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March 11, 2026March 12, 2026

The Bach Choir – Bach’s St Matthew Passion – Live Review

Sunday 8 March 2026

Royal Festival Hall, London

*****

A dramatic and deeply devotional performance, part concert, part religious ritual

The Bach Choir, London Youth Choir, Florilegium and conductor David Hill © Michael Whitefoot

The Bach Choir’s 150th Anniversary season, which opened last October with a superb performance of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony, was marked on Sunday with Bach’s St Matthew Passion, part of the Choir’s repertoire since 1894. For nearly a century, the Choir has performed the work at least once a year, starting with the conductor Adrian Boult in 1930 at the Queen’s Hall, then moving to the Royal Albert Hall. For nearly 70 years, the Choir has performed the Passion annually at the Royal Festival Hall, with a short break during the Pandemic. Sunday’s performance was the 177th by the Choir.

According to Katharine Richman’s very helpful programme note, the Choir has usually performed the work on the day of a significant Christian festival associated with the Passion of Christ, such as Passion Sunday, Palm Sunday or Good Friday. For the first time on Sunday it was performed on the Third Sunday of Lent, which is a less important day in the Christian calendar. But this still felt like a deeply religious occasion, partly due to the request that the audience reserve their applause until the very end of the work, and the fact that the soloists all wore sombre clothes. The concert had a devotional, ritualistic feel, enforced by the fact that it started at 11.00 on a Sunday, as Christian services often do; this in itself, together with the long lunch break, has become a ritual for these concerts, dating back to at least 1935. The audience played its part, too, sitting in respectful and sometimes spellbound silence as this most moving of narratives gradually unfolded; there was a real sense of this being a special occasion.

Bach wrote the Passion in German, his native language (see Bach and Luther below for the importance of this), and it wasn’t until 1930 that the Choir began singing it in English. The composer was keen for his work to communicate in the language of his audience, even though, as Richman writes, it has been a challenge to find an English singing version that matches Bach’s rhythms.

On Sunday, Toby Spence told the story in English as the Evangelist, a superb and tireless communicator, with very clear diction. He sang with a light, lyrical tenor with a touch of vibrato, from within the orchestra, joining the continuo players.

The Choir opened the concert after a short and stately instrumental introduction. Early Music performances of the Passion use much smaller forces, but the Choir’s decision to use its traditional large forces was completely vindicated by the precision with which they sang, and maintained a long and worthy tradition. The opening chorus, ‘Come, ye daughters, share my weeping’, illustrated the Choir’s excellent diction and conductor David Hill’s superb shaping of the vocal lines. Spread across the choir seats above the stage, the stereo effect created by the two choirs was an important part of the drama (again, see Bach and the acoustics of St Thomas Church below for the significance of this.) The London Youth Choir stood in the middle and often sang together with the adult singers. But the opening chorus was a chance to hear their soaring legato part, sung with great purity, brightness and precision, contrasting with the more staccato-sounding voices. It would be difficult to find choirs, including professional choirs, that could perform the work better than these.

BACH AND LUTHER

Bach’s St Matthew Passion was first performed in St Thomas’s Church nearly 300 years ago, on Good Friday, 11 April 1727, at the Lutheran Vespers. Around 200 years earlier, it’s thought that Martin Luther posted his Ninety-five Theses on the door of All Saints’ Church, Wittenberg, Germany, widely considered the catalyst for the Reformation. Luther’s translation of The Bible into German is thought to have played a crucial role in making it more accessible to the laity. It’s important, therefore, that the text of Bach’s Matthew Passion used a German translation: St Matthew’s Gospel (Chapter 26 and 27) for the narrative, and the work of the German poet Christian Friedrich Henrici (known as Picander) for the reflective arias and choruses.

The bass-baritone Neal Davies played the role of Jesus. A seasoned veteran, Davies won the Lieder Prize at the 1991 Cardiff Singer of the World Competition – 35 years ago – and is still in superb voice. His interpretation was devotional, inward-looking, and thoughtful for much of the first half, reminding us that Christ is often a passive character in this story: the words passion and passive come from the same Latin root (pati to suffer; passivus suffered). His voice was often surrounded by a halo of strings, adding to the profundity of his utterances. As Richman points out, a notable exception to this is in Part Two, where he cried out ‘My God, my God, why has Thou forsaken me’, in an anguished, passionately lyrical voice. After Jesus ‘yielded up the ghost’, there was a profoundly moving silence.

