BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Mahler’s ‘Titan’ – Symphony No. 1 – Live Review

Saturday 8 November 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

Elena Schwarz conducts nature-themed Debussy and Mahler, with the Manchester premiere of Dani Howard’s trombone concerto

The BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, conductor Elena Schwarz and trombonist Peter Moore. Photo © Chris Payne

Saturday’s concert at the Bridgewater Hall in Manchester was an exploration of the power of nature, in two great ‘symphonic’ works by Debussy and Mahler, bookending a rare beast, a trombone concerto.

Nature bared its teeth in the opening piece, which was La Mer (The Sea) by Claude Debussy, premiered in Paris in 1905. He began working on it in 1903 in Bichain in Burgundy, central France, well away from the sea. He wrote to the composer André Messager, telling him he was working on the new piece,

‘You’re unaware, maybe, that I was intended for the noble career of a sailor and have only deviated from that path thanks to the quirks of fate. Even so, I’ve retained a sincere devotion to the sea.’

He finished the work in 1905 while staying at the Grand Hotel in Eastbourne. But he didn’t draw inspiration from the sea views there. The composer wrote to his publisher, Jacques Durand, ‘It’s a charming, peaceful spot. The sea unfurls itself with an utterly British correctness.’ He was inspired instead by the sea as depicted by JMW Turner in his seascapes. Turner was sometimes in dispute with what he saw as ‘British correctness’, as portrayed in his sometimes uneasy relationship with the Royal Academy of Arts in Mike Leigh’s 2014 film Mr Turner.

Debussy was also inspired by The Great Wave off Kanagawa by the Japanese Artist Hokusai. He used a reproduction of that print on the cover of the original score. This famous image is stylised but not Impressionistic. In her programme note, Caroline Rae points out that Debussy ‘compared his vibrant orchestration with the paintings of Les Fauves (‘The Wild Beasts’), ‘famed in Paris at the time for their dramatic use of colour.’

The Great Wave off Kanagawa by the Japanese Artist Hokusai. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art via Wikimedia Commons

On Saturday, the wild beast of the sea was unleashed by the BBC Philharmonic under conductor Elena Schwarz. Her conducting revealed the central paradox of this piece, which Robert Philip describes in his excellent book The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music,

‘It’s easy to forget that such a well-known orchestral masterpiece, on first hearing, may seem formless, a succession of washes of sound, or a sort of ‘stream of consciousness.’’

This is the effect that Debussy presumably wanted to achieve – the rawness of nature exhibited in the terrible beauty of the sea. As Philps points out,

‘There is nothing vague or haphazard about [Debussy’s] compositional methods. The whole work is carefully structured using a small number of motifs that recur and are transformed.’

Schwarz’s conducting was very precise and measured, superbly controlling the apparent turbulence of the orchestral writing. The opening movement, De L’aube à Midi Sur la Mer (From Dawn to Midday on the Sea) began in a mood of intense quiet, with glittering, shimmering sounds describing the breaking of dawn. There was a beautiful patchwork of orchestral colour, as the sea ceaselessly ebbed and flowed. There were lovely solos from Victoria Daniel (flute), leader Zoë Beyers (violin) and Henrietta Cooke (cor anglais).

In the second movement, Jeux de Vagues (Games of Waves), Schwarz brought out great detail in Debussy’s orchestral colours, such as the glockenspiel played by Paul Patrick at the beginning and end of the movement. She captured the playful joy of the waves, and there was a lovely moment when the precision of the brass was offset against sweeping strings.

The final movement, Dialogue du Vent et de la Mer (Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea, illustrated the sea in all its moods. It began with the ominous rumble of lower strings and percussion, anxious upper strings and roaring brass. A lovely woodwind melody reached for light and hope. Lurching waves in the upper strings were offset against the lower strings, leading to a climax that brought to mind a similar climax in Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, written only a few years earlier, so memorably brought to life in Disney’s Fantasia in 1940. There was a moment of calm with a lovely violin melody, disrupted by sudden danger from the cellos. A yearning, simple melody led to a joyful climax. The sea felt powerful but no longer dangerous. Playful pizzicato on cellos was offset against shimmering brass, before the piece reached a final, stunning climax.

Dani Howard. Source: danihoward.com

Dani Howard wrote her Trombone Concerto in 2021 for Peter Moore (Saturday’s soloist) and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. The COVID pandemic hadn’t struck when the orchestra commissioned the work. By the time Howard began writing, the world was in lockdown, and only key workers were allowed out. The concerto is partly Howard’s tribute to those workers. As Timmy Fisher says in his programme note

‘The everyday heroics of bus drivers and refuse workers were suddenly getting the recognition they deserved. Howard’s concerto is a celebration of these people, and their resolve during the pandemic provides its emotional arc.’

The concerto began with bustling violas in the early Minimalist style of the American composer John Adams, evoking the everyday lives of those workers. The trombone entered with an insouciant four-note theme, which appeared again at the start of the second movement. Howard’s initial instruction to the trombonist is to ‘play as if you are totally oblivious to your surroundings.’ The first movement is titled ‘Realisation’, and it was fascinating to hear the moment when the trombone came into synch with the orchestra, as if suddenly realising the role the key workers had in the pandemic and wondering how to contribute. Moore played with a warm tone and evocative slides. Sometimes his playing was virtuosic, but at other times his instrument was part of the orchestral texture rather than showy. At the end of the movement, there was the first concerto-like moment when the trombone played a lyrical tune accompanied by slow orchestral chords suspended beneath.

The highlight of the concerto was the second movement, ‘Rumination’, in which the solo trombone ruminated on ‘the seed of an idea’ introduced in the first movement. Moore, using that rich tone that we associate with the North’s finest brass bands, was echoed by two muted trombones in the orchestra. A brass band chorale gradually joined, and in this moment of contemplation, it felt as if we were suspended outside time. An eternal melody wound its way gradually from one part of the orchestra to another, with slow-moving blocks of colour. Flourishes from the flutes could have come from La Mer, making this a good companion piece to the earlier piece. Finally, there was a minor explosion from the orchestra, as if a moment of resolution had finally been reached.

The final movement, ‘Illumination’, was written to be ‘as explosively positive as possible.’ It began with more Minimalism from the strings and an angular trombone part. Moore played a stunningly virtuosic passage – his playing had been superb throughout the concerto. After an ecstatic orchestral passage, the piece reached a climactic end. The orchestra smiled and clapped in acknowledgement of Moore’s magnificent playing, and Schwarz picked out the trombonists and brass section for separate applause. There were more smiles from composer Dani Howard as she came on stage to receive her applause.

The BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, conductor Elena Schwarz and trombonist Peter Moore. Photo © Chris Payne

The second half marked a return to the nature theme, in the form of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1, the ‘Titan’. It began with string harmonics and woodwind, creating a sense of stasis followed by expectation as nature came to life, marked by Mahler in the score ‘Wie ein Naturlaut’ (Like a sound of nature). Birdsong was created by a solo clarinet (John Bradbury) as a cuckoo and an oboe (Jennifer Galloway) as a chaffinch. Four offstage trumpets created the sound of hunting horns. Mahler cleverly used the cuckoo’s call to form the opening notes of his song Ging heut’ Morgen über’s Feld from his earlier song cycle Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (Songs of a Wayfarer). As Jo Kirkbride astutely pointed out in her programme note, this was ‘ Mahler’s first gesture towards incorporating song within the symphony.’ The song is the happiest in the cycle, describing the protagonist walking across the fields, singing about how lovely the world is. There were two joyful climaxes, then we returned to the shimmering strings of the opening, with more birdcalls: a moment of quiet joy beautifully shaped by the orchestra under Schwarz. A melody in the cellos, joyful at first, turned darker, but the birds continued singing valiantly. The danger passed, and with a sudden key change, we moved to a rustic, pastoral passage, then a serenely lilting melody. The orchestra reached a glowing climax, excellently played. The movement’s witty false ending elicited a few wry smiles from the audience.

The second movement was a robust country dance of the type that Mahler often brought into his later symphonies. Schwarz became more animated as she conducted the symphony, dancing lightly on her podium, enjoying the repeated melody. There was a slight note of sarcasm from the brass, and the writing became more sophisticated as we passed through the keys. A highlight was the perfectly controlled lower strings. A tentative horn theme led to an elegant trio, beautifully poised.

The Huntsman’s Funeral by Moritz von Schwind, 1850 (Public domain)

The third movement began with a minor-key version of Frère Jacques (Brother John), known to Mahler as Bruder Martin (Brother Martin). This reminded me of the great comedian Bill Bailey’s witty, sarcastic turning of the theme for Match of the Day and the American National Anthem into minor-key laments.  Mahler said the inspiration for the movement came from an illustration in the children’s book ‘The Huntsman’s Funeral.’ We were back in nature again, this time with a sardonic twist. Various forest animals carried the coffin in Moritz von Schwind’s 1850 woodcut. This time, the cuckoo turned his song into Die zwei blauen Augen (my love’s two blue eyes) from Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen. The song has a bitter-sweet quality, with its constant switching between major and minor in the melody, recalling the minor-key transposition of Frère Jacques. Schwarz controlled this section beautifully. The funeral procession returned, darker and more sardonic than before, burying the Frère Jacques tune.

