THE Carducci String Quartet opened their programme with a poised and assured account of Mozart’s String Quartet in C major, K. 465, the ‘Dissonance’.
Despite its nickname, the opening feels less discordant than unsettled, but its harmonic daring is still radical.
As Matthew Denton (first violin) pointed out, one more chromatic note and we would have the serial set: Haydn – Mozart – Schoenberg. Maybe.
Once the Allegro begins, however, the music resolves into clarity: the curtain lifted, the sun came out and Classical balance is restored. The ensemble interplay was lively and finely judged throughout.
The Menuetto – my favourite movement – retained its charm without underplaying the darker, less grounded A minor Trio. The Allegro molto last movement was again notable for the crisp exchanges, but it was the beautiful projection of song in the second movement Andante cantabile which really impressed.
The performance had a real operatic quality. Across the work, the Carduccis conveyed a strong sense of structural coherence.
After this Classical poise, Rebecca Clarke’s one-movement Poem opened up a more elusive, impressionistic sound world. The performance was highly persuasive. Echoes of Ravel and Debussy were clear, yet Clarke’s voice remained distinctive.
Themes seemed to emerge and dissolve rather than assert themselves, creating a continuous unfolding of mood and texture rather than a clearly defined architecture.
The Carducci Quartet clearly understood the music’s melancholic, unsettled character, shaping it with sensitivity and restraint. I admired the piece and the performance, but the impact was fleeting – the work didn’t stay with me, just a lovely impression of it.
From this impressionistic fluidity, the programme returned to firmer ground with Beethoven’s String Quartet in C major, Op. 59 No. 3, often regarded as the most immediately approachable of the Razumovsky quartets.
Its opening Andante shares something of Mozart’s harmonic uncertainty, unfolding with an almost improvisatory quality before the Allegro decisively asserts itself in a burst of C major energy and clarity.
This is a technically demanding movement, particularly for the first violin, and Matthew Denton was pushed to the limits in the frequent upper register passages of the development section. The rapid string crossings were dispatched with brilliance.
The second movement, Andante con moto, provided the emotional centre of the work: restrained, inward and quietly hypnotic, with an undercurrent of sadness that never became sentimental.
Maybe this hinted at the well-documented despair mapped out in the Heiligenstadt Testament? Probably not. What was fascinating was the recapitulation: here the themes are presented in reverse order, creating a quite radical sense of symmetry.
A charming, short Menuetto grazioso also functioned as a lead-in to the Allegro molto final movement. Suddenly, it was fasten-your-seatbelts time as the Quartet zipped through this relentless fugal tour de force. The articulation was razor-sharp and the rhythmic drive utterly relentless. It was an exhilarating conclusion, both to the work and to the programme as a whole.
The performance that stood out as being exceptional was their account of Philip Glass’s String Quartet No. 3, Mishima.
Drawn from Glass’s score for Paul Schrader’s Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters, the work unfolds in a series of vividly characterised tableaux. The familiar elements of minimalism – repetition, looping motifs, pulsing rhythms – were all present, but the Carducci Quartet brought far more than surface precision. What emerged was a performance of real depth and intensity, with a strong sense of dramatic continuity.
The technical demands are considerable: intonation must be exact, and the physical stamina required is significant. Both were met with complete assurance. More importantly, the Quartet revealed the work’s psychological dimension – its tension, its stillness, its underlying unease. Nothing felt routine; everything was shaped with insight and purpose.
I have heard this work many times, but this performance stood head and shoulders above any I have encountered.
James Gilchrist: tenor Evangelist in Yorkshire Bach Choir’s St John Passion
CONDUCTOR Peter Seymour opted for a slower tempo in the opening chorus “Herr, unser Herrscher”.
While this had obvious merit – polyphonic transparency, clearly layered choral entries, crisp articulation of the text, and finely judged orchestral detail – it lost dramatic intent: the relentless drive and sense of agitation that a quicker tempo – think John Eliot Gardiner – can bring.
It is, of course, a trade-off: solemnity versus torment. And then something quite remarkable happened: James Gilchrist.
His tenor Evangelist proved the dramatic engine of the Passion. From the opening recitative, “Jesus ging mit seinen Jüngern,” he established the narrative with urgency and clarity. Particularly effective were the razor-sharp exchanges with the chorus, as the crowd – here the soldiers – interject in “Jesum von Nazareth!”
One of the most powerful Evangelist moments in Part I is the recitative “Da verleugnete Petrus abermal” – Peter’s denial – a secco recitative for tenor with continuo accompaniment. The rising tension was palpable.
