Zimmerman and Harding close the LSO season with Sibelius and Brahms

The last time I heard Daniel Harding conduct any Sibelius was at the start of this season, when he did the seventh, which didn't impress me. However, he was joined for the violin concerto by Frank Peter Zimmermann (whose name I realise I've been spelling with only one N on my tweets all evening - apologies). Last time I heard him was at the 2006 Edinburgh festival, appearing with Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic to playing Szymanowski's concerto, which was really quite exceptional (I can't link to a review because it predates the site and I haven't got round to uploading that part of my archive).

Together they made an excellent team. Harding was a superb accompanist, always bringing the orchestra low enough under Zimmermann so he was clear. Which, was a good thing, as it allowed us to appreciate his astonishingly virtuosic playing. However, Harding found plenty of force when Zimmermann wasn't playing; he also found the richness and drama of Sibelius's writing that was absent missing from his seventh and the tempi seemed much better chosen.

It was very well received, so much so that we got an encore. The eagle-eyed could have seen this coming because when Harding and Zimmermann came back out for the second time, the conductor didn't climb back onto the stage, instead nipping into the empty seat at the end of the second row. Zimmermann introduced it as some Paganini variations, written for a visit to England, on a theme we might recognise. Sure enough, the melody of the national anthem was easily detectable. Like many of the composer's works for solo violin, it did feel a little like they might have been written just to show off, especially with the fiendish mix of bowing and plucking. Still, Zimmermann was more than a match for it, and must surely win one of our irregular awards (so named for its first recipient: the Rachel Barton Pine Award for Encores that Alone Justify the Ticket Price*. Don't believe me, judge for yourself thanks to YouTube:




It should be noted that the Sibelius wasn't actually the first item on the programme. The concert began with Schumann's Manfred overture. In another interesting contrast with that earlier concert, where Harding gave a fine reading of a Schumann symphony, here it was a little different. They LSO played well enough, but the piece never really caught fire. However, I think this is more down to the composer, rather than any flaw in Harding's interpretation.

After the interval they finished with Brahms' second symphony. The second is in my view, and by some distance, the highlight of Haitink's recent LSO Live survey of the symphonies. Harding has, of course, studied extensively with Abbado (even now he's the principal conductor of the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, which Abbado founded). This was apparent in his reading. I don't really care too much for most of the Abbado Berlin cycle (it's too pretty and laid back for my tastes, though I know plenty of others adore it, doubtless for this reason). You could hear a lot of the same traits from the London Symphony Orchestra last night in the slow and tranquil moments. However, Harding is his own man and there was also plenty of the yearning and turmoil that I so like Brahms. The final few bars were nothing short of electric. The orchestra got some of the best sounds I've heard from this year, which some especially fine wind playing (especially principal flautist Gareth Davies). In short, while it isn't my favourite Brahms (for that look to the first and fourth), nor quite my ideal interpretation (for that look to Mackerras or Jochum or Furtwangler), it was nonetheless a fine end to the season.

I look forward to hearing the LSO again, though I'm not sure when that will be. I'm trying to limit myself to one trip a month next season and all the Royal Opera stuff appears to be on Sundays not Saturdays (and I can't pass up Don Carlos and Tristan, even Runnicles himself would have trouble competing). My December trip is built around a visit by the Concertgebouw and I'm not sure I want to hear Gergiev after I've had a Mahler's second at three pm. That leaves only November, but perhaps that's a cue for me to give Michael Tilson Thomas another chance.

*Caveat: in case Mr Zimmermann, or anyone else interested, is reading this, where's Runnicles' awards carry no actual prize, physical or financial, save the glory or infamy (since they can be both positive and negative). They are awarded and created sporadically, whenever it seems appropriately, and are always named for their inaugural recipient.

Paul Lewis, Colin Davis and the LSO in A Game of Two Halves (with Beethoven and Brahms)

When I was booking my 2008/9 season, Paul Lewis playing Beethoven's Emperor concerto always looked set to be a highlight. I first heard him back in 2006 playing Beethoven sonatas at the Queen's Hall; the mix of delicacy and weight, yet without recourse to aggressive thumping, endeared him to me. The rest of his sonata cycle was similarly impressive (as this review of the final concert indicates). He has since impressed in Beethoven and Mozart concerti this season.

What impressed me that first time was how compelling and engaging he made the Hammerklavier, not a work I had cared much for previously. Ever since he finished the cycle it has occurred to me that he might do a very good Emperor: he might have the grandeur to rival Solomon's superb account (available on Testament). Colin Davis seemed an idea partner too. I am a big fan of his symphony cycle with the Dresden Staatskapelle, slow but full of beautiful textures and wonderfully fresh as a result. Full too of grandeur.

This sort of situation can make for a problem, since the higher the expectations the greater the chance of disappointment. Fortunately, Lewis did not disappoint. His ability to contrast the most exquisite delicacy in the best traditions of Wilhelm Kempff with raw Beethovian power and weight was on display to great effect in the outer movements, so too was the clarity of his playing. The slow movement was sublimely beautiful. In general, everything one has come to expect from his work with Beethoven. However, there was more than that. With a work like the fifth concerto, which is played so much (overplayed, some might argue, this is the third I've attended so far this season!), it might easily become routine. Not in Lewis's hands, time and again he made the work feel fresh and new, especially in some of the quieter passages, bringing out things I could swear I hadn't noticed before.

The orchestra provided excellent accompaniment. As ever, the Barbican acoustic robbing them of some of the richness of texture that make Davis's Dresden recordings so special. Davis himself seemed a touch lacking in fire at one or two moments, but he was none the less a sensitive accompanist. Oh, and they held the tension nicely in the lead into the finale (always something of a key moment for me). It was justly very well received. Of the three I've heard this season it was comfortably the finest, not even the digital watch alarm in slow movement could spoil it.


Things were a little different after the interval as Davis and the LSO returned for Brahms third symphony. Now, I must confess to having had some doubts about this. I recently picked up his cycle of the symphonies (made with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra) at budget price. Unfortunately I found them rather dull and they will soon be finding their way to an Edinburgh charity shop. The London Symphony Orchestra hasn't had the best luck with Brahms in recent years either - their recorded cycle with Haitink is also a little dull (save for a fine second and double concerto) and not one of the highlights of the generally excellent LSO Live discography.

However, as they played the opening bars, I thought we were in for treat: full of energy and drama. Then some odd things happened. There seemed to be some quite extreme variations in tempo, too much rubato perhaps, which seemed to suck out the energy and drama he'd built up, rather like the air escaping from a balloon. The pattern recurred throughout the movement. During two slow middle movements, the air never seemed to get into the balloon in the first place and it was just a little dull. The finale got off to a good start, but again suffered from the same problems as the first movement. The quiet closing chords underwhelmed as a result.

The playing of the orchestra was exemplary throughout. None the less, I don't think I was alone in my disappointment at the second half, and the applause was decidedly more polite than it had been for the Beethoven. That said, there were some in the audience who'd clearly enjoyed it greatly, so Davis's Brahms is obviously for some.

Nonetheless, the Beethoven alone justified the price of admission. Lewis has been recording the concertos with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Belohavek. They should be something pretty special. So too his future plans to tape the Diabelli Variations (dare I hope he tours that first, with luck even to the Queen's Hall again).

Tomorrow I'm off to Suffolk for a week and a half at the Aldeburgh festival, so stay tuned for reports of the musical goings on there. (Carelessly, I believe I've managed to book my fourth Emperor of the season! Still, as a composer friend of mine would argue, you can never have too much of that.)

Oh, one final thing, what on earth is this thing, sitting on the terrace outside the Barbican (answers on a postcard):

ENO presents Peter Grimes (the rare absurdist farce, black comedy verison)

Director David Alden seems to have managed something of a coup for his new staging of Britten's masterpiece Peter Grimes at English National Opera: he appears to have located and restored an earlier draft of the piece where a somewhat different approach was taken, melding theatre of the absurd, black comedy and outright farce. Sadly, it is easy to see why Britten made the changes he did.

Okay, I don't believe that either; however, the only alternative explanation for this embarrassingly bad production is that Alden is completely useless. A theory for which he has presented some pretty compelling evidence this evening. That said, had I read the programme fully before hand, I might have known we were destined to get off on the wrong foot, since he is very dismissive of Paul Bunyan.

If fairness, not everyone destroys their reputation. The orchestra do sound very good indeed, and Gardner gets some good sounds from them (unfortunately, the last time I saw this, it was a live relay from the Met with the man himself, Runnicles, in the pit, and this doesn't match the magic of that musically). There are some good singers too: Stuart Skelton in the title role, Gerald Findlay as Balstrode and Matthew Best as Swallow. The women are more problematic, especially when it comes to making out what they're singing, and none of the casting seems quite right - in particular Amanda Roocroft as Ellen who is often inaudible and doesn't seem a big enough voice for the hall. Sadly, any fine vocal performance are totally ruined by the aforementioned directorial ineptitude.

To begin at the beginning, we see the inquest taking place in what appears to be the slightly odd setting of a marble hall. Then the real oddities start: who, you may well wonder, are these two young ladies, dressed like girl guides, carrying voodoo dolls and seeming to be a lot more than just friends. As it turns out, they are a slightly creative reading of Auntie's two nieces. Auntie herself is equally puzzling, looking like she is auditioning for the role of Sally Bowles in Cabaret.

