DOMINIC DAULA

Triton, in association with Editions Hortus, continues its interest in the music of Hendrik Hofmeyr, following the release of Partita Africana (2021).^{[1] Which featured chamber and piano music; including the eponymous work for piano which dates from 2006} The pianist Marika Hofmeyr, a contemporary of the composer during their student days at the University of Cape Town, was the key performer in Partita Africana; her role is largely the same in Nagmusiek – though she has the mezzo-soprano Minette Du Toit-Pearce as a collaborator. This album is a programme of piano and vocal music by Hendrik Hofmeyr and Arnold van Wyk; in this instance, the eponymous work is the latter’s remarkable Nagmusiek (1958) for Solo Piano.

Hendrik Hofmeyr has a special affinity for Van Wyk’s music; the earliest correspondence which survives between the two dates from 1982. And Hofmeyr’s opus 1, Nag (1983) for Solo Piano, responds to the pianistic effects so unique to Van Wyk’s Nagmusiek. As a performer, Hofmeyr resonates deeply with Van Wyk’s Ricordanza (1974) for Solo Piano, which served as his contribution to the centenary celebration concert held at the Baxter Concert Hall on 6 September 2016. In addition, Hofmeyr found the compositional procedures in Ricordanza to be of such interest, that it formed part of this advanced analysis curriculum at the University of Cape Town for several years. In addition to Nagmusiek, Van Wyk’s Van Liefde en Verlatenheid (1953) for Voice and Piano is represented in this album, coupled with Hofmeyr’s Two Birthday Songs (2011) for Medium Voice and Piano, Woorde in die wind (2021) for Soprano and Piano, and Fantasia sopra ‘Senzeni Na’ (2016) for Solo Piano.

Hofmeyr, in this album, is largely in conversation with Van Wyk’s vocal music. In so doing, he cements the South African composer’s commitment to the art song tradition, but also takes the opportunity to use it as an outlet of social commentary more pointedly, by reflecting on the oppression suffered by people of colour under apartheid and its segregationist antecedents. While this is explored in Woorde in die wind, the composer attempts to meditate on this in greater detail in Fantasia sopra ‘Senzeni Na’ for Solo Piano. 

The Two Birthday Songs launch this album. The first track, which sets to music Elisabeth Eybers’s Die Moeder, marks a profound start to the disc. It also—perhaps unintentionally—acknowledges the spectre of Hubert du Plessis, a long-time colleague of Arnold van Wyk, who used the same text for his fifth and final song in the cycle known as Die Vrou (1966), opus 30. Hendrik Hofmeyr’s setting takes the shape of a dramatic concert piece, showcasing an organic dialogue between the voice and piano. It is the latter instrument which establishes this relationship, by foreshadowing the basic contour of the singer’s opening material. The singer enters the dialogue by forming octave doublings with the piano part; as implied, there are minor deviations in pitch material between the two parts, in addition to moments of displacement and eventual unity where rhythmic organisation is concerned. In this textural web the singer is placed at the centre, with the piano at the octave both above and below. As the two parts are essentially variants of each other, extrapolating this to the notion of a family resemblance is, I believe, fitting. And the song, both in gestation and the time in which it has been launched into the public domain, has occasioned warm gestures of appreciation: first, on the composer’s part, who dedicated his setting of ‘Die Moeder’ to his mother on her eightieth birthday; and second, the pianist Marika Hofmeyr, who elected to dedicate her performance of this song on this disc to hers, the late piano pedagogue Nancy Hofmeyr.

There is a sincere and tender quality to Marika Hofmeyr’s pianistic touch in the introductory section of ‘Die Moeder’. Her tonal palette in the first eight bars is remarkable, demonstrated by the varying shades of warmth she produces in the descending figure, which begins on the upper register of the instrument. Material within close range is voiced with rare clarity. Minette Du Toit-Pearce communicates the mystique and fragility of the opening section with aplomb, particularly from bars 12 to 17 where ‘flowed like light through crystal glass’ serves as an example of word painting in practice. To their credit, both Hofmeyr and Du Toit-Pearce refrain from foregrounding the chromatic nuances which occur in their parts as the song develops; in turn, this creates a passage of tension achieved by subtle means, until it becomes palpable – particularly in the increasingly turbulent and dramatic writing for the piano. When Du Toit-Pearce joins in the dramatic dialogue, both she and Hofmeyr become equally intense, dovetailing with precision, while negotiating difficult technical requirements as appropriate to the instrument and voice. The song’s ending is rooted on C; however, the middle voice within the piano texture is characteristically rhapsodic, possibly suggesting ‘the invisible cord that none can break’.

