Tag: The Bridgewater Hall

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BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Bluebeard’s Castle – Live Review

Saturday 24 January 2026

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

An unforgettable exploration of Bartók’s psychodrama

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

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

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

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

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

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

Béla Bartók on his friend and colleague Zoltán Kodály

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jennifer Johnston © R T Dunphy
Christopher Purves © Chris Gloag


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

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

© Chris Payne
© Chris Payne

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

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

Organist Ben Collyer. Image © Chris Payne

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

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

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

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

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

Performers

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

Repertoire

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

Sources

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

Read on…

Anja Bihlmaier at Manchester Classical 2025…

Manchester Classical 2025 Day One – Live Review

City Noir by John Adams…

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Bartók’s Divertimento….

BBC Philharmonic Orchestra – Serenade for Strings – Live Review
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The Hallé – John Adams Conducts the Chairman Dances – Live Review

Saturday 1 November 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

*****

Exploring Powerful Women in the Music of John Adams, with Astonishing Playing from Violinist Leila Josefowicz

Leila Josefowicz and The Hallé © Sharyn Bellemakers

Saturday evening’s concert at the Bridgewater Hall was the closing event of a three-day festival celebrating the work of the contemporary American composer and conductor John Adams, born in 1947. In a pre-concert talk, he was interviewed by another distinguished composer, Colin Matthews, who was Composer-in-Association with the Hallé from 2001 to 2010 and is now Composer Emeritus.

Matthews reminded us of Adams’ long association with the Hallé. Adams started working with the orchestra before the Bridgewater Hall opened. His orchestral piece Slonimsky’s Earbox was premiered by the Hallé under Kent Nagano when the Hall opened in September 1996. That piece was a co-commission with Oregon Symphony. On Saturday, we heard the UK premiere of another Hallé co-commission, this time with the Philadelphia Orchestra, Adams’ The Rock You Stand On, which ended the concert.

Adams amusingly explained that he doesn’t like to conduct his own premieres. He suffers from the ‘extreme angst’ of hearing a new piece at the first orchestral rehearsal, however good the orchestra may be.’  He described himself as a ‘nervous composer… wishing the conductor had noticed the metronome marking.’ The premiere of The Rock You Stand On was a month ago under the baton of Marin Alsop, ‘a close friend, a deeply intuitive musician and a longtime enthusiast for my music.’ No doubt Alsop paid close attention to the metronome markings in the new score.

Matthews traced Adams’ striking progression as a composer, starting with something akin to Minimalism, then re-inventing tonality, and more recently expanding his musical language. Adams said that when he was in his twenties, there was an obsession with style. Composers had to follow the style of Luciano Berio, or Serialism (Milton Babbitt, Pierre Boulez) or Radicalism (John Cage). More recently, the young composers that Adams has worked with care more about content than style, highlighting ‘hot button issues’ such as climate change, ‘how you compose is no longer at the forefront.’

Therefore, it was fascinating to trace Adam’s development as a composer in a series of three pieces spread across the decades. The earliest was The Chairman Dances, written 40 years ago, the most overtly ‘Minimalist’ in style. Scheherazade.2 was written 10 years ago, and The Rock You Stand On was only written last year. The two later pieces show a dramatic move away from Minimalism, particularly Scheherazade.2. The latter is a good example of Adams addressing a ‘hot button issue.’ inspired by his visit to an exhibition at the Institute du Monde Arabe (Arab World Institute) in Paris, describing the history of the ‘Arabian Nights.’

When he got home, Adams read the story of Scheherazade and was horrified. The Persian Shahryar sought vengeance against all women after his wife was unfaithful, murdering a thousand women in as many days. Scheherazade told the king stories for 1001 nights, the cliffhangers preventing her from being murdered, until the king fell in love with her and spared her life. Adams described Rimsky-Korsakov’s orchestral retelling of the story as ‘congenial, romantic, and not serious.’

In Scheherazade.2, Adams updated the story so that the central character represents oppressed women around the world. He joked, ‘We don’t know what happened to Scheherazade.1.’ He could have called his piece Scheherazade Version 2.0, but that would have been too long a title. He said the piece was a hybrid, a symphony that behaves like a violin concerto, and a violin concerto that behaves like a symphony, inspired by dramatic symphonies like Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust and Roméo et Juliette.