The fourth movement burst in with an anguished climax. The brass was stunning here, providing a visceral thrill. This movement was a showpiece for the orchestra, who played with passion, precision and conviction throughout. It was also a tribute to Mahler’s skills as a composer: despite various revisions and the fact that this was his first symphony, this movement utterly convinces. A confident march with swirling strings was punctured by a little, sarcastic descending theme that kept recurring. A never-ending string melody was decorated by the lovely solo horn played by Mihajlo Bulajic. The anguish of the start returned, with sarcastic trumpets; there was a touch of Wagner in the brass here. An ecstatic climax faded away, giving way to another long-limbed melody on the strings, beautifully played with a sense of inevitability. The cellos took over the melody. In a later symphony, Mahler could have used this to provide a glimpse of heaven, but here it represented a return to the calm of nature. The orchestra reached a sunny climax, all anguish finally gone, then fell away again. A niggling, slightly angry theme on the violas prompted a return to the opening march, now more optimistic. The hunting horns returned, and the orchestra’s struggle felt vindicated. Schwarz leapt on her podium, sharing the pure joy of the end. As directed by Mahler, several brass players stood to deliver a golden theme. We suddenly reached the sunlit uplands, with a huge final flourish. There was massive, and well-deserved applause. Schwarz highlighted individual soloists, all of whom were excellent. Ronan Dunne, the double-bass soloist, gave a lovely little twirl on his bass. Schwarz brought the whole orchestra to its feet, ending a fine performance.

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Peter Moore trombone
Elena Schwarz conductor

Repertoire

Debussy La Mer
Dani Howard Trombone Concerto
Mahler Symphony No. 1

Sources

Robert Philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music (Yale University Press, 2018)
Dani Howard and Timmy Fisher: Sleeve Notes to Dani Howard Orchestral Works (Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra)
Programme notes by Caroline Rae, Timmy Fisher and Jo Kirkbride

Broadcast

The concert concert will be broadcast on In Concert on BBC Radio 3 on 18 November and will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds

Read on…

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Fountain of Youth – Live Review

Saturday 20 September 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

A triumphant opening to the BBC Philharmonic’s new season

Violinist Augustin Hadelich with members of the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

On Saturday evening, Manchester was plagued by heavy rain of almost biblical proportions, causing roads to flood; we saw a stranded car on the drive in. So it was a pleasure to escape the weather and take sanctuary in the Bridgewater Hall, which from the front resembles an ark. A fanfare greeted us, a prelude to the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra’s new season. In the Gallery foyer, no fewer than nine bagpipers were assembled to perform LAD by the orchestra’s new Composer in Residence, Julia Wolfe. The last time the piece was heard in the Bridgewater Hall was when it was performed by Rakhi Singh of Manchester Collective at the Manchester Classical festival in June. The version for bagpipes began with drones, joined by wailing upwards glissandos, marked in the score as ‘slow glisses’. They called to mind the auditory illusion known as the Shepard Tone, an effect Hans Zimmer used in his Dunkirk score, where the music seems to be constantly rising when it’s actually coming back on itself. The pipers played resolutely against the backdrop of a dystopian sky visible thorugh the hall’s huge windows. There were two folky tunes, one marked ‘Slow’, which was slow, and the second marked ‘Fast’, which was fast. It was an invigorating and spectacular opening to the new season.

One of the pipers playing Julia Wolfe’s LAD. Image © Chris Payne

The main concert began with another piece by Wolfe, Fountain of Youth. Composed in 2019 for the New World Symphony youth orchestra, it was heard for the first time in the UK on Saturday. Adam Szabo, the Director of the BBC Philharmonic, announced that Wolfe is ‘our very shiny new composer in residence’, and based on her two pieces, there’s a lot to look forward to in the collaboration.

Juilia Wolfe, the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra’s new Composer in Residence. Image © Peter Serling

Fountain of Youth began with the terrifying scraping of strings and rattling washboards, which sounded like marching soldiers or a huge robot clanking as it walked. Wolfe directed that they should be ‘played like a work ritual.’ A fractured theme rose from the chaos, and a rising string theme reached for the light. The washboards reached a frenzy as a pounding theme emerged with growling brass. A heavy metal drum kit accompanied the orchestra as it wailed and cried like a wounded animal. The music reached a painful climax, then fell away to a single held note – a ray of light amidst the chaos? The piece ended with a frenzied, bacchanalian dance. A viscerally thrilling performance

My fountain of youth is music, and in this case I offer the orchestra a sassy, rhythmic, high energy swim.

Julia Wolfe

This was followed by Prokofiev’s Second Violin Concerto, which he wrote in 1935. It was the last piece he was commissioned to write in Western Europe before returning to Russia the following year. The violin soloist was Augustin Hadelich, another in a long line of world-class soloists booked by the orchestra. The piece began with an unaccompanied theme for solo violin, which Hadelich played with beautiful legato and a gorgeous, rich tone before the theme was passed around the orchestra. A breathtakingly beautiful melody reminded us that Prokofiev was writing his ballet score Romeo and Juliet at the same time. Hadelich provided sweet-toned, virtuosic decoration above the orchestra, before his violin scampered away with majestic ease. There was a spellbinding moment when the orchestra sang the violin’s theme back to him, and he joined in with a luminous descant. The second movement began with the orchestra playing measured pizzicato in a stately dance. Hadelich played a stunning, long-limbed melody, revealing its romantic, fragile beauty. The orchestra danced balletically while the violin pirouetted like a principal ballerina. There was a moment of whimsy and subtlety as Hadelich played a sweet melody above a gentle waltz. The third movement featured passionate precision from Hadelich, the themes rustic yet sophisticated, like a peasant dance performed by a ballet troupe. Castanets provided a Spanish flavour, perhaps added by Prokofiev to celebrate the fact that the work was premiered in Spain. There was a final reprise of the opening rondo theme as the piece dashed to the end. The audience didn’t want Hadelich to leave without an encore, so he obliged with Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson’s Louisiana Blues Strut, ‘A Cakewalk.’ This was a bluesy piece for fiddle, evoking a hoedown as Hadelich donned a metaphorical cowboy hat. He played it superbly, and the audience applauded warmly.

The concert’s second half was devoted to Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony, written in 1888 when the composer was plagued by self-doubt about his creative powers and his poor health. He was heartened by the success of the work’s premiere in September, writing to his brother Anatoly that ‘some even say that it is my best work.’ But by December, he wrote to his patron Nadezhda von Meck saying, ‘I am convinced that this symphony is not a success.’ By March, he told his brother Modest, ‘I love it again.’ The symphony began with a motto that haunts the work, like Banquo’s ghost appearing to Lady Macbeth at the banquet. The orchestra played it with slow, lugubrious deliberation, bringing out the emotion of the theme under John Storgårds’ superb direction. He shaped lovely dynamics and orchestral balance in the movement’s romantic theme, with twinkling woodwind. The orchestra played stylishly as Storgårds brought out colour and detail in the score. The movement ended with a sweeping, romantic theme that led to an epic climax as the players gave it their all, before a descent into the depths. The darkness continued at the start of the second movement as the strings rose from the deep. There was a lovely solo from guest principal horn Olivia Gandee, who played with a warmly nostalgic tone, intertwined with clarinet then oboe. The string playing was ravishing, as Storgårds brought out the richly romantic themes. The movement ended with a series of romantic climaxes played with yearning and longing. The third movement was a delicate waltz, played with charm and quiet joy but with perhaps a touch of sarcasm from the horns. This led immediately to the final movement, with the main motto returning in a major key. If Tchaikovsky had doubts about this movement – and some critics have criticised it as being unconvincing – the orchestra thoroughly assuaged those doubts. They played with great confidence and emotion, and the audience burst into enthusiastic applause at the end. We eagerly anticipate more delights from the orchestra this season, and from Composer in Residence Julia Wolfe.

Augustin Hadelich, John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

Performers

Bede Patterson, John Mulhearn, Finn MacPherson, Dougal McKiggan, Ailis Sutherland, Lorne MacDougall, Ruairidh Ian Buxon, Rory Campbell, Fionnlagh Mac A’Phiocar bagpipes
BBC Philharmonic
John Storgårds Conductor
Augustin Hadelich violin

Repertoire

Julia Wolfe LAD (Pre-concert performance)
Julia Wolfe Fountain of Youth (first UK performance)
Sergey Prokofiev Violin Concerto No. 2 in G minor
Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson Louisiana Blues Strut ‘A Cakewalk’ (Encore for solo violin)

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 5 in E minor

The concert will be broadcast on Radio 3 in Concert on Tuesday 28 October at 7.30 pm, and will be available for 30 days after broadcast on BBC Sounds

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Mahler Symphony No. 9 – Live Review

Conductor Yoel Gamzou and Members of the BBC Phil

Saturday 12 April 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

Mahler’s Ninth Symphony: A Life-Affirming Farewell?

Conductor Yoel Gamzou and Members of the BBC Phil
Conductor Yoel Gamzou and Members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Image © Chris Payne

In an article in The Guardian, Tom Service described the final page of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony as ‘one of the most famously death-haunted places in orchestral music’. As he pointed out, the final bar is even marked ‘esterbend’ (dying or dying away). There are other references to death scattered all over the symphony. Mahler wrote ‘Leb’ wohl’ (farewell) above a motif in the first movement in the draft score. This motif recalls ‘Der Abschied’ (The Farewell) from Das Lied von der Erde (The Song of the Earth), written around the same time as the symphony. The composer Alban Berg wrote, ‘The entire [first] movement is based on a presentiment of death’, and the symphony’s first conductor Bruno Walter wrote the word ‘farewell’ could have been written ‘at the head of the Ninth.’ The final movement quotes music from Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder (Songs on the Death of Children).

