CLASSICAL REVIEW: Sonatas And Dances

Violinist Dmitry Sitkovetsky and pianist Cathal Breslin bring the curtain down on the Walled City Music Festival in "Euroclectic" fashion

A mixture of Beethoven, Kreisler, Prokofiev, Bartok and Ravel await everyone who attends this, the final night of Derry-Londonderry's Walled City Music Festival. Having been treated to a week's worth of strong chamber music and a few days of exceptionally hot weather, the chattering, comfortable, classically minded audience in the University Of Ulster at Magee's Great Hall eagerly anticipate the richest of icings on a well-baked orchestral cake.

The possibilities are mouthwatering. Our violinist for the evening is one of the world's leading violin soloists, Dmitry Sitkovetsky. The former principal conductor of the Ulster Orchestra, Sitkovetsky is joined by the equally world-renowned Cathal Breslin, a pianist who has performed for presidents and kings and sold out Carnegie Hall twice.

Sitkovetsky and Breslin begin with the first of Beethoven's Op. 30 Sonatas, cast in three movements. The first, Allegro, sees alternation between delicate strings and kinetic, variable piano-playing over a range of octaves, cumulating in an always active and sometimes striking sound. Attention to detail is strong and focus is paramount.

While Breslin maintains a professional pose, Sitkovetsky's eyes periodically widen and close. The violinist's lips pucker and quiver amidst a handful of fearful expressions in a triumphant battle with surging strings and cascading chords.

Well into the second movement, it becomes apparent that Sitkovetsky's face is always in tandem with the mood of the music. If a note or bar causes discomfort, it is obvious, though the power of his string-playing overcomes this, silencing performer and audience into simultaneous concentration and appreciation.

The tempo raises for the third movement, the first "foot tapper" of the evening, where Breslin marks his territory. The pianist's adaptability, reflexes, sharpness and pitch are significant. Memorably, Breslin's playing slows to a repetitive gallop, nearly dying out to silence before re-emerging as a steady background to a prominent violin. It's like a pre-emptive musical strike before the final, inter-lapping, string-based hit.

To Sitkovetsky, tonight is a "very different" recital with lots of smaller pieces in between the larger ones. A meal of not only main courses, but also middle courses, hors d'ouevres, and so on.

So it is with Kreisler's Rondino, Liebeslied and Liebesfreud. A pleasingly simple melodic overlap guides us down an unpredictable sonic stream on the way to an exhibitionist tango rhythm dominated by Sitkovetsky, who later lowers his tone, allowing the unselfish Breslin to fully impress. Both artists' breathing is extremely audible during a high powered refrain which ascends to deserved applause.

Lotus Land, co-composed by Kreisler and Cyril Scott, is intended to be the epitome of exotic transportation. Shut your eyes and you could imagine a beautiful sunset exploding into life before slowly going down, cataloguing the allure and alienation of foreign surroundings. The sweetly entrancing melancholia of the piece establishes this.

By contrast, Brahms' Hungarian Dances bring us back to earth in a way, establishing the aura of an Eastern European ballroom. It's reached the stage where the power of the music seems to have overtaken the power of the performance, but the mildly enraptured audience don't seem to mind.

Post-interval, Sitkovetsky and Breslin treat us to Prokofiev's Cinderella dances. By Sitkovetsky's own admission, these pieces are not made for violin and piano, but the orchestrations are no less determined. What our performers provide is something more delicate and relaxed, beginning with the crisp, medieval and sometimes dingy Valse waltz. Winter Fairy delivers a series of flowing scales on a bed of strings backed up by Breslin's gentle rummaging of the keys: a gently complimentary lead into the initially thunderous Mazurka, which sees Sitkovetsky and Breslin interlock like two equally concentrated ballet dancers jostling for command.

Themes of patriarchy, jollity, grim romance and reflective sentiment from a trapped viewpoint surface in Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances. These collide into an Eastern European polka that tests how quickly the musicians can play. The answer is, very quickly indeed.

The concert finishes as it begins, with a Sonata: this time the composer is Maurice Ravel. Allegretto invites a sweet, quietly enlightening piano harmony from Breslin, restrainedly backed up by a soundly rhythmic Sitkovetsky.

Less soothing, but more interesting, is the experimental Blues, an attempt to make the violin and piano sound like the saxophone and guitar. It's more casual jazz than traditionally upbeat jazz, but with their instruments, Sitkovetsky and Breslin create hitherto unforeseen, hyper-stylised richness. The application trumps the tune itself: American inspiration, but European Eclecticism. Euroclecticism, perhaps.

