Sunday Concerts Presents Amici Ensemble As A Piano Quartet
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Otago Daily Times
29-06-2025
- Otago Daily Times
Performances brilliantly crafted, balanced
DSO: Brahms & Mataatua: A Journey in Music Dunedin Town Hall June 28 A large audience in the Dunedin Town Hall on Saturday witnessed the performance of works by two musical giants — one Māori and one German. After a supportive, welcoming karanga (ceremonial call) by Lily Fraser, the world premiere public performance of an exceptionally moving and brilliantly crafted work by Dame Gillian Whitehead, depicting the little known story of a whare called Mataatua, followed. Dame Gillian's complex score was conducted with exemplary clarity by James Judd. The Journey of Mataatua Whare: the House That Came Home is in four movements and features three soloists, choir and orchestra. The specially formed Dunedin Symphony Orchestra Chorus of 16 local singers sang with precision and dramatic flair, but choral blend was lacking. The soloists were uniformly excellent. Soprano Rebecca Ryan, representing the voice of Mataatua, sang her searingly difficult angular lines with effortless ease; baritone Tomairangi Henare's warm and resonant voice represented te ao Māori; and the commanding presence and voice of bass Paul Whelan represented the Pakeha world and bureaucracy. Dame Gillian's ability to create orchestral soundscapes both contemporary and romantic, moving seamlessly from one to the other, is remarkable and the orchestra was able to achieve the composer's demands with poise and confidence. Brahms' Piano Concerto No 2 in B Flat major Opus 83 is a giant among piano concerti. Maestro Judd skilfully managed the balance between piano and orchestra, allowing pianist Jian Liu to illuminate Brahms' intentions from the very first notes he played. In the opening movement were the heart-rending pianissimi and heart-tingling fortissimi. Liu articulated Brahms' melodic genius in the second movement; the third movement began and ended with a haunting cello solo, which eventually culminated in an exquisite pianissimo piano ending. The final movement featured an exuberant dance-like rondo, bringing the concerto to a sparkling finish. Liu paid tribute to Whitehead by playing her Lullaby for Matthew as an encore. Dame Gillian is of one of Dunedin's international treasures, and the DSO is to be congratulated for giving her such splendid support. Review by Judy Bellingham
Otago Daily Times
26-06-2025
- Otago Daily Times
Pianist returns as soloist with DSO
Wellington-based pianist and educator Dr Jian Liu is visiting Dunedin for the third time since the start of this year to feature as soloist with the Dunedin Symphony Orchestra. Liu is in rehearsals with the DSO this week for his performance of Brahms' monumental Piano Concerto No 2, one of two major works in Saturday's ''Brahms & Mataatua: A Journey in Music'' concert, from 7.30pm at the Dunedin Town Hall. The other major work, to be led by DSO principal guest conductor James Judd, will be the premiere performance of Dunedin composer Gillian Whitehead's The Journey of Mataatua Whare. The piece, which will feature soloists Rebecca Ryan (soprano), Tomairanga Henare (baritone), and Paul Whelan (bass), celebrates 100 years since the Mataatua Wharenui returned to New Zealand. An international concert pianist, chamber musician, and awardwinning recording artist, Liu is head of piano studies and deputy head of school at the New Zealand School of Music. During his recent visits to Dunedin, he was a member of the adjudicating panel for the Dunedin Concerto Competition, won by 16 year-old pianist Ozan Biner-McGrath. ''The concerto competition was a very special event. It was wonderful to be part of it and to hear so many talented young people perform.'' Now he is back to showcase his own prodigious piano performance skills, taking on one of the most epic concertos in the classical canon — Brahms' Piano Concerto No.2. ''I'm very excited to be returning to the Dunedin Town Hall, with its fantastic acoustic, to play this intriguing work,'' Liu said. Preparing for Saturday's Brahms performance has involved careful management, as it comes just two weeks after Liu performed Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No 3 with Orchestra Wellington. ''Getting ready for two concerts close together involved preparing the two works side by side earlier in the year, and then focusing on each one exclusively in the weeks leading up to the performance,'' Liu said. ''It's a carefully planned out process and the timing has worked out perfectly. ''And most importantly, what a joy it is to play two such wonderful works.'' Brahms' Piano Concerto No 2 is an unusual work in the Romantic repertoire, with the pianist and orchestra working together in conversation. ''I describe it as like a symphony with a piano accompaniment, and it is symphony length as well,'' Liu said. ''Somehow it is both intimate and very grand, and it has a wonderful warmth. ''The orchestra and soloist must work together very closely in collaboration, so it is very special for me that my first concert with James Judd involves this work.'' Along with his Dunedin visits, Liu performed in Vietnam in April, and will head to Germany and China for more concerts. There are also New Zealand concert and chamber music commitments. Free pre-concert talk There will be a free pre-concert talk by Dr Andrew Perkins in conversation with composer Gillian Whitehead and DSO concertmaster Tessa Petersen, from 6.40pm-7pm on Saturday in the Dunedin Town Hall complex.