Mezzo soprano Carolyn Dobbin shared Davies’ thoughtful approach: for instance, in her first aria, ‘Grief for sin rends the guilty heart within’, with a lovely running accompaniment from woodwind and chamber organ. Her tone was gently conversational with expressive body movements.

We soon heard from soprano Lucy Crowe, who had excelled as Fiordiligi in Mozart’s Così fan tutte in Manchester a week earlier. In her aria ‘Break Open, Thou Loving Heart’, she sang with subtle passion, her creamy voice lovingly caressing the words as she immersed herself completely in the music.

There was more, luxury casting in the baritone Christopher Purves, who stunningly sang the title role in Béla Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle so memorably in Manchester recently. As well as singing the bass arias (of which more later), he sang the smaller roles of Judas, a robust Peter, and an operatic High Priest, and Pilate, communicating urgently with the audience in these character roles.

A highlight of Part One was when the tenor Benjamin Hulett and the Choir sang ‘O grief! how throbs his heavy-laden breast’/’O saviour, why must all this ill befall me?’, the soft-grained warmth of the Choir contrasting with Hulett’s gently operatic voice.

And there was a moment of high drama when the two female soloists sang the lilting duet, ‘Behold, my Saviour now is taken’ while the Choir sang of ‘lightnings and thunders’, superbly articulated and powerful.

One of the balconies at St Thomas Church Leipzig © Dirk Brzoska and visitsaxony.com

BACH AND THE ACOUSTICS OF ST THOMAS CHURCH

According to Professor Trevor Cox of the University of Salford, in his book Sonic Wonderland: A Scientific Odyssey of Sound, the acoustics of St Thomas Church had a profound effect on the composition of Bach’s Passion, ‘Before the Reformation, the priest’s voice took 8 seconds to die away in the church… In the mid-16th century, galleries and drapes were added that muffled the reverberation, dropping the decay time to 1.6 seconds.’ According to Cox, Bach ‘exploited the reverberance to write more intricate music with a brisker tempo. Cox quotes the acoustician Hope Bagenal, the senior acoustician at the Royal Festival Hall, as stating that the insertion of galleries into Lutheran churches such as St Thomas Leipzig was ‘the most important single fact in the history of music because it leads directly to the St Matthew Passion and [Bach’s] B Minor Mass.’ The balconies that faced each other at St Thomas Church also allowed Bach to write for double choir and orchestra, exploiting the stereo effect to heighten the drama of his music.

In the second half, Hulett returned with the recitative ‘He holds his peace’, demonstrating the quality of his lower range, with lovely legato in contrast with the broken-up chords of the orchestra. Reiko Ichise on Viola da Gamba was stunningly virtuosic here.

Toby Spence, Evangelist and Reiko Ichise, Viola da Gamba © Michael Whitefoot

The orchestral leaders Huw Daniel and Gabriella Jones provided superb solos in the arias ‘Have Mercy, Lord, in me’ (the renowned aria, Erbarme Dich, mein Gott) for mezzo soprano and the bass aria ‘Give, O give me back my saviour.’

It felt as if the Earth had stopped turning and time was suspended as Lucy Crowe sang her intensely moving aria, ‘For love my Saviour now is dying’, accompanied by high woodwind solos. And there was a remarkable moment as Purves briefly broke down during his recitative describing the ‘evening hour of calm and rest’ after Jesus’ death. Conductor David Hill gently put a hand on Purves’ shoulder in a subtle gesture of humanity.

But Part Two belonged to the Choir, often singing now without scores, adding to the drama as they faced the audience. Their interjections in the scene with Pilate were perfectly controlled. They sang their immensely complex running lines in the chorus ‘He saved others’ with accurate aplomb. Elsewhere, they were suitably mournful and tender, with excellent blend and dynamics. It was appropriate, therefore, that they brought the concert to an end with the final chorus, ‘We bow our heads in tears and sorrow.’ Hill let his hands drop slowly, and after the silence was broken, this spellbinding performance was honoured with a standing ovation.

