Saturday 7 February 2026
The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester
****
French-tinged minimalism, sparkling Ravel and Rachmaninoff’s final orchestral statement
Saturday evening’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic was their first under the baton of Adam Hickox. He’s the son of Richard Hickox, who died nearly 20 years ago at the untimely age of 60. The younger Hickox is now making a name for himself. In 2023, he was appointed Principal Conductor of The Glyndebourne Sinfonia. He’s the new Chief Conductor of the Trondheim Symphony Orchestra in Norway. Later this month, he conducts that orchestra in a programme of Beethoven, Lutosławski and Unsuk Chin, with pianist Paul Lewis, in a concert billed as ‘From Hickox’s treasure chest.’
On Saturday, we began with Les Eaux célestes (The Celestial Waters) by Camille Pépin, who was born in France in 1990. Pépin describes her style as ‘at the crossroads of French impression and American contemporary music’, and this is an apt description of the piece. There are echoes of Steve Reich and John Adams in his earlier, more minimalist guise, in its pulsating rhythms and unexpected key changes. In the final section, there’s a conscious nod to Debussy’s Nuages (Clouds) from his Nocturnes.
Pépin’s piece retells an ancient Chinese legend in four movements. Princess Orihime weaves clothes for the gods from the clouds. She falls passionately for Hikoboshi, who tends his cows in the heavens. They forget their duties, and Hikoboshi’s father, the sky god, separates them by placing ‘celestial waters’ in the form of the Milky Way between them. He relents slightly, allowing the lovers to meet once a year. A flock of birds forms a bridge across the Milky Way, allowing the lovers’ joyful reconciliation.
On Saturday, the first two movements, Tisser les nuages (Weaving the clouds) and La Séparation (The Separation) ran without a break. The piece began with spectral sounds, like the fluttering of birds’ wings. Waves of string sound and perpetuum mobile rhythms suggested the weaving of the clouds, with jazzy percussion. Shimmering strings, with the gentle rumble of timpani, suggested the lovers’ mournful separation. A climax with a brass theme and busy percussion depicted the depth of the lovers’ heartbreak.
The third and fourth movements, Les Larmes perlées (The Pearly Tears) and Le Pont des ailes (The Bridge of Wings), ran together, the tempo now slowed to depict Princess Orihime’s tears. Celesta and harp played the tear drops while string harmonics described the tearful clouds. The birds’ wings were delicately drawn as in an impressionist painting, by out-of-phase vibraphone, marimba and celesta. A sudden change led to the resolutely rhythmic climax, and the lovers were finally reunited. This is attractive, evocative music, a satisfying blend of influences, well played here by the BBC Philharmonic.
There was more French music from Maurice Ravel, his Piano Concerto in G. This is another piece that wears its influences on its sleeve. In 1928, the composer toured the United States and Canada for four months, meeting George Gershwin. He was inspired by the jazz he heard in America, telling an interviewer,
‘Jazz is a very rich and vital source of inspiration for a modern composer, and I am astonished that so few Americans are influenced by it.’
Both his piano concertos are jazz-influenced and were completed between 1929 and 1931. The following year, the composer toured Europe with the Piano Concerto in G, Ravel conducting and Marguerite Long playing the piano. He had originally been billed to appear as the soloist in his own concerto, but a concert advertised in Manchester didn’t appear to go ahead (see below.)
The concert that didn’t happen?
An advert for Ravel’s concert in on 27 February 1932, part of Brand Lane’s series at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester. It appears the concert didn’t go ahead, due to Ravel’s increasing illness and his technical inability to play the piano part of the Concerto in G. The first performance in Britain was recorded as taking place in London on 25 February that year, with Ravel conducting and Marguerite Long playing the piano. Source: author’s collection.
The German pianist Elisabeth Brauß (Brauss) appeared in a sparkling top that matched the concerto’s sparkle. It began with the crack of a whip, like a circus ringmaster announcing the delights that were to come. Gershwin’s influence was clear from the start – his Rhapsody in Blue was written half a decade before the concerto. Brauß’s playing was superb throughout the first movement, beautifully even, gently evocative, stunningly rhythmic and virtuosic, perfectly controlled. She shone in her brief cadenza, and her playing was richly warm when accompanied by the orchestra. The movement ended with a fierce passage rising from the depths of the piano and a robust downward orchestral flourish.
