The Leicester International Music Festival 2018 Sept.20th-22nd

So once again the diarist is faced at the beginning of the new season with the explosion of music that is the Leicester International Festival, when one goes from nothing suddenly to five concerts of the utmost variety and quality, all packed within three days. It is a joy but also a problem to write about. How is one to do justice to it, not least because the faculties are sometimes close to being overwhelmed by so much intense music making? However, how moving it was for one involved with LIMF for all but one of its 29 years to hear after the last concert, Peter Mark, husband to Thea Musgrave ( one of the featured composers), and a distinguished American musician in his own right, declare how wonderful it was that a city of Leicester’s relatively modest size should mount a musical event of such astonishing international quality. Indeed, such was the international quality of the remarkable ensemble that perhaps a roll call is needed before any comments are made on the performances. At least then nobody should go unnoticed in the hurly burly!

Firstly, we welcomed back French violinist Marina Chiche, joined this year by Kristin Lee from the USA. American violist Richard O’Neill, after his astonishing debut last year, returned. Debutants American Ani Aznavoorian and German Leonard Elschenbroich were the cellists, and Brit. Chi Chi Nwanoku the double bass. The piano parts featured a newcomer from Georgia by way of the Netherlands, Nino Gvetadzse , and Russian Lydia Kavina played the Theremin (more of that later!). Those stalwarts of the festival, pianist Katya Apekisheva, oboist supreme and Festival Director Nicholas Daniel, plus the Haffner Wind Ensemble completed the group.

The intent behind the choice of music centred as it was, besides Thea Musgrave, on Dvorak and Rachmaninov and linked to their American experiences, was fascinating, particularly when one read the Director’s gentle castigation in his Introduction to the Festival of a distinguished German pianist’s dismissal of the Russian as ‘writing music for teenagers’. Once again I thought how things have changed in my lifetime, and for the better. In the 1950’s Grove’s Dictionary, the bible of contemporary musical tastes, an eminent music critic, and no fool ( it was he that forecast that ‘Peter Grimes’ would go into the international repertoire), declared that little if any of Rachmaninov’s music would be played in the future. Furthermore, the very first concert I went to in the then new Festival Hall and conducted by George Weldon featured Dvorak’s Symphony No.9 ‘From the New World’. I enjoyed it but almost immediately after that I heard Beethoven’s 5th for the first time, conducted by Furtwangler no less, and such was the impact that I tended to agree with a school friend and general opinion that German music was really the thing. However, over the years I have come to question that, particularly since the bulk of the greatest of late 19c and then 20c. music seemed to me to come irrefutably from countries other than Germany and Austria i.e, Russia, Czechoslovakia, Scandinavia, France, Italy, America and Britain. (Incidentally how delightful it was to hear Simon Rattle last week when opening the LSO series with a complete programme of British music, refer to such music as ‘a treasure trove’. Only a few years ago such programming would have been thought an enormous gamble but here it attracted full houses and from experience that is no longer a cause for surprise.)

Therefore, it was not any surprise that there were enthusiastic audiences for the programmes in the Museum. In the first Lunchtime concert from the opening with Rachmaninov’s Trio Elegiaque, even in this early work one had evidence of the composer’s  inexhaustible capacity to shape a melody. The passionate performance by Ciche, Aznavoorian and Gvetadzse immediately set a high standard for the three days.

Perhaps, though, even more memorable was the performance of one of Dvorak’s masterpieces, the String Quartet Op.96 ‘American’. It so happens that only a few months ago I  heard a very fine interpretation of this by the Maggini Quartet, beautifully moulded and with a sound of the utmost mellowness. As it was launched here that clearly was not the aim.  Lee, Chiche, O’Neil and Aznavoorian went at it like a bull at a gate and once it settled the first movement was about as thrilling, urgent and dramatic as I have ever heard it played. And yet the sound never descended into coarseness. The lyricism of the slow movement was all there and the extraordinary clarity between the parts brought its own rewards.

Sandwiched between these was a finely atmospheric work by Musgrave, Night Windows. I remember, when the composer came fifteen years ago to the festival, finding her music endlessly fascinating. It seemed to me then that it was music that was clearly and imaginatively conceived , not a note too many and hence often of concentrated impact. On a first hearing of this work, played by Daniel and Apekisheva, I found in particular the evocation of the signature painting by Hopper quite wonderfully evocative. How well the timbre of the oboe was used throughout to evoke the different mood of each ‘window’ and the edginess of a city at night.

And so the ship was launched. In the evening concert, in the first half we had Bartok, Musgrave and Martinu. The contemporary piece Niobe,for oboe and tape was, alas, not a success and showed possibly the problems that can occur when instrumental music is wedded to electronic. The programme described the latter as accompaniment to the oboe. In the event, after an apparently successful rehearsal, the volume knob must have been turned up, so much so that the instrument was frequently drowned by the speakers. Indeed, at times this listener found the piercingly loud volume of the latter replicated what I imagine to be the experience of being subjected to torture. It was all rather sad since one caught at times in quieter passages a haunting quality that suggested this to be a work of considerable imagination.

Elsewhere in the first part we had an invigorating performance, full of gypsy sounds and rhythms, of Bartok’s Second Rhapsody for violin and piano, given by Chiche and Apekisheva. This was followed by a strangely beautiful work by Martinu, Fantasia for therimin ,oboe, string quartet and piano. I’ve long had a liking for this composer’s work. Some of his symphonic and operatic writing has a rare radiance and his sound world is usually instantly recognisable. So it was here. The theremin is an electronic music instrument which produces a single note at a time, changed as a result of the player’s hands moving across an electronic field. The sound itself is remarkably beautiful in an ethereal way and one of the pleasures of the live performance was to watch the player as if by magic conjuring these sounds out of the ether. However, the central point was the glow of much of this music as delivered by Apekisheva, Daniel and the string quartet. It is curious that Martinu is not more widely performed.

There was more discovery for me in the second half with a performance of Dvorak’s String Quintet Op 77, a work I cannot recall ever having heard live. The first two movements, perhaps because of the length of the concert and a flagging concentration, I found slightly ordinary for Dvorak . However, from the scherzo onwards it took off. Indeed the second slow movement seemed the composer at his most inspired and the invention of the last movement in an invigorating performance by the violins, viola , Elschenbroich cello and Nwanoku double bass danced us all out into the night.

At 1.p.m next day we were back to be welcomed by Musgrave’s Cantilena ,a work for oboe , violin (Chiche), viola, and cello (Aznavoorian). I remembered how sometimes this composer likes to wed her music to the physical space in which it is to be performed, here a new hall at its opening being gradually welcomed into the fold of a city’s scene. This was music that seemed clearly and dramatically to go from A to B and then finally to C, fully engaging the attention on the journey.