Lucy Crowe, Carolyn Dobbin, Neal Davies, David Hill, Toby Spence, Christopher Purves, Benjamin Hulett, The Bach Choir, London Youth Choir, Florilegium © Michael Whitefoot

Repertoire

JS Bach St Matthew Passion

Performers

Toby Spence Evangelist
Neal Davies Christ
Lucy Crowe Soprano
Carolyn Dobbin Mezzo soprano
Benjamin Hulett Tenor
Christopher Purves Baritone

The Bach Choir
London Youth Choir
Florilegium director Ashley Solomon
Huw Daniel. Gabriella Jones leaders
Philip Scriven Organ Continuo
David Hill conductor

Sources

Cox, T., Sonic Wonderland: A Scientific Odyssey of Sound (The Bodley Head Ltd, 2014)
Richman, K., The Bach Choir and the St Matthew Passion (Programme Note, 2026)

Read on…

Bach in Leipzig

A Visit to Thomas Kirche (St Thomas’s Church) in Leipzig, Home of the Music of JS Bach – Music Across the Generations and Across the Centuries

Lucy Crowe performs Mozart in Manchester

English National Opera – Così fan tutte – Live Review

Christopher Purves as Duke Bluebeard in Manchester

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review

The Bach Choir in Mahler 8

The Bach Choir and the Philharmonia Orchestra – Mahler Symphony No. 8 – Live Review

March 6, 2026March 6, 2026

English National Opera – Così fan tutte – Live Review

Friday 27 February 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

Soprano Ailish Tynan steals the show in a superb semi-staging of Mozart’s comic opera

Lucy Crowe as Fiordiligi, Ailish Tynan as Despina and Taylor Raven as Dorabella © Matthew Johnson Photographer

English National Opera is rapidly establishing a foothold in Manchester, with appearances at the Manchester Classical festival last summer, a production of Benjamin Britten’s Albert Herring at Lowry, and a forthcoming production of the new opera Angel’s Bone by the Chinese composer Du Yun at Aviva Studios in May. Last weekend, ENO performed Mozart’s Così fan tutte on Friday and Saturday in a semi-staged version at the Bridgewater Hall.

Alexander Joel conducted the orchestra, which was on stage throughout, in a stylish rendition of the overture, with well-controlled tempi, a fleetness of foot and a lovely lilting motion. The orchestra continued with precision and excellent ensemble throughout the evening.

Andrew Foster-Williams as Don Alfonso © Matthew Johnson Photographer

Andrew Foster-Williams, as Don Alfonso, the cynical schemer behind the opera’s partner-swapping shenanigans, was nattily dressed as a ‘spiv’ in a bright yellow suit and white-topped shoes. He sang with a rich, warm voice and excellent diction, relishing his role. Lucy Crowe, as Fiordiligi, was luxury casting, with a gorgeous, creamy soprano. Mezzo Taylor Raven was Dorabella, with a lovely edge to her voice and magnificent control. Her early duet with Crowe, where they proclaimed that without their lovers they would be in despair, was delightful, their voices perfectly matched.

Darwin Prakash sang Guglielmo with a substantial baritone voice, easily filling the Bridgewater Hall’s cavernous acoustic. Joshua Blue, as Ferrando, sang with great animation. Both singers clearly enjoyed the physical comedy their roles provided. They clearly relished their roles as the disguised lovers, overacting deliciously as they declared their ‘love.’ But there was genuine emotion when Blue sang his ardent aria, ‘I know she adores me’ and broke down. An early highlight was when all five of these singers sang together; Don Alfonso’s comment ‘What a performance’ seemed appropriate here.

But the soprano Ailish Tynan, singing with an Irish accent as the maid Dorabella, stole the show. It was impossible to take your eye off her when she was on stage; she was a superb character actor, drawing all the comedy out of any situation with conspiratorial glances and rolled eyes. Even the way she walked was amusing. Yet she was more than just a character actor; her singing in the aria on fidelity was stunning. She had great fun when she dressed as the ‘doctor’, in a suit and a white Einstein fright wig and moustache. Her high notes were astonishingly good here.

