Posted on by Richard Dove

India – Tracking information

Crowded train in Mumbai. Image: Ryan from Toronto, Canada, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
RICHARD DOVE lets the train take the strain in Mumbai

Eyes go skywards and there are a few loud gasps when I tell my lunching companions that I have been travelling around Mumbai by train.  They are all locals who seem to regard the car – despite the horrendous traffic delays – as infinitely more preferable.  Their eyes widen as I tell them about my first train travel experience. – a journey from north Mumbai to the southern tip.  Two smiling teenagers give up their seat and I am now comfortably placed in the far corner of a relatively empty carriage.  They move nearer to the ever open door. At the next station I witness an astonishing surge of humanity as a huge crowd pours into the carriage.  I am now comfortable and marooned.  Another station and another surge.  More get on and at the same time a huge crowd gets off.  One crowd does not wait for the other.  I know I’m not going to be able to get off. 

India’s trains carry around 23 million passengers every day.  Mumbai’s local trains are the most crowded with around seven million people using them to get to and from work. 

I decide to do a recce to pick up some tips from daily users at Chhatrapati Shivaji station – Mumbai central – by reputation the busiest railway station in the world.  There are some who avoid the crowd surges altogether by reaching into the carriage, grabbing a pole and then waiting on the platform.  As the train pulls out they lever themselves onto the ledge and simply hang there.  A leather jacket seems to be their required uniform.

I try again.  A relatively empty carriage and I stay by the open door.  A man gets on with a gloriously dyed orange beard and immediately remonstrates aggressively with a young woman sitting cross-legged on the floor.  I move over a little protectively. He stares at me and starts pointing and shouting.   I gesture my non-comprehension and he sits down and scowls at me.  When I get off I notice the carriage is reserved for the elderly and, rather wonderfully, cancer patients. 

That same day I join the peak hour home time crush.  I surge on with the crowd – meeting head on the other crowd getting off.  A scramble but I am on the train and I stay close to the door.  There are a few ledge hangers.  They step off whilst the train is pulling into the station with supreme, smooth agility.  One of them is texting whilst he completes the manoeuvre.  There is a sign pointing out that we should allow ticket inspectors to do their work.  What work, I reflect. Imagine working your way through these carriages. There’s another sign saying the capacity of the carriage is 148 passengers.  We’re over that by quite a multiple. I slide behind a very large man who is eating throughout the journey and use him as a buffer to get off.

Mumbai’s metropolitan railway is spread over 240 miles and began operating in 1853.  170 years of carrying around 2 billion people annually.  It’s showing its age and now there’s a new kid in town – the Mumbai Metro.  Eight lines are planned and so far three are operational.  It was due to be completed this year but it won’t be.  Costs are astronomical but it will transform this congested city.  What the final bill with be is anyone’s guess.  Construction is evident everywhere adding to the traffic chaos.

I travelled on line 1 that connects the eastern and western suburbs. It’s double the cost of the trains and many locals see it as too expensive – 40p as compared to 20p.  But for some, old habits remain.  They surge even though there is plenty of space and for those agile ledge hoppers – the doors close so their skills are redundant.  There are still sections for ladies.  Metro line 2A-7 recently celebrated taking 8 million passengers daily.  It’s punctual, efficient and clean but many still prefer the rattling trains.

I am back on a packed train heading northwards – a backpack (worn at the front, of course) pressing into my chest.  A young man grins at me and asks if I like cricket.   He pulls out a well worn cricket ball and suddenly the packed carriage is transformed.  We talk cricket.  It’s like an edition of Question Time packed into a lift.  Why do you think of Rohit?  Good captain?  Who is your favourite player?  How old is Jimmy? I announce my stop and something miraculous occurs – a sort of parting of the Red Sea and I am gently pushed out of the carriage.  A man in a brown leather jacket shakes my hand and then leaps back on as the train gathers speed, his sunglasses glinting in the evening sun.         

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Music from around the sphere

River Dove by Gordon Hatton. Wikimedia Commons
RICHARD DOVE is carried away by music

On my first listen to Kenneth Hesketh’s Hände Music for Piano (Paladino Music) I could not get the image of a river out of my mind. Not just any river, but the River Dove as it winds through Dovedale in Derbyshire. There are fast flowing torrents, shallow rapids, gently flowing over rocks and around stepping-stones. On consulting the excellent sleeve notes, I see that Hesketh has composed Uncoiling the River. Clearly, flowing water is an influence on his compositional style. It rumbles, splashes, ebbs and flows. The pieces are performed by Hesketh’s friend and collaborator, Clare Hammond. There is both virtuosity and empathy evident in the playing, with subtle use of pedals and piano strings to add to the palette of sounds.

