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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto

Saturday 25 April 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

★★★★★

The orchestra continues its superb run of form with Julia Wolfe’s vision of the aftermath of 9/11, Bomsori’s virtuosic violin-playing in Tchaikovsky, and Berlioz’s opium-induced visions

Violinist Bomsori with members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra © Chris Payne

Like Manchester’s two Premier League football teams, its two symphony orchestras, the Hallé and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, are reaching their peak towards the end of the season. Recently, the Hallé Orchestra and Choirs gave a superb performance of Vaughan Williams’ Sea Symphony. On Saturday evening, it was the turn of the BBC Philharmonic.

The concert began with Big Beautiful Dark and Scary by the orchestra’s Composer in Residence, Julia Wolfe. Nearly 25 years ago, on September 11 2001, she was two blocks away from the Twin Towers when the two planes hit them. She wrote the piece in response to the attack.

‘The piece captures the feverish post-apocalyptic feeling of living in the aftermath of 9/11 with an ominous, full-throttle wall of sound.’

From CD sleeve notes, Cantaloupe Records

Bang on a Can All-Stars premiered the chamber version of the work in April 2022. Wolfe wrote, ‘This is how life feels right now.’ On Saturday, the Philharmonic played the orchestral version, which premiered in May 2013. The piece began with shivering strings, surrounded by swirling woodwinds, playing a rising, ominous chromatic scale that felt like the Shepard tone used by Hans Zimmer in his score to Dunkirk (2017). A huge bass drum rumble and a disturbing syncopated piano added to the terror. A brief hiatus led to a contemplative section, still fizzing with fear and gently frenzied. A single repeated brass note was suspended above a dark bass melody that sank into the depths. There was a short release as a new woodwind melody challenged the chromatic melody. Clarinets and brass joined the battle against the main melody. The battle continued until the end of the piece, creating a spellbinding cacophony superbly crafted by the orchestra. Brass and violins reached a final truce, and this remarkably visceral piece ended with a gong that faded into nothingness.

MUSIC AND 9/11
Various composers responded to the 9/11 attacks. The German composer Karlheinz Stockhausen described 9/11 as ‘the greatest work of art imaginable’, which caused immediate condemnation and disgust around the world, although he later claimed he had been misunderstood: ‘I am as dismayed as everyone else about the attacks in America.’
More respectful responses came from John Adams, who wrote On the Transmigration of Souls (2002) with pre-recorded voices listing the names of some of the victims, and Steve Reich, who wrote WTC 9/11 (2009-10), which included recordings of air traffic controllers. The latter piece wasn’t without controversy; the original cover of the first recording featured an image of a plane flying towards one of the Twin Towers, which drew a lot of criticism before the album was released. Reich asked his record label, Nonesuch, to withdraw the image: ‘I want people to listen to my music without something distracting them.’

Steven Wilson – Collapse The Light Into Earth (The Future Bites Sessions) 6 November 2020

Other artists repurposed their work in response to the attacks. The American avant-garde composer William Basinski completed his ambient work The Disintegration Loops on the morning of the attacks and dedicated it to the victims: ‘When I woke up in the morning, the towers had been struck, and the whole world changed.’ Steven Wilson was working on a song in his studio when he heard about the attacks. He immediately abandoned that song and instead wrote ‘Collapse the Light Into Earth’ (from In Absentia, 2002): ‘It’s like William Basinski’s Disintegration Loops. It’s got nothing to do with 9/11, but there’s a quality in that music which somehow connects with that time and that event.’

The first half ended with Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto featuring the South Korean violinist Bomsori. Her debut with the BBC Philharmonic was at the Proms three years ago, playing Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 under the baton of Saturday’s conductor, Anja Bihlmaier. She played with a lovely, bright, youthful tone, with less vibrato than some, creating a purity of tone. Throughout, she played this virtuosic piece with great ease and facility. The cadenza was stunning, with double-stopping, plucking and glissandi, all beautifully shaped. The intonation on her high notes was perfect. The audience sat quietly in rapt admiration of her astonishing virtuosity. Bihlmaier smiled as the orchestra rejoined, and after her pyrotechnics played a serene melody. Bomsori moved expressively as she played a spectacular duet with the orchestra.

The second movement began with a thoughtful chorale by the woodwinds and horns. Bomsori played a lyrical, delicately sorrowful melody with great emotion. The orchestra guided her gently into a new world with a livelier tune. There was a sense of Russian melancholy in her gentle dance with woodwind soloists, with gorgeously quiet playing. The opening chorale returned. Without a break, the orchestra roused itself into the final movement. Another mini-cadenza, a passionate Russian dance with mud on its boots, led to an incredibly fast dance. Stephen Johnson, in his programme note, described the Finale in these evocative phrases,

‘full of the flavour of Russian folk-dance music – a heady aromatic cocktail of vodka fumes, fried onions and creaking, high-kicking leather boots.‘

The orchestra and violin rose to the challenge of creating these flavours, before a melancholy passage brought a moment of contemplation. Bomsori challenged the orchestra to match her virtuosity, which they did. Another heavy peasant dance led to a thoughtful section for violin and chamber ensemble. Violin and orchestra dashed to an exuberant end, drawing huge and well-deserved cheers and applause.

Violinist Bomsori with conductor Anja Bihlmaier and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra © Chris Payne

Bomsori’s encore was Schön Rosmarin (Lovely Rosemary) from Alt-Wiener Tanzweisen (Old Viennese Dances) by Fritz Kreisler, arranged by the Italian violinist Gabriele Campagna, a playful and virtuosic showpiece, delivered with great panache, and warmly received by the audience.

Conductor Anja Bihlmaier and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra © Chris Payne

The second half was devoted to Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique. He wrote the piece when he was 27, completely infatuated with the Irish actress Harriet Smithson, who he saw performing in Shakespeare’s Hamlet in Paris,

‘The supreme drama of my life … In the role of Ophelia, I saw Harriet Smithson, who five years later became my wife. The impression made on my heart and mind by her extraordinary talent, nay her dramatic genius, was equalled only by the havoc wrought in me by the poet she so nobly interpreted.’