‘Geluk’ is particularly effective in its simplicity and charm, and the sheen which results from the decorative figure which descends from the top register provides an aspect of continuity from the first song. There is a clarity of spacing which works to the song’s advantage: layers are skilfully conceived and distributed, resulting in a rich texture which, unlike the preceding song, does not veer into the opaque. The performers provide an affectionate reading, and in my view indulge themselves in the warm and halcyon character which underpins this work. The concluding section is wholly satisfying; the closing figure might surprise an audience, for it cadences onto a pitch which does not provide the finality one might expect. It, however, supports the haze suggested by ‘… above us, grey falcons will circle / against the coolness of white cliffs’. The notion of the circling falcon brings to mind the concluding section of Arnold van Wyk’s 1936 setting of WEG Louw’s Vaalvalk (1934), which is admittedly under bleaker circumstances.

The focal point of this disc, and altogether the most refined performance in the programme, is Marika Hofmeyr’s performance of Arnold van Wyk’s Nagmusiek. This work has, in recent years, received considerable attention – following recordings by Jill Richards (1992), Benjamin Fourie (1998), and Daniel-Ben Pienaar (2021, rec. 2018). Marika Hofmeyr’s reading, however, will introduce the work to an international audience, given its availability on streaming platforms. This is fortuitous, for it is a performance which contains mature insights, and delivered authoritatively to boot. Indeed, Hofmeyr has been acquainted with Van Wyk’s piano music for some fifty years, having recorded the Four Piano Pieces (1965) for the SABC in the 1970s. At the Adcock-Ingram Festival which took place in Johannesburg in 1981, Hofmeyr performed Nagmusiek in the composer’s presence, and was awarded second prize, having learned the work under the supervision of Lamar Crowson. The latter was a known exponent of the work, as he gave masterclasses on the composer’s piano music during the festival, and gave a performance of Nagmusiek at the Dartington Summer School in September that year (Oosthuizen 1982), likely the first high-profile pianist to do so in the United Kingdom since John Ogdon at the Wigmore Hall in 1968.

Given her ties to both Van Wyk and Crowson, it follows that Hofmeyr’s reading of Nagmusiek carries some weight, and can serve as a useful point of departure towards establishing a performance tradition of the work – if her recording, together those of her two antecedents and that of Christie Feros, could be studied. Van Wyk’s is available on an LP record, copies of which are still extant, and Crowson’s broadcast recording, dated 7 September 1963, is housed in the archives of the SABC.

The sounds which Marika Hofmeyr produces in the introduction are impressive: the ostinato figure is executed with discipline, resulting in a warmth that eventually becomes hypnotic.

The first motif to be heard is integrated superbly into the texture; however, in an attempt to create more fluidity, motif a at bar 7 is played, perhaps unintentionally, a trifle ahead of the beat, causing the hypnotic effect to wear off briefly. But fluidity of rhythm is very well paced at bar 16, prior to the introduction of motif c. Each motif is given a unique character in Hofmeyr’s performance – occasionally deviating from the directions set out on the score, but carried out with conviction. The most insightful part of the introduction is Hofmeyr’s careful voicing of the chords in the lower register towards the end of the section: here, she produces orchestral sounds which give the impression of the lower brass instruments and horns. In his orchestration of Nagmusiek, Hanrich Claassen (2007) assigns this material to the lower brass and celli. Out of the four nocturnes which follow, the third is the most successful from a technical standpoint: a ‘mock’ canon, Hofmeyr performs this section with energetic articulation, and her characterisation is most suitable. It is important to consider that Van Wyk did not regard himself to have a superior technique at the piano, and in a letter to Günter Pulvermacher dated 23 July 1967 about the prospect of returning to the Faculty of Music at the University of Cape Town following Erik Chisholm’s death, he remarked as follows: ‘I am prepared to consider anything you can offer me, perhaps even the Lectureship in Piano […] while I may be rather weak in the technical side of teaching, I do think I have very good ideas about interpretation and general musicianship and could, I think, be helpful to the right kind of student.’. With this in mind, the most satisfying nocturne out of the four is the last, albeit not as technically brilliant in execution as its predecessor. The fourth nocturne is performed with a natural majesty, and important voices are projected with confidence amidst the dense material. And where the music is of a contrapuntal bent, Hofmeyr fosters a healthy tête-à-tête between the necessary voices.

