Having decide to write a piece about Venice, I found inspiration in an old coin: a silver
grosso, the size of an old sixpence, made around 1280 in the time of the Doge Jacopo Contarini. Holding this coin, with its images of St. Mark, the Doge and Christ, made me feel a strange connection with the last person who held it, before it fell in the canal, or below the floorboards! Unlikely as it might seem, it could have been Marco Polo, returned from his travels. Or simply someone paying a gondolier and slipping as the boat lurched. That gondolier, as a ghost, takes us on a trip through time in Venice, from its marshy beginnings to its glory days in the 18
th century.
There are 4 movements: the first is called
Sunrise with Barcarolle. Someone once said that bells ring all the time in Venice, and here bells signal the rising of the sun. In the 2
nd movement, called
Pantalone and Friends, Commedia dell’Arte characters appear – first Pantalone, the miser, then Columbine, and then the drunken, sneaky servant Zanni. Pantalone exits with a rude gesture.
The 3rd movement evokes the slow movements of Vivaldi and Pergolesi, and is called
Stabat Mater. The euphonium is, in a way, ‘singing’ the words of the Stabat Mater, a sacred poem about Mary’s grief for the dead Jesus. The descending, melting sections from the upper brass are like the tears on baroque figures of the weeping Mary. The deep bells of San Marco sound. Finally, in the 4
th movement, a fanfare announces the ceremony of Venice’s marriage to the sea, where, every year, the Doge threw a wedding ring into the lagoon. Throughout the piece, the euphonium is often paired with the vibraphone to create a watery texture. The euphonium is often like a narrator, or a guide who ferries the listener through the famous landscape of La Serenissima.
Judith Bingham’s ‘Venice’ euphonium concerto certainly eschewed expectations in using the soloist as a loquacious ‘spirit gondolier’ revealing the truths behind the established myths, political intrigues and musical fame of the iconic city.
Where listeners were poised for virtuosic snapshots of Casanova, the Doge’s Palace and Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’, instead they were led through canals of fetid mists, dark conspiracies and the crudities of character Commedia dell’Arte.
Daniel Thomas delivered his melodic tale with persuasive, cultured malevolence – like Charon taking unwary tourists across the River Styx on payment of the composer’s 13th century silver grosso coin.
It was a surprising journey, capturing the underbelly of Venetian life in its true colours – and one well worth taking again.'
- Iwan Fox, 4 Bars Rest