As the players approach their final, criss-crossing, complex movement, clouds visibly multiply on the other side of the Great Hall's windows, foreshadowing the stormy gloom embodied in the darkest recesses of their collection of pieces. But one is also stirred by elements inside and outside, the return to traditional "Derry weather" neatly tying in with the comforting normalcy that follows a refreshingly unorthodox journey, musical or otherwise. A journey made thoroughly worthwhile by the enlightening, eclectic - or should that be "euroclectic"? - endeavour of Sitkovetsky, Breslin and every other artist at this year's Walled City Music Festival.

MUSIC REVIEW: Jammboree

The Playhouse Theatre in Derry-Londonderry hosts two nights' worth of local musical talent

Derry-Londonderry's Jammboree festival, the brainchild of John Ross, is one of the high watermarks of Music City 2014. Inspired by the success of the North By Northwest Festival the year before, Ross has set out to bring "the best of the North West" together in intimate, amiable surroundings for a lively, lyrical, laughter-filled weekend.

For two nights, an eclectic buzz surrounds the Playhouse Theatre as Ross's project comes to fruition is a sometimes calm, sometimes charged but always positive atmosphere.

Strabane quartet Those Ghosts, in their words, set about like most "garage bands", attempting to "string together some ideas and parts into coherent songs". They've since earned sufficient praise and a loyal following, although neither translate into a large Gallery Stage audience so early on Friday evening. What they do offer is solid "warm up" music, defined by good on stage chemistry, sound vocal enunciation, clear drum beats, and, almost unsurprisingly for up-and-comers, a clear 1980s influence. It's a promising start but the best is yet to come.

A grim looking Eoghan O'Hagan, otherwise known as His New Atlas, takes a leaf from the book of Radiohead for his set. Visibly slightly teary, his emotional input and sonic variations are a quietly entrancing combination.

Next door, on the Community Stage, Jessica Doherty brings delicate fragility and winning innocence to Ellie Goulding-esque compositions. Her intentionally strained soprano tone is rather moving.

Rhinos, a duo consisting of comedian Paul Currie and lady drummer Laura Totten, are a roaring, riotous rampage of raucous riffs and endless laughs. Expressions, impressions and explosions of unsubtle but unifying sound are key to their Gallery Stage appeal. They bring in a fairly good crowd too. Amidst this wild, hilarious hectoring, the lustful, longing and almost luxurious tones of Susie-Blue come across as a calm, cooling oasis on the Community Stage. One only wishes she could sing for longer.

The "classic" Alex Turner-esque "She's Got My Heart" announces the welcome return of 2013 success story The Clameens. Even with only the microphone to accompany him, lead singer Sean Breslin's vocals are as crisp as ever, if not crisper. Their on stage comfort, soulful synchronicity, singable, footstomping refrains and homely humour successfully earn this "comeback" set loud, deserved applause at the finish line.

Such an applause is sadly not forthcoming for the similar sounding Hurdles next door, but time is on their side and things will surely improve for them. Meanwhile, back on centre stage, rollicking country rockers Ard Ri are seeing out the night at a tempo worthy of the best dance halls in the Old West.

Saturday night's entertainment begins in literally Wyld (sic) fashion; the pulsating power of prancing, pouting, persistent leading lady Jilly St John and her Wyldling collective, featuring Glenn Rosborough, are performing under their name for the last time. Glad to be back on stage regularly again after an unnecessarily prolonged period, St John announces that the band will "step things up a gear". And step it up they do. Despite their oppressive appearance, they subsume the crowd in remarkably friendly fashion. St John's affected robotic movements are deceptive; she is anything but stiff, her loud vocals and range of expressions truly inspiring.

Gabriel Paschal Blake's eloquent, crisp vocals surround well timed drum beats, creating a steady, relaxing atmosphere worthy of this fresh faced performer's promising set. Blake sings as if he is traversing a torturous path along the road to maturity, hoping that emotional expression and fan appreciation will soften it for him. And, with a bit of luck, so it should. The strings of female accompanist Claire Cuffe give the performance greater breadth and depth, before it ends on a slightly surreal note; the blinds in the Playhouse room open slowly as the final number draws to a close. By the time they are fully open, Blake takes a bow and leaves the stage. It is as if someone said "Let there be light", and Blake and his band responded accordingly.

The best sound of the night up to this point comes from John Deery and the Heads. The band, who supported the Beach Boys during the Legenderry Maritime Festival, have a versatile, experimental nature and smoothness in their vocals that draws people together.

Meanwhile, at the Community Stage, easy-listening tunes from Connor Hutcheon, Darrell Coyle and Quentin Wylie are keeping punters happy, though best of all is probably the lovely indie folk of Karen Kelly & Simon McCafferty.