The court scene over, Grimes brings in his ship alone. For some reason the mooring post is indoors, creating something of a health and safety hazard (which the nieces unaccountably limbo under). That the rope goes slack when the boat is pulled in is also a little annoying. The pub set is more confusing still, consisting mainly of worn old sofas and arm chairs. What's more, the chorus is kept outside in the storm behind an odd wall that raises and lowers periodically to remind us it's nasty out. Still, Auntie is not totally without heart, and while they're not allowed into the pub, they are all permitted a bottle of grog to ward off the storm. When they do all finally come in for the sea shanty, it is a curiously underwhelming moment.

Act two is better done, but only marginally so. Ellen skips onto the stage so gaily that one half expects her to swing from a lamppost and declare that she is, in fact, singing in the rain. Grimes, on the other hand, comes across as so one-dimensionally evil and beastly that it is impossible to discern what she might see in him. The character is only interesting when there is ambiguity (Alden acknowledges the need for this in an interview in the programme, what a shame he wasn't capable of conveying it).

Then we see Grimes' hut. Things are odd here too. While the apprentice cowers in the foetal position (about the only thing he ever does do), one cannot help but notice Grimes has made a mistake in constructing his house on a thirty degree incline. There is meant to have been a landslide, yet it appears to have had a very odd effect since both the way down to the sea at the back, and also the area surrounding the front door, appear to have compromised. Essentially the director does not seem to have a picture in his head that makes sense, or, if he does, he hasn't communicated it to everyone else. It further irks when Grimes orders the apprentice to descend to the sea, which he does by climbing up a ladder.

But this is, frankly, small potatoes compared to what Alden has in store for the final act. The Borough, it seems, is a veritable swingers' paradise. Swallow parades around in a pink tutu (and later, for reasons passing understanding, with his trousers down - I'd love to know if Best asked what the motivation was for that and what possible answer Alden might have; given how judgemental everyone is of Grimes, they're remarkably blase about taking orders from a man in his underpants). Auntie's nieces are now dressed as a soldier and sailor, and choreographed in a way that would make a robot from fifty years ago look fluid and elegant.

The choreography in general is abysmal. To what extent this is down to the sad and untimely death of Claire Glaskin (during the first week of rehearsal) is unclear. However, the programme credits her with The Makropulos Case, another dire production, saved only by Mackerras and some good singing. Interestingly, Alden's brother directed that travesty. Perhaps a study is required into whether an inability to respect the text is genetic. But I digress. It's unclear how much was Glaskin and how much the credited movement director Maxine Braham. However, it basically looks like what they really wanted to do was choreograph Guys and Dolls (the moment in act three were various men bid goodnight by repeatedly remove their hats is amongst the most prominent examples) or West Side Story (think the gangs facing off and clicking their fingers as the mob advances). However, it looks both out of place and poorly executed.

Indeed, as the first scene of the last act drew to a close, it was taking every ounce of my self-control not to burst into hysterical laughter, particularly when what appeared to be the rabbit from Donnie Darko wandered onto the stage for no readily apparent reason.

Grimes' final descent into madness should be powerful and moving. Sadly, here it didn't represent much of a change and I found myself wishing he'd just get on with it and drown himself so I could go home.

Often, at this point, I would say that's not the end of the world, so long as the music is good. And it's doubtless true that, if I'd been blindfolded prior to entering the theatre, I might very well have had a good night. Unfortunately no one was on hand to perform this much needed public service, with the result that every time I tried to close my eyes and blot it out, I couldn't unwatch the silliness I'd seen and it refused to leave my mind.

I cannot conceive how it's been widely reviewed so well (then again, I seem destined to be perennially at odds with the London opera critics - after all, I loved ENO's Aida, disliked Haitink's Parsifal and now detest this). I feel badly cheated by this and rather wish I hadn't travelled all the way down here to see it. A few weeks back they offered me a free ticket for the press night - even if our policy was to take such offers, I still would have felt ripped off. ENO would do well to burn the sets and erase any evidence that this travesty ever existed.

Andsnes and the Norwegian Chamber Orchestra PLAY - Mozart, Prokofiev, Grieg and Beethoven

One of the most annoying aspects of the absence of the Usher Hall for these last few seasons has been the resulting absence of any international classics season from Edinburgh. We must wait for August and the festival for our international ensembles. Or we can go to Glasgow.

Leif Ove Andsnes and the young Norwegian Chamber Orchestra always seemed an enticing bet, yet at the beginning of this week I was feeling so shattered I wondered if I'd even bother with the trip. Even this on Wednesday morning, I had my doubts. I'm very glad I resisted them.

They began with Mozart's K449 concerto, Andsnes also directing, with the lid off the piano, which was facing into the orchestra (providing a nice view of the keyboard). They gave a crisp reading of the work and the ensemble was nicely tight in a way that isn't always the case when a soloist directs; the fact that this ensemble is conductorless probably helps here. Andsnes' played nicely, though didn't quite seem to have the clarity of, say, Paul Lewis.

He then left the stage, his piano was pushed off to one side, and a small rostra was brought on for leader Terje Tonnesen (also the orchestra's music director). They played Prokofiev's small first symphony. Weighing in at under a quarter of an hour, it always sounds as though it's very difficult to play. I love it though, especially the rapid and witty opening movement. The orchestra kept effortlessly on top of the tricky tempi and at times the piece danced wonderfully. My only reservation concerns my seat - I had managed to end up in the front row of the stalls (not sure quite how, since I normally like to look down for a better view) between the second and third desks of the first violins; this led to a slightly string-heavy balance.

During the interval a member of the hall's staff played with the tuning of the piano. This struck me as odd, since I hadn't noticed anything untoward. A second odd thing happened when I returned to my seat: all the chairs were pushed back, bar three. The strings then returned to the stage to play, from memory and while, with the exception of the cellos, still standing, Grieg's Holberg Suite. Now, this immediately suggested to me some kind of party piece, something which can be a bad omen as it can mean a by the numbers and routine affair. Fortunately nothing could have been further from the truth. They gave a sparkling reading and there seemed to be great concentration and greater communication between the players.

Finally Andsnes returned for Beethoven's third piano concerto, often amongst my least favourite (unless it's played very well indeed, such as by Solomon). It was superb and either I had been tired during the Mozart or there really had been something not quite right about the piano as his playing was breathtaking. Yes, perhaps not quite the absolute clarity of Lewis, but something else too, especially the richness and delicacy he brought to the sublime slow movement, which I would happily have listened to over and over again. The outer movements were also well judged and all in all it was a beautiful performance. So too the accompaniment from the orchestra was of the highest order.

It was a slightly eclectic programme, yet one which seemed to fit together very well. And, when he returned to the stage to announce an encore, something that often winds me up, it seemed entirely fitting: they gave a sparkling reading of the finale from Haydn's D major piano concerto (Andsnes' intricate fingerwork was a joy to behold).

They were justly well received by the modest audience (the hall must have been below half capacity). That more people weren't there is baffling; apparently Scottish Opera's new production opened the same night: more fool anyone choosing that over this. I hope the visitors didn't feel unwelcome and I hope the return soon (if anyone from the festival is reading this, how about booking them next year, go on).

The SCO Season finale (Edinburgh only) - Bronnimann conducts Kodaly, Hallgrimsson and Bartok

The Scottish Chamber Orchestra were due to have closed their 2008/9 Edinburgh season this coming Thursday with a performance of Haydn's The Seasons. The latest round of delays to the Usher Hall renovations put paid to that notion (though the concert will still take place at City Halls in Glasgow). Still, it was no great loss to me as I had not planned to attend: Olari Elts' conducting does little for me.

Heading to the Queen's Hall tonight, I wondered if this would prove an underwhelming performance after Zacharias's effort a little over a week ago. Certainly, conductor Baldur Bronnimann put himself in difficult territory, an area where many recent guest conductors have marooned themselves: music Charles Mackerras has successfully conducted with the orchestra. As the advert in the programme reminded us, which unfortunately mis-capitalised the K, he has recorded both Kodaly's Dances of Galanta and Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion and Celeste for Linn Records.



The programme began with Kodaly's Dances of Galanta, not a piece I know especially well. The SCO were on top form from the opening bars, played superbly by the cellos. Maximiliano Martin's clarinet solos were as outstanding as we have come to expect from him. Guest (I assume) principal horn Bostjan Lipovsek was too loud for my taste on his first entry, something that was generally true of Bronnimann's reading of the piece (volume can too easily be an issue when a full orchestra plays in the Queen's Hall). However, overall it was very tightly played, with the faster sections particularly impressive.





Then came, for me, the feature event: the world premiere of Hallgrimsson's double bass concerto Sonnambulo. Last year we were treated to Truls Mork playing the cello concerto (which was rather special, and which they have just released a recording of). In many ways it was similar, also having a wonderful flow to it. The orchestra's principal bass, Nicholas Bayley, was the soloist, and had a lovely range and colour to his playing. This was particularly true at the start where he blended beautifully with the cymbal. Elsewhere pianist Peter Evans deftly moved between the piano and celeste (and doubtless explaining the shrewdness of coupling it with the Bartok). The work featured a fairly scaled back orchestra (for example, only one horn and trumpet, two cellos). As was the case last year, I find myself wanting to hear it again right away and get to know it better. There seemed to be cameras present to record it, and I can only hope we don't have to wait too long for a CD release.