‘I find Leila a perfect embodiment of that kind of empowered strength and energy that a modern Scheherazade would possess.’

John Adams on Leila Josefowicz

The theme of the concert was powerful women. Scheherazade.2 described the orthodoxy, sexism, and paternalism of the ‘men with beards’ who pursued the protagonist, trying to eliminate women’s power: ‘Men are afraid of powerful women.’ His other inspiration for the piece was the American-Canadian violinist Leila Josefowicz, who specialises in contemporary music and was the violin soloist on Saturday. Adams wrote, ‘I find Leila a perfect embodiment of that kind of empowered strength and energy that a modern Scheherazade would possess.’

Leila Josefowicz, John Adams and The Hallé © Sharyn Bellemakers

At the concert’s start, Adams announced that he hadn’t included the titles of the four movements in the original programme note for the piece. Although the work is loosely programmatic, rather than a detailed narrative like Stravinsky’s Petrushka or Richard Strauss’s Till Eulenspiegel, the titles are helpful.

I. Tale of the Wise Young Woman-Pursuit by the True Believers

Adams said the ‘true believers’, represented by the orchestra, were mostly men, and the violin part represents ‘a beautiful young woman with grit and personal power.’ Josefowicz’s playing was sweet-toned at the start, but soon became passionate and feisty, almost frenzied. She easily held her own against a large orchestra, a testament to the power of her playing and Adams’ superbly balanced writing. At times, she played with the attitude of a rock star guitarist and astonishing virtuosity. There were quieter moments, too. At one point, the violin was silent while evocative orchestral strings played a ghostly, ethereal section. The violin joined in with spellbinding, long held notes with gorgeous vibrato. The rich orchestral colour was frequently embellished with exotic-sounding flourishes from Chris Bradley on cimbalom. He was buried in the centre of the orchestra, but the dialogue between solo violin and cimbalom sometimes made the piece feel like a concerto for violin, cimbalom and orchestra. The movement ended with a fiendishly difficult passage for the violin, Josefowicz playing incredibly fast. The orchestra of ‘true believers’ tried to match her virtuosity, but it was clear that the violin had won.

II. A Long Desire (love scene)

This beautiful movement was the highlight of the whole piece. Adams said it ‘starts violently then transforms into a love scene.’ It began with dense orchestral chords, fiercely rhythmic and syncopated, while Josefowicz stood silent and statuesque in contrast to her intense physicality in the first movement. We suddenly passed into a romantic section, entering a garden of love. With its eternal melody, there were echoes of the Jardin du sommeil d’amour (Garden of Love’s Sleep) in Olivier Messiaen’s Turangalîla-Symphonie (1946-1948). Adams created a magical world with shimmering strings and harps. The solo violin became more strident, with passionate themes falling out of it, matched by an urgent brass theme. The violin replied with equal passion before the sound dropped away again to reach a lovely moment of stasis. The movement ended with Josefowicz playing romantic themes on the upper reaches of the violin.

III. Scheherazade and the Men with Beards

Adams said that in this movement, the young woman, ‘defends herself against male rage.’ It was a dialogue between solo violin and orchestra, starting with cimbalom crashes and agitated percussion – the ‘men with beards’  tormenting Scheherazade.  Josefowicz danced lightly to the orchestral themes, then came in resolutely in a different key, answering her tormentors, accompanied by a hopeful-sounding celeste. The battle continued throughout the movement. The orchestra roused itself to an angry climax, superbly played. Josefowicz stood like a caged creature, waiting to respond, fully inhabiting the role of Scheherazade even when she wasn’t playing. She gently stated her case in reply, accompanied by contemplative cimbalom, but soon became angry again, playing with stunning virtuosity. After another angry skirmish, the violin played a deliberately discordant tune. Scheherazade had won again.

IV. Escape, Flight, Sanctuary

This began with a looping orchestral theme, leading to a massive climax. Adams’ conducting was relatively low-key rather than demonstrative, as it was throughout the concert, but he drew excellent playing from the orchestra. The solo violin joined, the bow scurrying across the strings. As Scheherazade battled to escape from her oppressors, Josefowicz’s playing became more virtuosic, and it felt as if she was physically challenging the orchestra with her stance on stage. The orchestra could barely keep up with the violin, but they began to gain the upper hand. The violin’s rejoinder was equally passionate. Finally, an uneasy resolution appeared to have been reached, as Scheherazade achieved sanctuary. There was a gorgeous moment of subtle orchestral colour as the violin soared above, ending this stunning performance. Adams bowed low in acknowledgement of Josefowicz, and she turned to the orchestra to acknowledge them. As she accepted the huge applause, she looked exhilarated.

