Nottingham's spirit of adventure

I’ve just recently returned from hearing the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican in London. I hadn't seen them in quite a while but the programme in this instance really appealed to me – enough to drag me out of my brochure-numbed state and get myself organized to trek down to London.

I’m very glad I did. After the easygoing opener (Liadov’s The Enchanted Lake – a bit of a take it or leave it piece for me if I’m honest) we got a gripping performance of Rachmaninov’s 4th Piano Concerto from Lief Ove Andsnes. And it got a great reception, too – which is interesting because it’s the concerto that seems not to get programmed as often as the composer’s other three. It certainly got my mind whirring about when we might get it into a future season. So that’s at least tipped you off that, whatever is in next season, Rach 4 isn’t.

Anyway, I digress. The other work in the LSO programme – the main reason I went – was Copland’s 3rd Symphony. In many ways it’s an amalgam of his various styles – the serenity of Appalachian Spring, the energy (and almost the sense of the wild frontier) of his ballets, Rodeo and Billy the Kid, and the gentle dissonance of his more avant garde pieces. If that sounds like a piece that can’t make up its mind then I should say that I found it utterly convincing – and also hugely exciting. I’m a bit biased because, as a brass player, there’s nothing quite like hearing the LSO brass section in full cry (this is the orchestra that put the fire into Luke Skywalker’s light sabre). And it must be said Copland 3 is a real roasting for the brass. Even the esteemed LSO principals couldn’t get through it entirely unscathed. But no occasional split note can detract from the thrilling experience overall.

So what’s this got to do with Nottingham Classics, you might be asking. Well, a couple of things, really. One is that it made me wonder whether this might be a viable item for a future concert at the RCH. The other is that I found it fascinating that where I was sitting there were quite a few empty seats in the second half. The chap sitting next to me told me that he couldn’t follow the Rachmaninov with something else because it would impair the pleasure he’d got from it. I thought this was pretty extraordinary – does hearing a really powerful final work really have that kind of impact on what’s gone before? It would never occur to me, but I do know that it’s not that untypical. I went to hear Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben in Leicester a couple of seasons ago and, again, was surprised to see how many people weren’t there to hear it, having only gone for the Brahms 2nd Piano Concerto that preceded it.

But what this is all leading up to is an observation about audiences in Nottingham. In the 2008-2009 season it would have been very easy for the second half of the Halle’s concert on 30 January (Vaughan Williams’ Tallis Fantasia/Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto/Nielsen Symphony No.5) for there to have been quite an exodus after the first half. And yet, as far as I could see, you all stayed – took a chance, held your nerve, and were rewarded with a fabulous performance – still one of the highlights of my time working on Nottingham Classics.

So, although maybe I’m not always aware of it, there’s something just a bit special about the concert-going community here. Artists regularly comment on it – Northern Sinfonia did so only a couple of weeks ago – and it really does make a difference. And knowing that you’ve got more staying power than the fair concert-goers of London is very encouraging for me!

The last thing that was memorable about Thursday night's concert was, in the interval, being asked, quite genuinely, by a member of the audience, whether I was The Times’ critic Hugh Canning! I’ve actually no idea what he looks like, though I suspect he’s a tad older than me. The other thing that would distinguish us is that it's probably been many years since he heard a concert in Nottingham – his loss!

Bye for now,

Neil