After the interval was Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion and Celeste. Again, not a work I know well. I hadn't, for example, realised it is really scored for two separate string orchestras, divided one on each side of the stage, piano and celeste in the centre. The orchestra played superbly - some wonderful pizzicato work, especially from principal cellist David Watkin, who surely has the most enthusiastic technique around; similarly there was some nice spiccato bowing. The space seemed slightly limiting - ideally I would have thought the percussion and timpani would be arranged along the back of the stage, rather than off to one side under the gallery; the extra instruments were well played though. Julia Lynch took over the celeste (and at one point joined Evans at the piano).

Oddly, there wasn't the ghost of excess volume in the second two works. All told, it represented some of the finest playing the orchestra has managed all season and, as such, a more than fitting finale. For one of the Adventurer concerts, and a programme of 20th and 21st century music, it was surprisingly well sold, and justly well received. The SCO seemed to have liked working with Bronnimann and were particularly reluctant to get to their feet at the end.

Stravinsky, Haydn, Ravel and Weber - Zacharias and the SCO

Christian Zacharias's appearances with the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, both as conductor/soloist and with the chamber ensemble are always worth attending. Apparently I'm not the only one who feels that way. As I made my way to my seat, I passed someone who looked oddly familiar (though I was sure I didn't know him personally). Whilst not eavesdropping, his voice certainly carried, and he mentioned how fine Zacharias was: you must, he said to a member of his party, have heard some of his Mozart? He was referring, of course, to Zacharias's series of the twenty-one main concerti (i.e. omitting the first four, which Mozart reworked rather than composed, and the two and three piano concerti) with the SCO at the 2000 festival. Sadly I didn't hear them; maybe one day Radio 3 will dust them down out of the archives, or maybe EMI will actually undelete his excellent recorded cycle. As I left afterwards, I couldn't help but notice the man had left the envelope his tickets had come in, I glanced down to see the name James Waters written on it and suddenly it made sense: the former associate director of the International Festival.

So, how did Zacharias fair some nine years later? The first thing one notices, alone in this season's conductors, as far as I can recall, is that he eschews a podium, standing instead amongst the orchestra. It strikes you that for a ensemble this size, it probably isn't necessary anyway. He began with Stravinsky's Danses Concertantes. There was some wonderfully crisp playing from the orchestra and some nice moments. However, as is often the case with the composer, the piece didn't entirely grab me.

Better was to come in the form of Haydn's Sinfonia Concertante in B-flat major. The quartet of soloists was drawn from the orchestra: violinist Ruth Crouch (in a substitution for leader Christopher George), bassoonist Peter Whelan, oboist Robin Williams and, best of all, the superb David Watkin on cello. Or, at least, so I would normally say, for one of the nicest things was the chance to have a really good listen to Whelan, the orchestra's new principal - Ursula Leveaux's are big shoes indeed to fill, and he did so very nicely and with a lovely tone. There was fine playing, though, from all the soloists (if I did find Crouch's violin a little screechy for my taste). The work bounced along beautifully and the orchestral accompaniment was fine, though I would have preferred a balance that favoured the soloists slightly more.

Following the interval, the piano, its lid completely removed, had slid to the front of the stage. Zacharias took his seat, back to the audience, score open flat on top (though he never used it) for Weber's Konzertstuck. Zacharias's pianism was nothing short of breathtaking, and made one regret that it was employed for just this one work. More remarkable, though, was how good his control of the orchestra was as well; more often than not, it seems one of the two suffers when someone directs from the keyboard. Not so here. He would slide his right hand beautifully and effortlessly nearly the length the keyboard, then raise his left to tweak the orchestra, then back to the piano as if there was nothing to it. The quality of his phrasing was wonderful too. The SCO themselves played superbly. It's not a piece I know, but one with which I'd like to get better acquainted (fortunately I notice that the SCO themselves have recorded it with Charles Mackerras and pianist Nikolai Demidenko).

After that, the closing piece was a touch disappointing; not because it was bad, just because there wasn't really a higher place to go to. The piano was pushed back again and they played Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin. This was nicely textured and featured some quite exquisite wind playing, but it was not quite the closer the concert should have had, that was the Weber.

Still, it remains one of the orchestra's finest performances this season. Waters agreed "I thought that would be worth coming to." he remarked loudly on his way out. I couldn't agree more. Zacharias returns in about a year to play Schubert's D845 sonata and the great C major symphony. For those who can't wait for that, he gives a solo recital at the festival.

Of course, for many, the concert has yet to happen: Glaswegians can catch Friday's repeat at City Halls, then they're in Aberdeen on Saturday and Inverness on Sunday.

The RSNO bid the Festival Theatre farewell (hopefully) with Jarvi, Bruckner and Dvorak

This year's Royal Scottish National Orchestra season has suffered somewhat, owing to the ongoing problems at the Usher Hall. So much so that Sunday's concert was the final Edinburgh gig (the next two, which were to have been at the Usher Hall, had to be shelved, but so late in the day that no alternative venue could be found). It's a pity, as the resulting season finale was something of a damp squib.

Neeme Jarvi has a long history with the RSNO, so it's perhaps unsurprising to find that one of his two conductor sons, Kristjan, is now working with them. I've been curious to hear him since he recently recorded Bernstein's Mass, a favourite work of mine.

He led off with Dvorak's Scherzo capriccioso. This was fine enough, but lacked something. What that something was became clear in the electric final minutes - where had that energy been before? Early on there were also too many fluffed horn notes (and in general the section's sound was a little woolly, though this may be down to the unsuitable acoustic of the Festival Theatre, it's not quite properly hung acoustic curtain notwithstanding).

This was followed by a new trumpet concerto, well a Divertimento macchiato, and the source of perhaps the most pretentious and uninformative programme note it has ever been my misfortune to read, written by the composer himself, one Kurt Schwertsik. I can't adequately describe it, so I'll give you a flavour:

Good news from Italy: you can have your coffee, your milk macchiato.

Why not a divertimento macchiatto?: it sounds moderately stylish...

Why? Well, neither in the programme, nor with the piece, does he make the case. It continues in much the same vein. (The interesting punctuation is as printed.) The note says nothing about the number or nature of the movements and nor, really, can I, since I lost count. It was, frankly, a dull and uninspired piece. I don't recall having encountered Schwertsik before, and based on this I have not the slightest desire to deepen my acquaintance. But, you may say, surely it was worth it to hear trumpeter Hakan Hardenberger, whose biography modestly proclaims him the "greatest trumpet soloist today". As regular readers will be aware, this instantly got him off on the wrong foot with me: I dislike any sentence that contains the phrase "greatest blank": I find the notion silly and pointless. The RSNO point out to me that this label was coined by The Times; maybe, but he put it in the first sentence of his biography. However, given such a description I would expect to be blown away. I wasn't. His sound was not particularly crisp or clean and was rather thin. I felt the extended cadenza that closed the work showed him up. The sound was good at the loudest volume, but much less so in the quieter moments. If I compare what I heard from him to the calibre of the trumpet solo given by (I presume) Hannes Laubin of the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, in the opening of Mahler's fifth (review here), that was trumpet playing that took my breath away, this wasn't. In fairness, that is a great work and this wasn't, and the two situations aren't comparable. Even allowing for all that, I was not as impressed. At the end of his programme note the composer says:

I expressed the fierce hope that there is more to my music than meets the ear.

If wishing only made it so, but not to these ears there isn't.

The second half was Bruckner's sixth symphony. Here Jarvi finds himself in tricky territory. In the first place it's one of my favourites, and much underrated amongst the canon. Secondly, the last time I heard it was as part of the 2006 Edinburgh Festival Bruckner cycle, and the conductor then was one Donald Runnicles. Jarvi was not in the same league and was not particularly close. His conducting style is rather more of the flouncing style (think Michael Tilson Thomas) than I care for. Often, the orchestra were a little too loud and lacking in clarity (again, much of this may be down to the venue). However, he seemed to sap every phrase of the drama and poetry that it should possess. The slow movement was taken much too slowly and lost momentum as a result, feeling almost stop start: where was the beauty? Similarly, a sense of the dramatic was missing from the scherzo. The finale underwhelmed. As with several of Bruckner's works (the fourth is another good example), the most memorable themes come before the last movement, as such it requires real magic on the podium to ensure the finale doesn't feel like you're being short changed. Jarvi, unlike Runnicles or Jochum, was unable to locate anything along those lines.

In short, it was not the way I would have chosen to end the season. Having said that, I seemed to be very much in the minority amongst the audience. Next year, hopefully, we'll be free of acoustic issues. I say hopefully, since walking past the Usher Hall lately I have my doubts it will be ready on time, so watch this space.

Swensen and the SCO - Death and the Maiden

For the second time in a month, Joseph Swensen was once again on hand to conduct the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, this time in a programme of Schumann and Schubert. In many ways it was a programme of curiosities, but not necessarily the worse for it.

It opened with Schumann's Overture, Scherzo and Finale, op.52, not quite an overture, but not quite a symphony either. It is built of three distinct movements (and they are distinct, as one rogue clapper discovered the hard way). I tend to find Schumann needs to be played played with plenty of verve and feeling, one of the reasons I am so fond of Bernstein's interpretations of the composer. Swensen for the most part managed this, though the central scherzo fell a little flat.

The orchestra then rearranged slightly for Schumann's violin concerto. Mike Wheeler's programme note tells that publication was suppressed on the ground that it showed the composer's powers in decline following his mental breakdown. This strikes me as somewhat unfair. Certainly it was very good orchestrally, though Swensen did allow volume to rise a little too high for the hall at times. However, he also provided no shorted of oomph, no flat Schumann reading on show here. My reservations concern the performance of soloist Ilya Gringolts. Certainly I can quibble little technically (as his overly flash and unnecessary encore showed, something I've complained about many a time before). However, he didn't really distinguish himself from the orchestra sufficiently and seemed to lack passion. Obviously, given he was received well enough to play an encore, I was in a minority with this view.