The extended section in sonata form puts great demands on the pianist. Hofmeyr’s reading is convincing. What is lost in terms of the maintenance of the dramatic character, particularly after the stormy exposition, is compensated by her preference for ensuring the coherence of the section’s overall structure. It means, therefore, that important signposts are intelligible: the development and recapitulation sections, though a little too careful, hold together. Van Wyk is particularly demanding with regard to articulation – particularly in the recapitulation – which makes a more measured reading seem justified. Most impressive in this section is the passage which starts on the large B minor chord on bar 360; here, Hofmeyr plays with a heroic spirit until the end of the section. The epilogue is delivered with authority, during which the listener is gradually released from the hypnotic state brought about twenty minutes prior.

First performed in Cape Town in 1953, and notably at the ISCM (International Society for Contemporary Music) Festival which took place in Israel the following year, Van Liefde en Verlatenheid was a success from that occasion, and is one of the composer’s enduringly popular vocal works. It is substantial in scope; its impact powerful.

Hofmeyr and Du Toit-Pearce present the first notable commercial recording of Van Liefde en Verlatenheid, which should introduce it to a wide audience.

The published score contains translations in English and German. The work’s deliberately global outlook has yet to be fulfilled in practice. Both performers provide a reading both noble and sympathetic. Marika Hofmeyr succeeds in creating a thick, orchestral texture out of the opening material and prepares the singer for one of the most memorable motifs ever penned by Van Wyk, at bars 5 and 6. It might be more popular if an orchestral arrangement of the work were to be performed, given the wide tessitura covered in the piano part: this instrument, in my opinion, does not always bring out the necessary colours which the music implies. Both performers, however, portray vividly the desolation and sparse environment suggested in ‘Die Towenares’, which opens the cycle. The harped dyads over wide spacing, first stated in bar 8, provide a glacial character through their monotony. The second song, ‘Die Woestyn-lewerkie’, seems deliberate in its exoticism; furthermore, the pianist is a little too matter-of-fact in this performance, and does not project as necessary when the singer’s thematic material is transferred to her instrument. Ultimately, this can cost the general cohesiveness of the song. ‘Winternag’, the third song, is the most convincingly performed in the set. The continued use of the upper register underlines the frosty environment suggested in the text; the tremolo figures add to this by suggesting a breeze. Du Toit-Pearce’s voice is apt in its fragility. Though predating the work by some twenty years, ‘Winternag’, to my ears, anticipates the enigmatic nature of Tristia.

‘Hart-van-die-Dagbreek’ is a charming interlude, and ‘Diep Rivier’, which concludes the set, is impressive. The narrative is well paced, and the quality of writing is of consistently high. In this song, Van Wyk demonstrates himself as one who may well have been successful as an operatic composer. Points of arrival – from a harmonic standpoint – are logical, and are tapered off tidily. The syncopated material in the bass part is idiomatic of the pageantry and suspense which the timpani contributes in the orchestral space. Hofmeyr and Du Toit-Pearce are fully committed in this performance, and do not quiver at the challenges which the song presents, both structurally and tonally. They are particularly impressive at ‘… die groot verlange wat my nooit verlaat’ and in the solo piano passage which follows, which is overwhelmingly tragic. Both performers have provided a thrilling performance of this significant work.

Completed in 2021, Woorde in die Wind is a song cycle by Hendrik Hofmeyr on poems by Ingrid Jonker. It is abundant in dramatic effects, and overwhelmingly dense in emotional content, despite the ostensibly twee ‘Toemaar die donker man’, which is the third of the four songs in the cycle. Though certainly the most amusing, and likely positioned as such to release the tension which the second song creates, the outward naivety – which the performers portray in a most believable fashion – suddenly takes on a gloomy complexion, as is apt in children’s tales. This volta, however, reminds the listener of the profundity which underlines the entire cycle, particularly in the closing song – more on which a few lines hence.

To regress somewhat – the cycle’s opening song, ‘Windliedjie’, begins with an appropriately murky polyrhythmic passage, executed stylishly by Marika Hofmeyr, whose voicing in this song is exceptional. Both she and Du Toit-Pearce perform their parts in a call-and-response fashion, which in itself generates tension on account of the distance this can create. When unity is achieved, the balance between the two performers is, to my ears, inappropriately murky. But it is realistic: a voice, when in the wind, is not easily comprehensible. What is more, the piano part is meant to represent the wind. The second song, ‘Bitterbessie Dagbreek’, is arguably the most dramatic within the cycle, if profundity is assigned exclusively to the final song. Though gesturally repetitive, the resulting plangency is suited to the romantic despair which the song depicts. Its climax, which has its origins in a canon in the piano part which marks the beginning of the second stanza, is arresting and emotionally raw in equal measure. The dissonance is relentless, and the chromaticism in the passage of dyads in both hands is disorienting, which proves to be most effective. The final song, ‘Die Kind’, is quite extraordinary. Subtitled ‘Palimpsest on “Senzeni Na”’, the melody of the struggle song is presented in a harmonised version in the piano part, serving as a form of commentary while the injustices suffered by people of colour under apartheid are recounted in Jonker’s text, which is sung by Du Toit-Pearce with solemnity. The composer, in this song, pays homage to Jonker’s progressive voice, to those silenced during the course of apartheid, as well as to South Africa’s early democracy, during which time Jonker’s poem entered the public consciousness. For it was Nelson Mandela who read the work at the opening of the first democratic parliament in May 1994. This song cycle, which reflects on the fragility of life and love, could occupy a position of importance in the literature.

