Wanderer's return: Simon Keenlyside and Malcolm Martineau

Wigmore Hall is itself on a bit of a quest - to present all of Schubert's songs (note: there are over 600 of them) in a series of some 40 concerts across two years. My attempt to get to as many of these as possible has resulted - a little soberingly but also excitingly - in my latest batch of tickets arriving in a JIFFY BAG. I'm persuading myself that the bonsai rainforest of printed paper can only have been slightly too big for the normal Wiggers envelope...

However, I thought I'd definitely be missing out on at least one gig in the sequence: the celebrated baritone Simon Keenlyside - accompanied by one of my piano heroes, Malcolm Martineau - performing the Hall's Schubert Birthday Concert on 31 January. I have member's priority booking, but the concert had still sold out before my order was processed.

I was particularly vexed by the likelihood I wouldn't hear this. Whenever I've seen SK on the operatic stage, he's been utterly compelling: not just vocally, but in the intense physicality of his performances. I'm unlikely to forget his Valentin in 'Faust', damning his sister in the midst of his death-throes, or that voice still pinning me to the back of the Royal Opera House Amphitheatre through the contorted body of his Rigoletto. (SK is also one of the select group of Wozzecks to spend their final scene fully submerged in bloodstained water in Keith Warner's ROH production.)

So how does that energy transfer to a recital? I did have an earlier chance to find out when SK sang 'Winterreise' at Wigmore Hall in 2014. It was a spellbinding evening - while the sensitivity and anguish were all present and correct, the power of SK's delivery, combined with his restless movement across the stage, gave the rendition an "I'll reach the end of this journey if it kills me" flavour. (I do also remember thinking at the time that a hugely robust piano accompaniment helped generate this impression, too.) 'Winterreise' is now generally performed in one 75-minute sequence with no interval or encore - even though Schubert wrote the songs in two separate groups and didn't set the poems in the original order - and SK's relentless energy fully sustained the protagonist's character for the duration. I badly wanted to find out how this energy would be channelled in 'stand-alone' lieder, uneven bursts of two to seven minutes, in which anything could happen.

Luckily, fortune was smiling not only on the brave, but also on those obsessively checking the Wigmore Hall website for returns - a balcony seat suddenly appeared as I was, er, 'passing', and I snapped it up. Here's the evening's programme:

In off-stage life, SK is very much a man of the outdoors (specifically a farm in Wales), and while we weren't hearing the 'winter's journey' this time round, I was intrigued to see an over-riding nature theme tie together many of the selections and bring some lyrical unity to the recital: two other wanderers, the moon, the stars, woods and forests, fishing, autumn... This had the pleasing effect of making SK seem 'in his element' - onstage - as well as out in the elements, allowing him to fashion a character of sorts in spite of the songs' lack of narrative.

In fact, I'm now more certain than ever that, in recital, the operatic 'stage animal' in SK is still self-evident, seeking ways to be unleashed. He moves constantly - a little like an electric current is running through him, or he's generating his own energy. Whether this is self- or sub-conscious, I don't suppose I'll ever know - I suspect it's something between the two - but it always serves the delivery. His hands dart to his cuffs, or jacket buttons, or up to his hair - which could seem almost affected until you realise that, as a result, his shoulders move too, then the rest of his body follows suit, so that he's turning, even sweeping across the space.

I'm fascinated by the fact that Schubert chose to express himself so extensively through lieder - to the point of being the acknowledged master of the form. Songs are so compact in the face of the tumult of emotions the composer tries to compress into them (usually succeeding). Perhaps he felt he needed the poets' words. But with this in mind, it seems perfectly appropriate when a recitalist's mode of expression bursts out of the 'song' (that is, the voice and piano) and invades the body language and behaviour. (This is probably the only respect where I'd make a comparison between SK and Ian Bostridge - another Schubert specialist who seems to embody every note.)

As each song ends: he separates from the piano - reaching the far end of the platform in only a few strides - and then back, as if that gap (which, in art song performance, is often silence, with applause only between 'sets') has to be filled somehow. SK is certainly the singer who - of everyone I've seen, I think - makes the most use of the fact that he isn't alone on stage. His voice projection is so strong that SK can deliver significant passages essentially to MM, as if interacting with another character in a plot. Particularly brilliant here, then, is the personality MM brings to his own playing: he wears his emotions on his face as well as his hands - especially in Schubert's moments of rapture or exuberance. Many singer/pianist duos seem to have a good 'telepathy' - not literally, of course, but a finely-rehearsed and developed sense of what each other will do when out of necessity, they can't look at each other the whole time. That was here, too (SK and MM have performed together for a couple of decades) - but more than that, it was exhilarating to sense this 'interaction' between the pair and enjoy the resulting sense of near-spontaneity.

And together, the sound they produce is something extraordinary. I won't dwell on this, but it's worth noting that this was SK's first appearance on stage following his recovery from an operation. No allowances need be made (he simply dropped one of the longer songs from the programme with minimum fuss). His rich, full tone was in such powerful evidence - a venue-cradling timbre, I still felt wrapped inside it despite being up near the ceiling. The agility (and fragility) are still available when required - and SK took some of the higher, more delicate moments at a suitably softer, untroubled glide - but most of all, we heard that heroic baritone combination of weight and momentum, driving the songs through the air.

MM played with flair and fluidity. His even, expressive style makes him so perfect for this 'nature' idiom - I first encountered him immaculately conveying Debussy's waves against the shoreline, while accompanying Anne Schwanewilms in the 'Proses lyriques', and sought out as many of his recordings and gigs as possible ever since.

Perhaps the overall effect is best summed up by focusing on one song in particular, which closed the first half: 'Im Walde (Waldesnacht)'. A seven-minute thrill-ride, its lyrical themes are the ideal combination for SK - epic and pastoral - as Friedrich von Schlegel's verse depicts a hero galloping on horseback through a vividly-drawn forest, making parallels between the rider's communion with God/nature and the awakening of artistic and creative thought in the poet.

Here MM sculpted the keys into the wind through the leaves (as the voice swirls round in the closest section the song has to a chorus), moving into a section where the left-hand bassline follows the sung melody (at baritone pitch this felt programme-shakingly resonant). As lightning bolts, he punctuated the voice with sharp stabs; as spring-water he calmed down into ripples as the song seemed to get its breath back.

I have a reissue of the duo's debut Schubert disc here by the laptop. The original release year was 1994: 22 years ago! I was happy to remind myself that a good few of the songs on that disc have survived into their 'set-list' to this day, 'Im Walde (Waldesnacht)' included. With MM providing the most supportive and secure environment imaginable for SK's return to the stage, it felt like we were celebrating not only Schubert's birthday, but the enduring brilliance of this partnership.