Following this came Apekisheva and Gvetadze performing ravishingly some Rachmaninov for four hands, in which it rapidly became clear that with the latter Leicester was meeting for the first time yet another fine pianist. This became even clearer in what followed in a performance by her, Lee, and Aznavoorian of Dvorak’s Piano Trio ‘Dumky’. I’ve always thought this work one of the loveliest and most haunting in the repertoire but have also recognised that it is not that easy to hold together. As it so happened, there was a very fine performance in the Gallery only last year but this one was certainly its equal, if not its superior. Here a wide dynamic range and variety of colour, particularly from the piano, completely banished any sense of repetition and revealed it unequivocally as one of the masterpieces of the repertoire .

By Friday evening, I have to confess to suffering slightly from overload. I welcomed greatly the Musgrave Medley which opened the concert and which illustrated yet again the liveliness and range of this composer in music which engaged the majority of the ensemble and which had been written mostly for an occasion. Before playing his piece Dawn the Music Director had read out part of an address the composer made when receiving an award. In this she had underlined the vital importance of music to us all. In her roll call of composers she finished with Britten and I recalled that composer in a similar situation when receiving a prize at Aspen in  America in the 1960’s saying that he wanted his music above all to be useful. I thought at the time how admirable this was, a great composer not writing music for posterity but for the present. Listening to this medley I thought it displayed very much the same intention and that in those pieces written for occasions how delighted the recipients must have been to have them commemorated /noted in music of such invention, directness, descriptive power and wit. Prelude from Variations for Judith made a particularly strong impression.

Suite for cello and piano by the Russian born Lera Auerbach and vividly played by Aznavoorian and Gvetadze began by making an equally strong impression. This was music that spoke clearly and dramatically in the style of 20c. Russian music. However, probably the result of fatigue, and it being a first hearing, I found myself increasingly noting its accomplishment rather than its individuality. In terms of memorability it was the superb performances of Rachmaninov and Prokofiev by Gvetadze that followed which compelled my attention. She had all the power demanded of this music but she also coaxed out of the piano the most exquisite singing tone in the treble. The same could be said for the performance by Lee and Apekisheva of Fritz Kreisler’s rendering of the tune from ‘Brief Encounter’!

It was a long, long concert but it says something for the artists of the evening that joined by Elschenbroich they still managed to rise to the challenge of a Dvorak masterpiece, the Piano Quintet Op.81 . However many times I have heard this in the Gallery, and it has been a few times, I never fail to be bowled over by the beauty and invention of this work. It was a magnificently vivid performance and again we were all sent on our way out into New Walk with the music singing in our heads.

And so to the last day. I gather that the Pied Pipers of Hamelin did their work splendidly at midday, being overwhelmed by the children of Leicester and that they duly returned them all safely to their parents at the end. Afterwards the last evening concert set the seal on a superb Festival. It was fitting that the proceedings should have begun with a Musgrave piece entitled Snapshots. This was written as a competition test piece but in a mixture of seriousness and impishness the composer had just written the notes and left off any other indications usually found on a score in order to emphasise amongst other things that in the performance of any work worth its salt there are many ,many ways to bell the cat.  Oh, those critics who shake their heads over ‘wrong’ interpretations! They belong to what I call the ‘you should have heard how so and so did it’ brigade. Whatever, the work emerged in Apekishiva’s performance as utterly characteristic of a composer whose presence in Leicester with her husband throughout the festival added such life and fun to the proceedings.

There followed just about the most electric and fervent performance of the Rachmaninov Cello Sonata that I have ever heard. Elschenbroich and Apekisheva dug so deep to reveal the treasures of this work ( Has any work in the repertoire more memorable melodies?) that one felt how absurd was the comment quoted in the festival booklet about the composer’s music. Here one feared the cello might well self combust so pushed to the extremes of feeling was the music and as for the pianist, well she matched her partner in passion.

It was just as well that the interval came after that. Afterwards Auerbach’s transcription for oboe of Prokofiev’s Flute sonata cooled things down a bit. Realised by Daniel, Aznavoorian and Apekisheva it was full of the composer’s characteristic blend of edgy lyricism and sardonic wit and made an exactly right preparation for the last work, Dvorak’s Wind Serenade Op.44 , one of the composer’s sunniest works, and that is saying something! It was played by what remained of the Festival Ensemble with a major addition of Brits in the shape of the old friends of The Haffner Wind Ensemble. Sometimes in the past massed wind music in the gallery has been rather wearingly too much in your face. Whether because of Dvorak’s scoring or because of the players’ understanding  of the dynamics needed to transmit in this space the serenading qualities of the music, all that can be said is that it was a delight from beginning to end and made a fitting conclusion to yet another vintage Festival. The audience rightly cheered the musicians to the echo. We are much in their debt, in particular to Nicholas Daniel who year after year engineers music making of such pristine quality.



The Lunchtime series begins anew with The Britten Oboe Quartet on Thurs. October 11th 1.00 p.m  at The New Walk Museum . Sadly the diarist will be on holiday recovering from the festival but will have returned for the visit of the clarinettist Julian Bliss on October 25th at the same venue and at the same time.

On the following day October 26th we have the first of the season’s concerts given by the Philharmonia Orchestra at the De Montfort Hall starting at 7.30 p.m. There look to be some exceptionally fine concerts this season, but more of that anon.




Yevgeny Sudbin, LIMF Piano Recital – The Museum, June 23rd 2018

The Summer Piano Recital put on by the Leicester International Muisc Festival was this year a real Spectacular. It was given by the Russian pianist Yevgeny Sudbin, who has been domiciled in the UK for a number of years and who has built a formidable career since then. From this his first appearance in the city, one could see precisely why this has been the case.

To be honest, I had not been looking forward to the recital with quite the anticipation of previous years. I knew just one and a half of the works being played (Saint Saens Dance Macabre was naturally in a transcription) and had not heard the artist in performance or recording. Also in recent years I have tended to be rather sceptical about the latest Russian virtuoso to emerge to be  praised by the musical press for hammering the keyboard into submission with eye popping displays of musical fireworks. In the end, if that is all, my faculties tend to dull and eventually shut down.

Well , that most certainly did not occur in this recital. True there was plenty of amazing piano playing on display. Indeed it kept on coming. For instance, the second half of the recital began with a Nocturne by Scriabin written solely for the left hand in which if you shut your eyes such was the skill of composer and instrumentalist one would have sworn that it was written for both hands. The transcription of Dance Macabre completely erased any possibility of odious comparisons with the colours of the orchestral version so overwhelming was the impetus of the playing. However, the point to be made is that even in these works never did one feel that the pianist was tearing a passion to tatters. The sound in the former never hardened and the occasional lightness of wit in the latter was fully there in the performance.  In summary, then,  even in the most overtly virtuosic music artistry was felt to be at the centre of the performance.

In the first half, In Haydn’s Sonata No. 47 and in Beethoven’s Bagatelles op.126 this had been already was made absolutely clear. I had never heard either work . In regard to the Haydn this was not perhaps so surprising since, despite a number of front rank pianists espousing  the composer’s works for piano in recordings, they are still rarities in performance. On the evidence of this performance of this work they most certainly should not be. When played with the propulsive energy  that featured here, the work emerged as  music  that dramatically strained classical conventions. Indeed occasionally one felt one might have been listening to Beethoven. All this was helped by the wonderful classical clarity of the performance, the superb crispness of articulation coupled with occasional  delightful Haydnesque lightness of touch and wit.

