Tag: Classical Music Reviews

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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

Now read on…

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The Hallé – A Sea Symphony – Live Review

Thursday 16 April 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

★★★★★

Intimate Mahler and spectacular Vaughan Williams with the Hallé Choir and Youth Choir on superb form

The Hallé Orchestra, Hallé Choir, Hallé Youth Choir, Tarmo Peltokoski (conductor), Silja Aalto (soprano), Huw Montague Rendall (baritone). © Sharyn Bellemakers, The Hallé

Last Thursday evening’s concert, with The Hallé conducted by the young Finnish conductor Tarmo Peltokoski, began with Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder. The composer set five songs by the Austrian poet Friedrich Rückert for voice and piano in 1901 and 1902. He published them as separate songs and never intended them to be performed as a set. He didn’t even orchestrate them all – it was left to the critic and publisher Max Puttman to complete ‘Liebst du um Schoenheit’ (If you love for beauty) in 1911, after Mahler’s death that year. And there’s no fixed order when they are performed as a set – it’s left to the singer and orchestra or pianist to decide.

There are several different approaches to the songs, particularly in the way the singer performs them with orchestra: compare the wide operatic vibrato of Sonya Yoncheva, the gorgeous operatic mezzo of Christa Ludwig, the lighter approach of Anne Sofie von Otter, and the superb classic recording by Janet Baker, which Richard Wigmore in Gramophone described as ‘lovingly attuned to these most private of Mahler’s songs.’

Four different approaches to Um Mitternacht: Sonya Yoncheva, Christa Ludwig, Anne Sofie von Otter, Janet Baker. Preview above, or follow this link for the complete playlist:
https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/3KKyub1NcI0nl6VBRbDTdM?utm_source=generator

On Thursday, the baritone Huw Montague Rendall sang the songs, and it was clear from the opening song Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder! (Do not look into my songs), that his approach would be closer to that of a lieder singer in a solo recital than to that of a singer on the operatic stage. His voice was rich and warm, light on the higher notes and gently lyrical, perfectly matched by the playful orchestral accompaniment. He began Ich atmet’ einen linden Duft! (I breathed a gentle fragrance), with a gorgeous sotto voce, beautifully offset against running strings and solo oboe. Throughout the collection of songs, he addressed the audience with calm poise, thoughtfully immersing himself in the music.

Huw Montague Rendall © Sharyn Bellemakers, The Hallé

Rendell sang Liebst du um Schönheit (If you love for beauty) with a lovely head voice in the top notes, gently ardent in this song about love. In the most dramatic song, Um Mitternacht (At midnight, he sang with richer vibrato and more powerful lower notes, bringing real passion to the climax in the last verse. The orchestra played superbly in the final song Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen (I am lost to the world), with excellent string ensemble, characterful woodwind and a pivoting harp, creating a dark sound world; Rendell’s voice rose from the depths. There was something of the great German baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau in the beauty of his tone and the expressiveness of his word-painting; there can be no higher praise than that.

Silja Aalto © Sharyn Bellemakers, The Hallé

After the interval, Rendell was joined by the Finnish soprano Silja Aalto, who had stepped in at short notice (although she sang with such confidence, you wouldn’t have guessed it). The whole of the second half was devoted to Vaughan Williams’ Symphony No. 1, ‘A Sea Symphony’. The work is a choral symphony, but not in the sense of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, which ends with a setting of Friedrich Schiller’s Ode to Joy. Perhaps the nearest comparison is to Mahler’s Symphony No. 8, where the choir sings throughout, although as the symphonies were first performed within a month of each other in the autumn of 1910, it seems unlikely that Vaughan Williams was directly influenced by Mahler. A more obvious influence – acknowledged by Vaughan Williams himself – is Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius, whose musical influence can be heard very clearly at times. But Vaughan Williams was keen to stress that his work was a symphony rather than an oratorio,

‘The shape of the work is symphonic rather than maritime or dramatic, and this may be held to justify the frequent repetition of important words and phrases which occur in the poem. The words as well as the music are thus treated symphonically.’

Vaughan Williams set four maritime poems by the American poet Walt Whitman, three from his 1855 collection Leaves of Grass and one from his 1871 collection Passage to India. Whitman’s poems provide a vivid depiction of life at sea, but they also describe the journey of the soul, another link to The Dream of Gerontius, although the text of John Henry Newman in the latter work is much more explicitly religious.

On Thursday, the vast choral forces were made up of the Hallé Choir and the Hallé Youth Choir; there were so many singers in the choir seats that some of those standing in the back row needed their own lights on their scores. The first movement, ‘A Song for All Seas, All Ships’, began with an astonishingly visceral opening statement from choir and brass, ‘Behold, the sea itself.’ It was immediately clear that the choirs were on superb form; the sheer energy and passion of their singing was infectious. Later in the movement, there was a delightful duet between the choirs and baritone Huw Montague Rendall, his noble solo voice contrasting with the massed voices. The choir’s soft singing was equally impressive, contrasting with the sheer volume of the opening. They sang ecstatically, echoing the baritone’s words, ‘A pennant universal’, and there was a much more subdued restatement of ‘Behold the sea itself’ at the end of the movement. The section that began ‘Flaunt out, O sea…’ had strong echoes of Gerontius, which gave the text a spiritual dimension where it describes a flag for ‘the soul of man, one flag above the rest/A spirutual woven signal for all nations…’ Silja Aalto’s voice, slightly more operatic than Rendell’s, carried beautifully over the choirs and orchestra.

The second movement, ‘On the Beach at Night, Alone,’ is overtly spiritual, with its evocation of ‘the clef of the universe’ and the ‘vast similitude [that] interlocks all.’ It called to mind another Victorian poem, Dover Beach, by the English poet Malcolm Arnold, set to music by the 20th-century American composer Samuel Barber.

The movement began with serene lower strings, punctuated by a falling brass theme, setting the scene beautifully. Yearning woodwind, shimmering strings, and evocative brass illustrated Rendell’s word-painting, his tone here reminiscent of the English baritone Thomas Allen. There was a huge sense of spiritual affirmation from the choirs as they sang ‘this vast similitude’. A stunning brass fanfare suggested that the optimistic outlook would continue, but we were suddenly plunged into darkness and doubt as Rendell returned with the opening words, ‘On the beach at night, alone’ before the orchestra finally brought a moment of peace.

The third movement, ‘Scherzo: The Waves’, is a vivid description of life at sea, without any spiritual or philosophical element. It’s set for choir and orchestra only. It’s difficult music for singers, and the words are sometimes set rather awkwardly, but the choirs on Thursday handled it with aplomb. They were superbly rhythmic in their overlapping phrases, creating a joyful evocation of the sea. A triumphant orchestral passage led to a huge, Elgarian melody with a lovely passage that passed through several keys. The movement ended with an exultant cry of ‘Following’ from the choirs.

