Tag: Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on York Early Music Festival, Fretwork/Helen Charlston, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, July 4

Fretwork: Marking 400th anniversary of Orlando Gibbons’s death

THIS year’s festival raced off the starting line in top gear with the six viols of Fretwork and mezzo soprano Helen Charlston. They focused entirely on the secular music of Orlando Gibbons, the 400th anniversary of whose untimely death at the age of 41 is being commemorated this year.

Gibbons is much better known these days for his sacred music, which is very much part of the backbone of cathedral repertory. His secular output is largely based on vocal techniques. The truth of this was underlined here by a single voice and viols doing duty for five unaccompanied voices in his madrigals – in accordance with the composer’s assertion on his title page in 1612, “apt for viols and voyces”.

Helen Charlston’s mezzo is so firmly centred that she is able to extend its resonance smoothly to either end of her range; there are no gear-changes. Furthermore, her diction is excellent. On this occasion, for my money, she was standing slightly behind the ‘sweet spot’ for voices in this arena and thus the consort was too far back as well. But the audience would not have guessed this from their close co-operation.

Melancholy was the dominant theme in much of the poetry set, no more so than in Sir Walter Raleigh’s What Is Our Life? Charlston spelt out the emotional force here, as in the lament by an anonymous writer Ne’er Let The Sunne, where lower viols provided eloquently darker colour. The counterpoint in each of these songs was sumptuous and all the clearer for its presentation in this rarer format.

Helen Charlston: “Mezzo so firmly centred that she is able to extend its resonance smoothly to either end of her range”. Picture: Julien Gazeau

Early music is making a point of getting living composers involved these days, with Nico Muhly filling the bill at this festival. His setting of words from Psalm 39, sandwiching the autopsy report of Orlando Gibbons, is more satisfying than that may sound. He describes it as a “ritualised memory piece” about Gibbons, writing it for five viols and four male voices.

The version here, however, was an authorised arrangement by Fretwork’s own Richard Boothby for mezzo soprano solo along with the viols. This makes sense not only as being more easy to perform, but also because Muhly’s setting owes a good deal to Gibbons’s own verse anthem to the same psalm, Behold, Thou Hast Made My Days As It Were A Span Long. Several later composers used the words “Lord, let me know mine end”, also from Psalm 39.

At its centre, we learn of Gibbons’s convulsions, where the viols are hesitant, fragmented and stuttering. But its climax lay at “Hear my prayer, O Lord”, with the voice pleading repeatedly against sparse accompaniment.

Earlier we had heard the top three viols alone, and then all five punctuating the voice, often quite rhythmically. Muhly uses ornamentation, rather than out-and-out counterpoint to highlight the text, and eventually repeats the opening words in his postlude. While its aura is more Jacobean than modern, it is still a touching evocation of a great talent.

The most fulfilling of the purely viol pieces in the programme was Go From My Window, a set of variations that pits the two bass viols virtually in competition with one another. Equally exciting was the vivid Pavan and galliard in six parts, while two of Gibbons’s three five-part In Nomines underlined the fertility of his imagination. Fretwork is a tautly interlinked ensemble that breathes as one – exactly what this repertory demands.

Pablo Zapico: “Showed how Spain and Italy first took the guitar seriously”

Pablo Zapico, National Centre for Early Music, St Margaret’s Church, Walmgate, York, July 5

THERE are times, usually when listening to early music, when you have the feeling of drinking at the very fountainhead of a musical type. One such rarity came with the appearance of Pablo Zapico and his Baroque guitar.

He showed us how Spain and Italy first took the guitar seriously, with a sweeping survey of 17th century composers, notably Gaspar Sanz and Santiago de Murcia in Spain and Francesco Corbetta leading the Italian pack.

The origins of the guitar lie in the vihuela de mano, a waisted, plucked-string instrument, known in Italy as the viola de mano. Both were tuned exactly like a lute. Their heyday was the 16th century, but by the start of the 17th they had been superseded by the five-course Spanish guitar on display here, with a simplified form of notation.

The most remarkable feature of its predominant style was the strumming effect used alongside pure melody. In the hands of an expert like Zapico this can sound like two instruments being played at once, whereas he can switch between the two in the flash of an eye.

In five whimsical Preludios we sampled the improvisational possibilities with this instrument, often quite chromatic and all the time infused with headstrong Mediterranean temperament. In similar style, we had a volatile Jacaras by Sanz with high and low contrasts that sounded as if right out of the flamenco tradition.

In La Jotta, by de Murcia, based on a Baroque dance, there was a dominant tune heavily syncopated. The best was kept till last. In Sanz’s Canarios, based on a style originating in the Canaries, there were cross-rhythms galore, delivered with extreme rapidity. It was utterly breathtaking.