Sound waves: Alice Coote and Julius Drake

Although I've been a few times now - especially if you count the concerts given in the church as well as the hall - I still find going to hear music at Temple quite a surreal experience. The 'Inns of Court' (for readers unfamiliar with London lore) are small areas of London containing the 'chambers' where barristers live and work - suffused with arcane city atmos, they tend towards a mix of beautiful old architecture and green space in relative seclusion. They effectively run and police themselves and, indeed, at the weekends are generally shut off from the eyes of the general public. (Once I was following a 'London walk' in a book, and got trapped, lost, inside one of the Inns for well over half an hour, until I could find my way out again. I remember thinking, "I probably won't actually expire in here, but if I'm breaking any laws - this lot will know.")

Two Inns - Inner Temple and Middle Temple - co-exist in one overall 'Temple area', which also contains two gorgeous venues. So, inside what feels a bit like a kind of tiny walled city - a secret that luckily lots of music-lovers happen to know - the brilliantly-named Temple Music Foundation (backed by a small army of sponsors and supporters) can put on a substantial series of mouthwatering concerts every year. Once, at Temple Church, we saw the Hilliard Ensemble sing one of their final gigs with Jan Garbarek - unforgettable - but on the other occasions we've been, the venue has always been the remarkable Middle Temple Hall - which looks like this:

It's a fantastic place for song recitals. Not only are the acoustics marvellous, it's a 'wide' rather than 'long' room, so to speak: the audience stretches out to the sides and as a result, quite a large proportion of the audience can feel reasonably close to the stage. Here's our view (I love it when I manage to sit a little to the left of centre - good keyboard sightline!):

I was particularly hoping for good seats for this particular concert, as the performers were mezzo-soprano Alice Coote, accompanied on piano by Julius Drake. Regular readers of this blog - thank you, darlings, thank you - will know what a huge fan I am of both these artists. Not only that, the programme they had put together was irresistible: lieder by Schubert and Strauss, followed by a chance to hear Elgar's 'Sea Pictures' in its voice/piano version. (It's more familiar as a work for voice and orchestra - AC has a very up-to-date association with the suite, performing it with the Hallé Orchestra at the 2014 Proms, and subsequently on one of their most recent discs.)

Schubert had the whole first half to himself. The selection made by the duo seemed tailor-made to show AC's command of character and mood to its fullest. Renowned for her versatility, not least in taking on both male and female roles (I previously wrote about her remarkable Handel recital, 'Being Both', where she performed arias for the two sexes), she can switch at will between tender, delicate, fearful, resolute and threatening personas. Here, we were able to properly appreciate the way she manages to do this with both face and voice.

For example, in 'Der Tod und das Madchen', she captures the terrified girl with both expression and tone - and then, as the 'voice' of the song shifts from the girl to Death, you can see the cloud come over her brow, her stare towards the audience grow more intense, and hear the icy steel enter her voice. Yet because death benignly attempts to comfort the girl, AC still manages to end the song with a poignant (and audible) smile. We're taken on an epic emotional journey in these eight lines.

We also heard the famous 'Erlkönig', Schubert's setting of Goethe's horror-poem about a father and son galloping home through the forest - the boy is terrorised by the 'Erl-King' (who apparently only he can see), but the father chooses to comfort him by insisting its just the wind and shadows. At journey's end, the father discovers that his son is dead - his spirit taken by the supernatural being after all. The song itself hurtles along with the horse' gallop, and the singer must tell the story and portray all three characters (the boy near the top of the vocal range, the father near the bottom, and so on). Again, AC not only makes them all utterly distinct vocally (her whispery sheen overlaying the Erl-King's speech was especially chilling) but is able to fully act the son's terror, the dad's obstinacy and the spirit's evil allure - all with the eyes, supported by subtle changes in stance and posture (son on the backfoot, Erl-King forward, beckoning). Also worth saying that JD played a thrilling accompaniment, which has to be fast and frantic - but never so loud or unhinged that the singer is overwhelmed. The balance felt exactly right here.

The Strauss selections culminated in two beautiful settings of John Henry Mackay verse, 'Heimliche Aufforderung' and the celebrated 'Morgen!' As the programme note mentions, much of Mackay's (pseudonymous) writing championed homosexual freedom, and these two poems - especially in Strauss's settings - exude the twin forces of suppression and release, the sheer beauty of 'Morgen!' attaining an almost ecstatic stillness. In the former, as the moment of assignation approaches, the vocal almost seems to calm down as the piano (representing inner urges, perhaps - bodily desire?) surges and soars at the prospect of the meeting. In these performances, the particular telepathy this partnership seem to share was well in evidence - the pauses in 'Morgen!' saying as much as the notes - and how well-suited AC's mezzo is to songs of freedom versus constraint: a perfect fit in timbre and temperament.

The 'Sea Pictures' were exhilarating and exciting - AC as solid as a rock in this repertoire, directing her soaring voice in all direction across the hall like the beam of a lighthouse, with JD's swelling waves buoying her up. While this duo are one of the most 'equal' recital teams I've ever heard, it's in this part of the concert that JD doesn't just get to represent the sea - he's being the orchestra being the sea, and his swelling crescendos are truly heartstopping. While - if I had to pick favourites - I would take the first picture, 'Sea slumber-song' with its stately lullaby, to my desert island, there can be few more blisteringly powerful recital endings than the final climax of the final piece, 'The swimmer', and the accompanist lifted his hands to reeling, rapturous applause.

But as ever - he's my favourite composer, after all - my thoughts wander back to Schubert. We were treated to 'Nacht und Träume', surely one of his most widely loved and performed masterpieces. It struck me how used I was to hearing versions by sopranos, or baritones at their most hushed. Both seem to give the song an angelic, ethereal air - a kind of gossamer gentility - which, don't get me wrong, makes for beautiful listening. Tonight, however, felt like a revelation: JD's soft but not sentimental pulse, the deft rhythm necessary to conjure up an image of sleep - all underpinning AC's warm vocal - this was the sound of active slumber, comfort and calm, depth and darkness. As the song ended, I had one of those moments of rapture where I thought I would never hear anything quite as perfect again - so right did this interpretation feel. (It made me wish fervently that the pair might one day release a CD of 'stand-alone' Schubert lieder. We have a 'Winterreise' so far - and it's one of the best, I believe - but to my knowledge they've not released any Schubert since. We need more!)

Temple being the strange, off-world place it is, we floated out of the concert, and let ourselves out of one of the locked exits, into the ordinary, public, unmusical night.