But the second half alone was worth the price of admission. The winds snuck off during the interval and left the strings to play Mahler's arrangement of Schubert's Death and the Maiden quartet (D810). Mahler appears to have done relatively little work - simply giving the parts to their respective sections and bulking up the cellos with the basses from time to time. The result seemed remarkably effective and made for a superb and rich sound. Of course, it helped that the playing of the SCO was wonderfully tight. The second movement stood out especially, not least for principal cello David Watkin's contribution: the drama and force with which he played at times almost rendered the basses moot, not to mention the elan of his pizzicato playing (he might as well have been playing alone, though he managed to do so in a way that didn't seem out of place). Of course, to single him out is perhaps unfair, the orchestra as a whole were on top form and the piece was among the finest things I've heard from them all season, indeed from anyone this season. Quite how they kept together at the breakneck pace Swensen set towards the end of the finale I don't know, but keep together they did.

Next up is Thursday's concert with Christian Zacharias (of whom I'm something of a fan). Though, as I strolled past Greyfriars Kirk today I noticed them setting up there (@musogeek on twitter informs me this for a special concert celebrating Donald MacLeod's 70th birthday).

Copenhagen at the Lyceum

Copenhagen is probably one of my favourite plays. By Michael Frayn, of Noises Off fame, it is an interesting exercise in speculation, dealing with a curiosity in the history of atomic physics. The play concerns the relationship between Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg, two pioneers of quantum mechanics, whose time together in Copenhagen in the mid to late twenties produced many important breakthroughs, such as the uncertainty principle and complementarity. Heisenberg then returned to Germany. However, in 1941 he made a visit to Copenhagen, then under Nazi occupation, and met briefly with Bohr. There appears to have been a serious row and their friendship never recovered, but exactly what was said has been lost to history. The play takes place in a sort of afterlife as Heisenberg, Bohr and his wife Margrethe try to pick apart the events.

They work through the meeting some four times, coming ever closer to the truth and, yet, in one of the many ways the physics is reflected in the work, oddly further away at the same time. Did he come because he wanted Bohr to spot an error he had made in his calculations, did he want to avert the development of nuclear weapons or did he want to ensure Hitler got the bomb first? We will never know, and it doesn't really matter, which is just as well, for while the play speculates, it never really finds an answer.

As someone who's studied this subject a little, it's of particularly interest. Often they describe the history of time, which was something of a gold rush of discovery, and wonderfully exciting for it. That said, I don't think such knowledge is a prerequisite. The narrative structure jumps around as they discuss 1941, the 20s, later times and the years between, flitting from one to the other and back again. Some will find this difficult, but I find it effective.

So, how does the Lyceum handle it? Well, first off a word about the production design of Neil Murray, which strikes immediately as one enters the theatre. To my mind, the play is so laced with drama, and so abstractly set, that it would likely be best served by just a couple of simple chairs, the rest left to the actors. Murray's strange white pillars, and even stranger immovable chairs with papers and busts of Beethoven (well, it could have been someone else) stacked underneath them, just looks weird and don't really help the drama. Then, at the end, to underscore, spoiler warning, that the world has not been destroyed in nuclear holocaust, we get a silly rotating projection of the earth. This is the patronisingly underlining passages from the text with a crayon school of production design.

The success of such a play hinges on the performance of the three leads, and hence explains why this production is mixed. Owen Oakeshott is solid as Heisenberg, and one sympathises with the difficult position he found himself in and his attempts to justify his actions (much as one sympathises with the post-war treatment of Furtwangler). Tom Mannion's Bohr is more problematic. Time and again the play describes the hierarchy of atomic physics in terms of the catholic church - Einstein is God while Bohr is the pope. In particular, it tells of a journey Bohr took in terms of almost a papal procession. Sadly, Mannion's performance largely lacks this sense of authority and gravitas. He also trips over his technical language a little too often. Lastly there is Sally Edwards' Margrethe. This is a difficult role as the character is pretty unsympathetic and while she isn't bad, per se, I think more winning actor is required.

I can't help but feel that a number of these problems are down to weak direction on the part of Tony Cownie, I'm not at all convinced he has a terribly strong conception of the play.

As with the production, I find the lighting design a little over-active. Sound is even more problematic: again and again we get a doorbell sound; fair enough, except, on stage, Heisenberg never actually makes any accompanying gesture. Worse yet is the repeated cry of Bohr's drowning son as he reaches for the buoy, an event the play repeatedly touches on. I can't recall if this was a sound effect the last time I saw the play. Annoyingly, I can't check this in the text (I don't own a copy and when, in writing this review, I tried to buy an ebook version, I found that none exists; stupid publishers strike again, apparently). However, it just feels very tacky indeed. If it is not in the text, there is no sane reason for adding it. If it is, it would be better removed. I also query if the Beethoven snatches are scripted; I don't think they add much either.

Still, if the play is new to you, it is definitely worth seeing. If not, it's a tougher call, since this is a flawed productions.

Harding and the LSO play Mahler 1 (As well as Part II of Lang Lang's residency, with Tan Dun)

For the second concert in his residence with the London Symphony Orchestra, even newer music was on the cards from the pen of Tan Dun, who also doubled as conductor in the first half. He began with the Internet Symphony Eroica, of which this was the European premiere, the world premiere having recently been given by the YouTube Symphony Orchestra. At just five minutes, the programme suggests it is the shortest ever composed (I don't know if that's true, but I wouldn't be surprised if one of the million or so Segerstam is credited with is shorter). The LSO certainly played it very well (and were joined by two of the British YouTubers) and it was a nice enough piece. All the same, it seemed a bit bland and didn't really grab me. It contained quotes, including from the Beethoven symphony of the same name. The finale, perhaps the most engaging section, seemed reminiscent of Michael Nyman's Musique a Grande Vitesse.

The composer then decided to address the audience and, as is the case nine times out of ten, didn't say anything very interesting (I had to keep muting the sound when watching YouTube Orchesta, as Tilson Thomas loves the sound of his voice far too much). He told us how wonderful a thing the YouTube project was, though he didn't in anyway justify his statement that it was the most important thing in music in years. Hmmm. He then went on to dedicate the performance to Anthony Minghella (who died just before Easter last year) which does prevent me from complaining too loudly about his decision to speak.

The piano concerto that followed was more interesting than the symphony. As with yesterday's Bartok, this too had a fairly percussive piano part, something Tan Dun specifically mentions in his programme note. That said, it left plenty of opportunity for Lang Lang to show his more delicate side. Again, this was played well though in some ways it seemed to lack structure. In particular, it felt like he wasn't sure quite where best to end the piece. Unlike a lot of new music, I wasn't left with the wish to instantly listen again for the things I missed.

Better was to come after the interval in the form of the main reason for my trip south: Mahler's first symphony. Now, I'm a bit of a fan of the composer and have far too many recordings of his work (over ten complete cycles of the symphonies and many more individual recordings). One of the problems is that this makes me a pretty tough customer to please when it comes to live performance, as the RSNO will be aware, and even the best performers haven't come away unscathed. As noted in yesterday's review, I've had some reservations previously about the Harding/LSO partnership. However, Harding has also shown himself to be more than adept with Mahler's work. This is hardly surprising from a conductor who has studied with two of the great Mahlerians of the day (Rattle and Abbado). His recording of the fourth, with the Mahler Chamber Orchestra, of whom he is the principal conductor, is one of my favourites and his reading of Cooke's completion of the tenth with the VPO is about as good as they get (and comes as close as any to convincing me that it was right to complete it, though still doesn't quite manage it).

In the end, Harding and the LSO did not disappoint and right from the opening bars, that quiet sustained string chord, it seemed something special was in store. The last time I heard the work, earlier this year in Greyfriars Kirk, it was from an amateur scratch orchestra. This was remarkably good, but underscored something I'd not thought about before, namely just how difficult that opening is. My playing experience extends only to brass (and pretty poorly at that), but playing quietly is much harder than loudly, and the calibre of such playing is always a good yardstick. The LSO strings were superb. The movement provides a tour as Mahler passes a simple theme around the sections and nowhere did they disappoint. Unlike in yesterday's Bruckner, one never got the sense of a detail that Harding hadn't quite exposed as much as he wanted. The offstage brass were good too (and, unlike for Davis's Verdi Requiem, genuinely offstage). He brought off the climaxes with clarity and drama. The second movement danced along with beautiful colour. My one reservation with performance concerns one of my favourite passages: the opening of the third movement where the timpani accompanies a solo bass in the Frere Jacques motif. Or, normally so. Harding chose to have the whole bass section play it. Now, the programme, as ever, provides no elucidation on this point. However, Phillip Huscher's liner note to Haitink's recent Chicago recording (superbly played but a little lacking in passion) informs us that Mahler in fact played around with the passage but had originally intended it to be played by the entire section, but most sections were not up to this so instead opted for a solo. I don't know if Mahler himself would have judged the LSO bass section as being adequate, however, in my view they weren't. Not because they played it badly, mind; they didn't, on the contrary their playing was exemplary. It's just that eight people playing very quietly can't inject the same character that one soloist can (this may be what Mahler himself found). For me, Harding didn't make the case for reverting (neither, for that matter, does Haitink). The result was rather tame and lacking in feeling in comparison to what we're used to. The movement was otherwise excellent and there, as throughout, he built and released tension well. So too the finale. After the first big climax, I wasn't quite sure how he was going to top that for the close, and yet he ratcheted the tension back up unbearably until releasing it in an almighty deluge. For added drama, Harding brought the horns, a trumpet and a trombone to the feet. It was simply stunning. It was, also, quite simply the best thing I have heard from the LSO all season. So good that nothing, not even the epidemic of coughing, the woman with the jangling bracelets behind me, or the lady to my right who was unable to sit still for more than a minute (in general it was a pretty fidgety audience), could spoil it.