‘Die Kind’ segues naturally into Fantasia sopra ‘Senzeni Na’, which written for Justin Krawitz as a contribution to his ‘Democracy 25’ project. The Fantasia is an ambitious work: while it meditates on the struggle song, it also pays homage to the romantic tradition of fantasias, variations, and virtuosic transcriptions on themes in the literature which would appeal to a given composer. It is significant that Hofmeyr includes ‘Senzeni Na’ into this tradition – disrupting, in effect, notions of what constitutes ‘acceptable’ material for musical quotation. The introduction seems to continue the conversation between the composer and Krawitz – the irregular metrical scheme, coupled with characteristically virtuosic and percussive writing for the instrument revisits the final movement of the Piano Sonata of 2011. The theme, as ‘Senzeni Na’ is introduced and performed with an air of religiosity. The dissonances, particularly on sustained chords, are voiced with sensitivity, proving to be an apt representation of the pain and sorrow to which the composer refers in his programme notes. The transition into the first variation is not convincing: the theme, slowed by the mechanics of negotiating two-part counterpoint in each hand, becomes incomprehensible, particularly at bar 63. The second iteration within the same variation, at bar 67, is secure.

The growing contrapuntal density could be ascribed to the murmurings of silenced voices. Subsequent variations teem with virtuosic material, the highlights being the chordal and percussive material, both of which recall the introduction.

Expertly handled, among transitions, is the introduction of frenetic counterpoint at bar 288, which is performed with suitably wild abandon. Jubilation characterises the closing section, depicted by brilliant chordal playing in the upper register: a peal of bells indeed. This is an effective concert piece, performed with conviction by Marika Hofmeyr.

This album has proven to be an ambitious undertaking. The cover art is stylish, and the performances are of an exceedingly high quality. It is clear that the core artistic team – Hendrik Hofmeyr, Marika Hofmeyr, and Minette Du Toit-Pearce – were of one mind in their determination to showcase important works emanating from this country to high standards, so that individual performances do not get in the way of understanding the quality of each work. This remarkable commitment is not, however, reflected in the liner notes: these being the weakest feature of the project. They are printed in French and English, and material in the latter contain a number of solecisms. Nonetheless, they serve their function in the general sense, and provide a useful supplement to the performances. This will be of especial benefit to a non-specialist audience, as well as learners who might need to gain an appreciation of Arnold van Wyk or Hendrik Hofmeyr’s oeuvre as part of their curriculum. The general public may also profit from this album, given that it is available on streaming platforms too. This is proving to be an exciting time for the dissemination of music by South African composers. If Arnold van Wyk proves to be of continued interest to Triton and Editions Hortus, the Missa in illo tempore (1979) – a work of outstanding quality – may well be a successful addition to their catalogue.

Nagmusiek [narrmüsik]^{[2]The album was released in France and a French person reading “Nagmusiek” would result in all sorts off funny sounds pretty different from the Afrikaans pronunciation (especially the “g”). On the other hands, if a French speaking person reads [narrmüsik], it does sound pretty correct and very close to the Afrikaans…So it was decided to add the “pseudo phonetic” writing and name the album “Nagmusiek [narrmüsik]”. Phillippe Moonens, producer.}. Hendrik Hofmeyr: Two Birthday Songs, opus 139(2011); Woorde in die wind, opus 216 (2021); Fantasia sopra ‘Senzeni Na’, opus 180 (2016). Arnold van Wyk: Nagmusiek (1958); Van Liefde en Verlatenheid (1953). Minette du Toit-Pearce, mezzo-soprano; Marika Hofmeyr, piano. Hendrik Hofmeyr, artistic director. Triton and Editions Hortus, TRIHORT577, 2023. Listen to a podcast about the CD here.