When Wyldling's Glenn Rosborough returns to the Gallery Stage, along with his band mates David Kirby and Jilly St John, they are a completely different beast, providing good humoured, well seasoned pop with a nifty beat and standout bass riffs. This paves the way for PORTS, The Artists Formerly Known As Little Bear, to dominate proceedings. Gloom, cast in downbeat blue lighting, floods the room throughout their second number, "In Summer", crowd favourite "Second In Line" brightens both room and mood, while "I'd Let You Win" providing the requisite emotional release. It's a mixture of temperaments that reaches a satisfying climax with the powerful refrain of "The Few And Far Between", proving that PORTS may have lost their old name, but not their charisma.

Last, but almost certainly not least, The Wood Burning Savages arrive ready to burn away the competition on a blaze of post-Glastonbury glory. Well, perhaps I am exaggerating for dramatic effect. But what's undeniable is that Paul Connolly and his band are the closest thing to a "natural festival band" we've seen this weekend. Their lyrics take a back seat to thunderous drums, roaring guitar solos, tenaciously overlapping harmonies and a fine stage presence. And they have achieved all this by simply defying convention and being themselves. It's not all high tempo either; when Connolly deliberately slows down the pace and asks everyone on the floor to "grab a slow dance partner", one can only watch on and think, this is what it's all about. The true essence of a festival captured in a pair of utterly rewarding nights in an intimately theatrical hub.

ART REVIEW: Irish Art In Derry

Derry-Londonderry's Gordon Gallery enters its final throes with a rich, varied mixture of abstract and pleasurable art

It is the closest equivalent of London's Tate Modern that Derry-Londonderry arguably has, and it is on the verge of closing down. Since re-establishing itself in 2005, Richard Gordon's commercial gallery in Pump Street has added dimension to a gradually developing artistic hub in the city.

From the literature of Bedlam's Little Acorns to the theatricality of the Playhouse around the corner and the splashes of colour all over the walls of the still relatively new Sandwich Company premises, the variety in Derry's Cathedral Quarter appears endless. Less so now that the London Street Gallery has already closed and the Gordon Gallery is days away from following suit, leaving the CCA to fly the flag in this corner of the historic city walls.

The final exhibition, Irish Art In Derry, reveals countless possibilities, all four walls at the back of the gallery adorned with paintings, prints and pictures. A collection of sculptures rest on two narrow, lengthy wooden tables at either end of the seating central to the bright, sterile-looking space.

One particularly eye-catching sculpture is "The Factory Floor" by Belfast-born sculptor Deborah Brown. The appearance of four bronze figurines trapped between two tall metal pillars on a steel grey sheet is symbolic of both the work they do and the routine they have fallen into; a routine they can't seem to break free from, even if they want to. Their shrunken, hunched, lumbering postures suggest anaesthetisation to their jobs, institutionalisation to their surroundings; but it appears to be institutionalisation born out of apathy, with no redeeming features. It is a simply remarkable work.

Another personal favourite is Chris Wilson's Island (Tory), pictured. Wilson himself presents this sculpture as one of a set that juxtaposes opposing perspectives with a single form. With that in mind, one feels he has accomplished his mission statement through sound positional sense and strong attention to detail. The five small houses on the edge of the cliff are emblematic of traditional dwellings; the location of said houses, the cracks in the rock face below them, and the rock supporting the cliff, encapsulate a feeling of consistently living on the edge.

The four walls surrounding these sculptures, and many more (including Brendan Jamison's Tate Mausoleum, constructed entirely out of sugar) consist primarily of coloured oil paintings. The most abstract of all are possibly the works of Feilim Egan, Patrick Bradley and Philip Flanagan, all three using blocks to provide unique takes on overhead viewpoints; a means of creating their own realities. While I admire Bradley's lively colour mixtures, and am intrigued by the dusk and undersea views presented in Egan's work, it is the simplistic vibrancy of Flanagan that impresses most. His work, in a way, captures the spirit of the exhibition: it is more about one's perception of the image rather than the inspection of the subject. It's less about what we see, and more about how we see and symbolise it in our heads.

There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, such as the still life paintings of Trudie Mooney, the arguably brash but arresting work of Colin McGookin, and the representations of isolation in Martin Gale's "Long Gone" and "New Girl". But, on the whole, Irish Art In Derry is an exhibition that leaves one with more questions than answers; a fine, fitting legacy for this sadly departing gallery to leave behind.

Irish Art In Derry runs until tomorrow, Saturday July 19, in Derry-Londonderry's Gordon Gallery.