You can catch it on Radio 3 on Thursday evening. I would, probably forlornly, hope that it gets a release on CD. However, so soon after the Gergiev recording that seems unlikely. This would be a shame, Harding's approach is infinitely preferable to Gergiev, who conducts Mahler like a man late for an appointment.

Lang Lang's residence continues with concert at St Luke's on Thursday and a solo recital on Sunday (both are sold out). For those who can't get tickets, there's always Friday's online conversation. I'll next see the LSO in June for Paul Lewis and the Emperor (can't wait).

Lang Lang's LSO residence, Part I - Bartok and Harding's Bruckner

I've wanted to hear Lang Lang for a little while now. Sometime ago, I saw him on a documentary where his discussion of the opening of Beethoven's fourth piano concerto intrigued me. The more so as I then read a piece in Gramophone written, I think, by Hillary Finch, which described him as Bang Bang, without any real justification for the rudeness, and since it conflicted with what I had seen, I was curious. I must confess, however, that he was not the primary reason I booked these two concerts (that was because I wanted to hear tomorrow's performance of Mahler's first symphony). However, it seems fairly clear that the reason these have sold out is the pianist, not least from the frantic snapping of pictures as he came on stage (I say sold out, though from where I was sitting, there were a noticeable number of empty seats, doubtless people who were unable to make it).

The first half of the concert was occupied by Bartok's second piano concerto. Lang Lang's playing was pretty percussive, but given the composer and the work, this seemed entirely appropriate (indeed, it is difficult to judge whether he really is a thumper; it would be nice to hear him in, say, a Mozart concerto as well). However, he did display delicacy when called for, especially in the slow movement. There was also a wonderful dramatic flair to his playing. Providing accompaniment, the London Symphony Orchestra and Harding were on superb form. I've had my doubts based on earlier concerts this season about whether they are a good fit, whether there is a lack of chemistry between them. There was no evidence of that in the Bartok and they gave quite the best performance I've heard from them this season. The quiet playing by the strings was especially impressive, as was the work of timpanist Nigel Thomas. The only flaw was that, once again, I've managed to book all my LSO concerts not on keyboard side (note to self, engage brain when booking next year's tickets).

After the interval it was the turn of Anton Bruckner and his fifth symphony. One or two of those there just for Lang Lang clearly hadn't known what they were letting themselves in for as several left after the first movement (I happen to think this is pretty rude unless a performance is truly dire, and this certainly wasn't - I've never done it). They were very much in a minority though, as the brief round of applause that followed the first movement attested. It was a solid reading, if not so fine as the Bartok (and there where ghosts of the aforementioned lack of chemistry). There were times when Harding was clearly trying to bring out one detail or other (especially from the winds) but didn't quite balance the rest of the ensemble so that it could be heard properly in the balcony; how much of the blame the Barbican's tricky acoustic deserves here is worth asking. Harding is to be congratulated for not falling into the Bruckner trap of everything becoming samey, on the other hand, at times it did not have quite the flow that the best interpreters bring. The slow movement was beautiful, and, once again, the LSO's strings were the stars of the work but the brass could have been crisper. The scherzo could have been more visceral though. The finale built to a glorious Brucknerian climax, if a little loud, but at that point I don't mind.

Tonight's second instalment comprises Tan Dun's Internet Symphony (written for the Youtube Symphony Orchestra) and piano concerto, with the composer himself conducting. After the interval comes Mahler's first symphony. I can't wait.

Beethoven and Brahms from Jordan, the Philharmonia and Vogt

Spending a few cultural days in London, as I'm wont to do, I found myself without anything planned for Sunday evening. I think I had initially intended to have a night off, but when the time came I didn't feel like that. Sadly, nothing much musical was happening at the Barbican (which would have been convenient), but a quick glance at the internet showed an enjoyable looking Philharmonia programme. Sadly, the South Bank Centre has now started piping in music. Walking past the ground floor bar before the concert started, some Beethoven was blaring over a sound system so horribly tinny that it would flatter many a kitchen radio. Please, if anyone at the South Bank is reading this, piped music is awful, for the love of god stop it, or, rather, Pipe Down. But, I digress.

The last time I encountered Philippe Jordan, he was conducting the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester at the 2006 Edinburgh festival for a rather fine performance of Mahler's fifth symphony (I'd post a link to the review, but I haven't got to that point in collecting the archive reviews from that year). This time the concert followed the traditional overture, concerto, symphony model with works from Beethoven and Brahms.

Beethoven's The Creatures of Prometheus was the curtain raiser. (Not too long ago, I heard James Lowe conduct the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in the complete ballet.) Taking a fairly brisk pace, Jordan gave a crisp and energetic reading with the Philharmonia's playing up to their usual high standards.

The chairs were then rearranged to accommodate Lars Vogt, or, more particularly, the piano he was to play Beethoven's Emperor concerto on (the work making its second appearance in my concert going this season, the first having, once again, been with the SCO). It is, perhaps, not the ideal thing to report, but what stood out first and foremost about the performance was Jordan's beautifully judged accompaniment. The orchestra's playing was superb, Beethoven at his dynamic best. Vogt's playing, on the other hand, was not entirely to my taste, but then I am extremely fussy about pianists. He thumped much of the time, striking the keyboard harder, and in a more percussive manner, than I feel necessary. His playing also felt a little rushed and something in the music seemed to get lost as a result: some of the majesty. Surprisingly, then, the slow movement was sublime, with Vogt caressing the ivories as gently as gentle can be. He and Jordan held the tension very well in the transition into the finale (a moment that ought to tease the audience to the edges of their seats and beyond). But then the thumping returned, though not quite with avengeance, as flashes of that delicacy still came through. Of course, as some will note, more than delicacy is required in the work. However, Vogt could take a lesson from the likes of Paul Lewis who can get all the power they need without thumping. The finale was fairly good none the less, not least for the orchestra's rich playing. (Bafflingly, my favourite is not among the four recordings the programme recommends, the more confusing since it features the Philharmonia, conducted by Menges, with Solomon bringing unparalleled majesty.) I'll hear the Emperor for a third, and hopefully final time, this season in June when Lewis plays it with Davis and the LSO. That should be quite something.

The last time I heard Brahms fourth symphony in the concert hall, it was also with the Philharmonia. That was around four years ago, in a concert they gave in the Anvil in Basingstoke (back before I lived in Edinburgh). The conductor was Charles Mackerras so, of course, it was a thrilling tour de force and an extremely hard act to follow. Under Jordan, the first movement cast doubts. It took a long time to get going and didn't have nearly the drive or boiling tension of my favourite performances. However, the final few minutes of the movement were very exciting. The subsequent slow movement was beautifully played. This was followed by a wonderfully energetic third movement and a finale that was nothing short of thrilling. For the most part, then, a very fine performance. The orchestra were, by and large, superb, especially principal flautist Kenneth Smith in his solo. The only blemish was that there appeared to be something a little wooly about the horn sound (not something I would expect from a team who gave such a blinding rendition of Schumann's Konzertstück for four horns and orchestra at Aldeburgh last year).

Actually, there was one final blemish. As I left the hall, the moron in charge of the piped music had decided to play the third movement of the Brahms. With the Philharmonia's lush tones still ringing in our ears, the last thing anybody can have wanted was this parody.

So late it's topical again - Charles Mackerras, Artur Pizarro and the SCO

As regular readers may know, while I've lately been getting most of my reviews typed up pretty promptly on the night of the concert, it is not, and was not, always thus (last June's visit to Amsterdam for St Francis still sits firmly in the pages of my notebook, for example). However, just occasionally the concert becomes topical again in such a way that can make a five month old review seem almost timely.

The time was 7.30 on 31st October 2008, the place City Halls in Glasgow. One of the prospective highlights of the 2008/9 Scottish Chamber Orchestra season when the programme was launched this time last year was, as ever, the appearance of Sir Charles Mackerras. Annoyingly (and doubtless due to the Usher Hall being out of commission), the Edinburgh leg never took place, moving instead to Perth. Given the programme included Beethoven's fourth concerto, possibly my favourite piano concerto, I couldn't really miss the concert, so I caught the train to Glasgow. The main reason a review didn't follow soon after was that my brother was very selfishly having the Edinburgh leg of his wedding the following day (an unfortunate date, since the BBC Scottish were doing Messiaen's Des Canyons aux Étoiles... that night).



So, why is this topical again? Well, having performed the third and fourth concerti, the team then went on to record those and the fifth for release on Linn Records. The result is due out shortly. The Beethoven was flanked by two Mozart symphonies which, thankfully, they are soon to commit it to disc, also on Linn (the same Linn who released Mackerras and the SCO's prize winning recording of the last four symphonies).