The Spinoff
30-05-2025
- The Spinoff
‘If I were starting out again…': Life and writing advice from David Hill
After nearly half a century as a full-time writer, David Hill considers what he might have done differently. This year is my 44th as a full time writer. I've been earning a sort of living with words for a sliver over half my time on the planet. Feel free to do the maths. If I were starting out again, would I do it differently? Hell, yes. I'd start trying to write novels sooner. For nearly a decade, I was so obsessed with making a living that I took on only small-scale projects, many of them ephemeral: short stories, reviews, brief plays, columns, etc. I also lacked the confidence, the guts to try anything requiring novel-sized skills and stamina. I'll explain that part later. It wasn't till our teenage daughter's friend died, and the short story I began writing to acknowledge her courage was still going at page 73, that I realised I'd lurched into a longer form almost by default. With that form came the rewards of watching your narrative choose its own direction, making friends with your characters, trying different voices, etc – the rewards that novels may bring. Plus, novels can be a financial investment. You might earn virtually nothing during the months/years you're working on one, but if you're lucky, royalties and the Public Lending Right may keep bringing a return long after the toil involved has faded from memory. Along with this, if I were re-beginning as a full-timer, I'd try to have a more comprehensive vision. As I say, 44 years ago, that vision was mostly financial survival. I had few plans beyond the next fortnight. I'd been able to take 1981 off from high school teaching to write, thanks to an ICI Writer's Bursary – $3,000 kept you going for several months in those days. I wrote an awful adult novel which met multiple rejections and doesn't exist in any form now. Anyway, I taught for another year, and started off in 1983 feeling that anything longform was beyond me. Janet Frame compared novel writing to 'going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land', and my first dismal shopping trip put me off for years. With hindsight, I'd try to have more faith in myself, to aim higher and sooner. How easily said; how easily postponed. I'd also drink less coffee during those early days. I suspect my wife Beth and our kids found it a touch disconcerting to come home from work or school to a figure with red rotating eyeballs. I'd learn proper keyboard skills. It seems so trivial, but I've always been a two-finger, head-bent-over-the-keys user. After 44 years of stupidly bad posture, my neck is now permanently stuffed, and I have to work in 15-minute spells. Serves me right. I'd keep a copy of everything. Everything. It's relatively easy now, thanks to computers, files, that thing called The Cloud, which I still envisage as white and fluffy. But for… 20?… 25? years of hand-written drafts and manual-typewriter copies, I chucked away so much, especially when it was rejected. I still half-remember lost work, know I could now see what to do with it, shape it better. But it's gone forever. Since going electronic – and if that makes me sound like a cyborg, who am I to argue? – I throw away absolutely nothing. I'd learn to say 'No' early on. Writers are constantly being asked to talk to Rotary, to give advice on how to get 10-year-old Zeb reading, to look over the history of the local golf club that Jack whom you've never heard of is writing. Early on, I cravenly surrendered a lot of hours to such unpaid requests (demands, occasionally). I still agree to do so in some cases, but it took me a long time to learn how to mention the issue of time and expenses. Carl, the excellent gardener down the road, charges $60 an hour. I use the comparison sometimes. From the start, I'd try to see my readers as potential friends, not critics. I'd find an accountant immediately. Yes, they cost, but you can claim them on tax. Plus they add a certain legitimacy to your return, and they think of expenses that would challenge any fantasy writer's imagination. Mine (thanks heaps, Robyn; never retire) even got me a few dollars back on 'Deterioration of Office Fittings', as in shampooing the rugs in my office after the cat puked on them. If I were starting out again, I'd try to stay reasonably technologically savvy, to accept that your writing life needs to change when resources and tools change. Specifically, I'd hope to respond more quickly to the arrival of something like online publishing, e-books, e-zines, etc. I ignored them for years, kept telling myself they were a fad, something ephemeral and distracting. Yes, just like a 14th century literary hack sticking to vellum manuscripts, and knowing this printed book nonsense wouldn't last. My denial – my continued denial; I still struggle to accept that anything other than hard copy is 'real' publishing – has cost me so many contacts and contracts. I'd try also to prepare myself for shifts in my abilities. Over the past half-dozen years, I've shrunk as a short story writer. I no longer have the imaginative spark or the energy to find the dramatic switch, the revelation, the power within a small space that makes a good short story. Conversely, my ability to assemble, to build, seems to have edged up a degree. Essays and novels attract me more and more. If I were restarting, I'd resolve to feel pleased with what I can still do, not despondent at what I can't. It would no doubt go the way of my other resolutions. Let's finish with four questions: 1. Would I have an agent? I never have, partly from laziness and meanness, partly because they weren't common in the early 1980s when I went full-time, and partly (I can't phrase this without sounding vainglorious) because I've been around long enough in our little country for my name to ring the odd bell. A distant, cracked bell. But if I were starting now, I certainly would. Many publishers these days won't consider submissions unless they come via an agent. And, of course, a skilled agent knows the where/when/who to save you so much hassle. They can also soften the jolt of rejection … a bit. 2. Would I enrol in a writing course? Like agents, they weren't around much in the Jurassic. There were writers' groups all over the country. There were journalism schools. But organised instruction, direction, encouragement for fiction, poetry, drama, creative non-fiction? Pretty much zilch. If I were starting now, I'd certainly look hard at the collegiality, informed critiques, professional presentation, funding sources and multiple other facets that such courses can provide, along with their environment that makes you write. 3. Would I self-publish? It's an option that has flourished, become a legitimate alternative, lost the stigma attached to it when I started off. 'Vanity publishing', we arrogantly called it then. But I probably wouldn't do it. I'm too ignorant of what's involved; I treasure the skills of the editors and publishers who work on and always improve my stuff. And … well, I took up this job to be an author, not an entrepreneur. 4. Would I do it all over again? See final words of paragraph two above. How many other jobs are there where you have to shave only twice a week, where a 10-year-old consumer writes to you saying 'After I read your book, I felt all kind and good', where you get up from the keyboard after an hour and know you've made something that never existed in the world before? I hope to be feeling exactly the same when I've been in the said job for 55 years. All I need is for medical science to keep taking giant strides.