This is followed by the cock crow, conveyed through the text, and then the shock of silence. What ensued was a remarkable depiction of Peter’s emotional collapse in “Und ging hinaus und weinete bitterlich”, again with no string or wind support.
A standout passage of Part II was Gilchrist’s delivery of “Und neigte das Haupt und verschied”. This is the climactic narrative moment of the Passion: after all the drama – indeed, all the operatic intensity – it is over. The music stops.
Gilchrist also shaped the work’s pivotal theatrical moments with real authority: the mob’s blunt rejection in “Nicht diesen, sondern Barrabam!”; the biting, almost grotesque sarcasm of “Sei gegrüßet, lieber Jüdenkönig!”; and, most strikingly, the escalating hysteria of “Kreuzige! Kreuzige!”. In each case, his framing of these interruptions ensured the narrative never lost momentum.
The voice of the choir in the chorales throughout is that of communal reflection: the exact opposite of mob rule. Personally, I felt the tempi were a touch brisk; I missed a sense of real stillness. That said, they were confidently performed. The final chorus, “Ruht wohl, ihr heiligen Gebeine”, with its warm, reassuring harmonies and gently rocking, lullaby-like rhythm, was very moving.
Yorkshire Bach Choir performing St John Passion at Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall
The success of the performance depends on the contrast between the Evangelist’s narrative urgency and Christus’s centred stillness, each role demanding not only vocal control but also a finely judged sense of dramatic purpose.
Frederick Long proved an excellent Christus. His performance radiated authority, poise and inner calm. It was refreshing to hear such clarity of pitch in the lower bass register, rather than the all-too-common woolliness.
I found Long’s “Mein Reich ist nicht von dieser Welt” genuinely moving: surrounded by accusation and political tension, his quiet conviction, supported by the halo of strings, created a moment of true stillness and otherworldliness.
The other soloists all acquitted themselves admirably. Tenor Jason Darnell gave a fine account of the demanding “Ach, mein Sinn”, capturing its agitation and urgency. Darnell coped well with the quick, restless rhythms, generating a real sense of unease.
Alto Louise Dobson gave a compelling “Es ist Vollbracht”, beautifully supported by Richard Boothby on viol da gamba, whose intimate, haunting tone was ideally suited to the aria.
Both sopranos, Bethany Seymour and Wendy Goodson,delivered fine performances; Ms Seymour’s “Ich folge dir gleichfalls,” with flute and continuo, offered a moment of light, graceful contrast.
Perhaps most enjoyable of all was Caroline Sartin-Smith’s “Von den Stricken meiner Sünden”. Her rich alto voice suited the aria well, although the two oboes – beautifully played – occasionally compromised the balance.
The orchestra – from Lucy Russell and Agata Darashkaite on violins to Ben Horden on organ – was first-rate. There were moments when the balance did not favour the upper strings, but these are the forces Bach himself conceived, so perhaps best left there.
It was good to see Peter Seymour again, directing from the harpsichord with authority and assurance.
THE Kleio Quartet – Juliette Roos, Katherine Yoon (violins), Yume Fujise (viola) and Eliza Millett (cello) – opened opened the programme with an impressive account of Elgar’s String Quartet in E minor, Op. 83.
How this young group of players managed to embrace the emotional depth of this remarkable work was beyond me, but they did.
Although the Quartet was written in 1918, the final year of the First World War, it does not emerge as a wartime statement. It instead signals the collapse of the Edwardian world and Elgar’s withdrawal from public life.
Gone is the public voice of the Enigma Variations and the symphonies; Elgar retreats instead to the private, intimate world of chamber music. The Quartet is therefore shaped by introspection, cultural rupture and disillusionment.
This was most evident in the Kleio’s performance of the central Piacevole (poco andante): the emotional core of the work. The opening cantabile melody – played by the first violin – unfolded in a tender, sustained line, aided by minimal vibrato and superbly natural phrasing.
The lines were passed between the instruments with great sensitivity. The viola’s tone added a warm glow to the texture, suggesting nostalgia. There was noticeable role reversal with the second violin, which generally played a supporting role to the first, while the cello provided vital support through its countermelodies. The balance was impeccable.
If the opening Allegro moderato can be labelled dramatic, it is surely through the restrained tension beneath the surface. Again, the Quartet’s interpretation and judgement were admirably on display.
The thematic material is shared across all four instruments, and the balance and clarity of the inner voices – particularly the second violin and viola – were vital in maintaining the movement’s flow. The phrasing and dynamics were beautifully judged.
