration with their author:

The poet George Genovese and I met by chance, leading to a close friendship and collaboration that has so far netted three musical projects based on texts by him. The present song cycle consists of eight songs, generally centred around concepts of time, though they wilfully stray into political and medical areas with a strong dose of ironic humour and philosophical reflection. In choosing the poems to set, and poet aimed at achieving maximum contrasts of mood. Two entirely different settings of the short and gentle poem Time Steals Softer begin and end the work. My thanks to Thomas Henry for his invaluable advice regarding the order of the songs.

The composer’s 80th year is also an opportunity to experience a half-century of musical evolution between first maturity and the present. The Piano Sonata No.1, written in 1961 and revised in 2006, witnesses to the great energy and confidence of its era. It was produced towards the end of a five-year period of study in Paris with René Leibowitz, who as composer, teacher, writer and conductor was the main proponent of the Schoenberg school in fragmented post-war Europe. Described by the composer as ‘an extended essay in serialism’, the sonata celebrates the possibilities of 12-tone music to create a new sound-world, as well as to reactivate the older tonal forms of sonata and variation, and the textures of polyphony. Following the CD recording of Sonata No.2, the first sonata will shortly be recorded by pianist Michael Kieran Harvey, for whom Lawrence Whiffin is currently at work on his Sonata No.3.

– JMcC Michael Bertram 2

UNDERGROUND SONGS (2008)

1. Everyone Sang

Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on – on – and out of sight.

Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

April 1919 – Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)

2. Trail all your pikes

Trail all your pikes, dispirit every drum. March in a slow procession from afar, Ye silent, ye dejected men of war! Be still the hautboys, and the flute be dumb! Display no more, in vain the lofty banner. For see! where on the bier before ye lies The pale, the fall’n, th’untimely sacrifice To your mistaken shrine, to your false idol Honour!

– Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661-1720)

3. He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

– William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

4. I saw a peacock with a fiery tail

I saw a peacock with a fiery tail, I saw a blazing comet drop down hail, I saw a cloud wrapped with ivy round, I saw an oak creep upon the ground, I saw a pismire swallow up a whale, I saw the sea brimful of ale, I saw a Venice glass full fifteen feet deep, I saw a well full of men's tears that weep, I saw red eyes all of a flaming fire, I saw a house bigger than the moon and higher, I saw the sun at twelve o'clock at night, I saw the man that saw this wondrous sight.

– Anonymous, Westminster-Drollery 1671

Lawrence Whiffin PIANO SONATA NO.1 (1961, revised 2006)

I. Allegro molto II. Andante — Theme and Variations

INTERVAL

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Lawrence Whiffin TIME STEALS SOFTER (2009) poems by George Genovese 1. Time Steals Softer (I) a cappella

Time steals softer than the light, spreads beyond a nascent vision scanning open sky; unfolding past horizons of an arching depth and height, time slinking slyly binds a seeing to its site... 2. Walking

Time glides softer than a glance, Tock, tock, tock, tock, tock, tock... orbits with a gentler motion Under a bowl of open blue, than a pining gaze; suspending a drifting shard or two of cloud objects in the spectral lightness I trundle on the gravel of of its press, it passes frailer an old grey path and listen to than the shyest eye's caress. the sound of footfalls smack the dust; their steady falling scrunch and scuff-uff-uff-uff, Time falls softer than the night, the slide and slur of sheenless shoes, tapers to a dusky velvet's a threadbare hiss of thirsty grass calm unruffled quiet; fainter with thistles hot wind whistles through; than a trace of breath dispersing and then the loud cicada's drone, out of sight, it narrows to a the buzz of bees, a summery thrum, darkness clipped of vision's flight, the rise and fall of feet to join a darkness clipped of vision's height. and form this walking, walking metronome, this walking metronome, tock, tock, tock, tock, tock, tock, tock, tock...

And in a kind of swinging dance, a dazzled stupor's rocking roll each step discovers its own place and falls to fold into a flow, a flow where thought and time and space revolve into a hazy trance, and I, the world, my tapping feet, this nuisance fly upon my cheek, all melt and meet in one embrace; while there before my downcast blur the grand mosaic at my feet unfolds beneath my spellbound stare. There go the twigs, the leaves and stones,

a dying moth and cracked gum pods, a jagged rim of Styrofoam, some crinkled foil and plastic tops; there go the butts of cigarettes, a yellow fringe of sweet soursop, a corrugated iron fence, and an old discarded piece of cloth; here comes a battered oft-drink can, a sachet of tomato sauce, a plastic straw, some twisted nails, a long-forgotten threadless bolt... Now there what's that? I'll pick it up--- a copper penny, no it's not!