The symphony, titled ‘Episode in the Life of an Artist: Fantastic Symphony in Five Parts’, describes the young ardent lover. Berlioz wrote a very detailed programme note, beginning with his dreams of his beloved seen from afar, then a countryside interlude when he begins to doubt her, followed by an opium-induced nightmare where he dreams that he has killed her, is led to the scaffold where he is executed, and a ‘ghastly crowd of ghosts, sorcerers, monsters of every kind’ gather for his funeral. The French composer Saint-Saëns later wrote that the programme for the work had gone out of fashion, but ‘the musical work is still as youthful and astounding as on its first day.’ Berlioz revised the programme note, describing the entire work as being opium-induced.

The composer’s youthful passion for his beloved is depicted in the ‘idée fixe‘, a rising ardent motif, reminiscent of the youthful puppy Idéfix (gloriously translated as Dogmatix) in the Asterix comics. The motif unifies the symphony, but becomes increasingly hidden and fragmented as the protagonist becomes more anguished.

Idéfix the Dog from the Asterix comic book series (René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo/Hachette Livre) vs Berlioz’s idée fixe motif

Although Berlioz distanced himself from his earlier programme note, he kept the titles to each movement, and they still provide a useful guide.

On Saturday, the opening movement, ‘Rêveries – Passions’ (Dreams – Passions), began with morose violins playing in perfect ensemble before a magical, anguished climax, describing the ‘Rêveries’ of the title. Lush strings and brass played joyfully, before falling back again. A dancing theme expressed supreme joy. The idée fixe motif appeared as a huge Romantic melody above marching lower strings. An ambiguous passage suggested the protagonist had lost hope; the music struggled, like trying to climb a mountain and sliding back again. Eventually, there was a glittering statement of the idée fixe, before a stunning climax which turned out to be a false ending, before sorrowful horns settled into a peaceful ending. Whatever your view is about the programmatic nature of the score, the orchestra superbly illustrated a series of restless moods, like those of a young lover.

The second movement, ‘Un bal’ (A ball), began with shimmering strings and lovely flourishes from the two harps, introducing an elegant waltz, joyfully played with the sense of inevitability that characterises many great performances. The waltz continued with an excitable section as the dancers swirled elegantly in a frenzy of joy, as a solo clarinet provided a fragmented statement of the idée fixe.

The ‘Scène aux champs’ (Scene in the fields) was an interlude in the countryside, opening with a cor anglais solo answered by an offstage oboe, representing two hunting horns conversing across a valley. There were strong echoes of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 ‘Pastoral‘, as the orchestra played with formidable precision, describing the lover’s loneliness. The idée fixe appeared briefly in a passage for flute and oboe, before the cor anglais reappeared. This time, there was no reassuring answer from the oboe; no fewer than four timps represented an oncoming storm, like the storm in Beethoven’s symphony, but also reflecting the protagonist’s emotional state.

By the fourth movement, ‘Marche au supplice’ (March to the scaffold) – if not sooner – the opium had kicked in. Sinister horns and ominous timps introduced a march on lower strings, with brutally sarcastic bassoons, creating a terrifying sound, elegantly conducted by Bihlmaier. This movement was a supreme example of an orchestra at the top of its game, all working incredibly hard, as the conductor danced on her podium. A brief snatch of the idée fixe on clarinet led to a coup de théâtre when two drummers marched solemnly down the steps of the choir seats, playing military drums, introducing the final movement, ‘Songe d’une nuit du sabbat’ (Dream of a night of the sabbath). The idée fixe was now transformed into a terrifying jig, the combined demonical forces dancing in the face of death. Funeral bells sounded offstage, introducing the horrifying Dies Irae funeral theme, played so memorably in the opening scene of Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 psychological horror film The Shining. A deeply sarcastic mini-fugue led to a spooky, ghostly passage, then the diabolical dance combined with the Dies Irae to bring this tremendous performance to an end.

Conductor Anja Bihlmaier and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra © Chris Payne

Repertoire

Julia Wolfe Big Beautiful Dark and Scary
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto
Fritz Kreisler Schön Rosmarin (encore)
Hector Berlioz Symphonie fantastique

Performers

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Anja Bihlmaier conductor
Bomsori Kim violin

Sources

Bang on a Can All‑Stars: Big Beautiful Dark and Scary (Cantaloupe Music)
Terry Castle, Stockhausen, Karlheinz (New York Magazine 27 August 2011)
Steve Reich, Steve Reich Comments on the “WTC 9/11” Album Cover (Nonesuch Records Journal, 11 August 2011)
John Doran Time Becomes A Loop: William Basinski Interviewed (The Quietus 15 November 2012)
Nick Holmes, Porcupine Tree on track (SonicBond 2021, revised and expanded 2025)

The concert was recorded for broadcast on Radio 3 in Concert on Tuesday 5 May at 7.30 pm. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds

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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – New World Symphony – Live review

Saturday 18 April 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

★★★★★

Jazz and classical music unite in a stunning celebration of the 250th anniversary of American Independence

Members of the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

Saturday evening’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Joshua Weilerstein at the Bridgewater Hall in Manchester, was a celebration of America in the 250th anniversary year of Independence. It featured two composers who moved to New York, and a third who received part of his musical education from American radio. Duke Ellington was born in Washington, DC, and moved to New York, where he celebrated the city in Harlem. Dvořák spent three years there as director of the National Conservatory, and the New York Philharmonic Orchestra commissioned him to write his New World Symphony. Nikolai Kapustin was born in Horlivka, Ukraine, then part of the Soviet Union. He began to absorb American musical culture – particularly jazz – as a piano student in Moscow, listening to Voice of America, the US equivalent of the BBC World Service. His Piano Concerto No. 4 is surprisingly jazzy and sounds as if it could have been written in New York.

Harlem recorded live at Tivoli Concert Hall, Copenhagen, in 1964, with Duke Ellington’s spoken-word introduction

The concert began with Duke Ellington’s Harlem, the Duke’s evocation of the area in the Northern section of Manhattan. He often prefaced live performances (such as the one recorded in Copenhagen in 1964) with a spoken-word introduction, setting the scene. His introduction varied from one performance to the next, but broadly, the scenario is a Sunday morning with smartly dressed people going to church. We travel up 7th Avenue through the culturally diverse Spanish and West Indian communities. Everyone is in a friendly mood. As Ellington wrote, ‘

‘You may hear a parade go by, or a funeral, or you may recognise the passage of those who are making Civil Rights demands.’