Zapico is a master of his craft.

The Tallis Scholars: “Intimacy that larger groups struggle to emulate”

The Tallis Scholars, York Minster, July 5

WITH Spanish music assuming some importance at this year’s festival, it was appropriate that Peter Phillips and the Tallis Scholars began and ended their Glorious Creatures event with Sebastián de Vivanco, who was an almost exact contemporary of Victoria and was born, like him, in Avila.

In between, they focused on Renaissance music about the beauties of nature, with a couple of sidetracks into the newer world of Nico Muhly.

Perhaps the most distinctive feature of this ensemble is its small size, here a mere ten voices. This enables an intimacy that larger groups struggle to emulate. It also puts a premium on the contribution of individual singers, especially the four sopranos, who are double the number of each of the lower parts.

Before the interval, the soprano contribution was typically clean but also a touch too heavy for an ideal blend. After the interval, however, there was a change and the top line became more relaxed and less anxious.

Vivanco’s setting of Sicut Lilium (‘Like the Lily’) from the Song of Songs was positively luscious, bordering on the erotic, whereas in Palestrina’s version of the same text, written a generation earlier and given here by an octet, textures were sparer and more delicately fragrant. Both were marvels of their kind.

At the centre of the programme was Lassus’s Missa Vinum Bonum, preceded by its eponymous motet, which leans so heavily on the fruit of the vine that it dabbles with giddiness (no fault of the choir).

The text quickly falls back on the wedding at Cana, where Christ changed water into wine, as justification for a good drink or two.

The mass itself makes copious use of the motet’s music, so it too is infused with jolliness. Ofcourse Lassus quickly inserts a penitent ‘Christe’ into the Kyrie – at least it was here – but there was plenty of syncopation in the Gloria, deftly handled, and after a vivid Resurrection the Credo accelerated dizzily towards its Amen.

Some of that spirit percolated into a crazy Hosanna In Excelsis. Naturally there was a modicum of remorse in the Agnus Dei, but it was about as terse as could be imagined. The liturgy has rarely been so earthy.

On either side of Lassus we had music of Muhly. There was something appropriate about his Marrow (2017), which sets the first eight verses of Psalm 63. Preceding the “marrow and fatness” we had “in a barren and dry land where no water is”, evocative of the present drought. Sure enough, Muhly conjures a heat-haze here.

His A Glorious Creature (2023) similarly sets musings on the sun by Thomas Traherne. Using all ten voices individually, Muhly makes expansive use of ‘the sun’, reflecting its extent and influence.

Thinning down its centre for grains of dust and sand, he then broadens out with Traherne’s linking of the sun with the soul. Here the choir revelled in the immense impact of the text, melding superbly.

Later we enjoyed settings of Descendi In Hortum Meum (I Went Down Into My Garden) by De Rore, Dunstable and Palestrina. The earliest, and the most telling here, was the Dunstable, which with the solo voices of alto Caroline Trevor and the tenors Steven Harrold and Tom Castle was an oasis of tender intimacy.

There remained a magnificent Magnificat Octavi Toni by Vivanco, made all the more spiritual by its plainsong interjections. But Spanish vitalidad kept bursting through. We were brought back down to our knees by the encore, Purcell’s incomparable Hear My Prayer.

Reviews by Martin Dreyer

York Early Music Festival continues until July 11. For full details and tickets, go to: ncem.co.uk.

Reviews by Martin Dreyer

York Early Music Festival continues until July 11. For full details and tickets, go to: ncem.co.uk.

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REVIEW: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Student Showcase, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, April 2

THE concert opened with the student-led chamber choir Animas singing Messiaen’s O Sacrum Convivium. And very good it was too.

The singing was pretty much pitch perfect and the balance was impressive. The choir captured the contemplative, sacred mood of this devotional work well; the soprano Alleluia near the close had a wonderful stillness.

The performance of Fauré’s Cantique de Jean Racine, with its luxurious, quite intense choral wring with organ accompaniment, reminded me of the later Requiem. The tenors were impressive, always a good thing, and the performance left a ‘happy ever after’ glow.

The part-singing in Elgar’s My Love Dwelt In A Northern Land was confident and clean, with fine tenor and soprano contributions. John Seymour’s I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes is an unashamedly sugary-sweet setting and no less enjoyable for that.

It has to be said that Samuel Wesley’s Blessed Be The God And Father was, to use a cricketing term, a “poor shot selection”. Not even the sweetest of solos and earnest commitment from the choir could redeem this ridiculous piece of music.