This was carried over to the Beethoven. It was one of those moments in the concert hall where the performance was such that you wondered how was it possible that you had never heard this music before. Perhaps it is the title itself which suggests scraps from the master’s table.  However, as played here it was obvious that this was music that could not have been further from such a description. What particularly caught the attention was the breathtaking beauty of passages in No’s 4 and 5 where the pianist at times conjured a wonderfully liquid sound of velvet. In the more familiar territory of Chopin’s Ballade No.4 there was once again evidence of a startlingly  original musical mind shaping the music. I have heard more obviously poetic interpretations of this work but none which have shaped the drama of the piece more convincingly.

The same might no doubt be said of the performance of Scriabin’s 5th Sonata. However, I am afraid I must admit that I struggle to respond to this composer’s output at its most ambitious. As a literary person I decline to respond to what I discovered from a recording I own had prefaced  this sonata:                                                     I call  you to life, mysterious forces!

Drowned in the obscure depths

Of the creative spirit, timid

Embryos of life, to you I bring audacity.

How does one take such stuff seriously? Interestingly I found in the Gramophone archive of some years ago  this pianist remarking  when in an article discussing his famous recording of the Scriabin sonatas that he felt at times a trifle unnerved when  immersing himself in the composer’s fevered  world for any length of time. Normally, I admire the ambition of those who would  push back the frontiers, such as Scriabin’s contemporaries Debussy, Mahler and Stravinsky, all of whom  created an utterly distinctive and coherent sound world of their own. However,  I am afraid in Scriabin’s case I fail generally to respond to what sounds to me to be music of earth shattering  intentions which result all too often in  unmemorable  repetition and grandiose gesture. Alas, not even this fine artist, with all his pianistic powers, could on the night really persuade me otherwise.

Never mind , the recital was one to remember. It was summed up at the end with the pianist giving the piano a pat as a partner in what had been overall a fascinating journey of discovery.





Now we sign off until September, when comes what looks to me a truly exciting Leicester International Music Festival  of music written in The New World and featuring composers such as Dvorak,  Rachmaninov and Thea Musgrave. The latter,  who, after having gone to live in the USA in 1972, and who visited the Festival as composer in residence early in this century, is now 90. However, I am told that she hopes to travel to Leicester to hear some of her music performed. My memories of her music are that she is a major composer with a very individual personality, who also when she was here immersed herself in the Festival.

The Festival is from Sept 20th -22nd and is packed full with wonderful music played by front rank artists from around the globe. Details and also ways of booking are to be found on the Festival website. This is truly not an occasion to miss.

English Touring Opera, Curve- May 29th and 30th 2018

As an avid opera goer in London and elsewhere, I learnt some time ago also to look forward to the annual visit of the English Touring Opera to Leicester. Initially inclined to be sceptical about the standards possible in a touring company with a schedule that has them in Perth one week and in Exeter the next, I have often been left amazed about what can be achieved even in Grand Opera with minimal all purpose sets , a reduced orchestra and singers often at the beginning of a career. Any condescension could not have been more misplaced. What Leicester has seen every year since ETO started visiting Curve is at least in one of the offerings top grade performance standards of singing and production,  in works both from central and peripheral repertory. This is an opera company which needs no allowances to be made.

This year that was true without equivocation. Indeed, both evenings saw memorable things happening on stage. To be truthful, I approached the performance of The Marriage of Figaro with some trepidation since only last month I had heard a performance at ENO certain to stick in the memory as one of the best I had encountered anywhere. Amongst many things an extraordinary moving set that brilliantly brought to life the backstairs of a great house/palace and Lucy Crowe’s quite wonderful debut in the role of the Countess with singing of breathtakingly rich beauty made it a very special evening. I thought in particular that the singer taking that role with ETO would struggle to erase such fresh memories.

Well, the opening aria of Act 2 is known as just about the most testing opening for a singer that exists in opera and in truth Nadine Benjamin , whilst singing well, did not perhaps quite penetrate to the character’s sadness. However, as the evening progressed it became clear that this was a voice and a stage presence to be reckoned with. For example, she rose finely to the challenge of the great aria of Act 3 with its huge range of changing emotions.

With regard the set, though obviously constricted and static, it was used by the producer to considerable effect. Indeed, the movement within such a small space and the use of well placed doors had the effect of consistently concentrating the attention on what mattered. There was a real sense of detailed ensemble. For instance, the staging of the ending of Act 2 in its rightness and simplicity resulted for this viewer at least in an awareness of the wonder of this half hour or so of a musical genius at full tilt. Rarely have I felt the sense of a divine musical juggler relishing the task of keeping an ever increasing number of balls in the air. The stage picture and of course the singing and orchestral ensemble did the job to perfection.

As to the singing , the opera was strongly cast. Dawid Kimburg as the Count and Ross Ramgobin as Figaro both made strong impressions. The latter’s fine baritone was noted last year in Patience but the former was new to me. They both sang with rich tone and often with a fine line. Something in the programme suggested that it had been a production aim to play down the danger that can be found in the score. In voice this was really almost a good humoured aristocrat and a servant with few if any revolutionary intentions. There wasn’t much danger and edge to be sensed in either voice or assumption. To put the Count in a Restoration wig suggested more a moderately lecherous fop than a serial philanderer. Still it was all of a piece. You really did believe in the Countess’ forgiveness and a future for the marriage. ENO had her at the end leaving the stage with a suitcase. She did forgive her husband but had no desire to live with him any longer!

Elsewhere, Katherine Aitken was a delightful Cherubino, inhabiting the trouser role’s comic possibilities with relish but also conveying the agony of adolescence. All the minor roles were inhabited by singers who got beyond caricature to the feeling so omnipresent in this score. It is the first time that I have seen Antonio almost stop the show so wonderfully did Devin Harrison communicate the gardener’s outrage at people jumping out of windows onto his prized plants. However, for me the star of the cast was Rachel Redmond as Susannah. I have heard many sopranos like her in this role, with a sweet beguiling voice but few with the range of colour and line that seemed able to change dramatically the feeling of a scene in an instance. This singer could make Susanna a lovely cat that purred one moment, only for in the next instance the claws to be out. Couple this with the ability both in lively movement and expression to capture instantly the moment and an audience could see exactly why Figaro was head over heels in love with her. It was she who was the match for the Count. Finally, supporting all this was much fleet footed orchestral playing under conductor Christopher Stark, perhaps just occasionally a little too fleet . However, better that than things dragging and it was a pity that the conductor seemed to get lost in the depths of Curve and didn’t make it onto the stage. He deserved the plaudits for having presided musically over a fine ensemble achievement.

The next evening devoted to Puccini was equally satisfying. Il Tabarro is a big ask in a smallish theatre and with a reduced orchestra. However, it came over as the authentic thing with an amazing power of sound issuing from the orchestra under Michael Rosewell.  It is a powerful opera worthy of more recognition than it has had. Perhaps that is in part because it is a grim tale of a grim world. However, this world is painted in sometimes evocative and rich musical colours which once again point to what a master orchestrator Puccini was. Each of his operas has its unique sound world which is yet still immediately recognisable as his and his alone and the opera may be grim but it is full of heartstopping moments as this tale of poverty and people who are trapped in hopelessness unfolds.