Saxophones from the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

Ellington wrote the distinctive opening of the piece for the trumpeter Cootie Williams, using a plunger mute to create a dirty, slightly sleazy sound, a two-note theme to express the word ‘Harlem.’ Trumpeter Cameron Chin-See opened the concert on Saturday, and there was an immediate call-and-response with the orchestra. We soon heard from the saxophones, who played superbly with a combination of swing and precision: Carl Raven and Anthony Brown (alto), Andy Hunter and Ben Jackson (tenor) and Jim Fieldhouse (baritone). The piece was episodic as we passed through the different parts of Harlem; this was joyful, foot-tapping music, with rich textures and glowing brass. A syncopated section led to a dancing brass theme, then a serpentine theme on saxes. An early highlight was the jazzy clarinet solo from John Bradbury, with plucked lower strings and a warm four-note falling theme on brass. After a huge climax, there were more superb solos from Elliot Gresty on bass clarinet and Richard Brown on trombone. This led to a section for a small jazz ensemble, followed by a lovely big-band flourish from the full orchestra. The opening ‘Harlem’ trumpet theme returned, and the orchestra took up the melody with an incredibly fast section, perfectly executed. Duke Ellington matched his piece to his band’s performers, writing out solos to match their particular performance practices. So it was appropriate that the virtuosic drummer Obi Jenne (from whom we would hear more later) ended the piece with a stunning drum solo, accompanied by Latin American percussion and vigorous timpani from Paul Turner. How often do you hear a drum solo in a classical concert? This was very different from the last drum solo I heard, from Asaf Sirkis with Soft Machine at Band on the Wall a couple of weeks ago.

Drummer Obi Jenne (centre). Image © Chris Payne

While the stage was rearranged to accommodate the piano and move the drum kit, the orchestra’s director Adam Szabo and conductor Joshua Weilerstein discussed the music. Weilerstein said that Ellington came to symphonic music through jazz, and Nikolai Kapustin came to jazz through symphonic music. He described the next piece, Kapustin’s Piano Concerto No. 4, as ‘very wacky.’ He wasn’t wrong. In his review for Gramophone, Jeremy Nicholas described it as ‘a riot’:

‘A carefully notated extended improvisation by the great Peter Nero … and Oscar Peterson (an important influence on Kapustin), fully orchestrated by Ravel and Henry Mancini with further input from Art Tatum, Count Basie and Bill Evans.’

Szabo pointed out that the drum kit is often part of the percussion section, but in this performance, it was moved to the front so that drummer Obi Jenne and piano soloist Frank Dupree could face each other. Weilerstein joked that the drummer was really the boss in the piano concerto, although Jenne wouldn’t admit this. After so many brass instruments featured in the Ellington piece, it was a surprise to see only strings, three woodwind players and timpani on stage; the concerto often felt like a duet between piano and drums with orchestral embellishment. This blog also covers progressive rock, so there was another (joyful) surprise for your reviewer to hear the opening section of the concerto, a mixture of jazz, rock and blues that was very reminiscent of the great Keith Emerson of prog rock titans Emerson, Lake and Palmer. John Peel called them a ‘waste of talent and electricity’, to which Emerson replied, ‘At least he accepted that we had talent!’

Frank Dupree certainly demonstrated his talent on Saturday. His playing was astonishing. Sometimes he was a virtuoso jazz player, his fingers flying across the keyboard; sometimes he played as if he were the soloist in a twentieth-century romantic piano concerto, with a lovely touch; sometimes he could have been in a jazz bar, playing stride piano or blues. It was difficult to predict where this eccentric but exhilarating music would go next. In his long, written-out, solo cadenza, Dupree shone as the orchestral players watched, mesmerised. It was fascinating to watch Jenne, sometimes brushing the drums lightly like a jazz drummer, sometimes playing more heavily like a rock drummer, the kick drum sounding out clearly from his position at the front of the stage. After the piano cadenza, the orchestra rejoined, and they scampered to a stunning end. Dupree and Jenne acknowledged each other with huge smiles.

Drummer Obi Jenne and pianist Frank Dupree. Image © Chris Payne

Dupree asked us if we wanted more; well, of course we did! Jenne joined him again for his encore, Kapustin’s Concert Etude No. 1. This was a great showpiece for both players, but, to coin a phrase, less ‘wacky’ than the previous piece…. until… we saw Dupree creeping round the back of the piano to the drum kit… He joined Jenne in a drum solo that turned into a duet on drums, thunderous but witty as the two of them explored the kit together. This was the first time I had ever seen a joint drum solo; the audience loved it!

Weilerstein introduced Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 ‘From the New World’, which filled the whole second half, as a piece that never gets old, music that’s ‘so inviting and simple… with something for everyone.’ He had conducted it at least 15-20 times, and it always felt different. There’s no doubt that his time in America had an effect on Dvořák’s music; writing about the works he wrote there, including this symphony and the Cello Concerto, he said,

‘I should never have composed these works “just so” if I hadn’t seen America.’

There’s a school of thought that says that he was directly influenced by American music, particularly African American spirituals and work songs. He wrote that this music was

‘distinguished by unusual and subtle harmonies, the like of which I have found in no other songs but those of old Scotland and Ireland’. 

The counter-argument is that Dvořák doesn’t directly quote any African American melodies, and that the melodies he wrote himself could just as easily have been inspired by European folk music.

Whatever the source of Dvořák’s inspiration, the BBC Philharmonic gave an inspired account of the symphony on Saturday. Weilerstein brought out a real sense of the work’s overarching shape, but also lots of detail; this well-known work felt fresh in his hands. The orchestra was in sparkling form. In the first movement, the flutes (Alex Jakeman and Victoria Daniel) were outstanding. In response to the conductor’s grand gestures, the final climax of the movement was faster than it’s sometimes played, but the orchestra handled the tempo with supreme aplomb, reaching a stunning climax.

Boy on the Bike – Hovis advert’s 2019 restoration | BFI

The second movement does have an American influence – the composer said it was inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem The Song of Hiawatha, although there’s some disagreement about which part of the poem it refers to. To British audiences of a certain age, the movement will forever be associated with The Bike Ride or Boy on Bike, better known as simply The Hovis Advert, directed by Ridley Scott (director of Alien, Blade Runner, Thelma and Louise and Gladiator). The advert used a brass arrangement played by Ashington Colliery Band, but on Saturday, the familiar melody was superbly played by Rachel Clegg on cor anglais, set against gorgeous, Wagnerian brass chords. The woodwinds provided a characterful response; they were excellent throughout the symphony, particularly when depicting birdsong. There was a spellbinding passage when the strings played incredibly quietly with perfect ensemble; the audience sat rapt.