The closing Allegro molto was driven by a restless energy. The rhythmic playing was invariably precise, and the contrasting lyrical passages that emerged from the ensemble texture – with excellent contributions from viola and cello – carried that glance-over-the-shoulder, reflective quality. The end of the movement avoided any sense of triumph or resolution, but was satisfying nonetheless.
Beethoven’s String Quartet in D major, Op. 18 No. 3 came as a breath of fresh air. The opening Allegro was deceptively relaxed: the witty conversational interplay and the speed at which themes were passed around were a hoot. The rhythmic energy was light rather than driven, and the elegance of the playing made for an impressive opening.
Their playing in the Andante con moto had emotional warmth and lovely poise, while conveying a subtle tension beneath the calm surface. The third movement Allegro came across as a robust minuet, but one with both bite and humour. Sharp accents and crisp articulation added to the character, giving the dance a distinct rhythmic edge.
The closing Presto shone with sparkle and wit. The light articulation and clarity in the fast passagework were thrilling. Great fun too.
The interval usually gives me time to clear my head before the second half. This time, however, my companion pointed out that the Beethoven quartet opens with the same minor seventh as There’s A Place For Us from West Side Story. From that moment on, Bernstein refused to leave my head – a damned good tune, admittedly.
I have always found Mendelssohn’s String Quartet in E flat major, Op. 44 No. 3 to be texture-driven rather than theme-driven, with much of its character emerging from the interaction of inner voices rather than overt melodic statements.
It was a relief to hear a performance in which the texture was kept both clear and buoyant. This was evident from the opening Allegro vivace, where the movement’s brilliance lay in the quick exchanges between the instruments. Not for the first time, the viola and second violin ensured a strongly conversational quality.
The light, almost weightless playing in the second movement, Scherzo: Assai leggiero vivace, had a delightful, wispy, magical character, while the turbo-charged energy of the closing Molto allegro con fuoco – cleanly articulated and crackling with kinetic energy – nearly sent an instinctively animated first violin, Juliette Roos, into orbit.
For me, the movement that lingered most was the Adagio non troppo, the still point of the quartet. The long cantabile lines shared across the ensemble, shaped with warmth but without indulgence, and the intimacy of the phrasing made the performance genuinely affecting.
WHEN you walk out of a concert feeling that it may have been the musical event of the year and it is still only early February, you have certainly experienced something special.
In the case of pianist Angela Hewitt, it was extraordinary. Not that we should be surprised by now. This was at least her fourth visit to York in the past ten years: she must like it here.
Her focus was entirely on Bach. She played all but one of six works from memory. The exception was the huge Prelude & Fugue in A minor, BWV 894 (not one of the ‘48’), where her tablet could not be more than an aide-memoire, given the rapid tempos both halves demand. She kept it until last, yet after a whole evening her intensity was as strong as ever.
In the fugue, her relaxation was so engrossing that it was as if she were unveiling a brand-new narrative, despite its complexities.
It was about 20 seconds into the opening Toccata in D major, BWV 912, that she had the packed audience in the palm of her hand. While its moods were distinctive, there was also a sense of excitement building throughout: the final gigue, which happens also to be a fugue, was intoxicating for its sheer enthusiasm. As with so much of the evening, she used her sustaining pedal sparingly: clarity was the watchword.
By now her palpable enjoyment had become infectious. In the Fifth French Suite, in G major, there was an elegiac transparency to the Sarabande and a gentle lilt to the majestic Loure, both standing in contrast to the commanding virtuosity elsewhere and testimony to Hewitt’s feeling for the romantic side of Bach, an aspect too widely ignored. The taxing gigue, needless to say, was at once colourful and percussive.
The Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, in D minor, was an ear-opener, the first part dazzling in its harmonic daring, right at the limits for the composer’s time, the second incredibly crisp, with subtle weighting of the various voices.
That clarity was maintained in the Fifth Partita (a suite in all but name), despite the cracking pace at the start. There were supple dabs of rubato along the way, before a finale of mesmerising brilliance.
In the Italian Concerto, published in 1735 and the latest work in this programme, we could feel Bach letting his hair down: the sun sparkling on the Mediterranean in the exhilarating opening, the flowing song of the Andante with teasing ornamentation, and the balletic momentum of the final Presto, this was Italy in a nutshell. Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring made a deeply touching encore.
Angela Hewitt has once again confirmed her already legendary status as a player of Bach. We must hope that she will continue to make frequent returns to York.
Audience members of all ages enjoying Opera North: Little Listeners. Picture: Tom Arber
IN his third highlights package of the New Year, Charles Hutchinson picks out a riparian exhibition, murderous deeds in 1590 and 1950s’ Italy, Davina’s wellbeing tips and a tribute on Shaky ground.