Perhaps, one of the difficulties of staging it is that the world to which the characters of the opera do not belong is nevertheless an important element in the music. It is the Paris of the good life and in this production that this was completely another world was powerfully conveyed by a blank high iron barrier filling the back of the stage, beyond which was Paris. Hence, there was little actual glimpse of this other world beyond people and lovers passing high up in the set. In productions on a bigger stage some more tangible  sense of La Belle Paris can be achieved to  give a visual counterpart to the beauty of the sounds on occasions issuing from the orchestral pit. This tangible presence  of another world so close and yet so far can provide a instant and further turn of the dramatic screw .

However, that screw was often turned here to effect. The lovers played by Sarah Jane Lewis and Charne Rochford made a powerful duo. The latter sang his heart out ,his tenor oozing desperation. Indeed, on occasions one wondered whether he was not pushing the voice rather too hard. The former, however, rode the orchestra at times to superb effect and powerfully conveyed her desperate unhappiness throughout. Clarissa Meek gave her first brilliant cameo of the evening as Frugola the ragpicker who so encapsulates the reality of poverty as against the dream of a better life away from the drudgery and the fear for the future with an ill husband who can barely do the job of a stevedore. Over all this hovers the gruff presence of Michele, the rightly suspicious husband and father, mourning for his lost child and what he feels is the lost love of his wife. Craig Smith made both the sadness and the latent violence of the man palpable as he stalked around his barge and when the lighting of his pipe in the darkness ironically reveals his wife’s lover his eruption was felt to be truly shocking. Was it my imagination or was his voice in significantly better shape than last year in Tosca? Whatever, I found it a riveting performance.

And then Gianni Schicchi burst upon us with unforgettable and outrageous comic force. This was a triumph, reflecting the power a fine ensemble company can deliver. The farcical needs to be rendered with absolute precision of timing if it is not to fall flat. Here the bunch of grotesques painted like clowns which appeared before us in the shape of the grasping Donati family was a vision indeed worthy of Dante’s Hell . Set not in the Middle Ages but in early 20c. Italy, it seemed rather dreadfully pertinent given recent events in that country. Timothy Dawkins as Simone the ex mayor, wandering around with his flies half undone, set the tone. Clarissa Meeks as Zita, this time like some ancient female vulture, dominated the stage. In the middle of these horrors were the young lovers, not made up and blessedly human.

Then there was Schicchi himself, the self made man who also stood out amongst such ghastliness. Andrew Slater, without make up, with firm solid voice played him with almost aristocratic disdain for the grasping crowd around him, that is until he saw the opportunity of making a shekel or two at the expense of the dreadful family. There was almost a grimness about how he set out to dupe them. However, the finesse with which this production shoe horned Lauretta’s famous plea to Daddy into the opera’s world underlined something that had not registered with me quite so clearly before, that the daughter has inherited something of Daddy’s ability to manipulate. As sung by Galina Averina ,it was both heart rending and yet beautifully pertinent to Puccini’s ironic vision. Perhaps this depiction of the central figure lost a bit of the glee with which he puts the family to flight. There seemed more a sense of disgust than triumph in the way he kicked them out of what was now his house but the approach was in its own way hugely satisfying and one finished as one listened to the epilogue wondering more than is some other productions what Schicchi indeed had done to deserve his eternal dismissal at the hands of the poet. It was a perfect ending to a splendid two days of opera at Curve. Please do come again, in 2019!

Bardi Symphony Orchestra- Chiche, Johnston,Poster, Efland

As readers of this diary are no doubt aware, its principal aim is to ensure that the many eminent professional musicians who play in the city receive some acknowledgement of their efforts. On a personal level, as a consequence, since the diarist travels regularly to musical events in the other Midland cities and London , Leicester’s non- professional  music making scene has had to be rigorously ignored if one was not to suffer from overkill. So,when I was attracted to the prospect of hearing on a Sunday afternoon a Beethoven concerto that I had never heard in the concert hall, it was the first time for several years that I had been to a concert of a non- professional  orchestra and there was no thought about it being an entry in the diary. It was simply an opportunity to hear Marina Chiche, Guy Johnston and Tom Poster, three stalwarts of the Leicester Chamber Music scene, in an unfamiliar setting.

And it has to be said that that alone made the outing well worthwhile. Beethoven’s Triple Concerto is very much the Cinderella of his concertos and certainly it scales no heights. However, a country walk in the lowlands has its own delights and there are certainly many of those to be found in this work. I can dimly remember at university hearing a recording and finding myself humming the last movement theme for weeks afterwards. It is truly a Sunday afternoon occasion in which the unaffected pleasure of the making of music is the foremost aim and this came across here even in a concert hall setting. Leicester knows what fine musicians these artists are but what emerged in spades was the sheer delight they were feeling during this presumably rare opportunity to perform this music in public. Violinist and pianist spent most o their time with smiles on their faces. Guy Johnston looked a little more solemn but then he had the most taxing moments in the piece to play! With a spry accompaniment, the performance did justice to the work and I thought I had been right to come.

Indeed, after that and with the best will in the world, the prospect of a non- professional orchestra attempting to cope with Strauss’ heroic life made an alternative  prospect of early tea and scones quite beguiling. In particular, past experience had suggested such orchestras were usually strongest in the wind sections and least reliable in the strings. That this, if true, would be a severe problem in a work like Ein Heldenleben was obvious.

Well, I stayed and my fears could not have been more groundless. From the very first bars my face must have been a picture, with mouth wide open and eyes just about to pop out my head. Where was this sound coming from, this richly lustrous and splendidly vigorous attack? I grew up only knowing the dry acoustic of the original Royal Festival Hall and, with the exception of the Philharmonia, my memory suggests London orchestras of that time struggled to produce the sort of string sound one was listening to here in 2018 coming from a non- professional orchestra.

So within a few minutes I had switched from cautious optimism that most things would be   in place to the way one goes that extra distance and engages with the interpretative qualities of the performance. These seemed to me to be considerable. The work’s range of feeling was all there. It helped of course that the leader was Adam Summerhayes who was simply superb in what amounts to a mini violin concerto depicting the centre of the composer’s life ,his handful of a wife , a subject Strauss returned to in one or two other major works.  However, the summation of that episode is one of the most glorious themes Strauss ever wrote and it needs to burgeon into gold. This is exactly  what it did here, to glorious and moving effect. Conversely, Strauss’ skewering of the Beckmessers was delivered with piercing sound from woodwind and brass. True, there were the occasional moments when the wash of sound blurred but overall the performance did full justice to the outrageous vigour of Strauss’ vision. I have not heard Claus Efland conduct for a long time. He is clearly a conductor capable of galvanising players to go where his interpretation of work guides him. It resulted in a performance which yielded so much more than simple relieved satisfaction at an orchestra  having got through a complex piece of music without a train crash!