Conductor Joshua Weilerstein and the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

Dvořák said that the third movement was also inspired by The Song of Hiawatha, and this time, he was more specific: he wrote that it represented the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis at his wedding feast. The orchestra played the opening section, which recalls Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, with phenomenal speed and precision. The horns shone as they played a chromatic theme, and the woodwind danced throughout the movement. The orchestra played with Baroque precision and limpid textures as Weilerstein danced on his podium, with a perfectly co-ordinated final chord. In the final movement, the brass section was in full flow, playing their early fanfare with military precision. After a joyful folk dance from the strings, the woodwind birdsong returned with a lovely clarinet solo. The orchestra played the ‘Three Blind Mice’ melody with playful simplicity. After a series of climaxes, interspersed with quieter sections as Weilerstein controlled the dynamics beautifully, the orchestra’s final statement was anguished yet thrilling. Weilerstein let his left hand fall slowly to give us time to consider what we had just heard, before there was rapturous applause in response to an emotional performance that was both exhausting to listen to – it was so good – and ultimately, cathartic.

Repertoire

Duke Ellington Harlem
Nikolai Kapustin Piano Concerto No. 4
Nikolai Kapustin Concert Etude No. 1 (encore)
Antonín Dvořák Symphony No. 9 ‘From the New World’

Performers

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Joshua Weilerstein conductor
Frank Dupree piano

Sources

Duke Ellington, Music is My Mistress (Doubleday, 1973)
Jeremy Nicholas, KAPUSTIN Piano Concerto No 4. Concerto for Violin & Piano. Chamber Symphony (Frank Dupree) (Gramophone)

The concert will be broadcast on BBC Radio 3 at 7.30 pm on Wednesday 22 April 2026 at 7.30 on In Concert and will be available for 30 days after broadcast

This post was updated at 11.29 on 21 April 2026 to correct the name of the trumpeter in the Duke Ellington piece

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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Romeo and Juliet – Live Review

Saturday 21 February 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

Love is a fragile thing: superb performances of Albarn Berg, Sergey Prokofiev and Cassandra Miller by Lawrence Power and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra

Composer Cassandra Miller, Viola Player Lawrence Power and Members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Credit: Chris Payne

On The Cure’s comeback album Songs of a Lost World (2024), Robert Smith sang, ‘This love is a fragile thing.’ This line could have been the title of Saturday’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra under the baton of French conductor Ludovic Morlot. The concert featured: Alban Berg’s character Lulu from his opera of the same name, whose relationship with her lovers is ephemeral; the fragility of love, and of human existence, addressed in Cassandra Miller’s I cannot love without trembling; and Sergey Prokofiev’s setting of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet depicting the tragic fate of the ‘star-crossed lovers.’

There was a secondary theme in Saturday’s concert: composers persecuted by the regimes in which they lived, and their attempts to subvert those regimes. Alban Berg had become a successful composer in Germany after the premiere of his opera Wozzeck in Berlin in 1925. But with the rise of the Nazis in the 1930s, it became clear that his next opera, Lulu, was unlikely to be performed in Austria or Germany. The Nazis banned his works in 1935, declaring them to be ‘Entartete Musik’ (Degenerate Music). Berg wrote his Lulu Suite to promote the opera away from the Nazi regime.

At around the same time, Prokofiev returned to the Soviet Union after a period of exile. He was in discussions with the State Academic Theatre (later The Kirov) to develop Romeo and Juliet as a ballet, but the project soon fell foul of the authorities. The Theatre cancelled the project, and the Bolshoi agreed to take it on. The Bolshoi’s director was then arrested and executed, and the production was delayed indefinitely. In 1936, Prokofiev extracted two suites from the ballet to generate interest in the complete work.

The concert on Saturday began with the Rondo, the first movement of Berg’s Lulu Suite. Berg extracted a love scene from Act II of the opera, between Lulu and Alwa, the son of Dr Ludwig Schön, one of Lulu’s various husbands. The opening of the movement was delicate and fragile, with solo flute and strings. Conductor Ludovic Morlot calmly brought out the long-limbed, endless melody and the fragility of the melodic lines. But there was an underlying sense of decadence, the solo alto saxophone (Carl Raven) an instrument of louche debauchery rather than frenetic jazz. There was a moment of stasis, then a rich romantic flow, with denser orchestral textures and added piano. The texture thinned out, with excellent solos from Raven, Clive Williamson (piano), Peter Dixon (cello) and Steven Burnard (viola). The music was constantly reaching for something (love?). In this performance, it felt angular yet romantic, dissonant yet tonal, decadent but beautiful, unsettling yet calm.

Cassandra Miller’s viola concerto, I cannot love without trembling is already an enormous success. Since its premiere three years ago, it has been performed a further 14 times, with two more performances scheduled for May 2026. The concerto takes its title from a quotation from the French philosopher, Simone Weil (1909-1943), in a letter she wrote to another French philosopher, Gustave Thibon,

“Human existence is so fragile a thing and exposed to such dangers that I cannot love without trembling”

Quotation from Weil’s Gravity and Grace, published posthumously by Gustave Thibon

The concerto has four movements or verses with a closing cadenza, each part taking its name from a Weil quotation, and it runs without a break. Weil’s Gravity and Grace describes what separates us and what brings us together, based on the Platonic concept of μεταξύ (‘metaxu’ or ‘metaxy’ meaning ‘between’). Miller heard recordings of the violinist Alexis Zoumbas who left the northern mountains of Greece in the early nineteenth century to go to New York. According to the Mississippi records website,

“Zoumbas had the rare gift of expressing emotion clearly and urgently through his instrument, and his violin feels like an extension of his heart, soul, and the deep musical history of his faraway home in Epirus”

Alexis Zoumbas • Epirotiko Moiroloi from American Museum of Paramusicology

Zoumbas’ improvisations evoke a feeling of Ξενατία (Xenatia), Greek for a ‘catastrophic longing for home’, based on Mοιρολόϊ (moiroloi), Greek mourning songs. Miller internalised Zoumbas’ moiroloi recording by singing along over and over again, creating a sacred ritual based on deep meditation. Miller describes this as ‘automatic singing’, which seems akin to automatic writing.