I listened with my study windows open, and birdsong floated into the pauses sand silences. Chorales and Kolam is a particular highlight with composer and performer seemingly merged in harmonic unison.

“Both Hesketh and I share a certain frenetic mental energy,” says Hammond. Quite so, but there are profound contemplations amidst the frenzy. Hesketh and Hammond are a formidable pairing. A symbiotic, sonic experience.

Map of South America in 1593, by Gerard de Jode

In contrast to the fast flows and gentle streams is Vibrant Rhythms, with Bolivian pianist Jose Navarro-Silberstein demonstrating the full range of South American rhymes and rhythms. Argentinian composer Alberto Ginastera’s Suite de Danzas Criollas sets us on a South American journey making extravagant use of zamba, chacarera and malambo folk dances alongside Bartok and Stravinsky. An exciting mix of cultures and styles.  The playing is assured without being flamboyant.

We travel across regions of Brazil in Heitor Villa-Lobos’ Cicolo brasileiro. If one can imagine Debussy playing a samba you get the sense of this particular sonic landscape. Tiny rhythms seem to dance in the sultry air in these virtuosic movements.

The real highlight for me is the interpretations of fellow Bolivian composer Marvin Sandi, where folk tunes meet polytonality. These four short pieces seem to belong to a sound world of their own. Sandi gave up music for philosophy eventually. On the evidence of these pieces he really could have combined both disciplines to great and lasting effect.

The CD closes with the precise waltzes of Robert Schumann, where wild and impulsive pieces give way to dreamy singing. There is a balletic tonality which encouraged me to go en pointe in my well-worn slippers.

‘West Coast of Ireland’ by Robert Henri West, 1913

The Devil’s Dream is a new release on the Metier label by Irish composer Sean Doherty. It is an outstanding work exploring Donegal fiddle traditions where “the tunes are as stark as the bogland and the bowing as jagged as the cliffs,” according to the accompanying notes. This is vast, swirling music for a dense and dowdy landscape – the music of quiet resistance and brutal victory. Somehow there is both defiance and acceptance. It is both uncomfortable and deeply inspiring. Do yourself a favour and spend an hour immersed in this stunning performance by the Sonoro Quartet and the wonderful soprano, Dr. Sylvia O’Brien.  

Kenneth Hesketh, Hände – Music for Piano, Clare Hammond, Paladino Music, PMR0137

Vibrant Rhythms, Works by Ginastera, Villa-Lobos, Sandi and Schumann, Jose Navaroo-Silberstein, Genuin, GEN23845

The Devil’s Dream, Chamber music by Sean Doherty, Sonoro Quartet, Metier, Mex 77135

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Inner and outer space

Earthrise, Musici Ireland

RICHARD DOVE is moved by the majesty of space

It has been described as the most influential photograph ever. It was taken by astronaut William Anders during the Apollo 8 mission on Christmas Eve, 1968. It shows the moon’s surface and the earth rising from the darkness of space. Previous photographs were taken by robotic probes. But this has a human being behind the lens.  It is a perfect visual metaphor for the awe and emotion encapsulated in this rich recording by the adventurous Musici Ireland ensemble led by violist Beth McNinch.  

It was Beth herself who commissioned Liam Bates’ Earthrise. Surprisingly this piece is the second track on the CD. One can imagine taking the photograph oneself as the music swoops and swirls with dramatic crescendos and contented interludes. As Bates says: “Crafting music that evokes a resonant and emotive experience has always been the compass of my compositional aspirations.”

It is clear that Bates composes music for ballet and contemporary dance. One can almost see dance movements across a moonlight stage as three movement composition shifts from “Majestically” to “Gently and finally to “With Spirit”. The piece showcases Beth McNinch’s soulful virtuosity, with its technical versatility and emotional resonance.

The CD opens with Deirdre Gribbin’s ‘Before the Moon Shattered and Shone Again.’ This takes its inspiration from Celtic mythology as Elathan arrives at night by sea on a silver boat. The shimmering strings evoke the dancing moon on waves. We are now on a beach at dusk rather than the moon’s surface. We are watching daylight turn to dusk as, in the words of the composer, “The moon in this string quartet symbolizes life waxing, waning, renewing and redefining.” The ending to the pieces as blackness descends is exquisite.