To take the Beethoven first, then. We know from their past experience with the symphonies that Mackerras and the SCO are something of dream team when it comes to Beethoven. How then, could they go wrong in the concerti? Actually, I'd heard them do the fourth once before (also with Pizarro) in a rather fine 2006 concert which also included Haydn's 96th symphony and Mozart's Posthorn serenade. Now, in fairness to Pizarro, I'm not really able to objectively review the fourth concerto. This is Kempff's fault. His was the first I bought (the later stereo account with Leitner and the Berlin Phil) and the one I fell in love with. Kempff's delicacy is, perhaps, uniquely well suited to the soft solo piano opening. Other pianists can play softly and delicately though. What makes Kempff so special is his use of his own cadenzas. Beethoven's (of which I believe there are two) don't ever seem to fit quite, doubtless this is a sacrilegious view. The Beethoven cadenza that seems to be played most often is rather showy, the other less so. However, neither seem right in the same way Kempff's simply restatement of the opening theme does - giving the opening movement a wonderfully rounded feel. Probably I listened to Kempff too many times before hearing anyone else, but the result is that performances using other cadenzas just don't quite feel right.

Pizarro selected a fairly subdued cadenza (which I think was one of Beethoven's, but I'm not certain), but didn't quite equal Kempff. A bigger concern was that the clarity of his playing wasn't quite what I would like. I suppose in the years since I first heard him, I've been spoilt rotten by Paul Lewis in this regard, but Pizarro did seem to jumble his notes slightly in the larger moments. Certainly it was nothing like the mumbling style of Richard Goode, but it was a little like a singer whose diction was such that not quite every word could be understood. However, there were no such concerns on the orchestral side, and under Mackerras's direction the SCO were as fired up as they had been for the symphonies two years earlier. Rich and yet agile, beautifully textured with plenty of power when needed, yet never overwhelming the soloist. All I could think was how wonderful a combination they would make with Lewis.



The Beethoven was flanked by two Mozart symphonies: the Paris (31) and Linz (36). Paris was the curtain raiser, and what a start. The opening allegro was given a wonderful bounce and sparkle and the orchestra's playing was impressively tight. Then Mackerras courted disaster: he turned to address the audience. He did so because the Paris has two slow movements: the original in 6/8, which he was told was by the commissioner was too long and in the wrong time signature for the French capital, and the replacement in 3/4. This being Mozart, both are excellent and one wouldn't like to choose. Mackerras didn't on his Telarc recording with Prague Chamber Orchestra or in the Glasgow concert (and doubtless he won't on the forthcoming Linn recording either). Instead, he gave a brief and insightful account of of the differences and then played them one after the other. The first was marked by beautiful playing. The second was much shorter, lighter (in part a consequence of the reduced scoring) and more humourous, and Mackerras brought out this out well. It was rounded off with a thrilling finale, superbly judged and played.

There was also an unusual number of movements in the Linz which closed the concert, in the programme at any rate (where the opening Adagio-Allegro was split in two). Fortunately, on the stage we got a tour de force. The quality of the playing was stunning, from the opening movement through to the thrilling finale. To say I can't wait for these recordings would be putting it mildly. Still, with a summer studio date I suspect we'll be luck to hear them before Christmas. The power, sparkle and agility of the orchestra was quite something to have heard.

Throughout the evening, one was reminded just what incredible energy Mackerras possesses, particular given he was a couple weeks away from his eighty-third birthday.


Having got through the recording, Pizarro turned up in the Queen's Hall on the Sunday of the following week for a chamber concert. In the first half, the pianist was alone for book one of Debussy's preludes. Never the greatest fan of the composer, I found it rather dull and lost track of the movements, but it felt like rather more than twelve.

After the interval came Schubert's piano quintet in A major, The Trout. Despite being joined by some of the orchestra's finest musicians (violinist Christopher George, violist Jane Atkins, bassist Nicholas Bayley and the great David Watkin on cello) it didn't seem to catch fire and felt a little leaderless. I don't think it was helped by the piano being positioned rather far back. The reading also erred too much on the fast side for my tastes.

I realise only two days ago I had a rant about how great the chamber concerts were, and in general they are (this would seem to be the exception that proves the rule).


I await the new CD with interest and a review of that will follow here... though it's probably best if I don't make any promise as to when that might be!

Symphonies in C - The Scottish Chamber Orchestra and Litton

For their third concert in less than a week, the Scottish Chamber Orchestra built their programme around two symphonies in C. No shortage of those, you might quite rightly say, but fewer titled specifically Symphony in C, as opposed to, say, Symphony Number Something (there's an interesting title for a post-modern composer). I can think of only two, the two that we got tonight: those of Bizet and Stravinsky.

Stravinsky was first up. Right from the start the SCO were on fine form, horns and bassoons standing out particularly in the finale. However, Stravinsky is quite a way from being my favourite composer and I felt that Andrew Litton didn't quite give his reading the drive and edge that was needed in the opening two movements. The allegretto was much more compelling, so too the finale. And yet, somehow, the piece didn't quite work for me structurally. However, Litton was a good judge of volume and, despite large forces, including three trombones and a tuba, did not overwhelm the Queen's Hall, as sometimes happens.

After the interval came the Bizet, which was much more successful and danced along beautifully. Composed while he was still a student, one can hear the seeds of ideas that would later bloom in the likes of Carmen (particularly during the finale). At the close of the concert, Litton hesitated, not quite knowing which members of the orchestra to bring to their feet first. I know how he felt. From principal cello David Watkin, with one hand dramatically posed on his leg, delivering driving chords in the third movement, to Alison Mitchell's superb flute playing at the work's close, or the sheer beauty of the slow movement (which my neighbour decided was the perfect time to noisily leaf through his programme), the playing was superb.

But the real highlight came just before the interval. Everyone but the strings left the stage and, in their place, soprano Sally Matthews came on for Britten's Les Illuminations, a series of settings of poems by Rimbaud. In her programme note, Janet Beat tells us that he stumbled across them whilst staying with Auden's parents. In my view, it's something of a shame that he didn't set some Auden instead, as the poems in and of themselves don't entirely grab me. Fortunately, Britten's settings do. What struck me, particularly after the Stravinsky, was how, with a much smaller and more limited ensemble, Britten managed to find far more richness and variety. The SCO strings were exemplary. Litton proved a good accompanist. Matthews provided a wonderfully dramatic interpretation, making me think she'd be well worth seeing in the opera house. However, I had some reservations concerning her voice: it seemed a little on the thin side and with slightly more of wobble than I care for (but, as regular readers will know, I'm far too picky about this). Such reservations are minor: it was a fine evening. On an interesting side note, my Britten conducts Britten box (volume 4) has the role sung by a tenor (Peter Pears, though you could probably have guessed that).

That puts the SCO three for three. I hear them next on Saturday the 25th when Swensen is back with Schubert and Schumann, then on 30th April for what promises to be one of the real highlights of the season: Christian Zacharias for a programme including Haydn's sinfonia concertante (with David Watkin as one of the soloists).

Scottish CHAMBER Orchestra - Brahms, Dukas and Dohnanyi

You wait go three months without an SCO concert, and suddenly you're at two in two days. I've said before, I'm sure, that the chamber ensemble concerts in their Sunday matinees, are one of the absolute highlights of the SCO season. Yesterday's programme was no exception.

They're also very good at timing them to make use of whatever soloist is in town (hey, here's a thought for a future season: get Rachel Barton Pine for a concert and then a chamber concert, please). This week it was the turn of horn player Radovan Vlatkovic, who'd played on Saturday. He led off the second half, accompanied by pianist Scott Mitchell, with a performance of Villanelle by Dukas, whose most famous composition is The Sorcerer's Apprentice. The programme informed us it was for horn and orchestra, so one can only assume we were hearing a piano reduction of some sort (I say assume because, rather frustratingly, shelling out £2 for the programme provided no elucidation on this point - it does say the composer called for both valve and natural horn techniques and that modern players sometimes ignore this, and while I'm no very good judge, Vlatkovic seemed to stick to a valve approach). Certainly not the greatest of works but definitely a fun one, and it did provide Vlatkovic an opportunity to show off, which he seized with aplomb.

This was followed by Dohnanyi's sextet for clarinet, horn, piano and string trio. This proved an interesting and satisfying blend of instruments, though I felt Vlatkovic's horn was a little too dominant at times (however, not knowing the work, this may be intentional). The ensemble was extremely tight and played beautifully. But they were not above a little fun, and they milked the false ending for all it was worth. From the wide grins on their faces they seemed to have enjoyed it as much as we had.

But the real highlight of the concert, and, indeed, one of my highlights of the 2008/9 season thus far, was the first half and Brahms' clarinet quintet. The SCO have a world class talent in Maximiliano Martin, and they're very good at showing him off in these programmes. That's not to belittle the rest of the quintet: violinists Zoe Beyers and Rosenna East, violist Brian Schiele and cellist Donald Gillan, who also played superbly, and formed a well balance ensemble. They played with beautiful lyricism, effortlessly weaving Brahms' rich textures together with Martin again and again gliding over the top. The only blemish was the person snoring behind me. There's just no helping some people.

Hello old friend - the adventurous SCO

It's been an age since I last got to hear the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in concert, nearly three months in fact. Not such a long time, you might think, but, when you consider they perform just a couple of minutes walk away, it's too long. In the first full week of January it was Paul Lewis in a fairly traditional programme. Saturday's concert was a little more adventurous.

In truth, the orchestra have played a few times in between, but Thursdays aren't a terribly good evening for me anymore, and one or two of my season tickets have fallen by the wayside, as they're wont to. Saturday's programme was part of the Adventurer strand of the season, meaning new music (and hence a Queen's Hall that was probably less than half full for what, frankly, wasn't a very challenging programme). Come on Edinburgh, if Aldeburgh can fill the Maltings for new music, surely we can fill the Queen's Hall (there are one or two more people living here, after all).

