Bridgewater Hall, Manchester, 2 November 2012

Those of us who arrived early got two concerts for the price of one. As a substantial part of the introduction to the concert, Harry Christophers and Eamonn Dougan conducted Genesis Sixteen – the youth choir, auditioned annually and trained throughout the year – in works by Britten, Melgas, Part and Vaughan Williams. These young singers are chosen for the quality and individuality of their voices as well as their more obvious ability to blend as a choral group. As a result, the sound is strikingly original as well as technically accomplished. The four works given enabled the choir to demonstrate not only their technical finesse but the range of music they can turn their skills to. These young singers obviously have a secure future wherever they eventually sing.

The main concert focussed on works by Schumann and Brahms, a move away from the more familiar baroque repertoire of The Sixteen, but one that held no problems for them. Moreover, the works were to be heard with piano accompaniment only.

Brahms’ vocal quartets are among his least familiar output, but there is nothing small scale about them. The delicious warmth of An die Heimat, the jollity of Fragen were very effective. Spatherbst brings autumn mists but does not quite catch the melancholy of the text, but the set ended with the uplift of Warum.

After the interval we heard Ein Deutsches Requiem in the four-hand version which the composer himself arranged. There are many benefits to hearing the work in this more intimate version not least the clarity of musical lines both in the choir and the piano accompaniment. The opening Selig sind set a tone of stillness which returned regularly throughout the performance, none more so than in Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, where the piano seemed even more apt than a full orchestra might have done.

Harry Christophers’ handling of the score maintained Brahms’ tempi and there was no sense of unnecessary haste or lightness just because there was no orchestra. Denn wir haben hie brought real power and nobility and the work concluded with a deeply-felt Selig sind die Toten.

In the first half John Reid had played three extracts from Schumann’s Waldszenen, the last of which was poignant and romantic without ever becoming sentimental.

Surprisingly, this was my first visit to the Bridgewater Hall. The acoustic seemed rather hard-edged, though this might be the result of a very low attendance. I doubt if the hall was half full. Given the quality of the performance and the reputation of the performers this was somewhat strange. BH

Royal Festival Hall, 31 October 2012

Osmo Vanska is one our finest conductors of Scandinavian music and his wealth of experience was brought into play in this somewhat unbalanced concert. It opened with a delicate and light reading of Sibelius’ Third Symphony. No Nordic depression here, just a series of beautifully crafted images. Osmo Vanska shaped, cajoled and smiled the music into life. The gentle warmth of the Andantino was like a slow circle dance at sunset. If the final movement seemed almost over-playful at first, the strong cello line brought things together and ended the performance with real joy.

What are we to make of Carl Nielsen’s Sixth Symphony? He may have called it simple yet it is anything but. However, the music is totally accessible even when confusing. The Humoreske  may sound like a group of music students messing about but the rapid shifts of mood and texture are uncomfortably close to atonalism and even modernism. In the final movement we could be at a Hoffnung Music Festival. And yet there seems to be something far more profound here. It seems as if Nielsen is forcing us to face the reality of our emotional reactions to music. He lures us into a romantic string section only to drop it, almost like Charles Ives, and force us to accept we are being manipulated. Are we so weak-willed that we give in to any emotion thrown at us by a composer? It makes for an exhilarating and challenging half-hour, and one we should investigate more often.

Between these two fine works we heard Mozart’s Violin Concerto No 3 in G major. I feel like asking – why? It was out of step with the rest of the programme and seemed uncomfortably light weight. Maybe part of the problem was the soloist, Christian Tetzlaff. Technically accomplished, his platform demeanour is distracting with its swooping movements and bodily contortions. Luckily I had somebody tall sitting in front of me and I was able to block him out visually for most of the time. The Adagio was the better section and this brought something closer to equanimity, though the dancing returned in the finale. BH