We are very much back in Ireland for Ian Wilson’s ‘Her Charms Invited – String Quartet No. 12’ taking its inspiration from ‘Sean-nos’, traditional Irish singing. We are dancing in the grasslands and by mountain streams. We are earthbound but joyous. An evocative account of a spring day by mountain streams.

The Irish composer Linda Buckley takes inspiration from the hardingfele or Norwegian fiddle for her piece ‘Fiol for String Trio.’ Fiol means fiddle in 17th century Norwegian and Danish. A fiol is similar to a violin but has eight or nine strings with four strings resonating as the other four are played. ‘Fiol’ sees Buckley treating the twelve strings of the string trio almost as one instrument rather than three separate voices. It is as if the instruments have their own accompanying choir. It caused this reviewer to pause and stare at the proud host of daffodils in my garden – my choir for the cello, viola and violin.

The final piece on the CD is ‘Mr. Shah’ by Deirdre McKay. Mr. Shah (Peter Shah who lives in a hillside bungalow at Meifod near Welshpool) spends his evenings exploring space through a telescope and a hole in the roof of his garden shed. He photographs star clusters many light years from earth, matching the extraordinary space images provided by the £2.5 billion Hubble telescope. A garden shed, a cup of cocoa and an inexhaustible curiosity. “Night after night, in solitude, staring into vast soundless space,” says the composer. Now Mr Shah has a soundtrack for his astrological activities. The piece uses silence to punctuate the roving discoveries of the garden shed telescope – sometimes vast bursts of scattered light and sometimes deep darkness. The music beautifully envelops this quest to tell the stories of galaxies both known and unknown. Put on your headphones and step outside with a cup of freshly brewed cocoa and a curious eye. Find a new story in the night sky with this intoxicating music.

Musici Ireland, Earthrise. Divine Art Recordings

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Sunny side up

Gottfried Leibniz

The Bright Side

Why Optimists Have the Power to Change the World

Sumit Paul-Choudhury, Canongate, 2024, hb., 288pps., £17

RICHARD DOVE is an optimist, but even he is cheered by a new book

My Mum is approaching her hundredth birthday. She will often fix me with a stare and say “Richard, what’s going wrong with the world” or “Why are there so many bad people?” She has a very positive approach to life but sometimes can be pulled up sharp by another news headline. It is a situation reflected on in some detail by Sumit Paul-Choudhury in his new book, The Bright Side – Why Optimists Have the Power to Change the World. As a cover quote outlines, the book “transforms optimism from a soft-hearted notion into a hard-headed advantage.”

In an early chapter there is a test to assess one’s own level of optimism or pessimism. My results were off the scale. It appears I am utterly and hopelessly optimistic. My wife scored much lower, a rooted realism very evident. You can see what 40 years of being married to me has done for her!

Sumit Paul-Choudhury starts with philosophy. Gottfried Leibniz was always a sunny side up chap. He recognised that evil was always present in the world, but we could and should do something about it to create the best of all possible worlds.

Arthur Schopenhauer

Arthur Schopenhauer, on the other hand, was Mr. Gloomster and carried a grey cloud wherever he went. Things, he considered, could never get better, only worse. We can take lessons from both these grand thinkers. When my wife was finally diagnosed with a serious problem with one of her kidneys, I was the one who collapsed in tears. I had assumed that ultimately all would be well. She had decided that something was wrong and had worked her way through the consequences. She was prepared, and I was not. The author underlines the sheer agony he went through when his wife died of breast cancer. He assumed all would be well and when it wasn’t, his life fell apart.

However, he argues, pessimism may have the advantage of being right in many cases, but it does not engender the capacity to change things for the better. Voltaire lampooned Leibniz and his fellow sunny side up thinkers in his novel Candide. Dr Pangloss was probably Leibniz even though written 20 years after the philosopher’s death. “The best of all possible worlds” is now termed Panglossian. But Voltaire dismantled the Leibniz viewpoint without putting any sort of alternative in its place. Paul-Choudhury (a former editor of the New Scientist) presents the case for realistic optimism. We assess the difficulties, deal with the setbacks, but go ahead with initiatives to change both our own world and what we find all round us.