Retrospecstive 2015: live

Sequels certainly come round more quickly these days. Following my first post of the year covering my recorded highlights from 2015, I'm now stimulating the memory cells to conjure up my top 15 live musical experiences.

I can tell it's been a fantastic year, partly because of my horror at some of the recitals and concerts I've had to leave out. Some of my favourite composers and artists have been dramatically edged out - but then the list is a cruel tyrant and is not here to show me mercy. It's to remind me how privileged I am to have heard and enjoyed so much brilliant music. In particular, this lot - in chronological order...


Christopher Ainslie, James Baillieu, Gary Pomeroy (Wigmore Hall)
A January highlight that still stands head and shoulders over much of the year, this extraordinary recital from countertenor Ainslie featured 'songs of night and travel', allowing him to range from Schubert and Wolf to Bridge and Vaughan Williams. Inspired by what Ainslie felt was his own nomadic statelessness, the high register of the voice - hinting at fragility but utterly confident - was the perfect vehicle to convey his personal investment in the songs.

Jo Quail and friends (St John on Bethnal Green)
Between albums, cellist-composer JQ - a very familiar name to Specs disciples (Spectacles?) - put together a very special concert that it's hard to imagine anyone else even dreaming up. The evening was primarily built around the live premiere of her 20-minute masterpiece for strings, percussion and choir, 'This Path with Grace'. But we were also treated to cello-quartet covers of some of her favourite music - from Bartok and De Falla to Van Halen and Nine Inch Nails - and ramped up versions of her solo, looped composition. A journey round a unique talent.

'The Mastersingers of Nuremberg' (English National Opera, originally for Welsh National Opera)
Making five hours go by in a flash and a sausage baguette, this magnificent production featured a stunning performance of Hans Sachs by Iain Paterson - not only with the voice but even in moments of physicality and poignant silence - against a visually vibrant and relentlessly witty production. Plus - almost goes without saying at ENO - gorgeous work from the chorus and orchestra under Edward Gardner.

'Die fliegender Holländer' (Royal Opera House)
More Wagner, this time a mystical, muted affair at Covent Garden which fully allows for the possibility that the heroine - already obsessed with the Flying Dutchman legend - imagines the whole thing. It makes for a fascinating psychodrama, completely sold by the charismatic conviction of the two leads. Bryn Terfel, made for the Dutchman role, elusive and menacing, embodied the thrilling, but threatening escape Senta can never quite grasp. And Senta herself was brought to life with great spirit and sensitivity by Adrianne Pieczonka, one of the performances of the year.

'Krol Roger' (Royal Opera House)
I felt this was a real triumph for the ROH - a captivating and haunting score (by Szymanowski) , a strange and production and a superb cast. Again, we were almost certainly inside the mind of the main character - as literally expressed on stage by a huge head with chambers large enough to enact scenes from the opera inside it. As the King (in a terrific central turn from Mariusz Kwiecień) undergoes his spiritual crisis, dancers writhe around his brain like electric synapses, until he emerges from his dark night of the soul in glorious affirmation.

'The Queen of Spades' (English National Opera)
Edward Gardner, again marshalling the unstoppable ENO orchestra and chorus, uses his and their considerable powers for evil, as Tchaikovsky's terrifying adaptation of the Pushkin ghost story came to surreal life in eerie colours and images. I loved everything about this production: it was visceral and macabre, but left the sensation to the increasingly oppressive music as the plot ground on to its twist-in-the-tale conclusion. I particularly enjoyed Peter Hoare as anti-hero Hermann, using his angular tenor to sound sinister and strung-out. A brave and unsympathetic performance, balanced by a fearsome opposing cameo from the great Felicity Palmer in the 'title role'.

Wovenhand (Scala, London)
An incendiary performance from one of the best US bands, made all the more precious by the infrequency of their visits. Incantatory Americana - sounding like a kind of heavy, brooding, scorched-earth Bad Seeds - led by the shamanic David Eugene Edwards, whose lyrical themes of Biblical wonder, mixed with ritualistic signs and movements on stage, make the group such a compelling presence on stage as well as on record.

'A Poet's Love' (St John's Smith Square)
A weekend of pure joy, as tenor James Gilchrist and pianist Anna Tilbrook expanded on their most recent recording project - the three great Schumann song cycles 'Liederkreis' (times two - Opuses 29 and 34) and 'Dichterliebe' - to create a mini-festival of five concerts featuring more song and chamber music by both Schumann and Mendelssohn. A masterstroke was to bring in Carolyn Sampson alongside JG to perform Schumann's 'Myrthen' collection of songs - one can only hope for a follow-up disc with CS helping the duo 'complete the set' on record.

Trembling Bells (Café Oto)
To launch their album - which happens to be my rock CD of the year - the Bells took over this intimate venue for a two-night festivalette - a little bit like a mini-Meltdown (which, given Oto's soaring temperatures is all too appropriate!). So, we not only heard barnstorming sets from the band themselves, but also guest appearances from, among others, Martin Carthy (yes!), Alasdair Roberts and a special enthusiasm of mine, Crying Lion - a spin-off group who mostly sing feverish unaccompanied folk, featuring Alex and Lavinia from TB, along with Katy and Harry from Muldoon's Picnic. A sprawling, barely hinged affair - wholly appropriate for their full-to-bursting sound.

Trio Mediaeval (Wigmore Hall)
Could their be a better atmosphere than late night in the Wigmore Hall for a group of women who can sing like this? They were performing their latest programme (based mostly on the recent CD, 'Aquilonis') ranging from centuries-old sacred music from Iceland through to contemporary pieces. As with the previous time we'd seen them, they processed around and behind the audience in stately fashion, filling the air around us with their voices, underpinned only by their trademark melody chimes. Unforgettable.

Alice Coote's 'Being Both' (Royal Albert Hall)
The first of two Proms to make my list, this bravura performance from mezzo-soprano AC showcased her ability to play both male and female operatic roles through a specially-chosen selection of Handel arias. Part of AC's genius idea was to use a sparse collection of props and reject a flamboyant concert gown in favour of a simple black trouser suit, so that the recital also doubled as a powerful artistic statement: how the singer who becomes adept at these 'trouser' roles can spend much of their working life 'suspended' between the sexes, and what effect this might have on their artistic approach. With sympathetic backing by the English Concert, most of all we were able to focus on that beautiful, brilliantly versatile voice.

