Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan

Unusually, I am not going to write a full review of this. To say I was disappointed by the book would be an understatement. It was clear what Ian McEwan was trying to do. His problem was that it didn’t work, couldn’t develop a focus and meandered to its own detriment.

We have a Mr Friend, who plays at making money on stock markets. He buys an intelligent robot called Adam (yes, there are Eves as well) and lo and behold it’s better at the job than he is. It’s also better at seducing his girlfriend. The relationship that develops between the two humans and the android is purportedly at the centre of the novel, but this keeps being crowded out by what regularly seems to extraneous subplots. Quite early on in the book, this particular reader was caused to judge inaccuracy when the principal character described buying a personal computer in a decade before they existed. I thought it might be a mistake, but it was part of an idea that permeated the book and permeated unsuccessfully.

The rationale was that Alan Turing had not died in the 1950s, but had lived on the extend computing, information technology and robotics beyond where it did in fact reach by the end of the 1960s. This allowed a fully formed robot that satisfied the Turing test during the 1970s. This then allowed Ian McEwan to rewrite the history of Margaret Thatcher’s tenure in office, create a defeat in the Falklands War and examine where British society might have finished.

But there was also a false conviction in a rape trial, a vendetta pursued by the accused against the accuser, which was Mr Friend’s girlfriend. The complications merely got in the way of any plot that might develop. When the robots started showing signs of paranoia and self-harm, this seemed to be just another side angle on what was a list of asides. Overall, this was not a successful read.

ADDA Simfonica and Trio Vibrart in Beethoven

Again the program looked familiar. The only thing that appeared not to be predictable was the playing. And on that score, the ADDA orchestra under Joseph Vicente, fronted by Trio Vibrart, we surely need not have worried. Indeed, the combination led only to celebration.

The program was all Beethoven. And Beethoven from that period of his creative life when he was actively pushing the boundaries of classical form to the limit in the establishment of musical Romanticism.

The second half was devoted to a performance of the Eroica Symphony. It is difficult to say anything new about work that is a pillar of European culture, a work that is so often performed and recorded. But what was really memorably original about this performance was its audience. It wasn’t that the orchestra played badly and that our collective interest wandered. Far from it! The concentration of this ADDA audience was almost audible at times, or inaudible, if you see what I mean. The quiet passages were listened to with such concentration and silence that every nuance of even the quietest music shone clearly through.

Beethoven’s design thus became completely visible. Obviously, this symphony was written to pay homage to Napoleon, but then the replacement of a triumphal march for a funeral march rendered the piece heroic, rather than laudatory. And what more, in this performance, specifically as a result of its audience’s concentration, the music allowed Beethoven’s purely personal statements to be experienced clearly and intimately. It is often said that the Eroica’s finale was Beethoven’s defiant gesture to his worsening deafness, but in this performance, the suggestions of doubt and insecurity were clearly in evidence. The result was a truly rounded and complete experience, full of vulnerability and self-doubt, as well as energy and heroism. How many pieces with a complete funeral march movement were ever branded triumphal? I simply don’t know. Here, and as much because of the audience’s concentration, we saw the full picture. An encore came from a movement from Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony, and it sent everyone home lighter.

The first half and been a complete gem. Beethoven’s Triple Concerto is often problematic in performance. The solo parts are probably not big enough to warrant booking three top-rated soloists. On the other hand, if the playing is less than perfect, or of the featured ensemble does not gel, the sense of a shared chamber music experience, which surely the composer intended but on a larger scale, would be lacking.

In this performance, the ADDA orchestra was fronted by a trio that regularly plays chamber music together, Trio Vibrart, Miguel Colom on violin, Fernando Arias on cello and Juan Pérez Floristán on piano. Individually, they were more than capable of playing concerto-like roles, but they also brought the cohesion of a chamber group to the music. This had the effect of thoroughly integrating the ideas, thoroughly integrating the chamber music of the soloist group with the chamber music-like orchestral interventions and accompaniment. The performance was not only a success: it transcended the concept of success.

As an encore, the Trio Vibrart offered an arrangement of one of Ginastera’s Argentinian Dances. The contrast that this folk-inspired, ever-so-slightly modernistic music presented brought the whole memorable evening together. Bravi to all concerned, especially the audience!

Die Deutsche Kammerphilharmonia under Paavo Järvi with Maria Dueñas in Schubert and Bruch

When you have been to a lot of concerts - when you reach a certain age! - real surprises are quite rare. Even new works fall into expected groups when you have heard a lot of them. In over fifty years of concert-going, I cannot remember a performance of Schubert’s Symphony No. 1, let alone a concert with Schubert’s Symphony No. 2 on the same programme.  Surprise? Will it come from a program advertising Schubert and Bruch? Well, yes, if it also includes the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonia Bremen with Paavo Järvi with Maria Dueñas as soloist.