In the author’s view: “Optimism in the face of the unknown future, willingness to accept and confront uncertainty: that’s true moral courage, not the passivity of ‘realism’…We are born optimistic. Some of us stay that way. If we get lost, we should try to make our way back.”

This is a thoroughly absorbing book, prompting the reader to reflect on his or her outlook continually. My Mum, despite her gloomy questions, maintains a sunny disposition and a positive outlook, perhaps going some way towards explaining how and why she confidently expects to hit the 100 mark in November.

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Fishing with compliments

RICHARD DOVE finds seafood to die for

“We’ve never done this before”, exclaimed Hannah Gibbons, general manger of the Fish On the Green restaurant in Bearsted, Kent. Well, judging by the smart green aprons of the staff and the delightful welcome glass of sparkling Gusbourne, the event had been meticulously rehearsed and was about to begin.  Ahead of us, a multiple course tasting menu to celebrate New Year’s Eve. And an early start at 6pm so we could be home to watch the fireworks from London and elsewhere. There is a wonderful sense of expectation as we await the culinary overture – smoked Applewood beignet, petit ratatouille, Parmesan crisp and basil oil. The restaurant is close to capacity as a parade of plates emerges from the kitchen.

A tasting menu really does take out the jeopardy of menu selection and that primeval desire to have what your neighbour is having. Small parcels and exquisite tastes. Our culinary journey has begun. This is followed by Seared Scottish scallops, squid ink linguine, crispy Maldon oyster with Gusbourne butter sauce. My wife is in seventh heaven. The scallops melt and infuse the mouth. We consume in comfortable silence making appreciative noises. Language unnecessary. We sip and savour.

Can that be topped? Well, no question when lobster thermidor is unleashed. Would it be wrong to pick up the lobster shell and slurp? Yes, it would but the temptation remains. More bottles are being ordered and the chatter is louder, animated, engaging.

Tasting senses in overdrive, we are pacified by Gusbourne sorbet, poached strawberries and sumptuous lime meringue. I make a mental note to try poaching strawberries sometime. We are being set up for a blunderbuss finale and out comes dishes of dark chocolate delice, hazelnut brittle, salted caramel ice cream with chocolate tuile. It’s rich and enveloping. All noises cease as we feed. A bit too rich for Mrs. Dove but I am in a chocolate-induced trance. And there is still to come coffee and homemade truffles. I reflect on the planning, the industry, the skills, the organisation to carry off an evening like this. I pass the kitchen door, the chefs are smiling, they have every right to. Time for you to sample some Fish On the Green piscatorial magic. 

Fish On The Green, seafood restaurant in Bearsted

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Mallorca, forty years on

RICHARD DOVE takes a nostalgic trip to the Balearics

Tourists Go Home.” It is not the welcome we were expecting but in a back street of Palma’s old town just behind the cathedral, the green painted old billboard message is both blunt and surprising.

Mallorcan nationalists have been marching through the city. They complain that so-called ‘overtourism’ is creating multiple problems from housing and environmental impact to strains on public services. Up to May of this year around 15 million tourists have visited the island. The demonstrators want the tourist tax doubled to eight euros a day, and the use of that money to diversify the economy away from tourism. It is a complex situation for a beautiful holiday island. Whilst sympathising with the consequent housing shortages for young Mallorcans, we were not going to be distracted by local politics. It was our Ruby wedding anniversary and we were on our way to the hotel in Puerto Pollensa where we honeymooned.

Palma Cathedral

But first Palma. The Santa Maria Cathedral is worth queuing for. It occupies a prominent position on the seafront and is a spectacular sight when illuminated at night. We were on our winding way to the Arab Baths in the old town – a remarkably preserved 11th century relic of the Moorish occupation.

The central hall has a hemispherical brick dome with skylights and is surrounded by 12 columns with horseshoe arches. You are transported back in time. There is a screen display with a multilingual presentation. We watched as visitors disappeared through arches and along walkways. It was a play without words – a Samuel Beckett or Pinteresque production. We made up the life stories of people who passed by and almost missed the (fairly indistinct) English explanation. Mrs. Dove’s natural German bent came in most useful. There is a garden sanctuary in the centre of the baths, a perfect place to contemplate the contradictions in the anti-tourism arguments. The peace and tranquillity seems to embrace you, and I recalled a previous visit when a percussionist had made gentle bell sounds amidst the bougainvillea blossom.

