Having not heard the SSO since May, I was slightly taken aback by the huge sound which greeted me at the beginning of the Berlioz Overture. Wow, no warm-up required. Fielding a large orchestra, Shui Lan mustered a heavy and thick voice from the SSO, who were in turn responding in dramatic and spirited voice. A grand and massive performance, and an appropriate crowd-waker.

The orchestra demonstrated further cohesiveness in the Chopin concerto, which they accompanied with tight ensemble and musically sensitive interpretation. But, no matter how I tried, I could not really feel the same level of satisfaction for the performances of Chinese pianist Wei Dan Wen. Although Mr Wei plays with feeling and there are lyric moments, the result throughout the work seemed to lack that final ounce of fluidity. In the first movement, the piano itself sounded cold and brittle, albeit that improved in the latter half. Likewise in the finale, Mr Wei's performance was well-executed, but not particularly distinctive. Momentous, running passages are rendered well, but somewhat short on firm emoted energy - in short, I felt the whole thing lacked oomph, though it was not technically deficient.

This suggestion of "languity" perhaps, on the other hand, translates well into the second movement. Now, Mr Wei finds a mellow sound from the piano, which in turn shows much more justice to his touch. A quite contented and lush account of the solo parts then, and Chopin's anguish is caught well, next to the pensive moments, ending with a sympathetic sigh.

For me the true star of the concert was the performance of Thea Musgrave's Journey Through A Japanese Landscape. Admittedly, and with a deliberate dash of arrogance, I must say that I didn't expect a non-Asian composer to understand the unique and beauteous austerity of the Japanese philosophy of art, and was therefore expecting another clichéd tone-painting involving mysterious chords and vaguely evocative gongs.

 

Translation of the haiku: SPRING In the spring sea waves undulating and undulating all day long. In the morning breeze skylarks dance straight up in the air. A night boat sails away illuminated by a wildfire. SUMMER In summer grasses are now buried glorious dreams of ancient warriors. Oppressive heat - my whirling mind listens to the pearls of thunder. A thunderbolt in the rainy season carried away my dearest one. AUTUMN From within the nostrils of the colossal Buddha comes out this morning's fog. Pressed by loneliness the kabiya keeper sounded one gong after another. Oh cricket! Act as a grave-keeper after I am gone. WINTER When I'm sick on a journey phantoms move about over the desolate moor. The sleet falls as if coming through the bottom of loneliness. Heaven and earth convulsing in the same breath let fall a tremendous snow.

But in fact, Musgrave's mysterious chords and gongs worked remarkably well. In four movements, without pause, the work depicts a trio of haiku for each season. Each is heralded by different wind chimes - bamboo for spring, wood for summer, metal for autumn and glass. Spring begins with "the gently undulating spring sea" - I was particularly struck by the fact that the bamboo chimes clucking in the silent hall did in fact remind me of seabirds calling, while the mysterious, foreboding atmosphere churned by the accompanying wind orchestra made a suitably grey seascape through which the skylark of the solo marimba meandered.

Summer evokes the grasslands wherein the "glorious dreams of ancient warriors" are buried. The music is agitated, harder, and martial by way of the snare drum and brass fanfares. The impressive autumn movement depicts a fog enveloping a statue of Buddha, accompanied by the song of crickets. Hovering tubular bells and sustained chimes, with floating marimba and brooding cor anglais, draw up this picture with great conviction, while flutter-tongued flutes give presence to the crickets.

Through the performance, soloist Jon Fox leads with focussed confidence and a quiet, unassuming intensity which goes well with the music. The well-rehearsed orchestra provided finely-sustained and expert atmosphere, full of tone colours. What is particularly admirable too is the way the performers bring out motivic elements from Musgrave's intelligent score. There are numerous instances where motifs - or musical metaphors perhaps - appear to hint first before sounding full-fledged. In other cases, the subtle invocation of brushes on the gong during autumn seem to hint of impending snow.

Musgrave's orchestration, magically realised by this performance, involve many fascinating touches - the way the winds, piano, harp and two secondary percussionists echo each other, for example, do much to produce the abovementioned sense of premonition. Ambient background flourishes from the harp, or piano strings strummed directly by hand (imitating a koto?) add subtle variations in colour to the score. The solo part is no less unusual: (from the horse's mouth) for example, the use of an oversize, five-octave marimba, rather than the tradition four or four-and-1/3 octave; the use of up to six mallets simultaneously, rather than the traditional two to four; as well as the use of tremolos/rolls with one hand, rather than two.

Exceeding my expectations, Musgrave (left) captures one of the essences of Japanese art very well - Japanese "austerity" is not austere for its own sake, but because it seeks the very essence of that which it is experiencing. This is akin to the Japanese demand for freshness in food; the reason why they enjoy fish raw is because they want to experience the taste pure, in its natural state. Likewise, Japanese art goes right to the essence of its form and expressive intent - there is no space for the excessive. Haiku, the quintessential Japanese poem, is precisely like that - it gets right to the point, but the point is subtle - the reader must find and appreciate the subtlety in the apparently obvious. Those who laugh and think haiku are corny are merely proving their own shortcomings. Musgrave has produced a work which is greatly evocative, using minimal means - concise. Tonight's performance, by way of its focus and fine colours, succeeds in capturing this.

Perhaps when CHIA HAN-LEON becomes rich enough, he'll move to Japan, saying Sayonara! to lack of subtlety.

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