Family event of the week: Opera North: Little Listeners, National Centre for Early Music, York, today, 2pm and 3.15pm
OPERA North: Little Listeners is a treasure hunt with a tuneful twist, where the Orchestra of Opera North needs your help to find hidden musical gems. Discover different “Tuneful Treasures” as you go, collecting them all in time for the grand finale in this relaxed, interactive concert.
“Singing and movement is not just encouraged – it’s expected!” says the Leeds company. “Join us to experience the magic of orchestral music up close, whatever your age. We can’t wait to sing and dance with you.” Box office: 01904 658338 or ncem.co.uk.
Death Of Gesualdo: Tableaux Vivants team up with The Gesualdo Six and a puppet at the NCEM on Sunday and Monday
World premiere of the month: Death Of Gesualdo, The Gesualdo Six with Tableaux Vivants, National Centre for Early Music, York, Sunday and Monday, 6.30pm to 7.40pm
THE Gesualdo Six reunite with director Bill Barclay for the world premiere of a daring new successor to international hit Secret Byrd. Featuring six singers, six actors and a puppet, Death Of Gesualdo creates living tableaux that illuminate the life and psyche of madrigalist Carlo Gesualdo, a tortured genius most famous for murdering his wife and her lover in an explosive fit of jealousy, but revered among composers for anticipating chromaticism by 200 years.
This is the boldest look yet at how the life and sometimes chilling music of this enigmatic prodigy must function together for the true Gesualdo to emerge from the shadows. Box office: 01904 658338 or ncem.co.uk.
York Printmakers artist Jane Dignum at work in her studio
Exhibition of the week: York Printmakers, Rivers of York, City Screen Picturehouse, York, until February 7
CELEBRATING York Printmakers’ tenth anniversary, Rivers of York presents original hand-made prints inspired by the River Foss and River Ouse. On show are a variety of printmaking techniques, including etching, linocut, collagraph, monotype, screen print, solar plate, Japanese woodblock, lithography and stencilling, in works that explore the rivers’ place in the history, ecology and culture of York from Roman times to the present.
Taking part are printmakers Pamela Knight; John Haste; Roger Goldthorpe; Lyn Bailey; Safron Sunley; Sandra Storey; Robin Linklater; Bridget Hunt; Sally Clarke; Yvonne Hogarth; Jen Dring; Michelle Hughes; Madelaine Lockwood; Vanessa Oo; Jane Dignum; Jane Duke; Phill Jenkins; Becky Long-Smith; Rachel Holbrow and Sally Parkin.
Ed McVey as Tom Ripley and Bruce Herbelin-Earle as Dickie Greenleaf in The Talented Mr Ripley, on tour at Grand Opera House, York. Picture: Mark Senior
Game of deception of the week: The Talented Mr Ripley, Grand Opera House, York, January 19 to 24, 7.30pm plus 2.30pm Wednesday and Saturday matinees
BEFORE its West End run, The Talented Mr Ripley plays the Grand Opera House with a cast led by Ed McVey as Tom Ripley, Bruce Herbelin-Earle as Dickie Greenleaf and 2020 Strictly Come Dancing finalist MaisieSmith as Marge. Tom is a nobody, scraping by in New York, forging signatures, telling little white lies, until a chance encounter changes everything. When a wealthy stranger offers him an all-expenses-paid trip to Italy to bring home his wayward son, Dickie, Tom leaps at the opportunity.
In the sun-drenched glamour of 1950s’ Italy, surrounded by shimmering waters and whispered secrets, Tom is seduced by Dickie’s freedom, wealth and effortless charm. Fascination turns to obsession in Patricia Highsmith’s story, whereupon an innocent chance turns into a chilling game of lies, identity theft and murder. Box office: atgtickets.com/york.
Davina McCall: Uplifting conversation and personal stories at York Barbican
Talk show of the week: An Evening With Davina, York Barbican, January 22, 7.30pm
REARRANGED from October 22 2025, television presenter and wellness advocate Davina McCall presents an evening of uplifting conversation and personal stories. From her groundbreaking career on screen to her tireless campaigning for women’s health, Davina opens up about the moments that shaped her with honesty, humour and heart, followed by an audience Q&A. Box office: yorkbarbican.co.uk.
Mr Wilson’s Second Liners: On the front line for New Orleans brass and 1990s’ club culture at The Crescent
When New Orleans converges with Hacienda: Mr Wilson’s Second Liners, The Crescent, York, January 22, 7.30pm
MARDI Gras brass band meets 1990s’ club classics for a rave funeral without a body as a rabble of mischievous northerners, Mr Wilson’s Second Liners form a traditional New Orleans Second Line at The Crescent.