The second movement began in complete contrast, with a gentle piano solo. This was the highlight of the concerto. The opening section has been compared to the simplicity of the works of another French composer, Erik Satie, who died in 1925. Brauß played it supremely evenly, with great compassion and a touch of rubato. This created an anthemic, almost religious feel. The audience listened spellbound. A gentle waltz ensued, with a heartbreaking top note in the melody. When the orchestra crept back in, the mood was perfectly retained. Brauß played the blues notes with perfect composure and conviction. At the end of the movement, the hall was absolutely quiet.
The final movement began with a bang, the orchestral soloists having fun with the Stravinsky-like jollity of their lines. We were back in the world of Gershwin again, almost sarcastically so. Brauß was again in complete control, her playing inventive and jolly. At one point, she set off at great speed, as if playing music for the most frenetic of Warner Bros. cartoons, incredibly virtuosic. The movement ended very suddenly, and there was enthusiastic applause as Brauß smilingly took her bows.
Unusually, we were treated to an orchestral encore, music from Jonny Greenwood’s score for Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2017 film Phantom Thread. Some parts of the score sound like a piano concerto, so this lushly romantic music this was an appropriate choice for an encore. To the amusement of the audience, the piece ended with an unscored phone ringing at the back of the hall.
The Booker prize-winning author has just announced that his latest novel, Departure(s), will be his last: ‘I’ve played all my tunes.’ Whether Rachmaninoff felt the same about his Symphonic Dances, his final completed work, is unclear, as he made no formal announcement to that effect. But the music itself suggests that he was looking back and summarising his career. He summoned up all his considerable power as orchestrator and a tunesmith to write the piece. And he quoted from his earlier works, including his First Symphony and his Vespers. Scattered throughout the work are quotations of the 13th-century plainchant tune Dies Irae (The Day of Wrath) from the Requiem Mass, which he used in several of his works.
Whatever the status of the work, as David Kettle said in his programme note for the concert, the Symphonic Dances is
‘a symphony in all but name – or perhaps, with its showcasing of individual instrumental colours, more of a concerto for orchestra.’
The piece began with a lively three-note dance theme scattered across the orchestra, and the visceral thrill of the whole orchestra playing pizzicato. Adam Hickox conducted with calm precision and firm control. An orchestral piano was used as a percussion instrument in the style of Stravinsky. Carl Raven played a Russian melody on warm alto sax – an unusual instrument for the composer – surrounded by beautiful orchestral colours. There was superb ensemble from the woodwind, then a sweeping romantic, nostalgic theme for piano and strings that reminded us of the Jonny Greenwood encore. The movement ended with a lovely flute solo from Alex Jakeman.
The brass excelled themselves in the second movement, beginning with anxious, muted chords, leading to a diabolical, swirling waltz. Leader Zoë Beyers superbly played her violin solo with rustic vigour and a touch of sorrow. Hickox had excellent command of rubato, calmly shaping the vast orchestra with an expressive left hand. The music felt uneasy, constantly trying to move into a new key until it finally did. The anxious brass returned, and there was a passage reminiscent of Ravel’s La Valse (1920), although less apocalyptic, evoking a ghostly waltz in a haunted ballroom. There was a moment of ghostly triumph, before an eloquent ending.
In the final movement, the Dies Irae theme began to creep out, becoming more insistent as the movement progressed. Tubular bells struck twelve – the movement was originally called ‘midnight.’ Another diabolical dance began, and there was an incredible climax before the orchestra fell away again, revealing a duet between upper and lower strings. At times, there was a valedictory feel: did Rachmaninoff know that this was his last work after all? Near the end of the movement, the composer wrote ‘Alleluia’ in the score, referring to the Resurrection of Christ in his Vespers and at the end of the score he wrote ‘I thank thee, Lord.’ Did he feel reconciled to death, represented by the ‘Dies Irae’ theme?
After the final gong rang out, there was a silence in the hall, then enthusiastic applause. At one point, Hickox tried to get the orchestra to stand, but they remained seated to acknowledge him instead. Hopefully, this will be the start of a long and fruitful relationship between Hickox and the orchestra.
Repertoire
Camille Pépin Les Eaux célestes
Maurice Ravel Piano Concerto in G
Jonny Greenwood House of Woodcock from Phantom Thread (encore)
Sergey Rachmaninoff Symphonic Dances
Performers
Adam Hickox conductor
Elisabeth Brauß piano
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
The concert was recorded for future broadcast on BBC Radio 3’s Classical Live. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds.
Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand…
Recent concerts by the BBC Philharmonic…