Yo Yo Ma (Royal Albert Hall)
'Single instrument Bach' was a running theme at the Proms (the Goldberg Variations and Sonatas/Partitas also got an airing), but surely this was the most singular effort of them all. Yo Yo Ma had undertaken to perform all six of Bach's Cello Suites in one evening, with no interval. (In fact, he had a very short break between 3 and 4, but we all stayed put.) Clearly, the outcome - deliberate, I'm sure - was to place us all in a kind of special 'zone'; 2.5 hours of some of the most perfectly conceived music ever written, with the cellist playing from memory, so channeling these pieces directly to us... it was almost trance-like, except we were all concentrating, savouring each moment. A total 'Proms experience', somehow shrinking the entire Albert Hall to a transfixed audience sat round a man in a chair, watching and listening to his every move.

Anna Caterina Antonacci (Wigmore Hall)
This lunchtime recital was well worth the day's leave necessary to attend it! After seeing the powerfully charismatic ACA sing in concert with the ROH orchestra, there was no way I wanted to miss out on this perfomance of Poulenc's one-woman opera-in-miniature, 'La voix humaine'. Normally performed with orchestra, this gig had the twin coup of seeing ACA in such an intimate venue, plus hearing the piano-only version of the piece. One side of the final conversation between a woman and her former lover (now with another), the soprano usually acts out the role with, crucially, the phone as her key prop. As she keeps getting cut off and the operator calls back, the piano trills the phone's ring. ACA, in gorgeous voice, constantly mobile and agile, her face travelling from euphoria to despair and all expressions between, was the consummate singer-actor.

Angela Hewitt (Royal Festival Hall)
Just a magical performance which seemed to give a snapshot of the many facets of AH's playing - two pieces by Bach (the subject of perhaps her most wide-ranging survey of works for Hyperion), and a second half devoted to more recent or ongoing concerns of Beethoven and Liszt. However, the revelation for me was a trio of breathtaking Scarlatti sonatas - happily the focus of a new disc she's due to release shortly. An unashamedly upbeat and enthusiastic perfomer, the exuberance and brio of these works made an indelible impression on me.

Barb Jungr and John McDaniel's 'Come Together' (St James Theatre)
We finish with Cavern-based cabaret, as a perhaps slightly odd couple tackle one of the most imposing catalogues in modern music: the Beatles. Barb Jungr is one of our finest interpreters of popular song - rooted in jazz but in fact able to transform any tune, particularly those written or performed by men, into a sometimes bruised, sometime brittle, but always beautiful anthem. John McDaniel is a celebrated US arranger, and, it turns out, a rather special pianist. Their across-the-pond rapport is hilarious and pin-sharp, and they're not afraid to move away from the 'hits' and include numbers that deserve a wider hearing. Even Beatles songs are happy to join an orderly queue to be sung by this voice. The kind of gig that has you skipping out of the venue.

Retrospecstive 2015: recorded

Happy new year to you, and welcome to the Specs 'round-up' of 2015 - part one. This year I thought I'd mix genres (so that people who like a bit of everything might come across something different) - so here are my 'recorded' highlights, covering CDs/downloads (including reissues) from both the classical and rock/folk worlds. I'll follow this up with a second post recalling my favourite 'live on stage' memories from the year.

I hope you enjoy it and - ideally - discover a new artist, band or composer to love.

(Quick digest for specialists - with my CDs of the year in bold type...)

• Classical: Ian Bostridge & Julius Drake, Alice Coote & Graham Johnson, Mark Padmore & Kristian Bezuidenhout, Adrienne Pieczonka & Brian Zeger, Rachel Podger, Jo Quail, Dorothea Röschmann & Mitsuko Uchida, Carolyn Sampson & Joseph Middleton, Andreas Staier.

• Rock / folk / other: Beirut, Calexico, John Carpenter, Clutch, Golden Void, Bert Jansch & John Renbourn, Myrkur, Sieben, Swans, Richard Thompson, Trembling Bells.

Onwards! Yet also backwards!

*

Beirut: "No No No"
Thrilled to see one of my favourite bands return in 2015, with a glorious, slight swerve of a record. Short, delicate and with less of the just-about-hinged clutter of some older material - here we get a focus on piano and drums. At times, both stately *and* slinky, as on this track, 'So Allowed'.

Ian Bostridge, Julius Drake: 'Songs by Schubert - 2'
The ongoing 'Schubert live at the Wigmore Hall' series from this duo continues to pay dividends with brilliant programming as well as performance. I thought the first CD was one of the great live albums in any genre, but this sequel has exhilarating moments even surpassing that, including a superb closing run featuring this track (Schubert riffing in his most sprightly fashion) along with 'Atys', 'Nachtviolen'... oh, just get it, it's fantastic. (I could only find a studio version of 'Fischerweise' to include here, but no matter!)

Calexico: 'Edge of the Sun'
Sometimes I feel a bit guilty for taking Calexico's scorched Americana for granted, but then they come along with the brilliant idea of adding the 'we-found-him-in-a-cave' whisper of their old mucker Iron & Wine's Sam Beam to their vocals on this track... and it reminds you how individual and precious they are. A lovely, but again slightly low-key album... I'm aware that really rating this and the Beirut record this year is almost certainly no coincidence.

John Carpenter: 'Lost Themes'
Who could've predicted this treat? In an era of cool retro electronica and resurrected soundtracks, the man on earth most able to scare you witless with both a movie camera and a synthesiser reappears with an album's worth of 'fake' film music. Take this superb opening track, 'Vortex', which will probably have you checking the corners of your laptop screen for agile shadows or sudden disturbances.

Clutch: 'Psychic Warfare'
A tight funk outfit trapped in the bodies of a metal band, Clutch are now decades into their existence but show no signs of running out of incredible riffs or whip-crack beats. I love the fact that even an in-your-face groover like this track, 'A Quick Death in Texas' - flirting with both Zep and ZZ Top - reveals more riches with each listen. An array of hooks - one for verse, another for chorus, another for middle eight, and a slightly warped version of the chorus riff for the outro; excellent use of the rock 'n' roll "Hey! Hey!"; gratuitous cowbell; and some born-storyteller imagery ("The saloon door stopped swinging / The piano player stopped playing"). One of their best albums in years, overflowing with ideas. Mostly noisy ideas.

Alice Coote, Graham Johnson: L'heure Exquise
A terrific year on record for mezzo Alice Coote - one of our finest, most involving and at times, intense performers - releasing a 'Sea Pictures' CD with the Hallé Orchestra and a superb disc of Schumann with pianist Christian Blackshaw. But on this gorgeous Hyperion album with Graham Johnson, she presents a selection of French mélodies that make full use of her astonishing emotional - as well as vocal - range. Bringing in a hint of the 'chanson' where appropriate, she's not afraid to temper the sheer beauty of the sound with mischief, seductiveness or ennui. A treasure trove.