Chorus of ENO © Matthew Johnson Photographer

The chorus of English National Opera appeared in the final gala concert of Manchester Classical last year, and also entertained the crowd outside the Bridgewater Hall in operatic excerpts. It was good to see them in a full-length opera, although Mozart doesn’t give them a great deal to do. They sang robustly from the Choir Seats in front of the Hall’s magnificent organ. They enthusiastically waved flags as Ferrando and Guglielmo headed off to war, in the splendid chorus ‘It’s a soldier’s life for me.’ Whether they were waving goodbye with their flags or using them for semaphore as in the Monty Python Wuthering Heights sketch was unclear.

Darwin Prakash as Guglielmo, Andrew Foster-Williams as Don Alfonso and Joshua Blue as Ferrando © Matthew Johnson Photographer

At the start of Act Two, Tynan had another chance to shine as she wittily explained that even a chambermaid such as her could attract admirers. She excelled herself near the end of the opera when she came on dressed as a lawyer, a ‘cowboy’ in both senses of the word, with a prodigious Stetson and an American accent to match. She did a line dance as she described her legal practice, making Saul Goodman (the lawyer from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul) seem prim and proper in comparison. Yee-hah!

But this production also brought out the underlying pathos and emotion of Mozart’s comic opera. There was a moment of contemplative beauty when Lucy Crowe sang Fiordiligi’s aria, ‘I have sinned’, bathed in pure white light, standing like a lonely, fallen angel in the Choir Seats. She sang the aria very sweetly, with a pure but full voice, genuinely moving. This moment was the highlight of the whole opera. Joshua Blue also revealed genuine emotion of a different kind when he sang his ‘I will be avenged’ aria, revealing the true depth of Ferrando’s character.

As this was a comedy, all ended well as the reunited lovers sang ‘Peace and love will win the day.’ There was huge, well-deserved applause from the packed house at the end. There continue to be good omens for ENO’s ongoing work in Greater Manchester.

Chorus & Orchestra of English National Opera © Matthew Johnson Photographer

Cast

Lucy Crowe Fiordiligi
Taylor Raven Dorabella
Joshua Blue Ferrando
Darwin Prakash Guglielmo
Andrew Foster-Williams Don Alfonso
Ailish Tynan Despina

Alexander Joel conductor
Ruth Knight concert staging
Orchestra and Chorus of English National Opera

Read on…

Britten – Albert Herring – English National Opera – Live Review

ENO Chorus at Manchester Classical 2025

Manchester Classical 2025 Day Two – Live Review

Lucy Crowe as Tytania in Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream at The Proms

Prom 68: Britten – A Midsummer Night’s Dream

March 5, 2026March 5, 2026

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 tri t one, 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 P r oms 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

February 26, 2026March 11, 2026

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

February 23, 2026

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

February 14, 2026

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

February 9, 2026March 17, 2026

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

Recent concerts by the BBC Philharmonic…

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review

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

January 28, 2026

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review

Saturday 24 January 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

An unforgettable exploration of Bartók’s psychodrama

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

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

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

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

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

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

Béla Bartók on his friend and colleague Zoltán Kodály

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Organist Ben Collyer. Image © Chris Payne

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

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

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

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

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

Performers

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

Repertoire

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

Sources

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

Read on…

Anja Bihlmaier at Manchester Classical 2025…

Manchester Classical 2025 Day One – Live Review

City Noir by John Adams…

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

Bartók’s Divertimento….

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Serenade for Strings – Live Review

January 21, 2026

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

Saturday 17 January 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alim Beisembayev. Source: alimbeisembayev.co.uk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Programme

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

Performers

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra
Alim Beisembayev piano
John Storgårds conductor

Source

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

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

More by the BBC Philharmonic…

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Serenade for Strings – Live Review

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

More music by John Adams in Manchester…

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

January 7, 2026

2025 – The Year in Classical Music in Manchester (and London, Leipzig and Southwell) – Live Review

Manchester was the place to be for superb performances in 2025

The Year in Classical Music

Sometimes going abroad reminds you how good things are at home. In the spring of 2025, I went to the Shostakovich Festival in Leipzig, featuring world-class performers such as the Gewandhausorchester and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. So it was lovely to return home to Manchester to find performers who are just as good.