However, this is no sombre occasion: Mr Wilson’s expend their collective musical talent paying homage to the diehard days of the Hacienda, Nineties’ club culture and its greatest hero, Manchester mover and shaker Mr Tony Wilson. Box office: thecrescentyork.com.
Recommended but sold out already:York indie rock band Skylights’gig at The Crescent on January 23, 7.30pm.
Jeffrey Martin: Blending folk, Americana and literary short stories at Rise@Bluebird Bakery, Acomb
Folk gig of the week: Please Please You and Brudenell Presents present Jeffrey Martin and special guest Tenderness, Rise@Bluebird Bakery, Acomb, York, January 24, 8.15pm (doors 7.30pm)
PORTLAND musician Jeffrey Martin’s narrative-driven songwriting is a blend of folk, Americana and literary short stories with echoes of Raymond Carver. Before turning to music full time in 2016, he spent several years as a high-school English teacher, a profession he left to “chase his dreams at all cost.”
His lyrics are marked by his insight into the human condition, often focusing on the struggles and quiet dignity of people on the margins of society. Box office: bluebirdbakery.co.uk/rise.
Shakin’ all over: Rebel Dean rolls out the Eighties’ rock’n’roll hits of Shakin’ Stevens at the Joseph Rowntree Theatre
Tribute show of the week:Whole Lotta Shakin’ – The Shakin’ Stevens Story, Joseph Rowntree Theatre, York, January 25, 7.30pm
ENDORSED by members of Shakin’ Stevens own family, West End star Rebel Dean’s award-winning tribute to Great Britain’s biggest-selling singles artist of the 1980s tell the story of the rockin’ Welsh boy and his rise to chart-topping superstardom.
Whole Lotta Shakin’ combines a live band with rare footage and images in a nostalgic night of Shaky hits, Green Door, Oh Julie, You Drive Me Crazy and This Ole House et al, complemented by Eddie Cochran, Chuck Berry, Ritchie Valens and Elvis Presley numbers that he covered. Box office: 01904 501935 or josephrowntreetheatre.co.uk.
John Atkin directing the York Beethoven Project orchestra
In Focus: York Beethoven Project, Symphony No 7, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 31
AFTER a month in a white beard and big red coat, followed by an unexpected run of musical director duties for Pick Me Up Theatre’s Anything Goes, John Atkin turns his attention to York Beethoven Project’s next concert.
On January 31, the focus will fall on Beethoven’s Symphony No7 at the Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York.
“We have 74 players lined up to take part in this one, which is one of the most popular symphonies amongst musicians,” says John. “The piece will be rehearsed throughout the day, concluding with a free performance open to all at 4pm. What better way to shake off the January blues.”
Since its inception in 2023, York Beethoven Project has played the first six symphonies in order at six different venues with more than 100 people taking part.
“Last year we did Nos 4, 5 and 6, and later this year we will do No 8, back at York Music Centre,” says John. “Following that, we move into preparation for our finale, No9, the Choral Symphony, which will be performed with a joint community choir of up to 100 voices and four soloists at Selby Abbey in March 2027, to coincide with the 200th anniversary of Beethoven’s death.
“Following that, who knows! We have some ideas and suggestions but no definite plans yet, so watch this space.”
Scottish lutenist and guitar player Sean Shibe. Picture: Iga Gozdowska
THIS concert for the British Music Society of York opened with a request: none of the usual “Please switch off your mobile phones, emergency exits this way” stuff, but a call-out for a USB connector.
This set a tone of the unexpected, of unpredictability, and the concert was all the more refreshing for it.
Sean Shibe opened with a selection of lute pieces from the Rowallan and Straloch Manuscripts. The playing not only showcased his technical brilliance – each note plucked with surgical precision – but also the exquisite, expressive depth. I was drawn into a world which embraced a hypnotic, timeless quality.
I have never heard any of the music by Pierre Attaingnant, but it seemed to me that Sean Shibe approached the early 16th century-transcribed set of dances for solo lute, not as museum pieces but as vibrant living music. His tone was intimate and lucid, the ornamentation discreet yet expressive.
That said, I much preferred the following three unannounced Renaissance lute pieces by John Dowland: Prelude, Queen Elizabeth’s Galliard and Frog Galliard. They formed a delightfully compelling triptych, displaying the full expressive range of Dowland’s lute writing.
I loved the poise and courtly brilliance of Shibe’s Queen Elizabeth’s Galliard and the buoyant rhythm and sharply etched phrasing of its companion, Frog Galliard.