Let’s start with the Schubert symphonies. Number one had his first performance some seventy years after it was written in 1813. During his lifetime, Franz Schubert heard little of his music performed before a paying audience. This is immediately one in the eye for anyone who justifies taste via popularity. Here we have perhaps the greatest European composer of all time who managed to have just a handful of his works performed in public during his lifetime. A populist would have to declare him and his work worthless. Things were obviously different at the start of the nineteenth century. But is public exposure any easier now? At the start of the nineteenth century, Schubert could at least invite his friends to a recital. Salons were all the rage. In the twenty-first century, how many unhittable videos are posted on the Internet? And are they all bad? Conversely, it what gets the hits automatically good?

The first symphony was the work of a sixteen-year-old. And yet it sounds mature, in spite of orchestral writing that on occasions advertises immaturity and lack of experience. But what is in the work is the unusual mixture of dance and celebration with dark self-doubt that would come to characterise the composer’s later works. The work runs to half an hour and feels like a deliberately serious statement by a young man who knew he had talent, but still could not see a definitive way to express it. Would things change?

After the break, we also had a performance of Schubert's Symphony No. 2. This is surprising music, along with the First Symphony, but there is greater maturity in the writing. The sound world seems to be that Mendelssohn, rather than Haydn, Mozart or Beethoven. But Schubert wrote his first two symphonies in 1813 and 1814 to 1815 a decade before Mendelssohn wrote anything of note. I remain wedded to the idea that no one is ever born before their time. A public, however, can become fixed in a culture that prevents it from appreciating the novel, however, and that tendency can render some creative geniuses to appear to be ahead of the time. So it probably was with Schubert. Unknown and unheard, he was already writing revolutionary music a decade at least before it became institutionalized by Mendelssohn. This time, these early symphonies by Schubert formed the real surprise of this concert.

Bruch’s First Violin Concerto is never a surprise. Unless, that is, it is played by someone like Maria Dueñas. No matter what reputation precedes, perfect artistry transforms even the most familiar music into something unique and even surprising.

María Dueñas pulled everything out of this music. Too often a piece like Bruch’s concerto is played for its populist kudos, with all the edges shaved to smooth, presented to pacify an expectant crowd rather than energise them. Maria Dueñas gave it everything, often attacking phases with a confidence that I personally have not heard before. Isn’t it amazing when something so familiar can be transformed by performance into a complete surprise. Brava!

In total, the ADDA audience demanded and received three encores, two from María Dueñas, and one from the orchestra. The orchestral offering at the end was the Andante Festivo of Sibelius. Like the Valse Triste, this piece ostensibly offers a celebration in a minor key promoting reflection. It is a beautiful piece, amplified by its understatement. Maria Dueñas gave two encores, one solo, and one with the orchestral strings. The first was an arrangement of Fauré’s Après Un Rêve, which was, after the Bruch concerto, sweet on sweet. Then, solo, she gave a performance of Applemania by Igudesman which, on the face of it, is a show-off piece designed for competitions. In the hands of María Dueñas, it was music, simply beautiful music.

The Gonzalo Soriano International Piano Competition in Alicante announces its winners

 

For the second time, Caroline and I have completed an edition of the Concurso Internacional de Piano de la Ciudad de Alicante Gonzalo Soriano con el Conservatorio Jose Tomas.  One hundred and eleven candidates from over thirty countries came to compete in four age categories and the final prizes were awarded last Saturday night.

Over four days, we directed candidates to play before the judges. We heard a particular Liszt Transcendental Study and Chopin Etudes many times. We heard the First Sonata of Prokofiev once and the Sixth twice. Someone – just one entrant – played a Shostakovich Prelude and Fugue, though those by Bach appeared regularly, but were never repeated. We heard music by Rautavaara, Carl Vine, Malipiero, Christian Helsing and a lot of Beethoven. The Rachmaninov was wall-to-wall. The Medtner stood out. Nobody played anything English, but of course there was a lot of Albeniz.

But the music aside - which it never should be - the most impressive aspect of the week was its performers. More than a hundred young people, some of them not so young, since the D category admitted participants up to 32 years old, played their best (some I am sure would not agree) in order to get a foot on at least one rung of a career ladder of unknown height. It’s a horrible business, but it is undeniably a business. People compete. People have to compete. Celebrity is currency and celebrity exists in a market where talent might not count, but probably does, and therefore recognition, and even work comes to no one unless that individual competes. To win seems like a confirmation of talent. To lose feels like its denial. But overall, luck place an important part, though luck is never quoted in the results.