Golden Void: 'Berkana'
This heroic track, 'Burbank's Dream', is a typical - and typically glorious - example of Golden Void's psychedelic rock. As out of their time as you'd expect from a band named after a Hawkwind track, the atmosphere is so thick, it feels like you're listening to it through smoke - and extra points for vocals that sound to me as if they're 'informed' by the marvellous Gary Brooker of Procol Harum. Prog-standard!

Bert Jansch and John Renbourn: 'Bert and John'
All of Bert Jansch's early records are being reissued. Great news for fans of spectral acoustic fingerpicking, clearly, but it also means I've finally got myself a copy of 'Bert and John', the informally named collaborative album Jansch made with John Renbourn, in their pre-Pentangle days. This track ('The Time Has Come') just has the pair take a channel each - the guitars miraculously dancing around each other as the voices gently harmonise. The art of sounding diffident, while knowing exactly what you're doing.

Myrkur: 'M'
Interesting stuff, this - Danish singer-songwriter Amalie Bruun, already successful in solo and band careers, decided to create an alias to record some of the music she really loves: black metal. While not without its ethereal touches (occasional passages of choir and piano make you wonder if this is what would result if Enya had grown up listening to Darkthrone), it's mostly a thunderous gallop of rumbling drums and buzzsaw guitars: totally true to its inspiration but not compromising other aspects of its creator's talent. An intriguing grower, recommended.

Mark Padmore, Kristian Bezuidenhout: 'Beethoven / Haydn / Mozart'
I'm desperate for this partnership to get together as often as possible and just record MORE STUFF. MP's measured, serene tone and KB's ringing fortepiano are a perfect match and produce a kind of jointly celestial sound. After a disc of mostly Schumann song, they seem to be gathering repertoire as well as pace and released this wonderful CD of the story so far. Here's LvB's 'Adelaide'.

Adrianne Pieczonka, Brian Zeger: 'Adrianne Pieczonka sings Strauss and Wagner'
AP is one of my favourite operatic performers, so any CD is most welcome. But this was a particularly exciting prospect, featuring songs by composers with whom she seem particularly at home on stage. It doesn't disappoint - she's in glorious voice: here's Wagner's 'Träume':

Rachel Podger: Biber 'Rosary Sonatas'
Slight red herring, this example (it was all I could find on YouTube) - as RP is playing the solo Rosary Sonata which originally appeared on her earlier CD named after it, 'Guardian Angel'. This year, she released a double album placing it alongside all the other Sonatas on it, too - so *imagine* how good that is. Surely one of the most accomplished Baroque musicians ever.

Jo Quail: 'This Path With Grace'
This cellist-composer - a very familiar name to Specs regulars, I'm sure - continues to push her writing and playing in unexpected, exhilarating directions. This incredible 20-minute piece, is scored for cello (Jo's electric instrument alongside a squad of traditional acoustic cellos), percussion and choir. From the opening blasts to the all-encompassing voices, you'll be transfixed as the piece comes 'full circle' to its climax, taking in rock, folk, choral and classical along the way.



Dorothea Röschmann, Mitsuko Uchida: Schumann and Berg Lieder
I was lucky enough to be at one of the Wigmore Hall recital evenings where this album was recorded. The duo have a fascinating dynamic in performance: extraordinary empathy (it struck me that it was all too rare to see a two-woman recital partnership, but could that have an effect?) and in some ways a reversal of the norm, with MU more likely to be the firebrand in perpetual motion and DR almost an old-school, regal presence. But in fact, the extent to which the pair clicked is audible: MU constantly looking from her music over towards her colleague, tracking her precisely, while DR's emotions are all filtered through her gloriously expressive voice, making this an ideal 'listening' recital. In this track (apologies if you don't have Spotify), you can hear them navigate Schumann's twist and turns as if they were a single entity.

Carolyn Sampson, Joseph Middleton: 'Fleurs'
My classical CD of the year. Carolyn Sampson ventures out of her familiar Baroque surroundings and into art song. Creatively and artistically, this is clearly a huge step - but how lightly she skipped over it. Thinking about the way she combines expressive purity of tone with speed and precision, it's a wonder she didn't try it earlier..! But one of the things I think make 'Fleurs' a truly great record is the programming as well as the performance. The duo have made a 'concept album' of sorts, with the floral link kept throughout as the track listing ranges across composers and styles, showing off the brilliantly versatile playing of JM alongside CS's 'born-to-this' renditions. I hope this is just the start of a really strong partnership (you get the impression from 'Fleurs' that their rapport is burned into the disc) and expect that future records and recitals from them will be equally as interesting and illuminating as simply, satisfyingly beautiful.

Sieben: Norse EP
Matt Howden - the man behind one-man musical phenomenon Sieben - is on a roll at the moment, releasing his forthcoming album in stages, as three quite distinct EPs. The familiar elements are there - voice, violin, loops - but with a constantly increasing majesty. Always pushing the boundaries of his chosen set-up, the current Sieben sound explores the epic: tracks of around 10 minutes each, layer upon layer of shifting sound, leaving behind a strict verse-chorus format to explore chant/mantra. This is new magic.



Andreas Staier: J S Bach Harpsichord Concertos
I first heard Andreas Staier through his marvellous fortepiano playing - particularly when accompanying Christoph Prégardien in lieder - but he's also 'rather good' at the harpsichord, and this year's Bach disc is understandably an embarrassment of riches. Listen to the full-on, exhilarating production on this track, the D minor concerto.

Swans: White Light in the Mouth of Infinity / Love of Life
One of the most intense rock groups ever, the current incarnation of Swans continue to put out vast albums, like universes unto themselves. However, in a previous life - with the band dynamic balanced between Michael Gira and Jarboe - they achieved a kind of wracked musicality. This year, the ongoing reissue series reached this pair of albums (they belong together and come in a single package) - and this track in particular seduced me back in the day and got me into them for the first time. I had to include it.

Richard Thompson: Still
As in, still brilliant. Another example of an infallibly reliable talent suddenly releasing not 'just' another great set of songs, but a record to sit alongside their best. Based around the 'Electric' trio - sounding very (a)live in a warm and sympathetic production from Wilco's Jeff Tweedy - but fleshed out with harmony vocals and tempered with acoustic touches (as on this track), it's the best of all old worlds.