Anyway, from the ridiculous to the sublime in the form of Rachmaninoff’s Bogoróditse Devo. The performance was richly rewarding with impressive dynamic range and contrasts.

Vox opened their set with Katie Laing’s Sea Shanty Mashup. This was an impressive work and an impressive performance to go with it. The stand-out sea shanty was the arrangement of the Cornish folk group Fisherman’s Friends’ Keep Hauling. Goodness me this was moving, but it is a deeply moving song.

Not for the first time, I would question the term “arrangement”, which doesn’t adequately embrace the creativity expressed in Ms Laing’s Mashup.

To be honest, I was genuinely nervous about any arrangement of Paul Simon’s masterly Sound Of Silence. I mean, it’s just perfect. But Ms Laing’s version was respectful, touching and impressive.

Another notable “arranger” was Milo Morrod, whose reworking of Runaway and Sh-boom stood out as being notably creative. A fine singer too.

I loved Ted Jenkins’s funky arrangement of Tom Misch’s Disco Yes, particularly the electric bass guitar imitation. So too, Vox’s arrangement of Fleet Foxes’ Mykonos, with the pizzicato ‘chirping’ accompaniment signing the song off.

But the “coolest a cappella group at the University of York”, nah, that accolade goes to the student-led gospel choir, Zamar. Dressed in majestic purple cassocks, swishing in time to the beat of the music, they were on a musical mission.

They opened their set with an energetic arrangement of the soul classic Ain’t No Mountain High Enough (Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell), originally sung by Diana Ross. And for a bonus point, used in the closing scene in the first, and best, Bridget Jones film.

Whatever Zamar sang filled the whole auditorium with a bouncing, infectious joy. Eva Cassidy’s How Can I Keep From Singing was quite delightful, as were Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Any Dream Will Do and Go Go Go Joseph arrangements.

Stephen Schwartz’s Wicked’s For Good has an instinctively engaging, albeit sugary tune. But what it lacks in originality was transcended by this full-on, infectious performance.

The set closed with a remarkable, inclusive version of Steven Taylor’s Hallelujah You’re Worthy. The audience were invited to join in the fun. Well, naturally, I didn’t, but what appeared to be the whole of the audience, however, did. They were in on the act. Standing up, jiving, arm rolls, the lot. It was like a Holy, cleansed version of the gothic, irreverent classic musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show, without suspenders or lipstick. Just great fun.

The finale brought the three choirs together in Olivia Ryan’s arrangement of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way. They got on famously.

And that was that: great songs, impressive arrangements, talented and creative musiciansand singers. Who could ask for anything more.

Review by Steve Crowther

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Mass in B Minor, The 24 & Manchester Baroque

Robert Hollingworth

The 24 & Manchester Baroque, J S Bach’s Mass in B minor, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, March 28

TOWARDS the end of his life, Bach arranged his Mass in B minor in four sections, one of which, the Sanctus, was premiered on Christmas Day, 1724. So we are entitled to consider that we are now celebrating its 300th anniversary.

We may conveniently ignore the fact that two smaller passages – the Crucifixus (1714) and the Qui Tollis (1723) – were borrowed from earlier works and other parts were added in the 1730s.

Nevertheless, it brings some Lutheran imagination and sparkle to the very centre of the Roman Catholicism of the Dresden court, for which it may well have been intended. There was plenty of sparkle, too, in this account masterminded by Robert Hollingworth, which brought together University of York’s crack chamber choir, The 24 – here expanded to 35 – with the period chamber orchestra Manchester Baroque. It was deservedly a sell-out.

No performance with Hollingworth in charge would be complete without a quirk or two: it is tied into his DNA and can be part of his charm. Two obvious ones occurred in the Credo, where in place of multiple voices in a reverential pianissimo for the ‘Crucifixus’, he gave us the four soloists trying to sound like madrigalists, doubtless in the hope of making a bigger splash when full chorus plunged in at ‘Et resurrexit’.

A little later, he deprived the basses of their famous ‘Et iterum’ passage and assigned it to his soloist, with a consequent loss of excitement.

With one exception, Hollingworth had all the arias and duets sung from deep stage right, well over to the side, rather than centred in front of the choir. Immediacy was lessened. Distractingly, soloists had to emerge from behind the choir whenever required.

These aberrations aside, there was a great deal to admire. Before the interval, the choir sang without scores, which meant their attention to Hollingworth in the Kyrie and Gloria was total.

Even afterwards, when scores appeared intermittently, many singers barely consulted them, an impressive feat of memory that kept the choruses crisp. The choir remained seated for a prayerful ‘Qui tollis peccata’, a nice touch, the next best thing to kneeling.

