EIF reviews: Songs of the Bulbul | Bamberger Symphoniker | Hamilton de Holanda

Songs of the Bulbul | Edinburgh International Festival

DANCE

Songs of the Bulbul *****

Lyceum Theatre, until 11 August

A work of exquisite beauty and sadness, Aakash Odedra’s brand new solo, Songs of the Bulbul, is the kind of theatrical moment that stays with you forever. Inspired by an ancient Sufi myth, in which a bulbul (a type of songbird) is captured but sings sweetly until its demise, the piece is a triumph of artistic collaboration. 

Composer Rushil Ranjan’s original score is almost cinematic in its intensity, blending traditional elements of Indian music with sweeping orchestral arrangements. Bursting out of the music, with an equally intense passion, singers Sarthak Kalyani and Abi Sampa give voice to Odedra’s pain. Emanuele Salamanca’s set design fills the stage with bright red petals, an arc of candle-like lights flanking one side of the stage, long hanging branches the other. Costume designer, Kanika Thakur dresses Odedra in a billowing, wide white skirt which plays a pivotal role in all his movement. While the whole thing is beautifully lit by Fabiana Piccioli, whose design helps carry the dancer from ecstasy to agony.

In the middle of all this creative splendour lies Aakash Odedra, slowly rising to his feet to embody a small bird with freedom in its wings. Fast spins, joyful leaps and twirling hands embody the pleasure this creature takes from living life in the open air. Rani Khanam’s fervent Kathak choreography fits Odedra like a glove as he swirls around the stage, petals falling gently to echo the changing seasons. A thundering crash brings all this to a halt, as the branches that once depicted a forest setting suddenly become the bars of a cage. 

From here, there is only one destination for this tragic figure, and Odedra’s powerful movement and emotional delivery travels from confusion and panic to resignation, death and rebirth. This wonderful dancer gives so much of himself, by the end it’s hard to separate man from bird.

Kelly Apter

MUSIC

Bamberger Symphoniker: Dvořák and Suk *****

Usher Hall

Let's not go to Hell. The fragile, grieving composer Josef Suk's massive symphony portrays Asrael, the Islamic Angel of Death, wings unfurled, shrieking, howling, heart pounding as he commits souls to oblivion, or, in interludes of tender calm, to a silvered peace. Suk does not give us in any way a text book grim reaper. More, he lays out a vastly complicated tribute to a powerful angelic disruptor of wild moods and internal distress.Suk's musical language is entirely his own. Dvořák's pupil he may have been, but he captures an extraordinary and pivotal moment when lyricism began to collide with the atonal and sound worlds swerve into experiment. His orchestration pits piccolo with tuba, flutes share lines with high trumpets, basses growl, colouring horn calls. The string writing careers between grandly lush and lean transparency.

In the Bamberg orchestra's final concert - the series has brough some fascinating repertoire - we again heard supreme musicianship from these players of unique personality, based in a town of a mere 78,000, led by its remarkable conductor. Josef Hrusa becomes music director of the UK's Royal Opera next year; for sure they are in good hands.

Opening the concert, Dvořák's Te Deum, splendidly sung, seemed like a salute to his new life in a country of marching bands and lusty singing. So, curiously flavoured with Americana, his bohemian tunefulness only soared in the glorious solo lines.  Sometimes a review should be only bullet points: great orchestra, superb chorus, fine soloists. Today, let's award stars instead.

Mary Miller

MUSIC

Hamilton de Holanda *****

The Hub

The glittering voice of the bandolim is an essential element of the Brazilian popular music known as choro, for which it is often played in the company of other instruments. Here, however, this virtuosic recital by Hamilton de Holanda demonstrated emphatically just what one man and the 10-strings of the bandolim can do.

A mandolin-like instrument descended from the Portuguese guitar, in de Hollanda’s hands it rang and sparkled, releasing bright cascades of notes, resonant chords or percussive stuttering on damped strings as he dexterously combined melody, bass lines and chord accompaniment.

Of his own material, from his series of 24 caprices, his Caprice for Spain was a purposeful tune with fiery, flamenco-like flourishes, while an apparently spontaneous composition he created for his Edinburgh audience included bagpipe-like drones. Tapping into the repertoire of renowned Brazilian composers, he played a characteristically mellifluous piece by Egberto Gismonti, while in Villa-Lobos’s Bachianas No. 4 the bandolim at times sounded like two instruments, strings whirring brightly over chording. Another number, by Antônio Carlos Jobim, saw de Hollanda gently singing and whistling the melody over scintillating instrumental work, suggesting this affably unassuming man to be a total musical unit.

Jim Gilchrist