The result is a spellbinding piece of music in which the audience shares the composer’s dreams and rituals and joins her in the intense sense of mourning and lamentation it conveys. Even the soloist is invited to share this meditative state – at one point the score instructs the violist to play ‘with eyes closed.’ The orchestra is invited to join the collective dreaming, often playing sotto voce, surrounding the soloist with shimmering, muted soundscapes. As Miller says,

“Within Zoumbas’ plaintive song, I sought a metaphysical space in which to dream – a space of separation-connection-absence-presence – in the hope to lament and to dream together in this hall tonight.“

On Saturday, the piece began with murmuring percussion and very high harmonics from Lawrence Power’s viola. He played a rising melody which fractured before establishing itself. We immediately entered a remarkable and unique sound world, as Power played music that trembled, inward-looking, contemplative and keening. The sound was lonely, nostalgic, a voice crying out in the wilderness, lamenting in the depths of sorrow. The cellos joined him from the depths, echoing his sorrow.

A single flute note rang out like a call in the darkest night. The viola joined an octave above, with shimmering accompaniment. The viola sounded like a voice wailing and lamenting, and the orchestra shared the viola’s grief. In the third movement, the viola part was more strenuous, with glowing brass and fluttering woodwind. Trumpets suddenly appeared, playing a robust, anguished theme. The viola was riven with emotion, then dropped out completely. There was a stunning section where the viola obsessively plucked a single note and played a melancholy melody, the bass drum rumbling ominously below. The strings crept in with an evocative sweep, and the harp picked up the viola’s repeated note, which then passed to tubular bells, like a beating heart.

As Power moved towards his final cadenza, a florid piccolo (Jennifer Hutchinson) made a lively announcement. Bowed percussion and bells, with gently-strummed strings, took us to a world beyond the stars. The viola finally took flight with superb virtuosity, playing very fast, and lower down the fingerboard. Power raised his bow above his head as the orchestra gradually died away. A stunning ending to a stunning piece.

For the second time this week, the composer came on to take her applause at the Bridgewater Hall (the first time being when Unsuk Chin came on to acknowledge applause for Le Chant des Enfants des Étoiles performed by the Hallé orchestra and choirs).

Viola Player Lawrence Power, Conductor Ludovic Morlot and Members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Credit: Chris Payne

The second half of the concert was devoted to Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet, performed on Saturday, not in any of the composer’s orchestral suites, but in a sequence of extracts that broadly told the whole story of the ballet, in four sections.

The music began with a romantic sweep, played with gorgeous ensemble, the lilting strings unaware of the tragedy to come. The orchestra, particularly the bassoons, played the lively, characterful dance of the servants with great joy.

The Young Juliet perfectly captured Juliet’s changing moods, with whimsical, scurrying violins, perfectly controlled, and more expansive playing to represent her contemplative moods. The Dance of the Knights (now known as the theme tune for The Apprentice and also used to introduce Sunderland AFC at the Stadium of Light) raised a smile and a scattering of applause at the end. The players revelled in the descriptive orchestration. The romantic, yearning theme of Juliet on the balcony was magical, with a moment of piety from the organ solo. Ardent strings announced Romeo’s entrance, and the whole orchestra reached for the stars as the lovers danced together.

Fizzing, frenzied themes introduced the fight scenes in the marketplace, distorting the Knights’ theme. A brass chorale sounded a note of threat. The orchestra played with incredible precision as they reached a huge, disturbing climax. Surging, muted horns announced Mercutio’s death, who retained his sense of irony to the end, like a character from Shostakovich’s music. There was an incredibly descriptive moment in the cellos as he fought for his breath, combining precision and emotion. The fierce pitched battle between Romeo and Mercutio was played at heart-racing speed, with savagely loud timpani marking Mercutio’s death.

Stunning pizzicato strings and vengeful brass announced the Capulets intent to avenge Mercutio’s death, with a breathtakingly discordant final chord. An anguished string lament, right at the top of the violins’ range, like some of the viola solos in the Miller piece, as Juliet’s funeral took place. This was genuinely moving, even though we knew she was still alive. Romeo entered, and we shared his regret as the poison took hold and the music sank into darkness. Juliet awoke with a brass chorale as she saw her young lover lying dead. She briefly recalled her joy in sorrow. In a gentle, moving climax, with stunning woodwind harmonies, she stabbed herself. As with any superb performance of a Shakespearean tragedy, we were left emotionally wrung out, with a purging feeling of catharsis.

Conductor Ludovic Morlot and Members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Credit Chris Payne

Repertoire

Alban Berg Lulu Suite – Rondo
Cassandra Miller I cannot love without trembling (Viola Concerto)
Sergey Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet – The market place – introduction and morning dance (Nos. 1 & 4); At the Capulets’ house – Juliet’s bedroom , the ballroom and the balcony (Nos. 10, 13, 19-21); The market place – Tybalt kills Mercutio and Romeo kills Tybalt (Nos. 32-36); Juliet’s bedroom, the tomb – her funeral and death (Nos. 37, 51 -52)

Performers

Lawrence Power viola
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Ludovic Morlot conductor

The concert was recorded for broadcast on BBC Radio 3’s Classical Live on Wednesday 25 March. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds.

Read on…

The BBC Philharmonic playing Cassandra Miller’s I cannot love without trembling at the BBC Proms in 2024

Prom 16: Shostakovich Symphony No. 4 – BBC Philharmonic – Live Review

More concerts by the BBC Philharmonic…

BBC Philharmonic – Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances – Live Review
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review
BBC Philharmonic – John Adams, Beethoven and Ives – Live Review
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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances – Live Review

Saturday 7 February 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

French-tinged minimalism, sparkling Ravel and Rachmaninoff’s final orchestral statement

Elisabeth Brauß and members of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Image © Chris Payne

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.’

Camille Pépin © Capucine de Chocqueuse. Source: camillepepin.com

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.

Elizabeth Brauß, Adam Hickox and the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne

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.’

Conductor Adam Hickox. Image © Chris Payne

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.