The final movement, ‘The Explorers’, was much more contemplative at the start, with gentle men’s voices describing the beauty of the Earth (the ‘vast Rondure’) seen from space, as in Samantha Harvey’s Booker Prize Winner Orbital, ‘swimming in space’, or Steven Wilson’s top-five album The Overview. A majestic orchestral section led to an early highlight in this long movement, the creation of humankind and the Garden of Eden, with lovely sotto voce singing. Processional music from the orchestra was reminiscent of the Pilgrims’ Chorus from Wagner’s Tannhäuser; the Hallé recently performed the Overture. There was a magical moment when a cappella upper voices sang, of ‘that sad incessant refrain, wherefore unsatisfied soul?’ The orchestral playing, describing ‘captains and engineers’ was magnificent. The emotional, religious and intellectual climax of the movement, the description of ‘the poet worthy of that name/The true son of God’, became a huge affirmation of faith, with the organ ringing out. There was a gorgeously serene duet from the two soloists, and another stunning climax from the choirs in ‘Greater than stars or suns.’ A jolly sea shanty launched the soul on its journey; the choirs sang ecstatically, and the sopranos were particularly fine here. The ending was thoughtful and lush by equal measures, as the yearning soul sailed into the sunset.

Conductor Tarmo Peltokoski © Sharyn Bellemakers, The Hallé

Repertoire

Mahler Rückert-Lieder
Vaughan Williams Symphony No. 1 ‘A Sea Symphony’

Performers

The Hallé Orchestra
Hallé Choir
Hallé Youth Choir
Tarmo Peltokoski conductor
Silja Aalto soprano
Huw Montague Rendall baritone

Richard Wigmore Mahler’s Rückert-Lieder: which recording is best? (Gramophone, 21 January 2014)

Now read on…

The Hallé – Mullova Plays Brahms – Live Review
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The Hallé – Mullova Plays Brahms – Live Review

Sunday 22 March 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

★★★★★

Viktoria Mullova shines as the soloist in Brahms’ Violin Concerto, and the Hallé soloists excel in Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra

Viktoria Mullova with the Hallé © Alex Burns/The Hallé

Sunday’s concert, repeated from last Thursday, was billed as ‘Mullova Plays Brahms.’ It’s been over 40 years since she first came to prominence when she won first prize in the International Jean Sibelius Violin Competition in Helsinki (1980) and the gold medal at the International Tchaikovsky Competition (1982). Her 1986 debut album of the Tchaikovsky and Sibelius violin concertos with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Seiji Ozawa was awarded the Grand Prix International du Disque. Her 1995 album Bach: Partitas For Violin Solo was nominated for a Grammy.

Mullova’s performance of the Brahms concerto was bookended by two orchestral pieces, performed by the Hallé Orchestra under their Principal Conductor, Kahchun Wong, beginning with Wagner’s Tannhäuser: Overture.

“Tannhäuser symbolises the clash between two fundamental principles that have chosen the human heart as their main battlefield – the struggle between flesh and spirit, between hell and heaven, between Satan and God. And this inner conflict is depicted, right from the overture, with unparalleled skill.”

Charles Baudelaire, Richard Wagner et Tannhäuser à Paris (1861)

Wagner’s opera combines the sacred and profane, with appearances by Venus, goddess of love, the spirit of the Virgin Mary and the Pope. But we began with a chorus of pilgrims, a stately woodwind and brass opening. Rich violas and lower strings introduced a romantic string melody. A brass climax led to a section with a falling, repeated violin theme, played more staccato than in many performances. There was a lovely pianissimo as the woodwind and brass theme returned. The orchestra stirred, as, in Wagner’s words, ‘a rosy mist swirls upwards [and] sensuously exultant sounds reach our ears.’ There was some lovely, characterful wind playing and a gorgeous clarinet solo from Sergio Castelló López. Wong beautifully shaped the music as it slowed, then accelerated to a rousing climax, with added percussion, pulsing strings and excitable brass. A falling brass theme, with circling strings, dropped away. The Pilgrims’ Chorus reappeared on woodwind, with swirling strings. Wong’s pacing of the music was lovely here. The music gained sudden energy and headed to a glowing climax with robust, majestic brass. The brass section received well-deserved applause at the end.

“Brahms casts his soloist not as the conventional virtuoso hero but as a thinker and a poet, who is busier than the orchestra but also more inspired.”

Rupert Avis, programme note © 2018

As Robert Avis writes in his insightful programme note, Brahms’ Violin Concerto depicts the soloist as a ‘thinker and a poet.’ Mullova stood with her back to the audience, facing the orchestra, as if taking in what they had to offer in their introduction. She watched the violins closely, and they duly obliged her by playing superbly. She turned round, and her violin was part of the orchestra’s texture, playing looped arpeggios. The orchestra held back in deference with long chords.

Mullova played with beautiful control and intonation, even on the very highest notes. Her tone was sweet at the top and rich at the bottom. She played a mellower passage superbly, with lovely legato, then dug in more with double-stopping but still maintaining the legato line. The orchestra began to take a more active role, and she elegantly picked up their lilting waltz-like theme. The violin slowed almost to a halt, and there was a lovely contemplative moment with subtly discordant double-stopping. She took over again, her violin projecting over the orchestra as she executed an amazing run from top to bottom of the violin and back again. Even in the most complex parts, her violin tone remained mellow. There was a sorrowful section that Mulllova turned into a spellbinding cadenza, as the audience sat rapt.

At the start of the second movement, the orchestra regained control, as Mullova turned to watch them again. A gently nostalgic horn chorus led to a lovely solo by the oboist Stéphane Rancourt, who had a major role to play in the movement. Mullova turned round to pick up the melody and joined a chamber music section, joined by a small ensemble of horns, woodwind, and violin. She took over, with a wider vibrato and a lush, warm sound, creating a moment of serene beauty. The orchestra rose up to meet her as the violin played gorgeous, long, held notes. A melancholy, melodic section featured a duet with two horns. Mullova’s playing at the end of the movement was ardently, sumptuously romantic.

Brahms wrote the concerto for the Hungarian violinist, composer and conductor Joseph Joachim, and the final movement began with a fiercely rhythmic Hungarian dance. Mullova played joyfully, creating a continuous line with a sweet tone even when playing with the full orchestra. The orchestra shared her joy, playing superbly here. Mullova worked incredibly hard in this movement, reaching a mini-cadenza which the orchestra soon joined, her playing fiercer here. There was a lovely syncopated section with sparkling flutes. The music scampered to the end with a final flourish. An audience member near me uttered ‘Wow!’ Well, exactly!

Kahchun Wong and the Hallé © Alex Burns/The Hallé

“The general mood of the work represents, apart from the jesting second movement, a gradual transition from the sternness of the first movement and the lugubrious death-song of the third, to the life-assertion of the last one.”

Béla Bartók, 1944

If the first half of the concert featured a virtuosic soloist, the second half featured a whole orchestra of soloists. Bartók wrote his Concerto for Orchestra in 1943. He had moved to America three years earlier and told his wife, ‘Under no circumstances will I ever write any new work.’ Then the conductor Serge Koussevitzky stepped in and commissioned a new score for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The composer died in September 1945, but not before he had heard the premiere of his concerto in December of the previous year.

The first movement began with mysterious lower strings and tremolo violins, a magical, almost spiritual sound, the strings playing with superb ensemble. A stunning climax led to an oboe theme with tenative harps, unusually placed in the middle of the orchestra to bring out the detail. The woodwind sparkled, and a brass fanfare splintered into fractured melodies. A robust melody kept trying to start in the lower strings, the violins ran with it, and dashed to a stunning brass fanfare.