The Arab Baths, Palma

Forget your map and just wander through the old town, buy an ice cream and ignore the ‘No Tourists’ graffiti.

Just below the cathedral and along the seafront is the El Pesquero tapas restaurant. It is a Palma institution having been established in 1956 (the year of my birth, but the two events I think are unrelated). That evening, we ate at a table overlooking the harbour.  There is an art to ordering tapas. You order a few plates of whitebait, mussels and tumbet [Ed: a traditional Mallorcan dish of fried vegetables in tomato sauce] and then assess what you need next. We ignored that rule and massively over-ordered. The plates kept coming and coming until a tabletop rearrangement was essential. We began to falter around plate eight or nine. The local beer both helped and hindered in equal measure. We paid and left, leaving enough food to pass a pleasant weekend. Mrs. Dove wanted to walk and I wanted a taxi. So we walked. The Hotel Catalonia Majorica is wonderful but unfortunately located at the other end of the sweeping bay of Palma. It is around 3km away from the restaurant and taxis rarely go anywhere near it, it would appear. I was sustained by a dolce leche ice cream, and quite a bit on moaning.

The next morning the sun shone golden and the cruise ships were in harbour. The light sparkled in the gentle waves and I cured my aches and pains with one of the best showers I have ever experienced.

It is easy to hire a car in Palma but our advice is to go by local bus. The Mallorcan government has invested hugely in the bus network with new red and yellow buses, all running on hydrogen. They have also built the Estacio Intermodal, a hub for trains and buses. It rather spoils this multimillion construction that you find it via a scrappy notice on the door of the tourist information office. It is not well signposted. Find the escalators and descend to a transport network. The trains to Soller go from here rather than the quaint little station in the north of the city. You can get a bus to anywhere in Mallorca. And if you pay by plastic (any debit card will do) it is much cheaper than a cash transaction (we only found this out much later). We get the 301 to Puerto Pollensa via Sa Pobla.  You get an engaging elevated view of the island as you glide along new EU-funded roads in an EU co-funded bus.

We met in Puerto Pollensa when Sara was doing a spell as a nanny and I was on hols. So it was an obvious location for a honeymoon forty years ago at the Hotel Sis Pins. As we wheel our suitcases from the bus station to the sea front, we wonder how the hotel has endured over four decades. Hopefully a few younger staff have been taken on, otherwise room service could be lengthy.

The Hotel has had a coat of paint or two but is just as we remember it. The rooms are delightfully old-fashioned and we have the luxury of a private terrace – a step up from the room where we stayed all those years ago.

The Doves abroad

Puerto Pollensa is a small town in the north of the island. It is located around a bay and the scenic Boquer Valley (of which more later) that runs north-east of the town. Many years ago, there was a road adjacent to the beach along the bay, but this has now become a pedestrian only zone and is much better for it. The hotel is situated on the wonderful Pine Walk stretching all the way to a military base where the unusual sight of a seaplane is very evident outside the hangar. We watched the seaplane swiftly take off and swoop over the bay on several occasions. Why it remains useful over so many years eluded us.

A few hotels, villa rentals and restaurants align along the Pines. But it is a low-rise development that has been fiercely protected over the years. We can experience that unmatched culinary export, the Full English, if we want to, but our first stop has to be the old bakery shop that my father first visited half a century ago on his bicycle runs from our rented villa. The bakery is still owned by the same family we are told, with the daughter of the grandfather we knew now running the enterprise. It has to be ensaimadas [Ed: a traditional Mallorcan pastry made with pork lard, which can be flavoured in many ways] with fresh cream (although they are always the first to sell out). The bakery remains unchanged, and the smell of the place gives me a Proustian moment. I can almost see my Dad’s bike leaning against the wall.

We head to the back streets for our restaurant. There are many and varied restaurants on the seafront but wander away from them and you get real local cuisine at good prices. El Posito is our choice.  What about some John Dory with Mallorcan-style vegetables? But first olives, garlic cream and homecooked bread.

The next morning we tackle the Bocquer Valley walk over to Cala San Vicente. We soon leave the town behind and we are clambering up the path of an old stream surrounded by purple-hued mountains. It is steeper and more difficult than we remember. Or is it the effects of age? The mountain limbs don’t leap with the same agility. We descend to the bay and watch ferocious white waves splatter and spray on the rocks. I have carried our swimming gear but the red flags are on display and lifeguards on patrol. Again, in honour of my father, we rest and recuperate at Pepe’s Bar. He had a theory that he could tan from the inside out by drinking the strongest expressos. I order one in deference to the theory.