Lastly, I could not but compare this tone poem with Liszt’s Les Preludes performed last week in the DMH, see the previous entry to the Diary. In my opinion that music was bombast to the nth degree. During my lifetime that has been all too often the sniffy response to Ein Heldenleben, often from worthy people who think that the concert hall should be nearer to a church than a place of entertainment. Hopefully we can now see what a wonderfully vital work it is, written by one of the greatest masters of the orchestra there has ever been. In this performance I found myself prey to the full gamut of feelings about what life can be and no-one, but no-one, should be sniffing at that.

The Philharmonia- Anush Hovhannisyan,Stuart Jackson , Christoph Altstaedt, May 8th 2018

In many ways it has been an outstanding season for the Philharmonia Residency with several concerts which have been truly memorable. Indeed, the penultimate one given by Esa -Pekka Salonen was in the celestial bracket. Therefore, clearly the final concert with its amalgam of young singers in operatic excerpts and short orchestral works was expected to be quite different and to showcase repertoire that rarely features in the orchestra’s concerts. This was an admirable aim.                       However, the enterprise was sadly subjected to cancellations. The proposed connection with Glyndebourne did not happen, the programme was changed as a result with Massenet disappearing and the vocal part of the programme became simply excerpts from La Traviata. Finally one of singers cried off.  Add to that the poor publicity which perhaps resulted in what looked like an audience significantly below the usual full or nearly full house, and it was surprising that it was not a complete disaster. However, in truth it was a concert that was not within reaching distance of giving the satisfaction usually experienced in this Residency and rather sadly finished the season without any real flourish.

Not that it was without pleasures. Indeed, the orchestra’s playing of the Prelude to La Traviata, one of the most sheerly beautiful beginnings of any opera, produced a sound far richer than is often possible with an orchestra buried in a theatre pit. Then there was the late substitute, the Armenian soprano Anush Hovhannisyan who immediately established why she had made the final of the 2017 Cardiff Competition and had received some outstanding reviews for her performance as Violetta with the Scottish Opera. It was immediately clear that she has a voice of great power, agility and beauty. It was also obvious that she had performed the role on the stage in that with her movements and facial expressions she was able in less than ideal conditions, simply standing there in an evening dress, to convey the tragic poignancy of Violetta’s position.

The young British tenor Stuart Jackson also revealed a voice that has a fine ring to it and is used with considerable artistry. However, in this context he struggled to establish Alfredo as much of a dramatic foil to Violetta, not least perhaps because Verdi  declines to give the character the same rich complexity as his heroine. However, I felt the main culprit to be the format. This was an impossibly half hearted effort to deliver a great opera in potted form, with the protagonists simulating the unfolding tragedy by drifting on and off stage, occasionally having a cuddle and  with Violetta finally dying standing up supported by her lover. It was something and nothing which might not have been the case had what appeared to be the original intention of featuring  operatic highlights from two very different  composers been achieved.

After the interval there was even less focus to the proceedings. One had sympathy for the conductor Cristoph Altstaedt making his debut in Leicester having to breathe life into two shortish free standing orchestral works. Batonless, he clearly had control. In the opera there had been moments when the points made in the orchestra suggested a keen musical mind. The Prelude has already been mentioned but also of note were moments such as in the 2rd Act where violas and cellos produced a searing sound wonderfully apt to the unfolding tragic situation between Violetta and her lover.

However, in the Siegfried Idyll and Les Preludes he struggled to inject much character into the music. Not that there is much character in the first place in Liszt’s tone poem. Liszt was a kind man and befriended and supported Berlioz through the many disappointments of the latter’s life. On this occasion, though, I found myself thinking that he would have done well to have learnt something about orchestration from his French friend. I had often wondered why Liszt’s  tone poems are so rarely performed . The extraordinary bombast of certain passages in this work told me why. Romanticism, whether in music or in literature, certainly has more than its fair share of dreadful moments of inflation .  Here the programme told us that one theme represents the ‘insoluble puzzle of man’s existence’ to be followed by one that describes ‘Man after the battle for self awareness’, in this instance arguably a battle which the composer had most assuredly lost.

The Wagner is, of course, another matter but in the orchestral version of the Idyll there is something of the same inflationary problem . In the original it is a wonderfully loving musical poem to Cosima.  In the full orchestral version that quality can be difficult to convey and so it proved here. It seemed a well executed performance but not once for me did it convey the tenderness and love that lies at the centre of this beautiful work.  Perhaps the problem was again the format in that the short second half of the concert seemed simply a postscript to the main purpose of the evening.

So, in all honesty it was a rather unsatisfying end to a fine season. Happily, on paper it looks as if the next season should be of an equally high quality.



Before the Summer break there are still two musical events not to be missed in Leicester.

  1. For those of us who like whole operas we have what has become the annual visit of the fine English Touring Opera to Curve to look forward to. They are offering the Marriage of Figaro on the 29th of this month and on the 30th Il Tabarro (The Cloak) and Gianni Schicchi from Puccini’s three one act operas that go to make up Il Trittico . Both evenings have received high praise from London critics.
  2. At the New Walk Museum on Saturday June 23rd at 7.30 the Leicester International Music Festival is mounting as in previous years a celebrity Piano Recital, given this year by the exciting Russian pianist Yefgeny Sudbin in a programme of Haydn, Chopin, Beethoven, Scriabin and Saint- Saens.

The Philharmonia- David Fray, Esa-Pekke Salonen, April 10th, 2018

There are concerts which are poor (mercifully very rare in Leicester), there are concerts which are mediocre, there are those which pass an hour or two pleasantly, and then there are those which are good or even very good , of which we seem in Leicester to have had more than our fair share this season. Then finally there are those which are revelatory , never to be forgotten experiences. Into that category came the concert given in DMH by the Philharmonia under its chief conductor Esa-Pekke Salonen, with, as soloist, David Fray. It was much anticipated, as the large audience showed, but for this listener at least the actuality transcended by a distance the expectation.

Perhaps the total package offered helped putting the mind into a receptive state, in that as Friend  there was the opportunity to attend a 90 minute rehearsal  and then came a conversation between John Florance and the conductor before the concert started. I found the rehearsal in itself rather moving. So often these peeps behind the scene frankly reveal very little . They often seem little more than run throughs. This was different. What came across, beyond the super efficiency in which conductor and orchestra used the time, was the palpable rapport and oneness of thought on the stage, no grandstanding at all. In the talk the conductor spoke of the Philharmonia with self evident affection ,remarking that other conductors he had spoken to also were obviously full of admiration about how it had preserved over the years, even with obviously great changes of personnel,  a culture that made it the most friendly of orchestras. I remembered also how the late Lorin Maazel once remarked on his 21st century return to conduct them regularly that he thought them to be quite the easiest orchestra in the world to conduct and that, back in the dark ages, Toscanini after his first rehearsal with them, is alleged to have said to Walter Legge, the founder of the orchestra, that a conductor who could not make fine music with his orchestra had no right to conduct. One could see both aspects in this rehearsal.