Tom Service also wrote that Leonard Bernstein, and many other conductors and listeners, saw the symphony as representing a ‘whole suite of deaths.’ This was Mahler’s last completed symphony. He was aware that Beethoven and Bruckner had died after writing their ninth symphonies, and created a superstition later called the curse of the ninth. He thought he had cheated it by renaming his true ninth symphony Das Lied von der Erde. He had also lost his four-year-old daughter Maria, who died in 1907 of scarlet fever. He had been diagnosed with an incurable heart condition in the same year, which probably led to his early death at the age of 50 in 1911. He failed to hear his Ninth Symphony, which he completed in 1910, but was not premiered until 1912. Service also refers to the death of tonality, which Mahler’s late work certainly prefigures, and also the ‘death throes of the figure of artist as hero in European culture.’

But having skilfully set up the case for the prosecution, Service comes to the symphony’s defence as a life-affirming work despite all the difficulties Mahler was suffering, or perhaps because of them. Those looking for musical clues should consider that the first movement’s sighing, falling theme that provides so much of the material of the symphony is based on a waltz by Johann Strauss, with the delightfully unambiguous title ‘Enjoy Life.’  Jo Kirkbride, in her programme note, whilst acknowledging the symphony is about death, is on the same side as Service, pointing to a letter Mahler wrote to Bruno Walter in 1909 in which he said,

 ‘I have more thirst for life than ever, and find the “habits of existence” sweeter than ever.’

The Israeli-American conductor Yoel Gamzou, who conducted the BBC Philharmonic on Saturday, is known as a Mahler specialist. He was inspired to become a conductor as a boy when he heard Mahler’s music. He studied privately with the great Italian conductor Carlo Maria Giulini, who recorded Mahler’s Ninth in 1994. In 2006, Gamzou founded his own International Mahler Orchestra. A composer as well as a conductor, in 2010, he achieved something Mahler himself never did – the completion of Mahler’s Tenth Symphony. The depth of his knowledge was revealed by his ability to draw out incredible detail from the orchestra, who played superbly for him on Saturday. His conducting was expressive, dramatic, and demonstrative, with large and passionate gestures, often pointing imperiously at individual players or sections, and moving lithely on the podium. So it was remarkable that at the end of the final movement his gestures became more and more subtle and delicate. He held the orchestra – and a rapt audience – in his hands. He very deliberately closed his score at the end, holding everyone in the hall in reverential silence for what seemed like an age.

The BBC Phil and Yoel Gamzou
The BBC Philharmonic Orchestra and conductor Yoel Gamzou. Image © Chris Payne

So what was Gamzou’s view of the symphony? In the first movement, he brought out the piece’s drama, with immense climaxes and easily drew out all the densely complex lines. There was occasional respite from the opaque strands of sound, even optimism and joy, and a lovely ending, suggesting a bucolic, gentle scene.

Mahler’s title for the second movement is very specific, ‘Im Tempo eines gemächlichen Ländlers. Etwas täppisch und sehr derb’ (In the tempo of an easy-going country waltz. Somewhat clumsy and very rough). The movement is based on the Ländler, a European folk dance of which Mahler was particularly fond. In a memorable phrase, Robert Philip described how three versions of the dance try to establish themselves simultaneously, ‘as if a drunk is assailed by conflicting images of the dancers.’ Gamzou achieved the feat of bringing out the coarseness of the music, but paradoxically with great precision. At the end of the movement, there was a fiercely dramatic, dark section of what felt like sarcastic joy, which could have come from a symphony with Shostakovich, who owed a debt to Mahler. The movement fell away in sadness, as if the folk dancers, now defeated, were disappearing from the stage.

Conductor Yoel Gamzou with members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Image © Chris Payne

The music of Shostakovich was prefigured even more obviously in the third movement, which Mahler described as a ‘Rondo-Burleske’. In case that hinted at excess jolliness, he also marked it ‘Sehr trotzig’ (Very defiant). Gamzou brought out all the sarcasm of the movement with a fiercely frenetic opening, with a theme that soon got lost in a morass of sound. He danced on the podium, recalling another conductor of the BBC Philharmonic, the great Yan Pascal Tortelier. The movement was at once life-affirming and troubling. The trumpet solo, which provides one of the musical fragments on which the final movement is based, provided a glimpse of serenity, before angular, Shostakovichian woodwinds destroyed the mood. Depending on which theory you follow, the movement could be a celebration of life’s visceral, thrilling, but unsettling nature, or a sarcastic dismissal of a life that is shortly to be left behind.

As Service wrote, an essential clue to a conductor’s interpretation is their approach to the final movement, which he wittily described as ‘cataclysmically slow.’ Mahler’s description is clear. ‘Sehr langsam und noch zurückhaltend’(Very slow and even held back). Bruno Walter’s 1938 recording lasted just over 18 minutes, whereas Bernstein stretched the movement to 30 minutes. Gamzou’s performance lasted 28 minutes, putting him firmly at the Bernstein end of things, and perhaps emphasising the movement’s valedictory nature. Equally, the movement can be seen as a hymn to life, possibly highlighted by the sometimes gut-wrenching intensity of the orchestra’s stunning playing. Even the musical quotation from Kindertotenlieder is ambiguous. The song’s words describe how, ‘Im Sonnenschein der Tag ist schön’ (In the sunlight, the day is beautiful). We could take this at face value, describing the subtle joy that life brings, or we could remember that in the original song, the words describe how the protagonist thinks that the children have merely run ahead into the sunshine during a summer walk, and that they will appear around the next corner, a terrible affirmation of the inevitability of death.

Whatever your interpretation is of the final movement – and the symphony as a whole – the playing at the end was profoundly moving. There was a lovely portamento from the strings as if they could not let go of the notes. After a gorgeous cello solo, the strings crept back in. There was a beautifully-controlled pianissimo with a never-ending melody, and one last rousing of the second violin theme before the orchestra fell into silence.

Repertoire

Gustav Mahler Symphony No. 9 in D major

Performers

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Yoel Gamzou Conductor

Sources

Tom Service, Symphony Guide: Mahler’s Ninth (The Guardian 29 July 2014)
Jo Kirkbride Programme Note for BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Robert Philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music (Yale University Press,  Kindle Edition)

This concert will be broadcast on BBC Radio 3 at 19.30 on Tuesday 8 July and will be available for 30 days after broadcast on BBC Sounds

BBC Philharmonic – Pictures at an Exhibition – Live Review

The BBC Philharmonic with Ludovic Morlot © Chris Payne.

Saturday 22 February 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

A celebration of Ravel at 150 and Boulez at 100; orchestration at its most colourful and imaginative

The BBC Philharmonic with Ludovic Morlot © Chris Payne.
The BBC Philharmonic with Ludovic Morlot © Chris Payne.

Saturday’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra at the Bridgewater Hall in Manchester was a triple celebration: of the birthdays of two great French masters, Maurice Ravel (born 150 years ago in March 1875) and Pierre Boulez (born 100 years ago in March 1925); of the piano as a solo instrument in Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand; and of piano pieces as the foundation of much larger works for orchestra.

Pianist Paul Wittengenstein
Paul Wittgenstein © Bernard Fleischer Moving Images. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Apart from the mighty organ, often referred to as the ‘King of Instruments’ – an orchestra in itself – the piano has the broadest range of timbre and dynamics and is the most versatile of any classical instrument. On Saturday, this was demonstrated by the French pianist Bertrand Chamayou in the Ravel piano concerto. Written for the French pianist Paul Wittgenstein, who lost his right arm during WWI, it was heroically played by Chamayou, who rested his right hand above the piano while his left hand did its incredible work. Ravel’s intention, in his own words, was to ensure that,

‘In a work of this kind, it is essential to give the impression of a texture no thinner than that of a part written for both hands.’

It was fascinating to watch Chamayou play with only one hand. From our seats, his back often shielded his left hand, but it was possible to see the reflection of his hand in the highly polished piano as it scurried up and down the keyboard, performing astonishing acrobatics. In his main cadenza in the third section of this single-movement concerto, he picked out melodies over growling, angry bass with lovely control and virtuosic chromatic playing as a hopeful theme gradually appeared out of the miasma of fretful darkness. The orchestra played its part, too, opening with a dark theme on the low basses and contrabassoon. The theme passed across the orchestra and reached an incredible climax with glowing but anxious chords before the piano came crashing in from the depths of its range. In the central Allegro section, there were some jazzy rhythms and echoes of the rhythmic intensity of Ravel’s Boléro, which was written around the same time. There was also some invigoratingly sarcastic interplay between piano and orchestra, like Shostakovich at his most cynical. The orchestra finally dared to join Chamayou after his cadenza, having the last word as it hurtled to a startlingly abrupt conclusion.

The BBC Philharmonic with Ludovic Morlot and pianist Bertrand Chamayou © Chris Payne.
Pianist Bertrand Chamayou with the BBC Philharmonic and Ludovic Morlot © Chris Payne.