It would be churlish to offer any criticism of Hannah Davey, the soprano soloist who stepped in at the eleventh hour. She was particularly effective in duet, notably with tenor Matthew Long in ‘Domine Deus’, alongside graceful obbligato flutes.

He blended well with the oboes and bassoon in ‘Et in spiritum sanctum’, making his voice part of the instrumental texture, and kept his tone nicely straight in the ‘Benedictus’.

Martha McLorinan’s mezzo tone admirably suited the ‘Qui sedes’ and she showed a lovely restraint in the moving ‘Agnus Dei’ with full violins in support. Frederick Long was the reliable bass in ‘Quoniam tu solus’.

Hollingworth’s tempos tended towards the brisk, which his choir seemed to relish. So too did the tireless orchestra, whose woodwinds positively danced their way through ‘Et resurrexit’. It typified the joyous aura of the evening.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on University of York Symphony Orchestra, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, March 15

THERE cannot be many full-time students of mathematics and philosophy in this country who are capable of the solo role in any violin concerto, let alone the Sibelius, which is one of the most demanding in the repertoire.

One such is a final-year undergraduate at the University of York, Anna Lezdkan. Her appearance was the centrepiece of an evening that included shorter works by Wagner and Richard Strauss after a modern Icelandic introduction.

Born in St Petersburg, Lezdkan has lived in this country since early childhood and had all her training here. She exhibited extreme calm under duress and despatched the testing cadenza early in the first movement with considerable panache, which compensated for some lapses in intonation in the upper regions.

Her eloquence in the slow movement was partially masked by orchestral accompaniment that tended to be heavy-handed, especially in the horns. But she managed its tricky double-stopping without difficulty.

The finale was a rumbustious affair, if undeniably exciting, tinged with gypsy colourings. But the rondo’s main theme emerged with clarity and Lezdkan dug into her octave swoops courageously. It was clear that she was well inside this score, despite the shortcomings noted above.

The evening had opened curiously with Clockworking, a work originally for string trio and tape but worked into an orchestral version in 2019 by María Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir. Its seven minutes began mysteriously, slow and hushed, and gradually assumed rhythmic identity as clockwork shapes and snippets of melody appeared. Its climax was abruptly curtailed by a sudden diminuendo at the finish, as if the mechanism had developed a gremlin.

The Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde got off to an uneasy start, but the prelude as a whole built impressively into a long crescendo that was propelled by the main melody rising in the cellos. This in turn inspired the violins into a sumptuously swelling blend in the Love-death (Liebestod) itself, eventually subsiding beautifully with Isolde’s ardour.

John Stringer allowed the orchestra to let its hair down paradoxically at the close with Richard Strauss’s Festliches Präludium (Festive Prelude). It was composed for huge orchestra in 1913 for the commissioning of the new organ at the Vienna Konzerthaus. It presented here as good as argument as any for this orchestra to play in the Central Hall rather than the confines of the Lyons.

At its heart, unsurprisingly, lies the organ and William Campbell cannot be blamed for pulling out all the stops at the start, over an extended pedal bass. Thereafter he achieved a welcome blend, as wind and brass engaged in vivid dialogue, until they united in a splendid chorale against much exciting activity in the strings. There was no need to agonise over detail: the wall of sound was breathtaking.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Maxwell String Quartet, BMS, York, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, March 7

Maxwell String Quartet

British Music Society of York presents Maxwell String Quartet, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, 7/3/2025

WHENEVER you programme a work as colossal as Beethoven’s Op 132, which lies at the very heart of his late string quartets, the problem is what to put with it.

The Maxwells opened with an eclectic mix of the old, the traditional and the contemporary, spotlighting the Beethoven after the interval.

In a nod to their Scottish roots, the players offered arrangements of two sets of traditional Gaelic psalms, as found in the Presbyterian churches of the Western Isles. These were intriguing in their closeness to Scottish dance, evoking the exciting rhythms of the ceilidh. One set would probably have been enough, however, given the similarities between the two.

Additionally, there is always the danger, when transcribing vocal music for instruments of dehumanising it, since words and melody need to speak together. This was particularly evident in the transcription of Byrd’s profound motet Ave Verum Corpus, where the nuances the composer attaches to the words were simply not present, making it literally disembodied.

The choice of motet was strange, in that the contemporary work here, the First String Quartet (Aloysius) by Edmund Finnis, dating from 2018, has five movements avowedly centred around Byrd’s setting of the prayer Christe, Qui Lux Es. It would have seemed logical to play this rather than Ave Verum by way of introduction.