My eyes adjust and seize instead a flattened old beer-bottle, bottle top. But then before I know or care, before I think to start to stop, it fuses in the rhythm of the flowing stream of flotsam things that glide beneath my walking feet. So on I go and on I weave the passing vision my eyes meet and down a wavy open road I watch a wending memory, memory, beneath my walking feet. So on I go and on I weave... 4

But now the busy, scuttling ants suggest a kind of secret sense for in their lines of urgency, the course they scurry purposely, their movement seems to flesh the pace and motion of my teeming thoughts. Revolving round what could denote the dead-fly-centre of my soul, 3. Patriots the centre of my soul, meandering and folding on themselves So these the patriots who send a nations sons in restless rearranging dots, to die in far-off lands, they tug and tear the fragments of who talk of truth and sanctity of life, the body of their generous corpse. a thousand more abstractions dusted off And as they run, and as II go, when need demands. as what becomes escapes beyond my vision's hold, I witness here... So these the patriots who rip their country's guts for oil or mineral wealth, Time steals softer than the light, who ravage her with naked savagery spreads beyond a nascent vision and sully her with poisons for their profit scanning open sky, unfolding past with venal stealth. horizons of an arching depth and height... So these the patriots whose love was never more than what they'd hoard or gain, a narcissistic golden calf whose worship arrogates another's rightful share with glib disdain.

O brothers, brothers, toiling in your poverty, good sisters who still cry among the patriots who declaim their love, there, cold beneath your flags and emblems, you still hunger --- why?

Poor fodder marching to an idiot drum of fated sacrifice it's you who forge your fates and woes to come, WHY? Why lend yourselves to madmen's lies when you must pay their price?

Hunger for justice shan't be sated on a self- exalting pride, a truer love surpassing boundaries knows the tribal mind must yield its first allegiance 4. Two Lives to all mankind.

Awake in the dark and lying together, they harked to the ominous howl of the weather... She nestled, secure, on the curve of his shoulder and pillowed in comfort dwelt on the years ended, and how, even now, just his arms could hold her through ripe days of love perpetually splendid. Outside the wind hissed, the rain it kept pouring, the petulant trees were lashing the windows like furious strangers they both were ignoring entreating a shelter from where the wind blows.

Awake in the dark and lying together, they harked to the ominous howl of the weather... She felt his chest heaving, trembling beneath her, and scented the mouth whose kisses she savoured, and thought on the years like one drunk on ether, how faithful she'd been and never once wavered, how faultless her heart had weathered each storm and shone like the sun through darkness and doubt; and while contemplating joys to be born he struggled to tell her that he wanted he struggled to tell her that he wanted out. 5

5. A Poet's Office 6. Medi-Whinge

Hollowed egg-shells I'm whizzing in a tizzy and I'm feeling pretty dizzy like eyeless sockets, and I'm busy feeling queasy with my weak anemic blood, the can of dog-food and then my kidneys so polluted need to daily be abluted scraped of marrow, and my bladder broke its sphincter in a rushing gushing flood. cold fridge-hum in the neon kitchen, There's a murmur in my heart, the clock-face peering there's a tremor, my dilemma, through a shadow. my dilemma, there's a murmur, there's a murmur The dust-shroud wrinkling and I'm gonna cough up, cough up bile, chha! on a table, damp shavings in I'm really feeling shaky and my jelly legs are quaky the colander; and my creaky bones are achy from my big toes to my crown, dry soup stains and then my topsy-turvy innards turn like squirming nervy lizards crusted on a ladle and I'm finding it impossible to keep my brekky down. and hanging, sallow, last year's calendar. There's a spasm in my bowel, there's a tremor, my dilemma, The white tiles chipped my dilemma, like broken teeth there's a spasm, there's a spasm smile tinted yellow and I think I'm gonna die, with nicotine, oh no, no, no, no, no, no, it's so unfair! their groutless gaps, grimed with decay, Inflammation, enervation, dislocation, constipation, reek winter's age irritation, palpitation, perspiration, suppuration, of mouldy mellow. and dilation, desperation, aggravation, deformation, and stagnation, amputation, oh no, no, it's so unfair! And shopping bags, like prostrate ghosts Oh my isolated misery and loneliness--- lie crumpled on does no one really care? the weary table, Then this physical disintegration rounded off displaying logos with such black despair! like the aureoles by which a saint's Enteritis, pepticitis, pancretitis, hepatitis, election's show. laryngitis, dermatitis, tonsillitis, meningitis and arthritis, pharyngitis, ankylosis, psittacosis Dreams hobbling through and sclerosis, toxicosis and thrombosis and cirrhosis. the peeling paint, the cracks and grime, Dactylitis, gingivitis, balanitis, pyelitis, eddy around fibrositis, osteitis, sinusitis, cellulitis, and round and round and round and bronchitis, myelitis, silicosis, acidosis each silent object, and necrosis, halitosis, and sycosis and neurosis. clinging jars of pepper-corns, And I'm squeamishly uneasy and I'm flatulently breezyof dill and thyme, and my cluttered guts are wheezy like an out of tune trombone, and my innards are congested with the fast food I've ingested or run from darkened and it sounds as if a low B flat is going to be blown. corners like spiders pouncing their prize, And I'm feeling so unwell, each presence clung so queasy with diseases, by portents dark aches and sneezes, and undefined, and I'm certain that it's curtains the unwashed plates and no doctor can delude me and broken cup --- a sign. that they can't undo me, cos I know I've got them all!