That night we dine at Ca’an Ferra and have the house speciality, paella. It is served with a flourish and we consume more than we should (a theme for the holiday).

Mrs. Dove has not ridden her bike for over a year, so persuasion has to be employed as we hire bikes for the day and amble around the town and its outskirts. It really is the best way to experience a town or location as you can just about stop and pause anywhere.  We find the place where we had a first evening meal together (it’s now a private villa) and I buy a Mallorca Bulletin that has an unusual front page story – the new president of The Restaurants Federation of Mallorca says that the time has come to reduce restaurant prices. Good luck with that.

A bus trip to the ancient fortified town of Alcudia rounds off the holiday. It is a glorious place to wander around and with a walk atop the city walls. I find a shop that has been specializing in anything and everything to do with almonds since 1775.  That is the point of this place, it never fails to surprise even after 40 years and frequent visits.            

All photos are by the author

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Shining brass

Photo: Richard Dove
RICHARD DOVE is blown away by an ambitious brass ensemble

A Saturday morning concert always puts a spring in my step, particularly when the sun is shining and the venue is the ancient barn at Pilsdon in West Malling. This is the second day of the ever ambitious annual Music@Malling festival. Cups of coffee and tea and custard creams are being consumed as we listen to the fast-rising young quintet Connaught Brass tune their gleaming instruments. They arrived in the early hours after a trek across the country following a concert in Wales. Despite this they look fresh-faced and eager.

They stand in a semi-circle – tuba, horn, trombone and two trumpets. Elliot Carter’s arrangement of Purcell’s Fantasia on One Note sets the tone for a wonderfully varied repertoire. It is explained that Carter thought the one note was underdone and so this 20th century composer put his own slant on this Baroque piece. Indeed, we bounce between Baroque and the 20th century throughout the programme.

The interplay is stunning as the trumpeters take the lead and the tuba takes the pulse of the piece. After a resonant Vivaldi Concerto in F Major we move to unmistakable Leonard Bernstein and one of his final compositions, Dance Suite. These are brass vignettes with a quirky, bouncing, exuberant character which match the zest and energy of the ensemble.

Then, a surprise; the musicians move to all four corners of the barn to replicate Giovanni Gabrielli’s surround sound textures in St Mark’s, Venice. I stare at the high timbered ceiling as the sound merges and seemingly floats. This is virtuosity with imagination and a dash of daring.

We are transported from Venice to New York with Gershwin’s Three Preludes – a slice of Manhattan in West Malling. With their jazz traditions it is evident that Gershwin and Bernstein relish the sounds of brass and exploit the range of the instruments to the upmost. The mood changes with Dowland’s Flow My Tears, and this glorious melancholy embraces the Barn. How could such a varied programme be concluded? Well, the Connaughts deliver a magnificent finale with trombonist Will Foster’s arrangement of Kurt Weill’s Threepennny Opera. It has spoken interjections, piccolo trumpet, flugelhorn, multiple muted sounds (muting a tuba involves a very elaborate contraption) and even a pause for a custard cream as one trumpeter soloist seemingly gives up the struggle and wanders to the back of the barn. They first performed the piece at the Lucerne Festival where the guiding theme was “Crazy.”

The sheer verve of the playing just makes one smile with wonder and astonishment. It is evident why this chamber group won first prize in the inaugural Philip Jones International Brass Ensemble Competition. After a Gershwin encore they stride purposefully out of the barn as the applause resonates. We have all witnessed something very special and it’s not even lunchtime.  As we head out, the musicians are all sitting around a picnic table chatting. Friendship and virtuosity is a winning formula. Do keep a watch out for Connaught Brass.

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Czechs bouncing

The Vlatava at Prague
RICHARD DOVE loves a sonic celebration of ‘Czechness’

Snesi bych ti modre z nebe – I will bring you the blue from the sky.  This Czech saying was writ large for the two nights the Czech Philharmonic, led by conductor Jakub Hrůša, took over the Proms.  This was music and performance from the depths of the soul – the effort clearly in evidence as the conductor wiped sweat from his brow and dried his glasses.  The performances were visceral, pure, undiluted Czech identity.