John Adams © Sharyn Bellemakers

The second half of the concert also featured strong women. We began with The Chairman Dances, which Adams described in his programme note as an ‘out-take’ from Act III of his opera Nixon in China, which premiered in 1987. Subtitled ‘A foxtrot for orchestra’, the scenario describes

 ‘the fabled “Madame Mao”, firebrand, revolutionary executioner, architect of China’s calamitous Cultural Revolution, and… a former Shanghai movie actress.’

Madame Mao gatecrashes the Presidential Banquet and hangs paper lanterns around the hall. She motions for the orchestra to play and begins dancing on her own. Chairman Mao steps down from his portrait on the wall, and they dance the foxtrot, as they remember dancing to the gramophone years before.

This was a chance for the orchestra to shine, which they duly did in this attractive piece. The opening was pulsing and vibrant, with joyfully shifting blocks of sound. The orchestra settled on a pivoting theme, with a lovely syncopated glockenspiel. We went on a journey through orchestral colour and rhythms until we reached an actual waltz, then another and another, becoming faster and more ecstatic. Gemma Beeson played the piano part. She was invisible during the performance from where we sat as the large orchestra filled the stage. She was deservedly given a separate bow. The piece ended with the sound of a gramophone winding down, played by the orchestra rather than from a recording, a clever effect that never fails to delight.

John Adams and The Hallé © Sharyn Bellemakers

The final strong woman featured in the concert was the American conductor Marin Alsop. Her website describes her as

‘the first woman to serve as the head of major orchestras in the United States, South America, Austria, and Great Britain.’

She was also the first woman to conduct the Last Night of the Proms, in 2013. Adams composed The Rock You Stand On as a gift to Alsop. This piece made an excellent companion to The Chairman Dances with what Adams describes as  

‘a certain ‘big band’ quality to the ensemble writing… driven by an underlying jazz-infected pulse.’

The piece began with a simple plucked theme on strings, which soon evolved with a touch of Bernard Herrmann’s orchestral writing in his score for Psycho (1960). The theme cascaded through the orchestra, syncopated in the style of the early John Adams. An overarching woodwind and brass theme was offset against the strings. A constantly rising theme could easily have accompanied a film noir. The orchestral writing was always lucid, despite the size of the orchestra, with limpid textures. The piece featured the fierce rhythms and surprising harmonic changes that have become such attractive features of his music, but here transposed into even more sophisticated textures. The piece constantly evolved, endlessly searching, until it came to a sudden end. It was a worthy addition to Adams’ extensive catalogue. Several audience members gave Adams and the orchestra a well-deserved standing ovation. It was a pleasure to be in the presence of one of our greatest living composers.

Repertoire

John Adams Scheherazade.2
John Adams The Chairman Dances
John Adams The Rock You Stand On (Hallé Co-Commission / UK Premiere)

Performers

The Hallé 
John Adams conductor
Leila Josefowicz violin

Sources

Boosey & Hawkes www.boosey.com
John Adams’ website www.earbox.com

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The Divine Comedy – Live Review

Friday 25 October 2025

Bridgewater Hall, Manchester

A magical musical journey from sorrow to joy

*****

A recording of the English composer Edward Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ from his Enigma Variations (1899) introduced Friday night’s concert. This felt appropriate in Manchester’s Bridgewater Hall, which has often hosted orchestral concerts that have included Elgar’s masterpiece. There’s a quintessentially English melancholy about much of Elgar’s music, and the music of Neil Hannon, leader of the Divine Comedy (although he was born in Northern Ireland).

There’s also something of the English wit of playwright, singer and songwriter Noël Coward in Hannon’s songs. Coward would undoubtedly have appreciated the sartorial elegance of Hannon’s guitar roadie, ‘Alistair’, who was impeccably dressed in a jacket and white turtle neck sweater rather than the traditional long black shorts and black top commonly sported by a guitar tech.