The BBC Philharmonic and Adam Hickox. Image © Chris Payne

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…

BBC Philharmonic – Pictures at an Exhibition – Live Review

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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review
BBC Philharmonic – John Adams, Beethoven and Ives – Live Review
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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review

Saturday 24 January 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

An unforgettable exploration of Bartók’s psychodrama

Jennifer Johnston as Judith, Christopher Purves as Duke Bluebeard and conductor Anja Bihlmaier. Image © Chris Payne

It’s unusual for one concert in an orchestra’s season to follow on from the next, unless they are part of a programmed series, such as a festival devoted to the works of one composer. But Saturday night’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, under conductor Anja Bihlmaier, picked up where last week’s concert left off. That concert ended with John Adams’ City Noir, a depiction of Los Angeles at night. Saturday’s concert began with another description of night, Lili Boulanger’s D’un Soir Triste (On a Sad Evening).

The two works share not just a nocturnal theme but, at times, a cinematic landscape, music that could have come from a film noir. This is made explicit by Adams, but Boulanger died in 1918, before film music, apart from music for silent films, even existed, so the link can only be made in retrospect. The concert ended with another cinematic work with darkness at its heart: Béla Bartók’s one-act opera Bluebeard’s Castle.

Boulanger died at the tender age of 24, and the only surviving manuscript for D’un Soir Triste in the composer’s hand is the original version for violin, cello and piano. The orchestral manuscript is in the hand of Lili’s older sister Nadia, who survived Lili by over 60 years.

The piece began with stark, questioning strings, then a sudden moment of calm with a characterful clarinet solo from John Bradbury, of whom we were to hear much more later. The music was dark and sorrowful, with dense textures, casting us back to John Adams’ shadowy streets and culminating in a dramatic climax that could have come from a film noir. An urgently rhythmic theme on the timpani felt like the hammer-blow of fate from Mahler’s Sixth Symphony. There was a moment of magic with a limpid celesta part and an intense cello solo, with romantic harmonies that melted into an ethereal violin theme, before the fateful theme returned with rasping brass. A hymn-like section led to a lovely harmonic development, and another orchestral climax, the sound bright but somehow underpinned by darkness as the piece reached an uneasy end.

 ‘If I were to name the composer whose works are the most perfect embodiment of the Hungarian spirit, I would answer, Kodály.’

Béla Bartók on his friend and colleague Zoltán Kodály

The second piece, Dances of Galánta by Zoltán Kodály, introduced the concert’s other main theme: Hungarian music. Born only a year apart in the early 1880s, Kodály and his friend Béla Bartók were two of the most important 20th-century Hungarian composers. They both collected folk songs for use in their own music. Kodály spent part of his childhood in Galánta, which was then part of Hungary (now in Slovakia). He grew up listening to dances played by ‘a famous Gypsy band which has since disappeared…their music was the first “orchestral sonority” which came to the ear of a child.’

The Dances celebrate a particular kind of dance, the verbunkos (Werbung, German,  recruiting). Hussars would come on recruiting missions and impress the locals with their dancing, alternating slow and fast dances, to persuade them that being in the army was fun. The music was provided by the Gypsy bands that Kodály referred to in the note that he made in the score. He orchestrated Gypsy dances published in Vienna around 1800, in addition writing a slow introduction, a clarinet cadenza, an andante maestoso and linking material.

Conductor Anja Bihlmaier and members of the BBC Philharmonic © Chris Payne

The piece began with cellos playing in perfect ensemble under Bihlmaier’s precise baton, with swirling upper strings. A solo horn sounded like a military horn, perhaps welcoming us into the Hungarian army. A gorgeous romantic statement of the opening theme led to a clarinet cadenza, played by John Bradbury with his usual flair and panache, with elegant orchestral accompaniment. Waves of joy passed through the orchestra as they played the intricate dances, Bihlmaier now dancing on the podium. The woodwinds excelled themselves, sometimes playing with a subtle lilt, at other times with sparkling jollity. A slower dance was reminiscent of the scenes at the fair in Stravinsky’s ballet Petrushka. There was a sudden pause, a brief moment of stasis, then more superb woodwind solos. The orchestra then scampered to a thrillingly visceral climax, bringing the piece to an end. It was such an exciting performance that we might have been persuaded to join the Hungarian hussars…

The second half featured more music with a Hungarian theme, with a text by Herbert Béla Bauer, who wrote under the pseudonym Béla Balázs. He was born a couple of years after Kodály and Bartók. In 1910, Balázs published a version of Bluebeard’s Castle, pragmatically dedicating it to both composers. Kodály wasn’t interested in adapting the drama, but Bartók happily took the bait and finished his one-act opera in 1911. He entered it in two competitions, but it was rejected each time.

The Bluebeard story dates back centuries. It’s thought that the model for the character may have been the 15th-century French lord, Gilles de Rais. In 1697 the French writer Charles Perrault published a collection of folk tale adaptations, Histoires ou Contes du Temps Passé (Stories or Tales of Times Past), including La Barbe Bleu (Bluebeard). The Belgian playwright Maurice Maeterlinck wrote another version, his 1901 play Ariane et Barbe-bleue (Ariana and Bluebeard). The French composer Paul Dukas turned it into an opera in 1907.

Béla Balázs drew on the work of both Perrault and Maeterlinck in creating his 1910 version. He stressed that his version wasn’t a myth, a fantasy or a horror story, but a psychological drama,

‘My ballad is the is the ‘ballad of inner life.’ Bluebeard’s castle is not a real castle of stone. The castle is his soul. It is lonely, dark and secretive; the castle of closed doors.’

He later added a spoken-word Prologue to Bartók’s opera, which hints that the drama is internal,

‘The curtain of our eyelids is raised
Where is the stage: outside or within?’

On Saturday evening, the Philharmonic Orchestra didn’t perform the Prologue, but they brought out the opera’s psychological nature by placing the two protagonists, Christopher Purves as Bluebeard and Jennifer Johnston as his (fourth) wife, Judith, on either side of the conductor, facing the audience, rather than semi-staging the opera. The text, sung in an English translation by Péter Bartók and Peter Hennings (see below), was projected above the stage, so that we could concentrate on the words. And there was evocative use of lighting to represent the different doors – or aspects of Bluebeard’s personality – which Judith was so keen to open and inspect. The use of lights on each orchestral music stand, coupled with BBC Radio 3’s microphones, created the impression of a recording studio, which suggested that the inner life of the music and text was more important than external gestures.