The programme note told us of Finnis’s “versatile compositional voice”, a claim not borne out by this work. It is perfectly pleasing in an intimate way, largely slow-moving and ruminative, as if Finnis is searching out a way forward. It opens lyrically and then becomes wispy, if still transparent. The third movement, although pianissimo, is a little quicker, but like its predecessors was played virtually without vibrato.

Byrd’s hymn is treated like a chorale, its melody largely on the leader’s lowest string, before a finale that finally features some genuine counterpoint. Although largely restrained, its acceleration into the abrupt final cadence hints at what might have been. The Maxwells approached it respectfully, if ultimately without much obvious affection.

They brought admirable clarity to the Beethoven, unveiling its dramatic power by ramping up the tension in the highly chromatic first movement. The relative violence of the scherzo was tempered by a gentler trio in which the viola’s solo was notable.

In the Molto Adagio, which is arguably Beethoven’s most personal statement in any of his quartets, each solemn phrase of the chorale was tenderly introduced; although extremely extended, it seemed not a moment too long, so riveting was the detail.

The succeeding march came as sweet relief, before a searing first violin cadenza into the finale. Here the Maxwells threw caution to the winds, with accents stronger than ever and acceleration into the coda that took the breath away. This was theatre on a Shakespearean level.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Brahms and the Schumanns, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, March 5

Fenella Humphreys, violin, Martin Roscoe, piano, Ben Goldscheider,  horn, and Jess Dandy,  contralto

THIS was two recitals in one. It began and ended with three instrumental works, one each from Robert and Clara Schumann at the start, with the Brahms Horn Trio to finish.

In between we had a song recital from contralto Jess Dandy, with Martin Roscoe as her ‘collaborative pianist’ (we are no longer allowed to speak of accompanists, such is the woke world we live in). Indeed, he was omnipresent and vivid throughout the evening.

Ben Goldscheider’s horn was in pretty good form for Robert’s Adagio and Allegro, Op 70, if not quite at the peak he reached later. One top note even went astray, but he bounced back quickly. His legato was marvellously smooth in the Adagio. One had to smile at the ducking and diving between him and Roscoe in the Allegro, which maintained a tactically immaculate blend.

Less extrovert were the Three Romances, Op 20 for violin and piano by Clara. Fenella Humphreys wisely kept her violin intimate in the opening Andante in D flat major but without compromising her naturally rich tone. The ebb and flow with Roscoe in the finale was a delight. Clara may not have been as persuasive a melodist as her husband, but she knew how to balance these instruments.

Goldscheider was back to join Humphreys for the Horn Trio in E flat at the close. He despatched it with the panache of the super-confident. But Humphreys matched him stride for stride and their balance in the opening movement’s dialogue was impeccable. Goldscheider found a lovely pianissimo for the return of the first theme.

A smoothly elegiac trio allied to a perky scherzo prepared us for penetrating the Adagio’s darker moments. But the rondo was altogether light-hearted, gambolling through its episodes with gay abandon.

Roscoe was the mastermind behind this trio’s cohesion. The best was certainly kept until last. Jess Dandy is a fine talent and as a true contralto she is a rare bird, one to be carefully nurtured.

She is not quite the finished article, however. It took her until her very last song, Schumann’s Requiem, the last of his Op 90 settings, to produce a real pianissimo. Until that point, she had stuck to a stolid mezzo forte or more with little variation in tone. It was as if she had been casting around for a focus.

With a little more confidence she could stop worrying about delivering a beautiful sound – she already has that – and concentrate on interpreting the poetry (but not by shaking her head for emphasis as much as she does).

There was still a great deal to enjoy in what she offered. She glowed at the top of Clara’s setting of Heine’s Ich stand in dunkeln Träumen (I Stood Darkly Dreaming) over Roscoe’s richly flowing accompaniment and found a nicely contemplative mood for Robert’s Stille Tränen (Silent Tears), which was complemented by an exquisite postlude.

She and Humphreys (now on viola) had blended well in Brahms’s Two Songs Op 90, where they and Roscoe negotiated the tempo-changes with pleasing dexterity.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Leon McCawley, York Concerts, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, March 26

Pianist Leon McCawley

YORK Concerts continued its exciting and innovative series of concerts with a piano recital by Leon McCawley. The pianist is well known to concert goers at this series and his invitation to return to perform music by Scarlatti, Beethoven Chopin and Franck was eagerly anticipated, and with good reason.

As we all know, Domenico Scarlatti (1685–1757) was an Italian composer renowned for his prolific output of keyboard sonatas, an impressive 555 pieces, to be exact. As a Baroque composer with a visionary eye, he was noted for his radical, innovative and fresh approach.