I'm whizzing in a tizzy and I'm feeling pretty dizzy and I'm busy feeling queasy with my weak anemic blood, and my kidneys so polluted need to daily be abluted and my bladder blows its sphincter in a rushing gush of blood.

My preposterous esophagus is swollen so enormous, doctor like a brontosaurus on which I am choking, doctor can't you hear me gag-gag-gagging and I am not joking and I'm gonna cough and cough and I chha! 6

7. 2004 Theme & Variations

It was a year of knocks and bruises crack of this foul world, while when I was short (a - a) of (a - a) breath despairing I should ever and shorter still on money. rise again. For in that year My house creaked loosely all I mourned the human face, about me, as did my mind that wanton globe of horror and body, rotting, rusty, I still dread, a woven nest barely withstanding the of thorns and shame where I, onslaught of the wwwwind. a babe and feeble egg,

A year of accident lay at the mercy of and death, of one step forward, a ravenous predator, three steps back, near breakdown, bird of prey, my yellow and nervous attack, of stops yolk tinged red, a dying and starts and pregnant pauses, ember, dripping down stillborn causes, shocks, a savage beak as I and good intent gone slack, gone slack, cried out that day! Oh in and good intent gone slack. that year men creaked like cracked A calendar of weight automatons, automatons, and worry where just the bills machines, machines of rag and oil kept faith, the wider world without a driver at their as sick and sorry as cogs, cogs, cogs, their wheels my broken back. It was slow grinding in a futile a year of guts, no glory, slog, slog, slog, their piston and parasites who bled me dry while they grey fat. hearts congealing with A ball and chain of a time, the gathered dust of empty thought; oh chug-a-chug-a-chug, tax and tithe, surcharge a-chortle and a-chug and choke and levy; oh God, a solar to death with barely the semblance grind so dismal-dark of a bestial snort... Yes in and heavy I'd rather soon that year I fell with men forget! I'd rather soon forget! and lost belief in any It was a time I guess like any other, hopeful dream and even a gurgling funnel shunned the memory formed of empty fret. of an animal soul. With barren equivocation But in that year I felt that crooked year's truth myself especially sick. zigzagged between I drowned myself in alcohol a sad banality and fuelled myself on and revelation of nicotine. I, I laid a path as black as tar or Guinness a black futility, about my heart and mind, the dour eye's scope and margin through a haze of smoke each broken horizon and hard-earned vision caught and and, and a beer, shot forth full steam between a cage of coded past dreams of earthly bars. A numb and knowing paradise to see where I time of numbers where soul might end. Fallow, sallow, was sullied beneath desire barely a shadow on and the cold and physic eye my snail-slow-slime unwinding track, I fell through every shook off its superstition, cunt-wide chink and grimy met memory of soul with ironic smiles and barely hidden derision. A time where thought oozed through a dying manikin, depositing wisdom in a pool of scum.

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8. Time Steals Softer (II)

Time steals softer than the light, spreads beyond a nascent vision scanning open sky; unfolding past horizons of an arching depth and height, time slinking slyly binds a seeing to its site...

Time glides softer than a glance, orbits with a gentler motion than a pining gaze; suspending objects in the spectral lightness of its press, it passes frailer than the shyest eye's caress.

Time falls softer than the night, tapers to a dusky velvet's calm unruffled quiet; fainter than a trace of breath dispersing out of sight, it narrows to a darkness clipped of vision's flight.

Compact disc, available at this concert

Astra CD 3: Lawrence Whiffin, murchitt a daydream , with book by William Henderson.

Merlyn Quaife (soprano), Tyrone Landau (tenor), William Henderson (reciter), Miwako Abe (violin), Miranda Brockman (cello), Mardi McSullea (flute), Rianne Wilschut (clarinet), Paul Kopetz (bass clarinet), Robert Smithies (trumpet), Paul Sarcich (percussion), Kim Bastin (synthesizer), Joan Pollock (piano). The Astra Choir, conducted by John McCaughey.

Production Manager: Margaret Lloyd Thanks to: The Eleventh Hour

Astra concerts receive support in 2010 from numerous private donors; Arts , through the Community Support Fund; The William Angliss Trust; Diana Gibson.

 ASTRA CHAMBER MUSIC SOCIETY Chair: Nicholas Tolhurst Manager: Bobbie Hodge Musical Director: John McCaughey PO Box 365, North Melbourne, Victoria 3051, Australia ABN 41 255 197 577 Tel: +61 (3) 9326 5424 email: info at astramusic dot org dot au web: www.astramusic.org.au

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