Launched by a side-drum, the second movement featured a series of superbly characterful, witty duets, which Bartók marked as ‘couples’: bassoons, oboes, clarinets, flutes and trumpets. A brass chorale, warmly played, and a lovely horn quartet brought brief respite before the duets returned as trios. Wong brought out the detail superbly here, keeping the movement superbly rhythmic.

The highlight of the piece was the ‘lugubrious death-song’ of the third movement, showcasing Bartók at his best. It began with the night music of the first movement, the solo oboe singing like a lonely bird. This passage was reminiscent of the ‘lake of tears’ behind the sixth door in the composer’s Bluebeard’s Castle, written 20 years earlier. The orchestra played with incredible intensity, bringing out the amazing variety of colour. A keening piccolo solo, set against a desolate landscape, brought the movement to a melancholy end.

The fourth movement began with more birdsong and a folky dance as the woodwind shone again. The violas played a huge, Elgarian tune that the violins picked up, echoed by an anxious cor anglais. There was a nod to another great 20th-century composer, Shostakovich, in the sarcastic parody of his Leningrad symphony, superbly played here. But the movement ended with a moment of stasis, with a gently questing flute solo.

The finale began with a stunning horn fanfare and a restless string dance. Wong was more animated here, bringing out the strings that were spinning like a whirligig. A folky dance accelerated, with virtuosic brass, and the strings were almost out of control in ecstasy as they reached a huge climax. After an earlier failed attempt by the woodwind at a fugue, the strings began a fiercely executed fugue of their own. The orchestra played with precise syncopation, before a thrillingly triumphant final statement brought this superb performance to an end. Wong acknowledged all the soloists, which took a while, as there were so many of them. Then, with a cheery wave, he was gone.

The Hallé © Alex Burns/The Hallé

Performers

The Hallé Orchestra
Kahchun Wong conductor
Viktoria Mullova violin

Repertoire

Richard Wagner Tannhäuser: Overture
Johannes Brahms Violin Concerto
Béla Bartók Concerto for Orchestra

Read on…

The Hallé Orchestra with Jonny Greenwood – Live Review
The Hallé – The Planets – Live Review
The Hallé – Beethoven’s Eroica – Live Review

Bluebeard’s Castle…

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review
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The Hallé Orchestra with Jonny Greenwood – Live Review

Thursday 24 February 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

‘A mature work from a highly accomplished composer’ – Jonny Greenwood’s new violin concerto performed by Daniel Pioro and The Hallé

Jonny Greenwood. Photo credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood has been a classical composer for the last twenty years. His film scores, including There Will be Blood (2007), Phantom Thread (2017,) The Power of the Dog (2021), and One Battle After Another (2026) have received multiple award nominations. On Thursday evening, the Hallé, under the baton of Hugh Tieppo-Brunt performed two of his works, including his new Violin Concerto. He also played bass guitar and tanpura, a four-stringed Indian instrument with a long neck. 

Greenwood is a huge fan of twentieth-century classical composers, including Olivier Messiaen, Krzysztof Penderecki, and Steve Reich, whose work we heard in the second half of the concert. The concert opened with a piece by the Polish composer Witold Lutosławski, his Musique Funèbre (Funeral Music) for string orchestra, written in the 1950s in memory of the Hungarian composer Béla Bartók, who died in 1945. There are strong echoes of Bartók’s music in Lutosławski’s piece, but it also marks the beginning of a new modernist language in his work, including the use of twelve-tone technique: the piece begins with a twelve-note row. 

Musique Funèbre began with a mournful, lugubrious tone row on solo cello, joined by a second cello and viola, with an eerie sense of mystery. The rest of the cello section made the texture denser, and the violins joined like trees sprouting in a dense forest. The music became obsessed with the tritone, giving it a sense of anxious instability. An elegant orchestral dance, beautifully controlled by Hugh Tieppo-Brunt, was filled with sadness, with Bartókian offbeat rhythms, the lower strings offset against the upper strings in fierce dialogue. The music reached an anguished climax with a repeated twelve-tone chord. A rich and imposing unison melody arrived, like a threnody. The tritone returned, with a chamber music section that reminded us of Bartók’s skill as a composer of some of the finest string quartets of the 20th century. The piece ended with another tribute to Bartók, a canon that symmetrically mirrored the opening section, a device the Hungarian composer used in his string quartets and his Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta (1936). It felt as if the cellos were creeping dolefully back to where they came from, and we ended where we started with a solo cello. The magic of both Bartók and Lutosławski is that powerful emotions are drawn out of tight musical structures, which the Hallé strings did superbly here. 

Jonny Greenwood and tanpura. Photo credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

Jonny Greenwood’s Water is inspired by lines from the poem of the same name by the English poet Philip Larkin, who died in 1985. Larkin’s poem celebrates water not as a liquid essential to life on our planet, but as something on which a secular religion could be constructed. Greenwood’s piece has a ritualistic element in its use of the tanpura drone on which the work sits. The piece also views water from many angles, as in the glass of water in Larkin’s poem. 

And I should raise in the east
A glass of water
Where any-angled light
Would congregate endlessly.

Philip Larkin, 'Water' from 'The Whitsun Weddings'(Faber,1964)

The piece began with limpid, watery textures on the upper strings, piano and organ. A revolving, minimalist theme was underpinned by the richly exotic sound of the tanpuras, played on Thursday by Greenwood, Sharona Katan and Mehrbaan Singh. The music felt like light glinting on water, then it rose like water constantly rising. Changes of key came in watery waves. The music endlessly cycled back on itself, creating a glittering sound world within a narrow compass of light and optimism. A low organ pedal note added another kind of drone. The music flowed like water, endlessly moving until the tanpura drones were revealed in a solo passage. Harmonics from the upper strings joined the drones, like sunlight dancing on water. There were two particularly magical moments: a duet between piano and strings, unfolding like gorgeous lilies floating on water; and swelling organ chords that led to a section where the drones dropped out, and all the strings pulsated. There was a brief expression of ecstatic joy, then the main theme unwound itself gradually. Sparkling organ chords that could have been written by Messiaen led to a final, frenetic violin solo. 

‘Like lilies floating on water.’ Image: White Water Lilies. Source: nathanieljoyce/Wikimedia

The second half of the concert began with Pulse by the American composer Steve Reich, which Greenwood performed with the orchestra in the Manchester Classical festival last summer. It’s an attractive, melodic piece for winds, strings, piano and electric bass. According to the score, it never rises above mezzo-forte, and it’s a calm, contemplative work. In his note on the piece, Reich wrote that it was a reaction to his Quartet of 2013 which ‘changed keys more frequently than in any previous work’ of his, 

In Pulse I felt the need to stay put harmonically and spin out smoother wind and string melodic lines in canon over a constant pulse in the electric bass and or piano.

Pairing the piece with Greenwood’s Water brought out the airy lightness of Pulse, which moved on continually like long sections of Greenwood’s piece. Greenwood played a gentle bass part that was rhythmic and propulsive. The bass felt like the drone in Water, an almost constant presence. When the bass dropped out, we felt it by its absence; a subtle effect. Tieppo-Brunt conducted calmly, keeping a simple beat going. The pleasure of this music was partly listening out for subtle changes, such as the key changes, which were rare but delicious when they came. There was a moment of hope when the bass line began rising, before falling back again. The piece ended with a light-infused section when the bass re-joined with the opening theme. Greenwood left the stage first, with a shy, gentle wave to the audience. 