In response to well-deserved applause, Chamayou returned to announce his encore of an ‘unknown piece’, his setting of a choral piece by Ravel, Trois Beaux Oiseaux du Paradis (Three Beautiful Birds of Paradise). A simple, meditative piece for two hands, it made a lovely contrast with the rigours of the concerto.

Pierre Boulez, who died almost a decade ago, enjoyed being the enfant terrible of the classical music establishment. As Saturday’s conductor, Ludovic Morlot, told the audience, it’s amazing to see how much classical music had changed in the 50 years between the two composers. Boulez once mischievously announced that opera houses were unsuitable for modern opera, so the best solution would be to blow them up. He said that to move on as a composer, he felt he had metaphorically to ‘kill his father’ by rejecting the tenets of his teacher Olivier Messiaen. When he was only twenty, Boulez’s piano miniatures, 12 Notations for Piano, were performed by Yvette Grimaud. He forgot about them but was reminded of them over 30 years later when the French composer Serge Nigg, also a pupil of Messiaen, asked if he could perform them. Boulez decided to turn four of the pieces into works for a vast orchestra, so big that on Saturday, the stage at the Bridgewater Hall had to be extended to accommodate all the musicians. There were so many percussionists – nine in all – that they occupied every nook and cranny of a packed stage. The original piano pieces were tiny, only 12 bars long. Boulez expanded both the orchestra and the length of the pieces to become new works rather than mere orchestrations. Played in the order Boulez requested (1,4,3,2), the four pieces were explorations of orchestral colour on the grandest scale, superbly played by the expanded orchestra. There were great slabs of sound, boisterous percussion, glittering colours, incredible climaxes, and terrifyingly dense yet powerfully rhythmic and repeated structures.

The German composer and conductor Matthias Pintscher wrote,

Every time I listen to, study or conduct Boulez’s Notations, I immediately think of the other grand master of French sonic architecture: Maurice Ravel. The aesthetic proximity between Boulez and Ravel is palpable. A glance at a single detail in one of the scores by Boulez (or Ravel) explains the ‘totality’, the aura and the form of the large-scale work. This, to me, seems essentially ‘French’ – this sharpened awareness of the detail that fits into the whole architecture of the work logically as well as poetically. 

Ravel’s Mother Goose (Ma Mère l’Oye) was also written as a piano suite, in this case five pieces for four hands. It’s most often performed now as an orchestral suite of five pieces, but after the Boulez Notations, conductor Ludovic Morlot turned to the audience and announced that as a special treat, the orchestra would play the complete ballet, which is ‘about six minutes longer.’ This was a pleasant surprise to the audience, although presumably not to the orchestra. The extra material consists of a Prélude, and linking passages to create one continuous movement, and an additional tableau at the start, Danse du Rouet (Dance of the Spinning Wheel). Ravel’s Suite is a series of largely unconnected fairy tales. Ravel makes the ballet a continuous narrative, the story of Sleeping Beauty. The final movement, Le Jardin Féerique (Fairy Garden), turns into an ‘apotheosis’ scene in which the prince awakens her. The fairy tales from the central movements of the Suite take place in her dreams.

The BBC Philharmonic with Ludovic Morlot © Chris Payne.
The BBC Philharmonic with Ludovic Morlot © Chris Payne.

The ballet allowed the orchestra to demonstrate the full range of its tonal palette and dynamic sensitivity. Ludovic Morlot is a relatively undemonstrative conductor, as he showed in his firm and committed handling of Messiaen’s epic From the Canyons to the Stars late last year. His attention to detail is extraordinary – as Pintscher suggests, the smallest detail reveals the form of the work as a whole. Forces from within the orchestra, particularly the woodwind, played perfectly together like the best of chamber ensembles. There were some characterful solos, bringing colour to the vivid fairy tales, including from John Bradbury (clarinet), Simon Davies (contrabassoon) and Zoe Beyers, the leader of the orchestra.

The cover of Pictures at an Exhibition by Mekong Delta
The cover of Pictures at an Exhibition by Mekong Delta. Source: bandcamp

The concert ended with another piano suite that became an orchestral piece, Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. There have been several arrangements or reworkings of the suite, which Mussorgsky wrote in 1874. It lends itself to adaptation very well, as it’s based on a series of vivid and imaginative pictures by the composer’s friend, the artist Viktor Hartmann, who died in 1873. There have been several orchestral versions, including the Ravel version which is the most often performed. There have also been some successful rock versions, including by the German thrash metal band Mekong Delta and a whimsical version by the Japanese composer and electronic music pioneer Isao Tomita. Perhaps the best non-classical version is by the English progressive rock band Emerson Lake and Palmer, which contains one of the best characterisations of The Gnome.

The Philharmonic’s performance of The Gnome was thrillingly fast and fierce, with a flurry of sound played with perfect ensemble; the creature could be heard scurrying away at the end. The opening Promenade featured the brass section playing like the finest brass bands with a lovely, sweet-toned horn. In The Old Castle, alto saxophonist Carl Raven played a mellow solo with lovely legato while the strings and woodwind brought a warmly nostalgic feel – another testament not just to the orchestral playing but the variety and subtlety of Ravel’s skill as an orchestrator. The lumbering ox cart of Bydlo drew a lovely tuba solo from Christopher Evans, creating a very vivid picture of the ‘effortful Russian work song represented by the famous Song of the Volga Boatmen’ as Robert Philip points out. Another highlight was the Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks, which had stunning woodwind, jolly strings, and a witty turn at the end. The final movement, The Great Gate of Kiev, was the perfect climax to an outstanding performance.

Repertoire

Pierre Boulez Notations 1–4 (orchestral version)
Maurice Ravel Mother Goose – complete ballet
Maurice Ravel Piano Concerto for the Left Hand
Modest Mussorgsky, orch. Maurice Ravel Pictures at an Exhibition

Performers

Ludovic Morlot conductor
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Bertrand Chamayou piano

Sources

Robert Philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music (Yale University Press, 2020)
Matthias Pintscher, Boulez – Notations I-IV for orchestra: Work Introduction (Universal Edition)
Programme notes by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra

This concert will be broadcast on BBC Radio 3’s In Concert on Wednesday 12 March at 7.30pm. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds.

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – The Firebird – Live Review

Senja Rummukainen and John Storgårds

Saturday 25 January 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****
Senja Rummukainen shines in Elgar’s Cello Concerto; fiery Stravinsky – and Shostakovich in a Modernist Mood

Senja Rummukainen and John Storgårds with the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne
Senja Rummukainen and John Storgårds with the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

In the first half of Saturday evening’s concert, we were in ‘England’s green and pleasant land’, a phrase coined by poet William Blake and made famous by Hubert Parry in Jerusalem, which he wrote in 1916 during WWI. The two featured English works had strong links to WWI, although neither was directly inspired by the war.

George Butterworth wrote his orchestral rhapsody A Shropshire Lad in 1911 as an epilogue to his song cycle for voice and piano, A Shropshire Lad. His aim was ‘to express the home thoughts of the exiled Lad’, the protagonist of the poems written by AE Housman in 1896. Housman’s poems are preoccupied with early death in war and so became particularly poignant and relevant during WWI. Tragically, Butterworth was killed in action on the Somme in 1916.

Edward Elgar wrote his Cello Concerto, his last major work, just after WWI. In his own catalogue of his works, he wrote ‘Finis. RIP.’ to mark the end of his composing career. A few months after the premiere, his wife Alice sadly died and with her his inspiration to write music, even though he survived her for 14 years.

Although not explicitly written in response to WWI, the concerto is perfused with melancholy and nostalgia. As the cellist Steven Isserlis wrote:

The concerto is a poem of regret, a searching elegy to the whole world—both inner and outer—that had been swept away by the horrors of the Great War. 

Steven Isserlis (Hyperion Records)

Butterworth’s orchestral lament for loss is primarily based on a theme from Housman’s poem Loveliest of Trees, which was voted one of the nation’s 100 favourite poems in a BBC poll. It has been set to music over 60 times. The poem isn’t about war – the protagonist is 20 years old and anticipates living another 50 years to make up his ‘threescore years and ten’ (the Biblical lifespan of 70 years). The message is that the cherry blossom should be enjoyed while you can, in case life is cut short: carpe diem. The piece ends with a brief instrumental quotation from another of Housman’s Shropshire Lad poems – from the Bredon Hill and Other Songs cycle – With Rue my Heart is Laden, This laments the loss of ‘golden friends I had’. The poem makes it clear later that the friends have died, although again not in war,

By brooks too broad for leaping
The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
 In fields where roses fade.

On Saturday evening, Butterworth’s piece began with a moment of stasis, long held notes in the lower strings, and a conversation between the woodwind and violas. John Bradbury on clarinet provided the opening statement of the ‘cherry’ theme, which was then passed around the orchestra. One of the joys of this arrangement is hearing the theme of the original theme repeated with varied harmonies and orchestration, sometimes sounding like Debussy, and elsewhere like Vaughan Williams. When the strings took up the theme it repeated itself with romantic sweeps, glowing like a film score.

The moving final section spread the theme across various solo instruments, with solo instruments – violin, viola and clarinet, spellbinding violas, and a glistening orchestral swell. The final, brief flute solo was on the words ‘With rue my heart is laden’. Conductor John Storgårds left a long silence at the end while we contemplated the loss of Housman’s golden friends.