However, the opening Sonata in F minor, K.69, appears to be a standalone work and a rather conservative one. Leon McCawley’s performance was incredibly tender and emotionally charged, giving it a haunting quality. To be honest, it sounded (quite) like Bach. The way the pianist delicately caressed the cantabile imitations, enhanced by the subtle ornamentation, was very moving.

By contrast, the performance of his Sonata in C, K.159 positively zipped along without a care in the world. The phrasing was crisp and clear, and the elegant melodic embellishments added to the sense of spontaneity.

The opening galloping rhythms and quasi fanfare-like motifs presumably gave the work its nickname La Caccia (The Hunt). Another striking aspect was McCawley’s embrace of the music’s theatrical quality, as evident in the leaps between registers. However, it was the darker introspection of the F minor work that left a lasting impression, until we bumped into Beethoven, that is.

As far as charm and elegance go, it doesn’t get much better than McCawley’s interpretation of Beethoven’s standalone Andante Favori in F major, WoO 57. It was originally intended as the second movement for the radical Waldstein Sonata but was criticised as being too long and replaced with a short Introduzione. Given that it is about nine-ten minutes long, this was surely a good call.

Leon McCawley possesses a remarkable ability to captivate the listener. The playing was characterised by richness, nuance and warmth. Moreover, like the entire programme, the performance conveyed an expressive depth that left a profound impact.

Beethoven humorously expressed his wish that he had never composed the piece, stating, “I cannot walk down a street without hearing it”. Unfortunately, for me, it evokes the Pemberley soirée from the 1995 BBC TV adaptation of Pride And Prejudice. In this scene, Georgiana Darcy plays the piece in response to Elizabeth Bennet’s rendition of “Voi Che Sapete” from Mozart’s The Marriage Of Figaro. Amidst the romantic atmosphere, love was in the air and here too, the cantabile melody did feel like a love song.

Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 21 in C major, Op. 53 (Waldstein) is a musical masterpiece that continues to captivate audiences. The opening pianissimo was portrayed as a thing of beauty, but one with a government health warning. However, as the music progressed, the simple crescendo built tension and anticipation, leading to a dramatic and powerful climax.

What truly impressed me about this performance was the controlled elegance and precision of the playing. The dramatic shaping of the music was seamless and well-executed, without resorting to excessive virtuosity or raw power.

While the sonata undoubtedly conveys a sense of grandeur and monumentalism, it does so without the testosterone-fuelled intensity that some pianists find necessary to fully express its emotional impact.

The Introduzione: Adagio molto had a mysterious, even dark quality that created a hypnotic spell that seamlessly blended into the Rondo: Allegretto moderato – Prestissimo finale. McCawley’s playing here was simply impeccable. There was a genuine sense of majesty combined with the driving, flowing lyricism. Of course, the musical fireworks display at the end of the journey eventually erupts like a volcano, but it did so beautifully.

After a well-deserved 20-minute interval, we were treated to a programme of 19th-century Romantic music, featuring Chopin and Franck. Chopin’s Trois Écossaises, Op. 72, No. 3, were simply delightful.

Each of the three pieces exuded a charm and elegance that we associate with these popular and lively dances. No. 3, written in D-flat major, is perhaps the most well known of the set. The pianist clearly enjoyed the witty and syncopated rhythm, as well as the cheerful character of the piece.

The performance of the composer’s Berceuse, op.57 was the highlight of the second half. For me, obviously. The berceuse is a lullaby, with the left hand gently rocking the cradle while the right hand sings a series of increasingly intricate variations.

The pianist’s control was remarkable; the delicate ebb and flow of the music had a Zen-like quality. In the end, as the lullaby had sung itself to sleep, there was a feeling of absolute relaxation. The performance was simply sublime.

The performance of Chopin’s Barcarolle in F-sharp, op.60 once again projected an assured grasp of all that mattered. The rubato phrasing shaped and caressed the melodies, while the balance between the right-hand song and the left-hand rocking ostinato effectively imitated the rhythmic sway of a gondola.

While there was certainly a dramatic climax, the serene coda concluded the performance on a note of tranquillity, suggesting a sense of harmony and contentment.

The programme concluded with César Franck’s Prelude, Chorale et Fugue. Undoubtedly, this work stands as one of the great Romantic piano compositions. Franck’s ingenious incorporation of Bach-like counterpoint, coupled with the virtuosity of Franz List and his distinct French style, creates a masterful blend of musical elements.