This post doesn’t pretend to be a ‘best of’ list. There are plenty of those elsewhere. It’s a look back over some of my personal highlights of the year. I have chosen only one concert or opera from each of the performing groups I reviewed in 2025, to celebrate the music of Manchester… and a few other places too.

Manchester Classical

The biennial Manchester Classical Festival is rapidly becoming a fixture in Manchester.

A highlight on Day One was the concert by Riot Ensemble, who have now chosen Manchester as their home base. As they say on their website,

“Why Manchester? Because the classical music scene here is simply electric: welcoming, ambitious, and fiercely creative.“

Manchester Classical 2025 Day One – Live Review

Manchester Classical 2025 Day Two – Live Review

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra

Under their Chief Conductor, John Storgårds, the BBC Philharmonic has had another excellent year, but I have chosen one of many highlights, the strings of the orchestra in a stunning concert directed from the violin by Leader Zoë Beyers.

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Serenade for Strings – Live Review

Manchester Collective

Manchester Collective continued to surprise and delight us with their varied and unusual programmes, always performed with passion and deep humanity. The new piece Wintering by Samantha Fernando gave its name to a concert with The Marian Consort at Stoller Hall in November.

Manchester Collective x The Marian Consort: Wintering – Live Review

The Hallé Orchestra

Kahchun Wong is quickly becoming established as a fine conductor of the Hallé. At their performance of Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto in November, following a successful tour of China, he made a bold statement of intent,

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

Opera North

Opera North continue to delight us with their productions at the Lowry. Their production of Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman was another triumph, reviewed here in Leeds.

Wagner The Flying Dutchman – Opera North – Live Review

English National Opera

In October, we welcomed English National Opera to the Lowry in Britten’s Albert Herring, their first fully-staged production here. We look forward to many more productions in the future.

Britten – Albert Herring – English National Opera – Live Review

Kantos Chamber Choir

Kantos Chamber Choir provides immersive experiences through its thoughtful programming and staging. One of the highlights of the year was their spellbinding, emotional journey through the Pendle Witch Trials of 1612.

Kantos Chamber Choir – The Witch Trials – Live Review

The Apex Singers

The year ended with a joyful celebration of Christmas in the delightful company of The Apex Singer, a mix of favourites and pieces from their new album Kvällen.

The Apex Singers – Christmas with the Apex Singers – Live Review

Southwell Music Festival

Elsewhere, the Southwell Festival in Nottinghamshire, now in its eleventh year, included another personal highlight, a concert by the Portuguese singer-songwriter Inês Loubet.

Southwell Festival 2025 Day Three – Festival Jazz – Live Review

Bach in Leipzig

Leipzig is one of the most musical cities in the world, home of the Gewandhausorchester and with links to Felix Mendelssohn, Richard Wagner, Robert and Clara Schumann. JS Bach is buried in Thomas Kirche, where he was director of music, so it was profoundly moving to hear his music performed there.

A Visit to Thomas Kirche (St Thomas’s Church) in Leipzig, Home of the Music of JS Bach – Music Across the Generations and Across the Centuries

Mahler’s Symphony of a Thousand in St Paul’s Cathedral

When I sang in the Hallé Choir, I was privileged to perform at the opening concert at Bridgewater Hall in 1996. Before we went on stage, conductor Kent Nagano told us that this was a one-off experience – we would probably never get the chance to sing at the opening of a major international concert hall again. So I can imagine how much it meant for members of London’s Bach Choir to sing in the choir’s 150th anniversary concert at St Paul’s Cathedral in October, a concert that will live long in the memory, for performers and audience alike.

The Bach Choir and the Philharmonia Orchestra – Mahler Symphony No. 8 – Live Review

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The Year in Classical Music

Manchester Classical

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra

Manchester Collective

The Hallé Orchestra

Opera North

English National Opera

Kantos Chamber Choir

The Apex Singers

Southwell Music Festival

Bach in Leipzig

Mahler’s Symphony of a Thousand in St Paul’s Cathedral

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