Benjamin Grosvenor Plays Ravel

Benjamin Grosvenor Plays Ravel
Royal Albert Hall

Work done. 10k Run, done! Quick bath to soothe the aching limbs, and then it's across to the Royal Albert Hall, via Radio 3, for tonight's Prom.

It opens really well with Sofia Gubaidulina's Revue Music for Symphony Orchestra and Jazz Band. This first piece is rhythmic; nay, it's groovy! [For the record: I've noted down the word 'groovy' before the presenter uses it when the music finishes. It is reassuring to know we are on the same wavelength, though.] We've got guitar, short voice excerpts with a echo/delay effect, and the percussion is all over the place in a good way. It reminds me of the band Yello, and I'm a fan of their sound. It does transition into something a bit different towards the end. Darker, more erratic. Not sure I like it, but thankfully that bit doesn't last too long. Overall, a smashing opener!

Next up it's Ravel, whom we've heard from several times already during this run of concerts. Not that I'm complaining: I've grown to really admire the man and his music over the last four weeks. The main 'riff' (a five-note repeated pattern) is one I think I'm familiar with. There's something longing about it all. The piano is subtle, and threads throughout. Sounds great. 

The encore to the first half is a rocking piano number, showing off the impressive virtuosity of Benjamin Grosvenor (a child prodigy, we're told), who perhaps wasn't fully enabled by the Ravel earlier.

I'm really in the mood for a pizza, but I can't be arsed with the effort, and in any case I don't have one in. I'm not losing twenty pounds for a takeaway, so I settle with putting some frozen french fries in the air fryer, and drown them with Peri Peri salt. And a bit of bread and butter again.

The conversation during the interval is very refined and the chap - Philip I think his name was -obviously knows his stuff. But he isn't self-insistent with it, and I admire that muchly. [I also like that he pronounces 'portrait' the way I do... //Port-Rate//. Nothing shouts hollow grandeur more than someone who favours Port-Rut.]

The second half is Shostakovich with Babi Yar, which is a awareness piece, of the persecution of Soviet Jews during the Second World War. I thought I might resonate with this one, in a manner of speaking, having visited Auschwitz just two months ago from time of writing. And Shostakovich is actually a composer I have gotten into over the last few years, mostly via Classic FM which is my usual go-to for classical music (sorry Radio 3!).

This is a choral-led work, and the male voices are disturbing; reaching the kind of notes our old deputy head at high school would have used when instilling fear into us boys. The whole thing is pretty horrific from start to finish to be honest. But I suppose that's the point, isn't it.

I pour myself a Tamnavulin single malt and take it neat.

Boléro and The Rite of Spring

Boléro and The Rite of Spring
Royal Albert Hall

It's back to something of a regular proms routine for me, now catching my breath after being in London all of the weekend just passed.

Edgard Varèse's Intégrales begins, and I'm afraid I'm getting flashbacks to the Boulez and Berio programme. It crackles to start with, but I'm not sure if it's partly a weak signal strength on the radio. Perhaps not, if the screeching is anything to go by. Sounds like a clown twisting balloons, in the vain hope of creating a poodle.

The cello concerto (Anna Thorvaldsdottir's Before we fall) opens boldly, and it's quite frightening actually. Definitely fit for a thriller/horror movie. It's enjoyable, even though it's not enjoyable, if that makes sense? Call it 'tectonic masses' if you will, but I would personally liken it to chewing on a sour, sugar-coated Haribo.

In a highly unusual move, I make myself a hot chocolate. 

Next up it's Ravel's Bolero. Now we're talking! Most famously associated with Torvill and Dean, it's a classic, gentle piece. Earlier in the season I compared Rachmaninov to Monet, and this is giving me similar feels.

During the interval I begin to type this up, so I am not taking in all of the chat. However, just as the interval wraps up I catch the announcer say it's a 'savagely beautiful prom this evening', and I couldn't have put it better myself.

After the interval it's Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring. Opens up calmly, puts me in mind of Grieg's Peer Gynt. Unexpectedly, it starts to build up with some Jaws-like hits on the stings. It keeps fluctuation between being more dramatic at times, then falling back into more calm, bird-tweet caves. Judging by the timpani hits, Stravinsky must have had a splitting headache when he wrote some of this.

Mischief Night

The Royal Albert Hall

 Thursday night is mischief night at the BBC proms, it seems. Once again I step into South Kensington through my kitchen radio as I prepare my evening’s repast. Not one to waste ingredients, it is a salad again tonight featuring beetroot, potato, Stilton, and Linda McCartney sausages.

Tonight it’s the BBC symphony orchestra. We start off with Stravinsky, and the Song of the Nightingale. My mind is immediately taken to Hitchcock’s film The Birds. Not for the first time this season have I envisaged Hitchcock (doubt it’ll be the last). The piece itself is apparently based on a fable featuring a Chinese emperor and a small bird. I try to keep this story in mind as I listen, and I notice at times that it does settle into a benign, gentle birdsong feel, as well as more chaotic turns.

Next it’s Mendelssohn’s violin concerto in E minor. Can’t think of much, except to say that it is beautifully played, and note perfect. A fine piece, and the audience clearly agree with me judging by the ovationary applause. There is a brief encore of, I think, Por Una Cabeza - which always makes me think of the film True Lies.

During the interval I am getting my bag and work clothes laid out for tomorrow morning, and I pick out some words about toilet humour…defecation, turds, farting etc. Didn’t quite pick up on where it fits, but I think it’s got something to do with Till Eulenspiegel, whom we’ll hear via Strauss shortly.

Next it’s a European premiere of Antony Davis’s Tales (Tails) of the Signifying Monkey. I thought this may have been a cheeky farce, but instead comes across rather sneaky and sinister. An interesting, gorgeous interweaving of notes - very reflective of the theme.

Finally it’s a chaotic piece by Strauss. I note the percussion sounds like trampoline boings at one point, and it moves around some grand fanfares. I’ve just looked up Till Eulenspiegel, and yes it was him they were talking about out in the interval. According to Wikipedia he was a fabled practical joker, and his surname possibly interpreted via German folklore as ‘wipe arse’.

Shostakovich, Ravel, and Walton

I had to watch this broadcast in a hybrid manner: when it began at 8pm I still had another hour left of my return coach journey to Liverpool. Fortunately I have a generous data plan on my phone, so watching live on my tablet was not a problem, as long as the signal held up on the motorway. Luckily it did, so I was able to watch the first hour live. I caught up with the rest on iplayer when I

got home.

Tonight’s prom opened up with what I’d call a ‘jolly romp’ of Shostakovich. I have no idea if proper music aficionados would share my interpretation, but that’s what it was to my ear. Very pleasant indeed, and I’ve always paused to listen to this suite when it gets played on the radio.

Next up was the inspirational Nicholas McCarthy, playing Ravel’s piano concerto for left hand. I was glad to learn of the history of the piece, having being composed by Ravel specifically for pianist Paul Wittgenstein, who had lost his right arm during the First World War. 

It was great to hear McCarthy’s enthusiasm for opening up classical music to a broader audience, which he spoke of during his interview after the performances.

The Bournemouth symphony orchestra blasted out the show with William Walton’s epic and energetic symphony no. 1.

I only wished I could have still been in London to have witnessed this prom live. Alas, my Monday is calling!