The issue for me is that I don’t really ‘get it’. It is not one of my favourite piano works, even when it is performed as brilliantly as this. The Prelude, with its rich, searching chromaticism, technically brilliant arpeggios, the Chorale, with its rich processional quality and organ-like textures and references to Wagner’s Parsifal, obviously, left me looking inside from the outside.

 Ironically, it wasn’t until Leon McCawley’s performance of the Fugue, that most disciplined, abstract of forms, that I actually emotionally engaged with the work. Mind you, it was worth waiting for.

Review by Steve Crowther

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Katya Apekisheva & Charles Owen, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 10

Pianist Katya Apekisheva

TWO-PIANO recitals are rare enough in themselves, but this one was doubly welcome, not least because one of this pair is a frequent visitor to this neck of the woods.

Katya Apekisheva makes regular solo and chamber appearances at the North York Moors Chamber Music Festival – well worth checking out if you don’t know it – where Charles Owen has also looked in occasionally.

They revealed tireless enthusiasm in this full programme for the British Music Society of York, aligning Mozart and Brahms with three pieces from the last 80-odd years, none of them unduly challenging to the listener but requiring serious virtuosity from the duo.

Mozart wrote his only sonata for two keyboards, K.448 in D, in 1781 to play with a student. Some student! Its demands held no fear for our duo, who launched into it with brio, crisp and bright at the top, if a little light in the bass.

Its slow movement was given a lovely line, with a seductive rallentando back into the main melody on its return. The closing rondo bubbled over with wit.

This enthusiasm continued into Jonathan Dove’s memorial piece Between Friends for Graeme Mitchison, a polymathic scientist who was also a first-class pianist. It was commissioned in 2019 by this duo, whose recording will appear on the Hyperion label on March.

A gently moving intro boils up into the second of four “conversations”, staccato, nervy and energetic, doubtless reflective of Mitchison’s restless mind. The duo dealt with its rapid cross-rhythms spectacularly well.

The elegiac third conversation grew ever more intense, generating the sense of a funeral march. Jack-in-the-box snippets opened and closed the final chat, enclosing brief whirlwind passages and a multitude of offbeat accents, all over a thrumming underlay. It was undeniably exciting, brilliantly played, making one wish to have known Mitchison himself.

Nothing after the interval quite matched this for exuberance. It was good to hear Brahms’s own two-piano version of his Variations on a theme by Haydn, so often heard in its orchestral guise, although they are not exact copies of one another.

The duo managed to maintain their clarity despite challenging tempos, which allowed the composer’s facility for complex counterpoint to shine, notably in the fourth variation. The finale’s ground bass built into immensely satisfying grandeur as the ‘St Antoni’ chorale theme returned.

Depending on your view of minimalism, John Adams’s portrait of a truck stop on the Nevada/California border, Hallelujah Junction, is either wonderfully teasing or irritatingly repetitive – or somewhere in between.

While I could admire the duo’s unflagging concentration through its dense thickets of vicious accents, I found its relentless ‘surprises’ ultimately unsurprising. But the duo brought the jazz-inspired rhythms of its finale to renewed life.

Lutosławski’s Paganini Variations, built on the same theme as Brahms and Rachmaninov had done before him, proved as capricious as the original and just as busy. Like so much of the rest of the evening, there was plenty to dazzle but precious little to dream upon.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Zoë Tweed and Mark Rogers, BMS York Concerts, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, December 6

Zoë Tweed: “Masterclass in horn technique”

THE recital opened with Eugène Bozza’s En Forêt. This was written as an examination piece for the Paris Conservatory in 1941, and it showed.

The demands in this virtuosic work are considerable, and Zoë Tweed treated us to a masterclass in horn technique covering: agility, range, lip trills, hand stopping, fast tonguing, control of extreme registers and glissandi.

I thought it took a moment or two for Ms Tweed to get into the groove, but maybe it was my ear getting acclimatised to the natural harmonics. But the performance showed that En Forêt works perfectly fine as a duet. It was atmospheric and full of life and the piano accompaniment was quite impressionistic. The obligatory call and response hunting calls or tropes added a sense of fun, for me anyway.

In complete contrast to En Forêt, Jean-Michel Damase’s Berceuse is a short, relaxed affair. I thought the performance was enjoyable, but the piece itself didn’t really contribute much to the programme. And to be honest, the same could be said of Charles Koechlin’ s 1925 Sonata for Horn and Piano (1st Movement). The performance did deliver a simple, even quite serene Moderato (sounding more like a traditional Andante).