So perhaps by the time one had arrived at the actual concert one was in a super receptive mood. Whatever , one of the things that immediately struck home was something that has been often commented upon in regard to front rank British orchestras and that is the difference between what they deliver in rehearsal and what comes out in the actual concert, when the voltage seems of a different order. What I heard in rehearsal here seemed impressive enough, I thought, but it was as nothing compared with the vibrancy of sound in the concert itself. Some of that might be down to the acoustics, to having a full rather than an empty hall, but even that could not explain fully the difference between the two sounds.

That applied as much to the pianist David Fray in Beethoven’s 2nd Piano Concerto.  In February last year, I found this artist rather underwhelming on his debut in the city but I did wonder at the time whether the piano he played upon was largely to blame. Well ,this time he played on DMH’s Fazioli and I can only report that the difference it appeared to make was startling. It could have been that the pianist prefers Beethoven to Schumann but somehow I doubt this since the qualities in his playing here would have served quite as well with the latter composer. There was in the performance a crystalline clarity and poetry which I found utterly beguiling, with subtle phrasing and a lovely range of colour. The ending of the slow movement  in its bareness of utterance was delivered as something utterly ethereal and the last movement had a lightness of tread and wit which was delightful . Just to remind us that it was Beethoven and not Mozart, the conductor employed a quite large body of strings and with the lengthy orchestral interventions in this work being  suitably dramatic and weighty , the whole performance displayed both sides of the coin to perfection.

And so to Mahler’s First Symphony. I have long ago come to the conclusion that people’s opinions as to how this composer’s music should be performed tend to be sometimes quite stupidly definite and prescriptive.  Not so long ago in many quarters he was unmentionable as a composer. When at Oxford in the 50’s I was told by the organ scholar of my college that the Professor of Music had declared in his hearing that the only work of Mahler which would maintain a place in the repertory would be the Song of the Earth. A few years after this, in the 60’s, my wife and I had Mahler coming out of our ears. It was wonder after wonder and yet another argument then started raging as to how his music should be performed. Klemperer was then in London the high priest of Mahler performance since he had worked with the composer as a young man.  However, so had Bruno Walter who was still conducting at that time ( but very rarely in London)and clearly the two men had very different ideas about the master’s intentions. I remember a TV programme on which Klemperer appeared and in which he declared in regard to Mahler performance Walter to be a moralist whilst he said, with a gleam in his eye, that he was an amoralist. I took this to mean that he found Walter’s performances over indulgent. That was certainly not true of Klemperer’s interpretations  in which to a fault if my memory is accurate he presented a Mahler that was memorably sardonic , biting, rasping, rough at the edges.

Rather sadly, quite often savage polarisation of opinion remains to this day and has affected  on occasions critical  judgements of  Esa- Pekke Salonen’s performances of Mahler. I still shudder when I remember reading on a web site a New York critic’s review of a performance of his of a Mahler symphony, I think no.6,, a review  which, whilst praising the Philharmonia , dismissed the conductor’s interpretation as essentially ‘ unmusical’, a truly astounding comment to make of one of the most outstanding musicians of our age or indeed of  any age I have lived through.

For me that profound musicianship emerged in spades in this performance. It had a sovereign control which is so necessary in Mahler if the disparate elements that are so part of Mahler’s musical universe are not to fly apart bringing the structure tumbling down. Conversely , the problem can be that such control can make the music sound almost clinical ( I found Boulez’s  performances could tend to be like that ) but here never for a moment did I feel that the emotion and the drama were underplayed.  I shall never forget how in the DMH the awakening of nature seemed to come from the very deepest parts of the earth. The opening pianissimo bordered on silence. Freres Jacques  was wonderfully menacing, as was the outburst that heralds the start of the final movement. This had a truly colossal striking force, only for it to be topped if anything  by peroration at the symphony’s  end.

However, equally impressive were the quieter moments of the symphony . The wonderful thing it seemed to me was that the interpretation in the lovely but fleeting song like interludes in the last two movements avoided any suggestion of syrup. Given what happens in the rest of the symphony one certainly felt that the beauty was not entirely to be believed. The sardonic was never quite absent perhaps, yet at the same time tears were brought to the eyes that such a world could be thought to exist at all. Here the string playing wonderfully avoided any tendency to lushness, managing somehow to create a sound both warm and astoundingly  pure.

Overall, the orchestra was on the kind of form which leads this listener to think it a musical body with few rivals anywhere in the world and its conductor on the evidence of this night fit to be given a place in some Valhalla for great musicians. The audience I am pleased to say seemed to be of like mind!

Lunchtime Series: The Aronowitz Ensemble, 22nd March 2018

This season of Lunchtime Concerts at the Museum has been possibly the finest for many years both in quality of performance and in programmes which offer a wider range of works than can sometimes feature in Chamber Music Series. The arrival of the Aronowitz Ensemble to deliver the final concert of the season was hardly likely to do other than strengthen that impression. This ensemble has, in its variety of guises in response to change of repertoire, given some fine and intriguing concerts in Leicester in the past and this one was no exception .

The composition of the ensemble this time saw the return to Leicester of those stalwarts of our music scene, pianist Tom Poster and cellist Guy Johnston, in itself as near a copper bottomed assurance of stellar playing as it is possible to have. This time they brought with them the Dutch violist Simone van der Giessen of the Navarra Quartet and the British violinist Mathilde Milwidsky who has been receiving some fine notices recently as she embarks on her career. Thus, it was no surprise that what we got was playing of the highest order.

The concert began with the single completed movement of Schubert’s String Trio D471 and it could not have been more delightfully interpreted.  The players produced a rich sound which never cloyed into chocolate. Everything was light and airy. The phrasing sounded blissfully natural so that the blithe charm of much of the music came across fully. They also, though,  conveyed the moments  when it seemed, to me at least, that the  Schubertian world  of the last sublime works was waiting to surface and take his music far beyond charm.

This was followed by Brahms’ expansive Piano Quartet Op26. which was an experience that this listener is still rather struggling to come to terms with. Tom Poster remarked that this was a work which was one of the least performed of the composer’s early works and certainly I cannot remember having heard it either live or recorded. In addition he remarked that he would probably choose it for his desert island so the bar was set pretty high.

As I listened, a memory came into my head of when I was new to classical music. My mother and I sat ourselves in front of the radio to listen to what proved to be the last two concerts that Toscanini gave in London. He was performing all of Brahms’ symphonies, none of which I had heard before. In fact, the only Brahms I remember hearing was the famous tune from the First Symphony which introduced a BBC programme whose name was I think ‘These you have Loved’. It was a kind of Classic FM of its day . I must have thought that the whole symphonies were going to be like that for I declared grandly to Mama at the end that it was all very impressive but that I thought that Brahms didn’t write very many good tunes!