Having been forewarned that the first half was going to be short and the second half a ‘leg-crosser’ – my companion’s observation, not mine – we dutifully headed off to the proverbial refreshment rooms.
Not surprisingly, we were somewhat surprised to see the performer immediately returning with his guitar. Leaving our dignity at the auditorium exit, we quickly resumed our seats as if nothing had happened. And I’m pleased we did, as we were treated to a sublime performance of Bach’s Suite No. 1 in G major for cello, arranged, presumably by Sean Shibe, for solo guitar.
Shibe’s crystal-clear articulation of the weaving contrapuntal lines was not only technically remarkable but went way beyond virtuosity into a world of rediscovery, of genuine musical insight.
The second half should have opened with Sofia Gubaidulina’s short, three-minute solo guitar piece, Serenade (1960), only it didn’t. Instead, it was one of Harrison Birtwistle’s short guitar miniatures called Sleep Song.
Rather than the usual full-force, raw Birtwistle, the piece – as the title suggests – was quiet, introspective, and gently evocative.
The Gubaidulina was interesting in that it was quite traditional, even tonal. I also thought I detected a Spanish influence. Like the Birtwistle, it explored subtle timbres and mood. The performances were beautifully nuanced.
I was as delighted as I was surprised to see Frank Martin’s admirable Quatre pieces brèves for solo guitar – written for the great Spanish guitarist, Andrés Segovia, but premiered by (the even greater) Julian Bream – replaced by James Dillon’s Twelve Caprices for solo guitar.
Not surprisingly, these were characterised by extreme virtuosity: rapid changes from bass and treble (Caprice I); fast passagework (Caprice II); dynamic voice differences (III); crazy-fast stopped notes and harmonics (IV); left-hand extremes (VI); violent attacks (VII), through to a kind of recapitulation in the closing Caprice XII.
The musical as well as the technical demands on the performer are beyond anything I have heard for a solo guitarist, and the performance by Sean Shibe was unbelievably impressive.
For what it’s worth, it reminded me of a highly distilled version of the composer’s utterly magnificent Book of Elements – for solo piano. The problem for me was, unlike the Book of Elements, I really didn’t enjoy the ride; I just hung on for dear life: utterly exhilarating.
Sean Shibe closed the recital with Thomas Adès’ Forgotten Dances. Like the Dillon, the demands on the performer are considerable. Take the opening movement, Overture – Queen of Spiders, for example.
The fast alternation between the bright, metallic, glassy passages played very close to the bridge and the darker, chocolatey passages played very close to the fingerboard; the fast harp-like delicacy in the upper register and the jaw-dropping left-hand agility were delivered with a focus on musicality rather than display.
Was there any tone painting here? Not sure, but there was a brittle, skittering quality and a delightful winding-down of activity signalling closure rather than cadence. By contrast, in the sustained, quiet sonorities of Berceuse – Paradise of Thebes, Shibe conjured a timeless, haunting quality.
His playing in Here Was A Swift was brimming with a volatile, darting vitality. Were there echoes of Satie in Barcarolle – The Maiden Voyage? Absence of goal-orientated repetition, maybe? But the rocking motion suggests unease rather than Satie’s ironic calling card. Not sure.
Carillon de Ville came across as the most grounded, with Shibe marking a ritualistic 4/4 (to my ears) march, but one with nowhere to go. The suite closed with a homage to Purcell, Vesper – a movement signalling restraint, a quiet closing of the cycle rather than resolution. It was beautifully played.
I thought the performance of Forgotten Dances was inspired, and I left the recital believing that Forgotten Dances was the real deal: a masterpiece.
And there we have it: a one-off, truly remarkable programme and performance – a worthy tribute to Andrew Carter, president of BMS York, who died earlier this month.
University Symphony Orchestra conductor John Stringer
WE are apt to forget that York has three full-size symphony orchestras: York Guildhall Orchestra and York Symphony Orchestra, of course, but also the university’s own orchestra, culled from throughout the campus. All are worthy of our attention.
The University Symphony Orchestra (USO) reminded us of its quality with this appearance under its regular conductor John Stringer.
It involved four northern European composers: Denmark’s Poul Ruders, Estonia’s Arvo Pärt and Finland’s Sibelius, before dipping southwards for Belgium’s Franck.
The Ruders was a UK premiere, despite being written as long ago as 1994: The Return Of The Light, music to accompany a ten-minute film on the Christmas gospel. It began with amorphous dissonance, until a drumbeat emerged and high strings evoked a chilly night.