Luck? When celebrity comes as a result of a video presence on the internet then luck might count. But when it comes to playing a piano, the only possible route to success goes via hours, days, months, and years of practice. And the most enduring memory of organizing a piano competition is to realize that the vast majority of these hundred plus competitors from six years old to thirty spend most of their lives practicing, the major challenge in a pianist’s life being always what the individual called "me" can achieve.

Shunta Marimoto, who won the senior category, seems to be someone who communicates with the world via the keyboard of a piano. Almost uncontrollably nervous before a performance, he seems to enter a different universe the moment his fingers touch the keys. Then there is magic. Always, it seems. A hundred or more of the people go through the same routine and the result is different. This, possibly, may be talent, or the manifestation of it. All the best arguments seem to be circular.

Ellisiv Tundberg, after a stunning performance of a sonata movement by Carl Vine in the semis, played Rautavaara and Franck in the final. Her playing of Cesar Franck’s Prelude, Choral and Fugue was the first time I have ever understood the music. Often it is played almost as a challenge, but in her hands its lyricism could shine through, but never as sentiment. Quite superb.

During the week, it was in category B that the biggest surprise came at the level, almost, of revelation. Luca Newman from the UK is a diminutive teenager. When he plays the piano, his age or stature do not matter. He has talent, application, dedication, and real artistry. What a privilege it is to be close to these young performers.

It is, however, hard work. I am just a paper and people pusher. I am just an organizer. But without this structure, the talent show would not find a stage, and would therefore not be on show. Thanks to Istvan Szekely for having thought it all up. Thanks also to Markus Schirmer, Tania Kozlova, Elena Levit, Luca Torrigiani, Uros Tadic, Gaia Caporiccio and Denise Lutgens for judging through the week. And nothing could happen without the wonderful staff from Conservatorio Jose Tomas. Being involved is, however, an exhausting privilege. I wish good luck to all who took part.

Detail at https://www.arsaltacultural.com/

ADDA Simfonica in Bernstein and Mahler with Josep Vicent and Josu de Solaun

Some concerts are different from the norm. Some turn out to be different, some look different from the start. Last Friday in ADDA, Aliante, our concert fell into both categories.

The start looked conventional enough with an overture. But this was Bernstein, and upbeat Bernstein to boot. As the evening progressed, this celebratory, overtly smiling music became a focus for the theme of ‘false hilarity’ that underpinned the rest of the program. Though the Candide Overture is upbeat, and it is an audience please, its origins are on Broadway, a place that, for the stage, peddles the same kind of illusory happiness that creates sparkling plastic dreams on film in Hollywood. It was a perfect start, played perfectly, and received with much enthusiasm.

But then the mood changed. On the backdrop, we saw a painting by Edward Hopper, whose canvases at first sight seem to be technicolour stills from the black-and-white of Hollywood’s golden era. But a closer look reveals that usually no one is talking to anyone else. No one is even noticing where they are. Their environment is stripped of many of the accoutrements of modern life, indicating a colourless life, lived in a rainbow. The people seem self-absorbed, but neither happy nor reflective. They are, it seems, anxious. Alongside a passage capturing the spirit of Auden’s poem, which talked of going for a drink with a chance encounter, and then feeling a sense of false hilarity, the image was the perfect introduction to the world of what followed, which was Bernstein Symphony No. 2, The Age of Anxiety.

This is an enigmatic work. It claims to be a symphony, but equally it could be a piano concerto. Josu Solaun was the soloist. His playing was the perfect balance of detachment and energy that the work demands. There are many periods of silence, interspersed with percussive passages. In the hands of a pianist not thoroughly in sympathy with the work’s overall character, this part can easily become across as disjointed and incoherent. In the right hands, it is a portrayal of an individual’s experience of the modern age of anxiety, false hilarity mixed with anxious self-absorption, reflection not softened by religious belief. This is a tough world that, even when it invites you in, leaves you isolated.

Bernstein’s Age of Anxiety is not a work that will bring the house down. But in ADDA, Alicante last Friday, it did. It is certainly a work that will be remembered by an audience privileged to hear it. But it won’t send them home humming an earworm. But of course Candide will. The contrast is at least part of the point.

If the first half was something of a surprise, then the second half exceeded. We heard three movements from different Mahler symphonies under the general title of The Echo of Being. The music came from the third movement of the Symphony No. 4, the Totenfeier from Symphony No. 2 and the fourth movement from Symphony No. 9. The idea was that these would accompany The Echo of Being, a three-sectioned film made by Lucas van Woerkum based on the life of the composer. Each section concentrated on one member of a three- person family, a mother, a dying daughter, and a father.