The soloist in Elgar’s Cello Concerto was the young cellist Senja Rummukainen. She first came to public attention in her home country of Finland when she won the Turku Cello Competition ten years ago. She was then a finalist in the International Tchaikovsky Competition.

Many audience members would have been familiar with the Cello Concerto through the famous recording made sixty years ago by Jacqueline Du Pré with the London Symphony Orchestra under Sir John Barbirolli. Sarah Kirkup wrote in Gramophone,

Everyone who saw du Pré play was caught up in the passion she conveyed, even though her wild physical movements were not to everyone’s taste. Perhaps English critics at the time weren’t used to such overt displays of emotion.

From the opening bars, it was evident that Rummukainen’s approach would differ from Du Pré’s. This was an inward, contemplative, quietly intense but equally passionate reading, slower than some other performances, darkly melancholic – expressing the piece, in the words of cellist Steven Isserlis as a ‘poem of regret.’ Isserlis’ description of the poem of the opening as a ‘bold flourish’ and ‘heroic’ didn’t apply here. The introspective cello line was soon joined by meditative woodwind and pensive strings.

Throughout the concerto, Rummukainen quietly dominated the orchestra with a golden thread that cut through orchestral textures. She gave the concerto a valedictory, nostalgic feel, sometimes sounding like a lone voice crying out. Even when the orchestra was let off the leash, it felt stately rather than bombastic. She played with a lovely legato, a continuous line like the best singers. Her pianissimos were spellbinding , profoundly moving, inviting the audience to hold their breath with her.

That’s not to say that her performance was all dark. Her pizzicato playing was whimsical and subtle. At one point, her quicksilver playing, beautifully articulated, was playful, almost jolly. Later, she joined a dance with the orchestra, finally allowing herself to let go a little. Towards the end, she played faster than it’s often performed usual, and conductor John Storgårds brought out the richness of Elgar’s orchestration, with majestic lower strings and rasping brass. This was a stunning interpretation.

Senja Rummukainen and John Storgårds Image © Chris Payne

Rummukainen, who seemed genuinely pleased to be taking part, returned to the stage to play an encore, a Theme and Variations for solo cello by her compatriot Jean Sibelius. The combination of melancholy and lively music perfectly matched the tone of the Elgar. Rummukainen was virtuosic but not showy, exhibiting the full range of techniques with double-stopping, pizzicato and harmonics, drawing the listener in with a gorgeous tone. She is an exceptional talent.


The second half took us to the dying embers of the Russian Empire and the establishment of the Soviet Union. At the same time as Butterworth was writing his celebration of Englishness, Stravinsky drew on music by Rimsky-Korsakov and Russian folktales to create The Firebird for the 1910-11 season of Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. Ironically, considering that the work has become standard repertoire, Stravinsky was the fourth choice of composer after Alexander Tcherepnin, Anatoly Lyadov and Alexander Glazunov had all been approached.

Stravinsky was praised at the time for the nationalist flavour of his music. One critic said he was the only composer ‘who has achieved more than mere attempts to promote Russia’s true musical spirit and style.’ The composer Sergey Rachmaninov is reported to have said, ‘Great God! What a work of genius this is! This is true Russia!’ Stravinsky left Russia at the start of WWI, and the October Revolution in 1917 left him unable to return to his homeland.

The effect of the October Revolution on Shostakovich was very different. He was only 11 years old in 1917. In 1927, he was commissioned by the Propaganda Department of the State Music Publishing House in the Soviet Union to write a piece celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Revolution, including a choral finale called Dedication to October with words by the ‘proletarian’ poet Alexander Bezymensky, an enthusiastic member of the Bolshevik party.

Lenin addresses a crowd during the 1917 revolution
Lenin speaks to the public during the 1917 revolution. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Although Shostakovich embraced this opportunity to write a work which would become his Second Symphony, in private he agonised over the words, which were a hymn of praise for Lenin, ‘Oh, Lenin! You forged freedom through suffering/You forged freedom from our toil-hardened hands.’ He wrote that the text was ‘repulsive’ and reportedly told the musicologist Boleslav Yavorsky, ‘I’m composing with great difficulty. The Words!!!’ The musicologist Solomon Volkov wrote of the choral section in his 2004 book on the composer, ‘One is tempted simply to cut it off with a pair of scissors.’

The conductor Vasily Petrenko, in his sleeve notes for his complete recording of the Shostakovich symphonies on Naxos with the RLPO wrote,

The second symphony, while not a great work, is for me a genuine, brave response to a commission. He’s showing that he’s learned to write for a larger orchestra and for chorus.

With all the above in mind, it was a relief that the BBC Philharmonic played the symphony so well, convincing sceptics that this is indeed a symphony worth hearing. Petrenko described the first, instrumental, section of the work as, ‘a crazy laboratory of the grotesque in music’, and the orchestra perfectly brought out the avant-garde, modernist nature of the score, which in parts sounded as if it was written yesterday.

The piece began with what sounded like a representation of chaos, mysterious and intense like the Elgar but in a very different way; the Biblical phrase ‘darkness on the face of the deep’ came to mind. After an evocative brass theme, the piece sank into chaos again before a stunning climax and a sudden, unexpected major chord. A robustly romantic violin solo, and woodwind solos, over a low drone, presaged the composer’s later style. The orchestra played with vigorous passion and precision, reaching a phantasmagoric climax, driven by a wild side drum. There was a brief threat of Mahlerian glory (the Phil performed Shostakovich’s Mahler-influenced Fourth Symphony at the Proms last July). But then the music unravelled itself with a jazzy clarinet solo and a spiky tune like the later Shostakovich.

The Second Symphony was written nearly ten years before Stalin’s famous denunciation of Shostakovich’s opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. After this, the composer spent the rest of his life worrying about persecution. In his 2016 novel, The Noise of Time, Julian Barnes memorably describes the composer standing by the lift in his apartment block, bag packed, waiting to be taken away. But the young Shostakovich obviously thought he could get away with writing avant-garde music (Muddle Instead of Music) as long as he satisfied the Party faithful. Conveniently, he included a noisy siren to announce the choral section and wake Party officials in time for the best bit.

John Storgårds conducting the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra and the CBSO Chorus. Image © Chris Payne
The BBC Philharmonic and the City of Birmingham Symphony Chorus conducted by John Storgårds. Image © Chris Payne

The CBSO Chorus, who had travelled all the way from Birmingham for six minutes of glory, made the most of it. Their superb delivery of the choral section was passionate, fervent, committed and utterly convincing. Lenin and his officials would have been very pleased. The choir sang ecstatically, clearly enjoying themselves, so excited that (as the score demands) they were shouting joyfully at the end. It was a stunning performance, which drew well-deserved enthusiastic applause.

Shostakovich’s Second Symphony has only been performed once in the BBC Proms. In contrast, The Firebird has been performed nearly 70 times at the Proms. Stravinsky wrote three different suites of music from his original ballet The Firebird, published in 1910, 1919 and 1945. The BBC Philharmonic played the 1945 version on Saturday. In 1945 Stravinsky substantially reorchestrated the suite and re-ordered it to allow him to renew the copyright in the US. He sold the rights to the Leeds Music Corporation. He ended up suing them for allegedly producing a jukebox arrangement of one of the dance pieces from the work and stating that the arrangement was Stravinsky’s. A former law student, the composer lost his case for $250,000 in damages.

The 1945 version is less often performed than the 1910 and 1919 suites, so it was fascinating to hear it on Saturday. It’s less lush than the original ballet, and conductor John Storgårds superbly brought out all the details in the 1945 score. It felt more like a tone poem than a ballet, with at times a chamber orchestra clarity. It began with low basses, like the Shostakovich, mysterious but clear, the distinctive theme played with great assurance, beautifully paced.

The ensemble in the strings was stunning, lively, and playful when needed. The orchestra played romantically, casting back to the style of Rimsky-Korsakov when required, but also at times with a spikiness that looked forward to Petrushka, performed by the BBC Philharmonic earlier this season. The woodwind section was superb throughout.

After a very short break, there was an explosion of percussion and brass, like a section from The Rite of Spring, delivered with stunning precision. Passionate swirling strings and virtuosic playing from Paul Patrick on glockenspiel (one of the soloists in Des canyons auétoiles in December) brought a visceral thrill. Suddenly, a mysterious vista opened, a moment of revelation, leading to a sense of inevitability in the music, with a gorgeous bassoon theme and shimmering strings. The horn solo, by the excellent Rebecca Levis, led to a tremendous climax as the music built inexorably with an incredible crescendo. The performance ended with a series of precise, almost clipped chords, followed by huge applause.

One of the joys of hearing the BBC Philharmonic live at present is the quality of the individual musicianship within the sections, particularly the woodwind, and the audience reacted with delight as John Storgårds brought them to their feet. There was a lovely moment when percussionist Geraint Daniel, retiring after a career lasting over 40 years, was given a large bunch of flowers to celebrate his final Bridgewater Hall concert with the orchestra.