Figments of a chorale floated into view and for the first time the announced sampled sounds on tape began to clarify, delivering watery sounds. Finally, woodwinds launched into a return of the chorale. One suspects this work is more successful as soundtrack than as a concert piece.
Pärt’s Greater Antiphons for strings is equally seasonal, based on the church’s Advent antiphons, or ‘O antiphons’ as they are known (since each of the seven – preludes to the Magnificat – opens with the exclamation ‘O’). They are brief but distinctive, if similar in general atmosphere to the Ruders.
After a gently rocking ‘O Adonai’, there was a bolder line in ‘O Root Of Jesse’ and some urgency in ‘O Key Of David’. ‘O Emmanuel’ was well worked, its major-chord lullaby becoming a fanfare before fading out.
Uncertain horns fuzzied the start of the Intermezzo in Sibelius’s Karelia Suite, although it firmed up when the string tremolos appeared. The Ballade was distinguished by fine string tutti and a sturdy cor anglais solo. The blending of the march’s two themes made a resplendent finish.
The lingering lethargy at the start of Franck’s Symphony in D minor was immediately dispelled by a vivid Allegro. Here was plenty of evidence, if any were needed, of what a fine body of violins the university boasts at the moment, always persuasive. They would also have been more shapely had contrasts been more marked, since in this relatively small hall everything tends to sound loud unless rigorously controlled.
Franck himself characterised the second half of the Allegretto as a scherzo, which makes the movement almost a scherzo and trio, but in reverse. The melancholy chromaticism of the opening was affecting but it was the violins’ pianissimo in the alleged scherzo that was absolutely magical.
The main theme in the finale needed more bite from the cellos who were a touch lightweight all evening. Not so the reply in the brass, who were in the forefront as the themes from earlier movements were recollected, resulting in an enormous climax as we reached a triumphant D major.
OCTANDRE is a piano quintet, with a double bass replacing the second violin. Think, in other words, of the instrumentation in Schubert’s ‘Trout’ quintet – which ended the programme here.
Before it, we heard works by Nicola LeFanu, her late husband David Lumsdaine and Christian Mason, who happens to be a co-artistic director of Octandre.
But before a note had been played, we were treated to an excerpt from Lumsdaine’s Soundscape 4: Butcher Birds Of Spirey Creek, a dawn chorus recorded in the Warrumbungles, a mountain range in his native New South Wales. Without risking a description, we can say that this remarkable bird has tonal instincts.
Next up was Mason’s Shadowy Fish (2020), which he subtitles ‘Hommage à Schubert’, although its title originates in a Pablo Neruda poem. In three sections, with the outer two labelled “mysterious” amongst other epithets, it is clearly a very personal reaction to the poetry of Schubert’s setting (actually by Christian Schubart), but without obvious relevance to the composer himself.
A viola interlude interrupts the angular motifs that jostle for attention at the start, and there is a viola solo near the close, which may mean that the instrument represents the trout. The plaintive slitherings in the middle – “slow, with a heavy heart” – against sforzando chords in the piano, might have been the fisherman’s moment of truth and the spaced high chords at the close offered the possibility of lament. But one struggled to detect much in the way of water, a mystery indeed.
Much more decisive because more vivid was LeFanu’s briefer Night Song With Frogs, originally a cimbalom solo, dating from 2004. With the strings now accompanied by harpsichord, the original score formed the basis of an improvisation, accompanied by an edited Lumsdaine tape of frogs on the Darling River.
Paradoxically, this sounded quite structured, with the strings flitting like insects around the frogs: motifs like little jigs, sometimes pizzicato, sometimes rapidly bowed, intrigued the ear and came close to blending with the tape, even elaborating upon it.
Lumsdaine’s solo cello piece Blue Upon Blue (1991) continued the theme of dawn and dark, since its title comes from a Buddhist poem about distant hills under evening clouds. The work is almost a duet: against an unpretentious though lyrical melody there is accompaniment of pizzicato and glissandos.
These come into the foreground along with rapid tremolos as the melody fades. It made a tricky combination, but was deftly handled by Corentin Chassard.
It cannot have been easy for the players, switching from the contemporary to the classical in Schubert’s ‘Trout’ quintet. Perhaps for that reason, this was not a particularly Viennese account, but also partly because the pianist, Joseph Houston, dominated most of the textures, more or less rigidly adhering to his own view of the score. There was little sense that he was responding to his colleagues.
Most of the melodic lines in the piano, although competently drawn, were a touch more forceful than would have been ideal for balance.