The orchestra were joined for the evening by their conductor emeritus Joseph Swensen, whose own work would close the concert. He began, though, with Respighi and Gli Uccelli (The Birds). And immediately I remembered what I'd been missing. The orchestra played superbly, and with a wonderfully rich sound, one larger than the modest (even by chamber orchestra standards) forces would suggest. It's true that I'm not the greatest fan of the composer, and certainly the depictions of such wildlife as the Dove and the Cuckoo aren't terribly vivid; they are not in the same league as Messiaen's avian works. Nonetheless, it is a perfectly pleasant piece, particularly when played so finely.

Better was to follow with some Sibelius. Now, I've had a little experience of Swensen and the SCO tackling the composer from their 2003 CD including a number of orchestral works including Pelleas and Melisande (listening to it again as I write this, I find it even more recommendable). Again, the playing was gloriously rich and Swensen's reading was full of drama and not lacking in sweep. Indeed, it's a mark of the uniformly high quality of the playing that I find myself struggling to single anyone out, well, except perhaps Rosie Staniforth's delightful cor anglais part.

After the interval came the new work The Fire and the Rose, a symphony for horn and orchestra, for which soloist Radovan Vlatkovic was on duty. I wish I'd snapped a picture as the array of percussion on display (from xylophones to tubular bells) was more than I can recall having seen in the hall before; indeed, the orchestration as a whole was interesting with its use of contrabassoon and bass and contrabass clarinet (which looked decidedly awkward for Alan Andrews to play, though he did it very well indeed). Swensen's placement of his forces was interesting too: the two non-solo horns on raised platforms at the rear corners, the trumpet on one in the middle. Comprised of five movements, but to some degree flowing into one another, and culminating in an aria that predates the rest in composition, and was originally scored for voice (using an Eliot poem from which the work derives its title). The two turbulent and furious scherzos, perhaps a little too loud and furious for the hall, at times, buttressed a beautiful central movement where leader Christopher George somewhat upstaged Vlatkovic with his fine solo. Similarly, percussionists Kate Openshaw and Tom Hunter moved between their many instruments with seeming effortlessness. Vlatkovic himself was fine, if not breathtaking. His part reminded me somewhat of the solo horn in Messiaen's Des Canyons aux Etoiles.... The closing aria itself seemed oddly subdued at first. Indeed, the opening stages of the work didn't quite seem to flow. And yet, come the subtle, fade away, ending, it seemed just right. As always, the highest praise for a new work is that I wanted to listen to it all over again, right away, for all the things I'm sure I missed.

It's been too long SCO, fortunately I'll be hearing them again this Thursday for a programme including Bizet, Stravinsky and Britten.

Springtime in Paris in Edinburgh - Deneve and the RSNO

I want to write a nice review, I really do. And, purely on musical terms, I can, so I think what I'm going to do is just talk about that and confine my ranting to the final paragraphs (well, more or less).

Owing partly to the absence of the Usher Hall this year (something I am assured will not be the case next year, though having walked past it a couple of times recently, I'm a little concerned), it's been far too long, over a month and a half, since I last heard the Royal Scottish National Orchestra in concert. Sunday's programme was the first of two (for some reason I don't appear to have booked for the other) themed around Paris, Paris with Style being the title of part one.

Deneve began with reduced forces for Mozart's 31st Paris symphony. While there was nothing wrong with it, I have heard it in the concert hall only a few months ago (unaccountably I haven't written a review); then it was played to perfection by those masters of late Mozart: Mackerras and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Certainly the RSNO had nothing to be ashamed of, but in comparison they didn't quite have the same tightness or bounce.

Things picked up considerably with Rossini's Sinfonia from Il viaggio a Reims, one of his many, many operas. It was fine in every way I felt the Mozart was lacking slightly. The orchestra positively sparkled, with oboist Emmanuel Laville on especially fine form in his solo.

Things only got better after the first interval (of which more anon, I'm not going to rant now) as we moved to even firmer Deneve territory with Francis Poulenc. Anyone who doubts how fine a combination this team is here clearly wasn't at their 2007 festival concert. First up was his harpsichord concerto. Now, initially I had my doubts as to how well even a more modern instrument could blend with a big symphony orchestra, but as the piece progressed these were washed away, not least by Jory Vinikour's superb playing. Some may feel the instrument lacks range, but I think this provided a showcase to the contrary as peddles were kicked to alter the texture of the instrument as needed. There was then a pause as the stage was rearranged for something even finer in the form of Poulenc's concerto for two pianos. Pianists Frank Braley and Eric Le Sage were well matched and played superbly with no hint of thumping. It was a glorious piece and once again reminded me I really must pad out my music collection as far as Poulenc is concerned. Pity those at the interval who commented that they didn't really warm to the composer and seemed to have found Vinikour's bright red socks the most interesting thing.

This was hard programming to top, and though fine, the third half (why, sorry, I was going to save that for the end) didn't entirely manage it. Ibert's Suite symphonique Paris was interesting, and superbly played, conveying various images of the city including the metro (not nearly as vivid as Nymann's DGV: Musique a Grande Vitesse) and most finely a picture of an ocean liner.

The finale was a bit of fun in the form of Offenbach and an arrangement by Manuel Rosenthal of various pieces culminating in the Can-Can. Certainly, it was extremely well played, especially from the brass (and having played the overture to Orphee aux enfers, I can note that it isn't particularly easy, though perhaps that only indicates how inept a trombonist I am myself), but the highlights were in the second half.

So what could I possibly have to complain about amid such gems? Well, first, first off it was too long (not quite so bad as the 2005 Bamberg epic) but unless there is one vast work that calls for it, three hours is too long for a concert, it would have bee more satisfying just to have the best bits (the Rossini, the Poulenc and the Ibert, say).

A bigger complaint was the presentation. Deneve insisted on talking constantly, and saying nothing of any particular interest, for several minutes before almost every piece: did we really need to know that Rossini was very fond of cooking? Compare his discussion of the different middle movements of the Paris symphony with Mackerras's detailed exposition of the differences and the history in Glasgow. But it was worse even than that, he spent the first few minutes speaking in French with a translation projected on the screen behind him. This was not half as funny as they seemed to think. The projector didn't go away: it showed largely pointless slides throughout is speaking (I have nothing against the language mind, it's just that when you're addressing an audience that doesn't, for the most part, speak it, or speak it well, what's the point?). Worse, it remained on while they played. Did we really need the first page of the score projected illegibly during the Paris symphony or a cartoon of Rossini during his piece. Worse, to make the screen visible the lights were turned down low so one didn't have nearly as good a view of the orchestra as would normally be the case (as was painfully illustrated when they faded up the lights so they could take bow).

They showed a DVD in between the Poulenc concerti, to cover the time moving the pianos and harpsichord (had they opted for a more sensible length, this could have been done in the interval). This had the potential to be interesting, but all we really learnt was that the composer scored pretty terribly at most of his subjects at school and largely blagged his way through.

It got worse. A static image is at least ignorable. In the third half we got live mixed video images, showing mostly Ibert's Paris (though in the second movement, they didn't seem to be showing the suburb). It was extremely distracting, in the manner of a TV in a pub, only worse. It would have been fine if it had actually added something; it didn't. Okay, you can close your eyes, but I like to actually watch the orchestra.

Arts organisations are supposedly struggling for cash these days, so you would think that this kind of silliness would be the first to go. We can only hope. It's a terrible shame because, musically speaking, the evening ranged from good to superb. Had it been recorded for broadcast, I'd be urging you to listen; it wasn't, but I'm lukewarm about recommending next weekand, and whether or not such things as I've moaned about get your goat too will determine whether or not you should take the trip.

ecat - Garth Knox's recital of modern viola music

If I thought six pieces of new music in one concert was impressive, Garth Knox clearly felt himself up to the challenge by playing seven, albeit none of the them premieres, in this ecat (Edinburgh Contemporary Arts Trust) concert. He faced, perhaps, a bigger challenge as one might not necessarily imagine the viola could sustain a whole concert, certainly I had my doubts. Such concerns were unfounded and Knox quickly erased them.

I've complained before about artists talking too much. Knox spoke before each piece, but it never seemed superfluous - he shared a player's insights of a kind that were not contained in the programme, comparing one piece to a bagpipe (where you cannot play two notes the same in a row, leading to the distinctive style in which they are played) or demonstrating nearly four part harmony in Bach prior to the final Berio piece.

The first piece was probably least to my taste. I had prolonged exposure to Gyorgy Kurtag at last year's Aldeburgh Festival and didn't really warm to him. Jelek suffered from many of the same problems. Certainly there were some interesting sounds now and again, but the series of fragments didn't seem to hang together as a cohesive whole.

James Dillon's Siorram, which translates from Gaelic as "in an enchanted sleep", was much better. Dreamy, impressionistic and misty, it was an interesting piece and one I'd like to hear again.

This was followed by Salvatore Sciarrino's Three Notturni Brillanti (brilliant, as in bright, nocturnes). At times highly dextrous, to the point that several composer friends I spoke to in the interval expressed curiosity as to how it was written on the score, but played very well.

The highlight of the first half, however, was Gyorgy Ligeti, who never fails to impress me, and his sonata. Sadly only the first and fourth movements were played. The piece was doubly interesting for its use of only the bottom C string of the instrument in the first movement, and while this might seem a limiting factor, it did not sound to be. I would dearly love to hear the rest of it.

The first piece after the interval was Roland Moser's Poem / Anecdote. It is not given much elucidation by a full quote of the programme note:

(That's not a mistake, the programme is intentionally blank at this point.) Moser took a poem and an anecdote and stripped them of all the words, leaving only the punctuation and lines indicating the space between. The only instruction being the that they be played in the style of a poem and an anecdote respectively. This Knox did - the extent to which it was improvised or planned was unclear, though he did say that it's different every time he plays it. Certainly, the style of the two pieces was very different: the poem romantic and slow; the anecdote witty and at times hurried (with the three bells Knox mentioned it contains coming through clearly).

The finale came in form of Luciano Berio's Sequenza VI (the sixth in his series of compositions for solo instruments in the sixties). Apparently something of a challenge to play, Berio wanted four part harmony, which, obviously, the way the strings are placed, and the nature of the flat bow, is impossible on the viola in the strictest sense. The only way round this is to play very loud and very fast, creating a wall of sound. In a manner reminiscent of that Aldeburgh concert, six music stands were arrayed across the stage, and Knox traversed them and the music impressively.

He was well received and gave us a lovely Henze miniature as an encore. However, neither the finale, nor the encore, nor the Ligeti was the evening's highlight. This came from Knox's own Viola Spaces, essentially a series of etudes, they were originally devised as teaching exercises. The first Nine Fingers was so called because it is all pizzicato and all bar the left thumb are used. He showcased a glorious range of colour and texture that one seldom hears from the instrument, at times it was more reminiscent of a lute. This was followed by Ghosts, played entirely on the strings over the fingerboard (the outer strings producing no more than a hiss). It wasn't quite successful, and perhaps not quite as spooky as need be for the title, but nice none the less. Then came Up, down, sideways, round, an exercise in bowing techniques, such as bouncing it on the strings, sliding it up and down lengthways, moving it in circles and using the 'wrong' sound of the bow. It was quite wonderful.

Throughout, Knox's playing was of the highest standards technically and he performed with a nicely understated charisma. It was an enjoyable evening and makes me question why I haven't got to any of ecat's concerts in the past, certainly I shall be doing so in the future. It is a great shame, however, that the hall wasn't fuller, perhaps only seventy or so people attending. It's a pity Edinburgh is often so cool to new music, given there are so many wonders to hear.

Haitink and the Concertgebouw, Part II - Bruckner, Schumann and Perahia

I was nearly caught out by this weekend's second concert from the Concertgebouw - it was an afternoon matinee and I was expecting a normal evening kick-off. Still, such starts are remarkably civilised and allow one to type up a review without staying up into the small hours of the morning and enable dinner to be eaten at a civilised time.

Sunday's programme contained just two works. In the first half was Schumann's piano concerto in A minor, op.54. The soloist was Murray Perahia, very highly regarded, but someone with whom I've never quite managed to connect. I bought his cycle of the Mozart piano concerti with the English Chamber Orchestra, which receives rave reviews and a Penguin Guide rosette and yet fails to grab me at all (excepting the first four, which aren't solely Mozart). Indeed, they initially had me thinking that perhaps the works were not for me, until I came across the likes of Barenboim, Brendel, Uchida and Zacharias. Listening to this performance, I struggled to understand why I don't like him. Technically it was a strong performance and he didn't go in for the excessive thumping I can't stand. However, for whatever reason, his playing simply doesn't seem to speak to me. Others will not (and did not appear to) have this problem. The Concertgebouw played superbly. And yet, something was lacking here too. I think Schumann, like Mendelssohn, benefits from plenty of oomph and emotion from the conductor, which is why I prefer the recordings of Furtwangler or Bernstein.

After the interval it was the turn of Bruckner and the ninth. Haitink took the start fairly slowly and the orchestra delivered perhaps their finest playing of the weekend. The best moments came with the sheer excitement they delivered in the scherzo, Haitink holding his pauses to good effect. The outer movements were a little less successful. They didn't seem to have quite the flow that was there when Volkov and the BBC Scottish played them in Glasgow recently. Haitink did bring out the Wagnerian themes wonderfully though, reminding me of the things I love about his Bavarian Ring cycle (hobbled by Eva Marton's police siren like Brunnhilde) which offers so much orchestral beauty.

Of course, it is probably true that the Concertgebouw are a finer ensemble than the BBC Scottish, and certainly their beautiful and rich sound is a wonder to hear. However, the gap is very much closer than some might imagine (and I don't just think that's a personal bias for a local team).

Often, when I write reviews, I single out one or two sections of players who have especially impressed me. I'm conscious that I haven't done that with either this afternoon's or last night's programme. During the Bruckner I realised why. The Concertgebouw is one of the most superbly balanced ensembles it has been my pleasure to hear. Nobody stands out particularly because all are playing so well. It is a treat to hear them, and you should seize the chance if you get it. They return in December for programmes that include Brahms' fourth symphony and Mahler's resurrection. The main difference will be that the conductor then will be Mariss Jansons, one who I tend to be more in sympathy with and who is, in my view, one of the finest Mahlerians around today. I can't wait. (Now if only Mr Mills could entice them up to Edinburgh for the festival, and we could hear them in the better acoustic of the Usher Hall....)

The world's best orchestra? - Haitink and the Concertgebouw play Mozart, Debussy and Beethoven

I should really stop banging on about that list of greatest orchestras that appeared in a certain well known classical magazine. However, it did put the Concertgebouw top and I've never before heard them in the flesh, though I have been impressed with many of their recordings (Bernstein conducting Mahler's first symphony, Jansons doing Strauss's Alpensinfonie and Haitink conducting Mahler's third being three that stand out especially in my memory). However, they have been high on my list of orchestras I want to hear one day. It's therefore been nice to cross them off today.

My one regret about the programme is that there was no Mahler and there is none tomorrow, and, with the wonderful richness of their sound and especially their wind, I think they have a particular affinity for the composer.

Saturday's programme started with Mozart's Haffner symphony, K385. This was very nicely played and Haitink took it at a fairly brisk tempo. While it was very enjoyable, there was little by way of the wow moments which I feel are one of the key markers of orchestral greatness. My only quibble is that I would have liked the winds more prominently balanced, but this may well be the fault of the acoustic.

The orchestra's full forces then filled out the stage for Debussy's La Mer. By a curious quirk of fate, the last time I heard this it was being played by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, of whom I'm immensely fond, and who share their chief conductor, Mariss Jansons, with the Concertgebouw. I said then that I don't care for the piece. I'm afraid Haitink and the Concertgebouw didn't change my mind. That's not to say there wasn't some beautiful and, indeed, some wowing playing. There most certainly was and the score provides some moments for an ensemble to really show off. Unfortunately, the bottom line is that I find the whole work a little banal. (This problem may now have been replaced as during the interval someone told me about a Peter Cook and Dudley Moore sketch, which I sadly cannot locate on the internet, where Cook explained that it was all about the composer's silver haired mother and her tea trolley. That's what has happened with the main theme from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake where all I can hear is Graham Garden singing I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, that one's I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue's fault.) The work's other problem is that, try as I might, it doesn't evoke the slightest spark of the sea. Contrast this with Peter Grimes, whose virtually every bar seems imbued with its presence, beauty or power.

After the interval it was Beethoven and the seventh symphony. Haitink has recently won plaudits for his Beethoven, most notably with the LSO Live cycle. That hasn't completely grabbed me. Sitting somewhere I have some notes on it waiting to be typed up into a review. However, the short version is that I think the disc of the fourth and eighth symphonies is phenomenal and amongst the finest recordings of either but that the rest is fairly unremarkable. I've also heard some pretty memorable sevenths over the years, most recently Mackerras/SCO but also a thrilling reading from Daniel Harding at Aldeburgh six years ago. Haitink's view didn't entirely grab me. He is generally a conductor who doesn't go in for a lot of emotion. This can be a good thing: Leonard Bernstein sometimes went far too far the other way. But it can also feel a little cold as was the case here. The first movement was somewhat to solemn and grand, and while this works well in the eroica, in this work I don't find it convincing; I prefer sheer unadulterated joy. The transition to the main theme of the first movement should have unbearable tension, it didn't. His approach did suit the slow movement much better though. It was extremely beautiful and further enhanced by the orchestra's wonderfully rich playing. But the last two movements shared the first's problems. Certainly he took the finale at quite a lick, and yet it just didn't quite seem to sweep me away with excitement. When Mackerras played it, he left me on the edge of my seat and exhausted.

I was in a minority though as the reception was very warm (and a number of people stood), though I could hear a sound from one quarter that sounded like booing (I think the acoustic must have been tricking my ears, because that makes no sense).

So, are they the best in the world? Well, I don't like singling one out at the best of times. They do have a very special sound, and one that I think is unique. I had worried that the Barbican's notorious acoustic would remove this richness. Certainly I think hearing them in the Usher Hall or the Concertgebouw would have been better, but their special flavour was still very much in evidence. There's no doubt they play very well indeed, but so do many others. They did not absolutely blow me away as other ensembles have (but that may be the repertoire).

They're are here again tomorrow for a programme that includes Schumann's piano concerto (with Murray Perahia) and Bruckner's ninth. I hadn't realised when I was sorting out my tickets out this year, but that means two Bruckner nines in almost as many weeks; I wonder how they will compare to the BBC Scottish. Interestingly, Runnicles ranks the latter amongst the finest ensembles in the world. Of course, Haitink is a fine Brucknerian..... Watch this space.