That memory has stayed with me as a warning of rushing to judgment on a first hearing particularly in regard to melody, hence no doubt it floating to the surface on this occasion. However, as I listened and after being assured by various sources that this was a genial and lyrical Brahms, I could not but think that the material of works like the Sextet Op 16 fitted that description a whole sight better. Indeed, the word ‘symphonic’ used in the programme seemed to me much nearer the mark, particularly in the very long and at times rather repetitive opening movement. The drama of  symphonic thought seemed to be uppermost in Brahms’ mind but for me only occasionally did the material of this thought seem in itself particularly memorable, at least on a first hearing. When, for example,  I heard the Sextet, itself rarely played, for the first time at an early Leicester Festival concert, I can remember being overwhelmed almost from the first note with the beauty and clear radiance of the writing.

Perhaps it is crabbed old age but that did not happen here, alas. In fact with Op 26 I found myself rather agreeing with the comment to be found in a CD Guide that the work presented problems both for audience and players. I wondered whether in regard the latter it was a reference at least in part to the difficulties of instrumental balance the work seems to create . It is well known that some have found Brahms’ quartet writing generally rather heavy and thick as it strains for symphonic weight and yet I have for example heard the Piano Quintet Op.34( i.e. a quintet with a full quartet of stringed instruments) a number of times live, and I cannot remember issues like that arising . Yet at times in this work the piano writing seemed near to overwhelming everything going on in the three stringed instruments. Indeed, the most memorable moment for me in the whole work was in the slow movement when the composer to ravishing effect reduced the sound to that simply of the violin and the cello.  To be sure there was much splendid playing throughout. The drama and energy of the work came across in the last two movements in particular and the attack was beyond praise but  at the end I was still in need of persuasion that this was one of Brahms’ most successful works. I very much fear that it would do little to alleviate the lonely misery of my desert island!  However, I promise to purchase a CD of it and then probably will find all the things that I missed first time round the block. Surprise is one of the pleasures of listening to good music.

I quite often finish by wishing all the players a swift return to Leicester and actually Tom Poster and Guy Johnston will be doing just that on May 13th. when they will be giving, together with Marina Chiche and the Bardi Orchestra, a performance at DMH of Beethoven’s Triple Concerto. However, there is cause in the long term both for rejoicing and sadness. I hear that Guy is getting married this Spring and then going to America to a new job at the prestigious Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York State. I am sure all Leicester music lovers will wish him and his wife all good fortune and hope he will manage to return just occasionally to this side of the pond and in particular to our city.



There are still in the next few months some toothsome musical delicacies in prospect. Firstly though nobody should miss the next Philharmonia Concert at DMH on April 10th with their chief conductor Esa-Pekke Salonen  at the helm. Featured is the pianist Daniel Fray playing Beethoven’s second concerto and then comes a performance of Mahler’s First Symphony. For me Salonen is one of the finest conductors I have ever heard, full stop. Like for instance Mahler, Strauss, Boulez, being a composer himself seems to enable him to go right to the centre of things in a score. The result usually is an extraordinary clarity especially when he has an instrument like the Philharmonia at the end of his stick.

Lunchtime Series: Matthew Trusler and Ashley Wass, March 8th.2018

It was some years since I had heard what I remembered as two fine artists, Matthew Trusler and Ashley Wass , so I was very much looking forward to hearing them again, this time as a duo. The programme looked to be a fascinating one, Beethoven in his sunniest of moods, Vaughan Williams at his most ecstatic and Prokofiev at his most engaging with his unique blend of the lyrical and the acerbic. In the event though, things did not turn out quite as expected.

It is true that there was much to admire in the performance of the ‘Spring Sonata’. There was a fine drive to the playing. In the outer movements there were many moments when the rhythm was precisely pointed. Performed with similar precision, the wit of the very short scherzo came across quite delightfully. However, this piece is one of those where the title attached to it surely does tell one something about the essence of the music. Much of the Sonata seems to reflect Beethoven at his most radiant, almost relaxed, and to this listener at least the duo were slightly less successful at conveying that aspect of the piece. It wasn’t exactly a hard driven performance but there were a number of moments where one felt that a more relaxed and expansive approach might have brought dividends, particularly in the slow movement. The dynamic range seemed, at least from the middle of the hall, rather narrow, very much in one’s face and the sound was often rich in the bass but slightly lacking in warmth at the top. Neither violin nor piano seemed very much inclined to really sing.

So, when one came to Vaughan Williams’ lark, one wondered what kind of ascent it would have, particularly since one could not see quite how the sense of space created in a concert hall with an orchestra could be replicated with just two instruments in a small intimate hall. Add to that the fact that at the opening of the work, as the musicians sought to establish an appropriate atmosphere, there were constant interruptions from within the audience and for a short time one really feared for the continuation of the concert. One cannot speak too highly about the forbearance of these artists in a very difficult situation as they persevered with the performance. Then, miraculously, the interruptions gradually ceased and, perhaps because of our being reminded that someone had been possibly suffering amongst us, everything really did take wing in a most remarkable manner. This was music making that seemed to touch the divine, in which the lack of an orchestra was as nothing and in which what had gone before was felt as nothing. After the ovation at the end , I thought once again of how extraordinary it is that this genius of a composer is still little known outside the English speaking world. There is a story about Andre Previn conducting the Tallis Fantasia in Vienna with the Vienna Philharmonic no less. It seems they were so impressed that one musician asked Previn whether the composer had written anything else. Previn , a droll man if ever there is one, is said to have answered “ Only nine symphonies.”

The rest of the concert was pure joy too. The duo clearly relished Prokofiev’s sardonic wit and flair. The pianist had some wonderful moments in the Court Dance which seemed to underline the pomposity of the dancers, the Winter Fairy glistened with icicles and at the end of the selection the Mazurka was played with such verve as to make us all, if the applause was to be believed, wonder at these players’ virtuosity. That was the supposed end to the concert but Matthew Trusler charmingly wondered whether we could spare another three minutes of our time to listen to Charlie Chaplin’s ‘Smiles’ from ‘Modern Times’. We could and we did. A perfect end.


Lunchtime Series: Jessica Duchen, David Le Page, Viv McLean, February 22nd. 2018

Experience suggests that Juxtaposing language and music successfully in a recital setting can be tricky. I can recall only one instance when I have found it entirely overwhelming. It was in Cambridge in the 80’s when in the first part of the evening two actors read from letters written after WW1 between a mortally ill Lady Elgar and her husband , letters centring on the final flowering of the composer’s genius, in particular on the Piano Quintet, parts of which in the first part interweaved  music with the letters to magical effect. At that time I was hardly aware that Elgar had even written any chamber works, never mind masterpieces of a calibre that rivalled those of Schumann and Brahms. Therefore the effect can be imagined when in the second part this was followed by the complete work being played by the Medici and I think the pianist John Bingham.( If I am right, it is one of those rather remarkable coincidences that there is on the Internet a 2003 Guardian obituary of the pianist written by Jessica Duchen, the author in this recital.)

Perhaps unsurprisingly since then as a format it has struggled to replicate such a memory. Janice Galloway’s reading from her novel Clara about Schumann’s last years set against some of the music was successful but it also highlighted the problem of selecting prose gobbets from a whole, and very fine, novel which will stand side by side with musical moments of genius. Prose needs space to make an effect , music is invariably instant in its effect and I remember even in this concert there were moments when I wished the torrent of words would cease and the music would take over.