Programme

George Butterworth Rhapsody: A Shropshire Lad
Edward Elgar Cello Concerto in E minor
Dmitry Shostakovich Symphony No 2 in B major ‘To October’
Igor Stravinsky The Firebird – suite (1945 version)

Performers

BBC Philharmonic
John Storgårds conductor
Senja Rummukainen cello
City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra Chorus

Sources

Isserlis, Steven Cello Notes to his recording of Elgar’s Concerto in E minor, Op 85 (Hyperion Records 2016)
Kirkup, Sarah, Jacqueline du Pré and Elgar’s Cello Concerto (Gramophone 25 May 2021) Nguyen, Clara, The Copyright of Spring: Igor Stravinsky and U.S. Law Harvard Undergraduate Law Review (Spring 2020)
Petrenko, Vasily Notes to SHOSTAKOVICH, D.: Symphonies (Complete) (Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra, Petrenko) (Naxos)
BBC Proms performance archive


The concert with be broadcast on BBC Radio 3 at 19.30 on Monday 3 February, and will available on BBC Sounds for 30 days

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – From the Canyons to the Stars – Live Review

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra Copyright Chris Payne/BBC

Thursday 12 December 2024

Bridgewater Hall Manchester

*****

The BBC Philharmonic brings Messiaen’s extraordinary celebration of faith and nature into vibrant life

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra Copyright Chris Payne/BBC
The BBC Philharmonic Orchestra with soloists (front L to R) Paul Patrick (xylorimba) Tim Williams (glockenspiel) and Steven Osborne (piano) © Chris Payne/BBC

The French composer Olivier Messiaen (1908 – 1992) was commissioned by the American arts patron Alice Tully in 1971 to write a piece for chamber orchestra to celebrate the bicentenary of the American Declaration of Independence in 1976. Des canyons aux étoiles… (From the Canyons to the Stars) was premiered in 1974 at Alice Tully Hall at the Lincoln Center in New York. Last Thursday’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra under Ludovic Morlot was the fiftieth anniversary, almost to the day, of the world premiere.

Messiaen wrote the piece for unusual forces – plenty of woodwind, brass and percussion, but only six violins, three violas, three cellos and one double bass. The percussion section, made up of five players, includes a wind machine, several gongs, crotales and tumba – plus an instrument invented by Messiaen, a geophone. Not to be confused with the scientific instrument of the same name, Messiaen’s instrument is also called the ocean drum. It consists of a metal drum filled with lead pellets, which are swirled around horizontally. The piece also features four soloists – on Thursday, they were Steven Osborne (piano), Tim Williams (glockenspiel), and Martin Owen (horn). Paul Patrick played xylorimba, which despite its name is not a hybrid of a xylophone and a marimba but more like an extended xylophone.

Messiaen had long been inspired to write music about birds and their surrounding habitat, diligently notated their song in the wild. In the 50s, he wrote Le Merle noir (Blackbird) for solo piano and Catalogue d’oiseaux (Catalogue of birds) for solo piano. He described birds as ‘the greatest musicians’ on earth. He was also inspired by landscape – in Spring 1972, he and his wife Yvonne Loriod visited the canyons of Utah, which he said was ‘the grandest and most beautiful marvels of the world’. He described Bryce Canyon as ‘the most beautiful thing in the United States’, devoting a whole movement of Des canyons aux étoiles… to describing its wonders. Another movement is inspired by the majestic landscapes of Zion Park, and a third by the vast natural amphitheatre of Cedar Breaks National Monument. Other movements are inspired by specific birds whose songs he notated in Utah and elsewhere around the world.

At over 90 minutes without a break, Des canyons aux étoiles… represents a challenge not just to performers but to audiences; as Richard Steinitz wrote, ‘Can this monumental cycle of meditations on the majesty of God’s creation really hold our interest over twelve movements and one-and-a-half hours of playing time?’ The answer last Thursday was a resounding ‘yes’; the BBC Philharmonic and soloists brought the score to compelling life in a way which even the best studio recording will inevitably struggle to do. It was partly observing the sheer concentration and physical effort exerted by the performers. Steven Osborne, in particular, was stunningly visceral, expressing the music through his whole body, not just his hands. He revealed on social media that he had to tape up his left hand to prevent sudden nerve pain while playing Messiaen, who ‘probably needs more noise than any other I play.’ Horn soloist Martin Owen, who usually sits in the middle of the BBC Symphony Orchestra as Principal Horn, left his seat in the orchestra and stood at the front of the stage to play his sixth-movement solo, sometimes stopping (as marked by Messiaen) as if to challenge the audience, and swaying as he played half-notes. Watching the wide range of percussion, including the enormous wind machine and the intriguing geophone, was also fascinating.

Olivier Messiaen in 1986. Source: Dutch National Archives/Wikimedia Commons

But to return to the structure of the piece, it’s essential to bear in mind that, as David Hill wrote in the introduction to The Messiaen Companion,

“Faith, as Messiaen repeatedly emphasised, was his sole reason for composing… Even the structure of his music seems permeated by his faith…

Messiaen was a Catholic, but his approach to faith was very different from the thrilling drama of the film Conclave (reviewed by Wendy Ide in The Guardian), in which candidates for the papacy are seen as locked in an all-too-human power struggle, earth-bound in their ambition and their doubts; unlike Messiaen who gazed up to the stars with child-like wonder and unshakeable faith in God. As Hill wrote, we shouldn’t expect Messiaen’s music to develop or to explore theological arguments about his faith. As Steinitz wrote, there is no ‘no hint of the pain of Gerontius’s blinding encounter with the absolute perfection of God [in Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius], no shadow of concern that the deity should allow agony as well as joy in his creation.’ Instead, to use Steinitz’s phrase, Messiaen’s music, like Bach’s in pieces like his Mass in B Minor, displays ‘radiance, passion and conviction.’ The joy of listening to Des canyons aux étoiles… lies in each movement’s fantastic variety of instrumental colour and techniques rather than the spiritual journey described by the Dream of Gerontius.

Part 1:
1 Le désert (The desert)
2 Les orioles (The orioles)
3 Ce qui est écrit sur les étoiles (What is written in the stars)
4 Le Cossyphe d’Heuglin (The white-browed robin-chat) for solo piano
5 Cedar Breaks et le don de crainte (Cedar Breaks and the gift of awe)

The opening movement is designed to cleanse the mind in preparation for the religious meditations of the rest of the work. In Messiaen’s words in his Preface, the desert is a

‘symbol for the emptiness of the soul which allows it to perceive the inner conversation of the Spirit.’

It began with an incantatory horn call, played with a lovely tone from Martin Owen. The desert’s humid aridity was perfectly captured by Jennifer Hutchison on piccolo, only just within the threshold of human hearing, and by bowed antique percussion (crotales). The desert was also evoked by the otherworldly sound of the wind machine, describing both spiritual emptiness and the wind in the barren landscape of the desert. The piccolo also described the song of a specific bird, the lark of the Sahara desert.

The second movement is based on the song of another bird transcribed by Messiaen, the oriole, a type of blackbird with black and orange or yellow plumage. Messiaen saw birds as evoking the voice of God, and Steven Osborne’s playing was suitably devotional, with a gorgeously delicate touch and heart-stopping moments of subtlety. As in his opera Saint François d’Assise (St Francis of Assisi), written in the late ‘70s shortly after Des Canyons, immensely complex harmonies were resolved with consonant chords of comfort, representing the simplicity of Messiaen’s religious faith. The movement also featured virtuosic playing from Paul Patrick on xylorimba.

The third movement is the first one to feature the ‘stars’ of Des canyons aux étoiles… Messiaen wrote that standing at the bottom of a canyon one inevitably looks up at the stars, ‘one progresses from the deepest bowels of the earth and ascends towards the stars’.

What is ‘written in the stars’ is the words ‘Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin’ which come from the Biblical Book of Daniel. In the story of the feast of King Belshazzar (see below) the fateful words were written on the wall, leading to the expression ‘the writing on the wall’, which suggests something unpleasant is about to happen. Musical depictions of the feast date back to the 12th-century Play of Daniel, followed by Handel’s oratorio Belshazzar (1744). The most famous 20th century example is William Walton’s Belshazzar’s Feast (1931), which has been performed at the BBC Proms no fewer than 35 times.

Walton’s version includes a moment of high drama when the the choir and soloist sing the words of warning, but Messiaen uses them in a much more abstract manner. As Richard Steinitz explained, Messiaen turns the words into music by giving ‘each letter not only matching pitch and duration but its own chord and instrumentation.’

On Thursday, the Biblical message was provided by strident brass. Osborne played the song of Townsend’s solitaire, a type of thrush, with precision and dedication. It was fascinating to watch the geophone’s first appearance, held horizontally as the ‘rocks’ rolled around inside it to create a sound like shifting sand in the desert, returning us to Earth after gazing up at the stars.


King Belshazzar sees a hand writing on the wall


The fourth movement, for solo piano, describes an African bird, the Heuglin’s robin or the white-browed robin-chat. Michael Clive describes its song as ‘melodious and highly variable… heard at dawn and dusk.’ Osborne brought out the rich, vibrant colours of the bird and its song, with contrasting tone and dynamics. He played across the whole piano, sometimes low and melancholy, at other times high and precise, with incredible power where required, digging right in.