Musically, and surprisingly, this hung together. The slow movement start is tender, but underpinned by alienation and, when the outburst comes, bitterness, which then transforms into regret. The violence and anger of the Totenfeier here becomes the suffering of illness with all the resentment this brings. Then, the valedictory fourth movement of the Symphony No. 9 seems to approach the unknown of death, but from the standpoint of thinking you know who you are. There is a familiarity about the unknown experience, perhaps a false heaven arrived at before death claims life. The illusion becomes complete, and the survivor survives, alone.

By the end of the concert, the ADDA audience was in suitably reflective mood. As the dying tones of the fourth movement of Mahler nine drifted towards silence, so did the audience. At the end, Josep Vicent left the audience to enjoy this beautiful sensation of shared quiet. It was prolonged and memorable. And so was the joy of those minutes. There was nothing false or hilarious about this profound experience.

I forgot to mention Josu de Solaun’s encore. The Debussy Prelude was certainly lighter than what had gone before, but it was no less disturbing. What was utterly impressive was the fact that the Solaun could play pianissimo in front of an audience of over a thousand, where everyone could hear everything perfectly and no one missed a note.

The Theory of the Leisure Class by Thorstein Veblen

I was unaware of Veblen’s ideas until a recent edition of In Our Time on BBC Radio 4 devoted an hour of discussion to his life and work. So stimulating did I find the discussion that I immediately found a copy of The Theory of the Leisure Class and read it. 

Thorstein Veblen’s ideas crystallised in the last quarter of the nineteenth century when the infamous “robber barons” of emergent American capitalism were at the height of their power and ownership. Not only did they form a social class, but these multi-millionaires also created social norms that many desired to emulate. A measure of success in the popular mind became how closely an individual might aspire to emulate their lives of great riches and, at least when viewed from the outside, great leisure. Conspicuous consumption, following their example, became an economic goal and a measure of success. Veblen related this tendency of upper social classes to remnants of “barbarianism”, stemming from “tribal” societies. Everything was related to ownership resulting from conquest and warfare, in which the defeated were enslaved so that the victors could benefit from the fruits of their labour. On page two, Veblen identifies broad occupations and activities in contemporary society that derive from this ancient tendency. “These non-industrial upper-class occupations may be roughly comprised under government, warfare, religious observances and sports.” The label “non-industrial” differentiated these people from the vast majority of the population, who laboured cooperatively for the common good by producing things that increased human capabilities and well-being.

There thus develops in Veblen’s work a theory of economic production and distribution that is derived from psychological traits and has sociological implications. He extends his ideas about non-cooperative barbarism and “predatory” tendencies to illustrate how making oneself useless can become a sign of ultimate power and success. Though the social class that is guilty of this flagrant over-consumption of goods and services is demonstrated as being anti-social, as far as the interests of the industrial classes are concerned, Veblen never alludes to any possible conflict that might arise. This is what differentiates his ideas from those of Marx.

The psychological and behavioural aspects are explored, alongside and their consequences for economic and social class differences. He develops a theory of “manners” that allow members of the upper classes to identify themselves to one another. “There are few things that so touch us with instinctive revulsion as a breach of decorum; and so far have we progressed in the direction of imputing intrinsic utility to the ceremonial observances of etiquette that few of us, if any, can dissociate an offence against etiquette from a sense of the substantial unworthiness of the offender. A breach of faith may be condoned, but a breach of decorum can not. “Manners maketh the man”.” Again, he is not doing any of this in order to poke fun or satirise individuals. He does, however, make it clear that the existence of the upper classes does work against the interests of the industrial classes, who are labouring to make everyone’s life better.

The industrial classes, though privately desiring to emulate their social betters, however, at least try to maintain their own values. “The popular reprobation of waste goes to say that in order to be at peace with himself the common man must be able to see in any and all human effort and human enjoyment an enhancement of life and well-being on the whole … Relative or competitive advantage of one individual or comparison with another does not satisfy the economic conscience and the form of competitive expenditure has not the approval of his conscience.” 

Conspicuous consumption amongst the ownership classes drives them to value political ideas, laws and social practices that allow them to maintain their lifestyle. This inevitably results in political and social conservatism. “This conservatism of the wealthy class is so obvious a feature that it has even become recognised as a mark of respectability.” Privately, the industrial classes still aspire to the conspicuous consumption and leisure of the wealthy and so have a tendency to espouse their conservatism in the hope that one day they might achieve similar status.