Purves came on wearing a kilt, presumably in honour of Burns Night the following day. Johnston wore a splendid, glittery black top. Purves sang with immaculate diction and a deep, rich, agile voice. Johnston sang with great expression, illustrating the words with her hands and her voice, which was in turn mellow, animated, forceful and Wagnerian, negotiating Bartók’s angular vocal lines with ease. The orchestra played superbly throughout.

Jennifer Johnston © R T Dunphy
Christopher Purves © Chris Gloag


Péter Bartók and Peter Hennings
I was lucky enough to meet Peter Hennings at the concert, who had worked with Béla Bartók’s son Péter (pictured left) on the English translation of the opera, finessing it to fit the metre. Hennings had flown over from Florida specially for the concert. He told me that the original English translation had been based on the German version of the text, whereas Péter Bartók’s version had used the original Hungarian version. Hennings worked with Péter Bartók for 20 years on editions of his father’s music, which went back to the original manuscripts.

In Balázs’ libretto, translated here into poetic and idiomatic English, Judith has left her family ‘weeping’, to marry Bluebeard, despite rumours about what may have happened to his previous wives. Her relationship with Bluebeard is complex. She constantly asks Bluebeard to allow her to see what is behind each of the seven doors of his castle – or to reveal deeper aspects of his personality – despite his warnings that she won’t like what is revealed. Their relationship is close, perhaps unnaturally so, as if they have become co-dependents.

© Chris Payne
© Chris Payne

The first of seven doors revealed Bluebeard’s torture chamber, with superb orchestration, as the stage was bathed in red light. There was deep irony in Judith’s words, ‘Hideous is your chamber, dearest Bluebeard.’ He constantly asked her if she was frightened, and she replied that she wasn’t; perhaps fascination with his psychological state was what she really felt.

The second door revealed Bluebeard’s armoury, the stage bathed in orange to suggest weapons, illustrated by military brass. The third door was illustrated with yellow light, revealing his treasure, but with a disturbing undertone from a violin duet and, later, shrieking woodwind and ominous brass to depict the blood on the treasure. Lilac-coloured lighting illustrated Bluebeard’s garden behind the fourth door, a mellow horn solo and filigree flutes describing the flowers and blossoms, which were tainted with blood. Bluebeard again begged his bride to love him, but not to ask him any questions.

Organist Ben Collyer. Image © Chris Payne

There was an incredible climax, as the orchestra was joined by organ and offstage brass, when door five was opened to reveal Bluebeard’s vast kingdom. A dazzling white light flooded the stage and the hall, so bright that Judith had to cover her eyes. There was a moment of supreme beauty as Johnston twice sang the single quiet phrase, ‘vast and mighty is your kingdom’, contrasting with Purves’ more impassioned singing. The uncertain orchestral themes illustrated the bloody shadows of the clouds.

Judith recovered from her shock and demanded to see behind the sixth door. Johnston’s voice was incredibly powerful, over the full orchestra. A lake was revealed; was Judith as innocent as she appeared when she asked where the water was from? A sweeping, shimmering orchestral theme accompanied the revelation that the lake was made up of tears; were they from Bluebeard’s previous wives?

The Duke’s previous three wives were revealed behind the seventh door, the orchestra in darkness as Judith was bathed in red (blood?) and Bluebeard in white. Johnston was incredibly moving as she bowed her head self-effacingly when comparing herself to Bluebeard’s previous wives, then cried ‘no more’ as she gripped her top in terror.

Bluebeard declared that his fourth wife was the wife of midnight, as he had found her at that time. Henceforth, all would be darkness. In a stunning coup de théâtre, all the orchestral lights went off, one by one, leaving the stage completely dark. It was a relief after the psychological tension we had experienced when the stage was bathed in warm light, as the performers received their huge and well-deserved applause. It was a privilege to be present at such a special event.

The concert was recorded for broadcast on BBC Radio 3 on Thursday 5 March. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds.

Performers

Anja Bihlmaier conductor
Jennifer Johnston mezzo-soprano, Judith
Christopher Purves bass-baritone, Duke Bluebeard

Repertoire

Lili Boulanger D’un Soir Triste
Zoltán Kodály Dances of Galánta
Béla Bartók Bluebeard’s Castle

Sources

Mike Ashman, ‘The Castle is his Soul’ (Sleeve note to Chandos recording, 2006)

Read on…

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BBC Philharmonic – John Adams, Beethoven and Ives – Live Review

Saturday 17 January 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

A serene Beethoven piano and two unresolved American orchestral classics from Ives and Adams

Alim Beisembayev (at the piano), John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic. Image credit Chris Payne.

Saturday evening’s concert by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, under their Chief Conductor, John Storgårds, featured two pieces by American composers Charles Ives and John Adams, written a century apart in the early 20th and 21st centuries. They book-ended a piece by Beethoven written in the early part of the 19th century, with the gap between the three works almost exactly 100 years (1805-6; 1908; 2009), providing neat symmetry.

The concert began with The Unanswered Question (1908) by Charles Ives, which he described as a ‘cosmic landscape.’ The piece consists of three layers, beautifully controlled by Storgårds: the opening strings, spellbindingly quiet, representing ‘the Druids Who Know See and Hear Nothing’; a solo trumpet (played here by Tom Fountain) that poses the ‘Perennial Question of Existence’; and a flute quartet that attempts to provide ‘The Invisible Answer.’ The piece ends with the ‘Undisturbed Solitude’ of the Druids, as the Question remains unanswered.

The Unanswered Question by Charles Ives, adapted by Japanese synth pioneer Isao Tomita, from his 1977 album Kosmos

Storgårds barely moved as the bows of the strings seemed suspended in slow motion. The solo trumpeter, Tom Fountain, was almost hidden near the Bridgewater Hall’s organ. The plaintive sound of the trumpet was answered by increasingly discordant flutes, playing a distorted version of the trumpet theme. On a signal from Storgårds, one of the flute quartet conducted her colleagues; one of the remarkable aspects of this piece is that the three groups play in independent tempi. This might have been a spellbinding performance, but unfortunately, our concentration was disrupted by a fourth (unwanted) layer, noisy coughing from the audience.