That said, there were compensating joys. After an edgy scherzo, the trio, taken at a more leisurely pace, was pleasingly smooth. The ‘trout’ theme itself was played without vibrato, a cute move, and the variations upon it strongly varied. Overall, the work would have benefited from a more relaxed approach that reflected Schubert’s own light-heartedness.
THE evening belonged to Schubert, but not altogether as you might have expected him.
With his irrepressible desire to push boundaries, baritone Roderick Williams – who is also a composer in his own right – has rewritten the piano accompaniment to Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin, for string quartet. It was an audacious move, which opened up new angles on this much-loved song-cycle.
There is no denying that there were minuses as well as pluses in this approach. Right from the start the piano’s percussiveness was absent. The mill-wheels barely rattled, the stones did not resound and the stream was at times barely a ripple compared to Schubert’s full-blown mill race: the piano does water better than strings.
And yet. There is no decay in string sound. So whenever Schubert put a separate melody alongside the singer’s line, the two voices were generally better balanced. There is also more physical drama in watching four string players in action than one pianist can deliver: the Carduccis certainly let you know when they need to be heard. The tone quality from each instrument is more variegated and thus at times easier to discern.
A few samples must suffice to demonstrate the subtlety of Williams’s orchestration. Where the piano repeats the music for each verse, Williams often writes something different. Thus in ‘Morning Greeting’ we had a touch of tremolo illustrating the little flowers shrinking from the sun, this a song in which voice and strings combined especially well. He had largely omitted the first violin at the start of ‘Thanksgiving to the Brook’, giving a darker texture.
In ‘Curiosity’ (No 6), the pauses between phrases were telling. The word ‘Ja’ here was forceful, but led into a prayerful final verse, where the sustaining power of the strings made the mood altogether more wistful.
Carducci Quartet
The following song, ‘Impatience’ benefited from very light strings, Mendelssohn-style, but the tempo was too fast to allow quite enough breadth on ‘Dein ist mein Herz’.
In the central verses of ‘Shower Of Tears’ (No 10), the legato lines of both voice and strings intermingled delightfully. At the end of ‘Mine!’, Williams stood for effect, where otherwise he remained seated on a piano stool; the quartet had lent urgency to the song.
Staccato strings heightened the vocal anger behind ‘The Huntsman’ (No 14) and, with resentment building, the dark atmosphere of ‘The Good Colour’ made it quite clear that the game was up for our lovelorn lad.
So Williams ended ‘The Wicked Colour’ boldly as the lad said farewell, after which viola and cello pizzicato alone opened ‘Dry Flowers’, typifying the empty moment. Yet that song finished in a blaze, each of the repetitions of the last stanza more intense. The dialogue between lad and (seductive) brook ended with a lovely postlude, before the touching final ‘goodnight’.
It was a treat to hear this version, not least for the way it uncovered new vistas. It was sung in German and, of course, in lower keys than the original tenor. But Williams was immensely alive to Schubert’s nuances – and the Carduccis, to their credit, were with him every step of the way.
They had opened the evening with Schubert’s Tenth Quartet, D.87 in E flat, dating from November 1813, with pronounced shading, especially in the fast outer movements. Some of the accompaniment figures from the 16-year-old composer were a touch rudimentary, but his melodic gift was already blossoming here.
Bojan Čičić: “Three-line whip for any lover of the Baroque violin”
THE appearance of Bojan Čičić in this neck of woods is a three-line whip for any lover of the Baroque violin. He scoots all over Europe directing top-notch ensembles, but always seems to find time to fit York into his crammed schedule.
Here he was leading the Academy of Ancient Music (AAM) – a dozen strings and a harpsichord – in a Bach programme entitled Concerto Heaven: three concertos and an ouverture, providing the festival’s finale.
Bach’s ‘ouvertures’ are essentially suites; here, in No 3 in D major, an intro, an air and four dances. The dances were truly balletic and the final gigue had a comfortable lilt.
The concertos contained the real fireworks. The first, BWV1041 in A minor, was actually clean and unfussy – until its furious finale. Wonderfully vivacious, too, was the opening Allegro of the D minor Concerto, and its finish, after the solemnity of its slow movement, a real tonic.
But between these two we had a sensational account of BWV1042 in E major. Here Čičić elected to have merely five strings and harpsichord as accompaniment. There was a dazzling cadenza in the first movement, in which one could have sworn he was playing several instruments at once, so rapid the figurations and so distinctive the registers.
Yet equally mesmerising was the wistful Adagio, while his capricious episodes in the rondo-style finale were never less than tasty.
We should not forget that the AAM, now over half a century in being, offers consistently thrilling support which gives wings to Bojan’s flights of fancy. A wonderfully upbeat finish to the festival.