The fifth movement describes Cedar Breaks, a ‘natural amphitheatre sliding down towards a deep abyss’, and the ‘gift of awe’ that it provokes. Rather than being fearful of the immensity of the landscape, Messiaen said, ‘to replace fear by awe opens a window for the adoration.’ The fear was expressed by a frightening low melody and cinematic strings. We heard the sound of the American robin and crashing chords, which brought a brief, terrifying climax. Unusual instruments included a solo trumpet mouthpiece (only) and the return of the wind machine. The awe inspired by nature was expressed in bright brass with several gongs; Messiaen again combined a description of nature with the religious feelings it provoked in him. There was a lovely deep brass melody with explosive gongs. Complex, almost aleatoric music with the full orchestra and amazing textures led to silence and the lonely sound of the wind machine.

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra Copyright Chris Payne/BBC
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra with Martin Owen (horn) © Chris Payne/BBC

Part 2:
6 Appel interstellaire (Interstellar call) for solo horn
7 Bryce Canyon et les rochers rouge-orange (Bryce Canyon and the red-orange rocks)

Part 2 of Des canyons aux étoiles… begins with a movement for solo horn, Interstellar call. It was the first movement to be written, in 1971, to commemorate Messiaen’s friend Jean-Paul Guézac, who died aged 38. Martin Owen stood to play his solo part as if standing at the top of a mountain. His playing was at once intimate and declamatory. Sometimes, the horn sounded like a hunting horn; elsewhere, it was mournful, banshee-like. In an incredible performance, he provided a whole range of sounds and extended techniques for the instrument.

The next movement is about Bryce Canyon, which Messiaen described as,

“…the greatest marvel of Utah. It is a gigantic circle of rocks – red, orange, violet – in fantastic shapes: castles, square towers, natural windows, bridges, statues, columns, whole cities, with here and there a deep black hole.

The movement demonstrates Messiaen’s sheer joy at this fantastic spectacle. It began with a joyful, dancing tune which was reminiscent of another long-form ecstatic piece, Messiaen’s Turangalîla-Symphonie (1948), which the BBC Philharmonic performed at the Proms earlier this year. A splendidly deep brass theme was accompanied by swirling strings, and pulsating chords led to incredibly intense string chords. Osborne, illustrating the call of the Stellar’s Jay, again dug deep into the piano keyboard and then leapt back as if the keys were burning his fingers, playing with stunning precision. Deep brass and scurrying strings opened up shafts of golden light, and a chorus of birds blossomed. The full orchestra reached a glowing, exuberant climax; a gong died away, bringing this remarkable movement to an end.

Dramatic Aerial View of Lake and Canyons in Utah.
Photo by Sergey Guk on Pexels.com

Part 3:
8 Les Ressuscités et le chant de l’étoile Aldébaran (The resurrected and the song of the star Aldebaran)
9 Le Moqueur polyglotte (The mockingbird) for solo piano
10 La Grive des bois (The wood thrush)
11 Omao, leiothrix, elepaio, shama (ʻōmaʻo, leiothrix, ʻelepaio, shama)
12 Zion Park et la cité céleste (Zion Park and the celestial city)

There were more echoes of the Turangalîla-Symphonie in the opening movement of part 3; it shared the serene joy of Turangalîla‘s sixth movement, Jardin du sommeil d’amour (Garden of Love’s Sleep). The soaring melodies of the flutes and piccolo sounded like the sine-wave electronic swoops of the ondes Martenot in Turangalîla. The movement looked upwards, literally to the star Aldébaran, the brightest star in the Taurus constellation; and figuratively – Messiaen chose the star to represent himself as a composer as its name means ‘follower’ in Arabic. The movement also looked up to Heaven, to the song of resurrection sung by stars, inspired by the Biblical Book of Job, ‘When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy’ (Job 38: 7). This was a gorgeous moment of stasis beyond time, beautifully played by the BBC Philharmonic and soloists; the world stopped turning below the surface glitter of the glockenspiel and piano.

After the shimmering stars of the eighth movement, it was time for Steven Osborne to shine again in the first of three movements featuring the songs of various birds. In this movement for solo piano, Osborne was astonishingly virtuosic, combining incredible energy with huge concentration to depict the Mockingbird, described by Steinitz as ‘the most famous bird of the United States’. At times, he silently pressed the keys to maintain the piano’s resonance, creating what sounded like a halo of electronics. Elsewhere, he played clusters with the palm of his hand and with his arms. Steinitz, whilst acknowledging Messiaen’s technical innovations here, was dismissive of the movement as a whole, criticising the ‘fragmented, seemingly directionless phrases of the mockingbird [which] do somewhat undermine the broader architecture and pacing of the whole work.’ Steinitz made a strong case to justify his opinion, but he might have changed his mind if he’d had the privilege of seeing Osborne’s intensely visceral performance which made this movement one of the highlights of the evening.

The next movement was based on the song of the wood thrush, a bird found in many parts of North America. The movement felt like a theme and variations with a sparkling, optimistic theme for high percussion and violin harmonics restated at various points. According to Paul Griffiths, even in this description of birdsong, Messiaen makes a subtle Biblical reference, ‘eventually the slow form, through cycles of repetition, is reconfigured, now shining and simple – a symbol of the ‘new name’ that is promised [in the Biblical Book of Revelation] for each individual after resurrection.’

“He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.”

(Revelation 2:17)

The last movement of the trio of birdsong celebrated various birds – the ʻōmaʻo, leiothrix, ʻelepaio and shama – which can only be found far away from Utah, in Africa and the Hawaiian islands. These are all small songbirds that are physically similar to the wood thrush of the previous movement. But, as Griffiths points out, ‘the first song is avian, not human’, a robust theme for bassoon and horn which alternated with an aviary of birds made up of piano, xylorimba, woodwind and strings. The two factions joined together in a celebratory dance. There was a moment of contemplative calm from the piano before the dance resumed. The movement was notable for the range of orchestral colour brought by the orchestra under the baton of Ludovic Morlot, who conducted superbly all evening. One striking moment was when the wind machine sounded like a siren, recalling Amériques (1921) and Ionisation (1931) by the French composer Edgard Varèse.

The final movement celebrates the earthly Zion Park and Heaven – ‘the celestial city’. Messiaen saw Zion as ‘a symbol of Paradise.’ It features birds from Zion Park, the lazuli bunting whose song was performed by Tim Williams on glockenspiel, and Cassin’s finch, Steven Osborne on piano. A brass chorale kept returning ecstatically to the same chord, as did a glowing string motif. Tubular bells brought a ceremonial ending, resonating in joyful exultation.  

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra Copyright Chris Payne/BBC
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra © Chris Payne/BBC

Performers

Martin Owen (horn)
Paul Patrick (xylorimba)
Tim Williams (glockenspiel)
Steven Osborne (piano)
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Ludovic Morlot (conductor)

The concert was broadcast live on BBC Radio 3 and is available to listen for 30 days after the date of broadcast on BBC Sounds

Sources

Peter Hill (Editor),The Messiaen Companion (Faber and Faber 1995)
Steinitz, Richard, Des canyons aux étoiles… (Ibid.)
Potter, Caroline, Programme Notes (BBC Philharmonic Orchestra)
Messiaen, Olivier Programme Notes for Des canyons aux étoiles
Griffiths, Paul, Des canyons aux étoiles… (2023 Programme notes for the Utah Symphony recording conducted by Thierry Fischer, Hyperion records)
Clive, Michael What to Listen for in Messiaen’s Des canyons aux étoiles (utahsymphony.org 5 April 2022)
Ide, Wendy, Conclave review – Ralph Fiennes is almighty in thrilling papal tussle (The Guardian 1 December 2024)
BBC Proms Performance Archive

BBC Philharmonic – A Hero’s Life – Live Review

Conductor Alpesh Chauhan with the BBC Phil

Saturday 16 November 2024

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

A celebration of the human spirit: the cello concerto Shostakovich wrote for his 60th birthday; Richard Strauss’s description of a heroic life; an Anna Clyne UK premiere inspired by Buddhist writings and Mozart.

Conductor Alpesh Chauhan with the BBC Phil
The BBC Philharmonic with Conductor Alpesh Chauhan. Image © BBC/Chris Payne

Anna Clyne This Moment (UK premiere)

Anna Clyne is the BBC Philharmonic’s Composer in Association. In 2023, she was commissioned to write a new work for the Philadelphia Orchestra. The piece was premiered with, and partly inspired by, Mozart’s Requiem, and quotes directly from that piece. It was also a reaction to the shared loss and grief of the pandemic.

“The meditation on death is a very important meditation. When you meditate on death, you love life more, you cherish life more. We can learn many lessons from it.”

Thích Nhất Hạnh

This Moment was also inspired by the work of the Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Zen Master and peace activist, Thích Nhất Hạnh, known as the ‘father of mindfulness’, who died in 2022 at the age of 95. Before his death, he told his followers not to contain his ashes in an urn,

‘If I am anywhere, it is in your mindful breathing and in your peaceful steps.’

The title of Clyne’s piece is inspired by another quotation from Nhất Hạnh, ‘this moment is full of wonders.’ She told Alex Ariff in a YouTube interview that Mozart’s Requiem is ‘bursting at the seams with wonder’, and that she wanted to match the drama of that piece.

Clyne told Ariff that the first quotation from the Requiem came from the ‘Kyrie’, an ‘ascending chromatic line in the sopranos, and the first fugal subject in the basses.’ The second was from the ‘Lacrimosa’, the first line of which, ‘Lacrimosa dies illa’ [that day of tears and mourning] reminded her of another quote from Nhất Hạnh, ‘the tears I shed yesterday have become rain.’