Poetry is of course close to music in effect but even here there can be problems of marrying the two forms . At another concert, works by two greats, Benjamin Britten and Ted Hughes, created a car crash in a rendering of some of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, in which the former’s succinctly beautiful and at times witty work for solo oboe  was overwhelmed by an actor declaiming at full bore the English poet’s  highly dramatic interpretation of the Latin original.

And then lastly there was a performance of a string version of the Goldberg Variations with pieces of startlingly pretentious poetic prose for each variation, resulting not least in converting a work of considerable length into one which seemed to stretch to eternity. I have never been so close to the feeling of drowning and as I came up for air a colleague of a similar academic background to my own looked me in the face and eloquently raised his eyebrows. I will not repeat what he said.     So, in truth on what is a limited experience and with all these prejudices, I have to admit that I was not really looking forward to this particular Lunchtime event.

How pleasant to find then that I need not have had such dark thoughts. It was soon clear that some considerable thought had gone into choice of content and how to shape it.  It helped that there was here a story to tell and one about which this listener had no knowledge. After all the academics have spoken their wise words, it remains true that, like the children we once were, we continue to be delighted by being told a story. That is why the novel thrives as an art form and in this instance, I am ashamed to say that I had never heard of Jelly d’Aranyi  nor had I heard a performance of the Schumann Violin Concerto.  Hence I came to the material with no baggage and sat at the feet of the author.

And she told her tale well. The excerpts has clearly been chosen to give the audience their bearings and they were told with just enough panache to grip the attention but not too much so that one became acutely aware of listening to a ‘performance’. As far as one could tell from small bits taken out of the narrative structure of the novel , the liveliness of the central character’s personality emerges in the prose. At times the writing seemed blest with that priceless quality, wit. Instantly memorable was the portrait of Yehudi Menuhin’s father, angling to remove d’Aranyi as a competitor for the first performance. How moving also was the simplicity with which the audience was informed  of the death at the Somme of the violinist’s possible suitor. Here one entered the world of so many women in the 20’s and 30’s who were attached to men in the officer class, perhaps most poignantly created in Vera  Brittain’s Testament of Youth , she who lost fiancée, brother and two other male friends in the conflict .

Then, of course, there was the background of what was happening in Central Europe in the early 30’s. Here the music for me took over since in the time allowed the Nazis’ ludicrous belief that a lost Schumann Violin Concerto would help plug the gap left by their attempt to remove Mendelssohn from the repertoire was only lightly sketched. I learned that Ravel’s Tzigane was written for d’Aranyi and  listening to Le Page’s and McLean’s powerful performance the strain of melancholy to be found in Gypsy music poignantly brought to my mind at least that it was not only the Jews who were victims of the Final Solution. Previous to that a sizzling performance of Bartok’s Rumanian Dances, besides pointing to d’Aranyi’s close friendship with the composer, had underpinned the vitality of the musical culture from which she came and also of her own personality. At other instances the role of the music seemed primarily to give a sense of the range of her acquaintances. Certainly the contrast between Tzigane and Elgar’s Salut d’ amour made that point!

Lastly, the performance of the melody of the Ghost Variations at the beginning and the end of the recital effectively and movingly gave a frame to the story, though not surprisingly the use of that melody in the concerto, particularly when played by violin and piano, could not quite convince that one had been witnessing a re-birth of the masterpiece so much wished for by Goebbels . Perhaps, it was better thus in that it reminded one how futile was the suppression of  Mendelssohn’s genius, a genius nowhere more in evidence than in his Violin Concerto.

So, it was an intriguing event, intriguing enough for me to put down a tenner for the novel.



I noticed that at the bottom of the programme appeared the following : For a review of the festival and other classical music events in Leicestershire please go to

Perhaps the empty gap that followed was evidence of the spirit world recognising a sceptic and attempting to impose its own form of censorship.




The Lunchtime Series: Heath Quartet, 8th February,2018

The Heath Quartet brought to Leicester a reputation of having become in the last few years one of the most formidable quartets on the present day music scene, a reputation which this concert amply justified. I was not aware that they had adopted what, to judge by other visiting quartets over the last few seasons, seems to have become something of a fashion, that of the instrumentalists playing standing, with the exception, of course, of the cellist. Whatever one’s views of that, and like most decisions to do with the music sometimes there are losses as well as gains, one thing is certain. It highlights the qualities of the individual players of the ensemble and that in some cases in recent years has not been entirely to the advantage of the quartet.

It was emphatically not the case here, though. One could hear right from the beginning of the first work ,Haydn’s Op 74,No1 just why the Heath had acquired such a formidable reputation. Each player contributed to a wonderfully rich corporate tone and, no doubt as a direct result of their standing up, one could hear the parts and the individual musicianship with a sometimes startling clarity. This was clearly not courtly Haydn but a great questing composer always looking for ways in which to engage an audience’s attention and to disconcert by not always fulfilling classical expectation.

The quartet’s interpretation made no bones about this. From the opening movement there seemed to be a determination to make clear this was music pushing classical good manners to the limit. The range of dynamics was at times wide. The climaxes were very weighty indeed, some of the pianissimos quite gorgeous. The Andantino sang to fine lyrical effect and in the Minuet it was very clear that this was music for London and not the Esterhazy court. The energy with which the finale was dispatched was such that it reminded one just how close sometimes Haydn comes to his awkward protégée Beethoven. Again, the clarity which was brought about by the space between the players meant that the composer’s energy and inventiveness emerged into the brightest of lights.

So, all in all this was splendidly bold Haydn playing. However, was it perhaps rather too bold, I wondered? After all, Haydn’s wit comes from what seems to me to be basically an urbane, good humoured personality. If I want to be cheered, I go to Haydn’s London symphonies. He loved entertaining his London audience and this comes through on every page of those works but in his expansion of musical possibilities he makes sure he takes that audience with him. In this instance, I found the playing at times a touch too much in your face, a trifle too emphatic. Perhaps, I thought it was because of the strength of sound arising from the players standing up and I have to say that I rather feared what that might do to the second work on offer , Ravel’s String Quartet, which I imagined could well wilt having such a searchlight focussed upon it.

One need not have worried. This was one of the finest performances I have heard of this fascinating work, so much in some ways the essence of Gallic sensibility. Here the dynamic levels seemed entirely appropriate but with the added bonus that the building blocks of Ravel’s refined musical personality, perhaps again because of the physical separateness of the players, emerged with a clarity and at times a drama such as I cannot remember hearing so fully before in this work. Also present quite thrillingly were the unsettling undercurrents in the music, which were time and again memorably realised. In the slow movement the sounds created suggested to me nothing so much as a state in which the nerve ends are at full stretch. This music as played here went into a really rather weird and disturbing world. It was interesting to read in the programme that a Conservatoire Professor found the first movement ‘painful’ . Perhaps he was more right than he knew! Certainly of a piece was the way the Quartet played the final movement, here revealing just how dramatic and, to refer to Ravel’s instructions Vif et agité ,  how disconcerting the music can sound when played as it was here.

Altogether, a stimulating and challenging concert, indeed.