Daniel Pioro. Photo credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

The concert ended with Jonny Greenwood’s Violin Concerto, an almost complete rewriting of Horror Vacui, which premiered at the Proms in 2019. In his note on the piece, Greenwood wrote that he was inspired, tonally, by the electronic works of the Japanese composer Isao Tomita, who is perhaps best known for his arrangements of classical works on his pioneering 1974 album Snowflakes Are Dancing. Greenwood was also inspired by Penderecki’s ‘orchestrations of the electronics and sounds’ of the 1960s, and his conviction that ‘the same sounds could be conveyed more interestingly with strings.’ The piece is scored for solo violin and ’56 solo strings’, which were arranged on Thursday in a semi-circular formation. 

The piece began with swirling strings; we were immediately lost in a dense, terrifying forest. Violin soloist Daniel Pioro played a theme that could have come from a classical interpretation of a gypsy dance. The strings provided what sounded like an artificial studio reverb, on one of the many occasions in this work when Greenwood used the orchestra to recreate digital and analogue sound processing, to stunning effect. The concerto also used whole-tone intervals and microtones to brilliant effect. An evocative sinking theme often recurred. Another theme. with a Tomita-like analogue synth tone, passed around the orchestra. Pioro played a romantic lead line, gently virtuosic. The orchestra then asserted itself with strings that could have come from a film noir soundtrack by Bernard Herrmann. Pioro played an almost cadenza-like section, but with orchestral accompaniment. The orchestra roused itself again, as pulsating notes drifted down microtonally, chopped up as if treated by gated reverb. At one point, glancing up from the notes I was writing, I looked for the effects unit that was creating all these effects, then remembered it wasn’t there… 

Music that starts and ends with the push of a space-bar appeals less and less to me: where’s the peril? In this work, the conductor is key. I think of it as a piece of music for solo violin, string orchestra and conductor – as three equals.

Jonny Greenwood on his Violin Concerto (2026)

This was a mature work from a highly accomplished composer. It created its own unique sound world, often the mark of a great work. In a remarkable passage, the strings wound themselves up again like an infernal machine, and Pioro valiantly tried to assert himself against a wall of noise. The violin gradually asserted itself, sometimes joined by harmonies from the massed strings. Had the violin won? Pioro played a mournful melody that could have come from the Lutosławski piece we heard earlier; another threnody? In reply, the whole orchestra seethed, wheeling up and down like the bellows of a giant steam engine. Pioro, whose performance was superb throughout, played an eerie, slippery line, which the orchestra echoed sarcastically with fractured echoes. A romantic violin solo found the orchestra almost in agreement with the soloist, surrounding him with a halo of consonance. An ecstatic Baroque section felt like Vivaldi thrown out of shape, heard in fever dream. The concerto ended with a single held solo note, with consonant harmonics like the end of a conventional violin concerto… until it drifted off into the ether, unstable to the end. 

Jonny Greenwood, Daniel Pioro, Hugh Tieppo-Brunt and members of The Hallé. Photo credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

Repertoire

Witold Lutosławski Musique funèbre
Jonny Greenwood Water
Steve Reich Pulse
Jonny Greenwood Violin Concerto

Performers

The Hallé Orchestra
Hugh Tieppo-Brunt conductor
Daniel Pioro violin
Jonny Greenwood bass guitar and tanpura
Sharona Katan and Mehrbaan Singh tanpura

Sources

Programme notes by Steve Reich and Jonny Greenwood

Read on…

Radiohead meet Shakespeare

Hamlet Hail to the Thief – Live Review

Manchester Classical 2025 Opening Night – Greenwood and The Hallé perform Steve Reich

Manchester Classical 2025 Opening Night – Live Review

Béla Bartók – Bluebeard’s Castle

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review

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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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The Hallé – The Planets – Live Review

Thursday 20 February 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

Exploring the Cosmos: The Hallé’s Stellar Concert

The Hallé orchestra, Choir and Youth Choir. Image credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

On Thursday evening, it was a pleasure to see a full stage (The Hallé orchestra under the baton of Kahchun Wong, on a specially extended stage), full choir stalls (the Hallé Choir and the Hallé Youth Choir) and a full house (the concert was sold out).

The concert consisted of two epic pieces about outer space, Le Chant des Enfants des Étoiles by the South Korean composer Unsuk Chin, and Holst’s The Planets with the added final movement, Pluto, the Renewer, by Colin Matthews.

Le Chant des Enfants des Étoiles was premiered ten years ago, in the opening season of Lotte Concert Hall in Seoul, with the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Korean National Choir and Boys Choir under the baton of Myung-whun Chung. On Thursday, the Hallé orchestra, the Hallé Choir and the Hallé Youth Choir performed a revised version of the piece. The composer was present at the concert and worked with the performers to prepare the work.

The title of Chin’s work means ‘The Song of the Children of the Stars.’ It was inspired by her love of astronomy and physics. When she has finished composing for the day, she relaxes by watching videos and reading books about astronomy. In her programme note, she quotes the scientific fact that we are all ‘stardust’. As Dr Ashley King, planetary scientist at the Natural History Museum, says,

‘Nearly all the elements in the human body were made in a star and many have come through several supernovas’

Chin says that this scientific fact gives us a ‘cosmic perspective’ that can provide ‘experiences of transcendence’, similar in effect to the religious narratives that have existed for thousands of years. These experiences and narratives,

‘…can also guide towards a more global perspective, seen from which all national, ethnic or religious chauvinisms (which, sadly, seem to increase in today’s world) turn out to be very ludicrous indeed.‘

The Overview Effect

The Overview Effect is a term coined by author and space philosopher Frank White to describe the sometimes profound change of perspective experienced by astronauts looking back at the Earth from space. This change in perspective is described in the Booker Prize-winning novel Orbital (2023) by Samantha Harvey, and it inspired the top-five album The Overview by Steven Wilson, reviewed here.

Chin says that the realisation that we all come from the stars gives us hope. She dreams that Le Chant des Enfants des Étoiles will one day be performed by choirs from both North and South Korea. The piece, which consists of 12 movements, uses texts from several poems she chose from a list of 150. The final choice includes poetry from Portuguese, Scandinavian, Mexican and British poets on ‘natural phenomena and on our physical relationship with the cosmos.’

In Thursday’s concert, the texts of the poems weren’t available, either in the programme book or in titles above the stage, but in any case, individual words in the piece often overlap to create a babel of sounds: Chin makes it clear that her work does not ‘aim to convey any particular extramusical message.’

The piece began with a single note on tubular bells, and a fanfare on horns, launching our journey into space. Mysterious strings and muted brass were obsessed with the same note. There was a huge climax, with crashing percussion, before the music fell away. It was immediately evident that the piecewas as much about creating an ethereal, immersive exploration of orchestral colour as about conveying a specific message. The men of the choir joined in, intoning the words of the 20th-century Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa, like ancient monks, with ritualistic tubular bells.