Trembling Bells: The Sovereign Self
My rock CD of the year. Trembling Bells are, on the face of it, a folk-rock outfit, but they can't really be contained by that description - in the same way that their sound seemed barely kept in check by the studio or your speakers. Blessed with chief songwriter Alex Nielson's virtuosic jazz drumming (somehow keeping the beat while adding multiple shades of percussive colour) and Lavinia Blackwall's all-points-between-heaven-and-earth voice, they released a three-and-a-half minute spooky pop wonder, 'Hallelujah', for Record Story Day, along with their finest album yet, 'The Sovereign Self', where everything came together perfectly. Unafraid to stretch themselves on every track, a bewildering stew of musical styles bubble together in the cauldron - folk, country, even metallic riffage - not so much from song to song, but all the time, in the overall, consistent sound. This feels to me like my national music. Out there, but not as far as you think. A masterpiece.

Specsmas! 'Messiah' at the Barbican

Every so often it hits me (again) that there are certain masterpieces - universal, deathless works known and loved by seemingly everyone - that have so far passed me by completely.

I do feel slightly odd about this. I'm drawn to intensity/extremity - that's years of listening to scary metal and jazz for you - and perhaps that's the reason I've seen 'Elektra' (twice), 'Wozzeck', or stood through the entire Ring cycle at the Proms in a single week... without ever getting near a 'Traviata', 'Magic Flute' or 'Fidelio'. And three decades of immersion in rock/folk/pop/you-name-it before broadening my horizons must surely be why I was instantly smitten with classical 'art song'. I like hooks, riffs, tautness, precision, and always will - so maybe it's no wonder I managed to gather an embarrassing number of Schubert lieder recordings before it even occurred to me to listen to his symphonies. (Error since rectified!)

I've had further cause to think about this recently, thanks to getting handsomely lubricated at some festive office drinks. While much of the evening is hazy, I have a clear recollection of trying to convince a colleague that Schubert has more riffs than Led Zeppelin. I think this is a scientific, mathematical fact - Schubert made it past the 600-song mark, and LZ, well, didn't. But I wasn't really debating at my highest level. Instead I'm rather fearful I was trying to hum the hook for 'Fischerweise' (appropriately enough) as if it was 'Whole Lotta Love'. Oh yes. I'm all about spreading the word.

Anyway... we had booked for the Barbican 'Messiah' this year - and it suddenly dawned on me that I'd never heard the 'Messiah' performed live. Not only that, even though Mrs Specs had a couple of copies in the house (I suppose the more recent recording she bought is, in its own small way, the Second Coming) - I hadn't heard it all the way through. I felt like I had, because the 'hits' are so familiar - but that's not the same thing at all. I realised I didn't actually know quite what to expect - the best way to turn up to anything.

(This is the Balthasar Denner portrait of Handel - apparently the image is in the public domain.)

Of course, that's not 100% true. We'd booked for this particular performance (without wishing to blaspheme, there are a few Messiahs knocking about at this time of year) because of our admiration for two of the soloists, soprano Carolyn Sampson and countertenor Iestyn Davies (singing the alto part). The rest of the team were tenor Allan Clayton and bass Robert Davies (both new to us), with the Britten Sinfonia and Britten Sinfonia Voices, conducted by Eamonn Dougan.

I think I struck lucky on my first time, because everything I heard (and saw - more on this later) felt spectacularly good. Clearly, I'm still new to the work as a whole, but one hearing is enough to understand its popularity. Particularly striking to me was how seamlessly the Baroque-motorik zip (Pawel Siwczak's harpsichord seemed brilliantly hyperactive, its glorious rhythms slicing through the sound) is married to the slower passages, more about breaking your heart than the speed limit, focusing your attention not just on the 'higher' subject matter but the sheer beauty of the melodies.

I confess that the only time I've seen a Handel opera live - 'Xerxes' - I found it slightly problematic, because of the multiple-repetitions of lines that seemed to hobble the action. 'Messiah' is an oratorio rather than an opera: here, the more modest levels of repetition actually work a treat, partly because it's an appropriate topic for a more ritualistic, liturgical treatment, but also because it so mesmerises and involves you that you become caught up even further in the emotion. Iestyn Davies's spine-tingling performance of 'He was despised' was especially fine here. Then the famous choruses - especially the 'Hallelujah!' at the end of Part 2 - allow that emotion to burst, the outpouring of sound providing the much-needed release.

But lack of plot doesn't have to mean lack of drama, and some subtle touches of stagecraft seemed to boost singers and players alike. The Barbican Hall stage is wide, and a pair of soloists were seated at each of the extreme edges: CS and ID to the audience's left, AC and RD to the right. I don't know how many Messiahs use this effect, but even the fact that they had quite a long walk to come into the centre of the stage to sing created some movement, and brought out a sense of timing (Carolyn S, for example, conveyed such a sense of bliss after one of her sections that she stayed put in apparent rapture, holding the pose for what felt like a good few minutes after she stopped singing, before finally walking back to her seat).

Also - the left side, with the soprano and alto, seemed very much 'the side of the angels', heaven; while AC's warm, rich tenor and RD's subterranean, but agile bass represented earth, on the right. This supports the text, as the soprano and alto focus on Christ, while the tenor and bass more on the activities and reactions of the people interacting with him. The two worlds are finally brought together with 'O death, where is thy sting?', as the alto and tenor, 'meeting' at both sides of the podium, sing a duet.

I also liked the way that the only time a soloist looked anywhere other than outwards towards the audience was during 'The trumpet shall sound', when RD turned to face trumpet-player Paul Archibald (superb) in acknowledgement that this section was also a true duet. Earlier in the evening, we had already heard the trumpets, but from a window halfway up the back of the stage - the closest the Barbican could get to celestial!

Although I've made specific mention of two players, I would have to give equal credit to everyone in the Sinfonia and Voices. With the Barbican's acoustic, you sense there really is no hiding place for groups of this size (every instrument apart from the violins was represented on stage by only one or two musicians). Under ED's direction, they were pin-sharp and expressive - sometimes individually audible, yet completely tight, the ideal orchestra working as 'single organism'.

In the end, though, the soloists give the piece its character. CS was absolutely in her element: combining breathtaking accuracy with real beauty, committed, heartfelt, graceful. ID seems able to achieve a superhuman purity of sound, coupled here with a fitting serenity. AC's singing had real attack, making a character of his part, refreshingly 'non-stately' and bringing a personal, engaging and earth(l)y voice into the mix, while RD was sonorous, portentous - exactly the heft needed to underpin the others.

A genuinely glorious achievement.

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Thank you, everyone, for reading the blog - I really appreciate the support.

Work mayhem in the run-up to Christmas - plus the imminent Invasion Of The In-Laws! - mean that, while other stuff takes over, I'm likely to put my Specs away now for the holiday season. I'll be back as early as possible in the New Year with my usual look back at the old one.