The piece, for large orchestra, began mysteriously, with enigmatic strings chords and a bowed gong, and a rising romantic figure with gorgeous harmonies. It slowly eased itself into another, stately theme, and then into a lower key with brass and woodwind flourishes. The piece built to a climax, with meditative woodwind swirling above a Requiem quote in the strings. A further climax led to quieter, limpid textures and a brief hiatus. A Mozart theme in the brass led to an unexpected key change, and a new theme with shimmering glockenspiel. A baroque-style melody led to a serene ending to this evocative and highly effective work.

Composer Anna Clyne
Anna Clyne. Image credit Victoria Stevens

Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 2

The rest of the concert featured the composer as hero of their own work. Dmitri Shostakovich wrote his Cello Concerto No. 2 to celebrate his 60th birthday on 25 September 1966, dedicating the work to the cellist Mstislav Rostropovich. Strauss wrote Ein Heldenleben (A Hero’s life) as an unashamedly joyful celebration of his heroic life as a composer, and his disdain for his critics. But the view of the hero in each work could not have been more different. As Robert Matthew-Walker wrote about the Shostakovich concerto, it ‘unveils no great Romantic hero battling against orchestral might.’

The concerto opened with an intense, low theme on the cello joined by low strings. The concentration on soloist Alban Gerhardt’s face was evident throughout, and he barely took his fingers or bow off his cello during the whole piece, stopping once to throw a glancing smile at conductor Alpesh Chauhan, and on another occasion when the orchestra allowed him brief respite. The concerto was played as one continuous movement, making this a remarkable feat of concentration, memory, virtuosity and the expression of profound dark emotion by Gerhardt.

Cellist Alban Gerhardt and Conductor Alpesh Chauhan with the BBC Phil
Cellist Alban Gerhardt with the BBC Phil conducted by Alpesh Chauhan © BBC/Chris Payne

Although the orchestra was huge, it often felt like a chamber orchestra, with individual sections – often the massed lower strings – accompanying the cello as Gerhardt played with passionate vibrato. The first movement featured a series of thrillingly bizarre duets: cello and xylophone with leaping, dystopian woodwind; cello and a robust bass drum; cello and a plaintive, mellow solo horn.

Shostakovich was at his most sardonic when he wrote the second movement, based on a street song from Odessa, Bubliki, Kupite Bubliki!’ [Bagels, buy my bagels]. Gerard McBurney described the song as, ‘saucy, cheap, vulgar and indecent’. Apparently the bagel-seller had, ‘more to offer than bread rolls.’ The story goes that Shostakovich, when asked to play his favourite melody at a New Year’s Eve party, teased the other guests by choosing this one. It’s also evidence of Shostakovich learning from Mahler’s symphonies in his use of folk song. On Saturday, Gerhardt dug deep into his strings, bringing out the sarcasm of the writing, with bitter slides up and down the fingerboard, accompanied by grumbling low winds. The xylophone joined the macabre dance, sounding like a dancing skeleton.

There was another strange but effective pairing with the cello in the third movement, this time with a solo tambourine. There was a brief moment of consonance with a serene, lyrical classical theme ending with an elegant trill from Gerhardt. This theme appeared again several times amongst the organised mayhem of the rest of the movement. Gerhardt’s playing was profound as he again dug deep, sometimes angular and lyrical, sometimes light and subtle, sometimes beautifully smooth as the mood demanded. He was again joined by an array of percussion – solo xylophone, and what felt at times like a jazz band. The full orchestra had a brief chance to assert itself with a return of the folk song from the second movement, complete with the sound of whips. But it was left to the cello and percussion to end the piece, as in Shostakovich’s 15th symphony which also ends with percussion. The cello had the final statement, but only just, a long held note subsiding briefly after the other instruments had given up.

Cellist Alban Gerhardt with Conductor Alpesh Chauhan and the BBC Phil
Cellist Alban Gerhardt with the BBC Phil conducted by Alpesh Chauhan © BBC/Chris Payne

To end the first half, Gerhardt delighted the audience with an encore, Moderato by Mstislav Rostropovich, one of two studies for solo cello written in the 1940s but not published in Moscow until 1972. As Gerhardt said, the work had nothing to do with Shostakovich or the atmosphere of the cello concerto, although Rostropovich was an obvious connection. In Gerhardt’s performance it was great fun, jolly and virtuosic with so much double stopping that a times it almost felt as if Gerhardt was accompanying himself to create a string quartet.

Richard Strauss Ein Heldenleben

In 1898, Richard Strauss wrote to a friend from the Bavarian Alps, with what Robert Philip described as ‘characteristic irony’

“As Beethoven’s Eroica is so very unpopular with our conductors and is therefore seldom performed nowadays, I am meeting a pressing need by composing a great tone poem entitled “A Hero’s Life” (true, it has no funeral march, but it is in E flat major and does have lots of horns, horns being quite the thing to express heroism).”

Richard Strauss, letter to a friend July 1898

The stage on Saturday was specially extended to accommodate all the 100 or so players needed for Richard Strauss’s description of his heroic life as a composer, which he completed in 1898. In the opening movement, ‘The Hero’, conductor Alpesh Chauhan brought out the individual heroic themes very clearly – this movement can sound muddled with such a large orchestra. The ensemble in the low and upper strings was impeccable.

The second movement, ‘The Hero’s Adversaries’ , began with a characterful description of a swarm of irritating critics [did Strauss mean us?!] and weary strings expressing Strauss’s response to them. Wagnerian chromaticism brought some Parsifal-like regret. The sniping critics returned, but were overtaken and obliterated by the joyful playing of the rest of the orchestra.

Richard Strauss's wife Pauline de Ahna
Richard Strauss’s wife, the German operatic soprano Pauline de Ahna

The highlight of the BBC Phil’s performance was the third movement, ‘The Hero’s Female Companion’, referring to Strauss’s wife, the opera singer Pauline de Ahna. This movement was in effect a short violin concerto, with the Leader of the orchestra Zoë Beyers taking the solo part in a stunning performance. Beyers described the female companion’s various moods, her playing alternately sweet, emotive, tender, flirtatious, deeply passionate, sensual and skittish, contrasting with the lugubrious bass theme representing her husband. There was a spellbinding bloom of orchestral sound as a huge, sweeping Romantic tune showed the couple united in love, overcoming the snarky critics who briefly tried to break in at the end.

Offstage trumpets announced ‘The Hero’s Battlefield’, in which we experienced the visceral thrill of a massive orchestra, with fiercely war-like percussion, stentorian trumpets, and golden-sounding horns, conductor Chauhan dancing with delight on the podium as the hero won his battle.

The fifth movement, ‘The Hero’s Works of Peace’ was an ecstatic summary of the composer’s work to date, including quotations from Don Juan (1888), Death and Transfiguration (1889) Don Quixote (1897), and Till Eulenspiegel (1894–95) recently performed by the BBC Philharmonic at the Bridgewater Hall. The brass were magnificent in this movement, and the timpani must have been hit harder than they have ever been hit before in the Bridgewater Hall.

The final movement, ‘The Hero’s Retreat from the World and Fulfilment’ began with an ominous tuba theme from the critics and the hero’s anger in return. A lovely cor anglais solo from Lydia Griffiths led to a pastoral section and a return of the solo violin and the horn theme from earlier, Chauhan conducting delicately now, with one foot slightly raised. Although the critics briefly re-appeared, the piece ended in a blaze of Romantic glory, with a nod to Also Sprach Zarathustra (1896) as the lovers retreated into their love nest. Chauhan gave numerous, well-deserved ‘curtain calls’ to individual soloists and whole sections of the orchestra, bringing a lovely evening to a close.

Performers

Alban Gerhardt cello
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Alpesh Chauhan (Principal Guest Conductor of the Düsseldorf Symphony Orchestra and Music Director of Birmingham Opera Company) conductor

Repertoire

Anna Clyne This Moment (UK premiere commissioned by The Philadelphia Orchestra in 2023)
Dmitri Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 2
Mstislav Rostropovich Moderato (encore)
Richard Strauss Ein Heldenleben

Sources

A Conversation with Composer Anna Clyne. Credit WRTImusic/YouTube/Alex Ariff.

Ariff, Alex, A Conversation with Composer Anna Clyne (WRTImusic YouTube 30/01/2024)
Philip, Robert, The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music (Yale University Press, 2020) 
Schuh, Willi, Richard Strauss: A Chronicle of the Early Years, 1864–1898, trans. Mary Whittall (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982)
Bryant, Miranda, From MLK to Silicon Valley, how the world fell for ‘father of mindfulness’ (The Observer 22 January 2022)
Clyne, Anna Programme Note on
This Moment
Matthew-Walker, Robert, Sleeve Notes to Shostakovich Cello Concerto No 2 in G major, Op 126/Britten Cello Symphony (Hyperion Records/Signum Classics)
Burney, Gerald Repertoire Note on Concerto for Cello and Orchestra No. 2 in G major op. 126 (1966) by Shostakovich (Boosey & Hawkes)

Saturday’s concert will be broadcast on Radio 3 in Concert on Wednesday 20 November at 7.30pm. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds.