Crossovers and connections were the name of the game from start to finish of this particular prom. The outfit that is Public Service Broadcasting has drawn inspiration in the past from the founding principles and the earliest days of the BBC, to Inform, Educate and Entertain. In turn they were approached to compose this tribute and celebration in the corporation’s centenary year. PSB’s trademark rhythms and cycles were in evidence together with their familiar blend of visuals and samples of spoken word. Lighting effects added another layer but the major difference on this occasion was the presence of the full orchestral family, and, to my added pleasure and surprise, the contribution of the hall’s splendid Willis organ.

In preparation for the work to begin an early domestic radio receiver was brought in and placed in a prominent position and we heard the sound of the valves warming up and the transmission about to begin.

Taking its name from Charlotte Higgins’ excellent history of the BBC This New Noise consists of 8 movements tracing the history of the BBC from the earliest experiments, its founding and developments in technology. The fourth movement featured the highly anticipated appearance of Seth Lakeman singing about the opening of the first national transmitter in 1927. Sadly it was impossible to make out most of his words as the level of his microphone was not adequately balanced. The matter of balance was also an issue with many of the sampled voices heard throughout the performance. It was such a pity that this technical issue resulted in a loss of impact at several points in the story.

George Bernard Shaw was heard – and seen – praising the wonder that is the microphone. Sounds and pictures of broadcasting and receiving around the country and in other parts of the world featured throughout with close ups of the newly created technology and a soundtrack that could be intimate and at times epic.

The blend of elements and moments of wonder, celebration and poignancy made for a highly immersive experience which was well received by a large and appreciative audience. At the same time nostalgic and forward-looking this piece deserves to be seen and heard again. Fortunately it was recorded and is due to be broadcast on BBC 4 very soon and will be available on the I-Player. I hope we shall also see a commercial recording soon. The point was well made that the composition only came into being through a huge amount of collaboration and itself is an example of the innovative and authoritative work that the BBC does so well.

The final movements built towards the question of the future. The importance of broadcasting was highlighted, not as an end in itself, but as a means to enhancing and broadening our communal lived experience. It should not be viewed simply in commercial and business orientated terms.

We had been partially prepared for the work’s ending but I think it still surprised and deeply moved many in the audience. Whilst the music continued the players gradually left the stage as everything was stripped bare and the antique radio set was removed leaving us to contemplate the frightening prospect of the demise of the BBC as being threatened in some political quarters. Nothing could replace it – there would simply be a void.

At this Prom I was most definitely Informed, Educated and Entertained.

Stephen Page

This concert was a fine example of the Proms at their very best. The hall and the arena were packed and the atmosphere buzzing for what Hubert Parry (and others) deemed “the mightiest choral work ever written”. And given the quality of this performance it’s hard to disagree with such high praise.

The layout was interesting. The choir was sitting stage left tucked intimately behind the orchestra – almost among it. The orchestra was arranged obliquely stage right so that players were half facing the singers. Soloists were seated in front of the choir but came forward to sing. John Butt was right at the front directing from the harpsichord. It was all very cohesive.

I really liked the concept of instruments with solo or group spots standing up to play them and there was a very special moment when leader Huw Daniel stood to play Laudamus Te with soprano Mary Bevan, There was a real sense of collaborative duet with lots of eye contact and body language between the two of them. At other times all the flutes stood and the Benedictus sung by tenor Guy Cutting with Lisa Beznosiuk on solo flute was another high spot: sweetly lyrical and sung with gentle, soulful passion. And of course this is OAE so we heard wooden flutes, spikily dry, hard sticks on shallow timps, strings played with Baroque bows and all the rest of it. I think Bach would have been pretty pleased.

The choir sound was magnificent throughout (and I admired their immaculately choreographed silent stands and sits). There was some really close blending, every detail lovingly placed in Et Incarnatus, for example. What magic Bach can weaver with just a descending minor arpeggio and parts entering one by one.

Like, I suspect, many other audience members, I was puzzled at the choir’s trooping off stage at the end of the Credo but we soon saw why. They returned, regrouped so that the basses were along the back with other parts layered up from the sopranos at the front. It made for an especially rich sound in the Sanctus, arguably the climax of the whole work.

For me though the most moving part came at the end first with counter tenor Iestyn Davies singing Agnus Dei. The way he sustained those long notes and phrases was spine-tingling. And then, still fresh after nearly two hours and with no sign whatever of flagging, the choir delivered Dona Nobis Pacem making sure that we heard every nuance of Bach’s contrapuntal alchemy – reaching glorious, jaw-dropping resolution in the timp work in the final bars,

Even for someone like me, who has long since jettisoned Christian theology and its trappings, listening to this work performed as well as this was a profoundly spiritual experience. Yes, the elderly composer used a fair amount of material that he’d already used elsewhere but who cares? An achievement like this is much greater than the sum of its parts.

Susan Elkin

Of all Gilbert and Sullivan’s operas, Patience (1881) has worn the least well. The over promoted politicians of The Mikado, HMS Pinafore and Iolanthe and the like are timeless as are jibes about assinine laws. The Aesthetic Movement, the target of Patience, is much harder for modern audiences to understand and relate to. It was topical at the time but doesn’t make much sense now. Nonetheless in this revival a talented company of nine, under John Savourin’s direction, squeeze it for every ounce of fun and pop in a bit of their own. I enjoyed the “M&S young man” and the Frank Sinatra reference, for instance.

We’re in a pub. Three “melancholic” maidens, dressed like Goths drape themselves along the bar and down lots of shots as they bewail their predicament. When down-to-earth Patience (Catriona Hewitson – sumptuous soprano) the barmaid arrives, blonde in her pinny and trainers she makes a colourful contrast. I’m left puzzling over what period this is meant to be set in when the three dragoons arrive in World War 2 uniforms but it doesn’t matter much – and the joke at the end when Grosvenor (Matthew Siveter – good) re-appears in a hoody with Angela and Saphir being every inch “innit” 2022 works brilliantly.

At the performance I saw, director John Savourin was covering illness as Bunthorne and he was terrific. Looking exactly like Oscar Wilde he uses his lanky height to great comic effect and commands the stage for every moment he’s on it as well as singing every word and note with warmth and humour.

Musically, some of the numbers are taken too fast. Yes you want pace but with WSG you need to hear every word and sometimes you couldn’t. For example “If you want a receipt for that popular mystery” would be better a little slower.

The sestet anthem “I hear the soft note of the echoing voice” was sung as well as I’ve ever heard it – a real high spot. Moreover it’s exactly the right directorial decision to respect these anthems and madrigals, at least one of which Sullivan included in each opera. They are beautiful set pieces and there should be no other distraction. In this instance it is literally a show stopper, given all the weight it richly deserves.

There’s a splendid performance in this production by Catrine Kirkman as Lady Jane – the weary, unappealing old trout who simply wants a husband. (Gilbert was notoriously unkind to women of a certain age). She has a delicious low slung voice, uses a stick until she stops boozing and starts flirting lasciviously. Her big solo number “Silvered is the raven hair” (and hers was exactly that with grey breaking though on the parting) is both funny and poignant. Her duet with Bunthorne “So go to him and say to him” is perfectly choregraphed (Meery Holder – with original choreography by Damian Czarnecki). It’s a real pleasure to watch two performers working together with such incisiveness.

Considering that the work was written to include a full female and male four part chorus it astonishes me (yet again – I’ve seen Charles Court in Iolanthe and HMS Pinafore and several other companies with bijoux G&S) that you can bring it off so successfully with just nine strong performers. Yes, you lose the four parts in some of the choruses but in return you get a great deal of musical clarity – a credit to MD David Eaton who accompanies on piano.

However dated Patience might seem I bet Sir Arthur Sullivan and WS Gilbert are spinning in their graves in delight that it’s still being performed and enjoyed over 140 years after its premiere.

Susan Elkin

The Hellys International Guitar Festival is a yearly event [pandemics excluded] which takes place in Helston, Cornwall. Hellys is the old Cornish name for Helston. It is now attracting more international guitarists than ever with a wider spectrum of styles. This year alone, guitarists from Germany, Belgium, Australia, the US, Brazil, Poland and Italy, as well as home-grown classical guitarists, folk and acoustic players and lutenists came to Helston to perform.

Andrea Dieci’s concert was at the end of the last day of the festival on an evening that included Nico G, an acoustic guitarist of Belgian origin, now living in Scotland, who gave us wonderfully innovative compositions of his own, referencing both classical and folk styles.

After Nico came the talented Clive Carroll with a series of accomplished acoustic folk and blues favourites, many written by himself, each tune introduced with a warm blend of anecdotes and laughter. For both these performers the auditorium was packed.
Last of the evening and clearly intended as the highlight was classical guitarist Andrea Dieci, so it was a shame that a large number of the audience left before he began. This was through no fault of his own. I have heard Dieci play a number of times over the years and his performances are always faultless. The problem lay in the timing of his concert. He was billed to start at a ruthless ten o’clock p.m. and the programme was running late. Poor Dieci arrived on the stage and started his 70 minute concert at 10.15 p.m. I didn’t get home after this finished until half past midnight. No wonder so many of the audience had left. However, there were still a goodly number of dedicated classical guitarists who stayed and were well rewarded for their patience.

Andrea Dieci is Professor of Guitar at the Modena Conservatoire near Milan in Northern Italy. He is also a great friend of Ben Salfield, the organiser of the Hellys Festival who is an accomplished lutenist himself. Dieci is a regular performer at the Hellys Festival and often comes to Cornwall to give other concerts too.

Dieci had planned the programme he was playing in two halves but because of the starting time he had to play the whole programme consecutively. The programme started with two short Sonatas by Scarlatti which Dieci transcribed himself from their original harpsichord settings. These were followed by Mozart’s Variations on a Theme as arranged by Fernando Sor. The first half finished with the premier UK performance of Nicola Jappelli’s Amaritudo – ‘Mutations’ of Dowland’s lute music. This piece was written for and dedicated to Dieci himself. The rest of the programme was an homage to Segovia, whose influence and popularity did much to bring the classical guitar to the attention of the world.
When watching a Dieci concert the first thing that strikes you is the quietness and precision of his touch. His long fingers settle on the strings with no fuss, almost he seems to stroke those strings. When a piece is finished he lets the last notes linger in the mind before lifting his right hand away from the strings with infinite grace. His seated body is still; only his face and, particularly his eyebrows, reflect the feelings he has for his music. The atmosphere of concentration he builds sucks the audience in so that in the auditorium on this late hot night we were totally focused on watching and listening.

Beginning with the Scarlattis, without introduction, also acted as a funnel for our total attention. Only after these did he start to tell us what he was playing and a little about each piece. The colour of these pieces was brought out by strong contrasts in the bass and treble ranges. Contrasts also in pace made sense of the shape of the sonata form.
Variations are a way for a composer to play with a tune or an idea. The Mozart piece started with a gradual build of sound which then faded into piano. This was followed by an insistent throbbing bass note against a light treble in the first of the variations. There followed a pretty, typically Mozartian tune which led into a faster paced variation in which the tune was subjected not just to speed but to little skips in the rhythm. Slower, tuneful chords with bass and treble working in close harmony led into further variations. The most notable of these had left and right hand playing alternately, like question and answer. Finally the piece speeded up, ending with a series of bass runs followed by two final dramatic chords. Gorgeous.

The Nicola Jappelli piece came next. I am a lover of Dowland’s work so was looking forward to this. The source material is If My Complaints Could Passions Move, a song to lute accompaniment in which, in typical Dowland style, the melancholy lover sighs, suffers, and breaks his heart in hopeless love of an uncaring lady. Jappelli does a modern take on this, though throughout we frequently hear the echo of Dowland’s tune. Though a modern composition, the mood of the piece is always close to the original. The music contains melancholy plangent notes like water drops before setting off on a series of runs and single notes separated by huge jumps, perhaps to explain the disorder of the lover’s mind. The second page of the piece [this was the only part of the programme where Dieci had the music in front of him] referenced perhaps the second verse of the original song, where the lover is angry at his lady’s disdain. A set of chords and arpeggios storm along, settling at last into Elizabethan-style broken chords. This is followed by broken sounds, the breaking of the heart perhaps, followed by angry strong chords against broken arpeggios. Thus we have a different way of accessing Dowland’s mood, a louder, brasher twenty-first century sound, which settles finally into a form of acceptance, shown by a series of soft chords, slow, meditative with silences in between, ending at last in the last Dowland-esque broken chords. A superb piece of music, wonderfully played.

Without a break we went into the second half – the homage to Segovia. All the pieces were from the early part of Segovia’s career, from his debut in Paris in 1924 to around 1930. Segovia was such an instant explosion on the musical scene that composers all wanted to write works for him, even though they were rarely guitarists themselves. The two pieces that started the half were both French – Gustave Samazeuilh’s Serenade and Albert Roussel’s Segovia opus 29, both written in 1925. Both have a Spanish flavour.
The Serenade is a gentle piece with strong notes against chords and Spanish style intervals between the notes, interspersed with broken chords. The second piece by Roussel uses the rhythm of a Spanish dance – a fandango. It is a joyful melody with a strong bass melody and repetitive notes or chords against a playful treble, ending with a mischievous couple of high chords.
Finally came Ponce’s Variations and Fugue on Folia, written around 1930. This is a showy piece, apparently written for Segovia so that he could show off the full range of the guitar’s capabilities. It is stunning and showed off not only the range of the piece but of Dieci’s masterful rendering of it. As with the Mozart the Variations play with a central theme with which the piece begins: a pattern of strong chords which recur throughout. Then Ponce delivers the goods: harmonics, block chords, arpeggios of dazzling speed and range, rhythms that play with variations in time signature and the occasional break-out of gentle melodies. What a treat!

And yes it was a treat, but the exhaustion in Dieci’s whole demeanour by the end was obvious. Despite this, he delivered an encore – and still the applause continued after that, demanding still more. Luckily sense prevailed.

For me, it is a shame that such a master of his art was put through an unnecessary trial. Each day’s programme – a mix of music, competitions, literary talks and workshops – started always at 1.0p.m. On each day the final act was at 10.00p.m. Every day the programme was running late by that time. Surely the day’s programming could have started an hour earlier – or even two hours earlier? Let’s see common sense prevail by next year’s festival.

Jeni Whitaker

What a great joy it is to see overseas orchestras back at the Proms. And the WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne looked as delighted to be there as the packed Albert Hall audience was to see them – from their formal entry all together at the beginning to their careful turn to acknowledge applause from people sitting in the choir at the end.

We began with a clear, clean account of Mendelssohn’s Hebrides Overture with plenty of light and dark, particularly well pointed trumpet interjections and a splendid clarinet solo. Cristian Macekaru, whose conducting style is expressive without being excessive, made it sound attractively fresh – never easy do to with a piece as familiar as this.

Then came Augustin Hadelich with Dvorak’s violin concerto and the arrival of two more horns. The Dvorak – in the key of A minor which is unusual for a violin concerto – doesn’t get quite as many outings as the big four nineteenth century ones by Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms and Tchaikovsky – so it’s a treat to hear it played live with the affectionate panache that Hadelich brought to it.

We got plenty of tuneful melancholy in the opening movement including mellifluous lyricism as the flute dances round the soloist. In the third movement Hadlich and Macekaru – visibly working intensively together – took us cheerfully into Slavonic dance territory with much high speed playing all delivered with verve and palpable enjoyment on stage as well as off.

Then he played Louisiana Blues Strut by Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson as an encore and it was quite a performance with all those blue-y slides and insouciant double stopping, I’ve heard this played as an encore before and it makes a tasty contrast to a classical or romantic concerto – especially when it’s played as well as this. We got a second encore too because the audience was in raptures: Per una cabeza by Carlos Gardel arranged by Hadelich – another contrast.

We certainly needed the interval to digest all that – and put all those earworms to rest – before Brahms’s third symphony and a shift into F Major. Cue for further expansion of the orchestra with the arrival of three trombones and a contrabassoon. The opening was a bit overegged and unconvincing but it soon settled into a smooth rendering of all that Brahmsian grandiloquence alternating with dance rhythms.

Did I say dance? The Proms are some of the most wide reaching, inclusive concerts in the world and I’m always delighted to see children there. At this concert, in a second tier box, where no one else was sitting except the adults with them were two small children. They danced spontaneously and silently at the back of the box throughout the first movement of the Brahms. They were responding instinctively and in their own way (without disturbing anyone else) and it was a wonderful thing to see. I hope Herr Brahms, who liked fun and games with the Schumann children, was watching from somewhere and approving.

Macekaru took the sparky second movement faster than some conductors but it came off with incisive precision. And by the time we got to the Allegro finale he gave us some unusual dramatic contrasts both in tempi and dynamics. I especially admired the beautifully played dialogues between trumpets and trombones before the gentle, contemplative ending.

I’ve a lot of time too, for a conductor who systematically stands his woodwind principals up in turn to take applause at the end because they certainly earned it.

Finally, in the tradition of visiting orchestras at the Proms, they gave us an encore: Back to Dvorak for his Legend no 10 Op 59, lovingly played and an appropriate end to this attractively accessible concert.

Susan Elkin

Even for a seasoned critic it’s quite exciting to arrive at a concert venue and see three sets of timps in place: one high on the tiers, another set of shallow “Beethoven” ones behind the double basses and, intriguingly, a third set tucked into the front corner of the arena.

The concert began with one of Sibelius’s quirkier works. It may be known as the seventh symphony but it is effectively a tone poem in disguise. Rising scales in C major are not the most inspiring way to start and end a symphony but Thomas Dausgaard brought out tender wistfulness, a grand largo string sound and some evocative brass motifs across the four fused movements. And we saw and heard the first set of timps on the tiers.

Jan Lisiecki was a last minute substitute for Francesco Piemontesi who had to pull out because of illness. And what a wonderful account he gave of Beethoven’s fourth piano concerto. Still only 27, this young Canadian is a very arresting performer who clearly feels every note of the piece – witness his body language during the orchestral passages. The famous opening statement came with gentle, but very compelling, precision and his andante – the tasty filling in this delicious musical sandwich of contrasts – was played as beautifully as I’ve ever heard it.

It’s also a treat to hear the Beethoven cadenzas played with calm confidence and panache. So often this concerto is marred by eager ego-trippers keenly poking in inappropriate late romanticism or modernism. And of course the performance was enhanced by the use of those dry timps played with hard sticks in the heart of the orchestra.

Lisiecki’s Chopin encore was equally breathtaking. No wonder the Proms audience (hall fuller than recently) was lengthily enraptured.

Carl Nielsen’s fourth symphony, The Inextinguishable, like the Sibelius which it pre-dates by a decade, is played without breaks between movements. It is, however, a much more substantial work. I liked the flute/horn dialogue and the way Dausgaard allowed it the space it needs. Violas were, unusually on the outside of the orchestra where cellos normally sit and that made good sense when we heard the prominence Dausgaard gave to their “angry” fortissimo, down bow passages.

It’s an affirmative piece, played here with plenty of warmth and passion, which makes a strong case for the redemptive power of music. And never more so than in the last few minutes when we got some effective musical theatre.

A second timpanist had been standing at the back of the arena disguised as a Prommer in teeshirt and carrying a rucksack. Seconds before his entry he walked through the crowd and at last we knew what the extra timps were for. The dramatic duet he played, spotlit, with his colleague in the orchestra was magnificent. And the distance between the two players, with Dausgaard pivoting at the halfway point simply added to the drama.

Susan Elkin

This all-English programme was a high octane concert at the end of which orchestra members must have been very tired although they sustained the stamina until the very last bar.

We began with a new work, a BBC co-commission, by Mark-Anthony Turnage. Time Flies comprises three movements each representing the cities and time zones of the work’s commissioners. Thus we get “London Time” (hint of “Pop Goes the Weasel”), an initially bell-like “Hamburg Time” which finally dies away on an evocative flute motif, followed by “Tokyo Time” in which off beat jazzy rhythms showcase excellent work by the brass section. The whole work – which uses seven percussionists – would make a good teaching exercise if you were trying to teach children about instruments of the orchestra. It features, among other novelties a celesta, soprano saxophone and marimba.

Sakari Oramo is a businesslike, unshowy conductor who maestro-managed all this (and the works which followed) with a strong down beat and encouraging smiles. And of course Turnage was there to take well deserved applause in the end – looking insouciantly arty in a Sinatra-style trilby hat,

Now I just love a bit of tuba. Continuous exposure to Tubby when I was a child has a lot to answer for. So it was a real thrill to see and hear Vaughan Williams’s delightful 1954 concerto live and beautifully played by Constantin Hartwig. He brought lots of wit and rubato to the first movement cadenza with especially in those lower registers which always seem so unlikely. Then Hartwig played the second movement with great tenderness and lyricism – milking the melodies for the maximum levels of RVW-esque pastoral beauty. Why doesn’t this concerto get more outings? It really should.

The encore misfired somewhat, however. Hartwig told the audience that he wasn’t going to tell us what it was because we’d all recognise it after the first six notes. I don’t think many people did. Paul McCartney’s Blackbird seemed almost to have disappeared in Lars Holmgaard’s arguably over complex arrangement. Perhaps we were distracted by the sudden, welcome sound of rain drumming loudly on the roof of the Albert Hall – the first in London for many weeks.

And so to Elgar’s First Symphony. There is a famous film of Elgar conducting Pomp and Circumstance March Number One and telling the orchestra briskly: “Please play this as if you’ve never heard it before” before setting off at a smart, unsentimental pace. I was reminded of that at the opening of this performance of the first symphony. It may be marked with Elgar’s characterisitic noblimente but Oramo allowed the big melody at the beginning to sing out on its own terms without any saccharine wallowing. And the split rhythms later in the movement were delivered with contrasting incisive crispness. Getting that mood shift right is probably the key to delivering Elgar successfully.

Oramo is very good indeed at dramatic dynamics and I particularly liked his warm and spirited transition into the adagio, played with an unusual secretive magicality and some splendid string playing. If you play them as softly as this, the pianissimo passages in all movements require terrific control and we certainly got it in this emotionally charged – but never cloying – rendering.

Susan Elkin

Written for the Opéra Comique in Paris but not performed in the composer’s lifetime, Donizetti’s Rita labours under a number of disadvantages for modern audiences. I can’t have been the only person in the Charing Cross Theatre for whom the title conjured up a classic Paul McCartney song. More seriously, how much can we enjoy today a comedy centred on domestic abuse?

A one-acter for three singers with eight musical numbers linked by spoken dialogue, Rita presents a woman on her second marriage, her first husband having been lost at sea. Except he hasn’t, and he returns at an inconvenient moment, believing that she in her turn has died in a fire. All very humorous, and an archetypal comic situation used also in Sullivan’s Cox and Box and later in Hollywood films with Cary Grant and Doris Day. The difference here is that the woman was beaten by her first husband, and in her second marriage has got her retaliation in first, keeping the meek Beppe in line by the same method.

It could all be rather grim viewing today, but in fact only one fairly light blow is dealt on stage and Donizetti’s witty and melodious score, deftly performed by the Faust Chamber Orchestra under Mark Austin, keeps things bubbling along good-humouredly. Gustave Vaëz’s libretto isn’t perfect – the characters’ motivations become somewhat confused towards the end – but the piece could be a useful (and inexpensive) addition to any opera company’s repertory, especially in the reduced orchestration by director Alejandro Bonatto, who also provides the English translation.

Resplendent in magenta wig and killer red shoes, Laura Lolita Perešivana brought a strong vocal and dramatic presence to the title role, though I occasionally wondered if she could have shown more of the character’s inner vulnerability. Tenor Brenton Spiteri, suitably slight of physique, played the hapless Beppe with all the requisite musical and physical dexterity. As the unwelcome revenant Gasparo, Phil Wilcox contributed deft comic timing alongside considerable charisma and vocal warmth, lightening a character which could easily be merely obnoxious.

Nicolai Hart-Hansen’s simple but effective designs suggested a Fifties setting, with the inn evoked by three doors and a table and chairs. A large screen at the back showed a bucolic painting, which changed discreetly as the action progressed. The director kept the energy levels up with plenty of physical movement, though his fondness for having the cast push the doors around the stage at dramatic moments quickly palled. I wondered, too, if a little more verbal wit couldn’t have been injected into the English translation.

The piece was an enterprising choice for the subterranean Charing Cross Theatre, and in its stripped-down form suits the space well. It makes for an entertaining and tuneful hour and a quarter, and leaves plenty of time for a suitable Italian meal in the restaurant over the way.

At the Charing Cross Theatre until 20th August https://charingcrosstheatre.co.uk/theatre/rita

William Hale