Alim Beisembayev. Source: alimbeisembayev.co.uk

Like the Ives piece, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major (1805-6) also poses a question. It begins with a gentle question from the piano, which the orchestra answers quietly, repeating the piano’s opening theme. But as in the Ives, the answer isn’t quite what we expect: the piano opens in the home key of G major, and the orchestra’s response is in the unrelated key of B major. Nevertheless, the relationship between soloist and orchestra is harmonious. There’s no pitched battle here, as there often is between orchestra and soloist in a concerto. The work is frequently characterised by Mozartian calm rather than Beethovenian muscularity and ferocity. It has a valedictory quality, as if marking the fact that this was the last piano concerto the composer could perform in concert due to his increasing deafness.

The soloist on Saturday was Alim Beisembayev, born in Kazakhstan, who won First Prize at The Leeds International Piano Competition in 2021. He joined the BBC New Generation Artists in 2023, and this was his first concert with them as a graduate of the scheme.

Early in the first movement, a placid, running theme on the upper strings was paired with precisely plucked lower strings, which were very clear in the Bridgewater Hall’s superb acoustic. Glorious, sunny orchestral flowering was similar to the calmer Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony written a couple of years later. There was a brief moment of doubt in the lower strings, but this soon resolved as the orchestra repeated the opening theme. Beisembayev replied with filigree decoration, beautifully even, playing with a lovely touch. He entered a mellow dialogue with the orchestra as they passed through a chromatic palette of keys. In the cadenza, he was mesmerising to watch, playing with more passion and emotion than earlier, then with gorgeous, limpid simplicity.

The second movement of the concerto is unusual in that it is more robust than many. Beisembayev began with a perfectly measured performance of the nostalgic opening theme, but there followed a fretful passage, still beautifully controlled. A forlorn, almost apologetic orchestral theme suggested Beethoven’s sorrow at being forced to abandon performing live. In the final movement, which began without a break, the orchestra and soloist entered into a more relaxed, joyful dialogue. Beisembayev held up the orchestra in a moment of stasis while he performed piano pyrotechnics. They joyfully chased each other through the keys. Beisembayev hurried towards a cadenza-like section, then suddenly stopped and restarted – there was light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel. We had reached the sunlit uplands; the ending was ecstatic.


Scarlatti’s Sonata in G Major, Kk. 13, L. 486, from Beisembayev’s 2021 album The Leeds International Piano Competition 2021 – Gold Medal Winner (Parlophone)

Beisembayev’s encore was Scarlatti’s Sonata in G Major, Kk. 13. He played this complex music with great speed and accuracy, bringing out the individual melodic lines superbly, drawing warm applause from the audience

John Adams’ City Noir was named by the late Andrew Clements of The Guardian in 2019 as one of the best classical music works of the 21st Century. Adams was inspired to write the piece by reading the multi-volume Americans and the California Dream by the American historian Kevin Starr. In particular, he was inspired by the volume Embattled Dreams: California in War and Peace, 1940-1950, which describes the case of the gruesome murder of Elizabeth Short, who became known after her death as Black Dahlia. The story goes that she moved to Los Angeles to become an actress, and she may have been called Black Dahlia after the 1946 film noir The Blue Dahlia. Adams was inspired by the ‘sensational journalism’ of 1940s and 50s California, and the ‘dark, eerie chiaroscuro of the Hollywood films’ of that era to write music for an imaginary film noir. He was also inspired to write ‘jazz-inflected symphonic music’, drawing on models such as Darius Milhaud’s La Création du monde written in 1922 – 23 and Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue written a year later.

John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic. Image credit Chris Payne.

The first movement, ‘The City and its Double’, threw us immediately into the cinematic landscape with full orchestra, uncompromisingly dark, with serpentine themes snaking back on themselves. The work’s jazz credentials were immediately obvious, with drummer Ben Gray providing insistent rhythms. The alto sax soloist Carl Raven was superb throughout the whole piece. The movement depicts a boulevard at night, deserted but with an ominous atmosphere, punctuated by moments of terror. The movement had a late-night feel, with a shimmer suggesting the silver screen. There was bright, cinematic music, troubling and virtuosic, creating a glorious cacophony of joy. Adams is a master of orchestral colours and layers, and Storgårds brought out all the detail of this dense score from the vast orchestra.

From out of the chaos arose the alto sax melody of the second movement, ‘The Song is for You’, fluidly played by Carl Raven. In the middle of the intricate orchestral texture, it was a visceral shock to hear a single held note in the violins, before the texture thickened again. There were further solos: Richard Brown played the trombone idiomatically in the style of the ‘talking solo’ performed by Duke Ellington’s band members Lawrence Brown and Britt Woodman, as the orchestra growled beneath; Carl Raven returned with a short riff, entering into frenzied dialogue with the orchestra, contrasting with the tranquil discussions of orchestra and soloist in the Beethoven piano concerto; Steven Burnard brought a lovely warm tone to a brief viola solo.

John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic. Image credit Chris Payne.

The third movement began with sultry woodwind, perfectly depicting a ‘Boulevard Night’, ; in the words of the composer, ‘peopled with strange characters.’ We could feel the heat described in harmonic changes. Trumpeter Tom Fountain, the soloist in the Ives, returned with an increasingly virtuosic solo. Furiously rhythmic chords used the whole orchestra as a percussion instrument, recalling Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, as far away from the elegant control of the Beethoven piece as possible. Raven returned with a sensuous solo, described by Adams as ‘brash and uncouth, perfectly characterised. Febrile jazz drumming from Ben Gray, duetting with percussionist Tim Williams, created joyful syncopations which were amazing to watch, bringing the stunning performance of a difficult piece to an end.

Programme

Charles Ives The Unanswered Question
Ludwig van Beethoven Piano Concerto No. 4
John Adams City Noir

Performers

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Alim Beisembayev piano
John Storgårds conductor

Source

Programme Note on City Noir by John Adams at earbox.com

The concert was recorded for broadcast on BBC Radio 3 on 27 January. It will be available for 30 days after broadcast via BBC Sounds.

More by the BBC Philharmonic…

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

More music by John Adams in Manchester…

The Hallé – John Adams Conducts the Chairman Dances – Live Review

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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 – Mahler Symphony No. 3 ‘The Voice of Nature’ – Live Review
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Mahler Symphony No. 9 – Live Review
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Fountain of Youth – Live Review
Mahler Symphony No. 8 – Live Review
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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

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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

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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.