The second movement, with more poetry by Pessoa, was more avant-garde, reminding us that Chin studied with the Hungarian composer György Ligeti. Very high soprano parts headed to the heavens, then sank to the depths. The men joined, with equally complex lines. This was difficult but fascinating music, challenging both singers and listeners alike. The Hallé Choir did a splendid job of delivering such demanding music. The Youth Choir sang more innocent, simpler music in the third movement, though it still retained angular lines. They sang superbly throughout the piece, with a lovely purity of tone, expertly drilled by their director, Stuart Overington. The fourth movement brought a moment of lightness, the women of the Hallé Choir coping admirably with the tricky vocal lines and uneven rhythms. An atmospheric harp line suggested that we were now drifting out in the cosmos. The Choir expertly delivered their rhythmic whispering and vocal parts in the fifth movement. Constantly rising phrases created a Babel-like tower of sound, with robust brass. There was a brief moment of unison as the voices combined at the end of the movement.

The sixth movement featured extended organ solos, superbly played by Darius Battiwalla. The music was reminiscent of the organ improvisations of the French composer and organist Olivier Latry. Chin was brought up playing the organ: her father, a Presbyterian minister in South Korea, taught her the rudiments of Western Classical music. In the seventh movement, lilting harp accompanied the Youth Choir in their superbly rhythmic, detached vocal lines, and in the tenth they sang with the pure tone of folk singers. The movement also featured a gorgeous orchestral effect at the end, glittering percussion themes cascading down. The Youth Choir brought the whole piece to an end, with a simple, quiet melody that opened a window on the cosmos, a stunning ending to an absorbing work. Kahchun Wong held up the score to the audience to acknowledge the composer, who came on stage to acknowledge the performers.

Kahchun Wong. Image credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

The Planets is sometimes thought of as a description of planets from an astronomical perspective. Holst instead concentrated on their astrological significance, each of the seven movements of his suite describing an aspect of the planet’s personality: Mars is the Bringer of War, Venus the Bringer of Peace, etc. (each planet named after a Greek god). In a letter to the music critic Herbert Thompson, Holst wrote that,

‘The pieces were suggested by the astrological significance of The Planets and not by classical mythology. ‘

At the suggestion of Kent Nagano, Hallé conductor from 1992 to 1999, the composer Colin Matthews wrote an extra movement for the end of The Planets, based on the planet Pluto. In 2000, Matthews wrote that ‘Pluto’s status as a planet has for some time been in doubt – it may well be declassified.’ He was right – it was declassified 6 years later. Matthews thought that Holst’s interest in astrology was probably ‘pretty peripheral’, and he himself ignored the astrological significance of Pluto. What’s important is that Matthews’ Pluto, the Renewer works artistically at the end of The Planets, and on Thursday evening it did.

The suite began compellingly with Mars, The Bringer of War, with the visceral thrill of a full orchestra playing a syncopated rhythm in 5/4 time. Wong conducted the opening slightly faster than it’s sometimes done, but with perfect control, crafting the sound beautifully. Venus, The Bringer of Peace featured a series of excellent solos from within the orchestra: Laurence Rogers (horn), Emily Davis (violin), Stéphane Rancourt (oboe) and Leo Popplewell (cello). The violins played a long-limbed melody with lovely ensemble. The harps (Marie Leenhardt and Lauren Scott) and celeste (Gemma Beeson) played with an appealing romantic flow. Beeson excelled again in the fleeting Mercury, The Winged Messenger.

Jupiter, The Bringer of Jollity began with splendid brass playing. The orchestra played the great Elgarian theme, I Vow to Thee My Country,  with subtle eloquence and grace. Saturn, The Bringer of Old Age, with its rocking chords, strangely brought to mind the haunting arrangement of David Bowie’s This is not America that featured in the Lazarus. No doubt the Starman would have approved.

After a fantastic brass entry, Uranus, The Magician, called to mind the cheeky, playful sorcerer’s theme from Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, although whether Holst knew that piece is sometimes disputed. To end Holst’s suite, Neptune, The Mystic, opened with four flutes playing a gorgeous theme. We were transported into the cosmos, just as we had been at the end of Unsuk Chin’s piece. The ethereal women’s voices, floating from offstage behind the organ, created a magical effect.

Colin Matthews’ Pluto, the Renewer, came in without a break on very high woodwind. The piece perfectly matched Holst’s, staying in the same sound world without falling into pastiche. There were Holstian blocks of chords, fast, ambiguous and ethereal, and playful, scurrying strings. This was virtuosic music, handled well by the Hallé musicians. It also felt modern, even though it’s now over a quarter of a century old, just as Holst’s music must have felt modern over a century ago. It ended with a final chord from the women of the Hallé Choir – in Matthews’ delightful phrase, ‘ almost as if Neptune had been quietly continuing in the background.’

The Hallé with conductor Kahchun Wong. Image credit Sharyn Bellemakers/The Hallé

Sources

Kerry Lotzof, Are we made of stardust? Natural History Museum, London
Programme notes by Unsuk Chin and Colin Matthews
Composer Unsuk Chin on The Song of the Children of the Stars (Interview) YouTube 23 May 2018
Robert Philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music (Yale University Press 2020)

Repertoire

Unsuk Chin Le Chant des Enfants des Étoiles
Gustav Holst The Planets
Colin Matthews Pluto, the Renewer

Performers

Kahchun Wong conductor
The Hallé orchestra
Hallé Choir Matthew Hamilton, choral director
Hallé Youth Choir Stuart Overington, director

Read on…

More by Unsuk Chin…

The Hallé – Beethoven’s Eroica – Live Review

More by The Hallé…

The Hallé – Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto – Live Review

A surprising link to The Planets…

Off the Beaten Track # 17 – This is not America – Sophia Anne Caruso and the Original New York Cast of Lazarus the Musical (written by David Bowie and Enda Walsh)

Cosmic perspective….

Steven Wilson – The Overview – Album Review
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The Hallé – Beethoven’s Eroica – Live Review

Thursday 12 February 2026

The Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

The Hallé and Kahchun Wong shine in Beethoven’s heroic symphony

Cellist Jan Vogler with members of The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé 

For a second at the start of Thursday evening’s Beethoven-themed concert, it felt as if the opening piece was his Coriolan Overture. In fact, the concert began with subito con forza (suddenly with force, a common marking of Beethoven’s in his scores) by the South Korean composer Unsuk Chin. She wrote the piece in 2020 to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth. Her piece is a loving tribute to the composer.

Chin was inspired by Beethoven’s works, some of which she quotes, such as the opening chord of the Coriolan Overture and, later, the opening rhythm of his Symphony No. 5. On a human level, she was also inspired by his increasing struggle with hearing loss and the ‘inner rage and frustration’ he experienced, which

‘may have found their expression in the extreme range of his musical language, spanning emotions from volcanic eruptions to utmost serenity.’

Chin’s piece vividly conveyed the range of emotions Beethoven experienced, refracted through the sensibility of a contemporary composer, a series of phantasmagoric images: from spectral and shimmering upper strings to macabre lower strings, stabbed chords, and waves of sound. A highlight was the piano solo, played dexterously by Gemma Beeson, reminiscent of the French composer Olivier Messiaen’s piano music. Near the end, the rhythmic four-note from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony was wittily passed round the orchestra.

Cellist Jan Vogler, conductor Kahchun Wong and members of The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé 

The next piece also featured a distinctive four-note theme (see ‘Shostakovich and DSCH’, below), Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 1. The composer wrote the concerto in 1959 for the Russian cellist Mstislav Rostropovich. It features some of the most virtuosic and difficult music written for the instrument, spanning the entire fingerboard from the lowest to the highest reaches. Unusually for a 20th-century symphony, there are no brass instruments except for a single French horn, which plays a major role in the first and last movements.