Bust of Antonín Dvořák by Josef Mařatka

Dvorak’s Cello Concerto opened these strident proceedings, with soloist Anastasia Kobekina delivering both passion and power.  It is difficult to comprehend why, initially, Dvorak considered the cello insufficient for a solo concerto, having considered the upper registers of the instrument too nasal and the lower register as a mumble. This work confounds both views, having been described by some as the greatest cello concerto. Kobekina’s playing exuded the gentleness of a breath and the crack of a crescendo. 

Josef Suk

The Symphony in C Minor (‘Asrael’) by Dvorak’s protégé and son-in-law, Josef Suk, saw the Czech Philharmonic at its passionate best with this highly emotional work.  It was composed after his mentor’s death and the death at 27 of Suk’s wife, who was Dvorak’s daughter – a veritable dance with death.  Like the poems of ecstasy by Zemlinsky and Scriabin, this intense, thickly-textured work is not played nearly enough. This music is almost a distillation of Czech identity, where life is arduous but the spirit can still soar. The reception was thunderous and enduring. We had all danced with death and triumphed. 

Vítězslava Kaprálová

The second night was devoted to Jancek and Dvorak and a premier performance of Vítězslava Kaprálová’s Military Sinfonietta. Kaprálová’s story is another tragedy – a brilliant student who died in 1940, aged just 25. This is a work that seems to define the triumph and desolation of war. It is no hymn to glorious victory but combines cries of despair and the rhythmic roar of a battalion advancing.

The fiendishly difficult Dvorak Piano Concerto in G minor provided the opportunity to view the intense technical and subtle skills of rising Japanese star Mao Fujita. When not playing, Fujita turned towards the orchestra embracing this complete work. He nodded, smiled and then focused, head down at the keyboard – a soloist not apart but integral to the work, the sound and the orchestra. There were quite a few Japanese people in the audience to appreciate their new star, as we did. His fluid playing defied belief on occasions. Was that really one piano and two hands? The cheers and applause was sustained and heartfelt.  We had witnessed something very special and unique. Conductor Hrůša seemed to merge with the orchestra with his intense gestures and visual cues. This was not conducting, but living and breathing the music.

Leoš Janáček

The evening closed with the gigantic Glagolitic Mass by Leoš Janáček. The orchestra was joined by the Prague Philharmonic Choir and soloists soprano Corinne Winters and mezzo soprano Bella Adamova, along with tenor David Butt Philip and bass Brindley Sherratt. As the orchestra and choir took up their places we steeled ourselves for a beautiful onslaught. The Archbishop of Olomouc had suggested to Janáček a Mass in Old Church Slavonic (which uses the Glagolitic alphabet). The final version of the work was completed in 1928, with the addition of a gargantuan organ solo. The idea appealed to the composer’s pan-Slavism; he saw the ancient language as the ancient wellspring of Czech culture. The orchestra played as if they embodied that culture and those traditions. The silvery strings and ‘Central European’ brass achieved an authentic Middle European sound in this extraordinary, atavistic work.  Again, the thought occurs that the Czech Philharmonic was, before us, curating their heritage in this modern sound with ancient roots.  We roared at the end and almost refused to let the performers leave the stage.  In the slightly revised words of Czech playwright Tom Stoppard: “Notes are sacred.  They deserve respect.  If you get the right ones in the right order, you can nudge the world a little.”  As we headed home, our worlds had all been nudged, not a little but a lot.

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Mark Elder – statesman of music

RICHARD DOVE watches an eminent conductor bow out

The pause was exquisite. The silence seemed to embrace the sold-out Royal Albert Hall. The conductor was momentarily lost in a sound world of his own. He sighed and slowly exhaled. And then the eruption of applause broke the reverie.

This was Sir Mark Elder’s last performance with the Hallé Orchestra: Mahler’s Fifth Symphony. I watched as he smiled and joyously relaxed, gesturing to the orchestra. In his valedictory speech, he reminded us that he had been leading the Hallé for 25 years from its base in Manchester. “Some of you may not know where Manchester is. Well, you get the train to Crewe and keep going.”

Sir Mark Elder is now 77 and whilst stepping down as Music Director, he will still be conducting around the world.

He introduced me to opera. I read an interview with him and David Poultney on their plans for the ENO in 1979. They wanted to create a stir and bring opera to new audiences. I gave it a go, and have been giving it as go ever since.

