Tag: University of York

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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: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Craven Faults, Rymer Auditorium, University of York, March 12

Craven Faults: “Navigated rural map using loops, symmetries, images bleeding in to each other to create this inspired journey”

I MUST start off with a confession: I’ve never heard of Craven Faults. Well, actually that’s not true. I know the Craven Faults System in the Yorkshire Dales, having done a lot of hiking around Malham etc, and this, basically, is what we saw on screen.

Starting out with a pastoral loop of sheep safely grazing, we were transported over a monochrome, bleak and overcast landscape (as it often is in this part of the Yorkshire Dales). The way Craven Faults navigated this rural map using loops, symmetries, images bleeding in to each other to create this inspired journey was – for me – simply unique.

In front of the screen was an impressive modular synthesiser with a million leads and sockets (patch cables); the artist’s electronic orchestra. I assume the artist was the enigmatic Craven Faults himself. Not sure why, but he reminded me of Jeremy Corbyn (no insult intended), and his gentle, calm modus operandi never drew any attention to himself. Even his response to the spontaneous audience appreciation only drew an unassuming waft of the hand.

The ambient score(s) drew inspiration from Krautrock; Tangerine Dream and particularly Kraftwerk. The visual as well as musical parallels with their 1974 hit Autobahn – Wir fahr’n, fahr’n, fahr’n auf der Autobahn – are striking. But there were the obvious echoes of minimalism – cellular repetition, ostinati, electronic looping and, possibly, Harrison Birtwistle.

Although not from God’s own country, this great Lancastrian composer used musical layers when composing. He talked about an analogy with the construction of the stone walls that feature so powerfully in these rural landscapes.

To be sure, the patchwork of musical layers in this score is not hewn out of the rock face, but those layers are there nonetheless: invariably rooted in square four-beat phrases, the musical base upon which the repeating motives are superimposed. And then the magic happened.

Without any warning, the artist at work became part of the film, and in real time. Like bubbles released into the air, these real-life images floated into being and disappeared. We had the introduction of vintage colour images. It was genuinely transcendental. OK, spookily other-worldly then.

If the performance had ended here, I would have described the composition as a work of genius, but it didn’t. Instead we had a kind of psychedelic kosmische imagery signing-off that put me in mind of Stanley Kubrick’s finale of 2001 A Space Odyssey.

It was either a transformation too far or, at 10.50pm, past my bedtime. Nevertheless, Craven Faults is a truly remarkable artist with something distinct and significant to say.

Review by Steve Crowther

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REVIEW: York Settlement Community Players in Joe Orton’s Loot, York Theatre Royal Studio, until February 27 ****

Who’s conning who? Emily Carhart’s Fay, Jack Mackay’s Hal, centre, and Stuart Green’s Truscott in a scene from York Settlement Community Players’ Loot. Picture: John Saunders

THE monochrome cover to York Settlement Community Players’ programme for Joe Orton’s dark farce Loot takes the form of a death notice. Rest in Peace Mary McLeavy. Born 1916, called home 1966. Remembrance services will be held: 18th – 27th February 2025.

For “Remembrance Services”, read performances that raise Orton’s scandalous, scabrous first farce from the grave, directed by the “young (and probably) angsty” Katie Leckey with brio and brains, fresh from completing her MA in Theatre-making at the University of York.

Already she and lead actor Jack Mackay have made their mark on the York theatre scene with their company Griffonage Theatre, latterly swapping the roles of hitmen Ben and Gus for each performance of Harold Pinter’s menacing  1957 two-hander The Dumb Waiter at Theatre@41, Monkgate, last July.

Jack Mackay’s Hal, trying not to look alarmed in Loot. Picture: John Saunders

Now Mackay forms part of another “double act” on the wrong side of the law:  bungling thieves Hal (Mackay) and Dennis (Miles John), in essence representing Orton’s lover Kenneth Halliwell and Orton, in Loot.

Sixty years on from its Cambridge Arts Theatre premiere, when Orton deemed the play to be “a disaster” and the Cambridge News review called it “very bad”, it remains a shocking play. Not shockingly bad, but a shock to the system, still carrying a content warning.