The first movement began with the German cellist Jan Vogler playing the four-note theme, surrounded by playful woodwind. Grumbling bassoons, mocking violins and clarinet put the virtuosic playing of the cello into sarcastic relief. The solo French horn, superbly played by Laurence Rogers, stole the cello’s four-note theme. The horn kept on having its say until the cello picked up the theme, as if it had won the battle. But the conflict continued to the end of the movement, which ended suddenly with a horn flourish as if the horn had finally triumphed.

The second movement began with night music, reminding us that Shostakovich shared Beethoven’s ability to write music of ‘utmost serenity’ as well as the strident music of the previous movement. Vogler turned to watch the strings intently as they played. The horn joined with its own hunting horn theme, prompting the cello to start playing. Vogler played with lovely legato and tone, as mesmerising strings surrounded him. Throughout the concerto, Vogler seemed relaxed, thoughtful, sometimes wistful, as if he was completely at one with his cello. The night music returned, mournfully reaching for an achingly beautiful high note. Vogler played a series of long cantabile notes against breathtaking harmonies: a moment of stunning beauty. The movement ended with another spellbinding moment, a ghostly duet between Vogler on cello and Gemma Beeson on celeste.

The third movement was a fully-composed cadenza for solo cello, possibly the first time such a movement appeared in the history of the concerto. Doleful cello chords separated the virtuoso passages. Vogler wore his phenomenal technique lightly, playing at first mournfully, then with a lively double-stopping in a dancing theme that could have come from a Bach cello suite, then a lonely, nostalgic and eerie theme, ending with a frenzied journey across the fingerboard.

Without a break, the orchestra joined in the fourth movement, with the composer in full sarcastic mode again, particularly in the opening dance theme, with ironic woodwind swoops, and a grotesquely piercing clarinet. As if to defy the orchestra, the cello began an incredibly fast run, which the orchestra briefly matched before giving up and accompanying Vogler instead. The solo horn wheedled its way back in again, then majestically restated the concerto’s opening four-note theme. The piece ended with huge thwacks on the timpani, and conductor Kahchun Wong rightly applauded both the horn and the cello soloists.

Shostakovich and DSCH

Shostakovich often used DSCH in his works to represent his own name in German musical notation (Dmitri Schostakowitsch) = D-S-C-H = D – E flat – C – B). This sequence of notes became so strongly associated with his works that the Schostakowitsch Festival in Leipzig last May adopted the acronym in their publicity material.

In his Cello Concerto No. 1, the composer uses another four-note motif, G – F flat -C flat – B flat, which some believe is a distant variant of the D-S-C-H theme. Shostakovich used it in his autobiographical String Quartet No. 8. He also used a related version in his score for the 1948 film The Young Guard.

Jan Vogler’s encore was JS Bach’s timeless C Major Sarabande, in which he brought out the full resonance of his 1703 Stradivari cello. He played with great elegance, warmth and poise – and superb control.

In her programme note, Unsuk Chin described Beethoven as,

‘arguably the first modernist composer in musical history, a figure who constantly felt the urge to stretch the boundaries of musical language, and whose quest for originality completely changed the course of music history.’

The Hallé’s performance of Beethoven’s Symphony No.3 ‘Eroica’ under Kahchun Wong felt fresh and new. The performers, except for the lower strings, all stood, which perhaps gave them additional energy. Wong stood on a specially raised podium so the standing players could see him. From behind, his figure brought to mind the Wanderer in Caspar David Friedrich’s painting, Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, the Romantic hero in control of all he sees.

Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (1818) by Caspar David Friedrich. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Conducting without a score, Wong was so excited to launch his performance that the audience had barely stopped clapping when he raised his arms to launch the symphony from the vertiginous heights of the podium. In the first movement, he had immediate control of the main theme, superbly shaping the limpid textures, while assigning weight where necessary. The tempi were fast but perfectly disciplined, and Wong pulled them back where appropriate. The orchestra really dug into the repeated chords, reacting to the punchy gestures from Wong’s left hand. He brought out details like the short horn motif, pointing his finger up to the heavens. Sometimes he shook his fist in passionate affirmation, at other times, he flicked his fingers to create precision in the orchestra. He drew out the sense of inevitability, as the music unfolded, that much great music has.

The second movement, a funeral march, was not overly mournful, but still respectful, with a sense of hushed awe, feeling perfectly paced. There were splendid solos from the oboist Stéphane Rancourt. The wind playing was gorgeous, offset against heavy strings. As the movement progressed, the textures grew heavier and the counterpoint denser, yet Wong still maintained absolute clarity. The funeral march theme was almost buried in ornamentation, but then a more robust restatement of it emerged. There was a sorrowful ending as the funeral procession crept away with a gentle flourish.

The Hallé horns. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé 

In contrast, the scherzo was immediately jolly, bubbling up nicely. The sense of momentum was restored here, with double basses much lighter than they often are in this movement. A repeated offbeat phrase had an elegant twist at the end. The horn trio was excellent here. The orchestra began a spritely dance – delightful and foot-tapping. The final movement burst in with an explosion of joy. An elegant fugue was superbly ornamented. The whole orchestra was dancing, before a series of graceful pauses. Under Wong’s expert baton, a syncopated section was clearly delineated, and the texture was almost Mozartian. There was a mellow oboe solo, and a robust hunting horn theme as the movement headed to a celebratory ending. Beethoven famously destroyed his dedication to Napoleon as the hero of the symphony, but the real heroes on Thursday evening were Wong and his orchestra.

Conductor Kahchun Wong and members of The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé 

Repertoire

Unsuk Chin subito con forza
Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1
JS Bach C Major Sarabande (encore for solo cello)
Beethoven Symphony No.3 ‘Eroica’

Performers

The Hallé 
Kahchun Wong conductor
Jan Vogler cello

Sources

Programme note on subito con forza by Unsuk Chin

The concert will be repeated on Sunday 15 February at 16.00.

Read on…

The Hallé – Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto – Live Review
The Hallé – John Adams Conducts the Chairman Dances – 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 – Serenade for Strings – Live Review

Friday 5 December 2025

RNCM, Manchester

*****

The strings of the BBC Philharmonic shine in music by Bartók and Tchaikovsky

The Strings of the BBC Philharmonic directed by Zoë Beyers. Image © Chris Payne/BBC

Last Friday’s concert at the RNCM in Manchester was directed from the violin by the Leader of the BBC Philharmonic, Zoë Beyers, and featured the orchestra’s string section. The first half of the concert was devoted to Béla Bartók’s Divertimento for strings, written in 1939 on the eve of WWII. Beyers pointed out that the piece was influenced by ‘the sentiments of war’. In his programme note, Tim Rutherford-Johnson quoted Bartók’s letter to his elder son Béla Bartók Jr., ‘the newspapers are full of military articles [and] military preparedness.’ A year later, Bartók left his troubled home country of Hungary to settle in New York, where he died an American citizen in 1945.