All forms of religious establishment, military rank, political and even sporting success are manifestations of this over-consumption to the detriment of the industrial class, throwbacks to the barbarism and predatory nature of a society based on conflict. But here I find a weakness in Veblen’s argument. He does not see capitalist consumerism’s pursuit of individualism as necessarily fostering the creation of the leisure class. Furthermore, he assumes that pre-industrial, pre-scientific, societies are all based upon predation, but offers scant evidence to illustrate this.  

As a fan of “classical” music, I was intrigued by a passage that defined the term. ““Classic” always carries this connotation of wasteful and archaic, whether it is used to denote the dead languages or the obsolete or obsolescent forms of thought and diction in the living language, or to denote other items of scholarly activity or apparatus to which it is applied with aptness.” Capitalism cannot sell “classical” music. Calling it thus, even when the label only applies to about sixty years in the thousand-year history of European-style music is thus clearly a way of marginalising it.

Veblen’s ideas are now in sharp focus because of environmental degradation. The role of “consumption as status” needs to be uppermost in everyone’s mind. The less consumption, the less pressure is placed on the environment. The consequence of lower consumption would probably be the collapse of capitalism and it is this aspect, this consequence of his theories that is sadly rather lacking from Veblen’s work.

The Stavanger Symphony Orchestra with Andris Poga and Behzod Abduraimov in Matre, Prokofiev and Tchaikovsky

Orchestras on tour often take some of their home repertoire with them. In the case of the Stavanger Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Andris Poga in Alicante last night, this took the form on the published program of a contemporary interpretation of some famous nineteenth century pieces. The Norwegian composer Ørjan Matre has reworked some of Edvard Grieg’s Lyric Pieces for orchestra. I hesitate to say simply “orchestrated”, because the contemporary composer’s contribution is specific and significantly more than transcription. It’s tantamount to reinterpretation.

Alicante’s ADDA audience heard four of the pieces, beginning with the Arietta from book one. Almost as if to remind the audience of the piece’s origin, the composer starts with solo piano, and the orchestra almost apologizes for its presence as the piece proceeds. The textures and combinations employed are designed to communicate the context of the inspiration. The titles of the pieces, Arietta, Spring dance, Solitary traveller, and Butterfly give clues as to what Grieg might have been thinking and Matre creates beautiful illustrations by his wholly original and refreshingly light use of orchestral sound.

After the interval, the Stavanger Symphony Orchestra gave a performance of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. Now this a work the Alicante audience knows well, so it was with interest and anticipation that it was received. We were not disappointed. This was a strong, forceful reading of the score. The triumphalism of the finale certainly asserted itself, but this happened perhaps at the cost of a detail or two in the preceding narrative that became lost in the force of the orchestral sound. Such matters are a conductor’s choice and clearly Andris Poga wanted to stress the growth to confidence above the experience of insecurities that led up to the endpoint.

Set between the reinterpreted Grieg and Tchaikovsky’s triumphal finale was a real gem. It’s not often that a pianist takes on the Second Piano Concerto of Prokofiev, but here Behzod Abduraimov did just that. And what a perfectly splendid job he made of it.

The start was slower than expected, with Prokofiev’s opening theme, meandering even when faster, almost breaking apart. But then the slower tempo allowed the music’s vast array of colours to shine through. By the time, Behzod Abduraimov had reached the massive first movement credenza, the complexity on the ear had become strangely simplified, and the pyrotechnics of the piano part seemed almost inevitable, merely a given in the overall argument. The essential shape of the music was thus preserved, and the audience was treated to truly communicative playing, and not mere virtuosity.

There are times when this music from 1913 sounds almost industrial. I am sure this was Prokofiev’s intention. The work, after all, was revised ten years later, so it is hard in the concert hall to imagine what the composer might have changed. Suffice to say that the joins do not show.

Behzod Abduraimov was magnificent. His playing was strong where it needed to be, occasionally explosive and often lyrical at the same time. His faultless solo part was accompanied by wonderful orchestral playing that really brought out every nuance of detail in the score. This is abstract music, but there are many passages that seem to refer to popular forms, albeit seen in a distorting mirror. And if you think even the opening theme might be simple, just try singing it to yourself. Good luck. It’s a perfect example of Prokofiev’s lyrical genius, where he concocted a singularly beautiful tune that sticks in the memory, but an idea that remains elusive and almost impossible to reproduce.

But at the end of the evening the orchestra returned home. As an encore, we had two of Grieg’s Lyric Pieces in orchestral versions. The Wedding Day At Troldhaugen for string orchestra was particularly successful.