It reads: “The show contains adult themes and offensive language (including sexism and xenophobia). There are also sexual references and references to sexual assault (including rape and necrophilia) and references to smoking on stage.” Sure enough, Stuart Green’s inspector, Truscott, hiding behind his smokescreen of being “from the Water Board”, smokes without fire, never lighting his pipe.

Emily Carhart’s nurse, Fay, and Miles John’s arch thief, Dennis, in Loot. Picture: John Saunders

Loot remains an iconoclastic play, even angrier than those Angry Young Men that preceded him, John Osborne, Harold Pinter, Kingsley Amis, John Braine, Alan Sillitoe, John Wain, et al. You might call it ‘odd’, or ‘strange’, but its audacious humour tugs persuasively at your arm, its attacks on convention beneath its conventional farce format landing blows on those cornerstones of the state, the (Catholic) church and the police force, as well as undermining the nuclear family. 

It makes you ask what has changed since the 1965 premiere, as Leckey highlights in her programme note, drawing attention to the continuing prevalence of violence, racism, homophobia and misogyny.

She quotes Orton, who wrote “I’m too amused by the way people carry on to give in to despair”. There, in a nutshell, is the role of comedy, to home in on the warts and all and laugh at our failings and foibles. The bigger shock here is that we have not moved on, but on second thoughts, in the week when every new Trump utterance trumps the last one, maybe not. 

Loot director Katie Leckey

Orton was once castigated for his play’s immoral tone, but it is the behaviour that is immoral, not Orton. Don’t shoot the messenger. Laugh, instead, at our failure to clean up our act, especially those in authority.

Leckey has not edited Orton’s text, letting it stand or fall in all its bold affronts, not least on life’s ultimate taboo: death. Preceded by Ortonian fun and games by a six-pack of support players, from a drunken priest (James Wood) to an excitable nun (Xandra Logan), Loot begins with an open coffin. Inside rests the aforementioned Mary McLeavy (a dead body played by a live actor [Caroline Greenwood] with Orton irreverence). Today is her funeral.

In the room, designed with kitsch Sixties’ detail by Wilf Tomlinson and Richard Hampton, matched by Leckey’s soundtrack, are widower Mr McLeavy (played with suitable befuddlement by Paul French) and Mrs McLeavy’s nurse, Fay, (Emily Carhart in her impressive Settlement debut). She may wear a cross, but Fay has an unfortunate of seeing off her husbands, seven in seven years, and now she has her eye on Mr McLeavy.

Eyeball to eyeball: Stuart Green’s Truscott carries out a close inspection in Loot. Picture: John Saunders

Enter Mackay’s Hal, who protests he is too upset to attend the funeral, and John’s Dennis, whose heart is lost to Fay. Rarely for a farce, there is only one door into the sitting room, but a second door is all important: the cupboard door, behind which they have hidden their stash from a bank job.

A glass eye, a set of teeth and the constant movement of Mrs McLeavy’s body will follow, involving the cupboard, the coffin and the stash, in classic farce tradition, with rising irreverence and desperation as the investigations of Green’s Truscott mirror the impact of  Inspector Goole in JB Priestley’s An Inspector Calls, written 20 years earlier, but this time with humorous results.

Green, in his Settlement debut after returning to the stage in 2023 from an hiatus, has spot-on comic timing, a twinkle in his eye and the over-confidence of Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Paul French’s Mr McLeavy, left, Stuart Green’s Truscott, Jack Mackay’s Hal, Emily Carhart’s Fay (seated) and Emily Hansen’s Meadows in Loot. Picture: John Saunders

Mackay and John evoke the Sixties in looks, acting style and attire, playing to the Orton manner born as the hapless thieves, somehow negotiating their way through a farce with a farce with aplomb and insouciance.

York Settlement Community Players in Loot, York Theatre Royal Studio, until February 27, 7.45pm nightly except February 23, plus 2pm matinee, February 22. Age guidance: 16 plus. Box office: 01904 623568 or yorktheatreroyal.co.uk. Post-show discussion tomorrow (21/2/2025).