Beyers pointed out another possible influence on the work, Bartók’s poor early health (see below). She said the composer wrote music from a very young age; he didn’t speak until he was four. He was treated with arsenic for a troubling rash which he developed following the smallpox vaccine. His mother, a pianist, communicated with him by playing dance tunes to him on the piano, which made him smile. So the music he wrote in the Divertimento (traditionally a form of attractive, light, entertaining music, as in Mozart’s Divertimenti) was coloured by his outbursts of ‘anger and frustration… about his very tortured childhood’ as much as by ‘unrest in Europe.’ It was up to us to decide what influenced the composer.

Bartók’s Early Health

According to the composer’s elder son, the young Bartók had the smallpox vaccination at the age of three months, after which he developed a skin condition called exanthema:
‘The permanent itchiness, the people shocked with the sight of the spots, and the many medical treatments without any result made him a reticent child... the disease came to an end when he was five years old because of a new treatment, the use of arsenics.‘

Source: Béla Bartók’s Diseases (1981)

Image: Bartók at 18 (Wikimedia Commons)

Bartók’s Divertimento draws not only on Mozart’s model but also on an earlier one, the Baroque concerto grosso. This musical form uses a small group of solo strings and contrasts them with a larger string orchestra. On Friday, the soloists sat in a semi-circle in the middle of the orchestra. All the soloists played superbly, and it was fascinating to hear the contrast in intensity between the smaller and larger groups. The acoustics of the RNCM Concert Hall were ideal for this concert, warm, intimate and precise.

The Divertimento began with a robust, folky melody that suddenly twisted, was joyfully restated, then gave way to a gentle, dancing melody that fell over itself. A typically Bartókian repeated high note was followed by pensive chords, then a rhapsodic, twisty folk dance. A mini-fugue featured a lovely solo cello. There was a hint of darkness as the music reached an anguished climax, the strings playing with a beautiful sense of controlled passion. Fragments of melody were passed across the strings, and the movement ended with a return of the joyful dance.

The second movement was much darker, with haunting, eerie night music. A long, slow, anxious melody on violins suggested the eve of war. This was a spine-chilling moment, as the strings played as one. A sudden climax fell away just as quickly as it appeared. A rhythmic two-note figure had an urgent, compelling sense of unease. With a visceral shock, the music dropped into a different key. With mounting terror, the violins crept gradually upwards, then the music fell away into the depths. There was a brief vision of a new, meditative vista from the solo strings, before a moment of concentrated terror, with oscillating, shimmering strings that grew to an anguished climax. The music relaxed into a concordant chord, interrupted by screaming violins, before a brief, pensive ending.

After the tension of the second movement, the third and final one was a welcome release. It began with a fierce peasant dance, then a theme that teemed across the orchestra. They played vigorous unison sections with fierce rhythms as strings snapped aggressively against fingerboards with intense joy. A highlight was a virtuosic, folky solo from Zoë Beyers. There was a moment of sardonic humour when a short pizzicato section inexplicably burst in. The movement then rushed towards a joyful end. Beyers beamed, and there were smiles from other players. They had clearly been enjoying themselves.

The Strings of the BBC Philharmonic directed by Zoë Beyers. Image © Chris Payne/BBC

The concert restarted after the interval with the orchestra already on stage, waiting for the audience as we dashed to our seats. Beyers decided that the second-half piece, Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings, needed no introduction. Sitting on a slightly raised platform so the other players could see her, she was a benign and enthusiastic director from the violin, the first among equals.

In his programme note, Edward Bhesania wrote that, despite his personal crises, Tchaikovsky wrote the Serenade without any commission or programmatic theme: ‘just a sheer delight in music for its own sake.’ He wrote, ‘I composed [it] from real conviction.. it’s a heartfelt piece and so, I dare to think, is not lacking in real qualities.’

Tchaikovsky was too modest about the piece’s qualities. Even the simple upward scale that began the first movement was imbued with rich melody. The orchestra’s playing was warm-hearted in the romantic melodies and precise in the running semi-quavers that started to dominate the movement. There was a moment of joy as a theme scattered like a golden fountain, then ran like a limpid stream with sweeping gestures around it. Pizzicato notes in the lower strings were played in perfect time. The performers brought out the complexity of the orchestral writing as the lines interweaved. There was an incredible sense of flow and momentum, as they played like soloists, but completely together.

The second movement was a short, elegant waltz played with vigour and poise. The melody had a little catch in it, like a Schubert song or a Mozart aria. The orchestra’s playing was gorgeous in this charming, delicate vignette.

The elegiac third movement took us into a magical new world. The slow climbing scale of the first movement became tender and nostalgic. Tchaikovsky demonstrated his mastery of melody with a delicate dance that pulled at the heartstrings. The tune then passed into the minor, showing his mastery of harmonic development as well. The violas played the long melody, with lovely, delicate ornamentation. The lower strings shone in a contemplative section, and there was a spellbinding moment of quiet on the upper strings. Played with stunning control, there was a gentle re-statement of the opening theme, valedictory now.

In the fourth movement, the music grew out of nothing, a simple folk song after the complexity of the earlier movements, with a lovely counter-melody. Another jolly folk tune burst in, played joyfully, followed by a lilting theme on the lower strings that passed to the upper strings. It was fascinating to watch all the bows moving in unison in the music’s grand gestures. The orchestra played with dynamic energy throughout, and the internal pulse remained firm even as the music became more complex. The movement ended with a triumphant scamper. Beyers saluted the orchestra and tried to persuade them to stand, but they refused, preferring to applaud her!

This was the first of a new collaboration between the orchestra and the RNCM. If future concerts are as good as this one we will be in for a treat.

The Strings of the BBC Philharmonic. Image © Chris Payne/BBC

Programme

Béla Bartók Divertimento
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Serenade for Strings

Performers

Strings of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Zoë Beyers director

Sources

Programme notes by Tim Rutherford-Johnson and Edward Bhesania
Bartók, Béla, Béla Bartók’s Diseases (Studia Musicologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, vol. 23, no. 1/4, 1981, pp. 427–41. JSTOR)

This concert is part of the new series: BBC Philharmonic Orchestra at the RNCM

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The Hallé – Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto – Live Review

Sunday 30 November 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

Manchester’s oldest orchestra become the city/region’s newest cultural ambassadors

Akiko Suwanai, Kahchun Wong and members of The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé

At the beginning of the second half of Sunday afternoon’s concert, Kahchun Wong, Principal Conductor and Artistic Advisor to the Hallé, announced that he and the orchestra had just returned from a trip to China, during which they performed seven concerts in nine days. Amusingly, in his enthusiasm to tell us about this significant cultural event in the orchestra’s long history, he couldn’t remember how long he had been with the orchestra – was it 18 or 24 months? (this is his second season). He also struggled to remember how long the orchestra had been running, eventually choosing 167 years (he was right).

“After China, we have a new mission: to represent Manchester and this region as cultural ambassadors, with your support”

Kahchun Wong, Principal Conductor and Artistic Advisor to the Hallé 

Wong said the orchestra had acted as cultural ambassadors, adding the Hallé’s name to a prestigious list that included the Berlin Philharmonic, the Vienna Philharmonic and the Staatskapelle Dresden. His orchestra had given ‘everything possible’ on the tour, which he found ‘moving and touching.’ As a result, he had found a new mission. He said when he came to the Hallé, he hadn’t wanted to change anything, but he now wanted ‘to represent Manchester and this region as cultural ambassadors, with your support.’ The audience applauded loudly to signify their agreement.