In the meantime, I hope you and yours have a happy, peaceful and - hopefully - musical Yuletide.

Chorus lines: speaking up for the arts (again)

At the time of writing, London opera has been enjoying - or rather, enduring - another few headline-making days. Seemingly a plague on both our houses. At the financially-embattled English National Opera, talk of cuts to the chorus, and a reduced number of productions - while over at the Royal Opera House, director of opera Kasper Holten announced he would be leaving in 2017 to return with his family to Copenhagen.

I'm sad to see Holten go - I'm an admirer of his work and it feels a little like he's just getting started. Of course, opera productions take years to plan - so in his 'early days', like any new arrival to a similar post, he was overseeing many of his predecessor's plans come to fruition. To all intents and purposes, he really is only on the point of making his mark. (Emphatically so, with the magnificent 'Krol Roger' this year.) In turn, even after he steps down, his legacy will last until around 2020. I really think he's a force for good, and am looking forward to seeing what plans he has in store for the next few years.

In contrast to what will hopefully be a smooth transition at ROH, ENO seems beset by turmoil. Famous musical and operatic names have rounded on the apparent proposals, only for ENO to respond rather vaguely about necessary cuts; effectively, thanks for your input etc - that's all very well but you don't have to solve the problem. (You can read the Telegraph's piece about this here.)

I don't have The Answers, of course. I so wish I did. But I do have some questions. It seems to me (and many others, I believe) that the only folk really likely to suffer from this are the singers and players - and I am with them. Excuse my naivety in putting some of these thoughts out there, when I know relatively little about 'business' - but then we're living in a world where business people who know nothing about talent or creativity make decisions that affect artists' lives.

Apparently, ENO's 'management team' will take 'several months' to work through these proposals and come to a decision...

• How many people are on this team? Maybe that number could be halved. Maybe the decision would then take half the time.
• Is any money being unnecessarily spent on external help/consultancy, or any convenient expert likely to come in and say what a good idea cuts would be?
• Cuts of any kind are by definition short-sighted. They're always a reaction to "Find extra money! Now!" directives from state or shareholders. What if a future Government places more restrictions on funds? You could make more cuts. But post-cuts, the time to grow will come again, and you start from a much worse place than you were in before, arguably unable to truly repair the damage.
• Instead of cutting, what money-making opportunities have been explored? I know seat pricing has been controversial, so I think the ENO team need to show clearly that they've investigated that deeply. Also, they are staging musicals - I imagine this does bring in a few extra quid, but it can only ever be short-term. Musical audiences are transient and go to the show they want to see, wherever it's playing. ENO could possibly do more to build its longer term 'fanbase', in the way that, say, Wigmore Hall does.
• Equally, ENO doesn't have a shop; it's only just started doing cinema relays, and operas seem to be rarely recorded or filmed for commercial release. What about putting the amazing chorus and orchestra centre-stage for concerts, similar to Pappano's gigs at the ROH?

I'm quite sure that corporate types could tell me why any or all of this wouldn't work. To a certain extent, I don't care. If you're management experts, think innovatively and make some of it work. From a creative perspective, I can tell you what definitely won't work: reducing the chorus. (I can live with the idea of fewer productions, if it creates an atmosphere free of financial stress for those working on them, and longer runs for those shows, giving more people a chance to go.)

(This photo is of the ENO production of Verdi's 'The Force of Destiny' - taken by Robert Workman.)

Forgive me for getting a bit emotional about ENO's chorus - but they are recognised as one of the finest ensembles of their kind, in the world (as testified by their shortlist place in the 2015 International Opera Awards). They don't just have the power - they have a group subtlety and company bond that makes them particularly good at establishing joint character, whether an intimidating crowd or heavenly choir. They all - all of them - act, all the time... and this has stood some of them in good stead as they've more than adequately covered for absent soloists, or taken on a more individual role in the action.

If you had the world's finest thoroughbred racehorse or sports car at your disposal but needed to trim your belt, you wouldn't lop off a leg or a wheel. Yes, you'd save some cash with no more travel to all those pesky meetings or venues ... but you might also find that the ability of your prized possession to do its job properly and maintain not just its, but your, reputation has been somewhat hampered. Was it you tearing round that course or track? No.

I realise there is more than one way to 'cut' a workforce. You can shorten hours or contracts if you don't want to reduce actual numbers. I would say, however, that applying anything like this to ENO's singers (or players) would be stupidity. That sound does not come from a casual approach - it's from constant, regular, intimate practice, rehearsal and performance, developed over time. And that sound will resonate, I'm afraid, how ever many managers come and go in the meantime.

I'm reminded a little of what we keep reading about the BBC. God knows, it needs a structural shake-up but the only solution we ever seem to hear about are cuts to programmes and channels - in other words, targeting the programme-makers - the people who in fact make the Beeb the beacon of quality it is - instead of the internal machinery. And the BBC has an part-educational remit bound up in its State support - I think it's all too easily forgotten that ENO was created in a similar spirit, bringing English-language versions to as wide an audience as possible. Whatever beef the Arts Council have with ENO over funding and management issues, it would have done well to consider the organisation's wider aims that matter somewhat more than instant profit.

This whole affair ultimately made me think about art and music, and how we relate to them. I was saddened, for example, to see some of the callous social media traffic following both Holten's announcement and the ENO story. Obviously, there were lovely messages of support. But - 5... 4... 3... 2... 1 - and out they came: never been impressed ... surprised he was asked to stay that long ... what would we miss if they went altogether? ... well, I never liked [insert person/production of choice] anyway...

Gather round, you lot. That's enough. Time to shut up.

Many of us tweet, post and blog - and within the context of a review or critique, we're perfectly within our rights to make constructive as well as positive comments and be honest about our reaction to something. (I rarely post negatively, I realise that - but that's my choice.) Could I suggest, however, that outside that environment, and against a background where these people - the ones that work incredibly hard to provide those hours of entertainment that you so casually dismiss, often in fewer than 140 characters - are facing real uncertainty and pressure ... you simply put a lid on it? Thank you.

We're in a situation where more than anything, we should demonstrate not just support, but also kindness and appreciation for our singers, musicians, or any type of artist. The arts are for us: they enrich our lives, widen our horizons, release our emotions and stimulate our soul to make us more than machines. But this is not about us - for once, this is about them, the creators, who fall victim to the most astonishing thoughtlessness from the corporate world, the political arena, right through to the booing louts in audiences and armchair attacks from the cyber-lazy.