Hannon came on sporting a natty black fedora and a black suit, and his band were similarly attired but without the headwear. The hall was packed, and the adoring audience hung on Hannon’s every wry witticism. Hannon’s rich baritone was warm and inviting, and his manner was easy and relaxed. One suspects he may have done this before.

He was joined by an excellent band – two keyboard players, lead and bass guitar, violin, and drums. The band provided gorgeous, multi-layered backing vocals and was equally at home playing rock music, sophisticated lounge jazz, and French-style chansons (with accordion but Anglophone lyrics).

The nearly two-hour set included 24 songs, demonstrating the range and variety of Hannon’s songwriting. The set was beautifully structured, flowing from one song to the next to create an engaging musical journey.

The concert began with the thoughtful Achilles, which ends with a meditation on mortality about a man of 53, the same age as Hannon when he wrote the song, whose ‘mind was turning/To thoughts of mortality.’ An early highlight was another song about death, the extraordinarily poignant The Last Time I Saw the Old Man, about the final physical and mental deterioration of Hannon’s late father, Neil Hannon, Bishop of Clogher in County Tyrone. The song ends with the moving words,

As we left, the sun was setting on the land
The last time I saw the old man

Hannon sang this beautiful, moving song with his back to us, and raised his hat at the end, as if in silent tribute to his father.

A lighter sequence of songs followed, the best of which was a lovely version of I Want You, with a gorgeous piano introduction, an evocative additional violin part, and jazzy drumming. Hannon brought out the melancholy minor key of the chorus of this song, which is from the new album Rainy Sunny Afternoon. Hannon’s storytelling, present in most of his songs, came to the fore in Norman and Norma, which tells the story of a couple who got married in Cromer in Norfolk in 1983. This also illustrated Hannon’s skilful and witty wordplay. Perhaps only Coward would have dared rhyme ‘Chroma’ with ‘pneumonia.’

There was more overt humour in the staging of Our Mutual Friend. Hannon came into the audience and, on the words about sitting on ‘our friend’s settee’, sat in a vacant seat. A woman returning from the bar wondered whether she should give him one of the drinks she had bought. As the characters in the song ‘sank down to the floor’, Hannon sank down to the floor at the front of the Stalls, and lay there while the band entertained us with an instrumental break. Hannon acted out waking up the next day and stumbling out to the bathroom as he regained the stage to huge applause.

There were some punk stylings in Generation Sex and At the Indie Disco, Hannon swinging his hips and almost knocking his knees together like an early Elvis Costello. The lounge jazz theme returned in Neapolitan Girl, a dark tale of a post-war woman  whose ‘innocence can be restored/With a visit to the Professore.’ The story’s darkness was belied by the sophisticated music, including a deliciously off-beat rhythm with which the audience gamely (and accurately… this was after a Divine Comedy audience…) clapped along. We stayed in lounge jazz mood with Hannon’s ‘favourite part of the show.’ During an extended version of the new song Mar-a-Lago, with its elegant samba beat, Alistair brought on a drinks trolley. Hannon introduced each member of the band and prepared their favourite tipple for each of them. We stayed with the theme of cocktail parties with A Lady of a Certain Age, who ‘sipped Camparis…. At Noël’s parties.’ Another rhyme of which Coward would have been proud.

Freedom Road (played for the first time on this tour), The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, and In Pursuit of Happiness provided a triptych of tristesse (with apologies to Neil and Noël). But Hannon has also written danceable songs, or to use the technical term, bangers. The audience leapt to its collective feet for five floor fillers, starting with Absent Friends and ending with the exuberant fan favourite National Express. As the song says, everyone sang ‘Ba-ba-ba-da.’

The encore began with a couple of songs Hannon said were ‘not up-tempo but swayable.’ There was a gentle version of Songs of Love, with warm backing vocals and lovely harmonies. Hannon threatened to ‘leave for other places’, but the audience wouldn’t let him go yet. He obliged with Invisible Thread, which could have described the invisible but unbreakable link between Hannon and his adoring audience.

There will always be
An invisible thread
Between you and me

After this song ended quietly, the final encore was the anthemic Tonight We Fly. And with that, we flew home on the wings of song, this joyful concert still resonating in our ears.