Football fans will know that after trips to Europe, players often suffer a metaphorical hangover on their return to domestic football a few days later. There was no sign of an orchestral hangover on Sunday, even though the orchestra, conductor and violin soloist Akiko Suwanai had played the same programme not only in China but also in Manchester on Thursday and Sheffield on Saturday. If anything, their shared travels invigorated them, perhaps because they had bonded over a significant experience.

The concert took us on a cultural tour of Europe, starting with Verdi in Italy, then Russian music written by Tchaikovsky on Lake Geneva in Switzerland, returning to Italy via the German composer Felix Mendelssohn. The concert began with a passionate performance of Verdi’s Overture to his 1862 opera La forza del destino (The Force of Destiny). This began with six repeated brass chords that represent Fate, with a counter-theme on swirling strings. There were smiles of recognition in the audience when a flute and oboe theme was introduced, which the French film composer Claude Petit adopted for the films Jean de Florette and Manon des Sources in 1986.

Conductor Kahchun Wong beautifully controlled the orchestral textures and dynamics, with dramatic use of his left hand in this most dramatic of overtures. There was Verdian warmth in the operatic theme on the upper strings, and a nagging note of doubt from the brass. Another melody appeared, with ravishing harps, restless strings and stabbing brass. Wong drew rich colours from the brass, and the upper strings played an urgent theme with perfect ensemble. There was well-deserved separate applause for oboist Stéphane Rancourt, and the harpists Marie Leenhardt and Jess Hughes.

Akiko Suwanai, Kahchun Wong and members of The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé

The Japanese violinist Akiko Suwanai, wearing a long, flowing red gown, joined the orchestra for Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto. There was evident musical chemistry between her and Wong; they often stood facing each other during the solo passages: Suwanai angling the body of her violin towards the audience to direct the sound like a grand piano with its lid raised; Wong lightly keeping time for the orchestra with his right hand.

In her early, short cadenza, Suwanai played with a rich, expressive tone, with an almost cello-like lower register, beautiful legato and a lyrical top register. A cheerful orchestral melody burst out, which then descended into fragments of doubt. The violin picked up the melody, with a yearning version of the orchestral theme, with fiercely passionate double-stopping. The orchestra retorted with a militaristic version of their theme, building to a huge climax.

‘Soon vulgarity gains the upper hand and dominates until the end of the first movement. The violin is no longer played but yanked about, beaten black and blue.’

Eduard Hanslick on the premiere of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in 1881

When the piece was premiered in 1881, the Austrian critic Eduard Hanslick famously wrote that ‘soon vulgarity gains the upper hand and dominates until the end of the first movement. The violin is no longer played but yanked about, beaten black and blue.’ His opinion seems absurd today, but perhaps he had in mind the remarkable central cadenza in the first movement. In his programme note, Anthony Bateman listed the violin techniques as glissandos, double stops, trills, vertiginous leaps and harmonics. On Sunday, the violin’s exquisite top notes seemed to be in a brutal battle with the lower notes. Suwanai’s playing was astonishing. If this had been a jazz concert, the audience would have applauded her immediately after this virtuosic display, but Sunday’s audience waited until the end of the movement.

“The whole movement was magical, with romantic Russian melodies and gorgeous string playing.”

The second movement began with a woodwind chorale, which could have come from Dvořák’s New World Symphony, written 10 years later. Here, as throughout the concert, the woodwind playing was delightful. The whole movement was magical, with romantic Russian melodies and gorgeous string playing. If there had been any sense of conflict between the orchestral and solo violin parts, that had all been forgotten. The movement ended with Suwanai standing in silence.

The third movement burst in without a pause. There was another violin cadenza, and a Cossack dance, which the orchestra joined in joyful dialogue. A study gypsy dance got faster and faster, with an orchestral drone that suggested bagpipes. There was a romantic theme on solo violin, slow and slightly mournful, which came to a moment of stasis before the lively opening theme returned. Wong’s conducting was very precise as the violins played superb pizzicato. Suwanai played with virtuosic energy as she flew through several key changes. The woodwind joined a merry dance with the horns, and there was a sweet restatement of the main theme on solo violin. Suwanai played a long, quietly ecstatic line, with judicious orchestral accompaniment. There was a massive climax as soloist and orchestra scampered together towards an invigorating finale. Without a pause, the audience applauded enthusiastically at the end. Suwanai played an encore, The Gigue from JS Bach’s Partita No. 3 for Solo Violin, with great ease and facility, prompting indulgent smiles from the audience.

Kahchun Wong and members of The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé

Felix Mendelssohn completed his Symphony No. 4, known as the ‘Italian Symphony’, in the early 1830s, after he had been on a European Grand Tour. He wrote to his sister, the composer and pianist Fanny Mendelssohn, from Rome in February 1831,

‘The Italian Symphony makes rapid progress; it will be the most amusing piece I have yet composed, particularly the last movement.’

Kahchun Wong described it as a piece full of sunshine. In the first movement, he brought out the orchestral detail with vigorous but polished playing. The orchestra danced relentlessly; as Robert Philip has written, ‘Mendelssohn’s model was surely Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony (that ‘apotheosis of the dance.’ The music burst into a lively fugue, which was enthusiastically shared across the orchestra. There was a moment of relative calm with an oboe solo, followed by an expansive restatement of the opening theme. The woodwind played with gorgeous precision in the staccato section, and there were lovely legato lines in the next section.

“The orchestra’s playing under Wong’s calm, subtle leadership was beautifully poised, as he drew every detail out of the music.“

The second movement is marked ‘Andante con moto’, Italian for ‘at a moderate walking pace’. This musical marking couldn’t be more apt, as the movement describes a slow, solemn procession, inspired by a religious procession the composer had seen in Italy. Robert Philip also suggests that it was inspired by the sublime slow movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. The orchestra’s playing under Wong’s calm, subtle leadership was beautifully poised, as he drew every detail out of the music.

Wong wove the unfolding narrative of the third movement beautifully. According to Bateman, Mendelssohn was inspired by Goethe’s poem Lili’s Park, in which the fairy Lili, ‘magically entices a huge bear.’ A horn fanfare, characterfully played by two horns and two bassoons, was reminiscent of the hunting horns in Mahler symphonies, several of which have been played at the Bridgewater Hall recently; the difference being that a single movement of a Mahler symphony can last up to half an hour (this can be a good thing), whereas Mendelssohn squeezed his whole Italian Grand Tour into 30 minutes.

The final movement was a Saltarello, a rustic Italian dance. Under Wong’s baton it was fiercely rhythmic, the orchestra almost falling over itself in carefully controlled anarchy. The orchestra fizzed with dynamic energy even in the quiet sections. At the end, Wong singled out the woodwind for special applause, and then other sections too. Wong gave a cheery wave as he left the stage.

After such a stunning performance, we look forward to seeing much more of the Hallé’s new cultural ambassadors soon, all over the world but also back home in Manchester.

Kahchun Wong and The Hallé. Credit: Alex Burns/The Hallé

Repertoire

Verdi The Force of Destiny: Overture
Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto
Mendelssohn Symphony No.4, ‘Italian’

Performers

The Hallé 
Kahchun Wong conductor
Akiko Suwanai violin

Sources

Programme notes by Anthony Bateman
Robert Philip, The Classical Music Lover’s Companion to Orchestral Music (Yale University Press 2020) 

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