TAKING part in pre-show and interval Orton-style vignettes, devised by James Lee, are: Xandra Logan (Sister Barbara); Chris Meadley (Sergeant Timothy Carruthers); Victoria Delaney (Mrs Edna Welthorpe); Helen Clarke (Edith, the church organist); James Wood (Priest) and Serafina Coupe (Keith Kevin O’Keefe).

Xandra Logan’s Sister Barbara and James Wood’s inebriated Priest in an interval vignette in York Settlement Community Players’ Loot at York Theatre Royal Studio. Picture: John Saunders

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REVIEW: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Flutes & Frets Duo, York BMS Concerts, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, Feb 7

Flutes & Frets Duo’s Beth Stone and Daniel Murphy

THIS rather enchanting concert by Beth Stone (flutes) and Daniel Murphy (plucked strings) could be likened to a historical musical journey from the 15th Century to the present day.

The first stop was the 15th Century and the musical station entitled Renaissance Flute & Lute. Rabanus Maurus’s haunting Veni Creator Spiritus was paired with Guillaume Dufay’s setting (originally for three voices). Beth Stone’s chocolatey flute tone was simply gorgeous.

Of the next pairing, I particularly enjoyed Guglielmo Ebreo da Pesaro’s courtly dance Falla Con Misuras, as did lutenist Daniel Murphy, whose crisp syncopated rhythms added to the music’s delicate vitality.

The performances of the Thomas Campion and Robert Johnson pieces were also rhythmically engaging and it is no surprise that both composers were professional lutenists.

This set closed with a touching duet by French composer Balthazar de Beaujoyeulx, Overture from Balet Comique de la Royne. The ballet was inspired, evidently, by the escape of Ulysses from the clutches of the enchantress Circe (from Homer’s Odyssey). And yes, the performance was indeed enchanting.

Now it wasn’t until I disembarked at the platform marked Baroque Flute &Theorbo that, despite the excellent performances and refreshing informative communication by players, I realised that the musical journey hadn’t been a particularly gripping one.

This all changed with the set of arias by Claudio Monteverdi. Take the performance of Quel Sguardo Sdegnosetto, the last one of the set, for example. Ms Stone’s flute playing really captured the pretty radical, virtuosic vocal melody, which itself responds to the emotionally descriptive poetic text. But it was the hypnotic ground bass, the closing Chaconne that sealed the deal.

Before we arrived at our final destination, Modern Flute & Guitar, we stopped off for refreshments at Eight-Keyed Classical Flute & Nineteenth Century Guitar. Diabelli’s arrangement of Louis-Luc Loiseau de Persuis’ Six Favourite Airs from Nina Ou La Folle Par Amour was brimming with wit and energy, and clearly enjoyed by both performers and ourselves.

Diabelli’s arrangement of Gioachino Rossini’s The Thieving Magpie Overture was even better and even more rewarding. Well, it is Rossini. Ps Diabelli’s transcription is simply inspired.

For me, the final set of pieces was mixed. The best of the musical bunch was undoubtedly Jacques Ibert’s Entr’acte. This popular, flamenco-inspired work had a quirky, gently bonkers quality. The opening breathless toccata was followed by an Iberian serenade before returning to a vibrant recapitulation or return. I loved it.

François Borne’s Fantasie Brillante Sur Carmen was really well transcribed, brilliant, in fact. But it soon outstayed its welcome. It was just too long. For me, the Broadway hits simply don’t work.

The earlier vocal transcriptions worked because they were creatively transformed. Here we simply had songs without words. Stephen Sondheim’s gem, Send In The Clowns, was played beautifully. But in my head I added the words; I heard Judy Collins’ 1975 version – it was originally written for Glynis Johns. So too with Gershwin’s I Got Rhythm and Hurwitz’s City of Stars.

With this in mind, the duo says that  “future project plans include commissioning new works for both the modern flute and guitar combination and also the historical flutes and lute/theorbo instrumentation”. And this has to be a good thing.

As for Edvard Grieg’s Morgenstemming (from Peer Gynt), for flute and guitar? Well, this shouldn’t have worked but, because of the utterly musical playing by both Beth Stone and, particularly,  Daniel Murphy on guitar, it did; beautifully.

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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