Sat in between the two was the more interesting Tre Poemi: Lamento D’Orfeo by Volker David Kirchener. The piece is Romantic, well, in its character anyway, but embraced a modernistic style regarding both horn colour and technique. This was evident right at the opening, Ms Tweed pointing the bell of the horn at, or into the open piano lid, with the effect of using the piano’s soundboard and sustaining pedal to lengthen the horn notes.

The duo closed the first half with a fabulous performance of Paul Dukas’s Villanelle. This too was written as an exam piece, but the technical challenges – stopped notes, fast scales, playing without valves using natural horn techniques – were secondary to the piece of music itself.

I absolutely loved the delightful sharing of the musical spoils, warm and sunny with ripples of brilliance. This was easily the most rewarding horn and piano work in the programme.

Astor Piazzolla’s Ave Maria proved to be a cosy introduction to the second half with fine playing from both performers. Wolfgang Plagge’s Monoceros is a piece for solo horn about the legendary unicorn, an animal everybody has heard about but mercifully never seen.

Zoë Tweed delivered an evocative, technically flawless performance; the cute ending depicting the unicorn disappearing into the legendary mists was just lovely. However, I found the piece itself pretty underwhelming; each to our own, I know.

The programme closed with York Bowen’s Horn Sonata, Op. 101. This is a seriously well-crafted work, which in itself is rewarding. Of the three movements, it was the energetic Allegro con Spirito finale that really impressed.

 The players were clearly relishing the challenges; wide interval leaps with an evenness of tone (horn) and dazzling ‘orchestral’ textures (piano). What stayed with me was the distinctive timbre of the horn’s low register.

There was a touching mother (Karen Street) and daughter (Zoë Tweed) signing-off, Epilogue. The work was a composed as a tribute to the Prologue in Britten’s Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings.

This concert clearly demonstrated what an exceptional performer Zoë Tweed is. But without doubt the best and most satisfying contribution came from pianist Mark Rogers’ playing of the two Schumann selections from Kinderszenen, Op.15 and Waldszenen, Op. 82. Well, it is Schumann after all, and Mr Rogers played them beautifully.

Review by Steve Crowther  

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Quatuor Diotima, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, December 4

Quatuor Diotima: String quartet programme that took no prisoners. Picture: Michel Nguyen

A STRING quartet programme of Janáček and late Beethoven that takes no prisoners is both a compliment to the audience and a mouth-watering prospect. It did not disappoint, and for starters it added an unexpected bon-bon.

Schoenberg’s early Presto in C, written in the mid-1890s before he went off-piste, proved a delightful Haydnesque romp in rondo style. Delivered with panache, it was made to sound much easier than it is.

The second of Janáček’s two quartets, Intimate Letters, which was the last of his chamber works, was completed in 1928 a few months before his death. Astonishingly volatile for a man in his seventies, its emotions represent the culmination of his ten-year infatuation with a young woman less than half his age, Kamila Stösslová, as seen in his 700 or so letters to her.

Many of its most telling interjections occur in the second violin, and Léo Marillier certainly milked them for all they were worth, notably in the second of its four movements. The ensemble retained a decisive edge, bordering on the acidic, by minimising its vibrato – until the finale, where leader Yun-Peng Zhao brought a warmer tone to his high-lying melody.

But generally biting accents allied to ultra-smooth but sudden tempo-changes made this relationship an exciting, rollercoaster affair.

It was a treat to hear Beethoven’s String Quartet Op 130 in B flat with its original finale, the Grosse Fugue (often referred to as Op 133 and played as a separate piece). Some of the audience at its premiere in 1826 were nonplussed by this giant ending, which followed the fifth-movement Cavatina without a break (Beethoven obliged with a new finale a year later, only slightly shorter).

Stravinsky called it “more subtle than any music of my own century”. Either way, it’s a big listen. But this group made it as easy as it can be: the fugue subjects emerged with miraculous clarity, which was achieved mainly through extremely tight rhythms.

The Diotimas are unusual in that their leader appears to make no eye contact with his colleagues, but they listen to each other intently and their voices ebbed and flowed in and out of the texture. With tension almost at breaking point towards the end, the two principal themes made a triumphal final appearance, now fully reconciled to one another. Everest had been climbed, a very special moment.

At the opening of the work, there had been seamless alternations of fast and slow, revealing Beethoven in two minds. Both here and later, it was the Diotomas’ fearless, unapologetic stance that shone through. Some of the humour of the Andante might have been less forceful, but the two German dances were properly balletic and came as a welcome relief.

The Cavatina, a unique title in chamber music since it is normally a short song, was sublime, reminiscent of the variations at the end of the ‘Harp’ quartet, Op 74 which are also in the warm key of E flat. But it was the Grosse Fuge that took the breath away.

Review by Martin Dreyer