It's time for us fans and patrons of the arts to say, loud and clear: they are as vital to our quality of life and wellbeing as healthcare, education, or any other indispensable service you care to name. These people, and what they do, are precious: imagine life without them, and the effect that would have on you... then speak and act accordingly.

Keeping the cold in: 'Voices of the Winter Hearth'

I wanted to write a few words about a terrific event I visited last Friday. As happens so often, there's a mild thread of guilt running through the lines of this blog post, as the exhibition I'll be describing is now over. However, some of its key elements endure, so well worth drawing to your attention all the same.

The show itself was called 'Voices of the Winter Hearth', installed in the belfry at the top of a spiral stairwell in St John on Bethnal Green, London. Curated by Joanna Vale and Renaud C Haslan, and bringing JV's poetry together with work from RCH and a collective of like-minded artists, it was a sequel of sorts to their first exhibition at St John's just over a year ago, 'Tales from the Autumn House'. To commemorate the final day on both occasions, cellist Jo Quail was asked to put together a programme to add sound to the already multi-media experience.

Regular readers of the Specs blog (thank you, darlings, thank you) will know how highly I rate Jo Quail's music, and indeed it was through wanting to hear her live in an acoustic setting that I came along to the autumn exhibition in the first place. Then, she performed in the actual stairwell with the audience curving round above her: the result spellbinding as ever, in its beauty and strangeness. This time, the performance would be candle-lit, in the main area of the church, as she had called in reinforcements in the shape of Robyn Sellman and Laura Lee Tanner, singers in the brilliantly versatile electro-classical band Autorotation.

I arrived ahead of time to look at the exhibition before the music started. The first incredible thing to note is just how perfect the location is for a display like this. The higher you ascend, the dimmer the light, and you experience a kind of increasing 'visual chill', until you get to the very top and realise the room itself is in near-darkness. As JV later explained to the audience, the aim was to conjure up an atmosphere of winter as our ancestors experienced it: no artificial light or heat, remote, even intimidating. What they might have seen and felt is brought to life in the chillingly vibrant art - I particularly liked RCH's work (the 'Estonian Church' below), the haunting photography of Asia Schmidt, and Sarah Turpin's otherworldly illustrations. These images below are from the event Facebook page (link below) - photos, top to bottom, by Olga D Kay, Marcus Tylor and Renaud C Haslan.

JV's evocative poetry, itself image-rich, was appropriately displayed as art among the pictures, representing the mythological/folkloric tales that would've been exchanged over food and fire by our forebears. Using a heightened, densely-packed language, the verse made you feel the power of a saga or epic condensed into a handful of lines - I'm still thinking of ravens as 'ragged black flags', and probably always will

The installation was also 'total', earth and branches underfoot, barely-lit - again, replicating conditions from literally darker ages. To appreciate what you were seeing properly, you had to take the time for your eyes to adjust, or go back and look at certain images or words again. I feel that the word 'interactive' is over-used now, to the point where anything electronic, or where you have to push a button or click a link might qualify for the tag. But this experience was truly interactive - you had to accommodate the exhibition physically, as much as it accommodated you: not only waiting for your eyes to adapt, but peering closely at almost hidden objects, leaning into constricted spaces. Treasures were not simply laid out before you, but instead, waited to be discovered.

It's a joy to see several disciplines combine to make such a satisfying whole: along with the words, the art featured paint, print, collage, photography, 3D work - and the eerie dusk of the hang meant that it wasn't always immediately obvious what was what. The last night's music only enhanced this effect.

The church itself was candlelit around the stage/choir area for the performance. Jo Q started the evening solo, with a performance of Bach's D minor Cello Suite. It is always a pleasure to hear JQ play Bach, and the suites have long taken up residence in her soul as well as her hands. But the cyclical, flowing lines of the Bach, spread like tree roots from the earthy, wooden tone of the cello made it the perfect choice for an exhibition concerned with myth and mystery - when even elements of the creation and purpose of the suites themselves remain uncertain, and for years they were all but unknown, until their re-discovery in the 20th century.

Then Robyn and Laura from Autorotation joined JQ on stage to bring all the various aspects of the exhibition together. They had created musical settings - allowing the performance to be part-composed, part-improvised - for four of JV's poems, to piano and cello accompaniment. Gorgeous piano hooks courtesy of Robyn (which again featured some appropriate dischord/resolution cycles to match the seasonal theme), punctuated by seemingly spontaneous but precision-accurate cello from Jo - from bass line, to melody, to sound effects ... all helped underpin Laura's virtuoso vocal delivery, from perfectly-articulated and audible spoken word to a wolf howling - in tune - and all points in between.

The sequence of songs was so arresting, that it made me greedy for more. There is of course a rich tradition of classical art song, taking fully-fledged stand-alone poetry and setting it to music - one could look back to Schubert and his dramatisations of the otherworldly in his lieder... or perhaps only as far - and closer to home - as Britten's numerous folk song treatments. It would be lovely to see these musicians take this forward and allow JV's words to leap even further from the page than they do already.

The evening closed with the beautiful 'Between the Waves', from JQ's forthcoming album, its oceanic grandeur enhanced by Robyn and Laura's abstract vocals - performed on the night for the first time! This is one of my favourite things about JQ in a live setting: tunes are always living, evolving creatures, developed and developing in performance. I have never known her miss an opportunity to involve other musicians to re-interpret or collaborate on new incarnations of pieces - often improvised, just to see what they will bring to the sound, or where the overall enterprise will take them both. (In fact, Autorotation have a nifty track record for doing this, too - and the mutual appreciation between them and JQ has led to some brilliant gigs.)

So - for all the remarkable individual talents on display, the final evening of 'Voices of the Winter Hearth' showed how much artists of all kinds have to offer each other in collaboration, and that in joining forces to bring the past alive, point the way towards countless possible futures.

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For those of you who'd like to find out more:

St John on Bethnal Green is a magnificent venue (designed by Sir John Soane), and an established hub for the arts - not to mention the satisfyingly well-stocked bar on event evenings. It contains the specially-commissioned and unforgettably haunting 'Stations of the Cross' paintings by Chris Gollon, in themselves an absolute must-see.

Here is Jo Quail's website ... or if you are on an unstoppable, and understandable, quest to hear her most recent music as quickly as possible, her Bandcamp page contains an exclusive version of 'Gold' from her forthcoming record, and the 20-minute masterpiece for strings, percussion and choir, 'This Path with Grace'.

And here you can find all things Autorotation - including a very handy Soundcloud jukebox. Their back catalogue is also available at very reasonable prices on Bandcamp, so don't tarry...

The 'Voices of the Winter Hearth' Facebook page is still up, with more photos and info about JV's work and the collective of artists who took part.