The triumph and tragedy, exasperation and exuberance of Mahler’s Fifth seemed an entirely appropriate swan-song; an unconventional composer and an unconventional conductor. Elder liked to do things differently and was not afraid to speak out. He abandoned evening dress for the Hallé and called into question the latent jingoism of the Last Night of the Proms at the time of the Gulf War. He lost the conducting gig as a result. He was a very talented bassoonist and keyboard player who found his métier in leading and conducting. He is a fervent advocate of music in schools and reminded us in his finale speech of the importance of music in the cultural life of this country and, indeed, our own lives. He also urged us to protect and nurture the Proms Festival and not to take its continued existence for granted. It was absolutely appropriate that someone who has never been afraid to speak out and challenge orthodoxy should issue not bland platitudes about his career (“Let’s not get too sentimental”) but warn us to be on our guard and ensure that “this unique festival of music” has a future.

Sir Mark should have the last word:

I’ve tried to make the Hallé so much a part of the fabric of the city that even people who don’t appreciate the music we produce at least recognise that Manchester would be a poorer place if the Hallé did not exist. We need different sorts of music. If you can show a five years-old child a concert orchestra, they may not need that music until they are 45, but they try that and remember these people who came to school. Music is a spiritual food. We need it as much as we need fresh air and companionship, a social life or sports. Music is something to share with others. It has to have an open door.

Happy retirement.

Posted on by Richard Dove

From the Cape to Cairo by keyboard

Olatunji Akin Euba (1935 – 2020), founder of African pianism

RICHARD DOVE enjoys African-European intercultural excellence

I still remember when I first heard the unusual rhythms and bell-like tones of the Ethiopian pianist and composer Emahoy Tsegue-Maryam Guebrou.  The smell of burnt toast brought me out of a musical reverie.  I could hear the patterns of African percussion in her playing even though I had no clue as to whom I was listening to.  Emahoy was a reclusive nun who rarely gave performances.  She died last year, prompting a reissuing of her sparse recordings.

She remained my main introduction to piano composition in Africa until the arrival of a new CD – African Pianism by Rebeca Omordia – where the work of seven contemporary African composers are featured, as well Chicago-born Florence Price who was the first black female composer to have a symphony premiered in that city in 1933.

There is much to enjoy, from the Arabic timbres of Algerian composer Salim Dada and Morocco’s Nabil Benabdeljalil to the polyrhythms of Soweto-born Mokale Koapeng, who explains that in his Prelude in D he “infuses the dance elements I grew up listening to and witnessing in various townships.” 

South Africa’s Grant McLachlan composed his Sonatina for Double Bass and Piano in 2016 and the third movement, Senzeni Na? (‘What have we done?’) remains hugely popular across the country. He says, “It is a recreation for piano of an anti-apartheid protest song often sung at funerals and demonstrations…inextricably linked to the struggle for freedom and democracy.”  The piece is slow and gentle, but with a quiet rage; it is easy to imagine it being played at sombre funerals.

In contrast, Fela Sowande’s Two Preludes on Yoruba Sacred Folk Melodies is a joyful, original and, as the excellent accompanying sleeve notes by Robert Matthew-Walker reveal, “a profoundly African print with a descending quasi-scalic theme in which seconds and thirds unfurl as leaves of a flowering plant.”

Akin Euba, who died in 2020 was regarded as the most distinguished Nigerian composer, musicologist and pianist of his generation.  He was the originator of “African Pianism” which he described as a style of composition aiming to join the inherent musical syntax of Nigerian Yoruba music to the European keyboard with connotations of fundamental harmony.   Euba was a siren voice for interculturalism in composition, pointing out the similarities between the piano as a Western instrument and several Nigerian traditional instruments. Wakar Duru is Euba’s arrangement of three of Nigeria’s most popular Yoruba songs. One can imagine the piece being played in a concert hall or in a rural village church with feet tapping or bodies swaying depending on location.

This recording is volume 2 of Rebeca Omordia’s exploration of the rich diversity of African piano compositions on the innovative Somm Recordings label.  It is a constantly surprising feast of sounds, moods and emotions. Born in Romania to a Romanian mother and Nigerian father, she is hailed as an African classical music pioneer and is the artistic director of the world’s first ever African Concert Series at the Wigmore Hall in London. This is a perfect starting point for intercultural musical exploration, east, west and all points north and south. 

African Pianism Vol. 2 by Rebeca Omordia.  Somm Recordings.  SOMMCD 0688